Abandon the Night

by Joss Ware

  He stopped and watched for a moment while ten acres of ground rolled and flattened, rising and peaking. When it stopped moving, he realized it had changed the terrain of the course. So that the Elite would never play the same nine holes twice, as though they needed to never leave their island.

  Bloody clever. And yet, eerie.

  Another half mile later, he came to stand in front of the large building that reminded him of a Meso-american pyramid. Red tiles alternated with white ones around the highest level, and blooming bougainvillea vines hung from the corners. Windows glazed the walls at all four levels, making glass stripes around the structure.

  “Step away,” said a guard, materializing from a small gatehouse. He wore white, which implied that he was crystaled—though Quent couldn’t see a glow through his crisp shirt.

  Even in the midst of this compound, Fielding had security. Bloody interesting. Whom did he need protection from?

  He’d decided on boldness and honesty as the most efficient way to get him to his father’s presence, so he said, “Inform Fielding that Quent is here to see him.”

  The guard seemed to hesitate, but Quent spoke again. “He’ll want to see me. And I guarantee if you turn me away and he finds out…well, I’m certain you know how thorough Fielding can be.”

  The man grumbled and shook his head, clearly annoyed. But he picked up a wired phone. He spoke for a few moments in a low voice, and his eyes were wide when he looked up. “I’ll escort you in.”

  “Not necessary. Just tell me where to go.” He limped heavily over to the gate, which opened silently.

  Inside, Quent bypassed the butler, who nevertheless insisted on directing him. He noticed the white marble floor, devoid of black or red veining but cut through around the edges for the ever-present water channels. He took note of smooth white walls, rounded white ceilings, and sparse furnishings. Because of the many windows lining each wall, there was little room for other adornment, although he saw occasional white sconced lighting.

  At last he reached the room to which he’d been directed. The translucent glass doors were open and Quent paused. His mouth had gone dry and that awful weight sagged in his middle.

  He limped into the room.

  Fielding was standing there, waiting, watching the door.

  They stared at each other for a moment and Quent shut the door behind him without using his fingertips. The only sound was the rush of water, gurgling and splashing along the edge of the room.

  Fielding spoke at last. “It is you. I refused to believe it until I saw for certain.”

  Quent didn’t trust himself to speak. Loathing and revulsion swarmed him, battering him from the inside. He took care not to meet his father’s eyes for fear he’d read the hatred there.

  “Come in, son,” Fielding said, and made a sweeping gesture. “Sit. We have much to catch up on.”

  Quent’s fingers curled more tightly around his weapon-cane. He fought with himself to keep from lunging toward the man across the room. Not yet. “I should say,” was all he managed. “What have you been doing with yourself for the last fifty years?”

  Fielding smiled and walked over to a glass table with a vase of orchids. “I must confess, not very much at all. I live quite the life of leisure. Although there are times when even I must attend to things. It’s necessary when one is surrounded by incompetents.”

  “You don’t have to do much to keep yourself safe? To run your new…what is this? A country? A kingdom?”

  “I sense a note of disapproval in your voice, Quent,” Fielding said, pouring a glass of something golden amber. “I can’t imagine why you should since, by all rights, you would be the heir to what I’ve built. As my only son.”

  He wore a suit that looked like Armani, but was probably a post-apocalyptic knockoff. Slate gray, with a black shirt, gleaming shoes. “Scotch?” he asked, glancing over at Quent. Without waiting for his reply, Fielding poured a second glass. “I’m sorry I don’t have Dalmore. We are a bit limited nowadays.”

  “Limited?” Quent managed to reply. “What a shame. You can live forever, but you can’t have it all.”

  Fielding’s face darkened for a moment, then he smiled. The smile that wooed the world, charmed his competitors, beguiled his colleagues. “But look at what I do have, Quent. And what could be yours as well. I have everything I could ever want. Forever.” He took a large swig of his Scotch, and for a moment Quent thought he looked unsettled.

  “Where’s Starla?”

  “I’m sorry to say, but your mother didn’t make it through the Evolution. It was tragic, really. She was on location in—oh, somewhere. I don’t even recall where.” His smile didn’t waver as he brought the glass over and set it on a table next to Quent. “She didn’t deserve to come along.”

  “Obviously you felt the same about me.”

  Fielding tilted his head. “Is that what you think? Unfortunately, no one—including you—has ever been able to anticipate my plans. In fact, I made arrangements for you. After all, you are my only son. My progeny. Who else could even try to fill my shoes?” He sipped again, a more controlled taste this time. “I’d actually given up on your appearance—it’s been fifty years.”

  “Arrangement? What the hell are you talking about? You have nothing to do with me being here.” Quent drew in a deep breath, and reminded himself to remain unruffled. Fielding thrived on oversetting his opponents.

  “Is that what you believe?” Fielding looked down at him, despite the fact that Quent was taller. It was an affect he’d perfected. “In fact, it’s only because of me that you’re here.” Setting his glass down, he pulled off his jacket and hung it over the back of a chair, just as he had done many times in the past. Usually, that sort of action was a precursor to getting out a riding crop or some other form of entertainment.

  This time, Quent would be ready for him. “I know you believe in your power absolute, but that’s impossible. Father.” He forced out the word he’d refused to use since he was twelve.

  “But you’re wrong, my son,” Fielding said in a dulcet voice. “I had it all under control. You were in Sedona when the Evolution happened, weren’t you?”

  Quent nodded. “Far away from you and your Cult of Atlantis.”

  Fielding’s eyes danced. “Ah, so you’ve put at least that together. I hoped you’d be clever enough to do so, but I wasn’t certain. I meant for you to join, you know, when the time was right. But things moved along too quickly for me to have you initiated. The opportunity arose and I had to take it. So I decided to wait until after the Evolution. I didn’t dream it would take fifty years for you to find me, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

  Quent kept his mouth closed. Too soon to give way to his anger. He didn’t know where Fielding wore his crystal; although that wouldn’t stop him. He could easily subdue the man and find out. The one benefit of walking out of that Sedona cave was the superhuman strength that came along with his psychometric ability.

  “I knew you were going to be in Sedona. I planned it that way,” Fielding said.

  Quent looked at him, allowing the disbelief to show in his eyes. “You planned it.” It took effort to keep from laughing at the absurdity. His father had no influence on his life, let alone access to his calendar.

  Fielding nodded and sipped again. “I knew we’d been…estranged…for some time, but I knew that after the Evolution, you’d want to join my ranks. Stand by my side. I wanted you to.”

  Quent picked up the Scotch and took a sip. It was the only way he could keep from going off on the man before him. Not yet. Not—

  Zoë.

  He shook his head to clear it. He looked at the crystal glass in his hand, where the images and memories threatened to seep into his mind. Zoë. Impossible. But he felt her. Sensed her.

  Quent focused on the white wall across from him, battling the impossibility, the slur of images, trying to keep his face blank, to hide the internal battle from his too-perceptive father.

  “Son?�
�� Fielding said, breaking into his thoughts. Just the sound of that name coming from Fielding’s mouth made Quent want to puke, and it had the additional effect of helping him to gather control. “What is it? Do you at last see what I’ve done for you?”

  Quent pressed his lips together, squeezed his eyes tightly, and gave himself the moment to feel, to test the images. Controlled. By God, it was Zoë—she’d been here. Recently. Willingly.

  He gulped the rest of the glass’s contents back. The searing warmth blazed through him and filled his uneasy stomach. But it didn’t take the edge from his realization.

  “I’m flattered. Overcome,” Quent managed to say. He focused on the calming sound of flowing water and gathered himself together. Then he looked up at Fielding, praying that the shock and confusion wasn’t in his eyes, and that his father saw what he wanted—expected—to see. Reverence. Or at least gratitude. “You did this for me?”

  “Not merely for you,” his father replied. “But for both of us. Me, leading the way, and you following in my footsteps. Standing by my side.”

  “And you believe you arranged for me to be in Sedona.” Quent grappled himself back into the conversation.

  “You don’t think it was an accident that you heard about the lost Anasazi treasure, do you? I arranged for you to hear about it, and for you to acquire the documentation that you believed would lead you to its location.”

  “You set me up?”

  “With the help of your assistant…what was his name? Trevor? Tracy?” Fielding waved an elegant hand, an emerald ring glinting in the light. “I could never remember his name. But he kept me apprised of your calendar. And other relevant information.”

  “Why did you want me in Sedona?”

  “It’s a mecca of energy, of course, Quentin. Even you know that. And that fusion of energy was going to be harnessed and exacerbated with the earth’s physical change during the Evolution. All those ley lines and power centers intersecting and fighting with each other. I knew something was going to happen. And now I see the results.”

  “I was an experiment.”

  “One that turned out better than even I could have anticipated. After all, you haven’t changed a bit. Are you immortal?” he asked curiously.

  Quent didn’t bother to answer. He didn’t know whether to believe Fielding, although knowing the man as he did, he suspected it could be true. In fact, if he didn’t need to know what Zoë had been doing there, he’d put an end to this abhorrent discussion right now.

  “But it doesn’t matter,” Fielding continued. “I’ll have you crystaled.”

  “What do you do to fill your long, immortal days?” Quent asked. “Fifty years is a long time. You have everything.”

  “Nearly everything.” For the first time, Fielding’s pleasure seemed forced. “The women, the food, the entertainment. Not having to go to the office or attend strategy meetings, answer to board members. Everything I wanted, all mine, forever.”

  “I did see the golf course,” Quent said. “How often does it change?”

  Fielding smiled. “One of my brainchildren. I have it change every fourteen days or so.” He smoothed his shirt and Quent looked for the glow of a crystal to shine through. “I can eat whatever I want, as much as I want, whenever I want. I can have sex as many times a day as I desire, with as many different woman as I want. Life is more luxurious than you can imagine.”

  “The same thing, day after day. No challenges, no changes.” Quent shook his head. “It’s not as if you can jet off to Paris or Tokyo or Tahiti any longer. They’re fucking gone. What’s the attraction?”

  “Power.” Fielding’s smile seemed tight. “There’s nothing more worthy, Quentin.”

  “Over what? There’s nothing to control anymore. A few thousand people and an annihilated world?” Quent scoffed openly. “What accomplishment is there in that? You fucking blew it up. There’s nothing left.”

  “I beg to differ. Mecca, as we call this place, has everything I could want. Everything I would have experienced in Paris or Moorea or Rome. All here, brought to me, recreated for me.”

  Quent rose and began to wander around the room, hoping to discover more about Zoë’s visit. From which of the three doors had she entered, exited; had she sat, stood…what could he glean? He remembered to limp, using his weapon as a cane so that he always had it near him.

  Part of him was ready to use it at any moment. Another part wanted to encourage Fielding to talk further, to see what he could learn.

  “Did you find Atlantis?” Quent asked, touching the table. Zoë’s essence filtered through to him immediately. “Is that how you got the crystals?”

  “Yes, indeed, the crystals come from Atlantis.”

  That calm pronouncement caught his attention, and Quent paused. In spite of himself, and the revulsion he felt for Fielding, a thrill rushed through him. “You found Atlantis?” he said, turning to give his father his full attention. His pulse spiked and his curiosity was aroused.

  The same excitement he felt showed in the other man’s face. “I didn’t say we found Atlantis, but it does indeed exist. It’s more accurate to say that the Atlanteans found us.”

  For the moment, Quent’s hatred for his father filtered away completely. “It really existed? Atlantis? What happened to it? Have you been there?”

  Fielding seemed to find his son’s fascination compelling. “I knew you of anyone would share my excitement and enthusiasm. If only we hadn’t been estranged for so many years, I would have allowed you to share in the glory with me and the other members of the Inner Circle.”

  “We were estranged, as you put it, because you beat the bloody rot out of me,” Quent reminded him. “And I don’t believe for one moment that you would have shared your glory with anyone, let alone me.”

  Fielding shook his head. “But Quent, you’re wrong. I had to form and train you to be strong in your youth so that you could withstand life’s challenges. My plan succeeded, as you well see, for look at you! And if I were to share my glory with anyone, it would be my own flesh and blood. Not the likes of Remington Truth or Liam Hegelsen. Even Liam doesn’t know what I know, doesn’t fully understand what Atlantis has to offer.”

  Quent had to know. “Tell me about them. The Atlanteans. Did Atlantis rise from the bottom of the ocean? There’s a new landmass in the Pacific. Is that what caused the Change?”

  “You’re well informed for not having been among the Elite,” Fielding replied, a modicum of surprise on his face. “But then again, you’re my son.”

  He rose and walked toward Quent, coming to stand next to him at the glass table in the closest proximity they’d been for decades. A subtle scent came with him, the essence of wealth and fine clothing, Scotch whiskey…and something else that bordered on unpleasant. “I know you have many questions, and I look forward to showing you everything I’ve accomplished in the last sixty-two years. Oh, yes,” he said, “this all began long before the Evolution actually happened.”

  “How did it begin?”

  “I’ll show you.” Fielding walked to the wall next to one of the water channels. As Quent watched, he flipped open a small panel and seemed to put in a code. Then he closed the little door and a section in the wall slid open.

  Quent adjusted the cane-weapon in his hand and bumped his ankle against his other boot, ensuring that the Taser was still in place. A prickling rushed over his shoulders and he started toward Fielding, anticipation sending his pulse spiking. He didn’t bloody trust his father at all—this could be some sort of trap; although why he’d need to resort to that was uncertain, since no one knew Quent was here. This was more likely nothing more than what it appeared to be: Fielding’s opportunity to boast about his power and secrets.

  And Quent’s chance to learn more about the people who’d destroyed the earth.

  He had to follow him.

  * * *

  4 May 2011

  5:30 A.M.

  Devi and I welcomed a beautiful little boy this morning. He
’s healthy, and I’m feeling well.

  We’ve named him David Bakula Kapoor, after both of his grandfathers. Although we don’t have a scale, Devi estimates David’s weight at eight pounds. He’s long and lean, twenty inches.

  He’s got a full head of dark hair and beautiful cinnamon skin.

  I hope he grows up in a better world than the one he was born into.

  —from the diary of Mangala Kapoor

  * * *

  CHAPTER 16

  Fielding and Quent walked down a windowless corridor that twisted and turned, descending toward the center of the building. The floor here was carpeted in something that looked like bleached sherpa wool, with the effect of smothering the sound of footsteps. And the walls and ceilings, rounded at the corners, were of unrelieved white.

  Quent noticed three other doors and wanted to think of an excuse to touch the knobs on each one to see if Zoë had come down this way, but he dared not do anything that might raise Fielding’s suspicions.

  It wasn’t long before they reached the end of the spiraling hall and the door there. As before, Fielding opened a small panel next to it and moved something around before closing the little door once more. The entrance opened and Fielding gestured for Quent to enter.

  The octagonal room glowed, undulating with shadows and swaths of light. Its ceiling was glass, and the sunlight beamed down from…above. It took Quent only a moment to realize that the room was submerged like a large circular aquarium. Dark water surrounded the walls, surging silently against the floor-to-ceiling glass, giving an eerie feel to the space. Lights embedded in the solid floor shone up in soft beams around the edges.

  In the center was a pedestal, made of some transparent material, and on the pedestal sat a large pale blue crystal. Of an irregular shape, the stone looked like a piece that had been hacked out of some large stone. About the size of Quent’s fist, it had jagged edges along the top, and smooth, striated sides. A faint glow emanated from it, radiating a ring of white light on the surface where it sat.