Rain Harlow
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Chapter 19
🕑 Added 2025-04-05 15:00:09 +0000 UTCChapter 19: A Brand New Order
After they got moving again, Jack asked, “Is she still alive? Whirler. Whoever she was in real life.”
“Yep! Just super old. Totally retired. I think she’s a big gardener. Doesn’t involve herself anymore.”
“I like that some do that. I hope she’s happier now. Chromey seemed to get more somber later on, too. Like his real face left the joy with the mask. Same face, but… not.”
“I guess that’s what politics does. He stretched himself thin, being both a general and public liaison. His last few years were absent, though. He withdrew, though unofficially. Deteriorating health, I think.”
“It’s too bad. But everyone knows he was dedicated.”
“The public info is on target for once, there. He was more business-like in private. Intimidating without even trying. Always busy. But anyone you ask, I think they’d tell you he was a great guy.”
“Wish I could’ve met him.”
“Yeah,” Lindsay replied sympathetically. “I feel honored I got to. Took a picture, too!”
“Be sure to send it to me.”
“You bet!”
“Which was Chromey, by the way? A Mantle, I guess?”
“What? Oh! No, the first generations aren’t any of them. Didn’t exist. The second generation on, for the Halls. And back then, it was really small. Tiny. You’ll notice the photos of Whirler’s era aren’t too varied. Everybody knew each other back then.”
“Huh. Alright, then.”
They walked past more iconography, art, and enshrined items — What is a teacup doing here? — as it continued, apparently descending by generation. Jack eyed it, wondering just how many of the contributors were still alive, young or not.
It’s a memorial for the older gens. Bright points of a life cut short. Felt all the deeper for their rarity, I imagine.
Finally, the displays got sparse and then just ended, still with plenty of hallway left. Jack gave a brief chuckle. “Here’s where we come in, I guess?”
“Where you come in. It’s never too early to plan for it! After all, you’ll graduate in two shakes, won’t you?”
“Yes, I will. Let me guess — you have a huge section already filled for yourself in your neck of the hall?”
“You know me so well already, Jack! I’ll expect you to go and check it out, too. Soon.”
Jack laughed and shook his head. “As the taskmistress commands.”
The rest of the hallway was quite a walk, as if to say that many more generations were expected. Finally, a grand spill opened up, the walkway continuing on that minimal curve, but to their left was a huge pantomime of being ‘outside’ presented on a platform. A gold-brick path cut through a gentle earthen slope of perfectly cut grass and passed under many rows of flagstaffs. It looked like every participating faction of humanity was represented there. It led to a circular fountain with another statue of the titular figure of the place holding a guitar.
Beyond this, at the top of a slight hill, was a school grounds interspersed with shrubbery and trees. There was one building, three stories, rustic but stylized by an aesthetically precise architect. It was something like a manor house with two diagonally-flaring wings. It had stone supports but prominent wood paneling with a ‘southwestern’ feel. It could’ve been a ‘mayor’s mansion’ in a Western flick. But there was also a prominent decorative bell tower in the center, carefully cultivated to look like an Old World relic, giving it more of a scholastic feel.
A breeze could be felt, obviously from a hidden air current generation. At the moment, the grounds as a whole were rather impressively mood-lit and overall dark, but Jack was certain the great dome over the hill would spill bright, natural light in the morning.
“Well!” Jack exclaimed as he took it all in. “I was expecting something way more claustrophobic than this. It’s beautiful. Quaint.”
Lindsay sighed longingly. “Yeah, it sure is. I miss this so much. Arcadia is similar in layout, just more decorative and elegant. This is bare bones in comparison, but it’s nice enough. You gotta see ours sometime.”
“The list only gets longer of things you’ll make me see, huh?”
She flashed a smile back at him. “Damn right! Hey, it’s not every day I mentor a newbie, especially one who can appreciate things, and here I get to do it on the job! Totally going to show off everything.”
“How many students are here?”
“Seventy-four with you. It’s currently configured to house a hundred. Might expand in the coming years. Population growth is being tapered, but not hard-tapered. The numbers will continue to grow.”
They passed under the lightly blowing flags, the final four including the black coat symbol of the Linewalkers, the winged sun of Babylon, and the mushhushshu dragon of the Exemplars — the ‘Mems’ in general. Jack studied the last as the wind caught it, and it recalled to him the old motto. The supposed motto, anyway. It was chanted to him by a young man who was badly poisoned and was hysterically amused by a certain ‘irony’ contained in it.
The head of a snake to gaze,
The legs of a lion to run,
The claws of an eagle to grasp,
And a scorpion stinger for fun!
Jack had a faint, bittersweet grin. Pretty damn badass, bud.
The other flag of the four was the ‘Earth flag’ — whenever he saw it, it made him feel a certain way. Philosophical, maybe. The power of symbols. It showed the map of the world as it once was, with the continents whole and unwarped. When humanity covered the face of it and dominated with conventional technology — supposedly, even beyond the Earth, with satellites and stations in orbit. A moon base. The only ‘enemies’ were one faction’s rival or another’s. Somehow, they kept it together. Until the end, anyway.
Curiosity did the deed, according to legend. They poked where they shouldn’t in the exploration of ‘beyond’ and it poked back — much harder. Or like Icarus, their wings burnt up too up close and personal with it. Only, if so, the sun didn’t stop there, sending its burning further down. It wasn’t until civilization was underground and hanging by a thread that the survivors finally ‘massaged’ things correctly, by the examples of their enemies. Adaptation and reverse engineering, which produced Memoria. Almost too late, but not quite.
Icarus died, but new gods were born. Not only did they not hang up their wings, they flew higher than ever and harnessed their own fire in contention with the old gods.
I guess it remains to be seen whether it's enough.
They passed beyond the flags and angled around the fountain, avoiding the front entrance entirely, headed to the right, from Jack’s perspective.
“This is the Chess Wing, named for the tiles inside,” Lindsay declared. “Boys' rooms. You’re not technically banned from the Star Wing, which is the girls' area. In any case, we don’t do roommates. You have your own room and so does everyone else. Bathroom, too. The subway is underneath the school. If you’re the only one taking it, don’t sweat it, that’s perfectly fine. It’s made to handle a lot or a little. It leaves seven minutes after noon on class days for the mess hall. Noon is the only time you’ll hear that bell outside of special events. Most people go for a provided lunch credit. Dinner is your own business, but you can go there. Pretty popular for that, too. It’s like a food court, I guess? Variety. Some places are always open.”
At the far end of the wing, they approached some big, wooden double doors in between orderly hedge rows. Jack saw a curtain from a window flash with movement before the angle blocked the view.
My arrival has been noted.
“Any division to cadets with the stories, here?” Jack asked.
“Yeah, the younger ones are usually up top, older at the bottom, and meeting in the middle by age. Hypothetically. Some refuse to move for status. Unsurprisingly, you’ve got a floor-level room.”
“Right.” As they approached closer to the door, Jack saw it had an old-school handle to pull out, so he rushed over to get it before the quick-paced Lindsay did.
Lindsay was amused as she walked through. “Old-fashioned, are we?”
“Blame my upbringing. Not that you mind.” He followed after her into a more temperature-controlled hallway, dimly but functionally lit from above, with rows of doors quickly evident to either side.
“Did you read my body language for that determination, Jack?”
“I did, yeah. Partially.”
She glanced back at him. “And the rest is assuming I don’t mind being pandered to, being a pampered woman of fine tastes?”
Jack grinned and shrugged helplessly without answering. In his state, he knew opening his mouth would put his foot in it.
Lindsay smirked and shook her head, turning back around. “Suite four is yours, right over here, Gentleman Jack.” She led him the rest of the way, outpacing him slightly as he took stock of the area. She planted herself next to the door and turned around, still holding her tablet in her arm like a near-permanent feature, standing straight and proper as always — the very picture of a studious military clerk.
The inside of the building was like the outside — sturdy, quaint, somewhat understated, and heavily contoured with wood, including the floors. There were benches and small tables with lamps in between the room doors. He noticed an alcove that must lead to stairs halfway down the hall. A flash of movement, clearly a head that retracted after peeking.
I bet it’s the curtain-rustler being curious again.
Right next to his door, ‘six’ opened up suddenly, and a shirtless, bald man walked out just as Jack was passing. His skin was chalk white and especially opaque, covered in inky black tattoos of endless variety. He was fit, muscular, and hairless. His eyes were solid black, absent of a visible iris or pupil.
It was a little bit shocking to almost bump into the imposing figure, but Jack managed to simply upnod when their eyes — maybe — met. “Hey there, bud. How’s it hangin’?” He tried not to wince at himself for the stupid, near subconsciously-produced line.
There was no sign the man was startled, but he did pause to regard Jack. There was a very uncomfortable split moment in time where he stared. And then he muttered gruffly, “A little to the left. You?”
“Same.” And that was that as he passed by.
As he came to his door, Lindsay was smiling politely. “Your room door can only be opened from the outside by you — normally. Close your hand over this lovely bronze handle and it will unlock, or you can remotely unlock it through your interface and it’ll open with a push. It locks automatically and seals when closed. There is a doorbell, a triggerable speaker, and a sliding, one-way viewport, all sophisticatedly discreet. Shall we?”
Jack nodded and put his hand on the handle, hearing and feeling a click, and then he pushed it to swing open smoothly. Lindsay darted inside.
Jack spared a last glance back the way he came and saw the shirtless guy still watching with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, hand re-pocketing the pack into loose-fitting athletic pants. Jack nodded to him and went inside.
Before he closed the door, he heard the man shout, “Get your scrawny ass back in bed right now, Augur! Don’t make me come up there!” This was closely correlative to a squeak and the faint sound of feet scrambling up steps.
Jack winced as the door closed, locked, and made a definitive sealing sound. “Okay, tell me the rooms are soundproof. Otherwise, he just woke up the neighborhood.”
Lindsay smiled. “That they are, Jack. There’s a very secure, hard encasing around these rooms, with special windows — which can also be shuttered. It’s even sensitive to attempts at power intrusion. An alarm will sound. Mostly to dissuade foolish young cadets from eavesdropping and hearing things they shouldn’t. It nips the temptation in the bud. Privacy is critical so you can utilize these rooms for secure conversations of mutual clearance. These sorts of places are everywhere we go, just about. Conference rooms that seal in that definitive way you just heard, for example.”
Jack looked around, mystified as she spoke. Marveled. It was far nicer and way bigger than his minimalist, budget apartment. That he could even live on his own instead of with roommates per SH — Standard Housing — was due to a small stipend from his military honors. Now he had a presentable living-dining room combo, with a big, plush couch, love seat, chairs, a four-seater dining set, a kitchen with a lot of counter space, expensive rugs, attractive lamps… a huge vidscreen on the wall.
Silently, Jack walked around Lindsay, over to the coffee table and picked up the controller, clicking the vidscreen on. He recognized the show playing immediately — ‘Crime Costs, Justice Pays,’ the classic, gazillion-seasons-long crime drama. Some coppers were arguing with a lawyer in an office. He hated the show, so he started flipping through channels.
“Well,” Lindsay said, voice tinged in amusement, “I can see you and your room need some alone time. That’s totally understandable! If you need me, call. You can also look up many questions you might have via your interface or by summoning a Memorial Daughter. If you need things from your prior abode, we need a list and permission to retrieve them. You’ll find that form through your interface, too. Just — please, for me, for you — make it to the bed tonight. You need proper rest.”
“Okay,” Jack muttered, his eyes straying from the screen to the tantalizing view of the kitchen and the hallway leading to the bedroom, to the comfy, cushy recliner chair that seemed to be whispering his name in competition with the couch. “I, uh… I’m not sure…” Jack plopped into the recliner, leaned back, and sighed. Then he noticed a flap on the chair arm. There were controls under there! It was a massage chair! “Nope. That does it. I’m never leaving this place, Lindsay.”
She put a fist on her hip and cocked her head sideways, looking at him in amused incredulity. “Come on, it’s not that great! A bit spartan, really.”
It was Jack’s turn to stare incredulously. “You’re insane.”
Rolling her eyes, Lindsay finally shrugged. “Just wait until I show you the potential plans for your new house that you are entitled to and can afford when it’s time to graduate out of here. Or condo — whatever you prefer. You think I’m a privileged rich girl? Welcome to the damn club, bucko!”
Jack couldn’t even process the idea of owning a house, so his brain simply dodged and discounted it as nothing that could feasibly occur. “If there’s anything I know I’ll never be, Lindsay, it’s a privileged rich girl. Hate to break it to ya.”
Lindsay rolled her eyes in the other direction and added a piteous, pained moan to boot, turning around in the process. “You are such a dork, Jack. I’m getting out of here before your dorkiness infects me.”
“Fair enough, but I think the symptoms are inevitable considering you’re stuck with me for what, months?”
“Hey, I’m the doctor here, so don’t diagnose me — layman!” She exited through the door. Before she closed it behind her, she called, “Remember to rest, Jack. That’s an order!”
Jack chuckled after she left. However ‘assigned’ she was, he found it impossible to deny they had a natural rapport. He’d bet a fat stack she had an older brother or two — at the very least. That or she had an adopted family she was a lovable brat to. He was a certain target of ‘guns and ammo’ that she would only have to point and fire at all if she had someone like that in her life already.
Weird how I think of myself as older, yet she is. Except in literal, physical maturity. Slowed aging certainly confuses things. They’ll all feel even younger to me than they are. Old Man Jack at twenty-five. Come on, man…
Jack flipped through various entertainment channels. A century of restored or made-up content. Mostly the latter as far as he knew. It was said almost nothing digital had survived, making the newer ages before the apocalypse rarer to see. It reminded him of what ‘Boss Lady’ Memoria had said about physical media. Some of the old movies were authentic restorations, and most were extrapolated creations off of fragments and damaged goods.
Mankind had been pursued for annihilation through multiple generations of survivors and preservers, and barely escaped with a tiny pocket to build off of, much less all of their cultural artifacts. Jack imagined that what survived was a bit happenstantial to what was fled with to the last bastion in Antarctica.
Jack’s eyes quickly stopped seeing the vidscreen as his eyes drooped, exhaustion tightening its grip with the relaxation afforded by the chair. He had a thought about ‘resting his eyes’ briefly before conking out.
He was awoken with a start by the doorbell sounding. Woozy with sleepiness, he dragged himself up and over to the door and opened it. Then he looked down and blinked.
The thin figure of a boy of maybe twelve was there, though his skin was pitch black, his eyes a gleaming red and yellow mix with a cat-like pupil, and his ears were long, jutting out, and pointed. He had a white shock of disheveled hair, and a rat-like tail swayed behind him. Otherwise, he was dressed in white pajamas and barefoot.
Jack blinked and squinted through his sleepiness, not entirely sure he wasn’t dreaming up the existence of the imp before him.
And then the impish boy smiled awkwardly and put his clawed hand up in a stiff greeting of sorts. It was more like a tiger baring fangs than a smile — or a tiger cub, perhaps. “I wanted to be the first to welcome you,” the boy whispered in a child-like voice with a slurred enunciation. “Hi. Welcome to Everywhere Hall. I’m Junior Agent Augur.”
Jack slowly held his hand up, still blinking. “Hi. I’m Jack.”
“Yes — Jack Laker, no handle. You’re on the books. Unusual not to have a handle by now. May I come in? Briefly, I promise.” His eyes flashed leftward, with some nervousness, his tail flicking around.
“Uh. I guess? I better check.” He formed a mental voice and asked ‘Mini,’ “So is this okay or…?”
“Of course it is, Jack,” Mini returned. “Just mind your clearance. You are not allowed to talk about your unusual circumstances and the like with this one. If you’re unsure, check with me. We’ll play red light, green light.”
“Okay then. What’s his age, by the way?”
“Fourteen. He’s something of a developmental prodigy. That’s among the youngest ever to progress in levels. Most find it much harder as they’re still growing, and he even had these physical side-effect mutations that most would find traumatic. He adapted quickly.”
Jack didn’t reply to this, instead nodding to Augur and gesturing for him to come in. To this, Augur reacted immediately, darting and twisting inside deftly. Jack closed the door behind him.
“Thank you,” Augur offered in full, squeaky volume. “Now I can stop whispering.” He looked around and nodded approvingly at the room, his hands going behind his back in a pantomime of an adult of some authority. In pajamas. “I trust you’re finding your accommodations satisfactory?”
Jack suppressed a grin as he nodded and walked back over to his recliner. “Have a seat if you like.”
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