Dragon_The Final War

by JC Andrijeski

  Feigran clicked more softly.

  I heard a note of regret there, but I may have imagined that.

  I’d always struggled discerning Feigran’s use of pronouns. His constant use of pronouns made it really hard to follow a lot of what he said. I often felt like I was guessing, even twisting things so they fit into a larger picture I could live with.

  Even so, his last comment caused me to grunt.

  I made a concessionary gesture in seer sign language.

  Shadow is sneaky. Check.

  He likes to win. Check.

  Pretty hard to argue with either thing. It didn’t really help me clarify the rest of it, though. The pronoun thing could really be frustrating as hell.

  “You mean Terian, right?” I clarified. “You’re talking about Terian trying to find out what Shadow was up to when you worked for him. When Terry worked for him?”

  “Yes, yes… of course. That is always true sister. Always. Even before…”

  I was reasonably sure that the “dark place” referred to being inside Menlim’s construct. The underground thing was troubling, though. Given the context, it also made me wonder if Feigran had done the pronoun switching thing mid-sentence again.

  The “where he won’t go” part might have been a reference to Revik.

  Revik was claustrophobic as hell. If Shadow had something important, something secret he didn’t want Revik to find, he’d definitely put it underground.

  Then again, knowing Terian, the underground reference could be purely metaphorical.

  “Feigran,” I said. “Can we go back to the first thing you told me? About the person Menlim has here. Meaning with us. Inside our leadership team.” At his blank look, I waited, patient. “The spy, Fig. Did Terry… Terian… find anything out about this person? Gender? How old they were? How high up they are in our structure?”

  “No.”

  I bit back frustration, but kept my voice patient. “You’re sure?”

  “Sure? Yes, yes. Of course. Of course I’m sure.” Feigran gave me a direct look, his amber eyes strangely clear in those brief seconds. “He’s me, you know,” he told me confidentially. “Terian. He is me, sister. A part of me. We are the same.”

  I nodded, fighting a desire to laugh.

  I forced my face still, exhaling as I nodded again, politely.

  “I see,” I said. “Thank you for clarifying that, brother.”

  “Of course. Of course. Happy to help, my beautiful sister. Always.”

  I might have wanted to laugh again, but I found myself turning over his words instead.

  It was easy to forget, truthfully––that Terian was Feigran and Feigran, Terian. Not figuratively, but literally. Then again, I couldn’t be sure how much of “Terian” remained since we’d cut Feigran off from the rest of his bodies by putting him in the tank.

  The “Terian” body died right in front of me.

  Balidor let Feigran out of the tank briefly once all of his secondary bodies were dead, thinking it might help him reunite with the newly freed pieces of himself, now that they were no longer attached to other bodies. Despite this, no one on the infiltration team, not even Tarsi, knew for sure if Feigran “collected” all of those disparate pieces back into a coherent whole.

  We’d worried the process would kill him––so there was that.

  Watching Feigran draw, I fought another wave of frustration.

  If Loki truly intended to leave tonight, then by tomorrow, I’d have people in the field again, hunting Menlim’s Network. Chandre would follow shortly.

  Neither thing reassured me.

  Revik and Wreg were right. None of this was happening fast enough. It wouldn’t be fast enough, even if Loki and Chandre managed to find and acquire their targets right off, sans complications––which was unlikely in the extreme.

  Tarsi, Wreg, Revik, Yumi and ‘Dori had been punting around network models for months now, in the hopes they might dismantle part of it, if we managed to destabilize a few pillars. The problem was, the damned thing looked different depending on who studied it. It was like the elephant and the ten blind men. One person thought it was a rope, another a tree, another a wall, another a fan. They were all probably partly right but mostly wrong.

  None of it added up to a coherent picture.

  Worse than any of that, if Feigran was right, if he wasn’t just fucking with us or planting information for Shadow, we had a mole.

  Not just the backdoor into Revik’s light––a real one.

  Of course, we’d long suspected that.

  Balidor brought up the possibility within minutes of Dorje murdering Vash right in front of us. The problem was, whoever it was, it was probably someone I cared about.

  It was probably a friend of mine. Or a friend of Revik’s.

  It was definitely someone we trusted.

  Maybe someone we loved.

  Which just… sucked.

  It flat-out sucked, without even knowing the specifics.

  For a long time, Revik and I told ourselves the mole was only him. Meaning, we speculated Menlim had a way of pulling intelligence off Revik’s light––or even Wreg’s, or Jorag’s or one of the other ex-Rebel seers. Which also sucked, yes, but significantly less than finding out one of our friends was deliberately betraying us.

  “He has checked the information I provided, yes? Your ex-lover?” Feigran blinked those amber eyes up at me innocently. “He has seen that this information checks out? That the intelligence is good?”

  I winced at his reference to Balidor.

  I was positive Revik liked it even less than I did, from where he listened on the other side of that glass. Assuming he was still there.

  I’m here, Revik sent.

  I clicked a little under my breath.

  Even if Revik was partly joking, his answer had been curt. Unnecessarily curt, given that this was Feigran and we all knew he was batshit crazy.

  Revik had been acting pretty weird lately, though. More than usual, that is.

  Of course, I knew why––more or less––but his mood swings still threw me off-balance. I also knew things would only get worse in the coming weeks and months. Increasingly I wondered if the two of us would be able to handle it, either individually or together.

  I didn’t want to think about that, either, though.

  Lately, I found myself fielding a lot of questions about Revik’s erratic behavior from other people, particularly when they couldn’t get straight answers out of him. I also found myself defending him, more often than not.

  To Wreg. Jon. Loki. Chinja.

  Even Chandre.

  He’d been spending a hell of a lot of time locked up in private meetings with Tarsi and Balidor, which was part of it.

  I knew Wreg was a little offended at being cut out of those meetings. I pointed out that I hadn’t been invited either, but that didn’t seem to placate Wreg––or Yumi, for that matter, who seemed vaguely offended about the same thing.

  I knew they all wanted to help Revik figure out whatever was wrong with his light, in terms of the trigger Menlim put there. I also understood why Revik kept that list short.

  Even so, it was hard not to react when I felt some of our closest friends taking Revik’s secrecy thing personally. I knew it wasn’t personal, but it was getting harder and harder to convince anyone else of that.

  Revik was just paranoid, and cautious––and well, paranoid.

  Convincing Wreg and Chandre he had good reasons for that caution without actually telling them anything hadn’t been easy.

  Now, with Feigran talking about inner circle moles, that paranoia would only get worse. Moreover, I could already feel Wreg putting two and two together and wondering if Revik trusted him as much as he’d always assumed.

  And yeah, that hurt.

  I couldn’t see how it could be helped, though.

  I knew all of that shit would get worse before it got better, too.

  What do you think? I sent to Revik.

  I felt
him let out a disbelieving sound. What do I think? I think there’s a mole, Alyson. We knew that. Now it’s confirmed. It doesn’t change shit. He paused briefly, then added, And don’t worry about Wreg.

  I nodded, but didn’t really feel it.

  I glanced back at the virtual horizon, watching the clouds.

  You don’t think this is some kind of game, then? I sent. With Feigran, I mean.

  No. And it would be irrelevant, even if it was. Revik’s thoughts remained hard. How the fuck could he know those things, Allie, without a mole?

  I swear I could hear his accent even through the Barrier. It always tended to get stronger when he was angry or upset about something.

  I stayed silent though, listening to him.

  …Even if Terry’s fucking with us, Revik added. He still knows things he shouldn’t. He’s given us enough evidence and from a wide enough time span that the implications are pretty hard to dispute. Anyway, it’s irrelevant, like I said. Them leaking the facts to us deliberately doesn’t make those facts not true.

  I nodded, my jaw hardening a little more. What if he got all of that off us? While we were in Dubai? Is that possible?

  Again, I felt Revik shake his head.

  No, he sent. I didn’t even know some of that stuff back then. Are you saying Menlim or Terry hacked Balidor while we were in Dubai? Balidor wasn’t even in the Dreng construct, Allie. And if they can hack ‘Dori we’ve got a fuck of a lot bigger problems than a mole.

  I pressed my lips together, not answering.

  The next time Revik spoke, his thoughts felt subdued.

  I’m sorry, he sent.

  I sighed but felt a flicker of relief.

  What’s up with you? I sent. Seriously. Are you okay?

  Not really. He took a breath, right before his thoughts turned harder again. Did you really send Chan down to the front lines? To that wall, where the humans are detonating suicide bombs?

  I paused on that, momentarily confused.

  Yeah, I sent. So?

  I felt a ripple of irritation off his light. I wish you’d talked to me first.

  Sorry, I began, taken aback, but recovering enough to realize he was right, that I hadn’t checked with him at all. I figured she fell under me and ‘Dori now, because of––

  Okay. Right. I get it. Can we talk about it later, Allie?

  Still reacting a bit, I nodded, using my fingers to comb hair out of my eyes. It was getting really long again. I probably needed to cut it.

  It’s fucking sexy, Revik sent, sending a pulse of heat.

  I felt a peace offering in that and smiled. Even so, I rolled my eyes a bit.

  I sent, You are such a guy.

  A guy?

  The long hair thing.

  I felt him shrug, but also back off with his light. His next thoughts came out polite. I don’t care about that. Cut it, if you want.

  I laughed, shaking my head. Liar.

  I’m not lying, he sent.

  I smiled, refocusing my eyes on Feigran. In terms of talking later, I’ve already asked Wreg and Jon to babysit Lily tonight. I hope that was okay.

  Dead silence.

  Revik might as well have disappeared; I couldn’t feel him at all.

  Revik–– I sighed.

  Alyson. He cut me off. Of course it’s okay.

  His tone said anything but.

  It also held an open warning.

  I understood that warning, but I still felt myself reacting to his obviously negative reaction to my wanting to be alone with him. Forcing a shrug, I gestured in seer––at no one, really, since I was in the cab of the truck alone.

  So. I said, still fighting to keep my reactions to myself. Should I try to get any more off him? Feigran? Or leave it for now?

  I’ll ask ‘Dori. Give us a minute.

  Still fighting to keep my expression and light neutral, I just nodded.

  I found myself wondering what the hell I was doing in here. I’d felt a pull to come down here, strong enough to get me off the roof in the middle of a job. It felt important. A lot more important that talking in circles about a mole Feigran couldn’t tell us jack-shit about.

  I wondered if my radar was off again.

  Then I wondered if Feigran had called me down here himself.

  Maybe he’d been bored. Who the hell knew with him? He’d already demonstrated his skill in sidestepping some of our most rigorous security protocols. We weren’t even positive he couldn’t get through the Barrier containment tanks.

  I replanted my feet, gazing into the virtual horizon while I felt Revik talk to Balidor. As I did, my eyes drifted down to Feigran’s hands.

  They refocused at once.

  I found myself looking––really looking––at what he was drawing.

  Unfolding my arms, I moved closer, until I stood directly behind him. I looked over his shoulder, watching as he continued to fill in details with the charcoal pencil.

  “Who is that?” I said.

  Feigran looked up at me.

  When he didn’t speak right away, I crouched behind him, leaning closer to the image. I stared down at it, taking in the heavy and light black lines.

  “Feigran?” I said, pointing. “Who is that?”

  “Dragon,” he muttered.

  Dragon. That was a first.

  He usually drew people I knew.

  “Who is Dragon?” I pressed.

  “The anchor,” Feigran said.

  He glanced up and over his shoulder at me. It struck me suddenly, looking at his face and those serious amber eyes, just how close I was to him. Closer than I’d let myself get to his body even in virtual, maybe since we’d taken him captive. I knew he couldn’t hurt me in here, even with the life-simulation controls; moreover, I seriously doubted he would.

  Even so, I usually kept my distance.

  I don’t know why. Habit maybe.

  Or maybe because, as much as I knew this wasn’t Terry, my memories of Feigran’s more sadistic alter ego hadn’t dissipated enough for me to want to get all that close.

  I pursed my lips. “The anchor of what?”

  Feigran grinned at me, our faces less than a foot apart. When he didn’t answer in words, I leaned down, tapping the charcoal with my finger.

  “And what are these?” I said.

  “Bombs,” he said promptly.

  “Bombs,” I muttered, still staring at the image.

  Bombs falling on an Asian city––a city that looked a hell of a lot like how I remembered Beijing looking when I’d been there last.

  I’d seen similar things in my dreams since I was a kid.

  Of course, my dreams had surround-sound, intense smells, emotions, pain, in addition to the images. In my dreams I heard air raid sirens, screaming, honking horns as people tried to evacuate in panic. I heard the impact concussions, felt the wind from the blasts.

  In the foreground of Feigran’s skyline was an image of what had to be a seer.

  He stood at somewhat of an angle, looking backwards towards the two of us.

  I could see his face as a result, even though Feigran had drawn it partly in shadow. I could see most of his back, too. Unlike the rest of the seers and humans depicted, his light eyes didn’t focus up at the buildings and falling bombs.

  Instead, he seemed to be glaring at me.

  Truthfully, he looked a little like Revik––but the light signature behind the image, what Feigran had woven into the picture in terms of aleimi, felt nothing like my husband.

  His black hair looked matted, mane-like where it twisted windblown around his neck and shoulders. He wore a strange collar, connected to some kind of armored helmet over his face and wrapping around the back of his dark hair; it included what looked like a metal gag, some kind of restraint over his mouth, nose and jaw. I might have thought it was an elaborate sight-restraint collar but for that strange gag covering most of his lower face.

  He looked––feral. That was the only word for it.

  Like a genetically-desi
gned soldier.

  His clothes hung off him, tattered by burns and cuts apart from the organic helmet and two crossing bands that might have been weapons’ harnesses. He wore military-style boots, but those looked half-destroyed, as well. His skin, where it showed, was filthy, coated in smoke, patterned in dark streaks that might have been dirt, cuts, bruises, dried blood.

  He didn’t have an ounce of spare flesh on him, but the seer’s muscles stood out under his skin in hard cords. I saw his collar bones in the glimpse of his upper chest that Feigran drew, but also a thick bunch of muscle at his shoulders and along his arms.

  The detail kind of blew my mind.

  I could almost feel a presence there.

  Moreover, something about that presence––assuming, again, that I wasn’t reading way too much into this––felt familiar, too.

  Familiar enough to make me glance to my right, where I knew a one-way window lived outside the cab of the truck. I couldn’t see the window of course, much less through it, but I knew it was there, behind the virtual projection. A make-shift security booth stood there, along with the interface with Dante’s machines.

  Getting no response from the link I wore or the Barrier, I turned my frown back towards Feigran himself.

  “Why is he wearing that?” I asked, pointing at the muzzle-like device. “Feigran? What is that thing over his mouth?”

  “He is Dragon,” Feigran said, as if that explained it.

  “Yeah. I got that part. What does that mean?”

  Feigran blinked, glancing up at me. “He breathes. Life with words. Creation with his tongue. He breathes life… in and out, out and in. He wants to be free. He wishes only to be free.”

  I settled my weight on my heels, frowning deeper.

  Then I slid closer to him, so that we nearly touched. Reaching out, I laid a hand tentatively on the seer’s narrow shoulder. “Help me out here, Feigran. What does that mean, to breath life? Is he some kind of weapon?”

  Feigran leaned into my hand, resting his head on my chest.

  I knew it was virtual, but to say it felt weird was putting it mildly.

  “It is a small part,” Feigran muttered, tilting his face up towards mine. “Very small. But it shines. It shines. He keeps it safe. He keeps it hidden. He will not let it go. He will not. In through the out door… out through the in.”