Clay descended two floors, then decided it was best to find a more clandestine way down than an open stairwell when two separate armies were looking for him. He paused momentarily on the landing. The city was quieter now than a few moments earlier, as if he and Ursza had been a stone in a lake that was only now settling back down. Readying his plaser, he casually exited the stairwell and walked through two empty apartments and down a sparsely populated hallway into the neighboring quarter. Unlike earlier, people now huddled in corners, cowered from the sight of his weapon, and closed curtained doorways when he passed. The tone of the entire city had instantly changed. News had spread fast.
He found a spiral staircase in the corner of a kitchen where a woman was rinsing beans and followed it down two levels, emerging in a makeshift schoolroom of some sort. The only exit led through a library, a temple, a dry goods merchant, and finally a narrow hallway that ended in stairway leading back up. Having no other choice, he took it, passed down a long hallway, through an apartment with a family of four eating dinner, and found himself back at the top of the spiral staircase in the kitchen where the old woman was still preparing beans.
Adrenaline had begun to wear off, he decided. He would naturally start feeling the fatigue of being up for nearly 48 hours straight now. Obviously, this neighborhood was a self-contained dead end. He needed to get back to the main stairwell, descend further into the city, and try again. He thought back, remembering the empty living spaces and the long hallway. That’s what he needed to find. He took the spiral staircase down, repeated the same pattern, and ended up back where he started in the same community kitchen.
The woman with the beans glared at him. “Are you going to walk the same path again and hope it magically changes for you?” an elderly woman said from the doorway.
“I assume the main stairwell is concealed, and I’m merely missing the obvious.”
The woman smiled. “You’re an outsider? The one the others seek?”
“I’m an outsider. Just trying to get home.”
The woman nodded. “The Eyes told us about you. The city is defending itself.”
Clay scoffed. “What did the Eyes tell you?”
“That you are very generous with money. You realize everything is communal here in the city. We don’t use currency. Only an outsider would be so generous, and only an outsider would wander the upper levels this late at night.”
“Neither was my intention, I assure you.”
“Never is.” The woman motioned for Clay to follow her into the library. She slid a blue tapestry aside, revealing a narrow corridor. “When defending, blue are doors. Blue solids are open. Blue with another color is a protector. Except red. Blue with red marks traps.”
She pointed to the bottom-right corner of the tapestry, where the pattern had been torn off and replaced with a patch of solid blue.
Clay followed her several dozen meters until the corridor opened into one of the wide “main-street” style passages, well-lit with food stalls and shops all along its length. She led him past the large stairwell and went all the way to the end, to a balcony overlooking one of the open park areas. A makeshift stairway lead from the balcony down to ground level.
“We can’t take that. It’s too open. If they spot me—”
The woman pushed on the wall next to Clay, and it suddenly pivoted, revealing a spiral staircase downward. “Brick walls are walls, except when there is one white brick.” She pointed to a discolored brick near the top-right corner of the false wall and motioned for Clay to follow her down.
The staircase ended at what Clay estimated to be the halfway point between the roof and ground level. He scanned the corridor, narrower than the one they left at the top, and more sparsely populated. The woman pressed a panel revealing another false door, this one leading to a block of communal living areas — multiple living rooms and bedrooms around a single bathroom and kitchen. A dozen or so people sat in one of the living rooms singing a song, playing stringed instruments, and makeshift drums. The woman smiled, bowed slightly, and continued through. Clay apologized and followed her.
“Do not apologize,” the woman scolded. “Nod respectfully and exit as quickly as possible.”
“I didn’t want to offend—’
“You offend by opening your mouth and demanding they stop and acknowledge you.”
They exited into a long, dark corridor. Clay saw light at the far end, a dozen meters away, and heard shouts and screams coming from that direction.
“Tokusha,” Clay whispered, “we can’t go that way.”
“There is no other way,” the woman said and continued toward the crowd.
They exited the corridor into a wide communal area where ten separate streets converged under a low, claustrophobic ceiling. Clay could make out the main stairwell down one of them. The area acted as some kind of market. Carts and crates were overturned, armored soldiers were beating a man, demanding to know if he was hiding the girl, Ursza. The man merely whimpered and said nothing. The woman who had been leading Clay made a sound that was a cross between a whistle and a hiss to catch the attention of two other men, obviously locals, eager for a fight, and looking for encouragement. She grabbed a long-handled broom from the ground and tossed it to the closest one. He snapped it in two over his knee and threw one piece back to her with a grin.
All three charged into the fray, swinging effectively, even getting stabs in the soft spots between the soldiers’ armor plates. This was no simple resident. This woman had been well-trained in hand-to-hand combat. Only her age slowed her down. Within seconds, the Tokusha had forgotten their prey and were focused on the three fighters.
Clay used the distraction to head for the nearest passageway out of the fray. If the woman were dumb enough to fight men in armor with big guns, she deserved what she got. He only cared about getting to ground level and out of the city. As he exited the market, he found himself face-to-face with two armored Tokusha troops, rifles at the ready. All three froze. Clay stared deep into the man’s eyes as his hand instinctively went for the pocket carrying the sidearm. The guard said nothing, looked Clay up and down, gaze lingering on his gun hand momentarily, then, with a quick shove, he pushed Clay to one side and continued into the open area.
Something was off, Clay thought. His face had been all over the public newsnet for days now as the presumed murderer of Nils Hoeffer. It seemed highly unlikely that the soldier didn’t recognize him, and Tokusha didn’t impress him as having too many incompetent members in their ranks. He was certain this was a setup of some sort.
The alleyway continued for several dozen meteres, and the sounds of the uprising gradually faded into the background din of the city’s machinery — water, air, circulation, and poorly maintained power systems. He entered into an empty living area, a half-eaten dinner sat on an end table, and a weathered gray coat sat draped over a threadbare chair. He quickly removed his own brown duster and picked up the coat. It smelled like a wood fire and some sort of earthy spice he didn’t recognize. As he started for the exit, he nearly collided with an elderly man, who stared at the coat.
“I’m sorry,” Clay said, reaching into his pockets and pulling out the last of his credslips.
“It’s fine,” the man said, holding up his hand. “I see you need it more than I.” A thin smile crossed his face.
Clay nodded respectfully and started out of the room.
“If you are in trouble,” the man called after him, causing Clay to halt, “I would take the staircase behind the teahouse counter.”
Clay nodded again and pressed on. Eventually reaching a small room with a half-dozen tables and a young girl boiling water in a kettle over an old-style gas burner set on a counter. Behind her, a blue tapestry hung on the walls next to a trellis that housed a variety of plants. He nodded politely, avoiding eye contact, and slid the tapestry to one side. As described, a narrow staircase led down three levels. He heard chattering and saw light at the bottom. He started down, noting the creaking and swaying of the structure around him, as if it were about to collapse at any moment.
The stairway ended behind an herb stall in a market area. Two Tokusha walked slowly through the crowd, questioning various individuals as they passed. There seemed to be no consistency or process in their selection of whom they spoke to. Clay strode nonchalantly to the nearest exit opposite the pair’s direction of travel. As he passed, he noted one of the soldiers watching him the entire way, though they did not stop or even change their pace.
He kept his gaze focused on his exit, but in his mind, he began analyzing the entire room, keeping tabs on the Tokusha using any reflective surface he could find in case they turned back and decided to follow him. The civilians here were calmer than they were above, but be stayed alert, waiting for one to betray him if the Tokusha pressed the issue.
A familiar face in the corner of room triggered his reflexes: Joathan … he wasn’t sure which number. Urza had implied there were at least four, and only two were known to be deceased. Jonathan moved toward the exit to cut Clay off. There would only be seconds.
He gripped the plaser in his pocket and powered it up, ducked, and darted for the exit to his left, knocking over a young woman as he charged. He heard the commotion of Jonathan pushing his way through the crowd to get to him.
Clay continued through the exit into a long hallway. This was not good. No cover, no obvious side exits where he could lose his pursuer. He blindly fired half a dozen shots behind him, not even thinking of the potential danger of the locals in the room. There were no civilians on Notosia, he told himself.
He heard a faint whizzing move past his ear, and the distinct tink of a neelder bolt bouncing off the wall next to his head. This was followed by two more shots that continued past him up the hall. He ducked and did his best to run serpentine in the confines of the hallway. He saw light and larger room with people walking around ahead of him, there were just a dozen more steps to go, but Jonathan’s footsteps were growing louder.
Clay’s foot slipped in a puddle of some sort of runoff, and he stumbled the last few steps into what appeared to be a gaming parlor. He turned and crouched next to the doorway to catch his breath for a few precious seconds. When Jonathan came bounding through the entryway, Clay leaped, grabbing his gun hand and slamming him into a table. Cards flew everywhere, and players shouted curses at the pair as he wrestled the younger man. Jonathan’s hand gripped Clay’s throat tightly, while Clay pounded Jonathan’s face repeatedly with the butt of his plaser. Eventually, Jonathan’s grip loosened, and Clay rolled over onto his back, gasping for air.
At once, a man and a woman walked up to Clay. The woman began tying Jonathan’s wrists with a fiber rope of some sort. The man extended a hand, offering to help him up. “It is not safe. You must keep moving Agent Clay. Cerberus will come for you now.”
Clay slowly got to his feet and regarded the man. “How do you –”
The man nodded passively. “The Eyes are everywhere in this city. We must hurry.” He gestured toward one of the gaming tables. The players stood, slid the table to one side, and lifted the rug beneath it, revealing a trap door. “Go,” the man said, pointing. “ That way, to the passage’s end.”
Clay did as instructed and climbed down into the trap door. It was a utility chase of sorts, only big enough for him to crawl on hands and knees between water lines and drain pipes. The chase gave way to a passage tall enough to stand up in, but so narrow that Clay had to scoot down it sideways. Occasionally, light would seep through cracks, and Clay could see he was walking between walls through the middle of the city.
A light appeared ahead. Someone had moved a tapestry aside. He continued to scoot sideways until he came to the opening. It was a large library room, not unlike the one where he first met Ren. Four people, three men and one woman, sat at tables around the room. One of them had a shaved head and wore a leucotome similar to Ren’s. He rose and walked over to greet Clay as soon as he entered.
“Agent Clay, welcome. I am Koji. I am the dex for this part of the city.”
“How the hell do you know who I am?”
“Ren told us of you.”
“I thought you guys wiped your memories after conducting business.”
“We do, but we share important information first, especially if it could bring fire down on our city.”
Clay shrugged. As far as a moral code went, at least that one seemed sensible. “So, you guys are the Eyes of Baal, then?”
“In a sense, all of the dexes are, yes. Though we are merely one function, not the whole. Our task is to keep track of the names, relationships, and locations of as much of the population as we can – the index, if you will.”
“That’s great, can you make me disappear? I’ve got Tokusha and Cerberus after me.”
“The Tokusha are not after you,” a woman sitting at a desk in the corner said. She sat transfixed in a vid display and didn’t even bother to look up. “They only wanted the girl, and they captured her in the southeast park. They’re all withdrawing as we speak.”
“No, they’ll come after me next. I murdered Nils Hoefer.”
“The man who killed Nils Hoefer was arrested several hours ago,” a man on the opposite side of the room said as he grabbed a newsfeed story from a list and threw it towards the middle of the room, where it assembled into a holodisplay of Tokusha manhandling a muscular man with short spiky hair. The caption read:
Sol Division Spy Who Murdered Nils Hoefer and Stole Project Keraunos Arrested on Notosian Soil.
The man looked nothing like Clay. Yet, the summary gave a very accurate history of his career, including high-level details of many classified missions that had never been released in any public forum.
“They just arrested an innocent man they thought was me? Why?”
“I doubt he was innocent. This is Prevo and Mother Eye. You can bet there’s a public relations reason for that arrest, that person, this time, and the ‘official’ story behind it.”
Clay sat back in his chair. “So, the government knows who I am and why I’m here. They also want everyone else to think they have Keraunos and me in their possession.”
“They want people to know they have it, so they will stop looking for it. They’re inspiring fear.” The man said.
Clay shook his head. “That might work, but only if they actually had it, or me. To my knowledge, they don’t have either. This is a strange escalation. I would have expected them to keep things quiet and let the factions fight among themselves..”
“Then perhaps this will provide some answers,” Koji said, pulling up an incoming transmission. “The Raven sends his regards and asks what the time on Mount Pilatus is. He wishes to have a meeting to discuss the current situation. He suggests 11 hundred hours tomorrow morning at the Nakano Municipal Museum of Antiquity. He assures me he intends you no harm and merely wishes to meet you, and should you prove the man he believes you to be, strike a bargain that would be mutually beneficial to you both.”
“I’ve heard that name before, from Berger. Who is the Raven?”
“He is one of Chancellor Prevo’s enforcers. He has a reputation as one of the more resourceful ones.”
Clay stroked his beard. The government could have had the Tokusha take him a half dozen times in the past hour, but instead they called them off and requested a clandestine meeting. Multiple competing factions made the most sense, but Clay still struggled to craft a narrative from it.
“Send a message to this Raven. Tell him I will be there.”He turned over the lotus in his hand, resolved at last over what he had to do tomorrow.
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