Fading Control

by TW Iain

  “And I’m sure many of your ‘special people’ enjoy being kept prisoner, if the rumours I’ve heard have any basis in reality.”

  He waggled a finger. “Don’t go believing all the rumours‌—‌unless they’re particularly salacious. But duty calls. A pleasure as always, Shae.”

  He took her hand, brushed it against his lips, and departed, weaving through the growing throng to approach a man in a finely-tailored grey suit, with a trimmed beard and stylish glasses. Not Sedghill’s usual type, but Shae reminded herself that not all meetings were pleasure.

  In her line of work‌—‌her unofficial line, that is‌—‌very few were pure pleasure. Even an enjoyable chat with an old friend was an opportunity to extract information.

  Authority was planning something soon, and the Council were deep in these celebration plans. There was a thin line between coincidence and causality, and there was nothing to confirm her unrest. But the suspicion was there all the same, a dark thought that had now settled in the back of her mind. And Shae had long ago learnt to trust her suspicions.

  - 22 -

  Cat had to admit, Don gave an excellent play of appearing concerned. Was it any wonder he’d lured so many unwary residents into Authority’s hands?

  “We can arrange some down-time, if you require,” the man said, leaning in, a hand hovering over Cat’s knee. “Of course, you know how these things work, and how the effects of such a situation can never be fully predicted. No two events are ever the same, are they? And this time, I’m sure the presence of your two warrior protectors altered your judgement, both before, during and after.”

  The words were close to incoherent, and Cat knew this was on purpose, leading Cat to believe Don was tongue-tied in his concern and his grief for Iralla.

  “Your empathy is most comforting, but I assure you I have my inner demons under control.” Cat sat back, moving his leg down a fraction. “Yet there is much to learn in this incident. I believed the warrior who fell was highly trained, which gives rise to two possibilities‌—‌either those who ambushed us were fortunate, or they are more organised than we had accounted for.”

  Don straightened his back and moved his hand to the glass by the side-table. “And that particular conundrum could have implications for future planned events,” he said, his tone far more off-hand than it needed to be.

  They didn’t sit in a formal office this time but shared one of the lounges that were dotted around the upper levels of Authority’s tower. The Council Gardens spread seven storeys below‌—‌not as worked as those in First Dome, but still a place many chose to visit. Dusk was upon the Dome, and the last of the visitors were making their way to the entrance, leaving the Council’s late workers to peruse their documents and make their decisions without the risk of interruption from outside.

  Of course, there was always the chance of internal interruption, but not for Don and Cat. Don had placed a ‘do not disturb’ signal on the door, and they would only be contacted in an emergency.

  “I anticipate our report on the warriors’ training to be instructive, though,” Cat said. “The weaknesses could easily be rectified with subtle amendments, and further live missions would enable the warriors to put theory into practice, as it were. As I mentioned in my preliminary report, the skills and dedication of both our warrior protectors were impressive. I don’t believe they could have done any more than they did, considering the situation.”

  Don smiled sadly. “And yet, one of our agents passed away. I’m sorry, but I can’t muster such enthusiasm.”

  This statement, coming from one who had ordered the removal of many close companions over the years, was telling indeed, and Cat played Don’s words through his head, committing them to memory as best he could.

  “I feel her loss too,” Cat said, allowing his face to drop. “I doubt we would have ever become firm friends, but I respected her professionalism, and she will surely be missed in our work.”

  Don’s eyes flickered, as if he saw through Cat’s insincerity‌—‌and Cat wondered once more how much Iralla had communicated to Don, and how she had phrased her suspicions.

  “She will indeed be missed,” the man said, and the words definitely had an edge of truth to them. “Of course, we’ll afford her a suitable memorial, after our formal investigation.”

  “Unless I’m otherwise engaged, I’d be honoured to attend.” There would be much to intuit from observing the mourners.

  “You expect to be busy? Need I remind you of your entitlement to leave in light of the situation?”

  “You know me well enough to anticipate that I’d refuse such a generous offer.”

  “Your dedication to your work does you great honour,” Don said, the words nothing more than a practised compliment devoid of real meaning. “There are many who would benefit from your example, if only our work could be shared in some way.”

  That could have been a dig, a skewed reference to leaked intelligence. But Cat nodded in acceptance of the polite words. “I simply do what I must,” he said. “In light of the situation, maybe the district around the Factory requires further investigation?”

  It was the kind of task Cat excelled at, and so it was obvious for him to suggest it. But Don shook his head.

  “The matter is already in hand. We’ve been carrying out surveillance for some time now, and have already amassed a great deal of data. And that in itself presents us with its own dilemmas, as the raw data is, in reality, nothing but numbers and letters, and hours of footage. I’m sure you understand my point, yes? Data without analysis is nothing, yet to uncover the meaning behind all we have on the districts will require a person with not only the analytical skills for the task, but also someone with a deep understanding of the myriad of factors that could influence said data, someone who has an intimate knowledge of the workings of the districts.”

  Of course‌—‌and as Cat sifted through the data, he’d be ensconced within the lower levels, under the watch of Don.

  “Whatever you feel is best,” Cat said.

  “Of course, you can approach the problem in whatever way you see fit,” Don said. “Take however many walks you require to shuffle the components around in your mind, and talk to whoever you feel most appropriate. Of course, you understand how the details must be kept from spreading.”

  “Absolutely.”

  But Cat understood even more. Don believed Cat a traitor to Authority, but he still needed firm evidence. Whenever Cat left the Council buildings‌—‌whenever he left even the lower levels‌—‌he would be under constant surveillance, his communications intercepted and those he contacted monitored.

  - 23 -

  When Irazette let Rodin into the building, Paskia grabbed another mug and poured him a coffee. Strong‌—‌his brow was furrowed, and he barely nodded to Irazette in thanks, didn’t even glance at Gorrin. He gave her a look, but it was impenetrable.

  “Anyone know of a guy called Arivan?” he said, sinking into a chair at the table. “Could be over in the Haze. The Brothers reckon he might be behind the planned attack.”

  “Possible,” Irazette said, taking a mug from Paskia and giving a smile in return. “Fits his character.” She sat at the table too, leaving Paskia the seat opposite Rodin. Could’ve been chance, but Paskia doubted it.

  “Remind us,” she said.

  Irazette shrugged. “Charismatic. No close ties, but makes friends easily. Small-time player pushing for something more. Known connections to drug routes, suspected of dabbling himself. Might explain bursts of irrational violence, could just be his temper. Well built, but past his prime.” She turned to Gorrin. “Possible stores?”

  The man seemed confused, but Paskia translated. “Recon last week. You said there was activity round the back of that bar?”

  “Right. Could be. Hard to tell what was in the crates, though. Like I said at the time, seemed a strange way to get foodstuffs. Could easily be weapons. Be a risk, getting close enough to tell.”

  But everythin
g was a risk. “Noted. Worth keeping a closer eye on.” She looked across the table, to where Rodin sat back, sipping his drink. No‌—‌holding it up to his mouth in pretence, appearing aloof while he listened intently.

  Paskia bit down her annoyance. He’d been through so much, she told herself. Being reticent to trust others had saved his life countless times. She couldn’t expect him to relax, even in the security of their base.

  A smile wouldn’t hurt, though.

  “Rodin,” she said, keeping her tone formal. “How did it go with the Brothers?” An open-ended question, forcing him to talk a bit.

  He shrugged, and her fingers tightened around her mug. But he put his own mug on the table.

  “Still not willing to work with Genna, but they’re taking the attack seriously,” he said.

  “In what way?”

  “They see how it could harm their relationship with Authority.”

  His tone was off-hand, as if this was nothing important, and Paskia felt Gorrin tense, noticed how Irazette turned her head a fraction, paying Rodin closer attention.

  “So there’s definitely a deal?”

  Rodin only shrugged in response, and lifted his mug to his lips again. Why the hell was he so‌…‌scared to share anything?

  Paskia pushed. “They intend to put a stop to the attack? Is that why they mentioned Arivan?”

  “Could be a distraction.”

  His eyes met her own, but only for a moment. He glanced toward Irazette and Gorrin, then further across the room, as if he was checking it out.

  As if he hadn’t already run his own scans, checking the security. He’d been subtle, but Paskia had noticed. So had Uran, and it had taken a few sharp words to keep her tech expert from confronting Rodin.

  They couldn’t afford personal problems. They needed to work together.

  “But you don’t believe that,” she said‌—‌because otherwise, why did he mention Arivan as soon as he entered the building? “You think they intend to stop him.”

  His shoulders rose, held for a moment. She’d struck a nerve, then, in making those statements, in confronting him. But she kept her eyes on him, refused to back down. And, slowly, he nodded.

  “Seems likely. Won’t work with Genna, but they still need help.” He paused, took another deep breath. “Got contact details.”

  Gorrin frowned. “Traceable?”

  Rodin shrugged.

  “Be worth getting Uran to take a look,” Paskia said. “You okay with that?”

  “Sure.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out the screen. “Uran sleeping?”

  “Recon.”

  “With Vanya?”

  Was there something in his tone? Hard to tell.

  Paskia shook her head. “Uran only headed out a couple of minutes before you returned. Vanya went about an hour ago.”

  “Asked if she wanted company,” Gorrin said, “but I guess she’s a bit of a loner, right?”

  “Independent,” Rodin said. And it was clear how much he respected that.

  Paskia reminded herself how much they’d been through, Rodin and this warrior. It made sense that they’d built up a‌…‌a rapport. She couldn’t blame him for liking her. Vanya was easy company. She was good at her work, reliable, intelligent. What wasn’t to like?

  “Didn’t say where she was going,” Paskia said, and bit her lip. Had that sounded like an insult? “Might be something to do with this contact of hers.”

  Rodin nodded, as if that made perfect sense.

  “You know him, right?”

  “Done a few jobs for him. Own agenda, but trustworthy.”

  And he wouldn’t give her a name.

  But she had secrets too, didn’t she? Like the data she’d uncovered through her father’s system access, the truths that went far deeper than Empathine.

  The only person she’d told had been Cat, and that was only after he’d been training her for a couple of weeks, only when‌…‌when he’d set things up so that she could relax. And maybe it should have bothered her that he’d manipulated her like this, but it didn’t. He was working against Authority. He did whatever needed doing. And it wasn’t as if he’d mistreated Paskia, was it? If anything, he’d saved her life, had trained her to the point where she could watch out for herself, even where she could lead others.

  How well she was coping with that, she didn’t know. But Irazette, Gorrin and Uran accepted instructions. Oh, they’d argue, but she’d encouraged that, called it healthy debate. The back and forth pulled them together, made them stronger as a team.

  Yet Rodin sat alone, keeping everyone else out. And he seemed‌…‌grey. He didn’t look healthy.

  But why should he? His body was crossed with scars, and then there was the poison and the control.

  Alterations to his body from the outside and the inside. And wasn’t that how Authority worked? Those articles she’d read through her father’s access codes had talked of the testing on Empathine derivatives, first on cultures, then on animals, and finally on people. She’d read with growing dread of the terrible side-effects, the poor innocent victims left in constant pain, put out of their misery only when they were of no more use to the researchers.

  Then, later, Cat had filled her in, told her how that research fed into other areas Authority were exploring, how it had developed alongside their study in physical alterations, all leading to their masterwork.

  Warriors.

  Rodin had talked of the army of warriors heading around the Dome. Then there was the Factory, and the deal Authority had with the Paternas Brothers. To that could be added the supposedly random attacks in Genna’s district.

  She thought of those chess games with Daventree, how it was necessary to see the whole board, to understand individual clashes in reference to the larger picture. Authority played a game, but the board wasn’t a simple eight-by-eight grid. There weren’t sixteen pieces on each side. And the movements each piece made followed their own rules, rules that changed as the game progressed.

  And Paskia was in the middle of it all, some kind of pawn. She’d believed Cat was the one controlling her movements, but she wasn’t so sure now. He was another piece‌—‌maybe a priest, with the way he moved at oblique angles, or a rider in his sudden leaps. Or something else, a new piece. And was he white or black?

  Too simplistic. There was no white and black, only shades of grey.

  “Paskia?”

  She looked up, only now realising how she clasped her mug in both hands, how the liquid inside had already cooled.

  Irazette leaned across the table, one hand stretched out.

  Paskia smiled. “Sorry. Thinking.” She turned, smiled at Gorrin, then at Rodin. Rodin raised an eyebrow, and Paskia felt her mouth twitch.

  She shouldn’t have become distracted like that.

  She took a breath, sipped her drink. They still watched her. Because this was her lead.

  Their mission was to gather intelligence and report back. But nothing was certain, and she’d always known there might be more, always understood the need to act on intelligence. Not react‌—‌Cat had stressed that far too often‌—‌but take data on board, assess the situation, and then do whatever was necessary, do whatever it took to keep the situation from developing.

  Authority moved their pieces, preparing for their check-mate. If they were to be stopped, Paskia had to make a decision.

  It would mean fighting. It would mean exposure, and it could well lead to death.

  Rodin’s eyes held her, his expression strong. There was a hint of Brodie, a glimmer in his eyes, but the boy had grown into the man, the survivor. He’d faced death many times, had gone into situations where survival wasn’t guaranteed. But he’d come through.

  Chance of failure was never an excuse for backing out.

  Paskia slipped her hands from the mug and laid them flat on the table.

  “We need to stop this attack,” she said. “With or without the Brothers.”

  There was no dissension. G
orrin swallowed, his throat bobbing. Irazette nodded. And the corners of Rodin’s mouth curled into a smile.

  “So let’s plan,” she said.

  - 24 -

  Rodin met Cobey by warehouse used to store machinery, on the edge of the Haze’s industrial area.

  The Brothers had sent the location, asked Rodin to be there at nine, said more co-operation might be beneficial. Vanya had argued it could be a trap, and Rodin had agreed‌—‌but better to walk knowingly into a possible trap than fall into an unseen one. Paskia had insisted he have back-up, though, and Vanya was around here somewhere, watching.

  Cobey arrived with a couple of guards, including the woman who had been in the office. The other‌—‌tall, male, with a jaw that jutted out and a large forehead‌—‌Rodin didn’t recognise. Cobey didn’t introduce either of them.

  “We have intel,” the Brother said. “Something’s going down tonight. We need to stop it.”

  “We?”

  Cobey nodded. “Wouldn’t look good for us. And we reckon you don’t want this attack to go ahead either. It would cause‌…‌complications.”

  “It would. What did you have in mind?

  Cobey glanced around. “Talk. At first. If we need to be more forceful, we will be.”

  “You have others in place.” Rodin didn’t phrase it as a question.

  Cobey didn’t respond, but looked around again. Not nervously, though. The man seemed more at ease out here, away from the office. And out from under the wing of Jornas, he was more confident.

  That was good. Whatever went down, Rodin didn’t want to be around someone who fell to pieces.

  “So what do you want from me?” Rodin asked.

  “Whatever you can give. Depends on how things go.”

  “No game-plan?”

  “Not enough intel. Reckon things’ll change pretty quick.” The man looked around again. “You got any back-up?”

  Rodin shook his head. “Genna won’t interfere. You haven’t agreed to co-operate.”

  Cobey’s mouth twitched‌—‌a sore point between the Brothers?