Fading Control

by TW Iain

  “So what happens now?” he asked.

  “I believe we have proof that the dangers in this district are a threat to the Factory, don’t you? Clearly, security needs to be tightened. And that will include a full analysis of screen footage and data logs.”

  So she knew‌—‌or heavily suspected‌—‌he’d done something with the screen in the armoury.

  “That’ll take time.”

  “Depending on resources.”

  He understood. “And Authority can always find the resources when the outcome is needed imminently.”

  “Oh, you know how they work far too well.”

  A shadow moved in the reflection on the rear of the screen, a figure approaching. Iralla didn’t look up, but the smile on her face widened a fraction.

  “One local and two warriors,” Cat said. “I’m intrigued about the thug, though. Was he a long-serving accomplice?”

  “How would I know? I’ve only been around Ross for a few days.”

  “Around or in?”

  She shook her head. “Don’t even try to trick me like that.”

  “I merely seek information. It’s what we do, isn’t it?”

  “That, and act on it.” She moved to her right, his left, placing him directly between herself and the approaching figure.

  Cat knew he couldn’t bring down another warrior. With Bear he’d been lucky.

  “We always have to act,” he said. “That’s important. Not react, but act.”

  “A fine distinction. I’m glad you understand.”

  “Oh, undoubtedly. Reactions are little more than automatic responses. But actions are‌—‌or should be‌—‌the result of logic, the result of data analysis. We observe, we plan, and then we act.”

  His stance wasn’t perfect, but that made the attack less obvious. And it fooled Iralla. He expected her to lift the screen, to attempt to use that as some kind of protection‌—‌it was a self-defence reaction that anyone would perform‌—‌and so it was easy to slide the blade low, angled upward.

  It entered her stomach just below her breast-bone, and Cat increased pressure, twisting his wrist to widen the damage to her internal organs.

  She didn’t drop the screen. Her mouth hung open, sour breath washing over Cat.

  He jerked the blade free, then rammed it home again, his hand slick, his wrist warm and moist. The woman gurgled, her eyes bulging, and her weight fell forward, supported by his arm.

  They remained like that for thirty seconds, forty, and then Cat stepped away as he pushed her with his free hand. She tumbled back, and he knelt by her side, using the dripping blade across her throat to make certain.

  He wiped the blade on the sleeve of her jacket, prised the screen from her fingers, and turned to face Cobra.

  The man was no fool. He stood back three paces, no weapon drawn, eyes passing over the three bodies on the floor before finally settling on Cat.

  “You have a few options,” Cat said. “Each has its merits and downfalls. I suggest you select wisely.”

  Cobra nodded slowly.

  “I sincerely doubt I’d stand up to you in a fight, even if you come at me without a weapon. So you could complete your initial mission. That would provide some kind of closure, I’m sure. But what then? Without my colleague around to back you up, who is likely to believe your story? Your trainer might take your side, but they have their own position to consider, don’t they? When two agents from the Dome fail to return from a routine inspection, there will be repercussions. I doubt your trainer will be willing to take the fall for you, when you’re little more than a product to those who run the Factory.”

  That last sentence struck a nerve, judging by the twitch in the man’s face. That was good‌—‌something Cat could work with.

  “Alternatively, we decide on the apparent sequence of events. The rumours of disturbances in the district are unfortunately true, and out little excursion became a target for one of their actions. They used distraction to divide us, and then pooled their resources into bringing down one of our warriors. He fought bravely, though, and attempted to protect one of the inspectors when the local hooligans turned on her. He succeeded in removing one of their number, but not before succumbing to his own injuries, and not before the attacked inspector was fatally wounded. The other inspector and warrior‌—‌that’s us, as I’m sure you realise‌—‌put up a desperate defence, but the locals clearly felt their work was done, and they disappeared into the shadows.”

  “If I’d fought,” Cobra said, his voice slow and steady, “there would be more bodies.”

  “And, when we departed, the angry mob came forward and took possession of their fallen comrades, apart from this thug here. Perhaps he was an outsider, someone they had hired to make the initial attack.” Cat grinned. “It’s not as if there will be a full-scale investigation, is it?”

  Cobra’s eyes darted around the vicinity. “Bear’s body will need to be examined, though.”

  Cat risked a glance over his shoulder. “And it would be good form to return with my colleague’s body too. Unfortunate wounds in both. Whoever threw those blades that struck Bear was an expert shot‌—‌the first in the back of his neck, forcing him to spin, and the second striking home in his forehead. A salutary reminder that we are all mortal, regardless of any advantages we may possess.”

  “And a reminder that we never know how things are going to turn out.” Cobra nodded. “Yeah, I reckon that’s exactly how this went down.”

  Cat sheathed his blade, making a mental note to clean it thoroughly as soon as he could.

  The story might buy him some time, but he’d need the blade sooner or later, when Authority made another attempt on his life.

  - 21 -

  It only took Shae a day to arrange her affairs in Ross, and she secured transport on the early-morning train, arriving in First Dome before lunch. From the station she made her way to the rooms she’d secured.

  Travel always left a sensation of grubbiness, and the first thing Shae did on entering her new rooms was to strip and spend a good ten minutes in the shower, using whatever ointments and lotions were at hand to wash the residue from her skin.

  She ordered a food delivery‌—‌a simple cold spread, for which she tipped the delivery girl far too much, but made it appear as a secret bond, some feminist thing. Shae wasn’t entirely sure how far that proto-movement had spread within First‌—‌it was more prevalent in Ross, even though the majority of those on the Council were female‌—‌but someone as young as that girl would tend toward the idealistic, especially if she had entry-level service-industry employment.

  From the train she’d sent a few messages to her usual contacts‌—‌various publications who had published her previously, some who she might almost consider friends on a superficial level, and a few others. As she ate, Shae checked for replies.

  None of the responses surprised her. Some politely expressed their disappointment at having such full schedules that they would be hard-pressed to find time for any further meetings. Others used her opening to suggest favours Shae could do, the wording designed to appear as nothing more than news of their current endeavours. A number of her contacts made vague promises to arrange meetings without giving any specifics.

  But a few were more favourable and forward, suggesting venues and times, and a very small minority actually seemed excited by the prospect of seeing Shae again. She made a mental note of these responses before selecting one to focus on. There followed a brief dialogue over communication texts, and an early afternoon drink was arranged.

  The contact‌—‌Sedghill, a self-styled patron of the arts who dabbled in reportage when he wasn’t perfecting his dancing technique‌—‌suggested Moire’s, a new cafe-bar off the main park. Shae turned up a few minutes after the agreed time, and sauntered in to the air-conditioned interior, casually seeking the man out.

  He wasn’t hard to find, even though his hair was now short and blond. His shirt, the top three buttons undone as usua
l, flapped open as he leaned in to the young man he was with. When Shae caught his eye Sedghill leaned in even closer and whispered in the youth’s ear before they both produced screens, no doubt sharing contact details.

  The young man ran his eyes over Shae as she approached, and it was clear his impressions weren’t favourable. That might have upset Shae once, but she didn’t have the necessary biological equipment this man was after. Besides, what use did she have for someone so recently released from the youth centres? Maybe once, but not now.

  “Shae!” Sedghill opened his arms, and Shae allowed herself to receive his hug, drew in the heady concoction of scent he wore‌—‌a bludgeon in case his charms failed to work. “So good to see you again. I didn’t realise you were due back.”

  “One of the unfortunate facets of my job,” she said. “They wanted me back in First, and I had to obey. But you’re looking good, as ever. You’ve had some work done?”

  He turned his head, displaying his chin. “Just a little tuck. They told me it was down to using my mouth so much, and I almost offered to show the head meditech what I could do with it.”

  Shae rolled her eyes, as Sedghill no doubt wanted. “You’ll go too far one of these days.”

  “What’s too far? Either people accept my offers, or they brush them off as extravagant self-promotion. There’s no harm.”

  He had her there, of course, and Shae’s only recourse was to roll her eyes again.

  The bartender approached, and Sedghill tapped his glass. “Another, if you please. And for my companion‌…‌what would you like?”

  “Make it a surprise. I’ve only been in for a few hours, so I need something to shock me out of my weariness.”

  Sedghill whispered into the bartender’s ear. The old man nodded, face revealing nothing, and hurried off to his back-shelf.

  Shae didn’t watch what he did, already talking the breeze with her old acquaintance. When the drink did arrive it was surprisingly tasteful, although it would contain far too much alcohol, and she forced herself to sip.

  Sedghill was doing well for himself‌—‌after losing out in a dance competition to one of his closest rivals, he’d doubled down on his practice, and was confident he’d wipe the floor with that rival next time they met. His social life was as busy as ever, with events every week, so many that, in his own words, they ‘merged in a delightful orgy of excess.’

  “What’s the mood of the Dome, then?” Shae asked after he’d gone on about his wonderful life for almost half an hour. “The true temperature.”

  “Ah.” The man’s face lost its previous exuberance. “People put on a brave face, but many are troubled. You won’t read about it‌—‌not in any official sources, at least‌—‌but it’s there.”

  “Troubled?”

  The man nodded, and then looked around with furrowed brow, like he was seeking something in the crowd.

  “It appears that travel between Domes is becoming more popular, and many don’t like that,” he said, his tone now hushed, forcing Shae to lean forward, their foreheads almost touching. “Especially when it’s unclear if those leaving are likely to return, or if they’ve turned their back on our Dome for good.”

  There was more in that comment to pick apart, and Shae gave the man a questioning look. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  He shrugged, then took a couple of fingers of his drink. “I’m not sure I can explain this adequately, but I’ll try. You, my dear, are a member of an elite club. The travel that takes you between all the Domes is a part of your job, even a part of who you are. The role you serve explains, even necessitates, this eccentricity. But for others, there is no need to travel. Some of those who have left this fine Dome recently‌—‌well, there was nothing apparent in their characters that would foreshadow such a move. There might be factors that I fail to see, but I‌—‌and many others, I should add‌—‌find the whole situation most unsettling.”

  It was an argument Shae had heard many times, but Sedghill’s tone suggested a more deep-seated problem. “And there’s been a lot of this happening?” she asked. “Does anyone know when it started?”

  “Oh, it might have been going on for years. But I suppose the current increase started with that Councillor, a year or so ago.”

  “Councillor?”

  “I believe you knew‌…‌know him. Good-looking, tight back-side. Sailor. You know the one.”

  She nodded‌—‌who else would he be referring to? “Leopold. A very welcoming fellow. And you say he left?”

  “You hadn’t heard?”

  “News doesn’t always travel as well as goods, and I always retain a healthy scepticism toward the more salacious tales I encounter.”

  “Which is why your writings are so important, my dear,” said the fawning fool. “But this Councillor disappeared. They say he’s working in another Dome, but I don’t believe there’s a clear consensus over which Dome. And then there was Daventree‌—‌another man you know, I believe?”

  “Sertio’s agent, yes? And you say he left the Dome too?”

  Sedghill nodded. “They say he was called away for some big deal involving hard negotiations. I simply can’t imagine negotiations taking that long, though. A few days, a week maybe, but what is there to talk about with art? It’s the language that speaks without words, surely. Either negotiations are still on-going or our good Daventree has been offered and accepted a new position.”

  “How’s Sertio taking this turn of events?” Shae wasn’t interested in the overweight artist, but Sedghill adored the man’s work‌—‌and probably the artist himself. Not in a physical way‌—‌Sertio was far too old, and his chosen body shape wasn’t what Sedghill went for‌—‌but as a fellow conduit of the muses, or some such nonsense.

  “Oh, my heart bleeds for that poor man! Genius can be such a fragile thing, and I fear that, for Sertio, it may be irrevocably broken. They say he’s working on a new piece, but nothing has been forthcoming from the man himself, and he only attends a few functions each month now. He’s practically a recluse. It’s such a sad state of affairs.”

  He shook his head, waving one hand. “But his new agent‌—‌I forget the man’s name, but he has a most pleasing line to his jaw‌—‌is doing all he can to pull the tortured man together. And with no new work on the horizon, he’s co-ordinating a retrospective to coincide with the upcoming celebrations.” The man tilted his head. “You’re aware of those, surely.”

  Shae pulled one of those ‘do you take me for a fool’ faces, knowing he’d approve. “I may be some years your senior, but I still retain all my mental faculties.”

  Sedghill raised his eyes. “Is that so? Even that incident with your young Councillor‌—‌what was his name again?”

  “You know very well what his name was. And along with my memory, I still retain the common decency of not bringing up old mistakes in others for my own amusement.”

  “Whereas I, my dear, believe that even mistakes should be celebrated, because they not only teach us but also provide a certain amount of entertainment.”

  “So that’s all I am to you‌—‌a source of entertainment?”

  He laughed‌—‌Sedghill was one of those characters who couldn’t cause genuine offence even if he tried. “This very conversation proves my point. I’m entertained‌—‌and what is wrong with that? Only those with limited mental faculties believe life should revolve around work. Oh, how wrong they are! The purpose of a long life is to fill it with entertainment, with wonderful memories‌—‌and in that I definitely include those embarrassing faux-pas we all make when we are younger‌—‌and not so young. Why, only last week Councillor Norish reportedly uttered the wrong name into the ear of his most recent bed-partner. The young woman found it most entertaining‌—‌see, that word again!‌—‌but dear old Norish was beside himself, embarrassed that he could be so consumed in his passions.”

  “He’s never been one for moderation, though,” she said‌—‌although she kept her private memorie
s locked away. Even if Sedghill suspected, she wasn’t willing to talk about her times with that particular Councillor.

  “Indeed not. And I say congratulations to that young woman. There are many who would like to spend time with one so capable of engaging them so fully. I even wondered if I should seek her out, just for the experience. An opportunity to see what all the fuss is about with such binary acts, as it were.”

  Shae laughed along with him, not quite sure if he was joking.

  “But the celebration,” she said, as ideas coalesced, possibilities that might appeal to Authority. “I’ve read the reports, of course, but they only say so much, don’t they? I’d be intrigued to hear what someone of your persuasive personality has discovered.”

  He sat back, faux-offended. “What kind of person do you take me for, my dear?”

  She smiled. “One who knows how to get others to use their tongues.”

  The double meaning didn’t escape him, and he beamed. “Oh, Shae, one of these days you’re going to shock me. But there’s little beyond common knowledge I can tell. The grand opening promises much, though, and preparations have already begun in the Council Gardens. Tickets are already sold out‌—‌at least, officially.”

  His smile promised much, but Shae shook her head. “You forget that I’m a journalist. I have my own methods of gaining entry.”

  “Of course you do, my dear.” His eyes shot over her shoulder, and his face fell. “But if you’ll excuse me, I’ve just spied a gentleman I must talk to.”

  Shae glanced into the mirror behind the bar, but couldn’t make out the individual Sedghill was talking about. “You don’t look too pleased about seeing him.”

  “As much as life is all about the pursuit of pleasure, it isn’t without its moments of toil. It was wonderful to catch up with you, as always, my dear. And I look forward to seeing more of you over the following months, yes? Don’t go tracking off to distant parts so quickly! We want to keep our special people close by.”