He Without Sin (31 page)

“James, you are the one that has to turn him in.”

Porter’s expression changes subtly. He swallows before nodding and looking around our small group. “Mark, I’ll take one of those cocktails of yours now.”

This was another hard part of the plan to agree upon. In order to build up the recognition, the notoriety, in order to get the message out and have the largest impact, we need to have the biggest possible confrontation. There are no mass media, there is no electronic communication; hardly—even printing is a long way off for these people.

______

“I met with him outside the city,” Carol says. “He’s a changed man from mission kickoff. It’s something to see. He acts as if he were made for this role.”

“When does he… Hey, Mark, come on in. You don’t look happy.”

Mark sits without speaking. He has aged again, going by his appearance. His laugh lines are prominent, but he is not laughing now. After making sure his thin reddish hair is in place with a sweeping motion of his hand, he says, “I’m getting badgered. Again.” He looks at me and I believe I know what he means. “I’ve just about had it. I’m officially done with field resource work.
All
field work.” He gives himself a shake as if warding off a chill, and says, “Forget about it. Back to where you were when I barged in.”

“Right. Are you sure you don’t need help with anything? We could give you a hand…”

“Nope. We’re wasting valuable happy hour time people, let’s go.”

“Where were we?” I ask Carol.

“When he goes in…”, she reminds me.

“Yes, when is he going in?”

“In?” Mark asks, a confused look on his face.

“Dylan. Into the city.”

“Right.”

“Craig will let us know the actual time. The day is set; it matches the current plan. It’s tomorrow, Jason. There promises to be a lot of people in the city and more coming along with him.”

“So, this is it.”

______

Carol and I prepare ourselves and enter the city. Now, other than Mark, my whole team is there and able to mix in with Dylan and his followers. It’s a relief to me that I have learned the language enough to be comfortable.Creature comforts are another matter and after a day or two I can only wonder how civilization of any kind can survive infection and disease in these primitive conditions without antibiotics and other modern remedies. Not to mention personal hygiene.

“I’m going to do it now,” Porter says to us in the native tongue. With his outfit and makeup, it’s hard for me to tell if he’s nervous or not. He moves off and I lose him in the crowd. There is a bit of commotion moments later. The crowd erupts with shouts and accusations, threats and pleading; the tone smacks first of authority, then defiance and, finally, bitter acceptance. Dylan, I see, in the midst of it all, remains calm, almost radiant.

I hear it first, and then I see part of the crowd turn angry once more. I feel a sharp twinge of panic when I realize that it is poor Porter they have turned against. Damn it— we should have foreseen this! Dylan’s loyal followers would of course not view Porter’s action favorably. I search faces frantically to see if there are any others of my team around while pushing my way forward towards the knot of people harassing Porter. Nobody! It’s clear that it’s only a matter of seconds before he will be in real trouble.

I grab for Porter and reach something, not sure if I have him or not. It is him! Pulling him back and then behind me, I give him one final shove away from the mob and release my grip. At the same time I continue to press forward while indicating as urgently as I can a false direction to fool the angry crowd. This ploy is working. I hear shouts of ‘There he goes!’ echo and support my deception.

I turn and glance behind me in time to see Porter hustle away as discreetly and quickly as he can. That was close!

A hand clamps my shoulder and I look back now to see an unfamiliar face—an unfamiliar face with a familiar grin. It takes only a moment to process the grin and realize it belongs to Craig. He nods, removes his hand and turns to move away without saying anything at all. I am at last able to exhale and relax, knowing now why the misdirection worked so easily.

______

We have done all we can do here for the moment. Carol and I head out of town and decide to stay at least one more night in one of the places that Dylan used in his recent travels. We meet a teammate on the way.

“I thought I might see one of you out here.” Porter, shaken but intact, looks tired. “Have a seat,” he says.

“You did good. Glad you’re all right.”

“I’m ok. I still don’t know how I got out of there.”

“Say ‘thanks’ to Craig the next time you see him. You’re out. Come with us if you’d like. We’re going to stay.”

“No. No thanks.” Porter looks with a blank expression from me to Carol and back. I wonder how clearly he can see us at this distance. “Nope. Really, I’m fine. Say…”

“Yes?”

“They’re really stirred up. I mean, that could have gotten real ugly real fast. Do you think he… I mean, what will they do…?”

“He’ll be fine. It’s all according to plan; it just feels different when you’re in the middle of it as it happens.”

Porter doesn’t say more and we leave him sitting with his forearms on his knees. He’s removed some of his garb so he’ll not be recognized even if someone spots him. He’s done the last part of his job and can return to base camp.

That leaves Craig and Tracy in town to monitor and report developments. We will give it some time before we head back to base.

______

The message comes in from Craig only a day or two after we left town: “Dylan under interrogation and trial.”

Communication is one way for the most part. We can’t expect any of the team to monitor their genies when in town.

From Tracy a little later in the week: “J Hope u know what you are doing. Can’t believe what I saw. He’s taking a beating.”

This from Craig within minutes of Tracy’s message: “OK alert Mark. It’s heating up. Looks bad for the home team.” Then: “Mark standby. Looks like tomorrow.”

We change our plan and decide to stay put until things play out. No thought of returning to base before then. Time seems to slow down and we pass it in silence.

The next day I hear from Tracy first: “Horrible. Going to be sick. What are they thinking??”

Craig, to me but the whole team is copied: “Mark, prepare to come and extract. Will let you know as soon as it is clear. Doc, it’s bad.”

The hours pass. We can only imagine what is happening.

We finally hear the report, planned both as a signal to the people themselves and as a signal to us, and brace for the next message.

“It’s over. It’s the worst case of all we discussed. Mark, get close and come on my signal.” Craig sends coordinates in the next message.

The clock starts now regarding Dylan’s chances to survive.

“Wasn’t pretty. Going to need attention soon. Hurry,” is the next message, this from Tracy.

We start on foot toward town.

“Worst case, he said,” says Carol.

I nod. We keep moving.

Then a series of messages: “Not looking good. Lots of damage. Time passing. Worried.”

We make it to the coordinates Craig sent. Gruesome, barbaric. I am getting sick to my stomach, as Tracy had earlier. Carol is taking it without much expression; she is a rock. I don’t understand how she can walk through here.

At the absolute earliest moment, we call for Mark. Doc came too. He’s not happy, and this time I don’t blame him. He’s not talking except for barking a few orders. Between us and using Mark’s gear we get Dylan stabilized and out. Really gruesome work and not pleasant at all. On top of it all we had to wait an excruciatingly long time so that he could be taken away in secrecy. That was the worst of it for me—the delay.

Doc did what he could on site, but you could tell he
was worried. Two things are against us: elapsed
time and the extent of the injuries. Even taking into
consideration the preventive measures Dylan used
earlier in the day in anticipation of the worst, hope
is hard to come by.

Dylan is back at base camp now and is in the med
center. I have been afraid to inquire. We know this
is not like the cat attack. Worse. There is a real
danger of losing him.

One thing certain, he will not be able to participate
in the next phase. Time is short and I absolutely do
not want to abandon the plan. Which means there
is no getting around it, someone has to go. What to
do?

Tracy is the only one who remains in town. She has
sent in a couple reports. We’ve got her made up to
look quite old now, so she is able to get into places
almost unnoticed.

Part V

Finishing Touch

“The physical injuries are more than I’ve had to deal with in a long time. Ever, in fact,” says Gleshert to the entire assembled members of the mission. “Be that as it may, his biggest problem is with the brain.”

I look at Carol and the rest of the somber faces. I look back at Doc and am jolted because he is staring right at me. Wait, he knew the risk—we all did, especially Dylan.

“The good news, and there’s not much good news at this point, is that physically he can be put back together. Before the ordeal, someone, either Dylan himself, or one of you, administered the protective drugs I gave him. Without them, the elapsed time would have been too much. As it is, I still don’t know how much cognitive function will remain.”

“When will you know?” someone asks tentatively.

“He’s undergoing a restorative procedure. This takes time. As a further complication, I’m transferring him upstairs. Like everything else, the base med center is going away soon, and he’s going up when it’s safe to make that move. That’s it. No more questions.”

______

“It could’ve been worse, you know.”

I give this some thought. “Yes, you are right. There is some hope,” I respond. Carol, Porter, Craig, Mark and I are meeting in my quarters.

“Jason, you’ve got to go in his place.”

“Yes, I suppose I do.” I’d already thought of that and I don’t relish the idea. “I don’t know if I can pull it off though.”

“Snap out of it man, you can do it,” Mark says suddenly, somewhat out of character.

“There is no time, Jason. You’ll look like him enough to pass after we get you in the same outfit and makeup. Didn’t we at one time discuss this as a possible back-up plan?” I nod, and at the same time realize that this is something I have to do. They are right, there is no time left. A couple days have passed, it’s time to go. “You’ve listened to his talks?”

“Yes, all of them. More than once. Caught pieces of a couple in person.”

“Forget about looks, we’ll take care of that. It’s your demeanor that will carry the day. Just repeat his message as best you can. They will pick up from there.” And I know ‘they’ are the contacts and supporters handpicked by Dylan.

______

Preparations are going quickly and we, including Mark this time, take off in the only flyer still available. It takes two trips. I am dropped off first and make my way into town without incident. I need to find that core group of Dylan’s. Unlike Dylan, I am carrying my comms unit and other essentials for this extended stay.

Tracy sent a group message. Mark has made a good show, she says, and the fact that Dylan has ‘disappeared’ is all the talk. The others are helping to make sure it is already spreading like wildfire. Mark has headed back to base; he’s says to give a shout when we need extraction.

When I approach the first of the contacts, I am almost overcome with fear of failure. But I press on knowing that this is nothing compared to what Dylan had to face. I am met first with indifference, funnily enough, then with shock at recognition, then disbelief followed by awed acceptance. It’s amazing to see! I meet the others—same set of reactions! I am still nervous as hell but am struggling, successfully I think, to hide it. I speak as little as possible, but when I do, I use my ‘Dylan voice’ and demeanor such as they are. So far, not a hint of trouble. It’s reassuring to see one or two of the team occasionally milling about incognito in the background.

______

I continue to travel about with one or another of this group and instruct them to spread the messages that Dylan taught. What I wouldn’t give for a decent pair of shoes! I feel I am handicapped by the crowd; they won’t leave me alone. I, as calmly as possible, use their awe as a kind of shield to isolate myself for a few moments alone to think and recharge. “Well done!” “Keep it up!” “I love you!” are the messages on my communicator. That last one is from Carol.

______

I’ve done all I can do out here. I’m tired. It’s time for the last show, as it were. I signal to the team and they coordinate with Mark until we are all clear as to timing and location. I make my few parting remarks and the ‘extraction’ is made to great effect and wonder. Me, I’m hanging on for dear life while trying my best to appear nonchalant! Once I’m up in the runabout, we head back to base.

It’s a great relief to be done with my part among the people. I get positive feedback from the team, but on the inside I’m not so sure. Dylan was the right guy for the job and I am sorry he couldn’t complete it. Other than Mark, the rest stayed out in the field and have split up to make sure things get started on the right foot as planned. Porter has the flyer and is making trips back and forth, but I can tell he’d rather be done out there as well.

______

“I know you told me to take care of him, protect him.”

“You did all you could,” says Doc, but I get the feeling he’s not saying all he’s thinking.

“He knew the dangers; he wanted to do it.”

“It was his decision, he’s a big boy.”

“Look,” I say, “I don’t know how we could have done more. It’s a terrible thing. Really, the delay was the problem, if I understand you correctly. Without the long delay, the outcome would have been better.