Separation

by James Axler

  Mildred’s vision cleared with the sudden lurch of fear that greeted her realization of her position. In the brief moment that she had been knocked almost senseless by the tree root, she had enabled Chan to gain the upper hand, the very thing she had hoped to avoid.

  In front of her she could see the chilled Elias; Sineta, on her knees and gasping for breath; Jak emerging from the water, still holding the Colt Python, and Markos, one arm hanging uselessly to his side, the other grasping the recovered H&K.

  The sec boss scrambled to his feet and looked behind him.

  “Jak, no!” he exclaimed. “He’s my brother—leave him to me.”

  “Okay, but if Mildred chilled, you next,” Jak said, letting the Colt drop to his side.

  Markos turned back toward Mildred and Chan, taking a slow step forward. Mildred felt Chan’s grip tighten, the barrel of the ZKR press into her temple.

  “Don’t think you can appeal to any familial sentiment,” Chan blurted. “I cannot be swayed by that which I do not feel.”

  “You mean that our lives were a sham? That they meant nothing? Do you really believe that I cared for you, protected you, for nothing?”

  “Yes, for something—to make you feel good, to make you feel big. The big, strong brother to look after the weakling freak. How good that makes you, my brother…and how small that makes me.”

  “It is what you do now that makes you small,” Markos replied sadly, leveling the H&K.

  “Think before you do that,” Chan yelled. Mildred could almost smell the fear on the albino as his breath rasped in her ear. “Think, my beloved brother. You would have to be a fine shot to chill me before I could fire on the bitch…the bitch you want more than anything. You think I do not know that? And you think that does not disgust me more, to know that you would go with someone degraded by the whitelander? So think—fire on me and you will lose her, for if I do not chill her then your shooting will not be good enough to take me without going through her.”

  “Are you willing to wager your life on that?” Markos asked quietly. The H&K was still raised and the sec boss was as still as a standing stone. His eyes were barely visible in the wan moonlight, but Mildred could see that there was a fire in them. He would not back down; did his brother know him well enough to realize that?

  Chan began to pressure the trigger on the ZKR.

  “I—”

  The shot was single and loud in the quietness of the night. Mildred closed her eyes and waited for her brain to explode as Chan pulled the trigger of the ZKR.

  It didn’t happen. She felt his grip relax and heard the ZKR clatter on the roots at their feet. She let her jaw drop. She was so startled that there was nothing she could do. Hardly daring to turn, she slowly pivoted to see the albino at her feet, a hole in the middle of his forehead, a spreading dark pool at the back of his skull indicating the size of the exit wound. His eyes were wide, his mouth open in shock, much like her own. But unlike her, his were eyes that would see no more in this world.

  Turning back, she could see Markos calmly standing, his blaster still leveled.

  “He should have tried to appeal to me as a brother. That worked all our lives, and I never realized how he really felt. Fear and danger are strange things, are they not, in the manner of which they betray the truth.”

  Jak rushed past the sec boss to Mildred.

  “You okay?” he asked, bending to retrieve the ZKR, which she took from him without thinking.

  “Yeah, at least I think so. Shit, Jak, I think I might actually be in shock,” she said in amazement.

  Jak led her back to the edge of the riverbank, where Sineta now stood, shaking her head.

  “What do we do with this carnage?” the woman said quietly.

  “Figure we leave these for carrion, come back in daylight and get the treasure for your father,” Jak said.

  Sineta nodded with an air of finality. “Yes. It should be done like that.”

  Mildred walked back to where Markos was standing, looking down on the corpse of his brother. “You hear that?” she asked gently.

  “Yes…yes, I have no business here. Not now,” he said softly.

  Mildred took his arm and they walked back to Jak and Sineta. The baron’s daughter was trying not to look at Elias’s mutilated corpse. Jak indicated that they should leave and gently guided her past the corpse. Markos didn’t look back.

  The moon was beginning to wane, sunrise only an hour or less away.

  IN THE COLD LIGHT of morning, it was easier for both Sineta and Markos to return to the riverbank. Jak, Ryan and J.B. preceded them with three of the sec force to bury the corpses of Elias and Chan, which showed signs of investigation from the predators of the woods. By the time the main party had arrived, the bandits were beneath the soil. Markos didn’t speak of them as he asked Mildred for all the information regarding access to the treasure that she had been told by Barras.

  Going across to the cave, Markos entered with two of his men and Ryan, J.B. and Jak. The wiry albino hunter was the one chosen to take the pothole route into the inner cave where the treasure had been secured. When he triggered the entrance mechanism and the party gained entrance, it was easy to see why the baron had wished the treasure to be recovered before the Pilatans left their island home. Carefully wrapped to provide as much protection as possible, there were precious metals and jewels both loose and in settings. There was also paper jack, which was now useless in a post-skydark world. In any case, the damp of the cave had permeated the coverings and the paper had rotted and mulched.

  It took little more than an hour to remove the treasure from the cave and to take it across the short distance to the shore, where Sineta and Mildred watched as it was unwrapped. Some of it would be useful on the mainland, but it seemed very little for Elias and Chan to risk—and lose—their lives over. And very little for Markos to lose much of his life over. For the sec boss had been subdued since the previous night. It was as though all he had believed had been proved to be false. His ideals had been fired by the words and ideas of his beloved brother, just as his actions had been directed toward the protection of Chan and all that he believed. Protection of a brother who he thought had loved him, but had used that belief as a mask behind which there was only loathing and manipulation.

  The sec boss was subdued as they took the treasure back to the ville, where Sineta showed it to her father, and the treachery of Elias and Chan was revealed. Barras was dismissive of the now-chilled bandits, glad only to see the treasure recovered in time for the exodus.

  It was only a few hours before the baron flew to join his ancestors.

  IN THE DAYS that followed the death of the baron, the preparations for the journey to the whitelands were subdued. Sineta assumed the baron’s role in total, and Markos backed her in a public address in which he condemned his brother for his hypocrisy. He also stated that he found it hard to agree wholeheartedly with leaving the island of Pilatu, but would back Sineta one hundred percent. His personal views could not come before the only viable future the Pilatans could have. As he spoke, Mildred could see that he was a troubled soul, but he had resisted all attempts she had made to see him and talk to him about what had happened, and about their relationship—such as it had been.

  Sineta and Mildred did, however, speak about marriage. The baron’s daughter had met Markos to discuss her father’s notion of marrying either the sec boss or the charismatic Elias.

  Before Sineta had a chance to speak, the sec boss had sardonically pointed out that the latter had been a very bad call, and as for the notion of his marrying her, well, that had been at the instigation of his brother, who had wished to use him as a political tool. The idea of marrying for the pursuit of power was one that he found distasteful and, with all respect to the new baron, he would be only too glad if the subject was never again raised.

  So work continued. The deaths of Elias and Chan had shown the divisions between the peoples of Pilatu as something of an artificial divide and even the most hard
ened of separatists had worked harder to prepare for the exodus. Their views remained unchanged, but they would fight for their beliefs when the Pilatans had gained a new homeland that was more fertile and able to support them.

  The boats were finished and loaded. The adobe homes were stripped of all but the barest last-minute essentials. The animals were loaded during the final day, and the night was given to muted celebrations. Muted because of the arduous journey ahead. Muted because the islanders were sad to be leaving their home after so many generations. And yet there was a mood of optimism engendered by the gaining of the treasure—which would provide valuable jack and barter in the, to them, new world—and by the accession of a new baron who would prove to be strong. Barras had been a good man, but of necessity his long illness and decline had left the ville in limbo for some while.

  On the morrow, the journey would begin: but before this there were still matters to be addressed.

  DEAN HAD BEEN keeping his head down and getting on with the work allotted to him, yet he had obviously been preoccupied. Ryan had tried to talk to him, but the youngster had been reticent to speak to his father. Doc had also tried. He had always been able to converse with the youth; even he could get little more from him than a vague admission that something had been troubling him.

  Krysty had been able to tell for some while that there was a matter weighing heavily on Dean’s mind. Yet she could also tell that he wasn’t yet ready to talk about it. Until now, that is…

  Dean was sitting at the back of the adobe dwelling they had called home for the past few weeks, staring out into the night. He had crept away from the celebrations in the center of the ville and was staring up at the sky, so preoccupied that he didn’t hear Krysty approach. He started when she spoke.

  “You want to watch that. It could be dangerous,” she commented, seating herself beside him.

  “Sorry…I guess I was thinking,” he replied.

  Krysty sucked in her breath. “Oh, that’s dangerous, too much thinking. Especially when it cuts you off from everyone. Mebbe it’s best then to share the thoughts, make them seem less heavy?”

  “I don’t know,” Dean said nervously, scraping the ground with his boot. “It sounds kind of stupe to me, so mebbe you’ll think I’ve gone as crazy as Doc if I tell you.”

  Krysty laughed. “I’m not sure if that’s even possible, but tell me anyway. It won’t go any further and it may just help.”

  “Okay. Here goes…” With which he began to tell her about the dreams he’d had since the mat-trans jump. “They seem—Hot pipe, it seems like sometimes the dreams are real and this is the dream. And that feels really weird. And that’s not all…”

  Krysty watched closely. Dean was on the verge of saying something important but was having trouble framing the right words. Finally they came, and they were profoundly shocking.

  “Sometimes it feels to me like Rona’s still alive and that I have to find her. That it’s some kind of message. And being here is a part of that, ’cause I’ve seen what it’s like to have family and to belong.”

  “And you don’t feel that we’re your family and that you belong with us?”

  “No, yes, I mean—” Dean stuttered. Pausing to take a deep breath, he began again. “You, Dad, Doc, Jak—all of you are family. But it’s different with Rona. I was with her from when I was small. I didn’t even know my dad until after I was taken from the Brody school. That time before I was only just getting to know him…all of you. But I don’t belong, any more than any of us belong. Not like Mildred does with these people.”

  “But, sweetheart, Mildred’s chosen to go with us and to stay with us, once we reach the mainland. She’s decided that she belongs more with us, despite any racial or cultural heritage.”

  Dean, who had been watching closely, had a notion that Mildred’s decision was based on something a little more personal than Krysty would have him believe, but said nothing of this. Instead he said, “Yeah, but she’s had a chance to make that choice. Until I find out what happened to Rona, then I’ll never know.”

  Krysty chewed her lip. “I thought Sharona had rad sickness—cancer—and was buying the farm. That was why she entrusted you—”

  “I know, I know,” Dean interrupted. “But I’ve just got this feeling that she’s still alive. A feeling that I can’t explain. But I know I’ve got to do something about it.”

  Krysty frowned. “Okay. When you’ve got to do something like this, then you’ve just got to…but wait until we get over the water and promise me you’ll talk about it with your father.”

  Dean nodded. “Yeah. I know I’ve got to talk to him about it. And I promise I’ll do it then.”

  MILDRED WAS ALSO FACING a testing time in talk. During the evening’s activity, Markos had approached her to ask if they could talk. She had arranged to meet him later at Sineta’s quarters and was waiting with some apprehension when he arrived.

  “It is good of you to meet with me,” he said stiffly as she admitted him to the house.

  “Is it really that hard to talk, especially as you’re the one who asked?” she replied with warmth.

  He smiled wryly. “No and yes in equal measure. I feel as much of a fool as my brother called me for being sucked into his schemes, and yet I have no one now that I can turn to for advice.”

  “And you want advice from me?”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps. I still feel uneasy about traveling to the whitelands and mixing with the pale ones…and yet I know this is foolish, as my own brother and Elias have shown that treachery and deceit are not endemic to color. I have also seen your friends, worked beside them now, and know them to be good people. But I cannot shake that feeling that is within me.”

  Mildred took his hand and led him to the table in the corner of the room, seating him on one of the chairs while she took another.

  “You know, you shouldn’t be too hard on yourself about this,” she began. “You’ve had a lifetime of your brother telling you something, and you know, he wasn’t without a point.”

  “You can say this?” Markos asked, surprised.

  “Look, there are things about me that you can never know and would never understand…things that you would find hard to believe. But, for whatever reason, I know what it was like before skydark came across the world. And there were plenty of reasons for black people to feel the way that you and the other separatists feel about the whitelands. There was a time when we couldn’t use the same restaurants, the same latrines, the same wags. Couldn’t have equal housing or equal jack, and were treated like pieces of shit. Things began to change, but it was forced, and there were those who felt that it would always be that way. They wanted a separate land for blacks, a separate nation. They were right. It was forced. But the point is that with each generation it got a little less forced on each side, and eventually people would have seen no difference. Just because it doesn’t happen in the span of your lifetime doesn’t mean it’ll never happen. You fight for your sons and daughters as much as yourself.

  “And things have changed since the nukecaust. Yeah, I’ve seen people get picked on because they’re a different color, a different race, but also because they’re from a different ville or are muties and so different. That’s what it’s all about—difference. It doesn’t matter what they make that difference, it’s still about fear of being something else. Just like you’ve got the fear of the pale ones being different. Makes you the same as them.

  “But now, it’s about your ville rather than your color. People live together and pull together to survive. No one gives a damn that you’re black if you’re helping them bring in the harvest or pulling them out of a hole. As long as none of you buy the farm, that’s all that matters.”

  Markos pondered this. Finally he said, “I wish I could truly understand that. I can see the sense of your words, but there is a part of me that questions their veracity. These are different things.”

  “Oh, yeah, they’re that, all right,” Mildred replied. “But you’
ll see and soon enough.” She fell silent for a moment, thinking of J.B. and the rest of the companions, people she would pull with and chill for. “Yeah, you’ll see soon enough,” she reiterated.

  Chapter Twelve

  Exodus began shortly after daybreak with the Pilatans gathering the last of their belongings and moving away from their old homes and toward the inlet bay, where the boats lay waiting with their cargoes of animals and belongings, the former quietened by fear and a lack of understanding about what was about to occur. There was a subdued, melancholy air about the islanders as they loaded the boats and prepared to cast off.

  Sineta and Markos would be the last to board their vessels, the sec boss because he was determined to oversee the final moments of the exodus and make things run as smoothly as possible and the new baron because she felt a great sadness at departure and a sudden desire to stay, even if it was on her own.

  Krysty, on the same boat as Mildred, observed Sineta as she cast a last look around.

  “Perhaps you should go and be with her,” she whispered to Mildred.

  Mildred shook her head. “No, she needs to be alone right now. I can understand that. After all, she’ll go down in Pilatan history as the woman who led them away from their homeland. It must be kind of hard to know that posterity will label you that way, even if you had no choice.”

  “It could be a good thing, in the long run as well as the short,” Krysty countered.

  Mildred smiled. “Yeah, but would you think of that right now?”

  Meanwhile, on the shore, the last of the islanders had boarded their boats, which were moored off a wooden pier built out into the depths of the inlet. Everyone and every animal had walked the long, planked pier to board the boats, which were then anchored a short distance away to allow the next boat to tie up and finish loading. It was this changeover that took time, and so it was past noon by the time that all the boats were finally ready. The islanders had never had to deal with more than two boats at a time during the days spent fishing, and so were ill-equipped for a mass exodus. The waiting had increased the air of melancholy that hung like a pall over the small fleet. As Sineta and Markos—the last two Pilatans on the island—took the walk down the wooden pier to board their boat, it was as though they were walking into a fog that threatened to envelop them.