by T. C. Edge
Zander must have been unable to turn things back, just a child recklessly moving through the northern quarter, leaving a trail of empty minds and bodies behind in his wake.
He learned the hard way, but I don’t have to. I’m lucky to have him to guide me, the path ahead already set.
So as he teaches me, I soak it all up, and take note of every single word he utters. I ask questions, probing anywhere I can to make sure I understand him correctly. Mostly, he keeps things simple enough for me to understand, at least in part. Yet, in the end, the only way I’m going to learn is by doing it all for myself.
We progress further to the east, able to move around a little more freely here without such a contingent of Con-Cops and City Guards on patrol. In fact, there aren’t really any of them. They only come when hunting down hybrids or members of the Nameless, or rounding up Disposables to be either exterminated or added to their own number.
Otherwise, it’s over in the more populous areas of Outer Haven that a large presence of security forces are kept. Intended, of course, to do little more than gradually tighten the Consortium’s grips on the streets they govern.
Here, the place is so sparsely populated to the naked eye. Yet, if you look a little harder, you see them. People, hiding in their little cracks and crevices, keeping to the darkest shadows they can find. I can’t conceive of a more squalid existence, my thoughts always turning to who these people are, how they found themselves out here, frightened and alone.
I always feared that Drum would join their ranks. And seeing them now, he reappears in my thoughts once more. I turn to Zander, looking for an update on my friend.
“How is he? Drum, I mean?”
“He’s OK. A bit shaken up after the last few days, as you’d expect. But he’s settling in alright.”
“Shaken up? Can’t you just, you know, cloud his memories of it all? Make him feel better?”
“I could, if he wanted me to. I suspect he’d rather retain them, though. He’s safe, Brie, that’s all that matters right now.”
“And…what about his mental state? He’s only just lost two close friends, and he killed a man, Zander. Surely that’s going to mess with a kid of his age.”
“Honestly, I can’t tell you. He’s quiet, keeps himself to himself, and I don’t know him. Maybe that’s how he always is, I don’t know.”
“I’d like to see him,” I say quickly. “Can we go down there?”
He nods.
“Later. But right now, we have work to do.”
I smile and nod and set my mind back to the task.
“Sure…you’re right. So, you want to use more Disposables for me to train with?” I ask. “I mean, I only came here because I couldn’t get through to you – oh, yeah, what were you doing, by the way? You never answered me…”
“I was asleep,” he says.
Ah, my suspicion is confirmed.
“Thought so. Work been keeping you up late then?”
“Something like that. I’ve had a few late nights recently.”
“Well, at least now I know we can’t communicate when one of us is sleeping.”
“Well, that’s not entirely true. You just need to shout loud enough. You’re not going to wake someone up with nothing but a whisper, are you?”
“I guess not,” I admit. “I’ll bear that in mind for next time.”
“Yes, do, but only if it’s important. I’d rather not have you shouting me awake for no reason.”
“Trust me, I’m not exactly going to be getting in touch with you telepathically just for a bit of chit-chat. But, yeah, I couldn’t get through to you earlier, so I came here. Although, now that you’ve tracked me down, can’t we just go to the underlands? Use some of the Nameless for me to practice on.”
It makes a lot of sense to me. Why bother using strangers around here when I can practice on people who won’t put up a fight?
Zander, as always, has his reasons.
Shaking his head, he says: “This is less dangerous. The members of the Nameless know you. If one should get caught on a mission, then you could be found out. I won’t take that risk when I don’t need to. Here, no one knows who you are, and you can keep your face hidden under your hood. There’s nowhere better to train than right here. We just need to keep a watch for trouble, that’s all.”
A fair explanation. Makes perfect sense to me.
“So, I was right to come here then,” I say, feeling vindicated for my actions.
“Yeah, although I’d have rather you waited to talk to me first, Brie.”
“Well, I tried, as I say. I couldn’t just wait around forever. Nothing can happen until I develop my powers. It’s pretty frustrating just sitting around the academy, waiting for orders.”
“Perhaps. But I’m here now, so let’s get to it.”
With Zander now offering me his years of experience, we go about finding a suitable subject in a wholly different way to how I behaved earlier. I don’t lure someone in, acting as bait, or even put myself in any state of danger. Instead, we merely trace the local alleys in search of some poor soul to act as our guinea pig.
I question the morals of it as we go, but Zander assures me that, with him there supporting me, nothing bad is going to happen.
I take his word for it as we approach our first subject: a middle-aged woman sitting cross-legged in the recess of a crumbling building, its façade badly damaged and filled with a number of bullet holes and blasts. It’s another reminder that a war has been raging here in the northern quarter for some time.
She looks to be semi-deranged already as we step before her, her hair lank and filthy, her withered and discoloured fingers stroking relentlessly at a similarly bedraggled old cat. It sits in a ball on her lap, its fur missing in places and revealing a badly malnourished and skeletal frame.
They say that pets take on the traits of their owners. These two look almost identical, sad as it is to see.
I don’t particularly like the notion of entering this woman’s mind. Yet Zander assures me that she’ll make an interesting subject once I get in there.
Tentatively, I lean down in front of her, and her odd, googly eyes lift from her cat to mine.
She barely reacts to my sudden appearance. By the looks of her, it appears as though she’s already had a Mind-Manipulator in her head, recklessly tossing memories all out of order.
Maybe she was one of Zander’s test subjects from years ago…
As it turns out, however, she does end up a fairly useful participant, willing or otherwise. Her madness is so complete that she merely stares at me vacantly, without requiring any sort of restraint or coercion at all. I smile at her as sweetly as I can to soothe her, and see the corners of her rotten mouth rise up as well.
Then, without thinking too much, I slide into her mind and start my exploration.
I’m far more careful this time, although perhaps in her case I don’t need to be. Her recent memories float about, all disjointed and muddled. I gently trace deeper, refusing to spend too long on any particular memory, and making sure to not dart about so wildly as I did before.
There in the depths, the memories grow more muddy. Yet there’s a feeling that her life was once one of greater meaning. That she didn’t always live here, amongst the forgotten people, spending her days sat in these alleys and only moving south to scavenge for food via some innate instinct to survive.
No. Once she had a job. Had a husband and a child. I see it all through a thick veil, little fragments of her old world playing before me like a tragic movie.
I see her happiness fade to grief. See her world crumble like the walls and buildings she now uses for refuge. See the death of her husband and son in a fire, her life snatched away in a sudden, terrible moment.
I pull back, the source of her madness becoming clear, and see the trickle of tears drooling from her eyes. As I saw it all play out, she must have too, a relic of her past, now forgotten, surging back into her addled mind.
For a few m
oments, I watch her face, and feel guilty for what I’ve done. But the tears quickly dry, and the confusion once more sets in, and her fingers go back to tracing the scruffy fur of the old cat in her lap.
And when I stand beside Zander once more, I look upon her with a surge of grief building in me. I turn to him with damp eyes.
“She’s lost in there,” I whisper. “Can’t you help bring her back?”
He shakes his head, looking to the woman.
“Some can’t be brought back,” he says softly. “Others just don’t want to. I know this woman. I’ve been in her mind before. In some cases, it’s a blessing that she can’t remember. Her mind broke the day her family died. That’s something no one can heal.”
“And is that why you brought me here, to her? To teach me that lesson?”
“It’s one of many lessons, Brie, that you need to learn. But mostly, I wanted to see if you could see beyond her confusion, see right into her past. I wanted to know that you could feel her pain.” He lifts a finger and drags a growing tear from the corner of my eye. “And it’s clear you can.”
I nod, looking back at her.
“I felt it all. I saw it all.”
“Good. Your ability to search memories is raw, but powerful. However, there are other tricks to master. Seeing is one thing, but manipulating is another. And it’s the latter that will be crucial to your mission.”
I think of what Adryan told me. To complete my mission, I’ll need to force other people to do my bidding, and do so without letting them know it was me who tailored their actions to my design.
That sounds hard enough as it is. But worst of all, it won’t be normal, simple people I’m dealing with. It will be Savants.
I let out a breath. It’s a mixture of mental fatigue and exasperation, and the thought that there’s still so far to go.
“So, I guess we’d better get started on that then,” I say.
Zander lays a paw on my shoulder, and sets a breezier smile to his face that, around here, looks so out of place.
“Cheer up, sis. You’re making great progress. Now come on, let’s see what you can do.”
And, with the afternoon rolling along, my hectic life continues.
65
The remainder of the day follows a pattern: listen to Zander’s advice and tuition, find a suitable test subject, and then go about putting his orders into action.
Firstly, that merely involves doing a bit more memory searching. Trolling the mostly deserted streets, we search for any lonely soul and I set about sifting through their memories. I do this three more times, and on each occasion we find participants who are only too willing to help.
This, of course, isn’t purely from the kindness of their hearts, but from the promise of food and money that Zander provides. It says a great deal about the state of these people’s lives that my brother doesn’t have to offer much to get them to agree.
Then, it’s over to me. Entering their thoughts, Zander gives me specific instructions about what I’m looking for.
Firstly, it’s hardship and pain. He wants me to focus on seeking the most heart-breaking memory I can find.
Then, it’s joy. I’m set the task of finding the participant’s happiest memory.
Finally, I’m ordered to look for fear, to discover the most frightening recollection locked away in the subject’s mind.
I do so each time, and each time I encounter such vivid recalls of these people’s lives. A painful memory of loss. A joyous memory of birth. A horrifying memory of being hunted.
Each time I’m done, I feel I have to apologise to the people for reawakening such thoughts. Even the woman whose memory of joy I find – that of the birth of her daughter – requires an apology, bringing tears to her eyes. Because on seeing that memory again, it isn’t joy she feels, but pain.
Pain because that daughter is no longer with her. Pain because she was taken from her long ago.
It’s an unpleasant exercise, but one Zander assures me is necessary in helping me learn how to search for specific types of recollections and feelings.
And every time I withdraw, and he asks me what I found, I get the impression that he already knows what I should be looking for. So I query him on it, and he tells me that he’s choosing these people precisely because he knows what I’ll find.
“I have to know what memories are inside them,” he says, “otherwise the exercise wouldn’t carry such weight. It’s important that I know how deep you can search to determine how far your powers are coming along.”
“So, all these people…you’ve been in all their minds before? How come they don’t recognise you?”
“Firstly, because I’m hidden under a hood like you. Secondly, because I make a habit of erasing the memory of my presence, just in case.”
“So, how am I doing then?”
“Very well, Brie. You’re learning fast. Now, however, it’s time to take things up a gear.”
The next portion of the day is intended to equip me with a firmer knowledge of memory and thought manipulation. It’s clear that Zander’s intention is to take me through things slowly, to gradually introduce me to the various abilities my Mind-Manipulator powers provide.
Yet, given the state of affairs over in the High Tower, it’s necessary for me to move through the stages more quickly than I otherwise would. I get the impression that this is more of a crash course than anything comprehensive.
Once again, Zander makes use of food and money to entice our subjects. Keeping an eye out for any patrols of Con-Cops as we go, we find someone suitable awaiting us in the belly of a cavernous old tower block, hiding in a nest fashioned beneath a wooden table in the corner of the derelict foyer.
Luring the young man out, I get a good look at him. He’s probably not much older than me, an orphan most likely. Not from Carmichael’s – I’d recognise him – and probably not from any of the other academies around the city either. More likely he’s just found himself here via terrible circumstance, his world now one of running and hiding and scavenging to survive.
As Zander baits him into the open with some tinned beans, I pull him off to one side so the boy can’t hear.
“Why exactly aren’t these people down in the underlands?” I whisper firmly. “We’ve met plenty of them today, most that you know, and yet they’re still up here living in fear. We should take this kid down below when we’re done.”
“Brie, you’re looking at me like I have no heart, and like I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve lived around here for years, and I know it far better than you. We do take people down, but there are too many to cater to. And lots just don’t want to. It’s not as easy as you’re making out.”
I look over to the boy, peering through the rag curtains of his nest, and shake my head.
“And this one. Do you know him like the others?”
“I…yes, I do.”
“You’ve been in his mind?”
He nods.
“Brie, I’m bringing you to these people because I know them, that’s the whole point. I know what to expect, and can take you through things more easily. Does that not make sense to you or something?”
His tone is hardening. I decide to ease back a bit.
“It does. It makes sense. I just…it’s just weird seeing these people up here, when I know there’s safety below.”
“The world is weird,” comes Zander’s pithy summation. “We don’t have time to debate the nature of what’s weird and what isn’t. We’re here to train you. Nothing else. Now, I appreciate your questions about understanding your powers, but not this. We can talk about it later, OK. Let’s put it to one side for now.”
I begrudgingly agree, his firm stare coercing me to do so.
“OK. So what do you want me to do with him,” I say, glancing over.
The young man continues to look at us, perhaps wondering what the hell we’re talking about. I’m kinda surprised he hasn’t darted for the door. I guess those tinned beans are just too tempting.
“It’s time to up the ante,” Zander tells me. “You’re going to insert an order into his mind.”
“Um…OK. How, exactly?”
“Well, you know how you communicate with me telepathically? It’s sort of like that.”
“So, what, I just think of the words or something?”
“More or less, yes. You’ll need to enter his mind and insert the order. Depending on the mind, this can be easy or hard.”
“And I guess this guy’s on the easy end of the scale,” I say, tilting my head in the Disposable’s direction. “That’s why you picked him out.”
“Yeah, precisely. You’ve gotta crawl before you can walk, Brie. This boy’s mind is weak, and easy to influence. But there’s another side of it.”
“Which is?”
“The order itself. Some orders are very basic. Others are more complicated. For example, implanting an order into a weak mind to, I don’t know, go and stand facing the wall, isn’t hard. However, if you told them to walk to the other side of town at a specific time, fetch something, and then return, that would obviously be a lot harder. There are lots of layers to determine how tricky manipulating someone like this can be.”
“Right, so for me, giving time-specific orders to Savants is likely to be on the trickier end of the spectrum, I suppose?”
“Erm, yeah. Savants generally have stronger minds. That’s kinda what they’re all about.” He clearly senses the anxiousness in me, adding: “But don’t worry, Brie, you’ve got this. Remember, keep your orders simple if you can. Then there’s less of a chance of something going wrong.”
Another lengthy breath blows from between my lips. I turn to the boy again, who’s sunk a little deeper into his hovel.
“So, what shall I try to project into him then?” I ask.
“Something simple,” he says, keeping his voice low so that he can’t be heard. “How about you just get him to walk over to me and shake my hand. Go on, give it a try.”
“Right. So, I just enter his mind and project the order, like I would if I was trying to talk with you?”
“Yep. That’s the basics of it. It may take a bit of time, but you should get there. When you’re fully trained, you’ll be able to issues orders in a flash, without them ever knowing it was you. It’s all about making them believe they came up with it, and weren’t doing something under the influence of somebody else.”