Allie's War Season Four

by JC Andrijeski

  When she clicked out, a few seconds later, Anale’s lips turned in a frown.

  “That’s not possible, sister,” she said flatly.

  “Isn’t it?” Tarsi laughed again; she couldn’t help it. “Well, that’s certainly a relief. I’d prefer senility to having to listen to this crap all day...”

  Another laugh trilled the higher levels of her aleimi.

  Anale’s mouth puckered into a deeper frown, even as her hands went to her hips.

  Puzzlement stood in her light gold eyes now, woven into that denser wariness. Tarsi could almost see the other woman thinking that Tarsi had too high of a sight rank for Anale to accurately assess Tarsi’s loyalties on her own. If the power had been up, Anale probably would have signaled her superior officer already. As it was, she probably intended to stall Tarsi until a team could wrestle her to the floor, then maybe collar her for a few weeks while they took turns looking at her light.

  Sighing a little, Tarsi realized there was only one option open to her now.

  The power could come back on any minute.

  With another, longer sigh––mainly because she knew this approach wasn’t without risk, either, the largest of those being that Anale could be read by Balidor or the Sword, too––Tarsi let the young female seer into her light.

  It was the only way.

  Tarsi just stood there, her light completely open, watching Anale’s face.

  For a long moment, that harder expression on the woman’s features and light didn’t change. Then, slowly, that lovely, oval face began to open. Tarsi watched the wonderment bleed over her features, contracting her pupils and loosening her jaw as she stared up above Tarsi’s head.

  Slowly, Anale’s gold eyes widened as she listened.

  BALIDOR SAT ON one edge of an antique and very expensive-looking, Victorian-style couch, complete with hand-carved, cherry wood frame and a round sun-like circle cushion on the backing. That sun symbol was a peculiarity from the time period, Balidor knew, not a reference to the Sword, like some of the younger seers thought. It lay in embedded in more of that cherry red wood, hand-carved in the shape of roses and vines.

  Given that Balidor remembered the style from when it had been around the first time, he decided the piece was likely a refurbished original, or else a hand-made copy done by someone with real artisan talent, since the flower and sun carvings didn’t look machine-made. He could see and feel the tiny imperfections on the wood where he stroked it with his fingers.

  Unfortunately, the couch was also as uncomfortable as he remembered the originals being, too. Those damned Victorian humans seemed to do everything to spite the body, including putting next to no padding in their needle-point-decorated cushions.

  He had to admit, though, the burnished sunset colors of the embroidery must have been beautiful when they were originally made.

  Balidor knew focusing on the couch was only a distraction, though. He fought to focus his mind on the conversation, instead, but went back to the couch, perhaps because it had more of a visceral reality.

  Truthfully, he preferred to focus on anything but the physical body or light of the woman sitting on the opposite chair, wrapped around the reclining figure of the Sword.

  Balidor did listen to the Sword’s words, however.

  “...So give me your opinion of this approach, ‘Dori,” the Elaerian said, his voice holding not a trace of a question. “I need your honest appraisal. Now, before we go any further.”

  Balidor fought his eyes off where Allie’s fingers massaged the Sword’s chest, her hand and part of her arm inserted inside the half-open collar of his shirt. Balidor couldn’t avoid entirely the flush of pain that left the Sword’s light, however, or the other flickers and sparks arising from the contact between the two of them.

  Gods. He wasn’t actually sleeping with her, was he?

  Balidor knew he wasn’t the only one to wonder. Then again, a lot of people had wondered about the Sword’s sex life of late. There were those weird rumors about Jon, and whatever had taken place between them that one night. Now, with Allie conscious...

  Well, more or less conscious.

  Balidor couldn’t follow the logical conclusions of those things in his mind, not to the extent they might bring visuals. He hadn’t felt any actual sex in the construct between Alyson and the Sword, just a lot of pain from both of them, but he knew the Sword could be significantly better at shielding than he often let on.

  In fact, Allie had been the one to warn him about that, years ago.

  Whatever the truth of the two of them these days, watching them together grew more and more difficult, even knowing what he knew. Balidor kept the whole topic tucked deep in the recesses of his mind, and well away from his voice, however. In addition to his shielding abilities, the Sword often picked up more than he let on, too.

  Like a lot of people around here.

  “About which part of the proposed approach would you like my opinion, Illustrious Sword?” Balidor said politely.

  Tensing, he once more slid his eyes off Allie’s hand as she caressed the Sword’s belly through his shirt, just above his belt.

  As if he’d caught Balidor’s wandering gaze, Revik sharpened his voice.

  “Specifically, the issue of the construct,” he said, giving Balidor a slightly harder look. “That’s the sticking point. If we can’t crack that, especially without her, I’m wasting my time. I need some sense of percentages. I need to know what kind of opening you think you can give me, if we were to do it like I said.”

  “Opening, Illustrious Sword?”

  “Time, Balidor,” Revik growled. “How much time?”

  Combing his fingers through his chestnut-colored hair, Balidor receded into the uncomfortable couch, winced, and sat up straight again.

  “I’m afraid the news isn’t good,” he said.

  “Meaning?”

  Balidor exhaled, clicking a little. “Meaning...we still haven’t been able to discern the anchors. We’ve looked at the construct over Manhattan, like you asked. We’ve been forced to focus most of our efforts on the one in Patagonia, however, since more of us can see that one.” Seeing the Elaerian’s eyes narrow, Balidor let his voice grow sharper.

  “Most of us can’t even feel the one in Manhattan, sir.”

  “My wife felt it,” Revik said, blunt.

  “I’m aware of that,” Balidor said, frustration leaking into his voice. “I am asking you. No, I am telling you, Illustrious Sword...we need your help in mapping that structure. None of us can see it. Even Tarsi claims she can only see the bare outlines, and then only well enough to know it is there. She tells me she knows this thing more by what it is not, rather than by what it is.”

  Revik’s jaw visibly hardened, but he only nodded, once. “Fine. And the one in Patagonia?”

  Balidor exhaled. “We are having somewhat better luck on that one,” he said, making a vague gesture with one hand. “Even so, most of what we’ve learned is descriptive...not structural in the way that you asked. We’ve managed to trace a few of the pillars you mentioned, but really, only the ones we already knew about. Or suspected. Shadow himself...Salinse, Xarethe. We know there are others, but we cannot distinguish who they are, or even begin to map their light without knowing more about them. They blend too seamlessly into the structure of the network for us to separate them out.”

  He held up a hand, almost a helpless gesture.

  “The design of this structure is different from the Pyramid in more than simply the location of its anchors, Illustrious Sword,” he said. “The upper levels actually comprise that structure. They are not simply attached, as before...they are inextricably linked.”

  Revik nodded again. “Is it enough? To know the main pillar? Do you need to know all of the secondaries, too?”

  Balidor looked up, grim. “You mean Menlim, I presume?”

  Revik flinched at the name, but only nodded. “Yes.”

  Balidor shook his head. “That is precisely the problem, Ill
ustrious Sword. We do not think Menlim...Shadow...is the main pillar. He appears to be a secondary, too.”

  “What?” Revik stared at him, visibly tensing. “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Balidor hesitated, feeling the charge expand sharply off the other’s light.

  Allie seemed to feel it, too. Balidor couldn’t help watching as her light wrapped deeper into his, surrounding and separating the strands, as if pulling him back. The Sword let her do it. More than let her, Balidor realized; he seemed to have little ability to resist her. She diffused that anger and its charge almost without Revik himself seeming to notice.

  Balidor let out a slow breath, trying not to think about the implications of her still having so much control over his light, even now.

  “Exactly what I said,” Balidor said, his voice more cautious that time. “We have identified someone else at the head of that structure, Illustrious Sword. Whoever it is, they are more densely masked than any of the others. We cannot see them in terms of identity at all, and have yet to pull a single light signature...at least any that originate from this side of the Barrier. It is possible the person we have labeled ‘Shadow’ isn’t really Shadow at all. It is possible that Menlim works for him, too, just as the others do.”

  Frowning, Revik stared out the nearest window.

  His light had more or less returned to normal once more.

  Allie’s head rested on his shoulder. Balidor watched as she lightly traced the outline of the scriptural text written on the Sword’s upper arm with her fingers.

  Once he’d torn his gaze off her, Balidor found himself following the direction of Revik’s clear eyes through the window. That particular one faced the backyard of the house, where he could see a group of seers, along with Jon, sitting around a fire pit.

  None of them appeared to be talking. Jon, more than any of the others, still seemed to wear a cloud of isolation around him, Balidor noticed.

  For a long time, Revik only stared at that fire, too.

  Balidor could almost feel him thinking.

  He kept his own light still, even as he tried to rearrange his legs and butt on the hard couch, looking for a softer spot that didn’t exist. He glanced at Wreg, who sat in the nearest chair. Wreg also watched Revik’s face as he stared outside. The muscular, Chinese-looking seer looked utterly blank, his expression as silent as Wreg’s voice had been throughout this meeting. Balidor couldn’t help thinking how strange that would have been, that silence, back during one of their planning meetings in New York, where they often argued strategy for hours.

  Then again, Wreg didn’t talk a lot these days, in general.

  Balidor tried not to think about how Wreg himself must be reacting to Allie’s resurrection, given everything. He knew the seer had been drinking a lot, even compared to before...even compared to when Jon still lived with Dorje. Truthfully, Balidor had been expecting some kind of violent confrontation between Wreg and the Sword over Jon for weeks.

  But that fight never materialized, either. Balidor could only suppose Wreg’s allegiance to the Sword got in the way, or perhaps even his religious beliefs.

  That, or he and Jon had discussed matters on their own.

  Balidor strongly doubted that last, though, given what he’d observed.

  At the thought, Wreg gave him a stone-eyed glance.

  The chair in which Wreg sat had obviously been carved and stitched to match Balidor’s couch. From the way that Wreg sat in it, his expression a near grimace as he shifted his weight, it was about as comfortable as the couch, too...although equally beautiful, despite a tear in the back from what looked like a flip knife.

  Balidor returned his eyes to the Sword.

  Despite the careful blankness of Wreg’s face, Balidor had seen the Chinese-looking seer watching the two intermediaries being affectionate with one another, too, only with perhaps more of a thread of underlying anger in his gaze.

  Balidor only hoped he’d been somewhat less obvious about his staring.

  He understood the anger, too, but he couldn’t think about that now, either.

  Not with the Sword sitting so close.

  Revik glanced at him, and Balidor cleared his throat, once more averting his gaze.

  “Therefore, in terms of time,” he said, going on as if that long silence hadn’t occurred. “...It is impossible to know for certain how much we can give you, Illustrious Sword.” He made a vague gesture with one hand. “I cannot estimate times around a construct hack without having a reliable map of that construct. Which we do not currently have.”

  Balidor kept his voice neutral, stripped of emotion. Even so, he saw the male Elaerian staring between him and Wreg, a harder look in his clear, colorless eyes.

  “...There are too many guesses involved,” Balidor added, pretending he didn’t notice the stare. “Truthfully, we still do not know how we cracked that construct in Argentina. We weren’t able to get in until your telekinesis got knocked out, laoban. Yumi, Tarsi and I still do not know if that is because Shadow let us in once he had you down, or if we cracked the construct on our own...once the structure began to display at that higher level.”

  Balidor gestured again, clicking softly.

  “We are guessing with the theory of multiple seer anchors in the first place, Nenz,” he added. “The truth of it is, we still don’t know the precise mechanism for this non-pyramid network you and Wreg have been attempting to map.”

  He hesitated, giving Allie a scarce glance.

  “Even if you and Alyson are correct in your respective theories as to the Head of that network,” he continued in a neutral voice. “We only have a few other followers of Shadow targeted as possible IDs for the secondary anchors. Those are possible secondary anchors, Nenz and possible IDs. So that is another level of guesswork even beyond our ability to assess the theory of the properties and anchorage of this more sophisticated construct in the first place. It is too many theories stacked upon theories, my friend...too many guesses combined with guesses dependent on other guesses. I cannot have a reliable opinion in this thing, based on so little.”

  “So you are saying...what?” Revik said, his voice colder.

  “I am saying, we simply do not know enough,” Balidor said.

  He raised a hand from his thigh in a gesture of peace at the other’s frown, even as he glanced at Wreg, feeling the other infiltrator’s agreement, even if he could not see it on his mask-like face.

  “We will not know enough, either, Nenz,” Balidor added more carefully. “...Not in the timeframe you have allotted for us. Not if we are to meet the parameters of the planned operation as it is currently scheduled. I do not see any way we could meet those requirements...not unless that schedule were to change. Not unless you mark out time for a real infiltration of their operation...which we both know would be risky as hell, even without the nightmare we’re facing if we wait too long. If Shadow manages to recreate Terian out of Feigran, as well as train Cassandra to the extent that she becomes a serious threat to you––”

  “––Assuming she’s not there already,” Wreg muttered.

  Balidor glanced at him, then made a conceding gesture with one hand.

  “Assuming she’s not there already,” he agreed, not quite meeting the Sword’s gaze. “Then that will complicate our approach even further.”

  “What would you suggest then?” Dehgoies said.

  His voice lowered, growing dangerously quiet.

  “...Or is this merely one of those ‘it can’t be done’ conversations, ‘Dori?” he said coldly. “With no goal but to shoot down the current options being presented?”

  Balidor glanced again at Wreg, who wouldn’t meet his eyes.

  Revik raised his voice, hammering his words.

  “You must know why she’s gone there, ‘Dori,” Revik said. He glanced at Wreg, too, his voice holding more anger. “...Both of you must know this. You must know that the humans and seers we have gathered in New York from the Displacement lists are in danger.” He ga
ve Wreg a longer stare, than shifted his gaze back to Balidor. “We could already be too late to save them. You know that, too.”

  Balidor sighed, clicking softly to himself.

  He did not disagree with the Sword, though.

  Not in the slightest.

  “I agree,” he said, holding up his hands in a kind of surrender. “But you want me to advise you on particulars, Illustrious Sword. I cannot, in good conscience, do that. I can tell you that I will support any move you deem to be the wisest, under the circumstances––”

  “But you will not tell me which of those you would recommend?”

  Balidor blinked at him, startled. Again, he glanced at Wreg.

  Again, Wreg didn’t return his gaze, or take his dark eyes off Revik.

  “You hadn’t actually asked me that, Illustrious Sword,” Balidor said, looking back at Revik. “I will, of course, offer any type of recommendation you wish...”

  When the Elaerian only continued to sit there, stroking Allie’s hair with one hand, Balidor exhaled another series of clicks. He leaned back on the couch cushions before he remembered that it wouldn’t help him at all, then leaned forward, resting his arms on his thighs.

  Fighting back another set of reactions to Allie and the dynamic he could feel between the two of them in the edges of his light, Balidor turned over the Sword’s question, putting himself back in mind of an Adhipan operation. Realizing with some irritation it wasn’t a question he’d asked himself, that he’d gotten too used to the Sword calling the shots, he frowned, staring down at the thin, sky-blue throw rug on the hardwood floor. He thought about how he might have organized this operation under similar constraints, with the resources they had, in New York and elsewhere. Once he had, he found himself looking at the problem very differently.

  He also found himself understanding the Sword’s frustration.

  “I see,” he exhaled. When he glanced up at Revik next, his tone grew apologetic. “Well, given the time constraints,” Balidor said carefully. “I actually think you should bring Maygar into this, and right away. I am wondering, also...” He glanced at Allie, hesitating before going on. “...I recognize the limitations of this approach, but I am wondering if you might be able to include Alyson in some part of this, too.”