The Assumption Code

by Melodee Elliott

  She approached him and stood near. “You’ll know when the time comes.”

  “You have nothing,” he jeered as if his disgust of her was so great as to not be worth uttering the words.

  True, she thought, and parted from him. She had nothing herself, save for the irrationality of the man before her. She’d seize any opportunity his mistakes would offer. He was like a bidder at an auction who bid against himself, always reaching for a higher stake where the situation needed none.

  She stood back from him and crossed her arms. Her intention bore into him as the silence in the room overtook any bustling beyond it.

  Holan’s posture didn’t waiver in the form of a man who’d never acknowledge that which he couldn’t accept. Then, he blinked and looked sideways at her. His face drained of blood, and the vein receded. She glowered at him and walked out of the room.

  Margi recognized the look in his eye. That fixed glare would normally be her cue as a reporter to unravel the interviewee’s deepest secrets. Those that a normal person would beg another to unravel, to loosen the grip that made one’s posture rigid until it gave way to too great a burden, as if the body had already resigned itself to death. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of relief, nor reveal her tactics. Instead, she’d let him make his bid for his own defeat.

  She paced down the hallway while reaching for her communicator. She called for her driver and met him at the landing pad.

  “Tolman’s studio,” she said.

  She arrived at Tolman’s side door and knocked, then darted her attention up and down the alleyway as she was now accustomed to doing.

  Tolman opened the door for her. At least they had that decorum squared.

  “Did you find a way?” he asked over his shoulder as he walked away.

  Margi fidgeted. She actually hadn’t worked out a good reason to visit him. Not a public one. She just wanted to see him.

  “No. But I’m working on it.” She thought of her plans for Holan, but those were not public either. The Ward would need to wait. Holan, too.

  Margi followed him to a ring of silver panels positioned in a large circle.

  “What’s this?” she asked as she entered the space.

  “My new art experience. The Dance of the Visole,” he said dismissively, yet his gaze lingered a moment too long, and she caught his curiosity.

  Light spilled from the opening of the side door. Margi sank to her knees behind a panel.

  An older woman entered, followed by one much younger.

  “You’re okay,” Tolman said to Margi.

  “Come in,” he said to the two other women and waved them in.

  Margi felt the confidence of flirtation leave her. Tolman and the woman were obviously comfortable in each other’s presence. She felt like hiding behind the panels permanently, out of embarrassment. Were they his family? She hadn’t considered that he would have moved on from Rivner after so many years, though she thought he would have loved someone much younger now.

  Margi rose.

  The woman stepped forward. Her eyes were alert, her movements tranquil but commanding. She sported an athletic figure with brown hair mixed with gray that made her appear to have a well-managed life.

  “Margi,” Tolman introduced her.

  Margi’s senses lapsed only momentarily before she responded to the introduction, having grown accustomed to being known as Rivner.

  “Zarnel,” the woman offered. “And Cam,” she said as the girl placed an instrument case on the workbench.

  “Hi,” Margi said. A closer look at the girl showed her to be a teenaged girl with the personal presence of a young woman, exuding the quiet confidence of someone respected.

  The girl nodded slightly.

  “Zarnel and Cam are collaborators on this piece,” he added.

  “Oh.” Her relief disclosed itself too much for her pride. “How nice,” she added as her reporter persona kicked in. “How does it work?” she inquired, trying to redirect his attention from her social ineptitude and to that of an inquisitive person.

  “It’s best to experience.” He had a mischievous grin like a boy about to show a girl his tree house. And she was about to enter.

  He winked at Zarnel who took her place in front of a switchboard and began navigating the buttons and dials.

  A low hum hovered over the ring.

  Cam emerged from the workbench with an instrument similar to a violin. A visole, she guessed.

  Cam plugged it into an amplifier, nestled it against her chin, and began a slow draw of the bow on the strings. An occasional punctuating note heightened Margi’s anticipation. The girl grinned from behind her instrument.

  “Music as visual art, of course,” she said to Tolman.

  He braced his hand upon her back and led her to the ring of panels. He held her hand in his and lifted it to the perimeter of the ring. She felt the energy of him through her flesh. Then, a rim of light framed her hand as it passed the ring’s barrier. She gasped in delight.

  He extended his arm outward the way a grand master welcomed his audience. The visole drew its breath in anticipation.

  She entered. As she did, her body was washed in a glow of light.

  She looked back at Tolman like a child telling a parent the discoveries of life. “It’s wonderful” was all she could say.

  Tolman smiled broader. He nodded to Cam.

  The girl braced one leg forward and sawed the bow harder against the strings.

  Sparks of light fluttered into the air around Margi. She leapt for them, like grabbing fireflies. As she did, ribbons of light flew from her to swirl among them. As she weaved in and out of the streamers, she found herself dancing. She twirled in place and saw the whirl of color growing around her, cloaking her in sheets that changed from green to violet.

  She jumped and the swirl hit the floor on her landing, splashing across the ground. She chased the puddles of color, losing herself in the experience. The visole’s bow chirped and sawed away, causing the colors to brighten.

  Margi clapped her hands and prints of blue remained in the air, then faded gradually. She clapped the shape of a flower suspended in space.

  She turned and saw Tolman by her side. She stopped as the glow of moonstone enveloped them with only the awareness of sound from the visole’s cry circling just beyond the cloak.

  He had been watching her of which she was now aware. Where once she would have been shy, she now welcomed him. He looked at her as if he knew it as well, standing there as she forgot herself.

  He reached out his hand and a glow drifted from it in all directions. She took hold and he walked her around the circumference of the circle, leaving a trail of shimmer. She increased her gait and began to run, causing a wall of gold to encircle them. Only the two of them existed, along with the skip of the bow. He laughed with a glee she’d never known in another.

  She slowed and reached for his other hand. He didn’t resist. The colors mellowed at their feet. He reached his arm over her, twirling her close to his side, where the hues grew most intense.

  Then, the bow drew its last in a slow exhale and the colors dissipated.

  The two of them stood together for a moment until Tolman let loose her hands.

  “You had to experience it to understand,” he said.

  She realized it like the bond between lovers or a baby’s smile to his mother. They, above all, had shared the same experience. In that way, they were known to each other.

  Zarnel emerged from behind the switchboard.

  “Thank you,” Margi said to her and then to Cam.

  “The Ward desires a better use of our technology. This is one way,” Zarnel said.

  “The Ward,” Margi repeated. The reality of her mission had all but been forgotten since she arrived at the studio.

  “The Ward is a dedicated group who see a better future for Danu. We have the technology for better solutions. We need the liberty to use them. Many members of our group have had relatives who gave themselves as parti
cipants. They understand deeply of what’s at stake and are willing to follow through,” Tolman added.

  “And even outside The Ward we have allies,” Zarnel added.

  “How did The Ward come about?” Margi asked as she switched to the important task of gathering intel.

  Zarnel began, “It’s said that DanuVitro had a client, many generations in the past, very influential on Danu.” She closed the distance to Margi. “He discovered that one of his poorer relatives had offered himself as a participant so that a parent could raise his standard of living.”

  She stepped away. “Though the hologram open-source code is free, the services to keep them running are not.” She sat on a nearby stool. “The client began funding The Ward through covert means. Of course, his place in society demanded he wash his hands of such endeavors in public. He has long since passed away. And so the battle has festered, neither won nor lost. People are becoming more and more agitated with one another. Many don’t know where they stand with their fellows. That’s why we need you.”

  Zarnel had laid out her own exposé.

  “I see,” Margi replied and realized that she herself was its resolution. They needed someone to call the hand. No ambiguity. From someone. Anyone. Now, her. The familiar feeling of helplessness encroached upon her.

  She felt Tolman’s eyes on her, along with a hint of concern. She straightened her posture and her resolve. “I’ll find a way to his weakness.”

  “You’ll find his undoing,” Zarnel corrected.

  “Understood,” she replied. The woman commanded the respect due from giving forth such an account of The Ward. Margi was honored to be included in the knowledge of things. This woman was not to be trifled with. Margi had a new respect and ambition for her own level of personal fortitude.

  Tolman sent for her driver. They said nothing in the meantime. She got what she came for in her visit and so much more. Words would no longer satisfy.

  The driver coasted the hover car into the alleyway. Tolman ushered her into her seat. She glanced up to him. He winked and stepped away.

  She watched him disappear into the building as the driver set out for the penthouse. She leaned her head against the glass as they rose higher and caught sight of people carrying on with their routines below them.

  “Better days will come,” the driver said.

  “I hope so.”

  He was kind. All of her drivers had been kind, even those from DanuVitro, and so was the butler with his cheeky plea for her not to get him into trouble with her scaling the rocks. She relaxed on that note.

  People were kind at heart, and when not, something had made them not. They simply wanted a better life than the one they had on that day and hoped for a tomorrow. Stavon had deprived them of that hope and so families found a sacrifice to bide their time, spending the money earned with the blood of love.

  Her thoughts went to Tolman and the price that he must have paid for the love of a woman who chose against the kindness of people. Margi didn’t want to lose their respect, to suffer her first death.

  Rivner was Stavon’s weakness, possibly because he had stolen her future. Margi realized that his undoing was that he had no future.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Stavon entered the conference room where Loz and another man awaited him. He shut the door and sat at the head of the table.

  The man displayed a series of videos.

  Stavon sat forward in his seat as he watched the images of Margi knocking on the side door of the building. He observed another video of a man closing the hover car door as she left.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “She set out on foot,” the man said, then added, “She now has a personal driver, well trained at evasion, I might add.”

  One video showed a man entering the side door. A hood and collar hid his identity.

  The man continued, “The Ward is known to congregate in the area. The building belongs to—”

  “Tolman.” Stavon finished his sentence.

  “You know him?” Loz asked.

  “Once upon a time. I bought the sea mobile hanging in the agora from him.”

  Stavon stared at the photo of Tolman now displayed.

  “How do you want me to handle this?” the man asked.

  “Nothing yet. That will be all,” Stavon closed out.

  The man left.

  Neither Stavon nor Loz spoke at first.

  Loz dared break the silence. “We have another issue.”

  He reached for file and displayed Rivner’s profile. “I have added your next Great Adventure selection to both your and Rivner’s profiles. We have a problem though. I noticed that her profile had a new Path uploaded, replacing Margi’s. Luckily, I keep a backup of every Path and have corrected the situation. But as you know, the only personnel who have access to her profile are you, me, and Holan.”

  Stavon sat back in his chair and rubbed his temple.

  “Has he acquired any more unauthorized Paths from Earth?”

  “Yes, one.”

  Without hesitation Stavon responded. “Terminate all Paths used from Earth, except Margi’s and prepare our Holan.”

  “Yes, sir.” Loz rose to leave.

  Stavon turned to him. “Congratulations. You are now Head of Research.”

  “Thank you, sir,” he said and exited.

  * * *

  Margi sat in the main room, looking out the window to watch an occasional star shoot across the cobalt sky. She sipped her drink and took in the serenity of the night.

  She was so high above the clouds, she wondered what feats it took to envision and build such a structure. Its architect clearly had a vision and saw it through with every detail, including the balcony barrier she could see through. The oil slick of color fanned across the surface as a breeze washed over it.

  Yet what she wanted in that moment was to hear a bird or a cricket disturb her concentration. She chuckled to herself as she’d complained about such critters on some long-lost afternoon in her quest for the day. She wanted what she wanted, and so the architect had achieved what the architect wanted. Unlike the architect, she couldn’t envision the end of the quest she had at hand and so was left in want.

  She saw a hover car rise in the distance and near. Stavon. The garage wall to the penthouse rose. The rumble of its gears vibrated across the flooring as if he had entered with the world’s power at his feet. Soon, he would.

  His car hung in the air until the transparent garage wall cleared the ceiling. The building was angled, allowing her to see him coast the vehicle in its place, perfectly aligned with others in his collection.

  She took another sip to cleanse the mood. The nearby lamp cast its green glow. She didn’t care.

  The slow tap that only expensive shoes could intonate paced the hall floor, drew near. It came in a heel-to-toe cadence with the languid attitude of one reserved in spirit.

  She took another sip.

  He stood against the wall in his suit as the color of day had faded, resembling a grayscale lithograph that someone designed in the midst of some abstract whim.

  “I’m glad to see you,” he said.

  “I take it your day is well?” she commented, not really wanting to know how his day of plotting and killing had gone.

  He approached her, leaned over, bracing his hands on the arms of the chair and kissed her, lingering only slightly to release with the finality of lips springing apart. The separation echoed into the volume of space.

  “You okay?” She really did want to know now.

  He eased into the chair next to hers and gazed around the room.

  “Here.” She handed her drink to him.

  He took it readily, sipped, and rested his head against the headrest.

  Again, he stared into space that undoubtedly held his dark thoughts parading before him, until for some unknown reason he snapped out of the trance. He took her hand in his and caressed the top with his thumb.

  Margi let him.

  “I wa
nt you to be happy,” he said. He didn’t look at her.

  Margi’s heart began to thump. “I am.”

  “I truly do,” he added, peering up at her.

  She dared not move.

  He slid from his chair to kneel at her feet and laid his head upon her lap.

  She rested her hand upon his head and wondered if the Stavon before her now was not the Stavon of his youth, where ambitions of making a difference in another’s life might have been the consuming fire that stoked his dreams.

  Had he loved? Or simply wanted to and couldn’t? She’d never know. Part of her wanted to give him the redemption that he neither desired nor deserved, couldn’t understand and wouldn’t fulfill. The multiple lifetimes he had availed himself should have afforded him the grace of giving. His time would end, and she’d see to its fruition.

  She swept the hair from his face as he looked out to the cobalt sky. He didn’t move, save to gaze onto another section of sky.

  Something had happened to him that day. Better to not know. She had plans of her own. She at last slipped from his arms and left him to gain what he could from the night, and went to bed.

  She lay awake, alone, and pondered how she would awaken the next morning on Danu with a task that was beyond her reach.

  Stavon would probably allow her to kill him as he gazed into the darkness of this night. The Ward could have done that. And another Stavon would rise in his place. No, she must do better. She drew the blankets under her chin and drifted to sleep.

  * * *

  Stavon paced the length of corridor and descended the narrow staircase. He navigated the lab with clones in various stages of maturation, glancing at them for a momentary inspection as he kept his stride toward the opposite door. He continued through a more private section until only the occasional overhead light of the outer room showed for anyone that should need trespass.

  He unsecured the door and entered.

  “Holan,” he said matter-of-factly as he approached a transparent shield.

  From behind an energy shield, Holan sat on a metal bench at the far end of the small room and gave a half-interested glance at Stavon.