The Fourth Vertex: Jake Nourth, #2

By Al Onia

Jake Nourth witnesses one friend's death and another's descent into catatonia during a panic-driven riot. The madness running among Meld's citizens is recent, random and expanding. Casualties mount and the plague strikes near to Jake's heart. He enlists soulchemist Cleo Purdy, reclusive cosmologist Law Fomalhaut and the native cjbles to determine what or who is the cause. Can this alliance stop it in time and retrieve the minds of the victims?

 

Praise for Jake Nourth book 1: "A mystery set in a brilliantly constructed world, The Sixth Helix explores the human dilemma of staying or going, loving or losing and finding one's place. And I love the aliens." - Barbara Galler-Smith, Author of The Druids Saga

• Language: English
• Publisher: Al Onia
• Release date: Dec 6, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393982838

Al Onia

Al Onia lives on Vancouver Island with his wife Sandra. Take Your Best Shot is his ninth published novel. Read more at: ajonia.com

Book preview

Chapter 1

JAKE NOURTH STOOD WATCH while Konstine manipulated entry into the Stronghold's least-used door. He heard a low sigh. Exasperation. Problem? Jake hissed. His ruddy-faced co-conspirator didn't answer. Neither of them had any legal right to be present. Jake heard a click and a creak. They were past the first barrier.

If it was anyone but you, Nourth, said Konstine, I wouldn't let you in. It's my head if Quarantine gets wind of this.

Jake's friend, Jake hated to think Konstine was his only friend but it could be true, bypassed the quay-side door and they climbed down a flight of slime-coated steps to sea-level. The pilings didn't mitigate the swells enough to keep Jake's boots dry and by the time they traversed the narrow gangway under the Stronghold's main room, his feet and the hem of his trench coat were soaked in salt water.

Quarantine won't hear it from me, Jake whispered. I'm not complaining but why does this entrance exist?

Occasionally we need to bypass jurisdictional red tape to do a contraband search of outgoing cargo. Last minute tips. This gives me access without an official record. Never thought I'd use it for a people search.

At Konstine's direction, Jake ascended a crude series of cross boards nailed to a piling and pushed the trap door up into the dark of the Stronghold. According to the harbor-master, Jake should be in an anteroom, vacant of passengers but holding last-minute cargo to be loaded aboard Arbiter. The freighter would leave as soon as the storm allowed the sequestered passengers to board.

I've brought you here, now tell me who you're looking for, said Konstine.

Alasdair and Margaret Chalcedd. You've met them. Elsidore and I took them under our wing. Gave them every bit of support they needed to adapt to life in Meld. And succeed.

You mean Alasdair and Moggy?

"Professor Margaret Chalcedd to her students. Moggy to her friends. Satisfied I can go in?"

I'll see you soon, Konstine answered. Watch out for the guards on the oceanside should the loading doors open. You have no documents.

Jake heard him splash back the way they came. Thanks, Jake mouthed. He closed the trap and listened.

The voices he heard beyond the wall of his closet indicated many of the would-be passengers were awake, despite the late hour. He could understand the mood. Three days in quarantine after clearing outbound customs from Meld, and they still hadn't boarded. The prisoners due to ship from Burrows Gaol had been treated better. At least they remained in their familiar surroundings until escorted aboard for the trip to Mous'ole to serve out their sentences.

Jake unlatched the door and opened it a crack. The overwhelming odor of bodies living too close together and too long unbathed made him close the door. He reached into an inside pocket and dabbed menthol balm onto his moustache. He took a deep breath, turned up his collar, and stepped into the Stronghold's cavernous hall. Lights flickered sporadically in the gloom. He moved to the outside wall and moved along, shuffling and grumbling like he was one of them. He wasn't one of them; he was no deserter, no refugee fleeing back to Mous'ole. No comfort for him there anyway. What made him angrier at these people was that two years ago, he'd been ready to quit Meld. To leave Elsidore. Abandoning his adopted city preyed on his mind while he went through the motions of plying his trade as a Conspiratorial Investigator, a ten-kult phrase for Eye.

Jake scanned faces. Most turned to look at him as he shuffled past. Just what he needed to find the ones he sought. He acted like one of the interned as he wove through the crowd. His Eye skills returned easily and he wore the category like a comfortable suit.

There, a flash of recognition from one of the dimly-lit faces, then a turn away. He kept his pace, shouting down his internal fury. This had to be done. Not only to satisfy the University's exit-interview requirement, but his own curiosity. And as corny as it sounded, for Meld. He went past the couple a few steps and then returned to sit in front of them, ready to block their flight if they chose. He lowered his collar.

Moggy, Alasdair, he greeted, you left without saying goodbye.

The Chalcedds were the first new scholars Jake had welcomed in his role as University Orientation Director two years ago. Moggy's aunt had been on of Meld's distinguished citizens and Jake's one-time client then friend before passing away six months ago.

Moggy chewed her lip. Alasdair avoided eye contact. He muttered, Goodbye, Jake.

Now you can leave, said Moggy. Return to Chancellor Dayle and tell her you did your best but our minds were made up months ago.

I wish I could. Jake rose to his knees and shrugged out of his coat. Bloody damp. The storm's messed up everyone's plans. There's a cozy fire and a bottle or five of wine waiting for you at our place if three days in this shit-hold have eroded your resolve to run away.

That's not fair, Jake, said Alasdair. He put an arm over his wife's shoulder. You don't get it. We're not running away, we're running to.

To Mous'ole? Jake pleaded. What the hell's back there for you? Meld is where the most interesting frontiers on all of Twist are being explored. The research haven for this whole quadrant of space. The Throat, man, the Throat. The cjbles. We've witnessed the nova-rise of a sentient species. A hundred-thousand-year evolutionary leap almost overnight. And what about our physics research, the future of the universe? It's all being done here. Jake's part in all of it gave him the right to preach.

God, the universe and everything, right? Moggy put a hand on Jake's outstretched leg.

The Throat's dead, Jake. Alasdair's temple throbbed with a pulsing vein.  It's been quiet for over a year. No one's coming to study it from anywhere on Twist or off-planet. Physics? Agarwal and his university team jealously hoard their results, if they have any.

Law Fomalhaut's paralleling their research on his own, said Jake. Don't discount the eccentric's potential. He will publish eventually and the immigration will start over.

"Fomalhaut's a recluse and the cjbles keep to themselves since the uplift."

You believe it's as bad as all that? Jake shifted his eyes from husband to wife. Why didn't you come to me before you resigned your posts? Or Elsidore?

What could you do? asked Alasdair. "Look around Jake, these people are all recent arrivals to Meld. We're not just outsiders, we're irrelevant. We're returning to Mous'ole while we can be rehired at the Polytech. Your career's dying with the university and Meld. There'll be no one to orient a year from now."

I'll pound what you've said into Chancellor Dayle's head. She'll reinstate you; I promise. Jake had witnessed too many Moggy and Alasdair-type withdrawals from what should have become Meld's golden age. Instead, the city was in danger of becoming a ghost port, a devolution into its past as a frontier harbor town devoid of culture, civility and scholarship. When it did, would he recognize it? Or would the descent be so gradual Jake would deny its fate until he woke up one morning to realize he and Elsidore had no place here and it was too late to go anywhere else?

Consider this, Jake began, what if these changes you view as negative are related?

How? Moggy rocked back and forth.

Jake formed his thoughts. I'm not an academic. I happened to be in the crux of Fomalhaut's discoveries and the cjble evolution due to the Throat's influence. If the Throat and the cjbles are now shutting out human study, then maybe it's due to the same root cause. Doesn't that tug your intellectual curiosity? Multiply the negatives to a positive outcome.

Alasdair shook his head. Nice try, Jake, but it's too late. We've decided.

Jake watched Moggy. Her eyes darted from the floor to Jake and then to her husband. She wavered. He'd concentrate on her, then let Alasdair fold.

Moggy. Jake clasped her hand. I know your historic research isn't finished. Remember the passion you had during the first year in Meld? Your students felt it, I felt it. You need to pass it on to the next generation.

History has stopped, said Alasdair. Meld's stopped or if anything, reversed course.

Jake stared at Alasdair. It's absence from our perception doesn't necessarily mean it's dead. Something Dean Agarwal had said once rose to mind. The physicists, and probably most scientists, use the absence of phenomena to confirm a new theory's existence.

Bully for the scientists, said Alasdair. We're historians, not dreamers whose posits can be anything the imagination vomits out. His fists clenched.

That's harsh, Alasdair, said Moggy.

It's how I feel. How we both felt when we made our decision. Alasdair grew angrier. Jake recognized the signs, but she might be turned, Jake thought. How to press it home?

His gut trembled. Other emigrants around them began to shift in their spots. Jake's innards coiled again. It reminded him of the discomfort brought on by the Throat. The bodily effect was like those triggered by the emanations during that artifact's active mode. But where was the accompanying audible thrum? The tell-tale vibration?

Alasdair pressed a hand to his stomach. More people were rising, moaning. Then the large door rattled up and megaphone orders started.

Arbiter is ready to board, announced a tinny voice. Have your ticket and quarantine clearance ready. Move quickly. The waves have subsided but not for long.

Alasdair pulled Moggy to her feet. Goodbye, Jake, he said.

Wait. Jake moved along with them, trying to fight down the nausea. Moggy, you know there's an opportunity here. Maybe once-in-a-career level. If you leave, you'll regret it.

Shut up, Jake. Alasdair's voice was firmer as he guided Moggy toward the Stronghold's exit.

The rush of people became a crush and Jake and his friends were carried along. Voices rose and he saw a man swing a fist at another. Fights broke out all around them. Jake was lifted from the floor by the sheer mass of panicking humans. He wriggled free to regain his footing and grabbed hold of Moggy's arm to keep her upright. Alasdair, hold her. It was too late. Alasdair was pushed away by a wedge of men trying to get to the fore.

Jake swung his free arm at the leader. The man stumbled but didn't go down. Jake's grip on Moggy stretched as she was pulled to the floor. He made his choice. He kept hold and dropped to the floor with her. He yelled for Alasdair and bridged his body above Moggy.

The mob stumbled and fell over him. They stepped on his hands, his calves, his back. He covered his head with one arm. This was more than a spontaneous rush to get aboard the ship. This was madness. People turned into animals. He kept calling for Alasdair above the din of screams and thuds.

At last Jake rolled free from the retreating throng. He gasped for air and then knelt over her. Moggy. He shook her shoulder. He put his ear to her chest. It rose and fell.

Any closer and you'll have to marry me, she said. She coughed and racked for a full minute. Where's Alasdair?

I don't know. Out there with the rest? Jake stared at the now empty door. Are you sure you want to navigate across Meld with that crowd? Between him and the door, a grim sight intruded. Bodies on the floor in awkward poses, unmoving. God damn it.

He crawled to the nearest one, face down, arm bent unnaturally backward. Jake touched the victim's throat, hoping for a pulse. Nothing. The checkered coat was stained with dirt but it was too familiar. He turned the body enough to get a look at the face. Behind the bruises and blood, Jake recognized Alasdair.

Jake had no energy to curse again.

DESPITE THE OCEAN AIR breezing in through the open door, Jake couldn't shake the smell of human cargo. Nor the memory of panic and sudden death. Jake had witnessed worse carnage in his Eye career but never on so personal a level. Alasdair had been a friend.

Beside Jake stood police sergeant Iver Sprung, equal in height but years of shift and desk work had added girth and a dissolute complexion absent in Jake.

Jake stared out the door at Arbiter, smoke rising from her stacks, sailors performing final departure preparations. Sprung, one-time collaborator from Jake's 'Eye' days, ignored the ship. He watched the last body being carried from the Stronghold.

No one on the docks waving bon voyage, said Jake.

I'll wish them good riddance if it helps.

You won't hold Arbiter until the investigation finishes? Jake turned his gaze to the few huddled would-be passengers being interviewed by Sprung's boss.

Captain Jessup says no, get them the hell to Mous'ole and let them stew in their consciences on the way. I feel sorry for the ones left behind to bury their dead. Puts them in limbo.

Jake picked out Moggy from the other survivors. I say let them choose. Arbiter can wait long enough to process the corpses if the mourners wish to finish the memorials at sea or in Mous'ole. Three months is a long wait for the next ship once you've decided to leave. Had Moggy been ready to change her mind? He tugged Sprung along with him toward the group now abandoned by Jessup.

I'll see what I can do, said Sprung. Captain Jessup, a word?

Jake continued on to Moggy. If you don't want to suffer the claustrophobia of the journey to Mous'ole you can stay with Elsidore and me until the next ship. He peripherally watched Jessup nod as Sprung spoke. Arbiter will be packed to the gunwales.

She kept her head lowered. You're right. A few less won't make any difference.

He took a moment to realize she referred to the ones just carried out on stretchers; faces covered. Her hands gripped her stomach. Jake's own queasiness was gone now, at least the physical upset; mentally and emotionally, he was angry.

Why did they panic? Moggy turned her face up. Lines creased her cheeks and her skin was grey. She'd aged a decade in less than an hour.

Jake shook his head. "I wish I could blame something or someone. Spontaneous psychic combustion from being cooped in here too long? The rats went critical. Had his arrival and intrusion been the final straw to tip the fragile equilibrium? No, it was more likely the gut-twisting onslaught. The vibrations followed after he'd come inside the Stronghold. Had the Throat awoken? Did you hear anything before the door opened?"

What do you mean?

Low frequency sound. He rubbed his stomach. Nausea? Dizziness? Did the floor vibrate?

I don't remember. I do remember people began to shout at the door as it rose. I don't remember anything before that. The voices calling we're ready to board, then I lost my footing and... She leaned into him and wept.

Sprung approached. Captain says any who wish to leave for Mous'ole, can. He'll hold Arbiter for one day, no more. He stood with hands on hips, surveying the inside of the Stronghold. This wasn't built for people. Lots of guilt to go around. Naval office, Quarantine, City Hall.

It'll all disappear when Arbiter sinks below the horizon, I suspect. Jake let Moggy push herself free.

You're a cynical ex-Eye, Nourth, said Sprung. But you're right.

I'd like to go with Alasdair now, Jake. Moggy wiped her nose on her sleeve.

Sprung gave her a card. The deceased will be held at Barcad General until you decide Arbiter or Meld, ma'am. Call me if you need my help.

Do you want me to go with you, Moggy? Jake needed his own closure.

No, thanks. Moggy whispered, distracted. As if her thoughts had detached from her voice, losing touch in the moment.

Remember, you can stay with us. I'll tell Elsidore when I can reach a phone. Jake donned his coat, trying to ignore the boot marks on the back. He and Sprung watched Moggy exit through the promenade doors.

What's next for you? Jake asked.

Sprung sighed. Burrows. Inform the warden the prisoner transfer'll be delayed another day. Glad I'm not sailing. That will be one ugly voyage. Ever regret not taking a runner back to Mous'ole when you had the chance?

Not today, said Jake. He almost had though. It hadn't been Meld or the attractions of the revived research which kept him. It had been Elsidore.

What's your next stop?

My unofficial exit interview with Alasdair and Moggy Chalcedd didn't go too well, Jake answered. Now I have to conduct the official entrance interviews if I can locate Arbiter's few recently debarked academics.

Sprung said, I could use your well-trained eyes at Burrows tomorrow, if you've a mind.

No, my eyes aren't what they were. Rusty as an investigator. He was flattered by Sprung's request. Any idea where the new citizens are?

Sprung pursed his lips. Yeah, I might. I'd start with the old station warren.

The cjble nest?

The same.

Are your men following newcomers? That's a bit paranoid.

"No, we're mapping barriers erected by City Hall. That's paranoid, but don't let Jessup hear me say it. We're updating detours for the force's use. Our officers have noticed an influx to the station."

But the cjbles abandoned it after the uplift. All of the nests in Meld are empty. The few he'd associated with never offered an explanation to him and he'd never pushed. They'd tell him when they were ready. Or not.

Empty of sibils, chum, only of sibils. I've often wondered why they left Meld proper en masse. What do they fear? Sprung blew his nose into a khaki handkerchief. Good luck with your hunt.

Jake puzzled over Sprung's remarks. The cjbles had deserted Meld to nest in the plateau above the city. Away from humans and the Throat. Away from all humans save one, Jake corrected himself. Meld's most reclusive and enigmatic citizen. His last client as an Eye, Law Fomalhaut.

JAKE PEERED THROUGH the drizzle along Front Street. The grey silhouette of the Burrows was an oblong mass blended into the mist, sea and dull hills behind. Inside the prison, guards would be struggling to control the prisoners for another day's delay. Tomorrow, Sprung's and others' watchful eyes would oversee their transition from jail to Arbiter's brig. Meld captured, tried and incarcerated its villains but did not keep the worst offenders any longer than necessary. A stint behind those forbidding walls was the preliminary servitude before being 'sent over', shipped to Mous'ole to finish sentence. It was one way to get free passage, Jake mused. He'd put his share of nasties into the system as an Eye and felt no sympathy for any of them. Nor envy for their pending return to the more cosmopolitan center.

He turned his back on those who'd turned theirs on honest society and walked along the ocean front until he came to a new four-bar barricade. A sign on the barrier read 'DETOUR' but there was no arrow to indicate where one might find the alternate path. The old station wasn't far, not in a straight line but direct routes in Meld were hard to find these days. Jake debated climbing over or scrambling under. He chose the latter, drenching his knees in the puddles and mud. A series of barricades twisted his sense of direction and he had to retrace his path twice to gain bearings. How the hell could fresh immigrants off Arbiter find the abandoned station? Must be psychic, Jake chuckled to himself.

He heard the murmur of voices before he reached the entrance to the underground