by TW Iain
“Ah, the things we do to protect the innocent. I must go, however. But we should talk again, maybe when I can find something to occupy that partner of mine.” And with that, the Councillor sashayed away, brushing against others, spreading her warmth.
Shae watched her go, running the conversation through her head, focusing on Erinya’s parting words.
There was more the Councillor had to say. And Shae looked forward to their next, hopefully more fruitful, meeting.
- 27 -
There was nothing left to do but return to the base.
Rodin collapsed in a chair as Vanya let Paskia see to her arm—a lucky hit, nothing more. The cut was long, but not too deep, and after cleaning it Paskia fixed some staple strips and covered it. Vanya remained stoic throughout.
A mug—black, strong, steaming—appeared in front of Rodin. He nodded his thanks and sipped, his body aching.
“Your turn,” Paskia said, moving to his side.
“I’m fine.”
“You grunted when you leaned over for that mug.”
“It’s called breathing out.” But Rodin knew there was no point arguing. He took off his jacket and top, leaned forward so that Paskia could examine him. And he thought of those times in Sertio’s studio, when they’d both been naked, modelling for the man. But this was different. Sweat from the fight plastered grime to his flesh, highlighting his scars. Something pulled under his left shoulder when he straightened his arm.
Paskia prodded, and Rodin internalised the pain. She muttered to herself, used alcohol wipes to clean patches of his skin.
“What about elsewhere?” she said after dropping the wipes onto the table.
He looked at her. “I’m fine.”
“You were limping when you came in. Rubbed your right thigh as soon as the door shut.” She glanced down. “Not like I haven’t seen more.”
What could he say to that?
Rodin stripped to his shorts—didn’t see why he should remove those, with everyone else in the room—and stood as Paskia poked and prodded. He was certain she smiled when he couldn’t hold in a wince, when she reached his thigh.
The bruise was already large, already swollen. At least the warrior’s boot hadn’t struck a little lower—he could have ended up with a shattered kneecap, would have needed a carry home from Vanya.
And she was watching now, holding her arm across her body.
“You were lucky,” she said.
“I know.”
“Stupid thing to try.”
“Yep.”
“Fruitless.”
“Still learnt something.”
She only raised her eyes at that, and Rodin continued. “Corby’s guard. She saw the warrior coming up behind me and ignored him. And the shot to Corby’s neck was far too precise.”
“Spy?”
“Makes sense. Did I mention she was in the room, last time I spoke to the Brothers? Got the impression she was listening more intently than they would’ve liked.”
“Which is how Authority was forewarned.”
Rodin shrugged. “Mob that size, wouldn’t have been hard to infiltrate.”
“And they already know their way around the Haze,” Gorrin said, spinning a screen so that Rodin could see. “Eye footage, ten minutes ago. Just pulled up the recording.”
Vanya leaned in, and Paskia rose to watch too.
The feed showed a residential area, narrow streets and tall, grim buildings. A group of four people hung around under a flickering street-light. They turned sharply to something beneath the Eye, something off-screen. One of them shouted. A couple pulled blades.
A figure rushed from the bottom of the image—black clothing, including a mask. It reminded Rodin of the warriors around the Factory.
The warrior—no point pretending it was anything else—killed the people with brutal efficiency, then walked on, leaving the bodies where they lay.
“Found this one, too,” Gorrin said, pulling up another recording.
In this one another warrior—possibly the same one, hard to tell—sauntered along the street, past one of the stores in the Haze. A man appeared in a doorway and raised a blunt, two-handed gun as he yelled something. The warrior sprinted, slammed the man against the door-frame before his finger managed to squeeze the trigger. Then the warrior grabbed the man’s head and snapped his neck.
“Any real-time feeds?” Vanya asked. “Can we see what’s happening now?”
“I’ll try.” Gorrin took back the screen, tapped and swiped. “Uran?” He slid the screen along the table.
Uran hadn’t watched the footage, but he was still pale. His fingers trembled as they danced over the glass.
“Here,” he said, passing it back. He swallowed, and his cheeks puffed out.
“Get a drink of water if you need it,” Paskia said. Uran nodded, jumped to the food prep.
With the sound of running water in the background, Rodin watched the grainy image. The street was on the edge of the Haze, and in the background flames from the industrial area flickered into the night sky. A couple of bodies lay on the ground, one with their head at a grotesque angle, the other with half their face missing and a large rock resting by their shoulder.
“Clearing the area,” Vanya said.
“Just the Haze?” Paskia asked that quickly.
Gorrin looked over his shoulder, to the door. “We safe?”
“Safe as we can be.” But when she said that, Paskia didn’t meet Gorrin’s eyes.
“How’s the Eye coverage?” Vanya asked.
Paskia shook her head. “Not great.” In the bright overhead light, her face was washed-out, lines stretching from her eyes.
Rodin reached for his trousers. “We need to know how far this is spreading,” he said, wincing as he put his legs into the fabric.
“You’re in no state to head out,” Paskia said, pushing him back into the chair, his trousers only up to his thighs.
“Can’t sit here and wait.” He shuffled, pulled his trousers up higher and fastened his belt. His thigh throbbed, and he winced again. “We need to know what’s happening.”
A hand rested on his shoulder, and Rodin turned, looked up at Vanya.
“I’ll go.”
“Two sets of eyes’ll be better.”
“Not if only one returns. Quick recon, then I’ll report back.” Vanya turned to Paskia. “Sound like a plan?”
Paskia nodded. “Just be careful.”
“Always.”
She lifted her hand, pulled on her jacket. One sleeve hung loose, and she grabbed a roll of tape, did what she could. Then she was gone.
“Get as many Eyes online as you can,” Paskia said to Uran. “Gorrin, check our security. And wake Irazette while you’re at it. We need to be ready.”
Rodin reached for his top, but Paskia was there first, holding it out so that all he had to do was raise his arms. His shoulder ached as she pulled the fabric down.
“And you need rest,” she said. She reached for a spare screen, slid it across the table to Rodin. “Don’t want you moving around, but you can monitor the Eyes with Uran.”
Rodin nodded, knew there was no point arguing, because she had this under control.
At least, she had the situation in the base under control. But out there, in the district that the Paternas Brothers thought they ran, control was now firmly in the hands of Authority.
- 28 -
Shae drifted in that comfortable stage between wakefulness and sleep. The air was heavy with hormones and sweat, the kind of atmosphere she’d grown to appreciate rather than actively enjoy.
Erinya groaned and shifted to one side. “I don’t know about you two, but I could do with a drink after that. Coffee? I’ll start a fresh brew.”
She slid from the bed, and Shae watched her walk from the room, noticed the twist of her hips, the placement of her feet. Such a fine actress, that one—even post-coital, she still played her part. An
d, of course, she still had the body for it. She never openly spoke of procedures, either, playing a subtle game to leave others wondering how much was natural.
“You won’t be offended if I grab a shower, will you?” Millarov asked, and the concern on his face was genuine.
“It’s your home,” Shae said as she let her head fall back on the pillow. She looked up at the ceiling, but couldn’t stop herself turning, just to see Erinya’s partner walk across the room, with his perfect flat stomach and tight back-side. Not the best conversationalist, though, and he did have a frustrating habit of putting his foot in it, but he meant well. And he was dedicated to Erinya. Shae believed he only went after other women because it was what he thought she expected.
It was a complicated relationship, but that didn’t stop Shae enjoying the benefits it provided, both physical and in terms of information she could uncover.
Erniya appeared in the doorway, tray in hand. She placed it on the table by the twin chairs, careful not to disturb the three mugs and the antique-looking coffee pot—but Erinya always did like form over substance, didn’t she?
“I thought he’d head into the shower,” Erinya said as she slid back under the sheets. “He’ll probably start singing soon.” She rolled her eyes.
In truth, his voice wasn’t too poor, maybe even passable if he put in some effort. But it was loud enough to ring over the sound of the jets, and Shae prepared to push it from her mind.
“You know,” Shae said, propping herself up so that she could grab a mug when Erinya had finished pouring, “I don’t think he’ll ever get used to you.”
“I sincerely hope not. Understanding would remove so much pleasure.”
“And, of course, you knew he’d struggle to cope alone with me,” Shae said. “Just as you knew he always closes the door to the shower when I’m here.”
Erinya tilted her head. “Are you suggesting I went to prepare drinks before he took the opportunity, simply to get you alone, my dear?”
“I’m sure I’d suggest nothing of the sort.” Millarov’s voice, deep but muffled, drifted into the bedroom. “He normally spends a long time under the jets, doesn’t he?”
“Oh, my dear, you read me far too well.” Erinya placed her mug on the bedside table. “And you’re correct—there are things of which I must speak, things that I would rather not burden dear Milly with.”
“Concerning the rumours of trouble in the districts?”
The woman let out a sigh, her chest inflating and then dropping slowly while never losing its form. And Shae once again realised how comfortable Erinya was as a person. She could use her naked body as a tease, for pure pleasure, but then she could sit without clothes simply because this was who she was, this was the woman beneath all the outer accoutrements of her office and her position and the countless other factors that she was forced to assimilate into her being. The Erinya who sat on this bed, mug in her hands, was as bare a person as it was possible to find in the Dome.
But that didn’t mean she was totally open, and Shae still had to stay alert. She snaked her hand up to her chest, to where the pendant rested against her skin, the one thing she had not removed during the slow build of their evening.
But a hand reached out and rested on her own. It didn’t exert pressure, but its presence was enough to stop Shae.
“I don’t think these words should be assigned a permanent record. Let’s rely purely on our natural mental faculties, shall we?”
Shae let her hand fall to her side. “I apologise,” she said.
“Never apologise for doing your job. But thank you.”
“Of course.” It wasn’t as if Shae would be able to use a recording beyond an aid to her memory, and so she’d simply have to concentrate harder. “But you were about to speak,” she prompted.
“I was. Not of the districts, although there may well be a connection. No, there’s something else. More movement than normal, including many relocations of prominent public figures—high-level Councillors, business leaders, influencers and so on.”
This was confirmation, then, of Sedghill’s words.
“Relocations? You mean disappearances, like…” Dare she mention the name? Yes—Erinya’s open-ness demanded equal honesty from Shae. “Like Leopold?”
The woman shrugged. “He might have been the first to come to my attention, but maybe that was down to the peculiar nature of that case. I’d ask if you’ve seen the man in Ross, but I don’t believe I want to hear the answer. And there have been a few sudden disappearances, as you call them, since then. But most of these relocations have been signalled ahead of time, often with sending-off parties, although these have been quite intimate affairs.”
Shae’s mind jumped through logic, filtered through her own understanding of situations. “Those who made a thing about their relocations—were they a disparate group, or were there certain similarities between them?”
“I believe you’re way ahead of me, my dear. At first glance, each case is individual, and the reasons given for movement as unique as could be—business deals, the opportunity to apprentice with others, the need to seek specialist meditech treatment only available elsewhere. But I had intimate dealings with many of those relocating—not our kind of intimacy, dear, but a purely professional manner—and I can firmly say that they all swayed toward a particular understanding regarding the security of our Dome.”
“They all called for greater freedom of movement?”
Erinya shook her head. “That is where this whole issue becomes even more troubling. If the powers that be were attempting to silence the voice of dissension, I could understand that—not accept it, of course, but I could intuit the need for…those who orchestrate the greater movements within the Dome to remove such free-thinking. But those who are leaving now are far more likely to be those who voice the opposite opinion, who call for tighter security both within and without the glass.”
Shae frowned. “But that makes no sense. Why would Authority remove those who support their ideas?”
“As I say, the whole thing is troubling. It almost feels like…oh, I’m not sure I have the words for this.”
Shae gave the woman time, as Millarov changed his tune. He now sang an upbeat number, something vaguely familiar. Although Shae couldn’t make out the words from the shower, she knew them anyway. They were throwaway, nothing like the poetry in more artful songs, although maybe the blandness of them accounted for the song’s current popularity. Music, like all art, could be just as much an escape as a confrontation.
“Those who have left this Dome carried a great deal of influence, and with their absence there has been a noticeable rise in those expressing opposite views,” Erinya continued. “I know I’ve always been considered outspoken, but my words appear almost commonplace now. There has even been open talk in the Council regarding gates.” She narrowed her eyes. “You have heard of the supposed gates, yes?”
Shae nodded. “Access points between the Dome and the districts. Yes, I’m party to the usual rumours.” And, of course, she knew far more—but this wasn’t the place to offer her knowledge. “So you’re saying that there is a groundswell in support for…for the ideas Councillor Leopold expressed?”
It made no sense. Authority sought the removal of the Councillor to prevent his ideas proliferating, yet now they were separating the Dome’s residents from those who would speak against such notions. It was as if they had changed their minds totally, as if they had abandoned their previous hard-line stance.
But Authority didn’t change. Shae had read ancient reports and had studied as much as she could. Authority was as solid as the glass itself, staunch in its adherence to rules of society.
“It worries me greatly,” Erinya said. “It shouldn’t, because this freedom of thought has been a goal of mine—of ours—for so long. But it feels as if we are being…set up for something.”
And that was it.
<
br /> A chill ran down Shae’s spine, and she shuddered, the warmth of the coffee long gone. She swallowed, and nodded.
“We are,” she said.
Erynia frowned. “Are what?”
Shae took a breath, as if that would remove the pressure building behind her eyes. “We’re being set up. Authority’s abandoning the Dome.”
- 29 -
Paskia didn’t know how much time had passed. She could have read the chrono on the screen, but her attention was fixed on the feeds. And the map Uran had called up, the one on which he plotted any incident they caught.
It wasn’t all of them, of course. There was still far too much Paskia didn’t know.
All she could do was work with what she had. Wasn’t that one of Cat’s lessons? Nothing was ever perfect. All anyone could do was make the best with whatever was at hand. He’d phrased it far more eloquently than that, of course, but the message was the same.
“Any idea how many warriors are based in the Factory?” she asked, looking up, trying not to direct her gaze toward Rodin. But he knew the question was for him.
“Not a clue. Assume a lot.”
As if that was any help.
“They can be stopped, though,” Uran said. “Our guys have brought a few down.”
That was true—there had been footage showing warriors falling under a hail of bullets—but it didn’t happen often. And when one warrior fell, it felt like another three took their place.
“Any pattern in their movements?”
“Nothing obvious.” Uran tapped, updating the map—he must have seen something in one of the feeds he had open. On Paskia’s screen another red dot appeared on her map.
Rodin leaned over his screen, finger tracing a line. He clicked his tongue, nodded slowly.
“Share,” she said. “Even if it’s only an idea.”
His shoulders rose and fell, and Paskia saw another intake of breath—whatever he’d done to his arm was still causing him problems.
“Reckon I know where they’re heading.” He placed a finger on his screen, shuffled to let Paskia see. “The Brothers’ base.”
