The Song of Siren - Mapped

'LAURETTE,' Harley yelled as he stumbled into the Operation room. Laurette shook her head, her hair in a knot swaying. Harley's assistant's face was filled with amazement as he staggered towards her, a deadly scowl on his face.

‘Did you commission the Brixty Operation?’

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Laurette gasped, and that was what Harley needed. His hands shot up and gripped her slender neck. Laurette let out a strangled cry and began tapping hastily on his wrist to let go. Harley hesitated for a second, eased his grip, and finally let go of her. She sucked in a startled breath and coughed up. His dark brown eyes couldn’t meet her dark blue eyes. He ruffled up his hair and looked around, his employees, who flanked either side in two rows, were completely unaffected by the assault. They continued on with their work, some monitoring different operations while others were briskly typing on a keypad.

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‘You tol- told about Apollo, right? So I though about an attac-’

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‘Not like this,’Harley said exasperatedly. ‘We should have gone for something more stealth. Look now what happened, huh? Something more subtle like a done strike … or you could have made the waitress drop some poison on his sandwich,’ Harley asserted, his hands spread out to indicate the obviousness. ‘Tell me what CNP is?’

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‘Um … it’s,’ Laurette faltered, and bit her lips. She knew it would be a stupid thing to do. It was risky, but if done right, it would eliminate the only thing that obstructed Harley. It could win his approval, make him happy and maybe …

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‘TELL ME!’ Harley yelled, and looked squarely in her face. ‘Covert Neural Programming is fatal. Yeah, the neural codes could alter a person’s thoughts and decisions, but it’s a slow process. You just went on with it like doing laundry. You should be thankful that those people aren’t in a psychiatric hospital. ’

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Harley breathed heavily and looked at Laurette, who had her head bent down. She shouldn’t have done it, Harley thought. ‘It’s … don’t do anything without informing me. It’s delicate,’ Harley said after a pause. He started limping away and exited the room without looking back at Laurette.

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As Harley walked with difficulty on the corridor decored with the framed photos of his achievements, the sound of shuffling of feet behind him caught his attention. Harley, instead of turning his back, waited for the person to face him.

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‘Sir, sir,’ a masculine voice called out after coming face to face. ‘It’s your time for meditation. Memory therapy, I mean.’

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‘Fine. I am coming,’ Harley replied after a pause, and then the bald man trod away. Harley staggered towards his chamber, passing many focus rooms on the way. It was almost a lengthy journey for Harley, each second only allowing a single step. The highly self-sufficient side of him had an adamant rule not to seek the help of a walking stick or a bionic limp to subtly declare that his achievements could mask his disabilities. It was probably stupid. But it was his identity. His uniqueness.

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He finally reached his personal room after descending a staircase. It was a comparatively small room and had a desk, a queen-sized bed, a small pantry and a bathroom. A photo of his mother and him smiling wholeheartedly was pinned to the bulletin board. He hobbled into his bed, sat down and started at the blank wall. Something was worrying him. Like mental nausea. He couldn’t focus on his work, his distracted mind blaring like an alarm bell. The warm sunlight that made its way through the open window offered no solace.

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Harley slumped down to bed and said, ‘Elioth, close the door.’

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‘Your wish,’ replied the Home AI in a female voice, closely followed by a soft thud of the door closing.

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Harley grabbed the Cerebria, which looked like an advanced hairnet laced with many live tendrils that, right now, looked dead. Apollo slid it to his head, and the memory replayer covered the top part of his hair till his forehead. Cerebria turned on, and the tendrils spiked up, waggling with its root fixed to the base.

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Harley gently closed his eyes, hoping this session would relieve him of all his worries. His existing thoughts were suddenly sucked away, making way for the previous memories to play on his mind. Echoes of distinct memories were on the horizon, and Harley felt goosebumps. Deep drowsiness rose up, and Harley fell to the temptation. Harley slowly descended into semi-sleep.

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‘Harley … care to play?’ said a blonde girl with a smile that lacked a front tooth, scaring Harley for a moment.

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‘I … uh …’ Harley looked down at his drawing, and at her. He was confused about how to talk back because this was the first time a person in his class talked to him. ‘I am … drawing.’

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‘Let’s see what you’ve got here,’ she said and sat on the park bench alongside Harley with much enthusiasm that made him uncomfortable. ‘What is that, Da Vinci?’

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‘It’s people … um … controlling other people wi- with puppet str- strings,’ Harley stuttered as the girl snatched his drawing book from his fingertips and started observing it.

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‘It’s good,’ she said, giving his drawing an eyeful. She gave it back, smiling and said, ‘do you know my name?’

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Harley suddenly felt embarrassed, his face flushing with red. ‘I know … er … Linda, right?’

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‘Laurette,’ she corrected and extended her hand, and Harley, feeling slightly proud of himself for managing a conversation that lasted longer than a second, shook his hands.

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‘But there is one thing you are missing,’ Laurette said when their handshake broke up.

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‘What?’

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‘All work and no play makes Jake a dull boy,’ she laughed with her mouth wide open. Harley didn’t find it funny enough, looked squarely in her face. When she saw Harley’s eccentric face, she said, ‘why aren’t you laughing?’

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‘Because I didn’t find it funny.’

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‘But friends are supposed to laugh.’

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‘Oh,’ Harley looked hurt. ‘Didn’t know it.’

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‘Well … I guess we are friends, right?’

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‘Yeah … we are friends,’ Harley was delighted. ‘We are friends.’

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Before he knew it, the memory blurred up. Like a camera lens refocusing, the memory was replaced swiftly. This time, Harley, a few years older, was running along with women. He was running hastily, tripping along the way. The women suddenly pulled him towards her as both of them took cover aside a wrecked-up car. A car exploded to bits in front of them, and the heat produced by the explosion made Harley shudder. He stole a look at the woman, who was panting like a dog. Her face was covered in black soot and she had shoulder-length, jet-black hair. Her brown leather jacket was torn in many places.

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‘Are you fine?’ she asked, between her breaths. She placed her hands on his shoulders and gripped them as she gave him a meaningful nod.

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‘Yeah,’ Harley replied, and slumped to the asphalt road, clutching his stomach. ‘Need a timeout.’

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‘Listen buddy, whatever they ask you,’ the women said, pulling Harley to face her, ‘do not tell them you have Glytch. Tell them that I have it. Got it?’

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But, as with the prior experience, the memory vanished just as he was about to respond. It was less than a second before another memory, similar to camera lens refocusing, occurred. He was walking out of a building this time, descending the steps quickly. He held a file full of documents in one hand and a laptop in the other. He eventually stopped walking down the stairs and started hurrying down the pavement, past an anxious-looking Laurette. She immediately caught up to him in his fast stroll.

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‘Hey, what happened?’ she asked with anticipation, her face laced with hope.

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‘F****d up,’ Harley replied, his face tight with anger at the rejection. ‘Told me that my designs were far too realistic. Unethical. Fatal to the human body. Scoundrel.’

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‘So what now?’ Laurette asked, struggling to keep up pace with him.

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Harley stopped in his tracks and looked at her. Her blonde hair was tied in a ponytail, reflecting the bright sunlight pouring on her. A couple of acnes lined up near her nose. ‘Gotta do something else.’

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‘Of course.’

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But Harley said something like the present Harley couldn’t hear. He willed his mind to pause it, and he attained some level of subconsciousness. His artificially created nap was over within minutes, and Harley opened his eyes. The tendrils, which were alive and swayed when Harley was occupied with his memories, dropped down like a dried plant. Harley removed Cerebria, and dropped it to his bed. His “memory therapy” was over, a reflection of those memories still reverberating on his mind. He wiped away a tear absently and was happy for not being able to recollect the last time he cried.

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‘Are you sure that this is gonna work and doesn’t destroy the only thing we have,’ Ariana asked with a heavy sense of disapproval.

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‘Use your common sense,’ Apollo shot back ferociously, irritated with Ariana’s constant doubt on their approach, and restrained himself not to engage with herself in a verbal attack, ‘why would Lyrea stick this chart with a thin layer of an adhesive sheet? It was an indication that we have to stick the plastic figure to the chart.’

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‘Plastic figure, ink-blotted chart … this is all drivin’ me crazy,’ Ariana vented out her frustration by stamping on the ground. ‘Are you seriously sure we are on the right track?’ Ariana asked not at Apollo, but at Iman this time.

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‘I mean …’ Iman was taken aback by the question, and looked at Apollo and back at Ariana, ‘why would be she give us a weird chart. In my opinion, charts don’t have sticky paper. Right?’

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‘Iman …’ Apollo called out, in a calm voice that had a remnant of ridicule, ‘explaining this stuff to her is of no use. She just wants us to march up to Harley and started blazing guns.’

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‘Exactly,’ Ariana agreed heatedly, gritting her teeth and slamming her fist on the table, ‘instead, we are doing arts and crafts like a 5-year-old.’

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‘Then why don’t you do it yourself?’ Apollo snapped back and stood up, pushing the chair away with his feet.

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‘If it was not for you, we would have done it!’

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‘Hah!’ Apollo scowled straight at her face, spit flying out of his mouth, ‘then you came begging at me.’

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‘Listen this loser, the title of being Lyrea’s husband is the only reason you are here. Once the Relics are done, you are back to being a nobody,’ Ariana retaliated, her face dangerously close to Apollo's. A deep and painful realization hit Apollo, and his facial muscles relaxed. But Ariana couldn’t perceive Apollo’s hurt feelings. ‘And nobody is gonna show any love ‘cause you left us when we needed you the most. You. Are. A. Quitter. A god***n quitter.’

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A hush descended upon the tent like a fog settling down. Ariana’s face showed no remorse, her light-brown iris staring back at Apollo squarely. Apollo would have chosen to get physically hurt rather than be forced to remind himself of the things he stashed somewhere deep down in his heart.

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‘I …’ Ariana started but was suddenly put out by Apollo, who picked up the fallen chair and sat on it. Ariana’s forehead creased with concern and looked at Iman, who quickly looked away. Apollo’s presence made her revolt with anger. Like opposite poles of magnets repelling each other. Feeling of no use to standing here idle, she proceeded out of the tent.

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‘C’mon, let me do it,’ Iman said, creating a ripple in the sombre atmosphere, as she swiftly pulled the chart towards her and started nibbling on one of the edges. Apollo looked gratefully at Iman, happy he got someone like her in the group.

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‘Don’t take what she said to your heart,’ Iman said, as she nibbled at one corner of the chart with the aid of her long nails. ‘I don’t know why, but she … disliked you from the beginning. Hated conversations about you. We always wanted to bring you to the team earlier, but she was against you. Told us that you … er … were of no good. That was until we got the HoloDisk. Phoebe tried decrypting it and got some of it. About the Relics of stuff. Phoebe told us that she hacked into certain parts of her speech.’ Iman got a small tip protruding out of the chart and slowly started peeling it, ‘as if Lyrea wanted us to see those parts.’ Apollo didn’t feel any different. He observed Iman slowly peeling the skin of the chart, applying maximum pressure to the small bit of adhesive sheet that she held between her thumb and index finger.

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‘Anyway … I like you,’ Iman said with a mischievous grin, and that melted Apollo’s heart. ‘But I guess you are a bit old to be my boyfriend.’ Both of them laughed, a facade of love offering some solace that was bound not to be everlasting.

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‘Well, we got into a sticky situation …’ Iman said as she finally peeled away the skin of the chart. Both Apollo and Iman didn’t notice the top layer of the chart falling to the floor as they laid their eyes on the chart, the residual quantity of gum shining under a streak of sunlight.

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‘Lyrea was upto something …’ Apollo commented under his breath as he took the deformed plastic figure from the left side of the table and observed it under the same streak of sunlight with amazement.

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Soon after he took the decision to lead the team and decided to join them in the quest, both Gray and Akeera visited Apollo’s parents to let them know about Apollo. When they returned with his belongings, he came across a small chest that contained some highly unusual commodities that Lyrea had left for him. It had a deformed, half-melted plastic with jagged edges, a half-used glue dispenser, and a photo of him and her taken during their vacation. He didn’t know what to process after seeing them. Was it a joke, like a last laugh or something incredibly hidden clue?

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So when Apollo was observing the chart, rummaging through his brain to find some clues, he realised that the jagged edges of the plastic were similar to the boundaries of one particular blot of ink on the chart. As if the ink splodge was not random spilling of ink on the chart. It was done carefully and with a clear idea.

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‘Iman … hold the chart,’ Apollo said, his voice affected by the intense euphoria he was experiencing. Iman pinned the two corners of the chart to the table with her hand and Apollo paused for a minute, with the plastic held an inch away from the blot that shared the same jagged edge. He looked at Iman, who was excited just like him. He cross-checked the borders, by mentally comparing the edges back and forth.

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‘It’s the same. They both connect,’ Iman assured as if reading his mind. ‘We placed them above the chart, remember?’

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Apollo nodded, his mind laser focussing on placing them exactly adjacent to each other, like connecting two puzzle pieces. Finally, his trembling hands descended towards the chart and placed it gently on the unique ink blot. A quick glance and Apollo knew it was perfectly connected. Apollo pressed it further, and the plastic sank in a little further.

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‘Now what?’ Iman proposed as both of them walked around the table trying to make sense of the hybrid puzzle of paper and plastic. The question dawned on Apollo and damped his sense of victory. Both of them pondered on the question and realised that they needed to call everyone. But secretly, Apollo was placed in a greater emphasis as he was the one who should have solved the puzzle just like how Lyrea had told him.

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But all of a sudden, Phoebe divided the tent flaps and strode in slowly, flashing a smile at both Apollo and Iman. The moment her eyes fell on the map, her mouth fell open. She corrected her glass and observed it, running her long and thin finger along the edges.

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‘That’s … I don’t know what to say? It so … fitting,’ whispered Phoebe, and tilted the chart, amazed at the handiwork. ‘It’s like a puzzle, this ink blot one piece and this … plastic another piece.’

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‘But the question is,’ Apollo said, his arms folded and looked observed the chart judgementally, ‘what now?’

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‘We can surely find an answer,’ Pheobe said optimistically, looking between Apollo and Iman, ‘this one surely leads to something?’

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As they fixed their gaze on the chart, looking at every inclined position possible. But no light bulb buzzed to light. But Apollo noticed how Phoebe’s eyes were piercing straight into the chart, the gears in her brain twisting and turning. Apollo expected a sudden cry of answer from her. Not surprisingly, after a few seconds, she exclaimed with a gasp, ‘It’s a map!’

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‘What?’ Apollo replied back confused, and looked at Iman, who gazed at the map as if in a trance. He observed the map intensely, her answer not making any sense to him.

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‘Apollo ... It's a map!’ she joined with Pheobe, her face dazzled by the discovery.

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‘I guess it’s a country or a continent to be precise,’ Phoebe explained, and Apollo’s jaws nearly fell to the floor once he perceived the truth. It was a brilliant and incredibly deceptive trick pulled by Lyrea. The ink blot and plastic with its precise boundaries mirrored the geographical location formed by continents and countries on a world map.

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‘Now we gotta pinpoint the location. Or at least the continent, give me your enLighter,’ Apollo said, and Phoebe pulled out a thin, sleek black cylindrical device the size of her wrist. It was an advanced NLP AI engineered by one of the late Resistance members. It was a common policy inside the Resistance not to use everyday tech extensively since most of them nowadays knew everything about the users.

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Pheobe extracted the device from her coat’s pocket and gave it to Apollo, who held it higher and in an inclined position in the air to click a picture. A loud click ran in the air as the device successfully captured a picture and Apollo said with the device held close to his mouth, ‘Find me which country or continent you recognise from the picture.’ The device responded by flickering in a blue LED light.

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‘After analyzing the inkblot and deformed plastic, I have identified several distinct shapes, similar to the total shape formed by the plastic and inkblot, that resemble the outline of a landmass and some topographical features. The patterns and contours suggest a resemblance to the continent of Australia. However, please note that this interpretation is based on visual analysis and should be considered speculative. Also … the colour purple was marked on a specific area on the plastic and if I were to pinpoint the location based on the geographical landscape of Australia, it would be Canberra, Australia’s capital.’

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‘That’s it!’ Apollo cried out, as he punched the air in victory. Both Iman and Phoebe looked delighted, as they slumped to the chair in surprise. Relief spread across Apollo like a flash of light in the tunnel of darkness. He felt the presence of Lyrea. Not how or when or where, but surely he felt her presence. Like her ghost caressing his psyche, letting him know she is still here without him directly experiencing her.

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‘So our first destination is Canberra. Go, tell it to others …’ Apollo said triumphantly to Phoebe. Apollo walked towards the chart and pulled it towards him, not knowing why. He gracefully observed the map, the ecstasy of immediate victory elating him. Even though his eyes were refusing to focus on the boundary, he refused to get his eyes off the map.

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‘So … you got it?’ Iman asked, somehow her voice where thin and strained.

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‘Yeah … like imagine, within 2 days, I go- no, we got … the location of Sheath,’ Apollo said without taking his eyes off the other ink blots with a question looming on his mind: What purpose did the other ink blots serve? Obviously, the first reason might be they were used as a distraction. But that was the problem. Canberra would only be discovered after the combination of the plastic figure and the inkblot. So why the rest of the ink bots? It was as if the chart was trying to divulge many clues and answers to him. He concentrated hard, pulled a chair to him and sat on it. He traced the jagged edge of the plastic with his index finger and eyes closed as if mentally drawing the same for comparison with other ink blots. He compared the boundaries and was quite disappointed with their disproportion. Suddenly, a brilliant idea struck him like a meteorite impact on the ground. He wasn’t sure whether this was planned by Lyrea, but he wanted to try it out. If this was another trick planned by Lyrea, she must have put a ton-load of hope in Apollo. That though weakened and strengthened him at the same time.

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‘Apollo …’ Iman called out, her voice drawled out as if she caught a cold. ‘Can I tell you something?’

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Apollo turned back and was surprised to see Iman sitting in a huddled position on the chair, her knee reaching the same height as her chin. Her face lacked the earlier excitement and enthusiasm, in fact, the contrary replaced; dullness and emptiness.

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‘What happened?’ Apollo asked, his voice heavy with concern.

But the moment Iman opened her mouth, Akeera, Ariana and Gray got in, looking flabbergasted.

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‘Did you really find the location?’ Gray asked the moment he set foot inside the tent.

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‘Yeah … we did,’ Iman said brightly, and this confused Apollo. He looked at her strangely, his eyebrows knitted together.

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‘So, how did you do it?’ Ariana asked, not feeling impressed like Gray, and Apollo couldn’t understand what was wrong with this woman.

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‘We … used our brains,’ Apollo quickly said and avoided her eyes, saving him the time and energy of explaining it to her, who would immediately rebuke it.

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‘But …’ Akeera spoke while scratching his chin, casting looks of doubt on the chart, ‘what if we are wrong? I mean, what if it’s just a … spare piece of a chart?’

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Apollo forced a fake laugh, trying to convey the silliness of the theory, but it was not effective. A wave of unsureness washed over them.

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‘Exactly …’ Ariana joined with Akeera, and that really pushed him, Apollo, over the edge, and Apollo balled his wrist to curb his anger.

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‘No … like it was so … hidden and stuff. And why should she give us a spare piece,’ Apollo said strongly, feeling that he put up a good argument.

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‘If she could give you a half-used glue bottle and an empty picture frame for Iman, a spare piece of the chart shouldn’t be odd.’

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Apollo felt deflated, his early excitement was easily dampened by their lukewarm response. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and forced himself through the situation. ‘I don’t think it’s a mere spare chart,’ Apollo declared, his voice asserting the validity of the discovery. ‘Because just look at the map. The boundaries of the inkblot and the plastic easily fit. Just like a puzzle. And Lyrea told me to fix the puzzle. An ink leak won’t create the half portion of an impression of Australia.’

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Akeera nodded his head in acceptance while Ariana nodded her head in scepticism.

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‘Ok … but do you know the exact location? Like where it would be?’ Akeera asked.

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‘Yes,’ Phoebe interjected, saving Apollo of all the mess for not having the answer. ‘Not exactly, but I know how to find it.

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‘Where is it?’ Iman asked, curiously.

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‘Lyrea had earlier given me a source code. I didn’t know what it was for. But now … I could re-route the Quantum Locator’s and upload the source code Lyrea gave to me. It would take time, by the way.’

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‘How long will it take ?’ Ariana queried, the same question Apollo opened his mouth to ask.

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‘I don’t know. Depends upon the location of the Relic. I can re-route the Locator within 2-3 hours max,’ Phoebe said, her face tight with her mental calculation, ‘but pinpointing the exact location would be tough.’

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‘So … feels like we gotta do it, right? ‘Cause everything is comin’ in place’ Ariana said, looking around, as if her cloud of doubt disappeared without a trace. ‘You are 100% sure about this thing?’

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‘Not 100%,’ Apollo shot back politely, tired of her negativity. ‘It’s better than sitting here without doing anything.’

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Ariana opened her mouth to give a reply but decided to calm down this time. ‘So Phoebe … do what you wanna do. It should be ready before tomorrow.’

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‘But shouldn’t we send a scout or something?’ Apollo asked, concerned about the risk involved. But Ariana ignored his question, and continued, ‘Akeera -’

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‘I asked a question,’ Apollo sternly, his anger at Ariana brimming to the edge. Everyone’s attention turned to Apollo, who started intensely at Ariana. She clicked her tongue and said, ‘you’ve been here for only a day. Don’t make rules ‘cause you don’t know how things work here.’

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‘Haha,’ Apollo mocked, indicating its irony, ‘if it weren’t for me in the first place, you would be walking around with sh** in your head, like mindless zombies.’

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Ariana went fuming, lowering her head a little bit, and started glowering at Apollo. ‘That tie was cut off when you let your wife die.’

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Ariana's taunt made Apollo’s mind go blank with rage. Before he knew it, he was lifting Ariana by a handful of her jacket’s collar and pinned her to the wall with his elbow.

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‘TAKE BACK WHAT YOU SAID, YOU B***H,’ Apollo was enraged, his aggressive behaviour sinking his elbow further into the lower portion of her neck. She muttered and gasped, her legs flailing helplessly.

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‘Apollo … leave her down,’ Gray commanded, and his calm and composed voice forced him to obey. He dropped Ariana to the floor, who winced in pain and had bouts of cough. He quickly glanced to his sideways and saw Phoebe staring at him like he was a murderer, her hands gripping the tent in fright. A weight dropped to his heart, regret squirming in him.

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‘Ariana, say sorry to him,’ Gray ordered, his voice different from how he used earlier at Apollo. ‘C’mon, say sorry …’

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‘I don’t need her damn sorry,’ Apollo growled, looking at Gray and then at Ariana, who slowly stood to her feet. He stomped his way out, slapping the half-open tent flaps to part. The lack of any breeze was disheartening. The wild bushes and creepers seem to welcome him, like extending their hands for an embrace. He walked to a tall, inclined tree, which most probably fell victim to a thunderstorm. He sat on it, the tree lurching under his weight. Soon after, when the peace of mind soothed his nerves, a series of footsteps came disturbing him.

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‘Hey Apollo,’ Gray called out sympathetically and stood beside Apollo, wondering whether to sit or remain standing up.

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‘Yeah,’ Apollo replied and stood up from the uncertain tree and faced him, the towering height making Apollo feel small. The lack of any proper conversation with Gray stood up like an obstacle to a quick talk.

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‘You fine?’

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How fine can one be when they are blamed for their wife’s death?, Apollo wondered. ‘Yeah … I’m fine.’

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‘I’m not good in these talks, but um … this is how a team works. None too hard, none soft. All it matters is acceptance and forgiveness because we’ve gotta common goal.’

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Apollo stood still for a moment, the harsh truth dawning on him like a feather settling on the ground

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