novelnext Chapter 213:9.4: The Garden
Chapter 213:9.4: The Garden
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Deliberation of the Paridisas Gardeners
Muzazi gulped, his mouth curiously dry. "Destroy… the Final Church?"
He had passing familiarity with the GID -- the spymasters of the Supremacy -- but even for them this operation seemed somewhat extravagant. From what he understood, their work usually involved the assassination of foreign nationals or the extraction of useful intelligence, not the destruction of enemy states outright. Was it really something that could be accomplished?
Whatever the case… orders were orders.
Lyons chuckled, raising his hands good-naturedly, but the expression didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Oh, please, don’t worry about that, haha! I don’t expect you to single handedly blow up the entire Final Church or anything like that. I was just hoping you could help us out here and there. Like a… part-time job or something."
Muzazi straightened up -- and once again, went to rest his hand on a sword that was no longer there.
"As a Special Officer of the Supremacy…" he mumbled, still shaking off some of the liquor. "I am duty-bound to assist. Please, what do you need?"
Please, give me something you need. Please, give me orders. Please, give me a reason to exist here. Please. Please.
He blinked blearily. How long had it been since he’d last slept?
"I’m glad you’re so agreeable," Lyons said, leaning back in his seat. "As I said, it’s just a few small matters we need taken care of. Prerequisite conditions that need to be cleared before the main event, if you like."
Blue light washed over him from the monitors surrounding his desk -- when Muzazi glanced at them, he saw that they were displaying video feeds from numerous cameras throughout the Truemeet. Crowds aboard the Menagerie, solemn gatherings aboard the Deus Nobiscum, empty corridors and server rooms aboard the ELIZA. There were even shots from the outer hulls of the connected ships, observing the smaller vessels keeping orbit.
One monitor, however, was completely black -- save for the golden figure standing at its centre, right at the core of the void. A figure with black armour and a one-eyed helmet, a shining sword in his hand. The man he’d seen back aboard the ruined Arrowhead.
Nigen Rush.
"Don’t trust him," the long-dead swordsman said. "You mustn’t trust him."
Lyons blinked, cocking his head slightly. "Do you have a query, Mr. Muzazi?"
Muzazi shook his head, rubbing his head with one hand. When he looked again, the screen was instead showing a feed from one of the Menagerie’s marketplaces.
"I’m sorry," he mumbled. "It’s been… it’s been a tiring time for me recently. But it will not impact my performance -- I’m prepared to do what needs to be done."
"Excellent!" Lyons smiled, blue eyes twinkling in the dim light. The smile was short-lived, though, and his face soon fell into businesslike neutrality. "By the by, I understand your last reported activity was heading to the planet Panacea, with your partner in tow. I can’t help but notice you are now alone, Mr. Muzazi."
A cold chill settled over Muzazi’s back, and his hands began to shake. For a second, he could swear he still felt the grainy texture of that silent dust on his fingers.
"Yes…" he whispered, staring down at the floor. "Yes, there were circumstances… I…"
Jean Lyons did not blink. "I think it’s best if you explain to me exactly what happened, Mr. Muzazi."
Slowly, Muzazi nodded, and he opened his mouth.
For a long time, Mila had assumed that the majority of pre-Thousand Revolutions history had been tainted by the efforts of the era’s propagandists -- especially when it came to the Gene Tyrants.
The way she saw it, there was simply no way beings as casually cruel and eccentric as the Gene Tyrants of legend could have existed. They wouldn’t have been able to form a functioning government, for one thing, and it was unlikely that people so dysfunctional would have been able to advance to the Gene Tyrants level of technology in the first place.
After meeting Dr. Cloud, however, she’d started to question that view.
"Aether," the bald man sighed passionately, his arms spread wide as he pranced throughout the laboratory. "A light of the mind. H.H. Guilford called it that in his famous memoirs -- did you know that, dear? I think it’s an apt description, too, but only-at-the-surface-level."
His way of speaking, speeding up and slowing down seemingly at random, was a stark contrast to his mundane appearance -- little more than a drab sweater, some pants, and an old lab coat.
"Dear? Dear, did-you-know-that?" Dr. Cloud repeated with a sudden sense of urgency, whirling around to face Mila. His eyes were nearly bulging out of their sockets. "Did you know?"
Mila nodded, holding her script up to her chest. "Yes, sir. You’ve explained this before."
"Oh, oh, excellent…" Dr. Cloud muttered, turning back around.
Cloud’s laboratory wasn’t aboard the Menagerie itself -- it required more secrecy than that -- but instead an anonymous ship flying separately, it’s signatures changed hourly. Despite that fact, however, space wasn’t limited in the slightest: Gertrude Hearth had spared no expense when it came to her pet genetic engineer.
The walls on one side were lined with consoles and analysis equipment, ready to receive any samples that prompted Cloud’s curiosity. On the other side of the room, shelves were fully stocked with glass jars containing grotesque and short-lived specimens, brought into this world and taken out of it in this very same room.
And then, looking down from the ceiling, was Helga’s tank. Whenever she was here, Mila avoided looking up -- for fear she’d see open eyes glaring down at her.
An irrational fear, but she still dreamed of it.
"For a long time," Dr. Cloud continued to prattle on, throwing himself back into a seat and putting his feet up. "I actually despaired when it came to my Aether re
Hamashtiel took in a deep breath through his nostrils, and felt wet sand beneath his toes.
As he looked down the length of the golden beach, he saw no trace of civilization or infrastructure. There were only dunes of sand, the occasional scuttling crab, and the soft waves of water trickling past his feet. The sun hung low on the horizon, dying the planet in orange glory.
In the original memory, there had been a ship here too, but Hamashtiel had decided to erase it from this recreation. It would spoil the landscape, after all.
Hamashtiel Nurata had come to this uninhabited planet with his son once, and now Hamashtiel took on a child’s form as he walked that same shore. Everything seemed so much bigger from this small shape, every distance so much more insurmountable… he wondered if this remembered weakness was where the feeling of wonder came from.
He reached down with a small hand and scooped up some of the saltwater, enjoying the sensation of the liquid against his skin. It was simulated, of course -- just like everything in the Garden -- but Hamashtiel liked it all the same. It wasn’t as if he had much else to compare it to.
Right now, he was in a private instance within the Garden -- the virtual world that was the pride and joy of the Paradisas. In truth, it was more like layers and layers of worlds piled on top of one another, designed to accommodate the whims of its inhabitants. And then, of course, there was what those layers formed a shell around…
Hamashtiel banished the thought from his mind. It would only depress him, anyway.
At any rate, that was how Hamashtiel walked a beach that no longer existed. From what he understood, an industrial accident ten years ago had reduced this place to a wasteland. This beach had become little more than a toxic reef, and yet the memory of it remained unblemished within the Garden. Improved, even.
An alert popped up in the back of his consciousness, informing him that the time to meet with Mr. Mestrilyn was approaching. He’d been conducting negotiations with the mining magnate for some time now, and was confident he’d be able to close a deal with this final meeting. Mestrilyn’s product would be extremely useful in expanding the Garden’s server infrastructure. The task had been assigned to him by Apexbishop Asmagius himself, and Hamashtiel had no intention of disappointing.
The logout process from the Garden began, and the beach disintegrated around him.
First chunks of the ground began to collapse in on itself, leaving black and empty voids, then even the sky began to crack and shatter, shards of it floating up into an identical darkness. In the moment before the logout was completed, Hamashtiel could see the ocean floating free, unburdened by geography or geometry, until…
…it too fell into the abyss.
"Gotta say," Ruth frowned, scratching her head. "This doesn’t really feel like a religious kinda thing."
"Well," Skipper cracked his neck as he adjusted his tie. "The Paradisas like to do things their own way. I guess living inside a video game makes you lose touch with the outside world, yeah? Hey, Hadrien, how am I looking?"
"Like you’ve murdered that tie," Dragan replied truthfully.
"I think you look fine, Mr. Skipper," Serena smiled sweetly. "Maybe not good, but… yeah, fine!"
The four of them were in an elevator heading to the main floor of the ELIZA’s welcome reception. Only a few levels of the Paradisas ship were open to visitors, so they planned to infiltrate the party and then use Gemini World to proceed to the room they actually needed.
From what Skipper had said, this party was something of a suit and tie affair. And so Dragan had spent the last few excruciating hours at a tailor on the Menagerie. He really didn’t get paid enough for this, in that he didn’t get paid at all.
He adjusted his own red bow tie, brushing some of the inevitable dust off his black suit. He swore that the thing was a size or so too big for him, but they hadn’t exactly had the time to get anything individually fitted.
Unsurprisingly, Skipper had put a greater deal of time and effort into his own attire. If not for the green tie that he’d mangled -- and indeed, now ripped off and stuffed into his pocket -- he’d cut quite the striking figure. A black waistcoat with a green trim over a white dress shirt. With his dark hair tied back into a ponytail, he almost looked like he could have been a businessman rather than a menace.
Serena was wearing a pink-and-white dress with a smile on her face, thoroughly made up. Even with the high heels she was wearing, she was hopping up and down on the spot without any signs of difficulty. Needless to say, Bruno had made himself scarce.
Ruth, to be blunt, looked like a caveman that had been thawed out of a block of ice and stuffed into a dress. She continued to scratch her head in annoyance, slouching, and despite the fact they were meant to be in disguise she’d refused point-blank to abandon her combat boots.
"How do you know where this meeting’s taking place, anyway?" Dragan asked, glancing up at Skipper.
Skipper tapped his nose. "Oh, I have my ways, Mr. Hadrien."
Ruth snorted, adjusting the strap of her dress for what felt like the fifth time that minute. "He probably broke into this Mestrilyn guys house or something, stole his schedule." She too looked up at him. "Right?"
Skipper smirked. "’Breaking in’ implies I left evidence. I infiltrated."
"Fantastic," Dragan raised an eyebrow. "And without telling any of us about it, too. What if you had been caught? We’d all be screwed."
"Well," Skipper waved a dismissive hand. "I took that into account. Don’t worry about it."
Dragan rolled his eyes. As per usual, Skipper was making moves without telling anyone. There were only so many times he could wave that hand of his before it got old.
But perhaps the time for that confrontation was not on an elevator in the Paradisas headquarters. For the time being, Dragan would keep his mouth shut.
There was a ding from the elevator, and the doors began to slide open. Dragan gulped.
Time for the party.