by Mark Eller
"I noticed."
"Now this is embarrassing." She gave him an abashed grin and rubbed a hand across the back of her neck. "You were supposed to make your dramatic exit, and I was supposed to go off into my self-imposed exile. Then we would have bittersweet memories of our last moments together." She gave a small laugh, attempting to make light of the matter, but Aaron knew she was only half-joking. "It's all we have left, Aaron. There's no hope for more."
"Why are we still here?" Delmac demanded.
Delmac's habitual anger washed over Aaron, chaffing at him like fine-grain sandpaper.
"It didn't work." Aaron ran mental fingers through his mind, stroked that special section that was his Talent. It vibrated to his mental touch. It was ready to work. It just refused to do so.
He fastened his eyes on Cathy. She presented a brave front, but he saw the unhappiness she buried deep inside. She needed hope.
"Anything can happen, Cathy," he said. "One day you'll be free. A year, ten, twenty. When you're free you can come to me. I'll be waiting."
Her laugh was bitter. "Do you think I haven't thought of that? I wish death for no man, not even the one I married, but I'll outlive my husband. Women almost always do. Would you like it if I came to you then?"
"Yes."
"Right." She tossed her head; fine hair drifted in the created breeze. "Tell me, what will you do when I show up on your doorstep, an old woman wrapped in age spots and wrinkles while you stand in front of me all young and vibrant?"
Confused, Aaron shook his head. "What are you talking about?"
She stepped toward him with an almost savage intensity. Her hand jerked at the cord he wore around his neck, yanking the small pouch it held from inside his shirt.
"I'm talking about this. You have a Talent Stone. You know what that means as well as I do."
He shrugged. "Apparently not. As far as I know, it just amplifies Talent. Remember, you taught me everything I know about how the Stones work."
"Oh." Some of her intensity drained. Her manner became almost withdrawn as she tucked the pouch back inside his shirt. "You really don't know, do you? You have no idea." Her hand cupped the side of his head. "You look exactly the same as when I first met you. In ten years I'll be able to say almost the same thing. Talent Stone owners live for a long time. A very long time."
Unknowable emotion washed through Aaron. "How long?"
"I don't know," she said. "I've read that some people age one year in three. One woman was calculated at one year in fifteen, but an assassin knifed her before she reached a hundred. Aaron, you could live hundreds of years yet."
Delmac's barking laughter broke their connection. "Death won't live past five years. His crimes will catch up to his conscience, and he will rid the world of his presence." His smile seemed almost gleeful. "I will be there to see it."
"You are not a good person," Heralda said.
"I am a wronged person. This man has taken too much from us."
"That was war," she snapped. "That has always been war. We would have lost, anyway, only we would have been longer about it. More of us would have died, and we would have received a harsher treaty than we now live under."
"That treaty is trash. It means nothing, because it is not honored."
"It will be honored. The Chosen will see to it. Trust him."
Delmac snorted. "I would sooner trust a war dog with a baby."
Cathy stepped back. "Try again, Aaron. Try for someplace else. Try."
"Try," Jerkak repeated.
Aaron wanted to go home. He really wanted to go home, but he did not know where that was. Last Chance was the home he had loved, but it was now a place of bitter memories. Kit was his wife; she had his children, but she was a wife who barely liked him, let alone loved him. His children did not know who he was.
N'Ark? His apartment? Apparently that was wrong, too. He had tried to go there but had somehow been rejected.
He needed his crutch. He needed the one person who obsessed about taking care of him. There was no love behind that obsession, only self-interest and ambition-- and perhaps some small part of friendship.
Aaron closed his eyes.
"Don't come back for me," Cathy said quietly. "I'm not that strong."
Flicker
* * *
The office door was ajar. Voices came through.
"I don't care who approaches you and demands you return everything. They have no legal right to do so. Mister Aaron Turner owns these items, and I have the papers to prove it. However, these orders were issued from a lower court. It won't take much for somebody to get a stay from a higher one. That means that this battle will be ugly. I want those books in our possession while the fight is going on."
"Don't worry, Miss Bivins. We know our duty and our rights and the law. The papers you showed us make us in the right."
"Miss O'Malley."
"Ma'am."
"You will answer any questions with ignorance. I'm leaving three people here. They'll be your protection and your witnesses."
"Yes, Ma'am."
Heralda, holding Zisst in her arms, looked at Aaron. "Perhaps you should take us somewhere else. This looks to be a bad time."
At that moment the office door swung open, and Amanda strode in. Her stride was purpose-filled; her face was set with determination; her body seemed to hum with manic energy. She was so focused on her task that her hand touched a tall stack of folders on her desk before her mind took in the presence of other people in her office. That did not break her mental train.
"Come along, Mister Turner," she said. "You other two stay here."
"My residence is in the Assembly Building," Delmac said. Pushing past her, he walked through the door. A few surprised sounds met his appearance.
"Let him by," Amanda called out. Her gaze fastened on Aaron. "We need to talk later. The accounts are flat busted. It will be months before new money comes in. We should start doing very well by the end of the year, but that's only if this mess gets straightened out."
"Um, I have well over a hundred pounds of silver buried beneath some trees," Aaron said helpfully.
Amanda stilled. The energy filling her seemed to vibrate with a deadly intensity. Her voice became carefully emotionless.
"You have what?"
"I had more than a hundred pounds of silver with me when I was in Last Chance. I didn't know what else to do with it, so I buried it before coming here."
"I see--Mister Turner, this is another little talk we are going to have. I'll mention just how worried I've been about holding things together. I'll tell you how I scrimped and saved, how I threw my own small savings into the collective pot. I might even mention the many bankers I spoke to, and how I abased myself while begging each one for a line of credit. When I finish explaining these matters to you, you can explain to me why you never mentioned that you have enough silver stored away to pay our expenses for the next dozen or twenty years."
"Well, you see--."
Amanda held up a hand. "This needs to wait a while. We have things to do. I've worked myself into a terrible mood for this event so you don't want to explain yourself now. Also, I have a headache. Did I mention my bad mood? Have I told you just how horribly my head is pounding? Who is this with you?"
"I live with him now," Heralda supplied.
Amanda closed her eyes, bit her lip, and opened her eyes again. Her hand griped the top folder. "This is no time for another scandal. Please tell me you married her."
"She's more of a ward than anything else," Aaron explained.
Amanda's hand slowly released its grasp, her shoulders firmed, and her face hardened. Deep creases lined her forehead. "I'm already in a foul mood so I should thank you for telling me this now instead of later." She gathered the folders. "Come with me, Mister Turner. Girl, stay here."
"Doesn't she work for you?" Heralda asked in a hushed voice. "I thought she took your orders."
"That's only when she isn't angry," Aaron whispered. "I really have to go. Y
ou better stay here."
"Kerloc," Zisst said, trying to wiggle free of Heralda's grasp.
"I'll wait," Heralda promised.
He was already out the door.
Heidi O'Malley's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Mister Turner?"
"Let's go, people!" Amanda shouted. "Now!"
Aaron stayed as close on Amanda's heels as he could. A group of people followed them. They made their way into the hallway, down the stairs, and out onto the street. Four full-sized covered wagons, each fastened to a double team of horses, waited with ready drivers in the seats. Amanda leaped into the lead wagon's bench seat. Aaron clambered in after her while women and men climbed into the wagons.
"Go."
"Ay-yup." Their driver snapped his reins, and the horses started out at a sedate walk that caused Amanda to nod.
"Okay, what gives?" Aaron asked after several silent minutes. "I've gathered we're going to collect the books, but that's all I know. Who are these people? Why are we doing this, and why are you so angry?"
"What gives?" Her body was stiff. "These people work for the Guardian Detective and Protective Services Agency. We are retrieving the books because there has been political corruption, arson, and murder."
Aaron went cold, remembering his aborted attempts to transfer to his apartment. His Talent had seldom failed him before. During each of those times, his arrival point had dramatically changed from the image in his mind. "Arson? Murder?"
"Mister Chatham was murdered. Your apartment building was burned, and most of the people in it are dead. The only people who made it out alive were either bottom floor residents or not at home when the building went up. Nineteen of those were found, but only eighteen survived. A few residents are still unaccounted for, but not all the bodies have been dug out yet."
His building? Gone?
Nobody left alive on his floor. Miss Frainwind dead? Impossible. It had not been so very long ago that Aaron had sat at his kitchen table and watched as she cleaned his apartment. Then there was the Jerkins family, two women, their husband, and four kids. The Wilsons, Miss Hemmens, and Koreen Van Benworst, the aging matron who worked second shift at some factory Aaron had never bothered to question her about.
And what about Widow Severn and her son, Billy?
Men. Women. All those children dead for the wanting of Aaron's books. All for the books.
Calmness settled into him. Ice chilled his veins. His attention focused until he became determined purpose, until he felt like the name they had given him--Death.
* * *
The Valdan Science Center was housed in the three largest buildings the university possessed. Amanda gestured for the wagons to stop before the front doors of the Edward P. Kurial Building. All but eight people followed her through the doors. Those eight guarded the horses and wagons.
Although it was after dark, several night classes were in session. With the season's heat baking the building's interior, all the classroom doors were open to provide cooling. Professors stopped lectures as twenty-plus people went past their open doors. Students left their desks, went to the open doors, and gawked.
Aaron did not care. He felt calm, still, directed. He would get his books. Nothing else mattered. He wanted those books.
At the hallway's end, they entered a stairwell and went down. They did not pause at the first underground level. Instead, they continued to the lowest, went through a heavy metal door, and traversed half the length of another hallway before reaching a metal door possessing two locks. Amanda pulled out a ring with two keys from her waistband, unlocked one lock and then the other. Aaron smiled with grim appreciation. Part of their deal with the university had been that Turner Enterprises had immediate access to Aaron's books. The university had been kind enough to give them keys.
When the door swung open, they were staring at a line of shelves holding far too many books. The number of books Aaron had brought over from Jefferson was huge, but not enough to explain the filled shelves. Other material had been added to the lot.
"Glad we brought four wagons," somebody muttered.
Two tables were placed near the closest shelf. Four people sat at that table, a pile of papers on one side of them, a book to their front as they wrote. The room held six guards. A dozen unoccupied tables showed where other copyists worked during the day.
"What's going on here?" one guard demanded. Striding angrily forward, he pulled a short sword free of its sheath. A foot taller than Aaron, the man was huge.
The female guards did not move, but all touched their weapons. Two looked hesitant.
Amanda held out one of her folders. "My name is Miss Amanda Bivins. I am the lawyer of Mister Aaron Turner. These books are his property, and we are here to retrieve them. Inside this folder you will find a true copy of a legal decree ordering you to release them into our custody."
Taking the folder from her, the male guard looked as if he was not sure what to do with it. Amanda stepped further into the room and dropped several folders on each of the tables.
"Mister Turner--I recognize you," one of the writers said. "We met in Last Chance, remember? We made a deal. We had an agreement. You can't take these books away."
Aaron recognized the man, though he couldn't remember his name. As Aaron recalled, he had arranged for the care and safe keeping of the books.
Aaron pointed a steady finger, and then waved his hand to take in the entire collection. "We had a deal. We agreed there would be limited access to the books. We did not agree they should be copied, or that their control should leave my hands. We did not agree that my apartment should be burned and my neighbors murdered because I refused to crawfish to a bunch of politicians. Sir, these books, and the illegally created copies, are my property. I will have them."
Amanda stood beside him once more. Everything felt still and distant. The force in Aaron's voice seemed to come from a place he was not connected to. His neighbors were dead. The children were dead.
"Take them," Amanda told the people behind her. "Use whatever force is necessary to remove the property of Aaron Turner. Anyone trying to stop you is subject to a fine of fifty gold and six months in jail, not to mention what we will do to them. We have a court order protecting us."
"To hell with your order," the belligerent guard growled. Contemptuously dropping the folder, he slapped Amanda across the side of her head with the flat of his sword. Amanda cried out, reeled sideways, and fell to her knees. Blood poured down her face, running from a split cheek and a cut temple.
What followed happened in slow motion for Aaron. He stepped forward, reached out, and grasped the man's sword arm. He twisted and pulled until the limb was stiff with the elbow pointing up. He then struck that elbow with his forearm, using all his weight. The guard's elbow snapped with a loud pop. His sword dropped free. Its hilt banged Aaron's hip as it fell. When the guard started to punch Aaron with his other hand, Aaron thrust his knuckles into his throat the way Kara Perkins had once taught him.
He watched calmly while the man staggered backward, gagged, and fell to his knees. Picking up the discarded sword, Aaron straightened as Amanda climbed to her feet. Around them, people suddenly rushed in. Some pulled Amanda backwards. Others held weapons in their hands.
"I am very angry," Aaron told the five remaining guards in his most reasonable voice.
The guards dropped their weapons and backed away.
Despite knowing himself to be absolutely inept with a sword, some not-so-small and not-too-distant part of Aaron wished they had not given up so easily.
"This could have been handled without all the fuss," one woman muttered. "Goes to show the folly of giving weapons and authority to men."
Aaron gestured toward the injured man. "Take care of him."
The muttering woman spat on the floor. "I'd rather break the fool's other arm."
"Hey," a writer protested as one of Amanda's people swept a stack of papers into her arms. "Those don't belong to him. I copied them myself."
"I'll see
to it that paper and ink are returned," the woman said. "Mister Turner's rights protect the information you copied. Since you acted illegally, your work now belongs to him.
"Somebody give me a rag," Amanda demanded. "I need to stop this bleeding."
Another woman lifted a pile of books. "Should have brought crates to put these in."
* * *
The steady beat of horses' hooves lulled Aaron's senses. He shifted to ease Amanda into another position, making sure the rag he held to her head did not slip off.
Amanda stirred. "This really hurts. Please keep me awake. I feel sleepy."
"Let me look in your eyes."
Amanda shifted her head so Aaron could see. Her pupils weren't dilated.
"I haven't slept in two days," Amanda said. "Mister Turner, I think you and your companion need to stay at my place. You don't have an apartment anymore."
"I don't see where there's much choice in the matter," Aaron answered. "Not tonight anyway."
* * *
Aaron stood silent, watching the last of the books being carried into the warehouse Amanda had rented. The place looked more like a bunker than a rental building. Its walls and floors were stone. Its roof was sheets of copper, and its doors were solid brass. Amanda said it had been built more than a hundred years earlier as a storehouse for grain back when the city had occasionally suffered from food shortages, famine, and riots.
After the last book was offloaded, the wagons were quickly driven away. The doors were shut and barred from within. Fifteen people remained inside.
"This will only be good for a few days," Amanda said in a strained voice. "We moved fast so they'll have a difficult time tracking this place down, especially since they have to be careful what they ask of whom." One side of her face was swollen and blood-encrusted; a thin trail of red still seeped from her temple.
"I think we just let a number of people in on the secret," Aaron said. He felt drained, almost empty.
"No, sir, you haven't," one woman replied. Her uniform had a few stripes on its shoulders so Aaron assumed she was in charge of this crew. "We know you have these books, but we don't know what they contain, and none of us will ever open one. Besides, other than me and one of the drivers, none of these others know how to read. We planned it that way."
