Soulwalker (6 page)

The darkness of her room held little comfort as Tarris awoke with a start. Her heart pounded, and a light sheen of sweat covered her skin. “Light… low,” she murmured. She waited for the overhead glow to dim to an acceptable level. Tonight it was no help, and she was forced to darken her eyes. The headache that was pounding in her head was probably causing her intolerance to the light. Her limbs remembered the pain of that fall, the excruciating agony as muscle was torn from bone, the snapping of bones in her legs, and skin being ripped off her body.

A shudder flowed through her as her mind refused to let the past go. She tapped her wrist for the meds and prayed for relief. As the drug flowed through her body, she relaxed and allowed it to work. Why was she bringing all this up now? It had taken her quite a few years to put the accident behind her, but now her memory decided to punish her some more.

Life was hell in the ensuing months after the fall, and many times she wished for a quick death. The medipracs lost count of the number of broken bones she had, so instead concentrated their efforts on her broken back. What should have been a simple spinal fusion turned out to be a never-ending series of failing operations, each one trying to correct the mistakes of the one before it. It was at that point that the medipatches were inserted, and she was taught the dangers and benefits of self-medication. Finally, she gave up and just asked to be left alone.

Her mother had been by her side through it all, and it took its toll on her. She aged before her daughter’s eyes. Tarris knew she had worried her, but she was not in a position to change anything. Tarris was helpless in the hospital until such time as the medipracs would release her. In a way, it was probably better that she was there and not at home. At least she wasn’t a physical burden on her mother.

What had surprised her was that her mother left not long after her discharge, placing her care in the hands of the Institute. Numerous explanations were made, and while she understood some of them, it didn’t take away the pain that her mother would give up her child. There was no way the woman could afford to attend to her “special needs,” as the people at the Institute had called it, whereas they felt an obligation to look after her. Their obligation didn’t keep her warm at night.

Now, sixteen years later, she had located her mother, but they still weren’t together. Many times she wondered whether her mother’s presence at the small working community was in exchange for the Institute paying for her medical care, but no amount of encouragement would bring her mother to the metropolis. And she was still alone.

Tarris lifted her arms and put her hands behind her head. She gazed at the ceiling while she contemplated her life. By the time they had given her the means to end her life, she no longer seriously considered it. There were the bad times, of course, where the thought passed fleetingly across her mind, but even in the worst circumstances, she willed herself to continue on. She was a fighter, she knew that, and her fighter’s spirit, Rya, wouldn’t let her take the easy way out. She’d been determined to prove she was still a valuable addition to the community.

When she was able, the Institute intensified her training, not only to build her shadow’s ability but her own body as well. The power suit she wore was one of many gifts that made her life easier. In fact, now that she thought about it, the Institute’s generosity was more than acceptable; it was an overabundance. Why was that? Tarris didn’t consider herself anything special. Maybe it was a guilty conscience. While they constantly denied it was anything but an accident, maybe they were trying to make up for what was taken away on their premises. Not that they would ever admit it.

She turned her attention to the dream and tried to figure out why she was taunting herself with it now. The thought of this mediprac being able to help her had brought this all about. Yes, that was it. Her subconscious was making the connection between the fall and the researcher.

Tarris moved her hand to her face so her wrist was in her line of sight. The patch formed a faint lump where it sat under her skin. It had been there so long she didn’t notice it anymore. The tattooed barcode, however, had been a recent improvement. Well, in her lifetime and since her accident. There had been a hue and cry about its introduction, freedom lobbyists bemoaning the possible abuse of the system. Considering what was happening now, they were very insightful indeed. That barcode was used to track suspected troublemakers. The “big brother syndrome,” as it had been nicknamed about a century ago, had come to be. Those freedom lobbyists were the first ones to be silenced in the name of unity and cohesion. If they were to survive against the other mega-dominions, there could be no dissension, or so the governing party told them.

As much as Tarris felt uneasy about the government control, she wasn’t stupid enough to say anything.

Rule Five in her Survival Handbook:
Never
reveal your political leanings
…
to anyone
.

That rule was a big one as far as she was concerned, and it was one that could see her on the hit list that was so judiciously kept by the Prime, Roden Sholter. She wasn’t part of the cause; she was part of the solution.

When had the government converted from democracy to totalitarianism? It had been a subtle and well-crafted move on the part of the Prime and his ministers. World politics had been favorable, and the Prime used the excuse of defense and unity to slowly shift power. Before anyone realized what had happened, new laws had been passed and put in place. Some of the opposition still believed they had a say in the running of the state. Not that Tarris was privy to such information. Much of it was hearsay. Whatever the government had in mind was a well-guarded secret.

All this deep thought was feeding her headache, and precious sleep was eluding her. Tarris looked at her wrist again. She knew very well that she was addicted to the drugs, but she was not going to sleep on her own. She rubbed her wrist gently, slowly releasing the sedative into her system. As her eyelids began their descent, she murmured “Light off.” She hoped she would be allowed some peace of mind.

*   *   *

The next afternoon, Tarris found herself standing in front of the Archive building. She had spent many hours here immersed in the past, which seemed a much nicer place than the present.

“Ah, Trooper Waite. Back again so soon?” The plexiglass screen was blank, as it always was with its greeting.

“Yes, Archiver. What’s showing today?”

“One of the classics from a hundred years ago. We had a number of requests for a re-screening.”

Don’t say it. Don’t say it.
Tarris cringed as she awaited the words she had come to abhor.

“Bill and Till’s Excellent Adventure!”
the robot announced.

Damn… and the day had started so promisingly.

“Not to your liking, Trooper?”

“I was in the mood for one of the older ones.”

“How old?”

“Fifty years before that. Something like… like….” She hadn’t come to the Archive with any specific film in mind, just something to remove her thoughts from the mission ahead. “How about
The Wizard of Oz?”
Her trip to the park yesterday had brought the film to mind.

“That one is out on loan.” The words came out flat, as if expressing an opinion.

“Damn, I was in the mood for that.”

“There is a screening of
The African Queen
in Room 32-908.”

“Fine. And I would like to book
The Maltese Falcon
and… and…
Gigi.”
She rather liked the musicals, much to the disgust of the Archiver. Maybe she did it just to annoy the grumpy piece of circuitry who tried to discourage her taste in such films.

“It will be ready for pickup when you emerge, Trooper.”

“Thank you.” She had been here often enough to know her way around the myriad of floors and doors quite comfortably and found the room she wanted at the far end of corridor 32. Barely a handful of people were present for the screening, all sitting and waiting for the film to start. As always, Tarris took a seat at the back.

Rule Six in her Survival Handbook: Always keep your enemies in front of you to avoid getting stabbed in the back.

No one stabbed anymore. More efficient ways of doing that were available. Still, the sentiment was the same. The holoscreen went black as the titles came up, and Tarris lost herself in the fantasy for a while. She enjoyed watching the old color 3-D films in their natural state. It made her feel more human.

The film was barely halfway through when her wrist computer tapped her. The tiny illuminated screen delivered its message and switched off, returning the room to semidarkness. Tarris frowned. She really hated leaving in the middle of a screening, but she had no choice. The Monitor had called an emergency meeting.

*   *   *

She arrived at the monotone building with little trouble. The sun had finally been given a reprieve and was valiantly trying to dry out the mass of puddles that dotted the city. The cool air hit her as she walked through the front door, and she sighed in relief. Her leather coat was not the best piece of clothing to wear when the sun was out.

Tarris looked around the conference room. Three seats were conspicuously vacant, not that it surprised her. Corman always did like to make an entrance.

“Let us begin,” the Monitor announced.

“But, sir—” One of the younger troopers, Shark, tried to intercede but was cut off.

“I know, Trooper. We will begin.”

At that moment, the door slid open to reveal three albinos negligently standing there. Corman sauntered in. He cast his eyes over the seated group majestically, while his two “lieutenants” eyeballed anyone who dared look back.

“You are late, Troopers.”

“I am,” the lean man said and made a point of looking at his chronometer, “on time, Monitor.” His disdain dripped from the words like the eternal rain that cursed the metropolis. Corman slumped into his chair, as if already bored with the proceedings. Jackton and Luton followed suit, albeit a little more respectfully.

“I wish to stress the importance of tonight’s mission, Troopers. This is a multi-target contact, and I… the Council… want no mistakes.” The voice hardened. “There is to be no bloodbath. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Monitor.” All but one answered until Corman grudgingly muttered the two words.

“Deadly. Silent. Mysterious. It is to appear as an enigma. No cause of death but heart failure.”

Tarris watched her nemesis as the Monitor made clear what the Council wanted. She was the Group Leader, but she knew her authority would be ignored. As the sly smile crossed Corman’s lips, she wondered how she was going to maintain control. It seemed what the Council wanted and what Corman wanted were two different things. Tarris had a bad feeling about this.

*   *   *

Shadow infiltrated shadow in the stillness of the night. The moon rarely showed its face, but it did so tonight. Maybe it was a bad omen. Tarris watched Rya move through the deserted streets with purpose toward the outskirts of the city where their current mission was to take place.

Tarris felt that her spirit was restless, as was she, even though Rya held little emotion of her own. But Tarris suspected it was her own disquiet that Rya was expressing, the calm long forgotten and replaced with the apprehension of the coming events.

Tarris lay on her back and stared at the darkened ceiling. Even though she had sent her shadowed assassin on her way, her concentration was not what it should be. Corman had planted the seed of doubt in her, and she questioned her ability to keep him from doing something stupid. Either he was very ignorant or very arrogant. She suspected it was the latter but wouldn’t rule out the former either. The Council wanted to come out of this mission with their hands clean. A bloodbath would only fuel the accusations of the opposition in parliament.

Tarris tried again. She closed her eyes and sought out the deep part of her that resided in Rya. Tonight, most of all, she needed every ounce of concentration that she had.

Rya gazed at the small compound that was their target. Two guards stood at the gate, talking to one another. She sensed the arrival of the other members of her group, their emitted auras easily read by her own senses. This was their first mission as a team, and one that would test Tarris’s ability to lead.

Waves of energy spread out from Rya’s ghostly form to instruct the others to find their assigned targets and reinforce the need for stealth. Tarris smiled as Rya competently organized the attack.

Rya took up position on a nearby vantage point. She watched the white auras of her team spread out around the compound. Corman’s shadow, Gareth, hovered by her side. It was the calm before the mayhem.

No bloodshed, Corman.
Tarris projected the order to her counterpart and tried to put as much threat as she could in her command.

Yeah yeah. Whatever you want.
Corman expressed it not so much as a respect for authority but as a lazy admission and then an instant dismissal. Gareth casually swept forward toward the gate. Apparently Corman didn’t even care that the guards could see his shadowed avenger. And so it began.

Tarris watched Rya carry out her duty. She slid around the perimeter of the courtyard and through the shadowed crevices not illuminated by the floodlights. The residence was not in complete darkness as it should have been. It was as if they were expected. There could be more to worry about than a mere hiccup in their timetable.

Rya circled the outside of the building and sought out the darkened places that resided there. Finally she found her access point. A small vent had been left open. It was all too easy… and too convenient.

Tarris voiced caution as her warrior contemplated the tiny hatch. Shark’s shadow joined her and did not hesitate to enter, his caution dissolving like the harsh light in the dark of night. Before Rya could react, the vent closed with a bang to imprison the assassin inside. There was a brief flash before silence. They had to assume Shark had been “blinded.”