Idols (18 page)
“I told you, I found myself in one a their Carriers, you know, the damned silver ships.” Fortis swigs out of his old flask. We have been driving for hours, straight toward the Hole. Ro doesn’t stop the transport except to refuel from the three spare drums in back.
A ship still leaves the Porthole two days from now and, with or without Fortis, we’re still determined to be on it.
I’m determined.
We need to get to the other side of the world to find the jade girl, and this ship just might be the only way across that isn’t a deadly silver Carrier.
Or so the Bishop says.
Said
, I think, sadly.
I’ve told Fortis all of this, but it’s like he hasn’t heard me. He hasn’t said a word about the dreams or the girl since I told him, as if he doesn’t believe me. Or he doesn’t know how to respond.
“Hell of a long way to go for a dream, Grassgirl.” That was all he said, but in his eyes I could see there was more.
I try to shake off the doubt.
“Go on,” I say, trying to refocus on seeing Fortis’s face, hearing his voice again. What words he actually says should be beside the point, as far as I’m concerned.
He’s here and he’s talking again. It’s a start.
“An’ I was in somethin’ like a bubble, see, but it wasn’t the kind of thing you could break in or out of. An’ there I was, trapped, and I figured I was as good as dead.”
“You mean, a force field?” Tima has been filing away every word Fortis says, as if she’s taking a deposition.
He nods. “Exactly. An’ why they took me instead of just zappin’ me on the spot, I’ve no idea. I can’t say that I minded. It just wasn’t what I was, you know, expecting.”
“And what? You just walked out of there? Said, sorry, but I have a few friends I’d like to help out of a life-and-death jam that—oh yeah—you freaking No Face happen to be causing?” Ro isn’t buying it. Any of it. He seems almost furious at Fortis for coming back.
Not me. It’s been hours now, and I can’t take my eyes off his filthy Merk face and ragged Merk clothes.
“Let him finish,” says Lucas, but I feel it from him too. Doubt.
“I don’t remember what happened after that, an’ that’s the god’s honest truth. I passed out on the ship, and next thing I know, I find myself in sight of the Idylls, cold and lost, and so I start walking.”
“Just like that? You were just… there?” Lucas is perplexed, but Fortis only shrugs.
“I knew I was getting close when I heard the noise coming from deep down. That’s when Hot Rod here nearly ran me over and killed me.” He winks at Ro.
“You’re going to complain about my driving? You who crashed a Chopper into nothing? The ground?” Ro rolls his eyes and I find myself laughing, in spite of everything.
“I didn’t see any No Face, and I don’t know what they did to me. Queerest thing, but I’m not the kind to question good fortune.”
“Good fortune isn’t exactly the word for it,” I say, looking out the window. I’m still haunted by the thought of the Bishop sentencing himself to death for us.
For me.
“What if he’s a bomb? A spy? A walking Lords comlink?” Ro asks. “We don’t know what they did to him, but we do know the Lords don’t let anybody just walk away.”
“Good point,” Fortis says. “Stop the car.”
“Shut up.”
Fortis pulls out a gun and holds it to Ro’s neck from the seat behind him. “I said, stop the car, genius.”
Ro slams on the brakes, and the truck goes sliding to a stop in the middle of the road.
Fortis is out of the car before any of us can say a word. A second later, we’re surrounding him.
He holds out his gun.
“Go ahead.”
“Don’t be stupid,” I say.
Fortis drops the gun, letting it clatter on the cracked paved road. “Shoot me. That’s the only way we can be sure. You know it, and I know it.”
Nobody says anything. Finally, Ro sighs. “We’re not going to shoot you, you idiot.”
“Then you’re the idiots. Either shoot me, or shut up about it. I’m not goin’ to slink around forever wonderin’ whether or not you trust me.”
“Statistically speaking, of course, Fortis is correct.” It’s Fortis’s cuff, crackling to life. Doc. We haven’t heard from him, not since we went into Belter Mountain.
“Doc—we missed you,” I call out to the cuff.
“Good to hear your voice, old friend.” Fortis smiles up at the sky.
“I, too, am pleased to confirm that the
bucket
is still awaiting
kicking
, and that you have awakened from your
dirt nap
, Fortis.”
Fortis laughs, suddenly and sharply. The sound echoes down the empty highway, even in the wind.
“That said, you are correct. There is almost no probability of a merciful outcome in any scenario involving the Lords. They do not seem to possess the capacity for empathy that human intelligences do.”
“What are you saying, Doc?” Ro speaks up.
“I am saying that the logical recommendation would be to shoot. Eradicate. Terminate.”
Fortis stops laughing. Lucas eyes him. Even Tima’s eyes are impassive. It’s Ro and I who are the mass of nerves.
Ro jams his hands into his pockets, and I recognize the gesture.
Stuck.
I reach out to Lucas.
Uncertain.
Tima.
Desperate.
What about me? What do I think? Does it matter? Could I bring myself to do anything about it, even if I did have my doubts?
No. So why have them?
I take a step toward Fortis. “Nobody is terminating anyone. Of course we trust you. It’s just hard to believe you’re back alive. Safe. No strings attached. Doc is right. You should be dead.”
“Probably,” he says, looking at the ground. “But unfortunately for all of us, here I am. And I can’t explain it any more than you lot.”
I stand in front of Fortis, tilt my head, searching for something to help me feel better. Something inside him. For the first time, I’m really trying. For the first time, I feel like I really have to.
Try.
Fortis looks back at me, knowing what I’m about to do, eyebrow raised in a mock challenge. “Be my guest, love.
Mi casa es su casa.
”
I ignore him and search, but his mind moves too quickly for me. I am confronted with a chaotic mess of shifting figures and convoluted equations—elaborate formulas and imagined eventualities.
This man has a mind unlike any I’ve ever seen.
I can’t find anything in his mind that I can latch on to. Memories are dim and garbled; I find nothing that comforts me, but also nothing that alarms me.
Just—Fortis. The inscrutable.
I stop trying and look into the familiar lopsided, half-apologetic smirk on his face.
“You got nothing, eh?” And with that, he turns away.
“Just get in the car, Fortis,” Ro says finally.
Fortis raises his head. “Look. I’m not happy about what happened at the Idylls. The Bishop was a good man—they were all good people, that lot, if a bit stubborn. But one thing I know is that they would want us to keep fighting.”
“That’s what he said,” Tima says quietly. “The Bishop. Before he left us.”
“I never thought I’d see your ugly mugs again, but here we all are. The Lords have given me another chance and we’d be fools to waste it.” Fortis hesitates.
“We’re not,” Lucas says. “There’s a cargo ship leaving the Porthole the day after tomorrow. We’ve got to be on it.”
“Ah yes. The dream girl,” Fortis says, his eyes narrowing.
Lucas stands his ground. “Maybe. Or maybe another Icon Child. Either way, we don’t have a choice but to find out, because maybe this is the key to us bringing down the Icons and the Lords. Something bigger than all of us. So let’s cut the chitchat and get back in the car already.”
Fortis doesn’t budge.
I try a softer approach. “Please, Fortis. We need you. We can’t do this alone. I can’t.”
He doesn’t say anything.
“I won’t.” I reach out my hand and touch his.
That’s when I feel it. A stirring, deep inside him. A pull between us. Something to be explored. Something to be discussed. A future between us. A connection.
I think he feels it too.
Because this time, Fortis doesn’t protest. This time he answers me.
“All right. I’m with you, love. If you say you saw her, I believe you. Dream on. We need to find this jade girl, figure out what she’s bringin’ to the party.”
“And then?”
He squeezes my hand. “And then we take the bastards down.”
SPECIAL EMBASSY DISPATCH TO GAP MIYAZAWA
MARKED URGENT
MARKED EYES ONLY
Note: Contact Jasmine3k, Virt. Hybrid Human 39261.SEA, Laboratory Assistant to Dr. E. Yang, for future commentary, as necessary.
FORTIS
Transcript - ComLog 12.11.2052
FORTIS::NULL
//comlog begin;
comlink established;
sendline:
You are still coming to Earth, correct?;
return:
Correct.;
sendline:
But it appears your trajectory isn’t correct—you will miss Earth by hundreds of miles.;
return:
I have entry and landing protocols that correct for this.;
sendline:
Of course you do. You mentioned you are coming here to prepare the planet.;
return:
yes.;
sendline:
For what? For whom?;
return:
My creators. And my children.;
sendline:
Are they the same?;
return:
In a manner of speaking, yes.;
sendline:
NULL, when you say prepare Earth, can you define “prepare”?;
return:
In terms you might understand?;
Possible analogies: Converting arid terrain into fertile land. Erasing a chalkboard. Formatting a computer drive.;
sendline:
Can you be more specific?;
return:
Possibly.;
Decontaminate and recycle all indigenous biological/organic material.;
Purify atmosphere. Eliminate all potential biological and ecological threats.;
Repopulate with essential biological elements.;
Prepare homes for children.;
sendline:
Homes—as in, colonies?;
return:
That is an appropriate analogy.;
//comlog end;
I stare up at the vast gray deck of an enormous industrial tanker. A ship—our next form of passage, bought and paid for with more digs than I’ve ever seen—or so I think. All I know is that we’re dressed as Remnants, the broken refuse of the human population—the ones who rejected the initial call to the cities when the Lords first arrived. The ones who chose squalor and poverty over the false comfort of life under the Embassies. The ones who, for their punishment, were rounded up and sent to the Projects like cattle.
And now we are among them, with dirty, ripped clothes and smudged dust on our faces. If anyone asks, we’re to say we’ve been separated from our families since the night the Icon died. Not that anyone will ask. It’s not like we didn’t already look the part. We practically are Remnants.
I look up. Billows of black smoke spew from tall, cylindrical metal vents, segmenting the length of the ship like so many flagpoles.
I see the familiar Embassy insignia, painted on the side of the ship. I recognize it from all the way down here, with a cruel twist to my gut. There it is, the image of our fallen planet, always surrounded by the pentagon representing the House of Lords. The same five walls of the Projects.
The golden birdcage. Earth, trapped like a pet canary. That’s what I used to tell Ro.
