April 15, 2156
The most extraordinary thing has happened. Natty has made an outlandish claim, which I must vehemently deny. The whole incident is rolling around in my head like a loose screw. I thought perhaps writing it down would help me put it to rest.
Adaiah came to see me again yesterday in the lab. She said she wanted to see how the neuron-linking experiment turned out. She has a great deal of insight into my data. (Her conclusions often make more sense to me than my own.) Still, she seems overly eager to visit the lab, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s looking for more than experimental data. I must be imagining it. Bart reports things are going well between them.
Yet it’s the twelfth consecutive day we’ve spent almost entirely in one another’s company. Not that I’m counting. She stayed for dinner, of course, which I think Natty felt happy about. After the meal, the three of us retired to the garden to talk of the communes and the future and look at the stars.
Bart joined us after a couple of hours, looking distinctly unhappy. He remained sour for the entire evening. Then he offered to take Adaiah home. An offer she accepted. When she disappeared indoors to find her coat, I put my hand on Bart’s arm
“Are you okay?” I asked, as gently as I knew how.
“Fine,” he spat.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
He practically screamed his answer at me. “As if you don’t know!” Then he stormed after Adaiah.
I felt shocked, not because shouting isn’t in Bart’s nature—he does it more and more often lately—but because my questions were sincere and I didn’t expect this response from him.
Natty came to stand beside me.
“I think Bart is jealous of the time we spend with her,” I said to him.
Natty is always quiet, but I know him well enough to have some idea of what goes on in his head. I practically heard him thinking, weighing his words before he said them. When he finally spoke, I received my second major shock of the night.
“Maybe he should be.”
My mouth fell open and I turned to face Nat. “You like Adaiah?”
“Don’t you?” Natty asked.
“Well…” My shock must have shown on my face because Natty chuckled. “Johann, you’re so consumed with your science, you forget to consider your heart. You spend nearly every day with her, and light up like a Bunsen burner whenever she comes into the room.”
I protested, telling Nat this was not the case.
He wouldn’t even let me finish, holding up his hands to stop me from speaking. “It’s okay, Johann. She’s with Bart. There’s nothing for either of us to do except conceal our feelings. Just don’t deny them. Not to me. Okay?”
He left me with my jaw hanging open. I came back to my laboratory, feeling dazed. I couldn’t focus on my work. My experiments—even thinking I discovered something important about the communal bond today—couldn’t hold my focus.
I kept playing my conversation with Natty over in my head. I take back what I said in my first paragraph. (That’s why I crossed it out.) After writing this, for the first time, I think Natty’s right. My little brother’s powers of observation have always been greater than mine. I’m falling in love with Adaiah. More problematic than that: both my brothers love her too.
April 30, 2156
Yet another incident today, and I’ve never felt such a confusing, conflicting array of emotions. Excitement and despair. Hope and worry for the future. Happiness and fear.
Adaiah came to see me in the lab, though yesterday I distinctly told her I wouldn’t be conducting any experiments. I told her I’d be catching up on paperwork—making records of my observations and the like—specifically so she'd think I was too busy for her. I even suggested she spend the day with Bart.
It’s not that I didn’t want to see her. I laid awake all night thinking about how empty the lab would feel without her. Every moment we spend together makes me long for her more. The more I look at her, the more I want to kiss her—a thought I can usually push away successfully by reminding myself that Bart has more than likely kissed those lips. Then she smiles at me again, and I find myself thinking of her lips once more. Every time her hand brushes mine, I want to grab it and pull her close to me. It's not proper to have these feelings for a girl my brother is seeing.
Yet, come she did after I practically begged her not to. I truly wasn’t doing experiments, but I wasn’t doing paperwork either, so I had nothing to distract me from her beauty. She kept arranging herself so close to me, I felt uncomfortable with her proximity. Each time, she leaned her face close to mine as she spoke, and I got the distinct impression she wanted to kiss me. Each time, I moved away, and she followed. Soon I was practically backing away from her. When I moved away yet again, she reached out and put a hand on my chest, effectively anchoring me to the spot.
“What’s the matter, Johann? What are you afraid of?” she asked. “Am I so repulsive?” Her deep, dark eyes held hurt.
My mouth hung open so long that, with a sad smile, she put a forefinger on my chin and closed it. Still looking upset, she nodded and turned away.
I grasped her arm and pulled her back. A simple motion, but one I’d longed to perform for some time. She fell against my chest and the weight of her felt as close to ecstasy as I’d ever come.
“Adaiah, you are not repulsive.” I whispered because I couldn’t find any more voice than that. “Quite the opposite. But you’re my brother’s girl.”
An expression of shock climbed onto her face, and something else as well. I thought it might be fear. Terror, even. I couldn’t understand it, so I waited for her to speak. When she did, she said the last thing I ever expected to hear.
“Your brother’s girl?” she asked quietly. “Johann, I’m not.”
I tried to grasp her meaning, but floundered. “You…you’re…not?” I sounded like an utter moron.
“Bart and I have never been more than good friends.” Her face darkened noticeably, and she asked, “Did he tell you we were more?”
I opened my mouth to answer, stopping short. Had he? The fond expression on Bart’s face when he stared at her, the hitch in his voice when he spoke of her. His feelings had always been obvious, but did he actually say they were together? I honestly couldn’t remember. I know I asked weeks ago how things were going between him and Adaiah. He’d merely answered, “Fine,” in a stiff, angry fashion. But then Bart always sounds that way. Could he have so completely missed my meaning?
I sputtered and stuttered, trying to organize my thoughts. Found it difficult with her face mere inches from mine and her eyes boring into me. I think I stuttered out part of a sentence, but I have no idea what it was because somewhere in there, she kissed me.
I thought my heart stopped, and every other organ in my body clenched tight. It was by no means an unpleasant sensation. I put my hands on her neck and leaned into her, parting her lips and deepening the kiss.
Somehow, I knew what to do, and felt excited. Not nervous at all. It surprised me because she’s the first woman I’ve ever kissed. (Bart teases me unmercifully for it, since I’m nearly twenty-two. I don’t get out of the lab much.)
When we parted, reality came crashing in on me, and I stepped back. I told her I needed to speak to my brother.
She nodded and said, “Then speak with him. I will too. But Johann, it’s not Bart I’m interested in.”
I remembered my conversation with Natty so many nights ago, and decided there was no time like the present to lay everything out on the table.
“What about Natty?” I asked.
She gave me a strange look, which I—wrongly, I think now—interpreted as confusion.
“Are you interested in Natty?” I pressed.
She gave a self-conscious little chuckle, which I found endearing. Ultimately, she shook her head. “I won’t pretend his smiles for me have gone unnoticed. I like Natty. A lot. I can see myself with him more easily than with Bart. But no Johann. I’m not interested in Natty. Did y
ou really think I came back every day for the experiments?”
I kissed her several more times before we left the lab, and then walked her home.
She explained to me that something about Bart’s neurochemical talents enhance her ability to Prophesy, so the two of them had been working together to hone her powers. The thought crossed my mind that it made Bart a hypocrite to preach about the evil of neurochemical abilities, but then help a pretty girl hone hers, but I didn’t say so.
We stopped at a rosebush along the way. I could tell the bush was an experiment of sorts (the woman in that house is a renowned botanist) because roses of every color graced the vine. Adaiah seemed especially taken by them.
I practically danced back to mine and couldn’t stop thinking about kissing her again.
Whether Bart lied about their relationship, or I misunderstood, hardly matters. He loves her. I’m sure of it. Her interest in me will break his heart, and that’s the last thing I want.
I must breech the topic at dinner tonight with Bart and Natty. I have no idea how.
Chapter 6: A Column of Darkness
B sat perfectly still on his throne, high above the floor of the otherwise empty room. The cavern itself was dark except for the swift, blinding flashes of light that lit the chamber at chaotic intervals. After each flash, visitors would still see the light as an afterimage against the darkness. A persistence of vision to blind and confuse them. Only B enjoyed immunity to that particular side effect. Only he could identify the light source. He found such lighting made people uneasy; kept them guessing. He liked the light. Not too exposing, nor too predictable. The chaos of it helped him think. Or in this case, brood.
No one could see if he tapped his toe with impatience, but he’d taught himself long ago to not show emotion, unless wrapped in confidence or supremacy. Every part of B’s body lay still, even if he itched to fidget. The less control one had, the more important perceived control became. What one practiced in private was broadcast in public.
Besides, he was in too much pain for movement to be advisable. His head throbbed and the searing pain in his chest blazed and faded at random intervals. He’d already begun the chain reaction that would lead to the un-Binding in himself. It had to start with him. Once it reached his brothers, it would tear them apart forever. He must only to endure the pain a short while longer.
Finally, the door at the far end of the room opened, seemingly on its own, and a column of darkness strode in. The visitor B was waiting for.
The Cimerian striding toward him was unique among the collectives, which was why B jumped at the chance to collar him. B didn’t know if the creature’s powers themselves were unique—he didn’t know enough about the Cimerians to know if all of them held the potential for such power—but his frame of mind was. The Cimerians were banished long ago to the dark places of the planet because they were of no use to anyone. Because they chose not to be. This particular Cimerian had honed his powers, then come looking for power of a different sort. B was happy to give it to him, for he could use the Cimerian well. Stupid creature. It could have commanded anyone and everything he wanted. Instead, it allowed itself to be made subservient. B would never understand the weakness of human beings, though it served him and his causes well.
The Cimerian owned no name. He preferred to be seen as a shade, rather than a person. A mistake on its part. A person could command people. A person could have an identity. This Cimerian had only its darkness, and the eagerness to have someone else command it.
B’s drones called his kind Vanished Ones. A term whispered throughout the collectives and discouraged, because it induced fear. Fear could induce individual decision. Only B knew how true it was that the Vanished One inhabited this Cimerian. Only he knew why it had sewn its eyes shut: to hide how often their color changed. After all, more than one Vanished demon inhabited the creature.
B preferred to call the creature ‘the Vanished One.’ It gave him an illogical, private glee to think of the thing by such a derogatory term. ‘Cimerian’ was a name its people gave themselves, but the Vanished Ones, the demons, were its true identity. Even so, B only used the term in his own head. He had no idea if the creature knew B understood it’s origins, or if it would be offended by B’s use of the term. For now, he had to keep this creature happy and serving him.
It was more than that, though. B rarely admitted it to himself, much less anyone else, but something about this creature’s darkness intimidated him. Frightened him. He had no logical reason to fear the thing, and yet his skin crawled when those sewn-up eyes studied him.
The Vanished One came to the base of B’s throne and slid smoothly to one knee. Aside from his masterful manipulation of dark matter, it also possessed powers of telepathy, though it took a highly developed, disciplined mind to hear him.
What have you to report? B thought to the Vanished One, directing the thought through the correct pathways to reach the other man’s neurochemical receptors.
Only after B sent the thought did the man turn his face upward. The silken thread, which sewed the orifices of his face shut, glittered exotically in the room’s dim light. We found a group headed for the separatists’ mountain, the Vanished One replied. We captured and absorbed…nearly all of them.
The hesitation was minuscule—a microsecond only—but it was there. Nearly? B thought to him.
The Vanished One bowed his head. One of the offspring escaped. His sibling performed an opaque vortex. The boy has the ability to be a powerful Seeker, which allowed us to track him by signature. Then, it disappeared. Evaporated, as though it never existed.
B wanted to pound the arm of his throne with his fist, but even righteous anger must be controlled in the presence of the Vanished One. He wouldn’t let the creature know its failure upset him.
How would these individuals even comprehend an opaque vortex? And how could the Vanished One be taken off guard by it? Underestimation, obviously. B breathed deeply, calmly. You think he found his way into the mountain. It wasn’t a question.
That is the most likely explanation, Sire. We have not yet located their compound, and we are certain it is well-hidden, but we know the general area in which it resides. Only time is needed to search.
B didn’t answer. A scalding pang lanced through his chest, taking his breath away. The un-Binding progressed. He covered by using his abilities to sort through the Cimerian’s neurochemical energy, looking for anything that might be amiss. He often did it with his highest people—a random security check of sorts. Unlike most, if the Vanished One felt B’s fingers sifting through his brain, he didn’t flinch. He merely bowed his head and waited for B to finish.
The pain in B’s chest subsided as suddenly as it arose.
Everything in the Vanished One’s mind seemed in order until B reached the juncture between the hypothalamus and the thalamus.
“What’s that?” B spoke aloud before thinking, then cursed himself for showing a lack of control.
Though no muscle twitch or feature change betrayed any emotion, B felt smugness coming from the column of darkness kneeling at his feet. B wished he could obliterate the man just for that. He would have, if he didn’t need the creature’s abilities. If he didn’t have doubts as to whether he could actually it.
I have taken on a protégé, the answer came, calm as ever.
B opened his mouth, but caught himself before speaking. Instead, he returned to the calm tone of his thoughts. Who is this protégé?
The Vanished One rose to his feet uninvited and stepped to one side. Behind him, a small girl stood utterly rigid. Did she walked behind him the entire time, so B simply didn’t see her? Or had the Vanished One been using his own darkness to hide her presence? The questions, in addition to the fact that B had absolutely no idea of the answer, irked him. Every time he thought he was in control of the Cim—the Vanished One—the man proved him wrong.
Partially hidden beneath a tattered headscarf with faded red flowers, the girl’s auburn hair fell to h
er shoulders, framing a blasphemously pleasant face, marred only by her irises, which had turned black. Or perhaps they were dark red. The Vanished One had made the child his pet, it seemed. B was unclear on what processes that entailed, but he knew it would have broken the capillaries behind her eyes, turning them the color of dried blood. The more time she spent as the shade’s pet, the darker they would be. Eventually, like him, they would turn to the color of tar. Her skin would follow.
B straightened his legs irritably and did his best to march down the steps to the ground floor, hoping the Vanished One didn’t notice the slight tremor in his stride. B hid his physical discomfort well, but the Vanished One’s closed eyes missed little.
The column of darkness moved farther aside so B could examine the girl. B gripped her chin in his hands, forcing her to look up at him. It felt…strange to touch her. The smooth feel of her young skin under his fingers felt good. Almost pleasurable. His hands were so shriveled—though they did retain most of their strength—that he rarely touched anything. He did everything with his mind. It had been years since he felt cool, smooth skin against his own. The pain under his skin produced heat that made the contrast sharper.
Up close, B could see the girl’s eyes were unnaturally dark. They’d probably been dark in color to begin with. Brown perhaps. She had a wide face, eyes not particularly large, though the vacancy the Vanished One had instilled made them seem smaller.
B let go of the girl’s chin roughly. She didn’t move a hair.
You are not to take any pets without my express consent. He let anger tinge the thought as he sent it.
The Vanished One merely bowed his head in that maddeningly obsequious way he had. I was forced to think and act swiftly, Sire. She has a powerful Deception ability. I didn’t want her to put it to use before I could take control. If she had, we would never have fully taken her.
Dark Matter (Interchron Book 3) Page 9
