Chapter 19 chapter eight

He sleeps until dawn, then takes a walk to think.He entered the extension building from the hotel through the pit lane, leaving the dark glasses in his pocket.The hotel had cleaned his old raincoat; he put it on, heavy gloves, and a scarf around his neck. He walked carefully along the heated street and the dripping pavement, looking up at the sky, breathing in front of him.The weak sun and the breeze raised the temperature, causing small flakes of falling snow to drop building debris and power lines; the gutters flowed with clear water and heaved wet ice piles, and the building pipes flowed or dripped with melted snow, making a damp noise when vehicles passed by. Hiss.He crossed the road to where the sun was at the other end.

He climbed stairs, crossed bridges; he walked lightly over icy sections that were not heated or had failed.He wished he had better boots; the shoes looked good on his feet, but lacked grip.To avoid falling, you have to walk like an old man, with your hands outstretched as if you were about to grab a stick, and you have to bend over even though you want to walk upright.It didn't please him, but it didn't appeal to him any more to keep going and ignore the changing conditions on the ground, only to end up on all fours. When he did slip, it happened in front of several young men.He descended carefully the few icy stairs that led to a drawbridge over a train interchange.The young people came toward him, laughing and joking among themselves; he took turns watching the treacherous staircase and the crowd.They looked very young, and there was energy in the demeanor, in the gestures, in the high-pitched voices that suddenly made him feel his own age.There were four of them; two teenagers trying to impress the girl, talking loudly.One of the girls was exceptionally tall and dark-skinned, unaware of her fledgling elegance.He watched her carefully, straightened his body, and at this moment his feet slipped from under him, and he was a little startled and eager to resume his walking posture.

He fell on the last step, sat there for a moment, then stood up just before the four young men stared at him. (One of the teens laughs out loud, deliberately covering his mouth with a gloved hand.) He brushed a bit of snow off the end of his raincoat and shook some onto the boy.They passed up the stairs, all laughing.He walked across the middle of the bridge -- grimacing at the pain in his back -- and heard a voice calling him; he turned, and a snowball hit him in the face. He caught a glimpse of them laughing before disappearing at the top of the stairs, but he busied himself clearing the snow from his nostrils and stinging eyes so he could see better.His nose throbbed violently, but didn't break again.He walked on, past an old couple arm in arm, who shook their heads, clicked their tongues, and said something about the damn students.He just nodded at them and wiped his face with a handkerchief.

He smiled as he left the bridge and walked up some more steps to the plaza under an old office building.He knew that at some time in the past he might have been embarrassed by what had just happened, about slipping, seeming about to fall, and being so easily tricked into turning around and getting hit with a snowball, and having that old couple witness him. Embarrassed by embarrassment.He might have caught up with the young men before, or at least fought them, but not now. He stopped in front of a small hot drink stand in the square and ordered a cup of soup.He leaned against the booth, ripped off a glove with his teeth, and felt the warmth of the smoking bowl in his hand.He walked to the railing, sat on a bench and sipped his soup slowly, sipping carefully.Soup-stand men scrubbed counters, listened to the radio, and smoked clay pipes chained around their necks.

His back was still aching from the slip.He smiled at the city over the smoke rising from his bowl.He deserves it, he told himself. By the time he got back to the hotel, they had left a message.Beshar would like to see him.They'd send a car after lunch unless he wanted to say no. "That's really good news, Charidian." "Yeah, I guess so." "You're still that pessimistic, aren't you?" "I'm just saying, don't get your hopes up." He lay back on the bed, looked at the painting on the ceiling, and talked to Sima through the headset. "I might just go see him, but I doubt I'll ever get a chance to get him out. Maybe I'll find him getting old and saying, 'Hey, Zarqawi; Man?' I gotta get my ass out of here, okay?"

"We'll get you out, don't worry." "If I convince that guy then, do you still want me to go to Emplin Habitat?" "Yes. You'll have to use the cockpit assembly; we can't risk bringing the Xenophobe close there. If you do take Beshar, they'll be on maximum alert; we won't be able to get in and out unnoticed then, and that could lead to the whole Star clusters rallied against our intervention." "So, how long does it take to take the cockpit package to Emplin?" "Two days." he sighed. "I think we can handle it."

"Are you all set, what are you going to do today?" "Yeah. The pod is buried in the desert and painted; the pod assembly is hidden on the nearest gaseous planet, waiting for the same signal. How do I get in touch if they take my communicator?" "Yeah," Sma said. "I'd be tempted to say 'I told you so' and drop a spy or a Blade at you, but we can't do that; their observations must be capable of detecting that. The best we can do is to be in orbit Put a microsatellite to do a passive scan. In other words, observe. If it finds you in trouble, we'll call pods and modules to find you. The backup plan is the phone, can you believe it. You already have an unlisted The Pioneer Foundation number of ... Zarqawi?"

"what?" "You do have that number, right?" "Oh, yes." "Oh, we have access to Soroto's emergency services; you just dial three 1s, shout 'Zarqawi!' to the operator and we'll hear you." "I'm so confident," he gasps, shaking his head. "Don't worry, Charedian." "What, I'm actually worried?" The car was coming; he saw it from the window.He went down to meet Moran.He'd love to put on the battle suit again, but don't think they'll let him walk through the high security zone in that.He was wearing an old raincoat and dark glasses.

"Hello." "How do you do, Moron. What a lovely day." "yes." "where are we going?" "I don't know." "But you're the one driving." "yes." "Then you must know where we're going." "Please say that again?" "I said, you must know where we're going." "Sorry." He was standing by the car as Moran reached for the door. "Well, at least tell me if it's far away, I might want to inform my people I won't be back for a while." The tall man frowned, and his scarred face was wrinkled in a strange direction and an unusual look.His hand hesitated on the box button.Moran licked his lips with his tongue, thinking intently.So they didn't actually cut out his tongue; he figured Moran's problem must be with his vocal cords.Why the man's superiors hadn't asked him to artificially or re-grow an organ, he couldn't deduce, unless they preferred to keep their subordinates' responses limited.Obviously they won't be able to speak ill of you.

"yes." "It means it will be far away?" "no." "Make a decision." He stood, hand on the open car door, unimpressed by the grey-haired man's unfriendliness; he'd rather reset his built-in speech. "Sorry." "So the place is very close, in the city?" The scarred face was creased again.Moran clicked his tongue and pressed another set of buttons, looking apologetic. "yes." "In the city?" "Maybe." "thanks." "yes." He stepped into the car.It was different from the car he had taken the night before.Moran got into the split driver's seat and carefully fastened his belt; he stepped on the gearshift and the car drove away smoothly.Several cars immediately followed them, and then stopped at the first street they left the hotel, blocking the pursuing media.

He looked at the small, lofty flock of circling birds, and then the vision faded away.At first he thought it was the black light curtains rising outside the windows on both sides.But then he saw air bubbles; it was some kind of black liquid, filling the gap between the double pane glass at the rear of the car.He pressed the button to call Moran. "Hey!" he yelled. The black liquid was halfway up the window, rising slowly between him and Moran, and the other three sides as well. "What's the matter?" Moran asked. He grabs the doorknob.The door opened; a whiff of cold air came in.The black liquid continued to fill the space between the glass plates. "what is this?" Before the liquid obscured his view ahead, he saw Moran carefully press a button on the voice synthesizer. "Please don't panic, Mr. Stubblind. This is a precautionary measure to ensure Mr. Bechar's privacy is protected," said an apparently pre-recorded message. "Hmm. All right." He shrugged; he shut the door and stayed in the darkness until a small light came on.He sat back and did nothing.Maybe the unexpected darkness was just to scare him, maybe to see what he would do. They move on; small, listless yellow lights give the interior a warm feel, even though something big can seem small by taking away the view to the outside.He turned up the air ventilation system and leaned back again.He still wears dark glasses. They rounded corners, up and down, and roared through tunnels and bridges.He felt that since he had no external reference, he could feel the movement of the vehicle better. They echoed for a long time in a tunnel that went downhill in what felt like a straight line, though it could have been a spiral around a wide bend.Then the car stopped.There was a moment of silence in the car, then there was a muffled sound outside, maybe a voice, and then they went on for a short distance.The communicator in his earlobe poked lightly.He held the receiver close to his ear. "X-ray," the earring whispered. He smiled a little.He waited for them to open the door, then demanded the communicator...but the car only went a little further. The car stopped.The engine dies; he thinks they're in some big elevator.They stopped, moved again, still silently, paused, and began to face forward and downward.This time the spiral is obvious.The car's engine was still silent, so they were either being dragged or coasting freely. When they stopped, the black liquid slowly drained from the window.They were in a big tunnel with long white strips of lighting.The passage led back to where it began to turn, and ahead it led to a large iron gate. Moran was nowhere to be seen. He tried the door, opened it, and stepped out. The tunnel was warm, though the air still seemed fresh.He took off his old raincoat and looked at the metal door.There was a smaller door in the middle with no handle to pull, so he pushed, but nothing happened.He went back to the car, found the horn, and pressed it hard. The sound crashed into the tunnel, buzzing in his ears.He sat back in the car. After a while, a woman appeared from the small door.She walked over to the car and looked through the window. "Hello." "Good afternoon. I'm here." "Yes. And wearing your glasses." She smiled. "Please; come with me," she said, walking away quickly.He picked up his old raincoat and followed. Behind the door, the tunnel continued, and they entered through a door in the side wall; a small elevator took them further down.The woman is wearing simple, black and white lined clothes that cover the whole body. The elevator stopped.They entered a small corridor, like a private residence, decorated with pictures and potted plants, and delicate smooth stone walls speckled with black.The heavy carpet softened their steps, which led to a large balcony set in the middle of the walls of a hall; the rest of the hall was covered with books or tables, and they descended a flight of stairs, the books There are wooden frames under their feet and over their heads. She guided him around the mountain of books on the floor to a table with chairs attached at the back.A machine sits on a table with a small screen and cassettes scattered around it. "Please wait here." Beshar was resting in his bedroom.The old man -- bald, with a lined face, wearing a robe to hide his large belly from his studies -- winked when she knocked and opened the door.His eyes were still bright. "Tesodarion, sorry to bother you. See who I'm bringing to see you." He followed her around the corner and stood in front of the door as the woman pointed to the man standing at the desk with the tape-reading screen on it. "do you know him?" Tesodarion Beshar put on his glasses--he was old enough to show his age, not try to hide it--and squinted at the man.The fellow was fairly young, with long legs, dark hair curled back in a ponytail, and a striking, even handsome face, darkened by a beard that was still present even though it had been shaved.The lips are apprehensive and possessive; they are stern and haughty, and only too harsh when the eyes are brought back to the face, and—perhaps reluctantly—the observer fails to The wide eyes and thick brows are completely covered by dark glasses, which is both open and prominent-making the overall impression not unpleasant. "I might have seen him, I'm not sure," said Beshar slowly.He thought he might have seen the man.There was an unnerving familiarity to that face, even behind the sunglasses. "He wants to see you," the woman said. "I took the opportunity to tell him it was reciprocal. He thought you might know his father." "His father?" said Beshar.Maybe that was the reason; maybe the man looked like someone he knew before, and that gave him an eerie, slightly unsettling feeling. "Okay," he said. "Let's see what he says, shall we?" "Why not?" the woman said.They stepped out into the center of the library.Beshar straightened up, noticing he was stooping more these days, but he was still cocky enough to meet people with his chest up.The man turned to face him. "This is Tsodarion Beshar," the woman said. "This is Mr. Stubblelind." "I'm honored, sir," he said, looking at him with a strange, focused expression, his face tense and alert.He reached out and took the old man's hand. The woman looks confused.Beshar's old, lined face made it difficult to judge emotions.He stood looking at the man, his hand loose in the other's. "Stabellind . . . sir," said Beshar flatly. Beshar turned to face the woman in the long black dress. "Thank you." "You're welcome," she whispered, and backed away. He could see that Beshar remembered.He turned and walked down a corridor between the piles of books, watching Beshar follow him with wonder.He stood between the bookshelves, and then—as if in an unconscious gesture—he touched his ears lightly as he spoke. "I thought you'd know my...ancestor. He used a different last name." He took off his dark glasses. Besia looked at him, her expression unchanged. "I think I know," Beshar said, looking around the space.He motioned to tables and chairs. "Please; sit down." He puts away his glasses. "So what is your business, Mr. Stubblelind?" He sat opposite the old man. "You just need to know that it's curiosity. The reason I came to Soloto...was just to see it. I, ah... have ties to the Vanguard Foundation; there have been some changes at the top lately. I don't know if you've heard .” The old man shook his head. "No; I don't read the news here." "Yes." He deliberately looked around. "I guess..." He turned back to look into Beshar's eyes. "...I guess this isn't the right place to communicate, is it?" Beshar opened her mouth, then looked annoyed.He glanced behind him. "Maybe not good enough," he agreed.He stood up again. "wait for me." He watched the old man leave.He forced himself to sit where he was. He looked across the library.There are so many books; they are really strong.So much writing lay beneath, so many lives wasted scribbling, so many eyes heavy with reading.He wondered if people would be as bored as he was. "What, now?" he heard the woman say. "Why not?" He turned around in his chair, and saw Beshar and the woman appear from behind the pile of books. "Well, Monsieur Beshar," said the woman. "This might be a little embarrassing..." "Why? Is the elevator broken?" "No, but..." "Then what's going to stop us? Let's go; I haven't looked outside for a long time." "Ah. Well, well...I'll arrange it." She smiled uncertainly, and walked away. "Okay, Stu... Stabellind," Beshar sat down again, and gave a brief apologetic smile. "Let's take a short walk to the surface, shall we?" "Fine; why not?" he said, careful not to look too enthusiastic. "How are you doing, Monsieur Béchat? I hear you're retired." They chatted normally for a few minutes, and then a young blond woman emerged from the pile of books, her hands full.She blinked when she saw him, then stepped behind Beshar, who looked up and smiled at her. "Ah, dear; this is... Mr. Stubblelind." Beshar gave him a different smile. "This is my assistant, Miss Uber Sheo." "Nice to meet you," he nodded. Shit, he thought. Miss Theo put the book on the table and put her hand on Besia's shoulder.The old man placed his slender hand on the woman's. "I've heard we might be going up to the city," the woman said.She looked down at the old man, and smoothed the plain shirt with the other hand. "It was so sudden." "Yes," Beshar agreed.He smiles at her. "You'll find that old people occasionally retain a capacity for surprise." "That's going to be cold," the woman said, starting to walk away. "I'll get you some warm clothes." Beshar watched her go. "Awesome girl," he said. "I don't know what I would do without her." "Indeed," he replied.He thought to himself, you need to learn more. The journey back to the surface took a full hour to arrange.Beshar seemed excited.Uber Sheo made him put on warm clothes, exchanged her smock for a one-piece suit, and tied her hair up.They got into the same car; Moren drove.He, Beshar, and Miss Theo sat in the spacious back seat; a woman in a black robe sat opposite them. They exited the tunnel into bright daylight; a large snow-covered yard with a tall metal mesh gate ahead of them.Security guards watch as the car passes through the open gate.The car drove along a small road to the nearest road, and then stopped at a fork in the road. "Where is the fairground over here?" asked Beshar. "I've always loved the hustle and bustle of the playground." He remembered that there was some kind of traveling circus out there in the meadow near the Roto.He suggested they go that way.Moran turned the car onto the wide, almost empty road. "Flowers," he said suddenly. They all looked at him. He put his arm on the back of the chair, stretched behind Besia and Uber Theo, and let go of the barrette that held Theo's hair in place.He laughed and retrieved the hairpin from the rear window rack.The gesture gave him the opportunity to look back. A large halftrack was following them. "You said flowers, Mr. Stubblelind?" said the woman in black. "I want to buy some flowers," he said, smiling first at her, then at Theo.He clasped his hands. "Why not? Moron, go to the flower market!" He leaned back and smiled happily.Then he leaned forward, apologetic. "If it doesn't matter," he said to the woman. she laughed. "Of course. Moran; you heard me." The car turned the other way. In the crowded and flustered stalls of the flower market, he bought flowers for the woman and Uber Schio. "There's the playground!" he said, pointing across the river, where the tents and holograms of the marketplace flickered and swirled. As he had hoped, they boarded the Flower Market Ferry.It was a small, one-car platform.He looked back at the halftrack waiting on the other side. Arrived at the far bank.They sailed to the market place; Besia babbled, reminiscing to Uber Theo of the market scene in her youth. "Thank you for the flowers, Mr. Stubblelind," said the woman sitting opposite, holding the flowers to her face and smelling the fragrance. "My pleasure," he said, leaning over Theo and tapping Beshar's arm to draw his attention to a piece of playground equipment that was spinning across the sky from a nearby rooftop.The car stopped at a signalized intersection. He stepped past Theo again, unzipping the zipper and drawing the gun he already had, before she could understand what was happening.He looked at it, laughed, as if the whole thing had been nothing but a stupid mistake, and turned it, firing at the glass window behind Moran's head. The glass shattered.He had already kicked, lunging forward from the chair with one leg, smashing through the disintegrating glass with the other, hitting Moran in the head. The car jumped forward, then stalled.Moran collapsed.The startled silence was just long enough for him to yell, "Pod; come here!" The woman opposite him began to move; her hand dropped the flower and reached for a pocket at her waist.He punched her on the jaw, knocking her head against the still partially intact glass window in the back.He turned and squatted near the door when the woman slid unconscious to the ground, spraying the floor mats.He looked back at Besia and Theo.Both mouths were open. "Plans change," he said, taking off his dark glasses and dragging them to the ground. He dragged them both out of the car.Theo screamed.He hit her in the back of the car. Beshar regained the ability to speak: "Zarqawi, what the hell are you doing..." "She's got this, Tesodarion!" he roared back, brandishing the gun. Uber Sio kicked him in the head with the gun not pointing at her for a second or so.He dodged, let the woman spin, and then slashed her neck with his bare hands.She fell down.The bouquet he gave her rolled under the car. "Uber!" Beshar screamed, landing beside the woman. "Zarqawi! What did you do to her..." "Tesso Darien..." he said.Then the driver's door slams open, and Moran rushes toward him.They rolled across the road and into the gutter; the gun was shot out. He found himself stuck on the curb with Moran on top of him, grabbing his collar with one hand and swinging back with the other, the voice machine flailing on the tightening rope while a huge, scarred fist burrowed down . He feints and throws himself in different directions.He jumped up when Moran's fist hit the curb. "Hello," said Mollen's voice box, hitting the pavement. He tried to steady himself, aimed a kick at Moran's head, but lost his balance.Moran grasped his foot with his good hand.He turned away, but was still turned away by the opponent. "Nice to meet you," said the box, twirling as Moran got up and shook his head. He aimed another kick at Moran's head. "What do you need?" said the machine, and Moran dodged the attack and jumped forward.He lunged, skidded on the concrete for a while, rolled over and got up. Moran was face to face with him; his neck was bloodied.He staggered, then remembered something, and reached into his shirt. "I'm here to help you," said the voice box. He lunged forward and smashed a fist into Moran's face as the tall man turned and drew a small gun.He was too far away to get hold of the gun, so he spun and wobbled with one foot, kicking the gun in the man's hand and forcing him up.The gray-haired man staggered back, grimacing and rubbing his wrists. "My name is Moron. I can't speak." He had hoped that the kick would knock the gun out of Moran's palm, but it didn't.Then he realized that behind him were Beshar and the unconscious Theo; Moran aimed the gun at him, and he stood there for a second, then swayed from side to side; Moran, too, shook his head again, the hand with the gun shaking. "Nice to meet you." He jumped to Moran's legs.A satisfying hit. "No thanks." They crashed into the side of the curb. "Sorry……" He raised his fist and tried to hit the man on the head again. "Can you tell me where this is?" But Moran turned away.His attack skimmed the air.Moran moved and almost managed to headbutt.He was forced to crouch and hit his head on the curb. "Yes, please." He spread his fingers, stared at the stars, and put his hand towards where Moran's eyes should be, and felt something soft.Moran screamed. "I can't answer that." He jumped up on all fours and kicked Moran at the same time. "Thanks." He kicked Moran's head with his foot. "Would you please repeat that?" Moran rolled slowly into the gutter and lay there motionless. "What time is it? What time is it? What time is it?" He stood up tremblingly from the sidewalk. "My name is Moron. Can I help you? You are not allowed to enter here. This is private property. Where do you think you are going? Stop or shoot. Money is not the goal. We have powerful allies. Can you instruct Do I have the nearest phone? OK, I'll fuck you harder, bitch; try this." He stomped on Moran's speech machine with one foot. "Gah—no user-serviceable device inside—" Another foot finally silenced it. He looked up at Besia, who was squatting next to the car, Uber Theo's head resting on his lap. "Zarqawi! You madman!" Beshar screamed. He brushed off the dust on his body and looked back in the direction of the hotel. "Tesodarion," he said quietly. "This is an emergency." "What good did you do again?" Beshar - eyes wide and horrified - snarled at him, glancing at Moran from Theo's lifeless form, then darting around the unconscious woman lying in the car Flowers scattered around her limp feet, before returning to Theo's bruised neck. He looks at the sky.He sees a particle.Satisfied, he went back to face Beshar. "They're going to kill you," he told her. "I was sent to stop them. We're going to..." There was a noise coming from behind the buildings covering the river and the flower market;They both looked up at the sky; the speck grew into a pod and appeared with a halo behind the building leading to the flower market.The brilliant halo that the pod passed by it seemed to shake, and then a light flashed back to the pod along the same line, as if in response. The sky above the flower market blazed; the road below them bounced, and then a terrifying sound exploded across the road, bouncing between the cliffs above the sloping city farther away. "We've got about a minute," he said, out of breath. "And then we have to leave." The pod swooped down from the sky, a four-meter black cylinder hitting the road.It opened the hatch.He ran over and took out a huge gun, touching a few buttons. "We're running out of time now." "Zarqawi!" Besha said, his voice suddenly under control. "Are you crazy?" A piercing, screeching sound leaped across the city and came from above the canyon.They all watched as a slender figure hurtled toward them, belly-down through the air. He spat into the drainpipe.He raised his plasma rifle, aimed at the rapidly approaching point, and fired. A beam of light leaped from the muzzle to the sky; the fighter was blasted into smoke, turned away in a spiral of debris, and crashed screaming somewhere down the canyon, the sound turned to thunder and echoed throughout the city. He looked back at the old man. "Talk about the question you asked earlier?"