by T. C. Edge
I look upon his face as he slowly pulls back. It’s as blank as it was before, no expression adorning his features. I wait in hope and expectation, and find myself rewarded.
Slowly, he turns and moves towards the vials. I watch as he lifts up the one marked with the name of W. Malcolm, peeling off the fine label. He does the same with mine, and then swaps over the names.
And as he does so, I feel a sharp and desperate stab of guilt at the sight.
He places the vials back down in their holders, and then swivels back to me. There’s a faint expression of confusion now, as if he’s done something he can’t remember. Then, gradually, his eyes lose their cloak and his droning voice escapes him.
“You can go now, Mrs Shaw,” he says, repeating what he said before, as if nothing had happened after.
It worked…
I stand without speaking and move to the door. He ignores me, and merely returns to his duties.
I slip outside and find Lucy waiting for me. Every time I spend time in the presence of a Savant like that, the next face I see seems so full of expression and as bright as the sun.
Lucy’s is no exception.
“So, not so bad, was it!” she says.
I shake my head, say nothing, and begin trundling off towards the lift.
I need a shower. No, I need more than that.
Right now, I just want to go home.
My real home…
84
“How was your first day?”
The question is innocent, but sets a glare to my face that makes even Adryan recoil. He steps into the living room, where I’ve been sitting and staring out at the city for some time now.
And during that time, a significant ire has festered and brewed.
“Bad…I take it?” he asks sheepishly. Or, as sheepishly as a damn Savant can manage.
“Yes. Very.” I growl the response out like I’m a caged cat, stalking him with my eyes.
He stares back, probably wishing he could read my mind. He can’t. But I can read his. And he’s awfully confused.
“So,” I say, frowning, “there’s this, um, little test I had to go through today. A new directive that I wasn’t aware of…”
I stare at him and let the words sink in. He continues to look at me, opening a pathway to his thoughts. His confusion remains.
“A new directive? What directive?”
A deep frown blesses my face.
Is he serious? Does he really not know?
“The directive, dear husband, that says all new entrants to Inner Haven are to be tested for latent Enhanced genes. That directive.”
He steps forward and sinks into the white sofa ahead of me, his own eyes turning down with a frown.
“I…I had no idea,” he says in some vague, forgetful way. “When did this directive come in?”
“You…are you joking right now?” I ask, dumbfounded. “No, sorry…you don’t joke, do you.” I shake my head and huff. “How can you NOT know?”
“Well, I don’t know everything, Brie,” he says, slightly defensively. “I assume the directive’s brand new then?”
“Um, yeah, but...still. It could have derailed everything, Adryan! It might still, I don’t know!”
I snatch up the glass of wine on the coffee table and take a gulp. At times like this, I thank the heavens for such a merciful gift as alcohol. I just have to hope there’s a free store for such things down on level 6.
I’m probably going to be getting through a lot…
“Right, so what happened? They tested you for Enhanced genes?”
The concern in his eyes is very obvious, and evidence enough that he didn’t know about the test. I don’t even have to bother reading his thoughts to confirm that.
“Yes,” I say, calming my voice. “I went up to level 32 and some doctor took my blood. Apparently, it’ll be analysed over the next day or two.”
“Jeez, Brie…one or two days! We can’t get anything done in that time. They’ll discover who you are and…and it’ll all be over…”
I’ve never seen him appear so desperate. His usual cool is disintegrating like wet paper.
And suddenly, by some strange twist of fate, I’m the calm, level-headed one.
Who woulda though it?
“Look, it might be OK. I managed to swap the label on my blood sample with someone else’s.”
That stab of guilt attacks me again. I might have just consigned W. Malcolm to their death.
“You…swapped the samples? How?”
“I got the doctor to do it,” I say flatly. “I put the order in his head.”
Adryan’s eyes brighten a little, and a whisper escapes him.
“You…you did that? And it worked?”
I nod.
“Well that’s great news, isn’t it?” he says. “It’s a great sign…if you can manipulate a man like that, then perhaps you can do it to others more easily than you think?”
The excitement is misplaced. Yeah, I managed to manipulate the doctor, but I don’t exactly feel good about it.
“Why aren’t you more happy about this?” he asks. “It was a good test, Brie, and you passed.”
I don’t answer immediately. My eyes drift again to the wide windows and look out on the city.
“Think about it, Adryan,” I say eventually, staring as far as my eyes will take me from this place. “I swapped a name. They’re going to discover Enhanced genes, and a whole load of them, inside this W. Malcolm’s sample. What do you think will happen to them?”
My eyes switch back to Adryan’s, and the truth dawns across his silver irises.
“Ah…I see.”
“Yeah, exactly,” I say. “So, maybe we dodged a bullet here…but I sent it right into someone else’s path. Someone innocent, who doesn’t deserve what’s coming.”
A swamp of silence enters the apartment. I can sense that, while putting on the right face and making all the right noises about the likely fate of poor W. Malcolm, Adryan is still entirely relieved that I managed to work my way around the problem.
I’m sure Zander would be too, and Lady Orlando, and anyone else involved in all this. At the end of the day, if someone has to take the hit so that I can get on with my mission, so be it.
That’s the logical way of thinking about all this. But for me, it still makes me sick to my bones to think of what I’ve just done.
With some measure of tentativeness, Adryan attempts to divert my attention from the obvious remorse inside me, asking me about the rest of my day.
It works to some extent, the distraction sufficient to put my mind back on point. I begin describing my fruitful meeting with Mary and Lucy, before telling him about the little run-in with Agent Woolf. His eyes tighten at the name, and I know just what he’s thinking.
She’s still after me…and she won’t stop until she catches me out.
That may be true, but for now all I can do is try to avoid her, and focus on the task at hand. If I can get through all this before she knows what I’m really up to, and what I really am, then hopefully I’ll be long gone before she digs her way to the truth.
The news that dinner with Mary and her husband will be quickly arranged is well taken by my husband, though. He immediately moves across to an interface on the wall and sets his hand to its surface.
His prints are quickly read, and the screen comes alive. He begins tapping away, checking for any messages sent to our apartment.
“Ah,” he says, “that was very efficient.”
“Why? What’s going on?” I ask, standing and moving over to him.
“Well, Mrs Spencer has already spoken with her husband, and would like to arrange dinner for tomorrow evening. They live on the floor below us – level 50 – and so will need to apply for temporary access for us to go down there. It shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Well, that’s good news,” I say. “It doesn’t give us much time to prepare, though…”
He turns to me with steely eyes.
“By
the sounds of it, Brie, you don’t need much preparation. All we need to do is determine an appropriate order for you to impart on Mr Spencer. The wording will be crucial in making it as easy to manage as possible.”
“Yeah, keeping it simple is the way to go,” I say. “That’s what Zander taught me. “But this one’s going to be much harder than anything else I’ve done. It’ll involve multiple stages, like downloading the info we need, getting a file, handing it over to us at another time…” A thought comes to me as I look at the interface. “Can’t we just get him to send it electronically. You know, these schematics?”
Adryan shakes his head firmly.
“Oh, that’s not possible, Brie. Anything like that could be tagged and tracked. We need him to create an electronic file with the information we need, and then give it to us. It has to be a hard copy, and it’s absolutely essential that he doesn’t remember doing it.”
“Well, I seem to at least have that down,” I say. “No one seems to properly remember the orders I give.”
Adryan’s eyes change a little and quickly drop to my lips. They linger there for a split second, before lifting back up again.
Does he remember the kiss?
Locking eyes with him, I dart inside and survey his thoughts. I feel his desire to kiss me again. But any recollection of him actually kissing me seems to be faded, considered more a dream within his subconscious and little more.
“Well, that’s something,” he says, somewhat dreamily. “I suppose, if you fail, then there’s no harm done…”
He presses his hand to the interface again, and it shuts down.
Moving back to the sofa, we take seats opposite each other, and begin considering what exactly will be the best method of manipulating Mr Spencer. Naturally, getting him alone will be important, and that’s something I’ll have to work out while we’re there.
Aside from that, however, Adryan, given he’s spent his entire life living in this building, has a better idea as to what exactly we need.
His suggestion, which I rather agree with, is to start small. Well, relatively small, at least.
“Ask for detailed schematics of the building and all details of its security protocols,” he advises. “If we require anything more, then we can always go back. For now, that will have to do.”
“OK,” I say, taking mental notes. “So, ask for that, and tell him to, what, download it to an electronic file…”
“A secure, untraceable electronic file,” Adryan cuts in. “Use that wording.”
I repeat it a couple of times in my head until it’s drummed in.
“Then,” he continues, “tell him to deliver the file to you personally. It will need to be at a certain time and a certain place.”
“How about here? Can’t he just bring it to the door?”
“Unfortunately, no. His security clearance won’t permit him entry to this level, except by official dispensation.”
“OK then, how about we invite them to dinner the following night? You know, as a way of repaying the favour. They’ll get clearance, and then I can get the file off him.”
Again, Adryan stamps all over my fire.
“That would be highly unusual, to arrange two dinners together over two consecutive nights. It might raise flags. Trust me, Brie, the best option is to merely meet him on one of the communal levels during lunch the following day. Have him go to a certain spot at a certain time, hand you the file, and be on his way.”
I go through the steps in my head as he speaks. It sounds like a hell of a lot of consecutive orders to give. So far, my only experience of sending someone off on a time-specific order was that old Disposable man over in the northern quarter. Zander and I sent him off for bread, and got waylaid before we could find out if he ever got back.
Frankly, I still don’t know if he would have done so. And that, all fairness to the man, was only with a regular Unenhanced. This is on another level.
Then again, I’ve grown confident in my abilities now. With the tension always so damn high around here, and with every single action I take carrying so much weight and pressure, I seem to deliver. As I’ve said before, my powers seem to bloom when under serious stress.
“OK,” I say. “But it will be easier for me to make him do it all on the same day. I’ll order him to download the files in the morning, and then bring them to me at lunch that afternoon. Leaving it an entire day between functions would make it much harder.”
Adryan nods, deferring to my superior knowledge of how such things work.
As we continue to discuss our plans, I find myself thinking forward, based on other information I got today from Mary and Lucy.
Because getting the schematics is one thing, but actually utilising them is another. I’m still going to need to get up through the building, and that’s going to take further manipulations, most likely of extremely important and powerful individuals.
Since the levels above floor 90 are intended for the housing and operation of only the most influential of officials, and since it’s only they who deal directly with Director Cromwell and the other members of the Consortium, I’m going to need to find someone suitable to hitch a ride with.
So far, the only person I know of who lives right near the summit, and deals directly with the Consortium, is Deputy Commander Burns. As the ladies told me earlier, he reports back to Commander Fenby, who lives up in the summit.
Very briefly, the idea flashes through my head to try to manipulate Deputy Burns. As the idea comes, so my lips move, vocalising the option.
“Burns,” I say, thinking out loud. “Maybe I could use Deputy Burns…”
I cut myself off before Adryan can shut the idea down.
“No,” I say hurriedly, feeling stupid. “He’s a Mind-Manipulator too…I’d have no chance.”
Adryan looks like he’s glad I quickly came to that conclusion myself. He was all but ready to correct me on the matter.
It does bring up a discussion point, however, that I want to mine a little deeper.
“So, according to Mary, Commander Fenby’s going to be addressing the City Guard in a few days. Do you know about that?” I ask.
By now, Adryan has gotten himself a glass of wine to join me. I’m not even sure he wants it, but seems to feel obliged to have a glass so I’m not drinking alone.
All, I’m sure, part of the instruction from Lady Orlando to make my life as easy as possible. If I was a little more conniving, I could probably get away with a lot more…
Taking a sip of the wine – but only a very small sip – he considers the question as he’s prone to do, and then begins to nod. The minor delay between the two is something that still marks him out as one of them.
“Yes, I have heard. As you’re well aware, the presence of the City Guard across Outer Haven has gone up in recent weeks. His appearance will be something to help motivate them. And, well, it will be a memorial of sorts as well…for those that died in the attack on the market.”
The thought permeates me, delivering a bitter taste of disgust to my mouth.
“So, he’s there to honour those who died…because of him,” I huff, shaking my head.
“Well, I’d suggest that Director Cromwell is the man behind the whole concept of the Fanatics. He’s the one who has the final decision.”
“Yeah, but that’s not to say he came up with the idea. It might have been Fenby.”
“Perhaps,” mumbles Adryan, trailing off.
Of course…his own work for the IHR has actually contributed to all this.
“You blame yourself, don’t you,” I suggest.
His eyes come back to me.
“Are you reading my mind again, Brie?”
“Don’t need to. Not on this one. Unlike other Savants, your face is easy enough to read.”
He takes a breath and sends his gaze back out to the dark sky and twinkling stars. From up here on level 51, the air seems clearer, purer, the starlight and moonlight more dazzling than I’ve ever seen it.
“I guess I do a bit,” he says softly, his grey-blue eyes staring.
I move over towards him, and lay a hand on his. The touch is enough to draw his eyes back to me.
“Don’t,” I tell him. “You never knew they’d come up with something like this, Adryan. Anyway, everything you’ve done has been leading to this point. Being a spy for the Nameless, helping me. You’ve done much more good than bad.”
As he’s told me before, it’s not all black and white out there. The events of today has been further proof of that to me. I’ve pretty much given W. Malcolm a death sentence. A terrible thing to do, whichever way you look at it.
And yet, I needed to. For the greater good, I needed to.
And the same can be said for Adryan.
“Why the interest in Commander Fenby though, Brie?” he asks me.
“Oh, just trying to get a feel for things, that’s all. If he comes down to address the City Guard, I wonder what it would take to get Cromwell out of his decadent little nest.”
“Impossible to say, really, and it’s not something we can count on.”
“I thought you’d say that,” I say, the wind stolen from my sails. I fill the entire space of my lungs and them empty them out once more. “I guess there’s no way around this is there.”
“Only one way,” suggests my husband. His eyes turn up to the ceiling, and mine follow. “Just another 50 floors or so…”
With a smirk to break the tension, I find myself laughing.
Because sometimes, if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry.
And I refuse to do that until I’ve got this job done.
85
Am I ready, Zander? Am I ready for this?
I ask the question many times that day. I ask it in the morning when I wake up. I ask it when I eat a simple lunch of chicken soup and bread. I ask it when I pace from one end of the apartment to the other, needing to find some way of distracting myself from the silence and the revolving door of worries and doubts in my head.
I ask it, over and over, but get no reply until the late afternoon. Only then does my brother’s voice filter through my mind and settle in my ears.
