by P. S. Power
Sighing, Albert smiled at the woman.
“Don’t worry. No one is used to this kind of thing. If it gets too hard… Remember that it’s a lot worse for the people standing in the fire, trying to save lives. Our feet hurt and our backs ache. Their pain is a hundred times that by now. We have constant water, food when we need it and drugs to keep us going. They only get that when we get it to them. This doesn’t have to be easy for you. You just can’t quit, or get lazy. That’s all. If we fail, they pay for it, not us.”
She nodded, seeming annoyed, then walked off, to get everyone out of the magical dwelling that they’d put up. It took a few minutes, probably because she was, by nature, a nice and kind person. He could tell because she hadn’t screamed at him for ordering her around. She hadn’t even commented on his silly sounding talk, just taking it in the spirit meant. At least Albert hoped that was the case.
After all, making this woman mad at him might not be as bad as say, having Tiera in the same state in his regard. Then again, Tiera Havar wasn’t there and Alison Peterson was. Driving her away would mean having to do that share of the work as well.
He decided to try and be a bit more polite, after that. It didn’t work the whole time, but he did make the effort.
Chapter nine
The fire raged for two more days. Even when it was finally under control, everyone that came into the base camp felt wary about the concept. Every time they’d won, for a brief time period, another blaze had started. That had slowed, once the military men, some of them, were flying patrols over the countryside. At least until nightfall, when they couldn’t see. Then the things started again. In new locations, counter to the direction the wind was blowing, at least part of the time.
The big difference, this time, was that when night fell, everyone came in to get food, all at one time. That meant, near dark or not, Alison ordered everything they had that could fly, up into the sky. She’d managed to get some large lights from Harmony, and went up into the sky with them, flying as she lit the world up. It was like a dozen suns came into being, all at once.
An hour after that, Albert’s handheld went off. The man on the screen wasn’t anyone that he recognized, except in passing. One of the flying men, who’d been around for food. He was tall, clean shaved and not the man in charge.
He yelled nicely though.
“We have a group headed your way, Benoist! Moving fast… Using low flying mode or Tor-shoes… I’d say it was five or six. Nobles from the look. They have at least three women with them. We’re in pursuit, but they lost us in the trees. They’re probably heading for the transport pods there. That or they’re going into the city. If they do that, we’ll get them, so guard the boxes!”
Albert felt slow, mentally. He was on his feet, regardless, and while hobbling from them being a bit sore, still able to move. After a fashion. He scurried, in the correct direction. Just in case there was something he’d be able to do.
Halfway there, the device still in his hand, he rolled his eyes. Nearly tripping for his bothering to do that.
“Right… Stupid of me…” He called out then, his voice hoarse and cracked sounding. It was the smoke, mainly. That and a lack of proper healing. “Guard the huts! We have possible kidnappers heading this way!”
Several people, using their shields to fly, moved at the things fast. From the direction of the burnt tree line, to the north. The only problem was that the men and women, all in black, were the wrong ones. The people carrying bodies with them. Those were over the shoulders of the three largest men. The two women had weapons, or at least pointed things at him, causing large gouts of dirt to fly at his face. That didn’t hit him, but it left him blind for a moment.
Then, without pausing or slowing, the people, all of them, moved at the boxes at nearly a hundred miles per hour. It was a reckless speed, he had to think. Also, a thing he couldn’t beat. Even as the people there, many sitting on the ground, started to try and get on their feet, to fight.
Albert used the low flying portion of his own shield, knowing it was almost useless to even try. He did it anyway, grabbing at the one tall man he could reach in time, at the door of the nearest red hut. The large fellow had a small person over his shoulder, which he dropped, once he saw Albert was in his way. Then the man, even if they were both wearing good shields, tried to fight him.
That didn’t work perfectly, but after a moment Al found himself sliding sideways, as the bigger man pushed past him. Leaving him to stumble, trying to grab at a shield. That didn't work and never could, given the design of such things. Instead, he fell, as the man leapt forward, the door to the box appearing after no more than two seconds.
“Gah!” He simply yelled, as the fronts of the three huts opened up again, showing them as being empty. “I…”
He had nothing at all. No plan or thought that he was going to find the men and women. All of them had gone away. To any of thousands of locations. That could be anywhere in three different worlds and more, if they were from the fleet, away in space.
That wasn’t likely, since they’d mainly looked to be of noble blood. Tall, though none of them were over seven feet. Some city men were that tall. Mainly those with some noble heritage, of course. Turning around, Albert felt tears coming to his eyes. That was stupid of him, but happened anyway. A line trickled down his cheek, as he moved to the woman on the ground. She was small, but not a child, once he got to her.
Beaten soundly, a thing he could see even in the dim light. She had bruises all over her face. She wasn’t crying about it, just trying to make her way to her feet. Probably to fight, or run. Her hands were bound, but it looked like her feet were free, still.
“Easy there. We’re friends. I need to call…” Someone.
Who that was, he didn’t really know. Except, of course, he did. Peterson. The lady in charge of such things at the moment. He pulled his handheld to get that done, tapping the sigils of her name as soon as he found it.
The woman answered, bobbing in the air, dark night behind her.
On seeing him, she wrinkled her brow.
“Situation report.” The girl winced then, since he was, technically, her boss for the day. That kind of thing was normally spoken to underlings, not the other way around. A thing Albert knew and couldn’t manage to find any concern over at the moment.
“Six people, carrying three victims used the transport pods here. I tried to stop them, and managed to get one of the hostages. The criminals got away with two of them.” He didn't wipe his face, even if he looked weak at the moment. It was horrible, that he failed those people.
If the one there with him had already been beaten, then there was no reason to think that even worse wouldn’t be happening to the others, once the men and women had them in a safe location where they could do whatever they wanted. Also, there were only three of the victims. At least six women had gone missing. He didn’t mention that out loud, at first. He wanted to spare the tiny woman, an attractive but common sort, from having to think about it. Except that she might know something.
Tightening his lips, he looked at her. The small woman seemed scared of him. Possibly just afraid in general.
He tried to make his voice sound soft. It didn’t really work, after being awake for almost five days.
“There were more women and girls with you, weren’t there? What happened to them?” He swallowed, fearing that their bodies would have to be searched for, if the fire hadn’t taken them already.
Thickly, as if her mouth were injured, the small lady tried to curtsy, bobbing in place.
“They’s be sent off already, M’laird. Somat wit a wagon took ten off as to the east, last night. We, the others and me, were supposed as to be used by these here, afore being sold. M’laird.” She tried to bob in place again, which Albert stopped with a wave.
“I’m Albert. Not the lord of anything. I’m just a volunteer here. We need to… Can you answer questions? We need to get people out to look for that wagon. Even after a day, they
can’t have gotten that far. Not compared to what our flying troops can do.”
That meant looking down, to see that Alison was still there, listening to him.
“On it. I’ll have search parties set up. I’m heading back that way now. We need the Count. Everyone else that can move, too, if possible.”
He nodded, the screen going dark, since flying and talking to your hand was stupid. It was good to see that Alison at least was more intelligent than that. If you were going to fly, doing it safely was a must. Otherwise little kids would end up with broken backs, crippled for life. At least for a long time, which was bad enough.
Even if it was out of place, a thing that meant nothing to the world now, as far as anyone could tell, Albert relived what had happened to him as a child. Just standing there, with an emergency going on, he flashed back to it. Not the moment of impact, a nearly full-grown man hitting him from behind at a speed so great that his tiny back had snapped in so many places there was no hope of it ever supporting his weight again.
No, what came back was the feeling of helplessness over the whole thing. How his father had looked at him, grief on his face. Every single time that Al had been in the same room with him. The man wasn’t evil and had tried to hide it, but it was there. His child had been ruined, by one careless moment. Baron Pence hadn’t even been evil. Just careless. A stupid drunken idiot that had flown through the streets at a level that meant he was eventually going to hit someone.
Albert’s mother had been just as bad as his father. It showed in a different way, of course. She’d coddled him, neglecting his brother and sisters a bit in order to do it. Even after Conserina Ward had come and fixed him, he’d been treated differently. Not as special, really. As fragile. As perpetually not as good as everyone else. A burden, even when it wasn’t really true any longer.
He, Albert Benoist, had been once broken. It had influenced how everyone that knew about him had treated him. No one had thought he’d become anything in life for over a year. Then, when that handicap had been removed, too many had failed to go back to the idea that he was in the same place as everyone else.
Shaking his head, he sucked in a deep breath and tried to let go of the foolishness that was hitting him. He was literally standing next to a woman that had been kidnapped and beaten, thinking about how poor little Albert wasn’t as good as anyone else. How he never could be. No one cared about that though. Not even him, in that moment. At least he shouldn’t.
As soon as the device in his hand went dark, he moved to tap on the surface of the handheld, seeking Count Thomson first thing. This time the tall blond man groaned as his face showed.
“What is it now?” The man’s eyes weren’t even opened, to see who was bothering him. He sounded almost dead. From what showed behind him, the man was just sitting on the ground someplace. Away from the base camp. There was smoke behind him, but no crackling of flames, thankfully.
“Six men and women rushed the transport huts here and got away with two women. We recovered one of the hostages. She told us that a wagon set out yesterday, heading east, with up to ten women and girls in it. Peterson is sending people in pursuit. At least on the wagon, since we have some hope of finding them. I… messed up and didn’t stop the ones taking the women here.” Albert didn’t bother claiming that he’d tried.
His efforts hadn’t been even near enough, now two women were going to be mistreated. Raped. Beaten. He didn't even know what else might go on, to be truthful. From the sound of it, they’d be sold into slavery. That was a guess, of course. He didn't even know who might be willing to buy a person, much less what kind of monster would try to sell them.
There was a groan, again, from the palm of Al’s hand.
“Understood. Where are you? I’ll head that way as soon as possible. I’m… A bit tired. Count Peterson is there?” The words were almost incoherent. Slurred and soft at the same time.
“Alison Peterson. She’s in charge of the investigation into the missing women. Um… What we need first is your leave to search for them, in your lands? I don’t know if that’s…” It might not be allowed. He had his own guards and people, after all.
Instead, the big man, the Count, forced his eyes open.
“Mr… Albert? That… Do it. Whatever you both need to find these victims. Save them, if you can. All I have is… at your disposal. Get… Clemance.”
The man sat again, unable to hold to his feet, it seemed. Then, it had been days of hard labor with no sleep for the man. For almost everyone there, to be honest.
“Got it. We’ll do what we can.” He just hung up, and started yelling. Screaming, really.
“We need anyone who can stand to help us find those kidnapped women. Help! Please, if you can… I…” He teared up, but didn't let anything fall from his face. He was about done, as far as being able to do anything useful, himself. Most of those around him were even worse off. They were soot covered and had given everything they had to the effort of saving the world around them from the conflagration.
They, most of them, couldn’t even get to their feet. Some, about twenty of them, all men for some reason, did it. They hobbled toward him, pain written on their faces, as they did it anyway. Albert nodded as they came toward him.
“This isn’t going to work, is it? We need fresh bodies. Thank you, all of you. I have to…” He just stood there for a moment. Not knowing what to do at all. What he had left, his energy and ability to think, wasn’t going to be enough.
He needed someone to do that kind of thing for him. Even if it meant he was weak and useless again. Having to lean on others for everything. Like a crippled little boy. Unable to even go off to the restroom by himself.
Albert felt it, the weight of being him, of the lack of value he had, for a moment. Then he nodded at his hand, and looked through the list of people that was on the list of people he could, possibly, call on. Jeffery was there, of course. The man was around the base, having been in the mix of volunteers, actually off fighting the fires. He’d also gotten a lot of drugs in for everyone, having left early on to replenish it all.
Johan Targ didn’t answer at all, Albert leaving a message. The same was true of Sam Builder. Feeling a bit desperate, barely able to think, he finally found the name of the Space Fleet Admiral. Alice Orange, and tapped her name. Expecting no more than he’d gotten from the others. There was no reason for her to help him, after all. Not on Earth, with their planet-based problems.
The woman who popped into being was good looking on a level that was significant. Healthy, and well rested looking. A thin line of envy came into his being, seeing the lack of bags under her eyes. She was a soft golden color, with blonde hair and green eyes that sparkled like gems. She was also youthful seeming, certainly no older than thirty, her face totally blank.
Thankfully she introduced herself, or Albert wouldn’t have figured that she was the right person. Even if she had the correct uniform on.
“This is Orange. Go.”
It took him a second, since he wasn’t certain where she wanted him to travel too. Then he nodded, his eyes feeling heavy.
“We have kidnapping victims. At the fires in County Thomson in Noram. Everyone here is too exhausted to do anything about it. We have some flying military types, but that’s it. We need… Bodies that can search and rescue these women. Count Thomson gave the right to do whatever was needed that way. I need his son, Clemance.” That last portion was, he had to think, useless data for the poor woman he was bothering.
She just moved to the side and tapped on a stone pad for a while, her handheld being placed on the desk next to her.
“Thomson is on the scene there. Clemance, I mean. I can send the… Morning Star and her crew. They should be there inside an hour. Where do we have them land?”
Albert didn’t know, but looked around and finally shook his head.
“Sorry. I can’t think any longer. The drugs aren’t working anymore. We’re at the fire base. I… um… We have a magical house here. I can
make it glow a brilliant orange for you? To match your name. That’s stupid, isn’t it?” He meant the color, not the glowing.
There was a laugh from the woman. It seemed mildly excited, for some reason.
“Do that. Make it big and bright. It’s daylight there, isn’t it?”
“Twilight? It will show. I’ll do that now. Um… I’m Albert.”
The woman gave him a look then, that spoke of him being half insane. It was probably close to true, but he didn't know why she’d be thinking that in particular.
“Right. Benoist. I was sent information on you, earlier. Now, clear the line and make the building light up. Orange. It’s the best color. Out.”
It took about five minutes to make the world there glow, having to work out how to light up a house like that. That, thankfully, really did work. It was kind of blinding, but wasn’t too much to bear. A lot of the people started, slowly, to move toward the place. At first Albert didn’t get why it was happening.
Not until Peterson landed, near a tall blond man, who was yelling for everyone to clear the area. So that a space ship could land. That made sense, and even if he was feeling slow at the moment, he figured out who the young fellow, who was as tired and black from smoke as everyone else there, probably was.
Clemance Thomson.
As they walked over, toward him, he waved.
“Hey… Um… We have permission from the Count to do whatever we need. I asked Space Fleet for people, because…” He didn’t have the energy to go on, at the moment. Alison nodded at him, yawning.
“Good thinking. Countier Thomson, this is Lord Benoist. The High Servant to the Ancients.”
She was going to do it the other way around, possibly with more lies involved. He didn't have any kind of title at all. Even calling him Mister was a polite affectation. That was generally saved for real men. Ones that had families and real jobs that helped other people. Even in Noram almost no one was called the lord of anything. It was just what people said when they figured someone was important, but they couldn’t for the life of them think of what their real moniker was.
