Against Gravity

"The fact is I need to give them something, or they wouldn't keep me here in this job. And then I'd never be able to help you. If you can give me something – anything, no matter how trivial it might seem to you – I swear I'll do my damnedest to get you out of here. Today, if I can."

Kendrick smoothed his suddenly sweat-slicked hands against his legs. "I don't know. What is it you want me to say?"

"Anything you can give me," Stenzer replied, his words imploring. "I can help you, but only if you can help me."

But what can I say? Kendrick wondered. He was a journalist. Stenzer already knew everything about his life. It still seemed incomprehensible that there could be any correlation between those articles he'd written and his imprisonment here without any official charges ever being laid. There was nothing he could tell Stenzer he had not already described in excruciatingly repetitive detail.

Tears came to Kendrick's eyes: Stenzer was clearly employing a new tactic to get from him that which he did not have to give.

"I don't have anything. I don't. I've told you everything I can, everything about my wife and myself, God knows how many hundreds of times over. I wish I could tell you something more, but there's nothing, I swear."

Stenzer's expression became grim. "The smallest detail, Mr Gallmon. You might think it isn't important, but it might be. Your wife was in contact with dissidents and enemies of the nation. Are you telling me she had America's best interests at heart when she consorted with the kind of people who would incinerate a city full of i

Kendrick shook his head violently. "Christ, you don't even know that terrorists caused the field rot! Anyway, the environment's been fucked for decades, and-"

"Don't tell me what to think!" Stenzer screamed into Kendrick's face, spittle spraying from his mouth. Until now, it had just been questions, endless questions, while Kendrick's mind grew dull from boredom and hunger.

Now, something had changed.

Stenzer struck him hard. It took several seconds before Kendrick understood he had been assaulted. He found himself lying on his back, the chair tipped over to one side, his mouth full of the taste of blood and iron.

Stenzer loomed above him, his fist cocked as if prepared to give another punch.

"I can't tell you anything," Kendrick repeated weakly, falling into his familiar litany. "I've told you everything I can, again and again. If there was anything else, I'd tell you, I really would. But there isn't. I want to go home."

Stenzer nodded, his expression hard and inhuman. He walked to the door and opened it. Two guards were waiting outside, ready; they must have been there the whole time. They gripped Kendrick by the arms and hauled him to his feet, then dragged him back out into the corridor, blood dripping from his damaged face.

"What would you like us to do with him, Sir?" one asked.

"Kill him," Stenzer replied curtly, closing the door forever.

16 October 2096 Leith Docks

"There you are."

Erik Whitsett still wore the same woollen coat as when he'd first approached Kendrick outside the Armoured Saint. The same scarf was wrapped carefully around his neck, the collar of his jacket pulled up to cover his ears.

Kendrick glanced out along the quay. They were standing near where the ships were docked, the air filled with the cries of gulls and the smell of brine. Warehouses and half-derelict office buildings lined the waterfront. In recent years the area had regained its former notorious reputation, particularly since all the refugees had arrived. Kendrick had lived here himself for a while when he'd first come to Scotland. Those had been difficult times, but he knew the area well enough to know that they'd be left alone now.

"You seem out of breath. Did you find your way okay?"

"I wasn't exactly sure where you meant," Whitsett replied. "I'm not so familiar with these parts, remember?" He coughed up a small cloud of steam into the chill air. "Sorry if I'm a little late."

"No problem. Care to take a walk?"

Whitsett made an exaggerated show of looking around him. "Christ, couldn't you have picked some bar at least?"

Kendrick gri

"Well, I don't see any alternative. So, yeah, let's walk." They fell into step with each other, the sea at Kendrick's left shoulder.

"You come down here a lot, don't you?"

Kendrick smiled. "From time to time, yes. This is where I first arrived on these shores."

"On one of the ships?"

"Yeah, in the early years of the war. Cargo ships came across, carrying thousands of us once the rioting spread to the East Coast. And then the Legislate navies tried to run a blockade to stop too many of us getting in."

"Kind of harsh."

Kendrick shrugged. "What's it like back over there these days?"

"Same as you probably see daily on the news. Used to be the rest of the world that was fighting among themselves, now it's our turn." Whitsett turned to him. "I stayed on, after the Maze. I used to be a counsellor before, so I helped other people cope with what happened to them down there – to try and slow down the suicide rates, sort of. I first got to know Buddy back then, before he decided to head somewhere south of Mexico with that helicopter of his. And what about you?"

"It was either go one way and try and find my way through a war zone, or head the other way and get on the boat. Then, like yours, my augs turned rogue a little while back, so I had to lie low."

Whitsett nodded sympathetically.

"If you don't mind my asking," said Kendrick, "how did you get here without having to go through the usual checks?"

"Private flight, arranged through a company part-owned by a Labrat. It bypasses the usual cha

"Anyone I know?"

"Well – remember Roy? Roy Whitman?"

"Yeah, sure I remember him."

"You worked together, right?"

"Buddy worked for him," Kendrick corrected Whitsett, "back when he was ru

Whitsett glanced at him quizzically. "You're still writing?"

Kendrick shook his head. "Hardly at all. I'm lucky just to have the funds to keep going this long without working, but that won't last for ever."

"But you can't get the work, because nobody wants Labrats around them. Times are getting hard for all of us."

Kendrick shrugged. "I suppose I should take comfort in knowing that I'm far from being the only one with this kind of problem."

Whitsett smiled. "Consider yourself lucky. Things are a lot worse in some parts of America than they are here."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. But you didn't come all this way just to see me."

"No, there's other reasons. Mainly, though, Buddy's surprised he hasn't heard from you."

"I remember, you said that. Maybe the question is why did he feel the need to send you when he could have just asked me himself?"

"Like I said, he's busy. But he needs your help."

"He could have called me."

"It took a little time to track you down. You hid yourself pretty well."

Kendrick allowed himself a small smile. "Looks like I didn't do a thorough enough job."

"But Buddy's speaking to you now – through me. Los Muertos know about the visions."

"Bully for them."

"Don't underestimate Los Muertos. They're a lot more dangerous now than they were even a few years ago."