I searched the crowd, hoping—knowing—it would be pretty unlikely I’d find him easily. Maybe if I saw one of the prisoners who’d been captured with Hajah.
An idea occurred to me and I walked up to a different Angara and kept my head low the way they expected humans to approach them.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said, in a quiet, respectful voice. “I have been sent to find a specific Angara. Can you help me?”
“Sent by who?” The panther man said, glaring down at me and not waiting for an answer. “What Angara?”
“I don’t know his name,” I responded, ignoring the first part of his question. “I couldn’t pronounce it. I was told he has a large scar across one side of his face that cuts into his lip.”
“Kiga-wok-naron,” the other said as if annoyed. Maybe he didn’t like the other Angara. “You can’t pronounce that?”
“Not well,” I said, continuing to keep my eyes down. “I’m not smart.”
“None of you is,” the Angara said, disdainfully. “He’s in building three eleven. Usually on the ground floor, near the heating vent.”
“Thank you,” I said, turning to walk that way, grateful that he hadn’t remembered to ask again about why I wanted to find the Angara. I suppose it was fairly rare for a human to be seeking out one of their kind.
I found building three-eleven and entered to find the Angara I wanted—as promised—seated in a chair near a heating vent. He was laughing with another guard, and—surprisingly—a human man.
The man made a comment that caused the guards to howl delightedly, then moved away to carry whatever was in his boxes up some nearby stairs.
The laughter stopped as soon as I approached.
“What do you want?” The non-scarred Angara asked, with annoyance.
“I have been sent to ask a question,” I said, my eyes again lowered, “of Kiga…”
I struggled, but could not remember the remainder of his name.
“Humans,” The non-scarred Angara said, then moved away, going up the same stairs the human had just risen. “He’s Kiga… wok… naron.”
“Kiga, the Scarred might be easier for you to remember,” Kiga said. “Or just Kiga. You’re the one who jumped Hajah, the Wily.”
“I am,” I said, humbly.
“Nearly severed his tongue—which would have been a blessing. So cut the shit,” he said, laughingly. “You also punched my man. You’re about as humble as I am.”
I laughed a little, and so did Kiga.
“I’m working with a man who’s cleaning and restoring books in the library,” I said, reciting the lie I’d practiced on the way over. “He has a question about a damaged passage he wants to repair. It has to do with tracking Grigori slaves.”
“Yes, that’s important work for the Grigori—for whatever reason. They’re very pleased with what the old man is doing. What does he need to know?”
“I didn’t… understand it completely,” I lied again, thinking it might make telling me more acceptable. “There’s something about… things… that are stuck inside our brains when you first capture us. He’s missing some pages about how it works, and how you use it to find escaped slaves.”
“That’s in a book?” Kiga asked, then seemed to rethink it. “I guess everything is. The Grigori write it all down. It’s very annoying, especially because the books keep getting wet, and they stink like an old woman’s underwear.”
I laughed, and he did, too. Then he looked at me carefully, studying me up and down.
“If I tell you, will you even be able to remember?” he asked.
“I… think so,” I said, not prepared for the question.
“No,” Kiga said after giving it some thought. “You’d never get it right. I’ll come by later and explain it to the old man. It’s too complicated for you.”
I felt insulted, but had to calm myself, realizing I was actually going to get what I wanted. It was just going to take a little longer than I’d hoped. So I nodded, lowered my eyes, and exited the building, heading back to meet with Milton.
“I hope the old man can tell a convincing lie,” I said to myself as I walked, smiling at the thought that—if all goes well—we would be free of this place, and I might even have a chance of finding Nova.
WHEN I ARRIVED BACK at the library, Elia and Milton were having sex on his desk.
I’d mostly gotten used to it, people going at it whenever and wherever the interest arose, as it were. But it was not always comfortable to be around—especially when it was Milton. The Grigori ignored it, and the Angara seemed amused by it, at times even aroused. We were treated essentially as pets, or cage animals that were expected to behave this way, and as long as we weren’t interfering with something important—anything goes, as the song says.
I, myself, hadn’t partaken in the fun of ‘free-love’, not since Nova had left. Monogamy didn’t seem to be an issue with most Pangeans, and I’d had several offers, but I wanted Nova, and only Nova, and so I abstained. The women who expressed interest never seemed offended by my rejections, and after one or two attempts, eventually gave up for other, more willing partners.
After a few minutes of emotionless groaning, Milton and Elia finished, she kissed him goodbye, and walked past me toward the main door of the library office.
“Hello, Brandon,” she said, smiling, then giggled to herself as she hurried down the corridor, and out the building.
“Having fun?” I asked Milton, playfully.
“I am,” he answered, smiling. “Who thought being a slave could be so… amusing?”
“You act like a man who’s never done it before.”
Milton actually blushed, and—surprisingly—looked embarrassed. He’d just fucked a woman in front of me, and now he was embarrassed?
“Milton,” I said, as it slowly sunk in. “You… before Elia… you never…?”
Milton turned away and shuffled some papers, straightened them into a pile, then reshuffled them and moved them back to where they were. Finally he sighed, and turned part way back to me.
“I am not a very handsome man…” he said, as if trying to understand it himself. “Nor am I especially adept at inter gender communication.”
“Well,” I said, smiling, “it’s a good thing for you Elia doesn’t seem much interested in talking.”
Milton laughed and looked at me with brightening eyes.
“We do have nice conversations though,” he said. “Sometimes. After. When you’re not here.”
“I’m sure you do. And I’m happy for you. But listen, Milton. I need your help with something.”
I told him about the Angara coming over to see the fictional book, and he grew pale, flushed again, nervously, and became fidgety with the papers on his desk once more.
“But I don’t have any such book,” Milton complained.
“So just act as though you can’t find it when he gets here,” I said.
“I won’t have to act,” he said, his voice trembling. “There is no such book!”
“Milton,” I said, trying to calm him down. “I know that. There doesn’t need to be. I just want the information from him, and he seems perfectly happy to give it. So just write down whatever he tells you, pretending you’ll insert it into the book later.”
“But what if he doesn’t believe me?” Milton fairly shrieked.
I saw now that Milton was actually afraid of potential repercussions from an angry Angara.
“Milton, relax,” I said. “Don’t worry. It will all go fine. You said it yourself. Everyone is fatalistic about life in Pangea. There is no reason for the Angara to feel suspicious.”
He stared at me without believing.
“If you say so,” he said, finally.
But I began to worry that his inability to remain calm might ruin the whole business.
* * *
A WAY TO FIND HER
* * *
THE ANGARA ARRIVED, and Milton looked as though he was going to pee his pants.
“What is
it you need to know?” Kiga asked.
“I… uh…” Milton stammered, instantly forgetting everything we’d rehearsed. “Well…”
“It was just something about how you track escaped slaves, wasn’t it?” I asked, sitting in a corner and trying to seem like I couldn’t really care less. “How you find one specifically, if there’s an individual identifier to help locate her.” I caught myself. “Or him. Her or him.”
Kiga stared at me, apparently angry. Then he glanced at Milton. Milton began to mumble, and shake, and I became genuinely afraid he was going to confess everything.
“That’s all?” Kiga demanded, his anger stemming more from being interrupted for something so minor than for us asking the question at all.
He rolled his eyes, and smiled.
“Well,” he said, falling back into his more carefree attitude, taking a seat near a heater vent. “At least it will be easy enough to answer. Do you want to write it down?” he asked Milton.
Milton, who was startled by the lack of ferocity in this particular Angara, stood silently for a moment, then suddenly jerked alert.
“Oh!” he said. “Yes! I… let me find something to write with.”
I stood and helped the old man find a pencil and some blank paper.
Milton sat and looked across his cluttered desk at the comfortable Angara, who gestured absently with his hands, indicating a small device.
“There’s this shiny little box,” Kiga said, pleasantly. “About this big. Has things on it, and a small, flat area that glows like a tiny fire. It can even be seen in the dark. It has green lines of light on it, and dots, like stars. When one turns red, you know a slave has escaped. Or attempted to.”
“When the slave crosses some kind of barrier?” Milton asked. “Or goes outside a Grigori city?”
Kiga looked at him blankly and answered as if Milton hadn’t heard him correctly. “When a slave tries to escape… it turns red.”
Milton stared at Kiga a moment, as we both realized Kiga was explaining a technology he plainly did not understand himself, and then wrote something on the paper.
“Right,” Milton said. “When it turns red.”
“Then you push a thing on the silver box,” Kiga continued. “And a blue light appears. That is you. Whoever holds the box. You then move toward the red light until the blue light is on top of it. It becomes purple. And boom. You have found your slave.”
“Sort of a simplistic G. P. S.” I said, quietly.
“Apparently,” Milton agreed.
“No,” Kiga said, not understanding. “It’s a silver box.”
“Right,” I said. “And who has these silver boxes?”
“The Grigori have them. They give them to certain Angara.” His eyes darkened, and his voice seemed tinged with a bit of sadness. “Hunters.”
“The Grigori have them,” Milton repeated. “And where are they stored?”
“Some room,” Kiga said waving dismissively. “Grigori give them to us.” Then he corrected sadly. “To hunters. Does that need to go in the book?”
“More information is always better,” Milton said slyly, beginning to enjoy the clandestine nature of the questioning.
“Hmm.” Kiga said. “Grigori always want to know more than anyone really needs to. Well, I never cared when I was a… a full-time hunter. But I could ask one.”
“I would appreciate it,” Milton said.
“And how long does it usually take,” I asked, “for the blue light to meet up with the red light.”
The Angara scowled and looked at me curiously.
“How long? What do you mean?”
I frowned back at him, amazed that my question had confused him, then remembered I was in a world where time was far less specific without a rising and setting sun.
“When does…” I began, then reconsidered. “How much time… when you travel over a distance…”
I stopped, and really thought through my question. All I wanted to know was how long it would be before a blue dot overcame Nova. Could I get to her first? But how to find out? How was I to know how much time she had left before an Angara hunter found her?
“Never mind,” I said, dismissing it.
Kiga chuckled.
“You should let the smart ones ask the questions,” he said to me. “Accept your lot in life as a fighter, and one who helps those who are intelligent.”
I bristled, but slowly realized that he was smiling at me with understanding, and perhaps even a little sympathy. He was including himself in that statement. He was a less intelligent helper of the Grigori.
“You’re right,” I admitted, chuckling in return. “It’s usually best when I just keep my mouth shut.”
Kiga returned my laugh, then returned his attentions to Milton.
“Anything else?”
Milton stared silently a moment, perhaps trying to find a way to ask the question I couldn’t, but then only shook his head.
“Thank you,” Milton said, scribbling something on the paper. “You have been very helpful.”
“Helping the Grigori helps us all,” Kiga said, standing. I noticed a slight shake in one leg, the twisted way it landed when he walked, and wondered if the scar, and some other less obvious wounds had made him someone who could no longer be a full-time hunter.
He politely said goodbye, and moved toward the door.
“Kiga?” I asked.
He stopped just inside the room and turned back to me.
“May I ask…” I began, hesitantly, “… how you got that scar?”
He stood there a moment, and I thought perhaps I’d crossed a line—that maybe he considered it a serious offense for a human slave to even ask. But then he smiled, slightly, his eyes clouded with memory, and he spoke through distant pain.
“An Ingonghu was eating me. Had me in its mouth. Broke my spine.”
“And you survived?” I said, amazed.
“I did,” Kiga said, brightening, but just as quickly his face darkened again. “A human saved me. Stabbed the Ingonghu in the eye until it released me, then nursed me back to health.”
“That’s incredible,” Milton said.
“Yes,” Kiga agreed.
“And how did you get back here?” I asked.
“The human brought me. He was a slave who had been my companion on…” he paused as if remembering was painful, “… when we would hunt.”
“But you don’t hunt anymore?”
“Only when we are short handed. I did not heal well enough.”
“What happened to the human who saved you?” Milton asked.
“The Grigori ate him,” Kiga said, his voice barely betraying his inner turmoil.
Milton and I stared, silently. Kiga nodded a curt goodbye, and left.
“IF BRUK WILL GO with us, we might be able to do it,” I suggested.
Milton nodded.
“I would not wish to leave Elia,” he said, sweetly.
“Of course not,” I said. “Any plan we make will have to involve all of us getting out safely. I’m thinking we should probably have Bruk take you and Elia back to his home, while I go off to find Nova on my own.”
“Brandon, no…”
“It would be better, Milton. You can start on some method for neutralizing the devices implanted in our heads so no hunters come looking for us, and I can find Nova without you and Elia slowing me down. Not to be blunt.”
“No,” Milton said, obviously wounded. “Not to be blunt.”
“The bigger question is:” I said, pointing to my head, “can any of us outrun the Angara if we can’t find a way to block these trackers, first?”
Milton sighed. “I doubt it. They will always be traveling in the straightest line, while we will be relying on terrain, and I’m supposing some kind of complicated form of tracking to get from here to Bruk’s home.”
“How do the people of Pangea—without the silver things Kiga spoke of—find their way around without stars, or the motion of the sun to guide them?” I asked
.
“I have no idea. I’m assuming landmarks, and distant sighting of geography along the inner curve of the world. Or maybe they have nothing to guide them. Maybe that’s part of the reason why once they are taken captive by Grigori they never see home again.”
“I suppose we’ll have to ask Bruk.”
“Whatever the case, the Angara will certainly have the advantage over us. And above that—as you ‘not bluntly’ pointed out—Elia and I will hardly be the speediest of fugitives.”
“But at least we know how they’ll be tracking you—us,” I said. “Maybe we can figure out a way to shield the signal—even temporarily. Maybe some kind of metal cap, or something, might block the signal?”
“Perhaps. Whatever—we won’t be able to test anything until we get one of those silver boxes Kiga told us about.”
“Then that has to be my priority.”
“Can you do it without killing?” Milton asked with genuine concern.
“Killing… a Grigori?” I asked, my tone saying clearly how ludicrous it was for him to even ask.
“They are sentient beings, Brandon. Intelligent life.”
“They force people into slavery, and eat them on the streets as punishment.”
“A crime for which the individual should be held accountable, not the entire race…”
“I’m not having this conversation with you,” I snapped, and headed for the exit.
* * *
ELIA’S LOVE
* * *
BRUK ENTERED, WALKING INTO ME, and because of my mood, I spoke rather bluntly to the Hairy One.
“We’re planning to escape,” I said quickly. “Or, I am. Are you with me?”
“Why?” He asked, sincerely. “They’ll set Ingonghus on us, and we’ll be killed, or recaptured. There is no escape from the Grigori. I’ve told you.”
The Hollow World: (Pangea, Book 1) Page 14
