by Saxon Keeley
Approaching the apartment door, he notices that the lock has been busted. Quietly he peers through the crack and finds at least five armed soldiers searching the place.
They’re uniform does not belong to any country or mercenary group he knows of. The under layer is a black lightweight, skin-tight body suit. The midnight blue body armour strapped to the soldiers is enough to protect them, but allows for maximum movement. Each of them wear a tactical gas mask, the lenses are unusually large and have been blacked out. The soldiers resemble bugs more than they do humans. Most of the back of their heads are covered by the body suit, there is only one of the soldier’s whose hair is on show. Written in sliver are the letters ‘S.E.L.’ and each soldier has a fabric band around their left arm, each with a different animal insignia. The man with his hair on display has the most ambiguous insignia. It looks as if it were a mound of worms.
Michael clocks their guns, lightweight assault rifles equipped with a scope and silencer. An unfamiliar weapon.
“Sir, nothing to report,” informed Worms to the person on the other end of his ear piece. He waits for a response. “Six rooms, Sir.”
Michael perks up. Six rooms, it means they haven’t found Charles’ study.
Charles became paranoid after their success on Delta Nine when the US government persisted in buying his research from him. When Charles brought his London apartment, he alone redesigned the layout so that he could conceal his private study room.
Michael looks down the hall to a window. A lump in the back of his throat leaves him unable to breathe. His mind races as he tries to envision if the building has any form of ledge he might be able to shimmy along, while also calculating the probability of success and the dangers it could entail.
Silently and slowly he takes cautious steps towards the window. He lifts the latch and opens it, careful not to make a sound. His memory had not failed him and as he looks down, he finds a ledge that runs along the outside of the building.
“Fuck,” Michael muttered under his breath.
This would not be the first-time Michael had to climb at a considerable height. Whilst working on the TFP on Delta Nine, him and Charles would have to scale the tower to make repairs or supervise construction.
Hanging half out of the window, Michael lowers one foot, probing about to find the ledge. As he lowers himself, he keeps his back straight and reaches his arm out across the wall to keep his balance. Prudently he begins to shimmy along.
With his back turned to the window, the soldier with the worms insignia is preoccupied with photos of Charles and Li. Michael decides now is as good of a moment to move than any other.
Making a brake for it, Worms catches Michael’s reflection in the glass of the frame. Without hesitation, the soldier drops the photo, clutches his rifle, swings around and fires a round at the figure at the window.
Shock grips Michael as the bullet pierces his shoulder and shoots out the other side. He makes a reactionary decision and throws his body over, clearing the window. Facing the wall, he attempts to dig his fingers into the gaps between the brick.
Michael rests against the wall for a moment, his body feels as if it is swaying back and forth.
With no time to lose, he shakes his head and picks up the pace making his way to the study window.
“Keep searching,” a soldier ordered from the apartment.
The window opens and Michael looks to see Worms peering out at him. Moving quicker towards the edge of the building Michael glances back again. This time Worms is perched on the ledge, hanging from the window. Though his face is hidden behind the mask, Michael senses the soldier grinning at him.
“It’s a beautiful night,” called Worms, his Australian accent penetrating through the muffling of the mask. “Ever since the war, you can’t get nights like these back in Melbourne.”
There is a pause as Worms appreciates the night sky. Through his mask, he takes a deep breath.
“Say, what ya doing all the way out there. Come back inside, maybe we could talk. Get that wound sorted out?”
Michael doesn’t respond.
Worms gazes back out onto the city and Michael decides he should move. As he takes the next step, a shot is fired near his feet. Panicked, he scrambles farther along the ledge. Before he gets too far another shot is fired. This time bringing Michael to a stop. He looks back at Worms to see him with his rifle aimed right at him.
“I don’t want this to get messy. I shoot you now, your body will fall to the ground below. We’re up at a considerable distance, your body would just go splat. We’d wake up the whole dammed neighbourhood. Let’s just keep it between you and me,” said Worms.
“Well you know the strange thing is, I just live right around the corner,” Michael mockingly joked with a croak in his voice.
Worms laughs at the foolhardiness of the remark. “Now don’t go anywhere. I’ll be back in a second.”
He swings back indoors, calling out orders to his squad who are still searching the apartment. Michael decides this his opportunity to go for it.
Outside of Charles’ study he searches about the inside of his coat sleeve to find the gloves hidden inside. The coat was made to withstand the toughest of environments, it was made to withstand the manual labour of working on the TFP. He puts his hand in the glove and punches through the glass.
“Hear that ladies. We seem to have a pest problem,” Worms called through the wall of the study.
Michael brushes himself off and switches the old-fashioned lamp on by the electric plug socket. Charles always did have a taste for turn of the twenty first century appliances, a guilty pleasure despite the environmental cost.
The lamp reveals a finely decorated study, complete with books on physics, chemistry, environmental science, astronomy and engineering. Scattered across his desk are papers with equations and designs drawn on them, the likes even Michael hasn’t ever seen. Chalk boards and pin boards detail more projects and theories. Charles is considered archaic in how he works, refusing to store much of his works digitally. He has a humble belief that honest work must be done with the hand. Personality defines science, both in its flaws and perfection.
Michael scans the room bemused, knowing what he is searching for, but unsure of where to find it.
Loud knocking startles Michael, as Worms begins to test the strength of the partition. It appears the soldier is not too concerned about finding the hidden entrance to the room. The knocking begins to interchange with bangs and thuds. Then singing.
“Up jumped the swagman and sprang into the billabong,
‘You’ll never catch me alive!’ said he,
And his ghost may be heard as you pass by that billabong:
‘You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me.”
From outside the room, Michael can hear steps skipping away from the wall. He stands there frozen, waiting for what is going to happen next.
Then the voice begins again.
“Waltzing Matilda, waltzing Matilda,”
Worms charges. A foot slams against the wall.
“You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me,”
Another thud. Dust flies off the wall.
“And he sang as he watched and waited till his billy boiled:
‘You’ll come a-waltzing Matilda, with me.’”
Bullets are fired, penetrating the partition. Papers, books and ornaments begin to fly about the room as they are hit by indiscriminate bullets. Michael drops to the floor, holding his hands above his head.
After a minute of a continuous barrage of bullets, the room begins to settle. Michael pulls himself together again and hastily rummages through Charles’s draws. By chance he finds a false bottom and within he finds a memory stick wrapped in masking tape marked ‘Taiyi Shengshui’.
Worm peers through the holes in the wall, watching Michael’s every move.
“I see you.”
Worms backs up and begins to kick again. Each blow weakens what separates Michael from them. Chunks of the
wall begin to dislodge. It would only be a matter of seconds before the whole thing gives in.
Michael places the memory stick into his pocket, ensuring its safety. With nowhere else to escape, he returns to the window. Directly below is an overflowing bin to break his fall. Trying not to over think it, Michael climbs out and dangles himself from the ledge.
A loud crash startles Michael as the study wall is finally kicked in. Dust fills the room and the members of S.E.L. clamber through the hole. Worms quickly scans the room before looking out of the open window. Down below there is no sign of the man, having vanished into the darkness of London’s streets.
Charles Jung
Dripping wet, Charles searches for his keys. The alcohol has gone to his head, but despite his condition, Charles remains considerate and tries his best not to wake Li or Alistair. He unlocks the apartment door and stumbles in.
The lights are dimmed and the TV still on. On the sofa lays Li, unstirred by his entrance. It is closing the door that wakes up his wife.
In her delirious state, she looks at her husband, then at the analogue clock hung on the wall, another remnant from an age long since passed.
“It’s really late. And your soaking wet,” said Li worried.
Charles hangs up his coat and joins Li on the sofa. He moves her hair out of her face.
“I’m sorry about that. Your father is on Earth.”
“My father is on Earth? Why?” Li asked, the news shaking her out of her dream like state.
“I guess news travels far. The Chairman wanted to help with my case tomorrow. He offered a good Chinese lawyer,” said Charles.
“Please tell me you refused.”
“Of course. But he did offer us something different as well,” continued Charles, cleaning his glasses. “He said that there is a home waiting for us on Shanxi. The arrangements have been made. We would have a home in the Imperial Gardens. Our own labs.”
Charles stops there and looks off into the distance, as if he were contemplating the proposal. Li sighs and pulls her husband in, kissing him firmly on the lips.
“Gardens on Shanxi?” she said amused and they both laugh at the absurdity. “The Chinese have no home. It is one thing for them to seek peace elsewhere, but we have Earth. Things aren’t perfect, but if we left now, what good would it do?”
“I know, but…Neo-Shanxi began with us. If your father isn’t exaggerating, then we could help it prosper and grow. Maybe we could still do some good, help the people who want it. Our children’s lives would be better. For both Alistair and Oscar,” Charles proposed to Li as he places his hand on her bump.
“Mmmmm…” deliberated Li out loud.
Slowly she sits up, using the arm of the sofa for support. Without looking, she waves the palm of her hand towards the TV screen and it switches off. She begins to unbutton Charles’ waist coat.
“We should head to bed. We only have,” she said, rolling up his sleeve to look at his watch, “five hours until you have to be up for the hearing.”
Li’s face changes as exhaustion settles in. Charles ignores her concern and leans in closer for another kiss.
*
Charles looks out the bedroom window onto the city while he does up his shirt buttons, estimating the damage last night’s storm caused New York. Drops of rain, infused with a greenish tinge, run down the glass.
Li appears from behind, handing him a freshly made coffee. Wrapping her arms around his body, they watch the view together.
“I gave them the stars,” Charles uttered, hoping Li couldn’t hear his remark.
He takes a sip of the coffee to hide his embarrassment. Li tightens her arms around him.
“It’s not what you gave them. It’s what they do with that gift that matters. Have faith, they are not all blinded by profit. They will want to keep you around, as an adviser. They have no idea how the technology works. Turn around,” Li instructed, measuring him up and ensures his collar is straight.
“I know. But I won’t give it to them. I won’t be second to him,” said Charles.
Li tugs on his collar, shaking him out of his own head. She brings him in for a long kiss. As they break away he looks at her almost annoyed.
“Be flexible,” she said, leaving him with a seductive smile as she goes to fetch a tie.
Charles returns to the view. “Not that tie. The next one to the right.”
“Do you not trust me?”
“Not when it comes to fashion. I don’t trust any woman other than my mother when it comes to what to wear,” joked Charles.
Li picks out her choice regardless. She walks over to him, throws the tie over his head and begins to fix him up.
“You’re such a mummy’s boy. Trust me on this one,” she jabbed.
The tie that she chose is the tie her father had made specially for Charles, on the day he set out for the journey to Delta Nine along with the first of the Chinese colonists. It is black with red embroidery that forms Shenlong. Perhaps a precursor to the dragon of the Neo-Shanxi Assembly. He had never worn the tie, considering his ethnic background to be disingenuous to the cultural significance of the design. Charles does not protest though, knowing the importance of him wearing it today.
“How are you getting to court?” asked Li.
Charles smiles unintentionally. “Your father actually.”
“I have a feeling my father came here for you more that he came here for me.”
“I’m sure he’ll come and visit after the trial,” reassured Charles.
Li looks back at him and they exchange a glance of understanding. Before either of them can reconcile the moment, Alistair begins to cry from the other room. She moans and heads towards the door.
“I haven’t heard from Michael yet,” he said to himself.
“Should you have?”
“Should have done,” Charles whispered.
Down at the entrance of the building, Chairman Zhang is waiting for his son-in-law. Besides him stands a young muscular Chinese man holding an umbrella over both of their heads. Charles steps out from the building and another young man gets out from the car and rushes over to Charles with an umbrella. He silently thanks the young man and walks towards the Chairman. Neither of them say anything to one another, they just give one another a simple nod.
Charles climbs into the car.
“You over there. You, come. Stay here. Look after my daughter,” ordered Zhang to several of his men.
The car door opens and Zhang awkwardly climbs in, inelegantly enough to show his age. He takes his place next to Charles and indicates to the driver to go. The car pulls away and they sit in silence for the next few blocks.
“I am sorry to tell you Charles, this car runs off petroleum,” said Zhang, looking to break the tension.
Charles looks at him as seriously as he can, then they break out in laughter.
Zhang pulls out a small photo from his inside pocket. He holds it in front of him for a while, long enough for Charles’ interest to peek. The Chairman notices him staring and with a groan passes it over.
The photo is old and has rough edges, a sign of over handling and poor preservation. It is also slightly over exposed, washing the picture of its vibrancy. In the photo is a young Zhang, almost unrecognisable if it wasn’t for the smile. Next to him is young woman that looks the splitting image of Li. Charles very quickly deduces who the young woman is. Behind them in the distance stands Edinburgh Castle.
Charles knows little about his father-in-law’s life before the war. Li knows even less. Between them, neither could work out if he was once a business man, explaining his connection with the conglomerate governments of Britain; or a soldier, having fought in the conflicts of South Asia, a precursor to the war that would follow. Charles is too afraid to ask. All that matters, is who he is now.
Charles returns the photo and doesn’t say anything at first. Then just as he finds the right words.
“She died during child birth. There were no doctors. No clean facilities
. I did not know what I was doing. I had never delivered a baby. I had no idea about children,” said Zhang. “I still do not.”
“I…I’m so sorry,” said Charles, not knowing what to say.
“Do not be, daft fool. I was sorry for years. It did not bring me anything. But I never hated Li for it. Not ever. The moment she was born, I saw her mother in her. It broke my heart when I sent her off to England. I did not know that she would make it across China, let alone Russia to England. The pain that I carry, is the pain that I could not be her father any longer. I would not get to see her grow into the woman she is today.”
Charles faces forward, his eyes looking passed the driver and out onto the road ahead of them. He is cynical about his father-in-law’s sentiment. Then a profound realisation hits him; softly, but deeply.
“You understand what it is that I am saying?” asked Zhang.
Before Charles can answer, they are interrupted by sudden ringing.
He pulls his phone out from his jacket pocket. It’s Michael. Looking back and forth between Zhang and his phone, Charles struggles with his sense of decorum. The Chairman nods, as if to give his blessing to interrupt the conversation.
“Michael, do you have it?”
Zhang sits back quietly, pretending not to listen in. Quickly it becomes apparent that something is wrong. Reaching for his own phone, the Chairman begins typing away. Messaging his contacts in London.
“Fuck,” Charles exclaimed.
“Tell him to meet my men on Fleet Street. They will get him to New York by tonight,” instructed the Chairman.
Charles relays the message and hangs up.
He slumps his body forward, plunging his head into his hands. Distraught, Charles thanks the Chairman under his breath. Zhang places a hand on his back.
The car turns the block and the court is insight.
