The Nexus Series: Books 1-3 (34 page)

21

“A
team will be sent to make sure the old architects’ base is ready for your use,”
Holiday instructed the team.  “In the meantime, enjoy the rest of the week
off.”

“We’ll be right
on Sketch’s doorstep,” Bradley complained.

“That’s perfect,”
countered Jill.

“Are you nuts?”
Bradley’s voice crackled over the speaker.

“The whole point
of going down there is to track Sketch,” put in Corey.  “It’s an ideal
setup—he isn’t using the architects’ base, but he’s apparently patrolling the
tunnels nearby.  We’ll be in the best possible position.”

“That’s correct,”
said Holiday.  “Now I suggest you all get some R&R.  By next week
you’ll be spelunking.”

“What’s R&R?”
asked Dizzie.

“Rest and
recuperation,” Bradley answered irritably.

“What’s
spelunking?” Amber asked from the shuttle.

“Cave
exploration.  Prepare yourselves:  The Dark Beneath is about to
become your new home.”

DIZZIE
found Jill in the department workout center early next morning.  She was
pedaling an exercise bike furiously.  Sweat glistened on her
forehead.  Her jaw was set, her eyes narrowed.

“You know,”
Dizzie said walking up to her, “some people work out as a casual pastime, just
for the enjoyment of it.  Other people work out intensely, like their life
depends on it or something.”

“Which kind am
I?” Jill asked, not slowing her pedaling.

“Didn’t you hear
the director?  This doesn’t look like RNR to me.”

“R-
and
-R.”

“Whatever. 
Don’t you know you have the rest of the week off?”

“Sketch is down
there, Dizzie,” Jill said between panting breaths.  “We’ve got to be
ready.”

“Well,” Dizzie
said with a phony smile, “I guess if it comes to chasing him through the
tunnels on a bicycle, you’ll be ready, all right.”

“Is this why you
came down here—to ridicule me?”

“Actually I came
because I never got a chance to ask you about Jerry G.”

Jill finally
ceased her pedaling.  “It went about like I expected.”

“Not interested?”

“That’s what he
said.”

“Hey, don’t give
up on him.  Remember, that’s how you felt at first too.”

“I know. 
But I know Jerry pretty well, Diz.  He’s not the type to work at a place
like this.”

Dizzie
shrugged.  “None of us are exactly the type to work at a place like this.”

Jill couldn’t
argue with that one.

SHE
circled the HQ balcony on her way back from the workout center.  Morning
shifts were in full swing, and the floor was alive with activity.  Past
the director’s office, she cut back to the elevator lobby.

She paused. 
At the top of the small staircase off the lobby, the other door to Holiday’s
office was cracked open.

“You already know
my opinion,” she heard the director say.

“I do,” Corey’s
voice replied.  “And I won’t go without your permission.”

Jill slipped
closer to the stairs.

“You feel certain
this is the best course of action?” asked Holiday.

“I know these
people better than anyone else in the department could,” said Corey. 
“They don’t take up a cause unless they’re convinced of it; once they’re
convinced of it, they’ll stop at nothing to support it.  These aren’t just
guns-for-hire that Sketch has picked up.”

“My suggestion is
to wait and see what happens—wait to find out if this is really necessary.”

“I understand,
sir.  But waiting might mean something catastrophic.”

“Such as?”

“The worst
possible thing.  Believe me, Director; our lives will be in danger the
moment we set foot down there.”

“If they’re as
devoted to their cause as you say, why are you certain you’ll be able to change
their minds?”

“I’m not
certain.  But I believe it’s the best option.”

Holiday
sighed.  “Very well.  I want you escorted by our best men—”

“I have to go
alone.  Trust me, sir; it’s the only way they’ll listen to me.”

“
If
they
listen to you at all.”

“They definitely
won’t if they know I’ve brought company.”

There was a brief
pause.

“You’re a
courageous young man, Corey,” the director said at last.  “Come back to us
in one piece.”

“I will,” said
Corey.  “Thank you, sir.”

When Corey
emerged from the office, Jill had already disappeared down the hallway toward
the dorms.

COREY’S
face was grim when he entered the garage later that morning.  He stepped
into a department skycar, started the ignition, and angled into the exit
tunnel.

In the shadows at
the back of the garage Jill waited astride her skybike in full uniform. 
The moment Corey’s taillights disappeared she fired up her engine.

THE
Climate Control Center of Anterra had hung a thick layer of storm clouds over
the city.  Jill’s bike burst out of Pete’s Fish Cannery into the gray,
rainy day.  According to the map on her console, Corey’s skycar was
heading south out of the warehouse district.

She took off
after him.  Rain spattered on her riding jacket and streamed down her
helmet’s visor.  The Home Planet was invisible beyond the cloud cover to
her left.  To her right the downtown skyline lurked in a gray haze across
the lake.  She stayed roughly a mile behind him, taking parallel routes
whenever possible.  He stayed on a southerly route, reaching the
neighborhoods near the very edge of the city.

Jill was starting
to wonder if he would shoot off the edge of the satellite and careen into space
when he finally parked a few blocks from the south rim.  It was an
abandoned neighborhood of old-fashioned brick buildings piled on top of each
other.  She circled the block to stay out of sight, and parked in an alley
across the street from him.  Crouching behind a garbage bin at the mouth
of the alley she peeked out toward the department vehicle.

The pouring rain
made visibility tough, but it looked like Corey was still sitting in the
car. 

Jill waited.

He finally
stepped out, shut the door firmly, and strode slowly but determinedly up the
empty street.  Jill followed him as closely as possible.  He led her
around a corner toward a weed-covered lot dominated by a bulky brick building.
 Its walls were crumbling and covered with graffiti, its windows broken
and boarded.  At the corner of the lot sat a large sign with REDFORD
SENIOR HIGH SCHOOL engraved on its stone face.  Across the faded
engraving, the single word JUSTICE had been spray-painted in bold, red letters.

She followed
Corey around to the back of the building.

HE’D
been anxious all day, but his heart really started pounding the moment he came
within sight of the place.  Memories flooded Corey’s mind as he approached
the former school building.  Some of the memories were good.

Others...

He climbed a
chain link fence and dropped onto the cracked pavement of a lot between two of
the building’s rear wings.  At the back of the lot, metal double-doors led
into the school.  Across the doors was painted a silver skull.

Corey’s heart
beat even faster at the sight of those doors.

He realized he’d
stopped moving.  He willed himself to approach the doors, to reach out a
hand, to knock several times.  Then he stared into the old camera mounted
above the door.  He was sure someone would recognize him.

It didn’t take
long for them to surround him from all sides.  Some dropped out of
windows, others streamed out of the doubled doors—at least ten of them. 
They weren’t pointing their guns directly at him, but they made sure he knew
they were carrying them.  They wore dark, ragged clothes.  Beneath
their hoods strange faces peered out at him—faces painted metallic silver with
dark gaps around eyes, nose and mouth.

Faces that looked
like skulls.

Corey didn’t
move, didn’t breathe, as they formed a circle around him.

“Thirty-seven, is
that you?” one of the skulls greeted him in a teen girl’s voice.

He’d recognized
her immediately.  That feeling was back—something like pity.  “I have
a name,” he replied evenly.

“Not here, you
don’t,” said another—a big man with a black hood.  His accent was
Australian.  “Do we have to remind you that under the code we’re dead to
our old names and lives?”

“I’m not under
your code anymore.”

The big one stepped
closer and threw back his hood.  His shaved head was painted silver like
his face.  “But you’ve placed yourself back under the code’s authority by
coming here.  You know that.”

“I know,” said
Corey.  “I’ll willingly stand trial before the inquiry.  You don’t
have to drag me.”

“So you haven’t
come back to rejoin?” asked the girl.  Her voice sounded more than
disappointed.

He wanted to tell
her everything...why he’d left, why he hadn’t said goodbye.  It seemed so
long ago, the time when he’d been more than a friend to Forty-four—a mentor, a
brother even.  But he couldn’t explain.  He could only shake his
head, and say,  “I have a message for Eighteen.”

“Eighteen’s
dead,” the big one said flatly.  “Fifty-two is overseer now.”

Corey’s heart
missed a beat.  He willed himself to remain composed.  “Then I have a
message for Fifty-two.”

“What message?”
asked the girl.

The big one
looked at her.  “Not now, Forty-four.  He can give the message to the
overseer after—”

“I’m the
overseer’s right hand,” the girl insisted.  “I have a right to
know.”  She stepped closer to Corey.  “What is it you have to say to
us?”

“I have a favor
to ask,” Corey told her.

“A favor,” she
repeated bitterly.  “And you think we’ll listen?”

“If the society
still seeks justice, you’ll listen,” Corey answered confidently.

The girl called
Forty-four didn’t seem convinced.  “What favor?”

“I want to
explore the Dark Beneath without interference from this society.”

The bald one eyed
him suspiciously.  “What do you know about our business in the Dark
Beneath?”

Corey looked
penetratingly into his eyes.  “I know you’ve been hired to patrol the
tunnels.  I know about the one who hired you to patrol the tunnels. 
And I know that—unless the code has changed drastically since I left—you have
no business allying yourself with him.”

The bald one took
a step forward.  “I don’t think you know quite as much as you claim to,
mate.”

“Last I knew,”
Corey responded, “this society had the best interests of Anterra in mind. 
Yet now I discover you’re working with a heartless crime lord who doesn’t care
about anyone but himself.”

“Our goals are
more alike than you know, Thirty-seven,” the girl said quietly.  “We stand
for justice, here—just like we always have.  But our city has become overwhelmed
by corruption.  In some circumstances, extreme measures have to be taken
in order to establish justice.  These are the measures our new benefactor
is willing to take.”

“What are you
talking about?” asked Corey.  He was afraid he already knew the answer.

“Revolution,”
said the big one.

Corey looked the
girl in the eye.  “You’re making a mistake, Forty-four.”

She
hesitated.  “It has to be done.”

“There are other
ways.”

Her voice was
barely a whisper.  “It’s already been set in motion, Thirty-seven. 
There’s no stopping it now.”

“But—”

“We’re not
interested in hearing your advice,” the bald one interrupted gruffly, “or your
requests, until you’ve appeared before the inquiry as the code states. 
Let’s get on with it.”  He turned to the girl.  “Tell the overseer;
gather the inquirers.”  His painted face grinned monstrously at
Corey.  “Let’s see what they decide to do with you, mate.”

THEY
led him through dark halls that were all too familiar.  Dull light came
from lanterns hanging here and there.  Everything in the old school
building—walls, floor, lockers, doors—was covered in graffiti.  Each
insignia had its own ritualistic significance.

Corey smiled
grimly to himself; they had just passed the converted classroom that been his
own room not so long ago.

They arrived at
the gymnasium.  Lanterns sat on the floor, dimly lighting the way across
the graffiti-coated basketball court to a certain section of bleachers.  A
raised spotlight made a circle of harsh, white light in front of the bleachers. 
In the middle of this pool of light was a metal folding chair.

They shoved him
onto the chair.  His escorts remained around him, standing around the edge
of the wide pool of light.

He waited. 
The only sound was the rain pelting the gymnasium roof.

Twelve more
figures with painted faces entered the gymnasium from a door above the
bleachers.  Each carried a candle glowing with a white, smokeless
flame.  They filed into the two rows directly in front of Corey and faced
him wordlessly.

Last to arrive
was the overseer.  She entered from a door on the far end of the
basketball court, invisible in the darkness as her echoing footsteps grew
nearer and nearer.

Corey strove to
keep calm.  How long had it been since he’d last seen Fifty-two? 
She’d joined the society not long before he had.  They’d gotten along just
fine for a time.  But then...

She stepped
within the circle of light.  Her face was painted more grotesquely than
the others; the dark smears around the eyes were slanted cruelly, and black and
silver streaks slashed like fangs across her lips.  Long, wavy locks of
hair dyed vivid blood red fell like curtains on either side of her face. 
She wore a simple black gown with frayed hem and sleeves.