One

Jack Stein craned forward in his seat, leaning over the front panel to try to get a better view of the approaching city through the forward viewscreens, though the flier's nose partially blocked the view. He'd heard about the city, but the tales were nothing compared to the sight now becoming clearer in front of the small craft. The small ship was on auto now, banking as it descended, avoiding other air traffic on its way into Balance City's port. Balance City. He could see now how it had gotten its name. A thick rock spire pushed up from the canyon floor, spreading toward the top into a broad, flat surface. Deep cracks and scorings climbed irregularly over the spire's surface, disappearing into the darkened shadow of the overhang. Atop the plateau sat the city proper, a construction of metal and shining glass. Since the city's beginnings, natural urban growth had spread buildings in an ordered grid across the plateau's surface and farther. The area had not been enough, so the residents had simply continued, building out from the city's lip to the opposite sides of the canyon. It looked exactly like the urban spread was simply balancing atop the single spire that sat beneath it.

He'd been slightly nervous when boarding the flier on the orbital platform that served as the changeover point on his journey, but not as nervous as he was now. These damned things were supposed to have pilots, weren't they? Not that Jack had ever been a particularly good air passenger of any form.

The flier banked again, and headed lower. Jack swallowed and frowned, wondering what was happening. It looked as though they were flying too low, moving down beneath the city elevation, and he swallowed again, stretching forward for a better view. Perhaps it was just the approach path. Any moment he expected the flier to swoop up again, but then he saw why and he released his breath. Beneath the outgrown platforms at either edge of the plateau, construction had continued down as well as sideways. Buildings clung precariously to the spire's sides, struts and braces holding them in place, all uniformly colored in green or yellow, varying shades, but giving a subtle patchwork feel.

"Huh," he said to himself. Balance City's port was there, not above, but below. A wide flat area sat suspended beneath the platform, and his flier was close enough now that he could start to pick out individual craft arrayed in neat rows along its length. The order echoed the order of the city above. What the hell did Billie want to come here for anyway? It just didn't look like the sort of place in which she'd really be comfortable. Billie wasn't particularly one for the regimented life, especially not with her origins amongst the dirt and squalor of the Old end of the Locality. She'd lived most of her life without rules, without constraints. For that matter, Balance City didn't look like the sort of place Jack Stein would be at home in either. His comfort level was shaped by dirt and squalor too.

Jack shook his head, not that there was anyone to see the gesture. Billie had had no right to take off like that. Not that he could have stopped her. He had some sort of say in her activities, since they worked together, shared space, but he didn't really have the right to stop her doing what she wanted. Okay, he spoke of her publicly as his niece, but the only bond that had brought them together in the first place was mutual convenience. They worked together. And yeah, the bond of their friendship had grown since then, but even after all this time, he knew that the only authority he had over her was that which she allowed him. She was getting older now, as well, and that didn't help matters.

The flier slowed, easing into alignment with the docks, and Jack sat back. There was no point running over the whys and wherefores. Finding her and making sure she was okay was the important thing. The conversation with Heering had been too thin on detail. All he really knew was enough to suspect that she was in trouble, and if she was in trouble, she needed him. That feeling deep in his guts, that sharp-edged spear of cold that set his senses bristling, had been enough to drive him to scrape together what resources he needed. He'd put the fare together and made his way to Utrecht, carrying what he hoped was enough to cover him for the time he needed to be here and whatever he needed to do to find her. He was a PI, for Christ's sake. How long was it going to take him to find one teenage girl? Okay, that teenage girl was Billie, but still…

As the small ship pulled into what amounted to one vast, suspended hangar, Jack scanned the surrounds. Metal walls, neatly marked bays, directional signs placed at even intervals and tracks running between the bays. The varied array of fliers sat within the bays, edge aligned to edge…not a one of them out of place. Yellow diagonal patterns clearly marked the acceptable parking placement. Jack slowly shook his head again. Oh, he was going to have fun here; he could already see that. He thought he'd had enough ordered neatness in Yorkstone, but this was much worse than that.

Other than his frayed nerves from the flight, he seemed to have arrived in one piece. The flier nestled to a stop and an automatic grapple locked on beneath without pause. He heard the clunk, felt the smooth transition between the flier's power and the geared traction that started drawing the craft across the hangar floor. There was a slight unevenness as the automated mechanism drew the flier around and off to one side, but the sound of machinery was as smooth as their motion. Gradually, the small craft slowed and eased into an empty bay, perfectly aligned with the diagonals. Jack sat where he was, waiting while the flier powered down, patiently allowing a few seconds to see if anything else was going to happen. Deciding that nothing was, he unstrapped himself and stood, stretching out the kinks from the long flight down.

"Mr. Stein, if you would make your way to the reception area with your luggage please." The voice came from all directions.

"Yeah, but…" said Jack, looking around.

"The reception area is clearly marked. Please follow the yellow signs and bring your luggage. Please do not deviate from the directions."

The faceless voice went silent, and a moment later the flier's door whirred open.

Okay, thought Jack…if that was the way they wanted it. He grabbed his bags from the back and stepped out of the craft. Immediately in front of him was posted a yellow sign in five separate languages. The words he could understand said RECEPTION. He grunted and headed in the direction indicated. Yellow lines marked the path as well as the signs.

There was something not quite right, something that felt out of place, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He hitched the luggage strap on his shoulder, not even bothering to check that his bag was skimming along behind, dutifully doing as the voice had instructed, although the temptation to break off and examine the place was strong. After a couple of minutes, he noticed exactly what was missing. It had been working at him and he'd been unable to pin it down, but now…every port Jack had ever been in was covered in stains, the marks of passage, the smell of fuel and exhaust, and in his line of work he'd spent enough time around ports drinking in their chemical-edged taint. This place was pristine. An overtang of something metallic touched the atmosphere, but the smell was slick and clean, just like the rest of the dock.

Another turn led him through a couple of parked fliers and some neatly stacked crates. A small passageway stretched in front of him, dark, but as he stepped into it lights sprang on and bathed it in brilliance, harsh and clean. The corridor stretched on before him, a single door at the end. With a brief shrug, he headed up toward the end of the corridor. Moments before he reached it, the door silently slid open. It closed again as soon as he and his luggage were inside. There was the slightest warning sound, and then the elevator whisked him upward.

The door slid aside to reveal a drab open space, desks at the end with yellow lines leading right up to them. Jack took the hint and wandered toward the closest desk. Another line showed him where he should stand. Lines everywhere. Things just begging to be crossed. Behind the desk sat a woman…at least he thought it was a woman, though the mustache was a little confusing. She/he sat staring down at something concealed from view. Jack cleared his throat. She—he'd decided she was actually female, not that it really mattered; it just gave him some sort of context to work with—did something on the desk in front of her and glanced to one side without looking up in his direction, although he was clearly the only arrival in the place. Jack cleared his throat again. Finally, with a sigh, she beckoned him forward, still staring fixedly down at the desk in front of her.

"Um…" said Jack.

"Mr. Stein," she said, at last deigning to look up.

"Yes, that's right."

"I see no authority to travel." She fixed him with a blank, expressionless look.

"Huh?" said Jack. "Authority to travel? I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about."

Copyright © James A. Hartley, 2005.