Mindfire (The Mindfire Trilogy Book 1), page 1
Mindfire
L D Houghton
Copyright © 2023 L D Houghton
All rights reserved.
1
An agent must always be aware of his surroundings, both physical and metaphysical.
Agency Handbook, Section 1.7
There were two bodies. No sign of the girl, just two charred bodies.
Nestor Grey stared through the night’s gloom as the rain poured down, soaking the bare, cracked concrete and the crumpled bodies sprawled out upon it. The sound of the large, heavy raindrops rattling the corrugated roofing of the rusting warehouses far behind him rolled over everything, while around his feet puddles spat and jumped, reflecting the dull, cloud-shrouded moon above.
A man and a woman. Middle-aged, from what he could tell, but it would be difficult to know for sure even if there were more to see by than the light of the single distant, flickering electric light post at the entrance of the nearest warehouse.
It looked like the two of them had been heading away from the warehouses, though Grey couldn’t imagine where they were headed to. Beyond them concrete gradually gave way to nothing but the Waste, desolate, lifeless soil and earth extending into the darkness, towards a vast wilderness given over to shrubs and roaches where few other things survived for long.
That, or they’d come in from the Waste, which was equally difficult to believe.
He stood in the gloom, dragging on the e-cig glowing fitfully in his mouth, sparking in the drops the brim of his hat couldn’t block, and stared at the dark, vague shapes of the corpses.
Two bodies. No girl. But the scorch marks told him there had been a third person, a dark patch of burnt ground surrounding a conspicuously paler vacant area of rough concrete, exactly as burn marks surrounded each of the bodies.
Mindfire. Someone had used Mindfire on these two, frying them from the inside out, forcing their bodies into the pained, curled positions they now lay in. Their skin was charred, clothing burnt off until only blackened scraps remained.
Could the girl have learnt to use Mindfire so soon? But she was surely too young, and the chances of surviving her first use of Mindfire low.
Then could someone else have done this?
The empty patch of concrete lay there mocking him, rain slowly pooling to form a smooth black layer that would in short time render it indistinguishable from any other strip of soaking ground. Which meant this must have happened recently.
A metallic clattering came from somewhere nearby, a feral coyote or rad-cat knocking aside a derelict pile of sheet metal as it stalked its prey. Grey tutted at the distraction.
What really stood out to him was the way the bodies curled in towards each other, each with a single hand outstretched. As if, even in the throes of their agony, their thoughts had been of reaching for the other.
A second clatter of metal, followed by a sudden hush; a hush that told Grey someone was trying very hard not to make any noise. The silence seemed particularly loud towards the narrow space between the two nearest warehouses, a strip of darkness the weak moonlight failed to penetrate.
Turning slowly away from the bodies, Grey stepped quietly but steadily towards the darkness, his hand slipping below his coat and grasping the pistol holstered at his waist. At the same time the moon emerged from a gap between the clouds, its light increasing the contrast between the open concrete and the darkness of the gap beyond.
He was only a few steps from the space when there was a sudden noise, the sound of someone trying frantically to be at once quiet and to make a hiding place amongst the old iron sheets piled haphazardly against the walls of the warehouses. They were failing at both.
The reflection of moonlight on metal gave a glimpse of the source of the sound and made Grey pause. Releasing his grip on his weapon, he took his hands from his pockets and held them out wide, palms spread to show he wasn’t a threat.
It was a boy. Grey thought he couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen, though children weren’t really within his area of expertise. Young, anyway. Young, pale, with mousy brown hair, his wide eyes reflected the cloudy night sky above. He was sat with his back against the metal warehouse wall, pushing futilely with his feet as if trying to force himself through and into imagined safety. His ragged breathing could be heard just above the rain.
“Hey kid, it’s ok,” Grey said, keeping his arms wide open and taking a slow, measured step forwards. “It’s ok. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
The child pushed harder with his feet, sliding sideways along the wall and against the iron sheets stacked against it. He looked up at Grey from a face grimed with dust, ash, and a dark material that looked worryingly like blood. Grey spoke in a slow, flat tone, trying to counter the panic coming from the kid.
“It’s ok, it’s ok. I can help. Just… just calm down, alright?”
Grey had never gotten used to talking to children. They didn’t fit any protocol, and his standard methods were hardly suited to the easily startled. In his line of work, it was best that those who couldn’t defend themselves were kept well away.
At least the child seemed to have stopped scrabbling quite so much in the pause as Grey tried to adjust to the situation. Now the boy was sitting almost still, fidgeting slightly as he looked up at him. No, not fidgeting… shivering. The kid was clothed in some kind of thick white cotton top and pants combination, devoid of logo or pattern. These were soaked through, the cold rain rendering them useless as protection from the chill despite their thickness.
“Here, kid,” said Grey, swinging his coat from off his shoulders and holding it out towards the child, trying to avoid any sudden movements. “Put this over yourself. It’s waterproof, so you won’t get any wetter, at least.”
The child looked from Grey to the jacket twice, hesitation vying with cold until, decided, he snatched the jacket from Grey’s hands and pulled it over his body like a blanket. He was so small it practically was a blanket.
“So, you got a name or anything?” said Grey, over the sound of rain.
The child didn’t reply, but once again met Grey’s gaze. Grey found the look disconcertingly direct. He’d thought the kid was crying at first, but realized now it was only the cold and rain making him sniff and shift around. The eyes were steady beneath the grime, as if challenging him to try something.
“Not talking then? Ok, well, let’s get you out of the cold first, anyway. Here, let me help…”
Grey’s words were cut short by a short, sharp crack somewhere behind him, followed by a piercing buzzing that got louder as it came rapidly closer. Only years of experience and trained reflexes let Grey do what he did next.
Spinning to face back out the alley, Grey flung out two outstretched hands and focused. The buzzing suddenly filled the air, a screech that emanated from a small glinting cylinder held, frozen in the air, before him. Grey grunted with effort, the air in front of him seeming strangely thick, raindrops making odd curling patterns as if a gel filled that small patch of air.
Letting out a long breath, Grey lowered his hands. The glinting cylinder fell to the ground, buzz cutting off when it hit the concrete.
A fizzer.
Grey instantly knew two things. One, he needed to get somewhere safe. Someone had just taken a shot at him. Two, that someone had some serious resources if they had access to fizzers.
Fizzers were bullets with nanoscopic, flexible ‘fins’ along the sides and a compact processor within, able to make small but significant corrections to their trajectory every microsecond. They practically guaranteed a kill-shot.
Practically, unless the target had access to… unusual countermeasures.
Still, no matter how unusual the countermeasure, it wouldn’t stop the next few rounds tearing a hole through him if he didn’t get behind cover now.
The leap Grey took couldn’t be described as graceful, but it did the job. Throwing himself forward, he grabbed the boy as he flew over him, curling his body to protect them both as his back smashed into and through the thankfully flimsy rusting warehouse wall. Still, sharp barbs of rusted metal tore through his clothes and bit at his skin.
Grey’s wild somersaulting left them sprawled amongst old industrial piping, a cloud of dirt and dust rising around them. Taking no time to regain his bearings, he staggered to his feet. He grabbed the child by the shoulder, coughing as he pulled him along to make their way deeper into the warehouse.
Unfortunately, the vast space was essentially empty aside from sparsely-spaced stacks of heavy steel pipes like those that they had crashed through the wall and landed amongst. These mostly lay stacked against the warehouse sides, piles of them tied together with cables. In places these cables had snapped, allowing their loads to roll haphazardly across the cold floor, but other than that only a few anonymous-looking crates took up any space at all, emphasising the emptiness rather than consuming it.
Two rows of metal support struts and connecting girders held the high roof up, a number of strip lights fixed along them. These still gave a fitful glow despite the sense that this place had been abandoned for several years. Grey headed towards the cover of the nearest strut.
Grey knew the fact that they had light to see by was a good thing, though the boy at his side was obviously looking around for a darkened corner to hide in. If the person hunting them had access to fizzers, darkness would hardly be a hindrance to their aim; they would certainly have decent target-assistance hardware that required little light. In fact, Gr
He knew there was no way he could draw enough energy to stop a second fizzer. Frankly, he was still unsure where he found the power to stop the first. The area seemed far too abandoned for there to be anything like enough Aether for that, so Grey prayed to anyone that might be listening that they were moving fast enough to keep ahead of those hunting him.
It appeared that there were events more interesting to deities going on elsewhere, however, as his prayers were answered only by a second sharp crack. A dark round spot appeared on the wall near where they had crashed in, the screeching bullet curving straight for the kid.
Somehow in that split second Grey managed to twist and force the boy sideways behind him. The bullet curved to follow but was deflected just enough as the air thickened around it. Instead, it tore through Grey’s left arm and continued on, exiting through the opposite wall.
Grey let out a gasp at the sudden pain, reaching up to cover the wound with his right hand. Blood poured through his fingers, but through the pain he could feel it was only a shallow injury. Nothing to slow him down. Yet.
That’s two strokes of luck, he thought to himself. He didn’t think he should count on a third.
If he got out of this, though, he was going to dine out on tonight’s events. Two fizzers. Most Far agents fail at one, and that kind of failure meant you didn’t get a second attempt.
Perhaps it was hubris, though, because something seemed set on disabusing him of any such optimistic thoughts the instant they crossed his mind. There were tall, wide doors at each end of the warehouse, and the one at the far end, in the direction they were heading, had just begun sliding open.
Grey spun on his heels, grabbing the kid again and pulling him back, accepting the fact that the blood from his arm would just have to flow for a while. The boy spun round, and they began hurrying towards the opposite end of the warehouse. They were practically in the centre of it now, equidistant from any exit.
The problem was, however, that this was the end the fizzer shots had come from.
Which means there’s more than one of them.
In fact, there were several. The door ahead slid sideways to reveal six large forms silhouetted against the outside gloom, each figure bulky with the padding Grey knew must be body armour. Each also held a long, metallic something that glinted in the light, a glint that spoke to Grey.
It said, assault rifles.
Spinning again, the futility of their situation became clear. Another set of figures stood at the now-open far entrance, identically equipped. They were raising the barrels of their weapons.
Well, there’s no getting out of this one, Grey thought to himself.
He did what little he could, though, grabbing the boy and shielding him with his body. Even as he did so, he knew this was an empty gesture.
“Clean this up,” came a voice, electronically dulled to contain no identifiable tones. Standard comms equipment for most armed groups these days, private or public. Even Far agents had been known to use them, though Grey never did. Anything he said, he took ownership of.
With that final inane thought, an explosion of rifle fire. He closed his eyes.
…and opened them again.
Something was wrong. The rifles had sustained fire for what felt like several seconds; he should be riddled with bullets by now. Not still standing, hunched over the child.
Instead, there was a strange silence, followed by a gentle tapping sound. The first tap was followed by a second, then a third, then suddenly a shower of them as if the rain had suddenly begun to fall inside the warehouse.
Something rolled to a stop by his foot. A small, cylindrical thing.
Bullets were dropping to the floor all around him.
“What the f…?” came the neutral, flat voice. No way to tell if it was the same speaker as before, with every trace of inflection removed. Still, Grey sensed the shock in the words.
Grey straightened up slowly, looking down towards the boy. The boy’s chin had been resting on his shoulder, and his head didn’t move as Grey stepped back. His eyes were focused on a bullet in front of him, floating in the air as if held by a vice.
It was a standard bullet, of course. None of the attackers would have wasted a fizzer on such an easy kill. It rotated and spun as the child looked at it, head tilting to examine it as it moved.
Had the kid just stopped every bullet fired by twelve assault rifles? That was impossi…
Suddenly the child’s head snapped up, the bullet dropping to the floor as if a string had been cut. Now, he looked at the men by the far door. They had rifles raised but stood frozen. Grey assumed that beneath their darkened visors they each wore similar expressions of surprise.
“Fire!”
This time Grey could definitely hear panic, even through vocal filters. Rifles spat in front and behind them, causing him to flinch.
None of the bullets came close this time. Each became a flattened, coin-shaped disc almost immediately as if hitting an impenetrable wall shortly after leaving the barrel. They dropped to the floor after a brief pause.
Impossible, thought Grey. There’s not enough Aether in a city, let alone out here…
He could see the armour-clad forms turning towards each other, looking for orders or ideas. Eventually the one in the middle of the rear group, who Grey now saw was holding a screen-mounted rifle modified to fire fizzers, raised a finger and pointed towards them. Both groups advanced towards them.
“We need to run, kid,” said Grey, placing both hands on his shoulders, trying to gain the child’s attention. The boy didn’t move though, staring now at the group containing the modified rifle. The cold, hateful stare made the group hesitate for a second before they resumed their advance.
Loss of blood was making Grey lightheaded, and because of this he would never be exactly clear on what happened next. It seemed like the whole world turned in on itself for a second.
A sudden light filled the expanse of the warehouse, chasing shadows from every corner and drowning out any definition or contrast. Grey’s eyes burned even through his closed eyelids.
Once the initial, spectacular brightness died down, however, light still remained. The crackling sound of burning came from somewhere over his head. Grey slowly opened his eyes and looked up.
A dragon. An honest-to-gods’ dragon.
Grey wondered if the blood loss had been worse than he thought.
It floated above him, a form of pure golden fire that smouldered yet somehow gave off, instead of scorching heat, only warmth. Huge wings with long, curved talons curled over a body larger than a carbon sequestration unit, and a broad neck rose to a long-snouted head with serpentine eyes. Details such as the leathery, scaled skin and veined, powerful claws were somehow clearly visible despite the whole creature being made of pure, crackling flame. It stood upon the air as if on solid ground, towering over them, head almost touching the high roof.
The dragon roared silently, a tongue of flame pouring from its mouth into the air, and at the same time Grey became aware of movement beneath his hands.
His palms rested on the boy’s shoulders, frozen in the moment of pulling him away from danger. The boy still stared at the attackers in front of them, but now his head was craned forward, eyes bulging and lip curling upwards. His teeth were showing like some primeval beast, and he was almost growling as the narrowed slits of his eyes focused on one figure than the next. Above, the flaming form moved in sympathetic reflection.
The boy moved as the dragon moved, Grey realised. Which meant…
His thoughts were cut off as the boy jerked his shoulders forward, and above the dragon curled in on itself and, in one graceful, curving arc, dove straight towards the armoured attackers.
A couple of them had time to drop their guns and begin turning away, trying to flee, before all six figures were engulfed. The flame passed across and through them, leaving them unable even to scream as heat and fire poured out from their lungs, charring them to cinder from the inside out.
Mindfire.
Grey felt panic rise in him, forcing aside the pain of his various injuries. That much Mindfire was impossible - nowhere had the population density to sustain such a burn. Especially not some abandoned warehouse district.
