The Lost Puzzler Read online

  Rafik was told that he would be going to Tarakan Valley only on the night before he left. Master Goran was unhappy, but Mistress Furukawa said she was following a direct order from Lord Keenan himself.

  “All right,” Master Goran finally sighed, “but I hope they realise what they’re getting. The boy was too expensive a purchase to waste. They should take him on several dozen shallow runs before attempting anything suicidal.”

  This was hardly an assurance-inspiring sentence, but Rafik didn’t mind hearing it. He’d been told he was going to die in Tarakan Valley so many times it had stopped sounding dramatic a long time ago. Master Fu said it no matter how much Rafik trained in hand-to-hand combat. Mistress Havanna said it regardless of how much his shot improved or how long he managed to dodge stun rays. Master Goran kept telling Rafik he would die no matter how many puzzles he successfully completed. There was no doubt in his mind that Tarakan Valley was a dangerous place, yet at this point the prospect of a dangerous adventure was exciting rather than frightening, and the knowledge that Commander Doro would be waiting for Rafik at the outpost tipped the scales even further in favor of excitement.

  There had been no good-byes from any of the other trainees or teachers, aside from Master Goran, who stiffly shook Rafik’s hand at the gate, and Mistress Furukawa and several Keenan guards, who delivered him to the platform and into the hands of Bayne.

  “Is that all of you?” she said, looking at Bayne and his two companions. “I would have thought the guild’s only Puzzler would merit a slightly stronger force.”

  Bayne grimaced at the insult but shrugged it away, “Commander Doro sent us. I guess Tube passes to the Valley are expensive and hard to come by, and besides, sometimes it’s better not to make a fuss that would draw even more attention.”

  Mistress Furukawa looked unconvinced. “Still—”

  “Commander Doro sent us,” Bayne interrupted, “and I guess he thought we are capable of delivering the boy unharmed, but maybe we should not stand so long on the platform, debating the commander’s decision?” Bayne made a show of looking meaningfully around. “Even with all the ShieldGuards, a Sabarra sniper is a tactical possibility.”

  Without ceremony, Mistress Furukawa bent down and touched Rafik’s bracelet with her Keenan signet ring. There was a buzz and a vibration that sent shivers up Rafik’s arm. The bracelet opened and fell into Mistress Furukawa’s hand. She looked Rafik in the eye and said, “Good luck to us all, Rafik.” Then she straightened up, turned, and walked away without saying another word to Bayne.

  A slight vibration in the cabin woke Rafik from his doze. The sun rose to the middle of the sky but nothing seemed to change. There was one more thing Rafik felt he had to do.

  “Can you tell me which way is east?” he asked Bayne, who looked surprised, but soon pointed in the right direction. Rafik hesitated. He knew it was the right time to pray, but he didn’t want to make a spectacle of himself. He’d learned quickly that the faithless were often as intolerant as the pious. There was another girl in the guild house who was teased about wearing a religious symbol around her neck. To his disappointment, he soon discovered the girl worshipped a different, obviously false, god. It was a sign of how alone he felt in the Keenan training house that he still tried to talk to her. But she was as guarded about her faith as he was about his.

  Rafik decided to forgo the kneeling part. Instead, he half-turned his body and leaned carefully until his head almost touched the semitransparent wall. The Northern Long Tube to Tarakan Valley was placed diagonally and much higher than the other six Tubes of the City of Towers. Even though he was told that the transparent wall was safe, it took Rafik a while to trust it, so he kept a firm grip on the seat and closed his eyes.

  “Sons and Daughters of Abraham, there is no God but the one God and his two Prophets: the dead and the Reborn,” he whispered as softly as he could, and he felt his body relax a bit. Images of his village sprang before his eyes: his family, Eithan, happy memories of games and trips of childish exploration. As always, the happiness was soon replaced by sadness, which then faded into the image of the wall of symbols. For the past few months he could see the wall of symbols in front of his eyes even when awake, but only in his dreams was he able to manipulate the symbols. He watched the constant movement of the wall with a sense of calm detachment. No matter how much pain he suffered from Master Goran’s puzzle boxes, the wall was a source of comfort, strangely beckoning, more so since sleep began conjuring the awful nightmare.

  A slight vibration made Rafik open his eyes and sit up straight in his seat. The first timers whooped and exchanged clenched-fist salutes while the veterans mainly changed to more comfortable sleeping positions.

  There was a sudden commotion outside. Rafik turned his head and watched an animated shouting match between a woman with fiery red curls and three Troll guards. Just as the doors began to close, she darted between them and entered the cabin. They tried to grab her but were too late; the doors sealed and they were left standing on the platform. She turned around and made a rude gesture at the three and laughed before shouldering a small bag and looking around the cabin. The Long Tube began to slowly accelerate. Rafik turned his attention to the transparent wall beside him and the awe-inspiring view of the City of Towers. He heard Bayne call out “Vincha, over here!” but didn’t pay much attention to what was happening in the cabin. His hands gripped the edges of his seat.

  “Phew, I thought those rust pots were going to make me miss it,” she said as she dropped her bag on the floor with an audible thump.

  “And look at this, everyone wants to go to the Valley now. I even had a rusting civilian giving me an offer for a private expedition. Should have seen him, no augs, just a pipe and high boots, telling me he was working for the sake of humanity. Ha!” She laughed out loud. “Told him I work for the sake of coin, but nothing in this world will make me go on a run with a bunch of amateurs—no, I only go with the pros.”

  “I didn’t even know you were in the city,” said Bayne, a hint of disappointment in his voice.

  “Upgrading, finally,” Vincha said. Rafik turned his head and saw her lift a fistful of red curls to show a thick cable that looped around the back of her ear and entered her skull just behind the temple. “Lovely, isn’t it?” There were other cables, too, snaking through the thicket of her curls; they disappeared from view when Vincha released her hair. Rafik looked outside to watch the ground dropping below them.

  Bayne turned to Rafik and said, “Don’t get too excited, kid. This machine only gets faster and higher.”

  “So, this is the boy, eh?” Vincha eyed Rafik with open curiosity. “I didn’t think he would be coming this season, I mean, with the price I heard you paid for him and the sandstorm season just a few weeks away.”

  One of the guards began with, “How do you know about the b—” then stopped, as if remembering the obvious, and added an embarrassed, “Oh.”

  Vincha smiled mischievously but then grew serious. “He looks too young to be doing this. How old is he?”

  “I’m thirteen,” Rafik answered with pride. If he were still in his village, he would have been assigned to day guard duty, and been given a real weapon.

  But Vincha just shook her head again. “Yeah, too rusting young, if you ask me. What was Doro thinking? The boy should wait at least one more season, if not two.”

  “Why don’t you ask Commander Doro yourself, since you’re the one bumping him?” said the other guard.

  Vincha turned her head to him. “Jealous?” she asked slyly, running her hands through her curls.

  He smiled at her. “Maybe.”

  “Hoping for some action?” continued Vincha.

  “By all means,” answered the guard, straightening a bit in his seat. “You’re a very attractive wo—”

  “Well, I hope you’re good at catching Lizards,” Vincha cut in, “’cause believe me, with that oily tongue of yours, that’s the only action you’ll be getting.”

  Th
is caused laughter to ripple all around them, and even the Keenan guard chuckled and raised his hands in the air in mock defeat. Unfortunately, the exchange also attracted the attention of some of the other passengers in the cabin. A young Troll approached, goaded by a few of his friends, and planted his frame in front of her with two hands on his weapons belt.

  “Perhaps you should join us over there,” he indicated, cocking his shaven head at the back of the cabin. “We have some farm brew, if you know what I mean.” His hand left his belt and made a drinking motion, just to be sure she understood.

  Vincha looked at the young Troll for long enough that his friends began to whistle and catcall. The Troll puffed his chest out. “Like what you see?”

  “No, not really,” Vincha turned her head dismissively.

  The whistles turned to laughter but the young Troll didn’t give up easily. “What’s your affiliation, lady?” he challenged.

  Vincha turned her head back to the young man. “Independent,” she said drily.

  “So why hedge your bet with the Keenans when you could join real men at Sabarra house?” He thumbed proudly at the insignia on his uniform.

  All three of Rafik’s guards stiffened. One of them swore under his breath and began to rise, but Bayne stopped him with a look. There was sudden cold silence in the cabin.

  Still sitting, Vincha lowered her gaze to stare at the Troll’s crotch and left it there for a while before saying, “I don’t see no man from where I’m sitting.” This caused an explosion of thick, unpleasant laughter in the cabin, which eased the tension.

  The Troll turned crimson and turned to leave. “Whatever,” he said, then added “Keenan bitch” as he walked off.

  Vincha was on her feet in a flash. “You. Turn around,” she called after the Troll, but the man kept walking.

  “Turn around, farm boy,” she said again. This time the Troll stopped.

  He turned and everyone could see his fists were clenched. But Vincha didn’t wait for a reply. “You might believe the propaganda they oil your tubes with at the farms,” she spat, moving a step closer to him and shifting into combat stance. “All that rust about us and them, about serving your guild master to the death, but when you’re surrounded by Lizards and shitting your own wires, you don’t care which crew saves your sorry arse.”

  “Don’t give me lip, woman,” the Troll said, stepping towards Vincha, “or I’ll show you what we do to women like you on the farm.”

  Bayne was now up on his feet and so were most of the Trolls in the cabin, but Vincha indicated with an open palm that it was her fight.

  “You know what my job is?” she asked the Troll. “You know what I can do?”

  “Yeah,” sniggered the Troll, “you’re a messaging service.”

  “I am a Communicator, farm boy,” said Vincha, “and I’m about to communicate a lesson to your rusty little brain.”

  The Troll took another step forward and raised a clenched fist but instead of throwing a punch, his hands rose to clasp his ears and he collapsed to the floor.

  “Oh, what do we have here?” asked Vincha, her hands on her hips. “Someone forgot to secure the channels of his plug-ins? Perhaps you didn’t bother to listen to the advice of the old-timers. Someone doesn’t know the Lizards can attune themselves to our communication and find your position?” Vincha bent down and raised her voice, “Can you hear me above the noise inside your head?”

  “Stop, please, make it stop!” the Troll writhed on the cabin’s floor, still holding his head in his hands.

  Two other young Sabarra Trolls got to their feet. Vincha tilted her head at them. “Better sit this one out, boys,” she said in a cheerful voice, “or I’ll fry your brains out of your ears. Can you feel this?” they groaned in unison and quickly complied, hands covering their ears.

  “Vincha.” It might have been Bayne’s soft voice that cooled her temper, or perhaps she decided the young Trolls had suffered enough.

  “Fine,” she said.

  The young Sabarras groaned as one in relief. The Troll who approached Vincha was getting up slowly when he was lifted off his feet by a mighty uppercut that sent him back down to the floor again, where he lay unconscious.

  “And that was for calling me a bitch.” Vincha looked at the other members of his group. “Take him away now, children,” she said, “and when this sweetheart wakes up you tell him that if I ever hear the B word coming out of his mouth again, I will personally cut every wire on his body, including the little one between his legs.”

  The others scurried forward and dragged their friend’s body back to their side of the cabin as Vincha turned and walked back to Bayne. Everyone in the cabin relaxed.

  “See that?” Bayne remarked as Vincha sat down again. “That’s why we had to call in the boy. The Valley ain’t what it used to be. The guilds are fighting in the City of Towers over rusting Council politics, and the new recruits want to fight each other instead of the Lizards. Cross-guild operations are rarer than a virgin in a whorehouse. If you want to get anything done, you need your own Puzzler.”

  Vincha looked at Rafik again and flashed him a relaxed smile as if she hadn’t been in combat only moments ago. “Glad I don’t need to get involved in that rust.”

  “Wrong, Vincha,” one of the guards said. “Word is, some of the guilds are giving ultimatums to the independents, saying they can’t work with certain crews if they want to work with them. The Metal Hunters haven’t recovered from their botched deep run, and Sabarra managed to buy out a lot of the shallow runs this season. They’re squeezing everyone hard, especially us. You’ll have to choose sides and sign an exclusive with one guild or another soon. I suggest you sign with the Keenans.” He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows knowingly. “I hear you’re getting all the perks anyways.”

  Vincha just shook her head, ignoring the apparent innuendo. “I choose my crews and choose my runs, and I’ll fuck myself with a rusty pole before I’ll become a guild slave.” She shot a smile and shrugged at the Keenan guards. “No offense, guys.”

  If Bayne or his two companions were offended by Vincha’s comment, they didn’t show it.

  She turned to Rafik. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met. I’m Vincha, what’s your name?”

  Rafik looked at Bayne for reassurance and received a nod. He answered and shook her extended hand.

  “Don’t worry about those fools,” she said, thumbing at the recuperating Sabarra Trolls. “Doro and the Keenan crew are solid enough—except Ramm, of course.” She winked at Bayne, who chuckled at their private joke. “How’s that cracked oil pot, anyway?”

  “Crazy as usual,” said Bayne with a grimace. “Don’t get me wrong, he is one mean Troll in a fight, but I don’t know how the commander keeps him in line. If it were up to me I’d—” Bayne stopped talking as the colour suddenly drained from Vincha’s face. She grasped her head with her hands and curled into a ball.

  “What’s happening?” Bayne quickly crouched next to her.

  “New hardware,” Vincha answered in a hoarse whisper as her body convulsed in pain. “In my bag, quickly.” Her eyes rolled back as Bayne threw the bag to a guard, who rummaged through it and found a small leather satchel. Bayne laid Vincha on two adjacent seats, opened the small bag, and dipped his finger in. Without hesitation he shoved a finger covered in green powder up Vincha’s nostril and blocked the other with his hand. When she sniffed hard, he repeated the action again in the other nostril. Bayne sat her up on the seat on front of Rafik, and watched her slowly regain her senses. The moment she could, Vincha snatched the satchel from Bayne and sniffed another large dose before sighing with relief. “Thanks, guys,” she muttered. “Rust, didn’t think I’d get short-circuited like that so soon.”

  “It’s the new plugs.” Bayne stood up and stretched. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

  “Here, take your seat back.” Vincha tried to rise, but Bayne ordered her to stay put, claiming he needed to stretch his legs.

  Vin
cha slumped back, looking relieved. After a while she looked at Rafik and said, “Don’t be scared.”

  “I’m not scared,” Rafik answered before turning his head to watch the view outside. They were travelling so high it seemed the clouds were closer than the ground. The twin metal bars they passed every heartbeat were thicker than before, blue energy flashing between them every so often. After a short while the height and the idea that somehow this structure kept the train from crashing made Rafik queasy, and he turned his head back to Vincha, who’d slumped in her seat, eyes shut.

  “Why does it hurt?” he asked.

  Vincha opened her eyes. “Sometimes the body rejects the metal,” she answered, “and it’s very painful.”

  “The green powder helps against the pain?”

  “It dulls the pain.”

  “I’ve been told it’s bad to breathe the powder.”

  “Told by whom?” Vincha didn’t change her posture but there was now an edge in her voice.

  Rafik shrugged. “By a merchant I know. He said it is better to feel the pain, and when I was training in the guild house—”

  Vincha smiled weakly. “I’m sure you were told many things, especially in the guild house,” she said, slowly straightening in her seat, “but let me give you a piece of advice, Rafik; not everything in life is black and white.” She added thoughtfully, “But from my experience it’s usually dark shades. Too much of the powder can be a shitty trip or even kill ya, for sure, but when you get short-circuited, nothing helps but the powder. That’s the only cure, and if it makes things better, then there must be no harm in that, right?”

  She saw the look on Rafik’s face and added, “Don’t worry, kid. There are no augmentations for Puzzlers, so you’d only ever need an external communication device. No pain or powder for you.”