and rummage through my splintered memories of you for some guidance. I've been cowering from the lashes of my own personal tyrant and blaming others for my suffering, the Unification, the Ministry, the GHU, and especially Father. I've been romanticizing places and people and things from the past and ignoring my role in the present. I can feel that Eli is pulling away. She sees me seduced by the charm of the archives and is becoming careless with her guard, downplaying the urgency of her health scan, plotting to attend an illegal daze, and vulnerable to the questionable motives of a peculiar stranger.
While Eli sat locked in her catalepsy, Stitch offered to gather her things which had randomly scattered during the fall. I watched as he brushed off each item and carefully placed it back into her bag, pausing for a moment as he read the letterhead on a slippad. Before he could flip past the first slip, I pretended that I heard something rustling further down the building and told him to hurry, so that we could attend to my "cousin", who was still suspended somewhere in her head. He hesitated at first, most likely questioning the truth of my observation, then promptly picked up the remaining bits before handing the heap over to me. I could sense a mutual distrust tainting the space between us, a distrust which would best be dealt with under more favorable circumstances, so I let the exchange pass and redirected my attention to Eli.
It took repeated reassurances from both Stitch and me to drag her back from whatever horrid place her mind was visiting and convince her arms to drape our shoulders as we eased her up the steps and into the corridor. The young girl had not moved, and to my surprise, nor had anyone moved her. The campus protectors were nowhere to be found. Hadn't they heard the scream? the voices? the confrontation? It's as if none of this had actually happened. They had not strayed from their routine, patrolling the deserted halls of the buildings around us. But the evidence lay at our feet and around our shoulders, and now that I knew Eli was alive, albeit shaken, I was secretly grateful for our mysteriously enduring good fortune, almost as if someone were watching us and keeping us safe.
Eli had regained control of her body by the time we reached the child and was frantically motioning me to hand over her satchel, as she fell to her knees and started to tremble. As Stitch and I competed for her arms, trying to help her back up, she brushed us aside and reached for the blanket obscuring the girl's face. The lingering weakness in her limbs caused her to buckle, but the pressing need to disprove her suspicions overruled. With the gentle stroke of one hand she slid the girl's hair away from her delicate forehead, and with the other, slowly tugged on the blanket obscuring her face to reveal the unspoiled features of an innocent child. Suddenly, as if stung by a knockout stick, she sprang forcefully backwards and looked up at us, wide-eyed yet sad.
She scoured the contents of her sack, oblivious to our dismal attempts at extracting her thoughts. Even the alarming signs of someone's impending approach failed to distract her from her task as I pleaded with her to cover our tracks and flee. Stitch stood weighing the options and battling with his own crazed conclusions. Evidently the only one who grasped the severity of our situation, I grabbed Eli by the armpits, pulled her up to her feet, flung her bag over my shoulder and ran straight down the path pointing out of the sector, leading my straggling companions away from the suspicious scene.
After we had reached the back of the sector, facing the northwest branch of Van Billund Hall, we encountered a snag between us and our final destination. The patrol schedule along the west side, where the entrance lay, was not amenable to unannounced visitors, especially one with a fresh wound on her head. As I dragged the others behind the shelter of a hedge, I reached inside for
While Eli sat locked in her catalepsy, Stitch offered to gather her things which had randomly scattered during the fall. I watched as he brushed off each item and carefully placed it back into her bag, pausing for a moment as he read the letterhead on a slippad. Before he could flip past the first slip, I pretended that I heard something rustling further down the building and told him to hurry, so that we could attend to my "cousin", who was still suspended somewhere in her head. He hesitated at first, most likely questioning the truth of my observation, then promptly picked up the remaining bits before handing the heap over to me. I could sense a mutual distrust tainting the space between us, a distrust which would best be dealt with under more favorable circumstances, so I let the exchange pass and redirected my attention to Eli.
It took repeated reassurances from both Stitch and me to drag her back from whatever horrid place her mind was visiting and convince her arms to drape our shoulders as we eased her up the steps and into the corridor. The young girl had not moved, and to my surprise, nor had anyone moved her. The campus protectors were nowhere to be found. Hadn't they heard the scream? the voices? the confrontation? It's as if none of this had actually happened. They had not strayed from their routine, patrolling the deserted halls of the buildings around us. But the evidence lay at our feet and around our shoulders, and now that I knew Eli was alive, albeit shaken, I was secretly grateful for our mysteriously enduring good fortune, almost as if someone were watching us and keeping us safe.
Eli had regained control of her body by the time we reached the child and was frantically motioning me to hand over her satchel, as she fell to her knees and started to tremble. As Stitch and I competed for her arms, trying to help her back up, she brushed us aside and reached for the blanket obscuring the girl's face. The lingering weakness in her limbs caused her to buckle, but the pressing need to disprove her suspicions overruled. With the gentle stroke of one hand she slid the girl's hair away from her delicate forehead, and with the other, slowly tugged on the blanket obscuring her face to reveal the unspoiled features of an innocent child. Suddenly, as if stung by a knockout stick, she sprang forcefully backwards and looked up at us, wide-eyed yet sad.
She scoured the contents of her sack, oblivious to our dismal attempts at extracting her thoughts. Even the alarming signs of someone's impending approach failed to distract her from her task as I pleaded with her to cover our tracks and flee. Stitch stood weighing the options and battling with his own crazed conclusions. Evidently the only one who grasped the severity of our situation, I grabbed Eli by the armpits, pulled her up to her feet, flung her bag over my shoulder and ran straight down the path pointing out of the sector, leading my straggling companions away from the suspicious scene.
After we had reached the back of the sector, facing the northwest branch of Van Billund Hall, we encountered a snag between us and our final destination. The patrol schedule along the west side, where the entrance lay, was not amenable to unannounced visitors, especially one with a fresh wound on her head. As I dragged the others behind the shelter of a hedge, I reached inside for
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