by Eliza Green
He lay on his back, exhausted from his experiences with this new and evolving Nexus. He had never experienced it in such a raw form. For the first time, it occurred to him that the Nexus may be younger than they had first assumed. It was possible the Nexus existed only because the Indigenes did and it wasn’t the ancient healing network that had existed for centuries.
Stephen heard voices above him—Pierre, an excited Margaux, Gabriel, Anton—Anton! He scrambled up the stone footholds of the unit and hauled himself up the final few steps. Out of the unit, he found himself surrounded by a crowd of tired, but happy faces.
But Stephen’s attention drew to the colours of Anton’s aura: plain green, yellow and grey, representing calm, confusion—and something else.
Pierre and a grinning Leon supported Anton. His ashen-coloured skin had lost its vibrancy. Stephen hoped his bright energy would return soon. He’d been without his friend for too long. He couldn’t wait to hunt with him and argue over new designs again.
Anton gave Stephen a weak smile. ‘There you are, you idiot. I’ve been trying to speak to you for weeks.’ He shuddered, perhaps a delayed reaction to the Nexus’s influence and his body’s attempts to clear out any lingering bad effects from Benedict.
Stephen gripped the sides of Anton’s face and checked it over. Anton made a familiar face that caused Stephen’s heart to dance.
‘Next time, how about we leave the stupid ideas to the humans?’ said Stephen. ‘You did a dangerous thing in the docking station. I almost went after you.’
Anton’s body shook again and Stephen felt the tremor run through his hand.
‘You wouldn’t have,’ said Anton. ‘I’m much braver than you—admit it.’
‘Stupid, brave idiot.’ Stephen released Anton’s head. ‘How do you feel?’
Anton shifted from one leg to the other, as if he were in pain. ‘A thumping headache, nothing else. It’s good to be home.’ He turned to Pierre. ‘I’m sorry about Elise. I tried to control Benedict. Please don’t blame my father.’
‘Don’t worry about me, son.’ Leon’s voice brimmed with unrestrained emotion. ‘Pierre shouldn’t blame you.’
Pierre glanced at Leon and whispered, ‘I don’t.’
Leon thumbed a tear away.
Stephen checked on Arianna. ‘Are you okay? How did you know to control the Nexus like that?’
‘It responded to Serena, not me. Elise had told me something—that the more she used the Nexus, the more it acted like an unruly Evolver. It got me thinking that the Nexus saw her as a playmate, not a threat. It was Margaux who helped me to understand.’
‘Margaux—how?’
‘She said how was all up here with Serena’—Arianna tapped the side of her head—‘the way she makes people feel when they’re around her. I was jealous... not of your relationship with her, but of her, like she affected my mood somehow.’
‘That must be what Margaux meant when she said she’s an influencer.’
Gabriel said, ‘So, the Nexus grabbed her arm—’
‘—like a small Evolver would to get someone’s attention,’ Arianna went on. ‘It saw how vulnerable Anton was so it tried to protect him. It wasn’t interested in Benedict at first. It wanted to keep Serena all to itself and keep the other energies away from Benedict.’
‘But like Elise, you couldn’t control the Nexus either,’ said Pierre. His voice wavered.
‘The energies that wanted my empathic energy distracted it enough so I couldn’t command it,’ said Arianna. ‘On the inside, Serena has more power than all of us. But the Nexus was only interested in her, not what she could offer.’
‘Offer?’ Gabriel frowned.
Margaux answered. ‘Her ability. Her power. ’
Stephen didn’t understand. ‘What is an influencer, exactly?’
‘We’re all different inside the Nexus,’ said Arianna. ‘Take your ability to see auras in colours, for example. Your energy allowed me to see the muddy colours around Benedict. The Nexus opened up your ability and shared it with the rest of us. Serena remembers little about her human past but people must have been naturally drawn to her as was the Nexus. She seems to be all of us—part empath, part envisionary.’
‘She can influence those around her,’ Leon added. ‘It’s a rare skill, but a few tests on her brain activity should clarify which parts she uses and to what extent.’
‘Her influence doesn’t work on everybody though,’ said Arianna. ‘For example, she had to work hard to get me to see things her way. Stephen was easier to control.’
Stephen’s heart beat faster. Was that all this was between them—control?
‘So if Serena is part envisionary, why didn’t she enhance Stephen’s ability when they were together?’ said Anton.
Stephen stared at Anton. ‘Could you hear us?’
‘It was mostly Benedict I heard, but on occasion I could listen in.’
‘Stephen’s almost there with the envisioning thing,’ said Serena. ‘He just needs to learn how to control it. With a little more time...’
‘We should see if we can remove the device from my son’s head,’ said Leon. He brimmed with more confidence than Stephen had seen in months.
Pierre nodded. ‘Let Anton get some rest and we can try then.’
‘In the meantime, I’d like to run some tests on Serena, if she doesn’t mind,’ said Stephen.
Serena nodded. ‘Can Arianna join us?’
Stephen was about to say no when Serena added, ‘Please. You need to understand why she changed her mind about me.’
18
It was 10am at the London ITF office and Bill took a call forwarded to him from one of his colleagues. He listened while the person complained about a car accident—an out-of-control self-drive taxi in Suffolk that injured twelve pedestrians. In his most professional tone, Bill told the person to hang up and call emergency services.
As he disconnected the call, the officers in the room burst out laughing. He gritted his teeth against the headache that accompanied the sound. Next time they passed a wrong number to him, he would tell them to go fuck themselves. He closed his eyes and sighed.
‘I’ve booked a table at Involution for 1pm,’ said a voice. Bill opened his eyes to see Simon Shaw stood front of him. ‘Let’s get lunch.’ Bill must have looked surprised because Simon added, ‘To discuss your future at ITF.’
Two of the officers sniggered, one of them Dave Solan.
‘I need to take care of a few things first.’
Simon walked off. ‘Fine. Take the morning. I’ll see you later.’
‘Looks like the golden boy has fallen from grace,’ said Dave. The room erupted with new laughter.
Bill stood up and faced Dave’s smug face.
‘When were you ever invited to dine at the most exclusive restaurant in town?’ The laughter faded along with Dave’s smile. Bill snatched his gel mask off the desk and grabbed his coat from the stand near the coffee machine. He followed Simon out of the room. ‘Enjoy your soggy sandwiches and lukewarm coffees, gents.’
Bill walked around London for a while to clear his head. Why had Simon invited him to lunch? Dining at Involution? That was a first. His paranoia kicked in and he couldn’t help but wonder if Deighton was behind the invite. He arrived at Involution at the agreed time. At the restaurant, he flashed his ITF badge and a waiter showed him to a private booth at the back. Simon had not yet arrived.
Involution was bigger and more posh than Cantaloupe with tempered glass tables and black and cream covered seats. Business men dressed in suits dazzled potential clients and pretended to enjoy their company. Only the elite did business anymore. The place had a strange highbrow vibe that put Bill on edge. The food might taste better, but Involution had nothing on Cantaloupe.
The waiter brought him two digital menu cards. Bill ordered a coffee while he waited. As soon as the waiter left, Simon entered the restaurant, fussing with his coat and looking flustered. Bill noticed his boss had changed his grey tie from
that morning to a red one.
Simon spotted him and Bill remembered Laura’s suggestion he try profiling him. He leaned forward. Three people stopped Simon and shook his hand. Simon smiled at the first man but his smile dropped away as he moved on. After the second handshake, Simon combed his fingers through his hair. On the third handshake, he barely acknowledged the man whose hand he shook. Bill noticed other revealing signs: the fleeting touch to his face, the subconscious tug on the end of his jacket.
Simon pushed through the small crowd stood at the bar and reached Bill’s booth. He took the seat opposite and avoided looking at Bill while he smoothed his red tie. Simon rarely wore red unless he wanted to impress Deighton or Gilchrist. With Gilchrist out of the picture, that left just one person.
‘Nice tie, Shaw,’ said Bill.
Simon straightened it. ‘I had a meeting.’ He looked at him. ‘Have you ordered yet?’
‘No, I was waiting for you.’
Simon grabbed the digital menu card and skimmed the list. He looked around until he found a nearby waiter. He called him over and ordered a Waldorf salad.
Bill ordered nothing. He still couldn’t decide if Simon’s meeting was the truth or if he’d only mentioned it to throw Bill off the trail.
‘Aren’t you eating anything?’
‘Not hungry.’ Bill had lost his appetite.
They sat in silence until Bill’s coffee arrived.
Simon made a bridge with his hands. ‘I know you hate your desk job Bill, that you’d rather be out there fighting the good fight. Sitting still has never been your thing.’
The waiter returned with Simon’s Waldorf salad. Simon picked up a fork but waited for Bill’s response.
‘Yeah, I hate my job,’ said Bill. ‘So why am I still chained to a desk?’ He sipped his coffee. The caffeine jangled his nerves, but in a good way—it was a decent blend.
Simon forked through the salad arranged in a swirl in the centre of his plate. He looked up and smiled. Bill stiffened at Simon’s efforts to be polite.
‘I’m starving,’ said Simon. ‘The food here is fantastic.’ But he continued to play with his food.
Bill observed his nervy boss.
‘Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?’ Simon gestured with his fork, as if inviting Bill to try some.
‘No thanks. I’m not in the mood.’
Simon turned around and called the waiter over again.
‘Is there something wrong with your food, sir?’ said the waiter.
‘No, it’s fine. Can I get a gin and tonic, please? Bill, do you want something?’
Bill shook his head and lifted his coffee cup. ‘I’m set. G & T? It’s a little early for a liquid lunch.’
Simon cleared his throat. ‘I need some Dutch courage.’
Dutch courage? Bill put down his cup and snapped his fingers at the waiter. ‘I’ll have the same.’ If Simon had orders to kill him, he might as well be drunk.
The waiter returned a moment later with two cut crystal glasses and a bottle of tonic water. He set the tonic and the glasses, jangling with ice and gin, on the table. Bill splashed some tonic in his glass and downed the contents in one. The sharpness of the gin made him wince. Simon poured some tonic on top of his gin, swirled it around and took a smaller sip.
Fuelled by the alcohol, Bill said, ‘Come on, Simon, don’t keep me in suspense. Why don’t you just blurt out the reason for my invite? I’m assuming you met with Deighton. So how does he want to do it?’ He pictured Gilchrist being held under water, unable to move.
To his surprise, his mild-mannered boss smiled.
‘Okay, cut the crap and tell me why you brought me here.’ Bill could bear the suspense no longer. ‘Do you need witnesses to say I was on the edge before my...’ He couldn’t bring himself to say fake suicide.
Simon drank some more. ‘Bill, if you only knew the morning I’ve had.’ He stared into his empty glass.
‘So, enlighten me. Was I right, did you meet with Deighton?’
‘Maybe.’
Red was Deighton’s favourite colour. The colour of blood. Bill leaned forward. ‘Is Deighton watching me? Why was Gilchrist killed?’
Simon continued to stare into his glass. He could stall all he wanted; Bill would wait for as long as it took. Finally his boss put down the glass. ‘It’s not just Deighton—they’re all watching you.’
‘The board members?’
‘They’re especially interested in you.’
‘Well, you’d better fucking tell me why.’
Simon released a breath. ‘I like you, Bill—always have—and if I could have changed the outcome, then I would have. But Deighton is adamant.’
‘About what?’
‘They said I could tell you some things if you ever got close to the truth. Deighton and the board members know about your recent contact with the Indigenes. They also know about the micro file.’
‘So is that why they tried to kill us in Magadan?’
Simon shook his head. ‘They’d no intention of killing you. They just wanted you to know they were around. My orders were to have troops issue non-lethal force.’
Bill couldn’t believe it. ‘You ordered the hit on me?’
‘No. I ordered them not to harm you.’
‘The damage to the inside of the car we were travelling in says otherwise. They almost killed us.’ Bill sat back hard into his seat.
‘I’m sorry. I had instructed them to scare you—nothing more.’
‘Who else are they watching? What about Laura?’
Simon nodded.
Bill thought about Jenny Waterson. ‘Anyone else?’
‘No.’
Simon appeared to be telling the truth. Bill leaned across the table. ‘Did you know Daphne Gilchrist called Laura in for a meeting the day before Gilchrist died?’
‘No... What for?’
Bill pursed his lips.
Simon lowered his voice. ‘You can trust me. I’m on your side. But if you ever tell them I said that, I’ll deny everything.’
‘To tell her the same thing—that she knew about her trip to Exilon 5. Was Gilchrist instructed to interrogate her like that?’
‘Not that I’m aware.’
‘Why was Gilchrist killed?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘And why haven’t they made a fucking move to get rid of me yet?’
‘Because they view your friendship—or whatever it is you have with the Indigenes—as something positive, as something they can use.’
‘So you’re not here to kill me?’
Simon laughed softly. ‘Is that what you thought today was about? No, the opposite. Deighton needs your help.’
Bill’s hand shook as he picked up a jug of water and poured some into a glass.
‘What was the debriefing about? I thought all the investigations were on hold.’
‘They are on hold.’ Simon looked him in the eye. A brief touch to his sleeve betrayed his nerves. Why was Simon lying about the investigation not continuing when Bill knew it was?
His heart fluttered in his chest when he asked, ‘Why did they send the captured Indigene, Anton, back to Exilon 5 with a bomb?’
Simon looked away and fixed his perfect tie.
‘You thought I didn’t know?’ said Bill. ‘I was right in the middle of that mess.’
Simon composed himself and looked back. ‘Deighton had a score to settle. I overheard him telling Gilchrist.’
‘A score? With whom?’
Simon leaned in close enough for Bill to smell the gin on his breath. ‘I don’t know. He just said it was an old friend.’
‘So why am I here? What does Deighton want with me?’
‘The board members want a truce with the Indigenes. They want you to be the friendly face of that truce, so the Indigenes will trust them. I asked you to lunch because they want an answer soon.’
Bill recalled an overheard detail from the briefing. ‘Who’s Serena?’
Simon didn’t a
nswer. Instead he filled his empty glass with water.
‘Why are they so interested in her?’ said Bill. ‘I heard you mention her.’
Simon drank some water.
‘How can I trust you when you won’t answer my questions?’
Simon looked at him. ‘Why do you think I brought you back to work? I left the door to the briefing room open on purpose. You know more than you think. Work out for yourself.’
‘At least give me something to go on. This is bullshit.’
‘Look, I don’t know specifics, but the transfer programme numbers have picked up again.’
‘That’s it?’
‘That’s all you’re getting from me.’
Bill stood up to leave.
‘Wait,’ said Simon. ‘The World Government wants you to travel to Exilon 5 so they can negotiate with the Indigenes. Think about whether you want to be on the inside or outside of that important discussion.’
Bill snatched up his coat prompting Simon to grab his arm.
‘Don’t waste any more time on time on Gilchrist’s death, Bill. Focus on other matters. Things are happening. Look at the recent transfers to Exilon 5—times and dates. The numbers never lie.’
19
Deighton read through the medical files his doctor had sent to his World Government office, files that explained his condition.
He’d had the condition since his late sixties. As genetic improvements moved away from curing ailments from a bygone era, he now relied on muscle-stabilising shots or gene-producing dopamine injections into the brain at the clinics to mask his condition. The mutations in his genetic code prevented the nanoids from ever repairing his defective genes. If the board members discovered the severity of his condition, Deighton could lose his chance to live in a superior body, or on Exilon 5.
