Final Target

Chapter 6

4

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Vanya pressed the door screen. She could’ve over-ridden the building’s system, and a part of her wanted to burst in, to punch some answers out of him, but she waited. And waited.

“Yeah?”

His voice was strained and distant.

“It’s Vanya.” Even though he could see that‌—‌there was an Eye above the door.

“Want to be left alone.”

“Yep. And some of us want to know what’s going on.” That was good‌—‌leave it open to interpretation, make no accusations.

“We’re screwed. Anything else is only details.”

So she’d have to go the hard way. She took a breath, reached for her screen. As soon as her hand slipped inside her jacket, the door slid open.

Vanya walked into his room, the stink enough to make her eyes water.

“How the hell can you live like this, Rodin?”

He sat on a chair, one of two by a small table, a half-finished meal and a mug in front of him. The sofa, over the other side of the room, looked unused. Through an archway covers lay rumpled on a bed, a pillow on the floor. The door to the shower room was open, a towel hanging from a hoop by the sink. There was no indication the shower itself had been used.

Rodin waved a hand, wiped the other down his greasy top. “You want a seat?”

“Not particularly.” She studied him‌—‌hair sticking out at all angles, beard growing thicker, eyes drooping. “Just came round to see how you’re doing.”

“Not up for social calls.”

“No. That would involve making yourself look presentable. Guess that’s not in your morning routine anymore.”

He flinched at that, and Vanya knew he’d abandoned his routines‌—‌the exercise, the silent centring, the checking and cleaning of his tools. She doubted his meals were that good, either‌—‌the air was both greasy and sugary, once she got through the patina of stale sweat.

“Just waiting for the end,” he said, and drained the contents of his mug. He grimaced, and Vanya noticed the lack of steam. How long had he been sitting there?

She pulled the second chair out, sat opposite him. She rested one arm on the table‌—‌at least there wasn’t much grime on this side‌—‌and let the other fall to her lap, close to her weapons.

“It’s not over yet.”

His shoulders shook in a silent laugh. “Right. Because we can beat Authority. Doesn’t matter that they’re far more powerful than us, know everything we’re doing.” He shook his head, muttered something she didn’t catch.

“Thought you never gave up,” she said.

“Guess you thought wrong.”

That hit hard. The old Rodin might have been a realist‌—‌if he couldn’t win a fight, he’d always look for a way out‌—‌but the man before her was‌…‌was an empty shell.

Maybe she’d be doing him a favour if she broke his neck right now.

“Genna could do with your help,” she said instead, and watched closely.

There was a flicker at the mention of her name, but nothing more.

“Proves my point. If she’s that desperate, we’re fucked.”

Not the kind of language he normally used, but it hinted at strong emotion somewhere. But did Vanya dare push further?

“Anything you can do for her would be appreciated.”

He looked up, and there was a flash of anger in his eyes. “For her, right? Not for you.”

She sat back, waited for him to explain. The anger‌—‌had she read that correctly?‌—‌flared bright for a moment, and his arms tensed.

“You never trusted me, did you?” he said. “You never believed I’d got through the warriors on my own.”

She shrugged. “Seemed a pretty wild story.”

“And you didn’t trust my motives.”

“I’ve seen betrayal too often.”

“Wren, right?”

She nodded, remembering her one-time friend, fellow warrior from the Factory. The one who had gone over to Garrick, who had become another of Authority’s tools. A constant reminder that allies could always turn to enemies.

And in mentioning her, Rodin had diverted the conversation. Annoying, but also a relief‌—‌it meant the old logical Rodin was still pushing through. It meant he hadn’t totally given up.

He pushed his chair back from the table. “Got something for you,” he said as he stood, shuffled across to the jacket that hung by the door. He wore no boots‌—‌wasn’t ready for action‌—‌and his red feet left sweaty smears on the flooring.

Rodin reached into the jacket, and Vanya tensed. She released a blade, readied it to throw, prepared to defend herself.

He pulled out a screen. Vanya slid her blade back into the sheath as he shuffled back. He sat, pushed the screen across the table to her.

“Decent quality,” she said. “Pick that up in the Dome?”

“Kind of. Was given it. Part of a job.”

He swallowed, and sniffed. His eyes remained on the screen, refused to meet Vanya’s. And, again, she tensed.

“What job?”

He looked up. “You were right not to trust me, Vanya. I was hired to remove Genna.”

She was on him in an instant. His chair tipped back with her weight. She landed astride him, blade against his throat, other hand raised as a fist.

He didn’t resist. His hands remained by his side. Beneath her, she felt his body relax, even though he winced.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t slit your throat right now!”

He smiled. “Go ahead.” And he lifted his head, pushed his flesh against the blade.

Vanya backed off, kept the blade close to his neck. He let his head fall.

“Thought you’d be ready to help a friend,” he said.

“Friends don’t take contracts on other friends.”

“Didn’t have much choice. And I never went through with it. She’s still alive, right?”

That was true. It wasn’t like Rodin hadn’t had opportunity. If he’d meant to kill her, Genna would be dead by now.

Vanya stood, one fluid movement that gave him no time to respond. She sheathed her blade and rounded the table, picking up his chair, stood to the side. “Sit,” she said. “Tell me.”

He did. Made too much of putting his chair straight, even going round and picking up Vanya’s chair. And even when he’d sat, he spent an age brushing himself down, as if the floor would have made him grubbier than he already was.

Vanya gave him time to prepare.

He told her of his capture, of meeting Don. Said how the man had shown feeds of Paskia in a Factory cell, tortured by some woman in black. Then he told Vanya of Don’s ultimatum.

“So it was Genna or Paskia?” Vanya said.

Rodin nodded.

“Means he must’ve known about you and Paskia.”

Another nod. “Knew us both, back from Ross.” He tilted his head. “Don’t think I told you about that.”

“You, Paskia, a few others,” Vanya said, recalling conversations with Paskia‌—‌of course Rodin hadn’t told her anything about his past. “Rebelling, and then you were sold out to Authority. Take it Don was the one behind that?”

Rodin nodded. “He’s the reason Paskia went into Correction, and the reason I ended up in the districts.” His head tipped back, eyes closed. “We had a thing back then, me and Paskia. Guess he thought it was still ongoing.”

“And he guessed right.”

His chest rose, then fell. He swallowed.

“I couldn’t do it,” he said, his voice breaking. “Perfect opportunity, more than once, but I couldn’t kill her. When I told Don, he gave me another chance. But‌…‌I was past being used. I turned him down. And‌…‌and he ordered his b***h to kill her.”

He looked straight at Vanya, his eyes moist. “She’s dead. That bastard had Paskia killed.”

The anger flared again, but it was close to being swamped by sadness. And Vanya felt a lump in her throat.

“I’m sorry,” she said, knowing the words were inadequate.

“Not your fault.” He shook his head, waved a hand, and that seemed to wipe away his own emotions. “All comes back to Authority. They do whatever they want to.”

“But they couldn’t control you.”

He shrugged. “They’ll try something else, keep on going until they get their way. We don’t stand a chance.” He reached out, tapped the screen‌—‌somehow, as Vanya had leapt over the table, she hadn’t disturbed it. “But if you insist on fighting, might be worth letting Aleph have a look at that. Smart kid. Good choice by Genna.” He slid the screen closer to Vanya, and she reached for it.

“Not my fight any more,” he said, then pulled his fingers back from the screen as he nodded toward it. “That’s all I’ve got.”