by T. C. Edge
Looking at Walter, I find his beady eyes looking right back. A warm smile lifts on his face, and a little nod of respect draws down his chin. I slide my eyes to his left, and see his bodyguard alongside him: Astor, the Hawk who, as far as I know, may also be a hybrid, staring right at the front, right at Lady Orlando with an intense glare that many of the people here employ.
And there’s a tension in the air as the hush falls. People who had been sitting against the walls, or on old rotting pews, stand and gravitate to the front, to the little stage where Lady Olando stands.
I find myself stepping off and out of the spotlight. Adryan comes too, leaving only Zander alongside Lady Orlando, a pace back to her right.
“Good afternoon everyone,” she begins. “And thank you all for coming here today. As we are all well aware, times have grown desperate, and we find ourselves at a crossroad. As of right now, we are at a Level 3 emergency. I don’t have to tell you what will happen should we reach Level 4. Today, here, right now…we must consider our next course.”
She allows a short break for her words to sink in. Everyone watches, waiting for her to continue.
When she does, she opens up one arm and spreads it across the room.
“All of you here have something to contribute. All are leaders within our cause. Some have recently joined. Others have been with us for many, many years. But we must all play our role in the war to come. And war it is, ladies and gentlemen. There’s no getting around that now, no hiding from it. The city is at war, and it is down to us to find a way to end it.”
Again, a silence.
Again, no one speaks.
All wait for her to do so.
Her eyes turn down to me.
“We all know Brie,” she says. “We all know that her mission was unsuccessful. We all know, too, that she did everything she could to see it through. I failed her. We failed her. And it’s up to us to make this right. The opportunity to slay the snake in secret is gone. Artemis Cromwell knows we’re coming, and has been spreading his forces through the city. It is becoming a stronghold, and we are far outnumbered in strength of arms. We have to out-think him, ladies and gentlemen. We need to out-think the collective wisdom of all of the Consortium. That is our task.”
As she speaks, I find eyes inspecting me. They come and go, glancing before turning away. The weight of my failure, laden on my back for many days, is beginning to ease. Lady Orlando is helping to spread the burden, spread the responsibility.
And now, she’s turning all eyes away from me. She’s turning them to the future.
They centre on someone at the rear. I follow her gaze and see a small woman, fairly young and perhaps in her mid 20s, with slit-like green eyes, sleek red hair, and a petite frame that makes her look totally out of place among the soldier-types occupying the space around her.
Lady Orlando addresses this young woman directly.
“Kira,” she says. “What’s your latest report?”
The fox-like woman speaks with a smooth voice. She appears completely undaunted by the gathering, by the state of tension in the room.
“The city is brimming, as you say, my Lady. In the last few days the patrols of Con-Cops and City Guards have exploded. Roadblocks are being set up. Anyone acting out of turn is being taken in. It’s fully under occupation.”
“And the people?” asks Lady Orlando.
“The people consider it for their safety,” says Kira. “The spokespeople for the City Guard are calling it a peace-keeping force, intended to make sure that the rioting is kept to a minimum with the lack of clean drinking water. Yet, they’re getting more desperate by the day, and more bold. It’s all playing into Director Cromwell’s hands, my Lady.”
“Yes,” says Lady Orlando, addressing us all again. “Each day that passes, more slaves submit, willingly or otherwise, to Artemis’ doctrine. Our allies are shrinking. Soon, there will be so few to oppose him, so few to join our uprising. We will be strangled out of here. You all know how desperate this is. Kira is our eyes and ears in the city, but many of you have seen it for yourselves. Now,” she says, laying it on thick and turning to another part of the room, “what are your thoughts on this, Beckett?”
A hundred people turn to the left corner. A gruff looking man stands there, tall and broad and decked out in rugged armour. He has a patchwork of stubble on his chin and similarly short hair to match, with a grimace of a mouth and narrow eyes in between.
He looks to be in his early 40s, and his voice suits him. It’s short and direct, and deep enough to boom from the rear without needing to be raised.
“My thoughts, my Lady, are to strike soon and strike hard. His forces are scattered. He has little idea as to the strength we possess. We cannot let him find out, and we cannot let things escalate. Now is the time to gather our strength and attack.”
Lady Orlando looks to Zander, who takes a step forward to her side. Among men and women much older than him, his voice carries respect and obedience. His power exceeds all but the most gifted hybrids, of whom there are many in this room.
“Do you concur, Zander?” asks Lady Orlando.
He sways his eyes around and room. They land on the man called Beckett.
“I do. Beckett is one of our most experienced leaders, and one of our strongest too. I defer to his greater wisdom and knowledge of this city. I don’t believe we can wait.”
There’s a murmur of agreement through the room. Looking upon the gathering, I see a swell of strength and power. An ensemble of hybrids, cast out from the city and forced to fend for themselves, to live in the shadows. Biding their time for this moment.
A moment that they have no choice but to seize.
Beckett speaks again.
“My Lady, we have been raising our numbers these last few weeks. Many hybrids have come to us from the wilderness, just realising the power within their blood. Cromwell has given them no choice but to come to us to fight. We have never been stronger than we are right now.”
Lady Orlando turns to Walter.
“Is this true, Walter?” she asks.
The chemist nods.
“Yes, Lady Orlando. I’ve been getting far fewer people coming to me for drugs these last few weeks. The hybrids are beginning to realise that they cannot live normal lives in Outer Haven anymore. Their gifts are returning, and manifesting. It’s as Beckett says; Cromwell’s doctrines are forcing them to come to us. If they don’t, they fear they’ll be found out sooner or later…”
“But how many are able to fight?” asks Lady Orlando. “We need warriors. A hybrid is only valuable if he’s able to utilise his powers on the battlefield. Otherwise he’s just another body.”
“We’re working through that now, my Lady,” booms Beckett. “We have our best people training and equipping them. But you’re right. We need proper soldiers if we’re to strike at Cromwell’s heart. His Stalkers will cut down anyone who isn’t up to the task.”
“Numbers, Beckett,” says Lady Orlando.
Beckett considers things for a moment.
“We have at least a hundred powerful hybrids, perhaps another fifty if I’m being generous. Beneath that, we have hundreds more capable of fighting, weaker hybrids and Enhanced defectors. Then, there’s the rest.”
“And the elite?” she asks, switching her eyes to Zander.
Zander shares a look with Beckett. I can tell that the soldier is at least part Hawk, but will certainly be gifted with other enhancements too.
“If we’re talking about those who can match the best Stalkers in a fight, maybe twenty,” says my brother.
Another murmur ripples across the room. There’s some confusion as to whether that’s a good number or not.
I find my own voice slipping out.
“And how many Stalkers does Cromwell have?”
Lady Orlando’s eyes drop to me, along with several dozen others.
“Many times that number,” she says. “According to Commander Burns, there are a little over three hundred Stalke
rs currently in operation.”
A few words of concern hum through the high-ceilinged church. People turn to each other with worried eyes.
“And, how much control does Commander Burns have over them?” asks a soldier in the crowd. “Can he just call them off to give us free passage inside?”
“Regrettably, no,” says Lady Orlando. “The Stalkers don’t fall under Commander Burns’ authority. As Commander, he oversees the City Guard and all aspects of the city’s security, but its day to day running is in the hands of the new Deputy Commander, Quentin Black. Ironically, Leyton had more direct control in his previous position.”
“Then who oversees the Stalkers?” asks the same soldier.
“A man by the name of Colonel Hatcher oversees their operation. However, at times like this, it will be Artemis himself who calls the shots. Rycard, you have the inside line. Do you have anything to add?”
I turn, quickly, to see another friendly face in the crowd, not too far from the front. Rycard stands there, his right eye covered in its patch, his handsome face still scarred and refusing to fully heal. He’ll carry them around forever, a constant reminder of Cromwell’s treachery.
Before he can speak, Lady Orlando once more addresses the room.
“For those of you who are unaware, Rycard was a member of the City Guard. He has very recently defected, and is up to speed with all current protocol for the security forces of Inner Haven.”
Having caught everyone up, she hands the floor to him.
“Thank you, Lady Orlando. I have little to add beyond what you’ve said. All I’ll say is that Cromwell will certainly be keeping his strongest Stalkers around him at all times. They will be guarding the base of the High Tower, as well as its summit. The City Guards, together with the Con-Cops, number in the many thousands. He’ll be able to use them as canon fodder, while keeping his most powerful bodyguards close. You say you have perhaps twenty elite hybrids, with a hundred or so in total. I don’t want to dampen any spirits, but I don’t see that that will be enough to break his lines…”
His voice of doom leaves a silence behind. It seems as though many others are thinking along the same lines, opening a pathway for a few negative opinions to be expressed.
“What will it even accomplish?” calls out one man in a manner that suggests he’s been itching to speak. “If Cromwell is killed now, can Burns just step in and take over? Everything’s changed! This was meant to be a secret assassination. It was meant to be a covert switch of regimes. We’re talking about storming the castle here. We’re talking about revolution!”
Others agree, voicing their support. The room fills with enough voices that Zander has to step forward once more, his voice cutting through the din and calling for silence.
“Quiet!” he shouts. “Let her speak!”
The brief tumult fades. The following lull is broken by the poised and calm voice of our leader.
“Perhaps you’re right,” says Lady Orlando coolly. “Perhaps we’re no longer looking at just a simple change in regime. Plans change, ladies and gentlemen. We wanted to merely install a Director who would be sympathetic to our cause. That chance may be gone. But the end goal remains the same. Artemis needs to be eliminated…”
“And what if someone else steps into the void he leaves behind?” calls out another woman, her voice squeaking from the shadows. “What if we’re just trading in Cromwell for another despot. They’re all the same up there! If we can’t install Commander Burns, what’s the point?!”
Once more, the room begins to rumble, and Zander’s roars douse the growing flames.
Lady Orlando remains composed.
“The point, Heather, is to change the course of history. We’re all aware here of the threat that the people face. It isn’t just the Unenhanced. It’s not just your friends and families in Outer Haven. It’s about saving everyone, the Enhanced included. Artemis has long held designs for the Savants alone. His mind, his programming, is bent on the concept of eugenics. He sees the Savants as the saviours of this planet. He considers emotion to be weakness, to be evil. He and all who follow him need to be destroyed for the sake of humankind. It really is that simple, Heather.
“Now, I appreciate all of your opinions and concerns. However, I will only condone constructive comments. Rycard has made a good point, and one we must consider. However, we cannot allow this forum to descend into a rabble. We must stay focused. Time is against us.”
Her words - authoritative, calm, logical – are enough to cool the tongues of those in the room. Yet there’s clearly a division appearing. Many simply don’t believe that we can win.
It’s written across their faces.
It’s splattered through their minds.
I can see it all, feel it all. The swell of negativity and doubt has been quietened. But it still remains, gnawing from within.
“We don’t have a choice.” It’s Zander, taking over from Lady Orlando. “But there may be another way…”
He turns to Lady Orlando. They lock eyes for a moment. She nods her consent, suggesting that they’ve discussed something before, something he’s about to share. His eyes return to the crowd.
“The High Tower isn’t as invulnerable as everyone thinks. It has a weakness that we can exploit.”
I turn to Adryan, standing beside me. We spent hours going over the schematics of the High Tower and all its security protocols. No weakness revealed itself. None at all.
“What weakness?” I ask, turning to my brother and voicing my concern. “Adryan and I know the layout inside out…”
“It isn’t a weakness of the interior, Brie. It is a weakness of nature.”
I frown.
Nature? What does that mean?
“The Savants think purely by logic,” he says, his voice filling the hall. “That is their nature. In order to outfox them, we need to think outside of the box. We need to do something that they would never expect. Something…terrible.”
I don’t like the tone of his voice. He’s unsure about what he’s saying.
“The High Tower is mostly impenetrable,” he goes on, his voice slow, methodical. “As Rycard rightly says, penetrating through the base might be impossible. And if we do, we will suffer great losses that we may not be able to afford. But…a direct attack may not be our only option.” His voice lowers. He takes a breath. “There is a vulnerability beneath the building, however, that may present an opportunity.”
Heads begin to turn, looking to each other. A heavy silence swamps the room. My brother glances at me with a guilty eye, before continuing.
“We may…be able to kill many birds with one stone,” he says. “We may be able to destroy the entire structure…”
His words empty into the room and hang for a few moments. No one speaks.
Destroy the entire structure.
Blow up the High Tower…
I look to Adryan, whose face has fallen into a frown. He stares forward at Zander, at Lady Orlando. Others do the same.
I do the same.
The silence is finally broken by our leader.
“I know it sounds awful,” she says. “But destroying the High Tower might be our only means of victory. Lives will be lost...innocent lives…but many more will be saved. They will not see it coming. They would never expect us to condone such an action. And that…that is why it might just work.”
The room remains silent. The concept begins to settle in the people’s minds. I look to their faces and sneak into their minds. Some consider the idea appalling. Others find it appealing. Yet those that do are consumed by guilt at the thought.
And Adryan? A man who’s spent his entire life living in that building?
I look to him and don’t need to read his mind. His expression is enough to show me that he considers the option unpalatable.
And as I look at him, he speaks.
“You can’t,” he says. “There are thousands of people in that building…they’re innocent. They know nothing of Cromwell’s plot.�
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“No, they don’t,” says Lady Orlando. “They are merely slaves to his system too. But in war, Adryan, there is always collateral damage. We must give this idea serious thought. It may be the only way.”
“It is the only way,” comes a voice from the crowd. I turn. Others do too. And it’s to Rycard that they look.
There’s a grimace on his face, a curl of hatred that won’t go away. He’s been twisted by his injuries, his soul turning black.
“You’ll never get to Cromwell with what you’ve got here. You don’t have the manpower. He’ll see any direct attack coming. Destroy it, my Lady. Destroy the High Tower. Burn them all.”
Adryan starts shaking his head. Others do the same. But there are others who nod, some guiltily, others with a little more fervour.
But his words shock me. He’s turned bitter, willing to see hundreds, thousands of innocent people die for the sake of killing one man. And not just the Savants in the tower, or the City Guards who defend it – men and women that he once called his colleagues – but the Unenhanced who have married up too.
Women like Mary and Lucy, so kind-hearted, will be locked in that building as it crumbles, unable to escape the inferno.
As Rycard speaks, the room begins to rise with a hundred voices. Voices of agreement and voices of dissention. Voices calling for calm and others shouting for sanity. And in that tumult, I find myself walking away.
Walking away from all of this.
This talk of murder and death.
This talk of genocide.
If this is truly the only course of action, then I know I can have no part in it. Because if we go through with it, then we’re no better than the man we’re trying to depose.
And we’ll already have lost our humanity.
So away through the crowd I walk, moving for the rear door. And reaching it, I open it up and slip out into the misty air, and turn my eyes to the city in the distance. To the very building that is now under dispute.
But I’m not alone. From behind me, Adryan comes. He stands beside me and looks at his old home, and our hands link together.