Asimov's Science Fiction: February 2014 (10 page)

And he did. He found himself standing on the surface of the water. He looked down. A woman with bright red hair swam at his feet. She appeared to be naked.

"Booo!" she called up at him. "I've seen that one before."

"Excuse me?"

"Try this!" She shot straight up into the air until she was even with him. She was, indeed, naked. Then she grabbed him, and they both plunged down to splash into the pool.

Oxford blinked and shook the water out of his eyes and found her
much
too close to him. He kept his eyes focused on hers.

"I'm Tina," she said.

"Pleased to meet you," Oxford said. "I'm—" He'd meant to shake hands, but his hand accidentally brushed her breast. "—sorry!" He spun around and flailed to the edge of the pool.

"Where are you going?" Tina called.

Oxford scrambled out of the water and hurried away without looking back. Around a corner, he stopped with his back against the rough, stucco wall and tried to calm himself. What was wrong with everyone? He looked down at the clothes plastered to his young, fit form. He was twenty again. Could that Tina person actually have been attracted to him? Did it matter? He'd have been just as embarrassed when he really
was
twenty years old. Face it. Whatever adventurous, bold, daring gene that everyone else seemed to have inherited had skipped Oxford completely. His old life fit him like a pair of well-worn shoes, and he wasn't sure he'd ever have what it took to break in a new pair.

Speaking of which—he squelched his feet back and forth, wishing they were dry, willing them to become dry.

It worked. "All of me should be dry," he said. When that worked, too, he went for the brass ring. Without a word, he insisted that his clothes be clean and pressed. He looked down, admiring the knife-like crease in his trousers. He might be getting the hang of this thing after all. With a little more confidence, he set off to find Emily.

It was simple, really. If she were being held here against her will, then it stood to reason that it had to be by whoever ran the place. He must be some kind of Red Zone crime lord. Even if he weren't guilty, he'd know who was. It wasn't long before someone steered him to Isaac DuFresne.

The terrace on the day side's fourth level had a rich, mosaic tile floor and ivy-traced Doric columns supporting the roof. It cantilevered out from the building, hundreds of feet above the ground level pool where Oxford had landed. Twelve people sat at three round tables at the far end of the terrace. They sat facing the building, watching him approach. DuFresne had to be the big man sitting in the middle.

Oxford marched up to the table before he had a chance to lose his nerve. He slammed his hand down on it, making the plates jump and overturning a tumbler full of something that might have been iced tea. "Mr. DuFresne, I want my wife back!"

The man was shirtless. Bodybuilder muscles rippled across his chest as he waved his hand. The glass was upright again, and full. The spill was gone. "Okay," he said.

"Okay?" Oxford was stunned. After everything he'd been through, it was this simple? "That's it?"

"Well," DuFresne said, smiling, "since I don't know who your wife is, and I don't know who
you
are, what am I supposed to say?"

"You've kidnapped her, you bastard!" Oxford leaned over the table, causing some of the other men to shift in their seats, ready to jump him, no doubt. "You're holding her here and I've come to get her back."

"Are you nuts? I don't even know if you
can
kidnap someone in the AL." He pointed his PAL at Oxford. "Oh. Well, maybe
you
can, but I sure as hell can't."

The others looked at their own PALs and eased back in their seats.

DuFresne shrugged, a motion that seemed to involve about twenty pounds of muscle. "I have no quarrel with the narcs, Mr. B. Nor do I want one," he said. "What's your wife's name?"

"Emily Brown."

He looked around the table. "Anyone know her?"

"Oh,
Emily,"
a man on Oxford's right said. He snapped his fingers as he spoke. "She's, uh, Sasha and Serge's friend's—friend's friend. I met her once. Saw her about an hour ago up at the Sky Pool."

"There," DuFresne said, smiling. "See? Simple and quiet. Two flights up to the top level and follow the signs."

Oxford looked at DuFresne carefully. "No tricks?" he said.

DuFresne raised his hands a few inches. "No quarrel, remember?"

"Then, thanks," Oxford said. He started to leave, but stopped and turned back. He might be in this world for a long, long time. He nodded to DuFresne. "My apologies," he said. "I shouldn't have been so rude."

DuFresne looked surprised. "Don't mention it," he said. "In fact—" he grabbed his PAL and pointed it at Oxford. "—that's an invite tag. It'll pop you right to the front door. Come back any time."

"Thanks again," Oxford said. He turned to leave again.

"And, Sheriff?" DuFresne said.

Oxford turned back.
Sheriff?
Bones had been chatting, it seemed. The word was out that Mr. B. was some kind of super narc enforcer, floating serious mojo.

"Whoever this woman really is," DuFresne said, "and whatever she did, I had nothing to do with it."

Oxford nodded, as if an understanding had been reached between stealthy adversaries. Or, at least, that's how he pictured it in his head. He turned away and forced himself to walk slowly. Once at the stairs, though, and out of sight from the balcony, he ran. Pushing his twenty-year-old legs as fast as they'd go, he raced up the stairs. At the top, he took a right, then a left, and came out into the sunlight on the patio of the Sky Pool.

He thought the place was empty until he saw the top of someone's head poking above a lounge chair. He rushed over and looked down at the chair's occupant. It was a woman—naked, again!—but it wasn't Emily.

Oxford focused on her eyes, trying to decide whether to apologize first or just ask after Emily or stand over behind the chair and— "Can I help you?" she said. But her face triggered a memory, an old one. Something happy. Something carefree. Something—college! The old Pizza and Beer Club. "Livie?" he said. "Livie Coleman? How crazy is this? Of all places." AftrLyf was turning out to be a small world.

"No one calls me—Oh, my god. Oxford!" She jumped out of the chair. Oxford backed up a step, afraid she'd want to hug him or something, but she didn't. She grabbed the towel off the lounge chair and held it in front of her, standing with her back to the pool. She shook her head and was suddenly wearing a thick, fluffy robe. "How did you—I mean, I know
how,
but when did—?"

"I'm looking for Emily," he said. "Have you seen her? Is she here?"

She glanced over his shoulder, then quickly back to his face. "I—" was all she said.

Oxford turned around to find another woman standing just ten feet away. She, too, was naked, but he knew that body, and he knew that face. There was no embarrassment at all, at least not for him. He blinked, and she was suddenly wearing a straight, brown skirt and a white blouse with a little bow at the throat. Her hair was dry and pulled back behind her head.

"Hello, Oxford," Emily said.

He rushed over to her, holding her close. He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. "I've missed you," he said. "I've missed you so much."

"I'm sorry you died," Emily said. "Was it very bad?"

"It was nothing," he said. "After losing you, it was—"

"I'm so sorry."

"It's fine," Oxford said. "I've found you, now. We can be together again. Forever." "Emily!" Livie cried.

Oxford glanced back at Livie, expecting her to be happy for them, but she wasn't.

Those were tortured tears on her face.

"He's my husband, Livie." Emily's tone had the weight of proclamation, the dull surety of litany. There was no sparkle to it. "He loved me and cared for me and did everything he could to make me happy. What else can I do?"

"You can stay!" Livie cried.

Emily's voice was softer now. "You knew this day would come."

"Stay?" Oxford said, trying hard to catch up. Emily seemed happy and sad at the same time. And Livie just seemed— "You and Livie?" he said, at last.

Emily put her hand on his cheek, staring into his eyes. "I do love you, Oxford," she said. "And if you want me to, I'll go with you and we'll be together just like we were and I'll never say a word."

"But..."

"But it's always been Livie."

" 'O,' " Oxford said, thinking back to the time he'd read her diary, when he'd violated her trust so completely and changed both their lives because of it. She'd had a secret so precious, so important, all this time. And he'd never had a clue. "For Olivia."

"Back in college, I never thought I could," Emily said, "or that Olivia would. And then there you were so sweet and caring and safe and I just—"

"Settled," Oxford said.

"It's not like that."

"It is," he said. He smiled, trying to ease the hurt he saw in her face. "Not in a mean way, but in the way you don't know what's truly possible. You do what you can, because you don't think you can do more."

"I was never unhappy, Oxford."

"I believe you."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he said, stepping back. Hadn't part of him always known? He'd lived a lie, and he'd led her to live one too. But it had been a comfortable lie that they'd both been willing to settle for. "We had a lifetime together. I don't deserve more. What matters is that you're happy."

"I am," Emily said. Then Livie ran into her arms, still crying.

Oxford turned quietly and left, surprised to find that, deep down, part of him was happy, too.

Oxford sat on the patio by one of the Last Resort's ground floor pools, watching everyone splash and play in the water. He wasn't sure just what to do next. His entire death so far had been focused on just one goal, and whether he chalked it up as a success or a failure, it was done. Now he was facing eternity with absolutely no idea what to do with it.

"Howdy, Sheriff."

Oxford turned to find Cassandra perched on the chair next to him. She was wearing a pair of cutoff shorts and a bikini top. It was a far cry from her seeserv business suit, but at least she was human.

"I thought you were a cat in the zone," Oxford said.

"You didn't notice?" she said. "House rules. Humans only."

"Come to check up on me?"

"I just thought you could use a friend." Oxford looked at her, trying to decide if she was lying or not. "You narcs take seeserv pretty seriously."

"Listen to you, slinging the lingo like a zonie." She laughed, but quickly settled down into a more serious mood. "Honestly, Oxford, if you want to talk..."

He nodded. "You knew all along, didn't you?"

"I still don't know," she said, shaking her head. "I just know that when someone gets lost around here, it's usually because they don't want to be found. Speaking of which, Bones told me where he dropped you. How'd you find the bridge before the place shifted again?"

"There's a bridge?"

She laughed again. It was a nice laugh. "Come on, Oxford, tell me how."

"Really," he said. "I sort of flew. Bounced. Flounced, maybe. It wasn't pretty."

She looked at him for a moment, a curious expression on her face. "Maybe not," she finally said, "but it worked."

"Of course." He spread his arms, taking in everything around him. "The zone is my natural habitat. You just see what you want to see and the world plays along."

"Sometimes," Cassandra said. "Sometimes not."

"Oh, that's right. Heaven's got bugs."

"No." She stood up and her clothes transformed into a long, deep blue evening gown with an open back and a scandalous slit up the left side. She held out her hand to him. "But it has more than a few rats."

He took her hand and stood up. He tried for a tux, but he couldn't get the bow tie right, so he left it with an open collar. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"Down to the night side. There's a balcony spot where the stars are ferocious." She led him to the stairs and down, still holding his hand as if she were afraid he'd run away. "We can talk about you helping with the zone's rat problem."

"Me?" His stomach flipped when the downward stairs suddenly became upward stairs. "Sheriff Brown, riding the red range with his high-end six-shooter mojo PAL?"

"If you like," she said.

She really did have a nice laugh. He pulled his hand from hers and offered her his arm instead. "Don't look so surprised," he said. "You know I'm the old fashioned kind."

She smiled and took his arm. "And the world plays along," she said.

www.MauriceBroaddus.com
> has written hundreds of short stories, essays, novellas, and articles. His dark fiction has been published in numerous magazines, anthologies, and web sites, including
Cemetery Dance, Apex, Black Static,
and
Weird Tales.
He is the co-editor of the Dark Faith anthology series (Apex Books) and the author of the urban fantasy trilogy, Knights of Breton Court (Angry Robot Books). Maurice has been a teaching artist for over five years, educating creative writing students of all ages. The author's first
Asimov's
tale takes place in a steampunk influenced Jamaica and provides us with a fascinating look at an alternate world history.

"Some people have written the story of my life representing as truth what in fact derives from ignorance, error or envy; but they cannot shake the truth from its place, even if they attempt to make others believe it."

—My Life and Ethiopia's Progress, Autobiography of H.M. Haile Selassie I

1988

Desmond Coke no longer jumped at the thunder of artillery in the sky. They were the weapons of the age. Born in violence, Jamaica had been settled by bloodshed and held by cruelty. The great thrumming sound from the passing airships bristled the skin. Dry brown vines crunched under his weight as he leaned against the cotton tree's steel grey trunk with little concern of dirtying his suit. From his hillside vantage point, he watched the familiar panorama play out through mountaintop haze.