by RF Hurteau
The door to the classroom opened, and Sylvia’s delicate silhouette appeared. “Nelson?” she whispered, hesitantly, into the darkness.
“Sylvia!” he replied, moving toward her. “I’m here. Hurry and close the door. I don’t want anyone to—”
A second figure had appeared beside Sylvia, and with a jolt, Nelson backed up, knocking into the model. “Edwin? What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice betraying his dismay.
“Just take it easy, Nelson,” said Edwin, stepping inside and closing the door. He locked it behind him and turned on the lights. “I’m not here to tie you up or anything like that.”
“But how did you know I’d be here?”
“After you gave Denton the slip, he reported back to me. I knew I’d have to deal with you myself. I went to Sylvia, and told her everything.”
“Everything, everything?”
Edwin shrugged. “Okay, I told her enough.”
“Did you tell her about…our group?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her about…our plans?”
Edwin looked slightly exasperated. “Yes, I told her about our plans.”
“Did you tell her about—”
“I told her what she needed to know, Nelson, alright? Anyway, she said that you were going to meet her here to talk about Ben. I decided to tag along.”
“I can’t believe you sent Denton after me,” grumbled Nelson. “He probably would have knocked me out if he caught me, you know.”
“Better knocked out than captured,” Edwin pointed out.
“I would never have talked!” Nelson protested.
“I couldn’t take that chance.”
Sylvia looked back and forth between the two of them. “You realize this is crazy, right? A secret organization? ‘True history?’” She leaned against the wall, shaking her head. “If it weren’t for what happened to Ben, if you’d come to me with this yesterday morning, I’d have told you that you were insane. Now, I’m just overwhelmed. Or maybe I’m just insane, too.”
“Nelson, listen. It took some convincing for me to get Sylvia on board with this. But I promised her, and I promise you, we will free Ben. We have a plan, Nelson, a solid plan. This time tomorrow, Ben will be free, and this will all be behind us.”
Nelson spoke softly. “So…I can still give my speech, right? You’re not going to lock me in a closet till after the Anniversary?”
Edwin shook his head. “If you promise to trust me, I promise to trust you. Deal?”
There was a long pause, as Nelson came to a grudging acceptance of the terms. “Deal,” he said, at last.
* * *
Nelson was exhausted. He was used to long nights, having worked night shift for several months now, but he normally was just sitting around at his desk, not running around maintenance tunnels and dodging sketchy Security guards. He’d barely been home five minutes, keen on a hot shower and something to eat—or maybe something to eat and a hot shower, he hadn’t decided yet—when there was a knock at his door. All he’d wanted to do was get fed and freshened up before heading back to the festivities. Was that so much to ask?
Mrs. Temple, his neighbor, smiled warmly at him as he peered out through a small crack, unwilling to allow her entry. Mrs. Temple was a talker, and Nelson was in no mood for chatting just now. “Yes?” he asked. “What is it?”
“Sorry to bother you, dear, but a messenger came for you a few hours ago. I told him you weren’t home, but I’d be happy to give it to you straight away when you returned.” She held out the folded note. Nelson wished for the thousandth time that they’d just all been issued tablets. With tablets, they had an instant communication network. But because there were so few of them, they were mostly reserved for those in Supervisory roles, and they were never allowed to leave the Sigil building. Sanctuary had plenty of ways to recycle resources, and plenty of ways to repair tech, but precious few sources of raw materials. When he ran Sanctuary, the first thing he would do would be to open up mines in the earth beneath them. There wouldn’t be a man in Sanctuary walking around without a tablet when he was through. Everyone would be connected all of the time, no more of this stupid, antiquated need to write everything down. “Thank you, Mrs. Temple,” he said, taking the paper and closing the door on her before she could start asking him questions about his day.
It was a letter from the Core Operations Supervisor.
Mr. Prior did not arrive for his shift this morning, it read. Please proceed directly to Core Operations on receipt ofthis notice. Thank you.
Nelson sighed. For once in his life, he felt absolutely unmotivated. He didn’t want to go to work, he just wanted to sleep. Thanks a lot, Ripley, he thought to himself as he put his uniform back on. What have I ever done to you?
Bleary-eyed and sore all over, he arrived at headquarters half an hour later. He checked in and made his way to his station, passing the Supervisor, who didn’t so much as extend a simple thank you. He leaned an elbow on his work panel, resting his chin in his palm and squinting down at his log through half-open eyes, only partially certain that the numbers he was entering were correct. He dozed off a couple of times, once nearly cracking his head against the panel when it slipped out of his hand. It was at this point in time that Nelson was lucid enough to realize how hungry he was, and looked up to see that it was just about time for him to leave.
And this was exactly how Nelson Boggs came to be at just the right place at just the right moment. As he’d always told anyone who would listen, opportunities only present themselves to those who present themselves for opportunity! He was just passing the guard station when he heard the Supervisor complaining loudly, “Can’t believe they can’t just send someone up to get it themselves, expect me to bring them all the way down to Pod Manufacturing for them, as if I don’t have enough to do, working double shifts—”
“Excuse me,” Nelson said, “I could take them for you.”
The Supervisor whirled on him, eying him suspiciously. “What did you say?”
“I could take whatever you’ve got there down to Pod Manufacturing for you. It would be no trouble.”
She looked at the clock. “You’re supposed to leave now. Don’t you want to get to the festivities? Buy some souvenirs, enjoy the food?”
“No,” he lied. His stomach growled. “Well, yes. But it shouldn’t take me long to make a quick delivery. I don’t mind, honestly.”
She pursed her lips, mulling it over. “All right then,” she said at last. “Here you go. Give these to the Supervisor on duty.”
“Yes, ma’am!” he said, sounding a little more eager than he’d intended. He grabbed the papers quickly before she could change her mind. What a stroke of luck! He forgot all about his promise to Edwin as all his dreams from the night before came flooding back to him. Clutched in his hands, at this very moment, was his ticket to glory! He glanced down at the papers, looking them over. It contained a whole slew of data concerning outside atmospheric conditions and weather pattern predictions. What a strange thing to request in Pod Manufacturing. But no matter, he wouldn’t care if it were a requisition order for fungi samples. He’d deliver it with a smile. Heck, he’d deliver fungi samples with a smile!
Reaching the guarded door, he approached confidently. “I need to deliver this!” he said, cheerfully. One of the guards reached out for the papers, and Nelson drew them back against his chest, looking indignant. “Not to you,” he clarified, aghast. “To the Supervisor!”
The guard shook his head with a sigh but let Nelson enter. He was nearly skipping now, filled with a renewed vigor. The room was almost empty, as Pods wasn’t an essential department, so all of the employees had been allowed the whole day off. Just a few employees, perhaps finishing overdue tasks, lingered. He approached one of the men who was still there. “Excuse me, where can I find the Supervisor?”
The man pointed down the aisle toward another door. “In there, but you might not want to—”
“Thanks!” Nelson said,
and continued on.
He knocked at the door, and let himself in without waiting for a response. “Pardon my interruption—”
He stopped dead in his tracks. Inside the room, not ten feet away, the Pod Manufacturing Supervisor stood speaking with Councilor Nero.
Nelson felt his face drain of color. He struggled to remember his mission. His feet felt glued to the ground.
“What is this?” Nero snarled. “Who are you?”
“Councilor Nero,” stammered Nelson, “It’s such an honor, sir...”
“What are you doing here?”
What was he doing here? What kind of a question was that? Didn’t they know?
“I, uh…” he trailed off, then tried again. “I’m…I’m delivering this!” he nearly shouted, triumphant. “I was told to deliver this to the Pod Manufacturing Supervisor, so here I am…delivering it. To you.”
Nero eyed Nelson with open contempt, but the Supervisor strode forward to take the papers from him. He forced his fingers to release them into the Elf’s outstretched hand.
“I told her to deliver it herself,” he grumbled, annoyed.
“The Core Operations Supervisor was quite busy,” Nelson said, weakly.
“Aren’t we all?”
“Of course, sir.”
“Thank you. That will be all.”
Nelson nodded and backed out of the room. He was still breathing heavily as he shut the door, then turned to lean against it. Out of Nero’s presence, his sensibilities slowly began to return. He scanned the room. It was now completely empty.
With not a moment to lose, Nelson strode to the nearest door. He hesitated before opening it, but decided it couldn’t possibly be any worse than storming in on Nero. He braced himself, turned the knob, and opened it slowly.
Jackpot. The room was full of pods, this must be the storage unit Ben had mentioned. He walked quickly along the rows, searching for a clue, scanning the top of the walls for the hidden door. Finding nothing, he crouched down, crawling along the floor. There—he saw it. In between an uneven stack of crates and an upright pod was a small space, just big enough to crawl through. He pressed himself through, and stood up again. There was the keypad! He reached forward and pressed the largest button.
To his dismay, nothing happened.
Locked! He looked around, as if hoping to find a key hanging nearby, but of course a key would do him no good. They must have locked it after Ben wandered in. He bent down to study the keypad, but it offered no clue as to the unlock code. For one brief, frantic moment, he thought about just punching in his own home access code, but decided against it. But then, how was he supposed to get the room to go down? His destiny cried out to him from beneath his feet—what cruel twist of fate was this?
Unwilling to give up, he paced back and forth. To his horror, he heard the sound of someone approaching the room. He had to hide. He stepped up to the nearest pod and pulled the latch. It swung open, and he clambered inside, drawing it quickly closed behind him. For the second time in as many days, Nelson found himself squeezed into a small, enclosed space. At least I’m not claustrophobic, he said to himself. There’s always that.
The pod was not as uncomfortable as the cabinet had been. The pods had been in all sorts of configurations, and he considered himself fortunate that he’d chosen one with only a small window, lined in a soft material. He hunkered down, listening, but the pod seemed to have some sort of soundproofing, because the only thing he could hear was the beating of his own heart. I’ll just stay here for a bit, he decided. I’ll give it ten minutes, then poke my head out and see if they’ve left.
Nelson closed his eyes, grateful for a brief respite from all the excitement.
And with that, thinking happy thoughts about his future triumphs, Nelson fell fast asleep.
nine
Reunion
Ripley and Felix had been searching the tunnels for hours, beams of light spilling out in front of them, illuminating each of the dark passages they'd explored. The headlamps had been hung in a neat row inside a maintenance staff room right near the Sigil station. The keypad on the door had been smashed, presumably by vandals, and no one had bothered to replace it. A little tugging from Felix was all it took to coax the door open wide enough to slip inside. They found an odd assortment of supplies, and they absconded with the headlamps, a pry bar, six ration packs ("What? We could be down here a while," reasoned Felix.) and a sack full of small tools that had littered the table. Now that the door was open, it was likely that others would come and take whatever was left behind, so they grabbed an extra headlamp for Willow, too. Felix hadn't wanted her to meet them in the tunnels, but once they found the entrance—if they found the entrance—they would go back for her.
They'd explored eight tunnels—or was it nine? —so far, keeping a meticulous record at Ripley's insistence on a hand-drawn map. When D6 had been sealed off, the Tube had still needed to run beneath it. So instead of completely barricading D6, it was the side tunnels and shafts that had been blocked. The trouble was, all of the bulkheads were placed where the tunnels emerged from below ground, which meant they had to search each individual tunnel to be certain it was a dead end. In addition to tracks, there were a number of maintenance shafts. These were too small to walk through, and Ripley and Felix had crawled for what seemed like ages, climbing ladders and exploring ductwork. The tunnels with tracks were easier, since they could walk, but they proved to be a horrible maze of offshoots, small stations, and turnabouts. They were both tired and sore, and they had a lot of tunnels left to search. "Maybe we should split up," Ripley decided.
"Yeah, we can cover more ground that way. We'll meet back here in—" Felix glanced around, as if expecting to find a clock. "I don't know. Just meet back here."
Ripley took a service tunnel to the right, and Felix moved off to the left to follow an unmarked passage up ahead.
Ripley’s knees were practically screaming in protest by the time he crawled back into the main tunnel twenty minutes later. It had led to, unsurprisingly, another dead end. He straightened up, stretching, and heard a familiar, unwelcome voice behind him.
"Well, well, well." Ripley recognized it instantly, and he closed his eyes. He didn't have time for this. Not now. "If it isn't Ripley Prior, Defender of Peace and Unity." These last words came out dripping with sarcasm. Ripley turned to face the men behind him.
"More like defender of tyrants and terrorists!" said one of the others. It was clear that this new speaker had been drinking. Tall and hulking, he wasn’t wearing a Security uniform. He stepped toward Ripley, but then stumbled a bit, as if he expected the floor to be a few inches lower than it actually was. He scowled at the ground accusingly, then up at Ripley. “You see a scrawny kid run by here, Elf-lover?”
Ripley shook his head as he sized up the group. There were four of them. Last time, it had been only two. He knew he was in trouble. He might be able to outrun them, if he could take them by surprise. "Listen," Ripley said, putting his hands up slowly, "I don't want any trouble. I really need to be on my way."
"You hear that, boys?" This guy was clearly their leader. He stood tall, the shadow of a beard giving his face a gruff, unkempt appearance. "He needs to be on his way."
Suddenly, two rough hands grabbed Ripley’s wrists and yanked, twisting them behind his body. He cried out as his attacker wrenched his shoulders, forcing him to his knees. Ripley had been so focused on the group before him that he hadn’t noticed the fifth man in the shadows behind him.
"You're going to have to excuse us for holding you up, Mr. Prior. You see, we wanted to have a little chat about the other night. Real convenient, running into you here. Nice, private place for a heart-to-heart, wouldn’t you agree?”
One of the other men spoke up. “Uh, Denton, what about—” But Denton raised a hand and his companion fell silent.
“I thought we'd come to…an understanding, you and I. But clearly, you have a short memory." One of the men pounded his fist into an open palm, gri
nding it menacingly. Ripley tried hard to think of a witty retort, something that would make him sound a lot less scared than he actually was.
Nothing came to mind.
"You see, we didn't like the way you butted in on our private conversation. We thought you ought to learn a little bit about self-respect and minding your own business."
"You were drunk, and you were being very rude to that woman."
"Nah, that's where you're wrong. We were drunk, but we weren't being rude to no woman. We were telling a Halfsie to go back where she belonged. They've got no business in our market."
"There're no rules against anyone going to the market—"
"Of course, there ain't any rules against it! Because the Elves get to make all the rules. They're the ones that put us here to begin with, and they've been telling us to learn our place ever since."
"Even if that were true, so what? That doesn't make it right to discriminate."
"We ain't discriminating. We hate all Halfsies equally. Humans should never have sunk so low as to make little mongrels with the likes of Elves." He spat, a look of hatred twisting his already ugly features. "They put us here. First, they invaded our home. Now they treat us like second class citizens. And what? We're expected to worship them for saving us? Nah. It ain't right. We warned you. We told you no good would come from cavortin’ with the enemy. Then you have the nerve to go parading around with one, the very next day! Right in front of us, after we warned you. Yeah, we saw ya. And we ain’t pleased."
