Authors: Andrea K Höst
For long moments Madeleine simply stood, breathing deeply as
the alcohol surged through her, but then she snatched up the muesli bars and
headed around the curve of the floor toward her vastly empty bedroom. An awareness that there had to be a reason to
spike the milk filled her with panic. At
minimum, when drunk her ability to control her punches and shield would be near
non-existent. Already the world had
tilted.
Stumbling past her bed, she headed to one of the curtains
which divided the circular level into segments, and pulled it all the way to
the inner wall. Then she slid to the
floor behind it, a makeshift hiding place. Tucking herself in, fumbling with the cloth in hopes of making it appear
its fall was uninterrupted, she tried to still her shaking.
It occurred to her that she could have tried to make herself
vomit. The alcohol had hit her almost
immediately, but expelling most of it would surely lead to a quicker
recovery. But then she would be back to
licking toasters.
Determinedly she ate one of the muesli bars and drank the
rest of the milk, placing her energy needs above the problem of even more
alcohol. Should she fight, when the
Moths came? Shields would be too risky,
punches more a question of how much she was willing to damage her eyrie
prison. She might get lucky and hurt
them, but lashing out wildly would not get her friends back. Unless she was on the verge of being completely
lost, she would have to restrain herself, try to learn more.
The tower felt like it was swaying.
Fingers tangled in her hair, hauling her from behind the
curtain. Jolted from a doze, Madeleine
cried out in pain, twisting to see her attacker. Gavin. Or, rather, the Core of the Five of the
Ul-naa
.
She tried pulling away, but her hair provided far too good a
handhold, and he wrenched it agonisingly, slinging her forward so that she
tumbled to the blank expanse of floor by the windows. Head spinning, she found herself face-to-face
with an enormous, streamlined muzzle. A
dandelion dragon, multi-layered wings fanning slowly, the bulk of it apparently
draped over the roof of the main tower turret as it dangled over the side
peering in at them.
"In future, you will not hide," said the Moth, and
she shifted to face him. "You will drink
and you will wait here."
His tone was curtly assured, allowing for no possibility of
anything but obedience. He clearly
believed he could dictate her behaviour. The words 'in future' lit her attention.
Dizzy, and on the verge of being sick, she refused to cower,
attempting a little of
Noi's
blunt defiance: "Go to hell."
The Core slapped her. A light, casual backhand as if he were cuffing a misbehaving dog. "There are no choices here."
Face stinging, increasingly angry that this alien so clearly
did not consider her a person, Madeleine worked to speak without slurring:
"I'm not killing you right now because I liked the boy you're
wearing. But you're making it very
difficult."
It got under his skin, just a little: she could see the
suppressed annoyance. Then he
straightened, and she gasped as that annoyance hammered down on her: a cascade,
a torrent. It hurt, was suffocation with
needles, and she collapsed down, a small part of her recognising the sensation,
though her brief experiments with Fisher had as much resemblance to this as a
brush stroke had to nail gun fire. The
third power, turned to an onslaught of prickling anger. She could feel his vicious enjoyment of her
reaction, and his triumph, a barrage of gloating elation, increasing as Madeleine
tried to make herself as small as possible, to curl into a ball, to find some
way to keep him out.
Unable to summon any defence, she retreated into darkness.
ooOoo
Madeleine woke, warm beneath the bed's quilt, still herself.
It was not quite a surprise. There would have been no reason to speak of where she should wait in
future if the Core had been on the verge of taking complete control, though she
was full of a certainty that that...bombardment of identity was the beginning
of a process which would leave her a shell, a vehicle driven by alien
will. Instead of all at once, he – it –
would possess her by degrees.
Almost, she could still feel him. As if the air itself could taste of triumph
gone stale, of emotion, soul, self, spirit, turned to some tangible substance
which could rain down on a person and hurt and hurt–
Madeleine shuddered, again curling protectively, then forced
herself to shift, to sit up. Outside the
tower it was dark, the curving array of windows showing city lights and stars. She had been put to bed and left till next
time.
Inevitably, she was hungry.
Feeling fragile, and terribly alone, Madeleine tried to
imagine how the Musketeers would deal with this situation. Fisher would point out the link between her
experiments with him and the use of alcohol. The Core had learned of this and starved her, then set out spiked milk
to interfere with her control.
Right
, Noi would
say.
So
all we need to do is not take the bait next time, and then slam the bastard
when he shows up
.
Steal his dragon!
Pan would suggest.
Like that's going to
work,
Min would put in.
Besides, he knew
Maddie
had taken the bait. There must be
cameras.
So we get the old
carton, fill it with water, and have it ready to fool them.
Noi would give a little nod, confirming the
plan.
If they wait long
enough, I won't be able to do that
, Madeleine thought.
I won't
care if it's spiked, I'll just care that it's food
.
You can
. Emily would take her hand, and give her a
look of tremulous faith.
Then Nash would offer an understanding smile.
You
have two muesli bars left
, he would point out,
and have yet to exhaust the possibilities of the kitchens
.
But does that mean I'm
willing to kill Gavin?
She had no
answer, nor did she know what she would do about the dragon, if she did manage
to fight off the Core.
"I'm having imaginary conversations with my friends,
because my friends are all possessed," she said out loud, and made herself
get off the bed.
Step C was beginning to resolve. She would assume there were cameras – at the
very least where she slept, and the bar where they left the food. She would hide and conserve her muesli bars
as long as possible, and hunt for any scrap which had been missed in the
clearing out of the kitchens. She would
do her best not to fall for spiked milk traps in future. When the Core came again...hopefully by then,
she'd have some idea what step D might be.
Scanning the ceiling, Madeleine failed to spot cameras, and
headed into the bathroom to clean up and change clothes. If she was going to use the old milk carton
to fake drinking spiked milk, she'd need to smuggle it into place. There would surely be somewhere she could
hide it behind the bar.
Heading around the curve to check, Madeleine stopped short,
confused. There was a new tray, mounded
high with packages. Did this mean they
weren't going to starve her? Surely the
Moths didn't expect her to obediently get drunk on command?
She approached the bar cautiously, scanning for traps,
cameras. There was enough food for days:
a stack of frozen pizza, pasta, a box of meat pies, cake. The cardboard was damp, everything well on
its way to defrosting. There must be
some kind of time constraint to the identity assault. The Core couldn't do that to her every day.
At first insensibly relieved, Madeleine moved on to unhappily
wondering how many days this food was meant to cover. This would give her more of a chance to
practice shields, but if it, for instance, was supposed to last her for a week,
she could still be brought to a state of driving hunger. Common caution led her to prepare a
relatively small portion of the frozen gnocchi, and stash everything else in
the second floor kitchen freezer. Then
she went back to her bed, and debated whether it was worth blasting holes in
the ceiling in the hope of destroying any cameras. Sydney Tower really was an excellent choice
for a prison – she was tremendously wary of damaging it.
After thinking the problem through, she simply alternately
pushed and dragged the bed around the curve of carpet, to the far side of a
dividing curtain. Drawing the curtain
halfway, she hoped that would put her at the wrong angle for any cameras. Then she fetched her backpack and
surreptitiously tucked the muesli bars into the front pocket.
Her sketchpads and pencils took up half the space in the
backpack. She touched the spine of one,
but didn't take it out, hadn't opened any of them since she'd woken in the
tower. Looking at images of friends found
and lost would be unbearable.
Someone coughed.
In the still isolation of the tower, that faint, distinct
sound was a clarion call. Madeleine sat
frozen, listening for more, trying to gauge direction. She thought, perhaps, above. It wasn't close. Standing, she circled to the elevators as
quietly and rapidly as she could manage, to jab the buttons. Nothing.
Moving back to the bar, she picked up the long knife she'd
abandoned after her attempt on the goo, and forced herself to slow, deliberate
movements, up the straight stair to the fourth floor, pausing at its head to
survey. The fourth floor was less clear
than the third, with a raised inner section, an information booth, gift store,
touchscreens, even an area with lockers for people heading out on the rooftop
Skywalk. It was not until Madeleine had
left the head of the stair and started clockwise around the circle that she saw
him. Fisher.
In a chair moved from the locker area and set so he could
gaze in the direction of the Spire, he sat legs stretched out, posture
weary. His glasses were folded on a
closed book on the floor beside him, and she could see his face reflected in
the window: brows drawn together in one of those frowns which made him look
furious. So familiar, and so wrong.
What could she do, to get back the person who was so
incredibly precious to her?
"The knife seems a little redundant."
Madeleine started, and saw that he – the Moth controlling
Fisher – was watching her in the thin reflection in the window. She looked down at the knife, decided that
she was more likely to hurt herself with it than him, and put it on a nearby
counter.
"I don't have a key to the lift," the Moth added
helpfully. He hadn't turned, had
straightened in the chair, but continued to watch her via the reflection. He held himself so like Fisher, had that
quality of attentive contemplation.
Her mouth so dry she could barely speak, Madeleine asked:
"Why are you here?"
"Oh, I have various threats and ultimatums to
deliver," he said, with a faded hint of amusement. "The theory being that you're less
likely to attack me. But before we go
on, there's something you should know."
"What?"
In the reflection his eyes met hers, inexplicably sad.
"You've never met Fisher."
"I don't
believe
you."
Hoarse, whispered protest, but Madeleine had to grab the
nearby counter to keep herself upright. Because the expression was his. The way he held himself. She'd
known on some level even before he spoke. This was the person who had watched her paint. The person she had danced with. The one who had held her, kissed her, become
a new sun in her sky.
"It doesn't make sense. You helped us hide! You...ever
since the stair? But why?"
"Initially my role was forward scout," the Moth who
was not Fisher said. "To locate
Blues sufficiently stained for the Five's purposes. And, if possible, assemble Blues for the
initial dispersal. That practically
arranged itself. You, of course, I had
marked for the Core." Still watching
her in the glass, a reflected boy with a steady gaze. "I don't know if it was due to your
sheer strength, or your initial contact with the Spire, but you were able to
instinctively defend yourself, and injured the Core badly. My orders changed: to keep you within reach
until the Core was able to claim you."
"They knew where we were the whole time?" All that hiding, a futile game?
He nodded. "What
better way to stop you running than to let you think yourself hidden? The North Building would likely not have
remained unoccupied without orders to stay away. Unfortunately your existence was known to the
other clans: that Rover's attack was almost certainly an embedded command. And then the challenge, which made it
necessary to properly hide you."
Effortless manipulation. Tiny touches, never pushing. Supporting decisions to stay, to fight. Playing Musketeer while searching out holes in her defences, gaining her
trust. Throat tight, muscles rigidly
locked, Madeleine faced all which had been said and done between them. She could barely force the question through
her lips.
"It was all an act?"
"No."
Those reflected eyes were fierce, his mouth a set line, firm
and absolute. Then he looked away,
drawing in a deep breath.
"There's a great deal I can't discuss. Most outside the Fives are barred from
speaking at all to the Untaken. I have
minor exemptions, but critical subjects can't even be broached, and I've lost
some of the leeway I had. Do you
remember what I said, the first time we spoke?
A boy with a head injury, newly possessed, glaring at the
Spire with concentrated hatred.
All
this useless death. Don't you want to
tear that down and stamp on the pieces?
"That was true? But...why? You still – you told
them where we were, didn't you? Unlocked
the elevator."
"You've never met a hierarchy like the En-Mott," he
said, then winced, as if something had poked him. "I can't explain in any detail. I can't directly act. I've done all I can to...to line up
dominos. Time, place, opportunity. The pieces of information you
need." He frowned at the
window. "Let me get these threats
out of the way. You understand what the
Core intends to do to you?"