by Far Freedom
“There aren’t any people here,” Fidelity remarked, hoping for a response from Percival. Why didn’t he want to know their names?
“This area is quiet now. It gets that way in different places at different times. There’s no apparent reason for it. I guess we like to huddle, and the huddles like to travel. It’s crowded where I live.”
“The population is small compared to the size of the Big Ball?”
“You wouldn’t want to live in a lot of these old buildings. There are some better places to live and millions of people. Maybe billions.”
Almost as soon as Percival mentioned it, people began to appear on the walkways. The three-dimensional blocks of space between the concourses took on a slightly more residential feeling, with fewer great structures blocking view from the streets. They passed over a vast green parkland and came to a different kind of intersection. There was more space available at the vertices. Three disks, each shaped like the rings of Saturn, intersected at right angles to each other, with the maze of transfer ramps at their center. This structure provided six planes of flat real estate for a variety of ad hoc human-made structures that seemed busy with various kinds of commerce. The disks glowed like the streets and the lanes.
Before they reached the lane-division point, Percival led them off the propelling lanes to one side, where Fidelity and Rafael had to begin pulling the pedicab. Percival was leading them along a path that split off toward a point on one of the disks in the intersection.
“Whoa!” Daidaunkh exclaimed, tilting his head to measure the unnatural perspective of their destination. There was a bottomless drop on every side.
“There are different kinds of courage, are there not?” Rafael queried, turning to give Daidaunkh a challenging grin.
“I assume there are some safety measures we can’t see?” Fidelity asked Percival.
“Most of the walkways used to have barrier fields,” Percival replied. “They shut down about a century ago. Everyone carries a throw-line in case they’re in a hurry and take a shortcut that leaves them in free-fall. All the streets and paths still have gravity. When that shuts down, all of us will have to start flying. People do that already. You just have to be patient if you don’t have jets or wings. There isn’t any danger in jumping off a street or path.”
“It still looks like we will fall,” Daidaunkh said. “Outer space is one thing, this is quite another.”
“Stop complaining and start enjoying!” Rafael declared.
The disk plane ahead of them swirled with thousands of people. The pathway
only a few meters wide - crossed a vast chasm and Fidelity thought she could see some distant end to it in each direction - upward and downward.
“This is near the north-south axis of the Big Ball,” Percival explained when he saw Fidelity pause to measure the distances above and below them. “Most other vertical streets are simpler and shorter. Really, you shouldn’t be too anxious. Even as poorly as we have maintained it - and as old as it is - the Big Ball is probably safer than most Earth System space countries. Most of them rotate, don’t they? You can really accelerate if you fall from an axis.”
“The scale of it is daunting,” Fidelity commented. “How big is it?”
“Probably smaller than the Five Worlds, but it doesn’t waste as much space.”
“We must be very far from Union space, yet you know a lot about the Union and Earth System.” Fidelity’s comment was met with silence. She thought Percival was actually a person who liked to talk - he was an actor - but he was also trying not to say too much. She realized he was still fearful about them. She didn’t want to upset him further, even though she might be deprived of vital information.
They reached the surface of one of the disks and Fidelity adjusted to the perspective of the landscape better than she imagined she would. She had to stop looking upward and outward, where everything else was oriented differently. The crowd of people around them helped her ignore geometry, until Percival led them up to the point where another disk intersected at a right angle. Even though the transition seam provided a generous curve upward, there were people walking perpendicular to them only a few meters above them. Samson held tightly to Fidelity’s waist as they negotiated the transition, almost falling off the saddle of the pedicab to do so. She had to take him off the seat and hold him on her hip, grateful the artificial gravity was lighter than Earth normal.
The people around them on the commerce disc hardly reacted to their presence, even when Rafael chose to speak to them. The air buzzed with conversation but no one laughed or smiled. There were no children anywhere. Occasionally someone would steal a glance at Samson. The questions boiled out of Fidelity’s observations and pooled by the hundreds, frustrating her desire for the knowledge, and increasing her anxiety that all was not as peaceful as it seemed. The people around them were usually young, most of them poorly attired, and no few of them dangerous-looking.
“My favorite place,” Percival said. “This may be my last meal, so I deserve
it.”
“Why - ” Fidelity began to ask.
“Just a private joke. Ignore it.”
They knew they had arrived at an eating establishment by the pervasive aroma of cooking food. It resembled an ancient vehicle without its wheels, made of shiny metal, with a door on each end and small windows along its length. “This is called a diner,” Fidelity said. “It comes from 20th-century Earth. Don’t tell me it serves fried chicken and hamburgers.”
“I didn’t know if you would even understand the menu. Yes, that’s what they serve, but it isn’t made from butchered farm animals. It’s synthetic. Would you prefer a different place?”
“I want to eat here,” Samson said.
They parked Daidaunkh near the diner and out of the flow of pedestrian traffic. “I’ll bring you something,” Fidelity promised Daidaunkh.
The others went into the diner and Daidaunkh watched the scenery until his eyelids grew heavy. He hadn’t slept well and even with the visual feast before him he welcomed a chance to turn off the ache in his limbs by napping. He awoke too soon to someone poking him sharply, making his broken limbs hurt more than normal. He opened his eyes and saw a man in a black uniform.
“What’s your business here?” the soldier demanded. “You a performer?”
It took Daidaunkh a moment to decipher the ancient English, not as clearly spoken as by the young actor Percival. In those few seconds he sensed a danger in having delayed speaking. Even after two major Mnro Clinic treatments, and after so many decades of wasting his life on the Earthian - and perhaps Rhyan - birth world, Daidaunkh was still sensitive to the arrogance of persons who wore uniforms. He once was one himself. “I’m waiting for someone in the eating establishment. I’m not a performer.”
“Get out of the vehicle,” a second soldier ordered, pulling Daidaunkh by the shirt, making him tumble out of the pedicab.
Daidaunkh couldn’t suppress a cry of pain.
“Get up! What’s wrong with you?”
“My arm and leg are broken!” Daidaunkh tried to rise. He was almost up when one soldier kicked his good leg out from under him.
“Up!” The soldier menaced Daidaunkh with heavy-soled boots near the splint on his leg.
“It would seem pointless.” Daidaunkh understood the ultimate outcome of this encounter was a third try at final death. The soldier kicked him in the splint. Daidaunkh refused to utter a sound, although the pain made him tremble. “Why don’t you boys leave before something happens to you?” Daidaunkh spoke through clenched teeth. He had glimpsed the admiral rushing out of the diner.
“What something?” the more playful of the pair inquired.
“Shoot him,” the bored soldier said. “No interest to me.”
“Doesn’t look afraid. Makes him interesting.”
” Some kind of Rhyan. Not one of us. A sup. Shoot him!”
“Can’t tell how old he is. What do you think?”
“Probably lived longer
than we will. Shoot him.”
“Too late,” Daidaunkh said. “Keshona is here.”
“Is something wrong?” the admiral asked, slowing her approach.
The two soldiers turned to see the dark woman in her yellow dress. Daidaunkh watched as the men positioned themselves instinctively to have a tactical advantage, yet the admiral’s presence apparently didn’t cause them much concern. It was amusing to see her act the part of a defenseless woman in the presence of dangerous soldiers. He could see her trying to tremble like a frightened woman. He wanted to laugh.
“We ask the questions. Who’re you?”
“I apologize if we’ve done something wrong. My name is Ruby Reed. I’m a singer. This is my companion who recently injured himself. We were about to see a doctor.”
“Hah!” Daidaunkh did laugh, and grimaced with pain. “I was injured by her when I tried to kill her.”
“He’s delirious. Please, don’t pay any attention to him.”
“Admiral, I’m trying to warn you! These kids are going to kill us!”
“I hope not.” She looked from one to the other of the two young men, forgetting her act of weakness. Daidaunkh knew that look in highly trained veterans of personal combat, veterans who knew how good they were. She appraised her foes and, on some level, they were aware of it. Perhaps she even wanted to warn them.
“There are only two of them.” Daidaunkh tried to speak Twenglish clearly enough for the soldiers to understand. At least they would understand his tone of voice. “Hurry up! I’m hungry!” The two soldiers, muscular, dark-haired, dark-eyed, scarred on their faces, and not very old, struggled to find words to reestablish their command of the situation. Daidaunkh stymied them. “Don’t assume these fancy antique uniforms aren’t armored. And don’t forget about those projectile weapons they’re wearing. The cowardly bastards will try to shoot you.” Daidaunkh recoiled on the pavement as the first soldier kicked him hard.
“Please, don’t do that,” the admiral said. “He’s harmless.”
“He has a big mouth.”
Daidaunkh bit himself, reacting to the assault and to the echoes from his broken limbs. He spat blood from his mouth, some of which reached the legs of the soldiers. He grinned at them with red lips. “Simple murder for simple minds. I wouldn’t touch that pistol if I were you.”
“And what will you do?” the soldier asked, fingering the butt of his weapon.
“It isn’t me you should watch. She’s the angel of death. She’s Keshona.”
“Many in the Fleet bear that name, Rhyan.”
” She’s the original. She executed ten million people on Rhyandh, including my parents and my wife-to-be.”
“That was too long ago. I’m tired of you, lunatic.”
“I speak the truth! I’m one-hundred ten years old.”
“He’s only an actor. I’ll kill him.” The soldier began to draw his weapon.
“Don’t,” the admiral said in a tone of voice that made him pause. “Draw the weapon and I’ll stop you.”
Without warning, the soldier nearest the admiral struck at her with the back
of his hand. She dodged the blow without apparent effort.
“This looks familiar,” Daidaunkh commented. “They don’t know their lives are in danger. Too easy. Too easy.”
Embarrassed by his missed blow and awkward recovery, the soldier turned his full attention on the admiral. The soldier advanced upon her and she retreated. ” Stand and fight!” She continued to evade the soldier. He moved to block her retreat. He reached for her. He somehow lost his balance and fell down. He didn’t move again.
Puzzled and alarmed, the other soldier pulled his weapon from its holster. He quickly took aim at the admiral with the projectile weapon. He fired and missed, the bullet ricocheting off the metal wall of the diner. He fired again and the admiral moved just enough to let the bullet pass. The trigger pull was too long, Daidaunkh judged, giving the admiral too much time for her augmented reflexes to move her. The bullet shattered a window in the diner. She pulled Daidaunkh’s knife from behind her as the soldier turned the projectile weapon on Daidaunkh. Daidaunkh smiled and blew him a bloody kiss.
“You’re a big disappointment.” He saw the knife suddenly appear in the soldier’s throat. The soldier gurgled and fell heavily, the gun clattering away from his limp hand.
The admiral examined the first soldier, felt for his pulse, closed his vacant eyes. She came to the one with the knife in his throat. She avoided the spreading pool of blood and removed the knife. She wiped the blade on the young man’s uniform and stuck it back into the sheath she wore in the small of her back. She walked to the pedicab and sat sideways on the driver’s seat.
“I missed the whole thing!” Daidaunkh marveled at the efficiency, the almost magic lethality of the admiral. “I didn’t see how you killed the first and I didn’t see how you threw the knife.” He had to wait several seconds before she could reply.
“Did you expect me to be able to kill them?”
She sounded less angry than simply upset to Daidaunkh. “I’m not a stranger to personal combat, Admiral. Despite my poor showing against you, I tell you I was able to judge how lethal you may be. Now I see you’re even deadlier than I thought. These were obviously young men without conscience and I felt they would kill us because they didn’t want us to breathe the same air they breathed. When you came to my rescue, I knew I couldn’t lose. If they killed you, my parents would be avenged. If you killed them, I would live a little longer. Of course, I didn’t want the boy and Rafael to be left at the mercy of this place. I expected you to kill them, Admiral.”
She turned away from him, put her hands on the handlebars, leaned forward. Her body shook slightly. Daidaunkh was irritated by his reaction to this. He wanted to hate this Earthian woman but every moment he remained in her company brought unexpected information that dulled the edge of his hate. He had lived too long, had died too many times, and now his brain was traitorously perverted by this legend who became someone else. It was a poor way to die, hating was.
Daidaunkh looked about, noting the reactions of passersby. He was too involved with the admiral to wonder at the rapid emptying of the commerce circle. “Are you crying? Damn, you’re a puzzling person! You should be laughing! We don’t have time for this! You have to help me up. You have to get me something to eat.” She stopped. She helped Daidaunkh into the pedicab. She took a deep breath, started back to the diner. He was helpless and she helped him. He was hateful and she didn’t hate him. He did his evil upon the innocent Denna and she didn’t accuse him. “Admiral, wait a moment.” She stopped again and turned toward him. He saw a different face and it moved him still further, further than he thought possible. He swallowed and concentrated. “It’s no longer my intent to kill you. Keshona was a demon who possessed me far too long and wasted my life. Now I understand Jarwekh. Now I forgive him. Why were you crying?”
“Because I don’t know who I am. Because I didn’t want to discover I could kill these young men. Because I didn’t want Samson to see it!”
Percival could not be happy or satisfied after seeing the two dead lieutenants, much as he hated the Black Fleet. Now the hunt would be on, and he would be lucky to escape alive. He briefly considered abandoning the four strangers but could not bring himself to do it. Perhaps he had performed too many plays and lived too many roles in which his character learned hard lessons about right and wrong. The Big Ball did not teach ethics to its citizens; it only taught survival.
The businesses and walks of this area of the disk were almost deserted before he could get his wards moving again. Fortunately, a great many people had decided to fly off the disk, in order to get as much distance as possible from the place. He would have done so himself. The four strangers would also need to fly, and he wondered how he could get them to do it. The rapid exodus had left the streets less congested but they were too slow, too restrictive. They needed speed and random routes. The Fleet would storm onto the scene
as soon as some snitch told them about the killings. Then they would spread out to find witnesses. They would find witnesses who knew too little and torture them and kill them. Or there would be more snitches, maybe one or two who were even now waiting to tail them from the crime scene.
“Can you leave your cart?” Percival asked the injured Rhyan.
“If necessary,” the man replied. He seemed to realize something of the urgency to depart.
The woman helped the Rhyan out of the conveyance. They pushed it over the edge of the disk and sent it floating away.
“We need more throw-lines,” Percival said. “One for each of you. Do any of you have any free-fall experience?”
The Rhyan sat down carefully with the woman’s help. He looked up at the old man and smiled grimly and shook his head.
“I have some experience,” the woman replied. “Where do we get throw-lines?”
“They can be any kind of rope or cord. Also we need reaction mass, any small heavy objects we can use to change direction.”
A few minutes of searching nearby stores and vendor booths brought them back with the needed supplies to where the Rhyan waited. Percival sensed the unease of the Rhyan as he helped him onto his good leg. “You’re with me. The lady will take the other two. Don’t worry. This is the easy part. I’m going to place you just off the edge where you will float. I want you to fold your arms and legs as much as you can so I can give you a very precise shove. Look up two levels and across. See the bridge from the street to the green area? That’s our target. I wish we had jets.”
