her life must be reduced to its mere elementals. Eat, sleep…human contact, that was all there was left. He was still reluctant to admit that Maeve was impacting on his life, but he felt as though a day of reckoning was at hand. The fires that he could see burning internally in Maeve were building in him as well. These were phoenix flames; low, dark, hot, bent on creating the world anew.
Dmitry eventually found his way back to the bridge. Tark hadn’t returned yet. Apparently he was still too deeply ensnared with the investigation of the rather unseemly demise of the doctor. Personally, he figured they were both relieved that the woman was finally gone. Nobody ought to go that way, but still. He’d run across her doing more than anybody’s share of strange things. It had been his tip-off that had prompted Tark to start monitoring her communications.
Unfortunate, really, that she’d been a wacko. Dmitry had been getting the reports delivered directly to him. He hadn’t even submitted his final evaluation to Tark yet. Not much point to it now, he supposed, except to bolster the depositions given at the inquest. Not having witnessed it directly, he couldn’t quite imagine how she’d managed such a thing in such a short amount of time. It should have required more planning, but he’d not come across any hint of it in her messages.
He’d never seen something like that in his experience, so he wasn’t entirely sure. Tark would be able to tell him more details. Dmitry left forward observation in search of Tark, wanting the full truth before it got warped by too many retellings. It was barely past midday.
If he was lucky, he could catch up with Tark before he disappeared into the slew of meetings that were bound to take place. He knew he had his own long list to attend to as well, but it could wait. A little voice in his head reminded him that he was avoiding his job. It was true. He was not a fan of admin. It was not sexy. It was not fun. Loyalty and pride kept him doing it anyway.
۞
Another ship was docking, not far from the one that had stopped in with a layover; Dmitry casually noted it as he slipped through straggling clusters of onlookers. It was a moderately small sized ship, most likely a merchant looking to unload some goods. They had lucky timing. Tark had turned away a lot of traffic up until the end of the storms. He made a mental note to check and see how many new and returning sellers were due in. More work than he could shake a stick at on board this floating city.
Wallace and Julieta, at the same time, were preparing to leave that small craft. It would sit idle for however long was needed, until they were ready to turn around and go back. There would be a sizeable fee for renting the slip. Currency was, at least, one of their lesser concerns. More importantly, they had their stories ready, as well as identification cards that would withstand a fair amount of scrutiny. Wallace went off to secure the berth, coming back only minutes later, shaking his head. Julieta gave him a questioning look, which he didn’t see, so she jabbed him with a finger and asked, “What? You look like you got yourself a mouthful of dirt.” Wallace made a repulsed face.
“That’s really nasty. Can’t you come up with non-eating metaphors?” Shrugging casually, she ignored his complaint. “Anyway, I go down to get our dock keys, and paperwork, and there’s some sort of crime scene or something. I ask, and it turns out that some nut offed herself this morning. My thinking is that we should get to our rooms quick and stay as far from this part of the station as possible.” Julieta waved a letter at him.
“Not a problem, man. Master Kun gave me a letter of introduction to someone, and that’ll occupy a fair piece of time.” Wallace was struck dumb. Nobody had thought to let him in on the plan, fine, fine, but he didn’t like operating in a vacuum. Julieta chose to ignore his puppy eyes this time. She strode past him, hauling her bags behind her.
“Sure I’d love to tag along. Thanks for asking. And while we’re at it, I think we should tap-dance down the hall, singing ‘Old Man River’. Or does that go against our rules of engagement...I wouldn’t know, since things seem to get decided without me being told.”
“Get over it. That’s the least of our big deals. You know the important stuff, and what would happen if you knew all the little details is that your brain would fuse, and you’d be even more useless than you are now.”
“Fine. See what happens the next time you need me.”
“Same thing that always happens. You crack stupid jokes while I do all the work.” They made their way down the grand staircase in the center of the docking level, trying to take in everything. It was unbelievable that something so unnatural could seem so right, and spectacularly simple. The Nimitz was playing its usual siren song to these newcomers, drawing them in with a familiarity which was not true. They meandered through the various levels, and sectors, until they stumbled into the one they were looking for.
By that time, they had been noted, and reported to the duty log back in the security battalion offices. The PFC assigned to monitor new arrivals was inclined to think that the two might be smugglers. If that was the case, they were doing a shitty job at being inconspicuous. It wasn’t in their favor that they had just walked into the one place on board the Nimitz that was a known refuge for folks of a black market ilk. The PFC quickly made her report and marked it priority. She knew the XO had his eye on this place. The report circulated its way up the chain of command, garnering opinions, until it got hand-delivered to Dmitry.
“Sir? The gunny in security wanted me to forward this your way.”
“Hey, thanks, Sergeant. What the heck is this...a suspicious persons report. Ah, yes.” He looked it over. Female: late twenties to early thirties, Latin descent, black hair, dark eyes, five-six, medium build. Male: same age range, Caucasian, dark blonde, blue eyes, six-two, medium build. Business stated: commercial. Current location: Chinatown, the residence of one Mrs. Han, elder of the community, and a council member. He smiled grimly, thinking of the battles of wits he’d already engaged in with the old lady. She was canny, and seemed to enjoy stymieing his efforts. He could only keep on top of her activities and hope she’d slip up one of these days. That would have to wait for now, though.
He was too busy trying to wrap up loose ends, doing his best to get both Tark and himself out of the docking area. In response to questions on the topic of Maeve, he told his friend that she was safely asleep. Somewhere out of harm's way. Tark cast his friend a gimlet eye. This read that he wished a full explanation was forthcoming, but chose not to press it. Dmitry smiled beatifically, a feat indeed, as he knew he was anything but virtuous. However, they were back to joking around in no time; testament to their strong friendship. He handed the security report over to Tark, who shrugged at it.
“What is this supposed to be?”
“I dunno yet. It was handed over to me in my role as the man with the plan and knowledge superior.”
“I wonder why they thought to flag these two?”
“Probably because they headed straight to the place of business owned by a former arms dealer.”
۞Earthside: the Med, middle of the night.
Robert Warden stood outside, on a balcony, watching people walk along the coast. He had a sudden thought that he would dearly love to stand and throw thunderbolts at the ground below. He could already exercise powers at least as great as that. It would be entertaining to see a physical manifestation of them. The only god in my sphere, he thought cheerily, I am the Alpha, and the Omega.
He’d gotten word from his operative that the doctor no longer a problem. She’d seen to her own affairs. He’d expected this outcome, really. If fate were to have her hand, all might resolve itself with little effort. Warden appreciated that sort of synchronicity. No more loose ends, no more worries. Oh, he wasn’t worried, though, was he? No, not really. Worry was for fools and weaklings.
He sipped at a glass of mineral water, mentally cursing his decision to stop smoking cigars. He felt it was his one vice, and had only surrendered it according to the wishes of his wife. She was asleep, not more than twenty feet behind him, so angelic. She kept to the light,
too blinded by it to notice that he’d fallen into shadow. It hardly mattered anymore. As a woman, she was merely a tool, another piece of the false persona he had cultivated for around ten years.
He walked over to a small table that held a stack of books, a carafe of his water, and a sandwich. Nine people, asleep in space. For what? A couple hundred years, alongside a purpose that they must surely think pointless by now. At least one of them would know him for what he was, surely. Rubbing his temples, he considered the stories surrounding the vessel, dating back to the very moment of its inception.
At the time, none of the members of his organization had been able to get even the slightest hint as to its location. It was only generations later that information had finally been unearthed. The paranoia of his so-called predecessors had culminated in a unanimous vote for eradication of this perceived threat. By that time, no one could remember what precisely had been placed inside the metal womb. Nor why it was supposed to be so dangerous to them. Therefore, fear and violence were perfectly acceptable responses. If he’d been there, he’d have been able to tell them. He’d known what was in it. He’d known what the danger was.
He wished he had been there for all the interrogations and torture. That was more his cup of tea than all this false smiling and bureaucracy. The days of inflicting pain were far gone from his present life, at least in person. Now, he did it by signing papers, and sending disgusting creatures off to accomplish it for him.
Actually, Warden took the whole affair quite personally. He blamed himself for the rediscovery of the vessel. He’d trusted too well the decades-old reports. Having thought that the blasted thing was long destroyed, he had ignored any other scenario, probable or otherwise. It was more than inconvenient; it reflected badly.
After all, it had been his leadership that had brought in so many new people to the organization and its cause. Certainly, large bribes and carefully placed threats had helped grease the wheels as well. Warden derived small gratification from those things, though. He sighed, looking back out over the calm, gently rippled glass of the sea. The next move was up to someone else. Being on the defensive was something he hated. The only thing to do was wait, wait and see where the chips might fall.
Orders to mobilize could go out with very little lead time…perhaps it was best that the vessel had been found after all. The first initiative all those years ago had failed miserably. The organization had been forced into anonymity, trying to gain traction underground.
They had become agile, elusive, and careful. All those habits would pay dividends now, and he would have the satisfaction of seeing to the end of their only remaining threat. If his agent was as successful as to be hoped for, that would be one thing. If things went the way Warden actually expected, it would still be a success, but a far messier proposition altogether.
۞The depths of Peru.
Elsewhere, back in the heavily layered humidity of his forest home, Master Kun sat in a small temple, contemplating his situation with a characteristically open mind. He was a priest; trained to a level that he was able to serve without reservation or fear. It was a rare occasion when he would consider all the earthly trappings he had left behind whilst traveling his path. This was one of those moments.
He had family, scattered here and there, over thousands of miles removed. Amongst all those relatives were nieces, nephews, a sister, a daughter…a grandchild. Never more did he regret the distance than now, after he had sent away Wallace and