Fading Control

by TW Iain

  There was too much going on.

  “So, we have contact with the group. We got a location?”

  “Funny you should mention that.”

  “Funny?”

  She shrugged again. “Got it a short time ago. While you were having your chat with our potential friends.”

  Not the phrase Rodin would have used, but he let that pass. “Close?”

  “Ish. North-east of the Factory.”

  “Makes sense.” He pushed himself away from the wall. “Might as well walk together.”

  Vanya’s grin was visible, even in the moonlight. “That won’t cause friction, you turning up with another woman?”

  “You’re just a colleague.”

  The grin disappeared, and Vanya shrugged. “That how you see things? Fair enough.”

  Her tone was light, friendly even, but Rodin knew he’d said something wrong. No idea what, though.

  She pushed his shoulder‌—‌probably only a tap to her, but it jarred his whole body. “Come on, then. Let’s go see what we can find out.”

  - 11 -

  There were meetings, and then there were meetings, Cat thought as he strode through the Council Gardens. There were chance encounters, there were those moments he’d inserted himself in situations with the intent of catching a few words with someone. There were those almost pleasant arranged moments in various locations, like benches beside rivers. And then there were formal requests to attend a specified room in the fourth building’s lower levels.

  It was always the fourth building. While each Dome prided itself on its achievements‌—‌the artists, the fine speakers, the sporting heroes‌—‌so much was interchangeable. Every Council occupied four buildings around a stylish plaza, set in lush gardens, and the fourth‌—‌and furthest building from the garden’s entrance‌—‌was the one reserved for those overseeing security. This was always the last building visitors desired to enter, and it was also the one that contained the primary access points to Authority’s lover levels.

  Cool air wafted from the vent above the door as Cat entered, reminding him that he was now in enemy territory. But he returned the attendant’s smile and exchanged pleasantries before heading into the small cafe. The attendant greeted him by name‌—‌the one he used in Ross, at least‌—‌and Cat ordered a fruit infusion before settling into a chair close to one of the large, tinted windows.

  He drank slowly and deliberately, using the ritual to calm himself, to focus his mind.

  There was no obvious reason for another meeting with Don. Cat had his instructions, and he’d received the relevant files‌—‌official and otherwise‌—‌and he’d prepared. Cat understood the Factory’s layout, knew the names and characters of primary personnel, and was aware of issues uncovered from the most recent inspections. He even knew the number of warriors, and had perused the large database on their training.

  Timings were set out in his instructions, and transport arranged. Everything was prepared. So why did Don wish to speak to Cat in person once more?

  There was only one way to find out.

  Cat placed his empty cup on the table then stood. He thanked the server, freshened up in the washrooms, and then turned to face the last cubicle, the one that was always locked.

  If anyone asked, the server or attendant would explain about the repairs, unfortunately unavoidable. Their apologies were so convincing that Cat wondered if they believed the lies they told. It wouldn’t be the first time Authority had hidden behind misinformation.

  Cat placed his hand on a tile close to the door and waited. When he heard the click, he pushed the door open and entered. Another screen disguised as a tile revealed the lift, and Cat stepped inside.

  Five minutes later‌—‌after a purposefully drawn out wait outside the door‌—‌Cat sat in a small meeting room, one of the many interchangeable spaces this far below ground. The small circular table was surrounded by four chairs, three occupied‌—‌Cat, Don and a small woman with a round face and cold eyes.

  “Prompt as ever,” Don said, as if this was a major achievement. “And I have no reason to doubt your preparations. But situations change, and the task is now considered too important to place on the shoulders of a lone agent. You’ll now be accompanied by a co-inspector, Miss Iralla.”

  The woman nodded and held out her hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said, her voice deep and resonant, at odds with her height but matching her demeanour.

  Her fingers were long, the nails manicured. Her skin was soft, but she gripped Cat’s hand firmly and gave a sharp tug. It didn’t avoid his notice that her smallest finger ran along the side of his wrist, either.

  “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Iralla. I’m sure this will be a very fruitful mission.”

  Again, her expression gave nothing away, and she slid her hand from his.

  “Excellent!” Don said. “I apologise for springing this on you at the last moment, but my superiors were most insistent. Luckily, Iralla‌—‌I think we can forgo formal address, don’t you?‌—‌has recently moved to Ross, after a successful couple of years in Kern, and was currently unassigned. She’s been fully briefed of the situation, both the official work of the Factory and our more closely-guarded project.”

  “That’s good to know,” Cat said. “Naturally, I have questions over security. Matters such as these benefit from a tight network of personnel, ensuring information is contained. I take it our colleague from Kern comes with adequate assurances?”

  Don turned to the woman. “You see how his mind works, yes? Even in the most innocuous of conversations, our friend here is moving at tangents, seeking solutions to problems others haven’t even noticed.”

  “Definitely an interesting mind,” she said, and Cat couldn’t fail to read the ease of conversation between her and Don. Her expression hardened when she turned to face Cat once more, though. “I wonder‌—‌do you play chess? I find the game an excellent way to relax while still keeping my mind active.”

  “I play a little,” he said. “Games are always a distraction to me, though. It’s too easy to avoid questions when engaged in such activities.”

  “Understandable. And I also understand that little jab. So to answer your question‌—‌yes, I am trustworthy. My work in Kern is something I’m not willing to discuss without explicit consent from my immediate superiors.” She tilted her head. “Is that sufficient assurance?”

  Even if it wasn’t, Cat knew she wouldn’t reveal anything more‌—‌at least, not knowingly. “It’s always appreciative to talk to someone who understands the nuances of secrecy,” he said.

  Don clapped, once, drawing attention back to himself. “Yes, I believe you two will get along famously. I’d love to be party to the twists and turns of your conversations, but I’m sure you’ll both provide me with a succinct report of your findings. And moving on to more important matters, there are factors in this situation that require a more delicate touch, yes?”

  Don looked from Cat to Iralla, as if awaiting their approval. Cat nodded‌—‌a formality, nothing more‌—‌as did Iralla.

  “Very good. So you both understand how the project below levels is creating a special kind of product, one tailored to exact requirements. This has been a long, arduous process, with many setbacks, but our meditechs and other experts have outdone themselves.”

  Cat raised a hand, and Don paused. “Can we accept that this room is secure?” he asked.

  Don nodded. “If you wish to make a personal scan, by all means.”

  “I’ll take your word for that.” And, Cat thought, there were devices that didn’t show up on scans, ones Don would use to protect himself against possible insinuations and attempted manipulations. “Would it be easier if we reverted to a plainer mode of speech? If the information you wish to impart is for our ears only, there seems little point in shrouding it.”

  That got a raised eyebrow from Iralla and a nod from Don.

  “That seems sensible. Very well. We’l
l talk about the warriors, shall we? Finely tuned examples of physical manipulation, each and every one, testaments to years of painstaking research. Some of those working on the project have expressed doubts, and I believe the root of these doubts is fear‌—‌I’m sure you can understand this, yes? And this is from those who have an intimate knowledge of the work. If the wider public were aware of the warriors‌…‌you can imagine the trouble that would cause, yes?”

  Don didn’t wait for a response, continuing with what felt to Cat like a prepared speech.

  “And so, we have to work in the darkness, hidden from prying eyes as we build our army. Yes, I use that word with intention, because these warriors are indeed an army. We must protect ourselves, mustn’t we? We must keep ourselves safe, from threats both internal and external, and we must be prepared to face threats as yet unrealised. For that, we must have a weapon that is both effective and malleable, that can be directed with precision while also retaining the flexibility to adapt independently.

  “But such assets require careful handling. There have been incidences where things have‌…‌not run as smoothly as we might have wished. Our source material must contain the seeds of aggression and rebellion we require, but those displaying these characteristics are naturally more inclined to resist any form of control.” He gave a knowing smile. “Am I making myself clear?”

  Iralla nodded, and Cat followed suit. This was nothing new to him‌—‌nothing he hadn’t intuited already, at least‌—‌and from the calm countenance on Iralla’s face he suspected this was already known to her as well.

  “So we need to be alert for any problems, either present or possible,” Iralla said. “Does that mean you wish us to assess all these warriors individually?”

  Don waved a hand. “The details I leave to the two of you‌—‌you’re both experienced, and I’d hardly select agents who needed overt guidance for such a mission, would I? But you understand the seriousness of this inspection, I hope. These warriors are integral to our continued survival, and it is imperative that any potential problems are eradicated with all haste.”

  “We understand,” Iralla said, and then she turned to Cat, tilted her head.

  There were layers to this conversation that bothered Cat, but he couldn’t dive into a detailed analysis at the moment. All he could do was pay attention, to words spoken and unspoken.

  He nodded. “It’ll be an interesting exercise,” he said, “trying to uncover flaws in the creation and training of these warriors.”

  “So you’ll be actively seeking problems?” Don asked.

  Cat nodded again. “Better to uncover flaws through rigorous testing than have them show up once the product is released into active duty.”

  “Absolutely. And with that, if there are no more questions, I wish you both a most fortuitous inspection, and I look forward to reading your reports.”

  He nodded, then rose and left the room.

  And it didn’t escape Cat’s attention that he’d mentioned reports, plural. Not a joint report on the inspection, but separate ones.

  Cat wondered exactly what this Iralla would be reporting on.

  - 12 -

  Rodin followed Vanya through yet another run-down area, past buildings that might have once been stores and businesses, and into a side-alley. Vanya tapped on her screen as they waited by a metal door with no markings. After a minute or so the door opened and a short man led them inside.

  The set-up reminded Rodin of Paskia’s base to the north, only with less permanence. There were bedding mats to one side of the room, and four mismatched chairs around a scratched and stained table. The food-prep was basic, and work surfaces revealed many ready-meals, the type in the self-heating containers.

  But the room wasn’t a flop-house. There was a screen on the wall by the table, running Eye footage from the streets outside, and the main door was secured with bolts to the top and bottom. There was also a bulge running down each side that Rodin recognised as explosives, a trap for anyone forcing their way in.

  There were containers of weapons and other equipment on the floor, and each of the four residents wore blades. They also kept their boots on, and jackets hung by the door in readiness.

  Four people. Two male, two female. No warriors, though. Rodin studied each of them in turn as they introduced themselves.

  The short man who had opened the door was Gorrin. He didn’t seem too communicative, and he disappeared through a second door as soon as the others had stood. Rodin noted that this door was also fitted with additional bolts.

  The second man was Uran‌—‌tall and thin, and as uncommunicative as Gorrin. He reminded Rodin of Jerone, but without the attitude. He was the first to sit back down, returning to the snub-nosed weapon he was inspecting, tools arrayed to his right, a stained rag to his left. Rodin reckoned this accounted for the oily stink in the air. Good to see he cared for his weapon.

  Irazette was a tall woman with short hair and a friendly smile. She moved in sharp jerks, finely controlled, using as little energy as possible. She offered a brief smile toward Vanya, looked down to the warrior’s holster and made a comment about the short range of the Series 4. Another one who knew her tools.

  And then there was Paskia. She wore black, material that wouldn’t impede movement, and her hair was tied back. She’d nodded to Rodin before turning to the food prep, preparing drinks even though nobody had asked for any‌—‌a subservient role for the supposed leader of this group.

  Gorrin returned, carrying two chairs he’d pilfered from somewhere. With these around the table and the drinks prepared, they all sat and talked.

  “Yeah, we suspected some kind of arrangement,” Gorrin said when Rodin told of his meeting with the Paternas Brothers. “Poor guys. Going to get screwed, aren’t they?”

  “Haven’t been yet, so Authority still has a use for them,” Paskia said.

  “Or maybe it’s not important to them at the moment.” Rodin felt the interest in the room draw his way as he said that. “Big movement heading north‌—‌other things on their plate.”

  “Yeah,” Gorrin said. “Any thoughts?”

  Rodin shook his head, then he asked about the Factory. There was a moment of silence as Gorrin, Uran and Irazette all turned to Paskia.

  If she was leading this group, she was doing so subtly. And Rodin saw how that would work. She gave off an aura of confidence‌—‌even her looks toward Rodin hadn’t been anything but professional‌—‌and he could see how she let each member of this team work with their own skills. Gorrin talked through issues, and was the muscle of the group. Small yet bulky, he moved with the confident grace of a hardened fighter.

  Irazette was quieter, more reticent. She smiled a lot, but she was constantly alert‌—‌when Rodin reached into a pocket to pull out his screen, her hand flew to the blade on her hip, and he saw the controlled tension in her stance. When he started tapping, when she knew he wasn’t making any threatening moves, her stance relaxed. But she still studied him.

  Paskia told them what they knew of the Factory. Some of it was old information, but much of it Rodin hadn’t heard before. He listened carefully.

  It was about the same size as the northern Factory, although there were rumours of more levels lower down, possibly accounting for the large numbers of warriors they’d produced‌—‌and Vanya flinched at the mention of her kind as products. But she didn’t interrupt.

  There was no information on who ran the Factory. It lay on the train tunnel connecting the Dome‌—‌First Dome‌—‌to the west. To Kern Dome, the one that apparently stretched over the sea. Paskia mentioned this with a smile, and Rodin remembered how she’d always wanted to swim in the sea. Maybe one day she would, when this was all over.

  There were reportedly a few entrances, all via derelict industrial units‌—‌Paskia showed the best-guess locations on a screen. They were in an area called the Haze, by an old path that curved around the whole district, albeit overgrown now.

  “And the
re’s been a lot of recent interest in the Haze,” Paskia said.

  Vanya leaned in. “What kind of interest?”

  “Local. Growing resentment, becoming organised. We’ve got sources close by, say they could make a move any time.”

  “An attack?”

  Paskia shrugged. “Looks that way. Stupid to try, but there you go.”

  “And if the Factory’s attacked, that’ll sour the relationship between the Brothers and Authority.” As Rodin spoke the words, he saw possibilities, saw the subtle hand of Authority at work. Because they’d know about this resentment, and they’d use it to their advantage.

  Paskia tilted her head. “You have an idea?”

  “Not really. More a‌…‌a justification for Authority to end a deal.”

  Gorrin might be the muscle, but he wasn’t slow. “Like I said, poor guys. Authority’s going to screw them.”

  “So Authority’s behind the plans to attack?” Irazette asked.

  “Don’t know that for definite,” Paskia said. “Makes sense, though.”

  “And Authority wouldn’t want the Factory to be in any kind of danger,” Vanya said. “If they’re behind an attack, they know it will fail.”

  “Because they’ve got surprises waiting for the attackers.” Gorrin nodded. “Crafty buggers.”

  Vanya smiled. “Sounds like you almost respect them.”

  Gorrin shrugged. “Don’t want to underestimate them. Learn from your enemies, right?”

  Smart lad, Rodin thought. Observe, analyse, and learn. Understand the target and they become easier to predict, easier to beat.

  Just as Authority understood the dynamics in a district like this. Just as they understood the Brothers.

  “We need to know more,” he said. “Vanya, any contacts you can call on?”

  She caught his implication. “My old boss? I can try.”

  Paskia shot a confused look at Rodin. He waved a hand. “Good source. Reliable.”

  “Someone you’ve worked with?” she asked.