The Live Soldier Trilogy Box Set

by Liam Clay

  A man steps forward. He is the only person I’ve seen with mud on his forehead as well as his cheeks. Time to gamble.

  “Good afternoon!” I call out before he can say anything. “You wouldn’t happen to be Ven, formerly of Girders, would you?” A murmur runs through the crowd.

  “I would.” The man replies. He’s tall and blocky, with tight skin drawn over broad features. “Who the hell are you?”

  “A friend of Ella’s. And by extension of yours as well, I hope.”

  The man laughs loudly - putting on a show for the crowd, I think. “You show up here dressed for World War Four and wish to call me friend?”

  Two can play that game; I laugh as well. “When you put it that way, I can see how it might sound odd. But to be honest, we didn’t expect to find you here at all. Our attire was chosen with your landlords in mind. Speaking of which, where have they gotten off to?”

  “The Sanctuary has no landlord.” He spreads his arms to take in the driftwood town. “When my pilgrims and I found this place, there was nothing here but empty lagoon. Since then, others have heard the call and come to join us. Them we call latecomers.”

  So that explains the mud, then. Nice little hierarchy he’s got set up here, with him sitting firmly on top. Time to throw a spanner in the works.

  “I wasn’t talking about your Sanctuary.” I point to the curtain wall. “I’m talking about the bastards who live in there.”

  “No people live there.” He says brusquely. “The wall is our defender; it protects us from the horrors that roam the interior. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, though.”

  “You’re right, we don’t. But we would like to.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if we can’t find a way to kill these horrors you mention, Carlel Korezon is going to murder all of our children.”

  Disbelief greets this statement, but Ven quiets the crowd with a gesture. I wonder if his power is based on effective governance, mystical mumbo jumbo or some combination of the two. At his order, a plank is lowered over the water, and we are allowed to cross over into the town.

  I can feel how close the platoon is to panic. But then Delez asserts his persona through the link, and with his calming influence we are able to project a steady, almost relaxed aura. Which is a good thing, because it’s hard to imagine a more volatile situation. These townies are a surly bunch. They make way grudgingly, closing back in around us as we trail their leader through a maze of walkways.

  This place is a scavenger’s dream. Steel drums, plastic tarps, torn fishing nets and a broad spectrum of other found items have been used in its construction. Every lane and turning reminds me powerfully of Girders. Ven leads us to the town’s largest building, which looks like the illegitimate offspring of a church and circus tent. Repurposed sails have been stretched over a framework of PVC piping, creating a wedge shaped structure that leans right up against the curtain wall. Ven stops in front of it and turns to face us.

  “Which one of you is in charge?”

  Delez and I both point to each other.

  “Fine, the two of you can come inside.” He scans our group with appraising eyes, and then points to Peace. “Her too. Everyone else waits here.”

  He seems to anticipate an argument, but gets none. Except for Tikal the group will hear everything we say anyway, and she seems content to wait and see how all of this plays out.

  The building’s interior is hushed and still aside from the sails overhead, which breathe in time with the gusting winds outside. The floor is made of rubber storage bins that have been sliced at the corners and flattened, then layered on top of one another. Aloe vera planters demarcate walkways; battered doors have been duct taped together to create segmented wall screens. The scuff of feet causes me to turn, and I see that the two lookouts have followed us inside. A closer inspection pegs them as family - siblings, probably. The girl looks to be the older of the two. Ven leads the way to a cushioned alcove and motions for us to sit.

  “So.” He lets the word hang in the air before continuing. “What were your orders? Kill us right away, or bring us back in chains to be made an example of?”

  “Come again?” Delez replies.

  “Cut the innocent act, you’re not dressed for it. The Topsiders obviously found out we were here and sent you to deal with us.”

  I shake my head. “You’ve got it all wrong. We met your ex-wife in Girders a while back, and she happened to mention your pilgrimage. But finding you here was just a coincidence.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Delez shrugs in apparent indifference (a worthy feat, considering his actual state of mind). “We can see that. But opinions don’t change facts.”

  “So I’m honestly supposed to swallow that story about you trying to save your children?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “That’s it? Uh, yeah?” He turns to me. “You seem to be the blabbermouth of the duo. So please, tell me something that sounds a bit more like the truth.”

  There are a number of things I could say that might convince him. But although we’re probably inside the island’s comms deadzone by now, this conversation will still be uploaded to Porter if we ever make it out of here.

  “It’s like we said.”

  Ven sighs. “Have it your way.” He snaps his fingers, and eight men step out from behind door screens nearby. I try to rise, but four of them wrestle me back to the ground. Delez almost reaches his shear before being similarly incapacitated. Peace makes no move at all. After a moment of confusion, the man assigned to guard her settles for an intimidating loom.

  “I know you are communicating with your people outside.” Ven says angrily. “So you can tell them that if they try anything, we kill the girl.”

  He looks directly at Peace as he says this, as though forcing himself to confront the barbarity of his own actions. Then he walks to a battered cabinet in a corner of the alcove.

  “Since you refuse to even do me the courtesy of fabricating a convincing lie, I see no choice but to force the issue.”

  Returning to us, he straps a black collar around the exposed skin of my neck.

  “Do you know what that is?” He asks, pointing to the device.

  I shake my head, using the opportunity to check my range of mobility. My captors - fisherman, by the smell of them - don’t give an inch.

  “It is a Topsider’s boudoir game. Erotic asphyxiation and truth-or-dare combined. Every time you tell a lie, it cinches tighter. There is a safe word that deactivates it, but you need to satisfy me before I will say it.”

  “Could you at least have washed it first? Damn thing is still sticky.”

  He ignores this salvo. “Go ahead, tell me a lie.”

  “Alright. I’m ever so happy we convinced our platoon to surrender peacefully.”

  A red light flashes at my neck, and the collar tightens.

  “You see? Works like a charm, even after its float across the Gulf. It can even tell if you withhold information. You Topsiders take your depravity seriously, I’ll give you that. Oh, and for every lie you tell, we take off one of blondie here’s fingers.”

  I look over at Peace, who flashes me an enthusiastic thumbs up.

  “Well, you seem to have your bases covered.” I tell Ven. “Time for the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.”

  It will have to be guns ablazing too, and let Porter make of it what he will.

  “We’re Underworlders like you. I used to sell drugs Topside though, until someone tried to blow up Letiva Peron and me along with her. I escaped and returned to the Underworld, only to get attacked there too - by an entire regiment of Thresh mercenaries this time. A regiment bought and paid for by Carlel Korezon. To punish the Underworld, was the official slant, for the attempt on Letiva and another explosion, both of which he blamed on us. During the attack, Korezon kidnapped our children. And using them as leverage, he has conscripted the entire Underworld into a new army. We’re just the tip of the iceberg.”
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  Everyone looks to the collar. When nothing happens, Ven’s eyes widen.

  “And he wants you to invade the Hive? Might as well order you to attack the moon.”

  “I know. That’s why he isn’t sending anyone he cares about to do it. But there’s more. What no one else knows is that the operative who tried to blow up Letiva was from the Thresh as well. So the odds are good that Korezon hired her too.”

  Ven looks like he’s swallowed a mouthful of raw tripe.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “That Korezon orchestrated one, and probably both bombings, himself.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “To gain popular support for his attack on us. Topsiders actually have a lot of repressed guilt where the Underworld is concerned. Only an act of direct aggression would have been enough to sway public opinion. Korezon knew this.”

  Ven’s expression shifts through anger, suspicion and grief before settling on cautious wonder.

  “That’s quite a story. Do you have any proof?”

  “Aside from the fact that I just proved I believe it? Only the logic behind the thing. Opacity can no longer support itself. The city has been buying its food from the Thresh for years, but that situation has recently destabilized. This has left Korezon in desperate need of an alternative. And if he can find a solution that cleans out the Underworld at the same time, he will see that as killing two birds with one stone. We have always been a resource drain in his eyes.”

  Ven looks away, but I can tell I’ve got him.

  “What should we do?” He asks at last, sounding more tired than anything else.

  “First, you can unstrap this cumstained piece of Velcro from around my neck. And then we can have a nice peaceful chat.”

  The cult leader nods grimly.

  “Marshmallows.”

  The collar drops to the floor. Then he commands the fisherman to release us. They comply, and - with the looks of people who don’t understand much what they’ve just heard but are pretty sure none of it was good - depart. Thus returning the situation to what it was at the start of our meeting.

  “I will not apologize for my actions.” Ven tells us. “My people are my first priority. You must understand that.”

  Delez massages a knee-shaped indent in his back. “We do. We still think you’re a massive turd, but we do.”

  “Another cross for me to bear. So, where do we go from here?”

  I have my answer ready.

  “You can start by telling us everything you know about the situation inland. Then you can let us go. And when other Underworlders come - and they will - do the same for them. On the upside, it’s not all bad news. As I mentioned, something has happened to the Thresh. We don’t know what, only that they’ve cut off contact with Opacity. But this development has forced Korezon to play his hand early, which presents us with some opportunities. For example, only one of his soldiers is traveling with our platoon.”

  “The red haired woman?”

  “That’s right. How did you know?”

  “Because she looks like she could eat the rest of you for breakfast.”

  “And still be up for an early brunch. But even she is far from being fanatically loyal to Korezon. Tikal is former RDC.”

  Ven lets out a low whistle. “Then she probably hates him as much as we do. They didn’t take well to being shut down, as I recall.”

  Glancing past us, he addresses the lookouts, both of whom have remained impassive throughout. “Kai, Olia, you can leave us now.”

  “But godfather!” The girl protests. “They’re still armed.”

  “Indeed they are. And quite remarkably, it must be said. Do you really think your paring knife would do much good against all that tech?”

  I turn in time to see Olia’s face darken. “You might be surprised.”

  “Perhaps I would. But as long as I am caretaker of this Sanctuary, you are bound to obey me. And like you said, I’m your godfather. So when I say scram, you scram.”

  As brother and sister trudge off, I find myself warming to Ven in spite of recent events.

  “Alright, what do want to know?” He asks when they’ve gone.

  “Might as well start at the beginning. Why you left Girders, how long you’ve been here, etcetera.”

  “Fair enough. As Ella may have explained, my people believe that a physical location is capable of possessing a soul. That soul nurtures and protects its residents, and we return the favor, thereby creating a holy circle. But in order to flourish, a circle must remain in equilibrium. Too large a place cannot be protected by too few people, for example.”

  He pauses for breath before resuming his story.

  “In Girders, however, the opposite situation occurred. The only way to save it was for some of us to leave. And so I did, seven years ago, along with a few hundred likeminded pilgrims. We intended to settle on the Gulf Islands, but a squall pushed our ships off course and we washed up here. We were terrified at first. We knew all the stories about the Hive, of course. But the wall seemed to offer some protection, and no one immediately emerged from behind it to slaughter us. And so we waited: living at sea, catching fish, collecting rain water in stretched tarps. Watching the wall.

  Not once did we see a sign of life. A month later the rains stopped, ending our supply of fresh water. Out of options, we came ashore. No one stopped us. So we planted roots and started building. Since then our numbers have swelled tenfold. None of the latecomers are from Girders; they’re just refugees looking for a new life. Many aren’t from Opacity at all.”

  “Interesting. And the mud markings?”

  “Are the original pilgrims who travelled here with me. I was against the idea, but it seems like a harmless enough way to recognize them for their courage.”

  I’m not so sure about that, but think it best to keep my opinion private.

  “And in all this time, have you ever sent anyone over the wall?”

  “No. I strongly believe that the Sanctuary is enough for us. But some have gone without my blessing, promising to return with word of the inside. None ever have.”

  “And so you concocted stories about monsters within the wall.”

  “To protect my people, yes.” He leans forward. “But you are different. For one thing, you are infinitely better equipped than any force I could muster. And you have no attachments to the people here, or to the men who went over the wall.” He shakes his head sadly. “It’s been years, and I am still having to detain the children of those who left.”

  “Detain?”

  “Yes, detain. For their own good. If they were to leave in search of their fathers, next it would be their friends going off looking for them. And then the families of those friends. It’s a vicious cycle. But no one will want to follow you.”

  “That’s comforting.” Delez says dryly.

  “It is for me. So I’ll make you a deal. I will show you how to cross the wall, in return for your promise to report back any trace you find of our missing people.”

  “I can’t guarantee we will be able to spend much time looking.” I reply. “Korezon wants us running reconnaissance on the island.”

  The cult leader’s jaw tightens. “And you plan to follow those orders to the letter? Maybe you are less a pawn in this than you let on.”

  My own anger flares to match his. Rising to one knee, I pick up the collar and put it back around my neck.

  “Let me tell you about this recurring dream I have. Picture Korezon’s Aviary, high up in the three hundreds. Blue sky to the horizons, buttery sunlight melting over polished marble floors. Gorgeous. I am working as an arborist in the dream, pruning an exotic tree. But like the tree, I am a plant of sorts. Not what I seem. A chime sounds, and an elevator door slides open not far from me. A man steps out, flanked by half a dozen security guards. It’s Carlel. His crocodile skin shoes ring off the marble like gunshots. He walks right by me. And I use the opportunity to plant my pruning shears in that fat, flubbery neck of his.�
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  I mime the motion, making no attempt to keep the smile off my face.

  “His security detail guns me down a second later. But it’s a good dream, a fantasy. And there is no Freudian subtext here. It means I would sacrifice anything, including my own life, to kill Korezon. With one exception. Her name is Sophie. She’s seven. Hair like molten gold, manners of a diplomat. My daughter. And he has her.”

  My little speech has its intended effect.

  “You can sleep here in the Bellows tonight.” Ven tells us solemnly. “And tomorrow, Kai and Olia will show you where to scale the wall.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Ven’s godchildren wake us as first light filters through the patchwork skin of Bellows. I sit up with a groan. Yesterday’s exertions are making themselves felt, and a night spent on the floor hasn’t helped either. The others look to be in similar straights. But the siblings are impatient to be off, and honestly, they’re not the only ones. I’ve got questions that want answering.

  After a hurried breakfast of dried fish, we leave Ven’s abode and make our way through the sleeping town. No one seems inclined to speak. But the Sanctuary breathes its own life into the silence: tarps flapping, ropes stretching, docks creaking like the floorboards of a haunted house. The sounds mingle with the cry of gulls. The water beneath our feet - which doesn’t cycle with the tide - adds odors of decaying seaweed and old engine oil to the mix.

  The town eventually gives way to empty green lagoon. Off to our right, the sea glimmers in the cloud-shredded morning light, while the curtain wall dominates our left hand side. A featureless black expanse over fifty meters high, the thing positively screams of the alien. Which is exactly what its architects were going for, I’m sure.

  The siblings guide us through a network of mud paths until we reach the wall’s foot, where the first in a series of stanchions has been hammered into the lagoon floor. Planks have been laid across them to create a narrow walkway. Kai goes first, trailing his fingers over the wall’s light-drinking facade. We fall in behind him, with Olia bringing up the rear.