Chapter 13: Mediation

Copen had stolen back into his basement hideout like a deserter squatting in a ruin. He wasn't followed. He had taken every precaution. Even so, he kept the lights low and the Border II close at hand. Tending to Lola had been his first concern. While she lay dormant in her station, Copen had isolated the corrupted code and begun the reinstallation process to restore her programs. It would be a long time coming.

In the meantime, Copen dedicated his efforts to patching up his armor. Having checked the wiring, he found himself struggling to fit one of the panels back in place. It was a task he had done hundreds of times with minimal effort, and nothing had warped the armor enough to render the panel unfit. Copen wondered why he was suddenly struggling with a simple task when he became aware of a faint rattling.

He set down his tools and lifted his hand; it was trembling. Had he missed some damage to his arm? But his other hand was shaking to the same rhythm. Copen checked his pulse. Therein lay the problem; his heart was pounding like an out-of-balance washing machine. Feeling a sudden heat in his skin, Copen dropped into a seat immediately.

"Am I… having a panic attack?" he thought.

He concentrated on slowing his breathing, but his thoughts were running like a freight train. He had come so close to losing everything; it was a miracle that he wasn't in a jail cell or worse. In the moment, he had blocked out the "what ifs" and made his blood run cold, but with the immediate danger passed, his veins were rushing and his fears pouring out in heavy beads.

What if he had died? He had always relied on himself; it was the only way he could be in a war against the world. Yet, though he loathed to admit it, if it had only been him in the satellite base, he wouldn't have even survived to fall into Sumeragi's custody. His father's legacy would have been desecrated by those adept mockers.

What if the Dragon Saviors hadn't agreed to his terms? How could he have lived with throwing away that miracle chance? What if he had let the world collapse for his own stubbornness? What if it had been his final conversation with Nori? What if he had run away from his last chance to connect with Mytyl? What if it had all been his own fault?

Copen looked over to Lola, that perfectly strange companion he had created, who was still sleeping. In that moment of anxious solitude, he realized what a pillar she had been to him. Without the last person who still made him feel human, Copen found himself defenseless against the one force he could never resist: his own mind. There was only one other person he could still talk to.

. . . . . . . . . .

Mytyl hadn't raised her head when Nori slid into the pew beside her. Nori had always held an uncanny knack for suppressing her own presence, though she was usually as close as Mytyl's very shadow. So many times had she startled Mytyl in the early days of her recovery that Nori had told Mytyl to assume she was always in the room whenever she was out of sight. The acoustics of the sanctuary were quite stark, however, such that not even the slightest rustle of fabric could go without notice. Thus, Nori was certain that Mytyl had neglected to acknowledge her by choice.

"Do I… have your permission to sit here?" Nori said.

"Does it matter what I think?" Mytyl said. "You'll do what you think's best either way."

Nori didn't have an answer. She had expected the truth to hurt Mytyl, that she would be angry at both her maid and her brother, but she hadn't expected Mytyl to shut down so completely.

"I'll leave it to you to call on me," Nori said.

Nori stood up to walk away, but Mytyl caught her by the wrist and held on like a child with a balloon tied to her. Mytyl looked up with pleading eyes.

"Who am I, Nori?" she said. "How am I supposed to feel?"

Nori slid back down.

"Forget the 'supposed to,'" she said. "How do you feel?"

"I don't know," Mytyl said. "Just, really, really helpless. I don't know me. I don't know my family. I don't even–"

Mytyl looked intently at Nori.

"Who are you, Nori?" she said. "I mean, you act like this dutiful servant, but half the time, you're more like my…."

Nori felt it in Mytyl's hand; it was that kind of grip that seeks something essential, like the touch of an infant. By the throb of her stitches, Nori became aware that her heart was beating much harder than she usually let it.

"Do you even know?" Mytyl said.

Nori was silent for a time. Without speaking, she stared at the wooden seatback in front of her. She swallowed and turned hesitantly.

"When your…," she began.

But her watch lit up with an incoming call.

"That's him, isn't it?" Mytyl said.

Nori faintly nodded. The device vibrated one wrist while Mytyl held the other.

"Tell him…," Mytyl said, "tell him his sister died when he did."

Mytyl's gaze fell again, and her hand slid away.

"You can go now," she said.

Nori looked at her for a moment but stood and left to answer the call before it dropped.

. . . . . . . . . .

Copen listened anxiously to the dial tone. He was still struggling to control his breathing. Just in time, Nori's voice interrupted the tone.

"Go ahead," she said.

"Nori," Copen said. "I… I made it out. Everything's under control."

"You don't sound like it," Nori said. "What happened?"

So, Copen explained. The words poured shakily out of him, as if he were only just piecing the situation together himself. At a few points, he had to slow down and breathe. Nori listened attentively.

"By some miracle it worked out," Copen said. "They took the deal and didn't follow me."

"Master Copen," Nori sighed, "you really must start using those manners I taught you."

"Yeah," Copen said. "You may be right. It was close, Nori."

Nori was quiet for a moment.

"What do you intend to do, now?" she said.

"Get back to work," Copen answered. "I guess I just needed a moment. To process."

"If you'll accept a word of advice," Nori said, "these aren't good times to be alone."

Copen looked over to Lola.

"I'm starting to get that sense, too," he said. "I'll choose my battles more carefully. Any change with Mytyl?"

A breath of hesitation preceded Nori's answer.

"She'll need more than a moment to process," she said.

"Right…," Copen said. "She's still secure?"

"As secure as she can be with Sumeragi around," Nori answered.

"Think they know who she is?" Copen asked.

"I'm rather sure they do," Nori said.

"Then there's something you should know," Copen said. "I was in that church this morning. The priest there, Father Michael: he knows things about me. If any of the soldiers start playing church, we should be certain it's only a 'blind' faith."

"Understood," Nori said. "I'll monitor the situation."

Copen could tell Nori wanted to say something else.

"Master Copen," she said, "you know your wish is my command, so take it as no more than a statement of fact when I say you must speak to Mytyl. As the situation stands, she only knows you by your mistakes. She needs to know you care."

Copen took a few silent breaths before he gave his answer.

"I know," he said. "I will. Once it's safe."

At that moment, the radio crackled to life.

"Be advised," the operator said, "priority adept targets spotted attacking aid drops in sector twelve. Requesting response from available units."

"Don't take too long," Nori said.

"I'll be back, Nori," Copen said. "Take care."

"You as well," Nori said.

The conversation ended, but almost immediately, Copen had another voice in his ear.

"In case we weren't clear about this," Kirin said, "you're 'available units' right now. So, you know, go get em' Tiger."

Copen sighed angrily. He hadn't taken much disrespect from anyone he wasn't about to shoot in a while. He looked over to Lola again. The reinstallation process was nowhere near completion. His gaze shifted to the Border, still holstered in the bandolier he had snatched from Zeno's equipment on the way out. Nori was right; it wasn't a good time to be alone.

"I'm on the move," Copen responded.

. . . . . . . . . .

Zeno flicked his rifle's safety back on while the last zombie around the supply drop dissolved to ash. Surveying the site, he adjusted his glasses and whistled. The walls and floor all around the torched supply crate were stained just as crimson as the smoke still rising from the burning flare. The adepts who had attacked the retrieval team had practically rolled out a red carpet of blood. He radioed Shiron.

"I've cleared the LZ," Zeno said. "You'll have to excuse the mess, though; it was kind of a bloodbath by the looks of it."

"Roger that, Zeno," Shiron said. "See if you can find any more evidence before your ride gets there."

Zeno gave his 10-4 and started looking around. The supply crate, which had been full of food and medicine, rested torn open and blood-splattered against the partly collapsed wall of the residential building it had fallen partway into. With the hellish lighting, Zeno figured it was only a few candles and a dead goat short of being some kind of occult altar. He changed his radio channel while he scanned the area.

"Still there, Moniqua?" he said.

"I read you, Z," she answered. "What's your situation?"

Zeno looked down at the Summeragi crest that had been sown onto his QUILL uniform.

"Ah, you know," Zeno sighed, "just following orders like a good little soldier."

"I still can't believe you're doing this," Moniqua said.

"It was a tactical adjustment," Zeno said. "You always used to tell me about those."

"Do you really think you can trust them?" Moniqua said. "They're still Summeragi."

"Don't have much choice," Zeno answered. "Still, these Dragon Saviors do have a different feel than the guys we used to fight. I'm not saying Summeragi's changed or anything, but they aren't your typical Summeragi."

Zeno was seeing nothing but dust and ashes scattered around the area. It was going to be hard to find anything out when the bodies had all gotten up or dissolved.

"You're almost sounding friendly with them," Moniqua said. "Did you… find out something about GV?"

"Sorta," Zeno said. "Technically, he's MIA, but it's a weird story I'm not sure I buy. Aside from that though, he really was all in with them. Can't help but wonder, if he'd still been here…."

"Are you sure you're alright, Zeno?" Moniqua said.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Moniqua sighed.

"You know I'm on call for whatever you need," she said. "Just remember what you're–"

A zombie hand suddenly burst from some of the rubble next to Zeno. He stepped back before it could grab him, and watched it struggle.

"Hold that thought," Zeno said.

He drew his sidearm and took aim at the zombie's snarling head, but before he pulled the trigger, a shot ripped through the zombie's head from the side. Zeno swiveled and instinctively pointed his gun toward the shooter. Copen was standing there with his gun raised more casually. Zeno waited until Copen's arm slackened before he let down his own guard.

"You gotta quit doing that to me, man," Zeno said.

"It's a force of habit," Copen said. "The other site was wrecked. Looked like a flood swept through it."

"Yeah, well, I'm sure you see what happened here," Zeno said.

Copen looked around at the red-painted walls.

"That's a lot of blood," he said.

"No sh–"

"A lot of red blood," Copen continued. "Meaning, everyone who lost it was still human, whatever counts as human nowadays."

"And this tells us…?" Zeno said.

Copen knelt down and looked through one eye.

"Septima reading," he said. "As expected."

Zeno noticed something at the same time; an object that had dropped from the trapped zombie. He picked it up and immediately recognized the symbol on it. It seemed that his occult theory hadn't been far off.

"Found an energy knife," he said. "I think you've run into these guys before."

Zeno tossed Copen the knife. Copen activated and inspected the blade.

"Eden," Copen hissed. "I've got nothing but bad memories of those fanatics; they'll worship anyone who promises them power… and use anyone to get it."

The roar of the transport drone's engines announced its arrival. Copen tossed the knife aside.

"I've got a good idea who we're dealing with," Copen said, "but I'm no bloodhound. I had some sensors in the area, but the power fluctuations knocked them out."

"I may have an idea," Zeno said.

Zeno got back on his radio as they walked toward the transport.

"Sheeps 3," he said, "can you still get into that Eden channel we bugged way back when?"

"I can," Moniqua answered. "What do you need it for?"

"I bet they're using it again," Zeno said. "Take a listen for anything about the aid drops or the safe zones. We're going hunting."

"Roger that," Moniqua said. "I'll contact you the moment I get any actionable intel."

Zeno turned to Copen as they stepped onto the transport.

"Don't worry," Zeno said. "My operator's the best in the business. She'll have something for us in no time."

They strapped into their seats as the drone took off. It was then that Zeno noticed his own bandolier slung around Copen's shoulder.

"Figured you would have burned that thing," Zeno said. "Y'know, given that it's 'tainted' or whatever."

Copen stayed silent. Zeno shrugged and looked out the open door as they ascended. The rain had passed, but the setting sun bathed the evening clouds in burning red. While the coast remained well-lit, the shadows were growing long over the city.

"Even Summeragi can't protect this place," Zeno thought. "How long before their hope burns out, too?"

"When we were locked in that room together," Copen said out of nowhere, "you said you found better things to live for, better than your old cause. What did you mean?"

Zeno looked away and sighed heavily.

"They told me about your dad," he said. "You got anyone else left?"

"A few," Copen answered.

"Well," Zeno said, "that's what I was talking about. When I made a clean break from QUILL, I ended up starting a family of my own. I've got two daughters hiding out with their mom right now. They're non-adepts, so don't go trying to dig up anything on them."

"Were you disappointed?" Copen said. "That they didn't end up like you?"

"I was kinda glad, actually," Zeno said. "They'll get an easier ride than I had. My septima name, Screwball, I actually got it when I was playing varsity ball back in the states. I was on the verge of a sports scholarship when people found out my pitching wasn't just skill. Then, my sports career went straight outta the park. The government was watching me like a hawk when I found out a lot of people had it way worse than I did. That's how I ended up with QUILL. Whatever you think of us, that's all I was ever fighting for: a normal life for adepts. I know it's not gonna happen for me, but maybe my girls can get a shot at it if we fix what's going on now."

Copen was silent for a moment. Without a word, he took off the bandolier and gazed at the Border holstered in it.

"We're after a bloodsucking brat named Gibril," Copen said. "Her septima controls iron in the blood. You'll need an edge."

Copen tossed Zeno the bandolier. Zeno, who wasn't expecting the handoff, nearly dropped it and gave Copen a surprised look.

"I'll be expecting it back," Copen said.

At the same moment, Zeno's radio came back on.

"Sheeps 2, I've got something," Moniqua said. "I just intercepted orders for an Eden raiding party to return to a command post in the Omega Mall. They've got prisoners."

"Thanks, hon," Zeno said. "You always steer me the right way."

"Sheeps 2," Moniqua said, "radio protocol."

Zeno chuckled and motioned to Copen with the bandolier.

"Let's kick it," he said.

. . . . . . . . . .

Mytyl had changed her position when Nori came back from her call. Having risen from her seat, Mytyl was standing against one of the balcony pillars closer to the altar. The evening slant of the sun had set the stained-glass windows glowing vibrantly, radiating their tinted light down the center aisle of the sanctuary. The shadows beneath the pillars, however, grew darker on the light's account.

Mytyl stood at the edge of light and shadow such that the rays colored her legs but left her expression obscured. Her shaded face was turned toward the crucifix. Nori hadn't forgotten what Mytyl said about her brother that morning.

"Somebody died for me. How am I ever gonna live up to that?"

Though she never counted herself among the saints, Nori hoped that she and Copen's actions had not caused any damage to Mytyl's faith. Nori approached quietly, as always, and stood in the shadow beside her. Mytyl shifted enough to acknowledge Nori's approach but never quite looked at her. It was enough for Nori.

Nori folded her hands behind her back and stood dutifully at attention. She knew, however, that she wasn't the only one paying attention to Mytyl. A pair of Summeragi sentries was patrolling the candle-lit balconies above, and though Nori couldn't exactly determine his point of focus on account of his faintly iridescent visor, she was quite sure that she was making eye contact with the sentry on the far side. Gradually, he turned and paced away.

"You didn't tell him what I said, did you?" Mytyl asked.

"How could I?" Nori answered.

"Funny," Mytyl said. "For the whole first part of my life, I was the one who couldn't talk. Now it's you who won't speak up."

"Then, Lady Mytyl, let me say this," Nori said. "I was wrong to let your brother walk away. I always hoped he would come to his senses and return to his family. This time, I'm not letting either of you walk away. I've already insisted that he must speak to you soon."

Mytyl turned and looked at Nori. The light caught the narrowing of her eye.

"Really?" she scoffed. "You think you have any right to tell me I have to talk to him when he's been hiding from me for decades? And you– this whole time– you don't get to be the peacemaker in this. If you really want us to start talking, figure out how to do it yourself."

Mytyl turned away. Nori was silent for a moment. It occurred to Nori that Mytyl might have made an effective preacher if she so desired; no one had ever so convinced Nori of her own sins. Noticing the wave of a curtain, Nori shifted her gaze to the priest and parishioner emerging from the confessional beneath the opposite balcony. Recalling Copen's warning, she watched the priest clasp the young man's hand between his own and, with all appearance of sincerity, issue some word of comfort. She was sure she heard a footstep above her; the Summeragi watchman would be just as glad to hear about the refugees' transgressions.

"Perhaps I'll get some practice," Nori said. "If you'll excuse me."

Nori paced out of the shadow through the painted light of the sanctuary's center. She knew her movement would be well observed; she was counting on it, in fact. First, Mytyl, caught between telling her to stay or go, would watch her from behind. Second, the sentries would take notice of her departure and, likely, report it to their superiors. Thirdly, the priest would turn and notice her approach. The only set of eyes she didn't account for were those of the crucifix, the gaze of which she came to feel most intensely.

"It just had to be the Catholics," she thought.

She met the eyes of the priest which flickered with welcoming attentiveness. It was something he had, surely, trained himself to do with strangers. He wouldn't have if he really knew her.

"Excuse me," Nori said, "Father…."

"Michael," he said. "At your service."

The white tab of the collar beneath his chin seemed to hold his neck straight. With his hands folded in front of him, he struck the image of one ready to do his master's bidding. However serene his smile may have been, Nori had never known any joy from being in that position herself; acceptance was the best sentiment she could find.

"Nori," she said. "I'm rather new to this, but I take it that this is the place for confessions?"

And so, they took their places behind the veil. Typically, shade would serve as a comfort to those engaged in such works of darkness as the espionage Nori had planned. In her current seat, however, Nori felt oddly exposed, as if her shame could glow in lines as bold as the brand on her back. Perhaps that was the fear of God Copen often spoke of.

"Have many people come to confess today?" Nori asked.

"The most I've seen in some time," Father Michael answered. "Pain is a polarizing thing. Suffering drives many from God, but it draws others to Him."

"Among those drawn here," Nori said, "have you, by chance, spoken to a young… well… a man named Copen? I'm a servant of his family, and he was in my care for some time, you see. He told me he would come here this morning, but I haven't seen him since the outbreak."

"I'm afraid I can't divulge anything that was said in this place," Father Michael said, "not even who came here. It's an irony of the current world that secrecy is sometimes a prerequisite to truth, and I am bound to preserve them both."

"I don't need to know anything he told you," Nori said. "I only want to know if he's safe."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Father Michael said, "but I really can't say. Even if he were here this morning, I have no way of knowing what's happened since."

"I see," Nori said.

It seemed that the man could keep a secret: good news in this case. Still, Nori knew that Summeragi had their own means of inquisition. Trust wasn't an option.

"Then, I'll only say this much about him," Nori said. "If he did confess anything to you, I must take responsibility for it as well. I can't help but feel that I've failed him. You see, I can honestly say that I've spent more time with him than his own mother."

At the very moment that Nori mentioned Mistress Kamizono, a gust of air stirred the curtain, causing it to ripple and sway. So, too, did a memory stir within her. The cloth had been closer to her face on that day.

The black veil shrouding Nori's face had fluttered like waves of shadow washing over her in ever darker shades. There had been a death in the family, the first in the time of her service: Mistress Kamizono, so soon after the birth of her second child; life and death in one flesh. That was the day when Nori, yet young, truly stepped into her role.

Everyone in the procession stood solemnly as the casket was lowered. Mytyl, in Nori's arms, was then too undeveloped to recognize the difference in her departed mother's arms and the arms of the black-draped woman cradling her. That was the only time that Mytyl ever felt heavy to Nori. Young Copen, though old enough to understand death in concept, could have no idea of the pain that loss would bring on him after his mother was laid in the earth's hollow. Nori's focus, however, was on the white-haired man staring six feet into the abyss. Only he could fully understand the gravity of his loss.

Looking upon Master Kamizono's back, Nori saw a man standing on the beach of his personal island watching the ship that carried his beloved drifting further and further away. The salty spray of eternity's ocean had wet his face with hanging drops and stung his eyes red. Even so, those red eyes stayed perfectly open, staring out onto the horizon that the pine vessel had nearly crossed. How long his gaze was. How slowly his heart, strung with veins and arteries, was being pulled out of his chest. Nori half expected him to dive in after her, to keep her just within sight, so that he could still say with the least hint of truth that his wife wasn't gone.

Yes, he understood full well, and Nori understood him completely. He would have recognized that dark sympathy if he had lifted his gaze enough to meet Nori's eyes when he finally turned and walked back into the crowd of mourners, but he never looked. And Nori knew that he knew exactly what he would have seen behind the wavy shadow of her veil.

Nori was glad to be a shadow in that moment. She rubbed her hand against her cheek as if to wipe a tear. In truth, she was taking a measure to fix her unbecoming expression. If anyone had focused on her instead of Dr. Kamizono, they might have noticed when the wind swept the cloth aside that corner of her mouth was curled ever so slightly upward. Yes, they both knew exactly how the other felt.

Returning to the present, Nori composed herself.

"My relationship to the family has always been… complicated," she said.

"I see," Father Michael said. "Well, God gave us all free will. Even with the best intentions, we can't control the actions of those we love. Whatever he's done that you have in mind, I wouldn't blame you for it. What matters is that we do the most we can for them going forward."

While the priest spoke, Nori quietly removed the audio receiver from her watch and planted it discreetly in the bottom of the tissue box.

"Even so," Father Michael continued, "we all need a Mediator sometimes. He who formed the heart can still direct it, after all. Don't underestimate prayer. Our Heavenly Father hears even what is spoken in secret."

So would she.

"Thank you for your time," Nori said, "and for listening."

"Of course," Father Michael said.

So, they both passed back out of the curtain.

"I'll keep what you said in mind," Nori said.

"I hope it helps," the priest answered, "and, Miss Nori? About the man you spoke of, I have hope for him. He's in my prayers as well."

Father Michael raised his hand to give his blessing. Nori just did hide her grimace.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost," the priest said.

She wished he hadn't done that. Putting God's name on someone was akin to putting God's eyes on them: something Nori would much rather have avoided. She nodded respectfully and walked away. Nori had heard it said that God didn't listen to the prayers of willful sinners. She attempted to comfort herself with the knowledge that many priests were just that.

Scanning about the room for Mytyl, Nori saw that she had gone all the way to the altar steps. Nori took notice of something else, however. On the balcony above where Mytyl had been standing, an additional Summeragi soldier, an officer by the looks of him, had joined the sentry. His eyes shifted from Mytyl to Nori. Standing in the middle of the sanctuary, Nori glared defiantly back at him.

Their standoff was only interrupted when the light shining through the stained glass windows suddenly intensified, as if the sun had just come out from its cloudy veil, and shone on her like a spotlight. Nori turned her face away from the light as a sudden chill raised her skin. It would seem that someone else was looking down from above.

"I know," Nori whispered. "I know I'm not supposed to be here, but please…. She needs me. Please, let me stay with her a little longer."

The cloud came back over the sun, and the light dimmed. When Nori looked back up, the Summeragi officer was gone. She shifted her focus to Mytyl. Shrouded in her own grief, Mytyl was none the wiser to neither Nori's nor Summeragi's surveillance.

Nori rather hoped that Mytyl, like most, could stay blissfully unaware of the eyes always watching her. For Nori, however, ignorance was a luxury she had never been afforded.