Here Be Dragons: A collection of short stories

by Sarah A. Hoyt

  But I have a burner, Jarl thought, and brought it up, to point square at the man, at the same time looking up into blue-grey eyes. The eyes glanced at the burner, then at Jarl, then the man said, softly, “You might want to close that back hatch, son.”

  “I have a burner,” Jarl said, his voice reedy and thin as it hadn’t been for at least four years.

  “So I see,” the man said. “If you’re not going to close that hatch, let me do it,” his voice was mild, concerned, seeming not at all worried by Jarl’s burner, or what must be the sheer panic in Jarl’s eyes. Jarl felt that panic mount. What sort of man wasn’t afraid of a burner? He’d read. He’d seen holos. He knew that people were afraid of death. Weren’t they? Jarl sure as hell was.

  He realized he’d started trembling so badly that his teeth were knocking together, and he was shaking with it, as well as with reaction to the warmth of the flyer after nearly freezing atop the wall. He realized the burner was shaking too hard for him to point at anything. He knew the man must think the same because he pushed past Jarl, closed the back hatch, and did something to it that secured it in place. “There, that will hold,” he said, then turned around. “And now, son, what are we going to do with you?”

  Jarl shocked himself with a sob, though it was probably just a reaction to the temperature difference. But there was this long breath intake, and his voice came as wavering as his trembling hand, “I can shoot. I can. I can burn you.”

  “Of course you can. But the way your hand is shaking, you’re more likely to set the inside of the flyer on fire, and I don’t think that’s what you want, is it?” the man asked. And then very gently, “Give me the burner.”

  Jarl tried not to, but the large hand reached over and took it before he could control his shaking hand. And now Jarl was unarmed and the man had a burner. And Jarl couldn’t even see what the man was doing, through the film of tears that had unaccountably filled his eyes, in probably yet another reaction to the cold. What is the use? He sank down to his knees, then sat back on his heels, as he waited for the burn he was sure would come.

  He heard a click as the burner charge was pulled, the burner safety pushed in place, then a low whistle. “A Peace Keeper burner. Where did you get this?”

  “I– It was months ago. I stole it. What does it matter?” Now Jarl’s voice sounded hysteric. He could hear the sirens drawing ever closer. A light like full daylight only brighter came through the windows, blinding them. “Shoot me and be done.”

  “Give me your left hand,” the man said, his voice still very calm. And then “I see.” The sound of a deeply drawn breath. “This will wait. They’re here. You’ll never pass. Not dressed like that.”

  Jarl found himself hauled up by his left hand and thrown, forcibly, to lying down on a seat. Something fluffy was thrown over him. The man’s voice whispered, “Do your best to look ill and sleepy, can you?” And to the other person in the flyer, the one who’d remained quiet through all this. “Jane, make this disappear as much as you can.”

  “I can’t make it disappear. Not enough to–”

  “Enough that it will pass unless they take the flyer apart. My job is to make sure they don’t. And give me an id gem. Male. I’d say around fifteen. Or can pass as such. Quickly, Jane.”

  And suddenly, there was a rush of fresh air, cold and smelling of snow, and Jarl realized that the man had opened the door to the flyer. “How may I help you, officer?”

  Jarl’s heart was beating so loudly that he had trouble hearing what the Peace Keeper was saying, though he caught the words “Mules” “Riots” and “Forty Dead.” And then a polite request for the family documents.

  Jarl heard gems handed over and the clink of their fitting into a reader. “Mr... Carl Alterman, and your wife and son?” the Peace Keeper asked.

  “Yes,” the man said. “Our son has been having high fevers. We think it is one of those new viruses. We’re headed for Friedstadt, to see a specialist? Nothing else has worked.”

  “Oh,” the Peace Keeper said, and though Jarl had absolutely no idea why, he could hear the dread in the Peace Keeper’s voice, and had the feeling he wouldn’t be touched.

  The Peace Keeper said, in the official voice, again, “If you’d put your fingers in this machine? It detects the genetic markers of mules, even if the ring has somehow been lost. It’s just a formality.”

  The woman must have gone first, because Jarl heard the ping, and then she leaned back and said, “Honey, do you think you could wake enough to–” Just before a ping sounded that Jarl guessed meant the man too was not bio-engineered.

  But the Peace Keeper spoke up before Jarl could answer – even had he known how to – “No need, ma’am. If he’s contagious it could be a public health risk.”

  And then the door closed, and Jarl found himself taking big gulps of air.

  He heard the locks closing on the flyer, and the woman said, softly, “Don’t sit up. They can still see in here, but we need to talk.”

  Jarl thought it was funny how the woman’s voice sounded so very different than even in holos. He’d never heard a woman’s voice without electronic modulation, and it was higher than men’s sure, but it also sounded... richer, in ways he couldn’t quite express.

  “Yes,” the man said, before Jarl could speak. “We must know what we’re up against, if they’re serious enough to test the genetic markers. Let’s start at the beginning: are you a mule?”

  “No– Yes.” Jarl took a deep breath. “Maybe.”

  He shouldn’t have been hurt by the woman’s musical giggle, but he was. And then surprised by the man’s less tense voice as he said, “Promising! Are you from Freistadt?”

  “What? No. Hoffnungshaus. I am... I am bio-engineered. And all my ... all my ... kind are too, but we are not Mules. We’re not gestated in non-human animals, and we’re not subnormal. We’re rather... the other way.”

  A sharp sucking in of breath from the man, and Jarl had the impression he’d said something terribly wrong, but he wasn’t sure what.

  “I see,” the man said. “So, the rumors aren’t just rumors. What is your name?”

  “Jarl Ingemar,” Jarl said. “We were named by the people who designed us, you know, the national team. I... was sent over from Scandinavia at three, when it was decided–”

  “Yes, yes. So, if the rumors are true you’d be what? Twenty? Twenty one?”

  “Nineteen.”

  A breath like a sigh from the man, and a noise Jarl couldn’t interpret from the woman, followed by, “Starved.” And something that sounded like “Poor boys.”

  Then the silence went on so long that Jarl wondered what he had said that was so terrible. And then he had to know. “Please, sir,” he said. “What do you want to do with me?”

  “Uh? Do? Nothing. But–”

  “But once he’s known to be missing they’ll turn the countryside inside out looking for him,” the woman said.

  “And won’t stop till he’s captured or there’s proof he’s dead and gone. They’ll want to keep their dirty little secret hidden. ... Making supermen indeed.”

  “I don’t want to die,” Jarl said, reflexively, understanding nothing but that. His teeth had stopped chattering and the blanket made him feel warm. His fingers stung lightly, where he’d burned them. And he realized he was very hungry. And he didn’t want to die.

  “No, of course not,” the man said. And then after another deep sigh. “What were you doing out there? I suspect they guard you precious few even better than the people from Freistadt. Don’t tell me that there was a riot at your place, also?”

  “Uh? No. We... There aren’t enough of us to riot. And I’m one of the oldest.”

  “So, how did you get out? What are you doing here?”

  Jarl squirmed. How to explain his private obsession, his driving need? How to do it without sounding completely insane, or worse, like a vandal? These people had given him shelter. His entire survival was staked on their continued good will. If they turned h
im out of the flyer, if they called the Peace Keeper over, Jarl would be done for.

  “It’s the angel,” he said, and then realized he had started all wrong. “I mean, we can see the zipway from out window,” he said. “From my window. I can see the zipway and the glow of the holograms above,” he said. “Not what they say, of course. Not without calculating it. I mean, they’re designed to be seen–”

  “Yes,” the man said. Curtly. A demand that Jarl go on, without saying it.

  “Yeah, well. I used to dream about it. About the zipway. When I was really little. I dreamed about flying in it and reading the holograms.” He paused and sensed the puzzled impatience of his hosts. “Only then, when I was four or five, I saw a picture of an angel. You know, a being with wings?”

  “We know what angels are,” the woman said, very softly.

  “Well... and then I dreamed that I was flying with my own wings, down the zipway, and all the lights and I... and I was free.”

  Another silence followed, and then the man said, “I still don’t understand what that has to do with your being out here.”

  “The angel, darling,” Jane said. And then in the tone of someone who didn’t think she should have to explain further. “I read about it yesterday. Perhaps you missed it because you were concentrating... Well, because of this trip. But I told you. Some group has been vandalizing the holo ads in this stretch of zipway, climbing up and changing the circuits and reprogramming and making it into the image of an angel with a sword, and sometimes of an angel flying away.”

  “What?” the man said. “That? But that’s a group with technologically advanced tools. Has to be. There’s no way a single person could calculate how to change the holograms so that going that fast and–”

  “It can if the rumors are true and the idiots are now creating super-slaves... super-bureaucrats.”

  Jarl sniffed. “It’s not that difficult,” he said. “I can see the back of the holograms from the window, and I can calculate how it would be seen at speed and I can figure out how to change it. It’s not hard.”

  Another long silence. He felt the question “but, why?” unspoken, hanging over all of them. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know why I do it. Escaping is hard, and they usually catch me returning and whip me for getting out, and sometimes my roommates too, but...”

  “But?”

  “But if I don’t do it, all I can think of is being an angel and flying away.” He breathed deeply, feeling suddenly ashamed. Not of escaping. Not of stealing from advertisers a few hundred minutes of their advertising budget, before the repair crews set it right. No, he felt ashamed of letting Bartolomeu and Xander be whipped for his fault. Not that they ever complained, but... They were so little. And they deserved better from him. While he deserved nothing, and certainly not the kindness of these chance met strangers. “Look,” he said. “I’ll go. I’ll turn myself in. I’m a danger to–”

  “No. Protection is freely given,” the woman said. “We do not pass by on the other side. And we– Never mind. You’re not who we came to save, but you are as in need.”

  The man said something about throwing the food of the children to the dogs, but Jane came back, “He’s as hapless as any of them, Carl. Don’t.”

  “So what do you propose to do?”

  “What we’d planned, what else? Only a little modified. Can you give him the serum now? It should have acted by the time we get in, when they unblock the way if they check.”

  The man was quiet a long while. “They’ll turn the area inside out...”

  “Yes, which is why it’s important that he be genetically our son by then. Or test as such. Come, we’re not planning to be here long. They’ll comb the fields and streams first, and assume he injured himself or drowned. Particularly if he’s in the habit of getting out at night, and he clearly is. No one will want the news of the existence of bioed supermen getting out to the civilian population, so they’ll hesitate to search there. By the time they do, we will be well away and near Haven.” She paused for a moment. “Please?”

  “Yes. Of course. You’re right. Of course. The alternative is turning him out, and I don’t think... Well.” He fumbled in something then said, “Jarl, give me your arm.”

  Jarl extended it, protruding from the end of his sleeve. He needed to get a new tunic. Supposing he ever got back safely to Hoffnungshaus. Supposing they gave it to him. They might not after this exploit. Even if he got back safely.

  He felt the pinprick of the injector, but he didn’t feel any different afterwards. He thought it would be a genetic spoofing, designed to show that he was their son, should he be tested. At least that’s what he understood from what they said, and he had read about such substances in the sites Xander had hacked into on Hoffnungshaus’s links. They weren’t very good and they didn’t last very long, but as faulty as they were people worried they would be just the beginning of a slippery slope that would allow Mules – eventually – to pass as normal humans. He didn’t understand what was so scary about Mules integrating with the population since, as Jarl himself, from what he understood, they’d been modified so that they could not reproduce. But it seemed to scare people a lot.

  Jane was handing him a bundle of cloth, under the blanket. “Here,” she said. “Put these on, under the blanket. They won’t see clearly enough in here to see what you’re doing. Besides, if you had a fever, you’d thrash about. Then hand me your suit.”

  Jarl obeyed. He couldn’t see the new suit, though it seemed to be larger than the one he’d worn: stretch pants and shirt, it felt like. He handed his suit back to her.

  “I wish I could give you a haircut,” she said. “But not while the light is shining on us.”

  It seemed absolutely nonsensical, because he’d had his hair cut just three months ago, and wasn’t due for the next for another month, when they’d shave all their heads to prevent lice. But he didn’t say anything, and just lay there, feeling oddly comfortable, oddly warm.

  He didn’t remember falling asleep, and was shocked at waking up. Shocked, because he was in a huge bed, and because he couldn’t hear his friends. Instead, he heard birdsong and some distant noise of cutlery approaching closer.

  He opened his eyes, then he sat up. The room was at least as large as the big dorm, and might have been larger. It was hard to judge, since it looked completely different from the big dorm and was, in comparison, almost empty. Instead of twenty beds, side by side, it had one very large bed, where Jarl lay, and a big dresser in a corner, then a desk under the wall.

  The man he’d seen the day before was walking towards the bed, carrying a tray. “Good morning, sleepy head. Jane said that I should bring you food so that you didn’t freak at the robot servers, which you were likely to do otherwise. I thought you might be starving, as much as you were tired, considering you fell asleep and nothing would wake you and I had to carry you in.”

  He set a tray on the little table next to the bed. Jarl stared at it agog. “Yeah. Jane said they didn’t look like they’d fed you much. Considering that you boys are their pride and hope for the future, you’d think– But they only know one way to do things, and when you consider humans tools...” He shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t have time to talk to you just now except to tell you quickly that we have given you a temporary spoofing treatment. A more... permanent one can be procured, but it will have to be elsewhere, because it needs several treatments. This one will keep you safe while Jane and I... While we do what we came here to do.”

  Jarl set the tray on his knees and started eating. There were three eggs, and large buttered slices of bread, and orange juice, and milk, and thick slices of bacon. Surely there was enough here for three people? But Mr. Alterman didn’t stop him as he ate, and after a while, Jarl drank a sip of the milk and said, “Please, sir, can you put me on the other side of the zipway tonight, so I can get back to Hoffnungshaus?”

  Alterman frowned. “You want to go back?”

  “I have to go back. Otherwise i
f I’m caught I’ll be killed. I–”

  “You didn’t understand a word I said, did you? You don’t need to go back. We can do a very minor operation and remove your artifact ring. And the genetics can be changed permanently, given enough time and treatments.”

  “But they’ll catch me before that!”

  The man smiled. It was the first time that Jarl saw him smile, and it was a surprisingly cheery expression. “Not where we’re taking you. But first... There are other people we are here to help. So Jane and I have to go out. We’ll be back before tonight. We’ll arrange it all then. Meanwhile you have this room. No one should come in. I recommend you bathe, and then – Jane put some clothes in that dresser over there. Dress in clean clothes, and wait for us. Don’t talk to anyone. There is a gem reader there and some gems. Or you can sleep. It will be a long trip for all of us, so you might as well be rested.”

  He left before Jarl finished eating. He went through a door on the side of the room, into what looked like a connecting room. Alterman left the door open, and Jarl could hear him talking and Jane responding, but he had no idea what they were saying.

  By the time he set his empty tray aside, they were gone. He knew this, because he poked his head in the room next door, and found it empty except for some luggage in the corner.

  Then Jarl used the fresher and later he would be ashamed of how long he took about it. Part of it was that he’d never seen a fresher like this. They had freshers at Hoffnungshaus, of course. But washing consisted of standing beneath tepid jets of water and scrubbing as fast as you could before the jet turned on again to rinse you.

  Here the jets of water massaged and soothed, and there was a little machine by the side of the shower which cleaned your clothes at the press of a button. Only Jarl was in his underwear – he suddenly blushed at the idea the woman might have undressed him, an idea so strange as to be unbelievable – and he couldn’t find the suit they’d given him the day before.