Renn's Diary

29^th April 2013

Renn fingered the invite as he listened to the whine of the tumble drier drying off his running gear. It was a good opportunity for a distraction from the constant pressure of the job. Even on leave he never truly switched off, despite his fellow officers; Lieutenant Miles and Captain Lowry looking after the platoon. He had plenty of leave left so had arranged to take the maximum annual amount. Well 'in for a penny' so they say.

Funnily enough he had been idly flicking through news on a gaming website the other day and along with the usual suspects Cordelia Chan had made the columns again. He opened the invite and scanned it again 'Cordelia Chan requests the pleasure of your company and extends a personal invitation to the Mizzurian Expo this May 2013. Please prepare to be collected at midday Monday 29th April.' it was marked one week VIP pass.

You will be collected.

He had mentioned to the gate guard that he was expecting a visitor and had completed the admittance documentation and had it countersigned. Renn was particular about time, although how much of this was down the training and how much was Renn own judgement he could no longer tell. He had meticulously packed his civilian clothes and trunks, PH kit, polish kit (all carefully measured not to exceed 75ml), passport, wallet and cards. He added his sketchpad, pencils and I-phone. For good measure he packed his laptop and charger with its universal adaptor. It was 10am by his wall clock, he stalked around his quarters one more time checking the kitchenette, the immaculately turned down bed, the neatly folded spare clothes in his draws. The fridge was empty of perishables and cleaning gear was on their hooks. He'd hoovered and dusted the room yesterday. He poured himself the remains of his sparkling mineral water into a glass. The drier stopped and he pulled his running gear our and packed that as well.

He tied his trainers to the kit bag strap.

He allowed himself to relax and pulled out his spare sketchbook. Always wise to keep a retreat point available. He already had a trump of his room but no harm in having more. He flicked through his functional sketches each carefully laminated and trimmed to a sized to fit in his top pocket. Two of his Afghani base camp at end, his oldest of the sweetshop, his boarding room in Jourdelay's. Just outside his barracks block in Sandhurst, a pub just outside of Sandhurst, and here in his Larkhill quarters.

He glanced up at the photo of his father, next to that the familiar old picture of his mother and father and the family shot of his step sisters, Hazel and dad and himself. Each in a neat row in thick white frames. He smiled to himself as he recalled these moments of civilian life.

He still had an hour and wondered if he could squeeze in a game on the Laptop but decided against it. He decided to try and draw his old tutor Dr Umber from memory, for some reason he didn't like photographs being taken of him.

Something was irking him, he couldn't put his finger on it for a long moment then it struck him, it was 11.59am and the gate guard hadn't called. He toyed with the idea that the guard had forgotten, but dismissed it immediately. You shouldn't expect civilians to think like a soldier.

And then it happened, slightly preceded by a faint ozone quality to the air he recalled afterwards. Right in front of him a thin vertical streak of steady light, almost too painful to look at scarred the air not 3 feet from him and over several seconds widened to about 3 feet wide. But that was not the most reeling aspect. His mind peeled back at the same time it was as if someone was blowing and icy breeze straight over his exposed cranium. Reflexively he brought his arms up to shield himself and staggered out of his chair. He stifled an expletive as the after-images faded. Renn prided himself on being able assess a situation quickly but it took an age in seconds to clear his head. Stood elegantly in front of him was an armed woman, oriental, non-threatening, arrogant look but not condescending, the type used to issuing orders. Obviously familiar with trump use far in excess of his own skill, probably someone who knew Dr Umber.

He recognised the face. More seconds. 'Ms Chan, I presume?'

'Are you ready, Mr Benedict?' American accent, west coast slight Asian overtones with a soft yet stern voice. It came out more like 'You are ready.' But it wasn't unkind. There was something otherworldly about her. A practised 'trying to fit in' aspect that was so subtle that Renn only picked it up because he recognised it in himself on some deep level. There was no question that he wouldn't go. She represented a lot of questions about his life he needed answers to. Even if she turned out to be an enemy.

Her formal dress concerned him. He had anticipated civilian levels of etiquette, he inwardly rolled his eyes afterwards at his next question, probably the result of the initial shock. 'I thought only Dr Umber and myself could do that?'

'We are Amberites. Are you ready?' Again polite but stern. But the questions where boiling up in his mind quicker than the self will to suppress them.

'We?' his thoughts were racing, 'That makes us… siblings? Cousins?' he corrected himself. A slightly pained express passed her face. Interesting. 'Lt Renn Benedict.' he offered his hand in greeting. 'Please call me Renn,' he paused, 'Cousin.' she could probably read him like a book but he affected a friendly open smile. His formality was a shield learnt from years of being surrounded by foreign office officials.

Again a pause, she was not used to this level of familiarity, a high ranking Amberite perhaps? But she shook his hand anyway. Perhaps the reticence was a more an oriental affectation, but these initial seconds are crucial in character judgement and Renn was practised, even under extreme pressure.

'Forgive me, I did not realise the formal nature of this trip, allow me a moment to get my dress uniform then we can leave.' A subtle but instantly controlled flicker of annoyance replaced by plastic smile confirming Renns initial suspicion.

As Renn went to collect his regimental dress he was dismissing the idea she had come to harm him. The sword was a crude and blunt message nothing more, as if she was expecting difficulties. So she wasn't all that all knowing and clairvoyant then? But anyone with that level of power could easily spy on her guests, certainly enough to guess their strengths and weaknesses. Or she wanted him to think that?

She looked far too young to be that guarded. Computer overlords are not perfect at everything social. Especially if there was any truth in the news columns.

He returned a minute later with his kit bag. She hadn't moved. Her appraising gaze was again on him. She withdraw a card from the folds of her dress and regarded it. He was more prepared this time and it took every once of will to remain calm the the face of such raw power. The gate shimmered and showed a smart plush hotel like foyer.

Renn took a long look before stepping through.

Cordelia spent the minimum seemly time introducing him the the house staff and Renn looked at the two men and requested Kassidy, the slightly harder eyed one. He'd had preferred more time to interview them but he suspected all of them were primed not to give any proper information. In fact he knew he would only receive a very biased set of information from all Cordelia's sources. But biased information was better than no information provided you understood that.

After a perfunctory introduction to the house and its environs and dismissal of most of Renns questions he was shown to his room, she left saying she had another appointment and that there would be a debriefing at three o'clock. It was well appointed and he gestured Kassidy to unpack his bag.

'You can be my bat man.' the quizzical look passed Kassidy's face. Ah! More evidence of a lack of prediction on Cordelia's part. 'Just my humour, old boy. A British term for a servant taken into confidence. Its considered an honour you know.' If only he knew. 'Three buttered crumpets please.' he added. More to keep the servant off balance than anything else. When Kassidy left he checked the unpacking and set out his PH kit in the bathroom. He didn't get the clothes in the right order but Renn would have been deeply suspicious if he had. Renn organised it properly then took in the room. What drew his eye was the VR headset and gloves. He sat at the desk and put them on.

After some preliminary navigation, getting used to the vocal recognition software and the HAL like disembodied voice, Renn asked if any other guests were online. Natalia Lis - Female, Polish; Alana MacFarlane – Female, British and Daniel Harris – Male British.

He requested an open connection, 'Good evening everyone, I'm Renn Benedict, like me I'm guessing you all have a few questions for our hostess? Shall we meet on the roof terrace in ten minutes and introduce ourselves properly?'

He met Daniel in the corridor, he looked like a huge rugby player, Welsh by his accent. He had night black hair like himself. They met the ladies upstairs, Renn didn't think any of them were older than himself.

'Lt Renn Benedict,' he offered his hand in greeting. 'and I think we are, including our hostess, all Cousins. '...

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