Elite (Citizen Saga, Book 1) (13 page)

"Very well," I replied with every inch of me that was still an Elite.

The guy lounging, almost couch comfortably opposite, barked out a laugh.

"Relax, Honourable," he drawled. "You might even enjoy it. That's if you can take the stick outta your arse."

"Alan," Trent warned, then moved closer to me, bandanna raised.

I held his steady gaze, showed him I was not afraid, and then let him blindfold me.

"There now," he murmured in my ear, hot breath skittering over moist rain slicked skin. "That wasn't too bad, was it?"

I didn't answer. Just sat back in my seat and casually pulled out my knife. Then proceeded to flick the blade in and out familiarly, over and over and over again.

There was a chuckle, I was guessing from both men, but it was Alan who said, "Glad your balls are closer than mine, boss. It looks like she's had practise."

I didn't slow my movements.

But I did smile. It was probably a little scary.

Or at least I hoped.

She was like a little hissing and spitting kitten. Quite adorable. Delightful even. But with an air of conviction that made me think she'd carry through with her threats and scratch someone's eyeballs out. I'd have to change my nickname for her. Zebras weren't known for being feral, were they?

I sat back in the van and let a long breath out. That had been too damn close. I could still feel the cold metal touch of the drone's hand, as it scraped past my neck, glancing my shoulder and shirt. It hardly seems possible that I bested it with a laser pointer. Still, I was sure when I looked into its artificial eyes, just before its lights went out, that I saw the Cardinal operator at the other end.

It had almost seemed alive.

I lowered my head into my hands and tried to get my breathing under control. We'd pushed hard to escape them and she'd kept up, right until the end, where she was prepared to sacrifice herself for me. I saw the look in her eyes when she believed it was our only chance. I saw her reach for that fucking flash-drive in her bra and then think better of it.

I saw it all. And I'm not quite sure how to process that.

I glanced across the van at Alan, who hadn't taken his eyes off Lena once. He was still a little upset she'd beaten him at Wántel, but I knew in his heart he wouldn't harm her. The others? I wasn't so sure. We hadn't agreed that bringing her in was safe and here we were approaching the hub. I was going to get an earful for this.

Reminding me I hadn't heard a word from Si since his last transmission of, "Tracks." I reached up and pulled my earpiece out, stuffing it in my jeans pocket.

"Si's gone silent," I remarked to Alan.

"Ordered a cease communications earlier this morning," Alan replied, still watching Lena flick that knife like a pro. "You were already incognito at the time, couldn't get the message to you safely."

"Why?"

His eyes darted to me briefly and then back to Lena. He shrugged, but I think it was more because he didn't want to say anything aloud in front of the as yet not trusted Elite.

I turned my head and watched her for a moment. It was hypnotic really, and not just because she was damn fine to observe. Her movements with that blade were fluid, rather like the way she swan-dived off buildings in the rain.

There were still so many unanswered questions, Alan was right to be cautious. I needed to remember who her father was. Who her god-father is. Who she lived with for three years after her father's death until she came of age. There was still a possibility she was a mole, sent to infiltrate us and destroy us from within. Tempt us with the Sat-Loc codes, lure us into a web. Hell, she may not even have them. This could all be a ploy.

And suddenly I felt so damn fucking old.

I leaned back, tilted my head to the seat, and closed my eyes. Alan would watch her and I was exhausted, aching, hollow inside. I'd take a moment to recharge and then address the challenge that was Honourable Selena Carstairs, call me Lena. I felt my lips twitch, but tamped it down in case Alan had good peripheral vision.

Five minutes later we were there, the van rolling to a stop right outside the doors. We wouldn't leave it here, but considering she was blindfolded, we needed her inside and under wraps quickly, before any well meaning Citizen advised sPol.

I climbed down from the rear of the vehicle and stretched, meeting the startled eyes of Zikri and Damia who were obviously on guard. I'd intended to let Alan help Lena out of the rear of the van; I needed some distance to gain perspective. But when she hopped down unaided, clearly having refused his hand to guide her, and then lost her footing on a bit of debris on the ground, it was me who reached her first.

She jerked under my hold, inhaled deeply, and then miraculously relaxed. Huh.

"Let's get you inside, Honourable," I murmured, purposely using her title to remind those listening just who she was.

Ah, hell. Who was I kidding? I was trying to remind myself.

I didn't let go of her until we were inside the building and the door had been secured at our backs. Zikri and Damia still outside, probably lighting up cigarettes and pretending to chat, and not look too much like guard dogs. The lights buzzed overhead, the sounds of many voices raised in laughter could be heard from down the hallway, the space as hot as it had been outside, but at least not wet. And I wondered what Lena was thinking.

I reached up and untied her blindfold feeling a strange kind of fascination as she sucked in her breath and held it. Her body trembled ever so slightly. The pulse in her neck drew my eye, and for a crazy moment I wanted to lean in and lick it.

Someone cleared their throat and I took an abrupt step back letting Lena get her bearings.

She blinked, looked around, eyes darting from side to side, taking in the bare concrete floor and walls, the multiple locks on the reinforced steel door at her back, the camera lenses dotted down the hallway. The heat. The artificial lighting with no chance of daylight breaking through. The feel of entombment.

Her intelligent gaze flicked over Alan, over those who had come to see who I'd recklessly brought inside, and landed on me.

She held my eyes with the steely pale blue of her own. If I hadn't just been close enough to smell her sweet scent I wouldn't have known she was shit-scared. Head high, trembling invisible, cool, calm and collected.

She was so fucking hot.

For a moment I was lost in the fantasy.

And then she demanded, Elite perfect tone that set my blood racing, "Who are you?"

I smiled, it was probably wicked. Everyone else held their breaths and waited to see if I'd lost the plot completely.

"If I tell you," I started, but Carla interrupted my tease.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," she exclaimed. "We're the ones who are going to wipe out your kind."

She did
not
just say that. My eyes bore into hers and I barked, "Everyone back to work! Now!" They scattered like loose leaves in a brisk breeze. I was left alone with Lena and Alan, who wouldn't vacate his position until I directly ordered him to. It took everything in me to say the next words in a detached tone.

"Take her to my room and lock her down."

"Your room?" he queried.

"Safest place there is," I shot back, already walking away.

"For who?" I heard him say, but I was done explaining myself. If I left her anywhere Carla could get at her, shit would hit the fan. If I didn't get away from her right this instant, I was going to be in deep shit.

All in all, I'd created a pile of shit for myself and now I just had to live with it.

So, why was there a skip to my step?

I had no idea where I was. What suburb. What the building was. What time of day it might have been. It was hot in here, so no air-con in at least the hallways. But cameras followed our slow progress down the hall. Because I refused Alan's assistance I hobbled. Thankfully all the welcoming committee had disappeared. I wondered if they were watching my pathetic display on a vid-screen somewhere.

"I don't suppose you'll tell me what this place is all about?" I asked Alan.

"Above my pay scale."

"You called him 'boss' in the van," I offered.

"You heard that, huh?"

"Is he in charge of this little group?"

A grunt, neither commitment nor rebuttal.

"Very cloak-and-dagger," I muttered.

"Wánměi has eyes everywhere." And the way he said it, made it obvious he thought I was part of those eyes.

We stopped outside a door and he nodded for me to enter. I crossed the threshold and felt the welcoming relief of cool air. At least their bedrooms were air conditioned. And this was a bedroom. Trent hadn't been kidding when he said,
Take her to
my
room
. This was his space. I could tell, from the scuffed boots in the wardrobe, beneath an array of clothing that matched what he'd worn today. The unmade bed which seemed so him; too busy to be dealing with mundane things such as tidying up his place. The scent of whatever cologne he wore hung on the air. And a Cardinal uniform draped over a chair at a desk covered with papers.

I pulled my gaze away from the mess spread over its surface, hoping Alan hadn't noticed my interest.

"So, what am I expected to do in here?" I demanded, the Elite tone back.

"Don't particularly care," Alan replied, and then slammed the door in my face. The sound of a lock electronically engaging sounded ominous.

I frowned at the back of the door which had a poster attached. One you couldn't see if you looked inside the room from the hallway. It was only obvious when the door was closed and the rest of the world was locked out.

A city. But not Wánměi. It had strange buildings, old and constructed of brick and concrete, like those dotted throughout Wánměi. Colonial they called them, a part of our history prior to General Chew-wen. Despite our insular existence those buildings were treasured and only available to the Elite. But here in this detailed picture, an enlarged photograph I realised, they were dotted between tiled roofs, dormer windows, church spires, domed cathedrals, and then the modernity of glass and a giant passenger wheel like our
Pherres
. A river snaked through the city just like ours.

I stared at the image for too long, drawn to a city that had similarities to mine, but was not the same. A city that had to exist elsewhere. A city we couldn't visit or know of because Wánměi had closed its doors. I wanted to know this city's name, but there was no writing on the poster to identify it. Just buildings and cars and boats and people, a whole world of lives that went along happily without any of us being aware they lived at all.

I sat down heavily on the edge of Trent's bed, uncaring of the impropriety. I gazed at that poster for long, long minutes. Taking in every minute detail I could. There was a bridge that crossed the wide river, but I couldn't see where it went. I wanted to know. Sunlight glinted off various colours of roof tiles. Arches framed inset windows, their ledges deep. Providing, I imagined, a good resting place to view their world from. The domed cathedral stood tall above its neighbours. Not the tallest building in the city, but grand and imposing and so very old. How old? The houses looked narrow and tall, sentinels down tree lined streets, standing guard over their inhabitants, leading off into a distance I couldn't see. I wanted to follow where they led, to discover if they stayed the same or changed.

My eyes skipped to a glass structure that seemed out of place. Either side stood colonial concrete, but this building was shaped like a bullet, aimed for the heavens as if to warn adversaries to stay away. A sound escaped me; pained, shocked, in awe. People worked there, lived there, loved there. Did they know Wánměi existed at all?

I pulled my gaze away with monumental effort. Even as I did it, I felt the draw to look back, to search for answers to questions I couldn't quite frame in my mind. My eyes landed on the table, sheets of paper scattered haphazardly across its surface, as though the owner had read and discarded each one, but couldn't make himself place them too far away. I imagined Trent sitting at that desk, scouring those words, setting them aside and then in the next instant picking them back up again to reread. I knew I had to go to that table. Devour its contents for clues as to who the hell these people I'd landed with were.

But I was scared now. Scared of what I would learn. The poster mocked my existence. The table, I was sure, would destroy my world.

My hand fisted the blanket beneath me. Trent's blanket. On Trent's bed. I stood up quickly, cringing when my ankle throbbed, and hopped to the table, pulling out the chair with the Cardinal uniform draped across it and sitting down before I changed my mind. Words swam before my eyes, meaningless and unreal.

I picked the closest piece of paper up and scanned the sentences. It looked like an aged news article from a paper, but photocopied onto an A4 sheet. The picture was of a man I didn't recognise and I realised why when the caption beneath read, "President of the United States" in Old Anglisc.

The paper dropped to the table's surface and I stilled. United States of what? The answer was no doubt in the article itself, but would it mean anything?

I reached for the next piece of paper, this was different, in a language I did not understand. I pushed it aside with a shaking hand and picked up the next.
Written in Wáitaměi
, the document appeared to be about the Communist Party of
Wáikěi
.

Wáikěi
.

My hand shook as I lifted the next sheet, this one a photo of a flag waving in the breeze. I didn't recognise it. I didn't know what it meant. More pieces of paper passed through my fingers, filled my vision with words I couldn't comprehend. Names that meant nothing. People who could have been alive or dead. Some had dates on them, before Wánměi became what it is today. None were dated after General Chew-wen took control of our city.

None spoke of Wánměi.

Pictures and articles from newspapers and books and magazines. Faces and scenery that seemed so foreign; one even had what I knew was snow, but had never seen. The world was supposedly too hot for snow, but the picture didn't have a date so I couldn't tell when the snow in it had fallen.

My mind told me this was all prehistoric. It meant nothing.

My heart ached that it could be real, current. Or close enough to our time to give hope.

I knew other places existed. On the edge of our island you can look across water and see the lights of a city in the distance, haze from its pollution in the sky. We import, it's well known. The Overseers deal with our requirements, details are not for us to know. But we all silently knew that much of what made our city function, survive, came from somewhere outside our walls of security.

I'd known. It had been a far off, inconsequential thought. But as my eyes darted back up to the poster behind the door I realised I wanted to see. Where our supplies came from. Where our exports were sold to keep us afloat financially. Who lived out there and how they lived.

Did they close their doors too and only communicate through trade?

I couldn't stand this. I couldn't take it all in. I felt adrift and lost, and even though I knew this building held others, so very alone.

But I wasn't, was I? Trent had read these things, seen these images, looked upon that poster every single day. Did he have the same questions, or did he hold the answers already? Was this just a tease to break me in? The real truth existing out there. Somewhere in this building.

I checked my ankle. It hurt to carry too much weight for too long, but Trent had been right, it wasn't broken. Swollen and tender, but only a very bad sprain. I rummaged through his drawers until I found what I needed, then braced my leg and foot, strapping it tightly. When I tested my weight again I could walk. Running would be a challenge, but I was at least mobile.

I walked to the door, offering the poster of the unknown city a last longing glance and then crouched down to investigate the lock.

I was questioning everything. Did they leave me my handbag to see if I had the balls to break out? Or had they simply overlooked it, thought me too injured to do anything more than lie on Trent's bed? Maybe they believed I'd be catatonic after reading all the papers, seeing the city with a river much like ours.

They didn't know me at all.

I pulled my decoder out, along with my knife, then pried the casing off the keypad. I attached the leads and set the device in action. There was no eScanner, just a combination to open and close the door. Simple security measures, but my guess was, not too many people made it into this structure, so anything more was superfluous.

The decoder cracked the lock within seconds. It was only a four digit combination. The door clicked open a fraction, but I didn't pull it back until I had my laser pointer in hand. The knife stayed in my free hand, braced against my thigh. I stood up, straining to hear any sounds out in the hall, then pulled the door back and peered quickly outside. I'd committed the location of each camera lens in the stretch of hall leading here to memory. Further into the building I'd be operating blind.

I could have just gone to the front entrance, got out, passed the guards who looked well trained, and left. But where would I go? Tan and Aiko? Endanger them? No, I had to stick this out, but I was not going to do it as a prisoner.

Best case plan, I'd observe and listen, and figure out who the hell these people were. Worst case, I'd prove they couldn't lock me up for long.

In my mind, right then, it was a win-win.

I flashed the laser at the first camera, counting to ten in my head. It buzzed and I moved forward. The second and third went down swiftly afterwards, before I heard approaching feet in the hall. I tried the first door handle and found it locked. The one across the hall was the same. The footsteps sounded closer.

I spun back around and limp-ran back past Trent's bedroom door, along the path Alan had originally brought me. A door further down yielded when I turned the handle, and I ducked inside. I cursed silently. The cameras would be active again any moment now, and I'd have to start the process all over again.

I heard voices outside, I guessed down by Trent's room, which I'd relocked behind me. If they knew the code to get in, then it wouldn't take them long to figure out I'd escaped. I considered sitting down where I was and waiting for them to find me. It had proved a point, if nothing else and I was blastedly tired.

But I wanted more. Always had. Never could settle for what I already possessed. And right now my goal was knowledge. I wanted to know who the hell these people were.

I checked the door in front of me and noted a keypad, currently deactivated. I attached my decoder and reversed the process, setting up my own code to lock the door. Twenty seconds later I was secured in my little haven. Not that I planned to stay here, but for now this would be my base.

I glanced around the room and noted it was similar in layout to Trent's. Bed, desk and chair, mirror next to a cupboard and a small rudimentary bathroom attached. It was plainly decorated, no personality, waiting for an occupant to make their mark. So, they had more space than their population required. It made me wonder how large this organisation was. And I was going with calling it that.

Trent was obviously their boss, or a boss, and those I'd seen so far followed his commands. Structure indicated organised. Therefore this was an organisation, but of what?

I walked into the centre of the room and turned around in a full circle. There was no vid-screen attached to the wall, like most residences had. I was betting Shiloh didn't exist inside these walls. We were off-grid, which was good. But no one lived without some technological help.

I found the network interface behind the desk, half hidden by the edge of the cupboard. Shifting it made me sweat, despite the air-con being on in here. I knelt down beside it and pulled out my offline PDA. It wasn't Shiloh operated, but it did have some of the programmes
my
Shiloh in
Parnell
used. My father had been the technological whiz, I'd just picked up the ability to use what he gave me to gain what I wanted. Understanding it had been limited, but wielding it I could do.

I wished I'd downloaded more of my Shiloh into the little device, but I'd stuck with basic operating programmes that allowed me to do my job. Break in, steal, and get back out.

Sometimes what I stole was technology, like at Wántel, which I simply put on a flash-drive and took away. The virus I used in Arthur Chen's office was also on my PDA, and for a moment I considered simply uploading it to the network here and seeing what the fallout would entail.

But I quashed that idea in favour of discovering their secrets instead. If I fried them, even temporarily, I'd not learn a single thing.