Full Vessels (13 page)

Jerome flinched. “Well, if it's any
consolation, you only have to endure my presence one more day.”

He sat cross-legged on his hotel bed and
watched the eleven on his computer screen. Their party had become
boisterous enough to warrant an eviction from the hotelier. In
response, Erik had corralled Griff, Drake, and Ingrid to one side,
where they were plotting who knew what brutality. When they broke
apart to enact their plan, Elza informed the room that she had
purchased the official's goodwill. Across the room from her, Hess
surreptitiously slid a knife from the serving line up his sleeve.
The two of them made eye contact for a brief moment. They were
protecting the people again.

He smiled. This was the first time he had
ever been in the same building as his comrades. Their first full
gathering was the last place he should be, but that hadn't been
sufficient motivation to keep him away. He was one of them, whether
or not they knew he existed.

San handed a drink to Elza, the latest
abomination she had concocted from the stores of the well-stocked
liquor cabinet. As always, Elza tried it. Like everyone else who
had braved San's failed experiments that night, she spewed it out
of her mouth in a spray of mist. Having watched the entire evening
from hidden cameras, he knew that the secret ingredient of every
drink that night had been detergent from the cleaning closet.

Natalia drifted in and out of random
conversations, more interested in kissing the snout of the dog she
carried in her purse than anything happening around her. She left
soon without telling anyone.

Greg and Mel sat together in a corner,
politely alternating whose turn it was to pontificate on subjects
the other feigned interest in. The microphones had long since
ceased reporting intelligible speech due to the rising sound level,
but earlier they had lectured on the semi-satirical movement and
the cumulative impact of tariffs on the world economy.

Drake approached Kerzon to show yet another
person his state-of-the-art SlickSlate tablet computer. Drake had
given each of the Observers an identical demonstration, one at a
time, repeating word for word the same fan-boy pitch.

A drunken Kerzon made a pass at Hess, either
forgetting that Hess was strictly heterosexual or having fun with
the fact. Mel disappeared with Ingrid. San walked out with Kerzon
even as her eyes lingered on Elza. Greg left by himself.

Everyone trickled away until only Hess and
Elza remained. Half a room apart, they smiled at the same moment,
their eyes meeting half a second later. Seconds later, the banquet
hall stood empty.

He watched the space from his computer,
remembering the second-hand sights. San and Ingrid spontaneously
break-dancing. Erik sawing through chair legs so that Griff crashed
to the floor when he sat after returning from the restroom. Ingrid
spinning some epic tale while standing on a table. Kerzon leaving a
trail of laughter behind unheard punchlines. It appeared to have
been a good party, no matter the awkward moments or the times
violence threatened. And now it was over.

The others had not opted to book rooms in the
hotel. He didn't think it wise to remain there himself. The threat
of discovery loomed over the entire city. If there was a lesson to
be gleaned from the lives of the other Observers, it was that they
recognized one another on first meetings with all the ease of
lifelong friends. For all their differences, the similarities of
origin and purpose were greater still.

He packed the electronics into his bag and
departed his room. As the main entrance neared, he slowed, then
stopped. The banquet hall's doors stood a stone's throw away. With
quiet steps, he approached.

The room stood empty. He studied it for a
time, imagining himself there. The cup San had offered to Elza
still sat at the center of the space. He drifting inside, lifted
the half-full cup, and took a sip. Then spit with all the speed of
an autonomic reaction. The substance burned with malicious
astringency. He looked down at the liquid and almost-smiled.

On his way back out, he noticed a figure
standing in the shadows and his heart began to race. Hess had
spotted him. Feigning ignorance of his surveillance, he slunk
towards the hotel's exit, digging into one nostril with a pinky as
if oblivious.

No one followed him once he was outside. His
feet felt light as they navigated him towards the train
station.

He approached Elza as the others left the
room. “So I need saltpeter?”

“And sugar.” She went to the cupboard to get
paper and pencil. “Two parts oxidizer to one part fuel. Mix it
together in water. Bring the solution to a boil. Once it becomes a
thick paste, remove it from the heat and shape the material into
lumps the size of a finger.”

He cleared his throat. “Which is the
oxidizer? The sugar?”

“The
saltpeter
, Hess. It's potassium
nitrate – nitrate means one nitrogen to three oxygen. You're making
rocket fuel, so be careful. Make it in small batches. Don't let the
mixture overheat. And when you feed them into the furnace, do it
only a few at a time.”

Erik sidled up to them. “Rocket fuel, eh? I
have some experience with oxyhydrogen gas. Burns nice and hot, but
you gotta be extra-extra-
extra
-careful about
explosions.”

“As I was saying, Hess, be careful. This is a
solid fuel, so there will be an explosion hazard if too much
ignites at once in an enclosed space. You'll have to watch the
steam engine, too. Bring it fully up to temperature using coal. Too
hot too fast –”

“And the boiler explodes. I'm familiar with
the process.”

Elza pushed the hand-written instructions at
him. “I know you are. Just be safe.”

They stood silent for another moment before
separating. As he walked out the door, Erik nudged him. “So are we
done stealing corn?”

“I'm not sure how much rocket fuel we can
make. Why don't you do a load of maize? I'll get a few bags of bulk
sugar and figure out how we're going to get inside the
refinery.”

After Erik departed with the horses, Hess
climbed the general store's fence once more. He searched the
warehouse for half an hour before determining consumables weren't
kept there. Then, he used two nails from the warehouse to pick the
rear door of the store. The lock sprung open with hardly any
effort, a combination of its poor craftsmanship and the fact that
it only had two pins.

With abundant care, Hess eased the door open
and slipped inside, closing up behind himself. He stood among
shelving on the clerk's side of the counter. The clerk, a
middle-aged woman, sat oblivious on a tall stool, penning
something. Judging by the pile of paper, she wrote something
consequential; a memoir or novel or perhaps even a treatise on a
subject dear to her heart.

Hess ghosted along the shelving until he
located the sugar. There were several sizes, ranging from one pound
bags to fifty pound sacks. He tested the floor boards for give
along his path, making a mental map of where not to step. Then he
shifted the largest sack onto his shoulder and waltzed around
potentially squeaky boards on his way to the door.

Checking that the clerk sat undisturbed, he
opened the door, exited, and placed the sugar near the fence. Then
he returned three more times to repeat the maneuver. After the
final trip, he staged the sacks of sugar on a corner of the roof
before climbing over the fence. He carried the sacks two at a time
away from the store to stash them behind a rock.

Satisfied with himself, Hess moved on to
study the saltpeter refinery. The complex of buildings sat in the
center of town, patrolled by a guard enamored of catcalling women
through gaps in the sturdy gate. His lewd comments drew a variety
of responses. Some women ignored him, others called back insults, a
few laughed at the attention, one even bent over to shake her rear
in his direction – an action the guard very much appreciated.

Hess scouted the entire perimeter of the
refinery, but the only place it didn't abut another adjacent
property was along the street where a guard currently manned the
gate to the yard. He identified his ideal route of bypassing the
fence, which involved climbing the lintels along the main
building's front to descend from the roof into the open yard, as
well as a backup route, which would be to lasso a crenelation atop
the fence and use heavy gloves to pass over the barbed wire.

Retracing his steps, Hess waited for Erik
along the main street. Together, they loaded the sugar and rode to
their staging area. Hess put aside a large skillet and made sure
the wood stove was stocked and ready to light. Then they planned
for their trip into the refinery that night.

Two guards sat on rickety stools by the gate,
rolling cigarettes and complaining about their domestic lives loud
enough for the echoes to reach Hess and Erik. Isolated phrases like
“won't cook anymore”, “alcoholic”, and “man on the side” reached
their ears, lacking the context they didn't need.

Erik leaned close. “Sure you don't want some
stabby?”

Hess shook his head. Riding the edges of
shadows, he reached the far side of the refinery's main building.
Hess gauged the distance to the first window ledge, crouched with
hands extended down to each side, and launched himself straight up.
His palms smacked down on the lintel, fingers clenched and
held.

He shimmied to one side, legs swinging like
pendulums; pressed his weight onto toes and knees to stabilize his
position; reached one hand to grasp the corner of the building,
which he seized between his thumb on one side and the strength of
his combined fingers on the other. The rough surface of the brick
stung beneath his solid grip.

Hess worked his hand up the corner,
re-positioned his toes to take advantage of the different angle,
then pivoted the hand on the lintel to face palm down. Then he
worked himself as high on the corner as possible while pushing
himself up with the other hand. When he was as high as he could go
in that position, he paused to gather courage.

Two quick breaths.

He pulled against his grip on the corner,
pushed down with the other hand, and moved a foot onto the lintel.
Continuing the dynamic movement before he could fall, Hess extended
the planted leg to press himself up. His weight thrown off, he
started to swing off the wall as if his hand on the corner were a
hinge.

At the last moment, his hand from the lintel
seized the side of the window casing, grasping with frantic
strength. His momentum slowed, slowed, and stopped. Releasing an
unsteady breath, Hess worked his other foot over so both were on
the lintel.

Hess looked down and mouthed
only two
windows to go
.

Erik mimed smacking his head.

At least I have friends who believe in me.
Oh, crap, did I just think of Erik as a friend? That's a problem
for later. I can't stay on the side of this building for long.

The distance between windows was less than
the distance from the ground to the first one, so Hess was able to
grab the next lintel by hopping instead of leaping. Using the same
method, he worked his hands up, placed a foot, nearly fell, and
caught himself.

He had to rest his hands a moment, so he
wedged his head into the top of the window casing until the rough
facing of the brick cut into the skin of his forehead. Using the
tension of his spine, anchored by his feet and his head, Hess
maintained his position while he shook out his cramped and bleeding
hands.

After weighing the need for speed against his
desire to heal his hands before continuing, Hess decided he
couldn't afford five minutes. So he continued with only a two
minutes break. His method barely got him onto the third lintel.

Breath ragged, Hess paused for another break.
Now not only his hands were shaking, but his legs as well. His
breaks might be good for his grip strength, but they were hell on
his calves. Not good. Someone inexperienced might think of climbing
in terms of upper body strength, but a skilled climber knew legs
were every bit as critical as arms.

Before the shaking became too bad, Hess
resumed his climb.

He reached one hand up and over the lip of
the roof to feel at the slate shingles. The pitch was shallow, so
he placed both hands on the lip. Then he hopped, pulled with both
arms, swung his legs to one side, hooked a heel over the edge, and
curled his leg to bring his lower body up. He harnessed his upward
momentum to roll over onto his back, laying on the edge of the
sloping roof.

Hess gave himself several minutes to relax.
Sitting up, he nearly fell off the roof and had to use his core
muscles to redistribute his weight. At a snail's pace, he inched
further up the slope of the slate tiles before transitioning to his
side, then this knees, and finally onto his feet.

He waved in case Erik was watching, then
padded across the roof to look down on the guards. They had moved
on from discussing wives. The current topic of conversation was the
prospect of better work on the mainland. Apparently, besides
nitrate-rich soil and abundant sea life, the island had little to
offer ambitious young men.

Hess moved past the guards, down the gated
receiving yard to where the main building abutted a shorter one. He
climbed down to the other roof, went to its edge, took a knee with
his rear end and feet hanging out over empty air, and dropped to
dangle by his hands. He fell to the loading dock two body lengths
below, rolling as he hit. It left him winded and sore but
uninjured.