Low City: Missing Persons (A Tractus Fynn Mystery Book 3)

by Alexander, MK

  “You have no explanation? Something to do with the cane?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe Edmund could tell you, or Pavel.”

  “Or Madeline,” I muttered to myself and thought about her idea of leave-behinds.

  “What?” Mortimer asked.

  I chose not to answer and took a sip of coffee. “A question then: where did you jump that night from the Quarry?”

  “I prefer not to say.”

  “I thought you wanted me to trust you?”

  “And the price of this trust is to monitor my comings and goings?”

  I said nothing in reply.

  “Alright, if you must know, I traveled back.”

  “Where and when?”

  “Honestly— is this important?” Mortimer paused. “I could just as easily lie as tell you the truth…”

  “Okay, it’s probably not a big deal.”

  “You fail to understand what the cane does. It doubles you. There can be no soft jump when one uses it.” Mortimer held up the familiar jackal head.

  “That’s a problem for you, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. And for you perhaps.” He gave me his thin smile again. “Employing the cane always creates a double, a fresh copy, if you will.”

  “Always?”

  “When I travel to the past, I am meaning.”

  “And the future?”

  “The future does not exist until one arrives. There is no you already there.”

  “But…” I started to say, then caught myself. Instead, I searched his expression.

  “Yes?” Mortimer asked expectantly.

  “There could be a different version of you… present in the future?”

  “A double, you mean to say?”

  “Hypothetically.”

  “No, this is beyond my experience.” Mortimer paused and slumped back in his seat. “Admittedly, I’m often quite astonished to return to some familiar place and find myself already there.” He lapsed into silence for a time.

  “What about Fynn?” I asked, changing the subject.

  “Oh… Fynn, yes… well, the poor man’s been dead for centuries. Let bygones be bygones, I like to say.”

  “Dead? Are you sure?”

  “I haven’t seen him for three hundred years at least.”

  “I don’t mean this afternoon.”

  “Yes, well, I suppose Tractus is not dead in the distant past. He’s not here though, I can say that much with certainty.”

  “Someone has been murdering detectives in the past.” I paused. “The very distant past from where we sit. It’s my bet that someone is trying to kill Fynn… and that it’s your doing.”

  “Don’t be absurd. Why would I engage in such an activity?”

  “Because you hate him?”

  Mortimer chuckled. “Have you ever had an adversary, Patrick?”

  “I might have.”

  “There’s nothing like it to get the blood going… strengthen one’s resolve and hone one’s sense of purpose. Fact is, I rather miss Tractus.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “We could travel back together. I could help you find him.”

  Somehow this didn’t seem like the best idea. It was also very unlikely that Mortimer would be willing to give up his precious cane so easily. I considered further. He must know something that I don’t… still, if he was able to return me to my present, who was I to argue.

  “I am willing to take you back,” Mortimer persisted.

  “Back?”

  “To a more familiar present.”

  “And why would you want to help me?”

  “I recall that you are Fynn’s comrade… perhaps I feel a bit of remorse.”

  “Remorse for what?” I asked with anger. “Killing all those innocent women, Fynn’s wife, her sister?” I could feel myself growing furious. “The list just goes on from there—”

  “Only Patrick remembers my brutality,” Mortimer replied. “Others do not. It’s only because you can recall the differences in timelines. My so called brutality is merely a symptom of your memory. There are timelines in equal measure where I did not commit the atrocious acts you recall.”

  “That’s crazy… I remember when—”

  Mortimer interrupted with the raise of his hand, “I cannot defend my actions in such terms. I will only say: justice is a human concept, something not usually found in the natural world.”

  “And humanity is not part of this natural world of yours?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it. Would it help if I apologized?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t see that you have a choice, Mr Jardel. We are compelled to work together. I am here to help you.”

  “I don’t believe you for a second.”

  “Then you must be willing to help me.”

  This took me by surprise. “How?”

  “You must teach me to soft jump.”

  “Me? You’re asking the wrong guy. Why not just use the cane?”

  “I am a dying old man. There’s nothing for me here. And it’s a terrible place to live, I might add. I’d like to leave this present and return to a younger version of myself.”

  “Where would that be?”

  “Ah, springtime in Paris, Pavel Mekanos’ apartment, circa twenty fifteen.”

  “Sounds familiar.”

  “But you must tell me how to accomplish this.” Mortimer took a sip of tea.

  “I’m not sure that I can. You’re not exactly a go-with-the-flow kind of guy.”

  “No, I suppose not. Is that important?”

  “For soft jumps, yes. I stop and observe… I look and listen to my new surroundings, and to whatever voice might be in my head.”

  “That’s your recommended strategy?”

  “I guess.” I glanced around at the crowded street. “Tell me about this present.”

  “I’d rather not. We should leave, and as soon as possible.”

  “Hmm… if you tell me about this present, I might believe you’re sincere about leaving it.”

  “Very well,” Mortimer replied, clearly exasperated. “I have noticed glass is rather different than I’m used to.”

  “How so?”

  He took a spoon from the table and tapped it against a glass. It made its usual sound. Then, he let the glass drop to the sidewalk. It didn’t shatter, nor break; it just sort of bounced and rattled under the table.

  “Okay, pretty cool, but that’s not what I meant. Tell me why Paris is like this now.”

  “We might jump back to the Battle of Tours and put a stop to it all,” he muttered.

  “Pardon?”

  “Nothing, I’m merely recalling the last time I saw so many Mohammedans being this close to Paris.”

  “When was this?”

  “The year was seven thirty-two.”

  “Hmm… Okay, let’s try something more recent. Tell me about America.”

  “America? Well, let’s say it’s in a rebuilding phase. Lost a few of her states here and there.”

  “Like?”

  “Florida for one… mostly submerged, Delaware, as well. And some rather bad quakes on the west coast. If I recall, Alaska seceded a few years ago. The demographics changed along with the weather.”

  “It doesn’t seem possible.”

  “From your vantage, perhaps not.” Mortimer paused. “Of course, things are drying out. Sea levels are dropping again— a very popular topic of conversation these days.”

  “What?”

  “People like to talk about it, endlessly it seems.”

  “Water sequestration?”

  “Yes, that’s it. Huge pumping stations all along the coast.”

  “What else has changed?”

  “Bear in mind, I haven’t lived through this history. I was simply deposited here, much as yourself.”

  “Is there anything you can say?”

  “I know about large tracts of uninhabitable land… plagued by radiation, toxins and alike… from the wars, I think.”

&
nbsp; “Which wars?”

  “Take your pick. The constant bickering between peoples, Chinese, Indians, followers of Islam, Africans… the Mericans… What used to be the Europeans, and all the other tiny ethnic groups…”

  “That’s it?”

  “What else would you like to know?”

  “How about space travel?”

  Mortimer stared at me for a moment, perhaps thinking the question odd. “A pitiful colony on the Moon, I believe someone said; and perhaps one on Mars.”

  “Are they self-sustaining?”

  “I doubt it… Why? Is this important to you?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Of course, I am doomed to wander the earth until the end of its days.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Too much libra lapsus, Fynn would say.”

  “Free fall?”

  “Quite common, and rather prolonged during space travel, I’ve heard.”

  “What about aliens?”

  “What about them?”

  “I mean, did we make contact with intelligent life elsewhere?”

  “Oh, there was something about that in a history book I once saw… it all went rather well for several decades… rally round the flag sort of thing.”

  “The flag?”

  “The flag of Earth. Very convenient for the powers that be. They had run out of enemies here on this planet.”

  “What happened?”

  “It turned out to be a hoax, I believe.”

  “Oh… and all these people here?” I looked around with a glance.

  “None of them are aliens as far as I know. There is of course a large segment of society that chooses to live apart from civilization. They give up what you’re currently wearing.”

  “What?”

  “La Manche, the sleeve, access to sanctioned information, and all the rest it provides…”

  “At a price,” I said.

  “Nothing is free.”

  “Where are these other people?”

  “They are outlanders… scattered about the planet.”

  “Does all this lead to the dark time?”

  “Yes. The sort of business-as-usual mindset… hyper-industrialization, if you like.”

  “And nothing can be done to stop it?”

  “Funny you should ask that. It seems to me, things are changing dramatically at present.”

  “How?”

  “From abundance to scarcity.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Having enough food seems to be a problem nowadays…” Mortimer leaned forward and took a swallow of tea, draining his cup. “There are in my experience, two kinds of civilization: one based on scarcity, and the other based on abundance. Of course, both aspects are always with us. There are always segments of the population who enjoy abundance, while others suffer through scarcity… but, what I mean, is how the structure of the society is organized.”

  “What kind of government are we talking about?”

  “I’m not sure government is the word I’m looking for. It presupposes that there is someone running the show, so to speak. A cabal of illuminati, rich and powerful persons with a plan, and an idea of how the world should be. This is a completely false assumption. At best, these would-be rulers of the world are flawed, and at worst, grossly incompetent.”

  “So, corporations?”

  “No, human nature at its worst. It is merely vested selfishness and greed that keep things going. Power begets power, and wealth begets more wealth. Momentum is the better word.”

  “This is progress?”

  “It’s largely a matter of maintaining the status quo. Things will only change, truly change, when we can say to the people in charge: your money is no good here. It has no value.”

  “When will this happen?”

  “It never will. It would be the end of civilization, at least as we understand it.” Mortimer gave his thin smile. “And who would want that? The end of civilization. What would we do all day, eh? Moreover, what would we eat? No… we’re all complicit in keeping civilization going no matter the cost. And we all look the other way when its woeful inadequacies rear their ugly head: injustice, inequity, fear, prejudice, or violence.”

  “The very things that will destroy us,” I said.

  Mortimer stared at me for a moment. “For those in power, it suits their interests that many people should die, whatever the means: war, famine, disease. The fewer people there are, the easier they are to control.”

  “So, it’s about control.”

  “Oh, your typical divide and conquer strategy… pit one group against another… until the situation becomes untenable.”

  “Untenable?”

  “Until violence erupts and productivity suffers… And the media is quite good at whipping people up into a frenzy.”

  “That’s pretty cynical.”

  Mortimer shrugged. “It’s effective to just stand back and let the pieces fall where they will. Ah, but when civilization finally falls by the wayside, the main thing that changes is our currency. A paper promissory note becomes worthless, as does the digital version you are wearing.”

  “And gold?”

  “Can I eat it? No, bring me tomatoes, fish, rice… things that keep me alive.”

  “Is that how the outlanders live?”

  “I don’t know much about them… However, in terms of currency, plastic is what they trade. It’s actually become quite valuable in this era.”

  “So when do things collapse?”

  “The dark time is not so far from this place, less than a few hundred years, I suppose.”

  “What can you tell me about it?”

  “Very little.”

  “But didn’t you return from there?”

  “I did. And I have no wish to go back. It’s in my best interests to help you now.”

  “Why?”

  “To avoid that particular future if at all possible. I will admit Fynn was correct about the bad times ahead.”

  “Tell me about this dark time…”

  “It’s darker than this even,” Mortimer replied and gave a smile. “But no darker than the early middle ages in Europe.”

  “Really?”

  He laughed. “No. It’s far worse. A way for nature to correct things, I suspect.”

  “I’m not sure what that means.”

  “When humans become too great a burden for the planet, their sentient status will end. They’ll be obliterated and replaced.”

  “Replaced with what?”

  “Who can guess? Algae? Crustaceans? Some other creature?”

  “Not exactly what I’d call progress.”

  “Who are we to say what progress is?”

  “Don’t you want humanity to continue, persevere?”

  “What I want has little to do with anything. If you are asking whether we have the right to continue as the most self-aware creature on the planet… well, that’s something different.”

  “Is there any civilization left?”

  “You were there, you should know,” Mortimer replied unexpectedly.

  “I didn’t see much.”

  “Nor did I. There’s some trouble with the atmosphere, if I remember. Too much methane, or too much oxygen, or perhaps both. It’s a sorry place. I only know there’s hardly a growing thing on the land… nor a fish in the sea, unless you count jellyfish.” Mortimer paused with a slight grimace. “They’re quite nutritious actually, but I never acquired a taste for them.”

  “Sounds horrible.”

  “On the positive side, there are very few bugs.”

  “Bugs?”

  “Insects… flies, mosquitos and alike.”

  ***

  Some kind of ruckus ensued. I could hear shouts and shrieks; people scrambling from their chairs and running in all directions. The mayhem spread and seemed to be moving towards us like a tide. I heard vehicles approaching, a whirling sound and an odd siren.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “Thugs…
quickly, this way.”

  “Thugs?”

  “Police, I think you would call them.”

  “What do they want?”

  “Oh, just a random security sweep. I suppose they have a quota like everyone else.”

  We were too late. Our only egress had already been cordoned off. “Do what I do,” Mortimer said, “and pray to whatever deity you believe in that Mr Q is not incompetent.”

  I had no idea what he was saying. A large gang of heavily armed men descended and spread out along the sidewalks. They were armored and helmeted. I couldn’t see a single human face. They started roughly pushing anyone left standing to the ground. Most were already on their knees, heads down and arms raised so their wrists might be made available. Mortimer was also in this posture of submission and I mimicked him the best I could.

  Teams of men swept through the crowd holding some sort of scanning device. I glanced up every once and a while and could see it glowing green or blue, sometimes, yellow, orange or red.

  Red meant death, I learned very quickly. Those who registered that color were summarily shot there on the street. One bullet to the back of the head. Those with orange were escorted away; and those with yellow were roughly beaten and left in a heap on the sidewalk.

  Green was obviously safe and blue seemed to command a bit of respect. Those that lucky were helped to their feet, brushed off and allowed to leave. One of the policeman, though that hardly seemed to be the right word, swept his device in our direction. Mortimer glowed between yellow and green. My color was a solid blue. We were allowed to stand.

  “We should leave this place,” Mortimer said quietly and led me to a side street devoid of lights.

  “Why did they kill those people, right there on the sidewalk?”

  “Privatized police, they’ve been given the right to do so. Red equals death: it means you’re un-scannable, not part of the system…”

  “An outlander?”

  “Yes, if you’re an outlander, you’re a terrorist. It carries the death sentence.”

  “No trial? Due process?”

  Mortimer laughed thinly. “Human justice, Mr Jardel, part of the natural order of things, as you’ve already pointed out.” He paused to smile. “Those who scan orange are detained. Yellow means you are indentured by debt and hence part of the non-voting segment of the population. Green is just that: safe for now.”

  “And blue?”

  “One of the politicos… minor functionaries.”