Anna Jarzab - Tandem

“I said don’t touch her!” Thomas snapped as Fillmore bent toward Sasha once more. “You were supposed to bring the moto around. Is it close?”

Fillmore pointed. “Just up there, over the hill. What’s wrong with your hand?”

Thomas realized he was cradling the bruised appendage. He shrugged. “Nothing, it’s fine. Go start the moto. I’ll bring her.”

Fillmore, apparently sensing, finally, that Thomas was in no mood for games, nodded and, for once in his life, followed orders. He scrambled up over the grassy knoll and was gone.

Thomas lifted Sasha up into his arms, taking care to avoid putting any pressure on his left hand. Other than loss of consciousness, she seemed to have suffered no ill effects from going through the tandem. Her vitals were normal, and she’d sustained no visible injuries. Everything was as expected, which was a relief. He was used to taking chances with his own life, but risking someone else’s was another matter altogether. Besides, if something happened to Sasha, it would likely mean the end of his career.

When they got her back to the safe house he would give her a sedative in the hopes that she would sleep through the majority of the tandem sickness. A first crossing could be uncomfortable, to say the least. It got a little easier every time, so it wouldn’t be quite as bad when she returned home; he had done over a dozen trips through the tandem and now it didn’t even affect him. Still, she would be better off if she got some rest.

This did pose a problem, though. It would be much easier to transport Sasha to Columbia City in the middle of the night, but he couldn’t move her now. Thomas hated the Tattered City, and spending time in Sasha’s Chicago had only made him hate it more. The Tattered City was a shadow of its Earth counterpart, with less open sky and green space, more deserted high-rises and garbage. Once it had been a major metropolis, a cultural mecca and an important financial center, but that had been eroded away by the revolutionary assault of Libertas. They’d all but seized the city; you couldn’t go anywhere without having to dodge Libertas “security,” commandos dressed in black who carried unlicensed military rifles and prowled the streets like panthers. The local police were useless, because Libertas controlled them from within, and KES agents like Thomas weren’t exactly welcome, although the city still technically fell within their jurisdiction; everything in the Commonwealth was under KES jurisdiction.

But as much as the idea of getting into it with Libertas appealed to him, that wasn’t why Thomas was in the Tattered City. No one save Fillmore could know that he was there, not even the undercover KES agents on assignment in the area, and especially not Libertas; if they caught the faintest whiff of the General’s plan, they would certainly attempt to intervene, and he and Fillmore—and, worse, Sasha—could die as a result. Once he managed to get Sasha past the boundaries and on her way to Columbia City, everything would be much easier, but the next twelve hours would be tricky. He had to make sure nobody saw her. That was the most important thing.

“I want to speak to the Monad,” she insisted. She’d lost count of the times she’d made this demand, but this was the first time she was making it of him. She hadn’t seen him since the night he brought her to the Libertas bunker, but he had appeared today, sudden as a summer storm, without warning or explanation. “You promised.”

“The Monad is a busy man,” he told her. “He’ll see you when he’s ready, Juli.”

“Don’t call me that,” she snapped. “You’ll address me as Your Highness, or Princess Juliana. Nothing else.”

“The truth is, Juli,” he said. “The Monad isn’t sure you have anything to tell us.”

“Of course I do. I wouldn’t have agreed to this if I didn’t. And anyway,” she continued, trying to keep her voice steady, though she was visibly shaking, “I’m not the one with something to prove. You told me that if I gave the Monad all the information I had about the General’s plans, they’d help me get away for good. But all they’ve done is lock me up in this room. They won’t let me talk to anyone.”

“You’re talking to me,” he pointed out.

“Not by choice.”

“These things take time,” he told her. “You have to be patient. This isn’t a game.”

“Well, how much more time is it going to take?” she asked. Her voice quaked with desperation, and she hated herself for it. She didn’t want him to know that she was afraid. And she couldn’t help wondering what was happening outside these walls, what black fate was befalling her country in her absence. What would they do without their princess? But perhaps they were better off without her. She’d never been a very good princess anyway.

“Soon,” he said, his voice eerily soft, like he was trying to calm a frightened child. But all he’d succeeded in doing was agitating her further. “Soon. I promise.”

In the beginning, all I knew was darkness. Darkness, and silence. There was no pain, and then, in an instant, I felt it, a deep, dull ache in every muscle and bone and joint. I couldn’t move, but if it was due to the pain or something else entirely I didn’t know. Panic coursed through my veins, but I couldn’t even open my eyes, and I feared beyond all reason that I was dead. But the dead don’t hurt, do they?

Gradually, I started to hear things. Just muffled voices at first, as if I was listening through a door, but the voices started getting clearer and I could make out words. “Is she dead?” someone asked. Clearly I wasn’t the only one wondering.

“She’s not dead,” Grant said. “Do you think we would’ve brought her all this way if we thought it would kill her?”

At first I was so happy to hear his voice—low, strong, familiar—that his words didn’t even register. Grant’s here, I thought with relief. I’m safe . But then what he’d said sank in, and questions started to form in my mind, wriggling through layers of semiconsciousness like worms. Who was he talking to? What had happened? Where was I? What did he mean by saying that “we” had brought me here? Who were “we”?

Who—what—where—why—frantic questions, bewildered questions, clanking together like glass bottles, slamming into each other like bumper cars, tangling like Christmas lights in my frozen, frightened mind. Grant, I thought, willing my lips to form his name, but they wouldn’t, they couldn’t.

Help me.

Grant spoke again. “It was her first time through the tandem. It knocks the hell out of you. We just have to keep her comfortable and warm until she comes around.”

Feeling was starting to return to my limbs. I tried to move, but I only managed to wiggle a finger, and even then just an inch. I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do anything. A frustrated scream ripped through my head, but there was no forcing it out of my throat. The fear was so potent I could taste it, a dark, metallic tang on the back of my tongue.

“Your timing couldn’t be worse,” said someone other than Grant. It was a man, and something about his voice—scratchy and deep—told me he was older than Grant by years, possibly decades. “The Libertas rally is starting soon and the streets will be crawling with patrols. If they see her you can bet they won’t rest until they have you both in custody.”

“I know that,” Grant said. He didn’t even sound like the Grant I knew. It was him all right, but his tone was different, somehow. Harder. Sharper. It wasn’t the voice of the boy who’d looked out at Lake Michigan and said, Sometimes I forget how big everything is. But it was his voice, all the same.