Reverberations

by Aaron Frale

  DeAndre looked around. “Who you calling white?”

  “Do you see anyone else here?” The voice came from the dark.

  “I don’t see anyone.”

  “I’m two cells down, white man.”

  “Stop calling me that. I’m anything but white.”

  The voice chuckled and said, “You talk like a white man, act like a white man; how can you not be a white man?”

  “If you could see me, you’d know,” DeAndre said to the dark.

  “I did see you. You let me go when those crazies took over the office.”

  DeAndre remembered the lady from the front desk. He realized that while it was her, she sounded more relaxed, and her voice had an accent. There was no doubt that her slave owners made her speak differently when she was at the front desk.

  “It didn’t seem to help.”

  “Are you kidding? At least now, I will only get ten lashings for vagrancy rather than forty for destruction of an employer’s property.”

  “But it’s the—a—er crazies who destroyed everything.”

  “The white man blames us for everything that happens. You know how it is, brother.”

  “I’m not from around here.”

  “You telling me you are from the mythical free country in Africa. The great slave rebellion state. The one place our people can be free.”

  “Something like that.”

  The woman laughed loud and long. “It is a dream, man. There is no place our people free. Sure, some places banned slavery, but that doesn’t mean we still not second class citizens.”

  “Look, your situation sucks. I get it. I wish I could help you. I really do, but I’m useless without some special equipment that is probably locked away in an evidence room in this very station.”

  “What if I can get back your things? Then will you help us, brother?”

  DeAndre paused to think for a moment. Lots of thoughts raced through his mind from this woman being a plant by the police to the chewing out that Hector would give him for breaking rule number one of the Tuners. At this point, he didn’t have many options, and how much could he interfere with this world? It wasn’t like he was U-42’s Abraham Lincoln or his own universe’s Jedidiah V. Frances. Even though the people changed from one universe to the next, the events seemed to follow similar paths. There always seemed to be a civil war. The dates may be different, but a country founded on fundamental compromises like slavery always seemed destined for civil war.

  “Yeah, I’ll do it,” DeAndre said.

  “Good, brother,” the woman said. “Now get some sleep. We be gettin’ outta here in the morning.”

  DeAndre sat back. Sleep eventually overtook him.

  ∆∆∆

  The next morning DeAndre was rudely awakened by an officer spouting off racial epithets and registering his disbelief that their prisoners would be represented by a lawyer. The racist eventually concluded that their owner must have been some sort of chump who paid way too much for the property to necessitate paying a lawyer to get them out of prison.

  DeAndre didn’t respond and followed the officer out of the cell. He was led through the station to where the woman from last night was being processed. A young white man with thick mutton chops and a tuxedo stood with another large muscular slave in a jumpsuit.

  “Is this yours?” the cop asked, referring to DeAndre.

  “Yes,” the tuxedo guy said. “Now, if you don’t mind, I have important business operations that are being disrupted.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” the racist cop said and pulled out paperwork which DeAndre was forced to use his thumbprint to sign. When another officer brought his stuff, the TF3, his nunchucks, and the invisibility suit weren’t among it. The suit and nunchucks didn’t worry him. The tuning device was what really mattered.

  “It’s not all here. There was a little rectangular device. It was white and about the size of a wallet,” DeAndre said.

  “You kidding me, boy? Slaves don’t have wallets,” the cop dismissed him.

  “I said size of a wallet, not—”

  The slave next to the white man pulled DeAndre away, “Please accept my humble apologies. The manservant will be disciplined for this outrageous outburst.”

  The officer turned to the white man and said, “These ones ain’t worth the price you paid for them. I can tell you that much. I don’t think they’ll be worth much to you if we see them in here again, if you catch my meaning.”

  “Maybe I should file a lawsuit for property loss. The Productivity Protection Act might have something to say for the work that could have been happening. The Business Rights Act also has some choice clauses about the damage of a slave and the profit loss for willingly damaging—”

  The cop backed down. “All right! All right. You don’t need to threaten me with your legal mumbo jumbo.”

  “The same could be said about certain overzealous police practices. Now, good day sir,” the white man said and snapped his fingers. They were ushered from the police station toward a waiting car. The vehicle was long like a limousine, but it had three sets of doors. One pair was at the front for the driver. The second was a more extensive middle section. And the third was less a door but more of a trunk with seating that reminded him of his old family station wagon. DeAndre noticed the white man go to the middle where the driver, another slave, was waiting with the door opened to the spacious middle compartment.

  All the black folks, including himself, piled into the back. It was a cramped space that could barely fit the three of them. There were no safety belts. Before DeAndre could say anything, the seat began to lower behind him. The other two were prepared for it and sat up while it happened. DeAndre fell backward into the middle compartment of the car.

  It was large and had seating for about ten and even had a minibar. The white guy who sprung for their freedom was the only one there. The others spread out and found seats, and DeAndre lay on the floor, dumbfounded.

  “Come,” the white man said and beckoned DeAndre forward. “Seems a shame that I have all this space, and all of you are cramped in the back, so I had the secret door installed. Perilla says you were responsible for what happened at the bank yesterday. It’s the talk of the town.”

  DeAndre lifted himself and plopped down on one of the seats. “More like in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Oh, come now,” the man said. “Oh, Jacobs, by the way, Henry Jacobs. I’m sure you know more than you’re letting on. Lunatics don’t break out of the asylum every day.”

  “Is that what they are calling it?” DeAndre laughed. Each universe had its way of explaining it away. And the few who did get it right were always ostracized for being into far-out things like parallel universes. Either way, people were still quick to explain the extraordinary with the mundane.

  “So, you do know what happened yesterday?” Henry said.

  “Perhaps his encounter with the police has worn him down,” the large slave offered.

  Henry seemed to consider and said, “Oh, quite right; where are my manners? I’m sure you are hungry. I’ll have my cooks summoned as soon as we get back to the house. Do you prefer African or American cuisine? My cooks are well versed in both. Unlike some of my contemporaries, I do not shy from a sophisticated palate. In the meantime, help yourself to a beverage.”

  The mention of food reminded DeAndre of how hungry he was. The police didn’t offer anything to eat during his entire stay, and the sink in the cell didn’t look like anything he wanted to drink from. DeAndre dug through the alcohol to find something that resembled a soda. Even though drinking was forbidden by the Tuners, DeAndre wouldn’t do it even if he could. Back in his home universe, too many kids in the neighborhood who screwed their lives up with drugs and alcohol. Even his father served twenty years for getting behind a wheel after a night of drinking. Though it was easy for DeAndre to keep his morals because he got out of the neighborhood young. He didn’t even want to think what his life would be like if Hector hadn’t been tha
t mysterious stranger to bail him when he spent the night in jail on shoplifting charges.

  Despite his personal choice not to drink, it didn’t mean the other Tuners didn’t act like teenagers on occasion. Before Jon joined, Meathook had found a six-pack just when a tech problem cut them off from HQ and left them stuck in U-37F for a couple of hours. Even though Hector wouldn’t be any the wiser, DeAndre still did not partake.

  He cracked open the can, and the familiar sound of carbonation hissed like in any universe. After a few sips, Henry couldn’t contain himself, “So your accent leads me to believe you are not from here. Did you escape the penal colonies of Canada?”

  DeAndre laughed. “The what? Of Canada?”

  “Oh, dear,” Henry said. “Your previous owner must have kept you locked away. Canadian laws are quite clear. Property who refuses to work is sent to the penal colonies. Property only lasts about 2 to 3 years. 5 if you’re lucky.”

  “First off,” DeAndre said, “I am nobody’s property, and second, stop using that word. We are people!”

  “See,” the woman said. “I told you he was the one. He speaks his mind. He is not afraid.”

  “Yes, yes, Perilla,” Henry said. “I do see that. But without prudence, that can be dangerous.”

  “If I may—” the large man said.

  Henry nodded. “Do go on, Terwillegar.”

  Terwillegar turned to DeAndre. “You must forgive my master. He is a lawyer and often speaks in legal terms even though there are people behind those terms, but rest assured, he is an ally to the cause.”

  “What’s the cause?” DeAndre said.

  “There are those in all walks of life with a radical notion that a person cannot own another person,” Terwillegar said.

  “You’re just figuring that out now?”

  “Just because it goes against the very grain of society doesn’t mean that it is any less true.”

  “Yeah, I get it. Trust me. You’re not crazy. Lots of people think that way.”

  Perilla smiled and said, “You see! He will be perfect.”

  “Perfect for what?” DeAndre said.

  Henry said, “There are statues that cover loss of property. In code 42c-subsection—”

  “Don’t bore him with the details,” Perilla said. “You see, Henry here thinks he has figured out a way to end slavery once and for all, but the case has to make it up to the Supreme Court. 4 of the 9 justices are Emancipators. Henry thinks the fifth can be persuaded via his arguments.”

  “And I thought you were a bunch of revolutionaries!” DeAndre said.

  “We already went to war over slavery, and we all know how that turned out,” Perilla said.

  “Shoot,” DeAndre said. “If it’s just some legal case, I don’t know how I can help, but sure, whatever. So long as you can get my piece of property back. I really need the thing the cops stole from me.”

  “Your help will be greatly appreciated,” Terwillegar said. “We can make some inquiries as to your device.”

  “Cool, cool,” DeAndre said and stretched out. “So, tell me about this case.”

  Henry perked up and said, “Yes, it’s quite ingenious, really. It starts with a total property loss.”

  “Wait, what do you mean total property loss?”

  “When a slave dies, of course. Now, usually the owner can incur—”

  DeAndre didn’t hear the rest of the explanation. His throat tightened, and he clutched the soda can. He wanted his TF3 now more than ever.

  5

  Hector stared at the Tuners after they had outlined their plan to work with the bounty hunter. His office and bedroom were a tight fit with all of them in there even with one chair empty. It was packed full of computers and various equipment that couldn’t fit downstairs. He mulled the idea over for a moment and then said, “That’s not the worst plan I’ve heard from you lot.”

  Patel and Meathook were taken aback. Hailey glanced at Jon, who said. “Wait? What? You’ll do it? You’re going with our plan?”

  “You sure you’re feeling alright, Hector?” Meathook asked.

  “You said it yourself,” Hector said. “We are running out of options. At this point, a bounty hunter is better than nothing. However, you’ll need to be on your toes. Remember that bounty hunters will sell you to the highest bidder. Right now, that is me. But that can change at any moment. If this person thinks that selling you out is more valuable than a meeting with me, then they won’t hesitate.”

  “Noted,” Hailey said. “So, when do we go?”

  “I would have like to give the other universe some more time to heal, but that’s not going to happen at this point. Being that DeAndre has no alternate way home, we should go today. However, that doesn’t mean we should go unprepared or without a plan. Meathook, I want you to prepare a supply bag. Pack for everything, especially medical supplies. Hailey, remember 61g from school?”

  “Yeah,” Hailey said.

  “Go get me the mission file from that trip,” Hector said.

  “You aren’t grounding me. I’m fine. It’s just a little electricity. People get shocked all the time.”

  “It’s all hands on deck. Get yourself a new TF3 from the ones Meathook got yesterday.”

  “Yes, boss,” Meathook said. “Hey, boss, 61g. Didn’t we have trouble finding it even with HQ?”

  “Ernest has been working on a map. One that shows all the connections between universes without the platform,” Hector said and dismissed them. Before Jon could leave with the others, Hector added. “You sure they were a transgender individual from a dystopian universe?”

  “Yeah. How many trans bounty hunters could there be?” Jon asked sarcastically.

  “You’d be surprised,” Hector said. “That would make them Alexa. As far as mercenaries are concerned, you could do far worse. Alexa generally steers clear of trouble and seems to have somewhat of a moral code for assignments. Either way, they have no particular trouble with the Tuners. That still doesn’t mean that I don’t want you to be on your toes. All it takes is one betrayal. Jon, go to the mall now and meet Alexa. Tell them that I will talk to them, but they need to help us with this task as a show of good faith. Also, tell them that we’ll need the car.”

  “The car?”

  “Yes,” Hector said. “They’ll know what that means. Only when we get our person back will I consider a meeting.”

  Jon nodded.

  “Patel, Magdalena, get the weapons and the stealth gear ready.”

  They jumped to their feet and scurried out of the room. Jon shifted for a moment or two and asked, “Anything I can do?”

  Hector pulled out a mace from an armoire and tossed it to Jon. “Yes, you can polish my weapon.”

  “Wait?” Jon asked. “You’re coming? But you can’t tune!”

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t hitch a ride with any one of you.”

  “I can’t believe I’m the one saying this, but it’s too risky. You of all people know this. If we get split up, then you are done. There is no way back for you.”

  “We are one person down, and I can get into places you can’t. I am going, and that’s final.”

  “Suit yourself,” Jon said and thumbed the mace, then he added, “Do you really want me to polish the mace?”

  Hector gave Jon a stern look.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll polish the mace!”

  “A clean weapon is an effective weapon, Jon.”

  Jon slipped out towards the makeshift armory before Hector could think of any other tasks that he could do.

  ∆∆∆

  An hour later, they were all piled in the suburban on their way to Rimrock Mall. Hector wordlessly drove them into town. Ernest was making some last minute adjustments on a laptop in the passenger side of the front. The rest of the Tuners were packed in the back seat and trunk. There was a heavy silence between them. They usually chitchatted and horsed around with each other before a mission. Hector usually had to tell them to stop messing around at least a couple times duri
ng the car ride.

  Today, they were grim and ready for whatever faced them when they tuned. Even if the universe wasn’t destabilized, it didn’t mean it was safe to tune. It was still in the danger zone, and the act of going there could cause a tear in the membrane between universes. However, it was a risk worth taking.

  When they got to the mall, Hector told Jon to wander off on his own. There was a good chance the bounty hunter was already watching them and wouldn’t approach the group.

  When Jon went a few twists and turns away, sure enough, Azerius emerged from behind a kiosk with cell phone cases on display. The guy put down a pink glittery one and approached Jon.

  Jon smirked and said, “I didn’t know you liked pink. I would have got you a gift.”

  “You wouldn’t believe how many cases I had to look through while I waited for you to drive all the way here from—”

  “You know where our secret hideaway is located?” Jon asked.

  Alex appeared and held Azerius back. “Just stop, man. You would make an awful bounty hunter! Okay, so maybe I followed you last night.”

  “But I was the only one on the bus!”

  “And I was the only one on top of the bus.” Alex shrugged.

  “I knew I wasn’t alone,” Jon said.

  “If you knew that, you wouldn’t have led me straight to your door. Trust me, I am that good. Since I know where you live and I know cultists who’d probably pay me for that information, you should probably start convincing me why I shouldn’t.”

  “Are you blackmailing me?”

  “No, just giving you a sense of urgency.”

  “Trust me when I say we have enough of it already.”

  “So—”

  “Hector wants your help, and your car, with an urgent problem before he’ll talk.”

  “Of course he would say that. I charge by the hour, including ones where I’m sleeping.”

  “I’m sure Hector is good for it.”

  “Good for it is not good enough. Half up front and half plus overtime on the backend.”

  “Yeah, whatever.”

  “You’re an expert negotiator. I’m sure Hector would be proud.”