The Lesser One Arc 2 Chapter 8:

Conference

I sit behind a desk in front of fifty reporters. Camera flashes happen like in the movies. I shield my face from the light, and try my best to remain calm.

“Mr. Stevenson!” says one reporter. “Do you know why the CEO of Esmex has not arrived yet?”

“I’m sorry,” says Carl. “I only know things related to my guild and Mr. Red’s participation in the event.”

I know exactly why Crayton has not appeared—he’s still depressed about his daughter’s condition. In his place is a high-power lady executive who is wearing an expensive suit, even for someone of her status. Her name is Amilia Brakes.

“I will answer for all questions directed towards Mr. Blanche,” says Brakes. “I have legal authority to do so.”

Well, at least Crayton hasn’t totally abandoned his company.

“How did an S-class adventurer like Markus Red allow an innocent non-adventurer to lose their life?” asks another reporter.

“I would advise you to look up the monster known as the “wraith” in a dungeon encyclopedia,” says Carl. “Even an S-class adventurer cannot deal with one if it catches them with their guard down.”

There are murmurs in the crowd. Another reporter raises her notepad.

“Do you know who the perpetrator was?” she asks.

Carl appears to be wrestling with the question. “It’s a memetic hazard,” he finally says. “So I can’t tell you without hurting you.”

The reporters go wild. “A memetic hazard?” says one of them. “Do you even know what it is?”

Carl shakes his head. “These things go above my head,” he says, trying to quiet the crowd.

More camera flashes happen. Another reporter stands up. “I heard that there was a terrorist plot involved in this,” he says. “Do you know anything about that?”

“I can answer that,” says Brakes, holding out her arm. “Yes, it was a terrorist group. However, Esmex and its subsidiaries were not targets of said group. We only happened to be in its way as things happened.”

“What was their goal?” asks the reporter.

Brakes shakes her head. “We do not know,” she says.

More commotion. “I have a question for Mr. Red,” says another reporter. “Being a student, how did you manage to be there during the event?”

Carl holds his hand out. “Mr. Red is working on a contract with Esmex to produce conjured materials. I cannot say more than that.”

The reporters continued to ask questions, and I let Carl and Brakes handle as much as possible. I am, after all, just a student.

I leave the building as soon as possible once the conference is over. I am dead tired, and I drop into the seat of the limo as soon as Sebastian opens the door for me.

My day is not done yet. I still have to go to the promised meeting with Biren, in the crystal palace above the Esmex building’s penthouse.

We arrive at the building shortly and I enter the lobby behind Sebastian. He bows once I arrive at the elevator. “I will be unable to accompany you,” he says. “Biren has requested to meet you alone. If you do need me, I will arrive as soon as I can.”

I turn to the elevator. “Thanks,” I say, as the doors close. I ride the elevator to the penthouse.

Once I step out, I notice that room is pristinely clean, a huge difference from the last time I was here. I see no sign of Crayton.

I enter the private elevator that rises to the crystal palace. Once I am inside, my stomach churns. I rise about a floor and then the elevator stops.

I leave the elevator and enter the same crystal room I saw when I first met Crayton.

Biren is sitting in an executive’s chair, facing the window and watching the city.

“It’s so ephemeral, humanity,” says Biren. He does not turn to me. “Everyone going about their business without a care in the world. Each person believing that they are the most important out of all of them.” He raises a champaign glass.

I am getting déjà vu vibes from this encounter.

“I’ve decided,” I say. “I’m going to give you the antimatter. Just give me enough time to figure out a way to produce it safely.”

“I said I would give you an infinite deadline, didn’t I?” says Biren. He takes sip from his glass. “And I’ll even allow you to keep working on that pet project of yours, that you call Rearden Metal.”

“I’m returning to America in a month,” I say.

“I can take that into account as well,” says Biren. “Nowadays you can be halfway across the globe in twelve hours.” He twirls the champaign in his glass. “Anyways, I’m glad you accepted.” He stands up, places the champaign glass on the desk, and walks into the window. He passes through it as if it were a bubble, and then descends into the city night.

I hear a muffled thumping behind the only non-clear wall in the crystal palace. I walk up to it and touch it. It’s actually a closet, and when I open it, Crayton falls out, his mouth and hands duct taped.

For all his pompousness, Biren sure was crude in his methodology in this case. I help Crayton up and seat him in the executive’s chair.

“What happened?” I say. I strip the duct tape from Crayton’s mouth.

Crayton gasps. “He came and told me he could awaken Alice,” he says. “And when I let him in, all of a sudden I was trapped.”

“He was a member of the Silvebones,” I say.

Crayton’s eyes bulge. He wheezes. “No, ah!” he says. “Don’t say that word. Don’t say it!”

It looks like the memetic hazard still affects him.

“You wanted to join them, right?” I say. “That’s what you were hinting about to me back when we first met.”

Crayton shakes his head. “No. I did not understand them. I do not want to join them. Every time I think about them my brain hurts and I’m foggy for the next few hours.” He coughs. “I’m sorry. I let you down.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I say. “He’s a lot stronger than any of us.”

Crayton sees the champaign glass on the desk and grabs it. With one long draught, he finishes it and places the glass back on the desk. “I need to snap out of it,” he says. He slams his hand on the table. “There are things I can do to help Alice wake up.” He stands up, and begins pacing the small, transparent room. “I will give you anything if you manage to heal her,” he says, “Though I do believe that you would have done it if you could.”

“I would have,” I say. “In the meantime, I’m going to keep working on Rearden Metal and fulfill my side of the contract.”

“Why do you still care about that?” says Crayton.

“I made a promise,” I say, “And I want to keep it. It’s the entire reason why I’m still here.”

Crayton stops. “What can you tell me about the person who put me in the closet?”

I shake my head. “It’s all mimetically hazardous.”

Crayton opens a small compartment and grabs a bottle of wine, uncorking it. He pours himself a glass and sits in the executive’s chair. “I underestimated you,” he says. “If you want, I can release you from the contract to produce Rearden Metal so that you can chase whatever that intruder was offering you.”

I shake my head. “I’m a man of my word,” I say. “I’ll continue working on Rearden Metal until I get it right.”

Crayton swirls the wine in his glass. “What do you think of me?” he asks.

“I think you’re doing well as a CEO,” I say, “Despite what happened to you when Alice fell asleep.”

“I didn’t mean like that,” says Crayton. “As a potential father in law, what do you think of me personally?”

I stammer. “Um, uh, er,” I say. The whole “father in law” thing caught me off guard. “I think you’re an okay person,” I say.

“Just okay?” says Crayton. He takes a sip of his wine. “Well, that’s the best I can hope for considering what I’ve done. I am a ruthless capitalist, after all.”

I shake my head. “I think you’re good at what you do and I respect you for that.”

Crayton sighs, turning to watch the city at sunset. “Well, I can’t stop what’s already in motion. Finish the Rearden Metal contract and go home. I suppose our fates will stay intertwined.”

I bow. “I’ll be taking my leave, then,” I say.

I leave. Crayton does not watch me, instead continuing to watch the sunset over the city of London.

I take the special elevator to the penthouse, and then the express back to ground floor. When I step out, Sebastian greets me.

“Master,” he says. “Did you give Biren your answer?”

“I told him I would do it,” I say. “And, he gave me as much time as I think I’ll need.”

“That’s surprisingly generous for a career criminal and serial killer,” says Sebastian.

I shake my head, feeling an overwhelming surge of emotion. “I don’t know what else to do. I trust Mandrake’s assessment of what Biren wants, but at the same time, I don’t want to be responsible for millions of deaths.”

“You’ve already made your decision, though,” says Sebastian. “What’s behind us is behind us.”

“And what’s ahead of us is ahead of us,” I say.

I hear a voice in my head.

Please, it says. Help me. I get a feeling that should go in a particular direction. I turn to Sebastian. “Did you hear that?”

Sebastian tilts his head. “Hear what?”

I turn to the doorway. “I know where to go, but I don’t know what I’m going to. All I know is that I need you to drive me somewhere.”

“Of course,” says Sebastian.

We leave the building and I get into the limo. After Sebastian starts the car and pulls into the street, I give him directions based on the feeling I have in my gut.

We arrive at a small empty lot in a rather claustrophobic old part of town. I step out of the limousine and catch sight of an ephemeral figure.

I approach them. “Hello?” I say.

The figure turns to me. It’s Alice, but different. Her eyes are one color, and her hair is clear white. She steps towards me.

Markus, she says. I’m sorry.

I feel energy coursing through me. “What happened to you?” I say.

I do not know, says Alice. There are many of me now. I am scattered across the world.

“Do you know where your other selves are?” I ask.

Alice shakes her head, and says nothing. She walks to a small stump and sits on it. I do not remember much, she says. All I know is that I was lied to.

I approach her, but before I can reach her, the spiritual form dissipates. I am left grasping a wisp of white.

I think I know what happened. Alice’s soul has been split into multiple forms and those forms are now wandering the world. I don’t know how I know this, just that it’s apparent from how things appeared.

I turn to Sebastian. “Can you track her?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I cannot.”

I look at the empty lot. “We have a long way to go,” I say.