Chapter 127 | Carson Webb’s Thing

Chapter 127: Chapter 127 | Carson Webb’s Thing

Tuesday.

Six-oh-one.

Carson knocked.

Kai opened the door.

Carson came in with his jacket still cold from the transit stop and the careful eyes running their standard room inventory.

He sat at the table.

He put his hands flat.

He looked at the window.

He said: "Cold out."

"February," Kai said.

"Yes," Carson said.

He drank his tea.

====

Cara arrived at six-forty-five.

Exactly.

She came in with the sequence notes and the particular quality of someone who had been running the form alone every morning and had something to show for it.

She sat.

She looked at Shira.

Shira looked at the window.

She said: "Run it."

Cara ran the sixth movement — not physically, verbally. Described the sequence beat by beat the way Shira had taught her to report it.

Shira listened.

She said: "The entry."

"Fixed," Cara said.

"Show me after breakfast," Shira said.

Cara ate.

Mira’s board appeared.

It said: six-forty-five.

"Yes," Cara said.

not six-forty-three, the board said.

"I know," Cara said.

not six-forty-six, the board said.

"I know," Cara said.

Cara looked at the board.

The board looked at the wall near Cara’s shoulder.

Cara said: "You counted."

yes, the board said.

Carson said, to his tea: "She counts everything."

The board appeared.

It said: you were six-oh-one.

"Yes," Carson said.

not six, the board said.

"We’ve discussed this," Carson said.

we have, the board said. you keep arriving at six-oh-one.

"It takes one minute to get from the lift to the door," Carson said.

then leave the lift at six, the board said.

Carson looked at the board.

He looked at Kai.

Kai looked at his bowl.

He was almost entirely unsuccessful.

Shira ate with the expression of someone watching something correct happen.

=====

After breakfast Cara went to the second bedroom with Shira.

The form started at seven-forty.

Two wind-type signatures — Shira’s clean and precise, Cara’s stronger than last Tuesday. The sixth movement entry holding correctly on the third attempt.

Shira said: "There."

Cara said nothing.

"Again," Shira said.

Carson sat at the table with Kai.

He had his notebook out.

He was writing something.

Kai looked at the notebook.

Carson covered it.

Kai looked at the window.

He said: "What are you writing."

"Research," Carson said.

"Into what," Kai said.

"Patterns," Carson said.

Kai looked at the window.

He said: "Mira said there are no patterns."

"She said that," Carson said. "I wrote it down."

"As a data point," Kai said.

"Yes," Carson said.

Kai looked at the window.

He said nothing.

Carson wrote something.

He covered it.

====

Cara left at nine.

She stopped at the door.

She looked at Shira.

She said: "The entry."

"Better," Shira said.

"Better or correct," Cara said.

Shira looked at her.

"Better," she said. "Tuesday."

Cara looked at the door.

She left.

Carson did not leave.

He sat at the table with his hands flat and the notebook closed and the expression of a man who had been deciding something since he arrived and had finished deciding.

Kai looked at him.

Carson said: "There’s something you should know."

"Yes," Kai said.

Carson looked at the table.

He said: "The hero authority field assessment team. The reclassified dungeons — the Foundation’s suppressed sites. They need to be properly assessed. All eleven of them. Accurate classification. Full documentation."

"Yes," Kai said.

"The authority asked me to lead the team," Carson said.

Kai looked at him.

"Witness liaison is a temporary appointment," Carson said. "The field assessment role is permanent. Or permanent enough — until all eleven sites are processed."

"How long," Kai said.

"Six months minimum," Carson said. "Possibly a year."

Kai looked at him.

Carson looked at the table.

He said: "I want you on the team."

Kai looked at him.

"Not as support," Carson said. "Not as a formation member. Primary spatial assessor."

"I’m on the solo S-rank list," Kai said. "The authority has me classified as—"

"I know what the authority has you classified as," Carson said. "Giftless. Spatial assessment via Nerve Sense. No registered Gift classification." He looked at the table. "I also know what you did with page fourteen. And the right branch frequency collapse. And the fifth suppressed site solo run in three hours fifty-two minutes."

Kai looked at the table.

"The eleven Foundation sites," Carson said. "Some of them are going to have frequency anomalies the briefing documentation doesn’t show. Some of them are going to have node signatures that standard detection sweeps won’t catch." He looked at the table. "I need someone who reads the frequency. Not the briefing. The actual frequency."

Kai looked at the table.

He looked at the hallway.

Shira was at the window — she had come out while Carson was talking and had not said anything.

She was looking at the window.

Not at Carson. Not at Kai.

At the February medical district outside.

Kai said: "I’ll ask them."

Shira said, to the window: "Yes."

Not loud. Not turned around.

Just: yes.

Carson looked at Shira’s back.

He looked at Kai.

He said: "Tuesday. I’ll have the formal appointment documentation."

"Yes," Kai said.

Carson stood up.

He picked up his notebook.

He looked at the hallway.

He said: "The fifth site. The solo run."

"Yes," Kai said.

"Three permanent Gift impairment cases," Carson said. "Eight years, five years, two years."

"Yes," Kai said.

"The eight-year case," Carson said. "I know who it is."

Kai looked at him.

Carson said: "Her name is Vera Holt. No relation to Dana Holt. She was a wind-type hero — B-rank, field operations. She lost full Gift function eight years ago in the fifth suppressed dungeon. She left the system two years after. She sealed her records four years ago."

Kai looked at him.

"She’s the one Denko couldn’t reach," Carson said.

"Yes," Kai said.

"I can reach her," Carson said. "We trained at Vanguard. Same year."

Kai looked at him.

"Will she talk to us," Kai said.

Carson looked at the notebook.

He said: "She sealed her records because she stopped believing anyone would listen."

He looked at the notebook.

"I’ll talk to her," he said.

He put the notebook in his jacket.

He went to the door.

He stopped.

He looked at Shira at the window.

He said: "Forty-one minutes is in the archive."

She said, to the window: "I know."

He said: "So is the fifth site solo run."

She looked at the window.

The corner of her mouth.

Carson left.

====

The apartment after.

Shira at the window.

Mira at the table.

Kai between them.

He looked at both of them.

He said: "The field assessment team."

"Yes," Shira said. To the window.

"Primary spatial assessor," he said.

"Yes," she said.

"All eleven Foundation sites," he said.

"Yes," she said.

She looked at the window.

She said: "The frequency anomalies."

"Some of the sites will have them," he said. "Same as the fifth site. Same as the northern B-rank."

"They’re all connected," she said.

"Yes," he said.

She looked at the window.

She said: "When you go into each one — I want the briefing documentation first."

He looked at her.

"All of them," she said. "Before you go in."

"Yes," he said.

Mira’s board appeared.

It said: me too.

He looked at the board.

me too, it said again. every briefing. give me two days on each one.

"Yes," he said.

She set it face-down.

She looked at the wall near the window.

She said: "Vera Holt."

"Yes," he said.

"Wind-type," she said. "Full Gift pathway severance."

"Yes," he said.

She looked at the wall.

She said: "Eight years ago the node was at—"

She stopped.

She picked up the board.

She wrote.

She held it up.

It said: eight years ago the node was reading at approximately eight-twenty-two hertz based on the development rate. I worked it out from the injury files last night.

Kai looked at the board.

A wind-type Gift pathway severance at eight-twenty-two hertz, she wrote. the node was already strong enough eight years ago to cause full severance in a hero who went in on B-rank classification.

She held the board.

She set it face-down.

She looked at the wall near the window.

She said: "The Foundation knew."

"Yes," Kai said.

"Their first internal assessment was one year before Vera Holt went in," she said.

"Yes," Kai said.

"They had already assessed the node," she said. "They already knew the frequency. They knew what it would do to a wind-type hero at that range."

"Yes," Kai said.

She looked at the wall.

She said: "And they let her go in."

"Yes," he said.

She looked at the wall.

She looked at the board face-down on the table.

She picked it up.

She wrote very slowly.

She held it up.

It said: I want to be there when Carson talks to her.

Kai looked at the board.

Not in the room, she wrote. I don’t want to crowd it. But I want to read the frequency documentation she has. If she kept any. The injury assessment. The Gift pathway severance record.

She held the board.

I want to show her what the node was doing when it hit her, she wrote. I want her to know it wasn’t her Gift failing. It was the frequency overwhelming a correctly functioning Gift in a dungeon that was eight times more dangerous than the classification said.

She set the board face-down.

She looked at the wall.

She said: "She stopped believing anyone would listen."

"Yes," Kai said.

She looked at the wall.

"She’ll listen now," she said.

Out loud. Clear. Four words. Not a question.

He looked at her.

She looked at the wall.

She set her hand on the RF-7 case.

The document pocket. The license inside.

She left it there.

===

Shira came to the table.

She sat.

She looked at Kai.

She said: "The field assessment team."

"Yes," Kai said.

"Primary spatial assessor," she said.

"Yes," he said.

She looked at the table.

She said: "The eleven sites."

"Yes," he said.

"Each one will have a briefing," she said.

"Yes," he said.

"Mira reads them first," she said.

"Yes," he said.

"Then I read them," she said.

He looked at her.

"Then you go in," she said.

He looked at her.

She looked at the table.

She said: "That’s how it works."

"Yes," he said.

She looked at the table.

The underneath expression.

Not to him specifically.

To the table.

To the fact of it.

She said: "Carson was right."

"About what," he said.

She looked at the table.

She said: "You read page fourteen when nobody else did."

He looked at her.

She looked at the table.

She said: "That’s what it is."

She picked up her cup.

She drank.

She set it down.

She said: "Tuesday. Six-forty-five."

"Yes," he said.

"The appointment documentation," she said.

"Yes," he said.

She looked at the table.

The corner of her mouth.

She said: "Cara was on time today."

"Six-forty-five," he said.

"Exactly," she said.

Mira’s board appeared.

It said: I know.

"I know you know," Shira said.

I counted, the board said.

"I know you counted," Shira said.

She ate.

Mira ate.

Kai ate.

The three of them at the table.

=====

That evening Denko called.

"Carson reached Vera Holt," he said.

"When," Kai said.

"This afternoon," Denko said. "She agreed to meet. Not at my office. Not at the hero authority. At Carson’s apartment."

"When," Kai said.

"Thursday," Denko said.

"I’ll be there," Kai said.

"Kai," Denko said.

"Yes."

"She sealed her records because she spent eight years filing complaints that went nowhere," Denko said. "She stopped because she ran out of ways to try."

"I know," Kai said.

"She’s not—" Denko stopped. "She’s not like Dana Holt. Dana Holt came here with a folder. Vera Holt sealed her records. There’s a difference."

"I know," Kai said.

"She’s coming because Carson asked," Denko said. "Not because she believes anything will happen."

"I know," Kai said.

"So," Denko said. "Thursday."

"Thursday," Kai said.

He hung up.

He looked at the hallway.

He went to Mira’s door.

He knocked.

She opened it.

He said: "Thursday. Carson’s apartment. Vera Holt."

She looked at the wall near his shoulder.

She said: "The injury documentation."

"Yes," he said.

"If she has it," he said.

She looked at the wall.

She said: "She has it."

He looked at her.

"She sealed her records," she said. "Not destroyed them. Sealed."

He looked at her.

"She kept everything," she said. "Same as Dana Holt. Same as Dorothy Callahan’s husband. Same as everyone who filed and was blocked and stopped."

She looked at the wall.

"They keep everything," she said. "Because part of them never stopped believing someone would eventually listen."

He looked at the wall near her shoulder.

He said nothing.

She looked at the wall.

She said: "Thursday."

"Yes," he said.

She closed the door.