Spark Rising (4 page)

“I’m tired, Lucas. Councilor’s aide named Danny. Well-placed family—not the kind you go throwing accusations at, and I’m not in the mood for games. You’re holding back his dead sister’s papers. If you think they’re relevant, give them to me.”

Lucas allowed a smirk to stretch across his thin face, pulling the skin around his eyes down. He produced the folded papers with a flourish. Alex took them.

He dimly remembered seeing them before. The first was a Certificate of Live Birth. Same parents. Daughter, Magdalena Elizabeth Gracey. He checked the date. Almost twenty-five years ago. Magdalena. Lena. He unfolded the death certificate dated five years after her birth, shortly after she’d started her Testing Year. His eyes narrowed.

Alex had seen the file twice before. Once, ten years before, he had done a check on Junior Aide Daniel Gracey when he’d signaled his intention to follow his father’s footsteps in service to the Councilor. And before that, as a young agent brimming with suspicion, he’d pulled this file shortly after the child’s death. He and Thomas had been investigating every girl who had died or disappeared during the Testing Year. They both suspected the Council abducted highly powered little girls. Alex remembered he’d found nothing amiss, just the grieving family of a Councilor’s Aide.

Her parents hadn’t just held onto Lena, they had buried her. Somehow, they had managed to fake her death and hide her away from the Council. Alex had missed it. He’d screwed up.

And now Lucas had information on her family, information he’d use to draw her to the Council. Alex couldn’t allow that to happen. He and Thomas hadn’t been able to find any of the missing girls over decades, couldn’t prove the Council had them, let alone what they were doing with them. This time, it would be different. The Council couldn’t have Lena.

Alex nodded at the younger agent, thinking fast. He had to buy time. He turned back to the file, flipping through. “Bring the sister in. She has a child, so she has the most to lose.” He closed his eyes, thinking. “Bring little Joseph in, too. Put her in interview room six and park him right outside on a chair. Make sure she sits where she can see him.” He smiled thinly. It would serve to get Danny’s attention, as well. No more secrets.

Lucas’s brows were bunched. “Not the brother? But he’s the contact.”

Alex said nothing. He handed the file back to Lucas.

“Not the brother?” Lucas asked again.

Alex had known he would, and with the hard edge to his voice indicating he knew Alex made him wait on purpose. It was a little game they liked to play. Well, Alex liked to play it, anyway.

“Okay. Not the brother,” Lucas said. “You want me to bring the sister in now?”

Alex looked at the floor. He really needed to discuss how best to proceed with Thomas. Bring her in and keep her safe here while Alex worked on convincing her to join them? Or disappear her to Fort Nevada and worry about convincing her later?

“You know what? No,” he said to Lucas, “we’ll go get the sister tomorrow, after a morning strategy meeting. We’ll pick her up at work. Get the boy from school. Make sure she sees we’ve brought him in, too. We can go together after we’ve hammered out our approach and questions first thing in the morning.”

Lucas laughed. “You are a bastard, Alex. I like it. I’ll have a team ready for when she cracks.”

“Whoa. Hold on, cowboy.” He shook his head, raising one finger up and shaking it back and forth. “Overconfidence is as bad as ineptitude.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Lucas’s smile vanished. The camaraderie went with it.

“It means slow down,” Alex said.

“Slow down?” Lucas waved his arm at the window, seeming to indicate Lena, far off in the desert. “Think about what she can do. She’s what the Council’s been looking for. Besides, do you have any idea what a Neo-barb could do with that kind of power under his control?” Lucas was obsessed with the mostly nomadic people who lived independently of the Relo-Cities. The Council referred to them as new barbarians due to the quality of lives outside of civilization.

“She’s not going to take up with a Neo-barb.” Alex’s voice held all the withering disdain he felt for the idea. “And even if you get a positive ID on her, you can’t ride into Kewa country and snatch her. We already did this your way once, too fast, too soon, too hard. It’s time for the Reyes way. Be patient. Be subtle. Let the woman come to you, Lucas. C’mon, man. You’re making me think you haven’t played the game before.”

The muscle in Lucas’s jaw twitched in fast-time. “I take it I’m no longer lead on this?”

“Oh, no, you’re still the lead.” The ink was dry on his reports. He gathered them up and neatly stacked them, setting them inside the top drawer of his desk. “But I’m still your senior. So come find me in the morning. We’ll plan out a proper interrogation—together—and then you can go lead it.” He stood, ignoring the ugly flush creeping across Lucas’s cheeks, and leaned across to tamp out the candles with his fingers. “That’s about it for tonight. Get some rest. It’s been a helluva day.”

Alex crossed to the hook on the wall where an old wire hanger held his black wool coat. He opened the door and held it for Lucas.

Lucas preceded him out but turned left instead of right, mumbling something about working on his interview questions for the morning. He continued down the hall to the big, open room where the junior agents shared desk space. Alex locked his office and pulled his coat on as he made his way through the hallways, down four flights of stairs, and through the locking security doors to the ground level exit at the rear of the building.

He stepped into the cold night, clamping his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. He’d been born and spent the first five years of his life in the east coast’s Zone One before being shipped across the country by electric car, steam-powered train, and then wagon train to the Ward School. In the decades of training there and after his assignment here, he’d never gotten used to the high desert temperature shifts. It had been a warm spring day, breezy but enjoyable. Now, even with his thin wool coat, his body hunched against the cold. His breath fanned out in front of him.

Alex shrugged deeper into his jacket, tugging it around himself and fastening the buttons before shoving his hands into the pockets. He glanced up and down the road to be sure there weren’t any horses or bicycles to be wary of, but no one else was out, so he bowed his head against the cold. He walked the two blocks home quickly. At his gate, he flipped the latch, letting himself into the small communal patio. He’d lived in the same lower level unit of a block of four for well over a decade.

All of the apartments faced out onto the little plaza. He could see the warm, hazy glow of a candle moving behind one of the windows of unit D. Either the Quiroz family meant to conserve as they headed into the end of the month, or they had used up their charge allotment for this pay period. Rough. No lights, no heat, no hot water, and no way to cook except in the communal horno here on the patio. He passed the huge, hive-shaped oven as he crossed the plaza, and the heat still radiating from its use at dinner warmed him.

He entered his dark apartment, not bothering to light a candle. He moved through to his bedroom by memory, crossing to the small closet to change into a warmer shirt. He shrugged back into his jacket then slid the small chest in the corner toward him.

As designed, it pulled the carpet back as it slipped out, revealing a trap door. An electric lock held it closed. He focused briefly, and the Dust stirred to life, cycling the lock open. He pulled up, spun around, and backed down the short ladder into the dark opening, leaning out to pull the chest and door back into place as he descended.

He followed the low, sloping tunnel that was his frequent route below the city walls. It emptied into a narrow branch of canyon outside. Once he reached the end of it, the top opened up again into a small vestibule barely wide enough to accommodate his shoulders, but six and a half feet in height. He gratefully stood and leaned to use the eyepiece of the tiny, real-time camera mounted just below eye-level, manually swiveling it to give him a view of the hatch and the surrounding canyon.

All clear. He took up the rare night vision goggles he’d brought from Fort Nevada and slipped them onto his head, then left the security of the tunnel. He moved quickly through the cover of canyons and arroyos that hid him all the way to the edge of old town, the largely crumbled ruins of what had been Los Alamos.

This close in to Azcon, the houses and businesses had been long-since stripped of any usable materials, right down to pulling the wiring from the walls. In the post-Industrial world, where the most basic products were again hand-made, everything was valuable. He entered a dilapidated former restaurant with one wall crumbled away and the roof partially collapsed after some long-ago fire. Tumbleweeds climbed the wall opposite the openings, trembling in the slight breeze.

In the back, he levered his body through an opening that had probably once been covered by a grate then walked easily through the sub-level drain to where it joined a larger pipe. He crossed to a sealed door. The faded scrapes and gouges that spoke of attempts to force it open always amused him. He worked through the security by memory—security box and code, hidden tube with a lens for his eye, and a quick green pulse of light. He keyed the code to reseal tube and box and waited.

He didn’t doubt he’d be granted access. He was one of the few in Council Zone Three who even knew of the existence of the ancient train. Those who did know had graduated from the Ward School in the last twenty years. To a man, they gave their loyalty to Alex and Thomas, not the Council.

Locks at various levels cycled, and the metal hissed open, extending from the wall a few inches. In moments, he’d entered the controlled environment on the other side, nose twitching at the flat, stale smell of the air, and hauled the door closed again. As the edge of it engaged, it pulled itself back in and recycled through the locks, sealing him in.

He cycled on the lights and left the goggles for his return, then jogged down three levels of metal steps to reach the locomotive of the old mag-lev train. It had long since been disengaged from the passenger cars. Whatever the cars had been used for by the old military before the collapse, the need to transport so many people through the secret tunnels had died with them.

He stepped into the cab and crossed to the controls. After a brief pause to power up and run a check, he pulled it away from the platform. It moved slowly at first then built speed through the deep tunnel. A trip that might take him weeks by horseback had been cut to half an hour.

Chapter 4

Alex stepped off the mag-train in a station very different from the abandoned, hidden base he’d left behind. Likely nowhere near what it must have been during its heyday of military industrialization, Fort Nevada was nonetheless busy. The lights shone permanently, and the air cycled continuously, as all of the students at Fort Nevada took a turn in the power stations.

Alex strode across the metal platform and then down the short staircase. He exchanged a brief greeting with a young agent whose hands were deep inside a metal-plated control panel. Down here at the train level, a handful of Ward School graduated agents worked maintenance and inspected the lines and wires.

Both students and agents were required to have the knowledge and ability to maintain the infrastructure of civilization. They expected the young, highly powered Wards that came through be infused with a sense of responsibility not only to what was left of society, but also to themselves. Sparks should no longer be tools in the hands of others, and part of claiming the role they deserved meant ensuring Sparks weren’t rendered obsolete.

As Alex made his way toward the elevators, the duty officer appeared at his shoulder.

“Good evening, sir.”

The duty officer was a serious-faced young man whom Alex didn’t recognize. Once upon a time, Alex knew them all. Now he spent the majority of each year in Azcon.

“Good evening.” Tired and hungry, he kept moving.

The officer stayed apace next to him.

“I have a report for Councilor Five. I’ll be in the mess until he’s available.”

The officer nodded his understanding and peeled off, heading for his desk. He’d send a messenger up to Thomas’s offices. When Thomas wanted him, they’d send someone down to the mess to bring him up.

This was standard procedure on the nights when Alex came in unexpectedly via the train. The Council had long-since regretfully written off the tunnels and the trains, sealing off access points. Thomas had made reopening them for possible use against the Council a priority. It had taken decades to refurbish the mag-trains and the western tunnels, but it had been worth it. They still pushed east through tunnels they’d found and followed, exploring to see how far the old secret network had gone. The trains made everything easier, especially getting in to discuss critical new information.

Alex rode the elevator to the eighteenth floor and crossed the hall to the wide-open cafeteria. Out of consideration for those who worked the overnight shift, the cafeteria remained open twenty-four hours a day. At this hour, the hall remained uncrowded and hushed but brightly lit.

He picked up a tray and cruised through the empty line, choosing foods not available in Azcon. Every zone sent quarterly support to the Ward School, participating in the care and feeding of their future Council Agents as they trained. The Ward School always had goods you couldn’t get in every zone. Alex added two rolls to his tray and debated taking another.

Bread was hard to come by in Azcon, as the Councilor chose to trade the Zone’s valuable honey and pecans for other items. Wheat wasn’t a priority for Councilor Three when his people could make do with mesquite flour. A terrible decision. The flatbreads made with the mesquite flour alternative never cooked right—the center stayed wet and mushy like pudding.

Alex sat, tore off a hunk of a wheat roll, and dipped it into the gravy. When he pulled off a bite with his teeth, he savored the chewy pull of the bread. A long sigh of pleasure slipped free.

A young man sitting a table away turned his attention from the maps and papers spread in front of him to Alex. He had dark, kinky hair cut close to his skull. His narrow dark eyes were crinkled at the edges in laughter while the rest of his long face spoke of bemused interest. He looked to be about twenty-four years old, so likely in or near his final year.

Alex raised his brows.

Caught, the young man dropped his head for a moment as he laughed wryly. “I apologize, sir.” He gestured with his chin to Alex’s half-empty plate. “I guess it’s been awhile, sir?”

Alex glanced down at his plate. He’d been appreciating his meal at great speed. He shook his fork at the young man with mock severity. “Just wait until you’ve been out in the world enjoying regional delicacies. We’ll see how much you look forward to reporting home so you can have some real food.”

The young man barked a laugh. “Yes, sir. With all due respect to my instructors, I cannot wait, sir.”

Alex smiled, remembering his own impatience. He nodded. “I know. I remember.” He swallowed down another bite. “What’s your name?”

He straightened in his seat when he answered. “Senior Ward Jackson Lee. First Class.”

“Relax, son. And ease off the ‘sirs’.” He sopped up the last of the gravy with the last of the bread.

“Yes, sir.”

He snorted. “Uh huh. I remember that, too.” He pushed his plate away and sighed in pleasure again. “Senior, First Class, huh? You’re almost done.” Alex glanced at the maps and papers spread across the table. “Working on your out routes?”

In addition to the official graduation requirements set by the Council of Nine, he and Thomas imposed another final project. All Senior Wards had to create and defend three routes out of every Zone, including food and water resources, analysis of the local topography, and how local flora and fauna could be used as tools or weapons. If the panel of evaluating agents deemed more than two of the routes the Ward presented unviable, the Ward got scrubbed and repeated the year, regardless of his talent as a Spark. No graduation. No assignment as a Council Agent out in the world.

Jackson rubbed the top of his head with both hands as he looked down at the maps and nodded. “Yes, sir. I present tomorrow, sir.”

“I don’t need to tell you to take it seriously, but take it seriously. It’s not just your ticket out of here, but it may save your ass someday.” Reyes’s own out route project had been unofficial, done to relieve the tedium of their last months at a Ward School still controlled by the Council of Nine. Now, the Council only thought they were in control of the critical school, tasked with training the strongest of the Sparks into the Council’s elite Senior Agents. It was very much a mistaken belief.

Jackson’s face lit up. “Yes, sir!” The prospect of seeing enough action that his ass might need saving clearly excited him.

Alex remembered that, too. He grinned, in spite of himself. It still was.

The muffled sound of boots on flooring approached from behind him. He turned. A lower ranked Fort Nevada security officer greeted him with a crisp nod and started pulling to attention.

Alex waved him down. “Is he ready for me?”

“Yes, Councilor Five is ready to see you now, Agent Reyes. If you’ll follow me?”

Alex nodded. He winked at Jackson Lee as he rounded the table to follow the man out. “Good luck, Senior Ward Lee. Make sure you cover your ass from every possible angle, and you’ll be fine.”

He dumped his plate and utensils in the appropriate alcove and followed the security officer out. Instead of continuing straight onto the elevator as they left the cafeteria, the officer turned right and led him into the warren of hallways on the eighteenth level.

Before they got there, he figured out they were heading to the gym, a path he remembered well from his years at the Ward School. Most of the time he’d spent there had been in the company of the man waiting for him. Their brilliant leader had once been an eighty pound weakling who came to the school late, at age thirteen instead of five. He had been the strongest Spark at the school, for sure, but as physically unimpressive as a young man could be. Alex, whose favorite part of every year had always been the six months spent boxing, was already bigger, stronger, and faster than the other boys of their class. He had seen Thomas’s potential. He’d defended him. Then he’d taken him under his wing and trained him.

The wiry, leanly muscled man currently hitting his gloved hands in rapid succession against one of the sand-filled canvas bags in the corner had clearly taken that training to heart. Alex strolled across the gym, his gaze darting over the Councilor to check his form, but he had nothing to critique. His friend was a weakling no more. He wasn’t an underdog anymore, either.

Somewhere along the line, their relationship had shifted. As they’d become friends, they’d become equals, then partners, with Thomas running their nascent empire and Alex handling the expansion of it in the field. Their roles fit their gifts. It was the best way to achieve the goals they’d hammered out together as young men.

The Councilor’s familiar pale eyes were small over a hawkish nose, and the old scar where he’d cut away the slaver’s brand was a flat, shiny patch under his right eye. His piercing gaze flicked out. “Alex.” It was all the greeting he’d get.

“Thom.” Amused, Alex mimicked his friend and partner.

Thomas’s lips turned up on one side. “So?” He grunted, fists still pounding the bag.

“Sooooo…” Alex dragged out the word. “Remember your theory about how the strongest Sparks, if left to their own devices and totally untrained, will come up with new ways to do things? Will even make themselves stronger? Kind of like…oh yeah, kind of like
you
?”

“I do.” The pace of his hits slowed as he listened, but not the force. “You found one?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Thomas’s quirked lips grew into a smile. “How strong is he?”

Alex waited a beat, drawing out the moment. He’d only get to do this once. “
She
is the brightest thing I’ve ever seen. Her bloom was so bright it hurt to look at it, and she was still fully functional.”

His friend stilled, one hand poised for a blow that didn’t fall. “
She
?”

Alex could almost hear the click as the final piece of Thomas’s grand plan fell neatly into place, making the largest, most theoretical of his ideas a reality.

His arms fell to his sides. He turned to Alex. “Tell me.”

“Do you remember Three’s Senior Councilor Aide, name of Gracey?” Alex asked. “Caught being curious about things he had no need to know? She’s his daughter.”

Thomas frowned his disagreement with a slight shake of his head. Unlike Alex, who had to use mnemonic devices to keep track of information, Thomas could flip through memories like file folders. “Gracey had a daughter and a son. The daughter’s just a mid-level. Like all girls.” His voice was disappointed.

Natural women and men had a roughly twenty-five percent chance of parenting a powered child. Add in a powered father, and the rate rose to fifty-fifty, but the children were always mid-level strength or lower. Powered women always produced Spark children. However, mid-level powered woman had an almost thirty percent chance of producing the coveted highly powered Spark, although those children were always male; with a highly-powered father, the rate rose to almost fifty percent.

The official story said every female born with power was naturally limited to mid-level or lower. Thus far, the records supported the story. At some point, it was widely believed, a hiccup in nature would produce highly powered girls. Since female Sparks bred true, they would produce only high-powered children. If one of these theoretical females produced children with a high-powered male, the possibilities for their children, and for the future of Sparks, were limitless.

There were communities—Neo-barb run—that patched together hydroelectric power or made do with windmills built from scavenged materials. But the Council had invested in humans they could control since the beginning. Their obsession with finding any such girls had been growing over the last half-century, a response to fear of hypothetical children strong enough to resist the growing restraints on Sparks. If they lost control, they lost power—literally and figuratively.

Thomas, of course, was obsessed for the same reason. The girls were the key to the long-range goals of Fort Nevada’s move toward revolution. He saw the children born of such high-powered women as the future of free Sparks.

He believed the Council was spiriting away girls as they were found to be highly powered, before even their parents were fully aware of the magnitude of their difference. They hadn’t been able to discover to where or by whom yet—the occurrences were too unpredictable. Now they’d found one that had escaped that fate.

“He had another daughter. He faked her death. He hid her away, which may explain his varied interests.” Alex took a breath. “After his death, as soon as she was old enough, she left the city. She’s been living on the edge of tribal lands and working as a black market Spark. That’s how we found her. We heard rumors and put ourselves on her schedule so we could bring her in.” His voice turned mocking. “Can’t have any Sparks not pulling their weight for the good of the Council, now can we?” He shook his head. “Imagine my surprise when we pulled up and she had a corona around her like the sun at full eclipse. Like I said, it hurt to look at her.

“It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said. Emotion tightened his throat, and he swallowed to clear it. It had been beautiful, but still. Clearly, Thomas’s obsession had wormed into his psyche and latched onto Lena. He crossed his arms and continued. “And it was only the beginning.”