Lumière (The Illumination Paradox)

by Garlick, Jacqueline E.

  “Are you saying they were responsible for the flash, the Night of the Great Illumination?”

  “Look at it, Urlick. Look where we are. What other explanation could there be?”

  “You have no proof this machine was ever detonated.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” I produce the notebook journal labeled Lumière from my boot and hand it over to him. “Hold it out with the spine away from yourself.” Urlick turns the thin notebook until the pages face him. “Now fan the pages just slightly.” He does. “What do you see?”

  “A miniature drawing.” Urlick gasps. “Of the Core—” He stares at me.

  “Who drew this?”

  “My father.”

  “Why?”

  “Fan the pages again, only squeeze it tighter.”

  He squints. “Find me,” he reads.

  “I discovered it as I stuffed it in my boot back at the Compound, but I had no idea what the drawing was or what it meant. Until now.”

  He looks at me, astonished. “Go get the other journal. The one that contained your father’s note.”

  Forty eight

  Eyelet

  I disappear into the hallway and race to the bedroom, pulling the journal labeled Noir from the depths of my pack and fly back up the hall.

  “Let me see.” Urlick fans the pages as I stare over his shoulder. A drawing of the Illuminator appears—the small one at first, then the giant one next to it. Bolts of lightning connect them. In between the machines, the hands of two men struggle over a giant key. Beneath are the words... God be with me.

  I gasp at the sight of them. My father’s words. From his final note. It’s true. What I believed is true.

  “That’s what my nursemaid meant,” Urlick utters, his eyes fixed forward on nothing in particular, “when she told the lawyer on her deathbed, I couldn’t be returned to my father because he’d become undone.” He looks up at me, tears in his eyes. “He was Mad. That’s why he hated me so much. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t my fault. It was his.”

  I place a hand on his shoulder, and he shrugs it away. He turns, a new light in his eyes. “This is why Smrt didn’t shoot us back in Brethren.”

  “What?”

  “This is why we’re not dead.” He shakes the journal. “Smrt knew if he just waited long enough, we’d solve the puzzle and lead him to the prize possession he’s been looking for all these years: this machine. Not the one in the warehouse in Gears! This one!”

  An envelope falls from the center of the journal, drifting slowly to the floor. I bend to pick it up, shocked to see my name written across the front of it. “For Eyelet.” Written in the hand of my father.

  I rip it open, and read it aloud:

  “In regard to my recent findings—the discovery of residual amounts of radiate particulate matter lingering in the hair and nail samples of the human specimens I’ve exposed to the light, up to a month after their exposure. I have feverishly been pursuing an antidote, in the hope of de-radiating my victims. The formula for which, you will find encrypted here on the final pages of this journal.”

  I look up, and Urlick frantically flips to the final page, running a finger down the equation.

  “It should also be noted, large sums of radiate particulate matter were found in the wall and floor sample scrapings of the laboratory where I took the photographs. I also found readings far above acceptable levels in the groundwater and earth surrounding my laboratory, as far as twenty meters out in all directions.”

  Urlick looks up.

  “No wonder he so feared your father’s plan,” I say.

  “Though I’ve not yet had the chance to test the serum, I believe it to be of sound and trustworthy science. Unfortunately, to date I’ve only had the chance to produce a single vial, enough to de-radiate just one human subject. You will find the vial in the possession of my wife, one, Lila Isadore Elsworth.”

  “My mother.” I take a breath.

  “Should anything happen to me, I hereby solemnly request, the vial be used for the preservation of my daughter, Eyelet Emiline Elsworth,”— I gasp—“who ranks among the afflicted—”

  “Afflicted?” Urlick stalks toward me. “What does he mean, afflicted?”

  I ignore the question, and keep reading.

  “The vial is infused with a de-ionized arc from the cathode ray, vacuum-packed under glass. It doubles as a key to unlock the doors behind which you will find the machine.”

  “The pendant,” I say. Urlick’s gaze falls to my neck. “No wonder it behaved the way it did. It is the key to my future. To everyone’s future. Just like mother said.”

  “What?” Urlick says.

  “Those were the last words she said to me as she lay dying. She told me never to give it over to anyone for any reason. Now I understand why.”

  “And your father, why did he insist you take the serum? What did he mean by afflicted?”

  I bite my lip and fall silent, studying the toes of my boots. “I’ve wanted to tell, I was just so afraid—”

  “Tell me what?”

  I twist my fingers in my hand. “I suffer from mind struggles, Urlick. A form of mild insanity. I’m troubled with seizures. Much like Cordelia. Only mine are not quite as severe. Sometimes they’re very small, but other times they’re large. I start to shake and then I’m taken under. That’s what happened to me the other day, in the balloon. That’s why you couldn’t wake me up—”

  “Is that all?”

  My chin springs up.

  “What do you mean is that all? Isn’t that enough?”

  “Why, it’s nothing,” Urlick laughs, tucking the hair behind my ear. “Just a minor imperfection.”

  “It is?”

  “Certainly.” He grins.

  “So it doesn’t matter to you?”

  “Why would it?” He reaches for me, cupping my face in his hands. “You’re perfect, Eyelet, just as you are.”

  “You’re serious?” I say.

  “Have I ever been anything else?”

  I laugh and fall against his chest, my arms wrapped tightly about his waist. He strokes my hair and kisses the top of my head, and I feel as though a weight has been lifted off my heart—an anchor I’ve carried since birth. I cling to him, letting the years of heartache melt away, his hands stroking my back. How many years had I believed I would never be loved, never accepted, all because I was different? And now, our differences have brought us together. I couldn’t be a luckier girl.

  “Your father.” Urlick pulls back, concern in his eyes. “How many times did he expose you to the Ray?”

  “Just the once. When I was very young. Never again,” I say. “According to his note, he realized his mistake and ceased experimenting on me immediately. Which, I realize now, I misinterpreted as abandonment. I’ve hated him, you know. All these years, I thought he’d betrayed me. When in truth, what he did, he did out of love.” I pinch my lips together, fighting back a cry.

  Urlick wraps his arms around me, pressing another kiss to my head. “It’s all right.” He thumbs a tear from my cheek. “You were young, you didn’t know. But now that you do,” he picks my necklace up off my chest, “you need to do as he says and drink this immediately.”

  “No.” I snap back, shaking my head. “I can’t.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t? You heard what he said. You could die otherwise. You’ve been exposed to the Ray.”

  “I couldn’t live with myself knowing I drank the only antidote. You heard him. He said there were others.”

  “But—”

  “I promise you I’ll drink it, as soon as we find a way to duplicate the formula.”

  “And if we can’t? What then?”

  “Don’t talk like that, of course we can. Look at all the things we’ve done together.” I take his hand in mine, the necklace clasped tightly between our fingers. “Think about it. If it takes one vial of serum to de-radiate a human, what could a thousand, maybe a million vials do? Perhaps we can produce enough antidote
to reverse the effects the Night of the Great Illumination has had on the rest of our world.”

  “Such an arresting premise…”

  Our heads snap around to the sound of his voice. Smrt emerges from the shadows, pistol in his hand. He cocks the gun and points it at us.

  “…Too bad it’ll never have a chance to come to fruition.”

  Forty nine

  Eyelet

  Urlick steps out in front of me. Smrt closes the gap between us. The sides of his trench coat flap as he stalks toward us, ebony buttons glinting silvery-white.

  Flossie trots along behind him, like the dog she is, her eyes stretching up then down the frame of the Illuminator in fearful, giddy awe.

  “How did you know where to find us?” Urlick breathes.

  “You weren’t difficult to find.” Smrt grins. “I simply followed the bread crumbs you left for me.” He pulls the remains of one of Urlick’s arsenal gadgets from his pocket. “Ingenious, really. It’ll be a shame to waste such a brilliant mind. Though not brilliant enough to realize he shouldn’t leave a trail of these,” he spins the gadget on the end of his finger, “not to mention the dead bodies. Oh, and the cycle was a rather nice touch. You are aware that thing follows you around like a dog?”

  “Bertie,” Urlick mumbles.

  Smrt smirks, then inspects his nails. “At any rate, it all made for wonderfully easy tracking. The bridge was a bit of a trick, I must admit, but then the cycle sniffed out this.” He holds up my torn piece of petticoat. The one I scripted my father’s message on using ashes. It must have dropped from my pocket as we fled the Turned. “Now”—he balls it in his fist “—shall we get down to business?”

  Urlick’s eyes are wild, his teeth clenched. “Go ahead, tell us. What is it you really want?”

  Smrt snorts, jutting his neck out over the stone floor. “What I’ve always wanted.” He lowers his voice. “Power. Ultimate power.”

  His eyes flick to the center of the room. He spins on his heels, charging toward the Illuminator, tossing his gun off to Flossie along the way.

  She fumbles with it, then points it at my head, her hands trembling.

  Smrt strips his gloves from his hand, running an adoring finger over the rim of the machine’s giant lens. “It appears I have it now, don’t I?” Smrt turns and grins. “And to think your father was right, Eyelet.” He leans back, elbows on the rail and flips his chin. “His father was a madman…” Urlick’s body tenses next to me. I squeeze his hand to hold him back. “…But an incredibly fine and innovative one, lucky for me!” Smrt laughs.

  Flossie's eyes move over me, and her finger twitches on the pistol’s trigger.

  “Ironic, isn’t it?”—Smrt’s eyes flash—“How everything in science created for the purpose of good ends up having an equally ill-intended use? Case in point: your father creates a seemingly harmless picture box”—he nods at me and then turns to Urlick—“which your father then turns into the ultimate killing machine.”

  “How dare you speak that way of his intentions?” Urlick scowls.

  “Oh, come now, you’ve read her father’s notes. I know you have. I listened.” Smrt clatters back across the room. “Your father’s intentions may not have been purposely ill-intended, but he sought power just the same. What is the saying? Ultimate power corrupts absolutely, or some such silly thing. Nevertheless, here we are and there it sits.” He tosses a hand back toward the machine. “Just imagine the price countries will pay to get their hands on a weapon of such massive destruction.”

  “You’ve known all along, haven’t you?” I step around Urlick. “How dangerous this science is.” I grit my teeth. “You knew and you did nothing?”

  “Wrong.” Smrt grins. “I knew and I did everything. Everything in my power to preserve the science, while your father fought to have it put to bed.”

  “You’re the reason he was demoted.”

  “Your father was the cause of his own demotion, the nizzie fool! Always bringing to light the machine’s harmful side, instead of championing its endless possibilities.”

  “That was because my father had a conscience!”

  “Oh you think so, do you?” Smrt snaps. “Your father promised me a cure for my palsy if only I helped to finance his machine. I handed over the money, but no cure ever came. Instead, he paid me off in prototypes, telling me I could keep the revenue from their sales. I took the money and planned to build a bigger one, a better one, something stronger, more capable of mastering a cure. But then my daft assistant Mrs. Benson up and died and ruined everything! Rumors spread across the countryside, claiming she died of her repeat exposure to the Ray. People began calling for the Academy to abandon the science, for all the machines to be destroyed. So, I volunteered to perform Mrs. Benson’s autopsy, hoping to quell the gossip, during which I realized your father had been right.

  The tumor that stilled Mrs. Benson’s lungs was, in fact, due to exposure to the machine. A giant mass of particulate radiate matter the size of a baseball lay lodged in her lungs. The machine was in fact killing people.

  Imagine my delight when I found out, in my hands I held such power. What was once billed as the world’s miracle machine”—he raises his arms—“was, in truth, a silent killer.

  People flocked in droves and paid great sums of money to lie beneath the Ray, believing it would cure them, when actually it was nothing but a cruel joke. The Ray wasn’t saving them, it was slowly killing them.

  And now, not only will I possess the power to decide who lives or dies, I’ll hold the secret to the antidote, too. Just think how much people would pay to cure themselves, once they realized they’d been such fools.”

  “You’ll never own it. I’ll never give it to you.”

  “You’ll give it to me,”—he pulls a gun from his pocket, and cocks it next to Urlick’s head—“or I take his life.”

  “Don’t give it to him, Eyelet,” Urlick shouts. “He won’t shoot me! He’s too much of a coward!”

  “Shut UP!” Smrt smacks him in the head with the gun.

  Blood bursts from Urlick’s temple.

  “Hand it over, or he dies.”

  “Don’t do it, Eyelet! He’s only bluffing.”

  I gasp, my head swinging between the two of them.

  “Your choice.” Smrt moves his finger to the trigger of his gun. “Your pendant in exchange for your boyfriend’s life. Or death for the both of you.”

  “Wait!” I shout. I un-loop the chain from my neck and toss it across the room.

  “No, Eyelet! Don’t!” Urlick screams.

  The vial lopes, tumbling slowly through the air, too far to the side for Smrt to be able to catch it. My plan all along.

  Smrt lunges for it. Urlick leaps on his back. They spin, Urlick clawing at Smrt’s eyes. “Shoot him!” Smrt shouts.

  Flossie’s gun goes off, grazing Urlick in the leg.

  I race at her, heart pounding, and kick the gun from her hands.

  Eyelet!” Urlick screams, Smrt on his back driving punches into his side. “The journals!”

  I turn to see Flossie racing from the room, my father’s journals pressed tight to her chest. I hitch up my skirts and charge after her. “Urlick!” I turn back at the door.

  Smrt’s hands are on Urlick’s throat. Urlick’s back is draped over the controls. The Illuminator’s panel is flashing—red.

  “I’ve got this!” Urlick shouts. “Go after the journals!” He throws a solid left into Smrt’s jaw.

  Fifty

  Eyelet

  I turn and race up the stairs, out into the Vapours, no time to search for a mask, and chase after Flossie through the splotchy fog, hurdling logs, tree trunks, and bushes. It soon becomes clear I’ll never catch her—Flossie’s gotten too much of a lead. I slow, my eye catching on something glinting in a stand of trees on the outskirts of the Core. White bone wrapped in brambles.

  “Bertie?”

  The cycle whimpers, his frame shuddering. He rears and bucks but can’t get loose. S
omeone has tangled him up in the thicket and left him to fight his way out. “Smrt,” I grumble as I race toward Bertie, “it had to be him.”

  I reach the base of the trees in seconds. Thorns stick me as I try to part the branches. “Hold on,” I say to Bertie, yanking the nail file from my pocket. I hack and slice at the branches with the file’s edge.

  Bertie jounces, breaking himself free, spilling breathless out onto the path.

  “Good boy!” I say, patting his handlebars. “Though I’m positive Urlick told you to stay put,” I lean over, whispering in his ear, “I’m glad you don’t listen to him either. You up for a little chase?” Bertie trundles. “Good, because we can’t afford to let her get away.”

  I throw my leg over the seat and jump on the pedals, guiding Bertie off through the woods at a magnificent speed. Steering through the tangled underbrush, maneuvering past rock and tree, through the blackening fog.

  I give a fleeting thought to the Infirmed, but then erase it. Whatever it takes, I can’t let Flossie get away.

  Within seconds I have Flossie in sight, spotting her sapphire coat shimmering through the foggy drape. Gaining on her, I pull up to a stand, pedaling harder, pushing Bertie to his limit. Using a rock as a ramp, I yank back on the handlebars, launching Bertie and I up into the air over her head.

  Flossie cranks around, her face awash with panic.

  I lean out from the cycle, and jump.

  Her skirts pulled high, Flossie pours on the speed.

  I pounce, catching her by the knees. My chin bounces off the ground as I haul her to the earth, journals spilling from her hands. We roll in a tight ball of tangled arms and legs, journals scattered across the forest floor, pages fluttering in the wind.