The Anathema (32 page)

* * *

Alex couldn’t sleep.

Calling that rare didn’t do it justice, particularly since he’d come to the Academy. Alex had been falling asleep before ten most nights, and woke up only when his alarm clock got insistent about things. Since the attack two days before, he hadn’t been sleeping well, and last night, he’d only gotten a few restless hours before giving up around four in the morning and heading to the gym, hoping to dispel some of the nervous tension that had been plaguing him. While he forced his stiff body through a very abbreviated Yoga routine on the deserted mats, Alex couldn’t help but wonder if Katya had been right, if Rebecca had really been manipulating everyone in the school, and if his current worries were the result of her injury.

He tried not to think any more about that.

Remembering things at random made it even more difficult to rest. Alex would drift part way to sleep, feel his body start to relax, his mind begin to wander... and then he would snap back to attention while a memory emerged from nowhere, blurry and indistinct, the details jumbled and impossible, and he would spend hours worrying over it.

He recalled the ocean, placid as a bathtub, warm as it lapped against his calves. His legs aching from the effort of climbing the foothills behind him, up to his shoulders in bare red Manzanita, the air around him smelling of the sage plants he crushed underfoot. He remembered turning the pages in a very old book, too young to read, sitting on a thick Persian carpet in a library that seemed almost as ancient as the book in front of him, smelling wood polish, coffee, and tobacco. For some reason, in the middle of the night, he remembered that Monarch butterflies return to the same trees along the California coast every year.

For some reason, he realized with a fair amount of surprise and confusion, at one point he had been very concerned with this particular butterfly migration, though he couldn’t imagine why.

None of the memories seemed to hold any special significance. Alex wasn’t sure why a memory of attending a formal dinner party and being confused over the forks had kept him awake a significant portion of last night. Of course, he must have fallen asleep at some point without realizing it, because in a muddled version of the memory, it was a childish but unmistakable Anastasia Martynova who helped him figure out which fork to use, scolding him as she explained. Dream logic caused him to accept this until he woke up in confusion.

The sun was barely up by the time he got to the track. He didn’t even have to run today, but after several weeks of being forced along by Michael, the strangest thing happened – he started to
like
running, just a little bit. He wasn’t fast, not at all, but over long distances, that tended to average out, and it wasn’t like anyone was racing anyway. Moving at a steady jog, he could comfortably cover several miles, and he found himself wanting to, some days, when his head was too weighed down, when he started to feel smothered by all the people and the attention. The track was cold and still damp from the night mist, but not deserted, despite his expectations.

“Good morning, Ms. Aoki,” he called out, descending the row of concrete steps that led down to the track and the playing fields. She looked up from where she sat by the side of the track, damp with sweat, messing with one of her running shoes.

“Alex,” Mitsuru said flatly, not expressing any surprise. “You are up early.”

“I know,” Alex said, stepping on to the track and smiling with forced cheerfulness. “Out of character, right? But I couldn’t seem to stay asleep last night, so, I thought maybe if I went for a run…”

Mitsuru nodded, and started fooling around with the other shoe. She was wearing the same grey t-shirt and red running shorts that the Academy handed out to all of its students, but it looked somehow risqué on her. Alex couldn’t help but notice that it was the first time that he had seen her legs bare, but Mitsuru’s vivid red eyes were too nerve-wracking to risk appreciating, so he actually went out of his way not to look in her direction. This probably meant he was over-thinking it, since she didn’t seem concerned with him at all. He hurried through his warm-ups, eager to get moving, to get away from his former instructor and repeated savior. He’d just about finished when he realized she was just sitting by the side of the track, watching him.

“Do you miss her?” she asked abruptly, her expression offering Alex no clues as to her motivation. He didn’t bother to ask who she meant. No one had talked about much of anything else since the attack, even though no one wanted to talk about it.

“Yeah,” Alex admitted, surprising himself a little. “I guess I do. I didn’t really think that much about it while she was here, but I think I sort of started to rely on our little chats to put things in perspective, you know? She was, like, the most levelheaded person here, and I, I don’t know… I guess I felt like I could trust her.”

“I thought you might,” Mitsuru said enigmatically. “You were her special project, after all. I remember what that felt like.”

Alex was immediately curious, but he let it pass. Not that Mitsuru had ever been reluctant to answer his questions, but her demeanor didn’t normally encourage it, and he wasn’t about to bank that her current mood gave him a free pass.

“She worried, you know,” Mitsuru said, standing up next to him. “About you finding out that she was an Auditor.”

“I see,” Alex said uncomfortably. “I was surprised about that, but I never had a chance to talk to her about it… I mean, I haven’t had one yet.”

“Right,” Mitsuru said, flipping her hair back and adjusting her ponytail. “You were going to do some running, right? I’ll join you. Unless it would be weird, having your former teacher run with you…”

“Not at all,” Alex said, a false, reassuring smile plastered across his face. Internally, a voice cried out that it would, in fact, be very weird, but what could he do?

He shook out his arms, bounced a few times on the balls of his feet, and then fell into the slow-but-steady jog that he preferred anytime Michael wasn’t there to force him to go faster. He was a bit worried that Mitsuru would want to push him the same way, but either she wasn’t as much of a conditioning fanatic or she was distracted by whatever was going on in her elegant and inscrutable head, because she just fell in beside him and let him set the pace, more-or-less. They finished the first few laps in silence. It was the first time in a while that Alex had run without his headphones, and it was weird, how loud his breathing seemed, how loud the sound of his feet on the synthetic track was in the still of the morning.

“Do you like having Miss Gallow as a teacher?” Mitsuru asked, not sounding the least bit out of breath.

“She’s good,” Alex said carefully. Michael liked to talk with him while he ran, too, even claimed that it was an important skill to have, though Alex suspected that he was just chatty. Nonetheless, he could manage a conversation while running, at least for the first few miles, as long as the listener was patient enough to put up with the gaps his breathing created. “But I hate the Program.”

“As much as you hated it when I was in charge?”

He snuck a look over at Mitsuru, looking for signs that this was some sort of trap or setup. He didn’t see anything other than polite disinterest, so he took the risk.

“More,” he admitted. “It’s bad enough having to do those things, but Miss Gallow thinks it’s funny, and that makes it worse…”

To his surprise, Mitsuru gave him a thin but genuine smile.

“That sounds about right,” she said, moving ahead a little, and forcing him to pick up his flagging pace. “That’s the way it was for me, too. And I also hated it.”

“So,” Alex panted, “Miss Gallow was your teacher as well?”

“No,” Mitsuru said, shaking her head, “it was Alistair.”

Alex mulled it over the next quarter-mile.

“Miss Aoki,” he managed, between breaths, “I’ve always – meant to ask – what’s up – with the eyes? Same as – the Director?”

He had braced himself for a bad reaction, but she just laughed, a first, in Alex’s experience.

“I have an implant,” she said, tapping the side of her head, just above her temple. “Two grams of nanomachinery introduced into my brain that spontaneously evolved surgical components and attached itself to my nervous system. The Director has an identical implant.”

“Huh?”

“I have a computer in my brain,” Mitsuru said, rolling her eyes. “The Director does as well. It’s an uplink to the Etheric Network, and from it, we can download data and temporary protocols, and upload information as well.”

“Protocols?” Alex asked, both amazed and out of breath.

“Yes. That was the reasoning behind my implant. You must be aware of the… drawbacks to using Black Protocols. In my case, those consequences were judged too severe to merit using the protocol, so an alternative was devised. Along with seven others, I volunteered for the process. Only the Director and I survived it, and the procedure was banned. We are the only two of our kind, which is unfortunate, because it is very useful device. Such a pity.”

“Director,” Alex wheezed.  “His protocol is black?”

“No. And the Board fought him tooth and nail when he announced his intention to undergo the upgrade. Nevertheless, he designed the procedure, and he wouldn’t let the testing go forward unless he was the first subject. Black Protocols have always worried him excessively. He thought that maybe this would eliminate the need to use them. There was some precedent, actually. There are other ways to perform implants, or any secondary introduction of nanites, which have better survival rates. But the experiment that created us was deemed a failure.”

Alex managed a gasp as a response, but that was all he could do. Miss Aoki seemed to take pity on him, because she didn’t ask anything else while they ran. Alex tried to get into a groove, that place he’d become aware of lately where he stopped noticing anything other than the action of running itself, the obsessive mechanics of movement, but that was proving impossible when running with Miss Aoki. She’d started to stay a little bit ahead of him no matter how fast he went, probably with the intention of pushing him. In a way she was, because the last thing Alex wanted was to be caught staring.

Maybe that was why, somewhere around mile three, his leg cramped up. He limped off the track and tumbled down on to the grass next to it, his right calf in painful knots. Miss Aoki trotted back a moment later, with what might charitably be termed as concern on her face.

“Did you get a cramp?”

“Ow. Yes,” Alex said, kneading it with his knuckles. “Sorry about that. Not sure what happened.”

“Here,” Mitsuru commanded, “give me your leg.”

She snatched his leg and pulled it taut; ignoring his pained expression, and then leaned on it gradually. Alex tensed for tremendous pain, but there was none, just a gentle, facilitated stretching. After a minute or so, she slowly changed directions, so that she was pulling, rather than leaning on it, but that didn’t feel bad either. The pain subsided a few minutes later, and with some coaxing from Miss Aoki, the muscle finally ceased its spasms. Alex stood up carefully, testing his leg to see if it would take his weight. He had a bit of a limp, but he was otherwise fine.

“Thanks, Miss Aoki,” he said hurriedly. She seemed to be ignoring him, staring off into space with a peculiar intensity. “I think that’s it for me this morning. I’m going to head for the showers, okay?”

She gave him a bit of a nod, so he shrugged and headed for the locker room, perhaps a bit too eagerly, but Miss Aoki didn’t pay him any attention.

If Alex had stayed a bit longer, he might have seen Mitsuru staring at the inside of her arm intensely for several moments, as if lost in thought, and then, slowly, raise her hand and drag the jagged edge of one fingernail sideways, across the soft skin below the elbow, until she pierced it. He would have needed to be very close to see the blood seep out, first one small drop, then a moment later, another.

He probably wouldn’t have noticed that while the first drop hit the grass, the second did not. Instead, it formed a perfect sphere midway to the ground, and then it reversed itself, floating back up until Mitsuru caught it in her hand, something indefinable, between happiness and fear on her face, as she examined the bloody smear across her palm.