Z 2135 (12 page)

Fogerty asked, “What do you have for us
this week, Marquis?”

The giant ignored Fogerty, his eyes on
Carson. “Who’s the kid?” Without waiting for an answer he drove his jaundiced
eyes into Adam’s.

“You wanna be City Watch?”

He bellowed more laughter, deeper than
the first time. Adam had no idea if the man was usually so jovial, or if it was
something specifically about Adam that he found amusing. “If you’ve got
smarts,” the big man said, “which I can see in your eyes that you do, then
you’ll grow up to know two things: tinkle flower tastes good and you should eat
it whenever you can—you do that and do it right, ladies are forgiving of most
things—and life is
far
more lucrative on this side of the gates.
Don’t let either of these baton twirlers tell you otherwise.”

Marquis finished with another laugh, then crossed his arms across his chest, as if waiting for
one of the Watchers to challenge him. Adam wanted to ask what a tinkle flower
was.

Fogerty said, “Yeah, but the kid’s not a
degenerate.”

Marquis stood like a troll, seeming to
stretch the entire width of the doorway. “See how they treat me? And after all
the business I steer ’em?”

“What he means to say,” Carson turned to
Adam, “is that we have an understanding with Mr. Marquis. He gives us
information about people we should maybe look at; we pretend he’s another
outstanding entrepreneur, and not earning undocumented credits from misery.” He
turned back to Marquis. “So, what’ve ya got for us this week, Marquis?”

“Well that depends on what you’re looking
for,” he said, arms still crossed at his chest and still looking as if he were
as wide as the doorway. “There’s plenty as usual, but like always, our time
together is short. I suggest starting with specifics.”

Adam was surprised to see a criminal from
The Quarters talking to a Watcher like he wasn’t afraid, almost like
he
was the one in charge of them.

Fogerty seemed tired, like he hated
Marquis. Carson seemed to think he was funny, and wore a half smile he’d not
lost since the giant first opened the door.

Fogerty sighed before finally saying, “We
had a body on Third and Clover Wednesday. So far no one knows shit.”

“Working girl? Redhead, no eyebrows?”

“Yeah,” Fogerty said. “Exactly.
Got anything?”

“Might wanna look at
Little Mitch. He was
bitching all over The Quarters about his little firestarter done fucking him
for cash.”

“Little Mitch—that a
pimp or a john?”

“John?” Marquis barked. “Bitch has the
wrong equipment to interest Little Mitch. No, he was her pimp.”

Adam wasn’t sure what a pimp or john was,
and was even more confused by the “equipment” comment. He wanted to ask Carson
for clarification, but thought it best to keep his mouth shut and not embarrass
himself. He was so excited to be here, among
adults—City Watch
and
criminals—saying real things in real
places, that he definitely didn’t want to remind everyone he was still a naive
kid.

Fogerty, still all business: “I’ve never
heard of Little Mitch. Where can we find him?”

“You won’t have to look hard. Little
bitch
,”
he said with a massive chuckle, pleased with his own wordplay, “is always lying
about at the Orient. Good luck catching him not all fucked on Crash. You’ll be
lucky to get a sentence.”

Carson huffed, “Anything else?
Underground?”

“No, ain’t heard dick since you all
busted last month’s party. It’s mum in The Quarters. Give ’em time. They’ll
start back. Always do.”

“True that,” Carson agreed. “They always
do.”

Now it was Fogerty who rolled his eyes at
Carson.

“It was a pleasure doing business with
you, sirs,” Marquis said, still smiling. “And hey, kid, you ever need a gig
better than the loser-fest you’ll get thrown as a Watcher, come back and see
old Marquis. I’ll hook you up. Innocent face like yours, that’s a lot of
credits in not a lot of time.”

Marquis winked. Carson stepped in front
of Adam.

“He ain’t interested,” Carson said,
sharply, as if Marquis had gone too far.

Adam wasn’t sure if he was being
complimented, joked with, or threatened, so he laughed nervously, feeling dumb.

Marquis closed the door without another
word. The Watchers turned—Fogerty in front—then left the market and walked back
down the block to their van.

 Adam
paused while climbing into the van. He turned to Carson. “What did he mean
about my innocent face making lots of credits.”

It took too long for Carson to find the
right words. He stuttered twice, then Fogerty cut him
off. “He meant men would pay to fuck you in the ass.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Carson
looked at Fogerty, angry.

Fogerty said, “What? The kid wants to be
a Watcher, he can’t be naive and stupid forever. Right, kid?”

Adam nodded. Fogerty was right, though
Adam didn’t like being called stupid.

Fogerty started the van, nodded to the
man with the rifle, and pulled into the street. Adam decided to ask what a pimp
was.

 Fogerty
laughed. “You’re about to see for yourself.”

The van fell silent. A few minutes later
they were pulling beneath an overhang in front of another dilapidated building.
The overhang had lit-up lettering that read Orient Hotel, every letter burnt
out except the
i
and the
e
in Orient, and the
t
in Hotel.

As they got out of the van, Adam thought
about asking them what a tinkle flower was, but figured he’d been the butt of
enough jokes already.

“Sutherland will be pleased,” Katrina
said, turning back toward Jonah’s door and leaving his room. She walked down
the hall, Jonah a tentative step behind, already wondering if he had made a
mistake by agreeing to infiltrate City 6 to rescue Liza, even if it also meant
a chance to check in on Adam. He wasn’t about to let that show, though.

“Thrilled I can please him,” Jonah said,
bothered by Katrina’s affection toward Sutherland, and not quite sure why. He
drained the edge from his voice and added, “I’m glad we’re doing this. It feels
right, I think.”

I think.

Katrina led Jonah to Sutherland’s
chambers. The man looked up as they stepped through the doorway. He seemed
neatened, refreshed. Almost rosy, from drink or exercise, or
perhaps a bath. He didn’t look surprised to see them, smiling at Jonah
as he welcomed them into his company. He nodded at Katrina and she slipped out,
closing the door behind her.

“Jonah, have you come to compliment the
drink or the company? The bed? Surely I’m not so
fortunate that you’re already visiting with excellent news?”

Jonah smiled, disarmed. Sutherland was a
magnet like few men. When he smiled, Jonah wanted to smile; when he laughed,
Jonah wanted to laugh; when he asked for excellent news, Jonah wanted to
declare nothing but the best. He could see why the man had risen to power not
once but twice in his life.

“All of it. But the part you actually
care about: yes, I’ll go behind The Walls, do what I can to reach Dr. Goelle.”
Jonah could see Sutherland wanted to say something in approval, so he held up
his hand and quickly said, “But I want to see my son once in The City, I want
to know how he’s doing. And …” Jonah paused, trying to figure the best way
to say what he meant, and understand it himself. “And I know something could
happen to me while I’m back there. I want to make sure Ana’s taken care of if
it does, and that she no longer has to fight.”

“I understand. You want your daughter to
have a normal life, without all the suffering.”

“Yes.”

“Truthfully Jonah, you know as well as I
do—that’s not possible. There is no
normal
. Everyone must fight. Even the poor
sheep behind The Walls are fighting; they’re simply in the dark about the
battles and stakes. Understand: this is what we are trying to change, and what
we
will
change, slowly at first, then like a
cracked dam burst open onto arid land. We will attack Geralt and alter the
current.
This
is why you’re so important, Jonah. To us all. No, I cannot promise you a normal life for Ana,
nor can I promise that she’ll never have to fight. Hydrangea is the safest
place in The Barrens, but still, we could be attacked by The State tomorrow.
Surely Anastasia would fight then. What I can promise, though, is a comfortable
place as long as she’s with us. How does that sound, Jonah?”

“Makes sense.”

“Excellent!” Sutherland beamed on his way
to a short counter lined with mostly tall bottles, picked one up—short and
squat—then poured amber into a glass.

He handed it to Jonah, who thanked him and swallowed it
off before Sutherland could propose a toast. Then he set the glass on the
counter. “What next?”

Sutherland laughed, deep and hearty. He
promised to show Jonah Ana’s quarters, and amaze him after that. He led Jonah
back into the corridor.

Hydrangea was confusing. Jonah couldn’t
still the frames in his mind enough to decode the picture. One underground
hallway followed another, some cold and made of steel, tinted blue; others old
and wooden. Most looked like the tunnels where Jonah spent days tied to a chair
when he had been captured by Egan. They wandered through several twisting
corridors—Jonah was positive they were going deeper, though they had yet to
descend a stair—until they reached a small cluster of three rooms at the end of
a warm hallway with impossibly plush carpet. There was a door to Jonah’s right,
another to his left, and a third directly in front. They were marked A, B, and
C. Sutherland pointed to Jonah’s left.

He said, “I thought A, for Anastasia,”
then opened the door. Jonah gasped. The room was small, but cozy, about the
size of her old room in The City. The magic wasn’t in the room’s size or its
furnishings—a dainty bed, a dresser, a mirror and, most surprising to Jonah, a
small pink-and-white area rug, embroidered with hydrangeas. Rather, it wasn’t
just
in those things. What shocked Jonah was that such a room could still exist in
this world. It offered Ana something Jonah thought impossible: a spot to forget
The Barrens.

Jonah turned to Sutherland, overwhelmed,
imagining the look on his baby’s face when introduced to her own little slice
of heaven.

Sutherland clapped him on the back. “Glad
you like it, friend. Now, let me show you something you’ll
really
love.”

Sutherland’s mirth turned Jonah curious;
the man was clearly pleased with whatever he was about to show next. Sutherland
walked one step ahead, long strides down the hallway, going faster than during
their relative stroll to Ana’s apartment.

The red-haired man turned back to speak
with Jonah as they walked. “Of course I watched all of your Games. It was
amazing how much they stacked against you, and how well you managed the odds
anyway, pulling them toward you, even when we couldn’t help.”

“I was well trained,” Jonah said. The
words felt sour.

“Yes, you were. As was
I. Now we both must use our training to reclaim what was so
unceremoniously stolen from our world. Are you ready to do that, Jonah?”

He was surprised to feel a strong
yes
bubbling inside him, but there it was, fire rekindled where it was cold and
dark for so long. He kept it inside, but it was obvious Sutherland could see it
in his eyes.

“I was most impressed with your use of
the machete,” Sutherland continued. “How you held it like a whip and swung it
like a conductor’s baton. When those three zombies had you surrounded, backed
in that corner over by the Bone Pit, all of them gnashing and snarling, closing
in, leaving you nowhere to go … instead of shrinking you roared, then
proceeded to kill them all. It was beautiful, Jonah. I cheered for days.
Everyone thought I was crazier than they already do.”

Jonah didn’t comment on that last part,
but said, “I’ve been trained in many weapons, but The Darwins were the first
time I’d ever held a machete. I didn’t want to carry anything after that. Tool
and
weapon, it kept me alive when I had to hack through brush; the chopping power
of a hatchet, but the finesse of a knife.”

“It
is
a tool. Did you know
Nepalese warriors were once farmers. They took their
tools into battle when provoked and the machete was born.”

“I don’t even know what Nepalese are.”

Sutherland laughed and fell into silence.
Then he laughed again—louder, following silence—and said, “You’re going to love
this!” They reached a door, metal not wood, and he opened it, smiling as he
nodded for Jonah to enter.

The room was sparse, filled with long
metal tables, no benches or chairs. There were what
looked like refrigerators and tall cabinets lining every wall, screens filling
the spaces where there was room. It was all black. The room felt cool, at least
10 degrees cooler than the hallway.

“This is our lab,” Sutherland said, wide
arms waving around the room. “We’re just traditional enough to take Sundays
off, so today we have the lab to ourselves. Perfectly convenient, you’ll have
the chance to admire it in private.”

Sutherland crossed the room to one of the
tall metal cabinets, entered something on the door’s keypad, waited
a second for a hiss to indicate the latch had unlocked, then opened the door
and reached inside. Sutherland withdrew a black sheath with a familiar shape.

Sutherland handed the leather clad
machete to Jonah.

“I had this made for you, wanted it done
for when you got here. Herb, our resident doctor and weapons specialist,
finished it a few weeks ago, though I had no idea when I’d find you. Never
doubted I would, though,” he added with a wink.

Jonah drew the machete from its sheath,
admiring the blade as Sutherland spoke.

“We’re plenty armed here, and there are
tons of machetes, but none are quite like this. I wanted you to have the best.
I had one like that,” he nodded toward Jonah’s new weapon. “It’s beautiful,
yes?”

Jonah looked up Sutherland and smiled. It
sure as hell was. The blade was beautiful, all black. The weight was perfect in
his hand, slightly smaller than what he’d had in The Games, about 14 inches
from tip to the hilt’s interior edge. He swung the blade and whistled the air,
then anchored his weight and pulled back from his second swing, wrist and elbow
singing in key.

“Amazing blade,” Jonah said.

“Yes, it is,” Sutherland was still
beaming, as if he had forged it himself. “May I?”

Sutherland held his hand out, and Jonah
set the machete inside it. “There are a few additional features I had Herb add
to your tool; I think you’ll appreciate them. This sheath is important,” he
patted the leather as he slipped the blade back inside it. “It keeps your
machete charged.”

“Charged?”

Sutherland was practically glowing. “Yes,
charged. I wouldn’t send you back out into The Barrens with anything less than
the best, Jonah. This,” he patted the sheath again, “is the best that I can
do.”

Sutherland handed him the sheath, Jonah
drew the blade and studied it with new eyes.

“Your blade is a perfectly weighted weapon, tailored to you from the data we could gather
watching The Games. Even better, as you already said, it’s also a tool. Your
machete has a jamming signal that will disable any orbs within range, charged
by solar cells in the blade and sheath. It can burn hot enough to start fire,
and if you press this button at the bottom and hold it for three seconds before
you throw it, your machete will serve as a high-powered explosive and detonate
on impact.

Jonah didn’t know what to say.

Sutherland made it easy. “I’m glad you
like it!”

“It’s perfect,” Jonah said.

And it was. He could have stood there
holding the weapon forever, but instead he simply thanked Sutherland and said
he wanted a good night’s sleep—alone, he added, to which Sutherland grinned. He
also said that he’d be ready to leave first thing in the morning. They reached
the door when Jonah paused, turned to Sutherland, and asked if the lab had any
sort of recording device he could borrow. He wanted to make a video for Ana, in
case something happened on his way to or from City 6. Sutherland said of
course, then went to a cabinet three feet away, opened it, and handed Jonah a
vox.

Minutes later Jonah was in his quarters,
recording what he knew could be his farewell to Ana.

“Anastasia,” Jonah stared into the green
light, trying not to lose it. “I’m so so sorry for everything that’s happened.
It isn’t fair and you don’t deserve it. I can’t explain what happened with Mom,
but you must know that whatever happened, I loved her, just as I love you and
Adam. I would never do anything to harm you, and would give anything to spare
you from the horrors life has rained unjustly on you. You are my first born,
Anastasia, and have made my life better for every day I was able to share it
with you. I don’t know what happened, and maybe never will, but you must know
I’ve never stopped loving you or your brother. I …”

But
there was nothing more to say.

Jonah ended the recording, brittle, not
wanting to cry through his good-bye. He set the vox on the floor beside his
bed, and fell asleep hoping Ana would never see this video.