Rogue (4 page)

“For crying out loud, Brooke,” said Nick. “You touch your mother with those hands?”

She rose up suddenly from behind the sofa and leaped at him again, hurling herself through the air between them with astonishing speed. As Nick somersaulted out of her path, he saw the front door fly open; someone entered and pointed their raised right hand at Brooke.

A bright red flower blossomed in the back of her left shoulder. She landed hard, scorching the carpet, then rolled, staggered halfway to standing, reached back, and pulled what had hit her from her shoulder.

A small dart.

She looked at it, uncomprehending, before dropping to her hands and knees and then face-planting on the floor. Dark, acrid vapor rose from the carpet all around the outlines of her body.

“Talk about mood swings,” said Nick.

Coach Ira Jericho stood in the doorway, loading another dart into the pistol in his hand.

“Check to see if she's out,” said Jericho.

“No way, I'm not touching her,” said Nick, still wielding the shovel.

“What, she too tough for you, McLeish? Can't be serious, little bitty thing like that,” said Jericho, walking toward her body.

“Little bitty thing? Dude, you didn't see her go straight-up psycho. She's like a hella honey badger.”

They both looked down at her, Nick a step behind Jericho, maintaining a safe distance. Head turned to the side, eyes rolled up in her head, Brooke's back rose and fell regularly, deep breaths, totally out.

“Shouldn't we tie her up or something?” asked Nick. “Check that. She'd just melt the rope.”

“She won't be doing anything but drooling on the floor for a few hours.”

“What'd you hit her with?”

“Enough to tranq a moose,” said Jericho, looking at her closely.

Nick leaned in closer, peering at her delicate eyelashes and turned-up nose. “I'm just kinda glad I didn't have to clock her with this shovel. I mean, no matter how mad evil she's gone, she's still sort of my friend, you know?”

Jericho stared at him. “Whatever you say, McLeish. Are you ready to roll?”

“Put me in, Coach.”

“Grab your gear. We don't have much time.”

Nick grabbed his backpack and the one they'd packed for Will, then joined Jericho at the door.

“Guess I'll have to work through all this emotional stress down the road,” said Nick, taking a last look back at Brooke as they hustled out into the hall.

Ajay took another bite of the ham and cheese sandwich the butler, Lemuel Clegg, had brought him and chomped on another handful of potato chips.

“I can't quite put my finger on what it is,” said Ajay, chewing away, “but the sandwich is particularly delicious this evening.”

Clegg didn't usually stay and watch him eat—in fact, he hadn't done it since Ajay first started working on the files a month before.

Drat.

“Did you make this sandwich yourself, Mr. Clegg?”

Clegg just stared at him, arms folded, scowling, immune as always to any attempts at charm. The man was so consistently, aggressively antisocial; Will had advised Ajay that the only way to make him leave you alone was to keep talking to him.

“I'm thinking that you may have employed a different condiment this time? Perhaps some diced gherkin pickles or a strategically deployed slice of Japanese daikon?”

Clegg looked at his watch.

Why is he waiting? Does he suspect anything? Have I done something to give away the game?

“I understand your inscrutability perfectly,” said Ajay with an agreeable grin. “A master chef never gives away his secrets.”

Ajay snuck a look at his watch: 8:10.

If this lummox doesn't clear out of here soon, I'm going to fall seriously behind schedule.

“I'm going to most likely be working quite late tonight,” said Ajay. “Mr. Elliot wants me to get through at least two more boxes. So I should probably get back to the task at hand.”

Clegg didn't move. Ajay noticed a slight clenching of the muscles around Clegg's eyes when he mentioned Mr. Elliot's name.

Maybe he's afraid of his boss. Or maybe he's just waiting for the plate.

Then Ajay remembered something he'd read earlier in the day and put the pieces of a small puzzle together.

Wait till I tell Will about this one.

Ajay stuffed the rest of the sandwich—almost an entire half of it—into his mouth and chewed aggressively, then drained the last of his glass of lemonade until it leaked out the sides of his mouth before holding out the empty plate and glass toward Clegg.

“Thans agan fuh suth'a dewicious wepast.”

Clegg took the plate and headed for the stairs.

That was it, then. Old Sourpuss just didn't want to make another trip all the way back up here for the crockery.

The pager in Ajay's pocket chirped. He blanched, and his hand instinctively reached to switch it off.

Clegg stopped at the door and turned back to him. “What was that?”

Still chewing, Ajay took out the pager and looked at the message display. “Juth one of my annoying woommates I imagine—yes, it's that knucklehead Nick. Wondering where I am.”

“That's not the sound those pagers usually make,” said Clegg.

Ajay took a few steps toward him and swallowed hard, forcing down the rest of the sandwich. “If I may take you into my confidence, Mr. Clegg. I took the liberty of adding a specialized ring tone for when my closest friends are trying to reach me.”

He waited to see if Clegg was buying it. Unclear.

“I know that moderating school-issued equipment is not specifically allowed, of course, but I examined the Code of Conduct and couldn't find anything that specifically forbids it either.”

“Let me see it.”

Clegg held out his hand. Ajay gave it to him, holding his breath, hoping that Nick didn't page him back while he was looking at the screen. If he confiscated it now, a lot more than their whole mission would be compromised.

After a few moments of turning it around in his hands, Clegg gave it back. “Check in with security when you're finished here. They'll escort you to the landing for your ride back to the mainland.”

Clegg turned abruptly on his heel and walked out. Ajay waited until he heard the man's footsteps clang all the way down the circular stairs to the bottom; then he turned on the pager to check Nick's message.

On my way.

Ajay checked his watch, sucked in a deep breath, grabbed his knapsack, and headed for the back elevator. When he reached the foyer, he caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror hanging on the wall and stopped.

“Ajay Janikowski,” said Ajay softly to his image. “I hope you are fully prepared to stare death in the face and, if necessary, spit in its eye.”

The answer to that, Ajay sadly noted, was far from conclusive.

Will slowly took out the dark glasses and put them on after he closed his eyes. When he opened his eyes, he was looking directly at the astrolabe.

The device had appeared inert without the benefit of his lenses, its orbit of overlapping brass loops and rings locked in static positions. Through the glasses, he saw that they were all revolving and rotating independently from one another, but in complex, synchronized patterns. Then a metallic stalk rose up from its center, one of the rings transitioning from a hoop of silver steel into the neck and lethal head of an enormous, metallic serpent. Hooded, like a cobra, with cold, jeweled ruby eyes.

Staring at him. He felt it instantly:

This thing is alive. It's not just a machine; it's one of them, a living device infused with some kind of consciousness from the Other Team.

Will met the thing's eye. He instantly heard thoughts filter into his mind—but not words; rather they were whispers of images, dim and silvery at first, glowing out of the dark, then growing in strength and resolution. He closed his eyes and tried to tune in to what it was sending to him.

Images of the city they'd found, but not the crumbling ruins he'd seen below—this was a thriving community, full of foot traffic and trade; shops, businesses, even a glimpse of the huge cathedral-like building where they'd found the entrance to the passages below. Softly glowing white globes of light suspended in the air above illuminated the scenes like streetlamps.

The creatures inhabiting the city in the vision were all distinctly alien forms, corresponding to the skeletons they'd seen there but displayed here with the variety of size, shape, and coloring you'd expect to find on the streets of any human city. Some were elderly, others clearly children, playing in the streets. No signs of the disorder, violence, or butchery that the vast sacrificial boneyard they'd found beneath the cathedral seemed to suggest was central to their character.

This looked orderly. Socially organized. Prosperous. And the most unexpected word to describe it:

Civilized
.

“What is it showing you, Will?” asked Franklin.

“Something I didn't expect,” said Will.

The moment he spoke, the images faded from his mind, and he found himself eye to eye with the serpent again. But now he could detect a glimmer of life, or intelligence, in its cold bejeweled eye. It was assessing him, trying to penetrate his mind.

Will took the glasses off. He didn't want to think or feel what this thing seemed to be trying to tell him.

We were a people.

He heard Franklin laugh at something again and looked back to see him leaning in toward Abelson, listening.

“Yes, he has a great deal to learn about our friends,” said Franklin. “As did we all once.”

Will closed his mind to that troubling doubt, and the trailing questions it raised, and turned back to his purpose with renewed resolve.

“So this thing is what you found down there,” said Will.

“That's right,” said Franklin. “Hidden in the ruins, concealed from casual eyes. A living artifact that contains the essence of who they are, for whoever might find it. Once we made contact with it, mentally, the emanations slowly led us to its location.”

“So most of what you know about them, you learned from this thing?”

“It's the heart of their gift,” said Franklin, holding the device in a mesmerized gaze. “Once we learned to align ourselves to it. This requires strict mental discipline; you have to sit with it, spend time in its presence. Express your willingness to bond with it and it will slowly make itself known to you. You'll learn all this for yourself, Will, soon enough.”

Will knew exactly what he meant already. Looking at the device, he felt its power even now, reaching out to him, seductive and warm, a pleasant, flattering feeling, like the sight of an old friend's familiar face after a long separation.

“This enabled the Others, with whom we were about to make direct contact, a way to show us who they were and what they had to offer. Dr. Abelson broke through first. He proved particularly adept at amplifying that connection and so he subsequently learned more from them than any of us.”

Abelson nodded a few times, or it might have been a tremor, and the right side of his face twitched slightly. Will realized he might be trying to smile. He even raised his arm a quarter of an inch off the chair and gave Will a halfhearted thumbs-up.

“Why was that?” asked Will.

“Technologically, to this day, the Others remain worlds ahead of us, but they could plainly see that Dr. Joe was the leading scientist in our ranks. So our friends graced him with a series of concepts and ideas so advanced none of the rest of us could even comprehend them. But not Dr. Joe. He alone recognized them as world-changing inspirations. And utilizing the tools of the advanced labs we put together for him, the good doctor began to realize and transform these gifts into the wonders we've enjoyed ever since.”

“Aphotic technology,” said Will.

“Exactly right, Will.”

Will summoned up a dose of innocent, boyish enthusiasm. “I'd really like to see them. Could you show some of these things to me?”

A knowing look passed between Franklin and Dr. Abelson.

“I think we might be able to arrange that,” said Franklin, hiding a smile. “Come with me, son.”

Franklin patted Abelson on the arm and headed for the door. Will followed, stealing a glance back at the ancient basilisk of a man, still as a rock, watching him with that disturbing fixed eye.

“And I'll tell you how we came to learn about the Prophecy,” said Franklin.

Ajay slipped out the side door at the base of the tower. Earlier in the day he had snuck down and disabled the security camera perched on the wall just outside, and he was pleased to see that the cable he'd disconnected hadn't yet been put back into its socket.

Keeping to the cover offered by the trees and lush landscaping, he tried to walk as slowly as he could manage. In case he was discovered, he was prepared to explain to any security personnel who asked that he'd been unable to resist taking a stroll around the island on such a particularly pleasant summer evening.

As long as they don't torture me. I'm fairly certain that I would crumble like a cookie at even the slightest physical discomfort—

The pager in his pocket buzzed, and Ajay jumped about a foot in the air, half landing in some bushes. He looked at the message on the pager:

Waiting.

Ajay snorted in disgust, tempted to respond:
Can't you see I'm doing the absolute best I can, woman?
But he texted back only:

Moments away!

He scrambled to his feet and hurried along the path. As he entered the small graveyard, Ajay caught a glimpse through the trees of a security guard walking nearby. Before he could react, a hand grabbed him by the collar and pulled him behind the hedge around a large stone statue.

Elise shoved him down against the base of the figure. She put a finger to her lips, begging for silence. He nodded. Elise peered around the stone, keyed in on the guard; then, shaping her hands around her mouth like a megaphone, she sent out the sound of an adult's footsteps walking along a gravel path, placing it on the far side of the guard, headed back toward the castle.