Aetheral Space

Chapter 212:9.3: My Abyss

And in that moment, when I reached the peak of Mount Pilto, I was reborn.

It was so perfect -- the snow beneath my feet, the sea of trees that spread out before me, the clouds swirling through the sky. Even the tweeting of the birds which had irritated me moments ago now seemed magnificent. It was like the entire world had been arranged just for that one transcendent moment.

I knew, then and there, that all the assets I’d spent my life to accrue were nothing more than worthless numbers. This view, this existence, was the true treasure. Everything I could see was Y, and it always had been.

Even the reflection of it in my eyes was Y itself.

Memoirs of David Har Malcroft, Former Humilist Apexbishop

Atoy Muzazi was in

"What people sometimes need to understand," Gertrude gently interrupted. "Is that necessity often trumps what’s right and what’s wrong. Please, though, go on, dear."

Gertrude Hearth’s gaze was like a magnifying glass incinerating an ant.

Mila swallowed, steeling herself before she continued: "I believe the time has come to release Helga Malwarian -- or at least to change the terms of her punishment. Right now, it is cruel and unusual."

The cat cocked her head. "Cruel and unusual? How’s that? Forgive me if I’m wrong, but hasn’t Malwarian been unconscious since she was brought in? I’m a little confused, how can someone be punished if they aren’t aware of anything?"

"She’s been kept unconscious," Mila forced out. "That in itself is the punishment --"

"Hardly cruel and unusual, then," Gertrude sipped her tea. "Fairly light, if I say so, especially in response to treason."

Treason.

The events of Yoslof ran through Mila’s mind in an instant, a horror show all in fast-forward. The Special Officer that had terrorised her friends, the red shadow that had betrayed them to him, and…

…and the moment that shadow had revealed itself as Helga Malwarian. The woman she’d loved.

"It’s surprising to me that I’m hearing from you about this, if I’m quite honest," Gertrude went on, carefully sipping her tea. "When young Aiden first brought Malwarian to the Forgiveness Corps for arrest, you petitioned quite heavily to remain by her side, didn’t you? You didn’t seem to think the punishment was cruel and unusual, then."

She’d already heard nasty rumours at that point, about the upper echelons of the Humilist faith, about the corruption in the Forgiveness Corps, about what happened to inconvenient people when you took your eye off them.

Despite everything, despite what Helga had done, Mila had simply found herself unable to leave her to that fate. And yet it had happened all the same.

Mila put her own cup back down on the table with great force, Gertrude’s feline ears twitching from the sudden loud noise. She summoned the courage she’d been building ever since she requested this meeting, and spoke.

"It’s a matter of duration," she said. "When Helga was first given to Dr. Cloud as a test subject --"

"-- for observation only," Gertrude interrupted. "No actual testing has been performed on the woman --"

"As a test subject," she insisted. "It was under the terms that it would be for a limited amount of time. I’ve worked with Dr. Cloud for the last year and I can confidently say he has no intention of giving up useful test subjects. He will continue to hold her on a permanent basis. Permanent imprisonment as a human guinea pig, without trial or parole: that is what I class as cruel and unusual."

She didn’t realise at first, but as she spoke, she slowly stood up in her seat -- passion prompting movement. Her breath shaky, she slowly sat back down.

But she already knew. All the passion in the world wouldn’t sway these people. She’d left Serendipity to escape the corruption of the medical profession there -- but she understood now. It didn’t matter where you went or how pure its ideals were: over time, institutions accumulated corruption as houses accumulated rot. It was inevitable.

And the place she’d found herself in was very old indeed.

"What you need to understand," Gertrude said softly, as if explaining the matter to a child. "Is that Dr. Cloud is one of the foremost genetic engineers in the galaxy. It’s a miracle we have him now, rather than the Superbians. We need to keep pace with them when it comes to technology. If not, they will surely surpass us. If Dr. Cloud’s price for his continued brilliance is a test subject or two, well, I’m afraid we must simply swallow our pride and acquiesce."

Mila glared down at the table, her fists balled on its surface. "So that’s it, then?" she muttered. "Keeping her asleep to satisfy some mad scientist."

"I’d hardly call him ’mad’, but yes, that’s the gist of it. Unless you have something better to offer me?"

"Huh?" Mila looked up, a foolish spark of hope flickering in her brain.

Gertrude stared at her, unblinking. "If there’s something of equal value to Dr. Cloud you’d be willing to offer me, I’d be happy to consider it. You’re from the UAP originally, aren’t you? Your father was a famous surgeon there, and worked with many prominent individuals. Perhaps in living with him, you yourself became privy to some confidential matters? I’d love to hear about them if so."

Ah. So, in the end, that was why the cat had accepted this meeting. To try and restock some of her blackmail. To exchange one piece of dirty business for another.

Well, Mila had nothing to tell her -- and even if she did, she was far too sick to her stomach to speak.

"No," she replied, her voice dull. "I don’t know anything like that."

Gertrude’s ears flattened as she smiled sadly. "Then I suppose we have nothing else to talk about, do we, dear?"

When Atoy Muzazi’s drifting consciousness -- victim to drunkenness and head trauma -- finally came back into focus, he was already sitting in the back of a police car.

His head hurt, but that was no surprise. His hands were bound, but with ordinary handcuffs -- no Neverwire. It would be child’s play to snap them with his Aether, but Atoy Muzazi did not move. Even the idea of mustering that much effort seemed sickening right now.

The streets gently moved past outside the window, the countless lights of the city forming an indistinct haze before Muzazi’s eyes, punctuated by the shadows of passing pedestrians. They weren’t moving particularly fast, but he supposed they were surrounded by crowds -- no doubt the officer didn’t want to risk running anyone over.

Muzazi’s headache eased, just a little, and he glanced up to the front of the car. There was only one officer up there, a young man driving the vehicle, and every now and then he was giving Muzazi a cautious glance back through the rearview mirror.

Foolishness. An officer should always have a partner…

"I suppose I’m under arrest?" Muzazi spoke through a throat that felt like sandpaper, his cheek pressed against the cool window. They were entering an area with less people, and the vehicle was speeding up appropriately.

"Ayup," the officer said, eyes on the road.

Muzazi blinked. "By whom, if I may ask?"

"Forgiveness Corps."

"That’s… Humilist, isn’t it?"

"That’s right."

Atoy Muzazi had no opinion on that information. The questions left his mouth, and he received and understood the answers, but he simply and honestly did not care about them at all. If the officer had refused to answer, or even lied, he probably wouldn’t have even registered it.

The car slowed down, and finally stopped. Had they arrived? No matter. Muzazi simply continued to stare into the pitch-black on the other side of the window.

"Damnit," the officer muttered -- and then there was the sound of him lowering his window. "Hey!" he called out. "You guys need to move this stuff!"

Footsteps, and then a gruff voice next to the car. For Atoy Muzazi, the whole world had become some kind of audio drama.

"Transport accident along the road," the gruff voice said. "Got cargo scattered a ways -- we called ahead and got approval from the Corps for a clean-up. They didn’t tell you guys?"

The officer sighed. "Of course they didn’t. You got papers?"

A chuckle. "Sure. Here you go."

Click.

For a split second, reflex took over, and that familiar noise jolted Muzazi back into awareness, his gaze instantly moving to the sound’s location.

The barrel of a silenced pistol was peeking through the crack in the window, inches from the officer’s face. Face pale, the young man slowly raised his hands in surrender.

"Okay now," he said carefully. "Let’s not --"

His head snapped back as he was shot between the eyes -- and yet his body stayed in place, held up by his seatbelt. A meaty hand wormed its way through the open window, unlocking the door, opening it, and pulling the corpse free.

Muzazi had seen enough. Where reflex had revived him, self-preservation now moved him -- and with a flare of white Aether, he smashed through the car door with his shoulder and snapped his handcuffs in one smooth motion.

He skidded to a halt on the concrete outside, boots kicking up sparks behind him. His eyes flicked around, picking out details, gaining an instant understanding of the situation he’d found himself in.

It was him and two men -- short and stout types, with bushy moustaches and amused eyes. Both of them wore overalls and caps, the only difference being the colour: the one holding the officer’s body was wearing red, and the other one was wearing blue.

"Atoy Muzazi, right?" the blue man spoke, scratching his moustache.

"Name yourselves," Muzazi demanded, once again reaching for a sword that was not there. "Why did you kill that man?"

"Name’s Solstice," the red man -- Solstice -- said, lifting the dead officer up by the shoulders like he was a baby. "That’s my bro Equinox. Hey, Equinox, can I take care of this thing?" He shook the corpse in his grip.

"Huh? Oh yeah, yeah, go for it."

Muzazi opened his mouth to interrogate further -- but was interrupted by a truly incandescent blaze of light that exploded out of the officer’s corpse, like the flash of a giant camera. When it cleared, Solstice’s hands were empty, and no trace remained of the officer’s corpse.

There weren’t even ashes.

"My bro’s got a good power for clean-up, huh?" Equinox grinned, hands on his considerable hips. "Mine’s not bad, either, but for corpses his is the best."

Muzazi adopted a martial arts stance, one hand held back in a fist, the other held forward as an open palm. He wasn’t as confident with his fists as he was with a sword, but it would suffice. If it came down to it, he wouldn’t go quietly.

"What do you want with me?" he said, eyes hard.

Equinox chuckled, exchanging a glance with his brother. "Gee, bro, I think we mighta come on a bit strong. Don’t you?"

Solstice nodded sagely. "Seems to me we might have, bro, what with the murder and the incineration and whatnot. I bet he’s real confused."

"Maybe he thinks we’re here to kill him, too. Wouldn’t that be something, bro?"

"Why, bro, I do think that would be something. Nothing could be further from the truth, but --"

"Enough games!" Muzazi barked, his Aether coursing furiously around his body. "Tell me what it is you want from me -- or I will not be responsible for my actions."

"Okay, okay," Solstice chuckled, reaching into the pockets of his overalls and fumbling around there. "There’s someone who wants to talk to you real bad, buddy pal. Oh, I know I’ve got it somewhere…"

"Who?" Muzazi narrowed his eyes. "Who wants to talk to me?"

Solstice’s eyes lit up, and he pulled something free from his pocket. "There we go!" he exclaimed triumphantly. He tossed his prize onto the ground between himself and Muzazi. "There, check a look."

He glanced down at the pin that had landed on the concrete before him. Needless to say, he recognised the logo. The wide, staring eye of a watchful bird, surrounded by three rings -- one for each pillar of the Supremacy’s society.

This was the symbol of the Galactic Intelligence Division.

The building Muzazi was taken to was busier than he’d expected. It was some kind of barbecue restaurant, and already on the first day of the Truemeet it was full to bursting -- blazing with light and noise, the smell of ribs and meat pleasing to the nose.

As he and his two ’companions’ made their way through the crowded venue, they received not so much as a suspicious glance.

The back rooms of the establishment were more like what he’d expected. Solstice and Equinox led him down several dark and dusty hallways, through several password-locked doors, and finally…

"Here he is," Equinox said.

…they shoved him into the back office itself.

"Atoy Muzazi," a clear, calm voice said. "A pleasure to meet you at last."

The man who’d spoken, sitting on a chair before a network of monitors, had an… unusual appearance. Nearly everything about him was sheer white. His hair, his skin, the suit he wore… the only traces of colour on his person were the Cogitant-blue of his eyes and the black of his lips and fingernails.

He was like a sketch that hadn’t been coloured in -- or perhaps an escaped mime.

"Jean Lyons," he introduced himself, smiling. "Director at the Galactic Intelligence Division. My apologies we have to meet in such an unusual venue, but we’re currently conducting business here. We couldn’t risk anything less discreet."

Jean Lyons… the name rang familiar, yet Muzazi couldn’t recall ever meeting this man.

"You’re a spy from the Supremacy?" he asked hoarsely. "What is it you want from me, then?"

Lyons’ tight smile widened slightly.

"Well," he said. "While you’re here, we figured you could help us with any number of things. Retrieving a GID asset lost to the Humilists, eliminating some inconvenient individuals…"

His smile widened such that there was the slightest hint of a grin.

"...and bringing an end to the Final Church."

Muzazi sighed until his lungs were empty. Even he was surprised by the sheer relief in the sound. His arms swayed limp by his sides, and it felt as if the world’s greatest weight had been lifted from his back.

Orders. Finally.

There was the abyss he’d been looking for.

Mila looked up, her face coldly illuminated by the light from the stasis module. That cruel glow was the only illumination afforded to this room.

Helga Malwarian floated freely in the blue stimulant fluid of the tank, a rebreather placed over her mouth allowing her oxygen. At first glance, it seemed she had no arms at all -- but no, if you looked closer, her transparent limbs were simply refracting the fluid.

It had almost been a year now -- a year since she’d been knocked unconscious on the planet Yoslof, and kept that way by this tank. An entire year had been added to the distance that already separated them.

Tomorrow, this tank would be moved to the main laboratory again for further scans. Dr. Cloud was interested in the way Aether use interacted with genes, particularly when it came to Scurrants. He’d keep using Helga until there was nothing left to use.

She placed a hand against the curiously warm glass of the tank, staring into the blue abyss beyond.

Helga, she thought. I’ll get you out of here. I promise.

It was time to start making plans of her own.