Ninth City Burning (53 page)

I push to follow her, but I'm also afraid of leaving Legatus Cressock and the rest of his fighters behind. If Naomi gets to IMEC-1 first, I'll be able to slow down a bit, but I don't think that's going to happen. This new Zero is already almost on top of us.

Deep beneath the stadium of my mijmere, Naomi calls out, “Keep going—I'll hold this one off!” I can just see the glow of a flashlight up ahead, casting her shadow against the wall of the tunnel. I skid to a halt as another shadow appears beside Naomi's. It's shaped almost like a person,
but gigantic, and some parts, like the head and hands, aren't quite the right shape. “Go, Jax!” Naomi yells. “Go!”

The Kid shoves me toward another tunnel. “Down here,” he whispers.

I don't want to leave Naomi behind. She's never fought another source on her own, let alone a Valentine Zero. But as I fly past, Legatus Cressock and his fighters peel away to go and help her. It's the right plan. They wouldn't be able to keep up at my full speed, and this way Naomi stands a better chance against that Zero.

It's really up to me now. Naomi and Cressock and Charles and Malandeera and the whole reserve are all fighting to give me a shot at getting to the IMEC. It doesn't matter that they'd all be better at this than me. I'm the one who's here, so I'm the one who has to do it. I aim myself straight ahead and go.

“Hurry!” the Kid yells into my ear. “We're almost there!”

IMEC-1 is close now. Just a little farther. I don't even have to make it all the way there, I know, just get close enough for my umbris to reach some of the City Guns. If I can get power back to those guns, they'll be able to help Naomi and Charles and everyone else. But a second later, I kind of wish Cressock had stayed with me. More Zeros are coming. The Valentines know what I'm trying to do, and they're sending everything they've got stop me.

In my mijmere, I'm running flat out. The beam of my flashlight bounces crazily, sending shadows everywhere. The Kid is a few steps ahead, urging me forward. “It's right up here!” he says. “Only a little farther!”

Heavy footsteps are coming our way through the darkness: another Zero heading straight for us. Somewhere ahead is the switch to bring back the power, and I've got to get there before this Zero does. I'm getting ready for one last burst of speed when suddenly the Kid yells, “Stop!” and half a second later I run straight into his back.

“What are you doing?” I scream. “We're almost there!”

Just then there's another scream. It's low and twisted, and it can only be the Zero. The tunnel lights up with bolts of hot blue, and the air fills with a thick, sizzling smell.

Out in Dis, there's a huge explosion over IMEC-1, the kind of explosion you'd expect if a whole bunch of heavy artillery opened up all at once. The weird thing is, none of the artillery is working. There was only that one Zero flying down to block my path. I was sure it had me—it had
reached just about the perfect spot to strike—and then, out of nowhere, it exploded.

“What happened?” I ask the Kid.

In my mijmere, he turns his flashlight toward the wall of the tunnel. There, in big orange letters, are the words CAUTION: ELECTRICAL HAZARD. Not so far ahead, the floor is covered with thick black cables. Some of them are torn or frayed. As we watch, they let loose a few bright sparks, each with a loud snap. Lying across the cables is what looks like the shadow of a tall, heavy man, but when I turn my flashlight to get a better look, it fades away.

The way to IMEC-1 is clear. And I've figured out what happened to that Zero, sort of. Floating just over the city is a huge cloud of artillery shells, the kind the City Guns use for long-range attacks. They won't do much of anything without thelemity, but once they're inside an umbris, they're deadly. These ones are just close enough to IMEC-1 that they'd be easy not to notice—floating there inside our ring of assault platforms—and just far enough away that they wouldn't damage the city or any of our fighters if they went off. I don't know how they got there, but I do know that when that Zero hit them, it set off a whole bunch at once, and left plenty of space for me to fit through.

I make my way carefully past the shells—or the electrical cables. Whichever world I'm looking at, they could fry me if I make the wrong move.

Down in my mijmere, the Kid points his flashlight at a wall of switches. One row is connected with a big lever, and I pull it back, snapping all the switches at once. Suddenly, everything is washed out in blinding white light and a roar that whumps into me like a gust of wind. When my eyes adjust, I'm in a tunnel leading out onto my baseball field. The lights shining down are so intense that I can barely see past the first patch of green grass, but I can hear the crowd, everyone cheering their heads off.

The Kid runs toward the sound, and I follow. As we're running, he lets out a whoop and kicks over a trash barrel standing by the side of the tunnel; it falls, spilling a few small metal cans onto the ground. The Kid stomps on one, crushing it with a crunch. Then he crushes another. A can rolls against my foot, and I step on it, feeling weirdly satisfied as the metal crinkles beneath my shoe, before I walk out onto the field.

I'm standing on IMEC-1, what's called the “green” side, or the “country” side, probably because of all the trees and green fields. It even has a lake. But it also has plenty of heavy artillery, and I've landed near a row of guns, coming down so hard that I send bits of rock and dirt flying into the air. All around me are what look like big metal snakes. They seem to be hanging from the sky, trailing way off toward some of the Valentine formations above. I realize these must be the fighters Romeo uses on us when we're out of thelemity. Aeter-Capable Troops, or ACTs, though a lot of people just call them “ratters” because of their tails—those things I thought looked like snakes. Only I don't see anything attached to the tails now except maybe a little crumpled metal. As I watch, the crumpled parts begin to fizzle away, and the tails start doing the same thing.

I'm wondering what could have happened to those ACTs when two more of the ratty fighters drop down in front of me. In my mijmere, two metal cans have fallen at my feet. When I see the cans sitting there, I get it. I know just what to do: I smash them. At the same time, the ACTs shudder and implode.

Legionaries armed with lazels have come out from the guns nearby, but when they see I've taken care of the ACTs, they salute and run back inside. Already, some of the other guns have started to fire. All through IMEC-1, things are starting to work again. The air is returning, the gravity, too. The huge lake on Green Side, which had floated partway out of its basin, comes splashing back down, waves running over its banks and flooding the slopes nearby. Between the rumbling of guns, I can hear smaller battles: legionaries fighting back against ACTs.

This isn't the time to stand around. Right now I'm the only source in this whole city, meaning I'm as dangerous to those ACTs as the ACTs were to everyone on IMEC-1 before I got here. My job now is to keep Romeo from doing any more damage.

But when I try to fly again, I just stumble forward and trip. I fall hard on the ground—only it isn't the ground of Green Side on IMEC-1. It isn't any ground I recognize, either. And I'm not in any world I know. I'm someplace else.

W
hen I get to my feet, I'm in a tall room with dark wooden walls. I'm standing on a thick, heavy rug, which must be what tripped me. From above, I think I hear the sound of a crowd—very, very faint, and muffled like it's coming through a staticky radio. In front of me is a huge wooden staircase, and underneath that a door with a tall man standing in it dressed in a black suit and black tie. The doorway is dark, and the shadows keep me from seeing any of his face above his lower lip.

“Good evening, sir,” says the man in the black suit, “and welcome. The master is expecting you. This way, please.”

He waves a hand toward the staircase. He's wearing white gloves, which seems strange, but I don't question it. I just go up. The stairs are so wide that the man in the black suit could walk beside me, but he doesn't. He follows close behind, almost breathing on my neck. I can still hear the muffled sound of a crowd, getting louder as we climb.

The place at the top of the stairs is a lot like the place at the bottom: high ceilings and wooden walls. There's a big old Common Era clock, the kind with only twelve hours on the face, but there are no hands to tell the time.

“Through here, sir,” the man in the black suit says, gesturing to a pair of double doors. He makes it sound like an invitation, but I get the feeling that if I don't do as he says, something bad will happen to me.

Past the doors is a room with books everywhere, stacked in shelves so tall, they have a ladder attached to reach the ones on top. One wall has an alcove with a hearth and a crackling fire burning inside, and in front of the fire are some very comfortable-looking leather couches and chairs, and a low table. There's also a small box that casts flickering light into the
room, cold light that looks strange beside the warm glow of the fire. The box seems to be where the sound of the cheering crowd is coming from.

At the far end of the room, a man sits at a wide, heavy desk cluttered with papers and a complicated-looking machine. The word “typewriter” floats suddenly into my head. The man has swooping brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He doesn't seem to notice us; it looks like he's got his attention half on his papers and half on the flickering box.

“Master,” the man in the black suit says. “Your guest has arrived.”

The voice surprises me, it's so close. The man in the black suit is towering over me, and even though between the flickering box and the fire there's plenty of light in here, I still can't see his whole face.

Right then is when I figure out I'm in a whole lot of trouble. I don't know this man or his “master.” I don't know where this house is or how I ended up facedown on a rug back in that hallway. And no matter how the shadows in here move, no matter which way I look, the eyes of the man in the black suit stay hidden. I'm in a mijmere—
someone else's
mijmere.

I think back to the battle in Dis. It seems like it all happened a long time ago, in another life almost, or a dream. I'd just returned thelemity to IMEC-1. There was still a lot of fighting going on, but now we had a chance. And then I ended up here.

Another Zero must have attacked me after I landed. It probably came through the same way I did, only a few seconds later. We're fighting each other right now. As soon as I think it, I know it's true. And if I don't recognize this place, and there's no baseball happening anywhere, it means the Zero is winning. It must be insanely strong to have completely swallowed me up like this, before I had a chance to fight back or even notice what was happening. Maybe even stronger than Charles. It's probably not too far from totally overpowering me. After that, it'll be able to fit me into its mijmere however it wants. It could even turn me into an empty can and crush me, the way I crushed those ACTs.

The man at the desk looks up from his work, fixing me with pale blue eyes. He must be the Zero. This isn't how he really looks, of course. My mijmere is still strong enough that he looks like a person to me. To him, this place will seem like a library on his world—if the Valentines even have libraries—and I'll look like a Valentine.

The Zero smiles at me with teeth streaked yellow. In a voice as smooth and polished as his wooden desk, he says, “Ah, wonderful. Please come in
and have a seat. I'll be with you in a moment.” His smile gets bigger—a little
too
big. “Can I offer you some refreshment? A drink, perhaps? Or a sandwich?”

“No,” I say, then, because he only smiles at me some more, like he thinks I'm just lying and I really do want a sandwich, I say it again. “No.”

“Let's get you some water anyway. In case you change your mind.” He looks past me, toward the man in the black suit. “And some cookies, too.”

“Yes, sir,” the man says. He bows and steps away, closing the doors as he disappears.

The Zero goes back to his papers, making marks on each sheet before adding them to the pile on his desk. When he sees I haven't moved, he says, “Do sit down, please. It makes me anxious, having someone standing around like that while I work.” He marks one last page with his pen and gets up from the desk. “Right there will be fine,” he says, pointing to one of the couches by the fire. When I still don't move, he smiles an extra-wide, extra-yellow smile. “I can have my man restrain you if necessary. I don't think either of us wants that.”

He's right. He has most of the power here. I'm all alone, and almost everything in this world is on his side. As I settle onto the couch, I get a better look at the box making the crowd noises. On the side facing the Zero's desk, there's a rounded glass panel, and inside of that is the image of a baseball field. In the back of my mind, I hear the word “television.” But this isn't just any baseball field—it's
my
baseball field. I recognize it right away. So maybe I'm not totally powerless here after all. My game is still going on. It may be shut up in a little box, but at least it's here somewhere.

The Zero pours himself a glass of brown liquid from a heavy, clear bottle. “So,” he says, “let's begin with your name.”

I don't say anything, but the Zero catches me looking at the television. He walks over and turns a small knob beside the picture panel, and the sound of the crowd fades to nothing. “I'm enjoying the game, too, but please, let's try not to become distracted,” he says, settling onto the couch across from me. He folds one leg over the other and smiles at me again. “Your name, please.”

“Jax.” I don't believe for a second that I'm here for some friendly conversation. He's trying to weaken me, to absorb me into his mijmere. He could probably kill me right now—hit me with that bottle of brown liquid, or throw me into the fire—but I'd be able to fight back, and my guess
is he doesn't want to risk getting hurt. He'd rather wait until I'm too weak to do anything. I'm getting there, too. The television's picture has begun to jump and roll, static gathering like snow over the field. Pretty soon, it'll cut out completely. I'm not sure why he hasn't turned it off himself, actually. But if telling him my name slows him down, I'm glad to do it.

“I do love athletic competitions, don't you, Jax?” the Zero says, nodding toward the television. “A far better use for our energies than war, wouldn't you say?” The picture rolls again, and the Zero leans over. I'm sure he's about to flip the television's power switch, but he only plays around with a little antenna on top, like he's trying to tune the game back into focus. “My apologies. The reception here is atrocious.”

I realize with a bolt that the Zero doesn't know baseball is my Theme. To him, it's only entertainment.

“If it's distracting you, just turn it off,” I tell him. My mouth is totally dry, but I think I sound confident enough.

“Oh, no. It's no bother. The sound keeps me company. This place can be so gloomy.” He looks back at me, then notices something over my head. “Ah, here we are.”

The man with the black suit is standing at the door again. “The water you requested, sir,” he says. “And cookies. I took the liberty of providing some milk as well.” He sets the tray in front of me. “Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No, thank you,” the Zero says, looking at me the whole time. He keeps his eyes on me as the man in the black suit leaves, like he's waiting to see what I'll do. I stare at the tray, the crackling fire reflecting in its silvery surface. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the water or milk or cookies, but I still don't want to touch any of it.

“Well, Jax,” the Zero says with a sigh, like he's getting down to business, “this
is
a sorry state in which we find ourselves, isn't it? I will admit I never thought much of your people, but I never expected they would send
children
into battle. Look at you—you're nothing but a cub!”

“No one sent me,” I say, trying to sound calm. “I came on my own.”

The Zero takes a drink of his brown liquid, watching me over the rim of his glass. “Is that so?”

“I was supposed to evacuate.”

“And instead you charged heroically into a losing fight,” he says, like he's finishing my sentence. “Well,
bravo
. Good for you, Jax. Truly.”

“I didn't have a choice,” I say, feeling suddenly angry.

“Oh, now you're just being silly. There is always a choice. As you said, you were supposed to evacuate. You could have left this war behind, but instead you chose to make your stand. Not the most prudent idea, I'm afraid.”

“That's not a real choice,” I snap. “Just like I didn't have a choice about being in this war to begin with. None of us does. If we don't fight, you'll just kill us.”

“That's likely true,” the Zero admits, “but it's still your choice.”

“Not a very good one.”

“And then,” he continues, like he hasn't heard me, “who's to say your people
didn't
choose this war?”

“Me. I'm saying that.”

“And how do
you
know? Were you there when it began?”

“I know people who were.”

“And you simply take them at their word?” He laughs. “What else
would
they tell you? They want you to fight, don't they? They want you to believe you have
no choice
. But if you allow yourself to think about it, Jax, really
think
about it, you'll realize you know almost nothing about this war you've been convinced you have to fight. I'm right, aren't I? I can tell by the way you're frowning to yourself.”

He sips his drink, watching me, but I don't have anything to say. “You don't even know what it is you're fighting,” he says, sounding like he's teaching a lesson in class. “And if you don't know
what
, how can you really say you know
why
?”

“That's easy,” I tell him. “We're fighting because you're trying to kill us.”

“Well, yes, I suppose you've got me there,” he says with a chuckle. “I
am
going to kill you. If it's any consolation, I can assure you I won't enjoy it. I will kill you because it is my duty. You understand duty, don't you, Jax? I'm sure your people teach you all about duty. It's such a convenient way to relieve oneself of the burden of choice.”

He's watching me again, and I try my best to look him right in the eye. It isn't easy. He seems like a normal, polite, kind of oldish man, but there's something not right about him. His yellowy teeth seem sharp and almost rusty, and there's red around the blue of his eyes. He uses a calm, friendly voice, but he's talking about killing me. Right now, though, I want all his attention on me because I've heard something. When the man in the black
suit left, he didn't completely close the door, and now there's music coming through, soft and muffled like the sound of my game on the television, but getting louder. Fiddle music.

“We should probably just get this over with,” I say. “I'm sure you're extremely busy, right?”

“Oh, not at all! And you haven't even touched your cookies.”

I haven't. I've been concentrating on that music. I'm imagining a forest outside the windows, filled with flocks of singing birds and wind whistling through the branches, that old clock in the hallway ringing, ice clinking in the Zero's glass—anything to bring music into this room.

A loud
crack!
comes from the direction of the bookshelves, and a second later there's the soft, fuzzy sound of a fiddle playing. What looks like an old, dusty-looking radio has suddenly started working. Needles in lit dials on its face bounce back and forth with each staticky note.

The Zero looks over his shoulder toward the radio. “Finicky old thing,” he says. “Naturally, it waits until I have company to start working. One moment, Jax.”

He starts to get up, but I say, almost shouting at him, “You looked pretty busy when I came in. What were you doing?”