Ida's Missions: Dust, Chapter 5 (unedited)

Chapter 5

The place smelled funny. Fumes were escaping somewhere, spreading a powerful scent of synthetic chemicals. There was nothing harmful to it, no danger os being poisoned or choked. It just smelled... funny.
Charlotte and Gustaf had taken it rather poorly to learn that I knew the blonde. No attempt to explain that I had no way of knowing she was there could sway them. From their perspective, I had lied, I had kept secrets. And most of all, I had attracted very hostile attention to them, and to what they did.
“This is not going to work,” I complained, but to an audience that had already made its mind up against me. I was speaking in the most polite tone I could offer up, but it fell on deaf ears. “What exactly do you expect me to say?”
If anything good had come of it all, it was that the trio had, perhaps in their moment of frustration, tipped their hand a bit. Yes, Miki was causing problems, but neither of the three were simply helping to solve a case or the like for the peaceguard. It was personal, something about someone being hurt badly and a greater danger. My mind was preoccupied. Not only did I have to deal with the blonde now, but also with everyone around me. My advantage was turning into a problem.
“You work for someone. You know about this woman. You know about the military presence in the district.” Pavel counted his arguments off with a surprising calm. The big man sat in a chair that seemed built for someone half his size, someone the size of Gustaf or Charlotte. I almost expected it to break beneath his weight.
“You're dragging this behind you, and into our homes. We have every right to know what you brought to our doorstep.”
I was standing, the three of them sitting in chairs around me. It felt like a trial, like I was on the stage to defend myself, not to help. It felt like I was not being aasked questions as much as handed accusations.
Storage. Behind the walls around us, food and assorted other items were being stored. It was short-term, things meant to be used soon, and therefore not needing to be as tightly sealed. So smells escaped, running through imperfections in the walls and, no doubt mostly, through ventilation pipes that nobody had seen a point in keeping in mint condition in this particular place. No reason for it, people didn't come here. Not unless they wanted to be absolutely sure nobody was listening in.
“I don't work for anyone here,” I repeated, a sentence I had said more than a dozen times at this point. “I'm just exploring the place to know what is here.”
My answer didn't set well with the three spectators. Pavel looked angry, but paid attention. Charlotte looked more skeptical, as if she judged everything I said with the same level of disbelief she would if listening to a convicted criminal. Gustaf seemed to pay far less attention, frequently making those little motions with his hand, as if he was typing on air, even when his hand was in his lap.
“Who is this woman?” asked Charlotte, her voice also surprisingly calm, even if deadly serious.
Hiding my face in my hands, I let out a muffled growl of frustration. It got the worst out of me, for the time being. “The people I work for are not here. None of them. They are far far aw...” “Who are they?” The interruption came from a moderately disinterested Gustaf, his voice sounding very impatient. “It wouldn't matter if I tried to explain it. I barely understand it myself.”
My answer did not please the audience. All three sets of eyes looked at me, waiting for something they could actually use. And I had no way of explaining to them that nothing I said would be of use to them.
“Take your pick,” I said, putting on a sarcastically friendly face. “Aliens. Ghosts. Time travelers. Bigfoot. The Illuminati. It doesn't matter, I can't tell you anything that makes any more sense than that!”
Pavel got up and as he did, Charlotte's eyes quickly followed him. Something in the way she looked at him made me fear that she expected him to get physically violent. She didn't look afraid, more concerned, like someone staring at their dog as it began to bark at strangers for the first time.
“The woman is bad news. I've seen her before. She has connections everywhere, and she is ruthless. There is very little else I can say, and honestly, very little else anyone needs to know about her.”
Charlotte, apparently reassured that Pavel just needed to pace and not pummel anyone, cautiously let her eyes jump to me, at least long enough to ask a follow-up question. “So why would she want Basti and Ilsa? Why help Miki grab them?” Her eyes jumped back to Pavel.
“I don't think she has any interest in them.” As the answer formed on my head, I felt an odd compulsion to berate my own importance. It was a Danish thing, never to brag or think too highly of oneself. The rest of the answer broke with all of that, and it bugged my cultural roots to no end. “I think she's here for me.”
Other than my personal displeasure in making myself the center of the universe, the answer didn't go over well with the three of them, either. “She wants you?” Pavel asked, the confusion at the idea apparently overshadowing his own frustrations. I nodded. “Why?” I sighed, something that was becoming a bad habit at this point. “Because she doesn't want anyone from where I'm from to leave. She wants everyone to stay in their place, and she is pretty damned strict about it.”
It felt uncomfortable, reducing everything I worked for into that little nugget. Was that really all I was? Some escapee, not wanting to sit in the chair handed to me? An obstinent child?
“Let me make this perfectly clear,” Charlotte added, her stern tone somehow managing to become even more stern. “We're not in it for your little war with her.” She looked me in the eyes, her brows raised and her head tilted. It looked unintentionally funny, but I kept from laughing. She was trying to be serious. “We want Basti and Ilsa, and then you should probably leave.” Behind her, Pavel muttered to himself, just loud enough to be heard. “You could even leave now.”
The one exit that didn't lead into the cramped storage room instead let us leave through the small kitchen attached to the peaceguard post. It somehow felt misplaced, as if someone had delivered the wrong kitchen. A few bulky machines, a bit of space, and a door leading into storage. There was nobody around, and yet something was clearly working, a rumbling sound filling it loudly enough to make my head hurt slightly. Tubes ran along the wall, big ones, the size of my leg on average, or a grown man's arm. Remembering my now spent bottle of vanilla whatever, I dreaded to think what the kitchen was hard at work to produce.
“What now?” I dared to ask, wondering nervously what angry outbursts I would have to suffer for speaking out of turn.
“Now we take you to Miki,” grumbled Pavel behind me. I turned to look at him, to send him an angry glare, but his eyes weren't even on me, instead just looking ahead. He hadn't said it to threaten me, or even taunt. He was serious.

Life had returned to the street, the slowly busy crowd filtering in and out of itself in an attempt to move efficiently. Nobody took much notice of three people, two of them bearing the insignia of the peaceguard, walking with a young girl between them. Although I followed fairly obediently, my eyes were scanning the landscape and my mind racing to find an escape. But for every idea that popped into my head, I heard the gloating voice of Miki telling me how I had led him to Ilsa. This was no longer a matter of me peacefully scouting a newly opened future. I had changed things. This was bad.
Near the larger stack that housed Miki and his misfits, the streetcrowd opened up a bit, people less anxious to walk closely past Miki's wide door. It wasn't hard to see why, of course. Two large figures in full bodysuits stood at the entrance, scanning the crowd over and over. Their faces were nothing but large goggles and heavy breathers, giving them a menacing look, less human and more a symbol of how much gear Miki could obviously afford. Even I knew that the breathers were of no use in here. The air was dry and dusty, but nothing that any healthy human being couldn't handle easily. He breathers were for worse places. But they looked scary, and that was what mattered.
Pavel never even made it to the door before a guy about his size, with two others nearly as big, came walking out from the place in his direction.
“This is not a matter for th...” Pavel walked right by him, unwittingly stepping up to the first guy behind him. “Where here to speak to Miki,” he said, stretching the word 'speak' and Miki's name in an uncanny way. He then turned with eyes almost glowing red to look at the guy that had tried to talk to him.
“We're here to make a trade. The southie for the two of our friends he took.” Charlotte was the one to keep the two large men from solving things with violence. As she mentioned the trade, I instinctively looked for an escape. Gustaf was behind me, close, watching me, but I suspected I could find a way. I wanted to, badly. I wanted to run. But I had changed things, I had caused time to alter. I was not a part of this place, of this time, and the effects of my presence were...
Inside, I cursed, loudly. On the outside, I stared blankly into space. My head was buzzing, trying to fit the effects of my arrival into some kind of narrative that made any coherent sense. It was all jumbled, mashed together and torn apart. I had caused a change, but I had no idea what the consequences would be. And there was the nagging thought behind it all that I possibly never would.
What I did know was that I was beginning to feel tugs in my body. Little pinpricks of matter inside of me that got pulled at. It was a strange sensation, as if there were strings inside of me, strings that didn't need to go through my body, and that someone was pulling at it, almost like a prank to annoy me. It was just a matter of, ironically, time before none of this would better to me. I followed along, to undo my influence on this world, and then hopefully put it behind me.
“Ah, Ironfield district's own heroes, what an honor.”
I didn't even spot Miki before he spoke, but the voice was impossible to mistake for anyone else. In front of me, Pavel stepped to the side, letting Miki see me, and in turn, letting me see Miki.
He was dressed in a deep red, his shirt a flamboyant mix of what I guessed was some designer's idea of trees on a blue background. Inside my head, bad television shows about Las vegas somehow crept to the surface, making me silently look around for the nearest slot machine. His eyes widened when he saw me.
“Now that... is a surprise!” He looked at both Charlotte and Gustaf, then at Pavel, perhaps doubting that they meant what they were there to offer.
“The girl for ours. Both of them.” Pavel's short delivery of the terms seemed to shut Miki up for a few seconds. When those few seconds ended, he leaned back and and reached for a glass held by a woman behind him.
“Water?” he asked, looking at the three of them, one by one. None of them took his offer, and he instead emptied the small glass in one quick swig. I looked briefly at each of my three companions, if that term even fit. There was a harsh look in Charlotte's eyes, while Gustaf looked slightly revolted. From behind, it was impossible to tell what Pavel was thinking.
Before he took his little display of power any further, Miki put the glass back on the tray held by the woman, then stepped as close to Pavel as he could without actually touching the man.
“You don't set the terms. You're not part of the game anymore.”
The whisper was soft, but the hatred it carried was sharp and cold. I kept my eyes trained on Pavel's back, trying desperately to read any reaction from him. There was nothing.
Miki stepped away. The people around us, the majority of which looked like well-dressed brawlers, obediently followed him. There was a deadly silence from Pavel, one that both Charlotte and Gustaf seemed to respect. Finally, however, he followed.
“Alfe, release the two new ones. We don't need them anymore,” Miki casually said to a man who looked like he had once been a brawler, too, but now had grown too old for that venue. Alfe left us, stepping out the door we had all poured in through, all five of us. Miki's circle of thugs and assorted assistents had stayed behind. They were not needed. On the other side of the door, Miki had more of them waiting for him.
“And you,” he said, looking very demonstratively at Pavel, Charlotte and Gustaf, one by one, “get the hell out of my home.”
There was an odd feeling in the air as the three of them turned and left. Charlotte placed a hand on my shoulder, seeming sincerely sorry for the fate she thought she was condemning me to. And as Pavel turned, I finally had a chance to see his eyes, even if just in passing. They were a dark mix of failure and anger. And as they met mine, they added sorrow and regret. This was not a victory for any of the three, no matter what they felt about me.
Even before the door shut behind me, leaving me stranded in what seemed to be the lion's den, Miki, leaning against his heavy desk, gave a nod to the two bodyguards watching him from behind the desk and to the side. Both of them reacted immediately, leaving through a door hidden behind innocuous furniture.
“You're a strange one,” he said, never moving from the desk, never even moving his arms or showing any other sign of body language. “Nothing about you anywhere, and such intense company you keep.”
I reacted on instinct, turning to look behind me, where the three of them had left. Miki cracked a grin that he had to have practiced, something he head to have made a natural thing for him to do. It made him look like a shark in human clothing, his teeth gleaming in the dull light, as if about to bite into me, or some other prey.
“No, no, not them,” he said, finally getting off his lean against the desk.
“I admit, I wanted you to myself.” There was an ocean of creepy in that one sentence as he spoke it. The pause he left behind it only served to make it worse. “The south. Imagine it.” I stood silently where I had been left, looking at the man. There was a look in his eyes, the look of a man dreaming of greater things. He seemed to not be making a show of anything, his honest ambitions showing.
“But you are worth more to others, aren't you?” he soon followed. I did nothing, said nothing. The tugs inside of me were getting stronger, and in some silly attempt to influence what was far beyond me, I tensed up, thinking perhaps that I could keep time from pulling me back.
“This blond woman... Who is she?”
I looked at the man with more expression in my face than I had intended. For a moment, the scene of Miki and the blonde played out in my mind as if some kind of puppet theater. Her telling him what she wanted, him telling her, all of it simple to the point of banality. And for whatever reason, he had no idea who she was. He was dealing with the Devil while blindfolded.
It made me smile.
“She's the Devil himself, Miki. You're in over your head.”
My answer didn't seem to please him much. He kept looking at me, as if expecting me to tell him something real. I didn't. He was clearly figuring out that I was not in the mood for talking, and within moments, the bodyguards were back in the room, and I was being guided somewhere else.

I gasped for air as I arrived. Steam rose from my jumpsuit, my own sweat heated to the point of evaporation. I was my own sauna, everything boiling in me, everything steaming outside me.
There was a loud pop as air rushed out of small cannisters around me, cooling me down and flooding me with oxygen to let me catch my breath. The system was new, something Thomas had assembled for my benefit. Apart from giving me a slight oxygen high and the uncomfortable rush that followed, it worked.
Images still stumbled through my mind. Miki's hired muscle had guided me to another small cell, one floor higher up, apparently where someone was watching more closely. How many cells he had in that stack was impossible to tell, but he had enough of them to find a room for me. The dots had started even before the thug left me alone, but he didn't really seem to notice. They had come more slowly than I was used to, little ones lingering for almost a second each before dissolving into nothing. Slow sparks, atoms jumping in to prepare for the journey back.
Around me, the items I was not wearing lay strewn about. The shirt, the shoes, my socks. None of them were safe to wear as the machine pulled me through time. Not on my way out, and not on my way back. In the small cell I'd had more than enough time to take them all off.
“Are you okay?” I heard Misha's voice ask from somewhere. I tried to speak, but my throat hurt. Even a day was enough for the water balance to shift in my body. Had I been drinking something other than vanilla sludge, it might have been even worse. I was even unable to express my thanks when Patrick placed a bottle of water in front of me. I tasted better than anything I had tasted in a long time!
While I nodded at Misha's question, I leaned back into my sprinter's pose. Open fist on the ground, legs softly bent nd kneeling. Balance. The distribution of my bodymass was familiar, feeling safe and controlled. It was more mental than physical at this point, a pose I knew how to deal with. The world came slowly into focus.
As I stood up slowly, the two were standing next to the machine, looking at me like two little children waiting for a treat. The steam still hung in the air, everything smelling slightly like sweat, but neither of us really cared.
“Well, come on,” Patrick insisted as Misha gave me a supporting hand while I stepped off the platform. Behind me, little clicks could be heard as the little towers around the platform shut down and locked together. The time machine was powering down. This trip was over.
Around me, the room was getting spacious. The clutter left from the original time travelers' departure was shrinking, and the concrete basement was becoming more habitable by the day. It hadn't been easy, but we had managed to get a table down there, with four soft chairs surrounding it. As I sat down in one of them, I felt a wave of relaxation washing over my body and mind. I was back. I was home.
“It's a mess. A giant city of containers and people squabbling over power,” I mumbled loudly. Next to me, Patrick sat down, another bottle of water in his hand, although I had no idea if it was for him or for me. My own bottle was still more than half full, but my body was starting to feel the cravings for what it had lost in the trip.
“That describes any place,” Misha half joked as he sat down in one of the remaining chairs. I looked at him, thinking about the remark. “What are the potentials for an embassy there?”
That was the million dollar question.....