momebie

Original fiction.
~1500 words.

This entry follows directly after this post. Though, if you missed it, you might need some of the information from this interlude.

. . .

“There is something I do want to know, if we're done with the questions,” Mattie said.

The Or across the table put down her pen and crossed her hands over the pad, blocking Mattie's vision of the words that were written there. “Yes?”

“Who are you?”

“What do you mean? I'm Or.”

Mattie shook her head. “No, who are you really? Because if you were Or I'd be able to see your halo. Unless you people have learned how to hide parts of your souls along everything else you've fabricated.”

The Or looked down at her hands and smiled. “Why didn't you tell your male friend there was something wrong? Don't you want him here to save you?”

“Do I need saving?”

“No, because I am Or. Rather, I'm a good enough replication that they've taught me to carry her thoughts. And Or doesn't think you've ever needed saving.” She stood and walked around the end of the table to where Mattie was perched on the stool. She stopped so close that their thighs almost touched. The Or looked Mattie in the eye.

The hair on the back of Mattie's neck rose as the Or reached out a hand and clasped her fingers around Mattie's wrist, pulling it up for inspection. She lightly stroked the lines of the tattoo where they crossed there. Tracing the path out, she turned Mattie's hand so that she could follow the loops to their brushing outer edges. Mattie shivered.

“You're wondering if I have all of her thoughts,” the Or said, and looked Mattie in the eye. Mattie turned her head, breaking the Or's gaze. There was a click and a beep and then the door opened. The Or took a step back and turned to see who was interrupting them.

Chet was in the doorway, helmet in hand. “We've had a call from the Captain,” he said. “She's been pinned down in an abandoned building five miles east of the border. She needs relief.”

“We're busy here, as you can see. You can brief me after you've returned.”

“No,” Chet said. “She wants Mattie to come.”

“Why?” Mattie said.

“Or trusts you.”

“But I don't know how to hold a gun or fight. I'll just be in the way.” She wanted to say but she doesn't even know me.

“You've already proven yourself more resourceful this evening than I imagined you ever believed you could be. Be ready to leave in ten minutes.” He ducked out of the door and let it slam behind him. The Or turned back to Mattie and opened her mouth.

“No,” Mattie said, raising her hand and sliding off the stool. “If Or wants to say something to me then she should be the one to say it. I don't want to hear any revelations from her proxy.” She backed away a few paces and then turned and bolted from the room.

Out in the hallway there was less commotion than she expected. She turned left and followed it out the way she'd come in. Maynard ran into her as she turned the corner.

“Ow,” she said, rubbing her arm where he had knocked her into the wall. “Have you seen Chet?”

“No, where are you going?”

“Chet was headed out to do some field work,” she said. There was no use in worrying Maynard any more than was necessary. “He wants me to come.”

“Why? No, we don't have any business being involved in this.” He reached out and grabbed her shoulder. “Mattie, we need to get out of here.”

She pulled away. “No, let me go.”

“You don't know what I just saw.”

“It can't really compare to what I just saw,” she mumbled.

“Mattie!” Chet called.

“I have to go,” she said and skittered away toward Chet's voice.

“Mattie,” Maynard called after her. “Don't trust any of them!”

Mattie found Chet at the lift pad. He had his helmet on and was holding an extra helmet and jacket which he held out to her without comment. She took them from him and slipped into the jacket and zipped it up to her chin. It was exactly like the one Chet was wearing, black and made of the type of soft, rare leather that she never thought she'd have the chance to touch let alone wear. He took the helmet from her and dropped it down onto her head, giving it a tap with the tips of his fingers.

“Chet,” she said, fiddling with the straps underneath the helmet.

“Yeah?”

“Why are there two of her?”

A look flitted across Chet's face, somewhere between worry and hope. It was gone almost as quickly as it blossomed. “It's a long story,” he said. “But now that we know you can pick her out of a crowd of them, then you won't ever have to worry about being fooled. And you're probably the only one who can say that.”

“You sound like you have been.”

“Let's just say the duplicates are broken inside and they don't really care to treat others as they wish to be treated.”

In the garage there were six black clad riders turning over the engines on their bikes. Chet pulled the visor on his helmet down and motioned for her to do the same. She and climbed onto the bike behind him. “This will be a little longer than the ride you just took.” His voice was muffled by the helmet and Mattie had to strain forward to hear him over the buzzing sound of six motorcycles in the metal garage.

As the door opened she saw the grey, early morning sky and it hit her how long she'd been awake. Mattie stifled a yawn and reached around Chet, holding tight to his waist. “Don't let go,” he said, and they were off.

The sun was rising in front of them as they sped along the main bridge to the center of the node. Mattie tried to remember a time when she could see so much of the sky uninterrupted. It calmed her and momentarily quieted the rustling, winged creatures that she felt pulling at the edge of her thoughts more and more frequently these days. She decided that when all of this was over she was going to have Chet teach her to ride a bike on her own. It felt so much like flying.

But every bird must come down, and the engine of the motorcycles chugged as the group turned in to the tight streets surrounding the warehouses. They slowed to a stop several hundred yards away from the building where Or was hiding. Mattie slid off the bike and Chet parked it and turned it off. He removed his helmet and set it on the seat. “Yours too, come on.” Around Mattie the other riders were checking their guns. She took her helmet off and handed it to Chet. “The jacket too, come on.”

“But I'm hardly wearing anything.”

“You can't look like one of us. If you look like you belong with us the snipers that drove her into that warehouse will shoot you. You're safer this way. I promise.”

Mattie doubted that, but relinquished the jacket anyway. “What do I need to do?”

“You? You just need to walk in and take her this.” Chet placed a smooth, plastic ball into her hand. “Be careful not to push the button on the side. Or won't do it until she's sure it's necessary. Until then, don't get shot.”

She looked down at the device. “Won't they see it?”

“There's nothing in that they want. And if they do see it, they're going to be extra careful not to hit it.”

“Is it a bomb?” She could feel the muscles in her legs tightening and making her clumsy. Even with what she'd been through earlier in the evening she couldn't quite wrap her mind around being in the same area as a bomb, let alone just walking around carrying one.

“Something like that,” he said.

Mattie nodded and turned to look at the building. “Just straight in through the front door then?”

“Straight on,” Chet answered.

“All right then. I'll see you on the other side.” Mattie took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. She shook out her arms and legs a little, trying to release the tension. “One foot in front of the other.”

She walked down the street until she was standing opposite the warehouse and then made her away across the empty space with small, unsteady steps as if she was walking a tightrope. When she made it to the door she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, waiting for something to happen. When there was no sound to greet her she reached out to grasp for the handle on the door. Turning it, she opened her eyes.

She choked and dropped the ball. It bounced across the floor and landed in a puddle of blood. Nothing Mattie had ever seen could have prepared her for what she was seeing.

“Help me,” Or said, looking up from the old man lying in her arms. “He's dying. I can't let him die.”

This post was written for Topic 24: Bats in the Belfry at