by K. T. Hanna
Sai glances away as Mathur’s eyes deliberately search for hers. She hopes he realizes they’ve gotten past their difficulties to...somewhere new.
He sighs before speaking again. “I need a few more days. Just a few. Buy me some time. In a few more days, I will have both the pulse and the dominos ready. If we even need them by then.”
“Bastian will get to that control box, and you know it,” Mason says definitively. He doesn’t mention the likelihood of it being the last thing Bastian does if he’s caught or what it will mean for them if it doesn’t happen.
“Right now we’re holding on by the skin of our teeth. With communications inconsistent, and thousands of Exiled in hiding or dead, we need this to go right for us.” Mason waves his hand, dismissing the meeting, and Sai can’t fight off the chill that creeps down her back.
Bastian takes a deep breath and counts to ten. With the launch of the new Damascus, matters seem to be slowly unraveling.
Deign calls daily meetings that drone on and on about tactics and deployment. About ambushing and annihilating a group of humans because they wouldn’t conform to the GNW ideal. Bastian has become part of the problem. Whether or not his actions are from an advantageous point, where he can sabotage from within, they’re still actions he abhors.
He buries his head in his hands and mumbles softly to himself, trying to keep it together while everything else falls apart. “You just have to disable them. It’s been a week already. You promised you’d get it done.”
If it would help, he’d slap himself in the face, several times, to wake up or prove he’s not asleep. It’d be fantastic if he was, though.
With no way to get word to the Exiled, it’s going to pack a punch right into the heart of the rebels. They’re aiming for a centralized location to the Exiled movement patterns, one where Sai and her team will definitely be called in for help. A lure. A trap. An ambush. Even projecting his thoughts out can’t get past the amped-up grid. They’re so confident they’ll retrieve the source that they’re utilizing all the Shine they have stored.
The Exiled forces won’t stand a chance, including Sai. While they’re preoccupied, a smaller contingent of the Damascus will be on another, very specific errand. Bastian’s only hope is they’ve underestimated the Exiled and, above all, underestimated Sai.
He takes another deep breath and shakes his head to try and clear his thoughts. “Focus.” He says the word as he breathes out, over and over until he feels calm. Bottling his feelings up and refusing to show attachment or emotion has dire consequences if he doesn’t take care of it every now and again. The human condition never meant for him to push them away.
First thing’s first. Create a distraction and get himself down to the level he needs in order to access the device, trigger it, and disable it. Without it, they won’t attempt reactivation again. “But what distraction, what distraction...” Sometimes speaking out loud genuinely helps.
“You need a distraction?” The words are quiet and right next to him. So close, in fact, he would have jumped out of his skin had he not recognized the voice.
Bastian smiles despite himself. “You always turn up at precisely the right moment.”
Dom steps out of the shadows and shrugs. “You should have been expecting me. In fact, I was expecting to have to scrape you off the pavement outside and take your body back with me to the Exiled camps for interment, but I see I was wrong.”
Bastian shakes his head. “Security has been tighter than I thought it would be. The tactical meetings have been stringent and controlled. In fact, my freedom, since you left, has gone steadily downhill. It’s almost like I’m a prisoner.”
He pauses and runs through the last few weeks in his mind. The frown is involuntary as he realizes just how much he’s never been left alone and just how much control Deign has begun exerting over everyone.
“She’s herding you all together to keep a better eye on you.” Dom’s words echo Bastian’s thoughts.
“I just thought she was preparing for this unnecessary war.”
“Perhaps she is, but in doing so, keeping you all where she can see you is probably helping her as well.”
“No matter. With you here, I have a far better chance of completing my self-assigned mission.”
“Are you sure it’s safe?” Dom’s tone is grave, deep concern leaking through his words.
Bastian laughs and eyes his friend. “Are you serious? Since when was this idea ever going to be safe? Honestly? With you around, at least it has a better chance of being completed at all. Tonight is probably a no-go, but that doesn’t mean we can’t devise a way to trigger it tomorrow.”
“I told them seven to nine days. I didn’t promise tonight, but I know they were hoping for it.” Dom’s voice is quiet.
“I know. It just isn’t possible. I know the way down there, I know the codes, and I know how to deactivate it. I just don’t know how to get down there without creating suspicion or getting caught.” Bastian flips through the information on his reader for the fiftieth time that day.
“It’s a two-person job?” Dom frowns a little. “You shouldn’t attempt this alone. It’d be suicide.”
“One person’s suicide to save an entire division of humanity? Not really a question, my friend.” Bastian looks up from his files and smiles tiredly. “So will you help me devise a way, or do I still have to use my puny human brain to its breaking point?”
“I doubt it would break, and it’s definitely not puny, but sure. What do they say? Two heads are better than one?”
Bastian smiles. “They do say that indeed. Now...” He pulls out the blueprints locked in the secret panel directly under the lip of his desk, glad that Dom didn’t push the suicidal aspect of his mission. “This is the way down to the experimentation area.” He traces his fingers along the map. “I know you’ve been up this way. They have patrols here, here, here, and here.” He stabs a finger at each juncture. “Not to mention a plethora of cameras stationed in and around every corner. Especially now, they should all be working.”
Dom nods and frowns at the plans. “What about here?” He indicates an old fire escape stairwell. “It’s rarely used. Some portions of it are crumbling.”
“Exactly.” Bastian smiles. “That’s where I was planning to enter, but I need some sort of diversion to get the other guards away from their posts. Once I’m past this point here—” he indicates a small corridor running not far from the abandoned fire escape “—it’s not going to be that hard. I just slip away past this corridor and head for the laboratory. The device is located in this room.”
“Have you seen it there, or were you told?”
“Both.” At Dom’s questioning look, Bastian explains. “I helped to install it down here when the idea was first formed. I’ve not been told directly that it hasn’t moved, but it’s been implied. And if it’s not there...well, I’m sort of screwed, aren’t I?”
“To put it mildly.” Colors flicker through Dom’s eyes, resting on silver as he stares at his friend.
Bastian chuckles. “It’s odd how reasoning things out with you is much better than trying to argue with myself. Did you know that?”
Dom pauses for a moment before breaking the stare. “It’s logical that conversing with yourself would never be as remotely as productive as talking to another person who can provide other perspectives. I need to try and release the Ebony into the air filtration system.”
“Ebony’s finished?” Bastian raises an eyebrow as Dom pulls out a slim canister, almost the length of his forearm. He lets out a low whistle. “Nice.”
Dom frowns. “It’s still a prototype, and I need to figure out how to get into the filtration chamber to release it.”
“Pretty sure that’s guarded.” Bastian looks at the canister again. “Are we sure it’s safe?”
There’s a moment of silence and Dom blinks. “I’m not certain, but I should be able to tell once I open it to insert...”
“Sometimes you’re far too much a ma
chine, Dom.”
Dom’s expression is unreadable, and his words cryptic when he answers. “I’ve been led to believe that, on occasion, it’s also a good thing.”
“Perhaps.” Bastian turns back to the map. “Anyway, do you think you can provide the distraction I’m going to need? It has to be something...well, big.”
Dom grins. It’s not a nice grin, and Bastian has to stop himself from shuddering. Still, though, it should bode well for the plan.
“I’ll take that as a yes, then.”
“Take that as a hell yes.”
By the time they’ve hammered out the details and caught up on news and developments, it’s early morning. Bastian grips his hands around the arms of his chair and stretches his back.
“There are days I wish this horrible excuse for a world had been obliterated by Mother Nature back in the day.”
“Oh?” Dom is busy flipping a pencil around his fingers with amazing speed and dexterity.
“If we’d just blown up when the meteors hit instead of restructuring most of the landmasses and coastal regions, none of this stuff would matter. There’d be no one here for it to matter.” Bastian resists the urge to pout, even though it’s strong.
“Philosophical, I believe you call that?” Dom asks, pausing his dexterous display.
Bastian laughs. “Perhaps.” Silence falls for a while, a companionable one. “Do you think Sai is strong enough for this?”
Dom’s brow furrows, an oddly smooth sort of wrinkle. “I believe Sai isn’t as strong as everyone wants her to be, but I don’t think that’ll ever stop her. Why?”
“How do you mean?”
“She’s resilient, stubborn, resourceful, and gifted in ways she’s still finding out. Most people attach too much importance to her strength and what she can do. Others will see an immature threat incapable of the depth she truly has. And others, like herself, will push her until she burns out.”
“Interesting.” Bastian spins his reader around his desk. “They’re going to set up an ambush for her.”
Dom’s expression darkens. “When?”
“Soon. It’s all I know.” For a few moments, Bastian says nothing, trying to come up with the right words. “We need her. We need all of them, but in particular, the loss of anyone who’s been influential to the Exiled forces? It’s not a loss we can afford right now.”
Dom smiles again, the same smile that makes Bastian’s blood run cold. “You’re doing it, too.”
“Doing what?”
“Underestimating her.”
Sai buckles herself into the reinforced gloves to help Mathur test out some of the domino abilities again. “Okay. I’m ready.”
Iria chuckles. “How did Aishke get out of this again?”
Sai laughs, bouncing lightly on her feet. Training always helps her focus. “She’s still pretty badly banged up from her accident. It was only, what? Just over a week ago? I’m surprised she’s been able to train with us at all.”
“Point.” Iria wraps the underlay around her own hands before pulling the gloves into place. “These are supposed to help us, right?”
“Adrium might seem malleable, but it really hurts if you hit it without psionic backing.” She tests her fists against each other. “These mean we don’t have to expend energy we might need.”
“Exactly.” Mathur walks over to them and smiles, clapping his hands to line up Thirty-Five and Thirty-One behind him. “These two are close to ready. Maybe a minor adjustment or two away. They are fine to train in regular drills but not one-on-one combat with the general trainees.”
“So give them to us?” Sai laughs, loving the release from tension it gives her.
“I did not mean it like—”
Sai cuts him off before he finishes. “I know, Mathur. I’m just making a joke.”
He forces a smile and motions the dominos forward, signaling them all to engage.
Sparing, especially with a domino, is always fun. It keeps Sai on her toes—especially in a harness. Throws take on a new meaning when they’re done by someone who could crush your skull without a thought.
But the training session is interrupted as Mason turns up at the door, skin around his eyes reddened, panting more than usual.
“We’re on standby mode, Mathur. We have to send teams in. There’s a patrol laying waste to Iota.”
Sai blanches and the dominos stop. Iota is their care unit—where the elderly stay, or those who’re injured permanently. It’s a smaller Mobile without a full compliment.
“We’ll go.” Sai pulls herself out of the vest. “Thirty-One, with us.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.” The others fall into step behind her.
She moves swiftly, leading the way. Time to see if another domino can do what’s needed.
The canister of Ebony fits neatly against Dom’s wrist and forearm, the end cupped in the palm of his hand. It’s the only way he can adapt his camouflage to surround it, and he makes a note to thank Kayde for the foresight. The filtration hubs sit well below street-level, in the remnants of what was, buzzing with the effort of circulating air through the entire city.
Central systems and fans run in a complex design of air chutes, ultimately pushing out through huge concrete passageways with large propellers based on an outdated centrifugal design. Air rushes out through vents and into the dome of the city. There’s a constant whoosh of noise as the stale, used air is sucked back into the massive system, purified, and shot back out again. The filtration agent is housed in the main body of the machine. It shoots out the purifier in puffs of faint dust, so the air that reaches the city is perfect, if a little thick with low-grade combustibility.
The chamber housing the system is cavernous.
And guarded.
The Damascus patrol is split—two soldiers inside and two outside. Their lieutenant patrols a loop of both. No Hound, though, which makes sense. More fragile than their counterparts, the Hounds haven’t weathered the test of time quite as well.
Dom moves slowly around the initial two, only passing through the door when they change guard. One of the soldiers swivels in his direction, orange beads of light focusing but seemingly passing through him. It takes half a step forward, and Dom exerts all his will to camouflage, desperately wishing he could sink through the rock. Darkness hovers gleefully at the edge of his vision, but he tempers it with the sureness of loss against five Damascus. Even the parasite wants to survive, and it retreats almost like a sulky child.
The soldier withdraws, stepping back in line with its partner, and they venture through the door. Dom slithers through with inches to spare and waits until they are well on their patrol before moving farther inside, glad that apparently being able to see adrium netting doesn’t extend to a fully adrium being. The lieutenant should be another ten minutes, easily enough time for Dom to work his way into the heart of the filtration room and add the Ebony agent to the mix.
He moves slowly, past suctioning machines, swirling waters, and strange steam elements. Reaching the middle, he pauses at the huge filtration system. The massive steel machine has several inserts for the purifying agent, and as he’d hoped, some of the slots are empty. Which was always part of the plan. Can’t take away the air purification just to put the resistance agent into the air.
The side panel requires codes and simultaneous insertion of the canister. He frowns at the distance between them, irritated. While he may be capable of morphing within constraints, stretching himself that far isn’t an option. He has no time to waste. There’s no way for him to insert the Ebony without setting off alarms. Not only would that cause the canister to be ejected, rendering the whole trip completely futile, but it would also warn the GNW of possible tampering.
Anger seeps in quickly, and clamping down on the parasite’s whisperings takes precious minutes. Once it passes, he has to blend against the system and hope the lieutenant doesn’t notice him on its rounds. Each second that passes is cutting it closer to the deadline Bastian set for th
e needed distraction.
But the lieutenant stands at the door, quite some distance from the center, and scans the area. Dom stays perfectly still while the patrols exchange, while the strange whirs and slightly off-key beeps that pass for their language are exchanged. Until, finally, the lieutenant lets the others through and reverses, going back to the windy corridors.
Dom waits as patiently as possible before moving back through security, swearing that next time he’d find another way in and bring someone with him to do the job right.
Dom inches his way down the halls, past the surveillance cameras, and through the corridors down to the elevators. Just past those are the frequently used fire escape stairwells, sitting in relative obscurity. He waits until the door opens.
Once in the stairwell, it’s easier to navigate the way down. There’s less of a chance of encountering people and less of a chance of being recorded. It’s also not one of the camera hotspots in the building, although security has increased since the initial infiltration a few months ago. Then again, a lot has changed in him since then, too.
There’s a feeling in the pit of his stomach, probably akin to what people call fear, but Dom isn’t used to it. It’s annoying. The plan is seemingly foolproof if all the intel they have is correct. He wonders if it’s his trip down to the filtration system that has him on edge. But something else keeps tugging at Dom, cautioning him, making him aware that not all may be as it seems.
Dom pushes it to the back of his mind and continues on his way down, checking his internal clock as he goes. He’s early, luckily. There’s about five minutes before he needs to create the promised diversion.
Just get in and out, Bastian, he thinks to himself over and over. It’s all Bastian has to do—just dive into it and out of it as soon as possible. If needed, Dom will fight their way out. It’s currently late afternoon, and the corridors are far emptier than he remembers. Most people are still in their offices.
He glances up and down, frowning. There’s one guard stationed at each point of contact. Each point he needs to drag them away from. The unused fire escape is down the left hand corridor, two guard points from where Bastian will need to go in order to get into the laboratory.
