DuPont took a deep breath, focusing on the young
man in front of him over steepled fingers. The Vice-Council's voice,
when he spoke, was polite and eminently reasonable.
"Acolyte, I can't help but
feel you're taking the piss."
Kevin stared stonily ahead.
"Feel, sir?" he said
impassively. "Are you sure about that?"
DuPont waved an impatient
hand.
"Oh, for goodness' sake,
Halls, let's dispense with these little games, at least in this room!
You know I'm an offender and I know you're one. I'm willing to keep my
side of that bargain we made, and I hope you are as well." The
Vice-Council's demeanour altered, became ever so slightly more
threatening. "But even I will not sit tamely back while you help known
rebels and run in and out of the Nethers and the Underground as and
when you feel like it!"
The words But you sent me
screamed up Kevin's throat and came to an abrupt halt as they reached
his mouth. An appreciative smile almost touched his lips, one he
squashed almost instantly. Who'd taken the piss out of who? Those
sweepers had overheard him and DuPont and used that to get him as an
escort while they went to ground; after all, nobody, not even a Cleric,
would challenge a group of sweepers being led by an acolyte. Not if it
all appeared above board. The acolyte shook his head slowly, a glint in
his grey eyes.
Man, was I foxed.
"Was that disagreement with
my first statement, acolyte, or my second one?"
Oops. He'd forgotten about
DuPont. Kevin cleared his throat.
"Neither, sir. I'm sorry. I
was just thinking about something, that's all."
There was no anger or
resentment in the acolyte's tone at being tricked. Kevin was a master
at deceit and manipulation, had had to be in order to survive, and he
could appreciate the talent in other people.
"Halls, if you are trying to
provoke me into gating you, I assure you it won't work."
Kevin blinked. Thoughts of
being gated hadn't even entered his head.
"No, sir, I'm not, sir." He
paused for all of three seconds before adding, "But that's a good idea,
sir. Thanks."
DuPont took another deep
breath. He had a strong suspicion that if he had to continue dealing
with Halls on a regular basis, he'd wind up with an ulcer. If he didn't
have one already.
"There was another reason
for my summoning you here, acolyte."
"Why am I not surprised,
sir?"
"Since you seem incapable of
monitoring your own actions in order to avoid suspicion, it seems I
must do it for you, at least for now. The eleventh-year students are
due to sit their mock exams tomorrow. You can serve as invigilator."
Kevin blinked.
"Mock exams, sir? So soon?"
"There are only six months
left until the real thing, acolyte, and in any case, this isn't an
optional duty. You will be in the class at nine am sharp."
The acolyte came to
attention automatically.
"Yes sir."
Watching a bunch of eleven
year old kids struggle through an exam. Well, that couldn't be too bad,
Kevin thought. At the very least, it would beat studying for his own...
The next morning, Kevin had
changed his mind. He supposed that it could have been worse, but there
was one hell of a difference between trying to write a political essay
in the familiar surroundings of his own room and trying to write one in
the clinical environment of an exam.
Alana.
Kevin glanced around and
snatched up the pen again irritably. That girl's face kept appearing in
his mind at the most inconvenient times. He couldn't seem to get rid of
it; the long, dark hair, those crystalline blue eyes—
Furious at himself, he
returned his attention to his essay, his anger only increasing when he
realised he'd unconsciously written Alana's name on the next line and
couldn't for the life of him remember when he'd done it.
Across the room, one of the
acolytes started tapping his pen on the desk idly, clearly deep in
thought. Kevin's brain registered the fact and dismissed it in light of
the more devastating realisation that he was going to have to burn this
essay and write it out again. There was no way he could take the risk –
however slight – of anyone reading Alana's name even if he scribbled it
out as hard as he could, which was unusual Grammaton behaviour in
itself.
The acolyte spent a
laborious thirty minutes copying out his essay as far as he'd got and
then, because he was now bored out of his brains, found himself
listening to the candidates' pen tappings. The sound was
strangely...rhythmic.
Morse code.
The realisation hit him in a
burst, and he almost laughed out loud. Morse code was taught as an
optional extra every night for a semester in the tenth year. Kevin had
gone along – anything to put off sleep and the nightmares for even an
hour – and he and Jacobs had been the only two there.
Jacobs. Kevin frowned
imperceptibly, his thoughts drifting to the other acolyte. Where the
hell was that guy? DuPont had combed Libria extensively for
him, but turned up nothing. Apparently he'd also run twenty-four hour
search parties in the Nethers every day for two months before finally
admitting defeat. Wherever Jacobs had disappeared to, he was clearly
going to stay disappeared.
Then again, even Kevin had
to admit that the chances of the other acolyte surviving were pretty
low. Rebels notwithstanding, he didn't think there was much to eat in
the Nethers. Still...he would like to know for certain.
The tapping continued.
Because anything had to be more interesting than his current essay,
which was still seven hundred words short, Kevin mentally translated it.
Q-1-?
There was a pause of at
least a minute and a half, long enough for Kevin to wonder if he'd been
mistaken in his initial assumption, then another acolyte on the other
side of the room picked up the rhythm.
7-C-A-D-E-N-C-E-S-3-I-N-F-L-E-C-T-I-O-N-S.
Kevin had requested a copy
of the exam paper the acolytes were sitting, purely out of curiosity,
and already read it three times. Opening it for the fourth, he looked
at question one and snorted inwardly. Not only were the two acolytes
cheating, but they hadn't even got the right answer.
Idly, as though doing it
through pure boredom, Kevin picked up his own pen and tapped it a few
times on his desk and then, when this failed to have any immediate
effect, made the motions more deliberate, tapping and scraping in much
the same way as the two acolytes were doing, eventually spelling out
the phrase I-K-N-O-W-M-O-R-S-E-C-O-D-E-T-O-O.
He had to hand it to the
kids; neither of them reacted outwardly in any way except to abruptly
stop their communication. If they watched out for each other like that
all the time, maybe one of them might survive to graduation.
The rest of the exam went
off without a hitch, and nobody was more relieved than Kevin when the
time was up and he could collect the papers. He'd only just started
alphabetising them when a couple of shadows fell across the desk, and
he looked up into the eyes of the two cheating acolytes. As one of them
opened his mouth, Kevin shook his head, holding up a negating hand.
"Whatever you're about to
say, forget it. I'm not going to turn you in, but I'm not going to help
you either. You want to take risks instead of Prozium...personally I
think you're fucking insane, but that's your own lookout. You're on
your own, both of you."
Gathering the exam papers,
he spun on his heel and strode away. If the kids wanted to take risks
by cheating on an exam as well as committing sense offence, that was
their problem.
Kevin's was finding a way to
broach the subject of his sex life with DuPont without getting arrested
for the privilege.
The history lesson was
already well in progress when he entered. DuPont nodded to him curtly
and Kevin slid into his assigned seat, opening the textbook and paging
through it until he came to the right section.
"Good of you to join us,
Halls," DuPont said calmly. "I trust there were no problems this
morning?"
"None whatsoever, sir,"
Kevin answered automatically. Why is he asking me? Was that whole
thing with the kids just a set-up, something to find out if I'd be
willing to turn in other sense offenders? He shook his head
inwardly. No, that really was paranoid; the Tetra Grammaton
already knew from the records that Kevin would turn in most other sense
offenders with perfect willingness, if not positive enthusiasm.
"Good," DuPont said, jerking
the acolyte back to the present. "Before you came in, Andersen was
going to tell us about the pre-Librian Madame C.J. Walker."
The look on Andersen's face
said quite clearly that this was the first he'd heard about it, and
Kevin had to struggle quite hard not to smirk.
"Walker...yeah..." Andersen
floundered, mind racing hard. "Wasn't she an inventor?"
"Since this morning's topic
is Scientific Inventions of Pre-Libria, I would say that was extremely
likely, acolyte," DuPont said cuttingly.
"Right, right." Andersen
tried to surreptitiously page through his textbook, but at a look from
DuPont, Kevin reached across and slammed it shut, almost trapping the
other acolyte's fingers. Andersen shot him a filthy look, and Kevin
responded with a one-shoulder shrug and slight smirk, meaning Take
it up with the Vice-Council, not me.
"Walker." Andersen frowned,
trying like hell to remember. "Walker," he said again, as if saying the
name would somehow jog his memory. "She...uh...she's famous...she
invented...um..."
DuPont took a deep breath,
wishing – not for the first time – that there was some way to trade
Andersen in for Halls. The other acolyte might be an insufferable turd
(actually, so was Andersen, now that he thought about it) but at least
he had brains.
"Acolyte Andersen, did you
even bother reading the assigned chapters?"
"Yes!" Andersen said
defiantly.
"Then perhaps you could tell
us what Madame Walker invented? Preferably before graduation, if it's
all the same to you."
"She invented..." Andersen
snapped his fingers. "Damn, it's just gone!"
DuPont's expression didn't
change, didn't waver.
"Well, I hope it comes back
soon, because we're not leaving this room for lunch until you remember."
Andersen's own features
twisted into an ugly expression for a fraction of a second before he
smoothed them back into impassivity. Watching, Kevin felt a sense of
satisfaction; at least he was far more controlled and less likely to
slip up than his enemy.
Yeah? Then you better stop feeling satisfied about your
lack of feeling, Kev; these guys aren't kids any more. They're almost
full-fledged Clerics, like you.
The acolyte grimaced
inwardly, then blanked his mind without really thinking about it. He
remembered how hard it had been as a kid, to think of absolutely
nothing. Now it just...happened.
"We're waiting," DuPont
informed Andersen, who curled his right hand into a fist under the desk.
"I don't know," he spat
through clenched teeth, "alright? I don't know and I don't especially
care either."
"I gathered that," the
Vice-Council said icily, "but this class isn't going anywhere until you
start caring."
The bell rang for lunch at
that moment, and half the class rose automatically then, at DuPont's
quelling stare, sat back down again.
Kevin's stomach growled
irritably. He hadn't eaten breakfast that morning, preferring instead
to cram in some last-minute studying; DuPont had developed an alarming
habit of springing surprise tests on the acolytes. Kevin hadn't failed
a single test or exam in his entire time at the Monastery, and he
didn't intend to begin now.
"She invented..." Andersen
dried up again, crimson with a mixture of fury and humiliation.
"Medicinal compound?" Kevin
murmured very quietly. DuPont's gaze flicked over to him.
"Comments relating to such a
well-known pre-Librian song are not a good idea, acolyte. They could
easily be misconstrued."
Kevin raised his eyebrows,
noting out the corner of his eye that Andersen had flipped open his
book again and was frantically paging through it.
"Who said it was a song,
sir?" he asked, in an effort to keep DuPont's attention on him. He
couldn't give a shit if Andersen got in trouble, but he didn't want to
be late for lunch; he was hungry.
It worked better than he'd
planned; the Vice-Council rose to his feet, Andersen temporarily
forgotten, and stared hard into the acolyte's eyes...or at least, his
shades. Kevin's actual eyes were focused on a point some six inches
above and beyond DuPont's head.
"What are you implying,
acolyte?"
"Nothing, sir," Kevin said
smoothly, permitting the barest hint of a smirk onto his face as
Andersen shut his textbook again with an audible snap.
"Cosmetics," Andersen said.
DuPont blinked over to him.
"Excuse me?"
"I've remembered. Madame C.
J. Walker invented some kind of cosmetics."
"Be more specific, acolyte.
What kind of cosmetics were you referring to?"
There was a long, taut
silence before Andersen rose to his feet, looked DuPont squarely in the
face and said clearly, "Who gives a fuck? They're all illegal now
anyway, so what does it matter who invented what? This has to be one of
the biggest no-brainers the Council has ever come up with, and believe
me, that is really fucking saying something."
Kevin sucked in his breath
with a pleasurable hiss. He'd locked horns with DuPont so often that it
was rather enjoyable to watch the Vice-Council chew out somebody else
for a change.
"If it is such a
'no-brainer' as you claim," DuPont said, the words dropping like so
many lead balloons into the deathly silence, "then that at least would
explain your inability to answer it."
Kevin winced and looked over
at Andersen.
"Ooh. Slam. Dunk. Score."
Andersen made a gesture at
Kevin that no acolyte on Prozium or fundamentally decent person should
even be aware of, then abruptly shoved his chair back under his desk.
"I'm outta here. I don't
have to take that kinda shit from someone like you."
"Sit down, acolyte."
DuPont's voice was icily smooth.
"Fuck I will!" At another
look from the Vice-Council, Kevin reached up, grabbed Andersen by the
belt and yanked hard, pulling him down into his seat, returning the
other acolyte's laser stare with a smug look. He was damned if he'd
turn into DuPont's little pet, but he had no objection to carrying out
any orders against Andersen.
"I find your lack of faith disturbing,
acolyte."
Now what’s he going to do?
Kevin wondered. It was obvious Andersen recognised the quote, but there
was no way he could point the finger at DuPont without incriminating
himself as well. It was like the old saying; point one finger at a
person and you point the other three at yourself.
"Personally, sir, I find his
suspected lack of Prozium disturbing," Kevin interjected, for no better
reason than to keep the fire burning; it was a hell of a lot more
entertaining than the history lesson.
"You can’t prove
that, Halls," Andersen said tightly.
"Don’t have to. You claim to
be completely impassive and emotionless. Go on, Andersen. Leap about
the room and swear at DuPont some more. Then we’ll see just how
impassive and emotionless you really are." Kevin pretended to consider.
"Though it is slightly unusual that the Vice-Council hasn’t arrested
you before, particularly given your track record. Have you considered
upping your Prozium?"
"Have you considered
my katana in your throat, asshole?" Andersen snarled, rounding on him
like a tiger.
Kevin held up his right
hand, flexing the fingers there in an exaggerated parody of his enemy
and quirked an eyebrow at him.
"Anytime, Andersen. Anytime
at all."
"Acolyte!" The snap in
DuPont’s voice turned every head back to the front.
"Yes sir?" Kevin said
innocently.
"If you and Andersen have
any difference of opinion, I suggest you resolve it in private. This
class is dismissed, and I want the two of you in the gym. Now."
Kevin shrugged. It would
mean missing lunch, but he didn’t mind that. In fact, he’d almost
welcome it; factory bred fish and watery vegetables wasn’t his
favourite meal of the week.
"You want us to what?"
Andersen all but yelped.
"You heard me perfectly
well, acolyte," DuPont said. "Since you both apparently have energy to
waste on immature tirades and arguments—"
"I never tiraded,"
Kevin murmured very softly. DuPont pretended not to hear.
"—you can put this energy to
a better, more constructive use. I want every single katana cleaned and
polished by the time I return from lunch. That gives you two hours."
Now or never, Kevin
thought not quite randomly; the only people who knew about his sense
offence were in this room.
"Sir?" he said. DuPont eyed
him coolly.
"Yes, acolyte?"
"I was wondering, sir, about
a particular form of emotional sense offence. The texts don't seem to
clarify it."
"Indeed?" DuPont's eyes
narrowed. "And which form of emotional sense offence would that be?"
Kevin swallowed, hardly able
to believe what he was doing.
"Lust, sir."
There was a beat of silence
before the Vice-Council answered, "Lust was a key factor in the
decision to create Prozium. More jealousy and murders occurred while
the perpetrators were feeling lustful than any other emotion."
"Lust is an emotion, sir?"
Kevin said flatly. "Then hunger's an emotion, and thirst, and
pain. They're what the body does naturally."
"Lust is triggered by
observation of sensual material," DuPont said icily, "which can only be
identified through feeling something to be beautiful, or attractive.
Needless to say, those on the dose—" and was it Kevin's imagination, or
had DuPont stressed that last word ever so slightly? "—do not suffer
from it. Why the curiosity?"
The acolyte hesitated, then
picked the first excuse that came to his head.
"It could come up on this
year's exams, sir. I just want to be prepared."
There was the faintest hint
of a cool smile on DuPont's face as he answered, "Forward planning,
acolyte. An admirable quality."
"Thank you, sir." Not
wanting to push his luck any further, Kevin lifted a katana out of the
rack and began cleaning it.
Gradually, as the task
progressed and they were left to their own devices, Andersen edged over
until he was almost touching Kevin. This was harder than it sounds,
largely due to the other acolyte's near-automatic habit of moving away
whenever Andersen got within two feet of him. They’d almost done a
complete circuit of the racks before Kevin finally gave in, more
through boredom than anything.
In a low voice, Andersen
said, "So who's the cunt?"
Kevin almost dropped his
katana.
"Excuse me?" he said,
as sharply as he dared.
"You heard me. You must have
a bit on the side somewhere, Halls, else you'd never have asked DuPont
those questions. What beats me is how any girl could find a freak with
bad eyesight attractive, but I guess that's beside the point."
Kevin fixed his enemy with a
cold stare.
"Why don't you come into the
Monastery sometime after lights out, Andersen? Sometime when it's pitch
black. Then we'll find out just how bad my eyesight is."
Andersen snorted.
"Yeah. You'd fucking love
that, wouldn't you?"
"Oh yes," Kevin assured him,
smiling wolfishly. "A chance to take you on on my own terms...yeah. You
bet your ass I'd fucking love it." He considered. "Though maybe I could
give you a box of matches and a candle; I wouldn't want the contest
over too quickly."
The other acolyte smirked at
him.
"You're starting to sound
like a crazy person, you know that, Halls? You want to...what? Hunt me
in the dark like some animal?"
"Oh no," Kevin answered,
shaking his head sadly, as though Andersen was having exceptional
difficulty grasping a simple concept. "I believe in giving animals a
quick death."
Andersen's lip curled.
"You think Barrett'd want
you to kill me?"
Kevin, who had frozen rigid
at the mention of Barrett's name, turned to fix him with such a cold
stare that even Andersen was a little unnerved.
"No fucking idea, Andersen.
And thanks to you and your handler, I can't exactly ask the old man's
opinion, can I?"
"You never answered my
question." Glancing over his shoulder to make sure they were
unobserved, Andersen placed his katana on the bench, pulled off his
prosthetic fingers and smothered them in a good palmful of oil.
"You know how fucking
disgusting that is, right?" Kevin said, eyeing the prostheses with
something very much like loathing. Andersen stared at him, flexing what
remained of the fingers on his right hand.
"You of all people don't
have any right to complain about that, Halls."
True enough, Kevin
admitted grudgingly. Andersen continued, oblivious.
"Besides, the oil I got from
the hospital might as well be fucking water for all the good it does.
This stuff works much better."
Kevin started work on his
katana again, although it was already polished to a gleaming finish.
"Yeah? What if I, er,
accidentally let it slip that you've been stealing Monastery supplies?"
Andersen shot him a
smouldering look.
"Then I'll see that you find
out for yourself exactly why this particular supply is so good for
prosthetic limbs, Halls."
"Oh, please," Kevin drawled.
"Threaten and try to murder me if you must, but do you have to be so
goddamned melodramatic about it?"
"Who is she?"
Kevin blinked.
"What?"
"You still haven't answered
my question. Who's your girlfriend? It must be a sense offending female
– no self-respecting Librian would touch someone like you unless you
were officially paired – so I'm interested to know exactly what kind of
girl would be that desperate."
Kevin snorted again.
"Bullshit, Andersen. You're
interested because you want to torture and burn her just to get at me.
Sorry man; like I told DuPont years ago, I'm done playing. This is the
real world now." He paused. "And anyway, I don't have a girlfriend."
"No?" Andersen raised a
somewhat supercilious eyebrow. "Then why ask those kind of questions?"
"Because I want to avoid
getting one, that's why! Not that it's any of your business."
Kevin looked at his katana, decided it was clean enough and placed it
back in the rack. Out of all the people he'd considered discussing this
with, Andersen's name hadn't even been on the list.
"You must have met some
others off the dose though. I've heard that some females off the dose
go wild over a guy in uniform."
Kevin raised his eyebrows.
"Yeah? Your handler tell you
that, Andersen? Because the only people off the dose I've met and
haven't killed, I've either hated them or they've hated me. Or both."
"Hate and love are similar
emotions, Halls."
Kevin snorted.
"Bullshit," he said again.
"You just want me to say something incriminating so you can get me
processed."
Andersen raised the other
eyebrow.
"A little more paranoid than
usual today, aren't we? You know, there are a few people who aren't
out to get you."
"I find it bloody hard to
believe that you're one of those few, Andersen, given your track
record."
The other acolyte shrugged.
"Believe what you like." He
paused. "But...I can't help feeling we got off on the wrong foot at
some point."
"Yeah. That would probably
be the point where you tried to have me arrested for sense offence,"
Kevin said pleasantly. "You claimed that I was a sense offender and a
thief. And you call me paranoid."
"What the fuck do you mean?"
Andersen demanded with his usual belligerence. "I was right!"
Kevin shot him a look.
"Let's cut the crap,
Andersen. What do you really want?"
Andersen returned the look,
then sighed.
"Maybe I want to apologise.
You ever think of that?"
Kevin's jaw dropped in a
very un-Librian expression.
"No," he said, surprised
into honesty.
"Then it's about time you
did."
The acolyte shook his head.
"Andersen, I've lost count
of the number of fights we've had, and the number of times you or
DuPont have tried to fix up to kill me—"
"DuPont never tried to kill
you, Halls."
"No?" Kevin raised sceptical
eyebrows. "Then who the fuck gave you the combat ammo for that exam
when we were younger? It can't have been Barrett; that guy didn't have
anything against me."
Andersen shrugged.
"I screwed up. Yeah, it was
DuPont who gave me that ammunition and yeah, I intended to kill you.
But I've been doing some thinking recently."
"Oh, and they say you can't
teach an old dog new tricks."
"Funny, I don't think."
Andersen shook his head. "You remember what happened in the Nethers?"
"Before or after you shot
me?" Kevin said acidly.
"Before, of course. How am I
supposed to know what happened to you afterwards? Just before we left,
DuPont ordered me to kill you."
Kevin, who had got to know
DuPont's diplomatic and political speech too well by now, raised a
deprecatory eyebrow. Andersen shrugged.
"Okay, what he actually said
was, 'Acolyte, there are two of you going out, however I don't expect
to see that number returning'. Like it matters now. He didn't give
those orders to you, because he wanted me to be the one coming back,
but the chances are he really does want rid of both of us; you're too
much of a rebel and I'm too much of a threat for his liking."
"Shouldn't that be the other
way around?"
"I'm not the one who
helped four known Resistance fighters to escape," Andersen said snidely.
"I didn't know they
were known. Oddly enough, I spent three months outside Libria and away
from current affairs because some complete bastard – can't
recall his name just at the moment – shot me in the chest!"
"DuPont only picked on us
because we drew too much attention to ourselves by constantly fighting."
"So what?"
Andersen gritted his teeth
and counted to ten.
"So, I'm offering a truce.
DuPont's probably playing on our...lack of friendship. He knows we
don’t trust each other."
"That could well be due to
the fact that I hate your fucking guts," Kevin told him pleasantly.
"The feeling's mutual,"
Andersen said through clenched teeth. "But if we stop fighting – I'll
stop trying to kill or set you up and you do the same for me – we
should be able to at least survive until graduation. Let's face it;
we've both been off the dose for at least five years. If they haven't
picked up on it by now, with a fair wind they're not likely to until we
reach graduation, and probably not even then if we play our cards
right."
"Yet more clichés," Kevin
drawled. Andersen straightened up and whirled to face him.
"I just want a promise from
you! Promise me you'll stop trying to set me up."
Kevin sneered at him.
"I don't make promises,
Andersen, and even if I did, what the fuck makes you think I would keep
them?"
"Think about it, Halls. You
gotta admit my idea makes sense."
It made perfect sense, which
was why Kevin didn't believe it for a minute. He raised his eyebrows.
"So you expect me to believe
that you're not interested in whether I'm around or not?"
Andersen pulled his katana
out again and resumed polishing in an effort to appear unconcerned.
"Frankly, my d—frankly,
Halls, I don't give a damn."
"If you think I'm going to
stoop to your level by using petty EC-10 references to get my point
across, you're sadly mistaken," Kevin drawled, and then added, "Mr
Andersen."
Andersen curled his lip.
"That was trite even for
you."
Kevin smirked at him.
"Oh, c'mo-on; someone
was bound to say it sooner or later. I just wanted to make sure it was
me, that's all."
"I only said that it’d be
more efficient for us to work together rather than against each other!"
"You also only said
that you wanted to ram your katana through my throat, Andersen."
"Yeah...well..." Andersen
tried a smile. It didn’t quite come off. "That was a long time back,
right Halls?"
"It was two hours ago!"
Kevin shook his head. "So forgive me if I seem anything less
than totally paranoid."
Andersen stared hard at him,
no longer smiling.
"Am I to take it as read
that you wish to persist in your usual childish manner?"
"Yeah. I’ll tell you
something else you can take as read, Andersen; you been licking
DuPont’s shoes for too long. You’re starting to sound like a fucking
politician." Kevin turned away in a manner which said very firmly that
the conversation was over and once again felt his mind drifting back to
Alana. It was a Sunday tomorrow, which meant no classes in the
afternoon. He could probably sneak out into the Nethers and go back to
the Underground. Not that he cared if she lived or died, he told
himself rather hastily. He just didn’t want her arrested...because she
might squeal on him. Yeah, that was it.
Glancing around, he clamped
down hard on his thoughts; he didn’t want anyone – least of all
Andersen – picking up on them. Up until then, Kevin had considered
Andersen in much the same way as a big mosquito; irritating if it got
close enough to bite, but too insignificant to pose a real threat. The
other acolyte’s abrupt loss of control in the history lesson and his
rapid mood swings had taught Kevin otherwise. Andersen was dangerous.
Alana tipped her head on one
side.
"So, you came back. After
all your insults, everything you said about the Resistance, you came
back."
Kevin started to say that
he'd only come back to make sure nobody had moved before he had a
chance to report them, then closed his mouth. Even he could tell when
he was running the risk of sounding like an obnoxious brat.
Besides, that hadn't been
why he'd come back, had it?
"Uh...yeah," he said aloud,
reaching behind to rub the back of his neck. There had only been one
person who had ever been able to make him feel this awkward, and that
had been Barrett.
The acolyte frowned
slightly. Thinking about the old man wasn't as painful as it had been
before. Instead of the relief he'd anticipated when this happened,
Kevin felt supremely disloyal, like he was betraying Barrett's memory.
You see a pretty girl and
everything else – common sense, friendship, everything! – goes
straight to the furnace, doesn't it, Kev?
Kevin shook his head,
fighting to clear it. He knew it was true. What he didn't know
was whether obsessing over attractive females was normal behaviour for
a sixteen year old male sense offender.
"Why?"
Kevin started to say he'd
changed his mind, felt his vocal cords wither at the enormity of the
lie, started to say he'd come back to see her instead, chickened out
and eventually settled for, "What's it to you?"
Alana raised her eyebrows.
"You threatened to kill me
on numerous occasions, acolyte. I don't think you're the kind of person
who makes idle threats, and I want some assurance you haven't come to
make good on that particular one."
Well, at least she hadn't
tried to claw his eyes out this time. Kevin supposed that could be
construed as a positive development.
"What kind of assurance?"
"You tell me." Alana raised
dark eyebrows; they were slender and perfectly shaped, and Kevin found
himself wondering if she was crazy enough to actually pluck them.
"There’s a group of sweepers who have been watching one of our
warehouses. Maybe we’d do better making a deal with them, exchanging
you for our supplies."
"A deal?" Kevin laughed
outright, ignoring the dark expression that clouded Alana’s features at
the sound. "Forget it! The sweepers'd kill or rape you as soon as look
at you!"
"And you wouldn't?"
"I've never raped anyone,
and I only arrange the removal of those who pose a serious threat to my
safety."
"Really," Alana said
rhetorically. "Then why's Andersen still around?"
Jesus, how much did this
girl know? Kevin stared at her, suddenly very uncomfortable. Had they
bugged him? It had to be worth requesting a new set of clothes and
burning his current lot, and a full medical scan; who knew what that
asshole Cross could have planted inside him?
"He has the protection of
the Vice-Council, that's why," was what he said aloud. There was no
point insulting her by playing dumb.
"He does, huh?" Alana moved
closer to him, staring up at him through dark eyelashes. "And what
about you, Kevin? Whose protection do you have?"
Kevin shuffled away rather
rapidly, pretending interest in a not very good painting on the
opposite wall.
"No one’s. I don’t ask for
it and I don’t offer it either." This last was said pointedly, in the
hopes that it would discourage her from asking.
"Just as well. If you handle
your allies even half as inefficiently as you do your enemies, I think
I’m happier sitting on the fence." Alana shook her head. "But everyone
needs someone."
"I have myself. That’s
enough for me."
"That’s not enough for
anyone." The girl was so close now he could smell her perfume; that was
one point in her favour at any rate, Kevin thought; she didn’t feel the
need to marinate herself in the stuff like a couple of other rebels
he’d met.
"It’s enough for me," Kevin
repeated.
"You’re the one I’m worried
about," Alana told him. "I’m still waiting for some sign that you’re
not gonna kill us all."
Kevin squirmed.
"What kinda sign? You want
me to promise I won’t shoot anyone except in self-defence?"
"I didn’t think you made
promises, acolyte, and if you did I don’t think you would keep them."
A chill ran down Kevin’s
spine.
"How did you know about
Andersen?" he said abruptly. If the other acolyte had come down
here...it didn’t bear thinking about. This could be nothing more than a
trap. Alana smiled up at him, promptly rendering that question
unimportant.
"I don’t think that really
matters now, do you?"
"Yeah," Kevin forced himself
to say through numb lips. "If someone’s watching me, I want to know who
it is."
"Why? So you can do to them
what you did to acolyte Turner?"
"Turner?" For a few minutes
Kevin’s mind was bereft of a face to connect with the name, then it hit
him. "Oh, that Turner." He shook his head. "Give me a break.
Like I told Barrett, that kid couldn’t find the sky on a starry night."
"Then why’d you kill him?"
"I didn’t. The technicians
did." Kevin shifted his weight. "Can we talk about something else?"
A slow, languid smile spread
across Alana’s face.
"Yes, let’s. Don’t tell
anyone this, Kev, but...well, I was kinda hoping you’d come back."
"Yeah?" Alarms started to
sound in Kevin’s mind and he eyed her warily. "Why?"
"Can you take those dark
glasses off, please? It’s very disconcerting not being able to see your
eyes."
"No." The alarms were
slightly louder now; after a week of sore eyes, Kevin had finally
rebelled and ‘lost’ his contact lenses. The shades were his only
protection now.
Alana sat back, clearly
taken aback by his refusal.
"Why not?"
"I don’t want to." It
sounded immature to Kevin’s ears, immature and pathetic, but he was
damned if he’d let anyone in the Resistance know about his
photosensitivity. It was bad enough his enemies in the Tetra Grammaton
were aware of it, without telling the rebels about it as well.
"C’mon," Alana wheedled.
"For me?"
"No!" It came out more
sharply than Kevin had intended and he twisted away, furious – whether
at himself or Alana he didn’t know.
"Alright. Alright." The
calming, soothing note in Alana’s voice ignited the acolyte’s temper
and he surged to his feet.
"And who the fuck are you to
ask me a favour like that, anyway?" Kevin was aware that people were
staring (although not too obviously; he was a Grammaton acolyte, after
all) and found he didn’t care. "If you think for one minute I..." He
broke off abruptly, the anger gone as suddenly as it had come and he
stared sullenly at the wall.
Alana shook her head.
"Alright. I’m sorry. I
didn’t mean to make you mad."
"Well, you damn well did."
The words were out before he could stop them and he looked away again,
irritated.
"No kidding." Alana’s
rejoinder was tart, but there was a glint of humour in those crystal
eyes.
Kevin shook his head – this
was starting to get too intimate for his liking – and started to get to
his feet. Reaching up, Alana caught hold of his arm.
"Wait!"
There was a long, deadly
silence.
"Take your hand off me,"
Kevin said softly. What felt like an entire lake of adrenaline had
exploded through his body at her touch, and it took one hell of an
effort to keep his voice steady.
"C’mon, Kev, relax. I’m not
gonna bite." Alana pretended to consider and then smiled. "Not unless
you want me to."
Another jolt, this one far
more powerful, shot through the acolyte.
Holy shit, she likes
me!
"It must be pretty lonely in
that Monastery of yours," Alana said softly.
"It’s alright." Kevin forced
the words out past stiff lips, half of him wanting to keep the girl
with him and the other half screaming at him to run now, before
it was too late.
"Only ‘alright’?" Alana
moved up closer to him, pulling him down. "Don’t tell me you’ve never
wanted to get out, to get away from it all."
Kevin could feel his
resistance starting to dissolve like a pile of salt in the rain and
coughed awkwardly.
"I. Uh. I don't think
that...that now is the...well. Is the. Um. Time." He wished
she'd stop rubbing against him like that; it was hard enough to
concentrate as it was!
Alana reached up and placed
cool fingers on the side of his face, turning it towards her.
"Kev?"
Kevin swallowed.
"Yeah?"
"Can I ask you something
personal?"
Kevin shifted uneasily.
"Uh. Sure."
"Are you a virgin?"
"Am I a what?" Kevin
echoed incredulously, and judging from the number of heads that turned
in their direction, a little too loudly.
"Someone who hasn't had it
off yet," Alana translated, mistaking – possibly innocently – his
reaction for ignorance.
Some kind of warped male
pride urged Kevin to say that no, he damn well wasn't, but fortunately
at that point the door next to them opened and Jurgen emerged.
"Jurgen!" For once, Kevin
was happy to see him. "Didn't you say you had something you wanted to
talk to me about? Something urgent?"
Jurgen took in the situation
with one rapid look and a glint appeared in his eyes that might almost
have been called mischievous in another man.
"Yeah, I did want to talk to
you, but it's not that urgent. It'll keep until the morning."
"Hey, no, it's okay, I can—"
Jurgen shook his head,
raising a hand.
"Don't worry about it,
Halls. I can see you're busy. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
"No, really, I'm not—"
"It's alright, acolyte, I
know when I'm not wanted. Enjoy your time together. It'll do you good."
You bastard! Kevin
mouthed at Jurgen, who grinned broadly, clearly enjoying his
discomfiture.
Then Alana reached up and
pulled the acolyte's head around, planting her mouth firmly on his.
Kevin felt his own arms wrap around her slender body seemingly of their
own volition, and promptly forgot all about Jurgen and the Resistance
as he gave himself up to the same girl who'd once wanted him dead so
badly.
