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Signal Interference
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Signal Interference — Tobias Lilja
Endlessly, endlessly watching me, haunting me. Run away, run away from that day (from that day), and I wait at the end of this long hall…
Krystal wept throughout the interview. Beside her Fox's expression was stone cold, as if he could not yet process what had just happened.
"…and when Mr. Hare took the second photograph this… Andross person… came out of the camera, correct?" the detective, a Mr. John Smith, was saying. His expression was of polite curiosity but, underneath, lay skepticism.
"Yes," Fox answered, mouth only just moving. "It stood there, looking at Peppy, before turning to face me."
"And you discharged your weapon at it?"
"Yes. It teleported away before my shot could hit." Fox paused, emotion welling up inside. He knew where it had gone, straight after Krystal and Marcus. He had the niggling sensation that the Andross creature had read his mind in that instant, and knew where to go. "I… I went to check on Peppy be—before I went to look for… for…"
"It's all right, sir." Mr. Smith's partner interjected. "What happened after you checked on Mr. Hare?"
"I went after it. It was moving towards… towards her and my son."
"Can you describe to us what it was doing?"
"I don't… I don't follow you."
"Running, walking? Was the abductor moving with haste or urgency?"
"No." Krystal said. "It was… it was moving quickly and… and slowly. I'm sorry, but… but… but that's what it was doing."
Mr. Smith nodded and wrote something in his notepad. He was a handsome Black Labrador, with long, brown eyes that looked as if they had seen too much in the line of duty, and there hung about him a general weariness that felt oppressive by mere association. Nonetheless, in spite of this pall, his expression, while hard, was determined to do the best job he could under the circumstances.
And at present, those circumstances were not something he normally dealt with.
"Before we continue. Mr. McCloud," he addressed Fox, "are there any records of similar activities happening in your family's past? Things like this… Andross character? The general sort of supernaturality is… what I mean."
"Um… well, apart from my father's spirit piloting his ship, guiding me through Benomu's winding tunnels, nothing else I can recall." Fox rubbed the back of his head. "It's all in the post-briefing of that mission. I assure you, my psychological profile is perfectly normal and healthy."
"I'm not doubting as to your statements; to the contrary, I am gathering more information to better help this investigation."
"Please, sir," Krystal broke in. "How will this help? Fox's dad is not what this is all about—"
"It is possible, however unlikely, that Andross, wherever he may be, still bears a grudge against you and your husband, Miss Krystal. The so-called teleportation you have described—"
"—Which it is," Fox interjected. "I saw it moving like a black cloud after my wife—"
"—Please do not interrupt me. Whichever the reason, there exists technology to mimic the supernatural and to deceive people's senses, make them doubt what they really see. It is possible that this actor, whomever they may be, used technology that's reproducible to confuse and bewilder you in order to better make off with your son."
"But… but… how could it have just vanished when I shot at it—?"
"How could technology tear my son from my grip into its own—?"
"Please, please," Mr. Smith's partner, named Jane Doe, again interrupted. "We are only seeking to eliminate the mundane before settling on the supernatural."
She was, in fact, a literal doe, one of Corneria City's Police Department's minority hires, and very good at what she did. A kind woman, her eyes were a soft and understanding brown, almost liquid, as compared to her male counterpart's hardened own. Right now it took all of her energy to remain kind and understanding; both Mr. and Mrs. McCloud had refused her repeated attempts to calm them down.
"That being said," Mr. Smith went on, "aren't there other accounts of supernatural activity in your file?"
"Uh…" Fox was at a loss for words. Meanwhile Krystal nodded rapidly. "Oh, yes, yes, there is—Sauria, where we first met."
"Indeed. According to the files on record, obtained with permission from the government, you, Mr. McCloud, went there as attaché for the scientific team investigating the energy pulses emanating from there. Correct?"
To reduce the entirety of the Saurian Crisis to mere "energy pulses" was rather understating it. The anomalous energy readings originating from the planet Sauria ripped through space at near the speed of light; each pulse was approximately seven days, nine hours, twelve minutes, and three seconds apart; and with each pulse, all communications, transwarp drive, and shieldings failed. The first time this occurred all of Corneria had been thrown into chaos. It took three more pulses before the source was identified and a team dispatched to investigate. What they found there was horrifying as it was bewildering.
"Yes, I did."
"The science team you were assigned to all reported being possessed by ghosts—"
"They weren't ghosts," Krystal said. "They were the Krazoa spirits, agitated because their temples' sacred spellstones were missing."
"And you had removed them because—?"
"Because an evil spirit had taken them—"
"That wasn't an evil spirit, Krystal," Fox said, shaking his head. "That was a rogue military AI pretending to be An—"
"If you please!" Mr. Smith said, standing up. His sudden movement shut up both McClouds. "I understand that you are tense and on edge, but if we're to get to the bottom of this, I cannot have you interrupting me at every statement I make. I am trying my best to help you find your son, and to do that I need to review all the evidence."
"So far," Miss Doe continued. "We have established that someone, imitating the late Andross, abducted your son. What we have also established is they have used him specifically to get back at you. This means that, somewhere in the not so distant past, there is someone who still bears a grudge against you, and decided to make it so you were powerless to stop them by intimating Krazoa ghosts."
The silence that met this redundant proclamation was instantaneous. All the McClouds could do was look at the investigators and at one another, attempting to process what they had heard.
"And now, the final question in our investigation." Mr. Smith had sat back down, groaning slightly. "Did you see where the abductor went? Was there a car nearby, a van, a motorbike? Or was it a flying vehicle, hidden in the air?"
Krystal put her face in her hands and began to weep. This was a sign that she had given up. Fox, meanwhile, opened and closed his mouth, but no words came out. The detectives waited.
"It… it vanished," Fox offered.
"Vanished? You mean it teleported again?"
"No, I mean nothing like that. It just vanished. Krystal could tell you more but—"
"Yes, we have gone over that previously. What did you see, Mr. McCloud?"
Fox swallowed, choosing his words carefully. "I saw the black cloud dissolve into… into nothingness. On the ground, everywhere around where the cloud had been, there was thick ice. So thick I slipped on it running to her." To emphasize the point he shifted his leg, revealing a cast. The EMTs who had been on the scene remarked that if Fox hadn't stopped where he had fallen there was a possibility he could have lost the leg entirely. "She was lying there in the middle, fur coated with frost, so white… so white…"
"Thank you, Mr. McCloud. We'll take it from here."
In the end there was little more they could gather from interrogation alone, and by that point both McClouds were too disturbed to continue questioning. Miss Doe led them out of the interview room and back to the reception hall.
Waiting for them were Peppy, Lucy, and little Drake. Surprisingly, there was also Andrew, another rabbit like his wife.
"I came as soon as I heard," he said by way of introduction as the McClouds filed into the room. "If there's anything I can—"
"Thank you," Fox said, hand upraised. "But no thanks. I don't want to endanger you or Lucy."
"Fox… I want to say… I'm sorry," Peppy began. "You shouldn't have stopped—"
"Enough of that now," Lucy chided. "Don't listen to him, Fox, you did what you thought was right—"
Krystal continued weeping. Fox focused on nonverbally comforting her, repeatedly thinking thoughts that it wasn't her fault, no one could have guessed what it was. He was so deep in concentration that he didn't register that she had let go of his hand; and when he looked up, saw that Jane had led her over to a seat and was pressing tissues into her hands.
Inside, he felt empty. For so many years, there had been peace, no sign of enemies or hostile entities that sought revenge on him. Even Star Wolf had long since buried the hatchet, and last he heard they had gone to an exosolar system on a government contract. There shouldn't be any Andross loyalists… there shouldn't!
"—like a seat, sir?"
He came to, his thoughts vanishing as the surroundings reappeared. Miss Doe was standing before him, concern all over that pretty face, head cocked to the side. She gestured to a chair besides Krystal when Fox looked at her.
"I'm fine, thank you," he said.
"I'll be over there," she pointed to someplace outside of his line of sight, "if you need anything, sir."
Fox nodded by way of acknowledgement. Miss Doe departed, leaving the McClouds and the Farrells to their own thoughts. Lucy had gone over to sit with Krystal, to lend some female support, while Andrew and Peppy busied themselves in conversation. Fox could hear snatches of what they said, which seemed to revolve around potential nemesis from when his father had been alive. He had to stifle a snort at that. Anyone still alive from that long ago has more important things to waste time over, he thought.
Yet still, there remained the question. Who could have done this? That… that thing clearly looked like Andross, he just knew it… and yet, now that he thought about it, something did not add up. It wasn't that Andross was dead (he was certain of that, rogue Saurian AI or no) it was…
That thing looked like a ghost, he realized. Yes, there it was—the tall man did not look like it belonged in reality. Even the Krazoa did not display that same sort of wrongness about them, and they were literal floating heads with tentacles of energy! But… why come here? Why my son?
To that he had no answer.
"—you going?"
He only heard part of it, but there was something in Lucy's tone of voice that made him look. And so he looked—and reacted.
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Krystal huddled into herself, ignoring any attempt to be comforted. Lucy tried her best, but there was nothing that she could do.
How… how did it find me? Krystal's thought rang in endless litany. I had run so far… so far away. How did it…
There was no hiding it. Eventually she would have to reveal her secret if they were to make any progress. But, she had buried them away for a reason, in the hopes that she could stay hidden, from her own thoughts.
"Please, go away," she whispered.
"I'm going nowhere, Krystal," came Lucy's response. "Come, take my hand."
But she did not mean Lucy.
All of the memories she had buried, all of the voices she had thought had long disappeared, all of the emotions that once threatened to break her—they were re-emerging. As each one appeared she banished it with old weapons that were caked in mental rust, but it was futile. For each one she destroyed, two more would appear, followed by the one she had cut down.
They are calling to me, she knew. There is no… No! I won't surrender.
She gave herself a little shake and came to. Somewhere in the past hour they had left the interview room, but her surroundings imprinted themselves indelibly upon her senses. Antiseptic smells from cleaning agents forced their way into her awareness, followed shortly by a vague staleness. Blurred images began to materialize in spite of her best efforts to clear her eyes.
Please, no, let it not be…
The images swam, shifting form, before finally appearing into familiar shapes. There was the pretty detective, inquiring after Fox's health. Over there were a group of officers emerging from the break-room, about to deploy. Beside her there was the warm star of Lucy, offering a bulwark to lean upon if she so chose to accept it. And, over there was Marcus—
Krystal blinked.
The shade disappeared, replaced with Drake playing with some toys. His father sat beside him, keeping him entertained; watching over them was Peppy, a grim expression about his face.
What am I doing, she asked. I should tell them.
But could she find the strength? Unbidden, her eyes closed again as she withdrew into her mind. She shut out all outside stimuli—Lucy was the first to fade, retreating as if Krystal were in an Arwing, approaching FTL speeds; then Drake and the rest followed, their lights receding rapidly. Last of all was Fox, so strong was the bond of husband and wife.
At long last, she was alone again.
Her eyes opened again, but this time she looked inward.
Every Cerinian from birth was trained how to build their own private space within themselves. With their parents' guidance the young girl, or boy, would begin laying the first mental bricks of their "home" within a home. Krystal was no exception.
Her little place of solitude was a little house. It vaguely resembled that of her corporeal house with Fox; she stood inside the living room, bare of furniture. Over to her left was the fireplace, burning evermore with a soft flame; to her right was a staircase leading upstairs to nothingness. Directly ahead was a window, where in reality was the doorway to their kitchen.
Minds needed very little space, especially those like her.
Krystal "turned" until she stood opposite her original orientation. There stood a row of shelves, full of glowing spheres of light. More fanciable persons would believe these were "memories", and in a remote sense wouldn't be far from the truth; but in actuality, wrong as they came. Memory was such a fickle thing, buried within the brain's myriad synapses and summonable through certain triggers as yet unexplainable to conventional science.
For the Cerinian creature, it went beyond mere material science. Memory was more than a biological function.
She reached out and touched one of the spheres. It felt "hot" to her touch. Please, don't hurt, she said. Her hand closed around it, letting the heat encapsulate her othersenses fully.
When she had first birthed Marcus, the experience had forged a new and permanent memory, a linkage between her and him. His mind had always been present to her senses, perhaps from the moment of his conception, but it wasn't until birth that it exploded into being. Such an event was like witnessing a solar flare for the first time—raw power coursing through empty space, to scour any and all it touched. And in that instant, she had "flung out" herself to him, catching his newborn star and cradling it with mother's love. Shortly thereafter she guided Fox's mind to also bond after her, but as he did not share her heritage the most it did was knock out Fox for a few days. During that time they were united in a way that transcended even sexual intimacy, and she was quite sorry to finally release them.
Fox's exact words to her when he woke up was "Please don't do that again". She had smiled and demurred, but decided to heed those words in the future. In the years since, only her bond with Marcus had matured while his father's remained dull.
He is alive somewhere, she said/thought, lifting away the sphere and observing it. Or else this would have gone dark. All of these spheres would have been dark.
This meant that Marcus was… elsewhere.
Where are you, my son? she asked/thought. Here, in the depths of her own unconscious mind, she was not consumed by grief or sorrow. Here, she was able to observe things in a more detached manner. Why can I not sense you as I can these?
She turned.
Something had moved in the corner of her vision.
There, in the eternal fire burning in the hearth. A fancy representation of some spiritual concept she had been taught in her youth, its meaning escaped her at present. There, again, there it was! Her breath caught itself in her throat—strictly in a metaphorical sense, mind—she saw something.
The flames glowed with the same warm fire that were within the spheres, that each represented every person she had ever known with intimacy past and present; and something was in them.
Krystal found herself "moving" near the fire. Still holding her "son". Unbidden, there lurked the distinct possibility of fear, such a thing that shouldn't even exist in this sacred place. The fire was her, so to speak. Why should I be afraid of myself?
She knelt before it, gazing within the deep glow of fire. Searching, watching, waiting. Something had shown itself in there, and curiosity demanded to be satisfied.
The fire flickered innocently—after all, it was but the reflection of her own soul.
It vanished, leaving behind an ash-filled hearth. Before Krystal could react—for everything here was but a representation of a deeper spiritual reality—there re-emerged another.
Out of the ash pit there opened an Eye. It stared straight up before blinking, once, and Its pupil slid to look at her.
"Mom?" It asked.
Marcus, she whispered/thought. Where are you?
"I'm here."
No, you are not. I know you are alive, somewhere, somewhen. Please, tell me, where are you? We will get you back, I promise you.
"Or you can come get me?"
Come get you? But that would require her to face her fears. Things she had thought were long gone and dead. Fine—if that's what it took, then she would do it. They can never know, she said/thought. This is something that is beyond them. Only I can do this.
"Mom?"
Yes, honey. I'll come get you. But, show me the way.
The Eye blinked once, twice—then it closed, sinking beneath the ash, letting the caustic cinders cover the wrinkly not-skin.
The ash fell, disappearing into a hole. A hole that transformed into a tunnel of stone walls like a well that encompassed the once hearth. There was no more ash to fall. And, somehow, there was light. Not light from the little sphere she held in her hand.
It was a pale, blue light. And it illuminated a door.
Krystal breathed. Once, twice, thrice—gathering her nerve. She looked at the orb that represented her son, half-hoping that this would fix everything; and then, without further ado, began to squeeze it tightly. The sphere enveloped her fingers until her fist was inside it, and then it deformed into a river of liquid glowing gold that flowed across her arm until it had vanished within her body.
A little fire emerged before her senses, burning in the middle of the hole, in midair. This will be my anchor, she resolved. If she too were consumed like she feared he was, a part of her would remain behind, in safety.
I hope Fox is up to taking care of my body, she laughed/thought, finding some humor in it.
Taking another, final deep breath, she deliberately let herself fall into the hole. Her reality reoriented. Now she stood upon a stone floor and before the door.
New details emerged that she hadn't seen before. The door was of a weather-beaten wood, of some unfamiliar species of tree. There were stains here and there upon it.
That is strange, she thought/wondered. Perhaps this was…
No. I will do this.
With that resolution, she stepped forward, and reached out to palm the door.
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"There, there, Krystal," Lucy said to an unresponsive woman. "We'll find him, I promise you."
Ever since they had sat down, Krystal had done nothing but stare forward. Occasionally her mouth would move, saying such soft things as "go away" to which Lucy would answer in the negative, but apart from these she was… she was as silent as a ghost.
Lucy shook her head sadly. There was nothing she could do without Krystal's help. It would take weeks of therapy to fix this, and she wasn't sure how they could handle a telepath's emotional trauma.
She thought about asking Fox for his insight (for if there was any who understood Krystal's mind, it would be him) when she felt movement.
Krystal stirred. Her eyes, which had been moving with an automatic listlessness, centered unexpectedly forwards. Before Lucy could say a word, the fox woman stood straight up and began to walk towards Fox.
"Where are you going?" Lucy asked.
Fox, lost in his own thoughts, turned at Lucy's question.
All at once several things happened in quick succession.
One of the CCTV cameras that were everywhere in the station turned independent of its pre-programmed route to stare at the despondent group.
Krystal altered her path to go towards it.
Over in the security vestibule that abutted the lounge, one of the officers on duty jumped as all their security screens went blank. He leaned over to sound the alarm when a surge of electricity shot from his monitors and knocked him unconscious.
The lights abruptly exploded, sending glass shards everywhere.
"Krystal!"
Fox leapt into action, attempting to intercept her. Andrew had the same idea, and both men collided without ever getting close to her.
Lucy was quicker on the draw. She jumped from her seat and went after Krystal just as the lounge doors burst open and several officers rushed in, guns and flashlights at the ready.
"Everyone, on your knees!" one of the officers shouted.
As the rabbit froze, her instincts abruptly kicking in, Krystal reached the CCTV camera. She stood, head tilted to the side, as if regarding something smeared on the lens.
Then she reached out to touch it.
"Krystal, no!" Fox yelled. But it was too late.
The instant her fingers made contact, they sank through the glass. The woman began to rise into the air.
Detective Doe raced in, followed quickly by Detective Smith. She wasted no time, vaulting the chairs and grabbing hold of Krystal. Shortly after, her partner joined in, his muscled arms wrapping about the smaller fox.
For a moment they were successful, and she sank back upon her feet. Then Krystal's ascent continued, her arm disappearing rapidly.
Fox yelled and raced over, hopping on to lend his strength.
Detective Doe shouted at the other officers to put down their weapons, which they did, and a very strange sort of tug-of-war began. But with every man and woman that added their weight to the pile, it seemed like nothing would work.
"Cut the power, cut the power!" someone was shouting, forgetting that the lights had been shattered.
"Not until my wife's arm is free!" Fox screamed.
"Pull harder!"
Slowly, gradually, the weight of some twenty-three people began to reverse Krystal's ascent. Fox in particular reached out to pull back at the affected arm, which threatened to keep sliding back into the camera.
"Someone get a rope around her," a voice called. "Get help!" another said. Drake was crying at the sudden chaos and Peppy simultaneously was attempting to comfort his grandson and keep his ears covered.
One officer appeared with a rope, already with a noose in it; but as Krystal had half her arm still sunk into the camera, he compensated by throwing the entire thing over both her and the camera.
"No, it'll hurt her," Fox yelled.
"Shut up," someone retorted. "Tighten it!"
The noose was fastened tight about and an extra posse of men grabbed hold to pull back. Now no fewer than thirty men and women struggle against something supernatural.
But it worked. In spite of whatever force had its grip upon her, Krystal's arm, now ending at the wrist, was leaving the glassy depths.
They heaved—her hand now remained.
They heaved again, looping the end of the rope around some secure ring someplace in the station. Now only the final joint of her fingers were stuck. The glass rippled, as if it were a liquid.
Fox climbed up her arm, grabbing onto the hand and forcing it back. He could see the barest endings of her fingertips, but there still remained the ripple effect.
Then, at last, the glass ceased rippling. Her hand was free.
Someone somewhere threw a switch and the power died. Krystal collapsed onto the floor, unconscious as the weight of a dozen people flattened her.
Detective Jane Doe stood, somewhat unsteadily on her feet, and pulled out her gun. Before anyone could stop her she discharged three bullets into the camera, shattering the casing and destroying the electronics within.
"Someone, call an ambulance."
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