by Mark Eller
Even drunk, Aaron found her clumsy and obvious.
His companion cocked her head and studied the woman for several moments before speaking. "Space, child, he wants space." Reaching into her front pocket, she pulled out a card and handed it to the waitress. "If you insist on playing the game, you better learn how to do it effectively. Go here between ten and four. You'll find people you can talk to. If you like them, and they like you, they'll train you on how to attract a man. Now, if you're ready to take our order, we would both like lemon tea." She clapped her hands. "Get on with it, girl."
Flouncing indignation, the waitress left. Aaron laughed, and his laughter surprised him. It wasn't something he did much anymore. "What was the card?"
"Hmmm. The card?" The woman shrugged. "That was nothing. It's the address to a modeling agency. It fell out of the pocket of one of the people I exercise with." Her eyes rested on his face. "Tell me, my friend, it's been a long time since you've been happy, has it not?"
Aaron's laughter died. "Does it show?"
"It shows to those who look for the signs. It shows better to those who have a bit of Talent for these things. When I look at you I see someone tired of living. I see someone who is unsure of what he wants to be or of where he's going. I see someone teetering on the edge."
The waitress came back and angrily rattled two teacups of hot water down on the table. After plunking two brass tea balls into the water, she left. Aaron stared at his tea ball, mesmerized by the thin stream of bubbles rising from the small holes. The ball was brass. Everything metal in this world was made of brass, bronze, copper, or a few other basic metals. In his home world, iron was the king of metals. In this parallel world, iron and all its alloys were almost unknown. Few people ever saw a chunk of iron ore. Fewer still conceived a use for it beyond those rare pieces that happened to be naturally magnetized. Those pieces were Talent Stones. Purely By accident Aaron had learned that a Talent Stone's ability to amplify Talent came not from the substance of the stone itself, but from its magnetism. After making this discovery, he had carried a substantial number of lead wrapped toy magnets along with him on his last transfer between Jefferson and Isabella. Most of those magnets were hidden away with his hidden silver bars, but he wore one around his neck and had given away a few others. Most of those went to Isabellan soldiers who then used their enhanced Talents to kill Clan leaders
And why was he thinking of this? Maybe he was drunk.
Nah, he really was drunk. No 'maybe' about it.
"You're drifting."
Aaron pulled himself together. "Sorry. I was thinking."
"No, I mean you're really drifting. You haven't found a place to settle down. You haven't found a purpose that challenges."
Aaron scowled. "I don't want a purpose. I want a total and complete lack of stress. I want peace and," he turned his scowl back on the waitress while she waited on another table, "I want to be left alone. I'm tired of feeling like a piece of meat in a butcher's shop."
She laughed gently. "You have to expect that when there are so few men. After all, women don't want to make and raise babies by themselves. They want a formalized family that will help support their children."
Aaron snorted. By the rules of this place, every man was available because polygamy ruled. In theory, a man could have a hundred wives or even more. In actuality, only a rare few accepted more than four wives. Most only had one or two.
"Is that what you're doing?" he asked. "Are you trying to grab me, too?"
"Oh, no. No." She shook her head. "I'm a complete abnormality. I don't want a man. I don't even want a woman. No, dear, I've no interest in children or personal intimacy, at all. That part of my equation seems to have been forgotten, so I sit back and watch and laugh at the rest of you."
"Laugh away." Aaron lifted his tea and took a taste. It was strong enough so he removed the tea ball and set it on his saucer. The lemon had a slightly bitter bite. "You won't laugh at me. I have one wife and no intention of cheating on her. That type of thing just isn't done where I come from."
"A strange place, then, where being with another woman is considered cheating. By the way, my name is Felicity Stromburg. You've probably gathered from this conversation that I'm a Miss."
"Aaron Turner."
"Well then, Aaron Turner, perhaps I really can help you, unlike the help I gave our panting waitress." She pulled her carryall up to the tabletop and rummaged through it. Her search finally produced a pencil and a small sheet of paper.
"What's that?" he asked as she wrote.
"This, my dear sir, is my address. I may not be interested in gaining a lover, but I enjoy having friends. If you feel the same way, we might get together sometime. We can watch some plays or maybe just go for walks, and if you feel the need, you might open up and talk to me about your problems. I've found that talking can do a person a world of good."
"You sound a bit like a head shrink," Aaron told her.
Chuckling, she reached out to rest her hand on his arm. "Trust me. I don't want to shrink your head. I do want to discover how it works. See, I'm honest. My Talent is strong enough to let me sense things. It lets me know when something is bothering people, and it helps people open themselves up to me because something inside my brain wants to make things right." She smiled ruefully. "I don't know the rules on how to do that yet, but I'm working on them."
Aaron stared at her. His head felt heavy, his thoughts thick. "Have you ever taken psychology?"
"I've never heard of psychology."
"If you keep on the path you're following, you'll probably invent it." Aaron shook his arm out from under her hand. "I like you, Miss Stromburg, I really do. I just don't want to be your experiment."
She nodded. "Not an uncommon reaction. Why don't you take my address anyway? You can always look me up if things get tough."
Aaron pushed back his chair, stood, and accepted the paper. It never hurt to be polite. "I'll buy the tea."
"But I offered."
His smile felt crooked. "Doesn't matter. It's a habit I've gotten into. Paying. For everything."
He turned and left her sitting at his table. When he reached the counter, he tossed the register girl a few coins. He didn't know their worth, and didn't care. At the least, they equaled the price of two teas. Possibly, they equaled the girl's weekly take-home pay.
Felicity Stromsburg's voice came to him across the restaurant's floor. "Why do I get the impression that you're not speaking of paying with money? Why do I think that you feel you owe the entire world for your existence?"
Aaron turned to look at her. Her expression was intense, longing. She wanted a piece of his head, and he was damned if he would give it to her. Nodding once, he turned away and pushed the door open. Pressing his lips straight, he opened his mouth, drew in a deep breath, and released it with a sigh.
"Because I do," he whispered.
* * *
Too drunk to transfer, Aaron began walking to his apartment in the fading remnants of sunlight. Across the street, a woman opened the cover over the controls for one of the city's gaslights, something outlawed in his birth world more than a century before.
Sometimes Aaron missed that world. Sometimes he missed being the crippled little boy and then the weird little man who was a mainstay--or the jackass--of Field's Everlasting Life Militia. His role had been set in stone. He had been the mascot and the burden. The militia never expected him to make a decision so he never ruined anyone else's life. That only happened after General Field released him to become a spy. Only then had he become a monster.
Aaron thought back to the meeting earlier that day. He and Amanda and Mistress Catlow had been confronted by a hoard of vultures wanting to bring him down. The only thing in his favor was a sheath of signed papers granting him all the rights of a citizen, if not citizenship itself. The papers gave him strong privileges, stronger than he'd had any right to expect. Those rights had been granted because he had Amanda Bivins for a lawyer, and because Isabella wanted acce
ss to his books.
The problem was that the papers could be declared null and void. Such a declaration would have to be defended in court. The ensuing case would become ugly and result in a new constitutional amendment along with spreading the knowledge around that the books existed. Fortunately for Aaron, the last thing the assembly wanted was for its neighbors to discover the source of the Isabellan Federation's new knowledge. Aaron's books would ensure that within a few years Isabella would become the economic and military powerhouse of the entire world. Some of the knowledge they contained was only a few decades ahead of what was known by this world's scientists. Some was centuries in advance of this world's capabilities. Already, the new farming methods were making a tremendous change in the few places they had been tried, and the seeds Kara Perkins had brought with her had improved matters even more. New crops came in thicker, richer, and with a much smaller percentage of loss. Perk's seeds outstripped anything previously grown.
Now there was a change Aaron should have thought of making. With the contribution of seeds, Perk had assured the eventual end of starvation in this country. Her place in society was set. She was the new grower and the most accomplished trainer in unarmed combat for Isabella's armed forces. Perk was strong and sure, and the things she claimed ownership of were no threat to Isabella's security. Because of this, Isabella wanted to keep her. Isabella also wanted to keep Aaron's books, but wanted to throw him out. Well, the assembly did anyway--some of them.
Aaron had to give them an ironclad reason to keep him around. He had no place to go except Chin if he was kicked out of the country, and he didn't want to go there under any circumstances. Helmet would expect Aaron to take part in his wars.
Creee … Creee … Creee
Blinking, Aaron took note of his location. His home was still distant, and his mind was still too fogged for him to transfer. He guessed a cab had just passed. The squeaking axle told him that much. It sometimes seemed like every cab and wagon in the city squeaked. That was one thing this world needed-- good grease and tight seals. Brass bushings didn't sound sweet once their lubricants were forced past sloppy seals.
"Hey, mister,"
"What?" He looked around, confused.
"Down here."
A tug on his shirt. Aaron looked down to see a man who could not have been taller than three feet. He would have called the person a small boy if it were not for the heavy beard decorating his face. As best Aaron could recall, this was the first fully adult male he had encountered in this world who owned fewer inches than Aaron. In his home world Aaron's five-foot-six-inches was slightly short. In this world of six-foot plus, broad-shouldered men, it was tiny.
The man held a flyer in one hand and had a stack of them cradled beneath his arm. "This might interest you. The main acts start at noon and three-thirty." He handed the flyer over and then sidled up to a man who had paused to observe traffic before crossing the street. "Hey, mister."
Aaron looked at the flyer and grunted. An entertainment that called itself The Mystery promised an experience like never before.
Folding up the flyer, he shoved it into his pocket. This Mystery promised to be in town for the next couple weeks. It might be something to do on a slow day, but probably not.
Creee … Creee … Creee
A taxi. "Hey!"
The female driver pulled to a stop and looked down at him. "What can I do for you?"
"You can take me home. I need to get to Harbough House."
"And where exactly might that be?
"Do you know where Vine and Marbeth come together?"
She frowned in thought. "I know Marbeth. Not really sure where Vine is. I've only been driving for a month so I don't have it all up here." She tapped her skull with the knuckles of one hand. "If you climb up front you can point the way. I'll only charge you half-fare since you'll be teaching me the route."
"You got a deal." Aaron scrambled onto the high seat as quickly as his still-spinning head allowed.
The cab driver waited until he was almost seated before geeing the horses along. The sudden motion threw Aaron into his seat. His butt landed with a hard thump, lurching him sideways into the driver.
She snickered at his clumsiness. "Don't you mind me, love. I've had a few right handsome bundles throwing themselves at me a time or two. Name's Miss Saundra Clarice. What moniker might you go by?"
"Aaron Turner."
"Aaron Turner, huh? Tell me, Mister Turner, how many times you been married?"
Oh Gods. Not again.
"Six times so far, and not a one of them women turned out to be worth their salt. I swear to the Gods that I'm going to keep trying until I get it right." Giving her a sloppy smile, he released an alcohol-laden belch. "You don't happen to have a flask on you, do ya? That's one of the problems with the ones I married. There ain't a one of 'em what has a proper appreciation for a man's drink."
She gave him a long, slow look. "Okay, I get the message. I'll lay off if you quit lying. I have to tell you, Mister Aaron Turner, you can't lie for nothing. One of the first rules is to keep it simple. The next is to make sure some element of your lie is believable." She paused as Aaron started chortling. "What did I say?"
"Nothing," he answered through drunken gasps. "I just remembered thinking almost those same words once."
"Well, it doesn't matter who said 'em. They're just as true as if they came right out of the Sphinx's mouth. Speaking of the Sphinx, I knew a man once who claimed to have seen the real thing. Now I ain't saying this is an actual true tale, but I'm telling you now that I believe every single word of it because I do know the fellow and a more sober and unimaginative sort you'll have a most difficult time finding. This is the way of it. He happened to be in a bar in Nefra one day when…"
She went on to spin a minutes-long lie that ended up with her hero sleeping in the same bed as a pig that thought it was a child. The pig became so convinced of its role that it learned to read because that was what children were expected to do.
Aaron laughed and then retaliated by relating the antics of one of his favorite sit-coms when he lived in Jefferson. When he finished, she looked at him with confused silence. He shrugged his apology before she started in on a fresh tale. She was halfway finished when he interrupted her.
"Your turn."
"What?"
"Your turn."
"Well, you ninny, I'm taking my turn. If you happened to be paying my story the least attention, you'd have noticed that I'm doing a better job of it than you ever did. At least some of my plot is believable."
Aaron allowed himself to look surprised. "What part would that be? I must have slept through it."
"The part where I said 'Once upon a time.' Now what's this about my turn?"
"You missed it. The last street back there is Marbeth."
She looked over her shoulder and then turned her gaze back to him. "Think I don't know we passed it? I'm the professional driver here. I knew I passed Marbeth the moment you mentioned it to me. The thing is, I know a long cut. We have to take it if I'm ever going to get through this tale. Do you have any idea on how to turn these horses around?"
"I think you're supposed to use the reins," Aaron supplied.
"I always wondered what those things were for. Yo, mules. Swing on around here."
She eventually managed to get Aaron to his building. Notwithstanding their earlier discussion, he paid her the full fare and then added a twenty percent tip for the entertainment. Despite himself, he felt drawn to her. A part of him wanted to see what would happen if he tried to cage a kiss. He suspected she would be a willing participant, and he was almost drunk enough to give it a try. Her expression said she half-expected it.
Sarah's face wavered before Aaron's vision. Warrior eyes narrowed. She shook her head no, and then her specter faded away.
Aaron felt his features grow hard. He closed his eyes, opened them again, then looked dispassionately at Miss Saundra Clarice while deep inside he fought down grief.
Her
half-parted lips whispered something, and then clamped tight.
"Perhaps I'll need another ride someday," Aaron told her. "If so, we'll meet again."
"I suppose we will," she replied coldly. "Good day to you, sir.
"Good evening."
Chin held high, she clicked her tongue, and the cab rolled off. Aaron watched her go. She had been a joyful companion. She had been bright and vivacious and had shown genuine interest in him. With one look, with one break in the conversation, he had destroyed their tenuous connection.
Saddened, he went into his apartment building and slowly climbed the steps to his rooms. After fumbling with his keys, he finally found the right one and let himself in. He picked up a wine bottle, pulled the cork, and filled a wineglass that already held a few swallows of last night's dregs. Taking the glass, he made his way to his reading chair, set the wineglass on the end table, and lifted the book he was trying to make his way through. A half hour later he emptied his glass, got up to refill it, and tried reading some more.
It was no good. He couldn't read. He couldn't even remember the last few paragraphs. At one time reading had been a mainstay of his life. No more. He hadn't finished a book since Sarah and Ernest died.
Gods, he was just so damned tired.
He wanted another drink.
Chapter 3
"Hey, hey, hey, give me my share or I'm gunna pop you one."
"Makky, I found this place today. Looks like an easy lift ta me, but I want ya ta check it out first. The way I see it is--."
"Joline! Get yer sorry arse back here before ya don't get any. Boder went and got us some of the best eats I ever seen. The least you can do is chew while it's hot."
"What do ya mean, yer share, Pater? Who was it what spent the last two weeks cozyin' up to the butcher, huh? I ask ya that? Who was it? It was me; that's who! It was me what got all these fine scraps, and here ya go gripin' 'cause ya think I'm takin' more'n my fair share. Just remember that I let ya--."
Bicker. Bicker. Bicker. Makky sat on his stoop, watched his troops bicker, and felt good about it. People did not argue unless they had the energy to do so. His people had that much energy and more because Eldon Makky watched over them. He made the plans, set up the marks, and made the last call on which stores and roadside peddlers they would scam or toss. It wasn't a glorious life or even a good one, but it kept his tribe fed. He had been in charge for the last two years, and in all that time he had lost only two people, leaving him with five of his original seven and another four who joined later. Finding replacements had been easy. Makky was getting a name for himself. He was getting a name, and other kids wanted to get inside his tribe, but he couldn't allow it. His numbers were as high as he could handle.
