Volume 18: Oslov Unlocked
Chapter 20
Lights Out
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
27 October, year 374, 8:01 p.m.
When the lights blazed on in Stefan’s cell, he wasn’t ready. Crouched on the floor, he hid his face against his knees, accustomed to the darkness.“I have good news for you, young man.”It was the old woman from last time, the one who’d tried to get him to confess on camera. This time, instead of a tea tumbler, she held a clipboard and pen. Her wispy, gray-clad shape was flanked by two well-armed guards.The guards were supposed to be professionally impassive, Stefan knew. One of them was pulling it off right now, but the other one wouldn’t meet his eyes.When Stefan noticed the man’s averted gaze, a tendril of dread unfurled in his chest. Remembering the woman’s semi-veiled threats from their last conversation, he said, “What are you doing here? Are you going to kill me?”Even as he spoke the words, his heart rebelled against them, battering his chest wall. Every atom of his body trembled with life, refusing to believe in the possibility of extinction.But he watched the less-impassive guard. He saw the man’s tiny twitch of discomfort.As for the woman, she didn’t seem bothered by his question. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I am Director Gelmedyn, which means I have the authority to inform you how the Republic will dispose of you. Since you refused the generous offer of moral rehabilitation, you will be flown to Harbour and left there to fend for yourself.”Hope leapt in Stefan’s chest, but only for an instant. She had to be lying. They would never leave him alive and free, even in Harbour. And she wasn’t bothering to make her lie convincing.“Where’s Blas Lindblom?” he asked, hoping against hope that the man could still do something for him. Lindblom had listened to his absurd story almost as if he mattered. “Wasn’t he supposed to deliver a verdict?”“I just told you the verdict. Did you think an important man like Lindblom would deliver it to you personally?”Stefan hugged his knees, wondering if Lindblom even knew what was happening down here. He supposed he should stand up and face them, but he didn’t trust his legs to support him. Anyway, did it matter whether he died on his feet or his ass?Last time, she’d mentioned an overdose of vexonil. He didn’t see any medical equipment, but either of the guards could be hiding a syringe.“Let me guess,” he said flatly. “I get to go to Harbour if I write a confession for you.”“Clever boy.” Gelmedyn clipped the pen to the board and held it out. “Just a few sentences and a signature—I’ll dictate the wording. These gentlemen are here to make sure you don’t injure anyone with the pen, including yourself.”“I figured.” Stefan wondered if they could hear the crashing beat of his heart. There seemed to be no room in his body for anything but the echoing boom. Sweat trickled down his neck. The part of him that was usually rational floated up to the ceiling and observed the scene, detached and helpless.He heard himself ask, “What if I say no?”Gelmedyn’s lips curved in something close to a smile. “Then you die.”“By exile?”“No.” She pointed down at the floor of the cell. “Immediately.”If I say yes, I also die, don’t I? But his lips wouldn’t form the words. “You’re not sending me to Harbour. I know better than that.”The director shrugged. “My lad, you’ve been given one chance to save yourself. If I were you, I would gamble on it. What do you think Darius would do?”Stefan shut his eyes and tried to breathe. She was mocking him. He wasn’t Darius, who was made up—Kai’s idealized version of his own younger self. He could only be himself, and right now every inch of him was frozen in terror.
Janta, if you’re out there, please—
But even if Janta had the power, how could he possibly know that now was the time to intervene?No matter what, Stefan’s life was at an end. He could at least make a stab at dying with a shred of dignity.He shook his head. “I’m not writing or signing a thing. Have fun faking my handwriting. And if you think the people will settle down after they see my ‘confession,’ you’re in for a shock. I think they’re gonna burn down this city—and you with it.”*
8:24 p.m.
Blas ran all the way from the tram station. He dashed down the ramp of the Funnel and past the checkpoints, ignoring the startled stares of the guards, who knew him by sight now. He sprinted through the corridors and arrived panting at the door of Bors Dartán’s office.He had already been on his way back to the Core, ready to stand guard outside Stefan Altmering’s cell and prevent the young man’s murder, when he received an update from one of his Int/Sec contacts. At last, the analyst had returned to his desk!It wasn’t yet nine. Perhaps Blas could still convince his mother she was making a terrible mistake.He knocked six times, each knock more forceful than the last, before Dartán opened up. A dry little man, utterly forgettable, with a nervous frown, he held a laptop cradled in the crook of his arm, headphones connecting it to his ears.He said, “Excuse me, but I’m in the middle of an operation, Fir, uh . . .?”“Fir Examining Magistrate Lindblom.” Blas elbowed past the analyst and into the room. For once he had no scruples about using his name to get what he wanted. “I apologize for the intrusion, Fir Dartán, but you’re not easy to find, and I have urgent business with you. It concerns Councillor Lindahl’s murder.”Hearing that, Dartán should have removed the headphones and put down the laptop. Instead, he snuck a glance at the screen before returning his gaze to Blas. “Forgive me, Fir Examining Magistrate. I’m monitoring an undercover asset in real time.”The Republic’s future could hinge on this moment! But Blas couldn’t blurt out an explanation without biasing the man and encouraging him to slant his testimony one way or the other.“Forgive me,” he said, knowing he was flushed and sweaty and trying to gather some semblance of composure. “I’ve been digging in the archives, Analyst. I came across your memo about a certain Tilrey Bronn.”Dartán’s eyes widened. Clutching the laptop protectively, he said, “No investigation was ever opened. Director Gelmedyn and Fir Councillor Karishkov saw insufficient cause for one.”“I know. And then they promoted you and transferred you to the University to spy on student Dissidents. Has it ever occurred to you that they didn’t like what you’d discovered about a man who happens to be close to some very powerful people?”“Of course!” Dartán sounded flustered—understandably, since Blas was casting doubt on his superiors’ judgment. “I let the matter drop, though. I haven’t thought of Bronn in years.”As he spoke, his chin lowered and his cheeks reddened. The man might be a good spy, but he wasn’t a good liar.Blas took a meaningful step toward him. “You did a service to the Republic with your memo. If you know anything more than you wrote in it, anything at all—if you continued the investigation on your own—you have a duty to tell me now.”The analyst backed away. “Why now? And what does that have to do with—”“An innocent man’s life could be at stake.”Again Dartán glanced at his damned laptop. “You aren’t suggesting that Tilrey had something to do with Lindahl’s death?”So he and Tilrey were on a first-name basis. Blas crossed his arms and planted himself firmly in the center of the office. If Dartán knew as much as he suspected, there was no point in being cagey. “I’m suggesting that Bronn was involved in subversive activities, that Lindahl discovered he was involved in subversive activities, and that Lindahl died for that discovery. Does that sound right to you?”Emotions flitted over Dartán’s face in rapid succession, too many of them for Blas to identify.He added, “You know something—more than you should. Don’t be afraid to tell me. Even if Bronn paid you off, even if he threatened you, there’s nothing to fear now.”To Blas’s shock, Dartán gave a loud bark of laughter and nearly dropped the laptop. He yanked off his headset and plunked the device down on the edge of the desk, still open. “Fir Lindblom, I spent a good ten years trying to get someone to listen to me about Tilrey Bronn. And now you want to arrest him?”“They should have listened to you long ago.” Blood rushed to Blas’s cheeks—his hunch had been right, but he was almost out of time. “You have the power to keep this city from ripping itself apart. Will you help me, Bors? Tell me Bronn is a traitor, and I’ll take care of the rest.”Again the blizzard of conflicting emotions swept over Dartán’s face. Blas thought he recognized triumph, regret, dread. But the man said only, “Don’t you know what Tilrey means to your mother?”“I don’t give a fuck!” Blas practically shouted the words—he was so weary of having his mother’s private life thrown in his face. “I’m here to stop her from making a much worse mistake. Whatever you know, whatever you’re up to with Bronn, I promise you complete immunity if you just . . .”He didn’t finish the sentence, because Dartán clearly wasn’t listening.The man stared at the laptop on the desk, his pale face frozen in a rictus of alarm. Blas followed his gaze to the screen.He saw feeds from two surveillance cams in what appeared to be a Funnel detention block. One showed a corridor; the other, a cell interior. The cell was dark, but infrared outlined a familiar form crumpled on the floor, knees hugged to its chest.“That’s Stefan. Why are you monitoring his cell? You weren’t assigned to!” But further protests died in Blas’s throat as he saw what Dartán was looking at.Movement in the corridor. Three guards paused outside the cell door, as if conferring. Their heads were close together, the sound muted.Had they come to kill Stefan? Was it time already? Blas stood frozen, a roar rising in his ears.Then his stomach lurched sickeningly, and he gulped a breath and dug in his tunic pocket for his handheld. In a distant way, he saw Dartán doing the same thing.Blas was suddenly conscious of his heart thudding and sweat trickling down his face and neck, its salt on his lips. His hands trembled so badly that Dartán had already put away his own handheld by the time Blas managed to hit his mother’s voice number.Listening to it ring, he stared at the laptop screen in mute horror. The guards had been joined by a smaller, unarmed figure—Director Gelmedyn. She waved them toward the door.Too late, too late, and his mother wasn’t answering!Blas caught a flicker of movement on the half of the screen that showed the cell interior. Stefan’s head jerked upright—he’d heard the guards at the door.Blas stuffed the useless handheld into his pocket and whirled toward the door of the office. Even running, it would take him at least five minutes to reach Stefan’s cell, two levels below them. How long would it take the guards to administer a fatal dose of vexonil?His finger was on the door button when he heard Dartán’s voice behind him. “Do you actually care?”He’s my evidence. I need him. Blas dived back into the office and seized the analyst by a skinny wrist. “You’re coming with me,” he said breathlessly, tugging the resistant Dartán to the door. “You’ll tell Gelmedyn everything.”Again he reached for the door button. But before his finger could make contact, the lights went out.Disbelieving, Blas fumbled along the wall. He found the door’s release by instinct. But when he pressed it, nothing happened .“Did you do that?” he snarled, wheeling on Dartán.That was when he realized they were in a darkness more total than he had ever known. No overhead fluorescents. No light under the door. No computer screen. No blinking from the wall server or the ceiling smoke detector.Even the ever-present hum of the heating was gone.*
8:39 p.m.
Tilrey still wasn’t answering messages or calls.Gersha rose from his office chair and went into the antechamber where his husband would normally be. He opened the door and peered up and down the corridor.Even this late in the evening, the Sector usually thrummed with activity. But now he almost thought he could hear the soft fall of dust on the floor. His handheld was quiet, too, no longer buzzing with alerts.Shouldn’t there be another emergency session to address the situation in the Core? Where was everyone?Worn out from yesterday’s emergency sessions, Gersha had spent most of the day at home in his study. He had made it a productive day, though, using his illegal transmitter to tell Ranek Egil in Harbour all about the current crisis.To his relief, Ranek’s reaction was upbeat, even excited. He promised to have all his agents in Bettevy on alert, including those in the garrison and airbase. They had just enough forces to seize control of the embassy and Oslov traffic in and out of Harbour, if they had to.“Then we’ll all move on Bettevy,” Ranek had said, referring to his people in the Southern Hearth. “The Duke says he’s ready to host us, and it’s about time we came out of the wilderness. How’s Tilrey? Is he excited?”No, he’s terrified and full of doubts. But Gersha pushed aside the memory of his last conversation with Tilrey. “He’s nervous, like all of us. But he’s ready to lead.”“Good,” Ranek said. “Tell him I’ve watched him grow from a frightened kid into someone people respect and follow. No one’s readier for this than he is.”Those reassuring words rang in Gersha’s head as he left his study around dinnertime, hoping to intercept Tilrey in the Sector. Then he looked at his handheld and saw a barrage of alerts about a new “subversive action” that had occurred at noon on Judicial Plaza.He hurried to the Sector, unnerved by the rumble of armed helicopters overhead—and found the entire place dead.What had happened? Davita must have sent the Sixth Battalion to clear the plaza of disruptors. But surely it was time for her to discuss next steps with the Council?Fine—he would go to her. Anyway, he was tired of hearing vague promises about Ceill’s release; it was time for her and her son to follow through.As he left his office and headed for hers, a disturbing thought sprouted in his brain. The moment he and Tilrey unmasked themselves as rebels, Davita would declare them enemies of the Republic. And Ceill, trapped in the Funnel, might make a perfect hostage.We won’t let that happen. Shoving the thought aside, he knocked loudly at Davita’s door.Irina, the secretary, opened up at once. She even looked happy to see him. “Fir Councillor Gádden! I was just about to check your office again. Fir’n Magistrate left me a message that she wants delivered to you in person.”Gersha stalked into the office. “Davita isn’t here? Where is she?”“At home, Fir. She’s resting and asked not to be disturbed,” the secretary added apologetically. “But I have good news. Your son will be released first thing tomorrow.”Gersha’s heart leaped. Suddenly he didn’t care where Davita was. Nothing mattered but holding his son in his arms.But where was Tilrey? He needed to know, too. “Why tomorrow? Why not tonight?” Gersha asked. “I could go down into the Funnel and get Ceill right now.”Irina’s brows bunched. “Fir’n Magistrate said—”“I don’t care what she said!” Gersha wheeled and paced to the window. The blinds were open, the wide black pane reflecting the bright room. “I want to see my son. If it’s just a matter of protocol. . .”He didn’t finish the sentence, because at that instant the reflection vanished. The office lights blinked out.The faint hum of heating was gone. The building opposite was dark, too.Behind him, the secretary laughed nervously. “It must be a glitch, Fir. We’ll have power in a moment.”Gersha’s throat closed. Could Janta really have done it? But why now, before Stefan was sentenced to exile?“Have you ever seen a glitch this widespread?” he asked. “And in the Core?”Irina’s silence told him she hadn’t.*
8:47 p.m.
From the Patrons’ Lounge of the Brothel, Kai and Einara watched the Core’s skyline go dark. It happened instantaneously, without warning. One moment, a sea of lights; the next, nothing.Inside the Brothel, lights remained lit. Heating and ventilation hummed. People gasped when they noticed the darkness outside. Behind Kai and Einara, a refined Upstart voice asked, “What the fuck?”In the blackness out there, a great shape lumbered slowly down out of the sky, its outline just visible against the stars. It seemed to float, but its shape suggested a slug more than a bird. “What’s that?” Kai asked, his voice rough with fear.“A tram,” Einara reassured him. “He’s taking the mag-grid gradually down to zero, so cars and trams can land safely instead of crashing out of the sky.” She didn’t say who he was; Kai knew.“Will that even work?”“He thinks so.”One end of the tram tipped upward. Einara wondered if Janta really knew what he was doing. It was sweet of him to care whether a few Oslovs died, though.The tram righted itself and settled on the ground with a muted thud. Snow sprayed into the air around it, white against the vast darkness. A door opened, and tiny shapes staggered out—frightened passengers, she supposed.Everyone in the Core was frightened now. As they should be.Kai reached for her hand. “He really did it.”Did he mean Janta, Bors, or Besha? It didn’t matter. Each one had played his part. Besha had brought Bors the news and the means to contact Janta; Bors had watched for the crucial moment; Janta had made it happen.“I never doubted him.” Einara squeezed Kai’s hand, glad to have her husband close to her in this moment when, at last, her revenge began to unfurl. “We have to lock ourselves in, quick,” she reminded him, giving his sleeve a little tug. “Once they see we have power and they don’t, we’ll be a target.”Kai was staring out the window, mesmerized. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many stars.”Stefan was already used to the dark. When the lights blinked off in the corridor, just as the door of his cell opened, he had an advantage.He froze, but only for an instant. Then he leapt up, pressed his back to the wall, and slid along it toward the door.The guards’ first reaction was unprofessional alarm. “They’re sabotaging us!” one said, blundering into the middle of the cell.“Where is he?”“It’s not sabotage, you fool, just a glitch.” That was the bone-cold voice of Director Gelmedyn. “Use your flashlights, and try not to prick yourself with that hypodermic.”The guards recovered their composure and pulled out their battery-powered lights. But Stefan knew every inch of the cell like the back of his hand. By the time they were searching it properly, he was out the door and running.“Rishka! Wake up!”Tilrey opened his eyes. He felt hot, rapid breaths on his cheek and smelled Davita’s Harbourer perfume.“What’s the matter?” He sat up and threw off the bedclothes, still groggy. Something important had happened, but he couldn’t remember what.Then he registered the intense darkness of the room—and, even more unnerving, the silence. The faint, constant hum of Redda’s infrastructure was gone.“It’s a glitch,” he said automatically. Brief blackouts happened in Thurskein, though he couldn’t remember ever experiencing one in Redda.“No, it isn’t.” Davita’s voice was low, each word carefully articulated; he could feel her struggling to keep panic under control. “My handheld won’t connect. Tilrey, the Net is down.”“That’s not possible.”Then, as he swung his feet onto the floor, everything came back. A rush of triumph warmed his cheeks. Janta, you spooky kid, you did it! You actually did it!They were in uncharted territory, and there was no plan.*Ceill woke in a darkness that somehow seemed more dark than usual. He could swear he’d heard the cell door hiss open.He cowered against the wall, waiting for the heavy footsteps of guards. But there was only silence—and it seemed more silent than usual.Then he heard a soft, familiar voice. It seemed to come from all around him, emanating from the very walls.“Ceill, you’re free. Get up and find Stefan.”“Janta?” Ceill scrambled to his feet before he had time to think.Janta couldn’t be here. Maybe confinement had driven him to hallucination. Just in case, though, he felt his way along the wall to the door.When the voice sounded a second time, he nearly jumped out of his skin.“I’m not really here. Stefan is one level below you. Can you make sure he’s safe?”“Where are you? How are you doing that?” Then Ceill stopped breathing. Where the solid surface of the door should be, his groping hand had found empty space.Beyond, in the total darkness of what must be the corridor, he heard footsteps and voices. People were running and yelling and laughing wildly—his fellow prisoners?“It’s a power failure! It sprang all the doors!” someone cried.“Hurry, before they get the generator up!”“You leave, they’ll shoot you on sight!”Maybe they would, but Ceill suddenly didn’t care. He should never have stayed in the city in the first place. It was time for him to find his way back to Janta or die trying.He turned back to the cell, again wondering if Janta’s voice could have been a figment of his increasingly disordered mind. He whispered, “Did you do this? Is that really you?”“Yes! I’m using their surveillance. I can always see you, and I’ll contact you when I can. But Ceill, Stefan’s in danger, and there’s only so much I can do. Promise me you’ll find him?”Ceill drew a deep breath, trying to find his bearings in this strange new world. He understood nothing, but if he could help Stefan, he would.“I promise,” he said, stepping through the door into freedom.
27 October, year 374, 8:01 p.m.
When the lights blazed on in Stefan’s cell, he wasn’t ready. Crouched on the floor, he hid his face against his knees, accustomed to the darkness.
“I have good news for you, young man.”
It was the old woman from last time, the one who’d tried to get him to confess on camera. This time, instead of a tea tumbler, she held a clipboard and pen. Her wispy, gray-clad shape was flanked by two well-armed guards.
The guards were supposed to be professionally impassive, Stefan knew. One of them was pulling it off right now, but the other one wouldn’t meet his eyes.
When Stefan noticed the man’s averted gaze, a tendril of dread unfurled in his chest. Remembering the woman’s semi-veiled threats from their last conversation, he said, “What are you doing here? Are you going to kill me?”
Even as he spoke the words, his heart rebelled against them, battering his chest wall. Every atom of his body trembled with life, refusing to believe in the possibility of extinction.
But he watched the less-impassive guard. He saw the man’s tiny twitch of discomfort.
As for the woman, she didn’t seem bothered by his question. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I am Director Gelmedyn, which means I have the authority to inform you how the Republic will dispose of you. Since you refused the generous offer of moral rehabilitation, you will be flown to Harbour and left there to fend for yourself.”
Hope leapt in Stefan’s chest, but only for an instant. She had to be lying. They would never leave him alive and free, even in Harbour. And she wasn’t bothering to make her lie convincing.
“Where’s Blas Lindblom?” he asked, hoping against hope that the man could still do something for him. Lindblom had listened to his absurd story almost as if he mattered. “Wasn’t he supposed to deliver a verdict?”
“I just told you the verdict. Did you think an important man like Lindblom would deliver it to you personally?”
Stefan hugged his knees, wondering if Lindblom even knew what was happening down here. He supposed he should stand up and face them, but he didn’t trust his legs to support him. Anyway, did it matter whether he died on his feet or his ass?
Last time, she’d mentioned an overdose of vexonil. He didn’t see any medical equipment, but either of the guards could be hiding a syringe.
“Let me guess,” he said flatly. “I get to go to Harbour if I write a confession for you.”
“Clever boy.” Gelmedyn clipped the pen to the board and held it out. “Just a few sentences and a signature—I’ll dictate the wording. These gentlemen are here to make sure you don’t injure anyone with the pen, including yourself.”
“I figured.” Stefan wondered if they could hear the crashing beat of his heart. There seemed to be no room in his body for anything but the echoing boom. Sweat trickled down his neck. The part of him that was usually rational floated up to the ceiling and observed the scene, detached and helpless.
He heard himself ask, “What if I say no?”
Gelmedyn’s lips curved in something close to a smile. “Then you die.”
“By exile?”
“No.” She pointed down at the floor of the cell. “Immediately.”
If I say yes, I also die, don’t I? But his lips wouldn’t form the words. “You’re not sending me to Harbour. I know better than that.”
The director shrugged. “My lad, you’ve been given one chance to save yourself. If I were you, I would gamble on it. What do you think Darius would do?”
Stefan shut his eyes and tried to breathe. She was mocking him. He wasn’t Darius, who was made up—Kai’s idealized version of his own younger self. He could only be himself, and right now every inch of him was frozen in terror.
Janta, if you’re out there, please—
But even if Janta had the power, how could he possibly know that now was the time to intervene?
No matter what, Stefan’s life was at an end. He could at least make a stab at dying with a shred of dignity.
He shook his head. “I’m not writing or signing a thing. Have fun faking my handwriting. And if you think the people will settle down after they see my ‘confession,’ you’re in for a shock. I think they’re gonna burn down this city—and you with it.”
8:24 p.m.
Blas ran all the way from the tram station. He dashed down the ramp of the Funnel and past the checkpoints, ignoring the startled stares of the guards, who knew him by sight now. He sprinted through the corridors and arrived panting at the door of Bors Dartán’s office.
He had already been on his way back to the Core, ready to stand guard outside Stefan Altmering’s cell and prevent the young man’s murder, when he received an update from one of his Int/Sec contacts. At last, the analyst had returned to his desk!
It wasn’t yet nine. Perhaps Blas could still convince his mother she was making a terrible mistake.
He knocked six times, each knock more forceful than the last, before Dartán opened up. A dry little man, utterly forgettable, with a nervous frown, he held a laptop cradled in the crook of his arm, headphones connecting it to his ears.
He said, “Excuse me, but I’m in the middle of an operation, Fir, uh . . .?”
“Fir Examining Magistrate Lindblom.” Blas elbowed past the analyst and into the room. For once he had no scruples about using his name to get what he wanted. “I apologize for the intrusion, Fir Dartán, but you’re not easy to find, and I have urgent business with you. It concerns Councillor Lindahl’s murder.”
Hearing that, Dartán should have removed the headphones and put down the laptop. Instead, he snuck a glance at the screen before returning his gaze to Blas. “Forgive me, Fir Examining Magistrate. I’m monitoring an undercover asset in real time.”
The Republic’s future could hinge on this moment! But Blas couldn’t blurt out an explanation without biasing the man and encouraging him to slant his testimony one way or the other.
“Forgive me,” he said, knowing he was flushed and sweaty and trying to gather some semblance of composure. “I’ve been digging in the archives, Analyst. I came across your memo about a certain Tilrey Bronn.”
Dartán’s eyes widened. Clutching the laptop protectively, he said, “No investigation was ever opened. Director Gelmedyn and Fir Councillor Karishkov saw insufficient cause for one.”
“I know. And then they promoted you and transferred you to the University to spy on student Dissidents. Has it ever occurred to you that they didn’t like what you’d discovered about a man who happens to be close to some very powerful people?”
“Of course!” Dartán sounded flustered—understandably, since Blas was casting doubt on his superiors’ judgment. “I let the matter drop, though. I haven’t thought of Bronn in years.”
As he spoke, his chin lowered and his cheeks reddened. The man might be a good spy, but he wasn’t a good liar.
Blas took a meaningful step toward him. “You did a service to the Republic with your memo. If you know anything more than you wrote in it, anything at all—if you continued the investigation on your own—you have a duty to tell me now.”
The analyst backed away. “Why now? And what does that have to do with—”
“An innocent man’s life could be at stake.”
Again Dartán glanced at his damned laptop. “You aren’t suggesting that Tilrey had something to do with Lindahl’s death?”
So he and Tilrey were on a first-name basis. Blas crossed his arms and planted himself firmly in the center of the office. If Dartán knew as much as he suspected, there was no point in being cagey. “I’m suggesting that Bronn was involved in subversive activities, that Lindahl discovered he was involved in subversive activities, and that Lindahl died for that discovery. Does that sound right to you?”
Emotions flitted over Dartán’s face in rapid succession, too many of them for Blas to identify.
He added, “You know something—more than you should. Don’t be afraid to tell me. Even if Bronn paid you off, even if he threatened you, there’s nothing to fear now.”
To Blas’s shock, Dartán gave a loud bark of laughter and nearly dropped the laptop. He yanked off his headset and plunked the device down on the edge of the desk, still open. “Fir Lindblom, I spent a good ten years trying to get someone to listen to me about Tilrey Bronn. And now you want to arrest him?”
“They should have listened to you long ago.” Blood rushed to Blas’s cheeks—his hunch had been right, but he was almost out of time. “You have the power to keep this city from ripping itself apart. Will you help me, Bors? Tell me Bronn is a traitor, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Again the blizzard of conflicting emotions swept over Dartán’s face. Blas thought he recognized triumph, regret, dread. But the man said only, “Don’t you know what Tilrey means to your mother?”
“I don’t give a fuck!” Blas practically shouted the words—he was so weary of having his mother’s private life thrown in his face. “I’m here to stop her from making a much worse mistake. Whatever you know, whatever you’re up to with Bronn, I promise you complete immunity if you just . . .”
He didn’t finish the sentence, because Dartán clearly wasn’t listening.
The man stared at the laptop on the desk, his pale face frozen in a rictus of alarm. Blas followed his gaze to the screen.
He saw feeds from two surveillance cams in what appeared to be a Funnel detention block. One showed a corridor; the other, a cell interior. The cell was dark, but infrared outlined a familiar form crumpled on the floor, knees hugged to its chest.
“That’s Stefan. Why are you monitoring his cell? You weren’t assigned to!” But further protests died in Blas’s throat as he saw what Dartán was looking at.
Movement in the corridor. Three guards paused outside the cell door, as if conferring. Their heads were close together, the sound muted.
Had they come to kill Stefan? Was it time already? Blas stood frozen, a roar rising in his ears.
Then his stomach lurched sickeningly, and he gulped a breath and dug in his tunic pocket for his handheld. In a distant way, he saw Dartán doing the same thing.
Blas was suddenly conscious of his heart thudding and sweat trickling down his face and neck, its salt on his lips. His hands trembled so badly that Dartán had already put away his own handheld by the time Blas managed to hit his mother’s voice number.
Listening to it ring, he stared at the laptop screen in mute horror. The guards had been joined by a smaller, unarmed figure—Director Gelmedyn. She waved them toward the door.
Too late, too late, and his mother wasn’t answering!
Blas caught a flicker of movement on the half of the screen that showed the cell interior. Stefan’s head jerked upright—he’d heard the guards at the door.
Blas stuffed the useless handheld into his pocket and whirled toward the door of the office. Even running, it would take him at least five minutes to reach Stefan’s cell, two levels below them. How long would it take the guards to administer a fatal dose of vexonil?
His finger was on the door button when he heard Dartán’s voice behind him. “Do you actually care?”
He’s my evidence. I need him. Blas dived back into the office and seized the analyst by a skinny wrist. “You’re coming with me,” he said breathlessly, tugging the resistant Dartán to the door. “You’ll tell Gelmedyn everything.”
Again he reached for the door button. But before his finger could make contact, the lights went out.
Disbelieving, Blas fumbled along the wall. He found the door’s release by instinct. But when he pressed it, nothing happened .
“Did you do that?” he snarled, wheeling on Dartán.
That was when he realized they were in a darkness more total than he had ever known. No overhead fluorescents. No light under the door. No computer screen. No blinking from the wall server or the ceiling smoke detector.
Even the ever-present hum of the heating was gone.
8:39 p.m.
Tilrey still wasn’t answering messages or calls.
Gersha rose from his office chair and went into the antechamber where his husband would normally be. He opened the door and peered up and down the corridor.
Even this late in the evening, the Sector usually thrummed with activity. But now he almost thought he could hear the soft fall of dust on the floor. His handheld was quiet, too, no longer buzzing with alerts.
Shouldn’t there be another emergency session to address the situation in the Core? Where was everyone?
Worn out from yesterday’s emergency sessions, Gersha had spent most of the day at home in his study. He had made it a productive day, though, using his illegal transmitter to tell Ranek Egil in Harbour all about the current crisis.
To his relief, Ranek’s reaction was upbeat, even excited. He promised to have all his agents in Bettevy on alert, including those in the garrison and airbase. They had just enough forces to seize control of the embassy and Oslov traffic in and out of Harbour, if they had to.
“Then we’ll all move on Bettevy,” Ranek had said, referring to his people in the Southern Hearth. “The Duke says he’s ready to host us, and it’s about time we came out of the wilderness. How’s Tilrey? Is he excited?”
No, he’s terrified and full of doubts. But Gersha pushed aside the memory of his last conversation with Tilrey. “He’s nervous, like all of us. But he’s ready to lead.”
“Good,” Ranek said. “Tell him I’ve watched him grow from a frightened kid into someone people respect and follow. No one’s readier for this than he is.”
Those reassuring words rang in Gersha’s head as he left his study around dinnertime, hoping to intercept Tilrey in the Sector. Then he looked at his handheld and saw a barrage of alerts about a new “subversive action” that had occurred at noon on Judicial Plaza.
He hurried to the Sector, unnerved by the rumble of armed helicopters overhead—and found the entire place dead.
What had happened? Davita must have sent the Sixth Battalion to clear the plaza of disruptors. But surely it was time for her to discuss next steps with the Council?
Fine—he would go to her. Anyway, he was tired of hearing vague promises about Ceill’s release; it was time for her and her son to follow through.
As he left his office and headed for hers, a disturbing thought sprouted in his brain. The moment he and Tilrey unmasked themselves as rebels, Davita would declare them enemies of the Republic. And Ceill, trapped in the Funnel, might make a perfect hostage.
We won’t let that happen. Shoving the thought aside, he knocked loudly at Davita’s door.
Irina, the secretary, opened up at once. She even looked happy to see him. “Fir Councillor Gádden! I was just about to check your office again. Fir’n Magistrate left me a message that she wants delivered to you in person.”
Gersha stalked into the office. “Davita isn’t here? Where is she?”
“At home, Fir. She’s resting and asked not to be disturbed,” the secretary added apologetically. “But I have good news. Your son will be released first thing tomorrow.”
Gersha’s heart leaped. Suddenly he didn’t care where Davita was. Nothing mattered but holding his son in his arms.
But where was Tilrey? He needed to know, too. “Why tomorrow? Why not tonight?” Gersha asked. “I could go down into the Funnel and get Ceill right now.”
Irina’s brows bunched. “Fir’n Magistrate said—”
“I don’t care what she said!” Gersha wheeled and paced to the window. The blinds were open, the wide black pane reflecting the bright room. “I want to see my son. If it’s just a matter of protocol. . .”
He didn’t finish the sentence, because at that instant the reflection vanished. The office lights blinked out.
The faint hum of heating was gone. The building opposite was dark, too.
Behind him, the secretary laughed nervously. “It must be a glitch, Fir. We’ll have power in a moment.”
Gersha’s throat closed. Could Janta really have done it? But why now, before Stefan was sentenced to exile?
“Have you ever seen a glitch this widespread?” he asked. “And in the Core?”
Irina’s silence told him she hadn’t.
8:47 p.m.
From the Patrons’ Lounge of the Brothel, Kai and Einara watched the Core’s skyline go dark. It happened instantaneously, without warning. One moment, a sea of lights; the next, nothing.
Inside the Brothel, lights remained lit. Heating and ventilation hummed. People gasped when they noticed the darkness outside. Behind Kai and Einara, a refined Upstart voice asked, “What the fuck?”
In the blackness out there, a great shape lumbered slowly down out of the sky, its outline just visible against the stars. It seemed to float, but its shape suggested a slug more than a bird. “What’s that?” Kai asked, his voice rough with fear.
“A tram,” Einara reassured him. “He’s taking the mag-grid gradually down to zero, so cars and trams can land safely instead of crashing out of the sky.” She didn’t say who he was; Kai knew.
“Will that even work?”
“He thinks so.”
One end of the tram tipped upward. Einara wondered if Janta really knew what he was doing. It was sweet of him to care whether a few Oslovs died, though.
The tram righted itself and settled on the ground with a muted thud. Snow sprayed into the air around it, white against the vast darkness. A door opened, and tiny shapes staggered out—frightened passengers, she supposed.
Everyone in the Core was frightened now. As they should be.
Kai reached for her hand. “He really did it.”
Did he mean Janta, Bors, or Besha? It didn’t matter. Each one had played his part. Besha had brought Bors the news and the means to contact Janta; Bors had watched for the crucial moment; Janta had made it happen.
“I never doubted him.” Einara squeezed Kai’s hand, glad to have her husband close to her in this moment when, at last, her revenge began to unfurl. “We have to lock ourselves in, quick,” she reminded him, giving his sleeve a little tug. “Once they see we have power and they don’t, we’ll be a target.”
Kai was staring out the window, mesmerized. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many stars.”
Stefan was already used to the dark. When the lights blinked off in the corridor, just as the door of his cell opened, he had an advantage.
He froze, but only for an instant. Then he leapt up, pressed his back to the wall, and slid along it toward the door.
The guards’ first reaction was unprofessional alarm. “They’re sabotaging us!” one said, blundering into the middle of the cell.
“Where is he?”
“It’s not sabotage, you fool, just a glitch.” That was the bone-cold voice of Director Gelmedyn. “Use your flashlights, and try not to prick yourself with that hypodermic.”
The guards recovered their composure and pulled out their battery-powered lights. But Stefan knew every inch of the cell like the back of his hand. By the time they were searching it properly, he was out the door and running.
“Rishka! Wake up!”
Tilrey opened his eyes. He felt hot, rapid breaths on his cheek and smelled Davita’s Harbourer perfume.
“What’s the matter?” He sat up and threw off the bedclothes, still groggy. Something important had happened, but he couldn’t remember what.
Then he registered the intense darkness of the room—and, even more unnerving, the silence. The faint, constant hum of Redda’s infrastructure was gone.
“It’s a glitch,” he said automatically. Brief blackouts happened in Thurskein, though he couldn’t remember ever experiencing one in Redda.
“No, it isn’t.” Davita’s voice was low, each word carefully articulated; he could feel her struggling to keep panic under control. “My handheld won’t connect. Tilrey, the Net is down.”
“That’s not possible.”
Then, as he swung his feet onto the floor, everything came back. A rush of triumph warmed his cheeks. Janta, you spooky kid, you did it! You actually did it!
They were in uncharted territory, and there was no plan.
Ceill woke in a darkness that somehow seemed more dark than usual. He could swear he’d heard the cell door hiss open.
He cowered against the wall, waiting for the heavy footsteps of guards. But there was only silence—and it seemed more silent than usual.
Then he heard a soft, familiar voice. It seemed to come from all around him, emanating from the very walls.
“Ceill, you’re free. Get up and find Stefan.”
“Janta?” Ceill scrambled to his feet before he had time to think.
Janta couldn’t be here. Maybe confinement had driven him to hallucination. Just in case, though, he felt his way along the wall to the door.
When the voice sounded a second time, he nearly jumped out of his skin.
“I’m not really here. Stefan is one level below you. Can you make sure he’s safe?”
“Where are you? How are you doing that?” Then Ceill stopped breathing. Where the solid surface of the door should be, his groping hand had found empty space.
Beyond, in the total darkness of what must be the corridor, he heard footsteps and voices. People were running and yelling and laughing wildly—his fellow prisoners?
“It’s a power failure! It sprang all the doors!” someone cried.
“Hurry, before they get the generator up!”
“You leave, they’ll shoot you on sight!”
Maybe they would, but Ceill suddenly didn’t care. He should never have stayed in the city in the first place. It was time for him to find his way back to Janta or die trying.
He turned back to the cell, again wondering if Janta’s voice could have been a figment of his increasingly disordered mind. He whispered, “Did you do this? Is that really you?”
“Yes! I’m using their surveillance. I can always see you, and I’ll contact you when I can. But Ceill, Stefan’s in danger, and there’s only so much I can do. Promise me you’ll find him?”
Ceill drew a deep breath, trying to find his bearings in this strange new world. He understood nothing, but if he could help Stefan, he would.
“I promise,” he said, stepping through the door into freedom.
Chapter End Notes
Aaaand that’s it for now! I hope to start working on and posting the final story soon. Meanwhile, I’ll post a few new chapters of “All the Kinds of Broken.”Breaking Oslov makes me feel weird and emotional. :) But I’m excited to bring the long arc of the revolution to a conclusion. Thank you so much for coming along for the ride. <<3 Your comments give me life.
Chapter End Notes
Aaaand that’s it for now! I hope to start working on and posting the final story soon. Meanwhile, I’ll post a few new chapters of “All the Kinds of Broken.”Breaking Oslov makes me feel weird and emotional. :) But I’m excited to bring the long arc of the revolution to a conclusion. Thank you so much for coming along for the ride. <<3 Your comments give me life.
Aaaand that’s it for now! I hope to start working on and posting the final story soon. Meanwhile, I’ll post a few new chapters of “All the Kinds of Broken.”
Breaking Oslov makes me feel weird and emotional. :) But I’m excited to bring the long arc of the revolution to a conclusion. Thank you so much for coming along for the ride. <<3 Your comments give me life.