Justice and a Warp

Slamming over the bridge came the pursuers. A temperate midday summer sun shone down, holding together the rich blue sky hanging over them. Their leader stopped them for a moment, checked the surroundings, and then they began running again. It was an ageing bridge, worn down by the weight of innumerable boots pressing over it in perpetual repetition. It was built from tough local slate, but given a thousand-thousand more soldiers running over it the bridge would wear out and collapse. That would be the end of them, and also their quarry. He was hiding beneath, holding his breath with his ankles barely keeping dry above the river flow.
This was the end of the chase. He'd dodged under the bridge whilst out of their line of sight and so for now he was lost to them. For now. Of course it wouldn't be long before they came back and discovered this hiding place. Furthermore, running for it now- across open fields- could only end in eventual capture. Wiping sweat from his brow, he attempted to formulate a third way. Violence? Futile. Tapping his foot he began by considering what tools he had at his disposal. Pebbles, fresh water...no use. All he really had was the uniform he wore, and his cunning. That, he mused, could be enough. His booted feet splashed the water's surface as he moved away. Eddies formed and span in circles.

The group of soldiers returned to the bridge empty handed nearly an hour later. Nobody was underneath it. Their leader sent requests to Command for a wide area search. Muddy splats had crept up their legs and flecks of it dried into their faces. Slowly they readied to make moves back to their post. The leader gave a sigh and began to speak- but paused. He raised his eyebrows. Approaching the bridge at a haggard jog was a new soldier unknown to him. He moved to approach the stranger, who began speaking in what he noted was a pleasingly well-bred inflection. "At your command sir. I'm from the post up two miles up the road- Private Zachai I'm called. We heard there's a spy loose, and, um, I was sent to help with the search." The private gave an earnest salute. He looked a little familiar.
The leader looked down for a second, holding the tip of his cap and pulling a genial grimace. "Well I'm sorry Private," he looked up and met the man's eyes, " but you've actually missed the best of the action. Nevertheless we've organised a wide area search to look forward to later. I suggest you return with us to our own post until then. You know, take the chance to relax, have a chat." He winked. "Name's Captain Patricius." They shook hands.

Conversation began at the soldiers' makeshift mess room. None of the soldiers could remember what purpose the small white building had served before they moved in. Items personal and practical were strewn here and there on the floor as well as on desks and other surfaces. They sat in a fairly loose and moderately wide circle of chairs. Light passed through the building's dusty windows and played off the walls, revealing cracks in the paint and decay in the concrete.
"So Zachai" began Patricius, holding a cold mug of tea he had picked up from a low shelf by the front door when he entered, "What do you make of our post? Nice scenery and surroundings I should say." Zachai nodded.
"Oh yes. I could feel at home here; come back again and again." Some of the soldiers laughed quietly at this. "Hm? Something's funny?"
"Oh, ignore them," said the Captain. "They're a gang of smart asses, think they've all 'been here before.' Little but oiks, aren't you boys? But anyway...anyway. How about your own post? How does it compare to our own?" Patricius leaned back a little and his eyes became a little more still. He was looking at Zachai, the newcomer, who shifted around in his seat a little as he considered his reply. "Well...I like it. Maybe a little more than here."
"Oh. How so?" The Captain was smiling, ever so slightly. He lit up a pipe, not taking his eyes off Zachai.
"Oh where to begin...well...the decoration there- the paints on the walls- are more to my liking. Warmer colours. Makes a man feel a bit more comfortable, you know?"
"It's blue," said a soldier to Patricius' right. "I've been there. The paint is blue." His leader looked to him. "Well, then perhaps it is a warm blue, eh private?"
"Yes, yes," nodded Zachai, gesturing. "That's what it is. Warmer I think than these cold white walls."
"Indeed." The Captain's voice was measured but betrayed a drop, just a grain, of contempt. He switched from his lax position to leaning intently forward in his seat. "And what do you make of the leadership there? How is the Lieutenant Henrik keeping?" Zachai gave a half-hearty laugh.
"You won't mind me saying so sir, I hope, but he is a little strict. Although not too strict, I think. And he keeps well enough. You are friends, the both of you?" After he said this, the room went quiet. Zachai felt a cold chill move through him as every one of the soldiers now settled their gaze on him.
"Well no, Private, I am not his friend...because no such man exists. Which makes me wonder: why oh why did you tell me that this phantom, this imaginary man works at a command post just a couple of miles down the road?" He glanced to the left and right, gauging the reaction of his men. "I am led to the conclusion that you are not who you claim to be. So what are you?" He snuffed out his pipe, and put it away in a pocket.
Zachai did not speak. He hardly moved. For a few heartbeats, nobody moved.

Then in a jerking flow of movement Zachai sprang up, and threw his chair hard behind him, creating a loud metallic clatter. He sprinted for the exit, throwing aside a soldier getting up to block his path. The others, except Patricius, immediately gave chase. As the last of them flew out of the doorway the Captain sat his cold tea down exactly where he had found it, and picked up the telephone linking him to Command. "I say I say, Command! Come in! Now listen here- it's Captain Patricius speaking from my post in the old south valley. We have discovered a spy, a covert agent of some sort attempting to infiltrate our unit. He has fled and my men are giving chase. Yes, yes, I- I'm terribly sorry but I must hurry and interrupt you old boy! I shall join my men in the hunt. Stand by for a wide area search in the event of failure. Over and out!" He hurled the receiver down and launched himself out the door, sprinting to catch up with his men.

The pursued could run fast, and the gap between him and soldiers widened. Sticking hard to the country road his legs pummelled off the dirt, propelling him forward toward the horizon. He saw the slate bridge ahead and checked over his shoulder. Excellent, the soldiers couldn't see him. He broke from the path and moved down the slope and found a good hiding place beneath the bridge.
In the grass on the slope, animals moved. A startled vole broke cover and made for its burrow by the waterside. It's little black eyes grew wide and twinkled. All thoughts of what had it been been doing before the moment it was frightened were erased to the point that its own sense of self changed forever. Ants followed one another in a line. Then the ant at the front of the line caught the chemical scent of the ant at the end of the line, and began following it. From a good overhead angle, say from the branches of the thick oak in whose shadow the ants advanced, an onlooker would have seen the line of ants' shape gradually reform into an ever-tightening spiral.

The sound of charging boots grew louder...

Slamming over the bridge came the pursuers. A temperate midday summer sun shone down, holding together the rich blue sky hanging over them. Their leader stopped them for a moment, checked the surroundings, and then they began running again. It was an ageing bridge, worn down by the weight of innumerable boots pressing over it in perpetual repetition. It was built from tough local slate, but given a thousand-thousand more soldiers running over it the bridge would wear out and collapse. That would be the end of them, and also their quarry. He was hiding beneath, holding his breath with his ankles barely keeping dry above the river flow.

This was the end of the chase.