Powerless (24 page)

But I couldn’t focus on that aspect of our day yet. Maybe I was pushing the heaviness of my emotions aside, not allowing myself to check in to the reality of his death or the implications of the last years of his life. Even if I were, I knew there were other aspects I needed to be more aware of in the moment.

We left Wensen’s body behind with a protection detail and walked through the solemnly quiet hallways of the Capitol—Armise at my right shoulder, Jegs to my left, and Simion leading the way.

Simion tracked through the winding structure without hesitation, leading us past a checkpoint of guards who snapped to attention and saluted him as he proceeded past them without a word. Simion grumbled under his breath and I had to force myself not to laugh in response. It was going to take him a while to get used to the ceremony that surrounded the vestiges of his leadership role—if he ever got used to it. I had the feeling the presidential tone would be a very different experience from here on out.

Simion stopped at two heavy white doors, his hands on the handles, with only a beat of hesitation before he pushed through them and into the presidential office.

Exley was the only person in the room when we entered, his legs kicked over the side of a chair as he twirled one of his braids in his hand, staring at a BC5 screen. He jumped to his feet when he realised he wasn’t alone anymore, a wide grin showcasing his perfectly white teeth.

And as happy as I was to see him—relieved that he was still alive—I hadn’t realised until this moment that I was hoping Chen would be here, too. But at least I knew Neveed had kept good on his promise to take her out of the spotlight and protect her while she worked.

Exley gripped Simion’s wrist, pulling him in close. “There’s no one I’d rather be working with,” he stated, his eyes flitting back to me with a mischievous grin. “No offence, Merq.”

I grunted, but grabbed his hand companionably when he offered it. “It’s good to see you here, Ex.”

Exley stepped away from me, realised his BC5 screen was still floating from his wrist, and shook his hand to wipe it away with a nervous laugh. “Armise. Jegs,” he offered in the way of greeting as he tipped his head in their direction.

“It is good to see you, Ex,” Simion started, resting on the edge of the desk that sat facing the large white room, the walls adorned with mementos from the thirty years Wensen Kersch had been the President. But if Simion was affected by their presence—by the idea that this room hadn’t belonged to him until twenty-four hours ago—he didn’t show it. He crossed his legs as he sat back, putting his palms to the metal desk, looking like he definitively belonged there. “We need details on what’s going on, though. We’ve got a lot of moving pieces here. Jegs has told me what she knows, as has Armise. I’ve talked to Feliu and Priyessa, but I’m still fucking mystified. I hope you can connect this all up for us.”

“Unfortunately, I can.” Exley slumped, gestured to his wrist. “You have a bigger screen I can tap into?”

We all stared dumbly at each other. Apparently without Chen we were all technologically hopeless.

Simion tipped his head and activated his comm. “Can I get someone in here to show me how to use the fucking biocomp?”

The main door opened seconds later and one of the guards from the hallway stumbled inside, nervously looking at all of us, then walked behind the desk and pulled up a BC5. Simion joined him, explaining what we needed to do. He peered over the guard’s shoulder as the man walked through a series of steps that opened a portion of the wall.

“Then you just hit the button to connect to his comm…” He jabbed a finger into the screen and looked up hopefully, sagging with relief when the feed from Exley’s comm came up.

Simion slapped the guard on the back. “Thanks, man.”

The guard’s gaze flitted away as he stiffened, gave a mumbled “You’re welcome” and retreated as fast as he could from the room.

Yeah, this was definitely going to be a different kind of presidency than we were used to.

But any humour was quickly stripped away when I saw the images and video flashing across the screen.

“What the fuck is that?” someone said, but I didn’t know who. I was too shocked by what was in front of me.

“Genetmod camps,” Exley explained, his voice strained. “I understand Armise has already told you about the soldiers the Opposition is creating. This is where they’re doing it. I wasn’t able to get a lot of footage, but it’s enough.”

I pointed at the screen. “Those are fucking kids. Children.”

Exley’s face contorted. “The kids of the jacquerie. And from other tent camps across the world. He’s not discriminating. He’s pulling as many of them out of their homes as he can and experimenting on all of them. Only the strongest are surviving the transition. From what I could see, the rest are ending up in mass graves.”

I heard a bellow from behind me and the clattering of solid objects slamming to the floor. When I turned around—ripping my eyes away from the horrors of the screen in front of me—Simion had his fists balled, chest heaving. Everything from the desk had been swiped to the floor. My stomach heaved, threatened to turn inside out as I let it all sink in.

Simion hung his head, planted his palms on the desk as if he needed it to stay standing. “How many?” he asked in a near whisper that was breaking with rage and pain.

“Thousands,” Exley answered. “I can’t know for sure. I almost died getting this much. And the kids who talked to me? I hope no one finds out they did.”

I couldn’t wipe the images from my sight even though I wasn’t looking at the screen anymore. Emaciated bodies in the midst of fighting, children wielding knives and guns against each other. Those who were obviously stronger—who had likely taken to the transition—beating down the weakest among them. But the worst part was the sounds that filled the tense room. The distinctive pop of sonic weapons, the wet thud of bodies falling into mud, the singeing gasp of fired bullets, and the high-pitched cries of voices that wouldn’t change for years to come. Voices that would never change at all. Silenced by viciousness I couldn’t wrap my head around.

And I’d thought the Underground had been unacceptable circumstances for people to live in—that their camps were inhuman. These camps were a physical manifestation of sadistic brutality.

Yes, I had been conscripted as a child. Had started my training well before I’d known exactly what I was fighting for or was able to grasp the enormity of what I would be tasked with achieving. But not like this.

“Turn it off,” I growled, then pivoted to face Armise. “Did you know?”

Armise was stock still. “No. What I saw were adult soldiers participating in battle exercises. And my training wasn’t anything like this.”

I barrelled at him, fisting my hand in his shirt and yanking him into me. “This programme exists because of you!”

Armise’s lip curled in disgust. “You’re fucking with me, right? I’m not a scientist. I’m not a goddamn doctor. If I hadn’t taken your blood that night in the Outposts they would have found some other way to get it.”

“What the hell is he talking about?” Jegs snarled.

I didn’t answer her, couldn’t. I searched Armise’s eyes, looking for a sign that he was lying and had known what was happening. But I couldn’t find it. I sagged, let go of his shirt, and tracked away from him. If it hadn’t been Armise, it would’ve been someone else. Some other way. Ahriman had had plenty of opportunities to extract my DNA after that night—since I’d spent four years in Singapore with him—but he wouldn’t have known that at the time.

“The experiments they’re doing are based off Merq’s and my DNA,” Armise answered Jegs. Simion would already know this since he’d watched my interrogation of Armise in the AF. “DNA that I got off Merq in an op in Singapore years ago.”

Simion dropped into the chair behind the desk and scrubbed his hands over his eyes. “I should ask what the PsychHAgs have to do with this. But I think I already know.”

“There’s a contingent working with Ahriman on the experiments,” Exley confirmed. “I saw Tiam while I was there. Escorting a group into one of the facilities.” Exley grimaced and faced Jegs. “And Grimshaw was there, too.”

“You should have let me kill him in the bunker,” she spat out at me.

“We did what we had to then,” I answered her calmly. “And now, we do it again. This programme ends now. Just give me the order, Pres. Armise and I will put together a team today. And I want you to be a part of it, Jegs. But you’re going to have to let that need for revenge fuel you and not overtake you. We need a team, not a fucking mercenary.”

Jegs stiffened, but didn’t hesitate to answer me, “You’ve got it.”

Simion leant forward on the desk, sitting up straighter. “Consider it ordered. Or whatever. Just fucking end this, Merq. Bring them home. Fuck.” He smoothed back the curling ends of his blond hair behind his ears. “Salvage who you can.”

‘Salvage who you can…’

The wounds to the kids involved in these camps would be greater than skin deep. More scarring than the violation to their DNA.

“And the existing hybrids?” Armise asked.

Simion nodded, his anger now completely under control. “After the camps. I’ll contact Neveed and make sure Chen starts working on whatever you need for this.” He steepled his fingers together, brought his shoulders back, his face hardening, as if he were channelling the decisiveness of Wensen Kersch. “Ending this atrocity becomes priority one.”

Chapter Sixteen

Armise grabbed my arm, grinding us to a halt as we exited the Capitol Building. “You cannot think I knew this was happening.”

I shook my head. “I don’t. And I don’t think it’s your fault either.”

Armise let go of me. “You may be the only one. Including me.”

“Guilt is unproductive. Move on from it. We have work to do.”

“After the funeral?”

“We’re not going to the rites. I’ve already mourned for the man I knew. The one they’re burying today is a stranger. And the man I knew would have wanted me—wanted us—to D3 those camps definitively.”

“Where are we going?”

“To see Priyessa. Simion said she’s at her house in the city. I want to talk to her before we make any tactical decisions.”

“Did you bring any weapons?”

“I’m not going in there without them.” I handed him the extra pistol I’d grabbed before we’d left the Capitol, making sure that he carried a sonic and I had a real one. Of course, I carried my knives, too. But they were always on my body. Hidden away, but at the ready.

We crossed through the city, the wind picking up as we got closer to the ocean. Even though it was May there was a chill to the air. Armise would be able to withstand the sudden drop in temperature with ease. I, on the other hand, started to shiver.

“Nervous?” Armise asked as he took in the uncontrolled shake of my hands.

“Fucking cold,” I snapped at him.

Armise seemed to consider this. “Some of my genetmods are more useful than others.”

I hummed in response. “Think you could ratchet up your core a bit to make me more comfortable?”

“I’m your human fire,” he replied with a sarcastic bite, but I could already feel the heat coming off him.

I took a step closer to him, our arms brushing as we walked.

We took the full force of the wind when we slipped around the corner. The waves were wild, white froths of water crashing against the black barriers that separated the ocean from the residences lining the shore.

Priyessa’s building was a soaring glass and polymaterial structure that bent over the ocean at an unnatural angle—as if it were boasting that the immutable forces of gravity and tidal surges would never be able to touch it.

With each step—with each warm touch of Armise’s body against mine—I realised that through all of the upheaval, all the change, even with all that was yet to come, my world had settled into something that was much less nebulous than it had ever been.

Because of the men and women who had my back.

Because of the man at my side.

My fatal flaw—my hamartia—had, just as Neveed had always known, almost been my rush to judgement, nearly shutting all my allies out. I had thought that by relying on them, by trusting them, I was handing over control. Diminishing my strength.

I’d been wrong.

I wasn’t sure that laying doubt and a lifetime of suspicion to the side would be easy, but maybe it didn’t have to be difficult either. I wasn’t alone, and it wasn’t solely Armise that I could rely on.

I didn’t want anything else from life. I had everything—and everyone—I needed in order to shape this world into what the Revolution and Wensen Kersch had always envisioned. A future I believed in.

I held the door open for Armise when we got to the lobby of Priyessa’s building. The scent of Singaporean balms washed over me on the winds carried off the ocean.

I exhaled a satisfied sigh of relief.

I wouldn’t have felt so secure if I’d known what was coming next.

Also available from Totally Bound Publishing:

Someday It Will Be

S.A. McAuley

Excerpt

Chapter One

The abrupt transition from overcast winter skies to feral summer sun left Poe blind and reeling. Where there had been concrete and skyscrapers, water now stretched off to the horizon and sand shifted below him. His knees buckled, and he fell down the steep dune, towards the distant shore.

There was little danger in the fall, so he held his breath, instinctively trying to keep the coarse grains out of his nose and mouth. The sand cushioned his thin frame as he tumbled, protecting him from any real harm. He wore fingerless gloves which filled as he rolled, the prickling of the hot sand pushing the numb chill from his fingers.

Poe tucked in, then slid to a stop at the bottom of the hill and pushed himself to his feet. The sudden stillness was so jarring his stomach clenched.

Where was he? How had he got here?

He shrugged his heavy, ankle-length wool coat off his shoulders, pulling his scarf and gloves with it. Heat and humidity pressed into him, bringing a light sheen of sweat to his skin as he struggled to breathe under the layers that weighed him down. He pulled at the zipper of his hoodie and tore it off, yanking the headphones, which had been threaded through the jacket and under his shirt, from his ears. The heavy bass line and shrieking guitar he used to shield himself from the streets of Chicago continued to thump from the headphones which fell around his neck.