by K. Gorman
Above-ground. Hah.
Twice, Robin had wondered if she was delusional. In her mind, the Underground shouldn’t exist. She resisted the idea. Lyarne was her city. It was boring. Plain. Normal.
She thought she knew everything.
Her eyes strayed to the rafters, where heavy steel and timber beams supported the ceiling. A hydro pole stood in the middle of the street, based in a ragged square of new concrete.
Chris watched her, quiet. In the light of the café, she saw the bruise over his eye. Bags had joined it. Propping an elbow on the table, he took a sip from his cup.
Both he and Meese had had a long night.
“Sorry,” she said. This must have been the third time she’d said that.
Chris looked into the street with a shrug. A golden retriever trotted up, scouted them for food, and moved on. Seconds later, a man walked by swinging an empty leash.
“That you didn’t believe us is proof the Underground secret is safe. The less who know, the better.”
“Then why did you tell me?”
“You’re Meese’s friend.”
Meese’s friend. Not his.
That’s right. He’d never been interested in Robin.
Her chair wobbled on the cracked sidewalk. She let go of the cup and leaned back.
“What was Meese doing today?”
Behind her, someone else answered. “Getting kidnapped.”
Her neck turned so fast it cracked. Leaning against the doorframe was a Chinese man. He wore a tight-fitting black sweater, black slacks, black shoes. His black hat shaded his eyes.
“Kidnapped?” Chris’s chair scraped as he stood.
“A couple of hours ago. The Fire crystal is gone.”
Crystal? Hadn’t Meese said something about crystals? Where was Meese? This guy couldn’t be serious, right?
He didn’t look like he was joking.
“Then the shield…” Chris hesitated.
“Down.” Robin stared at the man. His eyes dropped to her. His stare had weight. “New girl every day?” he asked.
Chris ignored him. “What happens now?”
Who is this guy? Robin thought. Then, The shield is down?
He didn’t mean the city’s shield, did he?
Her elbow hooked around the back of the chair as she turned. Adrenaline spiked as he held her stare. Her nails dug into the wood. She got the feeling he was measuring her up. From inside the café, dishes clicked together, conversation rose, and warm air blew into her face.
Eventually, his eyes slid back to Chris. Robin did not relax.
“Mieshka is safe. She has tracked the crystals and found a tentative address. I have some engineers finding the Underground entrance now.” The man pulled out a gun. The metal gleamed in the café’s light. “I thought you might join us.”
Robin stared at the gun. Suddenly, she understood Meese’s fear of them. Chris was quiet. Robin didn’t look at him. Maybe it was the gun, but she didn’t want to turn her back on the man.
“Yeah. Yeah, I will.”
They were serious. This was really happening. This was Mieshka’s world.
And Robin was Mieshka’s friend.
“You got a second one of those?” she asked.
Shadowed eyes met hers again.
“Who are you?”
“Robin.” Leaning over her chair, she extended her hand. After a moment, he stepped forward and shook it. His skin felt dry and cold.
“A pleasure to meet you. My name is Roger. You will join us as well?”
“I will.”
His lip curled. She didn’t care.
She wouldn’t be left behind again.
***
Flashlights moved in the tunnel, making shadows jump and stretch on the bare concrete walls. Sweat stained the air, making Chris’s hair stick to his neck. It reminded him of Terremain’s bomb shelters. The tunnel was not the clean concrete and brick he was used to. The walls were rough. Bits of old building dug into his shoulders. Dust was thick in the air. There was no light.
At the end of the tunnel, he understood, there was a door. The Cyprios Skytower’s basement. Meese had tracked the crystals there. She would attack the top, the Underground would attack the bottom.
He was far from the end. Over a hundred metres. People lined each wall, gathered like an inspection of rank. Ordinary people. Underground people. His neighbours.
The gun was heavy in his hand.
Roger passed. He was preceded by a quiet. Like clockwork, conversation halted in his presence. A thin man followed him, carrying two hard-plastic cases. They were yellow with black trim, labelled ‘’Demolitions’.
After they passed, it took a while for conversation to pick back up.
Robin stood beside him, silent. Occasionally, a flashlight cut across her face. She stared straight ahead, not blinking. She hadn’t spoken for a while. Hadn’t moved, either. She held the gun at her hip, ring finger resting on the trigger-guard.
What was she doing here? What lapse of sanity made her take that gun? This wasn’t her crowd. She hadn’t even graduated yet. What was she doing, joining a war?
He remembered that recruitment officer. The same one Mieshka had run out on. The war was on their doorstep. Mieshka had been kidnapped by the enemy.
“You okay?” he asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Roger will take care of them,” he said.
“Roger?” It sounded like a laugh.
“Yeah. He’s that guy I told you about. With the water thing.”
It took her a moment to answer. Hair fell in her face, curled from the rain. Black against her white skin.
Robin cleared her throat. “The guy that can move people?”
Good. She remembered.
“Yeah.”
Light dropped away from her face again. She became a silhouette.
Chris looked at the faces of his neighbours. Veterans stood among the ranks. Others had been trained into the Water Mage’s security. Chris was neither—just a scared kid holding a gun. Cannon fodder.
His hands slipped over the gun, sweating. Only the safety and the trigger stood between the bullet and a shot.
What was he doing here? His parents were going to kill him. If the Cyprios security team didn’t do so first.
He shivered, despite the warm air.
Let Roger go first. Let him go first and make them all dance like puppets.
The rough tunnel became claustrophobic. Earth and steel and rubble pressed down on it. Chris could feel it. Above that, the fair city stood. Oblivious to what burrowed in the bones of its ancestor.
***
The sun had set. Night light rose from the streets, reflected up to the tenth floor of some buildings. Blinking safety lights crawled up the sides of others, warning aircraft to stay away.
Of course, that would not help them tonight.
High in his office, Redenbacher had watched the skyscape. It spun whenever he moved his head.
He preferred it that way. By his count, he was still a few bottles shy of oblivion.
His glass had been nearly empty for ten minutes. He considered his options at the bar.
He didn’t get up. Instead, he swept his gaze back to the sky. It had cleared from the earlier rain. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse. Did he want to see the planes coming, or wait in ignorance?
His phone rang. He hit speaker-phone.
“Yes?”
“How does everything go?”
General McIntosh’s voice on the other end was deep. Smooth. There were no formalities tonight.
Redenbacher tried not to slur.
“We have the last Mage and his crystal. There was a fourth crystal. Guylian has taken the Fire Mage’s apprentice to locate it,” Redenbacher reported diligently. He suspected McIntosh cross-referenced his reportings with Gerard’s. Redenbacher felt the leash.
“Good. And all is well?”
“They are due back any minute.”
“Excellent
. Please update me when they arrive.”
“Of course.”
The line went dead. Redenbacher turned back to the cityscape.
He felt sick.
There were ten million people in Lyarne and he let in their doom.
For security. For money.
Bottles with tinted glass gleamed from across the room. His eye was drawn to them.
The phone rang again. That would be them returning, he thought.
He downed the rest of the glass.
***
The Cyprios Skytower looked like a knife. A black, standing knife with its hilt buried deep into the ground. It blocked out the stars. Black glass shielded whatever light was on inside. Through the car window, Mieshka stared at the top. Redenbacher’s office. Or so she remembered.
She sat in the back seat of a small hatchback car. Buck and Jo were in front, watching the building’s entrance. Lights were on down here. The grey, cobbled entrance was approached through a sleek potted garden, artfully lit by pale mercury lights hidden under each planter's ledge. Inside, they could see part of the lobby.
They waited.
As Mieshka understood, Jo had phoned Roger on an Underground landline. With some Underground engineers, they had located the Skytower’s Underground entrance.
Everyone—both below and above ground—would attack at the same time.
Mieshka had been happy to sit back and let Jo arrange it.
An ambulance screamed up the street. Mieshka closed her eyes as it passed. She had a feeling she knew where it was going. Her sweatshirt smelled like smoke.
It was the fourth that had gone by. She sank into the back of the chair. Jo had been right. Mieshka had filled the burn unit tonight.
When she closed her eyes, she still heard them screaming.
Power folded over her. The air felt warm. Too warm. If Buck and Jo had noticed, they didn’t say anything. Mieshka had a feeling it was all in her head. She felt tired. Not drained, but exhausted. There was so much power.
That worried her. Didn’t the brightest burn out the fastest? She burned like a Roman candle.
She leaned her head against the window, closing her eyes. She needed to focus.
“What is Cyprios?” she asked.
“Deals in Chromatix B,” Buck said.
Chromatix B was Lyarne’s prime industry. A high-energy fuel developed and copyrighted by the state. It had made Lyarne very rich.
It had also started the war. Supposedly, there was a scandal over the discovery between a Swarzgard scientist and the Lyarnese government.
“Almost time,” Jo said. “You ready?”
Buck met Mieshka’s eyes in the rear-view mirror.
“Sure,” she said. The crystals pulled at her mind. Fire devoured her thoughts.
“All right, then.” Jo opened her door.
Steeling herself, Mieshka did the same. The car dipped as Buck got out.
Buck and Jo’s guns gleamed in the mercury light. They wore enough to overthrow a dictatorship. Dressed to kill, Mieshka thought.
The lobby’s automatic door whirred open for them.
Futuristic hanging lights shone onto a black marble floor. Matching black walls connected to a ceiling three storeys tall. An unmanned, tan concierge desk lay to their right. Across the vast hall, a flight of stairs overlooked the approach, guarded by a glass and pipe railing. Its bottom disappeared behind a three-metre high frosted glass wall.
Built into the wall was a security desk with a blue-uniformed man behind it.
Putting on a smile, Mieshka beelined for the desk. She gave him a little wave. Maybe it would take his attention from Buck and Jo’s guns.
“Hello,” she said, hoping neither had drawn a weapon yet, “my name’s Mieshka. Sorry to drop by so late. I work for the Fire Mage, and I have urgent business with Mr. Redenbacher. Could you give him a call for me?”
The man looked like he wanted more than polished Plexiglas between him and the two walking armouries she’d brought. Blond hair poked out from under his cap, styled differently than the soldiers’ had been. His blue uniform combined with his skinny arms made her think he was part of the normal security force. Not a soldier. His nametag said ‘Adam’.
Adam nodded slowly, perhaps encouraged by her friendly tone.
“Mieshka, right?” He picked up the phone. Behind her, Buck and Jo stood in ultimate silence. She caught their reflections in the glass: Jo looked bored, her attention wandering to the rest of the hall with the expression of an insolent child; Buck was passive, a hand casually resting over the top of a pistol.
Mieshka tried her best to look professional, despite her battered and singed sweatshirt. Her eyes wandered to the contents of the guard’s desk. A few pencils, notes, a novel. No weapons.
He kept one hand under the desk. She remembered the panic button she’d seen when hiding in the mall. His would work a lot better than that one.
“Hello, sir. Sorry to bother you. There’s someone here for you.”
“Her name is Mieshka, sir.”
“No, sir.”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“I’ll tell her, sir. Sorry, sir.”
He hung up. The phone missed its cradle on the first try. He looked concerned.
“He said ‘No.’”
Behind her, she heard Jo snort. Mieshka raised an eyebrow. “‘No,’ what?”
“‘No’, you cannot see him.”
“Did you tell him it was urgent? It has to do with the shield.” She doubted this guy was in on the conspiracy. He seemed too normal.
“He seemed to get the idea.”
Mieshka shifted her weight. The man’s hand was still underneath the desk. Did she care if the police came? Was Mr. Redenbacher calling them already? Or would he rely on his built-in security team?
Probably the latter, considering what he was up to.
“But I need to talk to him.”
“Sorry, ma’am, he said no.”
She frowned. Ma’am? She wasn’t that old.
Heat collected in her hands. “I did mention that I work with the Fire Mage, right?”
Fire crawled up her sleeve. His eyes went wide. She pressed her palm into the Plexiglas. It melted to her touch.
“Break this,” she ordered.
Plexiglas did not stand well under fire.
As Buck and Jo dealt with Adam, Mieshka tried to clear the ringing in her ears. Her fire grew hotter. Tracing a finger along the pale desk, she left a line of soot. Smoke curled up from her skin. The Phoenix burned bright as a Roman candle.
Below her feet, the other crystals answered its call.
Buck and Jo left Adam bound behind the desk, reconsidering his career choices. His key-card dangled from Jo’s hand.
“Where to?” Jo asked.
“Crystals are down. Redenbacher is up.” Probably, she thought. How much had been an illusion? Would he still be in his office? If she were him, she’d be leaving. Swiftly. “Let’s go down.”
She was at least sure of the crystals.
***
Whoom!
The explosion thudded through the tunnel. It reminded Chris of thunder. He counted.
One. Two. Three.
Wha-whoom!
The tunnel shook. Dirt trickled onto Chris’s head. Flashlights moved nervously in the tunnel. They didn’t blink out like Terremain’s air raids.
Robin was tense beside him. Her blue eyes flashed in the sweep of a light. The gun gleamed in her hand.
Whoom!
Light burst through the end. Guns staccatoed up the tunnel. A man screamed. Chris’s hand shook. Beside him, someone swore. They waited, listening. Watching.
The line began to move.
***
Buck and Jo shot out ahead of her, guns raised as they swivelled into the alabaster hallway. Their boots tapped on the floor. The same white floor as she remembered.
Mieshka stepped off the elevator, recognizing the black trim and the grated lights. The hallway continued on a hund
red yards and turned left. The corner where Roger had killed Gerard. Apparently, Basement Level Three was a real place.
Maybe the illusionist had no imagination.
“Is this it?”
It was hard to say. As they had ridden the elevator, the force that magnetized Mieshka to the crystals began to pulse. She took that as a good sign in this magical version of Hot and Cold.
“Maybe,” she said.
“Let’s look around.” Jo didn’t wait for an answer, already following the hall.
Mieshka had expected more soldiers. Apart from Adam, they hadn’t encountered any resistance. Maybe Roger’s attack was taking their attention.
Quiet weighed on her. At the corner, another empty hall stretched off. Mieshka paused for a moment, running a hand through her hair.
There was no blood, of course. Jo opened the first door and aimed her assault rifle at a vacuum cleaner.
“Empty.”
The next room was a break room, complete with couches, a TV, and a kitchen. Jo took a few steps in before she pronounced it clear. Mieshka’s gaze lingered on the fridge as they left. How long ago was lunch?
Jo paused at the third room. Her eyes narrowed as she stepped over the threshold.
“Clear. Here, guys.” Her voice was cold. As Mieshka slipped through, she saw why.
Jo stood in the middle, one hand on her hip. In front of her, taking up a large portion of the wall, was the Swarzgard flag.
Two thick, dark blue stripes bordered a white center. In the middle, two lions reared on either side of a coat of arms. The shield was quartered with a staff, a harp, a scroll, and a sword.
Buck gave a low whistle.
“That security guard had access to this?”
Various maps papered the other walls. A large table took up the center of the room, filled with clean, uniform stacks of paper. Lots of paper. Buck picked one up, skimming the text.
“Propaganda.”
Jo turned away from the flag with a disgusted look. Mieshka read over Buck’s forearm:
…news outlets are owned by the government and cannot be trusted. The shield is not invulnerable. The Mages have lied to us…
…only the beginning. Soon Lyarne’s foundations will rock like the failure of Terremain…
…Exeter is willing to come to an agreement. Why won’t the government accept?…
…stop the slaughter…
“Would people actually believe this?”
“After a bomb gets through the shield? Possibly. They’ve tried to distribute electronically before, but hardly any gets through the filters.”
Mieshka nodded, remembering some stuff caught in her junk mail.
“Burn this,” Jo said.
Mieshka glanced over. Jo’s face was a deadly calm. A paper creased in her hand.