Stormy Weather in Paradise

by Invisible Ranger (HBF), 2014

Disclaimer: Elysium and all its characters belong to /Media Rights Capital/Sony Pictures. This is for the jazz and not for profit. OCs are mine.

Dedication: To MauMauKa and leave your sanity at the door, two of the best friends anyone could ask for.

Author's Notes: Sequel to "A Long Way From Paradise." It's certainly inspired me to write, and we'll just see where it goes from here. Thanks to my lovely Wrecking Kru for their tireless support.

Chapter 1

Lorelei knew he was there.

In a way, the dark man never left her. When she was awake, often she found her thoughts unintentionally drifting to him, and always at the most inconvenient times: while trying to sit for an essay exam in class, the garden parties and formal dinners, when she was supposed to be putting on a brilliant display of her charm and prowess playing Mozart on the violin, the awkward introductions to an endless parade of "nice young men" at her aunt's or mother's house. Every one of these…and Lorelei had started to dread their visits… she subconsciously pictured with the same vaguely defined face, that dark, bearded, angular visage looming just beneath a tattered burlap cowl.

And then there was bedtime. That was a different matter entirely; strictly the boogeyman's hour, when he would regularly pay his visits. He, the most dedicated and tireless of all, would simply hover there as if watching over her in his own twisted way. The strangest part was, she could actually smell him during every one of these sojourns, a curious mélange of sweat, musk, and sour tobacco smoke. He also liked to touch her. Oh, boy, did he ever. Not in the so-called inappropriate ways, yet he would reach out, take her hand, send that eerie weird-but-cool feeling coursing through her body. Definitely unnerving, but she'd strangely come to crave it in her own way.

If that wasn't real, then what was? Am I going crazy?

The adults in her life hadn't been much help on the subject. Tante Jessica was busier than ever at work, and barely listened to anything she said. Dr. Perine called the nocturnal visits "hallucinations," and always liked to gently change the subject whenever it arose during a session. Mr. Smith, her shadow, her bodyguard…her ally… was only slightly more sympathetic than the two women.

"What do you think he represents, Miss Delacourt?" he might say in that enigmatic Zen way he had of answering questions with more questions.

The truth was, she hadn't come up with a suitable answer yet. The obvious choice was fear: in the years following the events of her fifth birthday, which she still couldn't properly remember, Lorelei had experienced sudden, intense panic attacks at the strangest, and most awkward, of times. The sight of a plastic bucket a younger child had left in the sandbox at the playground. At the house of a friend of her mother's, when the woman had shown off her prized blood-red begonias growing in the garden. On a field trip to the CCB broadcast center, when the techs had spoken of the satellite office in New Johannesburg, South Africa. On top of all that, Lorelei had developed a near-crippling claustrophobia; dark, enclosed spaces triggered screaming fits and seizures, one of which, in an elevator, had sent her to the hospital wing again after she'd clawed at herself so badly as to draw deep gouges. The wounds had healed nearly instantly as they always did, but even Aunt Jessica had shown up in a panic. That was how serious it had been.

All of it begged to be put together, made sense of, solved somehow. Lorelei had long since given up discussing these random triggers with Dr. Perine in their daily sessions, as they usually just meant a stronger dose of meds. She'd talk about her feelings, and how her day had gone, or why she'd smacked her annoying classmate Michel right in the jaw, but admit she was weak and afraid of something so trivial?

Never.

"C'mon, where are you hiding?" she whispered, as if to taunt her opponent to show himself. She tightened her grip on the little pistol in her hand, ready to shoot at a millisecond's notice.

In this place as well as outside, the dark man had proved elusive. Lorelei had spent countless hours hacking into the CCB's classified filesand the massive databases of Earthbound criminals' records looking for him. If she just had a name for him, perhaps it would make him less scary. Thousands of mugshots and photos, countless reports…and still she was no closer to knowing his true identity.

Yet he was real. He had to be real. If he wasn't, why had she become so obsessed with the very idea of him, walking that razor-thin line between sanity and craziness as she searched? A long time ago, she had given up believing in make-believe things like unicorns. That her seemed like a different person entirely. This version of herself had seen the dark man, who surely was made of bone and blood rather than air and fantasy, not just in her dreams, but in the land of the living. Someday, somehow, she'd find him.

At the moment, her lithe, ten-year-old body was a coiled spring at the mere thought, ready to explode. Mr. Smith had tried to teach her how to quiet the body and the mind, and, while he hadn't always been successful, one thing she had learned well was stealth. If an enemy couldn't see or hear you coming, he couldn't hurt you. Walking now on the balls of her little feet, Lorelei crept through the corridors of what she'd come to think of as her own Memory Palace. She had to keep reminding herself it wasn't real, otherwise, she might have spent entire days in here, chasing after her faceless enemy. This was merely a sim, and, like all the VR constructs on the torus, it was top-of-the-line, resetting itself for each new entrant so that no two sessions were alike. It interfaced directly with her thoughts…and since her thoughts were nearly always of him, Lorelei would find herself pursuing him through venues as diverse as an abandoned tanker ship, a steaming jungle, a bombed-out city ruin.

This time, the sim was just playing with her: it had manifested as Helene's Versailles-replica home, where Lorelei still visited weekly but hadn't lived in nearly five years. Every time she did go, without knowing why, Lorelei experienced a cold finger of dread running up and down her spine. Especially in and around the salon on the second floor, where her mother kept her second, smaller med-bay.

"Oh, don't be silly, petit, there's nothing to be afraid of in there. If you're worried, why don't you come to my room and help me pick out a dress for the soiree tonight? The Carlyles will be attending, you know…" That had been the most recent visit, and, as usual, Helene had gabbled on about nothing, oblivious to her daughter's terror. Typical, which was why Lorelei had taken to spending so much time in the Memory Palace.

Lorelei held her weapon at the ready, using the proper's shooter's posture Mr. Smith had drilled into her. The boogeyman could be anywhere in here, and she wanted to get the jump on him, subdue him, bend him to her will. Why have you been watching me? she desperately wanted to ask. Who are you?

A flicker of sudden movement caught her eye. She whirled on her heel, pointed…too late. The dark, hooded figure pounced, a nightmare come to horrible, vivid life, right before her eyes. In his right hand, as he almost always did, he held that long, wickedly sharp blade. And he used it at its intended purpose, swinging it in a flashing arc toward her head, her exposed neck. The weapon smashed into a thousand pixels, which would have been her own blood if the thing had been real…and then vanished entirely.

"Simulation terminated. Replay?"

The cool, distant female voice of the sim's AI announced it before Lorelei could. Frustration welled up in her like water behind a crumbling dam. Tears stung her eyes. No matter how hard she tried, how diligently she trained, the faceless man was always one step ahead. He knew her better than she knew herself. Lorelei angrily flung away the Asgari pistol, which didn't have live ammo anyway, from her hand, hearing it clatter away somewhere down the now-empty hall.

"I'll find you. If it's the last thing I ever do, I'm gonna track you down, you bastard," she said to no one in particular, voice trembling.

~~s~~

"Ah. I'm glad I caught you here, Agent Smith. I wanted to get an update on Lorelei, since I'm finally out of meetings," Secretary Delacourt said, Manolo heels smartly clicking across the floor. The training facility's doors slid shut with a brief whoosh behind her. "She's in the sims again, isn't she?"

The whole time Lorelei had been engaged in her practice session, Garrett Smith had been carefully observing her from the hidden platform over the VR simulation room. It wasn't technically spying…she knew full well he was there…and yet, even after knowing her for five years, he always felt strangely guilty for doing so, as if there was something secret going on in her world to which he should, and would, never be privy. "I don't try and stop the flow of a river, Secretary," he mused aloud, "but I can attempt to harness its energy properly. She is still coping with her traumas, and she must deal with her anger and frustration. This is a healthy way for her to do so, and I must say, she's coming along very well. Besides, whether you like it or not, self-defense is an essential skill for her."

Delacourt joined him on the observer's balcony, and they both peered down at Lorelei, who had begun to pace back and forth, muttering something under her breath which neither of them could hear behind the thick, soundproof glass. "Indeed. It's not a talent I'd have picked for her, though. Why can't she spend as much time and effort practicing her violin, or getting to know people at the parties? Things that will actually help her succeed later in life? Even getting her to wear proper clothes is like pulling teeth. I know I enjoyed those things when I was her age, but no, she'd rather be in here, playing soldier…"

The big man chuckled, a surprisingly jolly sound from someone of his bearlike size and build. "But you see, she is not you. She is her own person. Believe me, she can be stubborn when she wants to. I've met Russian mafiosos and hardened jihadi terrorists less stubborn than this girl," Smith said with a wry smile. Almost playfully, he added, "I wonder where she gets that from?"

"Don't remind me." Delacourt wished it were happy hour; she'd spent most of the day in tedious contract negotiations with an Armadyne subsidiary and felt like a glass or two of Pinot right about now. The fact that her niece was skiving off a ballet lesson to shoot at ghosts made the craving even worse. "How is she, really? Still the same, or getting better, do you think?" Every day, she asked him some variant of this question, always hoping she might finally get the answer she wanted.

"Ah." The humor disappeared as quickly as it had come, and his face took on its usual stoic, pensive cast. "I am no analyst…I leave those matters strictly in Dr. Roi-Schultz's capable hands…and yet, if you want my honest opinion?" Smith looked down at Lorelei, who had retrieved her pistol and reset the sim for simple target practice. "Jessica, she's a very special child. Sensitive, for sure, and so intelligent for her age. But she has a fire burning inside her too...and it's easy to see why, knowing her composition. Maybe it was there before the Incident but that surely did nothing to quench it. She needs an outlet for that side. You can have her take ballet and violin lessons all you like; they won't do for her what this does. Look. She's enjoying herself," he said, gesturing down at where Lorelei was hitting mark after mark. "Children, normal children, go through enough without bearing any added burdens. This one has enough for ten."

Delacourt couldn't really argue with him, and that was what irritated her. Lorelei's road to recovery had not always been a smooth one. There were days when her niece seemed perfectly normal, sweet, even, like the innocent little soul who had once dreamed of unicorns and tea parties and dress-up time. Then there were what she'd come to think of as the stormy days. When Lorelei kicked or punched her classmates, acted out defiantly in public, or locked herself into her room. Lately there had been a lot more of the latter than the former. "I know you and Perine are doing everything you can for her, and the fact that she's come so far already means the world to me," she told him, emotion choking her words. "It's just…I wish there were something I could do. Lorelei just doesn't listen to me. When I have dinner with her, or take her to an event, it's like we're having two different conversations. If I ask her about school, or her friends, she shuts me out. It's as if she's a teenager already, but she's only ten, for God's sake." Delacourt almost wanted to laugh at that. "Isn't there something I can do? I'm not her mother, and she has her own set of issues with Helene, yet I feel as if I'm missing something. What is it, Smith? Help me here," she practically begged him, the frustration seeping into her normally cool, collected voice.

"Are you seeing her tonight?"

"Absolument. We'll be headed home in my aircar from here. I have to have a little talk with her…why are you looking at me that way?" Delacourt frowned, not sure where he was going with all of this talking in circles.

Smith gave her the kind of serene, knowing smile that she always associated with the faces of saints in long-forgotten church frescoes. "If I might be so bold, simply let her be. At least for tonight, as an experiment. Let her do most of the talking; any blind man could see something is bothering her, and if I've learned anything as her mentor, it's that Lorelei will open up when she wants to. 'Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.' Do you know who said that?" he asked.

"I couldn't begin to guess." Literature had never been her forte. "Aristotle?"

"You're in the right era. Lao-tze. Studying his work, I'm always reminded, and humbled, at how little I really understand about the world. Even after nearly two hundred years of life," Smith said, looking down fondly at Lorelei as he did so, "there are still a good many things that reignite my sense of wonder. Lorelei has done that. She is special indeed, and I'm privileged to know her. Even on the days when, shall we say, she tries even my patience."

The Defense Secretary didn't know whether to laugh or cry. It was precisely the kind of conflicted dilemma she dealt with daily. "She has a real knack for that. I only wish she possessed a few more, well, feminine qualities. If only she could dance, or sing, half as well as she shoots. My God, when that girl sings, one can almost see the paint peeling from the walls."

They both laughed, grateful that the girl couldn't hear them.

"I take it she hasn't met up with 32 Alpha, or his thugs, since the night of," Smith said after the light moment had passed. He never seemed to mention Agent C.M. Kruger by name, as if the very act could summon the volatile South African from wherever he happened to be. "She seems rather obsessed with him even after the wipe. Dreams, you know. The other day, she told me she had one in which I was white, and," his nostrils flared in indignation, "had a bloody beard, and that terrible accent." Nothing ever got to Garrett Smith, and brought out his vitriol, quite like being likened to his notorious fellow Gen 1 agent. "Can you imagine? I thought Dr. Roi-Schultz had cracked that particular nut."

In all honesty, Delacourt had as well. Lorelei's memory wipe had been constructed so that she would not remember anything associated with the Incident, Kruger, or anything that had happened on her fifth birthday. Nevertheless, as Perine had warned, the subconscious was a slippery eel indeed. There was always the chance that something would remain after even the most careful wipe. Clearly, as evidenced by Lorelei's determination to play war games and dress in fatigues instead of skirts, a piece or two had stubbornly clung on. At the very thought of Kruger, Delacourt couldn't help but wince. "I've sent him into death trap after death trap for the past few years, Agent Smith. Congo, East Turkestan, that awful mess in Chechnya. As you well know, he not only survives those situations, but seems to rather enjoy himself in the process. That being said, keeping him busy also keeps him far away from Lorelei." She smirked, seeing Smith's barely disguised distaste at the idea of Kruger harassing the girl. "As for his men, I've split them up, remember? Agent Drake now has his own command, and he hand-picked Agent Crowe to fly that new Rook-class ship. They haven't caused me nearly so much trouble without their leader to get them into unnecessary mischief, and they're doing quite well. Besides, you could say I actually owe the two of them."

"You could just get rid of those three troublemakers, especially 32 Alpha, permanently. The man is an accident waiting to happen again. Did you ever think of that?" The calmness in Smith's voice was gone; cold, hard steel took its place. His dislike for the Oryx Squadron was an open secret, but for some reason he had never divulged, he especially loathed Kruger.

She paused. The thought had occurred to her more than once…especially the night of the Incident, when she wished she could have strung Kruger up by his balls…yet Delacourt knew that was impossible. "Agent Smith, you of all people should know why that won't happen," she explained, giving him the most benign expression she possessed. "The bureaucracy alone, and the CCB's sheer need for manpower, prevent us from discharging any veteran agent. You've seen Agent Kruger's files; you know what he's done, and still, he's with us."

"Like bloody syphilis," Smith muttered darkly. "Can't get rid of the bastard."

"For those without med-bays, yes, that's an apt metaphor. However, with at least a dozen different hacker cells, insurgencies, and assorted Earthbound deviants occupying my plate on any given day, not to mention being Lorelei's de facto mother, I hate to admit this, but I can always use someone like Agent Kruger to clean up messes," Delacourt said, a strange gleam in her eyes. "He is nothing if not efficient. You read the Kuala Lumpur report from last week, I take it?"

He had. A raid in the city; six gun runners and one of their female associates dispatched in the most brutal ways imaginable. "The man is about as subtle as a piano dropped from the sky, isn't he?" Smith asked rhetorically. "He lacks finesse." As he spoke of Kruger, he carefully studied Lorelei, wondering if he wasn't seeing another manifestation of the hated 32 Alpha before his very eyes as the girl mercilessly picked off targets.

"I pay you for your finesse and wisdom, Agent Smith," Delacourt reminded him warningly, "and Kruger for his respective talents. I have kept the two of you apart as per our agreement. You'll never have to work with him again. Let him do what he does on Earth; I'll continue to trust you to help Lorelei."

That much was true; aside from seeing him across crowded rooms a few times at official CCB functions, Smith had not crossed paths with Kruger in a very long time. He could only hope that would continue to hold true. "Very well," he said, tight-lipped and obviously agitated despite his collected facade. "I see she has completed her sim. It might be time to get her before she goes off chasing her phantom again."

Delacourt touched her wrist comm, syncing it with the PA system in order to speak to her niece. "Lorelei, ma Cherie, it's time to go. Come up here; we're leaving now."

Below them, Lorelei looked up, raised her arms triumphantly, and smiled, as if to say, Look, I did it!

"That's very good. Leave the gun behind. Don't even think about sneaking it home the way you did last time. You nearly gave poor Amelie a short-circuit."

Smith glanced at the Defense Secretary sideways. That bit was apparently news to him, though the smirk on his face told her he wasn't the least bit surprised. "Remember what I said," he said softly. "Tiny drops of water to wear down that mountainside, Jessica."

"I'll try not to think of my niece as a mountainside," she answered wryly as Lorelei made her way up the staircase and to them on the platform. "Tomorrow, same time? You're headed home now too, I believe?"

For a man who was chronologically pushing two hundred, Agent Smith was working awfully long days, shadowing Lorelei from dawn until dusk on most of them. However, as a Gen 1, he had the gifts of patience, endurance and fortitude to go along with his already strong constitution, and he had never once complained. "I am. I'll be sure and meditate on what I can do to help her along. Sadly, though, I never learned to sing or dance. You'll have to find someone else for that, I'm afraid," he joked, gathering his jacket and pulling it on.

"Someone else for what, Mr. Smith?" Lorelei had joined them, panting. She wore the smallest size tunic and pants available in the training center, which was still much too large; the effect was always comical. With her sleeves rolled up and feet stuffed into boots, she looked as if she were auditioning for a CCB agents' panto night. Garrett Smith tried not to smile.

"Your aunt and I were just talking about how well you did in there with that pistol. And how it might be time for you to learn rifle as well," the big man said, deliberately poking the elder Delacourt's sensibilities now but knowing how much it would please the girl.

The look Jessica shot him said We'll discuss this in our conference tomorrow wordlessly.

"Wow. That is so cool," Lorelei exclaimed, clapping her hands together. Then, remembering her formal manners, she added, "I mean, thanks, Mr. Smith." She bowed from the waist as he had taught her, and he did likewise.

"We'd better head out, cherie," Delacourt said stiffly, stepping in and desperately trying to change the subject from anything martial. "I had Henri prepare that ratatouille you always liked," she told Lorelei.

"But I wanted meat," the girl protested. "Can't we have that lamb dish again?"

Delacourt looked to Smith as if to ask, You see what I have to deal with? "Very well. I'll call ahead and see what he can come up with," she acquiesced, tapping her comm and remembering Smith's advice to let things go.

"That sounds so lekker!" Lorelei squealed in delight. When the adults stopped, stared at her, then each other, she frowned. Lorelei wasn't used to seeing either of them at a loss for words. "Did I say something bad?" she asked hesitantly.

"No. It's just…" Delacourt picked her next statement very carefully. "Wherever did you hear that word?"

"I dunno." Lorelei studied her boots. "On TV, maybe? Or a movie?" She fidgeted; at this age she was in near-constant motion. "Can we go? I'm really hungry after all that."

"Yes, we'll go." Delacourt turned to Smith and politely shook his hand. "Thank you for everything, Garrett. I'll see you tomorrow." She yawned. "Another day awaits. No rest for the wicked."

"Always, Jessica." He returned the handshake and smiled. To Lorelei, he said, "I'll see you bright and early, Miss Delacourt. Get a good night's sleep and eat your vegetables."

It was there for just a split second, but Smith noticed: when he mentioned sleep, an involuntary shudder, and flinch of the eyes, passed across Lorelei's face. As she and her aunt departed, he waited a moment more on the now-deserted platform overlooking the sim.

"Replay," he ordered the VR construct tersely through his own comm. "Show me what she was chasing."

As with all the technology on the torus, the response was near-instantaneous. The hooded figure before him was vaguely defined, and appeared to be more wraith than solid flesh, but Smith would know the picture of Kruger anywhere. Lorelei had been chasing him again. And her mind was stitching even more details on what had once been a blank canvas. That disturbed him to the core; he would have to have a word with Perine.

"That's enough," he snapped, and the holo disappeared. The ramifications were dire, and he needed time to meditate on them.

If Lorelei is seeing Kruger more and more, how is that even possible? Why hasn't she told me about it? And, for God's sake, what in the world is that doing to her mind?

Still, he had to smirk even through his disturbed state. The girl hadn't figured out that the sim was rigged against her. Yet.

To Be Continued