Contributed by - Ed
Chapter Thirteen: The River
Arthur rather liked the Danubian clergy. Mostly because the priests and
priestesses treated criminals like him about the same as they did free
people. It felt good to be spoken with like a human being instead of
spoken at like a number. When Arthur was in the city he always tried to
attend services, normally it was hard to find the time, but on this
special day all of Danubia's criminals were off work.
The massive bell rang one last time, deep reverberating tones faded to
inaudible levels and the crowd of a couple thousand worshipers turned
their attention toward the entrance. Families clustered in groups of ten
or twenty; parents and children stood with grandparents and other
relatives, all were dressed in simple black prayer robes except for an
occasional nude collared criminal or penitent family member, their skin
tone standing out in a mass of black.
The Cathedral was the largest and oldest of Rika Chorna's many temples,
a massive stone structure dating back to the decades following the
eastern people's exodus from Lower Danubia. A group of clergy stood high
at the church entrance facing the rising sun, chanting a prayer in
archaic Danubian for gathered worshipers to repeat. The ancient prayer
called upon Creator to remove false visions from the minds of the
faithful before they entered the temple.
Arthur waited for most of the congregation to enter before he passed
between the massive wood and bronze doors. There were no pews inside,
just a cavernous room with vaulted ceilings, patterned rugs on the
floor, and an elevated dais at the front. Worshipers stood with their
families, forming long orderly rows across the chamber. Arthur stood
with a group of worshipers who came alone.
Despite it being an important day, the service followed the normal
format. There were hymns sang, rituals of fire and purification, and a
women's choir performed in the uniquely Danubian style with contrasting
vocal pitch taking the place of instrumental music. The service
concluded with a sermon. The congregation got down on their knees and
knelt upright while an elderly priest dressed in a black robe and tall
cylindrical hat spoke on the subject of suffering and redemption. Arthur
listened intently; suffering had been a big part of his life for the
past three years. Redemption was more of a relative concept, but Arthur
did have something specific in mind.
There were just a few worshipers remaining when Arthur turned to leave
the Holy Cathedral; he heard a familiar voice behind him.
"Arthur," the young priestess said. "It is good to see you here at the
temple again, I want to again express my gratitude for all the help you
have given the Church. The Temple Archivist said that the English
translations that you made have put his project ahead of schedule by
weeks."
The priestess was about his age, tall and thin, with sharp expressive
features that complimented her energetic determined nature. She had been
his spiritual adviser for almost three years. Arthur thought she viewed
him as a challenge, a chance to prove herself; she was eager and driven
where others might have advised caution and patience. To drag a
prideful, greedy, deceptive criminal toward the Correct Path was one
thing, but to reform the infamous American spy- now that would be
something to brag about, but of course Danubians (especially clergy)
didn't do that sort of thing.
�I remember that day clearly when you first came to the temple three
years ago. Everyone talked about that terrible crime you were involved
in. At first I was suspicious, I thought you were simply acting
interested in the faith to gain something, but throughout these past
three years I have seen a tremendous change come over you. Arthur, it
has been an honor to help guide you back toward your True Path in Life."
�The honor is all mine, priestess. When I first came to the Church I was
skeptical." Arthur grinned. "I never would have thought that I would
become a religious person again, I hadn't gone to any kind of church
since I was fifteen years old. But I suppose I'm not the same person I
used to be."
She smiled brightly. "Arthur, it will be good to have you with us on our
most holy observance."
�I too have been looking forward to this day for a very long time
priestess and I have a feeling that this Day of the Dead will have
special significance for me."
There was the slightest hint of a smile on Arthur's face as he walked
purposefully away from the church.
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On the second night of the Day of the Dead the marchers filed into a
city park to rest. They set down their torches and slings, got a drink,
and took bathroom breaks. The rest was brief; after a few minutes the
priests called on the marchers to reform a line so they could have their
paints retouched and their torches refueled and lighted. Soon the entire
criminal population of Rika Chorna walked in fire-lit columns through
the dark city streets, all except one.
Arthur had deliberately been one of the last to visit the restroom;
there were five empty stalls, including the one that he wanted on the
left. He stood on top of the toilet seat, lifted a vent panel off the
wall and retrieved a packet that he had placed there the day before.
Tucking it under his arm along with his sling and torch he stepped
outside the door and glanced toward the priests thirty meters away.
Arthur waited in the shadows behind the building; five minutes passed.
Keeping low to the ground and moving slowly he looked around the corner.
No one had noticed his absence, it was clear.
Arthur ran down one of Rika Chorna's many walking trails; one that lead
to the south side of the business district. After a thirty minute run,
he stopped, set the torch and sling down on the trail and opened the
heavy plastic bag. He removed two items: a small flashlight fitted with
a blue filter and a hexagonal screwdriver.
Arthur cautiously approached a large metal building, ordinarily it would
have been illuminated but on this one holiday all its lights were turned
off. A thin line of fire glowed a couple kilometers to the north as he
crept toward the rear of the building. This was the water
rescue-training center run by Natural Resources, and it had a few items
Arthur wanted to borrow. There was a boiler room at the back of the
building that was unfinished and un-insulated inside; Arthur unscrewed
the lower edge of a piece of sheet metal enough so he could squeeze
through, once inside he turned on his light and walked to a supply room,
he took three items and then promptly left the building.
Arthur replaced a couple of the screws to hold the metal down and then
carried his new equipment back to the trail. He packed everything
carefully inside the bag, tied the bundle securely, threw it over his
shoulder and ran west, until he came to a small murky pond half filled
with leaves shed from overhanging tree limbs. Taking a length of thin
nylon rope he bound the package with a double-constrictor knot and waded
into the center, his bare feet sank through black layers of rotting
leaves, bubbles of methane churned to the surface with each squishy
unpleasant step. When the water was just above his knees Arthur let the
package sink. He buried the free end of the rope a couple inches deep in
the pond bank, and placed a perfectly ordinary rock, though one he would
recognize, on top. After that it was only a matter of retrieving the
torch and sling, taking another hiking trail to yet another park and
waiting.
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No one noticed the figure hidden at the forest's edge as the line of
criminals and penitents entered the park, the last scheduled rest stop
of the March. The fires they carried provided the only light, the rest
of Rika Chorna was blacker than the moonless sky. A seemingly endless
line of tired and thirsty marchers filed into the park and the dedicated
clergy attended to their needs. With the darkness pierced only by a few
pale fires it was remarkably easy for him to slip back into their midst,
he simply walked out, had a couple glasses of the berry punch that
stained his mouth red as blood, and then like most everyone else, he
reclined in the soft dew-covered grass and rested.
A few minutes passed and then Arthur lined up with everyone else. A
priest frowned and remarked about the poor condition of his body paint,
especially from the knees down; Arthur just shrugged as they repainted
him.
The holiday ended at dawn, then the criminals cleaned up, ate breakfast,
and traveled to the police station to pick up their winter gear. Arthur
reported to work just before noon; the workload was easy and the day was
short. It was like that all over the city as people recovered from the
Day of the Dead; work schedules were cut back and people commonly took
the rest of the day off if they could. Arthur had observed the Danubians
carefully during his previous three years, noting that the celebration
of the fall equinox with all its activities and two nights without much
rest left most of the population sleepy- and not too alert.
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Jakt was asleep early that night, as was most everyone. Arthur pulled on
his orange work boots, laced them up tight and walked to the door. It
screeched and rattled as he opened it, it really didn't matter; Jakt
slept as if in a coma. Arthur paused, briefly looking back at his
occasional home for over three years; then he shut the door behind him
and walked away.
Outwardly calm, Arthur traveled the same path he always took to the
criminal's club. This time however, instead of continuing east he turned
south into a dark forested park, then when he was sure he wasn't being
observed Arthur sprinted back to the pond he visited the previous night.
Reaching into the mud, his fingers found the end of the rope; he fished
out the package and unwrapped it. Once he had put the twenty-pound boat
anchor back into the water the pack was considerably lighter.
Arthur took out a can of black shoe polish. "Orange never was my color
anyway," Arthur cackled loud enough to surprise himself. "Focus 885...
uh, I mean Arthur... gotta stay focused." He took steady even breaths,
as he rubbed black on his issued orange work boots.
Next he covered all the skin he could reach in cold dark mud scooped
from the pond bank. That done, he bound up his pack, threw it over his
shoulder and took another trail westward. After a hard thirty-minute run
he came to a place where the trail crossed a paved road. One of the
yellow warning signs marking the edge of the Rika Chorna Collar Zone lie
directly ahead.
Arthur stopped and opened the packet. He pulled out a roll of electrical
tape and began wrapping his collar. After going all the way around it he
used the flashlight and a small mirror to see if there was any uncovered
metal remaining. Satisfied, he went into his package again and removed a
roll of metallic foil that had been cut into two-inch wide strips. In
the same fashion he carefully wrapped the collar in foil. He repeated
with two other rolls, and then with some difficulty, covered the foil
with the remaining electrical tape.
Four months into his sentence he thought of something peculiar. His
collar had never been charged; if it were a transmitting collar he
thought its battery would have surely worn down by then. Perhaps, he
speculated, the collar was not an active transmitter but a passive unit
like the radio frequency tags used in shipping. Arthur reasoned that the
government would only know a criminal's whereabouts when he passed by a
detector. The outer perimeter must be lined with them, as soon as a
collar passed through that electrical field a current would be induced
and the collar's antenna would transmit its identifying characteristics
back to the detector. If that was the case, he reasoned, the government
would not know a criminal's location all the time, more importantly if a
collar was disabled it wouldn't immediately be noticed.
One night in his second summer Arthur built up the nerve to test his
idea; that night he stepped across the boundary of the Collar Zone and
traveled into the woods a few hundred feet. He thought the foil would
effectively shield the collar's antenna from the electric field as long
as there was an insulator between the metal collar and the foil. After
an agonizing wait he realized it had worked, and Arthur from that point
on knew that he had a real chance at escaping.
Praying to the ghost of Michael Faraday, Arthur stepped past the Collar
Zone sign and continued toward the rail yard on the western side of the
city. This was not a train station but a loading area for heavy cargo,
chemical tankers, and aggregate. The lot wasn't illuminated much and
there was clearly just a skeleton crew running the night operation but
Arthur knew that this was one of the most dangerous parts of his plan.
Staying low to the ground he crept up to the chain link fence that
surrounded the terminal. Using a pair of wire cutters he made a three
foot high slice in the fence and squeezed through. After tightly binding
up his pack, Arthur moved closer to the rail cars. They were already
loaded and the locomotive was ready to move west toward Danube City.
Train schedules were something you could count on in Danubia, and this
one was scheduled to leave at 10:05 PM.
Arthur crept along a gully that paralleled the track until he could find
a suitable car. There were locked container cars, and tankers, but the
type he wanted was open on the top and used for hauling aggregate. A
hundred feet downstream he found a suitable car and slowly moved up
toward the rails. Arthur waited and listened for about five minutes
before making his move; he climbed the outside of the car and jumped
inside. Relieved that no one had noticed him, Arthur looked through his
bag and put on a wristwatch. It was 9:45 PM; there was nothing more to
do but wait.
Right on schedule the train began moving at 10:05 PM. Arthur spent the
next few hours lying on top of a load of gravel and going over the next
phase of his plan in his head. At one o�clock in the morning the train
rolled past one of the smaller provincial capitals. Eighty kilometers
ahead was Danube City and the part that made him the most nervous.
Rika Chorna he knew well. Over the past three years Arthur had studied
the city carefully. He knew its roads and trails well enough to draw
them from memory. He knew the location of fences and guard posts; he
knew which facilities had watchdogs posted, as well as ways to move
about without being seen. Arthur had little first hand knowledge of
Danube City though. He had studied several maps and aerial photographs
of the city but that was it. He would have to depend on the cover of
darkness, and the fatigue brought on by the Day of the Dead to help him
pass by undetected.
The heavily loaded train started slowing three miles from the Danube
City rail-yard. Arthur threw his pack over his shoulder and carefully
looked for a relatively safe place to jump. When the train slowed to
about ten km per hour Arthur climbed down the outside of the car to the
lowest rung and leaped. He hit the ground on his feet but tripped,
rolling down the slope and landing with a splash in a foul-smelling
puddle at the bottom of the ditch.
The rail-yard was only one and a half kilometers from the East Danube
River; the ditch went westward through the well-lighted complex so he
would have to find another way around. There were just two options:
north or south.
Scraped but otherwise uninjured, Arthur crawled out of the mud and
examined the surroundings. To the south, on the far side of the ditch, a
hundred meters of of un-mowed grass and weeds separated him and a
one-lane access road that he recognized from the map. That road
continued west for 1.2 kilometers, passing near several residences. The
glow of electric lights in that direction was more than he expected. The
aerial photographs of Danube City were over five years old, perhaps
Arthur thought, the southern route was no longer safe.
Before he could examine the northern route Arthur had to wait five
minutes for the train to stop, then he scrambled under a rail car and
moved north. Arthur knew that a half-kilometer directly to the north of
the rails there was a boundary between the industrial and residential
zones. The aerial photos showed a strip of forested land in between that
extended all the way to the river, he hoped it was still there.
Arthur couldn't see any lights to the northwest, but he did find an
eight-foot high fence covered in vines, he grasped the wire in his
fingers and pulled himself easily over the top. On the far side of the
fence was an overgrown lot with lines of empty shipping containers
parked inside. Arthur sneaked past two hundred meters of empty
containers, and came to a fence twice his height. A dog barked not far
away. Arthur climbed on top of a container close to the fence, leaped
and caught hold, rolled over the top and dropped down the outside. A
flashlight beam darted in his direction, but Arthur was already in the
tall brush running west. The barking receded behind him as he sprinted
along a rocky gully with thick vegetation to either side, after ten
minutes he heard the rush of the East Danube River.
He touched his fingertips to the water, it must be fifty degrees
already; unprotected, a man wouldn�t survive in that for long. The flood
had subsided but the river was still above its banks and flowing in the
middle at around 18 kilometers per hour. He opened the packet, and
pulled out the drysuit that he gathered from the training center; after
squeezing into the insulated watertight suit he stuffed the rest of his
supplies into the bag and strapped it to his leg using Tee's snakeskin
belt. Sealed in the dry-suit with only his face exposed Arthur stepped
into the swift current.
Samantha would have quite a surprise if the rest of his plan worked, or
a nasty surprise if it failed. Arthur had planed his own escape since
midway through his first year, though back then he knew not to make the
attempt until he was ready. His sister's first trip was not to visit;
Arthur needed an accomplice. He told her of his discovery, how he could
disable the collar and how he planned to escape. Tee was as enthusiastic
as always to be part of his plans, Tee and Arthur had something else in
common besides the odd behavior; they knew how to keep a secret. During
her last trip they carefully went over every aspect of the plan and then
said what might have been their last insults to one another.
Arthur never considered telling Samantha; that would have been too big
of a risk for both of them. Though she had been confused by his
insistence that she postpone her trip to California until September; she
had, in the end done exactly as he wanted, so she would either be back
in the US when he made a surprise appearance home, or she would be out
of the reach of Danubian authorities if his attempt failed.
Arthur wondered what he would say to her if he got back. Would she be
angry that he hadn't shared his plan with her? Probably, he thought, but
the anger would fade and they would get on with their lives. It was bad
about the wedding that was long planned back in Rika Chorna. Many people
would be in for a shock. To make everything look convincing he had to go
through all the normal steps required before a Danubian wedding. Jakt,
Spokesman Ralkliv and his family, all of Arthur's contacts at the
Church, and many friends that both he and Samantha had acquired during
the past few years would probably feel betrayed. That was unfortunate
but necessary; if he succeeded there would be no one there to wed, if he
failed... there would be nothing to attend but an execution.
He trusted one person with his life, his sister Tee. She had come
through for him, even at the cost of sacrificing much of her own life to
give her brother a chance to escape. Her diplomat boyfriend, whom she
didn't even like, had the connections that Arthur needed to return to
the US quietly without a passport. Once he crossed the southern border
she would be ready, with a change of clothes, transportation, and he
hoped, a stack of hacksaw blades. The collar seemed tighter than ever
now that he was just hours from escape, but it was time to focus on the
present.
Arthur swam out to the fastest flow in the river's middle, then flipped
on his back and stared up at the sky, to the east Orion the Hunter
glittered in the pitch-black night. Eridanus the River meandered further
to the south. Arthur had always thought this constellation difficult to
find, but tonight enveloped in the cold East Danube waters it seemed
that the stars were especially bright to the south. By dawn he figured
he would be eighty miles downstream near the southern border.
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Flurries blew in serpentine waves across the sidewalk and piled a
centimeter high against the empty fountain. Spokesman Ralkliv was
careful to avoid icy patches on the stairs in front of the Police
Headquarters. He took the elevator to the fourth floor and walked down
the hallway to his office.
His secretary was busy filling out forms, she paused. "Sir, this package
was delivered this morning, the courier said it was mailed from America
but it didn't have a return address on it."
Ralkliv picked up the large box that weighed 10 or 11 kilograms, and
took it back into his private office. He sliced though the tape with a
penknife then opened the top. Inside, strangely enough was another large
box but this one was wrapped up like a present with a bow on top.
Ralkliv lifted the wrapped box out of the larger one, cut the ribbon,
and removed the lid. Inside was a curious collection of items with a
letter on top. He read the signature on the last page, then dropped it
and hurriedly dug through the box. He felt its cold edge before he saw
it. For a few seconds he just stared at it. The curved metal piece had
been roughly sawed through right in front of the engraved # 88588. The
other objects inside included some kind of a scuba suit, a flashlight, a
wristwatch, a few tools and an envelope with American money in it.
Ralkliv threw it all back in the box and picked up the letter.
Spokesman Ralkliv,
Enclosed in this package are the items that I borrowed for use in my
escape. The dry suit and wristwatch were taken from the MNR's water
rescue center; all the other tools belong to Jakt. It was necessary to
cut a perimeter fence on the south side of the Rika Chorna rail yard so
I sent some cash to cover repairs. I was a criminal for over three years
but I'm not a vandal or thief after all.
I wish I could have written earlier to explain what happened and to make
clear that no one else inside Danubia had any knowledge of my plans. Not
even Samantha knew, this whole operation was carried out with the help
of only one other person from the outside, and I imagine you could guess
who that was. It took years of preparation for my plan to succeed, so I
hope you didn't take too much blame for not keeping control of me. The
reason I waited to write this letter was that I had some difficulty
convincing the US government that I am the same Arthur Liggett who was
arrested overseas three and a half years ago.
As I'm sure you're aware there is no formal extradition treaty between
the US and the Duchy, but being cautious, I wanted some extra protection
before making my whereabouts known. It took four additional months to
gain my new legal status; now from what they tell me, so long as I stay
in the United States I'm beyond the reach of your government.
When I showed up in California Samantha just stared at me like I was a
space alien who had knocked on her front door. That and she had never
seen me dressed before. She was confused, angry, and ecstatic all at
once. After a couple tumultuous months we got married in her family
church (there are a couple photos taped to the underside of the lid). My
mother and her third husband attended as well as my sister Tee. Samantha
and I now live in Louisiana, near Baton Rouge, strangely enough it's not
far from where I lived when this whole adventure began three and half
years ago.
It was unfortunate that we had to part in such an unpleasant manner, I
do appreciate all you did on my behalf but I needed to do what was in my
own best interest. I suppose another man in my situation might have
focused on reforming himself and learned to gracefully accept his humble
status in life with honor and humility. But I guess my mother was right
about me always being so stubborn and defiant - the only change I was
willing to make was a change of address.
By the way, I didn't return the collar to taunt or gloat about my
escape. When I got the thing sawed off in the hotel room rented by my
accomplice, I just threw it in a box with everything else and took it
with me. I didn't want to even look at the thing anymore, but it felt
wrong to throw it in the trash so I decided to send it back to the Duchy
with all the other stuff. Maybe it can be recycled into something more
pleasant.
I hope our friends and acquaintances can forgive us, or at least forgive
Samantha since she didn't mean to deceive them like I did. My contact
information is written on the back of this sheet if any of them still
care to reach us. I would be pleased to hear from you too spokesman, so
long as it's not in your official capacity, that is.
Arthur Liggett
With a furious growl Spokesman Ralkliv threw the letter down and shoved
the box off his desk; the flashlight, tools, and broken collar skidded
across the hard gray floor tiles. He stood there breathing heavy for a
moment then sullenly collapsed back into his chair with his head
clenched in the palms of both hands.
�Why..." Ralkliv rubbed his temples vigorously.
Alarmed at the noise, his secretary hurried into his office to find the
floor covered in all sorts of junk. Ralkliv was completely unresponsive,
leaning forward in his chair holding his head as though he had a furious
headache. He ignored her completely and just sat there asking that same
question over and over.
�Why?"
�Why?"
�Why did I save him from the firing squad?"
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