Coded the connection sag.., p.8
CODED (The Connection Saga Book 1), page 8
“Those are liners,” Claire says, pointing to the rods as our descent continues. “Without those, connections can’t run smoothly throughout the facility.”
The design is impeccable.
There’s no noticeable flaw within the system. As skilled as I am at hacking, there is no way to penetrate the outer perimeter without being seen, because of the ever-changing aspects of the building itself. With the core lying beneath the surface, it’s practically impossible to find without being directly in front of it.
If someone were able to hack this place without being caught, I’d ditch my ideals and work as a team in an instant. The thought causes thoughts of Trace to creep into my mind. It’s what he wanted. To work alongside me—and I never let it happen. Too afraid of the risks. One being his death.
Claire continues expelling details about the structures and the functions of each and I find myself grateful for the distraction. The design continues to impress, and I find it mesmerizing.
“Who designed this place?” I ask, trying to contain enthusiasm.
“Octavio Oxton,” she says, piercing my facade.
The name isn’t familiar to me, and I take a moment, admiring the architecture.
“He had help of course,” she adds. “That’s where your parents come in.”
Mom. Dad. They did so much, and they could have done so much more. I block away the rising anxiety, refocusing on my surroundings, and find a massive energy source.
Shaped like a diamond, it sparks and resonates with light pooling around it, escaping from its hard edges. It slowly rotates as the center glows, like a device harnessing kinetic energy. The light is so intense and bright as it reaches a point where it seems to burst like an exploding star, releasing energy into the liners.
We finally arrive at our destination and exit the elevator. A few steps take us to a corridor splitting two ways. We head down an aisle with multiple black doors hugging the walls and arrive at double doors. Claire gestures for me to walk in first, but I insist she lead the way.
13
“Please, take a seat,” Claire says gently.
I stand across from her at the opposite edge of a levitating circular desk, wide enough to sit at least ten people. My body stays planted, and I ignore the offer.
She takes a deep breath at my silence.
“Everything is going to be explained to you from the beginning, which is why you should take a seat.”
“I’ll stand. I’ll sit when I’m ready.”
She chuckles.
This woman really doesn’t know when it’s appropriate to do so.
“Your mother warned me about you.”
“Do not bring my parents into this, unless you plan on telling me how you know them. Otherwise, don’t. I’ll shut this entire facility down and end this conversation before it even gets started.”
“Ready when you are, Ms. Young,” Amity chimes in, as Iris buzzes with ways for me to keep my promise.
Claire presses her lips tight, unsure how to respond. Tension fills the room and creates a shroud of dense energy. Combined with the awkward silence between us and death stares, it makes for a very dangerous situation.
“Please ta—”
“Tell me to take a seat again, and it’s done.”
“Fair enough.”
She steps toward a table in the corner, grabbing a large glass pitcher and two smaller glasses filled with ice, then returns to the space across from me. A blue liquid sloshes in the pitcher as she gives it a small swirl, pouring it into one of the glasses. She looks up at me and her eyes ask what her mouth doesn’t. I shake my head to refuse the offer of a drink. Claire continues pouring into her own glass until it’s full, as if she would have had less if I’d wanted a share. The glass hangs below her nose before she downs half of it in two sequential gulps.
The walls grab my attention as they ripple. Holograms protrude with blueprints of what appear to be navs—communication devices used by informants. They serve a similar purpose as Iris, only less efficient. I pace the circular room, getting a sense of the many devices: one, in particular, a hologlobe of the AOE sitting in the center of the circular desk where Claire stood. She steps forward with another drink in hand and smiles.
“I’m Claire Hart. Director of Black Web,” she declares, her voice an inch lower than before. The alcohol seems to have taken a quick effect.
“Okay. Why am I here?”
“Black Web.”
Her response is sharp and crisp. I know she means it to be definitive, but there’s definitely more she owes me.
“What is that?” I press.
“This. This is Black Web,” she says, stretching her arms wide. “You’re in Black Web. This facility and its neighboring structures.”
“Great. It’s the name of a building. That doesn’t answer my question.”
My already dwindling patience grows smaller with every word she speaks, and the urge to pace returns. Time is something I do not like to waste. It’s essential to use every second I have to go after the people who ruined my life. My face is warm, and I know my anger and frustration are apparent by the way the inner corners of her brows flare up.
“I’ll get to the point,” she says, granting my wish. “Black Web was created by your parents and people they worked with to stay under the radar in their efforts to go against the Enlightenment.”
Now she’s saying what I want to hear. My interest peaks at the mention of my parents and their fight, one I could have been a part of. The corners of her lips tilt upward, and I know she realizes I’m now interested.
Confidence fuels her voice. “Seems like I finally got your attention.”
I ignore it and finally take a seat. The holochair absorbs my weight and levitates at a height that makes it easy to access the table. When I first saw the circular table, it appeared to be metallic, but it’s translucent like a holographic display. It curves around in a complete circle with the hologlobe at the center, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Claire’s hands hide behind her back, and her shoulders perk up, a gesture I recognize. As she stands, I get a glimpse of how my mother used to command my attention during her lessons. An unexpected chill courses through me, and the hairs on my arms raise.
“Doesn’t it feel better to sit and relax?” she asks.
“I’m not relaxed..” I counter.
“But by now, you can surely see there’s really nothing to worry about.”
“I’m still in an unknown place with a stranger constantly proclaiming there’s nothing to worry about, which, if my parents taught me anything, generally means there’s, in fact, something to be worried about. So, how about we cut the crap and get this over with?”
My gaze finds her water-filled eyes, glittering from the white light. Her confidence dwindles to a mere ember that was once a flame, ready to burn. I cross my legs and lean forward, urging her to speak. Instead, the desk lowers into the ground and the hologlobe rises like the sun. It slowly rotates, and as it does, letters appear and form the words, ‘Black Web’. The phrase glitches and flickers like a corrupted system before a web of links extends from each letter. At the end of each link, folders are attached with coded marks, dragging my interest out into the open.
Distracted by the sight in front of me, I didn’t notice Claire move. She stands next to me, eyeing the sphere with a soft smile.
“You may recognize this,” she says, handing me a pen.
“A pen?” I ask with a quizzical gaze.
“Not just any pen.”
I reach for it and notice a small letter ‘A’ is engraved where my fingers would hold it to write. The material shines in the light, glistening gold on the edges. I observe it and my emotions act before I can think, taking me back to a time before the pain.
“Ariadne,” my mom had called.
She’d been in her studio, at the desk with tons of information displayed across screens in front of her. I can remember arriving, my tiny lungs clawing for air as I gasped at her side.
“You didn’t have to run, honey.” She’d wiped my brow, trailing my face with her ever soft hands, except her fingertips, which were calloused from the amount of time she spent flipping through holograms, building encryptions, and decrypting information she found worthy. Her long black hair lay straight, always falling down, like a waterfall made of shadows, concealing all of her secrets.
“Do you want to learn something new today?” she’d asked after noticing my eyes lock onto the screen in front of her. Symbols and letters, flooded equations combined together to create the most intricate algorithms. I’d nodded. I was always ready to learn from my parents, always ready to be one step closer to living the way they did. She’d lifted me up onto her lap and that’s when I’d first noticed it: The gold lines traced the edges, and I was mesmerized. My hands had reached for the shiny pen when my mom’s landed on top of it.
“You’re not ready for that yet honey,” she’d said, one hand petting my head, correcting the loose strands of hair. “One day you will be. For now, let’s learn what a code is.”
“Mom.”
“Yes, it belonged to her,” Claire says.
Water wells behind my eyelids, stinging from my fight to hold them back, avoiding weakness.
“How—rather, why do you have it? I ask.
“Ariadne,” she starts.
My heart almost explodes from hearing my real name. Claire’s eyes bulge with raised brows as she whips her hand over her mouth. She lets the quiet fill the air and watches me intently, waiting for me to make my next move. I forfeit and let her speak.
“Sorry. I should have mentioned that I know your name.” She smiles.
“That would have been good to know.”
“I thought you would have recognized me. Well, then again, I suppose you were really young the last time we saw each other.”
She knows my full name. My heart slams against my chest, forcing my lungs to react and supply more air.
“Ariadne Young,” she says in confirmation, “I have that pen because my sister entrusted me with it, and ultimately, she wanted me to return it once you were ready.”
Her revelation makes my stomach clench, forcing bile to rise the length of my core. Every organ overworks to control the onslaught of revelations, making me feel dizzy and nauseous to the point where my mind fades in and out of blackness. I focus my breathing, forcing myself to remain calm. The emotions stir, but eventually I’m able to hold them at bay.
For now, I take each thing she said, one by one, and dissect them.
“Sister?” I ask.
“Yes. Adalina, your mother… We are—were sisters,” she responds. “I told you. I’m not a stranger; I’m your aunt.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t expect anything from you. I want you to listen.”
Her voice spews warmth. It’s inviting and nurturing. A complete contrast to the times she spoke prior to this conversation. She takes a step toward the holosphere and taps ‘Black Web’, making it flicker and activate. The letter ‘A’ replaces the Black Web logo and glows purple, pulsing like a small heartbeat. My suspicion ceases to exist. It’s the same symbol in my home. Every piece of technology I own has it. My mother’s calling card in a sense, her brand on everything she had a hand in.
“I can see you know the emblem,” Claire says.
I nod. My tension declines, and I start to relax. My lungs are operating at the same pace of my now normal heart rate. I place my staff back in its holster and hold the pen tight, as if it were my mother’s hand.
Again, Claire changes the holosphere. This time, files splatter like paint, suspended in the air. A slow rotation occurs, and hundreds, maybe thousands, of archives glow within the database. In the files, she finds photos, picking a few and enlarging them with a pinch of her fingers. They reveal her and my parents together at different events, smiling and being with each other. One reveals a small child in Claire’s arms, smiling with candy, looking like they’re having the time of their lives.
Another picture with the same child appears on the table and the child resembles me. My mom and dad hold them tight, confirming it. Love fills their youthful faces at the happiness etched on mine. I can’t be any older than five or six in the photos, as Claire continues to reveal more, one after the other until she stops at a video playback symbol.
The video starts at the tap of her finger. My parents surround me and appear to be showing me a device I can’t recognize. My young self’s attention quickly turns to a drone that flies overhead, prompting my small feet to chase it.
“Aria, come here. Aunt Claire has something for you,” my mother’s sweet voice echoes from the playback. Claire walks into the frame of the recording and hands my mom a device resembling Iris. They place it on my tiny wrist, and it slides off.
“She’ll grow into it,” Claire says.
They all laugh and take sips of their drinks, watching me play with the drone. The file closes from the swipe of Claire’s hand as she gently smiles. I fix my gaze on Iris with fresh eyes, and tears pool, dripping down my cheeks. I always thought it was a creation from my parents given to me as a child. The video doesn’t strike any memories of the moment, but in watching it and looking at Claire, I can’t help but feel like she’s telling the truth. There’s no denying I watched my parents and myself with Claire, happy. It makes me smile as I softly glide my hand over Iris, feeling the coolness of the titanium frame.
“Looks like a perfect fit now,” Claire says.
“It is,” I say. “It’s perfect.”
Claire’s face glows red and her eyes water as the light reflects, creating a bright shine.
“I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“Thank you. But I still have so many questions.”
“I’m sure you do. And I intend to answer them all. Let’s continue with Black Web. I’m sure that alone will answer quite a few.”
We exchange smiles as the holosphere vanishes back into the ground, allowing the table to rise back to its original position.
“First,” she says in a low voice, “there’s a matter I must attend to.”
I watch her face fade to solemnity.
“There will be a service for Trace. You’re welcome to join, if you’d like.”
The thought provokes an ache in my heart. As much as I cared about him, I don’t think I can be around a bunch of people he knew. Strangers to me, but friends to him. I’m not sure I’m ready to confront the things I wish I’d said to him or how unfair I was. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect the people I care about, and for some reason, I always fail.
But, given his act of saving my life, I owe him my presence at the service.
“Okay,” I say. “I’ll join.”
Claire gently smiles and leads me to the door. She stops abruptly and spins to face me. “I’m glad you’re here.”
The door hisses open before I can respond. We head toward the service as I find a way to bottle my aching emotions.
14
A hymn begins, low and soft.
The night sky adds to my dread as I slowly walk behind everyone else. The sound of low chants echo, creating a feeling I’ve never felt before.
I never got the chance to bury anyone I lost. They were all taken away by murder. My parents were incinerated after the invasion of our home. Wren, killed by an Enlightenment Agent to protect me.
With Trace, I now get to see someone honored in death.
From my place at the end of the line, dark robes walk in front of me. Heads tilt down as they slowly make their way toward large triangle doors.
We stop abruptly as Trace’s pod hovers at the front, splitting the line into two. It’s different from the pod I saw on the flar coming here. It’s silver with lines of blue trailing around the edges. It glows against the darkness like a light, trying to break through. Claire takes the lead of the lines, in front of the pod. A long black dress hangs off her shoulders with a silver veil covering her head. She raises a hand, prompting us to proceed.
A windless night is something I didn’t expect given the ruthlessness of the wind when we first arrived. The temperature has dipped, and I feel a chill along my spine. My breath escapes in a thick cloud, dissipating as I walk through it. My legs shiver from the lack of coverage and I wish I’d had a chance to go home before coming here.
“Thermal engaged, Ms. Young,” Amity says.
My suit ignites with soft heat sending a cold chill across my body. The warmth settles and I’m relieved.
“Thanks, Amity.”
“Anytime, Ms. Young.”
Another pyramid stands in front of us. It’s much smaller than the main facility and has a different aura about it. The jagged edges shaping the outside gives it a mysterious look. The angles of its sides create sharp lines trailing upward until reaching its peak. A golden light extends through the middle and out through the top. The base of it begins to glow as we approach. Stairs rise from beneath the sand, leading toward the large entrance, and with each step upward, the steps ignite in a vibrant gold.
The hymn grows louder as we reach the top. The voices are deeper, longer notes creating a flutter of longing in my heart. It brings me to think about the people I’ve lost, about Trace and how much I’d give to apologize. For not letting him in. For allowing him to step in front of me and die. I still don’t know why he did it. The sacrifice to keep me alive when he barely knew me makes guilt constrict my lungs.
One of the last things he said to me creeps into my mind.
Fate.
I’ve never been one to believe in it. My parents always taught me we make our own fate. As I grew older and witnessed countless prayers fall on the deaf ears of Gods, I came to the same conclusion as my parents. In this life, we do our best to survive and live with fate being brought upon us by our own actions. It is not predetermined, as most people believe.
After the war, most people abandoned their faith in God and looked for saviors elsewhere. Many crowned the Enlightenment with the title after they took control, not realizing the deadly effects of Nihilism. Some pursued the path of fate and others gave Scientology a massive boost in popularity. I, for one, have a strong hope for the universe and its ever-changing energies throughout the world.
