The Symbol of El Adame

…by Nancy Tart

Chapter One: Fascinating Find

CE 2610 – Prof Myat, University Research Journal

Professor Myat smiled as he heard giggling from his two understudies.  A sixty-four year old expert in Archaic Civilization Research crawling on the floor like a baby; guess I’d laugh too.

“Well then,” the professor said as he stood up and brushed off the knees of his trousers. 

One look at Shayria Wynn made him smile though.  She was feminine perfection in human form; burnished auburn hair that shined almost red in the glow of the central lamp, deep blue eyes, sun-bronzed skin, and a solid muscular form that concealed the limber strength she possessed.  Additionally, she was the first young person to be interested in Archaic Civilization Research since Myat had joined the faculty of the University almost thirty years before.  Others took the course because it filled one of the humanities requirements, but Shayria had a knack for interpretation and such a passion for the archaic that it made Iwan Myat wish he was about thirty or thirty-five years younger.  Even now, her face was alight with joy, although it was a very pale comparison to the complete rapture her countenance had radiated the first time she saw the interior of the cave.  Shayria’s joy at this moment came from seeing her mentor, who was more suited for the fine clothes he donned when giving lectures to sleeping students, covered in cave dust and crawling like an infant – and thoroughly enjoying himself. 

Quert Durst, the second young person to show any interest in Archaic Civilization Research, was tall, lean, and muscular.  His dark hair was cut stylishly short and hidden beneath the wide-brimmed hat; Myat had no theory how he retained the thing on his head without string.  His silly old-style hat was his signature though.  It had caused titters of laughter when he’d first sauntered in one of Myat’s lecture rooms years ago.  Quert’s accepting Myat’s invitation to become an understudy probably had more to do with the young and adorable Shayria than with a passion for Archaic Civilization Research, but he was here nonetheless and he was bright enough to be a true asset. 

“What is under there?”  Shayria’s curiosity made her more attractive.  Her sea-blue eyes glittered like sapphires reflecting firelight. 

“We found cracks in the wall and discovered that someone had sealed up this little room,” he informed them.  There were six others on his team, but most of them did work with machines, not with eyes and hands. 

“Oh?” Shayria was quick, “long after the paintings or before?” She was already examining the portal.

Myat smiled, he had expected that question.  “About five or six hundred years after the paintings, and the etchings.”

“Etchings? The same time period as the paintings?” Shayria asked as she dropped to her knees and crawled through the hole.  Her voice came out muffled, “Oh my!  Quert!  You have absolutely got to see this!”

“Can’t with your butt clogging the way.”

She wiggled her rear and giggled.  Myat felt a pang of jealousy but was well used to the young man’s fall flat joking manner and Shayria’s silly flirting responses.  The poor young man thought he was funny but he never said anything that was humorous, even if it would have been funny normally, when it came from Quert’s mouth, it sounded insulting or flat. 

“Yes,” Myat answered Shayria as Quert began to kneel in preparation for entering the smaller room in the cave.  “Jorge thinks they were made within a few months of each other, perhaps a year or two total spread, no more than five.”

“You’re kidding.”  Quert’s entry muffled his voice, but Myat could still make it out and refused to stoop to taunting the boy.

“So, do you think this is…” her voice trailed off in midword.  “Professor, this isn’t any language I’m aware of.  It looks somewhat like a few of the older ones, but not completely like any.”

“True.  Analyzation proved it is no known archaic language.  Rather,” he was now also in the little room.  They were a bit cramped, but there was just enough elbow room to not be crowded.  “It appears to be a…”

Now Shayria interrupted; her eyes liquid gemstones.  “A forerunner! A forerunner of all the early semantic languages!”

Myat nodded.  He loved to see Shayria giddy about his passion.  The professor continued, “and another thing that has made translation a rather simple chore.” 

Shayria eyed him with a puzzled expression.  A language they had never seen before yet interpretation made easy? 

“Both this writing and the images convey the same story.”

Shayria blinked.  “You’re kidding, right?  So the artist was clever enough to know that some people may not be literate and accommodate that?”

“Probably assumed most wouldn’t be; he did put the images in the main cave.” Quert reminded thoughtfully.  When he was being serious, he was quite intelligent in his own way. 

Shayria nodded once, “perhaps.  I wonder why this room was later sealed off.  The edge now is part of the natural cave.”

“My theory would be that no one could read the etchings and considered them to be an evil omen.  Ancient peoples were quite superstitious,” Quert suggested. 

Myat nodded, “possible.  My theory rests along those lines also.”

“You’re grinning!”  Shayria accused Professor Myat.  “What are you not telling us?”

“You’ve forgotten already;” Quert laughed, “he said translation,” he turned slightly to look at the professor, “were you really able to translate the images?”

“With the help of this discovery, yes,” a mask of concern shadowed Myat’s features, “it is a story – the oldest of its kind – a story of world domination and destruction.”

Chapter Two: Shining Student

The University: Hagman’s Research Team

The light clock tinkled thrice.  Cheyne smiled as he shook his head.  It never ceased to amaze him that Doctor Gene Hagman was the foremost world authority in biochemistry, a pioneer in so many nanobiomedical techniques that among micro-surgeons his name was revered as a legend, and yet he fancied antiques such as the annoying wall clock which was handmade and whose every feature and mechanism was crafted from black oak. 

Well, Cheyne corrected himself, not every feature.  The little bells that were struck once for every hour on the hour were made of brass. 

“What are you doing still here?” Barked Doctor Edmond Swanson.  He was a gruff looking man whose heavy shoulders and arms and stout legs bore testimony to his boisterous athletic youth.  At fifty-seven he was still a powerful man who could bench-press more than Cheyne had ever tried. 

“I want to finish this while my mind is still fresh with it,” Cheyne adjusted the nanomicroscope view field.  He drew up the image of the particular atom he was working with and brought it into clear focus.  He loved to watch the computer morph the image into something clearly recognizable and with a tap on the interactive screen it was overlaid with a coloring scheme that allowed for easy reading of the tiny particles. 

“You are forgetting Microbiology Lab.”

“Again?”  Cheyne looked up at Doctor Swanson quizzically.  He had already subbed for Doctor Swanson’s Microbiology lecture class that had ended fifteen minutes ago.  He had finally sat back on the hard stool that was his portable, and permanent, seat.

“This is child’s play,” the man indicated Cheyne’s colorized atom on the nanomicroscope viewing screen with a wave of one disinterested hand, “my work is far more pressing and your job is to sub.”

Cheyne bit his cheek to keep from allowing a tart retort from his mouth.  He was forever subbing for Doctor Swanson just so the man could walk around the lab and lean over the other researchers’ shoulders.  But Cheyne had come to the research team knowing his primary function would be to sub when any of the other researchers were too busy to teach their assigned university classes, so instead of arguing, he simply printed a screen shot to his file with one tap on the screen and dutifully left the lab. 

At least this semester Doctor Swanson had been assigned Intermediate Microbiology and Molecular Anatomy, which were far more interesting to teach than Biology 101 and Biology 102; the classes Swanson had been assigned last semester.  Doctor Jean Marie Varin had been assigned the two lowest biology classes the university offered this semester, and although she had a terse way about her and wasn’t always pleasant to work with, she did fulfill her teaching duties unless she was in the middle of something very important.  Doctor Varin seemed to relish tormenting and goading those whose biological knowledge was beneath hers; which was almost everyone else in the known world.  She was the youngest internationally recognized biological research scientist in her specific field, and her recent discoveries had made Doctor Hagman, the leader of the research team, recruit her at considerable expense.  

The six man team was pursuing a project that, despite it not being in his direct field of expertise, had been Dr. Hagman’s dream since childhood.  A revolutionary way of shipping an item.  This post revolution would scan an item, break it down, transfer its atomic map to its destination portal, and rebuild it using the map. 

As Cheyne made his way to the Biology Lab room, he considered his fortunate placement among five of the most brilliant minds in various biological science disciplines.  He had been a recent four-year college graduate working diligently toward his doctorate when Doctor Hagman noticed his fervor in a medical nanobiology class.  Doctor Hagman had shocked him by offering him an invitation to work with him in exchange for full scholarship, all fees, and living expenses plus a small salary.  Twenty-four thousand a year was lower than any high school dropout made flipping burgers at a cheap walk-in, but Cheyne didn’t need much with all living expenses and his tuition paid.  Yes, he basically was just a sub, a gopher, and a data entry tech, but he was a part of Doctor Hagman’s research team working on an amazing project!

As the collective sigh escaped the room and Cheyne’s frame entered, Cheyne smiled, remembering how much he hated having a sub teacher instead of the actual professor he’d paid to see.

Cheyne worked diligently at his station.  At the end of most days, Cheyne’s job was to finish translating the scribbles from certain members and choppy notes from others into a smoothly written, laymen-legible report of the days’ work.  This large file was indexed and searchable by word or date, so the research team could always find their work and results swiftly – it saved a great deal of time and expense as experiments didn’t have to be redone needlessly.  Taps on liquid screens and the whirring of electronics were the only sounds heard in the lab this late.  The tapping heels on the brick walkway from chattering students as they passed by outside the windows had long since been replaced with the chirping of crickets and the tat-tat-tat of night beetles hitting against the window glass seeking the light.  The lab was in the basement level so the windows were sitting about six inches above the ground outside while from the inside they were nine feet above the floor.  Of the research team, only Varin and Hagman were also still working. 

A fizzle and pop sounded.  A tiny bright flash and Cheyne was up and off to the supply closet before Hagman’s long sigh and agitated snap sounded, “I need another CF60 bulb!”

Cheyne set the tiny blue bulb on the desk and retreated back to his station.  The nanomicroscope images depended on the right amount of whole spectrum light.  Hagman had what Varin teasingly referred to as “machine issues” and for some reason most of the complicated machines in the lab didn’t get along well with him.  It seemed that stuff always blew out or broke when Hagman was operating the machinery.  These thoughts crossed Cheyne’s mind as he returned his attention to the screen in front of him.  Hagman wouldn’t be robbed of attempting to fix the machines but he wouldn’t stoop to fetching replacement parts.

A click and a pop sounded, the fix actually worked this time.  Hagman’s irritated shallow breathing became relaxed and deep.  The spent bulb rolled across the floor and Cheyne wordlessly scooped it up and tossed it in the rubbish bin.

“What have we here?” Hagman also chose to talk to himself while working, “Beautiful, beautiful.”

Varin shook her head slightly with a smile curving her face.  If she’d roared with laughter, Hagman still wouldn’t have heard.  Varin had enough decorum to show some respect to the man even during his eccentric antics.  Cheyne drifted back to the second time he remembered meeting a doctor.  Of course, the first was the staff doctor at the workhouse; a booze-soaked addle-brain that wouldn’t have known the sharp end of a scalpel if it was impaled in his gut, so he really didn’t count.  The second was the man who was able to pull a thieving workhouse urchin from a hellish life into peaceful instruction and love of learning that had propelled him into the highest scientific university in the land.  Cheyne smiled thinking of Dr. Mason.  Dr. Mason was an alumni of the University and had personally vouched for Cheyne’s entrance into the testing because those who did not have preparatory training in their teen years were not allowed to test without a sponsor. 

Cheyne often found himself wondering what his life would have been like without coming under the tutelage of Dr. Mason.  He wished many times that his mentor was still accessible.  Too many times had they turned away from his illegal activities; at this thought Cheyne clenched his teeth – illegal nothing, helping people whom the other medical doctors had ruled a waste of resources?  Now it was Dr. Mason who secluded himself away.  Cheyne had attempted to find him, but with no avail.  Cheyne especially wanted to speak with him regarding the latest problems he’d been facing – the reconstruction of molecular particles in precise form.  Cheyne had managed to get the material for a grain of salt to teleport between the test modules, but the pattern was not accurate in the destination.  The material was there, but it was not mapped correctly.  Cheyne had created a program that built a map and transferred it.  He knew a program that scanned the item and accurately represented and reproduced a map that the decoder at the destination could read and follow was the only bump before they would be capable of post teleportation. 

Cheyne didn’t want to believe the pestering thoughts about the reasoning behind Swanson wanting to use a paramecium as a test rather than a particle like a grain of salt. 

Cheyne had been working with small inorganic compounds after getting single molecules to cross.  Single molecules were easier to map, but still their success rate was less than fifty percent.   Cheyne had been tweaking his decoder program from ten percent to fifty.  Hagman credited him with the success of that program and at Varin’s suggestion, had nicknamed the program “Mayor’s Mapper” although only Hagman and Varin referred to it as such; the others bristled when they heard the name or snorted their disapproval.  Cheyne never uttered the nickname himself – he didn’t want to darken the already existing tensions and possibly get himself removed from the group. 

Dr. Mason had always said humility makes a true man rise. 

His entire mind drifted into the first time he had seen Dr. Mason: Cheyne had stolen a zipper from a careless city worker whose task had been to deliver mail to the workhouse and tried to disappear in the city.  He’d jumped into an open window when he’d heard the Peacekeepers searching.  The open window happened to be the basement window in Dr. Mason’s house. 

“Keep quiet and I’ll be gone in a few minutes.”  Cheyne threatened roughly.  He could see the silhouette of a man, woman, and what looked like a child on a table.  The woman clutched the child.  The man ignored him and continued working.  As his eyes adjusted to the low light, Cheyne realized he was watching a doctor working on a wounded child’s leg.  The Peacekeeper’s shouts caused the woman to periodically tremor and hug the child tighter, the little girl would shiver or sob quietly, and Cheyne would glance around, but the doctor just ignored everything and kept working. 

For nearly a half-hour, the Peacekeeper shouting rose and fell like waves while the doctor worked and the rest of the occupants sweated. 

“Tiara,” at her name, the woman gave her full attention to the doctor, “the wound is cleaned.  Keep it bandaged and covered.  No pressure on it – none.  Bring her back the day after tomorrow.”

“But they’ll want Kiay to work,” the woman whispered. 

The doctor sighed, “I’ll keep her here,” he turned to the intruder, “boy; since you can’t leave until they have gone, use your strong arms to carry this little lady upstairs.”

Cheyne eyed him darkly. 

“Leave the zipper.  That thing has a tracer, that’s why they haven’t left the area.  Can’t pinpoint its location because of the electrical interference, but if it comes out of the basement they will find it.”  When Cheyne simply folded his arms defiantly, the doctor sighed, “I’d rather not call them in to take you back to the workhouse.”

Cheyne swallowed.  The doctor’s clear, intelligent eyes shined with a light he’d only seen in one other.  A tug somewhere far deep in his heart told him to trust him.  Cheyne usually didn’t listen to anyone by choice anymore, but the stranger’s eyes looked so much like his mother’s and this stranger knew where Cheyne was from.  Cheyne gently lifted the tiny girl and followed the doctor up two flights of stairs to a small room with a quaint, old fashioned bed, dresser, desk, and tiny couch.  The doctor had turned down the covers of the bed and arranged the three pillows to support the child the way he wanted her set. 

“Kiay,” the man spoke softly after Cheyne set her in the bed and backed up to the wall.  “Rest here tonight, Miss Lydia will be here shortly to watch you while you sleep.”

The child smiled peacefully and as the doctor stroked her forehead and sung something softly, she drifted off to sleep.  This took less than a minute.  Her mother was at the other side of the bed, clutching the girl’s hand.  “I have to go back to work,” the woman blinked back tears but they came slowly down her face anyway. 

“I know,” the doctor patted her shoulder as he stood up, “Lydia will be here shortly; she will watch her until you can get back.  She’ll sleep the rest of today and most of tomorrow.”

The woman nodded slowly.  She thanked the doctor and scurried out, obviously familiar with the house’s layout.  Cheyne was still standing at the wall.  The shouts from the Peacekeepers were closing in on the house.

“Have you escaped before?” The doctor asked. 

Cheyne nodded.

A long sigh escaped the doctor, “then they would have implanted a tracker,” he shook his head, “the Peacekeepers will be here soon to collect you.” They had exited the room.  Now the doctor closed the door and started back down the stairs.  Cheyne followed, irritated but needing his zipper to try to get away.

“You said interference…” Cheyne’s eyes darkened menacingly and he balled his fists, “you lied.”

“Interference is electrical signals distorting all other signals around them.  In my lab with all of the electrical devices and the lead shield walls, your zipper tracer and your tracker would have been impossible for them to find.  They would know the signal was lost in this general area, but not be able to pinpoint it.  With an implanted tracker, the only way to remove it is to cut it out.  Clothing I could explain; one of my tenants takes in mending for various locations.” 

Cheyne almost allowed his mask to drop; was this man actually attempting to help him?

The doctor was still speaking, Cheyne didn’t know how much he’d missed, “…better leave.  Next time stay in the basement – and don’t bring the zipper.” They were both in the basement now.  Peacekeeper shouts had concentrated near the front of the building and three solid knocks sounded at the door of the house; Cheyne froze. 

“Out the window if you want to try to leave again, but they’ve probably blocked the alleyway,” the doctor sounded sad. 

Cheyne snorted, “what would you care.”

The doctor paused in the doorway to the basement, “what’s your name?”

Cheyne bristled with anger but didn’t answer.  The man left to answer the door as another series of harsh knocks threatened to break in the heavy door. 

The man opened the door, “Richard,” He knew the peacekeeper’s name! “how may I help you?”

“Sorry to bother you, Mason, you got a fugitive hiding in your house,” never had Cheyne heard a Peacekeeper sound like a regular person.

“You sure?”

Why all the stalling?  It he trying to let me find a way out? But Cheyne knew the man had been right about the alleyway; last time they’d caught him in an alleyway, he’d been beaten nearly to death before they loaded him in a cell portal and delivered him back.  When he’d woken in the horrible interrogation room with its cold bare black walls and terrifying fake candlelight that made the guards in their black uniforms far more sinister, he’d faced the warden’s considerable fury. 

“He’s a habitual, listed as highly dangerous; his tracker led us here,” the Peacekeeper informed, roughness returning.  Cheyne didn’t realize he had a tracker; how could the doctor have known something like that?

“You may search, but no one dangerous should be in here,” Doctor Mason informed, “I’ve two tenants at work currently and a patient in the upper left room.”  The Peacekeeper Mason had called Richard nodded that he heard and indicated his contingent could enter to search the house per their directive.  Cheyne didn’t hear the muffled words, “we’ll leave your patient in peace.”

Several pairs of stomping boots entered the doctor’s house and spread out in ones and twos.  Cheyne decided he had to try to stay out and slid the zipper out the window, slowly climbing out onto it.  When the tiny motor spun and he took off, shouts from the far side of the alleyway alerted the other Peacekeepers.  Of course, Cheyne hadn’t gotten too far, but he’d led them on a chase merry enough to raise their ire and earn himself a far sorer return trip than normal; the warden had made sure he wouldn’t leave anytime soon.  Almost three weeks later, Cheyne had returned to the doctor’s basement and waited for almost a half day until the man finally entered.  He’d surgically removed the tracker and bade him stay until he was healed.  Cheyne had learned after a fugitive has gone from a workhouse for three months, the government considered him dead and erased any warrant and tracking information.  Officially, it was listed as a policy “in case they reappeared later, there was no charge against them if they happened to show up on the good side of the law.”  This official policy saved the government money and time spent on investigations.  Prior to this policy’s implementation, the money and time wasted on investigations only pointed to government lack and was thus quite embarrassing. In reality, most of the time, so called fugitives had been killed by Peacekeepers, the workhouse they had supposedly “escaped” from, or fellow workhouse inmates – so in reality, very few “reappeared” on either side of the law. 

Cheyne had stayed with Dr. Mason and after three months, Dr. Mason had claimed him.  From there, the hardest thing for Cheyne to do was keep from ducking and hiding from peacekeepers.  This brought a lot of laughter into the Doctor’s household.  Doctor Mason had several extra rooms in his home which he rented to tenants.  Other rooms were used for patients.  Streams of poorer people who distrusted the large medical system or had children considered unproductive brought their ails to Doctor Mason.  In time, Cheyne learned to admire them.  Poor, sickly children whose smiles and hope could light up rooms though more often than not, those same rooms heard their last tired breaths.  These hardworking, browbeaten people who rarely had a smile, who wore more years than their biological age, who feared the peacekeepers as much as Cheyne, yet who silently, passionately fought back with a stone endurance that boggled any logical mind.  Sometimes Doctor Mason’s house contained university-graduated tenants while they took their first steps toward apprenticeship and higher jobs; usually they looked down on the unwanted workers, but they all admired or respected Doctor Mason enough not to report these illegal acts to the authorities.  Cheyne came to find that most of the peacekeepers knew about Doctor Mason’s activities anyway – since he found several bringing their own children or family members to him. 

Dr. Mason was continually researching on several projects.  One of which he said he would only reveal when it was truly finished.  He had mentioned once, in a tired, unguarded moment, that if anyone understood what he was researching, his safe place here would end.  Cheyne had tried to discover this secret, but Dr. Mason was as crafty as he was generous.  He had encouraged Cheyne to take the University placement with Dr. Hagman.  The two knew each other from school days and although Dr. Mason had cautioned Cheyne to guard his faith, Dr. Mason had also said that Dr. Hagman was a good man in his heart.

A tiny beep warning from his viewer brought Cheyne’s thoughts back to the task at hand.  He surveyed the screen and smiled.  Bingo!brass. 

“What are you doing still here?” Barked Doctor Edmond Swanson.  He was a gruff looking man whose heavy shoulders and arms and stout legs bore testimony to his boisterous athletic youth.  At fifty-seven he was still a powerful man who could bench-press more than Cheyne had ever tried. 

“I want to finish this while my mind is still fresh with it,” Cheyne adjusted the nanomicroscope view field.  He drew up the image of the particular atom he was working with and brought it into clear focus.  He loved to watch the computer morph the image into something clearly recognizable and with a tap on the interactive screen it was overlaid with a coloring scheme that allowed for easy reading of the tiny particles. 

“You are forgetting Microbiology Lab.”

“Again?”  Cheyne looked up at Doctor Swanson quizzically.  He had already subbed for Doctor Swanson’s Microbiology lecture class that had ended fifteen minutes ago.  He had finally sat back on the hard stool that was his portable, and permanent, seat.

“This is child’s play,” the man indicated Cheyne’s colorized atom on the nanomicroscope viewing screen with a wave of one disinterested hand, “my work is far more pressing and your job is to sub.”

Cheyne bit his cheek to keep from allowing a tart retort from his mouth.  He was forever subbing for Doctor Swanson just so the man could walk around the lab and lean over the other researchers’ shoulders.  But Cheyne had come to the research team knowing his primary function would be to sub when any of the other researchers were too busy to teach their assigned university classes, so instead of arguing, he simply printed a screen shot to his file with one tap on the screen and dutifully left the lab. 

At least this semester Doctor Swanson had been assigned Intermediate Microbiology and Molecular Anatomy, which were far more interesting to teach than Biology 101 and Biology 102; the classes Swanson had been assigned last semester.  Doctor Jean Marie Varin had been assigned the two lowest biology classes the university offered this semester, and although she had a terse way about her and wasn’t always pleasant to work with, she did fulfill her teaching duties unless she was in the middle of something very important.  Doctor Varin seemed to relish tormenting and goading those whose biological knowledge was beneath hers; which was almost everyone else in the known world.  She was the youngest internationally recognized biological research scientist, and her recent discoveries had made Doctor Hagman, the leader of the research team, recruit her at considerable expense.  

The six man team was pursuing a project that, despite it not being in his direct field of expertise, had been Dr. Hagman’s dream since childhood.  A revolutionary way of shipping an item.  This post revolution would scan an item, break it down, transfer its atomic map to its destination portal, and rebuild it using the map. 

As Cheyne made his way to the Biology Lab room, he considered his fortunate placement among five of the most brilliant minds in various biological science disciplines.  He had been a recent four-year college graduate working diligently toward his doctorate when Doctor Hagman noticed his fervor in a medical nanobiology class.  Doctor Hagman had shocked him by offering him an invitation to work with him in exchange for full scholarship, all fees, and living expenses plus a small salary.  Twenty-four thousand a year was lower than any high school dropout made flipping burgers at a cheap walk-in, but Cheyne didn’t need much with all living expenses and his tuition paid.  Yes, he basically was just a sub, a gopher, and a data entry tech, but he was a part of Doctor Hagman’s research team working on an amazing project!

As the collective sigh escaped the room and Cheyne’s frame entered, Cheyne smiled, remembering how much he hated having a sub teacher instead of the actual professor he’d paid to see.

Later that evening…

Cheyne worked diligently at his station.  Taps on liquid screens and the whirring of electronics were the only sounds heard in the lab this late.  The tapping heels on the brick walkway from chattering students as they passed by outside the windows had long since been replaced with the chirping of crickets and the tat-tat-tat of night beetles hitting against the window glass seeking the light.  The lab was in the basement level so the windows were sitting about six inches above the ground outside while from the inside they were nine feet above the floor.  Of the research team, only Varin and Hagman were also still working. 

A fizzle and pop sounded.  A tiny bright flash and Cheyne was up and off to the supply closet before Hagman’s long sigh and agitated snap sounded, “I need another CF60 bulb!”

Cheyne set the tiny blue bulb on the desk and retreated back to his station.  The nanomicroscope images depended on the right amount of whole spectrum light.  Hagman had what Varin teasingly referred to as “machine issues” and for some reason most of the complicated machines in the lab didn’t get along well with him.  It seemed that stuff always blew out or broke when Hagman was operating the machinery.  These thoughts crossed Cheyne’s mind as he returned his attention to the screen in front of him.  Hagman wouldn’t be robbed of attempting to fix the machines but he wouldn’t stoop to fetching replacement parts.

A click and a pop sounded, the fix actually worked this time.  Hagman’s irritated shallow breathing became relaxed and deep.

“What have we here?” Hagman also chose to talk to himself while working, “Beautiful, beautiful.”

Varin shook her head slightly with a smile curving her face.  If she’d roared with laughter, Hagman still wouldn’t have heard.  Cheyne drifted back to the second time he remembered meeting a doctor.  Of course, the first was the staff doctor at the workhouse; a booze-soaked addle-brain that wouldn’t have known the sharp end of a scalpel if it was impaled in his gut, so he really didn’t count.  The second was the man who was able to pull a thieving workhouse urchin from a hellish life into peaceful instruction and love of learning that had propelled him into the highest scientific university in the land.  Cheyne smiled thinking of Dr. Mason.  Dr. Mason was an alumni of the University and had personally vouched for Cheyne’s entrance into the testing because those who did not have preparatory training in their teen years were not allowed to test without a sponsor. 

Cheyne often found himself wondering what his life would have been like without coming under the tutelage of Dr. Mason.  He wished many times that his mentor was still accessible.  Too many times had they turned away from his illegal activities; at this thought Cheyne clenched his teeth – illegal nothing, helping people whom the other medical doctors had ruled a waste of resources?  Now it was Dr. Mason who secluded himself away.  Cheyne had attempted to find him, but with no avail.  Cheyne especially wanted to speak with him regarding the latest problems he’d been facing – the reconstruction of molecular particles in precise form.  Cheyne had managed to get the material for a grain of salt to teleport between the test modules, but the pattern was not accurate in the destination.  The material was there, but it was not mapped correctly.  Cheyne had created a program that built a map and transferred it.  He knew a program that scanned the item and accurately represented and reproduced a map that the decoder at the destination could read and follow was the only bump before they would be capable of post teleportation. 

Cheyne didn’t want to believe the pestering thoughts about the reasoning behind Swanson wanting to use a paramecium as a test rather than a particle like a grain of salt. 

Cheyne had been working with small inorganic compounds after getting single molecules to cross.  Single molecules were easier to map, but still their success rate was less than fifty percent.   Cheyne had been tweaking his decoder program from ten percent to fifty.  Hagman credited him with the success of that program and at Varin’s suggestion, had nicknamed the program “Mayor’s Mapper” although only Hagman and Varin referred to it as such; the others bristled when they heard the name or snorted their disapproval.  Cheyne never uttered the nickname himself – he didn’t want to darken the already existing tensions and possibly get himself removed from the group. 

Dr. Mason had always said humility makes a true man rise. 

Cheyne remembered the first time he had seen Dr. Mason.  Cheyne had stolen a zipper and tried to disappear in the city.  He’d jumped into an open window when he’d heard the Peacekeepers searching.  The open window happened to be the basement window in Dr. Mason’s house. 

“Keep quiet and I’ll be gone in a few minutes.”  Cheyne threatened roughly.  He could see the silhouette of a man, woman, and what looked like a child on a table.  The woman clutched the child.  The man ignored him and continued working.  As his eyes adjusted to the low light, Cheyne realized he was watching a doctor working on a wounded child’s leg.  The Peacekeeper’s shouts caused the woman to periodically tremor and hug the child tighter, the little girl would shiver or sob quietly, and Cheyne would glance around, but the doctor just ignored everything and kept working. 

For nearly a half-hour, the Peacekeeper shouting rose and fell like waves while the doctor worked and the rest of the occupants sweated. 

“Tiara,” at her name, the woman gave her full attention to the doctor, “the wound is cleaned.  Keep it bandaged and covered.  No pressure on it – none.  Bring her back the day after tomorrow.”

“But they’ll want Kiay to work,” the woman whispered. 

The doctor sighed, “I’ll keep her here,” he turned to the intruder, “boy; since you can’t leave until they have gone, use your strong arms to carry this little lady upstairs.”

Cheyne eyed him darkly. 

“Leave the zipper.  That thing has a tracer, that’s why they haven’t left the area.  Can’t pinpoint its location because of the electrical interference, but if it comes out of the basement they will find it.”  When Cheyne simply folded his arms defiantly, the doctor sighed, “I’d rather not call them in to take you back to the workhouse.”

Cheyne swallowed.  The doctor’s clear, intelligent eyes shined with a light he’d only seen in one other.  A tug somewhere far deep in his heart told him to trust him.  Cheyne usually didn’t listen, but the stranger’s eyes looked so much like his mother’s and this stranger knew where Cheyne was from.  Cheyne gently lifted the tiny girl and followed the doctor up two flights of stairs to a small room with a quaint, old fashioned bed, dresser, desk, and tiny couch.  The doctor had turned down the covers of the bed and arranged the three pillows to support the child the way he wanted her set. 

“Kiay,” the man spoke softly after Cheyne set her in the bed and backed up to the wall.  “Rest here tonight, Miss Lydia will be here shortly to watch you while you sleep.”

The child smiled peacefully and as the doctor stroked her forehead and sung something softly, she drifted off to sleep.  Her mother was at the other side of the bed, clutching the girl’s hand.  “I have to go back to work,” the woman blinked back tears but they came slowly down her face anyway. 

“I know,” the doctor patted her shoulder as he stood up, “Lydia will be here shortly; she will watch her until you can get back.  She’ll sleep the rest of today and most of tomorrow.”

The woman nodded slowly.  She thanked the doctor and scurried out, obviously familiar with the house’s layout.  Cheyne was still standing at the wall.  The shouts from the Peacekeepers were closing in on the house.

“Have you escaped before?” The doctor asked. 

Cheyne nodded.

A long sigh escaped the doctor, “then they would have implanted a tracker,” he shook his head, “the Peacekeepers will be here soon to collect you.” They had exited the room.  Now the doctor closed the door and started back down the stairs.  Cheyne followed, irritated but needing his zipper to try to get away.

“You said interference…” Cheyne’s eyes darkened menacingly and he balled his fists, “you lied.”

“Interference is electrical signals distorting all other signals around them.  In my lab with all of the electrical devices and the lead shield walls, your zipper tracer and your tracker would have been impossible for them to find.  They would know the signal was lost in this general area, but not be able to pinpoint it.  With an implanted tracker, the only way to remove it is to cut it out.  Clothing I could explain; one of my tenants takes in mending for various locations.” 

Cheyne almost allowed his mask to drop; was this man actually attempting to help him?

The doctor was still speaking, Cheyne didn’t know how much he’d missed, “…better leave.  Next time stay in the basement – and don’t bring the zipper.” They were both in the basement now.  Peacekeeper shouts had concentrated near the front of the building and three solid knocks sounded at the door of the house; Cheyne froze. 

“Out the window if you want to try to leave again, but they’ve probably blocked the alleyway,” the doctor sounded sad. 

Cheyne snorted, “what would you care.”

The doctor paused in the doorway to the basement, “what’s your name?”

Cheyne bristled with anger but didn’t answer.  The man left to answer the door as another series of harsh knocks threatened to break in the heavy door. 

The man opened the door, “Richard,” He knew the peacekeeper’s name! “how may I help you?”

“Sorry to bother you, Mason, you got a fugitive hiding in your house,” never had Cheyne heard a Peacekeeper sound like a regular person.

“You sure?”

Why all the stalling?  It he trying to let me find a way out? But Cheyne knew the man had been right about the alleyway; last time they’d caught him in an alleyway, he’d been beaten nearly to death before they loaded him in a cell portal and delivered him back. 

“He’s a habitual, listed as highly dangerous; his tracker led us here,” the Peacekeeper informed, roughness returning. 

“You may search, but no one should be in here,” Doctor Mason informed. 

Several pairs of stomping boots entered the doctor’s house and spread out in ones and twos.  Cheyne decided he had to try to stay out and slid the zipper out the window, slowly climbing out onto it.  When the tiny motor spun and he took off, shouts from the far side of the alleyway alerted the other Peacekeepers.  Of course, Cheyne hadn’t gotten too far, but he’d led them on a chase merry enough to raise their ire and earn himself a far sorer return trip than normal; the warden had made sure he wouldn’t leave anytime soon.  Almost three weeks later, Cheyne had returned to the doctor’s basement and waited for almost a half day until the man finally entered.  He’d surgically removed the tracker and bade him stay until he was healed.  Cheyne had learned after a fugitive has gone from a workhouse for three months, the government considered him dead and erased any warrant and tracking information so if they reappeared later, there was no charge against them if they happened to show up on the good side of the law.  Saved the government money and time. He’d stayed with Dr. Mason and after three months, Dr. Mason had claimed him.  From there, the hardest thing for Cheyne to do was keep from ducking and hiding from peacekeepers.  This brought a lot of laughter into the Doctor’s household.  Doctor Mason had several extra rooms in his home which he rented to tenants.  Other rooms were used for patients.  Streams of poorer people who distrusted the large medical system or had children considered unproductive brought their ails to Doctor Mason.  In time, Cheyne learned to admire them.  Poor, sickly children whose smiles and hope could light up rooms though more often than not, those same rooms heard their last tired breaths.  These hardworking, browbeaten people who rarely had a smile, who wore more years than their biological age, who feared the peacekeepers as much as Cheyne, yet who silently, passionately fought back with a stone endurance that boggled any logical mind.  Sometimes Doctor Mason’s house contained university-graduated tenants while they took their first steps toward apprenticeship and higher jobs; usually they looked down on the unwanted workers, but they all admired or respected Doctor Mason enough not to report these illegal acts to the authorities.  Cheyne came to find that most of the peacekeepers knew about Doctor Mason’s activities anyway – since he found several bringing their own children or family members to him. 

Dr. Mason was continually researching on several projects.  One of which he said he would only reveal when it was truly finished.  He had mentioned once, in a tired, unguarded moment, that if anyone understood what he was researching, his safe place here would end.  Cheyne had tried to discover this secret, but Dr. Mason was as crafty as he was generous.  He had encouraged Cheyne to take the University placement with Dr. Hagman.  The two knew each other from school days and although Dr. Mason had cautioned Cheyne to guard his faith, Dr. Mason had also said that Dr. Hagman was a good man in his heart.

A tiny beep warning from his viewer brought Cheyne’s thoughts back to the task at hand.  He surveyed the screen and smiled.  Bingo!

To continue with Chapter 3, click below!