At some point Tawni comes in and gives me a nod, holds up a controller. She’s ready with General Rose.
“Any questions?” I say as I finish.
A bald man with blue-tinted glasses says, “Why didn’t your father tell us? We were his most trusted advisors.”
“Well, General Marx, you’ll have to ask him,” I say.
“What kind of answer is that?” Aboud bellows. “Your father is dead.”
“He took a lot with him to the grave,” I say. “I can’t answer for him. I’m not my father, or my grandfather. They kept things from you, secrets. I refuse to do that.”
“Why?” Aboud again, his frown deepening.
“Because I think you’re more than what my father made you into. You’re more than mindless killing machines who see missions of murder simply as missions, lines on a page with checkmarks next to them. You were chosen because of your brains, not your hearts, but that doesn’t mean your chests are empty.”
“What are you asking of us?” General Marx asks.
“Just to listen. Make up your own minds. If you disagree with what I propose, we’ll take a vote. This is not a dictatorship. That was my father’s way, not mine.”
There are raised eyebrows and more whispers, but no one, not even Aboud, objects.
I turn, nod to Tawni. She raises the control and presses a button. I gesture for the generals to look at the screen, which goes from black to fuzzy gray to an orange-lit room, a textured brown-rock wall in the background. Adele’s mother sits at a desk, wearing a blue uniform. A flashing red light above the screen indicates our cameras are working. She can see us.
“Tristan,” she says, her face not showing even the slightest degree of surprise. I wonder if this unflappable woman has ever been astonished by something. Adele’s got so much of her mother in her, but has a softer side, too, a side that clearly was a gift from her father. She got the best of both her parents. “Where is my daughter?” She asks the question as if I’m the only one in the room, as if there aren’t ten generals staring at her. It’s a question I’ve been dreading.
“In the New City,” I say. Unlike the generals, we told her everything before we went above. “She’s on a mission.”
“But she’s alive?” she asks. She makes the most important question in the world sound like any other question. She might as well have asked Is my uniform blue? for all the emotion she put into her words.
I want to, but I can’t lie to her. “I don’t know,” I say. “But I’m operating under that assumption.”
Aboud raises a fist in the air. “I want answers and I want them now. What the hell are you talking about?”
I nod slowly, but my eyes never leave General Rose’s. Is that a glimmer of fear I see? She blinks quickly and it’s gone, once more replaced by steel and fire. “I need your help,” I say. For the next hour I recap everything that happened from the moment Adele and I stepped onto Earth. When I finish, I ask, “Will you help me defeat Lecter?”
Aboud looks me in the eye and says, “Not with her.” He spits at the screen. “If you want us to do this, we’re doing it our way, the right way, the way we’ve always done it. Your father’s way.”
I glance at Roc and Tawni. And then I draw my sword.
Chapter Thirty-One
Adele
I awake to a shaking bed. Not hard, more like a buzz beneath me. “Your bed will wake you up.” Now I get what Lin meant.
When I roll over and put my feet down, the bed stops and the lights flash on. The moment I take my weight off the mattress, the wall shifts and the bed disappears. I blow a sharp breath through tight lips. This world is really starting to freak me out.
My white corpse-clothes are wrinkled and smelling far less fresh than they were when I stole them yesterday. I’ll have to check with Lin to see if she has some clean ones I might be able to borrow. She’s shorter than me, but it’ll have to do.
Or not. When I scan my wrist on the metal ration dispenser, two things happen: One, the metal door opens and out pops a white-yellow rectangle, steaming hot; and two, another part of the wall moves behind me, revealing several sets of white clothes and a narrow cubicle with a metal fixture at the top and a drain at the bottom. There’s a handle on the wall in the middle. Some kind of cleaning device.
And I don’t need to inspect the clothes to know: they’re all in my size.
Suddenly I realize the power of the chips in our wrists. Not power for us, but power for him. For Lecter. Control. We have to use them for everything, and therefore, he can track and control everything we do. He doesn’t need cameras set up to monitor us, because we tell him what we’re doing each and every time we scan our wrists.
I clench my fists and resist the desire to rip off my bandage and dig out the chip. I have to be like everyone else if I want to win this fight.
Sitting down at the table—which only has one chair, I guess guests are frowned upon—I eat the egg-like block in front of me. It tastes too salty but I force myself to swallow, washing it down with the single glass of water the liquid dispenser will allow me. Finished, I stare at the wall, which has gone from white to black in an instant, like someone turned off the lights. Only the lights are still on and the rest of the room is bright.
There’s a flash and numbers appear. 6:30. A voice drones from a speaker built somewhere into the ceiling. “You have fifteen minutes to read this morning’s announcement.” Another flash and the numbers disappear, replaced by an image.
My chest heaves and the eggs rise up in my throat. I cough, choke, look away. Try to breathe. Slowly, slowly, slowly, I return my eyes to the screen, breathing through my nose. Tears blurring my vision. Seeing only bodies. Not a few. Not hundreds. Thousands, scattered in the sand, spotted with blood. Men and women and kids. A lot of freaking kids, their bodies so much smaller.
A group of soldiers stand in front of the carnage, mugging and smiling and giving thumbs up signs for the camera.
It was murder. No, even that is too soft a word for what the Glassies have done. What Lecter ordered them to do. Genocide. It’s a word I learned in school. A word that captures the very essence of the hate and the fear and the mass killing the Glassy army is set on carrying out, has already carried out.
I raise a fist, intent on smashing it through the image, but then it falls limply to my side, defeated. It’s just a picture; I can’t hurt the soldiers by breaking my hand on the wall. But I can hurt them other ways, and I will.
The image vanishes, text appearing in its place:
Yesterday’s victory was decisive in the fight for the liberty of the good citizens of the New City. The savage Icers will never threaten us again. The army’s efforts now turn to the desert mongrels who have consistently avoided peace talks, using brute force as an alternative. President Lecter has stated publicly that he’s confident good will prevail. “Because of the sacrifices of our brave men and women, the Earth will once more become a civilized world, where our children can grow and prosper, where Godless savages exist no more,” Lecter said in a recent interview. A memorial service will be held to honor the courageous souls who perished in what has been coined as The Battle for the North.
I turn away. If there’s more, I don’t need to read it. They’re just words, lies, propaganda. In reality, all the savages in the world are gathered inside the very glass dome that has become my prison.
There’s a knock on the door. “One minute,” I say, hurriedly changing out of my disheveled clothes and into fresh ones, ignoring the cleaning I so desperately need.
When I throw open the door, Lin’s there. “Did you read the announcement?” she says. No greeting, just a question.
I don’t have to respond; the look on my face says enough. “You did,” she says. “Want to go throw rocks at the presidential building?”
I offer up a grim smile. “I want to do a whole lot more than that,” I say.
“Then let’s go. We’ve got a sicko to kill.”
We make our way out of
the building, just two birds in a flock of many, each bird with white wings and silent beaks. Are they too defeated to even talk to each other? Doesn’t anyone have a comment about the announcement?
When we get on the street, I want to run, to sprint, to feel my muscles working, my blood flowing, as if maybe that would cleanse my mind of the image I saw on the screen, help to focus me. But we can’t. There are too many people. And it would look strange, anyway, draw attention when that’s the last thing I need. Just be like everyone else. Walk at a normal speed, silent, going about my business. Another fish in the school. Another zombie in the…what do you call a group of zombies? A pack? A herd? A gaggle? My slight chuckle draws a stern look from Lin. Is laughter not allowed? Will I be Tasered and hauled off to prison for laughing at my own, admittedly bad, internal joke?
We pass a building on our right that looks familiar. Large iron doors, guards standing next to them. The Presidential Offices. “We’re here,” Lin says, smiling back at me. Note to self: smiling allowed, laughing not. Check.
I crane my head back and let my gaze travel up the side of the magnificent building. It’s like a glass stalagmite, broad at the base and pointy at the top. Like a shard of glass.
She leads me past the doors and to the right, along another main street. Halfway down the block, we follow a man into a small, dark alley. I use the term “alley” loosely, because it’s nothing like the alleys in the Moon and Star Realms. It’s dark, yeah, but only because the buildings rise up so high above it, blocking the rising sun. But it’s not strewn with litter, doesn’t have any dirty, ale-drenched beggars shoving their hands in your face, doesn’t make me feel unclean just being in it. Instead, it’s spotless, a thinner version of the main road, just another thoroughfare for people going to work.
Lin slows and lets the man in front of us get ahead. “I can’t go with you all the way to the entrance—it will look…weird,” she says. The man stops at a door with another guard. “Just follow him, and act like you know what the hell you’re doing.”
I nod. “Thanks, Lin. Promise not to turn me in?” It’s a bad joke, but she laughs anyway.
“I’d go in there and strangle Lecter myself if I had any chance of getting past the dozen or so layers of security. Even for you it’ll be a longshot.”
“I have a history with longshots,” I say.
“Good luck, see you tonight.” And then she’s gone, off to her own job, and I’m alone again.
I take a deep breath and stride up to the door, which is already closing behind the other guy. The guard ignores me. What am I supposed to do? Of course, there’s a glass plate. Self-service. Why would I expect the guard to act like a gentleman and hold the door for me? I scan my wrist. A red light flashes and then…stays red. I swallow hard. I can tell the guard’s paying attention now.
“Damn cheap machines,” I say, like it happens all the time. I scan my wrist again. Red light tries to penetrate my shirt, the bandage, my skin…
Green. It turns green and the door clicks. The guard goes back to ignoring me as I open it, not letting out my held breath until I get inside.
Right away, I see the guy that entered first. His arms are extended outwards, his feet apart. Two men with black wands are waving them over every inch of his body, presumably checking for potential weapons. I’m glad I ditched my stolen semi-automatic rifles back at the morgue, I think wryly.
They finish with him and he walks into some kind of machine with another red light. It flashes green and a door on the other side opens, lets him through, and then closes.
The guards turn to me. One of them smiles, his white teeth shiny and totally unexpected. I frown and step forward, spread my legs, put my arms out at my sides, trying to mimic what I saw the guy do.
“Mm mm mm,” the smiley guy says, “I’ve never seen you before.”
I don’t respond, just watch them from the bottom of my eyes as they start with my feet, their black wands slipping over my shoes and around my ankles with deft, practiced movements.
“You new around here?” he asks, moving up my leg.
“First day,” I say, my voice monotone, my heart hammering.
“Hopefully not your last.” The other guard chuckles. Their wands slide up the inside parts of my thighs. “This might tickle a little,” the smiley guard warns. I freeze as his stick jabs into my crotch. I stare straight ahead. “Does that feel good?” he asks. “Because we might have to check again. Women like you are known to hide dangerous things in unlikely spots.”
My leg starts to quiver and I clench my muscles to stop from giving in to the instinct to knee him in the crotch and slam my forearm into his nose. That would be a quick way to put an end to my mission.
Their wands move on, over my hips, around my abdomen, and to my chest, where once again they linger. I open my eyes and stare right at the guy as he rubs his damn stick against my breasts, which, thankfully, are completely hidden beneath my high-collared white linen shirt.
And then it’s over. “See you tomorrow,” the guard says, unable to resist smacking my butt with his wand as I step forward into the machine. I’m quivering with rage, but I bite my lip and clench my jaw until the door opens in front of me.
I step through, wondering if all the guards are like those ones, whether the women of the city have to put up with that kind of treatment on a daily basis. If so, I give them credit for their restraint. I’d lose it within two days. Whichever guard was wanding me on the second day would undoubtedly have at least one less testicle when I was done with him.
On the other side of the door there’s a hallway, curving away to the left. The other employee is already gone, which doesn’t surprise me considering how long my “security check” took.
Breathing deeply to push down my anger, I stride along the hall, which doesn’t go far, just around a bend and into a large room with half a dozen people moving around, carrying towels and bottles of blue fluid, pushing mop buckets, all turning their heads to watch a plump woman with a clipboard, who’s giving them orders. I stand in the doorway to listen.
“Benson—outer atrium,” she barks.
“On it,” a woman with a blond ponytail says.
“Holly—lower meeting rooms.”
“Yep,” says the guy with the mop bucket, the one who entered just in front of me.
“Bridges—bathrooms.”
A guy with a shaved head cringes, but says, “Yes, Boss.”
“Sanders—you’re coming with me to do the upper suites.”
Silence. The woman looks up from her papers. Frowns. “Are you Sanders?” she says to me. Everyone turns to look my way.
Sanders? Who the hell is Sanders? “I—” Sanders, you moron! As in the last name you invented not a day earlier. “Yes, that’s me. Tawni Sanders reporting for duty.” My voice sounds high and ridiculous and way too freaking eager. It doesn’t impress the woman.
She rolls her eyes, mutters, “I don’t know why they even sent you; I didn’t order any new workers...”
I look at the floor, trying to look pitiful, hoping she won’t send me back to…wherever they send unneeded workers.
After a few seconds of silence that seem to stretch into eternity, she sighs and says, “Well, you’re here, so we might as well put you to work. We use last names only. When I say your name next time, do yourself a favor and respond immediately. I don’t like waiting.”
“Yes, ma—”
“And don’t speak until I’m done.” She looks down at a watch. “You’re right on time. Tomorrow, be five minutes early. The normal rules don’t apply in this building. President Lecter expects more.”
I wait a few seconds to be sure she’s finished. “Yes, ma’am,” I say.
“Grab those things and follow me,” she says, exiting through a door at the back of the room. I look down to find a pile of stuff, way more than I can possibly carry on my own. I sigh. I have a feeling it’s going to be a very long day.
~~~
Thankfully, the guy I
followed in has a heart and helps me load up a cart with all the cleaning supplies. He also shows me the way to the elevators. Of course, my boss is already gone. I shouldn’t have expected her to wait for me.
“Go to Level 50,” he says. “You’ll find her there.”
“Thanks,” I say, pushing my cart onto the elevator. I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of a special elevator to be used by building workers only, as it’s exceptionally large and could easily fit four carts. Scanning the numbered buttons, I mutter, “Level 50, 50, 50…”
I find the right one and almost press it as the doors are closing. But then I stop myself. The numbers go all the way up to 55. If Lecter is in this building, surely he’ll be all the way at the top.
I jam my thumb into the button marked 55. It lights up blue.
What am I doing? I’m being reckless. But this could be my only opportunity to get a close look at Lecter, maybe even kill him right here and now, and it’s not like the war is going to wait for me to slowly gain the trust of my employer. And I’ve got a card to play, one I can only play once.
The elevator whirs to life and climbs, climbs, climbs, shuddering every now and then. The doors open and I half expect Lecter to be sitting in front of me, his silvery hair set atop his fake smile. No, it’s just a lobby, with stark white walls like everywhere else in this city.
The door begins to close automatically and I block it with a hand, peek out to the right. There is a set of glass doors with a desk behind them. A woman is rummaging through a cabinet, momentarily distracted. Two guards are on either side of her, but they’re looking away too, talking to her. One says something lewd about how she should wear shorter skirts to work. The other just laughs. Do I have time to slip through the doors and past her? There’s no way I’ll make it with my cart.