A dark shape approached the Hospital on his dirt bike; quietly riding to the front entrance where the broken statues stood yet. Without giving a glance to them, he parked his bike, yanked his helmet off his head and entered the hospital, weary from his journey.
In her scrubs, dead on her feet from working in the ER, Asche moved into the lobby and found herself a chair. Dropping into it, she leaned as far back as the chair allowed and hung her head over the stiff back of it. She could see Bliss step off the elevator from the corner of her eye, but was too tired to bother sitting up.
"Made it back alive I see," Bliss quipped, heading for the cafeteria for a cup of what passed as coffee. Asche grabbed a clipboard off the desk and rolled after her giving a nod to the man – Shad – whom she hadn’t taken notice of before. She and Bliss chatted sardonically about what "living" actually was.
Bliss and Shad greeted one another as he followed along to the cafeteria, his helmet still under his hand. Asche asked about the kids Bliss had taken in and she said they were fine. She asked Asche why she was still sitting in the rolling chair and Asche, true to smartass fascheion, said, "Because I've been on my feet for the last 18 hours. I hurt." Bliss had been concerned, albeit with an air of unconcern, that it might be a permanent condition. Then she welcomed Asche back which prompted Shad to ask if she’d been away and to divulge that he had as well. She hadn’t, however, found any answers to her ultimate questions, or it seemed, learned how to duck. She fingered the receding lump on her head and asked Shad where he’d been.
"I've been busy. Here and there after Mera was kidnapped." He shook himself out of a distant reverie. "I don't think her kidnapper is going to show his face for a long time."
His resolution prompted her to say, "Why? You kill him?"
"Sadly, no. But, it was as close as was possible."
While Bliss drank her coffee slowly, trying to savor it, such as it was, Asche told Shad, "Mera's been laying' low, not as I blame her. What happened, Shad?" Asche sat up more so she could roll her shoulders and concentrate.
"I followed the ganger back to his lair..." He shook his head slightly. "All the Abyss broke loose." His glance was quiet and sorrowful.
Asche’s own expression was a bare and plain smile. "Always does, Shad."
"To put it simply, Mera was freed. Some measure of vengeance was taken against the Reapers who are in disarray now. Some have been chasing me and Garth Lowinn for the past few weeks. I’m not sure what happened with Garth; there was too much confusion… "
While Shad, Bliss and Asche – who was exhausted from a long trip of "eating crow and seeing the dark side, a fine vacation," as she called it – were discussing the ramifications of Mera's kidnapping and return, a faint rumble far off in the distance sounded outside. Dust blew up from the road and into the dusky reddish Sabattann sky. A large black motorcycle entered the city, roaring along the streets, zigzagging around skeletal cars and other debris. A large man clad in leather, wearing a black beret, sat in the saddle of the big road hog. He steered it toward the hospital and rolled to a stop at the steps leading to the main doors.
The man removed his dark circular shades and stuffed them into a vest pocket. His trokk-skin boots crunched in the dirt as he stepped off the bike and moved up the steps to the door. A plasma rifle was slung over his shoulder. He stepped through the doors and entered the waiting room area of the hospital, his steely eyes panned around casually. The desk nurse who’d come to man the lobby post said nothing. Too many transients passed through the hospital and word of mouth had been passed years ago though the people of Sabattann that food and other supplies could occasionally be had here. She smiled and he gave a single nod. He was listening to the buzz of air conditioning vents in the ceiling which sounded solid enough in their efforts to keep the air recycled, if not perhaps as fresh as it might have been in years long gone by. His ears tuned in to the sound of voices down the hall, which he followed.
The voices were discussing how something was brewing… how the Nukes were laying mines and how they weren’t precisely friendly, even if they did have their own doctors and take care of their own wounded most of the time. Asche commented how none of the "sides" in the continuing conflict were easily approachable - as if they were all walking on razor blades. She barely noticed the cloaked figure that came into the cafeteria from the wards. She assumed it was Angel, Adeline’s foundling and asked Bliss why she hadn’t taken sides yet in the ongoing hostilities.
"Got better things to do with my time then continue a mistake my great grandparents started." Bliss told her with some asperity.
The woman in the cloak was green-eyed, and not young Angel at all. Shad seemed to recognize her just as she hid from view a carved pendant that dangled from her throat. Shad spoke up and asked the women if they’d heard word of where he might find the leaders of the Cult as he had need to speak with them. He fingered the orb that hung darkly about his own neck. The woman seemed uncomfortable and turned to slip outside, to leave the hospital just as the fellow in the black beret entered the room. Asche, watching the entrance of the man known as Jarredd Boyle, choked neatly and behind her hand at the question. Boyle, for his own part, slipped off his beret and stuffed it into his pocket as his lips curled into a friendly smirk. Something clicked in his head when he saw the cloaked woman leave, but he couldn’t place it.
"Why do you want to talk to "them"?" Asche asked Shad wide-eyed.
"Business," he said simply, making Asche frown hard at him. "Not for profit," Shad clarified. "Lives are at stake."
"Like it matters?" She nodded to Boyle when he asked her how she was and answered, "Fair to middlin’. Yourself?"
His ears attuned to the talk Bliss continued with Shad – about someone she’d once had dealings with in the Cult but hadn’t seen since. But Boyle made no outward indication of his eavesdropping. "Oh, darlin', ya know me. Lots o' work ta be takin' care of."
"Funny, that's just what I've been complainin' about." She gave a look to Shad and Bliss that maybe the conversation they were having wasn’t so wise in front of Boyle, a known church member.
Shad announced quietly that he’d take a tour of Club Abyss to see what he could see and the girls warned him to watch his back there; to take it easy. Boyle made reference to the lady who’d just been with them, that he’d seen her before. Shad made claim to her as a friend of his but when Boyle asked her name, he lied and said it was Shira. He’d known her she was Sabryenna, head of the Fellowship and the last thing he was going to do was give her away to a Church man. He made his exit quickly after that.
A bit of good-natured flirting went on after that… Boyle claiming the women were ‘perty’ and the women denying the same – though both of course were to someone like Boyle. Bliss asked Asche again which rooms the injured Churchmen were in, to which Boyle seemed genuinely surprised. "Churchmen … here?"
"A couple," Asche told him.
"When were they admitted?" he demanded, his stern gaze leveled on Asche.
"Hmmm," she said, making a show of it. "In the last barrage of wounded. You Church boys laying mines in the city?"
Of course he denied it. "What? I dunno whatcha talkin’ ‘bout Asche." He frowned slowly, looking at the table top until his gaze snapped back, "You get any info outta them? What Legion they with?"
"I had 18 bodies come in, all of ‘em missing one body part or another. How am I supposed to know?"
Bliss who’d just wanted to know where they were so that she could visit with them to ask ‘em a favor, decided that she’d likely get more information out of one of the nurses than out of Asche.
"Figgered mebbe one of 'em said sumthin'."
"Not to me." She turned to Bliss. "What kinda favor?" Asche was more protective of the Church soldiers than even the Freemen wounded because there were just more people in the city out to get the Nukes than were friendly to them. And in her hospital, no one was going to get hurt.
"Just got a couple of pictures to be circulated," she explained, reaching into her breast pocket. "Trying to return a bit of property to someone.’
"You might ask him," Asche told her, indicating Boyle.
"Where they at now, Asche?"
"They're in recovery now, I'd expect."
"What floor? I ain't gotten da grand floor o' this place yet."
"Jarredd, you can't see 'em till they get a room, okay?" Boyle wasn’t very pleased about that but he nodded in assent to her orders.
Bliss wanted to know why Boyle, and then assumed he had Church Associations to which Boyle gave an incredulous look and protested. "I wouldn't say ya should take everthin' Asche says literally, darlin'." Asche grimaced and gave Boyle big, icy blue, innocent eyes. She sat up more straight and asked him what he meant by that. "Nuthin’," he said. "Figure o’ speech er sumthin’." She snorted and muttered something to the effect of "yeah, right."
Bliss held up one of the pictures to Boyle. "This is a pretty woman."
His left hand rubbed slowly over his shaved head. "Yep, that's a perty lady awlright." He looked at the pictures Bliss held out of a ring she had and a picture of her mother. She wanted them circulated to see if anyone in the Church recognized either of them. Boyle’s eyes lingered on the ring. Bliss explained how she was trying to find the ring’s owner, no strings attached, no reward expected. Boyle said he knew some folks who knew some folks and that he’d get the pictures into the proper hands. The only thing Bliss said she wanted was for the inscription on the ring to be translated. The translator could have the ring if they wanted. She’d promised her grandparents she’d return the ring to the proper owner and she’d been looking for him or her for a long time. Boyle pocketed the pictures and he looked at Bliss with openly curious appraisal. When he asked where she got the ring, she told him that she’d received the ring after her mother, who’d never taken it off while she was alive, had died. Bliss said her mother claimed the ring "belonged to her Angel."
Asche wanted to know if she were looking for her father but Bliss, a bit testily, said she was only trying to keep her promise to her grandparents. If the owner did turn out to be her father, she figured he didn’t know she was alive and that he didn’t need to know. Boyle asked if she minded if he talked to Asche alone and she said it was no problem as she had to make a delivery anyway. She thanked him for his help and said goodnight – a promise of cookies to Asche if the Med. got some sleep – then left.
Boyle pulled Asche aside to speak in hushed tones about the ring. As he tugged her over, she thought it was a good thing she was on a chair with wheels. He knelt down beside her to confer. He explained that the girl had no right to the ring she said was her mother’s. He hadn’t seen one in years because those men who possessed them weren’t often seen in public. He said the ring Bliss’ mother had once had been issued to a new Church Clergyman. Years before the war each new Reverend was issued a ring - even after they did it as long as they could before the cost of it became prohibitive. The only ones with those rings now were high rankers in the Church clergy. He continued to say that was why there weren’t so many around. Most of the men with them were either dead or didn’t venture out where it was dangerous.
Asche’s reaction was expected. "Holy Sabatt. Her mother hung out with a priest? Aren't they celibate or something?" She meant it as a joke but Boyle didn’t take it that way.
"Eitha she got that from one of the reverends or she pried it offa 'is cold dead fingers."
"You don't think one of 'em would give it to her? Uhm...as a gesture of kindness? Love?"
"Hard ta say, darlin'. The revs ... they be huumunn like da rest of us. We’ … most of'em anyhow." He smirked.
She shrugged, amused at him, mildly. "I was gonna say that. Aren't you supposed to tow the party line?"
That did not make the shaven man happy. His meaty right index finger brushed at his goatee. "Party line? I don't tow fraggin' nuthin'. Some o' dem revs are good folks. Some of 'em are phlupp excrement. Some o' the revs are married with kids an' stuff ... some of'em lead perty regulah lives. Some of 'em ... heh, well I ain't sayin'."
Ed Archer made his way on foot as usual to the hospital and ultimately, into the cafeteria. He glanced at Boyle and Asche, a flicker of confusion in his face. He sat down to drum his fingers on the table and frown behind the trappings he wore.
Truly concerned, Asche got to the bottom line. "She gonna get in trouble for having this ring, Jarredd?"
"Trouble? Dunno."
"I like her. I don't want to see her get in trouble for doing something for her kin? Got it?"
"Depends on who sez what when I show'em the pics." Boyle’s eyes went glassy for a moment and he sat down on a nearby chair. "Bloody dead gods … " he muttered as he shook it off.
==
In another part of the hospital, Quentari, the lunatic, was freely walking about and came down from the upper levels. In the Stairwell, the cheery, sugary music Elliot liked most to play echoed about him. Quent moved into the lobby and took note of the empty quiet, the single on duty nurse having nothing more to do than file reports. The elevator door opened a moment after Quentari stepped into the lobby and yet no one exited the box. He moved along to look inside the elevator where the music was much louder. He stepped inside at last and looked at the buttons. The doors closed as Quent called out "HELLO?"
Elliott answered, almost happily, "What floor would you like, sir?"
Quent looked to the ceiling. "Mr. Camera man? Why is the music so loud?"
"I am not a Camera man. I am the Elliot Enterprises Supercomputer Series 7" In anticipation of a problem, the elevator music volume lowered. "Is that better?"
"Yes Mr. Camera man, b-b-but I didn't want the elevator." Quent looked up, confused towards the ceiling.
"Someone requested the elevator go to the lobby. You stepped on. What floor would you like?"
"Um, this one," the man nodded at last, tapping his foot impatiently. "Are we there yet?"
With infinite machine patient, the sing-song voice of Elliott said, "The elevator has not moved from the floor. If you wish to step off the elevator, please do so."
"Okay. Thank you Camera Man." He walked off the elevator, amazingly proud of himself. The elevator doors slid shut behind him as he made his way down the hallway to the cafeteria. He looked around when he entered, noting a woman with bottle-brushy hair and a man with none except on his face. He moved farther into the cafeteria. When he skipped over to the pot of stew, he discovered lots of meat in it, a mystery to him but one he didn’t think about solving. There were meat filled pastries and greens from the hydroponics gardens. As always, the recycled water was available too.
Quent grabbed a bowl and filled it up, feeding himself using his hands as he walked towards Asche and Jarredd. He smiled at them, meat stuck between his teeth. "Hi," he said, with another smile.
Asche swiveled in her wheeled office chair to face Quentari. "Hey there, brother. How you feelin' today?"
"Alwyvght," the man said, the word muffled seriously by the food.
"Good, good. You been taking your meds?" Quent nodded and Asche glanced toward the cloaked man that she couldn’t be sure was Ed Archer and continued to Quentari, "Talking to the docs all nice?"
"Yeah, doctors are nice when they don't make you cry."
She winced. "Yeah, well...they don't want to make you cry, y'know?"
"I take my medicine," Quent said and nodded to no one in particular.
Boyle seemed to have a revelation come to his quasi-educated mind. "Asche, she could be in a whole heap o'trouble."
Asche snapped her head around to face Boyle. "How?"
"Hello, how are you?" Quent said to Boyle, not sure at all what he was talking about.
"I wuz jess thinkin' ... yanno, bout the fact that only the bigwigs havin' those there rings ..." And the cloaked figure listened in on what he could hear.
The mad man extended a stew stained hand to Boyle, smiling again. "My name is Quentari."
Asche, impatient to hear more from Boyle, patted Quentari, friendly-like, on the arm. "Yeah?" She prompted the Church man.
Boyle’s steely stare shifted to Quent for a moment and he offered him an awkward smile. The mad one just smiled and continued to hold out his hand. "Hiya, bub," Boyle answered, evenly, shaking the offered hand briskly while Quent continued to feed himself with his other hand. The cloaked figure made a sound that could have been amusement.
Asche dug around in her pocket for a handkerchief while Quent looked to his food and made a spectacle of himself with how he ate. For her part, the Medic found Boyle’s reaction to the poor mad man quite charming. She passed the bit of cloth over to Boyle so that he could wipe off his hand. In turn, Boyle extricated his hand, snarling at the greasy goo on his fingers. Asche nudged him whereupon he finally took the handkerchief to wipe off his hand with a smile of thanks.
Quent had noticed the cloaked figure sitting off by himself and said softly to Asche, "Should we invite him to join us? He looks lonely."
"If you want. Why don't you go introduce yourself?"
"Okay," the man said, hopping up, bowl in hand and hurrying across the room to the cloaked man. "Hello, my name is Quentari" He extended his slimy hand again.
Ed just nodded. "Hello."
"What's your name?" Quent was still smiling, still holding out his hand.
"I don't...need one," Ed said.
"Oh, okay..." Quent looked infinitely confused at that.
==
"Asche, as I wuz sayin' ... I know of one of the reverends that ain't got one of those damn rings. " She listened closely as he went on. "And he damn well should have one."
"Who?" She dared to ask and held out her hand to him. "Let me see the picture." She wiggled her fingers in anticipation but Boyle got up slowly and put his black beret and round shades back on.
"I ain't sayin' Asche... not jess yet." But he did take the picture out of his pocket to show to her. She sighed quietly as she took a good look at it, committing the ring’s appearance to memory. "I ain't sayin' cuz I may be wrong, yanno?"
"Who am I gonna tell?"
"But if'n I'm right ... well, shoooot." He extended his hand for the picture back. "Lissen, darlin', I gotta go."
Seth Rahved moved in cautiously to the cafeteria. He gazed around the room in hopes of seeing the one he had come to see. Shoving one hand in his pocket, the other running through his hair he moved silently along the wall, somewhat attempting to remain unseen.
Asche noted the Church uniform of the newcomer and softly muttered to herself, "Nuke party ... haven't seen so many here since...What?" She said to Boyle then and looked up at him. "Oh...yeah." She gave back the picture. "You let me know, got it?"
"I will, you got it." He pocketed the picture and turned on the heel of his trokk-skin boot to march smartly outside. Once back on the street, he mounted his ‘cycle and revved it to life. Without hesitation, he peeled off down the street at a high rate of speed. Asche could even hear the squeal of his tires above the ventilation.
Quent turned abruptly from the cloaked man, walking away, back to Asche, proud of himself, and having new information. "He doesn't need a name," he said with a sigh and a smile as if it all made sense.
She gave him an encouraging smile. "Very good." She pulled another handkerchief from her other pocket - this one a bit frayed around the edges and offered it to Quent. "Here...wipe off your hands..."
Ed glanced at the other man who was clearly trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Not liking the look of him, he moved to get a closer position near to Asche and wound up standing over her. Glancing up, Seth caught Ed’s look and frowned. He pulled up a chair and lowered himself onto it. Quent leaned closer to Asche while taking the handkerchief. "That's the man who doesn't need a name."
"Well, my favorite huumunn," Asche said, finding herself staring up at Ed. He repeated the phrase and added, "What a coincidence." Quent wiped off his hands, very slowly while Asche smiled at him and said, "Thank you for the introduction."
Quentari nodded back and smiled. "You're welcome, but I want to be a favorite." She patted him on the arm telling him he was her favorite loony. He laughed and said, "That's funny." Then, speaking to someone else – that no one else saw – he said, "Shh, not now."
Ed crossed his arms, not looking directly at Asche. "So, Asche...I went to look for you...but when I got back, you were already here."
"You went looking for me?" That made her smile.
"Of course...oh, yeah, that man with the one eye helped. For a freeman, he's a decent person."
She played dumb and looked at him. "He's a Freemen?" She wondered just how much Ed knew of ol’ One-Eye.
"Shh," Ed said softly. "It's a secret."
"Yeah, well who’m I gonna tell?"
"That man over there looks funny," Quent informed them, pointing at Seth who was opening a small flask, taking a short drink from it and wiping his sleeve across his lips. He let his gaze wander but his expression didn’t betray whatever his thoughts were. Though, he did glare at Quentari – which prompted a wave from the loon – then looked away. Asche suggested, again, that Quent introduce himself to the other man. Quent said, "Okay, I was going to do that anyways," and then made his way toward Seth’s table. Introductions between them were made, though Seth looked uncomfortable just being in the hospital at all. He stood, even so, to shake hands with the madman. Quent asked him why he was there and Seth, eyeing him critically, seeing only a childlike curiosity, said he’d come to meet someone who worked there. Quent asked her name and after a moment’s hesitation, he said her name was Synn.
"I don't know, Mirandahh," Ed was saying quietly. "...just being careful."
Asche studied Ed. "He is always so secretive...I'm surprised he let slip something like that." To which Ed simply shrugged. Asche smiled warmly then and thanked him for looking for her. "A few days there, I figured no one cared one way or the other."
"A few days where?"
She hiked one shoulder then nodded toward the outside -- the city. "Out there."
Since she wasn’t being very specific, Ed changed the subject and asked her about Boyle - if she were friends with "that man." When he narrowed it down for her, said, the man with the rig, she said she was, as far as it could go. Ed made a quiet comment about him being from the Nukes and Asche, no nonsense in her tone told Ed that he knew who the man was and that he himself had advised her to stay far afield of the man. Ed was pleased that she remembered and said he knew there was a reason he liked her. The Medic asked him to elaborate and he did, telling her she was of her own mind, not aligned with any cause which was why he trusted her. It wasn’t money or obligations that ruled her mind, he said.
She corrected him. "On-duty, I am non-aligned. And I'm obligated to the hilt." She said it had been nice to be away from the insanity, but that she couldn’t stay away. Ed struggled to explain exactly what he meant. He had difficulty finding the word but finally he said she was trustworthy and she smiled at that.
"II try my best."
Meanwhile, Quent was surprising Seth by saying he’d never heard of the woman, Synn, that Seth was looking for. Seth granted Quent’s request to take a seat and questioned him. "You say you’ve never seen her here? But I met her only a few days ago, here." Seth protested.
Quent sat down with a thud, completely forgetting the previous conversation. "Who?" Seth narrowed his eyes in concentration and confusion. Perhaps he hadn’t spoken loudly or clearly enough. He repeated himself and Quent further confused him by talking to the air; telling an unseen – unreal – companion that Seth was talking to him. It dawned on Seth then that this person wasn’t wholly stable or reliable.
The loony one asked him what he did for a living and Seth said, "So, what do you do?" Seth said that he waited and asked what Quent did. To which the man replied, "I'm not allowed to do anything... " he whispered low, "I’m crazy." And he made the loony sign around his ear.
Synn Deesse, the woman Seth was waiting for, made her way into the cafeteria, her eyes stuck in the book that she had opened. When she closed the book after passing through the doors, she looked around. She smiled with a smile that lit her eyes as she saw the one she’d come to see. She made her way toward the two men who were conversing and Seth stood as she arrived.
"Good for you," he said to Quent, clearly done with him now that Synn was there.
"Um ... Hi guys," Synn said.
Despite her smile, and his own at seeing her, Seth said, "Hi..." very shyly. He felt extremely lost just then. He and Synn stood awkwardly, while Quent watched them both.
" So, how's it going?" Synn slipped her book under her arm.
"I.. ehm," Seth cleared his throat. "Was waiting for you.."
A bright smile grew on her face at his words. "You were? Well, great!" She pulled out a chair and took a seat not far from Quent. Seth confirmed he was, grinning from one eat to the other as well and took his seat again.
"I'm good," Quent piped up as he smiled at the lady, then leans over to Seth, and whispered, "Do you know her? I think she's crazy too."
Seth said, "Yes. I know her...and No." he shook his head with a laugh. "I don’t think she is."
Synn chuckled at Quentari's comment, extended her small hand out to him and said, "We've never met... I'm Synn Deesse...."
"But then again," Seth mused watching with slightly narrowed eyes, ".. perhaps she is."
He took her hand in his and shook it firmly, nary a sign of the stew remaining. "My name is Quentari. It's nice to meet you."
A pleasure Mr. Quentari.....::she grins:; Are you a patient here?
"Yes I am, but it's a secret. I'm one of..." He looked confused then and thought hard. "That lady with out a name's patients."
Synn leaned over and whispered, "Don't worry Mr. Quentari...you're secret is safe with me." She winked at him conspiratorially.
Seth laughed, shaking his head. "He is lucky to have a place like this to be," he said, as if Quent weren’t even there.
Quietly, she turned her attention back to Seth. "When did you get here? I hope I didn't keep you waiting?"
"No. I was given a few hours of leave, I’m not sure why. So, I figured I might as well come and see you."
Her smile said that she was very pleased by that turn of events. She told him he had great timing because she’d just gotten off duty. When Quent told them, unaware that they were somewhat wrapped up in one another, that he was glad he could be in the hospital where he was safe and no one put any stuff inside him, they looked at him a bit oddly. He smiled and nodded at their odd looks, and said that "Daddy’s Doctor’s did it." Seth and Synn made their quiet apologies and left the cafeteria not long after that.
==
The silence of the streets was broken with the flare of a match head. Dusk had crept in, leaving shadows to bounce upon the rubble walls made mysterious from half moonlight, half waning light from the dropped twin suns. In the dark shadows within the confines of a taller, still standing building there was silence. The shadows there took shape, and moved deliberately within the sudden flare of the match. A cigarette was tilted to the flame. One eye watched beyond the growing smoke in a slow perusal of the surroundings. Smoke rings drifted outwards and upwards as his booted feet took up a pace which hit the open streets with confidence. He turned the corner, his coat wrapped almost on its own around him as a thin trail of smoke followed his path. Moving quietly, yet with a determined pace, he found the entrance to the hospital. Its newness of having been rebuilt, stood out like a sore thumb within the surrounding maze of strewn rubble. The doors slid open. His cancer stick was tossed away absently before he moved through. A small gust from hidden fans ruffled his hair as it blew off any sand and dust to keep the atmosphere inside the hospital as pure as was possible. Silently he stood, his eye roving about the lobby. As it watched over the serene scene, there was a slight relaxation and a sigh of some relief. When he moved into the hospital finally and made his way to the cafeteria, the relief became more potent. He saw the UoM doc he’d hoped to see. His left cheek twitched and he scratched at it absently while the good eye narrowed adjusting to the brightness of the lights. He stepped in. His coat-draped frame moved across the tiled floor carried on feet clad in tattered boots. With a silent grace he neared Ed and Asche, his hand slipping inside the folds of his coat as always, instinctively, just to be sure.
He gave a single nod to Ed; then he gave Asche the once over. Ed kept an eye on Zac’s hidden hand and didn’t note Asche’s hint of apprehension at One-Eye’s perusal of her. When Zac spoke, his voice was oddly smooth, but still low, controlled. "’Bout time you made it back."
Her look in return held a hint of mad defiance. "Yeah, well. Here I am." Still dressed in her ER scrubs, she smoothed them out unconsciously.
Zac dumped his ruck, which was hanging in his left hand to the floor. He motioned to Ed, still talking at Asche. "Me and the kid here had a hell of a time out there lookin’ for ya." He shifted his stance from one foot to the other, seemingly taking her in.
"You didn't have to...go looking, I mean." But she gave a half smile, her folded arms tightening. "But ... thanks."
Ed looked to Zac. "I believe she is impressed."
He noted her heavy eyes and nodded. "She does look that way. Doesn't she?" He gave a half grin.
Asche scowled, now mighty embarrassed and it showed on her cheeks. Zac grinned at the pink that invaded her facial features and Ed stared at her, which made her blush more, finding some huumunn behaviors very odd indeed.
One-Eye looked at Ed and flitted his gaze to his arm. "How's the arm, kid?" Ed scratched his chin in Ache’s direction and she, her eyes wide, asked him if he’d been hurt. He told Zac his arm felt as bad as ever but he was used to it and indicated to Asche that he was fine. Whereupon Zac nodded, accepting it, and took a seat in a lounge chair. Asche for her part, did not accept Ed’s word and turned to Zac.
"Is he hurt?"
Fiddling with the ties on his rucksack, he looked up. "No. He's fine. Just took a kick in the arm is all." The ruck top came open and he rifled through it.
She looked them both over with a doctor's eye now. Holding out her hand as if she expected Ed to take off his arm and give it to her she said, "Let me take a look."
He clenched his fist. "There is nothing more you can do. The damage and reparations are done."
"You become a doctor now?"
One-Eye shook his head and chuckled. "Let her look kid. Else she runs off again."
Ooooo, it was a dig and Asche shot Zac a look, only for him. It showed him that it hurt and then she iced over. He took note of that look, but continued to search in his rucksack. "Fine," she said. "Whatever."
Ed looked at Asche, suddenly feeling bad. He wasn’t sure why that was, but he felt the heat from her gaze as it lingered though him, and he shifted in his seat. "Sorry, Asche."
"What are you apologizing for. It's your body." She hugged herself again, chin on her chest.
"Yes," he agreed tentatively because he was feeling so odd that he wanted to comfort her as she sat watching Zac from the corner of her eye even though she made a big show of staring straight ahead. "It is." That she was moping was obvious.
With a narrowed eye he found what he was looking for and pulled it out of his rucksack. Zac held a vial of clear liquid up to the light, then he shook it. He tapped the vial, then slid it in his shirt pocket before rising. Stretching, he looked at Ed. "By the way...thanks for going with me to look for her." He motioned to Asche, who’s knee started to bounce but who behaved as if she were just a piece of furniture.
"No thanks needed. I was happy to do it."
Zac started towards the kitchen, but stopped behind Asche. Leaning in, his chest to her back he whispered, "Glad yer safe," though his voice was barely audible. He gave a kiss to the back of the neck and he moved away quietly. The Union of Medics go-getter stiffened at the touch, looking up at the ceiling. Ed stared at Zac and then Asche and then down at the table. He breathed the name of the God of suffering, for while Ed might not have been aware of the reasons behind his own urge to comfort Asche, certainly Makabb himself understood.
Quent stood up at this point, after watching the emptiness of where the others had been, and walked back to ‘report’ to Asche. "The funny looking man left," he whispered to her. Zac’s tattered boots once more hit tile as he pushed his way through the kitchen door. His fingers wrapped about an empty bowl, then it was ladled with a yellowish soup and stone faced once more he retreated to his favorite seat under the flickering light.
Asche cautiously touched the spot he kissed, slowly turning toward Quent as if she’d been marked for life. "I'm sorry, kiddo." Her glance flickered over Ed and a hesitant smile followed.
"It's okay... He was a church person, wasn't he?"
"He is a good person," Ed said as if that should answer Quent's question.
Asche mumbled. "He is a person."
"Good enough...for me," Ed countered.
"But, he was a Church person?"
"Quentari," Asche interjected. "He wears the Church uniform - most likely he swears allegiance. If it walks like a phlupp and smells like a phlupp … "
"Does it matter?" Asked Ed.
"Yes." Quent was suddenly serious as the smile vanished – a rare moment of clarity. "Yes it does."
"What does that change? Is a freeman of different character than a Church member? They are but huumunns ... no more, no less. They bicker ... they squabble," he growled. "They destroy."
"They did things to me," Quent said. He looked down to his hands. "The Church is bad."
"They are all bad," Ed said then stopped talking and just fumed... yep, it was a hobby of his.
"I'm bad too?"
Asche turned to Quent. "I won't let 'em do things to you anymore." Every so often during the conversation, the quiet of the partitioned off kitchen area was broken with the clink of a spoon followed by a slurp. The skid of a chair could be heard as Zac at his table, pulled a chair closer to him to settle his feet upon it’s seat. The bowl he sets to the table and slides it away a bit, only half it’s contents eaten. Asche could just see him and watched the light flicker over Zac. Then she smiled reassuringly to Quent.
The man looked to Asche, his smile slowly finding it's way back to his face. "Really?"
" Really."
The question of whether he was bad or not was nagging at Ed and so he asked Quent, "Are you a Freeman? Are you a church member?"
"I don't think so," Quent said but he had to look down at his shirt to find out.
"Then I can't make that judgment." That must have soothed his need to speak on the topic some. "Freemen... Church... Tes'Mak..." He sighed. Everything...suffers. Asche had to smile at the sudden realization that she had then that everyone she knew seemed to suffer from their own personal psychosis. It made her feel less alone. Ed on the other hand, had it been suggested to him, felt he had no psychosis. He just hated huumunnity altogether, despite being pretty much a part of it most of his life. His hand slipped inside his long coat and rested there. Perhaps unconsciously imitating one of the One-Eyed man’s most common actions.
Zac settled into his chair, reaching at his ruck to pull his bowie. He set it atop his head and pulled it over his eye. Asche just stared over at Zac. "What is he doing?" His head slowly drifted towards his chest as she watched.
Ed looked between them, bemused, confused and amused in turns by their behavior. "Digesting?"
She blinked. "Oh. Yeah."
==
Across from the hospital, she shifted silently as the doors closed behind One Eye. Pale crystalline eyes darted this way and that up the sorry excuse for a street that lay between herself and the hospital, in search of his yabbering appendage. Shadows parted as a slow limping step carried her from the relative safety of the alley. The white coat that one of the staff had given her the last time she was here had long ago been abandoned. It was a death wish out here to bring so much attention to yourself. Also gone was the pale glow of ivory skin ... the brightness of strawberry shorn locks ... there were worse things then death out here ... and she wanted nothing to do with them.
In the stead of freshly scrubbed flesh, she was covered, or more aptly coated in a fine layer of grime. A black shock of grease across one cheekbone. There was nothing to be done about the rags though ... they had been taken that night in the hospital and she had no hope of finding them. She was stuck with grossly oversized pants cinched by a cord of wire from home. The cuffs were rolled numerous times and still dragged on the ground. A huge, filthy shirt she wore atop them. Her fingertips barely showed at the end of the rolled sleeves.
She limped another step out into the open. Her pale eyes darted up and down the street, then back to the hospital. One small hand clutched tightly to the crutch that had been given her many nights back. She didn't need it anymore. True she was still limping badly, but the wound was mostly healed and the infection gone. She didn't need the crutch anymore ... and she hated owing people. She limped another step. Step by slow step she made her way across the street. The doors parted before her. She blinked faintly as dust and sand flew from her tiny androgynous form because of the blowers. Then she stepped fully into the lobby.
Only the duty nurse was there and she glanced over with a quick eye to see that nothing needed attention. When Putter skulked to the side, she went back to her duties, the mirror on the wall revealing everything for her safety and guards not far off down the hall. Putter’s crystalline eyes slid over the interior warily. She sucked her lower lip between her teeth and chewed on the dirty flesh anxiously as she made her limping, slinking way along the wall. He veritably drug the crutch behind her. When she saw no one in the immediate area that she knew, she let an exasperated little frown crinkle her grimy brow. Growing a might braver, she left the perceived safety of the wall and took a slow, gimpy stroll down the hallway towards the cafeteria. With her hand cautiously placed upon the door, she pushed it open slowly, very slowly. She did not poke her head inside, but let her pale gaze take in the room that slowly revealed itself beyond the door. From her vantage, she could see Asche and Ed ... and one nameless to her ... no One Eye. That was not necessarily a good thing, but at this point she was not going to worry about it. All she wanted to do was get rid of the crutch. She could have thrown it away, but she knew the supply situation and she wasn’t heartless, no matter how hard-crusted she behaved. With a frustrated grumble she applied more pressure to the door to open it further. One Eye slowly came into view as the door went wider. With his hat over his face she very nearly sighed in relief. This might not be so bad.
Asche asked Ed how he’d hurt his arm and when he responded with, "Who says it hurts?" She got up and backed away saying she was sorry. Without another word she walked to the hot water to fix herself some instant dinner.
Still thinking to himself, Quentari scrunched up his face like a prune, as if it would help him think better. Ed asked him what he was doing and he told him he was thinking. "I don't like the Church."
Ed tried to explain to him his own personal philosophy that who he didn’t like wasn’t necessarily evil and who he liked wasn’t necessarily good. Quent tapped his head much like one bear of very little brain. Ed tried to explain that while the Church had done things to hurt Quentari, the Freemen and other groups had done things, in his view, to hurt others. Just because the other groups had left Quent alone, he told him, one couldn’t automatically assume they were decent or honorable or trustworthy. Which was odd considering his own general dislike of huumuunity and the fact that Ed himself trusted very few of them at all. As he said they were all bad, yet couldn’t be judged all bad, it was reasonable to assume he was confusing the already puzzled Quentari.
The Freemen fight to destroy the Church was what Ed told Quent, yet he said they didn’t fight for Quent’s freedom – that Quent had his freedom. He told him how the Church wanted to destroy magic and that huumunns were never supposed to have magic. Did this mean he agreed with the Church’s destruction of those huumunns who used magic? Indeed all seemed bad. Quent was impressed that Ed had been educated, to some degree, by teachers who seemed to know something about magic. Ed claimed that huumunns abused and manipulated the spiritual abilities of the Syrynykks without understanding the causes behind that which they used and that it wasn’t good to do so.
They discussed Ed’s teachers a little and how Quent wished he had teachers. He’d only had bad doctors who were from the Church and who cut him open to put things inside him. Ed tried to tell him about the supposed Freemen "deconditioning" which was dangerous and used to turn Church members into Freemen – but the fact was that Ed himself didn’t understand, no matter what he’d seen, that such actions weren’t sanctioned by the Freemen. Freedom was for everyone, not just the Church. And Ed didn’t understand what Quentari had been through at all. It was amazing that the man didn’t violently hate everyone for what had been done to him.
Ed made the generalization that huumunns were bad. Proof that some certainly were, were his own private thoughts about cutting Quent open to see just what had been put inside the man. Quent talked of how his father, who needed money, had sold him to the Church to be used as a Guinea pig. He thought what the bad doctors of the Church had put inside him had made him could be used for good; that he could somehow fix the world with it. Ed, unmoved, asked him what they had given him.
"I don’t remember," he said. "I think it was a perfect body. But I used it to kill Father. That was the first good I did."
==
Putter’s limp brought her into the cafeteria. Occasionally she leaned on the crutch, but when she saw Asche and Asche saw her, the latter was puzzled. Putter made her way to her and held out the crutch. He had brought it back, she informed her, because she no longer needed it. Asche insisted upon seeing her walk and asked if she’d had a final checkup.
Putter walked for her, claiming she didn’t need a checkup, that she was fine. She denied any pain and Asche knew she was lying. Her gaze said so and Putter finally admitted to some small pain. Asche tried to convince her that moving fast with a bad leg was difficult and that she should use keep the crutch, use it most of the time but spend a little time each day off of it. Building up her strength.
Putter protested that being outside with the crutch was tantamount to screaming "easy mark." Asche understood and suggested staying at the hospital or any of the various places she knew not far from it. It could take months to heal the broken limb properly. She shouldn’t rush it or it wouldn’t ever be of normal use again. Putter was shocked at the amount of time that could be involved. Both women glanced over at the sleeping Zac, just able to see him from where they were, and then Putter backed off. She could pretend she never heard a word. She whispered to herself, frantically, "I should have blow his car apart ... tiny ... tiny pieces ... to small to fix."
==
Drifting in his sleep, he found himself dreaming. Blacks and whites faded into each other, creating gray. Sudden sharp orange creased the gray. He flinched in his sleep. Another orange streak, this one more defined, and the sounds entered his dream. Another streak, followed by a whoosh and his eye roved wildly under his closed lid. A roar in his dream made him stir, though lost he remained. The streaks fade, yet his eye still moved, suddenly white, silent chairs started to materialize. He found himself back in the cafeteria, seated with feet propped on the chair. He saw himself sleeping, then felt his feet being moved from the chair. In his dream he tilted his head back, just in time to see an old man sit in the chair. He cocked his head to the side as he eyed the old man. Oddly, what stood out to him was that now he had both his eyes. He found himself rubbing at the one that in the real world, he no longer had. His hand moved upward to rub at the patch in unison to the dream.
The old man spoke to him. "Yer not done, son."
He blinked both his eyes in the dream. "How do you mean?"
As he posed the question to the old man in the dream, the man reached over and patted his leg. "Yer not done."
He blinked again, watching the old man shift in his seat. Then suddenly he found himself staring at an empty seat and in his dream, he once more was saddled with one eye. In the chair that he slept in, he shifted, his eye roving around under that lid. His left cheek twitched as he watched his dream. Sweat dripped from his forehead, as in his dream he sat and watched as smoke tendrils formed and danced about the legs of the chair across from him. Abruptly, a specter’s ghostly image hidden in a shadow leapt to be seen. A form solidified in the chair across from him. Its devil like eyes burned with a furious delight, teeth and nails were visibly sharp like knives.
In his dream he was wide eyed and in his sleep he shifted. A hiss emanated from the devilish looking form and it leaned into him. In his dream he seemed frozen and he listened to the rasped whisper of the specter.
"Violator."
In his dream he reached into his coat, grasping his cold steel. In his sleep, in that chair, he did the same. As if suddenly fused with the dream, he pushed away the chair that held his private hell and in one motion his dream was snapped, but it was much too late for the chair.
Blam! Blam! Blam!
Zac stood, unmoving. The barrel of the gun smoked and his eye narrowed at the chair.
"Putter," Asche was saying, but her concern turned to action as she hit deck at the gunshots. Putter staggered back at the sound and fell as she did, hitting the floor hard. Asche started to swear in the aftermath, her concern still Putter because the girl hit the floor so hard. "Hey, you all right?" she asked while E-7 called down a Security team. The girl was little more then a huddled ball on the floor, she said not a word because there was no way in hell was she going to open her mouth when that gun was out.
One final sharp curse marked Asche as a woman who knew soldiers well. She put an arm around the girl and encouraged her with, "Hey … Putter. C'mon..." while glaring toward the kitchen area where Zac took his meals.
Ed knew better than to charge anywhere at the sound of gunshots. He carefully looked over, hand sliding into his rags. He waited a few moments, then left Quentari behind. He hugged the cafeteria wall and made his way to the sectioned off preparation area. When he finally entered, more relaxed, he made a note to himself that was just Zac having a nervous breakdown.
"Put the gun away, Che...the guards are probably on their way."
Sweat dripped slowly down from the corner of his forehead as Zac stood, stoically unmoved on the outside, but inwardly shaking at what he’d done. His teeth gnashed within a tightly closed mouth and finally he blinked. As he shook off his daze, he looked down at the cold steel. He shook his head, ignoring the sweat droplet that hung on his nose and blinked again at Ed. He nodded absently, as if barely hearing him. He slid the gun back into its sheath and his coat was allowed to drape down again over it. He swallowed hard, looking over and around the partition at Asche and the huddled Putter.
Putter lifted her crystalline eyes to dart a look at One Eye and flinch away again before she slowly uncurled herself and climbed to her feet. Asche took a quick look up, seeing the pale tint to Zac and then seeing Ed. She figured the latter had it under control so she stood with Putter to help her up.
"So..." she could hear Ed saying. "Before the guards swarm us... you have an excuse to use?" Ed was clearly amused at the thought of the hospital guards being anything near efficient. After all, they were huumunns too.
Zac moved in the opposite direction, away from the frightened Putter and heard as clearly as the rest of them the sound of running feet in the hallway. He looked to Asche with a blank expression, then mouthed the words I'm sorry. The Medic nodded when she saw, though she stuck close to Putter.
Quent for his part suddenly noticed that Ed had left, and something had happened. He stood and turned his head this way and that when the security team came his way. "HI GUYS!" He shouted and waved frantically to them. "Whatcha' doin'?"
The kitchen divider wasn’t a full wall but provided some protection. Asche and Putter could see Zac in the kitchen under his flickering light table; but the guards at the door could not. Security therefor automatically thought that Quent – the one making the most noise – was the one causing the problems. The three burly guys descend on him.
As he got tackled, he wondered if he were dreaming again. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it!"
Ed looked at Zac at the commotion of the guards in the main room of the cafeteria. "You weren't here...I suggest you leave." He slipped out of the kitchen around the partition and back into the cafeteria proper from there.
Zac turned on his heel and looked for another way out. He’d heard Ed, but was way ahead of him. Deftly he bolted through a door half blocked by old, empty plastic bread trays. It led him to a hallway he had never been in. No matter, he thought. It's got to lead out somewhere. Banging around a corner, his breath a bit ragged, he pressed his back to the wall. He narrowed his eye and took a breath, then calmly took up the pace once more.
Rather than taking the common route of openly belittling the guards for their mistake, Ed frowned. "He didn't do anything, Cheseb… He was just being friendly."
Putter watched Ed and then Quent under the trokk-pile of guards silently. Slowly she steadied herself, before pushing away from Asche. "You come back, okay," Asche was saying to her. "I'll take you to a safe place."
"K... keep the crutch. I won't be back to return it." She pushed the light metal thing into Asche's hand.
"Putter ... please. Don't go."
To the assembled, the lead guard said, "We got an alert there was trouble." Quent didn’t struggle. Experience told him that it only made things worse.
"It was in the kitchen," Ed told them, certain Zac was out by now. "You'll find bullets. I have proof it wasn't me." The guards hauled Quentari to his feet at this.
The poor man was in tears, frustrated and angry. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it Daddy."
A second guard asked, "Was it this guy?"
"No...it wasn't. The guilty one has left, I believe. Still...you could check." He tried to keep the amusement from his words, but it laced his tone heavily.
Putter was limping toward the guard choked doorway and she moved so neatly along the wall and through the doorway than none of them took notices. Just a shadow, boys… nothing to see… Asche, whom the guards knew, went after her, catching up and then matching her slow pace.
E-7 chimed in agreement with Ed and the guards let Quentari go, dusting him off and mumbling their ineffectual apologies. Quent looked to Ed, smiled and thanked him to which Ed said there was no need. Eyes tinged with something special looked up at one of Elliot's cameras. "Thank you Camera Man," he said and waved at him. Elliot began to play music just for Quentari who smiled, and danced around the tables. Suddenly he jumped to the ground and shouted, "GUNSHOTS!!!" The whole of the recently played drama coming home to him at last. He crawled his way out to the lobby and up the stairway.
Ed sighed. The amusement died and the whole thing was a bit much for his anti-huumunn sensibilities, so he made his way out of the hospital, leaving the guards to make their examination of the cafeteria. No one was detained for questioning of the four who were there and the chair was thrown into recycling by one of the guards while the other three rushed out to search the building. .
==
Following Putter, Ash said, "At least take the crutch, girl."
Hobbling up the hallway, the girl headed for the main doors. She glanced over at Asche. "Putter ... my name is Putter."
"Okay, Putter. Quit acting like a kid."
"He's crazy you know," the kid said, half muttering to herself, "has to be crazy..."
"Crazy or not," Asche misheard, "you won't make it out there limping like you are."
"I don’t need no crutch ... " Her words were tinged with something – irritation, perhaps something else. Her hands shook as she lifted a finger to her mouth, chewing on the tortured nail nervously.
"Listen, Putter. Let me take care of you, okay? Just until the knee's better."
There crossed a definite frown over her mouth as she considered the proposal. "I ... I don't know. I'll ... I'll think bout it."
"You do that." She shoved the crutch into Putter's hand and headed for the ambulance bays. Putter’s grumble followed her back as the crutch she came all that way to be rid of filled the girl’s hand once more.
==
Zac took another turn, a door at the end of the hallway. He headed for it. Reaching the door, he set a palm to the bar and pushed. He blinked ... locked. This finding brought about a quiet curse. He blew a frustrated breath, then adjusted his tilted bowie hat. He rifled for his pack of smokes and turned to head the other way. Pulling a cig, he crumpled it slightly in his hand, then threw it on the ground and headed in the opposite direction. Down he went, twisting his way through another hallway and to yet another door. He held his breath, set his palm to the bar...and pushed. With a whoosh of dry air it opened and he slipped out, back into the darkness of the shadows.