by T. C. Edge
I let out a long sigh as the carriage slows, preparing for a few minutes of respite from the constant din and rumble. I stand, stretching my legs, as Marc quickly jumps up to the window, grabs the ledge, and pulls himself up. He clings on, looking through the bars for a moment, before dropping down and turning to me.
"More woods," he says. "Feels chilly. Think we're quite high up."
I shrug. Frankly, it doesn't really mean much, or even anything at all. I've crossed lands like this before when Kira and I took her friend Gwyn back home. I doubt we're going the same way exactly, but from what I've seen of this part of the world, there isn't a huge amount of variety to enjoy. No beautiful beaches like you get on the coast, or near to Neorome. No deserts. No tropical rainforests and jungles as, I hear, you get much further to the south of New Haven. There are mountains, yes, and rivers and open plains and grasslands, but we get a lot of that around New Haven, so it doesn't really excite me.
I have, in that regard, come a long way. Once, not too long ago, the prospect of seeing anything other than the Western Quarter in Outer Haven would have set a firm beat of excitement to my heart. Now, having travelled a fair bit, my 'wow factor' bar has been raised quite significantly.
And with that thought, comes a slight tremble of anticipation inside me. Olympus, I think, is sure to be something entirely different to what I've experienced before...
As the convoy comes to a halt, and I hear soldiers leaving their transports and moving off into the woods nearby, a familiar stamp sounds outside the door. I look to Marc and raise an eye. He grumbles and shakes his head. The reason is clear enough; that stamp belongs to Bull, not Dozer. Any request Marc might make to stop the chains from rattling will fall on deaf ears.
The door opens up, and low and behold, the nose-puffing form of Bull plods inside. For a man who walks with such weight, it's surprising he can be so fleet of foot as well.
"All right, mouths open," he grunts. "You know the drill."
Marc and I look at each other knowingly, and then assume the position. Bull has at least learned that he doesn't need to enter the cage to administer the drugs. Instead, we merely step up to the bars, swallow the pills, and then allow him to inspect the insides of our mouths from the other side. It's a simple but effective system.
However, my attempts to communicate with Zander have remained stunted. On a couple of occasions, particularly at the start when Marc wasn't so distracted, I managed to talk with him briefly. Yet, now that we're far from New Haven, there's little for him to add.
The neural bridge we established with Kira is limited by space, so with her so far away, there's no way for Zander to try to communicate with her. All that leaves is me and him, sharing the same mental space, and offering little in terms of useful updates. He can, of course, perceive my surroundings as I can, and often a little more, but right now, that's of little interest. And with a lack of sleep and constant audio torture to contend with, my focus has waned, making it harder for me to try to speak with him in those small windows when the drugs begin to wear off.
Standing at the bars to my cell, Bull lumbers to me first, drops the two pills into my mouth, watches me like a hawk while I swallow, and then performs his usual inspection of my mouth. He nods with a grunt and moves to Marcus, repeating the process until he’s satisfied.
Then he steps back towards the door.
"Hey, I need to use the bathroom," I say.
He spins around. "No time," he grunts. "Just...go on the floor."
"You're kidding, right?" I say, glancing towards Marcus. The idea is probably more repellent to me than it is him. Life in the military means he's probably used to such things more than I am.
"No, he isn't kidding, I'm afraid," comes a new voice, slithery and smooth. From outside, appears the tall and regal form of the Overseer, stepping in through the door. "But he is correct in that we have little time. But, I suppose we could spare a few more moments. Escort her out," he says, turning to Bull. "Would you like to relieve yourself, Marcus?"
Marc shakes his head. "I'm all right," he says. "Not like we get much food or drink."
"That'll change soon enough," smiles the Overseer, as Bull steps towards my cage and opens it up. It's one of the most unpleasant things about this entire experience, being escorted out to use the bathroom in the wilderness, trying to find some privacy with so many other soldiers around. Still, at least I get the liberty. By the stink in the cells and the stains on the floor, previous occupants haven't been so lucky.
"Be quick, Brie," the Overseer says. "We won't be stopping for long."
I rush out, watched all the while by Bull, who appears equally unhappy with the situation. Finding a small patch of trees nearby, I see to my task as quickly as I can, using a large tree trunk for privacy, before returning a moment later. I find Bull looking the other way uncomfortably. Perhaps, I wonder, a female guard would be more suitable for such instances.
Feeling a little better, I draw a long swig of fresh air, happy, if nothing else, to be out of that carriage for a minute or so at least. Around us, there's little to see. Patches of woodland, lushly verdant, and a little river nearby. I can see that, ahead, a path has already been carved through a thicker section of forest, clearly fashioned when the Olympians came this way before.
I return to the carriage to find the Overseer still there. It seems that Marcus is making his request about the chains during Bull's absence, thinking the Overseer a softer touch. He may portray himself like that at times, perhaps, but I'm fairly sure he's not the sort to be won over by compassion or sympathy for our plight. Anything he does, he means to do. If he decides to make our ride more comfortable, then he'll be doing it for a reason.
"Is it really that bad?" the old man asks, I step back aboard and re-enter my cell. Bull locks the door and then retreats outside, leaving the three of us alone.
"It's fairly bad, sir," says Marcus. His military background makes calling someone like the Overseer 'sir' instinctive. I'm yet to learn that. "I can barely hear myself think at times."
I see the first growth of a smile sprouting on the Overseer's lips. "Perhaps that's a good thing, Marcus," he says. "It isn't so good to think and dwell on what you perceive to be a terrible predicament. Better to be distracted by the noise, isn't it?"
It's an odd way of looking at it, but it kinda makes sense.
"I'd...rather sit and dwell," Marcus says, managing a shallow grin.
"And you, Brie?" the Overseer asks, turning to look at me. "I hadn't realised the chains were such a problem. But I can see that it can't be pleasant for you."
I shrug, not so keen on making requests that might, if the Overseer grants them, make me warm to him even at all. He looks at me with a smile. He knows, of course, how I'm feeling, as he does Marcus. All it takes is a flash of eye contact to achieve. And, perhaps, not even that.
"I'll see it done," he says, after a pause. "You probably think this is a method of torturing you, don't you?" he laughs. "In truth, it is merely an oversight on my part. You see, I have never been within this carriage while it's moving. I hadn't considered that the loose chains would be such a burden."
"Thank you, sir," says Marcus, drawing a grateful smile. "It is growing unbearable."
"Not a problem, young man," the Overseer says. "I know this isn't a comfortable journey for you, but unfortunately there's no other choice right now. The remaining carriages we have are full. Think yourselves lucky, in fact, that you have this space to yourself. Many of the soldiers are travelling is similarly uncomfortable conditions."
"And...we're going right for Olympus without stopping?" Marcus asks.
"We are," says the Overseer. "Herald Kovas doesn't wish to delay our return."
"Right, Kovas," I grunt. "Like he's in charge."
"He's the lead Herald of War, Brie. He is most certainly in charge."
"Sure," I say. "Says a lot about your Prime that they'd give a monster like that any sort of position of power."
The Overse
er smiles, his eyes twinkling. "How well do you know Herald Kovas, Brie?" he asks.
"Well enough," I snarl.
"Yes, of course. Well enough. A couple of very brief interactions, and you have him all figured out, don't you? I am not denying that Kovas has a particular manner of leadership, but it is, and has been, highly effective over the years. He wasn't expecting to lead this army, and the stress has had some impact on his decisions. However..."
"Decisions," I say, cutting him off. "Like murdering innocent workers."
"That is a decision he made, yes. A poor one, perhaps. A cruel one, certainly. But a legal one?" He nods his head.
"What sort of laws allow slaves to be burned alive like that? How can you just stand there and defend it?"
"Because the world needs laws, Brie, and perhaps some of ours need updating," the Overseer says. "We are not perfect as a people, but are trying to do some good in this world. I know it's not always easy to see, but as with Kovas, you don't really know us at all. In time, you will."
"No," I say, unwilling to bend, "we won't. If and when Marcus and I begin to buy into your system, it'll only be because we've been manipulated to do so. While I'm in my right mind, let me make that completely clear for the record. The things I've seen your people do..." I shake my head. "They make me sick to my bones."
The Overseer stares at me with a fairly placid expression. It's the expression of a man who has seen and heard all this before. A man who has been though this very process a thousand times. An expression that, really, sends a dull thud to my heart, knowing that I'm just the latest in a long line of prisoners to be drawn into his web of lies and control.
"And what about the things you have done, Brie?" the Overseer asks me. "What about the atrocities that the Nameless committed? Are they not just as bad? When you and your band of rebels destroyed the High Tower, and sent it crumbling to the ground with thousands of innocent people inside, both Enhanced and Unenhanced, did you feel sick to your bones then?"
His words strike me hard, bringing up a painful memory that cuts deep. I recall for a second the sight of the High Tower falling. I recall the smell of the smoke, the distant sound of screaming. It was, and remains, one of the darkest days of my life, yet something, I was later convinced, needed to be done.
For the greater good.
"I...I wasn't part of that," I say, my voice turning to a low whisper. "I had no role in the destruction of the High Tower."
"Ah, of course, and you spoke out against it, didn't you?" he looks me deep in the eye, knowing my past. "But, still, you fought on as well. You didn't abandon your cause after your people had committed such a dreadful act. You continued to fight, despite it. You and your friend Kira, and your grandmother, so regal and Presidential, and your brother, so honest and brave. Oh, all played their part, didn't they? All these people you love were at the heart of the murder of thousands of innocent people. So don't stand there and criticise what you have seen my people do. The world isn't so simple as that, and from something terrible, can grow something great."
"And this war?" I ask. "We did something terrible, I admit that, but we were fighting a corrupted, evil system. Perhaps there was another way, but in the end, all those lives we took, have led to thousands more being saved. Can you say the same? You'd have had Amber kill tens of thousands if your plan had worked. You'd have destroyed an entire people, and for what? What is the good that would come from that?"
"Peace," the Overseer says softly. "Peace and a collective unity. That, in the end, is what we are trying to achieve. We looked at you and your people as a barrier to that. We knew, one day, there would be war between us. And how many lives would have been lost then? How many of our own people would have died? In the end, Brie, we seek to protect our own people, as you do. That is our priority."
"But not all of them," I say. "You protect only those you see worthy of protection. What about the people all over the Fringe? What about the countless people who have been killed through their 'awakening'? You have a dozen of them, I know. These Heralds of Awakening. You call it unity, but really you're just talking about control. In New Haven, we fight against that. We defeated the previous regime, and will do the same anywhere where a people need our aid."
"Ah yes, the famous regime of Director Artemis Cromwell, whom you now care for so dearly," smiles the Overseer pointedly. "You are a confused one, child. You are so full of hypocrisy. The man who is responsible for the murder of tens of thousands of people, the very man you sought to overthrow, is now the man whom you rush to protect and save. Oh, he may be different now, as you say, but it is because of him that you will never meet your father or your mother. It is because of him that your dear twin is...no more."
He takes a step towards the bars, shaking his head as he looks down at me. Marcus, to the side, stays deathly silent as he watches on.
"Child, do you not see how confused you sound? An atrocity committed by us is to be vilified and condemned. One committed by your people is acceptable if it leads to something good. You belittle a man like Herald Kovas for an act of cruelty, and yet refuse to accept the terror your grandfather has brought to tens of thousands because he has experienced an emotional awakening. You look at it all through such subjective eyes, biased to the truth, refusing to bend. But you know, child, what happens when something doesn't bend?" He looks at me with unblinking, fiery eyes. "It breaks."
He continues to stare at me for a second, before drawing backwards in a flurry of colour, his robes swishing as he turns. "Learn to see the world differently, Brie, and you will become a wiser and more rounded person," he says, his voice carrying some more energy as he steps away. "There is no reason why you cannot become a key cog in the new world we're building." He turns to me with a grin. "Out with the old, and in with the new. Change requires sacrifice. Evolution isn't always fair."
His eyes flash towards Marcus, standing silent at the bars to his cell. Outside, the humming of the convoy begins to rise up again, the short break over as it prepares to depart.
"I will see that the chains are removed from the cells," he says. "There's no need for either of you to endure all that. And Brie," he adds, turning to look at me again. "Your beloved grandfather, you'll be happy to know, is doing a lot better." He grins. "You might just say, he's back to his old self."
And with that, he turns and steps back out into the sun, as the convoy continues its long journey north.
18
Kira
"What sort of man is he?" I ask, standing beside Ares at the head of the convoy. Around us, a variety of vehicles sit temporarily parked, the soldiers speeding out to relieve themselves nearby, or merely stretch their legs from a couple of long nights on the road.
It's early morning, and we've endured two nights, plus a day in between, stuck within the tight confines of our adopted jeeps, trucks, and APCs. The agreement has been made to not stop at night, or for more than ten or so minutes at any point. Until we begin to detect signs that we're catching up with the Olympian army, we're to keep the pedal to the metal as much as we can.
Ares, standing a good foot and a half taller than me, looks towards the target of my question. The man is a mirror of him, almost, though right now, shadow might be a better description. Perses, I have noticed, enjoys his time alone. During almost every stop, I see him wandering to the edge of the convoy, looking out towards the wilderness. He seems to me to be a profoundly thoughtful and pensive man. Fine qualities, I think, for any leader to possess.
"He is a tortured man," Ares says, looking across to him. "A man with great conflict inside him."
"But you trust him?" I ask. "You don't think he'll betray us?"
Ares doesn't answer for a moment. "That, I cannot fully judge," he says eventually. "I trust him, yes, and consider him sincere in his alignment to our cause, but sometimes that isn't enough. None of us can truly know how deep the Prime's controls go. If anything of that remains in him, it may rise again, and force him to act against his true interests."<
br />
"Leyton says there's nothing left," I say, looking across the convoy of parked cars.
"Not that he can see," says Ares.
"And you?" I ask, looking up to him. "You were under Vesper's control for a long time, just as Perses was under the Prime's. When Polus set you free, you didn't relapse."
"She was dead, Kira," Ares says. "Perhaps Perses, Amber, and anyone else will only be truly free once the Prime have been eliminated. Until that point, we must remain wary. Our trust should be granted, but should only go so far. I believe they wish, more than anyone, to set things right upon their lands, but how do we know how they will react should they encounter the Prime again?"
"I guess the same could be true of any of us," I say. "If they're as powerful as we think they are, then perhaps none of us should be trusted in such an instance."
"Yes, indeed. And that begs the question of how to approach all this. I would take it upon myself to sever the head of the snake if I had the chance, but the last thing I want to do is fall again to a mind that isn't my own. We must all be careful here, Kira. We have to consider the possibility that the Prime wants us to attack. Nothing can be taken for granted."
I draw a anxious breath at his words. "You think that's possible?" I ask. "That they'd have that sort of foresight?"
"That was Amber's path, so we are told," he says. "Her coming to Olympus had been foreseen for many years, and certain events coalesced to lead her to the city gates."
"How do you know that?" I ask.
"Secretary Burns saw it when he entered Amber's mind. Her story is a fascinating one." He looks down at me. "Did Brie not tell you something similar, after her experience with Nestor? Did the Herald of Awakening not suggest that Brie's own path to Olympus had been foretold and foreseen?"
