by T. C. Edge
You’re ready, Brie, he says. You have to be ready.
I don’t get much more out of him. Having finally gotten through, he tells me he’s too busy to speak right now, his mind elsewhere.
I get no time to give him the rundown of recent events. I get no time to hear the comforting words of support I need. I get almost nothing, save the unsettling knowledge that he’s clearly got more important things to be worrying about.
Which, in turn, only serves to make me more worried by what’s going on down there. Clearly, he’s wrapped up in something big, something that’s taking all of his focus.
Perhaps I can’t rely on him as I thought I could? Perhaps it really is just Adryan and me up here…
Of course, no doubt Adryan will fill Lady Orlando in on any important updates from here. High on that list, of course, will be the bullet-dodging I had to do yesterday, and the news that my mission – our mission – is starting to see some sort of reward.
Naturally, I begin to wonder exactly how my husband has been communicating with the Nameless all this time. The interface here clearly allows for communication between apartments and residences, as well as the atrium and various other parts of the building. I understand that it’s also possible to chat with buildings outside the High Tower, the whole of Inner Haven linked together by some sort of network.
Yet, communicating beyond that appears to be a different prospect. And certainly, getting in touch with Lady Orlando outside of the city wouldn’t be possible using the interface in our apartment. Nor would it be advisable were it an option, given how such interactions could be traced.
Only when Adryan arrives home from work do I get to ask him. He takes me into his bedroom, pulls out a small box, sets his thumbprint to a scanner to unlock it, and opens it up.
Inside, I look upon nothing more complicated than a series of books on inter-species relationships, the physiology of the various Enhanced, the nature of emotion, and other such accounts that are clearly important for his work.
“Um, what exactly am I looking at here?” I ask.
He picks out a couple of books, sets them to one side, and reveals a small hidden compartment at the bottom of the box. Opening it up, he pulls out a tiny rectangular device, fairly non-descript upon initial viewing but clearly important enough to be kept so concealed.
He hands it to me, I inspect it, and then look up at him, shrugging my shoulders.
The only thing of interest is a series of digits, from 0-9, written along the bottom of the device. They’re buttons, and clearly have some purpose.
Taking it back off me, he quickly inputs a series of numbers – I count at least 12, perhaps more – and as soon as he’s finished, the front of the device glows to life.
I remain none the wiser until he offers a verbal explanation.
“It’s a private communication transmitter,” he says. “That code I put in unlocked it. I’m the only one who knows the combination. The signal is untraceable, and links directly with the Nameless’ headquarters. That’s how I’ve been updating them.”
“All this time?”
He nods.
I consider asking him if I can use it, but decide not to. After all, I have my own private and untraceable method of talking with my brother. And frankly, other than Drum, who I doubt would ever be allowed on the line, there’s no one else over there I want to talk to.
Packing it all away again, I remark on how well hidden Adryan keeps it.
“Necessity,” he says. “I’ve grown very careful over the years.”
“And what if someone did find it?” I query.
“They’d never know the code for one, so would never be able to access it. And, even if they could, they can’t possibly know who I’ve been speaking with.”
A fair explanation, and sufficient enough to douse any minor concerns I have that his calls have been traced. And minor they are. I have bigger things to think about.
First on the list, and most pressing, is this evening’s dinner. With our access granted to drop down a level and visit the Spencers on the 50th floor, we set about getting ready. Having had little to do today except wait around and stress about my mission, Adryan finds it surprising that I haven’t yet picked out an outfit.
“I’m not used to it, OK,” comes my defensive reply. “It’s not like my life back at the academy involved weekday dinner parties. Haven’t I got enough on my mind! Jeez!”
Adryan escapes the room before my stress boils over, and my Dasher powers are unleashed.
Once I’m ready – I just pick out a dress at random in the end – I find myself apologising to my husband in the kitchen.
“There’s no need, really,” he assures me. “You’ve earned the right to snap, Brie.”
I kiss his cheek and inspect him for the first time. He’s wearing a slightly more stylish grey suit on this occasion, a little less formal than his work attire, if only subtly so. Mostly, the fashion range in this place is very slim indeed, so even the slightest of deviations can appear quite stark.
“You look handsome,” I tell him.
“And you look beautiful,” he responds.
And smiling together, we set off on our first official function as man and wife. The ruse is very much on.
It turns out that Mary and her husband live almost directly beneath us. Dropping down one level in the lift nearest our apartment, we head straight for room 50-37, and Adryan knocks.
It’s my new friend who answers the door. She and Adryan perform their bows and, sticking to the strict etiquette, she waits for Adryan to speak first. I find that one particularly odd, given how it’s her who is inviting us to her home. Usually, surely, it would be the host who speaks first?
Not here, though, in this alternate universe. Instead, Adryan says: “Good evening,” before she’s allowed to speak. Only then does she return the same words and invite us inside, giving me a little hug as I pass by.
Inside, we find her husband awaiting us in the main living space - it is, of course, an exact replica of our apartment above, including all the fixtures and fittings – dressed in a similar, if slightly more mundane, suit to Adryan. His hair is greying and his eyes are pale blue, but otherwise he appears as almost all other male Savants do – trim, healthy looking, if a little pale, and extremely well groomed.
“Good evening, Mr Shaw,” he says. “A pleasure to meet you.”
“And you, Mr Spencer,” returns Adryan. “Thank you for inviting us to your home.”
“It is our pleasure,” says Mr Spencer. “And please, do call me Brian.”
“Yes, Brian. And you call me Adryan.”
After the rather ceremonial exchange, his eyes then switch to me. He bows, and so do I, and I await his first words. They are, as if written to script, almost identical to the greeting words used by everyone here.
“Good evening, Mrs Shaw,” he says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you also.”
I find it hard not to laugh as he extends his hand and I take it. Stifling my smirk, I’m forced to repeat the same words as Adryan, before he also tells me to ‘call him Brian’, and I do the same, saying: “Call me Brie.”
It’s an extremely rigid formality, no flow to it at all. It’s as if the Savants read in a manual that polite greetings should go exactly like that, and therefore made it part of their strict etiquette.
Still, Brian appears to have a fairly warm disposition for a Savant, which comes as some surprise, even though it shouldn’t. I suspect that any Savant who chooses to marry a regular Unenhanced must have something to them, some need for a proper emotional connection.
Leading us into the main living area, we’re invited to take a seat on the sofa. Mary goes about her business as hostess, offering drinks and shooting back and forward to the kitchen to check on the food. She also mentions that Lucy and her husband couldn’t make it, which doesn’t disappoint me given the specific task I’m here to perform.
Her slightly flustered demeanour suggests that she’s not used to hosting. The slight arom
a of burnt meat suggests that cooking isn’t her strongest suit either.
Since most food here comes prepared and packed, I’m not going to hold that against her. Actually, it’s sweet that she’s trying to make me feel at home.
As she gets on with that, however, I simply sit with Adryan and Brian in the living room, listening – but rarely contributing – to a rather dull conversation between the two men as they discuss the particulars of their work.
I suppose it’s something I should be more interested in, but my mind appears to be elsewhere. Mostly, I try to feel Brian out, get a sense of him by metaphorically dipping my toes into the water of his mind to see how sensitive he might be to my intrusions.
Each time his eyes flash on me, I creep in and try to determine his thoughts and gauge a little more of his personality. The sense I get is of a man with a stronger emotional core than most Savants, something that centres prominently around his caring for his wife.
I smile at the thought and look at Mary, busy in the kitchen. It’s nice to think that, having lived here for so many years, she’s at least had some happiness from the muted love provided by her spouse.
Adryan, clearly, is playing his part, however. His intention, he told me, was to converse with Mr Spencer about work, starting with himself. He’d be honest and open, and therefore blaze the trail for Brian to be the same.
The aim in doing so would be to properly determine the functions that Brian sees to, as well as butter him up a little bit so that, when I give my order, it will be more likely to take hold.
It was Adryan who came up with the idea, and a great one it was too. Already, as I listen to them speak and occasionally dip into Brian’s mind, I can see the various aspects of his work being drawn to the surface, ready and waiting for my orders to slip right in.
Things appear to be going well. Brian’s mind is primed and receptive. With a few subtle glances, I give Adryan the signal, and he politely asks if he can use the bathroom.
Brian grants permission, although isn’t required to point the way. Standing, Adryan turns his attention to the corridor leading to the front door, the bathroom just off to the right. My heart begins to pound a little, and my mind goes over and over the wording we decided upon.
As he drifts off, I glance up towards Mary, just now serving up the food in the kitchen. My eyes settle on Brian, sitting a few metres away on the opposite sofa. He works up a small smile, the best he can manage.
It’s a reasonable effort.
A heavy bout of nerves swamp me.
Come on, Brie. You’re alone. He’s primed. Give the order.
I take a gulp of air and find my fingers shivering as they reach for my wine. This doesn’t feel like before, like with Doctor Friel. That was proper life and death. That was proper desperation.
This isn’t. I can do it now, or during dinner, or after dinner. I have lots of time. Maybe I should wait?
No, Brie! You have him where you want him. Do it now! Do it now!
The silence is getting unbearable. It’s probably only been a few seconds but it feels like minutes have passed. Brian is still staring at me, perhaps noticing how uncomfortable I must look.
Get it together, Brie! Give the order, dammit!
Then his words come, and the silence is broken.
“So, Brie, how are you finding the High Tower so far?”
I’m distracted, thrown off the scent. I mumble out a fairly monotone answer, giving a rather good impression of a Savant. My words are automatic. My mind is still on the task.
This might be the one chance I get. I might not be alone with him again. What if he drinks more wine…maybe the order won’t take hold properly? I don’t know the ins and outs of it. I don’t know how alcohol affects it all.
Frankly, this is all completely new to me! I wish I had more training!
Another question comes from Brian’s mouth. No, a statement this time. He congratulates me on my performance during the attack on Culture Corner.
“I saw the footage,” he says. “You were very brave.”
He attempts another smile, and his eyes brighten. I look straight at them and know, now, that this is my one chance. Over in the kitchen, my Hawk-eyes scan Mary and see that she’s about to finish serving the food.
In the bathroom, I hear the tiniest sound of flushing, and know that Adryan will return momentarily.
Now or never, Brie. Now or never.
I make the decision, the pressure building. It gives me the resolve I need, and as Brian’s pale blue eyes shine a little brighter, I dive straight in, committing fully as I enter his consciousness.
Like Doctor Friel, like Zander, like Adryan, the interior of his mind is expansive. Outside, I know, time will slow. My body will be sitting there, and Brian’s will too, and we’ll be staring right at one another as Mary works in slow motion in the kitchen, and Adryan does the same in the bathroom.
I take a moment to look at the scale of Brian’s mind, and then recall for a final time the order I’m here to give.
With total and utter conviction, and seeing this as my one and only chance, I project the order as clearly and loudly as I can manage, and send it straight into the deep waters of his mind.
Tomorrow morning at work, you will secretly download the High Towers’ schematics, and all its security protocols, to a secure, untraceable, electronic file. You will tell no one, and let no one see you. You will erase all activity afterwards, and will bring the file to the western side of the gardens on level 10 at noon the same day. There, you will pass it discreetly to Brie Shaw, before leaving her immediately alone.
I say each sentence, project each stage of the order, with utmost intensity and clarity. I deliver the entire thing once, then twice, then a third time, letting it pulse from my mind to his, feeding itself into the back of his subconscious where, bit by bit, it starts to take hold.
Merging in with his natural memories and thought patterns, it settles where it needs to, an echoing voice that, when the time is right, will force his action. One last time, I call the order out, word for word, and then raise a smile on my face as I withdraw.
And when I reappear in the room, the smile sticks fast. I look at Brian, and see the mist dispersing across his blue eyes. And just as it does, as if on cue, the door to the bathroom opens, and Adryan comes wandering out. And Mary calls from the kitchen, telling us that dinner is ready.
Brian blinks a couple of times, shaking off the strange mental cobwebs in his head. But he won’t be able to shake them off fully.
He’ll act upon what I’ve ordered him to do. He’ll get me the files I need. He’ll hand them to me and forget it ever happened.
I have bent him to my will, enslaved his body and mind to my design.
And as that thought spreads through me, I feel a growing sense of power tingle in my fingers. And standing, I walk with Brian to the dining room, giving Adryan a wink and a smile as I go.
Then my eyes dart to the ceiling, and my eyes narrow with purpose, and a swell of barely earned bravado fills my veins.
I’m coming for you, Cromwell. I’m coming for you…
86
I feel buoyant that night, like I could accomplish anything.
Sitting opposite Adryan at the table, I ooze that sort of relaxed posture and confident body language that shows him in unequivocal terms that I completed my task for the evening.
At least, I think I did. I guess we’ll find out tomorrow…
He looks at me with those wondering eyes, and for a moment I wonder myself whether I can put a few words into his head, delivering them telepathically. Then I realise that only my brother and I have such a connection, and merely satisfy myself with an assertive nod that tells him all he needs to know.
I’m rarely chatty. Those who know me wouldn’t call me particularly loquacious. Sure, I’m not short of a word or two when I need to be, but I’m not exactly fond of being the centre of attention either.
That evening, however, I appear to hog much of the
conversation. Refusing to allow the two Savants to monopolise it with their dull discussions, I choose to liven things up against protocol, bringing up more interesting topics such as hobbies and ambitions and any funny stories people might wish to share.
Brian, as expected, has little to contribute, and clearly finds the conversation somewhat outside of his comfort zone. Adryan, meanwhile, is happy to sit back quietly and let me enjoy myself, his own existence here hardly allowing for the most exciting of anecdotes.
Although, if he told the full truth, I’m sure he’d have plenty to say. Living life as a spy, after all, is hardly what you’d consider ‘normal’.
In the end, I manage to mostly extract information from Mary regarding her old life back in the southern quarter of Outer Haven. She’s careful, of course, to make it absolutely clear that she loves living in the High Tower – mostly, I think that’s for Adryan and my benefit: him because, well, he’s a high ranking Savant; and me because she doesn’t want to put me off my burgeoning life here – but she can’t help but speak with some affection about her youth as well.
Turns out, my guesstimation of her age was more or less on the money – she’s 42 years old – and that she’s been living in the High Tower since she was just 20. A full 22 year stretch, then, in this towering shell, surrounded by all these blank faces.
I don’t tell her how much the idea repels me.
It’s certainly interesting hearing her talk of her old life, though, and the family and friends she left behind. I don’t have to read her mind to see how much she misses them, despite suggesting on multiple occasions that she doesn’t.
“I get to see them occasionally,” she says. “You know, special occasions and things like that…”
She doesn’t say exactly what special occasions she’s referring to, but I assume birthdays are fairly likely.
The reason she doesn’t specify is probably down to the fact that birthdays are not celebrated here, and living here, she’s probably been expected to consider them redundant as well.
The subject of family, however, also serves to extract all life and joy from the evening. I foolishly make the mistake of asking Mary and Brian if they have any children. Again, the expression that adorns Mary’s face is one of deep sadness, hidden beneath a forced smile.