The Burning Man

11

Instinctively, the guards averted their gaze or squirmed involuntarily as the Libertarian strode through the Heathrow Security Annexe. He knew they registered him as a blur of static on the periphery of their vision, an anomaly that their brains couldn’t quite comprehend — unless he decided otherwise, or they were spider-ridden, of course, and then they had no choice but to see him, in all his glory.

In his room, the senior officer who had been tasered by Hunter was already sweating heavily in anticipation. He glanced nervously at the Libertarian as he entered, swallowed hard, couldn’t find any words.

‘Get rid of them,’ the Libertarian said.

The man jumped from his chair and dismissed the guards. ‘There was another one …’he began hesitantly.

‘Excuses are so tiresome.’

The senior officer flinched as the Libertarian raised his hand to brush back his own hair. He said thoughtfully, ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. Not yet, anyway. Too messy. All those questions, doubts — it’s not conducive to the smooth running of reality. Maybe later, when you’re away from here, and I’m bored.’ He flopped into the officer’s chair and swung his feet onto the desk. ‘Two groups of Brothers and Sisters of Dragons infesting the place. That is rather an irritation.’

‘They won’t get far-’

‘Oh, they will. They’re clever and instinctive and, quite often, counterintuitive. Your breed is not built to deal with that approach.’ The Libertarian removed his sunglasses to clean off a spackle of blood. ‘If I could only remember what happens in the coming months, things would be so much easier. But there’s too much static.’ He rapped the side of his head. ‘Still, it all turns out nice, so-’ He started. ‘Are you still here? Go on, run along, before I change my mind and dismantle you.’

Alone with his thoughts, the Libertarian felt unusually uneasy. Memories of the future, memories of the past, intertwined, conflicted. Why was he thinking about the person he had been? Those days were long gone, and their loss had never really concerned him until the last few hours.

He thought of a deep, passionate kiss at the point of waking, a caress, whispered words, and he shuddered. Long gone, and glad of it.

‘Who. Am. I?’ he said to the empty room. ‘I. Am. Who?’ A palindromic existence in time.

Choosing activity to still his thoughts, he jumped to his feet. ‘I think I will tag along for a little while.’ He hummed to himself. ‘See what sparkling notions are dancing in the heads of those Brothers and Sisters of Dragons.’ Any analysis would have told him it was not the wisest course, but he was pulled by his own currents. And as if to reassure himself, he added: ‘One death at the appropriate moment is all that it will take to drive them to the point of collapse. And I know exactly which one.’