The Far Shores (The Central Series)

by Rawlins, Zachary

Anastasia glanced down at her plush, brown Domo slippers, then gave him a ferocious glare and slammed the door in his face.

  That, at least, made Renton feel a little better.

  ***

  There were so many people in the garage facility of the Audits building that even the huge space seemed crowded, a hundred different conversations echoing of stained concrete walls, a confusing muddle of languages and emotions, tears and hysterical laughter. There were groups and individuals, dressed in everything from street clothes to rags, and between them, the white-clad triage teams shuttled, providing first aid and empathic intervention.

  It took a moment before Alex realized that the vast majority were children.

  “What the fuck is – err. Sorry, Miss Gallow.”

  “No need to be sorry, Alex. That’s the appropriate reaction.”

  They were mostly Chinese, near as Alex could tell, but given the diversity of builds and features, he didn’t think they were all local to the coast of the Yellow Sea. Both sexes were present in a roughly equal ratio, and the ages ranged from grade school to upper-teens. Most of them were thin, and some were emaciated. A large majority appeared to be injured – Alex could see blood, infected wounds, recent fractures, and badly set breaks. The smell in the garage was even more nauseating than what he saw.

  “You wanted a reason, right? Well, maybe this will be a salve to your bleeding heart. You remember the operation briefing, right?”

  Alex nodded slowly, remembering sitting near Katya in the comfortably padded chairs of briefing room, listening to Miss Aoki and Haley Weathers present a series of maps, photographs, and mission perimeters, supplemented by a telepathic information dump. He had felt a combination of excitement and detachment, at the time – simultaneously eager at the prospect of his first official operation, and bored by the overwhelming amount of unnecessary data he was provided, given his own minor role.

  “We told you that the mainland branch of the Society had something we wanted in the facility we just hit, an asset we couldn’t allow them to have. This is the asset,” Miss Gallow explained, gesturing broadly to take in the bedlam in the garage. “This is what the Society was trying to hide from us.”

  Alex realized that his hands were trembling, and shoved them in the pockets of his jeans to hide it.

  “But – what? And why? I mean, they’re kids!”

  “I noticed that,” Miss Gallow said dryly. “We don’t know for certain yet, not until our telepaths have time to debrief the crowd, but we think the leeches were collecting them as raw material. For the Anathema.”

  There was a sudden hollowness in his chest, and a memory of Emily turning to water, pouring through his arms.

  “We’ve only had a chance for a random sampling at this point, but every kid we’ve tested so far had potential. None of them have been activated, but potentially they all could be.”

  He shook his head and struggled to find words for the slowly growing dread that he felt.

  “Why would the Anathema want them? I thought they...transformed – or whatever – Operators. You know. People who were already activated. Not regular kids...”

  Miss Gallow smirked, but Alex was starting to see variations in her smile. In this particular variant, he saw contempt, but no actual joy. She put her arm around him and leaned close – the only woman he knew so tall that she had to bend down slightly to speak to him – and spoke in a lowered voice.

  “Keep in mind that this shit is classified. You blab what I’m about to tell you, even to your Changeling girlfriend, and I’ll have you mind-wiped so thoroughly you won’t be able to remember your own middle name.”

  Alex was only mildly distracted by the sudden realization that he had no idea if he even had a middle name. Normally, this would have been a distressing revelation, but he wasn’t about to chance losing his focus when the homicidal Miss Gallow was this close.

  “That Anathema raid wasn’t just meant to hurt us. They gained access to the Source Well, and captured a supply of nanites for themselves. They can perform their own activations, now.”

  He was no tactical genius, but even Alex knew that was bad news. Still, he was relieved when Miss Gallow released her hold on his shoulders and started forward, beckoning him along toward the crowd of children.

  “You know we run programs worldwide to find children with potential, right? School ear exams, free physicals, vaccination campaigns, all that noise. Well, it ain’t nearly enough. There are a whole lot more potential Operators out there that we never find. Some of them, the Witches get to first – whether to deny us the opportunity, or because they take some special joy from feeding on children with potential, we don’t know. Always been the case. Lately, though...”

  Miss Gallow stepped deftly around two medics who were attaching an IV to the arm of a boy who was hardly more than skin and bones. His chest and arms were covered in ulcerated sores, and Alex hurriedly looked away.

  “We’ve been missing more,” Alice said, a scowl briefly passing across her face. “Analytics couldn’t figure why, but they knew the numbers were way off. Naturally, we suspected the Anathema, but those fuckers went dark after they left Central, and we haven’t been able to get a fix on them since. We were stumbling around blind, until Analytics turned up something interesting, trawling the NSA feeds.”

  The babble of different languages, the fearful eyes, the combined odors of sweat, feces, and vomit – all of it combined to make Alex dizzy. He followed Miss Gallow in a daze while she took a winding path through the huddle of human misery. Some of the children looked at him with obvious dread, while others spoke to him with hopeful or inquisitive tones. He could only shrug apologetically, overwhelmed by the sheer horror.

  “They get their filthy electronic fingers into everything these days. Saves us a lot of trouble. They were tracking an activist group researching organ transplants in China. Seems that a bunch of foreigners have been coming to the mainland for transplants – corneas, kidneys, and the like – for a while now. Quite the booming industry these days. Government claims that the organs are harvested from executed criminals, which are never in short supply in China – but these activists claimed they were being taken from imprisoned Falun Gong practitioners. They had turned up some surgeons who admitted as much after emigrating, and some secondary evidence from hospitals. Ugly shit, but not our business. The activists had been keeping tabs on the industry for a few years, but recently they noticed something that caught our attention.”

  Between what Miss Gallow was saying and the frequent signs of starvation and untreated injury that Alex could see on many of the children they walked among, Alex thought that he might pass out or throw up. Only desperation to keep his composure in front of the Chief Auditor held him together.

  “Even with harvesting from prisoners, political or otherwise, organs were still at a premium, and some were harder to find than others. A few months ago, that all changed. The market was flooded periodically, mass harvests that overwhelmed the surgical centers’ ability to process them, to find patients. Half of ’em probably rotted on ice. But the activists couldn’t figure out the source. Falun Gong was pretty much wiped out in China years ago, and there hadn’t been any mass arrests or dissident suppression to explain the sudden uptick. They figured the government was up to its usual shenanigans, but Analytics thought otherwise.”

  There was a girl with defiant eyes, no more than sixteen, holding tightly to what was obviously her younger brother, maybe old enough for kindergarten – and even more obviously dead. Alex tried to avert his eyes, but wherever he looked, it was just as bad. Eventually, he settled for focusing on Miss Gallow’s back, the monochrome tattoo of the Tree of Life rippling as the muscles in her back moved.

  “There is a similar industry in the Caucasus – Chechnya, parts of occupied Georgia, and the like. We sent Mitzi – Miss Aoki – to investigate. What she turned up, plus another field investigation in Malaysia and Indonesia, was enough for Analytics to corroborate our suspicions.”


  They made it to the stairs, which led to the ground floor of the Audits building, out of the atrocities in the garage. Alex was filled with gratitude the moment his foot touched the first step.

  “It was the Society, the Asian franchise of the global vampire club. We still aren’t sure how they were identifying the children, but they were conducting a widespread harvest of potential Operators, for unknown reasons. The way we figure it, they were getting them for the Anathema, and the kids they couldn’t use ended up on the black market, harvested for organs. Could’ve sold ’em as slaves, of course, but then they might have told somebody about what happened to them. Can never be too careful. Stories tend to get around, you know, even stories told by teenage prostitutes. You following all this, Alex? You’re a little quiet back there.”

  Alex nodded, then realized that Miss Gallow wasn’t looking at him.

  “I follow,” he said, his voice thin and weak.

  “Good. Because this is the important part,” Alice said, stopping at the top of the stairs, in front of the door that led into the central lobby of the Audits building. “We are Auditors, Alex – and maybe one day you will be one, too – and our business is reconciliation. We find errors and we rectify them. We make sure debts are paid, that the right parties get what’s coming to them. And nobody likes having their mistakes pointed out.”

  Alice turned toward him, wearing her mirthless smile.

  “That makes us unpopular. Makes our business ugly. But the alternative – letting sleeping dogs lie, allowing accounts to go unbalanced – that’s even uglier. Never forget that. No matter how bad it gets in the field, no matter what you have to do – there is always a worse alternative, and all we need to do to make it happen is nothing.”

  Alice leaned in and pressed her finger into his sternum.

  “You got it, Alex? You understand?”

  He swallowed with difficulty, then nodded.

  “Good. I’m glad we had this little talk. Now,” Alice said, her smile widening, “how ’bout some lunch?”

  ***

  Lunch, at first glance, seemed impossible. Just looking at the spaghetti with meatballs made the bile rise in the back of his throat. Alex forced himself to assemble a plate consisting primarily of fried rice, salad, and sliced apple, and then found his way to his normal table, sitting beside Katya, Haley, and Min-jun – only to discover that he was ravenous despite his distress. He blamed the nanites for his callous appetite.

  “Good to see you in one piece,” Katya remarked brightly, twirling her fork in a plate of chow mein. “I got a little nervous when Alice Gallow decided to take you for a walk.”

  “You and me both,” Alex admitted. “I’ve had more pleasant experiences.”

  “Anything you survive, right?” Katya returned her attention to whatever she and Haley had been discussing before his arrival. “So, Neal really asked you out? Like, right there, in the control room?”

  Haley blushed and nodded, politely finishing a forkful of string beans before she answered.

  “Yes. Like two minutes after I recovered from my trance. There were at least ten other people in the room, all experienced support staff. I’m sure they all heard it, too.”

  “Oh my God.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That is...what the hell was he thinking?”

  “I don’t know,” Haley said, shrugging helplessly. “We haven’t even really talked or anything. I barely even know anything about him. I don’t know if I did something to give him the idea, but it was super-embarrassing.”

  Alex didn’t know Neal very well either, except that he had been one of the many objects of Emily Muir’s pity. The telepath was deeply socially awkward, and had a painful and alienating tendency to blurt out the private contents of other people’s thoughts, particularly when he noticed them lying. He seemed to think that this was helpful, or at least morally upright, behavior. That was half of the equation.

  Haley Weathers was the other half. Alex knew her vaguely, through her friendship with Sarah – who had only recently forgiven him for his role in Emily Muir’s defection – but he had the same opinion of her that everyone else did: Haley Weathers was incredibly nice. Pretty, as well, in a sort of hybrid hippie-surfer fashion that reminded Alex vaguely of experiences in high school and didn’t really do much for him. Despite that, he had to admit that she was endearing in her apparently genuine desire to look after the well-being and happiness of the people around her. This sort of disposition, to a certain kind of lonely and socially maladjusted guy, could appear flirtatious. And Neal Blum was very much that sort of guy. It was a train wreck waiting to happen, and apparently it just had.

  “Ugh. I bet.”

  “Not that he’s a bad person or anything,” Haley added hurriedly. “It’s just that, well, he’s not exactly my type. And it was a really bad time.”

  That went without saying. Haley’s body remained at headquarters when she employed her Astral Protocol, her ephemeral form accompanying the Auditors on the mission. Alex had witnessed her waking up from her trance state a few times during the Program, and prolonged sessions seemed to leave her profoundly disoriented.

  “No kidding. What an asshole,” Katya exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “Doing that shit when you’re on the clock. You should complain to Rebecca.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Haley said, obviously flustered. “I don’t want to get anyone in trouble.”

  “Of course you don’t,” Katya grumbled. “And that’s the whole problem.”

  Alex was inclined to agree. Haley and Sarah, along with a girl named Rachel that he barely knew, constituted the female block of the stoner scene at the Academy – complete with an affection for beaded jewelry, vintage clothes, and dubstep. Her disposition seemed uniquely at odds with an assignment to Audits, but Alex figured she had her reasons.

  Of course, if Haley hadn’t possessed a maintenance worker several days earlier and engineered the equipment failure during their operation at the Anathema base in China, then the whole mission would have failed, so Alex had no complaints. Whatever else the girl might be, she was capable.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you’re a pushover, girl,” Katya said, slurping up a noodle. “Why not just tell him off and get it over with?”

  “That’s…”

  “What?”

  “Not nice. I’m sure Neal means well.”

  Katya arched an eyebrow, clearly amused.

  “Think so? Hey, Alex?”

  Alex turned his attention pointedly to his plate.

  “Leave me out of this, Katya.”

  “Oh, come on. Do you think Neal had good intentions, or was he just being pushy? Be honest.”

  He hesitated for a moment, but Alex knew perfectly well that Katya was implacable.

  “I think Neal assumes that any girl who is nice enough to talk to him is hitting on him,” he admitted, shrugging. “He’s pretty much the opposite of an empath. That’s why most girls don’t talk to him at all.”

  “Naturally,” Katya said, picking up her bowl. “I’m going back. You need anything, oppa?”

  Min-jun shook his head.

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “You gonna ask anyone else?” Alex demanded, holding out an empty cup.

  “Wasn’t planning on it,” Katya said, crossing her arms.

  “Oh, come on!”

  “Ask nice or save my life. Those are the rules.”

  Min-jun appeared just slightly embarrassed, quietly slicing his chicken into several neatly equivalent pieces.

  “Pretty please,” Alex sighed. “Sugar on top. Okay?”

  “What do you want?”

  Katya snatched the plastic cup from his hand.

  “Orange juice.”

  Katya snorted and headed off to the beverage machine.

  “What do you think, Min-jun?” Alex asked leaning close and speaking with a low voice. “Sorta seems like Katya’s into you.”

&nb
sp; Min-jun blushed into his plate.

  “I doubt that very much. Mutual respect, I would say,” Min-jun said, his diction crisp and perfect. Alex often suspected the South Korean spoke English better than he did. “Katya is also friends with my fiancée, so I would imagine that is a part of it.”

  Alex almost dropped his fork into his rice.

  “Really? I had no idea you were...well, going to be married, I guess. Does she go to the Academy?”

  Min-jun’s mouth was full, but Haley answered for him.

  “Yes. One year below you, Alex. Her name is Hae Rung. She’s quite beautiful, Min-jun. You are very lucky,” Haley observed, and Min-jun solemnly nodded in agreement. “I would have thought you might already know her, Alex. She is a member of your girlfriend’s club – the Academy Sewing Circle.”

  “My girl – oh. You mean Eerie.”

  Katya practically dropped his cup on to the table in front of him, splashing juice onto the edge of her tray.

  “That’s Alex,” Katya said coldly, taking her seat. “A romantic at heart.”

  Three.

  The three arrived sequentially, but their manifestations were unique and individual.

  A swirl of ash, though there was no wind, a miniature whirlwind of cinders and charred human remains that gradually coalesced into a human form, ash solidifying around a core of smoldering embers.

  A lingering wave, a portion of the waters of high tide that stubbornly refused to recede. Instead, the water rose in defiance of natural laws and logic, forming a column and then sculpting itself into the shimmering image of a girl.

  One of the least mangled of the corpses on the beach extracted itself from the grave, sand falling from reanimated limbs, a crab scurrying from the cavity of one consumed eye.

  The Anathema arrived, and the world recoiled from their presence. Water and ash transmuted into bone and flesh, hair and clothes, an act of conscious alchemy, while a dead man walked to join them with all the grace of a badly misused marionette.

  Alistair toyed with the burned fragments of a skull with the toe of his desert-tone camouflage boots. The bone was scorched and blackened, but it was still possible to see the unusual hinging that allowed the jaw to dislocate, and one of the unnaturally large canines was still intact. He rolled the skull on the charred ground in front of him like he was toying with a soccer ball, his head bowed in thought.