Nemecene: The Epoch of Redress (9 page)

Maybe Father was right about Mother and she did lose her mind, she did become a danger to herself and to us. Sometimes I just want to make it all stop, and I do mean everything. The hope is that this floating maze will somehow offer enough mindplay to keep my brain so busy that there's no time for anyone else in there. That is, at least until we can find some answers. Keet seems to believe Mother had them. We just need to find Dr. Tenille and he'll tell us. I just need to make sure I become one of his crew and then… I wonder if he'll remember me. So stay focused, girl, and forget the crazy museum curator. Nothing is getting past those hanging drool buckets. It's all in your head. My eyes sure are getting heavy. I'm not awake enough to fuss with the controller tonight, so I'll just lie down here on the shaggy one. Too warm for a cover anyway. Nice. Feels like thousands of little hands holding me up. Deep breath in and…

Air, air, I need air. I'm so cold. I want them to stop! What's happening to me? They're not going away, they're getting more and more real. Look at me. I'm drenched in my own sweat, and ouch, my eyes. They're raw. Calm, I need calm. Can you at least give me that? They were hurting Mother again. That's enough. I have to tell Keet while it's still fresh. I need to find a way to get past this, it's always there, in the background, eating away at me, burning inside me, tormenting me. Maybe he can make some sense of it, he's the only one I can trust. I'm shaking still. Grab the comm.

"Hey lo. It's a privyrack, that shelf. You can choose the bite setting by… Are you crying? What happened? Eli, please talk to me. This happens every morning, doesn't it, I know it. You try to hide it with your eye gel, but it still shows. It's the dream again, isn't it? Mother. Please let me in."

How does he know it's about Mother. I've never said a thing to him or have I? Sometimes I say things out loud, but surely I would remember telling him.

"They're hurting her, Keet. She is lying there looking at us and they are hurting her."

"Who is hurting her? Can you see their faces. Anything. A mark, a voice, a scent. Close your eyes and try to remember. It's ok. Who's there with you?"

She's turning her head and looking straight at me. The room is dark, there are shadows, I feel cold, she's breathing, I can see the mist.

"Eli? Please. Talk to me."

"I'm losing her. She's fading, and you're crying. Keet, we're both there with her, but we can't move. There's something holding us back. Don't go. It's quiet now. She's gone. It's all gone. I can't remember." Once again. I never remember and I relive the same pain over and over. I burst into tears. I can barely make out Keet's soothing words on the comm.

"It's just a bad dream, Eli. That's all. I know it feels real, but it's not. We'll figure this out together. I promise…"

"Ok." That's all I can muster up between sobs.

It's just so frustrating that I can't recall enough so I can just let it go. I even lose part of my days sometimes, especially when the voices drift in. All I am left with are feelings. Awful feelings. Maybe if I wrote things down like Keet I could piece it all together. Like that woman, there was something dreamy about her is what he said, or did he? Wait. A dream. My dream!

"I'm ok. I have to go. Let's meet after reg. Around threeish."

"Be careful."

Now where's that journal? No one will know if I read it.

Day 3: Early Evening

I
t has been just over a day since we arrived, toting with us little more than the weight of our own torments while the bulk of our treasured effects traveled separately with the itinerant merchants from the strongholds. The information we had gleaned beforehand, or rather paid for handsomely, has proven its value a thousandfold, and the expediency with which they had successfully smuggled the articles we had spent months choosing and collecting honors their craft. If Father had suspected an alliance forging between the fringe element of the Unification and his maniacally monitored children, I imagine he would have removed what little freedoms we had sporadically enjoyed. Although lawless according to the tenets of the ever constricting societal norm, I have found the Gadlins to be more respectable than most, at least in the matters of propriety and loyalty. Once they pledge to complete a task, they do so with speed and proficiency, a quality worthy of consideration for future use.

As I reflect upon today's events, I am writing from the comfort of a virtachair in Eli's dorm, at the northeast corner of the complex. Between occasional interruptions from her prying eyes and more than occasional eruptions from my ailing intestines, I am feeling slightly more challenged than usual as I attempt to focus my thoughts on our second series of new experiences. The one that immediately presents itself is of course the much anticipated yet disappointingly horrid smoked flyer we had for midi. It came with root fingers and sweet jam that tasted more like rot fingers and toe jam. The main itself probably hadn't flown for weeks which might explain why it was attempting to do so in my stomach. Nevertheless, I find it amusing to watch Eli snare in my general direction every time she catches a whiff of the unfortunate fowl, as she unloads her share of the past from her keepsakes.

Her conversation grows suddenly sparse when she reaches the items she selected from the hidden sliderpad vault. I can hear the heartbreak imprinted in your crystal hair tresses as she fondles them gently between her trembling fingers, releasing their delicate melody. A single tear is all it seems to take for her to saturate the silk band you used to wear around your neck, with its dangling constellations suggesting an obscure fascination with otherworldly superstitions. Although I am the one who inherited your love of legends and mystical beings, it is curious that Eli shares a special fondness for this side of you, a side which she has denied any access to her waking mind. Logic is the only path she has chosen to follow, which I do believe leaves her broken and confused. I feel the conflict within her and the undercurrent of fear which plays out every night in her dreams. And now, released within the confines of an oppressed society, she clings to a reality which no longer makes sense.

She's becoming more chatty and my attention shifts to her words. "I saw her in the hovertrain," she tells me. Not entirely sure who she is referring to, I ask for clarification. "Your angel. The one who sucked the fluids from your brain yesterday on the platform, disabling your motor control system. Hehehe." Well, I knew that was coming, although I'm not sure what series of thoughts lead her mind in that direction. I momentarily disengage from my memoirs to notice her crouched down in the corner across from me, painstakingly rearranging the jumbled threads of her dreamcatcher. She appears intent on her task, though sharply cognizant of my defensive stare, as if she subconsciously knows someone is watching.

The exotic stranger. She did steal a bit of my heart, that I will admit, but turning me into a puddle of mush? Well, that's a bit of a stretch. Besides, it wasn't like that. The feeling that came over me I mean. There was joy, kindness, and a deep connection beyond the physical, something which Eli would never acknowledge. But you understand.

"Don't despair, jelly knees, you'll see her again." She says that with so much conviction that I wonder if she's hiding something, or maybe she's just toying with my resolve.

As I re-immerse myself in the events preceding yesterday's close, I realize that Eli is probably right. She likes that you know...likes being right. Although with a strong enough case and irrefutable evidence (just the facts please), her synaptic network of overactive brain cells short-circuits and makes room for new members. It happens. This particular hunch of hers however is not a subject for discussion. The city is quite populous but bounded, so I must agree with her position. It is just a matter of time before our paths cross again, and perhaps we may even share a few words. Having a friend on the inside might ease our transition.

I had begun recounting the details of our defection during the final third of our transport ride in anticipation of a certain change in my late night ritual. The unpredictability of what the second leg of our trip would bring prompted me to take advantage of any pockets of calm that presented themselves along the way. With respect to the deluge of sensations flooding our bodies as we experienced the exhilaration of our escape, I had managed to quickly outline a cursory account of our inaugural flight in the relative safety of the hovertrain as we traveled deeper into the city center.

The first drop proved to be a popular one, with more than a third of the passengers disembarking and just a few jumping on, leaving the area around us clear of unwelcome witnesses. The subsequent malfunction as the craft sped to the next platform offered the opportunity I was waiting for, and I started writing impetuously. The words seemed to flow from my pen like a wave of pristine images, crystal clear in my mind as if captured in time. I remember feeling a cool breeze brushing my shoulder and the sweet scent of myrrh as she walked passed, filling a seat near the front. I kept my focus on the page, trying to ignore her penetrating gaze, while Eli, as evidenced by her comments tonight, had no doubt taken special note of our secret admirer.

I had just scripted what became the closing thought of the day, when the power returned and I caught a glimpse of the fluttering tails of her silky black coat gliding down the exit. In an instant, she was gone, and we were one stop away from a much anticipated rest, her perfume still tickling my nose and directing me back to a flash of a little boy sleeping peacefully in your arms.

The exit vent will take some getting used to. Just as the hovertrain's arrival gave warning of the impending lift, the fare collector buried in the armrest of each seat signaled the goodbye plunge. This time, Eli was the one caught off her guard when she sprang back into her body while I simultaneously dropped out of mine. What a rush! I can see why the Gadlins steer clear of the local transfers, wanting to avoid a painful retreat into a violent past. Although the shafts into the dungeons were long in comparison, their cells' RNA houses the spirit shattering memories of their distant kin. Fortunately, the wayfaring ways of their people keep them safe from further harm and preserve the belief structure of their ancestors.

After the blood had returned to my limbs, I reached for Eli's hand and we darted towards the hostel which was to be our refuge for the night. Although evening had not yet settled in, neither of us had slept since the morning prior, notwithstanding Eli's feeble attempts through the outlying islands. The provisions we had packed were plentiful, so after we had secured a pass to our room from the glassy-eyed elder who welcomed us in, we quickly devoured our meal and fell fast asleep, cushioned on the soft warm surface of a large magnoform. We were so exhausted in fact that we had not even noticed the frame in the outside wall until the next day when we headed for the Museum of Antiquities.

By the morning fog, our senses had fully absorbed our new surroundings and we proceeded towards the doorstep of my first career. As I stood mesmerized by the sheer density of the brume, someone tapped me from behind and started peddling his wares. I politely declined and continued walking along the building scaffold, yet was unable to escape this person that I could not see. Eli kept giggling as I repeatedly attempted to swat his invisible hand while he tapped and he flapped, trailing my steps as I became increasingly irritated. "It's a versal shame, young man, not to give this a try. I guarantee by the roots of my hairs that one swig of this ale will relieve all your cares." It's all he kept chanting. When the fog finally lifted enough for me to confront the assailant, my jaw dropped to my chest as I realized we had been flanking the side of a holowall. By this time, Eli was getting excited and begging for us to stop and have some fun with it, but my appointment was near, so we left the play for another day.

We reached the city's core with a few minutes to spare, so we took the time to marvel at the architectural masterpieces that lay before us, framed against the trailing haze of the rising fog. The buildings had been raised from the depths of the sea, refurbished, then sealed to protect the intricate stone carvings interspersed throughout their facades. The yellow stains caused by the Great Smoke of Ages and which marred the fabric of the city landscape were nowhere to be found. It is inspiring to see that the lore of our past holds a commanding position in the ranks of this urban life, and humbling to stand witness to the extraordinary artistic accomplishments of our creative ancestors. I could have lingered for hours, lost in the stories of the epics I had read, but the curator was waiting, and Eli was waving. Off we scurried through the arches of the museum's marble gate.

There was no hiding the surge of pure adrenaline raging through my body as we breached the threshold of the Great Hall. The colorful canopy of painted scenes high above our heads kept our eyes fixed skyward, to the peril of my shuffling feet. A hop and a skip saw me falling into the arms of my new mentor. "Crap!" is all I could muster as he frowned.