“Each pod grab lasts fifteen minutes. Don't try for more,” he warned again, as we dragged three newly unconscious mages into a closet.
Fifteen minutes didn't seem like much time, but detailed blueprints of the facility were a matter of public record, and most of the Bandits had at one time or another graced these halls, making it simple to take the most direct routes to our single, concrete goal.
“They'll have Rosaria in the high security wing. But you must watch for anyone in the cells around her. The most privileged mages get sent there. It's considered a boon. So, it's far more likely you will encounter magicists.”
“Where'd they keep you, Ludes? Where's the lowest security?”
“Very funny.”
“Shh! They are entering the main quadrant. And chatter is why they didn’t hook us into the climb phase. Let’s not make them slip now,” Dagfinn said with his normal, paranoid edge.
“Ugh, it looks just like I remember,” Kita said distastefully, ignoring Dagfinn. “I hated that place. Worst two weeks of my life.”
A grand industrial space filled with ordered magic opened before us. Ten by ten-foot containers were arrayed in a block-like grid on one side—sixty-four up and sixty-four across, easily seen from a central command station that managed them. Magic zipped around each cell, and a single figure aged eleven to fifteen inhabited each one.
It reminded me nothing short of a very large prison.
Movement was happening within most of the four thousand plus cells—new mages practicing their skills, learning to control their magic, yelling, screaming, kicking, fighting—though almost all the movement was in the lower half of the grid. I lifted my gaze to the ones in the top half who showed less movement—to a one they were meditating, sleeping, or staring creepily outward.
Okay, maybe looking at the command station was a better option. Five mages worked the grid, flipping spell switches and allocating resources in different directions. Two of the cells flipped positions as one mage seemed to settle, a zen look overcoming his expression, while the other grew more agitated.
The cell containing the more agitated ferals shifted downward.
Two cells at the top abruptly winked out. Two others shifted upward to take their place. A pattern was forming. The cells moved to accommodate the flow of their inhabitants’ emotions and control. Suddenly two new mage cells appeared at the bottom from a holding station somewhere below.
Magic flowed from the grid out into the tubes that led out of the complex, presumably to whatever defensive spells the Department maintained.
It wasn't completely unlike the Third Layer's setup for Awakening mages. There were cages in both settings, but there was something a lot more personal about the ten cells in the Western Territories' compound. The circular shape made it possible for everyone to see and communicate with each other if desired, the caregivers were no more than ten feet away and interacted personally with each of mages, and there was an ability to exit after a certain point in the process. In contrast, this was a more astringent, inhuman manufacturing design.
It was also notable that each mage here wore an unbreakable cuff—already regulated to stay beneath the level their Awakening could create. The complex here would skim that magic right off the top.
The mages in the Third Layer got to experience the full feeling of Awakening—over-extensions of their magic included.
In one of the brand-new ground floor containers, a thirteen or fourteen-year-old mage in the most awkward stage of physical life banged against the reinforced glass and shouted something as we passed. I shot a quick look at the console station mages, but they ignored him and us. The two dozen mages who were standing in the open space of the room taking notes in the air while watching the cells and sending commands to the console mages, ignored him as well—or at least gave no empathetic reaction to him. He was just another dog in the mass kennel.
“Worst two weeks,” Kita repeated. “And initiatory day beat the other thirteen days by a mile in misery.”
Magic ruptured in bursts from the newly initiated boy. He hunched over his cuff, then started banging on the glass again, slipping painfully and slowly down to the floor.
I veered toward the command console, and only Constantine's hand wrapping around my wrist stopped me from going to destroy it.
“You can't. You'll kill them all. And we are going to be caught if you don’t stop gaping like a tourist,” he said across our restricted three-person loop.
“What, Awakening in a cage wasn't the deliriously nationalistic event that magicists like Straught declare it to be?” Patrick responded.
I looked at Axer to see what he thought of the attack on his teammate, but he was paying attention elsewhere. “Camille is fiercely loyal,” he sent across the same restricted channel. “She will defend all which is around her, and she grew up to think nationalism equaled loyalty.”
It was always a mistake to think he wasn't paying attention.
“Where does the energy go?” I asked the group at large, watching the magic fly through the tubes and conduits as we continued our long trek through the room.
“It goes directly to the Department’s warding and defense system, to be used to defend the layer against threats both internal and external.”
“So, they can use it at their discretion, as long as it is used in defense of the layer?”
“They are susceptible to audit by the council and a writ at large. But the accountants know how to manipulate the accounts. There has never been a speck of impropriety. The necessary amounts of magic go where they say they are going, while any excess is stored for emergencies or public works. It's a popular program. Giving back magic to the world,” Patrick said derisively.
“You are lucky you are from Antioch,” Kita said to Patrick. “They let you Awaken at home.”
“We still have to pay the magic tithe and the Department always audits.”
“Better than this.”
It wasn’t just inane chatter, I knew. They were trying to keep communications light and nerves at bay—just like they did during intense gaming sessions.
“Or you can do like the Dares, and not give back their full share,” Patrick said as we turned into a wider corridor. “Itlantes—always so suspect.”
I looked at Axer.
“We tithe the magic, but we don't allow auditing,” he said. “Everyone thinks we are stockpiling.”
“Can’t deny the truth,” Loudon chirped.
I didn’t bother to ask if it was or wasn’t the truth. It would only make sense to someone always as prepared as Axer to have stockpiles, and no story about his father had made me think differently about Maximilian Dare’s goals either. “How did you get that to happen?” I asked Axer.
“War.” The severe expression on his borrowed features hid the amusement in his mental voice.
“What about you, Leandred?” Patrick asked with a grin in his voice. “I know you didn’t join the riffraff in the sterile cells here.”
“The same,” he answered briefly.
“You Awakened at your manor?”