Convergence (11 page)

She snorted, in spite of her predicament. The net, no doubt magnetized to hold her to the floor, budged just a bit. The fingers of her left hand grazed the middle of her palm on her right. Not yet to the remote, but getting closer.

“You want me to do
what?
But… yes, I understand that it’s part of my job, but… are you sure? Don’t we need to question her first?”

The hairs on the back of Ashely’s neck stood on end. She rocked with everything she had, and the net moved a fractional inch more. Her fingers grazed the remote circling her wrist. She swiped it, not certain if that was the Return or Self-Destruct gesture. The band on her wrist disintegrated.

Had the net moved enough to get free? She pulled her left arm back and tried to find the end. If she could throw the net off, she could get away from Bernard, long enough for her Energy—

Bernard hung up the phone and walked toward her, standing above her, his face grim. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, not able to look her in the eyes.

Then he pulled his pistol from his holster and shot her in the head.

Andrea looked back and forth
between the two men, attempting to make sense of their puzzling words of greeting, before lowering her eyes to the floor. She slid her chair farther away from Fil, stealing wary glances at him as if worried the man in black might attack a revered figure in the Aliomenti world.

Porthos glanced at Fil again. “Mister… Trask, you say? Fascinating name. Follow me.”

Fil, bemused at the formality, followed. He sent a small burst of positive empathic Energy at Andrea to aid her efforts to regain calm, and sensed a more relaxed mood immediately. She’d relate the incident to her friends later, turning the intense encounter with the strange man with the sunglasses to nothing more than an entertaining story.

Their shoes clomped against the tile flooring. With the population in the lobby thinned out following Fil’s dramatic entrance, each footfall echoed as if they were inside a tomb. Fil noted that Porthos wore boots with his formal suit. Fil, walking next to Porthos, kicked the toe of his shoe into the side of Porthos boot, slightly unbalancing the Hunter. “Swapping your cape for boots?” He paused. “Sebastian.”

The Hunter regained his balance and brushed his sleeves in a dignified manner. “That’s
Mister
Sebastian to you, kid.” He paused. “My preferred attire doesn’t mesh with our business dealings and operations.”

“And boots do? What type of business operation are you running here, anyway?”

Porthos shrugged. “You never know when they might come in handy.”

Fil thought that an odd assessment. He shrugged. “You do know why I’m here.”

“Of course. We’ve been waiting.”

“For me? And no welcoming committee. I’m disappointed.” Fil couldn’t help but smile.

“Not you, specifically. We… thought someone else might come instead.” He glanced at Fil. “You seem… very familiar to me. Your signal is incredibly strong.” He snapped his fingers as his eyes widened. “You’re the one. The Destructor. The one who triggered the Cataclysm.”

Fil felt his insides chill. He didn’t like being reminded of that day. “If you say so.”

Porthos snorted. “Why hide or regret it, kid? Nobody here today remembers any of it. It happened a hundred and fifty years ago. For all they know, it’s something their grandparents made up to teach them a lesson of some kind. You could announce that you’d done it, right here, right now, and most people would shrug their shoulders.”

“Most people think it was a military test of a new weapon gone horribly wrong.”

“Most people say that because they’ve never been given reason to think there’s another option. And… we intend to keep it that way.”

Fil snorted. “Ah, yes. Your bloody Oaths. Maintaining the purity of the world, one bullied human at a time.”

“Humans possessed of too much power become corrupt, kid. You know that. They’re better off not knowing. They’d wreck the world with the kind of power we have.”

Sort of like I did
, Fil thought.

They walked in silence past the rows of elevator cars lining both sides of a long corridor, moving toward the gold-plated doors at the end. A guard sat behind a small desk, and a red velvet rope provided a visual barrier to entry. The guard, who’d been reading a battered paperback copy of
The Three
Musketeers, heard their heavy footsteps and glanced up. He recognized Porthos and set the book down before springing to his feet, his eyes falling upon Fil with deep suspicion. His hand hovered near the weapon holstered at his side. Fil frowned inwardly. Since when had Arthur Lowell relaxed his ban on firearm possession?

Porthos offered a brief nod at the guard. “Rand, my… guest will accompany me upstairs.”

The guard, detecting the brief pause, scowled as he flicked his eyes at Fil. “Is this man bothering you, sir?”

“No more than usual,” Fil quipped.

Porthos rolled his eyes. “I assure you, Rand, I’m in no danger. If you’ll remove the rope, we’ll be on our way.”

Rand nodded, though the look of concern remained. “Of course, sir. Can you sign in for me?”

Porthos nodded. He signed his name in the log of elevator riders, adding a flourish at the end, and then added “Mr. Phil Trask” as his guest. Fil didn’t bother correcting the error, as he suspected Porthos had used the misspelling as a purposeful sign of disrespect.

Rand glanced at the entry and nodded. “All appears to be in order, then, sir. You’re both free to pass.” He stepped out from behind the desk and unhooked the felt rope, stepping aside to allow the men passage.

Porthos waved Fil through ahead of him before joining the visitor at the elevator car. Fil watched as the Hunter trickled a bit of Energy into the call button, and they waited for the car to arrive.

Porthos glanced back at the guard. “Rand, would you join us, please?”

Fil felt his stomach lurch. He’d not expected this. Porthos wasn’t bringing Rand along for protection.

Or was he?

Rand sprang to his feet, an eager expression upon his face, clearly of the impression that Mr. Sebastian required protection from the stranger. “Of course, sir!” He glared at Fil. “There were reports of someone… breaching the security at the dock. Is this him?”

Fil glanced at Porthos. Porthos shook his head. “No.”

Fil turned to Rand and smiled. “Oh, that was me.”

Porthos glowered at Fil, growling.

Rand pulled out his gun and aimed the weapon at Fil. “I thought so. Foolish of you to come here, you… you…
criminal
.” A look of triumph crossed his face, as if he’d expected applause for finding the perfect description for Fil. “Mr. Sebastian, you were wise to lead him this way. I’ll be ready to shoot at the first sign of trouble.” He stood up straighter and puffed out his chest. “I’m here to protect you, sir.”

“I know,” Porthos said softly.

Fil felt an ominous chill creep down his spine.

Rand kept his weapon trained on Fil, who preemptively slid a coating of Energy around the weapon. Porthos smirked. The guard moved behind Fil, gripping Fil’s shoulder firmly, putting the barrel of the weapon between Fil’s shoulder blades as the trio moved into the elevator car. Rand glanced at Porthos, and Fil read the emotions of confusion. The man in black was a danger, a threat to Mr. Sebastian. The Aliomenti leader had moved this way and engaged Rand for assistance when accosted by the criminal. And yet at no time had Mr. Sebastian suggested he’d felt threatened by the man in black. Nor had the criminal made any threatening moves.

But he couldn’t question the confusing mix of actions.

His programming wouldn’t allow it.

Fil glanced at Rand, then back at Porthos. “I must commend you, Mr. Sebastian, about the loyalty of your employees. Their unwavering support of you is beyond question or explanation. It’s almost as if they can think of nothing but their loyalty to you, with no independent thoughts of their own.”

Porthos glared at him. “We treat our people well, Mr. Trask, and they reward us with a deep, unwavering loyalty.”

“It’s a great job!” Rand seemed unable to stay out of the conversation. “I’m able to ensure the safety of great men like Mr. Sebastian and Mr. Lowell. My housing is provided to me for free. I live on a tropical island with beautiful weather. Transportation is free, safe, and clean. There are great options for entertainment, dining, and shopping. What more could I ask for?”

“Where are you from, Rand?” Fil asked. Porthos’ face fell.

Rand looked confused. “Where am I… from?”

“Yes. Where were you born? Where did you live before you came to this Island?”

“I…” Rand frowned. “I… don’t remember. That’s strange. I should be able to remember that.” He glanced at Porthos. “Shouldn’t I?”

Porthos coughed. “Clearly, Rand, your experiences here have been so positive that your memories of anything else pale in comparison. You must be keeping those memories buried deep in your mind, lest they interrupt the enjoyable times you’re having here.”

Fil could almost hear Rand’s head nodding in blissful acceptance of Porthos’ words. “Perhaps,” he replied, his eyes on the Hunter. “But one would think a simple question could still be answered without ruining whatever delightful experiences one might have on an island in the south Pacific.”

“Is
that
where we are?” Rand asked. “I’d never realized that.” Fil could sense the frown forming on the man’s face. “I can’t remember even
thinking
about that.”

Fil glanced at Porthos. Porthos glared back.

The chime sounded, noting their arrival at the penthouse level occupied by Arthur Lowell. The doors opened and Porthos exited, followed by Fil and the eager guard. They headed left, toward an open office with a massive black walnut desk. Arthur Lowell looked up from the desk, stood, and stared at Fil.

Fil offered a bemused smile.

He heard movement behind him and felt the weapon leave his shoulders, felt the grip on his shoulder loosen and fall away. He turned around, a powerful sense of dread forming deep in his stomach.

Abaddon the Assassin stood there. He’d seized the guard around the shoulders and had a long, gleaming knife pressed to the man’s throat.

“Hello, Fil Trask.” he hissed. “We meet again.”

Adam walked out of the
room, rubbing his nose. “I’d say it works, then.”

Gena laughed.

The Aliomenti prisons were the most notable form of Energy deprivation chambers in existence. Those prison cells crushed Energy, preventing its creation and expenditure in the enclosed space. Energy circulation ranked near breathing for users in terms of critical bodily functions, and the full suppression generally caused severe physical harm. The escaped prisoners often required years of physical rehabilitation before regaining full vitality. The Alliance wanted the ability to trap Aliomenti, but had no interest in inflicting such harm on their Energy “cousins.”

The Assassin’s “home” in the camp where young Will Stark lived during his brief future stay marked the field test of their best technology developed to date. They’d observed the man inside his cell, watched as he’d freely used and generated Energy, but had been unable to move Energy through the walls. He could teleport within the room, but not outside. He couldn’t send or receive telepathic messages while inside the room.

They’d reproduced the technology on a larger scale inside the Cavern. Adam, a far stronger Energy user than the Assassin, had offered to test the technology. He, like the Assassin, had attempted to teleport outside the sealed room, and found himself reforming with his face smashed against the wall.

Gena tweaked his nose. Adam growled at her, mixing the laughter at her action with the small whimper of pain for his still-sore nose. “Did you turn the power off?”

Gena nodded. “They should be able to get inside now. We need to be ready to flip the switch, though.”

Adam gave his nose a final rub. “Now it becomes a waiting game.”

They’d supplemented the miniature generators housed in each nano used to trap the Assassin. That had worked for a single Aliomenti, and one not terribly powerful. For an entire fleet, they’d need far, far more. They’d redirected huge amounts of electrical energy from the Cavern’s generators, available at the flip of a switch. They wanted the invaders teleporting into the room. The switch was nearby, ready, available to finalize the trap if their spy did his job and brought the fleet in as planned.

The sensors had picked up the fleet the day before, and they’d watched as the submarines methodically tested a vertical column of space miles north of the Cavern tunnel. After a brief rest, the fleet expanded the search and finally moved toward the tunnel, slowly and surely.

Angel and Charlie had watched the unfolding drama with them. They’d each offered several theories on how the Aliomenti would find the Cavern. The search patterns provided the answer.

“It’s the Energy,” Angel concluded. “We’ve released a great deal of Energy as we’ve teleported between the subs and the pods. We didn’t think it mattered because we minimized the distance traveled. But those small bits of Energy added up over time and eventually reached the surface. Porthos must have detected the first Energy to surface above the water, and the fleet traced it from there back to the tunnel.”

Gena nodded. “That makes a lot of sense, Angel.” She started walking. “I suppose this is it, then. We should make sure we’re ready to greet our spy.”

They walked to the Beach and waited. Twenty minutes later, Scott teleported to the sand and glanced around, nodding as he saw the group there to meet him. “Is everything ready?”

Adam nodded. “We’re prepared. Gena and I will remain here to help monitor the prisoners.”

Charlie glanced at Scott. “You sold them on the plan, then?”

Scott nodded. “It wasn’t too difficult. They thought of a few other options—with some prompting by me—and realized those approaches wouldn’t work. I volunteered to ride aboard a pod by myself, arguing it wouldn’t draw as much interest since it was just one person.”

Gena rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Do they
really
think we don’t know they’re out there? We’re going to watch everything.”