by TW Iain
Which was why he had to work through other means, why he had to slip through the cracks in her personality. She trusted too much, and so Kharem would distrust by default. Oh, he said he trusted someone like Hornet, but that was built solely on what he gained from it.
It was all a game. And Viper played this game too. Pieces moved into position and strategies slowly unfolded.
“Very well,” Viper said, uncrossing his legs. “The situation is progressing, and you can expect orders in the not-too-distant future. I’ll report back that the situation here is satisfactory, and that our warriors are primed to play their part.” His mouth twisted into an uncomfortable smile. “I’ll also mention how you are manipulating other players with a particularly subtle sleight-of-hand. I’m sure my superiors will appreciate such actions.”
“Thank you.”
And with that, Viper rose. Hornet opened the door, stepped to one side, even gave the man a nod as he left. Viper ignored him, of course—why pay attention to animals?
And that was going to be the man’s downfall.
The door closed, and Hornet’s manner relaxed.
“Interesting,” Kharem said, still in his chair. “Looks like we’ll be in operation soon.”
“That good news?”
Ah, a man of few words. A breath of fresh air after Viper’s spoutings.
Kharem shrugged. “Good news if we play it right.”
- 3 -
Rodin tapped listlessly on his screen as the others left, after Genna had said she wanted a word. Probably to complain about something he’d said again.
Vanya said she’d see him around, and he nodded as she passed through the door. But he noticed the look that passed between her and Genna. Scheming again. Things were so much easier when he worked on his own.
The door closed, and Genna sat back in her seat.
“Congratulations,” she said. “You only looked fed up a couple of times.”
“I’m getting better at withstanding torture.”
“That bad?”
This was a side of Genna Rodin couldn’t grasp. He looked for an insult or threat, but her body language spoke of friendly fun.
“I’m not cut out for meetings.”
“Which is why you want to head west. Right?”
So that’s what this was about. “Part of the reason. You know I’m better on my feet.”
“Some might call that running away.”
“And others think that everything’s going to be fine now that Garrick’s gone.”
“Even with the warrior attacks?”
“You know how they treat those. Unless they’re involved, it’s like a story happening to someone else. And you always win, so there’s no danger. Not to them.”
Genna’s eyes bore into him, and he held her gaze. Eventually, she said, “You do them a disservice. Each time we repel an attack, it’s a victory to be celebrated. But they know things aren’t perfect. They know about the warriors in Red. They know the Dome is reaching out into our districts.”
“The Dome, or Authority?”
“To most people, they’re one and the same. You know that.” She leaned in. “But I know what you really struggle with. Being known.”
He took a breath, held it for a ten-count, then released. “I prefer the shadows.”
She looked him up and down. “Oh, you’re not too uncomfortable on the eye.”
“Didn’t think I was your type.”
Her smile wavered for a moment, and then she sat back. “You’re more popular than you realise, Rodin. There’s even tales of your time in the wilds.”
“Stories. Wouldn’t believe a word of them.”
“Doesn’t matter if they’re true or not. You’re a hero. And before you argue against that, it doesn’t matter what you think. It’s how you’re seen, and it helps the district, helps me. Any happiness you see out there, it’s a facade, a way of showing hope. You’re a part of that. You fight for what is right, even though you’re one of the most awkward curmudgeons I’ve ever dealt with. But you fight for those who can’t, you put yourself in danger to protect others. You’re an asset to the district, whether you like it or not.”
“So I’m another tool in your box.”
She smiled. “One time, you would’ve described yourself as a weapon.”
“Don’t feel sharp enough for that now.”
“And you still insist on pushing yourself down.”
He shrugged, flashed her a grin that hurt his face. “You know me.”
The smile dropped from Genna’s features. “I do. And so I know there’s something up. You didn’t offer to travel to the west just for me.”
She didn’t accuse him of anything, he noticed. Nor did she ask a question. Not directly. But her whole manner said she could wait for however long it took. Her body told him she’d find out the truth sooner or later.
“Okay,” he said. “Had a message from the Factory, couple of days ago. Didn’t think there was anything worth passing on. Not when you get intel from Vanya.”
She raised her eyebrows, and Rodin wondered if that had come out as some kind of accusation. But he wouldn’t deal with that now. He carried on.
“The message mentioned interest in the western Factory.”
“And you didn’t think that was important?”
“Cat’s interested in a lot of things. Hard to keep up.”
“But if his interests coincide with our own, that increases the interest. So they want to know more about the western Factory, right? I assume they’re sending out a team. Have to be small, so it doesn’t raise any alarms.” She tilted her head. “Anyone I’m familiar with on this team?”
Hell, this woman was infuriating.
Rodin nodded. “Paskia and a couple of others.”
Genna smiled. “Sweet,” she said.
“It’s not like that. She’s not ready.”
“Not ready?”
“No.”
“I heard she coped admirably when you took over the Factory. And Vanya’s reports have a lot of good things to say about her. Sounds like she’s been training hard.”
“But not for a mission like this. You know her history.” Well, she knew the basics from Rodin. But Paskia had talked to Vanya enough times, so Genna undoubtedly knew more. “She’s only been in the districts a matter of months.”
“Almost a year,” Genna said. “And Cat trained her.”
“You trust him?” Did he say that too fast?
“I trust him to look after his own interests. And that includes your friend. If he has any say in this reconnaissance mission—and I’m sure he does—I doubt he’d field any agents he thought weren’t up to the job.”
“But he can’t be right all the time.” Rodin sighed. “I just feel uncomfortable with this decision, okay? I don’t think she’s up to it, and…and I don’t want to see her fail because he’s pushed her too fast. But I won’t get involved. Not unless it’s necessary.”
Genna watched him, fingers of one hand tapping on the table. Then she nodded.
“Fair enough. Just wanted to know.”
“Before you made your decision?”
“Oh, I’ve already decided. Makes sense to use you as my envoy.”
It took Rodin a second for that to sink in. “Envoy? You want me to go straight to the Brothers?”
“I want to win their trust. Can’t do that without some kind of honesty.”
“What about my history with them?”
“I reckon you can make that work to your advantage. Cobey might hold a grudge, but I’m pretty sure Jornas accepts that was a contract, nothing personal. You talk to them on my behalf, it shows I’m seeing this as a fresh start, willing to overlook past difficulties. We need to stop whatever Authority’s doing, but first we have to win the Brothers over, get them to join our alliance.”
“Makes sense.” There were far too many counter-arguments, but Rodin would deal with them later. “You want me gone as soon as possible?”
“When does the mission from the northern Factory get into the district?”
“That important?”
She shrugged. “Go when you’re ready. But respect me in one thing—you’re my envoy. Don’t make me regret my choice.”
Rodin laughed. “Is this a contract? You want me to sign something?”
“Would that mean anything?”
He waved a hand. “If you got Leopold to write it, I wouldn’t even understand it. But you’ll want reports, right?”
“I’ll expect to be informed of progress. Aleph can get you a decent screen if you don’t have one.”
“Thanks.” And, of course, that screen would have a way of tracking Rodin’s location. But he could live with that. “Anything else? Any instructions?”
“I trust your judgement.”
“No pressure then.”
Genna smiled. “Thought you thrived on pressure?”
She rose and left, and Rodin leaned back in his chair, wondering how she’d convinced him to work for her once more.
- 4 -
Cat strode along the plain, grey corridor, five levels below ground, passing the numbered doors. The numbers were in no logical order, of course, and there was no signage to assist a visitor. Why would Authority waste resources when the only people down here were those they authorised?
The door numbered 3254 slid open as he approached, and he entered, smiling at the assistant behind her desk.
“Good morning, my dear,” he said. “Is our esteemed colleague ready to receive me?”
There was no need to introduce himself, as the Eyes would have already alerted the assistant to his presence, and she would have checked his image against her schedule.
“You’re right on time, sir,” she said, the cheerful lilt to her voice matching her smile. “Please enter whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you.”
She dipped her head in a nod, followed with her shoulders. That move was practised, and it was no accident that her top was cut just so, allowing a glimpse into her curves. A childish move, really—but she was an attractive thing, and at one time Cat might have followed up on such an invitation.
Invitation—a word that sounded so innocuous, yet the invitation he’d received to meet with Don had been a thinly-veiled summons.
There was a door beside the assistant’s desk, and Cat pushed it open.
The office was much as Cat had pictured it, similar to so many others, both here in Ross Dome and elsewhere. There was the subtle lighting, the ornate desk, the easy chairs around a low table, the drinks cabinet, and the art adorning the walls. Everywhere Authority set up its command, it carried its own particular aesthetic.
“Ah, my dear friend!” said the man behind the desk, rising and holding his arms out wide. “Would you care for a drink?”
“Only if you’re having one, Don” Cat said. He didn’t want a drink, but refusing would be a breach of etiquette, even so far beneath the streets of the Dome.
“Something light, then.” Don pulled a couple of glasses free and opening a bottle. “Please, take a seat. It’s been too long since we last caught up with one another.”
Cat understood the implicit instruction—this meeting was to take the guise of a friendly chat rather than a formal interview—and he eased into one of the chairs, resting his jacket over the arm.
Don placed a glass of clear liquid in front of Cat, then sat in the chair opposite, retaining a firm hold of his own glass before smoothing down his tailored trousers. He wore a crisp white shirt today, buttoned to the neck, and his jacket hung by the door—again, the impression was one of informality designed to put others at their ease.
And once at ease, as Cat well knew, people were wont to open up a fraction too much, to lower their guard sufficient for a skilled operative such as Don to extract those details one wished to remain hidden.
Cat sipped his drink—chilled water, with no hint of anything else—and gave Don an appreciative nod. The man lifted his glass to his lips, but it was impossible to tell if any of the liquid entered.
Don didn’t speak, and his eyes widened a fraction—enough to encourage Cat to open the conversation. And Cat obliged—this man was his senior in role, after all.
He turned his head, made a point of glancing at one of the artworks hanging on the wall. “You’ve purchased a new piece, I see,” Cat said. “An early Borallio, if I’m not mistaken. Reproduction, of course—the woman’s brush-work was far more aggressive in her younger years, but this rendering has that anger washed out somewhat. Still a striking piece, though—a fine interplay of contentment and frustration. Apt, I would venture, for much of your work.”
“Your appreciation of art always catches me slightly off-guard, my friend,” Don said. “Yes, a reproduction—the original resides in the office of my counterpart in Sousie Dome.” He leaned forward, placing his drink on the coaster before him. “But I’m unfortunately pressed for time, so we must get down to business.”
Again, there was the widening of the man’s eyes, the cue for Cat to take the next step.
“You wished to discuss First Dome’s primary Factory?”
“Indeed. Many of my colleagues would find such a rebellion very disturbing.”
“Rightly so. It is fortunate, however, that this uprising failed, as the footage clearly shows.”
Don nodded. “And the way you edited the footage gives a very clear story of the whole incident.”
Was there something in that comment? “I believed it best to provide an overview, although the individual Eye files are available to view, should you require a more detailed study.”
“Oh, your report was as extensive as ever. Once more, your attention to detail and your many years of fine service show through.”
“I do my best.” Cat lifted his shoulders—not quite a shrug, but a sign of meekness. Don would most likely read it as false, but it was no more false than the praise he’d thrown in Cat’s direction.
“Of course you do,” Don said. “But the rebellion—I apologise, failed rebellion—is still troubling. Many of the Factory owners pride themselves on running tight operations, and such a disturbance would be of great personal unrest. Yet Machivelle’s communications seem to indicate an attitude that veers dangerously toward the blasé, wouldn’t you say?”
Cat nodded, wondering how far Don’s suspicions went. “I would. But her communications have always been this way. They are reflective of her personality.”
“So I understand. I find her concerning.”
“You don’t approve of how she runs her facility?”
“Oh, not that. Her ruthlessness in weeding out potential trouble surely accounts for her Factory providing continual advances in production—well, until now. No, it’s rather that I believe her to be—how can I put this without seeming indelicate?—somewhat unstable.”
“Oh? Last time we spoke, I seem to recall you holding her up as an example for others running Factories.” This could be the moment to turn the conversation toward the facility to the south of Ross Dome, the one Cat needed information on. “Didn’t you suggest that Therrick spend some time with his counterpart?”
Don’s lips flickered into a smile. “A suggestion only. The man is not all we anticipated, is he? But let’s return to Machivelle.” He brought his hands up, elbows resting on the chair’s arm-rests, fingers together. “There are concerns over her dealing with those who attempted to escape. One might have expected her to execute all five of them, but four were simply remanded in custody.”
“That sent a very clear message, didn’t it?”
“Possibly. But she had someone else carry out this execution, and not one of her usual assistants. Someone from the workfloors, I believe.”
“That’s true,” Cat said. “But she saw potential in this person, and this execution was as much a test for him as it was a message to anyone else wh
o considered crossing her.”
“And yet she has made no more mention of this person. I find that intriguing.”
“Is it not likely that she’d only mention this individual again if he wasn’t performing adequately?” Cat pushed his uncertainties aside. Kester had spent long enough studying the woman that he could ape her style of communication well enough to fool anyone.
Don nodded without smiling. “A possibility, although it once again shows her willingness to take her own path. You’ve met her, I believe? I can’t say I envy you there. But you share certain qualities with the woman, don’t you?”
Cat forced his body to relax, to counter the alertness that built as Don tilted his head, the man’s reason for this meeting drawing close.
“I’m not sure I follow,” Cat said.
“No? You both work for Authority, yet have enough leeway to choose your own methods of execution—if that isn’t a poor choice of vocabulary. You both exhibit a willingness to go beyond what many would consider acceptable. I say this without judgement, of course—the results are what matters, aren’t they?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Even though you don’t like the woman.”
“Personal preferences have nothing to do with my professional manner,” Cat said. He wanted to reach for his water, but sat steady—Don would read such a move as the result of nerves.
“To a point. Your preferences are what make you unique, my friend.” Don gave a false smile here. “Where many of us settle for the security of the glass, you prefer to wander amongst the depravity outside—and this puts you in an ideal position for certain tasks. Where some of us work best as overseers, your natural inclinations make you more suited to field-work.”
“And so,” Cat said, wanting to push this meeting toward its focus, “you have a task for me.”
Don tapped his finger-tips together. “Always in a rush. An effect, no doubt, of time spent amongst those with less refinement. But your eagerness could be viewed as a positive, I suppose.”
