by TW Iain
Uran shook his head. “You can’t know that. Not enough data.”
“This was always an excuse for Authority to take over. Said that before.”
“Doesn’t look like the warriors are rushing,” Paskia said, “but there might be ones our Eyes have missed.”
Rodin frowned. “You’ve got something?”
Did she? “Just wondering if we can get to the Brothers before the warriors. They—Jornas—could do with a heads-up. Not much help we can offer, though. And he probably has his own intel. You reckon Cobey’s involvement was planned, or something he did off his own back?”
The words were jumbled, and she felt colour rising in her cheeks. But Rodin didn’t show any kind of confusion.
“Planned,” he said. “And you’re right—Jornas will know the situation.”
“So the best thing we can do is monitor. Right?”
Rodin didn’t answer, turned his attention back to the screen. No—he dropped his head, but his eyes clouded. Thinking, then. At least that gave him something to do.
“Gorrin,” she said, looking up to the man by the door. “We secure?”
“Done everything I can.” He shuffled his feet as he spoke, and his face was drawn, the skin heavy under his eyes.
“We need to be ready for any eventuality,” Paskia said. “Better check evacuation kit. Just in case.” It would give Gorrin something to do, help keep his nerves at bay.
She turned from the door to her screen, brought up the communicator. Still nothing.
“Uran. Any news from Irazette or Vanya?”
“Got Razzy’s location locked.” He tapped, and a green dot appeared on Paskia’s map—last known location, but the tech wasn’t perfect, and she knew this couldn’t be relied upon. “Close enough to call back. You want to do that?”
There was a kind of desperation in his voice, and Paskia could understand that. She wanted the woman back too, needed to know her team were all safe. But that was only part of her mission, wasn’t it? Safety was only important if it allowed them to continue working. With Authority’s warriors on the move, the need for data was more important.
Paskia took a breath, shook her head. “If you can reach her, tell her to get those Eyes set up as soon as possible, but don’t rush. We can’t afford mistakes.”
No more mistakes, she corrected internally. They’d missed the whole uprising until it was too late, hadn’t even considered that the district’s residents might band together.
But she couldn’t change what had happened.
“Anything from Vanya?”
Uran shook his head, shot a look to Rodin. Even though he seemed distant, he shook his head too.
“Too used to working on her own,” he said, as if that made everything okay.
He’d been using his screen. Must have moved his fingers fast, as Paskia hadn’t noticed anything, but he had a communication box open, the words too small for her to read, the cursor blinking.
“Jornas?” she asked.
Rodin nodded. “Not answering, though. Got a message off to Genna, keeping her up to date.”
But the mention of Genna was a distraction. “So what do you want to do about Jornas?”
“Thought you told me to stay out of it.”
“Said you needed to rest. Different thing. Just tell me what you’re thinking.”
He sighed. “It’s not over yet. Warriors are taking their time—Authority doesn’t reckon there’s any urgency, reckons it’s all wrapped up. So maybe I head over to Jornas, push for some kind of cooperation again.”
He didn’t look at her, and she was thankful for that, because her first thought was to scream at him for being so bloody stupid. He was injured, he’d been in that battle, he hadn’t slept for ages. He was in no fit state to trail across the district, especially with warriors prowling about.
But he was right. It wasn’t over yet. She might have Gorrin preparing for them to run—although she didn’t want to do that, especially not with Irazette still out there—but the warriors weren’t close enough for that. Their main force seemed to be focused on the Haze. That made sense—it would make the attacks look like simple retribution.
As if anything Authority did was simple. Or a knee-jerk reaction. And Rodin was right in his assessment of the whole situation—Authority was working to control the whole district directly. They needed to remove their intermediaries.
The remaining Brother was a target.
“That going to help?” Gorrin said. He was over by the storage unit, sealing the last evacuation pack, but he’d been listening to the conversation—good to know he was still alert. “He’s working for Authority anyway. Why not let them get rid of the bastard?”
“He’s working for himself,” Rodin said, his voice calmer than Paskia had anticipated. “We get him onside, we can work with him. Get Genna and Dephloren to co-ordinate some kind of defence.”
“Against Authority?” Gorrin pushed the evacuation pack aside. “Is that even realistic? Thought you had your feet on the ground. That’s what she’s always said,” and he stabbed a finger in Paskia’s direction. Had she talked about Rodin that much? “What was it you said? Something about only picking fights he could win. You really think you can win against Authority?”
“We can’t give up,” Paskia said.
“Fine.” Gorrin lifted his hands, let them fall with a slap against his thighs. “Let this fool rush off, get himself killed. Not like he’s done much already. Couldn’t stop that bloody attack, could he?”
Paskia slammed her palm on the table. “He did all he could. That’s all any of us can do. And I won’t have you bringing morale down like that.”
She almost jumped at the sensation of movement to her left, and she glared at Rodin as he leaned in, one hand brushing her raised arm. She didn’t even realise she’d clenched her fist, one finger extended, pointed like a weapon at Gorrin.
Gorrin’s eyes widened. He swallowed.
“Tough situation,” Rodin said. “Easy to let nerves take over.” Paskia didn’t know if the words were directed at her or Gorrin, and Rodin’s head turned to look at both of them. “So far, you’re keeping a lid on things, staying safe. Don’t blow it now.”
He moved his arm back, his face twisting in pain. “Do we stand a chance against Authority? Hard to say. But if we don’t do anything, they win anyway. Way I see it, we don’t have many options. Didn’t choose this fight, but we’re in it, right?”
Paskia nodded, as did Gorrin. He also dropped his head, and Paskia wondered if she should feel shame too. Yes, she’d almost lost control of the situation, but she knew she couldn’t beat herself up about that.
And it was a hard situation. Once again, Rodin was right.
She turned to him.
“We’ll hold the base,” she said. “We’ll learn all we can. You do whatever you need to.”
He nodded and rose, stowing his screen. He grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and threaded his arms into the sleeves. Then, without a word, without a look back, he left.
- 30 -
Shae’s review of the dance performance came out surprisingly well, considering her mind was on other matters. She was pleased with the ambiguities within the piece, how they could be both provocative and decorous. Some said it clearly showed the stability and professionalism of the current Lilithong troupe, but others felt it was a polite call for change within the ranks, and that she was in favour of Orrian taking a lead position in future productions.
Just the kind of review she was known for, although personally she couldn’t care less what role Orrian played, or how Lilithong organised themselves. But these things mattered to others, and it was always good to stoke the fires of healthy debate.
More troubling was the resurgence of some of her older reports, especially those concerning Correction. Oh, it was gratifying that those old works still gained new readers, but for so long they’d been subtly pushed aside
, hidden in the depths of the Dome’s various systems, behind locked doors. For years, Authority had diverted attention away from anything that encouraged free-thinking, yet now it felt as if they welcomed open conversation, as if they had turned a new leaf, become a far more liberal organisation.
And there were the upcoming celebrations, a time to reflect on the Dome’s past—or, rather, on the Dome’s past as dictated by Authority. The way things were going, it was easy to imagine the various events the Council had planned becoming flashpoints for heated discussion, and they were the perfect opportunity for those with a more radical bent to…to cause major disruption.
But what did those words mean? What kind of disruption could aid those who believed in freedom of thought and action? What did Authority know that made them confident enough to seemingly welcome their detractors?
The whole matter needed serious investigation.
But Shae also had her ‘acceptable’ obligations, those she should meet, the publications with which she had various contracts. And that meant her days were fast becoming consumed with the constant back and forth of communication. Every time she checked her screen there were more messages demanding responses. Some appeared nonchalant while hiding formal requests, others had friendly messages hidden in eloquence worthy of a Councillor.
And then there was the message from Parren. She read that one with particular care.
I heard you were back in our fine Dome, the message ran. I realise we had our differences before you left, but I still hold you in very high regard, and once again apologise for any unsavoury words I used, and any harm I caused. In light of this, and if time permits, I’d like to make amends. Would you be amenable to an appointment, possibly over a drink or a meal, where we can clear the air between us and possibly ensure some good comes from our fractured relationship?
Your friend (if you still think of me as such),
Parren.
On the face of it, this was an open offer of reconciliation—but they had never parted on sour terms. Yes, they had their differences, especially after Parren called Authority on Terrell when the artist’s assistant entered his home, but Parren’s dislike of Authority was his driving force always. If he wished to meet Shae, that must mean he had news.
She replied, polite to a fault. She explained how busy her schedule was—surely he’d understand—and gave some examples of just how constant were her commitments. She had an early breakfast interview with Councillors Porack and Deraiah, followed by a booking at the Council Records for an hour. After that there was a meeting with Federick regarding an upcoming exhibition, then an engagement at Boulaie’s, a round-table event with various business owners who wished to receive some kind of recommendation from Shae. Why, she’d only have a scant half-hour to herself, after all those owners departed, when she could finally enjoy a meal as she recuperated from the morning’s exertions.
Parren’s response expressed regret that they couldn’t meet sooner, and suggested a future date. Shae told him she’d have to consider—she might not be free until after the opening celebrations.
But Parren was smart. He’d understand her hidden message.
If she booked one of the alcove tables at Boulaie’s, for directly after the business engagement—she’d have to use her notoriety, most likely—then they could grab a few minutes. Enough for him to tell her what was going on.
“You’ve had another procedure,” Shae said as Parren eased himself into the seat to her right, putting his back to the wall rather than to the room. “Working on your chest, yes?”
He glanced down. “No procedure—I decided to take my body into my own hands, as it were. If it’s good enough for certain professions that aren’t spoken of in polite society, it should be good enough for me.”
Shae nodded, not quite following the logic. “You wish to emulate someone like that?”
“Not the work, of course. But the attainment of a supremely functioning body? That has to be worth the effort, surely.”
“So you can go up against him, next time he appears.”
“Oh, I doubt that would happen. From my understanding, that individual is no longer around.”
He let that sentence, in all its ambiguity, hang as the server approached, Shae’s tall glass and plate on his tray. He looked down to Parren.
“That looks appetising,” Parren said, glancing at Shae’s salad. “I believe I’ll have the same. Thank you.”
“Very well, sir.” The server bowed and departed, tray neatly tucked under his arm. Shae waited until she was out of sight before turning back to Parren.
“You’re ordering salad?”
“Am I not allowed to change? After all, so much has changed in our fine Dome since your last visit.”
There it was—the opening she wanted. Shae leaned in. “So I understand. It’s now more acceptable for idiots to spout nonsense without correction.”
“And some things remain constant. Do you have to talk like that, my dear? There’s no need for your caustic persona when you’re around me.”
“My apologies.” Not that she should have to apologise for who she was, especially not to Parren. “So tell me—what’s the major change? What do you need to tell me?”
He didn’t answer, and his mouth twisted, now a smile, now an expression of serious contemplation. His eyes darted from hers to her salad to the rest of the room.
She hated herself for acting in such a way, but she leaned in, reached out, and placed a hand on his forearm, holding it to the table. Like one might settle a fractious child.
“What’s happening, Parren?”
This time he held her gaze, and his eyes were wide and wild, fine lines spreading from their corners as his face struggled to keep the smile in check.
“It’s finally happening,” he said. “They’ve lost.”
Shae had only felt this peculiar mixture of ice and sticky heat once before, and that had been when the assassin Terrell had murdered those two protectors in her very home, saving that slip of a girl and—of all the things she’d never expected—turned to Shae for help, offering her something she’d believed unattainable. But now, as Parren’s child-like exuberance imbibed his words with such zeal, Shae once again felt that combination of dread, excitement and confusion.
And there was trepidation—no, fear—that Parren’s next words would change everything, that they would upturn her whole world.
But she had to hear them.
“Who’s lost? Tell me!”
He rested his free hand on top of hers. His skin was warm and unpleasantly moist, but Shae couldn’t remove her own hand.
“Authority.” The word hissed from his lips like a breath, washing over her in all its cloying warmth. “They’ve lost, Shae. The Dome’s opening.”
- 31 -
Genna had the lights low in her office. Normally, that made her sleepy, but Rodin’s message set her mind buzzing.
She took a sip of her water—nothing too strong, not this time of night, or morning, or whatever it was now—and readied herself. Then she called up the link with Miolar.
He answered within a couple of heartbeats.
“Good thing us old folk don’t sleep much,” he said. There was no image—took up too much bandwidth for the secure system, or something like that—but Genna could imagine him sitting in an office, drink in hand. “Take it this isn’t a social call.”
“When do we get the chance for one of them?”
“Quite.”
“It’s serious.” She took another breath. “You had any reports from the western Factory?”
“Recently?”
“Last few hours.”
“Some large ruckus. Sounds like the hundred didn’t deplete their supply of warriors.”
“They could have anything down below.”
“Take it that little reconnaissance group hasn’t uncovered anything yet. They causing all thi
s trouble?”
“Trying to stop it.” She took another sip, then told him the basics—pretty much read Rodin’s communication, embellished it with some pertinent information.
“So the whole district’s destabilised,” Miolar said. “Warriors running wild. I’d imagine Authority want us to believe they’ve gone rogue—protected the Factory, then got too much of a taste for blood.”
“Might be the case if there were only one or two.”
“I concur. So this is planned.”
“Clearly.”
“And their target is the Paternas Brothers.”
“Only one left.”
“Jornas. The smarter one. That’s in our favour.”
“It’s not a lot.” Genna tapped her fingers on the table. “I’m stretched down here, but I could free up some personnel. How are you?”
Miolar didn’t respond straight away, and when he did his voice was flat. “This isn’t the best time. You know that.”
“So does Authority.”
“I’m already spread too thin. It doesn’t help that you convinced me to track the party heading north.”
How could Genna forget? “Any news on them?”
“Camped to the north of the Dome, couple of hundred meters from the tunnel. Records show an old entrance.”
“Through the glass?”
“Where else? Hasn’t been used for years, though. At least, not officially.”
Genna thought back, to when both Cat and Rodin sat in this office, when she learnt that crossing the glass was a possibility. She assumed Cat’s way across was via Red—at least, that was where Rodin arranged for her to wait, when he brought Leopold across. But it made sense that there was more than one way into the Dome.
“That’s worrying,” she said.
“And illogical. Authority already has the Dome. It’s more likely they’re setting up a temporary camp before moving off elsewhere.”
“The northern Factory?”
“Very possible. Your friends within might need to know.”
“I’m keeping them up to date. But back to the western Factory. You sure you can’t spare anyone? If Authority ousts the Brothers, they’ll be on your doorstep.”
