The Far Shores (The Central Series)

by Rawlins, Zachary

  “Surely there must be an alternative?”

  Draw her out. Keep her talking. The Black Sun would rescue him, even if his security was eliminated, as the woman claimed. But he had to give them time. And he was willing to stretch the conversation out, as long as her hands stayed away from the gun…

  “You could kill yourself now,” the woman suggested idly, giving his terrified son a pleasant smile. “It would save me the trouble, and for the Thule Cartel’s purposes, the result would be the same. I give you my word that I would let them live. What do you think, Mr. Tran?”

  Beneath his Caraceni bespoke suit and his tailored shirt, he could feel cold sweat, and his mind raced. The woman’s offer was absurd, of course, but her confidence unnerved him. He racked his brain, trying to remember the files on the Thule Cartel, the members who would have been children at the time of their exile. What kind of protocol did she operate, that made her so certain that she could take both his wife and him in close quarters?

  “I’d rather not,” he said, trying out the chilly smile that he found so effective during politely hostile business meetings. “Do you have any other offers? I am a rich man, Miss…”

  The woman laughed again, a high-pitched, grating sound.

  “You still don’t know who I am? I must admit that bothers me, just a little. I thought you would have remembered by now. Still, no matter – I’m afraid that your wealth won’t be able to buy you out of this situation, Mr. Tran.”

  “I am not simply wealthy,” William said, turning more fully to face the woman, so he would have a less awkward angle when the time came. He was glad that he had ignored his wife’s nagging to wear his seatbelt. “Perhaps there is some advantage I can provide for you, personally, or a service I could render to the Thule Cartel? I am close to Josef Martynova, and I have access to the highest levels of power within the Black Sun.”

  The woman cocked her head to the side, the tight curls of her hair bouncing with the movement, as if she were thinking his offer over. With his left hand, held carefully out of the woman’s view, he gave his wife a small sign, warning her to be ready.

  “Not that I can think of, so sorry. I’m just killing time, honestly, until our telepath is ready to wipe the children’s memories.”

  His wife made a small noise in the back of her throat, but she held herself together the way she always did, waiting for him to give the word, so that she could employ her protocol against the girl. He decided they had no more time, and focused the energy he had collected at the tips of his fingers.

  “What a pity.”

  “No other offers?”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  “It seems our time together is coming to an end, Mr. Tran. I’ve enjoyed our little chat, though. Take comfort in the thought that your children will suffer nothing worse than amnesia.”

  He held up his right hand in a mollifying gesture.

  “One question, first?”

  He gave his wife the signal, a simple hand movement that had been prearranged years before. Cynthia Tran was a capable telepath, and she had killed before, in defense of her family and cartel. He had little doubt between the two of them that they could handle the woman – Cynthia would immobilize her, tamper with the activation sequence for her protocol, while he delivered the killing blow.

  “Why do you talk so damn fast?”

  The air sizzled with the potential energy of activating protocols, but he moved with the syrupy lethargy of a nightmare.

  “No,” the woman said, as his wife tumbled forward, lifeless, to bleed on the dashboard. There was a hole in the seatback, where the bullet had passed through, and smoke trailing from the end of the woman’s revolver, but he couldn’t recall hearing a shot. “Why do you think so damn slow?”

  ***

  Alex faced the mirror in the dorm bathroom wearing a black T-shirt and a clean pair of jeans, his hair still damp from the shower, brushing his teeth absentmindedly while he reviewed his appearance. He had gotten a haircut that afternoon, so his unruly brown hair was at least marginally under control, and had shaved the stubble that had grown during his stay at the Far Shores. There were bags under his eyes due to an uncharacteristic lack of sleep. His headache had been particularly bad the night before, and he had remained awake until the early morning. Alex washed toothpaste down the drain, ran a comb through his hair one last time, and decided that it would have to be good enough.

  He exchanged nods with a couple other students on their way to Central or hurrying to depart for field study or a vacation in the real world. The door slammed behind the last of them, and he was alone in the institutional-sized bathroom – which was cleaner and better outfitted than those he had used during his time locked up, but it still brought back memories he would have rather forgotten. The empty bathroom seemed very quiet, with every noise prone to echo. He decided to return to his room and wait for the pickup.

  He had just grabbed the bag with his swimsuit and various other personal effects, when a girl in a modest black-and-grey-patterned dress appeared behind him, causing him to emit a very unmanly squeak. Svetlana, in turn was startled.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured, after opening and closing her mouth soundlessly. “The telepath didn’t mention where you were, he just gave me telemetry.”

  “Shit!” He hid his shaking hands. “You scared the hell out of me, Svetlana.”

  “I, well...just come here, okay?”

  And without any further preamble, Svetlana grabbed his arm the way someone might grab a pan from a stove they thought might still be hot, gingerly and with an air of reluctance, and then, abruptly, they were somewhere else.

  Eight.

  The bathhouse smelled pleasantly of damp cedar and dried lavender. Svetlana had taken him directly to Eerie’s room, to avoid using the card scanners and alert Administration. Eerie had been waiting for them in a pair of jean shorts and a T-shirt printed with a graffiti character that looked quite a bit like an ice cream cone. Katya’s preparations must have included informing Eerie as to what to bring, because she had been carrying a bag and a towel. Svetlana had been almost as abrupt in taking hold of Eerie, and then depositing them both inside the narrow entryway to the bathhouse, apparently so they wouldn’t know the location. The quiet apport technician promised to return in three hours, bid them a good evening, and then disappeared, blushing furiously all the while.

  “Hey,” Alex said nervously, pushing aside the patterned hanging to glance at the bubbling tub set in the middle of the small wooden room. “How’s it going?”

  “Fine,” Eerie affirmed, following him into the main room, and setting her bag and towel down on one corner of the bench that ran around the room’s perimeter. “The water looks hot.”

  “Yeah,” Alex agreed, setting his own stuff down in the opposite corner and crouching to dip his hand in the small pool, which was rather oddly square, and big enough for several people. “It’s not bad. Pretty nice, actually.”

  “Uh-huh,” Eerie said, biting her lip as she glanced around. “Are you sure this is okay?”

  Alex shrugged.

  “Anastasia set this up, and I doubt she would make a mistake, you know? It’s not in her character.” Alex immediately regretted sharing that information. “Oh, shit. Does that make this weird? That I had to ask for help to take you on a date?”

  Eerie shook her head.

  “No. I kinda guessed when Svetlana brought us here. It’s alright. I needed their help to get us to San Francisco, remember?”

  “Yeah. That’s right.”

  “It’s okay, Alex,” Eerie said, touching his arm with a small smile. “You don’t have to be nervous. I’m glad you asked me.”

  Alex looked away, his face warmer than the steam in the room.

  “Um. Cool.”

  Eerie removed her flip-flops carefully, and then set them beside her bag.

  “Well, let’s not waste the time we have.”

  She turned her back to him, and then, without preamble, pulle
d her shirt over her head. Alex looked quickly away, searching for some sort of changing room. It probably would have made a lot more sense, he thought belatedly, to have put his board shorts on underneath his clothes, rather than in a bag.

  Eerie finished changing while he was still looking around fruitlessly, turning to face him in a two-piece with a pattern of horizontal rainbow stripes. Alex knew that he was staring, but he couldn’t help it. It was the most he had seen of Eerie, and the bikini was a very pleasant surprise. He had half-suspected that she would wear the blue swimsuit she used to do laps at the gym pool.

  “What are you waiting for?” Eerie asked guilelessly, dipping her big toe gingerly in the steaming water, her toenails painted bright green. “Didn’t you bring a suit?”

  “Yeah, but, um, I need to change...”

  Alex glanced back at the anteroom. The hangings did a poor job of blocking off the space, but it would have to do.

  “Go ahead and change,” Eerie said softly, lowering herself into the water. “I don’t mind. I won’t look.”

  He hesitated a moment longer, then sat down on the bench and kicked off his sneakers. Eerie sank down to her shoulders in the water, careful to keep her hair dry, sighing loudly. Then she leaned the back of her head against the porcelain lip of the tub and, true to her word, shut her eyes.

  Alex scrambled to change out of his clothes and into his board shorts, feeling more embarrassed than he would have simply changing in front of her. He wondered why Eerie made him so nervous, why he always got so shy when they were alone, started acting like a little kid. He wished he had half the confidence he had felt dealing with Emily – but then again, maybe that was just empathy.

  Alex changed as fast as possible, then sat at the edge of the tub, dangling his feet in the hot water.

  “You can open your eyes now,” he said, shy and furious at himself for it.

  Eerie opened her eyes and looked at him blankly. This was probably the first time she had seen him any way other than fully dressed. They had kissed and fooled around a bit, of course, but that had always been in the dark. Just thinking about it, however, made him even more self-conscious, so he slid abruptly into the tub, splashing water out of the sides in his haste. The water wasn’t overly hot, but the transition momentarily took his breath away.

  They sat at opposite ends of the tub, and Alex tried to find something to stare at in the relatively featureless room other than Eerie. Every time he glanced at her, he smiled awkwardly and then averted his eyes, not exactly sure what he was ashamed of.

  Then Eerie splashed him, and the mood was broken.

  “Ah…sorry about that. I just,” Alex said, casting about for a topic, “haven’t seen you in a while.”

  Eerie nodded.

  “Do you like the Far Shores?”

  “It’s okay,” Alex said thoughtfully, pausing to duck his head under the bubbling water and wet his hair. “Quiet. A little bit like living in an empty office building. Seriously, I hardly ever see the people who work there, but the place is almost as big as the Academy. It doesn’t really make sense.”

  “Hmm. Are there other kids?”

  “Outside of Audits? Not that I’ve seen. It’s even smaller than the Program, because they dropped all the cartel kids, except Haley and Katya.”

  “Oh yeah. At least you have Katya…”

  “Yeah. It would be even lonelier without her, but she isn’t exactly the greatest company in the world.”

  Eerie blinked in what he assumed was surprise, though her expression hardly changed.

  “Really? The two of you seem like really good friends these days.”

  Alex considered his answer carefully, aware that he was treading on delicate ground. Katya and Eerie knew each other to some extent, and there was a decent chance anything he said about Katya would get back to her. Also, he didn’t want Eerie to get the wrong idea. He was determined not to screw things up again.

  “We get along. Katya’s cool, but she’s a Black Sun assassin before she’s anything else. Don’t get me wrong – I’ve learned a lot from her, and I trust her to watch out for me – hell, she’s saved my life a couple times now. But it’s hard to be friends with a trained killer.”

  Eerie glanced away briefly.

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s not that I’m jealous. I trust you. And I don’t care if you do become an Auditor, or what you do when you are out in the field, as long as you always come back. But I don’t want you to be like one of them. Like Miss Gallow or Miss Aoki, or even Katya.”

  Alex laughed.

  “I don’t think there’s much chance of that.”

  “Good,” Eerie said, wading across the tub toward him. “’Cause that isn’t the Alex that I like.”

  She was close, and his arms went around her waist automatically.

  “Can I ask you a question, Eerie?”

  Her arms resting on his shoulders, expressionless face flushed and close, dilated eyes looking into his own.

  “Of course.”

  He licked his lips, pleasantly lightheaded, from the heat and her proximity.

  “Why do you like me?”

  Eerie cocked her head to the side.

  “What?”

  “Well, I don’t know, I was just wondering…”

  “Alex is different,” Eerie said thoughtfully. “And you never cared that I was different, too.”

  It wasn’t what he expected to hear, but then again, he wasn’t sure what he expected. She made him sound better than he was – after all, Eerie’s not-entirely-human nature had caused him more than a few moments of doubt. She wasn’t interested in his protocol, the catalyst effect, cartel politics, or any of that nonsense, though, and Alex was fairly certain that was the important part.

  “That’s…um. Thank you.”

  Eerie nodded.

  He was going to say something else, something about why he liked her, something complimentary. But at that moment, the top half of Eerie’s bikini came bubbling to the surface of the water, two rainbow triangles floating beside them.

  “Oops,” Eerie remarked gravely, moving closer. “How embarrassing.”

  ***

  “You are certain?”

  “I am.”

  “Completely?”

  “Of course. What did I just tell you?”

  “Because if you are wrong about this…”

  “I am not wrong. And you will never find a husband with such a sour disposition.”

  “…then you will have to explain it to Alice Gallow.”

  The small man in the embroidered kippah rolled his cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, drew from it, exhaled, and shrugged.

  “I am certain.”

  “Very well.” Mitsuru watched the farmhouse through a powerfully magnified POSP lens mounted to a black polymer Dragunov sniper rifle. The sun hadn’t quite cleared the hills to the east, and she couldn’t make out much in the low light, but there were definitely men loitering around the only approach, a winding dirt track that just barely constituted a road. The men carried weapons that had the classic profile of the Kalashnikov, and now and again she could make out the red coal at the tip of their cigarettes. “Are there always guards?”

  “Always?” Davit’s brow furrowed. “I cannot speak to always. We have only been watching the property for the last few days.” She held her tongue, knowing that the Georgian delighted in goading her. “In the time we have watched, however, there have been at least three – two at the entrance, and another wandering the grounds.”

  Mitsuru panned the scope across the property a few times, but if there was a third man, then he was out of her view in her current position – almost a thousand meters distant, the rifle protruding from a glassless window in the ruins of an abandoned barn. It was the nearest structure to the farmhouse, and the best cover. Behind them, there was a small propane stove with a teakettle setting atop, a pair of dusty sleeping bags, a couple of kit bags, and a
fair amount of moldering straw. Mitsuru and Davit had slept the previous night in the barn, surrounded by the smells of long-departed animals and rotting wood, and she was not eager to spend another. Nonetheless, months of research and weeks worth of legwork would be spoiled if she moved rashly.

  “Who has seen the women inside?”

  Davit pinched tobacco fibers that had escaped his unfiltered cigarette from his mouth and tossed them aside, regarding her critically.

  “We have already discussed this.”

  She ignored him, focusing her attention on the view through the scope.

  “Who?”

  Davit sighed for affect. He was middle-aged, at the beginning of the transition from fit to round, with deeply tanned skin, dull brown eyes, and a neatly trimmed beard. Very nearly as short as Mitsuru, he was gruff and mildly abrasive, alternating between smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and cracking the knuckles of his blunt, scarred fingers. An Operator for the Lionidze Cartel with twenty-five years field experience, he had a perpetually pessimistic outlook, a tendency to criticize, and a sharp tongue.

  They got along, more or less.

  “Two of our Operators were conducting a review of our interests in the area.” Mitsuru didn’t ask, because she didn’t want to know. The Lionidze Cartel had famously ugly revenue sources, and the only resources of note in this barren rural area were the lovely peasant girls, the cartel’s most lucrative export. “During the course of their review, they noticed that the property had been purchased and renovated by foreigners, mostly women, who seemed to have a large amount of money to spend. This is more than unusual – we don’t see foreigners in this area at all, not since the fighting with the Russians. They also noticed a significant armed presence for what was purportedly a vacation home and organic farm. We notified Central, as we had been instructed. They sent field agents, then they sent you, Auditor.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Davit sighed again.

  “None of our people have seen them directly. Informants have seen them directing the repairs of the home, procuring supplies, hiring contractors, even once or twice at the local market. In the last few months, however, they come and go in an SUV with tinted windows, or they don’t leave the house at all. All descriptions are secondhand.”