The Anathema (20 page)

Then something Katya had said belated clicked in his mind. He leaned forward, across the empty row of chairs in front of him.

“Hey, Anastasia. You’re Chinese?”

“Alex!” Emily scolded, shocked. He looked back at her innocently; he genuinely hadn’t meant anything by it.

Anastasia answered without turning her head, sounding bored, but not offended.

“In part. My grandmother’s maiden name was Teng. Honestly, Alex. Does the phrase ‘Black Sun’ sound at all Russian to you? Cartels change over time, like living things - they join, split, and evolve. The Black Sun was originally a humble Triad from Macau mainly involved in smuggling cigarettes. After World War II, they aligned a number of their businesses ventures with a Russian political dynasty dating back to the Czars, culminating in an arranged marriage.” Anastasia shook her head slightly, as if she pitied him. “Nationalities don’t mean a great deal in Central.”

“You replace countries with cartels, and then you want to act like I’m stupid for not getting it?” Alex demanded, pulling his arm away when he felt Emily tugging at his sleeve.

“Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Alex?” Mr. Windsor asked, looking as amused and benevolent as he always did. “What I could hear of your discussion sounded surprisingly political, given your avowed disinterest in all such things. Care to elaborate further on your thoughts?”

Alex sat down hard, making stinging contact with the molded plastic of his chair. He tried to think of an answer that wouldn’t leave him in deeper trouble than he had already managed to get himself into this morning. Then, with a self-satisfied grin, Anastasia saved him. Again.

“Alex was trying to understand the rationale for the existence of the cartels,” Anastasia said smoothly.

“Ah! An excellent topic. Tell me, Miss Martynova, how would you have answered him, had I not interrupted you?”

Anastasia folded her hands neatly on her desk, her eyes turned demurely down at the notebook in front of her. Emily snuck her hand back onto Alex’s knee, and he let it stay there. He felt that he needed all the reassurance he could get.

“Two reasons. The most obvious, and pressing, is money. Central needs food, fuel, machinery and everything else that it cannot make itself, enough for a small city, every day. A single cartel’s operations can involve hundreds or even thousands of people, who need to be housed, fed, and compensated. A presence must be maintained wherever cartel interests are based, as well as maintaining some form of representation in Central. A Field office, transportation, personnel, equipment… all of this has to be paid for. The cartels do the business that pays for everything, the entirety of this quiet war; every bite of food, every comfort, every necessity.”

“What is it that they do?” Alex demanded, interrupting. “Where does all of this money come from?” The class turned to face him in a sort of group slow motion that made him sweat and his face stiffen. “What, I’m not supposed to ask?”

“Alex!” Emily said, grabbing his arm. “Please stop!”

“Now, there is no need…” Mr. Windsor began in a consolatory tone.

Alex sat back, torn by rapidly shifting impulses; a sort of uneasy guilt that suddenly that blunted the anger that had been white-hot a moment before. Neither emotion prevailed, so he simply sat there with his mouth hanging open.

“Finance, transportation and security are primary cartel revenue sources, though that is hardly the extent of it. We make funds available that otherwise would not be, to people who might have trouble borrowing through more established channels. We move things from place to place, cargo that would be impossible to move otherwise. Naturally, some of these things are illegal. Sometimes, these things are people,” Anastasia said, looking calmly back at Alex, her eyes clear and unclouded, her tone chilly and academic. “The security work is more nebulous and varied. But in virtually constant and universal demand.”

“Smugglers and mercenaries, then, right?” Alex asked in disbelief. “That’s what the cartels are?”

“No. We are soldiers fighting a war, a war for our survival, for all of us. The industries I discussed, that is how the bills are paid. This is what you wanted to know, correct?” Anastasia asked, sounding unimpressed. “Or are you more comfortable not knowing the hard truths about where your dinner comes from?”

“You mentioned another reason that cartels are necessary, Anastasia?” Mr. Windsor prompted, the only person in the classroom that seemed wholeheartedly pleased by the scene.

Anastasia turned away from Alex and assumed her previous pose before continuing, her eyes downcast. Alex could hear the resentment in her voice; he marveled at it.

“Self-protection. There are at least two people in this class capable of killing everyone else here, simply by thinking about it. Does that scare you? It should. It is a terrifying reality to live in. Think about it – there are people sitting next to you right now, fully able to kill you with their brain because they were turned down for a date, or did poorly on a test. How long do you think the human race would survive under circumstances such as these? Our threshold for destructiveness far exceeds our threshold for defense.” Anastasia shrugged sadly. “If not for the cartels, the strong would be able to prey on the weak freely. That becomes a serious problem when some of the strong are telepaths or empaths who can quite literally control minds. The cartels allow the weak leverage, Alex. Unity and numbers balance out individual power. The cartels are not an imposition. They are a means of survival when our very nature conspires against it.”

Alex wanted to respond, but he knew that he would only embarrass himself further, so he sat there and fumed while Mr. Windsor prodded the class into a discussion of the issues that had been raised, in a more organized manner. Emily patted his arm soothingly while he raged impotently against the back of Anastasia’s head.

Then he saw Eerie sitting on the other side of the room, an alarmingly green lollypop in one hand, and no expression whatsoever on her face. She noticed him and looked away before he could pull his hand from Emily’s grasp. Despite Alex’s best efforts to catch her eye, Eerie stared up at the bullet points that Mr. Windsor had projected on the hanging screen, never again looking in his direction for the duration of the class.

* * *

“I have a feeling we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, Alexander. Would you mind if we join you for lunch?”

Alex gave up watching the door to the cafeteria resignedly. Eerie had managed to slip out of the classroom before he had a chance to try to talk to her, and it was obvious by now that she wasn’t going to show for lunch, which made him look like a total idiot for insisting on sitting by himself. He had been considering looking for Eerie at the vending machine – it sold candy, after all – but now he didn’t think he was going to get a chance. He reluctantly motioned for the three of them to sit.

They were an awkward bunch – the plump girl named Hope, who appeared friendly and cheerful, flanked by the dour Grigori and the decidedly aloof Chandi. Hope had a salad on her tray. Chandi had orange juice and a bagel. Grigori had nothing at all, and kept his hands folded across his chest the entire time.

“It’s too bad, really, that you had to arrive when you did, since we were all in field study at the time.” The way Hope said it made it sound as if it really did bother her on a personal level. Alex got immediately suspicious, thinking through a few things Rebecca had told him. “The precognitives made a terrible error.”

“Anastasia Martynova probably had something to do with that,” Chandi offered coolly.

“That is a tragedy,” Alex said sourly, picking disinterestedly at a breaded chicken breast that was overcooked and unappetizing. “You’re an empath, right, Hope?”

“Yes, I am,” Hope acknowledged. “How did you guess?”

“I’m not much for people, but you are immediately likable. That’s a dead give-away,” Alex said. “I don’t appreciate it much.”

“So sorry,” Hope clucked, picking through her salad with a methodical determination. Alex watched, fascinated with the process. He couldn’t help but wonder what ingredient merited such a patient search. “I don’t do it deliberately. I can’t help it if people like me. It’s in my nature as an empath. But Emily should have explained all of this to you by now.”

“Look, I’m really not in the mood,” Alex snapped, tossing his fork onto a plate littered with side dishes he’d picked at without enthusiasm. “If you’ve got something to say, Hope, then say it. I don’t have the energy for all this cloak-and-dagger nonsense. Just tell me what it is that you want.”

“Would Anastasia Martynova do that for you?” Hope asked, stabbing a particularly large cherry tomato with her fork. Alex felt let down by her anti-climactic selection.

“That is probably her only good quality,” Alex conceded. “Anastasia is frank.”

“Well, then, I will endeavor to be so as well,” Hope said. “Your behavior of late, as I am sure you realize, is alarming to my friends and I. We have been informed of events in our absence, obviously, but some of the reports appear to be… erroneous. To be, as you desire, frank, we believe that we have been misled. Further, it seems obvious from recent events and our own brief time here that your life is already entangled with Anastasia Martynova, perhaps unavoidably. Chandi here wants to give Emily another, brief chance. Grigori believes you lost already, to the Black Sun or to that bizarre changeling. He wants us to take appropriate action. I have my opinions, which are not particularly positive regarding your friend Emily and her veracity. Was that frank enough?”

“Yes,” Alex said meekly.

“And? What do you think of all this?” Hope finally took a bite, one small nibble from the miniature tomato, her eyes placid, almost bovine in satisfaction. “What do you think I should do about you, Alex? Is there something that I’ve gotten wrong?”

Alex took a bite of mashed potatoes to buy himself time. It was a transparent gesture, and he knew it, but he genuinely didn’t know what to say. Then he had a flash of inspiration. Alex was thinking of one Michael’s little talks on Aikido, about how any situation could inverted with the proper application of force and control, how advantage was merely a matter of perception.

“Here’s what you’re going to do,” Alex said firmly. “You are going to stop jerking Emily around. She stays in the Academy until she graduates, no matter what happens. And Eerie, who is not what you are thinking she is, whatever it is that you are thinking, you leave alone. If you want to have any chance of recruiting me, any chance of having me hear you out, then you will promise me these things. If they do not happen then I will march my ass straight over to Anastasia and volunteer. You understand me?”

Alex was trying very hard to imagine himself as the kind of person who said things like this. He was trying very hard to sound not confident but rather nonchalant, as if he didn’t really care about their response, as if the outcome was never in doubt. He didn’t even notice Emily standing behind him, not daring to touch him, but hovering as close as was possible.

“Well, Alex, that sounds a great deal like you want us to do you a favor,” Hope said indulgently. “Which, I might add, we are more than happy to do. But, if you would,” Hope said, nodding at him pleasantly, “remember that we’ve done this for you.”

“Yeah,” Alex said uncertainly as they stood up in rough unison, Hope nodding at him again and Grigori glaring suspiciously, before they left for another table far across the cafeteria, where groups of students having lunch screened them from him.

Emily walked forward and reached for him tentatively.

“Alex,” she said softly, her fingertips on the back of his neck. “I don’t think you should have done that.”

* * *

“I didn’t expect you to come here,” Gaul said. His tone was civil, he felt, given the circumstances. Anastasia Martynova was not the most welcome guest, particularly when she announced her intentions in advance and arrived in state, trailing Renton and Timor, both of whom sat patiently in his puzzled secretary’s room. “At least, not so openly.”

“It seemed important to me that this visit be on the record. I need a favor from you, Director, and I need it done so that everyone knows about it.”