The Enhanced Series Box Set

by T. C. Edge

  Through a door to the right, one I haven’t yet seen open, I notice a bank of communication consoles and high tech security feeds. Several technicians sit in seats as others rush about, trying to manage things out in the city. These are the people tasked with watching the streets from back here, those who work with Kira and her team to allow the Nameless to operate in secret in Outer Haven.

  Their job has changed. Now it appears that they’re passing updates from the various sentry posts around the city, keeping the commanders here updated on the various battles being fought.

  It’s all hectic, an utter madhouse. And among it, trying to help where he can, I see Adryan.

  We catch eyes, and I’m drawn right towards him, some magnetic force sucking away the gap between us until we’re in each other’s arms.

  “I was so worried,” he calls into my ear over the din. “When it all happened out there, you were the first person I thought of. The only person…”

  He pulls away and kisses me. It feels more real, more desperate, than any we’ve shared. A primal urge that engulfs us both in the middle of that room.

  It’s only broken when Zander’s voice filters into my ears, breaking the spell and us apart.

  “Brie, I need to speak with Lady Orlando,” he says.

  “I’m coming too.”

  I feel my hand slipping from Adryan’s, but a smile warms my face. He melts into the rushing torrent of bodies as Zander pulls me away and towards the stage at the back and the door beyond.

  We pile through it and reach the next. There’s no time to knock.

  He opens the second door and I hear more voices. Two of them.

  Ahead of us, huddled over her own private communicator that she used to talk with Adryan when he lived in Inner Haven, she speaks calmly down the line. The measured nature of her voice is a far cry from just about every other voice I’ve heard for the last few hours.

  The other voice on the line is similar. I immediately identify it as belonging to Commander Burns. Lady Orlando doesn’t appear to notice us enter at first. She continues the conversation for several seconds before our movement draws her eyes.

  They blink a few times as they fall on us, brother and sister standing side by side. We must look a rather macabre picture dressed and armed as we are, stinking of battle and blood.

  She waves us in and we shut the door. I hear the tail end of the conversation.

  “You have to move now, Cornelia,” comes Burns’ tinny voice. He’s speaking in hushed tones, as if he’s afraid of being discovered.

  “We cannot. Not until the last minute. We need more protection for the people,” she replies.

  “You have no choice. Artemis is pouring his Con-Cops into the northern quarter. Your men will be overrun. He doesn’t care about losing them. He has thousands, perhaps tens of thousands, in reserve.”

  “And you, Leyton? What control do you have? Can you not stem the flow? You’re the Commander of the City Guard are you not?”

  There’s a bite to her words. A frustration.

  “You know Artemis, Cornelia. He’s taken all control for himself at this time. He supersedes me and there’s nothing I can do. And in any case, the Con-Cops aren’t under my remit.”

  “And the City Guard?”

  “Many are being called into service. But he’s using them sparingly. He’ll use up the Con-Cops before he’ll risk too many City Guards and Stalkers. He’s too clever for that.”

  “That’s what’s happening,” comes Zander’s voice. “The Stalkers and City Guards are working on the tunnels, but the streets are flooding with Con-Cops. He’s using them as distractions to engage our men.”

  “Yes,” comes Burns’ voice again. “Who is that?”

  “It’s Zander,” says Lady Orlando. “Brie has also just entered the room.”

  “Brie…” says Burns. “It’s good to hear you’re safe.”

  “Thank you, Commander,” cracks my voice.

  “Now Leyton, you see the catch 22 we’re in. We’re trying to stem the flow out there but are running thin on men. And now we’re having to form an escort party for the people to get them to the mines…”

  “But surely you have a protocol for this? You’ve had years, Cornelia, to plan.”

  “Leyton, there’s only so much we can do with the resources we have. We considered the threat of a coordinated attack but not to this scale. Our forces are spread thin in order to deal with it, and now we have little choice but to send for outside help.”

  Her eyes flash on Zander’s.

  “Outside help?” questions Burns.

  “Yes. I’ll spare you the details for now. I will talk to you again soon, Leyton.”

  “OK, I understand…”

  His voice is taken by some strange static, a sound I’ve always found unpleasant. It seems as though the line has been cut. But just as Lady Orlando prepares to click off, I’m sure I hear a single breath down the line.

  So does she.

  “Leyton?” she asks.

  And the communicator shuts off.

  154

  A short silence passes through the room like a gust of wind. As it goes on its way, the gentle din from the main hall of the church behind begins to re-gather its momentum.

  Then, scooping up a glass of half drunk whiskey, Lady Orlando smashes the silence to bits.

  “You can see the problem we’re having,” she blurts out, shaking her head.

  She stands up on her old legs and begins to pace, creaking joints taking her from one side of the room to the other.

  I haven’t yet seen her this animated.

  “We’ve got the tunnels under siege,” she continues. “If one is breached, everyone in the underlands is at threat. All these people we’ve promised to protect and give sanctuary to. But, if we send them out there,” she says pointing to the north wall of her room, “we can’t give them the protection they deserve either. Zander, you know that people will die on that trip. You’ve travelled it several times before…”

  “I do,” he says, moving to the table and pouring his own glass.

  He pours one for me too without asking. I take it hungrily.

  Then he continues.

  “But what choice do we have?” he says. “Thousands are dying in the city anyway, and they’ll all follow in the underlands before too long. If even a hundred die on the road, then it’s still nothing compared…”

  “But it’s not the same, my boy,” croaks Lady Orlando. “We’ve spent years protecting these people, giving them the assurance that they won’t come to harm. I never wanted to send them to the mines without a proper escort, without you and your best hybrids. Even if we give up each of our soldiers in this church, which we can’t, they’ll still be woefully under-defended.” She shakes her head again. “It’s my fault. I should have sent them out there before. I should have removed them from the equation before all of this happened…”

  She arrives at the window and looks at the hazy, multi-coloured mist in the distance. And as she does, I hear her whisper: “Damn you, Artemis.”

  She takes a moment to herself. Another brief lull consumes the room as I consume a portion of my whiskey.

  It feels good after the day I’ve had.

  Then the leader of the Nameless turns once more and moves towards Zander.

  “I didn’t want to ask this of you, but I suppose I must. I require a task of you, Zander. One only you can perform. It’s…a gamble. And it will be dangerous. But I don’t see that we have any other option right now.”

  “Anything, Lady Orlando. Anything at all.”

  She purses her lips, as if reluctant to say what she’s about to say.

  “Your recent contact with Rhoth got me thinking,” she starts. “A few bridges were built between you. I wonder if they might take some significant weight.”

  Zander nods.

  “I understand,” he says, quick to know what she’s asking. “You want me to find him, ask him to help. To provide an escort for our people to
the mines.”

  Lady Orlando smiles. Her withered old hand reaches from her sleeve and cups his cheek.

  “Zander, my dear boy, what would I do without you?”

  His fingers grip hers and draw them down.

  “We’ll never have to find out,” he says. “You want me to leave tonight?”

  “I do. As soon as you can.”

  I step forward.

  “I’m going too,” I say.

  Zander’s head is already shaking before he turns to look at me.

  “No, no, absolutely not. You’ll only slow me down, sis.”

  “But…you can’t go alone! It’s too dangerous out there.”

  “I can handle myself,” he asserts. “I know these woods and can travel at speed. With any luck, Rhoth will have returned to the hunting lodge he kept us in. If not, I know of several others where I might find him.”

  “But…”

  “No buts, Brie,” storms his voice. “I have no time to debate this.”

  He moves towards me and kisses my forehead. He does the same thing to Lady Orlando.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Sit tight.”

  And gulping down the last of his whiskey, he marches right for the door and disappears. Through the church, out into the streets, and into the dark night.

  It all happens so abruptly. So fast it leaves a ringing in my ears as the room once again goes quiet.

  Staring at my glass, I see the top of the whiskey bottle appear, filling it back up.

  “Don’t worry about him, child,” whispers Lady Orlando, clutching at the flask as she pours. “He has a knack for keeping himself safe. And others too…”

  I nod weakly as the scent of whiskey drifts up my nose. It reminds me of my guardian. It reminds me of Tess.

  I hate that I have to worry about so many people. When one person seems to be safe, another finds themselves in mortal peril.

  “Do you think it’s safe in the western quarter?” I ask softly, turning to the window.

  Lady Orlando does too, and together we look out at the colourful haze and the shadow of the city behind.

  “I’d say so,” she says. “There’s no reason for the fighting to spread from the north. The west should be perfectly safe for now.”

  I take some solace from her words. I know I can’t waste energy worrying about something I can’t control. They’re in the academy. They have supplies. They should be fine for now at least.

  “Come, sit down. You’ve had a long day.”

  I follow Lady Orlando over to the table beside the fire. It crackles and spits, but in a soothing way. Placing down my glass, I feel an exhaustion clawing through my limbs, my eyelids growing heavy.

  And to think I wanted to go with my brother. I’d barely have made it a mile before passing out…

  We sit for a little while without speaking. I feel no need for words right now, listening only to the distant sounds of war that offer a terrible backdrop to my peace.

  It’s a guilty peace, really. Knowing that there are thousands out there fighting right now. And I’m here, sitting at the top table, relaxing over a nice glass of whiskey.

  I don’t feel worthy of this position.

  I think of those plotting the fall of the High Tower, huddled in that room, readying their explosives, making their final plans.

  I think of my brother rushing through the woods, his lungs burning as he’s hunted by the many beasts that will inevitably pursue him.

  I think of Sophie, down in the underlands, clutching at her baby and trying to keep him calm. Praying that the order is given for the underlands to be evacuated, if only to escape the relentless roar of exploding bombs and rattling guns up above.

  She won’t know, can’t know, how dangerous it will be when she gets out here. But that won’t matter to her now. Right now, all she’ll want is to break free from those claustrophobic tunnels, take her life, and the life of her son, into her own hands.

  Down there, all the people will be thinking the same. The soldiers will be keeping them in, blocking the tunnels out. Some will be impassable now because of the explosives that triggered their collapse. Only when they have their best chance of survival will they be set free.

  There are others I think of too. Those like Mary and Lucy, watching the terrible war unfold from the supposed safety of the High Tower. Sitting there as the northern quarter flashes and burns. Wondering whether their own friends and relatives across Outer Haven are safe.

  My mind churns and draws up a hundred faces as I sit there. Only when I actively work to silence it does my heart-rate begin to relax, and the etched lines across my face recede.

  And sitting there, I turn my mind to Cromwell, and the old woman sitting across from me, watching with those greying eyes.

  And as I think of him, and as I think of her, the words drift from my lips.

  “You knew him well, didn’t you?” I ask.

  She continues to look at me. She has no powers like I do, no way to read my mind. But she seems to know whom I’m speaking about.

  “Artemis?” she says. “Yes, I knew him well.”

  “What happened?” My voice is soft. Slowly, my gaze drifts to hers as the fire begins to flicker and fade.

  It needs another log. But I don’t want to move. I want to hear what she has to say.

  Her eyes glance on mine and I find myself being drawn in. Looking for the answers in her mind and not those spouted by her lips. Seeking the truth that she cannot conceal.

  But she doesn’t allow the connection. She turns away as she feels me enter, shutting off the link to her consciousness.

  “I don’t like that,” she whispers. “I never did. I taught your brother from an early age not to try to read my mind.”

  “I’m…sorry,” I whisper. “It’s instinct. I still can’t control it properly.”

  Her eyes re-open fully and turn back to me. The orange firelight dances on their surface. A weak smile settles on her lips.

  “I marvel at you, Brie,” she sighs. “So gifted. There’s a fire burning bright inside you. It warms me to see you here.”

  She reaches out and places her hand on mine. Her smile grows a little stronger. Then her hand withdraws.

  I don’t know if she’s delaying, or avoiding the topic. I don’t know if I’m prying, overstepping the mark.

  I let her choose. I wait for her to continue, to tell me of her past. I refuse to draw out more than she’ll allow.

  With a shallow breath, the smile fades. An expression that speaks of a thousand memories replaces it.

  “I haven’t spoken of what happened to me for a long time. I wished for years to forget. I may be a Savant, but I feel that pain. It’s deep and constant. It will never leave me.”

  Her eyes flicker and she takes her whiskey glass in hand. She doesn’t drink it, but merely swirls it around, watching and thinking.

  “I had a child,” she says, still swirling. “You know the laws of the High Tower. You know what happens to our children there…”

  “They’re taken,” I whisper, nodding. “Raised by others, never to be yours.”

  “Never to be mine,” she breathes.

  Her eyes shut. It’s as though deep pools of sunken memory are being drawn back to the surface.

  Watching her, I feel her pain. I don’t need to read her mind to do so. It exudes from her every fibre, filling the room with a sombre energy.

  “Director Cromwell,” I whisper. “He was the father?”

  Her eyes stay shut, but her chin drops into a single nod.

  “I was given the name Cornelia Orlando at my birth,” she tells me. “When I got older, I met Artemis. We were…a good fit. I didn’t love him, and he certainly didn’t love me. But we got married, and we had a child. I became Cornelia Cromwell.”

  Gradually, as she speaks, her eyes start to open again, and her words begin flowing with their usual smoothness. She turns back to me, and the lines of pain start to fade once more, replaced by the anger she harbours to
wards him.

  “But how did that happen? How did you end up out here, leading the Nameless?”

  The weak smile returns to her face. She looks at me closely, reading me.

  “You think it’s my past with Artemis that fuels me?” she questions. She nods. “You’d be partially right. It set me on this path, out here. For a long time, I accepted losing my child. I had no choice in the matter, really. But, eventually, it took its toll. I rebelled, and became a liability. Artemis was rising through the ranks of the City Guard then. When he took charge, you can imagine where he sent me…”

  “To the REEF,” I breathe.

  “I found out,” she says quickly. “I knew I had no choice if I wanted to survive. So I came out here, ran away, started my life over. Ever since, I’ve fought against him from the shadows. I will always fight against him.”

  It makes so much sense now, her desire to see him dead. Yet, there’s more behind it. This isn’t just a grudge match, some vendetta. Her personal links to Cromwell do nothing to weaken or destabilise her position.

  Perhaps once, the cynic in me might have questioned such a thing. But no longer. This is far, far, bigger than her desire for revenge, even though I feel that now. That is merely a bonus, a smiling side-effect of seeing our people freed from his clutches.

  “Who else knows about this?” I ask. “Does Zander?”

  She shakes her head.

  “I never wanted him to know. He never needed to know. My past with Artemis is my own to bear. I didn’t want to burden your brother with such a thing.”

  “And that’s why you don’t like him reading your mind,” I say, thinking out loud. “In case he saw the truth?”

  “You’re perceptive,” she smiles. “But the mind is the most personal space we have. I don’t condone the use of such powers among friends, among family. They might only lead to heartache…and to misunderstandings.”

  Her wisdom chastises me. I’ve been guilty of overusing my powers. Creeping into people’s minds uninvited, always trying to seek the truth whether by permission or not.