The Outer Dark (Central Series Book 4)

by Zachary Rawlins

  Vladimir glared at her, cursed in the guttural Siberian dialect he reserved for the worst circumstances, and then reached for the box.

  His fingers shook as they hovered about it, his expression labored by indecision.

  “C’mon, Vlad. I don’t have all day.”

  “Be quiet, will you?” Vladimir muttered, biting his colorless lip. “I’m trying to make a decision.”

  “It’s all the same in the end.”

  “Insufferable woman,” Vladimir snapped, dipping his fingers into the box. “It matters a great deal.”

  Vladimir lifted the truffle to his face, pausing to inhale the scent before biting it in half. He closed his eyes to chew, his face relaxing into a picture of weary happiness. Rebecca reached for the box quietly, glancing at the guide in the inside of the lid which identified the various chocolates. The truffles were hand-crafted, decorated with gold foil and pink Himalayan salt, hiding cores of burnt caramel, candied fruit, or nut-infused liquor. Naturally, they were outrageously expensive.

  “Was that the cherry?”

  Vladimir nodded. Rebecca pouted, and was ignored.

  “There’s only one of those.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Rebecca picked out an espresso truffle with an expression of mild disappointment.

  “You’re a dick, Vlad. You know that? A limp, wrinkled dick. First you lie to me, then you take my fucking favorite chocolate.”

  Vladimir swallowed, then blinked his eyes open.

  “I did not tell you any lies,” Vladimir objected, reaching for the box.

  “You didn’t tell me things I needed to know!” Rebecca snatched the box out from beneath Vladimir’s hand and held it aloft. “Isn’t that right?”

  Vladimir winced and turned away again, grimly contemplating the adjoining building, still very much under construction. One of Rebecca’s first actions after becoming Director was to begin the process of doubling the number of hospital beds in Central, along with additional surgical theaters and diagnostic equipment. The precognitive pool insisted that they would be necessary, even as the accountants howled over the expense.

  “I suppose that I could have been more forthcoming,” Vladimir said slowly, licking his lips. “But I was obligated…”

  Rebecca shook her head.

  “You should have told me. Everything.”

  “I couldn’t,” Vladimir said, his voice little more than a whisper. “You know that. He was the Director! Even when Gaul was in the wrong, I could not betray his trust.”

  Vladimir’s battered demeanor pleaded for compassion, but Rebecca was unmoved.

  “What about now?”

  It was a long hesitation, full of implications and possibilities.

  “Now, you are the Director.” Vladimir relaxed into the pile of pillows behind him. “Gaul Thule is a traitor. To Central, and all of us.” Vladimir frowned. “Myself included.”

  Rebecca offered him the box.

  “That’s a good start.” Rebecca waited patiently as Vladimir selected a fleur d’sal chocolate decorated with gilded flowers. “So, how long has Gaul had a source inside the Anathema?”

  Vladimir popped the chocolate in his mouth whole and chewed slowly. Rebecca knew his doctors would be furious, but she figured that part of being the Director was not giving a shit about what other people thought. Gaul had always cultivated a perfect, have-no-fucks-to-give cool that she envied and strove to emulate.

  “You knew about that?”

  “No, but Alice suspected it.” Rebecca admitted, taking a caramel from the box and biting into it. “Thankfully, at least a few of the staff are kind enough to share thoughts like that with me.”

  Vladimir smiled, his skin as thin as crepe paper. Rebecca wondered if she needed to worry about the machine behind him, which had started to beep more rapidly in the last couple of minutes.

  “You have made your point, Rebecca. Can we not move on?”

  “The source,” Rebecca reminded. “How long?”

  Vladimir muttered something impolite under his breath.

  “Very well. Quite a while – I believe he received his first report in the wake of the attack on Central. Do you remember the Witches that Gaul ordered Alice to capture? One from California, as I recall, and then another a bit later from New York.”

  “Yeah. Alice brought them in for interrogation.” Rebecca’s expression turned grim. “I remember. They were put in your keeping, right?”

  “Eventually, after Alice had asked her most urgent questions. I nursed them through their recovery, under Gaul’s orders, and made a rather thorough study of them as well. Not long after Alice lost interest in them, Gaul became a regular visitor.”

  Rebecca put the box down on Vladimir’s tray, and he was immediately consumed by the trials of selection.

  “Are you telling me Gaul turned a couple of Witches, and then sent them back to spy on the Anathema? That’s impossible in like six different ways, Vlad.”

  “It was impossible,” he agreed, biting an almond cluster neatly in half. “Gaul designed something that he thought would act as goad, allowing him a high degree of control, and shielding them from the Witch hive mind in the process.”

  Rebecca’s hand froze above the box of chocolates.

  “How did he do that?”

  “Ah.” Vladimir turned away, and his face creased with effort. When he spoke again, his voice was much smaller. “A tailored nanite implant. The design was extrapolated from his early work on his own implant, but with a very different intent. Control, rather than enhancement. It was not something he was proud of at the time,” Vladimir added, eyes tearing, “as I recall.”

  Rebecca buried her head in her hands.

  “You mean to tell me,” Rebecca said, watching him from between her fingers, “that Gaul injected two captured Witches with nanites?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, God,” Rebecca moaned. “I never thought it would be that bad.”

  “Rebecca...”

  “That was reckless, Vladimir.” Rebecca sat up and fixed her ponytail. “I can’t believe that you would have had anything to do with it. I’m shocked that you would conduct experiments on prisoners at all, much less experiments that could have terrible consequences for Central and the Academy.”

  Vladimir looked stricken.

  “It was not my finest moment,” he admitted hoarsely. “You make it sound worse than it was, though...”

  “What if Gaul had been wrong? What if the implant had empowered the Witches you had just finished torturing? They were right in the middle of the Academy, Vlad. What the hell were you thinking?”

  “We were losing the war with the Witches, Rebecca. That’s the truth. They were bleeding us, slowly but surely. We needed an advantage,” Vladimir insisted, bowing his head. “I shared your objections, but we were in dire straits, and Gaul is a precognitive. I trusted the assurance his foreknowledge gave. It was foolish, yes; reckless, as well. At the time, however, Gaul believed that it was necessary, and I trusted him.”

  “But not me,” Rebecca reminded. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. Can I expect the same sort of slavish obedience now that I am Director?”

  Vladimir’s breathing was heavy and ragged. Rebecca was still angry, but she reminded herself to reign it in. She certainly didn’t want Vladimir to die.

  “Whatever time I have left,” Vladimir rasped, his chin nearly resting on his chest, tears running down his cheeks and getting lost in the wrinkles, “I will spend in your service, Director. With some time set aside to regret many of my actions, of course.”

  Rebecca felt a little bad. She made a production out of finding some tissues, to give him time to compose himself. She could have simply inspired the guilt he deserved empathically, of course, but that wouldn’t have been cathartic for either of them. She needed to inform Vlad of her disappointment, and he needed to seek her forgiveness.

  Human nature, and all that fuckery, Rebecca thought, licking chocolate from her fingers
.

  “Here,” she said, nudging the box in his direction. “Cheer up.”

  Vladimir blew his nose, which sounded like he had invented a new and very shrill woodwind, and then munched on a truffle flavored with burgundy, looking a bit lost.

  “Are these implanted Witches still in place?” Rebecca prodded gently, turning the conversation away from blame and toward practicality. However immoral their construction, Rebecca fully intended to make use of any tools Gaul had left to her. “Do they report to him directly, or through channels at Analytics?”

  “Wait, you misunderstand.” Vladimir lifted a finger to stop her. “There is only one Witch in the field. The other died.” Vladimir’s mouth twitched. “During the procedure.”

  “Great. One less to worry about, I guess.”

  “As for the remaining Witch, she is still in place. You have read the action reports from the Ukraine, correct? From before the conflict with the Anathema?”

  She appreciated the way Vladimir worked around mentioning the author of most of those reports. The day was difficult and depressing enough as it was, without discussing poor Mitsuru Aoki.

  “Yes. Everything.”

  “Much of the intelligence came from a Witch who has become something of a folk-hero for those of her kind who remain outside of the Anathema’s control.”

  “Wait a minute...code name Yaga, right? Like Baba Yaga, that old Russian folk tale. That’s her? Gaul’s inside source?”

  “Yes,” Vladimir acknowledged, lips stained with berry preserve. “Not all the Witches under the Anathema banner are puppets. Some retain a degree of independence, and they use the hive mind to feed intelligence to those who are still free, helping them keep one step ahead of the Anathema soldiers. Yaga – she called herself Evelyn, actually – has access to this information, and the loyalty of those Witches, thanks to her own ability to thwart the Anathema...”

  “Back up a minute, there,” Rebecca said. “What sort of ability are we talking about?”

  “The procedure,” Vladimir said regretfully, “was not without unintended consequences…”

  “I knew it!” Rebecca cried out, slapping her palm against the over-starched bed sheets. “What happened?”

  “Yaga – Evelyn – suffered greatly during the procedure.” Vladimir blinked several times, breathing heavily, while the machine to his right beeped a bit more insistently. “She was in coma for several days. I assumed that she would die, as the other Witch already had by that point. Instead, she woke from the coma lucid and changed.”

  “Changed how?”

  “You are familiar with the workings employed by the Witches?”

  “All too familiar,” Rebecca said, frowning at the memory. “Like our protocols, basically.”

  “Not at all,” Vladimir said. “At best, the workings are parasitic.”

  “Whatever you say, Vlad.”

  “There are many theories, but I personally subscribe to the idea that Witches transform empathic energy into kinetic...”

  “Not now, Vlad. What happened to the Witch?”

  “Witches cannot perform workings without access to stored energy. Most of that energy needs to be stored in organic material. Witches generally store it in their hair and clothing, as well as the ornaments they wear. Evelyn’s head was shaved when she was captured, her clothing and jewelry destroyed, and her fingernails removed, rendering her powerless.”

  “That’s ugly, Vlad.”

  “It was necessary. After the procedure and the coma that followed, however, Evelyn discovered that she had access to a limited range of workings, without the need for external energy. Over several weeks of observation, it became clear that her implant was powering her workings, without the need for any sort of emotional input. She had become a Witch with no need to prey upon humanity, and therefore a potential agent.”

  “That’s great.” Rebecca walked across the room and forced the small window open. Two plastic bracers snapped, and it seemed likely that it had not actually been designed to be opened. “Really. I’m thrilled.”

  “Gaul designed and implanted a goad in her, a sort of psychic regulator,” Vladimir said, mouth full of green-tea infused milk chocolate. “Evelyn’s every move is monitored and recorded, and she can be made to suffer debilitating pain, should she disobey an order.”

  Rebecca stuck a cigarette in the corner of her mouth, then lit it with a small pink lighter that she didn’t remember buying, but had found in the pocket of her jeans that morning.

  “What good news! How often do you have to do that?”

  “Once every other week, to make sure the system functions as intended,” Vladimir said, wiping chocolate from his fingers on the bed sheets with casual disregard. “Her performance has always been flawless, her compliance absolute. We have never had cause to complain.”

  They were interrupted by the smoke detector’s loud protests. Rebecca had to climb up on a chair to disable it, and was still there, cigarette in her mouth, pulling the battery from its housing, when a pair of horrified nurses burst into the room. Rebecca tugged the battery free, and the room was finally quiet.

  “Director, I really must insist that you put that cigarette out,” the older of the nurses said, the color rising in her cheeks as anger replaced confusion. “This is a hospital, and our patients are vulnerable.”

  “You don’t get to insist on anything,” Rebecca explained cheerfully, climbing down from her unsteady perch. “I’m in charge of this place now. I’m afraid that you’re going to live with it.”

  “This is outrageous,” the nurse gasped. “Your authority does not supersede the needs of our patients, Director.”

  “That’s funny,” Rebecca said, pausing to take a drag. “I’m pretty sure it does. Why don’t you go find the administrator in charge of the medical division and confirm that? I’m not going anywhere for a little while. You can come lecture me later, should it turn out that I’m not your boss.”

  The wiser of the nurses disappeared so quietly that Rebecca failed to notice her departure. The other continued her uncertain face-off with Rebecca, unwilling to speak or leave.

  “Go on!” Rebecca barked, pointing at the door. “Get out of here!”

  The nurse fled, and Rebecca and Vladimir listened to the clatter as she dropped her clipboard in her haste to be elsewhere.

  “She’s right, you know,” Vladimir observed. “I’d rather you didn’t smoke here. Why is that? I’ve never minded your smoking before, not once.”

  “You noticed, huh?” Rebecca stared at the smoldering cherry at the end of her cigarette. “I haven’t been bothering to make it socially acceptable. I could make everything right with empathy, but then again, why bother? It’s a good opportunity to set boundaries and remind everyone that there has been in change in management. I can’t be everyone’s big sister and the Director at the same time.”

  “So you say,” Vladimir sniffed. “You will continue to worry over the students and guide them, whether you wish to or not. That is in your nature. Empathy is less a protocol and more a fundamental aspect of your character. Now, if you would, Director, kindly manipulate my feelings so that I do not resent your disgusting cigarette.”

  Rebecca looked sheepish. She moved to the corner of the room next to the broken window frame, blowing her smoke out of the gap between the window and the wall.

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  Vladimir smiled and settled back into his pillows, his features softened by a flood of dopamine.

  “Quite alright, Rebecca. Power corrupts and all that.”

  “Don’t lecture me. I’m still mad at you, Vlad.”

  “Perhaps you will be less angry if you know that I harbored secret worries over Gaul’s pet project,” Vladimir admitted, eyeing the partially-depleted box of chocolates. “He does not have control over Evelyn’s actions, nor even a means of direct communication. I told him this was necessitated by the boundaries of the technology, and it was his own failing as an engineer that he did not see thr
ough a lie that should have been obvious. No one aside from myself can communicate with Evelyn, or activate her neural goad.”

  “You’re right. That does make me less mad.”

  “If I were to share the secrets of communication and control? What might our standing be at that point?”

  “Better.” Rebecca flicked ash on the floor. True to her word, Vladimir did not mind in the least. “I might let you finish the box.”

  “Fair enough,” Vladimir said, helping himself. “You know that I’d be devastated if you were to remain angry with me.”

  “Of course,” Rebecca said. “No one can stand to be on bad terms with me.”

  “That is not what I meant!”

  “Yeah. It is. You said it yourself, Vlad. Empathy colors my entire world, our relationship included. You can’t get mad at me, not for long. Nobody can hold a grudge against me. My disapproval would bury you, Vlad. God help the man I develop a crush on. As you said, it’s my nature.”

  “You have a point,” Vladimir admitted, peeling open a foil wrapper. “Very little tact, however, and a poor attitude.”

  “I can’t dispute any of that. Now, Vlad; you said you had a secret for me?”

  Vladimir paused, holding the candied fruit he had unwrapped, but making no move to eat it.

  “I have two secrets.” Vladimir spoke slowly, his speech muddied more than usual by the accent of his childhood. “You have wondered where Gaul got the idea to introduce nanites into a Witch?”

  “I have many things to wonder about, and a million questions in need of an answer,” Rebecca said impatiently, grinding out her cigarette on the windowsill and then tossing the butt out the window. “If this one is of special significance, then I’d appreciate hearing about it in an expedited manner, please.”

  Vladimir seemed to shrink down into himself, looking particularly fragile surrounded by the universal white and rounded edges of the hospital bedding, equipment, and accessories, dwarfed by his bed and the mountain of pillows, skin thin to the point of translucence. He worked a bit of the red foil from the candy wrapper between his fingers.

  “It wasn’t Gaul’s idea originally.” Vladimir’s words were slurred like those of one just woken from sleep. “He reverse engineered his own method and implant. He knew it could be done, though, because it had been done – at least once before. He had an example to work from.”