by K. T. Hanna
“Since you’ve already demonstrated an awkward ability to harm, let’s see if you can heal. It might not always be a direct correlation. You may be better at harming than healing or at healing than harming. But we’ll have to find out. Any questions before we start?”
She nods, and the words that follow are hesitant. “Are we... Can you... Can you do this, Bastian?”
He smiles, the first genuine smile he’s had in a long time. “I definitely can, though I won’t tell you which way my finesse lies until after we’ve figured out yours, deal?”
“Deal.” Sai smiles back.
Bastian runs his hands over the rabid bunny—as Sai prefers to call it—in awe. The tumor is gone. If it weren’t for the horrible nature of the beast that requires its termination anyway, it would probably go on to live a very full life.
Just his luck Sai is more gifted in healing than harming. It makes him wonder what happened when her powers awoke. Did they do the reverse of what they meant to, or did she inadvertently try to heal everyone and have it backlash? She’s so lucky to be alive. When power leaks into the eyes, it usually doesn’t stop before the user is dead.
The way she sees inside a patient is instinctive and beautiful. A shame, really. Though she’s powerful enough to kill someone, her trauma runs too deep and blocks that skill. If her triggers set off panic, there’s a likelihood it could backfire catastrophically. She’ll have to rely on psionic-enforced physical training for defense instead.
Bastian smiles to himself. He’s not even sure he’d like to run into her in a dark alleyway.
“Speaking of dark alleyways...” He glances at his watch and suppresses the sudden rush of adrenaline he feels at the time. Regardless of how often he does it, the possibility of being caught always brings him back to his childhood. Every ten days. Like clockwork.
There may be certain liberties his position as dean of the facility has won him, but he still needs to be careful. Securing his office is of tantamount importance, and he’s learned not to rely on GNW systems.
His own net of psionics weaves through and around every part of his office. This is his own backup source of power, and it’s here he can set alarms attuned only to himself to alert him of any unwelcome guests. After years of practice, it doesn’t take long to close his eyes, concentrate, and activate its awareness.
The well-camouflaged side door offers up a hidden passageway. Mathur got in through the path that leads to other parts of Central. It’s only safe to traverse during the brief blackout windows twice a day. Once the grid blacks out, his time begins. With Harlow’s recent tweaks to the GNW security, tonight’s trip requires more haste on his behalf to make it back in one window.
“Do it right the first time,” he mutters to himself, following the path down to the shaft where he lowers himself into the narrow opening. It’s not a straight drop, and it’s slightly difficult for him to navigate with the ladder-like footholds carved into the wall. It makes him wonder how Mathur manages it with his prosthetic calf.
The climb always seems longer than the few minutes it takes, at least on the way down. When he heads back up, he’ll feel the strain for days. He glances beyond the wall-shield that blocks the passage from view to the corridor and eyes his watch. Counting down in his head he steps out next to an automated laundry cart. Three lefts, and he drops behind the next door and presses for the handle.
There’s a rarely used chute next to him, and he carefully extracts a discreetly wrapped bundle from the opening before climbing through the door. Hefting it lightly to check it’s all there, he clips it into his jacket and picks up his pace. It’s always there, right on time.
The ground in the tunnel beyond is uneven. He checks the time again and waits for a count of five before stepping out to the low rumble of a multi-transport somewhere in the sky lane far above his head. Only the best transport systems for those in the low-numbered blocks. Banal chatter filters down to him, fading as he makes his way along the path until he hits a damp section, signifying the change from the central “good” blocks of town to the outlying bad.
After many twists and turns, he finally pushes the last heavy wooden door open to reveal a lively but stale beer-smelling establishment. It takes his eyes a while to adjust to the dimly lit surrounds. “Hi, Garr, how’re you doing?”
The lady behind the old wooden bar beams at him. Pretty lines define the softness of her expression, but he knows hard lines replace them when the smile fades. Though the seats are worn and the bar surface is scarred, it’s cleaner than most other places on the verge of the outlying districts.
“Here,” she says and grins, serving three people their orders at once, grey-streaked hair plaited efficiently down her back. “Let Merl get your coat.”
Which is perfect. The man takes the coat and artfully pockets the package under it, somehow making it appear far smaller than Bastian knows it is. “I’ll have a beer, thanks.”
“Preference?”
“Whatever you recommend, Garr.” He smiles back at her. She’d worked with Mathur and known his mother when he was a child. Those ties bind harder than any GNW have ever given him. He shakes his head to keep from thinking about it. “Just one for me tonight.”
She eyes him as she pours ale into a surprisingly clean glass mug, given the appearance of the bar. “Short trip this month?”
“Necessarily.”
“At least you’re legal now, eh?” Garr grins at him and pushes the glass across the counter.
He takes it from her and chugs down the drink, setting the mug back on the counter with a bang. “Like anyone was going to try and stop me before.”
Garr laughs, and for a moment he wonders if maybe his mother sounded like that before the injury. “Careful. If the higher-ups find out what you’re doing, they’ll slap one of those tracking chips in you before you can blink.”
“There are ways to work around that.” He shrugs and stares at the mug for a few moments.
“Bastian?” Garr leans closer than he likes, closer than anyone else would be allowed, to get his attention.
“Sorry. Just thinking.” He shakes his head to clear the thoughts, and she serves a few more people while he drains the last of the drops from the cool glass before turning back to him. “You mind, right? Be careful out there. She’d have my hide...”
“No, she wouldn’t. Sarah would skin Mason’s hide for letting father’s position fall to me instead of him. We both know that.”
He can see the brief shadow pass over her face. Her shoulders sag in defeat. “Just take care of yourself.”
“I learned how to from the best, Garr.” He reaches over and squeezes her hands briefly before reaching for the coat Merl is handing back to him. “Till then.”
The trip back is less dangerous. Getting caught coming in from a drink in town is nothing compared to leaving the facility armed with ten pounds of pure Shine. Less dangerous perhaps, but just as tiring. So much in fact he almost misses the window to get back into the passage to his room and reset his own alarms before the lights flicker back into consistent brightness. One day Harlow will fix it completely, but for now, power flickers are mostly easy to rely on.
He looks around to find everything exactly how he left it, and nothing disturbed his net in his absence. Something nags at the back of his mind, but he pushes the loneliness aside and drops into his chair, determined to go through a few of the reports on his desk and see if he can uncover any more potential incidents.
Scouting for potential psionics can mean a lot of different things. They flounder without someone to guide them. The facility is as much for the psionics’ benefit as for GNW to profit. Their intentions are noble—on paper, anyway. It allows Bastian to subtly recruit and try to find Rares or at least to try and find them before they trigger that excess power so he can hide them because Zach finding them usually results in their disappearance. So far Bastian’s success rate has been low. Some of the GNW board believe he’s too young to be given so much responsibility
and power, but none of them like getting their own hands dirty.
He flips through some of the scouting reports, head beginning to ache as he dismisses the ones that don’t meet his criteria. A glance of violet light refracts off the one personal effect on his desk—a photograph of his mother. She was beautiful, and yet all he can remember about Sarah is the damaged husk they left behind.
His gaze lingers, and the anger boils inside at the tarnished memories of her. Nothing can ever make up for the mistakes made in the first tier of the Domino Project, but it’s not too late to alter psionics’ treatment under GNW. What disasters the previous government concocted, the privatized company cleaned up. Now when GNW creates disasters, Bastian is their janitor.
It’s almost dawn. He puts the photograph and report reader down and walks to the window to stare out, toward the edges of the dome. The cities are beautiful works as far as architecture goes and practical, supporting many people off very little. But Central is larger than most. The rules are made here, and grids originate beneath him, wandering in and out of sectors like a trailing spider web. With a touch of thought suggestion, peace—and anything else—is always possible.
He splays his fingers against the glass and watches the heated outlines as he moves his hand lower. There’s never enough time to accomplish everything he needs to. Not even these six years clawing his way up after his powers awoke is enough.
Sai taps her foot softly as she waits for Bastian to finally give up torturing her with boredom and speak.
“About this mission...” Bastian frowns briefly at the reader in his hand.
“Mission?” She suddenly finds her breath short and chest tight. “You were serious? I’ve only been here a couple of months!”
“You’re an enforcer. We’re not a large division, in case you haven’t noticed. I don’t care whether or not you’re a student, the experience is necessary.” Bastian stops for a moment while Sai processes his words. When she nods, he continues. “In short, we’re sending you on some basic missions. You’ll deal with them and return home.”
She fiddles with her fingers and runs all her arguments through her head. “What exactly does this entail?”
“You can try to talk to them, or you can force them to stop their disruptive behavior. Your choice.”
“Easy for you to say,” she mutters under her breath.
“Once you do a few of these, it’ll become easier for you. Trust me. It’s better than the alternative.”
That response earns him a scowl. She can sense him brushing the shields she’s put up and stares back smugly. Which, in hindsight, probably isn’t a good idea, considering the force he slams into her shielding right after. Despite shaking like a leaf, her shields hold. Small victories. She’s been taking them for longer than she can count.
“Alternatives in this place are not always what they seem.” Dom’s voice interrupts her train of thought.
Both Sai and Bastian turn toward Dom, who shrugs at them. “We need to get your things ready, Sai.”
Bastian dismisses them with a wave of his hand and is back at his desk before they leave the room.
“Do you think he’s okay?” she asks in a subdued tone.
“Okay?” Dom sounds confused. “How would he not be okay?”
“I forget sometimes...”
“Forget?”
“That you’re not completely human.” She blushes a little and looks away.
“That’s probably classified as a compliment where I come from.”
For a second, Sai blinks at him before bursting into nervous laughter. “Good one, Dom. Good one.”
He pushes the door open when they get to the room and starts going through her things. Three weeks ago, this would have angered her, but she’s grown used to him now. At least she’ll be packed properly by the end of it. The backpack he emerges from the mess with is so compact Sai raises an eyebrow in disbelief.
“You’re sure that’s enough?”
“We’re only going to UC 8. We won’t be gone more than two nights. I have faith you can accomplish your task well within the prescribed time limit.”
“We have a time limit?”
Dom looks up at her, his makeshift eyebrows liquid in their upward movement. “Of course. Most things need time limits. I believe we have seventy-two hours. We leave this afternoon before sundown. You’re excused from classes today. I suggest you try and rest.”
The door clicks behind him before she has a chance to ask anything further. “Fantastic,” she mumbles.
“Come on, Sai, you’re going to be late.” Nimue urges her to follow, her own schoolbooks hugged to her chest. “You can’t be late for this.”
“I know. I know.” Sai strips off her nightclothes and pulls on those Dom laid out for her. The tights are constricting, as are the tiny shorts and candy-striped tank. Without a second thought, she grabs her backpack and chases Nimue down the hall, wedge-heeled shoes echoing on marble slabs.
“Here we are.”
She can hear Nimue’s voice, but not see her. The garden is dark, filled with eerie rotting trees. Vines hang low, obscuring her view, but a white pulsing light shines through the gaps, hinting at something inside.
Sai pushes forward, getting tangled in the vines and scratched by tiny thorns she didn’t see on them before. They knot in her hair and cling to the parts of her thighs and chest exposed to the air. She struggles, rips them away, and gasps in shock as they fall from her skin, shriveled and dead. There are burn marks on her everywhere they touched.
She clutches her chest, feeling alone and vulnerable, and blinks as the light in the middle of the hidden clearing becomes fainter to reveal Bastian and Dom.
“Here’s your mission,” Bastian says, and she can feel his smile in her head. The insane one no one should ever have to see.
“Mission?” She hears herself croak out the word.
“Mission.” Bastian reinforces the statement by dragging Dom up by his hair. The body hangs limp, but his eyes are open. “Stop his heart, Sai. You can do it. You were born for this.”
She whimpers. Unable to tear her gaze from Dom’s pleading eyes, she screams as Bastian uses his mind to pull her toward the body, hurtling her at the heart just before everything explodes in a sea of red.
“Sai!”
She shuts her eyes and screams once more, ripping the tangled vines away from her body. Something shakes her by the shoulders, and she fights it with all her might until a resounding slap rings in her ears and she feels blood rushing to redden the vacated spot.
Sai opens her eyes to see Dom standing there, looking at the hand he used to hit her. He’s in one piece and fully functional. She crosses the short distance in an instant to fling her arms around his neck.
“You’re okay. You’re here. We’re here!” she mumbles into his smooth, cool shoulder.
“Yes. I am here.” He disentangles himself from her and sets her gently back on the bed, handing her the clothes from the top of her dresser: dark blue sweats and a grey tank top. Sai grabs them and eagerly begins to pull them on before she realizes Dom is still there and glares at him. He turns around as she finishes getting dressed. She can’t help the flush that rises in her cheeks.
“You had a nightmare?” he asks with his back still turned.
“I guess.” She finishes pushing her long hair up into a ponytail before speaking again. “I’m ready now.”
“It is okay, you know.” He turns around, grabs her backpack, and proceeds to the door. “You won’t come to harm. I’ll be near you.” He pauses for a second, his hand at his ear, a distant look in those golden eyes for a moment as he briefly cocks his head to one side. “I won’t let anyone harm you,” he finishes before ushering her out of the room.
It’s not far to the transport area. Just more cold white floors and concrete walls with occasional windows interspersed. “What were you doing back there, Dom?”
“Which part—slapping you?”
“No, no.” Sai waves that
away with a rueful grin. “I know why you did that. I mean, where you hold your hand to your ear and listen for a second. You do it fairly often. Do you have a headache? Can you get a headache?”
“I’m not sure.” He purses his lips for a brief moment. “I’ve certainly never had one, though recently others have complained to me they feel interference. The finger to my ear allows me to hear the others clearer. Focuses the range. Our connection has been fuzzy lately.”
“Connection?”
“To the other dominos. Something similar to our own intranet—for communication purposes.”
Sai nods at him. “Interesting.”
“Yes.” Dom looks at her oddly for a moment. “Yes, I believe that’s an accurate description.”
The dock attendant ushers them through to their craft. Dom checks over the controls and nods to the man, allowing him to leave.
“Watch out for Exiled patrols,” he calls on his way out the door.
Domino doesn’t acknowledge the warning as the man leaves the hold. Sai is forced to ask for an explanation. “Exiled patrols?”
“The Exiled live past the outskirts of the cities, scattered along in different camps.” He continues speaking as he tweaks the controls. “Remnants of those psionics exiled during the wars. None of them came back when it ended twenty-odd years ago. They’re a known cause of unrest, directly and indirectly.
“Why can’t you deal with this?”
Dom studies her for a moment. “You deal with situations because, unlike me, you are human. Psionic, too, but you are human. Most people don’t take kindly to...things.” The last word is spoken with such distaste it surprises Sai.
“You’re not a thing, Dom,” she says quietly.
“I know that. You know that...” He shifts the gears into position and maneuvers the clunky vehicle to spin. Hover was one of the most surprising additions to technology post-disaster era. It took far less of their precious fuel to generate power and, unlike old-fashioned combustion engines, didn’t set the filtered air on fire.
