October 3, 1870 – 4:10 am

We are on the margin of something darker and far more sinister than I expected. The attempt on my life has regrettably left me distant and contemptuous. Now there is nothing more for me to do than surrender what little convictions I had to more vigorous methods. I will try my best to narrate both my account of what happened and that of Wernicke's.

Colin arrived sharply at nine o'clock as instructed.

"Stripe asked me if I trusted you to-day. And while I pronounced by affirmation, I hesitated. If you want to stand with me in this time of looming chaos—to secure both of our trust—please do me one kindness."

"Of course. Anything..."

"What I am about to give you must be kept as near to your heart as possible. It must never be opened. It must never be talked of, and you must not indicate that you possess it. Do you understand?"

"I do..."

I drew the envelope from my breast pocket that contained the folder papers of my hideous invention.

"This will reside with you for the time being. It is far too dangerous for them to be kept within my reach. The envelope is sealed. Do not, by any means, open it. If you do... then the trust..."

Colin changed the subject rather quickly. He pointed to a book on my table. "Is that Timaeus?" he asked. "The book from Dr. Kintober's quarters?"

"No, I purchased it the other day," I said in a faint daze.

He probed it, running his hand over its spine. "And what if they come after me?"

"Protect the papers, Colin. Even if you have to use a gun."

The young man's eyes quivered. He held enormous uncertainty. I could see the fear in his eyes. He pulled the envelope from my hand and tucked it away in one of his pockets.

"I will do my best, sir," he avowed.

Around this time, Wernicke, with L'Escale and several others, had furtively arrived at the meeting mentioned in Mr. Braxton's telegram, which was near the botanic conservatory on Maryland Avenue. Mr. Braxton, however, was not there. Someone else took his place. They were seated on a park bench beside one another, keeping a noticeable distance apart. Wernicke illustrated these men rather vividly.

'The first fellow is tall and burly; with thick muscles, and a stiff posture. He wore a violet mantle that concealed a tattered gray uniform. His hair thinned out, though he had thick burnsides. The man's face was cold—almost statue-like. He often peered up towards the sky, and he rarely spoke, but when he did, it was heavy and commanding. And those eyes like knives. The second fellow was just as burly as he was, but kept hidden inside a hooded cloak."

Wernicke and the others were poised for an ambush, but they maintained an observable distance. Time was moving fast, and the men readied themselves for a charge. The hooded figure then spoke uneasy words, which Wernicke recalled in detail.

"Stage one will begin soon, old friend. Return to Montgomery; assemble your men, and spread the word to the others. SWAT must be moved to Indian territory."

"And the Foreman? He is asking questions."

"He knows his place, as do the others. Do not worry, my friend. To-night marks the birth of our new kingdom from the ashes of the old one."

Meanwhile, Stripe and I arrived at Mr. Braxton's office at the Department of Defense. The building was well-lit. Forcible admission through the front was impractical, so I suggested employing the fire escape. Stripe merrily agreed. This passage led us directly to Braxton's office window. Within a minute, we were inside.

The office was quite customary, though he too undertook a devoted interest in mythology and religious texts, similar to those found in Julian's office. Various maps and woodcuts of the Medieval world consumed the remaining vacant spaces on his walls. On his desk, I saw two books entitled Mahabharata and Ramayana. I searched for something, but I do not know what. Then Stripe uncovered a leather booklet that contained a catalog of names and figures. The names are still unknown to us, and the figures, we suspect, represent a percentage of monthly profits distributed. To whom these profits were for, I cannot say with certainty, but I suspect Ivo. They are as follows.

Mr. Pierce Dougherty… $10,000

Mr. Charles Du Bois… $15,000

Mr. Richard Breshears… $11,000

Mr. Eli Braxton… $15,150

Mr. James Collinsworth… $9,000

Alderman Gerald Lusk… $17,000

Mr. John Fortenberry… $12,000

Mr. William Fry….… $10,200

Mr. James Hoyle….… $8,000

At the park, the hooded figure continued. "You will bring your regiment to Twin River in Nevada. From there, they will embark southward; break camp in Belmont, then head for the lava fields. Their journey will bring them to a refinery whereupon they will be processed."

"And the procedure is painless?" asked the Razor-Claw.

"They will not feel a thing. You have my word. The design for our new capital is almost finished. In two years, our enterprise will be fully operational."

"And what about the merchandise?"

"Of course."

The hooded figure drew a satchel from their jacket. He handed it to the Razor-Claw, who then grabbed it with, according to Wernicke, a fully mechanical and grotesque hand.'

"And this is all of the merchandise?" the Razor-Claw asked.

"Yes. Our man has obtained the final component. SWAT is ready to be fulfilled. Soon we will no longer need our benefactors. They are a dying breed."

The Razor-Claw nodded. "I will be there at the refinery."

The men adjourned. Wernicke seized the opportunity.

"Lay down your weapons, and surrender quietly!" he yelled.

The hooded figure drew forth what appeared to be a normal pistol, only for it to fire tremendous streams of electrical current that blew apart large chunks of dirt from the ground. L'Escale and others chased after him, leaving Wernicke to engage the Razor-Claw by himself. Both men fought strongly, but Wernicke's swordsmanship could not be matched by the Razor-Claw's ferocity. His steel arm was capable of deflecting the most lethal saber blows. Then, in a flash of temporary renewal, Wernicke heaved the Razor-Claw aside and apprehended him. He drew his pistol, forced him up against a tree, and grabbed the satchel from his hand.

"You are under arrest for accessory to treason, and for the conspiracy against the general public."

He quickly opened the satchel and froze in disbelief at what he had found. It was nothing. Merely maps illustrating various townships surrounding Tuscany, and a topographic chart of Slovene.

The Razor-Claw was laughing. "What were you hoping to find?"

In the wake of Wernicke's disbelief and sudden loss of incentive, the Razor-Claw sequestered the energy to disarm the poor Lieutenant. He lunged his steel arm out, grabbed his neck, and threw him up against the same tree he was pinned against. His hand was crudely fashioned from misshapen steel and held long, hideous talons for nails. Their tips slowly penetrated Wernicke's neck, and he struggled to free himself, barely able to scream.

"I will not kill you... yet," the Razor-Claw threatened. "There is so much work to be done still. But if I see you again—if I see you poking around me—I will peel the flesh from your bones."

He threw Wernicke into a bench, almost breaking the poor man's back and ribs. He stumbled around for his gun, but when he found it, the Razor-Claw was gone. L'Escale came to his aid, explaining that the hooded figure had used 'chaos imperium' to disappear as well.

At Mr. Braxton's office, Stripe grew increasingly uneasy with the duration we spent collecting evidence, so we quickly escaped through the fire escape, descended the stairs, and signed in relief when our feet hit the alleyway. We even laughed at the expense of our nerves. Then a pistol-shot echoed against the alley. Then another shot! I felt the air split past my cheek, casting a cloud of debris as the bullet struck the wall behind me. I looked down the alley and saw a thin, murky figure standing with a pistol aimed right at us. It was the same person who, days prior, vowed their adherence to Razor-Claw.

Stripe grabbed my arm, and pulled me away from the barrage of bullets. His revolver was drawn, and he ordered the attacker to lower his weapon, but they did not comply. Against all better judgment, Strip darted at the figure as he reloaded his pistol. Stripe had one bullet left in the chamber. He cocked the hammer back, took aim at the man, and before he could pull the trigger, another figure stepped out from behind the wall and fired their gun. The bullet pierced Stripe's shoulder. He flew back in agony.

"Thomas!" I yelled.

The second attacker spoke in a high-pitched whine, as though his anger distorted his voice. "Tig Stripe, you old dog, how the tables have turned!" He walked over to him, gun poised. "I have waited for this opportunity for a long time, you bastard!"

I recalled my strength from the war. I pulled the revolver from my belt, cocked the hammer, and took aim.

"Stand down!" I ordered. "Surrender now and cease this bloodshed!"

The attackers looked at me. The second one—who attacked Stripe—complied. But the first one remained restless. He tilted his head like he was studying me. He slowly brought his hands up, but he still held the gun. Then he quickly began firing at me! The second attacker grabbed the first attacker by the arm and vanished into the night mist. Now I sit here in the infirmary with Stripe. The others were here, including Julian. Thankfully, the bullet cleared through his shoulder, missing his heart by mere centimeters.

"They knew we were coming," Stripe coughed.

"How? How could they?" Julian impatiently questioned.

"A spy is not only among the committee but also among this very commission." He looked over at me with harsh, damning eyes.

"Were we able to make anyone out?"

"No doubt that the Razor-Claw attacked Wernicke," I said. "And the person he met with—the hooded figure—is no doubt Ivo K."

"What about the names in the catalog? Do we know them?" Wernicke asked.

"No. And unless we can associate them to the intrusions, we hold no grounds for arrest."

Stripe lifted himself. "The spy is in close quarters with us. That much is certain. I suggest we all reconsider our friends and

associates."

"I agree," Julian said. "Mr. Wernicke, please ask Colonel Dogge to inform the morning dispatch to keep wary eyes on anything suspicious. As of now, he is our new Chief of Security."

The nurse came in with the prognosis. Stripe will have to be kept here for observations, and can no longer afford his post for some time. I was still shaking from the thought of him passing. But a calming clarity washed over me.

"To-night is our last stand," I said.

"How do you know they will come?" L'Escale asked.

"Because we will make them."

6:12 pm

I was careful not to bump into Colin this morning. I was no more ready to hear the awful truth—if that is the case—than I am ready to partake in my actions this evening. Thankfully, Colin was not here, which only arose further suspicion.

Our assignment to-day was overseeing the tests on the tight extinguisher, or as we have all come to call it... The Siphon. I should have been thrilled to participate in such a daring endeavor, but my hands were still trembling at the thought of dodging bullets. The attack kept replaying over and over in my mind. I felt the cold jabbing of obtrusive eyes surrounding me as though I were under relentless observation. A company of men arranged the test; I kept quiet and constricted. Below are the test observations.

Test 1
Variable: torch
Result: The siphon consumed the torch's fire, like liquid through a straw. The fire remained inside until it expelled from the nozzle, and burned off

Test 2
Variable: incandescent light bulb
Result: Same as before. When expelled, the light formed a thin white ray.

Test 3
Variable: five incandescent light bulbs
Result: Same as before. However, when expelled, the ray was thicker and resulted in a burn mark on the depot wall.

Test 4
Variable: methane
Result: None.

Test 5
Variable: oxygen
Result: None.

The duration, length, and concentration of the exhaust are dependent on the quantity of "light" to which the device is exposed to. If exposed to a single flame, or several light bulbs, the output will be equal to the input source, and thus the damage would be equal. If brought to the mercy of an immense wildfire, the siphon would consume the fire like liquid, and expel the inferno in a near-constant and devastating column until the fire drains. The smaller the source, the quicker the siphon releases it. Quantity determines the intensity of output. Though the mechanism by which the siphon extracts light is still indeterminable. The mechanical prowess exceeds our understanding. And I fear if given enough light, the siphon could reap cataclysmic destruction.

The rest of the day lingered along. The floor was noisy with banter, grinding, and sawing, but it just as well could have been empty, for it felt like I ambled through a tomb. I felt cold and numb.

"Dr. Morgan!" I shrill voice called to me. It was Colin. "Pardon my tardy arrival, sir, but it appears the committee is questioning us, now, of our loyalty."

Indeed he was right. We all swore an oath of loyalty, not to the project or even our country, but to the secrecy of Solaris. The committee—probably acting on Julian's recommendation—is now questioning our fidelity. A panel of ranked men has taken residence in the office adjacent to mine, where the men working on our project are brought in, and interrogated. Colin was intercepted before he started work this morning, and though he asked very plainly about what happened last night, I asked that he follow me into another room, away from inquiring ears. I was about to slip inside until von Schlemmer popped in with a sudden request.

"Ah, Dr. Morgan!" he said loudly. "I was just conversing with Julian, and we thought it would be a great help if you could lend your assistance on a stirring discovery."

"What is it?" I asked.

"Yes, well..." he pushed me into the room I was about to slip into, and shut the door before Colin could come in. "The nature of my division concerns itself with a rather peculiar contraption that was recovered when Solaris was first brought here."

"What contraption?"

"A metal box with a glass guard. We believed it was a component of the craft's navigation board if not for the jarring truth that it... spoke to us... when we activated it."

"It spoke to you?"

"Yes, Dr. Morgan. It spoke like it was a man. We identified symbols on the exterior belonging to the Greek alphabet. Alpha, delta, alpha, mu."

"Adam..." I almost fell.

"It is rather apropos. The first life form we found aboard the craft happens to be named Adam. At first, it was very difficult for it to speak. The crash must have damaged its voice. In the forthcoming days, since we discovered it, my team has been diligently repairing it. I have never seen anything like it before—a machine without wires or tubes or gears. It finally spoke its first cohesive sentence to-day, and that is why I want you to be with us when we attempt to speak with it for the first time."

"I will." What else could I say?

When he left, Colin jumped in. I asked that he hold onto the envelope, and wait for me at his home. I was sparse on details, which aroused his curiosity. When Stripe's elite company arrived for the evening post, I asked Wernicke to meet me at the usual intersection at midnight and to have Dogge keep the arsenal unlocked.

"We will draw them out if we must," I said.

"And Julian?" Wernicke asked.

"Tell him about our plan, and... have a man see to it that he returns home safely."

"And Colin?"

"He will not be joining us anymore."

"Have you questioned him?"

"Yes," I said. "And he is not our spy."

"We shall know to-night."

Now, fatigue is settling in as I write this. Perhaps I will turn in for a brief nap. My head is stirring with such uneasy thoughts. Something is not right; I know it. But all I can do is wait. I will wait knowing there is a great disturbance somewhere out there.