20. Yaaf
YAAF
T he punching bag swung back from Number Five's fist, chains rattling overhead, and Yaaf watched the seam along its side, waiting to see if it would split.
It held.
"It's reinforced," Theo said, leaning against the weight rack. "Everything in this gym is built for immortal strength. The bags, the racks, the machines, are all fortified. Though I'm not sure the equipment will hold against your enhanced strength. You will have to find the limits."
Just a day ago, Yaaf's hands hadn't been steady enough to punch that bag, but after the drug regimen resumed, he was ready to test his strength in the clan's gymnasium.
The first dose had taken the edge off, eliminating some of the withdrawal symptoms the eight of them had been experiencing to varying degrees; the second dose had calmed most of the jitters and tremors, and by the third dose, the coherence that had been thinning at the edges had solidified.
Dimitri had wanted to wait a day between each shot, but they'd pushed back, and he administered them in eight-hour intervals instead.
There hadn't been any adverse reactions to the accelerated dose administration, and now the hum between them was steady and low, their eight minds working together without effort. The garbled signal clarified.
"Is the equipment fortified enough to withstand the Kra-ell?" Number Two asked. "They are as strong as we are. Possibly stronger."
"Stronger," Theo said, without hesitation.
"And no, there isn't a punching bag that can survive a Kra-ell in a bad mood, and they are always in a bad mood.
If you're anywhere near their strength class, go easy on the bags or stay away from them.
Getting replacements with those specifications takes time and costs a lot of money. "
Number One crossed to a row of unfamiliar machines with long belted platforms, rails, and glowing consoles. "What are these?"
"Treadmills." Theo pushed off the rack and came over. "You run on them. The belt moves under you, you match its speed, and you can run for hours without going anywhere. Good for endurance training."
Number One put his hand on the rail. "We trained with weights on the island, but we ran on the ground. Seems frivolous to have machines for running when it costs nothing to run outside."
"Welcome to the modern world." Theo tapped the console, and the belt hummed to life, crawling forward at a walking pace. "Speed's adjustable. Incline too, if you want to simulate hills."
"How fast can it go?"
"These models are built with immortal specifications. Forty-five miles an hour, max."
Number One converted the number to what he was more familiar with. It was a little over seventy-two kilometers an hour, more than adequate even for their enhanced speed.
"That should do," he said.
"Hello, gentlemen," Dimitri announced himself as he came through the doors. "I see you have started without me."
"Theo has been showing us the equipment," Number One said. "You haven't missed much." He tapped the handle of the running machine. "These are called treadmills. You can run on them instead of training outside."
"I know what they are." Dimitri smiled. "I haven't been living under a rock my entire life, only a large chunk of it."
He hadn't been a prisoner of the island for long, but before that he'd been imprisoned in a gulag in his home country.
Given how young he was, he was right about that being a large chunk of his life.
So far. He was an immortal now, with endless years ahead of him, so eventually that portion would shrink.
"Wait until you see the movie theater." Dimitri stopped beside the treadmill and tapped the display to stop the belt.
"Jay has just shown it to me, and I'm declaring tonight a movie night.
After dinner, you eight, myself, Petrov if he can stay awake, and the ladies, which means that the movie we choose can't be overly violent. "
"War and suspense films were the only ones ever shown on the island," Number Two said. "What else is there?"
"Romance and comedy," Dimitri said. "You wanted to learn about love, so a romantic comedy will work for everyone."
Number Two grimaced, reflecting the collective's opinion of watching actors pretend to love one another. War movies were much more interesting.
"I see that fictional romance does not appeal to you.
" Dimitri must have read the response on their faces.
"I have the perfect film that should appeal to everyone.
It's old, but it's good. It has submarines, tension, brilliant men outmaneuvering each other, and almost no on-screen violence.
It is called The Hunt for Red October , and it is about a Russian submarine crew defecting to the West. They offer the revolutionary technology in exchange for asylum, but their counterparts in the West think it's a trick. "
The collective processed that information and found the subject of the movie apt for the situation.
Number One nodded. "A crew who defects together with a revolutionary technology to an enemy who does not trust them. Sounds familiar."
"I thought it might resonate." Dimitri smiled. "The captain spends the entire film trying to convince the Americans he comes in peace, while they try to decide whether it's a trap."
"It sounds intriguing," Number One said aloud. "We will watch it."
The gym doors opened again, and Bowen came through with another male the collective hadn't seen before. He wasn't a Guardian given his lanky build, and he was carrying a case that he set down on the nearest bench.
"Evening," Bowen said. "This is Zach from the tech lab, and he comes bearing gifts."
Zach flipped the case open. Inside, nested in foam, lay a row of phones. He picked up one of them.
"Each of you gets a phone. These are clan-built, our own hardware, our own network, and they come with security restrictions.
You can call and message the women you helped escape, the scientists, Anita, Mattie, and a shortlist of approved Guardians.
That's the whole contact list, and it's locked for now.
You've got full web access, browse whatever you want, read anything, watch anything, but you won't be able to send anything out.
No outbound messages, no calls other than those to approved contacts, no posts, nothing written or spoken. "
The collective understood. In fact, they were pleasantly surprised to be given that much. So far, the cage that the clan had put them in was proving generous and comfortable.
"Thank you," Number One said.
"Are we getting any?" Dimitri asked.
Zach regarded him with a raised brow. "Of course. The ladies too. Let me show you how to work these."
"We had phones on the island," Number One said. "We know how they work."
Theirs had been issued by the Brotherhood, and they had left them at the bottom of the cove so they couldn't be tracked by their signal.
"You know the basics already." Zach distributed the devices. "There is nothing complicated about these, but there are some specific features that I need to explain."
He walked them through the unlock gesture and the contact screen anyway, quick and efficient.
Bowen drifted toward Number One. "Sullha's number is in the list of contacts. I saw her this afternoon, and she's eager to talk to you. Now you can call her."
The collective felt Yaaf's reaction before he could modulate it, the sudden jerk in his chest, but had the grace not to comment.
"Thank you for telling me." He scrolled through the short list of names, with small portraits next to each one for easy recognition.
Sullha's had either been taken recently or artificially altered because her hair looked shiny in a way he had never seen it on the island.
She was smiling in the picture.
He wanted to call her right now. He could step out to the corridor for some privacy, not from the collective because that was nearly impossible to do, but from the Guardians and everyone else in the gym.
He started toward the doors when they opened again, and Mattie walked in.
"Dinner is served in the kitchen," she announced. "Come while it's hot."
The others moved. Yaaf hesitated, contemplating letting them go and staying behind to make the call, but then a heavy arm landed across his shoulders before he could slip away.
"Wait until after dinner." Bowen steered him toward the door. "Let me tell you about my visit to Sullha's house on the way."
"Sullha has a house?"
Bowen nodded. "Three bedrooms. One for her, one for her mother, and one for Tomek.
" Bowen walked him down the corridor, either ignorant of the fact that Yaaf could have effortlessly broken his arm off at the shoulder or just confident that he wouldn't. "Tomek's room came stocked with toys that he couldn't wait to show my mate, and Sullha looks like she's dream-walking and waiting to be awakened at any moment.
I didn't get to see Leehy because she was resting in her room. "
Yaaf absorbed the information, and the feeling that moved through him was so tangled that the collective withdrew to give him room with it.
He was glad that she had a house and that Tomek felt at home enough to show his new toys to a stranger.
But underneath it, undignified and impossible to dismiss, was jealousy.
Bowen had gotten to see Sullha in her new home before him.
"I envy you," he admitted. "I wish I could see her like that. Free, safe, and happy."
"You will, soon enough." Bowen patted his shoulder.
They entered the kitchen, which had become the central hub of their new life underground.
The lab occupied just one corner of the big industrial space, the equipment arranged on two steel tables, with the refrigeration unit humming against the wall.
The rest of the kitchen was used as their dining hall.
No one cooked in there, though, and the food was delivered in cases from somewhere else.
Mattie, who wanted to make life as comfortable as possible for them, had already taken the dishes out of the boxes and arranged them on platters on the long center island that served as their dining table.
Tonight, it was roasted chicken, rice, vegetables, flatbread, and some small dishes that Yaaf wasn't familiar with.
Petrov already occupied one of the stools, a napkin tucked into his collar, and a laden plate in front of him. Anita sat beside him. The Guardians also joined them: Bowen, Theo, Jay, Robbie, and Callan.
Zach came in but didn't sit down. Instead, he lifted a hand toward the island. "Doctor Petrov. Good to see you. Dimitri has phones for you, Anita, and Mattie, and he will explain how to use them."
"Thank you," Petrov said. "Having a phone will make me feel like a free man again."
"My pleasure. I wish I could stay and chat with you about your research, but I need to collect some equipment for William before I head back."
"Anytime," Petrov said. "Bring vodka."
Anita lifted a hand. "Please don't."
Zach laughed and was gone again before Petrov could argue.
"It wasn't a joke," Petrov grumbled. "I'll sell a kidney for a bottle of vodka."
Anita glared at him. "Who wants your kidney? It's probably barely functioning already. I can't wait to get you proper medical tests."
"I bet." He cut off a big chunk of chicken and stuffed it in his mouth.
"In case anyone is wondering," Bowen said.
"William is the clan's tech genius. He runs a large lab in the village with dozens of engineers and technicians.
Everything clever that you'll see around here came out of it, including those phones in your pockets.
If it beeps, glows, or flies, William and his crew probably built it. "
Mattie waited patiently for Bowen to be done.
"Bon appétit," she said when she was sure he had nothing else to add. "Dig in, everyone."
The collective ate in a loose synchrony they had long ago learned to adopt so it wouldn't unsettle people, and the Guardians talked over and around them, and it felt nice. It was normal, or as normal as a meal shared by immortals, humans, and enhanced soldiers got.
When they were mostly done, Bowen set his fork down.
"I come bearing good news," he said. "Your mothers and sisters are coming for a visit tomorrow morning. It will take place in the small council chamber, which is located two levels above us and is being prepared as we speak."
The collective went still, all eight bodies stopped moving at once.
Tomorrow morning .
Yaaf felt the reaction move through all of them simultaneously, not one reaction but eight different ones within their hive mind.
From Number Two came something tight and dreading and hoping all at once.
From Number Four, a flare of joy and Asira's voice sounding in his memory.
From Number Five, the sense-memory of his mother's palm against his cheek, the one reunion that had cracked through the conditioning on the first try.
Anticipation, anxiety, and the awkwardness of the boat magnified by the knowledge that they would now attempt once more to be sons.
Number Eight wasn't getting any visitors, and he experienced both sadness and relief. Since his mother had become a member of the Sacred Mothers, she could not be trusted, so she had remained on the island.
Sullha was coming tomorrow.
The ache Yaaf had been carrying since he'd left her at Safe Harbor did not ease at the news. It sharpened instead, the way hunger sharpens at the smell of food.
"Where is that council chamber?" Mattie stood up so quickly her stool scraped. "I need to see it. Because if it's some grim conference room with a long table, that won't do. This is a family visit, not a negotiation. We should at least serve brunch and arrange the seating in groupings."
"As I said, it's two levels up," Bowen said.
"Can you take me there?" Mattie asked.
He arched a brow. "Right now?"
"Please. If I'm going to fix it, I need to see what I have to work with." Mattie headed toward the doors.
Anita rose to join her. "I'll help," she said.
"I have been given my orders." Bowen stood and followed the women to the door.
The kitchen emptied by degrees, Guardians drifting out, Petrov declaring himself in need of horizontal recovery, and Dimitri reminding everyone about the movie.
"An hour from now," Dimitri said. "We need to wait for Anita and Mattie to return."
"Don't wake me up," Petrov said. "I'll dream of your movie."
The collective began to move toward the elevators.
Yaaf stayed behind, and he didn't need to tell the collective his plans because they already knew, had known since the phone landed in his hand.