Cerulean Dreams

by Dan O'Brien

  “That is the Barren Maiden. It was placed there some time ago. It was a gift from an artist to the city to commemorate the destruction of the world as we knew it, the infertile landscape that gave birth to Orion.”

  Dana ran a hand over it, stepping past Marlowe.

  “It’s beautiful,” she marveled.

  Several hundred meters tall, she was only able to touch the feet of the statue. The woman stood facing west, away from the rising sun. Her clothes windblown, her hair ravaged about her perfect face. Her eyes looked toward the future. “The great matriarch of Orion at its center, we are a stone’s throw from Cerulean Dreams and the Pearl District. A place we do not want to be.”

  “Why?” Her mind was still absorbed by the statue.

  “Pearl District is home to OrionCorps main headquarters. My friend lives in the Portrait, just east of here. We should not linger,” he spoke. He started to walk east, past the statue and into a throng of smaller buildings that were painted mustard yellow.

  Dana looked high into the smoky red clouds of the rising sun, seeing that the morning light hid the face of the woman. “What will your friend be able to tell us?”

  Marlowe watched the terrain.

  The ground seemed cracked, like it had hardened and split in places. He watched as the cracks crawled across the ground and up the side of the building, shattering the windows into broad webbed strokes. The running board of information that ran around the building did not glint in the morning light. Instead, its information seemed labored and slow.

  He stepped closer to the running board, reading the information there. Normally it spoke of rising stocks, news and information that was pertinent to Orion. It was often nothing more than mindless advertising.

  This, however, was different.

  His lips moved as he read it, his neck pulsed: They are coming for you. They are right around the corner. They are going to get you, Marlowe. You can’t run from them. The Lurking is watching you. The board stopped and crackled, electricity arcing and leaping out at Marlowe.

  “Marlowe,” she shouted.

  He looked at her.

  She stood a meter from him. “What are you doing?”

  Looking back at the board, he saw that it was simply spewing information about stocks, useless numbers running and cataloguing themselves. “I was looking at the board there. It said….”

  He struggled to find the words.

  “Sir, do you need assistance?”

  The voice was masculine

  Marlowe turned and groaned.

  The crisp OrionCorps uniform seemed unfettered by the morning. His face was clean-shaven, young. He hadn’t yet drawn his weapon. Dana looked from Marlowe to the youthful officer.

  Marlowe tried to shake the cobwebs from his mind. The things that he was seeing were confusing him. “No, we’re fine. We are on our way home,” mumbled Marlowe and then adding, “thank you for your concern.”

  Dana’s fear only intensified; she felt like the exchange was slowed. The officer stared at her again, seeing her fearful face. The fact that Marlowe was twice her age and looked like he hadn’t showered in weeks gnawed at the officer.

  She was a pristine young woman.

  Alarms went off in his mind. He touched the side of his temple, his visor coming out only over his left eye. The blue was not as vibrant in the light of day. “What are you doing out at this hour? Aren’t you tired?”

  Marlowe could hear the man’s heartbeat, the accelerated thud of fear and anticipation mixed in a dangerous concoction. “Long night, I’m just trying to get my daughter home, officer.”

  “Why is your visor up?”

  His voice challenged Marlowe’s sensibilities.

  Marlowe’s arm itched.

  The sun brought the heat with it. The smell of the rail tunnels overpowered his nostrils and he couldn’t remember the last time he slept. The little man was getting on his nerves. “I must have shut it off early. I know the way home without it.”

  The officer scrutinized Dana, his half-covered face smooth, as if oiled. “Is that your father? Are you in trouble? Your heart rate is too fast, your pupil dilations read as if you were in fear for your life. Is this man taking you somewhere you don’t want to go?”

  Marlowe watched Dana. Before this night, he had only seen dead young girls, their once-perfect features distorted and mangled.

  He had gotten to one of them in time.

  She wasn’t dead.

  Dana looked at Marlowe.

  She was shaking now.

  Opening her mouth, no words came out.

  Her eyes were glassy and wide.

  “He’s….”

  The world snapped.

  Light became brighter.

  The night was gone and with it the madness that had impaired him. There were no longer denizens from some horrific dream. He had the girl and nothing was going to stop him from getting answers. “Not her father,” Marlowe finished.

  The officer turned, his weapon drawing with him.

  Marlowe was already in motion. He grasped the officer’s hand as he tried to pull his weapon free. His startled look brought a sad smile to Marlowe’s face. He pulled the trigger, the weapon exploding against the officer’s leg.

  Screaming out in pain, he fell back.

  As he did so, Marlowe pulled the officer’s weapon from the holster and steadied it on his prostrated frame. The man covered his face, though his lips moved. He was using the visor to communicate.

  The shot caught him along the left temple, shattering immediately any connection he had with the network and OrionCorps. The man twitched, the involuntary spasm drawing a panicked gasp from Dana as she hid behind Marlowe.

  “Sorry kid,” he whispered as he placed the young, dead officer’s weapon inside his long coat and turned without another word.

  Dana stood over the dead man, kneeling and touching his face where the round had impacted. She smoothed away the blood-soaked hair from his face. He had been handsome. She had not wanted him to perish like this, but he would have interfered. He would have undoubtedly complicated things.

  The sun was in full view in the east, proud and strong. She hoped that the day would be better for the two of them than it had been for the young officer that morning.

  VII

  A

  rmon sat quietly as he waited. His poised stature and relaxed stare belied the force that was within him, just below the surface. He was tall, taller than most, and his mocha complexion had more than once caught a woman’s fancy. His green eyes were foggy as he caught the secretary glancing at him.

  Although not powerfully built like Marlowe, he had long, lean muscles hidden beneath the designer suit that covered him from head to toe. His boots were made of the finest materials and shone as if oiled that morning. Dark, even-colored markings rose from the sides of his neck like slithering serpents that crawled all over his body.

  He cleared his throat. His silky voice drew the attention of the secretary once more. “Young lady, when do you think the good Dr. Roth will be ready for me?”

  He watched the dilation of her eyes, the pursuing of her lips, the pert and supple rising of her body to greet his voice. There were few things of their nature to which he was not attuned. The very nature of his work required that he be able to see without seeing, notice the subtle variations and reactions that defined their emotions.

  She touched the gray stylus to her crimson lips in thought. The act was done so that she did not lick her lips, a sure sign of her unspoken intentions. Her blonde hair was tedious in his opinion. The buoyant and overly massive nature of it was not something he would desire in a woman.

  “Let me check, Mr…”

  “Armon will be fine,” he replied, bowing his head.

  She restrained her giggle, her hand reaching to her temple. The half-covered portion of her face looked beyond sight. The imaging software tumbled across her vision, screaming streams of information.

  Armon had little respect for the technol
ogical leaps of Orion. They did little more than complicate things. This was not because he could not use them with expertise, for their use was another skill required for his duties. Instead, he felt they created too great of a disconnection from life.

  She smiled broadly, her teeth perfect.

  “He will see you now,” she answered.

  The 50th floor of Cerulean Dreams acted as the business office for Roth; the 97th floor was reserved for his behind-the-scenes endeavors. Armon knew this. In point of fact, there was little to which Armon was not privy. The walls were adorned with various advertisements for peripheral Cerulean Dreams products: day spas, grocery programs, support for local government, preservation of various buildings throughout the city.

  Smoke and mirrors by a company that most certainly dealt in misdirection. Unlike the doors on the 97th, these were distorted pieces of glass panels that quietly slid away revealing a room that would not have been considered modest. The walls faded colors from top to bottom. The mural that had once been upon the Sistine Chapel adorned the ceiling of the wealthiest man in Orion.

  Misplaced ivory pillars were to either side of Roth’s dark wooden desk, the veneer freshly polished. There were scores of couches laid along the outside of the room. Two plush chairs sat in front of the desk. Rich brown in color, they gave the impression of camouflage not elegance.

  Roth stood. Thin, near transparent glasses framed his chiseled features. “Armon.”

  Armon bowed and moved closer to the desk, motioning to the chair. “May I?” he queried politely.

  “Yes, please,” replied Roth, returning to his seat behind his desk as Armon took his. The light of the day was shielded by the tinting of the glass behind Roth. The brilliance of the sun was darkened and shaded.

  “I see that you still do not trust your own invention,” spoke Armon as he laced his hands together on his lap, bringing one leg over the other.

  Roth touched his temple and laughed nervously.

  “Can’t all be plugged in.”

  “Is that not the goal? Everyone plugged in,” stated Armon, looking over the room.

  Roth cleared his throat.

  “Right. I guess that is true, isn’t it?”

  Armon nodded, smoothing out his suit, the wrinkles an annoyance. “I assume that you called about something rather important. I do not think that our last communication has been for some time,” spoke Armon, staring at the doctor.

  “Indeed,” replied Roth, and then gesturing to the door, he continued. “I believe you remember Dr. Crowne from our Synaptic and Neural Division.”

  Susan entered, her hair gathered into a bun.

  Her half visor was in place.

  Armon stood smoothly, the action a calculated motion. He grabbed her extended hand and kissed the top of it. “Absolutely. The radiant Dr. Susan Crowne, it has been too long.”

  Susan glanced at Roth, swallowing and laughing nervously. “It has indeed been too long, Mr…” she replied, searching for his name.

  “As always, it is Armon,” he answered, with a warm smile. He bowed again and then motioned Susan to the seat beside his. Upon doing so, he sat next to her and they resumed their conversation, gentlemanly pursuits having been completed. “With the presence of the good doctor, I can assume that what I was called for will be revealed momentarily,” he spoke, his hands gesturing in a wide arc.

  Roth looked at Susan.

  “Indeed. Susan, if you will be so kind.”

  The room darkened and the screen dropped from behind Armon. He gestured toward it with a smile, indicating that he would turn.

  Pleasantries were never forgotten.

  Susan’s voice provided narrative. “This first image is a still taken from a Messiah District residence last night.” The layer-enhanced shadow mapping of Marlowe and Dana held the screen. The light from the girl was as mystifying as it had been from the beginning. “There was an aberration of sorts within the system that coincide with this particular meeting. A disconnection was recorded at the precise time that an OrionCorps squadron stormed into Cedars Tower in pursuit of the suspect, who remains at large.”

  “Alexander Marlowe,” iterated Armon.

  Roth looked at Susan.

  “It has been all over the network, Dr. Roth. There is nothing sinister about my knowledge,” spoke Armon, not bothering to turn and see the look on Roth’s face.

  Susan ran her hand past her temple, controlling the image via her visor. “The small form surrounded by light is believed to be a young woman. We are estimating late teens, early twenties from what can be gathered from this video and sightings near Cedars Tower, as well as the ensuing chase.”

  “We are assuming the girl is with Marlowe,” interjected Roth.

  Armon smiled, nodding. “That would make sense. There is still no revelation about who she is?”

  Susan moved the image forward: a darkened building. “This is the Cerulean Dreams outsourcing location in the Messiah District. This is where we perform upgrade testing and test other technologies. It is believed that she escaped from this location as part of what is being referred to as the Lurking Project.”

  “What precisely is the Lurking Project?”

  “That remains unclear. Even though Dr. Roth and Cerulean Dreams sanctioned it, the head scientist at the location, Dr. Methias, kept the contents of the experiments under close guard. Methias is currently being interrogated by OrionCorps. I doubt they will get anything of use out of him.”

  “Agreed,” replied Armon.

  Susan adjusted the screen so that they could view Marlowe’s personnel file. “Before the dissolution of the military, he was a captain. During the inception of OrionCorps, he was on board. The city-wide manhunt has produced nothing due to his training and knowledge of the city.”

  “Such a man is difficult to catch alone. He, however, has a companion, which will considerably slow his progress,” spoke Armon as he watched the screen, scrutinizing. “Various service decorations, no family, and no wife. Documented history of violence. I would say he would be difficult to catch indeed.”

  “We don’t know why he was there yet,” continued Susan.

  “For the girl,” interrupted Armon. “I don’t think he knows what she is, but he was looking for her. And now, he is protecting her. I assume she is the target and Marlowe merely the conduit through which to find her?”

  Susan looked back at Roth.

  “Yes. Her retrieval is key, though so is Marlowe’s. You can very easily find one with the other. If we could restore the uplink to Marlowe, then we could recode his visor,” replied Roth, visibly flustered by Armon’s easy understanding of the situation.

  “How did he escape Cedars Tower with the girl undetected? That has yet to be broadcast. I assume it happened because of how it was handled by OrionCorps. Ineptitude is bad publicity.”

  Susan smiled. “I think it was ingenuity on the part of Marlowe. He triggered the suicide nets and crawled to the next building. Stole an OrionCorps badge and suckered a tower employee.”

  “Too brash.”

  Roth rose from his chair, motioning for the lights to turn back on. “We would like Methias to disappear as well as any traces of the Lurking project. Upon further reflection, we have decided that even though it has been moved, it proves to be dangerous knowledge. I trust that you can remedy the situation.”

  Armon rose as well. “The Lurking Project will disappear. I will find Marlowe and the girl and return them to you as you have asked.”

  The elite of Orion moved about during the day; the men and women who ran the city worked as the populace slept. Men like Armon never slept. They waited and watched for their prey, no matter where it chose to hide.

  VIII

  M

  arlowe itched at his arm irritably. He looked around at the buildings that surrounded the complex. Portrait District was aptly named. As a part of Orion’s artistic development, an entire district had been commissioned to be painted in murals. Every wall and surface a canvas for
the burgeoning artistic crowd. Now what had once been vibrant was faded. Where there was once art, was the tagging of local youth in broad strokes.

  They waited.

  The door swung open as someone walked out. Tall and thin, like a wayward branch with spiked orange hair, the tenant was the norm for the Portrait District. Dana dashed as the door began its return swing, catching it before it closed.

  “Marlowe,” she whispered.

  Pulling himself from a crouch, he moved forward. His eyes were growing heavy, the weight of sleeplessness stronger the more he walked. Sliding in beside Dana, he closed the door. The latch clicked and an indicator flashed from green to red.

  “If he’s your friend, then why not buzz us up?” she queried as they moved stealthily through the hall of the building.

  “To do that I would have had to use eye recognition or have full use of my visor. Neither is an option if we want to stay out of government hands. He isn’t the trusting type, best I surprise him,” reasoned Marlowe. He moved out ahead of her, pushing open the doors to the stairwell. “Ladies first.”

  *

  Marlowe approached the door slowly, reaching out his hand to knock. He did so, the heavy sound reverberating in the run-down hall. A second passed into another, each feeling like an eternity to the two fugitives.

  The door rattled as if struck. A slot opened near eyelevel with Marlowe, just a little below to be precise. Two eyes looked out at him, puffiness hiding dull brown. “Who’s there?” challenged the voice, scratchy and impatient.

  Marlowe looked into the slot. “Pharaoh, it’s me.”

  The voice did not sound convinced. “Me who?”

  Dana looked at Marlowe with a lopsided grin.

  “He’s your friend, huh?”

  Marlowe rubbed his temples irritably.

  “It’s Marlowe, Pharaoh. Open the door.”