by T. C. Edge
He doesn’t conclude the sentence, but I don’t need to read his mind to understand what he was about to say.
I’m very much feeling the same.
We go there now, though, checking him into the office-turned bedroom on level 14. Up here, the offices are a little larger, and his room is situated on the northern facing extremity of the building, giving him a view of the streets below.
We’re both drawn there upon entering – as with all other rooms here, there’s nothing else to draw the eye – and look out over the carcass of the High Tower from this loftier vantage point.
I choose not to zoom in with my eyes, though, for fear of catching sight of some corpse through a gap in the rubble. Right now, I’d rather avoid anything too macabre if possible.
“They’re cleaning it up fast,” remarks Adryan looking down. “Soon enough, it’ll be like the High Tower was never there.”
“Yeah, you could say the same about a lot of buildings in this city,” I say. “I’ve been through the north, west, and south in the last few days. There’s a lot of rubble about. A lot of places are too far gone to be rebuilt.”
“Yeah, but it’s not the same as this,” he says, staring at the place that marks such a tragedy for his people.
Not that he has much love for them. But still, they’re his people nonetheless.
He turns from the sight, away from the window, and his eyes glide over the makeshift bed set up for him on the floor. I assume it was Alfred’s before he was swapped out and relegated to the church. Now, it’ll be the timid stutterer who needs to deal directly with Rhoth.
I feel sorry for the man. I really do.
“So, how’s Rhoth doing?” I ask.
Adryan’s eyes do a little roll.
“Difficult,” he says. “The man has no patience at all. He seems to get more erratic by the day.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know really. These tribal people are beyond my understanding sometimes. I’d like to study them some more, find out what makes them tick. I guess that was the only good thing about staying there.”
“What, watching Rhoth get more and more erratic?” I smile.
“Yeah, it was, um, interesting. He seems to be unwilling to call me Adryan. Always just refers to me as Mr Savant, as if I’m the only one. He tries to be intimidating sometimes, but that doesn’t really work on me. Alfred may have a more difficult time.”
I laugh at the image, although feel that pang of sympathy for the poor guy.
“Rhoth actually seems quite harmless to me,” I say. “At least, given our arrangement, he is. That’s what’s aggravating him, right? Our lack of immediate support for his war?”
“Seems to be,” says Adryan. “I suppose I understand his reasoning and fears.”
“And what are they?”
“That the Bear-Skins may retaliate for what happened when you passed through. Bjorn is, by all accounts, a rather hot-tempered man.”
“Oh, I should say so,” I huff. “And man would be an understatement. He is seriously gigantic. Must be at least part-Brute, although might well be a full one.”
“Yes, and perhaps that explains the rage. Brutes walk a fine line sometimes. They can turn into beasts if they’re not properly managed. And living out there in the wilds, his madness hasn’t had any such restraints.”
My mind steps back to seeing Titus’ fury only a couple of days ago. To see someone usually so mild-mannered explode like that was quite frightening.
“I don’t see what Rhoth has to worry about, though,” I suggest. “The woods in the west are too dangerous at the moment, what with Cromwell’s Stalkers creeping around the place. I’m not sure even Bjorn is foolish enough to strike there now.”
“He probably doesn’t know about any of that,” says Adryan. “And, that’s another concern for Rhoth – having his people hunted by the Stalkers. He’s considering bringing his whole tribe closer to the church for security, but then they’ll be closer to the Bear-Skins and the city. I mean, his concerns are understandable. I think he just wants his people to be safe.”
“It’s the same for us all I suppose. I thought he was just being impatient about taking out his enemies, but this is more understandable. Lady Orlando did mention a force was being gathered, though. Do you know anything about that?”
“Probably no more than you do. You’ve got her inner ear more than anyway by the looks of things.”
“How do you mean?”
“Just that she cares about you. That much is obvious. And Zander too. I suppose it’s because you’re his twin, and she’s looked out for him for so long…”
“Mmmm,” I mumble. “That’s all it is.”
With the evening our own, I decide that now would be a good time to introduce Adryan to Brenda, Tess, and the rest of the kids from the academy. Returning to the atrium, we work our way onto the main concourse outside and towards Compton’s Hall.
When we arrive, we find dinnertime underway. At various points along one wall, food stations have been erected for the distribution of rations. The people line up for their food before returning to their little units to eat, each of them given a fairly meagre allowance that suggests food stocks are a slight concern.
“That’ll be because of all the Con-Cops in the eastern quarter,” says Adryan as we discuss the point. “All food production has been shut down, so they’re probably just being careful. Who knows when we’ll be able to retake those factories and get things up and running again.”
“They’re only Con-Cops, though,” I say. “They don’t put up much of a fight against proper soldiers.”
“No, but this would be different. It’s not warfare on the streets and in the open. And who knows, maybe they’ve wired all the factories to blow in case they’re attacked.”
“Sounds like something Cromwell would do,” I grumble. “Anything to keep some measure of control.”
We continue on towards the rear, where I spy my friends waiting patiently in line for their rations. Unlike many others here, they’re used to living off smaller portions, partly because of their age and nutritional requirements, and partly because it’s the best Mrs Carmichael could do when responsible for feeding so many.
It’s to my guardian that we go, managing the kids as usual and making sure they all get fed, ably supported by Tess of course.
They both spot us coming, and both immediately step out of the line towards us.
“Well now,” says Brenda. “Is this the mysterious Adryan?”
“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Carmichael,” he says, reaching out with a stiff hand.
She slides right by it and draws him into a hug. Tess then sees an opening and does the same.
“We’ve heard a lot,” says my best friend, withdrawing. “How come you’re here? Last we heard this morning, you were outside the city?”
“Lady Orlando brought him in,” I say. “You know, with them both being Savants and everything. Think she likes having him around.”
“We have a good working relationship,” says Adryan.
“Well, I can’t blame Cornelia for that,” says, Brenda, flashing a smile. “A handsome man like you. Who wouldn’t want you around. Brie, are you sure your boss’s intentions are pure?”
I shake my head a smile.
“You’ll have to excuse my old guardian,” I say to Adryan. “She’s got a funny way of looking at things.”
Adryan’s cool poise melts into a slightly put-upon laugh. I’m not sure he’s dealt with such humour before.
“Well, why do you think I agreed to come, Mrs Carmichael?” asks Adryan, lifting a cheeky grin. “I may be married to Brie, but that was only ever to get close to Lady Orlando…”
Brenda and Tess’s eyes light up, and so do mine.
“Jeez, was that a joke, Adryan?!” I ask.
“I suppose so,” he says.
“Yeah, and a good one,” laughs Tess.
Brenda chuckles away, widening her eyes as she looks at me.
“Brie, who knew your husband was so bad! I didn’t know your people understood jokes,” she says, looking back at Adryan.
“We don’t, in general,” he says. “But my work involved studying all the people in this city. I’ve picked up one or two things along the way.”
“Well, you’ll fit right in,” says Brenda. “So, are you eating? Care to join us?”
“I’m not sure…” I begin.
“Of course, we’d absolutely love to,” cuts in Adryan. “Shall we?”
He moves straight off, leading us back to the line. And for the next hour or so, we gather our rations, sit in the assigned unit for the residents of the academy, and continue our discussion as it morphs from pithy chitchat to the more profound topics that tend to butt in on any attempt at a regular, stress-free conversation.
Naturally, Brenda and Tess’s main preoccupation is with the burgeoning relationship between Adryan and me. It’s a topic I’d rather avoid, and one I’m not really comfortable discussing in an open forum like this.
My friends clearly note that – they know me well enough to realise when I’m uncomfortable – but fail to steer the conversation away nonetheless. At least, not for some time, until it runs its course and we enter into a grander philosophical debate on the state of the city and the future it holds for his people, their people, and my people; Savants, Unenhanced, and hybrids.
Adryan, of course, has plenty to say on the topic. His entire working life has centred around learning about the people of the city, and his preoccupation has always been in determining how we can all exist together. Naturally, my grandfather didn’t quite agree with those assertions, and took a rather more radical route.
In the end, the summation within our group is simple: that the entire structure of the city, both societally and architecturally speaking, will need to be revamped. That the dividing lines between the Enhanced and Unenhanced, Inner and Outer Haven, will need to be blurred and eventually eliminated.
That we are at the beginning of a revolution that will, in time, see all of our lives change for the better. And that, while some parties will bemoan the adaptations they may have to make, in the end our lives will be more equitable, fair, and prosperous all round.
Truth be told, I don’t participate much in the discussion. It’s the sort of idealised look at things that my inner cynic won’t let me get fully on board with. And, surprisingly, my guardian, always a major sceptic herself, appears to be quite buoyed by it all. Rather taken by Adryan’s rarely seen passion for how Haven, despite all the terrible things that happened, can come out of this mess the better for it.
For my mind, it’s all mute, all just words. Because right now, it’s no good looking forward when the present is so ambiguous. Until a time comes where we can safely look out over the horizon and say: “There’s nothing to threaten us,” then all of this chat is, for me, a waste of time.
And so, rather than sucking the life from the group with my negativity, I keep quiet. I listen, but rarely talk. And all the while, my mind falters and turns to the one man I still want dead, need dead, above all.
The man who, tomorrow, I’ll be standing in front of again.
And when that happens, despite assurances of a peaceful negotiation, I may find those promises hard to keep…
9
I sleep that night with difficulty.
There’s a lot going through my mind.
Despite Adryan’s arrival, Tess maintains her position as my roommate. I guess that’s the natural form of things, seeing as we’ve shared together for years and know each other’s sleeping habits so well.
Adryan, on the other hand, never shared a room, let alone a bed, with me. And yet now, knowing he’s in this building a dozen floors up, I’d rather like him to be here.
My romantic thoughts for him refuse to be contained, and there’s a temptation in me to creep up to level 14 and join him in his room. Half my mind is taken by the desire, keeping me from slipping into my nightmares. The other half remains fixed on what tomorrow will bring, and how I’ll react upon seeing Cromwell again.
I know myself well enough to realise I’m going to be nervous, angry, and hate-filled when I lock eyes with him. I know, too, that in other circumstances I might just do something stupid.
But, with the situation as it is, I have to be smart. I have to be calm. I have to let Lady Orlando do the talking. And if not her, someone like Beckett, or Rycard, or my brother.
Truth be told, I’m well down the list.
So, my mind swings this way and that that night as I attempt to sleep, leading to a dull ache that nibbles from deep inside my skull. The only positive to come from it is that my nightmares can be completely avoided, at least until the exhaustion takes its toll and I eventually slip away.
Then, they assault me as they so enjoy doing, my ability to keep the demons at bay still undeveloped. In time, I know, I’ll learn such skill, but right now it’s open season, my defences out for the count and unable to contain the bombardment.
As with the previous night, I wake in a cold sweat before dawn has arrived, and decide to call it a night. Tess, rather annoyingly, continues to sleep like an angel, her pink lips slightly open and releasing a light tune of soft breathing, her blonde hair swept back beautifully over her head and matching nicely with the slight tan she always appears to have.
I watch her for a moment as I dress, envious of the relative simplicity of her world. For her, right now, there’s nothing to do but help look after the kids and hope that the war doesn’t get any worse. Like most people, she’s been affected by all this conflict but isn’t directly involved.
I’d prefer that, personally. But, no, not for me. Instead, my brother is one of the most powerful warriors in the city, my grandmother is the leader of the rebel cause, and my grandfather is the very reason this war is happening in the first place.
I’ve killed dozens of people, seen friends die, and have done and seen things that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. Well, unless it’s the aforementioned grandfather, that is.
Really, it’s a life I never signed up for and yet one I cannot avoid. And today, the next stage in this war might just be decided.
That thought occupies me all morning, as it does everyone else. By the time the city rises to another misty day, it’s clear that the knowledge of the negotiation talks have spread to all corners.
Consequently, the fighting across the city, though now limited to small, sporadic skirmishes, has now completely subsided. It’s some proof that Cromwell wishes to treat for peace, his orders having been heard and taken on board by his men, and all those loyal to him now standing down for the time being.
As the morning passes by, it affords us an opportunity to continue to gather any civilians wishing to cross over towards Inner Haven. With the threat of Cromwell’s agents put on hiatus, they start to creep from their homes once more, helped along by our many soldiers who spread through the western and southern quarters, providing safe passage.
More than just seeing their fellow Outer Haveners flock to safety, the sight of the fresh influx of refugees helps to give the people some hope and assurance that Cromwell is serious about agreeing a long-term peace. That the people have clearly spoken, and that there really is no option for him now but to accept his failure and make the best he can out of it.
Yet, for me, I’m torn over such a way of thinking.
Yes, I’d love for this city to have seen the last of the fighting. Yes, I’d love for the process of rebuilding to begin. Yes, I’d love for our revolution to have been successful, and for the people to come together as one.
That would be best for everyone.
But, what of my grandfather? What of my desire for revenge? If he agrees to terms, what will those terms be?
I muse on such thoughts, festering and stewing on the secrets that exist in my mind, as the morning shifts along and the sun rises to its summit in the sky, barely visible through the blanket of grey sludge that covers the heavens.<
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Then, with the ceasefire in effect all across the city, we gather our forces and move towards the western wall, driving in a convoy unlike any I’ve ever seen.
Dozens of cars and vans link in a chain, carrying over a hundred specialised hybrids and defector City Guards, working through the devastated streets as we craft a path right for the western perimeter wall.
When we reach it, our men get into the positions they’ve been assigned. Hawks on the summit of the wall and on nearby rooftops, checking to make sure no trap is sprung. Sniffers and Bats doing the same, using their super senses to alert us to any incoming threat. Dashers and Brutes providing a small but well trained fighting force should we come to blows. Our own hybrids, the elite soldiers among us, ready to go toe to toe with Cromwell’s Stalkers should the need arise.
All of them have their assignments, and all are ready to roll.
And then there’s us, the negotiation team, the united front that Lady Orlando wishes to display. Herself and Beckett, Freya and Rycard, my brother and me; a medley of men and women, old and young, a vision of what the future of this world could, and should, look like.
We stand on the inside of the gate, one I’ve passed through once before when being transported from the High Tower to the REEF. That, of course, was right after my previous rendezvous with Cromwell, who has since taken on a different, more personal, meaning for me.
With the signal given from above, it begins to slide open, revealing the dark green and brown hues of the outerlands, either side of the grey tarmac track that leads off through the woods. The toxic mist hovers at the edges of the trees, sneaking its tendrils out into the open, enough to cause a caustic burning in the nose and the back of the throat, but little more than that.
Still, a few of the more sensitive among our troop wear lightweight masks to shield them from the fog, although none of the negotiating party take up the option. The thinking is simple: we want Cromwell to see us. We don’t want to hide behind our masks.
We step out, crossing the threshold of the city, from the gate and surrounding walls once held by his men. Now, it’s us who control the territory, his soldiers either having jumped ship to our side or obeying the order to maintain a ceasefire. No doubt they linger somewhere not too far away, ready, should they be ordered to, to engage and protect their master.
