Next to the form question “MATED PAIR?” someone had typed a question mark, and referenced a connected record: Dehgoies, Revik.
Under the question, “IMPLANTED?” it said “YES.”
A serial number had been typed into the box following. I noticed it started with the same prefix numbers as United States phone numbers and the letters “CSFH” followed by my social security number and some extra digits on the end.
I touched the back of my neck, fingering the hard bump under my skin, another souvenir from my time at the White House. Revik had already told me they were going to “take care of that,” as soon as we finished the op here in Brazil.
He’d already done something to foul up the GPS tracker, but SCARB put small explosives in the implants themselves, making them dangerous as hell to remove.
It had been more than a little annoying, setting off every alarm in the building every time I tried to use anything close to public transport in any country other than India or Nepal. Balidor handled it, of course, while I’d traveled with the Seven, but it made border-crossings more than a little time-consuming.
I scrolled through the menu, which also looked about a hundred years old, and flipped through options until I found one called “delete record.”
The machine asked me if I was sure I wanted to delete the record.
Yes, I was sure.
It asked me the reason for the deletion. I tried typing in a number of different permutations, trying to get it to see the record as invalid, but the machine wouldn’t accept any of them.
Finally, I typed in “DECEASED.”
The screen disappeared. Shortly after, so did my record.
“That’s going to be a bit time-consuming,” Wreg remarked through the transmitter. “Our numbers aren’t what they used to be, princess, but we hardly have time to delete over a million records...”
I glanced up at him. I knew he was right, of course.
Further, they would be recoverable if we did it that way, even in this antique. I was chipping around the edges of something that felt impenetrable to me.
But I supposed that was the idea.
For a moment longer I just sat there, thinking.
I found myself remembering something Vash told me once, about the differences between Elaerians and Sarks. Elaerians, like Revik and me, had a number of documented abilities that Sarks, or Sarhaciennes...meaning every other known seer...didn’t. One of those differences Vash mentioned included that Elaerian could see physical objects from the Barrier.
By that, Vash meant real physical objects...not imprints connected to physical objects, or the residual vibration from something alive on a particular object, or the traces of seers using various physical objects as aleimic or construct anchors. Elaerian could see all of that too, but they also could see the actual objects themselves...which vibrated (according to Vash) at a completely different frequency.
Sarks, according to Vash, could not.
From the Barrier, Sarks estimated the location, size and shape of the physical world based on the presence of living things. The physical often grew visible in its absence...or in its relation to the living things around it. Sarks could even see vibrations from certain purely physical phenomena, like electricity, seismic activity...even intense weather.
Mostly though, they guessed, extrapolated, inferred based on blueprints and maps and satellite coordinates.
But they couldn’t actually see the physical world with anything but their physical eyes.
Thinking about Vash’s words, I climbed out of my seat, looking up at the dead machine. I noticed then that the other seers had dispersed around the room, hand-signaling to one another, examining different parts of the giant mainframe. Garensche hunched over another console across from me, peering at an even smaller screen and typing something into a keyboard there.
Wreg seemed to be examining the outer casing of the machine itself, walking around and pausing wherever he saw more screens or circuits exposed.
Looking up, I decided to test Vash’s assertion.
I stretched out my light, holding the shield over the rest of them as I examined the mountain of metal from the Barrier. At first, all I saw was a vague outline of vibrating lines, something to do with the electricity coming off the machine as it sat there, sucking power.
Then I looked for other frequencies, anything I might not have seen before.
For a long moment, I didn’t know enough about what I was looking for to find it. I remembered seeing physical outlines before, when Revik first ripped open my light in San Francisco. I remembered seeing buildings as I walked down the street. I remembered seeing lampposts...even cars. All of that felt so long ago though.
Hell, I’d been pretty out of it; it might even have been a hallucination.
Yet I remembered what the city streets felt like that night. I remembered how they shone with a different kind of light...slower somehow. Denser, like Vash said.
They made a different sound...or that was the closest I could come to describing it to myself. Like those low sounds only elephants hear, it was as if they lived beneath the higher, tighter hum of living light.
As I remembered, the outline of the machine grew slowly visible.
I blinked a few times in the space, but the outline remained.
Staring at it, I realized that the mainframe looked different from the buildings I remembered seeing from the Barrier in San Francisco. Not only did it glow brighter than my memories of the dead walls and asphalt roads of my first night as a seer, but a kind of structure hovered over it in a dense cloud.
Once I convinced myself the structure was really there, I stared at it, trying to make sense of it. Made up of broken, twisted lines and pieces of that dense, aleimic matter, it exuded a sludge-like, gray light, a cartoon version of anger. I saw odd vibrations and collections of black lines, squiggles that left a metallic taste in my mouth, along with a heavy feeling that was strangely claustrophobic. Resonating with those slow-moving currents felt like a weight pressed down on my chest and the rest of my light.
Looking at it, it also occurred to me I saw silver flickers in there...flashes and sparks that felt a lot like the light of the Dreng.
I stared at it.
Then, taking a breath, I slid my light further inside it.
Immediately the structure expanded.
It blew out into a kind of holographic diagram of the machine below.
Studying the diagram in a kind of wonder, I found I could pick out parts of the machine that were older, that had functions degrading or even on the verge of failing outright. I could also see where most of the activity of processing was going on. I could see what had been repaired recently, and even new parts in some of the higher-processing segments.
I just looked at it for a moment, trying to think.
I sat back down at the terminal.
This time, under “NAME?” I typed, “Dehgoies, Revik.”
A record popped up on the screen that was a lot longer than mine.
I glimpsed information about his time with British Intelligence, and even records from World War II, which I happened to know were mostly bogus. I also saw his status change over a number of different dates, from “registered” to “owned” to “affiliated clan status” then back to “owned.” The final designation said, “terrorist/insurgent - dangerous,” with some kind of number code I couldn’t interpret. Of the skills they listed him as expert in, I only understood the descriptions of a little more than half.
They knew, or “strongly suspected” that he was telekinetic.
They also listed “Syrimne” and “Syrimne d’Gaos” as aliases.
I told the machine to delete that record, too.
That time, I watched the holographic diagram I’d found around the machine as I gave the command. The request routed through the blueprint of the machine surprisingly fast, traveling to one area of the machine and then back with a smaller screen.
“CONFIRM DELETE?”
I told it yes.
It asked me the reason.
Again, I typed in, “DECEASED.”
That time, the request went by a different pathway. I followed the record back to several different parts of the machine, where pieces of it seemed to be compiled in different areas. I saw it flip rapidly through millions of other records exactly like it, before settling on the final location for the majority of the data. I saw it remove that information from one part of the machine and rapidly put it in another part of the machine altogether.
So it didn’t actually delete them, I thought, clicking out.
It only stored the information in a different set of files. It was likely more akin to changing a record from “active” status to “inactive” status.
I motioned over Wreg. He complied, walking closer to where I sat.
“What’s your full name?” I said. “To them, I mean?”
“Yarensi, Thomas W.” he said.
I looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. He smiled.
“My mother liked human names,” he said.
“Do I even want to know what the ‘W’ stands for?” I said.
“Wreg.”
I smiled. “Sure it does.”
“Bridge,” he subvocalized, a little exasperated. “This is not a practical means of disposing of records...”
“I know,” I told him. “That’s not what I’m doing...exactly.”
Glancing cursorily at the record to make sure it was the right person, I looked for the ID tag. His implant had a code with a different prefix in front of it than either mine or Revik’s.
“Where were you, when you were implanted?” I asked him.
“Szechwan province,” he said.
“Where was Revik? Do you know?”
He gestured a negative.
I went through the motions of deleting the record. That time, after I typed, “DECEASED,” I watched where the record went. It went to the same part of the structure as I had seen Revik’s go.
I motioned at Garensche. “Ask him to come over here...”
“Bridge,” Wreg began.
“Please,” I said, looking up.
Wreg hesitated, then glanced at Garensche. Calling the seer over, we repeated the same ritual. With Garensche, instead of asking to delete the record, I changed a few details in the record itself. I gave him a mate, with the name of Beulah Organic. Grunting, Garensche slapped me on the shoulder for that, but I barely noticed. I tried to close the record.
It asked me if I wanted to save the changes. I told it “YES.”
I watched where the record went.
That time, it disappeared to a different part of the machine, and the requisite parts scattered accordingly. I motioned over Nikka next.
Wreg watched me work, hands on his hips. The others watched as well, and I could tell they were wondering what the hell I was doing.
By the time I got to “Hulaf, Qualen,” I felt more confident.
“Okay,” I told Wreg. “I’m going to call him.”
“Your mate?” Wreg subvocalized. “You are sure?”
I shrugged. “Reasonably sure. I’ll see what he says.”
Wreg continued to look perplexed.
I sent up a ping to Revik.
Immediately, his presence surrounded mine.
Where are you with the machine? he sent.
He sounded more preoccupied that time. It made me wonder just how long I’d been screwing around with the dead machine.
I considered asking him if everything was all right, then didn’t.
I want to show you, if you have a second, I sent.
I felt his acquiescence.
I projected the structure I’d found over the machine.
I showed him where the deleted records went, highlighting where the data packets dispersed. I showed him the same with the active records.
I showed him how I had tried at first to determine if they were organized in relation to country of origin, where tagged, age, sex, but none of those showed a difference. I instead showed him that the major organizing principles seemed to be danger level, (e.g., “terrorist”) and active versus inactive records. I showed him how above a certain danger level, the files went to a different location in the mainframe compared to those seers on the team who didn’t have an official designation as being involved in anti-government activity.
I sent it all in a packed image, so I wouldn’t have to waste time with him, forcing him to wade through words as I explained. I also showed him how I’d figured it out, by going through the records of every member of the team, along with my own and his.
I felt whispers of reaction off him as I showed him, but his thoughts were all business when he spoke.
Consistent, no matter where they’re from? he clarified.
Yes, I sent. The biggest differences came from active versus inactive files...they seem to store those completely differently.
Try ‘Rienbarse, Vashentarenbuul.’
I smiled as I typed. ‘Vashentarenbuul?’
Need me to show you again?
No, I got it. Do you want me to save it or kill it?
Save it.
I went through the same ritual of changing it then saving it.
The record went to the same place as the others had gone.
Try another for me, love, he sent. Uggentente, Yosef.
I typed that one in, too. Deceased? I asked him.
No. Try saving that one, too.
I did so. That time, it asked for a different password.
Revik gave me a string of numbers, which the machine took.
What are you testing? I asked him.
Clan affiliateds with Vash, he sent. With Yosef, those working directly for human intelligence with a high security rating. I thought maybe they’d have them classified differently...
I watched where the record went, feeling Revik watching with me. The second time, it went somewhere different.
Okay, try another one, he sent. Nubaai, Yimeni.
I typed that in. Saved?
Yes.
It asked me for another password. Revik gave me something different that time, which made me wonder where he was getting these.
The password took. The data went to yet another storage facility.
What was that one? I asked.
Ex-military. Black ops.
I could feel him doing something again, so didn’t ask any more questions.
He read off more names. I helped him track their progress through the machine’s data structure. The vast majority of the files seemed to disperse with almost an identical pattern, but at least five storage variations existed.
Revik took a snapshot with his light at each that surfaced, mapping it back to the physical layout reflected in the structure.
Okay, he sent then. One more, love. Bougni, Frances J.
I typed in that one, too. No extra security screen that time, not even to save changes. I tracked the dispersal with my light, following where the data went.
And that one? I ventured. Who was that?
Work camp. Russia.
I felt my stomach sink. Any more?
No. He was scanning the overall again, examining the nonphysical structure I’d hooked him into. No, I think I’ve got it...the logic’s pretty simple.
He paused as he continued to look, checking his work...then checking it again.
I shouldn’t have to tell you how impressed I am, Allie...
Something about the way he said it made my cheeks warm again.
Do you need any more shots of the actual machine? I sent.
No. You gave me the nonphysical. Fucking brilliant, to go looking for that. It would never have occurred to me it had one...
It would have, I assured him. If you’d been here.
No. I don’t think so.
He still sounded all business. I could feel something distracting him again, so I didn’t argue. Minutes later, I felt him concentrating on the mainframe once more, using my light.
Finally, he withdrew.
Okay, I’ve got it, he sent. Show Wreg these spots... He highlighted them brightly on the machine, and I took a snapshot. ...C-4, he added. Everything he brought. I’ll handle the rest from here...and then I want you to get out of there, Allie. If the alarms trip for real, they’ll lock down the building. I’m going to start moving the prisoners now...
That’s all you need?
Yeah, he sent.
I thought he would withdraw, but he paused. For the barest second, it was just us again, and he was all I felt. His light slid sensually into mine, but his mind felt deadly serious.
Allie, he sent. Please...be safe. I want to talk when we get back...really talk. I love you.
Before I could decide if I should answer, he vanished.
I STOOD BY the door, holding the shield tightly over the others as they used the snapshot Revik gave me to locate the correct sections of the machine.
I watched, a little unnerved in spite of myself as Wreg pulled long, wrapped bricks of plastic explosive out of the backpacks he and the other infiltrators wore, and handed them around to make the work go faster.
To distract myself, I dragged the four humans outside of the mainframe room, accidentally knocking their heads on the high rim as I pulled them through the metal door. I left them by the nearest of the giant vats, all the while holding the shield over the others as they placed the C-4 bricks, wedging the pliable, clay-like explosive into different pieces of the machine walls.
Now all I could do was wait, and watch the others work.
Wreg mentioned that the C-4 had an organic component, as well, one that should cause it to produce much higher temperatures upon detonation. He said the organic acted as an accelerant, like what they used to demolish old buildings.
They expected the heat to do most of the actual damage.
At least two of the locations required Nikka to climb up onto the mainframe itself so she could get behind the heavy casing. Locating the spots exactly with Revik’s images, she then peered over the edge, motioning urgently while Garensche tossed up more bricks of C-4.
The whole time, even while I dragged the unconscious humans, I focused on maintaining the shield as they accessed my light below the construct’s dome.
Allie's War Season Two Page 41