A MAN WITH NO HOME
Tell me, sweet stranger, do you know the story of Normant Lumensky, the man from a mystical land universes away from Earth? Making an ark out of his chains, he turns from a prisoner of war into a fugitive.
A WOMAN AGAINST THE WOR...
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SUMMER WAS THE SEASON of celebrations, the season that hallowed the hearts of the weary and the sick, the unhinged and the lonesome. Yet it seemed to me that this year, summer had developed an affinity for trouble and calamity instead. The implications were obvious, having all of us in the Grants Department wither like roses forgotten in a vase for months. That was not necessarily a bad thing. Somehow withering was better than standing frozen in time forever.
Late evenings at the office seemed endless, as if life lost all its meaning somewhere between the bright lights and the countless laptops. But today things were different. Today the artificial light kept us all on our toes, heartbeats fast and ready to take on the next adventure. Christine was staring out the skyscraper's window in complete silence. I stood and watched her from my desk. I waited for some reaction, an indication that she was still here with us. Nothing. It was just her and the dusk painting her short brown hair a shade of deep red, as if the sky had found refuge in her inner world. I knew better than to mistake her silence for her having made peace with the brand-new war that loomed over us. No. That was not the case at all. She was mad. Really mad.
"We don't have enough time to both organize everything and make sure that it actually works out," she said at last.
Stella, relaxed in her chair next to me, was toying with the silver chain around her neck, not bothered at all by the breaking news. It made me wonder if she had even paid the slightest attention to what was going on; if she had understood that now it was our only chance to ruin everything, and ruin it for a good cause. Judging from the fact thar she had not even bothered taking off her make-up from yesterday I could bet that she had not. Last night's celebrations had left their mark on her—dark and ugly like the club we had gone to. The green eye pencil was still there, accompanied by bags underneath her light brown eyes.
"I'm sure we'll find a way to make it work," she still tried to jump in the conversation like the eternal optimist that she was.
I nodded, even though I did not agree with her. Stella did not know much about peril and bad timing. She was Clairvoyant's only daughter, and as a result she had always been kept away from the dangerous missions and thrived in the comfort of her office job. Her mother saw in her a delicate creature that could not stand being witness to any kind of torture or unfairness. That could not be further from the truth. Over the years, Stella had mastered the art of looking like porcelain but cutting like glass, and I was something more than relieved to know that she was on my side.
A new mission had arrived a few minutes ago, and my team was expected to go ahead and defend the Pioneers community once again. This time, though, it was different. This time I was not working solely for Pioneers. There was a greater motive fueling my desire, shaping my frailties into boldness.
Clairvoyant had made a mistake, a big one, and I would not let it go unnoticed. The concoction of blood and vengeance that flowed in my veins had me participating in acts that were for the weak and the emotionally unstable. The thing was that I did not mind being accused of any of those things. Not when my mother's murder was behind every revenge plan, every sleepless night and every well-thought ruse of mine. It was my firm belief that since I had not been able to stop her murder from happening, I could at least make sure that it never happened again. And this was not me trying to turn into a saint, bringing justice and peace to the world. Something like that would not bring her back, and I had lost the right to redemption. But since I could not find the closure I needed, I had one last shot at vindication. And I would seize it with all that was left of me.
