by T. C. Edge
I consider taking the news to Lady Orlando but realise there would be no point. I don’t know what I heard, if anything.
But my wary nature serves me as it so often does with a dose of concern. Something tells me that not everything has gone to plan.
The quiet gives me pause to think and rest. I sit back on the bed, telling myself I’ll take a moment to myself before venturing back out. Shutting my eyes, the last few days begin to catch up, a weariness flooding me, and I begin to drift away.
The respite is short-lived.
A rumbling of noise clatters from down the corridor. I don’t even realise I’ve fallen asleep until the sound snaps me back awake. A check of my watch tells me I caught about half an hour, barely enough to refill the fumes in my tank.
I rise wearily from the bed and leave the room, moving back into the main church.
Its contents have swelled. The sparse remainder of people here have been joined by others. I see familiar faces, revealed to us as masks and helmets are removed. I see bodies covered in armour and the grimy residue of war, grim faces, and panting mouths.
It looks like they’ve rushed to get back here as quickly as possible, those with Dasher powers emptying the tanks as they helped along those without.
Among that number, I see Rycard and Freya, the two non-Dashers in the group. Beckett is there too, along with Kira, both blessed with a fine collection of enhancements and senses.
Then there’s Astor, who appears to be the injured man Beckett referred to. His right arm looks in a bad state, hastily gathered into a sling and drowned in blood. He’s rushed straight off towards another area of the church to get some medical attention, his eyes rolling about in his skull and his lips mumbling in muted agony.
I turn my eyes to another hybrid, Marler. It appears that the other member of the group, Quinn, was the one to bite the dust.
I scan the scene and see them all, before I rush at the final member of the strike force and draw him into a hug. My brother barely has the strength to hug me back.
As I let him go, he half collapses into a chair. The rest appear just as exhausted, water rushed out and handed to them. They gulp it down and clatter into whatever empty seats and pews they can find. Only Beckett stays on his feet, the sort of man who won’t allow himself a moment to rest.
I see him head straight for Lady Orlando’s room and, through heaving breaths, hear the voice of Rycard calling me over. I move towards him.
“Sophie…Maddox…” he pants. “Are they…all right?”
“They’re fine,” I say. “We got to the mines OK.”
I hope that turns out to be true. Sophie was showing signs of toxic poisoning just before I left.
I don’t tell him that, of course.
“You’re back….so fast,” he breathes. “Is it…all safe out there?”
“They’re secure, and well protected,” I say. “We had a few problems on the road, but they’re fine.”
His breathing becomes a little more feverish for a few moments, his exhaustion joined by relief. A weak and weary smile works up onto his face.
“Thank you, Brie…” he pants.
As he gulps down more water, I hear Lady Orlando re-entering the hall, accompanied by Beckett. Zander gets back to his feet. The rest remain seated.
Or sprawled.
That would be the more apt description of how they’re laid out.
Over in the comms room, the crackling of voices can still be heard. Adryan pops out briefly to see what the commotion is about before disappearing once again.
“Well done, all of you,” calls out Lady Orlando. “You have done this cause a great service. We will mourn for Quinn when we can, but that time is not now.”
I look to Marler, whose hooded eyes drop. They were clearly close friends.
“The protocol we assigned needs to be followed,” she continues. “You will need to gather your strength as quickly as you can. Adryan,” she calls. Adryan appears from the comms room again. “Where are we with our men out there? How many have you managed to communicate with?”
“We have a dozen or so commanders still engaged in the fighting. Perhaps three or four hundred of our men under them. We’re still trying with the rest, but are having trouble getting through. And we’re hearing reports of Con-Cops swarming eastwards…”
Beckett’s voice rises up.
“We passed a lot of them on our way back just now. Took down a few but they barely even engaged. I think they’re following their own programming, Lady Orlando.”
“You’re saying they’re heading east for a reason? As if it was written into their conditioning for such an eventuality as this?” she asks.
“Yes, that is one possibility,” comes Beckett’s deep voice. “They do not behave as normal soldiers. This might be some failsafe for them, retreating and holing up in the more easily defendable factories and warehouses in the eastern quarter.”
“But why wouldn’t they just retreat to Inner Haven?” I ask. “Why the eastern quarter?”
“As I say, more easily defendable,” says Beckett. “And who knows…Cromwell doesn’t usually permit any regular Unenhanced, whether they’ve been reconditioned or not, to enter Inner Haven. Such a thing might well be hardwired into them, so they’re simply unable to cross the walls into the inner part of the city.”
“Sounds ridiculous,” grunts Freya, her huge frame slumped across a pew.
“Perhaps, yes, but also just like something Artemis would do,” says Lady Orlando, surveying her. “He has little love for the Unenhanced, as we all know. Adryan, any word on him?”
Adryan shakes his head.
“It’s too busy out there, too much noise for our scouts to properly assess what’s going on. We’re still trying to connect with some of our people in Inner Haven.”
“Hang on…you mean, you don’t know if he’s dead or not?” asks Zander, flaring to life. “What about Commander Burns. He was meant to provide confirmation, wasn’t he?”
“He was,” says Lady Orlando, “but I haven’t been able to get through to him.”
Her words send a ripple of concern through the assembly.
Zander looks set to speak again, but I cut in.
“He’s not dead,” I say. “I know that much at least.”
Everyone turns to me.
“How do you know?” asks Beckett in his typically short manner.
“I have a weak telepathic link with him. I…I heard his voice.”
“And what did he say?” clatters Beckett’s voice. “Is Cromwell dead or not?!”
“I don’t know what he said. His words were too indistinct, but it was him, I’m sure of it. He sounded…I don’t know. I guess he sounded strained.”
“Rare for him to sound as such,” offers Lady Orlando coolly. “Leyton Burns isn’t a man to be affected by stress. I don’t like the sound of this. I don’t like it at all.”
Her words descend like doom. A blanket of despair covers us.
“Don’t tell me we did all that for nothing,” mutters Rycard. “Don’t tell me we killed thousands of people for nothing…”
“We don’t know yet,” says our leader. “Whatever the case, none of this is for nothing. We will continue as planned, gather our forces in the northern quarter, and march straight through the gate into Inner Haven. I assume the tunnel through the factory remains clear over in the east?”
“It is,” says Beckett. “We managed to escape from beneath the High Tower before the explosions, and killed all those who followed us. The failsafe wasn’t required in the tunnel leading out from the war room. The secret passage is still passable, assuming the Con-Cops haven’t located it.”
“Good,” says Lady Orlando. “Then Beckett, Zander, Marler, you know what to do. Get an hour or two’s rest, and return. You’ll need to ensure that the guards operating the northern gate into Inner Haven are disabled so we can pass through.”
I look from one person to the next, and they all nod. They clearly know just wh
at’s going on, unlike me.
“So, we’re marching straight into the centre of the city? Won’t it be heavily guarded?” I ask.
Lady Orlando looks to Adryan, urging him to explain.
“According to our scouts,” he begins, “the City Guards are primarily located around Outer Haven, either fighting or trying to keep the peace. Those concentrated around the High Tower, including many Stalkers, may well have been killed in the blast. We’re waiting on confirmation about that. What is clear, however, is that there’s no better time than now to enter and take possession of Inner Haven.”
“They’re leaderless, lost,” adds Lady Orlando swiftly. “Now is our time to take hold of the future. Whoever needs to rest, do so now. We march at midnight with as big a force as we can muster.”
Her words seem to draw a close to the conversation. Anything else just seems like speculation right now. She moves back off to her quarters as the rest go to work or seek out a quiet spot to get a few winks of sleep.
Zander is among the latter. He looks like he hasn’t slept in two days at least, and with so much left to be done, is in dire need of rest. I decide not to interfere with him, despite wishing to know all about his mission and just how they managed to topple such a towering structure.
Usually, he’d have several questions for me, too, regarding my own adventures in the outerlands. The fact that he barely even looks at me makes it eminently clear that there’s nothing on his mind but sleep right now.
As the hall begins to clear, however, I find myself troubled by everything I’ve heard. The Con-Cops moving east. Burns not making contact. The faint strain I think I heard in his voice. The very obvious fact that we have no confirmation that Cromwell, or any of the Consortium, have met their makers.
I sit and ponder it all on an old pew, and think of a final person who hasn’t yet been mentioned. A person who takes joy in foiling such plots and plans.
Agent Woolf.
Only two nights ago, she escaped from her cell, taking her new slave, Rafe, along with her, corrupting him to her cause, forcing him to kill several of his allies, of our own loyal men.
We covered all the bases we could think of, setting watchers outside the gates in the north and west to ensure that, should she try to enter the city again, she’d be found by us first.
But what if we missed something?
What if, with everything going on, she slipped through the net, crept back through some secret passage that she discovered in someone’s mind? What if she managed to get into the city and alert Cromwell of our treachery just before the tower came down?
And as I go to Adryan, and find that he has heard no word on Woolf from any of our teams, I come to a single and unsettling conclusion.
Maybe Rycard was right.
Maybe we just killed thousands of people for nothing…
3
The onset of night forces the Fangs inside. They enter with wide eyes and inspect the interior, finding places amid the darkest corners they can find.
Such a structure as this is as alien to them as it so recently was to me, what with its ancient interior furnishings, wood panelling, murky stained glass, and occasional old religious figure fixed to the walls. Places like this were once used to pray to some higher deity, the people believing there was a God watching over them, guiding their path.
That’s what the figures signify: an entity to look up to, to trust, to love.
That all stopped when the wars started. When humans began to play God themselves, speeding evolution and creating the Enhanced beings who populate the world today. Now, the pervading thought is that, if there was a God, he’s no longer here.
He left this place a long time ago.
And now we fend for ourselves.
As his men find their spaces to rest and admire the hall’s interior furnishings, Rhoth finds his own alongside me. I sit on a pew just off to the right, close enough to hear the goings on within the communication room, but far enough away so its sufficiently quiet for me to drop off if needed.
I doubt I will.
That half an hour of sleep I snatched seems sufficient for me now, my thoughts far too aggressive to let me catch any further rest.
It’s been like that for days, grabbing a few hours here and a few hours there. Perhaps, like with everything else, that’s the nature of my life now. I doubt there are many across the city who are able to sleep soundly right now.
The feeling is one of a calm before the storm. The inevitable trickle of time towards the latest attack. Across Outer Haven, something of a lull seems to have fallen, created in part by the withdrawal of our fighting forces from several battlegrounds scattered throughout the city.
They will gather towards the north and await us there. From the depths, Beckett, Zander, and Marler will come, disabling those who guard the northern gate and providing us entry into the inner section of the city.
It will be a glorious coup, built on a terrible act. Such is often the case in this world.
“Why don’t you rest?” asks Rhoth, his hulking frame now drenched across the pew beside me. “You have much work to do, girl. You need to sleep.”
“I can’t,” I say. “Too much on my mind.”
“Yes, the girl and her mind. It is a gift and a curse, that special brain of yours. But to fight, you need rest. You’ve come this far, no sense in dying now.”
My head starts to shake.
“I can’t,” I say. “What about you?”
“I can rest when it suits me. The wilds are always dangerous, so we learn to sleep in bits and pieces…”
“That’s not what I meant,” I say.
“Then what?”
“I mean…are you coming with us? To help take the city?”
His eyes fold up at the suggestion.
“You don’t think we’ve done enough already?”
“You’ve done what you said you would,” I smile. “I’m just thinking…maybe you want to make sure of your investment. You said it yourself, if we die, you don’t get any help out there with your own battles. If you help, though, that’ll be less likely.”
A grin gallops across his lips, and his sharp yellow teeth are bared.
“Clever girl,” he laughs. “Thinking you can get me to fight like this. Oh no, we don’t go into the big city with all the lights. No sense in us dying too if we face something you haven’t planned for.”
I consider his words a second, then ask: “You think we’re making a mistake?”
“I don’t have any opinion on this. I make war in the woods and the wilds. I have no experience of your concrete and metal lands.”
“But you do,” I continue. “You don’t think we should be doing any of this, do you?”
“I have the luxury, girl, of not having to think about such things. My world is a simple one. I will not pretend to understand yours. It is too complicated for men like me. We all make war in our own way.”
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Rhoth. You’d run the city just as well as Cromwell does, that’s for sure.”
“Ah, the famous Director Cromwell, up in the clouds. Interesting how you say ‘does’, not ‘did’. Was he not meant to be in the big tower when it fell? Is he not meant to be dead? You believe he’s still alive, do you not?”
I go quiet for a moment, then my lungs empty with a sudden breath.
“Something doesn’t add up. I think…I think…”
“You think he got out…”
The sentence is finished for me, but not by Rhoth. Lifting my eyes, I see Adryan hover into view, emerging from the comms room.
“You do, don’t you? You reckon he escaped?”
My lack of immediate answer has Adryan speaking again. He continues to come forwards until he’s next to me, slipping to my other side on the wooden bench and completing the strange threesome.
A hybrid, a hunter, and a Savant.
It sounds like the start of some awful joke…
“I think you’re right,” he
continues. “I just spoke with one of our scouts in Inner Haven, a Hawk who had eyes on the High Tower. He said he saw a group of Stalkers rush from the foyer moments before the building came down. They were bunched together, protecting several people. They got into a series of armoured vans and…”
“Cromwell, and the Consortium,” I whisper, cutting in. “They all got out…”
Adryan frowns, his head shaking.
“I don’t know, not for sure. He said there were only a few people being protected. Certainly not twelve, anyway, so it couldn’t be all of the Consortium.”
“And did he see what they were wearing.”
Adryan’s demeanour darkens.
“He couldn’t see that well, not through the Stalkers. But…shades of white. He said he saw shades of white.”
I almost laugh as he speaks. A wry smirk climbs up my face as my head starts to shake. I suck in a breath.
I knew it.
“Have you told Lady Orlando?” I breathe out.
“Just about to. It won’t change anything. Sounds like they were headed away from the city. They probably have some other stronghold somewhere.”
“Yeah, we’ve been there,” I say. “It’s called the REEF. And yup, it kinda does change stuff, Adryan. We just blew up a building to kill a man who probably wasn’t even in the goddamn thing.”
“Well, we didn’t do anything,” he retorts. “I was here and you were out in the woods. What I mean is, we’ll be marching at midnight anyway, and taking control of Inner Haven. The same scout who saw the Stalkers escape, saw a whole load more get caught in the blast. Inner Haven really is there for the taking.”
“And what does that do, anyway?” I can feel my blood beginning to boil in that typical, emotional way of mine. I hate it when it does that. I take a breath and try to recompose myself. “What’s the point in taking Inner Haven? Just spell it out for me, because everyone seems to know what the hell’s going on except me.”
My raised voice attracts a bit of attention. In a place like this, anything more than a whisper seems to echo.
“You want it spelled out? It’s simple, Brie.” Sarcasm. Is that sarcasm from a damn Savant? “We have to take Inner Haven first because it’s much smaller and surrounded by a wall. It’s also currently largely undefended. We take it, then go from there. This is about saving the city. You do realise that, right?”
