Dream Drive Ch. 07

Chaki's words were through gritted teeth. "We can discuss that topic once he has his first wife."

"I hope you're not talking about yourself."

"Is there some other competitor I'm not aware of?"

"I think half the women in the camp are proving themselves to be so," Vuntha said. "Tread carefully, Chaki. Maybe Jackson will take a woman that doesn't pull on him so hard."

"That's not gonna happen," Jackson said quickly.

"Vuntha, I swear," Chaki said, "if you keep running your mouth, I will break your spear off in your ass!"

Jackson was taken aback. Vuntha put a hand on his stomach and started laughing. "This is too easy."

"Please stop," Jackson said.

"But it's so much fun." Vuntha sighed, then paused. He seemed to be considering his next biting remark, but instead of speaking, his head turned, slowly.

"What?" Chaki asked. "Did you decide that the continued health of your bowels was more important than moving your jaws?"

Vuntha didn't answer.

Jackson frowned. "What's up?"

Vuntha gestured behind them. "Drana."

Jackson found her in the crowd. Chaki's friend was making her way through the tipis. He glanced at his friend; Vuntha's gaze lingered on her.

Chaki's half-feigned indignation fell away. "Perhaps you should speak with her."

Vuntha's hands worked on his spear. He licked his lips. "You said she seemed upset."

"She was," Chaki said. "Maybe...she will hear you, I think."

"Yeah. I should." Vuntha rubbed a hand through his hair. "I should say something."

"Have confidence," Chaki said. "I'm sure she has feelings for you."

"Alright. I'm going." He walked off after her.

Chaki looked at Jackson. "Want to see what happens?"

"Not really," Jackson mumbled.

"What?"

"Maybe we shouldn't poke Drana," Jackson said more loudly. "You guys got in a fight, right?"

"Well, yes," Chaki said. "She should have known better." Jackson decided not to point out that Chaki had been in tears over it a few days ago. "Anyway, I want to know what Vuntha says to her."

"Or maybe," Jackson said, "we should let their business be their business."

"Nonsense. You need to get into the role of a spirit guide, Jackson. Everyone's business is our business."

"I noticed."

"Don't take that tone with me." Chaki planted her hands on her hips. "I'm going. If you want to stick yourself in the mud and wallow, you are welcome to do it. I'm sure my mother will be happy to have an extra hand to fix dinner."

Chaki started off. Jackson did a bit of wallowing, sighed, and jogged to catch up with her.

They found Vuntha coming up on Drana at the far edge of the tipis, where the noise of the crowds and trading faded to a distant murmur. Chaki crouched low behind a tent as Vuntha called for Drana's attention. Jackson kneeled down behind her.

"This is stupid," Jackson said.

"Shh. I can't hear."

Jackson held in another sigh.

"Drana," Vuntha said.

Chaki's somewhat shorter and curvier friend turned to face him. "Vuntha. I haven't seen you lately."

"I...wasn't sure how to speak with you," Vuntha said. "I heard Boonta proposed."

"He did."

"But you did not accept him."

"No. Neither way."

"I see." Vuntha rolled his spear in his fingers. His mouth worked slightly, but no words came out.

"Did you have something you wished to say?" Drana asked.

"I...yes. Nothing that requires an answer," Vuntha said. "I only hope..." Vuntha fixed his grip on his weapon and pulled himself up. He tended to slouch, but fully straightened, he was every bit as stocky and intimidating as his father. "It was my hope, when you did not quickly accept him, that your thoughts had turned to me. I regretted that I didn't have the courage to approach you sooner."

"I felt your affection," Drana said. Her bouncy, cheery self was gone; she was grimly serious. "But I told Boonta I would watch him in the games."

"That is what I heard," Vuntha said. "Drana...I was not certain of you, at first. You are friend to many. It was hard to tell if you were merely good friends with me, or...if there was something more. I was afraid to risk myself finding out. And in so doing, I fear I may have missed the chance to earn more."

"...I have never heard you speak this way."

"That is because I have never felt this way."

"When did you become so serious?"

"When I realized that I wanted to make you my woman," Vuntha said.

Chaki drew in a sharp breath. She looked at Jackson, back over the edge of the tipi, then back at Jackson. "He's proposing!" she whispered.

"Quiet," Jackson said, "I can't hear."

"You see security with Boonta," Vuntha said. "Prestige. Respect. I can appreciate that." Vuntha pulled his spear from the ground. "My father is the best hunter in the tribe. He trained me well. I will show you the difference between myself and the other who would steal you from me. The difference between a wolf...and a peacock."

Drana looked at the ground. Eventually, she returned her gaze to him, and nodded. "Then I will watch for you in the games, as well."

A smile broke out of Vuntha's face. "That makes me glad."

"Boonta isn't the only one with prestige," Drana said. "Everyone says you are good friends with Tatanka Ska. You are favored by the guardian Shakhan."

"Maybe. He does allow me to call him Jackson."

"I think less than maybe." Drana said. She smiled, and set a hand on her hip. "He seems shy, but he has a good wit. Maybe he will make Chaki loosen her braids more often."

Vuntha snorted. "If he can't do it, there's no hope for her."

Chaki and Jackson looked at each other. Chaki raised an eyebrow and pointed at the braid she was wearing. Jackson shrugged. "I dunno," he whispered. "I kinda like the braid."

"I saw Chaki after you spoke," Vuntha added.

Drana folded her arms. "Oh?"

"Perhaps it isn't my place to say anything, but I know how long you have been friends. And I would say, at least, I am friends with the both of you." Vuntha cleared his throat. "She was crying, Drana. Not because you didn't listen to her. It was because she was afraid she had been stupidly stubborn, and that she had made being right more important than being your friend. She is terribly sorry."

Drana's eyes were on the grass. It was a long moment before she spoke, and then, she only said two words. "I see."

"I will leave you to your business." Vuntha clasped his hands and nodded to her. "Thank you for hearing me, Drana. I ask that you lend me your eyes for a day."

"I can lend them, Vuntha. And I will wish you good fortune."

"That is more dear to me than many things." And with that, Vuntha turned and went back toward the camp. Chaki and Jackson ducked to the ground, letting him pass; Drana continued out toward the creek. From the pot she was carrying, she was going to fetch water.

A minute passed. When they'd both gone from sight, Chaki raised herself back up. "See? That was worth the risk, was it not?"

"I mean, we probably could have inferred from how Drana was acting tomorrow, right?" Jackson sighed. "Or I could have just asked Vuntha. He'd probably tell me."

"That wouldn't be as much fun."

Jackson looked at Chaki. Her eyes were practically glowing. She rubbed her hands together like an evil witch. "Can we not make a habit out of eavesdropping on people?" he asked.

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"I can think of a few things."

"Now I know why Shaka enjoys this so much." Chaki snapped her fingers. "Jula! I should use her to help me, next time."

"And now you're using the children."

"Let's get back before someone notices us hanging about," Chaki said. She moved back into the center of camp. "Honestly, Jackson, you should take more risks. Life isn't all about the calculation."

"So what you're saying is that I should sneak around camp, eavesdrop on my friends, and manipulate small children. Got it."

Jackson was expecting the whack to his shoulder. He was not disappointed. It stung about as much as he thought it would.

The night went on; Jackson had dinner with a noisy Palla, a calm and matronly Landri, and exchanged warm glances with Chaki. Shaka came to join them halfway through.

Chaki left dinner early with the vague excuse that she was working on something. She'd been working on something since they arrived at the Meet. Jackson could only wonder at it; maybe she was just studying her math.

In the end, Shaka and Jackson were left sitting on the log, sharing the growing quiet of the night as people took to their tipis and put out their campfires. Shaka stared at the coals; Jackson stared along with her.

The old woman turned to look at him. The bones hanging around her neck rattled slightly. She was wearing a lot more of her ceremonial stuff: beads, gems, necklaces. Jackson assumed it was for public appearances during all the discussions.

"Jackson," she said. "The games are tomorrow. After they are over, once night has fallen, we will take you to see Shakhan."

Jackson nodded. He looked at the scar on his hand. The pulling sensation that led under the mountain seemed to throb. "Anything about the war?"

"We are evenly divided," Shaka said. "The wandering tribes wish for war. We deal with outsiders most often. We appreciate the threat. The Three Hills, though -- the biggest tribe -- they are more sedentary. And they live on the opposite end of the lands under the mountain. It is difficult to convince them to commit themselves. I managed to get them to wait."

"Wait?"

Shaka nodded. "You will speak with Shakhan. It is widely suspected the guardian will advise you on what action the People should take. Listen carefully when she speaks, and relay her words on the matter to us."

Jackson nodded. "So what about the wedding?"

"I will perform it after the decision of war has been made."

"Okay."

"Hmm," Shaka said. "That was a little easier than I expected."

"Well, you got a schedule. I don't have a good reason to change it."

"Do you have a gift for Chaki?"

Jackson nodded. "Hold on." He went behind them, to Shaka's tipi, where he'd left his duffle bag. He sorted through it for a moment, then came back out with the ring. "Check this out."

Shaka's eyes widened appreciatively. "That may be the biggest gemstone I have ever seen. May I?"

Jackson handed her the diamond ring. She raised it in her fingers, examining the gold band in the firelight. "You placed runes upon this. Hmm..." Shaka read the runes, then lowered the ring. "Jackson, that is beautiful."

"...um, good."

Shaka's face wrinkled in a smile. "Be happy. You're to be wed." She handed the ring back to him.

"So, do I need to prepare, or anything?"

"No," Shaka said. "It's a simple ceremony. Think of a few words to articulate your feelings for her. That's all. What you wrote here is quite lovely, but it's nice to hear things aloud. I tell you that as a woman."

"Okay."

"Are you nervous?"

"A little," Jackson said. "I didn't think I'd be getting married any time soon. Or ever. I mean, I didn't rule it out, but...I dunno."

"Sometimes, life moves quickly," Shaka said. "Be vigilant." She chuckled. "I find it amusing you're more worried about the wedding than the games."

"Hey, Shaka?"

"Hmm?"

"How did Chaki's father die?"

"...a sudden question. But I shall answer it." Shaka glanced at him. "They were out hunting. A band of the Iron Men struck after the hunt, when they had let their guards down and were skinning the bison. They had one of their magic people with them. Hanta told me that a blast of red fire burned him to ash, but not before he stuck an arrow into the man."

"...at least he got the bastard."

"Indeed." Shaka sighed. "It left an impression on the tribe. Some wanted revenge. Others were cowed. Out best warrior was destroyed so quickly, so...harshly. Some asserted their magic was stronger than mine, and that we could not face them."

"Some like Yukatan and Boonta."

"Perhaps."

"Is their magic stronger than yours?"

"Perhaps."

"Depends on how you use it, right?"

Shaka smiled again. "Maybe. But if they attack Hanta with such magic, they will be very surprised when he raises his shield."

"Good."

Shaka yawned and stretched. "You should take your rest. I will take mine. Prepare for the games."

"I will."

"By the way," Shaka said, "try not to do anything too stupid."

"I'll try. No promises, though."

"Goodnight, Jackson," Shaka said. She slipped into the tipi.

Jackson turned back and watched the fire.

It had been a while since he'd entered the game. The other contest winners were already in Isis, somewhere. In a few days -- if that - the game would be flooded with the other 5,000 beta testers.

What was going to happen to the world? Would they all converge here, at the mountain, looking for answers? What would happen to Earth when 5,000 would-be-superheroes appeared from nowhere?

What would happen to the others? Would they start like him -- somewhere in the world, banished to the bottom of the tower? How many would die, not understanding that if they lost all their health, it would really be over?

Jackson thought on that for a time, and then he went to sleep.

****

"We've put surveillance on the residence of everyone that won the contest. He's the only one we could find."

"Where are the rest?"

"Wherever they're all going."

Dan Miller hobbled along the hospital hallway. The hand he kept on the wall betrayed his age.

Charles watched him with a raised eyebrow. Working for Ransfeld, Miller could easily get a prosthetic hip, but he stubbornly stuck by his home remedies. He wouldn't even take ibuprofen. Whether he was in pain or not was not important, from his point of view.

"Where are they going, exactly?" Charles asked.

"Don't know yet. He hasn't said much of importance."

"What do Isis, Emil Mohammed, and teleportation all have in common?" Charles asked.

Miller stopped in front of the door to the isolation ward. He glanced back at Charles and Mivra. Charles's android had been walking beside them for a few minutes. She drifted like a ghost, eerie in her ability to move without making noise. The old Indian man cleared his throat. "Mr. Ransfeld. Please proceed with caution."

Charles fixed his suit collar. "I'm not surprised by anything anymore." He straightened his hair, then checked his smile in the door's small window. "Is he actually invincible?"

"I struck him myself while trying to get him to talk," Miller said. "We threatened to cut off his genitals. He doesn't care."

"But did you follow through?"

"Yes."

Charles blinked and looked down at the shriveled raisin that was Dan Miller. "I take back what I said about surprise."

"This isn't just a video game," Miller said. "You read the report?"

"He's like a hologram."

"Yes," Miller said. "My knife goes through him, but it's as if he's made of air. There's resistance. The knife stays buried in his flesh. It makes him uncomfortable, but there's no pain, no blood. I cut through several parts of his body. It creates a sort of red mark, but his limbs stay attached, and the lines fade away. He has no trouble moving them afterward."

"You said he tried to escape, at one point."

"The room held," Miller said. "His chair did not. It was..."

"What?"

"It was as if he was using some sort of power," Miller said. "We could only control him with the weight of numbers."

Charles looked at Mivra, then back at the isolation ward door. "Didn't you scan him for metal?"

"We stripped him after that," Miller said. "He didn't have anything on him that could make light."

"That makes no sense."

"We need to acknowledge," Miller said, "that we may be dealing with something that we are not fully prepared to handle."

Mivra's tone was flat and metallic. "I am prepared to deal with any number of contingencies."

"Could you deal with that which is beyond human understanding?"

"I don't see the pertinence of comparing my preparedness to fictional ideas," Mivra said.

"It's not fiction anymore."

"Miller," Charles said, "are you seriously proposing that it's magic? Some kind of mystical energy?"

"...there are stories in my country." Miller pressed a strand of wispy hair back against his forehead. "When the BLOC took over India, they destroyed many temples. But they could not kill Hinduism. It is ingrained in my people. Unlike other religions, we have legends, and heroes. Gods. Demons. They battled for the fate of mankind. I learned those stories when I was a boy. They captivated me, once."

"Are you getting sentimental on me?"

"There are things in this world which defy common sense," Miller said. "We have stumbled upon one such thing. I say again, as your security adviser: use caution."

"Call me a skeptic," Charles said. He pushed through the door.

The isolation ward was quiet. Nurses and robots moved through the tan-colored hallways. A spherical TOM buzzed by at a slow pace to lessen the noise it made. The lighting wasn't bright, but it wasn't dim, either. Everything was as neutral and calm as possible.

They took a side door leading to a stairwell. Another door at the bottom of the first flight held a security panel. Charles pressed his eye to the retina scanner. "Charles Ransfeld," he said to the microphone.

The door's steel bars thumped open. They passed through, and Mivra closed it behind them. It sealed itself tight.

They went down another two flights. The quiet halls of the isolation ward transformed into plain concrete, exposed piping, and metal wiring. A group of guards nodded to them as they passed the first intersection. This was a branch off of the main security floor - it had been faster to go through the isolation ward than go all the way down through the command center.

Ransfeld Security's holding cells were located directly under the ward. It was a convenient setup. Charles had to deal with many undesirables that came from various clients ranging from prominent public figures to the government itself. It was common that such individuals were pronounced mentally unstable. From the isolation wards, they could be quietly shipped down the three floors to the real prison. At that point, their options were much more flexible.

It was efficient. Charles was proud to do his part to keep society a little bit cleaner. Of course, some of his clients were the dirtiest soils themselves, but he made do.

They'd get their turn eventually.

They didn't have to walk far to find the cell they were looking for. Five men with heavy armor, assault rifles, and reflective HUD helmets guarded the entrance. They opened the door for Charles and company.

The entrance room was dark. A few men were seated at terminals - John Steinson and his team. The big man looked up. "Hey, boss. Nothing new. Oh, Mr. Ransfeld. How are things?"

"Getting better by the day," Charles said. He looked at the one-way glass that stretched the length of one wall. It was cracked in the middle, damaged from some sort of impact, but he could still see through it.

Sitting alone in the room next to a steel table was a significantly overweight 28 year-old man. He had frizzy, unkempt brown hair, and was completely naked. He rested his forearms on his legs and stared at the floor. He was the picture of boredom. A single light dangled from the ceiling above him. His shadow was sharp against the concrete.

"This is him?" Charles asked.

"Not what you were expecting?"

Charles's smile turned into a smirk. "Jackson Vedalt was not what I was expecting, either."

"Well, don't sell him short, sir," Steinson said. "I punched him across the face myself. Guy barely even flinched."

"Right. Mivra, let's go."

"Wait a second," Steinson said, "he's dangerous. We should --"

Charles hit the latch to unlock the door. He tried to open it. It rattled in place for a moment. He put his shoulder against it, and it fell open.