It was during that stay with the Nomads that I finally began to piece together some of what had happened. It all started with a gift my father gave me for my tenth birthday. I still remember him coming to my room and handing me a package.
"Happy birthday, son," he said. "I've had this in storage here since before we went to live on the isles. It's something I picked up. I think it's got some technology to it, but I can't make it work. Enjoy."
I opened the package to find a belt in it. It had small circular panels inlaid around its outer edge and a magnetic clasp.
"This looks old," I whispered.
He nodded. "Very. It's about the only souvenir I brought back from my mission to the water."
My eyes darted up to his. He never talked about the mission.
He shrugged. "It's just a belt, probably broken." I looked back down, running my fingers around the panels. "Anyway, enjoy."
I looked up to ask him another question, but he'd left the room. It was one of the strangest gifts he'd ever given me. I think he may have regretted it after the fact. It prompted me to try to figure out what occurred on the water.
History has always fascinated me, and you can imagine how appealing it was to me to study history that I was a part of. There were answers to be had, mysteries to solve, and I wanted to be the one who found and solved them. Unfortunately, my parents found my interest in such pursuits troublesome and did their best to ignore them. My father became more secretive about his past, and my mother rarely would discuss any part of it. I soon found the dearth of information available to the general public on the matters to be equally frustrating. The world, it would seem, wanted to keep its secrets from me.
Unfortunately for the world, I'm a very persistent man. The difficulties enhanced my desire to know more. Roadblocks diverted my focus; they never squelched it. I consumed everything I could find about the missions to the water. I searched through ancient texts about the previous missions that shared the Apollo name, which were very scarce, mind you. I studied the crew manifests in the public records and browsed conspiracy forums to keep track of the kooky theories bubbling up constantly to keep myself freshly motivated.
For the most part, all I gained was a vast knowledge of the data storage capabilities of the network. It's nearly infinite, the beauty of quantum computing. There is no end to the information stored there. It's equal parts fascinating and frustrating to have all that knowledge at my fingertips, yet be unable to use it.
Little did I know that knowledge was about to take an unexpected twist, leading me straight to Micaela.
Chapter 4 - The Nomad Council
My research, you see, didn't go unnoticed. The Nomads kept tight reins on their network. They knew everything I looked at on their version of the network and I swear they knew all along that the Colberrans had hacked into the system. It's possible they saw it as just a minor inconvenience that served them well: it kept the Colberrans isolated to an unimportant sector of the network. Only when we strayed out of that zone did they step in. In part, they did it for our own safety. You see, the Nomads believe something is guarding the network. They won't say what, but they are mostly distrustful of the entire thing, using it because they must. They do much of their work away from any network access points for fear someone or something might be watching. Their paranoia serves them well, as it does mean most of what they do must be recorded for their histories later. I stumbled across this practice almost by accident, although you know my opinion of coincidences.
One night, as I found myself lost in genealogical research on the great families of the Nomad world, I found a recording made recently that updated the genealogical record of the Bilal family. How this is done is quite simple: any event of import to the Nomads is committed to memory by a chosen member of each family. That person then goes to a network hub and repeats, word for word, what he memorized to the network, allowing it to be saved. In this way, they control everything that is recorded on the machine, even down to who has access to do such a thing. The recording I found, which brought me to the attention of the Bilal family, was of Suyef reading off an addition to his family's record. In it, he listed an uncle they'd just found that had been lost to them. His name: Mortac. He gave no description of the man, just a name and a brief mention of his being returned to the family. I'm not even sure how they knew he was an uncle to the Bilal family. Probably a genetic test of some kind. The Nomads are far from primitive. Still, the addition sparked an interest in me. Who was this uncle? Where had he come from? And why that name? At the time, I hadn't stumbled across any information on this man yet. The only thing I had was that the name was the same one my mother had discovered on the crew manifest, and I'd just found that.
As I pondered my discovery, the Nomads came and took me in for questioning. One of the standing agreements, you see, with the Colberrans is that, if the Nomads wish to take us for questioning, they must allow it. A single witness is allowed to attend the proceedings. Up to that point, they'd never enforced it. My father, as a known quantity to them, was allowed to accompany us.
We traveled far into the shell and, oddly, they didn't blindfold us. We were seeing, as far as I knew, the Nomad shell for the first time with true Colberran eyes. What I saw left me speechless. It's hard to describe the destruction that molded the landscape of that shell after the collision long in the past. It's one of the wonders of this modern world. I'll not bore you with grandiose descriptions now. Suffice it to say, it was one of the most alien landscapes I've ever seen, probably the most alien in this world.
When we arrived at our destination, I found myself before the gathered elders of the Bilal tribe. My father was greeted, then summarily ignored for the rest of the proceedings. To this day, the look and feel of that room remain lodged in my memory. The ceilings hung low, smoke clouded the air, and the lighting was dim and forbidding. It would not surprise me to learn the entire arrangement was done so on purpose to intimidate. If so, it worked. I felt completely isolated and alone. My father was forbidden to speak, either for or to me, here. All that mattered in this place was my voice and theirs.
So, I spoke. Well, actually, I asked a question. Of all the questions available to me in that moment, I'm not sure what compelled me to ask the one I did. Maybe it's because it was the one they'd be the least likely to answer. Maybe part of me thought this was my one shot to get an answer like that, so why not take it? With that thought in mind, I jumped.
"What did you find in the water?"
#
Quentin stood upright quickly and I reached for the recording device, preparing to follow him if he became mobile again.
"It was such a stupid move," he whispered. "Why open with that question?"
"I was thinking the same thing."
He glared at me. "Foresight's prophetic, eh?"
"Um, excuse me?" I asked, frowning at his phrase.
"You know, when you look back, reflect on things. Everything's clear then."
I cocked my head to one side, staring at him. "I think you mean hindsight."
"Isn't that what I said?" When I shook my head, he frowned and scratched at his cheek. "I swear I thought I said it right." He waved his hands, shrugging. "Bah, it's not important. You get the point."
Smiling at him, I nodded. "Now I do, yes. Looking back, you wish you'd said something else."
He leaned over the table, bright, blue eyes wide and focused on my own. "I could have asked so many things. So many other options." His shoulders sagged and his eyes lowered. "Wouldn't have mattered, most likely. They probably would have gone on just how they did."
"Which is?"
Quentin took off from the room. I grabbed the padd and hurried after him. He ran into his room, grabbing at his pencil and tumbling down across his bed. I stumbled to a halt just inside the doorway and watched him begin sketching. Rather, he continued. Moving around the side of the bed, I spied the same incomplete sketch of Micaela's eyes lying under his hand. The pencil lines flew across the page as
her face came into fruition before me. I moved closer as slowly as possible, not wishing to disturb him. He didn't seem to notice me, his attention focused solely on his work.
After a few moments, her face lay mostly done. This one she smiled in, a rare sight among the myriad faces staring down at us. He paused, looking intently at the image he'd created.
"She's important," I whispered.
He nodded.
"To you," I added.
A look crossed his face, twisting and distorting his features. A look of pain. He closed his eyes and one hand clenched into a fist. The other crept near the sketch and I feared he might ruin it. My hand darted out and grabbed it away before he could get hold of it.
"May I have this?" I asked, making a show of examining it. "For my collection on her? It would go well with the story."
His head bowed, fist unclenching, forehead resting on the bed.
"I've ruined so much," he whispered. "Wasted so much. Been so stupid."
A cough drew my attention and I looked up to find Suyef standing in the door. He shook his head and beckoned me to follow. I glanced once more at Quentin before moving to leave, taking the sketch with me. Quentin made no move to stop or come after.
"What's wrong with him?" I asked the Nomad once I entered the living area. "What is he talking about?"
"Regret," Suyef replied.
"For?" The Nomad looked at my hand and the sketch. "This? Her?"
He nodded. "It's more complicated than that, but in a simple word, yes."
"Did he do something to her?"
The Nomad shook his head. "You're trying to fly before you've even sprouted wings."
I frowned at his phrase. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you've only just begun to hear the story and already you're jumping to the end." He pointed down the hall to the sleeping quarters. "He makes no sense to you as he is now. You keep asking why. He's telling you why, but you're impatient, wanting to turn to the end of the book and read the final page." He stepped near me. "And we're not even near the end of this story." His voice lowered to a whisper. "We've only come partway and look what it's done to the two of them."
I looked down at the sketch in my hand. "He clearly feels deeply for her. Does she reciprocate it?"
Suyef sagged a little before answering. "What she feels is deeper than I think even she understands. Deeper even than this rift between them."
"Why is this so important to you?" I asked, locking gazes with the Nomad. "Why are you trying so hard to fix this?"
"Because I've seen the wonders they can achieve together," he answered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've seen what they are as one. Separate, each is powerful beyond most that have ever walked this shattered world. Together, they are a force unstoppable." He paused and stepped closer to me. "A force that can achieve something even the strongest doubters among us believe is impossible."
"Which is?"
He smiled, a small smile. "You're trying to fly again." He held up a single finger. "And even that is not impossible."
With that, he left me standing there, the sketch in hand and more questions in my mind. That phrase he'd used. It stuck with me. He'd done that on purpose, I know. The memory rose again, the memory he'd dredged up the last time we spoke from the dark pit I'd buried it in so long ago. The failure that defined me.
Yes, he'd chosen those words on purpose. I looked down at the sketch and felt something I hadn't for a long time. The feeling one gets most often as a child, when the world is new and everything is possible if only the child believes and acts on that belief.
Hope.
#
The elder's answer, predictably, was less than what I'd hoped for. The person in charge, a particularly leathery looking man with a few dangles of hair gripping for dear life to the top of his head and a nose so pock marked I thought he'd been poked by someone with a stick, chuckled breathily and nodded at my father.
"Him, you idiot." He shook his head and stated the only bit of the conversation that would be directed to my father. "Not very bright, this one."
My father spread his hands and shrugged, but said nothing. I, on the other hand, bristled at the insult.
"I object. It's a perfectly valid question and you've dodged the answer."
The man laughed again. "No, it's a question with more than one answer; you just don’t like the answer I’ve chosen to give you."
My mouth snapped shut at that. He was correct. They had found my father in the water. He could have said water, too, and been correct. I kicked myself internally for giving him such an easy dodge.
"We aren't here to discuss the events of that tragic day, however," the old man continued. "We're here to inquire into your actions on our network."
"Your network?"
His eyes flashed with some kind of emotion, either anger or impatience, I couldn't tell which. "You'd best learn when to speak and, more importantly, when not to speak. You have no enemies in this room." He glared at me. "Yet."
I shuffled under his gaze, using the excuse of looking around the room to avoid his eyes. Every person there sat straddling a pillow. Even my father had been offered one, though he'd politely refused. I stood alone in the center, no pillow offered. All the occupants were of an age with my father or older, the man speaking to me being the eldest of the bunch and clearly the patriarch of this clan. I spied several women sitting among the elders, something that stood out to me as a bit odd in what history claims has always been a predominately patriarchal society.
"That's better," he went on, no doubt taking my silence as agreement with his words. "As I was saying, you've been doing some snooping on our network. We feel you’re wasting your time, but we can see the value in the questions clearly guiding your search."
"What questions are those?" I asked before I thought about it.
His nostrils flared once, then he shook his head. "We've brought you here because you are not the first to do such research." His eyes locked onto me. "Nor are you the first to chafe under this council's questions on these matters."
For a moment, his eyes flickered over each of my shoulders before settling on me again. Frowning, I turned. My father stood still, eyes locked on me. To his left, across the entrance, stood another figure cloaked in shadows. I squinted to try and get a better view but failed. I looked back at the elder.
"Yes, your father once stood where you do now. Just before we returned him to your people, we brought him here to question him." The old man let a small smile toy at the side of his mouth. "He had much more decorum bred into him, a virtue of his career choice, I think."
Behind me, my father chuckled but said nothing. I kept my eyes on the elder, trying to hold myself in a respectful manner. It made me feel uncomfortable and scrutinized.
"As I was saying, you're not the first to do this research. You aren't the first to ask these questions, to wonder what happened on that tragic day." He pointed behind me, at the figure cloaked in shadows. "To wonder what happened to his father that day." The figure stepped forward to reveal a man of my age, perhaps a bit older. He wore a loose cloak, billowing off his broad shoulders, massive thick arms folded across his chest. His face was as dark as the hair in his beard. He looked all of a brute.
"This is Suyef," the elder continued. "He, too, asks your questions. The reason is his story to tell, when he chooses." The elder chuckled. "I think you'll find him a hard nut to crack." He looked at the man. "I pity you, Suyef. I suspect this one talks incessantly."
Suyef looked down, clearly uncomfortable at the elder's words.
"You both seek answers to questions, and we cannot answer you, not because we don't want to, but because we are unable." I looked back at the elder, who held up a hand to forestall me. "The answers you seek are elsewhere. We want them as much as you. So, we'll send you where you can find them." He nodded at Suyef. "Together, maybe you can find what alone you cannot."
"Where are we going?" I asked, turning to look at the elder.
Chapter 5 - Truth or Vengeance
I contemplated the elder's words while resting later in a tent prepared especially for me. No one had spoken to me since the council's dismissal; most of the Nomads simply ignored me altogether. My mind toyed with thoughts on what had happened. At first, I felt I'd come out ahead. The council hadn't reprimanded me, much; they'd all but said they wanted the same answers as me, and had even been so kind as to give me help. Still, part of me wondered how much they truly wanted to know. This kind of research would be much easier if they'd just give me unfettered access to their network, but they'd balked at even the idea of that. It would seem that, in their eyes, my answers lay elsewhere. Whether that was because the answers truly did lay elsewhere or the Nomads simply wanted to keep me from discovering what they knew, I was unsure.
My hopes that Suyef would be of help initially proved wrong as well. He'd said nothing to me after the council ended, ignoring me as all the rest. He'd been given a nearby tent, as I'd seen him enter it and had stayed there since, ignoring any attempt on my part to meet with him. My curiosity on his part in this aside, I also wondered if he was being given this assignment against his will. He clearly didn't trust me and didn't want anything to do with me. I didn't want to push myself on him, but what choice remained? Leaving my tent wasn't an option except to see him, and he refused to see me. So, I sat in my tent, alone, contemplating the situation, wondering how long we'd be kept there before the Nomads tired of this and sent me packing.
I looked up from my reverie to find Suyef standing in the entrance to my tent. He crossed his arms over his broad chest and glared down at me.
"Why do you do this, Colberran?"
"Do what?"
"Ask these questions. Why?"
I shrugged. "Someone needs to."
"Others have asked and found nothing."
"Others have asked and not been told everything."
Rise: Paths (Future Worlds Book 2) Page 4