by Elin Wyn
“The noise made it likely,” Mack answered my raised eyebrows.
Before we got to the glide, I’d disposed of all our old clothes, putting just one at a time into each recycler as we passed. I wanted to get rid of all of them at once, but scattering them seemed like a better plan.
If anyone interrupted the disintegration schedule, the trail might lead them straight to the glide we'd used, but it seemed less likely that someone would see a pair of pants, or a jacket, and realize what the entire outfit would have been.
At the top of the glide, I looked around and relaxed. “I know where we are.”
“That's good,” Mack muttered. “I have no idea.”
No one seemed to notice us; probably no one even caught the discrepancy between the ugly boots and the gorgeous dress. But it felt like I was waving a red flag over our heads with every step.
Luckily, the solution to the problem was close to my goal.
I smiled up at Mack. “Ready for an adventure?”
“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”
His words didn't mean anything. I knew that. They couldn't. But, just for a moment, I let the easy warmth spread through my chest. It couldn’t hurt anything to pretend for a bit. Nothing more than a woman and her handsome man out for an afternoon stroll.
Two glides and a lift later we fought the crowds of the bazaar.
“Aren't there other places for you to find shoes?” Mack grumbled as we slid between groups of other shoppers.
Or, rather, I slid, he loomed until people got out of his way.
“Probably, but nowhere as cheap. We don't know how long those credits need to last us. Besides, people here are good about not asking too many questions.”
I found a booth I'd been to before, run by a tiny, hunched-over old man of indeterminate age. His gap-toothed smile welcomed us as we wandered towards his table.
Not many had stopped to examine his wares. Their loss. I had found several good bargains here when I had been trying to blend in on a tight budget before.
“Hey, Missy,” he reached over the table and patted my hand. “You've been gone?”
“Maybe. Just not around.”
He didn't ask. One of the great things about the bazaar. Nobody asked too much.
Most fabricator goods didn't last long enough to be saved, passed on, sold again and again.
It was easier just to fab new things, break down the old whatever it was and start fresh. But some people would always find a way to turn an extra credit.
I tapped a pair of light gold sandals that looked close to my size. “How much?”
The old man's eyes flicked down to my boots. “They’ll will look better than those things.”
“Any chance of a trade?” I asked hopefully.
“No, Missy.” A nice man, but nobody's fool. “But I'll get rid of them for you.”
Our business concluded swiftly. As we stepped back into the flow of traffic, I felt considerably less conspicuous.
“Where to next?” Mack asked. His stomach rumbled. “Dinner would be nice.”
“I promise, one more stop, and then we’ll find dinner. And then...”
He rubbed his thumb over the back of my hand, and every fiber of my body remembered my promise. One night.
But first, business.
“This way.”
I led him deeper into the bazaar. The booths were smaller here, more cramped, the shoppers a little more furtive.
“Do I even want to know what we’re doing down here?”
“Sometimes a girl needs shoes, sometimes a girl needs spare parts. The nice thing is, you can find just about everything down here, if you're willing to look at all the dark places.”
His eyes roamed over each booth, every merchant, trader, and shopper.
“Anyone, anything you recognize yet?”
“Nothing. None of it looks familiar.”
“That doesn't mean you're not from Orem,” I tried to keep my voice light. “Maybe you didn't have a good reason to come down here.”
“I'm not from here. I don't know why, but I know that.”
As we headed for Klayson’s booth, I wondered.
Suspects that had been mind-wiped never regained their memories.
Ever.
Mack’s certainties, the flashes of memory that had come back to him, were unheard of.
It was possible maybe this was all just a long con. Maybe he hadn't really been wiped and was just a crappy actor, planted to get the disk.
I glanced up at him, as he scanned the hallway, missing nothing.
He probably was a pretty bad actor, to be honest. Too direct, too impatient.
But I didn’t think he was lying. Anyone who knew about the mark a wipe left would have been able to tell him to just play dumb, don't mix it up.
That meant something unheard of was happening.
And maybe Mack was in more danger than I was.
It was late afternoon by the time we made it to Klayson’s. Unlike his neighbors, he didn't leave a sampling of his wares on display. Tall drapes blocked most of the space from view, with only an empty table out front.
If you were here, you knew what you were looking for.
I rapped my knuckles on the empty shelf and waited for him to emerge.
“Just a minute,” an old woman's voice sang out.
I frowned.
That wasn't expected, and, right now, I didn't need unexpected.
A woman hustled out, thin, back bent with age. Dozens of tiny braids spilled from her headscarf, framing her deeply lined face.
But her eyes were bright and quick and she assessed us as she emerged from the canopy.
“Hello, children, what are you looking for today?”
“I'm looking for Klayson, actually.”
Mack must've heard the tension in my voice. His stance, always wary, shifted just a bit, even more prepared for a fight.
She looked between us but, instead of being nervous at Mack’s presence, as I’d expected, smiled broadly.
“I’m very sorry, then. Klayson had a big order, so headed off to do a little scrounging. I expect him back in a few days.” She let out a deep laugh. “Hope so, I promised him I'd keep an eye on the booth for him, and it's seriously interfering with my own bad habits.”
The smile stayed frozen on my face as my mind spun.
A coincidence?
Possibly.
Klayson scavenged for interesting bits of hardware, abandoned tech, the more esoteric variety of parts.
But the timing worried me.
“I don't suppose there's any chance he left a package for me.”
The old woman shook her head. “As I don't know your name, dearie, I couldn't tell.” Her bright eyes must have caught that something was wrong, as her voice softened. “But he didn't leave any package. He'll be back in a couple of days. Is there a comm where he can reach you?”
I stepped back from the table.
“No, we've…”
The words wouldn't come. I'd been so focused on getting back to, or getting to, Klayson’s booth and finally completing my mission, I hadn't thought of contingencies.
I’d failed.
Again.
Mack stepped up, his hand rubbing soothing circles between my shoulders while he spoke to the old lady.
“We've been on a bit of a bounce-about, haven't set up local comms. Would you have recommendations for guest quarters? I think we’ll be on station for a few weeks.”
Her sharp eyes appraised us both. I was certain she’d turn us away, for the paupers we were. But something about us must have struck a chord.
“I think I've got just the place for you.”
His arm wrapped around my waist. “We’re not looking for much, but clean and private are high on my list.”
“Let me see to a few things,” she laughed. “Wait there.”
She disappeared back under the canopy and I turned to face him.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, my anger at myself thre
atening to bleed over to him.
“We've got to stay somewhere until your contact comes back,” he replied, maddeningly reasonably. “Any place you normally would go to is going to be under watch as soon as they realize you've escaped.”
The bone-aching weariness I’d been holding off by focusing on getting off Minor returned, doubled. I let him pull me to his chest, stroke my arm while he explained.
“I don't know anything here. Let's see what she's got in mind. Can’t hurt, right?”
The old woman appeared with a carry bag slung across her body.
“Come on,” she said and bustled away. “Business has been terrible, anyway, and sitting in one place makes me bored.”
She headed through the bazaar and Mack and I scrambled to keep up with her.
As we emerged into a quieter quarter, Mack frowned.
“Ma’am, I’m pretty sure you're going to say no, but I have to ask anyway. Can I carry that for you?”
She stopped, looked back at us. “I was right, you'll do well.” She turned and continued on.
“And you're right, too. No, you can't. Klayson trusted me to watch his stuff. Even if it's boring bits and bobs.” She turned a corner, and a young man darted out of her way. “Call me Granny Z, everyone does.”
“Alright, Granny Z. Where are we going?”
The buildings on this level were rundown, but clean. The air smelled off a bit, and I wondered if they could use a few of Ardelle’s plants.
She snorted. “Chances are good if you're looking for Klayson, you've got your own business. And your business is private.”
Granny Z glanced down and pointed at Mack’s boots striding beside her. “And I know where those come from.”
I froze, began to move back into the depths of the bazaar, away from this old woman who saw far too much.
Mack squeezed my hand, and I relaxed just a bit.
“Really, ma’am, we need to know where you're taking us.”
She stopped and turned back, clearly exasperated. “I'm not turning you in, if that's what you think. If Klayson was holding a package for you, he trusted you. And that holds weight with me.”
“But you’ll need a place to wait for him, and I’ve got something that will work. But there are rules.”
I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Just waited.
“First, don't lie. Second,” she paused, pulled on a braid and nodded, “that's pretty much it, actually. If there's something you think you can’t tell me, just say so. Don't lie to me.”
She turned back and we followed, both of us in a bit of shock.
“Can't abide liars, never could. My grandson can't seem to do anything but. I'd love to blame it on those friends of his, but, somehow, he just turned out bad from the beginning.”
The residential hive was so old it seemed to be sliding back into whatever materials it had been originally formed from.
A handful of kids came spilling out the front door at our approach, circling Granny Z, tugging on her skirts until she shooed them back inside.
The ground floor was surprisingly bright. Granny noticed my confusion as I searched for lighting panels and found nothing.
“Too expensive,” she said sharply. “Look over that way.”
I followed her finger, to see a cluster of tiny trillian lights. Eyes wide, I re-examined the room with new focus.
They were tucked everywhere, lending a gentle glow to the large space. But trillian lights, that was a luxury I had seen only in the highest of Agency offices.
What were they doing here?
A thin woman stepped out from the back of the room, but her smile fell when she saw Mack.
She stepped away, as if ready to run, when Granny Z patted her arm.
“Marga, dear,” her sharp voice soft, gentle. “I brought home a couple of friends.”
A ghost of a smile returned. “More strays, Granny? No matter,” she said, turning back into what smelled like a kitchen, “I got a good deal at the bazaar today. We can easily feed two more ‘friends’.”
We followed Granny Z up two flights of stairs. “Lift works, most days, but it’s better to keep your legs strong.”
I dodged another child as it ran down the steps, chased by a playfellow. “What happens if one of them breaks their skull on this?” I asked, only half joking.
“Learning experience,” she said shortly. “Here you go.”
The room inside was small but tidy, lit brightly with the unexpected trillian lights.
“The control panels for the lights and the necessaries are here,” she tapped the wall. “Nothing fancy, but clean. And private.”
I looked at Mack, weighing how much we should tell her. Wondering how much she already knew.
“Thank you,” was all I finally said. “We appreciate it.”
I held out my hand but she pulled me into a hug. “Everything looks better after dinner and a good night’s sleep, dear.” She pushed away, eyes twinkling. “You know, I don't even know what to call you.”
“Some days we’re not sure either.” Mack leaned against a wall, and, for the first time, I saw how tired he was.
“That joker is Mack.”
He bowed in acknowledgment.
“And I’m Zayda.”
Her gales of laughter brought the children down the hallway, but she waved them away.
“Of course, you are, honey. Of course, you are.”
Mack
I stared at the door as it slid shut behind Granny Z, then turned to Zayda
“I know I don’t remember much, anything, really, from before I turned up on Minor. But…”
She shook her head and sprawled back on the wide bed that took up half the small room. “No. That’s not normal. Maybe not dangerous, but not normal at all.”
The bed looked secure enough, but I sat on the edge gingerly, testing to see if it would support me before I lay back beside her.
“Do you think we can trust her?” Zayda turned over to face me, dark eyes wide. “She knows too much.”
I brushed the hair from her face, thinking. Nothing about the old woman smelled of fear or deceit. “I think she just has an odd sense of humor,” I finally decided. “Besides, you said the bazaar was a good place to find people who didn’t ask too many questions. She seems like she’d fit right in with that crowd.”
“True.” Zayda’s gaze fixed on the cluster of lights at each corner of the room. “I just don’t like mysteries.”
“I’ll try not to take that personally.”
She rolled on top of me, eyes bright and alert, back with me instead of lost in thought. “I make an exception for you, as a favor.”
I ran my hands up her bare legs under her skirt, fingers kneading her supple skin until she sighed with satisfaction.
“What other favors would you be willing to grant me?”
Hands on my shoulders, she lowered herself until her lips brushed mine. “I did promise you a night.” Another featherlight kiss, then she nuzzled into my neck. “And I do keep my promises.”
I moved one hand, pulling her towards me, deepening our kisses, drinking the taste of her in. Her scent, her touch, soothed the last of my nerves, still stretched thin from our trip. With every groan I drew from her, the nightmare of holding her limp body faded.
We jumped at the knock on the door.
“Granny saz dinner’s ready and come down after you wash,” a child’s voice called out, followed by a furtive whisper. “Don’t be late or she makes you stand in the corner.” The pattering of feet down the stairs proclaimed the departure of our messenger.
Dinner was a noisy affair, but I’d take the laughter and chaos of the children over the bravado of the mess hall any time.
After the meal, we offered to help with the cleaning, but Marga waved us away. “The children have chores now, don’t they?” Amid much muttering, the table was cleared and the sounds of washing up started from the back.
“Let us at least pay for our portions,” I reached for the credit
s in my pocket.
Granny Z shook her head. “Credits come and go. Favors are a much better barter item.”
“We don’t know how long we’ll be here,” I started, but she cut me off.
“I’m old. Plan to be older. I can wait, if needed.” Granny Z pushed up from her chair and headed upstairs.
“If you go out, don’t stay out too late,” she called over her shoulder.
Zayda and I glanced at each other, amused.
“Nothing you can do with each other could shock me, children,” she turned at the landing. “But it’s not safe after full dark. Don’t be on the streets if you can help it.”
Marga came back, arms full of a sleepy child. “The viewport on this level is lovely, and pretty close, if you want to take a walk.” She glanced at me. “I’m not sure if there are any other places I’d recommend, unless you were looking to burn off steam.”
That made no sense, but Zayda patted my arm and shook her head. “He’s not prowling for a fight, promise. The viewport sounds perfect.”
We strolled in silence along the narrow streets, following Marga’s directions. This sector of the level was quiet, but the rumble of a crowd sounded far behind us.
Zayda’s fingers curled around mine, warm and soft, the fabric dress swishing around her knees with each step.
“Are you alright here?”
She stopped, confusion wrinkling her forehead as she looked up at me. “What?”
A pale woman with tangled dark hair staggered past us, then disappeared between two buildings. I tucked Zayda closer to me, wanting her near.
Words had never been my strong point, but I tried again. “Is this too much like where you grew up?” That was a stupid question. I never should have started down that path, but dinner had reminded me of Zayda’s story of lost children, lost or forgotten.
“Void, no.” She wrapped her arms around me, rested her head on my chest. “The kids look happy there, loved.” We resumed our walk, my arm around her shoulders, fingers idly rubbing where the dress exposed her skin.
“There was none of that on my old level. At least, none that I found.”
I pulled her tighter to me, but, no matter how I racked my brain, there wasn’t a good response.
The old observation chamber was empty, the air still and heavy.
