Anastasia grimaced, but relaxed in his arms. She knew from experience that there was no point in arguing – he would agree, of course, and do whatever she told him to, but she would have to make a scene in order to make that happen. And he was right – appearances were part of her responsibility, after all, even if Renton’s motivations were a bit less than proper.
“At least make sure they don’t see us,” Anastasia grumbled.
Renton had done this for her often, growing up, but that was when she was a child. He hadn’t changed much at all, she thought, her head leaning against his chest, overcome by a wave of memories going back almost as far as she could remember.
Joseph Martynova, her father, had called her into his office, the first time she’d ever been there without her mother, or a nanny, to look after her. It was a vast, book-lined room with deep red carpet, an imposing walnut desk placed in front of a giant bay window facing east, oriented so that the sun rose directly behind it much of the year. Her father was a man who appreciated the value of symbolism, something that was not lost on his daughter.
He’d barely looked at her, speaking in his low voice while writing something with a beautiful antique pen, sounding tired and distracted. He’d explained to the four-year old that she lived in a dangerous world, and even though she was not the heir to the Black Sun, she was expected to hold a position of prominence one day. This would, he explained indifferently, make her the target of all sorts of potential violence, blackmail, intimidation, and kidnapping attempts, something her father could attest to, since he was an expert at using those very same techniques to subdue rivals. Anastasia hadn’t fully known what to make of it, at the time, but she was already smart enough to know when not to speak.
Then he’d called Renton into his office. Renton walked in and stood nervously in front of her, obviously uncomfortable in his formal attire, his posture stiff, and his bow deep and clumsy. Renton Vidor, her father explained, would be her bodyguard for the next few years. The second-eldest son of one of the minor cartels in the Black Sun’s orbit, he had been pledged into their service as a sign of his cartel’s loyalty, and therefore Anastasia’s father was obligated to find a function for him. If she was satisfied with his performance, he said, she could elect to continue his employment in this capacity when she left for the Academy. Then her father had motioned for them to leave, and Renton had offered her his hand, his smiling face then exactly the same as the one that she saw now.
It was like that, sometimes, after activation. The nanites affected the aging process in inconsistent and unpredictable ways – some Operators appeared to age normally, while others aged only until a certain point, and then simply stopped, seemingly not aging a day until they died. Some Operators had lived for more than a hundred years, according to the Black Sun’s archives, while others had died in their teens of what appeared to be old age. Renton had been a young-looking twenty when he had been assigned to guard her, and only his hairstyle had changed since then.
The subject worried Anastasia more than she would have cared to admit. As far as she could tell, she hadn’t grown at all since she was thirteen, more than three years ago. She knew that happened to girls, sometimes, and that it didn’t necessarily mean anything – she could have been a late bloomer, after all. But Anastasia didn’t find the thought of going through life appearing to be a flat-chested teenager to be an attractive one. It was a horrible thought, actually, the only one that ever kept her up at night. And though nothing was certain yet, she knew that it was a very real possibility. Alice Gallow appeared to be in her late twenties, after all, but the archives said that she was much, much older. Maybe even the oldest Operator on record, having first come to the Black Sun’s notice during the Spanish Civil War.
Then again, there was a big difference, Anastasia thought grimly, between being young forever, and being in puberty forever.
“Ana, what’s our next move?”
Renton looked worried, but his question broke the cycle of her own worries. He was good for that, at least. He might have been insolent and disrespectful, perverted and low minded, but Renton knew her better than anybody else did, and he when it mattered, he always seemed to do the right thing, without even thinking about it.
It was that quality, above all others, even loyalty, that had made Renton rise in rank, to become her lieutenant. It was his effectiveness, however, that kept him there.
“Wait and see,” Anastasia said, leaning back to look at the starless sky. “I have some ideas, but the picture as a whole is still unclear. Something about this situation is very wrong, and I will not make any dramatic moves, not until I know for certain who is responsible.”
“Are you sure? We have resources in this area. I can call O’Brien at the Marin compound, and arrange an exit. For all of us, if necessary. Even Alex.”
“Not yet. Not until the trap is sprung.”
Renton ploughed through the rest of the marshy area in a straight line, making no attempt to avoid the puddles, his feet squelching and sinking into the mud with every step. It did not appear to bother him, though it was hell on the suit she’d had tailored.
“You think this was all a setup?”
“Yes. Only gross incompetence or deliberate planning could have put us in this mess, and I am not inclined to think that Central is incompetent.”
Anastasia frowned.
“At least, not this incompetent.”
“Then, who do you think…”
Anastasia cut him off with a look.
“Shush, Renton,” she scolded. “This isn’t the time or the place.”
She looked around them significantly.
“And you can put me down, now. It is much drier, here.”
Renton grinned, and set her down delicately on her feet. The ground was indeed much drier, and the brush had started to open up to pine trees surrounded by patches of brown grass.
“There is going to be a fight,” she said moodily, walking beside Renton. “Central would not bring us this whole way, so Mitsuru could sneak us out the back door. The Weir will find us first.”
Renton looked over at her, his eyes sharp and worried.
“Who is their target? All of us? You? The new kid?”
“I’m not sure,” Anastasia said, shrugging. “But, I think we will find out soon. Don’t worry so much, Renton – that is my job. You focus on getting us back to Central, safely.”
“Milady,” he said, nodding.
“And try not to be so forward in the future. Even when we are alone.”
“As you say.”
His face was absolutely, utterly somber. She was genuinely tempted to smack him.
“Renton!”
“Up here,” Mitsuru’s voice rang out in the dark, from somewhere in the clearing up ahead. “This is where we’ll do it.”
--
Anastasia was fretting over the damaged hem of her dress, her skirt spread out across her legs in front of her, when Alex sat down heavily beside her. She was a bit surprised, as he had lapsed into sullen silence after Margot had smacked him around earlier, and hadn’t said a word during the hour or so of preparations that followed their arrival.
“Uh, Anastasia?”
He spoke quietly, leaning forward and trying to catch her eye.
“Can I ask you something?”
Anastasia carefully threaded a needle with black silk, not bothering to look over at him. She wasn’t too good at this sort of thing, but not because she wasn’t interested. Having too many servants and lacking in basic domestic skills was a kind of occupational hazard.
“Ask away,” she said, a touch crossly.
“Okay,” Alex said, sounding a bit puzzled. “What exactly are we doing here?”
Anastasia made a first few clumsy stitches, then held the hem of the skirt up to examine the torn fringe critically.
“We are going home, Alex, back to Central.” Anastasia glared at the offending lace. “Mitsuru brought a beacon with her, a piece of stone from Central
, so that they can lock on to us. Once she activates it, Central can start opening a way between here and there, through the Ether. It takes a little while, though, and the minute that beacon activates, every Witch and Weir within a hundred miles is going to know where we are, and what we are doing.”
“And you think that they’ll get here in time to try and stop us? It seems like we are kinda out of the way, here.”
Anastasia resumed her repairs, trying to reaffix the fringe to the hem of her skirt.
“I’m certain at least some of them will be nearby,” she said firmly, still engrossed her work. “They have a sort of precognition, as well. They must have anticipated this.”
Anastasia felt a sharp pain in her index finger, and dropped the needle and thread, immediately losing them in the grass beneath her in the dark. She stuck her wounded finger in her mouth, fuming.
“So… couldn’t we go somewhere further away? I mean, we could rent a car or something, and drive out to the middle of nowhere, right? Then they couldn’t possibly get to us, not in time to stop us from going home.”
Anastasia looked moodily at Alex. She was mainly annoyed about the dress, but she still had to curb the urge to bite his head off. Even when he was trying, and he was clearly trying right now, the boy aggravated her to no end.
“Alex, the protocol Mitsuru used to hide our Etheric signatures will dissipate in a few hours,” she explained, sighing. “That aside, it is only a matter of time until they track us down. We don’t have any resources here, any allies, or a real chance of defending ourselves against a determined attack. And if we were to try and run, don’t you think their precognitives might anticipate that as well? We would step out of the car, and walk straight into a Weir’s mouth. Understand?”
Alex nodded slowly.
“I guess so,” he said, his brow furrowed. “But, why here?”
He gestured at their surroundings: a low place in between two small hills, surrounded by brush and blackberry bushes and a handful of eucalyptus trees, a half-fallen chain link fence, and a crumbling concrete building frame. It was little more than a bare concrete pad and three walls, perforated where there had once been windows and doors, wrapped in a blanket of multicolored, indecipherable graffiti.
“Because I’ve been setting this place up all day. I have mines and shaped charges strung along the only approach. We’ll have some options, here,” Mitsuru said, sitting down next to him them, and taking a long drink from a bottle of mineral water. She looked tired, and Anastasia was a little surprised that she would show, and wondered exactly how exhausted she was. In all probability, Mitsuru had been working another assignment when she had been called here. Anastasia could only hope that she had enough left in her to bring them all home.
Well, she amended, she could hope, and make contingency plans.
“Once the beacon is activated, Central will need about thirty minutes to lock on to us and prepare the transfer. I’m not certain how long it will take before the Witches find us – the precognitive pool says that most of their forces are arrayed in the urban core, or along the periphery, to keep us from leaving the city,” Mitsuru paused to drink again, and then frowned. “Assuming they know what they’re talking about, then they shouldn’t have time to come down heavy on us before we’re out of here.”
“I still don’t see why they didn’t just send Alice Gallow to retrieve us all…”
Mitsuru glared at Anastasia bitterly.
“Think she might have something better to do?”
Anastasia shook her head.
“I doubt it very much.”
For a long moment, Mitsuru looked like she might lose her temper, and Anastasia wondered if her needling had been a little too effective. Then she shook her head, and the tension dissipated.
“It is what it is,” Mitsuru said levelly. “No other way for all of us to get home.”
Anastasia looked at her dress unhappily.
“Well, this is fucked,” she said quietly. Mitsuru and Alex both gave her looks, clearly uncertain whether she meant the plan or her dress. Anastasia decided to let them wonder.
“That place has a basement,” Mitsuru said, inclining her head in the direction of the ramshackle structure. “The noncombatants can stay inside there, up until the transfer is ready.”
Anastasia saw Alex stiffen, and then sit up straight, and she had to suppress a smile.
“Who, exactly, are you talking about?”
Alex faced Mitsuru as defiantly as he could manage. She met his stare with her impassive red eyes.
“Eerie and you,” Mitsuru said, with a hint of a shrug. “Anastasia can take care of herself, whatever she decides to do.”
Anastasia turned and smiled at Alex, who was staring at Mitsuru in shock at her totally understandable disregard.
“Maybe you could hide underneath Eerie’s skirt,” Anastasia suggested helpfully. “Kill two birds with one stone.”
Alex barely acknowledged Anastasia, or her jibe. He just lowered his head, balled his fists, and stood there, his eyes still locked on Mitsuru as if they were locked in epic combat.
“I am not hiding,” he said quietly, with a determined voice that made it very difficult for Anastasia not to laugh. “I’m going to stay up here and fight.”
“You don’t know how to fight, Alex. Renton, Margot, Edward and I are all combat veterans,” Mitsuru reminded, looking a bit annoyed. “If you want to help, then stay out of the way, and let us do our jobs.”
Alex shook his head slowly, glaring definitely at Mitsuru.
“I am not hiding in that hole,” he said firmly, pointing at the dilapidated ruins.
Mitsuru stood up, brushing the dead grass from her jeans, and then walked over to stand close to Alex. Though she had to look up at him, she wasn’t any less intimidating for it.
“It is my job to bring all of you home. All of you. And you and Eerie can’t even defend yourselves, Alex, much less help the rest of us. So the two of you are going in the basement,” she insisted, raising her voice slightly, “and that is final.”
Mitsuru stopped and then shook her head in disbelief when Eerie cleared her throat politely, from right behind her. She had been curled, asleep or pretending to be asleep, underneath a nearby tree since they had arrived in the valley. Anastasia couldn’t understand how she managed to cross the clearing and walk up behind Mitsuru without her noticing – frankly, she hadn’t even seen her get up from under the tree – and Anastasia felt a trace of annoyance over it.
Then she went back to being just a touch amused. It always made her feel upbeat, watching a plan come together, even if it didn’t all go exactly the way that she had expected.
“I am not going in the basement if Alex isn’t,” Eerie said shyly, her hands clenched in front of her, her eyes downcast.
Mitsuru turned around, looking more surprised than angry.
“You too, Eerie? Look, both of you, this isn’t up for debate. I’m not asking you to do it, understand? I’m telling you.”
Renton and Edward entered the valley from the south, moving briskly over the damp ground, looking unhappy. Renton ran over to Anastasia and whispered his report to her. Anastasia listened for a moment, then nodded and turned back to Mitsuru, who was moving quickly from impatient to infuriated.
“We may not have time for discussion, Miss Aoki,” Anastasia said brightly. “Renton says that he discovered a number of large, feral Etheric signatures nearby, approaching rapidly.”
Mitsuru turned from Eerie to Anastasia, and then threw up her hands, looking exasperated.
“How could they have found us so quickly? We haven’t activated the beacon, yet.”
Anastasia shrugged half-heartedly. What could she have said? It wouldn’t have helped anything, to have answered Mitsuru’s question.
“Okay, no choice. Eerie, do you know how to activate a beacon?”
Eerie got all tongue-tied, but eventually she managed to nod at Mitsuru.
“Then do it, there’s one over
there,” Mitsuru ordered, pointing to the pile of mostly empty bags leaning against one wall of the concrete building. “And keep your head down. Renton, you and Edward know what to do. Where is Margot?”
“She’s already in place,” Renton said, a little out of breath, “and waiting.”
Mitsuru nodded gravely, pulling the belt that held her guns from the bag at her feet. She clicked the buckle into place, one hand absently confirming the presence of the twin pistols, strapped to the small of her back.
“Alright, then you do the same,” she said, nodding at Renton and Edward, as she added a sheathed knife to her belt. “Let me know as soon as you know which way they are going to come, especially the big one.”
Alex grabbed Mitsuru’s arm, and everyone froze in shock, midway through their preparations, Renton holding a forgotten assault rifle only partially removed his bag, even Anastasia standing wide-eyed and staring.
“That’s the silver one, right? That Weir?”
Everyone was surprised. Mitsuru simply nodded, instead of exploding. After a moment, she brushed his hand distastefully off her arm. Anastasia was disappointed by her restraint.
“Yes, I would imagine so,” Mitsuru said grimly, turning away from Alex and walking toward the edge of the valley. “But, if this works, you won’t ever see him.”
“So, what do I do?”
Mitsuru shrugged and kept walking.
“I don’t know,” she said, without looking back. “What can you do?”
--
Alex wasn’t even totally sure how to operate the gun he’d been handed; the snub-nosed submachine gun was a deceptively heavy mass of black carbon fiber stock and tooled metal, and with the clip in, very difficult to aim, as the front end was too heavy for the grip, and tended to pull down. Renton had showed him how to fire short bursts from the thing, and that was pretty much the best he could manage, firing at the nearby brush when it moved suspiciously.
It had taken him an embarrassingly long time after the shooting had started to find and deactivate the safety. Alex wasn’t too sure that it made much difference – he was fairly certain that he hadn’t shot anything other than the surrounding flora.
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