Agent nomad 1, p.12
Agent Nomad 1, page 12
Phoenix strolled back towards the rest of us, her expression utterly neutral. She returned the weapon to Fox, ignoring the silent awe on the faces of our classmates.
Riff elbowed me. ‘You owe me ten bucks on pay day.’
I nodded, annoyed with myself for taking his bet. It struck me that all of these cadets – even shy little Apricity in the back corner – were trained operatives, raised in families of sorcerers and HELIX agents. Each had their own talent, their own speciality. I doubted Phoenix was the only one who’d asked for extra coaching. They might know how to fight, or how to shoot, or how to weave incredible circuits out of quintessence.
I wouldn’t make the mistake of underestimating a cadet again.
‘Torpefiers aren’t normal weapons,’ Fox said, as he holstered it at his belt. ‘They don’t fire bolts, or even bullets. They only fire nightbeads, developed by our own gadgeteers for HELIX.’
He held up a string of beads. ‘Unlike a bullet, a nightbead shouldn’t kill your target. Instead, it carries a small circuit, allowing you to shoot your quintessence efficiently from a distance.’
I drew in a sharp breath. Sorcery always lost its potency over distance. If you tried to magically attack an enemy, you could exhaust yourself in moments, left with a depleted quintessence and no way to defend yourself.
But this changed the game, didn’t it? The torpefier made it feasible to perform magic on your enemies. If you stored a circuit in a nightbead, you could shoot it across a room without draining your quintessence.
Cautiously, I raised a hand.
‘Yes, cadet?’ Fox said.
‘What sort of circuits can you put into a nightbead?’ I asked.
Fox gave a short nod. ‘Good question. Anyone know the answer?’
‘Some kind of magic to slow them down, I reckon,’ Roach said. ‘A circuit to freeze them in place, or trap them, or knock them out.’
‘Exactly.’ Fox stepped towards an electronic board and drew a parallelogram on the touchscreen, like the one I’d seen Phoenix create. ‘This is a lethargy circuit. It should knock your enemy out, or at least slow them down, depending on how much magic you put into it.’
Next, Fox drew an elongated triangle, pointing to the right, with an X-shaped mark across its centre. ‘This is a death circuit,’ he said. ‘You should recognise the shape, but never create one. Not unless there are lives at stake, and you have absolutely no other option. Do you understand?’
We all nodded.
‘Of course,’ Fox added, ‘the Inductors have no such scruples. They stole this technology from one of our agents decades ago, and now have torpefiers of their own. They load their beads with triangular death circuits. If they shoot, they’ll be shooting to kill.’
Finally, Fox drew a diamond on the board. ‘This is a transference circuit,’ he said. ‘The Inductors use it to harvest quintessence from their victims. If you see an Inductor move his fingers in a diamond shape, you can guess someone is about to be attacked.’ Fox paused. ‘And if he’s aiming a torpefier at you, you can guess the identity of his intended victim.’
A few of the cadets tensed. In the silence, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my string of nightbeads. They glinted in my fingers, as fat and round as marbles. I hesitated for a moment and then strung the chain around my wrist.
In this profession, it might pay to have some ammunition handy.
In our next Sorcery briefing, I spent an entire hour attempting to levitate, which involved weaving strands of quintessence into spiral circuits. Judging by the diagram, I had to hang these spirals around the object I wanted to levitate – whether that was a book, a coffee mug or even my own body.
Within the first ten seconds, Riff had spirals looped around his limbs and was kicking his way through the air with all the grace of an Olympic swimmer, a lazy grin on his face.
Although I managed to launch myself a little off the floor, I mostly fell flat on my face. If Riff’s style of flight was swimming, mine was a belly flop.
‘Hey, don’t be too hard on yourself,’ Riff said, when I offered this comparison. ‘Spark taught me to levitate last year, before I was even a cadet here. Took me ages to get this good.’ He winked. ‘Or hey, maybe I’m just naturally talented.’
He leapt into the air, performed a neat flip, twisted around, and finished his performance with a theatrical bow.
‘Or maybe you’re just naturally a twerp?’ I suggested.
‘Yeah, that too.’
As the days passed, it became clear that many of my classmates had different talents. Apricity was best at memorising quintessic circuits, although she was too shy to speak up in briefings. She was also a Noctilucent, just like Riff’s sister, which was a handy skill in the darkness of the HQ corkscrew.
Phoenix was the best at Combat, while Riff was by far the best at levitation – although he couldn’t hit a barn wall with a torpefier. He made up for it by being the fastest sprinter in the Fifteens, leaving the rest of us behind in Fox’s fitness drills. Button easily outshone the class in academic subjects, while Roach and Crossbones had a cunning streak that served them well in Enemy Tactics.
And me? I was simply average.
In the evenings, I took to practising sorcery in the cadet lounge. I was finally getting the hang of temperature circuits, yet anything more complex still slipped through my fingers.
‘You’ve got a really strong quintessence,’ Riff commented, as I struggled yet again to levitate, ‘but you’re lousy at using it.’
‘Gee, thanks,’ I said. ‘You sure know how to boost my self-esteem.’
‘At least you’re a Witness,’ Riff said. ‘I guess that’ll get you a decent job when we graduate, even if you’re not the best at general sorcery.’
When we graduate. The idea seemed preposterous: an idea from a future life, a different era. It would be four long years before we finished our spy training. Four long years before we were entrusted with a real mission, or a real adventure.
And in the meantime, I was trapped.
In our Enemy Tactics briefings, we were tutored by a middle-aged Lebanese woman called Solitaire. She was tall and thin, with cat-eye spectacles and plum lipstick, and she was a walking encyclopaedia of facts about the Inductors.
At first, she forced us to memorise the highest-ranked members of the Inductors’ organisation, and the codenames HELIX had given them. There was the Serpent, who had slipped poison into the drinks of several countries’ leaders. The Poet, a billionaire who owned one of the world’s largest media conglomerates. The Spider, an assassin renowned for hunting and killing HELIX agents in every corner of the globe.
And finally, we learnt about Teranis.
Teranis was the original founder of the Inductors. In the 1830s, he had been a lab assistant for the famous scientist Faraday, who had discovered electromagnetic induction. However, Teranis turned out to be no ordinary lab assistant. He was a sorcerer, whose quintessence was awoken by the lab’s electrical experiments.
Teranis was cunning, and ruthlessly ambitious. He realised that if Faraday could harvest electricity from a magnet and a metal loop, perhaps there was a way for him to induct quintessence. Soon, he started running his own experiments at night. Cruel experiments, more akin to torture. He discovered that instead of saving up his own strength, he could steal it from his victims and become even stronger.
Eventually, Teranis made contact with other sorcerers – those whose powers had been awoken by lightning storms, or lab radiation. They formed a gang of thugs, working together to increase their strength. Over the years, this gang had grown into a global organisation. Some claimed the Inductors were still ruled by Teranis himself, and that he had lived for centuries on the stolen energy of his victims. However, Solitaire assured us this was impossible.
‘Just a myth,’ she said, with a wave of her hand. ‘The Inductors like to peddle such lies, to make their leader seem more fearsome. But no man can survive for two hundred years – not even Teranis. Each new leader simply takes his name to continue the legend.’
According to Solitaire, the current ‘Teranis’ was the most ruthless of them all. Modern technology had allowed him to extend the Inductors’ influence far beyond even the most vicious dreams of his predecessors. He was a puppet master, jiggling the strings of kings and governments – even the media – until they danced to his desired beat.
‘War isn’t about glory,’ said Solitaire. ‘For most people, it means only suffering. Who profits from war? Politicians, who take their cut in power. Arms dealers, who take their cut in riches. And Inductors, who harvest magic from pain and death.’
She projected an image on the wall: a figure with a downturned face, slinking through a crowded train station. It was the only known photograph of the current Teranis, taken from a hazy CCTV camera. As I stared at the figure on the wall, I could barely wrap my mind around the power he possessed. The strongest sorcerer in the world, with the blood of countless innocents on his hands.
And now, his agents wanted me dead. They had found me in Hollingvale, and they were still hunting me now. Was anywhere truly safe? Perhaps I would have to stay locked up in HQ forever, like Rapunzel in her tower. Years of moping around, exhausted and lonely, climbing the corkscrew again and again and again …
My fingers clenched on the edge of my desk.
To conclude her briefing, Solitaire attempted to explain the Inductors’ mindset – and the twisted psychology that allowed them to justify their crimes.
‘Of course,’ she said, ‘there have always been sorcerers who believe themselves to be above other people. The Inductors claim that “sorcerous superiority” gives us the right to harm others, and to harvest their energy for our own profit. According to such logic, the real crime would be to hold ourselves back for the sake of lesser beings. It would be immoral to waste our gifts, and to squander our potential.’
Solitaire snorted. ‘But that’s a load of nonsense. In reality, all that sets us apart from a normal civilian is a genetic fluke. The name “HELIX” is supposed to remind us that we are not special, or superior. Our power is due to a freak genetic variation. We must care equally for every person under our jurisdiction – regardless of whether they can use their quintessence.’
I reached into my pocket, where my HELIX medallion still sat. The silver globe was cold and hard, but I traced my fingertips along the lettering. A reminder to care about people who weren’t sorcerers …
I didn’t need a reminder, did I? I cared about Billie, and my father, and my classmates back in Hollingvale. I cared that I had failed to say goodbye, that I had left them all behind, cast them aside as a matter of convenience.
Just like my mother had left me.
With a jolt, I realised it had been over two weeks since I’d tried to request a phone call to Billie. The request had been denied, of course – but I hadn’t even tried again since. Somehow, without my noticing, my feelings of being trapped here had shifted into something else. I’d become engrossed in spy briefings, and sorcery, and life at HQ … and in the process, I’d given up on those I’d left behind.
Perhaps I did need a reminder after all.
By the second week of March, my confinement was starting to take a toll. I started asking to contact Hollingvale again – but every time, my request was denied. According to Centurion, contacting my loved ones would only put them in danger.
I remembered what Riff had told me about Centurion. The Inductors had murdered his brother. Centurion knew how it felt to lose a family member. Logically, I understood he was trying to protect me. Yet in the quiet moments, my insides ached.
Thanks to Mum, I knew how it felt to be abandoned. And now, thanks to Dad and Billie, I knew how it felt to be the abandoner. Once again, my future was out of my hands. Just another flip of the coin, or a step through an Aleatory Door.
I might have laughed, if it didn’t sting so badly.
For several nights now, I’d been having trouble sleeping. I lay in my bedroom, tangled in blankets and uncertainty. It wasn’t only that I missed Dad and Billie, but also the world outside HQ. I was yet to be allowed out of the building and I yearned for an outdoor breeze, not just recycled air and skyscraper windows.
More than anything, I yearned for people. Not HELIX agents or my fellow cadets, but random strangers. The sort of people you might pass on the street, or bump into in a crowd. People who proved that normal life did still exist, and the entire world hadn’t been swallowed by the vortex of my HELIX training.
Finally, one balmy afternoon, Riff and I decided to take a break from HQ. We had a few spare hours, I was practically starting to crawl the walls, and Riff wasn’t keen to start his homework.
‘Should be safe enough, I reckon,’ Riff said, as we bundled into the corkscrew. ‘Still, better hope we don’t get caught.’
‘By the Inductors?’
‘Nah, by Centurion. I reckon he’d skin me alive if he knew what we were up to.’ Riff slapped a floppy sunhat onto my head and offered me a pair of dark sunglasses. ‘There you go. Excellent disguise.’
‘Should we invite Phoenix?’ I asked.
Over the weeks, Phoenix’s manner towards me had remained cold. She had made it clear that she considered it an inconvenience to be assigned as my guardian. Even so, she was technically responsible for my safety, and she’d be furious if we ventured outside without her.
Riff shrugged. ‘Yeah, guess so. She’s probably practising her fighting drills.’
‘What, now?’
‘Yeah, she trains every day,’ Riff said. ‘How’d you think she got so good?’
We found Phoenix in the Combat training room, just as Riff had predicted. I hesitated in the doorway for a moment, slightly surprised as I watched her. She was fast and flexible, dressed in black leggings, boxing gloves and a dark grey tank top – and as she delivered a vicious roundhouse kick to the nearest punching bag, she looked more than lethal.
‘Phoenix?’
As she turned, startled, I caught a glimpse of her face. For just a moment, her fighting face remained in place. A curled lip, narrowed eyes, and a glare that brimmed with bitterness.
Then she recognised us, and the glare faded. Her vitriol was replaced by vague irritation, and she cocked her head impatiently. ‘What do you want?’
‘We’re going out,’ I said. ‘Wanna come?’
‘Out?’
‘Outside,’ Riff clarified. ‘You know, the place where there’s blue skies, and green trees, and birds singing, and –’
‘We’re in the middle of a city, Riff,’ Phoenix said irritably. ‘If you’re lucky, you might get polluted air, cockroaches and pigeons pooping.’
‘Ahh, the beauty of nature,’ Riff said.
Phoenix turned to me, her expression hard. ‘You’re not supposed to go out without permission.’
‘I’m in disguise,’ I said, gesturing at my floppy hat. ‘And it’ll only be for a little while. I’m going crazy stuck in here.’
Phoenix considered me for a moment longer, weighing up her options. Finally, she gave a reluctant nod. ‘I’ll come.’
‘Really?’ Riff brightened. ‘Awesome! We’ll be like the three musketeers, setting out on an exciting adventure into the –’
‘I’m not doing it for you,’ Phoenix snapped, pulling off her boxing gloves. Beneath them, as always, a pair of fingerless gloves concealed her hands. ‘But if the Witness gets herself killed on my watch, I’ll never get a decent promotion.’
In Federation Square, we bought ourselves ice-cream cones. After weeks cooped up inside, the fresh air tasted even better than my mango sorbet. The massive TV screen in the square was showing an international cricket match, so a few dozen die-hard Aussie fans were dressed in green and gold to cheer on the team.
We sat at the back of the crowd, watching the game while daylight melted into dusk. Riff let out a little ‘whoop!’ when the Aussie batsmen hit a six.
Beyond the square, Flinders Street Station rose up against the darkening sky. Its Edwardian facade looked oddly regal surrounded by flashy modern lights and billboards.
When an ad appeared onscreen, Riff glanced around the square in search of another distraction. He perked up a little, as if a thought had just occurred to him. ‘Hey, you should practise being a Witness!’
‘What?’
‘Well,’ he said, ‘it’ll take a lot of training to get good at it, and we haven’t got any other Witnesses at HQ to teach you. I reckon you should practise on your own.’
He scanned the crowd and pointed out a random cricket fan. It was a middle-aged man in a green and yellow t-shirt, staring so intently at the screen that I thought his eyeballs might explode.
‘That bloke there,’ Riff said. ‘See if you can spot his quintessence.’
‘But he’s not a sorcerer, is he?’
‘Doesn’t matter, he’s still got some quintessence floating around him. Everyone’s got it. Most people can’t access it, but that doesn’t mean it stops existing.’
‘But he’s so far away …’
‘Doesn’t matter. Just looking into the shroud doesn’t cost any magic. You’re not blasting a circuit at him, you’re adjusting your vision.’
I glanced at the giant TV screen. Unlike the lights and gadgets at HQ, it wouldn’t be shielded against sorcery. ‘Won’t I stuff up the electronics?’
‘Nah,’ Riff said. ‘You’re only looking, right? Not like you’re gonna be spewing magic everywhere.’
Trying to banish the mental image of someone ‘spewing’ magic, I pulled off my sunglasses. It was much harder to focus here, out in the hustle and bustle of a public square. There was a rustle in the air: a warm evening breeze, skimming through the square, half-heartedly stirring up pieces of litter …
No, it wasn’t just the breeze. I could see it now. A shimmer in the air around the man. Just a flash of movement from the corner of my eye, barely visible – but it was definitely there. I squinted, holding my breath, and stared into the shadows.
‘It’s not working.’ I expelled a frustrated breath. ‘I mean, there’s something, but I can’t quite …’
