The Enhanced Series Boxset

by T. C. Edge

  He takes my hands softly, and removes the wince of pain from his face.

  “And don’t you ever apologise,” he whispers. “It should be me…”

  I reach forward and place my fingers to his lips, stopping his words from flowing. “Don’t, Adryan. Let’s just forget it, OK?”

  We turn our attention back to his plan, which sounds like it might just work. Naturally, however, I’ll need to get in touch with Zander first, drawing him back into this mess when he’s probably got a whole load of things to be worrying about.

  Yet, in my head the question of our parents remains.

  Does Woolf know them? At least one if not the other.

  And if she does, then Zander may well be able to find that information in her head…

  With the hour now growing late, Adryan leaves me to work in silence. Shutting my eyes, I try to contact my brother, praying that he answers. Yet there’s no reply, something that could well be due to a problem on my end, and not his.

  Because with my neck still throbbing, and my head aching, I find it difficult to project the words, to maintain any constant connection with him.

  All I get is his faded voice, shouting from the depths.

  Brie…are…you…there…

  He sounds tense and anxious, and yet it still gives me at least some solace that he’s OK, and that Sophie and Rycard, therefore, will have been deposited safely into the underlands.

  My failure to connect properly, however, isn’t the end of it. Moving to his room, Adryan tries as well, withdrawing his private communicator and attempting to make contact with Lady Orlando. That, too, proves to be a failure, leaving us with little to do but wait.

  And as we do, something draws my eyes over at the window. I move towards the transparent walls and spread my gaze down towards the far reaches of the northern quarter. Zooming in as far as my Hawk-eyes will go, my irises dilate, sucking in all the available light as they search through the lingering storm, the rain still falling and the sky occasionally cracking with lightning.

  As I stand there like a statue, Adryan hovers over to me.

  “What is it? What do you see?” he whispers.

  Light. That’s what I see. Little flashes of yellow and blue and red. But it’s not the lightning that I speak of. It’s something else.

  “Brie…” says Adryan softly.

  I blink and retract my eyes, and turn them to his.

  “Gunfire,” I say. “I see gunfire.”

  101

  Standing side by side, just as we did when we first arrived here, I look out towards the city with my husband, the world dark and the skies heavy with a black swamp of stormy clouds.

  And in my heart, the same black clouds gather.

  Behind us, still unconscious on the sofa, Agent Woolf lies bound and gagged. In some ways, I’m glad this all happened. I’m glad she came here this evening and found out the truth. I’m glad I was forced to act and take her down, even if it’s just another problem we have to solve.

  Because really, I’ve had enough of her shadow. I’ve had enough of her black eyes, always watching, always creeping around and following my step. Eventually, this was always going to happen.

  But now, it’s all on my terms.

  Yet everything is in more of a rush as well. Every time I think we might be getting somewhere, that I might just have dodged some deadly bullet, another problem arises that I have to figure out.

  And by the looks of the firefight currently happening down in the northern quarter, time is certainly running short.

  “It’s a retaliation,” says Adryan, looking down as a loud boom of thunder rumbles through the sky. “For Commander Fenby. They’re stepping up their efforts to hunt down the assassins.”

  He’s right, and that’s probably why Zander can’t talk at the moment. He’s probably down there right now, engaging in the fight, protecting his people from the Con-Cops and Stalkers who relentlessly hunt them down.

  My mind swirls with thoughts of the great caverns below the ground, of the people there huddled around their fires, hoping that they remain hidden away. I think of Drum, and pray that he’s still there and hasn’t seen through his ambition to become a soldier. Pray that he’s not up there now as well, trying to atone for the life he took, trying to shed that guilt that now weighs heavily on his shoulders.

  I think of Sophie, too, down in the dirt with Maddox crying in her arms. Her first night in this strange world, the war beginning to rage up above. She must be wondering just why she went there, if this is the life she’s going to lead.

  And I, too, feel guilty for sending her to the city beneath the streets. To the very place where the servants of the High Tower are continually searching.

  Did I make the right choice? Did they?

  In the end, perhaps no one had a choice at all. It was either they’d be shipped off to live in Outer Haven without their son, or they’d have to flee and take him with them. Really, that was no choice at all.

  Rycard, though, will be keeping them safe, and keeping them strong. A half-Hawk he may now be, but he’s keen of mind too, and will be an asset to the Nameless when they need him. But for now, all I want is for him to be comforting his wife, protecting his son. That’s his duty now.

  Looking upon the world, I know this is just the start of it. And as the rumbling sounds of thunder come, reverberating through the High Tower and streets below, I hear a different sound enter my ears. Another loud boom, though this time carrying a different tone.

  A tone I recognise.

  Adryan looks at me with hooded eyes. He heard it too.

  An explosion. Somewhere behind us, not visible from our apartment. Over in the eastern quarter on the other side of the building, so powerful it sends a shockwave through the calm air, setting my insides on fire and my teeth on edge.

  “Another attack,” whispers Adryan. “Another attack by the Fanatics.”

  I don’t say a word. Things are escalating fast.

  And standing there, I know that we can’t wait around. We can’t wait to get in contact with Zander, or Lady Orlando, and form a plan to get Agent Woolf the hell out of this apartment.

  No, not with so much else to do. Because the mission is still on, clinging on by its fingertips. And I can’t delay.

  I look to my watch and see that it’s growing late, the hour creeping up on 3AM. I step away from the window, and glance again at Agent Woolf, still held fast by her restraints and lying silently on the sofa, her breathing steady.

  I move towards my bedroom, and open up the wardrobe, searching through my items for something suitable. Adryan follows me, watching as I scramble around.

  “What are you doing, Brie?” he asks.

  Without looking at him, I answer.

  “I need to get into Rebecca’s mind. I can’t wait, Adryan. I’ll just have to go down in my normal Unenhanced clothes…but I need a collar to hide my neck.”

  I’m still wearing the same clothes that I had on out in the storm. They’ve had plenty of time to dry, but my sweater has a splash of blood on it from Adryan’s head, and is a little frayed from the fight.

  I pull it off and toss it onto the bed, wearing a t-shirt underneath. I set about removing that too, but feel Adryan’s hand stopping me. I don’t think it’s to spare my blushes of undressing in front of him. He has other concerns.

  “You should rest, Brie. We need to get Agent Woolf out of here before we do anything else…”

  “No, Adryan! There is no time to just rest! Rebecca will be finishing work soon, and we need to find out what she knows. If she has no knowledge of Cromwell’s schedule, then we need to figure something else out. Look at what’s happening out there. We have no choice. I have no choice…”

  I pull his arm away, and begin dragging my t-shirt over my body, leaving me in only a bra. I toss the t-shirt to the bed, and continue my search for a shirt with a collar large enough to hide the bruising on my neck.

  Adryan stands there for a moment in silence, and as I
reach forward, he takes my arm once more.

  I turn to him.

  “Adryan, I have to…”

  “I know,” he says, nodding. “You’re right. But if you’re going to go down there, you’d best do it in disguise as we discussed.”

  “But I don’t have any grey clothes. It’s all blue.”

  He turns to the door.

  “Follow me.”

  Frowning, I start following as he leads me into his room. With the storm continuing to rage outside, I see him opening up a drawer at the base of his wardrobe. His hands reach in, pulling out a set of grey garments. Women’s garments.

  He lays them onto his bed, and begins sorting through the half dozen or so items. He withdraws a shirt and passes it to me. I quickly snap it up and put it on, buttoning it up as he selects a pair of pants.

  “Where did you get these?” I ask, confused as to why he’d have a set of women’s clothing in his room.

  He takes a moment to answer. It’s long enough for me to realise the truth before he shares it.

  “They were Amelia’s,” he whispers. “I kept them...I don’t know why. You’re about the same size.”

  He hands me the pants, and turns to put the rest of the items back into the drawer. Then he comes out with a pair of flat grey shoes, handing them to me too.

  I just stand in silence, an awkwardness pervading me.

  “These were your wife’s? I…I can’t.”

  “It’s fine, Brie. Go ahead, put them on. I’ll give you some privacy.”

  He leaves the room, and I begin changing my pants and sliding into the shoes. They all fit well, the shoes requiring minimal adjustment.

  Then, stepping back into the living room, he looks upon me with a smile.

  “You see…they fit just fine.”

  “Yeah,” I say. “They, um…they do.”

  “Well good,” he says hastily. “If you’re going to pretend to be a Savant, then you have to look the part, right?”

  I nod silently.

  “So come on,” he continues, “give me your best impression.”

  There’s a strange note to his voice. He’s trying to lighten the mood.

  I look at him blankly.

  “Good,” he says with an awkward smile. “You’ve got the look down perfectly.”

  His eyes flash to the clock, the time hurrying past 3AM.

  “You’d better get going,” he says. “As you say, we don’t have much time to lose. I’ll keep trying Lady Orlando, and I’ll keep an eye on that one over there,” he adds, glancing at Agent Woolf’s bundle of limbs.

  “Um…any ideas where I should start?”

  He takes a breath, still looking at me slightly awkwardly, all dressed up in his dead wife’s clothes.

  And as uncomfortable as he looks, I feel ten times worse.

  “I’d say level 8…”

  “The fitness level?” I ask.

  “Yeah. With all the tension of the last couple of days, I’m thinking she’ll want to let off some steam. It should be quiet right now. Go there, and have a look around. If not, maybe she’ll want to grab some food, but I’d assume she’d do that after her workout…”

  “Right. Good idea.”

  Now it’s my turn to take a long breath, opening my eyes nice and wide and holding back any burgeoning feelings of fatigue.

  “Wish me luck then,” I say.

  He smiles and nods.

  “Good luck.”

  And with that, I turn to the door, fill my lungs, and set off towards the lifts.

  102

  The High Tower is different at night.

  It’s a little darker, the bright fluorescent lights dimmed along the corridors. It’s a lot emptier, the number of Savants whose duties keep them up late limited. And it’s far more eerie, a deep silence spreading across almost every floor, only broken by the occasional bout of thunder as the storm continues its strop.

  From the lifts up on level 51, I journey straight for level 8, hoping that the numbers of City Guards on duty are equally sparse as the current waking population.

  I haven’t yet spent much time on the fitness level, save the brief tour given by Adryan when I arrived, and yet am largely familiar with the layout. I have a decent memory for such things, and my examination of the schematics has certainly helped.

  As such, I know just where the swimming pools are, where the gyms are, where the running tracks are. I know the location of all the exercise facilities spread about the vast level, and will be able to quickly check them for my latest target.

  What I don’t know, however, is what Rebecca’s exercise preference is. Walking out onto the floor, I take a wild guess that swimming will be her thing, and so begin working my way towards the appropriate part of the level on its northern side.

  The floor is split into a dozen or so sections, each one given over to specific forms of exercise and fitness, as well as rooms to change and shower in. It doesn’t surprise me that Savants have no love of team activity, their dedication to staying fit and healthy very much a personal and solo pursuit.

  Mercifully, I find no City Guards on duty when I first enter the floor, its perimeter lined by a long corridor that circles the entirety of the level. At various points, passageways lead through to the different fitness sections, a network of paths providing easy access to anyone’s chosen physical activity.

  It’s so quiet that, aside from seeing no City Guards, I see no Savants at all. Not until I’ve worked my way towards the main swimming pool do I discover my first subject, a lonely figure gently gliding up and down in the water.

  The person appears to be alone, and looks to be a man as well.

  Not Rebecca then…

  I move off towards the next section, this one not a pool but a series of ‘swimming booths’, built in the fashion of running treadmills. Inside, the water flows continuously at varying and adjustable speeds, allowing the user to swim on the spot at whatever intensity they feel comfortable with.

  There are several dozen of these booths, all set out in a grid pattern. I listen closely and hear the sound of splashing coming from a couple, only two currently in operation.

  Moving to the first, I secretly peer in through the small glass window, and see that it’s a man, his hair short and back broad. No good. I move to the next, creeping up to do the same, and see long hair this time, swishing from side to side in the frothing water. The hair is the wrong colour, though: jet black. Rebecca’s is lighter. This isn’t her.

  As I make my conclusion, however, a voice peppers my ears.

  “What are you doing?”

  I look up to see a man peering at me, dressed in his black uniform. He surveys the room from the doorway in a manner that suggests he’s a Hawk. I lean away from the swimming booth as robotically as I can without appearing to overdo it.

  Time for me to test my acting skills.

  Walking towards him, I flatten my expression and dull my eyes.

  “Nothing,” I say, my voice equally vacant. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

  It’s the sort of thing a Savant might say. No regular Enhanced, no matter what their duty or function, is the match of a Savant. I suspect he gets spoken to like that quite often by those who reside here.

  He doesn’t respond.

  Yet he still watches me closely as I move towards the door. I don’t look at him again, my machinelike motion sending me straight past him.

  Then his voice stops me.

  “Wait.”

  I stop, instinct taking over.

  “Don’t I know you?” he asks.

  He moves around the side of me. He doesn’t touch me or turn me – that would be too far – but instead works his way to my front and peers into my face.

  “Aren’t you…”

  I don’t let him conclude his sentence. My head may still be aching from my exertions today, but I’ve still got enough in the tank to glance an order into his mind.

  Leave me alone, I say. Continue on your rounds. />
  His Hawk-eyes glaze over momentarily before he begins gliding past me, off away down the corridor. I let out a small breath and continue on my hunt.

  It takes a fair bit of exploration before I find who I’m looking for. I pass through several other exercise facilities, each time finding only a handful of people still up and active. And each time, I spy them with my Hawk-vision and fail to spot who I’m after.

  I’m all but ready to give up and try another level, when I hear the sound of tapping feet off in another section. I move inside and look upon a wide space used for running, and see a single frame gliding quite smoothly around the track.

  Oddly, while these Savants can be so mechanical during their daily lives, they can also be fairly fluid when in motion. And so it is with the slender figure now cruising around the track, moving at a very constant and quite impressive speed. For a non-Dasher at least.

  As she heads off away from me, I send my eyes forward and wait for her to curve around and her face to be revealed. And when it is, I allow a smile to break my otherwise solid Savant-imitation as my quarry comes into view.

  My appearance in the room doesn’t cause her to slow. However, she does glance over at me as she comes, perhaps finding my intrusion unexpected. Seeing as these people rely so much upon routine, anything out of the ordinary is sure to raise an eyebrow.

  Metaphorically speaking at least. I know they have serious trouble with the literal act of forming such an expression.

  Maintaining her pace, she continues round the track as I stand there, watching. The smile quickly falls from my face and I return to my performance, standing rigid and upright as she comes near. She cruises back past me, working around for another lap, but this time does seem to slow. And when she arrives before me again, she stops completely.

  It’s obvious she recognises me. But that’s not a problem. In fact, seeing as it’s so quiet, climbing into this disguise probably wasn’t necessary after all. With a light pant, she comes forward and merely says: “Good evening, Mrs Shaw. Why are you not wearing your assigned colour?”

  “I just wanted to have a wander around,” I say. “I thought it would look less suspicious wearing grey.”