“I hate your life,” Katya said, crouched down in the brush beside him. “I would like to make that clear.”
“I hear you,” Alex said, nodding.
“I’m not too fond of your attitude this evening, either.”
“Can’t say I blame you,” Alex said, shrugging, watching the road a hundred meters distant; it was empty, for the most part, or rather, nothing was moving. The stone strip was dotted with distant shapes that could only be bodies. He hoped it wasn’t anyone he knew. He tried very hard not to worry about Eerie. “I wouldn’t call this a good mood.”
Katya was silent for a while. Alex enjoyed it as best he could. He wished, he really wished, that he had his headphones.
“Look, I liked Emily, all right? She was fun, and a good cook, and whatever,” Katya said, looking like it embarrassed her. “And you should understand that your indecision played a role in this situation, and that you have some things to own up for. But if you’re holding yourself responsible for what happened to Emily, you need to stop. She was a big girl. She did that shit to herself.”
“I’m trying not to think about that right now.”
“I know — and you’re going to screw everything up because of it. You need to clear your mind, so you can focus on what we are about to do. You can’t do that with the big black cloud you got over your head right now. Let it go, Alex. You aren’t responsible for her actions, and your guilt is gonna get both of us killed.”
“Wow,” Alex muttered. “That’s a sympathetic response.”
“What, I’m supposed to be impressed by your compassion? Alex, she’s just someone you fucked. If you are planning on taking responsibility for the actions of every single person you sleep with, you had better consider celibacy.”
“Look, we have to get the medical wing,” Alex said darkly. “As for the little pep talk, you can skip it. I’m not worrying about Emily at all. I’m worried about finishing this stupid job so that I can go find Eerie. The sooner we get this done, the sooner I can move on to that. So, are we doing this, or what?”
Katya looked away and swore under her breath.
“Fine, tough guy,” she said, finally, shrugging. “Let’s go.”
“Try and hold still, Miss Gallow.”
Alice’s head hurt. It felt like someone had hollowed out her skull and then filled the space left behind with broken glass. She sincerely hoped that she was dying. If she wasn’t, then the pain was too much to bear.
“Please, Miss Gallow. Hold still. I am trying to put you back together again.”
She became aware of her senses slowly, one by one, as if she was repeating infancy in fast forward. First, the smell. Incense, like sandalwood. Then a sound, like a recording of a child’s voice, pitch-shifted, high and unnatural. Finally, there was a light, a light that had all the warm qualities of amber, translucent, tinted with an iridescent rainbow. The more she was aware of the light, the more she paid attention to it, the more the pain receded. So she stared at it intently, not entirely sure her eyes were even open, and listened to the horrifying sounds of her skull realigning, bone grinding against fragments of bone and then fusing, with the patience of one who has become familiar with horror.
“I’m sorry, Miss Gallow. I’m sorry that they did this to you. I’m sorry I can’t fix what’s truly wrong with you. All I can do is help you put the pieces back together, and help you loosen some of the fish hooks they left in your mind.”
The voice sounded like singing, which she thought might have meant something to her, previously. It rang in her head, it reverberated in her shattered, fluctuating skull, but it was not unpleasant. Like the light Alice bathed in, the more she was aware of it, the better she felt. She listened raptly, even though the words made little sense to her.
“It’s funny, as old as you are that we never met. You are remarkable. You know, of course, that no human could survive the implanting of the kind of nanomachinery that made you? But that’s for the best. I could never heal an Operator like this. Too fragile. Oh, you must have guessed by now, even if you have forgotten? Some Operators do not appear to age, it is true, and they can have long lives, but there are limits to everything. I heard about you the first time in Holland, when Napoleon’s troops were arriving in Amsterdam. You arrived with them, to make other, more private inquiries. I don’t know whom you were working for then. I don’t know how old you were at the time. How old do you think you are, Alice?”
Alice couldn’t wonder. She couldn’t follow much of what was being said. The whole experience was too extreme, and the words too small and insignificant a part of it. Whatever her mysterious benefactor had to say, its relevance paled next to the reformation of her skull. The process didn’t hurt as much as she would have thought it might, her whole being permeated with that ephemeral, translucent light.
“Or your protocol, have you ever thought about that? It isn’t anything like any of the Operator’s protocols. How would nanites explain what you can do, Alice?”
It was almost like an orgasm. Not that it was pleasurable, but it was consuming, overwhelming, indescribable. The sound of her bones knitting in high speed. The sound of tissue rebuilding itself, each cell molded from the blueprint of the last, the shrill crescendo of her nerve endings coming back to life.
“I wish we had more time together, Miss Gallow. There are a so many things that I would like to talk to you about. I think that one day we will meet again, as we are now. Maybe then we can talk more. I sincerely regret what I have to do, now. To make it up to you, I’m going to fix Xia, too, okay? I know how protective you are of him.”
Alice’s instinct, her drive for survival, was primal and fundamental to her nature. Even in her lulled, half-conscious state, she reacted apprehensively to what she perceived as a threat.
“I’m sorry, truly — but I can’t allow you to remember any of this. With your condition that seems particularly cruel. However, I’m being indulgent — there is a child I that I spoil, I’m afraid, and there is a boy that she is fond of. He won’t make it if you don’t. I’m counting on you, Miss Gallow, even if you won’t remember me. If you can remember anything, remember this: the Church of Sleep, Miss Gallow. They are always watching us…”
There was an interval that was lost to her. Not forgotten, not exactly. Lost like a dream to morning sunlight.
Alice picked herself up and dusted herself off, and then probed her bruised head and jaw hesitantly, as if she expected it to break if she handled it roughly. She tried to remember, and she could only recall snippets, bits and pieces of what had happened after Mitsuru had gone berserk. She felt sad about it, and that usually meant that she’d forgotten something good, something that had made her happy. She shrugged it off with the benefit of long experience.
Poking at her jaw with her index finger, Alice Gallow walked through the rubble and wreckage that dotted the site of Mitsuru and Leigh’s battle, wondering what had happened, wondering if anyone else was still alive. There was something, stuck like a barb on the surface of her mind, an itch she couldn’t scratch. Her mind insisted on returning to it, like remembering a melody but forgetting the words, vague but insistent, infuriating. She tried to think in his direction.
“Gaul?”
“It’s about time. Pull yourself together. There are things that must be done, and you, Chief Auditor, are the one who needs to do them.”
Today, Alice thought, is going to be a big day for the old diary.
There was something wrong with these Weir. They were… twisted, somehow. Malformed. Hideous and rank, their skin crawling with tumors and sores, their features obscured and deformed. Alex couldn’t help but wonder if they were somehow already dead.
Katya ducked underneath the outstretched arms of one of them, and one of three needles she clutched in her left hand disappeared. The Weir’s howl was muffled, as she had impaled it with a needle through the jaw and into the skull. She opened her hand and the other two needles disappeared, and the Weir behind it fell as well. Then it was his turn, stepping up behind her. He had practiced it dozens of times, but he had never felt more nervous than with a Weir lunging at him and nothing else at all to rely on. He reached out his hand, using his arm as a rough visual guide. Wait until the Weir was twice as far… Katya had taught him to aim, and he did, for the point right between the beast’s eyes…
The Black Door skidded open a crack. Alex let a little bit of the cold in through an opening the size of a pinhole. The blood in the Weir’s brain froze, along with some of its head and most of its eyes. The creature made a ghastly sound, and then fell to the ground and twitched as its nervous system died in shock.
“You only need to freeze like five centimeters, max,” Katya scolded. “You’re still overdoing it.”
She walked over to the Weir he had killed, and kicked its head experimentally.
“It’s like someone poured a slushy inside a pumpkin,” Katya observed dryly, then paused, and looked away. “But you did pretty good, all in all. You’re still slow, but I don’t feel quite as bad about you watching my back.”
“I’m going to accept that as a compliment,” Alex said happily, “because I know it’s as close as I’m going to get. Look, we do this, and I’m gone, okay? We get Rebecca back on her feet, and then I’m going back down to Central.”
“Through the woods,” Katya said coolly, tapping her foot impatiently.
“Yeah.”
“Which are filled with…? I don’t know. Anathema, I suppose. Lots of them.”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I have to, right?”
“I suppose,” Katya mused. “The only other girl in the world who was willing to sleep with you decided that she preferred death, so your options for the future are limited.”
“Hey,” Alex said, genuinely hurt and not fully able to disguise it. “That’s really harsh, even for you.”
“Sorry. You’re just going to have to deal with it.”
“Well, whatever. I have to go for Eerie. I said some things that I wish I hadn’t… and now that I think about it,” Alex said, wondering why he was confessing this to Katya, of all people, “there are some things that I want to say that I should have said. Right now, I’m trying not to compound my mistakes. So, while I appreciate your help, I’d appreciate it even more if you would lay the fuck off. Please.”
Katya regarded him narrowly. It could have gone either way. He wasn’t sure how many of the needles she had left woven into the lining of her jacket, and he found himself watching her hands intently. Then she shrugged and walked off, toward the gate, stepping neatly over the corpse of the Weir, head steaming from internal temperature deferential.
They made it halfway to the gate, which seemed good, given how crowded the woods seemed to be tonight. At least, for variety’s sake, they managed to stumble over the next group of Anathema, rather than vice versa. Both Weir looked very surprised. The human — well, no, Alex reminded himself; the Anathema with them looked even more so.
Katya threw one of her needles at him, overhand, and he ducked to avoid it, reaching for his gun. It flickered out of sight in mid-air, holding onto the momentum when it reappeared somewhere inside of him, emerging, point first, from the right side of his chest, poking out from between his ribs. He dropped the gun he’d been holding and stared at it in horror. Alex held out his hand, measuring from there, and waited for the Weir to move. He didn’t have to wait very long.
They were faster than he anticipated, and he almost didn’t get the first one, on the way in, which would have been a problem, because Katya was still digging through her pockets. He had to try twice, in rapid succession, unpleasantly aware that every pinhole meant a few more hours of his life lost to dreamless, hollow sleep. His first attempt grazed the back of the Weir’s skull. The second one hit the mark, and the thing fell down in the same horrible convulsions. Alex spun to face the final Weir, knowing the he would be too late to stop it, wondering if Katya had worked anything out.
The Weir dropped to its knees in coughing, choking spasms, close enough that Alex could smell its foul breath. He turned and looked at Katya gratefully as the thing died.
“Fuck, man, I thought you were out of needles or something,” Alex gasped, his hands on his knees. “I would’ve been dead.”
“Actually,” Katya said modestly. “I did kind of run out of… accessible needles. I actually killed that one with a handful of dirt. Whatever works, right?”
“Accessible?”
Katya blushed.
“Yeah, can we not talk about that?”
“Right,” Alex said, turning back toward the gate. “You’re right. How do you think we should do this? Do we walk right in, or what?”
As they walked along, he could hear clothing rustle and shift behind him. He risked one quick look back, and caught her fussing with her skirt lining, and got a good idea about where the “inaccessible” needles were stored. Then Katya caught him looking and glared, and he sort of wished he hadn’t.
As much as Alex tried to keep his mind on other things, it returned again and again to Emily. He recalled the strange things she’d said, the water bleeding out of her skin, watching her disintegrate in his arms; it was like a sore in his mind, constantly threatening to occupy his attention. When he actually gave in and tried to think the whole scene through, though, Alex drew a complete blank. His mind fixated and recoiled over the sheer horror and impossibility of the situation. Alex remembered what she looked like in her white dress on a sunny afternoon not so long ago, on the other side of the Gate he and Katya were cautiously approaching now, and it caused pain that ran right through him, nestling in his chest as if it planned to stay. However, if he had been asked to explain, there would have been nothing he could articulate.
It got quieter as they approached the gate, and there were more bodies scattered around the trees and the road, some of them probably people he’d seen around, some of them maybe even people he liked. He tried very hard not to look at them.
The road broadened into a plaza, a roundabout with a stone pavilion in the center, directly in front of the Gate. There had been a bus stop and a rain shelter in its shadow, but now there were only fragments of torn metal bolted to the stone that reminded him of the way Emily laughed on a certain afternoon. Katya motioned for him to be quiet as they approached, and something about the gesture recalled the way it had looked — Emily’s lovely, well-proportioned head marred and violated by a thin, rounded piece of metal — and for a moment, he thought he that couldn’t go on any further. Then he saw them, standing near the Gate and talking in low voices. Anathema, dressed for battle, in face paint that he couldn’t identify but he knew indicated their cartel membership. He didn’t need to be able to read it to recognize them. He’d seen the same paint a half-dozen times tonight, and the people wearing it had always been trying to kill him. There were five of them, and all of them had guns.
Alex crouched in the brush, not far from the edge of the woods, where the road begin. Katya bent down beside him. The heavy skirt and jacket combo she’d worn had seemed unreasonably warm on the island. Now he envied her the heavier clothes.
“What do we do now?”
Katya opened her mouth to answer, and then she closed it again, and shrugged.
“I have three needles left,” she offered. “Can you take some of them from here? I’m going to have to get closer…”
As it turned out, she didn’t have to, after all.
Normally, an apport was delivered as close as possible to ground level. When Svetlana performed an apport, Alex noticed that he often had the sensation of falling slightly, on arrival, probably due to inexperience. But whoever put Grigori twenty feet above the huddled group outside the Gate did it on purpose. Apparently, the electric blue crackling aura that surrounded him was enough to be absorb the impact.
The two men who were caught below him, not so much. Alex sincerely hoped they were dead. They sure looked dead; with a whole lot of what was supposed to be on the inside suddenly squeezed out by Grigori’s telekinetic dive-bomb. A shallow crater contained the carnage that Grigori was still in the process of extracting himself from.
The first one of the survivors to react was a guy wearing one of those ski-mask things that people use to rob gas stations. He must have been a pyrokine, and he clearly wasn’t stupid. Apparently, he didn’t need to use his hands to operate his protocol, because the air around Grigori ignited while the man leveled his squat British bull pup SMG, flicked off the safety, and started pumping rounds into Grigori, who had gone up like a Christmas tree in February. Alex moved to help him automatically, before he even thought about what he was going to do, but Katya pulled him down by his arm, hissing her disapproval. She indicated with curt, angry gestures that he was to follow her. She crouched and then lead him off to the side, flanking the remaining men near one side of the Gate. Ten steps later, Alex realized why.
Grigori was invisible inside the Roman candle he had become. But he wasn’t flailing or falling down. He was moving toward the men, slowly but surely, and beneath the layer of livid orange flame, Alex could see brilliant blue undertones.
He had seen Grigori use his protocol before, once or twice, when he visited sessions of the Program, but he didn’t really understand it that well. Grigori was some kind of wideband telekinetic, as Alex understood it, powerful but with an extremely limited range and a blunt, dramatic dispersal. He couldn’t project or strike at a distance like Michael. Instead, he used his protocol almost entirely in contact with his own body.
Grigori crossed about half the distance between him and the remaining Operators before they had the good sense to kill the fire. Underneath, Grigori was sheathed in a shimmering blue field that ebbed and waxed around him, tidal fluctuations in high speed. He looked a bit cooked and unhappy, but otherwise unhurt. Two of the men had the good sense to start using their rifles, banana-clipped AK-47s. The last one had the even better sense to go for his radio. Alex could only assume that meant that the squad telepath had been one of the two unfortunates that Grigori had landed on.
Grigori got his hands on the closest one, the pyrokine. The air in front of his fist radiated a livid blue as he concentrated his telekinetic abilities down into a single point. Alex had seen him do this before, once, but it had been as part of a demonstration, on a block of concrete. The effect on the pyrokine’s abdomen was similar, but much uglier.
One of the other ones must have been a telekinetic. Alex didn’t actually see it that well, but whatever happened, it knocked Grigori over and sent him skidding across the pavilion, the shifting energetic field that surrounded him tearing a furrow in the old stone of the road, raising sparks and making an awful squealing sound. He hit the wall next to the gate hard, sending chips of stone and dust flying. Fortunately, for Katya and Alex, all of this made so much noise that the Anathema didn’t notice them circling around until they were close enough to do something about it.
Katya was supposed to go first, and he was supposed to hang in reserve, since she could strike multiple times rapidly, and he had only managed to figure out how to do it once, with a long windup. But something about the remains of the post in the ground where the bus stop had been, where Alex had stood with Emily, brought back memories; the sly way she smiled when she was enjoying a private joke, the way she would nestle, comfortably, underneath his arm, the way she looked in a dress that she liked. Now all of these memories were poisoned.
Alex put his arm out in front of him to use as a visual reference. But he didn’t open a pinhole. Instead, he let his anger decide for him, and it went for the walls of reality like a scorpion’s stinger, white-hot at its sharpest point, clawing free of him like a living thing and then tearing through to the Ether like it was frictionless. There was no resistance whatsoever. The hole he opened to the Ether was about the size of a basketball, and expanding rapidly, fueled by his irrational anger.
It was crueler than he expected. The air temperature dropped first, shards of frozen water shattering against the stone with a sound like gentle music. Then the men fell, and that was ugly, as they choked on the frigid air that burned their lungs. Their skin blackened and crackled, frostbite expanding manically across their bodies; but they lived on somehow, not exactly screaming, crawling around and moving spasmodically. Eventually, he supposed, their blood froze or their hearts stopped from the trauma. He didn’t actually see that part, because he kept his eyes firmly closed until he was sure they were dead, and then he closed the rent to the Ether.
Grigori, sheathed in a telekinetic field, and Katya, needles dangling from slack fingers, had both stopped to stare at Alex.
“Alex,” Katya said softly. “You’re going to fall asleep again. You can’t do that sort of thing.”
“I’m past caring,” Alex said curtly. “I have places that I need to be, and no more time for this bullshit. Grigori, who sent you here?”
Grigori rubbed his stubbly chin and looked at Alex with obvious curiosity.
“Maybe I have misjudged you, Alex Warner,” Grigori rumbled thoughtfully. “I did not realize that you were so capable.”
“Whatever,” Alex said irritably. “I want to be done with this. I have other things to worry about, and I couldn’t care less about your opinion. Now, who are you here for, and what do we have to do next?”
“I see,” Grigori said, slowly, shrugging his broad shoulders. “Very well. I’m working for Gaul. He had Choi port me over here when he said the time was right. Vivik had you two tagged a half-mile away.”
“What’s it like inside there?” Alex asked, inclining his head in the direction of the Academy. “How bad is it going to be, getting to the infirmary?”
“Its hit and miss,” Grigori said, nudging one of the dead Anathema with his shoe. “There are some places that are pretty safe, like around the Admin building where Gaul’s got the kids all bunkered up. Some others aren’t. But you don’t need to worry. Gaul sent you a guide.”
“Oh, then you aren’t coming?” Katya said brightly. “Pity.”
“Please, Katya,” Grigori said, walking off. “Do try not to get yourself killed. It would be such a shame.”
Alex shrugged and then he and Katya walked through the gate. Things on the other side looked a little bit better. Then their guide stepped from the shadows, an uneasy smile on his face, and his hands in the pockets of his brown tweed jacket.
“Katya, Alex,” Mr. Windsor said cheerfully. “Either of you two fine young people up for an evening stroll?”
“Therese,” Anastasia called out, stepping carefully through the burning wreckage of the western wing of the house, holding her skirt bunched in front of her, trying vainly to protect the embroidery on the hem. “Come out, come out, wherever you are…”
She peered around the burning remains of one wall, the one destroyed by a telekinetic attack shortly before reinforcements had arrived from the organized combat forces of the Black Sun and driven back their attackers, at a cost that was currently being tallied. She didn’t see anything but darkness and trees moving in the wind behind the wall, so she stepped gingerly around it and continued.
“Oh, come on, Therese,” Anastasia said impatiently. “I have other things that I need to be doing. And your sister doesn’t have the kind of contacts to beg favors from the Anathema. However, you do, Miss Foreign Affairs Liaison. I would have helped her, you know. She would have been a Lady of repute in the Black Sun, and you would have done well for yourself, too. Instead, you let them drown her in a hole in the ground, and now she’s a monster. What did you get for that, Therese? And what have they made of you?”
Anastasia crossed her arms and planted her feet, not worrying for the moment about the velvet in her skirt, no doubt damaged beyond repair by the soot.
“You flooded my island. You destroyed my house and you ruined my dinner. You made my sisters cry, and you failed your own sister, you pitiable thing. You had better show yourself and get it over with. I know you are out there. Renton is telling me so.”
“I am not hiding,” Therese said calmly, walking out into the open, dressed for a day in the office in grey slacks and a white blouse, her hair back in a neat bun. “I was simply waiting to see which of your servants you planned to hide behind.”
“None of them. Not for you, dear,” Anastasia, said, walking toward her. “For you, I’m making an exception. Back when you used to work for the Hegemony, you would have dreamed of having this opportunity. Congratulations are in order. You are about to find out what my protocol can do.”
Therese’s smile was sickly, even in the dark.
“Your mistake, Anastasia. The Outer Dark has been kind to me,” she gloated. “I have heard the rumors of you, the anomaly in the Martynova clan, and your mysterious deviant protocol. Whatever your secret, you are no match for what I have become.”
“Therese,” Anastasia said, her voice suddenly soft. “Tell me you didn’t plan it this way. Tell me this all went horrible awry, that you did not deliberately let them do that to your sister.”
Therese froze, and her expression became muddied, uncertain.
“Why? What does it matter? Because you were ‘friends’ with her? Please. You were trying to play Emily.”
“Of course,” Anastasia acknowledged. “Honestly, I was getting tired of acting the lonely and secretly self-conscious heiress. But that isn’t that point. She is your sister,” Anastasia added, glaring. “That is a responsibility that I take seriously.”
“You have no idea,” Therese barked. “Don’t give me that crap, rich girl. You’ve never had to do anything for your sisters. You have no idea what it was like with Emily. I did everything I could to protect her.”
“You gave her to the Outer Dark, and they made her a walking corpse, a Drown. Don’t bother with the good sister act. We are way past that now. Tell me,” Anastasia said softly, taking one deliberate step toward her, then another, “did they put you in that pool, first? Or did you let them do that to her? She was a really good cook, too. I won’t forgive you for it, whatever your reasons or rationale.”
“I am not a Drown,” Therese hissed, the air around both of her hands smoking and steaming. “They have made me so much more than that. You cannot imagine, Martynova, the scale and the sheer power of the Outer Dark.”
“Then give me a demonstration,” Anastasia invited. “I have a a bit of a surprise planned for you, too. Shall we see whose is better?”