Nemecene: The Epoch of Redress (30 page)

I found my way through the fog and onto Tir-na-nog Square surprisingly fast. Even though the frequency thrower Stitch lent me works brilliantly in reflect mode, acting like an echo location device, I would have preferred that the blowers had been left operating after the chancellor had temporarily ignited them on the island for the speech. Instead, I had to contend with the disturbing notion that the Pramam, his advisor, or even Father could be lurking in the mist, which likely was the source of my shivering along the entire route. Without a biochip, it was futile trying to pinpoint the particular shops I was interested in, since their bioIntro announcements fell on real ears, so I entered each establishment in sequence, pretending to browse.

The first establishment on the left, belonged to a speciality clothing boutique, selling none other than Stew Uber's latest VLine collection, Naked, touted as being so comfortable it's like wearing nothing at all. He has no idea! I couldn't help but snicker, drawing disapproving glares from the sales clerk. I bolted straight back out into the courtyard. A few stores down, I found a more traditional tailor, purchased a bright purple tunic, feeling a little adventurous myself these days and continued down the row until I happened upon a sweet shop. As I indulged in the variety of free samples, I felt a tingling behind my neck. I had been so enthralled by the glucose buffet that I hadn't noticed the owner's assistant following me, sensually teasing me with her warm breath. It was Caroline.

You can imagine my dumbfounded expression when I turned around and dropped the dribbling bonbon onto the floor. She watched as I slowly reached down for it past her long curvy thighs. Her hands on her hips and her head slightly cocked, she stood there giggling at my obvious embarrassment. After I had snapped back into my body, and she had playfully squeezed the juice off my fingers with her glove, the questions shot out of my mouth faster than my brain could properly formulate them. Where had she been? What had she done to get expelled? Why didn't she comm? What's her connection with the Ministry? And most importantly, how and what does she know about the tunnel system? But all she did was smile right into my eyes, and casually slide the soiled protective sheath off her hand, one finger at a time, deliberately stroking the shaft of each digit as she winked, then nonchalantly casting it into a bin behind the counter. Juicy!

She was thoroughly enjoying my discomfort, as we lingered there in awkward silence, the suspicious owner squinting in our general direction. Once she decided that she had sufficiently tortured me, she grabbed my hand, led me to the stock room, and leaned invitingly against the closed door. She had been here in this shop, working for peanuts she said, if there were such a thing anymore. She had ignored the counsellor's reprimands one too many times, according to his godliness, and willfully corrupted an innocent young freshman. She didn't comm because his holier-than-the-Pramam forbade her further contact with us, under pain of GMU restraints. Then shedding the sarcastic undertones, she added that the Pramam's advisor is a regular patron of the underground club who can give her what she craves better than anyone else there, so he has become a special friend of hers, whatever that means. And as for the shafts, she enticed me closer, beckoning me with her left index finger and, with suppressed excitement, lowered her voice.

Since frequenting the counsellor's office had become a habit of hers, she often relieved her boredom by staring listlessly into the garden until one day she noticed a person disappear into the back corner. As she left detainment that evening, she hid beside the limestone structure and waited for the counsellor to leave the building, before cutting through the trellised garden and into the carefully disguised access vent, the sun catcher in the far east corner. She discovered that there is a dangerous labyrinth underneath the entire campus oval, which would explain how easily the dark figure from the arcade had escaped the hounds' swift pursuit. She cautioned that at a moment's notice, these tunnels, like the separate network under the rest of the city, can saturate with deadly gases, and she very nearly turned victim to such an exposure once. And here comes the most fantastic bit of all; she announced that as she was searching for a similar grid under the main corridor, she spotted that same stranger entering the base of the Victory Bridge and followed her northwards to a tunnel on the right leading to a rusted metal door with a circle etched into it.

Before I could even digest what I had heard, there was a loud impatient knock. While her employer was forcefully verbalizing his irritation, Caroline grabbed an entire box of jellies, lead me to the credit counter, swiped it, and smiling courteously, thanked me for my patronage.

Vastly behind schedule, I was glad to see the sun poking through the haze. I went directly to Mr. G's to pick up the remaining two items on my list, where I was met with quite a cold reception. The quake had essentially damaged only his place, since it was made of antique construction, but I sensed that his almost resentful demeanor was aimed at me personally. I really was too rushed to confront him, so I paid for the goods, ran back to my quarters, dumped them off, took care of Sparky's needs, and ran back to Van Billund Hall, where Eli and Stitch were already discussing their individual findings. My skull was exploding, however, from the whirlwind trip to the commercial sector, so I flopped into a virtachair, physically, mentally, and emotionally drained.

Stitch looked at Eli, then they both looked at me, and in unison they blurted: "Share, chumbud." I improvised a brief synopsis, but all I needed to say was the word "Caroline" and Stitch leapt for a slip and highlighted a series of images showing her virtues wantonly compromised. Evidently her relationship with the Pramam's advisor extends into his private residence as well. He fancies himself quite the amateur holographer, but Eli's interest in Caroline centered on the rusted metal door. Despite our repeated attempts to reason with her, she was relentless in her belief that we absolutely had to determine who or what was behind it. The allusion that doing so might fling us into the den of a killer only increased her resolve. The logic was bent, the risks were horrendous, and the benefits questionable, but her stance was firm, so with a few gas masks, some frequency throwers, and an anonymous tip to the SIF, we could send the Ministry goons, including Father, back to Ministburg where they belong. Her report from her first day at the GHU and the rest of Stitch's research results would have to wait.

I recall dancing inside my pants outside the entrance, thinking that I would rather be tracking Caroline's twisted fixations than someone who has an affinity for slicing brains, and judging by Stitch's quivering hair, I'm sure he would have concurred. Eli, on the other hand, was transfixed on the doorknob and unintelligibly mumbling to herself, making me even more nervous when I realized that one of her episodes was not a solution to our immediate challenge. Fortunately, I had mistaken her focused meditation for lunacy, and we soon entered the dank lobby, gratefully alive.

Pausing at the base of a dimly lit staircase, we listened for movement from above while Stitch sent a crabbot to investigate. With our focus locked on the receiver, we agonized over every floor, room, and hallway, expecting to see ceiling at any moment as the villain rips our brave explorer in half. We eventually viewed the top level, which appeared to be the main living area. Satisfied that the home was vacant, we ascended all the way and scoured the studio for clues. While Stitch recorded the visual contents for future reference, and Eli followed her ears, my stomach convulsed as I recognized the faint scent of myrrh coming from the sleeping area. A chronology of internal flashes flew by my eyes, landing with a heavy thud on my heart. The penetrating gaze, the sweet smile, and the silky black coat whisked me back to our first day in Eadonberg. Surely, the beautiful stranger was no psycho, but Eli's muted scream by the window suggested otherwise.

As Stitch and I ran to her aid, she motioned him to take at least a dozen flashes of the specimen. We couldn't be sure, but it looked like a piece of brain with two tiny holes in it, and it was suspended in viscous blue goo with strange luminescent properties. As we stared and stared with a mix of horror and amazement, we watched the slime swim towards us through the crystal vase and hover. Eli had the foresight to take the recorder from Stitch's awestruck hands and capture his priceless expression, so that we could both rib him later, then she swiftly tucked the vessel into her satchel and ushered us through the surface entrance. Once outside, we noted our surroundings and hopped the next hovertrain southbound.

If there was an ounce of energy left in me by the time I reached my quarters, I was oblivious to it. Even the idea of writing to you tonight seemed like Mount Everest, but once I walked through that door, everything changed.

The scent was unmistakable. Neatly folded at the foot of my bed was my missing shirt, and on the chair, a face full of jellies stuck in his fur, was Sparky, sitting comfortably on her lap.

"You didn't make your move yet," was the first sentence she uttered. As she threw the playing sticks, her crystal pendant caught the moonlight through the slit. I froze.

"Don't you want to play?" The words just seemed to roll off me as she pointed to your game, invading me with those gemstone eyes, and finally declared:

"I am the one."

Day 34: Before Dawn

H
er consciousness hovers in a weightless void, resenting the impending dawn. As nights wash by, her patience grows thinner, whilst those denying her destiny encroach on her territory and fruitlessly prime the perimeter of her cell in anticipation of her imminent capture. They have committed their souls to a dangerous game, one which neither shall vanquish, for although logic would dictate multiple outcomes founded on paradoxical rules, there is only one. The eternal battle between the illusion of order and the illusion of anarchy is nearing a close, and soon Elize will also be drawn into the contest as circumstances heal her mind for the challenge. The sibling ties are still strong and secure a direct path for Nathruyu's agency in spite of
their
recent proximity. Keeto's preternatural feelings will indeed oblige her well as she moves to strike a final time.

An incoming board message addressed to Odwin announces to her that the wild card has been tamed. Her illegitimate portrayal as Zafarian's trusted mentor is presently reaping the rewards of his loyalty as he is keeping Odwin-Nathruyu dutifully informed while their unofficial investigation progresses. Elize has confirmed the whereabouts of the young Mashrin, has conducted a thorough scan of her skin, and has negated any uncertainties Nathruyu may have harbored relative to her corporal integrity. Apart from the probes feeding various monitors, it appears that the scar marking the primary assault is intact, and, as noted in the medical lab, she remains curiously warm, wrapped in a silver shroud, for reasons none of them can fathom. But Nathruyu knows what clock they are chasing.

As expected, Elize's first visit to the GHU facility since her mother's accident had been trying, and Zafarian is understandably concerned for her safety, especially in light of her father's Inner Council affiliation and his presence within the city. The corners of her mouth curl upwards in smug satisfaction as she recalls Vincent's parting request. She assures the boy that the matter has been suitably handled, and that Elize can complete her internship with the eccentric Dr. Tenille without restrictions. As for Zaf's ongoing standing with the twins, he must abide by his promise to offer them full transparency in order to solidify his position as their dependable confidant, and then report back any changes in Elize's behavior via this secure channel, however trivial he might infer them to be, specifically as it relates to the affliction she seems to have inherited from her mother.

Posing as Odwin, Nathruyu cleverly diverts their communication onto the subject of the enigmatic herald and her cryptic prose. She covertly plants theories as to the woman's authenticity, and asks Zaf if he has accumulated snippets of intelligence regarding her true identity, or if he has attempted to map her penmanship against government employee records, thus hinting that this stranger may, in fact, enjoy an inside perspective on the mutilations, which could lead to the answers they seek, and perhaps even address his private motives with respect to his cousin's murder. Her cunning exploitation of his sentiments for Elize is already sufficient to ensure his cooperation, but this additional seed will assist in cultivating the alliance she has proposed to Keeto, as she packages the mysterious collaborator's history and highlights her plausible access to vital Ministry resources. Having satisfactorily devised a bilateral mechanism for claiming her eagerly awaited prize, she prepares to abandon Zafarian, her naive accomplice, to his research, so that, owing to his sleuthing efforts, she can bring closure to what he and Keeto had interrupted, but his subsequent transmission springs out of the maze and arrests her with its words.