Innocence Lost

by O. J. Lowe

  “Can you?” Konda didn’t sound impressed. “Imagination isn’t perhaps the skill we value above all others here, Mister Jacobs. We value many things. Commitment. Talent. Consistency. Effort. All these things stand above the imagination. We prefer to focus on what is, rather than what it could be.”

  “Naturally,” Pete said. “You don’t need your agents thinking too much, huh?”

  “We don’t desire our agents to be automatons,” Konda said. “Too much of the job is down to human judgement. Many of our successes and many of our failures boil down to that same thing.” He sighed, fixed a pointed gaze onto him. “Have some tea, Mister Jacobs.”

  He reached for it, trying not for any sudden movements in case it slipped from his hands, moved the spout to the empty mug in front of him and started to pour away, hearing it slop down into the porcelain. The tea was the same colour as Konda’s eyes, rich dark brown, although twice as warm. “Making the choice that was right at the time. Never as easy as it sounds afterwards. Tell me, Mister Jacobs, do you know what an inquisitor does?”

  “Instructor Paddington mentioned it,” Pete said. He put the teapot down, careful to make sure it didn’t spill in front of him. “He said that you made sure we all followed the rules. Unisco agents.”

  “You’re not an agent yet,” Konda said, his tone gentle but firm. “Walk before you run, cadet. Instructor Paddington is right, essentially. If Unisco is the sword that defends the kingdoms, the inquisitors are the guard which prevents you wounding yourself in battle. If Unisco works for the kingdoms, the inquisitors work for Unisco. We are the ones who watch, we ask the questions and we never give up. We are the deterrent and the punishment.” He grunted, cleared his throat. “That’s the pitch anyway. We also need to make many speeches in that mould. You know what it’s like.”

  Pete opened his mouth, about to say that he didn’t, found himself cut off as Konda sat bolt upright in his seat, a big grin on his face. “Okay, so every cadet comes to me at some point for testing. What I’m going to do is give you a few questions, see that you’re taking in what you learn. We throw a lot of information at you, normally it’s less dense than this but needs must. We need agents, we have one less kingdom to recruit from.” He shrugged. “By my notes from your instructors,” he tapped a pad on the desk in front of him, “you’ve had about thirteen months of training condensed into four and a bit. These questions aren’t hard, they have all been covered by your instructors so far. There’s no further action for success or failure, rather this all goes into your file. Should you succeed, we’ll look at advancement. Should you fail, and if you don’t know, I implore you not to take your best guess, we’ll give you further training. No harm, no foul.”

  “No guessing then?”

  “Guess in the field, get it wrong, it could be disastrous.”

  He must have seen the look of disgust on Pete’s face, a smile broke out. “I know, I know. Everyone feels eager to get ahead when they get to this point. We don’t hold you back out of malice. We do it because it’s the best thing, because you’re not ready.” He smiled wider, Pete could see the kindness in it, hear it in his voice. “Inquisitors have a bad reputation because of one of our former top guys. He was a great inquisitor, a shitty human being. That sort of thing sticks, and you can’t ever get rid of it. Just consider this. We’re doing it to protect you. Not punish you.”

  Konda leaned back in his seat. “Punishment implies that something has been done wrong. You can never be wrong when you learn. Only if you fail to address your errors.”

  “So, you’re like a final exam?” Pete asked. “You’re here to judge me?”

  “Something like that. What I prefer to think of myself as is a challenge. Life is full of challenges and like a glorious firebird, you must rise above them all. The Unisco education doesn’t cease when you graduate, every day will teach you newer things, until you retire.” He shrugged. “Or you die. Whichever comes first.”

  To that, Pete had nothing to say. He’d never thought about dying. They’d repeatedly hammered home the notion that being killed in the line of duty was a very real possibility, but it hadn’t been something he’d chosen to dwell on. He was willing to give it up if he needed to. It wouldn’t be first choice but coming to terms with that hadn’t been as hard as he thought it might.

  “Cadet Jacobs, explain appropriate force to me, in relation to the Unisco directives,” Konda said suddenly.

  “Appropriate force as laid down by the Unisco directives invokes that the measure of retaliation against a suspect must be equal to the action being levelled against the agent at the time of the intended apprehension,” Pete said. That one was easy. They’d done a whole morning on the theory.

  “Causes us a lot of problems that one,” Konda said. “Us, the inquisitors, not us, Unisco. Good answer. Word perfect in fact,”

  Pete said nothing, just took a swallow of his tea. It was bitter but not unpleasant, he’d had a lot worse. The aftertaste lingered, perhaps more pleasant than the first initial impressions.

  “Good tea, no?” Konda smiled. “Tell you, it’s good for you. Cleanses the mind, the body, the soul. Never too much though. Make you see things that aren’t there. One cup a day does wonders for you. More than that, you’re asking for trouble.”

  “Uh-huh?” Part of him wondered why. He didn’t know, maybe he didn’t want to know. It had left his taste buds throbbing, his tongue twitching like it had a will of its own. Unusual feeling, he wanted to stretch his tongue out, wiggle it like a snake. If Konda hadn’t been staring at him, he might have done. He grinned at the Burykian, knew somewhere in the back of his mind that he probably looked an idiot for it. Konda’s face was dancing now, spinning side to side, he had to follow him with his eyes to keep up.

  “Sometimes there’s an adverse effect. Never an accidental one though. Tell me, Mister Jacobs, did they tell you what a forty-two-alpha-six is?”

  His words sounded distant and hazy, like he was hearing them through water. They didn’t even match up with the movement of Konda’s lips. They moved, and no sound emerged from them, failed to move and Pete could hear the voice.

  “That’s an…” Words failed him, he shook his head. He felt numb, his eyes like leaden weights, his head heavier. “That’s an executive order, right? Top priority to be obeyed? Every Unisco station head gets one to use…” How long was it they got to use one? The lights on the ceiling winked at him, tried to grab his attention. They wanted him to stare at them. Cheeky little lights. He broke into a grin, tried to rise to his feet, felt his stomach give a twist of protest.

  “… Every year, right? They get a year and one chance to do whatever the hells they want.” Part of him wanted to giggle. The options were endless. He’d send his guys out for supplies if he had the power to do that. They’d think he was crazy, and it’d be funny when he sent them out to get the biggest bag of nuts they could find.

  “Bags of nuts, fascinating,” Konda said. His voice was quieter, harder to hear. Pete stared at him, he guessed the surprise must have been stamped all over his face. Had he just said that out loud? Didn’t feel like he had. Unless Konda could read minds, that meant only one thing.

  “Okay, wow, wow, wow. Are you a Vedo?” he asked, unable to keep the glee out of his voice. “I always wanted to meet another one of you guys. At least, one I know that was a Vedo, because see my sister…”

  “I’m not a Vedo, Cadet Jacobs,” Konda said. “That is a story for another day, one we do not have time for now. Have some more tea. It’ll make everything feel so much better.”

  Something screamed at the back of his mind how the idea was stupid, that it was one he shouldn’t follow through on. Something wasn’t right with him; any idiot could see that. He wasn’t well.

  “Finish your cup, Cadet Jacobs.” The voice was like honey in his ears, soft musical words being pushed into him and he wanted nothing more than to receive their wisdom and be blessed. He lifted the cup, realised how light it felt in his fingers now
he wasn’t worried about trivialities. He brought it to his lips, started to swallow the contents inside, felt dribbles slide down his chin.

  Now he had the chance to exercise that tongue, sliding it out, desperate to get every single last drop. Through the corner of his eyes, he was sure he could see Konda smiling at him, proud like a penguin through the haze. His arms felt weary, he wanted to lift them, they were fighting him all the way. Sitting up had become an effort, his legs didn’t want to hold him, he felt his body relax and he wasn’t in the chair anymore, sliding down to the ground.

  The carpet rushed up to greet him, ready to cradle him in its embrace. He’d never felt anything more welcoming. Face met rough fibre, he found he didn’t have the urge to fight it any longer.

  Darkness fell, landed on him with all the force of a hunting eagle, swallowed him up. He wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  He wasn’t sure what had awoken him, just that something had broken him from his slumber. Pete slid his eyes open, glanced around the room. Nothing. Silence. In the past, he might have just gone back to sleep. Since he’d been here, things had changed. The scales had been sliced from his eyes, he knew now more than ever before that things were not always what they appeared to be. That sort of lazy assumption might kill you.

  Silence wasn’t normal in the dormitories. Those early night, he’d laid here questioning his choices, he’d realised that. With sleep came the absence of silence, the breathing, the snoring, the tossing and the turning. He couldn’t hear any of it.

  He threw back his sheets, realised he’d fallen asleep in his training clothes. Embarrassing but not uncommon. It meant he’d worked his butt off and that was something to be proud of. He couldn’t even remember getting to sleep, climbing into his bunk and throwing back the sheets, yet he must have. His presence was evidence.

  His head ached, more than that, clamoured for his attention. He slid out of his bunk, bare feet meeting the floor and he winced as the cold shot up through him. Pete tried to shove it out of his mind. Where were his boots? He couldn’t remember getting here, never mind finding out where he’d thrown them.

  What could he remember? Konda? If he thought, he could recall the smiling Burykian and the bitter taste in his mouth, but nothing concrete. Felt like it had happened to someone else, not him. Like he’d seen it on screen. Pete rose to his feet, shook his head like a dog. Cobwebs cluttered his brain, he needed to clear them away.

  There was no curfew in the academy, they’d had that made clear to them. If they wanted to go wandering late at night, they were welcome to. After all, it had been pointed out to them the job in the future might entail that. However, should they be unable to complete their tasks the next day due to fatigue, the consequences would be harsh. He didn’t even know what time it was, if the night had come or if the evening was still young. They’d taken his caller and his spirits when he’d entered, promised that he’d get them back when he left. That was reassuring, even if their absence wasn’t. Those spirits had been with him a long time, being parted from them hurt.

  Everyone had to make sacrifices. And if they were pleasant experiences, they wouldn’t be called sacrifice, would they?

  He pushed the door open, stepped out. Nothing. Nobody. The corridor was empty, one light flickered weakly, like it wanted to shine but the effort to do so was too much. Strange. The maintenance here normally was on top of things like that. If something broke, it was fixed within a few hours. A strange smell hung in the air, a scent he couldn’t place. Coppery with a hint of a tang. He didn’t know where it came from. Something felt off. One of the first things they’d told him was to listen to his instincts. If something looked like a bad situation, it probably was. Situation judgement was an important skill, more than any amount of unarmed combat or blaster training.

  He decided to head for the canteen, see if there was anything there he could use. Trying to swallow was like sucking sandpaper, his mouth felt dry and his head continued to pound at him, demanding every inch of his attention. As much as he wanted to ignore it, he wondered how long he could fight a losing battle.

  Some water would go down well. Maybe some food. Doubtful they’d be serving, but there were a few vending machines in there. Better than nothing. If he’d been asleep, he’d missed dinner last night. The food wasn’t terrible here, it kept you going. All the various nutrients you’d ever need, masked with some attempt at flavour that nobody could recognise. Feeding time was about the only time he ever saw Theo smile. Once he’d asked him about it, received only a cryptic answer in exchange.

  “Better than I got when I was growing up.”

  He didn’t like to think about that. Ever since the revelation about his heritage, Theo had been touchier than normal. Anyone who mentioned Cyris or Cyria to him better watch out. He was too subtle, just a little too clever to get caught retaliating in the classroom, he waited until they were practicing unarmed combat. A few blows would be harder than normal, just a little naughty in their placement. He shouldn’t have been surprised Theo had turned into a dirty little bastard of a fighter.

  Pete turned the corner, saw the man before he saw him. He froze, realised any little movement could betray him. The man had his back to him, a blaster rifle pointed at the ground. His armour didn’t look Unisco issue. He’d seen it in the armoury, wrong colour, wrong style. Past him, scarlet stained the wall, a thick gout of it and he realised he knew what the smell was. He’d missed the body at first, saw it perched at the base of the stain, eyes wide open and unseeing. He couldn’t see who it was, saw the barest hint of a twitch in the armed man’s neck and he went for him.

  Too late he saw Pete coming for him, the rifle was coming up even as Pete hit him with his shoulder, the other man might be bigger, but the element of surprise had won out. The rifle hit the ground, knocked aside and Pete watched him stagger back.

  “Don’t give them a chance to recover!”

  They had a guest instructor for the day, Tod Brumley himself had come to the Iaku academy, currently stood watching them go through their paces. Pete never would have guessed Brumley held a position like this. Someone had told him he’d recently been promoted to overseeing all the academies and recruitment, currently he was checking them all out to see they passed muster, he wasn’t sure if it was true or not. Yet there he was.

  They’d drawn the short straw that he’d be stepping in on their unarmed combat session, it didn’t help that Brumley looked like a fighter. Even in his suit, he towered over Pete. He could have sat on Theo’s shoulders and he might still have only just reached eye level with Brumley.

  It wasn’t a fight. Not in any sort of recognisable sense. At the same time, they’d been warned to train at their maximum, to treat it as if the danger were real. Train like their lives depended on it to survive. Because one day, they might.

  He’d caught Roberts flat in the chest, hit him with the heel of his hand and knocked him back. He hadn’t seen it coming, had watched him rub the sore area with an annoyed look.

  “You, boy! Jacobs!”

  He straightened up a little, fought the urge to salute. It wasn’t that sort of academy. You showed your respect in other ways. “Yes, sir?”

  Still that though. You gave them the appropriate form of address without hesitation. That was just great preparation for the future ahead. That had also been a lesson. Kiss ass. Get ahead. Disturbingly vivid in the way it had been described then, but it had stuck. That was the art of teaching, he’d guessed. Get your point across and make sure they remember it.

  “Did you hear what I said? Don’t give them a chance to recover. You get an opening, keep hitting them until they can’t get back up. In the field, you’d be dead by now.” He made a blaster shape with his fingers, pointed it at him. “Bang. You understand me?”

  He nodded, chewing over the words as he studied him, then looked back towards Dan Roberts. He still had his hand on his sternum, his irritation hadn’t faded. He wondered if it was directed at Pete for landing the blow or himse
lf for not blocking it. “Sir, yes, sir!”

  He staggered, and Pete didn’t stop. That would be a very bad idea right now, the rifle might be on the ground, but he had other weapons on his belt, a blaster pistol and what looked like some sort of knife. Knife training had been the simplest lesson of them all. If you fight someone with a knife, don’t let them get into a position where they can use it on you or you’ll regret it.

  He’d go with the basics, hit him again, shoulder to the stomach. Unrefined but effective. Some of the instructors made actual fighting look like shadow fighting, a display of art and poise. They made it look simultaneously deadly and beautiful. He raised his fists, jabbed out twice towards the man’s face, tagged him and watched him go down.

  Don’t give them a chance to recover.

  The element of surprise could win him this fight and he didn’t want to squander the opportunity. Even as the man tried to scramble back to his feet, he was on top of him, raining blows into his unprotected face. Best area to hit him. He didn’t fancy the chances of bare fist against body armour. That’d be a sure way to maim himself.

  Blood stained his knuckles, he’d felt cartilage smash minutes ago, chokes lapsed into silence and he was sure that the last few had been unnecessary. He was breathing, but not well, the laboured gasps of a man not dead yet but on his way

  Always be sure. Too much is more than too little.

  Had he just made his first kill? He stood up, not entirely sure, just knew it was scary how quick it had happened. Pete blinked, felt the bile course through him, threatening to overspill. It wanted to come out, he fought it just as hard as he’d fought for his life seconds ago, determined that he wouldn’t upchuck the contents of his last meal. He didn’t feel guilty. The scene had told no lies, it didn’t take a genius to work out what had gone down here, the man had deserved to die. He glanced at the body. Hadn’t known who it was before, hadn’t even realised the gender. Now he had the chance. Professor Melane, blood the same colour as her hair staining the ugly mess her throat had become.