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Simon Remembers
May. 31st, 2005 10:14 pmHigh collar of his coat turned up against the filthy fog, one hand nervously clutching the tiny slip of paper in his pocket -- he should have destroyed it, he knows, and he will as soon as he's made the contact -- Simon Tam stands shivering in a boarded-up doorway. He's memorized the words on the paper, and is wondering in a vaguely ironic way if he ought to employ the traditional method of swallowing it when the time comes.
He looks up to re-check the number (61) on the grafitti-scrawled condemned building, then across to check the street name (Marquis) - not for the first time, nor the second, nor (probably) the fifth. The air is cold, and feels not just damp but somehow gritty; there are no air purifiers in the blackout zones.
There's something almost dreamlike about this, about being here at all, a pervasive sense of unreality to it; as though the cracked concrete underfoot, the ruinous buildings and streets, are no more substantial than the fog and shadows that enshroud them. For a moment he can't quite believe he's truly here. Simon Tam, Doctor Simon Tam, pride of the best MedAcad on Osiris, Gabriel and Regan Tam's little boy, lurking in a doorway waiting for some kind of cloak-and-dagger clandestine meeting in a blackout zone? Impossible. Absurd. This isn't even a real place; the streets would be lit if it were, the pavement in better repair, the air easier to breathe.
And then two figures materialize out of the shadows, long coats and heavy hats limning themselves against the noncolor of the fog. A shoe scrapes against the crumbling pavement behind him, and Simon twists about to see a third figure there, faceless behind a thin black scarf but still undeniably there. Undeniably real.
They're silent, the three of them, and Simon realizes -- remembers -- that he's supposed to speak first. To prove he's who he claims to be. Or rather, to give them the chance to prove they're who they claim to be. Challenge and countersign, and it's his part to give the challenge, the first of the two phrases scribbled on the tiny slip of paper in his pocket.
"The, ah ..." He has to clear his throat. "The man in black fled across the desert."
The three exchange glances, and one nods fractionally. Another speaks from behind the concealing scarf, and it's the countersign, the second phrase: "Is there no physician there?"
All the breath goes out of Simon in a rush, and he pulls in a gulp of the wet sour air to keep from passing out. "Yes. I'm Dr. Tam."
-----
The basement room is lit by a single old-fashioned electric lightbulb, flickering at intervals and throwing odd shadows into the corners. There is a battered plastic table, and four folding chairs of some cheap lightweight metal, and nothing more. It's clearly been set up as a temporary meeting place, with the operative word in that phrase being temporary. When the four of them leave this room, there will be nothing to show that they were ever there.
"You understand, we haven't spoken to your sister directly." The faceless face turns unerringly in Simon's direction as it speaks; presumably the black masks are only opaque from the outside. "We can't get near the students any more than you can."
"But you said she's in danger?" Simon looks from one to the other.
The one he's addressed nods, and the voice from behind the mask is grim. "All of them are. Every soul in that place."
"And you can get River out." It's not quite a question.
Again that exchange of eyeless glances, then: "We think so."
"All right." He keeps his voice low and level, as though his heart isn't pounding against his ribs. "What do you need from me?"
One hesitates, then shrugs and says baldly: "Funding, primarily. Most for equipment. Some for bribes. This isn't going to be something we can do twice, at least not twice the same way."
"Then ... I'm not sure how to say this. Why River?"
"Because, Dr. Tam," and the speaker unclasps his hands and leans forward over the table, "whoever we rescue from that place will need to disappear. Utterly and completely. The Academy wanted her for a purpose and they are going to want her back."
"Simply returning her home will not be an option," puts in another. "It's the first place they'll look. And they will look."
"So the second thing we're going to need from you," the first continues, "is a commitment to get your sister away. As far and as fast as you can go. This attempt is going to put all of us at enormous risk, and if it's not to be wasted, we need someone committed to helping our rescuee stay rescued. Someone the kid can trust. Ideally a family member."
Simon frowns. "I don't understand. No, I ... don't think you've answered my question. Of all the students there -- why River?"
The third speaks for the first time, and the voice is harsh and rasping. "Because you're the first family member we've found who's willing to believe that something might be wrong." A ring gleams on this one's finger, beaten silver with the motif of a stylized rose.
He looks up to re-check the number (61) on the grafitti-scrawled condemned building, then across to check the street name (Marquis) - not for the first time, nor the second, nor (probably) the fifth. The air is cold, and feels not just damp but somehow gritty; there are no air purifiers in the blackout zones.
There's something almost dreamlike about this, about being here at all, a pervasive sense of unreality to it; as though the cracked concrete underfoot, the ruinous buildings and streets, are no more substantial than the fog and shadows that enshroud them. For a moment he can't quite believe he's truly here. Simon Tam, Doctor Simon Tam, pride of the best MedAcad on Osiris, Gabriel and Regan Tam's little boy, lurking in a doorway waiting for some kind of cloak-and-dagger clandestine meeting in a blackout zone? Impossible. Absurd. This isn't even a real place; the streets would be lit if it were, the pavement in better repair, the air easier to breathe.
And then two figures materialize out of the shadows, long coats and heavy hats limning themselves against the noncolor of the fog. A shoe scrapes against the crumbling pavement behind him, and Simon twists about to see a third figure there, faceless behind a thin black scarf but still undeniably there. Undeniably real.
They're silent, the three of them, and Simon realizes -- remembers -- that he's supposed to speak first. To prove he's who he claims to be. Or rather, to give them the chance to prove they're who they claim to be. Challenge and countersign, and it's his part to give the challenge, the first of the two phrases scribbled on the tiny slip of paper in his pocket.
"The, ah ..." He has to clear his throat. "The man in black fled across the desert."
The three exchange glances, and one nods fractionally. Another speaks from behind the concealing scarf, and it's the countersign, the second phrase: "Is there no physician there?"
All the breath goes out of Simon in a rush, and he pulls in a gulp of the wet sour air to keep from passing out. "Yes. I'm Dr. Tam."
-----
The basement room is lit by a single old-fashioned electric lightbulb, flickering at intervals and throwing odd shadows into the corners. There is a battered plastic table, and four folding chairs of some cheap lightweight metal, and nothing more. It's clearly been set up as a temporary meeting place, with the operative word in that phrase being temporary. When the four of them leave this room, there will be nothing to show that they were ever there.
"You understand, we haven't spoken to your sister directly." The faceless face turns unerringly in Simon's direction as it speaks; presumably the black masks are only opaque from the outside. "We can't get near the students any more than you can."
"But you said she's in danger?" Simon looks from one to the other.
The one he's addressed nods, and the voice from behind the mask is grim. "All of them are. Every soul in that place."
"And you can get River out." It's not quite a question.
Again that exchange of eyeless glances, then: "We think so."
"All right." He keeps his voice low and level, as though his heart isn't pounding against his ribs. "What do you need from me?"
One hesitates, then shrugs and says baldly: "Funding, primarily. Most for equipment. Some for bribes. This isn't going to be something we can do twice, at least not twice the same way."
"Then ... I'm not sure how to say this. Why River?"
"Because, Dr. Tam," and the speaker unclasps his hands and leans forward over the table, "whoever we rescue from that place will need to disappear. Utterly and completely. The Academy wanted her for a purpose and they are going to want her back."
"Simply returning her home will not be an option," puts in another. "It's the first place they'll look. And they will look."
"So the second thing we're going to need from you," the first continues, "is a commitment to get your sister away. As far and as fast as you can go. This attempt is going to put all of us at enormous risk, and if it's not to be wasted, we need someone committed to helping our rescuee stay rescued. Someone the kid can trust. Ideally a family member."
Simon frowns. "I don't understand. No, I ... don't think you've answered my question. Of all the students there -- why River?"
The third speaks for the first time, and the voice is harsh and rasping. "Because you're the first family member we've found who's willing to believe that something might be wrong." A ring gleams on this one's finger, beaten silver with the motif of a stylized rose.
