The Agency, Volume I

by Sylvan, Dianne

  She nodded and walked over to the nearest wall, sliding down it to sit cross-legged with her back against the flat surface. She pressed her hands back too, feeling the texture of the wall, and tried to remember how this had worked last time. Months and endless training had happened since, but she hadn’t worked much with this part of her gift—that was supposed to come later, once her telepathy and empathy were both fully under control. Still, she knew what it felt like, even if the memory of the act itself was hazy.

  Closing her eyes, she opened up her psychic barriers and let her energy touch the walls, the floor beneath her, the rarefied air that pumped through the base.

  Houses had distinct individual personalities; apartment complexes were a jumble; retail stores and malls were utter chaos. The base had a purposeful hum, dozens of different energy patterns with a common intention that was unusually unified. She realized it might be easier here than with a house—she just needed to find something that didn’t fit.

  [Talk to me,] she said, visualizing the combined energy of the whole building as a single spirit with emotions and a sort of basic intelligence. She couldn’t say for sure whether a structure really had a spirit or not, but she got better results when she approached it as one. [What’s here that doesn’t belong?]

  The base responded with surprising clarity, almost like telepathy but much less organized. It left an impression in her head that she had to put into words herself.

  [Screaming]

  [Yes,] she affirmed. [Pentecost. But there’s someone here, a person, who shouldn’t be. An…energy that doesn’t fit. Show me.]

  One thing was clear: the base was not happy with what was going on within its walls. If a building could feel anger, this one did; it didn’t have the level of sentience required to do anything about it, but it seethed. An old house might be strong enough to manifest its anger as a poltergeist, but the base didn’t have the ability.

  It took her “hand” and dragged her toward something, and her mind went spinning through the building, the speed making her dizzy and nauseated. She let herself go mentally limp, hoping that if she didn’t struggle the ascent wouldn’t be so sickening, but it didn’t really help.

  They lurched to a stop, and the world tumbled around her for a moment until she could make sense of where she was and what the base wanted her to see.

  “Oh, shit,” she said aloud.

  Satisfied that she had gotten it, the base dropped her unceremoniously back into her body, and she moaned and fell over sideways, her stomach threatening to fly out through her mouth.

  She opened her eyes and saw boots in front of her face. Jason knelt and helped her sit back up, asking, “What was it? What did you see?”

  Sara grabbed his arms and forced herself to her feet. “The cafeteria,” she panted. “We have to get back there now.”

  *****

  They crept along the hallway toward the double doors, and although Sara was relieved there wasn’t any more screaming issuing from inside, she dreaded what they might find.

  Jason reached back and drew his gun, then looked at her. “Here,” he said, bending down to pull up the leg of his pants, revealing a second pistol. He removed it from the holster and handed it to her. “Just in case. Just don’t--”

  “Shoot myself in the foot,” she muttered. “Yeah, fuck off, SA-7.”

  He shot her a sardonic grin, and then returned his attention to the matter at hand.

  Sara didn’t really want the gun, but she had to admit she felt a little better with it in her hands. She echoed his movements, flattening herself back against the wall, letting him lead her to the doors, her heart doing pirouettes in her throat.

  He cocked his head to the left, and she moved around him, taking up position behind the left-hand door while he took the right. He peered sideways through the glass inset, and after a deep breath, she did the same.

  There were six or seven medics hovering around the victims that remained in the cafeteria. Sara wondered where they’d found so many stretchers—had they brought some in from Austin EMS, or was the Agency prepared for a large-scale disaster like this?

  The hallucinating victims seemed to have been moved, probably down to the Floor, but those that were still here were clearly the less fortunate; they struggled and fought the medics, and she could hear the rise and fall of the incantation.

  “They were supposed to be sedated,” she said in a loud whisper.

  Jason nodded. “Yes, they were.”

  “What do we do? Go in yelling, guns blazing?”

  “No blazing,” he said. “We don’t want to cause mayhem and let our target slip away. This calls for something a little more subtle.”

  Just then, there were footsteps, and Sara wheeled around, weapon at the ready.

  Frog froze, eyes going huge, and put up both hands. “Fuck, Sara!”

  “Sorry.” She lowered the gun, sheepish, and saw that Jason was trying not to laugh. “Hey, he could have been a bad guy!”

  The vampire gave her that look that said “why aren’t you on the short bus?” “You’ve really got to learn to pay attention to your environment,” he said. “Frog, do you have it?”

  “Yeah.” Frog gestured with one of his hands, and for the first time Sara noticed he was holding a vial of some sort of serum.

  “Put your hands down, fool,” Jason snapped quietly. “Bring it here.”

  “You’ve already got the antidote made?” Sara asked, amazed. “It’s only been an hour!”

  “Nope. This is plain sugar water.” He handed the bag off to SA-7. “We’ll have the first batch of the new formula in another forty five minutes or so—Rowan’s working with one of the other Agents, a sorcerer, to enchant it.”

  “Is he all right?” Jason asked.

  “So far. He’s mostly directing the other Agent’s energy. He’s going to need some serious rest when this is all over—“ Frog saw the look on Jason’s face and amended, “but he’s doing fine. Dr. Nava is keeping a close eye. Don’t worry.”

  Sara smiled to herself. Jason nodded and told Frog to head back to work. “We’ll take it from here.”

  “What’s that for?” she asked.

  “Watch and learn. Put the gun away for now and follow my lead.”

  She obeyed and followed him as he walked purposefully into the cafeteria.

  Dr. Rosenberg was at the room’s far end, standing over a victim and muttering into a mini digital recorder. His face was tired, lined with worry. When he saw them approaching, his eyebrows shot up, and he clicked off the recorder.

  “We’ve got it,” Jason said, a note of triumph in his voice. “An antidote for the drug.” He held up the vial so the doctor could see it. “Administer 2ccs per patient, then another two in two hours, and they’ll come out of it good as new.”

  Rosenberg stuttered a moment. “But…but…how did you get it so fast?”

  “R&D working together with Nava. But it was Sara’s idea.” Jason handed him the bottle. “Let’s get to it.”

  “But…we can’t! How do we know it won’t make the situation worse? I really think we should allow the drug to run its course and keep them as comfortable as we can, Agent 7. In their delicate mental state any attempt to circumvent the formulas could cause untold damage.”

  Jason exchanged a look with Sara. “Did he just refuse to follow an order?”

  “I think he did,” Sara replied. “Don’t you outrank him?”

  “I certainly do. I outrank everyone here but Dr. Nava and Ness.”

  Sara met the doctor’s increasingly agitated face. “Don’t you want to save your patients, doctor? They’re suffering, and every minute you refuse to give them the antidote they suffer more.”

  “You don’t understand,” Rosenberg stammered.

  There was a click, and Sara looked up to see a gun pressed into the back of the doctor’s head.

  “Sara,” Jason said calmly, “take the doctor’s recorder.”

  She snatched the device from his hand, held i
t up, and hit “play back.”

  “Subject 9 displays baseline dosage. Sixth chakra fully dilated with some opening in the seventh as well. Vocal expression clear, some slurring on the third stanza. Recommend an additional quarter dosage for full effect.”

  “Who are you working for?” Jason demanded, jabbing the barrel of the gun harder into the doctor’s head.

  “No…” Rosenberg was shaking. “They’ll kill me if I tell you.”

  “Is there a counterspell?” Sara asked.

  “No. There’s no way to stop it.”

  “Bullshit,” Jason said. “Even a rank amateur sorcerer won’t draw without an eraser. Who’s behind this, Rosenberg? If you cooperate we can protect you.”

  “No!” Rosenberg wrenched out of the way, panicking, and threw himself into Jason, knocking the vampire backwards into the wall with a thud. Jason’s gun flew out of his hand, and the doctor snapped it up, aiming it at the Agent with hands that shook so hard they could barely find the trigger.

  Jason shook his head. “Well, that was pathetic. Remind me not to make fun of you anymore, Sara.”

  “There’s a man with a gun pointed at your head!” Sara exclaimed. “How can you be so calm?”

  “Oh, he’s not going to shoot me, are you, Dr. Rosenberg? However you got into this, you’re still a physician, aren’t you? Doctors don’t kill people. Well, all right, that one guy does, but you won’t.”

  It almost seemed to work, but behind them one of the victims started chanting more loudly, and that seemed to galvanize the doctor—he swallowed hard, and Sara saw his finger wrap around the trigger—

  Two shots shattered the room, and every medic hit the floor, one letting out a scream before disappearing under a table.

  Jason fell back onto the floor, blood erupting from his chest, and lay still.

  So did Dr. Rosenberg, with a hole in his right temple, the gun in his hand clattering to the floor.

  Sara, shaking as badly as the doctor had, lowered the pistol SA-7 had loaned her, then dropped it, putting her hands over her face with a whimper. She felt her knees giving out, and the cold hardness of the tile against her hips, and she held back a scream, tears already streaming from her eyes.

  A hand touched her head. She looked up.

  “Nice shot,” Jason said. The hole in his chest had already closed, and though his clothes were streaked with blood, he was otherwise fine.

  “I killed him,” she whispered, her throat catching on a sob. “I just…I just shot him, and he’s dead, just like that. I killed him.”

  “Yes, you did,” he told her, kneeling beside her and drawing her into a hug. “You perceived a threat and neutralized it. That’s what we do. We make split-second decisions based on what we know. Sometimes it’s right, sometimes not, but we do the best we can.”

  “But he didn’t really kill you. And we needed him for information.”

  The vampire shook his head, looking over at the doctor’s body. “He wouldn’t have given us any. You saw the way he acted—he was ready to die rather than tell us what he knew. Whether it was out of loyalty or fear, he protected his secrets. But we have the recorder, and that will give us something.”

  She reached out and touched the hole in his shirt. “Bullets can’t kill you?”

  “Not unless they’re wood-tipped, and even then it would have to hit my heart directly.” He stood and helped her to her feet. “Come on. Let’s get this up to Nava and see how close they are to the real antidote.”

  She nodded, sniffing, her heart still frozen, still sick to her stomach. He picked up both discarded guns, and she tried not to flinch at the sight of the one she’d fired. She listened with half attention as he called up to the Situation Room to update Ness, but her eyes were locked on Dr. Rosenberg’s body, on the bullet hole. His eyes were open, glassy, his expression one of eternal astonishment. There didn’t seem to be much blood on the body, but when she looked at the wall, she saw a spatter there, and a hole in the plaster. The bullet had gone all the way through his head and lodged in the wall. Someone would have to repair the hole, repaint the wall…and there was Jason’s blood smeared on the floor, drying in the cool air.

  Her legs started to buckle again, but this time Jason caught her and levered her into a nearby chair. “Stay here,” he said. “I’m going to have one of the medics look you over.”

  “I’m not hurt,” she said vaguely.

  “I know that. But you have to be examined by a doctor to get drugs, and I think you need a hot and heavy date with Prince Valium. Don’t move.”

  She made an indefinite gesture, wishing her brain would stop whirling and her hands would stop shaking. “Wait…do me a favor?”

  “What?”

  “Close his eyes. Please.”

  Understanding, SA-7 nodded, and gave her shoulder a last, almost brotherly squeeze before walking over to do what she had asked.

  Part Thirteen

  “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

  I will fear no evil: For thou art with me…”

  “Om Namah Shivayah…Om Namah Shivayah…”

  The Shadow Agency infirmary was quite possibly the most ecumenical place in Austin that night.

  “Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate, Demeter, Kali, Inanna…”

  Jason walked among the dozen beds, listening to each patient murmur and sing the demons away, some praying so hard the energy around them crackled. After nearly an hour the first victim’s voice had nearly given out, but he continued to repeat the Psalm long after all he had left were hoarse whispers.

  In the second-to-last bed, Sage slept peacefully, an emblem of hope for all the other victims. He stood over her for a minute, arms crossed, wondering if the others would be as lucky, and recover as fully. Right now there was no way to know. The “antidote” was working, as far as they could tell, but without Rowan’s help there was only so deeply they could monitor everyone, and none of the victims had regained consciousness yet.

  “Om mani padme hum…”

  Rowan himself lay in the last bed, his energy so depleted that Dr. Nava had been unwilling to let him out of her sight at least for a few hours, even though there was essentially nothing she could do.

  Jason made his way to the bed and sank down into the chair beside it, slumping, one hand seeking Rowan’s. He hated feeling helpless, and that’s exactly what he was; there was nothing he could do for the Elf, or for the others, but wait, just like everyone else.

  “Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…”

  Sara had been given a bottle of anxiety meds and sent to bed against her protests; Jason had promised to let her know if anything important happened and when Rowan woke up. She was still traumatized, and in a way he envied her. He wished it still made him cry to kill people.

  He had related what happened in the cafeteria to Ness, and given the recorder to Frog, who was at that moment going over its contents to try and gather more information that would help synthesize a broad-spectrum cure or at least a vaccine. Even if all the victims here survived, there was no way to use the same treatment for those out in the city without brining every one of them to the base, ascertaining their religious proclivities, and tailoring the incantation to the individual.

  He sensed movement to his right, and Dr. Nava came up to the bed to check Rowan’s vitals; the monitors were beeping to each other dutifully, and she made a notation on her palm computer, and sighed.

  “We’ve lost five people today,” she said to Jason’s inquisitive look. “Four to Pentecost, one to a bullet. And I’m afraid there will be more.”

  “It could have been worse.”

  “Yes, but that doesn’t make it better.” She tapped the screen of her computer to bring up the readout on Rowan. “I think I need to put him on saline—he’s getting dehydrated. I’m concerned that if he doesn’t get his energy back quickly enough he could get an infection due to lowered resistance. It happened when he first came here, and we nearly lost him.�
�

  Jason licked lips gone dry with worry. “But we won’t. He’ll be fine. Won’t he?”

  Nava pulled an IV kit out of one of the drawers, and brought a stand over, then set about finding a vein to put a needle into. “I think so. Normally, even doing as much as he did for the antidote wouldn’t have drained him that much, but after everything else that he accomplished this evening…” She paused and looked over at him. “You woke him up last time. What did you do?”

  Jason couldn’t risk telling her the full truth—there were few things he was not willing to see used as a resource by the Agency, but his gift was one of them. “I talked to him,” he said. “I played music.”