by Alex Powell
“Why not?”
“It’s a long story.” She smiled a bit wistfully. “There was rivalry and betrayal and all sorts of things happening at the time. And this university is in France, so let’s not forget love.”
Suddenly, they stood on a balcony overlooking a vast city, and Fox could see flashing signs written in foreign characters far below and floating lanterns all around them. There was a second woman on the balcony, and a man behind her, carrying a glass of red wine.
“That’s me,” Joanne whispered.
“So you’ll accept the position, then?” the man asked.
“Yes,” Past-Joanne said. “If they offer it to me.”
“You’re willing to give up all we have together just to work with him?”
“You’re the one who has a problem with him. I have nothing to do with that. You’re the one who wants to give up everything in the face of your rivalry. Do not expect me to sacrifice my career for your ego.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“No. What you’re doing, forcing me to choose between myself and you, is what’s not fair. I should have realized how selfish you were before all this started.”
“I should have known you’d put your work first,” the man shot back. “You’ll be alone the rest of your life, but that’s your cross to bear—”
“I’d forgotten he said that,” Joanne whispered, and a bright beam of light, more intense than all the surrounding lanterns, erupted in front of them.
“Is that light the memories?” Fox asked in a low voice, watching as it bobbed in front of them.
“I guess so,” Joanne said, reaching out to touch it, then drawing back her hand. “What do I do with it?”
The memory swirled softly, but otherwise did nothing. To Fox, it looked like a mass of feathers, or something with soft edges, twirling in around itself.
“I think if you leave it here, you can probably come back and get it whenever you like, now that you know where it is,” Fox suggested. “We still don’t know how to give them back to King. For that matter, I’m not sure how he got them there in the first place.”
“Should there be another clue here somewhere?” Joanne asked.
Fox looked around and found that Past-Joanne was holding something. He leaned over her shoulder, and Joanne, seeing his movement, followed. It was a piece of paper, and upon closer examination, looked more like old, yellowing parchment than a new sheet.
“This one is obviously a poem,” Joanne said, looking it over. “Why couldn’t this one have been first, so that mine would have been more obvious?”
“King wanted solvable, not necessarily easy,” Fox replied with a smile. “We’ve found the first set of memories. This isn’t as hopeless as we thought.”
“We still have to find King’s physical body.”
“On that note, we should hold another meeting, and tell everyone our news. Then we can see if they’ve made any headway on that front.”
For the first time, Fox thought they might actually have a chance.
Chapter 4: Under the Rose
Fox ran up the side of the wall, a spray of bullets impacting just behind him. He pushed off with his paws and did a backflip over the head of the agent chasing him.
It could be Seven. The agent had a set of dual pistols, just like Seven’s. He was too far away, though, and not keeping still besides, so Fox couldn’t see his eyes. Not that he should believe Seven in saying Fox could use the colour of his eyes to set him apart. For all he knew, it was just another trick.
Where was Joanne when you needed her?
For that matter, he’d completely lost track of Mrs. Parks, Karl, and Simon as well. However, Joanne was the one he was working with, and who was supposed to have his back. He didn’t want to have to resort to hiding in the social platforms again, not when it put so many people who had nothing to do with this in danger.
Fox really wasn’t a fighter, and getting into a grapple with the agent shooting at him would certainly end with him losing. He’d already tried hiding in the part of the Cerebrum archive dedicated to foxes, but the agent hadn’t been fooled in the least. Even when Fox appeared as a fox, his ID tag was still visible.
And this morning had started out so well.
Joanne thought that because the first clue referred to herself, then the rest of the clues would also be meant for one of the other team members. Fox agreed it was likely, because King liked symmetry. He didn’t particularly care for the idea of King hiding a clue inside one of his memories, however. The clue for Joanne had revealed a memory of hers that seemed very personal, and he didn’t want to show anyone a memory like that. It was too intimate to share with people who didn’t know each other’s real faces.
That wasn’t entirely true, actually. Now he knew what Joanne’s real face looked like as well.
He’d never show anyone what she looked like, of course, but the fact remained that it left her more vulnerable. Karl had been right, after all. Anyone could be a spy, and even Fox could admit that he’d been playing the Devil’s advocate in that instance, when he’d argued that the government could find them without help.
He was a bit arrogant when it came to his abilities, so yes, he actually did think it unlikely there was no inside source. Of course, it was fully possible that whoever had provided the information had done so unknowingly or unwillingly.
It could even have been him.
Mistakes were made, and no one was infallible. As much as he liked his co-conspirators, he knew all of them had their own weaknesses. Some of them even had the same ones.
Fox had called another meeting, because this was their biggest breakthrough yet. When they started this, he didn’t think anyone had really believed in their ability to succeed. This would show them that there was hope, even if it was tenuous.
“Will you take us to see this memory?” Simon asked, once they had all assembled in Joanne’s domain.
This time, the library of her domain was vast, constructed of glass and concrete. It looked like a Roman coliseum. They all sat around a long, mahogany table, and overhead, the skylight showed an endless, blue afternoon. Secretly, Fox liked the other setting better, even if this one was grand and beautiful.
“If you would all like to see it, then yes,” Joanne said, not betraying any nervousness over showing everyone what had happened all that time ago.
“We’d also like your help with the clue,” Fox added. “We now think the next one refers to one of us, since this one was meant for Joanne.”
All at once, they were in Tokyo again. Fox had looked up some of the characters he’d seen last time, and could read some of the words flashing around him. This time, he ignored the conversation nearby as he tried to take in more of the details. The others were all interested in Joanne’s memory, and he could hear Simon gasp loudly in outrage as he realized what was going on.
The gasp was followed by several exclamations as Joanne’s memory presented itself in all its shining glory. He turned again, happy to join in now that the memory had finished its play-through. He’d seen it already, and to witness the private moment again made his insides twist uncomfortably.
“So, what do you think we’re supposed to do with it?” Mrs. Parks asked. “How do we return it to King now that we’ve found it?”
“I think it is safe here for now,” Joanne said. “I can’t give it back to King till we have his physical self anyway. Until then, we know where it is, and we have the next clue.”
“Oh, yes, show us the next clue!” Karl said in great excitement.
They melted back into the great library, ony this time seated next to an old-fashioned chalk board.
Then, the clue appeared in Joanne’s looping writing:
Born under the lily,
Another raised me,
I have an older brother,
Children of a common mother.
They all stared at it for a while, but Fox couldn’t find anything that suggested the clue referred to himself, so he look
ed at the rest of the group. It couldn’t be Joanne again, because that would break the pattern, if there was one. King wouldn’t make it something illogical like that, however. So that meant it was either Karl, Mrs. Parks, or Simon.
“Do you see anything?” he asked.
“I don’t see how it could be me,” Simon said. “I was not born under any kind of flower and I am an only child.”
“I have several older brothers, but it can’t be me,” Joanne added, obviously thinking along the same lines as Fox.
“I only have sisters,” Mrs. Parks chimed in.
“Maybe it doesn’t have anything to do with real-life siblings,” Karl suggested. “It is likely a metaphor, such as the one found in the previous poem.”
Fox frowned and wrinkled his nose. “There’s something familiar about the wording, though. I can’t put my finger on the reason, but I’m sure I’ve read a similar passage somewhere.”
“Could it be for you, then?” Simon asked.
“It didn’t have anything to do with me, I’m pretty sure,” Fox said, with a shake of his head. “It just sounds like something I’ve heard before, and I just remember the wording.”
“Me, too, actually,” Joanne put in, then pursed her lips. “But only the first part. The second part doesn’t sound at all familiar.”
Fox considered this. “For me, it’s the last part that’s familiar. Why would the two of us find something familiar about two different halves of a poem?”
“How do you know it’s two halves?” asked Mrs. Parks. “It looks like one poem to me, kids.”
“The rhyme scheme,” Joanne and Fox murmured together.
“Right,” Simon said. “How can it rhyme for both of you?”
That stopped them immediately, and they both looked at Simon.
“The Cerebrum translates for all of us,” Karl said, with an excited twirl of mist. “Several of us speak a different language, so it stands to reason that it shouldn’t rhyme for all of us. It doesn’t for me—I speak German.”
“Nor for me,” Simon said, with an irritated swish of his cape. “Spanish.”
“I speak English,” Fox supplied.
“French,” Joanne added.
“So, the first half sounds familiar in French,” Fox mused. “And the second part in English. Joanne, do you think you could write it out and have the Cerebrum keep it untranslated, so we can all see it in French?”
Joanne nodded, and wrote out the first two lines again.
Né sous le lys, un autre m’ai levée.
“Le lys?” Fox said, aware that his pronunciation of French was terrible. “As in fleur de lys?”
“So that is the French fleur de lys, which makes the lily a symbol of France,” Simon leapt half out of his seat in excitement.
Karl’s misty form condensed slightly and swirled, betraying his state of emotion. “If the lily refers to France, then the other must be England, seeing as the second part is something that is familiar to an English speaker.”
“I would argue that it could be any English-speaking nation,” Fox said, resulting in a groan from everyone. “But for one thing. The symbol of England is the Rose.”
All eyes turned to Mrs. Parks, and her hand came up to cover where her mouth would be. “I do have children. However, the children in this clue are the children of nations and not of a person. It could be something else.”
“Still, it means the clue must refer to you in some way,” Joanne said. “It is too much of a coincidence that the symbol of England is the same as your alias.”
“The children of nations,” Simon said, deep in thought. “Must be colonies.”
“Past colonies of England and France are rather numerous,” Fox said and shrugged. “How many past colonies does France have, Joanne?”
“I did not memorize a list,” she replied, shooting him a quelling look.
“Right, a quick search through the archives of the Cerebrum should give us the answer.” Fox got to his feet. “I’d rather not accidentally miss something through guesswork, so let’s find them.”
It seemed so simple, right up until they’d encountered the agents.
Which brought him to the present moment, dodging gunshots firing behind him with no clue as to where his companions had gone.
If he recalled correctly, Mrs. Parks had been gleeful about the fact they were being attacked and said something about some sort of plan. At least, Simon and Karl had known what she meant, but he and Joanne were in the dark. That wasn’t fair. He and Joanne had been keeping everyone updated the entire time.
Joanne hadn’t really needed to know if they had a plan. She’d simply attacked them, leaving Fox to fend for himself. If he ended up shot or captured, it was in no way his fault.
The agent behind him wasn’t as good as Seven. It couldn’t be him, Fox thought. After all, Seven had managed to get inside his head the first time they’d met. Also, the lack of flirting was a bit of a giveaway, which was a really odd thing for him to be thinking about an enemy agent. He didn’t find Seven at all interesting or intriguing, not in the least bit. In fact, Seven was probably even more dangerous for being so different from all the others. And being in more danger was a big no-no in Fox’s books.
Yes, this was what he kept telling himself. But this didn’t stop him from wanting to get a look at this agent’s eyes, to see if they were blue. It wouldn’t really prove anything even if they were, but he still wanted to see if Seven had been telling the truth.
So what if he could tell Seven apart from the rest? All that meant was that he knew which specific agent was trying to kill him this week.
Stupid, stupid Fox. This wasn’t a game of how-close-can-you-get-to-the-agent; it was real. If he got caught, he’d be in serious, IRL trouble. Who knows what would happen to him, because no one heard from captured people ever again, at least not as their previous Cerebrum alias.
He kind of wished he was a fighter now, because all this running and avoiding annoyed him. The agent couldn’t quite catch him, but Fox still couldn’t shake him. It was a stalemate, of sorts.
No, he wasn’t a fighter, but it wasn’t that he was a pacifist either. He just couldn’t make his mind construct weapons that could cause a person harm or put out the mental force needed to land a blow behind his fists. He couldn’t imagine it hard enough to make it real. Joanne had tried to teach him, early on in their acquaintance, but it hadn’t taken. He thought it might be because he hated the concept of pain so much, that he had a mental aversion to it.
But right now, he really wanted to be able to land a hit, but knew that he couldn’t.
His talents lay in avoidance, making the eye look away from him, hiding in plain sight, changing shape to blend in. No one ever asked a fox to go into battle, but if they wanted a trick to fool the eye, they knew who to ask.
He jumped down a link, and the agent followed. Fox knew where they were going, but the agent wouldn’t, not unless he’d memorized the number codes for this particular link. If the agent stopped to check which link they were going down, then Fox would have a chance to slip away, so he was certain the agent didn’t know where they were headed.
They emerged into VidSkid, a place where people played and replayed clips from popular programs or music holos. There were news channels, broadcasting groups, and millions of individual accounts recording and uploading.
However, Fox hadn’t jumped to the main platform; he’d leapt directly down a link straight to the content. The VidSkid showed everything in 3D, putting the individual watching right into the action.
It wasn’t so bad if one was expecting the jump, but for someone going in blind, it could be quite alarming. Sometimes users would link to VidSkid as a joke to scare people, or to Rick Roll them. It was meant to be funny, but Fox was using mindnet culture against his pursuer to escape him.
Fox had jumped straight into the climax of a horror movie, in which “the big bad” was doing something horrible and bloody to one of the main characters. He knew to exp
ect the crimson arc of blood, but the agent behind him cried out, automatically ducked, and rolled out of the way. Fox went to stand among the images of the other characters and watched as the agent figured out what had happened.
Fox jumped down a few more similarly gruesome links, just to be sure he’d lost the agent. Fox thought he’d lost him at the first jump, but who knew if there were more agents waiting back where he’d left everyone else.
No one was there, friend or foe. Fox took it upon himself to quickly scan the archives for the information required to solve the next clue. It didn’t take long to find at all, and he frowned. It was surely a coincidence that the answer to the clue was the same country in which his body was currently located.
Could King have made it all add up so neatly?
There was nothing to do but return to the sector where his body was linked in and leave the Cerebrum. He didn’t know where anyone was, so it was useless to wait around. He just hoped they would message him once they were free to do so, and that he’d be able to share his latest news.
* * * *
Seven turned around and around, but no matter which way he looked, there were more of them. He was completely surrounded, and all the other agents as well. He pulled out his dual pistols and shot at them. They didn’t even try to dodge, just floated there placidly, seemingly unaffected.
They were illusions. But that didn’t help matters much, because his quarry looked exactly like every duplicate. How she had managed to create such convincing doubles was something he didn’t have time to fathom, but it was undoubtedly impressive.
Dozens upon dozens of white-robed women walled him in on all sides, and emitted light from every angle. Thankfully, his goggles deflected it, but it was extremely disconcerting to be presented with so many enemies that looked exactly the same.
Being confronted with agents who looked the same must be equally disconcerting. The doubles were all shifting, so he couldn’t keep track of all of them. The real revolutionary out there could be blending in, or she could have left, and it was impossible to tell which. His only plan was to keep shooting until one of them reacted.
