Unworthy: Marked to die. Raised to survive. (23 page)

“I’m sorry, Captain, but seeing you safely there are my orders,” the CO smiles apologetically.
From who?

“In that case we accept,” Alex relents. “May I ask how you were alerted to your error?” he asks.

“When your sample was entered into the system I immediately received a call from the General. You have my word, Sir, that your presence here will remain a secret.”

The General. Alex is nodding, but I have no idea what’s running through his mind.

“Did you speak with Elyssa Greene, the tracker?” he asks.

“Yes. She has been told the vaguest of stories, and to return to her unit for updated orders. She seemed very reluctant to let the matter go. It may be better to steer clear of her if that is possible.”

“I think that would be desirable for all concerned,” Alex replies.

As we turn to leave, the Lieutenant seems reluctant to let us go. “Ah, one more thing, if you wouldn’t mind. When you speak of this with your parents, may I request that you are just as… ah… generous with your description of the events?”

Alex openly stares at him, then nods slowly. I get the feeling that when Alex is performing his Polis duties, his family connections are not mentioned. It seems odd even to me, and his reaction tells me that there has been a severe break in protocol.

Alex turns on his heel, impatient to leave the guard post. I follow. The Polisborn who brought us from the cell is waiting outside. She hands us back our bags, then shows us downstairs and to a side door, where we emerge into an alley. A covered truck fits snugly between the buildings, the driver already inside. Three Polisborn stand at the rear, ready to see us safely aboard. When I look at Alex I see him make a tiny shrug, as if to say
there’s nothing else we can do
.

I pause at the tailgate. A figure leans casually up against the concrete building, arms folded, one boot resting on the grey wall.

“This isn’t over,” Elyssa says, fixing me with a deadly stare.

I know that much is true. I meet her eyes, finding I can’t look away, until Alex gives me a push and I climb into the truck. He takes a step towards her, the air between them charged with tension. One of the soldiers stops him. “Into the truck, Yarco,” he says to him coolly.

Alex steps back, but says, “You’re right, it’s not,” before climbing aboard.

The three soldiers swing themselves up into the truck with us and it pulls out of the alley. They obviously think they’re transporting Firstborn; part of the General’s cover up. It makes me wonder why it’s so important to him that as few people as possible know I’m here.

The covered truck turns many times, and I hear the busy sounds of construction and motors, but I can’t see where we’re being taken. Alex, sitting diagonally from me, doesn’t meet my eye. This makes me more uneasy than anything else. I can tell when the smooth roadway turns to gravel, the truck beginning to lurch on the uneven surface, and finally we come to a stop.

“Out,” one of the soldiers barks. He doesn’t need to tell us twice. I scramble down and Alex catches my arm.

The truck has stopped on a tree-lined shingle road at the entrance to a long drive. I’m not sure what I expected - maybe a compound or military garrison like the one in Greytown. This looks like the entrance to someone’s home, not somewhere I will be meeting the General. Wrought iron gates bar our way. One of the soldiers steps up and releases the catch, and the gates swing open slowly.

“This is as far as we go,” the soldier says, and they return to the truck.

“Thank you, Sir,” Alex replies submissively, sounding just like a Firstborn. Once we are through the gates, he gives one a gentle tug and they glide back into place.

We turn to look up the driveway and hear the truck leave behind us.

“What’s going on, Alex?” I start.

“I don’t know,” he answers simply. He starts plodding up the shingle drive, and again doesn’t look at me.

“Wait,” I say forcefully, with dawning conviction. “You know something,” I accuse.

I grab his hand and make him stop. He turns to me but his eyes are lifeless. He looks broken, like he’s given in. His drained face makes me soften my tone. “What is it? Please, talk to me.”

He takes a breath and looks first at me then up the drive, lined with tall established fir trees. At the end I can see the corner of a white house.

“You’re not here to see the General. I suppose it never was him you were coming to the City to see. He would have had his orders from someone else,” he says, his tone flat and unemotional.

“Okay,” I say slowly. “So what is this place? Have you been here before?”

“Yes,” he replies directly, with a rueful flick of his eyes. “Many times.”

Suddenly he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, as though trying to chase away a bad thought. He takes both my hands and faces me.

“Arcadia. The people who live here - they are the Council. You know what that is, don’t you?”

I nod slowly, wondering what I’m missing. “It’s the group of people who run the Polis.”

He assents with a shrug and says, “Sort of. The Council do run the Polis - and through the army, the Sectors too - but it’s not really a group of people. There may be twelve representatives, but that’s just for show. There are actually only two people setting all the rules, and making sure they’re followed.”

“And that’s who lives here?”

He nods. “Cirillo and Kassandra. They’re the most powerful people in the City. My father is like an ant in comparison with them.”

I swallow. He’s not making it sound attractive. “The most powerful people in the City sent you to get me and bring me to them?”

“That’s what it looks like. If I’d known I was working for their ends…” His voice peters out.

“What, you’d have refused?” I ask.

He grimaces. “I guess not. I have to do what they want, just like everyone else. But I could have at least warned you about them.” I watch his mournful expression. It’s his hopelessness above everything that drives home to me the very real danger that I’m walking into.
He looks away, defeated, and starts up the drive again.

My eyes dart around, searching for an alternative to approaching the house. “We could just…”

“We can’t,” he says flatly. “There is no-where they won’t find you. Or me.” He turns, comes back to me, and says quietly, “We wouldn’t even make it to the Perimeter.”

For a long moment he looks into my eyes, and I see regret, sorrow, and disappointment written there. I know that there is more he isn’t telling me, but for now he has said enough.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath to calm my nerves. I melt the icicles in my stomach and let them drift away like mist.

The most powerful people in the city. Laws, rules, marks and answers. Grandad, Firstborn, no children. What was it he should have told me?

You can save more than twelve.

“Alright,” I say, when I open my eyes. “Let’s go then.” Purposefully, I start up the drive, leaving him to follow.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The long drive curves to my left, and the trees flanking it come to an end. In front of me is a single storeyed cinder block house. The white walls are unbroken by windows, giving the house front a very secretive air, as though it has something to hide. A wide door is positioned squarely in the centre, with trees and a solid fence blocking the rest of the building from view.

I wipe the palms of my hands on my tunic, taking a breath and standing taller. Readying myself. I mount the low step but as I reach for the knocker, Alex puts out a hand to stop me.

“I’m here, Arcadia,” he says quietly. “Whatever happens behind that door, I’m here, on your side. Whatever you discover. I just need you to know that.” I see his jaw tighten, and he blinks and looks down at my hand, still held in his. He circles my wrist, thumb and index finger over the band where the mark of the Unworthy lies hidden. “No matter what happens,” he repeats.

Although I appreciate his promise, I can’t help dwelling on the fear which provoked it. What does he think is about to happen? I realise that I’ve been holding my breath, and exhale in a rush. I lean my head towards his, and his forehead dips to meet mine. We stand for a second like this, eyes closed, pushing back the moment when I will have to meet my future.

I have no idea what awaits me behind the door; what secrets or horrors may be revealed. And yet I feel strangely calm, as though I’ve been making my way towards this door since the moment my Grandfather died. It feels like a natural place to end my journey.

I realise how far I’ve come since leaving my pod in the grey dawn less than a week ago. Not just in miles, but in knowledge. The world that I lived in has morphed into something to marvel at, and also to fear. In my blindness there was a kind of comfort, but I can never go back and would never wish to.

Despite his apologies, I am grateful to Alex.

A woman opens the door. Her clothing is simple and plain. She wears a pin at her shoulder, the Firstborn symbol, and I’m guessing she’s a servant here. She doesn’t look startled to see two bedraggled travellers on the doorstep. She has definitely been waiting for us.

Alex stands taller and lifts his chin. “Master Cirillo is expecting us,” he says.

“The Master is not at home, Captain Hayes,” the woman answers smoothly, stepping back and allowing us to enter. “Perhaps it is the Mistress you mean to see?”

“Of course,” he says stiffly.

She motions us to leave our bags by the door. We stand in the entrance hall and watch the woman disappear down a corridor to our left dominated by an enormous photograph of a man in military uniform. In front of us, a wall made completely of glass allows views of the very centre of the building; a perfectly square courtyard enclosed on all sides but open to the sky. To either side of us, right angles in the hallways form the sides of the square, and on the opposite side to the entrance hall, another glass wall completes the shape.

I move as if drawn by a magnet to the glass, and gaze into the clean lines created by a raised square pond, in the centre of which stands a square fountain. Open to the sky, the echoes of the house’s outer shape continue into its very heart, repeating the same simple and elegant lines. All the features of the courtyard are varying shades of white to grey. There is no deviation from the square; no frivolous curve, or superfluous decoration to soften the look, but I find it immensely beautiful. The repetition of line and colour is both clinical and mesmerising, and as with the ordered buildings on the edge of the city, I find it hard to tear my eyes away.

Like a mirage, a woman emerges through the glass on the opposite side of the courtyard and I blink, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. Then I realise that the panes can slide back to become a door, and the woman crosses the white space between us.

She is tall and regal, and wearing only white. Her pale hair is pinned tightly in braids at the base of her neck. I step back from the glass in apprehension, realising that I have never seen anyone quite like her before. Alex stands directly behind me.

“Kassandra?” I breathe, as the glass near us begins to glide open soundlessly.

“Yes,” he replies in a low tone, his eyes on the woman who steps through. Is it just my imagination, or does the temperature in the room drop a degree? Goosebumps prickle my skin and I flex my cold fingers. I fight the urge to smooth down my wrinkled tunic and straighten my hair.

“Kassandra,” he greets her stiffly. His eyes watch her suspiciously. I sense the same wariness which he showed the tracker, but this time it’s mingled with fear. This woman represents a very real threat.

“Alex,” she acknowledges him. First name terms? He wasn’t exaggerating when he said he’d been here many times. It’s not a comfortable relationship though; you could reach out and touch the tension.

“And you’re Arcadia,” she turns her gaze to me. The interest in her eyes is profound, and makes the breath freeze in my lungs. Her eyes sweep me slowly from head to toe and back again. I feel the weight of her appraisal, every inch of my frame sized up. I want to meet her challenge head on, but I find myself frozen motionless by her intensity. I’m terrified.

Alex steps in front of me protectively, partly blocking me, and breaking the moment which had me pinned like a startled rabbit. His jaw is set with determination, and he fixes his eyes on the woman in front of us. Hers widen in surprise at his reaction, his message to her abundantly clear, and then she smiles.

“I’d like to have a talk with you, Arcadia. Without your guard dog,” she adds lightly.

Alex and I exchange looks. He opens his mouth to speak, but I stop him, finally finding my voice. “What do you want, Kassandra? You sent for me, didn’t you?” When she nods, I ask again, “So what is it that you want from me?”

“I promise to answer all of your questions, but it will take time. It’s a very long story. For now, just let me reassure you that you’re not in any danger here,” Kassandra opens her hands in a placating gesture obviously meant to reassure me, but a derisive noise escapes Alex’s throat. She looks sharply at him, and loses a little of her calm. “You realise I could simply have you detained, Captain Hayes?”

He exhales, jaw tense, and says nothing. In his silence I hear grudging submission.