Chapter 3, Part II

Narva winced as the needle hit a swollen nerve and sent stinging pain through his arm. With a less than gentle pull, he gave himself more pain and removed the injector. Why did these physicians have to prescribe medication from injection?

Frustrated, he threw the syringe to the ground. He did not care how much protein he needed injected into his body; he would not bother the same painful needle again that night! Kicking the syringe into a corner, he gathered a few things together and stepped out into the darkened street.

The residential through-way, usually a bustle of pedestrians and illegal merchandizing, was now almost empty save a few night-lurking guards who merely glanced at Narva's figure silhouetted by the dim Netopian moon. As he walked on, these too disappeared from view as they walked their beats. He was alone with the world.

Narva quickened his pace, leaving the residential area behind him in the gloom of night. Why was he Now the terrain was noticeably rougher, as the formerly scanty brush became more dense and thick in nature. An occasional tree sprouted out of rock clefts, their scraggly leaves hanging loosely from the fatigued branches.

He ceased his running. Surrounding him were the ruins of a former industrial factory, and though it was hard to tell quite how old it was, the absence of trees testified that it was less than thirty years since its demise.

As Narva walked through the maze of large concrete chunks and broken glass, thoughts and memories shot through his head, breaking his tranquility with every blow. He saw a middle-aged man opening the door and a little boy running up to greet him with open arms. The house was lavishly furnished with rich fabrics and electrum-crystal windows that glistened in the sun.

He also saw a large, industrial narcotics factory; one of the largest and most productive in the province. That same man was sitting in a conference room, asking advice from his assistants on an important financial issue. Outside, the machinery screeched and bellowed, producing the addictive drugs that gave the company its success.

The thoughts shifted deeper, darker, to pictures he had hidden deep in the chests of his memory under lock and key, never to be seen again. Thoughts so painful and so unearthly, resembling the creations of a demonic nightmare rather than a young boy's everyday life. And yet, at the sight of this landmark from the past, unleashed themselves so willingly to be seen yet again.

A group of rebels, each armed with weapons and explosives, entering the conference room. The lead rebel, demanding the end of the business; the founder stoutly refusing and ordering them out.

The memories grew worse, pushing out all remnants of the happy thoughts before. The lead rebel advancing, pushing the man's small son to the floor before brutally killing his father. Loud explosions deafened the child as he watched the rebels murder the remaining employees or drive them away in fright.

The final memory came of a child, clothes stained with the blood of his father's employees, running home crying. Alone. A wayward, unwanted tear forced its way from the hardened eyes, the precursor of a flood. Stubborn, he fast-forwarded ten years later.

Searching for meaning, the former child helped raise a dictator to power, only to be ignored after all the effort and time expended. Broken down and rejected, the young man determined to find the rebels who killed his father. Connections in a crime network led him to the culpable parties: a rebel group who followed some superstitious belief about an unseen reality.

Weeks later, the young man heard a report of several citizens who mysteriously met their demise. It came as no surprise: he had killed them himself. Avenging himself on the ones who killed his father was the only relief he could find for the empty spot in his heart-

Narva stiffened, dashing the thoughts from his head. What of it? He didn’t know the individual in his memories; a foreign, weak figure that did not resemble him at all. He was a strong, fearless crime lord, the material of legend. Emotions were to be conquered, not indulged.

Drawing up to full height, he gazed at the wreckage, forcing away the faint remaining tears. What was this to him? It was a mere coincidence from the past, a stepping-stone in his life; they had killed, and he had killed in return. Besides acting as a landmark, it had no other meaning to him.

I am invincible, Narva told himself resolutely. I do not care for joy or weeping, laughter or distress. I am above emotions, above life, above everything. This world is nothing to me, a being with no limit. Death is simply stepping out of one car and into another. I am all and in all; nothing surpasses me.

For a few more moments the stubborn Netopian gazed at his father’s graveyard, contemplating the past. Finally he turned and proceeded back to his lodgings.

*****

It was one thing to read of an isolated people that glowed with light; simply a matter of locating the book and reading the passage. It was quite another to find them.

As determined as a small boy can be, that determination cannot enhance the endurance of the body except when stimulated by non-physical forces, and thus proved the case with Reshnu. Though driven by a passionate longing to save the message of his savior, he could not eat the passion, nor drink it. It could not turn to energy and give him strength, or add length to his legs and arms. It was, in a matter of speaking, simply a driving force and destination to reach.

As Narva gazed at the ruins of his father’s factory, and Inusha reluctantly followed Ehoti to the palace, Reshnu struggled along the rough terrain, thinking of the man that saved his life. Did he formerly live with this glowing tribe? Perhaps he even had family and relatives there; Reshnu suddenly could imagine saying the name "Lova" and every glowing being stopping in their tracks, intently focusing on him.

As Reshnu optimistically fixed his mind on this thought, he looked up. Every pleasant thought gave way to his sinking heart as the voyager gazed apprehensively into the immense forest.

It was not an appealing sight. Though the forest was thick with skinny trees, barely any of them were alive, a result of Netopia’s pollution and atmospheric depletion. Any earthen floor that might have existed was now a disgusting sand-mud mixture, slightly dry after a minor drought.

And in the midst of the repulsive mess sat a full-sized statue of a man; at least, what appeared to be a statue. It did not move, its face frozen in an eerie smile with an outreached hand, as if it was begging someone to come near.

One glance at the statue sent a chill down Reshnu’s spine. It was foreign to him, but something deep inside warned him that all was not right with this statue, if indeed it was one.

The monster could have been frozen in a block of ice and not appeared more inanimate. The chest did not heave a single breath, the unblinking eyes, for all intents and purposes, unmoving.

But the creature did move, though a slight movement, one even the most practiced sleuth would have difficulty noticing. As Reshnu walked away, a pair of eyes jerkily followed his path until he disappeared into the underbrush.

*****

Reshnu continued his trek across the forest until night began to fall, forcing him to halt the progress he had made. It had been without incident, at least from Reshnu’s perspective, and somewhat reassured his original fears of the forest. After all, a dead and abandoned forest did not call for sudden fear, right?

He had started a small fire, using a pocket-sized starter his mother had given him for his sixth birthday. Now, as the fourth day since his departure dawned, Reshnu started to feel the pangs of homesickness that early zeal had pushed away. How long would it be before he was able to return? He might never know.

Was it foolish to start this journey without her consent? Maybe he had involved himself far deeper in this quest for the message than he should have. It could end up a futile effort, or he might be killed by some vicious wood monster. He might-

Reshnu stopped, listening to the sounds of the wood. At first he noticed nothing unusual in the audioscape of the wood. There was a slight snap as some small animal – or something not as small; stepped on a twig. Was it simply a small animal, or else – of course. It couldn’t be anything else.

Reshnu jumped to his feet, his body shaking in fear. For there out of the forest stared two pale eyes, ornamented with a smiling complexion. Horrified, Reshnu realized that the statue had followed him, and now was going to kill him.

If he had any doubts before, he absolutely had enough now to give up his quest. Frantically collecting his few valuables, he dashed down the path he had progressed that day, feverishly hoping that somehow he could outrun the monster on his tail.

The pair of eyes followed Reshnu’s fleeing figure until he vanished into the murky depths of the forest. Reshnu had good cause for fear; no sane person could view a Vehimar and not be struck with the terrible, awesome fear it provoked.

But what Reshnu didn’t know is that he had never been followed; the Vehimar that watched the boy escape the scene was not the one that greeted him at the beginning of his forest journey. There were not two Vehimar stalking his tracks.

There were twenty of them.

*****

The aged being stepped out onto the balcony, sighing contentedly as a cool night breeze drifted across the village. The Veti did not require much sleep to provide them energy, but tonight was too agreeable to even take the accustomed slumber. With a light-hearted stride, unusual for one of his age, Yive descended the steps and proceeded to the garden.

As he walked through the extensive array of flora and trees, his pale glow shimmered on the vegetation. Yive wondered what the rest of Netopia was like now. Over twenty years it had been since they broke off connections and isolated themselves from the rest of the world, primarily because of how corrupted the world had become.

But what was the corruption like now, after ten years of that horrible tyrant polluting the political landscape?  Was it to the point that the government now did experiment on their prisoners? Did the population still have rights? How many innocent citizens had been murdered in attempts to gain power?

"Be in the world, but not of it"; Yive could not understand the idea. Once one knew the truth, and the brain-dead body found new life, how could they continue living in the world? Why did the brain-life not fully raise the body, bringing them from the shallow illusion at once?

He had tried to submit for a short time, but his opinionated ideology, though self-imagined with little basis for belief, would always come to clash with everything everyone else did, said, or lived for. And once like-minded Netopians started to follow his lead, he gave up spreading the truth in Netopia.

Now they lived in peace and solitude, with their own culture and traditions the only ideology existing in the community. And that is how Yive wanted it; free from the painful, self-reducing task of telling brain-dead Netopians about the truth they did not want to hear. The tribe was happy and content; he asked for no more.

As Yive mused over the past decisions of the tribe, two shadowy figures watched him from the secrecy of the garden wall. A camera clicked; his picture secured for future reference, as one of the spies took down snatches of Yive's audible thoughts.

It had been one of the government's special projects for many years, to annihilate all who might stand against the dictator's reign; mostly a successful project. The media had been carefully led away from the truth as more and more of the glowing citizens disappeared to the experimentation facilities. But some had slipped from their grasp. Had.

Slipping their equipment into their packs, they hurried into the darkness toward the waiting aircraft, leaving the unsuspecting Veti in his quiet reverie, enjoying his final night of peace.

*****

The guard sank to the ground as Ehoti pocketed the zapper and motioned to Inusha, who reluctantly followed him through the door into the narrow passageway.

"He isn't-"

"No, he's not." Ehoti closed the door behind them, securing the electronic latch with the stolen swipe card. "Possibly a mistake; he'll eventually wake up and rose an alarm. Where are we?"

Inusha consulted the palace floor plan, illuminating the map with a small pocket light. "We just exited one of the underground tunnels into an emergency exit route; the type they use for fire escapes. So if this blueprint is correct-" He looked up at Ehoti.

"What?"

"We will reach the end in about four hundred feet and enter the guard security checkpoint; where every guard entering the palace is examined for security clearance."

"That is all?" Ehoti laughed. "I thought we were heading to instant doom from the tone of your voice!"

"Aren't we though?" Inusha sighed, putting the floor plan back in his pocket. "The only way we can get through the checkpoint is by killing the guards, which will raise the alarm and make us a group of murderous fiends. Fiends, Ehoti; only fiends would murder the innocent in an attempt to murder those who are not."

Ehoti suddenly stopped walking, fumbling in his pocket for the swipe card. Inusha continued to protest. "We can’t do it, Ehoti. Killing the innocent for the truth is too much! The dictator is different; he-"

"Inusha, this card!"

"Yes, what of it?"

"This card has full security clearance to the palace! We can enter using this!"

"But the picture-"

"There is no picture, Inusha. It is a newly issued card, possibly a replacement of an existing one." Ehoti placed it back in his pocket and looked down the passageway to the door. "You've simply lost yours; I'll vouch for you."

"But we look nothing like the militia. They will never fall for the ruse!"

"It is a chance we have to take – our only chance in fact." Ehoti tightened his pack and motioned to Inusha. "Let's hurry; Gerate and the other will arrive soon."

*****

Areola stiffened as a knock sounded at his door, interrupting the doctor's report. Who would need them at such an indecent hour of night?

"Areola? Are you awake?"

Areola sighed, turning to the doctor apologetically. "It's Beru; I promised to talk to him about some of the new additions to the rulebook. Come in, Beru!"

But it was not Beru who stood at the door awaiting Areola's welcome. Or if it was, it was a ghastly distorted figure resembling a ghost of a man rather an actual Netopian. He stumbled into the room as the doctor opened the door, falling full length upon the floor.

"Beru!" Areola stooped down, lifting the prostrate guard's head to rest on his knee. "Whatever is the matter?" The sickly guard looked up, face wreathed in fear.

"I'm infected, Areola; infected with the same sickness that everyone else has."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Absolutely – it happened a few hours ago." Beru began intensely coughing, his bulky frame shaking like a derailed freight train. Forcing himself to hold still, he swallowed violently and struggled on.  "I had just left the sick room, checking on the patients. I remember something moving behind me, a sound somewhat like footsteps.

There was this irresistible urge to give in to something; I don't know what it was. I could not hold back – it seemed to wreath my entire being with passionate desire. It felt so right, this feeling. And I gave in almost instantly. And almost instantly things changed. At first I did not notice much; simply a bad taste in my mouth, the taste of something rotting.

Then I felt dizzy and confused. Life started to blur as I walked back to my room. I didn't know who I was, what I was doing, and felt like I wanted to rush outside and throw myself over the railing, ending it all in one brief moment of pain."

Beru looked pleadingly at Areola, his eyes begging for understanding. "But these were not my thoughts; I did not want to kill myself. I wanted so desperately to stay alive; to live as I did. I feel so miserable!"

The doctor shook his head sadly. "Beru, you know we have no cure for this. We will have to-"

"No, please! I don't want to be tied up, constrained with the rest of the patients! I don't want to be like them, so full of lunacy and confusion! I want to be free!"

"But you cannot, Beru. Once the disease takes its course, you will, by the example of everyone else, go insane-"

"Don't, please! I am so-" Beru began to scream, the repulsive sound grating on Areola's ears. "Do not take me back there!" He stiffened as the doctor rose from his chair.

"Come, friend; we might possibly be able to find a cure, a possible way to resolve-"

"NO!" Beru jumped to his feet, blindly slapping the doctor. "I WILL NOT BE DETAINED! I WILL NOT GO BACK THERE AND BE TIED! I WILL NOT-" Beru stopped midsentence as the zapper crumpled him to the floor.

The doctor sighed. "Thank you Areola; the situation was getting risky. That is another down, making a total of seven."

Seven out of twelve, in less than a week. As Beru's prostrate form was dragged from the room to the patient ward, Areola wondered how many days it would be before he was infected as well, slave to the unconquerable disease. Five? Two?

However it was, they were doomed for utter destruction, and it had only been five days.