Vessel, Book I: The Advent

by Tominda Adkins

"The blinder is completely unnecessary at this point, you know."

  "As you've told me," Stella noted flatly.

  The blinder stayed on.

  Stella sat in a private parlor, her small frame tucked into the end of an impressive antique love seat. Impressive from what she could determine, anyway, given the silky feel of the pinstriped fabric against her fingertips, and the lemony smell of polish on the ornate wood.

  "Suit yourself."

  She heard the speaker ease into a facing chair, maybe ten, twelve feet away. He was a senior consul, one she had spoken to once before, during the initial meeting regarding the Vessel assignment. Stella had never lain eyes on him, and she did not plan to lay eyes on him now.

  Her long career was over. Stella had seen enough in the past week, she realized, to kill any hopes of further hunting assignments. This reality did not make her happy, but she wasn't about to damn herself with even more information, and so she'd stubbornly kept herself blind during most of this week-long limbo. The consul's request to meet with her was no cause for alarm; it was to be expected. And besides, there were a few select things that Stella did want to know, despite her aversions. She was hoping these same things would be on the consul's mind as well.

  Unfortunately, his mind―whatever was on it―seemed to be resigned to a leisurely and excruciatingly slow pace.

  "Scotch?"

  The bass of his voice told her that he was a tall man. Its rasp told her that he was, older, in his mid-sixties maybe.

  "No thank you." Get to the point, geezer.

  There was the pouring of liquid against expensive crystal, the rifling of papers, and the creak of the chair as he settled back.

  "I had a very long chat with the rest of the Consulate before making my way here," he began. "I think you'll be very pleased with what was discussed."

  "Oh?" Spit it out, then.

  "Yes, yes, but first ...." The consul interrupted himself with a sip of scotch. "They did want your opinion on another matter or two."

  Stella stroked a finger over the carved edge of the armrest. "Alright."

  The consul sighed, took another sip of scotch. "Well, the young lady, for starters."

  "A liability," Stella snapped immediately. Was the man joking? "I was under the impression that you agreed. When we arrived at the scene, my orders were to let nature take its course, in her case."

  The consul didn't pause for long, but his manner of speaking was unbearably slow. "And yet it's my understanding that you are the one who ... relieved her of the afflicted limb, in order to save her life. That's true, yes?"

  "I might remind you that I'm a hunter, sir. We cut down Hollows." Under the blinder, Stella's gaze went as cold as the carved eyes on its surface. "So I strongly suggest that you contact a different department the next time you need someone murdered."

  The consul sighed patiently and assumed a more comfortable position. "Yes, well, the issue still remains."

  Stella inhaled sharply through her nose. This dancing around bit was wearing thin on her already. There was no point to it. The correct and sane answer was already obvious.

  "It does," she said. "Bringing her here was a terrible idea. What you are proposing is worse. Unnecessary, harmful, and dangerous."

  The glass of scotch chimed with ice, shaking along with the consul's short laugh. "Since when do our hunters care anything about danger?"

  Petulant, ignorant ... I'll show you danger.

  "There are other options, other locations," said Stella. "More sensible arrangements."

  "Yes. But the Consulate agrees, as does your friend Mr. Sharma," the consul contended, and Stella bristled at the baseless association to Abe. "We feel that it is wiser at this time to placate the Vessel, to make some concessions at least. And at this point, in her case, what difference does the location make?"

  "Probably about as much difference as my opinion makes, from the sound of things," Stella replied coolly.

  The consul cleared his throat, and that was that. The shuffling of paper filled the tense pause, and Stella waited with concealed smugness for the next topic.

  "Well then, I suppose you're interested in how we'll be covering your tracks this time around?"

  Stella said nothing. She was, in fact, not at all interested.

  "The bridge fiasco was not that difficult," the consul began explaining, regardless. "We have framed matters to the public so that Su Kim hi-jacked Mr. Cannon's bus in Chicago and then died in the crash. He had no issues complying to that story. I imagine, since he owes money and prison time to several nations, that he is better off dead. The others, however, wish to maintain contact with friends and family, so―"

  Stella was suddenly interested. She was almost interested enough to stand up.

  "You can't be serious," she said abruptly. "You can't. They should all be written off as dead, without exception. There isn't any other reasonable way to extract them from society. Sir, imagine the risks. To our intelligence, to the people they contact."

  "We are certainly aware of the risks, Rosin," the consul said, with infuriating serenity. "Any contact they make will be limited and very secure. And we are coming up with appropriate alibis for all of them." He paused again for more scotch.

  "Mr. Cannon, for instance. He escaped with his life before the crash and is currently recovering in Philadelphia. He released a public announcement this morning stating that he is canceling his tour and going on an indefinite private sabbatical to combat the psychological trauma sustained during the ordeal. Which is really such a shame," sighed the consul. "I do so love his music, don't you? My granddaughter got me hooked on that one song, the one with the ...."

  For a brief and horrible interlude, Stella heard only humming and rhythmic creaking motions coming from the consul's' chair.

  And then laughter, and another sip of the increasingly watered-down scotch. "Now, as for you, Rosin. We at the Consulate are very pleased with how you conducted the assignment. So much in fact, that we've come up with quite an offer for you."

  This honestly surprised Stella. A bridge and a building damaged, an old factory destroyed, a limb lost, the Vessel encountering Dahrkren himself. She'd assumed that the Consulate would be mad as hell.

  "Have you?" she asked, not masking her distrust.

  Here it comes, she thought. Just go ahead. Tell me where I'm confined to so I can take this thing off already, so I can go sit around and get old like you.

  "Rosin, the Elysium is, I dare say, our most secure property," said the consul. "There's no chance the Vessel will be under any threat so long as they remain on its premises."

  Stella's lukewarm, fuzzy thoughts of retirement suddenly hit a brick wall. Why was he talking about the Vessel, the Elysium? What about the Consulate's offer? Was he jumping subjects? Was he senile?

  "But that says nothing," the consul continued, "as to how secure they will be the day we expect them to face threats. Against the Hollows, even the younger examples, well, you saw for yourself what happened."

  Oh shit.

  "It won't matter how powerful they become, how easily they can succeed against Dahrkren, if they can't make it to him first. It is absolutely vital that they are shown how to defend themselves against any Hollows."

  No, no no no no no ....

  "What we've discussed, actually, is retiring you to the Elysium to educate them on that front, so to speak."

  Another sip of scotch. It suddenly sounded delicious.

  "You're joking," Stella said sullenly.

  "Not in the least."

  "Someone else." She faltered for words, gripping the armrest. "Anyone else could teach them―"

  "We can't spare anyone else right now," the consul said plainly, his charming nature loudly dissolving. "And even if you weren't the perfect candidate, you must realize that your options are quite limited at this point."

  "For Christ's sake," Stella growled, raising her voice one iota. "Because I've seen them?"

  "That has little to do with it." The c
onsul paced his words carefully. "I believe you know what I am talking about."

  Stella dragged a hard fingernail against the armrest, hoping to leave a scratch.

  So that was it, then. Six years. Six years, they let an issue rest, and now they decide to address it.

  "Is that why I was given this assignment in the first place?" Stella demanded. "To get me out of the way? Because of that incident?"

  "You were given the assignment because we had faith in your talents," the consul parried, "and you certainly reinforced that faith. None of us could have foreseen the Hollow's level of readiness regarding the Vessel before we could even find them. Without your actions, we would have lost them.

  "But the incident I suspect you are referring to ... well, I won't say that isn't a factor in this proposed arrangement. I daresay we took risks by keeping you out hunting for as long as we did after that. At any rate, we are aware of your familial situation, and we are more than willing to accommodate. You'll still have your monthly leave. Twice monthly, if you wish."

  Stella allowed her nostrils to flare under the blinder, though her lips remained as stoic and smooth as carved marble.

  "Think of it as an active retirement, Stella," the old man continued consolingly. "Would you honestly rather be set aside so early, with nothing to do?"

  You have no idea.

  The sound of the door opening did not startle Stella; she'd been acutely aware of the approaching footfall out in the hallway. She was irritated immensely, however, when she heard who was entering.

  "Hey, sorry! Didn't mean to interrupt anything."

  "Knock, you cretin."

  The voices spoke over one another but were easily distinguishable. The first being Jackson's loud drawl; the second, Corin's indignant, eloquent half-whisper.

  "Oh, Stella. There you are."

  And the third being Abe.

  "No interruption at all. Do come in." The consul greeted them, his decorum-laced cheer returning instantly. "Rosin and I were just doing some catching up."

  The door opened wider. Two people entered on foot, followed by the thumping and creaking of crutches. Abe's knee had been shattered, Stella was aware, and he had sustained a minor concussion. What really caused him agony, however, was the fact that he'd been out cold for what he now kept referring to as "the best part".

  "Oh good," he was saying, ambling across the room. "So we'll be working together again soon, Stella, am I right?"

  "The consul and I will be discussing the matter further," Stella answered robotically, without a hint of the malice begging to be released.

  "What's with the mask now?" Jackson asked with a grin in his voice. Stella was aware of his large hand waving in front of her blinder. She drew upon her innermost store of self-discipline not to reach out and break his thumb. "You said there weren't any Hollers around this place."

  "Just an act of protocol," said the consul. "One which Rosin will soon be putting behind her. Now, would anyone care for some scotch?"

  Stella Rosin was the first to raise her hand.

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