act47side

Sorry, I'm late. I was busy today.

Mercia, please...

I must... remember...

Your situation is unusual.

Your memories are like wilted leaves hanging from withered branches. Wiping away the dust might restore some sheen, but if you press too hard, you'll only damage them further.

By all rights, I should not even touch them. If not for...

Sorry, Madam Væla.

I must... know. I must... remember.

Your memories since leaving your homeland have not been happy ones. However, if you insist... close your eyes, and we'll try again.

Mercia puts her old projector on the table with some effort.

Her fingers glide as glass slides drop into the slot, and the aging Banshee becomes covered in an unfamiliar scene.

I remember... this place.

Leithanien?

She... mentioned it.

The spire... shackles... blood.

Slowly, indistinct memories begin to diffuse on the backdrop cast by the projector. Mercia can identify an elderly figure shackled by the wall, as robed figures come and go.

The smell of blood, a terrifying melody, the marks of Arts.

A Leithanian spire. Were you imprisoned there... as a test subject?

You would have been buried beneath the tomes of the spire casters, if not for the aid of a Lich.

The Ecclesia Requietum in the Holy City. You were in the funeral procession? For kindred who have wandered afar... or the foe of your clan?

But the angels didn't like it, did they? They want laughter at their funerals... not wailing.

You were almost arrested by the Pontifica Cohors.

You came to Columbia... through the frontiers? Even... the Bleached Wasteland?

The wind-blasted land which not even beasts dare to tread?

And finally... you came here.

Why Propeller Paradise in particular? What did you come looking for...?

Here... there is a tree here.

The tree here is wilting... decaying.

Wilting, decaying.

I see.

We have a Vivarium here, and a terrible accident just happened in it—wilt and decay, as you say.

The master of the Vivarium...

She's a Banshee too.

Do you know this thing?

The bone pen that caused the disaster at the Vivarium, which was later confiscated by Gordon Tannen, now lies in Mercia's hand, white and innocent.

...Her.

I sense... her presence.

You came to look for someone.

I want... I want to see her.

No need to crouch so low, Oakley. The Arts unit on your back is slipping.

This is Rhine Lab's underground passage. The walls could have nano-monitors listening to us!

Besides, we have to worry about Propeller Paradise's warning system too... why do we have to avoid the police, if we're doing this for Tannen?

Do you think he trusts many of his subordinates?

Hm...

Even the elevator guard could be a pair of eyes for some big shot. If anything goes wrong, the trouble could go way further than just a few boxes of contraband.

So the two of us, being outsiders with no such interests in this, ended up being the best choice to 'dispose of' his stuff?

Yes.

But there is something I haven't been able to figure out.

What is it?

You got someone to do your job, and you got someone to meet them on the other side. Why not just lie down in your office, pet your finbeast, and put on some jazz?

Aren't you worried about getting yourself in trouble if you're on the scene—sir?

I came to see my little darlings off!

What is it?

Quit fidgeting! You almost hit the wall with the Arts recreation unit! I told you to treat it nicely, like your life depends on it!

Yeah, I remember.

You'd better remember what you said too, if we deliver your darlings safely and keep our mouths shut—

Then we're square.

Great!

Don't let your guard down. Nasti has refused to leave the Vivarium. She's continuing her research in the middle of a roomful of failures, pulling all-nighters.

So she's right above us? I think I hear her footsteps...

Don't worry, Mercia will take care of her.

Merry? Merry!

...Yes, Mr. Tannen, I hear you.

What's going on there? If something goes wrong, you've GOT to keep Nasti distracted, whatever it takes.

Don't worry, sir.

It was my negligence that allowed the accidents to happen...

I'll keep a close eye on Director Lunorey and ensure she leaves the Rhine Vivarium, buying as much time for you as possible.

Very good.

See? Even Merry steps up her game when it matters most.

You two had better do the same. We're almost at the exit.

Yessir.

Ferne has a keen sense of hearing.

There is a risk that you will be exposed. Do you need the Emergency Management Council to intervene?

There are better ways to use the Maylander name. No need to worry about me; being Mr. Tannen's secretary makes an excellent cover.

Report.

Bravo's intel is that the Rhine technical staff have evacuated the experiment zone. Director Lunorey and her aide are the only ones who currently access this site. However...

She spends an inexplicable amount of time here.

...Yes.

Apologies are in order. As members of your squad, we should have trusted your judgment. It does seem that Rhine Lab might be hiding something under the exhibition hall.

No need to apologize. My mission was to monitor the tech firms.

What about Director Lunorey, if we need to perform further investigation?

I have a plan. We'll have at least twenty minutes if everything goes well.

I prepared a gift that she can't refuse.

Whoa!

Again.

Is this the system that the Vivarium and floating botanical units run on?

I knew the Banshees were good at manipulating objects from a distance, but to abandon sound as the medium, sealing incantations inside the module and repairing flaws through self-cycling... this is a revolutionary innovation!

If it's all incantation-driven...

You should stop reading purely speculative papers.

Most people don't know much about the Banshees. I understand they rarely leave the valley of Convallis...

Did you live there before coming to Columbia?

My first memories are of Kazdel. I was later adopted by one of my kin and taken to the Convallis.

What kind of place is it?

A peaceful, beautiful place.

The riverbanks are covered in grass and shrubs. The flowers never wilt and the fruit never falls. Not even rain disturbs its tranquility, much less Catastrophe.

Why did you leave, then?

Who could it be, at this hour?

D-Director! Over here!

Is this your bone pen?

...Part of it.