Field Mice
3. Repercussions and Responsibility
"...and this - close your eyes a moment, it can be really bright..."
The last door of the row was unique. While there was only so much that could be done without a proper architect or carpenter, the frame was well fit to the chamber, much like the vault. The portal was seamless, guarding its secret perfectly.
"This is the Arboretum," Tyler explained, introducing the garden with a smile and a flourish. If he lived for anything, it was to impress, and the effort was rewarded. His guest stared, in awe of Home's unsurpassed single mystery.
Under an illusion of sunlight and dew, the bounty of plants thrived. Some resided on shelves and tables, potted, whereas others were imbedded in the soil coating the floor. Small trees protected some of the more delicate specimens from direct light. Algae danced in a modified alloy barrel, and vines climbed the walls.
"How?" Sara wondered. Not catching the implication, Tyler answered simply.
"Mirrors, mostly," he emphasized a bit, pointing to the ceiling above, "a couple of holes here and"
"I thought plants couldnt grow outside the Sheltered Zones," the girl tittered, her tone a duality in mock-conspiracy and wonder.
"Yes, well..." admittedly sheltered from the civilized world, Tyler knew nothing of this assumption. Although he lavished the rapt attention of the attractive young woman that had recently fallen into his friends lap, he had no answer.
It was to his fortune that Angela appeared, investigating the enigmatically open door.
"You'll be showing her the art gallery next, I take it?"
Startled, then confused, the man could only stammer, "Art gallery?" Sara sought to explore the Arboretum, and so he inched closer to Angela to whisper, "Angie, we don't have an art gallery..." at her wry smile, his sense of puzzlement grew, "Do we?"
---
"You keep shirking, Eli, and I will have to do something about it," Hein feigned.
"Whatever," not intimidated, no bravado, but not relenting, Elijah remained as he was. Arms curled around his kneels, he stared at the far wall with a detached stare.
"You listening? They won't care whose son you are..."
It was little use. No one should have been born to this life, but the struggle had gone on far too many years. But by all rights, Elijah should have been holed up with the faction that shadowed around in what was, by comparison, a peaceful existence. He was only here at Heins insistence... and only by grace of a certain vengeance-lust that would not have taken him anywhere else; both councils knew it. Hein knew it. And it was very likely that, somewhere within, Elijah knew it.
"She's with Tyler," the younger man explained flatly, "Wanted a look around, and he wanted to show her. I don't feel good, so I'm here, waiting for them to get back. And hoping it'll shut her up a bit."
"Ah, in that case... I dont think it'll work." The remark garnered a quiet snicker, which was followed by awkward moment of silence. "Look, if it's any consolation, we'll be getting rid of her fast as we can," an exotic insight caught up to the commander, "You been crying?"
"No, sir," the vehement denial softened, "What d'you mean, 'get rid of her'?"
"It has been decided that," I disagree, Elijah translated, "in the interest of keeping to the standards, lest we fall into amorality," in order to keep up appearances "and given that she is Councilman Auberons granddaughter," ...Who? "it is the ideal solution..." Hein paused, "Never mind all that. We drop her off during the next heist."
"We're just going to let her go?"
"Why not?" Hein replied, half to himself, "Not like we have anything to hide..."
Suddenly, a more startling, and inherently disturbing, revelation overcame Eli, "She's gonna be here for a whole month?"
---
"Is it me, or is something missing here?"
Tyler jumped. Surprising him was not much of a challenge, given the dark hallways. Or his rampant disregard of caution when in the encampment. Still...
Two for two, Hein mused, "Where's Sara? Am I to presume she has free run of the camp, now?"
"No... I don't think so," Tyler replied meekly, "She's with Angie."
"Oh, good."
It was an impossible situation; but, at the very least, Angela was responsible.