The Far Shores (The Central Series) (48 page)

Anastasia did not bother
to inflict more harm on her throat by disputing him.

“I will freely admit
that I sought your elimination,” Brennan Thule said, accompanying the statement
with a casual gesture that implied that this was a trivial point – water
beneath the bridge, as it were. “For a variety of reasons, the Thule Cartel
would have benefited from a decentralization of power within the Black Sun.
When, however, it became apparent that your death would be a difficult thing to
achieve, I shifted my goals. If I exercised the kind of absolute power over my
cartel that I would like, then I would have skipped the unpleasantness of your
interrogation. Indeed, many of our difficulties could have been handled with
the simple expediency of a conversation. Since my motives are still open to
question, however, I did the least I could, in order to free my hand and to
quell the possibility of dissension for my next action.”

Anastasia set aside the teacup
and then drank from the bottle of water. It tasted both glorious and a bit odd,
lacking whatever narcotic had adulterated the water in the pool.

“I assume you mean to
offer an explanation for this peculiar torture you devised?”

“Torture?” Brennan Thule
laughed, but Anastasia suspected the laughter was an affectation – part of the
involved performance that he was giving. She was not certain whether he was
doing it for his own benefit, as an elaborate form of self-justification, or if
he was genuinely attempting to reason with her. “Far from it, Miss Martynova.
While your internment in my family’s labyrinth may have been an ordeal, it was
not an act of cruelty, nor an attempt to break your will, but rather intended
as a transformative experience.”

Anastasia set the bottle
of water aside, careful to move slowly and deliberately. Her stomach, unused to
having anything inside of it, much less a large volume of liquids, cramped
ominously, but she was determined not to be sick in front of Brennan Thule.

“You are referring to
the drug, then?”

“I refer to the entire
experience, milady,” Brennan Thule answered gravely, in apparent seriousness. “Though
certainly the essence of the trumpet flower plays a key role.”

“It is datura, or one of
its derivations, correct? The visions it inspired were vivid and troubling, to
be sure, but hardly enough to alter my character. Your confidence is very much
misplaced, Thule.”

“The hallucinations are
simply part of the process, as is the pain, and the isolation. There is an
element of ritual – the days you have spent here were a re-creation of the
circumstances under which our cartel’s founder discovered the drug you ingested
– but the shared nature of the experience creates a common bond amongst all of
us.”

“What is this
foolishness? You are babbling.” Anastasia shook her head, wrapping her arms
tightly around her abdomen, which was increasingly racked with painful spasms. “I
was alone in your little maze.”

“Of course,” Brennan
Thule confirmed. “As we all are, when we undergo the ordeal.”

Anastasia gasped. She
let him assume that it was shock, rather than revealing the turmoil the
countertoxin created in her body. She bent double, moving in a vain attempt to
reduce the agony inside.

“You begin to
understand.” Brennan Thule smiled, and lifted a goblet from the low table. “The
ordeal is not intended to torment, though it does have that effect. All who are
judged worthy by the Thule Cartel must undergo this experience, in order to
ascend, both in rank and in state of consciousness.”

Brennan Thule paused
briefly to sip from his goblet.

“The rumors are true,”
Anastasia said, panting between words as her insides twisted and contracted. “Your
cartel truly is mad. I never imagined that madness was the result of a
deliberate action on your part, though.”

“Madness is subjective. It
all depends on your point of view.” Brennan Thule smiled and stood, walking
along the length of the room, trailing one white-gloved hand along the carved
walls. “Our founder was a botanist by hobby, did you know that? He was the
first to notice that, while our nanites faithfully work to purge our systems of
any toxin that we ingest, the reaction to datura is entirely different. Instead
of treating datura as a threat, containing and purging it from the body, the
nanites instead interact with the substance, undergoing a transformation of
their own. The process is slow, and, as you have experienced, painful, but the results
are amazing.”

Brennan Thule was at
least polite enough to look away when Anastasia fell to the floor and crawled half
a meter before becoming profoundly sick. Perhaps it was inevitable, but she
felt shamed nonetheless. Even after she had expelled the contents of her
stomach, the retching continued for several more minutes. She was forced to
accept the silent guard’s assistance in returning to her chair, and then
averted her eyes as the servant returned with a mop and pail and set about
cleaning her mess.

“It should be safe to
drink now,” Brennan Thule suggested, opening the second bottle of water for
her. “The worst should have passed.”

Anastasia didn’t trust
or believe him, but she took a small sip nonetheless, if only to wash the taste
from her mouth. Her stomach felt steadier, and the tremors in her hands finally
receded. For the first time in what seemed like ages, Anastasia felt slightly
better than she had the moment before.

“Allow me to be frank,
milady,” Brennan Thule said, putting one hand on the back of her chair, in a
gesture of familiarity that made her hackles rise. “I have ulterior motives in
bringing you here, and for this conversation. You see, when it became clear to
me that killing you was not an option, I naturally began to explore other
avenues. Once the attempt on your life had been made – and your trusted
servants slain in the process, an act I should have apologized for some time
ago – the die was cast. There was no possibility of going back, no potential
for a diplomatic solution. Only the most extreme alternatives were left
available to me.”

Anastasia took another
cautious sip of water, and stared straight ahead at the silent guard, not
acknowledging Thule’s uncomfortable proximity. The servant finished his
cleaning and left quietly.

“Like it or not, Miss
Martynova, the Thule Cartel will shortly be a power to reckon with in Central.
If I achieve even half of what I intend, we will be
the
power to contend
with in the Hegemony. Dealing with the Black Sun was an eventuality that would
have to be faced, in one form or another, before we could ascend to our
rightful place in the hierarchy.”

“Which you assume to be
at the apex.”

“As you say. Given that
you are the feared and respected heir to the Black Sun Cartel, your removal
seemed the most expeditious path to dominance. As you weathered the ordeal in
our labyrinth, however, other possibilities occurred to me. Other avenues that
might lead to a similarly desirable result.”

“You aren’t about to
suggest peaceful coexistence, are you?” Anastasia forced herself to sit up, her
back rigid despite her exhaustion. “Because I take a dim view of poisoners,
Thule.”

Brennan Thule’s laughter
was perfunctory.

“An entirely reasonable
stance. As I told you, however, you have not been poisoned.” An intensity
marked Brennan Thule’s words, a passion in his voice that bordered on mania. “You
have been altered. The change is gradual. I observed your struggle, here in the
labyrinth, your admirable restraint when it came to the fountain, in light of
what must have been terrific thirst. Even the small doses were enough to affect
changes to your perception, though, alterations that will stay with you for the
rest of your markedly unnatural life. It was the final dose, though, your
surrender to thirst that brought me down to speak to you. At last, you drank
deeply of the waters of the fountain, ingesting enough to reach the critical
mass needed to begin the change.”

“You are speaking in
riddles.”

“Limited doses alter
only a small portion of the nanites present in an Operator’s body. These
altered nanites are perceived as foreign by the remainder, and are eventually
purged from your system. When you chose to drink deeply from the fountain, even
to immerse yourself in it – a commendable gesture, by the way – your system was
flooded with the extract of the trumpet vine. By now, the altered nanites
inside of you outnumber the original, and they are converting or destroying
those that remain. Soon, you will be as we are, within the core of the Thule
Cartel.”

He stepped around the
chair, leaning close so that all she could see was his smiling face, bad teeth,
and strangely desperate eyes, but kept his hold on the back of her chair, as if
she were a child that he planned on lecturing. Anastasia contained her fury,
and focused on hiding her discomfort as the countertoxin worked its way through
her system with the fury of an untreated fever.

“You must have some
intelligence on us, despite our long exile, yes? The core of the cartel, the
Thule family itself and our dependencies – the protocols that we operate are
far beyond the realm of what is normal. You are aware, I am certain, that we
undergo additional nanite treatments, creating implants similar to the one that
the Director sports, but with less predictable results. What you do not know,
however – our great secret – is the nature of these implants, and the protocols
to which they grant us access.”

With a gentleness that
surprised her, he took Anastasia’s hand and held it between his own, bending in
front of her like a suitor.

“We are kindred spirits,
you and I. We always have been. Not simply because of our backgrounds, or the greatness
of the cartels that we live in service of, but because of the nature of our
abilities. Your protocol is Deviant – that is an open secret in Central, one
that you manage elegantly. To keep such a thing public enough to strike fear
and uncertainty into your enemies, while keeping enough deniability to avoid condemnation
as Anathema – a rare and enviable achievement, milady, of which you must share
the secret with me. We were less clever than yourself, and were sent into
exile, though we did conceal enough to escape being declared Anathema. Our
secret is not the implants or the hoarding of nanite injections,” Brennan Thule
explained, stroking her hand the way one might pet a cat, “it is the nature of
the protocols we operate. They are
irrational
, defying basic logic and
order.”

Anastasia stared at him,
clear-eyed and noncommittal.

“I am a machine
telepath, Miss Martynova, a technopath, as outlandish as that may sound.”
Brennan Thule’s eyes were tinted with an interior luminance, a well-concealed
insanity that burned with fervor when he spoke. “The inanimate creations of
mankind speak to me, whisper in their private language – that is what I learned
during my own ordeal, in this very labyrinth. At first, I mistook them for
hallucinations, but it was far from a delusion – it was the machines
themselves, teaching me their secret lexicon. When I emerged from my ordeal, I
was capable of communicating with and controlling virtually any machine, from
the most primitive to the most phenomenally complex. When we spoke in the
interrogation chamber, I made my final attempt on your life, attempting to
communicate with your nanites directly, and failing. That is when my mind began
to turn down a surprising road…”

He raised her hand,
ignoring the wounds on each of her fingers, and put his lips to the back of it,
in a gesture of courtly affection that threatened to turn her stomach again.
Anastasia could not keep her contempt from her face, but he merely laughed in
response.

“The solution was obvious.
I am certain by now it has occurred to you, the way it came to me while you
were confined. We are meant for each other, Anastasia Martynova. Together we
can bring peace to the cartels – our union will achieve the reconciliation of
the Hegemony and the Black Sun, and bring about a new age of prosperity for all
of Central. If you will do me the honor of being my bride, we can rule the
world side by side, as equals.”

“Truly, the rumors do
your madness no justice,” Anastasia said, with a small smile. “Your derangement
is far worse than I could have anticipated.”

“Perhaps,” Brennan Thule
agreed, laughing as he kissed her hand again. “You may be right. But you,
milady, are no different. Already your protocol is warping inside of you,
Deviant though it may be, into something irrational. Nearly as much as I am
eager for your answer, I am consumed with curiosity to see what has become of
it…”

“Are you certain that I
am so changed? Let’s answer two questions at once, then, shall we?”

Anastasia leapt to her
feet and lunged forward, her hand passing effortlessly through his arms and
directly into the center of his chest. There was no resistance, no blood, no
parting of flesh or even a hint of contact. Brennan Thule’s eyes bulged as his
expression twisted in horror.

Anastasia smiled, her
outstretched hand buried beneath his sternum.

“Would you like to know
a secret?” Anastasia asked sweetly, her arm disappearing into his chest at the
wrist. “It’s true. I am a Deviant, as is my Reign Protocol. Quantum tunneling,
the scientists call it, this particular manifestation of my abilities. I know
you were curious – you were rather boorish on the topic, honestly. You should
know I cannot simply share all of my tricks with you. Nevertheless, as you were
such a generous host, I feel compelled to share something with you. This is
rather the least I can do, but an odd sensation regardless, is it not?”