by T. C. Edge
“Well, yeah, there’s that,” says my brother. “But a pulse round is going to cut through just about anything but the best armour, whether there’s a Brute underneath it or not.”
“And normal bullets?” I ask.
“Depends where they hit,” booms Freya. Her finger taps to the side of her left eye, its cool blue colour somehow going well with her white hair. It’s to the scar she’s referring.
“That was from a bullet?” I question.
“Yeah,” she says. “Lucky it only grazed me. Could have been worse. I kinda like it.”
She smiles again briefly. It disappears just as quick, as though she wants to relax but wont’ let herself. As if her appearance has crafted her this part as a stern and joyless woman, when in fact there’s a brighter soul buried underneath.
“It suits you,” I suggest.
I regret the words until that smile flashes again. And with it comes a little nod of acknowledgement and sisterhood that she probably craves.
In that instant, I think of Rycard, and turn to see him across the room in discussion with a guard. His scar is similar, only on the other side of his face. And, of course, it cuts right through his eye and not to the side of it.
It just goes to show that life is a game of millimetres. Another few to the right and Rycard would have maintained his Hawk-vision and would have stayed with the City Guard. Sophie and Maddox, too, would never have ventured with him to the underlands, never have joined the Nameless.
Such small things can lead to such large changes. You never quite know where some slight deviation in your path might lead you.
We leave Freya to her work too, and move on to a final person of interest for me to meet. This one hangs low under a skinny, tall frame, his ferrety features in shadow and partially hidden beneath a set of large glasses. He seems to be mumbling to himself as he looks through a series of papers and schematics.
“Alfred,” says Zander, drawing him from his own little world.
The man looks up in fright, his eyes dark behind his spectacles and hair black and lank, thinning in places and hanging down the sides of his face. There’s a gauntness to his cheeks, sunken and smattered with the occasional sprouting of hair, as if puberty never quite took hold with him and gave up halfway through.
His voice is another indicator of such a thing. It’s timid and shallow, and high pitched in places. He looks to be about 40, although could very well be younger.
“Y-yes Zander,” he says. “W-hat can I d-do for you?”
Clearly, he has a bit of a stammer too.
“Just introducing you to my sister,” says Zander. “Meet Brie.”
His eyes hover to mine but can barely connect for more than a split second. Instead, they choose to focus around my chin and neck as he bows a little and sends out his skinny digits, tipped with heavily chewed nails.
“Nice to meet you, Alfred,” I say, shaking his hand. Unlike the rest, his shake is feeble and weak, an unpleasant experience.
I slide my hand from his grasp as soon as I can and wait for Zander to take over the conversation.
He duly does so.
“Alfred here is the go-to guy when you want information. It can take a bit of time to get it out of him, but he’ll give it up in the end. Right, Alfred?”
He slaps him on the back, and the man collapses forward to the table before righting himself.
“R-r-right, Z-Zander…” he stutters.
My brother turns to me.
“He may not look like much, but the guy’s a genius. And he isn’t even a Savant, not a full one anyway. He’s got a photographic mind and, if Kira is our eyes and ears in Outer Haven, he’s our brain.”
“So, he’s the one who tells you the best routes through the city?” I ask.
It’s kinda bad that I don’t even note how we’re talking about him as if he’s not there. He’s just that sort of guy, lurking in the background.
“Him and the guys running security back at HQ. We have the drones we’ve reprogrammed and then Kira and her team. They work together to make sure we don’t miss a beat out there, feeding us the info we need. It’s a pretty slick operation.”
“Yeah, seems like it. So, is that everyone?” I ask, looking around. “Anyone else to meet?”
“Well,” says Zander, glancing to the side of the room. “You know Astor, obviously.”
I follow his gaze and see the bodyguard of Walter, the chemist, going through some of the supplies of weaponry and armour in the room. He seems to be checking them for faults and possibly doing some inventory.
“Right, yeah. No Walter though?”
“Not here, no,” says Zander. “Walter tends to stick to the HQ and the black market. Although, it’s been much harder running the latter in recent weeks, as you can imagine.”
“Sure, yeah. How can I forget my first time there.”
And only time…
That was, in fact, where I met Walter and Astor. I’d gone to meet the chemist in order to track down Zander, only for a bunch of Stalkers and Con-Cops to come and raid the place. In the end, Zander came along and saved the day.
He’s done so many times since then.
“So I assume there have been more raids recently?” I continue.
“They’re almost constant,” says Zander. “That’s part of the reason why so many hybrids have come forward. They’ve been unable to get their suppressor drugs, and have no choice but to join up. In a way, you could say it’s working in our favour. Giving us more men and women to fight.”
“And what was that last night?” I ask. “At the meeting, someone said something about these hybrids being trained…”
“Yep. That was Beckett I think. We’ve got some of our top hybrids training them, but they’re unlikely to play a part quite yet, unless they have to of course.”
He turns again to the little collection of people. Besides those I’ve met and those I already know, there are three more, all soldier-looking types. I assume that they comprise part of the ‘elite’ force of hybrids under the command of Beckett and my brother.
A quick introduction of each reveals their names to be Marler, Quinn, and Hilton.
Each carry the features typical of their kind, all of them with Dasher powers as well as other Enhancements. In battle, no matter how many abilities you have, unless you’re part Dasher then you’re unlikely to last too long.
Once the final introductions have been performed, Zander gives Beckett a little nod and we all gravitate towards the central table. On top of it are maps and schematics and notes of patrols and weapons and other supplies. It is clear that this is where the main planning is being done for the assumed assault on the High Tower.
The participation of Freya, an explosives expert, and the amount of explosives stockpiled in one corner, suggests that the plan of destroying the home of the Savants is one that’s been long-gestating.
I suppose it’s quite clever really. Last night at the meeting it seemed as though the plan was one that was being considered as a last resort. And, well, that last resort has quickly arrived.
In reality, though, it’s obvious enough to me that this was always plan B, and that were I to fail to assassinate Cromwell, this was going to be the next course of action.
In fact, it’s quite possible that this was the preferable option all along. Something tells me that simply killing Cromwell and installing Burns might not be what Lady Orlando was after. That maybe, in the end, she wants to take the city for herself…
As we gather around the table, it’s Beckett who speaks first.
“Right, so we all welcome Brie as part of our group. Given her power set, she’s a strong addition to the team.”
I glance at Zander. He looks right back, before turning again to Beckett.
I try to speak to him telepathically but find the link severed.
Beckett continues.
“We were all there last night during the meeting. The plan was debated at length but there was only one conclusion
that was going to be drawn. The High Tower must be destroyed, and it must be destroyed soon. All of us assembled here have a role to play…”
I look again at Zander. He refuses to look back.
I can’t help it. My voice cuts in.
“Um, I have no role to play,” I say.
Beckett turns to me with eyes cut from stone.
“Excuse me?” he says sternly.
“I, er…I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but I’m not playing a part in any of this. I don’t agree with this plan.”
“It makes no difference whether you agree or not,” barks Beckett. “You’re a soldier now and these are the commands that we’ve been given. Lady Orlando has green lit this course, and now we will see it through. What are your objections?”
All eyes fall to me. I glance around the room.
“Well…I…don’t know…” I stammer, doing my best impression of Alfred.
“You don’t know? That’s not much of an objection, is it? Speak plainly, we’re all friends here.”
I have no idea what to say. I’m not sure I’ve ever been looked at the way Beckett is looking at me now. His eyes are burning hot.
“I just don’t agree with destroying the whole place. None of you have been there. I have. The people aren’t in on all this. They don’t deserve to die…”
All my reservations begin to flow again. I revert to the ultra moral, insufferable girl that these people - that soldiers and military folk - probably despise.
A few sets of eyes roll.
“And the people in Outer Haven, your real home. Do they deserve to die?” asks Beckett. My mouth opens. He shuts me off. “And what of the people in the underlands, all your friends and family. How about them? Do they deserve to die?”
I open my mouth again to answer. Once more, he doesn’t let me speak.
“Of course they don’t,” he continues, his voice running at speed. “Of course, no one really deserves to die, do they? Everyone is oh-so innocent, aren’t they? No, Brie, they’re not. There are many in the High Tower who are ignorant of what’s going on, perhaps that’s true. Or perhaps not. Perhaps they are aware, but just don’t care. But even if what you say is true, and they don’t know, and would object if they did, that’s totally irrelevant. At the summit of that building is every single person complicit in Director Cromwell’s plot. Destroying the building will, by my reckoning, destroy them all in one fell strike of the sword. It is an opportunity that, if it pays off, will not only save hundreds, perhaps thousands of our own men, but also many tens of thousands of innocents across the city as well. You kill thousands to save tens of thousands. That is the terrible choice that people in power have to make. That is the terrible choice you make in war…”
His words are breathless. They flow with passion and experience and I can’t help but be cowed by their ferocity. Once again, I feel like a tiny little child, stupid and ignorant and emotionally fragile.
I’m so pathetic that I even feel my eyes growing damp as his words are spat at me. Enough to make me blink hard to avoid properly embarrassing myself in front of this hardnosed assembly.
Even Zander, usually so forceful, refuses to cut in and defend me, or try to calm Beckett’s words. More likely, he completely agrees with him and knows that I need to hear this.
But whatever he says, it won’t change my mind. I don’t want to be part of this.
Beckett gives me an out. His voice begins to cool, and he takes a short break. And then, with the room ringing with his words, he speaks again more slowly.
“If you truly have your reservations, then I don’t want you on this team. Such weakness cannot be included here. We need only strength and the conviction that what we’re doing is right. Any chink in the armour can be fatal. Now get out of my office.”
His final words bite and set my heart skipping a beat. I feel so utterly humiliated, my eyes once more threatening to leap with tears. I cough lightly to hide my shame, and clear my throat in a bid to speak again, to defend myself.
But I can’t. If I speak now, my words will crumble.
Eventually, I lift my eyes, and see that Zander is at least looking upon Beckett with some displeasure. It’s all he’s doing, though. He, like everyone else, is silent.
I harden my glare and then pass it to the mission commander, thinking that I’ll try to set some order in him to apologise, or something far worse. Embarrass him like he has me.
But when I look at him, I realise that my humiliation is complete. He isn’t even looking at me anymore. He’s forgotten I was ever here.
A creaking sounds over by the wall, and I note that one of the hybrids – Quinn, I think – has moved over to open the door for me.
I lower my head and perform the walk of shame, just as Beckett’s voice begins to rise up into the room once again, continuing on with his address.
And when the door shuts behind me, and the sound of his voice is blocked out, I feel my stinging eyes let loose a short flood.
And only moments later, the door opens again.
148
I wipe my eyes before I turn and find my brother standing before me. He looks at me for a few seconds with a pitiful expression that angers me.
“Why did you bring me here?” I grunt. “Why the hell did you bring me here?!”
He comes forward and tries to comfort me. I don’t let him.
I back off down the tunnel a few steps, raising my hands to hold him at bay.
“You’re a solider now, Brie…you have a part to…”
“DON’T,” I shout, my words echoing down the passage behind us.
Above, the rumbling of the factory seems to quieten, yet the walls continue to rock and roll.
“Don’t speak like him,” I continue, cooling my voice a little. “I’m NOT a solider. I’m NOT an assassin. I’m NOT a rebel. I’m just…nothing. I don’t want any part of this, Zander. You know I don’t. Why did you bring me here?!”
My words begin to rise again. Zander awaits the end of my rant, waits for me to expel the humiliation from my body.
He speaks after a few seconds of silence. A silence that starts to wane as the rumbling machinery a hundred feet above us begins blaring back to life.
“Beckett wanted you as part of the group,” he says calmly. “He’s my senior. I have to follow orders. He knows you’re like me. We have a combination of powers that no one else does. You know how rare Mind-Manipulators are. And those who also have Dasher powers and Hawk-eyes...that’s unheard of.”
“But I’m not a soldier.” My voice is almost empty now. I’ve spent much of my anger.
“You’re more of a soldier than you know. You’ve accomplished a lot. Beckett thought you’d be a useful addition to the team, if only as backup. I didn’t really want you here. It’s not easy for me either. I’d rather you were just back in the church, safe and sound…”
“I don’t believe you,” I say, cutting in. “I’m not sure I believe anything you say.”
“Brie…”
I hang my head. I don’t want to look at him. I don’t want to see the truth in his eyes and deny my insults and attacks. I want to hurt him for not speaking up for me.
“You can believe me or not,” he says. “But it’s true. Everything I’ve done is because it’s been ordered. I’m trying to tow the line between keeping you safe and getting you to do what others want you to. I wish you didn’t have these gifts so you could just be safe and free from all this. But you do, Brie. You do, and I can’t help that. But you don’t have to now. You don’t have to be a part of this if you don’t want.”
I lift my eyes up, slowly, almost nervously. His stare at me, wide and unblinking. There’s no lie in them. He really does want me to be safe.
And he really does love me.
I feel myself thawing. My anger towards him begins to subside. All the good things he’s done for me begin to creep from the back of my head, stepping into the light.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, my words barely audible
above the banging from above. “I owe you so much, Zander. I promised myself I’d do anything you wanted now, after saving me and Adryan. I just…I’ll fight, I promise. Give me a gun and point me in the direction of some Stalkers, and I’ll fight. But I don’t want to help you blow up the High Tower. I don’t think I could ever live with myself if I did.”
He slips towards me as I speak, gliding so effortlessly and with such speed. Appearing in front of me, his hands fix to my shoulders and his eyes do the same to my own. A grin gathers on his face, cutting dimples into his cheeks.
“You’re a renegade, Brie,” he laughs. “You fight for what you believe in, whether that’s against the Consortium and Cromwell, or us right here. That’s OK. That’s who you are. I don’t ask for anything in return for saving your life. I’d do it a thousand times over with no reward. Don’t ever think that you owe me for that. Never, do you hear me?”
I nod, my chin low and eyes wide, looking up at him like a child.
He seems so much older than me, despite us being twins. He’s been through much more, seen much more, done much more. I’m just a little girl here among these people. I don’t see why Beckett would even want my voice in that room.
“But I would ask that you help us in this cause in some way. It doesn’t have to be here. I don’t want it to be here. There are other things you can do to contribute.”
“Anything,” I say, nodding. “I’ll do anything.”
“Good. Because the fight isn’t just here. It’s everywhere. Sooner or later, level 4 will be instituted, and we’re going to need some of our best soldiers escorting our people to the mines. You are a soldier, Brie. You can help save lives without abandoning your morals.”
“And you?” I ask. “Do you really believe in all this?”
“I…I agree with what Beckett said,” he tells me. “War isn’t a simple game. It’s not black and white. It’s not just heroes and villains. Sometimes the good guys need to do bad things, even terrible things, in the name of what’s right. That might just be the price of freedom for our people.”
Again, I feel stupid. I’m being schooled left, right, and centre by those who actually know what they’re talking about. I nod my agreement and hope never to speak about the topic again.
