Shadow (Bridge & Sword: Awakenings #4): Bridge & Sword World

by JC Andrijeski

  The security guard now had the door open.

  He began disengaging the camera for the elevator.

  Chandre watched him, her mind whirling around Varlan’s signed words, and what they were about to do. She felt a pulse of relief as she remembered they’d come to destroy this place, not merely to steal its secrets. Already, something about the air down here made her feel sick to her stomach. It felt more like a tomb than a laboratory. Moreover, something about it reminded her vaguely of the death camps she’d seen liberated following the last world war.

  At the thought, she glanced at Varlan, focusing briefly on the scar on his face.

  Then, out of nowhere––she felt it.

  Before she could make sense of the feeling, Varlan turned to the others.

  Construct alarm, he gestured sharply.

  “What?” Maygar murmured aloud. At Varlan’s death stare, Maygar signed, How is that possible?

  Varlan gestured for all of them to remain silent.

  Nothing’s changed, he signed next. They’ll try to pinpoint our location first. We have four minutes before the elevators lock down. Mark time, he added, looking at Chandre, who immediately looked at her watch. And keep Barrier silence until I say so.

  Turning, he gave Eddard a hard look.

  You'd better be right about this, human, he signed.

  Eddard looked paler than usual, but he nodded, his eyes decisive.

  Four minutes, he signed back.

  Chandre jumped, staring at him. Not many humans understood seer sign language. Fewer still could speak it.

  She truly hoped he was as confident as he sounded.

  The human security guard had the cameras turned off by the time the elevator doors opened. They all got inside the car and the doors closed. By then, Chandre’s eyes were locked on her watch face. She noticed Varlan and two of the others looking at time pieces as well.

  Three minutes, she signaled.

  The elevator kept descending.

  Two minutes, she signed a moment later.

  Weapons ready, Varlan gestured. He pulled his rifle down on its harness, so the muzzle faced the elevator doors. Four of them, waiting for us. I’ve got a tap on their leader. Be ready to fire when the doors open. I’ll do what I can to delay them.

  He looked at Chandre. I need you to monitor the construct, but wait until we’re out of the elevator. They’re already trying to shut it down, to lock us in here, but there’s some kind of security feature making that difficult. Once we’re out, verify where we are in relation to the lab and coordinate the shield with Rex and Stanley.

  He pointed at the two seers he meant, the broad-shouldered one and the one with the African features. Varlan’s eyes shifted to meet Maygar’s.

  Young brother, I want you looking for additional security while we locate the merchandise. I also want you to identify the way out. Bring Eddard with you, and make sure you find it before we finish setting the charges.

  Eddard shook his head, adamant.

  I need to go with you, he signed. I need to get samples of the disease and its antidote. We’ll need that. All of us will need it. Your client, too.

  Varlan frowned.

  He thought about the human’s words for scarcely a heartbeat.

  Fine. He looked at Maygar. You have any trouble finding our exit, I want to know within three minutes. Three. Do you hear me? Any more than that and I’ll kill you as a present to my intermediary, Syrimne d’Gaos.

  When Chandre tensed and Maygar’s eyes widened, Varlan frowned.

  His violet eyes never left Maygar’s face.

  Yes, young brother, he signed. I know who you are. I also know what you’ve done. So do not test my warning, and I will find another way to honor my master.

  Maygar scowled, but nodded once, seer-fashion.

  Varlan’s eyes shifted to the African-looking seer, who Chandre now realized must be Stanley.

  Take over the tap on this worm, he signed, indicating the human security guard. Glaring around at them, he signed. …and all of you, pull down your guns! Now!

  The rest of them yanked rifles down on their harnesses, aiming for the elevator doors.

  It hit Chandre in the same set of breaths that this wasn’t going to be remotely bloodless, on either side. They were already off the parameters for the job. They should have gotten control of the lower security gates before the broader construct had been alerted.

  Now they would have to shoot their way through, and hope like hell Eddard’s exit wasn’t on the main security grid.

  Or worse, rigged with another OBE field.

  Chandre hadn't been in a hot op since the bombing of Seertown.

  She found her hands shaking as she aimed her rifle at the elevator doors. Blinking sweat out of her eyes, despite the air conditioning in the elevator, she squinted past the yellow security light as it continued to rotate overhead, disorienting her eyes.

  She considered aiming with her aleimi instead of her eyes, then remembered Varlan’s instructions to stay out of the Barrier. Her shaking worsened as it occurred to her she could have gotten all of them killed with that slip.

  What the hell was the matter with her? It hit her in the same set of seconds that she was having what amounted to a stress or trauma reaction, what even bordered on a flashback.

  It couldn’t be from Seertown. She’d mostly been helping rescue survivors with the Adhipan during the bombing there. She hadn’t been involved with any of the on-the-ground action during the bombing in Delhi, either. In fact, she’d been two hotels over, looking for Revik and Allie, when the main explosion took place.

  Then, as the lights flashing overhead caused her heart to slam in her chest, she found she understood. This was from before. This was from what happened on that cruise ship in the North Pacific, with Allie. She hadn’t seen action like this since then.

  Nine seers directly under her command lost their lives.

  The elevator car landed with a jerk and a shudder on the bottom floor. After what felt like an interminable pause, the doors slid slowly apart.

  As soon as they had, the sound of alarms filled the small space.

  Chandre activated her gun with her headset, wincing against the noise, looking for the source with her eyes. Then a voice shouted, forcing her gaze down.

  Five guards stood there, armed with organic weapons.

  “Don't move!” the man in front yelled. He held up a hand, glancing behind him. “Hold your fire!” he said to the other guards with him, shouting over the alarms. “We need them alive! Don’t shoot with anything but stunners!”

  The guards with him looked startled, but they obeyed, keeping their weapons high as they moved their fingers above triggers.

  The pause was short, but it was enough.

  Varlan opened fire.

  Chandre followed suit before her brain caught up with her hands. She heard echoing bangs as Stanley, Rex and Maygar did the same. Even Eddard was firing when Varlan finally held up a hand, signaling for them to stop.

  At another gesture from him, they exited the elevator.

  The alarm began to beep on Chandre's wrist. Their four minutes were up.

  Maygar leapt out through the closing elevator doors, barely squeezing through before he landed on the other side, looking winded.

  The five guards who’d been waiting for them, including their leader, who Chandre now realized Varlan had pushed into delaying their fire––were dead.

  “Charges,” Varlan hissed at once.

  He clicked his fingers, walking fast for the security checkpoint.

  Chandre stared at the thick organic walls, realizing suddenly that most of those surfaces were transparent, showing the laboratory on the other side.

  Through those panes, she could see men and women in lab coats, shouting to one another. Obviously they’d seen the shooting, either on the interior security feeds or through the transparent panes or both. In any case, there was no mistaking the panic on their faces as they backed away from the reinforce
d organic doors.

  “Wait!” Eddard said, as Varlan began to lay charges over the doors’ locks. “They might not have shut it down yet! Use the guards!”

  Chandre moved before her conscious mind had understood his words.

  She picked up the leader of the guards by the arms, and started to drag him towards the security console, when someone else picked up his other arm to help her. Chandre looked over and found the seer, Rex, gripping most of the human’s weight.

  They dragged the guard to the console and stuck his finger on the blood prick for the DNA scanner, then held his eyelids open over the retinal scanner for the console.

  “Is it working?” Varlan shouted from the door.

  They’d all given up on being silent, partly because of the alarms.

  Chandre adjusted the man’s face over the retinal scanner. Once she had it realigned, she saw the light pass over his open eye.

  “I need an answer,” Varlan said. “Now. We’re out of time.”

  He looked up when there was a loud click, right before the scanner turned green.

  All four sets of locks slid out from between the organic door and the thick frame.

  The seer Stanley laughed aloud, clapping Eddard on the back.

  Varlan didn't wait.

  Wedging his body against the door, he ushered the rest of them through quickly, pushing at each person’s back as they passed him. Chandre and Rex dropped the human unceremoniously, and ran for the same opening. Chandre reached it last, and Varlan nearly knocked her off her feet when he shoved her through the narrow space ahead of him.

  They didn’t have time to wait and see the door close behind them.

  Chandre found herself in another long, low-ceilinged room. This one was filled with narrow lab tables that stretched the length of the two longest walls.

  Staring around at the machines and equipment, she found herself studying the white, terrified-looking faces that lined the shadowed wall near the back, as far from the entrance as they could get. Looking to either side of where she stood, she saw more of those thick, organic doors. Recalling her memory of the blueprints they’d gotten from Maygar, she identified those doors as leading to pressurized vaults, possibly even freezer storage.

  She didn’t want to know if they kept test specimens in there as well.

  “Disperse!” Varlan said. “You know your jobs! Chandre, Stanley, Rex––with me.”

  Chandre exchanged a fleeting look with Maygar, who smiled at her grimly, winking at her in a way she found oddly cheering.

  Somehow, having him in this with her made her feel better, if only for a few seconds.

  Granted, he was young in all the wrong ways at times. He was male in all the wrong ways at times, too. Even so, she realized he was right about her.

  He was her friend.

  Even if she could never quite forgive him for what he’d done to Allie, he was still her friend. Even though he’d drugged her, and forced her to break her promise to the Sword and betray his trust in her, Maygar was still, in some strange way, her friend.

  She could not understand it really, but nor could she refute it. Instead, she found herself briefly grateful to her ancestors that the Sword had not yet killed him.

  She was still thinking this when Maygar turned on his heel, jogging for the corner of the room that supposedly housed the entryway to the air duct system. That same set of tunnels should allow them passage into the coolant exchange, and finally the gray water runoff tunnels that should afford them a way out of the complex via the main sewer.

  She did not know it then, but it was the last she would see of him.

  …For a good long time, at least.

  37

  GRADUATION

  NENZI STANDS ON at the edge of a cliff, overlooking a field dotted with hills, surrounded on three sides by mountains.

  It is night, but his seer’s eyes pick out details in the moonlight under a star-dotted sky. A river winds down there, lined with trees and waving grasses. He sees birds startled into flight from where they sleep in the trees. Owls wing and hoot softly from somewhere closer; he feels their light, but the tranquil beauty around him is not what draws his eyes, nor his light.

  It is the humans he feels––more humans than he’s ever seen before in one place, more humans than his eyes can track.

  Their movements are clumsy by seer standards, loud in the Barrier, their intentions easy to read in the clouded, slow-moving patterns of their aleimi. Their attempts to conceal their numbers are laughable from the perspective of his people, and yet, he sees some moving with real military skill. He feels some with real silence in their minds and hearts.

  A few brighter lights live within that ocean of gray.

  He can feel what is coming, what vibrates their light. He has not yet seen his first battle, but the promise of it runs adrenaline under his skin until he is trembling slightly, unable to stand still, struggling to focus on his role in the encounter.

  He will not fight alongside his brothers and sisters––not directly.

  The others who trained under Menlim will fight down on that field, but not he. He isn’t sure how he feels about that yet, whether it is pride or guilt or simply nerves for being alone, and accountable in a way that he’s only paid lip service to in the past. He can no longer see or feel any of the seers with whom he has been running exercises for months, albeit in a different set of hills, in a wetter countryside far to the north.

  The old man stands beside him, but Nenzi knows his uncle cannot help him, either.

  He is merely a witness, a silent specter hovering as he gazes down on the same unfolding scene under the stars. Both watch, silent, as the humans’ numbers gradually increase, filling the fields below. The younger seer feels the old man watching him, expectant, perhaps even wary of what he might do, but for the first time he can remember, he doesn’t feel intimidated.

  A difference lives there, somewhere.

  What his uncle thinks of him no longer matters.

  What does matter, what makes him nervous now––what keeps him up at night, staring at the top of the portable tent where he sleeps, or sometimes at the stars––is the prospect of failure, of letting down those for whom he is responsible.

  Some change in identity and purpose allows him to focus on this, to ignore the seer standing beside him, apart from what the old man can do to help him. What burns in him now is a wish to master this role––to be better, and not merely in raw, mechanical skill.

  He must grow also in depth, in understanding, and in whatever range of abilities he needs to fulfill his purpose: military, diplomatic, strategic, oratory, managerial, organizational.

  He consciously embraces the need to stretch himself now, to push himself––in ways he never contemplated pushing himself before.

  He needs to be a different kind of being entirely.

  He spends every spare minute practicing.

  He dreams about sight work, about exercises he might try, things he might do with his light if he pushed it into more and more subtle gradations. Pushing humans, even fighting hand-to-hand––all of that has lost interest for him now. It is shadow-play, distraction. It bores him because it no longer taxes any part of him he values.

  As he thinks of that, the woman drifts into his mind.

  He frowns, remembering her face the night before, the eagerness in her light as she looked at him. But she doesn’t see him––any more than any of the worms see him. That’s not enough for him anymore, either, but he sees no easy solution for that part of his life. His conquests no longer require him to use his light, but they mean no more to him now than they did then.

  He wants more. He wants something real.

  As he gazes down the hill, his concentration sharpens.

  He is not content now, to simply do as he is told. He fights to understand every structure that lives within his light, to find new ways to combine those structures, to get them to work together. He reads the old texts, trying to find hints and knowledge
between their words, anything that might jog his memory of past lives, of abilities he has not yet uncovered.

  Sometimes, he reads other texts, too. He reads the commentaries, especially The Love Song, trying to discern how much longer he might have to wait for her.

  He throws himself into his work, looking for anything that might force him to improve, to push his limits. He practices even when the old man is not around. He practices whenever he is not forced to other duties, such as the increasingly strenuous military training he’s also now receiving from the seers and humans in his uncle’s employ.

  He’s exhausted all the time now; he barely sleeps. He runs on adrenaline and purpose, and a kind of fevered hope that if he accomplishes what he is here to do, if he succeeds in this thing, then she will find him all the faster.

  But today is a milestone. It is a test.

  The first test. The first real one.

  He is nervous. He stands on the grass, wearing a dark shirt and dark pants, just enough in the shadow of nearby trees that he won’t be visible from the valley below.

  His uncle is speaking inside his mind, but he only half-hears the words.

  This is a demonstration only, nephew, the old seer sends softly. We have no stake in who wins the wars the worms wage against one another. We have only to help them go where they already desire to go. To do that, we must seem to align with those who most need us––who are desperate enough to think us their allies.

  Nenzi’s eyes remain on the field below.

  He gestures assent to the other’s words.

  He has heard these words before, but they provide a kind of background comfort, a story with which he can frame what he is about to do.

  It is an exercise. Like any experimental weapon, he must be tested.

  His uncle continues in that lulling voice.