Nowhere Man

As he stumbled through the gloom, Igon 834 replayed the message over and over in his head. ‘They’ve got it. Everyone will die. Can’t tell you more. Not safe. Meet me at 2730. Room 619 Sector 5. Come alone.’ Igon rarely went anywhere this late at night. He peered behind him, the tunnels bright but deserted. Music throbbed from an apartment. A party. One of many. People getting doped up, indulging in all manner of illicit exploits. Why Sector 5? Of all the Sectors in their underground city this was the most dangerous, the most nefarious. Someone is following me. A light flickered. He could sense someone, feel them even if he couldn’t see them. Probably the person that wanted to meet him, checking he was alone. The message made little sense, unless the worst was about to happen. We make things and eventually those things kill us. Igon told himself to be calm, that they couldn’t possibly possess it, but even the fact that they knew about it, that’s what petrified the ancient, that someone outside of his elite cadre had knowledge of it at all. If the enemy discovered its existence their retaliation would be instant and then everyone really would die. He swallowed back his fear. Room 602. Close. Cold air nibbled his knurled skin. The tunnels were kept slighter cooler than personal quarters but never dropped below 17o Celsius. But Igon was cold. His emaciated frame consisted mostly of bone and very little else, his pale flesh drawn painfully thin. Already the journey from Sector 1 felt like an odyssey. Coming alone was suicide, the Leader of Zaron travelling without a security detail in the most notorious tunnels under the planet. Lunacy of the highest order. But the messenger had used his personal access code, they had to be an ally, a friend even? Igon pottered on, keeping away from the entrance doors to the apartments on both sides of the corridor. A bottle smashed against a wall. People laughed. A girl screamed. A normal night in the suburbs. He carried only his prime communicator. Home Troopers didn’t operate in Sector 5, it was far too dangerous for them. He knew he was alone in every sense of the world. He stopped, turned round sharply. No, not alone, he reminded himself. I have a shadow.

Skade 482 could taste the old man’s fear. The beast knew the tunnels well, a regular patron of the many whorehouses where he had to pay well over the odds even for a hand job. The women despised his looks. All but one anyway. He scuttererd through the corridors on his hands and feet, his upper body strength far exceeding the power of his legs, a torso that rippled with power, his shoulders, back, chest and arms mutated with freakish size muscle. Igon’s scent filled him with hunger. The man beast didn’t need to see his prey because he could follow him using his acute olfactory glands, his flaring nose abundant compensation for the loss of one of his eyes many battles ago. Skade hunted best at distance and then when the moment was right it didn’t matter if his victim heard him or not. He stopped abruptly, turned his nostrils in the air, sensed Igon’s faltering steps. The old man continued. As did the beast.

Igon shuffled on through the lonely corridors. It had crossed his mind many times to clean up Sector 5 but he knew doing so would only disperse the criminal element across the other Sectors, making them more difficult to monitor and simultaneously cause unrest to the more peaceful neighbourhoods. Zaron had an extraordinary low level of crime, far lower than before the Great Conflict, but every society, no matter how advanced and cerebral, had an element of criminality. The murders, the rape, the beatings, mostly it occurred within their own borders. He stopped at a barrier, thick fire shields that slid together when triggered by the smoke sensors built into the curved ceilings. The barriers were built into the concrete tunnels but protruded half a meter each side of the corridor. Easily enough room to hide behind, the light bright enough even for his failing vision to pick out a tail. The walls glowed a soft red. Nighttime everywhere else on Zaron, playtime in Sector 5. He waited, peered round the barrier. Show yourself damn it. His lungs struggled for air. Maybe I’m losing it. Maybe they’re right. He’d heard the rumours. Igon, their saviour, the smartest person on the planet, a father figure to them all, finally going crazy. He scanned for the next room number. 612. Before his departure he’d checked the address index for Room 619 and found it unlisted. Not that the index worked in this Sector, the population far exceeded the official living capacity. The room was too small to be an apartment but that wouldn’t stop it being used as a hangout, a place to lope and idle, get yourself high, or laid. All of those things. Hurry. Can’t stay still for long. The messenger might lose patience and leave. Still looking over his shoulder the old man advanced deeper into Sector 5.

Inside room 619 Krance 464 waited patiently for Igon to show. The dark suited her just fine. She held a knife in her hand, the blade honed to a deadly edge. She would plunge it deep into the old man’s gut and twist it several times. Her father had demanded it. No blaster, no pistol, no hands round his scrawny neck. It had to be a knife. He would bleed to death in minutes and wouldn’t be discovered until the morning. There would be outrage, Zaron would mourn, but this was Sector 5. Shit like this happened all the time. The air conditioning pumped out a stream of warm air from ducts high up on the wall. Except for two canisters of ethanol and a double bed the room was bare. As soon as Igon was dead Krance intended to pour the highly flammable liquid over his body and the semen stained mattress. The resulting fire would eliminate all evidence of her presence. Finally, peace would be over. Her heart pumped slowly, barely a flicker of excitement existed within her. Killing the old man was just the first step on a short but prodigious journey, the easiest task of all that still needed to be done. Yet even without her father’s brave plan to destroy Cragon Five Krance wanted Igon dead. Igon had made her into the killing machine she was today, trained her to defend Zaron’s way of life which she had done countless times throughout the Great Conflict, putting her life on the line before a vastly superior force, yet he despised everything about her, had tried many times to indict her for war crimes and other nonsense, murder, kidnapping, of selling treasures to the highest bidder. Anyone could make policy. Preaching weary oratory from a dais to a comfy Council of the Elite and sending others to do your dirty work, how easy was that? Let them come face to face with a warrior twice their size ready to rip off their head and pull out their heart, only then could they could judge her, only then could they look her in the eye and talk about honour and bravery. But despite her father’s instructions she intended to kill Igon quick. He didn’t deserve to suffer. I’m not a monster.

Igon stopped outside Room 617 and caught his breath. He ran his hands down his robes and tried to warm his ailing limbs. His whole body trembled. He got through everyday on a farrago of medication and though his mind still functioned at an acceptable level his body was always tired, totally out if sync with his will. He felt old, older than everyone, and brittle, like a simple fall would break every bone in his body. When he wasn’t working he slept, a heavy, troubled sleep that did little to revitalise him. How could they have it? It’s nonsense. But what if Dragus made more? A cold chill snaked its way up his spine. Igon didn’t fear Sector 5. The misguided souls that lived here loved him as much as anyone. He received frequent comms from them, thanking him even now for saving them from extinction. Others apologised for the way they lived, telling him that they were depressed, that the people they’d lost still occupied their every thought and deed. Neither did Igon fear death, only of dying before his work was done. He did fear Dragus and his heinous plans. There’s only one batch and I have it. Soon to be destroyed forever. Room 618. What’s happened to the music? Where has all the drunken laughter gone? He peered down the long corridor, barely able to see beyond the fire barrier he had passed several moments before. The sudden quiet further unsettled him. ‘Come out, I know you’re there.’ His words echoed without reply. Silence returned. He walked on to Room 619. The light outside was broken, the shadow thick across the door. In the civilised sectors the entrance operated automatically when their occupant came close enough. Guests used a card. Visitors pressed a buzzer. The door to 619 was already ajar. ‘Hello? It’s Igon. Is anyone there?’ He pushed the door and it opened without sound. A hand touched his shoulder and he spun quickly, almost falling, but someone held him firm. ‘Igon, what are you doing alone in Sector 5?’ Gunter 658. A senior member of the Council of the Elite, a corpulent man with thick white hair and kind eyes. Where had he come from? Is he the one following me? Is he the one who sent me the message? ‘Is it you that asked me here?’ Gunter appeared surprised. ‘My honour, should I have sought your audience I guarantee it would be at a far more reputable location. I’m here for my son, he is a continuing embarrassment to Karinetor and myself. You bring your children up the best way you know and with all the love in your heart and still they delight in embarrassing you. It’s not safe for you to be here. Let me escort you back to your quarters.’ ‘No, I’m fine. I really need you to leave.’ Gunter looked at the door and then at Igon. ‘You’re not going in there by yourself are you?’ ‘I’m safe, you worry too much.’ Gunter smiled and squeezed Igon’s shoulder. ‘We all worry about you Igon. Let me check this room out for you, any manner of undesirables could be waiting inside.’ ‘Really I’m …’ Gunter ignored his protest and pushed the door open, stepping inside confidently, his large frame barring Igon any access to the lobby beyond. Igon tried to push past but after a short pause Gunter turned and came out again, blocking his path the whole time. ‘There’s no one inside, it’s just a single room, a hovel. Whoever you’re supposed to meet has failed to show.’ ‘Then I’ll wait.’ ‘If it’s important they’ll contact you again will they not? It’s late, there’s no one here, but if you insist on waiting then I’m not leaving your side.’ Igon knew he needed fresh medication soon. I feel so tired. But the message… Gunter was already leading him back down the corridor. He shook more violently now, from the cold, because of the pills. Maybe both. I’m getting too old for this, he thought. But much needed to be done before he allowed himself the luxury of death.

Krance crawled out from under the bed and slipped the knife back into its sheath. Father will be livid. She waited for Gunter and Igon to disappear before stepping out into the corridor. She had heard their entire conversation, guessing that Gunter would come into the room. It would have been easy to kill them both but two deaths, both eminent members of the Council of the Elite, was too much too quickly. And her father liked Gunter, he wouldn’t be at all pleased if she slit his throat. She waited for Skade in the corridor and when he appeared she stroked his pitted skull. ‘He got lucky tonight,’ she told him. ‘But his good fortune won’t last forever.’