Falling Toward the Stars

            They were called the Lost Ones. The psychological profile, as Milton read it, appeared to be all about disempowerment. The average person did not simply get the offer, go off and become one of these things. Most were traumatized in some way, often quite horrifically, and whoever made them into these things preyed on this. They had a thick file on Aragoth, he of the blue suit. He’d been born in Fealdoraga, down on the southern tip of Elderland. His parents were killed in a Red Sails raid and he was taken by the ship’s crew. It seemed the captain had held a special interest in the young boy – whose name had been Hundé. The story had a twist, though. The ship ran aground on a small island in the Selatian Sea two months after the boy was taken. Rescuers found a lot of dead bodies on that ship, all of whom had been killed with some sort of bladed weapon, and many of whom had human teeth marks on their corpses. Hundé was nowhere to be seen. Then, in 473…

            Milton looked up from the file. “Wait a minute. Aragoth is over six hundred years old?”

            Tessa nodded. “Honestly, the more I learn about the universe, the more I realize how brief our visits are. To me, the place I was born feels buried in the fog of history, yet to one of these things, I only just left.” She leaned against the window of the train compartment, wistfully watching the moon rise.

            Milton realized he had been staring at her. She was, in many ways, just as much of a mystery as this Aragoth. Tessa Olanis – a pseudonym, he was sure. Perhaps he had spent too much time out of the company of women – disregarding the Thin Woman, of course – but there was something about Tessa that made him feel far less uncomfortable than he had been in the presence of the Diplomat.

            He realized this could very well be by design. The comfort brought on its own new discomfort.

            The details on Aragoth were staggering. The House was thorough to an absurd degree. The process by which he had become what he had become, however, was somewhat hazy. It appeared that, consistent with all of the Lost Ones, he had merely disappeared and come back days later, the only noticeable differences being that he no longer had any color to him, and that he had become a monster.

            The journey, which was only about eighteen miles, was delayed by a rockslide. It seemed a boulder had fallen onto the track, and while the conductor had announced that the track was undamaged, removing the rock was proving difficult.

            Upon hearing the announcement, Tessa reached a small brass earpiece hidden underneath her hair. After receiving what appeared to be some kind of radio signal, she nodded to herself, satisfied, and went back to looking out the window.

            Milton put down the file. “What is the plan here?”

            She looked back at him. “The plan? We’re going to Towatki.”

            “I appreciate that, but what are we actually going to do once we get there? The Diplomat told me…”

            “The Diplomat?” Tessa furrowed her brow. “Who is that?”

            “I thought he was your boss. Isn’t he the one who sent you to get me?”

            Tessa shook her head. “No. I’ve never heard of the Diplomat. Probably someone low-level, on another chain.”

            “Then who is your boss?”

            Tessa smiled. “I actually cannot tell you that.”

            “You can’t?”

            “Policy.”

            “I’m under your protection. I doubt that you people think I’m a threat.”

            “No, you don’t understand. I don’t know who my boss’ boss is. My boss does not know who his boss’ boss is. That’s the way the House works.”

            “Seriously?”

            “Yes. If an Agent is compromised, their superior can simply drop out. Everyone is isolated, so there’s very little risk of a major compromise.”

            Milton idly picked up the file. “That’s insane. So every order is one massive game of telephone?”

            “Orders are given in somewhat broad strokes. If one of the higher-ups needs something specific done, the orders are transmitted word-for-word.”

            “How do you even know that you’re getting orders from the actual House then?”

            Tessa shrugged. “Faith, I guess.”

            Milton shook his head. “You must be joking.”

            Tessa drew backward, sitting up a little straighter. “You’re Narcian, so you believe in Kerahn, right?”

            “I believe in the philosophy. I’ve never met the guy personally.”

            “But you follow his teachings because he’s your god.”

            Milton shook his head. “Not at all. I agree with the teachings because they make sense. It really just boils down to being open-minded and treating people decently. I wouldn’t care if it was a god or just some guy who said that.”

            “But that’s just it. That’s your faith. You’re so devoted that you would not even care if it were actually the words of a god. Understand this: I’ve been a part of the House for nearly my entire life. It has given me the comfort and safety that I could have never dreamed of. I have faith in the House for the same reason I have faith that I won’t fall into the sky if I look up at the stars.”

            Milton nodded. He had never considered the kind of religious devotion required of a House Agent, yet there it was. He did not know whether to find it sad or frightening.

            “I will say this,” began Milton, but then he reconsidered and stopped himself. Tessa leaned forward.

            “What?”

            “Tessa, do you know why I’m here?”

            “I was told you had been taken out of Narcia by Aragoth’s people.”

            “They took me, but they didn’t just let me go. They tortured me for… months, I think. I’d heard of the House before, but never good things. But it was the Diplomat who saved me. If it hadn’t been for him, I would have ended up…” Insane, he thought. But that would require too much explanation, so instead he simply said “dead.” The mere thought of his experience down in the cell was almost physically painful. “In a sense, I owe him my life. Yet… yet I still don’t trust him. I don’t trust the House.”

            “And you don’t trust me,” said Tessa, with a hidden but not unnoticed hint of anger.

            “It’s nothing personal, Tessa.”

            She leaned back against the train wall, pulling her legs up onto the seat. “So what can I do to gain your trust, Jack?”

            Milton looked down at the file in his hand. “I want to see the file you guys have on the faceless man.”

(Copyright Daniel Szolovits 2012)