The Tower (5 page)

“If you're saying you're sorry,” I said slowly, “then apology accepted. For what it's worth, I'm sorry, too.”

She gave me another one of those searching looks and said, “Yeah, I am apologizing to you. And your apology is accepted, too,” she echoed with a little smile. She paused a bit and then seemed to make up her mind about something. “You're off-duty soon, right?”

“Now, why?”

She leaned over a bit. “Wanna come to the surface? I need someone to help me.”

“Help you?” Couldn't the other Association members help out?

“Yeah, meet me in the Hangar Bay at 14:00 sharp. Don't worry about leaving. I'll clear it.” Although she still had that aggressive tone in her voice, her invitation got me curious. “What do you want to do?”

“You'll see.”

* * *

Two forty-eight p.m. Oriana had piloted the Dart in expertly, landing at Portland Airport. It was my first ride ever, kind of cool just zipping along in space, once I got used to it, that is. The Darts were space shuttles and delivered supplies to disaster-hit or famine-ridden areas at least ten times a day. There were a lot of them in the Hangar Bay, all neatly lined up. About seventy-five feet long and just under twenty feet wide, they were wicked-looking missile-like ships, used not only for shuttling supplies to Earth but also for interstellar travel.

All of the Darts were painted a dark green, with brown stripes on their wings. Oriana said that the colors were in honor of the Earth. “Saving the planet and all that,” she told me. “It's part of our code.” Guess I'd find out about that later, too.

I also noticed that the ships were packing plasma cannons on their turrets and rapid-fire plasma machine guns on their wings. For a peace-loving group like the Association was supposed to be, saving the planet and all that (as she said) it was a bit of a surprise.

“Only we have the codes to use these suckers,” Oriana told me. “If you like weapons, one day I'll show you how much damage this ship can do,” she said with a slight grin.

Anyway, she'd taken off quickly with no co-pilot and I almost lost my lunch. I'd never been in a jet before much less a starship and the sudden acceleration shoved me backwards into the seat. After a few minutes speeding through space I calmed down but my heart started slamming faster again when we entered the atmosphere. The outsides heated up from the friction; the whole exterior seemed to glow a cherry red, and then the flames quickly died away. Was that always how it was? Damn, that was scary, although the landing was picture perfect.

Oriana noticed my face—I felt it'd turned as white as she told me it was. “First flight, right?” she asked.

“Yes.” My knees were actually knocking together.

My physical reaction brought a slight smirk to her face. “Rookies,” she half-mumbled to herself. “You'll get used to it,” she told me. “Everyone else has.”

I took a look at the rest of the passengers and like she said, they were relaxed and happy, anticipating a night out or some other fun. Me, I was just grateful I didn't hurl on the trip down.

After the last person had disembarked, she led me to the cargo hold and took a tarp off a mean-looking three-wheeled motorcycle with a side-car she'd bought and modified. “The Hurley 2000,” she said, with a sense of satisfaction. “It goes up to 180 miles per hour, and turns on a dime.”
Everything a girl could want
. I also noticed that it had a thin but strong-looking layer of body-armor over the cycle itself and that mini-machine guns had been mounted on each side of the front wheel.

“Like it?” she asked. “It'll blow your butt away in any race or in any fight,” she stated proudly. “Once I had a guy on another 'cycle play ‘chicken' with me, y'know?

Thought he was bad an' all that; one of the tough dudes from the mob, y'know? He only had one pea-shooter on his bike, I took him out fast. Pretty damn good, y'think?”

“Yeah,” I answered. “Way cool.”

“Way cool?” she echoed, and then shook her head, apparently at my uncool ways. Tossing me a helmet, she smiled grimly. “Let's go.”

“Where are we going?”

“We're going where the action is: Downtown.”

And we roared off.

It was dusk, about five-thirty. We were on top of an old tenement house, overlooking an alleyway. Coming downtown, I'd seen the area change from residential houses to older, somewhat ratty looking places, bars and seedy-looking places replacing the more respectable buildings. The red-light district, a place made for trouble and Oriana had just spotted some. “There,” she pointed.

In the alleyway, two very large and extremely mean-looking goons had trapped a middle-aged business type and were tormenting him, tossing bricks around his body, just missing his head and legs on purpose, before closing in for the kill. What got me was that a lot of other people were passing by the alleyway; they had to be seeing this, right? Well, maybe they did and didn't want to get involved. Another part of life I didn't know about.

“Whatcha got for us, mister?” the smaller of the duo asked.

“What do you want?” he replied in a squeaky little voice.

“Coin, man,” the larger scumbag said. “Give it up!”

Desperately, the man, short and slight, picked up a trashcan lid to use as a makeshift shield and ward off further attack. It was so pitiful that I didn't want to look, but Oriana did. Her eyes gleamed. As her name suggested, she was in it for the thrill of the chase.

“Punks,” she declared, and leapt off the top of the building, a good sixty feet down.
What?!
That was impossible, but for her, it was like stepping out of a shower. Speechless, I watched as she landed lightly on her feet and then I clambered down the ladder as fast as possible. She came up quietly behind everyone and took out a small knife from her belt. “It's late,” she announced. “The guy probably has a family to go home to. Have your fun with me.”

The two men forgot about their prey and turned on her, brandishing switchblades.

“Honey,” the larger of the two said, “this ain't your night.” He then lunged at her with the knife.

Bad move.

Oriana reacted swiftly, so fast that I could barely track her movements, delivering a kick that knocked the knife out of punk #1's hand while simultaneously hurling her own knife at punk #2; it slid through his shoulder sleeve and pinned him to the wall. Punk #1 went down under a rain of chops and kicks. All of this had taken place in less than a minute.

Jumping off the ladder at the bottom, I came over to see what help she would need; right, like she needed
my
help? Pinned punk #2 pulled free and bumped into me trying to make his escape; we went down, and he cracked his head on the sidewalk, out cold. Oriana came over, helped me up and nodded approvingly. She apparently thought I was some kind of fighter instead of what I really was—a lucky incompetent.

Taking out another, slightly larger dagger, she slapped the first man into consciousness. He woke up and just stared at her; her answer was to slap him again. “I'll ask you just once: Where's Knower?” Who was that?

He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs from his brain. “I dunno,” he answered. “Ain't seen him in almost a year. I swear!” His face twisted in fear as she edged the blade closer. Holy crap, she actually looked like she was gonna carve him a new smile!

“Last place you saw him. Answer now!” Her voice sounded like she meant it and the tough guy got a terrified look on his face. She was serious, alright.

“Nick's Place, Elm and Waterston,” he said. “Having coffee…we talked a bit about the usual stuff, conspiracy crap and all that. I swear!”

Oriana nodded, satisfied. “Beat it.” The punk took off, as did the victim. We left the other guy on the sidewalk. She pulled her knife out of the wall and tucked it inside her cape, and then we walked back towards her motorcycle. “You handled yourself pretty well back there,” she opined. “You're too skinny, but maybe you're not so bad after all.”

Letting that little dig go, I asked: “What's this about, uh, Knower?”

“My friend,” she answered, her mouth set in a grim line. “He's a reporter. He disappeared about a year ago and I've been trying to find him. I don't have much free time, but when I do, I go looking. You can either help me or stay up on the ship.”

“Sounds like I don't have a choice.”

She looked at me knowingly, confidence oozing from every pore. Some attitude she had. “Sure y'do. You can cook and wait on tables, if that's your style. Hang with me and you'll have a lot more fun.” We'd arrived at our transportation. “Get on.” And off we rode, me sitting behind her this time. Along the way, she yelled that I could hold on to her if I liked. I did and while her skin was soft, I could feel a lot of muscle underneath. It was like hanging onto a brick wall, only more feminine.

And so it went that night. First: Nick's Place. Many questions, a few punches thrown (all by Oriana) and a lot of non sequitur answers which made no sense to me but apparently made a lot of sense to her. What got me was that wherever we went, absolutely no one thought her outfit was too sexy or daring or too unusual. Okay, it was a different universe and all that, but still, it was more than a bit weird.

By this time, it was almost eleven, and my partner announced it was time to call it a night. I was ready to pass out on my feet, anyway. We got back to the ship and took off. While flying to the Tower, I asked her if she got what she came for. She shook her head. “He's down there, somewhere.” That was all she said.

After our arrival, Avenger was at the Landing Bay and he debriefed us; we then walked in silence back to our rooms. At her door, she nodded curtly, mumbled, “G'night,” and walked inside. I stood there for a second, then pulled the disc from my pocket and entered my room. Standing in the darkness, I wondered again why she'd picked me to go with her.

And what I'd seen had scared me almost as much as my sickness had; a bad place with a bunch of worse people who weren't the type to get involved with. These were the kind of people who'd put a hurting on you just for the fun of it and then walk away and laugh. And I knew that I didn't stand a chance against them.

Now here I was, walking with Oriana, thinking I was someone special. I didn't know how to speak like an adult, I had no special powers, no training, and I couldn't even run fast. She could do the stuff of legends and I couldn't. When I got right down to it, I was simply afraid. But I realized that the fear had to go. Change came from within.

Change, change, change…
those words repeated themselves in my mind over and over 'til I fell asleep.

* * *

The next morning it was back to the usual grind; cooking, cleaning up, and trying to learn how to do things better while doing my best not to screw up. Not much time for talk, just work, work, and more work. “You okay?” John asked me.

“No problems,” I said, “just doing my job.” He shrugged and went back to cooking.

This went on for a week. In all that time, I hadn't seen Oriana except once; she came into the Commissary, nodded at me slightly but didn't say a word.

“Doesn't she talk to anyone?” I asked Gwyneth.

“Nah,” she answered, “she's above the rest of us or thinks she is.” Come to think of it, she never sat with the other Ultras, either. She was always alone, always by the window.
Okay, she just isn't interested; live with it
. And I kept on working, trying my best to do my best. Then on one morning shift, a voice said, “Hey.” Oriana was standing in front of me, trays in her hand. I flushed a little, mumbled a “g'morning” and kept working. She looked at me for a second, then shrugged, walked over to a seat near the porthole, and started to eat breakfast alone.

Another dude, a big guy in his mid-twenties, the same guy she'd called a creep a week or so before, had gone over to her. I heard the words, “We could do some good together,” and he was grinning all the while, showing himself off like some kind of prize rooster. More like a prize jerk was my opinion.

Oriana just looked at him blankly and then I heard her say, “Can't you take a hint? I don't like being stared at and I don't like
you
. Bugger off!” and the guy left, a slightly shaken look on his face. Damn, that
was
some attitude she had and why couldn't I go over and talk to her? No, I couldn't, no way, and then another thought hit me:

If you don't do it, someone else will
.

So I worked up the nerve and went about my cleaning duties, picking up trays and dishes until I reached her table. She pretended not to notice me for a second until I asked her if she was finished with everything. A nod, and then she cleared her throat and said: “Thanks for helping me out before,” then hesitated a little. “Are you doing anything after your shift?”

“Uh no, just hanging out. Why?”

“I…uh…I appreciated you coming with me, I thought y'might like to come with me planet-side again. Y'know, help out…if you don't have anything better to do.” Wait a minute—was she asking me out?

“If okay…yeah, um, that'd be neat,” I said, stumbling over my words.

“Neat?” Oh, geez, I'd done it again. Adults didn't say “neat.” They didn't say “geez” either. I made a mental note to myself to watch what I said.

“Cool, sure, sounds fine.” What else could I say that wouldn't sound so ridiculous?

“Cool,” she replied, a bit skeptically and then she seemed to make up her mind about it. “Okay, Hangar Bay at 14:00 hours, Dart #6. I'll be waiting for you.”

“It's a date.” Hold on, did I just say that? It just sort of…came out.

She looked up quickly, then smirked and rose from her seat. “No, it's work. Do your job and the date part comes later,” and sauntered out. That bit about the “date” got everyone's attention; even the other Ultras in the room looked at her with surprise on their faces. John came over and wore a “you-did-okay” expression on his lined face. “Been here just a short time and making time with them?”