“Can I work out of your office for a while?”

“Yeah, sure. If that’s easier for you.”

The day after the trial was coming to a close, and with it Elvera’s final day of rest. Iris watched from the kitchen table as the two women buzzed around the house. Evalyn had been doing chores all morning, and Elvera had spent that time fiddling with Evalyn's Magicopy machine.

It was a remarkably corny name for a remarkably useful machine. According to Evalyn, it used Aether lines—the same used for phone calls—to deliver documents from one place to another. Iris had seen it in action more than once, yet it still made no sense no matter how many times she watched the box spit out paper after paper.

Evalyn peeped through the office door, a laundry basket in her arms. “Is it working?”

“I’m waiting for a file to come through; I told one of the analysts to send something random just to see if it’s working.”

“It’s not as reliable as a fax machine, but what can you do when the house has no telephone line?”

“It prints at a better quality, at least,” Elvera mumbled, arms crossed and waiting. The machine began to rattle, and the two both tensed with anticipation. Iris waited for something as the rattling became a whir, then a series of small clunks. A piece of paper shot out of the box’s mouth, and Elvera grabbed it before it touched the desk. She inspected it and nodded.

“They sent me a dog,” she said, holding the photo up to Evalyn.

“Cute. Give 'em a call, let them know it’s working.”

She adjusted the basket under her arm and headed for the balcony, rousing Iris as she went. “Help me with the laundry; we’ll do your study later.”

Iris nodded and got up, watching Elvera dial a number as Evalyn closed the glass door behind them. The wind was stronger than usual, still only enough to rustle hair and make sails out of bed covers. It was a warm wind, warm enough for Evalyn to wear a white singlet. Evalyn placed the basket on the balcony and started with the shirts.

“You do the socks for me.”

“Okay.”

Iris scavenged for a matching pair in the basket, pulling out a set of Elliot’s, judging by the size and colour. Without much fanfare, her hair disintegrated and reformed as stilts. The purple appendages lifted her a metre off the ground, giving her the height to work the pegs.

“Why is Elvera doing all the work this time?” she asked, clipping the socks onto the line.

“The situation falls under intelligence, and that’s Spec Ops’ ballpark. They deal with a lot of stuff. But apparently, this time Her Majesty put her in charge personally.”

“Hm.”

The wind continued as they hung the laundry, and soon, Iris ran out of socks.

“Do the towels next.”

“Okay.”

Evalyn hauled up a large bundle of bed sheets, too large for a single person to manage. The markings along her bare arms and cheek lit up, and a double of herself sprung from the ground. No matter how often she did it to simplify everyday tasks, Iris never got used to it.

Both Evalyns tossed the sheet over the line, flattening it in unison.

“Thank you,” Evalyn said, permitting the clone to disappear. “Oh, I was meaning to ask you,” she started. “Did much happen between you and Alis while Elvera and I were gone?”

“When you went to the Aetherologist? No,” she answered. “He talked, but not about anything fun.”

“What does he talk about?”

Iris’s stilts vaporised and she dropped back to the floor. “He asked a lot of questions, like what I do and who you were. Not secret things though. Just things like do I go to school, or what you did before being an investigator.”

“That’s nice of him,” Evalyn said, her tone throttled as if she was admitting it rather than stating it.

“You don’t like him?” Iris asked, still scouring the basket for towels she could hang on the line.

“No, I don’t really have an opinion,” Evalyn said, smiling. “I just thought he’d be a little weirder is all.”

Iris thought back on his strange rigidity and sometimes lizard-like mannerisms. “No, he’s weird. He asked a lot of questions about the city, though. Like what people do and how schools and workplaces do things. I didn’t know most of the answers.”

“He’s curious, is all. Vesmos does things differently compared to here.”

“Okay.”

“…what do you think of him, Iris? You’ve talked to him more than I have, and on our way to the council meeting, he really only talked to you.”

With her stilts, Iris hauled the towels to the clothesline with both arms, and two extra purple arms clipped each piece to the line. “I want to know more about him,” she admitted after a measure of thought. “Are all people his age like that?”

“No, not at all. Most teenagers his age don’t care for much outside of their crush and messing around.”

“What’s a crush?”

“Don’t know, didn’t have one when I was his age.”

“But you just…okay.”

Evalyn giggled, rustling Iris’s hair. “If you get another chance to talk with him, I’ll let you. But right now, just remember he’s got more important things to worry about.”

“Okay,” Iris said, hanging the last towel and dropping to the floor. She looked at Evalyn, a mischievous grin still plastered across her face.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just realised that you’re growing up fast.”

“Evalyn?” A muffled cry sounded from past the glass doors. “Evalyn!”

“What!” Evalyn shouted back, swinging the door open.

Elvera leaned through the office door. “The Vesmos diplomats are here.”

 

“They’ve requested a private hearing with anyone involved with the case. That's including leadership,” the Beak reported. His voice was insufferably monotone save for the occasional deviance in pitch. Wesper desperately wished his informant would invest in a more advanced voice box. But the Beak had insisted that more expressive models were easier to trace.

“So, where’s the boy in all this?” he asked, reclining in his leather armchair.

“At a safe house, although I don’t know where. He will be at the meeting, though.”

“So that would be the best chance to snag him. Where are they holding the meeting?”

The informant shuffled across the couch, looking around the otherwise empty apartment. “They have not told me where. Apparently, I will be escorted on the day in an unmarked vehicle. This room's not bugged, is it?”

“How should I know?” Wesper mused, grinning. “I only occupied the building this week.”

He watched as his informant began to fidget. Wesper knew that the apartment was not bugged. In fact, he could perceive every nook and cranny that attributed itself to the building’s four walls. He could own a place in a truer sense than anyone else.

“I will get one of my men on it. All you need to do is take the car to the meeting, and we will handle the rest.”

The Beak nodded, itching to leave. “Thank you, brother. You have been most helpful.”

“Until the day utopia begins.”

“Until then.”

The informant stood up and unwrinkled his trousers. He lowered his head to Wesper, who replied in turn before watching him leave. Wesper sighed as the door closed, leaving him with his own thoughts. He sunk into the chair, his favourite piece of Excalan furniture he had been lucky enough to buy at an antique sale. The rest of the room’s furniture he had imported.

With a whistle, the room began to vibrate. Entire sections of the floor flipped and revealed display sets of immaculate furnishings; their style alone trumping any aristocratic manor. A chandelier dangled from a trapdoor in the ceiling, and a mahogany writing desk occupied his front. The room completed itself with another doorway which rose from the floor and opened.

The woman who walked through took a seat in front of him, flattening out her suit jacket as she sank. Shimmering albino eyes peered from underneath a light-brown fringe, and her posture remained immaculate. “You’re not getting rid of him?” she asked, her thin lips barely moving.

“No, I don’t plan on it unless it’s necessary to cover my tracks. How are you doing?”

“Money hungry as always. I heard you had a job for me.”

“Yes. Indeed I do,” Wesper said, whistling once more. The room changed again, shifting the woman’s chair backwards and sinking his writing desk through a trapdoor.

Wesper stood up as a sharp rectangular chasm opened in the room’s centre. As he stood at the edge, a map table rose and filled the vacancy like a hand in a glove. The map of Excala City spanned across it, with locations already marked by redheaded pins. He took a blue pin resting on the desk and drove it into the map.

“This is my only certain location. My informant will be picked up from here in an unmarked car, and he will be driven somewhere, likely in one of the city’s government districts,” he explained. He took a pen from his pocket and circled a small area in the City’s heart, resting on the banks of the Alfante.

“Follow my informant in and capture the boy. When you do, I’d appreciate it if you’d take him here,” he said, pointing to a red pin outside the city’s borders. “I will be waiting here, yet if you can't shake them for whatever reason, leave him at the house anyway.”

“You and your houses,” the woman’s words complained. “They eat people, don’t they?”

“If you’d like to put it that way,” Wesper replied, dipping into a pocket inside his beige suit. “If you understand the assignment, I am willing to pay half now. What was it we agreed on?”

“Six hundred thousand Ixa.”

“Incorrect answer, but I will commend your attempt. Here,” he said, counting a hefty wad of notes, “this should be two hundred and fifty thousand.” He handed it to the woman, who took her time in counting.

“All accounted for,” she said, swiftly rising from her seat.

“Pleasure,” Wesper smiled. The woman nodded and headed for the door.

“Do you like this world, Kepila?”

The woman froze as she was pocketing her earnings. “How do you know my name?” she muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I heard from one of your colleagues; we’re business partners with many of them.”

“Who’s we?”

Wesper chuckled. “People you will be seeing more of soon enough. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day.”

 

A narrow table ran down the venue’s meridian, the hearing's members seated on either side. Elvera had taken time out of ignoring formalities to size each diplomat up. Most of the party of sixteen looked terribly mean, too much to be simple politicians. Military people, most likely. Then again, military people were the government in Vesmos.

“—and we are demanding his release into custody before the month is out,” the most official-looking of the bunch said before sitting down. Even if the man fit Elvera’s image of a politician the best, his chiselled frame and swift movements despite his age told her all she needed to know.

“Thank you, ambassador,” the Prime Minister said, his age compared to the rest making him seem unfortunately out of place. “Your grievances have been considered in our inquiry into the matter, and we will be sure to come to an agreeable conclusion.” The Prime Minister glanced toward her, a silent gesture signalling the discussion’s next stage.

“However, we do have some questions regarding how the individual in question came to be in our custody,” he said, flipping through the small stack of pages. “According to your testimonials, Mr Alis Harbourman was taken from your barracks unwillingly by terrorist forces and trafficked out of the country. This wildly differs from the testimony of the subject himself.”

The Prime Minister landed on a page, flipping over the rest of the document. “The subject has stated that—this is page thirty-two by the way—has stated he quote ‘grew disillusioned with the Vesmos military leadership and the country’s system as a whole during my training within the Experimental Weapons and Training Program,’ end quote.”

The opposing party did little more than stir at the evidence, and soon after, the same man spoke. “We were prepared for such a scenario. The United Liberation of the Eastern Front’s militia is notorious for coercing foreign support for their terrorist activities. Therefore, it is right to assume Private Harbourman is being coerced or blackmailed himself.”

The man flipped through the papers in front of him, landing on a page and facing it toward the Prime Minister. “In your report, it seems your people have come to a similar conclusion. ULEF is indeed using Harbourman as their pawn, and the information as a means of fuelling conflict.”

“Ambassador I would like to know your government’s official position on the information Mr Harbourman has offered to share with us. Is it true, or is it false?”

“It is false, Prime Minister. A Private in a military school would not have any of the knowledge he claims to have.”

The Prime Minister glanced at Elvera once more, and she received and replied to a silent transmission.

“If it is false, then is Vesmos allowing for a full assessment of this case? If his political asylum can be granted in a way that would align with an international tribunal, then it is fully in Geverde’s rights to do so.”

“Because you would be playing a dangerous game, Prime Minister,” the Ambassador seethed. Elvera rolled her eyes; the insufferable attitude had almost taken too long to show itself. “Valuable or not, a defector is still a defector, a matter which Vesmos takes with the utmost urgency. And do not forget, believing what he says is tantamount to siding with terrorists.”

The Prime Minister sat back down, closing his folder. “Very well. We will now bring the subject in for further testimonials if that suits you.” The ambassador nodded, turning his attention to the door at the end of the blank room.

It opened, and Alis stepped through, once more flanked by two security members, one of whom held the red velvet jewellery tray. The jewels embedded in the brass caught the light brilliantly, no matter how dull and even. The entire tribunal seemed to fixate on their presence.

“Mr Harbourman, I’d like to start with you restating your testimonial in confidence. This is an environment where your countrymen are here to watch over you, and forces of your nation stand right outside the door.”

Alis looked to the Vesmos camp of the tribunal, his eyes flicking from one person to the next as if to tick off a mental checklist. He then inhaled, ready to speak as he glared directly down the centre of the table.

“I, Alistar Harbourman grew disillusioned with the Vesmos military leadership and the country’s system as a whole during my training within the Experimental Weapons and Training Program. As a result, I defected of my own volition and escaped my barracks, where I met with members of ULEF, who directed me here.”

“And you can say that in full confidence?” the Prime Minister asked.

“Yes. Yes, I can.”

“Thank you, Alis.”

Elvera caught a member of the Vesmos dignitary roll his eyes. It was an impractical ceremony, even Elvera knew that, yet practicality was never its intention.

“This proves nothing. The likelihood of blackmail or threatening—”

“The Experimental Weapons and Training Program generally take applicants from disadvantaged positions,” Alis began. “I do not have any immediate family, and I am not aware of any relatives. My orphanage was state-run, and I was selected from there.”

His eyes turned to the man left of the ambassador, singling him out in particular. “Isn’t that right, Assistant Director of the Military Education Board, Mr Alan Truman?”

The Vesmos half of the congressional stiffened, and the ambassador cleared his throat.

“By tomorrow, the Geverdian council will receive Vesmos’s terms regarding the handover of the subject.”

“Do these terms resemble an ultimatum by any chance?” the Prime Minister interjected.

“These terms are grounds that we believe are acceptable for the subject to be released on. We will expect a full…where is he?”