The Reformation

by Garggie Talukdar

  Z’s eyes widened unbelievingly. “No way. How did you know?”

  Jax only shrugged, looking all too knowing for this to be a wild coincidence. “The blueprints were underneath the ones of the elevator,” he tapped his temple with his index finger. “I remember things well.”

  “So, will we have a meeting or not?” January’s gruff voice interrupted their conversation, and Jax looked sheepish (for the 76th time—Z was counting), brushing his hair out of his eyes.

  “Right. Back to the main room, shall we?”

  Sixteen

  IN the end, Z got the chair he wanted, and Fey and Celine almost made WWIV go down over a chair (a swivel, chair granted, but a chair, nonetheless). As it turned out, while Celine was argumentative, Fey was stubborn, and that combination did not bode well. By the end, Jan just got up and shoved his chair over to Fey, after he had claimed the chair silently at the beginning of it all, claiming that she could have it if she would shut up. She took it.

  And now, at 1:35 in the morning, they were properly situated around the table. “We can’t tackle the Immortales head on,” January stated the second that everyone managed to shut up.

  “Well we can’t just wait here like sitting ducks!” Fey retorted, shooting January a dirty look that was much too harsh of a reaction to something as unprovocative as January’s statement. Z stifled a groan, knowing all too well what was about to unfold in front of them; it had only happened three times previously in this one meeting alone. And the meeting had just begun.

  “Guys,” Celine interjected, all leader-like and formal, “It’s not going to work this way.”

  “Are you kidding me Celine? Jan agreed to this only a few hours ago, and now he wants out?”

  Jan laughed mirthlessly. “I want out? I never disagreed, Downcley. I just stated a fact.”

  “Fey, he’s right.” Fey shot Celine a withering glance, to which Celine raised her chin up to. Oh god, no. Not this again.

  “You’re on his side, Celine? I thought that you supported me!”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Jan said dryly. Z actually groaned this time; while Fey was being unreasonable and Celine was getting too prideful, the extra commentary wasn’t needed from Jan. “Hollingsworth hates me plenty. She can’t get over the fact tha-”

  “Oh, shut up, Jan!” Celine said, eyes ablaze. A billow of shouts erupted from the three, and Z had to let out a calming breath to keep hold of his sanity. He shot a quick glance at Jax to see how the king was holding up but noticed that the formerly occupied seat was now empty, pushed out. Where did he go?

  Craning his neck away from the activity at the table, Z made out the silhouette of the young ruler in the window, staring out. Deciding that his presence wasn’t needed (or wanted), Z kicked his chair out, giving his legs a stretch as he stood up.

  “I wasn’t expecting this much arguing from 4 people, if I have to be absolutely honest,” Jax said, still looking out the window. Z managed a wry smile, sensing the gentle ire that was creeping in Jax’s tone, all flat and dry. Z could sympathize with it.

  “Well you have those three in the group, so it’s inevitable.”

  “I suppose that makes you the mediator?” Z didn’t have to see Jax’s eyes to detect the amusement in them, so he instead took a step towards the window, gazing out of it.

  “That’s me. The Mechanic and Mediator. M and M—sounds pretty catchy, huh?” Jax only smiled. “We’re on the second floor then?” Z asked, trying for his most conversationalist tone.

  “Yes. This part of the castle was built that way—tilted—so my mother wouldn’t have to climb stairs. She hated stairs, and so it was for that same reason that we put an elevator in here—which is extremely classy for a palace.”

  “How long?” Z asked, and he realized after he spoke, how grave of a tone he had asked the question.

  The smile on Jax’s face melted, his eyes focused on somewhere beyond the horizon. “I told you. Too long.”

  “You have a right to mourn, you know,” Jax turned to face Z, smile a bit too strained to fully meet his eyes.

  “Of course, here I am, complaining to you. You can’t even remember your name,” He paused, a frown creasing his lips. “I’m sorry if that came off as too abrasive.”

  Z ignored the apology. “You aren’t complaining Jax. And if you are, it’s because I’m trying to make you complain. Memories deserve to be cherished, and that doesn’t happen by forcing them down.”

  “As odd as it sounds, I feel as though if I talk about them, that those memories will go,” he said, averted his gaze from Z, and the mechanic followed Jax’s gaze out of the window. “Like I’ll lose every second that I had with them the second I share that with someone else, and—god—it’s like you’re choking on all of the-” he halted, shaking his head as if he was waking up from a stupor.

  Z tried for as warm of a smile as he could, knowing exactly what Jax was going through. He had been there, and there was no way that he was going to force Jax to talk about this for any longer than he willingly volunteered to. He was making progress, and for now that was enough. “Hey, you want to use that kingly voice of yours as see if you can get everyone to shut up for a good 5 minutes while we finish the productive part of the meeting?”

  “I’d be delighted,” A smile. Progress, Z thought, smiling is good. Jax then turned to the three—still arguing with volumes that should have woken everyone up—and raised his hand in a way that somehow made everyone shut up. “Floor’s yours, Z.”

  Wait, what? Z sent a frantic look at the king, who was grinning with some of his usual spark, looking mischievously on at the panicked mechanic, and realization dawned on Z. Vengeance for making him talk. Seeing as Jax had the power to chop his head off in less than a minute, Z took this as a friendly sort of revenge, and not a personal insult to the crown. Hopefully.

  Ignoring that constricting feeling in his gut that came earlier during that night, Z tried for nonchalance (in his experience, Z found that nonchalance was the safest route to go). “January, you’re right. Bu-”

  A protested cry came up from Fey Downcley, and Z bit down a twinge of annoyance, mimicking the same gesture that Jax had pulled a few seconds ago and—to his surprise—effectively shutting her up. I’ll have to get Jax to teach me some of these kingly gestures for later. “But,” he continued, drawing out the word long enough to make a point to Fey, “Fey also has a point. We need to attack, but we can’t do it while the Immortales are aware of what we’re doing.”

  “I think you’re moving a bit fast, Z,” Celine said, chin still raised high in the air. Fighting down the twitch of his lips that he knew would create a fond smile, Z shot a quick glance at his toes, trying to hide the amusement dancing in them. Celine could be quite hypocritical at times; Z could hear the same disdain and pride in her tone that she so often frowned upon in January, and the proof of it was entertaining Z. But if she knew that, he would be dead meat.

  “I think that we’re moving at the right pace.”

  “I’m the Head Strategist, Z. I call the shots.”

  The smile wasn’t so hard to fight back now, his lip in between his teeth when he realized how serious she was. “True, but not true. Majority calls the shots; you’re just supposed to enforce them. And seeing the fact that this is the point that Jan and Fey were somehow arguing while agreeing upon, this is what we’re going to do.”

  Celine recoiled a bit, her eyes blinking fast enough to look startled. Z ignored that pang of sympathy that shot through him. Better a reality check sooner than later.

  “He’s right, Celine,” Z’s gaze flitted to the king, who was looking significantly more serious than he did a few minutes ago. At least he isn’t babying her. Z knew that Celine was more than capable, but it would be best if they could stop the ego inflation before it got to a January level situation.

  She leaned back in her chair, nodding slightly, and Z found that scattered part of his brain wondering how her hair managed to look so tidy at this hour. “Alri
ght, you’re both right. Actually, everyone here is right, except me, apparently,” she murmured, her hazel eyes widening. “It’s true that I think this entire scheme is moving faster than we can manage, but who’s kidding who? —at the rate that we’re all arguing-”

  “Hey!” Z protested.

  “With a few honourable exceptions,” Celine added, not missing a beat. “If we can work with the drive that some of us are fighting, then we can get this going. The signing is in September, after all.”

  “Cool. So, what’s the plan, Capo?” Fey asked, starting to spin herself on her chair. Celine scowled at the nickname, smoothing a still impeccable curl.

  “Still in formulation. I’m guessing that Jax has something in mind?”

  The king just shot back one of his usual smirks, and even though Z could see the blues of his eyes twinkle, he could only see the hollowness of the expression in general. The thinly cloaked pain and loss that Jax wore for the world to see. The same loss and pain—that although he told Jax to own—he hid from everyone using his smiles and jests. Celine’s not the only hypocrite here.

  “Do we have resources?” Jan asked, his grey eyes bleary with sleep.

  Jax gave him a nod.

  “Then we find all the rebel strongholds,” Jan started, but Fey cut him off, her voice thick with suspicion.

  “Rebel strongholds? You know those exist?”

  January vaguely waved a hand at her, looking too tired to be annoyed. “Logically, they should. So if we pay these hypothetical strongholds a visit, then we can either reason with them or destroy them. Done- easy as pie.”

  Z saw half the table’s brows furrow at the expression, but Jan’s cryptic speech wasn’t Z’s main concern right now. Right now, he was concerned over the dark shadow that had passed over Fey Downcley’s features—a shadow that he wasn’t sure if he wanted an explanation for yet.

  “Firstly, you can’t reason with rebels. Believe me.” Something in her tone, told Z to believe her. “And secondly, how on earth does that effect the entire Immortale situation?”

  “We’re being closed in on, Fey,” Z said. “Immortales one way and rebels the other. It’s best if we try and fight what we can.” Her dark eyes peered at the other members situated around the table, her face impassive.

  Finally, Fey sighed, yielding in to their reasoning. “Done. But we need action,”

  “Field missions,” Celine proposed. “A group of us goes on undercover operations- visiting the strongholds and whatnot, while the rest stays at home base, providing both cover and support.”

  “I’m home base. I’m our tech guy, and that only makes sense,” Z announced, and nobody made a move to fight him.

  “Perfect,” Jax announced. “Unfortunately, I won’t be able to join in. The king involving himself in such actions directly will assure the end of my reign and this group. So for the better of everyone, I’ll stick to attending these meetings but skipping the missions.”

  “Perfect,” Celine echoed.

  “We need comms,” Z announced suddenly, slamming his hands on the table, causing January to jump slightly at the sudden sound shaking him out of his tired daze.

  “Comms?” Celine asked, confused. The others looked just as lost as her, and it hit Z how in ignorance of the Second Era they were all living in.

  “Yes. Communication devices? You have an earpiece that would enable to communicate with home base, and then I can provide intel for you all.”

  “You know who to ask, Z.” Z gave the king a nod, who continued on. “Hopefully this one doesn’t blow up.”

  Celine only looked more confused, but it was Jan who piped up. “When the hell did you have a chance to blow something up?”

  “A day or two ago. Being on chummy terms with the king,” he said, shooting a pointed look at Fey, “proves to be quite beneficial.” Jax gave a small smirk.

  “And we’re going to have these possibly explosive devices in our ears? Can we trust you?” Fey asked slowly, eyes blown wide.

  Z shrugged. “Yes, in your ears. And I dunno. You can always trust me, but I won’t ever guarantee your safety.”

  “Which is a disappointment, seeing as he’ll be designing most of your weaponry and gadgets,” Jax added.

  The three just looked between them blankly, and Z decided to finally bring them out of the dark. “I assumed that Jax had seen the other possible designs that I’ve been sketching when he said that he noticed the truck. Some explosives, gun, the works.”

  “Wait, have you made guns before?” Jan asked, and Z tried to let the haughty comment slide, rather than irk him.

  “Just because I can’t hold one, doesn’t mean I can’t make one. I am the greatest mechanic of NNR,” Z added jokingly, as to add some lightness to his rather sharp retort.

  Fey smirked, and said: “Just so long as you make a comm that doesn’t blow up my eardrum.”

  …

  Luckily, it didn’t blow up anyone’s eardrums. While his first few prototypes didn’t slide as smoothly, he had fallen into his work groove; finishing the comms, improving three quarters of the computers, refurbishing the truck, and prototyping a bomb that he called Cerberus, all within a month’s time.

  (Wasn’t too shabby if he said so himself)

  And in the course of said month, January, Fey, and Celine had fallen into their own grooves as well, butting heads only at every meal, taking two weeks of weapon training, and then proceeding to field missions. Luckily, so far, they were launching successful missions, not needing to take any drastic actions.

  And now, Z was setting up a model of NNR (a cover-up project), waiting anxiously in the meeting room for the other three to arrive. He had done a quick run-over with the truck, making sure that it would run smoothly, and now needed the agents of said mission, which—though not the biggest—was a pretty big mission, involving some stealth, infiltration, and a get-away which Z wasn’t even going to get into detail with. While Fey might’ve seemed easy-going, she was quite structured when it came to plans and executing them without a hitch.

  “They’re going to be the death of me,” Z looked up from the colour and Region corresponding map to see Celine, fully outfitted in her dark gear, gun in holster.

  “You realize that you fight as much as those two do?”

  “Of course,” she said, heaving a deep sigh as she slouched down onto her chair. “But at least I can admit it. Those two will tear each other’s throats out, and still deny their subtle hatred for each other.”

  “Subtle?”

  “You should have seen them in weapon training yesterda-” The door opened again, this time revealing a (surprise, surprise!) still bickering Fey and Jan.

  “You wanker!” Jan looked affronted at the accusation, opening his mouth to fire back (yet again) another witty comeback. Fey would then proceed to swear at him in several different dialects and with several different obscene hand gestures, which he would return the favour for, and then the cycle would repeat in a never-ending circle. It only happened every single day.

  Celine shot him a look, before resuming lacing up her boots. No words were needed, the ‘I told you so’, evident in her glance.

  After a few failed attempts to grab everyone’s attention on Z’s part, Celine finally got the two of them to shut up after finishing lacing up her boots. “Jax can’t make it. Important meeting stuff and all that,” Z said, as loudly as possible, trying to not feel intimidated in a room of people dressed in dark apparel, wielding dangerous weapons. Weapons that you created, he reminded himself.

  “Only you would call highly classified meetings that just might determine the fate of our futures important meeting stuff, Z.” Z tossed a grin at Fey, who returned it, a scowling Jan beside her.

  “Of course, Jax isn’t here.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, January?” Fey asked, condescendingly raising a brow. And just like that, the argument picked up again.

  “You see! I argue like hell, but those two?” Celine trailed off, shaking
her head disbelievingly.

  “I know. Your comm’s good?” he asked. Celine had broken her comm a few days ago, and he had built a replacement one, but before he had time to test it out, the mission had rolled around.

  “Hopefully. You sure that it won’t blow my ear up?”

  “Not at all.” Celine shot him a look, but the smile on her face completely destroyed the bite.

  “I’ll shoo them out,” she said, and Z’s concern for their mission must have been showing on his face, because Celine looked highly amused when she turned back. “Don’t worry, Z. This is easier than half the stuff we do.”

  “Maybe that’s why I’m concerned.”

  “I probably won’t even need to comm you, with the exception of companionship, of course,”

  Z started to nod, before stopping himself. “Wait, you’re going on a stealth mission, aren’t you? So why the hell are Fey and Jan going?”

  “Good question. Probably because you’re our best tech guy, you said it yourself. I’ll comm you, then?”

  “I’m counting on it. Building weapons with the capability to destroy buildings can get quite lonesome on your own, you know?”

  Celine’s laugh, mixed in with the distant voices of January and Fey, were the last things he heard before the meeting room’s door clanged shut, leaving him alone in a room filled with bombs and the constellations above him.

  Seventeen

  “MAYBE take it easy on the footing, Downcley,” January snarled at Fey, who glared right back.

  It had only been an hour with Jan and Fey, but Celine was already starting to get a pounding headache. The two had been at each other’s throats throughout every second of the field mission so far, and they hadn’t even reached location yet.

  “Maybe try and be easy on the eyes for once, January,” Fey retorted, a too-sweet adorning her face, and an unamused scowl on his.

  “I swear, Downcley, if I ever get the chance I will-”

  “Will what, dearest January?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him, then laughed at his glare.