Standing in front of the cave, Ed waited patiently for the head of security to check his credentials.
When he returned, his attitude had changed quite a bit.
It wasn’t every day the Weld sent government officials to outlying worlds—and, despite its fame, Qojja was no exception.
The guards had been stern at first. Their resolve had wavered a bit when he had explained his title and mission. But now that their boss—the strictest of them all—had returned with apologies and a warm smile, they all eased up and let him pass through.
It was evening, so the usual guided tours had ended. This was why he had not come earlier. He wanted to be alone to study the mask.
He stood there before the alien artifact, contemplating it longingly. It brought back so many memories—not all of them good. Still. They spoke of older days, when the world was quite different. Not to mention the universe as a whole.
His hand rose, and he placed it gently on the mask’s forehead. There was a tingle in his fingers, which slowly spread through his arm and into the rest of his body.
He closed his eyes and let the energies flow into him.
It did not provide answers, of course—nor had he expected any—but the feeling was therapeutic in more ways than one.
Finally, he pulled away, albeit reluctantly.
At least, everything was still in place. That was reassuring.
He turned and walked back to the gate.
“I need to see your logs.”
“Pardon me, sir?” asked one of the guards.
“I must check who has had access in the past few days—bring up the entire week.”
“I assure you,” said their boss, “that only authorized personnel have been granted access...”
“Plus hundreds of tourists,” remarked Ed.
The guard stiffened. “Yes, but always under supervision.”
“Be that as it may, I still need to see those records.”
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
The man barked at his subordinates, and they scurried away to get the requested logs.
When they returned, they held a small hand-sized screen that was displaying a list of names and timestamps.
Ed scanned through them and paused on the date the alarm had been set off.
“Jack Arnett,” he said. “Who is that?”
“He’s the lead historian in charge of the mask.”
“Where can I find him?”
“He’s staying at the Commodore.”
He handed them back the device and nodded.
“Perfect. Thank you.”
Well, that hadn’t been too hard...
Now, all he needed to do was to find that hotel and have a little chat with this Jack fellow.
No problem.
***
While it was true it would not be easy to track down Jack using magic, it wasn’t exactly impossible.
Paul had searched his friend’s room, trying to find something—anything—he could use to increase the range of his spell. But every item he found was too inconsequential. Even his books only added a couple of feet. What he needed was something more significant, more personal... which meant something he’d be more likely to have on him. And that was why magic was almost useless in cases like these.
Feeling like he had to try regardless—and hadn’t the police advised them to keep busy anyway?—he’d gone out to explore the streets of Joqqal. It was a big city, and he knew it was unrealistic to expect results... Maybe if he could go down every street and alley, he’d have a glimmer of hope?
He’d been trying for over an hour when he bumped into someone. He was so focused on his search that he hadn’t seen the woman.
When he turned to apologize, he was shocked to see a tall, long-haired woman wearing clothes that some might have argued did not deserve to be called clothes, so little did they cover. In fact, the thin fabric was transparent and revealed every inch of her body.
He had heard there were some on Qojja who had low morals, but he would not have expected anything quite like this. Such blatant disregard for basic decency baffled his mind.
The woman spun and seemed about to yell at him, but she froze and frowned when her eyes set upon him. They turned to slits as she hissed:
“Who are you?”
Such a reaction was just as unexpected as her appearance.
“Hmm, Paul Zermond,” he said. “Sorry I ran into you. I’ve been distracted. But you should cover yourself more. There are children in these streets...”
He wondered why he’d said that. Not that it wasn’t true, but they were strangers to each other. It was her business if she wanted to walk around naked—and the police’s. Definitely not his, in any case.
“I have nothing to hide,” she said, still staring at him in a way that made him uncomfortable. “And there is nothing here that children could not see. Or are you implying I am a painful sight?”
That, she was not. He hated to admit it, but she was quite beautiful, and he found it difficult not to stare at her curves. He forced himself to hold her gaze.
“No. It’s just... not proper.”
She snorted. “To humans, perhaps.”
“You say that as if you were not.”
Her eyes went up and down, as if studying every inch of his own body. It made him oddly feel as if he, too, was naked.
“It matters not what I am. Only what you are. What are you?”
He blinked. “What?”
“You are different. What are you?”
“I am Paul Zermond,” he repeated.
“That is your name,” she said dismissively. “That is not what you are.”
He frowned. “I don’t know what you mean.”
She stared at him a moment longer, then shrugged. “You will, eventually. When you do, come find me.”
Before he could say another word, still stunned by the whole surreal exchange, she had swirled around and waltzed away.