by Alex Powell
“Yes, but we aren’t supposed to go out by ourselves. I usually accompany Eighty-Eight and Twelve, who are not with me, obviously. They might get suspicious of my activity.”
“We should go.” Then Fox looked at King. “Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to get ourselves out of this mess. Joanne’s on the case.”
Joanne and Seven left the domain, and found the other two rebels waiting outside, standing guard. As soon as Joanne exited, they began bombarding her with questions.
“I must go,” Seven said, pitching his voice above theirs.
“If you betray him…” Joanne lifted a threatening hand in his direction.
“You won’t know which one I am,” Seven said, and before Joanne could reply, he leapt down a link to return to the Government domain.
“They are really making a big deal out of nothing,” Seven mused as he entered. “We set up Private domains inside the Government domain all the time. I’m not special.”
He entered his own domain again to find Fox and King. They were talking in low voices, and Seven realized that Fox was trying to explain what King’s role was in their little group of revolutionaries. He left them to it, and went into his room.
Freedom. It was closer than he’d ever thought it could be, closer than he’d ever dared to hope.
He found a window in his room that hadn’t been there before, a huge bay window with streams of light pouring through it. Seven looked out. He didn’t know where it could be, but he saw an open blue sky, and an ocean of white, fluffy clouds, curling in and around themselves. It’s as if he were on top of a mountain looking down on the world. The clouds, however, obstructed his view of what lay beyond.
He felt a presence and knew Fox was standing behind him. Fox slowly wound an arm around his waist, as if afraid he might bolt. Seven leaned back, then curled his fingers through Fox’s where they rested on his belly. Fox pressed a whisper of a kiss behind his ear, and Seven sighed happily.
“Is this okay?” Fox whispered.
“Couldn’t be better,” Seven replied, and gave himself over to the warm, delighted feeling of affection that had burst somewhere in his stomach and was working its way through his system.
It surprised him to learn that this—this—was something he could have.
Chapter 9: Between Memories
“Are you sure he’s coming back?”
Seven nodded, and they waited again.
If Karl didn’t come back, Fox wasn’t sure what they would do. Karl had to come back, unless he suspected there was something not right with Seven’s story. It was true that agents were really terrible at lying. The plan was to make what Seven said somewhat ambiguous, so that Seven could deliver the story without it being entirely false. To a practiced ear, it still might sound suspicious.
Not that Fox really knew, because he hadn’t gone with Seven.
Seven thought that Karl believed him when he’d said Fox had wanted to show him something and Karl should come right away. They were counting on Karl’s greed, hoping he wouldn’t bring the Cat or the Reaper with him when he returned.
“Where is he then?” he asked Seven. “Could you go and look again?”
“I could, but people will notice if I keep sticking my head out and peering around. We don’t want to give away the fact we’re waiting for him. He said he would come soon.”
Fox thought this might be a stupid plan after all, and considered calling it off. He squirmed, shoulders pressed against the wall of Seven’s sitting room.
The thing was, Karl had the last memory clue inside his head, and without it, the whole plan to rescue King would go down the drain. He had to trust that Joanne and the others would find a way to free their bodies. But after that, if they didn’t have the last memory, what use would it be? Karl might not give it to them, even if there was no other choice. Fox had to go in and extract it.
Seven was surprisingly compliant with the plan, in spite of the fact that it would out him as a double agent. Fox was pretty certain that, with their double-layered mind, the government wouldn’t be able to catch them.
“They could still kill us,” Seven pointed out.
“What purpose would that serve? Then we’d all be dead, Joanne and the others would still be out there, and they’d get absolutely no information from us.”
“True,” conceded Seven. “They’ll probably try and starve us out. It’s slower, and we’re more likely to give in.”
“Starve us out?” Fox didn’t like the sound of that.
“Stop feeding our bodies. Eventually we’d start to feel the effects of starvation. We’d get weaker and unable to function properly. We would feel it, and they would probably hope we’d give in and surrender before dying.” Seven nodded, pleased with his assessment of the situation.
“Starvation would take weeks,” Fox said, thinking of what he knew of the human body’s ability to suffer extreme conditions. “Joanne would have thought of something by then.”
Thoughts flicker across Seven’s face as he thought the situation through and came to his own conclusion. He nodded. “No gain without risk. That’s what King thought as well, right?”
Fox gave him a half-smile. “Yes. But we don’t have to do this. I could try and think of another way, one with less risk, not as many consequences of failure.”
“No.” Seven shook his head. “We’ll do it. If we don’t try something, nothing will happen. We can’t rely on Joanne to fix this for us. We have to do our part, too.”
“God knows she doesn’t consider the peril of a situation before diving in.” Fox laughed. “Okay. We’re both agreed. This is what’s going to happen.”
It had all seemed so easy to say that they were fine with the risks and the consequences beforehand. Now, when they thought their plan might fail before they’d even started it, Fox wasn’t so sure. He paced back and forth, while Seven lounged against the nearest wall, apparently unconcerned.
“It’s fine, Fox. He’s going to come, and he doesn’t suspect anything.”
He flung himself against the wall next to Seven. “Distract me.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
Poor Seven had no idea how high-strung Fox really was in a tense situation. Fox fidgeted with the buckle on his wrist, opening and closing it. It made a clinking sound every time he did, and it was clearly driving Seven up the wall. Well, maybe he’d see what it was like to be driven to distraction.
Flip, pull, clink, slide. Maybe Seven would think of something to do while they waited. Flip, pull, clink, slide. He should have checked when Fox had asked him to, then maybe he wouldn’t be so nervous now. Flip, pull, clink, slide. Besides, the repetitive motion wasn’t that annoying…
Without warning, Seven grabbed his shoulders, pushed him against the wall, and crashed their mouths together. He quickly delved into Fox’s mouth and bit his lip in retaliation. Fox’s lip stung, and Seven lapped at the spot before nipping it again.
That was as good a distraction as any.
Fox grabbed Seven’s belt and dragged him closer, running his hands up Seven’s sides and back, pressing hungrily at Seven’s mouth. He wholeheartedly immersed himself in kissing Seven breathless. Seven made a choked-off groaning noise as Fox thumbed at a nipple through the stretchy, thin material of his shirt.
Fox had forgotten that Seven didn’t have much experience with this, but the reminder came with the agent’s fingers clutching his shoulders and his rough, quick panting breaths. Fox slowed down, gentling his hands and licking at his pulsing carotid artery. Seven whined in the back of his throat.
“Shhh, you’re okay,” he whispered, nipping at Seven’s ear.
He stroked Seven’s back, and a shiver ran through the tight muscles beneath his hand. Seven arched up and their hips ground together, the evidence of the agent’s arousal hard against his thigh. Had Seven ever been touched this way before? It didn’t seem likely, not when he shied away from other people’s hands.
“All right?” he asked, stilli
ng Seven’s hips by bracing them with his hands.
Seven nodded, apparently at a loss for words.
“We don’t have to do anything, not if you don’t want to,” Fox said, because he had to say that, even though Seven was the one who started it.
“I want,” Seven whispered in a tight voice.
“Okay,” Fox said soothingly, and rubbed a thumb over the space between Seven’s shirt and the waistband of his trousers. “Okay. Just trust me.”
He repositioned Seven facing forward with his forearms braced against the wall and moulded his own body behind, against Seven’s back. He mouthed at the soft skin behind Seven’s ear and slid his hands over the agent’s quivering belly. Slowly, in case Seven changed his mind, he unbuckled the belt under his fingers. Seven gasped and pushed back against Fox’s weight.
Seven panted and leaned his neck to the side, and Fox took the hint and pressed biting kisses to the soft expanse of skin next to his mouth.
Delving a hand under the material of Seven’s trousers, he wrapped a firm hand around the stiff length and stroked from root to tip in several long pulls. Seven keened noisily, and suddenly Fox was bearing all of their combined weight as Seven’s legs wobbled and gave out.
“Sorry, sorry, I—” Seven gasped.
“No, it’s fine,” Fox said, and lowered them to the ground. “Can I keep going?”
“Yes…” Seven leaned his head against Fox’s shoulder, and his eyelids fluttered. “Oh, I had no idea that it was anything like…like this…”
It wasn’t long before Seven was thrashing in his arms and clutching at whatever part of Fox he could reach, hanging on desperately. Fox sped his strokes and Seven tensed and held on tightly, sobbing his release and shuddering in Fox’s arms.
“Shhh…” Fox whispered.
It was the Cerebrum, so there was no mess to clean up afterward—at least not here. There might very well be one IRL. Fox zipped Seven into his trousers while he recovered. Seven heaved in deep breaths, eyes closed.
“We probably shouldn’t have done that,” Seven said, voice hoarse. “Karl could get here at any time.”
Fox had completely forgotten about his anxiety over Karl, which he supposed was the main point of the exercise. “Where is he? He should have come already, a long time ago.”
“I’ll go look, if it would make you less edgy,” Seven said, sounding resigned.
“No need. I’ve seen everything I need to,” Karl’s voice echoed from all around them.
Fox had never rolled to his feet more quickly than in that heart-stopping moment, eyes wildly scanning the room for signs of Karl’s form. They hadn’t noticed while they were otherwise occupied, but the light in the room had dimmed noticeably. One corner had darkness gathering, like spreading mold, the edges grasping at the walls.
“How did you get in?” Seven asked, still sitting on the floor with his legs splayed obscenely.
“It was easy. You weren’t exactly making much of an effort to keep up your Mindwall. I must admit, I hadn’t considered you agents had enough willpower left to turn your minds to betrayal.”
“The human mind is our strongest tool of resistance, and it’s all I was left with. A mistake,” Seven replied, getting to his feet and smiling with mock pleasantry. “So what now, Karl? You’re the Brain, the great mind behind the rebel cause, turned traitor. What will you do?”
“Obviously, I’m going to turn you in and reap the greater benefit this knowledge brings me,” Karl replied, the darkness in the corner drawing its hazy edges back in.
“Good luck with that,” Seven said, with a saccharine smile. “You’re exactly where I want you to be. Stay for tea? You might as well, because you won’t get out.”
“What makes you think you can keep me here? I’m leaving, and when I return, I’ll be bringing the Cat and the Reaper with me.”
The darkness melted through the wall, and for a moment, Fox thought that, in spite of all their efforts, Karl had escaped. However, a moment later, the darkness began to show through in spreading patches in the opposite corner, and Karl reappeared. Seven watched, smile never faltering, and Fox felt a chill at how still and cold his facial expressions were.
It was a face without mercy.
“You can’t leave,” Seven said. “Why do you think they let King stay in my head? They knew that no matter what he did, he wouldn’t be able to get out.”
A door appeared, and Karl made a sound of triumph, his dark form flowing over the frame and spilling into the cracks and delving into the keyhole. Seven made his way to the door at a leisurely pace and opened it. Fox followed, more apprehensively, and peered through the doorway.
Across the room, he could see his own back, and when he turned to look over his shoulder, there was a door behind him on the opposite wall. Karl was flowing across the walls, an oily black shadow clinging to the surfaces of Seven’s mind. Seven laughed, and the sound of it was like shards of ice shattering, a sound that sent pinpricks up Fox’s spine.
“Seven,” he whispered. “You’re alright?”
“Yes, Fox, it’ll be fine,” Seven replied, reaching backward to grasp Fox’s fingers, and the warmth of his hand through the leather glove was reassuring. “Very soon, he’ll panic and do something stupid.”
The darkness in the corner coalesced into a cloud of black smoke, like the kind Fox had seen from junkyard burn piles, dark and noxious. It swirled furiously before gathering around Fox’s head, as if attempting an attack.
“Like that,” Fox heard Seven say, but all of his concentration was on Karl.
Karl, like Fox, had a problem with his ability to hurt people in the Cerebrum. While his attack was slightly disorienting, it did nothing to otherwise impede Fox. Somewhere in the dark maelstrom was the centre of Karl’s mind, and if Fox could find it, then they would be able to get inside his head.
Suddenly, the door behind them opened, and in walked King.
“Is it safe to come out yet?” he asked, looking around.
Karl’s seething mass froze in surprise, and in that instant, Fox picked out the centre of the storm and lunged. For a moment, he thought he had miscalculated as his body cut through the mist without resistance. Then, his forehead slammed into an immovable force, and he was hurtled straight into the middle of Karl’s domain.
He was still surrounded by mist, this time more of a silvery-grey, thicker and more benign. It floated in wisps around him, cool and slightly slick. Fox shivered.
“There won’t be anything here for you to find,” Karl said from all around him. “What makes you think I’ll make it easy to read my mind?”
“Oh, nothing,” Fox said, looking around. “I just have a tendency to get into places I’m not supposed to be and finding things no one wanted me to ever find.”
“Not this time,” Karl snarled.
Fox ignored him and wandered farther into the mist.
“Where are you going? You won’t get anywhere,” Karl called, but his voice was fading.
“Oh, nowhere,” Fox said and kept walking.
He heard a woman laughing somewhere up ahead, her voice high-pitched and echoing. For a moment, he wondered about it and nearly went towards it. But he wasn’t after the mysteries of Karl’s past; he was here for one memory. Just one.
“You know, Karl, I am named for a traitor,” he said into the fog as he headed in the opposite direction of the laughing woman.
“I’m not a traitor.”
Footsteps rang out behind him, and a bell began pealing. A slight breeze came through and shifted the mist. Fox followed the movement of air, ignoring the skittering noise that started around his feet. There was nothing there. Karl was trying to distract him.
“Humans don’t have a great history for treating traitors humanely,” Fox said, still following the touch of cold air.
He heard a whooshing noise, as if some great bird of prey had swooped down at his head, and the breeze grew stronger. Fox kept following it, and came upon what looked like the beginni
ngs of a forest. It was made up of dark, spindly trees without leaves, and they rattled as the wind rose. Fox picked his way through the space between narrow black trunks.
“I wonder, Karl, what should we do to you? Should we cut you open and pull your guts out?” Fox asked, shielding his face from the wind, pushing forward through the trees.
A sudden screaming sounded, and it reminded Fox of being home in Devon, when the kettle had just started whistling, and he was waiting for his tea and eating Aunt Helen’s biscuits. Cobwebs, strung between the branches of the trees in front of him, clung to his sleeves as he brushed them away.
He kept moving forward, and the wind grew stronger and stronger, tearing at his jacket and whipping his hair in his eyes. Shielding his eyes with his arm, he came upon a howling whirlwind in the middle of a glade, one with light in the middle.
“And to think, I trusted you.”
The wind died for a moment, but the whirlwind kept spinning in front of him. Fox smiled and took a step forward, into the middle of the storm.
He felt a terrible tugging sensation on all of his limbs, trying to wrench him apart. He closed his eyes. “You can try to draw and quarter me, but I am not the traitor.”
Fox fell, and the whirlwind raged around him. He landed in the middle of a memory, and there was Karl—or who he assumed to be Karl—standing next to two old men with greying hair. One had a large mole next to his nose and large, bushy eyebrows. The other was thin to the point that Fox could see hollows in his cheeks, and the skin around his throat was loose and hanging.
Fox walked up to the memory-Karl and looked down at him. He was very short, and from where Fox was standing, he could see the bald spot Karl was attempting to hide with a comb-over. He had a moustache and was squinting through a pair of glasses with small frames.
“You can get us the King,” the thin one stated, his voice wheezy. “If you succeed in this, we will reward you. Not just the patent, but anything else you could possibly want or need.”
“But if you fail,” said the other, eyebrows waggling, “you will suffer as no one has suffered before!”