Copyright © 2021 - Cover art and written content by J.E. Maurice (unless otherwise credited) - All rights reserved by the creator. Reposting is permitted as long as proper credit is given (I.E., a link to the original story and/or links to the author's social sites.)
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“Any sign of him?” asked Wendevil’s voice through Eris’ communication unit. She lifted her receiver up to her mouth to answer him in the negative. As she stepped out from Vallume’s front gate into the hazy twilight, the anger within her burned brighter against this thief’s affront. The Qornox was a priceless piece of cyborg history, whether or not one bought into the legends surrounding its creation. Neither her—nor Wendevil, for that matter—put any stock into the religious notions that they propagated, leastways not the sections about enlightenment and reconstructing society in their image. Their radical proselytizing was an outreach to only the zealots, allowing them to be utilized as pawns in the syndicate’s illegal activities; moreover, this feigned fanaticism served to frighten the moderates away, as they sometimes had the unwanted tendency to snoop around. Vallume’s leaders wanted cogs in their machine, and nothing more.
("The Alleyway" by J.E. Maurice)
Eris rounded the corner of the building in a frenzy, sweeping her flashlight in every direction for any sign of the burglar. Seeing nothing, she was about to discontinue her search when she came to a sudden halt. Her light fell upon a body crumpled in the alley, its clothing soaked through by the never-ending raindrops. A bloodied pipe lay discarded several feet away from the corpse, and a trail of the same crimson fluid dripped from an evident wound on the casualty’s head.
Eris raised her radio again to speak to her partner. “Wendevil,” she said. “I think I got something.”
. . . . . . . .
I awoke with a start. An agitated, robotic voice was booming in my ears, raving about something I could not quite make out. I was still nestled into the back corner of the bus, the insectoid’s soft towel pulled taught around me. Likely appearing very frazzled, I made eye contact with the android driver of the bus, who was standing in front of me. As much as an android could look displeased, they certainly looked it.
("Glasshouse In The Rain" by J.E. Maurice)
“Just who do you think you are?” they scoffed. “This isn’t a hotel, this is a bus! You can’t just stay here until the rain stops! In case you haven’t noticed, it never stops raining around here!”
“How long was I asleep?” I inquired, rubbing my eyes. It was the dark of night outside my window, and my internal sense of time was drastically awry. The android, however, apparently was paying my question no mind.
“It’s time for you to go, pal,” they continued. “You’ve been riding this bus for miles, and this is the last stop.”
“Wait, where are we, exactly?” I asked as the bus driver brashly drove me from my seat. Once they were finished reprimanding me, they punched the button to open the shuttle’s front hatch, and herded me off the bus. I took in my surroundings with wide eyes, bewildered by what I saw. I was on a lonely stretch of road to nowhere, beyond the outer wall of Lumières Capitales. I could see the familiar city in the distance through the thick mist. The outskirts past the boundaries of the metropolis were a flat wasteland for miles in all directions, with the exception of several small buildings a mere mile away from the bus stop I now stood by.
“Vagrant,” the android snapped as they shut the door, and did an about-turn, speeding off back towards the shimmering city. I watched them go, unsure of what my next move should be. They clearly thought I was a vagabond of some kind; on no occasion had I visited the borderlands outside the city before now, and I was hesitant and undecided on what to do. Having been ousted from the bus, I decided my primary focus should be finding shelter for the time being; afterward, I could concentrate on my predicament. If there was an avenue of contact with U’sevig, I would then be in the position to rectify my dilemma. If not, it might be incumbent that I wait for the next shuttle to arrive, or—if it came to it—to walk all the way back.
My feet splashed in puddles with every step as I headed towards the nearest structure in sight. It was two stories high, which was modest in comparison to the skyscrapers I was accustomed to seeing, and the warm light from within became more inviting for every moment I spent in the harsh weather conditions outside. I approached it cautiously, and tried the doorknob on the only entrance I could find. I was surprised to discover it unlocked. I pushed the door open, and slunk inside, reassured to be out of the brumal night.
("Within The Greenhouse" by J.E. Maurice)
I was instantly struck by the high temperature and humidity within the room, causing me to wince. Windows in abundance lined the walls, streaked from the muggy atmosphere. Tropical plants flourished and blossomed in canisters, jardinières, urns, and pots of every size and shape imaginable. Unkempt vines crawled up the walls like emerald serpents, tangling around the suspended irrigation system that automatically spritzed the vegetation on a set schedule.
The doors to the other areas of the building were effectively sealed and latched, so I resigned myself to staying among the flora for the time being. I slipped out of my damp jacket, and draped it across one of the greenhouse’s many tables, though I doubted it would dry in this sultry air. In the absence of any chairs in the room, I decided to seat myself on the tabletop beside my jacket, and laid the insectoid’s towel next to it. I closed my eyes, recollecting the events that had brought me here; it was easier to think now that I was sheltered from the cloudburst. It took me a moment, but the realization that I was no longer lightheaded and unsteady was a step in the right direction, but that was short-lived. The uneasiness began to set in as I recalled what had caused that dizzy spell to begin with. I hastily grabbed the Qornox from my pocket, and studied it closely; evidently, the surreal event had not been a flight of fancy, as I confirmed that the blue glow from the object was indeed still gone.
Did it really go inside of me? I thought. Was that real?
. . . . . . . .
Wendevil and Eris watched as the automatic door before them glided open, allowing them to walk through. They entered into a small room, which was decorated in an unimposing manner; a desk and sundry chairs occupied the majority of the floor space, and the walls were bare of any decoration. Another cyborg was seated behind the desk, her elbows resting on the surface in front of her. One of her hands held the bridge of her nose, and her brow was furrowed as if she was fighting off a nascent migraine. Her eyelids fluttered open, and both of her mechanical eyes fixed onto Wendevil and Eris. Neither of them said a word, nor took a seat, but stood sullenly in the silence.
("The Artifact Room" by J.E. Maurice)
“Why did I think you could handle this?” muttered the cyborg behind the desk. “This one simple thing. All you had to do was keep an eye on the congregants for a couple hours.”
Eris began to speak to defend herself and Wendevil. “We didn’t think-“
“No,” snapped the other woman, cutting Eris off. “You very clearly didn’t. That relic has been passed down for generations. We were just beginning to make progress in understanding it, and you go and lose it to a petty thief.”
“We’ll find him, Movik,” Wendevil rumbled, self-consciously adjusting the large bandage over his injured eye. “That relic wasn’t the only thing he took. I’ll find the bastard, just you wait.”
“You’d better,” answered Feandra Movik. “Your utter failure thus far is an embarrassment to us. You’d better have some progress to report on this in the next hour.”
“We already do,” Eris interjected, hoping to get back on Movik’s good side. “We’ve identified the thief through our security field’s images. We know who his partner was before they had some kind of falling out, and we know where he was last seen. He and his accomplice had some kind of scuffle, and afterwards we have footage of him going into the nightclub Capital Nights. It’s just down the street from here. We’re headed there now.”
“Where’s the accomplice?” Movik asked.
“Dead as a doornail,” Wendevil said. “He got bludgeoned. We found a hard copy of Vallume’s blueprints on his person, and his satchel was full of some kind of homemade tech. We think he was the one who shut down our security system so that the thief could get in.”
“Good work so far,” said Movik. “Bring this thief in, and try to find out who he’s working for. I’m doubtful that he and his accomplice got the idea all on their own.”
“You think it’s one of the other syndicates?” Wendevil asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Movik replied. “But that was my first thought too.”
The meeting ended swiftly, and Eris and Wendevil found themselves making the trek to the nightclub Capital Nights. The rain had let up for a while, making the walk almost pleasant due to the brisk breeze that moved through the buildings. Eris was resolved to find the pilfering scum that had invaded their operation, not only to assuage her fervid sense of justice, but to return to the favor of Vallume’s leaders. If ever she was to rise through the ranks of the syndicate, she had to convince them that she could handle the responsibilities.
("Capital Nights" by J.E. Maurice)
Wendevil and Eris split up to interrogate patrons and employees of the nightclub, inquiring as to whether anyone had seen the burglar, or had information on where he might be going. Everyone they spoke to brushed them off, being merely disinterested, or downright unwilling to get involved with the suspicious line of questions. Discouraged, Eris partook in the bar for a time, briefly adjourning from the drudgery. She noticed an avian-like bartender eyeing her, and presumed he was just inappropriately gawking; it would not have been out of the ordinary. However, she was surprised when he made his approach, and poured her another drink. His colorful feathers seemed to emanate their own light in the dazzling fluorescents around him.
“I heard you were looking for someone,” he said. “Y’know, it’s strict policy that we don’t talk about our clientele to people who come in here to poke around.”
“Is that so?” Eris asked coolly, and downed the harsh alcohol without even grimacing.
“You bet,” he replied, leaning across the counter, a sly glimmer in his eye. “But fortunately for you, I think I know who you’re looking for. And he didn’t buy anything, so he doesn’t really count as clientele, you feel me?”
Eris met the avian’s gaze, narrowing her eyes. “Go on,” she said.
“Well, I can’t just give it to you for free, doll,” the avian said, feigning offense. “I live mostly off of tips I get. Maybe if you were to contribute…” He trailed off, but he need not have finished. She knew what he was ostentatiously insinuating, and begrudgingly tossed some credits on the counter in front of him.
“Yeah, there was a guy,” the bartender told her in a hushed tone, surreptitiously sweeping the bribe into his pocket. “Came through here a while ago, acting kind of weird. Got a bad feeling from him.”
“What did he look like?” asked Eris.
“Short guy, dressed in dark colors,” the avian recounted, squinting up at the ceiling as he tried to recall more details. “He had a tail, and real pointy ears. He acted like he was drunk, or something…”
“Anything else you can think of?” Eris pressed.
“That’s enough,” said a new voice. “I think you have all the information you need, thanks very much.”
Eris peered over her shoulder, and came face to face with a large insectoid, who was glowering at the avian. A flash of agitation flared up in Eris at this interruption.
“Heya, Noxu,” said the humanoid bird, attempting to appear as innocent as possible. “You wanna drink?”
“You talk too much, Tiriad,” growled the insectoid. “Get back to work.”
Tiriad was gone in seconds, moving to the other side of the bar with urgency. Eris swiveled her barstool around to face this new challenger, livid at his audacity. As she rose from her seat, she realized that even standing up, she was still merely two thirds of Noxu’s height. He crossed all four of his arms, scowling down at her in disapproval.
“I think it would be best if you leave,” he said. “I don’t like criminals snooping around my bar, bothering my workers, and asking questions about my customers. Especially criminals running a phony church.”
“Listen here, bug,” Eris snapped hotheadedly, taking a step forward. Seemingly out of nowhere, Wendevil swooped in to stand between her and Noxu, wisely preventing what likely would have turned into a brawl, which Eris would have had no chance at winning. Noxu watched as the male cyborg ushered his brash ally out of the nightclub; he knew neither of the cyborgs could have bested him in a fight, but he was relieved nonetheless. Brawling was bad for business
. . . . . . . .
I paced back and forth in the greenhouse, uncertain of what would be the safest action for me to take. Now that the glow of the Qornox was strangely absent, I was beginning to experience doubts that I could present it to U’sevig at all. I rested my head in my hands, letting out a deep sigh.
("Jayden In The Greenhouse" by Freya Pendragon)
I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do, I thought, perturbed. And the heat in here is making it impossible to think.
I considered propping the door open to let cool air flow in; there was no shortage of urns and pots that I could employ. Still, since the moment I decided to stay here, I had immediately locked the door behind me, and I was uncertain if I could relax with an ajar door in my vicinity.
Anybody could walk right in, I thought. It’d also be impossible to think if I was paranoid about that door. I’ll just live with the heat for now…
My ears perked up as they detected the rumble of a distant vehicle drawing closer, and I felt a rush of hope that it was another bus making a stop at the small terminal outside. I dashed to the closest window, using my palm to wipe away the condensation on the glass; cupping my hands around my eyes to stave off the glare from the lights behind me, I peered through the window, and—to my dismay—did not see a bus. Instead, a small automobile rolled into view, and parked rather inelegantly near the door. I ducked down behind the windowsill, hoping my presence went unnoticed.
The whirring of the vehicle’s electric engine ceased, and its door opening and then shutting was audible, albeit quite muffled through the greenhouse wall. I cursed to myself in the silence that followed; the only noise I could sense for a long moment was the sound of rainfall outside. With a click, the door opened without warning, sending a jolt of alarm through me. I reached for the nearest urn, clutching it close to my chest as I remained crouched, concealed behind a large table.
I soundlessly implored the newcomer to turn around and depart; I had no wish to hurt anyone, but I would protect myself if the situation demanded it. I heard footfalls rounding the corner, and gritted my teeth as I rose, brandishing the urn like a club. The interloper retreated swiftly, startled by my sudden appearance, and stared at me with shocked eyes.
“Whoa, whoa!” he cried out, taking several rapid steps backwards. “Dude, calm down! If you’re going to hit me with something, don’t hit me with the nexus plant, for god’s sake!”
I blinked in surprise. “I… w-what?” I asked, befuddled by his request.
“The nexus plant,” he reiterated, glancing up at the potted flora in my grasp. “It’s super rare, almost priceless. Use something else as a weapon, if you really insist on attacking me.”
I lowered the purple plant, and slowly set it on the table next to me. This person did not seem threatening; if anything, he was an eccentric botanist of some ilk. Since I had locked the door, the fact that he was now inside meant that he possessed a key, meaning that he was either connected to the owner of the greenhouse in some way, or was the owner himself. I felt an unpleasant surge of distaste upon realizing he was a cyborg; his left arm and leg were entirely robotic, but that appeared to be the extent of his bodily alterations. My recent experiences with cyborgs notwithstanding, he seemed to be harmless enough.
“God, you look terrible, dude,” he said. “Are you okay?”
I eyed the cyborg with mild cynicism before nodding once. He was unimpressed by my lackluster response, but he nodded in return with a soft sigh. We lapsed into silence for a moment before he spoke again.
“You probably just came in here to get out of the storm, huh? Look, you can stay here if you want to, as long as you’re not breaking stuff. I’m not going to throw you out, especially not in this weather.”
“Thanks,” I said meekly, feeling suddenly guilty for breaking into this individual’s greenhouse, and then almost attacking him. Despite this, he gave me a small smile, and began to tend to the array of vegetation in his care. Despite feeling vaguely distracted by his presence, I resumed my deliberation pertaining to my next course of action.
I definitely can’t bring it back to U’sevig without the light in it, I thought. He’s been after this relic for a while, he knows what it looks like. If it seems even a little bit off, he’ll know something’s wrong. But if-
“I’m Lukuta, by the way,” the cyborg suddenly spoke up, unceremoniously ending my train of thought. “Do you live around here?”
He was looking over at me with an expression of casual curiosity, and I shook my head to indicate that I did not have a residence nearby. Once again, I returned my mind to the matter at hand.
If I can’t take it back to U’sevig, I continued in my head. What do I do then? I could always just dump it, and do a bunk. Maybe I’ll head for the Eastern City, and hope no one recognizes me there. That might-
“What are you doing out and about at this time of night anyway?” Lukuta interrupted again. I let out an exasperated exhale. I was not remotely interested in participating in small talk with a stranger right now. I was becoming antsy, fidgeting with the Qornox in my hand.
“I was wondering the same thing about you,” I replied, dodging the question.
“The motion alarm went off,” the cyborg answered. “I came here to check on my plants. Some of these are super rare, someone might want to steal them.”
“Right… sure…” I answered absentmindedly. I cursed myself for not considering that the building might have had a security system before I trespassed. Frankly, I was fairly lucky that this cyborg was merely offbeat, and not inclined to extreme violence, as Eris and Wendevil tended to be.
“Whoa,” Lukuta spoke again, his tone suddenly far less casual. “Where did you get that?”
I turned to look at him, perplexed. He ambled over to me, and gestured to the Qornox in my hand.
“That’s the Qornox,” he said, gazing down at the artifact in awe. “How did you get it? It’s belonged to the cyborg temple for generations.”
“It’s sort of a long story,” I muttered, certainly not wanting to delve into the specifics of the circumstances.
“What did you do to it?” he asked, continuing on as though he had not heard my answer.
“What do you mean?” I replied.
“It’s supposed to glow,” he explained. “It always has. It looks empty somehow.”
“Well, it was glowing,” I admitted. “But then it opened up, and all the light came out.”
The cyborg’s jaw hung open, agape at this news. “You opened it? How?”
I shrugged listlessly. “I don’t know, it just opened, and all the light went… into me.”
“The power inside it went into you?” sputtered Lukuta exuberantly. “Do you know what this means?”
“I felt a little lightheaded for a while,” I remarked, knitting my brow with concern. The cyborg’s rapidly shifting attitude towards me was marginally worrisome, but more so was his knowledge of the relic I had pilfered from his temple mere hours ago.
“No, idiot,” Lukuta answered. “That means it chose you to receive its power.”
I squinted at him, as if trying to see him more clearly. “It chose me? Are you mental?”
“You have no clue what you’re holding, do you?” Lukuta chuckled in disbelief. “The Qornox is a cyborg artifact that was made by Aphanox, the first cyborg. They say he trapped a typhoon inside it, but—despite everyone’s best efforts to open it—it’s been sealed for as long as anyone can remember… until you did… whatever you did.”
“Is there someone else I could talk to?” I asked, giving the cyborg a reproachful stare.
“That’s common cyborg folklore,” Lukuta explained, sounding a little defensive. “It’s not just me. How else would you explain what happened to you?”
I gave him a quizzical look, perplexed by his faulty line of reasoning. “Just because I don’t know what the explanation is doesn’t mean that whatever whack-ass theory you have is automatically on the table.”
Lukuta held up his hands, conceding the point. “Alright, alright, I guess you’ve got me there. It’s just an old legend anyway.”
“I’m not even saying it’s not true,” I said. “But it sounds kind of outlandish, don’t you think?”
Lukuta shrugged, but whatever response he was about to offer was cut short by my stomach growling, as if echoing the thunderstorm that rumbled above us. I was suddenly keenly aware of how famished I was, pangs of hunger flaring up in my abdomen.
“When was the last time you ate something?” Lukuta inquired, sounding solicitous. His genuine concern was unanticipated, and I admitted to him that it had been quite a while.
“Well, I brought some food for myself for later,” said Lukuta. “It’s in my car. There’s probably enough for two.”
Despite being desperately hungry, I found myself feeling skeptical of Lukuta’s motives. The reality that he was a cyborg, and his knowledge of the Qornox caused me to wonder about possible ties to Vallume he might have; I declined to answer, but he appeared to see my hesitance nonetheless.
“Look at it this way,” he said. “Whether or not you agree with me, if I think that you’ve been chosen by the Qornox to receive its power, why would I want to hurt you?”
Several objections sprang to mind in response to his inquiry—primarily about his potential affiliations with a violent criminal syndicate—but I conceded to myself that I had no idea when my next opportunity to partake of food would be. I also acknowledged the likelihood of Lukuta having poisoned food immediately at his disposal was slim to naught. The limited comestibles were brought into the greenhouse, and Lukuta divided them into even portions between the two of us. I found myself feeling better, and unexpectedly appreciating the cyborg’s company as we chatted lightly; I inadvertently revealed my real name to him during the conversation, which I felt was a blunder, but Lukuta seemed unfazed by it. As we finished, I reticently expressed my gratitude to him, which he modestly waved aside.
“Don’t mention it,” he said, standing up. “I really should be getting home though. I haven’t slept in almost twenty-four hours.”
I winced. Just hearing that made my own eyelids feel heavy. Lukuta fixed his gaze on me, his eyebrows knitting together with sympathy. “Are you going to be okay?” he asked. “Where are you going to go?”
“I’m not sure,” I confessed. “I’m still sort of in a predicament, and I haven’t decided what to do about it.”
“Is there some way I can help?” Lukuta queried.
“Oh, umm,” I fumbled for words, feeling in the wrong for putting my nodus onto such a kind soul. “That’s… that’s really nice of you, but I don’t think so. And I wouldn’t want to drag you into my problems.”
“If it would be of help,” Lukuta offered. “You could lie low here in the greenhouse until you figure out what to do.”
I did not exactly wish to inform my new friend that I was recruited by a dangerous crime boss to swipe the Qornox from another dangerous crime boss, and I was daunted by the thought that harm could befall Lukuta if he involved himself in my quandary. However, I had no place else to go.
“Thanks,” I said gratefully. “That’s really generous of you. I guess if you really don’t mind, that would be a huge help.”
Lukuta assured me again that it would be no trouble whatsoever, going as far as promising to return the subsequent day with more provisions for me. With a lighthearted wave of his metal hand, his vehicle departed with a mechanical hum, leaving me all alone with my thoughts. Whether or not I could fully trust him was still indeterminate, as far as I was concerned, but right now he was my best chance for survival.
. . . . . . . .
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