Threshold Shift (7 page)

Jon
held up his hands and backed away. “OK, OK, but we’re due
a talk, you and I.”

Jacob
did not reply. His stare firmly fixed until Jon descended from view.
Seconds later Jon emerged in the basement. He saw Roe sat on her
stool, rifle held between her hands, her eyes fixed far away.

“What
are you watching?” Jon asked.

Roe
looked up, blinking rapidly as she disconnected her internal
interface.

“Just
an old program on the educational channel,” she said. “Paul
isn’t exactly the life and soul of the party.”

Jon
stood over her. “You need to stay alert Roe, Michael will try
something. Hell, one of his followers could try something just to
impress him.”

“I’m
not totally immersed,” Roe replied curtly. “I can react
if need be, worry about yourself.”

Jon
reddened. “Well, I worry about you!”

“I’ve
been a deputy for a long time college boy,” she said. “You
can’t lord it over me now. I know what I’m doing.”

Jon
gestured angrily with his rifle. “Oh do you? Because I could
have shot you before you even had a chance to move.”

A
synthesised vocoder laugh filled the basement.

“You
are children,” Paul intoned from his bunk. “Children
playing at being adults. It surprises me that your people could ever
have conquered my planet.”

Jon
fell silent, his eyes on Roe, she met him with a scowl, as if he were
somehow responsible.

“I’ll
leave you two alone,” he said, and disappeared up the stairs.

“You
do that!” Roe shouted after him.

Jon
took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. Roe was not that
little girl who had followed him faithfully around the playground
anymore. She had grown. Their mothers had been close friends once,
and he had spent many summer days on her farm, playing with her
brother Andy. Since his mother’s funeral he hadn’t seen
much of her or Andy. Was that his fault or theirs? He couldn’t
remember. His memory of that time was hazy, indistinct. It had taken
him a long time to get his head back together. But not everything had
been fixed, more than a few of his old friends had disappeared.

He
also felt jealous of her relationship with his father. It was more
like father and child than just Marshal and Deputy. A year ago he had
turned down Jacob when offered the Deputy position, revealed his
plans to leave the planet and never return. In doing so he had
started an argument that he had not wished to resolve and cut his
father out of his life like a surgeon removing a tumour. He had
wanted to be free of him. The end result of that argument had been
Roe’s appointment as deputy. She had supplanted him, and he had
made it happen. So why did it make him so unhappy?

The
sight of his father’s empty chair made him put those thoughts
aside. He hurried over to the console, only to find it locked. What
had Jacob discovered? He ran upstairs to check his father’s
bedroom. He was not surprised to find it empty. Jacob was gone.

*

Jon
left Roe behind in the Jailhouse, effectively locking her in. She
wasn’t happy, but he hadn’t given her a choice. It hadn’t
been difficult to unlock his father’s console, it was old
technology keyed to a DNA lock that could be circumvented with a few
strands of hair from Jacob’s shower. Once inside he had
reviewed the most recent searches, and found they tracked one Asher
Smith, recently arrived on Threshold, and staying in Room 218 of ‘The
Away Station’. Jon believed Asher was the man in brown, and
that somehow life had become a little more complicated. Who was he?
What was his relationship to Jacob?

He
pondered the questions as he ran down Main Street, turning off into a
side road leading to the older part of town. The further he got the
narrower and more intricate the passageways became. There were too
many windows overhead for his liking, too many low rooftops. He felt
exposed. Perhaps following his father had been a mistake but he
didn’t dwell on the thought for too long, arriving at a pair of
transparent double doors which ushered him into a building that
required a little more protection from the elements than it currently
enjoyed. The fascia blackened and ravaged by the elements.

There
was little improvement to be found inside, the stone floor muddy and
In need of sweeping and he barely spared the sleepy receptionist a
glance as he mounted the stairs and followed the signs to room 218.
Soon enough the pale blue door hung before him, waiting. He raised
his hand, staring at it for a moment, and then knocked on the door
three times, not knowing what to expect.

“The
door is open, Jon.”

He
was surprised. The voice was like his father’s, but clearer,
more enunciated, and somehow easier on the ear.

“Please,
come in,” the man invited respectfully.

Jon
pushed the door open, and was confronted by the sight of his father
sprawled on the floor, his gun far from his reach. Standing over
Jacob was the man in brown, his expression unreadable on a face
untouched by age or line, the nose missing, the lips thin and the
chin under developed. It was not an ugly face, but it was vacant of
all expression, like a baby removed from the womb too early. Jon drew
his gun.

“You
won’t need that,” the stranger said, and made a small
gesture. As he did so, the gun was ripped from Jon’s hand and
flew down the hallway.

“What
the...”

“I
don’t like guns,” then man said. “I find them
disconcerting.”

Jon
rubbed his palm. “You find that disconcerting?”

“Come
in, please, Jon,” the man said. “I am Asher.”

Jon
took a step across the threshold and was startled by the door closing
itself behind him. He missed his gun,

“You
can stand up now, Jacob,” Asher Smith said.

Jon’s
father rose ponderously to his feet, pushing away Jon as he leaned
across to help. Jacob was angry, very angry. Jon was all too familiar
with that look.

“Leave
my son out of this,” Jacob bellowed.

“But
he called me here,” Asher replied. “He is part of this.”

“Whatever
he did,” Jacob said. “It was by accident.”

“That
he exists at all is very strange,” Asher said. “But not
unpleasantly so.”

“Dad?”
Jon interrupted. “What’s going on? How did he do that?”

“Shush, son,” Jacob said. “He has a device. It was
just a silly trick.”

“Dad?”

“Your
father is perhaps reluctant to introduce me,” Asher said with a
failed attempt at a smile. “I am his brother.”

“Dad,
you never said...”

“We’re
going,” Jacob said, steering Jon towards the door.

“Oh
come now, Jacob,” Asher said. “Have you not told him of
his family?”

“I
swear, if you say anything!”

“Jacob,
Jacob,” Asher said, waving his finger. “No idle threats
please.”

Jon
watched his father’s face redden. “It doesn’t have
to be,” Jacob said. He closed his eyes.

Asher
blinked for a moment, and then attempted to smile again, his lips
curling a little further. “You have a connection, after all
this time, how unexpected.”

“Just
leave us alone Asher,” Jacob said. “Play whatever games
you wish with the Threshians, but leave us alone.”

“The
Threshians are just as we were once, Jacob. Have you forgotten?”

“No,”
Jacob replied. “Of course not, but I’m not part of your
world anymore.”

“Obviously,”
Asher said, and with a gesture, Jacob’s gun was returned to
him.

“Thank-you,”
Jacob replied, snatching the gun out of the air and returning it to
its holster.

“You
are very ill, Jacob,” Asher said, this time attempting to
frown. “I am concerned.”

Jacob
shook his head and then grabbed Jon by the arm using his good hand.
“Come on, Jon.”

“Hold
on, Dad.”

The
door opened by itself to let them leave, but it was Jacob who slammed
it shut behind them. “Leave it Jon,” his father said.
“Just leave it.”

“What
was that?” Jon asked. “I have an uncle? What’s
wrong with his face, how did he do that?”

“Yes,
he’s very clever,” Jacob replied. “Come on.”

“What
other family do I have?”

“Not
the sort of family you want to know,” Jacob said. “Trust
me.”

Jon
collected his gun and followed his father down the stairs, pausing
only to glance back at room 218.

“What
are you hiding?” Jon asked. “Don’t you think I have
a right to know?”

Jacob
marched on without answering, down the stairs, through the lobby and
out into the street.

“You
can’t protect me,” Jon said, struggling to keep up as
they entered a narrow alleyway. “You won’t be around.”

Jacob
stopped walking, turning to face him, tears in his eyes.

“Dad?”

Jacob
reached out his good arm and pulled Jon too him. “Why didn’t
you leave when you said you would?” The old man sobbed. “You
would have been safe.”

Jon
was in shock, it had been so long. Was this it? Was this his father’s
last chance to show any affection, any love. The dose of Jopo H he
had taken the night before had not been a large one. How long until
his mind clouded over? How long until his hands trembled and his legs
gave out? Jon felt the tears welling in his own eyes, and he didn’t
know why, he shouldn’t care, he didn’t want to care.

It
was then that a chunk of wall exploded near his head, jolting Jon
back to reality. They were under attack. His eyes darted about the
alley, desperately searching for cover that wasn’t there. Jacob
barged him to a wall as another concussion bolt impacted near his
shoulder. Their attackers were somewhere above, but he couldn’t
see them. That fact did not prevent him firing randomly in response,
his own bolts wrecking windows and upper floors alike.

“Split
up,” Jacob ordered. “I’ll meet you back at the
jail.”

His
father fired madly into the air using his left hand, concussion bolts
tearing into the ground in his wake as he turned into an adjoin
alley. Jon ran too, taking the opposite branch and losing himself in
a maze of narrow passages between buildings. It was only when he
stopped to catch his breath that he realised no shots had been fired
at him since his mad run had begun. Instead gunfire echoed in the
distance, but it was getting further and further away. Belatedly he
understood that he was not a target. They were after his father.

With
a tentative twist on a handle he found the nearest door to him was
locked. He tried a few more with the same result. It appeared no-one
who lived in Argon’s old town was particularly trusting of
their neighbours. Frustrated, he blasted the nearest door lock and
shoulder barged through the entrance. Without checking for occupants
he ran up the stairs and found the roof access ladder. In a few
moments he was crouched upon the rooftop, trying to gauge the
direction of the fire-fight. It was impossible to tell, too much
echo, too much enclosed space. Then a distant muzzle flare sent him
running.

Jumping
from rooftop to rooftop, Jon raced towards the gun battle, barely
keeping his footing on uneven tiles that fragmented easily underfoot.
The firing continued, which was a good sign, it meant his father was
still alive and evading his pursuers. When the attackers finally came
into view he counted three Threshians, naked except for ammunition
belts, positioned across a solid church roof, firing their rifles
into the alley below. He took one out before it had the chance to
register his existence, the second one turning to blast him as he
ducked behind a chimney stack.

“He
killed Jason,” a Threshian vocoder remarked. “Get him.”

The
chimney Jon hid behind began to disintegrate under heavy fire,
engulfing him in plexifibre fragments. Wiping his eyes with the back
of his hand, he waited. The rifles the Threshians carried were not
rapid fire weapons and very soon they would have to reload, hopefully
before the chimney collapsed. Soon enough he was proved right, and
fired a return volley during the pause, only to find that one of the
Threshians partially obscured by a curved window ledge while the
other was nowhere to be seen. He emptied his clip, eventually
demolishing the Threshian’s cover it and scoring an impact on
the creature’s stomach. An alien scream echoed throughout Old
Town as the Threshian fell into the alley below.

There
wasn’t time to enjoy the victory, as Jon attempted to reload
the last remaining Threshian successfully manoeuvred beside him, its
rifle aimed at his head.

“You
interfere again,” the Threshian said.

Jon
froze. He wanted to spit words of defiance, but somehow they just
didn’t come out.

The
Threshian pulled the trigger, but there was no shot, only a click.
The gun was empty, the alien had not reloaded. Jon’s mouth
gaped open in surprise for a long moment before he had the presence
of mind to kick the feet out from under his attacker. The alien fell
backward, the roof collapsing as it fell into the church below. Jon
swiftly reloaded, leaning into the gap to see the alien impaled on
the cross beside the altar.

“Lucky,”
he said and fell breathlessly onto his back to stare up into a
cloudless Threshold sky.

“Hello
up there,” Jacob shouted from the alley below.

Jon
dragged himself to his feet and leaned over the roof edge. His father
was leaning against a wall below clutching a bloodstained abdomen
with his good hand.

“You
OK?” Jon shouted.

“Just
a ricochet,” the old man answered. “I thought I told you
to go back.”

“So
fire me,” Jon said. “I’m coming down.”

He
lowered himself through the hole in the roof and climbed down the
cross and past the body of his would-be assassin. His father smiled
when he appeared at the entrance, but it was a weak smile. The old
man was hurting.