As You Were...: A Tale From The Shattered Earth (Tales From The Shattered Earth) (3 page)

The Legionnaires were down for the count, in fact they wouldn’t be able to move on their own for several more hours, and by that time the events of the day would long be concluded. But a crowd was gathering around the girl, and even though most denizens of the Fringe have no love for the black clad imperial soldiers, they had even less love for those that hurt the authorities from the city. Once the word of the fight reached higher levels on the chain of command, a cleansing of this section of the Fringe might be ordered, unless the residents dealt with her themselves, and therefore did so quickly, with no mercy.

People were screaming and it appeared that within a matter of moments they would descend upon her and most likely kill her. I couldn’t allow this, even if it meant ending what was left of my useless existence.  I could not allow this.

I stepped swiftly into the middle of the ring the crowd had formed around the child. She was young, maybe thirteen years old, and tears were streaming down her face. She looked up at me and said, “Please help me.” Her body may have been that of a child but the voice was the cracked horse whisper of a woman five times her age.

“KILL HER!” A man in the crowd screamed over the roar of the others.

My bionically enhanced hearing allowed me to identify the individual, and my enhanced vision targeted him in less than two seconds. In that moment I did something that would have seemed insane to me five minutes earlier. I drew my concealed pistol and leveled it at the screaming man’s head.

My stomach clenched as I shouted, “The first person that takes another step towards this little girl will die.” I may have sounded cool and calculating to the mob, but inside I was shaking like a leaf. The screaming man began to reach into his jacket.  It didn’t matter if he was going for a gun or not; I could not risk it.

I fired.

My enhancements may have been horribly out of date, but they were still effective. The shell struck him square in the middle of the forehead, and his skull disintegrated in a fine mist of bone, blood, and brain. Against a weapon designed to pierce advanced military armor, the human body had no chance.

The crowd backed up as I helped the girl to her feet. I took her hand and lead her to the alley across from the bar. Now I was in trouble.  What the hell was I supposed to do with a fugitive magic user?  It really didn’t matter that I killed the screaming man.  He was just another resident of the Fringe, and as long as he didn’t have some secret connection with the powers that be in the city, nobody of importance would care.

We scrambled down the alley, she still seemed as if she was in a daze and not aware of what was going on around her. I was beginning to think I would have to leave the Fringe and take the girl with me, when a voice called out from the darkness. I whirled around toward the sound and drew my pistol.

“Hey man, don’t shoot!” The voice hissed from a doorway concealed in the shadows.

“Who the hell are you?” I said. “Show yourself!”

The man stepped forward and I recognized him instantly. He was Roy Lynch, the baker down the street from the bar. The same man who sold me the cup of coffee and muffin I had for breakfast every morning for the last three years.

“Roy, what the hell are you doing here?”

Roy ignored my question and inclined his head toward the girl hiding behind me, “Samantha, is that you?” He asked, ignoring the look of confusion on my face.

“Yes … are you the Conductor?” She asked in a voice that no longer sounded old, but was young and almost musical.

He grinned at her, “Yes, I’m the conductor, at least for this station. You two need to get in here before the authorities arrive in greater numbers.” He stepped to one side, revealing the open doorway behind him. After a moment’s hesitation, I took the girl’s (I mean Samantha’s) hand, and walked through the door.

Roy led us through a dizzying series of tunnels and alleys, until we ended up back at his bakery without anyone having seen us. As we walked, Roy gave me a rundown of the situation I was now immersed in.

“Amanda and I are members of the Underground. We help get children, identified as magic users and psychics by Imperial authorities, out of the city.”

“Where do you send them?” I asked, fascinated how I was now so far out of touch with New Chicago life that I’d never even heard of this Underground.

“I’m not really sure about that.  Although if I had to guess, I would say they end up either in Rowling or that Tesla place.” He began to breathe a little harder as our path began to rise sharply.

We reached the back of the bakery about ten minutes after we’d met up in the alley. Roy looked around and then produced a key card from his pocket and ran it through the reader next to the door. Even though the buildings were old and decrepit in appearance, the reader seemed to be brand new and the latest model. Apparently the underground must have a few well off backers.

Amanda was in the bakery’s back room when we entered.  Immediately she ran to Roy and threw her arms around him in a suffocating embrace. “I was so worried about you. Donna Carver said there’d been a shooting at the bar and a little magic girl was involved.”

“It’s alright, Mandy; little Samantha had a surprise benefactor.”  Roy gestured to me as I was standing in the doorway, listening for the tell-tale signs of pursuit. Amanda Lynch then did something that secretly made me love her even while Roy was alive. She walked over to me and threw her arms around me, hugging me in a way I’d not been hugged in decades.

“Thank you, John,” she said as she hugged me, then she kissed me on each cheek. I felt the blush rise in my face and then heard the giggling of the girl behind me. In a moment we were all laughing. I felt as if I had finally come home.

And after that I was a member of the Fugitive Underground. We helped hundreds of people get out of New Chicago, hopefully to better lives in other areas of the continent. It was good work, and while I did it I felt maybe I was earning some redemption for the things I had done, and allowed to be done.

I began to feel clean.

I never made it to the bar that last day.

I was less than fifty yards away from the bakery and contemplating eating the first muffin when I felt tightness on my right side. Then my chest felt as if my heart were going to smash its way through my ribcage and dance away. I dropped to my knees and felt the motors of my cybernetic leg whine in protest.

My head was spinning and my vision began to cloud.  I heard people begin to surround me and I knew I was in trouble. I heard snatches of conversation before I lost consciousness;

“… help … doctor … heart maybe … damn monster lover … John …”

Then I heard the sweetest voice in the world, Amanda’s, as she picked up my head and cradled it in her arms. “Don’t worry, John; help’s on the way.” I could hear the fear in her voice and the barely choked back tears.

“Amanda…” I whispered, terrified to realize my speech had reduced to this quivery level.

“Yes?”

“I... I love you.  I’m sorry I never…”

“Just shut up, you will have plenty of time to apologize to me later.” Now the tears were coming, they dripped down her nose and splashed on my forehead.

I passed out.

When I awoke, I was in a bright, clean room. There was an antiseptic smell in the air, and I was lying in a hospital bed. I was in the Lake Side Medical Center, one of the best hospitals in the Fringe. The doctor came in a few minutes later and gave me the news. I had cancer, probably had it for years. They hypothesized that the old power cores in my antiquated cybernetics had contaminated my body and allowed the eventual cancerous growths.

I was informed there may be a treatment option within the city, and with my military benefits I wouldn’t be denied. I was tired. I still am tired, as I race towards the obvious conclusion to this story.  I wasn’t willing to sell out Courtney’s memory for a few more years of life. I asked them to send me back home to the little room in the back of the bar.

They did.

That was a month ago, and I believe this is my last night. Amanda is here with me, and so are all of the friends I’ve made in my new life. I won’t name them; the work they’ll continue after my death is too important.

Amanda and I were married three days ago … I think Courtney would be happy for me.

***

John died shortly after completing his writing. His wife, Amanda was with him and so was I.  My name is Samantha O’Neil and I’m his goddaughter. Amanda plans on sending hundreds of copies of this short autobiography out through the Underground. With a little luck, it may even reach the scholars at Tesla and Rowling.

But before that, I have to tell you how it ended. Uncle John would want that
.

***

The sky was bright and sunny when the casket was lowered into the ground. More than a hundred people were in attendance to remember the man that’d been integral to their lives. As the preacher spoke, Aunt Amanda and I threw the first shovels full of clean, dark earth onto the casket.

We all stopped when a government car pulled up at a sedate speed.

There were murmurs as the tall man in his dress grays stepped from the vehicle. Of course everyone recognized him.  He’d been all over the broadcasts in the last few years. And, more importantly, they were able to put two and two together as to the relationship between him and the dead man being honored that day.

He gestured for his guards to wait at the car, a move that clearly displeased them. Then he strode toward Amanda and me, never hesitating or breaking stride. She watched him approach, and those near her were unsettled when they noticed the small smile that played upon her face.

“Aunt Amanda?” He asked in that same measured and sure voice they had all heard before.

“Yes, I suppose I am,” she replied. “I’m so pleased that you made it, General.” She smiled at him as tears danced in her eyes.

“Uncle John was important to me, even if he’d made himself an outcast and never even told us why.  I still love him.” A grin spread across his dark face as he remembered all the years of correspondences and short clandestine visits he and Uncle John shared over the years.

Amanda stepped forward and hugged him, “He always loved you, Tommy, even if he didn’t agree with you.”

“I think as I’ve gotten older I may understand more of his views.” He answered, a tired and resigned note creeping into his voice.

Amanda nodded and then slipped a sheaf of papers into his hands as she hugged him again.

A few minutes later the ceremony was over and the onlookers began to depart. As General Thomas “Tommy” Watson, hero of the Saint Louis Incursion, left in his car, Amanda Lynch Watson saw he was deep in concentration… reading.

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