Transmission 014 // “Wait. Stop. Danger. Run.”
The crowd spilled from the Grand Central Library, drawn back to their lives like a tide receding from the shore, gradually revealing the gilded skeleton of the atrium beneath. The cavernous space—a mosaic of glass panes, bound by dark iron beams—held its silence the way a shell swallows the secret sounds of the sea. A hollow echo lingered in the air, heavy with the weight and resonance of deep water.
Occasionally the stillness fractured. An elevator chimed, though no one ever seemed to emerge from it. From the corner café came the delicate clink of a cup meeting its saucer. Overhead, the air conditioning exhaled with mechanical patience—a steady, unseen breath moving through the building.
Marv slouched in an armchair, one foot tapping an erratic rhythm against the floor. He scrolled, typed, deleted—movements born of impatience more than purpose. Every so often he glanced at the auditorium doors, puffed his cheeks, then snapped back to the cracked screen.
Beside him, Amelia leaned into her chair, eyes tracing the ceiling beams for the third time. She laced her fingers together and stretched, her spine arching as tension slipped from her body—but not her mind. This building unsettled her in a way she couldn’t quite name. It was too pristine, too planned. This wasn’t a library in the way she’d come to understand. It felt like a place built to swallow stories, not share them.
Marv’s oversized soda let out a hollow gurgle as he drained it. With a sigh, he tossed the empty cup toward the trash.
“You think he’s even still here?”
“He has to be,” Amelia said, a sliver of impatience in her voice.
Marv shrugged without looking up.
“What if there’s a secret exit for VIPs? A network of tunnels that lead to an underground monorail, that kind of thing.”
Amelia rolled her eyes.
“Or maybe he heard that you were here, got intimidated, and slipped out the fire exit.”
“Yeah, even Orion Blackwell would run if he came face-to-face with…” He dropped his voice into a gravelly monotone. “…The Marvinator.”
Amelia couldn’t help but smile. Her gaze drifted to the doors. They looked the same as they had for the last hour—silent, stubborn, unmoved.
She went back to counting the beams.
“Maybe we should just—” Marv began, but his words trailed off mid sentence. He craned his neck. Amelia’s eyes instinctively followed.
The auditorium doors came to life.
Handles clicked downwards. Heavy wood retreated from its frame.
For a moment, the empty doorway yawned in silence.
Then, a cluster of smartly dressed figures spilled through it into the atrium, like starlings breaking loose from a telegraph wire. Movement and chatter became a murmuration, fluid and seamless, filling the hollow space with noise. At the center of the crowd, unmistakable in his perfectly tailored suit, was Sir Richard Helpmann.
Amelia’s breath caught.
He looked untouched by the hours that had passed. His tie was still impeccably straight, his shirt uncreased and crisp at the cuffs. Every step he took seemed perfectly measured, as if time itself had learned to wait for him—to work around him. The poise in his steps didn’t feel like a performance. He moved like a tiger between hunts, radiating the quiet menace of something that could very well decide to eat you but, in this particular moment, had simply chosen not to.
“It’s him.” Marv sat up straight, tapping her arm. “Okay, Ames. Game time. We’re on.”
Amelia swallowed hard. She rose from her chair slowly, fighting the tremors that had made camp in her legs. She instinctively grabbed her bag and pulled it over her shoulder. Her pulse climbed fast. It was high in her throat now—a rollercoaster at the highest point on its track. She could feel the drop in front of her, but she knew it was too late to stop. It was coming, whether she was ready or not. Helpmann was in the room and he was moving. She only had seconds, and she needed to make them count.
She flicked a glance at Marv.
“We stick to the plan.”
“Yeah. You’ve got this, Ames. I’m right behind you.”
She nodded.
Her feet moved, but she couldn’t feel them. A lifetime of questions surged up suddenly, shaken loose by the seismic rhythm of her steps. They seared through her mind like a bushfire. Her lungs gasped in silent response. The blaze spread through her body, burning away the oxygen she needed to breathe. The ancient circuitry of her body began to scream a silent alarm:
Wait. Stop. Danger. Run.
She pushed forward despite herself. This was her chance. The only chance. Answers came here—right now—or not at all.
Helpmann and his party drifted casually toward the doors that led to the plaza. The edge of his laugh cut through the hush, bouncing off the glass panels like sonar, probing the space around him.
Amelia’s steps were hesitant, but impossibly heavy. She angled toward the group, aiming to cut them off before they reached the exit. The air felt dense, as if the gravity of the moment might pull her under. But she felt Marv’s presence, a half step behind, an anchor keeping her upright.
As she pushed across the last few feet, her vision tunneled. She swallowed hard and coughed her throat clear.
“Mr. Helpmann?”
The crowd stilled instantly; heads turned in unison. Suddenly every face, every pair of eyes, was looking at her. Heat rushed up her neck and she wanted to vanish into the floor. But when Helpmann’s gaze found her, the rest blurred. His hawkish gray eyes locked on—part microscope, part tractor beam. Reality collapsed to a single point: him, watching her. She felt helpless. Powerless. Weightless under his scrutiny.
His head cocked slightly to one side, just a couple of degrees. Then, a softer expression bloomed, one of polite curiosity. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth like a well-worn mask slipping into place.
“Hello there, my dear,” he said, his voice carrying a practiced warmth. “Please, call me Sir Richard. And who might you be?”
Amelia squared her shoulders, and pulled in a breath. “My name’s Amelia… Amelia Swanson.” The tremor in her voice was barely there, but she heard it, felt it, and hated it.
“And this is my friend, Marv Dumile.”
Marv nodded, stiff and silent, like a shadow at noon.
Helpmann’s smile deepened, his grey eyes fixed on hers.
“Amelia Swanson.” He repeated it slowly, as if tasting the name. He extended a hand. His grip was firm and deliberate, lingering just long enough to suggest sincerity.
“A pleasure, I must say.”
Amelia nodded quickly, pulling her hand back into her body. Helpmann automatically moved on to Marv, greeting him with the same warmth and familiarity.
“Were you in the audience earlier?” He asked, looking directly at Amelia, his voice curling with interest. “It’s always refreshing to meet young people who care about the future.”
“Yes, we were there,” she replied. “It was… thought-provoking.”
“Indeed.” Helpmann gestured around them, as if pulling them into the warmth of his own private campfire. “Curiosity, you see, is the cornerstone of progress. Most people accept the world exactly as it’s handed to them. But those who ask the right questions? They are the rare few destined to meet the future exactly where the curve of its horizon begins.”
A flicker of encouragement grew, and Amelia seized the opening.
“Actually… I did have a question, Sir Richard. About my parents—Evelyn and Benjamin Lockwood. I believe you knew them.”
The shift was instant, and almost imperceptible.
But Amelia saw it.
A hairline crack in a polished mirror.
The pause stretched a heartbeat too long. Then—like a flytrap snapping shut—the smile returned.
“I’m sorry,” he said smoothly, tone polite but distant. His eyes flicked around the room, posture tightening, as though he’d suddenly become aware of the audience. “I’d love to continue the conversation, but I’m afraid I must excuse myself. It’s been a long day, and there’s a car waiting.”
At Helpmann’s shoulder, a man in a brown suit shifted his weight slightly. The signal was almost nothing, but it was enough. He nudged the group back into motion like a herdsman steering his flock to safety. Swept along with the crowd, Helpmann offered Amelia and Marv the faintest shrug—part apology, part dismissal.
“It was a pleasure meeting you both. And I do hope you continue to pursue your curiosity. It’s a valuable trait. Never let it go.”
Amelia couldn’t speak. She just watched on, as the final thread to her past snapped in slow motion. Sir Richard Helpmann and his entourage drifted out of the library’s arched doorway. And, with that, he was gone.
A calculated withdrawal.
A tactical retreat.
The Siege of Carthis.
Marv, still half a step behind, put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.
“You okay?”
Amelia shook her head without realizing it.
“Did you see the way he closed up when you mentioned your parents?” he continued.
“Yeah.” Her eyes stayed fixed on the doorway, fists clenched at her sides.
“He knows something, Marv. I’m certain of it.”
She wasn’t ready to leave. Not yet. Walking away would feel too much like giving up. Marv seemed to sense it. He steered her toward the café area, pulling out a chair. She slumped into it, shoulders heavy, head bowed. Marv took the seat across from her, hands clasped on the table.
“It’s okay, Ames. We’ll regroup. Make a new plan. Maybe he’ll be back here again. We’ll be ready next time.”
She shook her head, eyes fixed on the tabletop, a tear gathering at the edge of her eye.
“I thought I was ready, Marv. This was it. My chance, and I—” She exhaled hard. “I blew it. He’s gone... I failed.”
“No. No. You didn’t…” Marv leaned forward. “This is just the start, Ames. Don’t give up. It’s only—”
“Excuse me.”
A voice interrupted over Marv’s shoulder.
Amelia looked up. A man stood there—plain features, average build, average height. There was nothing remarkable about him at all. Except for what he was wearing.
A brown suit.
“You?” Amelia said, eyes burning into the stranger.
“Good afternoon to you both. I’m so sorry to intrude,” the man said, his delivery soft and precise. “My name is Neville Browning. I’m Sir Richard’s personal aide.”
Amelia stared, shock and suspicion bubbling inside her. She wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. So, she let Browning continue.
“Sir Richard asked me to speak with you privately. He found your question… intriguing. Regrettably, he has another pressing engagement this evening, but he’d very much like to continue the discussion at a more convenient time.”
The words prickled Amelia’s spine. But she wouldn’t miss her chance again.
“And when would be a convenient time for Sir Richard?” she asked, her tone polite but edged with impatience.
Browning’s lips curved into a faint smile.
“Tomorrow. Four o’clock. Sir Richard would be delighted to see you at his private office,” Browning said matter-of-factly. “Some things, as I’m sure you’ll understand, are best handled with discretion.”
He reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a business card. Its edges were sharp, the gold leaf trim catching the light like a blade. The front of the card was bare, save for two ornate initials curling together at the centre:
R.H.
Browning pressed it into Amelia’s hand, his fingers grazing hers a fraction too long. She turned the card over. The back carried the usual details in neat, unobtrusive type. But beneath them was a handwritten address. The ink was still glistening.
“Sir Richard’s primary office is in New Brighton. However, I’ve taken the liberty of adding our Greenhaven address. I do hope you’ll forgive the handwriting.”
Amelia wrapped her fingers around the card. It felt heavier than it should have.
“We’ll be there,” she said. The words left her mouth before she’d fully committed to them.
“Very well. I’ll inform Sir Richard of your acceptance.” He nodded once, approval flickering in his eyes. “Good evening to you both.”
Browning turned toward the exit, his departure as quiet and unobtrusive as his arrival. The arched doorway drew him into the deepening dusk of its mouth.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Marv broke the silence first.
“Well… Helpmann sure knows how to book an appointment.”
Amelia traced a thumb over the embossed initials on the card.
“An appointment… Or a summons.”
“He wants to talk. So, that’s good, right?”
She slipped the card into her bag.
“Yeah. But let’s be careful, Marv.”
His grin dimmed slightly.
“Sure… careful. But, Ames, this could be it. We might finally get some answers.”
Amelia looked up, meeting his eyes.
“I know.”
She exhaled, slow and thoughtful.
“And that’s what worries me.”
They stepped out into the plaza. Amelia tightened her grip on the strap of her bag. Her thoughts were circling a fixed point she couldn’t yet see. She knew she had to go. It wasn’t even a question. It was a promise—to herself, and to her parents.
This was her last chance.
But, she couldn’t shake the feeling that tomorrow might bring more than just answers. That it might open the door to something that they weren’t at all ready for.
