Alistair maintained his smile and telepathic charm offensive, but internally he seethed. He didn’t like the Yaojing, and he resented her forced inclusion on the team that he had carefully assembled for the planned operation against the Auditors. John Parson had told him that it was unavoidable – the Church of Sleep had become uneasy as the date for the operation approached, and demanded direct representation; and though Parson had done his best to persuade them otherwise, the Anathema were in no position to offer disagreement to their benefactors.
At least, not yet.
“The trap has been set carefully, and our planning was meticulous. The Auditors believe that they have taken our full measure during the raid we performed on Central. They are unaware of our true capabilities...”
“Why are you so certain? Several of them faced you in combat, and forced you to reveal something of your transmogrification. More still have faced your underling, Emily Muir – and she has shared considerable information with her former lover, Alexander Warner, the one you nurse a grudge against. Their failure to end your life by conventional means cannot have gone wholly overlooked, nor should it be assumed that Warner kept the details to himself. It is likely that Central is at least aware that extraordinary measures will be required to effect true harm on your kind.”
“Be that as it may, we are prepared.” Alistair fought to keep the anger from his voice. The Yaojing was worse than Gaul with her impudent second-guessing. “I have assembled and trained a group of combat-ready Anathema – all fully transformed and augmented – to face the Auditors directly. In the meantime, my operative, Emily Muir, has achieved a near total penetration of both Central and its adjunct, the Far Shores. Thanks to the connections she has made in Processing, the barriers and automated defenses on which they rely will fail them at exactly the moment we desire. Further, by using our various proxies, we have run the Auditors ragged, forcing them to operate across the globe and in extreme circumstances, placing significant psychological and physical strain upon their members – a number of which, I might add, are scarcely more than children.”
The Yaojing looked at him, and it was all he could do to prevent himself from recoiling. Her eyes were like a pair of openings into the burning heart of a furnace, livid with an unearthly radiance that reminded him of the white-green discharges that periodically split the sky above the Outer Dark. The tattooed columns of Khmer script that descended from either eye across her cheeks reflected the uncanny hue of the swirling Etheric storm.
“And what of your own intelligence breach? Their Director seems to have considerable insight into your dealings, of late.”
Alistair gritted his teeth, glad that the creature paid him no attention.
He didn’t know where they had found her, because the Yaojing were thought to be even more extinct than their near relations, the Fey. Alistair had been up late last night, digging through the Anathema’s archives, even using a back door to snoop around a bit in the Etheric Network, looking for any mention of the Yaojing, but the only information he found predated communist control of China. Her employers, too, the Church of Sleep, presented a profile so low that it approached invisibility. They employed no more than two agents at a time, and intervened rarely in the outside world’s affairs, for reasons that only they understood. Just lately, John Parson had seemingly found a way to open lines of communication, which netted some intriguing technology, several cryptic demands, and a Yaojing handler who appeared to be an adolescent girl.
Parsons seemed thrilled with the exchange. Alistair was less enthusiastic.
“Gaul is a resourceful man, and a powerful precognitive. It is entirely possible that he has anticipated our moves to a greater degree than believed possible. As you suggest, however, it is likely that he has found a way to penetrate one of our subsidiary organizations to glean inside intelligence. It is no matter for concern – while he has slowed our progress, he is blind to our intent. The intelligence he has gathered, while damaging, is not critical. He has penetrated the outer layers of our security, but remains unable to access the heart of our organization and communications. It is a bother, an embarrassment – one that I have agents working to correct – but no more.”
She studied the drifting Horrors stoically, her eyes resembling the St. Elmo’s fire from the Etheric thunderheads.
“Or so you assume.”
“Not an assumption, Lady Samnang. I am certain of it. If it were otherwise, then our plans would have unraveled already.”
She appeared to consider this, but it was impossible to tell. Her body language and mental processes were alien and unfathomable. The telepathic feelers that he extended cautiously in her direction met a field of flat and utter denial, completely unlike the psychic barriers and nursery-rhyme tricks employed to shield the minds of Operators and Anathema alike. It might not even have been a defense – there was a strong possibility that her consciousness was simply incompatible with his own to such a degree that there was no feasible interconnection.
Alistair questioned John Parson’s wisdom in dealing with the Church of Sleep. The Anathema had found them to be resourceful allies, certainly, both in technical and strategic matters, but did not have even a vague inkling of the Church of Sleep’s intentions, beyond the demands they placed in return for their aid. When Alistair took control of the Anathema – an event that he considered inevitable – the severing of that relationship would be one of his first actions, as soon as he devised a means of killing their agents. Of course, to accomplish that, he would need a prisoner to experiment upon, and Alistair harbored a secret hope that Samnang herself would be that unfortunate test subject. The aversion he felt toward her stoic and frankly unpleasant nature was intermixed with a perverse desire to humble and demean her in a direct and physical manner.
It was a very good thing, Alistair knew, that his own prodigious telepathic abilities shielded his thoughts from outside scrutiny. Neither his old masters in Central nor his new allies in the Outer Dark would have tolerated his presence among them otherwise.
“And what of the warnings from your enslaved Witches? They claim that an elder of their kind has entered into an arrangement with the Auditors, perhaps the first stages of an alliance to thwart your organization.”
“You are referring to the one sometimes called ‘Yaga,’ I assume?” Alistair chuckled in an openly condescending manner. “I suspect her existence to be entirely mythical. If the information that was relayed is truthful – and that is questionable in and of itself – then it is likely that a Witch has simply adopted the identity to create fear and awe in her wretched sisters. Whatever the case, the matter is of little concern. The Anathema have subjugated the vast majority of the Witches, and those who remain free are scattered and in hiding. Even if they were to somehow arrange an alliance with Central, they pose no threat to us or our plan.”
The Yaojing turned her burning eyes on him, and Alistair suppressed a shudder. Even after extended exposure to the myriad grotesque realities of the Outer Dark, he found the Yaojing to be the most unnerving – worse than the sheer gore of the flesh pits and the changing grounds, or the Horrors that congregated on the fringes of the dead land, or the numerous and varied atrocities perpetrated in the name of science. It was one thing to be appalling or cruel, and another entirely to be something other than human, yet wearing a human form the same way that Alistair wore a coat when it was cold. It demeaned the intrinsic value of humanity, and offended even his admittedly twisted morality.
In Chinese folklore, the Yaojing were considered demons. Alistair found himself in agreement with this interpretation.
“And yet they are in the Ukraine, close to the heart of the matter. If they discover the World Tree before it matures...”
“They will not.” Alistair allowed a small amount of his genuine anger to seep into his imperious tone. “I do not underestimate Alice Gallow or the Director – I am certain they will divine the full extent of our intentions. But they will do so after it is too late for
them to stop what will already be an inevitability. Tomorrow will see the end of the Auditors, and the beginning of a new rule in Central.”
“Perhaps.” The Yaojing lingered over the word, as if in deliberation. “Though your success or failure is none of our concern. I am here only to assure that our interests are safeguarded. Something that I think I will do personally.”
Alistair recoiled slightly, despite all of his practiced nonchalance.
“What do you mean by that?”
“I intend to accompany you during the operation.”
“Lady Samnang, I must protest...”
“Noted. But if your master expects further aid from us – and we both know that he does – then he will acquiesce. I will see you tomorrow.”
The Yaojing walked away with the slack body language of someone not quite awake. Alistair watched her go, and nurtured his resentment and outrage with vivid and specific fantasies of exactly what he would do, once their positions were reversed.
It made him feel better, but only slightly.
***
Michael knocked on the door frame of the female side of the temporary dormitory despite the open door, earning curious stares from Haley, who was reading in her cot, and a communications tech whose name he had forgotten, who was bent double on a yoga mat. Katya, on the other hand, didn’t bother to look up from the tablet resting on her legs, watching streaming video and eating pretzels in her cot.
“Katya. A word?”
Michael smiled and gestured to the hallway with his thumb. Katya sighed, put her headphones and tablet aside, and followed him out of the room in flannel pajamas and purple woolen socks, bringing the bag of pretzels along. Michael walked down to the end of the hall, next to the window which looked down on the desolate backyard of the former commercial building they occupied, where they could be assured of relative privacy.
“Let’s be frank, Katya. What was that whole scene with Miss Aoki about?”
“You mean Mitsuru?” Katya rolled her eyes. “God, you’d think she doesn’t have a first name.”
“Yes,” Michael agreed amiably. “What is the issue?”
“That you chose to speak with her first means you know as well as I do,” Katya pointed out, munching on a pretzel while offering him the bag. Michael declined politely. “Look, I like you just fine, Michael, but I’m not one of your students, and I’m not interested in having a chat about my behavior.”
“I’ve been getting that a lot, this evening,” Michael admitted.
“Then maybe you should mind your own fucking business,” Katya suggested. “Just sayin’.”
“That’s the thing about teaching – it becomes part of who you are, how you carry yourself and interact with others. I can’t just walk away when I see a teachable moment. And I am part of the same unit that you are a candidate for, I might add – which does put you under my authority. I will not ignore an issue that, if left to fester, could destroy what little team unity we’ve had time to establish.”
“Unity?” Katya raised an eyebrow. “You’re joking, right? That Arab guy has said like, ten words, total, since he showed up. He spends all his time cleaning his guns and watching everybody from the corner like he’s waiting for a target. I don’t think Miss Gallow could remember Min-jun or Haley’s names without a telepathic prompt. Chike tries to convert anyone who talks with him for more than a few minutes. Some team. I’ve seen tighter groups during field trips at murder school, no lie.”
“I notice that you don’t insist on a first-name basis with Miss Gallow.”
“That’s because she’s a scary bitch.” Katya shrugged and scratched her arm with nails freshly painted the color of gunmetal. “Sorry. I know you guys have your little romance going on, but it’s true.”
“Katya, that is hardly...”
“It’s an open secret, Michael. Please.”
Michael paused to collect himself before taking a new tack.
“Regardless, I would prefer if you didn’t discuss personal matters so openly. Or use profanity quite so liberally.”
Katya sighed, rolling the top of her bag of pretzels closed.
“Yes, Dad. So, are we done here?”
“No. Not until you explain that confrontation you had with Miss Aoki.”
“Do you really need an explanation? You know what the problem is. She’s a menace, Michael. I’m fully aware of how powerful she is, but that doesn’t change the fact that she is an emotional wreck and an operational liability. The last time she snapped, people died. You and Miss Gallow make whatever decisions you want about your personnel, but don’t expect me to keep my mouth shut when your mistakes put Alex’s life at risk. I have a job to do here, you know.”
“Are you certain that you sufficient understanding to judge the situation? You only joined Audits recently, and are not yet a full Auditor.”
“Unlike you, I suppose? You were a teacher a couple months ago. Sometimes I think you should have stayed in the classroom. Look, Michael – I’ve been doing this stuff for years. I know the difference between a useful psycho and a basket case, and Mitsuru is definitely the latter. I’m sure Central wants to see a return on their investment, and I know that she’s a capable Operator when she has her head together, but the field is a terrible place to determine whether someone has the emotional makeup for wetwork.”
“I think you are underestimating Miss Aoki. It’s true that she has been through a great deal. Then again, she has also accomplished more for Central than many experienced Operators.”
“That’s great. You wanna roll the dice with your operation, that’s fine. None of my business. But once you start dragging me – or Alex – along for the ride, well, then it becomes my problem.”
“Miss Aoki has saved Alex’s life on multiple occasions,” Michael reminded her. “He wouldn’t be with us today if it weren’t for her protection and initiative.”
“So give her a medal for past performance,” Katya scoffed. “I’m not interested in history. I’m concerned with getting him home in one piece, not how he got here.”
“I think perhaps you have forgotten your place. You aren’t a Black Sun assassin any longer. You are a candidate for Audits, and your responsibility is dictated by the needs of Central.”
“Sure,” Katya said, smirking. “You can pretend that’s true if you like. We both know who I really work for. I’m on loan to you people, that’s all. You wanna use me to get shit done, well, I don’t mind. But at the end of the day I don’t answer to you or Miss Gallow.”
“That kind of talk makes me think it isn’t Miss Aoki who is unsuitable for Audits,” Michael said, raising his voice and curbing his temper with an effort. “It’s you, Katya. You can’t serve two masters. Perhaps it is time that we reviewed your continued involvement with field operations...”
“You do what you have to do, Michael.” They both turned, surprised by the unexpected contribution to their discussion. Alex stood a few meters away, not far from the door to the male dormitory, leaning heavily against one of the walls with an outstretched arm. He looked ragged, with dark circles underneath his drugged eyes and fresh blood seeping out through the bandage on his forehead. “Just know – if Katya goes, so do I.”
“Alex,” Michael said, taking a step forward, “you shouldn’t even be up right now...”
“I mean it.” Alex’s legs were wobbly and his voice strained, but his eyes were clear and determined. “If Katya has to leave, then I’m done with Audits, too.”
“Alex, this is none of your concern.”
“I’ll decide that for myself,” Alex snapped. “I trust her, Michael. And I know she’s only here because of the decision I made. As far as I’m concerned, we’re a package deal – you don’t get one without the other.”
“Alex, you moron, you’re gonna tear a stitch wandering around.” Katya chided him, but there was no rancor in her voice as she hurried over to provide support, ducking beneath his arm and then gently leading him back to the men’s dormitory. “
If you don’t rest, you can’t heal, and then you definitely won’t be going into the field.”
Katya helped him back toward his cot, giving Michael a knowing and triumphant look before they disappeared.
“Well, at least part of the team is unified,” Michael observed to no one, looking out the window at broken concrete and dead weeds. “That’s something, I suppose.”
Sixteen.
Alice accepted coffee from Mrs. Barrett with her usual disquieting smile. The interrogation of the captured Witch had dragged on for hours, and then she had been required to make a number of apports. Running on very little sleep and reeling from several time changes, Alice was grumpy and anxious to leave Central.
Gaul did not anticipate a pleasant debrief.
“Tell you what. If I were in charge of Central, first thing I’d do is get some decent coffee for my office.” Alice set her cup aside, shaking her head. “This stuff is awful.”
“As soon as I have a day where the quality of the coffee in my office is my most pressing concern, then I assure you that I will make improving it a priority. Since this is not that day, what do you say we discuss Kiev?”
Alice took her army surplus jacket off, then set about tying her unruly hair back.
“Be honest with you, boss. It’s gonna be ugly. Whatever equipment the Anathema are using to mask their Etheric Signatures is distorting everything so the remote viewers can’t figure out which way is up, but that city is so crowded with hostiles I’m amazed we don’t trip over them on the way to the corner store.” Alice tugged her hair through a tie, then glanced at a strand miserably. “You sure I don’t have time to shower before we have this little chat? I smell like blood and garbage from the fucking alley I spent all night in.”
The Far Shores (The Central Series) Page 43
