“Hi, Mom,” Beth greeted the older woman.
Her mother’s wrinkled features appeared in a small window that hovered into Beth’s line of sight.
“Elizabeth, why have you not answered my calls?” her mother asked, a shrill tone in her voice. “I’ve been calling so much that I’m surprised I didn’t give you a headache.”
“I know, Mama, I’ve just been busy,” the detective replied. “Work has all but stolen my life. What’s going on? Is something wrong?”
“No,” Beth’s mom replied sheepishly, “I mean, not necessarily. I’ve just been wondering if you’ve heard from your father.”
“Mom, you guys have been divorced for a while now,” Beth said, picking her brush back up and turning to the easel. “Are you seriously still keeping an eye out for him? You know he doesn’t like that.”
“I know, I know,” her mother said. “It’s just that he left on one of his digital sabbaticals a week ago and no one’s heard a thing from him.”
“So? He’s probably just enjoying himself. Maybe he found someone.”
Beth could see her mother’s face glow a light shade of red. “Don’t say that,” she said, trying to make her tone sound joking. “I’m just worried about him. Will you please check in with him and tell me what you find out? It would mean a lot to me.”
Beth sighed, mostly as a way to tease her worrisome mother.
“If it’ll keep you from calling me every second of the day, fine,” Beth replied. “But there are no guarantees. He probably won’t answer me either.”
“Then I might have to see if the police have heard from him,” her mom said.
“Mom!” Beth exclaimed. “Don’t be such a worry-wart, okay? You’re only going to drive him farther away acting like this. Just give him some space.”
“I’m trying, baby,” her mother explained. “I just worry so much about all of you. Even him. I just want the best for our family. I don’t want us to drift apart just because your father got installed. Okay?”
“Okay, Mom. You don’t have to worry about me,” Beth said. “You should be telling this to Nathan. I haven’t heard from him in over three months.”
“I know, sweetheart, me either,” her mother said. “At least, not a live conversation. He still sends letters on that funny paper. I wonder if he’s still doing alright.”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s high as a kite right now.”
“Elizabeth! You do not speak about family that way.”
“Sorry, Mama,” Beth replied, taking in a deep breath. “You just know how I feel about it all. I miss him.”
“I know. Me too. I love you.”
“I love you too,” Beth said. “Now go do something fun. Distract yourself.”
She disconnected the call.
It wasn’t until she tried to lift her brush again that she noticed the large man standing over her work. She jumped with a start, doing her best to guide her brush back to her palette as she leaped back in her canoe. She felt the craft rock a little and did her best to stay afloat.
“I don’t mean to disturb you,” said the man, who now blocked the light from the sun entirely. Beth did her best to retain her footing, but fell back onto one of the benches that made the canoe’s seats.
“Who are you?” she demanded.
“I am Master General Blake Tarov,” the hulk replied. “I lead the militia group known as the Liberators. And I am here to help you in your hunt for Simon Mendez.”
Offer
Beth needed a moment to acclimate, and in the process, grabbed one of her paintbrushes like a knife. She was prepared to drive the wooden handle of the tool into Tarov’s digital skull, even though she knew this was all simulated and the militia leader could do nothing to harm her. Once this fact coalesced in her mind, she relaxed, and let the brush fall into the boat.
“I can understand if you’re skeptical,” Tarov said. “Your forces and mine have been at war for as long as we’ve existed. But now, when things are most crucial, we have a common enemy.”
“Is that so?” Beth asked, still desperately aware of the sharp instruments around her. Maybe if she grabbed the paint knife, she could get a good swipe at the intruder’s throat. It would take a lot of strength, considering the short window of time she’d have to work within.
Somehow, it seemed like Tarov could sense her thoughts. As carelessly as a boy picks a flower, he picked up the paint knife and examined it.
“You don’t think this is enough to bring me down, do you?” he asked the detective.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she kept her eyes locked on the militia leader and tried to scoot back, until she realized she was already in the bow of the canoe.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” Tarov declared. “Can’t you see that? If it makes you feel more at ease, take me somewhere you consider ‘home.’ ”
She looked at the man with wide eyes. He was muscular and at least a foot taller than herself, but she could tell he meant no harm. Even if he was the leader of the worst terrorist group in over five decades, he didn’t show it.
With a wave of her hand, Beth changed the scene. They transitioned from a river along the castle’s bank to a modern conference room. Beth walked around a long table before pausing at a coffee maker.
“Would you like a cup?” she offered.
Tarov refused with a wave of his enormous hand. “None for me, thanks,” he said. “Trying to stay natural.”
The humor of the comment wasn’t lost on Beth, but she stifled any laugh she might let free. She wanted the upper hand in this conversation. She wanted Tarov to know that he was just a guest, and she was in control.
Tarov seemed to play the role accordingly. He took a glass of water before seating himself on the opposite end of the table.
“I want to talk to you about Simon, as I have mentioned,” the I.I. said.
“And I want to talk about him, as well,”
