About The Laws of Space

Post 215:

The Laws of Space   

Episode 29

Chapter 15 Continues

            …So many signals from so many directions—they were at sea, in a cave.

            “I can see you’re confused. My name derives from the fact that I was once like you, and now I’m not.”

            “You lived in one of the Five Cities?” Alder asked, exchanging a cursory look with Webb. “How is that possible? I mean, you can’t just leave for good. A day or two maybe, but the System would eventually find you.”

            “And if it’s feeling lazy it would use your chip against you. Vaporized,” added Webb. “You know, like we’re going to be… any minute now.”

            “That’s true. But if you have no chip then you can’t be tracked, not by Sky Eyes, not the System, nothing. You’re free.”

            “No no no,” Lerner brayed. A childhood at an EF and a lifetime of programming and rote memorization told him that the Old Man was full of it. “Even the little ones know, you can’t try to remove the chip. Any tampering causes immediate—”

            “Vaporization,” Travers said.

            While Webb finished the point, the Old Man was removing his cloak. He was giving them their answer.

            “Wow,” Travers gasped, looking away. “The hits keep on coming.” Webb was mortified at the condition of the man’s body. He had no right arm, almost no right side. A large piece of his upper shoulder was missing and he appeared to have a maimed foot as well.

            “Yes, I’m sorry for my appearance. It couldn’t be helped.” He let them gather their wits. “I’m what you might call a fortunate accident.”

            “Accident, yes. Fortunate, tougher sell,” Webb cringed, still unable to muster a solid look.

            “A long time ago, when I was trying to escape, I got hit by a Sky Eye blast. It took—well, a good chunk of me, including the chip that used to reside here.” He used his good arm to point to the lacuna in his anatomy. “The System assumed I was gone—I would’ve been, if not for some decent people. People like the ones sitting before you. They patched me up as best they could and here I am.”

            “Why did you try to escape?” Alder asked. I mean, these people seem to hold you in high regard, so I’m assuming their veneration is not directed at a fool. You had to know you’d be killed.”

            “Salient point,” he answered, looking over at the square head, exchanging some furtive, shared understanding. “The truth is dark, but you deserve it. I knew about the underground tunnel system between the Five Cities—overnight explorations and day trips over the wall provided me with that. I thought I could get underground and away.”

            “But even so…”

            “Yes, after an unknown period of time, I would be turned to dust.” The Old Man sat back down, visibly in pain from his mangled foot. “Or not,” he said, shrugging his remaining shoulder.

            “Or not?” Webb asked, glad to see the cloak going back on.

            “Or not, Travers Webb, L2. Since childhood we’re told these things, but I’d never seen anybody try to get away. Maybe I was just rolling the dice, calling their bluff.”

            “You weren’t gambling,” Tate said, moving closer. “You wanted to die.”

            He looked down and continued. “I told you the truth was dark. I figured if I was going to perish, it would be better to do it in freedom, not a prisoner caged in a city.”

            “Man, you must have had a shit job,” Webb said glibly. The Old Man laughed silently. His wild eyebrows danced on his head. Alder watched the strange cripple, realizing none of this story had anything to do with him—unless it did.

            “No, I don’t think he had a bad job. I think he was a Spacer, just like me.”

            “Why would you say that?” This time the question came from Addie, suddenly engaged. Alder took her reaction as a sign that he was on the right footing.

            “Adelyne, I’ll be happy to answer that. But first, what’s with these folks here? I mean, I’m standing in a cave with one not-so-old Old Man and a conclave of cataleptics. Do they speak? Move?”

            “They move if they’re interested. You haven’t been interesting.”

            “Okay. Well let’s table that.” Alder started walking around—he always thought better moving. Strolling. Peering over the inert bodies that were his audience, he forged on. “Webb, I don’t think he was running from some mindless job or low level existence.”

            “Why not?”

            “Cause I’ve never heard of it before. People always want to move up.”

            “Hopers,” Lerner said.

            “Or they want to stay the same.”

            “Breathers,” Lerner said.

            “There’s only one soul I can think of that’s ever been disillusioned enough to want out—to escape the paradigm of our existence.”

            “You mean you?” asked Webb. “I know you screwed up your life, but I didn’t think there was that much to it.”

            “Yeah you did,” Tate smiled.

            “Yeah, maybe so.”

            “So I went down, finding a hint of happiness, shirking the isolation, finding you guys.”

            “We call them friends, Alder. But that’ll wear off,” the Old Man interjected. It was the first thing he had said with any force.

            “Yeah, I thought you might say something along those lines,” Tate cracked, enjoying himself now, the way only he could.

            “I’m sorry Alder, could you explain a little easier for me please?” Merchant begged. He tried to cover his eyes with his long hair; they were tearing up in frustration.

            “Sure thing. These folks nabbed us because the Old Man here thinks I’m him—or on the way to being him.”

            “What?” Lerner pleaded.

            “They have a plan, and they need our help.”

            Finally, the other six members of the circle moved, simultaneously looking up at Alder.

            Apparently the last bit was interesting.