by Tom Andry
I nodded, "You find out about the black market? Where...who...all that?"
He sipped his drink, "Not who. But the talk is that it is located in the Proving Ground."
I pulled on a new dress shirt, "How did you find all this out so fast?"
Alan shrugged, "Just headed down to the canteen. Noticed that smoking was prohibited. Asked around. Seems like you've got to have a license to smoke and those are hard to come by. Even then, you can't just smoke anywhere. So I asked about where to get cigars. I mean," he laughed, "look at that fat suit I was wearing. Have you ever seen a man more built for a cigar? If he were real, I'd have guessed he was born with one in his mouth."
I snickered, "Why you put yourself through all that for a disguise is beyond me."
"Hey, it's foolproof. All those illusions and holograms and all that? They can be seen through. If I were to die as Chris Smalls, as long as no one removed the pin, they could cut into me and they'd find everything exactly as they'd expect. All the way down to the bones and internal organs." He took another sip, "Sure, it hurts. But it's worth it for that type of protection."
"Fine. So, we've got a black market that smuggles cigars. Anything else?"
"Well, from what I've heard, you can get most everything you want from the planet here anyhow, except for banned substances. So, tobacco, drugs, that sort of thing. I also met a guy who said he'd heard you could make a bundle by selling tech."
I looked around for a mirror. Not noticing one, I stepped into the bathroom. "I assumed that. So tech goes down, drugs come up. What about people? Could that be the way the last two ambassadors left?"
Alan shrugged, "I don't know. Transportation to and from the planet is free as long as you schedule it in advance. That's part of the deal. So most people wouldn't have much of a reason to try to smuggle themselves off."
"Yeah," I exited the bathroom, buttoning my shirt, "unless they didn't want to have their movements monitored." Alan didn't react. "Okay, anything about Australia?"
"Just that everyone blames them for everything. If you believe all the stuff I've heard, they plot against everyone, undermine every deal, and practically cause bad weather. It's sort of ridiculous."
I exhaled and turned to Alan, "You know, that's the thing: I met the guy. Seems nice and straightforward to me. Sure, he's working the supers, but that's his job right? He's here to cut the best deal for his country. And he is. Of course people are going to hate him. But I just don't see him killing or kidnapping people. I just don't see it."
Alan finished his drink, "So, what do you want to do?"
I thought for a moment. "You know what, I need you in on this. You've got that way about you. How you get everyone to talk. Let's run over to his office and see if we can catch him before he goes to dinner. See what you think. If you agree that he doesn't seem like a likely candidate, then we can move on. If not...well, we'll deal with that after."
Alan looked disappointed, "Really? Right now? I just got out of that fat suit."
"Hey man, you were the one who wanted to come. And no one told you to take Chris off."
"Do you know how hard it is carrying around all that extra weight? I can barely walk across the room without getting winded."
I turned away. He probably wasn't taking a jab at me.
Probably.
Behind me, the sounds of skin and bone reforming resumed. After a few seconds, Alan started crying out in pain. I turned and he was frantically grabbing at his belt with fingers that were shortening as he struggled to undo the buckle. Finally he managed it and the belt released and allowed his belly to fill his trousers.
"Wow," I tried not to laugh, "that was a close one."
Alan had once again taken on the gruff voice of Chris Smalls. The transformation device, a replacement to the one he'd lost during our initial meeting with The Raven, could change his voice somewhat, but he had to help.
Alan gasped, "Not funny, Bob. That could have been bad."
"That's what you get for calling me fat."
"Hey! I didn't call you fat."
I glared at him.
"Well, not exactly. And anyhow, you're not fat. You're..."
I raised an eyebrow.
"Squishy."
"Oh, that's much better."
Alan cleared his throat, the hoarse Chris Smalls voice sounding strained, "I just call 'em like I see 'em."
I used my USB to call Garvey and asked him if he'd left. He hadn't and said he could spare a minute. But we'd have to rush. When we left the suite, our USBs immediately switched into map mode. We traded glances before I shrugged and started rattling off various instructions. When I mentioned, "Australian Embassy," it finally reacted. Checking the map occasionally, we made good time.
The League of Nations complex consisted of four individual towers each with their own elevator system. The towers surrounded the central courtyard with all the vines. There was both an interior wall to connect the four towers into the semblance of a building, but also a freestanding exterior wall with the same dimensions as the interior wall, but offset a few feet. I guessed that the other buildings that surrounded the central auditorium I'd seen earlier had the same layout.
I stopped, shaking my head. I turned to Chris, "You catching this?"
He was frowning at his own USB, "Yeah. I didn't realize until I saw the map."
"Seem a bit overkill to you?"
"Actually," Chris' voice was soft, "it reminds me of something."
"Really? What?"
"A prison."
I glanced back down. Alan didn't have to walk me through it and he knew it. Once he said it, it was clear. Each interior tower could be locked down. Or the whole building. Or all four buildings. They probably could control each floor. All under the pretense of "our protection". I swallowed, a wave of claustrophobia washing over me.
"Shit," I muttered.
"Bob, I always took the stuff you said with a grain of salt. That you were just a half-step over the conspiracy theory line. But seeing this...man, I don't know what to say."
I turned to Chris, hissing through clenched teeth, "I'll tell you what to say. Nothing. Not a damn thing." Chris tilted his head in confusion, "See, this is currency. This," I spun a finger around, "is a 'get out of jail free' card. Someday, some super it going to have you in a room. You'll have investigated something they don't want getting out. And they'll be wondering what to do with you. They'll be making threats. And you'll pull this out. You'll ask them how the governments of the world would like to discover that the League of Nation's compound is really a thinly veiled prison. That if something went wrong and some super took control of the City, he could lock them in and there would be nothing they could do about it. You'll say it's all in a safe place, only to be revealed if something happened to you. It won't help with a villain, of course. But the Bulwark? You'll walk."
Chris nodded and wiped the sweat from his brow, "Damn, Bob. How many of these cards do you have?"
I turned and continued toward the Australian Embassy, "Too many." I added under my breath, "And not enough."
I was pretty sure the elevators moved faster than those bubble discs, but their default state was with opaque walls. When we first walked into the elevator, all the walls were clear...sort of. More like they were windows to the outside of the building, showing what we'd see on all four sides. It was odd and caused my stomach to churn. When the occupants left, the walls returned to their stainless steel finish. We walked in and Chris gave me a "not on your life" look.
I couldn't agree more.
Chris laughed, "You know, I think I got this thing figured out. It just hit me."
I turned to him, "Yeah? What's that?"
"They all want to fly."
I faced forward, waiting for the doors to open. He was right. The bubble discs, the windows, the huge buildings, the elevators...hell, the whole flying City for Christ's sake. He was right.
I turned to Chris, my lips parted. I couldn't help it. It was just too funny. We were
still laughing when the door opened.
The first thing I noticed was that the Australian Embassy waiting room looked just like mine. Same walls, same desk - everything. I wondered if only the big countries got this layout or if they kept them all uniform out of some sense of fairness. Chris, for some reason, rushed in past me and into the room, yelling something. It was like the sound was deadened, everything moving in slow motion. My eyes fixed on a movement near the ceiling.
A vent.
Something sparkling.
I followed the sparkling line down the wall...no not the wall. Near the wall. Floating.
Confetti. Sparkling, floating confetti.
But it wasn't falling out of the vent; it was flowing up into the vent.
Chris was on the floor, looking back at me. He was saying something, his face red. I couldn't hear him.
There was a shadow next to him.
No, half a shadow. It started like a man, but faded into blood.
The smells of the room assaulted me. Iron. Sort of sweet and sour like freshly fertilized dying flowers. The room smelled like a bathroom after a bar fight.
Behind Chris, a tanned face was frozen in alarm and horror. His eyes were wide, blood streaking the whites. His hands clawed at the carpet, frozen in the act of trying to pull himself away. Pulling himself toward the door on that huge belly. The trail of blood and entrails staining the carpet behind him.
They'd consumed him. As they had so many others and eventually their creator, Doc Arts.
More sparkles. I reached forward and tried to grab Chris, but he resisted. I fell backward into the elevator screaming commands. Anything to get the damned thing moving. My vision started to dim. Oh God, they're eating me. Oh God, they've got my eyes. I can't see. Can't breathe. I tried to take a breath to scream, but nothing would come. Gale...
Nissa...
help...
Mind...
please...
* * *
Chapter 11
"Where am I?" My stomach felt like I'd swallowed a small, angry rodent.
There were hands on my shoulders gripping me tightly. My head was propped up against something hard. A wall.
"The elevator. Why, where did you think you were?"
I closed my eyes, my head pounding, "Jesus, Alan, what happened?"
"I don't know, man. You just started screaming and then fell back. Called for Gale and Nissa and then just fell over. I've never heard anything like it."
The memories were starting to come back. The sparkles. Microbots. I pushed Alan...Chris to the side. The vent was clear, the bodies - or what was left of them - still on the ground. Nearest to me, at the door, was the black shadow. Obviously Garvey's sentry. The microbots had eaten his bottom half even in his weird, liquid form. Garvey was behind him, his body in a similar state of consumption. I swallowed a mouthful of bile.
"Not from a man, at least. I've heard a few little girls scream like that though."
I turned back to Chris, a wry smile on his lips, "Excuse me?"
"At the end there, I think only dogs and some supers could hear. Your mouth was open, but no sound was coming out."
I angrily pushed myself to a seated position, but stopped, my head throbbing, "Ugh. As soon as this room stops spinning, I'm kicking your ass."
"Likely story, PI. Even with this fat suit, I'm more than a match for you."
From the Embassy, somewhere behind Chris, was an explosion. Chris jerked and ducked his head. Before I could think, I was on my feet, pushing back into the elevator.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." I grunted, "We've got to go. NOW! Get IN!" My voice sounded alien. Too high. Too full of vibrato. I was pawing at Chris, trying to pull him into the elevator. Once again, he was looking at me, saying something. Chris was pointing down the hall behind him. I couldn't hear him. We had to go.
He was holding me. Shaking me. Finally, he slapped me across the mouth. I tasted blood, but I didn't care. I pushed him back. Screw him. I jumped back into the elevator and looked for the controls. Why were the walls blank?
My watch thing. USB. It controlled the elevators. I grabbed my own wrist, trying to bring it to my eyes faster. It was flashing white. Flashing? It'd never done that.
From behind Chris, I saw movement. Something flashed. God. They're back. They're back!
More movement. A figure? A white coat? Doc Arts? But he's dead! Dead! I killed him!
I blinked as the figure came more into view. Not a lab coat. A scarf. Or...costume.
The blood slowly quieted in my ears and I found myself grabbing onto Chris' coat. He, once again, had me by the shoulders.
"You have GOT to CALM DOWN!" Chris shouted.
I nodded, taking a deep breath. Had I been holding my breath? "Okay. Okay. I'm okay."
"Jesus. Oh God." It was Gale. She was walking down the hall from what must have been Garvey's office.
The explosion. She'd probably blown out a window. I'd seen her white fabric scarf with the silver B flash and thought the microbots were back. She had a hand over her mouth, following the blood and entrails path that started halfway down the hall. When she got to the bodies, her eyes immediately found mine.
"It can't be."
I didn't have to say a word. This was just how we'd found Doc Arts. When his microbots had turned on him, they'd started to consume him from the feet up. I'd disabled them, but not before they'd eaten half of him. He'd obviously not survived.
Or at least I'd thought. Now I wasn't so sure.
My mouth was dry, the double shots of adrenalin leaving me weak and shaking. Gale was here. The microbots floated on the breeze. Yes, somehow they could go against the current, but I doubted they could resist Gale. She was Gale. She controlled the wind. I exhaled and slid down the wall of the elevator. I put my head in my hands and closed my eyes. I could hear Gale talking. Giving orders. I was so tired.
* * *
Someone handed me a glass of scotch, nearly full to the rim. A single ice cube. I didn't take it that way anymore. Couldn't be bothered to keep the ice filled. Gale must have made it. I stifled a giggle. The ice clinked in the glass, my hand still shaking. I vaguely remembered the trip back to the suite. We'd left by the window in Garvey's office. Gale must have pulled it out. Or maybe there was some sort of control. Who knew?
Someone sat next to me. An arm over my shoulder. Rubbing my arm. Hand on my leg. I sipped my drink, some of it spilling on my jacket. A gust of wind, a flash of white fabric, and the spilled drink was wiped away. I turned. Gale was looking at me, her eyes...soft? I couldn't tell.
"I see what you're saying, Gale, but I'm telling you, it just can't be."
I closed my eyes. A male's voice. Halting, unsure. Doe. That was his name. When did he get here? I couldn't remember.
"Here, Bob. Let me help you."
A warm hand around mine, lifting the glass to my lips. I took a mouthful, savoring. It was good. Good scotch. I hated wasting good scotch. I should be drinking blended. Hell, gasoline would be fine. I couldn't stifle a laugh.
A whisper, "Golly, is he going to be okay?"
"He'll be fine." Chris and Gale in unison.
I rolled my head on my shoulders, swallowing, allowing the burn in my throat to linger. It really was good scotch. Every time I exhaled, I tasted smoke and peat. I licked my lips and opened my eyes.
"I'm fine." I looked around. Gale next to me on the couch; Chris at the bar, pouring a brandy; Doe by the window, his sentry nowhere to be seen. I looked over at Gale, forcing a smile, "I'm fine."
She forced her own smile; we had no secrets from each other.
"Umm...Bob?" Doe paused, waiting for me to acknowledge him. He had his hand up like a boy in school. "Gale and Chris here told me their versions. About the bodies. Can you add anything?"
"Jesus, put your hand down," I mumbled, looking away. I slowly inhaled through my nose. "The microbots," I shot a glance at Gale, "the ones from Doc Arts' lab. I saw them."
Doe scratched at the dent on his forehead, "Rig
ht. Yes, they said you mentioned that."
"Screamed it over and over is more like it," Chris muttered into his snifter.
"But Gale said she didn't see anything."
"She came later. They were gone. But you saw the bodies..."
Gale rubbed my shoulder, "I know. They looked just like Doc Arts, but..."
"Don't 'but' me, Gale," I growled. "I know what I saw. Chris? You must have seen them."
Chris sighed, "I want to say yes, Bob. Like confetti you said. But I didn't. All I saw were the bodies. I wasn't really looking for a tickertape parade."
"He's not lying."
I jumped off the couch, my drink slipping out of my hand and almost hitting Doe on the shoe. I spun and the grey-cloaked Chevalier was standing behind where I'd been sitting on the couch.
"God-DAMMIT!" I turned on the sentry, "What the hell?"
From my right, I heard a sound. A one-foot by two-foot section of wall started to push away from the rest. I took a step back, noticing Chris doing the same. The panel jumped off the wall and landed on four pointed, metal, insectile legs. It skittered toward me, breaking in half as it did so. I retreated back to the window and finally around the couch instinctively wanting to put something solid between me and the strange robot.
"What the hell is that thing?" I tried but failed to keep my voice level.
"It's okay, Bob. It's just a cleaner. It's taking care of the glass and ice," Gale's voice was calm and slow.
I put a hand through my hair, my scalp wet. "Fine. I'm going to the bathroom. You tell me when nothing else is going to jump out at me."
I practically ran out of the room and into my bedroom. The door to the bathroom hissed shut behind me and I yelled commands at it until I noticed the lock button. I splashed some cold water on my face. And then some more. And then stuck my head under the tap. It wasn't enough. I stripped, practically ripping the clothes off.
"Bob? Chevalier confirms that she saw the microbots as well. So you can..." Gale. Was she speaking through the USB? I glanced down at it. I supposed it was okay to get it wet. It was too late now, anyhow.
