by Red Harvey
“Some woman, huh?” Kressick shook his head. “Dark hair, blue eyes?”
When he didn’t respond, Kressick worried all of the man's bodily functions had ceased.
Then he laughed in a self-deprecating way and explained, “I was trying to nod. And remembered I can’t. Yes, the woman has. Dark hair and blue eyes. Flawless skin. Can you help me?”
Without promising anything, Kressick sauntered off. The man’s ardent pleas grew distant, then disappeared the further Kressick walked down the hallway. Ada was demonstrating her abilities on a larger scale. At the rate she was going, he feared he would be unable to safely deliver her to Atlanta.
He opened the door to the hotel suite.
“Ada!”
"Yes?” Her answer echoed from inside the bathroom.
The distinctive sound of the Clear and Clear went on and off before she stepped into view. She had a towel wrapped around her hair, but
was fully clothed.
“Come with me, please.” He held out his hand.
“Why? What’s wrong?” She removed the towel to comb her fingers through her hair, fully ignoring his outstretched hand.
“Nothing’s wrong. It’s actually more funny than wrong.”
Sure she would follow, he walked back out into the hallway. The door closed behind him, and he rolled his eyes. Of course she would take more convincing, the stubborn chit.
Come with me. You’ll want to see this, he sent to her interface.
A minute went by, and he added a second message: It’s about the security of your trip, which we should maintain to keep your mother safe.
The door opened, and she joined him in the hallway, hand on her hip.
“Well?”
“Follow me, please.”
He strode down the hallway to the exit. Just before they rounded the corner, he checked her reaction. She stared back, her face pinched one notch above boredom. He kept his gaze on her as they reached the living mannequin. Her expression stayed the same—no surprise, no confusion, no guilt.
“You!” The mannequin elicited straining noises, fingers twitching slightly.
She pretended he hadn’t spoken. “What are we doing here, Kressick?”
“You’re gonna help me, right?” The man’s eyes moved back and forth in pinball style.
He looked every part the cartoon character, and Kressick struggled to maintain an air of seriousness.
“You did this to the poor man, Ada, now help...What’s your name, sir?”
“Shylar.”
Kressick waved a bottle of water. “Thirsty, Shylar?”
“God. Yes.”
Poor bugger. He held the water to Shylar’s lips, and the slurping made everything more surreal.
I’m back in the motel room, fast asleep.
But his dreams hardly ever involved such comedic scenarios.
Ada held both hands in the air. “I didn’t do a thing. This creep followed me from the vending machines, and I told him to back off. That’s all.”
He considered her answer while hydrating her victim. The guy could barely swallow, and more water ran down his chin than down his throat.
“Is that what you told him—’back off’?”
“Why does that matter?” She shifted her weight, flipping her hair.
“What were your exact words?” Kressick spoke through clenched teeth.
“I told him to stay.” Her tone implied she was impressed by the new facet of her abilities.
“Undo it.” He wiped savagely at Shylar’s chin with a handkerchief, apologizing briefly when the bloke cried out in pain. “Wouldn’t do to leave him here forever.”
“I’m not doing a thing. We’re leaving in a few hours. Plus, the guy’s an IT.” She turned heel and left, her haughty stride speaking volumes.
Kressick stared after her, his jaw sagging to an embarrassing degree. Her ambiguity ran deeper than he realized.
“Tell me. She’s joking.” The man’s eyeballs flickered like crazy. “She’s gonna help...right?”
He patted the mannequin on the back. “Sorry, mate. Looks like a ‘no’ to me.”
In Ada-fashion, he once again left the man without the promise of help.
“Can you at least. Activate my interface. So I can call somebody?” Shylar yelled in stilted sentences.
When Kressick neither answered nor turned around, he overheard a very strained:
“Fuck.”
Ten
In the morning, Kressick was the first out to the car. He hadn’t spoken to Ada the night before, and after they woke, the air between them remained in stasis. Even still, she felt no hesitation over her decision. Guilt maybe, but not hesitation.
The guilt came because she knew she would have to see the stranger one last time as she left the hotel. She wasn’t aware of another exit, and so was forced to face up to what she had done again. How had he survived the night? Sleeping must have been an exercise in futility. Were his limbs tired or just numb?
All of her guilt and wondering came to nothing, because the spot where the man stood was empty. Two slight depressions in the carpet verified he had been there for a while. Her programming must’ve worn off. Either that, or a Good Samaritan had hauled him off the floor on a hand-truck.
She scanned the hallway, making sure she was alone. He would likely seek retaliation. Her hand settled on the handgun at her side. Should’ve shot him last night, put him out of his misery.
Two minutes passed while she stood and thought. No one jumped out to assault her. The man must have better things to do than petty revenge. Not me, though. I have nothing but revenge to fill up my days and ways.
Ada rounded every corner slowly, one hand raised, light crackling from her fingertips.
Finally, she made it to the parking lot to find Kressick sitting in the car, waiting. She tossed her bag in to the back of the car and climbed into the driver’s side.
“Did you see that guy in the hallway on your way to the car earlier?”
He took a sip of his coffee. “His name is Shylar. And no, he was gone.”
“Wonder how he got free.” Her statement hung in the air.
She fiddled with the food modulator, peeking occasionally at Kressick, who seemed content to enjoy his coffee. Wordlessly, she set the interface to automatic. The car reversed out of the parking space, announcing the presence of an idle vehicle in proximity.
Ada noted the car’s safety warning, but didn’t think anything of the second car leaving the lot at the same time hers did.
~ * ~
A mission. Shylar thought he could handle a mission. No, he knew he could handle a mission.
He didn’t know how he knew, but the knowing came from a deep well inside of him. From him yet not him. That same deep well instructed him to steal a car and follow the woman he had harassed the night before. Even if he lost sight of her along the way, he knew her ultimate destination. Shylar knew so much.
Like that the woman had hazel eyes, but sometimes they would blaze blue. He shook his head. Her eye color was not part of the instructions. Or were they? Where did the thought come from? Hell, where did the instructions come from?
Error. He had his mission, and he had to see it through as per his instructions. That, and the other thing. He could do that too. He had his gun, and his cunning. It would be easy.
She was just a woman. A girl. It would be easier if he thought of her as just a girl.
~*~
Blacktop rolled over into more blacktop. The next half-day blurred together into hues of black. For entertainment, Ada flipped through holographic books displayed from her wristlet. The occasional digital ad-board they passed gave her some laughs as well. One board advertised:
Strippers. Need we say more? As seen on interface walls nationwide.—Couples welcome.
The stay at the hotel was their last prolonged stop, battery charge-ups not included. An unspoken understanding between them agreed that stops led to trouble. All the intestinal problems in the world w
ouldn’t get them to stop the car again.
Kressick kept to himself for the rest of trip, the message tone on his interface beeping on occasion.
She frowned. “Who do you keep messaging?” Ada asked.
He flicked the device into sleep mode. “How do you know I’m messaging someone and not reading a book?”
“Because your messenger alarm beeps, and that doesn’t happen when you’re reading a book.”
“Right.”
She kept on. “Are you messaging your daughter?”
For a moment, his face was blank. Instantly, recognition lit his face, and he seemed himself again. “Yes, my daughter.”
But she’d noticed. “You’re lying.”
The sound of the car traveling at high speeds filled the small space.
“Do you even have a daughter?”
“She’s in Cambridge, waiting for me to visit her. First, I’ll help you, then I’ll go see her.” The smooth tone was convincing.
Ada chewed on the inside of her cheek, contemplating whether she should confront him about Cybil’s warning. Finally, she decided she needed him for a while longer.
The long wait at the next interstate travel station provided distraction from the tense attitudes filling the car. They were the twenty-ninth car in line for the State agency booth. Ada swiped at the digital pages of a novel.
After twenty minutes, their car advanced only a few feet, and dozens of more vehicles lined up behind theirs.
“Jesus Christ, I should’ve taken a zeppelin,” she grumbled.
“Too costly,” Kressick chimed.
“Yeah, and then I would’ve had to rent a car when I got to Atlanta.”
The wait brought out her nervous side. From the look of Kressick, he was calm.
“Why aren’t you freaking out?” She was sweating, but he was sweat free.
Most of the interstate check-ins had been simple with no searches. A wait like the one they were currently experiencing signified a random car-to-car search. Given her emotional state, she was scared what her response to a pat-down would be.
She imagined having Cybil’s abilities, and how damn easy life would be if she knew what was coming next.
Car-by-car, the station wagon crept closer to the agency station. There were six stations stretching along the length of the highway, though only two were lit for service. Citizens had become used to automated tellers and clerks, actually preferring their cold efficiency over the tedium of human contact. Honking, cursing, and yelling would have raged along the waiting caravans of vehicles, but for the large automatic weapons slung over the State agents’ shoulders.
A stray word or action could anger an agent into firing their weapon. Mowing down an annoying citizen was not legal, but agents found ways around the law, citing imaginary grievances to justify their actions.
After another hour, Ada and Kressick were three car lengths from the station. They were close enough to see what was causing the delay: the agents were searching vehicles, handling passengers roughly if they protested in any way.
One man held tightly to a duffel bag. The agent ripped it from his hands and poked a baton inside of it, whistling in appreciation.
“Whoo-eee. This is a mighty sum. Anything over $3,000 must be declared when traveling across state lines. I’m going to have to confiscate this.”
As the man bargained with the unyielding agent, Ada didn’t just sweat, she saw through an ever narrowing tunnel of panic.
Declare anything over $3,000? If the law existed before today, it was new to her. She was reminded of the corny, but catchy, signs in thrift stores,
It’s new to YOU!
Her bag of $5,000 seemed to grow larger in the back seat. There was no way she could explain away her money. Maybe Sammies could tell the money was stolen; she’d heard of tagging procedures used on tech devices and even paper. Her quest for revenge might end at a roadside border agency sandwiched between Georgia and Alabama.
She nudged Kressick. “What are we going to do about my bag?”
He swiped at pictures displayed on the inside of his arm. “Nothing.”
“What? They’re going to search this piece of shit car and arrest me. We have to do something.”
“We will do something. We’ll wait.”
Huffing out an aggravated breath, she sat back. Wait. The Brit was fucking nuts. Wait to be arrested was more like it. She’d welcome an arrest or death sentence, but only after she finished what she set out to do.
Maybe she could discreetly toss the bag out of the window...
An iron grip came down on her arm as she reached for the bag.
“Wait,” Kressick repeated.
She shook his hand off.
“Trust me,” he insisted.
“Crazy old lug-head.” But she relented.
Their turn came up at the agent’s booth, and for the first time in months, she was unsure what to do or say. Kressick gestured for her to remain silent. She calmed a bit.
There’s no great harm in allowing his experiment. Worse comes to worse, I’ll fry the agent.
The agent wore the standard gray jacket and slacks.
His grin was large and off-putting. “Greetings, citizens.”
“Greetings, sir,” Kressick loudly intoned.
“What brings you to Georgia?”
“Vacationing at my condo.” He reached past Ada to hand the agent verification papers.
The agent nodded, reading through them like a list. “Deed of ownership, property taxes, proof of income, and religious affiliation.” The papers rattled when he shoved them in Ada’s direction. “Where’s this young lady’s information?”
Her mouth fell open to speak, but Kressick interjected. “She quit her job months ago after the death of her husband. We’re vacationing to help her move on."
She waited for the agent to ask for her husband’s death certificate, but he didn’t. She waited for him to ask about her relationship to Kressick, but he didn’t. She waited for him to search the vehicle, but he didn’t.
Instead, he handed the paperwork back to Kressick. “Have a blessed night, citizens.”
Ada forced a nonchalant look on her face.
“Goodnight.” Kressick all but tipped his imaginary hat at the guy.
As they drove away from the checkpoint, she asked, “Why didn’t he search us?”
“They only have a certain number to randomly search, then they stop. I was counting as they went and knew he wouldn’t search our car.”
Shooting him a look he didn’t acknowledge, she drummed her fingers on her seat. She recognized the taste of bullshit when fed it was to her. The influence exerted over the agent was a mystery, one she didn’t care to pursue.
Kressick had gotten them into Georgia, and she was grateful.
Eleven
Flickering street lights overhead woke Ada, but she kept her eyes closed for a few seconds more. The car drifted along on automatic, the better for her and Kressick to doze the rest of the trip away. Slowly, she opened her eyes.
Orange shafts of illumination glowed and faded on his sleeping form. A dark sky, and darkly empty highway, surrounded them. The highway looked especially empty, being seven lanes wide on either side. Lighted skyscrapers loomed in the distance. Intricate street ads painted on the pavement beckoned her to stop for food and drink, though they also signified what lanes were ending and what exits were next.
The car droned, “You are approaching the heart of Atlanta. Where would you like to go next?”
Kressick’s registration papers sat on the middle console. She scanned them until she found the address to his condo, which she spoke to the car’s interface.
Beyond the car windows were cobbled streets and tall buildings. They passed the lit retail outlets, the high-end restaurants, and the many stands and stores selling firearms like hotdogs. Whereas Aurora seemed like gun country, she had never truly been in gun country until they passed over the Georgia state line. Every person strolling the streets h
ad a gun tucked into their pants.
Twenty minutes later, the car self-parked in a lot underground. “You have reached your destination.”
Kressick woke with a big show of stretching and yawning. “Where are we?”
She chewed the inside of her cheek. His feigned ignorance was patronizing, and she didn’t want to deal with it.
“We’re at your condo.”
“Decided to stay with me, eh?” A casual grin curled his mouth.
She let him keep his assumptions as he stepped out of the car. Kressick retrieved his luggage from the trunk, whistling as he went. He walked to the elevators.
“C’mon then,” he called.
Per her instructions, the car reversed and left the parking lot. She didn’t give him a backward glance in the rearview mirror.
Not a wave goodbye or flip of the bird either, though she considered both.
~ * ~
Shylar entered the downtown area around dusk.
Even with the familiar purple sky overhead, Atlanta was unlike other cities he knew. The tracking system on his wristlet alerted him to the numerous o-planes in the air, but looking up, he couldn’t see them. They were either up very high or had cloaking tech.
Many of the buildings were painted white, with rooftops covered in sprawling gardens. For every white rooftop, solar panels stood in adornment. The city was environmentally conscious, and through the veil of his mission instructions, he was astonished. He had heard of green cities before, but mostly up North. New York was home to the most prominent green city, but here in the South, they were rare.
He passed a rally downtown, with gun-toting citizens of every age. In the sea of white faces, only a handful were as dark as Shylar. Only a few blocks later, and the black population increased, though they lacked the standard adornment of a Nolecet.
They love the environment as much as they love their guns. He left his idle thoughts behind.
Mission. Onward.
An address buzzed in his head. He’d never been to Atlanta, but he knew the way around. Using his new mission parameters and knowledge, he expertly navigated the city streets.
