by T. C. Edge
The lift immediately begins to drop, plummeting down through the building. In a mere minute it’s slowing and opening, and the atrium appears before me.
I’m marched straight out, the foyer almost empty. Turning to the desk, I don’t see Rebecca on duty, her shift only having ended hours ago. Instead, two other receptionists watch the commotion with blank eyes, as if it happens every day.
I suspect it doesn’t. And yet, perhaps an event like this isn’t entirely unheard of. Crime may never occur here, but occasionally hybrids will be caught or discovered.
Hybrids like Amelia, Adryan’s first wife, dragged from her home in much the same manner as I’m being now. Hybrids like poor W. Malcolm, not a hybrid at all, who most likely suffered the same fate.
Most of the time, they probably don’t even know they’re hybrids. And yet, they’ll still suffer the ignominy of being so callously cast out and killed, or reconditioned and turned into slaves if they’re thought to have some worth.
Right now, that’s what’s happening to me. And I can’t help but feel a growing fear that Commander Burns has miscalculated, that he wasn’t aware that a fresh shot of suppressor drugs would be injected into my blood. That the antidote he gave me is going to have no impact after all.
The thought helps to bring my mind to life.
So far, it’s all happened in such a rush that I’ve barely had a second to catch up. It seems like only moments ago that I was being injected the previous night. Now, within the blink of an eye, I’m being dragged through the atrium and out of the High Tower, drawing the attention of any of the Savants nearby.
It’s still so early when I taste fresh air for the first time in days, smell that disinfectant surging up my nostrils. The sky remains hidden under a blanket of heavy grey clouds, a mist hanging on the streets as ghostly Savants begin to move towards the building.
Most will only just be waking, yet to start their day of work. I guess that was probably the plan, to drag me out without too many witnesses.
The streets are so swamped in mist that I can barely see the features of the road ahead. It’s not a toxic fog, though, just a heavy precipitation hanging in the air, peppered with shadows that appear from the gloom as people gravitate to the High Tower.
But not us. We’re going in the opposite direction, marching straight across the platform and down the streets, where an armoured van awaits. The rear is opened up, and I’m thrown inside, my legs scraping on the metal floor as I go.
Two men step inside with me, the City Guards who continue to keep a close watch. The Stalkers move around to the front, stepping into the front seat of the man-driven vehicle. Unlike most vehicles here, this one isn’t self-drive, the journey to the outerlands requiring a human touch.
My view to the front is blocked, a small window to the front seat quickly shut off. Huddled in the corner, the back of the van goes almost pitch dark, the two City Guards taking seats on benches either side of me, their eyes refusing to move from my form.
Trapped in my new cell, I open my eyes wide to try to let in as much light as I can. Only the odd sliver of light penetrates the hull of the van as its engine begins to rumble, and I feel its motion turning off to the right, heading west.
My eyes fix to the two men with me, and in the darkness I see little discs of light staring at me from the silhouettes of their faces. They must be Hawks, their eyes capable of seeing through this black shroud, aiming their weapons right at me as they sit and watch, rigid as rock.
I quickly calculate the time it might take to get outside of the city. It’s early enough now that traffic in Outer Haven will be minimal, and non-existent here. We’ll cut straight for the western gate and pass straight through the central districts of the western quarter. Then, out of the boundary gate along the perimeter wall, through the woods and marshes and whatever else lies beyond.
And then, to the facility that no one ever wants to go to. The place where criminals are turned to slaves, Con-Cops created and hybrids slaughtered. Where so many thousands who don’t fit Cromwell’s needs have been exterminated, or rehabilitated in some terrible fashion, their minds distorted and twisted into one of total and utter compliance.
And now, I’m thinking that exactly that will happen to me…
Still, as we rumble along, cutting a direct path through Inner Haven, I feel that Burns must have got this wrong.
That he himself has been found out, his own treachery discovered.
That the fresh dose of drugs was squirted into my blood to combat the antidote he gave me.
That his own part in this façade is up, and mine is too.
The thought ensures that my heart rate climbs to an unprecedented rate. That my mind wakes more quickly, tossing aside the murky shroud, and my breathing begins to quicken and judder, my own existence in utter peril.
I’ll live on, of course, but not as me. My cup will be emptied out and refilled with Cromwell’s own potion. I’ll become an unthinking android, a tool of death to be directed at whatever enemy he wishes me to kill.
I shake my head in the dark and press my eyelids together, scrunching them tight and balling my fists as hard as I can to try to purge the agitation from my body.
My limbs begin to shiver and shudder, the fog in my head clearing further as the winds of my fear and rage flow through, scattering the mist.
I think of Adryan, locked in chains.
I think of Mrs Carmichael, protecting the kids to the last, and Tess, doing her best to help.
I think of Drum, begging to fight.
I think of Zander, trying to hold it all together.
I think of them all, and others, and know that they’ll all die, sooner or later. Maybe Adryan has already been tortured and killed. Maybe Mrs Carmichael, complicit in my deceit, has been discovered and sentenced. Maybe Drum has got his way and become a soldier, and found himself face to face with a Stalker, a foe he could never contend with.
Maybe they’re all dead, or are about to die.
Or maybe, just maybe, after my mind has been turned upside down, Cromwell will order me to do it all myself.
A final revenge for my treason.
A final victory for him.
All such thoughts flow with such ferocity through my mind that I feel a surging energy filling my fingers. I feel my limbs shaken free of the lethargy that subdued them. I feel my determination to survive fermenting and seeping through every fibre within me.
And as the van continues to rumble, I feel my eyes opening once more in the darkness.
Only now, it’s no longer dark.
The interior has grown clear. The two Hawks watching me are no longer silhouettes. I can make out the smallest of details as I look at my hands, still balled, my knuckles white.
And as I stare down, a defiant smile swarms all over my face.
Burns hasn’t failed. He hasn’t been discovered.
My powers are returning…
12
The smile on my face doesn’t last, stripped away as a voice sounds in front of me.
“What the hell are you smiling at?” it bites.
My grin plummets immediately, and I don’t raise my eyes. If I do, they might see that my Hawk-vision is returning. Right now, I shouldn’t be able to see anything in this darkness. If I look them right in the eye, they might just smell a rat.
I don’t answer the question.
Instead, I allow the smile to fade and evolve into something else, turning it upside down and then sniffing. Lifting my hands up, my wrists still bound by cuffs, I set about wiping my eyes and planting a grimace across my features.
“Oh, not another crier,” grumbles the Hawk. “You’d think this one would be tougher than that. You know why she was up there on level 99, right?”
“Yeah, treason,” says the other man. “She tried to kill the Director. Would you believe that!”
The way they’re speaking suggests that my mission isn’t that well known. Perhaps only among higher ranked City Guards has my notor
iety been spread.
It sounds, too, like they’re used to this sort of work: escorting hybrids to the REEF. I wonder if one or the other was part of the team to snatch Amelia away from Adryan several years ago.
The thought has me closing my eyes and turning to my memories. I feel a swell of purpose and power at the clarity with which they appear. I glide back a couple of weeks, to when I entered Adryan’s mind and saw that awful event play out. And reviewing it again, I quickly examine the faces of the little force of guards sent up to their apartment to take her.
Then, opening my eyes once more, I can’t help but look up to them in a flash as they continue their discussion. With my returning powers, I see through my peripheral vision that they’re no longer looking at me, but each other. I take my chance and get a better look, and see one face that does ring a bell.
The Hawk on the right, with narrow, intense brown eyes and a thin and prickly jaw. He was there that day. It must be a specialism of these men to extract such people as me.
Before they look back down at me, I turn my eyes away again, and remove the hatred from within them, replacing it with fear and sadness once more. My appearance seems to give them some pleasure. They laugh at me, tossing a few insults my way.
Insults that bounce straight off my hard skin.
But ones that I’ll remember…for when the time comes.
Turning my eyes back down, I begin to take closer account of the motion of the vehicle, still maintaining a fairly constant speed to suggest we’re still in Inner Haven. Only when it begins to slow, and then stop entirely for a moment, do I realise that we’ve arrived at the western gate linking the two parts of the city.
Moments later we’re across the wall. Back in Outer Haven.
And now, I have to think of a plan…
In the darkness, my mind begins speeding through my options. The men ahead of me will present no challenge. They’re merely Hawks, and while they’re heavily armed, the antidote that’s now surging through my veins has made me more than a match for both of them.
The two Stalkers in the front, however, will present far more of a problem. They will no doubt be stronger and faster than me, bred for the specific purpose of war and death. I will have little to no chance against either of them in a one-on-one fight, and no chance whatsoever against them both.
I have to be smart. I have to use what I have, use my knowledge of the streets of the western quarter. As soon as we reach the outer districts, near the western gate to the outerlands, I’ll have to take my chance. It will be my only shot before we pass through the outer gate.
The van now begins to slow occasionally, even stopping as the morning traffic begins to grow heavier. We’ll be closer to the academy now, so close I can almost smell its unique scent of stale smoke and unwashed clothes, moving directly through district 5 just south of Brick Lane.
Outside, I know it will be busy, the streets too populated to try anything here. I can’t risk causing a firefight with so many innocent people around. Only when we get to the less populous outer districts can I consider making my move.
My restraints will need to go first. I can’t do anything with my wrists bound together as they are. Turning my eyes up, I search for some key in the possession of either of the Hawks.
Was it them, or the Stalkers, who set the cuffs to my wrists?
I can barely remember, everything happening in a rush. If the Stalkers have the keys, my burgeoning plan might just fail. I look again, but see no key, and then spend a moment inspecting my restraints a little more closely.
And in doing so, I realise that they’re not unlocked by a key at all, but by a thumb-print, set to the locking mechanism between my wrists. The question is: do these City Guards have the authority to unlock them?
I guess we’ll find out soon…
The van continues to grind through the busiest section in the city, before I feel it turning again, working its way down quieter streets and off the main roads.
Its speed begins to pick up, signalling our growing proximity to the outer wall, the bright lights of the central and inner districts of the western quarter being left behind.
And in the pitch dark of my mobile cell, a blackness that my Hawk-eyes are now able to fully penetrate, I begin to put my plot into action.
With my eyes still low, I take a breath, and then quickly dart my gaze straight up to the Hawk sitting ahead of me on the left.
The two men are still in conversation, their own gaze now less strictly stuck to their little captive sitting on the uncomfortable metal floor.
But now I need to catch their eyes. First one, and then the other, needs to stare straight at me.
And first, it’s the man on the left.
My eyes lift, the movement of my gaze towards where he sits doing the job I hoped it would. His own peripheral vision catches it in a bare millisecond, and before the other Hawk can turn his eyes to me too, I make eye contact with my first target.
I dive straight into his feeble mind without hesitation, and before he can even realise that my powers are returning, I have him under my spell.
But I don’t force him to attack his partner. I don’t order him to raise his weapon and shoot the man in the heart or the head. I don’t do that, because it would only be my undoing.
Within seconds, I know, the van would stop, the Stalkers would march around to the back, and quickly disable the man I took under my control. They’d know of my plot immediately, and would simply take the necessary steps to ensure that my Mind-Manipulator powers could not be used against them.
In short, it would be game over.
So, I take the smarter route instead, and I simply call out into the Hawk’s mind…
You will adhere to all my verbal commands. You will do everything I ask without hesitation or question.
I issue the command with clarity and conviction, and see it quickly wash away into the vacant recesses of his mind. He’s no Savant, but merely a dim-witted Hawk, and has absolutely no protection against the sort of powers I possess.
And as the order takes hold, I turn my eyes straight to the Hawk on the right, the one who was present that day when poor Amelia was dragged from her home. He’s only just realising what’s going on, and just before he can call out a warning to the Stalkers, or even turn his eyes away from my gaze in defence, I fill his head with the same exact order.
And within seconds only, both members of the City Guard are now completely under my command.
Once more, my considerable abilities have grown powerful under stress, the life or death nature of my predicament forcing me to operate at a higher level of efficiency. Looking upon my two new slaves, one after another, I find them both staring at me once more.
But this time, there’s no malice in their eyes, no contempt for who or what I am. Now there’s just a wrinkle of confusion, of helplessness, that lifts that smile back onto my lips.
They’re mine.
To ensure that I’m right, I test my theory, whispering into the quiet cell: “Both of you, turn your eyes to your feet.”
Without hesitation, both of their sets of glowing eyes fall to the floor, refusing to move.
I nod to myself, and whisper again: “You, to my left, come here and remove my restraints.”
The Hawk on my left lifts his eyes to mine. The other one stays as he is, his face staring straight at the floor.
Quietly, the Hawk moves towards me. I hold up my wrists, reaching them out to him. With a note of puzzlement, his own hands creep forward and fumble about for a moment. He doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing.
“Are you able to remove these cuffs?” I ask him. “Answer me quietly.”
He shakes his head.
“I do not have security clearance.”
Damn it.
“And you?” I whisper, turning to the other Hawk. “Look at me and answer me.”
He does as ordered, and shakes his head.
“I do not have security clearance either,” he tells m
e.
My fingers ball and squeeze. I need these restraints off. Right now.
“Is there any other way to remove them?” I ask, looking again to the Hawk to my left.
“The only way would be to shoot the locking mechanism,” he answers.
He turns the barrel of his weapon to my handcuffs.
“No,” I say harshly. “Don’t do that. Sit back down where you were.”
He does so.
I know I can’t have him shoot the mechanism out. Doing so will alert the Stalkers, and I need to keep them in the dark for as long as I can.
So how? How do I get away without them knowing…
My mind ticks along furiously as the van rumbles with a more consistent motion. I know we must be nearing the perimeter wall now, moving away from the main population and towards the outer districts. As soon as we reach the gate, I’m done for. If this van gets to the outerlands, I’ll have nowhere to go…
As far as I see it, I have only one choice – a diversion.
If I can use the two Hawks to cover my retreat, I might just be able to use my Dasher powers to escape. When the van next slows, turning a corner, I can make them open up the back door. And I will run.
The Stalkers will stop the vehicle immediately. They will turn their attention straight to me, but if I can use the Hawks to delay them, it might just give me the time I need to make good my getaway.
But how much time will I need? I few seconds won’t be enough. They’ll be quicker than me, and will hunt me down with these chains still locked to my wrists.
Will half a minute be enough? Maybe. But then, will the Hawks be able to give me that? How long will it take the Stalkers to realise that they’re under my control? If they do so quickly, they will dispatch them without a moment’s hesitation, and will set their eyes on me right after.
It’s risky…but do I have a choice?
I’m not sure I do. I’m just not sure…
But I do know I have little time to act. And I need to know just where we are.
So once more, I recruit my new men, whispering an order to them once more.
“Where are we, exactly?” I ask.