The Fission Seer - Chapter 3 - Part 4A

I watched from below. The secure joints of the tower will still hold for another 4 minutes. They will be down in three. But there were still too many vibrations going on. And it was not from the tower. Cordy was tugging my shoulder asking if I could compensate the cabby boy to show him her benovelence. There was a loud crackle like thunder and a plume of concrete dust bursting out from the other side of the building. I saw a long 30 foot metal girder slide out and plunge 20 storey down to the road. The tower began to break free of the building. Not even his fine-core nano steel can save the day.

I got down from the perch at the car door and turned the engine back on.

"Strap up kids! We're gonna ride up there and pick a few passengers."

The cabby boy was stunned. "Oh no... Please Sir. Not agaaaaain!!!!!!" I barreled the vehicle straight at the wall of abandoned building where other half of the tower rested. As it's fire-escape stairway came into view. I stretched my right hand and ignited my instrument.

I popped off all of it fixtures to wall and made the zig-zag stairway tumble down to us. I found an old fuel cell service station and yanked out it's power drum letting it roll. A half-ton metal cylinder coming in from behind. It crashed into back of the taxi pushing us forward, but I have gotten hold of it. I flooded the back of the cab with fission cinders. I peeled off the outer coverings of the drum, leaving it's enormous spokes. I mounted the drum onto the car's spare to the back. I re-rerouted power directly from front engine, then formed the spokes into a turbofan.

A red button appeared at the centre of my steering wheel. I punched it and we flew foward at the speed of sound. The vehicle mounted the first set of stairs. I focused hard at the falling segments of stairs flattening them out to form a snake and ladder ride of sorts, but we were travelling up not down. I calculated the tragectory needed to intercept Malcolm and the jumper and on the last 2 segments over-clocked my instrument into afterburn. There was a scorching sensation on my hand. We went into a round-about and finally launched off the end of the line into air.

The tower was breaking apart in descent heading straight down towards us. The kids screamed again. "Hang on!" I screamed and turned the steering wheel sharply. I pulled up and banked the turbofan thruster at 45 degrees to do mid-air somersault clearing us of the tower and setting us right on top of it. I detached the turbofan as it succumbed to the rain of rusted steel debris and flamed out. We landed on the tower with a smash. I spotted Malcolm at the mid-section of the tower and put my foot down to the accelerator pedal. It was gone. My foot touched air.

Now, Malcolm had to climb higher. The lower half was going down fast. Things have never been the same since he stopped using his powers. But he saw it all coming. They can take away your powers. They can blow you out of your house, but they have forgotten that Fission sight was only a tool. It's the welder who was the key and the Galdanians never realised it. Malcolm put his hand to a bar to sense the remaining structural integrity. They were now in the middle of a teetering bridge that was collapsing on them from 2 ways. The only option now was to go down. And go down properly.

"Okay Jerrod. We'll have to ride this place down in the elevator! I will open the door and you get in first!"

Jerrod nodded. And Malcolm pulled 2 cables and secured them. One to the old fire-hydrant and the other onto a defunct gas pipe of the lift shaft. This momentarily arrested the buckling. Then, he kicked the elevator grille. Once. Twice. Three times. The lock gave way and Malcolm held it open for Jerrod to get in. At this juncture, the shaft lurched downwards. Malcolm slipped and hung on by his arms. Jerrod reached out to hold him.

The Fission Seer - Chapter 3 - Part 3

The lattice tower was falling apart at many places. Malcolm leapt and swung around the criss-crossing steel bars. At this rate, this bridge will fall to pieces in 30 minutes. Malcolm reached out his right hand to ignite his own stylus but hesitated. Instead, he pull some steel wires from his coat and focused his attention on the lattice bars ahead.

In his vision, the chain of bars unfurled into a concentric stairway. He looked up and tapped lightly on the handrail and released into the white space around the stairway bolts and fasteners. He touched one of screws and it produced in bold letters, the manufacturer's name, date and composition integrity. He looked up once more and there was above a display of signages moving and indicating the "High Integrity" and safe areas of the way ahead.

Malcolm withdrew from the vision and pressed onward across the fallen tower. Turning to the nearest intersection of bars, he tied his steel cables to secure his way. Soon, he formed a network of wires tightening down the key cross-sections he passed.

I was not the least bit satisfied with this gesture. As I struggled with shuddering vehicle to drive it straight, I could only wonder just why wasn't he using any of his powers. Where was his stylus? The conductor's baton. The factory we had been to hours earlier had a conductor's dome which was the place where he showed me how to construct a jet from thin air with nothing more than metal ore, latex and paint powder sprayed from nozzles built into the ground. He would draw out the airframe, pitched it in mid-air and grow wires directly across the skeleton fuselage.

Then, he willl turn and bow and continue to play. Like throwing a volleyball into the air, he will fling his right hand upwards to turn on all nozzles to spray the ore powder at full jets. He conducts the final symphony with powerful strokes and flourishes catching every particle in the air. Sheets of metal appear with lines of running over their surfaces. They bend according to the angled measurements and form into the sheet casings. Cool cinders fill the room and disappear and the parts descend from the roof above us and rest over the fuselage. The bolts floated to the exact designations and secured the sheets to form a completed plane. He would let it down slowly till it sat safely on the floor of the dome. Then, he would ask me for an applause, which I obliged happily.

The dome which we visited was now manufacturing Chicago Typewriters for Albernia and Gulran. And the assembly and roll-out domes were abandoned. People have lost their jobs. It was unlike Malcolm to walk away from all these, unless he had lost his mind somewhere along the way. And I fear somehow he just did.

Malcolm reached the top edge of the tower. He sees the lone man in a blue suit sitting at the edge of the satellite dish. He wrote his final message into the air in glowing cursive letters, saved the message into his pen and hurled it down into the edge. Malcolm changed his accent and put up mock police name tag on his shoulder pocket.

"What are the chances of anyone picking up your message from down below?!"

The man startled and turned to him.

"Have you come to arrest me?"

"No. Not today. I was just thinking about the story you just threw down there. Must have been quite a shame."

"No. Detective. It wasn't a shame. Before I jump you should know that was 27 years of my life down there. Someone's gonna pick it up and read it. And know just how great it was."

"You think so? Do you see anyone down there stopping and having a look?"

He looked down and said, "No."

"Then, look at me and tell me just why would anyone else bother about what you've got to say? Why should my chief give me another minute with you when there are 2 jumpers on my schedule?"

He looked at Mal who read his past through his eyes. He was startled by what he saw but kept his cool.

"Because I built this tower! And worked up the company to be CEO! I did it all from scratch! You've no right to say that it was all for nothing!"

"Well. The police case files say a lot about what you did. I am sure not even the security guard who showed me up here knows that he has already lost his job."

"Wait a minute. I've never told anyone about that." Then he looked a little closer at the man in the coat.

"Hey. I know you! You're Malcolm Eddings! The celebrtiy guru of Breaking News! "

Malcolm at last breathed a sign of relief and dropped off his accent.

"That's right. Malcolm Eddings at your service. Come on down here so we can fix your problem."

"No! I am in this fix because of some small-time FS who claimed that Miners Initiative in Gulran would make me a trillion. He had some fanciful simulation skills, a rosy forecast and some fail-proof plan for market domination in the High North."

Malcolm caught hold of the hint which pointed some energetic young wannabe he once knew some years ago. Someone he had spent time training in the symphony hall. He almost did a face-palm in knowing that his apperentice was once again up to mischief. The dramatic exchange sent ripples through the tower that made the rusting structure groan. Malcolm heard and pressed in for the rescue.

"Look Jerrod, we all have problems. You must have read about mine. If you don't care for anyone else, then just focus on prospects of your untimely end. You will go down in this ship, and people are gonna be sad for a while. Then, they'll just get up and get on with their lives. And your story will end right here at this tower. What's your choice?"

"I want to go back to the time before I screwed up." He croaked.

"Then, come on down here. I will help you fix things." Jerrod relented and climbed down from the dish towards Malcolm. The steel wires tighten and strained as Malcolm began to feel more vibrations pulsating through the structure. "We better get off this wreck right now." He urged Jerrod as they clambered back down towards the Acadia New Building.

The Fission Seer - Chapter 3 - Part 2

The factory was not closed, but bore the marks of past glory. Only a third of the factory was operational and outside Replicator manufacturing units all masked with the familiar orange tape and black words, "Under Embargo." A couple of large holes were visible in the areas abandoned, signs of some kind of trouble.

The visitor's booth manager with a bushy moustached and a straw hat looked at me and said, "We are now a type-writer factory. The CEO has sold the business to small-time contractors like us."

Now this was not possible. Even if Malcolm was closed for whatever reason. He would always moved onto something better.

I asked, "Did he moved onto something else? And dId he say where he was going?"

"Well. It's a pity that the good old grid is down. But you have come to the right place. I know exactly what he has been up to and I will do the honour of showing him to you."

He vanished behind the counter and brought up an improvised television box.

"Pardon me. But those thugs from Galdania are trying to shut our city down. This is how we keep in touch and get entertained. Let me find the news channel." He turned the knob.

This was horrendous. I never knew that even Acadia could fall into such a state. It was literally the stone age. I peered nervously at the static to see what other shocking truths I might find.

"Malcolm Eddings, celebtrity negotiator rides again!" The set boomed.

A tall lady with a long white dress with an overlay of chiseled black flower patterns and short finger wave dark hair asked the stranger off-screen.

"Malcolm Eddings. Many have said that Seers cannot be trusted, but you have proven yourself otherwise. And many of us are also tired with the word 'Controversy.' Do you anything to say about meteoric rise to good repute?"

Then came the familiar sharp anwers.

"I have nothing to prove to you or anyone, Miss Sanders. What I am bringing to the table is a whole new way of solving problems by getting to the root cause, past bureaucracy and past the cost constraint assumptions that so governs every facet of our community today."

I finally noticed Cordy waving at my face for attention.

"Lauren? Is this your friend? Malcolm Eddings? The Master Craftsman?"

Eyes opened, jaw dropped, my mind blanked. I answered her. "Yeah... He is my friend."

The man on screen continued.

"I believe all of us should get out there. Start a business. Help people. Solve problems. And be the heroes we need in the streets. If you're not able to do it on your own. Give me a call at 500-9-OL-44. My advisers will be ready to help you with your plan of initiative. And make good on it."

"So, is there anything else you can tell us about your business model? You say what you're doing within - the reach - of... Security. We are in a middle of a shoot!" The anchor asked, but stopped, distracted by something in front of her.

A voice called out. "It's Jerrod. He's outside on the tower and he's going to jump."

Malcolm shot to his feet and asked, "Where's the tower?!"

"23 floors upstairs. At the broken antennae relay. Nobody goes there!"

"Well. Take me there. We'll climb the stairs if we have to but take me there!"

Miss Sanders turned back to camera and finished the interview. "And that was Celebrity Negotiator Malcolm Eddings making good on his promises. Stay tune to the rescue attempt, live on Acadia Daily."

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We left factory as soon as we could and hailed a taxi. There taxi swung left to right through the traffic not because we paid more money, but I was at the wheel and Cordy and the driver were my passengers.

I clarified with the cabby boy, "You say the Acadia News Tower is 3 blocks right from Canal Street?!"

"Yes. Sir - P...p... please drive carefully." He muttered.

I looked up and found we were going to be sandwiched between two trams from opposite directions. Cordy and the boy screamed.

"Hold your breath!" I cried and held mine. I fired up my instrument and pound my fist onto the dashboard. At once, a flood of yellow fission cinders from my hand engulfed vehicle interior. I went deaf for a moment as I rubberised everything into the properties of a giant soccer ball.

The trams hit and launched us skyhigh. We could have screamed, but we were already rubberised. And I could feel nothing as we were pin-balled between the buildings among scattering pedestrains and dodging vehicles. The vehicle finally got into a steady bounce and the power effect expired. I came to my senses and caught my breath on the last bounce and the vehicle continued rolling onward.

"Anything broken!" I turned and asked. And I saw the children white-face, shaking their heads. "Great!" But he vehicle shuddered in protest and broke over with dents and scratches and began spewing white smoke. "Woe! Spoke too soon!"

I saw the tower of the news building. Judging from it appearance, it already came down for a year. There was indeed some serious issues when no one fixes the only lifeline of a city. The highest point of the radio tower rested on the top of another skyscraper. And I squinted closely enough to see a tiny Mal balancing his way across the beams to get to a lone figure sitting on a satellite dish.