A Fleeting Glimpse of Shadow

Frances let the jeep coast down a rocky hill to the dry ravine at the bottom. There was a steep climb up to a dark spiky ridge above them; Dr. Walker only pointed up and sairselrsely: "Arizona." Frances was also silent, so Michael decided there was nothing urgent to say in response to that, and kept his mouth closed. Then the other two men dug a few things out of the back of the jeep, threw a camouflage tarp over it, and began the stiff pull up the slope.

The air was thick with the scent of pine and cool stone, and the Milky Way blazed like a shimmering banner in the velvety darkness of the night sky. If Michael had not been so bemused and frightened he would quite have enjoyed their trek up to the top of the last ridge; he could just glimpse bright twinkling stars through the branches of the pinyon pines and blue spruces, and when his feet brushed past the juniper and tea bushes he stirred up a fresh pungent fragrance. And every once in a while he saw a pale sinuous thread, or smooth globe, or irregular patch shaped like some odd amoeba – snow, reflecting back the pale starlight. It reminded him of Mrs. Walker's and Legs' skin. He nestled further down into his shabby down parka, grateful to whomever had had the foresight to put coats in the back of the jeep.

He found it odd that they walked without benefit of flashlights – not so much that Dr. Walker and Francouldouldn't use them, because if they were approaching something secretly it wouldn't make much sense to advertise their presence with light – but that he discovered he could see fine without one. The stars were bright enough for him to catch a vague outline of the lay of the land, and though at times he stumbled a little over an unseen rock or jutting root Frances was always there to steady him, and Michael took a great deal of comfort from that. The two taller men seemed almost to glide through the woods, their feet making little to no noise on the rough loamy earth; they were obviously very comfortable in this uncultivated environment and went forward confidently, as though this were the sort of thing they did all the time. As far as Dr. Walker went that might be true, thought Michael, for really he knew very little about the man; but Frances' ease in the woods startled and unnerved him; it was unsettling to continually realize he was so unfamiliar with his lover after all.

The stars were fading in a lightening sky when they came across a fence. And not just any fence, but a fence that seemed to say with imperious aggression, "KEEP OUT." There were no warning signs, but Michael could see at the top of the chainlink a thick coil of razor wire, and beneath that the colorful stripe of electrified lines, which Michael recognized from a rather humiliating experience with a group of strange boys when he'd spent the summer on his grandfather's farm. He knew all too well what touching one of THOSE felt like –hadn't he been pushed into Grandpa's cow-fences enough times those horrible six weeks? Dr. Walker and Frances stood and contemplated it thoughtfully a moment, then turned to each other, coolly questioning. At last Dr. Walker said,

"Well, if he hasn't, there's no use trying to get in anyway."

"True," said Frances, and laid his palm on the fence. Michael bit back a cry, then gave a sharp gasp of relief; Frances merely wound his fingers in the chain and turned back to them, a smile tugging his lips. "It would appear he was successful."

"So far, at lea sai said Dr. Walker. He took off his backpack and started rooting around in it. "Now let's see if we can spring him."

Frances took off his own backpack and opened it, pulling out a granola bar, which he handed to Michael. "Here," he said a little absently. "You need to eat something."

"What about you?" asked Michael, nervously unwrapping it.

Frances shrugged. "I'll be fine." He then pulled out a pair of wire cutters and joined Dr. Walker at the fence, snipping out a long low portion near the ground until a ow oow oval appeared beneath the chainlink, high enough for a reasonably thin man to roll beneath. As all three of them fell into that category (Michael realized with a pang that neither Grim nor Doris would have been able to negotiate the narrow passage) they duly rolled into the Forbidden Territory; Dr. Walker went first, spinning smoothly and rising without effort to his feet; Frances gestured Michael next, and he clumsily lay at the opening, staring at the dim chain above him until Frances whispered: "Tuck your arms in around you and keep your chin down." So Michwrapwrapped his arms around his chest, pressed his chin into his neck, and rolled. He felt the down jacket snag a little on the sharp cut wire but when he ended up on his back he realized he was staring up at a sapphire sky and fading stars; astonished at his own audacity he got to his feet and brushed himself off. There was damp patch on the back of the jacket where he'd rolled over some snow, and prickly pine needles stuck like porcupine quills from the ragged tear in his sleeve, but otherwise it had been rather easy. This surprised him; he had never Broken In to someplace before, and had always assumed it required great Physical Effort; to find it took only a pair of wire cutters and a roll of the body was a little unnerving. While he watched Frances roll expertly beneath the fence he caught himself thinking of Legs and how silently he'd managed to insinuate himself into their apartment that first night. Right through the window, too, thought Michael; all his life he'd been so careful about locking doors, and had never thought to check his windows. Well, he'd certainly be more careful from now on. "Shutting the barn door after the horse has been stolen," he thought, remembering his grandfather again, but this time with hesitant affection; the thought of that dour old farmer comforted him somewhat, and he felt an irrational wish that he could have introduced Grim and Doris to him. "Grampa would've liked them," he thought, watching Dr. Walker and Frances strap their backpacks on again. "He always liked people like that, who were loud and grubby and loyal." Where his mother had come from, thought Michael, was anyone's guess.

By the time they crested the ridge it was quite light. They looked down into a heavily wooded valley, the sharp yellow beams from the sunrise stabbing across the spiny heads of pines and casting sharp cutting shadows in deep blue and purple. There was a cold breeze at their faces and Michael could smell gasoline. He frowned and looked around, wondering where, in this lovely feral setting, the smell of gas could be coming from.

There was a snap and ching behind him and he turned, blinking in surprise to see Frances setting up a small tent. Dr. Walker had driven stakes into the ground and was hooking small metal rings over them, which were attached to the ropes holding the tent down. Then Frances unzipped it and held the flap aside.

"You've been up all night," he whispered to Michael. Michael could hardly hear him over the bird song; he stood, holding the tent flap, deferential and a little apologetic. "Get some sleep. We'll wait for you."

Michael stared at him. How could he possibly sleep when everything that had happened was still spinning wildly in his head? Professor White, Legs, the art show, the meal at Café Deo Volente, The Lido, the plane – he opened his mouth to protest but a yawn so huge it nearly split his head in half interrupted him. He paused and thought about his feet. They were very tired, and his knees ached. Maybe a little rest wouldn't be such a bad thing. His eyes felt very sandy and hot and he rubbed them. "Okay," he said. It would be very nice just to lie d– he– he didn't need to sleep, really; but a little rest would bry Nry Nice. He went up to the tent, crouched under the flap, and climbed inside. It smelled of woodsmoke and mildew and had a few old crunchy leaves in it, but Michael didn't care. He took the proffered backpack as a pillow and curled up in his jacket, only mildly surprised to feel Dr. Walker cover his legs with his own jacket. His eyelids felt very rough and heavy – maybe it would be good to close his eyes for a while. "Thank you," he murmured, and heard the tent zipper shrill shut just as he drifted off.

***********************************

He floated lazily up through a thick sweet haze to the tantalizing sound of men's voices. They were familiar and comforting and it was very pleasant to just lie in his warmth and drowsy contentment and listen without paying any mind to what they were saying. But then one said something that seemed to drop an ice cube into his heart and his eyes opened.

"So you agree we need to kill him?"

It was Dr. Walker who had spoken. His voice was dry and dispassionate, houghough he were discussing a patient or a clinical trial. Michael lay still, his heart hammering. Were they talking about HIM? Surely they wouldn't have brought him so far away just to kill him! His reason tamped that thought down and he strained to hear what Frances would say.

"Objectively, yes, I see your reasoning," Frances' voice said, hesitant and unenthusiastic. "But I'm reluctant to do so without further proof."

"Hell, Faramir; what more do you want? You've seen the program, you've read the paper, you know what it can do. You heard Legolas – my god, you ought to know by now you need to pay attention to what he says. When the hell has he ever lied to us? Or for that matter, ever been mistaken?"

"He has no real stake in this. Even tied to Éowyn he can do whatever he wants. He's never been afraid of anything." Frances' voice was bitter, and there was a sharp rustly noise; Michael could almost see him digging at the dirt with the end of a stick, could almost see the clenched jaw and furrowed brows. "Those two – " There was the sound of eatheath being taken in sharply, and another rustling; it sounded as though Dr. Walker had risen to his feet, because when he replied his voice was from higher up.

"Those two hear clearly," said Dr. Walker firmly. "They know the voices of their masters and they do what they're told to do. They know they can give things up at the drop of a hat because what really matters is what the Valar tell us, not this – " There was a swooshing noise; Michael wondered if Dr. Walker had waved his arms around.his his will all be here when Ahn Yong is gone. So will we. But could you look Michael in the eye and tell him you knew a man was about to murder twenty million people and didn't lift a hand to stop him? Could you?"

When Frances replied he sounded defensive. "We don't KNOW Dr. Ahn – "

"Don't give me that bullshit, Faramir," snapped Dr. Walker; he sounded angry. "You've spent your whole life questioning Legolas even when he was proved again and again to be right. What, do you think he's making this shit up? Do you think he WANTS to be crawling through the ductwork down there trying to slap in USBs when he could be sitting next to Éowyn by the fireplace in White Rock? Do you think he WANTS to knife a hotel concierge and an FBI agent just to cover his tracks? Hell, do you think he WANTS to even get involved in this – god knows it'll never affect him; it can't – he and Arwen at least are safe. But us – and listen, Faramir, think of Doris and Michael, and their families – "

"Okay, okay," sighed Frances; his voice was muffled, as though he had hidden his face in his hands. "I – I know Legolas is usually – all right, always right. God, I hate that!" His voice sounded suddenly venomous, and Michael remembered then how much Frances disliked Legs. He had almost forgotten, watching how well Frances worked with him. "Loud, foul-mouthed, arrogant, impertinent incubus – and then to start fucking Éowyn – "

"Well, if you hadn't been running around – "

"I know, I know." The angry edge had worn off; now Faramir sounded tired. "All right. I concede. Even from a purely conjectural standpoint I can see that he has to go. If not for those theoretical twenty millieopleople, at least for Michael. I couldn't – " Frances paused; there was a deep silence, in which Michael realized it had grown rather dim; how long had he slept, anyway? Then he heard a crunching noise; it sounded as though Dr. Walker had sat down again, and when he spoke the point of origin was right next to Frances' voice.

"Expiation even for one person is worth it," he said. His voice sounded very tender and soft. Michael held his breath, waiting for him to say something else, but there was nothing but silence outside the tent. Then he realized with a shock that he was Eavesdropping – one of those cardinal sins his mother had always told him he Should Not Do – and he felt very guilty. Granted, this was the only way of finding anything out; for the past week -- hell, the past six months – Michael had been living in a box, ignorant of anything of import having to do with either his lover or his lover's acquaintances. This was obviously Important with a Capital I – twenty million people! – even the seven who'd died at the Lido seemed to pale in comparison. No, Michael shouldn't feel guilty for eavesdropping; he needed to hear this – but – he should probably not eavesdrop any more. It wasn't Nice. Giving a loud and elaborate yawn he stretched noisily, being sure to rub his nylon-clad arms nst nst the inside of the tent to give off the irritating susurration that set his teeth on edge; he knew the men outside had heard him because they both made noises as though they were rising to their feet; then a hand grasped the zipper and pulled it up. A shock of cold fresh air rushed into the warm stifling tent and Michael sat up, nearly hitting his head on the top pole. Frances was crouching, his head thrust into the tent; he was smiling, though his expression was strained.

"Goodness, darling, you slept forever," he said; he sounded as though he were forcing his voice to be more cheerful than he actually felt. "If you get up now you'll be able to see the sun set. It's spectacular."

Michael crawled out of the tent, and accepted Frances' hand to rise to his feet. His back was a little stiff and his shoulders felt like they wouldn't have objected to a trip to the chiropractor's; he rubbed at his chin and was horrified to discover Stubble. "I must look like a mess," he thought, his heart sinking; so much of Frances' affection for him was related to his looks and he was sure Frances disapproved. But to his surprise his lover didn't even seem to notice; he took Michael by the hand and led him back to the top of the ridge they'd climbed.

Through the mellow light they saw the sun sinking in the aquamarine sky, burrowed like a nesting egg in a frothy bank of vermillion cloud; deep gray-purple edged the underside of its bower and brushed the sharp surface of the earth below; the brown flat lands dotted with ridge and crevasse, speckled all over with bush and shrub and rock. Then the egg sank into its roiling nest, casting a last scarlet ray at them, and disappeared. Michael looked up at Frances, who was smiling, but looked a little sad, too. Frances looked down at him.

"It doesn't really matter what we do. The sun rises and sets despite us."

Michael thought back on the conversation he'd just heard. If Frances had the ability to save the lives of twenty million people, it would indeed matter greatly what he did, whether the sun rose and set or not. He didn't want Frances to know he'd overheard him and Dr. Walker, but it was obvious Frances was wrong, and Michael knew it.

"It matters to the people living under the sun," he said.

Frances blinked, taken aback; behind them Dr. Walker chuckled. "You'd think he didn’t have a brain in his head," he sahis his voice warm. "Then he comes out with statements like that. This one's a keeper, Faramir."

Frances turned to Dr. Walker, blushing deeply. "Of course he's a keeper," he said stiffly, letting go Michael's hand and walking back up to the tent, dismantling it with a controlled anger. "I can be obedient too."

"Under duress," agreed Dr. Walker, smiling.

Frances looked over at Michael, who swallowed nervously. Frances' eyes were contemplative and introspective, ae see seemed to be weighing Michael's merit somehow. After a moment Frances said softly, "There's really no duress involved this time."

"No?" Dr. Walker's eyebrows disappeared into his hair, and he looked at Michael, eyes twinkling. Michael found his hands were shaking. "Glad to hear it." He knelt beside Frances and helped him strike the tent, breaking down the poles and rolling the canvas around them. When it had been reduced to a foot-long bundle and affixed to the underside of his backpack he rose and looked from one of them to the other. Michael was struck again by his poise and authority. This was a man who was used to being obeyed – and yet, hadn't he implied that even he would do whatever Legs told him to? "Time to go," he said, rubbing his hands together. "We need to be quiet from here on out."

Michael nodded timidly, and let Frances take his hand. Feeling as though he'd missed something significant, but comforted by the familiar touch of his lover's hand, he followed the two men down the ridge into the thick underbrush.