Was (Was #1)

Untimely vectors converging towards a deadly bridge

Untimely vectors converging towards a deadly bridge

London, December 11th, 2009

On that Friday evening, normal people enjoyed a drink at the pub.

In the meantime, Echoes, computer engineer extraordinaire, ran for his life.

Warning: Chaos factor Level 2! A new alarm rang on his smartphone. With a quick glance at the screen to check the flashing red dot moving on his GPS map, the tall, lanky young man dove between the nearest two stone ornaments in front of the HSBC skyscraper on Canada Square, dodging by an inch the sudden gust of wind.

Something thick and heavy brushed past his head, ripping his wool cap, batting a few strands of his unruly hair. Arm or weapon? It had no definite shape, no definite colour, no definite substance. The heavy grey block crashed into the pavement, neatly sliced in two. A few glass panels from the building cracked under the shock wave. Had there been people in the deserted lobby, they would have been screaming by now.

Time to run again.

The engineer had stopped wondering what that thing was, filling the blanks with “deadly,” “creepy,” and “do not want”. His mind remained focused on two things only: using his surroundings to his advantage, and evading further attacks. If his calculations were right, the next wave would gather enough momentum to strike in ten seconds. Ten seconds left to spring into nearby Upper Bank Street.

Granted, actually seeing his opponent would have been more convenient. Merely sensing its presence through the resident watchdog application on his phone just sucked. Echoes wished he could spare a couple of minutes to reach for Grendel, his laptop, still safely tucked within its holding case, strapped over his shoulder. Without Gren, he could not run a real defence program, nor compute the right vectors to cast all his spells. And so, the Technomancer had not warped his way out of Canary Wharf yet.

Tall office buildings lined his way on every side, all silver and steel; high above, a few windows still lit bore silent witness to how other workers put in overtime. However, those places deserted at night would not provide much distraction—and Echoes definitely needed someone or something else to distract his newfound enemy, thus giving him a few more precious seconds to strike. Not just any decoy would do, though. No endangering Mundanes, all those unknowing people exiting at times one of the restaurants or bars still open in the district.

Easier said than done. His lungs already burnt with every breath he gulped in the cold winter air; he would not keep up for very long.

Echoes allowed himself three seconds, swatted aside a long blond lock getting in his mouth, then dashed towards the crossing with Upper Bank Street. The first alarm had thwarted his plans of catching the 10:48 Tube in Canary Wharf; no way he could go back to the station and its many other potential victims. Maybe if he could lure the invisible creature towards Aspen Way, where the stairs leading to the pedestrian bridge above the road would provide cover for a time? Just for a minute. A minute to fold space, hidden from the Mundanes’ eyes, and teleport the hell out of there.

Seven seconds later, as computed, the thing attacked again, ripping a whole sheet of asphalt almost from under the young man’s feet. The shock sent him sliding rather than running towards the end of the wide street. Too large, too surrounded with more glass-covered buildings. Collateral damage in the shape of just one long shard would be enough to kill him.

The short bridge leading to the toll both at the end of the street came in sight; Echoes mustered as much stamina as he could still find in him. He might still make it, put the pillars of the white arches between himself and his pursuer. He might—