by Bō Jinn
After Naomi had retold the same brief and bizarre testimony in almost precisely the same way upwards of half a dozen times, he was no nearer to understanding why Celyn had disappeared the way she did. On the first of innumerable attempts to contact her over the intervening days, the cell would ring out. On the second and every other day following, the same automated voice message would respond without fail.
“The number you are trying to reach is unavailable…”
Three high-pitched beeps repeated over the receiver. He pressed the “end call” button, tucked the cell away and lit the cigarette in his lips.
Looking up at his reflection in the overhead mirror, the dark circles around the orbitals and the thin red lines in the whites of his eyes were re-emerging. The light of a new dawn shone in through the windshield over the cracked dash as they approached the limits of the inner-metropolis on Highway Route 7. The low, striving trundle of the old hydro-engine flowed with his brood and the cockpit refrigerated with the early morning chill.
As he looked out through the dew-drizzled passenger window, the loud rumble of a passing big-rig grew and declined, a “Bronson Wartech” ad blazoned along the vast starboard. When the truck passed, a long stretch of vales, woodland and high ridges came into view, ending in the remote and awaking mountains beyond.
“Oi… lad.”
A gruff voice from the driver seat called his attention.
“Git thee waukin,” said old Duke, “we’re comin’ up to the checkpoint.”
The lanes on the broad motorway branched out into the mouths of separate tunnels. The next moment, the sky and the land disappeared behind a wall of black and the light of the sun became feeble, sallow twinkles, flashing intermittently through the windshield. The tunnel traffic steadied and became a single long line, approaching the checkpoints. Further up, curtains of intense light beamed down over the lines of vehicles.
“Here we go,” sighed Duke.
Three bright flashes of green signaled that they were passing through the scanning section. An uneasy wait followed.
Half a minute later:
“Attention: Please proceed to security deviation lane for inspection.”
The automated pronouncement came through an intercom speaker on the dash.
“Nae fence ‘gainst ill fortune,” said Duke, with a disgruntled growl.
The tunnel split off to the right where an arrowed sign was alight with the bold words “SECURITY DEVIATION” and the insignia of Sodom Guard. They broke off from the main line of traffic, and down the narrow, empty, sloping tunnel.
When they came to the end, the tunnel opened into a vast space. The whole width was barred off by an endless line of security gates: lights swapping from red to green, and rows of deviated vehicles on either side were lined up for searching; SGs in full gear, barring off checkpoints. Two lights winked thrice just ahead, guiding them to a vacant checkpoint gate. The truck slowed and Duke turned the wheel sharply to the right, then to the left and the truck straightened out. The wasted brakes let off a high-pitched squeal as they came to a gradual halt, then a spurt of decompression and the engine shook until a dead stop and a hiss like a burst valve.
Duke took a deep breath. His heavy pale hands slipped off the wheel and tugged on the parking brake. The window on the driver’s side lowered, and the sounds of a thousand idling engines, sirens signaling clearance, the roll of the big-rigs passing through the gates and hydraulics pumping motion into the un/loaders spilled into the cockpit.
A red light shone over the closed gate ahead and torchlights blinked from below as two heavily armed figures in blue approached from either side of the truck.
“Top a th’ mornin’,” called Duke.
“Exit the vehicle,” was the sharp response from outside.
The old, disgruntled ex-patriot looked away; his heavy, tattooed arm swung over to unbuckle the seatbelt. “Keep the heid, lad,” he whispered as the buckle came loose.
Two strong jolts forced both doors open, and both men descended.
He stamped the cigarette out on the oil-stained floor, leaving a trail of smoke in his path. Humidity choked the air and there was clamour all about as the vehicles lined up, thorough searches ongoing. The rumble of the traffic in the overhead and underfoot roads added to the chorale.
A squad of SGs were waiting at the truck’s rear and the one bearing the mark of higher rank stepped forward with a gait, gun pressed against his chest. The dark visor retracted from the narrow slit over his eyes.
“Any extra cargo we should know about?” His voice robotic through the amp of his mask.
Saul came up by Duke’s side.
“You may talk to me.”
The SG sergeant squared up, coming near enough to see the martial seal peeping out from under his collar.
“Let’s see your signets.”
His arms slipped out of the coat sleeves. When the blood-red signets flashed, the SG sergeant studied them closely and peered back up with a stern glare, turned and ambled up to the shutter over the truck’s rear. “The scanners picked up some suspicious cargo,” he said. “Is there anything we should know about what you’ve got here, Martial?”
His reply was a bow of the head and a reciprocal glare.
The SG sergeant turned to his subordinate with a frown.
“Open her up.”
Duke hobbled up to the truck’s side, his inward-curled hands swinging ape-like with his gait. He banged a heavy fist on the switch. The shutter started to rise. Beams of light passed over the stacks of food supplies as the SGs flashed their torches and climbed up onto the deck of the dark carriage and squeezed past a column of packaged rations, tearing a hole into one of the packs.
Saul’s gut squirmed wherever the searching lights drifted. The loud jangle and growl of a starting big rig in the next gate caused his head to jerk around with a start and he looked back just in time to see their lights stray right, then quickly jerk back … and stop … and fix on a single point.
“What’s this?”
The circle of white torchlight settled on a small form, pressed up against the inner wall. The light veered up, over the head of the little figure and the mess of blonde hair on its head. The circle of light narrowed. A cold hand reached out and grabbed firmly on a tuft of hair. The torchlight switched off.
“What the hell are these for?”
The SG returned to the rear of the truck holding up a dressed-up, 3-foot, blonde-haired mannequin – one of many inside the truck’s carriage.
“Sale,” replied old Duke.
“Sale…” The sergeant tossed the mannequin aside.
“I’s a niche merket.”
“They are customs-approved,” Saul interjected.
The sergeant paused skeptically, then looked over his shoulder as his subordinate came from behind. “… It’s clean.”
Duke thumped down on the switch just as the SGs dismounted and the shutter fell shut with a loud rattle. The sergeant ran a scanner over the registration plates, pressed down on a switch in his gear and the red light over the security gate turned green.
The gates opened.
“Guid thing ah dinnae throw the wee things ou’,” murmured Duke as the doors of the truck slammed shut and the engine gurgled to a restart. “…Haste ye back yeh basterts.”
The green light turned red as the truck rolled through the gate and up the tunnel to rejoin the outflow of traffic.
Economic necessity was the only cause for crossovers between the two worlds. Leaving the inner city any other way other than by the security checkpoints would invariably lead to capture long before some would-be fugitive could reach the limits of martial jurisdiction. Thus it was deemed – in every practical sense – impossible for citizens of either world to cross over to the other… All but for one little girl who lay noiseless, huddled deep inside the carriage, concealed among a host of fiberglass mannequins and draped over by a lattice of old bedding.
He exhaled a sigh of relief and nodded off just a
s the daylight burst in through the windshield again. A few kilometres on, they broke off the arterial road and were soon on the serrated paths meandering through the rural regions of outer Sodom.
Saul awoke as the sun broke over the saddle of the two mountains at the end of the valley. They rose higher into the woodland, leaving a brown fog in their path. Gravel and dirt crackled under the wheels and the light pierced through in thin white lances through the meshes of surrounding trees, broken from time to time by the fluttering of a startled bird. The winding dirt paths continued deep and long until the roads eventually levelled out.
They turned into a narrow path. Tree branches scraped the sides of the truck, rustled and shattered with loud, tearing snaps. A short distance onward and they emerged from the carnage of trees into a small clearing. The engine droned as they squealed to a stop at the edge of a high plateau, overlooking the whole length of the great valley, and to the north, was the prodigious skyline of South Sodom.
The engine switched off. Old Duke let out a long, groaning fog of breath, scratched the thick beard around his heavy, neckless jaw, and the varicose veins in his neck bulged as he yawned, wide-mouthed.
“Here we are … Fair sight isna it?”
The silent intermission was brief.
“Right. Lits git her out.”
Duke unbuckled the seatbelt. Four firm thumps and the doors whinged open.
Saul climbed up into the carriage as the shutter rose. The stacks of cargo boxes and vacuum-sealed food had toppled in the rough ride and he cleared a path through the deck. At the very back of the carriage, a sheet was draped over a stack of the prostrate mannequins. He pulled the sheet away and one of the pale little mannequin faces opened its eyes.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“Yeah,” said Naomi. “I kept quiet like you said.”
“Come,” he said carrying her to her feet. “You must see this.”
Naomi stopped on the lip of the carriage with her arms outstretched for him to take her.
He came to the edge of a cliff facing the valley cradling her in his arms. The sunlight shone upon the pale crests of her face and set the moonstone eyes alight with the view of a deep, wide and iridescent sea of green and russet. The shoals of birds circled the bottomless crevasse below.
“Wow,” she whispered. “It’s… beautiful.” A breeze swept up from below sending her radiant hairs fluttering like gossamers.
He lowered her to the ground, and her bright eyes enlarged with sudden, wild excitement when just across the small clearing, she caught sight two small trees flanked with green and red-speckled hobblebushes bowed into each other, forming an arched gateway into the nearby wood. A swarm of fireflies floated like animated stardust over the ingress of hanging vines.
“Naomi…”
She toddled forward, mute with fascination.
A lone butterfly with rainbow wings emerged from between the branches, fluttered down like a falling leaf, settled and then came toward her and her gaping eyes followed the its trail as it circled and then returned through the hanging vines over the gateway. Summoned by the mystical dance, she took one step forward, stopped and, next moment, rushed forward with a gasp.
“Naomi!”
She disappeared into the wood, the vines swinging about in her wake.
“Ah, let the lass go. No harm’ll come to her here.” Old Duke clipped off the end of a petit corona and hobbled out to the edge of the plateau, casting his sights east along the valley. He straightened out his old back with a series of sharp cracks and a painful groan. Thick clouds of smoke streamed from his dry lips and followed the wind to the sun. His heavy head rose with the hull of his great chest and his breaths were weighty, wheezing and wearied. “Megstie me,” he sighed, “long syne since ah bin i’ these parts.”
Saul came up by old Duke’s side and took out a roll of notes from his inner pockets.
Duke eyed the roll of dimitars and, somewhat grudgingly, took the money.
“I thank you for this.”
“Aye, well,” old Duke sighed, “wadnae dane it if ah warn’ deesp’ret.”
“Desperate?”
The old ex-patriot drew from his cigar and his brow knotted gravely. “Dinnae think the mess isnae ginnae last much longer. Nae mo’ money comin’ in from the civils … They’ll jist leave any puir bastards teh die out n’ clean up ‘fore the rats come.”
“That is the way of this world.”
“Aye … Nae mercy f’ th’ weak.”
Duke’s voice declined into an incomprehensible grumble. He huffed and puffed. He looked a broken man, a defeated man. One could see the last vestiges of the old world dying its slow death with the old ex-patriot, the last of a bygone era in which life, like war, had been a struggle for forlorn self-superseding causes. Never had the image of the lost struggle appeared plainer.
”Well,” said Duke, holding up the roll of dimitars and tucking them away, “this should give us a wee bi’ more time a’least.” He hummed wistfully and blew another cloud of smoke, rubbed his grizzled beard and stared into the sun. “Ah’ll be waitin’ when yer ready teh leave, lad,” he murmured, somberly. “Nae hurry burry.”
Saul waited silently. Then, when the moment of commiseration passed, seeing, he turned and walked away.
He passed swept away the hanging vines like the strings of a beaded curtain. The chaff of fireflies dispersed from his path. When the last curtain of vines swept away, he stopped at the brink of a natural temple, received by the solitary warble of a waking wren. The wind stilled and the air enriched with lily of the valley. Morning dew drizzled from the green branches and sparkled in sunbeams spilling through a dome of interlocking trees, and the lofty trees roofed a serene pool surrounded by knolls and ridges, ascending higher and higher like the walls of a pantheon. Above the enclosure, the clear blue sky shone through an oculus of golden red and green and mirrored in the glass-water.
A faint voice stole upon the peace.
“I had a dream last night.”
He looked to his right.
Naomi was crouched over the pool. A gentle ripple pulsed across the still water from the tip of her gently twirling finger.
“I dreamt about Dad and Mom… ”
He approached her, quietly. The detritus crunched underfoot and the twirling finger rose from the glass water. Naomi turned and flashed her radiant smile, looked away, lifted her closed eyes up to the oculus, whispering; “I have to go now. Saul is here … Thanks again for taking care of us … Tell Mommy and Daddy that I love them. I’ll be with them soon.” She opened her eyes again and stood and came toward him.
“I can leave you alone…”
“No, it’s OK.” Naomi set her sights high up, following the sunbeams to their source. “Saul…” She lifted a pointing finger. “Can we go up there?”
He followed the aim of the finger up a sloping ridge. A natural stairway appeared to have been carved into the moss-covered rock. The stairway was gilded with light and the top of the ridge was concealed behind the treetops, but it looked surmountable.
He carried her and her arms instinctively latched round his neck. He lifted her up to the edge of each crest of rock before climbing himself and repeated the process until they were past the trees and stopped on the very peak of the ridge, high above the valley.
“Wow… it’s am-a-zing.”
“Do not stand too close to the edge.”
Behind them, the woodland was spread out like an ocean of green speckled with the red and gold of the imminent season. Ahead, the great valley stretched out to the Sodom skyline and an airship sailed overhead and became a solitary fly among a swarm, hovering about the great Milidome in the centre.
They sat upon a large throne of rock on the edge of the ridge with the girl settled on his lap. “So,” he said, after a long, almost mystical, silence, “has your friend told you his name yet?”
“No.” Her answer was as a shamed confession.
The sidelong glance of shame on
the pale little face made his intent seem conceited and he hated himself immediately.
“I don’t think he has a name,” she said, suddenly.
He regarded her with genuine inquiry.
“Oh … How is that?” he asked.
“Well, Mommy and Daddy gave me my name,” the girl said. “But, I don’t think he has a mommy and daddy.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I guess he’s like… the phoenix.”
“The phoenix?”
“Yeah,” she said. “You know … the phoenix? Mom told me about them once: Mom said that a phoenix has no mommy or daddy. She said that for a phoenix to be born, it has to die. So, I guess, maybe he’s like that, because phoenixes don’t have names either.”
He smiled at her vaguely. “Maybe.”
There was a solemn silence.
“You … talk to him,” he said.
“Mhmmm.” The little head bobbled.
“What do you talk about?”
“Lots of things.”
“Does he talk to you too?”
“Yeah,” She paused, thoughtfully. “But it’s not the same like when we talk. It’s different”
She spoke with such extraordinary frankness about the mysterious friendship that for an absurd moment it actually seemed as though she were talking about someone real.
“How is it different?” he asked.
“Hmm… Well,” she pondered, “…it’s not with words.”
The thoughtful silence was longer this time. Then, the girl looked up at him and spoke. The words rolled off her tongue:
“You know how sometimes you want to say something to somebody, but you can’t because you can’t think of the words, and you wish that they could feel what you wanted to say, so that they could understand without the words?”
He paused, and after long consideration, was shocked to find that he understood her perfectly.
“Yes,” he said, with mild disbelief.
“Well… I guess I can do that.” Naomi looked wistfully away once again.
“Where is he – your friend?”
“I think … I think he’s everywhere.”
“How can he be everywhere?”
“I don’t know.”
“Could you show him to me?”
“I don’t think so.”
He was oddly riled by her answer. “How can I know your friend if I cannot see him the same way I see you?”
There was another long and thoughtful silence. She hummed.
“Well … it’s like…” She slowly raised her sunlit hands in front of her face and stared at them. “He’s like … light,” she said, finally.
“Light?”
“Yeah … Light can be everywhere too, right? And … you can’t really see light. It has to shine on something else right?” She held her sunlit hands up in the air. “See. I – am – light,”
“… I see.”
A shudder of reverence rocked him to the soul and they fell silent again.
“I didn’t know the city was so big,” said Naomi, looking out beyond the valley. “Saul, where’s home?”
He lifted his head and set his sights toward the view of South Sodom, seeking out the edges of Haven District. He raised a finger pointed the northeast.
“Over there.”
Naomi rose to her knees and put her hand over her forehead, straining to see.
“It is far away…”
“I think I see it … Hey! I have an idea! This could be … our place.”
“Our … place?” he repeated.
The gay smile disappeared from her face and the little head hung.
“It’s silly,” she pouted.
He lifted the little golden head up gently by the chin.
“Tell me.”
Naomi looked away bashfully and started swinging her dangling feet back and forth. “Well … close to the other city – where I was before – there was a place just like this. It was high up in the woods over the city. Dad used to take me there. You could see the whole city from there, too, just like this.” Her shimmering eyes widened with her melancholy smile. “One day,” she continued, “we were up there and, well … dad and me made a promise…”
“What promise?”
“We promised that if something ever happened to us – if we ever got lost – that we would always come back to the ‘place.’ And that we would wait at the place until we found each other again.” She stopped, looked up with a smile and then looked away again. “I know… It’s silly.”
“Alright,” he nodded.
He palmed the top of her golden little head and looked into her eyes.
“This will be our place.”
“Really?”
“If you are ever lost, you will come here,” he said. “I will wait for you.”
“And I’ll wait for you.”
“Yes … I promise.”
“I promise too.” She safely nestled her head in his chest.
They remained on the peak of the ridge until the sun climbed above the mountain top and the silence went uninterrupted for a long time before he looked down again. The crown of the child’s head appeared so much more ashen than he remembered. She appeared to have fallen asleep. She coughed suddenly; two quick successive coughs, then three long ones, then four.
“You are sick again?” he asked.
Naomi stopped coughing and sniffled. “No. I’m alright, really.”
But a second later, she once again burst into fierce coughing.
He held her little head close to him. When the coughing stopped, he lifted her head up. The moonstone eyes were drooping and pale and her little cheeks were sallow.
“You are not alright.”
“I am a little tired,” she croaked.
He cradled her in his arms and stood up.
“Back a’ready?” said Duke, when Saul emerged from under the arching trees, cradling Naomi in his arms.
“We should go.”
The rear shutter rose again. He laid her back down on the padded bedding among the pile of mannequins and stacked up the cargo to make sure she was securely hidden before drawing back the bed sheet. She appeared to have fallen asleep. The doors shut and the truck started up again and they started slowly down the rough dirt roads.
“Wit’s wrong with her?” asked old Duke.
“Fatigue … She is prone to illness. She needs her medicine.”
He had been trying to wean her off over the last month, but it appeared she was more vulnerable than he had first thought. He was anxious to get her home.
They descended from the highlands and were soon back on the main route to the inner metropolis and re-entering the checkpoint tunnels. Three green flashes and the automatic voice came over the intercom:
“Attention: Please proceed to…”
“Ah, bugger off!” Duke slammed his fist on the speaker. “Here we go again.”
The truck veered left down into the security deviation and they were back at the security gates. The guard lights flashed again and they stopped before the red-light gates. Duke was about to unbuckle his seat belt…
“Wait here,” said Saul. “I will go.” He thrust the door open.
“This vehicle checked out less than two hours ago,” said one of the awaiting SGs.
“Short commute,” he said, striking the switch on the side of the truck.
The SGs climbed onto the carriage as the shutter was still rising, torchlights on.
He crossed his arms and leaned his shoulder against the edge of the truck rear, making his best efforts to seem casual. His eyes dawdled from corner to corner. Rush hour was in full swing and the traffic was mounting at the checkpoints.
Two juggernaut transporters ferrying a fresh consignment in from some neighbouring metropolis rolled into the gates on either side. SG teams got to work straightway scanning martial IDs. He lit a cigarette.
Five minutes passed.
He inched his line of sight over the corner of the open rear, peering
over his shoulder. When the torch lights passed over the mannequins, it elicited the same interest as before. Then, one of the SGs suddenly stopped. The circle of torchlight was over the heavy crates at the far back.
“Is that a body-box?” he heard one voice speak. “The hell is this doing here?”
“Get it open.”
He could just about see them, deep inside the hold, inches away from where the prostate mannequins were stacked on top of each other, partially concealed by bedding. The SGs were conversing, but the interfering noise made it impossible to hear. Then his pulse soared when a trailing step brushed against the bedding draped over the mannequin torsos. The container shutter clanked open and kicked up a smog. Their lights flashed over the inside of the boxes.
“Looks clean…”
The torch lights went out and his racing heart yielded when the SGs turned to make their way back out. Then, just as he was about to breathe a final sigh of relief…
“Wait.” One of the SGs halted just before the lip of the deck.
“What is it?”
“You hear that?”
“Hear what?”
That’s what he wanted to know. He shut his eyes and listened closely, and a few seconds later, he heard it. The fateful sound was just loud enough to creep through the clamour. His eyes flared wide.
Coughs – constant and irrepressible coughs.
“Get back here.”
Hearing the order, he turned at once. The lights flashed about the back of the cargo hold.
“Wait right there.” The SG who gave the order immediately started shifting through the cargo whilst the other hung back with his back turned, gun ready.
It was all happening fast. Too fast. One mannequin hurled across the carriage and then another and another, leaving no time to deliberate. His judgments swirled in a maelstrom of panic. Instinct took over.
He noted the line of sight of the surveillance cameras and glanced down both sides of the truck. A current pumped into his limbs and all the emotion allayed to a deathly calm. He quietly lifted himself onto the deck. The blade slipped out of his coat and he snaked forward, body low.
Roused by a presence, the SG turned and looked up just in time to see the blade shimmer. A short, sharp convulsing noise came out from the amp the instant before he felt the shaft break through and watched the blood pour from the vents in the mask, blade hilt-deep in the throat.
He pulled the Guard toward him in a death embrace, wrapped his other arm around the back of the head and pulled back with such force that the whole body followed the skull in a snapping twist and the body fell, dead and silent just as second Guard pulled the bed sheet off the stack of mannequins, and saw of the little pale figures lying on its back, staring back up at him – alive.
“A girl,” the SG gasped and turned. “It’s a…” But before he could reach for his gun, he was flattened against the walls of the cargo hold. His lungs locked. The shaft of the blade was clean through his spine, and out the back of the neck. The desperate hands clung on as tight as they could until the life slowly departed the body. His grip loosed and the hands dropped, and what little light there was a second ago disappeared forever.
Saul looked down, and Naomi’s eyes gaped back at him in the light of the fallen torch.
“Look away!” he growled.
She buried her head in the bedding just as the blade pulled out and the blood sprayed all over the carriage floor, seeping through the bedding in thick blotches. The corpse fell almost automatically in his arms and he dragged the body behind the stacks of cargo at once and laid it down.
He stood, panting in shock as the rush after the kill came back in a flood. When the brief aftermath passed, his attention shifted immediately to the shaking hump beneath the bedding. He could her Naomi’s breaths and when the blood dripped from his fingertips onto the sheets, he withdrew.
He regarded his bloody hands and his blood-drenched coat. The stream of thought that followed came in a sequence of chilling intuition. He removed the coat and wiped his hands off, opened a jug of spirit and splashed his face and doused his hands until the jug was emptied. He checked one of the corpses, finding the activator for the security gate above the SG’s left chest plate.
There were two rapid beeps and the lights over the gate outside went green.
He climbed down from the carriage deck, punched the shutter switch, and as the shutter was still lowering, he ran the scanner over the registration plates, then gripped the edge of the plate and pried it off discretely with a sharp tug and crack, always looking around to make sure no one was looking. He held the plate close and concealed, and hugged the side of the truck until he reached the passenger door. He pulled the door open, climbed up and slammed it shut.
“Drive,” he ordered immediately.
Duke lurched, then he stopped before he was about to speak, glaring from at the residues of the blood stains. “… Whaur the ‘ell…”
“Drive – NOW.”
Duke slammed the truck in gear and the light over the gate flashed red in the side mirrors as the truck rolled forward and back onto the motorway to inner Sodom.
Nothing was said for a long while, and Duke would intermittently tear his eyes away from the road to regard him, the shadows of severity forming over his eyes. “Ye mind tellin’ me whaur’ the fuck just happen back there?” he rumbled.
“There are two bodies in the back of the truck.”
Duke’s eyes flared up.
“They were going to find her … I had no choice.”
“Deid!”
“No one saw anything…”
“There’s two bleedin’ SGs – in the back of my truck!?”
“They did not scan the vehicle registration,” he continued to explain as Duke mumbled to himself, “The plates have been removed so city surveillance cannot trace you. Hundreds of trucks like this come and go every day.”
Duke’s chest began to heave and fall and the muscles of his boxed jaw bulged above his gritted teeth. For a moment he slowed the truck down, as if the thought of stopping had crossed his mind, but there was nothing he could do except keep driving on. “SHITE!” The heavy hands beat at the wheel with each curse. “Shite, shite, shite, shite!”
“Leave the truck in a low surveillance area for now,” he instructed. “We will figure out what to do with the bodies later.”
“…This isna happenin’.” An angry brood swelled in the old Duke’s grey eyes each passing minute as he kept his scowl fixed forward.
They broke off from the traffic on Orion Avenue and onto 4th Street. The truck came to a grinding stop in front of Grove Towers and reversed roughly into the narrow side alley.
The truck stopped. The engine switched off.
“Git out”
“Call me when it is done…”
“Git the gir’l, and git – out,” Duke rumbled.
After a long silence, Saul complied with a contrite bow of the head.
He will call, he thought, he has to.
He nudged the passenger door open and exited the truck, shut the door, hit the shutter switch and climbed up into the carriage. Naomi was still buried under the bedding, shaking. He laid his hand on her shoulder and removed the sheet. “Come,” he said, as soon as the frightened little face appeared from under the covers. “Put your head against me. Close your eyes.”
“Saul…”
“Do not look,” he said, pressing her head against his chest.
The corpses had slumped and were lying prostrate in puddles of blood across the deck between the stacks of cargo. He stepped over the bodies and gore, picked up the bloodied, bundled coat and put the dry side over her as he descended from the deck. The shutter clanked shut, the engine started up and the truck, and Duke, were gone.
“Keep quiet,” he whispered.
Footsteps echoed down the stairwells from below just as they passed the seventh floor; – three walkers leaving the building after a night’s work. When they reached the top, he put Naomi down,
bundled up the coat and pressed his face up to the iris scanner. The flash of blue in his right eye was followed by the click of the unlocking door; he pushed the door open and froze as soon as they crossed the brink.
“Martial Vartanian.”
Standing in the middle of the hall was the silhouette of a figure in black, obscured by the bright morning shine against the backdrop. The tall, heavy shapes of four SGs were on either side of him.
He reeled back at once. The obscure figure stepped forward, and the beady gaze and vinyl face emerged from the shadows.
“You…” He drew the bloody blade.
The SGs raised their guns in rapid response and a long and silent standoff lasted until the moment Eastman held up his hand, and the SGs cautiously lowered their guns. The commissioner took one deliberate step forward, then stopped and considered him – silent, motionless, dispassionate, as one would a wild and cornered animal, his stare drifting calculatingly over the bloodstains.
“S – Saul…” Naomi hugged onto the backs of his legs, peeking out at the five dark figures. “Who are they?” she trembled.
The blade gleamed chrome and crimson in the light. After a long, guarded silence, the cold, calm, effeminate voice spoke. “Before you make any rash decisions,” said Eastman, “you should listen to what I have to say.”
He looked from the commissioner to each of the SGs trying to fathom why they had come. There was no way they could know about what had just happened. It was too soon. That left only one explanation. They had not come for him.
He stepped back and shielded the girl on instinct.
Eastman stepped forward again. “I am here to help you,” he assured.
“I will not let you take her.”
“I am a martial servant, not an enforcer.” Eastman motioned toward the Guards. “They will take the girl away. I am here, in my capacity as your counsel, to tell you not to get in their way.”
“Get BACK!”
“Do as he says,” Eastman commanded as two of the SGs stepped forward.
“Sir, we have orders…”
“Your only charge, sergeant, is to serve and protect martial order, and may I remind you that my client is a martial of the highest caste,” Eastman rejoined rapidly. “You are aware of the consequences should any harm come upon him through your own fault.”
The SGs exchanged guarded looks, stepped back and lowered their weapons.
“You must trust me, Martial Vartanian,” said Eastman, braving another step forward. “I am not the one who betrayed you…”
The shaking blade stilled and Saul’s eyes centred warily on the commissioner.
“Betrayed…”
Eastman stopped six feet in front of him, raised his head, and the vacant look in his eyes alone imparted his purpose.
“Celyn.”
The commissioner bowed his head. “She revealed everything before they cleaned her,” he said.
There was silence. It was a lie. It had to be a lie.
“I would tell you to ask her yourself,” said the commissioner, seeming to read his thoughts. “Unfortunately, Martial Knight no longer exists.”
Eastman’s words would not sink in. It could not be true. It could not.
“They have their orders, Martial,” Eastman continued. “They will not leave this place without the child.”
Naomi pressed tightly against him. Her fear increased his wrath. He wanted to kill them – every last one of them. But he couldn’t. He could not put her life at risk.
“Bloodshed will solve nothing,” said the commissioner. “It is no use fighting this. You know that. The hearing dates have already been set.”
“I will not let you take her away,” he reasserted.
“We will not,” Eastman averred, shaking his head. “The girl’s fate will be resolved by the Ares Circuit Court. Until then, she will remain in Sodom.”
He fell quiet again – a passive, submissive quiet.
“She will be safe,” Eastman reiterated. “You have my word.”
His promise was worth nothing. But he had no choice. There was no escape.
He fought against every riling impulse to lower his fist. The hopeless blade slipped from his limp grip and he hung his head. As soon as the blade fell, two SGs came forward.
“S-Saul…” Naomi shrunk away.
“I am sorry, little one.”
One of the Guards took the girl roughly by the arm and a short, sharp squeal of fright sparked his blood like acetone. Powerless, he shut his eyes and compressed his fists as they carried her away. The girl’s tear-filled eyes sought him and he heard her weep his name right up until the moment the door opened and closed, and she was gone.
He raised his head again..
“You have blood on you,” Eastman remained where he was, his vague and beady stare probing him from head to toe. “Martial Vartanian … If there is something else I should know, now is the time to say it.”
The silence continued. A moment later, it was broken.
His cell started to ring.
BOOK III
FULL CIRCLE
III
