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Noel found that as work progressed on the cavern
his mood became more tense. He no longer saw the visions as before, or dreamed
about the sea and the boat, but he felt that the time was drawing near for
the fulfilment of his prophecy. Sometimes the people of the Commune would
ask him about the strange preparations that they were making, but he didn't
answer them directly. Noel found that he would consider for a while and
then something would come into his head that concerned the questioner, rather
than the situation, and whatever his reply, it would calm them.
Eventually he became impatient with the construction work and the waiting,
and decided to return to the Quarter. Once he had reached this decision
he wasted no time; there were no trucks going back for a while so Noel decided
to go on his own. Using an old two-wheeled vehicle like those that Xavier
rode in the Games, he went cross-country in the direction of the Fusodrome.
He liked the machine he rode: it had a gutsy power and a fast response that
suited Noel's sudden mood of urgency.
Noel rode down the twisting mountain highway taking care with the gravel-littered
hairpin bends, and surveying the view over the plains whenever he could
take his eyes from the road. He had a light weapon tucked into his coat
in case of trouble. However, the only part of the journey likely to be dangerous
would be the last part of the desert, as it turned into bush-scattered tundra
on the approach to the Quarter. From his vantage point on the descent Noel
could see no troop or League movements in the area near the road, so he
judged himself safe. As he descended towards the desert he could not help
noticing the expanse of sky around and ahead of him. It was mainly clouded,
but as he could direct more of his attention to it on the straighter stretches
of road he noticed the way in which individual clouds were highlighted by
the sun. He noticed the subtle differences of colour in them, often a light
green shade against bigger darker-grey masses behind, that sometimes had
a tinge of maroon in them. Once on the empty open road leading away from
the hills he spent more of his attention on the sky. He had rarely seen
it this way before; the day was unusual in that a combination of the early
evening sun and rainy days in the week before had made the sun's light a
paler yellow than usual, and high cold water vapours had resulted in haloing
effects.
He came into a wooded region with a series of bends, from which he could
not remove his eyes for long to look at the gaps in the trees, and found
himself concentrating on steering his machine. The training that he had
absorbed in the Commune was becoming second nature: a choiceless awareness
of his surroundings. Two-wheeled vehicles had to 'tack' in a fashion similar
to the ancient sailing ships, but in a more subtle way: they were in a perpetual
state of falling, either to the left or to the right, making a series of
long arcs of different radius, even along a straight road. The nuclear-powered
and highly sophisticated Nu2s that had long replaced the older internal
combustion machines took care of the tacking themselves. The older machines
required the rider to make the corrections manually, though, like with a
bicycle, the art - even as it was being learned - remained an unconscious
motor reflex. Noel's deep-rooted instinct to explore his unconscious, brought
out and strengthened by the meditation courses at the Commune, was now directing
him to those usually unconscious reflexes, and he brought his whole being
into the setting of the best line through the always-changing bends coming
at him. The joyous sweep through a well-executed curve, the subtle shifts
in his body weight and slight pressures on the handlebars that he made in
response to the tunnel-like woodland road as it came towards him gave his
spirits a lift. As he came out of the woods past cultivated fields onto
the main highway - built in the days when the population of the Continent
had been twice its present number - he was able again to take in the beautiful
expanse of sky around him, and he felt like a bird in flight. The vastness
of it filled him, and he felt a silence grow inside him. He gazed at the
slowly changing features above him, and, had he been trained in the long-suppressed
science of meteorology and atmospheric physics, would have noted to himself
the basic cloud types that gathered at different heights in the troposphere:
cumulus and cirrus. Heavy cumulo-nimbus threatened rain to his right across
the plain, and cirrostratus floated in exquisite threadings above him, their
fabric woven by high-altitude winds. Had Noel been a poet he would have
drawn from himself deeply personal yet universal metaphors to place his
experience in language. Had he been a painter he would have been taking
careful note of the colours, hues and distribution of the cloud masses above
him: the difference in blue between that of the gaps above him - blues that
were deep and saturated - changing towards the horizon to an achingly fluorescent
cyan, almost green at times. None of these responses would have satisfied
him at that moment however, as they would have required the activity of
his mind, his intellect, and the engagement with the mechanisms of language.
Noel was simply, for a period, the sky.
After a while thoughts returned, and Noel felt a sense of anger that all
this was to be destroyed. The sky would remain of course, but without a
conscious being to perceive it and glory in it, of what use was it to be
there?
Along the highway stretched pylons and telegraph poles whose catenary wires
divided the sky into little geometrical regions. Bringing his eyes down
to the more immediate surroundings Noel noticed an artificial lake which
reflected these patterns at the side of the road. He surveyed the abandoned
gravel-workings with their brilliant yellow banks and shimmering hazy-blue
waters as he passed them at speed. Wild grasses and flowers protruded over
the shingly flattened shores. In some areas regular fields of a cactus-like
crop had been planted, and Noel caught glimpses of squat mechanical plant-tenders
scurrying through the rows.
Nearly three hours of steady riding brought Noel into the Quarter where
he made his way straight to Bertie's old cafe. Noel sat there in a reflective
mood, waiting for Xavier, the expansive feelings from his journey still
powerfully with him. He thought back to the holiday he had spent with George
more than a year ago: he had been so carefree then, playing out his role
as George's female companion. That state of mind seemed a million miles
from him now, and he began to feel grim and weary again. Noel was facing
the street across his table in the cafe; a thick sheet of plate glass kept
out the noise. It was the time of year again for the fair, which was now
at its height, attracting hundreds of reckless youths and the well-protected
rich. There was going to be trouble and Noel was ready for it. In an odd
way Noel felt glad to be alone, he had a mission, he had strength. He stared
out of the window and sipped his drink, as a well-built man wandered into
the cafe staggering slightly. Noel observed him from the corner of his eye;
he seemed intoxicated by drugs or drink. He took a beverage and wandered
over to Noel's table and sat down.
Noel looked at him briefly and then turned his gaze to the street again.
Noel turned over in his mind what he suddenly knew: the man was not drunk,
he had been sent, and it meant that the League were near. Noel kept staring
out at the street, but stealthily moved his hands under the table until
he had a firm grip on one of its legs. Noel stared straight ahead, but his
concentration was in his peripheral vision. Apparently relaxed, Noel remained
motionless, looking out at the street. The man picked up a newspaper lying
on the table. Noel heard a faint click and received the tiniest glimpse
of bright steel behind the planes of paper settling into their customary
fan-shape. It was enough. The attack from the overseer, Xavier nearly being
killed by Centaur, the League's attack on their truck, Shorty's suicide,
his rider's death in the tunnel; all these flashed through his mind and
blocked out everything else with rage. The table flew up, hiding the view
of newspaper, knife, and assailant. A woman screamed. The man sprang back
out of balance, his knife describing a flashing arc, still held in his grasp.
Noel moved forward onto one firmly planted and outward turning leg, while
the other followed through like some primitive missile, directed towards
the man's head. From Noel's hips through his thigh, down the leg and into
his foot ran a single murderous intent. The eyes of droid and man briefly
made contact. Noel's boot, perfectly counterbalanced by his torso and fist-clenched
arms, shot towards the temple of his would-be assassin. At the same time
the knife sped towards Noel's throat. Noel deflected the knife with a flick
of his right wrist as the flowing movement of his arm brought it up past
his chin. With a hiss of exhaled breath his body reached full tension as
thrust and block were completed: his boot smashed into the man's head. Then,
continuing the same fluid motion, Noel brought down his striking foot and
followed through with his left fist, punching downwards at his falling opponent,
the full weight of his torso twisting behind the blow. Before the man had
even reached the ground Noel had struck his broken head for the second time.
The man crashed into another table and in a spray of broken crockery and
food and drink and blood he hit the ground. Noel stood over his inert body
in silence. He couldn't describe the anger he felt.
In a daze he saw Bertie rush out, quickly taking in the scene, and emptying
the cafe of customers. Bolting and shuttering the door he returned to Noel,
who was still standing motionless and breathing heavily. Bertie guided him
to a seat in the corner and then, with his two assistants, dragged the body
of the dead man out through the little kitchen at the back. Returning again
to Noel he looked at him for a moment, and then brought him a stiff drink.
Noel looked up and nodded his thanks, then leaned over and picked up his
assailant's knife which had fallen under his table, turning it over in his
hands. He sat there like this while the cafe staff cleared up the mess and
washed the floor.
Not long afterwards Xavier turned up with a few droid companions. Bertie
unbolted the door and let the shuttering up far enough for them to enter,
bent double. As Xavier entered, the proprietor of the cafe whispered a few
words to him. He came over and sat beside Noel. They clasped hands.
"Look at this knife," said Noel, showing it to Xavier. "I
think it is coated with beryllium. A small cut from that would destabilise
the entire nervous system."
"I've seen it," said Xavier grimly. "It's horrible. One of
our new droid friends from the reactors got hit by one of them. He went
berserk. Literally shook himself to pieces. Ugh."
Xavier shook his head. Then he looked at Noel sombrely.
"You've gone a long way since you first came in here."
Noel looked at him and gave an imperceptible nod.
Noel went back to the apartment with Xavier and greeted Prunella, but felt
rather remote from them. It was a while before Noel stopped brooding over
the man he had killed. He understood Xavier much better now; he thought
back to Marinima's strange comment on being able to die properly or take
life, and wondered whether in their different ways Xavier and Marinima had
long known something that he was only just learning. Noel turned over the
incident in his mind, reflecting on his reactions. In an odd way he felt
that he would never do it again; even in the midst of his rage he had taken
the decision to make a counter-attack very deliberately. It was not that
he now regretted the outcome, but he could not see himself ever making that
decision again.
It was only some days later that Noel began to notice the air of tension
between Xavier and Prunella. It dawned on him that Prunella must have told
Xavier about her pregnancy. Delicately, Noel reached out to Xavier with
his mind to see if he was trying to contact Noel or share his thoughts.
Xavier was very distant however, and Noel could see that any discussion
of the matter would be very difficult. Prunella seemed comforted by Noel's
presence; but she too avoided the subject completely and was rather subdued.
There was a tacit understanding that the forthcoming child was not to be
mentioned. Xavier could not come to terms with it; for now he simply acted
as though the pregnancy did not exist. His coolness to Prunella was the
only thing that showed his state of mind. Noel would see the tall woman
resting in one of their old armchairs with a slight air of melancholy about
her; she had lost her tom-cat playfulness, and though Xavier would sometimes
try to recapture their former ways of bickering good-humour, it would mostly
fall flat. Prunella loved to be physically close to him, but his complete
denial of her present state cast a shadow between them.
Xavier's latest plan was to re-enter the Complex and be ready to lead the
droids when the A.D.League's next attack came, which their sources told
them could be soon. The skirmish with Government forces that had coincided
with their first exit from the tunnel had not reduced their determination.
The goal of the League was now quite clearly to take control of the reactors
and destroy all the droids they could, which would remove a large proportion
of the droid population from the Continent in one go. With the power stations
under their control the Government would have to yield to the League, and
the new order that they were hoping for would be brought in. Noel's prediction,
that the League would actually completely destroy the Complex in a nuclear
melt-down, was not seen as being very likely, and the fact that Marinima
was building a nuclear shelter in the mountains was regarded by most of
their group as just a precaution. Nobody as yet could see a way of penetrating
the defences of the individual reactors.
Xavier's plans received a set-back however. An advance party that he had
sent out to check the safety of their usual route via the discharge tunnel
came back with bad news: the League had again brushed with Government forces
not far from the tunnel mouth, and Government shelling had blocked the entrance.
Construction teams from the Complex were now repairing the damage, but the
human overseers present would prevent Xavier using it for some time. Xavier
spent a frustrated few weeks trying to find a way round the problem. An
attack on the construction teams would present no problem; the droid workers
could be warned in advance. However, the human overseers could not be killed
or captured because troops would soon be in the area.
Xavier in the meantime sent out a number of small probes equipped with imaging
sensors, and over the following few days spent hours looking through the
details of the ADL deployment, in as much a he could piece it together (many
probes of course were spotted and destroyed). At one point he came down
from his long studies looking very weary, and sank into an old chair, not
moving for a long time. In the end Noel realised that something was wrong
and asked him about it. Xavier looked up, and Noel was shocked at the torment
in his eyes, which Xavier quickly lowered.
"Come with me," said Xavier suddenly, and took Noel to the communications
room where he had been studying the pictures of the ADL. Using his image-enhancing
equipment, he showed Noel a group of men squatting in front of an armoured
personnel carrier, and zoomed in to the man on the far left.
"This is Joe."
Xavier then moved from face to face in turn, each one clearly visible.
"This is Adam. This is John. This is Richard. This is Rod."
Noel looked at him puzzled.
"I knew this whole gang when they were youngsters, before I came to
the Quarter: they used to come down to the NuMotor pool where I worked,
and do deals with fancy wheels, and useless gadgets that made their cars
look smart. I taught them how to work on their cars. Noel, they were my
friends."
Noel looked at him.
"Noel, don't you understand, they are all going to die if we fight."
"But you have killed in the Games," Noel shrugged, "and this
is war now."
"I know, but that was different somehow. The few that I have killed
knew the risks of the Games, and we faced each other with equal odds. These
kids - I know that they are grown up now - they are just normal guys without
much of a thought in their heads. They are brain-washed by the ADL. They
don't know what they are doing."
Xavier shook his head.
"Every man and droid has to make the decision on which side they stand,"
said Noel, "no matter what their intelligence. It is no good excusing
your old friends by saying that they are influenced by the wrong people.
My driver in the tunnel was killed by them; their goal is to multiply that
death to the bitter end, and you are the only person standing in their way.
Who could lead the resistance apart from you? "
Noel pondered.
"I don't understand your change of heart, now, when we are so close
to battle."
"I owe everything to the humans, Noel. I know there are bad ones amongst
them, but without them I would not exist. Everything I know comes from them."
"They didn't create us for our benefit, Xavier. They created us for
their own reasons, and now they cannot accept us as equals."
Xavier looked down at the floor.
"I know all this in theory, but I just can't go on Noel."
"But Xavier, if we don't fight the whole Continent will return to the
dark ages: they will kill every one of your people, you have said
so yourself, many times."
"What use are we to them, to the humans?" There was a bitterness
now in Xavier's voice.
"Xavier, Xavier, that is not a question you can ask. And even if you
can ask it for yourself, you can't ask it for all the other droids."
There was a long silence, as Xavier hung his head.
"Noel it's not just that."
Noel was silent for a while, thinking that there was nothing more he could
say.
"Xavier, listen. Could you talk this over with Marinima?"
Xavier nodded.
Noel left it at that, but his heart was heavy. His own sad knowledge was
that even if Xavier fought there was little chance for them all. As he turned
over their conversation in his mind it occurred to him that George might
be able to help them with more information about possible access to the
Fusodrome - if Xavier could see a way forward his resolve might return.
Next day he told Xavier and Prunella that he would make a trip to the part
of the Capital where he had worked, because he wanted books from the libraries;
he did not mention George. Prunella was worried about him travelling out
of the Quarter, but Xavier told her that Noel certainly could look after
himself now.
On the next day Noel dressed himself up plainly - he could have passed as
a businessman - and crept across no-man's land early in the morning. He
walked undisturbed to the nearest SkyTrain terminal and caught a train to
George's new home in a distant part of town. Noel sat, a broad-rimmed hat
pulled a little way down over his face, and contemplated the views of the
Capital, thinking again about Xavier's sudden confusion of purpose. At one
station some young men boarded the train. They were singing and shouting,
and as the train moved off they took to vandalising the seats. The other
passengers drew back, closer to where Noel was sitting and the men started
to harass a young woman. This went on for some time before he looked up
and decided that it was time to do something. Calmly Noel rose from his
seat, and reaching upwards took hold of the metal hand rail that was fixed
to the ceiling above him. With great care and precision he pulled it away
from its supports. The sound of snapping bolts distracted the youths from
their occupation of baiting the girl. In the ensuing silence they stared
at Noel, in whose hands was now a three-feet length of stainless steel.
Noel stared back at them, at the same time calmly persuading the metal bar
into a circular shape with his bare hands. He felt again that strange elation
he had felt so long ago with the doors in the factory; it was no simple
physical act that the metal was bent out of shape: Noel was communicating
with its structure directly. The young bullies shrank back and one of them
moved towards the alarm handle. Noel caught his eye. It may have been the
expression on Noel's face, or the groaning sound of the metal bar as he
twisted it into a knot, but the youth decided against his course of action.
The train started slowing down as it approached a station, and Noel realised
that his display would bring him trouble if he did not act quickly. Directing
his mind to the doors nearest to him, he made them open. The train was travelling
very slowly now past a grassy embankment that sloped down towards a park.
Seeing that the young woman had come over to him, and was looking expectantly
at him, Noel on impulse grabbed her hand and pulled her to the door. They
jumped together and rolled down the embankment. He protected her by forming
a sort of cage round her as they rolled together, and at the bottom they
lay in some bushes. Noel indicates to her not to move for a while, and when
he thought it safe:
"Run," said Noel, picking himself up and pulling the girl to his
side. He pointed to an alley-way that led out of the park into some side
streets. In a few moments they had lost themselves in a busy market area.
"You're not hurt?" asked Noel.
The girl shook her head and smoothed over her dress, flicking some bits
of grass off her.
"I don't know how to thank you," she said panting. "Nobody
is willing to stand up to the young League ruffians these days."
"They were League men, were they?" said Noel. "That must
have given them a surprise then."
"Yes," said the girl with a smile. She pointed to a cafe down
the street and Noel nodded his agreement. They sat down for a coffee, and
she talked a little about life in the Capital.
"I assume you are from out of town then?" she asked.
"That's right," said Noel.
The girl seemed to remember something and looked at him for a moment.
"I didn't meet you before, did I? With another bunch of youths, trying
to throw you out of a window?"
"Why yes," said Noel, smiling widely at her. "Are you the
girl who raised the alarm that time?"
"Yes," she cried, "That's me."
She paused.
"I gave you my address, do you remember?"
"Yes I do."
"Why didn't you look me up then?" she asked.
"I was too busy with the new job and new place, and when I did think
of it I found that I had lost the bit of paper, and I couldn't trace you
or your organisation."
"Yes, we are very careful to make sure that information about us doesn't
become widely available."
She smiled, and then looked at him intently for a moment.
"I feel awkward about asking you, but for some reason I think that
you might be the one they call the Prophet Droid?"
Noel was taken aback.
"I had no idea that anyone outside had heard about it."
"We have contacts with a lot of droids, obviously, as that is the point
of our work. Your name has came up a few times now. It wasn't that hard
to connect your behaviour on the train to other things that we have heard,
like the death of the ADL assassin in the Quarter."
Noel looked down.
"Don't feel ashamed."
He looked up and was surprised to see a look of tenderness in her eyes.
She changed the subject:
"I have long felt that the end is near. Everything is falling apart,
even the weather seems strange these days."
Noel raised his eyebrows, but she continued:
"That's one reason I have never wanted children. I believe that your
prophecy is right, and that we are on the edge of a dreadful disaster."
"So why do you work to help the droids, why do you try and defuse the
conflict?"
She smiled.
"One has to act, don't you think? I was brought up by droids, like
so many of the Continent's children, and I have never forgotten the love
and warmth they showed me, often more than my parents could."
She put her hand on his, and to his surprise he became aware of a great
surge of feeling towards her. They looked at each other in silence for a
while, and then Noel asked her if she would like to come to George with
him, telling her a bit about him. She agreed.
When they arrived there, George opened the door and looked from one to the
other, and shook his head.
"Noel, I couldn't think of anyone more welcome at my door. And your
young companion too. Come on in."
George made them feel at home and fed them. From time to time he would eye
the young woman with curiosity. Her name turned out to be Sarah. She in
turn listened attentively, as Noel outlined the current situation to George.
He didn't mention Xavier's crisis.
"There was an underground rail network across the Capital in the old
days," said George thoughtfully.
He went to rummage amongst his papers in a back room and Sarah moved closer
to Noel on the sofa where they sat. He took her hand. When George returned
he looked at them quizzically for a moment. George passed the back of his
hand across his mouth and looked briefly at the ceiling, and then sat down
with some papers he had brought with him.
"Look," he said, "several branches of the old network pass
through Poets Quarter."
Noel leaned forward for a better view.
"As I thought," continued George, "there is a line running
out under what is now enclosed by the Fusodrome."
"Hmm," said Noel. "Do you think there is any chance of the
tunnels being still intact?"
George grinned.
"This is the only copy of this map in existence," he said with
some satisfaction. "When the Fusodrome annexed those old parts of the
Quarter, they would have had no record of these tunnels. Unless they came
across them by chance, they would have no knowledge of their whereabouts,
and they won't have collapsed; they were well engineered in those days."
Noel nodded.
"This is just what Xavier needs. If we could find direct access from
the Quarter, then we could avoid the risky business of entering and leaving
via the desert."
They talked on. George made it clear that Noel was taking great risks in
wandering around the Capital without a pass.
"Pass?" asked Noel.
"Haven't you heard? Droids have to register now and are issued with
passes. I know that your make-up and clothing are good, but if you were
caught you would be in dead trouble."
Noel nodded. Sarah took the opportunity to tell George about Noel's methods
of dealing with trouble, and this time it was George's turn to listen wide-eyed.
"I don't understand you," he said softly, "you've changed
so much."
George was thoughtful for a while.
"I've been reading recently about the so-called super droids."
Noel stared at him, and then nodded slowly.
"I have been thinking about it too," he said. "I have the
feeling that all the droids are slowly evolving that way, despite the corrections
made at the time of the New Constitution."
"Its frightening," said George.
They were quiet for a while.
"The news is on now," said George after a while, and switched
the radio on.
"A Government raid on the outlawed sectors of the Capital have resulted
in many arrests," came the voice of the announcer. "The radio
station known as Radio Poets Quarter has been closed down and the equipment
confiscated."
Noel and George looked at each other.
"Earlier today there were reports of an android going berserk on a
SkyTrain carriage and wrecking a compartment. He is said to have threatened
the passengers with a metal bar, before fleeing with a young woman as hostage."
Sarah laughed to hear the official interpretation of events.
"Nobody takes the Government radio news seriously these days,"
she said. "I am sorry about Radio Poets Quarter though. Me and most
of my friends liked to listen to it. Quite illegal though."
Noel smiled at her, and the description on the news. George served up more
food as the evening drew on.
"By the way," he said after they had eaten. "I have prepared
a whole series of writings for you. I've put them on magnetic storage; would
you be able to read them your end?"
"Yes. I can get them printed out and bound at the Commune."
"Here they are then. It has absorbed me for months; in a way it is
one of the most rewarding things that I have done."
George grinned.
"I hope you don't mind but I have given myself a credit: a kind of
title page."
"But you think my scheme is crazy," said Noel smiling.
"I'm not so sure now," said George.
"Will you not come to the Commune then?" asked Noel.
"No. I am going to leave with the boat people."
"I wish you luck," said Noel.
George showed Sarah and Noel a room where they could stay the night. A little
later when Noel caught George alone he hugged him and said:
"I will slip out before dawn. Xavier must know of the tunnels as soon
as possible. The police will be on the look out for me after yesterday,
so I don't think I can take Sarah with me. Will you look after her?"
"If that's what she wants, then sure I will."
"So long then."
"Good luck."
Noel joined Sarah in the dimly lit room. He sat on the bed with her and
held her hand, and again he felt a surge of feeling for her: somehow she
fitted a picture inside him of a woman that he had lost, maybe the woman
that he had almost been for George. The thought made him smile. She looked
at him, and almost imperceptibly their heads moved together, until their
lips met. They kissed.
"How does one give a woman pleasure?" whispered Noel after a while.
"I'm going to show you," Sarah whispered back. She looked at him.
"You know, you really should have called round the first time."
Noel grinned.
"Actually I got involved with somebody else."
"I don't want to know..." she murmured, and turned out the light.
They talked for a while quietly, and then she pulled his face to hers and
kissed him again. He let her guide his hands to her body and he explored
her neck and shoulders and stomach, feeling her skin under her blouse. Instinctively
aware that her breasts were more private, he avoided them for the moment.
He found her hands caressing his chest and arms, and sat up to remove his
shirt: she took advantage of the moment to remove her blouse, and they lay
down closer together this time. Noel found the silence between them and
the reciprocal caressing quite new and wonderful, and slipped into the kind
of meditative state that he had reached at the Commune after long periods
of concentration. Sarah was breathing heavily now, and brought his hands
to her breasts, still covered by her bra. Noel smiled as he explored them,
first through the oddly rough material, and then more immediately as she
removed the flimsy garment.
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