A Division of Souls - A Novel of the Mendaihu Universe (16 page)

Poe paused, letting that good-natured jibe
sink in. “Worse than me? That’s new.”

“Yeah, believe it. It was Kindeiya Shalei,
Alec. Nehalé's boss. The man is insane, I tell you. Either that, or
a Prophet of the One.” With a chuckle, she added, “Probably both.
Beautiful voice, though.”

“It's been altered,” he said. “Synthetic
vocal cords, when the real ones gave out to cancer. Read about it a
few years ago…one of DuaLife’s biggest Re-Gen achievements.”

Somehow that didn’t surprise her.
“Listen…try to get here as soon as possible. He's quite certain
that Nehalé Usarai not only performed an Awakening Ritual, but he
may be a Warrior of the One of All Sacred.”

Poe paused. “A
Warrior
? How did you get
that?”

“Well...he didn't say in so many words. But
the nuance was definitely there. Couldn’t stop gushing about how
wonderful the guy is. Thinks he’s about to save the world by
spiritual unity.”

“We’re talking nuances
now?
Maybe you
are
a Mendaihu,” he said. Quickly,
sheepishly, he added: “Sorry.”

Shit. Not him too.

Caren tensed, and then let her breath out
slowly. “Just get down here when you can, Alec.” She slammed down
the phone before he could answer.

*

Poe strolled into the office minutes later,
a data crystal twirling between fingers and an apology written on
his face. “I'm sorry, Caren,” he said quietly. “I shouldn't have
said that.”

Caren waved the apology off. “Don’t worry
about it. I should be used to it by now. Besides, Kindeiya started
it, not you.” She nodded at the crystal. “What did you get from
Peter?”

A relieved smile crossed his face. “Nehalé
is DuaLife’s top Re-Gen therapist...”

“So says Kindeiya,” she said. “He couldn’t
say enough good words about him.”

He held up the crystal between them. “I've
got all his vitals on here, stuff we already have. An up-to-date
holo, his address, tax forms, finances, likes and dislikes,
favorite food...”

“Wonderful. Give me his blood type and we’ll
have ourselves a damned fan club.”

Poe smirked at her. “That’s not far from the
truth. Peter gave us a listing of associates he has, Mendaihu and
otherwise. I put hyperlinks on those names to the database
upstairs, just in case.” Caren watched him grin madly as he crossed
the room to the terminal flanking the far wall.

Caren crossed her arms. “So? What does that
tell us?”

“Patience, my friend,” he said with a wave
of a hand. His fingers worked deftly at the keypad, calling up the
data from the crystal. An absurdly long list of document files
began scrolling down the screen, which he began sifting through,
opening up the ones he’d flagged earlier. It took more than a few
minutes to bring up everything. Could all this information be
connected to Nehalé? Caren doubted it…a lot of it had to be
tangential. No one had files on them this big that weren’t locked
up at the Intelligence Bureau.

Caren cleared her throat.
“Patience is the one thing I
don't
have today, Poe. Is there a point in the near
future?”

“Er...yeah. Hang on.” A few more keystrokes
opened up a file marked ‘Mendaihu’ and he was done. “Check out this
list,” he said, tapping the screen. “It might interest you. You'll
never guess who's on here.”

She walked up behind him, and leaned over to
take a look. Hendiri, Usara, Shalei, Akandarra…Mirades, Kaalen,
Dhumélis, Nisiriandis...the surnames were all common clan names,
nothing surprising. The given names that matched them were not
familiar in the least...until she came near to the end of that
first page.

Anando Shalei.

Caren felt a shiver of
unexpected giddiness.
Anando...!
“Hold on a second,” she said, sounding a little
more excited than she'd wanted, but curiosity had gotten the best
of her. “Who's that? Back up a page. Last column, third from
last.”

Poe scrolled back and
followed her finger. “Who...this guy?” He highlighted the name, a
quarter-screen size image popping up on the right side of the
screen. It dawned on her just then that she had no visual image of
Anando, only his voice. She had no idea what he looked like. But
that
voice
…professional as she was, something about that voice had
stirred something within her.

She stared at the screen. Anando was
handsome but not striking, a Meraladian of average build. He wore
closely cropped blonde-brown hair in the spiky nonconformist style
of the McCleever gangs, though he wore no piercings, tattoos or
enhancements. He lived in Poe's corner of the McCleever District,
on the main strip of McCleever Street itself, near the DuaLife main
facility where he interned. Deep in the heart of the worst part of
Bridgetown.

Caren shivered. This could be the Anando
she'd dreamed of.

Anando. I've found
you.
And then, belatedly:
Why are you on this list? Who are you to Nehalé
Usarai?

“Uh...yeah. That guy,” she said, not without
embarrassment. “Sorry. Just a Mendaihu hunch, I suppose. I’ll get
back to you on that.”

Poe shot her a sideways glance. “Don't tell
me I've got more people to look up,” he said. “Besides, he's not
the one I'm looking for. The one you have to see is...well, it’s
around here somewhere.” He continued scrolling down the list. He
began to say something, stopped, and pointed to a name. “There.
Kindeiya Shalei.”

“So? He’s Nehalé’s boss, of course he’d be
there.”

“Yes…but this list? I purposely avoided
grabbing work associates or patients unless there was a viable
reason. More to the point, I specifically narrowed the search to
only include connections to the Mendaihu — any events, actions,
rituals, meetings. Something where he’d go out of his way to meet
with one of them, or perform something for them. Suffice it to say,
he’s been quite the busybody over the last year or so, and Kindeiya
Shalei has been there by his side through a good portion of
it.”

Caren frowned deeply. “We’re being left in
the dark, Poe. Any other coincidences happen today that I should
know about?”

“Not that I know of,” he muttered, looking
at her with concern.

Finding Kindeiya on the list had actually
been less than surprising, being Nehalé's boss. His inclusion only
made matters more complicated, however, now that she knew both men
to be Mendaihu. There had to be a specific reason for him to be on
it. Most associate lists on files usually stretched to about two
dozen at most. Nehalé's list was nearing a few hundred.

“How does he know all these Mendaihu, Poe? I
know they have empathic memory of everyone they meet, but this is a
bit much. Peter’s not that meticulous in his data retrieval. You
sure these aren’t complete strangers that once gave him directions
eight years ago?”

“No…these are all current,” he said,
studying the screen. “The guy gets around, apparently. It’s like
you said, it’s as if he's like a local god in the Waterfront
Sector. Most of the Mendaihu on this list are from that district.
He helps them back on their feet again. Trains them to become
honest citizens. He's the ultimate Samaritan down there.”

Caren frowned.
“Samaritan?” she said. “The ARU…hell, the BMPD would have noticed
him down there right away. He sounds more like a shepherd —”

A shepherd.
Her hands clenched at her side and she winced.
“No,” she said.

Poe turned to her. “No? No what?”

Pashyo!
She pushed herself away from his chair and began
to pace the room. She furrowed her brows; nervous hands moved in
separate directions, as if alternately looking for something to
hold and expressing something she couldn’t find the words for. The
chill returned again, stopping her in the middle of the room with a
shiver. Somehow everything about this case began to fall into place
with disturbing clarity…the Awakening Ritual, Nehalé Usarai, the
shockwave…even her own odd behavior at that moment.

Have I?
She called out to her parents, though dreading an
answer.
That night. Have I awakened? Am I
Mendaihu after all?

“No what, Caren?” Poe demanded. “What —”

“That's not the motive,
Poe,” she cut in. “He's not trying to become a Samaritan in any way
down there, especially for numbers that large. That's not the
Mendaihu way. They don't go looking for a savior when they've got
The One of All Sacred. No, he's...he's...” Just as quickly, she
stuttered to a halt as words eluded her.
He's leading them...? No, not leading...

Awakening. And I got caught up in it.

He swiveled around in the chair. “What the
hell are you talking about?”

“He's gathering them, Poe. Don't you see
that?” She whirled at him, waving hands at him. He flinched and
pushed back in his chair. Suddenly self-conscious of her movements,
she backed up to the opposite wall and shoved her hands into
pockets. Her mouth was dry and she couldn’t stop the nervous
shaking. “He's gathering the flock. Think about it, Poe. He's got
all these Mendaihu listed, mostly from the Waterfront. One of the
poorest neighborhoods in the Sprawl. Don't tell me you're not
seeing the religious imagery here.”

Poe arched an eyebrow at her. “Well, from
you I am.”

“Fair enough. But that’s what’s going on,
I’m sure of it. He's raising a Mendaihu army of some kind. He knows
the Shenaihu are going to respond to his ritual, and it's just a
matter of when. The answer’s been staring us in the face, Poe…and
we’ve been too damned afraid to face it.”

Poe let that sink in for a
few seconds. He stood up and began pacing himself, but stopped
after five steps, standing in front of her. Goddess knew what he
was thinking of her right now.
Time for a
vacation,
she mused.
Caren, you've been poisoned by the job. Get out while you
can.

“Why haven't you been affected?” he asked,
his voice quiet.

Caren looked him in the eyes. “I’m sure I
already have.”

“And Denni…?”

She couldn’t respond, but she didn’t have
to. Poe already knew.

The piercing buzz of the hailing interoffice
vidmat interrupted the uncomfortable silence and closeness between
them. The screen behind Poe blinked to life, the image of Cilla
from Dispatch partially blocked by Poe's body. He didn't move or
turn around.

“Uh...hey,” Cilla said, realizing she'd
interrupted something. “Just called to tell you that Nick and
Sheila took a call for a disturbance at St. Patrick’s on Ormand,
but they said they'd be back as soon as it was taken care of.”

Caren felt the chill race up the back of her
neck. She poked her head around Poe's shoulder and managed a weak
smile. “Thanks, Cilla. Let me know when they come in.”

Yes,
she thought.
Falling together way
too easily.

The dispatch officer took that as a sign to
leave them alone, nodded an apology and disconnected.

Poe smiled wanly. “Huh. St. Patrick's. Let's
hope that Father Miriam's okay.”

Father Miriam —
another flash of memory. The hazy memory of
Matthew Davison's voice the morning after the Awakening
Ritual:
Go talk to Reverend Miriam if you
need a spiritual explanation.
Caren closed
her eyes and leaned her head up against the wall. “Poe, I...” She
trailed off. She felt a shift in her equilibrium, a slight
dizziness. Not enough to faint, but just enough to catch her off
balance. She’d felt this before, years ago…back when her latent
Mendaihu blood had begun to flow within her body. She knew this
feeling intimately, and it scared the hell out of her. This was
reality seeing, a rare Mendaihu trait where her brain went into
overdrive, processing every speck of information given to her and
coming up with all possible outcomes at once. She’d only felt this
once, years ago when it had manifested itself in her teens. Her
parents had taught her how to keep it under control, but now it was
too late. She couldn’t hold this back any more. The slow whirling
in her head suddenly took on momentum, and then it was too late to
try to calm it.

There was no question now. She herself had
been awakened.

Father Miriam...Damn it!
No!
She squeezed her eyes shut.
Stop thinking so damn much!
But again, she could not stop once she had
started--

Father
Miriam
...Elder Myras Usara.
A Terran English alias.

A locked-away childhood memory blasted
itself painfully into the forefront.

Twenty-five years ago. An
image of a Priest of the One of All Sacred blessing the Mendaihu at
St. Patrick's Cathedral before a battle. Men and women, Meraladian
and Gharné alike, filling the church. She remembered being there, a
young kid just turning ten, but she remembered clearly.
We’re so proud of you, Karinna…
Her parents, flanking her, both looking down over
their shoulders, warm smiles on their faces. Her mother’s arm
draped over her shoulder, hand resting slightly against her neck.
Father’s hand touching the middle of her back. The priest’s voice
reverberating throughout the hall, yet muted enough to soothe the
fear. The unsettled shuffles and coughs of agitated parishioners
seeking, hoping for answers.

I remember…!

Mendaihu Gharra. Protector of Earth.

Peace, Love and Light to you all.

The feel of fear, the
dread, the
hopelessness
…and somewhere, underneath it all, barely alive and screaming
to break free…