The Persistence of Memories - A Novel of the Mendaihu Universe

by Jon Chaisson

  “All right,” he said, once they were in the car. “What the hell was that all about?”

  Despite his anger, Sheila was smiling. “What are you so mad about? You called him on it. He's an Elder, Nick. He's also a high level sehndayen-ne. Did you know that?”

  “Uh, no...” he started. “But that's not the point. We wasted time kicking around his office with a conversation that went absolutely nowhere. Even if you sensed the same person Kindeiya did, we did absolutely nothing about it.”

  “So?”

  He shook his head in frustration. “So why the hell are we even here?”

  “So he could test us,” she answered. There was even a little bit of pride in her voice.

  “Might I remind you we're part a government organization? We don't have the time for this.”

  She merely laughed at him, which aggravated him all the more. “You haven't listened, have you? We confirmed there is an unwanted person at DuaLife, but he's not doing anything. He's not threatening any of the workers. He's not destroying property. He's just making his presence known. We can't do a thing to him until he makes a move.”

  “So we wait for this big D’haff Sshalé to kick the living shit out of another Mendaihu, and then we get Caren to kick his ass again?”

  “Not quite,” she said. “That's not his motive.”

  “And you know this, how?”

  “He's threatening by not doing anything at all. He's serving as a reminder from the Shenaihu that they'll return.”

  “And this amuses you?”

  “Well, no...” she said soberly. “But at least we know where we stand now.”

  “There’s that,” he said bitterly.

  “The playing field is being arranged.”

  “Whatever that means,” he muttered. “As long as I get to know what the hell is going on.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Perspective

  Poe headed to the New Boston ARU Headquarters early to avoid the usual midmorning shift change. The building itself was a gorgeous brick building near Harvard University in Cambridge Sector, five stories high and a half-block long. Inside the front foyer, a few agents just getting off the night shift stood idly by Reception, chatting quietly with the man behind the desk. They stopped briefly when they saw him, a plainclothes man with an ARU badge hung around his neck on a silver chain. Agents visiting from other provinces was not the norm, and when it did happen, it usually meant an extremely large case was about to blow open wide. He walked up to the dispatch desk and offered his best morning smile and a flash of his badge.

  “Good morning,” he said. “Agent Alec Poe, ARU Bridgetown, Branden Hill District.”

  The man behind the desk perked up and whistled. “Branden Hill, eh? You guys are doing excellent work down there lately. What can I do for you?”

  “I was wondering if I could talk to one of your officers about a case I'm working on. Any recent incidents involving any civilian unrest related to the Shenaihu or the Mendaihu in the New Boston area.”

  The man froze instantly. He glanced at the agents he'd been talking with, then back at Poe, forcing a grin. “You'd want to speak to Detective Simon Murphy. He should be in within the hour, if you'd like to wait.”

  “Sure, that would be fine,” Poe said, and began to turn away, only to stop again. “If you could give me his office number as well? I was planning using your research facilities, if that's at all possible.”

  The man nodded. “Fine with us, you're ARU. Top floor, southeast wing.”

  “Thanks,” he said, and turned towards the elevators.

  He met Detective Murphy a few hours later, after he’d done some preliminary research on his own. The man had entered the research wing rather noisily with a cough and a shuffle of his feet in an all too obvious effort to make his presence known. “I hear you're looking for me,” he said, approaching Poe’s table and standing a little too close to his shoulder.

  Agent Murphy was very young in terms of being a Special Agent, and at twenty-one he still looked like a rookie, with long jet black hair tied back in a tail. He wore the ARU uniform as an alternative fashion statement rather than the bulky annoyance that it was, enjoying the feel of a modified duster hanging over his thin shoulders. Everything about him hinted that he was this chapter’s black sheep, and held that title proudly.

  “Ah, Murphy, glad to meet you,” Poe said, offering his hand and introducing himself. “I’ve been informed you’re the go-to for any Mendaihu issues around here.”

  “That would be me,” he said with a resigned nod. “Always get the ass end of everything. Please, call me Murph.”

  Poe began gathering up the paperwork and tossed it in his book bag. “Believe me,” he said. “You have no idea how lucky you have it up here. Is there a place we can talk private?”

  Murph arched an eyebrow at him. “My office.” He led him downstairs to a corner office overlooking the busy car and foot traffic of Massachusetts Avenue. The room itself was neatly laid out; there were two small desks with barely a hint of paperwork on them, a few visitor's chairs, a long couch wedged into a corner, and a few tables lining the walls. This kid had his own office and his associates had willingly let him have it. The intense energies he felt here were screaming out: This is me. This is how I see the world. Don't agree? Tough.

  Poe noticed a tall and wide bookshelf lined half of one wall, filled with books of all sizes, including work-related books, notebooks, and a few hardback vidmats. A fair amount of thick trade paperbacks lined the upper shelves, all fiction titles. A few shelves down, he was taken by a wide array of books about spirituality and spiritual history. Those were well worn and heavily dog-eared, many of them held together by bands.

  Murph dropped into his desk chair and faced him. “So. What really brings you here?”

  Poe tore himself away from the bookcase and faced him. “You know I’m from Bridgetown, so you know what’s going on down there. We’ve had random and unrelated assaults over the past few weeks. We know the suspects are Shenaihu nuhm'ndah, mostly on one or two each time, as they’ve willingly announced themselves. The victims’ injuries are spiritual in nature. They rarely cause any physical damage, but the soul is nearly torn away from the body, held by just enough to keep the person alive. In nearly all the incidents, there's been an odd bit of graffiti sprayed on with smartpaint, saying the words 'here lies fate.' We've got leads on all of this stuff, but nothing concrete. I know it’s been happening in other provinces, and I’d like to know your take on it.”

  Murph leaned back in his chair and grimaced, hands clasped behind his head. “The graffiti is new, but other than that, it’s exactly the same up this way. Not as many incidents of course. It's been happening since mid-September, when the One of All Sacred allegedly returned.”

  Poe suppressed a smile. “That’s more than an allegation,” he said. “And I can confirm that these attacks have been happening since her return.”

  “You think she is part of this?” Murph said, picking up on the gender-specific pronoun. “I mean, the reason behind it?”

  “I believe they’re trying to get her attention,” Poe said. “Out of curiosity, have any of the suspects been apprehended, or any of the victims questioned?”

  Murph gave him a smirk. “We’ve got a few. Some of them are damn chatty to tell the truth, so much so you start thinking they’re full of shit. There’s one, though…he refuses to talk, and we don't have any soulsensers strong enough to drill him.”

  Poe cocked his head at him, surprised. “In New Boston? I thought you'd be swimming in sensitives.”

  “Academia has lot of people with latent abilities, but no one that can really do anything with them. It’s like we have a city full of students with doctorates who’d rather work the warehouses. It's like they chose not to do anything about it. Personally, I think that's why this city is so damn uptight about this sort of thing.”

  “About Mendaihu or about sensitives in particular?”

  “Both,�
� Murph said. “But New England Territory has always been like that. You don't want to go around flaunting your special abilities unless you've got a damn good reason to.”

  “Really.” Poe shook his head in disbelief. He never thought that any province, not just New Boston, would have been so closed-minded towards sensitives. “That's...”

  “Pretty old-fashioned if you ask me, but there we are,” he said. “Think about it, though. We're right next door to Newyork Metroprovince, which is pretty much its own microcountry. We've got outpost towns littered all over New England Territory, all of them so spread out and self-sufficient they're too far apart to be considered part of New Boston or any other province. The regional mentality has pretty much remained a guarded optimism for decades. We’re a close community and we look after our own. Come in and visit, but don’t expect us to embrace your way of life without question. And ever since Landing Day, we've been okay with cultural and ideological differences. But for anyone coming in with some spiritual score to settle, well, we just send them back to where they came from, one way or another.”

  “Who's the 'we'?” Poe asked, wanting to push this as far as he could.

  “The ARU, the Metro Police, and whoever else we can grab, really.”

  “No Special Forces?”

  Murph frowned at him, as if he'd been insulted. “Pashyo! We're not stupid. The Provincial Governor's Council would never let that happen.”

  Poe shook his head again. “Consider yourself lucky. Our PGC has been quiet, but they’ve got a lot of members itching to get involved. So about this suspect you mentioned. Would I be able to have a go at him?”

  He grinned madly. “I was hoping you’d ask. We'll visit him after lunch, if you like. He's being held at Downtown Central. I doubt you'll get anything from him, but it’s worth trying.”

  “We’ll see,” he said. “About the incidents: what can you tell me about them? Anything unique, something I haven't mentioned already? Something you've only seen happen in this province?”

  Murph looked away and thought it over for a few moments, absently tapping a finger on his desk. “Most of the attacks took place in the smaller sectors. Only one took place in Downtown. Two took place in Brookline Sector, three in Cambridge, a handful in Everett. I could go on, but you can find it in my reports. And they all took place in generally quiet neighborhoods of those sectors.”

  “Anything from Newton Sector?” he asked.

  Murph understood quickly. “You're Dave Poe's brother, aren't you? I've got a friend who had him for a literature class or two at New Boston College. Met him once, really good man. But no, to my knowledge, Newton's a little too quiet for our suspects to worry about. They're sticking closer to the center of town.”

  “Any reason?”

  He shook his head. “They want an audience? Who knows.”

  “Have you looked at it from a spiritual perspective, then?”

  Murph gave him another well-timed pause before answering, working his jaw and letting out a long breath. “I have,” he said quietly and evenly. “And I'm probably one of maybe five or so agents in New Boston who are still working that angle. A few others from different ARU sector HQs around the province, we’ve been sharing notes. We haven't come up with much, but what we have found is that the suspects are being guided by someone higher up. The man we have in custody continues to claim that, despite lack of any proof.” He shook his head and smirked. “He claims to be the leader of the Shenaihu nuhm'ndah. Like he’s the analogue of the One of All Sacred. Says he's a deity.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “He claims that his name is Saisshalé.”

  Poe gaped at him. “You're kidding me.”

  “That was my reaction. Why would anyone want to name themselves after a Meraladhza deity from the spacefaring days? It doesn’t make sense. Let me who you the file.” He grabbed his hardback vidmat and brought up the man’s headshot. He turned it over and placed it in front of Poe.

  It was the same man they’d confronted on West Guyton.

  “This doesn't make sense,” Poe managed, staring at the face on the screen. “How long have you had him held?”

  “Three days,” he said. “He’d been bothering people in various western neighborhoods for a week or two. The only reason we were able to apprehend him was that he looks nothing like the usual suspects we’ve had. Seven foot, well-built, long dark hair, creepy eyes. And get this: once we caught him, he was the nicest guy you’d ever meet. All smiles and good cheer. He refuses to tell us anything we need to know, but other than that he’s chatty. He's charged with assault and battery with intent to murder, but I'm hoping we can get him on more.”

  Those words had been said without any remorse. “Personal?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Murph said, and left it at that. “So why doesn't this make sense?”

  Poe frowned and leaned back in his chair. “For starters, there's little evidence that he ever left Bridgetown.”

  “Why would he stay? If he’s who he says he is, he’d be all over the place, not just in your corner of the world.”

  “He's attacking random Mendaihu,” he said. “And when he isn’t, he’s making them nervous.”

  Murph studied the criminal record for a moment. “He's diverting us from the real event. Which may or may not have happened yet.”

  “I think you're right, Murph,” Poe said. “Let's go see him.”

  Ah, the great Simon Murphy. And you've brought a friend.

  The words burrowed themselves in to Poe's mind before they even entered the Questioning rooms, digging deeper than anyone had ever managed before, sending a quick shiver of pain into his temples. He winced and cursed himself for doing so. He would not show pain to this man again. Saisshalé was cuffed and restrained to his chair, but the man remained calmly seated. He offered them both a wide, friendly smile.

  “Speak up, Saisshalé,” Murph said. “You know the rules.”

  He laughed and nodded. “Fair enough.” He turned to Poe, studying him for a moment. “You're that agent from Bridgetown,” he said. “You were with Agent Johnson that day, weren't you?”

  Poe bowed, ever so slightly. “That would be me,” he said. “How's the ribs? And the head, for that matter? Didn’t get a concussion, did you?”

  Saisshalé laughed again, clearly enjoying the taunt. “Doing better, thank you. She's got one hell of a kick on her.”

  “I'll send my regards,” he said. “What the hell are you doing up here, anyway? I thought you were staying in Bridgetown.”

  “Oh, I'm not done there,” he said jovially. “I simply started the chain reaction. The Dahné doesn’t find me useful at the moment. You know he’s had me walking all over the place lately? No attacks, I assure you. Just me, walking around, kicking the fear up a notch or two, just by my presence. But I've been elsewhere, my friend, not just your home. Newyork and all the way over to SoCal Metro, and many other provinces in between. A little sightseeing, a little disruption here and there. I’ve got to balance out the Dearest One’s work, you know. Right now I'm working on Detective Murphy's wonderful province. To tell you the truth, this area bores me to tears. All this condensed intelligence, and no spirit at all!” He shrugged back to Poe, looking him right in the eyes. “Bridgetown was a piece of cake, thanks to Denysia.”

  Poe bristled, but said nothing.

  “That’s the most you’ve said all week,” Murph said.

  “She woke everyone up, but she didn’t see me at all.” he continued. “I’m a bit annoyed. No, I’m actually let down by that, really. She should have recognized me right away. So I took advantage of that. All I had to do was infect a few people, and they did the rest. Come on, Alec. You knew this was going to happen.”

  “You do know who the One of All Sacred is,” Murph said, staring at Poe.

  “Watch that projection,” Poe muttered back. “It's what he wants.”

  It's what you want as well, Saisshalé said within.

  “Get out of my fucking
head!” Poe yelled. “Never do that again!”

  “Come on, Alec. What can you do to me? Sic Caren on me again?”

  “Don't tempt me,” he growled. “Just answer the damned questions, Saisshalé. You do not want to tempt me.”

  “Why you?” he goaded. “Oh — that's right. You're cho-nyhndah. As if that makes any difference at all.”

  You do not know me, he said from within.

  “I don't have to,” he said, and began to rock back and forth in his chair ever so slightly. “All Mendaihu and jinko cho-nyhndah are the same, you know. They want to be saviors of the world and end up being martyrs to a cause no one cares about anymore. Entropy, Poe. It's about high fucking time that this Good Earth came to an end and started over as Gharra.”

  Murph attempted to jump back into the conversation. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “He's talking about a Season of Embodiment,” Poe said. “He's been waiting for me.” He turned back to Saisshalé and stared him down. “You knew I'd be up here, Saisshalé. You knew I'd be in New Boston. What is it about me, then? What do you want me for? I'm just like all the other Mendaihu around here, you know that. You said so yourself. What is it?”

  Saisshalé closed his eyes, lifted his head, and took a deep breath.

  “Answer me, you sack of shit!” Poe yelled.

  Fesh piann, he responded.

  Poe suddenly noticed the low crackling sound and a rise in tense energy.

  “Pashyo —”

  Murph had just enough time to dive to the floor, leaving Poe in the line of fire as Light filled the room. A bright, painful, searing Light, devoid of emotion. It burned. It killed.

  “Don't —”