More cheers exploded in the surrounding crowd. Humans clapped, hooted, pumped fists in the air, screamed, yelled in triumph.
Jax’s eyes shifted to Balidor. “Is that true? Is Brooks dead?”
Balidor shook his head, but not in a no. “We have been unable to confirm or to refute that assertion. We’re trying to get eyes into the security bunker below the White House, but the construct is complex––more so since Dehgoies’ extraction op a few years ago. We had a hard enough time breaching it when talk of war with China began. Now they have it reinforced in several areas, including the sub-basements, where the medical center is located.”
“Reinforced,” Jax muttered, staring back at the wall monitor.
“We have to assume Shadow is behind that, yes.”
“We lost our link to the White House entirely,” Yumi said, speaking more bluntly. She glanced around at the other infiltrators, brow furrowed and wrinkling the tattoo on her face. “It is possible, even probable, that our contacts inside have been compromised, and are now either dead, flipped or incapacitated. As a result, we’ve lost the ability to influence the human government in regards to Asia, as well… or anything, really.”
Her words brought a deeper silence, and a few paler faces.
Menlim’s voice rose, charged and alluring with silver light.
“It is hardly unreasonable to ask that the person responsible for this… carnage…” he spat, curling his lip. “…Answer for her crimes against us!”
Mutterings of agreement swam through the crowd. Angry yells rose in the background. Balidor couldn’t make out precise words, nor did he try very hard. At this point, the specifics didn’t matter. Menlim had them hypnotized by fear and metallic light.
The Rook waited through another well-timed pause. Righteous fury rose to his expression, amplified by the silver light. He slammed an angry fist on the podium.
“I say she come forward and explain herself!” Menlim shouted. “I, for one, would like to know why she has perpetrated these horrific crimes against us, after all we have done for them! If this ‘Bridge’ wishes us to refrain from wiping her own race off the face of Earth, she must come out of hiding! She must accept the judgment of those she has condemned!”
Cheers and shouts of agreement rose as he gazed around.
“If this self-proclaimed ‘Bridge’ and her army of terrorist seers will not surrender themselves for judgment, we will be forced to act to protect ourselves! We will do so to the FULLEST EXTENT of our powers!” His pale eyes grew murderous. “I say, if her brethren will not turn her in, they are complicit in the murder and mayhem she has wrought! If her brethren will not turn her in, they deserve to die alongside her!”
Triumphant and vengeful yells rose from the crowd.
That crowd had crept closer to him as the speech continued; now it ringed him in a densely-packed mass on the steps of the Capitol Building, forcing reporters to jostle and hold their ground to keep their places close to the podium. Lights flashed from recording devices as they moved around the line of security people, trying to capture his face from different angles.
Watching Menlim stand there in an expensive suit, waiting for the emotional impact of his words to abate, Balidor swallowed, again feeling an unreal kind of déjà vu.
That time, the feeling wasn’t only from World War I.
Balidor remembered Barrier records he’d seen from the time of the First Displacement, specifically of Kardek, the first so-called “Bridge.”
Back then, the Bridge had also been viewed as the enemy of the world, and of the race.
A popular leader at the time, Haldren, orchestrated Kardek’s public execution in the wake of the worst ravages of the First Displacement, and most in later generations agreed it was warranted. Seer histories considered the First Displacement a brutal failure by a corrupted Bridge who had taken a hard line against the world. Rather than leading his people towards evolution, he’d simply exterminated them.
Kardek the Bridge was the reason they’d opted to protect future incarnations of the Bridge as children, to avoid their being recruited by dark forces at an early age. For the most part, Kardek was blamed, even today, for the extreme brutality of the First Displacement, and the fact that so many of the First Race were wiped out––so much of their civilization irrevocably lost.
Something about the thought sickened Balidor now.
It also made him wonder if perhaps those records had not been interpreted entirely accurately over the years.
Watching the crowd scream and yell up at the podium where Menlim stood, he found himself thinking they could be facing another such Displacement again.
More than just vengeance, that desire for a savior, for that one person who would bring them out of death and chaos, scared him. Whenever any race actively courted saviors and demagogues, things were usually about to take a really bad turn.
Balidor felt powerless to stop what he could already sense coming from this.
Most of these people would be dead in a matter of months. Now, thanks to Shadow, more would die enmeshed in the light of the Dreng. They would die filled with hate and a misplaced desire for revenge. They would die in terror, without hope or understanding. Many would be lost in Barrier spaces of the Dreng long after they died, perhaps even for multiple lifetimes, if Balidor could believe the prophecies of the old seers, and the words of Vash himself.
Either way, Menlim managed to hit the same notes that Haldren had, back then.
His words resonated along the same twisted yet oddly archetypal lines, causing the same tremors in the psyche of a crowd that badly wanted to believe them. He tapped into their desire for rescue and fear of death, but also their anger, confusion, fear of change, fear of the unknown, and fear of anyone unlike themselves.
Also, perhaps even more importantly, he tapped into their need for an explanation.
He fed that half-desperate impulse to find someone or something to blame.
It was the same thing Haldren had done.
Hell, it was the same thing Hitler had done.
The thought of what could come from that terrified Balidor.
He found himself thinking about the Bridge, and the condition that grew more obvious to the rest of them every day, the one Dehgoies still avoided telling her, for reasons Balidor only partially understood. Other aspects of their group’s circumstances rose to mind: Jon and Wreg’s desire to be mated, Allie’s human friends who’d just arrived from San Francisco, the hacker kid Dante, Dehgoies’ son, the refugee seers and humans who desperately needed someone to explain to them why they were here, the Bridge’s surprise party planned for Dehgoies’ birthday… and just the fact that they’d all built a family here at the hotel, in spite of everything.
Balidor thought about everything they’d been through in the past year, what Allie had gone through to rescue her husband, and something in him dipped low enough that he felt it as a near-danger, and shook his head, trying to snap out of it.
As soon as he had, the voices of the others reentered his consciousness.
“We have to respond to this,” Jorag was saying. “They’ve all but threatened to nuke New York, if we don’t.”
“Or China,” Yumi muttered, folding her tattooed arms.
“They aren’t going to nuke New York,” Chandre said, voice hard. “Why would they do this? New York is one of their cities, is it not? Why go to all that trouble, only to destroy it? They are rattling swords, trying to get a response from us. We should ignore this.”
“We can’t ignore it––” Jorag began, frustrated.
“––You’re assuming Shadow is running the White House entirely now––” Jax began.
“––Why wouldn’t we assume that?” Anale asked, frowning around at all of them.
“I still say we have to respond,” Jorag said, glancing at Illeg, then Holo. “We can’t just sit here and let them blame this disease on us. Millions of our brothers and sisters live in China. We cannot simply let them die. We cannot
let them beat seers on the street in retaliation, thinking this is something we have done to murder our cousins!”
Hearing the emotion in his voice snapped Balidor out of wherever his own mind had gone.
Chandre looked at Yumi, then at Balidor, her eyes holding an open disbelief.
“We cannot truly believe he would wipe out all of Asia!” Chandre gestured towards the monitor with a strong sweep of her fingers. “What would be the possible motive? If he wants the Lao Hu gone, there are easier ways. And why not recruit as many as possible? There are many who would join this crusade of his. Why kill the children?”
Balidor’s eyes shifted back to the monitor.
As his gaze moved, Menlim spoke up in another burst of angry speech.
“…Let her show her face to the world! Let her tell us exactly what it will take to end this war of hers!” He held up an aged fist. “Let her explain why she is so determined to end humanity in such a disgusting, brutal way! Without giving us recourse to a sane solution!”
Menlim’s mouth twisted into a sneer.
“Clearly she feels justified to visit this horror upon the world.” He raised his fist higher, along with his voice. “Clearly this seems reasonable to her… the deaths of innocents and families from all corners of the world, millions upon millions of us, bleeding and rotting too quickly for those left behind to bury what is left!”
Wails rose from the crowd, a shock-filled grief Balidor also recognized.
Menlim’s voice seethed in hatred as angrier yells once more broke out.
“…Perhaps we have done her some terrible wrong? One that justifies the deaths of billions of our people? If so, why will she not accuse us herself? How else will this Bridge feel vindicated in obliterating an entire civilization?”
“This is about Allie,” Holo muttered, from by Balidor’s elbow. “Not just to blame it on someone besides himself. This is about Allie.”
Balidor glanced at him. He hadn’t even noticed him standing there. Once he thought about his words, though, he agreed with them.
“Yes,” he said only.
Menlim’s voice grew openly contemptuous.
“…Unless this is just some fantasy she is enacting? Belief in an outdated mythology that tells her it is her destiny to kill us? If that is truly the case, then I, for one, would like to hear that from her, as well!”
Yells of agreement erupted from the crowd, even among those holding cameras and microphones. Menlim turned to face the nearest of these, and the larger image swiftly took over the monitor. His pale yellow eyes flashed under the artificial lights.
“I call upon this ‘Bridge’ to answer for her crimes!” Menlim called out. “If she hasn’t the courage to face the leaders of this world, perhaps she has enough to face those who knew her in her earliest years…?”
He gestured up towards a holographic image that appeared above his head.
Balidor’s breath stopped briefly when he recognized Cass’s smiling eyes and lips. The scar was gone. Her face looked flawless, heart-stoppingly beautiful.
“…Cassandra Jainkul,” Menlim said. “She is a childhood friend of Alyson’s. She has generously agreed to act as liaison, despite the enormous personal risk to her!”
Balidor saw Wreg frown, right before his dark eyes swiveled to his. He’d been unusually quiet throughout the broadcast, but now he spoke, still looking at Balidor.
“Where is the Bridge?” Wreg said. “Didn’t Jon go downstairs to get her? That was over twenty minutes ago, wasn’t it?”
Balidor frowned, glancing around the room.
Wreg was right; Jon, Revik and Allie had never come upstairs. He was about to answer when Menlim’s voice rose again, pulling Balidor’s attention back to the monitor.
“Like all of you, what matters to me, more than anything, is family.” Menlim’s voice grew resonant, deeper, even as his eyes blazed. “Above all, it is our families that matter in the end. We must protect those who belong to us. Those who give meaning to our lives, love to our hearts, purpose to our work, the very breath to our lungs. Those who aid us through the darkest of times, who bring us back into the light…”
Balidor frowned.
Something in those words hit him strangely, more than the rest of what he’d said.
He glanced back at Wreg. Hesitating only a bare breath, he pinged Allie. When she didn’t answer, he tried her husband.
Dehgoies didn’t answer him, either.
It wasn’t the first time the two of them had fallen off the radar in the past few weeks. Truthfully, they’d been inaccessible more often than not of late, and mostly, Balidor had been happy enough to leave them alone, given the glimpses he’d gotten. Even so, something about their silence now vibrated his light in a way he didn’t like.
He didn’t want to alarm Wreg, but––
“Too fucking late for that, Adhipan,” Wreg muttered, glancing at him darkly.
Balidor frowned.
Glancing around the room a second time, he had to admit the ex-Rebel was right.
Regardless of their weird behavior lately, and whatever they might be doing right now, this wasn’t a good time for Allie and Revik to go missing.
38
PARANOIA
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, they were still arguing.
Balidor found he was having trouble listening to the escalation of paranoid theories at this point, most of which centered around one of two things: some kind of high-level mole in their organization, and when and how Shadow might attack.
He was about to suggest they call it quits until they could pull Allie and Nenzi into the discussion, when Chandre’s voice erupted from his other side.
“Di’lanlente a’ guete!” she said, her voice openly angry.
Cursing next in Mandarin, she shook her braids, staring at the monitor where news feeds continued to play, only in multiple-view, where several different stations were broken out into smaller screens. She stared at different views of London, Paris, Beijing, Los Angeles and Mexico City burning, riots in India, and fake-looking rooms where reporters argued back and forth about who was responsible.
Balidor couldn’t tell if she was taking in any of it.
Still scowling at the wall of images, she stripped her words of emotion, making them cold.
“We cannot just sit and theorize about this. He will bomb someone. He will attack some place… one that is vulnerable, where many innocents will die. He will kill enough that the Bridge will feel forced to act. He will offer up Cass to make this decision easier. It is sheer nonsense, this calling of Cassandra a ‘liaison’––”
“No shit,” Jorag muttered, folding his arms.
She frowned at the muscular seer, then looked around at the rest of them.
“What I mean is, Cassandra is now fully recruited,” she said, blunt. “We all sense this. We have known this since Argentina.” Her eyes scanned around the table. “It is not Shadow and his threats that worries me. It is her… Cassandra. And the Bridge. The Bridge will want to do this thing. She will agree to this meet with Cass. She will tell herself it is the only way.” She gave Balidor a harder look. “You know it is true, brother.”
Her dark red eyes were faintly accusing as she looked around the table.
“You all know it is true. We must be prepared for this. We must be prepared for the suffering he will inflict. We cannot permit it to sway her. If she goes to him, he will definitely kill her. Likely in as public a forum as possible.”
Balidor’s jaw hardened. An image flashed in his mind, of Kardek on that pyre of wood during the First Displacement, and he shook his head.
“No one disagrees with you, sister,” he said to the red-eyed seer. “But you worry yourself needlessly. The Bridge will not go to meet Cass.” Hesitating when he realized he was speaking for Allie, he flipped a hand sideways, moderating his words. “The Adhipan could never approve such a plan, and in something like this, we do have some real authority over her. Her husband certainly would not approve it, espe
cially under the circumstances, and he has even more authority than we do.”
Chandre let out a disparaging snort. “The Bridge is telekinetic. She is also quite good at swaying her husband to her point of view… if you hadn’t noticed. Whatever ‘real power’ you think you have over her, I suspect it is not as sure as you say.”
“Perhaps you do not hear the strenuousness of my meaning, sister,” Balidor said, his voice a touch warning. “Dehgoies would not allow it. I suspect he would evoke spousal privilege, if it came to that. Legally, if he had to.” Feeling his skin warm at the silence his words produced, he made an apologetic gesture with one hand. “Truthfully, given the way he’s been of late, I suspect he’d lock her in a cell and collar her before he let her step foot outside this hotel.”
Wreg snorted loudly. “Damn fucking straight, he would.”
Chandre looked between them, her eyes skeptical, but she was the only one.
The rest nodded, the same understanding in their eyes.
Neela waved off the words from both sides, her jaw taut.
“None of this is the point,” she said, her words clipped by her strong Asian seer accent. “They know exactly where we are. They could easily kill us––and her––especially if they now have the United States military arsenal at their disposal. Should we not leave here? As soon as possible? We should prioritize finding the leak. Then, once it is found, we leave.”
“And go where?” Yumi said, grunting. “There are few safe havens anywhere these days, sister Neela.”
At the silence this produced, Yumi glanced at the others.
“Does anyone doubt they could have killed us by now, if they wanted?” she added, the tattoo on her face wrinkling under her frown. “Does any one of us believe we will, without any doubt, be able to determine what Shadow truly has, in terms of assets inside this hotel and among our people… even under this d’garculen idi quarantine? Whatever problems we have here, we are likely to bring them with us.”
Balidor clicked softly, but he couldn’t disagree.
War: Bridge & Sword: Apocalypse (Bridge & Sword Series Book 6) Page 49