“I’m fine,” I said. “And I suspect he’s just hungover and worn out.” I altered course and started heading back to medical.
“About the telepaths—” Ariadne started.
“No use crying over splattered pawns,” I said, “especially when they didn’t know much.”
“They were mind-readers,” Ariadne said dully. “They had access to Century. You can’t tell me they didn’t—”
“Oh, they knew some stuff,” I agreed as we reached the front of the HQ building and my mother opened the outer door for me. I nodded at her and slipped inside before opening the inner door myself and stepping into the lobby. It wasn’t as grand as the last one, but close, with tile floors leading up to the entry desk, and an open second-floor atrium that had a balcony around it. The concierge desk had only one person manning it, but I knew there were armed security waiting just behind the doors to my left, watching the monitors and paid to fire first and ask questions later if someone who seemed even the least bit hostile came in. “The Hercules I drained nearly to empty was their escort, and he was in on all their briefings, saw what they saw, and had even asked a couple of them individually if they knew what was going on, what the endgame of the bigger plan was.”
“They didn’t, I assume by your tone,” Ariadne said as we navigated into a hallway, the white plaster walls looking a little plain in the low light. Decoration wasn’t high on the priorities list at the moment.
“They knew only the basics,” I said. “That Century was going to overturn the old order, was going to kick over the secretive hierarchy of meta organizations, that the members doing the work would get wealthy or whatever else they wanted in the process.” I suspected my eyes gleamed. “They did know one thing that’s a little more than what we’ve gotten before, though not much.”
“And it is?” Ariadne asked.
“That what we suspected about phase two is true,” I said. “The plan was always to subjugate humanity somehow. Eliminating the metas who could oppose them is stage one, but the rest is being kept really close to the vest. The telepaths—and this Hercules—were motivated by two things. The first was the promise of gain, which is to say that they thought they were going to be on the top of the pyramid once everything shook out.”
“And the second?” my mother chimed in, listening intently.
“Intimidation,” I said. “They got visits from more powerful metas and were each promised—well, threatened—that should they fail or betray Century, they were going to be entering a world of pain. Sort of how Zollers was warned, it sounds like.” I shrugged. “I’ve got a face for the guy who paid the visit to the Hercules. It was Weissman.”
Ariadne started to ask me something but stopped as we passed through a set of double doors that opened automatically with an electronic hiss. A row of hospital beds lay along the far wall, empty save for two of them, and the lights started to snap on automatically as we came in. One of the occupants of a bed stirred; the other didn’t.
“Can I just say I’m a little surprised to see you alive?” Reed asked weakly from the bed nearest the door. “Most people don’t survive jumping out of a plane without a parachute.”
“You could have survived it,” I said as I put Scott into a bed. He made a slight snoring noise but otherwise seemed to take no note of his change in position.
“As a Windkeeper, I’m a little different than the average meta,” Reed said, turning onto his side to look at me. His color had returned, and he grimaced only a little as he moved, the white sheet pulled up to mid-chest. He looked like he had a bandage wrapped around his abdomen, and his long hair was loose against the pillows that were stacked behind him.
“You calling me average?” I asked with faux outrage, turning back to face him, “I wasn’t going to be outdone by big brother. Call it sibling rivalry.” I flashed him a grin. “Anything you can do, I can do better.”
He smiled weakly. “Try peeing standing up.”
“What a touching scene of reunion ,” came a harsh voice from behind me that sounded more than a little haggard. I turned to see Dr. Isabella Perugini standing at the door to her office, her dark hair frizzed and her eyes bearing dark circles underneath them. “I had thought that you might have actually—finally—perished, ending my long suffering from the damage you do.”
“You’re not that lucky, Doc,” I replied, smiling sweetly. “Like a cat, I just keep landing on my feet.”