Ages in Oblivion Thrown: Book One of the Sleep Trilogy (13 page)

۞

Another ship was docking, not far from the
one that had stopped in with a layover; Dmitry casually noted it as
he slipped through straggling clusters of onlookers. It was a
moderately small sized ship, most likely a merchant looking to
unload some goods. They had lucky timing. Tark had turned away a
lot of traffic up until the end of the storms. He made a mental
note to check and see how many new and returning sellers were due
in. More work than he could shake a stick at on board this floating
city.

Wallace and Julieta, at the same time, were
preparing to leave that small craft. It would sit idle for however
long was needed, until they were ready to turn around and go back.
There would be a sizeable fee for renting the slip. Currency was,
at least, one of their lesser concerns. More importantly, they had
their stories ready, as well as identification cards that would
withstand a fair amount of scrutiny. Wallace went off to secure the
berth, coming back only minutes later, shaking his head. Julieta
gave him a questioning look, which he didn’t see, so she jabbed him
with a finger and asked, “What? You look like you got yourself a
mouthful of dirt.” Wallace made a repulsed face.

“
That’s really nasty. Can’t you come
up with non-eating metaphors?” Shrugging casually, she ignored his
complaint. “Anyway, I go down to get our dock keys, and paperwork,
and there’s some sort of crime scene or something. I ask, and it
turns out that some nut offed herself this morning. My thinking is
that we should get to our rooms quick and stay as far from this
part of the station as possible.” Julieta waved a letter at
him.

“
Not a problem, man. Master Kun gave
me a letter of introduction to someone, and that’ll occupy a fair
piece of time.” Wallace was struck dumb. Nobody had thought to let
him in on the plan, fine, fine, but he didn’t like operating in a
vacuum. Julieta chose to ignore his puppy eyes this time. She
strode past him, hauling her bags behind her.

“
Sure I’d
love
to tag along. Thanks for asking. And while
we’re at it, I think we should tap-dance down the hall, singing
‘Old Man River’. Or does that go against our rules of
engagement...I wouldn’t know, since things seem to get decided
without me being told.”

“
Get over it. That’s the least of our
big deals. You know the important stuff, and what would happen if
you knew all the little details is that your brain would fuse, and
you’d be even more useless than you are now.”

“
Fine. See what happens the next time
you need me.”

“
Same thing that always happens. You
crack stupid jokes while I do all the work.” They made their way
down the grand staircase in the center of the docking level, trying
to take in everything. It was unbelievable that something so
unnatural could seem so right, and spectacularly simple. The
Nimitz
was playing its usual siren
song to these newcomers, drawing them in with a familiarity which
was not true. They meandered through the various levels, and
sectors, until they stumbled into the one they were looking
for.

By that time, they had been noted, and
reported to the duty log back in the security battalion offices.
The PFC assigned to monitor new arrivals was inclined to think that
the two might be smugglers. If that was the case, they were doing a
shitty job at being inconspicuous. It wasn’t in their favor that
they had just walked into the one place on board the Nimitz that
was a known refuge for folks of a black market ilk. The PFC quickly
made her report and marked it priority. She knew the XO had his eye
on this place. The report circulated its way up the chain of
command, garnering opinions, until it got hand-delivered to
Dmitry.

“
Sir? The gunny in security wanted me
to forward this your way.”

“
Hey, thanks, Sergeant. What the heck
is this...a suspicious persons report. Ah, yes.” He looked it over.
Female: late twenties to early thirties, Latin descent, black hair,
dark eyes, five-six, medium build. Male: same age range, Caucasian,
dark blonde, blue eyes, six-two, medium build. Business stated:
commercial. Current location: Chinatown, the residence of one Mrs.
Han, elder of the community, and a council member. He smiled
grimly, thinking of the battles of wits he’d already engaged in
with the old lady. She was canny, and seemed to enjoy stymieing his
efforts. He could only keep on top of her activities and hope she’d
slip up one of these days. That would have to wait for now,
though.

He was too busy trying to wrap up loose
ends, doing his best to get both Tark and himself out of the
docking area. In response to questions on the topic of Maeve, he
told his friend that she was safely asleep. Somewhere out of harm's
way. Tark cast his friend a gimlet eye. This read that he wished a
full explanation was forthcoming, but chose not to press it. Dmitry
smiled beatifically, a feat indeed, as he knew he was anything but
virtuous. However, they were back to joking around in no time;
testament to their strong friendship. He handed the security report
over to Tark, who shrugged at it.

“
What is this supposed to
be?”

“
I dunno yet. It was handed over to me
in my role as the man with the plan and knowledge
superior.”

“
I wonder why they thought to flag
these two?”

“
Probably because they headed straight
to the place of business owned by a former arms dealer.”

۞
Earthside:
the Med, middle of the night.

Robert Warden stood outside, on a
balcony, watching people walk along the coast. He had a sudden
thought that he would dearly love to stand and throw thunderbolts
at the ground below. He could already exercise powers at least as
great as that. It would be entertaining to see a physical
manifestation of them.
The only god in my
sphere
, he thought cheerily,
I am the Alpha, and the Omega
.

He’d gotten word from his operative that the
doctor no longer a problem. She’d seen to her own affairs. He’d
expected this outcome, really. If fate were to have her hand, all
might resolve itself with little effort. Warden appreciated that
sort of synchronicity. No more loose ends, no more worries. Oh, he
wasn’t worried, though, was he? No, not really. Worry was for fools
and weaklings.

He sipped at a glass of mineral water,
mentally cursing his decision to stop smoking cigars. He felt it
was his one vice, and had only surrendered it according to the
wishes of his wife. She was asleep, not more than twenty feet
behind him, so angelic. She kept to the light, too blinded by it to
notice that he’d fallen into shadow. It hardly mattered anymore. As
a woman, she was merely a tool, another piece of the false persona
he had cultivated for around ten years.

He walked over to a small table that held a
stack of books, a carafe of his water, and a sandwich. Nine people,
asleep in space. For what? A couple hundred years, alongside a
purpose that they must surely think pointless by now. At least one
of them would know him for what he was, surely. Rubbing his
temples, he considered the stories surrounding the vessel, dating
back to the very moment of its inception.

At the time, none of the members of his
organization had been able to get even the slightest hint as to its
location. It was only generations later that information had
finally been unearthed. The paranoia of his so-called predecessors
had culminated in a unanimous vote for eradication of this
perceived threat. By that time, no one could remember what
precisely had been placed inside the metal womb. Nor why it was
supposed to be so dangerous to them. Therefore, fear and violence
were perfectly acceptable responses. If he’d been there, he’d have
been able to tell them. He’d known what was in it. He’d known what
the danger was.

He wished he
had
been there for all the interrogations and
torture. That was more his cup of tea than all this false smiling
and bureaucracy. The days of inflicting pain were far gone from his
present life, at least in person. Now, he did it by signing papers,
and sending disgusting creatures off to accomplish it for
him.

Actually, Warden took the whole affair quite
personally. He blamed himself for the rediscovery of the vessel.
He’d trusted too well the decades-old reports. Having thought that
the blasted thing was long destroyed, he had ignored any other
scenario, probable or otherwise. It was more than inconvenient; it
reflected badly.

After all, it had been his leadership that
had brought in so many new people to the organization and its
cause. Certainly, large bribes and carefully placed threats had
helped grease the wheels as well. Warden derived small
gratification from those things, though. He sighed, looking back
out over the calm, gently rippled glass of the sea. The next move
was up to someone else. Being on the defensive was something he
hated. The only thing to do was wait, wait and see where the chips
might fall.

Orders to mobilize could go out with very
little lead time…perhaps it was best that the vessel had been found
after all. The first initiative all those years ago had failed
miserably. The organization had been forced into anonymity, trying
to gain traction underground.

They had become agile, elusive, and careful.
All those habits would pay dividends now, and he would have the
satisfaction of seeing to the end of their only remaining threat.
If his agent was as successful as to be hoped for, that would be
one thing. If things went the way Warden actually expected, it
would still be a success, but a far messier proposition
altogether.

۞
The depths of Peru.

Elsewhere, back in the heavily layered
humidity of his forest home, Master Kun sat in a small temple,
contemplating his situation with a characteristically open mind. He
was a priest; trained to a level that he was able to serve without
reservation or fear. It was a rare occasion when he would consider
all the earthly trappings he had left behind whilst traveling his
path. This was one of those moments.

He had family, scattered here and there,
over thousands of miles removed. Amongst all those relatives were
nieces, nephews, a sister, a daughter…a grandchild. Never more did
he regret the distance than now, after he had sent away Wallace and
Julieta. There was a void left behind, regardless of his
responsibility to everyone else there. He knew he needed to send
out the message to mobilize; that much was clear.

Kun stood in the evening glow, watching the
sun hesitate above the mountains, and wished that it would hurry to
set. He had a desire to go to his telescope, and see if he could
find the station in the inky distance. Those bottomless depths he
had once dived into, bringing back with him two sleeping
warriors.

Fifty years from their discovery he had
waited to resurrect them. And though he found Wallace to be more
than unusual, he wouldn’t trade their time together for all the
wealth the universe could hold.

Kun looked to the fiery disk a last time
before heading indoors, wanting some sort of connection to them
again. They were so far away. If what Wallace had said was true,
they had their work cut out for them. Kun was no longer able to
control the outcome, though he burned incense to promote favor, and
meditated on the fate of those far away from him.

۞
The Nimitz
– two days later.

Tark had given them the run of the station,
more or less. They all had identity cards. He’d laid out the ground
rules, given them briefings, and left them to their own devices.
Tark felt they deserved a little liberty, given their
circumstances. They were, after all, faced with a tremendous
readjustment. Harsh reality would set in eventually as they tried
to make new lives.

None of them was particularly inclined to
argue the point. It was an unhappy thought; having to leave the
protective womb of the station, and face into surviving on their
own. They’d had skill sets chosen especially for their presumably
now-defunct mission. One could only imagine that they would have to
enter training all over again to make use of any of those skills.
And the mission? They had no end orders.

Antonio argued that the passage of time was
the expiration. There could be no person left who would have charge
of those orders anymore. For once, Jemi took an opposing view and
insisted that they ought to find out for certain. This discussion
took place quietly, excluding Maeve. She had been, once upon a
time, chosen as their leader. This was when it had seemed like a
simple thing to join an elite program. Before any of them had met
Maeve.

It had been touted as a program into which
personnel fought to be accepted. This was the purported next stage
of the space program, by then privatized. It had still been
competitive. Antonio had been civilian, as had Jemila…as well as
some of the others who were now lost. Fergus Wallace, for instance,
and Hiroko Takemura. It had taken them months to realize that there
were more than just a few similarities between all their life
stories, though.

By then, they were too far into the program,
too isolated, too aware of their precarious positions. Even if
they’d tried to run, no one would have believed their stories. Even
now, it seemed unbelievable. They wouldn’t have left Maeve behind.
They couldn’t have taken her either. All that secrecy was pointless
now anyway. They’d have to tell her everything soon, when they
figured out how to. Would she be able to accept any of it? They had
sat on that question for weeks now, while Leif mulled over other
things he needed to tell her. Difficult, thorny things. He was not
looking forward to any of it.