The Enhanced Series Boxset

by T. C. Edge

  I place the image of our parents to the forefront of my mind, now with an additional child added to the picture. I wonder, for a moment, if it’s actually me my parents are holding in the picture that’s spent its life beside by bed. It could very well be Zander.

  “That’s not how it works,” comes his voice from the blackness. “I’d have to get into the right frame of mind for that. It’s not like I can just hear random thoughts all the time.”

  He takes my arm and continues to lead me along in the dark.

  “And, in any case, you need to look into the eyes to read or manipulate thoughts and memories. I couldn’t do anything with that mask covering your face.”

  We journey on, and I begin to hear voices once more, and feel the heat of fires lit in the shadows of the underlands. Occasionally, too, the snap of a gun sounds above us, heard even down here beneath the city streets.

  “Are they still fighting up there?” I ask.

  “It’s possible a few stragglers are still being hunted down,” he says quietly.

  I note a sudden hush fall upon the caves and caverns. Perhaps, even down here, the Stalkers can hear us. Those with the blood of Bats inside them might just be able to trace our distant steps, hear the whispering voices of those sitting in their groups around crackling fires.

  For a few minutes, we walk more slowly, more quietly, feeling our way along to empty passages and tunnels as we move deeper into the city. Back to the northern quarter, a place of darkness and dirt and death. A place of pity and pain.

  Occasionally, we stop for a short time as Zander searches for openings or switches to open secret doors. Even he, right at the heart of the rebels, needs to take his time discovering the hidden doorways and passages down here.

  Only when we’ve ventured far enough does he remove the mask from my eyes. I blink in the sudden light and find that we’re in an acid rain shelter, one of dozens that dot the city.

  “Where are we?” I ask, looking around. It’s not the shelter we first met in.

  “Near the academy,” he says. “Western quarter, district 6.”

  District 6 of the western quarter makes sense. It’s one of the northerly districts here in the west, and therefore close to the northern quarter. Each quarter is shaped like a pie, with district 1 occupying the centremost point of the quarter nearest to Inner Haven, followed by districts 2 and 3 above it, then 4, 5, and 6, and finally districts 7 to 10 around the boundary of Outer Haven.

  All quarters share the same format, giving the city 40 districts in total.

  Mostly, each district has its own shelter too, although the most populous parts of the city will generally have more than one. Given that the western quarter where I live is the most residential, there are often 2 or even 3 shelters per district.

  With Carmichael’s situated towards the southeast of district 5 here in the west, I’m not too far away from home.

  Still, despite my proximity, Zander makes certain to lead me as close as possible. As we rise up out of the shelter, he spreads his gaze to all angles, making sure that the streets are clear before leading me up and towards the academy.

  As has been the case in recent days, the presence of Con-Cops and drones, in particular, has been heightened. All part of the Consortium’s – and Director Cromwell’s – plan to take greater control of Outer Haven.

  “It’ll get worse,” whispers Zander as we creep between the shadows. “The Consortium will order more attacks from the Fanatics. Then more Con-Cops, and City Guards, and drones will follow. They’ve set the precedent now. Slowly but surely, they’ll make the people believe that this isn’t going to end. They’ll make them so afraid that they’ll agree to anything…”

  “The reckoning,” I say. “During the ceremony, when the Nameless took over…the man said that a day of reckoning was coming. He didn’t mean from you, did he?”

  Zander stops under the blanket of night, his hazel eyes giving off the only light.

  “No, he didn’t. The reckoning is coming from the Consortium. It’s coming from the heart of Inner Haven. And it’s coming soon.”

  “And that’s what you’re trying to stop?” I ask.

  He shakes his head.

  “No, sis. It’s what we’re trying to stop.”

  My brow furrows and my muscles tighten.

  We.

  We’re in this together now. Me…and my brother.

  The thought, despite it all, brings a glow to my eyes. I look upon Zander’s face and see a reflection, his features stronger, sharper, and yet familiar.

  The shape of his nose, the shade of his eyes, the colour of his hair. He’s my twin brother, through and through.

  “So…you calling me ‘sis’ already?” I ask, grinning.

  “I guess I’ve wanted to say that for a while,” he admits. “You’d better get used to it. Sis.”

  I fake roll my eyes.

  “OK, bro.”

  A gurgle of laughter drops from his throat. I step in and hug him again.

  “And you’d better get used to this,” I say.

  “I didn’t take you for the huggy type.”

  I let him go.

  “I’m not. But I get the feeling it’ll annoy you if I keep doing it.”

  He raises his eyebrows.

  “We’re there already are we? Brother and sister, annoying each other. And here was me thinking it would take a while.”

  A giggle threatens to spill from my mouth, but I slap my hand against it to lock it away. After last time, I don’t exactly want to draw attention.

  “Well, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do,” I say through my fingers. “And there’s no time to waste…”

  “Yup, no time at all.”

  His eyes flash back down the alleyway as a cat scuttles through the shadows. The brief levity is broken.

  And back to reality I go.

  29

  My eyes crack open to find a looming figure before me. I blink a few times and the form of Tess materialises, standing above me in her nightclothes and peering at me with a great deal of suspicion.

  “Where the hell have you been?” she grunts.

  I shuffle up against the wall, pulling the blankets with me.

  “What the hell, Tess! How long have you been standing there, you creep?!”

  “Don’t shift around and avoid the question. Where were you yesterday? You’ve been like a ghost the last few days.”

  “Nowhere,” I say defensively. “I don’t have to tell you everything, Tess.”

  Her eyes skip to my right, just to the side of my shoulder. There, the clear outline of a rectangle forms, a spot that the picture of my parents used to occupy. I was going to put it back last night when I returned. I must have forgotten.

  Damn it.

  “Then if you didn’t go anywhere, why is your picture missing?” she asks triumphantly.

  Think fast, Brie.

  “Fine,” I say. “You got me, Tess. You’re too clever for me. I went out yesterday to try to get the picture restored. It’s so faded now I can barely make out my parents’ faces…”

  “And that took all night did it? You were still gone when I went to bed. And when I woke up at midnight too. Why are you lying to me?”

  “Jeez, can’t a girl have any privacy these days? It’s got nothing to do with you!” I bite.

  Hmmm, perhaps a little harsh. But dammit if she’s not nosey.

  “So it’s like that, is it?” she asks sorely. She holds up her palms and takes a couple of paces back. “Fine, keep your secrets if you want to. You know, I thought we were best friends – no, more than that, sisters – but clearly you don’t.”

  She brings her palms together and wipes them dramatically, before turning, grabbing a towel from her bed, and heading towards the door.

  “Tess, don’t be like that,” I say as she marches off.

  “No no, Brie, it’s fine. Really.”

  She disappears from the room, but falls short of slamming the door. She can be quite the c
hild when she wants to be. Mostly, she just hates to be kept out of the loop.

  Unfortunately, Tess is currently the least of my worries. I can spare her no time, and no information. One day, if she ever finds out, she’ll realise that it’s for her own good. Knowing just what I’ve been up to is only likely to put her in danger.

  And I can’t have that.

  Mrs Carmichael, however, is another matter.

  I take the opportunity to dress while Tess showers, and escape the room and head down to breakfast. Immediately, I seek out the latest youngster put in charge of managing the mail. I find Nate, a usually shy young boy, on duty at the small reception desk that sits in the hall.

  He looks tired. Clearly, he’s been there since the early hours, with the postal drones often arriving early.

  “Anything for me?” I ask keenly as I speed up in front of him.

  He seems quite taken aback by my sudden arrival. Around here, few of the residents, even those who live on the second floor, get much post. And when we do, it’s almost always addressed to Mrs Carmichael.

  “Um, I don’t think so,” squeaks Nate through his unbroken voice.

  “Well…could you check maybe?”

  He nods on his thin little neck and averts his squirrel-like eyes towards a basket that sits in a drawer of the desk. A quick search among the electronic postal files and the more rare paper letters indicates that there’s nothing specifically for me.

  “And has anything come for Mrs Carmichael this morning?” I ask.

  He shifts his head from side to side.

  “So…no post at all?”

  His head continues to shake.

  I sigh and move off.

  “Thanks, Nathan, keep up the good work.”

  I mean, he might have just told me there was no post to begin with.

  I head off to breakfast before it gets too busy, finding a quiet corner to munch on the gruel that my taste buds no longer react to, for good or bad. Instead, the mush just passes straight down my throat and into my stomach to do its job – keep me nourished, keep me alive.

  It’s kinda the same for most things in the city, really. Everything seems to have its place and function. I suppose, when I think about it like that, the notion of Culture Corner, with its art and music, and the fancy clothes shops and nice food that the richer residents of Outer Haven eat, is strangely at odds with the rest of the city.

  I mean, in Inner Haven – perhaps more than anywhere – the people live functional, undeviating lives. They all perform their roles and operate as part of a system, even more so than some of us do here. Really, it’s like a living machine over there. Only, instead of metal cogs and parts, it’s all flesh and blood.

  The natural progression towards eliminating the civil liberties of the Unenhanced, or stripping us to our bare bones and suppressing our emotions, isn’t hugely hard to grasp. The Savants have been doing it to the rest of the Enhanced for many decades, indoctrinating them to their thinking.

  So why not us?

  As I sit and ponder my new place in the world, the canteen begins to fill with chattering children. They talk endlessly, playing and fighting and giggling and gossiping. I watch them with a new slant, knowing how the world they grow up in is likely going to be very different to mine.

  Should the Consortium get their way, then who knows what the future will hold? Soon enough, maybe there’ll be none of us left, none of us proper humans. Only Enhanced, or those reconditioned to act according to the Savants’ design. A world running on tracks.

  Nothing but a giant machine, spreading its emotionless tendrils across the lands once more.

  The thought brings a grimace to my face as the kids swarm, forming into one large blur as my eyes just stare into the middle distance. Then, suddenly, I’m jolted back into the room by the sound of a voice, my vision coming back into stark contrast.

  I turn from the mess of kids and see Mrs Carmichael hovering above me.

  “Brie, I had no idea you were back. I thought you…”

  She quickly looks to see that no one’s close enough to hear. Frankly, with the youngsters chattering so loudly, that isn’t much of a problem.

  Still, she moves in and takes a seat on a bench ahead of me, leaning a little across the table and delivering a harsh whisper.

  “I thought you’d be gone a little longer,” she says, finishing her sentence. “Did it not go well? Did you decide to come back for good?”

  Her words rise, and her eyes widen in hope. I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint her.

  “Only temporarily,” I say. “I won’t be here for long.”

  Her voice deflates. “How long? What happened last night?”

  “Perhaps here isn’t the best place to talk, Mrs Carmichael,” I say, bobbing my head towards the sea of ears that surround us.

  “No, of course, you’re right. Let’s go to my office. You can tell me there.”

  We leave the canteen, moving down the corridor and into the entrance hall to the academy. As we do so, a squeak sounds from near the front doorway, and Nate comes hurrying over to us on his spindly legs that remind me of the newborn cattle over in the warehouses of the eastern quarter.

  “Brie, the post you were asking for…it just came in,” he says as he comes, before turning his eyes up to our guardian. “Morning, Mrs Carmichael,” he adds with a smile.

  “Good morning, Nathan,” she responds, turning her eyes to the sealed message in his hand. “Now what’s this about?” she asks.

  Nathan appears to think the question is directed at him. All he does is shrug.

  “I’ll tell you upstairs,” I say, grabbing the electronic letter. “Thanks, Nate. Good job.”

  He grins before darting back to his post, ever vigilant.

  A minute later, Mrs Carmichael is settling into the well-worn leather chair behind her desk, and I’m taking residence of one in front. As she fiddles with what’s most likely the first of many cigarettes today, I break the seal on the slim line electronic tablet and let it glow to life.

  It does so, bringing with it the words that I’ve been waiting for.

  Dear Miss Melrose,

  You are cordially invited to attend a Bachelor Ball this

  coming Saturday evening at 7PM, to be held at Compton’s Hall

  on the Southside of the Innermost Spiral of Inner Haven.

  A chaperone will be sent to you tomorrow morning to take you

  through etiquette and procedures. Please be ready to receive her

  before 8AM.

  Many congratulations, and all the best of luck to you in finding

  a suitable match.

  Sincerely,

  Mrs Ingrid. W. Humbert,

  High Secretary of the Council of Matrimony.

  By the time my eyes have scanned the glowing words, Mrs Carmichael has lit her cigarette and taken a couple of long drags. Her eyes linger on the script. Clearly, she’s capable of reading it upside down.

  “So…this is what they want from you?” she asks, raising her eyebrows with a measure of accusation. “They want you to court an Enhanced? Why, Brie? What’s going on?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “We have time, clearly. Your liaison isn’t expected until 8 tomorrow morning.”

  “OK, well it’s not that long,” I admit. “I guess you’ve already hit the bullet points.”

  “But why do they want you courting an Enhanced?”

  I struggle to say the words. They still sound stupid, even in my head. I’m to be a spy.

  A spy! Me.

  I decide to choose alternative wording.

  “They want information,” I tell her. “The Consortium are planning something, and they think I can help find out what.”

  “You? Why you?”

  “I’m, um, unique. Apparently.”

  “Unique? Brie, you’re going to have to start from the top here. As I say, we’ve got plenty of time. This is important. Tell me.”

  There’s a strain t
o her voice that’s rare, and her eyes too. She’s usually quite stern, even austere at times. These last few days, however, have laid bare her worries. Worries about me. Worries about Inner Haven. Worries that have been brewing and breeding inside her for such a long count of years.

  She deserves to know. I owe it to her.

  So I do as ordered, and step back to the beginning, telling her everything that’s happened since I left this very office less than 36 hours ago.

  The attack on the black market and the rescue by Zander. The tunnels below the city and the journey beyond it. The church and the green mist and the glowing lights of the High Tower, so majestic and beautiful from such a distance.

  I tell her then of Lady Orlando, of the powers that are set to manifest inside me. And finally, of Zander and his true identity. Of my twin brother, a fact that still lights a fire in my heart whenever it sparks into my mind.

  As I utter the final reveal, I watch her closely, suspicious still that she might have known of his existence. If Zander’s guardian, Linda, had a picture of us both as babies, then why not Mrs Carmichael?

  Yet her face tells no lies, speaks of no knowledge of my twin. The shock is something she could never falsify, not to me. I know her too well for that. Her reaction is genuine.

  “You have a brother?! Brie, that’s wonderful news,” she says. “It’s so rare for anyone here to find lost family. I’m so happy for you.”

  “Thanks, Brenda. I have to admit, it came as quite a surprise.”

  The use of her first name falls off my tongue. It feels right, natural. It’s as if I’ve passed some invisible milestone, graduated from this place.

  “I’m sure it did. I honestly had no idea. Your father never spoke of another child.”

  “Nothing at all?” I ask, peering closely.

  “No. Nothing. I suppose he must have split you two up to keep you safe,” she says, thinking out loud. “How did Zander come by the picture?”

  “His guardian was killed when he was a boy,” I say. “He was taken in by the Nameless, and found the picture among her things. I assume that, maybe, his guardian had orders to tell him about me and his past when he was old enough. Just like you did…”

  “That makes sense. Although, I don’t see why your father would have kept that information from me.”