The Wandering (The Lux Guardians, #2) (22 page)

I’m an idiot.

“Are you doing okay?”
I ask.

His
face doesn’t change. “I’m fine. But the Guardians aren’t. They’ve
lost hope.
We’ve
lost hope.”

“Because of Alba.” I
let out a long breath. “Do you think we should have a memorial for
her, like we did with the people that died in Forgotten
London?”

Timofei looks away.
“That’s a nice idea. I’ll propose it to the council. But what I
wanted to talk to you about—what I wanted to ask you—is whether
you’d consider being more active in your role as the Unnamed’s
successor.”

I scrape the edge off
one of my nails. “I don’t have a role. I’m just the son of a dead
guy.”

“Do you remember when
you first arrived in the base? People were looking to you to save
them. You were a symbol of hope and freedom. As far as people are
concerned, you came through and they got their freedom.” He sighs.
“It just seems to me that you could help. You joined us and not
long after, we were free of the fence. Now … it feels like we’re
wandering aimlessly. We have a plan, of course, but it just feels
like going through the motions.”

He glances at me and
then away again. “We need fire, passion, a reason to fight. Grief
has crushed us and we can’t be blamed for that, but we need to move
on from it.”

“We need to forget our
families, you mean.”

“You’re very blunt,
Honour.”

“I’m right, though,
aren’t I? That’s what you mean. You want us to pretend nobody died.
You want me to be like … a rebellion leader. Because half my family
is dead and my dad was famous. I’m not him, you know? I never even
met the guy.” My laugh is sharp. “You all want me to be something I
won’t ever be.”

“We want a figurehead,
not a leader. You don’t have to organise anything or attack anyone.
Just talk, make people remember what States have done. Remind us
why we fight.”

I
chew my lip until it bleeds. “I don’t know how to do that. I
don’t
want
to. If
people don’t wanna fight, they don’t wanna fight. I’m not going to
manipulate them into it. I’m not the President.”

I’m just his
weapon.

“I know.” Timofei
casts a look around the mostly empty cafeteria. “And speaking of,
he made a national address to States, an attempt to stop the
rebellions growing in half of their towns.” With the most emotion
I’ve heard from him in this whole conversation, even if it is
slightly terrifying and promises revenge, he adds, “It’s become a
major problem for the President and the Ordering Body. They can’t
control their own people.”

I swallow the lump in
my throat, flashing back to a glass building and a brittle promise.
Marrin told me to organise the rebellion in States into a full
blown revolution—right before he sacrificed himself. He wanted Tia
to lead it, to lead the people, but she’s in silent agony because
of his death, because I left him in a shining tower in Underground
London Zone, an obvious target for the Officials. He betrayed his
father, his own Statesmen, for my sister. And I left him there to
die.

It’s my fault Marrin
died, my fault Tia’s mute—if this is what I’m meant to do in
recompense for that, it’s a small thing to ask. Some deity or God
or maker has put this in my path. I’m not much of a believer in
religion but I believe in karma and I believe in fate. “What do you
want me to do?”

***

Bennet

10:59. 24.10.2040.
Bharat, Delhi.

The Guardians’ home
has a dusty old smell no matter what time of day it is or what wing
or tunnel I visit. Even in the mornings and evenings, with the
scent of food infusing the rooms, it’s still possible to smell the
musty history of this place.

I don’t know how long
these tunnels have been built but it must be a long time. Maybe
they even date back to my age. I suppose someone would be able to
tell me if I asked, but I don’t much care. I don’t care about
anything these days besides getting my jobs done until I can be
with Branwell again.

The pangs that used to
claim my heart when I thought about my brother have become dull
aches I can ignore. I think I’m slowly accepting the idea of never
being able to find him, of my brother being lost to this world
forever. If he ever arrived in this world at all. Maybe he’s still
home, being fussed over by a frantic Carolina, Jeremy’s colleagues
doing everything they can to track me down.

I
bite my lip, tasting the bitter iron of my blood. I
cannot
think about my
family. I can only think about here and now, what is in front of
me, and my family are nowhere to be seen. If I think about the
people I love, I’ll be caught in the storming winds of my loss and
deposited in a place where only paralysing grief reigns.

I’m not willing to let
that happen.

I stumbled yesterday,
during one of my aimless walks around the building. I was perfectly
fine, enjoying the quiet of morning, when I came up short at a
leaking pipe. It was the most stupid thing, just an exposed piece
of pipe against a painted white brick wall, but I burst into tears
at the sight of it. There was water pooling on the floor tiles, and
I must have stood there for minutes upon minutes because the puddle
grew to wet my slippers, all the while tears slipped down my
cheeks. And all I can remember thinking was Joel would never let
the hallway get in such a state.

I came undone, crying
over a leaking pipe and a lost loved one. It was embarrassing and
soul crushing, the intensity of the pain in my chest taking over
everything. No matter how strongly I told myself I was being silly,
that crying was counterproductive and would lead only to more
crying, I couldn’t stop the moisture building in my eyes. The
pressure behind my eyelids was almost as bad as the ache in my
chest.

I’m not sure how long
I stood there. Garima found me eventually and coaxed me away, her
usually bubbling voice quietened to a comforting lull. I came out
of my stupor an hour later, my slippers soaking the sheets of my
bed and my face crusted with dried tears. I have never felt so
hollow in my life. The pure emptiness of emotion, the numbness, the
void—that is why I can’t allow myself to be drawn into thoughts of
Branwell or Joel or my cousins. Because if I look back, I’ll be
swallowed by the maelstrom of absolute emptiness, and I’m afraid
that if I stay in that void for too long I’ll be drained of all
emotion. I’ll never feel a thing again.

I know it has a name,
that hollow feeling, but I never knew you could grieve for someone
who wasn’t dead.

Shaking off the
memory, I hitch up the skirt of my brown sari and make my way down
the stairs to the laboratories. Vast awaits me at the bottom of the
stairwell, and at the sight of me coming around the corner, he
unlocks the great metal door with the imprint of his thumb on the
handle.

He’s barely pulled the
door open when Garima breezes past, an orange hijab around her face
to match the warm umber ensemble she’s wearing. I don’t have a name
for it—it’s nothing I’ve seen—but the skirt looks similar to that
of a sari, elegant pleats around the bottom dotted with golden
embroidery. Her stomach is covered by only a sheer drape of fabric
with orange flowers, her modesty barely protected by a small wrap
of silk. It’s a true sight to see her out of the colourless
Guardian saris.

“Oh,” she says in
English. “I forgot about the demonstration. I made plans.”

Vast’s brow furrows.
“What kind of plans?”

“I have a date.”
Garima raises her chin, daring an argument. The sickly light
catches on gold dust painted around her eyes, and with the
beautiful clothes Garima could be a Goddess deigning to exist
amongst us feeble mortals. Vast is as stunned as I am.

He recovers quicker
than I do, demanding to know who she’s going on a date with. I
myself am privy to this bit of knowledge—Garima has done nothing
but ramble on about the man ever since he asked for her company.
They’re going to ‘see a film’, the modern day equivalent of going
to the theatre. It sounds very romantic and Garima is brimming with
excitement. I’m happy to see her happiness.

“Be careful,” he says
seriously. “You know boys can get the wrong sort of idea.”

Garima’s narrow eyes
are a herald of war. “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”
She says something in her native language and then switches back to
add, “If he can’t control himself, I’ll have to show him the dagger
I have here.” She pats her upper thigh. I am utterly without
speech. “I think I look nice and I’m not going to change. If Krish
thinks me dressing pretty means he’s going to get a date and a
little extra …” She shrugs, flashes a wicked smile.

Garima is dangerous. I
love her more than a little.

Vast speaks in Hindi,
something I take to be him permitting her to go—though I do not
think he possesses the power to stop her. I doubt even the Dark
Soldiers have the power to stop Garima Dhawan when she wants
something.

“Good luck,” I say,
because she told me to. She gives my arm a little pat before she
flies up the steps.

When I turn back to
Vast, he’s rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t think you
need to worry about her,” I offer in the way of reassurance.

“I’ll always worry
about her.” He turns a weary smile on me. “It comes as part of
being a father.”

“I didn’t realise you
were her father.”

“Biologically, I’m
not.” He pushes the laboratory door wider and gestures for me to
enter. “But I found her when she was very young and I’ve cared for
her since.”

“Oh,” I say uselessly,
pushing the metal door shut.

The lab is as bright
and clinical as it was before, but this time there are only two
women inside and neither of them look busy. They sit around a
mirrored table drinking tea and, if I’m not mistaken, gossiping.
They glance up as Vast and I cross the room but don’t speak, either
because they’re uninterested in me or because I can’t understand
their language.

“What are you showing
me?” I ask, peering into each corner of the room, curious to know
the secrets this room holds. But there is nothing on display, the
secrets tucked away from sight. Perhaps that’s a good thing. The
last time I was here I was horrified by the vicious disease they’ve
engineered. Only heaven knows what I’ll find this time.

Vast
opens a shining white door to the left of the room, ushering me
inside. I strain around his tall body to see what’s here, gasping
when my eyes fall on another wall made entirely of
glass—
why are there so many of
these?—
and the small, grey haired woman
behind it. The room behind the glass is a bedroom. A bedroom locked
behind a secret door in a secret laboratory. I frown at Vast,
looking for answers.

He gestures to the
woman, clicks a button set into the wall, and tells me, “This is
Jaya, our first human test subject.”

Something about those
words makes me cold. I know all about test subjects—I ought to, my
father and brother did nothing but experiment—but as much as I know
humans are often used as subjects, that didn’t prepare me for being
face to face with a woman used purely for science. I’m sure she
volunteered herself, dedicated to the Guardians’ cause, but still
it makes something writhe in the pit of my stomach. Test subjects
are abstract, distant; they’re not meant to be metres from my face,
reading in a wooden chair.

Jaya’s gaze flickers
between us, waiting. I remain silent while Vast asks the woman a
series of questions I don’t understand. He notes her answers on a
pad of paper and writes for several minutes more before smiling at
the woman.

She can’t be much
older than twenty five. Her face is free of the lines and creases
that come with age, her smile as bright as any youth’s. But there’s
something about the grey of her hair and the dullness of her eyes
that makes her look older.

“Jaya became sick
three weeks ago,” Vast says, speaking again in English for my
benefit. “A medium strength Strain paralysed her from the waist
down, amongst other things. Do you remember the cure you were shown
before?”

I nod.

“Good. I’m glad it
made an impression. It has more than one use—you saw it contain the
offensive disease we’ve engineered here, but it also has the power
to cure the Strains.”

“You told me that,” I
remind him. “When I first brought it to you, you said it would cure
every disease.”

“And it will. But this
is the first stage. Jaya wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for the
Miracle you brought to us. Here is a life you’ve saved, and I’m
sure you’ll save many more.”

The linoleum floor
sticks to the soles of my shoe as I tap my foot, maddened. For a
minute I thought Vast was introducing me to parts of this building
I haven’t seen in an attempt to help me settle in, to show me that
I have become a true and valued member of the Guardians. But of
course I was being naïve. Again. “What do you want?” I ask, voice
steely.

“You’re a perceptive
girl.” He nods. “Our security says we have been compromised. The …
authorities here in Bharat have found our location and are planning
a raid in the hopes of finding our cure. Or perhaps our weapon—it’s
hard to tell what the men with power want these days. I want you to
take it to a safer place, to keep it away from these people.”

A
dim buzz sounds when he again pushes the button on the glass wall,
and this time I notice small black boxes inside the room, mounted
at the top of the room. They rotate at his command. “Speakers,”
Vast says as if I’m supposed to understand the word. I fail to see
how those boxes speak. Unless … they mean Jaya could hear
us
speak. I wonder if
she understood the conversation, and what she makes of Vast
bringing me to gawp at her like a circus attraction.