The Outer Dark (Central Series Book 4)

by Zachary Rawlins

  “…then say so. Otherwise, you say one more word not directly related to the performance of this operation, and you will be done as an Auditor, like it or not.”

  “We aren’t interested in prisoners?” Hayley looked startled. “Not even Alistair?”

  “Prisoners are fine, but only after we have control of the situation. Alistair, on the other hand, is the most dangerous man I’ve ever met, and I’ve met way more men than you. He’s a monster, even without the ability to download protocols from the Etheric Network. If we are lucky, he will remove himself from the area as soon as the shit starts. If he doesn’t – and let’s all hope that he does – the rest of you are absolutely forbidden to engage him in any way. I’ll handle Alistair myself, if it comes to that.”

  “What if it goes poorly?” Michael’s expression was gentle to the point of treachery. “What if Alistair gets the advantage?”

  “Fucking run, that’s what,” Alice snapped. “If I can’t handle him, what the hell are the rest of you going to do? Enough of this shit! Does everyone know what they’re supposed to be doing?”

  Everyone did, though it was clear that not everyone liked it. Fuck it, Alice thought. Can’t make all the people happy all the time.

  “Min-jun, you ready?”

  To his credit, the new Auditor just nodded, confident and serious.

  Everything happens on my word.

  Alice put her arm around Min-jun, the height difference and his boyish features making her feel big-sisterly.

  “Follow my lead and stay close, okay?”

  Min-jun nodded again, and then followed her obediently into her shadow.

  ***

  Alice stepped out of the deep shadow cast by a dilapidated set of bleachers, sweeping the desolate environs for signs of hostile life, Min-jun covering her blind side. The auditorium was configured for basketball, with a single court flanked on both sides by bleachers badly in need of maintenance, an intact hoop on one end of the court, nothing but a metal pole at the other. Skylights provided the only illumination, and pigeons were the only things that reacted to their appearance.

  A chill ran up Alice’s spine like the fingers of an impertinent lover.

  Min-jun, I want a barrier immediately. Optimize for ambush.

  Min-jun responded with the telepathic equivalent of a nod. Alice felt the obscure sense of tightness she associated with being sheathed in a barrier.

  Central, please confirm no apport activity in vicinity of operation.

  The wheels of Analytics ground fine and swiftly, today. Alice had her answer so fast she wondered if the precogs had anticipated the request.

  No apport activity logged in the last hour.

  Leaving aside the troubling tendency for Analytics to miss her own apports, Alice found the information worrying. She led the way around the perimeter of the room, sticking to the shadows and moving quietly, using the low-light amplifier built into her shotgun’s optic to navigate. Min-stayed close and alert without needing to be told, ever the model soldier. Privately grateful for South Korea’s policy of mandatory conscription, Alice hunted the building for signs of life.

  Hayley, you sure you saw them come in here?

  In the compound, yes. I didn’t see them go into the auditorium specifically…

  Any telepathic activity?

  I’ve still got signal, but too indistinct or shielded to pinpoint.

  Karim, any movement on the perimeter? Guards still holding position?

  There was a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Karim’s response was rapid, his urgency conveying the tension absent in telepathy.

  I have no guards stationed, outside the Auditorium or on the perimeter.

  What the hell? Where did they go?

  I’m…not sure. I never saw them leave. I’m reviewing security footage now, but…

  Alice wrapped her arms around Min-jun, grinning at his discomfort.

  “Max barrier, now!” Alice forced them to the ground. “This is gonna hurt.”

  Alice, something is wrong, Hayley transmitted urgently. There is bad signal in our network…

  Strategically placed magnesium flares ignited simultaneously, filling the room with brilliant, unyielding light. Alice and Min-jun were forced to shield their eyes, and any chance of disappearing into the shadows was lost.

  Alice braced herself for impact, as Min-jun’s lime-green barrier thickened about them. She patched herself into Karim’s sensorium through the telepathic field network.

  From the outside, it looked like the building had collapsed on itself, the explosion was so effectively contained and directed. From within the blast zone, it seemed that the gates to a twelfth-century Hell had been opened. Dozens of charges detonated simultaneously in a distributed array, pummeling Min-jun’s barrier from every direction. Alice lay on top of the young Auditor and watched him bite down on his tongue in his struggle to deal with the massive influx of kinetic energy. The barrier deformed and bowed, and fragments of white hot metal and flaming plastic were hurled across the room. The blast wave bounced them into the air and then slammed them to the floor.

  Alice opened her eyes and shook her head, but heard nothing save a ringing in her ears. She sat up on top of the semi-conscious Min-jun, and made a perfunctory attempt at dusting off her jacket.

  “Don’t worry, kid,” Alice said, rising shakily. “I won’t tell your fiancé a thing.”

  The room was still unbearably bright from the scattered magnesium flares, and Alice was forced to shield her eyes from the glare. The auditorium was largely obliterated, only the occasional steel girder or section of masonry standing. In the building’s place, there was a field of debris and burning wreckage providing all the cover in the world to any mad bomber inclined to finish the job.

  Alice checked her shotgun and was pleased to find it undamaged. She dragged Min-jun into the cover of the twisted remainder of a set of bleachers, blinking her eyes to clear them of the stinging fumes emitted by the burning magnesium, and then took cover, the thin and wavering shadows cast by the confusion of burning debris and the flares insufficient for an apport.

  Karim? Hayley? Anybody still out there?

  Nothing.

  An inhibitor field, perhaps, Alice thought, or a powerful telepath in direct proximity.

  The second option, actually.

  Alice snapped the shotgun to her shoulder and sighted.

  Your Network was pitifully secured, Auditor, and your defenses were child’s play to bypass.

  Alice hesitated, the trigger depressed within a millimeter of firing, scanning the burning debris, sweat pooling on the small of her back. The ringing in her ears made her feel sluggish and disconnected, and the front sight on her gun swam and multiplied.

  I am right in front of you, the voice offered. Fire away, why don’t you?

  Alice cursed as she opened up in full auto, holding the trigger down until the entire magazine was spent, discharging ten shells into empty space.

  Well done! Let’s be rid of the gun, now, shall we?

  “You’re a bossy asshole,” Alice complained, tossing the gun aside with obvious regret. “Show yourself, Anathema.”

  In due time. I don’t think this is the best place for us to talk.

  Behind a loony smile, Alice gritted her teeth.

  “Okay, you little shit. Where to?”

  A series of ghostly lights appeared, hovering in the air like distant headlights, tracing a winding path through the building, and into a basement stairwell that hadn’t been on any of the site plans.

  Follow the dotted line, the voice suggested. Right this way.

  ***

  When Karim switched to Arabic, Chike knew that things had gone wrong. Half a second later, the building seemed to launch itself several meters in the air, before disintegrating with Alice and Min-jun presumably still somewhere inside.

  Chike was staring in horror when Karim grabbed him by the arm.

  “Chike, hurry,” Karim said urgently. “Apport, on
my mark.”

  “What? Where to?”

  No time. We need to move!

  Karim forced his way crudely into Chike’s forebrain and deposited the destination coordinates there, along with a terrific sense of urgency. Chike shook himself from his stupor and moved to comply.

  Like all apport technicians, Chike had begun with a mirror, and then found his own method of apport by trial and telepathic simulated error. In his case, it was a question of math. That was fortunate, because Chike loved math.

  The numbers pertaining to an apport were unique, transitory, and uncertain, so Chike had to invent workable integers. He spent weeks devising a way to figure for distance when the whole idea of distance became subjective. Chike consulted old books and supercomputers, raided the archives of institutions and companies, and stayed up late experimenting with ideas that would have made his teachers laugh or cry – he was never certain which.

  It took him about ten seconds to solve for an apport to Central.

  When he solved, they had arrived. It was that simple.

  Chike had begun crunching the numbers for the next jump before the first was complete. It was thrilling, in a perverse way, knowing that a misplaced decimal or integer error would leave them stranded in the Ether. He was afraid, of course – one would have to be a fool not to be afraid. The thrill he experienced, applying his prodigious mathematical gifts, far superseded any anxiety he might have felt.

  Karim looked like he wanted to say something, but did not make it any further than curling his mouth before Chike solved for the next jump, and they were gone.

  ***

  You were surprisingly vulnerable, Ms. Gallow.

  “Yeah,” Alice agreed, with a wolfish grin. “That’s funny, huh? As Chief Auditor, seems like the kind of thing I might have planned for.”

  Three flights of stairs and she had not yet found the bottom. The stairs were just pieces of metal grill set on a steel framework and bolted together. The whole contraption rattled and swayed with each step, and infrequent illumination was provided by work lights strung together with vast lengths of orange extension cord.

  Are you trying to imply that the weakness of your defenses was deliberate, Ms. Gallow? That you deliberately omitted a competent defensive telepath from your team of Auditors as some sort of stratagem?

  “Maybe. How’s it working?”

  Not very well, I’m afraid.

  “Aren’t you polite? Well, I wouldn’t worry much about it. It probably just didn’t occur to me to prepare for any sort of telepathic assault. You’re probably completely safe.”

  She navigated the final two flights without comment from her hidden puppet master. Alice chalked one up for the home team. She could feel the telepath testing her defenses, trying to unlock control of her thoughts and access to her memories, but Rebecca had done at least part of her work well. The experience was hardly pleasant, but the telepath’s efforts were frustrated.

  I think you’re lying to me, Ms. Gallow.

  “Took you a long time to decide. Feeling a little rattled? Let me ask you something else, then. Why do you figure you had so little trouble taking over my body, but you can’t manage to crack into my thoughts? I can feel you poking around in there, you realize.”

  Hmm.

  “Hmm indeed!” Alice practically skipped down the unlit utility corridor. She could feel the compulsion drawing her closer to her manipulator, but instead of resisting, she hurried along with it. “I’m no telepath – obviously – but isn’t it usually the other way around?”

  Yes, actually. It usually is.

  “Isn’t that funny?” The corridor was hot and humid, thanks to the asbestos-coated steam piping that occupied a full third of the space, and the air smelled like detergent. “I’m sure it’ll all work out fine, though. It’s not like I’m famous for my temper or anything. How recently did you graduate from the Academy?”

  None of your business. I’m the one who should be asking questions. And do stop calling me that, won’t you?

  “Do you wanna try and make me?” Alice wiped sweat from her brow as she worked her way sideways through a particularly narrow bit. “Go right ahead. Give it your best shot.”

  There was no response. Alice laughed even as she felt her lungs shrivel from the dense, hot air.

  “Tell me, Mister Anathema – it is Mister, isn’t it? I have a sense for these things – do they tell stories in the Outer Dark about what happens to Anathema soldiers who fall into mean old Alice Gallow’s hands?”

  A long hesitation. She hustled down another utility corridor, picking her footing carefully in the intermittent light. The damp cinderblock walls were covered with crude graffiti and explicit sketches, and the copious spider webs clung to Alice’s hair. The constant psychic battery was like sandbags piled on her shoulders, making each step into an endeavor.

  Yes. Rather.

  “Oh, good! I don’t have to tell you what happens when I get to you, then. You already know.”

  I am in control of your actions, Ms. Gallow – and the rest of your mind, soon enough. I commanded you to come to me.

  “Oh, sweetie. You’ve got it all mixed up! I’m coming for you, not to you. There’s a big difference. You’ll understand soon.”

  Another hallway. It could not have been much further, given the range limitations inherent to this sort of higher-level telepathic shenanigan.

  “I could swear that I’ve seen this hallway before. You wouldn’t be running me around in circles, would you? To buy time?”

  No, but these old steam tunnels are a maze.

  “Doesn’t make any difference,” Alice said, humming to herself as she climbed a short stair, forced open a heavy door, and then wiggled into another steam tunnel. “More time for us to chat, before the electrodes come out. Do you want to tell me who sent you, while you still have all your fingers and toes? Or are you more the quiet type? I love working with the quiet ones…”

  I assure you, Ms. Gallow, there will be no discussion.

  “You’re planning on using proximity to enhance your protocol. Maybe even contact?” Alice grinned wide for her unseen audience. “Are you planning to try and touch me? Because I am looking forward to getting my hands on you, I don’t mind saying.”

  She made a left where she had a made a right before. At the end of a long corridor, a hint of electric light filtered through the crack beneath a door. Alice made to run toward it and found her movements inhibited. Her laughter echoed down the corridor like a vanguard.

  You take me for a fool, Ms. Gallow. This is a transparent ploy, and it will not work.

  “Look for yourself, telepath,” Alice said confidentially. “Tell me I don’t believe every word that I’m saying.”

  The Anathema telepath leapt at the opportunity, halting Alice while he attempted to ransack her brain. Disappointed to find her defenses intact, he turned instead to confirm Alice’s words, as an afterthought.

  “Telepathy is so intimate,” Alice cooed, chewing on her thumbnail. “Are you one of the handsome ones, kid? Do you work out at all? Don’t be modest. I like ‘em much better that way, that’s all. I find it much more entertaining, taking apart a body that has had some work put into it. Miguel, too. Did I tell you about Miguel?”

  Her feet started moving again, this time under the rigid control of the telepath. Alice was reminded of Mikey’s videogames and the motion sickness they inspired in her.

  “You’ll meet him down in Administrative Detention. Did I tell you? They built me a whole facility in the Far Shores and gave it that ridiculous name. You won’t like it much, I’m afraid, but you’ll spend the rest of your life there. Could be a long time. Or not.”

  She wobbled down the corridor like a teen learning to walk in heels.

  “What was I talking about? Oh, right – Miguel! Such a nice guy – and cute, too, if you like face tattoos. Started off torturing people with pliers and a car battery for MS-13, and I guess he just kind of stuck with that career arc, you know? He’s a
telepath, like you, but oh so much nastier.”

  Do be quiet, Ms. Gallow.

  The telepath must have been rattled. Alice pushed back, and the words spilled out freely.

  “Let me run it down for you, what’ll happen next. After we finish up here, you’ll probably have to go to the infirmary for a while, which won’t be too fun, because restraints are a bitch when your collarbone’s broken, and maybe your hip, too? Who knows! That stuff never heals right, because they won’t set it properly, and I’m afraid we don’t distribute painkillers to POWs, as a rule. They’ll keep you alive, though, no worries there.”

  I told you to be quiet!

  The contest of wills was over before it begun. Alice smiled as she strolled along, halfway down the final corridor.

  “Once you’re past the risk of dying of shock or infection, they’ll discharge you to Administrative Detention – and me. Shower and decontamination first. Shave your head, burn your clothes, then its straight to the interrogation chamber. Which – I know it sounds scary, like a big metal door and an Iron Maiden, and all that, right? But it’s just a room, really, a lot like any other. Just you and me and Miguel.”

  Alice noticed that she had stopped walking near the end of the hall, unable to take another step, but she diplomatically decided not to mention it.

  “Miguel goes first. He’s got a real talent for this work. Unique, you know? He’ll shut down your protocol, take over your body – sound familiar? – and deprive you of any ability to resist. You’ll be a willing participant in whatever we decide to do to you. If we give the order, you’ll take your own eyes out with a hot iron, which is good, because I don’t like to get the gunk inside all over my hands. It smells terrible and it lasts for days.”

  Alice grinned, and made another attempt to take the last few steps to the door with the light behind it, but found her movements impeded.

  “We’ll take your fingernails out by way of introduction, and then we’ll have a little chat. Nothing too serious. A few light questions, the kind of thing that reasonable people could discuss in a more relaxed environment, assuming you were the kind who wants to rat out his friends.”