by T. C. Edge
To reach them, I need to once again work through the security cordon, a test that’s become something of a habit. Mercifully, I don’t have to encounter the same force of guards as before, seeing as I’m attempting to seek passage down a different route.
The guards I find on duty appear to be a little less edgy than those I’ve faced before. Perhaps that’s owing simply to the fact that more time has passed since the assassination of Commander Fenby, and any future attacks are now considered less likely.
It wouldn’t necessarily surprise me for the state of alert to change from red to amber so quickly. In the end, the Savants barely register any concern when anything dramatic happens, and merely continue on with their lives regardless. While the regular Enhanced who comprise the City Guard aren’t the same, they take their orders from the emotionless leaders of the city, and therefore will begin to relax as they see their ‘superiors’ doing so, which always happens quickly.
There’s also the simple fact that they’ve been conditioned to act as such as well. The Enhanced, although they don’t really seem to see it, have been turned into slaves just as much as the Con-Cops have, their position as genetically modified and improved beings putting them in this sort of strange middle ground between the regular Unenhanced and the Savants.
At the end of the day, they’ll be liberated from the rule of the Consortium as much as anyone else. It’s not just the Outer Haveners who the Nameless are fighting for, but most of those here in Inner Haven too. And the City Guard certainly contribute to that number.
With no need to utilise my powers, I’m let through the cordon with the simple reasoning that I wish to visit the Council of Matrimony HQ. It feels strangely good, and rather odd, to be telling the truth for once.
Passing through, I navigate the short path towards Compton’s Hall, and head straight for the building fixed to its right. As I enter through the double doors, I find a couple of girls dressed as I am, sitting across in a small waiting area within the main foyer. Both are clearly nervous, sitting waiting to be tested for approval to marry the men they’ve been courting.
They lift their eyes to mine and probably assume I’m here for the same purpose. I was, only a week or so ago. But now my reason for being here is so very different.
I head straight for the front desk, with my first task simply to confirm that Ingrid W. Humbert is, in fact, here in the building. If not, I’ll need to slip inside the receptionist’s mind to discover her whereabouts.
Other than the woman behind the desk, and the two Unenhanced girls sitting off in the waiting area, the main hall is empty. I quickly double check with my Hawk-vision to confirm, before setting my eyes on the receptionist.
She’s the same one as before when I first came here. Lifting her eyes to mine, she immediately addresses me with my new name. Her memory is obviously rather powerful like Rebecca’s.
“Hello, Mrs Shaw,” she says. “Why are you here?”
Her manner is expectedly harsh. Like the majority of her kind, she likes to get straight to the point, no chitchat tolerated.
Good.
“I’m here to speak with High Secretary Humbert,” I announce.
She shakes her head immediately, seeing no need to check her schedule.
“You don’t have an appointment. If there’s no other reason for your presence here, please leave.”
Her eyes move off mine. She expects me to walk away. I don’t, and her eyes lift again.
“Yes?” she says.
“Is she here? Mrs Humbert, I mean?” I ask.
“I know who you mean, Mrs Shaw. Yes, of course she’s here. But you cannot see her. Please leave.”
Her eyes return to her table-screen. I still refuse to move.
Because, while my plan was merely to confirm here presence here, and then accost her when she departs, another option quickly springs to mind.
“Um…” I say.
Her eyes lift for a final time. Her annoyance is evident, if not from any frown or angry expression, but the speed with which her next words come.
“Yes. What is it?” she snaps.
I don’t need to return fire, though. Instead, I merely flash my eyes and perform another mental miracle, forcing her to grant me entry. Her expression flattens further and the usual mist flows briefly across her eyes. Then her tune changes entirely.
“Please go ahead, Mrs Shaw,” she says. “The High Secretary is on the fifth floor at the end of the corridor at the top of the stairs.”
I smile at her with a rare show of arrogance, garnered by the powers that continue to astonish and bewilder me.
“Thank you very much for your help,” oozes my rather immodest voice. I must sound completely conceited right now, knowing that no one around here seems to be beyond my clutches.
I don’t let myself bask in the glory, though.
Get over yourself, Brie, comes my internal admonishment. And don’t get cocky! It will come back to bite you.
I remove the smile and move towards the stairs, winding around and around towards the fifth floor. The building appears to be in busy operation, and my presence does attract a few quizzical stares.
As they come, I wonder about the wisdom of this move. I hadn’t considered whether the presence of an Unenhanced up here beyond the ground floor would cause a fuss. The last thing I want is to get tongues wagging.
But, I’m here now, and there’s no turning back. So down the corridor I go, reaching the door marked with the title of the High Secretary of the Council of Matrimony, a bit of a mouthful in my book. I knock, and hear a voice spreading from inside.
And then, in I step.
The room I find before me is fairly large and well appointed. Yet all those appointments are functional and not decorative, each item of furniture playing its role. Right ahead, I find a desk with two chairs in front of it. And behind is a third, occupied by the woman my whim has sent me here to see.
Her features are fairly kindly, and her posture is a little wider and more squat than most Savants. I suppose, even with the most rigorous of training regimes, age does eventually catch up with you. She’s proof of that, her maturing years stretching out her frame and adding some fat to her bones.
Given her position, she’s also capable of displaying some measure of emotion, or at least attempting it. My sudden arrival, however, has sent a small frown to her greying brows that is far from artificial.
“And who might you be, exactly? I wasn’t expecting anyone, let alone a member of Outer Haven.”
Her voice is rather nice, which is another welcome surprise. It’s soft and helps to set me at ease as I allow the door to shut behind me.
“Sorry for disturbing you, Mrs Humbert. But I am actually a member of the High Tower now, only recently of course, but still. My name is Mrs Shaw, and I’m here to give you a message.”
She sits up and back in her seat. She’s several metres away from me still, off across the room. Too far for me to manipulate her from here.
I take a small step forward. Somehow, however, she appears to distrust me.
“I didn’t tell you to approach, Mrs Shaw,” comes her voice. It’s not so nice anymore, a harshness brewing within it.
“Of course,” I say, stopping.
“Now what is this message you wish to give me?”
I see her left hand hovering towards the desk. Part of it glows with a screen, my Hawk-eyes picking up a flash of red.
An alarm, maybe? Has she seen through my façade? Is my presence here so unusual to call for backup?
With my heart-rate beginning to climb, I test my theory by taking another small step forward. Her fingers react by closing in on the screen. Yet her eyes stick on mine, and I wonder if she’s a Mind-Manipulator too, and whether trying to put her under my command was an idea that was never going to work.
As her fingers continue to slip towards that little dash of shallow red, I take a punt. I need to grab her attention, and it needs to be now.
“It’s about the assassination of C
ommander Fenby,” I say.
Her hand stops. Her eyes narrow. She leans forward just a little, and I take another small step as she does.
“What about it?” she asks.
“I…I have information that may help you find the culprits.”
I’m winging it, making it up on the spot.
But it seems to be working.
“And why would you come to me? I am not a member of the security force.”
I have no answer for her, but I hope I won’t need one. I take another step, my enhanced vision capable of keeping a firm eye on every millimetre of movement she makes.
Once more, her fingers creep towards the red dash on the flat screen of her desk.
“Well?” she asks. “Why have you come to me?”
I have no answer. I need no answer.
With a sudden swell within my body, the Dasher side of me surges forward, sending me right at her desk with a rush of air that has her greying hair flowing wildly. My movement is swift enough to prevent any sort of reaction, her body stuck in time as I grab her wrist and pull her hand away from the screen.
As I do so, I grab the other, and watch as her eyes widen gradually as the room moves back to full speed. And just as my Dasher powers shut off, something far more powerful takes its place, and I skip straight into her head in a bid to take command.
I’m able to do so without much of a fight. This woman is no Mind-Manipulator, just a regular old Savant getting on with her duty. My order flows through her, telling her to sit calmly and quietly and obey my verbal commands. It sinks into her consciousness and I withdraw to find my latest subject under my control.
And standing there in front of her desk, my eyes drop to the red marking on the screen, and a laugh begins to gurgle up through my body.
It’s not an alarm at all, but merely a trick of the light caused by the sun, shining through the window at her back.
She watches me as I giggle and shake my head, just another empty vessel here for me to fill in any manner I see fit. But there’s only a single order I need to give her, a single directive I need to impart.
And so that’s what I do.
Task completed, and onto the next.
The big one is fast approaching.
109
I sit in the apartment once more, alone. The pieces are all set, the pawns advancing. And me, the queen, waits to strike.
My next move will be checkmate.
At least I hope it will…
On the sofa beside me lies a gun. It’s a more old fashioned pistol, one that shoots physical bullets, and not the rounds of pulse energy that are often deployed. I’ve seen a couple like it before, but have never shot one.
It stares up at me, taunting me, calling for me to caress its handle.
I take a grip, and flick a little button on its underside, and the end of the barrel alters its shape, a silencer extending. It’s a feature I’ll need to make use of later should I want to do the deed in silence.
The weapon was easy enough to get. It took time, only, but not much effort. After a fair amount of searching, I discovered a suitable subject alone on my favourite level, wandering through the gardens in order to give himself a little boost of energy.
He was a member of the City Guard, a normal man besides his single sensory modification. In this case, his sense of hearing was quite powerful, his abilities as a Bat allowing him to never, ever be crept up on.
I didn’t need to. I just struck up a conversation with the man and found out that he was on a break. For a few minutes, we even walked together around the level, wandering through those beautiful and life giving gardens, discussing with some unexpected candour how little the Savants truly appreciate the place.
I kept looking for an opportunity for us to be completely alone, and lured him towards some of the heavier canopies provided by a collection of low palm trees on the northern side. There, I first took possession of his mind, and then I took possession of his gun.
I left him, as I did Ingrid Humbert, without any recollection of my presence, installing in his mind the belief that he’d merely left his side-arm at home or in his private storage unit at the City Guard HQ. By the time he discovers that neither is the case, it will be far too late.
That was a little while ago. And for the last couple of hours I’ve been here, in silence, just staring at the gun and the clock on the wall, alternating my gaze between the two.
The time is quickly speeding now, going far faster than I’ve ever known it to go. And with each passing minute, my nerves grow more jangled, my heart thuds more aggressively, and my breathing continues to shallow.
There’s nothing for me to do but wait. Wait and think. I consider contacting my brother, but turn against the thought. Hearing his voice may do nothing but weaken and distract me. And right now, I need to put my mind to nothing but the thought of pulling that trigger.
It’s past 6PM now, and in less than an hour, Ingrid Humbert will be rising up in the lift and stopping at level 51. I have no doubt any more in my powers, in my ability to command an order, even one that requires precise timing.
I’ve been through so much here this last week that I know, unequivocally, that Humbert will be here to collect me. And when those doors open, and she sees me step in, she won’t wonder why, or try to stop me.
Oh no. She’s mine now, and she’ll willingly lead me up to assassinate her master.
Assassinate.
The word flows about in my head, mostly in another form: murder. In an hour’s time, I’m going to kill a man, take a life, send a bullet straight into a brain.
Whatever the man’s done, and will do, and whatever I’ve promised, it remains a hard thing for me to compute. Zander taught me that manipulating someone to do something against their nature is the hardest thing of all. And here I am, about to do something that’s as far from my own nature as I could imagine.
But I will do it. I will pull that trigger, and watch the blood splatter. I will callously watch a man die. Because yes, he does deserve it. And yes, it will save lives.
But still, that doesn’t make it easy.
The clock seems to click louder in my head as I sit there. Which is odd, really, because it’s not actually making a sound at all. It’s in my head, the clicking, an endless countdown that’s been there for some time.
Only now, it’s growing louder, pounding inside my skull as the seconds add up to minutes, and the minutes crawl their way towards an hour.
The ticking is only broken when Adryan returns. He rushes in quickly and stops before me, his eyes turning straight to the gun in my hand. Surveying my expression, studying me like he did when we first met, and like he’s done so often since, he quickly determines that I’ve done what I’ve had to. That the pieces are in place and ready for the final act.
He sits beside me in silence, and for a good few minutes no words come. And then, gently, his voice whispers.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
I dip my chin and say: “Yes,” with all the decisiveness and finality I can muster.
And then I turn my eyes to his and ask: “Are you?”
The question isn’t about him having to kill, but about leaving this place, leaving this building. He’s never stepped foot beyond the dividing wall, never walked the streets of Outer Haven. Just as much as mine, his world is about to change forever, one way or another.
He nods like I did, and says: “I’ve been ready for a long time, Brie.”
I know he has. For many years. Ever since his wife was taken from him he’s waited for this day, bided his time, worked from the inside in a bid to see Cromwell fall.
And now, that effort has reached its zenith. And it’s time for me to act.
Standing from the sofa, I take a long breath and begin to pace. I have to shed some of this nervous energy, to make sure my hand is steady when it pulls the trigger.
I find myself moving to my room and looking upon my parents’ faces. Taking the picture off the wall, I whisper
in the quiet: “Give me strength,” before kissing them both, folding the photograph in two, and depositing it into my pocket for safekeeping.
I migrate from room to room as the time grows near, checking the clock each time I pass it. The minutes move like lightning, each circuit of the apartment seeming to strip several of them from the countdown.
Adryan watches me and tries to offer some calming words, my agitation rising fast now. All over my head, the doubts spread, the worries and fears trying their best to throw me off course.
I don’t give voice to them, don’t let them settle. I shake them free and pace harder, until Adryan halts me with his strong arms and firm gaze. Those silver eyes smoulder at me, and his presence helps to calm me. He doesn’t need to speak. Just that look in his eyes is enough to help me refocus.
And when he does speak, this time it’s just a soft whisper.
“It’s OK, Brie. You can do this. I’ll be right here, waiting for you.”
He smiles a gorgeous smile, and draws me into his chest, and through one eye I glance again at the clock and find that it’s time for me to go. Releasing me, he moves to the sofa and collects the gun, before gently fixing it to my belt and concealing it beneath my shirt.
It looks so odd, hidden beneath my current attire, and yet in my mind I’m wearing the rugged clothes from back home. I’m dressed as Zander might be, or one of the soldiers of the Nameless, wrapped up in black and looking fierce.
In my head, I’m dressed like a warrior, like an assassin.
In my head, I’m dressed to kill.
We walk to the door in silence, and Adryan turns me to him again. His lips move in, but not to mine. They glide across my forehead instead, before he fixes me with a final stare, his hands attached to my shoulders.
“Finish this, Brie,” he whispers. “Finish it.”
And with no response, no words forming in my head, I turn and open the door, and drift out into the corridor. Moving around the curved passageway, I head straight for the northern side, for the exact lift I ordered Humbert to take.
I walk like a Savant, rigid and cold and upright, acting almost on autopilot now. The floor is quiet, although a couple of lifts open as I pass, people returning home from their workplaces and barely passing me a glance.
