CHAPTER SEVEN

An uneasy pause followed, ended only when a voice called out, "OK, it had its down sides, but think of all the money you got when you took the empties back."
Remiel sniggered, despite himself. Daz always had been able to make him laugh, and right now the mood needed improving.
"Get your badly muscled green arse through here, Daz," Remiel called, a laugh in his voice, "It's been far too long since you showed me how to blow bubbles with my spit."
Daz walked into the room, this wasn't the first time he'd saved a situation by just waffling, and he hoped like hell that it wouldn't be the last.
"What brings you to these parts?" he asked in his best Longmere drawl, "Not that my parts object to you being around, you big hunk of love gristle" he added.
"I'm looking for someone" Remiel replied, the mood lighter, but an air of business overhanging the proceedings.
"Aren't we all, ducky? Love of your life?" Daz was still in what the others called his 'Touchy feely' mode, and had just grabbed Sanchez from behind, and was cuddling him like he was an oversized, protesting doll.
"No. Found her, and she wasn't interested." Remiel countered, only fishing slightly for sympathy, "I'm looking for Luther."
"Luther?" Wilson asked, leaning forward in his chair, a slight air of worry in his tone, not enough to get Remiel concerned, just enough to get him thinking, "Why are you looking for him?"
"Did you believe his story about having leaned Cornelius against his door, and rung the bell? I sure as hell don't, in fact I'd go as far as to say that I think he's hiding something. I know I haven't seen any of you much lately, I came straight back home after my exams, while Cornelius stayed up there with you, and therefore you all looked different, but it was something else with Luther. I looked in his eyes several times on the pub crawl, and something was bothering him, he'd never meet my gaze, and he'd keep looking at Cornelius, then looking away. I need a word with him, just to make sure he didn't have anything to do with it."
"One thing I don't understand," Daz said, letting Sanchez fall from his grip, pausing, and waiting until he had Remiel's attention before continuing, "Why are you into this big sleuth act? I know you think it's all your fault, but you think most things are all your fault, that's just your way. You're not going to start wearing your pants outside your trousers and go off fighting crime, are you? If so, can I watch?"
Remiel smiled, Daz might seem to be a joker, as in fact he was for most of the time, but when he hit the nail on the head, he drove it straight through the timber and out the other side.
"I'm not really sure why I'm doing all this," Remiel said, truthfully, "I'm using Cornelius as an excuse, but it's probably rooted much deeper than that, I hate this city. I hate the monotony of the place, and now, with the farm gone, and Cornelius dead, I've got the perfect excuse to do something with my life, and if this is the first step, then so be it. That's probably my main reason behind all of this, but the catalyst was Cornelius's death. If I hadn't have filled my life with revenge, or at least trying to find out what the hell happened, I would have had to think about how Cornelius is dead, and how much that hurts, and I think that would probably kill me."

Wilson, who had listened to all of this with an increasing look of agitation on his calm face, stood up and walked across the room to a large, red-brown cabinet, from which he took a buff coloured envelope, which bulged very slightly.
"This is all I know," he said, as if confessing to something, turning and walking towards Remiel, the envelope held lightly in one hand, "Luther sent me a parcel a few weeks ago, containing a map, and this."
Wilson pulled a Disc-player from the envelope29 and handed it to Remiel.
"He taped himself, because he needed me to hear him say the words, at least that's what he says".
Remiel took the tape player in one hand, and keyed it on, the LCD screen lit up, and tiny green letters offered him the choice of (VOCAL)-WILSON or (UTIL)-KEYWORD. Remiel selected Luther and pressed the play button. Instantly a hissing noise started, and an obscured voice started, only just recognisable as Luther's.

"Wilson," It began, desperate, tired tones, as of a man who had not slept for a long time, and the lack of rapid eye movement was just beginning to hit home, "I'm taking a risk getting in touch with you, but I had to talk to someone. We were never all that close in the band, but Daz would probably talk too much, and I can't talk to Remiel about this. The band may have thought I was rash in leaving when I did, and I know it was a blow, three band members lost at the same time; I had my reasons, believe me. I'm as confused by what's happened as you guys are, and I never thought something like this could happen, but it has. I had to leave, because I need some time on my own, this attack hit very close to home, and I need to be cut off from everyone else, for a while at least. You may have figured out that I know a bit more about the attack than you do, this is true, I cannot say what I know at the moment, but if I speak to you again I may be able to. I have enclosed a map with this letter, showing where I am, but I beg you not to use it. Forget about me, move on, you really, really don't want to hear from me. I'm sorry. Bye." The disk played on for a few seconds, the sound of someone fiddling with the controls was audible, before the file ended.

Remiel stared at the disc player for several seconds, before saying, "What's this second file?"
"I honestly couldn't tell you," Wilson replied, "I think it might have been left on there by mistake, it's certainly nothing to do with the other message."
Remiel played the second file, a quiet accentless voice said, "Purity" and three notes sounded, at different pitches. The file ended silently.
Wilson handed Remiel the map, "I couldn't believe this, the first time I saw it. I don't think you will, either."
Remiel looked at it, confused for a second, and then looked away disgustedly.
At first glance, the map looked quite ordinary, it was written in Luther's usual, careful hand, and was all inside a meticulously drawn box, admittedly it was all drawn on the slit open inside of a cereal packet, but that wasn't what confused or disgusted. What was confusing was that it was written in a slightly blotchy, dark red ink, which stained the map at the corner. What disgusted was the realisation that it wasn't ink.
"Dave preserve us." Remiel whispered, under his breath, "He's written it in his own blood."

Armed with the map, the disk, and a new determination to find out what the hell was going on, Remiel headed back to his apartment, Miguel and Sanchez in tow. Before, all he had had in mind was a generalised desire for revenge, a desire so strong it had swept over everything else. For weeks, ever since the first phone call from Hillary Clark, he had been obsessed with the simple idea of finding who was responsible. Now he was getting somewhere on this, he paused, as the person who seemed to be responsible was not who he had expected. It was confusing, as he had thought finding Gali would be the end of it, but instead of an anticlimax, he was being pushed along by the wave of his emotions, the momentum of having to find out what happened. The thought still rushed around his mind, a brilliant shape that he could not look at for too long because the light was too bright. Luther! How did Luther ever get involved in something like this, and more to the point, why had Luther been after Cornelius? The thought was too big, too alien to what he knew about Luther, to be considered for long. In his mind, Remiel tried to rationalise things, perhaps Luther had seen what happened, ran, and now blamed himself for not helping Cornelius. Remiel tried his hardest to accustom himself to this thought, Luther could be running from this for the same reason Remiel was investigating it, he feels embarrassed that he didn't do more to help. It wasn't that much of a spectacular idea, was it? Luther's guilt made him think that he would be more use to people if he just stayed out of their way, maybe the map was a cry for help, all the same...

This was where it all fell apart. All the same... Remiel didn't believe a word of what he had been telling himself, there was much more to this than simple guilt, or even mental instability. Luther's voice on the disk wasn't that of a man who had seen his friend die, and done nothing, it wasn't the voice of a broken, despondent man. Luther's voice on the disk was that of a disturbed man, one who was torn between two loyalties, the loyalty to himself and his friends, and the loyalty to… something else. Remiel's problem was that he didn't have a clue what that something else was. There were now two clear reasons why he had to do what he was even now planning to do. The first was simple, find out what happened to Cornelius, and why it happened, and if necessary, to avenge him. The second was more complicated, he had to rescue Luther, who, after all, was still his friend. What he would do if it turned out that Luther was Cornelius's murderer, or was involved in what had happened, he didn't know, but that was all in the future. Right now, the present was quite complicated enough for him.

Remiel, Sanchez and Miguel got back to the apartment, and Remiel, after seating himself in his grey chair by the computer, unrolled the map again. Ignoring his own revulsion at what it was written in, he examined the directions carefully. The location it indicated was a small Xylem diving community near a city called Caspian Height. Having never heard of Caspian Height before, Remiel looked it up on his computer map, and found it to be the twin city of Longmere, the cities being divided by an extremely thick branch which appeared to have fallen onto the city since it had been built. Banderas were in control of Longmere, but had not turned their attention to Caspian Height as they were waiting for the civil disorder to die down before they tried anything. Transport costs to Longmere or anywhere near it were deliberately extortionate, as Miller's Rest and Topsfield were scared rigid of people moving to the Banderas city, which they saw as a symbol of aphids getting above their station. There was no way that he could get to Caspian Height by any public transport. That left two choices, chartering a vehicle, or buying his own. A plan began to form in his mind, the first step in a long term scheme he had been subconsciously planning for years. Remiel picked up the phone, dialled a number, and got into contact with his accountant, Peters.
"Peters?" he said, as soon as a voice answered on the other end, "Sell my apartment, and get me the number of a good mechanic."

The plan was sufficiently audacious to draw the attention of some aspiring engineers, youthful caterpillars called Steve and Naylor, who had qualified to become butterflies, but were taking a few years out, just to get some money together. They were fascinated by the idea of building or growing an all terrain vehicle which could cross open xylem and phloem, branches, leaves, anything that the world could throw at it. Such vehicles had been built before, but on the whole they were small, one man things. Remiel wanted one big enough for a large group of people to live in. It took around a month from the first idea being put to Steve and Naylor to the final design being produced. The vehicle would be built within two weeks and would have sleeping and habitation quarters for ten people, although this could be doubled to 20 if the fold-out spare bunks were used, a detachable scouting vehicle, a cargo hold that could store three lifetime's worth of food for the occupants, even if all twenty bunks were full. The cargo hold could be partitioned, and separate portions of it could be refrigerated, made airtight, ventilated, filled with water, heated, almost any conditions required in an area of cargo hold could be provided. Best of all was the computer, a top of the range military issue synthetic brain budded to be an integral part of the ship, and as intelligent as a chrysalis graduate caterpillar. Remiel was impressed.
"I'll take it." he told the engineers, putting his cashdisk into the slot on Naylor's desk, "Cash upfront."
The only parts of the design that he had any objections to were the two Taser batteries, one on each side of the truck. Remiel did not wish any vehicle he was driving to be that heavily armed. Eventually, the engineers persuaded him that he would be driving through some of the roughest terrain in existence, so he needed any protection he could get. Remiel acquiesced to their opinion.

A month later, it was finished. Remiel had all the required paperwork, and was ready to get on the road. Through calling in a few favours, and annoying seven shades of hell out of Sergeant Clark, he had obtained a Pioneer's permit from the government of Miller's Rest. A pioneer's permit was basically a passport by any other name. It gave the bearer full legal permission to leave and enter the confines of Miller's Rest without having to apply for permission to leave, or submit himself to a two week quarantine in order to re-enter. Previously, Remiel had held a Commuter's permit, which allowed him a set number of journeys between Miller's Rest and Topsfield, where he was studying. The government of Miller's Rest took a very low attitude to people leaving or entering Miller's Rest. The official reasoning was that if you knew where someone was then you could keep a better eye on them (a fact notable in the Miller's Rest police vehicles, which were emblazoned with the legend, "We Know Where You Live"). The government had therefore laid down guidelines for the shooting on sight of anyone trying to enter or leave the city by any means other than the official gates. Miller's Rest was not a walled city, but along the borders of its outlying regions, various checkpoints were positioned to stop people leaving. Remiel had been interested, but not entirely surprised, to hear that the people who alerted the Fire Department and the police about the explosion at his farm were several plainclothes guards on the side of his farm nearest to the border.

On the day before he planned to leave, Wilson nearly knocked down his door by banging on it. Remiel opened the door and was about to greet them when Wilson butted in.
"What the hell's all this stuff about you leaving?" he demanded, angry that Remiel hadn't told him.
"Just that." Remiel replied matter-of-factly, "I'm leaving, I need a word with Luther, so I'm going to talk to him."
"So that's it? You're just going, just like that? You're not going to find Luther, you're just running away! Well, let me tell you something, pal, the problems are still going to be here when you get back!"
"I'm not coming back."
"We're sure as hell not going to sort this out for - what did you say?" Wilson was stumped mid-sentence, his carefully worked out running away speech, derailed.
"I said, I'm not coming back." Remiel replied.
"Well-" Wilson struggled to regain his momentum, "Well, I'm coming with you."
"Fine, there's room on the truck for twenty, bring Daz too, if you want."
There wasn't much Wilson could say to this, so he stormed out, with the feeling that somehow he had been duped. He and Daz were, however, back within the hour, packed. Remiel met them at his apartment, which was empty, all the furniture stored, sold or on the truck, and all his personal possessions in his cabin. Remiel was, at this point, the figure of health. Stopping drinking, cutting down on food, and other unnatural behaviour like washing every day, instead of every now and then, had given his chitin a lustrous shine, and his midriff bulged, with muscles this time, not fat.
"I'm glad you decided to come" Remiel told them, "I won't be coming back here myself, but if you want to come back once all this is over, I'll drop you off. It'll be good to have my friends with me on something like this. We'd better be going."
"Remiel." Daz said as Remiel began walking up the street, "There's someone else coming with us, someone we ran into when we were coming over here."
"Who?" Remiel asked, as a taxi pulled up behind him.
Daz seemed not to hear him, "She'll be here in a minute, she's staying quite close, she just needed to get some things together."
"She? Daz, who have you invited?" Remiel demanded.
"He invited me." a voice behind him said. Remiel spun to see who had spoken, saw who it was, and realised that he should have invited her from the start.
"I was just as close to Cornelius as you were" Alicia said, not so much a reprimand as a reminder, "With your permission, I'm coming with you."
Remiel didn't hesitate for a second, he just looked at Alicia and said, "Come on then, we've got a truck to catch."

The procession headed for Remiel's port warehouse, and less than an hour later, they boarded the ATV, which was, in all honesty, about twice as large as what could be classified as a truck. Remiel took one final glance back at the city, the tower blocks, which were little more than slums in the sky, at the capitalist splendour of Yamaha Hills, at the urban decay that was the Deakin estate, and at the maximum security Presidential Palace. Letting out a deep sigh, he started up the ATV, and drove down the bitter streets towards the outer gate. They drove in silence, for Miguel and Sanchez, this would be the first time they had left Miller's Rest, and whilst the others had all left before, this was a completely different thing. With a last wave, a slight tear in almost every eye, and a heartfelt and meaningful "Goodbye.", Remiel, Miguel, Sanchez, Wilson, Daz and Alicia left Miller's Rest, at least one of them vowing never to return.

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Copyright 1999 Ian Rennie, for Remiel Productions.