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This is the beginning of a novel set earlier in the timeline of stories than Hellhounds. |
Hillary was mildly excited. She had gathered the several outfits she had ordered while in isolation and packed them into a backpack she had also ordered. Today was the day they were letting her out of isolation. She had few visitors and even with her less than stellar telepathy she knew they felt conflicted about her. Hillary followed the man in a business suit, who was her intake coordinator. He trotted through the hallways spouting trivia about Refuge, interspersed with information she actually needed. It was torture. She couldn’t tune out the inane verbal fluff for fear of missing information she might need. He led her to a glass walled, bus-sized elevator with seats and hanging straps. It took them up through layers of rock to what seemed like a covered terrace. The roof was at least four floors above them. The terrace was easily lit by the sunlight penetrating in from the open sides. Four stout pillars, set at the corners, held up the structure. There were other elevators leading up through the open area. The nearer the center of the area, the smaller the elevator. There were at least a dozen clear glass bubble shaped booths scattered around. People were lining up to use them and there were also stone arches which held vertical puddles of what looked like quicksilver. People entered and emerged from both sides. Her intake coordinator waved his hand in front of her face and gestured to leave the elevator. She followed him. “I don’t remember if I properly introduced myself, My name is Marvin, and I have been an assistant managing intake coordinator for twenty-four months.” Hillary sighed heavily, and mumbled under her breath, “I think you led with that...” “Oh, I’m sorry, intakes run together… This is the remembrance garden. They inscribed tiles scattered around on the pavement with the names and ranks of Factors who died in the line of duty,” Marvin stated without taking a breath. Hillary began scanning the floor beneath her for those tiles. The first one she ended up coming across read, “Jonathan Donovan, one of the founding factors. He fell trying to stop he Riiad Collective.” It was about three feet square and her intake coordinator led her right over it. Hillary couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran up her back. Visitors, and the few med-techs that she saw in isolation invariably had the horror of The Riiad Collective seeping from their minds. Marvin had led her past several people discussing the collective around a blind corner. They had fallen silent on seeing her, but their eyes yelled her guilt. Marvin led her to the nearest pillar, which wasn’t as solid as it appeared. There was a stairwell back down beneath the building. It led to a subway tunnel. “The trams go back and forth between Grand central and Hub on a twenty-minute schedule. The station in the center of hub leads down to the crashpad bays. Usually that is where we would assign you until determining your adjusted allotment, which happens when you choose a productive activity to pursue.” “Like a job?” Marvin smiled, “Basically, though the deputy chief filed for an augmented allotment for you. You will have a small studio apartment in Hub Tower Two, it is on the second level. Not the trendiest neighborhood, but it is far better than the crashpads, more space and privacy. You have your own bathroom and kitchenette.” Hillary put checking out the crashpads on her list of planned explorations. They sounded like they were better than the cardboard box she had been living in... though; she had her own coffee can to piss in…. Hillary giggled. Marvin turned back to face her just before a train pulled into the station. It stopped just shy of running through the stone wall at the end of the tracks. The train had him turn back around without comment. “This is our train.” The train was short, and they boarded near the end furthest from the stone wall. He led her to the picture window that was now the front of the train. The train filled rapidly, and the doors hissed shut. Then the train was off at a speed which blurred the walls of the tunnel. For the first mile, the walls appeared to be tile after that it was just smooth stone or concrete. Ten minutes into the ride, Hillary saw the light of another train approaching at great speed. She was sure they were going to collide until The tunnel widened and the track split. Their train went left the other train went right They passed each other before shifting back onto the same track. Hillary maintained her composure but, thought about slapping Marvin for not warning her of the split track. He sat and chuckled to himself. She got the impression he liked the idea of causing, “a code brown,” whatever that was. The rest of the ride was a non-event, including the rapid deceleration that brought her face within a yard and a half of the stone wall. It surprised her that she didn’t feel the inertial effects of acceleration and deceleration. These people had their technological ducks in a row. Marvin hurried Hillary off the train as an even larger flood of people boarded the train for Grand Central. They climbed another set of stairs to what looked like a market square. Above them by five stories was a simulated sky and streets extended beyond the market square in each of the main directions. Windows and doors opened onto catwalks. “You like the residential level,” Marvin asked after Hillary stopped to look around. “Yes, but isn’t it awfully crowded the doors and windows are practically on top of one another,” Hillary asked. “Actually, each of those doors leads to large multi-room apartments for large families. We fold space to fit more stuff into less street front,” Marvin answered, “Your apartment will look almost the same from the outside. May we continue?” Hillary nodded and followed when he continued walking. Marvin led her to a glass walled, room sized, elevator at the center of a small park centered beneath the artificial sky of the structure. The ride up was spectacular. She could see the whole level below. They rode up through a ten foot thick slab onto another level much like the one below. As Marvin lead, Hillary noticed not as many of the doors on the residential levels had windows next to them and the trim around the doors and the surface of the wall surrounding it, could be drastically different from one doorway to the next. He led her to a set of stairs up to the catwalk. She followed him up at the top until he took a right and went to a doorway surrounded in what looked like adobe with knotty pine trim. There was no window but there was a metallic square panel to the right of the door where the knob should logically be. “Here you are. Put your hand on the panel state your name place of birth and age, if you know it,” Marvin smiled and gestured. Hillary gingerly placed her hand on the panel, it tingled a bit then she stated, “I was born, Illeria Kavry, heir to the house of Kavry, on the planet Wegonga. I am not sure of my age. I have been going by Hillary Sampson.” “Welcome Ms. Sampson, I am your personal data organization program and you may call me any name you like,” A disembodied female voice stated as the door opened revealing a lovely little studio apartment. “Well, that ends my job. Your program can handle you from here…” Marvin said and then abruptly disappeared. That left Hillary as a group of one. With nothing better to do, she stepped into her new abode and began putting away her small supply of belongings. On finishing, she sighed dejectedly, “Sure, leave me all alone.” “Ms. Sampson, you aren’t alone. I am here,” a disembodied voice stated. Hillary searched the room with her eyes and her mind. There was no one there. Had she started hearing voices? “Hello?” “Did no one tell you I can help you with many things?” The voice asked. “No one has told me much of anything,” Hillary responded. She left the bedroom and entered the livingroom. “Well Ms. Sampson, I am here to keep your schedule and email in hand. I also keep track of your allotments, that is the form of currency Refuge operates with. I also casually keep track of your vital signs and the nutritional completeness of your meals to keep you healthy.” Hillary sat on her loveseat. “Excuse me, but would it be alright if I called you Kay?” “Alright, is there anything I can help you with?” “Yes, I would like to become a factor, how do I go about it?” Hillary inquired. One cupboard in the kitchenette pinged. Hillary retrieved the small jeweler's box within and opened it. The box contained a small decorative pin, it chirped, “Ms. Sampson, this is my remote access pin. With it, I can assist you wherever you go. I am certain you have seen the glass booths on the corners of the commercial levels. If you will proceed to one, I will set it to send you to the appropriate individual to make your application.” Hillary pinned the pin to her lapel and followed the instructions Kay gave until, half an hour later, she found herself standing facing a doorway labeled, “Niri Everett, Factor Training.” She knocked. The door slid open revealing a petite woman with brown pixie cut hair, “Why, hello. May I assume you are Hillary?” “Yes, this is Hillary Sampson. I called a few minutes ago,” Kay piped up through her pin. “Well, Hillary, you might not realize this, but you have a very forward program as your personal advocate. Kay told me everything we know about you and your situation. I have already discussed admitting you to the current class, but the instructors are resistant given your background. So, rather than turn you away, I am making special arrangements for your training.” “That’s it? There is no entrance test?” Hillary asked. The woman smiled, “I have found such an abject refusal to train someone often means they are the best possible candidates. Now let’s get started.” - - - - - - - - - - - - Illora awoke in a dimly lit space. It smelled of rotting corpses and the type of acrid disinfectants that no doubt burned like battery acid in open wounds. Someone had strapped her down to a metal table with restraints across her chest and forehead. Buckled straps held her wrists and ankles down. Illora couldn’t so much as turn her head. She just stared up at the blood-splattered ceiling. All she was wearing felt like a grimy hospital gown. She didn’t think she was in any kind of accredited hospital. The woman with the diamond tattoo leaned over Illora, smiling, “Welcome back. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dahlia I am the queen of the darkness. I am the one true bride of the Darkone.” Illora blinked. Her parents raised her on nightmare tales of the amorphous evil that the factors fought, known simply as the dark. “Why am I here?” Dahlia smiled, “I am very interested in your potential. You are of a rare breed. All too few Agurians have gone through a plague crisis and lived. You are the first hybrid. My master would like you to be a bride as well.” Illora felt fear like a knife slice up her backbone. She imagined all the tortures they might put her through, but she knew she wouldn’t allow herself to go over to the dark. “I thought you were his one true bride. Don’t you feel pretty crappy he wants you to soften up his next conquest?” “Child, you are not near my league. You will submit to his will, all do,” Dahlia ran her finger along Illora’s chin, “Doc, she is all yours.” A man in dark gray scrubs and latex gloves approached Illora. He manipulated the table, and it repositioned her so he could perform a female examination. When he completed it, he smiled at Dahlia who still stood near Illora’s head. “Mistress, she is pure!” “Oh, good girl, the master will be pleased! He prefers his brides are pure. He would have made an exception for you, but he won’t have to,” Dahlia ran her fingers over Illora’s bare arms. Then she took a scalpel and sliced a nick into Illora’s shoulder. She caught the blood that flowed from the wound in a small vial. “Doc, ready for phase two.” The table shook and then the head end began rising and the feet end fell. Soon Illora sat upright while still strapped firmly to the surface. She felt the doctor’s chilly hands on the back of her neck. “Mistress, once implantation is complete she will need confinement in a completely unfamiliar environment or this won’t take. Her memories will remain intact, or at least they will be retrievable.” “Understood, but I can’t afford to have this subject held in an unsecured location. I would prefer to place her with one of my operatives.” “I gave you the disclaimer. You are the one that will suffer his wrath…” Illora felt a needle pierce her skin at the base of her skull. It felt like it was digging through her flesh, taking sharp turns and driving through the base of her skull into her brain. She felt pain and pressure in her head, and then reality swirled away in a paisley haze. - - - - - - - - - - - - Teo’s infatuation for Annette consumed him. He wanted to plan the perfect date, for that he needed more information. The only other person in Refuge he knew was Max. That was why he stood in front of the door to Max’s business office. Teo didn’t know how rare it was for a factor below command rank to have a business office. He knocked on the door in front of him. It slid open, and Max’s smiling face greeted him. “Teo?” “Yes Mr. Xandari, I am trying to learn a bit more about Annette,” Teo stated. Max smirked, “Well, to be honest, the net is probably a better reference than I am. I barely have any contact with her. But, I can be a good listening ear.” “Okay, does that mean we can discuss anything?” “I can’t guarantee confidentiality, for that you need a counselor or a priest,” Max responded. “I think I love Annette. I want to plan the perfect date. I want to be her perfect match, but she is Chief Annette Peterson, and I am a refugee. I wonder if I should find my identity before I wrap myself around hers,” Teo blurted. He surprised himself with his own statements. “Well, if you don't want to be in her shadow, then that knocks out any career you might have in Refuge. I work mainly as a liaison to various intergalactic councils. Basically, I facilitate catalysts becoming factors, and factors getting independently certified as catalysts. If you want to help people, I can sponsor your training to become a catalyst,” Max stated. Teo thought it over. Since Max and Annette rescued his family from execution, Teo had craved an opportunity to pay it forward. “Where do I sign up?” Max smiled, “You just did. I can clear passage and set you up for training. The one catch is that you would have to establish residency outside of Refuge. The good news is that you can complete your training and establish your reputation out there in less than an hour Refuge time.” “I'm game,” Teo said, suppressing all second thoughts. “Don’t you want to go home and pack your things!” Teo smiled, “Max, I am a refugee, I don’t have things to speak of, at least nothing I can’t do without.” Max nodded. “Toffee, scan him for size and print him up an appropriate wardrobe,” Max said aloud. He went to his delivery cupboard and pulled out a small satchel, “It is space folded, you have an entire wardrobe and other supplies inside. Come on.” Max handed the over the shoulder bag to Teo and teleported away. Teo wasn’t the best at following teleportation trails, but he managed. In less than a blink, Teo stood next to Max in Room 52. “Good, you passed.” Teo flashed a smile, “It was a piece of pie!” “Cake, it’s cake, a piece of cake,” Max stated. Teo shrugged, “I like pie better.” “You will need to learn how to fit in to various cultures and with many species, races and nationalities. Sometimes an idiom like that can mean the difference between the success of a mission and needing rescued.” Teo nodded. Max teleported away again. Teo had a slightly harder time following his trace this time, but he arrived next to Max in another infinitely white space like Room 52. He knew it was a different location because a boardwalk extended in both directions with buildings erected alongside it. This must be the Middle of Everywhen. Myth had it that the space existed within a multidimensional creature, just like Room 52. Where the factors treated the space as an extended room, the residents of this creature treated it like another environment to colonize. “Follow me,” Max headed down the boardwalk a distance and turned off on to a side walkway that led to a small governmental complex. Max entered the nearest building set up like an earth police station. An asexual individual sat at the main desk and perked up at Max, “Yo, Max, do you have another factor for us?” “Nope, I have a catalyst we are sponsoring. He’ll need the full course of training,” Max answered. He pulled a sack out of his coat pocket and plunked it on the counter. It jingled like it was full of metallic currency. The person at the desk smiled and emptied the sack on the counter. It counted through the galactic credits and then retrieved a tablet from a desk drawer and handed it to Teo, “Congratulations on your enrollment in catalyst training. Fill out the forms and then follow the map on the pad.” Max smiled at him, “You're in, what you make of it now is up to you Teo.” Max patted Teo on the back and then disappeared. Teo swiped through page after page of questions, asking for demographic and biographical information. His glamorous life outside of Annette’s shadow had begun with a whimper. He almost teleported back to Refuge, but that is when a man identical to him entered the office. “I know what I am thinking Teo, but trust your future self. This will definitely be worth it!” Teo’s doppelganger tossed a sack into his lap. It jingled as though full of coins. “Just to get you started.” Teo’s future self disappeared. Teo stared at the open space he had occupied. Then he sat in an empty chair and settled into filling out the forms. - - - - - - - - - - - - |
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