Fading Control

by TW Iain

  “I quite understand that. I’m running figures as we speak. I have a few sources over in that direction, so I’ll have them keep us informed. And I’ll see what I can do.”

  Genna bit down on her lip. The man sounded so nonchalant, like this was some minor disturbance, a local spat that would blow itself out given time.

  But that was simply the man’s way, wasn’t it?

  “Anything you can do,” she said. “A joint effort would help, though.”

  “Quite agree. And I’d feel safer if we didn’t go into too much detail over this wretched system. No offence to your friend.”

  “She’d see it as a challenge.” Although Genna could well imagine Aleph cursing Miolar. She’d probably come up with a few new names, too. “In person, though. Where and when?”

  “I’m impressed with our culinary friend’s new establishment. He serves a mean breakfast.”

  “Sounds good. Seven too early?”

  “As I told you before, I don’t sleep much. Seven will be fine. Until then.”

  He cut the connection, the click echoing around Genna’s office. She tapped her fingers on her desk.

  Miolar’s manner always seemed at odds with the seriousness of the situation, but that didn’t prevent Genna paying close attention to his words, as well as what he didn’t say. And he’d never once mentioned Dephloren. He’d spoken of his people, as if he was running the district.

  Was Dephloren ill, or worse?

  But Miolar had always been cagey when talking about his boss, hadn’t he? How many times had he stressed that he spoke for Dephloren to such an extent that a word from him was a word from Dephloren.

  There was something important here, but Genna couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Even as she tried, her mind grew fuzzy, her thoughts wandering.

  She had a meeting in‌—‌Genna checked the screen’s chrono‌—‌a little under five hours. Before that, she wanted to condense the day’s reports, check Aleph’s map of warrior activity, and plan the new day’s work.

  She could spare a couple of hours, though.

  Genna tilted the chair back and rested her head on the support. She closed her eyes, even though she knew sleep wouldn’t come.

  The guards‌—‌two, as usual‌—‌appeared as soon as Rodin pressed his hand to the gate screen. They kept their weapons pointed to the ground as he walked up to the house. Inside, there was only one guard, and he escorted Rodin into the office and then left him alone with Jornas.

  The man rose and waved a hand at a seat‌—‌the same seat Rodin had used on the previous times he’d been here. Rodin noticed that the cushion on what had been Corby’s seat was still dented, hadn’t been fluffed. Probably hadn’t been touched.

  “Drink?”

  “Water. Thanks.”

  Jornas forced a smile and walked to the drinks dispenser. He returned with two glasses. The one he kept to himself had a sharp aroma, citrus and alcohol.

  “I did what I could. He didn’t deserve to go like that.”

  Jornas took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then released. “Thank you. I’ve‌…‌received information that backs up your words.”

  The room was stuffy. There was a screen on the desk, next to a half-empty glass and an empty plate. A jacket hung from the back of the desk chair.

  Jornas’ shirt was rumpled, his chin covered in stubble.

  “You know you’d been infiltrated,” Rodin said. Jornas frowned, and Rodin continued. “The female guard on duty last time I was here.”

  “She accompanied my brother.”

  “And she was the one put the bullet in him.”

  “But…”Jornas’ brow wrinkled further, and he dropped his head, closing his eyes. When he opened them, they were flecked with red, blurred with moisture. “Of course. Place one of us at the scene of the attack, and we’re implicated. Just as you suggested.”

  “Take it you’ve heard about the warriors.”

  “Is that what you call the thugs they’ve set loose? I’ve‌…‌seen footage. To be honest, they scare me.”

  “That shows you’ve got sense. I’ve gone up against them, and they terrify me.”

  Jornas’ eyes widened. “You’ve fought them?”

  Rodin nodded. “Only survived because I had help every time. Like last night.”

  “Then they can be brought down?”

  “Flesh and blood. A well-aimed bullet or blade, that’s all it takes.” He shrugged, decided to offer the man something. “Helps if you have a couple of warriors on your own team, though.”

  That snapped Jornas from his introspection. “Interesting. How many?”

  He couldn’t give too much away. “A few. Spread thin, though. You understand.”

  “But there’s one‌—‌a friendly one‌—‌in our district?”

  Rodin nodded. “Good friend.” He noticed Jornas’ smile. “What?”

  “Friend. Isn’t a word I’d associate with you.”

  “Times change. Still like my own company, but there are advantages to‌…‌connections with others.”

  “Ah.” The man nodded, either in sadness or understanding, maybe both. “Co-operation. Yes. Maybe‌…‌maybe I should reconsider your offer.”

  Rodin tilted his head. “And your current bedfellows?”

  The man took a deep breath and shut his eyes again. His skin was loose beneath them, bulging. Rodin doubted he’d slept, or even rested.

  “I’d say they’ve made their position clear. As far as I’m concerned, our deal is void.”

  Rodin gave the man some time, but even though Jornas opened his eyes his mouth remained closed.

  But the look he gave Rodin spoke for him. Rodin nodded.

  “I’ll message Genna, tell her you’re willing to talk. Okay if I pass her your contact?”

  “That would be fine. If‌…‌if things look promising, I’m sure we can arrange a better line of communication.”

  “Of course. And Genna’s working with Dephloren. Co-operate with one, and you get the other on your side too.”

  “Yes. That‌…‌sounds amenable. And then, I can make them pay for what they did to Corby.”

  His voice was firm and angry. And Rodin nodded, knew Genna had the man now.

  - 32 -

  The server reappeared, and Parren’s face contorted once again. Shae gave his arm a squeeze‌—‌let the young man believe this was the nature of their relationship.

  “Your salad and drink, sir,” he said, placing the plate and glass on the table.

  “Thank you,” Shae said.

  “I’ll leave you to enjoy your meal then.” He gave a smile, almost winked at Parren‌—‌as if he believed Shae to be some kind of catch‌—‌and hurried away.

  Parren lifted his hand and took up his fork, then pushed leaves around in the bowl. Shae did likewise, taking a mouthful that she barely tasted. They ate in silence for a few minutes, and then Parren placed his fork down and leaned in.

  “I want to tell you everything,” he whispered, the rush of his breath warm and tinged with aromatic oil.

  “Let’s finish our food first. And maybe this isn’t the ideal location.” Shae leaned in too, their heads almost touching‌—‌all the better to fool any observers into believing this to be a romantic moment. “We should go somewhere more private.”

  He nodded, and his cheeks reddened. “I’ve moved rooms, and live a short walk from here. But what of your schedule?”

  She smiled. “I can make time to talk.” Councillor Norish would understand‌—‌the man could probably be relieved. “But let’s eat.”

  The salad was a shade above average, and there was not so much that Shae struggled to complete the majority. In these places, it was always acceptable to leave a little behind, a way of telling the staff that one was satisfied. Parren left a touch too much, though, despite Shae’s attempts to indicate this.

  But he was distracted. He didn’t even complain when Shae paid the bill, and was altogether too keen to rise, to lead
her out onto the street.

  Fine. Let that young server believe that he was driven by his desires. He wasn’t old enough to be worn down by the truths of life yet.

  They walked close but not arm in arm‌—‌that would be taking things too far. Parren talked pleasantries as he guided Shae through Falgrave Park‌—‌little more than an open space bordered by thick trees‌—‌and into an unassuming residential complex. Parren’s house was small, a single storey but with glass panels in the roofing that indicated an upper-level sleeping arrangement. The front yard was set with paving, tastefully interspersed with bedding for plants‌—‌an indication that the man continued his hobbies.

  Inside was an open-plan space for living and dining, with a sliding glass door leading to a paved area at the rear. A spiral staircase led up to where Shae assumed Parren slept‌—‌and she had no desire to see that.

  Parren poured a couple of drinks in long glasses, and Shae was pleased to discover hers to be an iced tea, and also slightly troubled to smell the alcohol in his. She couldn’t recall him drinking this much previously.

  “Please, sit,” Parren said, and Shae did, sinking into a wide sofa. He selected a large chair, and his smile spoke to its comfort.

  Shae gave him time, and after a few moments he shuffled forward, arms resting on knees, and looked at her.

  “Go on, then,” she said. “Tell me.”

  The manic child-like grin had returned. “I could hardly believe it when I was told, but‌…‌there’s a plan to open the Dome.”

  “You mean increase the passenger traffic on the trains?”

  “No, no! That would be a step in the right direction, assuredly, but nothing to get excited about. No, what I’m talking about is the gates. There’s‌…‌there’s a scheme afoot to open two of them.”

  He beamed like an excited child‌—‌the second time he’d made her think of innocent youth.

  “You mean this is what you’ve heard through rumours,” she said

  He shook his head. “It’s far more than that. I have evidence. Look.”

  He pulled out a screen and tapped wildly before passing it over for Shae to see.

  The footage showed a dingy tunnel, the light panels in the roofing spread widely apart. Dust shuffled on the floor as whoever carried the recording equipment‌—‌Eye or screen, she didn’t have the experience to distinguish the separate results‌—‌walked forward.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “Just keep watching. You’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

  The passage turned a corner and ended in a door. A hand appeared, the palm pressing on a door screen. The screen glowed orange, pulsing beneath the stationary hand.

  Then the door slid open, revealing a small room, a desk and chair to one side and another door ahead. A woman stood just before this door, and she smiled at whoever held the recording equipment, her lips moving in some kind of welcoming speech.

  But she wore a blade on her hip, and she stood in the manner of those assassins Shae had hired. She looked deadly, like Terrell‌—‌all niceties and manners until the time came to spring into action.

  And then the footage faded to black.

  Shae looked up at Parren. “Explain this to me, please. All I saw was a passage that came to a small room, with a woman I’m not inclined to trust making moves toward friendship. Without context, how do you expect me to comment?”

  “You mean you don’t know what you’ve just seen? So very few experience it, or even know of its existence. But this dispels any uncertainty. This is one of the fabled gates!”

  “Or a cleverly constructive fiction.”

  Parren shook his head. “I have it on good authority that this is genuine. Do you recall that uncouth gentleman who was involved with Daventree a while back? This is the route he used.”

  Shae raised her eyebrows. “You’re sure of that?”

  “How else could he enter?”

  How else indeed? “And this recording is supposed to prove that there is now free access?”

  “Not yet.” His beam grew, stretching his face. “The person making this recording was forced to part with considerable funds, a multiple of an average yearly salary‌—‌my sources had no exact figures, unfortunately. But people have been working in the background, others dedicated to our cause. Deals have been made, like-minded souls co-operating to outsmart Authority. Soon, this and another gate will be open for free passage.”

  He whispered those final words as if they were an invocation, his eyes wide and blazing, his whole body leaning in to Shae.

  And Shae wanted to share his zeal, but there were always promises, always those who said the Dome was on the brink of a major leap forward.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, “but I’ve seen and heard nothing to convince me. This footage may well have been carefully staged, and your sources could easily have been duped.”

  Parren eased back, a pained expression crossing his face. “My dear, I expected more from you! Have our struggles jaded you so much that you can’t even show excitement over a glimmer of hope? Have you, deep down in your soul, accepted your position as a prisoner of Authority? Have you lost the verve you once showed when you encouraged me to believe for myself?”

  She held up a hand, and he was quiet. “You realise that you speak with a dangerous fanaticism, don’t you?”

  “That is only because this is the moment we’ve been striving for!”

  “No! In your yearning to be free you’ve become enamoured in a false dawn. Free passage through a couple of gates, while Authority still has their firm grip on the Dome‌—‌such a thing can only be a dream.”

  He smiled. “You’re right in calling this a dream. But dreams can become reality. Didn’t Horace Devin prove that when he founded his first Dominion? And this scheme has been worked through in fine detail, in the tightest secrecy. It’s only now that it is being shared, when only the last few stages are yet to be finalised. Soon, my dear Shae, the gates shall open, destroying forever the barrier between ourselves and the world outside.”

  He finished with a flourish, a wild gesture that threatened to send the screen flying from his hands, and raised his arms, as if he wanted to take her into them.

  But Shae leaned away from him and sighed. “If that is all true,” she said, “then it’s a start. It won’t stop Authority though‌—‌you realise that, don’t you?”

  His arms dropped, but his smile remained. “Oh, they’ll be as sore as a bunch of artists the morning after a grand opening, and I have no doubt they’ll do whatever they can to seal these gates. But this is the turning point! Don’t you see? For once, they’ll be reacting to us, rather than the other way round. And even if they do succeed in re-sealing the gates, people will know what’s possible. And‌…‌and they’ll understand how Authority is determined to keep us captive. Why else would they seal a hole in the glass?”

  Why else indeed? Shae was sure they could conjure reasons around safety. But there were other means of keeping places secure. After all, there were checks at the gates into the Council gardens, but that didn’t stop countless people visiting. Clearly, such measures on the gates through the glass would need to be far more stringent, and there might be the necessity to utilise weapons against the more unsavoury elements within the districts, but this was still a far cry from a solid barrier.

  This opening up wasn’t about a free and instant osmosis of people, but about the possibility of exchange, the chance to learn and develop. There would be vetting, obviously, and strict checks on people wishing to cross over in either direction.

  Leopold’s many speeches, lodged in Shae’s mind, rushed forward, the words indistinguishable from one another but the underlying message clear as the sun in the sky‌—‌growth had to come from learning, and nobody learnt in a sterile, secluded box.

  Parren quivered with excitement, and Shae too felt the warmth spreading through her body.

  Dare she dream that they could strike this blow?


  - 33 -

  The message came through to Cat in the early hours, shortly before daybreak. The buzz from his screen woke him from a fitful sleep, but he grew instantly alert when he read the delivery data.

  Messages between Domes were tricky. The acceptable method was through drives and chips, transported on the trains, but there was also a system of relays within the tunnels themselves. While existing for official business (in effect, whatever Authority deemed appropriate), there were ways to utilise this system if one was careful. Messages weren’t instant, but they still arrived.

  There was another method, one that allowed Authority to communicate with agents such as Cat when out in the field, but Cat had never fully understood it. Something to do with hardware that orbited the planet itself, harnessing technical knowledge that was supposedly lost in the chaos so long ago.

  Cat ran the message through his encryption routine, and read Shae’s report, searching for her hidden messages.

  The words were positive‌—‌a plan afoot to open up a couple of gates‌—‌but Cat knew he couldn’t take anything at face value. While Shae’s words hinted as controls in place to prevent a sudden surge of bodies moving across the glass, the small voice at the back of Cat’s head told him the whole idea was flawed in some very fundamental way.

  It was this voice that had told him to focus his attention on Paskia and Brodie, back when he’d been assigned his role in Ross. He’d listened to his deep thoughts, and had arranged for the blade to be hidden in Brodie’s arm, had told the old couple in the forest to watch the river for any activity. Oh, much was left to chance‌—‌against a force such as Authority, there was only so much one person could do, especially when they had to ensure their own survival. But his intuition had been proved right too many times for Cat to ignore it.

  The voice, to Cat’s thinking, was similar to the flow state a trained fighter entered in combat, when the body moved seemingly of its own accord, acting and reacting without conscious thought. It was an instinct honed through constant use and attention, a conduit for the subconsciousness to bypass the time-consuming logic of the thinking mind. And Cat had learnt to always pay heed to the voice. So when the voice told Cat that the plan to open up First Dome was a mistake, he listened, and he ruminated as he rose and prepared for the as-yet-unborn day.