by Jay Posey
“Maybe, maybe not. I don’t have much patience for their kind.”
She couldn’t process it. Whatever these unfortunate men had been looking for, surely it hadn’t been worth their lives.
“No patience for beggars? For scavengers?”
Three’s eyes narrowed, and Cass wondered what she’d missed.
“Slavers, girl. And they weren’t interested in you. Or me.”
Cass flashed back to the minute before, replayed the scene in her mind. The pack leader staring at her. No, not at her. At Wren, clinging to her. She glanced to the leader’s crumpled heap, at the coil of leather at his waist. Not a whip, she saw now. A leash.
Her eyes suddenly burned, and a sickness crept into her gut. A despair she couldn’t name settled over her. What hope would there be for her son, when she was gone?
“Cass,” Three said. “We need to go.”
He didn’t reach out to her then. Just turned and started on his way without even a glance back. After Three had gone a few paces, Cass felt Wren’s grip around her leg slacken, and he pulled away.
“Mama?”
Cass wondered if there was really even hope for them now, if Morningside was anything more than a desperate dream. Wren stood, staring up at her with his storm-green eyes. She nodded. Drew a deep breath. Focused on the Now. It was all she could handle. And together, she and Wren fell back into Three’s shadow, trailing long behind him in the low afternoon sun.
“But you were so… fast,” Wren said in a hushed voice. In awe. In fear. Cass sat on the small bed, back to the wall, watching in silence as Three taught her son.
“Not fast,” Three answered. “Quick. You learn to see a man’s intent, you’ll be the quickest.”
The two of them were in the central room of the wayhouse. Three was on a knee, arms resting across his leg, face to face with Wren. Cass had resisted the idea at first, but after the event that afternoon and Three’s description of Greenstone, she’d given in. So she just watched, as Wren got his first lesson in self-defense.
“A man’s eyes will tell you everything he wants to do,” Three continued. He shot Cass a quick look. “A woman’s, too.”
Wren was intense, focused, soaking it all in.
“And his hands will be the ones doing it. So, eyes, and hands. Hands and eyes. Learn to watch those, you’re already ahead of ninety-nine percent of folks out there.”
Wren nodded slowly. Three reached out, and took Wren’s hand in his, positioned the tiny fingers, adjusted the grip. The dose of Somalin clouded everything, made Cass feel like she was dreaming.
“OK,” Three said. “Show me. Real slow.”
For a few moments, the two just stared at each other. Then, Three moved at half-speed, reached out slowly, grabbed Wren by the shoulders. Just as his hands made contact, Wren’s right hand came up clutching the unsharpened knife Three had fashioned for him. He jabbed slowly, once, down towards Three’s arm.
“That’s good. But you can do better. Don’t wait. And don’t stop with one. Move as soon as you see trouble, and keep poking holes until you can’t find any more places to poke. Got it?”
Wren nodded again. Cass wondered numbly what kind of mother she’d become. But the reality that she wouldn’t be able to protect him forever was weighing heavily. Maybe this was the best way. If not the best, maybe the only.
“One more time. Just relax, you’re doing good.”
Three slapped Wren on the shoulders a couple of times. Smiled. Wren smiled in spite of himself. Three reset. Again, the man and her son stared at each other. Then, quicker this time, Three moved to grab Wren. And to Cass’s amazement, Wren moved almost simultaneously, bringing his little blade up and darting it onto Three’s biceps, forearm, then shoulder, neck.
“See, look at that. You’re a natural, kiddo. A real warrior.”
Three tousled Wren’s hair, and Wren smiled again, stared at his feet. Cass saw her son’s smile slip away. Three noticed it too. More than noticed it. Interpreted it.
“Not fun though, huh?”
Wren shook his head.
“Doesn’t feel very good?”
Wren shook his head again. Spoke quietly.
“I don’t like it when people get hurt.”
Three dropped a hand on Wren’s shoulder. Squeezed it.
“Hey. Hey, look at me.”
Wren looked up.
“That’s good. That’s really. Good. OK?”
Wren nodded. “OK.”
“OK. Ready for a break?”
Wren nodded again. He looked to Cass. “Can I play, Mama?”
“Sure, sweetheart,” Cass said.
As Three stood, Wren held out the little knife to him, but he waved it off.
“That’s for you. You hang on to it.”
“Would you mind keeping it for me? Just… for now?”
Three paused for a moment, but then smiled, and nodded.
“Sure, kiddo.”
Wren gave Three the knife, and then clambered over to a small table nearby. Three walked the few paces to Cass, as she watched her son pull the strobe out of his pocket and place it on the table. He laid his head down on one arm, and stared at the clear ball as he rolled it gently back and forth. She wondered what invisible thing he saw in it.
Three sat down next to Cass, and leaned against the wall with her.
“I know you don’t like it,” he said. “I hope you understand it.”
“I wish I didn’t,” she answered. “But I do.”
For a long while, they just sat together, watching Wren at the table. Cass wondered what Three was thinking, what he might say. Though as long as they’d been together, she couldn’t remember a time when he’d really started a conversation.
“I had a kid sister once,” he said abruptly.
Something stirred in Cass’s heart, some mix of surprise, confusion, and sudden compassion. She didn’t know how to respond, so she didn’t. After a while, Three added.
“So… I don’t have much patience for their kind.”
Cass watched him, noticed he was carefully intent on Wren.
“I’m sorry.”
His head dipped forward, a hint of a nod. Another long silence followed, Three lost somewhere deep inside himself. Grim. And Cass wondered just how much loss Three had suffered in his lifetime. He resurfaced after a while, back to business. The brief window of emotion once again sealed off.
“We’ll hit Greenstone tomorrow,” he said as he stood. “You should both get some rest.”
He was sliding into his harness again.
“What about you?”
“Gonna take a quick look around. Back in a few.”
He moved to the door, activated the hatch above. Waited as the skeletal ladder extended itself to the floor. But before he left, Three looked back over his shoulder and caught Cass’s eye. Winked. And even after the hatch had sealed behind him, her heart remained warm.
It’d been three days since Cass had left with her son, and with the man Three. And though he hadn’t thought it possible, Jackson was starting to feel like the Vault had grown too big, too empty. Maybe he should’ve gone along with them after all. He trudged up the stairs, anxious. Today, he’d decided to walk the perimeter, for no reason other than to get out.
As he climbed, he noticed the air growing colder, a draft flowing in from the upper floors. When he reached the top, Jackson was aghast to find the gate already raised, the cold gray morning light spilling across the smooth concrete floor. And there, in the middle of the room, a man sat cross-legged.
He was short but stout with muscle, head shaved bald. His almond-shaped eyes were closed in quiet meditation, and he remained so still that had Jackson not known any better, he might’ve believed the man had always been there.
Jackson froze. He couldn’t see them, but he knew in his gut there were others. Travelers weren’t all that unusual. But they didn’t usually let themselves in.
“Jackson, isn’t it?”
The voice came f
rom his left, and Jackson jumped at its sound, at how close it was. Jackson looked, saw him standing there, leaning against the wall. Jackson figured they were about the same age, though this guy was definitely the better dresser. He was tall, draped in a long black coat of some expensive fabric. Smiling. Seemed friendly enough.
“That’s a way to make friends, yeah?” Jackson said. “Might’ve tried knocking, yeah?”
“Sorry, we weren’t sure if anyone was still here to answer.”
“We met?”
“No, but we have some mutual friends.”
Two others appeared at the entrance. One a tall, pale man. The other the most impossibly beautiful woman Jackson had ever seen. The man sitting on the floor still hadn’t moved. Jackson’s chest went tight. Bad things were at play.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you, but there’s no one left here but me. Been a few weeks since…”
“Oh, our friends weren’t residents. They were just passing through. Past couple of days.”
Jackson tried his best to look thoughtful, then shook his head.
“That may be, but I don’t think I can be much help. I’ve been locked up in here the past week or so.”
The young man straightened up off the wall, smoothed the wrinkles out of his coat.
“You don’t think you can be much help?”
“I doubt it. Ever since the Vault got wrecked I haven’t been much for going out, yeah? But if you got questions, I’ll try to answer ’em. Ask away.”
The young man smiled. “That won’t be necessary.”
And with that, Jackson suddenly felt as though a great black cloud descended upon him, forced its way through his skull, enveloped his brain. A sudden stab of electric fire raced through his nerves, seared his mind, blinded his eyes. Someone screamed. Pain surged, as if all the blood in his veins had been displaced by boiling water. And as Jackson felt his mind ripping from its anchors, he realized the scream was his own.
Eighteen
Wren pulled the hood of his coat down more snugly over his head, hiding his face in the shadow it cast. Not against the cold. He was plenty warm even in the winds that swirled from seemingly every direction here among the tall buildings. But with his hood up, he felt stronger, ready for whatever came next. Mama was walking a few steps behind him. She said she was fine, but Wren knew she wasn’t. She wasn’t sick, exactly, but he knew she wasn’t well. She needed her medicine, and soon. And until he could find it for her, it was up to him and Three to keep her safe.
Ahead, Three’s face was hidden in the depths of the hood of his coat, but Wren could picture his expression; the same one he’d seen for the past three days. Focused, eyes slightly squinting as they actively searched out the paths ahead. Wren furrowed his brow, imitated Three’s hard stare. After a minute or two, it kind of gave him a headache. He crammed his hands deeper into his pockets. In his right pocket, his fingers dabbled between the strobe and the practice blade Three had made for him. The cord-wrapped grip of the knife was rough against his skin. He wrapped his hand around the cool, seamless sphere of the strobe light. Pictured the swirl of tiny galaxies he imagined it could contain. Like having a star in a cage.
They walked on in silence for some time, but it wasn’t long before Wren noticed a pressure, steadily growing, in the air, in his chest. And it just kept growing. The crush and churn of crowds. The silent hum, the motionless vibration of hundreds, if not thousands, of others, moving, thinking, being; broadcast across the invisible spectrum of signal that Wren felt without understanding. He squeezed the strobe. Dropped back, slipped his free hand into his mother’s.
“We’re close now, Mama.”
And as though by speaking he had summoned it forth, there in front of them the first towers of Greenstone loomed. Hidden briefly when Three weaved through an angled side alley, they reappeared in full view at the end of the narrow corridor, and Wren gasped involuntarily. At the end of the alley where the three travelers stood together, the asphalt and concrete fell away in a gentle slope down into a wide basin where Greenstone stood, strong as an island mountain. Its high walls were mounted by small guard towers at regular intervals, punctuated every so often by massive watchtowers bristling with powerful lights and mounted weapons. Wren could see movement along the top of the wall: men on patrol.
“It’s like a castle,” Wren said.
“Or a prison,” his mother answered.
“Started as one, became the other,” said Three. “Still not sure which it is now.” Three turned and dropped to one knee, placed his heavy hand on Wren’s shoulder. “When we get in there, most important thing is to act like we know where we’re going. You start looking around like you’ve never seen the place before, people are gonna start asking questions, and they might not be asking us. We don’t want to stir up any traffic out of here.”
“What’s the plan?”
“First thing is to find a place to stay out of sight.”
He turned his back to them, surveyed the fortress below.
“Walk like you own it,” he said.
As he strode down the hill, Wren wondered who exactly Three had been talking to.
He hated to admit it, even to himself, but as Three led Cass and Wren towards the gate, a knot of fear grew in the pit of his stomach. Greenstone had proven to be a useful waypoint on many of his previous jobs, but for as many times as he’d visited, he still never felt he had control inside those walls. Too many variables, too many unknowns. The greenmen did an impressive job of maintaining security and some semblance of order, but it was understood that certain criminal elements were given run of their respective territories, as long as they kept their business relatively quiet. In reality, the bad guys outnumbered the good. It was just that the good guys were what kept Greenstone running. Not an uneasy peace. More like surface tension. Step too hard or too quickly, and you were gone.
Navigating that environment was tricky enough on his own. But with Cass around, and a kid in tow… Three shook his head, wondering if he was taking them all to their deaths. Or worse. Still, there wasn’t much to be had in the world that couldn’t be found somewhere in Greenstone, especially if you were paying Hard for it. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about locating quint for Cass for much longer. Here, even the premium chems were about as hard to find as a vein on a juicer.
Thirty yards from the gate, he was still considering options, few as they were. They were running on a knife’s edge of risk. This wasn’t his way. He was used to working the numbers, knowing the angles, controlling the game. Risking everything, but leaving nothing to chance. But since he’d picked these two up, it was all fast and loose. It was bound to catch up with them at some point. And there wasn’t much better a place for it than Greenstone.
Walk like you own it, he told himself. Nobody’s gonna stop you as long as you look like you know what you’re doing.
As they approached the main gate, a pair of greenmen stepped out from a small shelter. The big one held out a hand, motioned for them to stop.
“Afternoon,” Three said.
“Sir,” the big one replied. Professional, not friendly. “Where you comin’ in from?”
“Here and there.”
The second greenman stepped around to one side, his hand resting on some gunmetal chunk of tech on his belt. Three couldn’t identify the weapon exactly, but he got the gist. Something mean. The big greenman looked the three travelers over, face neutral.
“You gonna make trouble for me?”
“No, sir.”
“How long you plannin’ to stay?”
“Three days, maybe.”
“You bringin’ any contraband with ya?”
“No, sir.”
“Weapons?”
“No, sir.”
The greenman gave a fleeting smile at that.
“Yeah,” he said. The two greenmen exchanged a glance. Three reached deep, forced stillness. Greenmen were hard men: hard to read, hard to anticipate, hard to kill. Three realized the a
nxiety he felt over Cass and Wren was clouding his judgment of the situation. What was the glance? Was it “Get ready” or “What do you think”? The other greenman shifted on his feet, adjusted the Whatever It Was on his belt. Was he getting ready to draw? Did he even have to draw it to use it?
The muscle in the big one’s jaw was working. His eyes were level, probing. Taking too long. Something was up. Could Dagon have beat them here? Three slowly flexed his left hand and rotated his wrist, releasing the small blade from its secret housing, its grip sliding silently into his hand. The greenman’s high collar had steel fixtures; might deflect the blade. Have to go for the eye. Shield, draw, fire. One shot, make it count.
Then the big one nodded.
“Alright. You folks have a real nice stay.”
Three blinked, exhaled. Hoped no one noticed.
“Will do.”
He pulled Cass and Wren ahead of him, nudged them along. As they passed the guards, Three quickly produced a pair of nanocarbon chips from his vest, and discreetly tipped the greenman a generous hundred Hard. Not required, but always appreciated.
“Cute kid,” the second greenman said, as the two guards headed back to their post. “Keep him close.”
Once they were inside, Cass dropped back a pace, and leaned in close.
“What was that?”
“Don’t talk. Just stay with me. Stay right with me.”
Three reached down and took Wren’s hand in his, drew the boy close to him, right up against his leg. Cass fell in a pace behind, but tight. And Three locked his gaze forward, powered his way towards his destination, doing his best to look like he was on his way to kill the man responsible for leaving this woman and child alone in the world. And trying to forget just how close he’d come to killing two of the good guys.
Cass followed as closely as she dared without stepping on Three’s heels. Fought to keep her eyes focused forward, her face grim, as if she’d been through these streets a hundred times before. For the first time, she had seen Three rattled, and that terrified her. Was it this place? Or had something happened with the guards that she’d missed? There was an electric edge, a lightning crackle around the fringes of each breath, that told her danger was on their heels here. Maybe all around.
