Emergency services are still overwhelmed in the region, while hospitals and shelters in surrounding regions are struggling to deal with the influx of those who had been Gotham residents and those evacuated from the potential fallout plume. Fires continue to rage in Gotham and the Republic has forbidden emergency services personnel to intervene. The damage to bridges and the blockage of several tunnels where they emerge into the city has both hampered the evacuation and prompted speculation that ground zero of the bombs was at these locations.
Ernest Sinclair, president of the Society of Nuclear Darwinists and in attendance at the President's press conference in New D.C. this morning called the incident a "horrific example of man's inhumanity to man." According to Dr. Sinclair, the Society of Nuclear Darwinists is actively advising the Republic upon the appropriate emergency response in changing conditions. A spokesperson from the Society noted that the prevailing winds from the southwest during the summer months will "virtually guarantee" that Gotham is within the fallout plume from the nuclear reactors. The unofficial spokesperson, who preferred to remain unnamed, reminded reporters that the fallout and long-term effect of the Chernobyl disasters in 1985 and 2009 were far less than anticipated. (It should be noted that there are those, however, who dispute the official research results from Chernobyl.)
Given the evacuation of Gotham and the unwillingness of the government to expose law enforcement officials to unnecessary levels of radiation, is it unclear how any investigation can be pursued. Seven different international terrorist groups known to be hostile to the Republic have claimed responsibility for the devastating attack, although Republic officials insist that they are giving no credence to any one claim over the others.
Critics are becoming increasingly vocal, demanding explanations as to why only two of the attacking aircraft were shot down in restricted air space, the ready availability of small aircraft licenses, the apparent lack of security on public transit, and the apparent lack of a cohesive evacuation plan for Gotham. There has also been criticism of the Republic's lack of preparedness for such a disaster and the lethargic speed of response. Mr. O'Shaunessy admitted his agency's apparent ineffectiveness in facing this recent challenge, calling the lack of preparation for such a concerted attack "a failure of imagination." He is expected to announce his resignation within days.
XVI
There was nothing so wonderful as a bed with her name on it. Lilia went back to the hotel, locked the door of her unit, and slid a piece of furniture against it for insurance. She cleaned up her ear and climbed into bed.
She was asleep within moments.
Lilia awakened to the soft chime of her palm. The light coming through the window of her hotel room had changed, evidence that it was early evening. She rubbed her eyes, yawned, and looked at her palm.
It had received a message while she napped, marked "urgent." Her palm, at least, had known better than to wake her up for that. She yawned again. Joachim was probably missing her expert advice.
But no: it was from the Society.
Maybe they'd amended the conference schedule. Lilia yawned wide enough to swallow the vid screen on the wall, sat up, and tapped her palm.
The Society was revoking her fellowship, effective immediately.
Within an hour of her planning to quit in a glorious show of defiance.
Unfair!
Lilia was on her feet, spitting sparks, and wide awake. How dare they do this to her?
When had the Society ever expelled a fellow who had paid up his or her dues? When had they ever turfed a fellow right before that fellow honored one of their nearest and dearest? No doubt about it, they were afraid of what Lilia might say when she got up in front of everyone.
And so they should be.
It must have been their diabolical plan all along to lure her south under false pretenses. She wouldn't put such scheming past Ernestine. Lilia wanted her conference fee creds back. Her impulse was to throw on some clothes and go rip someone apart—preferably Ernestine herself—but Montgomery's point was well taken.
Leading with her passion was, after all, what they'd expect from her. Leaping in where angels feared to tread was pretty much Lilia's trademark.
And Ernestine would be looking forward to the confrontation.
There was something satisfying about the prospect of making Ernestine wait for it. Vengeance was a dish best served on elegant china, with all the frills.
Lilia's mom had taught her that.
While Lilia dressed for success, she formulated a plan.
She didn't understand the spreadsheet from the chip in the locket, but the way that Gid had passed it to her indicated its importance. It stood to reason that the only item left on his palm had a connection to the list, which meant she'd missed something at Breisach and Turner. The receptionist who had stood guard at that portal had been dispatched from fulfilling her angelic mission, which made Lilia suspect that she'd known the truth too.
Clearly, Lilia needed to break into those offices and look for... well, that was where the plan showed its weakness. She'd go there under cover of darkness and look for something that seemed to have a connection with what she knew.
Sometimes a person had to hope for the best.
Because there was a chance of her having an active evening, Lilia was glad she'd brought her one tailored evening suit. It was a jazzy little number with trousers, a tuxedo cut for a woman, one that nudged the boundary of the decency code but didn't cross it.
Plus, she felt hot when she wore it.
That couldn't hurt.
There was something, Lilia was convinced, about crisp black lycrester that made a woman feel like an irresistible siren. A fabric that could have been made in heaven, lycrester was smooth to the touch, soft and supple, held a crease but didn't wrinkle. It seemed too good to be true, which was why it cost a bomb, which was why Lilia planned to still have this suit when she died.
And it would fit.
Sadly, given the trim cut of the suit, her laze was less unobtrusive than would have been ideal. She wore it anyway, rationalizing that people might be more respectful of her opinion that way.
That plan worked for about three seconds.
Lilia emerged from the stairwell to find that the shade on the front desk was different. Had Bite Queen gone AWOL? Lilia asked the new shade on the front desk about her predecessor. Even with a thorough description, Lilia got only a blank stare in reply.
Maybe the shade had had her memory wiped. One heard about such marvels, but only in whispers behind closed doors at the Institute.
It wasn't legal, but that didn't mean that it wasn't done.
Just to make her evening complete, a hotel security representative appeared at Lilia's side. "Excuse me, madame, but would you please surrender your weapon here at the desk?" His smile was tight, as if it was painful to him. "For your safety, of course."
As this seemed likely to have the opposite effect, Lilia protested. "I'm registered and authorized to carry my laze."
His disapproving look proved that he was a man who failed to appreciate the charms of black lycrester. "The hotel's corporate policy expressly forbids the possession of firearms on any of its properties."
Lilia considered his own weapon. "Funny then that you have a laze."
He smiled again and Lilia wished he would stop. "There is an exception for security personnel hired to ensure the safety of hotel guests and employees." He put out his hand. "Ms. Desjardins, isn't it? While you are our guest, you are required to surrender your weapon to security."
Lilia was tempted to leave right there. The problem was that she wanted to have her say to Ernestine, right now in the main ballroom where the Society fellows were congregating. The security dude wouldn't let her head deeper into the hotel with her laze, no matter how well she argued.
"What are you going to do with it?"
"Your weapon will be held in a secure location and returned to you upon your departure from the hotel." He checked the desktop in
front of the shade. "You're scheduled to leave Sunday, aren't you?"
"That's right." Lilia folded her arms across her chest. "What if I want it sooner, to possess on property not held by the hotel? A girl can't be too careful, you know."
"You can always check out, Ms. Desjardins." He looked as if he'd like nothing better, which—predictably—made Lilia perversely think about extending her sojourn in nirvana. "When you do, your weapon will be returned to you."
"But not before?"
He offered that smile again. Lilia was annoyed enough to offer him a perfect mimicry of it, which seemed to disconcert him. Her mother had taught her to never let people like this guy to take control of the situation.
Lilia surrendered her laze, with obvious reluctance. "Well, I have a few questions for the hotel, so if you're their appointed representative, maybe you could answer them." She showed him her wounded earlobe. "A shade in the employ of this establishment bit me this afternoon. I must insist upon seeing the health and inoculation records for the shade in question."
His eyes narrowed. "Do you know the shade's number?"
"No, but she was working on the front desk when I checked in, so you should be able to retrieve her number from the shift records."
He began to tap at his palm. "You'll have to file an injury report..."
"No, you'll have to file the injury report on my behalf. I'm late for an appointment. The shade bit me and ran."
"And where did this occur?"
"In the netherzones. At a beverage bar in Forest Green. There can be only one."
He looked up. "What were you doing in the nether-zones? That's off-limits for citizens."
"I'm not just a citizen. I'm a shade hunter."
"You were hunting shades?"
Liiia decided to recast herself as hero, because she was in a tight spot and didn't much like his attitude. It was only a small revision to the truth. "The shade was acting suspiciously. She went into the netherzones and I followed her. I cornered and caught her, she bit me and escaped."
"Did you see where she went?"
"No. You have this fog in your netherzones that makes it hard to pursue anyone."
He blinked. "Fog? I've never seen fog down there."
"Well, there's a ton of it this weekend. It even came up into the street last night. I'm surprised you put up with it, but then there's no accounting for regional differences, is there?" Lilia forced the tight smile and he blinked at her.
The fog wasn't normal.
Other people couldn't see it.
Except her and Montgomery.
Interesting.
Lilia walked away before he could stop her, seething still about the sacrifice of her laze. She was starting to remember why she'd always found an excuse to miss this conference.
And now, contrary to every probability Gid could have calculated, she was deliberately looking for Ernestine Sinclair.
Montgomery was on patrol when he first heard the whisper.
At first he thought he was imagining it. The streets were filled with that silvery fog again. He marched through it, keeping to the patrol path he had logged earlier, and tried to decide what to do.
If he showed up for the physical exam, his scars would be found.
If he didn't show up for the physical exam, he'd be terminated.
Neither option was particularly appealing. He'd offered to take patrol, so he could think.
Too bad he had more questions than answers. Who was framing Lilia and why? What did Fitzgerald's statistics mean? What had Rachel known that had gotten her killed? If Rachel had discovered the identities of any of the Council of Three members, what would she have done with the information?
She would have remembered it, Montgomery was sure, instead of recording it on her palm.
But she would have filed the proof. He thought of Breisach and Turner's offices, the filing cabinets along the walls there, and wondered whether he had missed the obvious.
"Munkar..."
Montgomery froze. The whisper knew his name.
The fog rolled across the street in front of Montgomery, all quicksilver and mystery. It had direction, like the current in a river. It flowed into the access to the commuter level of the netherzones, as if it had purpose.
Montgomery watched it for a long moment, weighing his options, then decided to accept the invitation.
The stairwell to the commuter conveyors was filled with the dark opalescent light of the swirling fog. It was cold and made him shiver when he stepped into its tide. It also seemed to pull him into it.
"Munkar... "
The summons rose from the netherzones precisely as the fog descended there. Montgomery went after it. The fire door shut behind him with a decisive click, even though he was sure it had been latched back when he passed through it. The darkness closed around him, the only illumination coming from the fog.
That male laughter echoed in his ears again.
It had to be a figment of his imagination.
But Lilia had heard it too.
Twice.
Blake was at the door to the ballroom, a second glass of sparkling wine in his hand just for Lilia. It was the last thing she needed, so of course, she accepted it with a gracious smile. He whistled loud enough that several people turned, then bowed low. "Divine! Lilia, you look scrumptious!"
"Blake, I'm not dessert."
"Maybe you should be."
"For you? I thought your taste was for other delicacies."
He grinned. "I can still appreciate a masterpiece without committing to it." He offered his elbow. "What better tonic for all of us than a party?"
There was something to be said for that, though Lilia thought it would be graceless to say that she'd have preferred the party to have a different guest list.
She scored a point for prudent.
The room was elegant. The men were all in black tie, the women in gowns, many of them glittery enough to make the lycrester look mundane. To Lilia's surprise, Mike had hit on a trend before it was over-—-there were lots of Orv tattoos in the crowd. Blake was in his element, shaking hands and looking for votes. He sparkled more than the chandeliers, jewelry and bubbles combined.
Nuclear Darwinists had gathered from near and far, but Chicago was the hometown of the vast majority of attendees. That made sense, Chicago being the location of the Institute of Radiation Studies. Unlike others, Lilia made no jokes about the Midwest being dull: if being dull ensured that home was the only major Republican city left unbombed, then "dull" worked for Lilia. Her beloved Mont Royal hadn't been nearly so lucky.
Otherwise, there were few Nuclear Darwinists from cities spared nuclear destruction. That was the turf of abstract theorists. And old cities? Only shade hunters like Lilia ever went there, and even she wasn't reckless enough to live in such a place.
Waiters slipped through the crowd with trays of tall glasses and there was a happy burble of conversation, one that was destined to get louder the longer the free booze flowed. She liked that Gid would be honored with an award at a presentation like this: it commemorated his passing with a certain style.
The best part, though, was that people didn't know what to do about her. As the widow of one of the Society's favorite sons, and a guest invited to present the award renamed in his honor, they should have been making a fuss over her. As a fellow who had refused to cede to the Society's demands to surrender the angel-shades—well, angels—for research, Lilia should have been chucked right out the door. She enjoyed watching the war of emotions on so many faces.
Being the center of controversy—and having some sparkling wine in her veins—put a little bounce in Lilia's step.
Lilia threw back some wine and considered the other occupants of the room. She had to guess that the members of the Council of Three would be in attendance. A Council meeting would explain the quick and timely decision to revoke her fellowship.
So, who were the Council members?
Ever the gracious gentleman, Blake tried to divert h
er with small talk. Lilia had to wonder why he allied himself so visibly with her, given that he was running for Society president. Old times' sake maybe? It could only hurt his campaign, but she appreciated the gesture.
Until he tried to warn her.
"Who's your best guess for Council of Three?" she asked as she openly assessed the crowd.
"Lilia, just do yourself a favor and leave things alone."
"I will when someone tells me what Gid was working on."
Blake leaned closer, dropping his voice another increment. "Listen to me. This isn't a game. You could get hurt."
"For asking questions?"
"Yes. Gid was on Society business ..."
"Well, duh. He worked for the Society—"
"Not that kind of Society business," Blake interrupted her for probably the first time ever and Lilia met the warning in his eyes.
"Council of Three," she guessed in a whisper.
He held her gaze steadily, neither affirming nor denying.
That was good enough for Lilia.
Her scalp crawled. Gideon, what have you done? "Who's the Council of Three right now?"
Blake straightened. "I don't know."
"You're lying."
He looked around and dropped his voice. "You don't understand what you're getting into."
"And you think I can't handle it. Thanks very much."
Blake evidently saw that his strategy had misfired, because he gritted his teeth. "Look, I'll find out what I can for you. Does that make a difference?"
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