BlackWatch

They walked for perhaps ten minutes through the rock until the woman stopped beside a heavy metal door set in the rock; she put her thumb to a green scanner and the panel flashed briefly, she entered a code and the door slid quietly into the rock. She led him into another very small room, the door closed abruptly behind him; another door was set in the opposing wall yet this one did not open.

"Your ears may hurt," the woman said. "Move your mouth like this." Aurie watched as she opened her mouth wide and moved her jaw from side to side, then she pressed another button and he winced as sudden pain pierced the inside of his head...

"What the..." he managed to get out, then the second door opened and the pain subsided fractionally. A silver railway car of some sort filled the next room, which was itself little more than a simple unadorned platform hollowed from stone. He stepped forward and looked down at the tracks and was surprised to see nothing but smooth stone. "Where are the rails?" he asked.

"Mag-Lev, in the walls." the woman said as they walked along the platform to the waiting car's door. As if Mag-Lev meant anything to him, he thought. "Much faster than rails allowed. Let's go, we have a schedule to keep!"

"What?"

She led him into the single car and again held her thumb to a scanner; doors sealing both platform and car hissed shut simultaneously. She led him to a deeply cushioned seat in the empty car and motioned for him to sit. He stood and, his mouth still working to ease the pressure in his head, observed the empty car could easily hold twenty people in such seats, and could still accommodate a lot of cargo.

"Quickly!" she said. "You will want to be sitting when it starts."

There was nothing subtle about the cars motion; it accelerated fiercely down the dark tunnel, pushing him back firmly into the seat's deep padding.

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me what this is all about? Or where we're going?" he said after what seemed like several minutes had passed.

She smiled at him in that moment, held him in her eyes and he saw the love and concern that played across them.

"Not a chance," she said as she took his hand in hers; she gave it a gentle squeeze before she spoke again: "This is way too much fun."

+++++

Very few elements of the GPS constellation remained in orbit after the Second Secession War, and precise navigation over long distances was almost impossible by older methods such as celestial as the dense, smog-laden upper atmosphere no longer afforded reliable seeing. Dead reckoning tracks were less than useless for high altitude great circle routes over the pole -- such as it now was -- and even long range radio aids to navigation such as Loran were no longer reliable enough to present a viable option.

The Watcher's aircraft, a Dassault Falcon 20 business jet now more than a hundred years old, was one of the few aircraft remaining that had a working inertial navigation system, and as such the Falcon was capable of near pinpoint navigational accuracy -- as long as the balky old gyros held out. He looked at the panel, at the old Bendix FGS-70 flight director that had first seen service in the earliest jumbo jets of the 1960s, with something akin to wonder in his eyes: there was not one facility left in the world, not one capable of manufacturing equipment of this complexity, nor with such precision. What had humanity done to itself? he asked.

'We walked on the moon, and now we hide in the rocks, afraid of the light.' So much had been lost to the fleeting comforts of fundamentalist extremism, and the schism that had rendered civilization into two camps.

And like so many other things, the Watcher knew he was materially a living remnant of that collapse. He thought that he too was a product of First Republic technology, a vast military experiment into human/machine engineering to develop ever faster arrays of super-computers, and as such he embodied all that was evil to the extremists who ruled the scattered remnants of humanity.

He looked at the curved horizon, at the thriving agricultural settlements in northern Iceland off his left wing, and wondered when the verdant valleys between Greenland's eastern mountain ranges would appear over the nose of the jet, and found it hard to remember a time when these places had been almost uninhabitable due to extreme cold. The Asiana Federation now farmed most of Greenland, of course, but there were scattered reports they had recently sent fishing boats back to sea in far Arctic regions -- and with not one catch reported. He looked at the fuel cells in the cabin, at his remaining flight time while he wondered about the implications of the seas now devoid of life.

The Watcher was slow to take note of the changes coming over him. He had been disconnected from the grid for several hours now, and with each passing minute those neural impulses the Others called feelings -- emotions -- were gradually coming back to him. Normally his mind was full of the networked responsibilities he had been assigned as an integral part of the grid; now he looked down at his hands and saw them for what they were: flesh and blood, muscle and bone. Human. He was human, not integrated circuitry and binary code. He had no idea where or how he had learned to fly, only that he knew how to -- instinctively -- and the idea vaguely troubled him. As the looming mass of Greenland approached he suddenly remembered flying was something he'd learned to do years before -- indeed, he found he recognized everything -- even the shape of the mountain ranges dead ahead...yet nothing made sense absent memory, and now all memory was a huge black gulf, a frozen window locked outside of time -- and he was on the outside, trying to get in.

Disconnected from the grid, memory began to flood unchecked, emotions came pouring into his mind without pattern or purpose. He panicked as he struggled with the concept of mortality, with death, and his mind tried to jump back to the safety of the network -- but there was no connection out here. His eyes began blinking rapidly now, his breathing became shallow and rapid. The Falcon was on autopilot now, and without that aid -- so complete was the Watcher's disorientation -- the jet would have crashed long ago. He fought to control the chaos that threatened to completely overwhelm him, and knew he was losing...

...when a shadow passed over cockpit -- and he ducked instinctively. He struggled to hold his fear in check, then turned and looked out beyond the left wingtip. His eyes fluttered, his heart hammered inside his chest...

"This is not possible," he whispered through gritted teeth. "This cannot be..."

Another aircraft hung off his wingtip, but whatever the thing was it looked like nothing he had ever seen or heard of before. The craft was grayish-black and shaped something like a manta-ray, except of course it wasn't alive at all. He saw the pilot of the other craft and his mind reeled -- it was as if his entire understanding of the universe had suddenly come unhinged...

'Why don't I know what this is?' the voice in his voice said. 'I've seen these things somewhere...but where?'

It was like looking in a distant mirror, only this reflection moved of it's own volition.

The other pilot was waving his hands, holding up a microphone; still the Watcher looked at this reflection, still he tried to deny the reality that hung motionless off his wingtip.

More motion...

The reflection was holding up a piece of paper.

There was writing on it. "117.5" was scrawled boldly in bright red ink; instinctively the Watcher understood and turned to the radio console under the windshield and adjusted the primary to that frequency. He keyed his microphone: "Unidentified aircraft," the Watcher said unsteadily, "state your name and purpose."

The reflection was wiping his eyes! What? Was the man crying? Or laughing?

"I repeat! Unidentified aircraft, state your purpose!"

He saw the man bring the microphone to his mouth, saw him key the microphone, heard the other man struggling to compose himself...

"Dad? Dad, is that you? It's me! Jamie!"

+++++

Tribonian Thor Bergtor-son drummed his fingers on the duraplast desktop while he listened to Justinian Sinn August-dottir as she finished her preliminary report; he tried to keep his sense of irony in-check while he watched the ring on her left hand glimmer in gauzy light, and wondered who she'd set her sights on next...

"To conclude, Tribonian, the armed force simply disappeared as quickly as it appeared. We were unable to track the tire-prints of their vehicle after a few blocks..."

"Why don't you state the obvious, Justinian. This new group is well organized, much more so than any other group we have encountered before."

"Yes, but as you say, the point is obvious, Tribonian. What is less obvious is why they took Aurelius Krül-son, and not me. I would think capturing a Justinian would be a high priority for any resistance group..."

"Resistance?! You think these people are so inclined? That resistance is their purpose?"

"It is a possibility we must consider. They evidenced cohesive small unit tactics and excellent coordination."

"Military?"

"Hard to say with certainty, Tribonian. I would say that is the most likely possibility, however."

"I had hoped we eliminated that threat twenty years ago."

"Yes, I know, but some estimates conclude that many thousands disappeared when the First Republic collapsed. These personnel have never been adequately accounted for, and they could have been training all this time..."

"I understand. Anything to add?"

"A pity we had no warning," Sinn August-dottir said slowly. She looked directly at her superior while she spoke, and the Tribonian concentrated on meeting her eyes, revealing nothing. He dared not allow her to compromise his connection to either the BlackWatch, or the Galts.

"Yes. As you say, a pity." He looked at her with cold, detached eyes: "How do you plan on conducting the rest of your investigation?"

She outlined her plan: to search all the buildings in a one mile radius, to question every man, woman and child in the area, to follow all leads they developed until they found the cadet and carried his captors before God's servants.

"You will keep me informed, I take it, Justinian? As your investigation proceeds?"

"Yes, Tribonian."

He toggled the screen and severed the holo, leaned back in his chair and laughed for a very long time.

+++++

Aerrik Aerrik-son sat with his head down; he tried not to stare at the two empty chairs beside his table in the dining room, but every so often his eyes drifted to them and that same cold pressure returned to his chest. Pol -- dead and buried now -- and Aurie gone too, probably dead, if first reports were to be believed. And all within a few minutes.

Was life really so fragile? So meaningless?

Greggor Tarkus-son did not outwardly appear as distressed as Aerrik but his gut burned with virulent intensity as his mind drifted back to the sight Pol's mutilated, bullet-riddled body. He knew well ahead of time the attack would be bad, knew Pol's death would by ugly, and deliberately so, but once it had been discovered that Pol was one of the informers planted by a Senatus committee looking to ferret out potential infiltrators within the Institute, the BlackWatch had decided to act. Greggor knew it was only a matter of time until his activities were discovered; he had dropped off the information to his controller and understood it would only be a short time until an operation was mounted to plug the leak. What was a surprise, however, was word of Aurie's disappearance. He'd had no clue that was in the works, and no idea why that had been deemed necessary.

"How are you two doing tonight?"

Greggor looked up, saw the Commandant, saw the concern in her eyes; he shrugged noncommittally before standing: "I am better, Commandant."

"Stay seated, please," she said before Aerrik could push back in his chair. "May I join you?"

"Please," Greggor said, but she sat in Aurie's chair and he winced.

"You four were very close. We know that. Is there anything I can do?"

Aerrik looked away -- it was as if a vital spark had been snuffed from his life and he had been set adrift.

"Is it possible for us to be assigned to assist in the investigation, Commandant?"

She shrugged. "With over four months before graduation? I think not, but I can see to it that you spend weekends in that division."

"Thank you, Commandant."

"Aerrik?" the Commandant said softly while she looked at the boy.

He looked up, his eyes a wasteland of grief. "Commandant?"

"Would you like to speak to a priest?"

He looked away, tried not to meet her eyes.

"Aerrik?"

"I'll be alright, Commandant."

"I might believe that if you were eating your food, but this is two days now, Aerrik, and not a bite."

"I am taking the supplements, Commandant. I cannot hold down my food."

"I see. Is there blood in your stool?"

"Yes, Commandant."

She sighed, stood to get up from the chair. "Very well, come with me. We shall go to the clinic."

They stood and walked from the table; the other cadets in the dining room looked at Aerrik as he followed the Commandant from the room, then all eyes turned on Greggor. There was confusion in many of the eyes he saw, and he wondered if he had been compromised -- and then Aerrik's words entered consciousness.

"Oh, no," Greggor just barely moaned the words. Of course! No appetite, bloody stool: radiation poisoning. He started to cry, so he didn't see all the other cadets turn back to their meals and resume eating.

+++++

The Mag-Lev car stopped in a huge natural cavern; the air seemed almost icy when Aurie and the silent woman disembarked. Milky stalactites graced the high ceiling as far as he could see, while tunnels -- apparently new ones -- disappeared at odd angles everywhere he looked. And there were structures in here! Houses, small to be sure, but houses! He heard a dog barking, a baby crying -- and wondered where they were. And the light was dim here, and growing more so by the minute. Were they losing power?

"Come," the woman said. "We have a long walk and the sun is going down."

"Excuse me? Did you say the sun?"

"Yes. The light fades. The sun goes down."

Now Aurie was confused. Was she stupid? Trying to be cute? Could it be that this woman thought he was the ignorant one -- but how could the sun set inside a cavern?

'And why does she seem so familiar?'

They came to another metal door, this one manned by someone in uniform; when they passed this guard they walked down yet another metal tunnel, and to another vehicle of some sort. This one was narrow, was barely tall enough inside for Aurie to remain upright, and almost every seat was taken. The people seated there regarded him curiously, like he was something far removed from the routine of their lives.

"Sit! Quickly now, and put on your seatbelt."

Almost as soon as he looked-up from his lap he felt movement, slow, deliberate, and far below the clunking of heavy metal on metal. A turbine-like noise, perhaps some kind of engine spooling up, became apparent. A chime, a flashing light:

"Please put your head back, and your arms on the rests by your side," an unseen voice said.

"What is this?!" Aurelius Krül-son said, his voice quivering now, his every sense filling with total dread, his brain screaming some kind of primeval warning.

The woman put her hand on his for a moment: "Look out the window," she said, her voice full of expectation.

The noise rose to a thundering roar just before Aurie was pushed back in his seat by an unbelievably powerful force. He just managed to turn his head in time to see the subterranean darkness give way to brilliant sunshine as the rocket left earth. Barren mountains fell away almost instantly and within moments he could see the curvature of the earth, and the pale beige ring of atmosphere still keeping the icy vacuum of space away. The noise stopped, the landscape below grew greener, lakes appeared -- and even patches of snow -- snow! -- remained on the northern slope of some of the taller mountains. Then, after less than ten minutes aloft, the craft was descending.

He felt the woman's hand searching for his again, and he turned to look at her.

"Where are we going?" he said. "Where are you taking me?"

"Home," the woman said. "I'm taking you home."

+++++

The dark manta-shaped aircraft slipped a little ahead and the Watcher tucked into close formation off it's right wingtip like he had done it a thousand times before -- and, he was beginning to think, perhaps he had. The line between memory and reality was very indistinct now -- he simply couldn't understand how or why his body knew what it did. Conscious memory played no role: if some flight parameter needed attention he was on it -- without a moment's pause or the slightest hesitation. He knew. He understood. He had no idea why.

And what of the man in the other aircraft?

'How could I be his father?' the Watcher said.

"Repeat that?"

The Watcher shook his head, scanned the instruments. "What makes you think I'm your father?"

"Dad, not to evade the question, but we need to keep radio silence as we close on the coast."

"Of...Greenland?! Why?"

"It's not called Greenland anymore, Dad. Just keep on me. Once we leave the west coast we'll alter course to, uh, a little, uh, to the right."

"What?"

"You can fall off a little, Dad. We've got a long way to go. And don't worry. It'll all start coming back soon."

"What?"

But the frequency was silent now, the sun high overhead as the two aircraft flew over jagged mountains and fertile valleys. Fifteen minutes later they left the safety of land again, sun glittered off Baffin Bay seven miles below and scattered clouds not far above the ocean's surface cast deep black shadows on the sea. Then the radio came alive for a moment:

"Dad, course change in ten seconds."

The Watcher flipped off the autopilot with his thumb, cued-on the other aircraft's aileron movement to begin his turn; they settled on 310 degrees and he set the heading bug and toggled the autopilot on again. Another hour and he could just make out sunlight glittering off Hudson's Bay a little to the right of their present course. He scanned the instruments, staggered under the onslaught of so much memory coming back so suddenly. Everything now looked familiar! Why the delay?

James Bay? Is he leading me to James Bay? Why?!

"How you doing, Dad?"

"I've got about two hours left before I'll need to find a Texaco station."

"A what?"

"Fuel."

"Copy. We're about six hundred out."

"Shit. I could use a double Whopper with cheese about now."

"A what?"

"Uh, Burger King? Ever heard of Burger King?"

"Negative."

"Fuck."

"Roger that. Take it that was some kind of hamburger place?"

"Affirmative."

"Don't sweat it then, pops. Mom'll fix you up in no time!"

"Mom?" A swirling kaleidoscope of images filled the Watcher's mind. "Sarah?"

"Roger that, pops."

"Fuck."

"That ain't the half of it, Dad. Not even close."

"What? Why?"

"You'll find out in a little bit."

"Fuck."

+++++

The Commandant paced back and forth in her office, hands behind her back, chin almost on her chest, and her crisp white uniform seemed so heavily starched the fabric might crack at any moment. Her lips bunched up from time to time and she wrinkled her nose constantly -- as if she'd passed through a particularly vile odor. There had been rumors throughout the night that Justinian Sinn's investigation had literally uncovered something of significant importance; indeed, the implications were life-altering -- if the rumors were true. She had been waiting for a report from the field for over three hours, pacing back forth all the while, and now she was beyond aggravated.