by T. C. Edge
I do make him confirm, however, that Drum hasn’t yet signed up to become a soldier. When I ask whether he was out there fighting the previous night, Zander baulks at the suggestion.
“Brie, he’s barely been down with us five minutes. We’re not exactly going to shove a gun in his hand and toss him out there to fight. You seem to underestimate how organised we really are.”
Again, the firmness of his answer is enough for me. In fact, I’ve missed his assertiveness. Not that Adryan has been a poor substitute or anything – in fact, he’s been great. It’s more that my brother has a power that I don’t possess. Or, I should say, the same powers as me, only far more developed and practiced.
If he was up in the High Tower alongside me, I’d feel so much more confident. Because as supportive and useful as Adryan’s been, he can’t do much to help. For the most part, it’s just been me up there, fighting to stay hidden, fighting to discover a path to the summit.
It’s a significant weight to bear.
Once I’ve confirmed that my friends are safe, Zander turns the attention to my mission. Now face-to-face, I’m able to quickly explain it for the first time. As I do, I can’t help but instinctively dart my eyes to Agent Woolf – who’s been temporarily deposited back into the car – to make sure she’s out of earshot.
“I wouldn’t worry about her,” Zander says. “She’s mine now.”
I like the idea. A significant part of me hopes he puts her through some real hell when he gets a chance.
As I give my brother the brief overview of my plan, I watch him closely for approval. His eyes linger on me for a second before he begins to nod, slowly at first and then with a little more fervour.
“I’m impressed, sis,” he says. “Although, I can’t say I’m surprised. You’ve taken everything the High Tower’s thrown at you and just got on with the job. I honestly couldn’t have done it better myself.”
“Oh, please,” I say, tapping him on the arm. “You’d have had Cromwell in a body bag days ago.”
“Brie, I’m serious. You’ve done everything that’s been asked of you. Now, it’s just that final step. Are you sure you’re ready?” He shakes his head as soon as he asks it, and speaks again. “Stupid question. I know you’re ready. I can see it in your eyes. You’ve grown this last week. I can feel it. You’re different.”
“You think?”
“Massively. You’ve got this, Brie. I’d want no one else but you up there tomorrow.” His eyes narrow and his expression grows more grave. “Have you got an escape route sorted out?”
It’s something I haven’t given a huge amount of thought to, which I suppose is strange given the situation. Mostly, my focus has been on getting up there, and not on getting down.
Yet, what thought I have given to it has led me to a single conclusion. That there’s only one way out of the High Tower: straight through the lobby and out the front door.
“That’s your plan?” flinches Zander as I inform him, his brows pinching. “You think that’ll work?”
I shrug, a part of me somehow resigned to the fact that, maybe, this really was just a suicide mission after all. I guess, in some fashion, I’ve managed to suppress the idea of such a thing. I thought it would be easier if I didn’t think about it too much.
“There’s no other way, Zander,” I say. “I’ll head straight down as soon as I’ve pulled the trigger. I’m just hoping there’s no reception party to greet us.”
“Us? So Adryan will be with you?”
“Of course. He’ll join me on my way down at level 51, and we’ll escape together. That’s all we could figure out from the schematics…”
I can see the doubt in my brother’s eyes. I don’t like the weakness, the worry. I reach out and take his hand.
“Don’t worry about me, Zander. I’ll be fine, whatever happens.”
My words are enough to renew his resolve. He nods and merely says: “I know you will, Brie,” with a small smile gracing his lips.
I consider it a good time to leave, before my strength wanes and gives way to weakness. Yet a final glance at the car sets a final topic to my lips. It’s one I know Zander prefers to avoid, but one that’s perpetually lingering in the back of my mind.
“She knows who our parents were,” I tell him. “Agent Woolf…she saw the picture I have of them in my apartment. She might just know about one, or both, I don’t know. But she definitely knows something. It’s the last favour I’ll ask of you, Zander…find out what she knows.”
He glances back to the car, and returns with eyes of fire.
“Oh, I plan to, Brie. I’m going to dig right in for all our sakes. We’ve heard rumours of a new directive that’s about to be issued. She may have more details.”
“A directive?”
He nods, casting his eyes down the street.
“It’s for them,” he says. “For everyone in fear, everyone too terrified to work or go about their lives. We’ve heard that the Consortium will be offering ‘optional reconditioning’ to suppress their fears, to let them live their lives without their worries bearing down on them.”
“Optional reconditioning,” I whisper. “You mean people are going to willingly become their slaves?! It won’t just be their fears they suppress…it’ll be everything. They’ll just make them into drones like the Con-Cops.”
“That’s what we suspect, yeah. The attack on the water treatment facility will only make people more willing to comply, more obedient. People will sign up in their droves, just to free themselves of their fears. And when they wake, they won’t be themselves anymore…”
“That’s…terrible,” I breathe. “So this is what it’s been about all along? All the attacks by the Fanatics have led to this? Make people too afraid to leave their homes, make it so they have no alternative, and then offer them this magic pill to solve all their problems?!”
My brother nods slowly, his eyes still lit with that distant flame. A flame that’s been burning for years, that’s fuelled him for years as he’s fought against this doctrine.
“This is their final play, Brie,” he growls. “It’s evil…evil genius. To create a situation where people willingly give themselves over to slavery without even knowing it. A certain part of me…” he shakes his head, refusing to finish the sentence, refusing to give voice to his thoughts.
But he doesn’t need to. I know what he was about to say, because I’m thinking the very same.
It’s as he said…evil, but genius. A masterful plot to take utter control of the masses without even getting them to lift a finger in their defence. To spread apart a wide net, set a fire behind them, and have them all rush in to get caught in the mesh.
“It will start soon,” he continues. “They’ve been building a new facility out beyond the city. We think that’s where they’ll do it…”
“But why not the REEF?” I wonder.
“The connotations are too negative. Those who know about the REEF are aware that it’s for criminals, for full reconditioning and execution. They needed somewhere else to take these people. I’m sure it’ll be dressed up more pleasantly, to be more welcoming. But in the end, it’s got the same nefarious purpose.”
“Then I guess I have to stop it,” I say fiercely. “If I kill Cromwell, that will do it, right? It will prevent all of this?”
He nods with full conviction.
I open my mouth to further my line of questioning. Zander’s hand lifts to stop me. And from his lips comes the same sentiment he’s ushered time and again.
“Keep your mind on nothing but the mission, Brie. Take that final step. You can end all of this before it even begins…”
“No pressure then,” I say, my eyes dipping and a wry smile rising.
He lifts my chin and sets his eyes firmly on mine.
“There’s lots of pressure…” His own sardonic grin climbs onto his face. “But isn’t that how you work best?”
“You’ve got me there,” I huff. “Just do that favour for me, Zander. Find o
ut about our parents. And I’ll just hope I’m alive to hear about it…”
“I will,” he whispers. “And you will…”
And with that, I turn and don’t look back, leaving my brother behind in the company of the foulest person I’ve ever met.
Although tomorrow night, that might just change.
I have a suspicion that I’m about to meet someone even worse…
28
I’m onto the final stretch now. The finishing line is coming up fast. It’s do or die, and I hope with everything within me that I accomplish the former without the latter.
Do, but don’t die, that’s the aim of the game here…
Of course, the ‘do’ in question is a little matter of murder. Adryan or Zander would instead prefer the term assassinate, which I suppose is technically true. I am to assassinate the most powerful man in the city, and then walk with my traitorous, Savant husband right out the front door.
Easy.
Right now, I’m considering the final stages of my plot having got back to the High Tower without a hitch. I even managed to pass back through the western gate without any trouble, which is something I owe to my sparkling personality.
Or, the fact that it was, it turns out, Magnus who was on duty. My presence naturally appeared out of the ordinary, but I assured him that I’d merely been over to Outer Haven to see my friends, given the attack on the water treatment facility from the previous night.
Usually, protocol would be to report me, and yet Magnus, like his brother, appeared happy enough to forgo such procedure on this occasion. I gave him a hug for thanks, something which reminded me of my past embraces with Drum, only much larger, and sped my way back to the High Tower.
The final barrier was just that; a barrier. Once more, I had to argue my way through the security cordon outside the High Tower, before being given passage inside. Since they’d seen me leaving earlier with Agent Woolf, they didn’t question why I was outside of the cordon.
What they did question, however, was the whereabouts of the agent. I merely told them that she was off doing her job, which appeared to be a sufficiently viable explanation for them.
So, with a couple of minor hiccups, I worked my way back home. And now, here I am, sitting on the sofa in the apartment alone, trying to put the last pieces of my plan into place.
The most notable problem I can think of right now is the small matter of finding a weapon. I could, if I wish, merely fetch one of the razor sharp blades from the kitchen to accompany me on my journey to the top. Although that would require a very different style of assassination, a more ‘up close and personal’ form of homicide that I’d rather avoid.
The most appealing option, I suppose, is to use a gun, although that would require me stealing one. In the end, that’s probably what I’ll have to do – even if it means screwing this entire mission up, I’m going to get a damn pistol. Frankly, I just can’t bear the idea of stabbing an old man to death, regardless as to what he’s done.
A gun, though, isn’t so hard. Point and shoot and it’s all over. I could even shut my eyes if I really wanted, assuming my aim was steady enough to rely upon.
Thankfully, there are plenty of armed City Guards in the building to choose from – never thought I’d say that – so all I’ll need to do is get one alone, pop inside his mind, and get him to hand me his pistol. Job done.
I’ll have to do that tomorrow, though, to avoid any sort of investigation, and ideally as near to the meeting time of 7PM as possible.
Before then, the other loose end I need to tie will be getting in front of Ingrid W. Humbert to actually set the order in her head. If she doesn’t stop off at level 51 and let me on, then she’ll cruise straight past and I’ll have no means of hitching a ride. Right now, that’s the only option, and as Adryan correctly said, I can’t step into the lift with her in the atrium without raising some sort of alarm.
All needs to be secret and done with the utmost efficiency. I have absolutely no margin for error here. A single mistake will cause my death, Adryan’s death, and the deaths of many whom I care about. And, well, the entire city will collapse under the might of the Consortium, and all of the Unenhanced will gradually be phased out of existence.
So, yeah, as I told Zander…no pressure.
None at all.
I’m joined by my husband that evening, himself needing to keep up appearances at work despite everything we’re going through. The illusion needs to be maintained, and so far he’s been doing a stellar job.
When he returns, he sucks me into a strong hug before saying a single word. Obviously, he’s been fretting all day about what happened with Agent Woolf. The speed at which he comes at me, and the strength of his embrace, tells me that.
I fill him in quickly, and note the tension in his eyes. Yet mine are calm, as is my voice, and my body language strangely relaxed as well. In fact, it appears as though some sort of role reversal has taken place; myself now seeming more aloof and Savant-like that my actual Savant husband.
This last week has shone the spotlight further onto his true self, and so rarely do I consider him one of these people anymore. Aside from his continuing inability to properly understand my humour, and his constant misunderstanding of sarcasm, his emotional capacity seems to have become just as pronounced as a regular human.
Not an overly emotional one, perhaps, but someone like Mrs Carmichael, usually so reserved herself, and yet with the undercurrent of feeling that rises to the fore during times of stress and drama. Adryan is much the same. And I guess that’s why I’m starting to care about him so much.
We talk in quiet tones, with the walls of the apartment partially transparent to let in some of the moonlight. It’s as if we don’t want anyone looking in, anyone spying on our final night here in this nest of injustice.
So we sit and talk and go through the final stages of our plan. And again, as much as Adryan can, he offers the support he’s been giving me this whole time. Yet, beyond mere words, there’s nothing else he can do for me. I have to get a weapon. I have to impart the order into Ingrid Humbert’s mind. I have to rise up to the summit and send a bullet through Cromwell’s head.
I can see all of that in his eyes, and hear it behind his words. He knows this is all down to me, and that aside from facilitating my path here, there’s nothing more for him to do.
And I can tell, too, that he wishes he could do more. That he’d want to take the burden from me if he could, to sacrifice himself if it meant giving me a chance to get free of this place before all hell breaks loose.
Before the suggestion even rises from his lips, I see it coming. And already, I’m shaking my head.
“I could do it instead,” he tells me. “You give the order to Humbert to stop here at level 51. Tell her to allow me passage with her to the top. I’ll take the gun, and I’ll kill Cromwell myself. You’ve done enough, Brie. It doesn’t have to be you…”
I move to him as he speaks, and shut him off with a kiss. Our lips swirl together, and my palm softly presses against the gritty stubble of his cheek.
Then, slipping my lips off his, I whisper gently to him: “Thank you, Adryan. But this is my mission. And I’m the one who needs to complete it.”
I don’t allow the offer to register. If it does, I might just crumble and concede. But, in reality, as much as my own life matters to me, Adryan’s life does too. I don’t want him to be put in harm’s way. I don’t want him to take the responsibility.
This task was assigned to me. And only I can see it done.
Yet still, Adryan continues to press his claim. I smile at him as he does and find my lips drawn back to his, those silver eyes so magnetic to me as they plead for me to pass him the reins.
But I can’t. I won’t. I shake my head and speak again.
“If something goes wrong, it needs to be me. You have no powers, Adryan. Only I can do this.”
The logic in my words is undeniable, Adryan’s Savant programming demanding that he see reason.
But there remains a doubt, another attempt to persuade me about to pour from his tongue.
I see it coming, and stop it at its source. Into his beautiful mind I go, and call out the order for him to relent, to leave the subject where it is.
And before his words can fall, they’re caught behind his closing mouth.
A strange sense of calm seems to pervade the place once I’ve managed to placate Adryan. Everything that needs to be discussed has been considered several times, and now I wish to simply turn my mind elsewhere.
To help me do so, my husband prepares a nice hot stew, turning to the culinary skills that are so rare here. As he dishes up, and I allow myself a single glass of wine, but no more, I ask him if he’ll teach me to cook someday.
“There’s not much to it really,” he says. “But I’ll take you through it when we reach the underlands.”
I nod, and a thought rises: I wonder if we’ll actually make it down there…
I don’t vocalise it, though. The time has passed for doubt. Instead, I tell him how much I’d love that, and bring a smile to his face. And with it that feeling of attachment inside me cements, my affections towards him growing harder to control.
Maybe, in the days and weeks and months to come, it’ll be able to flourish. Maybe this staged pairing of ours will actually transition into something real. Maybe a whole number of things will happen that I can’t predict. Because after today, maybe…just maybe…the world will open up to me in a way it never has before.
My hopes for such a thing are what fuel me. A hope to escape this place for good. A hope to join my brother and my friends in the underlands. A hope to step away from the boundaries of the city itself, and explore the wide expanses of the outerlands that stretch for endless miles beyond our borders.
And now, above all, a hope that Adryan and I can spend time together away from all this. Away from the pressure that drives us, the fate that we both share. Away from all the pain and suffering that we’ve both witnessed.