Most members of C&I are in the courtroom at the moment (this is creating a fierce backlog of clients in the various waiting rooms, but nobody takes Marda back there so she doesn't notice). However, a polite-but-formal japanese man is more than happy to respond to her question.
"Ah yes, you are the little girl who has lost her bear. I am told that your guardian, Mr. Dart, has taken possession of it. Unfortunately, Mr. Dart took ill during his interview. He has already been taken to the hotel, and you should be able to catch up with him there."
Even surprising herself, Marda's first reaction is to ask, "Tata's sick? What happened to him?"
A shadow seems to fall across the C&I caseworkers face, and he glances from side to side, to assure himself of ... something. "I don't know, little girl. I simply heard that he was taken ill."
Marda opens her eyes wider and tears begin to well in the corner. "Really? You don't know anything about what happened?"
Mr. Shinma's face becomes as hard as jade. "No." he says, turns, and walks away.
Marda makes a wager to herself that Mr. Shinma a) has no children, and b) has spent a life of zenlike meditation strengthening his will to resist the "plaintive" tone of voice.
Courteous C&I officials contact A2B Guide Services, and after a wait of only a few minutes, a small, swarthy, rather effeminate looking man of middle age appears. His english (when he speaks) is strangely accented - sort of a cross between Greek, Sicilian, and affected lisp. When he speaks, he makes broad gestures, supplemented with lots of wrist motion. He wears an incredibly loud hawaiian shirt in neon colors, and white bun-hugging shorts.
"Good morning!," he says, full of enthusiasm. "My name is Charles Pether, but you can call me Charles, or even Charlie if you like. I'm from A2B travel services, and I'm going to be taking you to your hotel now. They told me that your luggage has already been delivered to your hotel rooms at the Airporter Hotel. Is everyone ready to go?"
Bruce adjsuts his hat on his head and smiles. "Get me outta he-a, mate!" He looks over at Marda to see if she is going to hold him to the "Skippy Goes on Walkabout: Revisited" story.
Marda emerges from her conversation with the C&I agent and moves to the group. Without even turning to acknowledge anyone, she declares, "I wanna go to the hotel now."
Once freed from the grisly "courtroom", Leo looks around to see if any of the other travelers, particularly Marda, are hanging around. He spots them still standing in C&I, talking to someone not in a C&I uniform. Leo approaches Bruce, Marda, Levine and the person they are talking to, but is too polite to interrupt the conversation.
"Well goodness, you are certainly a quiet bunch!" exclaims Charlie, beiming radiantly at Marda. He squats down in front of her to look her in the eye. "Lets head off to the hotel, shall we?" he says, touseling her hair in a fatherly manner.
Standing, he announces, "Follow me!" in much the same grand manner that Teddy Roosevelt probably announced the charge up San Juan Hill (though with more of a lisp) and heads for the door.
William Levine cooperatively (and with that sort of shell-shocked relief that comes after a bizarre ordeal) heads for the hotel with no complaints. After blowing the hair back from her eyes, Marda follows at a conspicuously determined gait. For the moment, her mind seems to be fixed on events other than stories or marches. Leo follows along, keeping a protective eye on Marda. He smiles warmly at Bruce, remembering the shaggy kangaroo tale, and more shyly at William Levine.
Bruce, looking at Charlie says "Lead the way, mate!" He tips his hat to Leo and William as he begins to follow the hotel procession. "Hey Charlie, where can a bloke get a bee-a 'round he-a?"
On the Public Address system, the disembodied voice calls once again:
"Mary Olekobaai, to the white courtesy phone. Ms. Mary Olekobaai,
to the white courtesy phone, please."
Even at this hour, the terminal is packed with people - many of them are forlorn tourists wandering from point A to point B, their faces masks of hopeless despair; others appear to be wealthy revelers dressed more for a party than for airline travel.
After about ten minutes of walking, the group passes a large group of maintenance workers who have set up orange warning cones around one section of the passage. A Peace Force officer (armed with the ubiquitous submachine gun) directs traffic around the crew, which seems to be doing some form of repair work on a section of the wall. A disheveled, greasy looking scarecrow of a man, thickly bundled in a leather jacket, black jeans, high motorcycle boots, and a long scarf (which looks like an escapee from a "Dr. Who" set) stands near the crew, watching them morosely through bottle thick glasses and taking occasional puffs from a cigarette. As the group passes, it becomes apparent that this large group is simply cleaning graffiti off the wall. The message, still partially visible, reads:
[obscured by cleaning] "...IS NO GOOD - BAD - BAD - UNNATURAL - IS A DEMON - IS A DEVIL - BRUCE COO..."
though the graffiti is painted in black, it ends in a very ugly red spray. One of the workers appears to be patching over several holes in the wall in that area.
The greasy man turns to peer dolefully at the group as they approach.
Leo gulps and raises eyebrows, looking at Bruce. He also moves a little closer to Marda, hovering protectively. Upon reading the message, Marda turns to Bruce and asks, "Did Skippy write that?"
When the graffiti catches Bruce's eye, he stops in his tracks and turns white, as if he had just seen a ghost. He clutches his chest and stares at the graffiti for a moment. After a few seconds, the color slowly begins to come back to his face, but most of it seems to be hiding somewhere else.
Bruce notices the greasy man staring at him. "Pardon me, do you know who wrote this?" he asks, pointing to the graffiti on the wall, with a slight waver in his voice like someone who was surrounded by hungry crocodiles. "This wasn't Skippy, but if it was, some tou-as are going to have to change back home!" he mutters, without taking his eyes off of the greasy man or the graffiti.
The man in the leather jacket stares at Bruce morosely. He flicks his cigarette to the ground and grinds it out with the toe of one boot.
Charlie is disappearing rapidly into the crowd.
The greasy man continues to stare at Bruce morosely. From the depths of his jacket, he produces another cigarette and lights it. From up close, Bruce gets the distinct impression that the gentleman hasn't bathed in at least a week.
After several weak puffs, the man explodes into jerky motion (rather like a squirrel). He whirls and shouts to the maintenance crew: "Quand aurez-vous fini? Vite! Vite!" One of the crew responds "Bientot, monsieur D'Aubainne," in French that even Bruce can tell is abominably accented. This response only causes the man to wave his arms and gesture wildly.
"Je suis pressé! Vite!" With that, the man strides off into the crowd with a gait somewhat reminiscent of a wind-up toy on speedballs, his leather jacket flapping behind him like a cape.
Looking around, Bruce notices that the rest of the group has disappeared into the crowd.
Bruce follows the man, asking as he runs after him "Si-a, DO I KNOW YOU? PARDON ME, WHO WROTE THAT ON THE WALL?". Bruce speaks loudly and slowly (as many English speaking people do when faced with someone who speaks another language), with as many hand gestures as one can do when running after someone.
German is not the best language in the world for many things - it is not as lovely as French, and so is not generally used for romance, for example. However, it IS a forceful language, so when the Peace Force officer barks, "HALT!" there is enough in the single word to inform Bruce that there is a submachinegun pointed at his back, even before he looks. Further, this single word convinces Bruce that should he fail to heed the warning, he will suffer kinetic energy poisoning of a most unpleasant sort.
Bruce stops instantly, and laces his hands behind his head. "Not this bloody crap again..." he mutters.
The guard stalks over to Bruce, as the man in the leather jacket disappears into the crowd. He eyes Bruce the way someone might eye dung on their shoe.
"If herr D'Aubainne does not wish to speak with you, that is his right. I would recommend, burger, that you be more polite in the future." To punctuate his point, he rams the barrel of his submachinegun into Bruce's abdomen, then follows up with a gun butt to the head when Bruce doubles over, knocking th Australian to the Terminal floor.
"Move along!" he barks, giving Bruce's prostrate form a good kick in the ass for good measure.
Bruce's face turns red with anger and pain as he lies on the floor. He gets up the best he can with his injuries and begins hobbling off in the direction he last saw Charlie go, muttering up a storm of Australian insults and threats once he is out of earshot of the guard. He looks for signs or anything that will get him to his hotel or a bar -- he isn't picky at this point, although he hopes he runs into a bar first. Once the pain is a bit more bearable, and if he can't find any information on the hotel, he will begin asking people without machine guns how to get to the hotel, attempting to be as "polite" as he can be under the circumstances.
Bruce, still smarting from his "close encounter" with Al Amarjan law enforcement, staggers about for a few minutes, trying to get his bearings. This doesn't help much, since bearings are impossible to get in the Terminal. When he finally manages to look outside his own misery, it dawns on Bruce that he is horribly, horribly lost.
"'Scuse me mite, would...." Bruce makes a try at asking directions, only to be totally ignored by the business-suited fellow-traveller he is attempting to speak to.
"'Scuse me ma'am..." he tries again, but the woman he is speaking to simply shoves past him.
"'Scuse me..." he tries a third time, to a hispanic businessman who dashes up to him, only to be shouted down. "Ayudame, ayudame! Un gran cerro ha comido me esposa! Que voy a hacer? Habla espanol? Dios mio, quien habla espanol?" The businessman then dashes off in panic.
"'Scuse me, ma'am..." he says to a pale, thin caucasian woman dressed like a cross between a rasta and a Dead-head. She turns to regard him.
"Yes?" she says, in a voice as devoid of emotional content as any Bruce has ever heard.
Bruce removes his hat and asks, "Can you give me directions to the airport's hotel, or do you know where I could get directions?". Bruce asks politely as he can, for all he wants to do now is go to a nice comfy bed and sleep before he loses his mind.
The woman listens to Bruce's equation, then thinks for a moment and answers:
She pauses, and after a moment asks "Is this helpful?"
Bruce stares at her and blinks, as if she has just spoke a phase in Swahili. He scratches his head a bit and says, "I'm sorry Ma'am. Is there anyway I can get you to SHOW me how to get to the hotel?"
"I am not sure. I have certainly been there, but I am unclear
as to how to return. I could make the attempt, if you would like."
Just at that moment a pretty woman in her early thirties walks into C&I. She is wearing a tasteful business suit, with a red scarf wrapped around her neck in a noose. She appears to be of middle-eastern extraction, with red hair and green eyes. Other than a nice, if understated, pair of earrings she wears no jewelry.
"I hear you need a guide," she says to Kitty without preamble. "I'm Fava Lakhdar." she holds out a hand to be shaken (to each in turn, presuming Kitty and Ariel are willing). "Where are you headed?"
Kitty looks to Fava in a quizzical look and asks, "Are you with C&I?" Then turning to the gentleman, "Excuse me sir but what hotel did the others go to?"
Fava shakes her head. "No, I'm not with C&I. I'm a Terminal guide." Reaching into a pocket, she pulls out an ID card and clips it to her lapel. It shows a picture of a smiling Fava along with the words "Licensed Terminal Guide", and two stamps - one from the Peace Force, and the other from someplace called "CPC".
Meanwhile, the C&I caseworker is saying "You are booked at the Jean-Christophe D'Aubainne Airporter Hotel. It's actually the only hotel in the Terminal."
Ariel smiles a tired smile and brushes a stray lock of hair out of her face. Her face is positively haggard, but her voice is hopeful. "Are we headed there? To the hotel, I mean? Soon?"
Kitty looks at the flashy badge and smiles. "We're going to where he said. The Jean-Christopher and I am sooo glad... finally." Kitty gives Fava a look that a 4 year old child would give, that 'Mommy I'm tired, I'm hungry, when can we go' look.
The Peace Force officers whisk Powers through the C&I offices and out the door. As the door closes the oriental man says, quietly and precisely, "I hope they hang him, cut him down just before he is dead, let him recover, and hang him again. Poor Gregor!" He then nods to Fava, and says, "I leave these two in your capable hands," and heads back to his desk.
Kitty looks at the guy who just spoke with an expression of 'you bastard' on her face. "Now wait a minute, you may have the right to your own opinion, but first of all he has not been proven guilty. So to judge how they should carry out a punishment is absurd." Kitty then quickly grabs her bags and looks at Fava as if to say 'can we leave now?'.
"Grab your gear, ladies!" says Fava gaily, "we're heading for the hotel!"
The three women exit the same door that Powers and his escort went out (and notice Powers with a burlap sack over his head, being driven off into the crowd in one of those electric cars that all airports have), and quickly immerse themselves in the milling crowds.
"So," says Fava, "Looks like you ladies had an exciting trip so far." She neatly sidesteps what appears to be a large family of bedouins (3 men, 5 women, and at least 17 screaming children). "Want to talk about it?"
Ariel answers first, staring straight ahead, not looking at Fava. Her voice borders on a monotone. "Sweet mother of God and all that's holy, no."
Fava shrugs at Ariel's response. "Suit yourself," she says. Walking through the surreal landscape of the terminal, she seems to know her way - while her charges are uttely lost in minutes. "We have our own little community here in the Terminal," she comments. "A lot of people fly in, stay for awhile at the Terminal then leave without ever setting foot on Al Amarja proper. I've been here since the opening in 1981, and haven't left the building since. I've been working as a Terminal guide since I was 13." she shrugs. "Hard to believe," she says to herself.
Coming up around a curve, Ariel and Kitty spot a figure they think is the Australian guy from the waiting room. He seems to be talking to a thin, caucasian woman dressed in neo-rasta garb. Why he isn't with the rest of the group Kitty and Ariel have no idea. As they look on, it becomes obvious that several men in dark kaftans appear to be surrupticiously moving towards Bruce from several directions. There are five of them.
Kitty walks up to Bruce and the lady he was talking to and leans into Bruce's chest. "Em, sugar there are five men looking like they're ready to beat your to a pulp on there way over. I would act like a greyhound and run". She then quickly glances over to the five men and tries to disappear into the crowd and return to Fava and Ariel.
Just as Kitty turns and begins making her way through the crowd towards Fava and Ariel, a voice screams "KIIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLL!!!" and the five guys in the dark kaftans draw daggers and charge at Bruce.
A strange, almost hungry, anticipatory look crosses Ariel's haggard features; she looks almost feral in nature. She hunkers down into a crouch, her blue eyes gleaming, and waits.
Kitty looks towards Ariel to see who she is looking at, then turns back around towards Bruce, places herself between the men and Bruce, puts her hands out to her side as if to say, "You want some of this?" and ROARS, the sound filling the room like thunder.
As the sinister figures with knives decend on Bruce, the plucky Australian takes in the situation at a glance, coolly judges the odds, and implements a plan of action. "Awww, SHIT!!!!!!!" Bruce takes off running in the opposite direction of the thugs. In a change from what he was previously doing, he is now actively seeking out people with machine guns, hollering out: "Police, police!!"
Bruce looks where he thinks the "thundering" sound came from, wondering what sized gun this probably came from. He tries to keep the knife-wielding maniacs in sight as best he can under the circumstances, even though most of his concentration is focused on this new, louder terror.
Ariel continues to watch hungrily. And wait.
Kitty is in a fighting stance, glances over to Fava. "Don't you have a radio or something? Can't you call security?" She then begins to yell at the top of her lungs. "Security, Security!!" quickly scanning around for a security or courtesy phone.
The evil looking guys with the very sharp knives look about, obviously a bit dazed and searching for the source of the mighty roaring noise. Bruce takes the opportunity to resume sprinting off down the corridor screaming "POLICE! POLICE!"
Kaila takes up the cry, yelling, "SECURITY! SECURITY!" Spotting a white courtesy telephone nearby, she runs towards it. As soon as she reaches the telephone she searches for a way to get security here.
Fava looks at Ariel and shakes her head. "I'm just a guide, you know." Fava pauses, noting the predatory gleam in Ariel's eyes, and takes a couple of steps away. "Are you ok?" she asks
About this time, one of the sinister looking dudes notices Bruce hoofing it off down the corner. "KIIIIIIIIIIII... charra alaik!" he comments, as Bruce disappears around a turn in the corridor, still yelling at the top of his lungs. His dagger disappears and he starts slapping the other sinister looking guys on the head and berating them in what sounds like arabic.
Kitty picks up the white courtesy telephone. "Operator," says a female voice on the other end. "How may I help you?"
"Operator..." says Kitty. "I need security or the police at this location right away, we have five men with knives about to attack someone... I don't know where this location is but we are in the aiport terminal hallways. God, I hope you know where this phone is located." All said rapidly, while keeping an eye on the five men.
"One moment please," says the voice on the other end, and is replaced immediately by hideous muzak (Kitty isn't sure, but it sounds vaguely like Queen'd "We Will Rock You/We Are the Champions").
Slowly, the feral gleam fades from Ariel's eyes, and she straightens, smoothing out her clothing, looking almost embarrassed. She looks at Fava. "What?"
"I said, 'are you ok?" Fava says to Ariel. "It looked as though you were drifting into outer space."
Meanwhile the sinister looking dudes, looking rather sheepish (if one can look both sinister and sheepish at the same time) are putting away their daggers and nodding solemnly at their leader, who is still haranging them in Arabic.
Kitty stands there and waits for the operator to come back on the phone, slightly cringing at the music. Glancing over from time to time at the Arabs, listening to see if any American words slip through there native tongue.
Ariel blinks once, and smiles. "I'm fine, hon," she answers to Fava. "Just a little... shaken up, that's all. Who were those guys?"
"Beats me! There's so many crazies around here that you can't tell 'em apart without a field guide." Fava shrugs. "You want to go to the hotel now?"
Meanwhile, the mind-bending strains of "We Will Rock You" muzak continue to pour from the white courtesy telephone. Meanwhile, the sinister looking dudes seem to be having an animated discussion about something. They still speak in arabic, but two unmistakably american words to slip into the conversation.
They are "coke" and "pepsi".
Across the corridor Fava begins signalling to Kitty and making "leaving now" motions. At that moment, there is a *CLICK* on the other end. "Terminal Security. How may I help you?"
"Yes, You have two men running through your corridors, one may have
a weapon. I'm sorry I can't give you more but they ran past so fast."
Kitty hangs up the phone grabs her bags and walks over to Fava. "Let's
get the hell out of here, miss."