FREE STORIES 2012(95)

He realized he’d started trembling so badly that his teeth were knocking together, and he was shaking with it, as well as with reaction to the warmth of the flyer after nearly freezing atop the wall. He realized the burner was shaking too hard for him to point at anything. He knew the man must think the same because he pushed past Jarl, closed the back hatch, and did something to it that secured it in place. “There, that will hold,” he said, then turned around. “And now, son, what are we going to do with you?”

Jarl shocked himself with a sob, though it was probably just a reaction to the temperature difference. But there was this long breath intake, and his voice came as wavering as his trembling hand, “I can shoot. I can. I can burn you.”

“Of course you can. But the way your hand is shaking, you’re more likely to set the inside of the flyer on fire, and I don’t think that’s what you want, is it?” the man asked. And then very gently, “Give me the burner.”

Jarl tried not to, but the large hand reached over and took it before he could control his shaking hand. And now Jarl was unarmed and the man had a burner. And Jarl couldn’t even see what the man was doing, through the film of tears that had unaccountably filled his eyes, in probably yet another reaction to the cold. What is the use? He sank down to his knees, then sat back on his heels, as he waited for the burn he was sure would come.

He heard a click as the burner charge was pulled, the burner safety pushed in place, then a low whistle. “A Peace Keeper burner. Where did you get this?”

“I—It was months ago. I stole it. What does it matter?” Now Jarl’s voice sounded hysterical. He could hear the sirens drawing ever closer. A light like full daylight only brighter came through the windows, blinding them. “Shoot me and be done.”

“Give me your left hand,” the man said, his voice still very calm. And then, “I see.” The sound of a deeply drawn breath. “This will wait. They’re here. You’ll never pass. Not dressed like that.”

Jarl found himself hauled up by his left hand and thrown, forcibly, to lying down on a seat. Something fluffy was thrown over him. The man’s voice whispered, “Do your best to look ill and sleepy, can you?” And to the other person in the flyer, the one who’d remained quiet through all this. “Jane, make this disappear as much as you can.”

“I can’t make it disappear. Not enough to—”

“Enough that it will pass unless they take the flyer apart. My job is to make sure they don’t. And give me an ID gem. Male. I’d say around fifteen. Or can pass as such. Quickly, Jane.”

And suddenly, there was a rush of fresh air, cold and smelling of snow, and Jarl realized that the man had opened the door to the flyer. “How may I help you, officer?”

Jarl’s heart was beating so loudly that he had trouble hearing what the Peace Keeper was saying, though he caught the words “mules” “riots” and “forty dead.” And then a polite request for the family documents.

Jarl heard gems handed over and the clink of their fitting into a reader. “Mr . . . Carl Alterman, and your wife and son?” the Peace Keeper asked.

“Yes,” the man said. “Our son has been having high fevers. We think it is one of those new viruses. We’re headed for Friedstadt, to see a specialist? Nothing else has worked.”

“Oh,” the Peace Keeper said, and though Jarl had absolutely no idea why, he could hear the dread in the Peace Keeper’s voice, and had the feeling he wouldn’t be touched.

The Peace Keeper said, in the official voice, again, “If you’d put your fingers in this machine? It detects the genetic markers of mules, even if the ring has somehow been lost. It’s just a formality.”

The woman must have gone first, because Jarl heard the ping, and then she leaned back and said, “Honey, do you think you could wake enough to—” Just before a ping sounded that Jarl guessed meant the man too was not bio-engineered.

But the Peace Keeper spoke up before Jarl could answer—even had he known how to—“No need, ma’am. If he’s contagious it could be a public health risk.”

And then the door closed, and Jarl found himself taking big gulps of air.

He heard the locks closing on the flyer, and the woman said, softly, “Don’t sit up. They can still see in here, but we need to talk.”

Jarl thought it was funny how the woman’s voice sounded so very different than even in holos. He’d never heard a woman’s voice without electronic modulation, and it was higher than men’s, sure, but it also sounded . . . richer, in ways he couldn’t quite express.