by Reese Hogan
The galvanized light, though, gleamed off tanks, military trucks, a few small aircraft, and even a midget sub and a stack of torpedoes. The northern and eastern walls of the room, including the corner, were made up of rock, rather than steel. The lab had been built right up against a mountain, and the reason was obvious; swathes of dekatite had been uncovered, until monstrous expanses of the dark gray and silver stone sparkled in the artificial light. Blackwood realized they must shroud from one section to another during their experiments. Every vehicle in the room was probably outfitted with arphanium pipes. Blackwood couldn’t help glancing at the torpedoes. She hadn’t heard they were testing nonpiloted vessels yet. But the benefits were undeniable. Send one of those through and they wouldn’t even need to risk a life.
Zurlig closed the door behind the four of them, locking it for good measure. “Let’s see what you got.”
Blackwood pulled the uniform’s right sleeve up, exposing the lightning streak of dekatite branded into her arm. Beside her, Marson sucked in his breath. He put out a hand.
“May I?”
“Go ahead, sir,” Blackwood said.
Marson ran his fingers over the thin strands of deep gray, sparkling metallically, that ran between her wrist and forearm. Blackwood didn’t feel anything at all; it was like the dekatite wasn’t even part of her skin. The tingling that plagued it hung deep underneath, in her nerves, too deep to be affected. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Holland peeling off his left glove for Zurlig. She couldn’t see anything from her angle, but Zurlig bent over it, eyebrows raised.
“They’re quite different, aren’t they?” she said. “Yours, Mila, looks like a streak of lightning came right out of the vein and into your skin. Your associate’s, on the other hand… there’s a circular design here, sort of, distorted a bit. Almost like they were different… creatures… that struck you. Or different phenomena.” She held Holland’s hand flat with both her own, splaying his fingers so wide that Holland grimaced. “Did you feel anything?” Zurlig asked him.
“Something grabbed my hand, ma’am,” said Holland. “And then, right after, there was a shock. Energized, like a galvanized jolt. Blackwood was thrown. She lost consciousness.”
“But not you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Has anything happened since then? Away from the shrouding?”
“Just a tingling,” said Blackwood. “No pain. No… creatures, nothing like that.”
“Tingling,” said Marson. “Like an energized shock? Under the skin?”
“Maybe,” said Blackwood.
Zurlig released Holland’s hand. Holland quickly folded his hand back to his side, but not before Blackwood caught a glimpse of a curved dekatite line against his palm, a little thicker than hers. The shape of the boat itself, maybe? No. She could almost put her finger on it… but Zurlig broke in before she could follow the line of thought any further.
“Was there dekatite on the boat?”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Blackwood. “One of my deckmen.”
“With you at the time this happened?”
“At the time of the accident, yes. At the time of the markings, no.”
“Was it someone you knew well?”
“I… I thought so.”
Zurlig nodded. Her gaze lingered on Holland for several moments before she turned her attention back to Blackwood. “There was one experiment that resulted in a marking similar to yours.”
Blackwood’s heart leapt. “That means–”
“And in that one case, we were able to shroud the subject without any sort of protection afterward.”
“No protection?” The bottom dropped from Blackwood’s stomach. “But I’d heard no one had successfully shrouded without shielding and not been killed.”
“That was the only time,” Marson said from behind her. “We’ve tried replicating it other ways. Suits, for example, but we could never go that small with arphanium pipes. And simply holding arphanium resulted in horrendous deaths, even when we did put a suit of metal on individual soldiers. But sending soldiers through by themselves is something we’ve wanted to do for a long time.”
“But what about the mark?” Blackwood asked. “How did it happen last time?”
“During shrouding,” said Zurlig. “Same as you. The subject who received it was the only survivor in that group.”
“And then afterward they were able to shroud… unshielded.”
“Indeed.”
“And then what? Where is this person now?”
“Gone,” said Zurlig.
“You mean dead,” said Blackwood.
“It wasn’t connected to the mark. There were… other circumstances.”
“You mean the factory accident? The one that killed my parents?” Zurlig just stared at her, unblinking.
“How long after this experiment did that happen?” Blackwood said sharply.
“You know I can’t talk about it.”
“Just tell me if it was connected.”
“Respectfully, Officer Blackwood, you need to stop asking. It is not within your authorization.”
Blackwood’s breath was speeding up. This was different than the building anger she was used to. There was a seed of real fear in there that she hardly recognized. She tried her breathing exercise anyway. Three deep breaths. My anger is the enemy. Not…
She couldn’t stay focused. Her thoughts burst out before she could stop them. “This is insane! I was afraid of you cutting us up, but making us shroud without a scrap of protection? I saw the bodies in Desert Crab’s first accident – they were torn up, mutilated, like a nest of cleaving scorps had torn them apart!” She pointed at Holland, who stood frozen, watching. “If not for the two of us, every sailor on that submarine would be dead. And this is how you repay us? By forcing us into the shrouding realm unshielded?”
She hoped desperately she was wrong, and that she’d somehow, miraculously, jumped to the wrong conclusion. But Zurlig broke that hope with her next words.
“I’m sorry, Mila, but in these times, it’s worth the risk. Those of us who worked with Scicorp Industries have reason to believe we can’t leave marks like these uninvestigated. Please. Try to trust me.”
“We’ll give you a single crystal of arphanium,” said Marson. “It should allow you to pass.”
“But aren’t those the times that resulted in horrendous deaths?” Blackwood protested.
“Not in people marked as you are.”
“One person,” said Blackwood. “You only mentioned one person. A person who died shortly afterward anyway. You don’t actually know that we won’t die.”
“That’s why they’re called experiments,” said Zurlig, an edge of impatience entering her voice. “Seeing whether you survive your first unshielded trip into the shrouding realm is only the first step. It’ll just be long enough for you to give us a good report of your surroundings. To see if the dekatite mark draws any creatures, and whether they seem hostile. You’ll be in and out before you know it.”
Seeing whether you survive is only the first step. With those words, Blackwood realized the horrible truth. They didn’t care. Despite Zurlig knowing her as a child, despite everything Blackwood had done for the Belzene military, they were more concerned with using those marks of theirs. Maybe they wanted them to survive the shrouding realm without protection – but they didn’t necessarily expect them to. They were more interested in the outcome of the experiment than in keeping either of them alive.
And her duty, as an officer in the navy, was to offer up her body to those ends.
Zurlig, seeing the despair in her eyes, softened. “You don’t have to walk into the dekatite right now, Mila. We can take this one step at a time.”
Blackwood nodded, swallowing. “OK. Yes. What’s the next step then?”
Zurlig turned toward Holland. “We’ll see how it affects your colleague, and make adjustments from there.”
Panic flashed across Holland’s eyes. His gaze flitted from side
to side as he took in the huge space. Trapped. Blackwood’s fists clenched at her sides, and she started to speak. But Holland beat her there.
“What if I refuse?” he said, raising his chin. “Will you force me? Like a war prisoner?”
“Refuse to help your country, when you’re given the means?” said Zurlig coolly. “I’d have every right. If you don’t cooperate, it makes you either a coward or a traitor, and neither is something we need in our armed forces during wartime.”
“I’ll do it!” Blackwood spat. “You’re not touching him.”
Zurlig turned her head, a brittle smile on her face. “I have no doubts about your willingness, Mila. That’s not the issue here. I want to know whether your colleague is willing to help.”
“You’re saying you don’t trust him?”
“In past experiments, we had more luck with some people than others. Holland’s experience during shrouding – then and now – may differ significantly from yours; and that will tell us something. If your experiences are similar, that tells us something, too. At the moment, I’m not speaking of trust. I am speaking of the willingness of each of you to help us. If you are willing and he is not… well, that tells us something, too.”
Blackwood gritted her teeth. “Give me the arphanium crystal. I am Holland’s commanding officer, and he’s not doing anything without my permission. I’m taking point on this.”
“I need to hear it from Holland,” said Zurlig, still staring at the young man. “This is important. I need to know whether he’s planning to refuse.”
For several moments, Holland glared at the scientist. “Give me the crystal,” he said.
“I won’t allow it!” Blackwood said immediately.
But Marson had already gone to a table in the back and was bringing over a length of crystal pipe, sharply cut, hollow, and glowing with a faint, inner light. Marson held it out to Holland. Holland took it with his unmarked hand, hiding the marked one by his body. Blackwood stepped forward.
“Let him do it, Mila,” Zurlig said.
Blackwood glanced in her direction – and froze. The scientist had a pistol trained on her. Blackwood had never even heard her pull it.
“You are soldiers,” Zurlig said. “Your job is to do as you’re told.”
“I want to speak to Admiral Farring!” Blackwood demanded. “Before this goes any further!” There was a buzzing in her head, making everything feel surreal. The tingling in her skin had magnified, so her whole forearm seemed to vibrate with it.
“That’s not an option,” said Zurlig. “We’ve been given the go-ahead on this from a higher authority than your admiral.”
“The go-ahead on killing us.” In a sudden flash of clarity, Blackwood saw what was going on. “You think Holland is a traitor. You think he was responsible for what happened. That’s why you feel OK about experimenting on him. Why you’d force him into it.”
“I don’t know that Holland was the traitor. But I do know a traitor was involved. Given everything you’ve told me, he is a very likely suspect.”
“That’s a load of kaullix shit!” Blackwood bit out. “He stood by Mahanner and I when we fixed that breach. He was up there with me! He–”
“He was holding something,” Zurlig cut in, “in his hand. Most likely dekatite.”
“I told you, it wasn’t him with the dekatite! Are you going to accuse me of having dekatite, too?”
“Mila, think about this reasonably…”
Pins and needles shot through the mark in Blackwood’s arm. She felt heady from trying to make sense of everything, and the weight of her responsibility for Holland was overwhelming. They hadn’t been there; they hadn’t been drowning in a freezing torrent of water, holding up a patch keeping the entire ocean and Xeil knew how many otherworldly monsters from breaking through, and knowing that without Holland’s help, their strength would fail and the whole crew would be killed. They hadn’t been through the first accident. They didn’t know.
Breathe! Keep it together! One deep breath. If they kill Holland… Another. Nadia Zurlig is not my… But she was. Holland was going to die, and it was her fault.
Blackwood’s third breath faltered in the same moment that a bolt of lightning shot from overhead, searing her eyes and sending a surge of scalding heat through the room. Blackwood only realized what happened because she was watching Zurlig, and she saw the scientist crumple. Thunder erupted through the lab, so loud that glass shattered. Other bolts hit too, lighting up the room around her. The flashes seared through her retinas, blinding her. Blackwood was barely conscious of her body tipping in disorientation. She felt the rough surface of the laboratory floor slam against her right side. The scent of burning and sulfur was so overpowering, it almost made her sick.
When her vision broke through again, in patchy flashes of strangely lit shapes, the first thing she saw was a jagged scar of broken concrete, zagging out from between her hands.
What? Lightning hit us? How in the…?
“Mila!” someone called feebly.
Zurlig. Still alive. Blackwood looked up, pushing herself to hands and knees. She crawled, though her elbows threatened to give out every time she put weight on them. She was shivering violently, mostly from adrenaline. She wondered if she were injured somehow, but except for the gunshot wound, she didn’t feel pain. Just a hammering heart and a shaking body; a head so light, it felt it might drift away at any moment. Not far from losing consciousness, she thought. Fight it. Where was Holland? She tried to call out, but her voice didn’t come.
“Mila…”
Through the smoke, she saw the scientist. The woman’s eyes were closed, the skin around them blackened, even gone in some places. Bone showed through over her right cheekbone. Blackwood felt nausea collecting in her throat, and choked back the urge to retch. But she didn’t stop until she was at Zurlig’s side. She sat back on her knees, putting her hand on the woman’s tattered sleeve.
Zurlig moved at her touch. “Mila?”
“Yes.” Blackwood’s voice came out hoarse, barely audible.
“This happened before,” Zurlig gasped out. “Your parents… the factory…”
Blackwood sucked in her breath. “The accident? It was… lightning? Like this?”
“Yes. But I thought… circumstances different. From the wall… but no. Her.”
“Her? Her who?”
“Idyna Larine Onosylvani.”
“Onosylvani? The Dhavvie woman who requested amnesty?”
“Yes. President Wixxer gave her to SAI, for studying. It was because of her…”
“The lightning?” Blackwood said when she didn’t continue. “Because of her?”
“Yes.” Zurlig’s voice was softer now, so she barely breathed the words. “Because… Dhavnak… the monsters… it was key. But the assassin… that Dhavnak assassin…”
“At the lab? That’s where it happened? But I always thought…”
“Yes. As you were meant to.” Zurlig looked up at Blackwood with her closed eyes. She tried to speak three times before she got the words out. “She was Dhavnak.”
“Yes. I know.”
“The monsters…” She shuddered again, gasping. Her breath came out in a rattle, and was never drawn back in. Zurlig was gone.
Blackwood sat back, feeling ill. Her own government had experimented on the Dhavnak woman who had come to them for protection. This was the big secret Zurlig had held back from telling her. But it hadn’t been what she was trying to reveal at the end. It was very important to her that the lab subject was Dhavvie. What did it mean?
“CSO?”
“Holland!” Blackwood looked up. Only a single overhead light still shone, and even that flickered erratically. An overturned table toppled to the floor as Holland pushed it off. His face was blackened along one side, with the bloody edges of a scrape showing beneath it. He looked at Blackwood with wild eyes.
“Marson’s dead,” he said. “And that – whatever that was – it wasn’t an air raid. The scientists wer
e struck. Targeted.”
“Targeted?” Blackwood said. “What do you mean?”
“The way they were pushing you, you trying to protect me, them alone being struck, the… the tingling…” Holland swallowed, his eyes pinned on Blackwood’s. “I know it sounds crazy. But I think you did it.”
Chapter 7
ANDREW’S ENCOUNTER
The day after Cu Zanthus got the call from Holland, he left the house so early in the morning that Andrew never saw him. He returned just after midday. Looking for work, he explained. Might have found a job as a fire watcher at a clothing factory, keeping an eye out for incendiary bombs on the overnight shift. He told Andrew he was going by Zane, keeping his true origins toned down. The only danger, he added with a laugh, was getting snared by Belzen’s draft.
“I’ve been limping,” he said, his lip quirking up. “Got the idea from you.”
“Wouldn’t be so funny if your foot hurt like mine,” Andrew grumbled.
He swept the shards of glass in his room into a cookie sheet, not particularly carefully. The day before had passed in a blur – coffee at the intermittently operating Willow Cafe, gambling with Cu Zanthus and a couple other draft-dodgers down at the trainyard, then more alcohol – and he’d never gotten around to cleaning up the mess.
Andrew’s head was still fuzzy. He wasn’t in as good a place as he’d been the day before – or the previous night, for that matter. If Cu Zanthus weren’t here, he’d leave the mess and crawl back into bed. Or maybe he’d lay on the couch and look up at the family photos that had never been taken down, staring at that picture of himself grinning as a toddler in his mother’s arms. Maybe he’d go back to his parents’ notes and while away the next three days, without food, without sleep. The mere thought pulled at him, even now. Three more days to put behind him, instead of ahead. Days where he could analyze the swoop of Mother’s cursive letters, or watch Father’s words squeeze closer and closer together as his ideas ran faster than his fingers. His favorite parts were when his parents were working together and their handwriting shared a page, creating a back and forth of ideas that was almost like hearing them speak. We lost another two subjects today, Father would say, and Mother would add, But learned three important directions for next time, dear, don’t lose hope yet.