D. MacHale - Raven Rise

I led Alder up and out of the crowded subway station, to discover we were in the middle of busy Times Square. Alder finally balked. I guess being bombarded by the lights and sounds of one of the busiest intersections in Halla was a little much for a knight from a primitive village. He stood frozen, staring up at the noisy spectacle. I didn’t push him. The chances of us being seen by the police were slim. The sidewalks were packed with tourists. No way we’d stand out.

At least that’s what I thought, until my eyes settled on the giant video screen that loomed over the crossroads.

“Pendragon, it is you,” Alder said with surprise. He saw it too.

It was a still picture of me that must have been taken from the surveillance cameras at the Sherwood house. It was a grainy blowup of a video freeze-frame, but it was definitely me. As stunning as that was to see, the words superimposed under the picture were even worse. Beneath my admittedly guilty-looking face were the words “ROBERT PENDRAGON — SUSPECTED DOMESTIC TERRORIST.”

It was a news report. A warning. There was no sound, but the words that ran along the bottom of the screen saidit all.”

WANTED IN CONNECTION WITH ATTACK ON RAVINIAN CONCLAVE. EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. IF SIGHTED, DO NOT APPROACH. CONTACT POLICE.”

My picture was replaced by another. Alder’s. Alder gasped. It was also taken from the surveillance footage. Similar words crawled beneath his picture, warning people to contact the police if these two dangerous terrorists were sighted. The feeling was hard to describe. We were standing in the middle of a thousand people, yet I suddenly felt alone. Naked even. It was like one of those dreams where you find yourself out in public in your underwear. Only we were being accused of a lot more than walking around in boxers. I was a fugitive in my own home.

“They are hunting for us,” Alder said in a small voice that was not like him.

“It’s worse than that. It means they’ve gotten to the media. There’s no report about a dozen people disappearing in the Bronx, only about us. The Ravinians’ influence is everywhere.”

“Then we are truly too late,” Alder said, defeated.

The image of Alder on the giant screen was replaced by another. It was the man we had seen on TV that morning in Naymeer’s office. Again there was no sound to the report, only words that crawled across the lower part of the screen. He was identified as: “HAIG GASTIGIAN — NEW YORK UNIVERSITY.”The scrolling

words read: “PROFESSOR CONDEMNS IMMINENT UNITED NATIONS DECISION. CALLS FOR WORLDWIDE PROTEST AGAINST ALEXANDER NAYMEERAND THERAVINIANS.”

“Maybe not,” I said. “That guy’s the leader of the opposition. What’s it called? The ‘Founding’? No, the ‘Foundation.’”

“What about him?”

“He may be the only person with any power who’s left on our side.”

An hour later Alder and I arrived in Washington Square Park at the bottom of Fifth Avenue. We walked the whole way, for fear of being spotted on the subway. The park was the center of New York University, the college where Gastigian was a professor. It was pretty simple to find him. I looked in the white pages of a phone book. Duh. There weren’t a whole lot of Haig Gastigians listed. In fact there was only one, and it was in Greenwich Village, near the university. The address was on Sullivan Street, a quiet, tree-lined street of brownstones. Finding the address was easy. Getting to see Gastigian wasn’t. I knew we had come to the right place when we turned onto Sullivan Street and saw a group of scary-looking guys camped out in front of Gastigian’s address under a streetlight.

“Guards,” Alder said, reading my mind.

“Smart move. It’s not healthy to mess with the Ravinians.”

We saw more men stationed at every street corner, watching for trouble. They were ordinary-looking guys, but not the kind you’d want to mess with. They were big and they were serious. They must have heard what had happened at the Ravinian compound. These guys looked like the type to want revenge.

“Act unintimidating,” I said as we walked toward the building.

“How do I do that?”

“Smile and don’t take a defensive stance.”

“What if they attack us?”

“Let them.”

We had only gone a few steps whenIsensed that we were being followed. I didn’t have to turn around to know there were a couple of big goons shadowing us. I was pretty sure that Gastigian didn’t have high-tech surveillance cameras like Naymeer, but his security was just as effective. Before we could step up to Gastigian’s door, a ring of thugs closed around us.

“Remember,” I whispered. “Unintimidating.” Alder put on a totally false smile that looked more creepy than friendly.

“Lose the smile,” I said quickly. “Just don’t hit anybody.”

“CanIhelp you fellas?” said one of the larger characters, who stood between us and the door.

“We’d like to see Professor Gastigian,” I said in my most polite voice.

Two other thugs joined the first. They exchanged looks. It was pretty clear that they had no intention of letting us see him.

“Really?” the first guy said sarcastically. “What for?”

“We have information about the Ravinians he’ll want to hear” was my honest answer.

The thugs exchanged looks again. They didn’t look like rocket scientists. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

“Tell you what,” the guy said while pressing closer. He had to be six inches taller than I was, which made him even taller than Alder. I stood my ground and hoped that Alder wouldn’t pop him. “Make an appointment. The professor’s a busy guy.”

“I’m Bobby Pendragon,” I blurted out.

The guards looked at me blankly.

I took a breath and added, “We’re the ones who attacked the Ravinian conclave tonight.”

The big guy raised his eyebrows in surprise. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instead we heard a man’s voice coming through the security speaker in the door. “Send them up.”

Apparently Professor Gastigian had electronic eyes and ears after all.

Professor Haig Gastigian lived in a simple, neat apartment that had a cool view of Washington Square Park. It was exactly the kind of place I expected a professor of philosophy to live. It was small and full of books. Alder and I had to move several volumes off the couch so we could sit.

Gastigian entered the living room carrying a tray with a teapot and three cups. He treated us like welcome guests. The guard who sat at the door, though, let us know we weren’t completely accepted. Gastigian looked to be in his sixties, with dark skin and a head full of pure white hair that he combed straight back. He wore big, square glasses right out of the seventies that made his eyes look twice their size. He wore a buttoned-up sweater, a blue bow tie, and walked with a kind of stoop and shuffle. If I were making a movie and had to cast a guy to play a philosophy professor, Gastigian would get the nod.

“Is it true what they say?” he began. “Are you terrorists?”

“Depends on your definition,” I answered. “Are we trying to spread terror? No. Are we trying to stop the Ravinians?

Absolutely. So to them we’re terrorists. I guess that makes you a terrorist too.”

Gastigian gave me a sly smile. “Call me Haig,” he said. I think he liked me. That was good. People who liked me were in short supply lately. He poured us tea. I was never much of a tea guy, but I was starving. Alder was too. We didn’t waste any time in downing our cups and polishing off the stale cookies he put out.

Haig took his own cup and sat back in his easy chair, totally relaxed. “It never ceases to amaze me how gullible people can be. The promises that Naymeer feeds the world on a daily basis are shameless. He tells people what they want to hear, like a politician running for office. It would all be laughably harmless if people weren’t actually listening, and if his ideology didn’t involve the persecution of so many. Those are the people I speak for. The people who will be left out of his grand scheme. There are plenty of us, I’ll tell you that. We aren’t going to sit still and let this fascist consume us.” He took a sip of tea and continued, “So tell me, gentlemen, how is it that you found yourselves giving Naymeer a run for his money, hmmm? I must say, I’ve never had terrorists to tea before.”