by K A Riley
Brohn holds me back on the landing while the others go their separate ways.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in years,” he says. He runs his hands along my shoulders and down my arms.
“It’s nice remembering the old times,” I say, tilting my head back toward the Mess Hall. “Well, not all of them. But being together instead of being dead. That part’s definitely nice.”
“It’s going to be another long day,” Brohn sighs.
“Another long day apart.”
He gives me a pleasant surprise by asking me how things are going with Render.
“I’ve never been connected to him for as long as I was yesterday,” I say, relieved to be able to talk openly with Brohn about some of the bizarre turns my relationship with Render have been taking. “We used to be two beings with a common bond. Like siblings or good friends. Then, we were partners. Yesterday, we were beyond that. Like identical twins or soul-mates or something. I almost feel like…”
“Like?”
“Like I’m going to get stuck in his head someday.”
“Yeah. Don’t do that. If you do, I won’t be able to do this.”
With the two of us alone on the landing, Brohn tips my head back and kisses me.
“Well,” I sigh, licking my lips as we draw apart. “If Render and I do eventually merge, you’ll still be able to do that. But I have to warn you, you might wind up with a mouthful of black feathers.”
Brohn laughs and kisses me again. He cups his hand against my cheek with his fingers curled gently just behind my ear. He tells me how much he’s going to miss me, and I watch as he heads upstairs, taking the steps two at a time with powerful strides. When I hear the fifth-floor door click shut behind him, I head downstairs to continue planning with Wisp for the upcoming battle. I lick my lips again. I can tell it’s going to be hard to focus today.
8
With the taste of Brohn’s breath still mingling sweetly with my own, I walk down the single flight of stairs to the third floor and over to the Intel Room.
I’m somehow wide awake but kind of tired at the same time. I don’t know why I thought that being stable for a change instead of on the run like we’ve been for the past couple of months would be somehow easier or more relaxing. Instead of rest, we’re already working as hard as we ever have before. Sure, it’s nice to have a bed to sleep in and proper meals to eat, but the idea of death being just around the corner is as exhausting and stressful as it is terrifying. Since escaping from the Processor, I’ve been in a constant state of worry, wondering if some enemy or another was going to leap out from around the next corner and kill us all. There is little comfort in having that worry suddenly replaced by cold certainty.
Once inside Olivia’s Intel Room, I join back up with Rain, Manthy, and Wisp at the long oval table where Wisp is already flicking and spinning schematic images, scrolling through floating lines of text and code, and building on our battle plans from the day before. Olivia greets me with a wave of her jellyfish-like array of multicolored tendrils and laughs at my reaction.
“I’m sorry,” she says through a tinny giggle. “I know how odd I must look to you, but I can’t help myself. The look on your face is priceless.” She laughs like she’s told a real thigh-slapper despite the fact that she doesn’t have thighs, let alone hands to slap them with.
I laugh along with her and at my own ignorant sense of shock. “I don’t think ‘odd’ does you justice,” I tell her as I slip into my seat next to Manthy. “’Amazing’ might be more like it.”
Olivia gives me an appreciative smile before rotating back around to face the semi-circle of consoles and gadgets that comprise her workstation at the head of the table.
“We need to get back inside the Armory,” Wisp calls out to us. I guess she can read the fear in my eyes because she calls me over to the side of the table where she and Rain are sitting. “I know yesterday was tough. Scary even. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t think you could. You’re the only person I know, maybe the only person in the world who can get us what we need.”
“I’m not doubting my abilities,” I say at last. “Or my role. I get it. I’d rather not be the lynchpin holding this whole thing together. But then again, there are a lot of things I’d rather not be.”
Wisp puts her hand on my forearm. “Then it’s Render, isn’t it?”
I nod. “Other people see him as a pet. Or even just a bird I happen to be able to connect with in a way they don’t totally understand.”
“And he’s more than that, isn’t he?”
I nod again, and Rain tells Wisp, “He’s more like Kress’s friend.”
This time I almost agree, but then I stop. “Well, No. That’s not exactly it either, Rain. I think…I mean, I wonder sometimes…”
“What is it?” Wisp asks, her voice a soothing wave of reassurance.
“I think he might be me.”
The words sound strange even as I say them, and they don’t convey exactly what it is I mean. Even on the stairwell landing with Brohn a few minutes ago, I couldn’t really get my head around what seems to be happening. Render has his own way of doing things. His own way of thinking. He has his own character, feelings, emotions, moods, and temperament. But lately, I feel like they’re all mine, too. Like we’re a deck of personality cards someone riffled together. And now I’m starting to have trouble knowing where I begin and where he ends. What’s worse, I don’t know if I’m supposed to deal myself out of the deck to preserve who I am as an individual or if I’m supposed to keep things mixed up and hope I don’t get lost in the shuffle.
I don’t know if Wisp and Rain get it, but they both offer their understanding and support, which I guess has to be enough for now.
Sitting there in my chair next to Manthy, a wave of adrenalin surges through me. I feel strengthened by Wisp’s confidence in me but also by a powerful sense of purpose. It takes me a second, but I realize what it is: I’m vital here. I’m part of something, a connection bigger in scope and in importance than I’ve ever experienced. There’s a thread running from Render, through me, across to Manthy, and over to Olivia. Wisp and Rain pick up the thread and turn it into a true lifeline that could lead us to victory and save us all. Until now, my life has been defined by danger and by the potential for great pain, loss, sorrow, and, ultimately death. None of that has changed. What has changed is my ability to do something about it. I’m not just a bystander or a victim or even a simple participant anymore. This time, I’m bringing something to the table no one else can, and I can do things no one else here can do. It’s an empowering feeling but kind of scary, too. I wonder how people like Wisp and Brohn and Rain deal with the pressure of walking around every day knowing everyone is looking up to them as some sort of infallible leader.
Taking a deep breath, I swipe my fingers along the tattoos on my forearm. It’s a gesture I’ve done dozens, maybe hundreds of times, in my life. Although I’ve experienced varying degrees of success, failure, discomfort, and even pain, for the most part, it always works the same way: A slide of my index and middle fingers along the main black curve running in an arc from my elbow to my wrist followed by a specific pattern of quick taps with my thumb and ring finger on the series of button-sized black dots sprinkled around the longer curve. If I do it in the right way, exactly like my father taught me, I’m able to enter Render’s mind. This time, everything works the way it always has. With one exception: The connection happens before I’ve completed the motions. This has only kind of happened before, and it shouldn’t be possible to this degree now, but my fingers are hovering above the final part of the pattern when Render’s mind and mine overlap, intersect, and intertwine like a gently tied shoelace.
I think maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I completed the pattern without realizing it. I didn’t sleep well, and I’m tired down to my bones. I don’t have time to think about it, though. And even if I did have time, I wouldn’t want to. Some moments are too perfect, too symmetrical to waste on o
veranalyzing. This is one of those moments. It’s harmonious and light, and, at the same time, it’s one of the most exhilarating and powerful feelings I’ve ever had in my life.
Once Render and I are connected, he’s able to infiltrate the Armory again. This time, he’s much more wary. After being shot at yesterday, he’s now intimately aware of how high the stakes are. As a predator without a lot of natural enemies and having grown up with us in the isolation of the Valta, Render isn’t used to the concept of fear. Nevertheless, he approaches the building cautiously.
Before he heads in, he spends some time circling the massive structure. Perched on tree branches, window sills, balconies, and any other spots that offer a good view, he sends back intricately-detailed images. Like yesterday, we form an organic-techno-conduit with Render feeding images to me, which Manthy interprets and passes along to Olivia who turns it all into detailed 3-D images, which Rain and Wisp then use to flesh out the rest of their battle plan. Manthy stays in physical contact with me and occasionally gives my arm a comforting squeeze.
For the most part, I can’t see what’s going on in the Intel Room. Right now, my vision is Render’s. But occasionally, I get snippets and snatches of what’s going on around me: Manthy’s hand on my wrist. Wisp standing up to stretch and pace. Rain pointing out details on the large, 3-D schematics hovering above the table. Olivia, her tendrils in overdrive, connecting all of us to each other. The images are shadowy and out of focus, like I’m looking at them out of the corner of my eye through a fractured pane of wet glass.
I shake the images out of my head and re-focus on the task at hand.
Out in the city, Render banks and soars counter-clockwise around the imposing Armory, which occupies an entire city block. The wind flicking against his extended directional feathers and his wedge-shaped tail feels real, as if it’s whisking over my own arms and across the backs of my hands.
The part of the Armory with the four turrets at each corner appears as a mass of grayish-orange brick punctuated with rows of tall, narrow windows. The main door is a plain-looking rectangle of reddish wood and is guarded by two men, boys really, with huge guns retro-fitted with laser scopes and grenade-launchers heaved onto their shoulders. Decked out in red, white, and blue army camo gear with big black boots laced up to the top, they look annoyed and uncomfortable but appear committed to fulfilling their duty. They keep their heads on a swivel, scanning the area for anyone or anything out of the ordinary. Naturally, they don’t pay any attention to the large, black, and barely-visible bird minding his own business on a branch high up in a tree just across the street.
Like this door, the others—three pedestrian-doors along the east and west sides of the building and two towering vehicle doors on the north and south sides—are guarded by more young men in patriotic military apparel. Although the pedestrian-doors appear to be the old-style wooden fortress kind complete with black, cast iron handles and hinges, Render’s vision detects unusual heat signatures coming off of some of them, which means there must be a system of security circuitry running through them. I relay this information to the others, and Wisp adds it to her notations on the meticulously detailed schematic.
Satisfied that he’s seen all we need to see on this side of the block, Render lifts off and soars skyward. Around back, he lands on top of a tall fence and scans the building’s rear entrance. Hovering security cameras, each with a single red eye, zip back and forth along the rear wall. If this is one of Wisp’s infiltration access points, we’re in a lot of trouble. I don’t think any person could get within a hundred yards of this building without being spotted. Render relays this information to me. Manthy extracts it from me and turns it over to Olivia who continues to populate Wisp’s diagrams, charts, schematics, and scrolling lines of computer code over the middle of the table.
“Keep it coming,” Wisp calls out to me gleefully. “This is exactly what we need!”
I mutter to her that I’ll do my best. Meanwhile, Render flutters from his position on the fence up into a nearby tree whose branches hang over the sidewalk. The whoosh of something mechanical in motion catches his attention, and he swings around to see the two towering double doors at the back of the building lurch open. He watches as a squadron of gas-powered military jeeps grumbles out, coughing exhaust fumes into the air. Render wants to fly away from the noise and from the offensive pollution belching into the trees around him, but I ask him to stay.
We need all the information we can get. We need to get back inside.
A fizz of static interrupts my connection with him. He’s pulling his mind away from mine. I can’t blame him for being reluctant. After all, he’s the one inhaling the clouds of toxic smoke. He’s the one who got shot at yesterday. Unfortunately, he’s also the only one who can get us the information we’ll need when we try to take over this intimidating and well-guarded citadel in a few days.
Following Wisp’s advice, I try to merge more seamlessly with Render, to look at the world, not just from his point of view, but also from his points of feeling and experience.
Render relaxes and soars up to the roof of the domed part of the Armory. Like before, he’s able to slip into an open exhaust vent and make his way into the massive interior of the building.
He is even more stealthy than I ever realized. I’ve known him to kick up dust and make a deafening racket with his wings. He’s great at creating distractions when called upon. When he wants to, he can cry out in a range of guttural, human-sounding shrieks. He’s even been known to imitate a screaming baby. But now, in hunting mode, he glides silently along the support struts in the top of the dome, his black form a perfect camouflage among the crisscross of black steel beams and the intricate dark shadows high above the polished concrete floor of the drill court far below. It makes me wonder how many times I’ve been followed and watched by him or by some other raven without my knowledge.
Down below, more vehicles follow the others out of the big double doors.
“A lot of them are leaving,” I say to Wisp, my voice sounding strange in my own ears as I continue to focus through Render’s eyes on the interior details of the Armory.
“They go on patrol like this from time to time,” Wisp informs me. Her voice sounds as odd as mine, like it’s coming from underwater, and I have to concentrate to understand what she’s saying. “Don’t worry,” she reassures me. “This is good. More of them on patrol means less of them in the Armory…”
“…which means fewer of them to shoot at us,” I finish.
“Just get what you can, and get out,” Wisp advises. “No risks. Not yet.”
I agree and adjust myself in my seat, digging deep into my mind for every bit of strength and focus I can muster. For the next several hours, Render hops, banks, weaves, and soars through the facility. In one of the far corners, he’s able to land on the Armory floor behind a cluster of small military jeeps, one of them up on jack-supports for maintenance. Four soldiers sitting at a nearby table are playing cards and telling dirty jokes back and forth before switching topics and comparing notes about the arrests and “quiet kills” they’ve been making in the city over the past few weeks. Two of the men tell a story about how they shot a bunch of homeless women and girls in a park over on Church Street. “Bunch of useless tumors,” one of the men says. “Might as well use ‘em for target practice.” They cover their choking laughter with their hands like they don’t want to draw attention to their moment of goofing off. Like it’s their indolence and not their casual cruelty they’re ashamed of.
With one look, Render floods me with information about the four men: Their names embroidered on the breast pocket of their shirts, their approximate ages, the build of their bodies, their eye color, their clothing, and their weapons. He can even sense their relative health: breathing patterns, heartbeat irregularities, things like that. I’m nearly overwhelmed by it all, but it’s a thrilling feeling to have instant access to so much information I could never otherwise hope to have, and I’m looking forw
ard to the time when the other rebels and I can take these men down. I’m finding myself imbued with Render’s predatory instincts, which are beyond anything I could have imagined. He’s hard-wired to probe for weaknesses in potential prey. Tapped into his senses, I can tell that the first man at the table is dehydrated. The second man is allergic to certain grasses and pollens. The third man is sick with some kind of flu-like virus. He’s the weakest of the four. The fourth man is nervous, probably about the prospect of a superior officer coming by while he’s busy joking around with his buddies.
Quietly, invisibly, Render analyzes a hundred more men like this throughout the busy and cluttered main floor of the Armory.
Then, with a whoosh that’s barely more than an exhalation of breath, Render is off again, exploring more of the space. He navigates through access corridors, construction scaffolding, heating ducts, and up and down a network of unused stairwells snaking through the facility. When a closed door or a dead end prevents him from proceeding, he gets resourceful and finds ways around, either through alternate access corridors, pedestrian walkways, ventilation and power conduits, or even by flying back outside and re-entering through an open window.
Render takes in everything. When he senses eyes about to be on him, he goes into full stealth mode, gliding to an invisible halt in the rafters or on top of one of the many silver ventilation ducts crisscrossing the huge space. His instincts are uncanny, and I’m amazed at how quickly they’re becoming my instincts as well. We work in tandem, our minds and intentions overlapping, sometimes fusing into one, as we soak up more and more details.
Ravens largely feed on carrion, but they are also formidable hunters, and I’m starting to get a glimpse into some of the evolutionary advantages they have in the wild. Render’s black feathers are perfect for keeping himself concealed. From most angles in this place, he probably looks like just another shadow. His feathers also keep him quiet as the air flows effortlessly over his streamlined body. His vision is far beyond the best human sight and even rivals some of the high-tech scopes and surveillance gear I’ve seen and used. Plus, he’s smart. He’s not just absorbing random information in this place. He’s being stealthy and systematic about it. Starting from the ground floor, he works his way first down to the basement level and then methodically back up toward the domed roof. Along the way, he identifies every vehicle, stock room, workstation, communications port, input panel, staircase, grav-lift, emergency exit, supply closet, and storage locker. The main floor is lined with glass-walled offices around the perimeter. There are four mag-jeeps and seven gas-powered jeeps parked in the northwest corner by a large garage door. Nearby, a long bank of tall green lockers contains everything from extra uniforms and weapons to food and first-aid supplies. Overlooking all that is the mezzanine, which is basically a giant steel-railed balcony encircling the entire interior of the Armory’s second level. It’s lined with offices. Some are empty. Some are filled with stacks of wooden crates and plastic totes. Others house men seated behind large desks. People walk back and forth throughout the facility, carrying on with their daily duties in the service of what will be Krug’s final takeover of one of the last major free cities in the country. Unless we can stop them first.
