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The last time Cat had been in a Factory, he’d been working for Authority, wary of his co-worker, and ready for the inevitable attempt on his life. He’d been on edge, unable to relax.
There was still scant room for relaxation, but at least in this Factory, to the north of First Dome, Cat didn’t have to watch his back. Here, he was amongst friends—especially in this meeting room. Here, Cat could be…not totally himself, but less of a construct that he’d been in his time within Authority.
totallyHe let his gaze take in the room. He saw the two wall screens, the drinks cabinet in one corner, the large circular table and the high-backed but comfortable chairs that surrounded it. But most of his attention was on those seated.
To his left was Paskia, and what a fine young woman she’d become! When he’d turned up at her door, unannounced (and it had taken a great deal of work to discover where Paskia had based herself since returning from the events to the west), her welcoming smile had melted away so much of his apprehension.
But there was nothing soft about her. She’d secured her new base in a decidedly professional manner—Eyes and various traps set, an escape route through the roof, and evacuation pack ready to grab at a moment’s notice.
She still had a wonderful smile, but experience showed in the lines radiated from her hard eyes, and there was a firmness to her jaw that had been absent only a few months ago. There was also the scar to the side of her forehead, the sign of a close encounter with a bullet.
Continuing around the table, Cat came to the double-act who now ran the Factory’s day-to-day concerns. Daventree and Kester complemented each other in ways Cat wouldn’t have expected, and their friendship was encouraging to see. It was hard to imagine the Factory running so well without either of them, and it was a testament to their hard work that there were no official complaints from Authority.
Don might have his suspicions, but Kester and Daventree still maintained the fiction that Machivelle was in charge. Kester had spent long enough with the woman that he could mimic her style of communication to a frighteningly believable degree.
And then there was the other person in the room, the one who leaned back in his chair, cold eyes studying Cat. Rodin had always been aloof—unsurprising, after all he’d endured—and Cat had long ago accepted the man would never view him fondly.
But there was a faded quality to Rodin now. His mouth twitched, as if he was in pain, and he rested one hand on the wound in his stomach. Cat couldn’t decide if that injury had been too much for the man, or if something else was in play.
“After such a discussion,” Daventree said, “perhaps we could recap the salient points. Cat, would you be so good as to lead?”
“Of course. While I can furnish no details at the current time, I believe it would be wise to approach anything but face-to-face communication with extreme caution. In light of the general movement of warriors from the north, it would also be most prudent to consider the Factory a target.”
“We’ve tightened security,” Kester said, reiterating his report from earlier. “The sensors within the train tunnel are now activated, as are the bulkheads in corridors leading from the platform.”
“Understood,” Cat said. “But you haven’t mentioned exit strategies.”
“Exit strategies?” Daventree’s face paled.
“It’s wise to be prepared for every eventuality. If Authority does breach your security, it is unlikely you’ll have the manpower to keep them at bay, so your best option will be to retreat.” He turned to Paskia. “And the same applies to you, my dear.”
“I’m moving location regularly. Already scoped out potential sites.”
No hint of fear in that one—at least, she kept her fear locked up inside. Cat was once again impressed by the change in Paskia, and he knew her mother would have been proud.
But he wouldn’t think of Leena now. He’d have to tell Paskia that her mother was at peace, where Authority could no longer touch her. Not yet, though. The sacrifice could well affect her in ways detrimental to their continued survival.
“It appears to me, then,” Daventree said, “that we are now playing what I believe many would call a waiting game. We have done all we can, and now we await Authority’s next move.”
Rodin snorted—about the only contribution he’d made to this meeting.
“I realise this doesn’t feel particularly productive,” Cat said, “and I wish I was the bearer of more favourable tidings. For the moment, we need to keep up the subterfuge that nothing has changed in this facility, and that Machivelle is still in control. Even if Authority suspects the truth, we must furnish them no confirmation.”
“We understand,” Daventree said. “I’ll begin work on an exit strategy right away.” He nodded. “That term is far preferable to retreat, I believe.”
“Always good to have a strategy.” Cat placed his hands flat on the table.
Daventree and Kester both nodded as they collected their screens and rose. Paskia pushed her chair back, but Cat raised a hand.
“If you have a moment, my dear—you too, Rodin. There’s a matter I wish to discuss with the pair of you.”
She nodded, then turned to Kester. “I’ll catch you when I’ve finished up here.”
“Sure.” The door opened, and Kester and Daventree departed. Cat waited until the door resealed before leaning against the table, drawing Paskia in closer. Even Rodin sat up straighter, although he kept his arms folded.
“You don’t appreciate our cautious strategy, I take it,” Cat said to Rodin.
The man shrugged. “Can’t hide from them forever.”
Cat nodded—the answer he’d hoped for. “Indeed not. And so, we must be pro-active.” He paused, saw the questioning look on Rodin’s face, and the cautious suspicion on Paskia’s.
“We have another option,” he said.