Through the Singularity

by L. Frank Wadsworth

  “Oh, and you're going to teach me? Now that my knee isn't slowing me down, I can do a much better job.”

  “Show me.” Nils commands.

  “Are you serious? I'll hurt you.”

  Nils laughs. “You think so, do you? Show me.”

  To her credit, she was better with a healthy knee. But she had much to learn…

  They stop after about 30 mins of hard sparring. By the end, Cheryn is hardly holding anything back, while Nils easily deflects her most cunning attacks, patiently waiting for any opening to strike her with an expertly pulled blow—just enough of a tap to let her know. She becomes increasingly winded and eventually has to stop, out of breath, sweating profusely and frustrated.

  “I've trained with masters who were not as good as you are. And they were a lot older, more experienced. And you're not even breathing hard! You sure you're human?”

  Nils smiles. “Just as much as you are.”

  “Who trained you?”

  He purses his lips. “The truth? Friends, masters, and adversaries. I've learned from all of them.” He walks over to the bar, turns and looks at her, raising an eyebrow, “Refreshment?”

  She looks at him, trying to keep up with his changing moods, trying to figure out how this younger man just put her through her paces in a way none of her former trainers could have. She wonders why he is showing this ability to her. And now he wants to drink with her? If he wanted sex, she offered it last night, but she senses that isn't what he's after. What, then? Companionship? Friendship? She is momentarily stumped, and wary. In her life to this point, she has experienced none of these concepts. She used people, and people used her, and sometimes they each got what they wanted. She figured that was what it was all about. Is he genuine? Well, if nothing else, she is now convinced he can easily do whatever he wants to with her as she won't be able to stop him. And all he is doing with that power is offering her a drink. What the hell… “Sure, what have you got?”

  “The basics. Bourbon, rye, gin, rum. Wine elsewhere, but I admit I'm a bit of a snob, and usually only pair that with food…,” he says with natural ease.

  She almost laughs at how preposterous all of this suddenly seems. He must know because he is grinning at her. She finally can't contain herself and laughs, until there are almost tears coming out of her eyes. She has never really laughed this hard before, but it has all been too much. She doesn't really know what else to do.

  He laughs with her. “It is good to see you do that. A very wise person once told me that it is important to laugh when Creation presents you with evidence of its sense of humor.”

  She finally gets some control of herself. “Fine, I'll just have whatever you're having.” He hands her a glass of spiced rum.

  “I've always enjoyed this when drinking with a fellow scalawag. Here's to varlets everywhere,” he offers as a toast before taking a sip.

  She downs the whole shot, then looks at him. “Oops. I thought we were doing shots.” He pours her another, downs the rest of his, then pours himself another.

  “Ok, but only one more. There's someone I think you should meet.”

  Her wariness comes flooding back. “Oh yeah? Who? I still don't trust you.”

  He smiles at her again. “You trusted me enough to ask me to your bed last night,” he says without hostility. “You can trust me on this.”

  “I was weak last night and figured you wanted something. And it’s been a long time, you know, and you ain't bad looking. But that doesn't mean I trust you with exposing me to people I don't know. Who is it you want me to meet?”

  “Someone I trust.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Precipice

  “Mom, there is something I still can't figure out. My first mission on Earth. How was my waverider sabotaged? I think we would have detected a ship large enough to nullify my waverider's graviton fields, so it had to have been sabotage. Assuming the person doing this is an outcast, they shouldn't have been able to access the ship, or infect it with malicious code or symbiots. Does this person have an accomplice? Many of those galanen present then are still on Luna. How could somebody do that and remain hidden all these years?”

  Traemuña considers this for a while. Zaleria is still naïve in so many ways. “Well, there hasn't been a repeat of that kind of bold attack, although it is still an open mystery of how our movements are being tracked. It could be the galan that helped, regretted it, and so hasn't offered such aid again. Or they only now offer information. As to the question of why, who can tell? They may simply not like humans, or see them as a fallen version of ourselves, a mockery.”

  “You say that as if you've had those feelings.”

  Traemuña smiles. “I feel that way about most galanen at my age,” she says with a mischievous look in her eyes. “But seriously, when I first encountered proto-humans about 100 millennia ago, they were pretty disgusting and pathetic. Barely able to make stone tools, unable to comprehend their surroundings, and engaging in violence any time two groups would meet. Yet I could see their potential. The Creator works in mysterious ways and look how far they've come. Clever little beasties, aren't they? And just like we were. Do you think we've evolved much beyond them or just have better technology?”

  What an odd question…or is it? Zaleria looks at her mother's suddenly serious expression and thinks about this. Are galanen capable of the same type of evil she has seen in mankind? She doesn't think so. She withheld information, but she would never have done so if she could have foreseen what would happen. She has made Beltare very angry, but she doesn't worry that she will seek to do violence to her. The worst she might do is share her pain and anger through a local connection, privately, forcing Zaleria to feel her pain. And Zaleria will share her remorse. Are there any galanen not swayed by such sharing? Not that she has experienced. But Traemuña is much older. “I haven't experienced a galan who would not share their remorse when faced with the pain they have caused another, and thus heal their union with the collective, but you are more experienced in these things.”

  “Well don't make it sound like I go around causing pain. But I do not for a moment think we are much more evolved than humans. We can be just as petty; it is just much harder for us to hide it. But not impossible. People can share what they want, even if it is insincere. And some are very, very good at it. I am thankful you are not one of them.”

  Zaleria thinks on this. How hard would it be to hide insincerity, hold a grudge, hurt feelings, to the point you start committing evil acts that counter the collective’s will. Yet much of what has happened almost seems personal, directed at her specifically. She thinks back, reviewing every person who was present for her first mission that has remained part of the Earth project. She can't think of anyone who'd have a reason to hate her, or any that would be upset with her. They are friends, colleagues. A couple had been lovers, but those had drifted away to other endeavors and had parted on good terms. No one seems to harbor any ill will towards anyone, least of all her. She sighs. “I can't think of anyone who would want to do that. Or anyone who might want to do me harm. Do you suspect anyone?”

  “Everyone, and no one,” was all she would share on the matter.

  Zaleria thinks for a few more minutes, carefully examining relationships, friends, acquaintances, past lovers, coming up completely empty. Time to move on to more fruitful grounds. “This is getting us nowhere. I would like to start digging into that human Beltare mentioned. The other survivor of the explosion, Cheryn Douglass. She was attacked recently in Seattle. Has she been seen since?”

  Zaleria and her mom spend a few hours going through all the information the collective can find on her. She seems to have disappeared after the attack. Traemuña starts looking at the woman's past. Interesting.

  “Zaleria, this is most curious. I started digging into Cheryn's life before the explosion. I think she may have worked for, or been part of, Sklávoi Ashtoreth. However, after the bombing, it doesn't look like she remained active. They seem to have cu
t all contact, and after a couple years she began working for the Andersson Foundation. The one Rolle Andersson started. The Foundation helped her, paid for her medical bills. Do you think they knew? Why would they do that if they did? Now she has disappeared. Is someone helping her?”

  Zaleria starts reviewing all the information they can find on Cheryn Douglass. Her relationships, her background, her employment, police data, traffic camera footage. Anything they can find. She had no source of income they could find, until after the attack. She was in a coma, then made a miraculous recovery. Afterwards, the Andersson Foundation paid for her care. She eventually took a position working for them, doing mostly clerical work, processing applications for grants. But after she was attacked in broad daylight in Seattle, by two men who appear to be linked to Sklávoi Ashtoreth, she disappeared. Without a trace.

  “How does someone with so little income or other resources disappear so completely?” Zaleria wonders.

  “It's not that hard. All she would need to do is go primitive. We don't know what kind of survival training she may have had. She could be living off the land, somewhere in the wild. Or, someone could be helping her, keeping her out of sight, hidden. Perhaps even creating a new identity for her. I find her recovery curious. She had a traumatic brain injury and was in a coma for weeks; she was obviously dying. When she recovered, it was nearly instantaneous. What do you make of that?”

  Zaleria thinks for a while. Then comes to a sudden realization. “What if Rolle figured out who she was. He might have wanted to preserve a link to Sklávoi Ashtoreth. My unitary asked for a medical kit. Perhaps she was the beneficiary.” Zaleria looks at her mother and sighs. “I'm not sharing anything you haven't already figured out,” she states. She knows it is the truth.

  “Zaleria, that would mean you saved the life of a person that tried to kill you. A murderer who helped kill many innocent people in that restaurant.”

  “If she could lead us to Sklávoi Ashtoreth, it would be worth the risk, don't you think?”

  “Perhaps. I think we need to find her and see if we can persuade her to help us reveal Sklávoi Ashtoreth. They need to be removed from Earth and their influence ended. I am also very curious about who might be helping her stay hidden.”

  “As am I,” Zaleria adds. “We need to share our discoveries with the others. Especially Beltare.”

  ∞∞∞

  Nils has kept Clive well informed of his progress with Cheryn. He knows Clive still hasn't bought into Nils bringing her into things, but they need to move quickly to take advantage of what they've learned. Sklávoi Ashtoreth is now aware she has disappeared and will likely be able to discern she is getting help. She won't be able to go back to work at the foundation, and Nils can't be seen with her either. That means she'll need to lay low with someone Nils can trust, someone who is very good at escaping notice. There is only one person who meets those requirements, and he isn't particularly happy about it. Still, there are other pieces of this puzzle, and that may change things.

  Nils asked Clive to set up a safe house in Chapel Hill, NC. It's time to expand his blooming tech business someplace well away from his prior haunts. The location is perfect and will provide Cheryn a great place to get back on her feet. Plenty of opportunity, schools to further her education if she wants, and who knows, she may decide to maintain an association with his company, albeit under a new identity.

  Clive will also move to the area to help keep an eye on things and to start more aggressive operations against Sklávoi Ashtoreth. There are some leads Nils would like to follow, and that might require travel by someone not easily associated with any of Nils' enterprises to raise suspicions. He'll have to convincingly cut ties with Cheryn, so Clive will have to act as intermediary. As far as the world knows, Clive has no connection to Nils. In fact, it would be difficult to even find him. He's officially disappeared.

  Nils flies into Raleigh-Durham airport on a chartered cargo flight. He rides in the back, sitting on a sling seat surrounded by a dozen pallets full of equipment for his new business. He supervises the unloading and transfer of the equipment to a warehouse. In the morning, a semi-truck will come and move it across town to his new manufacturing facility. After the final worker drops the last pallet, he closes the doors and does a final walk around to make sure all is secure for the evening. He pauses by the third pallet from the end, sticks his key in the lock, and opens the packing container. Cheryn sits up on the little cot bolted to the floor and blinks at him.

  “You okay?”

  She yawns and shakes her head. “It's a good thing I ain't afraid of tight spaces. Though to be honest, this was more comfortable than most flights I've been on lately. Good entertainment, private bathroom, and plenty of space to stretch out and take a nap. You ever think of commercializing this concept? It could pay off.”

  He laughs. “Where do you think I got this container on such short notice? It's a good concept, but the loading/unloading is where it breaks down. Still thinking about it though…”

  She laughs, a bit nervously. “So when are we supposed to meet your associate?”

  “He's waiting for me to open the roll-up door, so he can pull the car in. You ready?”

  “No, but that hasn't stopped you before. Let's get this over with.”

  Nils thinks about saying something else but just nods and walks over to the door. He pulls the chain raising the roll-up door. After a couple moments, a black sedan pulls into the warehouse. Nils lets the door fall back down and fastens the chain. Clive gets out of the driver’s door and gives him a warm embrace. Nils claps him on the back a couple times. It would appear to an outsider that Clive was the older of the two, playing the role of mentor. Clive looks around, not immediately seeing anyone else, for Cheryn is still on the other side of the pallet.

  “Where's the girl?” He asks.

  “She's here, but she's about the same age you are, you know,” Nils tells him.

  “I'm sure we all seem about the same age to you, don't we? Don't answer that; its rhetorical.” He takes a deep breath. This is hard for him. Cheryn helped kill three of his men. People he'd trained himself. Helped ruin his reputation. He lets it out. “Well, let me meet her,” he says in an even, almost affable tone. His acting is getting much better, Nils thinks to himself.

  He leads Clive over to her. “Cheryn, this is Clive. Clive, Cheryn.”

  Clive walks over and offers his hand, looking her in the eyes. She hesitates only briefly before shaking it, returning his gaze. “Pleased to meet you, Clive. I've heard much about you.”

  “Likewise,” he says. “I must say, you look much better than the last time I saw you.”

  “I feel much better. I died that day,” she says firmly.

  “A lot of good people died that day, and some not so good. I won't forgot it or the painful lessons learned,” Clive says in the same tone.

  “Neither will I,” Cheryn says, not looking away from him, not backing down. Clive stares at her for a moment, taking her measure.

  He is very good at reading people, Nils knows, one of the best he's seen, besides himself. After about ten seconds he nods his head. “OK,” is all he says. “Do you have any baggage?”

  “Not much,” she says picking up a small carry-on size bag.

  Clive looks at it, realizing to some extent how much she's had to dump to avoid Sklávoi Ashtoreth. “Hmm. Yeah, well I don't think that will stress our trunk capacity. Glad to see you've embraced the virtue of traveling light.”

  She looks at him. “This sucks, but I haven't got a choice, do I?”

  “You always have a choice, even when they all suck,” Clive mutters.

  Cheryn looks from him over to Nils and then back again. “You're not the first person to tell me that.”

  Clive smiles. “Yeah, he's full of useless advice like that. Guess it sticks after a while.” He laughs out loud. “God, I'm becoming you!”

  Nils laughs. “In your dreams, old man.”

  Clive stops and looks at
him. “You going to go there?”

  Nils just raises an eyebrow. “So are you going to continue spouting wisdom, or take us to this new place you've set up?”

  “Us? No. I will take Cheryn. You, I'm going to dump at your hotel. Then I'm going to take the car back to the garage and head back to my home in the burbs. Just like I do every day. Nice and predictable. Sometime tomorrow, Cheryn will get to her new home, when I'm sure no one is bothering to watch a nobody like me.”

  “Good, I was afraid you were going soft. Sorry Cheryn, you'll have to ride in the back for now. As in the trunk,” Nils says as they walk over to the sedan.

  “Uh, what do you mean?” she asks as Clive opens it up.

  “It's simple. If you are ever seen in his presence again, you are both dead. So I can get you to your house, but he won't be going, and you can't be seen with us. In you go. Don't worry, it's comfy. I tried it out myself. Not going to ask you to do anything I wouldn't,” Clive states.

  She looks into the trunk. It is padded, and has a thin little mattress, reading light, soft pillow, and a safety harness. “Will I ever get to travel with the white folks in main cabin again?” she asks, slightly exasperated.

  Nils laughs. “You know this is to protect you. Someday, if you take advantage of the opportunities staring you in the face, you may have a white driver and your own car. But today, I want to make sure you stay safe. We will have other matters to discuss, but we'll not meet face-to-face for a while.” He walks over and embraces her. She resists at first, surprised by his sudden display of affection.

  “What the…?” she blurts out, then relaxes a bit. “You are a real…” She lets the thought trail off. She hangs there limply for a bit before finally hugging him back. “Thank you, for caring. I still don't trust you, but you've done a lot for me. I am grateful. I don't know what I'll do next, but you've given me a lot to think about. And I will.”