15: Some Sort of Homecoming

The time for playing games was over; there would be no more running, no more chasing, no more dodging, and no more fencing. I had all of the data I needed, now I only needed the time and resources to unpack it, search it, analyze it, and find the answers I needed. There was only one place in the world where these things could be found, and I was thankful to be able to call that place my home.

The Codex. Long revered for its devotion to reclaiming and collecting the lost records and art of the old-world, and also for the sheer processing power of its mighty computer core. The Codex' computer database was a technical marvel rivaled by nothing else in the world, and had, in the past been highly sought after by the more militaristic and power-hungry Metros, thinking it might be a source of strategic advantage against rival powers. It was due to this that the somewhere down the line one of the curator's more famous curators had the system permanently hard-coded so as to be completely useless for any task that did not involve the Codex's primary mission. When the powers that be found out about that change, attempts to annex the Codex dropped off sharply; power brokers had little interest in anything that did not increase their ability to leverage themselves above their competitors.

A part of me was worried now, however, knowing that I had stumbled upon something so wrapped up in our mission of reclamation that seemed also involved with the power behind the Shift, as well as hints at even worse things that had yet to be experienced, or averted. The power included with these mysterious might well be enough to attract the attention of people and powers that would it very difficult for the Codex to continue its peaceful and neutral existence. The time may be coming for us to take a side in the never-ending inter-metro conflicts that been ravaging the planet almost from the beginning of the post-Shift era. And if there was no side for us to take, it may come necessary to make one.

It was thoughts like this that occupied my mind on the long ride home. A two-week journey gave me nothing but time to obsess about all the things I couldn't change, at least not until I got there. All kinds of scenarios drifted through my mind, and I almost imagined an entire legion of corporate raiders on the Gravedigger's tail all the way across the Atlantic expanse and beyond. Sometimes I wasn't entirely convinced it was entirely my imagination, too.

And then, of course, I had Naomy to contend with. Things between us had reached a entirely frustrating point; we both knew that something was about to change, we had felt it and seen it in each others eyes. We made a point of keeping our waking shifts together in order to effect some approximation of privacy while Sal snored away in the backseat. Being stuck in a toyo made it rather difficult for anything meaningful to develop, but I knew more and more everyday how much she meant to me. I had gone to the ends of the Earth to get revenge on Hunterwraith, but if she had given me the word, I would have abandoned that quest and never looked back. At least that is what I liked to tell myself. That is what I wanted to believe. Maybe someday I would.

As the journey came to a close, and the familiar lights of the Codex came into view in the Gravedigger's winshield, all my worried seemed to melt away for just a moment.

* * *

Noal climbed out of the driver's seat to the sound of the Gravedigger's engines winding down, as Naomy and Sal followed suit. One of Sal's assistant mechanics, made acting chief in the large man's absence, would have looked scarcely more surprised if he had seen George W. Bush getting out of the toyocar instead of Noal and his crew. It was the look of a man who had seen a ghost, or someone he had thought was a ghost.

“You can close your mouth, Josef,” said Noal, “We're haven't come back from the dead, if that's what you're thinking.”

Josef snapped out of his shocked state and stammered a response, “Are you sure I'm not having some kind of drug alcohol induced hallucination? I've been drinking an awful since they told us you were all dead, but—“

“Wait one goddamned minute, Joe,” Sal burst in, “Who in the hell said we were dead?”

“I'm really sorry boss – it's just that we were told something had happened to you. None of us expected to see any of you again! They even made me the permanent chief, though I guess you'll be taking that job over again now that—“

“You're damned right I'll be taking my job back!” shouted Sal with his usual over-the-top demeanor. Everyone knew he was far less of a hard-ass than he sounded, but they played along with it anyway. “And there'll be no more of the slacking that has obviously been going on in my absence, either—“

The sound of a woman clearing her throat cut him off, and he turned toward the petite blonde woman who had made it, a smile cracking from ear to ear. “Director Adison,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice, “Lovely to see you.”

The pretty woman rolled her eyes at him. “Chief Silver, the curators would like to see you and your crew in their office as soon as you have a moment,” she said, barely suppressing a grin herself. “And Chief Vasko, I'd like to see you in my office when you're finished with the curators, to discuss your unapproved absence.”

“Yes ma'am,” said Sal, trying to look chastised. “We'll talk about the disgraceful state of my toyo bay later,” he said to Josef as he walked out of the garage behind Noal and Naomy.

Entering the Codex-proper was like a dream come true for Noal, who was finally home. He hadn’t realized before how much he had missed the warm glow of light-paneled walls, and the colourfully lit screens that hung down from the ceilings, displaying beautiful works of old-world art, or the soft hint of music that constantly hung in the air; the songs were always well-chosen. A grungy chorus was playing now, by a twenty-first century band that Noal thought he should recognize:

I’ve got my ticket in hand,
I wanna see the promised land,
Take me home

I wanna go home
I wanna go home

He grinned at the ironically appropriate words of the song. Indeed, he was home, and none too soon, neither.

They passed by a one of several libraries contained in the expansive inner structure of the Codex, this one dedicated to something Noal loved – comic books! He had spent many an hour in that room, reading page after page about Spiderman, Batman, the X-Men, and many others. He wondered if his particular brand of skill with his cybernetic limbs was on account of looking at so many super-hero comics, but if it was, he didn’t mind. He had taken a lot of inspiration from Spiderman, however, and he was sure that after his latest escapades he would be reading up on Spidey even more frequently now. After all, Noal was just about the only person he knew who could scale a building without any rope, and that was something, indeed. He would have to work on the whole swinging from webs thing, though.

There were many other libraries in the Codex, and the other one that Noal spent much of his time at home within was the fantasy novel library on the second level. The first time he had picked up a copy of ‘The Lord of the Rings’ he knew he was hooked, and he’d been reading fantasy and science-fiction ever since. It was weird to think that his own life would have likely been the stuff of a best-selling fantasy novel in the old-world. To him, it was just his life.

The next room they passed was another that had claimed much of Noal’s time in the past, though for a somewhat different reason. In that room, Noal had stood at the front and instructed many students on the art of historical analysis. Very little made his as happy as seeing his students beginning to love his field the way that he did. Some of those students had come to work with him for a time; a few were working under him still. He looked forward to getting back into his teaching, after the current situation was over and done with.

Passing by a few rooms that Noal rarely attended (the Celine Dion memorial pop-diva music chamber and the floral paintings gallery, to name a couple) save to do the occasional repair work, the group came to the central hub of activity in the Codex: the Atrium. A massive circular mezzanine, the atrium’s central feature was a large, backlit pillar of the Codex database core, encased in an impenetrable clear crystal shield. The pillar, glowing with hints of blue and orange, stood the entire height of the Codex, from top to bottom, disappearing into the atrium floor, where it continued downward into the various sub-levels of the complex, where the database development terminals were found. Only a very particular group of individuals was permitted into the sub-levels, which were Noal’s chosen domain, but the core itself made a poignantly beautiful image to all who visited.

Situated all around the atrium, and encompassing ten levels from the ground-level, where Noal’s crew stood, and up, was an array of all the best the Codex had to offer in the way of classrooms, libraries, galleries, auditoriums, and exhibits, stretching down into myriads passages and hallways; the Codex was full of nothing, if not beautiful and compelling things to learn, read, see, heard, and experience. From one of the higher levels, the aggressive sounds of a guitar playing from the Black Orchid Rebellion alternative rock auditorium called to Noal; he smiled, knowing he would be joining them soon. It had been far too long since he had played the rosewood finger-board of his favourite axe.

He would indulge himself, for a few minutes, perhaps an hour or so, any one who had just been through what he had been through deserved that much. But after that, there was much work to be done, and he made no excuses for the fact that it was going to be long and difficult, and potentially unpopular with the curators. They would want him back to work, doing what he was good at, being out in the field on expedition, as soon as possible. It was going to be his job to convince them that his first priority should be analyzing the new data he had found and finding Hunterwraith as soon as possible. There were implications to it all that he had trouble quantifying himself, so attempting to explain these things to people who had not been with him in Rico’s End, or Anflux, or New Babylon, or the Nether, was going to be next to impossible. And yet, it had to be done, he knew that.

Before he had even realized what he was doing, he began to pray – to what, he did not know, maybe the Outcasts’ God, maybe something else – Please, if you are watching, I need to make them understand the urgency of this. They must understand what I know to be true. Help me!

With those words in his thoughts, Noal stepped onto the atrium lift with Naomy and Sal in-tow, watching nervously as they ascended toward the very top level of the Codex, the Curators’ podium.

“Noal, Naomy, and Sal, well met, our friends! We have missed you terribly!” exclaimed Curator Ophilia, extending her arms to each in turn. Ophilia (called ‘Ophi’ by most) looked older than she had the last time Noal had seen her, he thought, and suddenly older than her sixty years, though her arms were as solid as he remembered. He was sure her keen memory had not dulled any. “We were certain you had all been killed; we even held a memorial service in honour of the four of you, you know!”

“Speaking of which,” came the low and growly voice of Ten’quatha’an, a dark-skinned bear of a many, with a long, grey pony-tail tied behind his head, “Where is the fourth member of your team?”

Noal bowed his head, sadly, “I’m afraid Sid didn’t make it, though he died well.”

“How did he die?” asked Ten, somberly.

“He became infected with the Strain,” said Naomy, tears welling up in her eyes, “In Rico’s End. A trap had been set for us, and he was bitten. He sacrificed himself ensuring that the infection in Rico’s would not spread.” As the memories returned, she began to weep. “He was a good man,” she added.

“So it was Sid who caused the destruction of Rico’s End, then?” asked Ophi, neutrally.

“Sid didn’t do anything that any brave man wouldn’t do,” stated Sal, his backbone firmly in place, “He didn’t destroy Rico’s, he saved the rest of the world from Rico’s. It was that goddamned Wraith bastard who did the destroying.”

The female Curator frowned slightly, “Language, Salvatore. You may be a mechanic by trade, but you are a long way from New Babylon.”

“Tell me about it,” Sal muttered under his breath, nodding slowly, “I apologize, ma’am. It’s just we’ve been through a lot in the last month.”

“After you escaped from Rico’s End, why did you not attempt to return here, or to at least send a message as to your whereabouts and condition?” Ten sounded gruff, “You know that this is standard operating procedure for field operatives in the case of emergency or disaster, and yet you did nothing to contact us.”

“It was too dangerous,” Noal stated, “If we had given ourselves away like, God only knows who might have found out. We needed secrecy in order to be safe. The one slip we made in the expanse was bad enough withou—“

“The expanse?” roared Ten, his eyes ablaze.

“You are referring to the Atlantic expanse?” Ophi clarified, in disbelief.

“Yes,” said Noal, “It’s a long story.”

Ophilia nodded, patiently. “I think you’d better start from the beginning, then. Let’s have it.”

Noal told them everything, from the very beginning, roaming through the ruins of Winnipeg and how they had run out of vaccine, and headed back to base to re-supply. He told them about Rico’s End: the piles of dead, the aberrants, and finding Hugo’s note. He described Sid’s infection with the Strain, and how they had searched for vaccine only to have their hopes dashed. He emphasized how heroic Sid’s final actions had been. He told the Curators how they had sat there, in the Gravedigger, agonizing over what to do, and the seemingly miraculous discovery of the code on the back of Hunterwraith’s picture. He described their journey across the Atlantic expanse and how they were captured by the pirates and taken to Anflux. He told them about their escape, and their subsequent journey to New Babylon. Then he told them about what had happened there, and about the people trapped in the Nether, and he spent the most time talk about the vault, and what had been in it. He shared his suspicions about Hunterwraith, and the patterns he had seen in the vault’s collection.

Then he went on to tell them the most tenuous part: what he intended to do from there.

“I realize that the Codex’s mission must go on, but the significance of what I have discovered in the past months cannot be minimized. I believe that this may be the most important find, for anyone, since the Shift occurred. It’s all tied together with this, and all throughout history. There is something here that I must find, a code, a cipher, a pattern – an answer to the question: what caused the Shift? What could we have done to prevent it? What can we do now?

“And there are even more important questions to be asked, if only I can find them. The Outcasts spoke of a coming shift, something big – as big as the Shift itself, the way they talked about it. And somehow it all involved Hunterwraith, and myself. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but it’s in there, in my notes, and it is my intention to dedicate the database to the task of analysis. I must find Hunterwraith, now more urgently than ever.”

“Is it revenge you seek, Chief Silver?” asked Ten’quatha’an, “That is a slippery slope to tread upon.”

“Before it may have benn,” Noal agreed, “But now it is because he has the answers. Or… the answers can only be found with him, at least. I think that the future of mankind may depend on this.”

“Let us think on the matter awhile,” said Ophilia, “For now, you all deserve a rest.”

The group murmured their thank-you’s and left the Curators’ podium to attend to the rest that had been prescribed. Noal and Naomy stepped off the lift together on the fourth level, seeking someplace to be alone with each other, and Sal continued on back down to the ground floor, where his meeting with Director Adison.

Stopping outside her quarters, he knocked quietly, in a secret pattern, and waited for her call to enter. The door slid open, and he walked inside, preparing himself mentally to face the music. Suddenly she was there, dressed in a crisp director’s uniform, looking altogether stern.

“Director Adison,” said Sal, hesitantly.

“Chief Vasko,” the director replied.

“Emily.”

“Salvatore.”

“Em.”

“Sal,” Emily smiled, already unbuttoning her uniform,“You were gone so long, I nearly had to take a new lover.”

Sal wasted no time in reciprocating the gesture, “You know you’d never be able to find someone with my technical skills.”

“So true,” she sighed, pulling him into another room as the lights went down.

* * *

Noal stood silently in his quarters and looked into Naomy’s eyes, seeing the freedom he had always wished he could see there. So much had changed, and so much more was coming, he knew. But for right now this moment was all there was, and all that mattered. He had so much time to make up for. Naomy smiled at him, equally entranced; she had been waiting a long time.

“You’ve changed so much, I don’t even know where to begin,” Naomy sighed, happily, “I was beginning to think things would never work out between us, but the last two weeks have been wonderful, even if we’ve just been stuck in the damned Gravedigger the whole time. I just want to know: what changed your mind?”

Noal held Naomy close, kissing her forehead. “I just realized that I’d been punishing myself, and you, for things in the past that I can never change. I had myself convinced that I didn’t deserve to be happy, so I shut you out, and I’m sorry for that.” He kissed her again, this time on the lips. “But I’m ready to put that behind me now, and I should have done that a long time ago. Things may never be perfect – I may go back there sometimes – but I want to start making up all the time I’ve wasted.”

Naomy caressed his cheek, lovingly. “It doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to be you, okay? I love you, Noal. I’ve loved you ever since I first saw you trying to learn how to walk again back in Core. Maybe even before that.“

“That’s a long time to wait for someone who may never come around,” Noal remarked, “I’m surprised you never found someone else in all that time.”

“I never wanted anyone else; I didn’t want anyone before I met you, and I haven’t wanted anyone else since.”

“I love you too,” Noal proclaimed, evenly, “Now whatever you do, don’t you dare die on me.”

Naomy laughed, “I’ll promise if you will.”

“I promise,” said Noal

“I promise, too.”

“If only things were that simple,” Noal sighed, losing himself in Naomy’s eyes.

“Some things are,” she cooed, pulling him toward the bedroom.