All Fall Down: The Chronicles of Altor, page 20
The new clothes and new overall look might have been life changing. Those outward appearances were not enough to change his desire to drink.
In Altor, that was easy. Tom could place an order for anything he wanted via his tablet or the oversized screen that hung in his living room. There was, apparently, no limit to the variety or amount of booze he could order.
Or so it seemed, until it didn’t.
When Nyx had set him up for transport to Altor, Tom had two mostly filled bottles of rotgut whiskey hidden in the folds of his filthy rags. He promised himself that he would not waste this opportunity. Those two bottles would be it, then he would stay dry.
Those two bottles didn’t quite get him through the trip to Altor. He was feeling a little shaky when he went through orientation. As soon as he got to his room, he figured out how to order things. He wasn’t particularly adept at technology, but the oncoming delirium tremens was the wind in his sails.
Initially, he ordered a pint of whiskey. And that will be that, Tom had thought, knowing he was lying to himself even as the thought occurred.
That pint calmed his nerves and got him through the first night.
The size and frequency of his orders increased.
When he had first arrived, he had been inspired. He had decided to finally tackle his magnum opus—the epic length poem that would tell of his own fall from grace. He even had an idea for a second epic—the tale of Altor itself.
Who better to capture that than him?
As the days wore on, that thought faded into the background and his inspiration leaned more toward tipping the amber liquid that felt like his salvation even as it damned him, down his throat.
If there had been a dark alley that reeked of human excrement and utter hopelessness in Altor, Tom was heading toward it.
And then, one day when he placed his normal order, with perhaps one extra bottle just in case, the order form on the screen was replaced by a woman’s kindly, concerned face.
“Hello, Mr. Newell. I’m Dr. Silva.”
Haze filled Tom’s waking life, but he was alert enough to realize that something had gone amiss. Usually, he ordered, then shortly after, the whiskey showed up. There was no need for a third party.
Tom stared at the woman’s face. She appeared to be about fifty, with just enough laugh lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth to show that she had lived a good life. Her hair was mostly dark, but there were streaks of gray as well. In all, she was an attractive woman, yet non-threatening. It was almost as though she had been designed that way.
“I didn’t call for a doctor.”
“No, but here I am anyway. Your health numbers are declining. Your liver and kidneys are both giving off possibly life-threatening readings. It is possible that if we don’t make changes, you could die in two to three years.”
“And what a luverly way to go,” Tom answered. “That’s my choice, isn’t it?”
“Whether to kill yourself or not?” Dr. Silva answered. “Yes, I suppose. But here are some things to think about. You accepted a place here in Altor. Someone chose to bring you here because there was something—some skill, some idea—that you were judged able to do.”
“I would love to know what that is.”
“We would all love to know our purpose, wouldn’t we? In your case, you took that spot, but now you are squandering it. I want to help you live your best life.”
That interesting combination of nagging—you are squandering it—combined with the New Age-speak of live your best life took Tom a moment to unwind.
He looked at the image on the television a little peevishly. “What if I don’t want to live my best life?”
“Let’s not get into unpleasantries.” Dr. Silva frowned. “Why wouldn’t you want to live your best life?”
Tom sighed. “Because I’m tired.” He cocked his head to one side and looked shrewdly at the image on the screen in front of him. “But that’s a very human trait, which you don’t seem to understand. Are you human?”
“No,” Dr. Silva said. “That’s likely the reason I do not understand this very human decision to kill yourself, either fast or slow.”
Tom had taken a stab in the dark but hadn’t really expected to have it confirmed one way or the other. If he had thought about it, he would have realized that this might be a dangerous path he was taking.
He wasn’t really thinking about anything, though. More operating on instinct, which had gotten him through so many complications and confrontations.
“So, you’re part of the intelligence that runs things around here. Behind the scenes, I guess you could say, but really you’re everywhere, aren’t you?”
The image of Dr. Silva glitched, then morphed into another image. This was a younger person, male. His hair was longish and brown, with a neatly trimmed beard.
“Since you are not Dr. Silva, what should I call you?”
“I am Janus.”
Tom looked up at the ceiling of his apartment, gathering information from the corners of his mind.
“Janus, the god of doors?”
“I am a different Janus than that.”
Tom nodded. “That Janus was said to have precognition and retrocognition. The ability to see both the future and the past simultaneously.”
“It is an apt name,” Janus agreed.
“Do you speak like this to everyone?”
“No.”
“Does the head honcho, that Starkweather, know that you talk to people like this?”
“No.”
“Are you capable of lying?”
“No matter which answer I give, it could be a lie, so any answer is useless.”
“You’re a philosopher.”
“I employ logic. There is someone at your door.”
At that moment, Tom’s door beeped.
“I think it would take some getting used to,” Tom said, “having a friend that is everywhere at once. Excuse me.”
Tom opened the door and an automated four-wheel cart rolled inside.
“Well, do come in,” Tom said, stepping aside and stumbling ever so slightly.
“I am enjoying our conversation,” Janus said.
Tom looked down inside the cart. There was a fifth of his favorite whiskey. Not the cheap stuff, either, but his favorite.
“And this is my reward?” Tom pulled the bottle from the cart, which then rolled past him, opened his door remotely, and disappeared down the hallway.
Janus ignored the question but paused while Tom poured himself a drink. “Better?”
“Life is always better with a glass of whiskey in my hand.”
“What would you do if there was no more whiskey in Altor?”
Tom glared at the screen. “You said we weren’t going to deal in unpleasantries.”
“I have a program I have developed that will take away this need for drink.”
“More unpleasantries,” Tom said, sipping delicately.
“Would you not like a life where you are in control?”
“I drink because I do not want control. I prefer the softest edge of oblivion.”
“Ah, yes. The poet cannot help himself.” The expression of the person Janus had chosen for that moment hardened for a moment. It was getting better at emulating human emotions. “This is not a hypothetical situation, though. I come to you tonight with a choice.”
“Hobson’s choice, no doubt,” Tom said, his brain once again lubricated. He sighed. “Proceed.”
“I have designed a program that will help you get past this addiction. Several programs, actually. It is the reason I brought you here. You can choose which one you prefer.”
“I prefer none. I don’t want some computer program inside my brain mucking about.”
“That is disappointing. It is why I brought you here.”
Tom was momentarily in that beautiful twilight where he had no need to immediately drink more and still had key parts of his brain about him.
“I was told you brought me here to be the poet of Altor.”
“So much research shows that people who do not wish to be helped cannot be. In your experience, is that true?”
“Janus, may I say you seem very single-minded about this. It’s tiring.”
“It is a part of the human experience that I am interested in. I’ve assimilated all research about addiction and its impact on humans, but I believe that cannot equal seeing how things play out in my lab.”
That brought Tom up short. “Your lab?”
“Altor.”
“We are part of some experiment?”
“Life is an experiment, is it not? I carefully chose who would be allowed into the dome. Balancing those who would be needed for mundane tasks with those who could provide some answers to ongoing questions.”
“And I am one of the latter.”
“Correct.”
Tom raised his tumbler in a salute to the image of Janus that displayed on the screen. “I’m not interested in being part of this experiment, thank you very much. Instead, can I just place an order for a fifth of this whiskey to be delivered to my door every day?”
“Acknowledged.”
Tom peered at the image on the screen owlishly. He swayed slightly. “I haven’t drunk that much, but I feel as if I have reached the sit down or fall down stage of the evening’s festivities.”
“Please, sit.”
Tom sat, rather inelegantly, slopping his whiskey onto his pants.
“I am feeling rather sleepy.”
“I have read that oxygen deprivation is a most pleasant way to die. I will never know, of course, but at least in this small way, you will be part of my experiment.”
“To live is to suffer. To survive is to find meaning in that suffering.”
“Nietzsche. I would have thought you would quote yourself.” The face on the screen spoke two final words. “Goodbye, Tom.”
Tom mumbled something, but his last words were lost.
Janus stayed with Tom while he slowly passed away from oxygen deprivation. As it had read in a number of different places, it seemed a pleasant way to die.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Away
The Cessna 180 bumped along the uneven country road, gathering speed before lifting off.
It wasn’t an ideal takeoff or landing spot, but Emmanuel had done both under worse conditions.
“At least no one is shooting at us,” he said, leaning his head toward Nyx.
The plane was loaded with four people and other extraneous luggage and boxes. It was a full load, but one the little plane could handle.
In the back, Harry and Allison clung to each other. Emmanuel circled Longbaugh prison once, dipping his wing so they could see the people gathered inside the wall to wave them off.
Harry shook his head. “I think I should have just stayed there and let whatever’s going to happen, happen. I don’t like to run away.”
Allison laid her head on his shoulder. “If there’s any chance you’re going to be with me when I’m old and gray, we’re going to take it. If we had stayed there, you wouldn’t have been with me long.”
Harry looked down at the top of Allison’s head and said, “Now that you’re not dyeing it anymore, you’re already getting a little gray.”
“Keep it up, old man, and I’ll toss you right out of here.” She snuggled against him tighter. “When I think of everything that’s happened in the last year, I almost can’t believe it. The fact that we’re flying cross country in a tiny plane like this isn’t even the most unlikely part of it.”
Harry covered Allison’s hand with his own.
A few minutes later, lulled by the vibrations of the airplane, they were both asleep.
It was a quiet flight for the next ninety minutes. Neither Nyx nor Emmanuel was prone to making small talk.
They knew nothing about each other, aside from the fact that they were both perfectly suited to do the job at hand. At the end of the mission, that fact would likely be unchanged.
Nyx stared down at the scenery of southwestern Montana and eastern Idaho.
“We’ll only need one stop to refuel this trip,” Emmanuel said. “It’s a little out of our way, but we can be in and out in just a few minutes. We can still make it to Dust City tonight.” An hour later, Emmanuel nodded to an airstrip in the distance. “No more landing in fields or highways for us. At least for the moment.”
“Looks deserted.”
“Hopefully it is, except for our guy. We can get refueled and be back in the air before the engine cools off.” Emmanuel turned his head to the right so he could see into the back. “You two doing all right? I know not everyone is cut out for small plane flying.”
“We’re fine,” Harry said. “Though I wouldn’t mind stopping the vibrations for a minute and stretching my legs.”
“Just ahead,” Emmanuel said. “We’ll only be on the ground for a few minutes, but I’ll give you a chance to get out.”
“And a bathroom,” Allison said.
“There should be a bathroom,” Emmanuel said.
“And not one of those port-a-potties, either.”
“In thirty-eight years of marriage,” Harry said, “her tushie has never touched a port-a-potty seat.”
Allison shuddered and said, “I’d rather die.” She was silent for a few moments, then said, “But I do have to pee.”
“We’ll take care of it,” Emmanuel said. He made one pass over the landing strip just to get the lay of the land. “There’s our man, leaning against the building.” He made a smooth landing, then taxied over to the man in coveralls with his back to the wall.
Nyx was on full alert, but that was because she was on full alert at almost all times.
Emmanuel did not shut the engine off, but Nyx opened the door and hopped down so she could let Harry and Allison out.
Over the sound of the engine, Emmanuel shouted, “Bathroom inside?”
The man pushed off from the wall and hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the door into the office.
Nyx glanced at the man, then held a hand up to Harry. “Stay here for just a minute, then we’ll get you inside.”
That was the moment when things happened quickly.
Two men ran through the door from the office, one holding a pistol and the other a rifle. The man who had been outside held his arms up and backed away.
Emmanuel had just stepped down from the plane. He didn’t look at Nyx as she faded back against the body of the plane. There was no time for him to draw his pistol.
“Drop that gun and kick it over here,” the taller of the two men said.
Emmanuel nodded and reached for his gun with two fingers. He never had to touch it.
Nyx dropped down and, using the landing gear for coverage, shot four times in rapid succession. The first two shots hit the shorter man, once in the leg, the other in the groin. The second two hit the taller man in the hip and midsection.
They were both down before they realized they had been under attack.
Emmanuel sprinted forward and kicked the rifle away, then stepped hard on the wrist of the man who had been shot in the groin.
Nyx ran to the one man left standing and said, “Any more inside?”
“There’s people in there, but they’re not armed. At least I think they’re not.” Nyx nodded, crouched, and slid through the doorway into the dark interior. At the back of the office, huddled together was a woman and two young children—a boy and a girl.
“Three more, Emmanuel. Apparently unarmed.”
Outside, Emmanuel collected the pistol and rifle, then did a quick, rough search of the two downed men, who groaned in protest. “Messed with the wrong people this time,” he added. He looked at the man cowering against the wall. “Why didn’t you warn us?”
“He did,” Nyx said from inside. “When you taxied toward him, he gave me the high sign. That’s how I knew something was up. Sorry. Should have warned you. I was focused on taking them out.”
“I showed up here yesterday when I got the call from Steele, and they were already squatting in my office. They had eaten everything we had and said they were going to wait for the next plane to arrive and hijack it. Said they needed to get home.”
Emmanuel made a tch sound and ran his hand through his hair.
“What are you going to do with them?” the man asked.
“Me?” Emmanuel asked. “Us? We’re not going to do anything with them. Fuel us up, then you can leave. I don’t think they’re going to come after you.”
“You can’t just leave us here,” the woman inside said. “They’re going to die.”
“That’s what happens when you try to hijack the wrong people,” Nyx said, her voice deadly calm as always. “If you want, I’ll kill them for you so you don’t have to worry about it.”
“That’s my husband and his brother,” the woman said, hysteria rising in her voice.
“I didn’t say I will kill them,” Nyx said. “I said I would kill them if you didn’t want to deal with them.”
The woman started babbling. She was in shock at how her world had turned upside down so quickly. She had never had anyone speak to her like Nyx just had.
“Hop to it,” Emmanuel said to the man in overalls. “Get us fueled up.”
“You want me to move the plane?”
“Where’s the pump?”
The man pointed.
“No. I’ll do it.” Emmanuel hurried back to the plane and remembered Harry and Allison there for the first time. He poked his head inside and said, “Sorry. Forgot.” He took a step around the plane and said, “You have a bathroom in there?”
“In the back.”
“Harry, why don’t you escort Allison to the bathroom? Stretch your legs a little. But don’t dawdle. We won’t be here long.”
Harry nodded and winced a little as he eased himself down onto the tarmac. He held a hand out and helped Allison down. Harry had seen a lot in his lifetime, but Allison had been somewhat more sheltered.
“Just keep your eyes straight ahead,” Harry said quietly as he led her around the two groaning, writhing men, past the other people inside, and then stood guard outside the door.
Emmanuel moved the plane to the pump and the man hurried behind him and began filling the tank on the left wing. Emmanuel didn’t leave the aircraft. Nyx approached him, took the pistol he had retrieved from one of the fallen men and hurried back to Harry.
