The Wraith's Story (BRIGAND Book 1) (3 page)

82 sat down next to me on the gray bench seat and stared at her hands. I watched as a thin stream of spittle fell out of her slack lips. It formed a little pool on her right hand. She didn't wipe it away. She did nothing. I waited for the soft warning to beep on her suit but no sound emerged.

I knew it wasn't polite to engage in conversation when she hadn't offered any cues that she wished to interact with me, but suddenly I was alarmed — calmly of course.

"82." I whispered.

She stared unblinking at her hands.

"82, what happened?" Urgency hovered just under my voice.

Still nothing. More saliva dripped out of her mouth.

I gently placed my hand on her forearm.

She screamed.

I spoke reflexive words of apology, but she launched her body at me. We spilled to the floor, a tangle of narrow, gray-covered legs and arms. Her blonde hair fell forward over her face, forming a veil around my head. My view constrained to just her face and the small drops of spit that sprayed down at me.

"Don't you do it!" She yelled over and over.

Her hands wrapped like claws around my neck. I pulled at them with my own, allowing my blood pressure to rise in the hope that someone would come for us. I didn't want to hurt her.

"You'll change!" She cried.

Her wails took on a breathy wheeze and her lips pulled back over her teeth.

I was about to curl my legs up over, around her head, and launch her off of me when The Bishop and a nurse rushed in. He grabbed 82 around the waist to lift her off of me while the nurse went to her hands that were still wrapped around my throat, strangling me.

After a moment of struggle, the nurse finally slapped her with an injector and 82 went limp. They brought in a float-litter, strapped her in place and carted her out. As they left, I could hear her mumbling, "They change you … They swirl and they melt." Tiny spit bubbles formed at the corners of her mouth as she spoke.

The nurse strapped a blindfold securely in place. A Wraith's ultimate undoing. Without her sight, unable to see the pockets, 82 might as well be chained in a cage of steel.

The Bishop had me placed in a solitary containment cell. The door closed. Locked. There's only one thing Wraiths hate more than not being able to see and that's small confined spaces. I had to be able to see somewhere else to travel.

There was a small chair. I pushed it over to the door. Luckily, The Bishop had put me in a room with a slit window above the door. It was made from something thick and indestructible, but I could see through it. I peered out.

I watched him talk to the nurse, the one with light brown hair. The door was soundproof, but I could read their lips so well that it was as good as standing next to them. I couldn't see the nurse very well with her back turned to me. Then The Bishop placed his hands on her shoulders and slowly, deliberately, pulled her body to him — a hug I thought — but then he turned her slightly so her back was pressed against him and he whispered in her ear.

I could their see both of their mouths.

Bishop: "You need to recalibrate. Don't use TRIG on her until you check the system. Something's wrong."

Nurse: "I checked it. Everything was fine. I don't know what happened."

Bishop: "Neither do I, but do you want to explain two consecutive smoke-outs to the Consiglio?"

Nurse, obviously agitated: "You know it happens sometimes. The process has risks. There are casualties."

Bishop: "I know that. But not her – not 11."

Nurse: Lips pursed and angry. "That's all you care about –  the Prodigy? The brat? Do I have to remind you that
I'm
the one who helped you? It was me who changed your map so they wouldn't see and – "

Bishop: relaxing his face muscles, clearly using his training. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. I owe you everything. You can do her tomorrow after we recalibrate. Okay? Just wait until I'm not here. Please."

Nurse: "Where are you going tomorrow?"

Bishop: "I just won't be here."

He placed his hands on her forearms again and leaned in to her ear. "Let me make it up to you."

I couldn't see the nurse's full expression but that neck artery thumped so forcefully under her ear lobe that I swore I could hear it. Her eyes closed and a smile, genuine, full and forbidden in the Templum, spread across her face. She rose up on her toes and pressed her body against his. "Where?"

Bishop: "Let me take her back to her room. The cell will be empty…" He smiled but it looked unnatural on his face. I tried to understand what made his smile different then I realized that his eyes were hard. Usually they were soft with a faint sparkle.

The nurse turned to nuzzle her cheek against his chest. Submission? Accord? The expression on her face seemed so contradictory; simultaneously serene and excited. Then she glanced in my direction. I dropped below the window before she saw me, jumped off the chair, and pushed it away from the door.

The Bishop entered seconds later. He took my arm and said, a bit too loudly, "Now, now… Don't be afraid and don't try to run. I've got you."

He gently pulled me from the room and led me back to Corridor B. I dared not look up to question him. His fingers remained clasped around my forearm. I knew he would not hurt me, but I had never been touched, so deliberately, for such an extended period of time. I concentrated so hard on keeping my pulse even that it took me a few seconds to realize that he was tapping his finger against the inside of my wrist.

Then I remembered the sheets he slipped me once about Morse code. It was an ancient, primitive code — childish. It only took me an hour to learn it all. I hadn't practiced it much since I was three, but that's what it was.

TRIG RM HIDDEN MSG. MAP. USE PCKTS. BOX 4 U 1480 LIFT SEED WAY. CUTTER.

My exit plan.

He tapped the entire message so quickly I couldn't be sure I had it all, but there was no way to ask. We arrived at my room and he pushed me inside. I listened for the click of the lock and heard nothing.

The other girls in our corridor had already been cleared to the Chancery. I was alone and wasted no time. As soon as he was gone I grabbed my skull cap and pulled it on tight, way down low over my eyebrows. I stared at the gray wall and adjusted my iris colors to match their tone. Then I slipped out of the room and back down the hall. I made no sound. I settled my breathing to mimic relaxation — blood pressure low; heart rate steady.

I retraced our steps to the room marked T.R.I.G. The Bishop and the nurse were in the confinement cell I had just vacated. The door was ajar ever so slightly and, despite the obvious risk, I couldn't help myself. I peeked in for just the briefest second and saw his hands on her body. Over her breasts. I had no idea what he intended to do to her. She squirmed, but didn't resist in any way
I
had ever studied.

Instead of pushing him away, she groped him closer, her white fingers digging into the blackness of his robed shoulders. Then she reached up and tore his red skull cap off. Short, spiky raven hair, just like mine, pricked up from his scalp. Involuntarily I gasped. I caught myself, controlling my breathing. I didn't know if he heard me, but his arm reached out and the light in the cell went off. He would know that my eyes could adjust within less than 100 milliseconds, but it was a very clear signal that he didn't want an audience.

I moved silently in my gray stocking feet to the room marked, TRIG. I worried I would need to find a pocket in order to slip under the door. I didn't know if my skills were up to that yet. But this door was unlocked as well. The Bishop was taking enormous risks. For me.

I slipped into the room. A massive chair mounted in the center with a metallic and plastic helmet-like contraption suspended above it, filled the confines of the room. All around, on shelves, were small cages of baby chicks, chocolates, flowers, grass, bugs, stacks of photos and other items. I recognized them all from my sessions with the Bishop, but I couldn't waste time trying to understand what their presence meant.

I ran over to the computer and began my hacking protocols. Finding pockets in code was much easier than finding them in spacetime, and the Bishop left breadcrumbs the size of small mountains for me to follow. I was inside within thirty-eight seconds. I didn't know how much time I had so I mentally tracked each passing second as my eyes skimmed documents as quickly as the system could flash them up on the screen.

Questions formed in my head as quickly as I uncovered answers.

… The Mandate of St. Nicolo…

… Primitive procreation is hereby outlawed within the domain of the Order. All impregnations will henceforth be supervised. Within the first 750 hours of fertilization, embryos will be genetically mapped. Mothers blessed with fetuses displaying desirable markers will be placed in the Virgin Creche for the duration of gestation. These Blessed Mothers will be given hormonal and genetic therapies to advance desirable traits of their fetuses and to ensure the proper gender.  Any sign of gender ambiguity will be cause for termination. The Virgin Creche must bear only daughters.

… The common term for the Daughters of the Creche was 'Wraiths'. They were carefully trained, taught to see the invisible, to hear the inaudible. Taught to entertain, seduce and enthrall. Wraiths can kill or manipulate in a thousand subtle ways. Highborn families paid dearly for the boon of their services and the highest of them would sometimes buy a Wraith's contract outright, forever consigning her to servitude.

A document The Bishop flagged in a sub channel as '' flashed before me.

One of the most skilled wraiths to date, Subject 2, escaped the Creche. New security protocols established.

…Wraith 2 recovered and determined to be impregnated by primitive means. Fetus naturally selected female gender assignment. Key fetal markers, rank among the highest measured.

… Unanimously voted that the fetus shall be allowed to come to full term.

… Bidding closed at 3000kg. Purchasing family documentation has hereby been sealed with highest possible clearance. Subject 11 will be surrendered to the client family at age fifteen.

I paused for three seconds to get my racing heart under control.

… Standard contract term of ten years. At twenty-five, Wraith will be returned to the Order for containment and evaluation. Wraiths of high genetic potential must be thoroughly documented.

… Father listed as unknown. Mother deceased of natural causes during childbirth.

I had only moments remaining. My pulse threatened elevation. Calm is all.

… TRIG program initiated following the escape of Subject 2.

… At a subject's first menstruation, reproductive maturity, subject genome is to be purged of all emotional and sexual motivation sequences.

Words swam on the page — sexual lobotomy, desire de-programming, emotional neutralization — safest and best thing for the Wraith and males in the household that have contact with them. Before the Wraiths are delivered to their family they will also undergo a full hysterectomy. They would make absolutely certain there were no more incidents of unauthorized Wraith reproduction.

As I read, I felt a rise in my gut, distinctly similar to the way I felt the day we tested the poisoned protein cubes.

The last file I found with the Bishop's hidden tags showed a map of the Templum, the grounds, and all avenues, canals, routes into the city. I quickly scouted my best escape via the ledges, the underground. Hidden in the header of the file was a message that only I could decode.

Be happy, Ma Petite. Be free.

I couldn't scan more and still keep my vitals under control. My eyelids burned with an unfamiliar sensation and it was too overwhelming to continue reading.

I ran back into the hall.

Muffled sounds emitted from the closet. I glanced in that direction and for a second my body pulsed with the urge to rush in and throw open the door.

Instead I ran to the center of the corridors, faced the Cell and found a pocket. I crouched there and watched the beams. After 15 minutes my vitals settled back to sleeping patterns. The nurse with the blonde hair lounged at the station. It was a perfect night, with most of the girls in our corridor transitioning. It was possible that they didn't even know yet that I hadn't gone to the Chancery. Maybe the Bishop had worked some more magic.

I knew that as soon as I cleared the boundaries of the Templum his betrayal would be revealed. They would realize instantly what he had done and his allegiance to me. They would torture the nurse with the light brown hair. It might take only moments. She wasn't trained. She would reveal in excruciating detail exactly how she helped conceal his identity as my genetic father.

I hoped that maybe The Bishop had cared for my mother. The little I knew of such things I knew from him, from his single tear, from his sacrifice.  I hoped they would kill him as swiftly as they had my mother.

Natural causes.

And I hoped they would find some kind of peace together in death.

But I was still determined to run, because he had told me to.

After another twelve minutes, ten point three seconds, I saw the imperfection I sought — a nearly imperceptible hitch in the main center beam. This anomaly occurred every sixty-eight rotations.

There is no perfect system. In the millisecond my eyes registered the glitch, a pocket opened, just barely wide enough for even the most skilled.

It was enough.

I leaped. I ran. I pocket jumped so many times that even my own eyes strained to keep up with my movements. By the time my location triggered alarms on the control panel my discarded skinsuit was lying on the outer boundary lawn.

I ran, naked, jumping from pocket to pocket down into the bowels of the city. It never occurred to me to be concerned by my nudity, but I was so cold. The bitterness of the air bit at the back of my neck, my shoulders, my belly and chest. I reflexively hunched my body in on itself as I fled.