Mindfire (The Mindfire Trilogy Book 1), page 22
Grey stared into the man’s eyes, watching him pant in fear. He was going to have to pull him back; letting him fall into the poisonous pool below would be as good as pulling the trigger of the pistol.
The agent must have seen Grey’s hesitation, though, because now he used the Aether. And it was an opportunity; Grey knew he’d let his guard down, and by all rights he should have been overwhelmed by Flare, or Slowed for valuable seconds. He should have been Pushed back, or even… what had Caldwell called it? … Tranquilised.
Only, this agent was a fool from start to finish. The compression-release he used was indeed powerful, smashing a good volume of the air between them down into an infinitesimal point before allowing it to explosively expand again, and it sent Grey tumbling backwards to smash against the van.
Unlike Push, however, this technique didn’t project force in a single direction - you needed to be able to brace yourself when using it. Even as Grey went flying backwards, he could see realisation in the eyes of the man as he also was launched several feet back - right over the lip of the hole. He fell, tumbling, down into the waters below.
There was a ‘gloop,’ then silence.
“Well,” said Grey, slumped against the side of the van. He had hit it hard enough to dent it. “What an asshole.”
He passed out.
23
They may buy our food, but they will never again purchase our souls
Irumba Mbabzi, On the Restoration of International Trade
He had to be careful. All he had was downtown; anywhere else was simply too dangerous without any way to disguise himself. Even here, he couldn’t guarantee he would be safe.
I wish I had my hat, Grey said to himself. The thought of it, sitting comfortably in a suite at the Meridian surrounded by luxuries he might never see again, filled him with a strange sense of despondency that nothing else had.
It was, once again, raining. Only this time it felt like a storm coming in, one of the big ones, powerful enough perhaps even to overwhelm the filters atop every building and bring in skin-reddening, cough-inducing droplets of toxins from the Waste. The van wipers were already struggling to keep the windscreen clear. Grey turned them off; they were unnecessary for the autonav, and the more he was concealed from outside observation the better.
He’d tried the Fallen buildings first, the one close by the riverside where he’d originally met Raphael, and the one in which Blane and Salim had been kept. As he expected, there was no sign anyone had ever used the locations for anything except temporary accommodation before moving further into the city.
It had been thirty-three days since his infiltration of the Central Tower, an infiltration both successful and a failure depending on the criteria you used. He’d learnt this upon climbing into the unmarked van the agent had taken him to the Waste in, date displayed both on the navscreen and the thin-screen the agent had left behind.
This was the second thin-screen that now-former agent had provided Grey, and he thanked the heavens for that; a more competent Far agent and Grey would currently be rotting at the bottom of a cold, glutinous pool.
Almost five weeks; plenty of time for the Forever Fallen to go dark, just as Raphael had promised they would. If they thought they could hide from the entire Reclamation Authority, then he had no chance of finding them on his own.
But did he have anyone else? In the entire city, he could think of only two who might be able to help him, and each had motives he couldn’t fathom.
Jeder Francisco, and Ritra Feye.
Of these two, it was Jeder Francisco he sought out first. The man was practically the oldest resident of downtown, despite the mysterious comments Feye had made about his connections to the Althing Republic. He should be easier to find.
Easier, however, was a relative term. He hadn’t realised it at the time, but somehow Francisco had managed to conceal the location of his ‘safe house’ from him without giving any indication of doing so. Whether this was through his general exhaustion at the time - an exhaustion that had only increased since - or through some other means, Grey couldn’t say, but even though he could recall the view from the apartment windows he couldn’t place it within the city.
The view had been high, high enough to see across a broad swathe of the city. High enough to see the Central Tower, he now realised… but he hadn’t seen the tower from the window, had he? And, unlike the Fallen tower where he had met Blane and Salim, the section of the city it made the most sense for it to be in didn’t have any building high enough to overlook all others the way the view in his recollection did.
So Francisco’s safe house was in a location he couldn’t place, in a building that didn’t exist. Great.
DON’T PANIC.
Grey blinked at the message that had suddenly appeared on the navscreen, bold and unchanging. Words that looked exactly the same, in fact, as the words that had appeared on the personal fabricator in Francisco’s apartment, back when Grey had needed stun-lock rounds.
DON’T PANIC.
“Well, yes, that is probably the first helpful thing anybody’s said to me all day, but I actually wasn’t panicking until mysterious words appeared on the screen of a vehicle I thought I was in control of,” Grey said to the open air.
YOU HAVE BEEN BUSY.
Grey stared at the screen fixedly, not replying. When in doubt, wait and see.
SEE YOU SOON.
With those final words, the screen snapped back to normal, displaying the same map of the city around him as always. Changed, however, was the final destination.
Timed for arrival in approximately fifteen minutes, it was labelled with only two words.
SAFE HOUSE.
The van drove him into the roofed parking lot of a plain residential building that may have been the one Francisco had brought him to, so long ago. It was just another one among a row of similar structures, with nothing to mark it as special. It certainly didn’t extend high enough to provide the view Grey remembered.
GO TO THE ELEVATOR.
The message flashed up on the navscreen as soon as the van pulled to a stop.
LEAVE THE THIN-SCREEN.
Grey stopped his hand, already half-way in reaching reflexively for the device.
As soon as he stepped out of the van, it turned and pulled away.
“I guess they would be able to track it, eventually,” he said to the air. His words echoed around the empty lot, leaving him feeling faintly foolish.
A short way away, a set of glass doors shone brightly, a small entryway to the building itself and to the pair of elevators visible behind them. He made his way towards them.
The doors to the left side elevator slid open as he approached, closing behind him as he stepped inside. This did all seem familiar, though he still couldn’t understand how he could be about to find himself on a floor that didn’t exist.
GOING UP.
This message appeared in the corner of the elevator display above the floor buttons. The elevator jolted, then whirred as it began to move. The floor number on the screen slowly began to rise.
GOING UP?
The message changed only slightly, adding the question mark.
Grey focused on the feeling beneath his feet as he stared at the floor numbers on the screen.
6… 7… 8…
But they were going down.
“Hola, Señor Grey! It is good, isn’t it? Deceive the eye, deceive the mind!”
Francisco was there as soon as the doors opened, throwing his arms wide and giving Grey a swift hug with a strong slap on the back and stepping back before Grey could open his mouth.
Grey looked to the windows in the far wall of the brightly lit apartment. Warm sunlight streamed in, and visible beyond the city stretched out into the distance. Only…
“Only it’s not your city, si?”
It was so obvious that Grey couldn’t understand how he hadn’t seen it before. The streets were less regular, the colours more varied, and the sky a gorgeous blue only visible after the largest of storms these days.
“Of course, I had the setting much dampened for your first visit,” said Francisco. “Mas cielos grises, less carnivale. Don’t kick yourself,” he continued, a little more serious. “The mind sees what it expects to see.”
“You called this my city. Are you really from here?” Grey asked.
“Oy hijo, I have probably been here longer than anyone else. I was certainly here long before the Reclamation Authority. But this city is too new to be mine.”
“How old are you?”
Francisco stared at him for a moment, looking like he was weighing up answering or not.
“One hundred twenty-seven, más o menos.”
“Then you were around for the Sudden War!” Grey couldn’t hide his shock.
“I was born while it raged, yes. But I was yet very young when it ended. I am more a child of el hundimiento. The Collapse.”
Grey knew the term, though it was one that had fallen out of use in the public imagination. Today, the Collapse was just an early stage of the Great Migration, as the structure of society frayed and split under an avalanche of starvation, violence, and poverty.
“How did you find me? Could the RA find me the same way?” asked Grey. He still hadn’t stepped out of the elevator.
“No te preocupes. I have access to… certain ways the Reclamation Authority does not.”
“Then you really are from the Silicon Isle?”
Francisco laughed again.
“No, my boy, not in the way you mean. I am from much closer. Though, yes, whoever told you was correct; I am a representative of the Althing Republic.”
“It was someone in Far. Who told me, I mean. They know about you.”
“Well, I would think so,” replied Francisco, beckoning Grey to follow him into the apartment. “I was a part of the discussions at the formation of the Reclamation Authority. An observer only, of course, but I’d be upset if they had forgotten me so easily.”
Somehow, Grey thought, Francisco seemed restless, full of more energy than he’d ever seen in him.
“How did you do that?” Grey asked. “To the van, I mean. How did you override my auto-nav? That’s only meant to be possible for law enforcement, and even then they can only stop the vehicle, not reprogram it.”
Francisco’s eyes narrowed, and some of the energy seemed to leave him for a moment.
“That, unfortunately, I cannot tell you. That is something I am allowed to speak of with no one. No one on this continent, anyway.”
Grey decided to leave it at that.
Something else caught his eye.
“The Fabricator. It’s gone.”
The alcove where the personal fabricator had been was empty, a hollow space that seemed designed to be no more than a storage area or pantry.
“Fabricator?” said Francisco, feigned incomprehension betrayed by the mischief behind his eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”
The painting was also gone. In fact, most of the trinkets and models that had been displayed all around the room were gone.
“Going somewhere?” asked Grey.
“A good eye as always, Grey,” answered Francisco, a more serious note in his voice. “Yes, I am leaving Albores for a while. Our little foray into the Waste drew more attention than my… superiors … would like. I have explained all that shooting had very little to do with me, but I think I may need to explain this in person.”
The way Francisco paused before choosing the word told Grey that ‘superiors’ was not the term he would ordinarily choose, but there was no hint of what he could otherwise mean.
“So you’re leaving. Then, why bring me here?”
The smile and pent-up energy returned to Francisco’s demeanour.
“Why, Mr. Grey, because I am leaving! I have a chance to help you in a way that will never get back to me, because as far as the RA and Carib-Fed are concerned, I’ve already left. Someone very much fitting my description is already far past the borders of the Reclamation. Again, people see what they want to see.”
“The Carib-Fed are watching you too?”
“Grey, my friend, everyone is watching everyone else. This is something you must learn. In this world, a person is either the ruler or the ruled, the user or the used. When they involve children, though…” And again Francisco became serious. “… then, I think, we can break the rules ourselves.”
“Can you get me in touch with the Forever Fallen? With Fen?”
Francisco nodded.
“I can. I will. For once, I can be involved.”
This was why the man was so excited, Grey realised. He was energised by being able to do something.
“And I will give you this apartment. So long as you lead no one here, it will be the safest place in the city. Completely disconnected from the grid, and power and water are both self-sufficient. Untraceable to me, of course.”
Relief flooded through Grey.
“Thank you,” he said, not knowing what else he could say.
Francisco nodded again.
“Of course, Grey. But be aware; something is going on in the RA that even I can find nothing about. That boy, Fen, he is involved somehow, and they are willing to move on me for the chance to get him. That is unusual; risking the withdrawal of the Fabricators for the chance to capture or kill a child.”
“I’ll keep him safe.” Grey’s voice was filled with determination. He ignored the niggling question of how echoing in the back of his mind.
Francisco turned to take a last sweeping look at the apartment. Satisfied by whatever he saw, he turned once more towards Grey.
“I’ve stayed longer than I should have already. Stay here, and you will be notified when the Fallen are found. And for god’s sake, get some rest. You look like some dead thing from the Waste.”
With that, Francisco turned to leave, elevator door sliding open for him.
“How’s your neck?” said Grey abruptly. Francisco turned back to him.
“I’m sorry?” said Francisco.
“Your neck. The more I replay your escape from that ambush in the Waste, the more I’m sure there’s no way anyone could survive a snap like you experienced being yanked away by that drone.”
Francisco grinned.
“A good eye,” he said. “You may be right, Grey. Not anyone could survive that. But then, I am not anyone.”
And with that, the elevator doors closed.
24
The pre-Fall philosopher Rousseau declared that liberty with risk was preferable to peace in chains. The Sudden War proved this a fallacy.
Coen Falwell, Flames at the End of the World (Sanctioned Publication)
The room woke him from the sleep of the damned. What Grey had experienced was not the peaceful slumber of a body recuperating, but the deep, dark abyss of unconsciousness caused by a body at the end of its limits.
He couldn’t say how long he had slept; hours, days, he didn’t know. All he knew on waking was that he was starving, and that the wall was singing.
Well, not singing, but playing a gentle melody that sounded almost vocal, ethereal and gentle. Designed to wake him gently? Grey wouldn’t put it past a habitation that seemed to be so cutting edge you had to be careful you didn’t get sliced.
He staggered into the living area, where the LEF was glowing softly with a small message icon flashing in the centre.
“Open message,” he said groggily.
What actually opened was no message. Instead, it was a nav-link with a small map beside it, a bright red location marker dropped above a large building complex in the south-west of the city. Besides the both of these flashed a date and time.
Grey compared the date and time of the message with the date and time at present. He had several hours, it seemed. Apparently it was early morning, though the false windows showed the same bright city view they had when he’d first entered.
“Room, can you make the window images something more… consistent?”
That shouldn’t have been enough, Grey knew. He was just still too tired to phrase an instruction clearly. Nothing should have happened., save maybe some kind of error message. You had to be as clear as possible with Reclamation-approved voice assistants, or they tended to go into capture failure and become non-responsive.
Yet somehow, when the images did fade to become a reproduction of an early dawn sun rising above a clear, distant ocean to bathe the now peaceful city in golden light, he wasn’t surprised.
He headed to the kitchen to see what there was to eat.
Several hours later, he felt more human even if his broken nose, missing teeth, and dark bruising under the eyes made him appear less so. Holding a pack of ice that he had found in the blessedly well-stocked kitchen to his nose, he made his way via the elevator to the parking lot where he was unsurprised to see a car pulling up and opening its door to him.
The vehicle was sleek and black, low-slung and looked like it was speeding even when stationary. While an incredibly attractive piece of machinery, it was not what Grey would have chosen. He needed plain and unremarkable, not sleek and attention-grabbing.
Still, if this was what he had, he might as well own it. He slung himself into the driver’s seat and hit ‘confirm’ on the already flashing navscreen. The car pulled away with a gentle acceleration that hinted at the horsepower beneath.
A pile of spangle fabric sat on the seat next to him. He stuffed it into his pockets. His face hurt too much to even consider putting it on, and anyway, he had difficulty even identifying himself in the mirror. He looked awful.
Still, Spangle fabric. So Francisco had a line on the material, too, and with what Grey now knew about the man’s associations, certain suspicions about exactly where the Forever Fallen were getting their materiel from were reinforced.
He reclined the seat backwards, taking comfort in the soft, maybe-faux leather and closing his eyes. The drive time display was predicting forty minutes. Enough time to catch up on some more desperately-needed beauty sleep.
But tiredness was already being replaced with the tension he was becoming so familiar with. He lay with his eyes closed, images of rifles and rockets and dragons shaped of flame flickering across his thoughts like some badly-edited action flick, feeling the cold of the Far Agency cell and the heat of Mindfire on his skin, and the agony of Caldwell’s mental assault in his very being.
