002 – Ballistic Fringe

Three days were gone before our beloved renegades had heard any word about Dr Selig. And, even then, the word was not so much a word as a rumour-based sentence from Bucky.

They were at a Ground Wire outside Columbus, Ohio to receive this video message. Bucky, still in hiding through the Tech Underground, working closely with his uncle, had become part of a group he called the Ballistic Fringe. Ro thought it sounded like a bad name for an equally bad rock band. This despaired Bucky very little, as he'd grown so used to Ro's barbed quips by now.

Bucky showed up on the monitor, sleepy-eyed and tousle-haired. A large cup of coffee next to the keyboard was sipped occasionally. Ro imagined it full of strong, full-bodied brew, rather akin to what she'd order at the Ground Wire espresso bar. Difference being that Bucky was likely in a location where coffee beans could be bought fresh at the farmer's market, right there in front of him, fair trade and all. He never talked about his locations, yet unwittingly dropped hints from time to time.

'The Fringe is saying that pieces of Knossos are under examination at a military hangar somewhere in Ohio.' Bucky yawned and gave a vigorous rub to his face. 'Uh, here, I found the base's specs. You can have them.'

Ro often paused during discourses with Bucky, reflecting on how openly they discussed their feats of treason, along with distended conversations on certain domestic terrorist organisations. It beguiled that, with all the guileless talks, the NSA always remained a step behind. Ro nudged her seat forward to examine the basic blueprints.

'I don't see the entrance. How come I'm always reading these things wrong? Zee? You'd be of some use here, ex-government employee that you are.'

'Ro!' admonished Bucky. 'Keep your voice down!'

Ro threw a hand at the screen. 'Please, do you think these people are listening? I could walk in here naked and no one would notice.' She leaned into her seat and folded her arms.

'Please don't test that theory,' Zee said, eyes downcast and a forlorn shake of his head.

Bucky gave a throaty laugh. 'Please do test that theory!' He got a severe, scornful regard from Zee, emoting things Bucky hadn't witnessed before. He cleared his throat uncomfortably.

'Anyway, once you find the entrance, you shouldn't have any trouble getting into the hangar. I mean,' Bucky glanced at the relay camera, 'that's what you guys are experts at, right? I say you can pose as a couple of soldiers and get yourselves in and out of Area B without any trouble at all. Most of the debris are in Hangar B. Should be easy to remember: Area B, Hangar B. See the pattern? The Knossos computers reclaimed from the wreckage will be there if nothing else is. I hope that helps.'

'It does. Thank you.' Zee nodded sincere gratefulness.

'Then there shouldn't be any problems. I'll report to the Fringe what your general outcome is, so be sure you contact me whenever you've completed your infiltration. . . . ¡Dios! I sound like Agent Bennett! Gah! I'd better go stick my head in a toilet somewhere. Laters, you two!'

The vid-call ended before Zee or Ro uttered farewells. Ro rocked the chair back and forth, pensive.

'I have to hand it to him: That Fringe thing does come in handy sometimes.' She looked at Zee. 'Think we should go check this out? The base isn't that far from here. Only about a ninety minute drive. We can probably get there before it's really late. Get a hotel room or something.'

'Of course we should go.'

'I sense a "but" coming.'

'Not at all. I'm only calculating the risks.'

'You do that.' She stood abruptly and passed, leaving a lingering hand against his shoulder. 'I'm going to the little girl's room. Gotta get rid of some of this coffee.'

It'd become a habit of his over the last trio of days to watch Ro, either as she walked away from him, towards him, or slept at night. While it wasn't just Ro—he saw everyone, everything in a new light—it was predominately Ro. With him almost twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, for the last two years, it took him all this time to see her, appreciate the frangibility outside, the essence inside. Perhaps that wasn't exactly it, either. Words in general seemed too limiting. Words unjustly confined what couldn't be squeezed into weak definitions and poor idioms.

Near evening, they were in the car, driving west, with the top up from a threat of rain. One of their radio talk shows had just ended. Ro, happy with the jokes and themes of the show, tilted into the luxurious leather seat with a bottle of water. Out the corner of his eye, Zee noted the bend of her knee, the bones of the wrist against it, the dashboard glow of teal against blue denim. His eyes tightened as he forced himself to focus on the road.

'You're awfully quiet,' he said to Ro. Quietness didn't become her. Usually it foreshadowed melancholy, discomfort, PMS, any or all of the above. 'If you don't want to do this, I'm sure we can find some other way.'

'Some other way?' The question twirled with a giggle. 'Some other way to sneak into the Knossos computers and find out more about Selig? You're kidding, right? No, wait,' she waved a hand, 'I know you're not kidding because you have no sense of humour. Wow, look at me, I almost forgot.'

His hands inadvertently tightened on the steering wheel. The thought to argue came to him, but he quickly dismissed it. 'You're right. This is important.'

'The most important thing we've done since Knossos went down. It's been nine months. Nine months of guesswork and boredom. And if we were really fortunate, those days would include a few chases by the NSA. You know, don't tell anyone this or I might have to kill you, but we're damn lucky to have someone like Bucky helping us. I mean, granted, we might have found out about this on our own, but maybe not for two years or whatever. But, yeah—it is important. Someone like Selig has to have a background. A family. Someone has to care that he's dead. Wouldn't it be terrible if no one cared that you were dead?'

This talkative vein, jumping from one subject to another with ease, befit Ro Rowen. Zee glimpsed her watching out the window. He couldn't blame her, for the velvety sky was speckled with trillions of stars. He would've preferred stargazing to car watching.

'I'll care if you're dead,' he finally said. 'And I'd probably be angry at you for dying.'

For a flash, she understood why he'd said that. But the flash lasted only as long as lightning, then it vanished. 'Let's change the subject. Tell me more about how we should break into this base. We should have our felonies carefully synchronised.'

Her bare feet, newly removed from shoes, plastered against the dash. Toes wiggled. Relaxed, carefree, Ro put her arms behind her head and tilted the seat back, bottle of water at her lips. Zee failed to quit the fascination with her shapely feet. A warning tone and light on the dashboard brought him from his thoughts.

'What—?'

Ro flew upright, hand out against Zee. 'Look out!'

He finally saw it: an object lay in the road ahead of them. Fifty feet, forty, thirty— The wheel jerked the vehicle into the other lane. Ro put her face against the passenger window to see the road hazard.

'Dead deer,' she said, sitting back. 'At least I hope it was dead.' The water bottle took place in a cup holder. Ro brushed the front of her blue t-shirt. 'I spilled water all over the front of me. Thanks for all the excitement, Mr McDangerous.'

'I'm sorry about your—sorry.'

'Fragging hell, Zee, it's not the end of the world! It's just water. I have another shirt or dozen in the back.' She reached a long, thin arm into the tiny backseat and procured from the shadows a suitable shirt. She sniffed it to make sure it smelled somewhat clean. 'Think it might be one of the freshly laundered ones from our last stop. I laid all those on top, just in case you were driving.'

Zee almost slammed on the brakes when she pulled the damp shirt over her head.

'Ro!'

'What?'

'Can't you wait until we get to a rest area or—'

'Why?' She made a quick movement. He had to watch, too intrigued not to. All he saw was a glimpse of her shoulder, the strap of a bra, the white of an abdomen. 'See! Done! What's the big deal? This never bothered you before. Are you getting self-conscious on me, old man?'

He went back to watching the road. The flickering of distant heat lightning, the flickering of the white stripes on the road, viewing the other drivers go by, soothed and refreshed. Driving reigned useless vagary.

The throttle revved an additional four MPH. He wanted to get to Dayton as soon as possible. In a big hotel room. Space enough for him to be more than three feet from Ro.

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