Meridian Six (2 page)

She avoided my eyes and scuttled off. Her red robes swirled around her ankles as she rounded the corner. I wondered briefly how she ended up living in abandoned tunnels below the city, offering succor to fugitives like me.

"Six?" The Chatelaine's voice pulled me out of my musings. I took a deep breath, raised my chin and marched into her inner sanctum.

She sat behind a battered wooden desk. A single low-watt bulb hung from the ceiling. The threadbare tapestries stretched across sections of the walls did nothing to dispel the chill. One depicted a unicorn bleeding in a cage and another a knight fighting a dragon.

"Nice," I said, more to get the conversation going than out of any real appreciation for the artistry.

"Functional," she countered. "They help insulate against the dankness."

I took the seat she offered. The ancient metal chair creaked in protest. I cringed as the sound echoed through the cave-like room.

The Chatelaine stared into a vid-screen, an alien bit of technology for such an ascetic setting, but, then, she was a vampire. And vampires loved their tech.

I couldn't see what she was looking at, but whatever it was, she found it damned interesting. Warning bells went off in my head. Noticing my sudden stiffness, she turned the screen toward me.

My own face stared back at me. My stomach fell as I read the ticker beneath the old photo. "Fugitive still at large. The Troika is offering a reward of ten thousand charns for her capture--dead or alive."

"Meridian Six, age twenty-three, daughter of rebel sympathizer, Alexis Sargosa," she read, her brows rising. "Wanted for violation of Troika code 439."

My stomach churned, and my hands grew damp. Given the conditions of the rectory, it was possible the Chatelaine was mentally tabulating the repairs she could make with that kind of reward.

I lifted my chin, waiting for her to make the next move.

"Code 439?" she said. "That's assault, correct?"

I gave a jerky nod to confirm that was, indeed, the crime assigned to Code 439, but I didn't feel the need to confess my innocence. After all, if things had gone as planned the charge would have been murder instead.

The nun's eyes took on a speculative gleam. My fingers slid down my leg toward the shard of metal I'd strapped to my ankle using a bit of bandage the nuns had left in my room. They'd been smart not to leave me with any glass or cutlery, but the metal bracket had torn away from the bed frame easily and its sharp corners could inflict some pain.

"Keep your weapon where it is, child. The Sisters of Crimson are no friends of the Troika, no matter how well they pay."

I paused and looked at her. "Ten thousand Cs would buy a lot of food for your acolytes, sister."

"True, but then I would have a debt on my soul I'm not prepared to repay."

"If you knew all of this I'm surprised you let me in here to begin with. Some consider me quite dangerous."

Her lips lifted in a slight smile. "Especially the Troika."

 "What makes you say that?"

"Ten thousand charns seems a bit steep for assault," she said, leaning back in her chair. "No, I think they want you for another reason."

I looked down. How much should I tell her? Even if I knew I could trust her, I'd be risking her life by sharing information she shouldn't know.

"Let's just say I have intimate knowledge of a few skeletons in the Troika's closet," I said.

"Oh, I bet you do." Her lips twitched. "So they made up the code violation then?"

"Not necessarily." I didn't elaborate. I crossed my arms to let her know that was all I had to say about the matter.

"Fair enough," she said. "I suppose you've already guessed that a crowd of Troika guards have gathered outside?"

"I figured as much."

"You got a plan?"

"Run like hell."

"In other words, you've got no plan at all." She leaned forward with her elbows on the desk. If she hadn't been wearing the robes of a holy order, her expression would have reminded me of a conspirator. "Lucky for you, I do."

Three.

The Chatelaine walked ahead of me down a musty corridor hidden behind one of the tapestries in her office.

"Are you sure the Troika doesn't know about these tunnels?" I asked.

"The Troika's influence ends at my door. They may control everyone else, but they're too superstitious to screw with the keepers of the sacred knowledge."

 "You sure don't talk like a religious leader."

She turned to look at me, a wicked smile on her face. "I wasn't always a Sister of Crimson. It was only after the war killed my family that I took the blood vows. Before that, I led a somewhat more ... dissolute existence."

"Like what?"

"Even the holy have secrets, child." She winked and held the torch higher. "Things get tight through here. Watch your head."

We walked a bit farther in silence. But I had questions and if I didn't ask them now, I might not have a chance. "Aren't you worried about what will happen when I don't walk out by the deadline?"

"The twenty-four hour thing is more of a self-imposed rule. Our leaders instated it when some of our guests began overstaying their welcome. The Troika has no say in our laws, so long as we continue to absolve them of their sins they leave us alone."

"Why are you helping me?"

She stopped and turned awkwardly in the narrow space. "Look, don't misunderstand. I'm not in the business of liberating all fugitives who seek our aid. My priority is protecting my Sanguinary and my acolytes. If you have information that can hurt the Troika, I'm damned well going to help you get it out there. Many of us want things to return like they were before the Troika took over."

"How do you know I'm not lying about having information on them?"

She looked me in the eyes, and an emotion I couldn't name overcame me. Something unfamiliar, yet powerful. I couldn't put my finger on it.

"Don't let my coarse talk and practical manner fool you, child. I am a believer. And I believe the goddess put you on my doorstep for a reason. It is not my place to question this. It is my duty to follow my gut and further Her plans." The light in her eyes suddenly made sense to me.

Sister Agrippa had faith.

I only believed in three things: my right fist, my left fist, and my gut. The vein of mysticism running through the Troika's top echelons made me uneasy. But if the sister's belief in the divine was the reason she was helping me, I wasn't going to refuse.

"Besides," she continued, "I knew your mother." She walked ahead, leaving me slack-jawed. I sped to catch up.

"You did?"

The Chatelaine cleared a cobweb that spanned the width of the tunnel. "Long ago. Before the wars."

"How?" I asked, impatient.

"We met at school. She was one of the few Sapiens to be decent to the fanged kids when we were integrated into human schools. After graduation we lost touch. I heard she met your father and got involved in the One Species movement while I went on to ... other things." She looked off into the shadows of the tunnel, as if it was a portal to the past. "Alexis didn't have blood in her veins--she had fire. "

The admiration in Agrippa's tone made my skin feel too tight.

 "I heard she passed away during the battle of New York," the sister said after a few moments of tense silence. "I was sorry to hear that. Anyone ever tell you that you could be her twin?"

I swallowed hard against the unwanted rush of emotion rising in my throat and shook my head. The Troika hadn't been real interested in reminiscing about my mother.

She glanced at me sharply, like she wanted to interrogate me about my upbringing, but we'd reached the end of the corridor. "We're here." She pointed to a red door set in the dirt wall.

Red means life
.

She knocked once, twice, a pause, twice more. Obviously a code. A panel slid back in the door, and two eyes peered out. "Password?" The voice sounded female, but husky enough that it might have been male.

The Chatelaine leaned forward and whispered something I couldn't hear. The door opened almost immediately.

Over the sister's shoulder, I got the impression of shadows milling around the dim space. The scent of unwashed bodies punched me in the nose.

The sister turned to me. "I must leave you here. They'll take care of you."

"What? You can't--I have no idea who these people are."

"They're friends. Members of the resistance."

"Who've you brought us, Chatelaine?" The male voice had the sharp-edged confidence of one used to being answered.

The light was so dim, I couldn't make out his face except for the outline of long hair and the stock of a shotgun jutting over his shoulder.

"This is Carmina, daughter of Alexis Sargosa." I glanced sharply at the nun. This was a fine time to finally start using my real name. "The Troika call her Meridian Six."

The man came forward into the light of the Chatelaine's torch. When his features came into view, I gasped and stumbled back into the nun. Scars webbed across his face like a mask of wax. His ruined mouth twisted into what I guessed was supposed to be a scowl. "So you're the infamous traitor?" He sniffed and jerked away like he'd smelled something foul on me. "The Troika's whore."

"Icarus." Each of the three syllables were weighed down with censure from the Chatelaine. "She's a
fugitive
. And she has information that could help the cause."

A female stepped forward. Her thin frame contradicted the posture of a warrior. Brown stubble sprouted from her pale scalp. A piercing yellow vampire's gaze raked over my body. "Bullshit. She's a Troika spy."

Sister Agrippa sighed. "No she isn't, Dare. Bringing her here was my idea."

"She just wants you to think that!" the female named Dare spat back.

 "If the Troika wanted to use me to defeat the rebels," I shot a pointed look at her threadbare clothes, "don't you think they'd send me to infiltrate one that posed an actual threat?"

She gasped and Icarus's eyes narrowed to sharp slits. Besides me, the nun muttered a curse under her breath. I should have regretted my words, which had been motivated by anger more than logic. But didn't. It sounded a lot like Agrippa wanted me to team up with the rebels, but my only plan was to get as far from the Troika as possible. I braced myself for the return attack, hoping the Chatelaine would step in should it get out of hand. Instead, after a couple of tense seconds, the vamp's lips twitched and a snort escaped her pale lips.

"Fuck you, Traitor."

"Fuck you too, Hemo," I said using the slang humans used for vampires.

Icarus kept his eyes on me while I argued with his second in command. His gaze was assessing, weighing and judging. He found me lacking if the angry twist to his lip was any indication. I met his gaze with an unblinking glare. Finally, he spit on the dirt next to my feet. "She can stay." 

The air escaped the room. Sister Agrippa looked as shocked at Dare.

"Icarus--" his vampire friend began, but he shook his head and disappeared back into the room. Over his shoulder he said, "If she steps out of line, we'll just kill her."

As he walked away, I noticed his hair was long enough to cover the back of his neck. Every human captured or born since the Troika took over was blood-typed upon birth and tattooed with their type on the back of their neck. Therefore, all humans under Troika control were required to keep their hair short or shaved completely.

My hair was short because of the regulations, but the back of my neck didn't bear the mark of my blood type. The Troika decided it would look bad on camera. Thank goodness, too, because the AB negative tattoo would be like a bull's eye to any vamp I ran into on the outside.

The vampire and I stared at each other across the threshold. My fingers itched to grab the knife at my ankle, but judging from her haggard appearance she was two seconds from flying into a blood rage. If it came to that I'd be dinner.

 "Let me guess, your friends from Camp Vamp call you
Six
, right, tough girl?" the vampire said with an eye-roll.

"I don't have any friends." Especially none from "Camp Vamp" as she had so charmingly called the barracks masquerading as a school for Troika youth I'd grown up in. "And call me Carmina.”

"Carmina, sure. You heard Icarus. You want to keep breathing? You'll do what we say."

I flicked an angry glance at the Chatelaine for bringing me here in the first place. Grabbing her sleeve, I pulled her a little further down the corridor. "Thanks a lot."

She shrugged. "It's either them or take your chances sneaking past the army waiting for you topside."

"Why did you tell them I have intel?"

"Well you do, don't you?"

"Sure, but I'm not interested in joining the resistance."

The older woman crossed her arms and gave me a schoolmarm glare. "You didn't have a plan at all when you ran, did you?" 

I chewed my bottom lip. "My only goal was to get away from the Troika and find this place. Figured the rest would sort itself out."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm going to give you a little bit of advice that might extend your life a little. No one makes it very far in this world without choosing a side."

I snorted. "Don't you think that's a little hypocritical coming from a woman who poses as a religious leader for the Troika while secretly supporting the rebels."

 "I said you’ve got to pick a side, not that you had to announce it." Her lips twitched. "My point is no one can survive the Bad Lands alone. I could give you a few rations and supplies, but you wouldn't make it out there two days before a rover tracked you down or a pack of dogs caught your scent."

Seeing my hesitation, she continued. "I'm not going to force you to give me your reasons for choosing now to run, but I assume they must have been pretty good."  I looked up to see sympathy in her gaze. She hadn't survived this long without knowing a thing or two about the sorts of things that made a girl finally take her chances between running and death. "But these people here? They fight on the side of freedom. And judging from what you said, freedom's what you want."