by TW Iain
Her nod was only small, little more than a jerk of her head, and she didn’t beam at him. But her expression was…comforting. Rodin hesitated, felt like he should say something else.
“Then go clean up,” she said. “And put on some fresh clothes. Those ones stink.”
That wasn’t the Paskia he knew from Ross. She’d never have been so blunt. But that was fine—no, that was good. This Paskia spoke her mind. This Paskia didn’t hide behind social niceties.
He wanted to respond, something about how she didn’t smell so fresh herself. But as he inhaled, as he caught her aroma—and there was a hint of sweat, a sign that she’d been up for a while, working hard—he couldn’t find the right words.
So he nodded, then left the room.
Vanya treated suspicion as a survival tactic, reserved trust for a select few. And while it didn’t surprise her that she was on edge, the extent of her unease did.
The whole situation felt out of her control, like she was being played. There were too many coincidences, too much that didn’t quite make sense, as if there was something she was missing, some important concept she hadn’t grasped. It was like this chess game Paskia had tried to show her. The rules seemed simple enough, but in the playing Vanya soon found herself lost, while Paskia seemed to see beyond the board.
That was it. Vanya could see all the pieces—the warriors, Jornas, the help coming from their allies—but she couldn’t imagine how things would play out.
She finished off the food in her bowl.
Irazette and Gorrin had spied more warrior activity—the aftermath, at least—and had passed their data over to Uran. He’d updated his database-map thing, and they’d all huddled around his screen as he’d swooped over the district, showing them the random attacks.
And that was something else—the attacks did appear random, like the warrior attacks in Genna’s district. But that didn’t mean they were.
Paskia was onto this. Vanya could tell. Something in the way one side of the woman’s mouth twitched as she scanned the data, the inclination of her head. Like she was trying to form a picture from disparate dots.
Smart girl, that one. Clearly had a thing for Rodin—and he was responding. Sure, they had a shared history—Paskia had mentioned a few things in passing—but Rodin always treated the past as the past, something that didn’t impinge on the now. He didn’t even look to the future, as far as she could tell.
So his reactions to Paskia might have been comical, if in a different situation. It was almost cute, how he couldn’t figure out how to act around her.
But that wasn’t her concern right now. Vanya needed to stop her mind wandering, needed to focus on her suspicions.
And that was why she signalled to Rodin as everyone sat back, away from their food bowls. She caught his eye, then jerked her head toward the door.
That was all it took. The smile fell from his face—and that smile had been genuine, not something he’d worn because it was expected of him—and he drained his flask of water. He rose, as did Vanya.
Paskia noticed this, of course, and her eyes jumped from Rodin to Vanya and back again. There might have been a flicker of jealousy, but Vanya didn’t think so. Paskia was a smart one, and she…trusted Rodin.
Probably more than she should, but nobody was perfect.
“Business,” she said to the group as a whole. “Just need a moment.”
As if she needed to excuse herself. But it was better to remain on good terms with these people. They were her allies, after all. She could almost trust them.
The night was refreshingly cool. Others might find it cold, but not Vanya. And the temperature didn’t bother Rodin either.
“You got something?” The camaraderie of his earlier smile fell away and he narrowed his eyes, serious and intent. This was the professional Rodin, the one Vanya could deal with.
She nodded. “Possibly. Suspicions.”
“About the group?”
“No. Seem like a good bunch.” She hesitated, then said, “Paskia’s leading them well. After what she’s been through, she’s surprisingly strong.”
He shrugged, his expression betraying nothing. “Always has been. Just needed the right outlet to show it.”
His gaze never faltered, both daring her to make something of this and urging her to get to the matter in hand. At least this whole relationship thing—was it too early to use that term?—wasn’t clouding his thinking.
“Good allies,” she said. “Maybe.”
“Tell me.”
“Nothing I can put my finger on.”
“Normally that way with suspicions.”
“Right. But Dephloren assigns some of his people to us, and Borinoff does the same thing.”
His shrug was a fraction slower than Vanya might have expected, an indication that he wasn’t sure of things either.
“Both play their own game,” he said. “Coincidence doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
Giving her the logical answer, forcing her to voice her concerns. He could be annoying at times—but with good reason.
“Not necessarily,” she said, leading him into her thoughts. “They both hesitated at first, said they were too busy—not their exact words, but the subtext. Then they both relented at the same time. And Borinoff’s wording, the whole ‘for the cause’ thing—that doesn’t strike you as out of character?”
“Paskia was right—we don’t know him personally. Chooses his words with care, though, so it’s not a slip. It’s intentional.”
“I get that. But what’s he trying to say?”
Rodin shrugged. “You’ve had more contact with him. Reckon you’re in a better position to figure this out.”
He was right, of course. Not that it helped.
“Maybe message Genna,” he said. And, again, there was nothing in his expression, nothing behind the words.
Except, maybe, an understanding. He knew there was something off, and he also knew that Genna was good—no, great—with people.
Vanya nodded. “Might be worth a shot,” she said, the message already forming in her mind.
With everything that was happening in the district, the last thing she needed was more confusion.
- 38 -
Don wouldn’t like Cat’s current actions, but there were things he needed to do. And if Don called him out on this, Cat would say that he needed space to think, and would argue that this was how he worked, would point to his past record of doing this exact thing. Don might make a scene of Cat ignoring instructions, but nothing official existed in writing, and the words the man had used in their conversation contained the usual Authority ambiguities. Don had no official comeback.
Not that this would stop Don taking further steps against Cat, of course. But only if Cat’s presence out here was reported.
Cat walked the streets of the districts around Ross, conscious that he was avoiding thinking of his situation, pretending to himself that nothing had changed. But if that was the case, why take this clandestine route across the glass? Why involve Salika?
Was that a sensible move? Cat wasn’t definite, but he trusted Salika—at least, as far as he trusted anyone who worked for Authority. They had a history, of course, a professional relationship formed over the years. Cat always suspected she possessed a rebellious streak, that she only did her job so well because she didn’t want to upset her superiors—not through loyalty, but because of what they could do to her, how they could make her existence more of a struggle than it already was. And the way she’d opened up to him led Cat to…what, hope? Maybe. Yes, he hoped she shared his suspicions about Authority. He hoped she was an ally.
If she wasn’t, then Don already knew he’d left the Dome.
There was nothing he could do about that now, though.
Cat headed straight to The Galleon, an old building with a bar at street level
and a maze of rooms above. The landlord—a large, uncouth (even by district standards) man of about fifty who called himself Captain—wasn’t around, so Cat bought a drink from one of his assistants instead, one Cat didn’t recognise. She was young, and unsure what to say to Cat, so he took his drink to a table, sat for a while as he swiped away on his screen—the older, battered model he reserved for working in the districts. When the girl headed into the back-room, Cat slipped through the door toward the stairs, found his room, and used the old pass-code to gain access.
He wouldn’t have put it past Captain to change the code, but Cat paid well, and he’d inserted a loop in the code, a secondary sequence that would always let Cat in. The loop also gave him access to Captain’s own system, and the first thing he did after closing the door was call up the records from the last year.
It was no surprise to see footage of Captain snooping around the room, and even less of a shock to see him letting others use the room. Cat could hardly blame him for making what he could with an unoccupied room, and it was with mild amusement that Cat perused the multitudes who passed through—couples requiring somewhere private for an hour or so, business meetings, exchanges of bound packages, a few overnight visitors who left early in the morning.
The room itself was small, the bed leaving little space for the storage unit and the hard chair by the window. There was a shower room, so cramped that it was a feat of some manipulation to close the shower door. But it was a place to stay, a place where Cat could have a certain amount of privacy. He’d set up loops on all the Eyes—and his previous viewing indicated that Captain had installed a fourth, in the crack that was spreading across the ceiling—and his own screen was shielded from outside interference.
He stripped the bed, then used the cleaning utensils stored under the sink, giving the place a thorough clean. Captain had his own people for this, of course, but they cut far too many corners. Besides, the man assuredly appreciated Cat’s extra attentions, just as he had no problem with Cat using the laundry room, the one that should have been for employees only, to give his bed linen a deep—by district standards—clean.
The man’s latest employee, the girl from the bar, popped her head in as Cat sat in front of the washer. He smiled at her, and she backed out without a word. Clearly she wasn’t one to confront—her survival tactic was to stay out of trouble. He hoped that worked out for her.
With the linen cleaned and the bed made—it wouldn’t be a comfortable night, but he’d sleep—Cat left The Galleon. He bought a meal at a local eatery—some kind of beans with rice, the lack of flavour hidden under the heat—then returned to his room, woke his screen and set to work.
There was security on every system, but those within the Dome had more than most. There were ways to circumvent many, if not all, of these measures, but doing so took time, and there was a high risk of tripping an alert. Out here in the districts, however, systems weren’t as integrated, and it was relatively easy for Cat to reach out for the worm he’d inserted in the Factory’s system. The worm had embedded itself, and the opening data indicated that its casing had not been breached. Cat familiarised himself with the structure of the Factory’s system before diving into the data itself.
Much of the information was of no importance to Cat—countless spreadsheets and databases that detailed the minutiae of the workfloors. He pushed deeper, through the extra layers of security the worm had circumvented, down into the warriors’ levels.
As light pushed its slow way through the flimsy window coverings, as the pre-dawn woke the districts, Cat had an adequate grasp on the situation.
And it concerned him greatly.
There were no explicit instructions, but subtle shifts in training, along with the stockpiling and procurement of various items, heavily suggested the warriors within the Factory were preparing to move out. There was no set date, but it would be soon.
Cat’s screen cracked the encryption on the Factory’s communication files, and he perused the back and forth between Therick and his masters. Again, the majority of this was concerned with the drudgery of the Factory, but there were references to the warriors, much of it shrouded. But Cat understood how Authority talked, and he soon understood what wasn’t being openly stated.
The warriors would be heading south, to First Dome. Where Salika’s information suggested preparations for an assault on the Dome itself. Where the northern Factory was being run by those opposing Authority. Where warriors disrupted attempts to rebuild the southern districts. And where plans were afoot to open up gates across the glass itself.
And Don worked to keep Cat in Ross, analysing data like some administrative junior.
Cat couldn’t believe this was all coincidence, and he nodded slowly to himself. He could no longer avoid the building realisation, the gut-wrenching choice that he must make.
But, in truth, it wasn’t a choice. He’d always known this moment would come. Hadn’t his recent actions indicated this? Hadn’t they been symptoms of a decision already taken, of a path already defined?
Authority wanted Cat out of the way—and he well understood the meaning beneath those words. And so, if he valued his life, Cat must continue on his path, must make a clean break. He had no option but to sever his connection with Authority, to openly declare himself an enemy.
As the light of the new day filtered into his room, Cat planned.
- 39 -
Erinya’s office offered a grand view of the Council gardens. It was much like Leopold’s old office, Shae thought, although Erinya’s higher standing in the Council naturally led to an office on one of the upper levels. But like Leopold, she had the desk by the wall, the easy chairs and low table in front of the windows.
Erinya sipped her water, the sleeves of her lightweight top brushing the table. It was of a cut that Shae knew she’d never pull off, her body the wrong shape. But more than that, the flow of the material matched the Councillor’s personality, soft waves that were designed to hang just so, the material shimmering as it seemed to reflect the colours around it.
“Your manner suggests this isn’t to be a simple chat,” the Councillor said.
“Unfortunately not. And I thank you for making time in your busy schedule for me.” Shae leaned forward, over the table. “May I speak bluntly?”
It wasn’t a question of etiquette, as Erinya well understood. The Councillor nodded. “We’re unobserved. Please continue.”
Shae took a breath. “It has come to my attention that there are plans to…break down certain barriers between ourselves and the districts.”
Erinya’s head tilted to the right, and she took in a long, steady breath before saying, “There are always those who desire greater communication with our brothers and sisters on the far side of the glass. Many would consider such a plan to be extremely positive.”
“But this plan involved the removal of physical barriers. I doubt it will surprise you that I’m aware of the existence of the gates—and please don’t do me the dishonour of pretending you don’t know of them,” she added, reading the shifting in Erynia’s features. “These plans, in an extremely advanced form, will, if successfully implemented, result in the opening of two such gates, allowing free passage from within and from without.”
“And it is your belief that implementation is imminent,” Erinya said, phrasing it as a statement rather than a question. Shae nodded anyway, and Erinya continued. “It’s also clear that you see a strong likelihood of success—but you also believe this to be a…a bad thing?”
“I have information that suggests this plan is a ruse. Rather than being a victory for those who desire freedom, it will in fact trap them. In short, the whole situation is a cleverly designed snare.”
Shae bit her lip—when she’d played this conversation through in her mind, the words had flowed far better. She took a breath, made a second attempt. “Those who would open up
these gates are blinded by their ideology, and…and Authority knows this.” Erynia flinched when Shae said that name, and she pushed forward. “They have infiltrated this group of malcontents, feeding them the relevant information, encouraging them to put this ridiculous plan into place.” She paused. “I take it you can see where this is leading.”
“Authority’s looking to remove a certain group who aim to undermine their control of the Dome.” Erinya rested her hands on her stomach. “Can you really fault them for such a move? I agree it is underhand, but if these rebels refuse to play fair, then how does one expect Authority to respond?”
The diplomacy of the words didn’t blind Shae to the tone of delivery—too forthright to be genuine, the inflexion of the sentences more sing-song than necessary.
“If this plan were to succeed,” Shae said, choosing her words with care, “Authority would have no option but to come down hard. They would quite naturally seek to remove all involved while also sealing the gates, possibly permanently. Even if the plan fails—and I believe this will, in fact, be the case, Authority disrupting matters in the final minutes—there will be far-reaching repercussions.”
Erinya might have the persona of one who flouted the laws of etiquette and common decency with a reckless abandon, but Shae knew how careful her friend was, how she trod the line without overstepping. And so Shae had no doubt the Councillor would understand the implications.
Erinya nodded. “This is a serious matter indeed,” she said. “But in all honesty I’m unclear how I can alter the situation. You know, better than most, that the influence of any Councillor is mainly superficial.”
“I realise that. Consider this more a friendly warning.” That phrase sounded out of place, but Shae couldn’t take it back now. “Of course, I’ll keep you informed of any developments.”
“Thank you. And I’ll do likewise. There are certain fellow Councillors who have been acting out of character recently. Maybe I’ll share a table with them when we eat.”
