Патрик Томлинсон: Children of the Divide

Devorah pointed the tip of her naked blade at one of the tallest Atlantians at the front of the column, who looked suspiciously like the one Theresa had to tase to keep zer from turning Benson into reddish pudding. “You, Hul’gik. I remember you from our summer program six years ago. You always had some smart comment for me. How about it?” Hul’gik was a full meter taller than Devorah, but under her sudden withering glare, ze seemed to shrink down to half zer size. “No? How about you, Jimale?” She pointed at another face she recognized a few rows back. “You were one of my fall interns two years ago. Did I cheat you out of lunch breaks or something?”

“Elder, I, um…” Jimale answered weakly.

“Nobody? You mean I got all dressed up for nothing? I had to have this armor fitted. Look, I’ve got another archeological expedition with G’tel to organize. So if you’re not going to have a proper riot, stop embarrassing yourselves and go the hell home!”

Cowed and humiliated, the crowd mulled about and shuffled their feet, but it was obvious Devorah’s chastisement had broken the spell of their bloodlust. Benson shook his head in disbelief.

As the back layers of the crowd began to peel away like an onion, Devorah turned around and walked back up the stairs, but paused on the third step. “And you’re all coming back here in the morning to help clean up the mess you left on my lawn!”

No one objected. No one said much of anything. Devorah turned around and started back up the steps again.

Benson jogged over and knelt down to hug the old woman. “Devorah, that was amazing. You really pulled us out of the fire with that bluff.”

“What? Them? They’re good kids, they just need a firm hand sometimes. Here, hold this.” Devorah handed the katana over to Benson. “It’s getting heavy and I need a damn nap.” The gathered officers watched as she returned to the Museum and the doors creaked shut behind her.

Benson just chuckled. “Crazy old bat. I’d hate to play her in poker.” He ran a thumb over the edge of the curved blade, and immediately regretted it.

“Ow!” Benson yelped as blood surged out from the slice on his thumb pad.

“What?” Theresa said.

“I cut myself on this damned sword.”

“Why the hell did you touch the edge?”

“I thought it was a prop!”

“That’s the Honjo Masamune katana. You really think Devorah would tolerate a prop in her collection?”

A chill gripped Benson’s heart as he regarded the still impossibly sharp weapon. “She wasn’t bluffing.”

“No.” Theresa said.

“She was really ready to fight them all by herself.”

“Yeah, if it came to that.”

“… She’s nuts.”

“Duh, we all knew that, Bryan.”

Benson pinched his thumb against his forefinger to stop the bleeding and held the katana away from himself at a more respectful distance. “Then why’d she give it to me?”

“Probably because she knew you’d hurt yourself,” Korolev added.

Benson was about to respond when a plant connection request popped up in his field of vision. A ‘weak signal’ alert hovered next to the tag for–

“Jian Feng?” Benson said aloud.

“What was that, dear?” Theresa asked.

“I’m getting a call request from Jian Feng.”

“That little idiot? His stunt is what caused all this!”

“Yes, I remember,” Benson said.

“What could he possibly want?”

Benson shrugged. “One way to find out.” He accepted the call. The image was grainy, about as compressed and low-def as he’d ever seen. The feed dragged and halted frequently, and was occasionally overwhelmed with static.

Benson said after several seconds.

Jian said three and a half seconds later, and Benson understood why the feed was so weak. The time delay imposed by lightspeed put Jian at more than four hundred thousand kilometers away.

Three and a half seconds later.

Another feed broke in from Captain Chao Feng. He hadn’t bothered with a connection request.

Chao demanded.

Jian’s face blanched.

Benson said.

Chao demanded.

conspiring , I’m trying to tell Mr. Benson something important that I just discovered down here that he needs to>

tried more than enough. Shambhala’s burning right now because of your little broadcast, Jian. Millions of dollars of damage, tens of thousands of man hours! Not to mention you blew up a nuke! >

you were trying to do in secret, dad. That’s on your head,> Jian bit back.

Benson said.

Chao ignored him.

Benson snapped. Both Chao and Jian paused, as if they’d forgotten he was there. inside my goddamn head . So, if there’s nothing else–>

Jian interrupted.

Some… thing crawled up Jian’s arm and glared back at the camera with a triangle of green glowing eyes. It looked like something pulled up in a dredge net from the coldest depth of the blackest ocean.

móguǐ . But we’re losing the thread,> Chao Feng said.

Jian rolled his eyes clear back to the base of his skull.

Benson pleaded.

Chao’s face contorted, his expressions of consternation and sympathy exaggerated by the microgravity.

Chao sighed and rubbed at the furrows in his forehead.

Benson said.

Jian said, the “sir” tacked on as a sign of both respect and contrition.

Chao said.

Benson asked.

Jian squared himself up in his seat.

It wasn’t much, Benson had to admit, but it was something, and it was something he could move on immediately.

Benson said coolly, trying to keep the sharp edge of vengeance out of his voice.

Jian uploaded his best guess numbers and whatever other intel he’d gathered about the area. The moment Benson finished saving the file, Jian’s screen went dark, replaced by a “Loss of Signal” alert.

Chao said.

Chao dropped the call, leaving Benson alone in his own head once more. A heartbeat later, he snapped out of it and returned to the world around him and the interrogative glare of his wife.

“Well?” Theresa demanded.

“Chao’s boy has a lead on the terrorist’s camp. We’re going there.”

“Now?”

“Now,” Benson said, then turned back to scan through the sea of former rioters as they tried to get out of each other’s way and return to their homes in the Native Quarter. “Hey!” Benson shouted at the familiar-looking brute. “Hey, you, Hul’gik isn’t it?”

“What do you want, ruleman?”

“You still feel like picking a fight?”

Theresa grabbed his arm. “Bryan, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Networking.”

The enormous Atlantian rumbled to a stop at Benson’s feet, zer toes almost touching his. Benson had to crane his head up almost as far back as it would go just to stop seeing chest.

“Yes, I still want to fight,” ze grumbled.

“Excellent. Follow me. We’re going on a field trip.”

Thirty-One

For the second time in as many weeks, Benexx had been caught in an explosion. Granted, ze’d detonated the second one, but it still had to be well outside the typical rate of incident for an average person.

Even more improbable, ze was still alive to consider the absurdity of the situation.