Reality Heist by Geordi Riker (e manga reader .txt) 📕

fill the page, more files about the Royal Squadron than anything else. Any other time, I would probably just click on one randomly, but the holograph shimmers again to refocus on the results of my search.

The keywords were “Magdalene Telemaris”.

It doesn't give me an estimated count of how many results, but there are over a hundred pages of files listed. I select the first one, which turns out to be a dud. The top five are all duds, mentioning her in passing, or making mention of the words “First Rank” or “Annihilation Squadron”.

Finally, I score a file titled “D12-9”. The highlighted text scrolls as my eyes pass over it. All I get is a few lines of text:

Shortly after the night of the birth of Vincent Telemaris as well as the assassination of Magdalene Telemaris, a rogue Lightning team infiltrated the Telemaris household and killed all that lived within the walls of the compound. It is yet to be determined if there are any survivors of the annihilation of the Telemaris clan, one of the remnants of the Dynasty of the Twelve Noble Houses.

I stare at the text, unblinking as I try to understand what it's saying. “Assassination?” I whisper, “If that's what happened, then who did that guy bring us to?”

I click on the link, but an error message pops up, declaring that the file no longer exists. Someone had just deleted it. I feel like kicking myself. If I hadn't waited, if I had just clicked the link, I could have found out more.

I think of another search key to try. Kay Nam Ish Limye. Fingers crossed that I spelled it right, I watch as the text shifts, most of the light disappearing, being replaced by a single line of text:

“Search Key Not Found. Please Refine Search.”

Sighing, I exit the Network. I have no idea whose database it is, but it's definitely connected to the Black. I shouldn't be spending so much time on it anyways.

My thoughts turn to Damien,  or Jinx as he wanted me to call him. How could he know if it all got better, and why make me think about if I'd really rather be home than here? The first part could be dismissed as his trying to comfort a kid he saw on the street. But not his question.

He wasn't a member of the Black, he was too casual, besides the fact that his Pressure was green, a lighter colour than Skip's. The guys have made it really obvious that the Black have black Pressure. So why would he ask me that?

I honestly want to go home. That's the obvious answer. So would he ask me?

Maybe there is a way to get home, but there were strings attached.

“Oi! Brandee, you in there?” Someone knocks on the door quietly.

Quickly, I turn off the tablet and tuck it under my arm. “Turn off the light and move quietly. We've got troubles on the border.”

I turn off the light and creak the door open, my eyes blinking in the sudden darkness. I peer up at Chase, who holds a finger to his lips. He has two bags on his shoulder. “The cops are onto us,” he whispers as an explanation.

The room is already empty, the beds made, the floor swept, with the food nowhere to be seen. It was as if we had never been there. Ky and Jesse are waiting by the door, out of sight of the window. We creep up to them, and Chase silently hands me my bag. I stuff the tablet into a pocket, wincing at the noise the zipper makes in the tense silence.

Red and blue lights dance off the walls, distorted by the window and their movement. We can hear footsteps softly thudding up the staircase, making their way down the balcony closer to our room.

Chase's head jerks up, and he taps Jesse and Ky on the shoulder and jerks a thumb at the wall behind us. They nod and move silently, slipping past us. I watch in amazement as they walk through the wall and disappear.

Chase grabs my shoulder and steers me after them. I stare at the solid wall in amazement. There's a spot roughly the height of a door, and just as wide that bubbles, as if there was a leak in the wall, right where Jesse and Ky walked through. Hesitantly, I start to reach for it, when Chase shoves me from behind into the wall. I flinch and close my eyes, expecting to slam into the wall.

Instead, I fall right through, stumbling over the baseboard. Hands catch me, and move me out of the way. Chase clears the wall, and Dutch steps away from where he was leaning against it.

“What the-”

“We'll explain once we get out of here,” Jesse whispers beside me. Dutch, Amaar, and Skip are already walking through the empty room, opening the door to walk out onto the balcony that overlooks some trees.

We slink down the stairs; Dutch, who had taken up the rear, taking some other route and beating us down. We slip into the forest, leaving the cops behind. Even in the cover of the shadows of the trees, we all flinch as we hear wood shatter and yells as the cops charge the empty room. The noise dies off as soon as it starts, as the cops realize that they just invaded two empty rooms. If the guys left the other room in the same condition as ours, it would look just as if no one had ever even gone in.

Ky's the first one to start laughing, the others soon joining in, except for Skip and me. “Man, I wish I could have seen the look on their faces,” Jesse hoots, “That would have been priceless.”

“We only have a slim lead on them,” Skip cuts in coldly, trying to cut the celebration short, “Let's try to get a little more distance between us and them before we break out the champagne.”

Dutch's face falls as he tucks a green bottle behind his back that he had been shaking. The cork pops, and everyone hears the foaming drink flow out to hit the ground. Chase and the rest keep on laughing, and Dutch takes a swig of the now-opened bottle.

Skip just shrugs it off. Chase punches him the arm, “Come on, Skip, we escaped death again. You know as well as the rest of us that we're way stronger out in the open air than anywhere else. I bet even Brandee could take them all on out here.”

“I don't even know what just happened!” I explode, “What was all that back there? Who were those guys? How'd we manage to walk through a wall?”

“That would be my doing,” Dutch grins proudly, “I can make things change state, so that they can become immaterial. As long as I focus long and hard enough, I can make it stay open enough for other people to use it too.”

“What about the cops? Why would they be coming after us with a SWAT team?”

“Actually, we have no idea.” Chase grins.

“How do you know they were after us?”

“I did a late night scan of people still awake,” he taps the side of his head, “Had trouble falling asleep after someone turned on their TV in the other room.”

“Apparently, they think we're terrorists,” Skip took up the tale.

Chase shoots him a dirty look, “After all the speeches you give me about messing with your head-”

“-you told all of this through the Link, you idiot.”

“And you have to go and steal my thunder by telling the one person who didn't know what was going on.”

“Spare me the theatrics. Anybody have the time?”

Amaar pulls out a gold pocket watch on a chain, “It's five thirty now.”

“Did you subtract the extra five minutes you placed on that thing so that you'd always show up on time?”

“Yes, Ky, I did. Don't worry, I make sure to keep the rest of you to your usual standards of time.”

“Good.”

“So they thought we were some sort of terrorists?”

Chase nods, “Yeah, might have had something to do with what happened earlier, when that cop  came up to you and tried to arrest ya.”

“So what now?”

“Now, we might as well get breakfast.”

“What do we do with all the food? Some of this can't be kept out of the fridge for more than a few hours in the middle of daytime.”

“Alright, we'll grab a bite to eat, split up, and Dutch and Ky can double back and take over that room we skipped through.”

“The seven of us in one room, Skip?” Jesse joins in, siding with Chase, “We got two separate rooms for a reason.”

“We'll only need one for  the day. We were planning on moving on from there by nightfall anyways.”

“Alright, back to the Trek Diner?” Jesse suggests sarcastically.

“No need for a meeting, so no. We split up now and go our own ways.”

“Alright, see y'all later,” Chase replies, already turning away.

“We're not seriously going to spend the entire day at the Smithsonian, are we?”

Chase grins, “We'll stop by there in the morning, grab a bus to the Library, and then head on right back.”

“Why not go to the library first?”

“Because I need to help Amaar get past security and insert him into the anthropology department working with the crystals. Amaar can't just talk his way through those kinds of things, can you?” he turns to Amaar, who's already dressed in a button-down shirt and horn-rimmed glasses.

he shakes his head ruefully, “Nope. Once in, I can handle it, but getting the door open is your specialty.”

An idea starts to form in my head. It'd be a good test run, but I don't say anything, just in case it doesn't work out too well. Besides, I'd be on a tight schedule.

This early in the morning, buses are just starting their routes. We sit separate from each other, as if we're strangers. I start reading the book again. When we pull over at the Smithsonian, only Jesse and me get off. I shoot Chase a confused look as the bus pulls away from the curve. He waves lightly as the bus returns to the mix of commuters.

“Why'd they stay on?”

“Because it'll look better on Amaar's part if he drives to work. Chase is going with to give the guy a blank piece of paper that will look like a cheque.”

“Yeah, well, it's not like Chase will be there for the job interview.”

“Nah, I think he plans to set it up so that all Amaar needs is some credentials.”

“So what are we supposed to do?”

“Sit on a bench and look homeless, I don't know.” He shrugs. “The preliminaries are all just sitting around and waiting.  They'll be back in an hour, when most of the employees start showing up. That'll be normal. It'd be kind of suspicious if he's just waiting outside the gates.”

I follow him to a bench near the entrance and pull out my tablet. “Holographic controls off,” I mutter loud enough for only the computer to hear the command.

I start tapping away, hooking up to the Internet. I don't know how else to hack into the system from here, especially when I don't have my Commodore or the place's phone number. Or access to a Smithsonian computer. An idea strikes me and I dig out a USB from a small pocket on the side of my bag that is chock full of them. I plug it into my tablet, and grin to see that it's completely blank.

“What'cha doing?”

I shove my book at him as I turn back to my hack of the Smithsonian. “I'm busy.”

“With what?”

“Stuff. Don't ask questions you don't want answers to.”

“Fair enough. Why'd you keep this dogma stuff anyways?”

“Because it's the only lit I've come into contact with since I started sliding. Sorry for being bored enough to read stuff. Now leave me alone.”

I open up my command prompt, and type in commands that to most people seem like gibberish, switching from my hack to the empty USB. Creating programs was something I