by Far Freedom
“I don’t want you to be hurt, Percival,” the woman said graciously. “Thank you for your help.”
“How will you find your way back to the hospital, to get your Rhyan companion?” He wanted to argue his way into legend but he knew himself too well: never a real hero, always an actor.
“I know the way from here. I only need to find this place again. I’m very sorry you became endangered by us. Please stay safe. Goodbye, Percival.”
“Goodbye,” the great artist said, shaking hands with Percival. “I echo Fidelity’s concerns for you. You have done us a great service at a terrible risk. So, too, these fine people of the museum. Go with God, Percival.”
Percival shook hands finally with the boy. He stood aside and watched the curators help the old man, the deadly woman, and the injured boy enter a cargo vehicle. No, he didn’t want to remember them as man, woman, boy. He must believe the old man was Rafael, the great artist. The African woman was his ultimate subject of portraiture. Samson was a good and brave boy of great importance to both of them. He would wonder about them and feel special to have helped them for the rest of his probably short life. The curved door in the hull of the transport closed and the cylinder moved silently away from the dock. Percival stayed on the dock, thinking, until he finally realized he was alone.
“Isn’t there a light?” Samson asked. “I don’t like it to be this dark!”
Fidelity hurried to seat them where they could hold onto fittings provided for securing cargo. The transport decelerated and turned a corner. Samson lost his grip and rolled into Fidelity. She held him as the vehicle accelerated. “Are you
alright?” She asked in Rafael’s direction.
“Yes! This vehicle is clearly not made for human passengers. I hope it doesn’t get any rougher. Do you have Samson?”
“I have him.”
The transport decelerated again, turned, and then accelerated for a long period of time.
“Hey!” Rafael shouted when the acceleration ceased. “We are flying again!”
Fidelity took a chance that the vehicle’s motion wouldn’t change soon and explored the large cargo hold for ways to protect them from acceleration. She found straps farther forward and a bin that contained blankets. She eventually secured all of them along the wall of the hold. Samson fell asleep in a cocoon of straps and blankets she made for him.
“Rafael, how are you feeling now?”
“I feel fine, Fidelity. A little tired. A lot tired! How are you doing?”
“I’m tired, too. I wish I knew what I’m doing. I know it’s bad for your health, and now I’m taking you further into the unknown.”
“There is no safe place remaining for us, dear lady. I used to be afraid of a great many things but now I’m only afraid for you and Samson. Don’t worry about me. You must think only of the safety of you and Samson.”
“That’s not possible, Rafael! I can’t help wanting to keep you safe also.”
“You can want it, Fidelity, but I tell you I am not concerned for myself. Not any longer. My painting still lives! I hope it has many copies. My life is full of meaning, both good and bad. This is such a fantastic way to approach the end. I will enjoy it!”
“Please, don’t feel you have to die!”
“I feel no such thing! It would be a sin! No, no, I will fight on with you, always hoping we can survive this place together, and keep Samson safe. Just don’t jeopardize yourself or Samson because of me. I will never be the hero. But I will not allow you to put me ahead of you and Samson!”
Fidelity understood Rafael. She believed what he said. She also believed the deaths of Denna and Gator made Rafael think that he should be the next to die. She wouldn’t presume to make such an argument to him. She would do what she needed to do. She didn’t accept Rafael’s words as her excuse to let him die if it was convenient to do so. He was a treasure to the human race and must still have many productive years remaining - if he would accept at least a minimal amount of medical help.
They talked a short while longer and in the vibrating silence Rafael fell asleep. Fidelity’s thoughts turned back to all she had seen and heard of the Big Ball. There were questions about how the people organized their lives that came to her mind and demanded answers. She found herself yearning to understand how such a society could function with so little apparent structure and institutions. The way she wanted to investigate and the patterns she would try to find made her suspect this was a part of who she must once have been. It was a pleasant suspicion that she entertained while falling asleep.
The maneuvering of the transport woke Fidelity but not the other two. She could deduce by the subtle acceleration vectors that the vehicle was coming to a final rest. A slight amount of gravity kept them on the floor of the cargo hold. She had no way to open the cargo door and she couldn’t hear anybody outside. She didn’t want to think about everything that was happening, externally and internally. She went back to sleep.
Samson shook Fidelity gently awake. “I have to use a toilet.”
Rafael also awoke. “How do we get out of here?”
“Someone will have to let us out,” Fidelity said. “Let’s make some noise.” She took a strap with a metal buckle and beat on the hatch. After many moments of deafening clatter inside the cargo hold, the door opened and light flooded in.
“Who are you?” the man with no left arm asked. He followed Fidelity’s gaze to his empty sleeve and reacted to her expression of shock and sympathy. “It don’t hurt no more.” There was someone thoughtful behind his eyes and someone happy with surprises behind the missing-tooth grin he made.
Fidelity scooped up Samson and leaped to the dock, aided by the light gravity. “We’re dangerous spies. Sorry about your arm! Where’s your toilet?”
“Jeepers, an old guy!” The one-armed man watched Rafael climb out of the transport and lent him his only hand. “Yeah, well, toilets for spies are down that way and left. Come on, I’ll take you.”
“Where are we?” Fidelity carried Samson through a maze of crates on the loading dock as she followed the one-armed man.
The man shook his head as he limped along ahead of them. They passed the openings of loading bays and many more lay ahead of them. “You’re in big trouble, lady. This is the main dock for the Fleet. Sups are not allowed here.”
“What are Sups?”
“You really don’t know? Support persons. Slaves. Everybody not in uniform, or who used to be in uniform. I was a Tough Guy once, but got broken, as you see.”
“You lost your arm in a war?” Samson asked.
“Lost it in the games. Almost died.”
“Why didn’t they give you a new one? I’ll get a new leg when we get to a Mnro Clinic.”
“Mnro Clinic? Since when do we have Mnro Clinics in Oz?”
“Oz - is that what you call it?” Fidelity asked. “Not the Big Ball?”
“Sups call it one thing, Tough Guys another thing. My name is Olivier.”
“Mine is Ruby,” Fidelity said. “This is Samson and Rafael. We’re new to Oz.”
“I’m sure! The Fleet didn’t bring you? How’d you get here?”
“Instantaneous transference,” Fidelity answered. “That’s the technical term for magic. So, where is Oz located in the universe? I assume you know where Earth is. How far are we from Earth?”
“You assume wrong, but I know you can’t see Earth from here. Not even its star. What are you doing here?”
“Darned if I know, Olivier. Is there a window I can look out from around here?”
“I ought to be scared, standing this close to you guys. Guess I’ll act like a Tough Guy. I’ll find you a window if all goes well. There’s just us Broken Guys in Receiving. We don’t make decisions alone. We’ll decide together.”
“Before you turn us over to the Black Fleet,” Fidelity said, “I really would like to see the surrounding star patterns.”
“It’s that important to you? You rode all the way out here to look at stars? It wasn
’t just a joy ride, so to speak?”
“There is absolutely nothing joyful about the Big Ball - Oz - Olivier! Nor am I satisfied to have Samson and Rafael subjected to its terrors. I have seen a Gatekeeper on Earth. We have been sent through a gate twice now. We have flown through much of the Big Ball. And still we know nothing about why this has happened. All of my life seems to have been a succession of restricted choices, and the final one I may make is to see the stars that surround me now. If I can somehow get you to help me. However, I now understand that would put you in great danger. If you could whisper directions to an observation point and sneak away before anyone sees you with us…”
“Jeepers, Ruby, darlin’! Lighten up! It ain’t the end of the universe just yet. You still gotta go potty, ain’t you?”
“Immediately, if not sooner.”
“Keep on moving, then! Are you running from something? One of them protection gangs?”
“The Black Fleet.”
” Sure, lady. And you thought you would hide in the last place they would look. Why’s the Fleet after you?”
“I had a difference of opinion with two of them.”
“I’ll bet I know why. Sorry. We don’t see any nice looking women out this way. How’d you get away from them?”
“They were threatening a friend of mine. They didn’t allow me much choice.”
Olivier motioned her to follow him a short distance off and motioned for Samson and Rafael to remain where they were. He whispered in her ear. “Did the bastards rape you, Ruby? I can arrange some severe punishment through a few senior officers I know.”
“That was not an option for me, Olivier.”
“Then how…”
“I killed them, Olivier. Now you must turn me in. Forget the astronomy request. I don’t need to know anything more about the place of my death.”
Olivier remained shocked and silent for a few moments until thoughtfulness replaced the shock. He seemed to resume speaking in the middle of his thoughts. “Yeah, well, Tough Guys can be really obnoxious and so deserving of retribution. You on the level, Ruby? I can’t quite imagine you doing anything violent.”
“I’m not lying to you for my own amusement. And I don’t want to be responsible for anything happening to you. I already have enough to account for when I meet the final judge.”
“I ain’t gonna doubt you, Ruby. You just kinda caught me by surprise. Let’s take it one thing at a time. To the toilet first.”
Fidelity was grateful Olivier seemed so calm and rational. As they walked the length of the freight dock she decided to ask another question that came to mind. “Did you ever crew one of the Black Fleet ships, Olivier?”
“Made one trip. Just a kid. Thought I was real tough.”
“I’ve never been able to understand how they make their jumps.”
“Where did you see the Fleet? It’s supposed to be impossible.”
The memory had returned to her more than once when she invoked the name of the lost ship - the Titanic - to herself. Fidelity had begun to retain most of the details. “A long time ago I saw them attack a big ship. I counted about ten thousand small spherical ships. They could appear and disappear like magic. After studying the images I recorded, I decided the ships could jump from point to point in space, covering great distances instantly.”
“Jeepers! There hasn’t been a sortie that big for two hundred years.”
“It was a ship called the Titanic. I had friends aboard her. There was nothing left when the Black Fleet departed.”
“You saw the Titanic raid?” Olivier stopped again to turn and face Fidelity.
“Nobody lives that long! My ancestors, seven or eight generations back, came on the Titanic.”
“Does everybody in Oz come from Union space?”
“Darn near. Two hundred years! Jeepers!”
Olivier led them to the toilet facilities. When they came out, a large crowd of Olivier’s coworkers had gathered to stare at her, all of them wearing the drab gray coveralls of laborers. Most, but not all of them, suffered obvious physical disabilities. Fidelity had cleaned the yellow dress as well as she could and now carried Percival’s shirt neatly folded. She held one of Samson’s hands, Rafael held the other, and when they walked Samson swung between them on his one leg. She looked for uniformed officers of the Black Fleet but saw none. Olivier gestured to follow him and he led them through the crowd. They entered a cafeteria and the crowd of perhaps a hundred came in behind them and took seats.
Olivier climbed onto a table to address the assembled warehouse workers. “Lookouts posted? Good. Shut up and listen!” He first told them what he knew about the three “spies” and then he looked down at Fidelity. “Tell me one last time, Ruby. What you said about the two Fleet officers, is that really really true?” Fidelity nodded. “Okay, I’m not calling you a liar but officially I can’t believe you.” He turned back to his fellow workers. “So this is one beautiful day for me! This lady in a yellow dress says she killed two Tough Guys. She doesn’t look like a killer to me. Ever hear of someone her size putting two Tough Guys down? Just a nice-looking lady, a poor kid with one leg, and a really old guy. If you want to save your butts when the heat is on, tell ‘em Olivier never told you nothing. But remember: the Fleet didn’t bring them here. She came through a gate. Someone else did it to her.”
“Do you know who?” Fidelity asked when Olivier came down from the table.
“We don’t talk about it. Gets the Sups all worked up. The One True God, and all that crap. Want something to eat and drink?”
They sat down at the table and Olivier asked some of his friends to bring food and drink. Fidelity was hungry because she missed most of her meal at the diner, but the hunger got lost in her thoughts of what Olivier said about the Black Fleet. She wanted to ask Olivier more questions and she would probably not get a chance to ask them before it was too late.
“When are they coming for me?” she finally asked.
“Hell - I mean jeepers - I ain’t turning you in! They want you, they can come get you. What do I care? How’d you put two Tough Guys down? You didn’t ambush them, did you? That wouldn’t be right.”
“They never understood what I could do to them. I would have preferred to incapacitate them but I didn’t control myself.”
“How’d you do it? Not a scratch on you. Jeepers. Tough Guys don’t give Sups a chance. No glory in it. They look at you, don’t like what they see, and kill you, one, two, three! Doesn’t mean anything to them. Don’t twiddle yourself over killing them.”
“Daidaunkh was correct. He felt they were going to kill us for no reason. I feel badly about it. They were so young.” She would never describe for Olivier how she killed the barbarians, especially not in front of Samson.
“You got a way to pop back out of Oz?”
“Not that I know of. We may be sent somewhere else. We just don’t know when.”
“Well, in the meantime, you don’t look like someone who spends time
practicing martial arts.” Olivier smiled in regard of her. “Soft and pretty. And I really like the sound of your voice.”
” She’s a great singer,” Rafael offered. “Would you like to hear her?”
“Rafael.” She softened the admonishing tone, partly because it was Rafael, partly because she realized she liked to sing. It was the wrong time to feel like singing, but perhaps it was the right time to sing.
“I just thought that if someone could sing as well as you do,” Rafael said, “she couldn’t possibly be the person who killed those poor boys outside the diner. I’m borrowing Jarwekh’s notion.”
“He has a good idea,” Olivier said. “Can you really sing? Really sing? Broken Guys are tough music critics. What stuff do you sing? How about opera?”
“She can sing Madame Butterfly,” Samson offered.
“I don’t know about opera,” Fidelity said. “I used to sing jazz and blues.”
“That’s almost as old as opera, maybe older if you connect the
m to African roots. I’ve got perfect pitch. Let me hear a C-major scale.”
Fidelity cleared her throat and sang the scale.
“You’ve got the tubes, lady!” Olivier declared. “Do you know UnBelDi?”
Fidelity took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment, saw the score for the aria in her ocular terminal. “I can do it.” Then she saw something inside her that felt sad and also reverberated with the beautiful melody of the aria: another fragment of hidden memory, incoherent except for the sound and the sadness.
Olivier jumped back up on the table, scattering plates and cups. “We’ve got a singer here! A Cio-Cio-San!” Then, looking down at Fidelity, he asked: “Can you sing soprano? Your voice sounds mezzo to me.”
“I can sing soprano.” She was certain of her ability, yet not happy about the choice of music.
“What’s wrong?” Rafael asked, leaning close, pressing into Samson who sat between them.
“This song means something to me, Rafael. I remember singing it, over and over and over.”
Olivier and the Broken Ones prepared the cafeteria for a performance as though they had nothing else they would rather do. More workers arrived by the time they set up the audio system and arranged seating.
“All this effort,” Fidelity said to Olivier, “and you don’t know for certain that I can sing.”
“I’ve got no doubts!”
“But how can you disrupt your work schedule this way?”
“The Tough Guys don’t bother us, as long as our work gets done. We all used to be Tough Guys, so we get more respect than Sups. Music is all we have out here. We like to make our own music. You ready?”
Fidelity nodded. Olivier signaled. Music swelled from the speakers. Fidelity sang.
