Wind-Scarred (The Will of the Elements, Book 1) (2 page)

“Well Ezra, the patrols have been notified.
Thank you for telling us this time.” Again with that wry tone of
voice. Had he stuttered?
Just relax, Ezra
,
he thought to himself.
Don't let it get under your
skin
. There was only one more thing to worry about...

“Oh, I almost forgot. There will be a
biological signature aboard the glider. Just standard testing
procedure to check that nothing is out of phase coming back through
the wormhole, it's really nothing to worry about and-”

“That's fine, thanks for the heads up,” she
interrupted him.

Ezra blinked. That was not in the script.
Shaken, he continued from where he had left off.

“And I've already cleared it with the
Department of Fair and Humane-”

“Yes, bio sign on the glider, got it.”

“And the Chancellor himself is very
insistent that we get this project pushed through to completion as
soon as- ”

“Will that be all Mr. Hawkins? Yes? Thank
you for contacting us and have a happy Founder's Day.”

The connection went dead. Ezra stared at the
space his neural net call had occupied, relief struggling with
annoyance within him. He had half a mind to call back and demand
that they treat his flagrant disregard for proper protocol with the
severity that it deserved. His carefully crafted arguments could
have convinced the most hard-line, play-by-the-book DOLT officer in
all of Sanctuary!

He took a deep breath.
No,
he thought,
everything is still going
according to plan.
She's just a dispatcher, after all. It
may be an empty victory, but it's still a victory.
Nodding, he
carefully placed his equipment on the wormhole staging area, double
checked that everything he would need was accounted for, then
packed up his glider and set out to face the biggest challenge of
the night.

==

Ezra eased his way out of the laboratory,
glider in tow, careful not to make a sound as he moved swiftly down
the hall. He cut through the guest rooms and took the back
staircase down to the kitchen. Cautiously, he peeked inside. Empty!
He had long suspected that the cook was against him, always
offering him something to eat in that booming voice, alerting
everyone to his covert operations. Ezra ghosted across the kitchen,
not disturbing anything.

Everything was going along smoothly as he
stepped out of the kitchen and into the greeting hall. Then, as he
rounded the great staircase, he spotted her. At twenty three,
Kirsten O'Donnell was only two years older than Ezra's twenty one.
Her vibrant red hair was caught up in a bun, leaving her slender
neck bare. A few loose strands were artfully arranged to frame
large, striking green eyes, a delicate nose and a sharp chin. She
was elegant. She was poised. She was Ezra's worst nightmare.

She was his secretary.

Ezra froze, knowing that any sudden
movements would alert her to his presence. Kirsten studied the
console in front of her, briskly making adjustments to whatever
horror she was concocting.
A day's schedule or
, Ezra
shuddered,
another date with a Legacy bachelorette?
Slowly,
carefully, he eased forward into the greeting hall. He was almost
there! Just a little bit further and he would be out. His hand
reached out to activate the door...

“Ezra, are you going out tonight?”

Kirsten appeared not to have moved her
brilliant emerald eyes from the nebulous displays hovering before
her, fingers still flicking through menus.

Adopting a gruff, business-like tone, Ezra
cleared his throat and responded. “Yes, Miss O'Donnell, running
some tests tonight, sending out a glider. You know, the usual.”

“And where will you launching the glider
from?”

“Oh, nowhere in particular. It's a nice
night, I'll probably just head to the barrier and send it out from
there.”

Kirsten stopped what she was doing and
turned to face Ezra, eyes narrowing. He fought not to audibly gulp.
What had given him away? Mentioning the barrier? Of course! He'd
tipped his hand about the barrier, and a simple examination of the
glider would prove that he had no biomass of any kind with him. She
would know he was lying about the bio sign! How had she heard about
that so quickly? Was the DOLT dispatcher in on it? Was that what
was so funny? He would have to think fast if he wanted to get out
of this in one-

“Ezra James Hawkins! I know what kind of
people hang out around the barrier. If you're planning to have some
sort of wild Founder's Day experience on my watch I will have the
cook carry you to your room and sit on you until morning.”

He gaped at her.

“Don't think that I am unaware of the kinds
of things a young man can get himself mixed up in out there, what
with Guild of Sundry running wild and doing who-knows-what with
who-knows-who. And you
know
that you have an appointment
with the inheriting daughter of the Crawford family early tomorrow
morning to which you will
not
be late. If you even think of
meeting her in a state of the slightest dishevelment I will
personally see to it that you curse the day Sanctuary was founded
for the rest of your natural life.”

Crawford family... Crawford family... where
did he know that name from... ah!

“Liza Crawford? But... they're bookies! All
they do is write history and look for news so they can write it
into history later! The whole family has hardly a scientific bone
between them!”

Kirsten stalked forward, one deliberate step
at a time. “They are an old and respectable family with data banks
that go back to nearly the Founding itself. You could learn a thing
or two from a proper historical perspective.”

Ezra scowled. “Speaking of historical
perspectives, isn't she something like ten years older than
me?”

Kirsten's beautiful eyes narrowed to emerald
slits as she planted her hands on her hips. “Five years, seven
months, and you said that Mitzi Parnasus was too immature.”

Ezra couldn't keep the exasperation out of
his voice. “She spent five hours talking about how pretty
butterflies were!”

Kirsten held up a mollifying hand. “I am
willing to admit that Miss Parnasus was not the most suitable match
for you, but the Special Division assigned me to keep your
household and affairs in efficiently running order. As the last of
your bloodline it is your civic duty to wed and procreate so as to
ensure that your family's knowledge is passed on and your Legacy
continues.”

“So I don't get any say in the matter?
Because I say that Liza Crawford and any of my other former
babysitters should be off the list.”

“Of course, the final decision is up to you.
However, I do expect you to seriously consider the social and
technological aspects of each and every match that I have deemed
suitable to your current situation.”

“I don't have time for this. Yes, I will
consider aspects. No, I will not be unreasonable. I will launch the
glider from the university. Is there anything else?”

Kirsten continued to glare up to Ezra, then
whipped a well manicured fingertip to within an inch of his nose.
“You will finish your experiment and come home immediately. You
will be back by no later than seven o'clock. At one minute past
seven I will call the Department of Ordinances and advise them to
collect you.” Ezra gulped at the fury in her voice, immediately
regretting his rash words. “Will that be all, Mr. Hawkins?”

Ezra nodded mutely, leaning back and away
from the enraged woman. She whirled and stormed back to her
console, heels clicking in outrage. He opened the door and
fled.

Ezra didn't stop running until he had
cleared the family property and entered Sanctuary city proper. He
paused to catch his breath, panting with relief. Looking up, he
caught the sun's last rays striking the barrier – a bubble that
kept their air clean and blocked harmful radiation – bathing the
landscape in various hues of pink and shades of violet. “Unnatural
colors,” Ezra mused, looking out over the rest of the Legacy
hilltop. Graceful arches and ornate columns, styled after the
estates of the ancient Romans, played games with the light and
shadow. “But pretty in their own way.”

He checked his time display. Two minutes
until five. Slightly behind schedule, but still well within the
safety zone. Hoisting his glider, he set off at a jog for the
nearest transport station. Dialing in his destination for the
university district, Ezra paid the transport fee and hopped onto
the wormhole generation platform. The scenery abruptly changed as
the generator engaged, the elegant station's interior replaced with
the open-air port at the university plaza.

Loping off quickly, Ezra jumped on a museum
shuttle just as it was leaving on its route. As they passed the
Webatorium, bright banners featuring the triumphant return of the
Lolcats exhibit, he went over the plan in his mind.

It was simple, really. Eight months of
sending out unannounced gliders and timing DOLT response units had
provided plenty of data. Finding the area with the longest time
between barrier breach and actual contact from the officers on duty
provided him with the ideal flight path. A little digging through
old surveys of the Barrier Mountain range had led him to a set of
coordinates for a small ledge on the far side of the mountains. The
side that faced the world.

Suppressing his parents' research on remote
creation and deployment of portals was no problem. Wormhole
research and technology was the Hawkins Legacy, at his sole
discretion to develop and release.

From there, it was an easy task to make it
seem as though he was beginning his testing phase, when in fact he
already had a reliable working mechanism for throwing wormholes to
the nearest receiving port, and even to locations where no port
existed at all. The only obstacle was where to make the portal.
Naturally, all wormhole travel originating within Sanctuary or on
the space station above was strictly monitored by DOLT. Through
extensive testing, however Ezra had determined that they couldn't
detect incoming wormholes at all, so long as they were instantiated
outside the barrier.

He smiled, thinking of the wormhole
controller device waiting for him on the generator platform back in
his lab. In just a few minutes, he would simply fly out of
Sanctuary, pick up the device, and originate a new portal through
the existing one, thereby sidestepping DOLT security measures
entirely. He would then bring back proof that the world outside was
safe, that they no longer had to cower behind the barrier with
their enforced population limits and infinitely reprocessed
food.

Of course, he wasn't an idiot. Along with
the controller was a radiation badge, so in the unlikely event that
his thesis was wrong he could simply step back through the wormhole
and return to the comfort and safety of his lab for
decontamination. And, just to be extra safe, he had ordered a
mandatory maintenance inspection for all ports closer to his test
zone than his lab's port. The only people qualified to sign off on
such an inspection were members of the Hawkins family, of which he
was the only one. All of the tricky parts were already taken care
of, the rest was just science.

Ezra kept riding until they reached the
Sanctuary Center. The stately building at the summit of Sanctuary
was an embodiment of the city itself. Solid walls and domes showed
safety and security, protection from the outside world. Sweeping
arches and floating fountains, promising the ingenuity of the
future married to the beauty of the past. And rising from the
pinnacle, as far as the eye could see, the space elevator loomed
like some monstrous, surgically straight cut in the fabric of
reality.

Despite the relatively warm night, Ezra
shivered at the sight of it. “This is no time to dwell on the past,
Ezra,” he reminded himself sharply, “pull yourself together.”

He walked inside, past the relatively small
group of business people waiting for the next scheduled wormhole up
to the space station. Founder's Day seemed to have cleared out all
but the most dedicated of travelers, just as he had hoped. A
security officer absently held up a hand for him to stop, but Ezra
flashed his credentials and, in a relaxed voice, drawled, “Legacy
business.”

The guard took one look at his clearance and
jumped to attention, saluting rigidly. “Of course, Mr. Hawkins.
Take all the time you need, sir.”

Ezra fought down a smirk
as he walked past the security checkpoint.
Dolt
, he thought, marveling at the
aptness of the department's acronym.

Past the wormhole generators, past the
computing stations that kept logs of matter composition and global
positions primed for travel off-world, up the maintenance staircase
and ladder to the roof, Ezra reached his goal: the space elevator
platform, suspended on its cables just above the Center. Elevator
travel had fallen out of practicality with the advent of wormhole
technology, and this relic of the past had not had a passenger in
over ten years. Now, it would serve his purposes, as the highest
point from which he could launch himself.

Ezra took a moment to look out over the
city. Lights began flickering to life in the grunt residential
districts, filled with practical little houses that boasted none of
classical flair so omnipresent up on Legacy Hill. Bits of a song
floated in, signs of the revelry getting started. But for the most
part, Sanctuary was quiet, anticipating what would come with baited
breath. “An angel, arms outstretched,” Ezra said softly to himself,
“waiting for me.”

He glanced down at his
clock again. Thirteen after five. Time to go. He unfolded the
modified glider with practiced movements and strapped himself in.
Inching up to the edge of the platform, Ezra closed his eyes, took
a deep breath, and jumped. The on-board computer took over
immediately, repulsors under the wings correcting his flight and
moderating his speed as he soared toward the barrier. Ezra let out
a whoop of pure exhilaration, skimming over the city, drawing
startled gasps and wondering looks from everyone on his
path.
Oh yes, this will be a Founder's Day
they'll all remember
, he thought to
himself with amusement.