Eight

The metal door issued a drawn-out groan, revealing a descending stairwell that bore the marks of time's neglect. The dimly lit, narrow space pressed in on Mo, the ceiling's closeness matched only by the air's mustiness, it smelled of years bereft of fresh circulation. His hand brushed against the rough stone walls. Eclipsis was riddled with smuggling tunnels, but this passage seemed older than those he’d read about.

As he descended further, the stairwell’s walls began to be adorned with etchings of a language he had never seen. Images mixed with unknown symbols. He activated his Q-Pad, scanning the carvings. The silence of his Q-Pad—devoid of its customary automatic translations—implied this language was not recorded within the UEA's vast repositories. Amongst the etchings, he spotted the haunting symbol that had woven itself into Mo’s investigation. It was repeated often, blended within the greater narrative of unknown glyphs. The sight of it, so clear, after all this time searching, sent a surge of excitement through him.

The staircase descended into a circular chamber, at its heart a pedestal cradling a crystal-like artifact, smaller than the palm of Mo’s hand. A low frequency hum vibrated from the artifact, casting a strange resonance throughout the chamber. Encircling him, the walls were inscribed with a myriad of symbols. Reaching out, he felt an unexpected warmth emanating from around the artifact, yet the object itself remained cool beneath his touch. As he looked closer, glowing lanes of what looked to be circuitry pulsed subtly with purple hue throughout the strange object. He quickly searched through his Q-Pad and summoned his vector image of the symbol. Instinctually, he raised the device and projected the symbol vector onto the crystal-like artifact. 

A resonant vibration filled the chamber, emanating from the crystal. Mo jolted back, unsure of what had possessed him to project the symbol, and simultaneously shocked it had worked. The glow from the artifact intensified and glowing scripts began to dance around the room in holographic form, interacting with those etched onto the walls. After only a few moments, the vibrations ceased and the glowing scripts vanished, and the artifact returned to its dormant state. He took a moment to steady his breathing, staring at the strange crystalline artifact. He lifted his Q-Pad again and projected the symbol once more, but this time the artifact remained dormant.

He wasn’t sure what to do, but in another moment of instinct decided to pick it up and put it in the left pocket of his coat. He quickly retraced his steps, exiting the chamber and navigating back up the tight stairwell. He exited through the metal door and, his pace quick, returned to his hotel room.

Mo arrived back at his hotel, expecting the comforting embrace of his private room to settle his thoughts and investigate the strange artifact. However, what awaited him was a jarring sight. The sanctuary of his room had been violated, the scene resembling a chaotic aftermath. Furniture lay toppled, drawers flung open, and papers scattered about. Someone had thoroughly searched through and trashed his room. 

As he surveyed the disarray, a sense of violation washed over him. His only respite from the harsh world of Eclipsis had been compromised. The quantum relay in his room had been damaged beyond repair, he would be unable to patch through calls anywhere out of the system. His UEA lifeline effectively severed. He immediately jumped into action and attempted to find the datavault drive provided by Commissioner Harlon, his fingers trembling with anticipation. However, his hopes were dashed as he completed his thorough search. It was gone.

Mo's mind raced as he stood amid the wreckage of his room. The datavault drive - his lifeline in this investigation - was missing. Anger rose up in him, hatred for the situation and this awful place, this vile world. But he couldn't afford to be paralyzed by emotion. He needed answers. 

Stepping out of his room, Mo made his way down to the hotel's front desk. The clerk, a young man with a disinterested gaze, looked up as he approached.

"I need to speak with someone about my room," Mo said, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of urgency. "It's been ransacked."

The clerk raised an eyebrow, "I'm sorry to hear that, sir.” he replied with a practiced neutrality. “Unfortunately break-ins can be a reality in this part of town. Did you lose anything valuable?"

"Yes, but that's not the only concern. I need to check the surveillance footage. And my room's quantum relay is destroyed; I need it replaced immediately."

The clerk typed something into his terminal, his eyes scanning the screen. "I'll have maintenance look into the relay. As for the surveillance, I can’t just let anyone see it. But rest assured, I’ll file a report and the ESED will-"

Mo interrupted, taking his badge from his coat and showing it to the clerk, “Look kid, UEA business, I need to see the recording.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t know,” the clerk replied nervously, “Let me pull it up.”

Mo waited, his gaze shifting around the lobby, his senses heightened. The clerk's fingers danced across the keyboard before he paused, frowning.

"That's odd," the clerk muttered nervously, "the footage from that floor during the time frame you're talking about is corrupted. I can't access anything. I swear, I’m trying to." He spun the holoscreen to show Mo he was telling the truth.

The coincidence was too convenient. "Is there any other way to find out who entered my room?"

The clerk shook his head while typing away on the keyboard, “Our system doesn’t seem to have any logs showing attempted access to your rooms lockpad.”

Mo's jaw tightened. Someone had covered their tracks well. Either the hotel staff was complicit, or someone with access to the surveillance system had sabotaged it. He had to keep his composure.

"Fine, just get the relay fixed as soon as possible, please." Mo said, turning to leave. He could feel the clerk's eyes on him as he walked away.

Back in his room, amidst the disarray, Mo felt isolation closing in. The sabotage of the surveillance footage, the targeted search of his room – it was a clear message. Someone knew he was here and they were a step ahead, watching, waiting. He had to tread carefully. In growing frustration and desperation, he reached for his CommLink and dialed Harlon’s personal line several times, each attempt met with a message stating his call could not be patched through. The sudden severance was as cold as it was clear; he was on his own, the institutional support he relied upon withdrawn without warning or explanation. Then it hit him. The timing of it, Halron’s suggestion to back off and take a break. Did the ESED do this? Did they want him to abandon the case?

He threw his CommLink on the bed in frustration, followed by his own body. A wave of fatigue washed over him, a tide so powerful it threatened to drag him under. Despite the urgency gnawing at his mind, his body betrayed him, demanding respite.

He sank into the bed, the room’s dim lighting blurring as his eyes struggled to remain open.

As sleep claimed him, his dreams were a rare divergence from his usual lack thereof. In the dream, he stood again within the circular chamber, his hand reaching out to the pulsating artifact. But as soon as his hand made contact, the dream shifted violently.

Suddenly, Mo found himself standing knee-deep in a sea of blood red, a viscous liquid that stretched to the horizon. The sky above was a void, heavy with the presence of something vast and malign. An oppressive force bore down on him, gripping his very soul with a dread so intense that he was rendered immobile, and he was unable to lift his gaze to confront the entity that loomed overhead.

The cryptic symbols from the artifact transformed into a sinister resonance, they were glowing and thrumming through the blood-red waters all around him.

Harlon’s distant warnings from his hallucination now melded around him into a dire and incomprehensible prophecy, the words resonating with a truth that was too profound, too terrifying for his conscious mind to embrace.

The pulsating rhythm of the artifact became the heartbeat of the sea, each throb syncing with his own pulse, anchoring him to this vision.

Mo surfaced from the depths of his slumber with a jolt. His breath was ragged, his body drenched in a cold sweat. Sitting up, the urgency of reality cut through the remnants of terror that clung to his psyche. How long had he slept? He checked the time. Five hours.

He sat on the edge of his bed, the darkness of his room barely penetrated by the faint glow of the city lights filtering through the gaps in the closeable-slats on the windows. The echoes of his nightmare still lingered in his mind.

He had slept too long. He shot up and retrieved his Q-Pad. He opened the scans he had taken of the glyphs in the chamber. Mo leaned forward, his eyes tracing the intricate patterns as he ordered his Q-Pad to scour all UEA records available to it for any record of the iconography.

Mo's CommLink chirped to life, breaking the stillness and interrupting the analysis. An unknown identifier flashed on the screen, but it was a local call. Caution mingled with curiosity, but the potential for new information tipped the scales. He answered.

"You the agency-man?" came a voice, strained and hesitant.

"Who is this?" Mo replied, his tone guarded.

"I… I think I can help you." the voice whispered, a tremor of fear detectable in its tone.

"Why should I trust an anonymous call?" Mo probed

"Face to face, somewhere safe. I could help you, I think." the voice on the other line replied.

Mo weighed his options and agreed to a meeting, “Fine. Where?” 

“Old Helianthar warehouse on the outskirts of town. Now.” the man replied, then ended the call.

Mo gathered his Q-Pad and blaster. Given recent events Mo felt this was, in all likelihood, a trap. But even if it was, at least he might get some answers. He called a car and paid the driver 100 extra credits for discretion.

The warehouse loomed like a forgotten relic, overshadowed by the distant hum of massive automated mining machines. Mo approached cautiously, his hand resting near his blaster.

Inside, his OptiViz began to scan the dimly lit interior, spotting a solitary figure standing amidst the remnants of machinery and crates. The figure stepped forward.

"You from the UEA, yeah?" his voice echoed slightly, he was clearly nervous.

"Yes, and you are?" Mo asked, a mix of caution and curiosity in his voice.

“Kip,” he said quickly. “Got some things to tell you, important things.”

Mo observed Kip's mannerisms, noting something peculiar about him, his speech and movements. There was a hint of sympathy in Mo's assessment. “Why all the way out here? And why help me?” he inquired.

Kip glanced around nervously. "It's about the Ascendents... I know stuff, real stuff, others don't know." 

“Okay, I’m all ears,” Mo replied. 

“Okay, so, I had a friend. He joined up with them. We were real close before that, but then when he joined up, he started talking about all this crazy stuff,” Kip began. “He would always talk about how there’s people who, uhh..” he paused, trying to recount what his friend had said, “He said they were ‘blocking our universes blessings’. Crazy talk stuff, but..”

Mo listened as Kip recounted his story. His narrative was disjointed, yet there was an earnestness in his words.

"He was different right before he left for good, got more intense," Kip murmured, a mix of fear and sorrow in his tone. "Talking 'bout 'clearing the block' and stuff. Then he was just gone. And then.." Kip trailed off, a blank kind of sadness in his eyes.

"Then what?" Mo urged him on.

Kip hesitated, his words coming slowly. "Well, I work around town a lot. And, I started noticing things, with the shadow-dwellers. Lots of tech moving through the tunnels. It's all linked, I reckon. To what my friend was saying. They're planning something."

“What kind of tech?” Mo inquired, his tone a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

Kip's response was halting, his eyes darting as if struggling to articulate his thoughts. “Advanced things... quantum stuff, energy things, all going to one place.”

“Where?” Mo pressed, his gaze intent on Kip's face.

Kip looked down, a shadow of regret crossing his features. “Don't know that bit... wish I did.”

Mo wasn’t sure how much of Kip’s story to take at face value. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about him wasn’t quite right. “Well, Kip, I appreciate the -”

 Kip cut in, a surprising firmness in his voice. “I can find out more... got contacts, might be useful to you.”

Mo hesitated, his expression softening. “Risky, Kip.”

Kip’s desperation was palpable. “They took him from me... my one good friend. I gotta do something.”

“I’ll keep it in mind, your line’s in my CommLink.” Mo assured him, sincerity in his tone. “Stay safe. And thank you, for your help.”

Kip smiled hopefully at Mo’s response. As Mo turned to leave, he glanced back at the sad lonely man, standing alone in the dim warehouse, and felt a sincere bout of empathy for him.

Mo hired a car to get back to his hotel. As the car made its way through the streets of Eclipsis, there was an uncomfortable silence pervading the vehicle. Usually cabbies play music, make conversation, something. Not this one. He sat up front, watching the road intently as they made their way. After several minutes, Mo spoke up, hoping to break the uncomfortable silence, “How long have you been a cabbie here?” he asked.

“Long enough,” the cabbie answered nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders without taking his eyes off the road.

“Decent living?” Mo prodded further, trying to gauge the man.

“What’s a decent living to you?” the man asked. There was an unexpected hostility in his response.

“Hell, I don’t know. Does it pay well?” Mo continued, not sure what to make of the man's demeanor.

“Is that why you're in it, Tracer? For the credits?” The cabbie responded, his eyes still fixed ahead.

Mo's gaze flickered down to his coat. His badge was concealed. “How do you know what I do?” Mo asked, his tone sharp now.

The cabbie let out a low chuckle, his eyes briefly meeting Mo's in the rearview mirror. “Around here, we see everything.” he replied. Before Mo could continue the exchange, the cabbie spun around abruptly, his right hand brandishing a high powered blaster with its barrel aimed squarely at Mo. The cold gleam of the weapon was barely discernible in the dim light of the car.

Mo lunged towards the blaster, aiming to knock it off course. The car swerved wildly, the cabbie’s attention torn between the scuffle and maintaining some control of the vehicle.

A shot rang out, the laser grazing Mo's arm, searing through his coat and shattering the rear window. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Mo tried to wrestle for control of the blaster. The struggle was fierce; the cabbie surprisingly strong.

The car veered uncontrollably. The city outside became a blur of lights and sounds as they struggled, wind rushing through the rear window. Mo, with a desperate push, managed to divert the blaster just as another shot fired, shattering the car's side window.

The cabbie, momentarily stunned by the shattering glass, lost his grip ever so slightly. Seizing the opportunity, Mo knocked the blaster out of his hand and tried to grab the steering wheel. But it was too late to regain control. The car smashed into a curb, flying through the air and flipping before coming to an abrupt stop against a streetlight, the impact jolting both men violently.

The collision was deafening, the sound of crunching metal and shattering glass filling the air. Mo felt his body thrown forward, his head striking the dashboard. Dazed, he tried to regain his senses, the taste of blood in his mouth.

The car's component failure alarm system wailed. Mo, disoriented, struggled to free himself, his leg had become wrapped in the front passenger safety belt. His vision blurred, he could make out the outline of the cabbie, still conscious, trying to reach for the blaster, now on the floor of the car. 

With sheer determination, Mo finally managed to get himself loose. His gaze locked onto the blaster, inches from the cabbie's hand. He lunged forward, his hand closing around the blaster just as the cabbie's fingers brushed against it.

The cabbie lunged at Mo with a guttural snarl. Mo, still disoriented, struggled to fend him off. The two men grappled fiercely.

In the chaos, the cabbie managed to land a heavy blow to Mo's blaster wound on his arm, eliciting a sharp cry of pain. Mo’s grip weakened momentarily. With a sudden burst of adrenaline-fueled strength, Mo pushed the cabbie back against the driver's seat.

He got a firm hold on the blaster. He quickly raised it and fired twice.

The cabbie slumped lifeless onto the car's now inverted ceiling. Mo, breathing heavily, remained still for a moment. His body ached, his mind reeled, but he couldn't stay there. Pushing the door open, he stumbled out of the wrecked car, the blaster still in his hand. The night air of Eclipsis stings his wounds. The aftermath of the crash had begun to draw attention. With one last glance at the lifeless body of the cabbie, Mo turned and walked briskly into an alley.

He stumbled through dark alleyways, holding onto the walls around him, trying to make it back to his hotel where he could call in UEA med-services. Though thinking about it further, that might not do him much good, he was bleeding badly and consciousness was becoming more and more of an effort. This was not a core sector, it could take a whole cycle to receive aid. His mind battled between devising a plan and staying awake.

He needed to get to a medical facility of some kind. Mo frantically tried to navigate through his OptiViz’s map of Eclipsis to find something nearby, but he struggled with the eye and finger movements needed to do so. His bio-alert systems warned him of critical organ system failures nearing. His awareness of the world around him began to fade, being replaced intermittently with flashbacks from his homeworld Horus, and Lina, and his mother. 

Slowly the dark atmosphere of Eclipsis faded into bright memories of home, of the Red Iron Deserts he grew up in, of being once again under its twin suns. Lina was there with him now, talking to him as if picking up a conversation they began when they were young, dreaming of venturing beyond Horus and into the stars. Young dumb dreams of exploration, excitement, and hope. Such stupid hope. For the first time since he arrived on Eclipsis, he felt a profound sense of peace. Mo’s mother now chimed in on Lina and his conversation. He missed them, both of them. He knew this wasn’t real, they had passed long ago. But still, he listened intently, savoring and taking in every word, letting his worries ebb away with each syllable. 

He was dying. Here, alone, on this godforsaken world. At first, he tried to fight it, taking in the world around him once more. He was laying on the ground now, he wasn’t sure where. It was dark, and he was alone, that’s all he knew. It’s all he even attempted to comprehend. The memories swept in again, taking him far away from his current predicament, and he went with them willingly. Maybe it’s okay, even better this way, he thought. He was losing his mind anyways, and this case would probably go unsolved. He was so tired now, he just wanted to rest.