Son of Time - Science Fiction Short Story

Trying to Reach Malinkar

***

They hadn't come. Time was slipping rapidly away from him, it seemed, but if he reached the city of Malinkar in 30 hours, he could still save Tarla. The kids were probably dead. He'd heard bells ring. At least the colonists had buried them. His human side concurred; his clock origins were enraged. A frown between his grey eyebrows, but the golden wheel-mechanism in his irises remained unperturbed. Standing in the dark by the brick wall of a large building, Misuri was waiting. Immovable, he resembled a machine.

17 cars. 109 passers-by. A dozen stray dogs, hiding from each other. East Bay was cold. Another car. An inebriated colonist crossed the wide street. They've brought vice to the clock people. Vice and weakness. A subtle vibration in the air. City-scan. He had to get away, which was impossible unless they helped you – not cheap, and even less trustworthy.

Then a car stopped at street-side, lights on minimum. Air propulsion, model 5-20. A runner. Fair option. Was it them? The door lifted. It was dark inside. He felt Omiran, the Clock of the World, like a dense presence around him. He was being cautioned. Never trust, Meeri had said. Wait for a signal. So he waited. A Barok descended: short, slightly overweight, cloaked. Went past him to the glass door, as if to read something.

"Never trust a Malinkari," he grunted. "They'd sell you anything."

It was the sign he'd been waiting. "Take me to Malinkar," murmured Misuri.

"Malinkar's a long way out of Bay," the Barok responded, showing his animal teeth.

"Long way's no curse."

Distant, gazing different ways, they were mumbling as if to themselves.

Then the Barok returned to the car. "Once out, you're in. Or the other way round."

He got on. Four Baroks, one driving. Three on the opposite bench, in shadow. Half his height, twice his anger. Car slipped off into the crepuscule of an adjacent street. Barok on the right did the talking, the one in the middle acted chief – real chief, the one on the left.

"I hear you're new in Bay."

"I crossed the forest," admitted Misuri.

"17 hours to Malinkar. We go round Central Bay, into Uncharted. If discovered, we dump you as bait and flee. Agreed?" A self-satisfied grin. "Pay up front. 120."

"I don't have that much."

"Stop the car."

Door lifted.

"Out. You confused us."

He was left in the dim, narrow street, high walls all around. Activating clock-brain prevalence, Misuri checked for sound rhythm patterns. A presence nearby. Not Barok. Their heartbeat differed. He strengthened his leg circuits. Muscles flexed. Time to turn back, but he mustn't run, or else city-scan would automatically send an arrest squad for questioning. He upped his pace. One entrance, brick, window, entrance, brick. A chance light in glass revealed his follower: a Sari, judging by height. And Saris worked for colonists. Gate, window, brick. A stray cat. Odd. They were never let out. Some superstition. Two gates. Brick. Five more feet. A hand seized his shoulder and pushed him against the wall.

"Chief Officer Zam. You're under arrest for potential insurrection."

The Officer was struck in the head and fell to the ground.

"How much have you got?" asked the Barok chief self-composedly, car door open.

"50."

A moment's reflection. "In."

The engine was silent as the car turned round and took off into the crepuscule.

"Money."

Misuri took out a twisted metal bar wrapped in cloth that he gave to the chief.

"We said money!" barked the Barok on the right.

"Silence," grunted the chief. "This is old gold. Where'd you steal it from?"

A petrified, utterly non-human Misuri fixed him. The Barok nodded.

His inner mechanism scanned the vehicle. One more companion – small, infant perhaps, – concealed behind him. Heartbeat soft and stable. Sleeping.

East Bay had many dark roads, as if much was to be done for the eyes of few. The Uncharted was even more perilous. True beasts roamed there. Sons of Fear. Between the colonists who'd made his people half-human and hence stolen their peace, he preferred the beasts. At least they didn't pretend. Nor could they climb trees.

They passed through the intersection of two minor time-bands. Misuri closed his eyes tightly. While still on clock-brain prevalence, his sensory perception was intensified. He sensed fear in the Barok on the right. His fist tightened. It was unwise to deactivate clock-brain prevalence. Driver coughed. Air propulsion fluctuated. 8,000 inhabitants in Far East. Multiple breeds. Some unknown. Misuri's neural matrix was being flooded. He initiated partial de-activation. His jaws began to relax, and he took a deeper breath in. The shadow of pain traversed him like a cold, dry current.

They flew past Lower Bay, down a heavy-traffic route that slowed, but nonetheless protected them. In the buzz of the city, his mind threatened to slip into memory lanes, which he bitterly denied himself. Eyes on the Baroks, urged his intuition. Golden clock mechanism thus watched cautiously, whilst ear circuits listened. The bridge was near. Once out, they'd be parallel to Uncharted, and at first chance, slip sideways into it.

"City guards, city guards," said the driver in a panic.

"Off, off," pushed the Barok on the right.

Misuri fixed the chief with his eyes.

"Let him stay," he heard.

The guards stopped every vehicle. He couldn't reactivate clock-brain prevalence. One more try. Five cars to go.

"They know my face," he revealed.

Silence. One car.

"Pay him," asked the chief. "Take the gold."

The driver was sweating as he lowered the window. Permits verified. Window up. Road clear. They crossed the bridge and flew past Outer Ring 1 before the Barok chief said anything.

"You've cost me your payment," he said. "Stop the car. Walk the Uncharted, half-clock!"