Saan nodded, and used the holographic keyboard to input a series of commands. When she finished, the bookshelves to either side of her slid away from the wall with a hydraulic hiss, then to one side with another hiss, revealing supply closets. In one closet were more general use supplies, about half being medical in purpose. The other held an array of warfare provisions, which Nes walked to eagerly.
Nes began his prep by putting his decorative arm-length sword away on a pair of horizontal hooks; it wouldn’t be too useful against people who were using rocket launchers. He grabbed a standard bullpup assault rifle and a multi-pocketed combat belt. He stuck two extra magazines to magnetic holsters and put a few large, chrome spherical devices that looked like marbles in pockets on the belt. The corporal also strapped an armband med kit on his upper arm. Finally, a wireless throat mic package was taken from a drawer in the closet that had several of them. He attached the circular, circuitry-filled patch from the package just below his jaw near his jugular, a body heat activated glue keeping it in place on his clean-shaven neck. A small receiver went into his ear canal just deep enough so it didn’t block all outside noise, while the palm-sized transceiver went into a slot on his belt.
Saan took what she needed to treat a maximum of five patients in a triage situation. Their medicine was so far ahead of what civilians had access to that it only took a mid-sized shoulder bad to hold it all compared to the full public supply cache that would be emptied for the same number of patients. They were probably only going to be treating the one woman, but Saan was an administrator with a theoretically unlimited budget, so she tended to ask for, receive, and take far more than she ever truly needed.
Dastou walked near Nes and grabbed a throat mic package for himself, but only put it in an inside jacket pocket for now. He went back to his desk, swiveled the monitor forward and closed it, making it once again indistinguishable from the bare wood of the desk. The Saint looked at each member of his skeleton crew to confirm their readiness, and then led them to the door. He wasn’t grinning, but was obviously looking forward to continuing with this strange day.
“I hate you sometimes, you incredible freak,” commented Nes as he followed his suddenly optimistic friend and leader out the door.
“Hmph,” Saan agreed.
*****
Four security officers, two inside and two outside, guarded the series of glass-paned doors that served as the main entryway of the Stone-State Embassy. They sported the bright, sky-blue eyes of a person under Social Cypher influence and wore breathing masks that protected them from any lingering airborne dangers. Their presence here meant that some base aspect of the hypnotic suggestion recognized the embassy or the people inside it as important and was keeping it safe. The glass on the doors was shattered, so Dastou and company simply walked through one of the exits, stepping carefully.
On ground level, it was like treading into a cloud. Almost everything looked grey from concrete dust, with occasional hints of reddish-grey thanks to pulverized brick. It made the shining sky-blue eyes of the worker bees extra creepy by how much they stood out. The “fog” was dissipating fast, thankfully, and allowing a more natural mid-day light to come through. Seeing the sun high in the sky signifying noon reminded Dastou that he only came to town for the summons a couple of hours ago.
The trio ignored sidewalks and went directly onto the ring road to cut a straighter path toward their mysterious injured girl. Every step they took made concrete dust puff up, resulting in a good amount of grey stuff clinging to their shoes and the hems of their pants, the rest of their bodies being colored – or technically discolored – in smaller amounts by what was airborne. Their strides also let loose a distinctive crunch thanks to the broken glass and stone debris everywhere. With three of them walking at the same pace, the noise, though not loud, was constant. It was still not at the same volume as the occasional pained cries coming from the injured and echoing along the streets, but at least the latter sounds were less regular.
“This disaster is markedly worse at eye level,” realized Saan.
“Maybe not worse, just... closer,” Nes said. “It looked just as horrible to me upstairs, but now I can smell the blood, taste the dust, hear the pain.”
“Even with the Sainthood’s long-standing tenacity for record-keeping, I’ve never heard of a Brightseer-led attack like this,” said Dastou. “The closest are maybe minor skirmishes between city-states, but that was understandable compared to this, coming from a desire for property, livestock, money, power. I can’t even guess as to what the purpose of this insanity was.”
Nes was unable to keep a barely checked anger out of his voice. “Whatever reasons those criminals had to do this, I plan on not being too nice when I ask about it. This is... too much to show mercy for.”
Dastou was glad that the fuel pipe exploded the way it did. This event was, therefore, treated as an industrial-type accident, so it would be taken care of properly. If those criminals had only attacked other people, there was no way of predicting what would have happened afterwards.
Saan-Hu spotted the girl again, and jogged to her position on the western sidewalk. The men followed, and all three stopped in front of the victim. Saan opened her shoulder bag and handed Nes a tightly wrapped square of cloth the size of a fist along with a small glue gun. The corporal, following DSF triage procedure, fully unfurled the tarp. He spread the two-meter-squared item on the ground. After it was down, he cleared the spot below a corner of the tarp of any debris and used the glue gun to adhere the sheet to the sidewalk. Nes repeated that last step three more times, making sure the sheeting was well stuck to the pavement. Dastou gave the young woman a quick visual examination, saw no immediate need to be extra careful, then picked her up from the dirty sidewalk and put her back down on the triage fabric.
Dastou and Nes stepped back as Saan got to work. First, an aerosol stimulant was used to wake the girl up. The stranger coughed and shivered for a few seconds, then groggily sat up on her own. The Saint did a more thorough visual exam of her, trying to gather ideas as to who she was.
Even with her face covered in dust and dirt, her age was easy to tell as similar to theirs. She was quite thin, though, her clothes scarcely a step above rags and none of it quite her size; her shirt and pants were too big, her glasses too small and likely not her prescription, and her already run-down shoes had the tips cut away to let her feet fit better. Her hair color was hard to determine with it so filthy, but it looked very dark brown or black and straight as an arrow. Skin-tone could be better determined with some spots cleaner than others, and it looked like a mid-tone brown with a slight yellow tint. That and the girl’s almond eyes hinted that she was from a land east of Dastou’s home. She was over halfway across the world from she was likely born, another bit of intrigue.
The stranger looked around after her coughing stopped, focusing on the destruction and not the people close to her. She was clearly perturbed by the remnants of the violent scene. The aerosol stimulant Saan chose to use had a painkiller in it, possibly making the girl’s thoughts a bit foggy.
“Please stay calm, miss, you’ll be fine. And try not to move,” said Saan. She softened her voice a bit, part of standard medical training to keep the patient as tranquil as possible. “What is your name? Can you tell me?”
“I’m... I’m Trenna... Trenna Geil. What happened to me?” Her voice was a little thick, a side-effect of the painkiller which would be gone by the next time the girl spoke. Saan unwrapped a bandage as the woman looked at her, confused, as if she would not have expected to be cared for.
“Lift your arms a bit, please. I need to wrap this around your abdomen.”
“Yes... sure,” responded Trenna quietly.
Trenna followed the instruction given and allowed Saan to lift her t-shirt up slightly, revealing the midriff of someone in need of a good meal. Maybe a few.
“Hold onto this,” Saan-Hu instructed, handing over the pulled up hem of the shirt.
Trenna once a
gain did as asked, and the bandage was wrapped around the woman’s belly and back, covering up some bruises that looked like they were headed for an ugly shade of purple. The dressing was coated in a different mild analgesic that would speed up the natural healing process by nearly three-hundred percent – since she looked malnourished, that factor would be lower.
The girl was told to pull her shirt down, and did so. She was told to hold each arm out as Saan wrapped them with similar but weaker bandages, and did so again. Trenna was following instructions as if she was too afraid to do anything else. All of the bandages chosen created a balance that would result in faster healing without a numbing of body parts that could result in further injury; Saan was very good at this. Dastou and Nes were behind the impromptu nurse, but Trenna was too busy looking at her caretaker, or occasionally at the ground, to notice them. Saan finished by cleaning and disinfecting the remaining minor cuts.
Saan looked the girl over one last time and was satisfied with her own work. “I’m done here, and you should be just fine, miss. No obvious internal bleeding either, which is wonderful. Thank you for being cooperative.”
“Um, yes. I mean, thank you so much,” she said, looking up respectfully. “It doesn’t hurt very...”
She cut herself off having now noticed Dastou. Her immediate next action was to prostrate herself before him, bowing low. Her forehead almost touched the tarp, and her arms were outstretched, palms down. She hastily recited an old verse of worship:
“To the souls of black vision and serendipity,
To the scales that balance against blue,
To those that sail the frightful and unknowable,
I pledge my mind, my actions, and my bright eyes.”
Trenna Geil said those words so fast she almost spat them, yet they were sharp and clear. Dastou felt like he was just thrown naked into a near-freezing stream: suddenly upset and wanting to be anywhere else. Saints disliked being worshipped in general, but he, as the last one, seemed to take that feeling to an entirely new level of discomfort. He had to deal with the political fallback stemming from a new sense of independence by people all over the world these last few years, but he was happier for it. He was worshipped far less openly, with mostly reverent bows at the waist or clasped hands as he walked by. Sometimes, and preferably, with quiet respect, like most members of the Stone-State Council had done while Jandal Tryst rambled on during their meeting.
“Stop it!” barked Saan out of nowhere. “You were just bandaged – such sudden movements will not help your healing process.” Her reasons for the reprimand were true, but she also would know how Dastou felt about the girl’s sudden bout of faithfulness.
Trenna was only displaying her beliefs, and was admonished so harshly that she clammed up again. She just sat up, but stayed on her knees, hands on her thighs. She also kept her head and eyes down. Nes went to her side and stood her up gently with a hand under her forearm, not allowing her to keep the shamed position. The girl was on her feet in a moment, and when she dared look at Dastou again, he didn’t bother hiding his irritation.
Trenna stammered through an apology. “I... I’m sorry, Your Eminence, I didn’t mean to offend. I...”
“My name is Cosamian Dastou, not ‘Your Eminence.’” Dastou said, interrupting. “You may call me Dastou, or Mr. Dastou, or sir, I don’t care. Anything but some mark of worship.”
“Y... yes, sir. I’m sorry... Mr. Dastou.”
Nes offered the Saint an unkind stare. Saan, who was in the injured girl’s periphery, gave him a similar visual rebuke. Dastou understood, and began to apologize.
“I’m sorry... Trenna was it?” he said, pretending not to know her name or figured out her birthplace.
Trenna hesitated, but Nes squeezed her elbow for support. “Trenna Geil, yes.”
“This attack has me a more than a bit upset,” said Dastou, making sure to keep a respectful, empathic air to his voice. “I have to ask, though, what exactly are you doing here? Do you live here?”
“No, sir. I mean yes, but....” Her hands were shaking slightly.
Trenna looked around again. The rubble, the triage situation, the injured, the dead. The blood splatters, much of it making a disgusting mud with the concrete or brick powder on the ground. All of it seemed to appall her.
“What happened here?” Trenna asked.
The Saint responded, hoping to continue appearing more personable. “Three men attacked us, and failed. They did all this to cover their escape.”
She had started to panic, her breath coming in and out faster, and her eyes unable to focus. This was not helpful. Dastou had a feeling that she may be the single useful witness at this scene; they needed her cogent. Nes put a hand on her shoulder, again doing so gently, trying to keep her from losing it.
“It’s alright, Trenna, it’s over now,” said Nes. “We just want to know if you have information that can help us sort this all out.”
She looked at the rectangular badge on Nes’ chest, trying to figure out if she should listen to him at all. Despite the kindness, he was not as important to her as the woman who bandaged her or the being she worshiped. Trenna looked at ground for a long few seconds, then spoke again.
“The last thing I remember,” she started, “is getting ready to go out. I got dressed, was about to leave. Then everything went black.”
She looked up again, making occasional eye contact with her saviors. Dastou looked toward Nes, who just shrugged. None of them knew where this story was going, or why she was suddenly edgy.
“Did you black out during the attack?” asked Dastou.
“No, sir, before.”
“’Before?’” Saan repeated. “I’m sorry but, how…?”
“How did I end up here?” Trenna finished. “I think, maybe, I was left here to die.”
Nes’ eyes opened a little wider at that revelation. “That’s unbelievable. By whom?”
“By the ones who did this,” Dastou assumed, answering for Trenna. “And you’re one of them.”
The surprise on Nes’ face intensified slightly, and even Saan-Hu was visibly perturbed. Those expressions did not change when Trenna responded in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Yes, sir. They’re my people. I didn’t think they could ever do something like this, but…”
“Who else could the way our world is,” said the Saint, finishing the girl’s thought when she froze up.
After another few seconds of silence, Dastou tilts his head at Saan, suggesting she prod the girl to keep going. Nes saw the signal and moved to the side, giving Trenna space.
“A lot of people are hurt here, or dead,” Saan said bluntly. “Go on, please, tell us everything you can. You are the only one that can help us right now. And if you cannot, I’m afraid this might happen again.”
“Sure,” Trenna said. Again making only fleeting contact with any of the three sets of discolored eyes around her, she continued. “Uh, you know the old subway tunnels? They’re the ones in the main hub station of the city, or what was the main hub. We live there, on our own. We’re not under control or influence.”
“Really?” asked Dastou, earnestly intrigued. “Is that why you’re dressed so differently, why you’re so thin?”
“I... yes, Mr. Dastou. We’re disconnected. If you saw people do this, on purpose, and we happen to be so close to my home...”
“Then it is very likely your own people did this. Is that what you’re thinking?”
“I wish it wasn’t, but yes, sir.”
The girl takes in the devastation again before lowering her head, seemingly in shame. “Please... I didn’t want to hurt anyone, Mr. Dastou, even if some of the others did. I had no idea. Let me go, I’ll leave this city and you won’t see me again.” She was on the verge of tears.
“What? What are you talking about?” asked Dastou before realizing what she meant. “Look, I’m not going to arrest you, or kill you, or whatever it is you think I do with my enemies. You’re just a witness. In fact, you’re gui
ding us to the tunnels when we’re ready.”
“You’re taking me with you? But these were my people probably, should I be coming along?”
“No offense, but you’re not exactly a threat to me. You’re useful, and I may as well bring you along.”
“Sir, thank you, sir! I’ll be as helpful as I can be, I promise.”
Saan-Hu and Nes gave each other glances that only barely held their incredulity. The girl’s enthusiasm to help was obvious, possibly to make up for the act of violence her people may have committed here today. Dastou thought the three choices in this situation were cut and dry. They could bring Trenna along and use her knowledge as best they can, if she has anything to give beyond the location of those “disconnected” people. Or, hold her under DSF authority and take her to Davranis. Finally, they could simply treat her wounds and leave her be. The first choice was the only feasible one if they were to find out who these terrorists were as soon as possible.
Terrorists? Where did that word come from? Dastou was sure it was the right phrase, but he never used it before in any way. He chalked it up to the Null Bank and let it be.
Nes got the girl’s attention again. “Trenna, we’re going to talk for a minute, can you stay here for us?”
“Sure, sir, no problem.”
The trio moved away from her a bit, but tried not to get too far.
“Dee, why would you bring her with us when we come back?” asked Nes. “She’s got no training for one thing, making her a possible burden.”
“In addition, she needs time to heal,” added Saan. “If we can study her for a while, find out why the Social Cypher is ignoring her, that data may lead us to some discovery of how it operates. Her healing and our study of her can be best done in Davranis.”
“Honestly, I just don’t want her too far from me,” said Dastou. “Even if she ends up giving us nothing more than a location, I’d rather not just leave her somewhere, even under DSF protection. This attack is too much of a disaster to reliably predict anything. You know I take your advice seriously, both of you, but this is final. She is coming along.”
Saints of the Void: Atypical Page 4
