1000 YEARS - Book 1 - Awakening

11. Escape*

— April 8th, Year 784 [ 20:23 hr. ]

"What is the matter with you this evening?" a tall dark-skinned, black-clad female chafed. Her star-petal implant glowed pale blue, as did the thin tattoo-like vining tendrils that emanated from it and curled from her left temple onto her forehead and down her cheek.
There were four of them, all dressed in black from head to toe, each with a single solid color accenting their severe attire. They were seated in the semi-dark, around a glass pedestal above which hovered large translucent 3D projections of data sets, tables, charts, and graphs.

Her question had been addressed at the tallest of them, whose black cloak hood remained pulled forward so far that it concealed the face entirely. Only a faint blue glow hinted at a presence within — as did the restless bouncing of a knee beneath the floor-length robe. The hood turned towards the middle-aged woman, whose eyebrow was now quirked, but said nothing. She cocked her head, and the elaborate jade-green embroidery on her long black dress shimmered in the dim light.

"You seem ...fidgety somehow, ...out of sorts. What is eating you?" she pressed.
Across from her, a golden-curled male with caramel complexion and vibrant lime green eyes looked over and pursed his full lips at his hooded seat neighbor, waiting expectantly. His temple implant pulsed in muted aqua, and a handful of matching dithered blotches, like leopard spots, surrounded it. The light of these, and that of the projection, reflected in the shiny Egyptian blue upright collar, pocket flaps, and sleeve cuffs that adorned his black Victorian frock coat.

Ignoring the attempt at dialogue, the last of the four — a tall, fair-skinned male with an elegant narrow face, thick raven hair that fell in straight layers past his shoulders, sharply defined lips and eyebrows, and eyes of striking royal blue — continued to rapidly manipulate the 3D display. With barely noticeable flicks of his fingers, multi-layered data collections rearranged their content and merged into redesigned elements, while his eyes darted around the fast-moving data cubes with lightning speed. Anyone who would have looked closely enough at the man's deep royal blue eyes might have observed miniscule flecks of chartreuse-green that roped around his pupils and radiated out in fine barbs — like a crown of thorns. But no one ever paid such close heed.
Delicate crimson accents suffused the gothic patterns of the black brocade vest he wore over crisply tailored black slacks and shirt. The satiny crimson of the vest's deep peak lapels glistened bloodlike in the penumbra as it flexed under his motions. He wore no implant.

"Well!?" she tapped an impatient finger on the pedestal top.
"There is ...a ...restlessness, a ...restless agitation," came a resonant baritone voice from within the hood, "an ...anxious nervousness. It has been lingering for a while. — It is... within me, ...but it is not mine!" the baritone grumbled.

The female's face pinched, and the other two males leveled their eyes on their hooded companion.
"A trailer from earlier?" she asked cautiously, "...an overload perhaps? — Did something go wrong?"
The hood shook minutely. "No!" the deep voice grumbled. There was a pause. "It is something else," came the low, irritated reply.
"And it is not yours. You are sure?" She tilted her head; a crease furrowed her brow.
"I cannot pinpoint it!" he barked and then lowered his voice. "It is... a faint impression of an almost ...panic." The annoyance in his tone was unmistakable, and he leaned back in his chair. His black cloak fell open just enough to reveal a similarly blood-red diamond pattern woven into his black velvet vest.

For a while the female continued to gaze at the hooded figure and finally shot a questioning glance at the other crimson accented male. Without looking away from his work, the raven-haired male gave the tiniest of raised-eyebrow headshakes. In the semi-dark their work resumed in silence.