Chapter 14:

Half way, and Half the Remaining

One phone call is what they told him—though he didn’t actually believe it. What if the call didn’t go through? He wondered. Would they simply lock him up forever?! It was ridiculous to believe he’d only get one phone call! He’d get as many phone calls as it took—yet, one phone call was all Nathan had to make. He called Brion Mindur, as one of the guards fingered his gun. What was it with these people and their guns?

“Hello?”

“Hi Brion. It’s Nathan.”

“Hey Nathan. I was beginning to wonder about you. What happened?”

“Not much. Fell out of the sky. Landed in the desert. Had a run-in with the army.”

“Our army, I hope?”

“That’s the one,” Nathan said. “I can’t imagine I have too long to talk.”

“Are you in trouble?”

“Well, under arrest anyway.”

Nathan could feel Brion smiling over the phone. “Sure does prove the rumors wrong, I have to say! Not that I gave them any credence.”

“I don’t remember the last time someone got one right,” Nathan quipped.

“Yeah. You wanna hear this one? It’s pretty good.”

“No thanks. I just want out of jail.”

“Oh, that’s right. You said arrested.”

“Yeah, well, I’m out at Fort MacNamar in Nevada, which is a bit of a disappointment. I was really hoping for Greece…”

“Well, that’s the way the world turns—”

“Literally,” Nathan cut in.

“So do you wanna squelch this rumor too?” Brion asked. “It’d be easy enough to do both at once, get you out of jail and lay into the media a bit.”

Nathan shrugged. “People are going to say whatever they say. Trying to convince anyone otherwise just gives the naysayers ammunition.”

“Ammunition?”

“Yeah like, ‘If it isn’t true, why do you care so much?!’ That sort of thing.”

“Image is important, especially to celebrities. What else do they have to sell?” Brion asked.

“Talent?” Nathan suggested.

“You need better PR.”

“That’s what I hear. Mainly from people in the field.”

“I’m not exactly soliciting,” Brion noted, his tone strangely serious.

“I’d be surprised if you were,” Nathan said and realized he would be surprised—not that he didn’t realize the depths people would dredge for a buck—but because he actually afforded Brion more charity than that. Brion, professional image maker, was more than he made himself out to be. Indeed, there was something different, something strange and unfathomable about the deputy mayor.

“So, Fort MacNamar?” Brion interrupted Nathan’s thoughts. “I should be able to manage that—but it will take a bit of work to get you free without telling anyone who you are.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell them who I am?”

“You told me not to.”

“No I didn’t,” Nathan said.

“Yes you did,” Brion corrected. “You said, ‘Don’t do anything to squelch this rumor’.”

Nathan shifted in his seat, “What sort of rumor is this?”

“You told me not to tell,” Brion reminded him.

Nathan thought over their conversation and realized that Brion always seemed to be speaking on multiple levels. Somehow he was leading Nathan around by the nose, and even though Nathan realized he was being manipulated, he didn't mind. Brion's maneuvering always seemed to be the direction Nathan wanted to go. “Right,” Nathan replied.

“Well, it shouldn’t take more than a few hours,” Brion smiled. “Hang tight. You’ll be out before the sun goes down.”

“Hours?” Nathan complained.

“What did you think? That I’d just have you hand the phone to the nearest guard, give him the word, then he’d let you out?”

Nathan shrugged. “Kind of...”

“That’s not how it works. This has to go through channels. I have to make a call, and the person I call has to make a call. To tell it straight, your five or six calls from freedom my friend, but it’s on its way—or just as soon as I hang up.”

“Well, I guess I don’t really have anywhere to be, so don’t rush yourself,” Nathan replied.

“Actually, it might be essential for you to get back here as soon as possible,” Brion stated.

Nathan was perplexed. “Really?! What is going on out there?! What sort of a rumor is this?”

“I'll tell if you really want,” Brion said.

Nathan thought about it for a long second. He shook his head. “It'll only give me headaches.”

“So? Did you give them any name at all?”

“Nathan Herbert.”

“First name second, second name first,” Brion noted.

“Nearly,” Nathan stated.

“Oh I know this, Herbert Nathaniel,” Brion replied. “All right, then. Call me when you get to town.”

Nathan hung up. Two soldiers escorted him back to his cell. Two hours later, the guards released him. They returned Davies’ jacket, his meteor, and surprisingly his wallet. Nathan didn’t say a word as he gathered the items, then walked off the base, and bummed a ride to Las Vegas.

Nathan stared at the tall towers of the strip. For years, Nathan fought in Sin City. To remember it made him shudder. Instead of the fights, Nathan thought about the restaurants, the pools—but mostly he remembered the time he spent here with Michelle. His soul ached, but it wasn't the body-draining depression he'd suffered immediately after the fire. It was the feeling of something missing, something never quite right. At the suggestion of his driver, he got a room at the Bellagio, then went to bed early.

In the morning, he allowed himself a fancy breakfast, then bought himself a pair of shoes that fit; after which, he eventually found his way to the airport. He caught a late plane to Cityopolis since he was able to get the ticket on the cheap and didn’t want to spend all of Davies’ money. Indeed, how much did the man have? He saved the cash in case the card failed and he was reduced to paper money, at which point he had less than a hundred bucks—but then, he didn’t expect to spend much.

“Can I see some ID?”

Nathan opened the wallet. He pulled out several cards. The New Jersey driver’s license didn’t look anything like him, but the military ID was grainy and could be anybody as far as Nathan was concerned. Maybe. Just maybe. Nathan shrugged as he passed the military ID to the clerk.

She glanced at the picture, then up at Nathan, and back down at the picture one more time. Finally, she handed it back. “Thank you,” The clerk noted, “For your service.”

Nathan gave the clerk an incredulous look, then smiled and said, “you’re welcome.” Delighted with his subterfuge, he took the ticket and walked off.

Even with a military ID, security made him take off his shoes. It looked like stolen valor would only do so much for a man. It was awkward and a touch embarrassing having a bureaucrat with a badge explain the process. He couldn't remember the last time he had to stand in line, much less go through security. On the rare occasions when he did fly, he chartered his own plane. He would have done it this time too, but he was quite certain Davies didn’t have the funds to cover it. What a royal pain in the ass! he thought. Is this the torment of the everyman?! What a living hell! To temper the sting, he picked up an I-pod as he trudged through the terminal.

His plane was already boarding by the time he got to the gate. They hurried him through, only glancing at the ticket. Nathan shrugged, curious that nobody was staring. Not only were people not staring—they barely glanced at him! He felt so obvious, like everyone should know him. Of course they should! They always had! But nobody gave him a second look. None of the other passengers whispered about him as he walked by. The feeling was alien, it'd been over a decade since he was unknown by the general public.

Seat 14A. It was nice to have a window.

Nathan sat and downloaded some music: the new Kara Thrace and Her Special Destiny. About halfway through the album, he became accustomed to the flow—but the last track of the album was a complete cop out. He put it on repeat.

Somewhere over Utah something strange happened, something that had not occurred in such a grand long while. A half hour into a four hour flight, in a plane that teemed with strangers that might notice and pester him at any moment, Nathan fell asleep. It was a sound and healing sleep that did not end until the plane hit the tarmac. Then, as he stepped from the plane into the terminal, he was once more ignored by everyone around him—and he couldn’t stop smiling about it. That’s when people began to notice him—but only to wonder at his cheesy, unfathomable cheerfulness.

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