******
Vincent was sitting on the far left side of the back row, Jessica on the far right. One of Goodwin’s officers was in between them, and Lynn was directly in front. The man with the iron voice had gone in John’s pod.
They were in the center, and straight ahead was the Newsight campus. In the usual dome shape, the building was completely circular but for the hallway-width offshoots around its perimeter. The offshoots snaked outward in enormous s-curves, sprawling from the body of the place like the arms of an octopus.
“We’ll go through the front,” said Lynn. She turned back to them. “Remember your place.”
Vincent knew exactly what she meant, though she couldn’t say it aloud for fear of being watched: they were to act like prisoners.
Jessica nodded, and Vincent followed suit, more hesitantly.
“Good,” said Lynn. “Let’s go.”
She opened her door and climbed out of the pod. Seconds later, Vincent was outside as well, with the hands of two officers forcing his arms up behind his back. He got the feeling there would be no need at all to act like prisoners.
They started for the main entrance – an arched, open-aired space just ahead – at a pace that nearly forced Vincent into a jog. When he lagged, the men holding him wrenched his arms up higher still. They, apparently, had embraced their roles wholeheartedly.
They came to a stop in a high ceilinged lobby, around which were well over a dozen hallway offshoots. Instead of any of these, they approached the front desk in the room’s center, and were greeted with the usual, tight-dress receptionist.
“Ms. Department Head,” said the woman, seeming surprised. “I thought you had gone for the day.”
“I had,” said Lynn. “I would have preferred to stay that way also.” She glanced back at the group of them. The woman seemed to see the strange party for the first time. “I need, Marcus,” said Lynn.
“Of course,” said the woman. “He’s still in. I’ll page him.”
The woman’s eyes went out of focus for a beat. No one spoke.
“He has requested you meet him in holding,” she said after a pause. Her eyes were still trained on nothing in particular. They were starting to roll backward. “I’ve given you access.”
Lynn nodded her thanks, then motioned them forward. Vincent felt a twinge in his shoulder as his overzealous captors urged him into motion. They started for the door of one of the larger halls, deeper into the place. When the door slid open to receive them, they could see Marcus emerging from a door several meters ahead.
“You’re not usually here so late,” said Marcus.
“I’m not usually doing your job,” said Lynn. She motioned to Vincent and Jessica and John behind her. When Marcus followed her gaze, his eyes grew wide.
“How…” He looked first at Vincent, then at Jessica. John didn’t seem to peak his interest. “Where were they?”
“Outside of Hux,” said Lynn. “As I understand it, you were just there. Pity you couldn’t have brought them in yourself.”
Marcus was still staring at them, as if suspicious they might disappear at any second. “I was only there for a day,” he said. He looked up at Lynn. “How did you find them?”
“They were trying to buy prints,” said Lynn. “The ones you lost in the hack.”
“That was a fluke,” snapped Marcus. “Our security was flawless. They must have had someone with knowledge of the system.” He glanced at Jessica. “Someone far more capable than the developer.”
Jessica jerked against the arms of the men holding her. She only moved a few centimeters.
“Whoever it was,” said Lynn, “just be glad your mess was cleaned up for you. Consider these two a reward for poor performance.”
Marcus looked at them again, this time lingering on John. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but it appears as if you’ve miscounted.”
“The third is a print scalper,” said Lynn. “He’s a nobody, but he might assist in your investigation of the hack.”
John shifted against his captors, scowling back at his mother. He, like Jessica, didn’t seem to be doing much acting.
Marcus gave John a doubtful look. “I suppose you want me to hold them for you?” he asked.
“I don’t care what you do with them,” said Lynn. “Take them away. Ship them to a Seclusion. Whatever you want.” She paused. “Or if you’d rather I take them I’m sure I can–”
“No,” said Marcus. “I can find a place for them. You can leave your men with me.” He motioned for the officers to follow him as he turned away, back toward the door from which he had just exited.
“Actually,” said Lynn. Marcus turned to face her. “I’m here about the defense network as well. The alternative products sub-department notified me of an issue just today. And because the network inexplicably falls under your department, I was hoping to have a word.”
Marcus raised his brow, expectant.
“A private word,” said Lynn. “Surely you of all people can arrange for that.”
Marcus smirked at her, then flicked his head at the men holding Vincent and Jessica. “What would you have them do?” he asked.
“Do you know where holding is?” asked Lynn, looking at the officers. As one, they nodded. “There,” she said. “They can escort themselves.”
Marcus grunted in response, unconvinced. He took a step closer to survey the men more carefully.
“Of course, you can always summon others,” said Lynn. She had stepped forward as well. She didn’t seem keen on Marcus’s having a closer look. “Have someone hold their hands from here, if you must.”
Marcus cast the men another look. “That could be arranged,” he said. His eyes flashed out of focus so quickly it looked like a kind of open-eyed blink. “I’ve summoned a man,” he said. “We can talk in my office.”
“Perhaps in network management would be better?” suggested Lynn. Marcus seemed hesitant. Lynn rolled her eyes. “I bring you gifts and you won’t even show me my own products?”
Marcus snorted. “Fine. With me.” He started off deeper down the hall. Lynn followed without so much as a glance back. They were still in sight when the door Marcus had emerged through slid open once again. A crisply dressed, prim-looking man stepped out to meet them. His uniform was not as elaborate as the high-collared jumpsuits of Marcus and Lynn, and nor as plain as the gray uniform of the officers.
“Step inside,” he said. He backed away from the doorframe and motioned them in. The man with the iron voice, still with John as his captive, led them inside. The room was plain and miniature, only just big enough for all of them at once, and bare but for two separate doors on the wall they were facing. The first looked no different than the one they had just passed through. The second was made entirely of glass, and curved outward like the side of a fishbowl.
“You will deposit your guest through this door on the right,” the prim-looking man said. He pointed at the fishbowl door. “The boys together, the girl separate.”
The man with the iron voice inspected the door, skeptical. “And we will accompany you to the observation deck?” he asked.
“That hardly seems necessary. Watching the guests is a one-man job.” The prim-looking man surveyed the officers with more than a hint of distaste “You can return to the quarters.” He turned to the door. “Now, if you would. The girl first.”
Vincent felt the air grow thick with tension. This was not part of the plan.
“Wait just a moment,” said iron-voice. “We went through a great deal in order to secure these guests. We want to see they are properly detained.”
The prim-looking man sighed in exasperation. He seemed bored. “Marcus designed this system himself. You have no need to worry. There’s no room for all of you, anyway.”
“Just me then,” said iron-voice. Had Vincent not known the direness of things, he would have thought the man was at the dinner table – his tone was perfectly composed. “It would give us all peace of mind.” He glanced at his companio
ns, and they nodded, in sync as usual. “And I know Lynn would appreciate it.”
The prim-looking man’s brow was furrowed comically low as he considered them. “If you’re so insistent,” he said, “I’ll let one of you accompany me. The others will have to leave.”
“I will go with you.” Predictably, the man with the iron voice stepped forward.
“Good,” said the prim-looking man, puffing up slightly. “Let’s load the guests, shall we?”
Iron-voice nodded, and he motioned forward to the officers holding Jessica. The prim-looking man stood over them wearing his best impression of a commanding look.
The fishbowl door slid open when they approached it. Without hesitation, they hauled Jessica inside. Jessica looked out at Vincent as the door slid shut. Vincent watched, horrified and intrigued, as the glass pod receded back into the wall, then began to the right, taking Jessica with it. A moment later, Jessica had gone, and a second, empty pod moved into place.
“The gentlemen now,” said the prim-looking man. John and Vincent were shoved in the new pod simultaneously. John had to hunch at the neck so his head didn’t brush against the ceiling.
“Easy as that,” said the prim-looking man. “Now your men can–”
The glass door slid shut, and the prim-looking man went mute. The pod was filled with silence, and Vincent could feel the tension in it. He kept his focus on the scene outside: the prim-looking man finishing his rant, iron-voice waving his men out into the hallway.
The pod began to recede back into the wall, and the loading room disappeared. They were cast into shadow, then into darkness completely as they continued deeper along whatever track was carrying them. It was pitch black but for a faint light above.
“We should have told you,” said Vincent.
John continued to stare at the glass wall in front of them. His expression remained unrevealing, cold – his usual mask had been reaffixed.
“There never seemed to be a good time and…” Vincent trailed off when he heard how insufficient his words sounded. He looked out into the pitch black of the tunnel, searching for something to say that would even come close to making a difference, but he found nothing. Instead, his mind settled again and again on the same thoughts, the same images: Brian’s limp body hanging from its restraints, the open, sightless eyes staring down at a puddle of blood…
Vincent turned his gaze back to the interior of the pod, back to John, to shake the images from his mind, but they didn’t fade. They only grew more persistent, as if to pry their way outward, toward the person they would hurt the most.
“I’m sorry,” said Vincent. The words sounded tiny, even in the miniature pod, and weak, disappearing into the silence the second they sounded. Vincent forced them out again. “I’m sorry,” he said.
John turned from the wall this time. He met Vincent’s eyes.
“For not telling you,” said Vincent. “And for forcing you to find out the way you did.” He paused – the air between them seemed to tighten, as if anticipating the next few words. “And for your brother,” he said. “I know it doesn’t matter now, but I’m sorry.”
John bit down, hard, at the mention of Brian. He said nothing in response. He only continued the same, accusing glare he had worn back in the driveway. Vincent struggled to stare back, and just when he was about to look away, John turned back to the glass. With his eyes unfocused, fixed out into the tunnel on nothing in particular, he breathed out, slow and heavy. He opened his mouth to speak–
The pod jerked to a stop. Vincent turned to the pitch black beyond the glass. Below them, the darkness split down the middle with white light. The floor of the tunnel was spiraling outward, forming a hole just large enough to receive them. There was a lurch, a brief second of decreased gravity, and they began to sink. The pod was dropping through the opening, supported below by nothing but thin air. As they descended, Vincent had to hold a hand up to shield his eyes from the light. He blinked so his eyes could adjust…
The floor of the pod slid out from under them, and they were falling. They landed only a fraction of a second later on the surface of thick glass. Brushing himself off, and still trying to blink away the light, Vincent got to his feet. They were in a much larger pod now, maybe ten times the size as their miniature one, and the walls were made entirely of mirrors. A dozen other prisoners, all men, were in the pod as well. Most kept their gazes on their own feet, but the rest were looking straight up at the fishbowl shape transport Vincent and John had just arrived in. They wore looks of utter indifference as they watched the thing rise, then looks quite the same after it had gone.
“No.”
Vincent turned toward the voice, and when he did, he found himself facing a round man with an unmistakably wide nose and large, beady eyes – the eyes of a developer.
“No,” Simon said again. His voice cracked as he spoke. He shook his head, lips quivering, eyes shining. “No.”
He repeated the word over and over again as he sank to the floor. He stared up at Vincent, accusation in his eyes, a tremor set in his lower jaw.
“She was with you,” he said. “She’s here, isn’t she? They have her.”
Vincent opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to be caught in his throat.
It was all the answer Simon needed. He began rocking silently where he sat, with his hands shaped like a cage around his face, not quite touching it, but flexing all the same, as if prepared to claw at his own skin.
“Simon…” Vincent started, then stopped again. There was no way to communicate anything important. The inside walls of the giant, bowl-shaped pod were mirrored, but Vincent had a strong feeling the outside ones were completely see-through.
“She’s ok,” said Vincent. Simon looked up at this. “She’s safe.”
“Safe?” repeated Simon. “Is that what you call this?” he held up his hands, motioning to nothing in particular.
“No,” said Vincent, “but…but she’s not hurt.” It was the best he could do. Simon was unappeased.
“That’s just temporary,” he said. “When they don’t need her, they’ll take her away. They always take you away.” He pulled his knees into his chest as he scooted backward, pressing himself up against the mirror there, still rocking, still shaking his head.
Vincent looked over his shoulder for help. John was still standing in the center of the pod, making no move forward. He looked confused. Sighing, Vincent crossed over to Simon and sat down against the mirror next to him. The developer was wiping his tears with his shirt, which, Vincent noticed, seemed to have gone unchanged since their first meeting.
“I’m sorry,” said Vincent. “I tried to look after her.”
Simon sniffled, clearing his throat, trying to compose himself. “She doesn’t need looking after,” he said. “Never has.” He smiled for a moment, then sniffled again. He looked up at Vincent. “You said she’s not hurt?” he asked.
“Nothing major,” said Vincent. “Just some scratches.”
Simon nodded. He seemed to be regaining control of his breathing. “Were you in the city?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Vincent. “Hux.”
Simon allowed himself a hollow grin. “You got that far?”
“It was mostly Jessica,” said Vincent. “She would have gone even farther if she thought it would help you.”
Simon’s grin grew wider, his eyes a bit glassier. “It must have been difficult for you, as well,” he said. “With them using your father.”
Vincent nodded. “Yeah,” he said. He didn’t think he could manage anything else.
“At least he’s important,” said Simon, with only a trace of bitterness. “That will keep him safe. Your mother, too.”
Vincent didn’t bother to correct him. They sat in silence for a while.
“How was the city?” asked Simon.
“Worse,” said Vincent. “Different, but worse.”
Simon nodded, unsurprised. “Have the ‘attacks’ stopped?”
“The
y’ve decreased,” said Vincent.
“Everywhere or just in the standards?”
“Just in the standards is everywhere.”
Simon lifted his eyebrows, for a fraction of a second surprised, then lowered them again, sighing. “It was just a matter of time,” he said. “Sometimes I think Newsight is better at being the Order than they are at being themselves. I don’t know why they bother with two names.”
John looked over at them from the center of the bowl. “Newsight can call themselves whatever they want,” he said, “but the true Order will always go by their rightful name.”
Vincent went stiff. His eyes strayed to the mirrored surface over John’s head.
“The true Order?” said Simon. He laughed. “You mean a resistance?”
John seemed prepared to shoot something back, but Vincent caught his eye. He held the words in.
“Of course there’s a resistance,” said Simon. “But that doesn’t mean it’s real.”
“I know for a fact you’re wrong,” snapped John. Vincent cast the mirror another nervous look.
“Do you?” said Simon. “You’ve seen it?”
“I’m a part of it.”
“John we shouldn’t be talking about–”
“It doesn’t matter Vincent,” snapped John. He followed Vincent’s gaze up to the mirror. “They know. It’s why we’re here.”
Simon frowned at these last few words. He turned to Vincent. “What does he mean that’s why you’re here?” His tone had grown serious, no longer the mocking, depressed one of before.
“He’s just upset,” said Vincent. “We were caught when our fake prints stopped working.”
Simon seemed to smell the lie. “Vincent this is important,” he said. “Tell me you and Jessica haven’t gotten wrapped up in this.”
“We haven’t,” said Vincent. He looked at the mirror over Simon’s shoulder. He could feel them watching – he just didn’t know where from.
“Vincent,” said Simon. “Look at me when you say it.”
Vincent turned to the man, to his large, beady eyes with the telltale curve of the Lenses just beyond the irises. “Simon we shouldn’t be talking about this here,” he said.
Simon looked at the mirror behind him as well, then turned back to Vincent. “Here is the same as anywhere else,” he said. “In holding, in the middle of the Center, in whatever ‘secret’ base the Order has constructed. They still hear.”
Vincent shook his head. Simon was drawing him in, just as before. “Not everywhere,” he said. “The Lenses can be turned off. Newsight has devices for it. The Privacy Officers used them on Jessica and me so we couldn’t communicate. The Order has them, too.”
Simon stared at him a moment longer. He seemed to sense the spark in Vincent’s eyes, the hope.
“You believed them, didn’t you?” he said. “You joined them?”
Vincent said nothing. He merely stared, defiantly, back.
“Vincent the Lenses can’t be turned off,” said Simon. “They can’t be taken out or disabled. They’re permanent.”
“But the devices can–”
“The devices are a hoax,” said Simon. “They shut the Lenses off for the user, not the producer. Dark Lenses are just like this glass.” He looked up at the mirrored bowl that encased them. “One-way. Just because we can’t see, doesn’t mean Newsight can’t.”
“You’re delirious,” said John. Some of the other captives were beginning to look up. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I programmed for Newsight my whole life, son,” said Simon. “I’ve seen the code.”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” said Vincent. “Those devices are the only reason Jessica and I were able to escape from the Seclusion.” He thought back to the night of the crash, then to the officer carrying him to the transport. “And there are people in Newsight who are part of the Order,” said Vincent, piecing it together all at once. “One of the officers helped us escape.”
“He may have,” said Simon. “But only because those were his orders.”
Vincent opened his mouth to shoot back some protest, but he was brought back to that night once again. He was in the back, and the officer was right in front of him. The man’s eyes were out of focus. He was receiving some sort of message…
“He could have been communicating with the Order,” said Vincent. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to Simon or himself. “They could have told him to help us.”
“Then Newsight would have seen the message,” said Simon. He sounded almost sympathetic. “And they would have stopped you. At any point they wanted, they could have stopped you.”
“But they didn’t!” said Vincent. “Because they couldn’t. Our Lenses were dark.”
“I already told you,” said Simon. “They’re never dark, not for Newsight. Whatever you were seeing was valuable to them, so they let you go. For a while, at least.”
Vincent looked up to John for help, but John had gone quiet. He was looking at Simon.
“That still doesn’t make sense,” said Vincent. “We weren’t seeing anything important.”
“Maybe you weren’t,” conceded Simon. “Or maybe you just didn’t realize the importance of what you were seeing.”
Vincent frowned at this, confused. Simon looked back at him, his expression still tilted in the same, sympathetic look as before.
“You did see something,” said John. He hadn’t moved from his position in the center of the place. “You saw some of the last people alive without Lenses. In the Hole.” His gaze was fixed on Vincent. It was a fact, a simple statement, but there was an accusation there as well. Vincent thought back to their return to the parking garage just a day prior. The structure had remained intact. The inside, however, had been far from that. It had been the aftermath of a raid, not a bombing. Newsight hadn’t bothered bombing the building – they knew the garage had been reinforced. They knew, as well, there were people inside without Lenses. They knew the exact stairwell to send their men to get inside. Somehow, they had known it all.
Vincent looked away. He could feel the heat of John’s gaze on the back of his neck.
Vincent turned back to Simon. The thumping in his chest had returned. “But how would they have known we would see anything?” he said. He was still looking for a way out. “Why wouldn’t they have just tracked us down and taken us back?”
“Because that would have spoiled the charade,” said Simon. The gloating edge he had begun with had faded completely now. He spoke with something closer to regret. “If they had tracked you down, you would have known the darkeners didn’t work, you would have known there was no way to escape, you would have known there was no use trying.” Simon paused, looking at John, then back at Vincent. “But they don’t want you to know that,” he said. “The second you know is the second they lose you.”
Vincent didn’t shake his head. He didn’t shoot something back in protest. He merely held the developer’s gaze, feeling even more ensnared now than he had that night in the transport.
“What about the hack?” said John. His brow was still furrowed, his mind still turning. “That was real. I did it myself. We unlocked the code we needed to produce the prints.”
“You can’t unlock doors that are already open,” said Simon. “There’s been a hole in the print encryption for years. I tried to fix it myself once, but I was denied.”
John continued to stare at the man, defiant. He was still searching for a way out of the net cast by Simon’s words, and he was squirming.
A sharp thump sounded just outside the mirror. Vincent turned around. It had come from directly behind him. Simon didn’t flinch.
“Whoever brought you here,” said Simon, “whether by force or by plan is playing you. You’re on the wrong end of a set of puppet strings. The Order the terrorist organization and the Order the resistance are just two masks for the same face. No matter which one it wears, Newsight has the same eyes as always.”
Vincent felt
his breaths come a bit sharper, a bit shallower. He could say nothing back. John, too, remained silent, merely staring at Simon, accusing, resentful, as if Simon had spoken the truth into existence, not merely reported it.
Simon was opening his mouth yet again when the mirror at his back disappeared. It slid to the side so quickly he fell backward, into a brightly lit, sterile-looking room beyond. Before he could right himself, his arms were grabbed from behind, and he was dragged out. Vincent jumped to his feet. Out the opening, he could see the prim-looking man from the hallway, bloodied at the temple and hunched at the waist, his body slung over a railing just outside. Next to him, Goodwin’s officers were still dragging Simon across the floor. The developer didn’t struggle.
“Don’t tell Jessica,” he called back to Vincent. His expression was calm, his tone level. “Don’t tell Jessica.”
Vincent stared after him, but his vision was soon blocked. A man had stepped into the doorway, the man with the iron voice. The iron eyes. They reminded Vincent of the slips of metal the sweet-voiced woman had used to activate their Lenses.
In that moment, what little doubt of Simon’s theory that remained in Vincent’s mind was extinguished. The man with the iron voice seemed to sense it, and before Vincent could move, the man’s club was swinging against his temple.