Before he could shift the direction of his feet, someone clasped his arm.
He jerked violently, turning.
He’d been half-ready to fight. Instead he found himself staring into a pair of hazel eyes he’d never expected to see again, at least not with life in them.
“Revik? Revik! Jesus...what are you doing here?”
The human’s voice was full of relief.
“Damn, it’s good to see you! But what happened to your leg, man?”
Revik gazed blankly into the face of Jon.
Something about being face to face with the human, the adopted brother of his wife, threw him completely out of his calm, out of any semblance of linear thought. Without fully acknowledging it to himself, he had assumed Jon and Cass were dead, or at the very least, captured by the Americans.
But it was more than that. The human’s open face and light, his obvious happiness to see him, hit like a blow to the face.
Jon released his arm.
He looked up at him, his smile faltering. His eyes took in how Revik looked, the expression on his face.
“Revik, man...what’s going on?” Jon said. “Where’s Allie? Is she here?”
“No,” he said.
Revik cleared his throat, but found it difficult to speak. He was still trying to pull words together, when two other people converged on him from the other side, throwing off his equilibrium even further.
“Revik!” Cass bounded up, her arms wide. She looked different...almost like she had before the events of the past year, even with the scar on her face. She looked almost happy.
“Revik! You’re here! Thank gods!”
Before he could move out of the way, she threw her arms around him, crushing him in a hug. He just stood there, unmoving. Without meaning to, he met the gaze of the man walking up from behind her. Balidor gave him a smile as well, but it stood out on a more emotionally complex face.
His eyes full, he patted Revik’s shoulder affectionately as Cass let him go.
“It is good to see you, brother,” he said. His voice sounded like he meant it.
Revik thought a question, but never got it out.
Balidor answered him anyway.
“There isn’t much left of us,” was all he said.
Revik looked around the giant hangar, as if seeing it for the first time. He realized that over half of it appeared to be full of what were probably refugees from Seertown. Camped out on the floor with blankets and bedding next to piles of scattered belongings, rugs and food, cooking utensils and even domestic animals, they appeared to be crammed together like rodents underground.
“This can’t be everyone,” he said.
Balidor made an affirmative gesture. “It’s not,” he said. “Many went to Delhi...and deeper into the mountains. This is only one place.”
Revik looked at him. “The Adhipan?”
“Assisting refugees. I sent most of them back to the Pamir. For now.” He hesitated. “...with Vash. Tarsi too. Several of the older monks.”
Revik nodded wordlessly. He understood the Adhipan’s charge.
Jon’s voice brought his eyes back.
“Where’s Allie?” Jon said, sharper. He was staring hard at Revik when he turned. “Revik? Where is she? Why isn’t she with you?”
Cass looked at Jon, then up at Revik, releasing his sleeves where she’d still been holding onto his arms. She did what Jon had done then, seeming to take Revik in with new eyes. Her focus landed on the cast, the angle in which he stood, then returned to his face, the expression he wore.
She touched his arm again, but gentler.
“Revik?” she said. “Are you all right?”
Balidor was staring at him too. From the look on his face, Revik thought he might be reading him.
He didn’t care. He didn’t want to have this conversation.
It was one thing to speak tactically about what had happened to Allie, with someone like Salinse. He couldn’t deal with the emotional reactions of her friends, or the look that would come to Cass and Jon’s faces when he told them who had her. After what happened the year before, he couldn’t predict how they might react...and he couldn’t help them with it.
“You should stay here,” he said, after too long a pause. He looked at Balidor. “You’ll stay? Keep things together here?”
From the look on Balidor’s face, he had read him after all. Something behind his eyes had dimmed, despite his infiltrator’s mask.
“Of course, brother. I am at your disposal. You do not want me with you?”
Revik thought about it for a long pause, then shook his head, glancing at the refugees huddled against one half of the hangar.
“Not for this,” he said. “I could use you, but...no. I thank you for the offer.”
“Any of my people? There are ten here, in total.”
“Salinse has offered me numbers.”
Balidor hesitated, then made a short gesture that he understood.
Jon and Cass exchanged looks. Wide-eyed, the two of them looked to Balidor when Revik wouldn’t return their gaze. Jon seemed to catch on first, which didn’t surprise Revik. He’d seen a lot about Allie’s two closest friends, collared or not, while all three were captives of Terian. Despite being human, Jon had near-seer abilities at times. In fact, Revik had wondered more than once if Allie had structured his light, knowingly or not, as they grew up together.
But thinking about her brought another hard pulse of pain, enough that Balidor flinched, then gripped his arm.
“Brother,” he said softly. “Where is she?”
He gestured vaguely. “States,” he said, his voice thick.
He glanced sideways, seeing Chandre approach from behind Jon. He focused on her deliberately, fighting to regain his composure. It was easier facing her fierce eyes, the infiltrator’s mask she wore like a skin. When he looked back at the others, he immediately wished he hadn’t. Jon looked like someone had punched him in the face. When Revik didn’t say anything more, the human blurted,
“I’m coming with you.”
Chandre’s voice rose. “So am I.”
Revik turned, looking at Chandre. Balidor must have told her. He was about to tell them no, that they damned well were not coming with him, when Cass spoke up from his other side, drawing his eyes.
“We’ll stay here,” she said.
She looped her arm through Balidor’s companionably, clutching his sleeve. The Adhipan leader looked faintly surprised, but didn’t step away, or try to disentangle himself from Cass’ hold. Her expression had focus, and her eyes held less of that devastated look that he saw in Jon’s.
She said, “I have a job for big Adhipan man here. We’ll help you from here, Revik. Just get Allie back.”
Revik looked around at all of them, but could barely see them anymore. He couldn’t feel anything as he looked at them, couldn’t comprehend what he saw on their faces. He could feel his light closing to theirs, but didn’t care anymore.
He only wanted them away from him...out of his way.
“Fine,” he said.
Without another word, he walked.
He moved through and past them, heading in the direction he’d last seen Wreg. As he made his way down the middle of a corridor between rows of fighter planes, he tried to pull his mind back on track, to get out of the spiral that started as soon as he laid eyes on the four of them.
Limping, he focused again on his leg, then on the rest of it.
He now knew where Terian had taken her. They’d gotten word right as he was taking his leave of Salinse. Getting inside wouldn’t be easy. Getting inside in a way that Terian wouldn’t anticipate would be even harder. Terian would be waiting for him; he’d made that much clear.
Revik approached Wreg. He waited for the older seer to look up, then cleared his throat, measuring the opaque eyes.
“Salinse spoke to you?” he said.
Wreg gestured affirmative, bowing with one hand.
Neither motion appeared to be sarc
astic, nor did he display any lingering anger. Instead he appeared ready, listening and respectful. It was as if that morning had never happened.
One thing about this group, Revik thought wryly—they respected the chain of command.
Truthfully, he had missed that a little.
“You now have full access to the construct, sir,” Wreg said, again with no trace of disrespect, or even undue coldness. “I took the liberty of beginning preliminary equipment assemble and tactical planning for entry into US airspace. I gather from Father Salinse that you want to leave quickly, so did not wish to wait until you were able to free yourself to ask for what is obvious...”
Revik nodded. “I appreciate that.” He let the other feel that he meant it. “Have you selected the team?” he said.
Wreg gestured affirmative. “Only first cut, of course.” He motioned towards the uniformed group milling across from the refugee area. “They’re awaiting your inspection. We have about eighty infiltrators in total, so you have some latitude to choose who you wish...”
“Eighty?” Revik was mildly thrown by this. “That many?”
Wreg gestured affirmative.
He added, “Backgrounds, sight ranks, specialized skills all live in the secure side of the construct. I’ll await the final list from you before conducting the preliminary briefings...”
“What do I need in the way of keys, for relevant intel?”
Wreg flashed a set of symbols at him in the space. They were complex, multi-dimensional enough that Revik found himself giving a short nod of approval.
“Thanks.”
He was about to plug into them, when he felt a soft ping from his other side. He turned, meeting Balidor’s gray eyes.
They had followed him. Great.
Balidor’s eyes met his, holding a warning almost on the surface.
Careful, brother, he sent, barely a whisper.
Balidor’s mind nudged his, indicating towards the light of the construct.
Revik followed with his mind’s eye where the Adhipan leader indicated.
For what felt like a long pause…he hesitated.
He scanned the silver strands writhing there, wound into the structure of the construct itself. Existing within a construct—as Revik was now, simply by being in Salinse’s stronghold—wasn’t the same as using a construct. To access the locked portions and manipulate the layered light as a tool, he would need to open himself, to resonate with the overall design.
He would need to become one with it, in a sense.
Scanning the properties of the silver strands making up the construct’s meta-structure, he understood exactly what Balidor’s warning meant.
The light of the Dreng lived here.
It flowed thick inside the construct, as it had in Salinse’s light; almost as thick as what he remembered from the Pyramid. Whatever Salinse’s claims that Terian carried the only direct line to the Dreng following the Pyramid’s collapse, he hadn’t been fully honest. Their power lived here, too. It came through with a slightly different flavor. It was more subtle, too, as though their light reached the construct through a broader filter. But then, the Pyramid had broadcasted its light into the Barrier like a billboard to anyone with sight.
The fingerprints remained irrefutable.
Staring up at that light, he found himself seeing Allie standing before him in the dirt yard. Terian’s hand clenched on her throat as she balanced on her toes. She’d been naked, covered in bruises, many of them from him. She’d yelled at him, even with Terian holding her collar...telling him not to worry about her.
Seeing her there, so close to him, so real despite the distance between them, broke everything down on top of him.
His heart hurt, more than anything in him had hurt in his life.
He’d told Terian once, he’d turn if he had to.
Somewhere in that instant’s hesitation, he realized his mind had been made up before he’d really contemplated the question.
“Brother Revik!” Balidor said aloud.
Revik didn’t turn, but his jaw hardened.
Brushing the Adhipan leader out of his light, he took the keys Wreg offered him, angry now. Without looking at any of them, he let the silver strands resonate with his aleimi, ignoring the alarm he felt off Balidor...and the tremor that ran through him at how easily that particular frequency still sat in parts of his own structure.
Within seconds, he found himself flexing their weight, reacquainting himself with the added structure, with the multiplication of his light against that of whatever held the reigns at the other end.
For an instant, he stood perfectly still, gazing down from a vantage he hadn’t glimpsed in about forty years.
It was like he was meant to be there.
It was like coming home.
23
OWNED
I COULDN’T SEE. Flashes popped in my eyes.
I felt a vague gratitude that I had on clothes, even though I knew it helped only marginally here. The crush of bodies pushed up against where I tried to walk, sandwiched between guards, holding cuffed hands in front of my face.
People touched me wherever they could, and they weren’t particularly gentle about it. I heard clothing rip, felt their fingers caressing bare skin. I knew all this, in some part of my mind, but continued to stare straight ahead, my jaw clenched to keep my face still.
I’d become one of those people on the feeds...the ones who bolster sales of tabloids along with the viewership of the main networks. The ones with screaming headlines over their pictures, who always managed to look stoned at the instant the recorders captured the still image of their real, non-avatar faces.
In my case, they’d be right.
Before the helicopter touched down, Terian slammed another syringe-full of something into my neck. It worked on me at once, making me thick-tongued even before he’d finished unlocking the straps that held me into the restraint chair at the back of the military transport. When he helped me out of the sliding door, I half-fell, lurching sideways until he clamped an arm around my waist. I’m sure I looked drunk, or sufficiently wanton even for the mass feeds.
There’d be no avatars for my image, of course. I was a terrorist; they could print my real face with impunity. Even dead people had more rights to hide their faces than I did. I’d never maintain anonymity in the seer world again...not like I ever had, come to think of it.
These images would be current, though. The one the feeds had been broadcasting since my mom died had been from high school, and my hair had been bright blue. Not my finest moment, really.
The Scandinavian Terian remained by my side as we parted the crush of reporters waiting by the White House helipad. He kept an arm firmly around me as the guards led me across the White House lawn and into the famous building.
No one noticed the boy as he trailed along behind us.
“COULD YOU SPEAK up?” the sharp voice said.
I held up my cuffed hands, spreading my fingers and blinking against the ultra-bright lights. Terian caught hold of the chain and pulled my hands back to my lap. With an effort, I focused on the reporter.
“Excuse me?”
“How do you account for yourself?” The blond woman said. Her organic headset pulsed with a bright blue light, which told me that anything I said would be heard, even if I whispered. Maybe by millions of people.
Account for myself? I wondered. Does she expect me to answer that?
Even on drugs, the setting was ludicrous.
Paisley couches and a polished maple coffee table. A bone china tea set and a silver tray of cucumber and hummus sandwiches. Terian and I sat on a loveseat in the Oval Office, although without its more famous occupant in attendance. The Scandinavian fingered the collar at my neck absently as he posed—serious, pensive, handsome—for the cameras running steadily in the background.
“I’m not sure what you mean...” I began, glancing at him.
The woman raised her voice and spoke more slowly, as if supposing I was
deaf, or maybe mentally retarded.
“Do you consider yourself a terrorist?” she said.
I imagined the swell of dramatic music in the background at her daring question of the bloodthirsty seer…a close-up on her determined face. I didn’t smile, though. Terian coached me well in advance. He warned me that seeming amused in any way would, at best, make me appear arrogant.
At worst, bat-shit crazy.
I knew who she was, of course. I’d grown up seeing people like her on the flatscreen at my apartment in San Francisco. I even watched the feeds from time to time in India. She was one of those journalists who had the reputation of asking the poignant questions, of getting to the truth. I didn’t know anyone on the ground who really believed that, though, not even when I lived in San Francisco. The news feeds were nothing but theater and propaganda.
This woman, in particular, always grated on my nerves. She had the voice of one of those yappy dogs, and a face that had been reconstructed so many times she looked like a wax doll. During a period where I drank heavily, after Jaden cheated on me with this horrible groupie, I occasionally used this woman’s channel on the feeds as an alarm clock. Her voice was one of the few sounds I’d get out of bed just to shut off…no matter how hung-over I was.
Even before I knew I was a seer, I knew the feeds were full of shit. So did all of my human friends. I just didn’t realize the extent of it.
My mom told me it hadn’t always been that way.
“Did you hear me?” the yappy dog said, her voice sharper. “Are you a terrorist, Alyson? Or does that question make you uncomfortable?”
I glanced at Terian. He sat casually in his dark suit, still caressing my neck absently with his fingers. I knew that was deliberate, too. The body he wore looked like an Aryan version of Action Ken doll…almost absurdly handsome, and so white, he had to be human.
Or so the feeds would think.
I fought the urge to yank up the front of the low-cut sundress they’d shoved me into, crossing my legs compulsively in spite of myself, although I knew that probably only sexualized my appearance more. Sandals covered my feet, ribbons winding up my bare legs. Terian probably would have put me into a VR-paneled, topless club dress if he could have gotten away with it. But according to the Press Secretary and others from the Department of Defense, they needed me to look harmless. They needed me to seem as frail and feminine as possible.
Allie's War Season One Page 85
