Nemecene: The Epoch of Redress (14 page)

If my teeth were not bolted to my jaw, with pretty healthy bone I must admit, they would have been play toys for the shag. Eli, obviously impressed by his ability to render me speechless, which on occasion she also manages to achieve, just coyly looked over at him and smiled. The real Zafarian had just introduced himself.

Even before Eli had invited him to join us at the Snack Shack for a midi break on our third full day here, I had felt a pretension about him that in my mind could only point to mischief. The incidental familiarity he had with the branch protector, in a not so positive light, was the origin of my immediate dislike for him, not to mention his flirtatious demeanor towards Eli, according to her version of their initial encounter, of course. Although he had only known her for a day, he seemed much too comfortable poking her when she said something he found "cute". Yeah. Sure. I don't accept his lowland upbringing as an excuse for impropriety as readily as Eli does. Perhaps that is what bothers me most, the ease with which she has been adapting to this new culture and connecting with people, others not me, while I bury my head in the bowels of the archives, surrounded by clones. Why am I so afraid to live?

As I challenged him, still reeling from the bomb he had just dropped, he simply listened openly to all my concerns, assuring me that the events of the day would only exist between the three of us. My defenses finally relaxed. I realized that while I was preoccupied with saving my sister from the dubious ploy of a would-be suitor, the real threat came from the injuries she had sustained in the dark, most pressingly, the foreboding images which induced the haunting emotional display we had witnessed in the arcade. Having put aside our differences for the moment, Stitch proceeded to satisfy my curiosity by providing the answers to a barrage of questions concerning our narrow escape.

He had spent most of his childhood pulling apart every imaginable device that had survived the unfortunate karma of entering his parent's household. I find that a strange choice of words; karma…as pertaining to an non-sentient object, but for Stitch it was how he viewed all aspects of the universe, from the buildings to his toys to his clothes…and did I mention his hair? In any case, the boy is a complete genius and entirely bent! I guess the two go hand in hand. He also has a more mischievous side, as I had suspected, which prompts him to flaunt his cunning in the face of authority, sometimes landing him in restraints, which he always seems to get clear of, both physically and on the Ministry records, which was in fact the very skill we were looking to inquire about on this very night at the ivy wall.

As much as I still mistrust his intentions, his exceptional resourcefulness and fondness for Eli, coupled with his history of flouting the rules, make him a great addition to our little criminal unit. Besides, he had already taken a big leap of faith by exposing his craft to us, and now he has committed to helping us solve the case of the dead girl on campus.

While we sealed our pledge with his awkward chumbuds salute, Eli retreated to the corner of the room staring aimlessly out towards the city skies, her open bag on the floor beside her. Fearing a relapse in consciousness, I went to her and called out to her softly, gently releasing her hold on the slippad. Her skin came alive and she managed a smile, then she sharpened her gaze and pointed a finger to the slip in my hand. "Mashrin Tamehr."

Day 25: Early Evening

S
he chases the lights that frame the cobbled crust of the orchard path, and races to her old refuge at the east end of the campus oval, momentarily melding with the ominous shadows of the moonlit medical helix. The black offers Nathruyu no reprieve as her legs labor to reach the trellised gardens of O'Leary Hall before the alerted protectors assemble the sweep. The rocks flare down the blazing heavens and point a fiery finger in her general vicinity, signaling her presence and threatening the effectiveness of the city generators, a drift which could actually work in her immediate favor. She must trust that he has reacted predictably to the earlier disturbances and refocused his search on the twins' home circle, far away from the newest trespasses. A confrontation with his prize canines, at this time and place more so than at any other, would jeopardize much more than her simple freedoms. As she inches her body around the limestone structure, she slumps onto the backyard portico and contemplates her latest entanglements.

She was not supposed to stumble upon her, and furthermore, there is now proof of Elize's inadvertent fall. Her mind desperately scours its hidden recesses for vindication as she envisions harsh retribution for her carelessness. Straying from the agenda was not a privilege afforded to her, yet there she cowers, paralyzed by the cascade of events she has heedlessly allowed. Her weakness, her transitory lapse of resolve, in conflict with her profoundest commitment, had veered her off course, and risked the young captive wrapped in her well-intentioned betrayal. She had not expected to cross an individual lurking at the ivy wall behind the triple towers, nor had she anticipated his eventual pursuit.

Contemplation turns to apprehension as she relives the latest ordeal in her mind.

The subconscious impulse that ushered her to the south gate has vanished and her thighs engage back to her original line, dividing the grove. The intended focus regained, she sails amongst the whispering leaves and ferries Mashrin to Rubrique Court within instants of today's rendezvous.

The detour has compromised her schedule and compels her to improvise amidst fluid circumstances. Stretching her ears for the oncoming footsteps, she gauges their likely trajectory and lays the innocent messenger across the most direct route. She feels the frantic pace of her heart as their cadence draws closer and corners her into a nearby passageway. Confident however that the bait is well positioned, her silhouette scales the rugged piers and hangs precariously outstretched from the ribs, where she waits, a conspicuous intruder in an overcrowded nest of night flyers.

Their sanctuary unnaturally breached, the sightless rodents morph into a turbulent cloud of wings, as if evading their fiercest predator, drawing Elize's attention from her scurrying feet and the motionless bundle in front of her and up toward the anxious eyes of a nightmare. Terrified and disoriented, her attempt to run out of the tunnel sends her tripping on the blanketed child, ejecting the comm from her nervous grasp as she plummets to the ground with a chilling shriek and in the process grazes the jagged corridor with her head.

Nathruyu's throat tightens. Her predicament is severe. Elize's stability is already in trouble, and this untimely disclosure might plunge her into a heightened emotional trauma, a state where the boundary between memory, fantasy, and reality collide, and cause her to fight demons she has not, thus far, sufficiently evolved to comprehend. Swooping from her perch, she gathers the flaccid girl and moves Elize gently onto the granite slab. The notion of being on the brink of fulfillment, yet, once again and by her own doing, torn from him, overwhelms her as she fears the worst. She leans over in despair and caresses Elize's wounded flesh. A few moments stretch into weeks, and weeks into years, and she journeys backwards to the seat of her affliction.

As a girl, she too had been chosen and had tolerated things outside what her youthful spirit was designed to handle, barely returning from the void after her selfless deed. The irreversible decision, deemed cruel and unfair to a child's limited intellect, entrusts the children exclusively to her, negates secondary influences on their evolution, and eternally binds them to her destiny. In Elize's case, the initial days had been harrowing and exhausting. Nathruyu had toiled over her stubborn recovery, cleaned her wounds and wiped her endless tears, for such a generous gift demands many concessions. It is the versal law, the law she lives by, the law she dies by. It is the law that reaffirms her convictions whenever she strays, and the one she ultimately obeys, however reprehensible are the exploits her submission may require, even those contributing to the current rash of atrocities, and culminating with Elize, broken once again, in her care. Nonetheless, ages later, she delves for signs of life in the child cradled on her hip. She is still afraid, but hopeful, and just as relief flushes her veins, the stranger who blocked her at the ivy wall, appears before her, stunned.

The shame behind the images replaying in the dark solely serves to distract her further from untangling this self-inflicted mess. The girl's loss upsets her overall plan, and consequently, she must devise a clever ruse to revisit the site, undetected, and conclude the job. She verifies that the stolen vial is retaining its heat, buried inside the pockets of her garments, wobbles to her numbing feet and braces her shoulder against the landing's pillar. Her lifeless reflection in the protruding pane catches her off balance. Dizzy with cold, her body heat diminishing rapidly, she can hardly discern her sculpted features carving the gray backdrop. Where could this glow be coming from? Fearful that the source is emanating from the interior, she stares beyond her sunken reflection and into the opposing window. Had she not witnessed the counsellor exit the north gate from her vantage point in the lab? The brightness dims and her semblance fades.

The voice booms louder, somewhere trapped between her temples, unmistakably stern as he utters these cutting words: "Remember your place." Disjointed loyalties have interfered with her obligations in the past, prompting her to challenge the morality of certain actions whilst defending the depravity of others and subsequently provoking his reproachful quip. The previous occasion on which she had relaxed her vigil, she had been apprehended and had eluded prosecution purely by secretly indenturing herself to the presiding chancellor, who shortly thereafter passed, dragging the selfish deception to his grave. The J branch of Van Billund Hall, nevertheless, remembers. This time, capture would endanger her health, eighteen years of patient monitoring and countless sacrifices, which grievously pales in comparison to the suffering she would continue to endure in the name of her insatiable desire.

What must be done must be done. Tottering at the edge of unconsciousness, she pulls her shivering form to the middle of the garden and siphons the energizing fragrance of the blooming vines. A sense of clarity revives her. If she gauges her approach correctly, she can stay ahead of the sweep. At first, they will retract all but a minimal contingent of defenders and sentinels from their stations, then summon them to the orchard. Once arranged in concentric arcs, they will fan out across the island, scan every unfortunate creature in their way, and flag their biochips as suspect, so that they can legally infringe upon their rights and record their slightest moves, till the investigation is complete and the barbarian unmasked. The cooling tunnels will serve her best. As she follows the carpet of wilted petals that extend from the thatched gazebo where she stands, she disappears via a narrow subterranean tube, skillfully disguised as a common sun catcher.