In less than an hour, their meager supplies had been loaded and they were on the way. One badly damaged SHORT trailed behind on a steel towline. They were simple machines not an armored vehicle intended to support an army. Their nose had only thin plating salvaged from air condition units—anything to give it partial protection from a spill of liquid Choker weed.
Breen had not wanted to take the time to secure the basement of the Annex before they had returned for trial, yet he had. Now she was glad he ignored her order to stay in One Nine. She would also be glad to return to the Annex, where at least she knew her way around.
Now she ignored an order he had given her. With her temporary escort of Queens, she walked, rather than rode, the short distance as he requested. After all, these were her buildings.
The force Kimraig sent ahead was all Builder troops. Their heavy armor gave them the edge in the few seconds of exposure needed to raise the steel doors so all could drive down into the basement. Two vehicles swept the inside of the carnivorous parking area with their single headlights. No one home in the basement.
Once all equipment was inside, the work began. They checked and secured the stairwells they had cleared earlier. Hallways or stairs held no evidence of the faint salty brine left by passing bubbles. Not the time to relax, vigilance remained steady.
They emptied the temporary water bladders stored inside the SHORTS, into portable containers that all would carry. If they had to withdraw in a hurry, the trip back would be dry.
One piece of good news—LaJay and her small group had made temporary repairs to the solar panels on the roof. The two elevators would have enough power to carry all the weapons and water. With orders from Kimraig, trips to the bridge deck began; express only, no stops at each floor.
Kimraig separated the water containers, sending only a few with the troops in each load. By spreading their supply this way, only a small amount of water would be in jeopardy during any single trip.
No one would hold the Annex building once they all made their way across the bridge. They were committed. There was no place else for them to go.
In single file, they crossed the newly completed bridge. There was no attack. He had not expected one. There was too much light streaming into the half-finished bridge sides. Once his small force was across, he instructed the building crew to remove twenty feet of newly completed footing and stack the doors inside. No one or nothing would sneak in behind them.
Now, solve the final problem. He called all the leaders together: Crossers, Builders and his people with their second in command.
He knew first hand that leaders who let in-fighting creep into their ranks were the first to die. This strategy session’s main purpose would make sure personal grievances remained stuffed in get-even bags.
Breen was the kicker here. Instead of a diplomat charged with forging a new combined government, she had the tendency to chip at everyone. Either she would play nice or he would restrain her and place her under guard.
They gathered in his prearranged spot at the double elevators. Here they could discuss working together as a team, at least come to some understanding so they would all survive.
Kimraig sat alone, on the hard tiles, with his knees crossed and his back supported on the cold marble wall. He watched as each individual arrived, one or two with their responsibility riding heavy. Breen came first, much to his surprise. He had figured her for a late, grand entrance. She sat directly across from him.
LaJay glided silently in and sat on her haunches between him and Breen. She reached out with one long arm and intimately squeezed his shoulder in greeting. She let her fingers trail slowly down his bicep and then nodded to Breen. To her credit, Breen did not as much as grace her with a glance.
Kimraig enjoyed watching experts play the game of “he is mine, not yours.”
Rat, Brody-1 and Luna crouched around. Without waiting, Kimraig started explaining his plan; they would keep up or—there were replacements.
“I will break this down in no particular order of importance. First the Ergots, which is the only thing those bubbles can be. They prefer the dark. Light of any kind is their weak spot. They lost a whole lot of themselves getting back into that building before the sun came up. Even more getting to the basement where there is more dark than I like to think about.”
LaJay spoke first. “Ergots been seen around our buildings, but they are a lot bigger. What we saw out there were just little bubbles.”
Rat shook her head in agreement.
“Babies maybe,” Brody-1 said, and no one disagreed.
Breen had jumped in. “Any guess on how we can put that information to use?”
Kimraig waited briefly for more comments, smiling to himself when he checked both ends of the hallway. Groups of guards gathered at the ends, squaring off. A representative from each side of the warring factions made their presence known among each group. Someone was way ahead of him. LaJay winked and smiled at him as he finished that thought. There would be no ears getting close—leave it to this youngster to come up with that one.
“No way to know what kills them, so we cannot spike our dead with poison or spear them individually,” he continued. “Leaving our dead behind will bring the same reaction from all the Troopers as it did from Hunter Curtis.”
Kimraig sat for a moment, deep in thought; then continued. “A quote from an ancient training instructor in my youth: ‘I got no frigging clue’ how we can put that information to work.”
“Scavengers cleaning up gotta’ have ‘em. Better than rats,” Rat finished with her classic smirk.
There were smiles almost all around at her reference to her namesakes. Breen obviously did not see the relation.
“Next item is our missing contingent. No one can kill that many troops without leaving something behind. They could be in another part of this building, or even in another building, to get away from the Ergots.”
“That does not work for me,” Breen said. “We were gone less than four days. That would have taken a hell of a lot of lugging for the small force we left to move all our supplies along with them.”
“They have probably gone the same place as Chief Loyal Roberts.” It was an emotional statement for LaJay. She dropped her moist eyes to check the tiles on the floor.
“That is where we stand. Does anyone have an idea they care to share?”
Yeah, quit wasting time Kimraig; get on with it, Breen thought.
Get a grip, Breen. Put your block in place so no one but us will know our plans, Kimraig shot back, almost forgetting to dampen the force of his Telepathy.
“Okay, so here is what I propose.”
The crude map unfolded easily for him. With a finger to his lips, he motioned for all to speak softly; loud voices echoed in these high marble hallways. Quick gestures to each person, and low volume instruction illustrated with walking fingers, helped him convey to each which task would be their responsibility.
He could not know if his caution would help.
The plan of attack up the stairs to floor number six would use only two of the four stairwells. The two he selected emptied into their target floor within sight of each other. The other two were at the opposite end of the building. He traced different areas of the map, using his fingers to indicate who would take point and that Brodie-1, with Leader Breen, would lead her assault. He would follow Hunter Curtis, who would lead them. Intersecting doors at each floor would be welded shut with patches.
There would be no escape from floor number six. Building One Nine belonged to them.
Chapter 11. Tall Tales
Builders Number 1 Building
Mistress Ann’s chambers
“Now is not the time,” Mistress Ann fumed at her dead C-link. “I must have an update from Breen’s new Building.”
Instead of throwing it against the wall as she had done with so many others, she hobbled to her entrance door and threw it back. Her normal two guards jumped at the sudden movement. She hated guards, but with the
unrest of last few days, she refused to take chances this close to her goals.
“You,” she pointed her dead C-link at the closest guard. “Get me a doctor. And you,” she grabbed the other by the arm. “I need a C-link down here now, with a living, talking tech to go with it. Go!”
She stood in the doorway waiting. After no more than one heartbeat, she asked a question, her tone pitched deadly low. “Do you understand the concept of go?”
Mistress Ann paced a set path from one wall, passing in front of her couch to the opposite wall—fifteen, twenty, thirty steps one-way. Then back to the other wall, never losing count of these one-way steps. A concentration ritual she had developed in college before this life.
Haggard, old, and bedraggled, she did not care. Her bath and clean robes had not helped. Damaged knees and ankles shot endless agony from toenails to split ends. If she could chain that Bradley to her floor, she would exact her revenge. Total control had been at her fingertips and he had betrayed the pact they had made. His whole plan had been to trap her and gain control of all her five buildings. That he had sucked her in, rankled deep.
The requested tech arrived first, not running, walking rapidly with her heavy bag swinging freely at her side. She did not bother to stop in the doorway to ask permission, she entered the private chambers as if it were an everyday occurrence.
“Your C-link please, Mistress,” she said, holding out her hand for the offending module.
Mistress Ann passed it on to the young woman, impatience beginning to simmer.
The tech started to put it in her bag, thought better and pulled the back off to remove a small card, which she handed to her Mistress to hold. Best to let her hold her own records on that sim-card rather than risk her infamous anger.
The dead C-link disappeared into her bag. From her jacket pocket, she retrieved a slightly larger unit and removed its back as well. The new card followed the C-link into her bag. With deft fingers, she inserted and secured the original card from Mistress Ann’s hand. Stabbing an oversized button, she listened, and then made precise moves on the display. “My new design Mistress. More power, more range,” she reported, offering the unit.
“Will I have trouble with this one?”
“No, but the batteries are refurbished. They must be recharged on a regular schedule.”
“Go. Go! Out! Out!”
Not so confident now is she, Mistress Ann raged as she watched the young woman scurry away. She had stood right in front of her Mistress and scolded her for not charging the batteries. Why be without a unit while it is on the charger, when there were other units available within shouting distance. She would remember this tech. She finally placed her call.
“Get me Midge,” she yelled at Mistress Alex, the 4th of Four.
“I am sorry Mistress Ann; she was thrown off the roof an hour ago.”
“How do you know she was thrown?”
“Hands and ankles tied, Mistress. Top clothing removed and the letter “V” cut into the flesh between her breasts.”
She set the C-link down and paced so she could think
Hmmm, Kimraig had issued instructions for Midge before he left with Breen. Mistress Ann always marveled at the way he could best her every plan.
I should have killed that boy on the way to One Nine, never too late.
“Alright, lock down Middle and Lower Levels until you hear from me.”
“The Others have locked all but the express elevator at those levels. They also hold the stairwells. We are able to move from Top Side to the street but nothing else.”
The voice stopped as if afraid to continue.
“Get on with it.”
“I have ordered evacuation of everyone loyal to the Wicca. We will crowd into Number 5 Building.”
“Send someone with a brain cell to fill me in. They had better be here an hour ago.”
Thirty steps to the wall, thirty steps back to the opposing wall. If Number 4 Building were gone, the others would follow. Except in Number 5 Building, where there were no Middle and Lower Levels.
I will not wait around, pacing. If Kimraig and that back stabber Breen, think I am going to allow them to set up their own little play area in that Number 6 Building, they had better think on it some more.
Mistress Ann turned back to the table and picked up her C-link, with charged batteries.
She would issue orders to all buildings. Anyone loyal to Kimraig would wind up in a cell until she had a chance to knock him and Breen into the Compost heap. He would have no support personal in any of the five buildings. No revolution would start here.
You, Mistress Ann, you will check every hour, she ordered herself. She would use her newly charged C-link, just to make sure all completed results exactly matched her orders. No one, not even one, had better make a mistake.
* * *
Builders Number 2 Building
Natal ward, floor three, Baby Factory
The orders from Mistress Ann, concerning Kimraig Llu, finally had Julia moving. Since her good friend Chloe had introduced them as teens, she had done what Kimraig asked. She owed him. He had helped place hundreds of her babies in good homes. Babies she had rescued from the carts labeled for the compost heap.
Julia was not brave like him. Terrified would not begin to describe the fear that had forced her to flee her meager office pallet.
Hiding now, disguised in stolen green scrubs, she slipped silently between the false walls where she had led the Crosser saviors to the newborn baby ward, and helped them steal three babies. The Wicca’s clean up squads were searching in the hallways. Troopers, from several battle groups, had joined the search for a wet nurse named Julia, in a building jammed with women.
Julia was never able to wet-nurse because when she turned thirteen, the elders had taken her insides, so no baby to kick off the process—ever. A doctor had given her a normal physical and declared her autistic. If that were the case, the doctors would have abandoned her in the basement when she was born. Young Julia had a choice, accept her fate or suffer the sentence of death. Each day she saved unwanted children, proving she had made the right choice.
In those days, the Wicca had practiced eugenics—anyone who displayed the slightest defect immediately faced sterilization or death. The Mating Ritual produced all babies—no one mentioned the hordes born in Lower Levels—only those who displayed traits of the brightest and best males and females participated. Each was a Wicca choice.
That was why the physical in her thirteenth year, she would be eligible for the Mating Ritual at the age of fourteen. The Wicca had made sure she would not attend.
Eugenics remained alive and well in this building, but was not widespread because the gene pool had become severely limited.
That young girl Julia was now Nadia, Chief Administrator, Hospital and Newborn Baby Ward, Number 2 Building. The robes and identity of her posting rode warmly in a cloth baby sling nestled against her useless breasts.
Pausing just a few feet away from the Nurses’ Station, she stopped to listen through the thin panel of the wall. As always, the nurses were chatting. Their voices pitched loud enough to attract any negligent intern within earshot, female or male—hopefully male.
“I tell you again, they are looking for the Chief Administrator. I do not care that there is no wet-nurse named Julia in this building. Nadia remembers everyone who even stayed here, even for a day.” The nurse was almost beside herself that her companion would not listen to her simple explanation.
“Well, I just do not see why they would tell you. It is not as if you do not have an endless supply of tall tales all the time. Anyway, if she is here, they will find her.” The second nurse lifted her head and walked rapidly away.
“Megs wait, tell me who said I tell tall tales,” the first nurse yelled, chasing after her.
Nadia continued to the opening near the stairwell, relieved the troops were looking for someone who no longer existed. She was determined now, determined but no less scared. Only she could war
n Kimraig that Mistress Ann was rolling up the leaders of his network.
She had quickly devised a cover to get out the guarded double doors leading to the street. The guards would see an old doctor in green scrubs on an errand to deliver the newest lists of births from their Mistress Gina to Mistress Ann. Everyone knew not to interfere with anyone on an errand to Number 1 Building.
Finally working her way outside, she still had no plan for slipping unnoticed through the lines of her building’s battle groups. They held the Crossers contained in their enclave—a prison. Here, right now, defiance gripped her and she realized why she had made special preparations in the Lab. She knew the underground route the Crossers had taken with her precious little girls. She had followed them to the opening of that former subway tunnel, and then watched as their strobes disappeared. She would use the same route as they had used, regardless of how she feared the light that moved back and forth on the wall.
She had observed that unknown weapon as it moved and then its instant flash as it destroyed those wild blob things with a ray of light. If more wild things returned, she had prepared a quick way out—poison that she called BWL. If this new weapon refused her...she shrugged; she was dead either way.
Before she left her lab an hour ago, Nadia had assembled three chewable capsules of the poison. They now rode in one non-soluble packet tucked into the back corner of her jaw. One capsule of the seductive powder had earned the reputation of stopping hearts within seconds: three of the darlings...instantly.
The meaning of the initials, BWL brought a sense of peace. Bright White Light...at the end of the tunnel. It was a description of a vision that some say they saw when they had almost died. There would be no coming back to tell this story.
She moved into the tunnel.
* * *
Builder’s Number 3 Building
Compost heap
Unaware of Nadia’s plight, Jake sat in the dark waiting. Here, at the very bottom of the compost heap, humming feed pipes drew sludge up to the top, then added it back constantly, effectively turning the contents over. This noise, repulsive to almost everyone, curiously soothed him with the memories of life brought back from death.
The 6th of Six (The Legend of Kimraig Llu) Page 19