Chapter Eight

Kurt stood beneath his umbrella in the center of the forest’s edge, watching as the military truck barreled toward him. The vehicle didn’t slow down at first, instead making a beeline for Kurt, only slamming on the brakes at the very last moment. The screech of tires skidding against gravel echoed, and the truck’s nose came to a halt just a step from Kurt’s face.

A young soldier emerged from the cab, circled behind Kurt, and opened the passenger side door. “Didn’t you see he’s got an umbrella?” a deep, resonant voice rumbled from inside, “I ought to have one myself.”

The young soldier hesitated, glancing around uncertainly. A bespectacled man, dressed as a clerk, jumped from the back of the truck and hurried to the passenger side, opening his own umbrella.

A large, veined hand reached out from the cab and pressed down on the young soldier’s head. An older officer, steadying himself with the soldier’s head, stepped down from the truck and stood under the open umbrella. “Try to remember next time,” he said, giving the young soldier’s head a quick pat.

The only visible sign of the officer’s age was his shock of white hair. Otherwise—his expression, his movements, the force in his voice—all radiated a vitality that seemed at odds with his years. Even his white hair had been styled, like a rebellious youth, to stand perfectly upright.

The officer stepped aside, turning his head to gaze at Kurt. The clerk followed closely, keeping the umbrella poised above his superior.

“Look at this bastard,” the officer said loudly, staring at Kurt without the slightest pretense. “Thinks he’s some big shot. Stands in the middle of the road with that pathetic umbrella. See, now he’s staring back at me, but just wait—” He sidestepped again. “There! The headlights got him right in the eyes!”

This time, the clerk failed to keep up with his boss’s theatrics, letting a few raindrops spatter onto the officer’s head. The officer ducked back beneath the umbrella, brushing a hand over his immaculately trimmed hair. “Not even a reaction. Boring.” He signaled the clerk to follow and strode toward the van parked on the wasteland.

“This area is currently under Guild jurisdiction, Colonel Taka,” Kurt said calmly.

“Oh, spare me!” the officer bellowed, not breaking stride. “I’m not in the mood to debate military-Guild relations, nor do I care to hear you rattle off useless treaties. I promise you, as long as your new teammates aren’t all dead, no one will interfere with your childish ‘containment operation’.” He raised both hands, drawing quotation marks in the air. “But after all I’m doing for you tonight, you’re really going to refuse to let me see that oddball for myself?!”

A dozen soldiers leapt from the back of the truck, hauling large metal components to the edge of the barren ground and stacking them by the van’s rear doors. In minutes, they had assembled the pieces into a waist-high, spherical metal apparatus.

Inside the van, Dylan heard the commotion outside. “Mr. Meadhoff?” he called, ducking behind the machine he’d been operating, hunching his shoulders protectively.

The van’s door handle twisted from the inside, as if pulled by an invisible hand.

“Ah—finally, so glad to see you, treasure,” Colonel Taka declared as he flung open the door, his voice crisp and powerful. “Mind if I come in? Looks like the rain’s about to get worse.” Without waiting for an answer, he entered the van and leaned against the wall.

The clerk closed his umbrella and followed him inside.

Outside the open rear doors, the soldiers had formed a ring in the rain. At their center, the spherical metal device glowed with a faint green light.

Peeking out from behind the machine, Dylan gasped, “My God! Is that…?” He straightened up and took a few tentative steps toward the door.

“No need to rush, treasure,” Colonel Taka said, stepping forward and slinging an arm around Dylan’s shoulders, turning him to face the open door. “Let me show you something interesting.” He slowly raised his free hand.

Nothing happened.

Colonel Taka shot a glance at the clerk, then shook his raised hand a few times. The clerk, looking bewildered, glanced down at his own feet, then up at the van’s ceiling.

“It means,” Colonel Taka said, annoyed, shaking his hand again, “lift the van.”

“Oh! Oh—of course!” The clerk quickly crouched and pressed a hand to the van floor.

The van shuddered, then slowly lifted off the ground, floating steadily into the air.

“Absolute idiot,” Colonel Taka muttered, turning to look at Dylan, whom he still held in an iron grip. “Treasure, quick, look where I’m pointing,” he said, gesturing toward the orange lights in the distance. “See those roadblocks?”

Dylan tried to wriggle away from the old man, but no matter how he twisted, he couldn’t break free. “My name is Dylan, sir,” he replied as steadily as he could.

“Who asked?” Colonel Taka snapped, frowning. “I’m asking if you can see those roadblock lights.”

“Y-yes, the lights. I see them.”

“There are more over there!” Colonel Taka shifted his arm, forcing Dylan to turn. “What do you think they’re for?”

“They’re for… blocking the road,” Dylan replied.

“Genius! What a genius! The roadblock lights are, in fact, for blocking roads!” Colonel Taka exclaimed theatrically. “Alright, treasure, let me explain. The Guild you joined is, let’s be honest, more of a trick-or-treat club than anything serious. Here’s how the Guild thinks: it’s pitch dark, pouring rain, the house is in the middle of nowhere—surely no one’s going to stumble by and see all those flashy lights. And even if someone does, no problem! Just cover it up afterward! But the trouble is, the Guild manages to screw up like this hundreds of times a year. Guess who always has to clean up the mess afterward, spending manpower and money to bail them out?!”

“Um…” Dylan stammered.

“Um—um—” Colonel Taka mimicked, “But the worst part,” he added, shifting his grip so Dylan’s upper body dangled out the van door, “is this so-called ‘containment’! They toss their members into the field and leave it up to luck whether they succeed or never come back. Now let me show you how the military handles things professionally. Look straight down—yes, the green thing. You’re right, that’s a ‘Heimer’, one of our consciousness assimilators. No hesitation: if you simply say, ‘Unable to complete the mission, our team voluntarily surrenders custody of the spirit,’ I’ll have someone give the little green button on Heimer’s backside a gentle press, and poof! No matter what kind of spirit it is, problem solved in an instant.”

Dylan glanced nervously at the ground several meters below and squeezed his eyes shut. “The Guild’s way,” he managed, “shows more respect for the spirits…”

Colonel Taka let out a long, disgusted groan, spun around, and flung Dylan back into the van. “Ah, little Dylan Bansley, why can’t you understand?” He waved a hand at the clerk.

The van slowly descended back to solid ground.

“I’m saving you,” Colonel Taka continued. “What do you think this junky van is going to protect you from? The real safety is among trained soldiers—or better yet, inside a Heimer shield. Picture it: that sense of absolute security.” He gestured with both hands, outlining Dylan’s shape, and when he reached the hips, threw his hands upward in an exaggerated arc. “If you change your mind, let me know.”

“Are you finished?” Kurt asked coolly from behind the van. “And by the way, your last gesture was utterly unambiguous.”

“Give me a few more seconds,” Colonel Taka replied, signaling the clerk. “Still have to confirm the intel.”

The clerk adjusted his glasses, moved to the machine Dylan had built, and began to work the controls.

A stream of data scrolled across the machine’s screen, beneath which appeared a 3D model shaped like a candelabrum. In seconds, the model was replaced by a thin-bodied, big-limbed humanoid figure.

“No way to be certain without taking it apart,” the clerk said. “But this thing definitely has that capability. Truly astonishing. No—‘strange’ might be a better word.”

Colonel Taka strode out of the van, snatching Kurt’s umbrella as he passed. “Someone—maybe more than one—will die in that house tonight, and I don’t care who it is. The kid included.”