“Emily, listen…”
“No, you listen. This is how it will be. If we are very lucky, we will manage to survive all of that, the Auditors and the Anathema, the Thule Cartel and the Black Sun. If we are fortunate, we will still be standing when the Church comes in, what, four days? When that happens, the Church will take Eerie. There is nothing you can do to prevent it.”
“Fuck. Really?” Alex grabbed the countertop for balance. “That’s…ah, dammit!”
Emily wiped the cookware with a dish towel before arranging it on the drying rack, while cold waves of pure panic crippled Alex, washing the color from his face. His heart beat so loudly that it seemed to him that Emily must have been able to hear it. His lungs were shallow and feeble, or the air was thin, and he was dizzy from lack of oxygen.
“The Anathema will cease to exist,” Emily said, drying her hands. “The Church will take Eerie. Central will be ruined, and the survivors will war over whatever is left. Most of the people you know will be killed. You’ll be all alone again, just like you started.”
She looked at him briefly, and it seemed just possible to Alex that she was crying. Her eyes were always so wet, it was hard to be sure.
“There is a chance that you might survive, though,” Emily said, walking out of the kitchen. “That’s what’s really important to you, isn’t it?”
***
Rebecca supervised the settlement of the refugees with a scowl, barking orders at the residents and students alike with a cigarette burning perpetually between the fingers of her left hand, at least until her pack ran dry.
Then she was even less patient.
She made everyone wait outside while she inspected the dorms. One was meant for the students, the other for the adults and families who had come with them or latched on to the caravan during the long trip across Central. By the time Rebecca had cleared both buildings, the luggage was unloaded, and the refugees were impatient. Her head pounding, Rebecca was in no mood for diplomacy. She shouted out a few terse commands, and then sat down on top of a pile of luggage to watch the evacuees.
“You are about to lose your temper,” Gerald Windsor observed, shaking out the match he had just used to light his pipe. “You obviously can’t let that happen.”
“What are you, an empath?” Rebecca groused, weirdly reluctant to fix her own bad mood. Maybe she was just tired, she thought, juicing her depleted neurochemistry. “Maybe you should find something useful to do, okay?”
“Why would I need to, when you insist on doing everything?” He smiled at her and offered her the pipe. Rebecca accepted gratefully, then launched into a coughing fit with the first puff. “You need to delegate, Rebecca, or you will fall apart.”
“I’m open to suggestion,” Rebecca said, returning his pipe with tears in her eyes. “What do you have in mind?”
“I’ll gather the students and occupy their attention for a few hours with a spirited discussion of current events. It’ll do them good to feel that they know exactly what is going on, and that will distract them from fear. The remainder of the refugees will be occupied with setting up house for a little while. Use the opportunity to rest – or if you must, go check on Michael. I believe he is with the younger students, helping them get settled.”
“Thanks, Gerald,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“Whatever I can do, I will,” Gerald said, waving as he walked toward the student dorms. “Do consider a nap, Rebecca.”
She sat on the luggage for a moment longer, trying to remember if she had hidden cigarettes anywhere at the Far Shores. Coming up empty, she instead turned her mind to the staff, trying to remember who smoked. If she recalled correctly, Rebecca thought, sitting up straight, the Analytics staff was made up largely of Korean and Singaporean men, along with a pair of Turks and a long-suffering Belgian matron with an affinity for Christmas music.
According to gross national stereotyping, that had to be her best chance.
The labs and professional buildings were all non-smoking, so she made for the adult dormitory on the other side of the campus, where most of the Far Shores staff had been housed.
She nearly ran over Emily and Vivik turning a corner around the cafeteria.
“I’m sorry to have made you wait, Ms. Levy,” Emily said, apologetically, her shoulder squishy and unnaturally moist where they had collided. “I’ve had an extremely busy few days.”
“You aren’t the only one,” Rebecca said, glaring at them. “What do you want?”
“I thought you wanted to talk?” Emily smiled. “Vivik said…”
“Yeah, yeah,” Rebecca said impatiently, waving them along behind her. “Let’s walk and talk, okay?”
Emily followed easily, as Rebecca’s shortness of breath slowed her pace. Vivik tagged along, looking – and feeling, as both women were aware – as if he would rather be anywhere else.
They interacted as they walked, but the two women did not actually have a conversation.
It was an emotional interaction, a tentative feeling out process between two extraordinarily sensitive people.
It began with Rebecca’s surprise at Emily’s sensitivity. Academy records claimed that Emily was a very poor empath, based on an evaluation that Rebecca had performed herself. That had changed, somehow, Rebecca discovered, astonished and worried all at once.
Even after decades of work with promising young Operators, Rebecca had never seen such dramatic progression, particularly not in such a short period of time.
Emily’s Etheric Signature was shot through with white-blue undercurrents of pure Etheric energy, a telltale sign of Alex’s catalyst protocol in action.
Rebecca stared straight ahead. Emily snuck occasional looks at the space directly above Rebecca’s head.
By the time the dormitory came into sight, a few understandings were established between the women.
Rebecca knew that Emily had no intention of provoking a fight, but she was also determined to hold on to the Far Shores.
Emily, in turn, knew that Rebecca would not even consider ceding it to Emily.
“You are on another level, Ms. Levy,” Emily said, with a bit of a sigh. “I’m envious.”
“You are at least E-Class,” Rebecca said. “I’ve never heard of someone moving up more than a single class. How is that possible?”
“I’ve been through a great deal, and I like to think I’ve grown as a person,” Emily said modestly. “What can I say?”
“Cut the crap,” Rebecca growled. “How much of it is Alex, and how much is the Anathema thing?”
“My improvement is the result of my hard work,” Emily said. “Any other factor is incidental.”
“You really want me to kill you?”
“You know I don’t.”
“Don’t be cute, then. Why in the hell would you think I will let you have the Far Shores?”
“I am taking in your refugees, and offering them food and medical treatment,” Emily said. “Not to mention extending my protection…”
Rebecca spun around and put her finger in Emily’s face.
“You can’t give me anything,” Rebecca said, flushed with anger. “Everything here is mine already. I’m the Director, remember? The Far Shores is under my direct administration. Your help is a fiction, Emily. I’ll take what we need, when we need it.”
“That’s a terrible attitude, Ms. Levy,” Emily scolded. “You’ll never make any friends if you go around acting like that.”
***
“I don’t feel any different,” Mitsuru protested. “I don’t feel anything.”
Are you sure? Look around you.
Mitsuru was alone in the gym. The lights had gone, and only flickered to life when she stood. Her mouth was filled with soggy paper she only recognized as the mushy remains of the stick the candy had been mounted on when she spat it onto the gym mat.
I’m sorry, I know I should have waited, but I’m very busy, and…
Mitsuru became aware of th
e ache in her legs, and began to shake out the pins-and-needles feeling in her feet.
You couldn’t wait a few minutes? Mitsuru thought, walking around a little and feeling light-headed. What could be so important?
It actually is super important. Mitsuru could feel the resentment in Eerie’s thoughts – and that was strange, because telepathy was emotionless. And you’ve been sitting there for nearly three hours.
Mitsuru glanced at the clock, but she already knew that it was the truth. The cramping in her calves and lower back attested to the length of the interval that had passed. Mitsuru stopped pacing and sat back down on the mat, trying to remember what had happened.
She had taken Eerie’s candy, and…
…nothing?
Eerie, what is happening to me?
You are coming down, Ms. Aoki. Don’t worry. The work is done already. The code is viral, and it is already populating your consciousness.
Mitsuru was struck by a headache as sudden and unexpected as a thunderclap from a blue sky. The pain was overwhelming, radiating from the back of her head, where her implant clung to her cortex and tucked its barbed tail into her cerebellum.
That was something she had never felt before, but she knew exactly what it was, because it felt so wrong that she had to fight the urge to tear it out of her head.
Oh, your implant. I’m so sorry, Ms. Aoki! Eerie sounded genuinely alarmed. I didn’t think about how that would impact the process.
What process? Mitsuru lay with the side of her face resting on the mat, clinging to the ground like she expected it to go somewhere. What did you do to me?
I awakened a radical potential within you. This was always possible, but it’s much more likely now.
Eerie, what did you do?
You asked me to help you with your protocol, and that’s what I did. Your protocol is different now.
The pain was slowly receding, though the awareness of her implant in her brain remained, like a bug caught in her eyelashes.
Different how?
You wanted to be able to do something other than destroy. Now you can. Cool, right?
What are you saying? Is it still…will my blood…?
Your protocol transforms your blood into something else. It’s probably a non-fatal variant of the vampire defect, maybe; I think so, anyway. You’ve always been able to change it into that acid stuff. I know Rebecca was teaching you how to use it to manipulate stuff. I’ve made a third possibility more likely, by changing just a few little things about you.
What did you change?
Little tiny things, Eerie assured her. Cellular-level stuff. You won’t even notice.
What did you do to my cells, Eerie?
Like I said, you won’t even notice. Well, until you use your protocol, that is. Then you’ll probably notice.
She stripped the bandages from one wrist, and then opened the nearly healed cut beneath it with her thumbnail. Mitsuru tried to activate her protocol and was again felled by a headache out of nowhere.
I can’t make it work at all now!
What? Did you try? Don’t do that! You need to give it a few hours at least.
You need to tell me things like that sooner.
I’m a little busy, Ms. Aoki, and I did not expect you to immediately…listen, I know that it’s none of my business, but I really don’t think you should be cutting yourself. It’s not healthy, and it worries me.
Her head complained, and she felt the bleeding start, high up in her nose.
It’s none of your business. Mitsuru used a weight rack to support her on her way back to her feet. Now, tell me what you’ve…
She felt blood trickle to her upper lip and wiped it on her arm. She glanced at the smear on her arm, and then stopped.
There was a streak of metallic white across the back of her arm, like her skin had been plated with platinum.
Mitsuru pinched her nose, and then inspected her fingers.
They were coated in white-silver.
What did you do to me, Eerie?
I did what you asked, Ms. Aoki.
What is it, though? What does it do? I can tell that it’s not acid, obviously, but I’m not sure if it does anything.
You’ll need to find out for yourself, I guess, because I don’t know. I tried for something that was the opposite of the black stuff, but I’m not sure what the opposite of an acid that eats everything is…
A base. The opposite of an acid is a base.
I didn’t know that, and I still don’t know what that is, so it’s probably not that. I’ve tried to help, but if you don’t mind me saying so, it won’t make any difference if you don’t try to be a little more cheerful, Ms. Aoki. Now, if you’ll excuse me …
Not yet, Eerie. I’m not done with you.
Yes, you are, Ms. Aoki, Eerie thought, very distracted. I need to go. Sorry!
Eerie?
Nothing. Either the girl was gone, or she was ignoring Mitsuru.
Mitsuru toyed with the idea of downloading a protocol from the emergency server and opening an actual telepathic channel between them, but decided that there was no point. If the girl knew anything more, then she wasn’t saying.
Mitsuru sighed, and then went to clean up, so deep in thought she nearly tripped over a discarded dumbbell on the way.
What had happened during that lost interval? Why had the candy been necessary, and what was that strange contact, at the end? It was like a conversation, and like telepathy, but not exactly either.
Mitsuru bent over the sink and splashed her face with water, then grabbed the soap.
The metallic stain came off her skin so easily she missed it going down the drain. It was gone from her fingers with a brief pass beneath the faucet.
She was about to soap her face when she noticed that her fingertips were pink and soft, without blemish or injury. When she put her fingers in the warm water, they tingled with sensitivity. Her fingernails were uniformly neat and shapely, and her cuticles were in perfect repair, despite having chewed both to a pulp the night before.
Mitsuru turned off the tap.
She put her fingers beneath her nose, where only a trickle of blood remained. She gathered a few drops on her fingertips, and then smeared the result on the inside of her left arm, the soft tissue marred by a collection of parallel scars, some thin and some ragged. She waited for what seemed to her a long time before she grabbed the towel and wiped her arm clean.
A patch of skin in the center of her inner arm was fresh and healed, without a trace of scar tissue or freckling from the sun.
“The opposite of an acid,” Mitsuru said, turning the water back on. “Is that what Eerie thinks this is?”
Mitsuru inspected herself in the mirror.
She was reassured to discover that nothing seemed to have changed.
After cleaning herself as best she could at the sink, Mitsuru decided to forego a shower, throwing on clean clothes from her duffel bag instead. She had trouble pulling on her jeans, with her legs still damp with sweat, and the sweater she pulled on felt entirely too warm, but she was in a hurry. She paused long enough to run a comb through her hair and apply an absolute minimum of makeup, and then she headed out, making up her mind about the destination on the way.
It was time to talk to Becca, Mitsuru decided, aiming for the labs at the Far Shores, and the fixed apport station. It felt as if she already had, of course, thanks to her time in the trauma simulation, but that was no substitute for the real thing.
It was a dangerous prospect.
Rebecca had killed her once before, after all.
There was a chance that Rebecca would believe Mitsuru was still too dangerous to live. Mitsuru would not entirely blame her for thinking that way.
After an anxious moment of contemplation, Mitsuru put the whole idea out of her mind. Worrying about it was absurd and futile.
She was what she was, no matter what that Changeling had done to her.
The very thought reminded her of tingling fingertips.<
br />
Mitsuru ran her fingers covertly along the inside of her arm as she walked, careful to make sure that no one could see her do so, privately marveling at the smoothness of the new skin.
***
Alistair appeared in the courtyard of the Thule estate outside of Reykjavik, letting a weary Gabby fall to the ground beside him while he threw his arms wide and took a deep breath.
“Some trip, eh, Gabby? Even the fixed apport stations can’t do a clean transit these days. One more like that and I’ll lose my lunch.”
Alistair laughed as the security systems and guards belatedly acknowledged their presence with a flurry of shrieking alarms and shouted orders.
The men who emerged from the house were hastily dressed and armed, and they moved slowly until they saw Gabriela Thule at his feet, her top soaked in blood.
There were a dozen guns on him in a second, with some very angry faces behind them.
“Relax! Everybody calm down,” Alistair ordered, reinforcing his words with telepathic suggestions. “I didn’t hurt the girl, I saved her. Go get your boss, okay? Go find Gaul Thule. Tell him Alistair wants to talk. I promise that he’ll want to hear what I have to say.”
They did not shoot, but only because of his psychic intervention.
Alistair shook his head and waited.
“It’s really okay,” Gabby said, waving off the guards. “I think Mr. Alistair has good intentions.”
“Let’s not overdo it,” Alistair said, grinning with delight. “I have to say, Gabby, you are my very favorite Thule, and I think I’ve met them all at one point or another. You are a smart and capable young lady, and pretty to boot.”
“Oh, stop!”
Gabby did not look at all unhappy.
“How’d you convince Maxim Yurchenko to let you live?” Alistair sat down beside her, startling the Thule gunmen. “Did you seduce him? Brainwash him? A little bit of both?”
“I was going to seduce him, but I didn’t have to,” Gabby said. “He wasn’t…interested. He’s sentimental and a bit sweet. I just needed to make friends.”
“That must have been easy,” Alistair said. “Who wouldn’t like you?”
The Church of Sleep (Central Series Book 5) Page 49
