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  Kane waited a moment for Cerberus to respond. When they didn’t, he tried again, his eyes flicking over the other screens and taking in what they had to offer. One showed a rolling wire-frame interpretation of an undulating plain, no doubt the local terrain as picked up by onboard sensors in the vehicle. Another was a radar sweep in familiar green on black, which showed several fixed-point markers amid its black field, none of which were labeled. The other screens showed ever-changing stats that Kane could not begin to fathom in just a glance like this, but he took them to be related either to the snow production or whatever was going on outside.

  “Cerberus, acknowledge,” Kane said, his voice a little more urgent now as he spoke into the hidden Commtact pickup.

  All that came in response was dead air. The snowstorm was probably affecting the signal somehow, Kane realized, and he was sitting right in the heart of it.

  The mysterious vehicle bumped over a rise, and Kane clung to the arms of the chair as it shook in place.

  * * *

  STILL UNABLE TO MOVE, all Brigid could do was watch. The man in the seat beside her cleaned his wound with grim efficiency using a medikit housed in the Sandcat. Grant did not stir; he appeared to be dead to the world. Meanwhile, Brigid’s senses came back very slowly, and mostly in the form of excruciating pins and needles that she could do nothing about. She still could not move, could not even speak. All she could do was breathe, but that, at least, was becoming easier, the tightness in her chest abating. The air was cold.

  She watched from the floor of the Sandcat as the snow batted against the windshield, saw a second Sandcat emerge into view from the right-hand side. This Sandcat was painted white, making it almost perfectly camouflaged in the snow.

  Time passed, time spent feeling the incessant irritation of pins and needles in her limbs and all the way down her right flank where it rested against the cold metal floor. Through the floor, Brigid felt the Sandcat begin to slow, the engine humming as the brakes were applied. This sensation was accompanied by a change in pitch of the engine, the barely restrained lion’s roar turning to a louder and higher squeal.

  Brigid saw something flicker across the windshield where she could see between the two men up front. It looked darker, a shadow in the snow. She strained her head, trying to move her skull so that she could see better, but her muscles would not respond; they were still deadened by the tranquilizer that these strangers had dosed her with.

  The darkness flashed again against the brilliance, larger this time, which meant they were getting closer. It took a moment to figure out what she was looking at, with the angle and the snow falling across the windshield like a bead curtain. But she recognized it. It was a ville, eerily familiar with its high walls and guard posts located at each corner and by the main gates. The towers of the ville peered from behind those high walls, set out in the same pattern that every ville followed, from Cobaltville to Beausoliel—a pattern that had been perfected over millennia by the Annunaki and designed to restrict the thoughts and progress of humanity. The snow-capped towers shone with gold.

  “On approach,” she heard a voice say up front, emanating from a radio speaker. “Stay on your vector.”

  It all made no sense. Brigid knew the map, could call it to mind in an instant. Nothing should be here, nothing but farmland and small settlements. Not a ville, not one like this.

  The Sandcat slowed further, pulling almost to a stop before the gates as its partner passed through. A moment later, Brigid’s Sandcat was trailing the other one through the gates.

  Come on, Kane, she thought. Where are you?

  The Sandcat passed through the ville gates and disappeared into darkness beyond.

  Designated Task #001: Air Monitoring

  Air Monitoring is performed in a dedicated room on Cappa Level. Monitoring is overseen by two Magistrates at all times, along with a bank of trained citizens who work the day-to-day chores with the machinery.

  I will be assigned here one morning every two weeks, before my shift at Designated Task #004 begins. My first experience here comes under Orientation, and involves a Magistrate showing me the functionality of the equipment and explaining the necessity of the department.

  It is my understanding that the intake and monitoring of the air quality in Ioville is considered to be of paramount importance, and that any deviation to its purity is to be reported immediately to the Supreme Magistrate in charge. Protocol dictates that both Magistrates must be informed of any change, and that any sufficient deviation in quality will then be reported to Supreme Magistrate Webb. This protocol must never be deviated from—to do so is punishable by immediate execution.

  The ventilation system of Ioville is unusually complex for a ville. It features numerous checks and balances and it feeds all air to the ville and its citizens. No unfiltered air may enter the ville because of the possibility of contamination.

  The monitoring equipment is detailed, complete plans of the ventilation system with highlighted areas showing any blockages or traps, potential leaks and any other issues that arise, minute-by-minute, in real time. To be assigned monitoring duty is a daunting task, one which the monitors must train for over many months on a training simulation before they can be allowed to function on the live system. I am informed via comms screen that perhaps I will be assigned this role, once I have proven my worth at Designated Task #004.

  —From the journal of Citizen 619F.

  Chapter 10

  The twin Sandcats passed into the hidden ville via a tunnel, sheltering them from the falling snow.

  Sprawled on the floor, Brigid tried to move again, willing her muscles to respond. Her fingers twitched and she felt the agonising pressure as the pins and needles there fired with renewed vigor. But at least she could move.

  She worked again, eyes watching the wounded warrior who sat over her and Grant. He was distracted, his head tilted up ahead to watch their progress through the tunnel that sloped down beneath the ville towers. Lights ran along the edges of the tunnel, and Brigid sensed that they were descending on a shallow incline, moving beneath the buildings of the ville. Ville buildings are connected by a series of walkways and wide passages, some of them wide enough to house a Sandcat. Internal roads weave between the buildings, grand tunnels of up to four lanes protected by curving roofs. This ville was no different than any other.

  The brake lights of the other Sandcat flashed up ahead and both vehicles slowed, turning in as they reached the end of the tunnel. Wiggling her toes inside her boots, Brigid watched through the windshield as the Sandcat entered a garage area the size of an aircraft hangar.

  Brigid watched through the windshield as the other Sandcat peeled away, parking beside a fleet of identical vehicles. A moment later, her own vehicle pulled to a halt with a hiss of brakes. The driver was the first out of his seat, raising the gull-wing door and stepping out into the garage lot. A moment later, the side door of the Sandcat opened and the passenger—another of the reflective-suited group—appeared to help their colleague hobble out of the rear.

  “How is your leg?” one asked—Brigid could not tell which, for both men remained in their hoods, only their masks removed, and she had not gotten a look at their faces up until this moment. They both looked normal, in their mid-to late twenties, brown hair cropped identically short, only the harsh lines of the one to the left’s jaw distinguishing him from his colleague—otherwise they could have passed for twins.

  “My leg is damaged,” the man in the back confirmed emotionlessly. “I’ll go to Medical.”

  The man with the softer jaw nodded. “Acknowledged.”

  With that, the man that Brigid had shot hopped out of the back of the Sandcat and limped away through the garage area. Brigid watched through the open door, flexing her reviving muscles through the masking cover of her clothes.

  The two remaining figures—Brigid had b
egun to suspect that they were Magistrates—stared into the doorway, taking in Brigid and Grant.

  “These two need to go to Processing,” said the man on the right.

  “Agreed. And Supreme Magistrate Webb needs to be advised of their arrival,” said the other with the same lack of emotion.

  Supreme Magistrate? Brigid thought. Well, that was interesting.

  She had never heard of a Supreme Magistrate before. Supervisors, yes—the Magistrate system, like any other military structure, had a hierarchy. But the use of the term “Supreme Magistrate” was new to her and it wasn’t something either Kane or Grant had ever mentioned. Dammit, if only Grant were awake to confirm this.

  Brigid may not know the full inner workings and hierarchy of the Magistrate system but she did know one thing—being shot at by Mags without warning was bad, even if they were using tranqs. It meant they weren’t interested in negotiating. They probably intended to toss her and Grant into a cell somewhere and forget about them. She could not allow that to happen.

  One of the men stepped into the back of the Sandcat, eyeing Grant and Brigid. Then he reached for Grant, getting his hands under the bigger man’s armpits, and dragged him through the open door.

  Brigid would be next, she knew. She tensed her muscles and prepared herself as the other figure reached in for her. He knelt down on the deck and placed one arm under Brigid’s knees, the other under her shoulders. As he did so, she moved, kicking out with her left leg, striking the man in the chest. The blow was not ideal, but it caught the man by surprise and he toppled back against the frame of the Sandcat, momentarily losing his balance. His breath expelled through his mouth in a whuff of rushing air.

  Brigid moved swiftly, rolling over, muscles complaining, dragging her knees up under her. She triggered her Commtact—now was not the time for subtlety—and called for Kane. She knew that with the biolink transponder she had embedded subcutaneously, the Cerberus control room would be tracking her and would be able to pass that information to Kane so that he could come find her and Grant. She just hoped he wasn’t too far away because she didn’t much fancy her chances with fighting off a whole army of these guys.

  But when she tried to speak, Brigid discovered her tongue was still struggling under the tranquilizer—it lolled in her mouth like a beached fish, and all that came out from her voice box was a kind of “Allallall” sound.

  As Brigid tried to hail Kane or Cerberus, the man in the vehicle recovered himself, bracing for impact with his forearms held up protectively before him—a typical Mag move. At the same time, his partner outside the vehicle dropped Grant, leaving the slumbering Cerberus warrior on the floor of the garage, and was pulling his blaster from its holster at his hip.

  Lying on her back, Brigid kicked out again. She directed the heels of her boots against the first Magistrate’s upheld arms—once, twice, thrice—until he cried out in pain and drew his arms down just a little. In that fraction of a second, Brigid changed aim, one long leg kicking out at the gap between the man’s upheld arms and booting him in the chin. Blood erupted across the man’s mouth and he slumped back into the wall of the Sandcat a second time.

  In continuous motion, Brigid shifted her trained body once again, taut muscles coming back to life as the second figure poked his head through the open side door, the white-shelled gun thrust out before him. Brigid shoved herself backward into the back of the passenger’s seat and kicked out, using the firmness of the seat to anchor herself and send more force into her kick. Her outstretched foot met with the blaster’s muzzle as it poked through the door, kicking it up as the Magistrate—if he was a Magistrate—fired. There was a pfft of expelled air as the gun fired, sending another of those tranquilizer darts wildly through the Sandcat interior until it embedded two feet to Brigid’s right.

  Brigid triggered her Commtact again, struggling desperately to send a message—however garbled—to Kane.

  Hopefully Kane would hear the message and realize that there was trouble brewing, big, unexpected trouble just over the snow-capped horizon.

  The other Mag was in the rear of the Sandcat now, standing with his head ducked so as not to knock into the ceiling, leveling his dart gun at Brigid’s retreating form.

  Brigid’s emerald eyes fixed on the long nose of the gun and a dozen thoughts rushed through her mind. Why had the Mags attacked her? How had they known the Cerberus exiles were even in the area? And this ville existed where no ville was listed, a rogue tenth in a strict structure of nine.

  All of this went through Brigid’s mind in a scant few seconds as her attacker sighted down his weapon and pulled the trigger, sending another dart into Brigid’s chest, high on the left breast.

  Brigid fought it for a moment, clenching her eyes closed, balling her fists. But whatever was in the dart squelched her determination, and a moment later she had fallen into unconsciousness, sagging back against the steering column of the Sandcat.

  Her final thought was a hope that Kane had received and understood her warning. Because it was all over for her.

  * * *

  KANE CHECKED OVER the screens in the cab of the colossal vehicle again, examining them more carefully this time. He had no way to contact Cerberus for the moment, though whether that was a by-product of the vehicle’s casing or of the weather system outside, he couldn’t say.

  Kane looked at the display that showed the rolling terrain and compared it to the sweeping radar. The radar showed several fixed points, including one to the west that seemed larger than the others. That could be another vehicle or a building, Kane guessed, but it was hard to tell the exact size from the simplistic radar image.

  He watched for a while, figured that the vehicle was making a slow circuit around a predetermined course. Everything was automated, of course—that much had been obvious from the moment he entered the cab. But it was programmed and followed a very definite pattern, passing around the area that, he guessed, Cerberus had identified with the artificial snowstorm.

  So, say there were two of these vehicles. Would that be enough to create the snowstorm? Not likely, Kane figured. Then maybe three or four or six or a dozen. The continuous need to intake water vapor, the fuel expended in the operation, and the costs involved—it was astronomical. No wonder it had taken at least three barons to fund this op.

  As Kane watched the displays, regularly hailing Cerberus to no avail, he thought that he had begun to detect the pattern of his journey. The vehicle was performing a very wide circuit, several miles wide perhaps, with a specific point remaining in the center. That fixed point was the blot he had noticed earlier on the radar—then to the far west and now roughly the same distance but to the north. They were circling that point, keeping it to their left at all times.

  “So,” Kane muttered, touching his index finger to that point on the radar display, “what’s there?”

  * * *

  WHEN BRIGID AWOKE next she was lying faceup, strapped to a table in a starkly lit room that smelled of ammonia and chlorine. The table was warm beneath her, which made her suspect she had been there for some time.

  Her blaster was gone still, of course, the holster feeling light against her hip.

  She turned her head, but the muscles felt slow, lethargic, and they complained at every fraction of an inch she gained. As before, her eyes responded, but her tongue felt thick and swollen, like it was inflamed.

  A figure moved about the room, passing through a doorway that had either been propped open or did not have a door at all. Brigid watched as the figure—a woman clad in white with blond hair slicked back from her forehead and tied in a neat ponytail—paced out of the room and disappeared, only to return a minute later carrying a datapack on which she was using a stylus to make notations. She stopped before Brigid and offered a slight smile. The smile was barely there, a social construct, and Brigid noticed that it did not extend to her eyes.
<
br />   “You’re awake,” said the woman. Her voice was surprisingly deep.

  “Mmm,” Brigid responded. She tried to ask “Where’s Grant?” but it came out more as “—errs Gand?”

  The woman leaned a little closer, tilting her head so that her ear was above Brigid’s mouth. “I’m sorry?” she asked.

  “—errs Gand?” Brigid repeated more slowly. “Nigh par-ner?”

  “Your friend?” the woman prompted and Brigid nodded slightly, still unable to really move. “He’s here. He’s fine. Doing well, in fact. He’s in another section of Processing right now but you may see him again soon enough.”

  Brigid blinked slowly, holding her eyelids closed for a moment to acknowledge the woman’s statement. “Hangh ooo.”

  The woman returned to her datapad and tapped something on the screen. “The sedative can take a while to wear off,” she explained without looking up, “but it will do no permanent harm. You probably feel a bit silly just now.”

  Brigid eyed the woman and the room around her, silently testing the straps that held her, trying not to draw attention to herself. The room was a lot like the medical examination rooms in the Cerberus redoubt. She wondered then what they might be doing to her, or planning to do.

  Brigid took a slow breath and tried to speak again. Her mouth seemed less swollen now, and words came more easily. “Where’m I?” she drawled.

  The woman glanced up at Brigid as she replied, “In Processing.”

  “Brocessin...what?”

  “New arrivals are processed before they can be entered into the ville. It’s SOP,” the woman explained, ticking off something on the datapad with her stylus. “Standard operating procedure.”

  “Whar...ville?” Brigid asked.

  “Ioville,” the woman answered without looking up. “Don’t worry—you’re quite safe here. We’ll do all your thinking for you.”