by Jack Womack
"Drop, Luther," said Jake, having already grounded. As I slid down I refused to feel my rib's ache, the bandage's boalike clutch; landing, I collapsed, unbroken. Seeing blood soaking the towels as I unclutched my hands, I thought momentslong that I'd harmed myself without noticing; realized when I dropped the cloth away that another's blood wetted them as I reached the end of the line. His foot-first landing was so hard, driving his broken legs up and against his chest, that his knees might have shattered his jaw had his head not been pulled away at the conclusion of his drop. He lay in twain on the ground, to either side of me in the empty courtyard in which we stood; his teeth's metal shone through his grimace. One eye was shut, as if to wink us luck.
"Which way?" I asked, staring round at the courtyard's multi- eyed walls, the heavy stone trim and iron bars. Jake gestured towards an archway, behind us, that led onto one of the side streets. Twenty-eighth, I hoped.
"There," he said, almost, but not quite, running. "I eyed from on high."
Deciding for one, for eighty, for a thousand or for a million; in strategic theory no difference should show, which kept it all the more problematic when it did. Crawling towards her, gun readied, I burned inside, raging at this world that was no world for anyone any longer, and especially not for little ones. Katherine never understood how deeply I felt that rage which prevented me from wishing to bring life to the world, no matter how often I tried to give the feeling word. If that caused her decision to be done with me, then it couldn't have been helped after all. Raising my pistol, trying with barrel tip to brush back the hair from the side of her head, I repeated to myself: mercy, mercy, rain mercy down on us; no need to suffer them overlong. Staring at me as if she knew me, making no move to run, crying no plea to deaf-eared heaven, seeming satisfied that I would decide the most suitable conclusion, the little girl lifted her hand and pushed her hair away. In theory, no difference; one decision, one solution, no choice-
"There's the car," I said, seeing its blackness, vizzing Wanda sitting within, filling the interior with smoke. None had yet noticed the scene above but for the one we'd left untrammeled. For another minute, we were preserved.
"Any luck?" she asked as we climbed in, pulling the doors shut quickly behind us.
"None. "
Whose decision? Who decides? By distant word I'd killed children before; killed children after. Jake never killed at distance, and always faced the adults he plucked, as if to honor their end. Whether it was deliberate or pure chance, that was his method, so merciful as might be allowed. I hadn't mercy enough to kill the little girl; wrapping my shirt around her, I carried her back to camp.
"SLAUGHTER ON EIGHTH AVENUE," THE JOURNAL-AMERICAN'S late edition's head read; Jake laughed, scanning highlights. Oktobriana lay alongside him as if awaiting the last incision, indigoed arms crossed upon her chest. Her country's color darkened her halfshut eyes; when she breathed the sound was as wind rustling reeds. In the front Wanda and I studied a fairground map. Earlier in the month she and Doc had visited the fair; those of darker shade were admitted on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons so long as they left by nightfall. Pinned now to my lapel was another souvenir, a small blue-and-white tin button Doc had been given at GM's Futurama, warning, I Have Seen the Future.
"It's so twentieth century," said Jake, continuing to read as if there were nothing else to be done. "Naught ragged here but sensation and braindiddly."
"They'll tell of nothing essential," I said. "Keep lipshut on any supposed Stalin connection. Now that they'd been worded about Bellevue I'd think they'd only expand on their design-"
"'Quack's wife missing-' "
"Quack," said Wanda, angered. "Not a medical school would've took him even if he'd gone to college. Bastards."
"You're imagined dead," Jake said, reading further, sounding envious.
"Probably imagined eaten," I said, "considering article's tone towards us-"
"New's shock," said Jake. "The unfamiliar upsets them."
We'd parked on Rodman Street above Fifty-seventh Avenue, close to the fair's Flushing gate. Rising directly behind its stiles was, according to the map, the Soviet Pavilion, its Lenin's Tombmaroon tower capped by some oversized worker clutching a red star. Beyond, the far-flung buildings stretched out before our view, their multiform roofs capped with white domes and narrow shafts, their curving walls heavy with mural and abstract design. Tb our left, in the distance, rose what on the map was referred to as the parachute jump; almost directly before us, much nearer, the Tryon aimed towards the sky. Through the gate's stiles passed hundreds, returning exhausted into the world of the present, making their break before storm settled in; clouds washed the sky with deep gray as sunset's time approached.
"According to what you've said," Wanda remarked, studying the map, "if ever'thing happens like she seems to say it might happen, then we're going to want to aim for here."
On the map she fingered a spot marked Washington Square, beyond Constitution Mall, past Borden's and Heinz's, next to the World of Fashion pavilion and almost directly before the spire and ball.
"Where's the ceremony taking place?" I asked. "Will we have to cut through?"
She shook her head. "That'll be over here on the other side of the thing, in City Hall Square. You won't even have to see'em. It's still going to be hard walking in, under the circumstances-"
"Lights go up when?" Jake asked. "When's the show?"
"Eight-thirty," I said. "Duskbreak. Soon as the charge starts we'll have to run for it."
"Running for what?" he asked.
"I'm not sure," I said. "But we'll know it when we see it." The dash's clock read seven-fifty.
"You ever figure out from those figures of hers just how this thing's supposed to work, anyway?" asked Wanda.
"No," I said. "It's above my head. Something to do with the amount of electricity produced in regards to the frequency of the resonator. But if all goes as theorized then we should be prime to go-"
"Think it'll work?"
"Maybe," I said. "We're at ultimate option and that exes debate under circumstance. If all doesn't happen, we'll just toss ourselves into police's arms and have them waltz us to the cutter."
Beyond the Trylon and Perisphere a host of bright balloons rose as a flock of birds, disbanding as they ascended; part of the ceremony, I estimated. Studying the people departing, watching them move past us, uncomprehending of how they kept so cheerful, living in such a world where war would so soon erupt, where poverty never ended, where the plague's shadow had forever darkened all. They seemed such happy Martians.
"You've decided your actions?" I asked Wanda.
She shoved the map aside as if tossing off a blanket. "No. Don't have much left here anymore, but what've I got over there? Why would I want to go, Luther-"
"For new life," I said.
"That is, even if this thing works like you hope it's going to work. If it doesn't it won't make no difference. If it does, well, I just don't know-"
"Fear's felt?"
"Hell, yes," she said, her voice near-inaudible, as if to admit such loud would call down lightning on its own accord. "If you all are from the future like you've been saying then it's a hell of a lot different place from anything they've come up with." She gestured towards the gateposts of the World of Tomorrow. "Judging from how you act, anyway. How you talk. Sometimes you act like us. Sometimes you don't. I don't know which's scarier."
"We're adjusted to the familiar," I said. "Our fear's been so great here, but even now we're adjusting. In time all here would show true to us as in time all of ours would show as well to you."
"Yeah, well. Somebody born without an arm never misses it but ever'body still calls 'em stumpy," she said, a near-smile soften ing her face. "Norman was the one who oughta been able to come along. He was always hot to trot talking about the future. He'd've gone along in the blink of an eye. Anything to get out of this."
By this, had she meant this world, this country, this life; meant the relationship so dema
nded by others and lived with thereafter? Would anything have brightened him, I wondered; who nurses the doctor?
"I don't know, Luther," she continued, embracing the wheel as if for support. "You all don't need me along. You can walk over there and once you get through the turnstile you can just go on through. Forget about me-"
"Even if the authorities judge you as noninvolved," I said, "say no persecution awaits. Even then, what's left?"
"Nothing. "
"So accompany," I said. "I can assist, once we've homed. You'd adjust-"
"You mean I'd turn into you all."
"People change," I said. "It's nature's way."
With care she groped for words as if fumbling with foreign tongue, mindful of translation's pitfalls, fearful of gesture's giveaway. "You all don't even act like people," she said.
"That's unreasoned-"
"Not like people I know," she said. "Way you look at things. Way you do things. Killing people like you was fixing breakfast. It's just not-" She paused. "I'm not trying to insult you, I just want to explain and it's hard-"
"Understood," I said. "Dayplain."
"I mean doesn't life mean anything to people anymore?" she asked. "Means something to us here, Luther. Ever'body's seen too many people they love lose theirs. What is it to you?"
"Something to live with," I said, responding as felt.
"But is it important or not-"
"Important." Important, the lives of those known, loved and lost; the lives of the millions or the life of the stranger in the street could never be so important, for you couldn't overmuch dwell on the all-surrounding tragedy without knowing madness. There could be no saving of all, and no sense in trying; all to be done was to protect those you could.
"But not in the same way," she said. "Least that's the impression I get. How'd we turn into you all, Luther? What went wrong?"
"Nothing," I said. "No one notices the changes until they happen. "
"That's even worse, then," she said. "Turning into something awful and not even knowing it. Jekyll and Hyde."
"You find me so awful-"
"Luther," she said. "Look what's happened. I can tell you're not bad at heart but there's just something not there. I think it's something must have happened a little bit at a time. One day something happens and you don't see any way around it but to do something you wouldn't have ordinarily done, then the next time around, you do something a little worse. Next time, a little worse. Time you've finished up . . ." Her voice trailed away, faded into star's static. "You got the faintest idea what I'm talking about?"
As she eyed me I wondered what she saw. "Overmuch," I said. `All'll happen here as well."
"Maybe not," she said. "I think it's just a way you've taught yourself to act, but it's no way to live-"
"I know no other," I said.
"Then things shouldn't have happened way they did," she said, here where so much had happened as it hadn't. "Lot of things shouldn't have happened way they-did. "
"Luther." Jake's voice came whisper loud; I turned, to see what was needed. He held Oktobriana's arm, its skin glossy dark with bruise's sheen; with her fingers she petted air. "She wants to code. "
Taking her hand, feeling her fingers press slowly down into my palm, I listened to her finalities.
"If she's coming out of it," said Wanda, barely heard, "that's curtains. "
LIGHTNING WILL ASSIST, she said, referring, I supposed, to the tower and coil once the switch was thrown. IF OPENING SEEN GO THROUGH AT ONCE.
Jake patted her forehead with his own hand, seeming neither relaxed nor accepting. Evening's gloom settled deeper, darkening all within and without.
TELL JAKE, she tapped; her fingers shivered, as if stricken by chill.
"Yes?" I said, holding them, awaiting conclusion.
HE IS LOVE OF LIFE. I nodded. Her eyes opened, barely seen in dusklight. Afterthought: BLESS ME.
"What's passed?"
Once I told him he took her up within his arms and lifted her; her head wobbled on her neck, her eyes rolled back beneath her lids, a thin cord of spittle trickled from her mouth. Looking upon the two of them made me feel as if I were betraying a scene of deepest intimacy, yet I couldn't turn away from the sight of the nearly dead.
"Ya Iyuba-" he began to say; stopped. "Ya lyub-"
Somewhere he'd attempted to learn to say "I love you" in Russian tongue, as if to tell her in natural lingua would give away the game; he'd not, needless to say, mastered its phrase.
"Ya," he began, more slowly. "Ya ly-"
Before he might finish her arms squeezed round him as if to hug; tightening, they set to crush. With difficulty he struggled free from her coils. Oktobriana's limbs began wrapping around themselves, drawing tight as she curled herself together. As her chest contracted she gasped for breath, her mouth stretched wide until it bled at the corners; blood flowed from her ears and from her eyes. As her arms and legs gave under muscles' torque the sound of snapping bones echoed throughout the car. She fell down onto the seat, her vertebrae twisting as they were shattered by her flesh's grip. Her silent gasps came as if she were being leapt upon.
"Jake," I said. "You know what's essentialled. Move."
"I can't-" he said, sounding as if he were no more than six.
"It's a reasoned act," I reminded. Her lips quivered as she tried to give word to her pain; her bones' crunch pierced my ears. Fairleavers streamed past us, oblivious to the scene within our car. "Help her, Jake. You have to."
He couldn't.
"Lift her, Jake. This way."
Gripping her tight he raised her from the seat, leaving deeper bruises wherever he lay finger, bringing her forward, resting her shoulders against the back of the front seat. He turned away. Oktobriana's bleeding eyes squeezed shut as if not to see the last.
"Luther, please-"
"There's no choice, Jake," I said, lifting my hands. "None."
Wrapping my fingers around her head, I closed my own eyes as I twisted. She left before she slumped; my fingers burned with mercy's scorch. Jake stared at her as she tumbled back into the seat, her eyes half-open. From fair's direction I heard faint cheers and applause. Wanda looked away from all of us, staring off into a parking lot just to our right as if hoping to see someone she knew. Jake hugged Oktobriana's body, making no more sound than did she, showing no tear.
"Let it go, Jake," I said. "It's over. Come on."
Unresponding, he slowly pulled himself upright, staring into her stillness, clutching her without cease, looking in wonder as if realizing what was lost. His face showed no more than it ever did. I eyed the dash clock as I caught my breath; I couldn't stop my hands from shaking. It was eight twenty-three.-
"How quick can we foot it over?" I asked.
"You can't," she sighed, starting the engine.
"You'll drive us through?"
She nodded. "No other way. They don't allow cars in, so you're going to have to play by your rules, going in. I can't believe this-"
"Trouble's handleable," I said. "Jake can cover our approach."
"It'll take a minute or two once we're through to get over to the mall," she said. "How close you got to call this if it's going to work?"
"I don't know," I said. "All we have to do is aim for what appears, and I'm uncertain as to what's supposed to appear-"
"Shit," she said, staring towards the gate. A police car had pulled up and parked. Two patrollers stepped out, looking idly around as if searching for those attempting to beat the admission. "You all better be ready for anything."
"As ever," I said. Lightning's strobe lit the clouds overhead; thunder's drumroll came no longer muffled by distance. "Weather's holding as forecast. Just start pulling forward. Don't worry yet-"
They looked towards us; perhaps saw our shadows moving within the car, several hundred meters away from where they lingered. Patting their sidearms, they moved our way.
"Jake," I said, worrying. "You prepped? Action's coming."
No answer came;
I turned, looked around.
"Jake?"
He held Oktobriana, stroking her shoulders as if to return life with death-soaked hands. Looking towards her without sight, he listened to me without hearing. The lights went up across the way; the fair showed in full illumination, in crystalline light. Our investigators drew closer, unhurrying, as if time were all they had in the world.
"Weapon me, Jake. "
Without word he drew the Shrogin from beneath his jacket; after he handed it across, I slipped it over to my right, between the seat and the door. So nonchalantly as I could I rolled down the window and unclicked the gun's safety. Wanda had slowed the car to a snail's run as I'd readied myself; the two policemen prepped their own toys. The fair's lights glowed now against the dark, lightning-lit sky, showing in multihues; blue and orange and red and purple. The Trylon and Perisphere glowed in purest ivory white.
"They'll shoot, Luther," said Wanda, quickening our roll towards the gate.
"So'111. "
They lifted their guns and readied. The Shrogin held three clips and could send forth a thousand bursts; thrusting myself out the window, raising and aiming, I triggered before they could shoot. The recoil was so unnoticeable, the feel and hold so smooth and balanced. They burst into spray, dropping streetways; I barely felt a thing. Perching myself on windowedge, with left hand gripping the underside of the roof, with right I set my charge.
