by TW Iain
Jornas stroked his chin. “A noble goal, peace. Unrealistic, though. And it surprises me that someone of your nature would support it.”
Another insult, or an attempt to dig deeper? Rodin wasn’t sure, so he played safe, gave a shrug. “Nothing wrong with wanting an easy life. Sure you can appreciate that.”
Was that too subtle? Maybe not—Jornas nodded, seemed to look at Rodin in a different way, as if there was now some kind of connection.
“And with such a goal,” Jornas said, “it is important to co-operate, yes? But things are rarely so simple. Your Genna may have some kind of deal with Dephloren, but is that the right move for us? There may be no Garrick now, but what of other players?”
“To the north?” Rodin said, knowing full well that wasn’t what Jornas meant. “Or further out, into the wilds?”
Cobey grinned now, in on Jornas’ joke. And Rodin understood. But he needed some kind of confirmation. He pushed further. “If not Genna and Dephloren, who else is there?”
He caught the look that passed between the brothers, just before Jornas spoke again.
“We’re comfortable in our current situation,” the man said. “Genna doesn’t know of our affairs, and nor do you.”
Rodin nodded, twisted his lip to show disappointment. “So I can’t return with positive news.” He didn’t phrase it as a question. “Sorry for wasting your time.” He placed his hands on the arm-rests, leaned forward.
“I wouldn’t call this a waste of time.” Jornas smiled, and that smile reminded Rodin of others who hid behind their words. “It’s always useful to hear news of elsewhere. But you’re right—we can’t make any deals with Genna. Or Dephloren. We have our affairs in order.”
Rodin rose, as did both Brothers. Jornas even held a hand out, and Rodin took it, gave it a tug that was met with equal pressure.
“Our guards will escort you to the door. Your jacket and other personal belongings will be waiting for you.”
“At least we’ve had a civil conversation.”
“There is that. Good day, Rodin.”
He nodded, first to Jornas and then to Cobey. The second Brother didn’t offer his hand, and nor did Rodin. Instead, he turned his back on Cobey and walked to the door. The guards stood aside, one of them pressing the screen to open the door.
Rodin turned. “One last question. There’s been talk recently, unusual activity. Just wondering—you haven’t had any problems with the Factory?”
Cobey’s face twitched, and he glanced to his Brother. Jornas held his mask of a smile and tilted his head to one side.
“Factory?”
Rodin nodded. “Further west, on the edge of the wilds. Place where stuff’s made for the Dome. Rumours of activity, that’s all.”
“Ah. That place. It’s not really our concern. The supposed area it occupies is of little interest to our residents, and it causes us no trouble.”
“None?”
Jornas opened his arms. “Why would there be? They have some kind of underground train into the Dome, don’t they?”
Rodin nodded. “So I understand. Good to know the rumours are wrong.” He smiled, and turned.
But not before he saw the glances between the Brothers once more, the ones that confirmed his suspicions.
The Paternas Brothers had made a deal with Authority.
- 9 -
Ross Dome’s Grand Park lived up to its name.
Cat had caught one of the trams, had alighted at the east end, by the cafes and art centres. People ate, or strolled around, sleeves rolled up and shoulders bared. A few brave souls carried their shoes, especially on the sand that ran alongside the river.
Cat strolled along the paths, just another resident of Ross Dome enjoying the pleasant day, taking time out from a busy work schedule, recharging his batteries. His right arm hung loose, and his jacket looped over his left. He had no hat today—he didn’t wear one as often in Ross, kept that as more of a districts accoutrement. He’d even unbuttoned the top of his shirt.
Inside, his mind raced. He didn’t—couldn’t—trust Don. Even when Cat first recruited the man he’d kept himself hidden, hadn’t talked freely. He’d always been ambitious—not for position, but for power. He was a master manipulator, and had been from the start, when he twisted those so-called friends with such aplomb.
And now he was involved in the warrior program, possibly even running it. But to what end?
Answers—or, at least, clues to potential answers—lay in the Factory outside Ross, if only Cat could ask the right questions.
But that was for later. First, he had another meeting. At least this one promised to be more amenable than the one with Don.
She sat on the arranged bench by the curve in the river, fanning herself with a wide-brimmed cream hat. She wore a shawl over her shoulders—the fashion, apparently, amongst certain groups.
He sat next to her and looked over the water. A couple in a rowing boat paddled past, him straining on the oars, her laughing as the boat veered off course. They straightened themselves out and continued down the river.
“When I see things like that,” he said, “I always wonder if his memory of her laughter will cause problems in private.”
The woman on the bench sighed. “I sometimes feel you’re not the chameleon you believe yourself to be,” she said. “You do recall that it’s polite to introduce yourself before heading into a conversation, don’t you?”
Ah, the faux bitterness he’d come to know so well. “My dear Shae,” he said, “if you want platitudes, I can offer them in abundance. Would you like a comment regarding the way your jump-suit complements the grey in your eyes?”
“Jump-suit? You really should pay more attention to fashions. The maillot-grande is a must-have this season. There are even male versions now, and very fetching they look too.”
“I’m sure one on my body would bring a particular kind of smile to your face.”
“It would indeed.”
Cat didn’t have to turn to see her expression—a mixture of forced annoyance and wicked pleasure.
“Is that enough casual conversation?” he asked.
“You mean this liaison isn’t all pleasure? You have me here under false pretences, my good man.”
“As if I’ve ever been your good man.”
Her shawl rubbed audibly against her jump-suit—and Cat would continue thinking of it as such, if only to needle her.
“You’re a man,” she said. “And you have your uses, so you must be good at something.”
“Your faith in me warms my heart. But if we could dispense with the fripperies for a moment?”
She turned to him then, as he’d expected. “Things are moving?”
“They are indeed.”
“How fast?”
“That, I’m afraid, is unclear. But the nexus is as we suspected—I’m certain of that.”
“I take it you’re familiar with the disturbances to the south of First Dome?”
“Possibly not as much as some. What does your colleague say?”
“Do you want his words, or would you prefer my interpretation?”
“I’m sure the filter of your mind will suffice.”
“Only suffice? Very well. There are incidents of violence that accord to no discernible pattern, but are sufficient to hinder attempts to rebuild the district.”
“So they attempt to destabilise while they work on other plans.”
“That would be the logical interpretation. Of course, without more information this is merely conjecture.”
There was an uplift in her tone, and Cat saw his opening.
“I should have more details in a few days, but for now it’s clear they intend a major action in the near future. Weeks rather than months, I’d imagine.”
Cat didn’t give more of his thoughts—this wasn’t the place—and footsteps approached from the right. He inclined his head to the sun, muttered something about the ple
asures of the heat on his face as the group of joggers passed by.
As their pounding reduced, he brought his head back down and turned to Shae, his head tilted in question.
“I’m due to return to First in two weeks’ time,” she said. “There’s the reading of the new lighting bill at the end of this week, and I’ve been following the debates. It would be a shame to miss it.”
Cat nodded, and judging by Shae’s expression she’d picked up on his annoyance.
“I can’t just drop everything for you,” she said.
“I would have imagined the importance of this would be clear. And after all our sacrifices…”
Her glare forced his mouth closed, and he prepared for the barrage.
“Sacrifices? You mean sacrifices like Horath?”
He waited for more, watched her features from the corner of his eye. Her mouth twitched, as if the words were there, but weren’t forthcoming, and he could understand how that could be the case.
Honestly, he could.
“I needed to give them something. You know that, my dear. And…” He stopped himself mentioning those she’d thrown to Authority—this wasn’t a time to keep score. “And I put it off as long as I could. If there had been another way, please believe me when I say I would have much preferred the man to still be around.”
That set her lips wobbling again—no doubt the realisation that, when Authority came down on Horath, it was likely the last time anyone saw him alive.
“You know the realities of what we face, Shae. You know there are times when we must take the unthinkable path to prevent an even greater tragedy.”
Her head dipped, and it might have been a nod or a moment of reflection. Then she turned to him. There was age in her face, and a great deal of sorrow—not on the surface, but deeper down, hidden in the lines she brushed aside with lotions, hidden behind those large eyes that could turn from cold to hot in a moment, hidden between those smooth lips that had enticed so many people to give up their secrets.
“I know,” she said—a simple admission that spoke volumes.
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make it any easier. That doesn’t mean I find your company pleasant—although there are moments when you can be bearable.”
He gave her a mocking nod. “A compliment from your lips, my dear.”
That raised a smile—yes, this woman had a decidedly wicked streak. But that was what made her such a good operative, wasn’t it? A curse in many ways, it was also the route to her salvation, and to the hopeful salvation of so many others.
“I suppose I have no choice.” The cold distance returned to her voice, a means of detaching her emotions from the reality of what she—of what they both—faced. “I’m sure I can find someone else to cover the last part of the story. All being well, I can be in First within a couple of days. Their celebrations are approaching, so there is every reason for a journalist to show interest.”
He nodded. “To do your profession justice, that would involve talking to many Councillors, I’m sure.”
“It would indeed.” Shae sighed, and looked out, over the river and the parkland. “It’s a shame their open spaces don’t quite match the splendour of this one.”
Cat glanced up. Wispy streaks of cloud blew in from the west, filtering the sun’s light. But above that, obvious to him, was the glass, the ultimate filtering from the outside world.
“These spaces aren’t open enough,” he said. “Don’t forget that.”
“As if forgetting such a thing was even possible.” She stood. “But if you’ll excuse me, my good sir, I have matters to attend to.”
“Of course. A pleasure as always.” If he’d worn his hat he would have tipped it to her, but as it was he simply inclined his head.
“I’m not sure about that,” she said, and walked away, leaving Cat alone on the bench, alone with this sculptured landscape and his thoughts. Alone, but for the voices inside, the ones that always questioned, that asked what price it would cost to stop Authority.
- 10 -
Rodin knew he should find somewhere to rest up for the night, but his mind was too active. He needed to walk and think.
He’d sent a message off to Genna as soon as he’d left the house, and had received a short response. Unfortunate, but not unexpected. Worth investigating the Factory, though.
But he’d have to be careful, and not only because of Authority. He didn’t want to antagonise the Brothers.
At least the rain had stopped now. There were even breaks in the cloud, letting the reflected light from the moon cast shadows on the streets. Rodin ambled, heading roughly west, letting his mind drift.
What was Authority giving the Brothers? Funds, obviously—the number of guards spoke to that, along with the security system. Their tech either came from that money or directly. But what else did the Brothers have?
Had Authority left any warriors in the district?
And that made Rodin think about the large group heading north.
He almost pulled out his screen to ask Genna, but movement behind stopped him.
Rodin didn’t change his pace, didn’t turn his head. But when the street turned, he concentrated on his peripheral vision.
A lone figure, some way back. They kept to the middle of the street, either foolish or street-tough.
Rodin made a left at the next junction, and the figure followed. Didn’t necessarily mean anything.
He pulled out his screen, triggered the front Eye, then held the screen up, focused over his shoulder. He tapped, zooming in and enhancing the image.
And smiled.
He lowered the screen, called up the communication app, scrolled to the contact details. He sent his message.
Want to talk?
The response was fast. Sure.
Rodin stopped, leaned against a crumbling wall. He stowed his screen and watched the approaching figure, saw features he recognised.
“She send you, or is this off your own back?” he asked as she drew close.
“Good to see you too, Rodin,” Vanya said. “She thought you might need back-up.”
“Yeah? Nothing to do with her not trusting me?”
Vanya shrugged, flashed him a smile.
“She doesn’t need you back at the towers?”
“The others work well. You know that.” She moved next to him, leaned against the wall, one knee bent and one foot against the stonework. “Looks like she’ll give a position to Lomaz, too.”
The name hovered in the back of Rodin’s mind. “Lomaz?”
“Not sure you met him. He was our contact with Garrick, back when we were supposedly working for him.”
“One of Garrick’s men, and he’s getting close to Genna? That sensible?”
Vanya smiled. “I said the same thing. But Genna pointed out some of her guards—you remember Braelish, right? Stayed in the tower when Garrick took over, made himself useful just to stay alive, reckoned he’d be no use to anyone dead. Same deal with Lomaz—suckered into working for Garrick, figured it was safer to keep his head down and do what the man ordered than cause ructions.” She shrugged. “Always seemed like a good bloke, though. Fair. Didn’t use his position to push others around.”
“And now that Garrick’s gone, he’s aligning himself with the new power.”
Vanya’s expression hardened. “Too much cynicism’s an ugly trait. And if people can’t change who they work for, I’d still be fighting for Machivelle.”
She had a point. “Yeah.” As much of an apology as he’d offer. “Suppose I don’t know this Lomaz anyway. Does she trust him?”
“Seems to. Gave her a few pointers a couple of days ago, helped settle a problem with some of Garrick’s supporters.”
“There still some of them around?”
“Odd pockets. Ruthless tactics, too—explosives in body pouches, triggers in false teeth.”
Rodin frowned. “Suicide attacks? They that
desperate?”
“Lomaz reckons it happened quite a lot a few years ago. Garrick made a show of not approving, but…well, we both know what that sick bastard was like.”
“And now Lomaz is feeding Genna information.”
“Trying to make the best of his situation.” Vanya smiled. “Just another poor sod caught up in life. He’s making himself useful, though. Proving himself. Shouldn’t be too hard for you to take that.”
“No?”
“Not when it’s how you’ve always worked.”
“Bit different. Always tried to do the right thing. You know that.”
She didn’t respond straight away, shuffled her feel, as if she didn’t want to say too much. Then she lifted her head and said, “So you survived the Brothers.”
The shift in conversation was jarring, but Rodin nodded, played along. “They don’t want to deal, but things were cordial.”
“Cordial?”
“Think at least one of them’s picking up on the language of those they’re dealing with.”
“So it’s true?”
“Looks that way.”
Vanya clicked her tongue in irritation. “Makes things awkward.”
“You expect anything else?”
“True. Plans?”
“Check out the Factory. Be good to find out what our friends to the north have discovered too.”
“Paskia?”
“And whoever else is in the party.”
“Yeah.” Vanya didn’t move her head, scanned the dark street as she spoke. “Four of them, including Paskia. It’s her lead, though. Apparently Jerone wanted to come, caused a bit of friction.”
“They’ve been in contact?”
“This is from Genna, so I assume so.”
Annoying that Genna hadn’t sent Rodin a message. “Any warriors with her…with them?”
“Not mentioned. Don’t think so. Sounds like there’s some trouble in the northern districts.”
When wasn’t there? “Organised?”
A shrug. “Seems random.”
“Like the attacks around Genna’s district.”
“Yeah.”
That couldn’t be down to Kharem’s warriors—to reach the Factory, they’d have to pass the tunnel. So this was something that had been planned for some time.