The Academy (2 page)

Mitzi?

The response was delayed only slightly. The voice was small, as if it came from high above her, but still perfectly clear through the roaring in her ears. It was Alistair, her mentor, and the originator of her ridiculous nickname. It was probably an American thing.

Central, prepare for upload…

Mitsuru sent the tendrils of her thoughts toward Central, following the red string upwards to the light, mooring, attaching her to the glow. The roaring of the Ether subsided a bit, then, within the halo of Central’s influence, the muted currents passing through her being effortlessly.

Ready when you are, Mitzi.

His reply was prompt, but it held the hint of a question. Normally, field reports were delivered after that fact – it took more effort for an Operator to upload directly from the field. But, Mitsuru had no time for explanations, so she simply composed her mind, reviewing the events of the last few moments until she had what she hoped was a clear narrative, and then reached for the tendril of light that had extended down out of the halo of Central, allowing it to touch her mind.

The union was invasive, a momentary sense of the alien, and a passing shudder of revulsion. The pain was sharp and sudden, and over so quickly that she had no time to scream. Somewhere far beneath her, on a windy rooftop, her body convulsed in sympathy, in memory of pain that she had already forgotten.

Alistair was a powerful telepath and a remarkable handler; there was virtually no lag while he processed the data through Central, queried various databases, and then hit the analytical pool up for the local probability lines. His response came down, cool and authoritative, only moments after she had completed the upload, speaking formally for the record.

Operator Aoki, you are cleared to engage at your discretion. We have backup en route to your position, estimated time of arrival is between three and five minutes, should you choose to intervene.

Mitsuru was surprised. There was no way that Central would attempt to open a route through the Ether, not to suppress a single pack of Weir. Operators who could perform apport protocols were in short supply, and they always seemed to be needed elsewhere. That meant that there was an Operator somewhere nearby, close enough to intervene. The chances of it happening by coincidence were miniscule.

Clarify, Central. I need a situational analysis.

Another brief silence on the line, while Alistair consulted the Analytical pool.

Operator Aoki, according to our projections, if you hold the Weir back from their target for a minimum of three minutes, the chances of a successful intervention are well within operational tolerances. If you do not feel you can meet or exceed this standard, then we suggest limiting your involvement to observation.

Mitsuru paused for a moment, taking stock of her remaining strength. She was uncertain whether she could hold off the Weir even that long, but there was a sense of urgency in Alistair’s thoughts that made her think this was something big.

Whatever was going on here, she decided, it was important. Important enough, in the eyes of Central, to merit the risk. Important enough to the Weir that they acted in this highly abnormal manner. And whatever else was true, Mitsuru decided, she needed an important success if she was going to continue to work in the field. For her own sake, and for the sake of her mentor.

I will engage, Central. But it’s unlikely that I can hold out for three minutes.

His promise was immediate and reassuring, because it was Alistair.

I’ll do what I can to expedite, Mitzi. Do you require any protocol downloads?

Mitsuru was surprised again. Clearly, she thought, there was more going on here than she’d realized, if Central had authorized unlimited protocol downloads for a field operation.

Negative, Control. Engaging.

She was already falling back down, away from the halo, through the grey currents, following the red string back to her body, back to the rooftop, to the boy and the wolves.

Good luck, Mitzi…

Mitsuru heard the concern in Alistair’s voice, before it was obliterated by the rush of sensations as she was jolted back into her body, the sheer nausea and tactile euphoria of a physical body.

Alex walked with his head down
, his eyes on his feet, not thinking too hard about where he was going, as long as it was away from school. His headphones were deafeningly loud, and it gave the world a surreal and almost cinematic feel, somehow. He took a certain satisfaction in that. The streetlights bled yellow light, yellow like the moon, and Alex threaded a path between them, trying to stay in the puddles of dark in between the sulfur light.

He kept walking, simply because he had nothing else to do. One more absence from afternoon class wouldn’t make a whole lot of difference – as a matter of fact, his chances of joining the rest of his class as a senior next year were kind of up in the air, due almost entirely to lack of effort on his part. Not because of his grades, of course; he’d been careful to always be an average student, no matter the subject. But his attendance had slipped from ‘barely acceptable’ last year to ‘frequently absent without reason’ this year, and he’d been placed on academic probation for it. At the very least, that meant summer school. And Alex did not want any more school than he had already.

It wasn’t so much the classes that he wanted to avoid, he thought, glancing at the windows of a used clothing shop he passed, oddly fixated on the way they caught and reflected the jaundiced light. Mostly, he wanted to avoid the people.

For as long as he could remember, Alex had wanted to go someplace where no one knew him; no one knew about his parents, no one knew the whole ugly story. After his grandmother had died last year, he’d almost done it, too. He’d even bought bus tickets to Los Angeles, and spent several evenings trying to figure out how to fit his meager possessions into a single duffel bag. It had been comforting, puzzling through what he would need and what he could do without, a little bit like freedom. But he’d known, even at the time that he wouldn’t go through with it.

It was alright, Alex decided, kicking the crushed remains of an aluminum can into the gutter, to admit it – he was afraid to leave. This town – a wretched little suburb in the orbit of Bakersfield – was the only place he’d ever been, unless you counted the places where he’d been locked up. The idea of going somewhere new, where no one knew him, was something that Alex played with on the bad days, a comforting fantasy. The reality of it terrified him. Outside of being alone all the time, Alex figured, his life right now was pretty comfortable. And he’d spent the better part of the last eight years alone, which was nearly long enough for him to convince himself that he didn’t mind it.

He was surprised to find himself at the entrance to the park. Alex figured that his body had brought him here, the park where he often slept when ditching school, on some form of auto-pilot. He’d found it while wandering around the area, cutting class one day, in an anonymous neighborhood at the end of a cul-de-sac. He didn’t even know what the park’s name was, if it even had a name. It wasn’t the worst destination he could have picked, actually, as the park was deserted and he wanted to sit down somewhere. He turned off the music, but left his ear buds in, as he headed through the park gates.

He trudged along the muddy sidewalk bordering the lake, careful to keep his grey sneakers dry, not entirely sure why he bothered. He reached the play structure and sat down, leaned his back up against it, closed his eyes and tried not to think about anything. The important thing, he knew, was not to think about what he was going to do next, once he graduated, once school was over with.

Because then he would panic. After all, he didn’t have a clue.

The lake smelled awful; a marshy, rotten-egg stink that was probably the reason Alex had the park to himself. It didn’t bother him that much. He had low expectations in general, and life had been obliging in meeting those expectations. The important thing was that the park was empty, not the smell of the bird shit saturated water. Alex tried not to wonder. Tried to not think. It was a skill, one that he had honed through years of confinement and observation, when he couldn’t sleep anymore, and he’d gotten good at it. Normally it was easy for him to empty his head, but tonight it didn’t seem to be working. The more he tried to quiet his mind, the more it tried to wander.

Alex looked out at the foul water, the few stars peaking reluctantly through the smog, the cluster of bare branches and tangled briar that edged the park, and felt sorry for himself. He spent much of his time here sleeping and feeling sorry for himself, but he wasn’t tired enough to sleep right now.

It wasn’t a sound that startled him. It couldn’t have been, because they made no noise. But something snapped Alex out of his reverie, made him open his eyes, and then made him take a second, harder look, after the first revealed nothing.

At the edge of the park, something was moving out of the brush; actually, Alex realized that it was a number of something’s. Large and long-limbed, too big for dogs, but moving on all fours. Silent grey shapes moving out of the scrub and across the mud and dead grass, their eyes shining in the long shadows of dusk, reflecting the yellow moon.

 He was surprised to feel no fear whatsoever, only a vague sense of ridiculousness. So this is it, world, he thought madly. Mauled by… are they wolves? Wolves in a city park, in the early evening, wearing grey sneakers that he’d bought online and still wasn’t totally sure that he liked. He could imagine the gossip the next day. Oh, Alex Warner, you know, that fucked-up kid, did you hear? Eaten by fucking wolves.

He could not tear his gaze away from the lead grey form, with its terrible burning yellow eyes, as it moved toward him with what seemed like deliberate slowness. It crossed the distance between them with a graceful, compact stride, pink tongue lolling out of the side of its mouth, across a row of sharp white teeth.

He stepped backward involuntarily, banging into the metal bars of the climbing structure, pain radiating out from his shoulder and elbow where they hit. He closed his eyes and waited to feel teeth, then, waited to feel hot breath on his neck and then what he imagined would be horrible suffering – and he felt a consuming panic wash over him, a raw tide of fear and resentment against the injustice of the entire situation. Eaten by wolves. Or did they just bite you to death? Did they actually eat you? Alex wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter that much. Fucking wolves.

Not one thing, he thought, not one thing in my entire life ever made sense. His whole body went numb and shook, waiting for an impact, waiting for sharp teeth and blinding pain. Not one thing had made sense.

He waited for what felt long a time before cautiously opening his eyes.

On some level, he must have been expecting an intervention – how else, Alex thought, could he explain his strange acceptance of the Japanese woman running toward him, through the center of the wolf pack, a semiautomatic in either hand. She moved fast, faster than he would have thought possible across the muddy ground, but that didn’t faze him much either. He could even accept she appeared to be shooting without looking, in two directions, with what appeared to be some accuracy – one of the wolves was crumpled and yowling in a pool of its own blood, while another crawled toward the brush on its belly, dragging its wounded back legs behind it. Alex wasn’t sure why he wasn’t more surprised. Maybe years of science fiction films had prepared him for it.

But, Alex could swear, even at a distance, that the woman was smiling a little bit. And that, for reasons he could not understand, was what was freaking him out.

For a second, anyway. Until Alex remembered the wolves trying to eat him.

She crossed the final distance between them in a few bounding steps, and then stopped close enough that Alex could make out her features – long, straight black hair, sharp features, those weird pants that cut off at the mid-calf, red lips curled into what was unmistakably a smile. Probably a few years older than him, but Alex couldn’t say for sure.