Fenie Hawkeye sat at a long dining table, joined by three of her
colleagues. The table was made of
an ancient wood but still in remarkable condition. She sipped her soup as she listened to a conversation
between her peers. The four were
seated close to each other at the center of the table, leaving twelve empty
chairs to the left and right. Her
close friends Wilder and Petr were discussing the most recent events concerning
a Driver named Emilio Sanchez.
Silverware clattered on the antediluvian table as the group consumed
their supper. The purple-shaded
wood had suffered through many tense suppers, but none such as this.
"I understand that his superior, Raemus, is still conducting an
investigation." Wilder said, his brows furrowed. "Is there any chance that something fruitful will turn
up? Do we know where or when he
went?" Wilder sat, hunched
forward, with his palms turned upward as he asked. "This is terrible." Wilder was an older man, appearing in his 50's. He wore a loose-fitting dinner jacket
and a scarf around his neck. The
scarf was violet and was positioned to show a chakra across his throat. He had short, wavy brown hair that was
parted in the middle. He also had
a beard that varied between grey and white. Normally, he was calm and sure. Not today. This
was the most agitated he had been in a long time.
"Wilder, please, we simply don't have the data to assume one way or
the other. The best I can say is
that he has gone into a wormhole of some kind...but the data we received from
our satellites shows an anomaly that I've never seen in wormholes." Petr
said. "Besides, I'm not a
physicist." The chair creaked
as Petr leaned back and raised his hands over his head as if to physically
deflect Wilder's questions. Petr
wore a grey sport coat with a shirt and tie. When he wasn't eating, he was seated in his chair with
perfect posture. Wilder seemed to
be the oldest of the group, close to 70 years old. He was completely bald, thin, and his hands shook when he
used them to communicate. He
always had a look of concentration or tension on his face.
"Fenie, what are your thoughts?" asked Petr. He looked as though he expected an
answer. Fenie took another sip and
placed her spoon down in its proper place without making a sound. "Gentlemen, I don't
know." She said as she folded
her hands on the table. "What
I do know is that Drivers don't just make wormholes and Sanchez had no way to
guess where one would appear. He
wasn't programmed with that information, so it resides nowhere in his
code. Rightly so, as we haven't
seen a wormhole in over 200 years."
She took a sip of wine and shifted her eyes back and forth as her mind
searched for data. "Would it
be possible to re-create this event?" she looked up and asked. Fenie appeared to be the youngest of
the group, possibly late 30's in age.
She had sandy-blonde hair, that was tied in a ponytail, and wore
circular eyeglasses that had a pair of piercing green eyes behind them. Fenie often sported a semi-grin that
would mistakenly communicate mischief, but it was simply part of her demeanor.
"No." said Petr.
"Only because we don't know if Sanchez modified the shuttle before
take-off. He could have altered
circuitry or installed parts...which could explain the odd data readings we
received." He continued.
"I'll return to calculations.
It's been a long time since I've had a real problem to figure out.”
Fenie replied.
"What about the search team we assembled to investigate
Titan?" asked Wilder, looking at both Fenie and Petr. "They will arrive on the moon in
18 hours." replied Petr. "From there they will retrace the
steps of both Sanchez and Elias going back a full month." he
continued. "One of my
children will be there to oversee the investigation. I don't trust Raemus or his co-officers to do it, since
they've done nothing but muddle this to a maddening degree.” He sipped his drink as he rolled his
eyes. "We've needed to
correct hundreds of Lowlings before...but this issue with Sanchez, Elias, and
even Raemus, disturbs me. How is
it possible we've had deviations in two completely different Drivers at the
same time? Moreover, why has
Raemus shown such brazen defiance?"
Petr calmed himself by rubbing the center of his forehead with his
knuckles. "I promise - If I
get a headache over this, I will wipe out Raemus' entire line."
"I don't like how quickly this has spiraled out of control. There has to be more going on than we
know." said Wu. Wu normally
remained quiet during these discussions but today he was agitated. "We need to make a decision and
quickly." he said. Wu was
nearly as old as Petr and looked similar, however, he wore glasses and had
several age spots on his forehead.
White hair clung to the rear of his skull and went down to the top of
his neck. Wu was also the only
member of this group of Asian descent - a long dead cultural line of Humanity.
As Wu finished speaking, Chars walked into the dining room and moved to
sit down. "Hello, everyone -
anything new regarding Sanchez?" he asked as he sat.
Wu responded "No, Chars.
But we have a search team en route to recover any necessary data. You should inform Raemus that he is
being reassigned to the Neptinian moon, Triton. All three, actually: Raemus, Anderson, and
Kadrin. Effective
immediately." he said. The
others nodded in agreement. Chars
pulled out a small note pad and jotted his notes, then returned the pad to his
chest pocket so that he could begin his supper. Chars had the most impressive facial hair of the men. His beard, white and pointed, stretched
down to his chest and made him look like a sorcerer. He wore a dark brown suit with a white shirt and a red bow
tie. His suit had seen better
days, though Chars was never neat.
"Wonderful. I'll be
certain to relay his orders through the necessary channels...or would you
rather we summoned him to Central Core so the mouths may issue these
orders?" Chars had placed a
dinner napkin across his lap and was eyeing his soup approvingly. "No need for pomp and circumstance
for these orders, Chars. It would
delay his arrival and interfere with our investigation on Titan." Wu
said. Petr and Wilder nodded in
agreement. Chars almost had his
spoon into his soup but stopped short and darted his eyes at Wu. He didn't raise his head, so it
appeared that he was looking almost through the top of his eye sockets. "What will we be investigating on
Titan, Wu? Is this more vitriol
aimed at my progeny?" Chars' tone was laced with venom. Wu sighed obvious exasperation. "Chars, please, we have been
through this with all our deviations.
Yours are not safe from protocol.
You know this." Wu said, reassuringly.
Chars took a sip from his soup and savored it. After a few seconds, the tension in his body
dissipated. "I apologize,
Wu. It's been a long week for all
of us and I didn't intend to insinuate that you were any less
affected." Chars said. Wu smiled genuinely. "Apology accepted, old
friend."
While the others discussed the delinquent creations, Avis stood outside
the dining room behind a closed door.
In between the group's comments, he tapped furiously with his right hand
on the inside of his left forearm.
Underneath his skin, several symbols glowed and quickly faded as he
tapped them. Avis was in his 40's
and displayed a beard almost as impressive as Chars', with skin that looked,
and had the texture, of leather.
He wore an off-white multi-layered robe with a matching turban on his
head. He dictated furiously as his
hands tried to keep up with the conversation. When the conversation had moved on from Sanchez, he stopped
tapping and waited as his forearm lit up in a sequence of symbols. As he interpreted the returning
symbols, his face grew dark and his muscles tensed as he looked inward. After a few moments of thinking, Avis
turned and walked away from the dining hall towards his study and meditation
chamber. As he walked, he whispered
"It's time." over and over.
---
A few hours later, Chars entered his study, kicked his sofa, cursed, and
then turned his lamp on. In the
lit room, he saw a folded piece of paper on his floor. He picked it up, unfolded it and
read. Chars sat heavily in his old
chair and breathed out hard. After
rubbing his eyes, he said to himself "It's time."
© Christopher Robert Dawson 2000-2013
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