The Pieces of My Self

58 - Stepping Down

NKUMBRA

Pontchartrain Sound, 22 June 2174, Wednesday,12 am

William Nkumbra, sitting to the right of Tony Brown, watched his house in the Covington suburbs shrink to the size of a postage stamp before it vanished in a dark haze of rain and clouds. The AVTOL bumped and jerked through erratic winds, never finding calm air. After Brown input the destination, the vehicle's autopilot took over.

"It'll be a helluva storm," Tony said, pushing away from the controls. "I'm hoping I'll be able to get in and out before the peak winds hit. I asked Special Forces to support us. They should beat us there." He put on a headset and spent the next minute chatting on the radio.

Nkumbra was still trying to stitch the pieces of Tony's story together. Some things didn't add up. He surmised Tony was at the Knightly mansion advising Debra before LESA's search of the premises. But why was Lillian there? And Ezekiel Chaisson? Why did Tony and Lillian fight? How did Lillian get the ring? Why did they lock up Tony, then flee?

He probed one more time, hoping for consistent answers.

"Did Mangalotte tell you the money was the highest priority?" Nkumbra said.

It was a few seconds before Tony answered. "Yes. We have to deprive the terrorists of their ability to act."

"But there's a malicious avatar on the loose. It threatens the country and may access the Treasury. Isn't that what we have to stop?"

Tony swiveled his seat to face Nkumbra. "Before we destroy it, we have to find out how it works, so it will never happen again. Do you have a problem with that?"

Lights from the control panel alternated in sequence and color, playing a chameleon-like pattern on Tony's face.

"No," Nkumbra said, "but the answer to your question—how to get the money—comes down to the same thing. Find Lillian. Get the ring. Control the avatar. Don't you see? It's all about the avatar."

"What about the cryptogram?"

Nkumbra paused, gathering his thoughts. "I think the cryptogram was a red herring. It was a love letter from Henri to his daughter, sort of like an alien mind trying to communicate with a human through mathematics, testing, probing. Solving the cryptogram, or using it to find the ring, was the way for Lillian to prove she had the intellectual chops to be a worthy daughter. He made it easy for her. He used some of the same methods she pioneered in her paper."

"And the poem? What's with that?"

"Read it carefully. It was the father handing the daughter the keys to the kingdom."

"But the ring..."

"The ring is the key to it all. It's like the netcard. You don't have to know how to build it to use it. A three-year-old can do that."

"So, why do I need you?" Tony said.

"That's what I've been trying to explain, you moron. You don't."

Nkumbra's eyes drifted to the Dome, now visible ahead. The image in his mind segued to an overlay of past and present: crowds cheering their favorite teams, bright-faced engineers intent on inventing the future, and lately, somber-faced prisoners marching to their death.

The superposition of histories collapsed when he glanced at his colleague. Tony was pointing a gun.

William Nkumbra's last memories were of a weapon discharge, a fire in his chest, a boot kicking him out of an opened hatch, and falling, falling, falling—through a torrent of water.