The Far Shores (The Central Series)

by Rawlins, Zachary

  The murmuring around him and the man’s own vanity gave him away. North meant to stand, intended to object. But he was concerned with arranging his coat, and that gave Gaul one last opening.

  “Or, you can ask Lord North about Tajikistan. The Fahim Cartel is not in attendance, I note. We took the younger members of the cartel into protective custody last week, so at least the cartel isn’t a total loss.”

  North’s eyes blazed at Gaul, but that didn’t shake him at all. On the contrary, it was satisfying to get a rise out of North.

  “Lord Martynova of the Black Sun might have something to say on the subject as well, I would imagine.”

  Josef Martynova, grey and hunched but still imposing, hesitated, his hands twisting around the golden head of his ebony cane. Gaul didn’t need any empathic help to know that he was struggling to control the impulse to turn and request his daughter’s approval.

  The poor, arrogant man. Such a humiliating predicament his elder daughter had put him in. It was probably the only thing about Anastasia Martynova that Gaul liked.

  “I have not yet had time to inform my father of the sad fate of the Costa Cartel,” Anastasia said, standing at her father’s side, resting her hands deferentially on his shoulder while she came to his rescue. “We are still investigating last week’s events in Central America, but that is no matter. The Black Sun Cartel concurs with your assessment of the risk we face, Director. We would hear your proposal to address our current circumstance – would we not, father?”

  Aha. An immediate reminder of why he despised and feared Anastasia Martynova – her father wasn’t the only one she intended to rescue.

  “Indeed,” Josef growled with difficulty, his hard eyes daring anyone to speak against him. “It is as my daughter says. Speak.”

  The grumbling on the Hegemony side of the room grew, but they were still too conflicted, North’s rule too uncertain to organize resistance. Particularly with Rebecca Levy strolling the room, soothing some tempers while enflaming others.

  “I am aware of the anger that some of you feel regarding my failure to secure Central, but I urge you to consider – the attack did not occur due to a failure of my foreknowledge. Rather, it occurred because an attack is the inevitable end of a strategy of endless fortification. A strategy that this body insisted upon over the last decade. No fortress is impenetrable.”

  “You mean you saw the assault coming, sir? You were aware of the attack before it happened?”

  Lord Stockly of the Hegemony, spittle flying from an enraged mouth. Lost both a wife and a child in the attack.

  “Not in the sense that you have inferred. If you review the minutes of our previous session, however, you will find that I urged the consideration of the inevitability of such an attack, at each and every meeting for the better part of fifteen years. I provided you with warnings, ladies and gentlemen. You, in return, tied my hands and restricted the resources available to the Audits department. You committed Central to an unsustainable course, and then expected success nonetheless.”

  He waited for the crowd to swallow that admittedly bitter pill. A number of Committee members were simply angry, of course, but he could see some genuine distress on a number of important faces. His words were finding their mark.

  “We are still waiting to hear your proposal, Director.”

  Anastasia Martynova’s voice was gentle, humble, the absolute antithesis of her character. A helping hand when he least wanted one.

  “As you say. It is time for a change, as I suspect many of you came here today to demand. We cannot continue to operate in the manner we have until now. Therefore...”

  Gaul paused, and across the field of his vision, a readout displayed likely votes, the colors and shading indicating the potential for resistance and the intensity of it, supplemented by empathic data that Rebecca Levy uploaded to the Network in real time. Numbers shifted gradually in his favor, the room moving toward the pale-green hue of acquiescence, but not nearly fast enough.

  “...I propose an Emergency Powers Act, which would provide me with the authority and resources needed to defend Central from outside assault, to purge the Anathema from our midst, and to remove the threat of the Outer Dark.”

  “How is that a change from current policy?” North asked, his nose in the air. “Your mandate already includes much of this. How would your defense of Central differ from what has already proved insufficient?”

  “I have no plans to depend on barriers or secrecy,” Gaul said frankly, allowing a little of his dislike for the fastidious man to come through in his voice. “I plan on negating threats proactively, before they can approach Central. I plan on disposing of our enemies entirely, before they can commit any actual harm.”

  That caused a stir. He pressed his advantage.

  “We will need new Auditors, of course. The original complement and more, to do what needs to be done, to provide the effort with sufficient soldiers.”

  “You intend to create a private army!”

  Miss Luna, of the Oaxaca Cartel. Shrill as always.

  “Recruitment powers will be transferred from the Board directly to the Chief Auditor, to avoid any possibility of outside interference in the selection. Also, the ban on cartel members serving as Auditors will be removed, to further negate the possibility of bias.”

  “Your emergency powers...will they extend to intercartel conflict?”

  Anastasia Martynova’s question sounded innocent enough. It was hard to find her menacing, perched beside her father like an attentive schoolgirl, but Gaul knew the truth. If he failed to convince the younger Martynova, the entire effort was doomed.

  Which is why he had met with her earlier, and acceded to a variety of demands in order to secure her support. One of two very risky steps Gaul had taken to ensure the passage of the act. He tried not to focus on the potential cost of these actions.

  “Unfortunately, no.” Gaul shook his head sadly at the concession. “The purview of the expanded powers pertains to matters related to the Anathema only.”

  “This is too much power for any man,” North objected. Gaul wondered cynically if he would say the same, if the powers were intended for his use. “I share Miss Luna’s apprehension.”

  “The Chief Auditor’s purview will be expanded,” Gaul said heavily, knowing the awful potential futures he had created, simply by saying the words, “to include any and all matters regarding Central. Including the Director’s. An Audit will be undertaken,” he said, speaking over the sudden muttering that filled the room, “of the fitness of my actions to this point. It will continue as the situation progresses. If, at any time, the Chief Auditor requests it, I will step down.”

  No one, it appeared, had anything to say to that.

  “Naturally,” Gaul added pleasantly, “I will need an expanded budget...”

  “The Academy,” Miss Luna said, narrowing her eyes. “You can’t intend to continue to militarize a school after the loss of so many students?”

  Her criticism was valid, and that stung. Of all the morally dubious steps he had taken, putting the students in harm’s way had been the most regrettable necessity.

  “Arrangements have been made,” Gaul said reassuringly. “The Audits department, along with all students currently enrolled in advanced combat training, will be removed to a separate and secure facility.”

  “An intriguing proposal,” Lord North allowed. “Pending further review, sir, I believe...”

  “...that you have thought of everything, Director,” Anastasia Martynova said smoothly. “What more is there to consider? The Black Sun is ready to vote, per my father’s wishes.”

  Josef Martynova looked as surprised as anyone to discover that information, but he confirmed it with a grudging nod nonetheless.

  “Very well. We have received a motion from Josef Martynova to bring the Emergency Powers Act to a vote. Is there a second?”

  Rebecca Levy could have spoken here, using the seat she held in the Committee, a relic from the other
wise exterminated cartel who had adopted her before she joined Audits – but Gaul preferred not to second his own motions. Particularly not when he could see the disarray and blatant distress on the Hegemony side of the aisle, as room was reluctantly created for a very unexpected group of late arrivals.

  Well, unexpected by most. Gaul had signed the pardons himself the previous day, so it hardly came as a surprise to him.

  “The Thule Cartel will second the motion,” Lóa Thule stated firmly, still waiting for the Milla Cartel to cede enough chairs for her to take a seat. It had been four years since he had seen her last, but the time had done nothing to diminish her beauty, amber-toned hair in tight curls bordered by the Weir-fur fringe of her coat. “Gladly.”

  Brennan Thule, standing beside her with an overcoat draped across his arm, confirmed it with a curt nod and the ghost of a smile.

  Lord North was turned all the way around in his chair, mouth slightly ajar in what was probably, for him, an expression of utter shock.

  “Impossible,” Lord Cartier sputtered, his broad face reddening with outrage. “The Thule Cartel’s voting privileges were stripped when they were expelled from Central…”

  “A situation always intended to be temporary. A learning experience, as it were,” Gaul said grimly. Allowing the return of the Thule Cartel was a trump card that he would rather not have played. While it might carry him through this encounter, his precognition also warned him of the consequences of their return – not to mention the personal implications. Another worry, grist for the marvelous multitasking engine that was his nanite-engineered mind. “The Audit regarding the actions of the Thule Cartel was completed last month. Chief Auditor Gallow gave their return her seal of approval. I reinstated their cartel into the Committee-at-Large, along with full voting privileges, earlier today.”

  “This is outrageous!” Lord Cartier bellowed. “A blatant manipulation of our system of governance!”

  “Indeed,” Miss Luna agreed, pausing to glare at Lóa Thule before shrugging her elegant shoulders. “It makes no difference, though, Director. Hold your vote. I believe that the results may surprise you.”

  One precognitive to another. Normally Gaul would have heeded a warning like that, particularly after she snuck an unsubtle glance in Josef Martynova’s direction. But Gaul wasn’t entirely out of cards.

  “Very well. Will those who are in favor of the adoption of the Emergency Powers Act, along with all that it entails, please register their support?”

  A flickering of hands throughout the Hegemony section, pockets of debt and resistance. The core of which, of course, formed around the newly returned Thule Cartel, immediately attracting the support of erstwhile allies. It was far from enough – no more than one in eight. Gaul saw satisfaction in North and Luna’s faces as he turned to the Black Sun half of the room.

  He knew that Lord North had cut a deal with Josef Martynova to withhold further support to the administration, without significant concessions of authority from the Director and the Board to the Committee-at-Large. Gaul was aware of the resentment that the elder Martynova held toward him, not to mention their mutual personal animosity. Despite his daughter’s long shadow, Josef Martynova still held sway over a significant minority of the Black Sun, those subsidiary cartels fearful of Anastasia Martynova’s unprecedented rise to power. Combined with the loyalist faction of the Hegemony, they would constitute a safe majority. But the Hegemony didn’t understand the Black Sun the way Gaul did.

  When they wanted favors from their enemies, the Hegemony went straight to the top. Gaul, on the other hand, had gone looking for a cunning little girl in an expensive Victorian-era reproduction dress.

  Anastasia Martynova stood casually behind her father, one hand resting affectionately on his shoulder, the other raised to indicate her support. Around her, hands from the Black Sun rose in rapidly increasing circles around the girl in black lace and ribbons, until the vote on their side of the aisle was near unanimous.

  Josef Martynova’s hand was among the last to go up. He did an admirable job of hiding his bitterness.

  “Fifty-eight percent for the motion,” Gaul said, relaying the total his implant had calculated. “Now, for the vote opposing…”

  “No need, sir,” Lord North said airily, dismissing Gaul’s motion with a wave of his hand. “You have your war powers, Director. I hope that they prove worth the price we have paid.”

  On that much, both of them could agree.

  ***

  He opened the door, and then stood there, struck dumb, holding his breath without even realizing it. The room smelled of the ocean, and the interior was cooler than the air outside by small but noticeable measure. Water ran down the sheets in rivulets, pooling beside the bed on the floor around her bare feet. A faint green phosphorescence hung in the air around Emily, clinging to her damp skin like the clothes she was not wearing. She had drawn a blanket across her lap to cover the most pertinent areas.

  Vivik held on to the door frame until he was certain that he wouldn’t fall over, then he closed it quietly behind him. Locking a door was a meaningless gesture in the Academy, but he did it anyway.

  Then he crossed the space between them and found himself wrapped around her waist, his head in her lap. She gently removed his turban, her hands stroking his exposed hair.

  “I like being able to see your hair,” Emily whispered, her eyes a disconcerting sea-green. “I never knew it was so long.”

  “I don’t cut it. It’s a religious thing.”

  “I know,” she affirmed, saltwater dripping from her fingertips. “You have really amazing hair, Vivik. It’s a waste to keep it hidden.”

  Vivik sat up suddenly and grabbed Emily by her bare, wet shoulders. Then, to his utter astonishment, he kissed her, brushing her cold lips momentarily with his own. The gesture was brief and chaste, but Vivik was still overcome with immediate embarrassment. Emily didn’t seem upset, though, her fingers running thoughtfully across her moist lips, behind that a playful smile.

  “I got your note,” Vivik managed, unable to face the smile on the bluish lips he had just kissed. “I wasn’t sure it was actually from you. I wasn’t sure you’d really come.”

  “I was surprised that you still wanted to talk to me,” Emily said, putting her hand on his cheek. Her nails, she noticed, were painted the same green hue as the phosphorescence that surrounded her. “I was worried that you might see me as an enemy…”

  Vivik tried to pull himself away, the pain obvious in his eyes, but Emily held on to him with a gentle persistence that won out. As she ran her damp fingers along his forehead and through his hair, his concerns began to dissipate.

  “I’m not betraying him, and I’m not betraying Central, so don’t even bother asking,” Vivik said, sounding very tired. “I won’t be a tool the Anathema use to hurt my friends.”

  Emily maneuvered his head back into her lap. Her thigh beneath the blanket he lay on was tanned and warm, and when his lips brushed against her skin, he tasted salt. He closed his eyes while she rubbed her thumbs patiently against the base of his neck until he lay, utterly peaceful and unselfconscious, thinking about nothing but the benign face of the girl above him.

  “That’s okay,” Emily said simply, patting his head. “I wouldn’t ask you to do anything like that, anyway. But you don’t need to worry. I have no sinister intentions toward you, Alex, or the Academy. It is however you say it is. But, Vivik dear, why did you help me to come back, if you do not trust my intentions?”

  “I had to,” Vivik said miserably. “Otherwise, I would have never seen you again.”

  ***

  Anastasia dismissed her staff one at a time, dispatching them on errands or allowing them to return home after a long day. Patience was key, but it was more difficult than she had expected to sit at the desk in the office maintained for her at the Great Hall in the heart of Central, watching the evening become night. The ancient building slowly grew quiet around her. The rest of the Committee-at-Large had
long departed before she considered leaving her desk.

  She invented a sudden need for information on current events near the covert shipping lanes in the Gulf of Mexico around eight in the evening that sent the last of her secretaries scurrying for the archives. When she finally announced her intention to return home, only Timor and Svetlana remained to hear her say it.

  There were few people left in the Great Hall to watch them depart, but she was certain that the proper individuals were still present to bear witness.

  Anastasia waited until they had made it to the sidewalk, an armored Mercedes purring quietly in the street beside them, crediting herself with remarkable patience. Then she pushed Timor gently into the door he was holding open for her.

  “You two take the car,” she commanded, doing her best to look the childish tyrant she had never been. “The night is nice. I believe that I will walk.”

  Timor’s eyes widened in practiced shock. It looked laughable to her, but it would probably fool a distant observer.

  “But, Ana...surely, you can’t...”

  “I can,” Anastasia confirmed, urging Svetlana into the car behind him. “I am perfectly safe in Central without a bodyguard, Timor, don’t you think? After all,” she said, almost cracking a smile, “we are among friends. And I have much to consider.”

  Svetlana closed the door before Timor could finish his objections, and the driver drove slowly away, as he had been ordered. Anastasia looked at the blank sky of Central with distaste, then opened a black lace parasol and started her walk.