Warning: Brief descriptions of torture.

The Angel of Earth

by

Rodford Edmiston

Part Three

Walker limped down the hall as quickly as he could, his restraints rattling. Cuffs, ankle irons and chains, combined with his crooked legs made his progress slow. He almost cried, and from more than the pain; he had walked all over the world, including the full distance from the spring fed source of the White Nile to the Mediterranean. Now he was reduce to this hobble of short, quick steps. His captors were impatient; they didn't care that his impaired progress was due to their deliberate actions. It was his fault they had to wait. Everything wrong was his fault and they made certain he knew this. Walker moved as quickly as he could, visibly wincing repeatedly, hoping to escape worse pain by making clear the torment from his legs he was experiencing on this trip from his cramped, filthy cell to the interrogation room.

Fortunately, he was not beaten. This time. Perhaps he was simply successful in avoiding their ire. Or perhaps his obvious suffering and the grateful groan he gave as he sank into the hard chair in the dank, bare room were enough to satisfy their need to make him suffer. Or maybe the fact that his interrogator was not yet in the room was responsible. That last was definitely a violation of procedure. Normally, an interrogator would already be waiting, making a show of impatience. They kept varying the times between interrogations, and even the intervals when the light in his cell was on, to keep him from even knowing the time of day. Or how many days he had been here. Perhaps Walker's interrogator was late because this once he hadn't been correctly informed of when he was supposed to be here.

Whatever the reason, they simply locked his steel chain to the steel hasp welded to the steel table and left. They were a bit flustered because of the interrogator's absence, though that was difficult to tell with their carefully schooled faces. Faces deliberately chosen to be an assortment, so as not to give him any clue as to who held him.

Walker immediately became more alert, though he did not show this. There were still cameras watching him, even with no-one else in the room. This violation of procedure was... odd. They never left him alone, except in his tiny cell. A cell deliberately too small for him to activate his powers, even if his mutilated legs would have allowed that. Though he was not truly alone when he was in the cell. He was still watched, the cameras on constantly, no matter what the current state of the lights.

Walker was not an activist; not a protestor; not even very politically aware. He certainly had never taken overt action against a group. Any group. He was a professional traveller, who earned a good living writing and talking about his travels. Yet on his most recent trip, when he went to meet a guide, he was ambushed. As he stepped through the doorway of the hut an explosive charge under the rug just inside went off. This produced a blast deliberately designed to shatter his legs without killing him.

In the haze of pain which clouded the days following that event, he remembered being treated by doctors in some sort of medical facility, his legs put in splints. Either none of them spoke any of the languages Walker tried, or they were instructed not to speak to him, or near him. None would answer questions, or his requests for pain medication or even water. Not until he was brought to this prison and the splints were removed did he realize his legs had been deliberately mis-set, reducing his famous, world-traveling lope to a painful hobble.

Somehow, his captors - he still had no idea who they were, or if he was still in the same country or the even that same continent - had learned that without his ability to stride, he could not use his traveling powers. None of them spoke to him, either, except for the three alternating interrogators. They all spoke perfect, broadcast-quality American English. They also asked questions - the same ones, over and over - which were either completely mundane, such as where he was born, or complete nonsense. The last set included topics such as who he was spying for. Telling them he wasn't a spy resulted in beatings. He had quickly learned to ask for clarifications to their questions, and then to simply confirm their accusations.

This time, though... Walker didn't know why his interrogator was late. This was the first time he had been alone outside his tiny cell... It was definitely an opportunity... Though what if it were a trap?

Deciding to take a chance, Walker carefully eyed the length of the chain linking him to the table. Left alone in his cell, he'd spent the long hours trying to activate his power, to reduce the distance he needed to travel to start his stride. Did he actually have enough room, here and now? Had he improved enough?

He stood, pulling the chain tight, his arms extended. Not quite. He moved around the table towards end opposite the door, gaining a bit more room. Yes! As the door slammed open he stepped forward, actually moving towards the table, ignoring the agony in his legs. He also ignored the startled exclamations and shouted warnings from his captors. He was already beyond them, though in a direction they could not perceive. Futilely, they reached for Walker as his chains fell away, as he passed through them, his second step carrying him well beyond the building, his third taking him ten times as far.

Each step was agony, but he knew that if he stopped he might never start again. He was free, but still too close to his captors. Perhaps even deep within their country's borders.

His first priority was to go far enough to ensure his escape. Then he needed to find familiar landmarks. This latter was not a hugely difficult task, considering how much of the world he had seen since his powers came. He would simply travel in a straight line until he got his bearings. Where to go after that, though? Walker suddenly knew. With a surge of determination, he moved onwards.

* * *

The next morning Blackpool dropped Melody off in the same patch of woods in Haven's central park as before. She quickly made her way to Aaron's house. Coral was just as warm and social as in Melody's previous encounter, though she did admit - grudgingly - that Aaron was actually home.

"Good morning," said Aaron, as the reporter entered the den. "So far my slate is clear. Let's begin."

* * *

Melody returned from a bathroom break to find Aaron still sitting where she had left him on one of the couches in his den, only now there was a cat on his lap. The brown feline didn't give the appearance of letting Aaron up any time soon. Of course, the empowered man gave every appearance of also enjoying the process of skritching the cat. Though there seemed to be a sadness under that.

"I already know you know where to scratch," said Melody, amused. "However, you also appear a bit... melancholy."

"Their existences are so fugitive," said Aaron, gently, looking down as he stroked the appreciative feline. "Though they can live longer than dogs, it's still much less than even a normal modern human span. We should do what we can to make those lives fulfilled."

"Is that how you feel about us mere humans?" said Melody, quietly, sitting on the other couch, across the coffee table from him.

"Of course not," he said, looking up at her and smiling. "For one thing, it's much harder to have an interesting conversation with a housecat."

He looked again at the cat, his smile replaced by an expression of mixed contemplation and sadness.

"Also, they are incapable of understanding how short their live are. They live in an eternal Now. Their needs are far simpler, as well. Humans need more than mere food, shelter and companionship. Though those are needed."

He looked up at Melody, knowing from experience her interest in such subjects.

"Before my powers awoke, I was very bitter, and also very narrow of purpose. All I could see was some of the more blatant wrongs being done, and I was filled with rage and an urge to right them.

"Then I experienced a personal miracle: Empowerment. Everything seemed bright and fresh, my thoughts were clearer, better organized, better balanced. My bitterness was gone; though not the accompanying disappointment. I already knew many who had the same desires I had to make the world better. Some of them also became empowered.

"For many years after I gained my abilities, I didn't want to consider the larger picture," continued Aaron, looking both tired and annoyed. "I focused on individuals, though a lot of them. I even had arguments with other empowered, some of whom from very early on were insisting that we with heightened intellects should focus on the big problems of the whole world. It was just... too big for me to care about, then. However, I helped those whose attention was on larger things, and gradually became convinced they were at least partly right. I also helped them focus on the smaller things, when the need arose.

"For a while we made a huge difference. Then the world began pushing back. We persevered, and we succeeded, over and again, but each success came harder, and accomplished less. Still, we did succeed, and some of us continue making the world a better place to this day.

"In the process, though, we began attracting more and more attention. Much of it was undesirable, coming from people wishing to hinder us for what they saw as their best interests. Or to help us in ways we didn't want. That included a few of those we were actually helping. Some of that adverse attention was simply from people wanting to cash in on our abilities. Some was actually from people idolizing us, and expecting us to fulfill some illusion of an idealized reality they already possessed. A few were adamantly not just against us and our actions, but any sort of change in the status quo, and they fought hard against us. This even included some empowered."

"Isn't that the way it's always been, though?" said Melody, gently. "Well, except for the empowered part."

"Yes, but it doesn't need to be. It certainly doesn't need to be, now. In part it was realizing just how much was arrayed against us - social inertia, greed, shortsightedness, even entire armies - which caused so many of the empowered to decide to leave, in one way or another."

He shifted position on the couch a bit, looking thoughtful. The cat protested mildly.

"Keep in mind that while from the beginning I was unusually potent - especially physically - for someone empowered, that my abilities then were a shadow of what they are today. I was impressive, yes. I could fly, I was tough, I could throw flaming spears, I was very persuasive... There were many others at least as potent and a few considerably moreso. Most of my abilities were originally available only in my Malak form. Though those early abilities were quickly expanded and extended to my human form, and I soon even developed some powers which were unique to my base self.

"I also learned, and quickly increased my improved mental abilities. This rapid improvement was largely due to all the conflicts I found myself involved in. Those forced me - all of us in our group or in any similar situation - to stretch, and grow. However, even working with others likewise intending to improve the world, there was much which was beyond us.

"Don't get me wrong; we did improve things. The world is a significantly better place than it would have been without us. There are simulations showing multiple paths humanity might have taken, and most of those paths are worse. The majority of those possible worlds have more disease, more hunger, more corruption. With or without the empowered. It's just that this specific world where we live could have been - should have been - an even better place than it actually turned out, if things had gone just a bit differently. Something our simulations also show. We don't live in the best of all possible worlds, but it's far from the worst. For which we should be grateful, while striving to further improve things."

"There are those who will claim that you're saying nothing new," said Melody.

"They're right," said Aaron, nodding. "Philosophers and prophets have been saying we need to put aside greed and hatred for millennia. There are even modern analysts who claim some ancient cave paintings show such pleas. The best angels of our nature are constantly battling the worst devils of our nature. The primary difference which adding powers made - despite the claims by some empowered that they are 'beyond good and evil' - is that these abilities make acts of great good easier. Unfortunately, they also make acts of great evil easier."

The phone rang. Aaron sighed, and called out to Coral that he would get it. He put the cat on the sofa beside him - to its obvious displeasure - and excused himself to Melody as he rose to answer. After a brief and unilluminating conversation, he finished with "I'll be right there." Something not unusual for one of his calls. He put the old-fashioned handset back into the cradle, and turned to find Melody standing nearby, looking expectant.

"Walker just arrived at the clinic," said Aaron.

"Walker?!" said Melody, startled. "He's been missing for weeks!"

Aaron nodded.

"He was apparently being held somewhere. By people who tortured him. He's in bad shape, but came in under his own power and they expect him to recover. Anyway, I need to go check on the situation in person."

"Got room for a passenger?" said Melody, eagerly... though she had to quash a flare of personal distress at the "tortured" part. Even after many years and much therapy.

"Sorry, no," said Aaron, with a slight smile. "If he agrees to an interview later, we'll see."

"Well, Blackpool is due back soon, anyway," said Melody, yielding gracefully to the inevitable.

She followed him outside, and stood on the porch as he walked out into the street and changed. He became taller, his hair longer, his clothes turning into robes and his shoes into sandals as his grey wings came out. Long gone was the time when the reporter would reflexively shy back when Aaron became Malak. Now she observed the change eagerly. Melody wasn't the only one watching this transformation, either, or who continued watching as Malak took to the air, wings beating hard. Though she was the only one close enough that she needed to shield her eyes from the dust kicked up by the air blast from his takeoff. He climbed briefly for altitude, then once above surrounding obstacles abruptly blurred away, in the direction of his nearby clinic.

"Boss get a call?" said Joe, startling Melody out of her reverie.

She turned to him and nodded, then related what had happened.

"What would you call that sort of situation?" said Melody, not really expecting an answer.

"Around here?" said Joe, smirking. "Tuesday."

* * *

"We have him in the trauma room," said Dr. Sanders, the clinic's current emergency treatment expert. He was an older man, with dark skin and white hair. He was very good at his job, and new a great deal about helping people who were empowered. "I don't know where he was or who was holding him, but he and his clothes were filthy, the clothes were in tatters, his feet raw and bleeding, and his legs..."

"Any healers working on him?" said Malak, when Sanders paused.

"Yes. Free Bird and Fellow Spirit are already in there."

"Excellent."

"Short term, he needs treatment of active injuries, plus food, water and rest," said Dr. Sanders. "Long term, we're probably looking at corrective surgery on his legs."

"What it takes, Doctor," said Malak, firmly.

"In other words, the usual."

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Haven, Joe Blank had taken it upon himself to keep Melody entertained until her ride arrived.

"So, how is the Winged One?" asked Joe, as he and the reporter stood in the street. Fortunately, there was not much vehicular traffic.

"Busy," said Melody, rolling her eyes.

Joe smiled in amused understanding, then gave her an evaluating look.

"I hope you appreciate how much you mean to him, for Aaron to take time to speak with you like this."

"Oh, definitely."

"Maybe we should wait inside," said Joe, gesturing towards Aaron's house. "One thing we haven't completely solved is mosquitoes."

"They're not that bad," said Melody. "Let's wait on the porch, instead. If that's all right with you."

"Well, I'm not going to turn down a chance to share a porch swing with a pretty lady," said Joe, graciously.

They moved together to the hanging, bench-like swing on Aaron's front porch, one taking a seat at each end.

"This must be one of the most modern - and peaceful - small towns on the planet," said Melody, as they swung gently in the cool, evening air. Mostly thanks to Joe and his longer legs.

"Oh, definitely," said Joe, smiling and nodding, a hand around one of the supporting chains. "However, I think our sense of community is much more important than our advanced utilities. Or the deliberate lack of them, in some cases. We tend to think and act in a nearly unified manner. Oh, we'll argue about things ahead of time, but once the decision is made we all get behind it. Anyway, if I know Aaron he'll be back soon."

"You're probably right. Though I suspect Blackpool might beat him."

As if on cue, the black-clad figure came walking down the street through the rapidly growing shadows, towards Aaron's house.

"What did I miss?" said Blackpool. There were enough clues present - mostly in the postures and expressions of the people still milling around - from that hurried exit by Malak that determining something had happened was relatively easy. Even for someone without his keen observational abilities.

"I'll explain on the way home," said Melody, suddenly feeling tired. "Thank you, Joe, for keeping me company. Please give Aaron my best when he gets back."

"Will do."