Echoes

Familiar Faces

Wunforoh followed dutifully behind the enraged Chief Alpha, eager to please. "Milady, what's the matter? Would you like to speak with someone of the lower caste? You need not mingle with their sort. Only say the word and we could retrieve them."
Sevnynate paid her no heed, and focused on the faces and appearances of the Echoes in the crowd.
Forsephore hunkered down and slipped between the clusters and pairings on the ground floor. Stairs nearby led up to the seats for higher castes, and a waist-high marble wall separated the seating from the standing masses in the center. She glanced at her dark skin and compared it to the marble. Close enough in shade, and better than nothing.
Lying on her side, pressed against the wall opposite where Sevnynate stood, Forsephore listened for further commotion.
"What's all this about," Wunforoh asked.
"I saw a familiar face," Sevnynate said, "someone who poses a problem for tranquility and order in our little society. I've seen a few too many new faces here today, but this old one bothers me."
"You're acting jittery, milady. A moment ago you told everyone not to fear. Did you mean to say--Should we-- I mean, are we in danger?"
"Shut your simpering mouth, you imbecile," Sevnynate hissed. Then her tone changed to match the kindly persona that addressed the public. "These are temporary changes. No different than the shift of power that comes with each New Year. I'm sure we'll see more of the same in a few weeks, after the holidays. The Prime is taking some unexpected paths, but the situation is manageable."
Their footfalls receded as Sevnynate declared, "Two weeks from now, I'll have things back to normal."
Forsephore peeked over the marble wall and sighed with relief.
The patterns etched in the stone caught her attention, and she focused on the long-forgotten dead. Much like the stonework of the plaza, haunting faces with blank eyes covered the wall. Versions of Hope in various action poses and styles of dress captured the essence of these Echoes. Images of might-have-beens decorated the Hub, memorials of choices that no longer had any possibility of occuring.
Her fears of discovery and of becoming a Fade temporarily allayed, Forsephore traced the lines on the wall with her finger. This version of the Prime appeared younger, a teenager in a gown and long gloves wearing a tiara in perfectly styled hair. Glimpses of the young Echo in a much brighter Hub flashed through Forsephore's mind--memories of the past, perhaps, but she couldn't be certain.
"What's wrong, 'Phore?" Tuwonyne said as she approached.
"Everything." She gestured at the gathered Echoes. "All of this, the segregation, the rigid castes, the soul-sucking monotony and dreary spirit hanging over this place. This isn't how the Hub should be."
"The Prime sets the rules, 'Phore. The Alphas represent Her decisions, desires and influence. We follow them as they follow Her. Surely you don't have a problem with the Prime?"
    Forsephore shook her head. "No... I think the Prime has a problem with us. Rather, some of us are Her problem. And I'm going to change that." She placed her hand over the etched fingers of the dead young Echo. "Or at least try."
Tuwonyne rested a hand on Forsephore's shoulder. "Something's really bothering you. What is it?"
"Not what," Forsephore replied, "but who. I'm pretty sure I knew this Echo."
A deep dread came over Forsephore and she shuddered. She turned to glare at the Chief Alpha ascending the podium.
"And I think Sevnynate killed her."