The Far Shores (The Central Series)

by Rawlins, Zachary

  Windsor’s back squeaked against the whiteboard.

  “What’s that, Katya?”

  “You, Mr. Windsor,” she said, taking him firmly by his tie. “Just you.”

  “Oh, dear,” Mr. Windsor said quietly. “Can I offer you some tea?”

  ***

  “Let’s hurry this up, okay? We’ve had Auditor sightings all over the region in the last few weeks, and I don’t want to bump into them right now.”

  Colin shook his head and smirked, but the rest of them appeared to speed the loading process at least marginally. The first truck was ready to roll, but they couldn’t do anything until both were loaded, and the second was less than halfway full. The boxes were heavy, and it took two to lift a box. It would have been simpler to use a forklift, but the warehouse the locals had arranged was bereft of such niceties.

  Emily told herself it wouldn’t matter in another fifteen minutes, but she couldn’t shake the bad feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “You should try to relax,” Colin said, preening himself in the fragment of a mirror that he had found attached to the corrugated aluminum wall. His hair was done in liberty spikes, dyed a fire engine red and crunchy with excess product. “Shit is routine, doll. Nothing to it.”

  “Right,” Emily said, curbing her temper. “Until it goes wrong.”

  “What’s to go wrong? You just need to stick near me, Emily,” he said, coming over to stand nearby, his sleeveless shirt showing off the arms that he was so proud of – sculpted from hours in the gym, and covered with a generous layer of multicolored tattoos. It took an effort of will for Emily not to step away. Early in the assignment, Emily discovered she despised the aftershave he wore habitually. “You’ll be fine.”

  She sidestepped his efforts to put an arm around her. Colin had been hitting on her since they started this job. The first night in Lithuania, he got completely inebriated at the hotel bar and then tried repeatedly to invite himself back to her room. It had come to slapping him – a first, in Emily’s experience – but that seemed to have only piqued his interest. She was starting to envy Song Li’s aura of decay, if only for the fact that even Colin appeared to be repelled by it.

  “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’d rather be killed by Auditors.”

  “The things you say, girl,” Colin replied, pausing to blow a kiss in her direction. “You’ll give it up eventually, you know? They always do.”

  Emily smiled primly, though she felt like gagging. Killing one of her squad members would probably reflect poorly on her leadership skills. When they returned to the Outer Dark, she would make sure that something terrible happened to Colin through official channels. She had at least that much pull with John Parson.

  It had been a long week, despite the luxury hotels and unlimited expense account. Emily was charged with collecting a variety of materials and industrial components, probably for the construction of another of the Etheric interference generators that John Parson wanted installed at various locations across the globe. They required a fair amount of engineering expertise to assemble, but that was something the Anathema could provide. The more difficult requirement was the extensive amount of precision manufactured components, which had to be procured without attracting the notice of Central and their vast intelligence network. Not many firms were capable of that kind of work, and fewer still on short notice, for clients who refused to provide official documentation or proper clearances. Worst of all, since the Auditors paid unscheduled visits to one of the Chinese facilities, they had some idea of what to look for, making procurement even more difficult. Greed, however, was universal, and cash was something John Parson could provide in vast quantities, so anything was possible, if risky.

  They started in the Baltic region, then headed south, visiting manufacturing centers in Krakow and Kiev. They remained in the Ukraine for a few days, collecting previously arranged orders, paying off manufacturers and silencing witnesses, arranging future shipments and transporting current ones. There had been difficulties related to the recent political crisis, of course, but less than one might expect. The majority of their suppliers operated in the eastern region, in the Russian-speaking portion of the Ukraine, and were therefore relatively unaffected by the civil disorder.

  They spent a difficult half of a week in Romania, purchasing software and the experts needed for its installation, staying an extra day to eliminate the mafia group that had provided access in the first place, should the Auditors arrive asking questions. Colin got fantastically intoxicated on locally produced vodka and crystal methamphetamine in Bucharest, leading to some ugly behavior with the prostitutes their hosts provided, but John Parson’s endless well of ready cash had smoothed that over. Arriving in Moldavia had been a relief, even if their arrival coincided with warnings delivered by Alistair’s contacts that the Auditors were close.

  There had been a dodge set up, a false operation in Georgia that had been meant to distract the Auditors long enough to complete this stage of the plan, but something had gone wrong. Mitsuru Aoki had departed the country only a few days after arrival, headed back to Central to make some sort of report to the Director, and Alistair was concerned. Nonetheless, the components they were loading were too valuable to abandon, so he left Song Li and a handful of turned Operators and Weir as extra security, and instructed Emily to expedite affairs as much as possible.

  Emily watched Colin mess about with his stupid spikes and wondered what John Parson would think of the job she had done so far, and if his opinion of her would be very much diminished should Colin have some sort of accident.

  “I don’t know what’s got you so nervous,” Colin groused in his strong Boston accent, flexing in the mirror for his own benefit. “This shit has been easy. Boring, even.”

  “Alistair was worried. That’s enough to worry me. Would be for you as well, if you had any brains.”

  “Sharp tongue. I like that. I bet you’re all kinds of nasty behind closed doors, if you know what I mean…”

  She ignored him. It wasn’t easy, but she had had a whole week to practice it.

  One of the guards on patrol, a remote viewer who had defected from the Black Sun, named Peters, slid underneath the rolling door and hustled in her direction. Though she tried hard to hide it, Emily was still getting used to her newfound authority and responsibilities, and took a certain restrained joy in the way he hurried over to report to her.

  “Everything seems clear,” he gasped, red in the face from running. “But I can’t find Frederickson.”

  Emily shook her head.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Frederickson was walking the outer perimeter. He should have been back five minutes ago. I did a full sweep, pushed it out to the better part of a kilometer, and I can’t find a thing moving. But he’s nowhere. Not even a body, and even if he were dead, he still should have been warm enough for me to spot.”

  Emily nodded in agreement. Peter’s remote viewing was thermal in nature. Even blood on the ground shouldn’t have cooled enough in a few minutes to avoid detection.

  “Tell Song Li to get out here,” she ordered Colin. “We’re about to have trouble.”

  “What? What makes you so…”

  “I don’t have the time or inclination to explain myself. Move.”

  If he had hesitated a moment longer, she might have lost her temper. But he headed off to find the Korean woman and her troop of corpses. Emily turned her attention to Peter.

  “Everyone who’s not loading gets kitted out,” she ordered, glancing over at the truck to see what progress had been made. “I want a tight perimeter around the trucks. Put the Weir on the outer ring. They can change if they want to. No point in being quiet now. Oh, and that old fire valve I had rigged up? Open it.”

  Peters swallowed hard, nodded, and then jogged off to deliver her instructions.

  Even in crisis, that obedience pleased her.

  If Emily had been a more powerful empath, she could have extended her awareness,
hunted for feelings of curiosity, fear, eagerness, or anger – any of the emotions she might expect from a team of Operators – or worse, Auditors – that had come hunting, or stumbled upon them by some terrible mischance. Prolonged contact with Alexander Warner, a uniquely potent catalyst, had provided a lasting boost to her abilities; however, Emily was incapable of sensing emotions out of her range of vision.

  Emily heard the clamor of personnel scrambling to gather weapons and armor and take position, and activated the telepathic link that Alistair had implanted in her mind for just such an occasion. She sent a coded distress message, then sat down on a threadbare office chair they had found abandoned in the warehouse and waited for a response. It took almost five minutes, quite a bit longer than she expected, so he must have been busy.

  Emily. What’s the situation?

  A man in a flak jacket holding an aged and battered Yugoslavian vintage AK-47, the grips wrapped with layers of electrical tape, jogged past her and ducked beneath the rolling door, followed closely by an abnormally large wolf.

  I’ve lost contact with one of the guards working the perimeter. No solid contact yet, but it must be them. One truck is ready, and the other is about half full. If we scrambled now, we could be out of here in a couple of minutes, but we would have to abandon a quarter of the gear. What do you want done?

  She waited for the gunshots while Alistair either thought it over or contacted the Outer Dark for approval or analysis. Out of habit, she used a compact mirror to check her own halo, and was pleased to note an almost complete absence of fear.

  Roll the first truck, with Song Li along to protect it. Better a partial loss than a complete one. Rig the second truck to explode, then hold the line as long as possible. No one leaves alive but you. They won’t buy it otherwise.

  Emily didn’t bother to agree, and Alistair didn’t wait for agreement, ending their contact with his final word. He didn’t anticipate disagreement, and she didn’t plan any. Since her defection, Emily had risen quickly through the ranks of the Anathema due to intelligence and a tendency to carry out instructions to the letter, and this assignment wouldn’t be resolved any differently. She rose from the decaying chair to check on the water flow and get the first truck on the road, her only regret that she had really been looking forward to killing Colin herself.

  ***

  “I can’t believe you actually made me tea,” Katya said mournfully. “I’m so goddamn embarrassed.”

  Mr. Windsor smiled gently from across the table. He had set it up in the small courtyard to the rear of his office in the Faculty Building so he could smoke his pipe without bothering anyone, which is exactly what he was attempting to do at the moment, a small pile of blackened matches collected on the napkin beside a mug of black tea.

  “Nonsense,” he said, puffing away while he held a final match over the cherry-red coal forming in the bowl of his Dunhill Bruyere, an heirloom inherited from his grandfather, of which he was quietly proud. “Nothing to be ashamed of at all.”

  “Ugh. You don’t really get girls, do you?” Katya buried her face in her arms on the table. “You must totally hate me now.”

  “Not in the slightest,” Mr. Windsor countered. “I’m flattered, really. The basic tenets of a student-teacher relationship, however…”

  “Oh, come off it, Mr. Windsor. I’m twenty, and I’ll only be your student for another month or two at most.”

  “Nonetheless, it is my professional responsibility to provide you with a certain degree of moral guidance…”

  “Seriously?” Katya glanced up at Mr. Windsor briefly, an incredulous look on her face. “You do know why I was expelled from assassin’s training, right? They must have told you. The Black Sun had to pay restitution on my behalf and everything.”

  “Ah, yes,” Mr. Windsor said, clearing his throat and reddening slightly. “I was informed. But you needn’t worry. I don’t judge my students by their past, only by their conduct in my classroom. You deserve a fresh start, Katya.”

  Katya’s head sunk back down to the table.

  “I don’t get you.”

  “That is not surprising,” Mr. Windsor offered charitably. “You have very little context by which to judge me.”

  “I slept with my Poisons and Toxins instructor. Before the unpleasantness,” Katya admitted dully. “Before they expelled me.”

  “I, ahem, I did hear something of that nature…”

  “And my Concealed Weapons instructor.”

  “Yes, well…”

  “And Dr. Kinnock, the Covert Actions instructor. He was my favorite.” Katya glanced across the table, her cheeks flushed and her eyes gleaming. “You know, you kind of remind me of him, actually.”

  Mr. Windsor had a brief but severe coughing fit.

  “Dr. Kinnock wanted to go to bed with me,” Katya added glumly. “Why don’t you?”

  “Well, as I explained earlier, I believe quite strongly in the trust inherent to the relationship between a student and…”

  “Are you married? Because I don’t care.”

  “As it happens, I am not, but that really has no bearing…”

  “Are you gay?”

  Mr. Windsor coughed again, and then carefully set his pipe down on the table, deciding this was perhaps the wrong time to smoke.

  “That is neither here nor there,” Mr. Windsor said firmly, his face gradually turning bright red despite his professional tone. “My personal life is really none of your concern.”

  “You aren’t,” Katya decided, with a small, sad smile. “I can tell. Why, then? Don’t you think I’m pretty?”

  Mr. Windsor shook his head ruefully.

  “Not that it is relevant, but you are a lovely young woman, Miss Zharova. And I’m sure that, should you desire it, you would find any number of more appropriate…”

  “Are you worried about getting in trouble?” Katya paused to sip her tea, then smiled coquettishly. “Because you don’t need to be. I won’t tell anyone. I know how to keep a secret.”

  “That has nothing to do with…”

  “I’m serious. I won’t hold it over your head, or blackmail you, or stalk you. And you don’t have to worry about Rebecca Levy. I’ve been trained to resist telepaths, empaths, even torture. I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Katya, you are misunderstanding…”

  “Do you think I’m trying to use you for something? Because I’m not. This isn’t a Black Sun thing – I really like you. I like your accent, and the way you talk to me. You keep me up at night, Mr. Windsor.”

  Mr. Windsor sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

  “You may as well call me Gerald, Katya, as any hope of keeping our interaction professional appears to be dashed.”

  Katya blushed and looked away, fingers playing nervously across the top of her mug.

  “I like calling you Mr. Windsor.”

  “Ahem. If you will allow me to explain…”

  Katya’s gaze snapped back to him, burning with intensity.

  “Are you worried about me? That you might hurt me, by getting involved? It’s not like that, Mr. Windsor. Neither of us will get hurt. I’m not looking for a father figure. I really, truly, just like you. There’s nothing creepy about it.”

  “That’s not entirely…”

  “Do you think I wouldn’t be any good?”

  Mr. Windsor’s jaw dropped, and then it just hung open.

  “Because you would be wrong,” Katya said frankly. “I promise.”

  “Now, see here, young lady…”

  “Is there someone else you like?” Katya’s eyes narrowed. “Because, if there is…”

  “Katya, please,” Mr. Windsor shouted, slapping one hand down on the table. “You simply must let me speak.”

  Katya nodded obediently, hands folded in her lap.

  “Yes, Mr. Windsor.”

  “None of the things that you just suggested are true,” Mr. Windsor said, sitting back apologetically, mildly embarrassed by his outburst.
“As it happens, I believe very strongly that a teacher can be a positive force and role model for students. This is doubly important in an environment such as the Academy, where moral guidance is lacking and the ethical intent of the institution is, shall we say, questionable. I am happy to listen to any problems you might have, to offer advice or a sympathetic ear whenever it might prove helpful. I will do my utmost to assist you in realizing your potential and expanding your horizons beyond the petty violence of the cartels – because I am certain that you are capable of so much more, Katya. I will do my best to be an advisor, a confidante, and, if you will allow it, a friend. But, as you are my student, I absolutely will not engage in – or even discuss – the sort of inappropriate behavior that you are suggesting. And this is not because of any failing on your part, or any trepidation on mine, but because such actions would be wrong, and in the long run, they would be hurtful to you. I do not wish to have a negative impact on your life. Rather, I wish to provide you with some of the opportunities and challenges that would have been available to you, had the affairs of Central and the cartels not intervened in your life. This is my responsibility, my duty, and my conviction, Katya. Do you understand?”

  Katya nodded meekly, looking glum.

  “Good,” Mr. Windsor said, reaching for his mug. “I am glad that we understand each other. And I hope you know that nothing that has happened today will in any way affect my role as your teacher – and hopefully, your friend.”

  Katya sipped her tea despondently, while they sat in silence. Mr. Windsor fired his pipe back up while Katya pretended to study the middle-aged willow trees that surrounded them, the green leaves that pleasantly shaded the courtyard. Katya’s face grew thoughtful, and she set her mug down carefully on the table and stole a furtive glance at Mr. Windsor’s amiable face. She cleared her throat, tapped her fingernails on the Formica surface of the table, and blushed faintly.