dress!"
"Take us there," Sanda ordered. He followed the other two officers as they pulled Percival along between them, looking into different galleries until they came to the right one. Sanda stood for a moment to admire the painting, before turning to Percival.
Percival dared to look at the senior officer, wondering if he was different from the other two, wondering if he might survive this ordeal. He saw the man look at the painting again before returning his attention to him.
"Why this painting?" Sanda demanded of Percival.
"She is the woman sent here by the Quiet One," Percival mumbled, acting a role with which he was not familiar.
"Someone who kills Fleet?" Sanda questioned, his voice not menacing, drawing another brief stare from Percival. Sanda was short and powerfully-built, with a well-scarred face, and blue eyes that seemed both intense and dead. Percival immediately lost courage and knew he would tell the captain what he wanted to know. Percival knew he was going to die, and he believed he could do little more than delay the deaths of Fidelity, Samson, and Rafael.
"No," Percival finally spoke. "I saw her fight the two Fleet officers. They were menacing a friend of hers who was injured. She only disarmed them and knocked one unconscious. I helped them flee the area. We took her injured friend to the hospital near the bottom of the Big Ball. The woman and the old man wanted to come to the museum, even though I told them they could be trapped here."
"The two sup pushers were unarmed," Sanda said. "That explains why we found them dead. They didn't die quickly."
Percival understood now. The bad lieutenants probably would not have reported their humiliating encounter with a woman in a yellow dress. Others had seen them, and their enemies among the abused sups had caught them. How many more would now die?
Sanda asked more questions and Percival answered them truthfully, uncomfortable with his ignorance of the theology surrounding the Quiet One. Sanda was quite interested in the Quiet One and treated Percival with an objectivity he never expected of a Fleet officer. It seemed that facing death could be an excellent training experience for a young actor, could he actually survive it, and otherwise it was a wonderfully dreadful entertainment episode with which to finish his brief life. Yes, that was the attitude to take: enjoy life or die trying.
The dead blue eyes of Sanda finally released him. Percival closed his eyes and awaited the punishment for his crime but only heard three shocking words: "You can go."
"Sir!" the youngest officer shouted in defiant objection.
"Do you have a question?" Sanda asked him.
"No, sir! But he helped the woman escape!"
"Seems like a natural action, given the circumstances, Raddit. He's cooperated fully with us. He's had some punishment for his poor judgment. Do you have anything to add to my judgment?"
"No, sir," the young man replied quietly, his voice properly responsive to a superior officer. He turned to Percival. Percival saw that his nose appeared broken and bloody and the young man moved his upper lip from side to side to wiggle the nose experimentally.
"I'm sorry," Percival offered, still not believing he was free to go. He turned slightly, testing the theory of freedom.
"Hey, I'm sorry, too," the Fleet officer said, holding out his hand to Percival.
Percival hesitated to take the offered hand, quickly studying the face he had avoided seeing until now. He was surprised how ordinary and almost scar-less it was.
"Shake on it?" the young officer asked.
Percival grabbed his hand for a brief moment then relaxed the grip to release it. The man tightened his grip to keep Percival from leaving.
"Really sorry!" the young man shouted as his other hand moved across the space between them, pushing the bright blur of a power knife blade above it.
Percival's arm came away from the man but his hand remained in his grasp. Percival screamed as the shock of dismemberment registered, the blood spurting from his hand-less wrist. The Fleet officer tossed the hand onto the floor at Percival's feet. Percival forced himself to grip the end of his arm, to stop the bleeding, while his lungs and gut heaved in continued shock.
"Take him to our medic!" Sanda ordered the other junior officer. "Raddit, clean up the mess here! And I'll see you at the next Games!"
= = =
Samson shook Fidelity gently awake. "I have to use a toilet!" He spoke too loudly.
She put a finger to her lips and peered out the hatch of the freight vehicle. She saw a lone figure walking along the docks past the closed doorways of the warehouse. The man apparently noticed them and continued toward them, one arm held behind his back, as if concealing something. Fidelity climbed out of the vehicle to meet him.
"Who are you?" the man asked warily. He followed Fidelity's gaze to the empty sleeve she had thought was a limb that hid something. He seemed to react to her expression of shock and sympathy. "It don't hurt no more," he said. She sensed there was someone thoughtful behind his eyes and someone happy to be surprised behind the missing-tooth grin he made.
"We're lost," she replied. "My name is Ruby. Do you have a toilet we can use?"
"You got more friends in there?" he asked, indicating the freight car.
Samson hopped onto the hatch and grabbed for Fidelity to help him into her arms. Samson stared at the one-armed man until the man stared back at him in a friendly way, causing Samson to shyly hide his face from him. Rafael stirred inside and they all waited for him to emerge.
"That's all?" the man asked, as Rafael slowly made his exit. The man was dressed in the gray work clothes of a laborer but he seemed to carry himself like a person of some responsibility. "Thought we were being invaded! Geez, you are an old fart!"
Rafael smiled as he took the man's hand to help him onto the deck. "My name is Rafael. This is Samson."
"Aw, God! What happened to his leg?" The man exaggerated his reaction upon his second glance at Samson, yet Fidelity felt he was sincere.
There was an awkward moment of silence as they all looked to Fidelity to respond. "An elevator cut it off," Samson answered simply. Fidelity held him closer, surprised at his ability to speak of the horrible event.
"I suspect we are not where we should be," Fidelity said, "but two of us really do need to use a toilet."
"Three of us," Rafael corrected.
"Happens to all of us," the one-armed man commented. "My name is Olivier. I kind of oversee what happens here on the shipping docks. I also escort strangers to the toilets. I suspect you are right about being in the wrong place but you sure have me surprised and intrigued. Let's go!"
Fidelity carried Samson through a maze of crates on the freight dock as she followed the one-armed man. "Are we in trouble?" she asked.
"You just making idle conversation?" Olivier asked. "Or do you love bad news? This is Fleet territory, you know."
"No, we didn't know," she said. "We're running from the Fleet."
"Good place to hide. Last place they'll look. Why are you running?"
"I had an ugly encounter with two lieutenants."
"I bet I know why," Olivier said.
"I'll bet you don't," Fidelity said.
They walked rapidly, with Rafael struggling to match the pace. They passed the closed openings of the warehouse and a few freight vehicles identical to the one they had used. Fidelity noticed there was no music in the air here. She slowed to allow Rafael to catch up to them.
"You must know that sups are not allowed here," Olivier said. "Especially misbehaving ones."
"What are sups?" she asked.
"You really don't know? Support persons. Slaves. Everybody not in uniform, or who used to be in uniform. I was a Tough Guy once, but got broken, as you see."
"You lost your arm in a war?" Samson asked.
"Lost it in the games," Olivier replied. "Didn't know it was broke. Got infected. Almost died."
"Why didn't they give you a new one?" Samson asked. "I'll get a new leg when we get to a Mnro Clinic."
"Mnro Clinic? Since when do
we have Mnro Clinics in Oz?"
"We're new to Oz, Olivier," Fidelity said. "What are the games?"
"You must be new to Oz! And I can tell by your accent. The games are where the bad boys go to become Tough Guys. Or die. The Fleet didn't bring you? How'd you get here?"
"Through a gate," Fidelity answered. "So, where is Oz located in the universe? I assume you know where Earth is. How far are we from Earth?"
"You assume wrong, but I know you can't see Earth's star from here. Through a gate? You came here through a gate? What are you doing here?"
"Darned if I know, Olivier. Is there a window I can look out from nearby?"
Olivier didn't reply for several moments, as though making an important decision. "I ought to be scared, standing this close to you guys," he finally replied. "Guess I'll act like a Tough Guy. I'll find you a window if all goes well. There's just us broken guys out here at the docks. We don't make decisions alone. We'll decide together."
"Before you turn us over to the Fleet," Fidelity said, "I really would like to see the surrounding star patterns."
"It's that important to you? You rode all the way out here to look at stars? It wasn't just a joy ride, so to speak?"
"There is absolutely nothing joyful about the Big Ball - Oz - Olivier! Nor am I satisfied to have Samson and Rafael subjected to its terrors. I have seen a gatekeeper on Earth! We have been sent through a gate twice now! We have flown through much of the Big Ball! And still we know nothing about why this has happened! My life seems to be a succession of restricted and bad choices. My final choice is to see the stars that
Keshona Far Freedom Part 1 Page 57
