Skyland (12 page)
There were no other guards, but Harper and
the young soldier were not alone in the obsidian room. Unlike the
cold room on the Skyland ship, this room held a handful of others
dressed in civilian clothes. Some sat in the chain-bag seats beside
him; some leaned around the edges of the room; some wandered in and
out. Like the city folk on the Skyland ship, they did not look
interested in the flight. Most were reading, a few chatted quietly,
and a couple had lolled their heads on their shoulders and seemed
to be sleeping. Harper did not find them particularly interesting
either. Only the space, the empty, empty space sitting outside the
window, like the inside of a monster's belly, captured his
attention.
But after a while, Harper tore his eyes away
from the space outside the window. Bored, he looked around, finally
taking a closer look at his fellow passengers.
On his right, was one that he
recognized.
The red jacket, the bowed head, eyes closed,
lids squeezed tight holding back tears, the rest of the face
clouded with a somber expression: Harper remembered looking over at
that same profile in the space of Infinite Space. It was the Union
worker who had knelt beside him to pray. Still in his red Transport
uniform, he now had a roughly torn piece of black curtain tucked
under his lowered chin. It was tied at the back of his neck, but
with his head bowed, it was clamped between his chin and his chest
as if he were holding it secure.
In his last walk through the halls of the
Skyland ship, Harper had seen the hanging tatters left behind by
those who did not have a symbol when they came aboard and grabbed
desperately for bits of comfort in their fear. The majority like
Harper, like the blue-clad Skylanders, had just watched the news in
silence. But here and there, the Infinite Space folk had wandered,
the scraps of their sacred color tied about their arms, or necks or
hands.
Harper looked at the red-coated man and
wondered why the soldiers would bring a Transport Union worker back
to Skyland.
The man sniffed.
Then he opened his eyes. One hand curled
into a fist and rubbed roughly at one eye. Harper thought he should
say something. He hesitated a moment. Then,
"Hi."
The man looked over and didn't reply.
"Are you okay?"
Of course not. Bad
question.
"I mean.... are-are you..."
What?
"...okay?"
he finished lamely.
"No." The dead tone matched the lifeless
eyes.
Of course not.
"So why are they
making you go back?"
"They're not." The man sat up straight,
raised his chin and squinted, a hard look in his still-damp
eyes.
"What d'you–"
"I'm enlisting."
"Enlisting?"
"They put out the call right after the
attacks. Aren't too many troops out here. They need all the help
they can get."
"So..."
"I already have training. So, technically,
I'm re-enlisting."
"Why?"
"I took a pledge. To protect–"
"No, I mean, why the new recruits? There are
bases out here with soldiers–"
The recruit shook his head. "Not nearly
enough."
"Not nearly enough for what?"
How many
does it take to arrest a handful of Sky Reverends?
"For war."
War?
Harper's lips moved around the
word but no sound came out. He shook his head dumbly.
"Union's been at peace for a long time. They
need to gather the manpower and fast–"
"But f-for a few Sky Reverends?"
"But it's not!" The man sat up straight – as
straight as the chair-bag would allow. His neck craned forward.
"It's the whole institution."
"What institution?"
"The terror culture, the zealotry, the
backwards-thinking, primitive–"
"Hey!"
"That's what we need to rout out."
"But–"
"It wasn't just Skylanders!"
"What?"
"It wasn't just Skylanders they killed.
Union engineers. Union pilots. Unions stewards. I had friends on
that ship.
I
could have been on that ship."
Yes you could have.
Harper pursed his
lips together to keep from gaping. People were starting to look
around and he kept his voice low. "I'm sorry."
"It was a declaration of war. And war is
what they'll get."
Harper stared. Again his mind ground through
the word that he couldn't quite make sense of.
War.
Investigation,
maybe. But
war?
A cold shiver raked through his stomach and he flinched from the
revelation:
It's the whole institution... that's what we need to
rout out.
But it wasn't an institution. It was a planet.
His
planet.
I will help them find the dirt stores.
Nothing more!
Harper stared at the Union worker, who was
quiet now, slouching back in the chair-bag again. The fingers of
one hand drummed against his cheek. His lips trembled and his eyes
squinted in anger. He sniffed. His other arm was crossed tight
across his stomach, the hand clenched in a fist.
Harper looked away. "I'm sorry," he said
again.
The man didn't answer.
Harper's eyes drilled into the deep, empty
void outside the window.
"But it's a crime, not a war," he added
softly.
He looked back as the man's narrowed eyes
whipped back towards him.
"Look," he sucked in a breath like a hiss,
"look, I know that's your planet but," he sucked in another breath,
maybe a sob, "y-you were leaving so you c-can't defend them." He
looked away.
"I'm not," said Harper quietly. His jaw was
clenched, his mind stalled, but he tried to get the words out and
keep his tone soft. "But a planet is more than an institution."
"But the Sky Reverends–"
"You can't declare war on a few
criminals."
"If it's really only a few criminals, all
the more reason to rout them out. To protect the rest." Both his
arms were crossed over his chest now, his chin was high, and his
lip no longer wobbled.
"Isn't that a job for a courtroom, not a
battlefield? Isn't
war
the wrong–"
The door of the obsidian room opened.
Heavy boots stomped in.
The young guard jumped to attention,
brushing crumbs off his uniform. The newcomer ignored him and
leaned against the black wall, arms crossed.
"Harper Fields," he drawled.
It was the angry man. His face wasn't as red
as it the cold room of the Skyland ship. Now, the pouchy jowls were
a mottled shade, pale and pink. A few veins spidered out under the
heavy jaw.
He didn't look angry now. The frown lines
around his mouth weren't so deep. But Harper couldn't help being
wary and didn't respond, except for a thoroughly unfriendly,
"Hhm."
"Mr. Fields?"
Harper didn't answer.
The man waited.
Harper wondered if he was trying to look
casual, leaning against the wall. Non-threatening, maybe? Last time
they had met, he'd has his face inches from Harper's, leaning
forward, spit flecking the air between them.
"Mr. Fields?"
"Hhmm."
What do you want?
The man tried again. "How are you?"
"Fine."
Because you care?
"Good. Good."
He pushed himself away from the wall and
paced along it a bit. His arms swung awkwardly, heavily. Another
attempt at casual? It still wasn't working.
"Take a walk with me," he said. "Let me show
you around."
"
Hhm.
"
Harper fumbled with the harness of the
hanging bag-chair. Eventually it disconnected and he detangled his
limbs and got up. The no-longer-angry man walked out and Harper
followed. In the hallway he walked awkwardly beside the soldier for
a minute without saying anything. Finally, the man broke the
silence.
"Are you comfortable?"
What?
Harper started at the question.
"Why?"
"I know it's not as nice as the ship you
left, but are you comfortable?"
"Why?" Harper repeated his answer to the
bizarre question.
"What, I can't look after our guest?" The
man tried for a laugh. It sounded more like a grunt.
"I don't understand."
"You don't understand what?"
"Guest?"
"We want you to be comfortable while you're
with us. I know it isn't much, but–"
"But,
guest
?"
Prisoner more like
it.
"Yes?"
"You threatened me with charges.
An
accessory,
remember? Now, a
guest?
"
"You are. Right now."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that you are not a threat right
now."
That's not what you said last time.
"So I can leave? When we get to the planet, I can turn around
and–"
"No!" The man took a heavy breath then tried
again in a calmer voice. "You're not in a prison cell are you?
You're not in restraints, are you?"
Harper laughed. He stared at the soldier
next to him. Then he turned around. There was a guard at the corner
they'd just come around. Harper pointed. "One." He looked ahead to
the next corner and the next armed sentry. "Two." He ticked them
off on his fingers. "Three, in the common room," he counted,
wondering vaguely is the snacking soldier actually counted. "Four,
five at the entrance," he continued, trying to recall all the
soldiers he'd seen since being escorted on board. "Six–"
"This is a war ship. They're on guard
duty."
"Guarding me?"
Guest indeed!
"Guarding the ship."
"From me."
"From danger!" The red was seeping back into
the soldier's face. The forced friendliness seemed to be slipping.
He took a breath, swung his arms a little and tried again. "Look,
we just need to keep an eye on everyone right now. That's what the
guards are for."
"Uh huh."
"We're not going to hurt you and we're not
going to lock you up. We just need you to help us get to the bottom
of this Skyland mess and make sure no one
else
gets
hurt."
"Right."
This Skyland mess...
"And in the meantime we want you to be
comfortable."
"Hhm."
Whatever happened to 'I'd stick
you in a cell transport...?'
"Are you?" he prodded. "Comfortable?"
"Not really."
"Well... it's not luxury liner. But if
there's anything we can do–"
"You can tell me what you want."
"Excuse me?"
"When we get to Skyland. And I help you find
the dirt stores. What am I expected t–"
"You're expected to stay out of the way
until we need you."
"Stay out of the way where?"
I can't go
home...
"Troops from the periphery have set up a
base. You w–"
"A base? Already?"
"They moved in immediately to secure the
area. You'll have a spot at the base. Then you can relax until we
need you."
Relax?
"Hmm."
"I'm afraid it's not much nicer than this,
but it'll be safe."
"Safe..."
Safe inside a war.
A door slid open. Harper twitched at the
sound.
They were back at the room with the hanging
chairs. Harper looked around confused. He hadn't taken note of
where they were going. The thin black corridors all looked the
same.
"If you need anything let the guard know.
He's an incompetent dolt," he said, not bothering to keep his voice
down. "But he can relay a message at least."
"Right."
"Well, we have the night before we reach the
planet," said the soldier. "Get some rest."
"Thanks." The word slipped out. Automatic.
Meaningless.
The angry man looked around the room for a
minute. Then,
"You!" He pointed at the Transport Union
worker from the Skyland ship.
The Transport worker jumped. "Yes, sir?" He
started fumbling with the straps of his harness.
"Gather? That's your name, isn't it?"
"It is, sir." The straps were undone and he
jumped to attention.
"Then you're the new recruit."
"I am, sir."
"Unit 93. Uniform. Tags. Instructions.
Waiting for you down the hall, fifth door on your right. Five
minutes."
"Yes, sir."
The angry man spun on his heel and stomped
back down the hall. The young guard sat down again and started
picking at the crackers he'd abandoned. The transport worker patted
his pockets as though making sure he had everything he'd come with
– which appeared to be nothing. Harper went back to his bag-chair
and sat down, watching the new recruit.
Off to war...
The man looked at Harper and smiled. His lip
twitched like he was trying to keep the grin from growing. They
stared at each other for an awkward moment.
"Five minutes," Harper reminded him. "He
said five minutes. You should–"
"Yeah, yeah. Um.... Harper Fields?"
"Yeah. Gather?"
"Ben. Call me Ben."
"Have fun, Ben."
"Fun... I'm not going for fun."
"Of course not."
"Look, I'm sorry about before. I don't want
you to think–"
"Five minutes," said Harper.
"Right." The smile was gone.
The recruit looked down. Then he held his
hand out, and Harper shook it because he didn't know what else to
do.
A moment later the
Transport-worker-turned-soldier was gone.
The chair maker shivered.
His ear screamed in pain. The cartilage was
folded under his head as he lay on his side. He lifted his head,
clutched his ear and took a breath. The air froze in his lungs.
When he breathed out a cloud of white mist rose in front of him. He
pushed himself to his knees and this time instead of dirt floor and
china shards, his hands pressed against the sleek gloss of an
obsidian floor.