Unfit (10 page)

 
Oh, thank you Miss Kwan. I was hoping you’d find me.

  She’s not far from the tax office, standing under the newly repaired streetlights. I see an angry mob through her eyes.

  “Coalition go home!” yells someone.

  Under Hattie’s gaze, I see the mob dragging seven men along with them. Pulling them to the pit where the ‘Canoid waits. There are thirty-two people in the mob. A majority are guilder-types, but there are mixed independents in there. I know this because they still wear their coveralls identifying them. Some even have their tool belts strapped to their waists.

  As for the men being dragged, they’re Coalition troops. There are two Lightnings with them. One is completely knocked out, and the other is half-conscious. The latter is badly beaten, with a swollen eye. His dark, greying hair is matted with the blood seeping from his forehead.

 
That one is Elias. He’s like a father to me. I’ve got to help him
, says Hattie.
Can you think of something for me to say?

 
Hattie
, I say sternly, preparing to tell her to go home and stay out of this.
You and I can’t break up all these unrests. Those crowds are too hard to control.

 
Please, Miss Kwan?
She showers me with her childhood images of Elias.
When I was six, Elias was in charge of our area, and he would always bring me biscuits to eat.

  Personally, I find it all a little trivial, loving someone for a few sugar-coated wafers, but to dismiss it would make me as bad as Alešan.

 
Very well Hattie. I will help. Beg the crowd to save Elias. I will tell you what to say.

 
I can’t, Miss Kwan. They look so angry.

 
Be quick, Hattie. They’re about to pass. And don’t call me Miss.

  But Hattie is paralysed by fear. I reach out and will her to step forward. Most minds would tense up and force a contest of wills. Most people you can’t just reach in and seize control of them without a fight. Not Hattie. She just blanks out and lets me in. It’s like she’s handed me control of her body. If Hattie were a telepath we’d now be in a merge.

  I move to intersect the mob in Hattie’s body. Her shoes are too tight around the arches, and her feet are a little sore. She’s itchy in the scalp and crotch areas. I certainly hope it’s just lice.

  But the motion is enough to give the mob pause..

 
Thank you so much, Miss Kwan. I love you with all my heart.

  Gleh. If she keeps this up, I shall surely vomit.

  “Out of the way, young lady,” says a carpenter-type man, warding me away, off the mob’s path.

  “What wrong have these men done?” I ask, instead of moving. Hattie’s right: everything seems a little intimidating from here in the front. Everyone seems so tall from Hattie’s perspective. And I’m not tall myself.

 
I’m almost 155 cm
, says Hattie.

  Just four centimetres shorter than me. From here it seems like a lot more.

  “Got too close to the border. Now they gonna get what’s comin’ to em,” says the carpenter.

  “This ain’t no place for a lady,” says the man behind him.

  They press forward, and I yield. It’s that, or be trampled.

  What border did the man speak of?

 
The edge of the blackout area is the official border now, between the Coalition half of Hillvale and ours
, says Hattie.

  This is news to me. I was aware that the Coalition didn’t approach the neighbourhood, but half the demesne?

  “Don’t kill those men just for getting near the border,” I say. “That would make us all monsters.”

  One of the builders drops the unconscious Lightning and turns angrily, jabbing his finger in the air in my direction.

  “Now look here, little wench. Don’t you go defending these Coalition types.”

  He doesn’t get any further because a lightning bolt strikes him in the back. The unconscious Lightning has thrown it. He’s only been acting; he was awake the whole time.

  There’s a few seconds of electric fireworks as Elias joins him. They put their backs to each other and cast bolts in all directions. There are screams around me. The air becomes alive in brilliant flashes of light.

  I drop to the ground and curl up to make myself unattractive to stray bolts. Even so, one bolt strikes me. I am relieved to see the mark of Kajo activate to protect me, even here in Hattie’s body.

  The mob runs away, yelling in confusion. The acrid scent of burning hair and flesh fills my nose. The buzzing and crackle of bolts ebbs. When I dare to look up, I see the two Lightning panting. Elias rests his hands on his knees and wheezes for air whenever he’s not wiping at the blood trickling from his temple. The other one has taken a knee. Their five allies are milling about near them, arming themselves with what implements the mob has dropped.

  “Well done Elias,” says the Lightning who launched the attack.

  “Kristanson, did you have to kill them?” asks Elias.

  “They would have killed us, had they gotten the chance,” says the other Lightning. He turns to the nearest mercenary and points at me. “You there, take her. She gives you any trouble, club her with that pipe until she stops moving.”

  “Yes, Sir, Lord Kristanson,” says the man. He stomps over to me and roughly hauls me to my feet by my arm. He looks to me to be a Creddite thug. All tall, barrel-chested and mean-faced. He would probably enjoy hitting me with the heavy pipe he holds. Trouble is the last thing I would give such a man.

  “Why her?” asks Elias. “She saved us by distracting the crowd. We should let her go.”

  Elias has recognized Hattie. She can see it in his eyes. But he appears clever enough not to mention it yet. Kristanson clearly outranks him in the Coalition, so a wrong word here will get Hattie killed. I appreciate his sense of discretion.

  “You kidding? Did you see that blue halo about her? That one’s the Blue Naiskarin.”

  The Creddite mercenary shoves me forward with his painful grip on my arm. The other men form a semicircle around us.

  “Even more reason to let her go,” says Elias.

  “No way. I recall it was your plan to talk to that unruly mob that got us in this mess in the first place.”

  “I didn’t think they’d rush us.”

  I see the fight replayed in the minds of his mercenaries. Kristanson went down from a stray bottle that crashed over his head, before he could use his powers to incinerate the mob.

  “And it was your ridiculous idea to approach this Kajo Blue and ask him to become Namika,” says Kristanson, rubbing the back of his head gingerly.

  “I think he would spare us,” says Elias.

  “He would,” I chime in. “Kajo is good. He would work it out if you guys would just talk to him.”

  The grip on my arm shifts, so I fall silent. Mean-Face probably wants an invitation to hit me.

  “Vergen, take her over there, so we can talk.”

 
Oh, that’s your name Mr Mean-Face. I’ll name the bruise on my arm after you.

  He pushes me over to the sidewalk and sets his hand on top of my head, forcing me into a kneeling position. He jabs me in the back of my ribs with the jagged end of the pipe he holds, as if I was giving any struggle and needed to be reminded of its presence.

  Meanwhile, Kristanson plans. He puts up a light electrostatic field around them to block me from eavesdropping, but he has underestimated my powers. I easily penetrate the weak field and read everything perfectly well from the public minds of the remaining mercenaries.

  “We’ll use her as a bargaining chip with the Blue,” he says. “When his guard is down, we’ll strike. Our power, combined with the surprise, should be enough to take him.”

  Elias disagrees. “I heard tell he made an entire electrical power-station by himself. Even your powers aren’t enough to tangle with that.”

  “I doubt that’s true, but even if it is, we’ll have surprise. His desire to make peace will prove costly. Do not allow their lies to sap your courage.”

  “Lies?” asks Elias. “Or legend?”

  “Vergen, bring the telepath. Let us press forward and deal with these misbegotten rioters.”

  Kristanson’s plan is flawed on many levels. Not only does he fail to account for Kajo being asleep, but he assumes Kajo controls the rioters.

 
We’ll be okay?
asks Hattie, surprising me.

 
Hattie. I’d forgotten you were there. You’re so quiet in your head.

 
Compared to real life? I know. I just get nervous, so I guess I talk to fill space. Probably the same way I pick my nose too much.

  She’s even consciously aware of her little personality ticks. Maybe she belongs in the category of the most unusual minds I’ve ever met. And her nose is rather itchy, now that she mentions it. For her birthday I will get her a bottle of shampoo and a pair of nose hair clippers.

 
Oh, that would be lovely, Miss Kwan. But how can we save Elias?

 
Kristanson will soon learn that Kajo does not control the mob. We’ll escape with Elias during the chaos. Stay there, I’m on my way
.

 
Won’t you stay with me? I don’t wanna be left here with these bullies
.

 
Not keen on it
. While I occupy Hattie’s mind I can’t move about on my own. I could never concentrate enough to walk at the same time, much less speak to people and seek transportation.

  On the other hand, I’d be leaving Hattie alone with Vergen if I dissolved the merge now. I will stay then. And if he raises a hand to her, I will fry his mind.

 
You won’t. I can sense it.

 
No, I won’t, but he’ll have a long nap.

  Hattie flashes me a burst of happiness-relief and retreats into the back of her head. It still amazes me that she, a non-telepath, can do that so easily. I must remember to ask my grandfather about it.

  Kristanson walks us forward three blocks to where the mob has reformed. They’ve overturned two cars which now burn, silhouetting the gathered people in glaring red light. About fifty people block the road. They carry bricks and bottles. One even has an expensive gas-powered chainsaw.

  The unmistakable metallic clumps precede a ‘Canoid rounding the corner. It has a single arm with a drill attached at the elbow. The drill-bit is twice as tall as me. Made for auguring lampposts in packed stone.

  “Foolish peasants,” says Kristanson. “Let me reward you for that surprise attack on me.”

  He points at the crowd and a series of bolts jump from his finger. One strikes the man with the chainsaw, sending him sprawling as it explodes in his hand. Two bolts dart into the crowd and quick death follows. The rioters scatter in panic.

  A brick lands in front of me and rebounds off the cobblestones to graze my shin. Vergen yanks my arm when I twist in pain.

  “We need to fork weaves on the mechanoid,” says Elias. “You go high, I’ll go low.”

  Together, they attack the ‘Canoid. Kristanson scores a hit on the powercore, which bursts into tall thin flames like a large propane torch. The telekinetic pilot passes out under a bolt from Elias, but there’s a telekinetic in the retreating crowd who takes control of the ‘Canoid and has it follow them.

  “Got it,” says Elias.

  “They’re sending it back for repairs,” says Kristanson, frowning. “Let’s keep after it and try to finish it off.”

  The mechanoid is able to move at normal human speeds even with its burning powercore, thanks to the telekinetic’s hand. It spews white ash from its smokestack, which the wind scatters our direction. It’s like a weird summertime snowfall.

  I can’t tear my eyes from the swaying metal monster. The pilot’s body in the chest-cavity cockpit is thrown side to side with each lurching step. The poisonous smoke venting from its core is burning his lungs. Why won’t someone in the crowd try to help him?

  The Coalition group follows the crowd closer to the tax office. I see a large mob of rioters forming. Perhaps as many as two hundred yelling, angry people.

  As we draw closer, the rioters stop falling back. They form a line. And at the front of that line, I see Kimberly.

  Kimberly wears her blue track pants and top, as if she just showed up from a ball game. She has her hair loose, like she prefers it, and holds a metal pole in her hand.

  I hear Kristanson ask Elias about the pole.

  “Is that a lightning rod she has? Does she think she can tap someone of my power?”

  “I think it is. Pertran spoke of this one before he died. Be careful, for she may be the Blue’s Elika.”

  The mob has formed a bit of a clearing for Kimberly. She plants her lightning rod on the street before her and holds it with both hands. About her head, the mark of Kajo glows a muted and translucent blue.

  She stares at Kristanson across that half-block clearing of ash-rain.

  Kristanson, I notice, is in his bolt-making pose. Except, no lightning arcs from his fingertips. By the deepening scowl on his face, I’d say he is trying to shoot her. And failing. Kimberly is preventing him from even making a bolt.

  “Grah!” says Kristanson, sweeping out his arms in disgust. “You dare to mock me?”

  Kimberly runs for him, and their electrostatic fields meet, freezing them for that unusual tableau. It catches Kristanson in a low stance, legs spread for balance and hem of his robe rippling in a melodic dance. He holds his arms before his chest, about a metre apart. Free now to generate a bolt, the first shards of dangerous energy trickle from one hand to the other. Kimberly is frozen in the air, doing a side flip, about to kick Kristanson in the head. She has the pole raised defiantly above her in this slow-motion universe that Lightnings inhabit during their duels.

  The temporal negotiation ends with a bang, and Kristanson is down. Kimberly lands past him and drops into a low braking stance. Her long hair snakes past her as the crackling wind registers her passage. Her lightning rod, which looks like a thick steel pole, is bent slightly, from the force with which she struck Kristanson’s shoulder.

  But her opponent has not suffered a broken bone. Kristanson places his palms on the street and gets into kneeling position. As he struggles to regain his footing, Kimberly cracks him over the back with her lightning rod.