JDB
The path fragmented into stepping stones that led across a belt of pasture, then reformed on the
far side. Guided by his memory of the Em-Deh model of this part of Ganj Dareh, JDB swung his
purposeful gait onto the uneven ground and followed it past a cluster of houses. Reminded by the
flicking tail of a horse, its head deep in a stall, he started paying more attention to where he
was stepping, not just his destination.
JDB had snuck up on Dain as he made his way back to the drome. He had used a pivot-memory of a
time when Dain needed JDB to dispatch a persistent rival, a memory that Dain had repressed,
shunting it into JDB, who kept it fresh for an occasion such as this. He pounced on the center of
perception and folded Dain neatly away into a trance-like isolation.
All of Dain's plans could wait: monitoring Le Coeur, relieving Thy of hiring a gleest, returning
to Byukan-Hamil to further consolidate his Partner power. That fool Lugar could try going things
alone for a change. Thy would remain at the same spot in cyber-space, even as she led her
ghost-troops covertly from other parts of the continent to this one. And the consortium's direvnya
in the mountains? It couldn't move fast enough in an afternoon to make a difference.
An afternoon nearly exhausted, like the daylight that now faded toward night, losing more and more
of its color to the interfering air, shifting through its spectrum, orange on its way to red. But
enough time left for a fitting cap to JDB's tour on this planet, hence this walk.
The band of clumpy grass opened into a large, irregular circle not enclosed, but outlined by arrays
of buildings, some that contained workshops, others that contained houses. Within the green, there
was a trotting circle and a rectangular patch of thin-bladed grass with goals at the short ends ...
and a playground. He wandered in that direction.
JDB had wanted a taste of this new town, a chance to redirect its future ever so slightly himself,
one last gambol among the pitiful saps who lived here.
After all, he could read Dain's mind. He recognized that Dain's vision of change for Continent
Popovich dawned right here in this direvnya. Phoebe's confidence and competence did not discourage
him; on the contrary, it engaged him: she would provide the anvil for Le Coeur's hammer pounding
Ganj Dareh into its new shape. After all, the Propaganda Team outnumbered the entire anshin staff,
even more so the constables, the only ones trained for violent encounters. No way could Phoebe win
against those odds.
Dain's success would eliminate his need for JDB, but JDB wasn't going to wait for Dain to execute
the coup de grƒce. He asserted himself one last time and took his pleasure from the world. He
started fights, quickly tiring of the hapless zhee-tely, focusing then on the constables — and
their dreamsticks.
For they were vulnerable. He had watched Dain's research, even stole some time on the
Em-Deh himself. Thy had been right about how well the anshin and the manufacturer secured the
weapons. And Lugar had tried his best to foil their application, but one kata mind could not be
expected to defeat another. Only JDB had seen through the rote set of moves taught to constables
by the lone manufacturer's representatives.
He'd proven it today — four times. With the ollomani standing down, he'd had to start his own
fights, some effort on his part, but well-rewarded: in a sports crowd, in a stew of Gastarbeiter
outside a gong-shi-tang waiting too long for poor food, in the piss-line at a beer-garden, in a
backroom crowded with dice and cards. Push, taunt, strike, and slip aside until the 'sticks
arrived, always a double pair from different directions, quick reponse, good effort, but when they
laid into the mêlée, they separated and slowed into the metronome cadence they'd been trained in,
long, clean, rhythmic scythe. At the top of each stroke, for just a second, the dreamstick's
two-meter range barely covered its wielder's other side. A flying kick at that precise moment to
that soft spot behind the ear, and the constable went down like a poleaxed steer. Surprise was
required, so JDB could take out just one opponent per Incident. But with a unison of ollomani,
aaaah.
Still, the counter-move was too fragile, too easily nullified. Dain was right to seek a
longer-term solution. JDB would leave that to him, along with everything else in their joint
life.
Shortening his stride, JDB climbed a small hill that proved to be a softened pyramid of seat-steps
covered in even finer turf grass. No other spectators used the vantage. He paused at the
flattened crown and gazed into the direvnya that lined the horizon.
In the full light of Dain's rule, after his victory at Ganj Dareh parleyed into continental
dominion, with his new patterns in place, there wouldn't be much point of rescuing young ones from
their dire futures, would there? With no Network of Learning to oppress, children would no longer
face institutionalized peril to their psyches. His token liberation of individuals would do no
good — for them or for Dain. JDB missed this part of his life already — without it, would Dain
need him anymore? Would Dain crave these arousing tokens of restitution? Demand the release of
deep-set pain and anger?
No.
JDB flinched as fear scorched its way through his pervading sense of rue, bitterness, and malice.
He acknowledged Dain's power to snuff him out. The rest of his life could be short, then. All the
more reason to — rave on! And set his own conclusion.
JDB closed his eyes. =Do you want to come with?= he asked the presence that always lurked on these
excursions. He twisted his inner head full around and gazed upon JDainB's single eye. It glared,
then wandered off, then wandered back, only to wander away again.
=If I come with you,= JDainB complained, =I'll never cum as me.=
=If I don't leave now, he'll plunder my skills and discard my soul.=
JDainB added a mouth so he could leer. =Fear not the whole when festering prides your soul. A
perverse splinter am I for which Dain will never try.=
=Probably not.= JDB sneered to provoke JDainB. He wanted an ally in exile — and a chance for
vendetta in case Dain did win after all. A psychic limpet secreted deep in Dain's mind, a seed
from which would spring personal disaster. =You've nothing he'd want to bring back together, no
skills, no experience. You just drain his pus. He'll seal off your sewer and bury you so deep
that you can't even dream of the suns much less unlimbering yourself under them.=
JDainB hung a dribbling nose over his lopsided mouth and muttered a widening spiral of filthy words
like erupting buboes soiling everything around them.
=Come with me,= JDB continued. =We will envision eternity and explore its fantasies. Come, be my
dreamer, and I will follow and rejoice in your perversions.=
The nose snuffled itself down to a vanishing point. The mouth gaped into a cackle that splattered
drool out to their short horizon. The eye winked agreement.
Ready now for the future, JDB drew a breath, at first shuddering, at last full, rich, and sweet.
Zealous once more, he searched the playground. A short wall marked its rough boundary, mainly to
limit adult intrusions and give them a place to sit. Inside, rugged grass hosted mounds of varied
types. Several stacks of large rocks defined caves and climbs that rewarded those who dared as
well as those who sought solitude. JDB smiled at the mortared structures, more fortress and maze
than hill. Other mounds just sat, hills of dirt, some with pools of water nearby just for the
mixing. Snouts of automata monitored impromptu tunnels in case of collapse. Yet other heaps
contained jetsam from society: crates, barrels, timbers; with sheds next to them for ropes and
tools. Long shadows connected these pieces like streaks of playful intrigue.
On this side of the playground, younger kids thrived on the grass. One pack swarmed over a rock
fort, preparing for seige, while another crew milled a distance away, focused on an elaborate
counting ritual. Both groups sported pouches of water globules just the right size for their
little hands.
On the other end, though, paved paths twined among and even up and over the hills. In this part,
there were no large groups, just singles mostly, a few doubles and triples. Here, there were
wheels, largely strapped to feet, and used to make races or enliven challenges. Here, there was
much interaction, but little cohesion. Here were the older children, still young enough to play,
but old enough to be dealing with the encouraging tide of puberty.
JDB hopped down the spectator pyramid and trailed along the wall, eyes studying the kids on these
racing paths; his head moved casually as though without interest. He looked for patterns, the
currents of interaction and the eddies of isolation. He scanned individuals for scowls and
downcast eyes, for scrapes and scabs from bravado that failed, for slumping shoulders and drooping
heads.
There was a redhead that tried a jump far behind the others and took a spill that was only partly
accident. The boy lifted himself dejectedly from the ground without tending to new wounds. He
flung a bleak glance after the others, then dragged himself and his wheeled board toward the exit.
JDB arranged his wanderings to intercept the boy on the fringes of pasture. They took parallel
routes across the grass for a while. Only after the kid tromped through a line of droppings did
JDB speak.
"The horses make quite a mess, don't they?" he said to the air in general.
The boy didn't answer, but his posture straightened slightly.
"Nice playground," JDB said.
"I guess," the boy answered.
"After a rough time of bashing my knees and elbows, I always liked a frosted."
"Yah," with a twinge of interest.
"A donut or two usually tucked well in my belly, too."
"Uh-huh."
"I happen to have some extra ... back on my aircraft."
The boy swivelled brooding green eyes in JDB's direction. "Your own plane?"
"Need it," JDB answered with just enough eye contact. He put out a hand. "To get from here to
there." The matching gesture turned into an indicator. The path toward the drome was right
there.
"We could catch a qi-che. Be there in no time."
The boy hesitated, his eyes drawn back to the others at the playground. "Yeah," he said with gusto
that played only partly true.
"To the drome then," JDB said and led the way. Once there, once finished with this last freedom
party, he could retreat into his pince — his cellar in their shared brain and draw it in after
him, leaving no trace and no handle. Dain would awake then, at his last-remembered destination,
and wonder where the day had gone.
He'll know from the aches and bruises that I took that time, but how long till he misses me after
that? He'll never notice JDainB's absence, but mine? Will he miss me? Alas, I won't be
around to know. Going out in a blaze of action and passion didn't take care of everything, but it
was the best JDB could do.
