It's Scarlett from Perplex City. I found something important.
From: "Scarlett Kiteway" Add to Address Book
Subject: It's Scarlett from Perplex City. I found something important.
Date: Mon, 15 Aug 2005 17:22:31 +0100
To: scarlett@thescarlettkite.com
Hi. My name's Scarlett Kiteway, I'm 20 years old and I live in Perplex City, which is... well, it's not on Earth. If you're wondering how I got your address - the truth is that I took it from my dad, Sente. He doesn't know, but I just needed someone to talk to - there have been some pretty weird things going on over here. I need to talk about what's going on, but I can't really tell anyone in the City about it.
We Perplexians have been following the goings-on on Earth for a while, but we haven't contacted you until now. Why now? Well, last year the Cube - a very precious object - was stolen from us and concealed somewhere on Earth. We need to find it and get it back.
Or, wait, no, this isn't the right place to start. I should start a long time ago, when the Cube was originally found, when the scientists at the Academy tried to investigate it. They couldn't find out much about it. Some of them died in the process. Or, no, maybe I should have started by saying that my father, Sente, is now the Master of the Academy, that he's been asking people on Earth to find the Cube.
As you can see, this is a story that has a lot of starting places. Perhaps the best thing is to tell you where it starts for me. It's very simple really. I'm a student and I got a summer job. I started last week, and now I find I'm on a journey. I can't quite explain what I'm doing, even to myself, but I can't stop now. And because I can't tell my friends or my family, I'm telling you. I'll send out an email every week. There's a lot going on in Perplex City; who knows, maybe by sifting all the clues that are out there, you'd find out who stole the Cube. But as for me, I'm following my own lead. My story starts here and you can follow it with me.
****
The Sentinel's a weird place to work. It's Perplex City's leading newspaper, so everyone's serious and focused, but at the same time there's an "atmosphere of trust", so it's OK to take long lunches and wander off for hours at a time. Which, I have to say, I do tend to do sometimes, being an intern. It's been kind of a dull week, all things considered, only punctuated by long lunches with friends and colleagues. Except for last night, which wasn't dull at all. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Monday was pretty standard. Iona Rodie, my friend here at the Sentinel, took me round to introduce me to the staff as the new intern. We passed by Pietro Salk's desk - he was a Sentinel reporter who died a few weeks ago. It was really sad; he was young and his death was completely unexpected, just a sudden stroke, they said. His desk has a picture of him on it now, and some flowers. It's a strange empty place in the middle of a busy office. People go quiet every time they walk past his desk.
Wednesday, my sister Violet and her friend Kurt came to see me. Kurt's one of the few other people in Perplex City to have a website that can be viewed from Earth. We love to talk about the letters we get from people on Earth and compare thoughts but on Wednesday Kurt seemed sort of rattled, which was odd. Apparently last week one of his Earth correspondents had asked him to find out what a "Reynolds ionizer" was. He drew a blank, but his key (the all-purpose sort of computer we use here) detected that a military trace was being used to find out who he was. He thought he'd blocked it, but he's been finding a couple of odd things on his key since then, which makes him think that maybe something got through and he's being tracked.
I have to say, I didn't think much about it after that. Kurt's really cool, and excellent with technology - I was sure that his key couldn't have got infected with anything too damaging. Thursday, no one came to see me :-( So I spent my lunch hour checking through some of the email *I'd* received from people on Earth. Strangely, quite a few people wanted me to go and have a look at Pietro Salk's desk, to see what I could find out about him. I guess whenever someone dies unexpectedly, you always want to know what they were like, to understand what happened. Anyway, I didn't mind, but I thought I should probably wait until everyone else had left the office.
That was the hardest part, really, staying in the building long enough to do it. I often stay until 8pm or 9pm - everyone does, it's just part of the job. When the first people left, I said I was "finishing something up". Then when a few stragglers were leaving, they kept asking what I was working on that was so urgent. I said it was schoolwork, and they rolled their eyes. At 11pm, the Sentinel's editor Michiko Clark herself wandered through the office; I think she was quietly impressed to see me still working, but she didn't say anything and I felt too guilty to say hello!
But by 11.30pm the floor was silent apart from the hum of the air conditioner. I walked over to Pietro's desk. The office was eerie - the only movement was my reflection in the dark windows. I kept thinking that a security guard was going to find me, or that someone in a neighbouring office block would look over and see what I was doing. But the floor was quiet. I stood in front of the desk - there was nothing on it apart from a floral display and a big picture of Pietro, smiling. I turned the picture face down on the desk.
I sat down in his chair. That felt weird too. No one sits at this desk now. I pulled open his file drawer. It was mostly empty. A few old case files lingered at the back, for stories of his that are over and done with: Zindian Trials, Tompeka and Lode, Five of Cups. I remember that story - it's recent. A guy got murdered in his bar and they found technological equipment stashed there. I pulled the file out and opened it, but there was nothing in it. I don't mean that there was nothing interesting in it - I mean that it was empty. I didn't quite understand that. If someone had taken over Pietro's files, why hadn't they taken the file folder out as well?
I put the file folder back down on Pietro's desk and stared at my reflection in the window. Nothing seemed to make sense, and I'd wasted a perfectly good evening searching through a dead man's desk. I felt ashamed of myself. I went to put the file back in the file drawer, to leave everything as I found it. Which was when I noticed something. A tiny note written in pencil but definitely in Pietro Salk's handwriting. On the back of the file folder, just by the metal hanging rod. It said this:
Reynolds ionizers. Viendenbourg.
******************
Subject: It's Scarlett from Perplex City. I found something important.
Date: Mon, 15 Aug 2005 17:22:31 +0100
To: scarlett@thescarlettkite.com
Hi. My name's Scarlett Kiteway, I'm 20 years old and I live in Perplex City, which is... well, it's not on Earth. If you're wondering how I got your address - the truth is that I took it from my dad, Sente. He doesn't know, but I just needed someone to talk to - there have been some pretty weird things going on over here. I need to talk about what's going on, but I can't really tell anyone in the City about it.
We Perplexians have been following the goings-on on Earth for a while, but we haven't contacted you until now. Why now? Well, last year the Cube - a very precious object - was stolen from us and concealed somewhere on Earth. We need to find it and get it back.
Or, wait, no, this isn't the right place to start. I should start a long time ago, when the Cube was originally found, when the scientists at the Academy tried to investigate it. They couldn't find out much about it. Some of them died in the process. Or, no, maybe I should have started by saying that my father, Sente, is now the Master of the Academy, that he's been asking people on Earth to find the Cube.
As you can see, this is a story that has a lot of starting places. Perhaps the best thing is to tell you where it starts for me. It's very simple really. I'm a student and I got a summer job. I started last week, and now I find I'm on a journey. I can't quite explain what I'm doing, even to myself, but I can't stop now. And because I can't tell my friends or my family, I'm telling you. I'll send out an email every week. There's a lot going on in Perplex City; who knows, maybe by sifting all the clues that are out there, you'd find out who stole the Cube. But as for me, I'm following my own lead. My story starts here and you can follow it with me.
****
The Sentinel's a weird place to work. It's Perplex City's leading newspaper, so everyone's serious and focused, but at the same time there's an "atmosphere of trust", so it's OK to take long lunches and wander off for hours at a time. Which, I have to say, I do tend to do sometimes, being an intern. It's been kind of a dull week, all things considered, only punctuated by long lunches with friends and colleagues. Except for last night, which wasn't dull at all. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Monday was pretty standard. Iona Rodie, my friend here at the Sentinel, took me round to introduce me to the staff as the new intern. We passed by Pietro Salk's desk - he was a Sentinel reporter who died a few weeks ago. It was really sad; he was young and his death was completely unexpected, just a sudden stroke, they said. His desk has a picture of him on it now, and some flowers. It's a strange empty place in the middle of a busy office. People go quiet every time they walk past his desk.
Wednesday, my sister Violet and her friend Kurt came to see me. Kurt's one of the few other people in Perplex City to have a website that can be viewed from Earth. We love to talk about the letters we get from people on Earth and compare thoughts but on Wednesday Kurt seemed sort of rattled, which was odd. Apparently last week one of his Earth correspondents had asked him to find out what a "Reynolds ionizer" was. He drew a blank, but his key (the all-purpose sort of computer we use here) detected that a military trace was being used to find out who he was. He thought he'd blocked it, but he's been finding a couple of odd things on his key since then, which makes him think that maybe something got through and he's being tracked.
I have to say, I didn't think much about it after that. Kurt's really cool, and excellent with technology - I was sure that his key couldn't have got infected with anything too damaging. Thursday, no one came to see me :-( So I spent my lunch hour checking through some of the email *I'd* received from people on Earth. Strangely, quite a few people wanted me to go and have a look at Pietro Salk's desk, to see what I could find out about him. I guess whenever someone dies unexpectedly, you always want to know what they were like, to understand what happened. Anyway, I didn't mind, but I thought I should probably wait until everyone else had left the office.
That was the hardest part, really, staying in the building long enough to do it. I often stay until 8pm or 9pm - everyone does, it's just part of the job. When the first people left, I said I was "finishing something up". Then when a few stragglers were leaving, they kept asking what I was working on that was so urgent. I said it was schoolwork, and they rolled their eyes. At 11pm, the Sentinel's editor Michiko Clark herself wandered through the office; I think she was quietly impressed to see me still working, but she didn't say anything and I felt too guilty to say hello!
But by 11.30pm the floor was silent apart from the hum of the air conditioner. I walked over to Pietro's desk. The office was eerie - the only movement was my reflection in the dark windows. I kept thinking that a security guard was going to find me, or that someone in a neighbouring office block would look over and see what I was doing. But the floor was quiet. I stood in front of the desk - there was nothing on it apart from a floral display and a big picture of Pietro, smiling. I turned the picture face down on the desk.
I sat down in his chair. That felt weird too. No one sits at this desk now. I pulled open his file drawer. It was mostly empty. A few old case files lingered at the back, for stories of his that are over and done with: Zindian Trials, Tompeka and Lode, Five of Cups. I remember that story - it's recent. A guy got murdered in his bar and they found technological equipment stashed there. I pulled the file out and opened it, but there was nothing in it. I don't mean that there was nothing interesting in it - I mean that it was empty. I didn't quite understand that. If someone had taken over Pietro's files, why hadn't they taken the file folder out as well?
I put the file folder back down on Pietro's desk and stared at my reflection in the window. Nothing seemed to make sense, and I'd wasted a perfectly good evening searching through a dead man's desk. I felt ashamed of myself. I went to put the file back in the file drawer, to leave everything as I found it. Which was when I noticed something. A tiny note written in pencil but definitely in Pietro Salk's handwriting. On the back of the file folder, just by the metal hanging rod. It said this:
Reynolds ionizers. Viendenbourg.
******************
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