Whispers in the Code

by Stephanie Flint

  She has me test the theory, practicing the game in my head until I think I’ve got it ready, and then sets out to convince me to do menial tasks for her. While she doesn’t convince me to clean the glasses or clean the bathroom (thankfully I have Tetris as a backup when solitaire gets redundant), I’m all too thrilled to take a stab at speeding up her computer—

  At which she reminds me that persuasion is best done when the target actually wants the desired outcome.

  “Sometimes it is simpler to maneuver your intended target towards your goal before you make the final push with persuasion.” She smiles as I inch from her computer, heat settling in my cheeks. “The less aware your target is, the more likely you are to succeed in persuading them to do as you ask.”

  She lays a gentle hand on mine. A tingle of excitement zips through my arm. I hold my breath. Nervousness floods my chest. “Don’t worry, Master Zaytsev. With practice, and time, you will be able to avoid most inept telepaths.”

  Inept being the key word.

  “Now, let’s try something a little more serious.” She lifts my chin with the tip of her finger. For a moment I’m kneeling in the cold prison cell, Lady Black standing before me, preparing to take my secrets…

  I push aside the nightmare. “Serious?”

  The corners of her lips turn to a smile. “I’m going to try to seduce you. Your job is to not be seduced.”

  Community, no…

  My heart stops as she takes both my hands in hers and pulls me from the chair. She tilts her head, her silky hair falling across one eye.

  Not this. Please not this…

  “It’s perfectly all right, dear.” She runs her hand behind my ear, then through my hair. I shiver. She’s so beautiful…

  “I remember the picture you had me sign in the Community,” she whispers.

  Burning embarrassment surges through me. The image is a famous one—Lady Black posed in a bikini, laying against a portrait of the rising sun cog. Her face was lit with soft shadows and soft highlights, her hair tossed in the wind as she looked up into the camera.

  She throws her head back and laughs. “You remember it well, don’t you?” She lets go of my hand and spins away, her dress flowing across her curves. She reaches for the clasps on the back of her choker, and then bats her eyes at me. “Tim, could you be a dear and help me with this?”

  I swallow hard. Of course. Just… help her with the choker. I reach for the clasps, pausing at the smooth line of her back, and then I unfasten the hooks, my fingers trailing across the hidden zipper.

  I yelp as she spins on her heel and her hand slaps mine.

  “That—” she snaps, “is how not to succeed against my powers. Let’s try this again, shall we?” Her eyes are sharp, narrow, all trace of playfulness gone.

  My mind is numb. She could have—

  Val.

  What if I fail?

  “Are you sure—”

  She crosses her arms. “You have a girlfriend, Master Zaytsev. A leader in the Camaraderie. You two seem to have a close relationship.”

  Her voice is flat. This training could make a mess of everything.

  I gulp. “Yes.”

  She sneers at me. “How fortunate. If you wish to maintain said relationship, I suggest you pay attention.”

  Gone is the woman who flaunts her attractiveness across the Community. Gone is the seductress who interrogates prisoners as playthings. Gone is the “airhead” Jenna saw when the lady visited St. Petersburg three months ago.

  Lady Black crosses her arms and towers over me. Her lips press together in a firm line; her eyes question me and my motivations.

  This is Lady Black.

  “Now, Tim,” she says, her voice hard, “this time I’m not going to slap you.” She reaches across the bed behind her and removes her signature weapon from the covers—a curling bull whip of black leather. “This will hurt considerably worse.”

  She casts the whip outward in a single arc, reels it over her head, and cracks it at her side. I stumble backward and lose my balance. The lady holds her chin high, her face drawn with malice and pride in the flickering light. With the long dress draping across the floor, she looks something like a warrior witch out of one of the rebel’s comics.

  She’s powerful—and incredibly sexy.

  “For the love of Benjamin, Tim—” Lady Black sighs, rubbing her temples and shaking her head. “I’m not even using my powers yet.”

  I snap my mouth shut. I’m on the floor gaping at her, and I must be bright red. This is not helping my case at all. And Val—what would Val think of me? I’m failing her.

  No wonder Jenna thought Val seduced me.

  Lady Black extends her hand to me. “Come on,” she says, softer this time. I stand. She comes closer to me, wrapping her arm around my waist and bringing us so close that her body presses against mine. “You have to make a choice,” she whispers, her voice as soft as velvet. “Me or Val.”

  I waver. The sleeves of her dress enfold me, trickling around me like a gentle creek. Lady Black. I could actually be with—

  Pain flares across my shoulders and I drop at her feet. I gasp for air. There’s water in my eyes—I can’t breathe. The pain—

  Lady Black snorts. “Get up, Timothy. We have a lot of work to do.”

  Hours later—at least, that’s what it feels like, though the grandfather clock across the room suggests I’ve only been training for two and a half—Lady Black decides it’s time for a break. She offers me a glass of water, which I gratefully accept.

  One of those hours was nothing but her come-ons and me being sent sprawling across the floor in pain. Now I’m resting on her bed.

  The glass of water wobbles in my hand, spilling icy liquid across the bed sheets. I take three tries to bring the water to my lips. The lady sits across from me, frowning as I hand back the glass. I lay my head on the pillow. Even the silkiness is lost to the tight wounds on my back and shoulders. The constant ache forces my fingers shut and I clutch at the fringed edge of the pillow. Thankfully, the commander warned me not to wear my uniform to the training. The fabric would be in shreds.

  “Why don’t we talk about something else?” she suggests.

  My nod alone sends heat running across my shoulders. Blood. There’s blood on the smooth covers. Will she have the covers replaced, or simply sterilize the sheets?

  “Let’s talk about you,” she says.

  “Me?” I croak.

  She lifts the water glass to my lips, and I drink from it before sinking back into the ocean of fabric.

  “Your experiences.”

  I grimace at the thought of moving.

  She flaps her hand at me. “Oh, very well. Take your rest. Leave me to do all the talking.”

  I close my eyes, appreciative. She can jabber all she wants. Her airy voice is soothing. I drift—

  “Tim. Stay alert.”

  I jerk awake, and the movement sparks pain throughout my back. Her voice is gentle, for all that’s its firm. I grit my teeth, tears in my eyes.

  “Yes?”

  She nods approvingly. “Do you know where I learned the technique? Focusing on what the target wants in order to persuade them?” She eyes the overhead paintings thoughtfully. “Nickolai was a wonderful teacher, really. ’Twas a shame he deserted the Community before he could have joined us.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Nickolai—Jenna’s grandfather?”

  She snorts. “He understands how we work. That’s why he’s so difficult to catch.”

  My eyelids weigh heavy against my eyes, and I struggle to keep them open. “That’s why you want Jenna.”

  “Of course.” She traces the carving in the cherrywood table beside her. “The girl’s powers are worthless. But who she is demands considerable attention. Nickolai has lost loved ones already, and he would loathe losing her as well.”

  “Capture her, and he’ll try a rescue.” That’s why he showed up three months ago�
�to prevent her from being taken by the Camaraderie.

  The lady’s mouth tightens into a frown. “Maybe. Her capture alone would not prompt a response. The threat of transformation holds more weight.”

  Heat flares through me. Jenna is no longer my ally, but I still wouldn’t wish that on her.

  “If we threaten to use one of the older processes,” Lady Black continues, “the threat is even greater.”

  My fingers clutch Val’s locket and the light bulb charm around my neck. “Older?”

  Lady Black smiles wryly, her attention on some painting beside the bed. “The irony would not be lost on the old man. He worked to perfect the formula, to make it more efficient. He also made it more… humane.”

  I reach to the database with my mind and touch the files on beast transformation. Many of the files are encrypted, but the ones I need aren’t. The latest process causes memory loss during the second phase, the tanks. The procedure also numbs the subject after forty-three seconds, preventing them from feeling pain. A quick search reveals that the process before this did neither. Subjects were lucky if they passed out, and the memory loss didn’t occur until the actual transformation.

  Lady Black smooths her dress at her thigh. “Get what you need?”

  I attempt a nod.

  “Good. Now imagine if we were to threaten the older process on Nickolai’s granddaughter. If he refused to turn himself in, we could give him full access to see and hear the process as it occurs. We could delay the process, if need be. He would have two options: attempt a rescue, in which we capture and then interrogate him for the information regarding the whereabouts of his Coalition of Freedom, or he can ignore his granddaughter’s torment. If he ignores her, his team will turn on him and, either way, his rebellion falls apart.” Lady Black traces the rim of her glass and flicks the dangly beadwork on the edge of the lamp. I grit my teeth, hating the idea. “Alternatively, we capture someone Jenna is fond of, and threaten the same. Who’s that boy she likes… Lance?”

  I’m stiff. Numb. “She’d go after him.”

  “Exactly. Do you see why it’s so vital we don’t forget Jenna’s part in the rebellion?”

  “Sounds like something Lady Winters would do,” I say coldly.

  “It should.” The lady snorts. “That plan was hers. Except she misjudged her situation and got herself shot.”

  I drag my fingers across the warm covers for comfort. “Lady Winters should have captured Jenna, not tortured her.” My voice is hard, and from the raised eyebrow it earns from Lady Black, I realize I sound too defensive. “Torture hasn’t really worked well for the Camaraderie, has it?”

  The corner of her lips twist into a wry smile. “Not particularly. The Coalition would look at Jenna as a martyr and simply renew their efforts, futile as they are. Do they still use the thief’s symbol?”

  I don’t answer. She already knows they do—the blue stick figure over an upside down “U.” Story has it that one of the Camaraderie’s original members, a thief, deserted them to assist in the formation of the Coalition. The thief was caught and tortured, but rather than breaking, she laughed at her tormentor. One of the rebels got hold of photographic proof of the incident and the thief’s defiance became the Coalition’s symbol.

  Lady Black sits her glass aside. “Are you rested yet? We have a lesson to attend to.”

  My muscles clench. I’m nowhere near ready to resume her lesson. “My lady…”

  “Yes, Master Zaytsev?” she croons, leaning over me and cradling my head in her hands. “Do you still have an allegiance to the Coalition?”

  I blink, taken by surprise. “What? No—”

  She touches her forehead to mine, her nose to my nose. Her breath is warm. Soothing. “You’re so defensive of Jenna—perhaps this relationship with Val is simply a ruse to distract us from your real concern.” Her form blurs, and a moment later Jenna sits on the bed beside me—except she’s wearing a far more extravagant dress than I’ve ever seen Jenna wear.

  Anger flares through me and I pull away. I roll to the other side of the bed, ignoring the pain in my back. “Of course not. I love Val!”

  “Love is inefficient, Tim.” Jenna-Lady Black stands, one hand on her hip. “Val was just using you, anyway. She never cared for you like I did.”

  I grit my teeth, pushing my feet off the bed and trying to stand before the lady makes it to my side. I don’t make it. Jenna-Lady Black leans into me and pins me against the wall. “Take off your shirt, Tim. Your wounds will get infected.”

  Reasonable enough. I reach for the edge of the shirt, and then gasp as pain rolls through my back at the motion. It’s enough to bring clarity to my mind. Her claims may be reasonable, but that’s not why she wants me to take off my clothes.

  “Tim…” Lady Black returns to her usual form—maybe a tad more attractive than before—and eases her body beside me, looping her fingers under my shirt’s edge. I try to pull away, but stumble in a heap of bloody rags on the floor. I grunt, frustrated, and finally pull the thing off. It’s of no use to me now.

  She kneels beside me. “There you go, Tim. You are the handsome one, aren’t you?”

  This morning’s dream comes flooding back like an icy memory. My knees press against hard metal; my hands are chained behind my back. A desire… a very strong desire to resist knots in my chest.

  “Come, Tim. Forget the Coalition and Jenna. Right now it’s you… and me.” She reaches her fingers under my chin, pulling me toward a kiss.

  Without meaning to, I swing my hand at her, which she catches deftly.

  Her smile broadens.

  “Congratulations, Master Zaytsev. You seem to be getting the hang of this.”

  She stands, turning away from me while I collapse against the oak frame of the bed. The plush carpet sinks beneath me.

  It’s stained with my blood.

  “Though I must say…” She taps her chin and gives me worried look. “I’m a bit concerned it took reminding you of the Coalition to build the resistance you needed.”

  I stare at her. She’s not a telepath, so she doesn’t know it was the dream that caused the distraction. I close my eyes and take deep breaths. Either way, I did it. I evaded her persuasion.

  “Stuart? Please call in a healer.” Lady Black glances at me from the intercom on the wall. “We’re done.”

  Thank the Community it’s over.

  Once the healer has mended my wounds, I take the privilege of a hot shower. After that, I barely have an hour before I’m supposed to meet the commander for the ball. I find a complete suit waiting on my bed, tuxedo included, with a note from Stuart to call if I need assistance. Though I attempt to dress myself, I’m still not entirely sure I’ve fastened everything right or even got the right shoe on the right foot. It doesn’t help that, despite the healer’s assurance that the whip didn’t leave any scars, my back still hurts.

  Stuart, thankfully, has formal dressing down to an art. Within a few minutes he has everything organized, tucked, and even the emerald pendant skillfully placed so it peeks from underneath my coal-black jacket. The servant pins a small, rising sun cog to the lapel, then nods once. “Very good. The commander will be pleased.” He beckons me into the hall, and I rush to keep up with his long, proper stride.

  “Is Val coming with us, or will she meet us there?” I fidget to keep a carnation from falling out of my breast pocket.

  “Lady Salazar will meet us at the hub, as shall Lady Black and the commander,” he tells me. “One moment, I need my hat.” He cuts into a separate hall, and I stagger to a halt. For all that he’s bald, I’ve never seen him cover his head.

  Stuart returns with a felt top hat and a riding whip tucked under one arm, white gloves tucked under the other. He tips his hat, his eyes gleaming. “Well then, let’s not keep the good commander waiting.” He takes the lead, and I realize he’s switched out his simple butler jacket for something with a long tailcoat and gold buttons.

 
High spirits indeed.

  At the hub, Commander Rick already has the coordinates logged in. He’s decked out in full military uniform. His medals and pins rattle and clink as he moves. “The ladies are already waiting at the stable, and I believe we still have time for a short drive before our arrival.”

  “Stable?” I ask.

  Before the commander has a chance to respond, Stuart ushers me through the portal and I’m greeted by warm, damp air and a large stagecoach that’s been polished to a glossy black sheen. The Lady of the Cog silhouette has been painted in gold on the coach’s side, presented by two large Clydesdales, both groomed with golden bells jingling on their halters. Both creatures are black with dark fringe around their gilded hooves.

  “After you.” Commander Rick smiles, his snowy mustache twitching in response to my slack-jawed astonishment.

  Stuart unlatches the door for us and hops onto the driver’s bench with relative ease, and then rubs his hands together before taking the reins. “At your leisure, Commander.” He bows his head. The commander chuckles and gestures for me to go first.

  I pull myself into the coach. The inside is upholstered in crisp red velvet. Cloth buttons are sewn into the cushions. Lady Black and Val sit on the same side, and I scoot next to the window, opposite Val. Her face shines back at me, kind and full of warmth. Her hair is gathered into a mound of loose curls. Diamond and ruby earrings hang from her ears. She smooths her silver-sequined dress and self-consciously readjusts the ruby pendant around her neck. The movement jostles the silvery sash tucked around the bronze skin of her elbows. I let out a breath. “Val…”

  She grins, showing her fangs. “Lady Black helped.”

  Though I cringe at the mention of Lady Black, the lady looks impressive as well. A long, black gown emphasizes her curves but reveals very little. Her hair is pulled back in a cascading ripple, rings of diamonds tied into it like little stars.

  Both of them, I imagine, will look dazzling outside of this coach’s clockwork lamplight.