The Refugee Sentinel (15 page)

“Mom?” Yana’s voice hung in disbelief. “You want to go to Seattle? After what he did to us?”

“What I said about him…” Sarah paused, her hand on her forehead. “Some of it I said when I was emotional, and –”

“But you said he almost killed me,” Yana couldn’t believe her Mom had allowed the rebellion to last this long. “And that he could never redeem himself.” Each time they argued, Sarah would lecture with stern and complicated words Yana didn’t always understand. And that would settle it. But tonight Sarah shrunk back further, as if her daughter’s argument was pushing her out of the room. Yana knew her Mom was hiding something. Like she hid Defiance Day. And Yana was pretending not to notice. But she did notice, because everyone at school talked about how you would die unless your Mom and Dad took your spot and died instead of you. Yana also knew, though she wasn’t supposed to, that her Mom was one of the special people prohibited to Sacrifice herself. It didn’t matter, because she knew Mom would find a way to save her, in the end.

“He did almost kill you.” Sarah’s voice started slow then grew in size. “That’s why I divorced him. But he used to be a better man, once. And he was my college sweetheart.” Yana knew her parents’ college story by heart, but didn’t interrupt. She liked hearing about the time when Mom was young, before Yana was born and before Mom’s work became more important than anything else in the world. “His love made me believe the world wouldn’t end, even if I failed to perform a scientific miracle. But then he developed a gambling addiction. And allowed gambling to take over our lives, including you and I.” Sarah pulled a graying strand of hair away from her face. “But now, he’s trying to turn the page. Why don’t you spend an hour with him in Seattle and show him what a great daughter he’s missed out on. Haven’t you wondered what he’s like?” She crossed her arms like a protective barrier. “Look… you have the right to be upset, but seeing him is important to me, too. You and I could go to Seattle together. It’s less cold there than DC this time of year.” She nodded, maybe expecting Yana to follow. “You’ll have fun, OK?”

Yana tried to smile. “OK, Mom,” she said. “Let’s go to Seattle, if you want. But, we’re seeing Dad because you’re asking me, not because he is.”

Sarah hugged her daughter with arms smelling of lab cultures and Yana wished she could fast forward time, until Defiance Day were finished and done with already.

This time he hadn’t come for the hair. Li-Mei saw it in his lifeless grin, like a notary stamp on a license to do to her the unspeakable. Today, to break her would be to spare her. The Purple Servant had come to annihilate what was decent in her, as homage to something she didn’t quite understand. Maybe that’s why they had brought her to Jenli. Six years to prepare for this... and turn her into a monument to humanity’s sins. Li-Mei’s past no longer mattered, her future was irrelevant, even death had gone into hiding. The Purple Servant was the only one here. Other than Taxi, of course.

“Do you remember me?” the Purple Servant said.

“I don’t, because you are forgettable.”

“Cherish this moment, for you will never be the same after.”

Li-Mei knew she had to be strong but around her the air was like a hot and sludgy soup. She was sweating and guessed it was what fear felt like. Her eyes asked him for mercy, then for an explanation. He gave none and she understood she'd remain eight forever. Then Taxi bumped a wet nose against her left calf, the one that the river had broken. The Shiba hadn’t checked out like the rest of Jenli. He was with her and his muzzle shook with a guttural growl. If her dog could growl at this man, why couldn’t she?

The Purple Servant shifted weight from one foot to the other. She knelt and tickled Taxi’s ear. His growl deepened. He walked from behind her and bared his teeth. Li-Mei laughed.

The Purple Servant responded by unsheathing the kinjal from their last encounter. The blade reflected the setting sun in a golden stripe across her face. He ran a thick tongue over his lips and thrust hips back and forth, then screamed, draining all air from his lungs.

Li-Mei took the screams in, standing straight. She wouldn’t repeat the mistakes of their last faceoff; she would be the aggressor this time. The girl ran toward the Purple Servant, Taxi in tow. A step away from the man, she jumped with both feet, above his head. He turned around before she could land behind him. His hand, clutching the hungry kinjal, flew forward, aiming for her limbs. He smiled with the anticipation of the blade sinking in her thigh, just above the knee. Then canine teeth shredded the back of his neck.

The Purple Servant spun around but the teeth remained locked in his nape. He let the girl land on her feet and directed his attention to the dog. Blood poured over his shoulder from the wound. He swiped at the air behind his neck and on the second try, snatched the dog’s tail then pushed the animal closer. Behind the two, Li-Mei jumped on the Servant’s ankle with both feet. It snapped with a muffled pop. The man screamed in pain then sunk the kinjal into Taxi’s body. She couldn’t see where the knife had hit but that didn’t seem to matter. He held the dog in place as an offering, twisting the blade then taking it out and hitting again, this time in a different spot. Taxi’s teeth unclenched and the Shiba fell to the ground. The Purple Servant roared, turning to sink a third and final blow, but after a step, fell to his knees, as the broken ankle collapsed under his weight.

“How do you like my dog now?” Li-Mei shouted. “His name is Taxi in case you forgot.” She stomped her foot on the ground, as if that settled it.

The Servant hit his forehead with a fist to refocus. With stuttered bounces, he rose up on his good leg, torn ankle dangling at one side and the purple birthmark glowing against the rest of his lilac-white face. He wiped the kinjal on his sleeve then knelt down again, all the way, until it looked like he was sitting on the ground. Then the leg uncoiled and the man flipped on his arms, two points of support instead of one, in a cartwheel. He rotated into a full-blown somersault that smashed into the girl, his thighs hitting her chest and clamping her body like an iron vise. His fists tore into her face. Left, right then left again; he kept hitting until she couldn’t feel his knuckles on her skin.

The Purple Servant raised the kinjal above his head and plunged it into Li-Mei’s right thigh. Her flesh swallowed the steel to the hilt but she didn’t move. Another hit, in her left leg. This time she whimpered, the pain ungluing her from the unconsciousness. The Servant limped around his prey; with two gashed legs, she wasn’t going anywhere. He took in her every cut and bloodied bruise. She was the prize and the encouragement. And she was broken.

He sat on her chest and under his knee, twisted her left arm until it broke with a soggy snap, followed by Li-Mei’s gargled screams. He took her right arm next, twisted and broke it. He turned her head to one side then grabbed her right ear and rested the kinjal’s blade at the part she would have pierced one day, as a teenager, with an earring. With a sharp tug, he cut her ear clean and threw it at the whimpering dog, injured but still alive. “Have a snack,” he said, “you’ll need the protein to recover.”

Li-Mei widened her eyes as blood trickled out of her skull in spurts. The Purple Servant swayed like a drunk, dragged his broken ankle to a nearby bell and rung it to summon medical help. The sun was setting above the single-floor Jenli rooftops.

Avery sat at his desk in room 1327 and held a crumpled paper between his thumb and index finger. His head was glistening bald. Ink stains spotted his military shirt and half a dozen scuffs dented his collar. His bloodshot gaze, buried behind glasses that sat too low on his nose, darted between Sarah and the paper. He took off his glasses.

“Should I shred this request or are you going to, Sarah?” Avery leaned back and covered his face with both palms, thumbs massaging his temples in opposite circles. “A two-day vacation is out of the question. Anything else?”

“I do insist you reconsider.”

“The Atlas synthesis can’t afford an hour of downtime while we’re staging billions of mutation clusters.” The palms over the face distorted Avery’s voice into a mutter.

“But even if I were to derive the correct sequence, at once,” Sarah’s fingers snapped to illustrate her words, “I’d still need to test the formula in the field, unless we figured out how to bring the ocean to DC. It could happen if the damn waters don’t stop rising, but what I’m saying is, we’ll need to perform full-scale oceanic tests in one of our coastal labs soon.”

The man shook his head without looking up, either too exhausted or too annoyed to speak. “You’re skipping way ahead. The Atlas sequence is not ready and I can’t afford the downtime of you not being here. Field tests mean squat if the sequence continues to fail. Get it working first and frolic anywhere the hell you want.”

“We can do both scientific and field work in Seattle, Avery. You know that. Our oceanic facilities there are the best we’ve got. The hydraulic energy of that town lights up the entire West Coast. Let’s swing for the fences on this one.” Avery’s thumbs stopped making laps around the temples but his face stayed put behind the palms. “How about I set up shop in Seattle and onboard the field to start production in the next few days? By the time we extract the sequence, their Pacific Northwest pipeline will be ready for prime time. We can just flip the switch and light up the whole continent. In another week, the world’s energy will run on algae. You know we need this, Avery. You know we’re dead without a functional production environment.”

Avery’s hands let go of his face. His small, naked eyes blinked at the sudden torrent of light. “You want to see him that bad, huh?”

“I do.” She leaned on the desk. “And saving Atlas happens to take place in the same city where Parker lives. That’s all.”

“Did you know our childbirth mortality rate is at forty-eight percent?”

“How is that relevant?”

“One of two kids, in this Territory, dies at birth, not because of a protocol failure or a disease. Some doctors are… you know, envious of newborns.” Avery put his glasses back on. “Some earmarked doctors like dragging their patients down with them. Best case, they don’t want to help create new life. It’s like, babies get born by themselves these days.”

“These are hateful –”

“Are they, Sarah?” He jumped to his feet, pointing a gun at her face. Sarah remained motionless. “Are they?” The fatigue had left his mauve face. “Like them, I will die in a few days… But you won’t. You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to blow your goddamn Hi-Po brains out.” He panted as if in the middle of a marathon. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot you right here.”

Her face eked out a smile. “Your grandson,” she said. “You’re dying in a few days, but will he?” The metallic muzzle remained fixed on her forehead. “Will you Sacrifice for him? So he can have a better life than you did? Shoot me, Avery. But who else could pick up Atlas from where I left off? And will they produce more energy for your boy than I will?”

The gun slithered off his hand and fell on the floor. “I’m tired, Sarah.” His eyes locked with hers, as if seeking assurance that Project Atlas was going to work. He collapsed in the chair. “Damn you… Go, but be careful in Seattle and remain in the ULE
embassy, at all times. It’s an order. Will you be contacting outsiders, other than Parker?”

She thought for a moment. “I’ll need to find a replacement piano teacher for Yana. That’s it.”

“Pick someone who clears the ULE background checks and stick to the visitation protocol... Do they have blind piano teachers in Seattle?” Avery’s shoulders shook with either laughter or sobbing. Sarah preferred not to have to guess.

Seattle bathed in the evening dusk. Natt woke with a snap, the back of his head hitting against the car seat. He rubbed a palm over his face and smacked his mouth, thick with un-flossed breath. He recognized the inside of his work car, exhaled and turned around. He recognized Saretto there too, awake but quiet in the back seat.

“Mr. Gurloskey… sir?” Saretto’s shaky voice travelled through the divider mesh. “There’s been a terrible mistake. I’m sure I can explain.”

Again, Natt smacked his mouth and opened the glove compartment with a grunt. Damn, no chewing gum left. He was tired, too tired to cut Saretto off. Waking up in the prowler drained Natt every time. The car seemed to have changed Saretto too. In fewer than four hours, the cellist had gone from thrashing, to being quiet, to groveling. Natt was about ready to grovel too. How much longer was she going to be? Her text had said to meet her at the flooded Walmart in the SoDo area. But that was four long hours ago.

Fresh whining interrupted Natt’s thoughts. “Sir? It’s getting dark. I’ll miss my mandatory sign-in, tonight.” Then a car engine growl, followed by brakes prompted him to glance outside. Piercing headlights stopped a foot from the prowler’s front tires and the newcomer’s car shut down. Acres of empty parking and an evening with the color of ink engulfed the two vehicles.

Saretto broke into muffled cries. Natt pumped the air with a fist. High damn time, darling, he thought and unbuckled his seat belt, then turned to Saretto. “Don’t worry, pumpkin. We’ll check your records and have you off in a jiff. Not even jail, you lucky dog.” Natt patted the steel mesh with a reassuring palm and jumped out. He crouched by the door of the other car with his palms on his bent knees.

“Who’s in the prowler with you?” Li-Mei said.

“You’ll be pleased, my lady.”

“Quit the Alexander Dumas bullshit and answer the question.”

“Come find out.” Natt wouldn’t have dreamed of such fraternization with Li-Mei, but the cellist inside the prowler made for a great icebreaker.

“Saretto or Parker?”

“What have we got on today’s menu? A cellist or a gambling man?” Natt spun around like a ballerina and opened the prowler’s back door. Saretto’s head poked from the inside.

Li-Mei got out of the car and walked to the cellist, who was trembling – either with fear or with the evening chill. “I owe you an apology, sir, for how you’ve been treated. And I’m here to rectify your situation,” she said, maybe to stunt her victim’s resistance by offering him normalcy for the remaining few minutes of his life.

“An outrage.” Saretto tumbled out of the prowler in a bundle of rediscovered energy. “I hope you realize the severity of your actions, Officer Gurloskey. I’m a US Territory citizen and a performer at the world-famous Seattle Symphony.” Li-Mei folded her arms as Saretto fished a phone from his pocket and started dialing a number. “Not only do I refuse to spend a minute in curfew jail, but I will sue you for this travesty. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

“No need for a call, sir,” Li-Mei said. “It’s past curfew and the cell towers have switched off their civilian traffic if you haven’t signed-in. How about I drive you to any destination you –”

“The King5 TV headquarters,” Saretto said. “My story will anchor the seven o’clock news tomorrow.”

“I can do that. Please, take a seat in my vehicle.”

Saretto looked at Li-Mei’s green Mustang. “I want to call a cab.”

“Curfew docks all cabs by law, sir. King5 wouldn’t dispatch a car to pick you at this hour. And you couldn’t walk there either because you’d be arrested in minutes. Your safest bet is to let me to drive you.”

Saretto shivered. “Fine, but he can’t come with us.” He pointed a finger at Natt.

“Of course not. Officer Gurloskey has no authority over you anymore.”

Saretto glowered at the cop while squeezing into the Mustang’s passenger seat. He buckled and tugged on the belt to ensure it worked. Once comfortable, he blinked several times, looking straight ahead and broadcasting relief at having survived the night without even a citation.

While following the green Mustang, Natt couldn’t shake the sense of dread. He thanked providence he wasn’t the one riding shotgun next to Li-Mei, on route to God-knew-where. Both cars crept through the suspension bridges of the curfewed city, the prowler’s flashing lights granting them a safe passage.

The Mustang came to a halt in a walled-off alleyway behind the Seattle Public Library. The massive edifice – once, one of the finest buildings in North America – didn’t have a single light turned on and wore the same taint as the rest of downtown. Li-Mei stepped out of the car and Saretto followed.

“I said King5 TV, not the library.” His protests filled the night, as Natt walked up to the pair.

“Isn’t the library is as much of a bastion of free speech as the TV?”

“But I asked –”

“Unless you do as I say, I will … kill you.” Li-Mei paused before the last two words and Saretto winced, as if they were needles thrust in his flesh. She led the cellist to a shaft protruding from a septic tank at the back of the library. Natt recognized the tank - a product of the Sanitation Revival Program he had proposed with the Mayor to condemn Seattle’s flooded sewers and install individual septic tanks at all large public buildings.

“You have a nice suit, Mr. Saretto,” Li-Mei said. “Do you like it?”

Saretto’s voice was small, “It’s my favorite.”

“I love it too… but you’ll have to soil it some tonight.”

Li-Mei jumped on top of the tank and smashed the padlock on the circular entry shaft. As soon as her back turned, Saretto dashed for Fourth Avenue, large and bright at the library’s main entrance. Gurloskey cut the fleeing man off with unusual agility for the cop’s two-hundred-plus-pound frame. Then following a scuffle with a predetermined end, Saretto lay face down on the pavement with Natt on his back.

“I apologize if our company has bored you, Mr. Saretto.” Li Mei approached the two heaped men. “Or are you that fond of your suit? I would be, too, if I had a suit like yours. Stripes are always in style, aren’t they?” She produced an oxygen mask and handed it to the Chief of Police. “Put this on and bring our guest back to the tank.” She put a second mask on her head and pulled the septic hatch open, hinges creaking in rusted protest. A column of steel steps descended into the tank’s gut, the top few rungs gleaming in the pale moonlight.

“God. The smell…” Saretto wept as Natt shoved him forward.

“Rotten eggs, if you’re wondering,” Li-Mei said. “Fear not, it shall pass. You may enter the tank via this ladder, otherwise, Mr. Gurloskey will have to deposit you inside.” Saretto’s watery eyes scanned the two oxygen masks staring at him.

“And by the way, don’t forget to tie yourself to the steps inside. You wouldn’t want to fall.” Li-Mei handed Saretto a nylon rope, which he took with both hands like a precious offering.

“Please, don’t do this,” he said.

“We need you in that tank, dear. Go down but do continue to believe in miracles. The sinking of the Titanic must have been a miracle to the lobsters in the kitchen.”

Victor Saretto stared at Li-Mei’s amber face for another moment, turned away from the pit and inhaled a last gasp of semi-unpolluted air. He held his breath and climbed down one slow step at a time, the septic tank hiding his body from sight. “Oh, I almost forgot...” Li-Mei’s mask covered the patch of sky, cut off by the hatch opening.

Victor’s head reemerged from the darkness. He was still holding his breath.

“Don’t speak,” she said, “nod, instead. The crestfallen Mrs. Dubois divorced you when she found out you were gay four years ago, correct?” Victor nodded, his face wet with tears. “If the two of you loved each other as much as I’m told you did, you should look at tonight as doing her a favor. The first female President of the ULE Patent Bureau makes a great catch for a second marriage, don’t you think? Four years is long enough to mourn someone who isn’t even dead. Us women could get too sentimental for our own good sometimes. And in your case, you never know… death might bring her closure. Of course, I’m not saying you’re going to die tonight.”

Saretto nodded again.

“What a good boy, Mr. Saretto. Don’t forget to strap yourself to the steps.” Li-Mei sounded maternal. “We’ll come get you in a few. We can even get food on our way to King5. You shouldn’t go on national TV on an empty stomach, no?” Saretto kept nodding. “I’ll close this now to give you some privacy.”

The hatch creaked shut over the cellist’s face.

“We’ll come get you…” Natt said on the fresh-air side of the tank and slow-clapped.

“Check on him in twenty,” Li-Mei said. “With a little luck, he will have tied himself to the steps before the hydrogen sulfide kills him. Leave his body by the open tank somewhere. The story will write itself.”

“Our septic tanks claim another innocent victim.” Natt imitated the booming voice of a news anchor. “But why would Saretto break into a padlocked septic tank in the middle of the night? At the Seattle Library, no less?”

“You’re the cop, you figure out a motive before people find his corpse while returning their books tomorrow morning. If there are any readers left in this goddamn city, that is.”

Li-Mei opened the Mustang’s door. “And Gurloskey – don’t forget to put your oxygen mask back on when you go in. Even a monkey could take care of business from here.”

Natt laughed, agreeable and sweaty.

“Parker’s the last one left. Get him to me and I’ll let you live.” The Mustang’s window shot up. The night was getting colder.