Creek heard Robin cry out and staggered out of the window display to see her swinging at one of the men Creek had seen earlier, who was trying to pull her up off the railing. Another man was coming off the now-empty escalator to help him; Creek flung the bat at the man as he passed. The man tripped as the bat connected with his feet, dropping a Taser he’d been carrying in his hand. Creek rushed out and kicked him hard in the head, driving it into the railing and taking the man out of commission.
By this time, the first man had succeeded in grabbing hold of Robin and had started to drag her off the railing. Creek stepped to grab the dropped Taser and suddenly found himself hurtling through the air. In kicking the man, he’d activated his shoes, and had put his foot down just before they deactivated. The bounce was not dramatic, just enough to send him over the railing. Creek frantically fished at the railing as it went by and connected. It sent a new bolt of pain up his right arm, but kept him from falling to the ground floor below.
Creek looked down just in time to see one of the men remaining on the ground floor directly below him, while the other man made toward the escalators. The man directly below him was yanking out a gun. Creek closed his eyes briefly, made as if to pull himself over the railing, and then pushed off, driving himself downward and clicking on his shoes as he fell. Creek could feel the man’s clavicles and ribs snap as he pushed off of his body and ricocheted wildly toward a kisosk filled with plush toys. The plush toys softened Creek’s impact; the guy he’d jumped off of was not so lucky. Creek could see the pool of blood growing where the man’s head had smacked the mall tiles.
Above Creek, Robin screamed again. Creek ran out from underneath the second floor overhang to see the man with Robin trying to drag her away from the atrium, presumably down the mall to one of the far exits. Creek glanced toward the escalators and saw the man who had just run up them, training a gun on him. Creek moved as the shot hit near his feet, and looked around as he ran, trying to find what he needed.
He spied it—on the other side of the atrium, naturally: a small, red fire alarm box, four and a half feet up the wall next to the entrance of a jewelry store. Above him he could see the man who’d shot at him moving to get a clearer shot. Creek clicked on his shoes and kicked off, sailing across the atrium in yard-eating steps. Behind him he could hear the pings of bullets hitting objects and floor tiles; the guy shooting him hadn’t figured out how to compensate for the bouncing. Creek hit the atrium wall, yanked down the alarm, and bounced off before the guy upstairs could line up another shot.
The sound system of the mall, which up to this time had been playing the lite hits of the last two decades, erupted into wailing shrieks as the sprinklers in the atrium launched into their showers. The very last of the shoppers burst from their hiding places like flushed partridges, as did whatever salespeople were still in their shops. They were running to beat the fire doors, already dropping down from their ceiling enclosures where they stayed rolled up until they were needed to block the spread of flames from one area of the mall to the next. Fire-tight doors also dropped at the front of every shop; mall staff and customers could still get out through the back paths behind the mall stores.
As he moved, Creek watched the doors seal off exits in every direction; once dropped, the fire doors could be opened only by the Arlington Fire Department. Robin and Creek were stuck, but so were the other guys. They were all trapped together.
The man who’d been shooting at Creek got distracted by the noises and the doors snaking down from the ceiling. Creek used the distraction to pick the gun off the body of the man he’d jumped on. The man upstairs brought his attention back on Creek just as Creek was lining up his shot. The man fired first, a panic shot that went wide. Creek calmly hit the guy center mass and watched him fall. Creek bounded up the escalator to find the final man by the railing, holding Robin and a gun, the latter pointed at the former. The alarm sirens, having done their job of telling people to get out before they burned, went silent.
“Easy,” Creek said to the guy.
“I don’t know how you’re jumping around like that, but if you get any closer, I’m going to shoot her in the head,” the guy said.
“I’m not moving,” Creek said. “Robin, how are you doing? You okay?”
“No,” Robin said, and managed to sound slightly astounded that Creek would ask such a stupid question.
“She’s going to be worse if you don’t drop your gun,” the man said.
“Look, guy,” Creek said. “All we came here to do is try on some shoes. I got a pair and she got a pair. I don’t know what all of this is about.”
“Shut up,” said the guy.
“All your friends are gone,” Creek said. “You’re by yourself.”
“Oh, I’ve got more friends waiting, you can bet on that,” the guy said. “Now shut up and drop the gun.”
“If I drop the gun you might kill me,” Creek said.
“If you don’t drop the gun, I’m going to kill her,” the guy said. “Now drop the fucking gun.”
“All right,” Creek said. “I’m dropping the gun now.” And he did. The man moved his gun to aim at Creek; Robin activated her shoes and kicked at the railing, forcing her body into the man holding her and launching the both of them at high speed into a mall wall. His shot plowed into the railing near Creek as his arm was jerked wildly away and his body squashed into the wall. Creek bent to pick up his weapon.
Robin crawled away from the guy; the guy groggily raised his gun to shoot at her. Creek shot him in the shoulder and kept the gun trained on him for his entire slide down the wall. The man screamed all the way down, pawing at the mess of his shoulder with his good arm until Creek whacked him in the temple with the butt of his pistol.
He turned his attention to Robin, who was still on the floor. He checked her for injuries, but other than bruises and cuts she seemed fine. “Thank you,” Creek said. “I was hoping you’d figure out what I was saying about the shoes.” Robin batted him away.
Creek backed off, dropped the pistol into his jacket pocket, and reached into his inside jacket pocket for his communicator. He flicked it open and was mildly surprised it was still functional after his workout. Creek wanted to get Ben Javna to get them protection at the mall before the fire doors opened; Creek didn’t know if their last little friend was telling the truth about having backup, but he didn’t want to find out one way or another.
Javna wasn’t answering his communicator. Creek got voice mail, but switched off without leaving a message. Then Creek pocketed his communicator and looked around and finally up at the shattered atrium skylight. After about a minute he raised up his gun and fired at the skylight, dislodging the remaining sections of glass. From the floor, Robin flinched.
“What are you doing?” Robin spat.
“We need to go, Robin,” Creek said, and walked over to help her up. “We need to go now.”
“Wait for the police,” Robin said. “We can wait for the police.”
“There might be more of those guys out there, Robin,” Creek said. “Until we’re at the State Department, I can’t be sure we’re totally safe.”
“The fire doors are closed,” Robin said. “We can’t get out.”
Creek pointed at the skylight. “That way,” he said. “Up off the roof and then down the fire exits. Anyone who’s waiting won’t be expecting that.”
Robin looked like she was going to cry. “I just want to go home,” she said.
“You can’t,” Creek said. “Not right now. Soon. But now we need to go. Can you still jump?” Robin nodded. “Okay. I need you to jump on to the top of the WallBall cube. Okay? And then push off as hard as you can, right through the skylight. Easy.” Robin nodded dully, steadied herself, and leapt to the cube. Creek followed suit. Robin bounced up through the skylight; Creek readied himself to do the same.
“Hey!”
Creek dropped and fumbled for the gun in his pocket, and then relaxed when he saw Chet the WallBall attendant looking up
at him. He’d been cowering under his counter this entire time.
“Jesus Christ, man!” Chet said to Creek. “What the hell just happened here?”
“I wish I could tell you,” Creek said, getting up. He dropped the gun on the top of the WallBall cube.
“Yeah, well, my shoes,” Chet said. “You’re still wearing my shoes. I want them back.”
“I need them,” Creek said. “And I think you’re done for the day.”
“You said you wouldn’t do anything stupid with those shoes!” Chet said. “Look at this place! I mean, God damn! I trusted you, man!”
“Sorry,” Creek said, and jumped through the skylight.
Chet watched him go. “No more shoes in advance for anyone,” he said.
Acuna woke up in a haze of pain and blood, dragged himself out of the shop window, and gazed around to see three of his men dead or unconscious on the second floor. He limped over to the railing and saw the fire doors down, the other man on his second team lying flat in his blood and Ed, still immobile, splayed where Creek had kicked him. He didn’t see Creek or the girl.
Motherfucker, Acuna thought, and then winced and closed his eyes. Even thinking hurt at the moment. Creek did a number on them all, all right. When he opened his eyes again he saw Chet, dragging the unconscious broken-legged WallBall player out of the court.
“Hey!” Acuna yelled, and immediately regretted it.
Chet looked around for the source of the voice and spotted Acuna. “Jesus,” Chet said. “Are you all right? You’re covered in blood.”
“Shut up,” Acuna said. “I’m looking for a guy and a woman. They were by your”—Acuna gingerly waved at the WallBall court—“whatever the fuck that thing is. Where did they go?”
“They went out through the skylight,” Chet said. “They took my shoes.”
Acuna involuntarily looked at Chet’s feet, which had shoes on them. Acuna decided he’d spent enough time conversing with this dipshit and looked for an exit. All the stores had their fire doors down; Acuna went back to the window display he’d come from and tried the door that went from the display to the larger store. It was locked; Acuna tried ramming the door with his body a couple of times before he stopped, spat, and became disgusted with himself.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Rod,” he said, and reached down to get the gun that Creek had knocked from his hand. Two seconds later Acuna said the same thing as he switched hands to pick up the gun, on account of his right wrist being broken. Acuna stepped back, shot the lock three times, and kicked open the door. He wandered back into the store looking for the back exit. Along the way he passed a display for mountaineering first aid kits. He grabbed one and tucked it under his left arm. God knew he needed it.
Acuna emerged out of a side exit as fire and police were making their appearance, waved in by mall security, who Acuna had seen neither hide nor hair of during what went down. Good job, guys, Acuna thought, winced again and made a note to himself to stop goddamn thinking for a while. He staggered into the mall garage where they had parked their vans, and beat on the side of the van Takk was in. Takk opened the side panel and took a look at his boss.
“What happened to you?” Takk said, in that nasal, high-pitched whine of his.
“Shut the fuck up and help me in,” Acuna said.
Minutes later Takk had awkwardly maneuvered his far-too-large frame into the driver’s seat and was navigating back to the apartment while Acuna cleaned his wounds as best he could and tried to get hold of the geek. After several failed attempts to raise the geek on the communicator, he finally got through.
“Where the fuck were you?” Acuna snarled at Archie.
“I was getting a snack from the machine,” Archie said. “Everything all right?”
“No, everything is not all right,” Acuna said. “In fact, everything is a goddamned clusterfuck. Creek and the sheep girl got away. You need to find them for me, geek. You need to find them for me this very second.”
Creek got Robin off the mall roof as the fire department and police converged from a distance. Creek took Robin’s arm and guided her down the street from the mall to the Arlington Mall stop of the DC Metro. Creek had driven in and assumed whoever was hunting them knew that and would be looking at the parking garage, but not the Metro. Creek pulled out his credit card, paid fares for them both, and led Robin to the platform for trains inbound to DC. There was a stop at Foggy Bottom and from there a cab could take them to the State Department. The train rolled into the station; Creek took Robin’s arm again and led her into it.
Once inside the train Robin propped herself up against the side of the car and kicked the still-standing Creek in the gut. Creek blocked the kick; Robin burst into tears and collapsed onto the floor of the car. Everyone near Creek and Robin suddenly decided to check out the ambiance in the next train car over.
Creek knelt next to Robin. “What was that about?” Creek asked.
“The shoes don’t work anymore,” Robin said.
“No,” Creek said. “We’re too far away from the WallBall court. Sorry about that.”
“Who are you?” Robin said. “Really, honestly, now. Just who the goddamn fucking hell are you and what just happened in there and why do people suddenly want to kill me and what the goddamn fuck is going on?”
The last part of that came out as a hysterical shriek; Creek reached over to her hand and patted it gently to calm her. “Take deep breaths,” he said. “Take it easy.”
Robin slapped his hand away. “Fuck you,” she said. “Take it easy. Six men with guns just tried to fucking kill me. I just had to jump through a skylight to get away from them. And now you’re taking me who the fuck knows where and I really just ought to scream at the top of my lungs and get people in here to tackle you and take you away. If you don’t tell me who you really are and what’s going on, right now, I swear I’m going to do it.”
“I told you who I am and what’s going on in the mall,” Creek said. “You seemed to accept it at the time.”
“That’s because I thought you were joking,” Robin said.
“What?” Creek said.
“Well, Jesus, Harry,” Robin said. “All of a sudden a guy shows up and tells me I’m in danger, and you tell me a story about a war. It had to be a joke. I figured maybe I was on a reality show or something. I was just going along to be a good sport. I was looking for the film crew. Either that or you were just some loser poking fun at me with a friend. In which case I was going to go to the mall security and have you arrested for harassing me. Either way, I wasn’t thinking it was for real. You think I would have been joking about it if were real? Christ.”
“I’m sorry, Robin,” Creek said. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet and gave it to Robin, and then reached in his jacket pocket and gave her his communicator. “All my ID is in the wallet,” he said. “Look at everything in there. And then, like I said before, take my communicator, call up information and have them connect you to the State Department general line. Ask for Ben Javna. Tell him who you are. He’ll verify I am who I say I am and everything I told you.” Creek stood up.
“What are you doing?” Robin asked him.
“I’m going to go sit at the back of the car, away from you,” Creek said. “If you don’t feel safe around me, I don’t want you worried about me being close to you. Now, go on. Look at my stuff and call Ben.” Creek turned and went to the back of the car. A few minutes later, the train stopped to let passengers on and off; Creek noted that Robin had stayed on the train. He took that as a good sign.
“Hey, Harry,” Robin said.
“Yeah?” Creek said.
“The guy you wanted me to call is Ben Javna, right?” Robin asked.
“That’s right,” Creek said.
“Your communicator says you just now got a text message from him,” Robin said.
“What does it say?” Creek said.
“You want me to read your private messages?” Robin said.
“Just
this once,” Creek said. He saw Robin press the button and scan the message.
“What’s it say?” Creek said again.
Robin got up and walked over to Creek. She handed him the communicator. Creek took it and read the message.
BIG TROUBLE, it read. DON’T CALL. GET LOST. STAY LOST. TAKE YOUR FRIEND WITH YOU.
Creek closed the communicator and looked at Robin. He opened his mouth, but she put her hand up.
“Don’t, Harry,” she said. “I believe you. I believe you’re telling me the truth. Now just tell me one thing. Okay? Tell me I’m going to make it through all of this alive.”
chapter 8
Through three terms as a UNE representative, a subsequent two terms as UNE senator, and now his appointment as Secretary of Defense, Bob Pope had developed a reputation as being strong on defense and tough on the Nidu. Pope wouldn’t argue the first of these—it was a bedrock position that got him elected five times, appointed once, and earned him truly fantastic honoraria whenever he was between political gigs.
But the fact of the matter was he personally couldn’t give a shit about the Nidu one way or another as a people. He’d met more than his share of Nidu in his time in Washington, of course, and they were decent enough as intelligent nonhumans go. They all had a pole up their reptilian ass about personal status, but that just made them like everyone else in Washington.
What he didn’t like about them, ironically, was their status in the Common Confederation, and by consequence, the status of Earth, its colonies, and humans in general. As Pope saw it, the Nidu, for all their obsession about castes and status and class, were bottom feeders in the grand CC food chain. If the CC were the United Nations, the Nidu would be Burkina Faso, a tiny, shitty little country on a chronically backwards continent with no hope of ever doing anything but pounding dirt the long merry day.