Pak

　　Lord Witherfinger,

　　I am writing this letter to express my family`s outrage regarding your draft for the West Wing`s renovation, scheduled for the First of the coming month. My Lord`s interior design Delegate suggested that the walls be re-papered in periwinkle, with cr鑝e floral accents along the baseboard. I am disturbed, however, that said Delegate did not consider that the suggested color palette is nearly identical to that of the Madam`s private hall. Furthermore, how does my Lord`s Delegate intend to transition the carpeting from the central chamber into the Wing without leaving a horrific seam? Or do they presume it acceptable to leave the carpet as is, and allow for the aubergine and cornsilk to mingle irreverently, like whores in the Palace? Though the West Wing houses only the servants, it appalls me to think that such tasteless d閏or should be imposed upon any person, whether of Noble or common blood - to say nothing of how such cruelty should reflect upon my family`s name! For shame, my Lord.

　　Should this disaster stand uncorrected, the Madam of our House has already suggested our Agreement may require revision - and I assure you, such revision would be to the detriment of my Lord`s House. It truly pains me to be so brute as to threaten our long-standing alliance, but the gravity of your Delegate`s negligence necessitates such reprimand.

　　Please deliver your response swiftly and directly to our Chamberlain.

　　Warmest Regards,

　　(illegible, looping squiggle)

　　A chill fills the air as I utter the last bit of inanity. I search the text over and over for any sort of hint towards deeper meaning, but there is none.

　　"This can`t be right," I whisper. The thick fungus-fiber paper trembles with my hands. "There`s more to it. There has to be more to it."

　　The interrogator clears his throat. "Please excuse us," he says, rising from his place.

　　"Wait!" I start from my chair, but stop short as the collar bumps my throat. The transcriber tosses me a look of pity as she follows the interrogator out of the room.

　　"STOP!" I shout. Miago widens his stance, ready to subdue me, as the door thumps shut.

　　You really are crazy.

　　I whimper, ignoring the voice.

　　"It doesn`t make s-sense," I mutter, my gaze quivering upon the door.

　　Did you seriously think there was more to it than that?

　　The paper falls silently to the floor. I rock gently in my chair, watching the spoli spin.

　　They`re talking about you.

　　"What are they saying?"

　　Miago moves to fasten my restraints. I grip the chair`s arms until my knuckles go white.

　　"What are they saying?" I repeat, looking up to him, pleading.

　　"I don`t know," he says, glancing away. One of the outside guards pokes their head in.

　　"Please&" I squeak, cold and full of dread. "Please tell me&"

　　A gentle hiss spills from my ear, startling me, at first - but then I see the small cloud of spoli waltzing out of my head. They glide across the air, heedlessly passing by the guards, then turn down the hall the way the interrogator had gone. The guards notice, shock coloring their faces. A few minutes later, the spoli return, drifting into my ears with the same soft hiss&

　　I don`t think he`s dangerous&

　　I hold my breath. The interrogator`s voice crackles in my head, like I`m listening to him from across a river.

　　Even if he can do magic, he`s clearly far too depleted to do it now.

　　He`s got to be useful for something&

　　A second voice chimes in, one I don`t recognize.

　　And if he`s what I think he is, I can`t imagine he has any loyalty to anyone on the surface.

　　I doubt he has any useful intelligence, though.

　　The communication` was literally about interior design.

　　You`re sure it`s not enchanted?

　　Best as any of us can tell. We can get a second opinion, but&

　　He sighs.

　　Honestly, I just feel bad for him.

　　Maybe we ought to&

　　A pause&

　　It might be the kindest thing, at this point.

　　Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

　　"Go tell the Lieutenant," Miago barks to the guard outside the door. The guard scurries away. Another dusty stream of spoli enters through my ears.

　　Let me talk to him first.

　　If I can`t get anything out of him, I`ll authorize it.

　　Hang on - is that&?

　　I can`t breathe. The sound fades away. Minutes slog by. I`m too tired to think.

　　You know what authorize it` means.

　　I was right. They want to kill you.

　　I shut my eyes. I just want to go to sleep.

　　Forever?

　　Eventually, a stranger struts into the room. She stands tall, wrinkled hair flattened to her head and tucked into a tight bun. A seven-pointed star fastens her stiff collar together. Her skin is a warm, sage green, barely darker than mine, and her nearly-white irises pierce beneath her hooded eyelids. She pulls the chair from the head of the table and scoots it close, sitting just an arm`s length away. The transcriber follows her in and sits in the same spot as before, spider-pen in hand.

　　The stranger smiles. "Hello, son."

　　I bristle. It`s the other voice the spoli carried to me. She sounds sweeter, now.

　　"Oh, I`m so sorry," she says, covering her mouth. "They told me you don`t like being called that. I didn`t mean to offend. I simply forgot."

　　My gaze sinks to my knees. "It`s fine."

　　"Is there something else I can call you? Do you have a nickname, maybe?"

　　I shake my head. She hums, tapping her lip.

　　"Well, maybe we`ll figure one out for you later."

　　"I don`t have anything useful for you," I say, my voice cracking. "You might as well just authorize it now."

　　"Oh, dear&" She glances at Miago. "I almost didn`t believe them when they told me what happened. It`s very unusual for the spoli to take to a Surfacer so quickly."

　　She`s buttering you up.

　　You know you`re not special.

　　"I`m sorry you had to hear that," she says. "Believe me, none of us wish to kill you. We see so much suffering down here, sometimes it`s just the only option. But," she leans her cheek into her palm, "I hadn`t met you yet, when I said that. The Major is a good man, but he isn`t the best judge of character. You don`t seem like a lost cause to me."

　　My eyes lose focus. What could she possibly know?

　　"I`m Tok`sera, by the way," she says. "The base we`re in is called Nagaleen. Nobody has told you that yet, have they?"

　　I shake my head.

　　"My people can be a bit paranoid, sometimes. The past few centuries have been particularly hard on us. But you seem trustworthy. In fact... You share our blood, don`t you?"

　　Tears sour my face. She leans back, nodding thoughtfully.

　　"People up there haven`t been very kind to you, have they? It must have been awful, being so alone-"

　　"S-stop acting like you know me," I say, gritting my teeth. "You don`t know anything about me."

　　She seems nice, though&

　　I glare to my left. There`s nobody there. I know there`s nobody there.

　　"You`re right," Tok`sera says. "But I`d love to get to know you. You might think you don`t know anything that could help us, but I think you know a lot more than you realize. You`ve lived on the surface your whole life, haven`t you?"

　　I nod.

　　"How old are you?" she asks. "I can tell you`ve cut your hair. You`re clearly not a child."

　　"...I don`t know."

　　"I see," she says with a drifting smile. "You know, there are plenty of us who don`t make it through our second century. Between the monsters, scarcity, and the never-ending war-"

　　"Why don`t you just go live in the desert, or something?" I interrupt. "There`s plenty of places that don`t have anyone else around."

　　"It`s not that simple," she says. "I wish it was. I really do. It`s not as if we haven`t tried, but there are reasons that those other places are uninhabited, and plenty of sentries in between the cave exits and the rest of the world that our passage never goes unnoticed."

　　I fidget, my breathing stilted by the leather on my neck. I hate this thing&

　　"Remove the collar," she says to Miago, as if reading my mind. "And the restraints." He obeys without faltering. I sigh with relief, rubbing my wrists and neck.

　　"Better?" she asks. I nod.

　　"Why don`t you think I`m a spy?"

　　She chuckles. "Well, for starters, they found you half-dead on the mountain," she says. "But I`ve also met spies in my career, and they don`t tend to be as& genuine as you are."

　　I stay quiet.

　　"I`m told you`re looking for somebody," she says. "Who are you looking for?"

　　"Doesn`t matter. I`ll never find him. I don`t know what I thought was going to happen."

　　Tok`sera hums. "Is it someone you thought might be a prisoner down here?" she asks. I blink, clearing the fog in my eyes, and shrug. She nods, watching me closely. "A friend of yours, maybe? A soldier?"

　　I shake my head. The spider-pen scribbles.

　　"Family?"

　　I clench my jaw. The spider-pen scrawls.

　　"I see," she says. "It makes sense. Part of your heritage is confined to these tunnels. Half, if I had to guess-"

　　"I said it doesn`t matter," I spit.

　　"But it does," she coos. "It`s important enough that you`d risk your life for it."

　　Like an idiot.

　　"Like an idiot," I echo, looking away.

　　"No, no& An idiot wouldn`t have been able to survive the Wilds for as long as it must have taken you to get here on foot," she says, scooting closer. "It might have been a bit short-sighted, but that doesn`t make you an idiot."

　　"Why do you care?"

　　"Because I think we can help each other," she says. "It`s your father you`re looking for, isn`t it?"

　　My face doesn`t move, but the barely-held tears gush down my cheeks anyway. I wait, sitting quiet and still, pretending like I`m not crying, pretending like she can`t see me. Eventually, I nod.

　　"I can have my people comb through our records," she says. "We keep track of all of our missing persons and defectors. Your father would certainly be among them. And if he had ever found his way back here, I`d be able to take you right to him."

　　"How..." I sniff. "How would you know for sure it`s him?"

　　"I can`t promise anything, but we can narrow it down quite a bit. Geography, age, genetic markers& He`d most likely have freckles, like you," she says. "Our numbers are very low. The pool is probably smaller than you`d think."

　　Something light flickers in my chest - hope, maybe - though my limbs remain cold and heavy.

　　"What do you want from me, then?"

　　"Your full cooperation," she says. "I know you don`t think you know anything, but it`s impossible to say what sort of information might turn the tides of the War."

　　I glance up. Her eyes shine bright white like the moon, illuminated the spoli.

　　"You could help us tremendously, son," she says. The word doesn`t sting quite the same this time. "After all, we`re your people too. We`re family, in a way."

　　My gaze falls to my mother`s translated letter, resting just inches from the toes of Tok`sera`s dirty black boots. In my peripheral vision, I see her wave, soliciting my attention. She watches me with a patient smile.

　　"So, what do you say?"

　　I gently sway, left to right& And nod my head.