The Sovereign Era (Book 2): Pilgrimage (18 page)

“Yes, I do,” Marc said slowly.

“Come on,” Ray said. “You up for round two at the devil’s nest? I’m driving!”

Andrew Charters – Four

Andrew had never been in Denver Colorado’s house. Not in all these years.

He stood just inside the threshold of the back door. Denver, who had wheeled himself in first, and Sandy watched him from a little farther in, at the edge of the kitchen.

It was difficult to figure out if Denver carried the scent of the house on him or if the house represented a kind of superset of Denver’s scent. Andrew shook his head and let out a shaky breath. The distinction was unimportant. Except for a little hint of new-fence smell that must have blown in, the place was so…Denver…Andrew felt like he was immersed in the essence of his friend.

It was a lot to take in. Andrew turned back to face the screen door. The yard was there, just past the deck, and the woods were there, just beyond the yard. He could be back in the cool shadows in three leaps. He could be miles away from any houses in hours.

Behind him, in the kitchen, Denver said softly, “How’s it going, there, Andy?”

Andrew saw that his hand was moving, apparently on its own, to grasp the screen-door latch. He grabbed his wrist with his other hand, breathed in and out through his mouth, and turned his back on escape.

“Nice…place,” Andrew said. He laughed once, a harsh bark. “You. Lots of you.”

Sandy slapped Denver lightly on the shoulder. “See that? That’s why I’m always after you to straighten up around here a little.” She smiled.

“Yes, dear.” Denver grinned at her. Andrew had a sense that Denver and Sandy were doing something funny, but he didn’t quite understand. It was hard to remember how people acted together.

He had been a person, once. He would have to learn how to be one again.

He laughed again, to see how it felt. Denver and Sandy flinched at the sound. Andrew felt a degree of mortification. Even to his own ears, his laughter sounded like there was something dead slapping in his throat.

Denver said, “Anyway…you want to come into the kitchen? You ready?” He maneuvered his chair farther into the house. Sandy stepped aside, leaving a clear path for Andrew to walk to the table just past the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Andrew said. He slinked forward, sniffing and listening.

Wet putridity in the metal bowl—the sink, it was called a sink. He knew this. He knew most of it. He wasn’t an amnesiac. It had only been a decade and a half since the augmentation regimen made him into this; that didn’t have to represent his whole life. He had a long way to go, a long time to be better than he was.

“There’s old food in there.” He pointed at the sink.

“Ah.” Denver nodded. “I might not have run the disposal last night.”

“Or the night before,” Sandy said.

“Easy, you,” Denver said to her.

Andrew watched them. The way they leaned toward each other, the flood of pheromones flowing from their bodies to their mouths and noses…

It made him feel something.

It felt
nice
.

Denver frowned at him, but the corners of his lips were up, too. “What are you looking at, mister?”

“Heh.”

These two, just by being there, helped Andrew pull his old self up from the thorny tiger trap of his more animal nature. They were so human. That was a really good thing.

“Denver.”

Andrew wasn’t really addressing his friend. Just declaring his existence. Denver nodded. “Andrew.”

Andrew’s lips felt stiff as they stretched into a grin. “Heh. So…I should sit down, right?” He pointed to the chairs around the table past the kitchen. “On one of those?”

Denver smiled. “Yep.”

Andrew did so, though it took a little effort to ignore the whirring noise of the refrigerator when he passed it. It was damn unnatural, but that, he reminded himself, was part of normal. Deal with it.

“Well, look at you,” Denver said. “Sitting at my dinner table. How about that.”

Andrew nodded, then looked at his legs. “It’s strange. Sitting. Feels weird.”

“You get used to it.” Denver spread his arms and looked down at himself, in his wheelchair. His eyes twinkled and the hint of a smile teased behind his beard.

Sandy slapped him again. Strange. But…funny. That’s what it was. Funny. But not funny in the way Andrew was used to. There was violence, of a sort, but no animals or people were in pain.

Denver pulled his chair up to the table, and Sandy started making a few sandwiches.

“You like Braunschweiger, Andrew?” Sandy asked.

“Not sure,” Andrew said. He looked at Denver.

“You used to.”

“Oh. Okay, yeah.”

“Good,” said Sandy. “Just be a minute. You hungry, Denver, or did you fill up on that sweet stuff?”

“I’m good for now,” he said.

“So Andrew,” Sandy said, “I’ve heard a lot about you, of course. I’m glad you came by.”

“Had to,” said Andrew. “Important.” He looked at Denver, who frowned.

Sandy glanced over at them from the kitchen. “Important?”

Denver said, “Andy’s decided to finally get some help with his…condition.”

She studied Andrew. It made him feel the slightest bit uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to being the prey.

“I see,” she said. “But…how?”

Andrew struggled against an automatic threat response. He tightened his lips against his teeth to keep the grimace off his face. While he fought with this, Denver answered for him.

“The Sovereigns. They offered, years ago, I gather, but Andrew was a little crazier back then.” He looked at Andrew. “No offense.”

Andrew swallowed, finally defeating his instincts, and shrugged. “It’s…how it was.”

“What’s different now, Andrew?” Sandy was more focused on preparing the food than she was on him now, which made things easier.

“Need to help Nathan,” he said. “That’s my son. Nathan.”

Denver said, “That’s something I don’t get, Andrew. Why now? It’s been almost a year since you saw him, right? What’s happened that you’re all worked up about this now?”

Andrew’s nostrils flared. “Not just now. Been all year.” He sighed. “Took a long time. Still had to…be, right?”

Sandy put a plate with a Braunschweiger sandwich on wheat bread and a side of potato chips on the table in front of Andrew. She sat down next to him with a similar dish for herself.

Andrew watched her wrinkle her nose, cough, and pinch her nostrils quickly. She looked at Denver, who looked apologetic for some reason Andrew didn’t understand.

Sandy dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Go ahead, Andrew.” To Denver, she said, “So polite!”

Andrew shoved most of the sandwich in his mouth and chewed.

Denver chuckled. “A real gentleman.”

Andrew preferred live prey, and while this was a step below that, it was several steps above human dumpster trash, which he’d had to resort to more than a few times over the years. He swallowed and wiped his beard with the back of his hand.

“Thanks. Good.”

“You’re very welcome,” Sandy said. “Okay, so…how will the Sovereigns be able to help? Will they—can they undo what was done?”

Andrew shrugged. “Don’t know.”

Denver said, “I think the idea is to be a little more Dr. Jekyll and a little less Mr. Hyde.”

Andrew grunted around the second mouthful of sandwich.

“I see. And then…you want to talk to your boy, is that right, Andrew?”

“Yeah! He’s in a spot…kinda ‘cause of me. I think. Not right.”

Sandy said to Denver, “Do you think he could make a difference?”

Denver pursed his lips and tilted his head, thinking. “It might. Not sure how it’ll turn out for Andy, though. Somebody’s going to jail for the deaths of those PrenticeCambrian guys.”

To Andrew, he said, “They might decide you’re it. What then?”

Andrew shook his tangled gray mane. “Self-defense. Self-defense.”

Denver looked doubtful. “Yeah, well. It’s not about what happened. It’s about getting a jury to believe it happened the way your side says it did.”

Andrew didn’t care about the particulars. “Need to go to the Sovereigns. Get help. Get to Nate. Work it out.” He looked at Denver. “Need you to take me, Denver. Right away.”

Denver scowled. “Now, I told you before, Andy, that’s just not a good idea. Especially this week. And I can’t take you, man. You gotta find your own way this time.”

“Come again?” Sandy looked at Denver. “Let’s start with why it’s a bad idea that Andrew get some help for himself so he can help his son.”

“Well, let’s see.” Denver started ticking off on his fingers. “I’m depositioned in Lucy and Nate’s case, and in the Teslowskis’ case. Andrew here is a Federal fugitive considered armed and dangerous. The whole damn world has its eyes on the Donner Institute, what with the Sovereigns planning on making a big deal out of the anniversary this Friday. They’ve got their hands full with the press, and the crazies…and the crazies in the press.

“And, for Christ’s sake, I’m a middle-aged man in a wheelchair whose face has been on television more than a few times thanks to the thing last year. I’m not the guy to be driving Andy across state lines and into the goddamn lion’s den.” He shook his head. “No way.”

Andrew pouted. “Gonna take months if I have to hoof it. Can’t wait.”

“Why not just call ‘em? Have ‘em come and get you. What’d you need me for, anyway?”

Andrew recoiled in his seat. Potato-chip fragments fell from his lips. “Don’t like ‘em. Don’t trust ‘em.”

Denver waved his hand at him. “Aw! They offered to help, Andrew, didn’t they? And you need them.”

Sandy said, “Denver. He needs you.”

Denver gaped at her. “It’s not a good idea, Sandy.”

“I think it is.” She propped her elbows on the table top and leaned toward Denver. “This is a good idea for so many reasons, Denver—not the least of which is that your friend Andrew Charters is asking for your help.”

He squinted at her. “You’re a sweet girl, Sandy, but that’s not all you are. What are you thinking?”

“What am I thinking?” She smiled and sat back. She made Andrew flinch away when she tried to touch his shoulder, and settled for pantomiming a tap in the air between her palm and his body. “Even if I wasn’t thinking anything else, that’s enough of a reason. Andrew needs you.”

Denver frowned and said again, “What are you thinking, Sandy?”

“I’ll go with you,” she said. “As a member of the press.”

“
The Kirby Grizzly
? Seriously?”

“For starters. But a story like this? Don’t you think it’ll get picked up? Can you imagine how good it would be for Andrew’s family?”

He snorted a laugh. “And for one Sandy Graves, former big-city reporter, not coincidentally.”

Andrew sat in his chair, legs jumping, and watched them volley.

“Sure,” she said. “I smell a story. Shit, it’s probably the biggest story of my life, and that, as you know, is saying something.” She lowered her voice. “But I’m serious, Denver. It’s just the right thing to do.”

He rolled his eyes. “The right thing to do is pick up the phone and have them come and get him.”

“No,” Andrew’s eyes were wide. “Don’t want to go with them. Don’t trust ‘em! Want to go
to
them. Need to be able to leave if I want. Need you to take me. You…only trust
you
. Won’t go otherwise. Gotta go…but…won’t go.” He was hyperventilating.

“Easy, Andy,” Denver said. “Easy.” To Sandy, he said, “Even if we did…you can see it makes sense to wait until after Declaration Day, right? At least?”

She shook her head. “I can think of no better time.”

“You’re thinking about headlines!”

“No!” She looked away when she denied it. “Mostly, I’m thinking about the boy. You saw him on that show.”

Andrew said, “Show?”

“He was on a television show,” she said. “He looked so…”

“Sandy…” Denver’s voice carried a warning.

She stopped. “He looked like a boy who could use his father.” She looked hard at Denver. “Right?”

“We gotta go,” Andrew said. “You gotta take me. We gotta go.”

Denver deflated. “Aw, hell. You’re being unreasonable. Both of you!”

“We gotta go,” Sandy said. Her smile was thin.

“Aw, hell,” Denver said again.

Andrew looked at them both. He sensed Sandy was some kind of ally, and settled his gaze on her. “We can go?”

She looked at Denver, who nodded, then back at Andrew.

“Yes, Andrew,” she said. She looked back at Denver. “First thing tomorrow?”

When he nodded again, she turned back to Andrew and wrinkled her nose.

“Meanwhile, Andrew, we’re burning your clothes. You’re taking a bath, or six. And I’m going to see about that horrible hair of yours…”

Andrew paled beneath his ratty beard and the layers of grime on his face.

“A bath…?”

Byron Teslowski – Five

Byron found Haze playing
Star Castles
in the game room off the cafeteria. Despite what sounded like angry pieces of machinery leaking from her Walkman earphones, she turned around and faced him before he figured out how to announce his presence.

She smiled when she saw his surprise. She clicked the stop button on the portable cassette player, pulled off her headphones, and said, “Body heat. I could feel you coming.”

“Whoa. That’s pretty cool.”

She shrugged, but her smile didn’t fade completely. “Eh. It’s only good when someone’s right up on me. Not all that useful.”

“That’s the sort of thing Doc Mazmanian could probably help with. If you wanted.”

Haze’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, so I can join the team? No thanks.”

Byron shook his head. “I don’t know what you have against the SCET.” He felt a little hypocritical as soon as he said it.

She looked at him. “Let’s get a pop or something. Walk with me.”

They started toward the cafeteria. Byron laughed. “A what?”

“What, what?”

"’Let’s go get a’ what? What did you say?”

“A pop,” she repeated. “A…what, a soda, a cola, an orange drink or something.”

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Newsflash, doofus. Neither are you.”

They helped themselves to fountain drinks in the cafeteria. “You got me there.”