“What if this is worldwide?”
“What if the Thunderhead is dead?”
“What if we’re truly alone in the world now?”
There were people who were actually glancing at Loriana, as if she might lighten things with a silver lining.
“We’ll turn around,” blustered one of the agents – Sykora was his name – a small-minded man who had been a naysayer from the beginning. “We’ll go back and forget about this nonsense.”
It was Loriana who made the crucial observation as she looked at the blinking error screen.
“It says we’re thirty nautical miles from the nearest network buoy,” she said. “But they’re supposed to be twenty miles apart, aren’t they?”
A quick check of the buoy grid showed no signals. Which meant the Thunderhead had no presence in these waters.
“Interesting…” said Director Hilliard. “Good catch, Agent Barchok.”
Loriana wanted to preen from the praise but didn’t let herself.
Hilliard took in the uncharted waters ahead. “Did you know that the human eye has a huge patch of nothing just off the center of its field of vision?”
Loriana nodded. “The blind spot.”
“Our brains tell us there’s nothing to see there and fill in the blanks so we don’t even notice it.”
“But if the Thunderhead has a blind spot, how would it even know that it exists?”
Director Hilliard raised her eyebrows.
“Maybe someone told it…”
I continue to keep this journal, even though there is no need. A daily endeavor is difficult to break once it becomes engrained in who we are. Munira assures me that, come what may, she will find a way to slip this journal into the archive at the Library of Alexandria. That would be a first! A scythe who continues their dutiful journaling even after death.
We have been here at the Kwajalein Atoll for six weeks now, with no communication from the outside world. While I itch to hear news of Marie, and how she fared at the inquest on Endura, I cannot dwell on it. Either all went well, and she is presiding over MidMerica as High Blade … or it did not go her way, and our task becomes an even greater challenge. All the more reason to unlock the secret of the atoll and access the wisdom of the founding scythes. Their contingency plan for the scythedom’s failure, whatever it is, could be the only thing that can save it.
Munira and I have taken up residence in the bunker we found. We’ve also constructed a rudimentary canoe that is small enough to evade the island’s security system. It can’t go any distance, of course, but we’ve been using it to paddle out to the nearer islands of the atoll. We’ve been finding much the same there as we found here, evidence of earlier habitation. Concrete slabs, fragments of foundations. Nothing extraordinary.
We have, however, learned the original purpose of the place – or at least how it was used toward the end of the mortal age. The entire Kwajalein Atoll was a military installation. Not for the actual waging of war, but as a proving ground for emergent technologies. While some of the other nearby atolls were blasted with tests of nuclear weaponry, this atoll was used for the testing of rockets – as well as for the launching of spy satellites – some of which might even still be in the Thunderhead’s observational satellite network.
It’s obvious now why the founding scythes chose this place; it was already protected by layers of secrecy. Thus, with a foundation of shadow already in place, it made it easier to erase from the world completely.
If only we could access everything in the bunker, we might learn how the founding scythes repurposed this place. Unfortunately, we can’t get beyond the uppermost level. The rest of the installation is behind a door with double gem-locks that require two scythes – one standing on either side of the door – to open.
As for the island’s defense system, we don’t know how to disable it, but being very literally under the radar makes it a moot point. The problem is, now that we are here – whether we find anything or not – we cannot leave.
—From the “postmortem” journal of
Scythe Michael Faraday,
May 14th, Year of the Raptor
6
Fate of the Lanikai Lady
Far from feeling trapped, Munira found being on the atoll freeing. For a person with a penchant for archives, the bunker provided endless fodder for her imagination. Endless information to be sorted, organized, and analyzed.
In one of the closets, to Munira’s amazement, they found a robe that had belonged to Scythe Da Vinci – one of the twelve founders. She had seen pictures of his robes, all slightly different, but each featuring drawings done by the original Leonardo da Vinci. This one had the Vitruvian Man spread across it. When the scythe opened his arms, so would the Vitruvian Man. It was, of course, nowhere near the condition of the pristine robes that were enshrined in Endura’s Museum of the Scythedom – but even so, it was priceless, and would be the pride and joy of any collection.
Their mornings consisted of fishing and gathering food. They’d even begun tilling and planting seeds to create a garden, just in case they were marooned there long enough to harvest. Some days they would paddle out to search the outlying islands of the atoll. Other days were spent studying the records they found in the bunker.
Faraday was less interested in the mortal-age records than he was trying to get through that steel door that had been locked by the founding scythes.
“If the Israebian scythedom had ordained me instead of denying me,” Munira quipped, “I could have opened those doors with you, because I’d have my own ring.”
“If you had become a scythe, you wouldn’t even be here, because I would never have met you at the Alexandria Library,” Faraday pointed out. “No doubt you’d be out there gleaning like the rest of us, and trying to quell your troubled sleep. No, Munira, your purpose was not to be a scythe. It was to save the scythedom. With me.”
“Without a second ring, we can’t make much progress, Your Honor.”
Faraday smiled and shook his head. “All this time, and it’s still ‘Your Honor.’ I’ve only heard you call me Michael once – and that was when you thought we were about to die.”
Ah, thought Munira. He remembers that. She was both embarrassed and pleased.
“Familiarity might be … counterproductive,” she said.
His grin grew wider. “You think you’ll fall for me, you mean?”
“Maybe it’s the other way around, and I’m afraid you’ll be the one who falls for me.”
Faraday sighed. “Well, now you’ve got me in a bind. If I say I won’t fall for you, then you’ll be insulted. But if I say I might, then we’re in an uncomfortable place.”
She knew him well enough to know that he was just being playful. So was she.
“Say what you like – it won’t matter,” Munira told him. “I’m not attracted to older men. Even when they’ve turned a corner and set their age down, I can always tell.”
“Well, then,” said Scythe Faraday, the grin never leaving his face. “Let’s agree that our relationship will remain as castaway co-conspirators on a noble quest for grand answers.”