Static Mayhem

by Edward Aubry

  "May we have a few minutes alone, please?" Harrison asked when he realized that Alec intended to stand there listening to them having this conversation.

  "Of course," he replied without hesitation. "But do keep it brief." He left. That he was so readily willing to leave them alone meant that he would most certainly be monitoring the room. This being his office, it was surely equipped with the cutting edge of whatever recording equipment had been salvaged from wherever.

  Let him listen, thought Harrison. He relished the thought of Alec going back over a tape of the two of them talking, with Glimmer's voice sounding on it not at all. The trick she did with eardrums did not work on microphones.

  "What's his problem du jour?" she asked as soon as he closed the door.

  Harrison laughed at the cynical question, and the thought that Alec would not be able to hear it. "He thinks we're dating," he said in a lame attempt to break the tension.

  "What, you and him?" she asked. She seemed genuinely confused.

  Harrison laughed again. "No, you and me."

  "Oh. Are we?"

  Sometimes it was impossible for him to tell if she was joking. Sometimes the bizarre things she said were the products of her scathing wit. But sometimes they came from her innocence.

  "Ah," he said, not sure where she wanted to go with that. "No."

  "Do you want to?"

  Harrison put his hands to his temples and blinked. He wondered what other, even more stupid, things he could say today.

  "Okay," he said. "Okay, that's not … at all … what I brought you here to talk about."

  "Oh," she said. "Well, what then? I was in the middle of a pretty important experiment when your flunkies hauled me out of the lab."

  He had to come right out with it. "What happened to your hand?"

  She looked at him sideways. "Did you have Alec arrange all this just so you could ask me that?" She frowned. "What a shitty thing to do. You know I don't want to talk about it. Can't you just let it go?" Her tone was angry, but somehow also pleading.

  "It's not me that wants to know this time," he said. "It turns out you're a bit of a national security dilemma. Alec is concerned that you may be hiding something of a magical nature. That it could pose a hazard." She scowled at him. "Hey, I'm not making this up." He paused, she seemed unmollified. "Listen, there's a situation, and I've asked for you to be included. But Alec won't do it without full disclosure on your part. You can keep not talking about this as long as you want, but I think we could really use your help on this one." Her scowl deepened. "Please?" Pleading was a last resort.

  She looked away, and for a moment he thought she was about to cry. Then she closed her eyes and held out her hands. "Pull," she said.

  He took each mitten, delicately, between thumb and forefinger, and hesitated just long enough to build up doubt that this was the right thing to do. He pulled. The mittens came off. She held up both hands, palms out, fingers spread. At first, because they were so small and detail was hard to make out, he couldn't tell the difference between them.

  Until he counted fingers.

  The index finger on her right hand was gone. The spot where it had been was a pink bump, a scar that had not quite healed.

  "Oh God, Glimmer," he said, hoping he sounded appropriately sensitive. Already, he felt overwhelmingly guilty for forcing this. "What happened?"

  She put her hands down. "That was my trick," she said.

  For an instant, he didn't quite get what that meant. Then it clicked. "You blew up your finger?"

  "I had to break it off first," she whispered.

  "Oh, Jesus!" he cried. His hands were in his hair, clutching desperately. His guilt at making her talk about it faded out, superseded by a much more profound remorse. "Oh, my God. Glimmer, I am so sorry. I had no idea."

  Her face was devoid of readable expression. "What did you think happened that day?"

  "I thought you had gone off to die," he said. "I thought that's why you gave me your medal." He had stopped wearing it when Glimmer turned up alive, but now he reached for the spot where it used to hang.

  She shrugged. "Well," she admitted, "that was a possibility."

  "So where were you that whole time?" he asked. He wondered if she would finally give him a straight answer, if she understood or even cared what would happen if she did not.

  "Recovering. I was in a chrysalis. Barely aware for weeks, but I did notice you and Mitchell walking right by me. Several times. I tried to wave." She shrugged and smiled.

  He rubbed his face. He had gone through a period of horrific, self-inculpating depression when he thought he had been responsible for her death, and then he had let himself off the hook. "When I saw you at the Welcome Center, I was so relieved. I thought the bandage was from something that happened afterwards." He wasn't sure how he was going to manage the news that he was, inescapably, responsible for her permanent injury. "I'm so sorry," he said again, awash with the feeling that he would be saying that a lot from now on.

  She flew to his face and brushed it with her hurt hand. The stinging shocks felt like penance. "I know," she said. He closed his eyes. They were both silent for almost a minute.

  "Hey," she whispered, "spy-boy must be getting nervous by now."

  In spite of his feelings, Harrison had to laugh. "You're right," he said. He made no move to let Alec back in.

  "So that's full disclosure," said Glimmer. "Self-inflicted wound. Laid up for a month. What happens now?"

  It was an open-ended question, and Harrison chose to interpret it as pertaining only to the political situation. They would deal with the personal situation over time. He took his time replying. "Now, assuming that Alec is satisfied with your answer …" He paused, looking for the words that would describe the undertaking of what would be, without a doubt, the most important job on the entire planet.

  "Now we get to work," he heard someone say, and the confidence, the seriousness of purpose in those words almost prevented him from recognizing his own voice.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Expedition

  "How long will you be gone?"

  Mitchell was standing in the doorway to the guest room in Sarah and Warren's apartment. They were living in an office building that had survived May 25 and been converted into housing. Between her government contacts (which, at this point, she considered ridiculous) and her celebrity at being the first known pregnant survivor, Sarah and Warren now rated a slightly larger living space than most. She had finagled a move into a three-bedroom apartment to make room for a family. The kids, who were used to living with Harrison in a single hotel room, were thrilled at the prospect of staying there.

  "About two weeks, I think," Harrison replied. "It depends how long it takes us to get everything moved out." Harrison had been told that the cover story for his prolonged absence from New Chicago was that he was going on a long-range salvage mission that involved the transport of some very heavy equipment. They had also told him to be vague about the details. If it became necessary after the fact, on his return the story would be that the equipment had turned out to be impossible to move without destroying it.

  "Two weeks? That's awesome!" Mitchell's unabashed glee made Harrison laugh.

  "I'll try not to take that personally," he said.

  Dorothy was in the guest room, setting up her space. All she had with her was what they had brought straight from school, but she had already begun arranging her few toiletries to mark her territory and build her nest.

  "But you're going to miss the memorial," she said, emerging from the room.

  Harrison shrugged. "Couldn't be helped," he said briefly. "Something about a window of opportunity." He hated lying. He was no good at it. He hoped that by not providing any significant details, he could avoid having to backpedal later. Dorothy gave him a look he thought might be disbelief, but only for a second. He wondered if she suspected there might be more than he was telling. If their trip ever got declassified, he would ask her.

  "That's
too bad," she said, and she dropped it.

  Definitely suspicious, Harrison thought proudly. That's my girl.

  "After the ceremony," Sarah said, "we'll head back to the hotel to pick up the rest of your stuff." She was starting to show, and her face was fuller than the last time Harrison had seen her. "Why don't you two go check out the community room? They just put in an air hockey table. You should go get in line to play."

  "Cool!" Mitchell exclaimed. "I love this place!" He took off out the door. Dorothy sighed and went to chase him.

  Sarah closed the door behind them and leaned against it for emphasis. "All righty, mister," she said. "Let's hear it."

  "I can't," he said, giving her his best guilty look. "Not this time. I'm sorry."

  Her eyebrows went way up. "Whoa. You're serious."

  "Yeah," he said, "and it kind of gets worse. I don't think I'm going to be back in two weeks."

  "How long?" She sat down on a sofa. Harrison remained standing.

  "I really don't know," he admitted truthfully. "It could be two weeks, it could be two months." He looked around the apartment, trying to take in how his kids would be living for a long while. "Are you sure I'm not putting you out? You'd tell me, right? I mean, you've got this whole baby deal going on. I don't want to put any more pressure on you."

  "What pressure?" she said. "I don't do anything. I'm still on the government payroll. They haven't asked me to do anything in over a month. I think they like the fact that the first mommy-to-be is one of their own, and they're coddling me. To be honest, it'll be nice to have some more faces around here. I'm getting bored."

  He smiled. "Just remember that when they get into a screaming argument in the middle of the night. One thing I can promise you is that you won't be bored."

  "Harrison," she said, serious again. "You are coming back, aren't you?"

  "That's the plan," he said. "Don't worry. I can't imagine they'd let me near anything truly dangerous."

  "Please come back," she said.

  "Will do." He jerked his thumb back over his shoulder. "I have to pack, and say goodbye to the little monsters." Sarah held out her hand, and Harrison grabbed it and pulled her up off the sofa. She used her momentum to throw herself around Harrison in a tight hug.

  "Please come back," she repeated as she kissed him on the cheek. She pulled away. "Warren is going to kick himself for missing you. He keeps saying we should have you over, and we never do anymore."

  "You can have me over when I get back," he said. "Which I will."

  "Take care of yourself," she said. "I'll try to return your kids in the same condition they were when I got them."

  * * *

  Harrison filled a plastic bag with a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, a bar of soap, a stick of deodorant, and a disposable razor. He looked around his bathroom, trying to imagine what else he would need. He grabbed a miniature bottle of shampoo from the shower. He debated dental floss for a full minute, finally deciding to take it.

  Beyond that, he was at a total loss. He had been told to pack several changes of clothes, plus whatever essentials he needed, and had been given volume and mass parameters to follow. It took him almost ten minutes to forget what the mass allowance was, but the space allowance he remembered was 2,000 cubic centimeters, or roughly the size of a suitcase. He didn't own a suitcase, but he did have the next best thing. In his closet, on the top shelf, was the backpack he had worn almost the whole way from Massachusetts. He had not taken it out of the closet since his arrival in New Chicago. He had not been sure when it would ever come in handy. Now he knew.

  He pulled it down, opened it up, and dumped the contents onto his bed. Seeing everything spread out brought back a rush feelings from day one of his trip to Chicago. He had felt incredible false confidence and helplessness, both at once. He chuckled as he thought about the fact that, despite how far he had come geographically and personally, when faced with the prospect of lighting out again, he was back to square one. He had no idea what he should bring, what he would need, or what was expected of him.

  He was also amazed to discover that nothing was missing. He had not inventoried the pack when it was returned to him because it had not seemed to matter at the time. Someone, though, had gone to considerable effort to ensure that he got back everything they had taken from him. His clothes had been cleaned and neatly folded. His gadgets-the camera, the music storage device, and other items he had collected-were all accounted for. There was even the half-finished plastic bottle of Coke. He felt like he had just gotten his lost wallet back with all the money still in it, and as he thought that, he found his wallet, with all the money still in it.

  Sifting through these items stirred a nostalgia for his time on the road with Glimmer. He had been hoping that she would hang out with him while he packed for the trip, but she had gone off to do whatever pixies do the night before a big assignment. She spent so much time with him and the kids that he sometimes forgot she did not really live with them.

  He was suddenly and simultaneously struck by a realization and a powerful whim. This stuff had served him well enough when he had no other resources. It would be just fine now. He scooped everything back into the pack, threw in the toiletries bag, zipped it up, and put it on the floor near the door.

  "All packed," he announced. And he got ready for bed.

  * * *

  He woke up at two a.m., which gave him an hour to get dressed and get to the garage. He had not gotten much sleep, but he was alert and excited.

  Forty-five minutes later, he arrived at the garage. He was not the first person there, but he was earlier than most. There was a man inspecting the outside of one of the buggies and looking at a piece of paper, probably a checklist. Dark skin, shaved head. Harrison remembered him from the meeting as Michael Smith, the Sergeant. He was no longer in uniform, but was wearing a plaid flannel shirt and blue jeans.

  "Good morning," said Harrison. Smith looked up from his paper.

  "Cody," he said. "You're early. That your gear?" He indicated the pack on Harrison's back.

  "Yes, sir," said Harrison.

  "Save your sirs for the lieutenant," Smith said.

  "Sorry," Harrison replied, marveling at his own mastery of the skill for making bad first impressions.

  "Don't be," said Smith. "Give me your pack. I need to weigh it." Harrison took it off and handed it over. Smith took the bulging pack, obviously expecting it to be heavy, and almost dropped it when he discovered that it was not. "What's in this thing?" he asked. "It hardly weighs anything."

  Harrison debated explaining that the fabric of the pack had a gravity resistant mesh sewn into it, which canceled the weight of anything put in it, but his paranoia kicked in, and he was afraid the pack would be confiscated again. He shrugged instead. "Just a few things," he said. "Not much."

  Smith set his pack on the cargo scale in the garage. It registered at just over three kilograms, which was the mass of just the pack itself, not the contents. Smith shook his head and made a note. "You should check in with the director," he said to Harrison. "He's inside the transport."

  Harrison had gotten so used to calling these vehicles buggies that he almost did not catch what Smith meant. Of course, they were transports. They seated twenty-four people, not counting the driver. The seats were pretty cramped when it was filled to capacity, but for eight people and a pixie, they would be riding in luxurious spaciousness. The best guess was that these vehicles had been designed to serve a military function, but like every other vehicle so far discovered, they were completely unarmed.

  Harrison entered the buggy and found Alec talking quietly to another man he did not recognize. They were both dressed in plain shirts and pants. When he tried to picture the other man in a uniform, he remembered him from the previous day's briefing. This must be Roland Anderson. He could not hear what they were saying, but he could see that they were loading a crate of the food sponges into a cabinet. He saw no evidence that they had brought any of the traditional condiment
s, however, and he groaned at the prospect of living on those things plain.

  "Cody," said Alec, with a mild tone of surprise. "You're early."

  "Yeah," said Harrison, "I've been getting a lot of that this morning."

  Alec ignored the comment and pointed to a hatch in the rear of the cabin. "Stow your pack down there. Make yourself comfortable. When everybody's here, I have a few comments I'd like to make before we get underway."

  Harrison stuffed his pack into a nook behind the hatch Alec had shown him and took a seat.

  A few minutes later, Claudia and Louise Hatfield climbed into the buggy. They each tossed a duffel bag into the cargo compartment. Neither said a word. Claudia was wearing her usual T-shirt and jeans, and Louise was dressed far down from how Harrison was used to seeing her. Now, seeing her with the others in their drab civvies, he had the remarkable illusion that none of these people were important. Louise took a seat. Claudia walked to the front of the vehicle and stopped at Harrison's seat. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" she said. "Outside?"

  That threw him for a loop. Claudia had never expressed any interest in talking to him before, even when she had to. "Sure," he said, and he got up. She led him to the back of the garage, far enough away that no one would hear them.

  "I don't like you," she began.

  "Great," said Harrison. "You know-"

  "Let me finish," she snapped.

  "Damn!" said Harrison. "Is this really how you want to start off here?"

  "Shut up!" she said. "I mean it! I have to say this, and you have to let me!"

  Harrison said nothing.

  Claudia said nothing.

  "Go," he said.

  "I don't like you," she started again. "I think you're full of yourself, you're not as smart as you think you are, and you're rude." As Harrison pondered the irony of her calling him rude, she waited for him to interrupt again. When he said nothing, she continued. "I wanted to get that out in the open before we left," she said, "because I don't want you to think that this is going to be some big chance for us to bond. That doesn't mean I won't watch your back. I will. I expect you to watch mine, too. Just stay out of my way while you do it."