Arryk asked, “Is she right? The eyes?”
Jenna nodded. “And if the glow is linked to emotions, I wouldn’t be surprised after what I felt.”
Aerigo neither moved nor spoke, much less reacted as if he’d heard anything.
“Well, I’m not supposed to read you until the RN gets here. Apparently that’s because she’s going to have to speak for you. I don’t have to be psychic to see that!” The woman expectantly looked around the room again. “I rushed halfway across the country just to sit and wait? It never fails. Hurry up and wait.” She studied Aerigo again. “What? Are you going to just sit there and waste your life away as some pensive statue? Life is too short for that, buster.”
Aerigo gave as much reaction as a pensive statue.
The woman joined him in looking out the expansive window. “Guess so,” she said, disappointed. “Nice view of the city you have there. Very uniform and colorless. We should exchange seats so you can stare at the fish tank instead. It’s more relaxing and less depressing. And more colorful.”
Aerigo took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose as he continued staring out the window.
The woman grabbed her armrest and tugged at the cushioning. She frowned when she discovered it was sewn to her chair. “I need something to throw at you. Your behavior’s pathetic.” She kicked off her sandals, considered them for a moment, then tucked her feet on her chair and rested her temple on a fist. “They told me your name’s Aerigo.” She gave the Aigis a hard, studious stare, then her face crinkled. “‘Keeper of hope?’ That’s what your name means? How unfitting for someone so devoid of hope. You haven’t a drop of it in you. That man who named you needs to reconsider his choice.”
The sound of an opening door cut in over the aquarium’s bubbling. Shoes urgently clapped closer along the tiled floor. A woman older than the psychic strode into the hologram. She wore a doctor’s coat, glasses, and scrubs covered in animal drawings. She had her black hair held up in a butterfly-shaped clip, and a small bag slung over one shoulder. “I apologize for my tardiness, Orissona. I wasn’t--”
“Expecting me for another hour,” Orissona said. “I love misinformation. No harm done.”
The RN set up a folding chair between the two generously cushioned ones, then held out a hand to the psychic. “I’m Mavica. I’m in charge of Aerigo’s case and care, and I still apologize for making you wait.”
Orissona dismissively waved a small hand as she shook Mavica’s with the other. “Nice to meet you at last. Any idea how to make him talk?”
Mavica took a seat with her back to the windows. “We were hoping you could help us with that. No one’s heard him talk since the day he got here. He hasn’t even cried or anything. He just sits wherever we put him and stares into oblivion. We can get him to dress and bathe, and sort of eat, but for the most part he’s shut himself down. He hasn’t slept yet, and he arrived almost a week ago.”
“He has bags under his eyes, it looks like. The blue glow could be misleading, but he’s rather calm for someone forcing himself to stay awake. Is he sneaking pills or anything?”
Mavica shook her head. “He’s under twenty four hour surveillance. We haven’t brought a single pill near him yet.”
“Maybe aliens like him don’t need as much sleep as we do.”
“One of the gentlemen who dropped him off provided us with a full description of a Noma’s survival needs. He’s supposed to sleep just as--”
“What’s a Noma?”
“Him. Other than that, we’re not sure. Aerigo’s a new type of alien for us.”
“Well let me see if I can pick anything up about Nomas while I read Aerigo.” Orissona sat up straighter, shook out her arms, and hummed a short tune. “It’s been years since the last time I read an alien. This ought to be interesting.” She slipped her feet back in her sandals and sat with her hands in her lap. “Did you bring me something to hold?”
Mavica produced a black shirt from her bag and handed it over.
The psychic accepted the shirt and closed her large eyes, then began feeding the material between her fingers, as if trying to gauge its softness and comfort level. She tilted her head, as if turning hear ear towards the shirt to listen better. She spoke in a soft, heady voice. “Aerigo’s well beyond ‘old fart’ in years, yet he looks younger than me. No fair. However,” she continued somberly, “his past is very long and full of tribulations. The latest event has been the most trying by far. I don’t envy his longevity, even with all the wonderful places he’s seen and people he’s met.” Orissona opened her eyes and looked at Mavica. “He’s had a rough life, but right now he’s experiencing a new emotion. He’s shut himself down because he has no idea how to deal with it.”
“His wife died.”
“Thank you for the information, but let me discover his tale as the information comes to me. Please save whatever questions and comments you have until I’m ready for them.”
The RN nodded respectfully.
The psychic went back to feeling out Aerigo’s shirt and frowned. “He’s lived the vast majority of his life being emotionally distant from the rest of humanity, and by choice. It is important to understand his distancing wasn’t a subconscious decision. His longevity weighed heavily on every friend he made. That’s one reason why the loss of his wife hurt him so deeply. He took a gamble, knowing his wife would die well before he would anyway. He lost her much, much sooner than expected.”
Mavica scooted her chair closer to Aerigo and, leaning an elbow on his chair, placed a hand on his forearm. Aerigo remained a pensive statue.
Orissona got up and placed a hand on Aerigo’s forehead, and closed her eyes again. She was barely taller than him sitting down. “Aerigo is suffering from survivor’s guilt as well. You’ll learn this through him eventually. He’ll snap out this pathetic state one day.” She removed her hand and shook it, then took up her seat once more. “He blames himself for his wife’s death. My gut says this isn’t true, but what his memories show me say otherwise. I’m getting biased information from him. His wife’s name begins with an ‘s.’” She lapsed into silent concentration.
Jenna wouldn’t have believed it if she hadn’t watched Aerigo’s lips move in the video, but he said “Sandra” in a low hoarse voice. A ghost might as well have said the name.
Both women in the video stared at Aerigo.
Orissona’s shock turned into a small smile of victory before she went back to the shirt with her eyes closed. “By the way, don’t do anything drastic with Aerigo. Gently guide him out of his lethargic state, for he’s dangerous even now, like a cornered animal that’s been wounded. He could raze Nostrum City all by himself.” When Mavica raised a hand and opened her mouth, the psychic said, “It is incredibly difficult to overstate how powerful Aerigo is. There’s no point in trying to explain it to you. You have to see his memories to give his power the respect it deserves.”
Orissona continued reading into Aerigo’s past, picking up on other key moments that had shaped who the Aigis had become and relaying them to Mavica. He constantly had brushes with death, or at least lived a very dangerous life as some sort of soldier. There were people all over the universe needing his help and his protection. He humbly answered each call, making friends along the way, but never staying in one place for very long. Friends came and went like seasons, and his life was full of good people who died of old age before Aerigo had a chance to say hi to them again. The ever growing list of dead friends took its emotional toll over the centuries. The death of his wife had broken him.
Orissona’s hands froze and her eyes popped wide open. She stared out over Aerigo’s head. Mavica watched with one hand reaching into a pocket and the other still resting on Aerigo’s forearm. The psychic took a deep breath to steady herself. “This man--this Noma--carries a huge responsibility he’s been neglecting all his life.” She surged to her feet. “Aerigo, once you recover, you can’t afford to let it sit in the back of your thoughts anymore. As melodramatic as thi
s sounds, your very life depends on it. This isn’t a joke.” She turned to Mavica. “Remind him of this on the day he’s discharged. Right now he doesn’t care if he lives or dies. He’s doing an excellent imitation of a brick wall.”
Mavica nodded, although her aged face radiated confusion. Her hand relaxed away from her lab coat pocket.
“My reading will be made clearer with time. There are many decisions that have to be made by other people for the path I’ve seen before him to be certain. And Aerigo has to make both right and wrong decisions for this to come to pass. But the power lies with him to not put himself in such a dire situation.” Orissona sat back down. “Now let me remind you that I’m bound to speak nothing but the truth. Just keep in mind that the future isn’t set in stone.
“I believe that’s enough about him, so let’s see what I can dig up on Nomas.” She seized Aerigo’s shirt and shifted it about in her hands. Her brows furrowed. “Aerigo is connected to the history of our world--not directly by any means--but his presence is stirring up some of Kismet’s dormant memories. I’m actually picking things up from all around us; not just his shirt.
“The Nomas are paired with a symbol I have come to know as the ‘Hand of God.’ It has many levels of meaning, a few of which apply to Nomas.” Eyes open, she addressed Mavica. “Maybe other worlds are lucky enough to have a god, or even a god’s attention. I don’t want to believe it, but Kismet’s memories insist it’s all true, that gods made Nomas and that Nomas carry out their will.
“There is another interpretation of the symbol for Aerigo specifically but the true meaning is either too far into the future, or beyond my intellect to comprehend. I’m sorry. I don’t like leaving information like that so clouded. However, what I can confirm is that several powerful Noma came to Kismet long ago and--oh, how interesting. The history books lie. The Neo-Josos didn’t simply up and leave without turning Kismet to glass. The Nomas came and, to put it in a nutshell, killed a bunch and scared the rest off.” She looked at Mavica. “This is some controversial stuff.”
Arryk said, “Do you think that’s true?”
“I have no idea. This is good information to run by Donai. He’s the history buff.” Jenna paused the video by waving a hand over the keyboard like a conductor cutting off music. “However, considering that none of us have ever heard of Nomas, yet we have two fast asleep in the same room as us, I give Orissona credit that the truth could be a well-kept secret. And I take back what I said about psychics being frauds. She clearly isn’t.”
“Everyone’s taught about the war with the Neo-Joso aliens. Something like that isn’t easily forgotten, even almost two thousand years later. It was a devastating time in history. Kismet almost became an extinct planet. So why would anyone want to hide the truth about the Nomas’ involvement?”
“Good question, Arryk. Good. Question. But that’s something we’ll have to research off the clock.”
“I’m off the clock,” Arryk said with a grin.
“Not for long. Once we’re done with this file, I need to find a way to get our two patients into hospital smocks, and to collaborate a blood transfusion for Roxie.” Jenna drew two clockwise circles in the air over the keyboard and the video file resumed.
Orissona said, “I never knew any of this. Sure, history books are often biased, but I’d never suspect any of them would outright lie on global matters.”
Mavica nodded mutely, her grey eyes burning with a mountain of questions.
“You may speak, now, Mavica. However, I don’t have any of the answer you want.” The RN slouched and the fire in eyes went out. She let go of Aerigo’s arm.
Orissona turned to Aerigo, who was still staring out the window. “You’re a member of a powerful race, Aerigo. They have done many wonderful and amazing things all over the universe. You followed the same path early on in your life, and you will continue to do great things.”
“I’m just a monster,” Aerigo said in a harsh, deep voice.
“I beg your pardon,” the psychic said with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m not like them. I’m just a monster. Go away.” He turned so he sat perpendicular in his cushiony chair. He folded his arms over his chest and tucked his chin to his collarbone.
Orissona calmly got to her feet. “As you wish.” She handed the shirt back to Mavica.
Mavica said, “Wait, just like that?” She accepted the shirt without looking at it, and stood as well.
“I told you this man needs a long time to heal. Years. Decades, maybe. There’s no point in arguing with him at the moment.” She addressed him directly, “However, Aerigo, I have one last bit of information for you.” Aerigo made no indication that he was listening. “You will walk around a long time with a broken heart. It will remain broken long after you finally leave Nostrum Hospital. But one day you will find a reason to let it heal. Whatever you do, don’t fight it. Don’t push it away.”
The image disappeared and was replaced by:
End of Entry.
The hologram went blank.
Jenna stared in disbelief at the lump of flesh under the sheet that was Aerigo’s back side, recalling the emotions of his she’d felt when checking to see if both Aigis were stable enough to be carted into ICU. She had a strong feeling that the very last thing Orissona had said pertained to the relationship between Roxie and Aerigo, and he was holding tight to what his heart needed to heal.
Chapter 17
Kabiroas lay curled in a tight fetal position atop a very tall building. He’d followed Aerigo’s world-hop trail maybe half an hour ago, and it had deposited him close to wherever that cursed Aigis had arrived, but fifty tiers off the ground. Now he lay squished against a protrusion in the building’s summit, where there was a door that led inside.
The door wasn’t an option. He didn’t know how long it would take to descend every last flight of stairs to reach round level. On top of that, he didn’t want a constant visual on how high up he was as he took the stairs. And even if there was technology that would take him straight to ground floor, it meant coming across people who would know he didn’t belong on this world, or at least in this building, while he tried to figure out how their technology worked. He needed to get this assassination done as covertly as possible. That left scaling the building as his next course of action, once he could force himself back to the edge of the roof.
Kabiroas wondered where his fear of heights had originated. His best guess was that he’d been born with it. There was no other explanation for it. No one else seemed to have his problem. He just needed to make himself get up, walk over the edge, and use a little extended reality to get himself to the ground. He sat up, braced against the cement wall, and squinted his eyes at a panorama of block upon block of towering buildings, many even taller than the one he sat on. The air was so hazy that it loomed over the height of the city, waiting like a pregnant storm ready to drop into the streets, yet the sun was visible overhead. Its rays cast a green and grey hue to what he would have expected to be a blue sky.
The sky’s color sent Kabiroas to his feet. The air he was breathing couldn’t be healthy. And he’d been breathing it for nearly an hour already. He chanced a deep breath through his nose. He could smell the sickness. It smelled like the exhaust from the large white ship he’d spent a brief time aboard on the female Aigis’ home world. He’d smelled it over the salt air and the wind, a smell he’d gone many a thousand years without ever coming across. The stink made him feel greasy.
Kabiroas fixated on the edge of the building’s roof, willing himself to walk over to it. He would probably die if he breathed this tainted air for too long. There would be no burial for him among his kin. Nexus wouldn’t be able to find his body; he would become no more than a forgotten corpse. And Aerigo would live. Kabiroas got one foot to move, then the other. His fears screamed at him to back up, but the desire to live kept his feet moving with painstaking progress. His blood pounded so hard in his head and chest, it felt like his own racing pulse was trying to
beat him back. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled the last three feet to the waist-high wall, then forced himself to look over the edge.
The side of the building was covered in mirror-like windows, shrinking into a point impossibly far below, where crisscrossing roads were not much wider than the stroke of a paintbrush. Kabiroas went lightheaded and sank against the wall. Yes, he was putting his back to a plunge he didn’t want to fathom, but he couldn’t allow himself to scramble back to the inner wall.
Gasping for breath, he clawed at the clasp that held his cloak secure over his pounding chest, pulled out the large needle and his cloak fell away. He stowed both the needle and the silver loop that fell into his lap in one of his waist pouches, gingerly got to his feet, cloak in hand, and closed his eyes. He took comfort in the feel of his cloak between his fingers. If shadows could take material form, this had to be what it felt like to hold and wear a shadow. It was so soft and lightweight, and quiet as a shadow when he moved beneath its folds.
Kabiroas gripped the hood between one thumb and forefinger, and held his free hand over it. “Loca derr ex reiff.” The material twisted as if invisible hands were wringing it out, and the other end thinned and lengthened as it twisted. The spell transformed his cloak into a rope that coiled into a tidy pile at his feet, which he noticed with a furtive peek through his eyelashes. “Sec,” he muttered once the rope-cloak twisted as thin as he dared let it. He took it in both hands and pulled in opposite directions. It didn’t stretch, which was what he wanted.
Kabiroas kneeled against the wall and pressed one end of the rope to the cement with trembling hands. “Orque kimbin draht,” he said in a commanding voice, causing the rope’s end to meld with the wall. The final result looked like the base of a tree where its roots snuck under the earth. He took hold of the rope near the melded end, then got to his feet and yanked on it with all his body weight. The binding spell held. He tossed the rest of the rope over the side, but didn’t watch it fall. Instead, he retrieved a crystal vial hidden away in a belt pouch. The vial was small and oval-shaped, with a silver cap sealing its liquid contents within. He flicked open the cap with a thumb and swilled the vial counter-clockwise. A tendril of red smoke rose from the opening like the smoke from a candle that has just been blown out. Kabiroas breathed in the tendril, then said, “Sagire Aerigo.” The red smoke trailed out his nostrils, then dived over the edge of the building and out of sight. “Now you stay put, Aerigo,” he whispered.
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