1 + 2

by Kristie Lynn Higgins

  "Yes." Mr. Griffin glanced over hundreds of rows of storage shelves that rose twenty feet into the air; the place was huge. Dozens of dome-shaped robots the size of a football moved across the floor and shelves, keeping the Archive clean and sterile.

  "I wasn't sure if I had said it. I'm getting a little senile." Claviger stopped at a golf cart. "Get in."

  Mr. Griffin arched a graying eyebrow, noticing the clerk wore house slippers, and Claviger noticed his expression and glanced down at his feet. "Oh, these. No one's here to see me in them, and my poor feet really love them."

  "It'll be our secret." Mr. Griffin got in on the passenger's side.

  Claviger laid the walker in the back, turned the key to the cart, and started down an aisle. "As I was saying, besides the security guard, people don't come down here anymore. With the advancement of computers, all the information's a keystroke away. It gets kind of lonely down here."

  Mr. Griffin turned to the clerk. "You have no H.H.C. How do you know where the records are filed?"

  Claviger tapped his head. "It's all up here."

  "What if something should happen to you, who else knows the filing system?"

  "Who else?" He thought about it. "No one. There hasn't been another clerk assigned down here in ten years."

  "I'll have to do something about that."

  "Here we are." Claviger braked, grabbed his walker, and exited the golf cart. He removed a remote from the cart and pressed a button, and an automated ladder wheeled its way across the shelves, squeaking as it went and stopped in front of them.

  "The box is on the tenth shelf. It's marked JS1324."

  Mr. Griffin glanced up the ladder and back to the clerk quizzically.

  Claviger tapped his walker with his hand. "I'd go up Mr. Griffin, but my knees aren't what they used to be."

  "Right." Mr. Griffin removed his dark gray suit jacket and climbed the ladder, and soon he found the JS1324 box, brought it down, and opened it.

  "Need any help going through it?" Claviger asked.

  "No, I can do it myself. Thank you."

  Claviger walked over to the storage shelf and pulled down a small mounted table. He laid the remote there, went to the golf card, grabbed a two way radio, and placed it on the table. "If you don't find what you're looking for, you might try box JB6741. It's up there." He pointed to the opposite storage shelf. "Or JU7895. It's down six units and up on shelf sixteen." He pointed. "If you need anything, contact me on channel two. I also left a remote. Press the button and the ladder will move to where you are standing." Claviger loaded his walker into the cart, sat in the driver's seat, and drove away.

  Placing the box on the table, Mr. Griffin removed the lid, and started going through the files. He spent about a half hour going through them when he came across a folder, and it was labeled top secret.

  Mr. Griffin's view...

  I'm shocked to see the folder here. It had been thrown in with all the others. Were they hoping the hole the Archive had become would bury it? I go over the report. Theresa Griffin was present during the First Cross-Gate Event, and she was six months pregnant at the time.

  I read out loud, "Study of the child could be valuable to the Second Trial."

  I've never heard of the Cross-Gate Event or the Second Trial. Theresa should have told me about it. I find no other references to my wife or my youngest child, so I put the contents back in the box, climb the ladder, and put it back.

  End Mr. Griffin's view...

  Mr. Griffin climbed down, grabbed the remote from the table, and walked to the opposite side. He pressed the button on the remote, and a second automated ladder wheeled to the spot in front of him; he grabbed the second box, brought it down, started through its files, and found what he was looking for. It was another top secret folder, and he went over it, finding that Theresa Griffin had gone into labor early, but the baby was delivered in good health. It was decided by the Vice President to take the child away from its parents and study the effects of the Cross-Gate Event on its development. Theresa Griffin was told the baby died in child birth. A new project title will be given to the experiment, and the girl will be given the best of care.

  Mr. Griffin looked up from the folder. He had another girl, and he beamed with pride, thinking about her. He searched the rest of the box, found nothing, moved to the last box JU7895, and found nothing more on Theresa Griffin or the unnamed baby girl. The little girl was part of a project, and it wasn't much to go on, but it was something. He picked up a small rectangular device and unwrapped an instruction booklet around it, wondering what it was. They were for some sort of test. He skimmed through the booklet and discovered it was a blood test to determine if Stable-flux Red Blood Cells were present in the blood. He remembered seeing Stable-flux R.B.C. and flipped through some files he had already gone through and found it. Anyone present during the First Cross-Gate Event and survived had the Stable-flux R.B.C. in their blood. He grabbed some of them and put them in his business coat pocket. Never know when they might come in handy, and then Mr. Griffin put the last box back and picked up the two way radio. "Claviger, I'm finished. You can come pick me up."

  "Right away, Mr. Griffin."

  The clerk's golf cart rolled down the aisle, stopped, and picked him up.

  On the ride back, Mr. Griffin asked, "Do you know of any other files that might pertain to my wife or our second child?"

  "Second child? You had a second child?" Claviger asked and when the Chairman didn't answer, Claviger replied, "No, but if they're more than a decade old, I might not. Before then, there were five clerks working down here, so I didn't file some of the records. I'll go through some of the older ones that were not part of my filing system and see if I can find anything, but it will take time."

  "I'll send you some assistants. They can help you, and they can start cataloging these files. The Archive might not be used all that often, but I would like it in order so I may do so."

  "Yes, Mr. Griffin, and the help will be greatly appreciated." Claviger stopped the cart.

  "You'll have the clerks by the end of the day." Mr. Griffin got out, started down the hall, and passed the security guard.

  Mr. Griffin's view...

  I smile; I have a little girl. My smile quickly vanishes. She is little no more. She would be in her early thirties, and I have to find her. Theresa will want me to find her, so I better start looking.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Maven Crackerjack

  10:29 A.M...

  Hellenistic Sector, Trade Vicinage...

  Sun enslaving Dry Clouds hovered over the Factory like a cruel and angry master as several tractor trailers drove down the long stretch of road to the main facility. Armed Council S.C.Ms. watched the men unload the eighteen wheelers and transport the cargo into one of the buildings with forklifts. One by one, the workers uncrated the boxes in a variety of sizes and set up their contents in one of the Factory's large gyms. The room had earlier been cleared of its workout equipment and by late morning, the men finished uncrating the boxes. The Rogue busied itself with checking the invoices to make sure all the items had been delivered.

  "What is the meaning of this?" a tall thin man shouted as he stormed into the room; he had stringy blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. He wore a stone-gray business suit and a white tie. The man adjusted his thin framed glasses with round lenses which made his light blue eyes look bigger than they were. Two Council S.C.Ms. had followed him in.

  At the man's rude entrance, the Rogue turned from one of the delivery men it had been speaking with.

  Indignant, the man spat, "I arrived at the Hellenistic Sector's Antiquity Museum this morning to find everything gone. Every piece from the Ginn L. Irynkissgthie exhibit was sold to this dreadful place." He walked around the room. "What could you possibly want with all this forgotten history?"

  The Rogue signed the delivery sheet on a H.H.C., and the last of the workers left. "You
must be the curator of the museum." It waved away the two S.C.Ms. that escorted the man through the Factory, and they left, leaving the Rogue to talk with the man alone.

  "No, I am not the curator. I'm the assistant and I'm in charge of Ginn's exhibit. I'm Maven Crackerjack." He stepped forward. "And you are?"

  "Mr. Pinchbeck, I am the Manager of the Factory." The Rogue walked over to a pedestal displaying an old leather bound book in a glass case. "Tell me Mr. Crackerjack, what do you know of Ginn?"

  "What do I know?" he yelled and then yelled louder, "What do I know?" Maven folded his arms. "What don't I know?"

  Moving to a painting of what looked like an abstract landscape, the Rogue studied the scene. "Do you want to know why I have brought all these things here?" It motioned to the items with its hand. "Answer me something then. Why did you say this is forgotten history?"

  "It isn't completely forgotten." Maven pointed to himself. "I have dedicated my life to discovering these things and to understand Ginn's genius." He pulled out a white silk handkerchief from his suit pocket, removed his glasses, and cleaned the lenses. "I called it forgotten history because no one cares about what happened in the past. In this business world, all they care about is the future. I say we can learn about our future by examining the past."

  "Well said, but how much of the past have you studied?"

  "You mean you want to know how much I know about Irynkissgthie? He was born 559 B.D.C. and died in 478 B.D.C. nearly 500 years ago. He was a painter, sculptor, architect, musician, engineer, and scientist. The versatility and creative power of Ginn marked him as a supreme example of late Renaissance genius. He depicted in his drawings a scientific precision and consummated artistry subjects ranging from flying machines to caricatures. He also executed intricate anatomical studies of people, animals, and plants." Maven placed his glasses back on.

  "No, I can get all that information from books and the internet. What I want to know is what you cannot find in them."

  Maven questioned, "Why are you so interested?"

  "It is a fair question, so let me show you why. Follow me please." The Rogue walked out of the display room, down several corridors, into Research Lab Five, and into the Gallery.

  Maven looked over each of the statues. "These are quite amazing, but these don't answer my question. Why are you so interested?"

  "These may not." The Rogue walked to a back wall, pressed a tile at the height of its shoulder, and the wall slid up. "Down this hall is the reason for my interest." It motioned with its hand. "After you."

  Maven started down the long descending passage and with each few steps a light came on, lighting their way. After about fifteen minutes, the hall ended at a room, and Maven paused at the doorway. Several lights blinked on inside, lighting up the center where the two black stones sat on a platform. Maven examined them and said, "Amazing! You have pieces to the Stones?"

  "They are incomplete. I thought so," the Rogue said. "But are they pieces of the same work?"

  Maven's view...

  "Do you see it?" I question.

  I have never come across anyone who understands Ginn even just a little, and I'm tingling with excitement. I might have found someone I can share my knowledge with who will also appreciate it.

  I say, "You see it, but you haven't figured out what it is you are seeing."

  End Maven's view...

  The Rogue asked, "What are you saying?"

  "Where to begin?" He put his hands together as if praying. "It might sound preposterous, but I believe some things accredited to Ginn were really created by a man named Arcamedes."

  The Rogue contemplated the significance of this truth. "There could be a second man?"

  "Yes." Maven said, "Now tell me, why are you gathering Ginn's artifacts?"

  "Answer me one more question. Do you believe the stones are only poems?"

  Maven shook his head. "No, of course not; they're a prophecy. I believe two opposing prophecies."

  "Opposing? It is intriguing."

  Maven could hardly contain his excitement. "Yes, two possible outcomes."

  "It is intriguing," the Rogue repeated. "And to answer your question as to why I am gathering the artifacts, I believe I have found the Rushlight."

  Maven's view...

  The Rushlight?

  Mr. Pinchbeck is extraordinary, and in all the years I have poured over Ginn's works, I have never come close to figuring out who the Rushlight refers to.

  I ask, "What great figure in history do you believe the Rushlight was?"

  End Maven's view...

  "History? Was?" the Rogue exclaimed. "Mr. Crackerjack, I believe the Rushlight is here. I believe the Rushlight is here living in Noir."

  Maven considered the possibility. "I have something that might interest you," he said. "Come, let us return to the room housing the artifacts." Maven took the lead and they went back to the large gym and once inside, Maven walked to the glass case displaying the old leather bound book. He removed the protective cover, placed white gloves on from his coat pocket, and flipped through the tome. Maven removed an old parchment folded in half that had been tucked between two pages. "This is an old copy of a poem written by Arcamedes. It's one of the things I base my hypothesis on." He held out the parchment. "You might find one word interesting that's used repeatedly."

  The Rogue started to take it, paused, went and put on gloves from a table, took the parchment, and read the poem entitled, You Will Weep.

  "Where light brightened the day

  now darkness preys.

  Where love stayed the pain

  now love is bane.

  Rushlight, say goodbye.

  Say you will embrace the night.

  No.

  Don't say I didn't try.

  Don't say I gave up the fight.

  Rushlight, the tears you wish to cry

  will one day fall like rain.

  For all the lies they told you,

  for the hurt and the pain.

  Rushlight, you will weep to be so alone.

  Don't you know

  you are marked and

  you may never return home.

  No.

  Don't say I can't go home.

  Don't say I can't change my destiny.

  Rushlight, in the end

  you'll be what I told you,

  you will be.

  No loyal friend will you ever see.

  Now say goodbye,

  say you will fight the urge to cry.

  Say you will embrace the Closing Of Days.

  No.

  I will shed tears.

  I will defy my fate.

  I will find a way.

  Love is the test.

  Then Rushlight,

  these tears you cry

  fall too late.

  They won't take back your lies,

  your folly, your pain.

  You have committed the final sin

  now there is no turning back.

  Love has left you,

  you will find no rest.

  No matter what you say,

  you can't run away from today.

  No.

  You lie.

  I will beat the test.

  No, Rushlight,

  you will fail.

  And you will weep when you face the end alone,

  you are marked,

  you may never return home.

  You are marked,

  you may never return home.

  You are marked,

  you may never return home."

  The Rogue looked up from the parchment. "Rushlight? This reference is what you wanted me to see? What you are saying..."

  "I'm saying, Mr. Pinchbeck," Maven interrupted. "Ginn did not write both of those tablets. It's my theory that Arcamedes wrote the second one. The one in which the Rushlight is mentioned."

  "What does this mean?" the Rogue asked.

  "It means, we d
on't have a man who couldn't see the future clearly. We have two different men looking into the aftertime. There are two possible out comes to the future they mention, depending on which path the Rushlight takes."

  The Rogue said, "This is most interesting."

  Maven placed the parchment back in the book and set the glass case over the tome. "Mr. Pinchbeck, will you allow me to chase this hypothesis?"

  "Now you want to work for me? Are you saying you are no longer opposed to Ginn's Collection coming to the Factory?"

  "Yes, I wish to work for you and no, I'm no longer opposed to the collection coming here. I see that it won't be collecting dust."

  "Well then Mr. Crackerjack, chase your hypothesis with the full funding of the Factory."

  Chapter Thirty

  It's All In A Street

  11:59 A.M...

  Hellenistic Sector, Residential Vicinage...

  Nexus Apartments...

  The elevator doors opened to the thirty-first floor, and Kat drudged out, making her way to Apartment H. She carried the hot teas, and hers was half gone.

  Zax walked out of Apartment G and passed her. "Hello," he said as he halted.

  "Hey," she automatically replied, without looking at him and stopped in front of Apartment H.

  He noticed she paid no real attention to him, and he continued to the elevator.

  Kat pressed the door bell just wanting to collapse on the couch. The chime rang inside and within a few minutes, Kim answered.

  "It's about time you came back." She stepped to the side so Kat could enter. "What took you so long?"

  Continuing into the kitchen, Kat mumbled over her shoulder, "I don't want to talk about it." She remembered what she was carrying, walked back, and handed Kim the Chai. "Here, I got this for you."

  Kim took it and took a sip of the sweet liquid.

  Kat went into the living room, dropped her backpack, and plopped on the couch. She set the tea on the coffee table and stared at the floor.

  "Something bad happened, didn't it?" Kim asked her as she stood behind the couch, watching the woman. "I told you not to go. You need to start listening to me when I tell you..."

  "You're right," Kat interrupted. "I should have never gone." She balled her hands that rested on her lap. "I need to stay away from people. I'm cursed. I only endanger them. I only cause suffering."