Nemecene: The Epoch of Redress (15 page)

The predicted maneuvers have started. She follows the vents below the chancellor's office, relinquishes the painful flashes of her recent experiences and continues underneath the grove, headed for the intricate mesh of ducts feeding Rubrique Court in the Social Studies sector. The synchronized march of the human-beast pairs produces a concert of deafening rumbles throughout the entire ventilation network, urging her to stagger more quickly in the vibrating shafts and imposing a premature evacuation from the catacombs, while her muscles squeeze the leftovers from whatever force she had garnered for the trip. Mindful of her present vulnerability in the face of a trained operative, she surfaces straight behind the archway patrol and stops to postpone her breath prior to hazarding a strike. She surmises that an ambush is the most advantageous tactic given her impaired physical capacity, and stealthily drops her opponent to his knees. Something about the unexpected attack from Keeto tonight has weakened her and left her uncommonly drained in his wake despite her diligent preparations in solitude that afternoon. The energy they had exchanged had been palpable, delighting her as it apparently did him and suggests that maybe the forceful introduction to adventure is an invitation for something deeper, something enticing.

A speedy calculation gives her three seconds until the first row of militia overruns the square. She throws herself onto her rigid victim, tears off his belt and disables the monster diving menacingly from the keystone, then darts for this evening's crime scene, the weapon secured diagonally across her chest. Her memories have no recollection of a supervised ingress to the court, an emotionally charged piece of knowledge she is not inclined to forget. Turning to the left passage where Mashrin had lain, her mouth gapes. The girl is gone and merely two explanations logically fit. Either the boys and Elize managed to filter through security with Mashrin using a fanciful story for the weak-spirited guard, or, the hounds have her. She defers assessing the probability of each scenario to concentrate on foiling the forthcoming brigades and flies out of the arcade, disturbing her diaphanous-winged siblings one last time.

As Nathruyu gains the northern portion of the residence complex, the answer to her question is hauling the spoils of her bittersweet victory back to the medical lab. She dashes amongst the grass strips between the branches, her elusive mark visible from afar, and formulates her assault. The hairy limbs of the front line abominations punch through the trees, their masters in tow, and precede the supporting units to the clearing. Soon, tranquillity will replace the outer chaos, as hysteria chokes the commons. She is conflicted anew. The twins are subject to identification unless they are observing the fray, sealed inside Elize's room where no frequencies can penetrate, blinding the sensors to their hideout. But were they to emerge, the GHU would come, and a fresh cycle would commence.

She chances exposure and takes advantage of the protocol permissions check the GMU officers are requesting from the three officials. Cautiously peeking out from the open recess separating the east and center sections, she spies a fleeting pair of eyes above the ledge of the ninth floor window, then retreats to the shadows, appeased. Elize is safe, and she is conscious, but the numbers Nathruyu must currently surmount between her and the triple helix are excessive, and their imminent arrival does not afford her enough time to scale the links. She must circumvent them by fancying a temporary rift and promptly seeking out the underground grid to glide beneath them. As she seizes the emitter stored next to her skin, she encounters an atypical tackiness to its hilt, like a viscous film stuck to a substrate. She retrieves the device, creates a transient hole in the facade beside her, infiltrates its insulating air pocket and forges a uniportal on the indoor panel. During the gaps in the flickering darkness of the emergency lights, she manages to glimpse the color smeared on her hand. The sound of her jolting against the interior framework, when she realizes what passenger she is bearing, diverts the warden from his post. Elize's blood.

As he sniffs out the source of the interruption, walking warily towards her, she mentally reviews the events since Elize's concussion. On which side did she carry the girl? Did she brush the stonework at the administration building? What about the sentry at the arch? Revealing herself too soon, fumbling her mandate, and now this? The atmosphere grows thick with regret, strangling her lungs, as her brain spins inside her skull. The blood in the Ministry's custody might bring the twins' father to the lowlands, thus shattering her fragile web. Keeto and Elize had only just begun. She needs more time.

The man's tensing brawn now mere centimeters from her, unbeknownst to him effectively contained by an illusion, overtakes her senses. As he smooths his palms along the barrier isolating her and feels for undulations or a crevice, Nathruyu loses control of her whereabouts and mirrors his fingertips with her own, painting a crimson masterpiece with Elize's blood. Imagination sends her back to her forbidden love for a second interlude this evening, a portal to her past, to her present, and, plausibly, to her impending future. The guard's ear now pressed to the level of her breast, he hears her heaving from beyond the illusory divide. He traces the border of the viewing membrane and drives his rod in, wedging the encumbrance free and liberating her hungry gaze. Startled, he gropes for the alarm on his waistband, but foolishly releases his grip when he recognizes Nathruyu's signature smile. Another provocative kiss, his stance wavers, and she bursts into the vestibule and out the entrance, deserting the pandemonium in the student lounge.

Once in the field, she realizes she has lingered too long. The GMU swarm is engulfing the towers, which is fortunate, but the girl is missing, again. Distressed over the red stain from Elize's injury, she escapes for the trees to think. There, huddled under the citrus canopy, she fills the stillness with her thoughts. Frame by frame, her soiled hand travels the distance from the arcade and back, leaving no detectable token of its mischief. Her dominant arm had clutched the girl, while the other had delicately attended to the gouge at Elize's hairline. Nathruyu's waning temperature had kept her skin cloaked, and her dwindling self-control had enlisted the strongest offensive against the patrol. But as irony would have it, only succeeding the discovery, and her sober awareness of it, did the residue manifest itself. It was smeared on the underside of the fractured panel.

Nathruyu can still taste the salts on her lips, as if the precious droplets of life imbedded in the creases of her palm were flooding the speckled sky, gradually reducing to crystal dust as they bleed. The scented trail of the wound plays tricks with the landscape, transforming the encircling waters into a scarlet river. Sometimes they screech, sometimes they cry, whilst others whimper and cling to their damaged bodies. But Elize was different. Quiet and contemplative, she simply watched as her splintered world dissolved, only to divulge itself in fragments. She strained to survive in the obscurity of her dreams, dreams that fail to recall the most gruesome elements, perhaps for posterity's sake, in order that she might maintain a veneer of sanity in her waking hours.

But there is no mistaking this particular hue. It exudes a shade of its own, easily recognizable to those who know, to those who have seen, and to those who are looking, quite specifically to the one Nathruyu is constantly fleeing. She must rub out the incriminating blemishes and destroy any hint of their existence before she touches anything else, in order to avoid complications and thwart suspicions should they arise. Elize's true identity must remain private.

Opportunity arrives in the guise of the retreating corps, their partners relegated to their appointed nooks at the extremities of each catwalk, and undoubtedly reprogrammed for more interactive responsibilities. Once the rear of the finishing wave invades the secure zone, she curls in tightly and whisks past the pond as the thirsty blades rip her coat. The lobby, she notices, is still harboring the crimson painting she had abandoned, its artistic swirls flat up where they fell, and her surrogate lover is collecting the debris. As it was in the highlands, she dutifully waits to confirm where his inner dialog is leading him. He slowly lifts the coveted chunk by its edges, careful not to deface their work of art, leers at it, sighs, leans it tenderly against the exterior wall and repairs the rupture, invisibly preserving their memento in the empty space.

Contented by the outcome, she regroups and consumes the evidence with her tongue, like a hunted feline licking its tattered paws before the crowning sprint. And then she hears it, the methodical clicking of chiseled nails against stone, expectantly pacing between her and her target. His canines are here. Someone is supplying him with aspects of her deceit that he cannot conceivably foresee. Something curious is watching her, yet choosing to act vicariously. The howling begins. Next, they will locate their evasive prey and catch an extra morsel from the vial in her clothing. She estimates the steps to the nearest sheltered hatch and concedes defeat, for the moment, and instead commits to the seaward side of the buildings, absconding into the soil precisely as the hounds barrel around the final corner, at the south central wing. Relieved at their confused grunts, she pauses underneath them where they cannot follow, and when she hears them thump to the ground, weaves through the maze in the direction of the main corridor. By the time he finds his comatose pack, she is out and over the surrounding channel, reentering the labyrinth at the foot of the Victory Bridge and heading to the museum to lure an awakening adventurer.

As she nears the generator beneath the floral pond, she sheds the defiled layers of clothing covering her sensuous figure and thrusts them deep into the burning gases. There she will rest till the morning fog, naked and waiting.

Day 25: Early Evening

"W
hat are you looking at?" Sounds like Keet.

"Hmmm?"

"Are you here? Eli?"

I think I am. "The trees are moving and there's no wind." Something is bothering him. He's glued to the slip. "Crap!" It's the creepy ones! And they have her. Ouch. Have to remember not to move so fast. Won't be taking the hovertrain for a bit that's for sure. It feels like my brain is a scrambled mess. "I'm ok." Keep low. And where did he pick up that mothering instinct? "Get down! They'll see you."

"Who?"

"
Them
." I'll pull him down to my level so we can both peek over and motion with my head at the sweep. Ooooooooo. Motion. Not good. I think I'll just sit back down here.

"Crap." So he gets it.

They're organized now, and they're fanning towards us.

"You're still bleeding, Eli. Hold still."

Yeah. I'm trip with that. Ohhhm gee, I'm hanging with Stitch too much.

"We should get you to a doctor... Stop. Just hear me out, ok? We'll get Odwin to set it up."

We don't need the mystery Gadlin for this one. "Why don't we just ask Stitch? I mean, Mr. Zafarian." A bow for effect. "Looks like he's plugged in." To what I'm not quite sure. Hey, maybe that's what drives the hair.

"No bloody way!"

Wow. That was direct. Assertive in fact. Like tonight. He just took charge and got us up and moving. And later, he kept digging and digging at Stitch. Well, the digging part I expected, but not the tone. What's he sniffing in those archives anyway?

"You don't trust him."

"Not one bit. And don't you go telling him anything either." There it is again. That tone. "I mean you haven't told him about us, have you?"

We need to lighten up here. "No, my love, our affair is secret." Hehehe.

"Eli. This is reaaaaaally serious."

So I found a body, got a bump and now we're cornered. Right. But something tells me there's more. He's staring at the slip again.

"Do you realize you haven't stopped staring at that thing since Stitch left?"

And he looks up at me with a puzzled look on his face. "Don't you remember?"

What is he talking about? Of course I remember what happened. But he's still staring at me with this you-belong-in-jar look, like I'm some sort of specimen at a carnival freak show.

"Her. You
know
her." He is pointing at the girl's picture.

"Yyyeah. And? I saw her at the medi clinic. I told you. Hick." Now who's the slimy one.

"You babysat her last year, her parents we're out of town for the night. She stayed over with us because Father wouldn't ever let us out, remember?"

Yeah. I remember his paranoia. That's why we left. But the girl? No way. I know I've had lapses recently, but not a whole day! Ridiculous. He's been spending too many late nights in the books.

"Keet. I have
never
seen this girl before today." My turn for stomping. Now back off! And you too in there. Shut up. Stop talking to me…oooooo my head. Go away. Breathe.

"Eli, Eli. Focus over here. Let's work this through together."

Ok. Calm now. Concentrate on his eyes, follow his breath. What if he's right? What if I dropped my own internal flashes when I hit the ground? Maybe I do know her.

"So…what are you saying, Keet?"

"I'm not sure. It just seems a little too random that
you
should be the one to find the body. Our town isn't that big."

He's right about that. Not many kids her age there either. And those three creepy guys showing up at our gate, at the transport station, running into them earlier, following me, and now taking the body? Could they possibly be connected?

"But you're the only one who remembers her. It's just a coincidence."

"Father knew."

Right. Now
he's
the creepy one. I know how he feels about Father, but honestly, he's not a murderer.

"Father doesn't even know we're here." That sounded plausible enough. I'm starting to wonder whether I even know where
I
am anymore. Everything still feels so unreal to me.

"I hope you're—"

"Shhh." They're in the building. That wasn't just another meteor blast. By the size of Keet's eyeballs, I can tell he heard that too. They're force switching the doors and they're on this floor. If I weren't so dizzy I could think straight. I can't let on though. Keet's worried enough as it is. Let's just move behind the closet and...holding hands is good. The death grip is a little much, but no one's watching. They're getting closer.