Devon Alone IV: The Legacy of Tears by Nicole Mayer

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DEVON, ALONE. PART IV
The Legacy of Tears (2/9)
by Nicole Mayer

Yale strode into the public relations office of the Council, his mind fixed on one single purpose. He owed a lot to Devon Adair, and one thing he could do was discover the truth.

"I need to speak to someone about the records of a friend of mine. I believe there is a discrepancy." "Name?" asked the bored attendant.

Yale gave his name, and his registration number, wishing that he could have kept himself anonymous but realising that it was impossible.

"And the name of this friend you're concerned about?" "Devon Adair," Yale replied distinctly, watching the attendant key in the words. A soft, alert beep sounded, and the attendant looked up in surprise.

"There seems to be, uh, specific instructions attached to this record," he stammered. "I'll have to contact my superior. Won't be long." The little man scurried out the back.

Yale gave a heavy sigh, and stepped back to wait. He'd often encountered the endless running around in bureaucratic offices, and suspected that he was in for a long delay. However, he was pleasantly surprised to see the attendant reappear fairly soon.

His attitude was now much more defined. "I require the nature of the inquiry," the man stated.

Yale was ready for this. "I decided to look up Devon, as she is an old friend of mine. I was quite shocked to find a footnote indicating that she is deceased; and thus decided to offer my condolences to the family."

"And..."
"It is a little difficult," Yale began gravely, "to offer sympathy when there is no mention of how, or even when, she died. I fear your records are missing this vital information."

The attendant brought up the record himself, and was visibly surprised at the sketchy records. "I am sorry, I cannot offer you an explanation."

"Can you tell me when it was recorded that she died, at least?" asked Yale, more than a little frustrated. "No, that's not here either..."

"Then I wish to enter a formal search request," Yale interrupted. I feel it is my right and obligation, as a friend of both Ms Adair and her family, to eradicate the errors."

"It may take some time to process your request," hedged the attendant. "The Council is a very busy organisation..."

"I understand that," conceded the old cyborg. "However, I do not believe the Adair family would be too happy to realise that Devon has, in essence, been lost..."

The attendant swallowed. He knew the Council abhorred the big name families, for many of them were difficult to control; and an incident such as this would not look good on his record. It wasn't the attendant's fault, but the Council always seemed to blame the underling. It was a way of life.

"I will see to it that the problem is fixed," the attendant promised.

"Thank you," replied Yale, hoping that the man was telling the truth. "I look forward to hearing from the Council regarding this matter."

The old man walked from the room, a sadness in his heart. There was still the possibility that the Council was in error, and Devon Adair was alive and well. But she had not answered any of the messages he'd sent her, and things seemed grimmer every day. Devon Adair, a glowing flame part of so many lives, may have been finally blown out.

***

"Devon? Uh, hi. I was just, well, wondering how you're doing. Hope you're okay and all that, and, uh, thanks for the message the other day. Well, um, see you around, okay?"

Danziger signed off, and hoped he hadn't come across as too much of a fool. In a way, he was glad that Devon wasn't home to receive his message because it saved him the difficulty of facing her again. However, he'd been compelled to leave a visual message, just so she could see that he didn't hate her. Notes, in Danziger's opinion, were too impersonal.

Yet he also hoped she didn't get the wrong idea. Or did he? Was friendship with Devon such a bad idea? He didn't know, but he felt better having reached out to her. Danziger irrationally hoped she would call back soon.

***

Blalock swore, and kicked his foot against the wall. How had the Council managed to dump this on *him*, and just as he believed he was gaining their long overdue respect! He let loose another profanity, but his foot hurt too much to contemplate venting more of his anger on the undeserving furniture. "They really should make softer walls," he fumed.

Just as he believed he was rid of Devon Adair, once and for all, along came a request to rectify a potentially embarrassing situation for the Council. Somehow, the woman had been registered as dead.

It wasn't even human error, it was some buried computer subroutine that had added the note even though there was no definable reason for it to do so. And strangely, Devon Adair was truly missing.

Had someone killed her, and anonymously tipped off the computer? No, that was a stupid idea, Blalock decided. People didn't tip off computers, and in any case, this subroutine that had suddenly reared its head was at least two years old.

Blalock entered the new permission codes that came with his recent promotion. Now he was able to search deeper into the database, although he didn't really believe it would turn up anything. All recent information, especially that pertaining to deaths (and times of death, at least!) should be freely available to those with even minimal access.

The computer beeped, attracting Blalock's attention. "Match found." He studied the information, heaving a sigh of relief. They had a body.

*That*, at least, should keep the Adair family and Yale at bay, if only temporarily. Proof that she was dead, even if the how and why were still a mystery. The corpse was in what was commonly known as 'the freezer', a place where bodies were stored if they were under investigation, or the Council had an interest in the person in question.

Blalock had heard rumours that the body of the first president of the Council still remained on ice, just waiting for the day they had the technology to bring someone back. Blalock shivered. Even with the recent advances in VR technology, mind copying, and growing cloned organs, they were still a long way from bringing someone back from the dead. For that, he was glad.

Suddenly, Blalock laughed aloud. "Devon Adair, on ice," he chortled. "Serves the bitch right."

End 2/9

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