TBOS Round Two - Lone Star

Returning to consciousness was a lot like swimming through treacle: hard work and involving a lot of confusion as to how he'd ended up like that in the first place. Sinclair became dimly aware of a few things before true clarity set in. He had a pounding headache, his stomach was empty enough it was trying to eat into his spine, and he had been tied to something, most likely a chair. Better than some states he'd woken up in but hardly one he'd call good.

There was movement just behind him, bringing with it the creak of wood and ropes. He was tied back to back with someone. How original. He risked opening his eyes and was greeted by a harsh bright light reflecting off a water damaged grey wall. It did nothing good for his headache and he quickly closed his eyes again, muttering a mild blasphemy.

"Ah, the sleeping beauty wakens." Sinclair quickly scanned through a memory that seemed fuller than when he'd left it and was rewarded. The man from the alleyway with the very English accent and bean bag gun.

"Awake is hardly the term I'd use," Sinclair replied thickly.

"Conscious and responsive will do well enough for the time being," his new companion said amicably. "Can you tell me how you're tied? I think our ropes might be twisted together so I'll need your help to get out of them."

That was going to involve opening his eyes again wasn't it? He made sure to do it slowly this time, starting with a crack and going from there, letting himself adjust to the new levels of light.

Now that he could see a bit more he noted him and his new companion weren't alone in this strange grey room. Roughly halfway along was a glass wall, a small collection of the ragged men from the street slumped in heaps on the other side of it. Up in one corner was a small whirring black box that winked cheerfully at him with a little red light. He briefly recalled seeing a couple of those during his madcap dash through the streets.

"I think you're right," Sinclair said, a little more clearly as the fog coating his mind started to lift. "I can feel a knot by my wrist and I can't feel here half the rope goes after it. I assume it's over to you."

"I'm glad you agree. I think there might be something at our backs too, but obviously that's substantially harder to check..."

Sinclair shifted in his seat to see if there was anything he could tell about that. In the process he noticed something different about his leg. Brilliantly white, clean bandages and padding could just be seen through the ragged tear in his blood stiffened trousers.

"I think they've patched me up," he said, contemplating the dressing. While it was very nice of them, the idea of complete strangers tending him made him rather nervous. Hell, he still got twitchy when Frankie did it and she was...she was...He frowned. Who was she? He didn't know anyone called Frankie, but he could picture her clear as day.

A loud buzz and the door swinging open with a faint click dragged him back from this mental detour. Behind the glass wall a few of the ragged men stirred at the sound. Half a dozen people came in, some of them carrying steaming trays that made Sinclair's mouth water. One of the group, a rather small young woman, completely ignored the restrained pair and went straight to the glass wall, pressing her face up against it. A young looking dark skinned man directed the people carrying the trays to carry on about their business while the others stepped forwards to assist Sinclair and his fellow prisoner with their ropes.

Grateful as he was to be untied, he was a little confused (and more than a little suspicious) at them being let go so readily. He generally had to beg and threaten a lot more before such a thing occurred.

"My apologies for the restraints," the young man said. "But you were pretty aggressive when we picked you up. We couldn't risk that fight and your weird clothing being a clever ruse."

Handing the ropes over, Sinclair glanced down at himself. He'd always thought his dress sense was one of the most normal things about him, if a touch dramatic for general society. And he couldn't see anything very odd about his partner-in-bondage's attire. Then again, compared to the fingerless gloves and thick ropes of hair the natives were all sporting he had to admit they probably did look a little odd.

"You thought we were with them?" the other former prisoner asked, nodding towards the glass wall. A couple of the ragged men had roused and had come over to investigate the girl. They looked to recognise her. A few others had noticed the trays of food being carried over and were far more interested in those. "They didn't seem capable of planning anything."

"You'd be surprised," Sinclair muttered darkly, recalling the trick he'd fallen for back in that building.

"That you would," the young man agreed. "Feral they might be, but stupid they're definitely not." He smiled at the way Sinclair's eyes followed the steaming dishes as they were slid through a small opening at the base of the glass wall. "I thought you might be hungry. But you can come eat with us at the table." Their job completed the others started filing out, leaving only the girl behind. She had been abandoned by all but one of the ragged men; an elderly man with exactly the same eyes. "You too, Bucky. You can come back later." With that command the girl hurried out the room after the others, pausing only to give a little wave back to the old man. The young man gestured his two 'prisoners' to follow. "It's not far and I can let you know what's going on here once you've eaten. I'm Maverick by the way. Maverick West."

"Sinclair."

"Marcus Claudius Sabinus Aquila."

Maverick raised an eyebrow at him. "Wow, someone was standing near the front of the queue when names were being handed out." He shook his head. "I seriously cannot wait to hear about where you guys came from."

***

The building they were in was an old power plant, built on the shores of the lake to take advantage of the tidal patterns. It wasn't a great deal less depressing than the rest of the town; dark grey walls, all hard edges and nothing resembling a personal touch. There were five hundred or so people living here, all working to keep the complex warm and lit. They worked to keep the lampposts and security cameras running in what remained of the city and to improve and expand the biodomes that kept the place supplied with food in the absence of actual farms. Both Sinclair and Marcus stumbled slightly when Maverick mentioned just how many people they actually had, and Sinclair actually stopped in his tracks when he continued on to say that this figure was a significant increase compared to the end of the war. The city they'd been chased through looked large enough to house thousands. Hundreds of thousands! Nuclear war was...well, Sinclair had never seen anything like it.

It was fast becoming clear just why Maverick was so interested in hearing how they'd arrived in his city. They desperately needed more people and didn't have too many ways to get them.

"We just have no idea what other communities are out there," he said, finishing up his explanation as Sinclair and Marcus wolfed down their meals. "Or even if there are any. We have some communication equipment in the facility, but that's barely strong enough to function across the city, let alone reach out any further."

"Well...I'm afraid we can't help you there," Sinclair said. "We're not exactly from around here ourselves." Saying so was a bit of an assumption since he didn't actually know where Marcus was from, but given how ill he fit the situation they were in Sinclair was willing to bet this Book problem was heavily involved.

"You're not?" Maverick looked deeply confused. "But then...how did you get here? Especially alone? Our cameras caught enough of you to know you didn't arrive together. It's a barren wasteland out there. Nothing survives, not even insects."

"Well," Marcus looked from side to side at the other people crowding the table they were sitting at to see how closely they were listening. Despite Maverick's insistence that everyone was just as interested as him, no one else seemed particularly interested in engaging with them. They all seemed perfectly content to just fade into the background. "Don't let it be too widely known...but we're from the future." Sinclair almost choked on his meal at that brash statement. "We're historians involved in some pretty serious research about this time period, and some of the questions we need answered can only be solved by actually visiting."

Time travel? Was the other man serious? Sinclair quickly glanced back at Maverick to see how much he was buying the story, and was thoroughly surprised to see a considering look passing across his face rather than one of pure disbelief.

"From the future...well, before the war hit scientists were starting to look into that sort of thing. I suppose if the research survived somewhere there's no reason it couldn't have been completed." His eye roamed critically over their clothing. "You don't seem to have the era particularly well researched though if that's the sort of thing you felt it appropriate to arrive in. And I have no idea what's up with your equipment. Half of it is completely unlike anything I've ever heard of before and the rest is a good couple of hundred years out of date."

Sinclair smiled weakly and shrugged, figuring it best just to go along with this story. "The era isn't particularly well documented. It's one of the reasons we're here." Flat out lying he could generally do. Spinning a story like this? He doubted even Kit would be bold enough to tackle time travel. His brain stalled at this thought. It still seemed an accurate statement. There was just the slight issue he didn't know anyone called Kit.

Maverick sighed. "I can well believe that. We're so concerned with trying to basically stay alive that we don't have time to actually write down how we're doing it." He looked over the rest of the lunch crowd, melancholy entering his eyes. "Hardly any of us know how to write, and only a handful more than that know how to read. How to keep this place going and the knowledge of all that's gone before is passed down by word of mouth alone." He sighed. "The only thing that separates us from the Ferals out there is that we still try to live in and appreciate the civilisation this world once had. But as the years go on we lose more and more of what we had. If we don't find more people to start rebuilding it'll only be a few more generations until we've completely lost everything." He looked back over at Marcus and Sinclair. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be dumping all this on you, especially after the day you've had. Do you want to rest? I'm afraid we don't have private rooms, just a mass dorm everyone bunks in, but you're welcome to grab one of the beds in there."

Sinclair caught Marcus' eye. The unspoken message passed between them. We need to talk. Sinclair nodded at Maverick's offer. "A bit of time to rest would be greatly appreciated."

"Although if you could tell us a little of what you've been doing to make contact with the rest of the world on the way there, that would also be appreciated." Marcus grinned at the man. "For our research you understand."

Many of the details Maverick spoke of on the short walk to the sleeping dorms went straight over Sinclair's head, but he was fairly sure the basic point of it was that there was some sort of tower in the centre of town that was specifically built to communicate over large distances. There had been several trips out there already to try repairing things so that it could all be made suitable for use, but given that it was right in the centre of the Feral territory they could only stay there for short bursts at a time.

"And we have no idea why this is, but the Ferals have been changing lately," Maverick finished with a sigh. "I was hopeful at first that it meant they might be more inclined to joining us and coming back to civilisation. But while they've been getting smarter and more organised, and they've been getting better tech from somewhere, they show absolutely no inclination to become more civilised. I don't suppose anyone's been sending back additional gear for you two to use that might be getting nabbed by them before you could get to it?"

"I don't know about Sinclair here," Marcus cut in quickly, an odd look entering his face. "But my...associates have had a little trouble with unauthorised access of the device used to send me here. That could be where some of it's coming from."

There wasn't a great deal else to say to that so Maverick left them alone. The dorm was a good hundred feet wide and stretched even further than that along, with a bed every five feet or so. Not particularly comfortable looking beds in Sinclair's opinion. They were rather reminiscent of the things you got in field hospitals. Easy to set up and served their purpose, but hardly good for relaxing on. Still, if it was what they had there was little point whining about it. It would be more comfortable than the ground at any rate. There were a couple of people already in there, but the majority of those were already sleeping and the rest didn't seem particularly interested in them.

"You know, for all that Maverick claims our arrival is a big, highly dramatic thing, he seems to be the only one actually concerned about it," Sinclair said, voicing the issue he'd had over dinner. "Doesn't that seem odd to you?"

"Everything about this place seems odd to me," Marcus said. "I haven't seen a single normal thing since leaving London through a book. I assume that's how you got wrapped up in this mess too? This Book of Stories situation?"

"It's starting to look that way." Sinclair carefully lowered himself onto one of the beds. It was even less comfortable than it looked. "Not that I got much explanation about any of it. Although to be fair to the young man that recruited me I wasn't particularly looking for details at the time. Any way out of the mess I'd got myself stuck in would have done."

"What sort of mess?" Marcus asked, clearly curious.

Sinclair shook his head. "I doubt you'd believe me if I told you."

"We're stuck in a storybook that's threatening to destroy the world if it doesn't get rewritten in the appropriate way, and you don't think I'd believe what you'd been up to earlier? Trust me, my mind is currently more open than it's ever been in my life before. I'm inclined to believe almost anything."

"Even vampires?"

A faint pause. "Possibly not those. Although there was an anthropomorphic snake in the last place I visited, and she wasn't actually part of the story. Got dragged into it much the same way we did."

"A snake woman?" Sinclair blinked. "And I thought being turned into a puppet was strange."

***

Despite the difficult last couple of days and his only rest during that time having been interrupted earlier, sleep was a long time in coming. He just felt so...exposed here. Open space all around him, nothing but the blanket to shield him from view, and the possibility of absolutely anyone in the complex strolling right into the room and over to his unconscious form. There was also the problem that whenever he closed his eyes memories of things he was quite sure he hadn't lived through kept drifting into his mind. Frankie was at the forefront of those. Sharp dark eyes, a thick mass of curly black hair...a figure that he knew he shouldn't be contemplating as interestedly as he was. And there were other memories about her he knew couldn't be real, things he'd never experienced. Like curling up together under the same blanket on a cold night, praying for the safety of her brother (That aforementioned Kit his mind helpfully supplied) and her daughter (Lucy he thought with an alarming rush of paternal affection. Her daughter's name is Lucy). The soft brush of her lips against his own...

It was that last one that ultimately made him give up on sleep. He'd never had the chance to experience anything along those lines, and with the life he led he doubted he ever would. No point dwelling on it and he didn't particularly care for where these thoughts were going. It had to be the drug they'd used to keep him asleep. He'd just had a very bizarre dream while under and it was slowly coming back to him. Nothing more. He twisted his hands through his rosary beads, seeking comfort, but didn't feel any better. So instead he went in search of a distraction and tried speaking to some of the other people in the room.

It didn't go particularly well. Not only was Maverick the only person who seemed interested in speaking to them, he was the only person actually interesting to talk to. Once you'd made one of the others acknowledge your presence they seemed perfectly fascinated on the surface, but every single one of them reacted in exactly the same way. Introduction, some spiel about what it was they did in the plant, finishing with an anecdote about what a great guy Maverick was and how lucky they were to have him as a leader. He did manage to get hold of a few interesting bits of information, such as Maverick was nearing the end of planning another expedition out to this communication tower and that the strange, quiet girl Bucky had formerly been a Feral, but when he tried getting more details about this they just started the exact same conversation over.

After a while he gave up in a huff and went back to his bunk. Marcus apparently couldn't sleep either and had been watching the whole encounter.

"They were much the same in the last place," he said. "In fact this Maverick fellow seems to be sticking out as the anomaly around here. Back in the fairy tale village no one seemed to have anything resembling a proper personality. They all shared the same one, just expressed slightly different ways depending on the current state of the village and its storyline. But Maverick...he seems a hell of a lot closer to an actual person."

"Maybe he's the main character," Sinclair ventured. "He's the one that has to carry the story when its written down so he has to be a little more interesting. Everyone else is just background so that he has someone to interact with."

"What are we here for them?" Marcus asked. "If he's the one carrying the story what are we expected to do?"

Sinclair shrugged. "Help with the plot? Make sure he reaches this tower they're trying to get to?" He sighed. "I must confess, solving story book problems is hardly my area of expertise. I think we might have actually broken the last one given the way it just collapsed around us."

"You were dealing with vampires and you claim stories aren't in your line of work?" Marcus asked with a mockingly raised eyebrow.

Sinclair opened his mouth and then closed it with a snap. He'd walked right into that one. Thankfully he was saved from further mocking or having to think of a retort by the young woman, Bucky, coming in and making a beeline for them. The others in the room called to her but she just put her head down and ignored them. She looked up briefly when she reached them, just long enough to catch their eyes, before dropping her gaze to something clutched in her small fist.

"Can we help you?" Sinclair asked awkwardly. In response she thrust her fist out to Marcus and then slowly uncurled her fingers. It was a military emblem, although one he'd never seen before, with a small eagle stitched into it.

Marcus clearly recognised it though, the colour draining from his face as he reached for it. The minute he'd taken it Bucky snatched her hand away and hopped a few steps back, watching them warily.

"Where did you get this?" he asked quietly. Bucky took another few steps back, staying silent. "Where did you get it?" Marcus asked again, more forcefully.

"Dad gave it me," she said. Then she turned on her heel and ran from the room, dodging nimbly between the tables. Marcus made to go after her but Sinclair caught his sleeve, holding him back.

"Wait," he advised. "From what Maverick said I doubt she'll be able to explain any better than that. Find him and he might be able to tell you more." He looked down at the small bit of fabric poking out from Marcus's clenched fist. "What is that anyway?"

"I was being relatively truthful with what I told Maverick earlier," Marcus said, sinking back down onto the bed. "I'm not the first from my world sent here. But the others weren't exactly volunteers. I'm here mostly to try and find them. Bring them home if I can, discover their fate if not. One of the people taken was a legionnaire. This would have been taken from his uniform."

"I see. Well, I'm not exactly going to get any sleep here. Why don't we go and find Maverick and see what he's got to say about it."

***

Not a great deal as it turned out.

"I'm afraid I don't know much more than you," Maverick said apologetically. He turned so that he was facing them, setting his back to the thin steel railing that lined the viewing platform for the dome. "From the little Bucky's said I've gathered one of the new Ferals we brought in is her father. He gave the badge to her as a present. I don't know exactly why he had it in the first place, much less how she knew to bring it to you. I can only assume he in turn got it off someone else. This something to do with the people messing with your research group's gear?"

"I believe so. It matches something one of the people activating the device would have been wearing."

Maverick nodded and sighed. "Well, I don't know how fondly you regard these people, but if the Ferals found them rather than us I doubt they're still alive. They're protective of the group but, as you probably noted, highly aggressive to outsiders. They won't necessarily kill but if we didn't find them and the Ferals just drove them off...there's no way to survive out there alone. To be honest I don't even know how the Ferals manage it really."

"I understand that, but I'd really like to see for myself," Marcus said. "See if there's anyone out there I recognise."

Maverick raised an eyebrow at him. "Really? And how do you propose to do that? You don't know the city, you don't have the right equipment. You wouldn't last the walk over."

"Never the less I aim to go."

Maverick nodded and turned back to survey the dome floor once again. "We're mounting another expedition to the tower," he said. "Right in the heart of Feral territory. If this owner of the badge is still around, that's where he'll be. And if you're willing to go then I'm willing to have you on board. The more people the better but the fewer of my own I have to risk the happier I'll be. Not that I want you to come to harm you understand."

Marcus nodded. "I've been a commander in my time. I understand."

Maverick glanced at Sinclair. "How about you? Interested at all?"

"Definitely." Even if they hadn't decided helping out was the best way to get deeper into the book, he was meant to be from the same place as Marcus and so should be equally concerned. Besides, it wasn't as if charging into a horde of feral things wanting to kill him was particularly out of the ordinary for him.

***

To Sinclair's surprise, and no small sense of relief, they weren't taking the giant flying carriage to the tower. According to Maverick there was no way to get it inside and the Ferals would just destroy it. They could barely keep it running as it was; he didn't want to risk it getting damaged unnecessarily. Instead they were using the 'subway'.

Sinclair was vaguely familiar with the idea of the underground transport system, even if he'd never used one himself before, but the citywide grid system was significantly bigger than anything he'd ever imagined before. It didn't look as though there was a single part of the city that couldn't be easily accessed by the use of these tunnels. As well as reducing the risk to the flying carriage, getting around this way reduced their exposure to 'UV radiation', making it an all round good way to get about.

"But if it's so good why don't the Ferals use it?" Sinclair asked as Maverick was going over the plan. "Do you expect to encounter some in the tunnels?"

Maverick shook his head. "We collapsed the main entrances to stop their access," he explained. "Other than the one beneath the plant they can now only be accessed by the security maintenance hatches, which are set up so that you can't just wander into them."

"How come they haven't just broken their way in?"

"They beefed up the security after a series of terrorist attacks on the network in the mid 20th century," a faceless person in the background supplied helpfully. "Made everything that much harder to access."

"But the Ferals know you use these tunnels, correct?" Marcus asked. "And they know you want access to the tower. Do they keep some sort of guard over the area to catch you coming out?"

Maverick sighed. "Frequently yes. That's why we're going to need a second team to exit at the previous hatch." He pointed to the relevant part of the city map. "This group will go on foot, lure the watchers away if they can and then double back to meet the rest of us at the tower."

"I'll volunteer for that," Sinclair said promptly. "It's not like I'll be a great deal of use at the tower anyway."

"But you're injured," Marcus pointed out. "You probably won't be able to keep up with the rest of us without making it worse." Sinclair couldn't help but note that 'rest of us' comment. Looked like Marcus had picked his preferred squad too.

"He's got a point," Maverick said. "I think I'll take you with us, Sinclair. The Ferals are unlikely to all get lured away so we'll still need bodies to push through what's left. Leave the other job to those who can still run without trouble." Sinclair was probably imagining the smug expression Marcus was sporting, but it was still annoying to witness. "Right then, everyone go grab something to eat. We'll meet at the subway entrance in an hour."