by T. C. Edge
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.
You’re ready, Brie, he says. You have to be ready.
I don’t get much more out of him. Having finally gotten through, he tells me he’s too busy to speak right now, his mind elsewhere.
I get no time to give him the rundown of recent events. I get no time to hear the comforting words of support I need. I get almost nothing, save the unsettling knowledge that he’s clearly got more important things to be worrying about.
Which, in turn, only serves to make me more worried by what’s going on down there. Clearly, he’s wrapped up in something big, something that’s taking all of his focus.
Perhaps I can’t rely on him as I thought I could? Perhaps it really is just Adryan and me up here…
Of course, no doubt Adryan will fill Lady Orlando in on any important updates from here. High on that list, of course, will be the bullet-dodging I had to do yesterday, and the news that my mission – our mission – is starting to see some sort of reward.
Naturally, I begin to wonder exactly how my husband has been communicating with the Nameless all this time. The interface here clearly allows for communication between apartments and residences, as well as the atrium and various other parts of the building. I understand that it’s also possible to chat with buildings outside the High Tower, the whole of Inner Haven linked together by some sort of network.
Yet, communicating beyond that appears to be a different prospect. And certainly, getting in touch with Lady Orlando outside of the city wouldn’t be possible using the interface in our apartment. Nor would it be advisable were it an option, given how such interactions could be traced.
Only when Adryan arrives home from work do I get to ask him. He takes me into his bedroom, pulls out a small box, sets his thumbprint to a scanner to unlock it, and opens it up.
Inside, I look upon nothing more complicated than a series of books on inter-species relationships, the physiology of the various Enhanced, the nature of emotion, and other such accounts that are clearly important for his work.
“Um, what exactly am I looking at here?” I ask.
He picks out a couple of books, sets them to one side, and reveals a small hidden compartment at the bottom of the box. Opening it up, he pulls out a tiny rectangular device, fairly non-descript upon initial viewing but clearly important enough to be kept so concealed.
He hands it to me, I inspect it, and then look up at him, shrugging my shoulders.
The only thing of interest is a series of digits, from 0-9, written along the bottom of the device. They�
��re buttons, and clearly have some purpose.
Taking it back off me, he quickly inputs a series of numbers – I count at least 12, perhaps more – and as soon as he’s finished, the front of the device glows to life.
I remain none the wiser until he offers a verbal explanation.
“It’s a private communication transmitter,” he says. “That code I put in unlocked it. I’m the only one who knows the combination. The signal is untraceable, and links directly with the Nameless’ headquarters. That’s how I’ve been updating them.”
“All this time?”
He nods.
I consider asking him if I can use it, but decide not to. After all, I have my own private and untraceable method of talking with my brother. And frankly, other than Drum, who I doubt would ever be allowed on the line, there’s no one else over there I want to talk to.
Packing it all away again, I remark on how well hidden Adryan keeps it.
“Necessity,” he says. “I’ve grown very careful over the years.”
“And what if someone did find it?” I query.
“They’d never know the code for one, so would never be able to access it. And, even if they could, they can’t possibly know who I’ve been speaking with.”
A fair explanation, and sufficient enough to douse any minor concerns I have that his calls have been traced. And minor they are. I have bigger things to think about.
First on the list, and most pressing, is this evening’s dinner. With our access granted to drop down a level and visit the Spencers on the 50th floor, we set about getting ready. Having had little to do today except wait around and stress about my mission, Adryan finds it surprising that I haven’t yet picked out an outfit.
“I’m not used to it, OK,” comes my defensive reply. “It’s not like my life back at the academy involved weekday dinner parties. Haven’t I got enough on my mind! Jeez!”
Adryan escapes the room before my stress boils over, and my Dasher powers are unleashed.
Once I’m ready – I just pick out a dress at random in the end – I find myself apologising to my husband in the kitchen.
“There’s no need, really,” he assures me. “You’ve earned the right to snap, Brie.”
I kiss his cheek and inspect him for the first time. He’s wearing a slightly more stylish grey suit on this occasion, a little less formal than his work attire, if only subtly so. Mostly, the fashion range in this place is very slim indeed, so even the slightest of deviations can appear quite stark.
“You look handsome,” I tell him.
“And you look beautiful,” he responds.
And smiling together, we set off on our first official function as man and wife. The ruse is very much on.
It turns out that Mary and her husband live almost directly beneath us. Dropping down one level in the lift nearest our apartment, we head straight for room 50-37, and Adryan knocks.
It’s my new friend who answers the door. She and Adryan perform their bows and, sticking to the strict etiquette, she waits for Adryan to speak first. I find that one particularly odd, given how it’s her who is inviting us to her home. Usually, surely, it would be the host who speaks first?
Not here, though, in this alternate universe. Instead, Adryan says: “Good evening,” before she’s allowed to speak. Only then does she return the same words and invite us inside, giving me a little hug as I pass by.
Inside, we find her husband awaiting us in the main living space - it is, of course, an exact replica of our apartment above, including all the fixtures and fittings – dressed in a similar, if slightly more mundane, suit to Adryan. His hair is greying and his eyes are pale blue, but otherwise he appears as almost all other male Savants do – trim, healthy looking, if a little pale, and extremely well groomed.
“Good evening, Mr Shaw,” he says. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“And you, Mr Spencer,” returns Adryan. “Thank you for inviting us to your home.”
“It is our pleasure,” says Mr Spencer. “And please, do call me Brian.”
“Yes, Brian. And you call me Adryan.”
After the rather ceremonial exchange, his eyes then switch to me. He bows, and so do I, and I await his first words. They are, as if written to script, almost identical to the greeting words used by everyone here.
“Good evening, Mrs Shaw,” he says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you also.”
I find it hard not to laugh as he extends his hand and I take it. Stifling my smirk, I’m forced to repeat the same words as Adryan, before he also tells me to ‘call him Brian’, and I do the same, saying: “Call me Brie.”
It’s an extremely rigid formality, no flow to it at all. It’s as if the Savants read in a manual that polite greetings should go exactly like that, and therefore made it part of their strict etiquette.
Still, Brian appears to have a fairly warm disposition for a Savant, which comes as some surprise, even though it shouldn’t. I suspect that any Savant who chooses to marry a regular Unenhanced must have something to them, some need for a proper emotional connection.
Leading us into the main living area, we’re invited to take a seat on the sofa. Mary goes about her business as hostess, offering drinks and shooting back and forward to the kitchen to check on the food. She also mentions that Lucy and her husband couldn’t make it, which doesn’t disappoint me given the specific task I’m here to perform.
Her slightly flustered demeanour suggests that she’s not used to hosting. The slight aroma of burnt meat suggests that cooking isn’t her strongest suit either.
Since most food here comes prepared and packed, I’m not going to hold that against her. Actually, it’s sweet that she’s trying to make me feel at home.
As she gets on with that, however, I simply sit with Adryan and Brian in the living room, listening – but rarely contributing – to a rather dull conversation between the two men as they discuss the particulars of their work.
I suppose it’s something I should be more interested in, but my mind appears to be elsewhere. Mostly, I try to feel Brian out, get a sense of him by metaphorically dipping my toes into the water of his mind to see how sensitive he might be to my intrusions.
Each time his eyes flash on me, I creep in and try to determine his thoughts and gauge a little more of his personality. The sense I get is of a man with a stronger emotional core than most Savants, something that centres prominently around his caring for his wife.
I smile at the thought and look at Mary, busy in the kitchen. It’s nice to think that, having lived here for so many years, she’s at least had some happiness from the muted love provided by her spouse.
Adryan, clearly, is playing his part, however. His intention, he told me, was to converse with Mr Spencer about work, starting with himself. He’d be honest and open, and therefore blaze the trail for Brian to be the same.
The aim in doing so would be to properly determine the functions that Brian sees to, as well as butter him up a little bit so that, when I give my order, it will be more likely to take hold.
It was Adryan who came up with the idea, and a great one it was too. Already, as I listen to them speak and occasionally dip into Brian’s mind, I can see the various aspects of his work being drawn to the surface, ready and waiting for my orders to slip right in.
Things appear to be going well. Brian’s mind is primed and receptive. With a few subtle glances, I give Adryan the signal, and he politely asks if he can use the bathroom.
Brian grants permission, although isn’t required to point the way. Standing, Adryan turns his attention to the corridor leading to the front door, the bathroom just off to the right. My heart begins to pound a little, and my mind goes over and over the wording we decided upon.
As he drifts off, I glance up towards Mary, just now serving up the food in the kitchen. My eyes settle on Brian, sitting a few metres away on the opposite sofa. He works up a small smile, the best he can manage.
It’s a reasonable effort.
A heav
y bout of nerves swamp me.
Come on, Brie. You’re alone. He’s primed. Give the order.
I take a gulp of air and find my fingers shivering as they reach for my wine. This doesn’t feel like before, like with Doctor Friel. That was proper life and death. That was proper desperation.
This isn’t. I can do it now, or during dinner, or after dinner. I have lots of time. Maybe I should wait?
No, Brie! You have him where you want him. Do it now! Do it now!
The silence is getting unbearable. It’s probably only been a few seconds but it feels like minutes have passed. Brian is still staring at me, perhaps noticing how uncomfortable I must look.
Get it together, Brie! Give the order, dammit!
Then his words come, and the silence is broken.
“So, Brie, how are you finding the High Tower so far?”
I’m distracted, thrown off the scent. I mumble out a fairly monotone answer, giving a rather good impression of a Savant. My words are automatic. My mind is still on the task.
This might be the one chance I get. I might not be alone with him again. What if he drinks more wine…maybe the order won’t take hold properly? I don’t know the ins and outs of it. I don’t know how alcohol affects it all.
Frankly, this is all completely new to me! I wish I had more training!
Another question comes from Brian’s mouth. No, a statement this time. He congratulates me on my performance during the attack on Culture Corner.
“I saw the footage,” he says. “You were very brave.”
He attempts another smile, and his eyes brighten. I look straight at them and know, now, that this is my one chance. Over in the kitchen, my Hawk-eyes scan Mary and see that she’s about to finish serving the food.
In the bathroom, I hear the tiniest sound of flushing, and know that Adryan will return momentarily.
Now or never, Brie. Now or never.
I make the decision, the pressure building. It gives me the resolve I need, and as Brian’s pale blue eyes shine a little brighter, I dive straight in, committing fully as I enter his consciousness.
Like Doctor Friel, like Zander, like Adryan, the interior of his mind is expansive. Outside, I know, time will slow. My body will be sitting there, and Brian’s will too, and we’ll be staring right at one another as Mary works in slow motion in the kitchen, and Adryan does the same in the bathroom.