Night Whispers: The Complex Read online

  I hear something but it’s really soft, barely discernable. But if I had to lay S-Co down, I swear she said it was a young soldier named Paki.

  Chapter 23

  As I take the black Zipper to Uni-Gourmet Forty-Nine, Thras’ recommended restaurant, I’m overwhelmed with competing emotions. Jittery anxiety wars with guilt as I sit with the ten other people being whisked to another part of the Complex on smooth, silent rails. Am I betraying my night stalker? I shake my head, clearing it of such foolish thoughts. I don’t even know if I have a night stalker anymore. He hasn’t appeared for several nights. Besides, this is a meeting with my boss, not a date. So why do I feel so on edge?

  When the Zipper comes to a stop, a block away from the restaurant, I hesitate before getting off. I scan the crowded streets for sign of unrest. Gray, white, and black clad individuals are everywhere, scurrying to and fro. I had insisted on not using the armed guard Thras wanted to send over, as if I was asserting my independence. Now I’m not so sure it was a good idea—I’m nervous about being out in the city, even about crossing the street.

  I bolt from the Zipper and hustle through the throng to the dining establishment. I glance at the bland, gray and white restaurant exterior, and then peer into the window, searching for Thras. I’m unexpectedly dismayed at the inside of the dining place. Why I expected it to look any different than any other building is anyone’s guess. White walls. Concrete floors. Metal and translucite tables. The entire Complex is so bland it makes me all the more grateful for my suite with a view of the desert. At least the abundant lightning storms that shatter the hills break up the monotony.

  I turn my head to see Thras striding toward me, looking gorgeous and powerful in his black attire, as usual. His glossy hair is combed back from his face. His jaw is smooth and clean-shaved.

  “Sakhi,” he says, beaming.

  “Hello, Thras,” I say demurely, casting my gaze at the concrete sidewalk. I’m suddenly shy and tongue-tied. “I, uh…I might have put more care into my appearance but…” I sweep my hand at my plain gray uniform. I left my hair in its usual tousled mess of curls.

  “You look splendid,” he says.

  “I went for the gray,” I say, a small smile forming. “I could’ve chosen any color, but gray appealed.”

  He laughs. “You look beautiful in gray.” He starts to lean forward to…what? Hug me? Kiss my cheek? But he stops himself. “You don’t need clothing to enhance your beauty,” he says.

  “Thank you. And you look handsome in black,” I say. I’m blushing ten shades of red, staring at my simple Uni-shoes. This is so not a work meeting. I lift my gaze and meet his earnest two-colored eyes. “Have you recovered from the debate?”

  “What?” he says, his eyebrows lifting high. “Oh, right. Yes, duly recovered. I’m sorry but I’m so captivated by you, I completely forgot what day it is, let alone what I did yesterday.” A heart-warming grin spreads across his face.

  “Mr. Blüthe?” a man calls. He’s dressed in a white Uni-waiter uniform, his russet hair wrapped in a white net. He appears bored and lifeless, as if dead inside.

  “Yes?” Thras pivots his head in the direction of the speaker.

  “Your table is ready,” the waiter says in a monotone, nasally voice.

  Since the debate was only yesterday, I expect heads to turn when Thras enters the room. But, no, eyes are cast down, focused on consuming their meals. Only one man lifts his head and glances at us in surprise.

  We’re lead to a table tucked in the corner, snug against the pale wall. It’s somewhat quiet and sort of cozy, inasmuch as we’re dining in the Complex.

  Thras holds out my seat for me, then settles into his Smuntine chair across from me.

  “So,” he says, folding his hands on the table in front of him.

  His hands are strong. Blunt fingers convey power and confidence. They lead to muscular arms. Those lead to… I shake these crazy thoughts from my mind, lifting my gaze to see him staring at me with an amused smile.

  “See something that pleases you?” he asks. “Because I sure do.” He bites his succulent lower lip.

  “Are you flirting with me, sir?” I say. Flutters and swirls stir in my belly.

  “What if I am?” he says. He cocks his head. And his eyes…those beautiful eyes of infinity grow hooded and dark with desire.

  The flutters inside turn into waves of sensation. “Then, I…I don’t know. Is this allowed?”

  My eyes scan the room furtively, expecting to see armed guards with segifs pointed at us.

  “Oh, you are such a delight. I asked you to dine with me because I want to get to know you better. At work, well…it’s work.” He shrugs, appearing boyishly handsome.

  “I see,” I say. I reach for the white napkin sitting underneath the Smuntine silverware, and spread it in my lap. My hands itch to touch something, anything. Strike that. They long to touch him. I think of my dream guy and frown.

  “Did I say something to displease you?” Thras says.

  I blink. “No, sorry. Lost in thought. You know me.”

  “I’d like to know you better,” Thras says. “You’re a mystery to me.”

  He gives me a penetrating gaze that makes me squirm.

  “You’re the one who’s a mystery,” I say, feeling emboldened.

  “Am I?” I wring my hands.

  “Yes, I…” I bite my lip and reach for the place behind my ear where the implant is lodged. “You know how they gave us Humans an implant to stop Metas from interfering with our thoughts?”

  “Yes, I do. I worked on the development of the implant. It was created with the unity principles in mind,” he says, an earnest look on his face. He flattens his palms on the table. “We don’t want the abilities of some to affect the comfort of others.”

  “Well…” I look right and left, and then whisper, “They don’t work for me.”

  “How so?” he says, cocking his head.

  “It amplifies Meta energy in me.”

  “Oh,” Thras says, as if understanding dawns, leaning back in his chair. “Like at the debate, right? When I glanced at you, you looked as if you might crawl out of your skin.”

  I nod. “That was pretty brutal, I’m, um…I’m kind of sensitive.”

  “I sensed that,” Thras says. “Hold on…where’s our waiter? I realize Uni service isn’t exactly speedy but we should at least have some water by now.”

  He scans the room, spies a sullen looking male leaning against the wall, and lifts his finger.

  The male nods and heads in the opposite direction.

  Thras’ eyebrows crease in sharp angles. “Maybe he’s going to get menus.”

  “That must be it,” I say.

  “Please continue,” he says. “You were telling me about your sensitivities.”

  “Yes. My mom died a horrible death several years ago,” I say. “Both my parents are dead. My dad died in battle and my mom…” I chew my lip. “Reve and I suspect she was murdered.”

  “That’s horrible,” Thras says. He starts to reach across the table to take my hand, but then stops, as if thinking better of it.

  “It was. After that, it was only Reve and me, looking out for each other. And, well…” I turn away from my boss. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”

  “I want to hear,” he says gently.

  I sigh. “I became a wreck after mom died. A complete mess. I started sensing things…others’ emotions. I began tripping over the truth about people. What they really want.”

  Thras’ eyes convey concern and understanding. “That must overwhelm you.”

  “Yes. It did. Reve was the one who consoled me. He taught me how to maintain, how to cope. I owe him everything.” My eyes fill with tears, but I manage to hold them back.

  “I see,” Thras says. “I’m trying to find a place for him on the team. There are some…” He looks toward the ceiling, and then back to me. “There are some complications. As you know, many rules keep the Complex running smoothly
.”

  My stomach bunches in a tight knot. I want to protest, to tell him again we’re in a state of pre-war and there are no rules.

  But instead I say, “Back to the implant…I’m swamped by Meta and Human emotion on a daily basis. I have to clean it from my energy body every night before I can sleep. And even then I might not sleep.”

  His hands clench and release. “I see. And…what do your dreams tell you here on the Complex? Anything interesting? Anything I should be apprised of?” His eyes narrow as if he’s searching for an answer.

  “Not really.” I shake my head, unwilling to share my private world. “But you,” I say, changing tack, tracing a circle on the smooth, shiny metal dining table. “I sense nothing about you. Nothing at all. It’s the strangest thing. Why is that? What are you, Thras Blüthe?”

  I look right into his eyes.

  He returns the gaze, unflinching, and then lets out a deep sign. “I’m different, Sakhi. There’s a reason you can’t sense me. It’s part of the reason we’re here tonight. I want to come clean. I’m your…I’m a…”

  “Everybody freeze!” a male voice commands.

  A few women shriek.

  Thras and I whip our heads in the direction of the threat.

  The room explodes into chaos. Several men, dressed in black, with black hoods and white smiling masks with black eyebrows drawn above the eye-holes, burst into the room, spacing themselves to occupy the entire restaurant. They hold what looks like sawed-off segifs. The word “Obliterate” is painted in red across their chests like a blood smear.

  “No one move,” the lead guy shouts. His voice is muffled behind the mask. He waves his weapon around the room, and then points it at his comrades. “You, you, and you, stand guard. Don’t let anyone move a muscle.”

  They all scurry into position.

  The other patrons hunch and huddle, trying to duck below the tables. A couple of defiant females hold their ground.

  “Sakhi, don’t move,” Thras says quietly. “I’ve got this, don’t worry.”

  A few patrons try to assert themselves. One, a skinny man with devilish protrusions all over his face, boldly leaps to his feet, saying, “You’ll get caught. There are eyes everywhere.”

  “Get rid of him,” the lead guy orders.

  A short, stocky masked male lifts his weapon, crouches slightly, and shoots. The segif fires a bright blue blaze in the skinny guy’s direction. The skinny man instantly falls.

  His dining partner screams. “Don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me.”

  “Shut up,” the same stocky male commands. He whacks her along the side of the head with his weapon. She collapses next to her partner.

  “Who’s next?” lead guy shouts.

  The room falls silent, save for a whimper or two.

  “Where are all the guards usually about?” I whisper.

  “They’ve probably been bribed,” Thras answers.

  “Where’s the Meta scum we’re looking for?” lead guy says.

  The same guy who lifted his head when we arrived says, “Over there.” He points in our direction.

  I blink at him, enraged at being betrayed.

  Thras bolts to his feet.

  “Thras, no!” I shout. I get to my feet, too, unable to sit still. How he thinks to defend us when he’s clearly outnumbered is beyond me.

  “Stay out of this, Sakhi,” he growls in a terse, tense voice. He looks like he’s ready to attack anyone who approaches.

  “Get the girl,” the leader yells. “But don’t hurt her.”

  Two of them race toward me. One grabs me, securing my wrists behind my back with his strong, sweaty hands. I wrench and struggle. His grip tightens until I can’t move.

  Two of the segif-toting males rush Thras.

  Thras prepares to lunge at them.

  One, a tall man creeping up behind Thras, holds his gun with a two-handed grasp and swings.

  “Behind you!” I yell, but I’m too late.

  The segif makes a bone-thwacking, sickening sound as it strikes the back of Thras’s skull.

  I scream, and my hands wrest free of my restrainer’s grip. I rush toward Thras, crouching next to his fallen, lifeless form.

  “Stop her,” someone shouts.

  Before I can touch Thras, one of the Obliterate gang plants his boot between my shoulder-blades, knocking me down and pinning me to the floor. The air rushes from my lungs in a whoosh, leaving me gasping for breath.

  Thundering footfalls burst into the room. Red-uniformed guards storm the restaurant.

  “Stop!” one of them yells through a sophisticated amplification device secured to his mouth like a strange mouth shield. It makes his voice reverberate through the room.

  “You’re under arrest,” he commands.

  The Obliterate gang swiftly disperses, tossing what appears to be a small Singing Temper bomb—something Reve told me about--into the center of the room.

  It explodes in a fiery, whirling blaze of smoke and flames, creating a high pitched wail. Bits of shrapnel fire in a cascade throughout the room.

  Screams and shouts ring out. Utter chaos reigns as everyone tries to escape.

  Instantly, I try to get to my boss, crawling on my hands and knees, but someone steps on my back. I groan from the impact. Bits of metal bite my face and arms. Someone kicks my head as he hustles to get past me. The same stars I experienced during my near-rape make an unwelcome visit.

  Once the smoke and swirling particles clear, the Climinitra dart about, searching for members of Obliterate.

  I can’t see a single one. It’s like they ghosted away from here, like vapor.

  “Outside, everyone, let’s go. Find them!” the guy with the vocal amplifier screams.

  They all thunder through the exit, as Uni-medics race inside.

  Two medics roll Thras onto a stretcher.

  “Do you know who this is?,” a Uni-medic says. “It’s Thrasyllus Blüthe. Get him to the Uni-med, now!”

  Another grabs me and says, “Sedate her. She looks in bad shape.”

  I realize I’m writhing, moaning, pain shooting through my head and back. I push the hand coming at me, wielding a power syringe.

  It lands against my shoulder with a dull hiss, shooting a tranquilizer into my blood stream. That’s the last I know before I’m catapulted into oblivion.

  Chapter 24

  When I come-to in the stark Uni-med emergency room, a cacophony of sounds greets my ears. I sense activity all around, as a white-clad Uni-nurse whips back the flimsy curtain around my bed. She stares at me, and then hustles to my side. It’s the same one who treated me last time--Citizen 98342.

  “There you are.” She smiles. “You had quite a nap. But we stitched you up and you’re going to be fine. Your injuries were all superficial.” She pats my hand. “And we…”

  “You need the room, right?” I rub my face and find it’s a textured mess of stitches.

  She nods, moving about like she’s got a fire under her feet.

  “Got it.” I sit up on the metallic med-bed, groggy and dazed, no doubt from the tranquilizer they shot in my arm.

  The nurse unplugs a machine behind me. Then, she grabs a translucent intake screen-reader next to my side and types a few notes.

  I scan my surroundings.

  Patients fill every bed. They slump in the corridor, crying. Patients moan. Nurses and doctors race to each one, doing triage, attending to those who fared the worst, leaving the others to fester and stew in the hallway. I do my best to keep the hysteria, fright, and other emotions out of my system.

  “Where’s Thras?” I say, my mouth all cottony and dry.

  “Thrasyllus Blüthe? The charming candidate? How do you know him?” Her blue-gray eyes grow wide with surprise.

  “He’s my boss,” I croak.

  “Well,” she says, becoming somber. She puts her hands on her hips. “He’s still in surgery.”

  I stiffen. “Surgery? Why, what happened?”

  “Apparentl
y he was stabbed a couple times. I don’t know if they missed vital organs or not.” Back on the move, Citizen 98342 bustles around the curtained space, already prepping for my departure.

  “Stabbed? How could he have been stabbed? I was there the whole time.” I ease myself off the bed, testing my aching, sore body.

  “You were out of it, missy. A lot can happen between here and where you were.” She peels the sheets from the bed, tossing them in a container. She retrieves more sheets from a cupboard and proceeds to stretch them taut over the mattress. When finished, she pats her work. “There. I may as well get the next one in here. You okay to see yourself out?”

  “I’d rather wait for Thras,” I say. My mind’s racing with worry and fret.

  “No can do. But you can squeeze into the waiting area on the next floor. Room 78E. Tell them at the front desk who you’re waiting for. Now, out with you.” She waves me away.

  Woozy, blinking to wake up, I make my way to room 78E.

  After telling the harried desk nurse who I’m waiting for, I sit in the crowded room along with a bunch of anxious Metas and Humans. I bite my absent nails. Then I stand and pace. Eventually, I try to reach my brother, but there’s no answer. A few minutes later, I try again. And again. Finally, after what seems like hours, a Uni-med surgeon enters the lobby.

  “Is there someone here named Sasha Borren?” he says in a weary voice. Lines of fatigue droop from beneath his eyes. Blood spatters his gray uniform.

  “It’s Sakhi. That’s me.” I leap to my feet.

  “Sakhi, Sasha. Whatever.” He lifts his hand like it weighs a ton. “You here for Blüthe?”

  “Yes, that’s right.” I stare at him, eyes wide.

  “He’s still unconscious. Down the hall.” He stabs the air with his thumb. “You can see him but…” He shrugs. “You may as well be looking at a dead man because he is O.U.T.”

  “Is he going to be okay?” I ask, but the surgeon is already pushing through the waiting patients and those waiting to see to loved ones. I scurry in the opposite direction, dodging gurneys and barely alive bodies slumped on the floor, searching for the post-surgery room.