The Wakeful Wanderer's Guide to Disillusionment

Shades

"Maxtor," Helen managed to say, fighting the sudden downward pull of her lower jaw, "what a nice surprise."

Maxtor looked uneasily at Gordon. "Yes," he said, "will you..."

Gordon was older than Maxtor or Helen, appearing to be the same age as Mem, if not older. He was shorter than Helen, wiry and thin. Like Helen, his vegetal hair was withered for the winter. She could see the stumps run down the back of his neck from under a thin moss-green hat. His blue-gray eyes were looking out from a pair of antique yellow, round-rimmed glasses. The color of his eyes contrasted with his dark skin and thick black eyebrows. Helen felt a kinship with this man in spite of herself.

Gordon handed Helen a cup of tea. "Please drink," he said. He pulled a small tile out of the wall and flipped it over. It slid neatly back into place, the cream-colored hexagon now replaced by dark gray. After a moment, the six surrounding tiles flipped, widening the circle and widening again, the dark spot expanding rapidly until the inside of the windowless dome was covered in darkness. Gordon then moved a few larger tiles over the vents in the floor and pulled a green tile from his pocket, waving it around the room, checking it occasionally. Finally, he joined them, sipped his own tea and smiled a thin, cautious smile.

"We can talk freely now," he told them.

No one spoke. Gordon rose suddenly and went to grab a black plate of scones and figs from a cabinet. He returned, placing them in the middle of the table, and motioned to Helen to help herself. She took a fig and ate it in one bite. Then she took another, her body absorbing the delicious fruit as quickly as she could consume them.

"I've been intentionally vague, inviting you here," Gordon said. "I needed a reason to bring you in and to invoke secrecy." He waved a hand around his head quickly, pointing out the tiles. "The altercation you had with Theyla and your behavior with Gray gave me a plausible reason to demand your attendance. I hope you can forgive the deceit."

"Deceit?" Helen inquired, her mouth full.

"Yes," Gordon said. "I made it look like you were being summoned here because of your behavior. You weren't. We just want to talk to you about something."

Helen looked at Maxtor a moment, trying to gauge his part in this drama. He seemed to be absorbed in picking apart a scone. There were several. Helen tasted one and fought the desire to wolf it down in two bites.

"I can forgive a lot if you have more of these," she told him, chewing. "My friend Mem and their friend Thirty/Fourteen told me about that. They looked into your request and told me I wasn't under suspicion for the attack on Reverside. They told me you wanted to ask about another matter."

Gordon looked at Maxtor, who suddenly lost interest in his scone. They looked as if they were private messaging each other. Helen became abruptly aware that her implants had all gone silent. She stared at her tea. "What – what's going on here, guys?"

Maxtor finally spoke up. "Dampeners. Temporary blockers. It's necessary to keep what we say here private. Really private. No sending, no receiving, no recording."

"All of us?" Helen asked.

In response, Gordon abruptly sipped Helen's tea. Maxtor hesitated, but then followed his example. "Ok," Helen said, adding, "I could have just taken your word for it."

Gordon stood again to clear away their cups and fetch another tea service from a low counter. "Darjeeling," he said, as he set it down. "Nothing else."

"So this messaging with Mem, was this in the open or private?" Maxtor asked.

"They were in an open chat about something else, town names?" Helen said. She saw Gordon smile quickly to himself. "But there was no one else in our communication. Thirty and I thexted briefly as well. I'm pretty sure it was private."