This story directly follows Do Fixers Dream of Electric Ghosts?, in that it related the unexpected meeting of Jen and Elicia “Lillemjau” Washko in Reet’s Retreat, one dark evening of December 29476. The keynote in this encounter being that it wasn’t exactly Jen, but Heiji. And this time, it’s for the players that things took an unexpected turn…
This is the hour when the mysteries emerge
Strangeness so hard to reflect
A moment so moving goes straight to your heart
Condition that’s never been met
The attraction that’s held like a wake deep inside
Something I’ll never forget
Pattern is set, the reaction will start
Complete but rejected too soon
Looking ahead in the grip of each tear
Impulse that blinds every move
Shadow that stood by the side of the road
Always reminds me of you
How can I find the right way to control
All the conflicts inside,
All the problems beside
As the questions are right, and the answers don’t fit…
– Joy Divison, Komakino –
THE HEADY FEELING OF FREEDOM
Such a nice evening on Rubi-Ka, despite the cold that was growing more and more with each passing day… Yes, an odd thing, this cold – one would think that there up north, almost at the edge of the desert, the twin suns would never allow the very concept of “cold” to have a place, and yet, nights in the desert were always cold. An icy cold, even, in this period of the year. This thought was bringing recent, bad memories to his mind – and at the same time, other, older memories would wash them away, memories of another time, of another life, of another being.
This wasn’t the desert, of course, though he’d only have to fly north during approximatively two hours to reach its southern limits, where the invisible borderline between Mort and the Perpetual Wastelands would be lying. The Last Ditch, as the humans here had called the little town. The Last Ditch before the wasted plains, before the greater dangers, before the lands the Clans had claimed for their own – or been forced to move to? He couldn’t remember very well. Mort, Avalon, the Desert, the Wastelands – so many places he had known, too, flying, or running, or watching through the far and delocalised windows provided by the Grid. The Last Ditch, with its many odd people wandering all day long, selling odd clothes and various items, the Last Ditch which, unlike crowded Newland or austere Borealis, displayed its inherent quietness whatever the time of the day or the night.
For long, long minutes, he had been looking at the sky over his head – light yellow at first, then slowly turning to orange, then purple, then all of a sudden quickly fading to a deep blue where stars were drawing the odd patterns that was theirs in this part of the hemisphere. Such an eerie feeling of peace and calm – nothing else than the sky above his head. He knew she’d have liked this moment too, and he promised to himself that he’d keep a vivid memory of all of this, and show it to her later. In a dream, maybe; she was in desperate need of pleasant dreams, these last weeks, and this one would be a very good one for her mind.
He hadn’t told anyone, of course — neither her friends in SPARTA nor her occasional acquaintances, neither the people she’d have usually called at this hour of the day nor the random passers-by walking in Omni-1, then in Borealis, then in Stret West Bank itself. Lest even Malcom — the kami or whoever else be blessed, he hadn’t even heard his voice over the past week, and he wasn’t missing it at all! Actually, unless someone had decided to follow her, which he had made sure hadn’t been the case, nobody was currently aware of what she was doing, and that was exactly his purpose. He really didn’t need people to ask nosy questions, nor frown and wonder why she was acting “so oddly”. He wanted to be on his own, simply on his own, now that she was strong enough again for him to take control for more than a few minutes only. That was a dangerous game, in a way; it however also made his life a little more interesting.
‘Life’. Such an odd concept – such a heady feeling, also. Being alive again. Feeling the wind on his – on her face. Not exactly the same, but closer to it than everything he had experienced since both their existences had turned to quagmire. And now, he was looking at the sky, in an attempt to forget the events of the past weeks, of the past months, of the past years, even. Simply looking at the sky, trying to free his thoughts of the flaring hatred, of the endless worries, of the disgusting awareness he had of his own contradictions. This would be a nice evening, nice for the both of them, although not exactly in the same fashion. Her mind was resting, and his was rediscovering the meaning of life.
He got back on his feet, never taking his eyes off the constellations, almost mesmerized by their soft glow. Yes, he had wandered all afternoon long, flying over the deserted forests of the deep valleys, looking at the newly built Notum mining towers– smirking, also, at these unknown people who all wanted to grab their share of the loot. He had turned his back on them, flying, flying, always to the West, between the high rocks and plateaux, toward the Standing Stones, and in the end, to the Last Ditch. Yet flying could last only that long, and he wanted to enjoy a last coffee before taking Jen home and letting her body rest for the rest of the night, just as her mind had already been doing it for hours now.
With a slight smile, truly enjoying his recently found freedom for the first time in many weeks, the being that had once been known as Arisugawa Heiji walked down Reet’s Retreat’s roof where he had parked the sleek aircraft, down the long stairs built against the external wall, and proceeded to make his way along the second floor corridor, looking for a quiet place in the club to sit and enjoy the evening.