Chapter 10: Seeds

It began on a Sunday morning.

The plan the Arbiters had crafted three weeks ago was about to be enacted in an ancient, decrepit factory whose husk lied on the outskirts of the city of Leipzig. It was there that members of Apotheosis had been synthesizing and stockpiling of canisters of Slush Gas, the bone-dissolving agent that the Old World Society had ordered. With the order readied and secured, the five men currently present – Klein among them – lingered in the rusted halls of Koenig Inkorporiert in wait of Hoffman, whose arrival was scheduled for some time during the morning.

The Aube Division Witnesses stationed on a small expanse several yards away also awaited the lynchpin of their designs. They had been standing there for roughly twenty minutes, scoping the area with their specs every now and then with only rare sweeping winds to interrupt the stillness of the air, making the yellowing tufts of grass at their feet sway in a dance of the withering and dying. Of the two Witnesses January had assigned to the task, June was the first pick, seeing as Hoffman was one of his assigned Subjects; but that March was chosen was merely a matter of circumstance, as all other important Events were already being addressed, Events where the Arbiter did not want March to be present. And understandably so; they both knew that the chances of him committing yet another error have been raised by a significant margin.

March had fully expected to have been set aside until the Overseer's return, to be denied subsequent missions on the field, and he originally thought that January would have probably kept it that way were the others not currently scattered across Sector Beta. But he was surprised when the Arbiter told him that it was up to him to restore balance, to set right what he had wronged.

They were sent off shortly after that exchange. The Witness thought this to be a fortunate development. Before him stood an opportunity to redeem himself in the eyes of his organization. And this opportunity he intended to seize, for restoring his honour as a Witness was the only thing that mattered to him at that point. He was created specifically to carry out the Overseer's Directive; his integrity as a Witness was one of the few things he actually possessed, and he most certainly did not want to lose it.

But was he at all ready? This he was less certain of. There were moments where he knew without any doubt that he would succeed, and others where he considered that any chances he had were slim, if not entirely nonexistent. His mind wandered across this continuum of doubt, sifting through many scenarios that could unfold; but there were so many variables he could not account for. Nothing was certain in this new future he had inadvertently created.

And perhaps, he thought, grimly, he might never know the comfort of certainty ever again.

"It is time," announced March, checking his pocket watch. "He will show himself any moment now. We should head inside and position ourselves so as to better observe the proceedings."

"Agreed," said June, a squat, bulky figure whose eyes shifted upwards at his taller, leaner companion.

March summoned his specs, scanning the facade of the manufacturing plant with various filters, and he saw that the man stationed on an upper floor as a lookout was still there, concealed by windows that had grown almost completely opaque with the years. Realizing that they could not enter the premises directly, they snapped to the eastern face of the edifice through the RLTB, landing well outside the guard's periphery.

The Witnesses had previously discussed the possibility of simply jumping directly into the building with the RLTB when they first came upon that initial grassy knoll, but decided against it due to their unfamiliarity with the layout of the building; they did not want to risk finding themselves bisected by a table or become partially lodged in a wall.

So they instead sought an alternative method of entry.

They began to walk parallel to the chalky brick walls on the right-hand side, observing their surroundings intently. Shards of glass, warped heaps of metal and equipment fossilised by neglect lay carelessly strewn across the asphalt lot, vegetation seeping through its many cracks. The agents waded through the area with calculated footing, always on the lookout. After contouring the debris of a fallen chimney that had toppled years ago on the southern side of the building (the top section of which had crushed a small repository some distance away), they halted in front of a locked, rust-devoured door. Not wanting to betray their position through pistol shots, June instead applied a glowing thumb against the keyhole and transferred a burst of kinetic energy to the lock; it plopped onto the floor on the other side of the door, leaving nothing but a round hole in its stead. They pushed it open with caution, trying to suppress the wailing of the weathered hinges as best as they could before entering the factory proper.

Koenig Inkorporiertwas once a prolific shoe manufacturer, if the heaps of faded, dust-powdered shoes lying in mounds around the room the Witnesses currently occupied were of any indication. They traversed the rectangular storage chamber and entered a small corridor giving way to the huge manufacturing area that made up the bulk of the establishment. The assembly lines still remained, conveyor belts spanning the better part of the hall's length and segmented regularly into many production stations. Great beams of iron jutted skyward, supporting the factory's structure. And the large windowpanes encrusted high up in the northern wall cast their dim light on the desolate landscape below.

Through the multitude of obstacles in their line of sight, members of Apotheosis could be seen busying about. The agents needed to have a clear view of the area, but in their present condition, they would only be able to do so by walking straight up to Apotheosis, getting spotted in the process. They quietly calculated possible solutions to their dilemma, remaining at the mouth of the corridor so as to not be seen. March looked up; there was a metal walkway hinged on the wall, leading to other areas on the upper floors of the building. He shifted his location – and altitude – without a sound. June, noticing his partner's absence, clued in on the situation in moments, and, spotting his colleague above, followed him to the ledge on the second floor.

Down below, they could see the shipment of the bio-weapon at the heart of the manufactory, multitudes of crates stacked on top of each other in pyramidal fashion. The four Apotheosis operatives present remained in the shipment's general vicinity, pacing around, seating in lawn chairs, having a smoke, talking amongst each other in low voices, and none noticing the otherworldly beings tracking their every movement from the heavens. It was an excellent vantage point; no corner of the great hall escaped their gazes. And the Witnesses found their spot not a moment too soon, for the lookout emerged from one of many passages extending from the production halls, a sign that their expected guest had breached the perimeter of Koenig territory.

And as two of the men tugged on lengthy chains to open the colossal roller doors of the factory's loading bay, the Aube Division agents watched everything unfold from their derelict parapets.

The panel lifted with copious mechanical grating, and the ever-smirking Alfred Hoffman strolled onto the concrete premises, taking in the sights. He found the place to be rather revolting and awfully dreary; they could not have chosen a more suitable location. The men of Apotheosis came forward to meet him, forming a small posse with Klein at the forefront.

"Welcome, Mister Hoffman," greeted Klein, shaking his acquaintance's gloved hand.

"Mister Klein! It's a pleasure to see you again."

Klein and his men formed a small semicircle around the Old World Society's envoy.

"The pleasure is all ours, Mister Hoffman," said Klein.

"The shipment is ready, I presume," said Hoffman.

"Yes, of course. Follow me."

Klein showed him the way, and they both walked side by side to the shipment's resting place. The rest of the group followed, keeping as much an eye on Hoffman as he was keeping an eye on them. Of all of them, however, he watched Klein the closest. Their encounter with the assassin several weeks ago had not left his mind – if anything, it became more prominent. The circumstances surrounding the whole affair had continued to intrigue him. And yet, the more he sat on it, the more he thought that there might not have been anything more to it; after all, Hoffman had survived a few assassination attempts in his day. Still, he began to think that perhaps a small investigation wouldn't hurt, just to be sure.

All notion of distrust were swiftly queued, however, when he was led to the shipment's resting site. Alfred's hands clasped in satisfaction at the sight of the great ziggurat showcased at the nexus of the factory halls.

"Ah, marvellous," he said with a smile.

He approached the large set of crates. At Klein's command, one of the men opened a crate with a crowbar; three canisters were nested within, cradled by insulating packaging. Hoffman seized one of them and scrutinized it closely, peering at it from different angles, asking questions of pertinence as he did so. He repeated the process with all of the canisters in that particular crate, taking all the time he needed. The men of Apotheosis looked on as Hoffman inspected the order in rapt silence; apprehension gripped them. He then walked two laps around the pyramid before coming at last to a standstill, holding his chin and pursing his lips as he gauged the quality of the weapon order. After this period of interminable review, he spoke.

"Good work, gentlemen. The Old World Society is pleased with the results."

The Apotheosis crew eased in collective relief at Hoffman's approval.

"How fast can this be shipped out?" asked the Old World representative.

"We can have it smuggled onto a freighter and carried overseas in three or four days, at minimum," estimated an Apotheosis member of Latin descent.

"Then the exchange will take place four days from now," declared Hoffman.

Silence befell the group as Hoffman's sole reason for coming there was fulfilled. But instead of exchanging departing pleasantries required by social norms and taking his leave as Apotheosis had expected him to do, he instead pulled up one of the lawn chairs and made himself comfortable, exhaling deeply .

"Well, gentlemen," he began, "now that all that has been settled, why don't we get to know each other a little better? I'm not busy at the moment, so we might as well chat for awhile."

Raised eyebrows and circumspect glances arose in Klein's company; they then took the remainder of the seats, appearing to have accepted the proposal, even though the wariness did not leave their eyes. Hoffman grinned. He had indeed been preparing himself to leave the hollows of the footwear manufactory, as he didn't quite care to be in the company of these men – and had, quite frankly, better things to do – but that doubt kept nagging in the back of his mind, compelling him to stay. He would test them, he decided, and Klein in particular. He acknowledged that it could be dangerous, however. Curiosity was a trait that had led him to the brink of death before; luckily for him, he was a pretty fast cat.

"Want one?" offered the Latin man, passing around frosty beers from a nearby cooler.

"No thanks," replied Hoffman. "I don't drink."

The men took swigs of their refreshments asynchronously. Now that everyone was settled, the man with the German accent broke the ice.

"Apotheosis...what an interesting name," began Hoffman. "I imagine there was more to your decision to choose such a name than simple cool factor."

"Of course," said one of them, whom Hoffman guessed to be of Ukrainian origin by the thickness of the man's accent. "But whether you can handle truth is something else."

"Please, enlighten me," challenged Hoffman.

"Apotheosis," began Klein, as though reciting from a text. "The process of divine exaltation. At the moment of Technological Singularity that will arise from our technological progress, humankind will ascend to heights hitherto unimagined. It's the next stage in our evolution as a species, and we're only here to help the process along."

The men of Apotheosis held the distant stares of those who were listening to something they had heard many times before. They were just as ardent in their ideology as Hoffman had expected them to be. He supposed that it was fortunate for them; in this game, only the extremists and the fanatics and the idealists survived long enough to have any substantial impact on the course of the Silent War.

Klein stood cross-armed, resting against the crates of Slush Gas. Hoffman analyzed everything about him, his face, his countenance, his way of speaking, gauging his behaviour; but the only thing he might have betrayed was his belief in his words. His brows flexed as he wondered if his suspicions were as well grounded as he had originally thought.

March and June watched on. They were pleased that Hoffman had taken the initiative to pursue his doubts of Apotheosis, as it lessened their workload a little. He was more distrustful of his peers than they had predicted him to be. Even so, they remained vigilant in their observation, seeking to change the probability that someone slip up and thereby allowing them to sow the seeds of skepticism in Hoffman's mind.

Trust your instincts.

"I see," said Hoffman. "Tell me, Mister Klein, do your firmly believe in what you say?"

"Of course," replied Klein.

"And are you loyal to your cause?"

"Yes," he said, though clearly wondering why Hoffman was asking him all of this.

"Would you be willing to die for it?"

"...What?"

"Are you willing to die for your cause?" repeated Hoffman, sharpening his enunciation, grinning wolfishly all the while.

Their gazes locked, both trying to glean the other's possible intent. A few seconds passed before Klein spoke.

"Yes," he said with an assured voice.

The two maintained their contest of wills. Klein seemed rather confident in himself, thought Hoffman. And yet, for a split second, he could have sworn that he discerned fear and doubt in the Apotheosis operative's steely eyes. Julian Klein was a member of a group with radical ideologies, and only the most fanatical of people would care to join such an organization. Yet he hesitated a bit too long for Hoffman's liking; it seemed that more mind games were in order.

Keep your eyes peeled.

"Ah, forgive me, Mister Klein," said Hoffman. "I wasn't trying to upset you. I was merely a little curious."

Klein and the others were not cowed into remission, remaining standoffish. Hoffman did not want to raise the ire of his hosts, as they were all armed, and he had no chance of taking them all on should things turn sour. He therefore held his tongue for awhile, letting their distrust lessen to a simmer.

As Hoffman continued to search for subtler means of attack, Klein reached into his pocket and removed his vibrating phone.

"Please excuse me," he said. "I have to take this."

Klein vacated the circle, halting near one of the large iron support pillars to answer the call, his back turned to them. Hoffman turned to the others, who were watching him with thinly-veiled mistrust.

"He's new to the game, isn't he?" guessed Hoffman.

"He joined us around two years ago," agreed the Latin man. "But he's pretty good, and pretty damn smart, too. He's the one who developed the Slush Gas formula."

"Is that right?" asked Hoffman, rather surprised.

The Ukrainian man slurped the last of his beer before crushing the can and tossing it over his large shoulders.

"Mmm," he muttered in agreement. "He shows much promise, this boy."

Hoffman held his chin. These people – no doubt hardened and experienced soldiers – seemed to think highly of Klein. And while it wasn't necessarily indicative that Klein wasn't actually keeping something from the rest of his crew as he had suspected, Hoffman's doubts were nevertheless slowly fading. His motivation for being cautious in dealing with Klein was rooted mostly in concern that the Old World Society would be dragged into whatever baggage Klein carried around with him; now, it seemed less probable that it would affect Hoffman and the organization he represented.

Look at him.

Hoffman glanced over to Klein by the beam; there was a solemn expression to his face, and he kept giving brief, furtive glances to the group seated around the shipment.

He is hiding something.

Was his guard slipping up? Hoffman's suspicions were suddenly reignited, and his eyes narrowed. It felt as though his instincts were trying to warn him of some pressing danger; his senses have never failed him in the past, so he hearkened to their words.

Klein soon finished his call, and then proceeded to walk back to the group. One of the men addressed him with a movement of the head, silently asking him to brief them on what news he has received.

"Something's come up," announced Klein. "I have to go."

"What is it?" asked the Latin man.

"Xavier wants to meet with me," said Klein. "He said it was urgent."

The Ukrainian man raised an eyebrow.

"But Julian," he said, perplexed. "He is in Brazil right now."

Hoffman's mind was on fire. It was clear that the Ukrainian man didn't fully believe Klein's statement; but more telling still was the worry beaming out Klein's eyes. Hoffman was convinced with absolute certainty that he was lying; the way he looked at his crewmates – the way he was not really looking at them, but past them – had given him away.

I have you now, Klein!

Klein now seemed at a loss, his distress almost magnified under the lens of Hoffman's predatory leer; but his reticence proved to be merely a momentary affair, catching himself upright and donning his game face as swiftly as it had disappeared.

"Hey, I'm just as confused as you are," shrugged Klein. "He said that he's flying up here two days from now, and he wants me to meet him in Frankfurt when he arrives for some important matters."

"Are you sure of this?" asked the Ukrainian man. "It was your idea to sell the Slush Gas to the Old World in the first place; would it not be better if you were present at the transaction site? Perhaps we should give Xavier a call, just to see what this is all about."

"You know as well as I do that we don't call Xavier," reminded Klein matter-of-factly. "He calls us. If he wants you to know what the situation is, he'll contact you."

The Ukrainian man conceded, knowing that Klein spoke the truth, and all doubt left him; but Hoffman was less than fooled.

"In a few days?" asked the Latin man. "Looks like you won't be coming with us to America, then."

"I guess not," acquiesced Klein. "But I'll be sure to get you guys up to speed once you come back."

Hoffman was impressed by Klein's nimble thinking; it appeared that he had found himself a worthy adversary.

"I suppose this is where we part ways, Mister Hoffman," said Klein in a hospitable tone. "I hope the transaction proceeds smoothly despite my unplanned absence."

He shook Hoffman's hands before leaving out one of the passages in the eastern wall. A few moments later, Hoffman checked his watch, feigning to register the time, then promptly rose from his seat.

"It looks like I have to be on my way as well, unfortunately," declared Hoffman. "It's been wonderful chatting with you all. I look forward to seeing you again overseas in a few days."

He shook all of their hands in succession, and then left the building through the same passage Klein took as the men of Apotheosis discussed their shared dislike of the Old World's ambassador. He stayed at the door that led outside until he spotted Klein driving away. Once he was gone, Hoffman entered his own vehicle, which was parked a little ways down the road, and swiftly began the hunt for Julian Klein of Apotheosis.

The Witnesses were standing outside now, having followed Hoffman discreetly from the upper floors before shifting their location below to Koenig's asphalt domain. The task had been much easier than they had predicted; Hoffman's distrustful inclinations did most of their work for them. The seeds they have planted in the beds of his consciousness have sprouted, driving him further down the path of the truth.

"It worked," noted June, pleased.

"Yes," said March. "But it is not over yet. Come, we must hurry."

The Witnesses then disappeared from the lot, one after the other, making haste for the city of Frankfurt, ready to shepherd the predator and its prey along the next phase in their plan.