Beyond the Global Eye II

By Elsie Eyakuze | Read episode 1 here

Triniti’s heartbeat increased. She stared at the flashing cursor on her screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she wondered what to type. Clearly, Morfeuse was not quite the harmless online friend that she thought he was. In her business, it was not unusual for informants and other interested parties to develop an online relationship with journalists but Triniti was a little disturbed by how fast this new development had emerged. The cursor kept winking at her, daring her to make a decision. She wanted a few more minutes to think.

“Morfeuse,” she typed a little nervously, “are you asking me if I want to take the blue pill or the red pill now?” she joked, referring to the Matrix movies that had been such a craze about a decade ago. Clearly Morfeuse would get the reference, having taken his screen name from one of the main characters. Morfeuse’s answer was short and to the point:

“Yes.”

Triniti sat back on her couch again and though of her grandmother Nur yet again. She was the one who had encouraged Triniti to follow her curious nature into journalism, and she was also the one who had told her in no uncertain terms that courage was not negotiable and neither was truth. She sipped her Stella, peeling the edge of the label back as the condensation on the bottle softened the soggy paper. The empty space beneath Morfeuse’s challenge stared back at her, seeming to tick off the seconds as Triniti tried to discern whether this was a real opportunity or a suspicious event.

The back of her neck started to grow warm, and the bottom of her feet started to itch slightly. She shifted on the couch to stretch out the tension that seemed to be lodging in her lower back but that only made things worse. When the top of her lip started to perspire slightly, Triniti gave up thinking. She knew all of the signs that led up to her taking a risk. By the time she leaned over her laptop again, she could hear her heart beating loud and slow in her eardrums.

“Okay, Morfeuse. Tell me more about this job.”

“I am so glad you are interested,” typed Morfeuse immediately, “for a minute there I wondered if you had been scared off…” Triniti sat back again, slightly reassured by the returning warmth in Morfeuse’s tone. She wasn’t entirely pleased by all this mysteriousness, but at least Morfeuse seemed like a real person.

“Journalists can’t afford to scare easy.” Triniti typed back. “So, what is this job then?”

“I would rather tell you in person, if you don’t mind. Since you have some time on your hands, could you meet me tomorrow at 11:00. Front steps of the National Gallery?”

Triniti smiled. The classic first meeting at a public place to make sure that they would attract absolutely no notice in a busy city like Noldon, and that her safety would be more or less guaranteed. She was very curious to see if Morfeuse would turn up in person, and if so what he would look like. Journalism was interesting, but this had an element of espionage to it that made things thrilling. Unfortunately Triniti had also read too many accounts of real espionage to believe that it would involve anything exciting. Still, one could hope.

“How will I recognize you?” she typed back. “Will you be wearing a long black trenchcoat?’

“Now that you mention it, I should probably get one.” Morfeuse typed back with good humor. “Don’t worry, I will find you. See you tommorrow Triniti.”

Morfeuse’s online icon turned from green to red abruptly. Triniti sat back and sighed, hoping that she hadn’t just made a huge mistake. She got up and took her empty bottle back to the kitchen and stared out again at the winking lights of Noldon, shimmering in the slight wetness that the fogs and rain always slicked the city in. The events of the day were starting to catch up with her, the abrupt departure from her job and Morfeuse’s immediate offer. She felt slightly dizzy and swayed on her feet with exhaustion but her mind stubbornly refused to calm. She opened the fridge again and stared at the Chinese take-away, wondering if she could eat it cold or if it was worth the five minutes in the microwave to have something hot and almost nutritious. She chose the microwave, and switched on the TV by habit as she waited for her dinner to warm.

The news hadn’t changed much since the afternoon. The lead story was still the suicide bombing in Madascus, Rysia and the number of dead had risen slightly as more bodies were unearthed from the rubble. There was some economic news and the promise of a special report on the implications of the growing relationship between Afrika and Zhonghua and what it might mean for Together Isles which had long-term interests in her former colonies on the continent. Britton Petroleum’s former CEO was shown leaving his house under assault from the press yet again, refusing to answer questions about a tanker that may have been ordered to take an illegal route and had ended up leaking near the Great Frontier Reef north of Straya, causing untold environmental damage.

Triniti plucked her warm carton of food from the microwave and sat down to cashew-nut chicken on rice and the soothing murmur of Global Eye TV. There was a very brief piece about snakeboys in Zantinia, children who were used to slither into mining holes to haul up precious Zantinite, and something about the huge haunted eyes in those gaunt faces touched her like nothing had in months. It did not really matter what the news was. Morfeuse was right, something was terribly broken in the system.

Triniti woke up from a vivid dream involving snakes and minepits and her grandmother Nur urgently telling her to take the water, take it somewhere safe. That would teach her to sleep on the couch, a habit that made her wonder why she had bought such an expensive bed if she wasn’t going to use it. She got up and stretched. Outside her window the lights of Noldon were gone, replaced by a healthy clear light. The quiet TV was telling her that it would be a warm day and that it was 8:37 in the morning. Time for Triniti to start a new life.

Triniti sat on the steps of the National Gallery, amusing herself by trying to guess which of the people trudging up to look at portraits were tourists, and which were Noldoners. A sudden tap on her shoulder startled her out of her game- Morfeuse! Triniti turned sharply and to see the top of a woman’s head, slightly covered in a beautiful green scarf that let through a peek of thick red-black hair. Triniti blinked down into the smiling face of a middle-aged woman dressed in a blue tunic with shimmering beadwork on the sleeves and neckline.

“Hello Triniti,” Morfeuse laughed up into her face, “I am so pleased to meet you. You are quite the tall one, aren’t you?” She continued as Triniti stared in silence. “Come, we have a few things to pick up before we join the rest.”

“The rest?” Triniti asked, reduced to repeating statements in her startlement. How could Morfeuse look like she could be one of Triniti’s own aunties? Everything from her soft rounded face to the familiar perfume of expensive eau de toilette with a faint trace of kitchen spices combined to throw Triniti off-guard.

Morfeuse had already turned and was walking purposefully across the square in with a typical matriarchal stride. Naturally people flowed around her leaving Triniti stumbling to catch up in her wake. They were walking too fast for Triniti to start asking questions, and only when they stopped at a Food & Wine store to pick up napkins and a stack of paper plates did Triniti notice that Morfeuse was carrying a huge tote bag that looked quite heavy. This is getting bizarre, thought Triniti. While Morfeuse paid for the items, Triniti sent off a quick text to her friend Todd:

“Am in an interesting situation. Please call me in 30 mins and if I don’t pick up or text you back within ten minutes, worry. I hope I get a chance to explain.”

Just in case something happens, Triniti thought, dropping the phone back into her bag and turning to see Morfeuse watching her calmly from the door.

“I hope your friend will not worry too much” said Morfeuse, smiling. “You shouldn’t worry too much, dear. I rather think you will enjoy our outing.”

Triniti did not respond, startled again by this woman who seemed to know more than a sweet little auntie should. Morfeuse laughed once, and ducked outside into the streaming pedestrian traffic of Noldon again, challenging Triniti to keep up with her with long strides and the occasional bump into a stranger. They were headed towards a nearby park which would be quite crowded on a day like this. Noldoners never wasted a good warm day if they could.

Within ten minutes they had arrived, and Morfeuse strode through the park gates towards a shaded corner where a group of people were to be standing around on a flat spot under a large tree. Triniti counted five as they approached: A tall, dark woman in a cheerful African print dress, a young man with an impressive thick black beard and long hair dressed entirely in black, what appeared to be twins- the one sporting a cheerful pink mohawk and gleaming with chains and piercings and the other in a conservative suit that suggested banker or lawyer. The last was an older gentleman with a shock of white hair wearing, of all things, a tweed jacket on this hot day. They all turned as Morfeuse hailed them:

“I found her!” but no one offered a greeting. Instead they smiled at her, disconcertingly quiet as Morfeuse and Triniti stopped in front of the small gathering.

Morfeuse turned to her and said, “Triniti, these are Morfeuse. Morfeuse, meet Triniti.”

As though this was a proper introduction, they all nodded at Triniti and murmured variations of “hello” and “welcome”, some with a slight accent. This joggled Triniti’s memory- Morfeuse’s accent sounded quite familiar. In fact, she sounded a little like the Zantinians in last night’s story about the snake boys. She kept quiet and eyed them all, wondering what she had gotten herself into. A whole group that called themselves Morfeuse? This was definitely strange, no matter how harmless they all seemed. Morfeuse Prime- as Triniti promptly decided to call her guide- was saying something to her and Triniti tuned back in to catch the last few words:
“…for a picnic. We thought it might be a nice way for you to meet everyone and find out a bit about our job offer.” Triniti smiled down at Morfeuse Prime and nodded.

Within five minutes an assortment of blankets, food containers and beverages had appeared as if by magic from the bags of the various Morfeuses. Triniti was not surprised to see that Morfeuse Prime had brought the largest assortment of foodstuff. Probably all home-cooked, thought Triniti, who was starting to salivate slightly at the scent of something wonderful and fried coming from a particularly large container. Triniti looked up to find that she was not the only one, several of the other Morfeuses were silently staring at the container with a slight look of longing. Evidently these people ate together often enough for them to anticipate Morfeuse Prime’s cooking. That relaxed Triniti a little bit, but not much. Soon enough, they were seated in a circle on the various blankets and passing around containers of food.

Triniti decided this had gone far enough. “Sorry, Morfeuse. Or Morfeuses, whatever the plural is. I don’t mean to be difficult, but perhaps we could talk first before we get to the food? I am having some trouble feeling comfortable seeing as you all know who I am and I don’t know your real names. If I don’t get some kind of explanation in the next thirty seconds, I am afraid I am going to have to leave.”

What happens next? Stories invited!