I was walking through Behatu Camp. It must have been early morning because the heat hadn’t really hit yet. My footsteps made puffs of dust along the unpaved street. The mountains ringing the village were so close I thought I could smell snow. How many centuries had people been fighting over those indifferent Balkan peaks? All this dying—for what?
Lying a few feet in front of me was a girl. She was only ten or so. It was hard to tell because she was so thin. I didn’t want to get any closer, but it was part of my job. I squatted down next to her and pushed the hair back from her face. There was a deep gash along her neck. Blood was pooled underneath.
“I found another one,” I said loudly.
“We’ll get there in a minute.” Was that Curveball? Or maybe Earth Witch?
I touched the girl’s face. There were bruises and small cuts. Her lips were swollen. I didn’t need to see the rest of her body to know she’d been raped. That’s what happened here. Women, girls, grandmothers were all systematically raped and tortured. That’s why we were here. We were supposed to stop it.
But we were too late for her.
Her eyes snapped open. White, unseeing eyes. I jumped back and fell on my ass.
“Murderer,” she said. “Killer.”
Blood spurted from her mouth, covering me.
“Wake up!”
My eyes opened, but for a moment, I didn’t know where I was. Ink gave me a hard shake. “C’mon, Michelle. Wake up.”
“I’m awake,” I said. But my mouth was dry and it came out as a croak.
“Jesus, you scared the crap out of me.”
“I’m sorry,” I said woodenly. I could smell fear sweat on myself.
“You should just quit the Committee,” Ink said as she grabbed her robe and slid from the bed. I heard her go into the kitchen and turn on the faucet. Then she came back and handed me a glass of water.
“I can’t quit,” I said. The water was cold and tasted so good it hurt.
“Why not? You don’t need the money.”
The sheets were damp with sweat, so I went to Ink’s closet, pulled out a fresh set, and then started stripping the bed.
“I can’t quit because I still have work to do for them.”
“Have you even told them what’s been going on with you? You’ve got post-traumatic shock, for crying out loud.”
I jerked one of the pillows out of its case. “I don’t recall when you got your psychiatric license.”
“Fuck you!” she snapped, yanking the sheets off the bed. “I hate this macho bullshit you’re doing. You don’t have to impress me. I know you. I know your heart. I know you’d give anything to help someone else. But you can’t rescue the entire world.”
A hard lump was stuck in the back of my throat. I was not going to cry. I hated women who cried. “Please, can we just leave it alone?” I turned away. If I looked at her I would start bawling.
“Fine,” she said. I could hear her tucking and snapping the sheets. I turned back around to help her.
We finished making the bed, then got back in. But she stayed on her side and I stayed on mine, as if there were a chasm between us. I guess there was, but I didn’t know what to do about it.
Double Helix
THE SWORD SHALL NEVER DEPART
FROM THY HOUSE
Melinda M. Snodgrass
STANDING AT THE WINDOW in Flint’s office looking out at the traffic. Unlike New York, horns still blare and engines cough and rev, but even with our North Sea platforms and the Nigerian oil, gas is very expensive and the number of cars on the roads is substantially reduced.
“There have been a number of incidents in the oil fields. The People’s Paradise is casting it as oppressed locals reacting against the central government in Lagos, but it’s happened very suddenly and it seems very well targeted. I think the President-for-Life Dr. Kitengi Nshombo has a strong interest in securing those oil fields for himself.”
“We can’t lose that oil. Bruckner would be very upset if he couldn’t run his truck.” It’s part of my persona that I keep everything light and rather sarcastic, but in truth I feel a surge of very real fear that cuts through the fog of exhaustion that seems to enfold me. What if there wasn’t gas to run the ambulances? What if I wasn’t around and Mum couldn’t get Dad to the hospital?
“And now the damn UN and the Committee are getting involved.” Flint actually rises from his chair. Even with the reinforced floor I feel the wood flexing and trembling as he walks to join me at the window. “You must reduce their effectiveness. Separate them from Jayewardene. The UN with an army of aces is a distressing development and the secretary-general seems very eager to use them.”
“Look, it would be rather bad form for me to remove Jayewardene, but Nshombo . . .” I allow my voice to trail away suggestively. “I could pay a little visit to Kongoville.”
“His sister would only take his place. He’s a true believer in his Socialist Paradise and murderous in pursuit of his beliefs, but she is a sadist and would be much worse. Also, the real power there is this ace, Tom Weathers. He has an alarming array of powers. Any one of them would be potent. Taken together . . .” He pauses. “I think he may well be the most powerful ace in the world.”
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my case, remove a cigarette, and tap it on the lid. The silver gives back a distorted image of my face. “That may be, but I’m betting a bullet in the back would still kill him.”
“It may come to that, but not just yet. If the ruling class in Kongoville starts dying while they’re locked in a dispute with us . . .”
“Right you are. Clean hands, plausible deniability, and all that.”
“Is there any way for you to break up this Committee?”
“I’m trying, but I only have nights. And not every night because Noel Matthews also has a life as a stage magician.”
“I thought Lilith does her best work at night.” It’s bizarre hearing ponderous sexual innuendo from those stone lips.
“Yes, well, but I can only fuck so many men a night, and my choices are a little limited. But if Lohengrin and DB were to go after each other . . .” The image is irresistible—Lohengrin’s sword against DB’s sonic attack. It would be an interesting match-up. “It wouldn’t be hard. Men are so predictable.”
Flint cocks his head in query. “Only because you are playing the slut. Why do you do that? Is that how you view women? And you’re not very charitable toward men, either.”
“Yes, but I hate people. They are universally such shits.”
“Hmmm.” And then Flint is back to Africa. “Try to get posted to Africa. That way we can control the information coming back.”
All this talk of controlling information and stopping an investigation finally registers in my sleep-deprived mind. “We’re sure nothing is going on in the Niger Delta . . .”
“Perfectly sure. And we will not allow the PPA to invade on a pretext.”
“And if they do?”
“They’ll be dealt with.”
The room has a sour, musty smell. I want to open the window, but it’s a raw day with wind and rain squalls. Dad’s breath seems to rattle in his chest, and his skin looks gray. I need to keep him warm.