Skadu

Skadu
by: Tovah Ann Veats

You have no idea how disconcerting it is to have a ghost following you around. It shakes your universe, shakes it right out of its tree, and splits it open as easily as a head hitting the pavement after 500 stories of acceleration.

It has been a year, almost, and the images are still vivid, a perfect, crystalline memory, preserved forever in the annals of my mind. They haunt me, day and night, appearing from nowhere to assault my sanity, to drive me mad. My wife, my beloved Aiko, reduced to a twisted, bloody wreck on the pavement before the OmniCorps Megaplex, my shoes stained with her blood and grey matter. Hard to imagine the lump that had once been her had ever smiled, ever laughed, ever loved.

The strange thing, though, is that I keep seeing her. Seeing her everywhere I go, a face that stands out from the crowding masses simply because I know it's not supposed to be there. She's like a beacon, calling me, but when I follow, she's gone. Vanished, like a puff of cigarette smoke in a cool night breeze.

I think of her always, wish I had listened more closely. I'm waiting for the day when she speaks to me. That's when I'll know I've truly gone mad.

***
I lay in bed, awake as always, the ceiling fan tracing lazy circles on my weary retinas. I hear a soft rustle, as of dry leaves in an autumn wind, and feel her beside me. "Jonathan." Her voice slides through the air, both startling and soothing in its softness.

I turn my head, stare hard at the wall. "Uhmmm . . . ?"

"Look at me, Jonathan."

I squeeze my eyes closed as my mind begins to churn, hanging on to sanity by one slippery finger. "I can't. You're not real, you're dead." I can hear the panic in my voice.

"If I weren't real, could you feel this?"

Her hand caresses my cheek, her cool fingers sending shivers down my spine. I open my eyes, having no other choice. She is sitting beside me on my bed, wearing the red dress I liked so much. She looks alarmingly solid. The long, silken ebony of her hair, the dark, unreadable pools of her almond shaped eyes, the airy twist of her lips, revealing constant amusement at all that surrounds her; every detail is as I remember. "This can't be real." A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead, trickles down my back. The finger slips and my panic slides down towards madness. "This cannot be real."

She looks at me for a very long time, and I look back. There is an odd light in her eyes, a glow that I had never seen before. I can hear small, wordless cries from the back of my mind, but I dismiss them. She is dead, after all, and I have just gone mad.

She leans forward, the movement so sudden after her stillness that I freeze in startled paralysis. She brushes my lips with hers, and I close my eyes. Her scent is tantalizing, I breathe it in. It draws me back, the memories flowing into my mind unbidden. A particular memory, one that haunts me, has haunted me longer than she has. . . .

The beach. We walk beneath the massive sunscreen, which simultaneously emits and blocks light. The water, tinted an unnaturally vibrant azure by a slurry of unwholesome chemicals, laps at the bone white sand. "I don't know who he is, Jon, but he's driving me crazy."

I turn from the view and look down at her diminutive form, huddled against me as we walk, as much for warmth as for security. "What's he look like?"

"I don't know. Tall, maybe. It's more a feeling than anything, I don't think I've ever really seen him."

I raise a pair of skeptical eyebrows. "That's helpful."

She stops, turns to me, face creased in a mixture of annoyance and fear. "Don't patronize me. You know what kind of stealth tech they have these days." She glances away, trying to hide her anxiety. When she speaks, her voice is small, almost childlike. "What if they're still after me? I don't know if I can go through something like that again."

I try to reassure her with a smile. "It's not them, that was taken care of, you know that."

"But what if it is them?"

"Trust me, it's not."

"But –"

I stop her with a finger to her lips. "It's not. It's nothing, you're just being paranoid."

She sighs, breathing out the tension. She forces a smile and a small laugh, trying to be cheery on our honeymoon.

I smile again and wrap my arm around her, hugging her close. "Don't worry about it, okay? I'm sure it's nothing."

She leans her head against my chest, but does not speak. I can tell she is still upset, though she is trying to put it from her mind. I kiss the top of her head, pushing her worry from my mind, and we wander off towards the painted sunset . . . .

I open my eyes. She is still here. "You were wrong, Jonathan. So very wrong."

"I know. Oh, I know."

"It wasn't your fault, there was nothing you could do." She pauses, and I wait. I do not mention that I could have believed her; she knows that as well as I. "There is something you can do now, however."

I close my eyes again, force my mind to calmness. This is not real, cannot be real. I open my eyes. They meet hers, are gripped by them. I cannot look away. "What? What can I do?"

"Find him and kill him."

My heart beats faster. I long - have longed for nearly a year - to know who he is, to know who drove her to her death. I yearn to take his neck in my hands and wring the life from him, to watch as he dies, to revel in the moment when he realizes his life is over. When I speak, the unstable edge to my voice frightens some small part of my mind. "How? Who is he?"

"I don't know. I have only this." She holds out her hand and a piece of paper materializes there, born from the ether.

I will do it. She knows that, I know that, I do not have to voice my agreement. I want it as much as she does. I hold out my hand and she places the paper there, the paper that cannot be real, and yet is clenched in my sweaty fist, my only clue for revenge.

***
Taylor's Alterations. I read again what is written on the paper, then peer up at the matching neon sign, buzzing in the smoggy darkness. It is not a promising sight, but I fold the paper into my pocket anyway and push through the warped swinging door.

The old man is sitting on the floor, his spindly legs folded at an impossible angle. His hair is white, shaved nearly to his scalp. His face is thin and sunken, the dark skin stretched over it looks like worn leather. It reminds me of a skull. He grins at me when I enter, revealing crooked yellow teeth, and levers himself to his feet. "Ah, you have come at last. He will be glad to know."

I stop dead, tense with distrust. "Who?"

"You know who, do not play coy. Come, all is arranged."

"What's arranged? Who are you talking about?"

"Do not delay, I am an old man. Time is credits, you know, and I do not have enough of either." He steps aside, sweeping a hand towards the indigo curtains behind him. "You do want to find him, do you not?"

Mistrust still gnawing at my insides, I pass through the curtains into the darkness beyond. I blink rapidly and stop, throw my hands out for protection against wayward footstools and walls. There is a pinch at the back of my neck. I have time only to open my mouth in a soundless cry of alarm before the darkness overcomes me.

***
I breathe in.

A haze of pain and confusion. Memories tumble over one another, collide and merge into a frightening montage of sounds and smells, faces and names. One name, one face stands out to me, and I grasp it in my mind, hold on to it through the siege of images. It is her, Aiko, my love. Another image detaches itself from the churning mass, a nameless, faceless darkness. Hatred wells up, pushes aside Aiko, solidifies inside me. I take hold as the darkness spreads and the background recedes into nothingness. The darkness is all I see, all I want to see. It consumes me as I pull it towards me, embrace it in the arms of my mind. Aiko's face flutters in the distance, her eyes holding an infinite sadness, but she is swallowed up by the darkness. It is both my beginning and my end, now; it is all that matters.

I breathe out, and the darkness once again overtakes me.

***
I open my eyes - my eye, I realize belatedly - to a bright light. I squint as the light coalesces into a room, painted white, and a small widow smeared with years of grime. The sounds around me seem louder now, the smells stronger, more piquant. I can feel the cool of the table beneath me, realize I am naked. I try to sit but am held down by straps across my arms and chest and legs. I hear a noise and look to the side. The old man is there, grinning his death's-head grin. "Ahh." His breath rasps in his throat. "You wake. It is good, you have been long asleep, he grows impatient."

I strain at my bonds. "Who? Who is he? Tell me, old man."

The man makes a hissing sound, a laugh. "You will find him in time, do not worry. He wants you as much as you want him." He holds up a mirror, tilting his head to one side. "You wonder, perhaps, what I have done?"

I stare at my reflection, repulsed by what I see, and yet strangely elated. The ocular implant stands out against my pale, sweaty skin. It has replaced my right eye, covers the socket seamlessly in a smooth, mirrored lens. I concentrate and everything becomes clearer, brighter: the coarse weave of the old man's robe, the roughness of the badly painted wall, the smooth of the window's glass and the coarseness that stains the outside. I focus on the old man again as excitement flows through me. "What else?"

He steps forward, releases the straps. I stand, shaky at first as I adapt to my new strength. I feel lighter, as if gravity can no longer bother to give me its full attention. My right arm is gone, replaced by a bone white limb. The old man smiles as he watches me inspecting the arm. "Interlaced bands of polycarbon alloy around synthsteel-encased fibre optics and hydraulic servos. Strong and light. Impressive,no?"

I am only half listening. I extend and retract my claws, marveling at the power I now possess. I look up. "Tell me who he is."

His grin falters, he backs up a step, runs into the wall. "I do not know him."

"You lie. Tell me."

"He will kill me."

My arm shoots out, grips his bony neck. I raise him off his feet, dig my claws into the soft flesh beneath the curve of his jaw. Small droplets of blood well up, run down my fingers. "So will I."

He struggles, wheezing for breath. "Skadu. It is . . . is all I know."

I study his panicky face, can see he is telling the truth. Despite my words, I would rather not kill him. He helped me, if only by giving me the implants I need to find and kill this man, this Skadu; his is the only blood I want. I retract my claws, squeeze harder. The old man's eyes bulge as he strains for air. At length, he stops struggling, unconscious, and I release him, his limp body sliding to a heap at my feat.

The old man's computer reveals the details of my new self that he never had time to tell: the perflubron blood, the stealthlink to the NeuralNet, the increased metabolism, the enhanced memory, the internal filters. I am stronger, faster, more agile. It tells also that I have ceased to exist in all records, official and otherwise. I was never born, never lived.

Once I have learned all I need, I destroy the computer, gather my things, take some extras from the storage closets. There is not much, but the shadowcloak alone would be more than enough. I drag the old man outside and leave him in the alley behind his shop; what happens to him now is no longer my concern. A time delay incendiary, discovered in the false bottom of an ancient cigar box, takes care of any evidence that might have remained. I watch as the flames lick the sky, feel the fire of hate burning inside me. I am ready.

***
It takes time to adapt to being a Mekkin, though it is an exhilarating feeling. People on the street give me a wide berth, fearful of my visible implants and the augmentations they imply, but it does not bother me. I know what I am now; frightening, perhaps no longer human. I swirl my shadowcloak around me and disappear into the daylight. People no longer detour around me, but I must sidestep them. They do not take well to being knocked aside by air.

A message displays itself on my optical implant. I am closer than you think. Be patient, you will find me in time. Not a helpful clue, but I don't need it. The name from the old man will do for now.

I blink and the memory chip recalls the name, displays it before my eye. Skadu. I send a probe into the NeuralNet, discover it is Afrikaans for ‘shadow'. Does he live in South Africa, perhaps? It is a place to start.

***
I cross the border into Gauteng Province and make my way to Pretoria. I have already spent two months searching the Northern Province and Mpumalanga with no success. The Apies River, snaking through the heart of the city, is slate grey with sludge, the sky above a faded orange. The air is thick and clingy, though it sloughs off me, protected within my cloak. I move unnoticed through the crowd, a spectral presence that frightens small children and sets dogs to barking. I chuckle at the puzzled looks on their faces and drift away on the grimy breeze.

I duck into the first tavern without a ban against Mekkin and push back my cloak. The air descends on me, cloying fingers trying to pull me down, but my esophageal filter can handle the poison easily. The room is small and dark. People sit alone or in small groups and pay me no mind; just another errant Mekkin, looking for a place to rest and refuel. I take a tattered stool at the bar. The bartender has parts that look old and well worn. One arm is held together by electrical tape and what looks like a hairpin. His face splits into a wide, welcoming smile and he places a glass of synthocarb in front of me. "On the house, in the hopes you will come back again."

I nod my thanks and down the glass. "I'm looking for someone named Skadu."

The bartender raises an eyebrow. "It's not easy to catch a shadow, my friend."

"Do you know him?"

He raises his hands, a gesture indicating both lack of knowledge and apology, and backs up a step, gesturing to my glass. "Never heard of him. Another?"

I nod. He pours and moves down the bar. I take a sip and turn on my stool, rest my elbows on the bar behind me. I gaze across the room. A woman is wending her way through the crowd. Though she is not looking at me, I know she is coming my way. She is thin and muscular, with a narrow face and a lithe grace that reminds me of a hunting leopardess. Her implants are good, almost invisible. She slides onto the stool beside me and smiles, revealing two long, pointed canines. "I am Josie. You are Skadu?" Her voice is thickly accented; it is obvious she speaks little English.

I shake my head. "I'm looking for Skadu."

Her smile widens. "You are Skadu. Come." She rises and moves towards the door, pulling her shadowcloak around her. I watch her, watch the curves of her body as she moves, then toss a credit chit on the bar and follow.

We emerge into the brightness of the late afternoon, shocking after the dimness of the tavern. The searing sun is dipping low, making its stately motion towards the dark clouds gathering on the horizon. We are hidden in our cloaks, though we can still see each other. She says nothing, only beckons for me to follow. I take a step, am stopped by a hand on my arm, a strong hand. I turn, lash out. The man is old, his wispy white hair stands out in all directions. His right eye socket is an empty black hole, the threads of severed optics hanging out like weeds. His left eye has been replaced by another optic implant, though it is scratched and cracked now. What is left of his implanted right arm dangles at his side, grimy now, but once white like my own. His skin is pale grey, the skin of a corpse, and covered in a sheen of sweat. "The Devil. Do not – " His voice is low and harsh, tainted with madness. He glances over his shoulder at Josie, who is coming our way. "You will lose her again, the Devil will make you."

Josie grabs the old man by his collar, hauls him away from me. She hisses something in his ear, then snaps his neck as if it were a twig. The man goes limp and she drops him, discarding him like trash. People are staring. I know they cannot see us, but they can see the old man. They will have stories to tell, after today, stories to frighten their children into obedience.

Josie looks over at me, a curious, delighted expression on her face. "He is . . . no matter. Come." She turns and saunters down the street.

I look down at the old man, really see him for the first time. His is vaguely familiar. I frown as I scan my memory, but cannot find his image. I dismiss him from my mind and look after Josie, who is standing at a crossroads, beckoning. I think I might be close to finding him, to finding Skadu, and can feel my pulse quicken as I follow the leopardess through the winding streets.

***
The building is massive, rising far into the sooty clouds. Two heavily armed Mekkin guard the front entrance, backed up by rotating laser turrets just below the first floor windows. Josie leads me through the doors. The Mekkin, if anything, stand straighter, their faces blank, eyes hidden by dark optic implants. The front desk is manned by a bot with an innocent looking red optic and mechanical smile. It tilts its head to one side as it focuses on me, and I know I have been recorded and logged in their database. Josie goes to the desk and pulls a plastic badge from a drawer. I take it and pin it to the edge of my cloak. She smiles. "They are particular about that, but you are with me, so there will be no problems."

I frown as I follow her. She speaks English better than I assumed. Perhaps her previous mistake as to my identity was not a mistake after all, but what did she mean?

She leads me to a room deep within the building. It holds a long table with chairs, and a blank screen on one wall. She pulls out the chair at one end of the table and motions for me to sit, then takes the next place at the table. I glance around the room and settle on the edge of the padded seat. The door behind me opens and three men enter. They are dressed in black; two wear shadowcloaks, the third a simple suit. The cloaked men take the seats across from Josie, the third man stands directly across from me, his hands resting on the back of the chair.

"It is good of you to come." The man in the suit speaks with a small smile and an almost ironic twist to his voice. I say nothing and he continues. "You are looking for Skadu, the one who drove your wife to suicide?" I nod, betraying no emotion, though I am relieved to learn for certain that Skadu is the man I want, surprised that the man in the suit knows this. "We can help you find him, but you must do one thing for us."

I look at Josie, who is lounging in her chair and smiling her feline smile. The two cloaked men stare straight ahead, never blinking, never moving. I bring my gaze back to the man in the suit. "What?"

The man pulls out his chair and sits. "There is a person we want dead. Our reasons are of no concern to you. Naturally, we will keep this person's identity from you, to avoid any attachment you might form, as well as any details of the city in which they live, in the event you are captured before you can carry out the mission. This will be done by a modification, completely reversible, to your optical implant so the person and the city's identifying features will be nothing more than blurred shapes. Watch the subject as closely as you can, but stay away from them and any place they frequent, including their home and place of work. It will not be hard for you to do this with your augs and shadowcloak. The subject has already been tagged with a tracker, so you will have no trouble locating them. We must warn you, this mission involves a temporal shift. The technology is new and dangerous, but we are confident it will perform as it is supposed to. Will you do this?"

"If I do, you will tell me where to find Skadu?"

The man smiles. It is not a pleasant sight. "Yes."

I stare at the smooth table top, thinking. I do not like the idea of killing someone who is not involved with me or with Skadu, but it is the only way I can see of getting the information I need. I lift my gaze back to the man in the suit. It will not be so bad, if I know nothing of who my victim will be. "I will do this."

***
I watch as the body plummets to the ground far below. Though the details are still blurred, I know now, too late, who the subject is. Was. This is the second time I watch as she dies. It is much less gory this time, from so far up.

I sit on the ledge, feeling nothing, the world around me blurred not just by my altered optics. Abruptly, the details of the city snap into sharp acuity, and I recognize the towering skyscrapers around me, the OmniCorps Megaplex beneath me.

Aiko, her ghost again disturbing in its solidness, steps from behind a ventilation duct, and I bury my head in my hands. Not again.

"Skadu."

I look up. She is standing there, smiling with a familiar feline smile, one that does not belong on her delicate face. Her features go hazy then reform. I watch as Josie slides a small device from her belt and into a hidden pocket. It takes me a moment to realize what it is. When I do, everything seems to crash down around me. It is a holouflage unit, designed to project a holographic image seamlessly onto the body of the user. Aiko's ghost is not – was never – a ghost.

Josie moves towards me, cups my chin gently in her palm. She draws me upward and I let myself be moved until I am standing mere inches from her. "You are successful in your mission, and you have found Skadu." She tips her head to one side, widens her smile. "Today is a good day, is it not?"

I close my eyes. "Why?" My voice is faint, even to my own ears. I open my eyes, heavy with rekindled grief.

She shrugs, a supple, fluid movement, and turns away. "An old debt. She owed, she paid." She looks back at me, lips quirked, eyes hard. "You are one of us now." She pulls another device from the folds of her shadowcloak. A shining temporal rift flashes into existence before her and she beckons me towards it.

I drop my head, squeeze my forehead to ease the sudden pounding, feel the hate drain away to leave a cold, empty nothing. She is right, I am theirs. I pull my cloak around me and follow Josie from the roof. I am dead now, died when Aiko died. I have become the shadow. I am Skadu.