by T. C. Edge
“Good,” he says, winking.
We move straight to the right, working around the flank and sticking to the remains of the woods as best we can. Each time we gain sight of a new part of the wall, we stop, inspect, and then move on. Each time, we spot no soldiers or drones. Nothing at all.
Soon, we’re at the wall along the northern perimeter, the very one I leapt off once before when we staged our daring rescue of Adryan. I was able to jump into the soft earth without injury, and though Adryan suffered a minor sprain to his ankle, we were able to get away from the pursuing soldiers. Then, we met Rhoth and his Fangs for the first time.
Ah, the adventures we’ve had together since…
Getting to the summit the other way around, however, won’t be as easy. The wall is far too tall for either of us to leap up to and grab. It’s going to take a combined effort to get there, which means venturing out of cover and into plain sight.
We share a brief telepathic discussion, configuring a plan. Then we go.
Rushing together, we sprint from the woods and towards the wall. I get ahead, turn as I reach it, and press my back against the stone. Bending to a single knee, I turn as rigid as I can and prepare to take my brother’s weight. With a short run up, he comes surging, stepping with a strong leg onto my knee, before setting his opposite foot to my shoulder and leaping high towards the summit.
His weight cranks down on me, pressing me low, until suddenly disappearing. I look up and see him dangling, legs hanging down the wall and holding onto the top with one hand. The other slips into his jacket and withdraws a knife, which he uses to quickly cut away at the barbed wire that adorns the ramparts.
Once done, he slips the knife back in, takes a firm hold of the wall with his other hand, and hauls himself to the top. Crouching low, I see him quickly scanning the interior, left and right. Ahead, I know, is little more than an alleyway between the wall itself and the northern building within the compound. It takes him mere moments to determine that he hasn’t been seen.
He turns, reaches down as far as he can with his hands, and nods.
I step back several paces from the wall, muster some of my recharged Dasher speed, and surge towards the rock. Reaching it, I kick up as powerfully as I can, my momentum taking me a fair way up and into my brother’s waiting arms. He takes hold of me and pulls me to the top, before hastily dropping down the other side.
I do the same, and only once we’re both inside the facility, do I turn my eyes up and down and note that we are, in fact, alone.
We nod at each other.
What next? I ask.
Just follow my lead, he tells me. Stay behind. Stop when I stop. Stay low when I stay low. Mimic me. Got it?
I nod.
And we continue.
We move first to the rear, seeking to avoid the front courtyard within the walls and double set of gates on the eastern entrance. It is the only way in - that I’m aware of at least - and around the back there’s nothing but walls, watchtowers, and little else.
The three buildings within the compound, two of which I’ve explored to a limited degree, and one of which I haven’t yet entered, aren’t the same, however. Each has a number of entrances, and around the back are larger lifts and industrial elevators, designed to aid in the moving of equipment for the array of punishments and experiments that go on within.
Still, however, no soul appears. There are no guards on duty outside that we’ve yet seen. The place remains as quiet and lifeless as a graveyard.
And then, finally, some noise…
It starts as a cranking, metallic sound. A whirring of motors somewhere deep within the belly of the farthest building to the southern end of the compound; the only one I’ve yet to see. We hurry to the side, moving around the wall and down an alley between the southern and central buildings. We stop, and listen.
The whirring grows louder. It sounds like a lift, grinding up from the depths, clanking and wrenching until, finally, stopping. Then a new sound, that of the door opening, gears grinding as they pull the big metal door up and breathing fresh air into the metal coffin.
Voices reach our ears. Two of them. Men, walking from the lift, moving out into the concrete courtyard at the back of the building. Their words start as mumbles, before gaining in clarity, and the smell of cigarette smoke drifts around the wall towards me.
“Stuffy as hell down there,” I hear one man say.
“Better here than Haven,” says the other with a note of rebuke.
“Don’t get me wrong, Clive, I’m happy for this gig. I’m just saying…”
“Yeah, well watch your tongue, even with me. The big boss is back in town.”
I look at Zander, the both of us crouching low against the wall.
Cromwell, they’re talking about Cromwell.
I want to creep my head around the corner and take a look. They don’t sound like Stalkers. Stalkers don’t talk like that. They barely speak at all, unless spoken to, and when they do they’re as stiff as a metal rod. These men haven’t been reconditioned. They sound like City Guards to me.
“You hear what happened?” I hear the first man ask. It’s clear he’s the lower ranked man, a slightly servile tone to his voice.
The man named Clive’s words come out a grunt.
“Stalkers tracked him to some cave in the south. Don’t ask me how he got there. You’re on a need to know basis, soldier…and you don’t need to know.”
“Sorry, boss. I’m just curious.”
“Well, you hear about where curiosity gets you? Six feet under, that’s where. We do our job. Protect the techs. Nothing else matters to you, or me for that matter.”
“Sorry.”
“And damn well stop your apologisin’! Does my head in sometimes.”
I hear a few long drags on a cigarette take place. The sound is fond to me. It reminds me of Brenda, as does the smell. I draw it in and feel strangely relaxed. Then the senior man speaks again.
“Right, back to it, break’s over.”
“Sure, boss. Just…”
“What now?!”
“Erm, nothin’. Just…I don’t know. This doesn’t feel right.”
There’s a period of silence. When Clive speaks, his voice is low and barely audible.
“Right? You don’t get to decide what’s right, soldier. Only the Director does. You don’t have an opinion. Got it?”
“Um…yeah. I got it.”
I hear a loud exhale. Could be either of them.
“Look, you got lucky with this post. Over in Haven, you’d probably be dead by now. Just let the Cure and the Nameless duke it out for now. If our people get caught up in the mess, that’s not for us to worry about. That’s the boss’s call. He’s got all our interests at heart…”
Another exhale. More of a snort of derision this time.
I hear a sudden tussle, a body being pressed against a wall.
“Shut that shit down right now!” growls Clive. “Or I’ll report you to the top and you’ll see what happens. You know the Nameless blew up the High Tower, right? You know how many City Guards were there at the time? Those people have it all coming to them.”
“But…” I hear the other man croak. “Come on, Clive. We work here. We know…”
“We know nothing. Nothing. Hear me? Director Cromwell’s a genius. Smartest man in the city. He’s building a better world, and the Nameless screwed it up. I trust his judgment every time. It’s all for the greater good, soldier. The greater good.”
A short silence follows. Then, the younger man’s voice, repeating, “The greater good.”
Footsteps begin moving down the building, back to the lift. I look at Zander, and he looks at me. There’s something going on here, and we need to find out what.
And these two men are going to tell us.
Follow me, I hear my brother say. Dash and grab. Take control of them. On one. Three, two, one…
And he’s gone.
264
As is so often the case,
I have little time to catch up before my brother takes action. There’s no hesitation to his movement as he flashes from sight, a trail of dust painting his path as he swirls around the wall and into the fray.
I hesitate, but only for the barest of split-seconds, before following right after him. By the time I round the wall and look upon him, he’s setting himself up in front of one of the guards, reaching to restrain him and ready to take possession of his mind.
I set my sights on the other. Dashing towards him, his attention moves towards Zander’s sudden, and unexpected, appearance. He doesn’t see me coming.
I arrive on cue as my brother works his magic, and proceed to work my own. Reaching out for my quarry’s throat, I grapple quickly with his chin before he can act, turn his stark eyes to mine, and swiftly glide into his consciousness. Unlike the many Savants’ minds I’ve now explored, his is rather more plain, a modestly decorated room compared to the vast and spectacular ballrooms of the more mentally powerful Savants.
It’s safe to say he won’t be hard to possess, and within the flutter of a hummingbird’s wing, he’s mine.
Pulling away, I note the glazed expression that takes custody of his face. It’s somewhat gormless, and a clear enough sign that this man will now do just about anything I tell him. As it stands, I have no order to give other than to stand still, stay silent, and wait for further instructions.
I turn to Zander, who’s done the same with the other man. Only now do I get a chance to inspect them, and note that they are, in fact, City Guards, although with a slightly different uniform to tell of their station here. It’s obvious that Zander’s new pet is Clive. He’s older, bald-headed, and narrow-eyed. The young man before me looks far more pleasant. I could tell that from their conversation alone.
I exhale and ask, “Now what?”
The men stand still as mice, cornered by a pair of hungry cats. I can see that they recognise us, though are unable to speak without our say-so.
“Now we find out what’s down there,” says Zander. He looks to Clive. “Speak quietly, and answer my questions when I ask them. Nod if you understand.”
Clive nods, his neck cranking down like an old, rusted hinge. His attempts to resist are futile, though he’s putting up a fight at least.
“Good. Now, you know who we are?”
“Zander and Brie,” says Clive. “You’re the twins of the Nameless.”
“Yes, we are. Are we your allies?”
The man’s answer doesn’t come immediately.
“Y…yes,” he says.
“Is that the truth?” questions Zander, his voice deepening as he steps forward.
I see him peering into the man’s mind, and his brow crinkles.
“It’s…the truth,” says Clive.
Zander shakes his head and looks to me.
“There’s some block in his head,” he tells me. “Someone’s already worked up some mental security, blockades and the like. Hard to trust what he’s saying.”
“Woolf, I’ll bet,” I grumble. “How about this one.” I nod at the young man ahead of me.
“Probably the same, but worth a shot.”
My brother steps forward and conducts the same set of questioning. He gets the same strained response.
“Can’t you work through it?” I ask.
“With time, maybe. We don’t have much of that, unfortunately.” He looks again at Clive. “What’s down there, in the lift? We heard you say you’re here to protect the techs. You mean technicians?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t ask two questions at once,” I say. “That ‘yes’ is redundant. We already know they’re protecting techs.” I step towards the man. “The first question is more important. What’s down there at the bottom of the lift?”
Zander nods, realising his error. I’m sure he would have corrected it, but as he says, we don’t have much time.
“Research,” says Clive.
“What kind of research?”
He doesn’t answer, except to repeat the same word.
Like my brother, I quickly sneak into his head and try to mine a little deeper. It’s a mess, everything jumbled and out of place, as if someone’s come in and rearranged everything to make things harder to find. It can only have been Woolf, hiding what might be considered top secret information without impacting the mens’ ability to function. Only a truly skilled Mind-Manipulator like her could do such a thing. I’m all too aware that rumbling about in someone’s head when you’re not sufficiently experienced can lead to dire consequences.
“Damn, it’s no use,” I say.
“Told you,” says Zander. “Now where’s Cromwell,” he asks Clive. “He came here not so long ago. Where is he?”
“In the central building, in his office. I think.”
“Hmmm, more candid this time,” muses my brother.
“I guess that information’s new, and hasn’t been hidden?” I query.
Zander nods.
“That’ll be it. Clearly, there’s something going on down there that we’re not meant to know about. And clearly our esteemed grandfather’s got another trick up his sleeve.”
The two men’s eyes widen to the news of our heritage.
“Should you have said that?” I ask.
Zander flicks his hand dismissively.
“It’s fine. I’ll delete the memory.”
“So now what? We go down?”
“I’m not sure. I think we already know what we’re going to find, don’t we?”
The rumours begin to flood my mind again. Rumours that I’ve heard for some time. Whispers of experiments and super-hybrids. Of a fresh force of men, a new batch of Stalkers, capable of more powerful feats of destruction. The men who were, it seemed, going to be used to secure Cromwell’s new world, to aid him in ushering in a safe and secure place for his Savants to thrive and breed and repopulate these lands.
A lot of that, now, isn’t true as I once saw it. The world doesn’t need repopulating. That much has become clear. Yet something new rises in my mind, a new query…
If these new soldiers are real, then perhaps part of their purpose was to protect against the likes of the Cure, against the army we’re now facing. Cromwell’s told us time and again that he’s been monitoring threats for years. These secret soldiers might be his countermeasure.
And if so, why not use them?
As the thoughts tumble in my mind, I recall the conversation between the two men ahead. I look at Clive once more.
“You said to let the Cure and the Nameless duke it out,” I begin. “And you said the Nameless have it coming? What’s Cromwell’s plan? What’s he going to do?”
Zander draws me back with a hand to my arm. My voice has grown a little too loud, surging from me with a fresh desperation.
I barely notice. I also fail to note the irony of the many questions spilling from my lips, when I’d just reprimanded Zander for doing the very same.
“It’s no use,” says my twin. “He won’t tell us anything…”
A gurgle of laughter chortles from Clive’s throat. His lips work into a callous, hateful smile.
“You’ll get what’s coming. You’ll get what’s coming.”
I surge at him, and grab his shoulders, shaking them hard.
“And what is that?! What!”
His laughter rises, building and building and then exploding from his mouth. Zander, pulling me back, thrusts me to one side and growls, “Shut up!” to the man.
He calls again, setting his eyes to Clive’s and entering his mind to calm him. Yet still, he laughs and crows, calling out over and over.
“You’ll get what’s coming!”
He’s not shutting up, so we have to make him. Before I can do so, Zander’s more powerful fist is flashing across his jaw, cracking the bone and knocking him flat. He crumples to the floor, and the younger man ahead watches with a slant of worry in his eyes.
Zander breathes out and shakes his head.
“Screw this.”
Another lightning fist drops the young man before me. He slumps into a heap on top of his senior.
“So there goes our information,” I say. “We didn’t get a chance to wipe…”
“Shhhh!”
I go silent. Zander’s eyes widen and then narrow. His neck twists, taking his eyes towards the side of the building.
What is it? I ask telepathically.
I think someone heard. I think someone’s coming…
But…we’re allies, I say foolishly, naively. It’s not a normal state for me.
Zander shakes his head, looks at the lift with its open doors, and grimaces.
We’ll never get down there now, he grunts.
But maybe we don’t need to.
I think we both know full well just what we’d find…
Our grandfather, ever the trickster, has held something back. A secret force, ready to deploy when, and only when, we’re at our weakest. He’ll lose his Con-Cops, and all his Stalkers too if it means proving his worth, and defeating the Cure. And when the Cure are dead, and all that remains are a smattering of our men, and his men, he’ll unleash the rest.
He’ll retake the city.
Retake the crown.
I knew he couldn’t be trusted.
It’s enough for me. It’s all I need to know. All I want to know. It’s enough to lift a strange scowl to my face, to force my fingers into balls, to grit my teeth so hard they might just shatter. He’s proven himself for good this time. There’s no getting around it.
And the next time I see him, I’m going to kill him.
And then I remember that he’s here. He’s close. As Zander considers whether to fight or make an escape, I’m filled only with a desire for the former. Fight through the incoming men. Cut them down and finish the job. Kill Cromwell. Blow up the entire damn compound. Bury all his slaves before they can do his bidding.
“We fight,” I say, looking at Zander. “End it, Zander. We kill Cromwell, right now.”
His brows are low, gaze twisting to me and back to the source of the sound. I can hear the men coming now, not rushing fast, not expecting a threat. Could they be mere technicians? Lowly City Guards? Or are they, in fact, the force of Stalkers who escorted their master here. Are they the men who will destroy us both before we can have our revenge?
