Aethernet Magazine #4 by Ed. Barbara Ballantyne

Author:Ed. Barbara Ballantyne [Ballantyne, Ed. Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2013-06-30T14:04:58+00:00

I came round slumped in a chair, dimly aware of someone holding my shoulder, a gentle pressure that withdrew as consciousness resurged. The chair wasn’t uncomfortable, though the surroundings were – too bright. I shifted into a more comfortable position as my eyes gradually adjusted, to report a room as clinically neutral as the street had been. A brown coat walked from behind me to stand by the door, though given the navy blue onepiece he wore it was probably time I came up with a different epithet.

Oblong room, walls and ceiling off-white, no window, single door, and the thin slit of air conditioning or a ventilation system close to the ceiling; an oblong table – grey-topped, of course – directly in front of me, with two chairs on the opposite side: one occupied, one not. The identity of the occupant came as little surprise.

“Welcome back,” faux-Claire said. I half expected her to have adopted the same blue garb as the guard, but she still wore the same clothes.

The door opened before I could think of a response, to admit another blue-clad man and a woman. The man took station by the doorway, so that he and his twin stood to either side of it like ornamental pillars, while the woman strode forward to claim the vacant seat.

Older than Claire, or anyone else present, her hair was pulled back severely into a tight bun, and her black suit made no concession to any form of uniform.

A matriarchal society? Okay, this was a pretty small sample on which to draw a conclusion – two people in authority, both female; an unspecified number of functionaries, all male – but it was enough to at least formulate a hypothesis. The only truly matriarchal London I’d encountered before had seemed prosperous and well-balanced from my cursory experience, even benevolent. I wasn’t so confident about this one, assuming it qualified.

“Chris, isn’t it?” Thin mouth, the top lip almost entirely absent; a random observation, but in her case this only enhanced the impression that before me was not a compassionate individual. “Welcome to the headquarters of the Faramund. My name is Magda Freund.” Freund – Friend in German. How was that for irony? “I am the group’s Operations Director. At some point, incidentally, I’d be curious to know how you identified us.”

She paused, giving me the opportunity to comment, which I declined.

“Fair enough. I must apologise for the manner of our introduction…”

I couldn’t let that glib brushing aside of their actions pass unchallenged. “What, the violence, deception, kidnapping, manipulation and murder, you mean?”

Her thin smile again. “Indeed. To most of those things at any rate, but you of all people should appreciate that unpalatable actions are sometimes necessary in order to fulfil a commission.”

“Is that what I am, then, a commission?”

Smile. “I must also apologise for divesting you of your coat. It seemed prudent having seen how inventive you can be with the contents of those pockets.” I hadn’t even realised it was gone until then – too many other things to concentrate on.

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