On the monitor, where the smoke billowed, the aerial view showed the Society's soldiers walking comfortably within Diablo Two's perimeter. Not a single Cinian soldier in sight, not even as a prisoner.
Above the city, the wind carried the smoke to the northeast, and they counted three major fires to the west. However, it appeared to be mostly intact. There were almost no people on the streets, and they wondered where they had taken them or if they were all huddled near the compound or prison. What a massive camp it must be.
There was a high-pitched, soft hooting sound: the radar had picked up movement.
“It's dragonflies!” Burton yelled.
“Land the Falconer right here, on the double!” Cam ordered, convinced that an aerial confrontation was a lost cause.
They swooped down. With a big jerk, it landed behind a large three-story building, an office complex with a large subway parking lot. It didn't fit inside, but they could roll it far enough to be covered by the tall tents that covered the outside parking lot.
They remained silent, trying to tell if the dragonflies were approaching or flying away. Sure enough, they heard no guns. And finally, the airships continued their way.
“Thank God for the anti-radar system,” Burton whispered.
“Maybe they'd rather send a ground party,” Cam speculated. “Grab whatever supplies you want and let's go: no need to find out!”
They hurried out, disregarding their caution, and ran across the parking lot to the nearest entrance. Burton had to force the lock.
It was an ordinary office complex: grayish walls, lots of medium-sized windows, and wide hallways. The building was in the suburbs, far from downtown, but closer to the battlefield.
Frances looked at the seats, the papers neatly arranged, the computers turned off, the cups half-drunk.
“I am sure they were evacuated by their own bosses, not by the Society. Everything is too orderly for those barbarians to have been here.”
Burton walked over to one of the computers and turned it on. The owner had taped a piece of tape to the monitor with the password on it—what a smartass. He then tried to access the military system but got an error message.
“It seems the servers have been taken down.”
“This is no longer surprising.”
Gerard discreetly peered out of a window. He immediately crouched down.
“Shhh—soldiers of the Society.”
In the streets, a group of rebels patrolled with relief. They weren't looking for them, that was for sure. They were talking among themselves and seemed cheerful and distracted.
They watched them cross the street and disappear behind a row of flat-roofed houses.
Burton followed them with his eyes, and then they returned to the picture in front of him. He felt as if he were seeing this place for the first time, as if it were a completely different place, even though the streets were the same as always. The wide streets, the small, warm-colored houses of the area, the corporate buildings with their avant-garde designs and frivolity, the gardens that struggled to maintain their greenness despite the dryness: everything was wrapped in an unseemly atmosphere. He guessed it was because there were no people and because the skyline was blackened by smoke.
Cam broke the silence with a whisper:
“Let's go to the prison. We must find out what they are planning and if Art is still alive.”
Burton came out of his self-absorption and took a deep breath.”
“There will be too many soldiers.”
“Yes,” he agreed without looking up. “But that's where they've gathered, so that's where the answers will be.”
“Nothing we haven't done before, come on!” Frances was not afraid.
“We have to move very quietly.” Gerard looked up at one of the windows. “Maybe we can blend in.”
Burton was encouraged.
“Yes, that's right.”
Cam motioned for them to follow.
They exited through a side door and slipped quietly to the nearest sidewalk. The patrols in the area, sporadic but persistent, didn't look up much, probably because they weren't expecting DOBs, or because they didn't care. They took advantage: they moved south, taking rooftops and buildings, only treading on the ground when there was no alternative.
The wind began to gust harder, and the few trees in sight couldn't stop shaking.
The city of Cinia was large, but almost all the places of interest were in the downtown. During the day, all kinds of colors dominated, but at night everything glowed with bluish or yellowish tones, depending on the area.
There would be no lights that night.
The squad struggled to stay in the heights as they crossed the old streets. The downtown was not as desolate as the suburbs: the small groups of enemy soldiers seemed very comfortable there, hanging around, strolling, half guarding the area. They were distracted, it was obvious, and not doing their duty with discipline.
After circling a platoon-sized patrol, they finally approached the compound. The Cinian Prison was at the eastern end, separating center of the southern business district and the eastern warehouse suburbs, surrounded by old but well-maintained buildings, parks, and small businesses.
A distant din broke the silence, increasing as they approached. Hundreds of heavy, shuffling footsteps, shouts and exclamations, from prisoners and officers shouting orders through horns and loudspeakers; wheels, engines of trucks and other ground vehicles, and above, the purring of the dragonflies.
They hid in an apartment building a few blocks behind the prison. They were shocked to see myriads of Cinians being harassed and herded. Soldiers and armed citizens, wrapped in a stench of sweat and dried blood.
They climbed to the roof, fifteen stories above the neighboring rooftops. And as soon as they looked across the block, they were stunned: Cinia Central Prison loomed darkly over a vast expanse of fenced-in land, a large prison ten stories high, and a gigantic underground complex. Outwardly minimalist, rectangular and dark gray, it was state-of-the-art and never understaffed. They never hired security guards, the entire staff consisted of military men, disciplined, energetic, steadfast and incorruptible. This was the Great Cinian Dungeon, and it was now the heart of enemy activity.
They were everywhere, policing the prisoners, watching from the surrounding buildings, all armed with guns and a wild temper. And on a concrete platform next to the prison, a small group of important officers walked around, coordinating actions and shouting orders.
Most of the Cinian soldiers being led out of the prison were locked inside huge, heavy, very dark brown armored trucks.
The scene was chaotic, crazy: they went one way, then another, some fell, others fought, pushed and spat at each other. They saw a Cinian soldier knock down and kick a Society guard, and bullets came flying from various places. The soldier laid dead on the ground, and no one cared or dared to remove him. His comrades no longer had the strength to fight. And between the screams, screeches, and engines, the quiet buzz of the surveillance drones contrasted with the furious and distant barking. There were some inside the prison who helped their miscreant masters, but it was clear that most of them were echoing them from the invisibility of the neighboring blocks.
Cam frowned and pinned his gaze to the ground, Burton watched in amazement, Frances was already making attack strategies, and Gerard just kept watching in silence.
And regardless, the only question that really mattered at the time was: how the hell were they going to get through that?
***
“Did General Wilker say how much longer?”
“Not long. I think less than a week, why?”
“We have been waiting a long time, and now we have the capital, and we have to wait even longer.”
“The problem is that you lack patience, you animal! Look, first we must get all these people out… Why are you moving like that? Are you really that anxious?”
“What? No, sir! I just want to pee.”
The other soldier wrinkled his nose and looked ahead at the hustle and bustle of the soldiers and their Cinian prisoners, at a day well spent.
“Then go to the alley and piss, you dog. Do you expect me to go with you? Get off!”
The scolded one turned and headed for the nearest alley, a few steps to his left. He grumbled and cursed the heat, the sky and his major; he kicked the dumpster and walked all the way down to a clean brown brick wall—well, not anymore.
The other soldier continued to stand on the sidewalk, fiddling with the trigger of his rifle, watching his flanks out of the corner of his eye, trying to tolerate his own bad mood. It was getting hot as hell, but it was worth it: the damned capital was theirs after all.
“Hummm. Hey Koli, how much crap did you drink yesterday?”
There was no answer.
A bead of sweat formed on the Major's forehead as he watched the entrance to the alley with a taciturn expression on his face.
“Alright, you asked for it.”
He slowly made his way to the alley. He saw his soldier at the back, his back to him. He half smiled and frowned more.
“You drank a whole pitcher of crap, boy.”
He hung up his rifle and walked on until he met him.
“Listen to me!” He turned him around.
“Not today, boss,” Burton greeted the Major with a smile on his face and then used his leg as a hook to bring him down.
The major didn't have time to reach for his weapon: Frances struck him with her baton. One clean blow and he was knocked unconscious.
Gerard scanned the area outside, making sure no one was looking that way—they were safe.
Cam crouched down beside the soldier.
“Okay, let's see what you got here… A civilian ID: very nice; money, for donation; and look, my friend: a military ID from the Society… Wow, I already know what fake name I'm going to use.”
They threw the major and his little soldier into the dumpster, but not before taking off the former's clothes, as they had done with the latter. Cam put them on, smelly and all. They tried to lure another pair of lone soldiers to the now empty post. Standing there, it was easy enough to ambush them and hide them afterwards. Burton put a small electronic padlock on the lid of the dumpster so they couldn't get out if they woke up early. The timer would open the padlock at the appropriate time.
They waited under cover until a few dozen soldiers passed by, accompanied by three armed drones. They looked at each other reproachfully: it was the lowest of the low to use illegal combat robots. They were concerned, but the soldiers talked too much and moved without any discipline.
They joined in so naturally that no one paid them more than an indifferent glance; they were from the Dragon's Society and acted as such.
They walked through the crowded fence entrance and pushed their way through, just like the others. They passed almost unnoticed, but there were still soldiers who greeted them and tried to make conversation or looked at them like they were weirdos.
They tried to move as quickly as possible, weaving through the crowd. The noise was deafening—gunshots, yelling, and engines buzzing in their heads.
They entered the building, trying to imitate the mean gestures they saw on those faces: that was their constant mood.
“I've been in this prison hundreds of times,” Frances said, “and I know that the most heavily guarded cells are on the top two floors.”
“Yes,” Cam said, glancing at the Major's insignia on the worn uniform. “Let's ask a subordinate what he has to say about it.”
In one of the front offices, a boy sat in a chair, looking nervously out the window. Cam put on his grimmest face and approached him. His three companions stood nearby in the foyer.
“The big day is coming, isn't it?”
The boy was out of his chair in an instant. He was a head and a half shorter than he was, and although Society soldiers had no rules about haircuts, this boy wore his hair closely cropped. He clutched an old beret anxiously.
“Sir,” he greeted, “Yes. Though I haven't been told much, I know the machines will be activated soon,” he replied, trying to sound tough.
“Very good. Those machines! My superior informs me that the Chancellor has been brought to this prison. Can you confirm this?”
“Y-yes. The jailers will hold him while we await orders from our great general, Scott Wilker.”
“I was sent here with some colleagues to assess the progress of this entire operation. I already have my report on what's going on outside,” he said dryly. “Now I need to know if everything is going according to plan with our prisoner, Arthur Ness. Now, according to what I have been told, he is being held in one of the maximum-security cells.”
“Yes, that's right. He's in the big cell on the top floor.”
“I appreciate your cooperation. I will make sure that my superior knows how useful you are,” he flattered him, as if talking to an object, just as he had heard the captains in the courtyard talking to their subordinates. “I will go and finish my work, in the name of Dragon.”
The boy stood there with his eyes fixed on the ground while Cam retreated petulantly.
As soon as he stepped out of the room, he bumped into another soldier. This one was smiling, smug, undaunted, curious. He was as tall as he was, with gray eyes and very wavy, disheveled light brown hair. He wore no jacket or insignia of rank, but a three-day beard that grew near his ears—they must have been sideburns.
“Forgive the rookie: he was recently recruited.”
“No matter, he'll learn. They all do,” he threatened, still searching for his insignia.
“I am a lieutenant. Forgive the lack of insignia—I must have lost it somewhere.” His smile widened. “It's been a tiring day, hasn't it?”
“No need to say it. So, do you need anything?”
“I was going to ask you the same question! If you need help with your work, I can be of service.” He held three fingers to his chest and held Cam's gaze. “I know a lot more than most people around here.”
“No. I've wasted too much time already. I know where to go.”
He continued his way to the foyer. The soldier watched him go, but did not follow.
“All right,” he said as he joined the others. “The general is waiting for our reports. Follow me.”
They made their way to the back of the floor.
All the surface floors of the prison were similar, plain and gray. There were a few terminals on the walls that were used for internal communications, and a few screens overhead that displayed information for the officers and workers; half of them had been used for target practice. The main corridor connected several offices and various departments, now in disarray; and at the back were the stairs, the elevator, and the bathrooms.
They entered the elevator, quiet and sullen.
“Quiet,” Frances said, her lips barely moving, her eyes fixed on nothing. “Even if the cameras are still working, I doubt anyone is watching. We can whisper like this, with our backs to them.”
They cast a furtive glance at the camera in the upper left corner of the elevator, motionless, almost aggressive.
“What now?” asked Burton.
“We'll improvise depending on the guards,” Cam replied.
“I think we may not be able to get him out.”
“That is very likely, Buck,” Gerard whispered dejectedly. “But his knowledge of the enemy is crucial.”
“And maybe Ponce is right,” Cam recalled, “she thinks Art is hiding something. She denied it, of course, but that's the way it is.”
The elevator opened and they descended slowly. They walked down the corridor, paying attention to the offices they passed: if there were people inside, how many, ranks, positions. Those that were closed, unfortunately, gave barely a glimpse of silhouettes behind the frosted windows of the doors.
They reached the end of the office section and looked down the long, wide, empty corridor that separated them from the cells.
“Who is it?” shouted one of the guards guarding the entrance to the maximum-security section.
“Major Albert Mos Bres,” he repeated the name on the ID card. “I am here to check on the condition of the prisoner, Arthur Ness, the Cinian Chancellor.”
The man narrowed his eyes.
“The orders were to let no one through except those with permission. Do you have any official papers, Major Bres?”
Cam was frustrated: he had hoped that the havoc would reign up there as well. It was too much to ask. They would have to be forceful; he could already feel his muscles tightening.
“I am with them!” A soldier walking quietly down the corridor raised his voice. “I have something for you, sir and miss.”
It was the light brown-haired soldier they had found on the ground floor.
He approached the guards without looking at the Cinians, and they looked at him curiously. He handed them a tablet.
“Has the General approved this?” the other guard asked as she read the contents in disbelief. “All right, you can come in, I guess.”
She snorted in resignation and punched in the code for the door that gave access to the cell section. She entered and turned to the first of four locked rooms separated by a junction of corridors. There she punched in another code and stomped in.
The stranger came in after her, and Cam went after him to make sure it wasn't a trap.
Stolen novel; please report.
The room was off-white, uncluttered, windowless. In the center was the cell, a large grayish steel box with a single entrance. The guard punched in a third code and the heavy door unlocked.
She leaned on the wall.
“The permit says thirty minutes, and that's it!”
Cam studied the situation carefully and moved back to the entrance of the section.
“Follow me,” he ordered his squad.
The other guard saluted them curtly and stepped aside.
“Who is he?” Burton whispered.
Cam gave him a sideways glance and silently shook his head.
The man stood by the guard until they were all inside. Then he closed the door softly.
He turned, his face tilted, one eyebrow raised in obvious astonishment.
“I have a colleague in charge of security,” he pointed to the cameras in the corners, “so there's no need to worry about being overheard. Allow me to compliment you: that was a very daring feat, Fifth Squad,” he surveyed them all. “My name is Johannes Lewis Abendroth, a lieutenant in the Society's army.”
All eyes of the Cinnians were on him.
“Shit,” the captain whispered, “why didn't you rat us out?”
“My Colonel and I are curious,” he replied at the same volume.
“Curious?” he squinted.
“Someone had to sign that permit specifically for us, right?” Gerard thought. “You couldn't have known in advance what we were going to do. And I'm sure Scott didn't sign it.”
“That is correct; my Colonel, my colleague, forged it for me.” He took a few steps to the internal control terminal. “But we don't have as much time as I'd like. So, we'll talk when you're done with him.”
He brushed his finger several times over the keys before the transparent wall separating the visitors' area from the prisoners' area slid away.
Arthur Ness, sitting on the floor leaning against the wall, was startled by the sudden movement and opened his eyes. He was confused, surprised, but also very relieved. Had he been able to get to his feet, he would have run to his squad.
On the floor purred small cubic machines with a few wires connected to each other and four antennas on the roof, all pointing at him, sitting on the floor next to a sofa.
“Okay, Gerard, give me a hand.” Together they lifted Art onto the sofa. The damned antennas rotated slightly so as not to lose focus.
He looked incredibly tired, with cuts and bruises all over him. He could barely move. He took a shaky breath and spoke:
“Extraordinary… Who is he?” he looked behind them.
“His name is Johannes,” Cam crouched down. “We don't know what he's up to. I suppose we'll find out soon enough. Right now, we need to get to the point, sir. We have less than half an hour to talk.”
“Roger that,” he was emotionless. “What do you know about the situation?”
“That the Society took over the city and the base, that they brought in more people than we thought, that they used animals that may have been technologically altered, that they were looking for our weapons stockpile—we actually know very little.”
“The animals were in a frenzy,” he recalled of the way they charged at his soldiers. “I heard that you managed to communicate just before Diablo Two was taken. You reported that animal experiments were being conducted in Sarzo, that the place had a sophisticated underground research facility.”
Gerard approached.
“Can you tell us more about what happened, General? What are they doing to our colleagues and people? Do you know what Scott plans to do with our arsenal?”
The General looked up and surveyed his team, who were dressed in enemy clothing. Cam had a bandage on his head and Gerard was clearly in a battle of mixed emotions.
“They entered the base and began to take us out, killing those who resisted. The survivors were put into trucks, cargo planes, and the prison. I haven't seen Scott Wilker since, and I don't know where they're taking my men. Maybe he knows,” he glanced at Johannes, who was waiting without looking at them.
"I know he shut down the systems and cut us off,” he continued. “He wants to isolate us from the rest of the world. And judging by the lack of foreign aid, I think he's succeeded beautifully. God only knows what plans he carried out for that.”
“What about the guns?” asked Burton with trepidation.
Arthur Ness shook his head.
“They never said anything about the arsenal. I don't know what they took from the base when we were captured.”
“If they were just here for the weapons, they'd have no reason to stay, but it looks like that's the plan,” Frances said. “So, what does Wilker want?”
“Or rather, what does Dragon want,” Gerard interjected.
The General looked at Gerard out of the corner of his eye, taciturn.
“Looks like you found out more at Sarzo than you told the superior.”
Cam averted his eyes to the ground for a moment, afraid that his leader was going to pick up on his suspicions.
“First, Frances and I had a chance to talk to an enemy soldier, the only one we talked to. He confirmed that Dragon was the true leader of the Society and that he was a person suffering from some kind of limitation. Also, according to him, Dragon has a way of informing himself of everything that is going on around him.”
“And there's that 'ultimate project' thing…” Frances reminded him.
“Oh yes, the project. Although we don't know anything about it, unfortunately.”
Ness narrowed his eyes.
“What else?”
Cam touched Gerard's shoulder. He nodded and reached for the book he carried in the inside sleeve of the jacket.
He spoke as succinctly as he could, telling him what they had learned from the book: the chapters, the metaphors, the Windy Range, the Sami, the Robson Society—the Phoenix allies—and the stories of the Spirits of Crete; their travels and arrival in the white land; the defeat of Dragon and the end of his society's journey.
Ness seemed to regain some of his spirit, paying particular attention to what the book said after Fenix's disappearance. He listened as if it were an old story he had read and reread countless times.
Gerard stopped and took two steps back.
“After his defeat, Dragon was critically weak and powerless. He managed to escape, and the Robsons considered his plan a failure. They assumed that…”
“Dragon had lost so much energy that he had vanished with the wind to hide. They did not know if he died after that or not, but they never stopped thinking that the monster would seek to regain his power.”
Cam clenched his jaw; Frances narrowed her eyes, and Gerard thought silently. Burton, more light-hearted, was the first to say what everyone was thinking.
“Did you know about this, about this dragon?”
Ness sighed.
“You know this book?” Gerard said.
“I couldn't tell anyone about this,” he finally replied. “Without proof, who would believe me?
“Although this chronicle may seem fantastical and unreal, it is essentially real and should be taken as such. It is the first premise of our argument. For now, Dragon has not yet completed his plan here. This means that we have hope of winning the war if we can find out what that plan is.”
They weren't convinced, in fact, they weren't sure if their boss was in his right mind. What the hell was he talking about? On top of that, he had just admitted that he had been hiding the truth from them, just as Ponce had suspected.
“Are you saying that Dragon is not human?” asked Cam cautiously.
“No. But it's not a god like the book says,” the general replied, embarrassed. “It's a virtual intelligence… At least it is now. It has attached itself to the circuits of a computer, fused its psyche with the systems. I have no idea how this happened, but it was clearly a desperate act to survive.”
“And what was it before?” Gerard continued.
Ness hesitated before continuing. He could barely remember the last time he had spoken openly about him. He'd been careful never to mention him for so long that now he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable, as if it were taboo or the confession of a heinous crime.
“Essentially, an animal with a body configuration different from that of normal living beings. Electricity, flowing as it does in our nervous systems; magnetism, structuring as our bones do to us… He was not born in this world and should never have come.”
“Is it an… alien?” even in his confusion, Burton was intrigued.
“That is one way of looking at it.”
“And why is he here now?” asked Gerard, looking at the book in his hands. “All these events are supposed to have taken place in Scandinavia.”
The General looked up at the ceiling.
“The same doubt has plagued me since I first discovered their presence years ago. We don't have anything that he can't get in any other country in the region or even in the world.”
“Years ago?!” Cam was incensed: it was so sudden and loud that everyone was startled. “Yes, I understand that you couldn't tell anyone what you knew because it sounds ridiculous, but why not do something about it? Why give him a free hand to commit whatever barbarity he wanted? Why…?”
“Cam,” Gerard put his hand on his arm. He frowned half-heartedly, like someone who is displeased but has too much gentleness in his soul to be really angry.
“Well, can't blame us for being upset,” Frances said with crossed arms.
Ness nodded slowly.
“I tried to take him and his people out as soon as I confirmed my suspicions that he was there,” he held Gerard's gaze for a moment. “Eleven years ago, I gave the order to raid and dismantle Sarzo's camp. Do you remember that I told you about the mutiny? Three days into the siege… I must confess that I knew what was there and what I had to do, so the threat assessment was just an excuse from the beginning.” He looked at Gerard again, almost guiltily. “Lieutenant Wilker, I knew from that day on that Scott was working for Dragon—that was the reason for the mutiny. When Sarzo revived overnight, I watched it day and night until I was convinced that the mutineers were there and that Wilker was giving them orders, even if we couldn't see him. And if Wilker was there… he could not have been far away. But I couldn't just go back to breaking Kennéhsian laws, not without starting another conflict. I needed proof that they were criminals to get permission, Cinian criminals, our responsibility…”
The four of them looked at each other, Gerard more than anyone else.
“I was about to make my move,” the general continued, “starting with you. And he knew it, of course. I bet that's what finally spurred him into action as well. And Captain, I had no idea this underground complex existed or what they were doing. Eleven years ago, my soldiers searched the whole place and found nothing to indicate an underground complex larger than the small basement of the church… And all those soldiers: no suspicion.”
Cam nodded and bit his lip.
“Sorry for the outburst, sir.”
“You said what you had to say.”
“General Ness,” Gerard said, casting a furtive glance at Johannes, “if it's not the weapons, what does Dragon want in the city? Do you have any ideas?”
Ness frowned and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He seemed to tremble slightly as he exhaled.
“I don't know what he wants… but I have a feeling it has something to do with me. I've been thinking for a long time that he was here because of me.”
“Why?” Cam whispered.
He looked up and studied the faces of his soldiers—he was attentive, curious, eager.
“What would you think if I told you I know Fenix? If I told you he was right here?”
The squad said nothing.
“Where is he?” finally asked Frances.
“I have already established that the first premise for organizing a counterattack plan is to accept that this is all real. So? There are two other beings besides Dragon that have the same nature as him: Chimera and Phoenix.” his gaze intensified. “I am Phoenix.”
This was already too much: absolute and majestic insanity. They didn't know what to say, they simply didn't know. And if Art was delirious with fever, they didn't know either.
“Come on, don't look at me like that and bear with me, please,” he continued, afraid of looking like a madman. “First of all, I'm not really Phoenix. I mean, I am, but at the same time, I'm not… I'm Arthur Ness, but he lives inside me, Phoenix. We are one being.”
The eyes of the squad were on him, heavy and inquisitive.
“It happened a long time ago, more than twenty years ago, in the last years of the War of the Line. I was a colonel then. It was after the battle of Primada, near the eastern border. That day Cephor tore us to shreds,” he smiled slightly, “surely you remember the lessons they taught you in the basic course. They made such a quick and complete advance that hardly any of the Cinians had a chance to retreat. I was finished, barely conscious among the corpses of my regiment. Almost unconscious, I heard a whisper near me, faint, like a metallic echo. Fenix promised to save me, to help me save others, and in return he only asked for asylum and discretion, to share my body… I was out of my mind, otherwise I would have seriously questioned that voice in my head,” he smiled again. “But without the strength to understand what was happening, I just accepted. As it turned out, Fenix couldn't heal me, but he could stop me from bleeding to death.
"Subsequent events are irrelevant now, suffice it to say that to this day he is with me, inside. We share so much that we're practically one, and we both know we can't take on Dragon alone,” he said, eyes closed and frowning. “Besides, these… dreadful machines prevent us from moving freely,” he pointed at the cube-shaped devices. “Dragon was defeated back then, though, so there is a proven way to critically weaken him. This book doesn't say exactly how they did it, but she knows,” he looked up. “Chimera…”
He looked pale, his head full of a hundred memories, with a certain mixture of longing and anger. And the squad waited in silence, uneasy and suspicious. Which of the two were they listening to?
“Gerard, did you read what happened to Chimera after that?” he asked.
“He says he returned to the Windy Range, hid in the bowels of her mountain and fell into a deep sleep,” he replied, knowing that Arthur Ness already knew the answer.
“Yes, the mountain is called Oelfjellet. That's the first step to recovery: find Chimera. If she could defeat him once, she can do it again. In Norway, in Nordland… Near the canyon left by the glaciers.”
“Find Chimera?” asked Cam unsatisfied. “Sir, we must reorganize the remaining forces: it is the most practical thing to do. This sounds… fictional.”
The General took a slow, deep breath.
“It is true: first, we must reorganize. Dragon is an immense strategic resource, but without his army, he will not be able to do much. Therefore, you will go and give my orders to Lieutenant General Ponce in Alamogordo.”
“Ponce in Alamogordo,” Cam couldn't help but smile. “Yes, sir.”
“My orders for her are these: contact Kennéh to find out why they have not come to our aid and repeat the request; prepare a team to gather more information on this ‘ultimate project’ and regroup any Cinian military still scattered around. She will be my replacement, tell her I have promoted her to general. We will be ready for a second round, if we are lucky and Chimera agrees to come.”
Cam sighed.
“Are we really going to do this last thing?”
Art narrowed his eyes, a little less patient than before.
“I am your general and you have an obligation to do as I order, remember that.”
“Yes, sir, I'm sorry.”
“I know you don't believe me, but if the search is successful, you'll know I'm telling the truth. Now, Ponce must know what you are going to do, but tell her not to tell anyone, that I want it to stay among us. Not even her personal assistant should know… At least for now, yes, it is for the best.”
No one knew how to look at this situation either. They had too many doubts, uncertainties about the consequences. Whether it was true or not, they agreed that it was better not to say anything.
Cam nodded, unsure.
“So, this is how’s gonna be.”
Ness blinked, exhausted from his injuries, the flood of thoughts and considerations.
“Hey,” Johannes approached with both hands behind his back, “you've been here long enough, and our time is up. We must get out of here before my colleagues get suspicious.”
He looked very dashing in his gray uniform, although he was dirty and disheveled at the time. His soft, casual, though probably deceptive, smile seemed to be his permanent gesture. His appearance was not normal among that careless bunch of guerrillas—he stood out too much, he shone like a knight amid those barbarians.
“Listen, if you're really on our side, help us get him out of here,” Frances asked, not letting his appearance fool her.
“You can't do that,” the general interrupted firmly. “There is no time: go with Ponce, then to the mountain. She must be there somewhere.”
The stranger looked into his eyes, curious, fascinated by the wounded but honorable general.
“I will get them out of here safely, Chancellor,” he assured with a half-smile.
He went to open the door and winked at the guard to let her know they had finished their business. Then he led the group out of the section.
He let Cam walk ahead of him through the office section, as he was the most senior. They followed him out of sight of the soldiers that hovered around to a small office full of shelves, next to the elevator. A tiny room, with a desk in the middle, full of dust and old supplies; basically, a storage room. It was very dark.
Trucks and dragonflies could be heard coming and going outside. The heavy footsteps of the crowd were like a constant, lazy drumming.
“Well?” asked Johannes.
The squad eyed him suspiciously.
“Will you tell us what your real intentions are, Johannes?” asked Cam, his arms crossed and his voice dry and hostile.
“I was just curious about you. I think it was worth it to let you talk to him.” He adjusted the collar of his suit. “I know who you are. I saw you in the canyon when you escaped. I was on one of the ships that had just arrived at Sarzo when you left, so I wasn't part of that ill-conceived chase.” He looked at them.
“Curious about what? Come on, let's get to the point,” Frances urged him.
He watched her for almost half a minute, smiling a charming half-smile. Then he leaned back against the desk and the smile faded.
“There are some things… about this Scott Wilker plan that don't add up. He doesn't tell us much, but I've managed to learn a lot of things that many others don't know or suspect. Almost everyone here believes that we are a liberation army, that we seek revenge on Cinia for past mistreatment, and that Dragon is a symbol of our purpose; and others like me believe that there is more to it than that, something sinister. I feel it, every time I am near Wilker, I feel as if the atmosphere is heavy, as if there is an unknown energy that makes my stomach churn. I look at him and I get into a state of euphoria; and I feel like nothing in the world can stop him.” He frowned in confusion. “Every time he's around, I'm filled with a strangely satisfying rage combined with a belligerent joy. Sounds ugly, doesn't it? But I suppose that's what's happening—they're manipulating us without us realizing it, though I don't know how.”
Gerard stared at him in astonishment, scanning his features over and over. He felt a little uncomfortable, wishing he could get closer.
Neither Cam nor Frances tried to interrupt him. They just strained to catch everything he said. As for Burton, he couldn't stop his fingers from twitching back and forth with childish apprehension.
Johannes watched Gerard with unabashed amusement.
“I know the book you took from our library. I also know many of the engineers and scientists who work for the Society. I have witnessed the experiments, the construction of one or another extravagant device–I know a lot, really. And I still have so many questions…” He folded his hands, “And of course I have hypotheses about everything. But anyway, I have a wall in front of me, and I can't break through it without arousing suspicion. We all know that's the same as committing suicide with these people.”
“What devices?” Gerard asked. His eyes were fixed on him.
“I know they created computers to install behavioral manipulation devices in animals. You've probably seen those mutts…”
“Hey, get to the point!” Frances interrupted him. “We understand the context, okay? You're nosy, you know too much but not enough to be satisfied, and you want to get what we know out of us. That's it, right?”
Johannes sighed, hesitant and trapped, but comfortably resigned.
“Right, Lieutenant Frances. I hope you don't mind me calling you by name. I was wondering if you knew something I didn't… And boy, do you! I never imagined General Ness would know so much about Wilker or Dragon. And he's proclaimed himself Phoenix. Worst of all, it's starting to make sense.
“You are no ordinary soldier,” Cam accused him, “no ordinary soldier would risk their skin like this to satisfy their curiosity. Oh no, this is a trade we know well: you are a spy.”
“Not so loud!” he whispered, watching the door. “DOB troops—impressive!”
“I'll take that as a yes,” Cam crossed his arms. “Who are you working for?”
Johannes tidied his messy hair a bit.
“I was sent here as an undercover agent, and right now I can't tell you who I'm working for. You are unexpected allies, and I can't pass up this opportunity.”
“How convenient: you want us to be allies, but we can't know who we're allied with.” He rested his chin on his fist. He wasn't inclined to believe him, but he didn't look like a liar. Then again, he was a spy, and if there's one thing that defines them, it's lying.
“Is your colonel a spy as well?” Gerard asked with less suspicion.
“Yes. But I can't reveal any information about him, so don't ask me any more questions. Now that you know that, may I continue? I have something for you, too,” he said with humorous nonchalance.
“Go ahead,” the captain conceded.
“There's a huge hulk they've been building at our main base. I just saw parts being moved into the workshops, huge amounts of components. They're bringing it here as part of the Ultimate Project…”
“What the hell is this project again?” he grunted. “What's that?”
The other looked at him with his head tilted.
“The goals of the Ultimate Project are these, first, to take over the capital and the energy complex; then, the really incredible thing, to set up a powerful computer system with the purpose of securing the Society and giving it a gigantic advantage over countries and armies. With this system it will be possible to remotely control other ordinary computer systems: in ships, in weapons, in homes, in universities, in research centers… in governments. It will give them virtually unlimited access to all the information in the world. And the complex is the key to maintaining such a system. Society's hard-won freedom will finally be secured, its revenge consummated. This is the public version of the project, the version given to ordinary soldiers and scientists, who are the vast majority.”
“And your version?”
Johannes crossed his arms and looked down.
“Right now, I am putting new pieces into the puzzle that is my version, thanks to you!”
Gerard slowly approached Johannes. He found it impressive how much the lieutenant had found out on his own. It occurred to him to ask him how long those he worked for had suspected that there was more to the Society than met the eye.
“Well,” he continued, “my version now is that Wilker's computer system, whose official name, by the way, is the Comprehensive Dragon Automated Government Control System,” he took a breath, “will be Dragon's organism. He will control it, and all that power would be his to use at will.”
Cam felt completely out of touch with reality now.
“Bullshit. Fuck. How is it possible that they can do this?”
“Society created mutant animals with mind control chips; it's not like they don't have a history, either.” Frances began to get a headache.
The captain smiled, trying to hide his disbelieving anger.
“But Wilker, what has that sadistic sociopath got in his head? He knows that Dragon will become a supercomputer, a ruler without rival. Blackburn… This insane rebel knew it too! And he knew what kind of experiments were done in Sarzo, on those animals, on those people…”
“The people, yes,” Johannes interrupted, remembering his research. “I know that Sarzo did experiments on humans, but I never managed to get transferred there. I could never get too close to those researchers.”
Cam looked at him with annoyance.
“And even you, who claim to be against them, knew that. How could you…?”
“Because it would have ruined my facade, and even my Colonel's. I must keep a cool head to do this job well.”
“Cam, we have to get back to the project topic,” Gerard whispered very calmly, putting aside his own grief.
A few moments of silence passed. A few guards walked casually by outside the office. They had not noticed until they heard them: the noise from outside had diminished considerably.
Cam concentrated on the protocols of war that he had studied so much in his early years in the military. He had to keep his composure and worry about the survivors, about the solution. He took a deep breath and looked at his team, waiting for him to continue. Then he looked at the spy.
“When do they plan to start assembling this machine?”
“Well, there won't be much demolitions, I guess. I estimate they will begin tomorrow.”
“Demolitions?!” exclaimed Frances.
He looked at her again with a composed, sympathetic face.
“If it were up to the soldiers, they would destroy the whole city… But Wilker has set limits to their festive destruction.”
“One day of preparation,” Cam whispered. “And how long will the assemblage take?”
Johannes shrugged.
“The official version estimates three days. But I have a strong suspicion that they will finish the secret work sooner. What will they do? I don't know.”
Gerard looked at him sideways, overwhelmed.
“You should have told Art before.”
“That may be. I got caught up watching you guys and lost some time,” Johannes admitted nonchalantly. “I promise to bring him up to speed as soon as possible. It won't do any good though, since he's still locked up…”
Cam, Frances and Burton looked at him with annoyance. This guy was interesting and charming, but also thoughtless. And he realized his mistake as soon as he made it and shut his mouth.
“I want to know something,” Burton began, still annoyed. “Where are they taking the soldiers and citizens?”
Johannes cleared his throat.
“All the trucks and heavy dragonflies are taking the people to a nice town to house them while their fate is decided. It's close to one of our main military bases, TG-7. According to Wilker, the prisoners will eventually be released when he can be sure of their loyalty. Comforting, don't you think? Ahem, I mean, at least you won't have to worry about them too.”
Gerard stepped forward without taking his eyes off her.
“What else?”
“I have nothing more to add,” he shook his arms. “You should go and do what old Art said. My Colonel and I will pull our own strings on the outside.”
A couple of soldiers leaned against the door, chatting idly. The five of them jumped in fear of being discovered, but the soldiers just kept chattering.
Johannes looked at his new colleagues and put his index finger to his lips. He approached the door and ordered them to stop immediately. The soldiers backed away from the door a little alarmed as Johannes stepped out of the office, opening the door just wide enough to fit his torso. He closed it behind him quickly, vigorously.
The group heard the soldiers apologize to him. They opened the door very slowly and quietly, leaving a thin slit to see what was going on: Johannes raised his arm to show the soldiers a direction. They nodded and followed him into the back offices. They disappeared from sight.
“Let's get out of here,” Cam said.
They made their way to the elevator in silence, resuming their fake behavior and gestures.
The green numbers on the display changed slowly, and they felt the change in pressure in their bodies make them dizzier than the last time they got on.
They got out and continued walking without looking at anyone. The soldiers in the area also paid no attention to them.
As they stepped onto the soft gravel of the courtyard, they felt a momentary relief. They felt the dry, cool evening air brush their faces and ruffle their hair.
Above them, the light had dimmed and become comfortably warm, as evenings in the capital always were.
The relocation activities continued, albeit more relaxed than before.
Gerard turned his attention to the horizon, Frances to where Diablo Two was; Burton preferred to keep an eye on the soldiers walking nearby. Cam watched them out of the corner of his eye and nodded subtly—they were all fine and it was time to move on.
He stepped forward and the others followed.