A loud grunt followed shortly by the muffled thud of many kilos of steel impacting a weight pad alerted Michael that he had company on approach, so he took a moment to compose himself, in case the lifter was a student.
That was a good instinct, refined by years of teaching.
Grigori glanced at Michael in the wall mirror and nodded, adjusting his wrist wraps for a modified deadlift. Michael hurried over to spot him automatically, biting back a lecture on the dangers of solo lifting.
“You’re up late, Grigori. Or is it early?”
“Late, sir.”
“You’re done with the Academy, save for formalities, right? Call me Michael.”
Grigori nodded and began his lift. He was lifting near the end of his functional strength, and the tremors in his arms and his flushed skin showed it, Michael’s hands hovering nearby until the weight was safely at rest. He eyed the puddle of sweat at Grigori’s feet and wondered exactly how long he had been lifting.
“Something bothering you, Grigori?”
Grigori sat down on a nearby bench and eyed Michael dubiously, squirting water into his mouth from a squeeze bottle.
“It’s obvious?”
Michael nodded, adjusting the weight on the bar.
“Very.”
He seemed to want to think about it. Michael had enough experience working with young adults not to push him. Grigori was nice enough to spot him on his lift, at least, so that was a start.
“Do you come to the gym when you’re worried, sir?”
“I come to the gym all the time,” Michael admitted. “When I’m worried, I may as well get a room.”
Grigori shook his head.
“This is not normal for me. I do what is necessary, no more.”
“Really?” Michael eyed Grigori’s formidable bulk. “Good on you, then.”
“I cannot say that is normal for me to be this anxious, sir. Are you religious, by chance?”
“I am.” Michael nodded. “Started off Baptist, ended up Methodist.”
“Then you will understand,” Grigori said approvingly. “I have been offered a devil’s bargain.”
“Aha.” Michael did his best to recall everything he knew about Grigori, wishing he had Rebecca Levy’s encyclopedic knowledge of the students at the Academy. “You were adopted by a Hegemony cartel, weren’t you?”
Grigori nodded, adjusting his hand wraps.
“My big sister used to say there was a devil in Hell for every single person who ever lived, just waiting for their chance,” Michael said, shaking his head at the memory. “I’m gonna guess that your devil comes in the shape of Anastasia Martynova. Unless her old man got back in the game…?”
“No. You were right the first time,” Grigori said, with an obscure sigh. “At least, that’s what I’ve believed until now. This madness with the Thule Cartel, however…”
“You are sympathetic to Lord North, then?”
“I think very little of either,” Grigori said. “The very idea of war within the Hegemony defeats the purpose of the Hegemony.”
“That is insightful.”
“It is pointless. The conflict will come. The only question is that of sides.”
“Humanity’s very favorite issue. That particular debate never ends, in my experience.”
Grigori smiled thinly.
“You gave me a start, coming in here. I hardly recognized you, sir, since you cut your hair.”
“Drop the honorific, okay? You’re functionally graduated, and you aren’t my subordinate, so it’s not necessary.”
“About that.” Grigori grimaced and stared at the ground. “Who would I talk to, sir, in regards to a job?”
***
“It’s just a chat. We’ve had these before. Nothing to get nervous about.”
“The circumstances are a bit different, this time.”
“True, but there’s still no reason to be nervous. Give me one sec…”
“Wait! Ms. Levy, I would continue to be anxious, if it is all the same to you.”
“It isn’t, actually. Do you know how empathy works, Grigori?”
“I believe so, yes. You influence other people’s emotions…”
“That’s half of it. As an empath, I am also influenced by other people’s emotions. In a big way. So, when you get nervous seeing me, I get all sweaty and disgusting, too. Not okay. Okay? Here’s the thing, Grigori – I’m gonna fix it no matter what.”
“This is a violation of my privacy, and if I cannot stop you, Director, then be assured that I will file a complaint with the Board…”
“Nope! You’ll be totally cool with it, Grigori, I promise. Nearly done.”
“You…Ms. Levy…this is entirely…”
“All done! How ya feelin’, Grigori?”
“…I’m fine, thank you. Much better, actually.”
“See? I told you. Are we cool?”
“Yes.” Grigori blinked. “Why wouldn’t we be cool, Ms. Levy?”
“On to business! Tell me, Grigori – why do you wanna join the Auditors? You refused previous offers when you were in the Program. What changed?”
“You know what changed, Ms. Levy. Gaul Thule changed everything.”
“Yeah…that’s…let’s not talk about that, okay? I get you, okay, but move on.”
“Very well, Director. Are you aware of the meeting that Chandi Tuesday organized for earlier this evening in one of the PA rooms at the Academy?”
“I saw it on the calendar, but I don’t know what you guys talked about yet. It’s probably waiting for me in my next intel download…”
“Complete the download, Director. I’ll wait.”
“No need to wait. I’m all caught up and…holy shit! Anastasia showed up at a Hegemony meeting?”
“Yes, Ms. Levy.”
“She was invited? By Chandi freakin’ Tuesday?”
“Yes.”
“Now I get it.”
“Yes. Well. If you understand…”
“Nope. Not how it works. I still wanna hear you say it.”
“Why is that necessary?”
“Because I am the Director of the Academy, and I need to believe in you before you can be one of my Auditors, Grigori.”
They considered each other. Grigori shifted on the couch, and cleared his throat.
“Very well. As I see it, I have three options. I can disregard a precognitive in whom I have put faith – a friend – and join one cartel or another in their silly fight, and then likely die. I can join Chandi in defecting to the Black Sun, betraying my adopted family and ideals. Or I can create my own way.”
“Okay. You’re selling me on it, now. You sure you wanna be an Auditor? You won’t be a Hegemony agent anymore, no matter what they tell you. Even if they make me cut a deal, like they did with Hayley and Katya, I won’t honor it. You’ll be an Auditor, one hundred percent, working for Alice Gallow, doing whatever I tell her to tell you to do. You’ll be expected to deal with Hegemony, Black Sun, and independents alike, and treat ‘em all the same. You’ll do bad things to worse people, on demand. You cool with that, Grigori?”
“Yes, Ms. Levy. I graduated the Program, after all. I understand very well what the Auditors do.”
“You don’t, Grigori. Nobody does, not until they are elbow deep in it. I have great confidence, however, that you’ll get it figured out.”
Twelve.
“I am surprised to see you here.”
“You are a liar, Lord Thule.” Emily inspected her sparkling cerulean nails. “There is no possibility that you could be surprised by something so obvious as my arrival.”
Gaul Thule nodded warily.
“Yes. I knew that you would come. The knowledge came to me quite recently, as a matter of fact.”
“That fits. I only just made up my mind as to how to play this.”
Emily glanced around at the environs significantly.
“Since we are on the subject of precognition, let me make an admission – while the inevitability of
your visit became recently apparent, I am still in the dark as to your purpose or intentions.”
“Ah, Lord Thule!” Emily laughed politely. “You flatter me.”
“It is a simple statement of fact,” Gaul insisted. “It is quite rare for me to experience this level of uncertainty.”
“I shall take that as a compliment.” She twirled a lock of hair the color of drizzled honey around her fingers and wore the smile she had learned from imitating her sister. “A lady requires her privacy.”
Gaul looked her over with his pink eyes, not in the manner that most men studied Emily Muir, but with similar intensity. The former Director looked older than she remembered, with copious grey hair at the temples and the nape, advancing widow’s peaks, and a fine web of lines and folds radiating out from his pink eyes. He adjusted his tortoiseshell glasses and cleared his throat thoughtfully before responding.
“Just so,” he agreed dryly. “Care to explain how you facilitate that particular luxury, Miss Muir? Or are you a Lady now, in the Outer Dark?”
“Heavens, no!” Emily covered her artfully painted lips when she giggled. “The Anathema aren’t that big on titles. I have a role and a purpose, former Director; I have no need of rank. As for the issue of privacy, let us just say that I am not how you remember me.”
“As you say.” That look again, as impersonal as the fixed stare of a surgeon preparing to operate. Emily remembered how nervous it used to make her. “You seem to have little trouble parrying telepathic probes. Am I to assume that your expanded talents are the result of your tryst with Alexander Warner? Are his abilities as a catalyst really so substantial?”
“Substantial indeed.” Emily nodded, adjusting her blouse. “Whatever talents I might have, I came by them of my own design, however, Lord Thule. You would do well to remember that.”
He blinked and appeared irritated, like an old man miffed by an insolent teenager.
“I see. I won’t ask further, then.”
“I appreciate that.”
“I will say that is good to see you, Miss Muir.” Gaul looked out the window at the furious sea as he spoke. “Regardless of your current loyalties, I regret the consequences the affair with Mr. Warner had on you.”
Emily froze for a millisecond. A trifle, really, but the slip embarrassed her.
“Do you truly?” Her tone was artificially warm. “One wonders, then, why you felt it necessary to have my family disgraced and the Muir name expunged?”
“It was required of me at the time. I was the Director, and we were at war with the Anathema. Your sister betrayed Central.” Gaul watched the whitecaps lash the rocks just offshore as he spoke. “Your actions left me no choice.”
“Fine words from someone with equally compromised loyalties. You are the head of one of the Great Families of the Hegemony, now, Lord Thule, and the Director no longer. You could atone for your actions by rescinding the Muir Cartel’s expulsion from the Hegemony, and freeing my innocent parents from the house arrest you imposed upon them…”
Lord Thule adjusted his glasses. Emily glared.
“…but you no doubt prefer to hold off on playing that particular card, in hopes of gaining some sort of influence over me.”
Gaul hesitated, rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“It is simply politics. I assure you, I have seen to it that your family has come to no harm over the years, despite your continued treachery to Central. I realize that it is small conciliation, but to be frank, I could have done much worse. Such is still within my power, even now. Do you hate me for it?”
“Not for that especially,” Emily said, settling back into her chair. “I’ve become fairly political myself, and I was never very close to my parents.”
“You do hate me, though?”
There was a surprising vulnerability to the old man – which was increasingly how Emily thought of him – as he asked the question; his eyes fixed on the empty and agitated sea, his back ramrod straight in a burnished leather chair, the creases on his face made more pronounced by his deepening frown. She almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
“I think everyone does to some extent,” she said gently, gauging his reaction. “Why have you established yourself in my family’s former estate, Lord Thule? You are aware, of course, that this was once my parent’s bedroom, when I was a child.”
She gestured at the plainly decorated office. There was lots of varnished birch and aluminum shelving attached to plaster, a pair of monitors, and several neat stacks of documents on a large, plain desk, but little personality.
“Was it?” Lord Thule seemed unconcerned. “My understanding is that it took a great deal of work to prepare.”
“I would think so,” Emily agreed pleasantly. “There is very little left to recall the original space. I believe that my sister and I were nursed, Lord Thule, precisely where your desk is located today.”
“Fascinating. I had nothing to do with the selection of the property, I’m afraid. It was simply on the market at a reasonable price when the Thule Cartel required space in Central, and our old estates were long ago deeded away…”
“To the North Cartel and the Academy, as I recall,” Emily said. “For the record, sir, the Muir Estate never came up for sale. I checked before coming here. Whatever else may be true, you will not convince me that this was not a deliberate decision. If you want to convince me of your intentions, Lord Thule, then why not release my parents? They are not involved in my affairs, I assure you, and my mother has never been permitted to visit her daughter’s grave. I’ll even say please, if you like, Lord Thule.”
“I don’t see why I should discuss any of this with you. Your conduct of late, Miss Muir…”
“You might want to move on from the teacher-student relationship you have in your head,” Emily suggested. “It’s funny, actually. We call ourselves Anathema, but these days, I think you might be the real article, Lord Thule. Can you even leave your home?”
“When necessary.”
“What a relief! I’d hate to think you were suffering the consequences of your actions.”
“Do you have a purpose here, Miss Muir? Aside from taunting me.”
“Nonsense. I’m not mocking you, though I’m afraid you can’t count me among your admirers.”
“Imagine how that makes me feel.”
“I’ve no need to imagine,” Emily said, with a pert grin. “I’m an empath. I’ve been choosing my words for effect, Lord Thule, and your emotions have answered for you already.”
Emily could feel Lord Thule reinforcing his mental shields, searching for any sign of intrusion or surveillance, and was amused by the reaction. Since her time with Alex, empathic halos were a permanent fixture in her vision, bypassing psychic defenses and telepathic fortification to broadcast emotional states for her benefit.
Lord Thule’s halo was a peculiar mixture of orange and blue tones, with a base layer so dark as to approach black. To Emily’s self-invented system of analysis, his halo indicated anger and regret, along with a level of resignation that approached fatalism. Such emotions were typically cut with proportionate ratios of outrage, fear, and guilt, but Lord Thule was an apparent outlier. His emotional makeup included little of that, but even more unusual was the absence of the metallic sheen of hope, which should have been woven subtly through the halo like golden thread.
Whatever fate Lord Thule had resigned himself to, he saw it as inescapable. That gave Emily most of what she needed. All that remained, she thought giddily, was to push.
“I have a question for you, Miss Muir. I have many, as a matter of fact, but this one is particularly pressing. You are clearly aware of my precognitive abilities. Let me share something else regarding my Protocol with you – when I consider your future, I see nothing at all.”
Emily covered her mouth in mock terror.
“Oh dear.”
“You knew already,” Gaul said, nodding slowly. “That sort of blankness is exceedingly rare, Miss Muir. I’ve encoun
tered it in a handful of individuals at most. How did you acquire such an attribute?”
“I’ll tell you,” Emily said, after a thoughtful pause. “If you in turn tell me the other people whose futures you cannot see.”
“What?”
“Was I unclear?” Emily gazed around at the office, and then shook her head. “I want the names, in exchange for how I became…obscure. Not because it serves any specific purpose, mind you, but simply because my curiosity is roused.”
Gaul Thule adjusted his glasses and turned his cold eyes on her again.
“This is not a game, Miss Muir. Do not trifle.”
“We are very much at play, Gaul, whether you like it or not. And I am very fond of trifling.”
He sighed and stared up at the heavily inlayed ceiling.
“Those you know personally are obvious,” he said, the words leaving him without force, as he slowly deflated. “Anastasia Martynova and Alexander Warner. Miss Martynova is an absolute blank – I’ve never seen the like before – while Mr. Warner is an oddity, neither a blank like Miss Martynova or obscured like yourself, but rather sort of…blurred to indistinctness. The general shape of his life is as obvious and dramatic as a wrecking ball, but Mr. Warner himself is hardly there, in the details. Very odd.”
“How very like them both,” Emily said fondly. “Do go on.”
“A woman named Talia and her adopted brother. You wouldn’t know them. They both died before you were born. Two unrelated men I met in Asia, years apart, before I became a Director. Neither was an Operator; I’ve never thought of a good reason for their mutual lack of a future. And…”
Lord Thule trailed off briefly, seeming lost in contemplation of the tumultuous Icelandic sea. Emily waited, because she thought it polite. Eventually, he resumed, glancing briefly in her direction before droning on.
“…Marcus Bay-Davies, former colleague, former Auditor. Among the very first to be lost to the Outer Dark and the study of the forbidden technologies that created your kind.” Gaul gave her a sour look. “Anathema.”
The Outer Dark (Central Series Book 4) Page 24