Violet (8 page)

Now, as I sit on the floor next to my father’s
corpse, I am struck by this recollection. My father knew this
plant’s poisonous properties. Seemingly innocuous to the casual
viewer, this plant is a red flag to someone well-versed in plant
classification. If my father put a Bahaya bloom in his mouth, he
knew what would happen, and it was no accident.

Shocked by the revelation of my father’s
suicide, my mind is reeling. Our house has been ransacked; my
father was beaten mercilessly. Whatever the intruder had been
seeking, he had not found it. My father had killed himself to avoid
the torture. My father had killed himself to avoid revealing his
secret. My father had killed himself to keep them from getting what
they wanted. My father had killed himself to protect me. My father
had killed himself, and I couldn’t even be bothered to tell him
goodbye before I left this morning. I will never truly know the man
my father had been.

I place my hand in my father’s and squeeze it. I
know he’s gone, but I cannot help but hope. I want his comfort; I
want to tell him what I know. What if they had found him because of
the research I’d asked David to do? Is my father dead because of
me?

As I have this thought, I see a gold glint near
my father’s hip. His pocket watch. Since I awoke, I have seen my
father open this pocket watch many times. Its gold exterior is
engraved with a swirling pattern. Just another of my father’s
remnants of the past. Often throughout the day, my father would be
struck by some memory or another. He would draw the watch from his
pocket, peer inside, and smile. I never asked my father to see the
photograph that was inside the watch. Perhaps this is because I
knew that it would not be of me.

As I press the latch at the top, the watch cover
swings open and my hypothesis is confirmed. On the back side of the
cover is a photo of my mother. It is a photo that I have never
seen. My mother as a young woman, probably at the beginning of her
relationship with my father. She is outside, standing in front of a
tree with a very wide trunk, two or three times her size. Her light
hair hangs in long spirals almost to her waist. She is laughing,
perhaps slightly embarrassed to have her photo taken, but still
happy. As the photo is being taken, she lifts her hand to tuck her
hair behind her ear. A small tattoo is visible on the inside of her
wrist. I bring the photo closer to my face to get a better look.
The tattoo portrays two interlocking diamonds. The shapes overlap
to create a third, smaller diamond in the center. I have never seen
this tattoo; it is not visible in any of the photographs on the
mantle. I feel a sharp pang of regret at the loss of my parents; it
seems that I will never know them at all.

I close the watch and slide it into my pocket.
Before I stand, I clench my father’s hand one last time. Kneeling
beside him, I become aware of someone standing to my left, in the
main area of the study. I hear the distinct click of a weapon being
readied and I freeze. Slowly, I turn to face the intruder. A man in
the uniform of The Vox. The red V on his shoulder. He holds David
with one hand while the weapon is pressed tightly against David’s
temple. The intruder’s face is twisted with malice as he says,
“Nice to see you, Miss Price. I think you need to come with
me.”

I’ve been sitting in this room for what seems
like forever; perhaps it’s been all night. I’ve had ample time to
think about what’s happened, but mostly one question repeats itself
over and over:
Why have they kept me alive?
I’m worried
about David. When we arrived in Summus, we were placed in separate
interrogation rooms; for all I know, he’s already dead.

When I turned and saw the agent with his weapon
against David’s head, I could think of nothing but to cooperate.
I’m not some kind of secret agent; I don’t have skills to overtake
a trained member of The Vox, especially not one who’s taken a
hostage. I’d never seen fear in David’s eyes before last night. My
curiosity, my insistence to find the truth, has killed my father,
and has probably killed David as well.

I followed the agent to the field behind my
house, where a transport was waiting. As transports go, it was
rather small, probably only a six-person ship. However, it was a
thing to behold. Black at the time because it was night, but
equipped with cloaking abilities to camouflage it in any
circumstance. Obviously designed for speed, the transport was
aerodynamic, with grooves to allow the air to move around it more
freely. A large windshield in the front could be transparent or
opaque, depending on the necessity of the mission. And, of course,
a large logo on the side: the blood red capital V with the orbiting
moons. The Vox.

We boarded the ship and were cuffed immediately.
I did not have a plan. I expected us to be executed immediately
upon our arrival. David managed to make eye contact with me and
mouthed the words “I’m sorry.” I shook my head. David has nothing
to apologize for. He would not even be here were it not for me. One
of the officers had seen David speak to me, and responded by
slamming the butt of the weapon into his head saying, “Keep your
mouth shut.” David winced, and a small trickle of blood slid down
from his hairline. I looked away.

When we reached Summus, our transport was put
down on a landing pad located on the top of the main Vox
headquarters. This building must be the tallest in the area,
because nothing but sky could be seen from my position on the roof.
David and I were led to a door. The pilot keyed in an access code.
Though there were two people between myself and the keypad, I saw
the access point before we arrived, so I had time to position
myself within view without seeming suspicious. 291150. There were
no retina scans or even fingerprint recognition pads; security was
somewhat lax here. The Vox had grown overconfident. After entering
through the doorway, we took a sharp right turn and walked down a
dark hall. Lights on the ceiling glowed to illuminate our path just
before we passed under them, and extinguished themselves as we
moved on. I counted my steps. When I had reached 36 strides, we
took another right and stopped at the first door on the right. The
same officer keyed in his access code; I recognized it from its
tones. 291150. Codes must be assigned by person, not by door. The
officer followed me into the room, motioned for me to sit, and then
attached my cuffs to a link on the table. He left without a word. I
heard him enter his code as the door slid shut behind him.

Now I wait. I pass the time by rubbing my wrists
onto the inside of the cuffs. My skin has been rubbed raw all the
way around; in some places it has broken and small streaks of blood
have begun to appear. I stop moving when I hear a code being
entered outside of the door. I drop my head and look down at the
surface of the table in front of me. I look up timidly and view the
man through the strands of hair that have fallen into my face.

This man is not so tall. He is not so muscular,
but his uniform and haircut identify him as a high-ranking member
of The Vox. Though he is not physically impressive, he emanates a
sense of authority. This is a very powerful man. I will not
underestimate him. He takes a seat across from me and begins to
arrange some papers on the table in front of himself. I take this
opportunity to observe him more closely. His hair was once a light
brown, but has now begun to grey, though there is so little of it
that it hardly matters. His eyes are small and beady, his nose is
not unlike a large beak spread wide across his face and coming to a
sharp point at the tip. His mouth turns down at the corners in a
permanent frown.

My eyes travel from his face to his chest. Here,
there is another patch; this one sets him far above any ordinary
member of The Vox. In the place where a soldier’s name would
usually be, this man’s patch is adorned with letters the same blood
red as his sleeve logo, but instead of a V, it says ALTER.

“Yes, I am The Alter.”

His voice startles me and I look up to find him
waiting to meet my gaze. I say nothing. Nor does he. I never
thought I’d be thankful for Madam Aldine’s History of Government
lessons, but I am. Without them, I would not know who I am up
against. On Cerno, there is one governing body. Every crop we
plant, every item we sell, every single decision is made by The
Sententia, our high council. The identities of the members of The
Sententia are kept secret in the hopes that without public
recognition, they cannot be corrupted. When a member is ready to
step down, he or she chooses a successor to be voted on by the
remaining members. The people have nothing to do with The
Sententia. The people have no say in the government. The rationale
is that governments by the people have failed too many times in the
past. Some of the citizens of Cerno agree with this line of
thinking; others do not. But no one challenges The Sententia.

The Sententia uses The Vox as its physical
presence on Cerno. The Vox enforces every decree put out by the
council. The Vox is split into two factions: the Manus and the
Claro. The Manus is the military brawn; they are soldiers. The
Claro includes all of the academics within The Vox, such as
scientists, like my father, weapons researchers, and agricultural
engineers. The Sententia appoints two men to be the leaders of
these two factions. The Solus controls the Manus, and The Alter
controls the Claro. These men answer to no one but The Sententia.
These men are the most powerful public figures on Cerno. These men
are all but infallible. And one of them is sitting across from
me.

I say nothing. The Alter places a small
spherical recording device in the center of the table and flips the
switch. “State your name.”

“My name is Violet Massassi.”

The Alter sneers at me. I can see that his rage
is thinly veiled. “We know that your name is Violet Price, daughter
of a defected Claro scientist. We know where you’ve been for the
past months. We’ve been watching everything that you do. Let’s go
ahead and assume that I know the answers to all of the questions
that I am going to ask you. Do not lie to me, and I will not lie to
you. Yes?”

“Yes.” I lift my hands and place them on the
table, wincing at the pain from the cuts on my wrists.

“What’s wrong?” He is feigning sympathy.

“My wristcuffs, they’re very tight. They’ve cut
me.” I say this pitifully.

He looks at my wrists and sees the bloody
scrapes. I can see him sizing me up. Deciding. I’m a small girl. I
pose no threat. I am no match for his training.

“Here, let me remove them for you.” He produces
a small seal and presses it into an indentation on the cuffs. They
pop open, and I remove my wrists. He wants a cooperative witness.
He wants me to believe that he is on my side. I want him to believe
that my cuffs were too tight.

“Thank you so much.”

“You’ve been through a lot tonight, Miss Price.
Please understand that you will not be prosecuted for your father’s
crimes, but we do need your help. Your father stole some very
sensitive information. Were that information to get into the hands
of an enemy, our security could be compromised. Will you help
us?”

“Of course.” I am being a cooperative
witness.

“We are seeking a very valuable relic, and we
believe your father knew where it is. Have you ever seen in your
father’s possession a shard of broken stone?”

“Broken stone?”

“Yes. Bluish-grey in color, roughly the height
and width of two or three fingers.”

“No. I have never seen my father with anything
like that.”

“Has your father ever mentioned an artifact or
piece of technology known as The Cube?”

The broken piece of a cube-shaped stone! Could
this be the artifact from my dream? Is this what my father was
hiding?

“No. My father has never spoken those words to
me.” My heart is beginning to pound. I fear that I will give myself
away. I struggle to calm down.

The Alter begins to speak more forcefully. “Have
you ever seen any type of artifact hidden anywhere in your
home?”

“No! I’ve never seen or heard of anything like
that!”

Suddenly, his demeanor is calm. He smiles at me
as if he’s won. “Miss Price, I thought we had agreed not to lie to
one another?”

I am confused until he pulls something familiar
from the stack of papers he arranged. He drops it onto the table in
front of me.

My sketchbook. He opens it to one of my recent
drawings. I know which one before he finds the page. Heavy black
strokes come together to form the silhouette of a man. He has no
face. I had not drawn the room around him. It is not the room
itself, but what is in the room, that is important. The man is
reaching toward a waist-high pedestal in the center of the room.
Resting on the pedestal is the stone; outlined in the same stark
black that I used for the man, I filled the center of the stone
with a powder blue. I smudged the black outline to mix some of the
black with the blue. Light emanates from the stone, but not full
rays, a steady glow. The sketch is unmistakable. There is no doubt
that I drew the artifact that The Alter is seeking. He will never
believe that I don’t know where it is.