Chapter Six: Edison Blair

 

The Ship

10:57 p.m., 8 March 2093

 

Sprocket is furious as he paces back and forth. They are in the main bridge's adjacent briefing room. Goth Lila stands with a few of her people, the Captain with some of his officers and Mr. Haggard.

"I am not going back after we've come all this way," he says. "We're here. We're already here."

"You are not listening," Lila says. "The CHINs shot down a Caliphate jet they said strayed into their airspace and there is a blockade in place by both empires. We can't get to our rendezvous point."

"I don't care. I can jump overboard and swim there."

"Sir, they would pluck you right out of the water," the Captain says.

Haggard looks at Lila. "You need to make a decision because we can't stay here any longer. We have to go."

"What about going through the Russian Bloc?"

"It'll take too long. We'll miss the rendezvous. If that happens, Edison Blair will be gone. It could be years or more before we re-acquire him."

"Why can't I fly in? From an airport. I can just fly in to one of the local airports, take the metro lines, and get there. I'll be a tourist."

"You're an American, sir," the Captain says. "How will you explain your sudden appearance at their airport without the proper passport codes?"

"I was on a boat and we came ashore and decided to see the pyramids. That's a tourist destination."

"It's too dangerous," Lila says.

"I'm willing to risk it."

"Mr. Sprocket, it will not be just your life at stake."

"Tell me where to go, and I'll do it my own. You don't have to take me."

"Somehow I doubt you will do well on your own in a Muslim country."

"I'll do it. Tell me where to go and everything, and I'll make it. I can do it. I can."

Lila looks at the crew.

"We have to go, Lila," Haggard says again.

"He'll need money," Lila says. Haggard takes a digi-card from his wallet and hands it to her. "He can't carry a gun, but it's common for people to carry knives."

One of the crew members takes a knife from his waist holster and hands it to Sprocket. "I want it back. It's an Arabic family heirloom and is older than your own country."

"Can we risk a surrogate?" she asks.

Surrogates are robots that are linked to a human operator and will not function on their own.

The Captain shakes his head. "Outside the main tek-cities, people don't like robots at all. It'll draw too much attention to him, but we can do a live link with his goggles. It'll be as if you're right next to him."

"Like a guardian angel." She looks to see a smiling Sprocket looking back at her. He reaches out his hand for the digi-card. She hands it to him.

"I can do it," he says again.

 

Madagascar

6:15 a.m., 9 March 2093

 

The African country is just outside the blockade area. The ocean is dotted with Caliphate warships. He takes his small shuttle boat into the port by himself. He is wearing very loose clothing, his goggles, and new baseball cap; he blends into the crowds. The only bag he can take is a knapsack, which he wears in front of his body, rather than behind. Gypsies and pickpockets can empty it in seconds, and wearing it in front shows you're not a "stupid tourist," but a street-smart one. People are almost right on top of each other, the smells (good food, strong perfumes, and not so nice body odor), and an array of languages he's never heard before.

It wasn't until he got into his shuttle boat that he saw the name of Haggard's boat—The Prestige. Wherever it is, it's long gone and he probably would never see it or its crew again. He buys passage on a boat and now has to wait until it fills up with other passengers. There are lots of men wearing turbans, fezzes, and keffiyehs (what Americans would say is "that towel on their head"). Lots of women with burkahs (can't see their face) and hijabs (can see their face). People glance at him from time to time. With his lighter skin, they all assume he's Russian or East Europan.

The boat doesn't depart for another three hours. Despite its small size, it's a speed-craft and quickly makes its way up to the Arabian Sea. He embarks at their first stop in Yemen; the boat will continue up the Red Sea with its final stop in Egypt.

Sprocket waits on the street near one of the many eateries. It's as busy as every other street— lots of people, people playing table games he's unaware of, dogs everywhere—and then he sees a new animal being walked down the street by a man in a turban.

"What's that?" he asks. "Is that a genetically-engineered animal?"

"You've never seen a camel before?" Lila's voice sounds in his ear-set.

"But look at it. I bet those big humps are for extra water storage."

"Camels have been around for millions of years; that's before people. Hey—stay back. Don't pet them, they bite hard."

Sprocket moves back and smiles as the man passes with the animal. "I would have bet that they were genetically engineered. They're perfect for this area."

"Yes, God can be smart like that."

 

11:05 a.m.

 

It's like when he was on stakeout tracking Lila. Though, this time there will be no "zombies." He continues to sit waiting and watching. The heat is unbearable, but the people around him are going about their life as if it's nothing.

A man comes out of the crowd and walks to him.

"Who are you?" he asks.

"Who are you?" Sprocket says back.

"This is my country, foreigner."

"I am hot and I'm about to pass out. Don't you guys know that there is such a thing as air-regulators in the world? Just take me where you need to take me and get me into some shade."

"My people need no such machines. We are people of the sun, not weak like you. How do I know you are him?"

"The magic word is Edison Blair. Let's go. I'm dying in this heat."

Sprocket stands up as the man looks him over, but reluctantly leads him away.

The covered jeep has been driving for as long as he was sitting there waiting. Sprocket is sprawled out in the back. The man is in the passenger's seat and another burly man drives.

"Who else is listening to us?" the man asks without turning around in his seat.

"Goth Lila," her voice booms from the speaker in Sprocket's goggles.

"Hello Miss...it is Mrs. now, isn't it?"

"It is."

"Mrs. Goth Lila, it is too bad we weren't able to meet. We hear so much about certain people in the Resistance, but we get to meet so few."

"One day we might."

"If God is willing, yes," he says. "What is the story with this pale-face with me? Why am I driving him to where I'm driving him?"

"He is known by your friend."

"I hope he is because if my friend doesn't know him, we'll kill him and leave him in the desert for the vultures."

Sprocket sits up straight.

"I'd expect no less," Lila's voice says.

"Is this the only thing you need from my friend?"

"Just one other thing, but it will require both your passenger and your friend to complete."

"What do we get in return?"

"What do you need?"

"The IRA needs many things."

"Then we'll talk off-line."

"We're almost to our base. Pale-face won't be able to take any tek in there."

"Then I'll talk to you when I talk to you."

He says something in another language. "Good-bye Mrs. Goth Lila and may God be with you."

"God be with you, too."

The line disconnects and the man simply reaches his open hand back. Sprocket takes the attachment off his goggles and puts it in the man's hand.

 

2:35 p.m.

 

Sprocket has never seen or been in a desert and plans never to set foot in one again. His skin is baking in the heat and his body is covered in sand. He sits on the ground with about a dozen men standing, circling him. The area is covered in large dome tents. His contact went into one, but that was like an hour ago.

Why does everything take so long in this part of the world?

His contact comes out and standing next to him is a humanoid robot. It squats down and looks into Sprocket's face. It must be a surrogate—controlled by Edison Blair?

"I'm Logan's son, and I'm here to see Edison Blair."

The robot stands and nods to the man as it walks back into the dome tent.

"Stand pale-face," his contact commands.

Since his contact has a nickname for him, he'll do the same. His contact will be Mr. Wild Hair. It was something his bio-dad always did. Give people names, much easier to remember them.

Wild Hair scans him one last time with a device and leads him into the dome tent. Inside is very dimly lit. He can barely see, but there are quite a number of people there, all sitting on a large rug, the entire dimensions of the tent. His contact points Sprocket to a spot in front of one silhouetted person. He sits as he takes off his baseball cap.

The person in front of him is doing the same thing as almost everyone else is next to him—smoking from a hookah pipe. With each inhale, the pipe glows a subtle yellow, but dim enough not to reveal the full image of his face.

"Sprocket," the man in front of him says.

"Yes."

"You're a long way from America."

"I am, a very long way. I thought the trip would never end." Sprocket notices his contact is still standing behind him. He looks back to the man.

"Do you want any refreshments?" the silhouetted man in front of him asks.

"Yes, can I have some water? That would be great."

One of the shadowy people in front of him hands him something. Sprocket can't really see what it is but hears the water sloshing around inside. It's some kind of animal hide water bottle. He figures out that the tip is the opening and hangs it upside down to drink. The water is so cold and good. In a few moments, it's all gone.

Wild Hair takes the water bottle.

"That was good. Thank you."

"Why are you here, Mr. Sprocket? Why did they send you?"

"No one sent me. I sent myself. Are you Edison Blair?"

"Why don't you pretend I am, for the sake of this conversation."

"I've been tracking you. I found the Jew-Christian—I mean the Faither, who I knew could help me. Then I found Bunny. Now I'm here. I want to know exactly how my bio-dad was killed. I want to know everything. What, where, how, and who?"

"Why?"

"To do something about it."

"There's nothing to do."

"I don't believe that."

"Only superpowers can hurt superpowers. Individuals can't touch them."

"The Resistance can hurt them."

"The Resistance is a superpower." The man takes another drag on his hookah pipe.

"Are you Edison Blair? I've come a long way and I just want to talk to him. What happened to my father is not right. Something has to be done, and I know Edison Blair feels the same way. We can figure out something together. I know we can."

"I'm glad to see there are still optimistic people in the world. There are so few left."

"Who are all these people here? Muslims?"

"We are not Muslims. We are Kurds." Wild Hair is still standing behind him.

Sprocket looks back at him and then back to the man in front. "I'm in a tent of Muslims. How are they going to help get you revenge?"

"Who says I want revenge?"

"I've read your stories in the Source. They're dripping with contempt and hate for the government. So I know the main 'who' already. The President's administration did in my father. What's the what, how, and the direct 'who?'"

"Your father was working on the story of the murder of the President's campaign manager. He put all the pieces together and was about to release the story publicly. They found out about it and had him neutralized. That's it."

"That's it?"

"I begged him not to go home. I begged so hard that if I could have come through his phone and grabbed him, I would have, but he didn't see the danger. That's why I'm alive. Before Western Europe fell, I saw the danger. My friends and family didn't. That's why I'm alive and they're not."

"And you live with the people who did that to you?"

"The people I live with didn't do that and would destroy the Caliphate and release Old Britain if they could, along with all Western Europe and all the people in the Middle East who want their own Homelands."

"Oh, you're part of the 'Free Old Western Europe' movement. I only care about my bio-dad. What does I-R-A mean anyway?"

"Islamic Reformation Army," Wild Hair says.

"Alliance," Edison Blair corrects.

"We would be an army if not for the bourgeoisie founders of the movement, who are more interested in incrementalism," Wild Hair says. "I should change my religion and join the Resistance. They know how to fight."

"Are we going to be able to talk?" Sprocket asks. "Are you Mr. Blair?"

"I am."

"Do...do you have any photos of my father? I only have a few."

"I have many. I'll copy them for you before you go."

"I was hoping to work for you. I'll never be as good as him, but you can train me, mentor me. I have a lot of contacts in the Outlands and Trog-land in America. That's how I found the Resistance. I could grow those contacts and come up with up stories."

"True journalism is a dying art."

"No, it just needs to be updated. You have the platform already. You just need new people, with new angles. I can do that. All we have to do is wait."

"Wait for what?"

"Until the story comes along that we can use to topple the government, or topple the entire world order."

Edison laughs. "The media definitely can't do that anymore."

"I think it can."

"I used to think like you."

"Then I'll be the used-to-be Edison Blair."

"Will you live here then? You won't be able to stay in America."

"I was thinking of Canada. I'll live with the funny Star Trek people."

People in the tent around them laugh out loud.

"Do you know there is a secret Star Trek religious movement in the Caliphate?"

"Great! Maybe that can help you here."

"Why not live in the Russian Bloc?"

"I'd have to learn another language. I'm horrible with other languages."

"The real reason is you don't want to live with Muslims."

Sprocket smiles. "Well, I can't. My neck starts the itch whenever I'm around them."

People laugh again.

Sprocket turns to Mr. Wild Hair. "You have to give me my dagger back when I leave. It belongs to an Arab Christian and he will come after you."

"I don't doubt it," he says. "There used to be Kurdish Christians, too. All gone now."

Sprocket turns back to Edison. "Do you know who they sent for my father? How it was done? Something exploded from his stomach, that is all I know. That's it. Then his body disappeared from the morgue."

"The killer was called 'The Man Made Out of String.'"

"Is that some kind of drone?"

"We don't know, but it was delivered by another agent," Edison says. "I found that out from...special sources I once had in the government. The other agent is called 'The Delivery Man.' They're apparently a team."

"Why hasn't anyone tried to find them?"

"We can't find them. We don't know how and they haven't been used again. Logan was probably their first and only contract."

"Are you telling me they used my father as a guinea pig contract kill." Sprocket is fuming.

"That's what I believe."

"Then let's get them."

"Do you know something today that I haven't figured out in four years?"

"Not me, the Resistance. They know how, but it will take both of us."

 

7:41 p.m.

 

Sprocket has left—his journey back home will take even longer than the trip to the region.

Edison Blair reflects on his conversation and their plan. He shares his meal with Mr. Wild Hair (Kashi).

"Do you think they will find the murders?" he asks.

"The Resistance is a very determined people. You know that better than I," Edison answers.

"What about our plans? You must remember that the Middle East is not like any other part of the world. Here, blood-ties, bloodlines are very important. You and your little secret group of ex-Western Europans don't understand that. Your goals will never succeed without understanding that. What blood-ties do you have to land you seek to re-conquer?"

"Royal blood, you mean?"

"Yes, which of your people that survived have blood-ties to that land? That would be your claim to the land, not that you once lived there. No one cares about that."

"There's the Swedish royal family that escaped. Three of them, sisters, are still alive. We think Denmark's got out too, but none of the others."

"That would be valid claims, but I don't think any would respect countries that made laws that forced men to sit on a stool when they had to pee."

"There's also the last remaining monarch of Great Britain; changed his names many times."

"That would be better, much better. A male heir, a respected country of Old Western Europa."

"The last king of England."

"Do you know this man?"

Edison takes another slow puff from his pipe before he says, "I am that man."

Kashi smiles. He always suspected there was something more to Edison. The man's words scream of hate for the region, but his body demonstrates the opposite, a longing for it. "But no heirs?"

"No."

"That is not good. You must have a wife and you must have children. That is what we will do for you. We will have our Kurdish Homeland. You will have your English Homeland. They may...be the same thing, because if you have Kurdish children, heirs, you would have your own...Muslim army."

Edison looks on with a smirk.

"Wouldn't that be ironic," Kashi says. "You were run out your Homeland by Muslim armies, only to return one day to reclaim it with your own Muslim army."

"What you're saying Kashi...you're bloody mad."

"Allah's way often seems that way to us. He does have a sense of humor. One day."

"Yes, one day."

 

Intercepted Voice Transmission

12 noon, 3 April 2093

 

"Yes, this is Sprocket. I found Edison Blair...yeah. I can't believe they consider this guy a terrorist. He's a freedom fighter, that's what he is. I know who killed my parent, who they sent? It was a secret government operation run straight out of the White House by the President. Yeah...Logan was going to expose their killing of Lucifer Mestopheles. Yeah...the President's national campaign manager...yeah. He was going to tell this campaign manager's parents next, probably the only people on the planet that could bring his presidency down. Well we're working on the story now. It's dynamite. The hit-man is called the Man Made Out of String, that's the code name...I don't know what it means. We don't even know if its human, but we'll find out. And here's the kicker, this hit-man always works with another person...yea...the Delivery Man. We're going to expose him, too."

 

Department of Homeland Defense and Intelligence Agency Security Dispatch / 3 April 2093

 

Notify HOMELAND that communication was intercepted by subject: Sprocket working with subject: Edison Blair, ex-citizen of Old England, immigrated to United States in 2065, now a terrorist fugitive overseas. Top secret-SCI projects MAN-STRING and DELIVERY MAN referenced.