Defying Terror

Chapter LX

September 6th, 2030, 9:43 pm

The man of mystery and Medo alliance plants his heeled dress shoes into the pavement upon reaching the alleyway. His head swings toward both roads at either end as I approach from the rear. I shut the steel door behind me and step down the short staircase. "This should do."

I wander around him, enough so I can focus on the raven mark under the cuff of his sleeve. "Call me Captain Obvious, but I'm guessing you're with Roarke. What does he want?"

He sips his drink and allows it to seethe through his teeth. "Roarke was right; you are brilliant. He would like to debrief with you. There has been some confusion over the past few days as to your mission and he would like to apologize." The man takes in another gulp, sucking in the last drops of whatever liquid occupied the glass. He places it by his feet. "He knows you do not like him, but he sympathizes with you. He hopes to clear the air between him and yourself."

Clear the air? The more him and I talk, the worse things become. The situation grows into something far more complicated. The first time we spoke, I had to live with the secret that I was conjoined with a murderous cult. Then, he tries to kill the Captain and forces me to speak with him, and I am tortured with the notion that I may have to save the world. What could another speech entail?

"Okay," I say, scanning the ends of the alley. "So, are we just going to wait for him? When is he supposed to get here?"

He stifles an obvious snicker. "Forget I ever called you smart. You are a damned fool, Slater. As a member of the Medo, we simply do not wait for Roarke to come to us. We go to him."

"Go to him?"

The man bends his arm over his sternum with his hand balled. "Precisely. Hold on."

I reach for his arm. In the same instant, a gust of tapered wind oscillates from the ground on which we stand. His night-black hair flutters skyward. The breeze lifts the goosebumps from the skin on the nape of my neck. The current circulating us screams in one of my ears and out the other, jolting my brain against my skull. The man grins as I succumb to a flash of light.

The alleyway outside of Ambiance dissipates as a wide, elegant room constructs itself around us. The gale flees through my shirt before fading into the air. A mahogany trim encapsulates the floor and wall, surrounding a basic maroon paint. The ceiling rises high over our heads, shortened by only a shimmering golden chandelier. A green carpet under my shoes spreads to a lustrous, metallic door on the far wall.

"Hello, Slater."

I alter my head away from the long carpet and door to follow the sturdy vibration of the voice. Rodney Roarke leans against a sleek desk facing the rest of the room. Behind him is a window stretching the width of the room, accepting view to the great city lights on a black backdrop. The reflection of the chandelier in the glass faults the prospect.

The man who tracked me down releases my arm and I tremble. A drift of chills slithers up my arm, dancing over my mark as it ignites. "The boy you have chosen to represent us spends his nights partying at clubs he has no business being at. The clearest evidence of Imperial Guard privilege you could find, sir."

Roarke riles his fingernails along the groove of the desk before pressing off, heading toward me. "What Slater does in his free time should not concern you as long as he is not actively exploiting us. You worry about your duty and he will worry about his."

"Of course, sir."

"Slater, I am glad you were able to join us so quickly. We knew you were going out with your Imperial Guard friends tonight, but we could not wait any longer. You are very behind on information of relevance to your mission." Roarke crosses his arms, staring at my mark.