by TW Iain
Cat read the screen again. Ninety-eight percent. He hadn’t noticed anyone—female or otherwise—pass the building, but now he spied movement in a side-street to the left, a shuffling in the shadows.
The screen glowed green as the Sweeper hit one hundred percent. Cat tapped to initiate the Incinerator, and watched the red glow as it spread across the screen, mirroring the destruction of data within.
But it wasn’t really destruction, was it? Data existed as a string of binary digits, patterns of ones and zeros. It was those patterns that gave meaning, and what the Incinerator did was to re-write all those digits, giving them all the same value. Everything became zero, a blank slate, the original meaning removed.
Cat disconnected his screen, a part of him wondering what would replace that original data. Even as he triggered the tiny device, the one he’d planted in the storage room two hours ago, the one that would send a spark to ignite the discarded boxes, initiated the flames that would reduce the building to ash, he wondered what would arise in its place.
Because destruction didn’t exist. What people considered destruction was nothing more than change, from one state to another.
And that was Cat’s task now. He couldn’t change his past, and he couldn’t erase what had happened, but he could change the state of those who might implicate him.
Phoren wasn’t the only loose end.
- 47 -
“I simply question how long this can last,” Leopold said, leaning forward, almost resting on Genna’s desk. “I realise that each skirmish is only small, but you—we—lose people every time. And I do believe the constant nature of these attacks, combined with their apparent randomness, is having a detrimental effect on the mental wellbeing of…well, of all of us, if I’m being honest.”
He was slipping back into his old manner of speech. Genna couldn’t miss that.
She eased back in her chair, watched him for a moment. A film of sweat coated his brow, even though she had the atmos controls at a low temperature. She needed to remain alert, couldn’t allow a muggy atmosphere to nudge her towards sleep.
Genna pushed her screen away. The news from Aleph was positive. She’d dived deep into the data on Authority’s infiltration, and now reported a possible way to circumvent their intrusion. She promised nothing, of course—Aleph never committed, did she?—but her tone was hopeful.
“Don’t you think that’s what Authority wants?” she asked Leopold. “Seems to be one of their favoured tactics, disorientating their enemies.”
“I would have said that much was obvious. What’s troubling is how successful this strategy seems to be.”
“Doesn’t mean we have to give up.”
He pulled in a deep breath, his chest pushing against his shirt. He’d been working out more, and physically he could pass for a resident of the districts. But when he became nervous, like now, his manners gave him away.
“I’ve spent a long time listening to our mutual friend Rodin,” he said, the fevered edge now absent from his voice. “His sparse words are full of wisdom.”
“Doubt he’d react too well to accusations of wisdom.”
“Maybe not, but he’s elsewhere at the moment, so there’s no reason for him to hear this praise. And regardless of his reaction, his words are worth listening to, because they come from his struggles. The man’s a survivor, and it is most instructive to learn how he has managed to come through despite the odds so often stacked against him.”
“True. There a point to this?”
“Of course. There’s a notion he espouses regularly, that a man should pick his fights with care. There is the brutal, physical aspect to this, of course—entering combat against a foe who outclasses one in every way is not a sensible move, nor is racing into battle against insurmountable odds. Such moves can only justifiably be undertaken when there is no other feasible option.”
Genna held up a hand. “And you think we can’t win against Authority, so we stop trying. Right?”
He hesitated, then said, “That’s not precisely what I mean.”
“The same Authority that wanted you dead because you dared talk of free travel. The same Authority that takes people from the districts, incarcerates them in their Factories, and then experiments on a few, turning them into living weapons. You seriously believe we should let this Authority have their way in my district?”
His mouth twitched. “I realise that Authority has done many things that are…unquestionably wrong. And I have no real desire to see them lording it over us. I merely question if our constant resistance is…is akin to using thin paper to dam a river.”
Interesting analogy, but Genna would go with it. “Use enough paper and it would work.”
“But how much is enough? How many resources get destroyed in the process? How many get drowned so that others might keep their heads above water?”
“It’s better if all drown? I’m sure I’ve heard you speak of sacrifice for the greater good.”
Maybe he hadn’t used those words, but he’d implied them. So often he had raised the spirits of her people by doing little more than telling them not to give up, that the trials they underwent now would be rewarded in the future. He reminded them of all they had to lose if they stopped, and forced them to see what they could have if only they kept fighting. And he did all this using language that flowed, using words that felt alive.
She’d tried speaking his words in private. She’d taken recordings, and had read the transcriptions in front of a mirror. She’d studied the way he spoke, and had tried to mimic his style, even the movements of his body. But she always fell short. His words in her mouth came across as empty, and it reminded her once more that Leopold was a master in the use of words as weapons.
But he didn’t speak now. His shoulders rose and fell, and he clasped his hands in his lap. Only his face showed signs that he was far from relaxed, the lines deepening as they radiated from his eyes, a vein pulsing at his temple.
He should grow his hair out again. The short cut might draw the eye to his muscles, but it was a colder look, one that didn’t match his personality.
“Perhaps Lomaz was right,” he said.
“Lomaz?” she prompted, intrigued where this was going.
“I’m sure you recall, although with everything that has happened I can quite understand if such an inconsequential character has slipped your mind.” Leopold eased back, comfortably settling into the telling of a story Genna already knew. But she let him talk all the same. “Lomaz used to work for Garrick, but you clearly understood that this was only through necessity—the man didn’t share Garrick’s warped ideology. I believe you saw potential in Lomaz, far beyond his then position as some kind of…I think you used the word ‘babysitter?’…to Vanya and her team.”
Genna waved a hand—Leopold would go on for far too long otherwise. “I recall Lomaz,” she said. “I didn’t realise the two of you were close, though.”
“I wouldn’t say we’re close, but we chanced to fall into conversation a few weeks ago, after you’d asked if I was still working on my tech skills. I took that as a rebuke—my apologies if this was not your intention—and in seeking a suitable mentor I stumbled upon Lomaz. To be honest, I’m impressed how you even saw his gifts in tech, when by all accounts it wasn’t evident in his previous role.”
“Fortunate placement,” she said, recalling how she’d seen Lomaz working a screen, how it reminded her of a slowed-down Aleph. Such dexterity only came about through practice, and so it made sense that he had a deep familiarity with some aspects of tech. “Reckon he could rival Aleph if he worked hard.”
Leopold smiled. “I may well pass that on. He’d see it as a personal challenge, and then he’d be even more useful to you, I’m sure.”
“You talk regularly, then?”
Genna forced herself to remain calm, even though the annoyance grew within. How had she missed this? True, there
was a lot going on, but…but Leopold was special. She’d always looked out for him, from the moment Rodin had first delivered the man to her.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say regularly. When I’m nearby, I pop in to see him. And on occasions he visits me. He’s easy company—I believe that’s the phrase, isn’t it?”
“You talk about anything important?”
“Not really. He has a very philosophical nature, though, and our conversations usually lean toward the…less practical, I suppose you’d say. We don’t always agree, but our conversations are never ill-tempered, always cordial.”
Genna made a mental note to check out her new tech’s past again. She had him down as being from the districts, but maybe he’d originally come from the Dome.
“But he said something pertinent to our current discussion, yes?” Leopold was dragging the conversation away from her.
“Indeed. He told me that I shouldn’t view situations so analytically. He said that sometimes emotions were the better indicator of actions, that instinct often trumped logic.”
“This, from a man who served someone he didn’t care for?”
“From a man who did what was necessary to keep himself alive.”
“Fair enough,” she said. “And he makes a point. Weren’t you more idealistic once?”
He nodded. “I’d like to believe I still am, deep down. And maybe that’s why I’m arguing against continual confrontation. I don’t wish to become entrenched in my thinking, and so I must seriously consider positions diametrically opposed to those I currently hold. And…and possibly that is why I sought you out. The arguments for…for coming to some kind of an arrangement with Authority are very persuasive, and so I believe I’m hoping you’ll have a counter-argument, some logic that will force me to discard such a…such a short-sighted solution.”
And there it was—Leopold was worried about the here-and-now. Understandable, when he insisted on heading into the district on his own now, even though the warriors from Red could strike at any time, in any place.
“I apologise, Genna,” he continued. “I shouldn’t burden you with my internal struggles.”
“Oh, you should. If you’re thinking along those lines, then so are others. Any information I can gather on the mood of my people is important.” But that wasn’t the whole truth. Increasingly, her people listened to Leopold, as if he alone spoke the voice of reason. His belief in her had been a great help, on many occasions, but this current attitude could be far too dangerous. “And things are never black and white.”
“The truth of which strikes me clearer every single day,” Leopold said, and his shoulders rolled back, as if that gave him some kind of comfort. “You know, I used to believe things were so simple. In the Dome we had a perfect society, having closed ourselves off from all the troubles in the world. But such a utopia can never exist, can it? Even looking back at the history of the Domes it becomes clear that there has always been compromise.”
Ah…history. Another thing Leopold had become more interested in. But Genna let the man continue.
“When we came across those old files, I sincerely hoped they would provide an escape from my worries, an avenue for my mind to follow. Unfortunately, this has not been the case.”
Genna wasn’t sure who had first found the records, buried on some system around Shorack’s old area, but nobody could understand them. Aleph said it was something to do with file-types, said they were so old that they were obsolete. So Genna had suggested Aleph work on them, as an alternative to that annoying voice mimicry.
Aleph still tinkered with voices, but she’d deciphered the coding on a few of the files, revealing old documents and maps that bore little relevance to the Dome and the districts, and once Aleph had cracked the formatting she lost interest. Genna passed the reformatted, readable copies on to Leopold, again as a distraction.
Clearly it hadn’t worked the way she intended.
“Maybe you need to spend longer with them,” she suggested. “Or have a word with Aleph,” and when she saw his face drop, Genna added, “or drop her a message. I’m sure she’ll have more files ready. But I’d prefer it if you didn’t talk so openly about…about making deals with Authority. That isn’t going to happen.”
He dipped his head. “Of course. And I apologise for taking up your time. As usual, you’ve shown me that the easy way is too often only a short-term solution.”
She offered him a smile. “You know me,” she said. “I won’t give up.”
He nodded. “And I’ll do whatever I can to support you.” But his tone was flat, and Genna wasn’t sure she believed him.
- 48 -
Rodin sighed, and fought the urge to get the hell away from the house.
Mercenaries—agents, assassins, runners—were loners by nature. They might interact with others, but only when they had to. They weren’t team players.
Pulling so many of them together was a bad idea.
There weren’t as many as they’d expected, though. Both Rodin and Vanya had come across no-shows, and when they’d compared notes they’d discussed their suspicions—that too many mercenaries were replicated, working for two masters under different aliases. The expected fifty had shrunk to only thirty. And that was before some walked.
They said this wasn’t what they’d signed up for, that they wouldn’t join groups. Most said they’d return when it was quieter, and three gave a location where they might be found, but they still turned their back on any joint planning.
And the ones who did stay weren’t making things easy.
“Don’t like this, Rodin,” said Jornas, sidling up beside Rodin in the hallway on the building’s ground floor.
“Best we can do.”
“I suppose so. But I can’t see this lot coming to any consensus.”
Rodin didn’t respond. A voice shouted from the room Jornas had set aside as the meeting venue, some garbled insult. There was cursing, the scraping of chairs, and calls to calm down.
Rodin pushed through the door, Jornas right behind him. All eyes turned to Rodin as he strode to the far end of the room, where a long table was set out beneath a large wall screen. A wary silence greeted him when he turned.
Most of the mercenaries were on their feet. One lay against a wall. A woman—Madi? Madri?—sat cradling a swollen eye, blood on her knuckles.
“Thought you lot were professionals,” he said. He wondered if he should cross his arms and stand still, but he needed to sit. He pulled a chair out from the top table and lowered himself into it. He leaned forward, arms resting on the imitation wood.
Slowly, others found their seats, either around the three large tables or to the edges of the room. Jornas sat to Rodin’s left, Paskia and Uran to his right. Vanya, stood at the far end of the room. Her manner was just about relaxed enough that she didn’t appear as a threat. It didn’t escape Rodin’s attention that some of those in the room sneered when they looked at her.
But this wasn’t the best Borinoff and Dephloren had, was it? Their best were working in Genna’s district. This lot were second-rate, the disposable ones. Some of them might make a career from their work, given time, but not many.
As the room settled, Rodin leaned back. “Introductions,” he said. “Keep everyone up to speed. Jornas,” and he waved an arm to his left. “This is his place. Does a decent coffee. Had a recent family tragedy, working through it] though. Deserved respect.”
He swung his arm to the right. “Paskia. Has some interesting connections, and a good brain. Been here a while with her own team. Decent people—they’re out there right now, watching the area. And at the back is another colleague, Vanya. Seriously, I wouldn’t mess with her.”
There were nods of greeting, a lot of bland expressions, a fair few glares and frowns. Rodin noted all this, and more.
“Don’t know how much your respective bosses told you, but here’s the short version. Authority—for tho
se of you unaware, they run the Domes, and they don’t stick to the rules—have been enhancing people, have created warriors. Fast and tough, nasty opponents. Can be taken down but it’s bloody hard work. And there are warriors loose in this district.”
He scanned the faces again, saw a few nods—so some of these mercenaries had a passing experience of the enemy. Good to know.
“These warriors aren’t working independently,” he continued. “Their attacks might seem random, but they’re not. Paskia—tell them what we know.”
Paskia tapped her screen, brought up a plan of the district on the wall screen behind her. She took a deep breath and glanced over to Rodin. He nodded—all the encouragement he could offer in front of this mob.
“Right.” She looked out over the crowd, her face serious. “Red dots are attacks, showing over time. Random at first, but smudge the data a little…” and her fingers slid over the screen, the red dots expanding, the pattern growing clearer. “They’re surrounding the district, clearly want to cut it off. That means they want the district for themselves.”
“Let them have it!” That came from a man called Ector, skin all lined leather, mane of hair and grey clothing that had survived the years. “This place was always a dog’s dinner.”
Rodin stuck out an arm, held it across Jornas’ body. The man got the message, shut his mouth, although he glared at Rodin.
“Prefer to feed dogs I know than someone else’s,” Rodin said, raising a few smiles. “And even if you don’t care about this place, once Authority has it they’re going to push further. To the north, sure—easy pickings up there. But also to the south and the east. And I doubt those you work for would be too happy about that.”
More nods—the logic was hard to argue against.
“How many of these warriors?” someone in the second row asked, a small man with a long beard. “Reports I saw said only a handful.”
“That’s all they need,” Rodin said. “Told you they were stronger and faster, right? I’ve seen single warriors take out ten, maybe more, all armed. Don’t underestimate them.”
