Tales from the Magitech Lounge

by Saje Williams

  I took a step away as the door banged open unexpectedly. Unexpectedly because the were-panther, Boneyard, was still at his post in front of the club. No one should have entered without his boss being aware of it and Bone himself moved with all the grace of his feline animus.

  The two men who strode through the door and up the ramp moved with a sort of grace of their own, clad in black and silver uniforms with blocky sidearms attached to their hips. They looked like twins, large, bulky men with wide shoulders and narrow hips, dark eyes and shaved heads. They looked dangerous, even to me, and believe me, I’d known a lot of dangerous men in my time.

  Boneyard came up the ramp behind them, but slowly, looking seriously angry. Angry enough, as they say, to chew iron and spit nails. One of the uniformed men stepped aside to watch him, hand on the butt of his weapon, while the other walked straight toward me.

  I’d been expecting this, but perhaps not so soon. “Hades, we are placing you under arrest under the authority of the Confed Adjuster.”

  I laughed out loud, which seemed to surprise both men. They were tense, expecting me to fight, but I had no intention of doing so. Not here, and not now. I would not repay Jack and his patrons’ welcome with unnecessary destruction. “By all means. I’ve been looking forward to this for some time,” I told them. “Take me to see Deryk Shea.”

  As they placed the manacles around my wrists, I glanced over my shoulder at Anya, who was watching in horrified fascination. I gave her a comforting smile. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to skip our next few lessons,” I told her, “but I expect Kevin to continue your training.” I aimed my gaze at him and didn’t look away until he’d responded with a nod.

  I rattled my manacles. “Take me away.”

  * * *

  The homely little man glanced up as I stumbled through the office door, shoved with considerable strength across the threshold. “You’ve got anger issues,” I told the agent who’d pushed me. He simply smiled insincerely and shut the door behind me, leaving me alone with the ugly dwarf.

  All right. Deryk Shea, the Confed Adjuster, isn’t really a dwarf. He’s short for a human male, but neither a muscle-bound, bearded off-shoot of the Fey, nor any variety of earthly “little person”. He’s just a short, ugly guy with cropped hair and brooding gray eyes.

  He looked up at me, leaned back in his chair, and let the silence build. I knew this technique. It was a waste of time, since I could be as patient as he could. We immortals had forever, or near enough. I could wait as long as he could before speaking.

  Except this sort of competition was pointless. “Hello, Deryk. You’ve done well for yourself.”

  His thin lips twisted into something resembling a smile. “I wish I could say the same for you. Oh, wait. No I don’t. I was kinda hoping you were burning in some version of the Christian hell.” He paused long enough to grab a cigar out of a box on the table, snip off one end, and shove it in his mouth. His next words were muttered around the butt of the cigar. “We’ve been looking for you since before the war.”

  “I was ‘finding myself,’ if you’ll pardon the expression.”

  “Did you?”

  “Did I what?”

  “Did you find yourself?”

  I shrugged. There was no right answer to that question. “I found a few things I didn’t know,” I finally replied.

  “I received an interesting report from the Magitech Lounge,” he said. “Says you went there looking for redemption. Is this true?”

  I shrugged again. “A reasonable accounting of events.”

  “Did you find it?”

  “I know what path I should be on to find it,” I answered simply.

  This little tête-à-tête was getting us nowhere and, frankly, it was boring the hell out of me. If he had me brought here for a verbal fencing match, he had far too much time on his hands. “Are you charging me with a crime, Deryk?”

  “I’m thinking about it. Under Confed Legal Code, the clock stops for any statute of limitations if you flee to avoid prosecution. And some of your crimes involve murder and conspiracy to commit murder, which have no such statute.”

  He leaned forward again. “What do you know about the Confed Legal Code and Charter?” he asked me.

  “Not a goddam thing,” I said honestly. “Mortal laws have never affected us before.”

  “They do now,” he responded. “Usually the Adjuster’s Office acts upon a sworn complaint by a citizen. We investigate, then build a case against the perpetrator of the crime. We then convene a Grand Jury and the jury decides if the case is warranted. We are, in effect, both the ‘federal’ police force and the ‘federal’ prosecutor’s office—to borrow terms from the old United States.

  “You would be allowed an advocate to speak for you…anyone you like. There are registered advocates…they were once called lawyers, but the term has fallen into disfavor. Most of the good ones charge a pretty penny, but there are those who’d do it just for the notoriety.”

  “In other words, the more that things change, the more they stay the same.”

  He offered up another thin smile. “True enough.” He glanced up at the wall clock hanging above the fireplace to his left. “It’s nearly one o’clock now. I can have you in front of a Grand Jury in Europe in less than an hour, but it’ll take us a while to build a case against you. Two hundred and fifty odd years is a long time, especially considering the disruption caused by the war. And many of our witnesses are off-world at the moment.

  “I can hold you for seventy-two hours without charging you. I’m tempted to do that, but I have the funny feeling you’re not much of a flight risk anymore. You could have escaped this universe at any time in the past several decades, but you chose to stay here. Why is that?”

  I didn’t answer for a long moment. “I’m no longer the person I once was, Deryk.”

  He digested this. “Fine. The one thing I can tell you about the legal system these days, Hades, is that we’re more concerned with justice than the letter of the law. Under the letter of the law, you’re guilty, and deserve any punishment we mete out to you. But under justice…well, let’s just say that gives you some wiggle room.

  “I’m releasing you, but rest assured we will be watching. You attempt to flee, you’ll lose your chance to come before the Grand Jury of your own volition. Clear?”

  I nodded. It was more than I deserved and we both knew it. I wondered, for a brief instant, if Deryk was allowing ancient history to color his decision. It didn’t seem likely, but it also seemed very unlikely that he’d give me this sort of break for any other reason.

  I was even more amazed when he stood up, walked around the desk, and pressed his fingers against the cold ceramic of the manacles. I heard a click and they popped open. “Go look for that redemption, Hades,” he said, before turning away and returning to his desk, upon which he tossed the manacles. “Finding it may be the only thing that saves your sorry ass.”

  He said this without even bothering to look around. I didn’t reply, instead casting out a transit tube and leaving his office by way of the mage’s highway. In a matter of minutes I stood in the street outside the Magitech Lounge, staring up at the small holographic sign that marked its presence.

  They’d be closing in an hour, I realized. I considered just going home to the one-room apartment I’d rented just off the Tenderloin, but I figured I owed them a moment of my time to let them know I hadn’t been dragged off to some dark Confed dungeon.

  What could it hurt?

  As I reached for the door handle, I heard the low sound of a guitar strumming within. I pulled it opened and walked into the foyer as the music died away. Whistles and applause greeted the end of the song. I trudged up the ramp, heart heavier than it had been in a long time.

  From the stage, Timothy lifted his gaze from the guitar resting across his legs, caught site of me, and let out a whoop. “An the Adjuster mon jus let ‘im go!”

  “Not quite,” I said, just barely above a whisper. I knew I
’d be called before the Grand Jury sooner or later, but for now I remained free.

  The night wound down and I took myself home at closing time. As I trudged up to the front door of my apartment building, I noticed a small black and tan dog sitting beside the door, shivering. I knelt down and coaxed it over. It crept up to me warily, its big eyes sad and fearful. “You poor thing,” I murmured to it. Reaching a decision, I swept it into my arms and took it up to my apartment.

  Anyone who’d leave such a vulnerable little dog outside alone didn’t deserve the creature’s company.

  It took me a few minutes to get her warmed up. Her fear evaporated pretty quickly once I’d given her some food—a bit of flavored neo-protein that’s obviously more palatable to dogs than humans—and a bowl of water.

  Once this was accomplished, I took the dog back downstairs to do her doggy business. While I held her at the end of a mana-thread leash, I thought about names for the tiny creature. I didn’t know much about dogs, but I had a feeling this one was still more or less a puppy. Obviously a small breed, though she looked a lot like a Doberman. I knew what they were. At one time I’d used them for grounds security.

  “Hey! That’s my dog!” A guy lurched through the door, reeking of cheap alcohol. He was fat, balding, and wearing one of those tee-shirts some people referred to as a “wife-beater”. The originally white shirt was stained with something that could either be mustard or a particularly unpleasant brand of vomit.

  The dog in question raced back to me and leaped into my arms, staring at the drunk fat man and shivering uncontrollably. “Not anymore,” I told him with a cold smile. “This poor beast is underfed and obviously neglected. Now go away before I’m forced to punish you for the harm you have done to such an innocent creature.”

  The man was not overly burdened with either wisdom or intelligence. He balled up his fists and took a step in my direction. “I ain’t gonna let no nigger steal my dog,” he said.

  It surprised me that such pejoratives were still in use today. I’d hoped that this brave new world had at least achieved that small amount of enlightenment.

  I found myself in the midst of a moral dilemma. This man obviously deserved some sort of education as to his limitations, but I couldn’t afford to do him any bodily harm. I’d even have to be very careful if I decided to use magic to subdue him, because using magic aggressively could bring the Adjusters back down on me.

  I was rescued from having to make this decision when a slim figure stepped out of the shadows and glided up to the fat man so smoothly he didn’t register it until a hand was laid upon his arm. A hood fell back and the vampire, Steph, stared up into his eyes. “You don’t have a dog,” she said, in a resonant tone. “You hate dogs. You can’t abide to be anywhere near a dog or any other animal.”

  He blinked and stared down at her, then nodded once and went back inside the building. I offered Steph a tentative smile. “Thank you. I wasn’t sure how I was going to handle this.”

  “You’re welcome. I was just coming by to see if you were okay. You looked a little depressed when you left the Lounge.”

  I nodded. “I guess I was.”

  “Are they going to charge you?”

  “Most likely,” I responded. “I have no idea what they’ll charge me with, however.”

  She shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll be your advocate, if you’ll have me.”

  “You?” I didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but I hadn’t even realized she was a lawyer.

  “I’ve been an advocate for the Conclave for nearly seventy years now. I know my business.”

  I didn’t even blink. “I accept. What do I have to do?”

  “Contact the Adjuster’s Office and inform them that Stephanie Dodge is your advocate, and that any material pertaining to the case needs to be sent directly to me.” She smiled and patted the dog in my arms. “Anyone who’d rescue a cute little dog from someone like that asshole deserves good representation.”

  She gave me one last nod of farewell and headed off down the street. “You hear that, little one?” I asked the dog. “You’re already bringing me good luck.”

  I woke early the next day and spent the morning playing with my new puppy. She was a feisty rascal, I determined, and prone to chew on anything that sat still for too long. I finally swept her up and took a walk to the nearest pet supply store to buy her some toys so she’d leave my shoes intact.

  I spotted the Adjuster’s Office goons following me within about half a block. It wasn’t as though they were trying to be subtle. They were still wearing their black and silver uniforms.

  It was a definite “what are you going to do about it” message from my old friend Deryk. Well, I had news for him. I wasn’t going to do anything about it. I was going to take my new puppy to a vet, see if she needed shots, and then spend a few hours at a dog park. Maybe I’d take her for a stroll through Golden Gate.

  These agents were going to spend a boring day following someone who didn’t give a damn. I found the thought highly amusing.

  I named the dog Pepper. I’m not sure why. I guess because it was the first name I tried she seemed to respond to. I’d never had a dog before, or any kind of a pet at all. Unless you consider a goblin a pet. I don’t. Dogs are easier to housebreak.

  My apologies. That was uncalled-for, and in spectacularly poor taste. And not even remotely true. Goblins are sentient, if not particularly bright. They are a race of nearly immortal, perpetual children. What flaws they possess are my fault, since I was the one who created them. I have no right to make jokes at their expense.

  I took Pepper with me to the Lounge that evening. She garnered the appropriate amount of attention, and lapped it all up as if it were ambrosia. I was gratified to see her taking to people so well, considering the nature of her original master.

  Dogs, particularly young dogs, are amazingly resilient, and they have more faith in us than we deserve most of the time. I’d never spent much time thinking about it before, but the human race owes dogs a great deal, though it’s likely they’ll never get a fraction of the credit they deserve.

  Anya and Pepper took to one another as if fate had taken a hand in it. If not for Jack’s obvious disinclination to allow her to keep the dog, I might well have given her to Anya on the spot. But his silent directive for me not to do so was clear enough that I suppressed the urge. And, to be completely honest, I was surprised to find I was slightly relieved. I’d grown fond of the creature and hadn’t really wanted to give her away.

  I returned home that night in a considerably better mood than I’d been in the night before. I sat under the light of a small lamp in the single chair with which I’d furnished the tiny apartment, Pepper curled contentedly on my lap, and buried myself in one of the books I’d borrowed from Jack, who was something of a collector of old fiction novels.

  I hadn’t yet actually rejoined this modern age, eschewing the use of modern communication and entertainment equipment. I had purchased no Personal Communication Device, or this age’s equivalent to the twentieth century’s television set—now simply called a “view”. I preferred the silent companionship of books, the only noise the turning of the pages, and the occasional muffled snore from the creature in my lap.

  Like most immortals, I have no need to sleep, and the average book is little more than a momentary diversion. Which is why I had borrowed a considerable number of these ancient novels, losing myself in the imaginations of men and women such as Robert Heinlein, Spider Robinson, Elizabeth Moon, David Weber, and Frank Herbert. It seems that Jack was something of a fan of science fiction, an intriguing fact about a man born and raised into a world that most such fiction authors would never have imagined.

  After a while I dozed—not precisely asleep, but not fully awake either. It was a habit I’d developed while in exile, a way for my conscious and subconscious minds to meet on more or less equal ground, and I used it in much the same way a more enlightened person might use the art of meditation.

&nb
sp; I was aroused somewhere around dawn by the sound of someone pounding on my door. Careful not to disturb Pepper too much, I stood and carried her with me to the door, activating the view-screen next to the portal that revealed who stood on the other side.

  It was a young man I didn’t recognize holding a clipboard and gazing down at it, his face mostly hidden by the bill of his hat. Not being in the habit of expecting trouble, I opened the door. A weapon of some sort appeared in his hand and he brandished it at me, making a gesture with his other hand that indicated his desire for me to step back so he might enter.

  More curious than anything, I did as he bid.

  He was a dark-skinned fellow with a close-cropped beard, heavy brows, and a long, hooked nose. The weapon he carried was some sort of focused energy device, most likely painful, but very unlikely to be fatal or even particularly injurious to someone such as myself.

  I found myself more concerned with the potential of harm to my dog than with any damage he might do to me.

  He looked around my apartment, frowning. “And I thought the prophet lived in humble quarters,” he murmured, obviously taken aback.

  “Who is this ‘prophet’ of which you speak?” I asked him.

  The question seemed to anger him, for he flushed an unattractive shade of red and jabbed the muzzle of the weapon at me. “I’ll ask the questions here,” he growled. His voice held the slightest trace of an accent, but it wasn’t one I recognized.

  “Be my guest,” I told him. “Ask whatever you’d like.”

  “Are you the immortal known as Hades?”

  “Yes,” I answered simply. He seemed surprised by this, as if he’d expected me to lie.

  “You are a practitioner of magic?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  He didn’t seem to like this answer, even though it was clearly the one he’d expected. It took me a moment to realize that he was one of those religious fanatics who considered magic the work of some demon. I found this thought so amusing I nearly told him that I was the demon he feared.