Chapter 11: The Pact
"Activate Event Protocol
Location Sector Alpha-2 [39.95/-75.17/03.57]
Time at 01:26:52 AM Local
[Priority code 1618]"
The train sped along the dark tunnels of the underground railways, sending vibrations rippling through its metal hull. On the outside, dim lights shone intermittently, and once in awhile, there would be a high screeching noise, wheels grinding upon rails, sounding like the distant cry of some great blind beast that dwelt deep in the tunnels hidden beyond sight.
August and October found themselves in one of the hindmost cabins of the train, along with many others. Some of the passengers in the immediate vicinity of the Witnesses could not help but stare at these strange men, one of whom was reading the newspaper with intent while the other contented himself in reciprocating their stares; his head periodically swivelled and cocked with an almost hypnotic grace to its movements.
"Excuse me, sir," asked the woman seated between the two. "Do you know how many stops are left until we get to 30th Street Station?"
The man turned to her with the most inexpressive face she had ever seen, and replied with the blandest voice she had ever heard.
"You will arrive at your destination in exactly four minutes and thirty-four seconds."
He returned his sights ahead of him, just as stoic as we was before. The woman was beginning to feel ill at ease. There was this quality to these men that she could not quite articulate, her words failing her utterly, and even the attempts to rationalize it through abstract, intuitive concepts were unable to do the sensation justice. There was this air of surreality to them, pervading the entirety of their being; they were there, but they were also more than there, in a way. And yet, they weren't totally there either. This logical incongruity nagged at her subconscious, seeping into the waters of her conscious mind just as it did to those who also found themselves in the presence of the Witnesses. The woman was relieved, therefore, when she disembarked at her intended station four minutes and thirty-four seconds after the man had spoken, following and being followed by fellow passengers off the train and into the station's larger crowd beyond.
The Witnesses, however, did not move.
Of the Crépuscule Division agents at his disposal, December had assigned the two of them to oversee the weapons transaction following the success of the first act of March and June's mission in Sector Beta three days ago. August had inquired why September was not chosen to go, seeing as he had more experience with handling sensitive tasks; but September was currently overseeing the teleportation of David Robert Jones, so August accepted the mission, though he was not particularly pleased that his plans to observe the Girl would have to wait.
They had shifted to the outskirts of Philadelphia earlier that evening. They were going to shift to the transaction site directly through the RLTB, but October suggested they take the subway there instead, seeing as the location was on the other side of the city and that they had plenty of time to spare. August agreed; when the opportunity arose, the Witnesses would usually take the scenic route if time allowed it. So they walked to the nearest station and began to make their subterranean way to the end of the line.
As they progressed on their underground journey, their cabin slowly emptied at every subsequent stop until only the Witnesses remained. It was oddly more tranquil now that the humans had left. The two had begun to form inadvertent connections through Passive Calibration from their prolonged exposure to them, and their collective thought processes had son flooded the cabin's expanse; in their absence, the mental tumult had ceased entirely, the telepathic connections severed once they left the vehicle. Adding to this serenity was the train that rocked them gently as it scurried forth into the darkness and the rhythmic chug of the wheels as they turned. The sounds, the lights, the sensations; August was glad that October had convinced him to take this route.
He turned his eyes back to the newspaper, flipping to the next page. Dozen Die in Greyhound Bus Crash, said the article's headline. August scanned the page, absorbing its contents in mere seconds, reading every word. He had witnessed many deaths, and from his perspective, would come to witness many more, even if only through the observation of future possibilities. He wondered if the Girl would die one day as well, a thought that brought about a foreign, unwelcome sensation.
He also wondered what it would be like for him to die, despite knowing that he and his kind would never experience such a thing.
October verified his pocket watch.
"Will we be able to travel by foot to the site once we return to the surface?" asked August, seeing this.
"Yes," answered October. "We will arrive with approximately twenty-eight minutes to spare, should things proceed without obstruction."
The hangar that has been chosen for the transaction was located at a small, private airstrip just outside the city perimeter, in one of the outlying suburbs. The shipment had already arrived, and in a few hours, members from both factions involved would begin to congregate there. The two Witnesses were apprehensive for the task ahead, though October was more so; for while March and June's initial success seemed to bode well for the completion of the overall mission, October knew from experience how quickly an event could veer into an unexpected direction.
His experiences with Mosley almost two months ago continued to haunt him, and he still wasn't pleased that Mosley escaped him not once at the Westford site, but again in death. He had been working hard to try and make up for his failure since, in part to restore and preserve his integrity as a Witness, but also in part because he did not want to fail again, dreading the sensations it brought along with it.
First September, now March; it seemed to him as though the Witnesses were starting to slip up after so many years. Who among them would be next? The notion of failure lingered in his mind as a spider lingers in a crevice; you could not see it, but you knew it was somewhere in there, watching, waiting for the opportunity to emerge. He knew it would strike the moment he let his guard down for but a moment, so he braced himself for the hardship to come. The correction of the Irregularity depended on tonight's performance on all their parts. If he was to achieve their goal, his mind must be focused and clear of all subjective clutter.
Failure was not an option.
They sat in silence for several minutes until the door to their right slid open. A man stepped in from the next cabin over, closing the door behind him. The Witnesses turned their heads. The man turned and took a step forward, then halted when his eyes fell upon the cabin's occupants. Both parties froze, staring at each other in alarm.
The man stared at them as though they were the last individuals he was expecting to meet in that place.
The Witnesses stared because the man was glimmering.
The man's initial surprise gave way to a bemused smirk. He then proceeded to take a seat opposite of the cabin's other two occupants. The Witnesses shared a glance of concern at the new arrival, whose yellow aura flickered under their eyes, an aura signifying his otherworldly origin. Their first thought was that he might be one of the GDC's Hybrid soldiers from Sector-1, but then ruled out the possibility moments later; the brain patterns of the Hybrids were unique, mathematical algorithms underlying pre-programmed human behavioural traits, and the process of Calibration to their minds was almost instantaneous.
Upon further inspection, the man before them definitely seemed to be human, but he was unlike any human they've encountered before. His probability tree was fuzzier, his temporal precursor harder to see, and, more distressing, the act of Calibration to his mind proved to be impossible. The Witnesses were not sure how to proceed, and it would have been reckless to discuss things in front of him; and Calibration between Witnesses was not allowed, for the Overseer had deemed it to be dangerous, so they could not employ telepathic communication and were thus at a disadvantage.
The man continued to watch them with those strange emerald eyes that teased them with the knowledge they could not access. An uneasy tension filled the cabin while the train continued to roll along. The Witnesses looked at each other once again, both at a loss.
"Gum?"
Their eyes snapped back to the glowing man, who was extending a packet of peppermint chewing gum. The Witnesses were taken aback by the offer, and did not quite know how to react.
"...No," said August moments later. "Thank you."
The man held out the packet in October's direction now, but October did not speak. Seeing this, the man acquiesced with a shrug and helped himself to a piece. August returned to his newspaper, feigning to read it while keeping a periodic eye on their fellow passenger. As for October, he continued to gaze at the man warily, and whenever he would look back, October would avert his eyes, looking out the windows or towards the floor.
A single thought occupied both their minds. They had to find a way to learn what they could about this man so that they could properly assess his place in the scheme of things, by extension determining how he should be dealt with as per the Directive. But alas, all of their usual information retrieval methods were proving ineffective, and only one course of action remained.
"Excuse me," began August hesitantly. "May I ask you your name?"
"I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours," the man replied with an amused smile.
The Witnesses shared a glance, causing the man to chuckle.
"Hey, don't worry about it," he said. "Allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Thomas Moroe. But you can just call me Tom."
He performed a small inclination as he disclosed his name to the Witnesses. He fiddled with the ring on his left hand, in which was set a grapefruit-coloured gem; when the cabin hit a bump, Moroe's appearance seemed to shift ever so slightly for them, the proportions of his body warped, only to return to their original form an instant later.
"What about you gentlemen?" asked Thomas.
"I am Mister Price," said October, "and this is my associate, Mister Cook."
Such were their seldom used aliases. September was Mister Reed, March was Mister Ross, December was Mister Wright; the Overseer's own pseudonym was Mister Richards. They all had aliases for interactions with humans. But was this individual a human or something else entirely?
"Well, Mister Price," said Thomas, "it's a pleasure to meet you and your associate."
A train sped past them in the opposite direction.
"You are not from around here, are you?" noted August, trying to be as casual as he could.
"No," said Thomas. "I can't say that I am."
"Then where are you from?" asked October, trying to feign genuine interest, though his question ended up sounding more authoritative than anything else.
"I come from somewhere far away," said Thomas. "You two seem to hail from a distant place as well."
Thomas smiled, causing the Witnesses to tense. It seemed as though he knew more about them than he was letting on.
"I'd like to ask you a question now, if I might," said Thomas. "How many solipsists does it take to screw in a light bulb?"
The Witnesses said nothing. They weren't sure how the question was at all relevant to their discussion, and October didn't know what a solipsist even was.
"What light bulb?" said Tom, palms held out.
It was clear that Thomas found the joke to be a clever one, but the Witnesses, for whom humour was something they were never able to fully grasp, continued to stare, causing Thomas to shake his head.
"My, my," he said, more to himself than anyone. "You'd think after thousands of years, you'd have time to develop a more refined sense of humour."
Upon hearing this, the Witnesses immediately stood and drew their pistols on the glimmering man before assaulting him with questions.
"How do you know that?" asked August.
"Where is it that you come from?" asked October.
"Who do you work for?" asked August.
"Who are you, really?" asked October.
Thomas raised his hands as he slowly rose to his feet. All amusement in his face was gone, replaced instead by great caution and some amount of confusion.
"What are you doing?" he asked. "The Pact is in effect. You can't harm me."
The Witnesses shared a perplexed glance, and Tom seemed to experience some sort of insight.
"You weren't told about the Pact, were you?" asked an incredulous Thomas upon noticing their puzzlement.
"Of which pact do you speak?" asked October. "There exists no agreement of any kind between you and I."
"Huh," uttered Thomas, speaking mainly to himself. "I don't believe it. But then again, I can see why he wouldn't."
He then addressed the Witnesses directly.
"Alright, gentlemen," began Thomas, "the only thing you need to know about the Pact is the following: the less you know, the better. Just don't openly attack me or those who are like me or get involved in our affairs. If you do this, I'll do the same for your kind, and everything will be alright."
"And what if we do not?" asked October, taking a small step forward, pistol aimed at the man's forehead.
"Trust me," said Thomas gravely. "Breaching the terms of the Pact is the last thing you want to do."
The train started to slow down as it neared the last station on the line.
"This is my stop," said Thomas. "If you gentlemen will excuse me, I'll be going now."
Thomas looked at them sternly, waiting for them to lower their arms; and lower them they did, though not without great hesitation. He then headed for the exit, positioning himself in front of the door as the train entered the station proper.
"Where are you going?" asked August.
"Mister Price, Mister Cook," said Thomas as he turned about. "Unfortunately, I don't have the time to stay here and explain the situation. If you have any questions, I'm sure your Overseer will be able to fill you in."
The train stopped. A ringing noise echoed from the intercom, and the doors slid open.
"Love and Light, my friends," said Thomas with a slight bow.
He exited the cabin, leaving the Witnesses behind. They stood for a moment before gathering their senses and stepping out in a hurry onto the station platform, looking for Moroe. But they could not discern him anywhere in the crowd.
He was gone.
The Crépuscule Division agents stood dumbly near the platform's edge, even after the train left. It was only after October checked the time that they resumed their course. They ascended to the streets above, proceeding north along 63rd Street. The Witnesses did not speak. Their encounter with Thomas Moroe had left them stupefied and filled with questions. What was this Pact? Who brokered it? Why haven't they heard of it before?
As they began to near the transaction site, they had no choice but to set these questions aside for later review. The only thing that mattered right now was the oversight of the sale, and they could let nothing undermine their resolve.
But even their determination could not stop them from wondering whether March and June would be able to complete their end of the mission before it was too late.
