On the evening of the second day since talking with Senator Brisham, just before Domrik convinced himself he had wasted his time, he received a call from a blocked number. He was in his library, scouring through ancient Sylgan texts for any mention of the Augmentor Bow. He was relieved to pause his so-far fruitless search.
He pressed the answer icon. “Hello?”
An inhumanly deep voice responded. “Domrik Lazen.”
“That’s me,” he said, sitting at the edge of his seat.
“We are sending you coordinates. Come alone. You have two hours to arrive.”
“Who is this? What do you want?” he demanded, but the call had already ended. He stared at the blinking call time. Eight seconds. Was that who I think it is?
Excitement flowered in his stomach, followed by wisps of anxiety. He looked around the library. It was windowless. He closed his eyes and felt for anything beyond the walls. So far as he could tell, he was alone.
He looked in the direction of the Augmentor Bow. The fake was leaning against his desk, while the real one hid under a floorboard. He wanted to learn how to use it, but his intuition gave him nothing. There was some kind of interaction with his Aetheric body, but it was still too subtle for him to utilize it. He’d been tempted to use blasphia to enhance his perception, but by the time he’d thought of the idea, he’d already talked with the Senator. Missing the anonymous call couldn’t be risked.
He put on his combat gloves and installed a small crystal in each. He dropped a few extra in his pocket. They didn’t say come unarmed. He wouldn’t have complied anyway.
He found a message from an anonymous number on his wristpad. Sure enough, it was only a pair of numbers. He entered the coordinates on a global map, and it zoomed in on a location just over a hundred kilometers away, north of Ridgemire, in the middle of nowhere.
Domrik considered contacting Kelly, but thought better of it. She was prone to second-guessing, which was the last thing he needed. He focused on cautious commitment. Be bold, but be aware. The awareness kept the boldness in check.
He put the fake bow in a somewhat-hidden spot under his desk. If the call was a ploy to get him to leave his place unguarded, he wanted to fool potential searchers into thinking they found the missing artifact. He even locked the doors to the library, as if that would do any good against a forced entry. The only reason would be to make it impossible to have an intrusion into the place without evidence. His place wasn’t equipped with digital locks, which were always hackable. He kept all the keys with him. The only way to get into the library would be brute force.
He got in his car and gave the navigation system the coordinates. The drive would take an hour and a half, but that was with following traffic rules. He figured he could easily get there in under an hour. It was already dark out, and as far as he knew, stop signs didn’t have secret cameras. If they did, he’d have several dozen fines by now. Some laws were just, while others were questionable. In his book, if he didn’t hurt anyone, he did nothing wrong.
All he had to do was look both ways.
Many times during the winding drive, Domrik reconsidered his decision. He didn’t need Kelly for that, apparently. Doubts lingered in the back of his mind, not just about this trip, but about Eleanor’s pointed questions two days before. Her apology had little effect on their potent, doubting echoes. Part of his issue was the fact of how little he’d considered the consequences of his plan. How had something as obvious as collateral damage slipped his mind in the coming days and weeks? Kelly had tried much harder than him to find another, more legal, way of acquiring the Bow.
He knew why it happened. It was all in the service of the “greater good”, whatever that meant. Now that his personal reality was more prominent than the reality of national events, it was more difficult to justify his actions, both to others and himself. He couldn’t undo what happened, but he wondered how he’d react if a similar situation reared its ugly head again. He had yet to find the point at which personal well-being was sacrificed in service of the whole. He didn’t even know if the line was fine or blurred. Perhaps there was a wholistic perspective in which both were seen as one, but he had to accept that in his own limited, first-person perspective, they sometimes fragmented and veered in opposing directions. From that point of view, there was no right answer. Only degrees of risk.
The navigation took him on increasingly bumpy and winding roads, until he ended up taking a gravel path bordering a field of natural fescue. Gentle rolling hills stood in the distance, illuminated by the two moons suspended in the night sky. A dark, rectangular shape stood out at the base of the nearest hill. He checked the time. His trip had taken forty-eight minutes, and he’d managed to evade detection of the highway patrols.
Sorry, Hector, he thought with a brief smile. It wasn’t like the long-time friend and police officer didn’t take a few liberties on the road from time to time. Besides, police officers broke civilian laws on a regular basis. How could they catch a speeding vehicle otherwise?
The rectangular shape gained in form and definition as he approached. It was a van. Its compartment had no windows, and there were no identifying marks of any kind.
Totally not suspicious. He closed his eyes momentarily as he touched the brakes. A distortion of Aetheric energy lay before him, but not to distorted to be of much concern. Put any city dweller in the same place, and he wouldn’t have sensed much of a difference.
He parked his car twenty meters away, just before the pronounced bend in the gravel road. Just as he powered down the car, two men emerged from the vehicle. With the headlights out, they appeared as ghostly shadows in the moonlight, strolling in an unhurried pace in his direction. He saw their hands at the ready by their pistols. He made sure his combat gloves were secure. Things could get ugly quick.
He opened the car door and moved out with intentional caution. One hand waved while the other shut the door. “Hello.”
“Domrik Lazen,” one of the men queried as a statement.
Domrik nodded, strolling closer, studying their movements. Their relaxed-yet-alert postures spoke of training and experience. They moved to the back of the van and opened the double doors. The interior was lit by a dim internal light. Two seats lined the inner walls, and another agent sat at the end of one. The two outside gestured wordlessly to the van.
Domrik paused and glanced back at his car. Now was his last chance for retreat. Doubt tugged at him insistently. How could he be so dull? He was clearly walking into a trap. Someone must have known he was expecting a call. This couldn’t be who he hoped it was. The assassins will get him this time, for sure.
He tore his attention away from his mind, and sank down into his gut. The connection to the Aetheric field was stronger there, and he received the gentle reassurance that, no matter what happened, everything would be alright. In that warm light of faith, he took another step toward the van.
Whether or not they were associated with the group that sent the assassins after him, he had no way to know. Upon acknowledgment of that fact, his awareness sharpened to a point. The men wore camo uniforms with no identifiers. Both watched him with the intensity of hawks as he approached. The man in the van was a bit more relaxed, showing how much he trusted the other two.
Domrik lurched into the back of the van and strapped himself in. He gave a warm grin to the agent. “Domrik.”
In return, the man stared back with no hint of a reaction. Domrik’s face warmed, realizing they probably had orders to keep interaction with him to a minimum, for any number of paranoid reasons. These were obviously military personnel. They were paid to be afraid.
He got one last glance back at his car as the other two closed the back doors. Metal clanged as they locked them. His heart pounded just a bit faster as the thought that he’d been tricked resurfaced. He slowed his breathing, reassuring himself. They hadn’t asked him to remove his combat gloves or his wristpad. Either they were truly not a threat to him, or they were incredibly incompetent. He didn’t care which was the case.
The ride was bumpy for the first ten minutes, then they hit smooth roads. By that time, Domrik’s sense of direction was completely thrown off. He checked his wristpad, and found that it had no reception. This was no ordinary van. Clever.
After what seemed like another hour listening to nothing but tires on road, the van slowed and took some turns. Then the front angled downward a few degrees. They spent a couple minutes in that orientation before levelling out. Another minute, and the van stopped. The doors clanged and opened. Domrik undid his straps and helped himself out.
He found himself in an underground parking garage, filled with numerous vehicles of all types. The place was dim and cold, draped in an air of seriousness no other place could emulate. He relaxed a little when he spotted the Eredore Guard logo on a group of deployment trucks at the far end.
Two agents led from the front, while the third trailed behind him. It almost felt like a security detail, but he knew it was more like giving him nowhere to run. They exited the garage and traveled down a hallway, equally dull. They stopped at one of the nondescript doors, unlocked it, and opened it. Inside was a small table with two metal chairs. One of the men stopped him before he entered, pointing to his arm. “Your wristpad.”
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Domrik rolled his eyes as he unstrapped his wristpad. He wasn’t too worried about them disposing of it for security reasons, if that’s what they intended to do. He had extras. He nodded goodbye to them as he entered the room. He took the nearest chair. The door lock buzzed. He was trapped for no longer than five minutes before the door buzzed again.
In walked a man in a formal Guard uniform. The navy-blue fabric had orange accents at the collar, belt, and shoulder seams. Adorning the left breast was the signature red-and-orange phoenix, wings spread wide in defense. The flat-topped hat sported the same color scheme and logo, which Domrik found a bit redundant. Decorating the right breast was a line of three golden stars.
Domrik concealed a smile. So they do give out gold stars for performance.
The man himself stood tall and walked with regal importance. Though the rigid uniform flattened his features, Domrik could tell the man had bulk, if the vasculature of his hands and neck were any indication. Domrik estimated his age to late thirties, early forties.
On an energetic level, the man was a vortex of brutal methods backed by good intentions.
He spoke in an authoritative baritone as he pulled back his chair to sit. “My name is Guard Commander Cody Marr.”
That’s quite a long name, sir, Domrik wanted to say. Instead, he went with the appropriate-yet-boring response. “Well-met, Commander. Thank you for this meeting.”
“Domrik Lazen,” Marr said, folding his hands on the table. A sleek wristpad glinted from underneath his left sleeve. His gaze was unreadable, a military-trained cold stare. “Apologies, Kenshlin Master Domrik Lazen. Instructor. Single.” He paused again, a subtle look of shock and suspicion breaking through his stony expression. “Forty-two. Parents died under mysterious circumstances two decades ago. You inherited their wealth. Convenient. We also know about your agreements with a blasphia smuggler, but don’t worry. We have bigger fish to fry. And before we talk further, you have a non-disclosure agreement to sign. Your cooperation would be most appreciated.” He flicked a finger at his wristpad.
A transparent red screen materialized before Domrik, flowing with paragraphs of information. It would have taken him half an hour to read it all. The parts he skimmed indicated the usual rules and agreements, which he understood after deciphering the blocky legalese text. He was not to discuss any of the information he learned with anyone outside this facility. He had to deny the meeting ever happened. Violations of these rules had severe consequences, including but not limited to steep fines and decades in prison.
Here, Domrik found himself at another crossroads. He remembered his promise to Kelly that he’d let her know what he decided. That would be a breach of the NDA.
He sighed. More secrets.
He scrolled to the bottom and put his thumb in the designated area. A tingling sensation brushed his skin at it intersected the projection. He pulled his hand away, and the projection retained a cross-section of his thumbprint. Visual evidence of his willingness to comply. He never thought he’d see it.
Marr waved away the projection, satisfaction passing over his features for a brief moment. “As you can see, we know quite a lot about you, Lazen. More than you think. We have good researchers.”
Domrik sensed the term as a euphemism for hackers. He had no evidence, of course. But if Marr really wanted to brag about his knowledge of Domrik, he’d accuse him of stealing the Augmentor Bow. He could be waiting for a later moment in the conversation to unveil his true knowledge.
“But I must admit,” Marr said, leaning back in his chair. “I wasn’t aware of your existence until yesterday. Senator Brisham briefed me on a curious piece of intel, and told me to contact you if it was enticing enough. Now, under ordinary circumstances, the request would have been filed in the backlog. The attack on Ridgemire changed everything. Any intel is valuable intel. But don’t think for a moment I believe anything the Senator told me. She merely convinced me to have a conversation with a stranger. So, I beg of you, Lazen.” He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, interlacing his fingers. “Please. Convince me I am not wasting my time.”
Domrik sat there for several moments. Flashes of the conversation with the Senator echoed in his mind. Evidently, she hadn’t told him that Domrik had claimed to see the underground facility mentally. It might have been a strategic move on her part, based on her uncertainty of the Commander’s own beliefs. She was letting Domrik speak for himself.
He decided truth was the best way to start. “I believe there to be an underground facility, perhaps a base, located under the hills of the Antiga Nature Preserve.”
“And you think this… why?”
“Because I saw it in my mind.”
“You are not making a compelling case for yourself, Lazen. We survey the entire surface area of Antiga annually. Nothing of the sort has revealed itself.”
“Does it penetrate below the ground?”
“It does.”
“How far?”
“Fifty to sixty meters, depending on the composition of the terrain.”
Domrik was surprised he got an honest answer, considering that it was likely classified information. He trusts the NDA too much.
Domrik pulled up his bottom lip in contemplation. “That might not be deep enough.”
Marr’s gaze was intense with fury. “You have made no progress, Lazen. If I get nothing out of the next minute, we are done here.”
Domrik shifted in his seat, pondering an uncomfortable solution. The Commander could have any number of reactions. But after his threat, there was no other option. Another secret must be revealed.
With no preamble, Domrik removed the crystal from his left combat glove and put it on the table between them. Marr’s gaze tracked it carefully, as though it might suddenly come alive and attack him. Domrik folded his arms. “For the security camera you undoubtedly have hidden in the room, do you see the crystal on the table?”
Marr’s jaw worked before he growled his response. “Yes.”
Domrik waited a few heartbeats for effect, then drew energy from the other combat glove to cloak the crystal. It vanished. Marr blinked, his posture stiffening ever so slightly. In terms of visually masking his terror, he was a master, but Domrik felt his response more than anything. What had been a subtle disturbance of emotion turned into a hurricane of panic.
“Do you see it now?” Domrik asked.
Marr’s voice had weakened considerably. “No.”
Domrik flicked his chin toward the table. “Go on, grab it. It’s still there.”
The Commander’s eyes narrowed, reaching a steady hand to the middle of the table. His open palm descended to meet the metal, but couldn’t flatten completely. His hand curled around the invisible object, working methodically to bring it to his fingertips. Domrik maintained the cloak all the while. Marr held his hand in front of his face, index finger and thumb a centimeter apart with nothing in between. His hand tremored.
“You will now see it again,” Domrik warned, dropping the cloak a second later. Marr still flinched. He set the crystal back on the table as though it had been covered in filth. Domrik retrieved it and set it back in his combat glove. Then he stood. “Seems like you’re still not convinced. Thank you for your service, Commander. It was a pleasure—”
“Sit,” Marr commanded, annoyed. Embarrassment tinted his energy.
Domrik sat, unable to keep a smirk from curling the corner of his mouth. You don’t know as much as you think you do.
“That was a cloak, an invisibility illusion,” Domrik explained. “It’s much like the projections we all use, but more advanced. Remember the Ridgemire strike?”
Marr nodded solemnly. “The craft appeared out of nowhere.”
“And only after a malfunction,” Domrik added. It was a close enough description. He didn’t want to get into full detail concerning Brandon’s role at the time.
“You are saying someone is using cloaking technology to conceal a base under the Antiga Preserve?”
“Not cloaking specifically, but the same technology is employed. There has to be a hidden entrance somewhere. I propose a recon mission to find it.”
“I will make that call,” Marr stated. “You still have yet to prove you saw what you saw. We already knew something like cloaking existed. For all we know, you could have been the one behind the attack, and you could be using this bogus recon mission to divert our resources from what really matters.”
Domrik had to smile at that. “You already know so much about me, Commander. I teach people how to defend themselves, and I never advocate war. Why would a secret allegiance with Sylga or Trellendek make any sense?”
“I’m not accusing you of anything, Lazen. Just making my position clear.”
“Understood,” Domrik said, bring his hands together on the table, mirroring Marr’s posture. “Why don’t we play a game?”
Marr blinked in surprise. “A game.”
“A guessing game,” Domrik clarified. “Only I won’t be guessing. Here are the rules: I close my eyes. You hold both hands behind your back and extend any number of fingers. I will guess that number, and after I speak, you change the number of fingers. The game ends after ten rounds. Your job is to keep track of how many times I ‘guess’ correctly, and we’ll compare it against chance. Deal?”
The muscles in the Commander’s temple worked for several seconds. He glared at the door, then gave a heaving sigh as he reluctantly swung his hands behind the back of his chair. “Go.”
Domrik closed his eyes. His attention drifted down to his gut again, centering his energy. The sensations of the flat, uncomfortable chair became more detailed. He grounded his awareness in that sensation and let all concepts fade into the periphery of his mind. In that void, he placed the intention to know the number of fingers Marr was extending.
“Five.” The words came out seemingly before he was ready.
“Go.”
“Three.”
“Go.”
“Zero.”
“Go.”
They repeated the process ten times. Domrik opened his eyes. The Commander’s expression was a mixture of confusion and anger. He brought his hands to the table again, his eyes silently scanning the table as though reading a disturbing report.
“How’d I do?” Domrik asked, tilting his head.
Marr fixed him with an analyzing gaze. “Five.”
“Five what?”
“Five accurate guesses out of ten possible.”
Domrik shook his head. “If that’s what you say, then you should revise that statement. Those weren’t guesses. Chance is ten percent. In a scientific setting, a score of fifty percent is far outside the realm of chance. No respectable scientist would dismiss these results.”
The nod Marr gave was nearly imperceptible. His energy quieted with each passing second. Domrik allowed him the time to contemplate the last few minutes. Integration of exotic information was difficult, especially if there was a belief against such information beforehand.
“There are two options I see before me,” Marr announced, frowning as deep thinking resumed. “Either you are the greatest con artist the world has never known… or you might have valid intel on a possible threat to national security. Honestly, I don’t know which I prefer to believe.”
“If you are concerned about wasting money, I can pay for the entire mission,” Domrik said. “And if you are concerned about wasting time, we can keep it short. A one-hour scan. That shouldn’t cost too much. Your researchers should know I am not bluffing. My additional request is that I come along. I believe my skills useful. Do you need more convincing?”
The Commander’s frowned deepened.
“No, I do not.”