Jovan's Gaze

Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

I was led out of the library, down the steps, and to the street. We stood quietly. The man, who still had not provided me with his name, stood with his back to me as though he did not know me. I took a step away from him, hoping to help maintain the appearance that we were not together. There was enough space between us for people to move back and forth, and unless we had been seen leaving the library together, it was doubtful we would viewed as a pair.

I looked about me, casually, carefully. So far as I could tell, we were not being watched by anyone on the street. Of course, with crowds like these it was hard to tell. The towers around were walls of glass windows, and any one of them could hide a watcher. Indeed, I half expected to be struck down from afar by a rifle blast, or for a dragon-ship to come swooping in. Nothing happened, though.

After perhaps ten minutes, the man's compad rang and he answered it. He listened for a moment, and waved me over. A moment later, an unremarkable car pulled up in front of us. The rear door opened. Inside, an older woman with a beaming smile waved me in.

"Do you need a ride, young man?" she said with a grandmotherly tone.

I felt my contact's hand on my shoulder, and knew that the question was not a question at all. I stepped into the car, with my contact right behind me. It was a tight squeeze, and I had to set my bag on my lap. As soon as the door was closed, the car was away, with neither the driver or his front passenger turning around, or even speaking. I was about to say something, when I felt something jab me in the ribs on my left side.

"Your gun," the old woman said, her kind facade now gone, "give it to me."

"What gun?" I asked.

She drove the weapon in her hands further into my ribs. She leaned in close. "A shot like this, and you won't just die, Jovan. You'll be hollowed out. That's not a problem for us."

I noticed that the back seat was covered with a clear plastic sheet. Perfect. They could blast my innards all over the inside of the vehicle, and dispose of the mess with little bother. These people were not joking. Pure Life was apparently about something altogether different than the pacifist ideal I was hoping for.

"In my belt," I said, slowly leaning forward.

"John," the woman said to my contact with a nod.

John reached behind me and took the pistol. He set it in his lap, examining it.

"It's military," he said. "Probably traceable."

"Get rid of it," the woman ordered.

Without hesitation, John rolled down the window and tossed out the gun, which he had expertly disassembled in mere moments. One piece, the second piece, and the third and final piece were tossed out. The car did not stop, and by the time anybody realized what had been thrown out of the car, we would be far away.

"Open the bag, Jovan," she ordered.

I did, and John dug inside, pulling out my compad, and the extra power cell for the pistol. Both met the same fate as the pistol. When he was done, he took a small device from his pocket, which I recognized as the same sort of scanner used on me at the president's house. John swept me several times, and even so, made me turn out my pockets and remove my shoes and socks. All the while, the woman kept her pistol dug into my ribs.

When I was passed as safe, my shoes back on, John emptied my bag of everything else. After some consideration, the entire bag, contents and all, went out the window. I wondered if this car would be captured, not because it harbored a fugitive, but because it was scattering litter all over the streets.