by R F Hurteau
“Deal,” he conceded at last.
***
Nelson was exhausted. He was used to long nights, having worked the graveyard shift for several months now, but he normally was just sitting around at his desk and checking off lists, not running around maintenance tunnels and dodging sketchy Security guards. He hadn’t even 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. If she sensed weakness, she’d barge right in and make herself at home. She might, as she had said on many prior occasions, genuinely worry that Nelson was lonely and overworked. But Nelson had scrimped and saved and begged and borrowed for the immense luxury that was this solitary apartment, little more than an oversized closet. He had done so to get away from his family and the distractions of socialization. He had no need, nor desire, to be Mrs. Temple’s new gossip partner.
Mrs. Temple was a talker, and Nelson was in no mood for chatting, especially just now.
“Yes?” He was unable to muster the strength to mask his irritation. “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 that I’d be happy to give it to you straight away when you returned.” She clutched the folded note in both hands, close to her chest.
“Thank you, Mrs. Temple.” He extended an open palm to take it. When she made no move to hand it over, Nelson found himself wishing for the thousandth time that they’d just all been issued tablets. Sanctuary had plenty of ways to recycle resources, and plenty of ways to repair tech, but precious few sources of raw materials—and that meant precious few new devices.
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.
“Are you sure you’re alright, dear? You look so tired,” Mrs. Temple said. “I do worry that they’re working you to the bone. Staying up all night—it isn’t natural! I was only just talking to Nadine about it, and she said—”
“Mrs. Temple?” Nelson interrupted. “My note?”
“Ah, yes. Of course, dear.” She surrendered it to him somewhat grudgingly.
“Thank you, Mrs. Temple.”
He took the paper and closed the door on her before she could start asking him any more questions.
It was a letter from the Core Operations Supervisor.
Mr. Prior did not arrive for his shift this morning. Please proceed directly to Core Operations on receipt of this 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 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, Mr. Boggs, for coming in so promptly.” She glanced at him with a critical eye as he passed, taking in his rumpled uniform without a word.
He leaned an elbow on his workstation, resting his chin in his palm and squinting down at his log through half-open eyes, uncertain whether 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 couldn’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, ma’am” Nelson said, inserting himself into the conversation, “I could take them for you.”
The supervisor whirled on him, eying him suspiciously. “What did you say?”
Her tone was more threatening than thankful. Nelson swallowed hard, uncertain if his volunteering had been the wrong move. No, that couldn’t be. This was an opportunity; he was presenting himself.
“I could take whatever you’ve got there down to Pod Manufacturing for you,” he repeated, his voice sounding meeker than before under the searing eyes of the somewhat terrifying supervisor. “It would be no trouble.”
She glanced at the clock. “You’re supposed to leave now. Don’t you want to get to the festivities? Buy some souvenirs, enjoy the food? You must be hungry.”
“No,” he lied.
His stomach gave an audible growl. “Well, yes,” he admitted, “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 held out a small stack of paperwork. “Here you go. Give these to the supervisor on duty.”
“Yes, ma’am!” he said, sounding a little more eager than he’d intended to.
He grabbed the papers quickly before she had the chance to 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, one after another in rapid succession. 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. Heck, he’d deliver black mold samples with a wink and a bow if it got him into Pods!
He approached the guarded door with newfound confidence.
Shoulders out, back straight, Nelson drew himself up to his full height and offered the guards a winning smile. “I need to deliver this!” he announced cheerfully.
One of the guards reached out for the papers, and Nelson pulled them back against his chest while taking a quick step back. His smile had gone from his face, replaced by a look of indignance.
“Not to you,” he clarified, aghast. “To the supervisor!”
The guard gave a little shake of his head and might have rolled his eyes, but he stepped aside and let Nelson enter. He was almost skipping now, filled with a renewed vigor. The room was almost empty, as Pods wasn’t an essential department, so almost all of the employees had been allowed the entire day off. Just a few workers, perhaps finishing overdue tasks, lingered. He approached one of the men who was still there. “Excuse me, where can I find the supervisor on duty?”
The man pointed down the aisle toward another door. “In there, but you might not want to—”
“Thanks!” Nelson said before he continued on without allowing the man to finish his thought. This was not the time for negativity!
He knocked at the door and, in his exuberance, let himself in without waiting for a response.
“Pardon my interruption—”
Nelson stopped dead in his tracks. Inside the room, not ten feet away, the Pod Manufacturing supervisor stood speaking with someone. The other man’s back was turned, but the figure was unmistakable.
Councilman 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?”
“Councilman Nero,” stammered Nelson, “It’s such an honor, sir...”
Nero did not seem to care what an honor it was.
“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 it, pleased at his near flawless recovery from the shock of walking in on the head of the Elder Council.
“I was told to deliver this to the Pod Manufacturing supervisor,” he elaborated, “so here I am...delivering it.” He paused, tearing his gaze from Nero and looking to the other Elf. “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.
Nelson’s reply was rather timid. “The Core Operations supervisor was quite busy.”
“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 fast as he shut the door, then turned to lean against it. Out of Nero’s presence, his sensibilities began to trickle back. He scanned the room. A few workers milled about, but he’d come too far to let that stop him.
With not a moment to lose, Nelson strode to the nearest door. He hesitated before opening it, but decided it couldn’t 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 had to be the storage unit Ben had mentioned. He walked along the rows, searching for a clue, scanning the top of the walls for signs of the secret controls. Finding nothing, he crouched down, crawling across 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 squeezed 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. What he needed was a code.
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 combination. 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. Nelson stepped up to the nearest pod and pulled the latch. It swung open and he clambered inside, drawing it quickly closed behind him. He thought of the cabinet in the underground as he squeezed himself in. At least I’m not claustrophobic, he consoled 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 lined with a soft material and only one small window. He hunkered down, listening, but it 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.
Eleven
Reunion
WHEN he came to, Ripley felt warmth embracing him like an old friend. It lulled him back toward the blissful painlessness of sleep, but something kept him from submitting. There was something he needed to do. But it was warm, and there was a soft pillow beneath his head, and he didn’t feel like getting up just yet.
There was an important thing that needed doing; he just couldn’t put his finger on what it was.
With enormous effort, he opened his eyes and found Felix hovering over him, his furrowed brow melting as he grinned at Ripley’s groan. Felix let out a whistle of relief and rocked back on his heels, clapping his hands together.
“You had me worried for a while, there, buddy. We’re in crisis mode, here, and you decide to take a nap? And for the record, you could do with losing a few pounds. You’re heavier than you look!”
Ripley swallowed, his mouth feeling thick and sticky. “Crisis...mode?”
“Yeah. But take a minute. We’ve got a lot to talk about, and you’re going to need your wits about you.”
Ripley didn’t reply. His breathing felt constricted. He reached down and found that his rib cage had been wrapped in a tight bandage.
“Don’t play with that!” chastised Felix, smacking his hand away. “Tobias says he thinks you cracked a rib, but you should be okay. He thinks the pain combined with the cold probably made you black out.”
“I’m not a doctor,” warned another voice from somewhere outside of Ripley’s range of sight.
Where had he heard that voice before? It conjured up an image, one of darkness and cold. “I can’t be absolutely certain that my diagnosis is correct.”
Felix rolled his eyes at Ripley, as if to say, “Can you believe this guy?”
But Ripley had not yet fully found his voice and could not formulate a response.
He looked around, taking in their surroundings. They were in a room, but he wasn’t sure where, or how they’d gotten there.
It was easy to tell, even in his addled state of mind, that someone was living here. Blankets lay in a heap by the door. In the corner a small sack lay open, ration packs peeking out over the brim, a small kettle resting on a hot plate nearby. Dominating the center of the room was a large wooden crate that had been flipped over to form a table, and several smaller crates of varying sizes surrounded it like sad chairs.
It was somewhat cramped, and Ripley felt it might have been intended as a large storage closet, or something to that effect. Yet it felt almost homey, in an odd sort of way. It wasn’t the cool white of Sigil or the pale beige of the housing districts. The walls were shiny and silver, long panels spanning from floor to ceiling in neatly riveted columns. The light glared off the metallic surface, making him squint. Ripley reached up with one hand and tried to rub his eyes, but they felt puffy and swollen, too tender to touch. To his surprise, he discovered that one would not open at all.
“That Denton did a number on your face,” Felix growled.
Ripley had never heard such ferocity in his friend’s voice before. But it only lasted a moment before Felix reverted to his comforting mother hen demeanor, smiling down at Ripley and murmuring unrealistic reassurances. “But a few days of rest and I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”
Ripley ignored this, still focusing on the room. It was familiar, yet not. It reminded him of the Tube station, only cleaner and brighter. As if it had not been subjected to a century of the everyday wear and tear of the citizenry.
“How long was I out?”
Ripley was still groggy as he blinked his good eye, trying to bring things into clearer focus. His mind felt as foggy and uncooperative as his eyesight.
“Almost eight hours,” Felix’s words were too casual, as if Ripley was just having a lazy day off from work with a lovely picnic to follow. “It’s almost noon. Hope you’re feeling refreshed, because we’ve got a busy day planned! A really busy day.”
Almost noon? How was that p
ossible? Ripley felt panic welling up in his chest, the same kind as when he was in the tunnels. Only now it was time closing in on him instead of space.
“Why did you let me sleep so long?” he demanded, directing the anger he felt at himself toward Felix instead. “We’ve got to go get Willow! We need...we need to...”
It was coming back to him now. Willow’s impending appointment, and the need to find a way out.
But Felix only shrugged, his nonchalance in stark contrast to Ripley’s own urgency.
“It’s not like I didn’t try to wake you,” Felix argued, “You just insisted on sleeping. It doesn’t matter, Tobias has things well in hand. I was going to go back for Willow, but I didn’t want to leave you—”
“What is this place?” Ripley said, cutting Felix off. They were in D6, of that much he was certain. But why was it warm and bright? Ripley felt a burst of hope—if they could just get Willow here, they’d be safe.
But for how long? All of Sigil would be looking for the breach. They’d be caught eventually. How could Felix be so calm? Ripley still felt disoriented.
“What’s happening? And who’s Tobias?”
“That would be me.”
Ripley looked toward the voice and saw that its owner was a thin man with disheveled blond hair that framed a friendly, but tired, face. “And you’re in the D6 Central Tube Station.”
The man paused, appearing to ponder the accuracy of his response. “Or at least, it would have been a Tube Station, if they’d ever had the chance to finish it.”
“It’s warm.”
Tobias nodded.
“All the wiring and vents were put in place during construction, but it seems they were never connected to the main breaker system. It was actually quite a simple thing to pull heat and lights in, at least for this small area. I do know a little about these types of things.”
Felix knelt down beside Ripley, who sat up with some difficulty.
“Tobias is our rat,” he said, but Ripley was still a little out of it, and merely stared, blankly, until Felix elaborated. “Also known as the one who sabotaged the monitor?”
