by Hanna, K. T.
There’s only so much time he can spend on the cot. Rising, he stretches and jumps down to the floor to do a series of push-ups. Stir-crazy isn’t exactly his idea of fun, but he feels like he’s getting there. With nothing to look out at, nothing to read, and only his own thoughts for company? Definitely getting there.
The only possible thing that could give his allegiance to the Exiled away is the passageway in his office. But that’s a room his father showed him as a child, before he passed—a path there’s only a certain way to open. There are only few people who have the psionic imprint down that will let you open it. Other than that, though? He keeps all sensitive information in his head. He’d also given anything he had to Dom the night before they planned this little ditty. Nothing in his actual living quarters gives any hint to his affiliation, and his library is nothing but the best ancient texts dating back to the 1800s.
So if they don’t find the passage, they don’t find anything. None of his comings and goings can be tied to any type of event to support the Exiled, and on top of that, when they invaded, Bastian had been knocked out cold by his own brother, leaving a welt on his face that had taken days to heal.
Instead of climbing the walls in frustration or exploding the room away from the foundation, Bastian sets about working on his fitness. After a few days without drills, they’re definitely necessary. While he does, he tries to work out whatever the hell fever dream made it possible to reach Sai through the wards and grid to warn her. It had been such a desperate attempt. It had taken so much power, and he’d been so hazy and ill-prepared for it. But the connection was definitely there. Her mind was so familiar to him, after the time he’d spent teaching her what to do and how to manipulate her own energies.
Still, though, he was unsure how exactly the core had enhanced his abilities to reach that far. It was a complete fluke, but he hopes to be able to recreate it. Hopes to be able to dip into the clear pool of power in his center again.
Stretching his hamstrings feels like heaven—Bastian wishes it would extend to his mind.
His core is where he went to hide.
It’s where he went when they drugged him. It’s where he went when they used him as their punching bag. And right now it seems the best place for him to retreat to when he needs to think. The body can still do all of the things he instructs it to, but his mind—his mind is safe and protected and more powerful than he ever realized it could be. It lulls him toward it, tempting him to try it out again, to push further with it. He wonders, if he lets it, just how much it could enhance his already formidable reach. Why hide if he can punch through the enemy?
Something about it smacks of danger, addictively so.
A noise outside the door catches his attention and Bastian continues to stretch his muscles out until the lock turns and they walk into the room.
Deign leads the pack, again tired, but this time obviously less stressed. Her shoulders don’t hunch, and a small smile plays at her lips. Zach follows her, a small smirk of his own on his face, which bodes ill for pretty much anyone around him. A Damascus lieutenant follows them, but it’s the same as all the others.
Two more people file into the room, too—Owen and Markus. Bastian picks himself up off the floor, expression stony, and takes his seat in the now overcrowded room.
The others shuffle into chairs, except for the Damascus. It stands next to the mirror, eyes straight ahead. It’s probably recording this for posterity.
Butterflies dance in Bastian’s stomach, and he has to wonder if it’s from nerves—which is completely out of character for him—or the mush that pretended to be food this morning.
“There was nothing incriminating in your quarters,” Zach starts abruptly, the smirk still on his face. “We have come to the conclusion you’re either barking mad—which you’ve proven you’re not—or else you truly thought the Damascus may pose a danger to our people again.” He leans forward and clasps his hands together. “So, Bastian, which was it?”
There’s that crease in Zach’s brow, the one that says he thinks he’s outsmarted everyone. Running the words through his head again, Bastian decides to be at least partially honest. Easier to keep track of lies that way. “The modifications unnerved me. I was worried they’d go into effect and turn the Damascus on us before they’d completed their original mission. Just because they completed it last time doesn’t mean changes won’t hamper that this time. I don’t know how many Exiled there are, but the hundreds of thousands of people we have in each PC are part of my responsibility to educate and protect. I don’t take that lightly, and it appeared to me that everyone else was.”
“See?” Zach sits back, smug expression on his face. “Told you he wasn’t insane. Just egotistical.”
Bastian has the good foresight to react and raise an eyebrow, but says nothing, reminding himself to act a little sluggish. He silences the part of his brain calculating the risk in the room. It knows he could drop Zach and Markus in an instant, and while Deign would be more difficult, she and Owen would quickly follow. Only then he’d be faced with the Damascus. So he waits for the lecture to continue instead.
“The one thing we can’t figure out, Bastian, and I hope you can shed some light on this.” Markus’s voice is soft but authoritative. “There were distractions to get the humans and the Damascus to change their patrol routes. How did you accomplish this alone?”
Bastian laughs. “It’s a parlor trick.” At their disbelieving eyes, he cuts the laughter and leans forward more like his usual. “No, seriously. It would take a lot of preparation and it seriously wears me out, but I’ve always been able project my abilities.”
Zach scowls. “I told you he could do that, Markus. Tormented me with it for years after he awoke.”
Bastian grins tightly. They don’t need to know Dom was helping him even back then. “That’s me.”
Markus frowns and taps his reader. “That was my only concern. I need to modify the sensors.”
“Still, you’re not getting away with it.” Zach’s grin is so sly it’s oily.
Deign glares at him, but smooths her already neat hair back. “I’m not sure you’re going to like your options, Bastian.”
Bastian closes his eyes for a moment to compose himself, trying to push his thoughts to the back of his head, to portray the dulled mind they expect of him on Shine. “Tell me.”
“You will have at least one Damascus lieutenant inside your quarters at all times. His patrol will be stationed outside. No matter where you go, this patrol will follow you. This is non-negotiable.”
She locks her eyes onto his, and for a moment Bastian pales. This is going to make things almost impossible, but he swallows and shrugs, trying to at least appear to take it in stride. “Understandable.”
She holds up a tiny chip, barely visible on her fingertip, and Bastian watches her delicate fingers, wondering why she hasn’t tried to touch him since he was locked up in here. Why hasn’t she tried to access his mind?
“We’re going to have to chip you,” she says apologetically. “As long as you stay within striking distance of your assigned lieutenant, there’ll be no problem. Don’t worry—striking distance is about thirty feet. You don’t need to be on top of him, but you have to be close. This way you can shower and sleep without a shadow.” Her tone is authoritative, but her eyes don’t reflect the tone.
He does his best not to react to Deign’s odd behavior. He’ll have to figure it out at a later date. Bastian nods, realizing why the lieutenant is in the room now. It makes sense. “Okay. This means I can go back to my quarters?”
Zach stands up, arms crossed, and leans a down a little as if inhaling Bastian’s scent. He frowns at him, brow pinched with slight confusion Bastian hopes doesn’t mean he’s figured something out about his dosing. “That chip’s tracking goes through Harlow’s system to Deign and I at all times. We’ll know where you are.”
Bastian nods again, swallowing his irritation. It’s his own fault for not thinking things throu
gh, for letting the Shine seep into his system and make him hasty. “Where?”
“Shin.” Owen moves forward and takes the chip from Deign, inserting it into a slim, trigger-powered injection device in his hand.
Bastian cringes inwardly but shows no other sign of his fear of needles. “What else?”
“You will be confined to quarters except for your usual meetings and school rounds and examinations. You will, however, be permitted whatever visitors you would like as long as they pass any screening your guard sees fit to give. Depending on your behavior, we may lift the confinement after a time, but the guard and the chip will stay. Any further signs of insubordination will be dealt with severely.” Deign sounds a little tired, but determined.
“You said there were options.” He has to ask, even though he’s certain of the second option.
Deign shrugs. “You can stay and waste away in this cell. It was a narrow decision not to just hook you up to fuel the grid.” She smiles tightly as Zach glowers, and Bastian has no doubt who that idea came from. He needs to tread carefully around his childhood frenemy.
She waits briefly as it sinks in, and then continues. “You should take this option, Bastian. There is no better way out.”
“I know.” And he does. He is fully aware that the only thing allowing him the first option is his long history with the director and Zach, even if the latter seems to be turning on him. There’s only one problem, and that is Shine. He hopes what he has hidden away will tide him over long enough for the Exiled to end this.
“I’ll take the first offer. I’ve always liked my job.”
Deign smiles and breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s good. I was sure you would.” She grabs the reader she brought in with her. “There’s going to be blood. You’ll excuse me if I don’t stay.”
Zach moves to open the door for her. “Enjoy your entourage, Bastian. No second chances.”
Owen crouches down as they leave and lifts Bastian’s pant leg. “You’re lucky I talked them into this option. They wanted to inject your bloodstream with traceable microbes. You can never get rid of those.”
The pain that shoots through his body momentarily distracts Bastian from what Owen said, but the words linger in his ears. “You want this to be removable.”
Owen watches him for a moment and shrugs. “Not everything should be permanent. Not everything is.”
Bastian blinks at the man, wondering what his story is. He’s the only person on the board who is somewhat of an enigma. “Nothing is ever permanent.”
He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but Owen gives him a tight smile before he stands back up and motions to the lieutenant. “You understand this task is so the main directive can be completed?”
It nods, a soft hydraulic hiss echoing the movement, and its voice grates out, “Understood.”
“This is your guard. His patrol is outside. Try and work with them.” This Owen is different from the one in the meetings, the one fumbling over his words as he tries to explain complex scientific theory to people. Bastian revises his estimation of the man. He’s intelligent, and for a just a second Bastian wonders where his true motives lie.
“I go and they follow?” Bastian asks, testing his leg and grimacing at the pain that shoots up it, wishing for some of his harming ability to give over to healing.
“Straight to your quarters. Deign is arranging your schedule. You’ll have it tonight. You might want to shower.” Owen crinkles his nose up in distaste.
Bastian grins. “Benefits of none in here.” Just as Owen goes to leave, Bastian clears his throat, stopping the man. “Thank you.” He’s not sure why the new Domino Project leader cut him a break, but he wants to make sure the man knows he appreciates it.
“Naturally,” is all Owen says before he leaves.
Bastian watches him go, feeling the weight of the lieutenant on him as he does. It’s time to plan things. First, he’ll get clean, then he’ll have some recognizable food…and then, he’ll figure out what the hell he’s going to do.
He didn’t realize a bed could make such a difference in his sleep. Well-rested for the first time in a while, he punches in the codes on his shower. Steam cuts through the last of the grime and leaves him feeling more refreshed than when he got to his rooms last night. He knows there’s a lieutenant just outside his bedroom. His quarters are large, and thirty feet isn’t that far.
Clothed and clean for the first time in days, he grabs a nutrition bar in a grey packet and eyes it moodily. No time to cook something this morning. The schedule is sitting on his desk. He lifts it up and frowns—Janni and her class first and then a meeting.
Entering the board meeting after visiting Janni’s classroom washes the breath of fresh air away. There’s a tension in the air he has to climb through to get to his seat, and the distinct lack of eye contact leaves him uneasy. Except for Harlow. She meets his gaze briefly, her implants whirring through blues and greens before focusing back on her ever-present tablet.
The first piece of news to be discussed tests Bastian’s acting ability.
“The troops of Damascus we sent out to sweep the areas came across one of these mobile vehicles the Exiled use.” Owen glances down at the report in his hand and frowns. “The inhabitants managed to take out four complete patrols, almost twenty single soldiers, and over half of the Hounds sent out there. We sent two dozen patrols. It should have been more than enough to take care of things.”
“How many of our troops was that?” Zach frowns down at his own notes while Bastian clenches and unclenches his one hidden fist.
“We sent out two dozen patrols, so one hundred and twenty Damascus, not including Hounds. One hundred and forty-four including Hounds. We had eighty-one Damascus units return and only twelve out of twenty-four Hounds.”
“Damn it.” Zach taps a stylus against the screen, scowl on his face. “There was no military there—we scouted. We actually used intelligence for this attack.”
The sarcasm in Zach’s tone is rare for a board meeting, and Bastian’s attention is raised. His childhood friend is miffed. Bastian fights the smile wanting to spread on his face and remains as stoic as possible. He remembers Zach in the courtyard at their school. Nothing like the facility, because they were the privileged children. His little entourage, his perfectly timed bouts of pouting. Zach has manipulated everyone he’s ever met.
Owen’s eyebrows draw together in a way that makes them appear bushy and comical. He seems perplexed. “We’re still not quite sure what went wrong. In the end, if the readings are correct, everyone in that vehicle is deceased.” He peers over his glasses at Zach, an oddly stern line to his expression. “If you insist on sending them out en masse like that, there’s no way I can keep up with replenishments. The system we have is designed for quality, not quantity.”
Deign waves her hand, dismissing Owen’s concerns. “That’s okay. Make what you can when you can as fast as you can. This’ll be over before we have to actually worry about how many of our troops are available to send out.” She glances down at her own notes and grins, looking directly at Bastian. “Everything will take care of itself.”
He nods, seething inside, and fights to not show it. Sometimes he wonders how he even grew up with these people. Being friends with them seems such a foreign possibility now. How she can casually dismiss killing over one thousand people because it doesn’t fit in with her idealized perception of how a populace should act?
The massacre is dismissed as other plans are put before the board. Bastian wants to scream, but he fights down the impulse and bides his time, because there’s really no other option. The core in him boils, offering its power, and for a split second, Bastian contemplates grabbing onto it.
Deign’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Send out replacement Damascus to join the patrols.”
“It’ll leave Central spread a little thin,” Markus protests, eyes on his own reader.
“That’s really not going to matter. Do you see them trying to storm o
ur gates anytime soon?” Deign laughs and pushes her dark brown hair back over her shoulder. “They’re too scattered as it is. Despite the tracker having failed to deliver us their exact locations, we have enough information. They have no time to do anything but run. Send the patrols and keep the sweeps in the same vein as the one we just heard back from. No time like the present to press harder. In a few months, this will all be behind us.”
The last line has a chill to it, and Bastian suppresses the urge to shiver. Deign’s dismissal is final, and he leaves the room with his jailor to head back to his quarters, not entirely sure why he needed to be present at the meeting at all.
His lieutenant stands outside the entrance to his offices, giving him leeway to move around his quarters unrestricted. If he thought it was possible, Bastian would think it was being considerate, but as things stand, it’s probably being logical and lazy—so it has to move less.
He moves to take his coat off and feels something prickling his leg through his trousers. Frowning, he reaches into the pant pocket and pulls out a tiny folded-up piece of paper with neat handwriting on the front. Bastian can’t help but smile. Janni has always had a soft spot, but for this, when everything is said and done, he’ll send flowers.
Not visible at the kitchen table, he leaves his coat on and sits down, unfolding the note slowly while he pushes off his shoes. He reads it once and then again for good measure and can’t help the smile that spreads across his face.
When he talks to Sai tonight—if he can talk to Sai tonight—there’s much more than he originally thought he’d be able to tell her.
Sai opens bleary eyes and peeks through the filtered window at the scorched wasteland outside. After the amount of sleep she had during the day, she didn’t think she’d sleep again so easily. “Sorry,” she mumbles to Dom, whose gaze is fixed in front of him.
He shakes his head. “No need. I don’t require company.”
She wonders if he realizes that some phrasings can hurt, or maybe this overtiredness is just making her a little more sensitive than usual. “Do we have a plan or are we just pulling up to the nearest town and dumping the goods?”