“You surprise me, Warner. You are more capable than your foolish appearance suggests.”
Cursing, Alex took a defensive stance in the narrow confines of the reproduction alley, preparing himself as best he could while Grigori powered up his own protocol, raw telekinetic power whipping the wind into a frenzy around him, his whole body enclosed in a vivid blue field that snapped as it discharged excess energy.
“Uh, Grigori?”
“Yes?”
Grigori cracked his massive knuckles and grinned in anticipation.
“Interested in a temporary alliance?”
Grigori halted at the mouth of the alley, the edges of his telekinetic field splintering the faux brick. His expression was a mixture of frustration and contempt.
“You must be joking. Need I remind you that I hold you solely responsible for the fate of the Muir family?”
That stung, but Alex stuck with his plan. He needed more time, even if it meant absorbing the Hegemony member’s insults. Which, even Alex had to admit, had more than just a kernel of truth to them.
“No,” Alex said sadly. “You don’t.”
“Then, why, of all people...”
“Because there are two more people left out there, and one of them is Katya. How many times have you beaten her so far?”
Grigori grimaced but said nothing. It was a rhetorical question. Katya dominated the Program exercises with gleeful tyranny, often acting as a teacher’s assistant rather than a pupil. Only Renton stood a chance against her, and even then, not a particularly good one.
This made a certain amount of sense, as she was an almost fully trained Black Sun assassin, expelled from murder school for some vaguely defined scandal. Her sewing needles had put an end to more than a few simulations for all of them.
Briefly, Grigori hesitated, clearly torn. Then his protocol expanded, shredding the structure of the buildings around him with unbridled force.
“I guess that’s a ‘no,’ huh?”
Grigori charged, the pavement shattering beneath his feet as he came. The alley bowed and fractured as he focused his protocol, creating a telekinetic battering ram that obliterated whatever it touched.
Alex’s hands shook when he put them out in front of him, as if he were planning on directing traffic, but held his ground. There was no point in trying to run.
In a perfect circle around where Alex stood, every surface sparkled with a generous coating of frost, the air so cold that it stung his throat. He pushed the field outward to the very edge of where he could operate his protocol. Three meters was hardly enough space to comfortably face off against an angry Russian telekinetic, but it was the best he could manage. And it would have to be good enough, because Alex had no faith in the idea of trying to freeze the blood in Grigori’s brain before Grigori busted his skull.
The walls surrounding the collision of the perimeters of their protocols were destroyed instantly. The telekinetic battering ram fractured, resulting in wild bolts of uncontrolled kinetic energy that devastated the generic buildings around them, chips of shattered brickwork flying in all directions. Grigori yelled in pain or surprise as his blue aura was torn away by the collision of forces, but kept on coming, fists still sheathed in glimmering blue fields.
Telekinetic energy, Alex already knew, was the most difficult form of energy for him to work with. He didn’t know why, though Vivik had devoted several hours trying to explain. Alex was familiar with the end result, though – if he Grigori hit him, even with his protocol diminished, Alex would be little more than a red splotch on the featureless asphalt.
Grigori liked to throw big punches, extending his arms recklessly, knowing full well that even a jab would be enough to end the fight. Michael had taught Alex enough boxing to avoid the first few strikes, though his inability to block limited his options rather severely. He bobbed and weaved as best he could, trying to stay one step ahead of the massive gloved fists that flew in his direction, the air warping around them as if they radiated extreme heat.
While Grigori never tired of making it clear that he had absolutely no respect for Alex, he apparently had enough respect for his protocol to keep pressing forward, denying Alex the opportunity to concentrate and use it. Despite an entire summer of drills, Alex’s protocol was slow to activate, and required total concentration to maintain.
Alex caught his heel on unseen debris and fell over backward, Grigori’s fist passing so close to his head that he could see the fraying edges at the wrists of his fatigues. Alex didn’t get his hands out in time, and instead the back of his head cracked against the sidewalk, bringing tears to his eyes. He braced for the impact, knowing there was no chance to get back to his feet before Grigori smashed him.
The blow never came.
Alex risked opening his eyes, and found that Grigori was lodged, elbow deep, in a crater he had created in the building behind them. It appeared that the brickwork had collapsed with the impact of the missed punch, collapsing on his extended arm. Deprived of the protection his telekinetic aura would have normally provided, Grigori’s arm was turned at a strange angle and clearly badly broken. His eyes were wide with pain as he tried to pull his arm free, one foot braced against the wall, tugging at his elbow with his other arm.
Grigori’s misfortune, his panicked and furious expression, made Alex want to laugh. Instead, he reached for the pistol, hoping that there was still a bullet or two left, cursing himself for not having bothered to switch out the clip.
Grigori saw Alex move and remembered the gun at his own hip, but it was too late. Alex didn’t feel bad for him. Grigori had enough combat experience to know better.
The first round caught Grigori in the belly and sprayed hot blood across Alex. Alex rapidly fired off his two remaining shots, and one of them must have struck his head, because Grigori toppled over, one arm lodged firmly in the brick wall.
Lucky boy! This could be your day, Alex!
He didn’t need Miss Gallow to encourage him. Alex hadn’t survived a single group combat simulation since he joined the Program. This was, by far, the closest he had come to taking out all of his opponents in a skirmish.
He did well enough against simulated Weir, compiled from hundreds of actual encounters, or fighting humans with conventional arms, as long as he wasn’t required to shoot back. But defeating Operators – and thereby Anathema, a new and pressing concern in Alex’s world – was an entirely different matter.
Now there were four down – with Katya somewhere out there, stalking him. Alex didn’t think that Min-jun could have defeated her while he fought Grigori. Even worse, most of the tricks that Alex knew, Katya had taught him. So he didn’t have many surprises for her. Still...
Alex closed his eyes and searched for her Etheric Signature.
Then he was knocked over by something heavy that fell on him from above, hitting him in the chest and slamming him back to the pavement. Alex was dazed and winded by the impact, and it took a moment for his vision to clear. Not that he needed to see to know who was sitting on his chest.
“Tag,” Katya said cheerfully, poking him delicately in the forehead with the business end of one of her feared sewing needles. “I win again! Unless you wanna fight it out...”
“No way,” Alex said, muffled by her sitting on his chest. “You totally win.”
“Alright!” Katya stood carefully, slotting the needle back in the cloth band she wore around her wrist. “This is so much fun.”
Alex rubbed the back of his head, sore from where it hit the concrete.
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah,” Katya said seriously, helping him to his feet. “You think this sucks, try assassination school.”
Alex could see where she might have a point.
That’s it, kids. Game over for this week. Make it what, Mitzi – seven? Yeah. Seven in a row for Katya. The rest of the class are barely even showing up, though I guess Alex deserves a few points for improvement. Or maybe the rest of you are actually unlearning to fight.
>
The end of the simulation was always jarring, but at least it didn’t make him sick any more. There was no perceivable transition. One moment he was standing next to Katya in an anonymous alley, wearing a full combat kit, then the next he was seated on the floor wearing a tracksuit in empty classroom, all of the desks piled in one corner. For reasons he never understood, only Gustav, Miss Gallow, and Miss Aoki were allowed to use chairs.
Of course, not everything was simulated. Alex had a bruise and knot on the back of his head, along with a number of cuts and scrapes from flying brickwork. Then he noticed blood trickling from the back of his thigh.
“Man,” Alex complained, holding his red hand up to Timor. “You shot me.”
“Of course I shot you,” Timor muttered, cradling his aching head. “Then you shot me in the head, you imbecile.”
“Now, now,” Katya said cheerfully, trotting over to pat her brother’s head. “Give Alex his moment of triumph. You should have seen that trap coming.”
“I don’t care,” Timor grumbled, leaning his head against Katya’s shoulder. Alex felt genuinely bad for him. He had no idea why it was necessary, but dying in the simulation felt awful, and he knew from experience that Timor wouldn’t feel right until he slept. “Would you please stop talking about it?”
“Any experience you survive is valuable,” Miss Aoki said gravely, her brilliant red eyes as cold as her voice. “I suggest that you both learn from it.”
“And on that note,” Miss Gallow said airily, “I have a meeting over at Admin about five minutes ago. Why don’t we just call it for the day? You kids have homeroom with Mr. Windsor tomorrow, then the weekend to yourselves. Try not to act like degenerates, okay?”
Min-jun stood, and then helped Nam-sun up, not looking all that much better himself. He nodded amiably at Alex and Katya as he passed.
Grigori stumbled to the door, straight-arming Alex aside as he wobbled by.
“I will remember this,” he promised. “You will pay.”
“I thought you hated me already. What, now you’re gonna kill me worse?”
Grigori glared, then stomped off.
“Alex Warner,” Katya said fondly, slapping him on the back with her free hand, her brother slung over her shoulder. “Making friends wherever he goes. Help me out with Timor, would ya?”
***
Gaul heard Alice barking at his secretary and shuffled his paperwork, concealing the sensitive material before she browbeat the woman and barged her way into his office without introduction or preamble. The transmissions were coded and unintelligible without the encryption protocol, but he wasn’t in the habit of taking unnecessary risks, however slight.
“Hey boss,” Alice said, stomping in motorcycle boots, tight jeans, and a black tank top that revealed sections of the elaborate Tree of Life tattoo on her back. She shut the door in his apologetic secretary’s face. “Sorry I’m late. The Program took a little longer than expected today, reintegrating the kids we pulled to the Far Shores with those back at the Academy.”
“Never mind. How did it go?”
“Usual. Renton’s good, but the kid’s a conniving little bastard. Gustav caught him trying to alter the parameters of the simulation, so we knocked down his abilities by a few percentage points, which got him blown up. I heard you’re graduating him in the next few weeks? I’ll be glad to see him go. Rest of the kids are fine.”
Gaul evened his stack of papers out and then set it aside, placing his pen carefully on top of the pile.
“Alexander Warner?”
Alice laughed and put her boots up on the edge of his desk.
“Not bad, actually. He doesn’t measure up close to Katya or Min-jun, obviously, but he gets better every time we run a simulation. Between Katya’s evil imagination and whatever fire you and Rebecca lit under his ass, I think we might make an Auditor out of the boy yet. As long as he doesn’t have to shoot anything. Still closes his eyes before he pulls the trigger, every damn time.”
“And Michael?” Gaul could hear a trace of his concern bleeding through in his voice, though Alice was nice enough not to mention it. “How does his recovery proceed?”
“Well enough. He goes to the infirmary tomorrow for another round of immunosuppressives and biocompatibility tests. Assuming that all goes well, he should be ready to start using the implant in the next couple of weeks.”
“I’ll have Vlad stop by to take a look at him,” Gaul said, connecting briefly to the Etheric Network to add the item to his calendar. “We need Michael field-ready as soon as possible. Your plate, Chief Auditor, will soon be very full.”
Alice smirked.
“Hey, boss, go easy,” she complained. “I got my hands full trying to train a mess of kids to be soldiers while nursing my boyfriend back to health. Speaking of which, did you read the debrief on Mitsuru’s little adventure in Georgia?”
Gaul nodded wearily.
“I did. The situation is as we suspected, if not even worse. The question is whether this coven of Witches is affiliated with the Anathema or independent.”
“Well, I was kinda hoping you might clear that up for me...”
“Why?”
“’Cause you got the inside line on all that Anathema crap lately,” Alice said, scratching her cheek, her demeanor suggesting a casualness that belied her words. “The last batch of intel was so good, I’m sorta expecting you to start pulling rabbits out of hats.”
“Don’t overestimate my capabilities,” Gaul said, shaking his head. “Every source has its limits. Defining the nature of the Witch activity in the Caucasus region will do a great deal to clarify with what we are dealing. Provide me that piece of the puzzle, and I believe I can give you the general outline.”
“Fair enough. You’re playing this one real close to the vest, you know. Sure you wanna do it that way?”
“For now,” Gaul said, very tired and trying not to show it. “Trust me, Alice. When this all comes together, my reasons for sequestering information will become abundantly clear. Understand – this is not a reflection of my faith in you. There are more players in this game than either of us realized, and it is my intention to draw them out.”
“Whatever. Be cryptic. What do you need from me?”
Gaul shook his head, taking a file from his desk drawer and passing it to Alice.
“Not what I need. More of a warning for you, regarding the rather imminent crisis that we’ll soon find ourselves knee-deep in.”
Alice scanned the contents of the file folder, her smile flickering briefly, then going out entirely. When she looked up at him, her eyes had gone wide, either in shock or anger.
“You’re kidding me, right?”
“I wish I was,” Gaul said earnestly. “Unfortunately, this situation is unavoidable. There were certain costs associated with the path we have chosen. This is among them.”
“Still...the Thule Cartel? You remember the last time this happened, right? We almost had a civil war.”
Gaul passed up the opportunity to point out that, of the two of them, he was the only one who actually remembered it. Alice had merely read about it one of her many diaries. The observation would have been both cruel and unnecessary, but he was tired, and felt an irrational desire to lash out at someone, just to feel slightly less helpless.
“Indeed. This brings us directly to the point at hand, Chief Auditor. We cannot afford a civil war at present. Do see if you can’t prevent one from breaking out, yes? I feel that we already have enough to worry over.”
***
“Thanks for helping me with my stupid brother.”
“No problem. It was my fault, anyway.”
“Not really,” Katya said, patting his head fondly, like the condescending older sister he had never had. “Timor and Renton both stayed up late last night...”
“Oh.”
“...right. Timor let himself be goaded into trying to keep up. They were still drinking at three this morning from what I heard, so I think he came by that headac
he honestly.”
“Ouch,” Alex said with sympathy. He had attempted to match Renton drink for drink on one very unfortunate occasion that he preferred not to remember. He was certain that Anastasia Martynova would never let him forget it. “Not a good idea.”
“They’re idiots,” Katya said brightly, shrugging. “Don’t worry about it.”
The breeze brought some relief from the stifling heat of the day, and Alex looked up automatically for stars above the shifting boughs of the oak trees that lined the path, but the fog had rolled in with the evening, and they were lost.
“’Kay. Thanks, by the way.”
“For what?”
“Not stabbing me in the brain with your needles.”
“Well, Ana did assign me to look after you,” Katya said with a crooked grin. “Even killing you for pretend would be a little counterproductive.”
“You’re pretty scary, Katya.”
“What a terrible thing to say!”
“Don’t take it the wrong way. You are the nicest assassin that I know.”
“Oh, good. I suppose all is forgiven. Not to change the subject, but why are you still walking with me? Your building is back there...”
This was true. He had followed her well past his own dormitory and partway to the commons, where Katya lived, in a building unofficially reserved for the children of the Black Sun hierarchy and their servants, conspicuously in the shadow of the enormous bulk of the Administration building.
“Do you mind?”
“It doesn’t bother me. Probably.”
“Probably?”
“Depends on your motivations. Renton ever tell you what happened when he tried to hit on me?”
“Uh, no.”
“Figures,” Katya said smirking. “Let’s just say that I’m the only girl in Central he won’t bother. Something you may want to consider before getting any ideas.”
“Wait, wait,” Alex said nervously. “Don’t jump to conclusions. Actually, I wanted to ask you for a favor. You know I don’t have any ideas. None. Really.”
The Far Shores (The Central Series) Page 16
