by V. St. Clair
She narrowed her gaze at him.
“Understand this, Carl. I will support your ambitions to the extent that I’m able, but if we are not able to assure a successful interview for you, and if you decide to apply anyway, I expect you to give me reasonable notice so I can warn everyone to get to safety, shut down compromised cells, and open new ones.”
“Of course,” Carl leaned back in surprise. “You all have been good to me, and the last thing I want to do is put any of you in danger, or this whole decision would be a lot easier for me.”
She nodded in acceptance of this answer.
“If you do get in, I’ll ask Risa and Ana to stop speaking to you about the resistance. It would be a conflict of interest to make you choose between two competing obligations. We can ignore each other gracefully, simply pretending we do not know of each other’s existence, unless our paths cross again towards a mutual goal.”
Carl nodded numbly, wondering how badly Risa and Ana would take the news that he might be bailing on their resistance to join up with the enemy instead. None of his other friends knew he was part of Hera’s cabal to begin with, so there wouldn’t be any issues with them at all, but Risa would be…displeased.
Then again, if Carl had some authority in the military, he could also do his best to make sure hostilities were kept to a minimum between the soldiers and the Gifted; missions wouldn’t be excessively brutal, and there would be no abuse of power. He could try to guide the military away from his friends during actual conflicts.
Indirectly, it could end up helping his friends, especially if he did his job well and it furthered the plan to restore trust to the Gifted people of society. He said as much to Hera.
“Indeed, it could be a good thing in the long run, but don’t expect Risa to be terribly pleased with it in the beginning, given her history with the military.”
Carl grimaced, because he knew Risa would probably strangle him if he even hinted at wanting to join up with the people who murdered the boy she’d idolized as a child.
“I know,” he nodded. “Are you still planning to remove the Viceroy from power and tear down the Augenspire piece by piece?”
Hera frowned and said, “The plan is necessarily evolving to meet the circumstances. After all, if he is giving us what we want, then there is no reason to remove him from power. But now it seems someone within his own government may be attempting to do away with him because of his more tolerant agenda, which means we may have to find a way to protect the very man who—a decade ago—was contemplating moving you all onto a dedicated island in the middle of the salt oceans and leaving you to die of starvation.”
Carl scowled at the memory. He was young when the idea was floated by the Viceroy, which had very nearly become a reality before something finally made him see good sense. In fact, part of the wall still stood on the island in the salt oceans where construction had already begun on the project before it was finally killed.
“I need to head back to the Academy,” Carl stood up, glancing at his watch. “The lockdown may have been lifted, but there are still Minors hanging around the place, and I don’t want to do anything to draw their attention right now.”
She nodded at this and stood up as well.
Carl had already begun climbing the ladder when a new thought struck him and he stopped and turned to look at Hera.
“Did you call me here tonight because you knew I wanted to accept the job offer? Is that why we’re alone and you didn’t ask me where Ana was?”
Hera smiled softly and said, “I thought you might be tempted by such a generous prospect, and I wanted to have a frank discussion with you about our options so I would know how to proceed from here. I wasn’t sure if the temptation would be strong enough to convince you to sacrifice your friends and all of our work before we had a chance to speak, which is why I risked this meeting.”
Carl was insulted that she thought he might be so self-interested he was willing to give them all up without so much as a warning, but he supposed that she hadn’t lasted this long working against the government by being incautious.
“Like I said, I’ll give you plenty of heads-up if the time comes. In the meantime, I’ll try to slow them down as much as possible, imply I’m willing to go through the interviews while trying to drag the timeline for it out as much as possible. But if you could tell your scientists to think quickly, it would be much appreciated. I can’t put them off forever or they’ll get suspicious.”
Hera nodded and said, “Have a safe journey home. I’ll send word with our next meeting time and location when I have something to report.”
Carl climbed back up the access ladder and made his way through the wine shop and into the alley. The sky was darker than before, and it was both raining and violently windy out, but he still felt more elated than he could have believed possible only an hour ago. There was a chance—maybe a slim chance, but better than none at all— he could have what he wanted and not sell out his friends to get it. Hera was willing to let him step away from the resistance peacefully, to just ignore each other in the future unless he needed to pass her information to prevent her from being caught. And he would do his best to ensure that she wasn’t captured and killed; it was the least he could do in return for her cooperation with this, especially if she meant what she said about changing her game plan to try and promote the Viceroy’s new agenda of integration.
But someone within the Viceroy’s own government might be plotting to kill him? He only now realized he hadn’t asked nearly enough questions about this casual statement of hers, too absorbed in his own selfish thoughts to think of it. Maybe Ana and Risa would know more; he needed to meet with them now more than ever.
He boarded the bus without being aware of it, soaking wet from waiting in the rain but not really caring. He was so occupied with his own thoughts that he only became aware of the bus at all after they’d driven four blocks, when the earsplitting sound of metal crashing into metal and shattering glass came roaring into his ears. In a fraction of a second he was sent flying, flipping upside down and smashing hard into something solid as everything went black.
12
Topher Augen
~
You spend so much time searching,
Don’t you realize?
The answer is right in front of you,
And you will never find it.
You will never leave this place again.
~
Topher removed the last piece of his armor and set it carefully onto the dress form, massaging a pinched nerve in his shoulder. Their heavy armor—commonly called heavies—was a real pain in the ass to move around in. Some of Topher’s peers relished the opportunity to don their full battle armor and go around terrifying their enemies, and Topher had to admit there was a certain novelty in looking so large and imposing, but mostly it was a nuisance. His heavies made him much broader than usual, so his movements required much more coordination. Though the armor wasn’t nearly as heavy as it looked, it did add weight that he had to carry around, especially in the shoulders.
With all the pieces now on the form, Topher examined them to check for any signs of damage that would necessitate a repair, though he didn’t expect to find anything. Walking around the Academy for a few hours was hardly dangerous, but still, protocol was protocol.
So he started at the top worked his way down, checking the metallic earpieces that were custom-made to cover his entire outer-ear and lobe, though he hadn’t even bothered wearing them today. The Provo-Major didn’t wear traditional helmets into battle, since it restricted their peripheral vision and limited the range of motion of the neck. Instead, their earpieces generated a shield-wall between them: an invisible field operating at high wavelengths that would offer some protection to his head and neck. While shielding technology had been around for a long time, the real scientific breakthrough had been getting the shield to arc out around the face instead of going straight through the head to connect the shortest straight-line path bet
ween the ears.
Thankfully, the scientists in the Augenspire managed to find a way around that monumental issue, allowing for their faces to be mostly-protected during combat. No shield-wall was truly invincible, and the Majors’ earpieces were no exception.
The biggest concern Topher had with the earpieces was that since the shield was being generated in an arc from halfway up his face, it offered optimal protection only when he was holding his head straight. When looking down or up, small portions of his neck fell outside of the shield-wall and went unprotected.
At least the shield is invisible to the naked eye. At a casual glance, no one can tell what’s covered by it and what isn’t.
High-spectra glasses could make their weakness more visible, but they were both rare and extremely expensive.
Topher checked the rest of his armor, flexing the joints in the arms and legs to ensure there were no frayed connections or sticking plates, satisfied that everything was in good working order. He glanced at the clock and frowned; he would have to get going soon if he didn’t want to be late.
He turned his back on the heavies and donned his light armor. Other than the dress forms for his armor, his room was fairly boring; no pictures adorned the walls, the one window was always kept closed and sealed unless he needed to make an emergency escape, and there were no plants, drawings, hobbies or other signs of personality in the room at all. When he did have the rare opportunity to read for pleasure, he opted for history books, a few of which were on his bookshelf.
Topher didn’t need a set of suites like the royal family, and had never set much store by material possessions. The Provo-Major all got rooms to themselves in the highest part of the Augenspire, and the privacy was worth more than any trinket or reward or fancy room to Topher. Even the Provo-Minor who lived on site were forced to share rooms on the lower levels.
Topher massaged his shoulder once more, a useless gesture with his light armor on it, and then left the room, hearing the satisfying sound of the lock click behind him. He wasn’t the last one leaving for the meeting it seemed, as Gareth had also stepped into the hallway from his own room further down the hall.
“Oh, it’s you,” he greeted Topher after a brief glance. “We’d better get going or we’ll miss all the action.”
To Gareth’s credit, he didn’t sound like he relished the chance to see their captives punished.
“How many girls did we recover in total?” Topher asked, falling into step beside him. He had always had mixed feelings about Gareth. The man seemed friendly enough—though he did like to tease Topher about Shellina and Jessamine—but it was hard to get a sense for the man’s mind. At times he seemed brilliant and shrewd, and at others he came across as an idiot.
“Seven, I think.”
We brought seven girls back here when we know only one is guilty? Assuming one of these seven is actually the psychic who attacked Fox…
Their orders were to kill the psychic on sight if they couldn’t capture her, since they couldn’t afford to have someone plucking confidential information from their minds at will, but it had been quite easy to overpower their suspects and bring them back to the Augenspire. Topher was relieved that cooler heads had prevailed by morning and they hadn’t stormed the Academy to murder a Gifted girl in public with little or no explanation. This was partly—though no one would say it—because they weren’t at all sure Fox knew who he had fought with, and they didn’t want to kill the wrong person and set off riots within the Academy.
Topher frowned at Fox’s poor memory and said, “Has anyone told the girls why they are being held here?”
Gareth looked somber when he said, “I don’t know; I doubt it. If they’re trying to scare them into spilling their guts, it’s easier to do so if they’re terrified.”
Oh I’m sure they’re terrified…Topher thought back to his conversation with the Gifted girl in the Anomalies building—Ana. She said her people knew they might never get out of the Augenspire once inside, and she had faked a fainting spell to avoid dealing with the Provo. Under the circumstances, he couldn’t blame her.
They reached the end of the hall and stepped into the elevator. When the doors closed behind them Gareth said, “What do you think about this business with Fox getting overpowered by a few measly Gifted teenagers and getting his Talents and his ion-sword stolen right off of his belt?”
Careful…
There were very few people Topher counted as true allies; even within the Provo-Major there were political agendas and competing priorities, and plenty of people resented his favor with the ruling family. Gareth didn’t bother him much on either count, but Topher remained guarded.
“I think Fox must be feeling quite mortified by the entire experience, and is eager for revenge.”
Gareth nodded curtly and said, “He should be mortified. The entire Talent ring, for heaven’s sake. In the hands of our enemies, that could be a very bad thing.”
Topher inclined his head at this and said, “Even if they have a technologist skilled enough to hack them, they can only be used by Fox.”
“True, but Hera could still figure out the full extent of our Talent sets. If everyone knows the limit of our abilities, we lose a lot of our perceived omnipotence in battle,” Gareth countered.
“They would need Fox’s neural map to decode anything useful. As it stands, they have the key but not the lock, and therefore no way to enter the room behind it. Without Fox’s enhancers and a full copy of his neural network, all they will see is a bunch of tiny wires and incomplete circuits.”
Gareth considered this.
“That’s true. Without seeing how everything connects in his head, the Talents themselves are pretty useless, I suppose. Still, what a boost for the resistance, to be able to say they robbed a Major of his most prized weapon.”
There was no denying the truth in that. Fox would never recover from this loss of face and Topher wondered if it had occurred to him yet that the only reason he hadn’t been booted out of the Provo-Major—and possibly murdered—was because he was the only eyewitness to the attack against him.
“What do you think of his story?” Topher probed gently, curious.
“About the attack?” Gareth snorted as they departed the elevator. “I don’t think it adds up; there’s something he isn’t telling us. Why would the prisoner suddenly be able to use his Gift in the cell after weeks of torture? It can’t be the first time he tried leaving, especially given what his Gift is in the first place. And Lord knows he isn’t the only powerful Gifted we’ve held there before, and none of the others ever found a way to escape the room’s defenses.”
“True…” Topher said encouragingly, feeling like an idiot now that he understood Maxton’s Gift properly. He couldn’t believe he had gone into that cell on two-eighty-one thinking the man could simply unlock doors.
That’s the last time I ever walk into a prisoner interrogation unprepared, he vowed to himself.
“And the whole attack doesn’t make sense unless there was something else wrong with Fox in the first place,” Gareth continued. “Six people were just waiting to attack him the moment he showed up, but only four of them were masked? Fox claims he beat four of them to a pulp, but none of the hospitals registered anyone with similar injuries in the days after.”
“You think he inflated the number to make himself look better?” Topher suggested casually.
“He’s the type to do it.” Gareth shrugged. “If I kick someone’s ass, by God, they’re going to the damn hospital afterwards if they don’t want to die,” he said decisively. “If you ask me, there were only two attackers, Mercuria and the girl. But even then, it still doesn’t add up.” He punched one fist into the other in frustration. “Even if two people tackled one of us in our light armor, we’ve got enough defenses to throw them off long enough to get our bearings and a weapon—hell, our belt is full of them. Fox either completely lost his head and stood there pissing his pants like an idiot—in which case he deserves to be fired�
�or he isn’t telling us the real reason for the spectacular underperformance.”
Topher raised his eyebrows in interest, admiring Gareth’s insight. It was times like these he considered the man quite shrewd when the situation warranted it.
“Whatever the hindrance was, it would probably be something illicit or at least frowned upon, so I can see why he’d hide it from the rest of us,” Topher dropped the bait. Perhaps if someone else raised the concern that Fox might have been intoxicated it would get the attention it deserved without involving him at all.
“Since anything considered a cognitive hindrance is illegal or frowned upon for us, I would say so.” Gareth frowned thoughtfully and then added, “You think he was high? He seems the type, but what a night for it…”
Topher shrugged and said, “No idea. I don’t suppose we’ll ever know for certain, unless one of these seven girls can tell us.”
“Still,” Gareth continued as though he hadn’t heard him. “If you were going to break the rules and hit the happy sauce, why in the world would you go visit a high-security prisoner afterwards? For all we know, Fox could have let the kid out of the cell for some asinine reason, and this whole mess is all his fault.”
That’s a good point…
“I’m told people don’t think their best while under the influence. Whatever his thoughts were, they probably seemed like a good idea at the time,” he offered, though he mentally added this to the list of questions he had about the whole situation.
I wish I knew what the psychic saw in Fox’s head that has him so scared.
Gareth made a noise of acquiescence and they entered the third-floor laboratory. It was quite crowded in the spacious room, given the number of Majors who had shown up to watch the questioning today.
This part of the lab was about ten times larger than Topher’s bedroom and brightly lit by rows of overhead bulbs that reflected off of the white, tiled floors. The effect of the lights made the floor look so shiny it seemed almost wet, as though it had recently been waxed. Thankfully the rest of the lab was done in darker colors: black countertops shaped like two giant letter C’s bracketed most of the room, cleared of everything except for neatly-spaced instruments and a few clipboards with papers on them. More workstations were in rows between the two largest countertops, all with glass shelves beneath them, revealing the neatly-arranged contents, sorted and labeled. If there was anything confidential in here, they’d have a hard time hiding it; all the storage spaces were transparent and nothing was kept locked.
