The Phoenix Project: Book I: Flight

by Katherine Macdonald

“Come,” says Rudy, closing the gap for him, “We've got a short window.”

  Their footsteps trail off down the corridor.

  What am I going to do? Abandon the mission? Leave Scarlet to her probable death? Follow behind them and take Rudy out?

  The last option does have its upsides, but it is extreme... and others are likely to intervene if they see me do it. No, that won't work either. I'm going to have to get off base and try and intercept them...

  If I'm going to do that, I need to act fast.

  I dash back to the dressing room and grab my old shoes, tying the heels together and strapping them to my back. I must look quite the picture, rushing towards the exit, but I don't stop to examine any gaping faces. If Nick and Scarlet have any sense, they'll try to delay leaving, either hoping I'll turn up or anticipating my next actions.

  I drop into the tunnels and sprint along in the dark. Even at my speed, it takes a good ten minutes. The van will be moving through the slums now.

  I scramble on top of a building, but it's not tall enough to see the road they should be taking. There's nothing for it but to head towards the gate. I'm hesitant to get too close; the gate is heavily guarded and ally or not, someone is bound to react to a girl leaping several stories onto a moving vehicle. But what other choice do I have? Someone else is driving. It is out of anyone's control now.

  I leap onto the next low roof, slide myself onto the fire escape of the block next to it, and hurtle to the top. I still can't see the road, but I have a clear view of the gate now. I launch myself across the city rooftops, wishing it were dark; I am not sure how many cameras line Luca's walls, or how accurate they are. Can they see me from this distance, hopping from building to building like a flea?

  At last, I see the checkpoint. There are only two vehicles at present; there is never much traffic in or out of the city, or certainly not by this entrance. Neither one looks like those I saw in the hangar at Phoenix HQ. Which either means I'm early, or far, far too late.

  My eyes aren't helping me much here. I close them, trying to filter out everything else around me. I can hear the muted conversations of the checkpoint guards, a few kids playing with a ball in an alley not far away, a woman screaming at her husband for forgetting the bread. I imagine the line of the road, focusing on the tyres creeping over the tarmac, and try to trace sound along it. Back, back, far back.

  A few blocks away, a van is moving at speed. It is still invisible from my spot, but I can feel it rumbling along as keenly as if it were right next to me.

  I bolt from my position, hurling myself onto the rooftop behind me, and fly towards it.

  Finally, thankfully, the van turns the corner and swings into sight. It's shinier than most of the ones I remember, but for a mission into Luca, it makes sense. It's certainly the right size. I have no other options; I wait for it to get closer, judge the distance, and drop down onto the roof.

  I hear a screech from inside, and the van jerks to a skidding halt.

  “What was that?” someone hisses. Jameson, was it?

  I hear a familiar chuckle, and the side door slides open. I roll off the roof and swing inside.

  Jameson wheels around in the driver's seat.

  “Who's this?” he flusters.

  “Last member of our team,” Nick explains, directing me into a seat. “Did no one warn you?”

  “No!”

  “Who briefed you for the mission?” Scarlet asks innocently,. “They really should have–”

  “But where did she come from?”

  “You missed the rendezvous,” I explain, trying to mimic Scarlet's face. “I didn't see I had another option.”

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “Jameson,” says Harris warningly, “we're running out of time here. We need to get to the doors ASAP.”

  Jameson looks at Harris, who's the oldest and possibly most senior person here, and decides to trust his judgement. He nods, Nick closes the door, and the engine starts up again.

  Scarlet pulls a leaf from my hair. “You messed up your 'do,” she tuts. “And your make-up. Good thing I'm here, right?”

  She leans into one of the supply bags and begins to 'fix' my face, with yet more sour-smelling creams and pastes.

  Nick grins at me. “We weren't sure you would make it.”

  “What, me miss a big party in the city? Never!”

  We slow down as we reach the checkpoint beside the gate. Jameson rolls up the partition between us as a couple of guards saunter over. One checks our credentials, the other says he'll check the back.

  I freeze, but Nick's hand goes to my arm. “It's all right,” he promises.

  The door slides open again, and a young man of twenty-something in a guard's uniform peers at us intently. He has white-blonde hair and pale eyes, and looks familiar. His gaze settles on Harris and he swallows, as if he hadn't expected to see him there. The two of them nod curtly.

  “Nothing here,” he calls to his colleague. “Wave them through.”

  The van jolts into life again, and the enormous black doors into Luca City slide open. There is little I can see through the divider, but it feels like passing through a shadow.

  Chapter 21

  It's a lot noisier in the city, but the noises are denser and sharper, pressed cleanly together. Even I struggle to make out one voice from the next, and the sounds all slide together in an endless layered cacophony. There is a constant low whirring of a thousand different machines, all playing along to the same perfect harmony. My skin prickles.

  Everyone is very quiet, as if afraid the city has ears that can pierce through metal. Their breath is measured, but their heartbeats all thump wildly. I do not know how long our journey takes. It could be twenty minutes or two hours. Years have passed by the time Jameson slows to a stop and turns off the engine.

  “Base camp,” he announces.

  Everyone nods and springs into action. When I emerge from the vehicle, I find we're inside a garage of some kind. There's shelves of wires and supplies, a few bunks in the corner, desks of monitors and keyboards. A sleek, shiny car is parked beside the van.

  “All right,” says Harris, still inside, “we'll load up everything we need this end. Got your communication devices?”

  “Er...”

  “Here,” Scarlet presses an earpiece into my hand and I diligently stuff it in my ear.

  “We won't be manning them until 1800 hours,” Harris explains, then winks at Nick. “Give you some privacy.”

  Nick hurls a dirty rag at his face, and Harris throws him the pen drive. Nick places it safely in the pocket of his blazer, then goes to the swish car and pops the trunk. There's a suitcase in the back, which he examines carefully, making sure everything is in order. He looks back at the rest of his team.

  “Are we good to go?”

  Jameson frowns. “Scarlet's not dressed yet.”

  “That's because she's not going.”

  Jameson looks at the rest of us, waiting for someone to explain.

  “There's been a change of plans, Jameson,” Scarlet starts. “Ashe is going instead. She's way faster than I am.”

  “Why... why wasn't I told?”

  “It was last minute. I'm going to stick with you and Harris and run support. A second pair of hands is never a bad idea.”

  Jameson looks very sceptical about this, but there's not much he can do at the moment. There's a quick round of “good luck” and then we slip silently into the car.

  It is the most pristine thing I have ever been in. I didn't know anything could be this clean. It's all smooth edges, black and silver, soft and sleek as a puma. Where did they get it from? Another gift from an ally? It seems excessive.

  It purrs into life, quiet as a ripple, and we slide out of the garage and onto the streets of Luca.

  It is a towering metropolis of glass and steel. Every curve looks sharp, and every colour muted. It is a land of silver, grey, blue, black. There are no bright awnings here, no market folk peddling their wares, and peo
ple walk by robotically, as if moving along a conveyor belt. I stare transfixed, my face pressed against the glass, gawking at their strange fashions and heavily-made up faces.

  We glide along the streets, but each one looks very much like the next. The city is a symmetrical beast.

  “The guard who let us through,” I start quietly, “was he Harris' brother?”

  Nick nods, his eyes still tight on the road. “Half-brother,” he admits, looking guilty. “Same father.”

  I am already understanding where the story is going. “Harris' mother–”

  “Came with him to Terminal City when he was just a few weeks old. He... he was born too early. The government said he had little chance of survival, and even less chance of being a 'contributor'. They recommended 'letting nature take its course'. His father thought that would be best, but Diana refused.”

  “You knew her?”

  “For a time, she was like another mother. She died only two years ago. A raid.”

  “I'm sorry,” I say, both for Harris and for Nick. “His father?”

  “He... he came to the slums a few times, begging her to return, offering to send Harris every convenience he could afford. She wouldn't go.”

  “Of course she wouldn't.”

  “He eventually moved on, married someone else, and had Henson. I don't know when he found out he had a brother, but I know he got the job as a guard just so they could meet.”

  “He's brave.”

  “He is. One of the few allies we can definitely trust.”

  A glistening building of white stone and glass towers over the others. The hotel. I recognise it from the briefing. Nick glides down the parking ramp and skids to a halt.

  “Ready to play the part?” He smirks.

  I obediently push my feet into the heels and abandon my boots in the back.

  “Just hold onto my arm and say nothing.”

  “Not my usual style.”

  “Not my usual demand.”

  We both slide out. Nick tosses his keys to a valet nearby. “Room 207, boy,” he says shortly. “Have the bags brought up promptly.”

  He doesn't even look him in the eye. He's already marching for the exit, and I have to run to catch up with him. He grabs me around the waist.

  “Sorry,” he mutters, virtually inaudibly. “Keep walking.”

  We enter the hotel foyer. It is a glimmering white and gold palace, all fountains, marble and pillars. It is difficult not to stare. I repeat the name of my character, and remind myself she sees this all the time. I look at the expressions of the other women, whose noses are all turned up in indifference. I force myself to mimic them as Nick drags me towards the desk.

  He holds out his wrist for them to scan.

  “Nicholas Lilywhite,” he announces, in the way I imagine ancient royalty might. “My usual room.”

  “Of course, Mr Lilywhite,” says the receptionist, reading something from her screen. “And your guest?”

  I soundlessly lift my own arm and hold it out in her direction.

  “Just the one night?”

  He nods.

  “Are you here for the mayor's broadcast?”

  “Indeed.”

  “The drinks reception begins at seven. Is there anything I can help you with in the meantime?”

  “Send up something from the kitchen. Myself and my companion are famished.”

  “Very well, sir.” She bobs and hands over a key card. “We'll have your luggage with you shortly.”

  A well-dressed porter in a blue suit escorts us up in a great glass elevator, and for the first time, I see the city fully. Great expanses of green pool out between the mechanical jungle. Pure blue lakes glitter under the sunlight. For a moment, all of Luca's harshness fades away. Yes, there is a beauty to this place, posed and manufactured though it is.

  The elevator slows to a stop. The porter hops along and opens a door ahead of us. I find myself in a luxurious suite, all sleek surfaces and decadent furnishings. The bed is the size of what passes for Ben's room.

  I wonder how he's doing.

  I didn't tell him where I was going, other than I'd be back very late and he shouldn't wait up for me. As far as he knows, it's just another one of my jobs. Mi and Abi will wait up tonight though, desperate for word.

  Nick tips the porter and the door closes with a soft thud. Without wasting another second, he races towards the bed and dives face down into the pillows.

  “Oh my, this is so good...” comes his muffled voice. He rolls his face to one side. “Lucans may be terrible people, but their beds...”

  Curious, I come towards him and sit down on the mattress. It's like a hot bath, like honey and cream, like warm summer days and fires on cold winter nights. It's all I can do to stop myself crawling into it right now.

  Nick smiles. “It's good, right?”

  “It's divine.”

  I kick off my shoes and we lie there together in absolute bliss for several moments, until there's a knock on the door and our luggage, as well as a tray of food, is rolled in. Nick shoots me a glance as if to say you ain't seen nothing yet, and then puts on his snooty demeanour again to converse with the staff. It disappears the moment they are gone and he tears into their offerings with vigour. It does not take long for me to join him.

  The tray houses a myriad of cheeses, smokey, spiced and sweetened, with tiny jars of chutneys and dozens of little breads. There's fruit I don't know the name of, delicate savoury pastries, miniature bowls of steaming soup. I've never tasted anything like it.

  “New plan,” I announce, my mouth half-full, “I'm abandoning the mission and staying in Luca forever.”

  “I may have to join you. The cost of my soul is worth these rolls!”

  “Who pays for all of this?” I ask.

  “Allies, sponsors... a little bit of thievery,” Nick says, a little more seriously. “From those that won't miss it, of course.”

  This makes sense, and a part of me wants to ask how much this all costs... but I feel it would sour the experience. “The name you gave at the desk,” I start, a little cautiously, “that's actually your name, isn't it?”

  Nick nods, looking mildly ashamed. “Nick Lilywhite may have been thrown out of the city with his parents, but he never died. Makes things easier. He's my own alias.”

  This is the reason he was picked for the mission, not just because he's calm and a good pretender. He fits the part so well because he's been playing it for years. I wonder what he's been forced to use it for.

  Nick pours me a cup of coffee, and we go back to the bed. We lie there against feather pillows, inhaling the intense aroma.

  “Good job we're not staying the night,” Nick murmurs. “I'd hate having to fight you for this bed.”

  “And I would hate beating you.”

  Nick chuckles. “I think you'd get over it.”

  I squirm down further in the nest of wonder. “You know, I think I probably would.”

  He turns to face me, and I realise how close we are. I can smell the coffee on his breath, and it smells so much headier than mine. He does not seem startled by this closeness, although I'm suddenly conscious of a very rapid heartbeat. Mine and... his.

  “Do you like me?” I ask.

  Nick blinks for a second, caught off-guard my question, but then he grins sheepishly. “Have I not made that abundantly clear by now?”

  “The clearest way to say it would be, 'I like you.'”

  “Fine,” he says, “I like you, Ashe.”

  “But... why?” It seems ludicrous to me that anyone other than three –four– people will ever like me at all. I've done nothing to endear myself to humanity. Nothing at all. “Why do you like me?”

  “I find you fascinating.”

  “Because of the superhuman thing?”

  “A little, yes. I find myself constantly amazed by everything you can do. Is it... is that wrong?”

  “Maybe. I don't know. It's just... I want there to be more to me than that, even though for so many
years that's all I ever really was.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After I escaped. I should have blossomed into something else, like the others did. I should have been an artist or a doctor or... whatever wonderful thing Ben will be. But I'm not. I wasn't. I was just... Ashe. Secret superhuman. Thief for hire. There really wasn't anything more to me.”

  “That's really how you see yourself?” Nick shifts upwards onto his elbows.

  “Why?” I ask. “What do you see?”

  “I see a person who's been through hell, who's experienced things I don't even want to imagine, who's protected her family against everything she possibly could, even at the cost of her own happiness, and despite everything, is still funny and smart and cares about people, even when no one could blame her if she hated the whole world.”

  Nick's confession shocks me. My first instinct is to protest, to fight against his convictions, but there is nothing I can argue against. I have done all of those things, although–

  “I don't care about people.” I say in retaliation.

  “Then what are you doing here?”

  “I mean... I didn't care about people until I met you.”

  We both fall very quiet for a moment.

  “You cared about people before you met me.”

  Nick's gaze is unwavering. I can count every fleck of brown in his otherwise vivid blue eyes, which I'm thinking about doing as it stops me from having to turn my thoughts to other things. One, two, three... “You saved me and Pilot the day we met. You didn't kill those guards.”

  “That's because I didn't want to feel bad for killing them!”

  “You... you know that makes you a good person, right? Feeling bad about violence?”

  “Does it? I think it's just more selfishness. I think that even when we do a good thing for someone else, it's to make ourselves feel better. When I spare someone, or save them, it's because I don't want the weight of their death on me.”

  “By that logic, no one is truly selfless.”

  “You are.”

  “How so? Every time I do something for someone else, it's because it makes me feel good.”

  “But you could have had this,” I gesture all around me. “You could have had everything, but you gave it up. You sacrificed your own comfort for a cause I spent years viewing as lost.”