by Piers Platt
I don’t have those in real life … but I do in Oz. I forgot about them, but the program remembered.
He let the man carve a fourth cut next to the first three, wincing at the pain.
“Nice fight, man,” the inmate told him.
Falken felt someone clap him across the back – he looked up to see Archos standing next to him.
“Impressive,” the warden said, smiling broadly. “I won’t make the mistake of underestimating you again.”
“Have I earned the right to talk to Weaver?” Falken asked.
Archos nodded. “You can stay for the rest of the day.”
Falken craned his neck to look around the balcony. Cadellium and Auresh had disappeared, and he could see no sign of Weaver among the other inmates.
“Where is he?”
Archos pointed upward, and Falken thought he saw a hint of sadness in the warden’s eyes. “You’ll find him on the roof, most likely. That’s where he spends most of his time.”
Falken pushed his way through the crowd, and found the nearest stairwell. He climbed to the top, then opened a metal door and stepped out into the sunlight. Over the edge of the roof, the ocean stretched into the distance – he could see a thin strip of land far away, the small island he and Weaver had visited years ago. In the middle of the roof, not far from the great hole the disk had torn open, he saw a man crouched amidst a jumble of computer consoles and scavenged parts. Cables, circuit boards, and cracked vidscreens littered the rooftop around him, and he wore a makeshift tool belt around his waist. His hair was streaked with gray, and he was much slimmer than Falken remembered – he looked as worn and threadbare as the uniform on his back.
Jesus. He looks like he’s aged decades.
Weaver looked up when the door closed behind Falken, but his eyes seemed to look right through Falken, and he turned back to the circuit board in front of him straight away. Falken frowned.
“Hi, Weaver,” he said. “Sorry I scared you last night.”
Weaver pried something off the board and dropped it into a cardboard box. Falken walked closer, and stood watching for a moment. What is all this? It looks like he’s trying to build something.
“It’s me,” Falken said. “Falken. Your friend.”
Weaver rummaged through another box, and pulled out a chip, then tried to fit it into a slot on the circuit board.
“I know it’s been a long time, but I was hoping you’d remember me,” Falken continued. He cleared his throat. “I went to a lot of trouble to come see you.”
The silence was broken only by the sound of Weaver’s hand rifling through the box of parts.
Falken sighed. “Weaver, I don’t remember what happened all those years ago. So I don’t know if I did something to make you mad at me. But if so, I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I just want to talk to you. I want to help you find a way to get back to your family.”
Weaver paused for a second, and then turned and began unscrewing the access panel on a stack of servers.
He definitely heard me, Falken thought. He reacted when I mentioned his family. So he’s listening. He just … doesn’t want to talk to me.
“Weaver, did we find the sensor node on the island?” Falken tried. He waited a moment, but there was no response. “What happened over there?”
The bookkeeper put his screwdriver back in his tool belt, and carefully laid the access panel on the rooftop. Then he slid a server out of its tray and set it on top of the stack.
“Damn it, Weaver!” Falken swore. “I’m trying to help you! Why won’t you talk to me?”
“Don’t take it personally.”
Falken turned in surprise – Archos stood behind him on the roof, arms crossed over his chest, watching them.
“He doesn’t talk to anyone,” the warden said. “Never has, not since he came here.”
“When did he come here?” Falken asked.
“Years ago,” Archos said, walking over and sitting on top of a large computer terminal. He watched as Weaver continued to tinker, a sad smile on his face. “It was years ago. And not a word from him since. The only reason I know his name is because it’s stenciled on his uniform. Most of the boys just call him ‘the Ghost.’ ”
“Because he doesn’t talk?” Falken asked.
“Because he haunts this place,” Archos said. “Doesn’t sleep much, only eats occasionally, spends his nights hunting for spare parts downstairs, and every daylight hour up here, working while the light is good.” Archos sighed and shook his head. “He’s an odd fellow, our Weaver.”
“Why doesn’t he talk anymore?” Falken asked.
Archos shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe he lost his memory. Maybe he was just traumatized by what happened. Maybe it’s just his way of coping. We all have to deal with Oz in our own way. I’ve tried to get him to talk myself, many times. I come up here, most days, and I talk, and he listens … and then the next day, we do it all over again. It’s become our little ritual.”
Falken frowned. “You talk to him? What do you talk about?”
“Whatever’s on my mind,” Archos said, somewhat defensively.
This is … a different Archos from the one I knew, Falken realized. Maybe this is the Archos that Oz thinks Weaver needs, rather than the Archos I needed. Falken eyed the warden suspiciously. But … I still don’t trust him.
“What happened to him?” Falken asked. “Why did he come here?”
“We brought him here,” Archos explained. “We found him lying on the shore after a bad storm, too weak to move. He was holding a map in one hand. He’s got it still, it’s in his back pocket there.”
Falken looked, and saw the folds of a faded piece of paper sticking out of Weaver’s pants pocket.
“As best I can tell, our friend here spent the better part of two years sailing out there, on the ocean, looking for land,” Archos said.
“Two years?”
“If you believe what’s written on that map, two years. In eight different directions from that little island, for miles – months – at a time. He’s seen more of this planet than all the rest of us combined.” Archos pointed at Weaver’s back. “And he’s got more balls than the rest of us, too. Think of what it must have taken to spend that long at sea, on his own.”
“Determination,” Falken said.
“You and I have no idea,” Archos agreed. “When he was healthy again, the boys wanted to put him on the disk for a full initiation. You know how that goes.” Archos smiled knowingly. “But when I figured out what the map meant, what he had done – nearly killing himself to try to find a way out of here – I put a stop to it. That crazy bastard’s faced more tests than any man here in the facility. Except perhaps me.”
Falken thought of Archos’ confession to him in his own simulation. Archos was born here – he was here the last time the moons aligned, and the island flooded.
“So he’s been through a lot,” Archos continued. “We had him on suicide watch for the first few months he was here.”
Falken’s eyes widened. “He tried to kill himself?”
“A few times,” Archos said. “Came pretty close, once.”
… but you stopped him. Oz wouldn’t let him do it. No wonder he’s become so withdrawn … he’s spent years trying to escape this place, and he couldn’t even do it by taking his own life.
“Did he find anything?” Falken asked, changing the subject.
“Over the ocean? I don’t know,” Archos said. “But I imagine not. The map’s blank, except for these two islands. And he’s never tried to go back out again. He gave up on that plan, and focused on this little project of his.”
“What’s he working on?” Falken asked.
“This,” Archos said, gesturing at a computer terminal that sat near the middle of the mess, “is a long-range radio transmitter. Or it will be, if we give him enough time, I think. He found a rusted-up one down in the facility, and a pile of repair manuals in the basement, and he’s been trying to fix it up ever since.”
“I didn’t know he was so technical,” Falken said.
“He wasn’t,” Archos said. “At least, I don’t think he was. He’s been teaching himself as he goes, from the manuals. At first I thought it was a fool’s errand, but a few years back he managed to power it up using a solar charger and battery pack he took out of one of the disabled trucks.”
“It works?” Falken asked, incredulous.
“It has power,” Archos corrected him. “But something’s broken still. It won’t transmit.”
“He’s trying to call Earth,” Falken realized, with sudden clarity. “He’s trying to call his family.”
“He has a family?” Archos asked.
“A wife, and two children. They were kidnapped, when he was first arrested – that’s what was driving him to get out of here. He wanted to find them.”
“He told you all of this?” Archos asked.
Falken nodded. “We were close, years ago. Before he came here. I helped him build the boat, and we sailed together on his first voyage.”
Archos considered this for a moment. “Why did you come here, Bird-man?” he asked, eventually.
“I thought I could help,” Falken said, watching as Weaver pulled another server out of the stack. He shook his head. “Now, I’m not so sure.”
Archos studied Falken in silence, his piercing eyes searching Falken’s face. Then he stood up and cleared his throat. “I changed my mind,” he said, and his gruff tone was that of the warden once again. “You can stay more than a day.”
“How long?” Falken asked, surprised.
“We’ll see,” Archos growled.
Chapter 17
Falken carried two bowls of lukewarm blue-ball stew up from the facility’s mess hall at lunch time. He set one next to Weaver on the roof, and then sat down with his back to one of the computer terminals.
“I brought you lunch,” Falken said.
Weaver ignored him and continued working, so Falken ate, watching his friend. After a few minutes, Weaver slipped his torque wrench into his tool belt, and then picked up the bowl of stew and sipped at it.
Well, that’s a good sign, Falken thought. I hope.
While his friend ate, Falken told Weaver his own story. He talked about his career as a fighter, his life with Mallerie, and the man he murdered. He told Weaver about their first day together on Oz, and how they had met again later, at the colony. Weaver finished his stew and put the bowl back down, and then turned back to his work.
“We went to the little island, you and I,” Falken said, gazing out at the ocean. “You were teaching me how to sail. And when we landed, we explored the island on foot. Do you remember, Weaver? We found Bearnes and his boat. What was left of them, at least. He had a map, like yours. But he didn’t get nearly as far as you did.”
And then we found the sensor node, which led us back to the Khonsu. At least, that’s what happened in my version, Falken thought. I don’t know what happened in this version of Oz.
When Weaver remained silent, Falken sighed and stood up. He gathered up their empty bowls and took them back down to the mess hall. He found Archos sitting at one of the tables, sipping water from a chipped coffee mug that read WORLD’S BEST BOSS.
“No luck?” the warden asked, as Falken set the dirty bowls in a sink.
Falken shook his head.
“No.”
“Give it time,” Archos said.
That’s the one thing I don’t have, Falken thought. He raised his arm, checking his wrist reflexively, but of course, the wristpad computer he normally wore was no longer there. This is my second day back in Oz … so I have five more days before Peshai pulls me out.
I need a way to break through to him, and fast. I need to show him he can trust me.
Falken looked at Archos. “Did Weaver have anything else on him when you found him?”
“No,” Archos said. “Just the map. Why?”
“Was the boat there?” Falken asked.
Archos shook his head. “We found it a few days later, farther down the coast.”
“Where?” Falken asked.
*
The ocean lapped at the shore, the tiny waves washing back and forth across the yellow sand. Falken walked quickly, glancing over his shoulder from time to time to check how far he had come.
Archos said it was just a couple miles south. I can’t see the facility anymore, so I must be getting close.
His foot struck something solid under the sand, and Falken stopped, frowning. He toed the object again, and sand slid off of a flat metal plate in the shape of an arrow. The lettering was faded, and upside down from Falken’s perspective, but he could still read it.
Corrections Facility and Space Elevator.
Falken snorted. I remember that sign.
He continued walking. Around the next bend, he spotted a familiar shape – the hull of the boat they had built. It lay tipped over on the beach with its mast splintered halfway along its length. The boat appeared empty; Falken could see no sign of the sails they had sewn from parachute silk, or any of the supply baskets with which they had stocked the ship. As he neared the wreck, Falken noticed a number of boards torn out of the bottom of the hull.
That must have been some storm, Falken thought. Oz made sure to destroy the boat beyond repair.
He knelt next to the boat and peered inside the upturned hull, searching amongst the broken boards. The ship was empty – picked clean by the ravages of time or the inmates who had found it.
Damn it.
Falken let his arms drop to his sides and sat, thinking.
It’s not in the boat. So now what?
He shifted his knees in the sand to get more comfortable, and suddenly his eyes lit up. Falken pushed himself backward, and began digging into the sand, scooping out handfuls and tossing them aside. When he reached a foot deep, he moved to one side, and widened the hole. Then he shifted once more, and dug down again, sweating as the sun beat down on him.
“Come on, Oz,” he muttered. “You know what I’m looking for. Help me out, here.”
Suddenly, the fingers of his right hand struck something hard under the sand. Falken followed the outline of the object with one finger – it had a straight edge, and after several inches, a square corner. He shouted in triumph, and then tugged it free of the sand.
The booklet’s leather was pitted and worn, and sand spilled out of it when he flipped the lid open. The screen was cracked, just as it had been years ago. Falken set his finger on the power button.
“Come on,” he said.
The screen lit up, and Falken found himself staring at a digital photo of Weaver and his wife, with a young Vina and her brother standing between them.
Yes!
“What’ve you got there?”
Falken spun around, tucking the album behind his back. Several feet away, Auresh and Cadellium stood watching him intently.
Son of a bitch!
Then Falken saw what the two men were carrying. The older man held a thick, metal pipe; Auresh was slowly tapping a heavy wrench against the palm of his hand, a twisted smile on his face. Falken felt his pulse quicken.
“What is it?” Auresh repeated.
“Something that belongs to a friend,” Falken said, eyeing them warily.
“Let me see it,” Auresh said.
“No,” Falken said. He glanced at the tree line, and then down at the boat, looking for anything he could use as a weapon. The boat was empty, the beach bare.
Cadellium looked over his shoulder, back toward the facility. “Let’s be done with it,” he told Auresh.
Auresh ignored the older man. He held up his arm and flexed it for Falken to see. “You broke this back on Olympus, remember?”
“I remember,” Falken said.
“All better now,” Auresh said, smiling. “Good thing we had a nice long journey here for it to heal up.”
Right, Falken thought. A long journey. “I can break it again for you, if you like,” he said.
�
��I don’t think so,” Auresh said. “And this time, you won’t have a proxy to do your fighting for you. This time I get to fight the real you.”
Wrong again, Falken thought. “Where’s Shep?” he asked, stalling.
“It was his second offense,” Auresh said. “They sent him somewhere else. But he’ll be real happy when he finds out we took care of you.”
“I didn’t kill his brother,” Falken said. “The dragons did.”
“I don’t honestly care,” Auresh said. “But I do care that you ruined our business venture, and my ship. You’re going to pay for that, too.”
“You kill me, and I guarantee you’ll never get off this planet,” Falken told them.
“Look around,” Auresh said. “There’s no way off this planet anyway. Nobody cares what we do here.”
I could take both of them, hand-to-hand, Falken thought. I might even have good odds facing one of them with a weapon. But two of them at once, both armed …
“Enough talking,” Cadellium said. “Let’s do it.”
Falken could see the pipe wavering in his grip. He looked into the older man’s eyes, and saw Cadellium swallow. He’s nervous. He’s not used to being the one to get his hands dirty.
Falken pointed at him. “Remember what happened on the disk this morning,” he warned the investor. “Don’t for a second think that that pipe is going to slow me down.”
Cadellium glanced across at Auresh.
“He’s bluffing,” the ship captain said. “Just aim for the head, like we talked about.”
The two men started toward him. Falken knelt down, making a show of tucking the photo album into his pocket. Then he straightened suddenly, and hurled a handful of sand at Auresh’s eyes. The ship captain yelled, holding his hands up reflexively to block the attack. Falken charged Cadellium, bellowing. The investor’s eyes widened, and he back-pedaled, but he managed to swing the pipe, and hit Falken a glancing blow on one arm. Falken stumbled, but as Cadellium drew back the pipe again, he lunged forward and caught the older man by the throat, grabbing his arm to stop him swinging the pipe again.
Falken squeezed, and saw Cadellium’s eyes go wide in fear, his mouth gasping for air. Then Auresh struck Falken a heavy blow to the ribs, and the wrench’s impact forced the air out of Falken’s lungs. His grip on Cadellium weakened, and the investor swung the pipe again, connecting with Falken’s head above his ear. He fell to his knees, reeling, and then toppled onto his back on the sand.
