Liane nodded vacantly; as if her consent mattered.
It was late by the time they arrived at the restaurant, walking past the long queue of eager patrons to skip to the front of the line. Liane wore a gown of grey that shimmered with thousands of tiny glass beads. Against the minimalist, Japanese-influenced décor, she shone like a star. Damian had dressed up as well and looked impossibly handsome in black tie. They sat by the beautiful moss garden growing in the center of the restaurant, while deferential servers brought them plate after plate of exquisite, expensive food. Liane tried to act as normal as possible. She felt she owed it to Damian, who was as cheerful and pleasant as she had ever known him to be. They spoke of books and history, and Liane did her best to choke down the food that she had always disliked.
Afterwards the car drove them both to Liane’s building. Damian walked her to her door, saying, “I’m glad you’re feeling more yourself. Whatever the distraction, you made the right decision by getting rid of it.”
Liane looked up at him, her face solemn. “I want to ask you something. Why do you think I was born this way? Do you think it was because I was meant to do something?”
Damian cocked his head. “To do what, exactly?”
“That’s what I need to know,” Liane said miserably. “That’s what I can’t answer myself.”
“Then don’t wonder,” he said. “You’re where you need to be.”
“But how do you know that?” she demanded.
“Because you’re the missing half of my soul,” he said simply, without embarrassment or hesitation. “And I’ve known for some time that as long as we’re together, nothing else matters.” Damian leaned forward, kissing her once very softly. Liane shivered, feeling as if every inch of her was blazing to life. Before he pulled away, he whispered against her skin, “I’ll see you soon.”
Through the fog of her tingling nerves Liane nodded, but he was already returning to the car.
She took the stairs up to her floor, climbing the thirteen flights slowly. Her back ached by the time she arrived in her flat, and as soon as she was inside she changed out of the gown, tossing it in a corner of her closet.
Stretching her sore muscles, she walked into her kitchen, turning on the television and letting the flash of lights illuminate the flat.
Without warning the program changed, a news bulletin filling the screen. A serious newscaster appeared, saying, “Breaking news in London tonight; a mod acceptance march, originally aimed at being a peaceful protest of the recent mod arrests and murders, has erupted in violence in the Docklands District.”
Liane froze where she was, staring at the screen.
“Officers of the Genetic Modification Task Force were dispatched to disperse the crowd but were quickly overwhelmed by the angry mods. Riot control police are currently en route to the location. We must warn you that the images of the event are quite shocking and may disturb some viewers . . .”
The video cut to a jittery live feed of police and citizens clashing on a street. Mods were throwing Molotov cocktails at heavily armored police, while others leapt on individual officers. Screams, shouts, and gunfire rang out atop it all.
Liane leaned closer, her eyes scanning the faces of the police. One of them turned, revealing oddly colored eyes in a frightened, familiar face.
The newscaster reappeared, saying, “The Prime Minister has advised that citizens remain in their homes until the rioting has been contained. Under no circumstances should anyone attempt to go into the area . . .”
The program continued, but there was no one there to hear it. Liane had already gone, racing out into the night.
|| | || | | || |
Liane’s cycle roared through the city, ignoring traffic laws and lanes in her haste to get to the riot. Behind her helmet, her face was pale and determined; she would make it to him before anything happened. If she didn’t . . .
Liane pushed the thought aside, gunning the throttle and racing into the district.
Docklands hadn’t truly been rebuilt after the war, and the buildings bordering the street were no more than ten stories tall, many with broken windows, pockmarked brick and concrete walls, and peeling paint on the doors. People were leaning out of windows and doorways, trying to catch a glimpse of the distant fires. It wasn’t hard to find the center of the riot; Liane just had to follow the screams.
She parked her cycle in an alley, keeping her mask on as she ran up the street. A news van was blocking the way, a cameraman and a reporter chatting excitedly as they caught live footage of the carnage. Liane looked into the fight, her eyes darting from person to person. Finally she spotted Seth, his nightstick out as he tried to beat off several mods snarling and lunging at him.
Liane reached into her belt, pulling out a small, black disc with razor sharp edges. She flicked it through the open door of the news van; it lodged in their control panel, and in a few seconds a shower of sparks and explosions burst out of the vehicle. The cameraman swore, rattling his dead camera. With them distracted, Liane removed her mask, letting out a breath before running into the fight.
She moved far too fast for most to even see her, slamming mods and police aside in her haste. She bumped into an enormous man, and when he turned, his fierce expression changed to bewilderment as he said, “Liane?”
She realized with shock that it was Ox, and she shouted over the noise, “Riot police are going to be here any minute. Get the mods out!”
Ox nodded, sweat and blood dripping down his face as he turned back to the fight. Liane darted towards where Seth had been, her eyes desperately raking the crowd. Then she spotted him; he was down, being kicked and pummeled by no fewer than five mods. The first cried out when she tossed him aside, and the others turned to attack her. Liane let rage fuel the fight, forgetting her aches as she punched and kicked the mods out of her way. When they were all down and hurt, she moved to Seth, lifting him up and tossing him over her shoulder. He was shouting and twisting, but she held on, running into a nearby alley away from the fight.
“Let me go, damnit!” Seth shouted, but Liane was already crouching and launching them both up to a rusting fire escape. Another leap took them up onto the roof ledge.
It was quieter there, but she didn’t set Seth on his feet until she was certain the roof was empty and safe. Liane expected him to be frightened, grateful; she didn’t expect him to flail wildly, his eyes blazing with anger as he shouted, “Get off of me, Liane!”
He yanked free from her hold; Liane stood looking at him, slightly stunned. When she found her voice, it came out sharp with anger, “I just saved your life!”
“Well no one asked you to, did they?” Seth snapped, forcefully straightening his stab vest. “You made it pretty clear last time that you were done with our partnership.”
“I . . .” Liane trailed off, glancing away. Her cheeks were growing warm, and a sudden feeling of shame welled up within her. Haltingly, she said, “I shouldn’t have kicked you.”
“That’s your great revelation?” Seth said, incredulous. “No shit you shouldn’t have kicked me, or thrown me out, or threatened to shoot me! Jesus, what did they teach you in that Program of yours?”
“You provoked me,” Liane said hotly.
“How?”
“You asked too much!” she burst out, “You forced your way into my life, into my home . . . Do you have any idea what a risk I took letting you in? What they’ll do to me if they find out, or even suspect that I broke the rules?”
“And what about the risks I took?” Seth demanded. “I’m sticking my own neck out on this too. The only difference is I’m not capable of fighting them off like you.”
Liane looked at him, sincerely wondering at his words. Quietly, she asked with hesitance, “Then why do you try at all? If you know that you could die at any moment, why bother?”
“You�
��ve asked me that before,” he said hotly. “My answer hasn’t changed.”
Liane shook her head. “But I still don’t understand . . .”
He looked at her, something like pity in his eyes. “I know you don’t; I feel sorry for you that you can’t. I try because that’s what good people do. They try to make the world a little better, just the smallest bit. The only other option is to give up and let it end up in the hands of the monsters.” Seth sighed, voice somewhat muted as he went on, “Maybe it’s not much, and maybe it won’t matter in the end, but I’m doing my part. Better that than just giving up.”
Liane looked away, her cheeks uncomfortably hot.
Seth pulled off his helmet, asking, “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I saw you on the news,” Liane said quietly. “I didn’t want . . . I couldn’t watch you die. I didn’t want to sit back and do nothing . . . like I usually do.”
Seth sighed. “Much as I hate to admit it, I think I might be in a body bag right now if you hadn’t. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
For a moment they stood there, neither certain of what to say next. Liane finally looked up at him, several strands of blonde hair escaping her braid and blowing across her face. Mutedly, she asked, “Did you mean what you said? Do you really think I belong in the Agency?”
“If you did, you wouldn’t have come here tonight, would you?”
“No,” she said. “That’s the first of the Cardinal Rules; no contact with civilians.”
“What are the others?”
“Do not discuss your assignments,” Liane recited by heart, “Obey your Handler and Administrators. No assignment or order may be refused. Escape is impossible; death is the only way out.”
Seth seemed shaken, staring at her as he breathed, “No wonder you don’t want to get on their bad side.”
“But I already am,” she observed. “I’ve broken every single rule already. What are they going to do if I break them a little longer? Kill me deader?”
Seth grinned, then laughed. Liane smiled, feeling a warm rush of pride; she’d never made anyone laugh before.
“So what now?” Seth finally asked.
Liane thought for a moment, and then said, “We finish what we started. We solve the murders; find out why people are dying and who’s killing them. After that . . . we reevaluate.”
“That’s fair,” he nodded.
A series of sirens wailed nearby, and Liane walked to the edge of the roof to see riot vans pulling to a stop at the edge of the fighting. The side doors swung open, and cops in bulky, black armor poured into the fray. Liane glanced back at Seth, noting, “I think you’ll be safe now. Do you want to go back?”
They made their way down the rusted fire escape to the littered alley below. Liane stayed in the shadows, while Seth took several steps towards the street. Replacing his helmet, he asked, “Out of curiosity . . . what made you change your mind?”
Liane pulled up the hood of her coat, her eyes downcast as she answered, “The fact that you can see what my purpose should be when I can’t. One thing I know: if you can’t do a task yourself, go to the person you trust to help you.”
A cheer from the riot police sounded behind Seth. He turned to look at towards the street; when he glanced back where Liane had been, he found that he was alone in the alley.
Chapter 12
The Docklands riot left ten dead, over twenty wounded, and an additional forty-eight under arrest for a variety of crimes. In the aftermath, the mods of London flocked to the clubs and bars that they frequented, a show of unity in a city gripped by fear.
Friday evening saw The Beast Within even more crowded than usual. Green and blue lights flashed and danced near the entrance while a line of eager patrons stretched around the block. The crowd was varied, but most sported outrageous hairstyles, skintight clothing, and bodies that were perfected from modding.
Liane walked past the line, feeling eyes follow her. In a sea of surgically enhanced, artificial partygoers, she stood out even more than usual. She wore the black lace dress, and her long hair was left straight and sleek down her back. Her strange eyes were shaded with black, and her face looked even colder and more beautiful than it usually did. She moved gracefully around a group of laughing mods, stepping carefully in her heels as she muttered, “This isn’t going to work.”
“Sure it is,” Seth said on the other end of her com. “You look great.”
“They’re not going to let me in,” she said, her cheeks flushing as she neared the door.
Seth chuckled. “Trust me; no bouncer in his right mind would turn you away.”
Liane fell silent, walking up to the enormous men guarding the door. Several of the girls nearest the velvet rope eyed Liane with hostility. Liane thrust a hip to the side, planted a hand on it and said to the guards, “My boyfriend’s already inside.”
The men eyed her consideringly, and then one motioned for her arm. They scanned her tattoo ID, glancing at the screen before jerking a head towards the door. The girls in line screeched in protest while Liane smiled at the guards and walked past them into the club.
The hallway beyond the door was dark and flashing with even more lights, and she was instantly engulfed in the steady beat of the latest pop sensation from Seoul. Liane walked slowly, taking her time and making note of the cameras, staff exits, and side rooms. The tunnel of the hall gave way to an enormous, cavernous dance floor. Panels on the floor shifted colors under the crowd of dancers, all of them singing and swaying to the thumping music. VIP booths with black couches ringed the room, and most of them were filled to overflowing with rich men and beautiful women. Above her, a wide balcony wrapped around the perimeter of the club, holding yet more patrons.
Liane stood for a moment, memorizing the layout of the club as she said, “I’m inside.”
“Told you so,” Seth said with a small amount of smugness. “Come get me. I’m outside the emergency exit to your right.”
Liane walked down the stairs to the dance floor, winding her way through the patrons. Several partiers tried to pull her into a dance, shouting out insults when she ignored them. One man even reached out and smoothed a hand over her backside; Liane seized a finger and bent it backwards until she heard a scream of pain above the music. Letting go, she drifted through the crowd until she reached the wall.
The emergency exit was alarmed, but it only took a moment for her to disable it. Turning to keep an eye out for staff, she pushed the door open. Seth slipped through it, the lights of the club gleaming on the burnished leather of his coat. He leaned up against the wall alongside her, asking, “See him yet?”
“Not yet,” Liane said, her eyes on the dance floor. “But from what we know, he’ll likely be in the VIP section.”
“Speak of the devil,” said Seth, gesturing across the room. “There he is.”
Liane followed his finger to one of the VIP booths. Crispin was sitting on one of the black couches, flanked by women with fluorescent hair and very little clothing. He tossed back almost a full drink as she watched, a moody expression on his face. One of the women was cooing to him, and as Liane watched he extended his tongue to his companion, who placed a small white pill on it. He closed his eyes and leaned back, enjoying the first effects of the drug.
“He’s got a lot of people around him,” Liane observed.
“Then we need something to draw them away,” Seth said, drifting past her. “I’ll work on that; you get to him and wait for when the time is right.”
“How will I know when?” Liane asked with a frown.
Seth laughed knowingly. “You’ll know.”
Liane wasted no time in getting across the room to where Crispin sat. She lingered against the wall, eyeing him while pretending to watch the crowd. The flashing lights and the thud of the music were beginnin
g to get to her, making her feel slow and befuddled. They seemed to be getting to Crispin as well, whose eyelids were fluttering as he leaned his head back against the couch cushions. A woman with turquoise hair was kissing down his neck, her magenta lipstick leaving stains on Crispin’s white shirt.
There was a break in the music, and Seth’s enhanced voice came over the speaker as he announced, “In memory of the Docklands fallen, the next hundred drink orders at the center bar are on the house!”
All of the strobe lights and laser displays in the room burst to life, creating a cacophony of light as the patrons cheered and rushed towards the bar. Even the people in the VIP sections were moving forward, drinks raised in a toast. The guards near the velvet ropes separating the booths from the rest of the club were distracted, and Liane slipped under the barrier and into Crispin’s section. The blue-haired girl had drifted towards the dance floor, cheering, which made it easy for Liane to dart towards Crispin as he sat unguarded.
She straddled his lap, her thighs clamping around his and her arms wrapping around his neck as she said unsmilingly, “Hello, Crispin.”
He looked confused, his bloodshot eyes attempting to focus on her as he said, “Liane? Get off of me . . .”
The moment he began to struggle she shoved a snub-nosed gun into his belly. The angle of her body shielded the gun from the view of the other patrons, even the VIPs in the adjoining booth. Crispin stilled, and she said quietly, “No fighting. We’re old friends and we’re having a fantastic time here tonight. Smile so everyone else believes it.”
Crispin managed a grimace, and she shrugged, “That will have to do. I have some questions for you.”
“And you think I’ll answer with a gun in my gut?” he said through gritted teeth.
“Everyone does,” she said, pressing the barrel harder into his stomach. “If you need a little motivation, I can shoot you in the side. It won’t kill you, but trust me when I say it will sting like hell.”
The Titan Strain Page 16