Broken (2 page)

 "Thank you," he replied courteously, trying not to shriek with anticipation. Sky Ranger! He’d had Sky Ranger posters on his wall when he was little. Joe had disapproved for some reason, but Michael hadn't cared.

 He took a moment to look around. Union Tower. He’d always wanted to come here as a kid, to fly with the Union members, but he knew well enough he never would. This would be his only visit. Maybe one more, but if he had to come back here, his life would be almost over. The place was decorated like a fancy whorehouse. Gold trim, expensive paintings, marble floors… It had cost the government a fortune to build it for them.

 A few minutes later, a huge man with a shock of jet-black hair, steely blue eyes and a neatly trimmed goatee strode out of the lift.
Why would Sky Ranger take the lift?
Michael wondered idly. Trying not to offend visitors? He was not dressed in his customary tan and white outfit, but instead in what looked almost like a Black Band uniform. It was mostly black, with white collar and trim, and the new Confederation flag was appliqued on the front and sleeves.

Michael Forward instantly saw about three dozen possibilities, and wished he hadn’t. All except two ended in darkest tragedy. He wanted to shout at this man who had once been his hero, to grab his ears and scream, "How could you?!" into them. Was
this
why Joe hadn't liked the man? Could he see it all coming, the devastating possibilities? But Sky Ranger had done nothing yet. And so Michael could do nothing but sit back and watch the trains slam into one another. So much for heroes.

Cynicism didn't become him, Michael thought, but then, he didn't really have a choice. He’d seen hundreds of his own future possibilities, too, and he always ended up bitter and angry. If he lived that long.

"Hello, young sir!" Sky Ranger boomed. "You’re a Party reporter?"

"Uh, yes," Michael said. "I’m doing a piece for
Reformist Monthly
."

"Oh! Fan
tas
tic! I’m a Party member, you know," said Sky Ranger, guiding him into the lift, which was fitted with a glass capsule that looked out onto the courtyard. "A lot of my people support what the Reform Party is doing these days, and we’re big fans of President Peltan." The lift shuddered and rocketed upward. Michael felt faintly ill as the ground dropped away.. The effect was rather like flying, Michael supposed. That might be the point.

 Sky Ranger continued. "I always have been, right from the beginning. I joined the Party early on, before President Peltan was even a senator. Great things we’re doing, great things. More than just saving one life or two, but saving
everybody
, more than any of my people could ever do on their own. You see what I mean?"

The lift sighed to a halt, and they exited into a spacious office. Beauty surrounded them. The office was dominated by a huge window that looked out over much of this part of the city. Union Tower was one of the tallest buildings east of the Hudson, and Sky Ranger's office had to be near the top floor. A carved wooden desk, inlaid with intricate patterns and swirls, sat in the middle of the space. Michael, trying to look as nonchalant as he thought a Reform Party reporter would feel, took a seat and helped himself to some candy from the delicate crystal dish on the desk.

* * *

"So,” said Sky Ranger. “I’ve probably read your publication."

"Actually, we’re pretty new," said Michael evenly. "New programs and all that. But you’ll be seeing a lot of us in the future." He tried to look smug.

"Even better!" Sky Ranger smiled broadly. "Now, what is it you wanted to talk to me about?"

Many things
, thought Michael. But he said, "This could just be a beginning. For now, I was hoping you could help me find someone. She was a Union member once. She went by ‘Silverwyng,’ with a ‘y’. This would have been about ten years ago."

Sky Ranger said nothing for a moment, then sat down and cupped his massive chin in his equally massive hand, crossing one leg over the other.

 
Jesus, even his thinking is dramatic
. All part of the same show, Michael supposed.

"Hmmm…." he rumbled. "You know, I do recall a Union member going by that, a few years back. She could fly, I believe, right? Whatever happened to her?"

"I... was hoping you could tell me."

Sky Ranger laughed, but his eyes had narrowed, and his tone sharpened. "Well. She's no longer here, that I know. I don’t remember much more. Let me think a minute."

He sat back in his chair and posed thoughtfully again. Michael could only marvel. Here sat a man with the strength of a Titan, who could destroy an entire city block with an errant mental flicker, the head of the Extrahuman Union, posing and strutting like a vain teenager in front of his mirror. Did he think that Michael was taking pictures?

"I have to say I can’t remember what became of her," Sky Ranger said at last. "It’s unusual for one of my people to leave the Tower permanently—in fact, that’s illegal. As you well know." He sighed. "It was a long time ago. Around a decade, I think. We searched for her but found nothing. I promise you, if she is even still alive, she's no threat. I can have you check with our archivist, however. Fifteenth floor; there are signs. I'll tell him to expect you.” Sky Ranger suddenly seemed a lot less friendly, “Why are you looking for her?”

 “Orders,” Michael said, shrugging.

 “Ah.” They sat in silence for a moment. “So. Is there anything else?"

 "No," Michael said. "That’s about it. For now. But I'll be back."

 "All right, then." It was the end of the conversation; yet Sky Ranger still seemed embarrassingly desperate to please. "So. Put in a good word for the organization, and for my people, huh?" he said, a bit too jovially. "We need all the support we can get. Mention to the locals that I’m a loyal Party guy?"

 Michael glanced at Sky Ranger's cold blue eyes and had a sudden vision of the Union's leader asking his secretary to run a background check on Michael and
Reformist Monthly
. Just in case. Right; he didn't have much time, then.

"Will do," said Michael cautiously.

 "Great! Strength, then!"

"Honor," Michael intoned, giving a traditional Reformist reply. He found his  way out of the glorious, light-filled office, and back into the lift Fifteenth floor.

* * *

 An old man wearing several Reformist pins sat behind an ancient computer terminal, absently clicking through page after page of Union reports.

Michael had a sudden vision of the old man planting a small, heavy device gingerly on an exposed beam of the Tower, pressing a button, and then, sadly, sitting on the ground to wait. Michael shook it off.

Michael explained himself, and the stooped old man’s eyes lit up.

"There are many loyal Reformists here," he said. "Myself among them."

 "...I’m glad to hear that. I’ll remember it," Michael promised. That seemed to be what he wanted to hear.

 “Did they give you anything for me?”

What
? “Uh, no. Not this time.”

The old man nodded. “I see. You wanted...?”

 Michael explained about Silverwyng. The old archivist made a face.

 "Hnng… I remember her. Yes, that was about ten years ago, was it not? She’s not here, now. She left. Illegal." He coughed into a handkerchief. When had Michael last seen a handkerchief? "Let me see…" He tapped a few commands into his terminal, then swiveled the screen around so Michael could see.

A short scene looped endlessly; Sky Ranger, in his tan and white outfit, black hair gloriously perfect, perched atop the Tower’s curved peak, cape swirling in the breeze. A thin young woman with striking silver hair, dressed in a feminine version of Sky Ranger's uniform, alighted next to him. Their eyes locked, she smiled, their lips met. The recording looped back, and the scene played again.

 A shock ran through Michael. She had been that close to Sky Ranger? He had seemed to not even remember her.

She seemed very happy and confident, and difficult to forget. He thought of the shattered, filthy woman with the heavy eyes he saw in his visions as Silverwyng once again landed next to Sky Ranger, smiled and kissed him, blissfully unaware of what the future held.

"Who was she? What happened to her?"
The archivist sighed, a heavy rasp. "Was a member of the Union’s Law Enforcement Division. That's the uniform they're wearing, of course. Flyer, self-healer. Stopped being able to fly, though, just before she left us. Broke her heart." He jabbed at the image of Sky Ranger on the screen. "
He
forgot all about her. Sad story."

"Oh," said Michael quickly. His time was short. "So where did she go?"

The old archivist sifted through his records. "Left the Union. Lessee. Last known location... somewhere in the city. No beacon. Highly irregular. There was a hunt, but it didn’t turn up anything. Can’t tell you any more than that."

Crap
. Some possible futures had the old man giving him somewhere to check.

"I need something specific," he insisted, hoping for more. "Reform Party business."
Come on. I have no time.

The old man’s eyes narrowed. "I’m sorry." He shook his head. "If you want to find her that badly, the last track we had of her was a few years back in the Bronx. A Perthist shelter reported a Healer to us."

"Address?" Michael did his best to sound authoritarian. It worked.

"Third Perthist Ministries in the Bronx," the old man grumbled. "I can’t give you any more."

"You’ve been most helpful," said Michael.

A message flashed on the archivist’s screen.
Time’s up
, thought Michael.

 The old man turned the screen away from Michael, read it, and looked back up angrily.

"Hey, you—!" he started. But Michael had already gone.

[CHAPTER 3]

W
inter had settled thickly and suddenly on the endless city. Michael walked quickly away from the Union Tower. He dared a glance back up to the top, where he could just make out the silhouette of a man against the sky. Sky Ranger was out looking for him. He darted into the nearby subway station. He checked a mirror, and watched his own possibilities spiral out of it into his mind; Sky Ranger wouldn’t find him this time. Next time he probably would.

He checked his watch. Plenty of time. It had been stupid to go to Union Tower first, but in the end it had worked out. Okay.

A nauseating sense of déjà vu washed over him. He’d been here a hundred, a thousand times before, looking in the mirror. The subway, the woman, the baby.

Now, at last, he was here for real. If the letter could be trusted. His heart pounded as he walked slowly down to the platform. Commuters and travelers lounged near the tracks, waiting.

He’d almost burned the letter, along with just about everything else, after Joe died, but for some reason, at the last moment, he'd snatched it from the fire..

This was the moment Valentino Altrera had wanted him for. The letter he had sent  seemed heavy in Michael's inside jacket pocket.

 Joe had believed in Altrera; they’d been very close once. Val, Joe had said, was like them. He could see things that might, or would, happen in the future. He was
strong
, maybe the greatest prescient ever. Joe had followed Altrera when the great prophet had lived in Hartford with a small band of disciples. Altrera had later taken most of his followers to Valen, a world that now bore his name, leaving Joe behind. Even from light-years away, he'd still had a hold over Joe that Michael had often found difficult to fathom.

  Part of him wanted to do what Val Altrera asked. It would make Joe proud. But another part of him wanted to run away, as fast and as far as possible.

He breathed in and out. Staying in place was easy.
Breathe
. Breathe. Wait. Stay.

Look up.

Here she comes
.

She was about thirty, but looked older. She had ratty black hair, and a big bruise on her cheek. He saw nothing but a yawning black chasm when he looked at her.

 He tried to shut it out, and fought down the impulse to run away. He could feel his feet start to move. Too late—she made straight for him.

This was it, then. No more waiting.

His heart pounded. His possibilities all had this moment, but he didn’t have to take it. He could put it down. He could run away. He could
live
. The world would shift and change—he felt the possibilities morphing and twisting out ahead of him.
This
moment, more than any other, could change them all.

"Take him," the woman said shakily. "
Take
him." She pressed a warm, squirming bundle into his arms.

 There was no choice, really. He took it from her, and half of the possibilities winked out of existence.

He felt his hands cradle the baby close. Two shining black pearl eyes stared at him.
Oh, God, I was right
.