The Outer Dark (Central Series Book 4)

by Zachary Rawlins

  Chandi paused and smiled awkwardly. Grigori turned around in his seat to see who was leaving, and wasn’t surprised to see a full third of the room making for the door and reaching for cellphones. It wouldn’t be long, he thought grimly, before Hegemony security heard about this gathering. He understood, now, why it had to take place on Academy grounds, and admired Chandi’s tactical planning. No matter how outrageous the stories the Hegemony heard, they would never risk taking direct action on Academy soil.

  Not unless they wanted a visit from the Auditors.

  “Is everyone absent who wishes to be so?”

  Tentative nods and queasy ascents.

  “Very well.” Chandi bowed her head briefly. “In that case, I will cede the podium to the alternative that I have chosen. Please, if you can – do forgive me.”

  Chandi stepped aside from the podium, clasped her hands before her, and then lowered her head respectfully as a small girl in an elaborate black dress emerged from the burgundy curtains flanking the stage, walking with perfect self-assurance in a two-thousand-dollar pair of Louis Vuitton’s. The room was filled with gasps and agitated whispers. Grigori found himself half-standing and staring at the stage in bug-eyed disbelief.

  “Good evening,” Anastasia said evenly. “Do sit down and be quiet, if you would. I will not take much of your valuable time.”

  “How can this be?”

  The sudden interruption silenced the room, while everyone looked about to find the source of the objection.

  “What is this madness?” Grigori was surprised to find the voice was his own; then again, he had not expected to face the future head of the Black Sun this evening. “What have you done to Chandi?”

  Anastasia rolled her eyes.

  “Nothing, of course. The telepaths among you can confirm it later, if Miss Tuesday is willing to let them investigate.” Chandi nodded without fully raising her head. “Ask yourself, Mr. Aushev – does such a base maneuver strike you as my modus operandi?”

  “Then what?” Grigori demanded bluntly. “What business is this of yours?”

  “Miss Tuesday came to me for council and assistance.” Anastasia spoke with an air of mild offense. “She realized that no one else was able to assist her, and invited me to extend the same offer to her peers as a gesture of affection and solidarity. If some here might wish to avoid dying in a pointless struggle between aristocrats, what business is it of yours?”

  “This…this is…”

  “Treason?” Anastasia seemed to relish the thought. “I would certainly consider it as such. Also, good sense on Miss Tuesday’s part. Of course, if you never allow me to speak, Mr. Aushev, then I suppose this scenario is avoided.”

  “I will not stand by for any more of this,” Grigori said, glaring at the stage furiously. “Chandi, you have been influenced by the Black Sun; you cannot expect…”

  “Grigori, if you don’t mind,” Hope said, tugging at his sleeve with a nervous smile. “I think we should hear Miss Martynova out.”

  Grigori wasn’t sure who to turn his horrified look upon.

  “Sit down, Mr. Aushev,” Anastasia said, amused. “At the very least, you cannot make a complete report to your superiors without first hearing my intentions.”

  He allowed Hope to pull him back down to his seat.

  “Can we begin? I’m not fond of interruptions.” Anastasia scanned the room. “Very well. You must all pardon me if my approach is a bit rusty, but I typically delegate this sort of work. I am truly only here as a favor to the Young Ladies Sewing Circle, so I would appreciate your undivided attention.”

  Grigori clenched his jaw so tight that his skull throbbed.

  “How shall I put this?” Anastasia put a finger to her immaculately made-up lips. “You are all so very obviously doomed that I cannot help but feel just a little sorry for you.” Anastasia smiled, and Grigori felt his blood pressure skyrocket. “Our precognitive pool supports Miss Tuesday’s conclusions – I’ve brought probability matrices, for the bookish among you – and my intelligence indicates that the conflict is more imminent than most of you might recognize. As your prescient friend has already informed you, many of you will serve as grease for the gears of this particular conflict.”

  Anastasia paused and seemed to seek out several faces in the audience, Grigori’s among them. Her eyes passed over him and he saw nothing behind them, and then it was over and someone else’s turn, and Grigori felt an embarrassing amount of relief.

  “I find this…distasteful. Wasteful. And I have made something of a career of finding value in that which others discard.” Anastasia’s tone took on a martial tone. “If there are any among you with designs on a noble and pointless death in service of an arbitrary ideal, then I commend you for your clarity of purpose. Please, do not allow me to stand in the way of your glorious and pitiful destiny.”

  There was no possibility of interruption. Even Grigori was transfixed.

  “For those of you, however, who were interested in a lifetime of fruitful service, calculated risks, and proportionate rewards, then perhaps we might have a word?” Anastasia smiled benevolently. “I understand how troubling this situation must seem, how difficult the idea might be to swallow, but give it full consideration nonetheless. I assure you that any other remedy to your dilemma will prove as final. As to the details…”

  Anastasia sighed, glancing at the clock set above the door in the back of the room.

  “…allow me to be brief. I would not ask you to join an existing Black Sun cartel, and I doubt that any would be eager to have you. Instead, I will provide those who are interested with a charter and a manifest, allowing the creation of a new subsidiary cartel within the Black Sun, an autonomous tributary. The Tuesday Cartel, perhaps?”

  Anastasia smirked at Chandi, and received a shrug in response.

  “Perhaps.” Chandi’s gaze was distant, directed somewhere beyond the heads in the room. “Details of the near future are often obscure.”

  “Whatever the case may be,” Anastasia said, unruffled, “cartel leadership will be chosen internally, pending my approval. Loyalty oaths will be taken to me in private, and then publicly to the cartel. Trials will be arranged for each of you, as is standard for our cartel, to determine your fitness and to verify your loyalty. Those who succeed will become members of the Black Sun in good standing, protected from retribution and vendetta, eligible for the same benefits and opportunities as any other. Serve well and my patronage will smooth your chosen path in life. It truly is that simple.”

  “Lady Martynova?” Hope raised her hand politely. “May I ask a question?”

  “Oh, I suppose,” Anastasia said impatiently. “One or two. If you must.”

  “Forgive me, but you are not yet the head of the Black Sun. You proposed to take us under your own direct authority. What of the coming conflict with your father, Miss Martynova? Would we not be trading one inevitable conflict for another?”

  Anastasia smiled slowly, appearing genuinely pleased.

  “That was quite a good question, actually. I am a bit surprised that you think I would allow that situation to come to violence, however.” Anastasia turned and nodded to Chandi. “Miss Tuesday, do employ your Looking Glass Protocol and provide her with an answer. How will the leadership question in the Black Sun be resolved? Will I take my father’s place without the blood of these children on my hands?”

  Chandi covered her eyes obligingly. The entire room was silent while she projected, nearly a full minute.

  “It is very probable that you will shortly take your father’s place, Lady Martynova. Nearly inevitable.”

  “Yes, yes. And?”

  “There will be blood spilled, but no descent into civil war for the Black Sun. As for those here today – I cannot find a future in which they perish in that conflict.”

  “Because there will be no such conflict?”

  Chandi nodded.

  “It is deeply unlikely. May I speak one further thing, Lady Martynova?”

&
nbsp; Grigori shuddered at the title, at the reluctant obedience he heard in Chandi’s voice, and resolved to have Hope do a very extensive search of Chandi’s consciousness for tampering.

  “Yes, but do be quick about it.”

  “My friends, I cannot guarantee for any of you that this will result in a better future, or a longer life, or even that this decision will prevent us from becoming caught up in the coming Hegemonic civil war.” Chandi looked profoundly torn, her expression full of grief. “I…I can only hope to try and select the best available future in front of me, and offer all of you the chance to do the same. That is…that is all.”

  Hope’s hand shot back up.

  “Another question?”

  “Last one, please.” Anastasia smiled narrowly. “I have things to do, you know.”

  “What about our families, Miss Martynova?”

  The future Mistress of the Black Sun appeared to think it over.

  “Ineligible,” Anastasia said, with an air of finality. “Further recruitment will be considered on a case by case basis, after full membership is achieved.”

  Grigori stood in disbelief.

  “You expect us to fight our families? Our friends?”

  “Do you not expect to fight some of them, should you chose to remain for the conflict between Lord North and Lord Thule?” Anastasia rolled her eyes. “That is generally how civil wars work, Mr. Aushev. Are we done?”

  They weren’t, obviously, but no one could think of anything to say until long after Anastasia gave them a patronizing wave and then exited stage left.

  ***

  Alice paused in the hallway, her expression slowly moving from annoyance to affection, then she coughed loudly into her hand. Michael stirred from where he sat beside her door, on the hallway floor, and wiped the sleep from his eyes.

  “Oh, hi, Alice,” he said, yawning. “What time is it?”

  “It’s evening, I think. I don’t know. I’ve changed time zones four times today. Why are you sleeping in the hallway, Mikey?”

  “Waiting for you. Fell asleep, I guess.”

  “Seems that way. You been waiting long?”

  “Long enough to fall asleep,” he said, grinning. “Are you going to let me in?”

  “I don’t know,” Alice said, sighing as she unlocked her door. “Are we still fighting?”

  “No.”

  “Is this about where I’ve been? Because it was work, Michael, and you know…”

  “Not about that,” Michael said, waving her off. “I’m not here to fight.”

  “No?” Alice held the door open for Michael. “Then what merited camping out in the hall?”

  Michael walked up to her desk. Alice rushed past to him to shut her current diary, glaring furiously. Michael just laughed, and then unrolled a small cloth wrapper on the desk. A pair of scissors and an electric razor were nestled inside the folds.

  “Mikey?” Alice blinked. “What is this?”

  “I’ve been thinking of making a change,” Michael said, tossing his dreadlocks. “Want to help?”

  Michael held out the scissors to her. Alice froze, her smile wavering.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think maybe it’s time for a haircut,” Michael said. “I’m tired of carrying so much baggage around with me, and anyway, it gets in my eyes.”

  “I don’t know,” Alice said, stepping close and toying with one of his dreadlocks. “I like you this way. You remind me of a lion. With a mane, you know?”

  “Maybe you’ll like me even more without it?”

  “Is that what this is about?”

  “No. You and Becca have both told me multiple times that I need to let go of the past,” Michael said. “I can’t be in the classroom and the field, not at the same time. When I grew these out, it meant something to me. That’s not who I am today. I want my appearance to reflect that. Am I making any sense at all?”

  Alice took him by the hand, and led him to her obsessively neat bathroom, parking him in front of the basinet and mirror.

  “Oh, yes, perfect sense. I’m fine with it. Are you sure, though?”

  “Yes.” Michael nodded. “It’s just hair, after all.”

  “I might be taller than you,” Alice said, measuring from the tops of their heads, “without all that hair.”

  “I can live with that.”

  “You know, guys of a certain age…it might not grow back.”

  “I can live with that, too. I’ve thought this over carefully, Alice.”

  “Maybe not,” Alice said, grinning at him in the mirror. “Sure you trust me with scissors?”

  ***

  Hope and Grigori pulled rank on the rest of the panicked Hegemony students, sequestering Chandi in a corner and quietly interrogating her.

  “What in the hell, Chandi?” Grigori demanded. “Have you lost your damned mind?”

  “Grigori, stop, please.” Hope touched him gently on the shoulder. Grigori felt his temper cool, and he stepped aside, grumbling vaguely. “Now, Chandi – is it really that bad?”

  Chandi looked as desolate as he could remember, and Grigori had watched Chandi weep and hurl herself on her grandfather’s coffin at his funeral last year.

  “Do you think anything else could make me this desperate?” Chandi asked hoarsely. “My father and family will disown me; my cartel will expel me. I will have no patron and no protection in this world aside from that of Anastasia Martynova. She will exercise whatever degree of control over me that she chooses. I understand this, and submit to it willingly. That should tell you something about the nature of the future I mean to avoid.”

  “Is there no other way?”

  “There are other ways.” Chandi looked away, and when she spoke again, he could hardly hear her. “They are worse.”

  Hope and Chandi exchanged a look, the nature of which was lost on Grigori.

  “What of your mother, Chandi?” Grigori asked, hands trembling. “What do you think will happen to your family, if you turn to the Black Sun?”

  “Nothing, truly.” Chandi shrugged apologetically. “My mother and uncles and aunts are firmly within the employ of the Thule Cartel already. Their loyalty is beyond question, and their specialties are largely administrative. Most of my cousins will follow suit; a few, however, will join the North Cartel, or follow me in joining the Black Sun. I will not be the only member of my family to bring shame upon it, Grigori.”

  “That isn’t…”

  “It was.” Chandi said it without rancor, as a plain statement of fact. “I do not blame you, Grigori. You worry for your family.”

  “I’m worried for your sanity, Chandi! How can you be so sure of this? Precognition is not an exact science, and you are arriving at your conclusions alone…”

  The precognitive pools were designed for redundancy, for purposes of fact checking and error correction. Precognitives working alone were notoriously unreliable and unstable.

  “I know,” Chandi said, with a distracted nod. “That is why I went to Miss Martynova. I didn’t just need to find a safe haven – I needed to find out if I was right. I cut a deal with her for access to her precognitive pool first. I spent a week and a half with what’s left of the Black Sun pool after the Anathema attack, running projections and looking for an escape. When it became clear that there was no out to be found, I went back to Anastasia and made my petition. I…I am so sorry. I have disappointed you, haven’t I, Grigori? I never had any such intention. If I could live up to your ideals and allow all my friends to die, I assure you that I would, but it is not in me…”

  Chandi seemed unaware of the tears crawling down on her face, and Grigori felt it would be rude to mention them. His hands opened and closed of their own accord, his mind spinning in circles.

  “No, that’s not it,” he said, waving her off. “You have not disappointed me. It is just…”

  “I understand perfectly.” Chandi smiled hesitantly at him. “Please, come with me, both of you. Speak to the Lady Martynova directly. All
ow her to assuage your fears.”

  Grigori looked to Hope, but she was too intent on Chandi to notice.

  “Are you sure, Chandi?” Hope grabbed one of Chandi’s hands and held it in her own. “You are one-hundred-percent sure?”

  “No,” Chandi admitted. “I can’t be sure. That’s the worst of it, Hope. There’s no way to be sure. This is just my best guess.”

  ***

  “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “You know what, asshole. Do you like it?”

  Michael ran his hand across his freshly shorn head, no more than stubble left.

  “I’m fine with it,” Michael said. “The important thing is what you think.”

  “What I think?” Alice brushed stray hair and severed dreadlocks from Michael’s shoulder. “You have to live it, Mikey.”

  “You have to sleep with me,” Michael said. “That’s the bigger concern.”

  Alice laughed and pushed him gently into the shower, stripping off her jeans and shirt as she followed him in.

  “I’m still on the fence,” Alice said, unclipping her bra. “Your ears look kinda big now.”

  Michael laughed and turned the shower dial, jumping when the cold water splashed his back.

  “It’s really kind of strange. You almost look like a different person.” Alice rubbed his head and grinned. “Your head’s all fuzzy, Mikey.”

  “Think you can still stand to be with me?”

  “I doubt it,” Alice said, stepping neatly out of her underwear, and then tossing it over the shower enclosure as she stepped into his embrace. “I think we’re done. Although…”

  ***

  The main gym at the Academy never closed, and was therefore never truly empty. At three in the morning, however, it was very quiet, which made it one of Michael’s favorite times to visit, particularly on nights where Alice did not come back to her rooms above the Administrative building. He warmed up quickly on the mats in a vacant classroom, paying extra attention to his badly bruised left knee, mangled in a previous field op and still healing. When he felt sufficiently limber, he moved on to the weight room.