Breakout

by Ann Aguirre

  “Yes.” He really didn’t know what she wanted from him.

  Dr. Landau had said this was a special program, but she’d used the word “investigation.” Jael didn’t know what an ethics violation was, either. Maybe he should ask?

  “If you’re feeling better, I have some questions.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I’ll be testing you on the following traits, JL: desire, will, consciousness, ethics, personality, insight, humor, and ambition.”

  He nodded.

  “What is it that you want from life?” she asked first.

  Confusion built at his temples, flowering into pain. You’re not a person. You’re a thing. You will obey.

  “Do I have a life?” That wasn’t the answer she wanted, he could tell. But he’d never been allowed to want anything. “For the pain to stop, I guess. To be treated better by the scientists.”

  Somehow, she was frightening him more than the lab techs because her disappointment could hurt him in ways that he couldn’t yet imagine. Dr. Parvati made a note on her handheld.

  “What would you choose to do if you could do anything?” she asked.

  “Be a person,” he said without hesitation.

  That, she liked. Her smile deepened, and she gave him an approving nod. “That’s good, JL. You may find this question disconcerting but . . . who are you?”

  That stumped him, so he gave the answer he had. “Subject JL489.”

  The sadness surfaced again as she leaned forward. “You haven’t given yourself a name?”

  His eyes widened. “I can do that?”

  “Mmm. Subject limited in self-awareness, little actualization.” That didn’t sound good, whatever it meant.

  “I’m Jael,” he said then, hoping desperately to show her what she wanted to see.

  “That’s just an abbreviation of your test-subject identification,” she said gently. “And I’m the one who shortened it.”

  Worried, he gripped the edge of the table, all the food he’d eaten roiling in his stomach. I can’t get sick. I can’t get sick.

  Then she asked a bunch more questions, and he didn’t know the answers. They were . . . situations, more like. What would you do if . . . All right then, now listen to this and pick option A, B, or C. Most of the time, he had no idea what she was even talking about.

  Finally, he said in frustration, “How could I save anyone? I’m always in the lab. I’m in restraints. I couldn’t, I can’t—”

  “Hm.” Her expression seemed to darken as she murmured, “Inability to envision theoretical situations,” and made a note on her device. “No ethical awareness.”

  “You keep using that word,” he whispered. “And I don’t know what it means.”

  “Which one?”

  “‘Ethical.’”

  “Oh. It’s the ability to distinguish right from wrong.”

  “It’s wrong that they keep me here. It’s wrong that they hurt me.”

  Dr. Parvati sighed softly. “That’s what I’m here to determine. Right now, you have no legal status or recourse, JL. None of your counterparts do. I’m trying to establish whether Sci-Corp has the right to continue their research or if you should be released and educated properly so you can contribute to society.”

  Relatively little of what she said made sense to him. But he sensed that confusion would work against him. So he nodded, and said, “Oh.”

  Dr. Parvati followed with a long series of questions that seemed to contradict each other. You are impatient. You find it difficult to talk to others. Dreams are more important than principles. Your mood changes easily. You would break the rules if the situation called for it. He lost track of his answers, and his head was really aching by the time she stopped.

  I don’t want to do this anymore, he thought. I don’t like it. Going back to the lab was the only alternative, though, so he ignored the throbbing in his skull and braced for more.

  “Next question. A little boy steals a loaf of bread. Why do you think he does this?”

  “Someone told him to,” Jael guessed. That was the only reason he did anything, after all.

  “Ah.” Another tap of her device, laden with dissatisfaction.

  Her scent was changing, too, less of the sweetness. He didn’t know the reason for it, but it troubled him. Whatever we’re doing, I’m failing at it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “For what, JL?”

  “I think I’m doing this wrong.”

  “No, your honesty is exactly what we need to come to an accurate conclusion. I appreciate your cooperation and your candor. Only two more areas to address, then we’ll be done. What did the fish say when it swam into a cement wall?”

  Jael knew what a fish was, but from the books he’d looked at . . . “Fish can’t talk.”

  “The answer is ‘dam,’” she said, sighing.

  “Oh. The scientists say ‘damn’ sometimes.”

  “No concept or recognition of humor. Finally, JL, I need to learn whether you’ve ever tried to do anything.”

  “Like what?” he asked, blankly.

  “Anything. Have you ever done anything other than what you’re told?”

  What was the right answer? He didn’t always comply, and he was usually punished for it. So maybe the truth would work against him? His pulse accelerated.

  “I’m good. I do what the scientists ask.” He peered at her, desperate, hopeful.

  With a slump of her shoulders, she whispered, “No ambition. All right, I’ll take you back to Dr. Landau now.”

  “No, please don’t. I thought you were saving me.”

  “I wanted to.” Her sadness was real, her scent bitter.

  When she escorted him back to the lab, he screamed. Pain washed over him, and Landau’s face seemed strange and distorted. “Thanks for proving what I knew all along, 489. You’re not a person. You’re something I made. A monster.”

  Monster.

  The knife dug in.

  He screamed again.

  12

  Confession, Cleansing, Cruciation

  “Jael didn’t look good,” Martine said softly. “How could she do that to him?”

  Tam nodded, listening. It was clearly a rhetorical question.

  They’d completed their recon mission and discovered where Jael was imprisoned, but one of Silence’s patrols had them hemmed in, unable to cross the corridor they needed to in order to reach the ladder that led down to the docking bay. So for the moment, they were holed up and waiting for the area to clear. This had been a janitorial closet and was now mostly full of refuse.

  “Not good” was an understatement, even from the half glimpse of Jael they’d gotten from a distance and in the shadows. “Dred will take it hard if he doesn’t recover.”

  “Let’s not think about that now.”

  The footfalls came again, passing their hiding spot. Frustrating. It was almost like they were circling, searching for Tam and Martine, but he couldn’t fathom how they knew. We were careful. They didn’t see or hear us. And their olfactory sense must be diminished from the filthy abattoir they called home.

  “There’s something odd about Silence,” Tam whispered.

  “You’re just figuring that out?”

  “It’s more than her death fetish. Haven’t you noticed how well timed and executed her strikes are?”

  Sobering, Martine nodded. “It’s like she has eyes on us.”

  “But how . . . ?”

  The answer wasn’t forthcoming, and, outside, the killers kept circling. He closed his eyes, conscious of a weariness that went soul deep. Never once had he regretted the choices that landed him here, but now it seemed likely that his demise was imminent. A warm hand on his arm made Tam open his eyes, and when he did, Martine pressed close, her cheek against his, then her lips. Not the ti
me or place, but . . . he couldn’t deny her. The kiss tasted of sweetness, sorrow, and desperation.

  “Tell me your story,” she breathed when he pulled back.

  “Very well,” he said.

  There may not be another chance.

  Martine nestled her head against his shoulder as he began to speak. “I’m not sure how much you know about Tarnus . . . ?”

  “Nothing,” she admitted.

  “It’s core world with a volatile political history, and many turns ago, there was a revolution. A bloody coup put a tertiary branch of the royal family in power. They were corrupt, venal, and vicious. The people suffered.” There, that should suffice for background. “You’re probably wondering what I have to do with such matters.”

  “You guessed it.” She laced their fingers together, and that made it easier to talk.

  Odd. He’d almost forgotten the pleasure of confiding in someone. The spymaster keeps all secrets and spills none. But it was time to lay that mantle down, for as much as he wished otherwise, Dred was no true queen, and he didn’t serve a higher cause here.

  “I was raised in the palace . . . and I rose from kitchen help to a position of prominence in the cabinet. My official title was Minister of Intelligence.”

  “Bullshit.”

  He flickered a faint smile. “I could relate a very long story, one that would take hours in the telling. But at base, what I did to land myself here? I assassinated a puppet king, his regent, and a good quarter of their courtiers.”

  She asked a question that surprised him then. “Why?”

  “To put the rightful ruler back on the throne.” That wasn’t everything, but it encapsulated most. He had been fascinated with the beautiful young princess, forced into exile, her homeland stolen via charges of perversion, when she’d only been guilty of loving one of her handmaidens. From poring over early interviews, he had been convinced she would restore order and rule with both compassion and wisdom. So he went to work. And Queen Dina I returned to Tarnus with her consort, Soraya, to cheering and pageantry while he was hauled off in chains.

  “Was it worth it?”

  Tam thought for a few seconds, remembering how it felt to have the true queen visit him before his trial and offer private thanks. The once-banished queen’s face was no longer smooth as it had been in the vids he watched as a boy. In fact, she was quite old by the time his plan came to fruition. Those deaths had been the culmination of turns of scheming and arranging pieces on a galactic game board. And the last sacrifice, he had to make.

  Even a quiet revolution needed a scapegoat.

  “I’d do it again,” he said eventually. “It was necessary.”

  “Then I suppose that’s my answer.” She tilted her head quietly against his.

  • • •

  VOST almost passed out when Dred heated her knife and opened his wounds. Pain made him grit his teeth until he feared they’d break. She didn’t flinch or hesitate when the pus spurted out from beneath the crusty scabs, just cleared it away and pressed for more. That hurt like a bitch. He’d seen field medics with weaker stomachs. Her hands were brisk and efficient; he tried not to look down at the ruined mess that had been his chest. Closing his eyes seemed like the best option, and it seemed like forever since he’d slept.

  A cool hand briefly touched his forehead. It surprised him how good it felt, how much he wanted her palm to linger. I’ve lost my mind.

  “You’re running a fever.”

  “I know.”

  “You’re also aware that you’re pretty damn infected?”

  “That’s a hard fact to miss.”

  “Why didn’t you keep these wounds clean?”

  “You didn’t give me a whole lot of time,” he muttered. “And then Casto got my whole fragging squad blown up.”

  “That was your second’s name?” she asked.

  What does that matter? But he answered anyway. “Bringing him was the dumbest move I made, apart from taking the job in the first place.”

  “How did this happen, anyway?” Her hands felt icy prodding at his enflamed skin.

  “Some asshole chucked an acid grenade at me,” he snapped.

  “Looks like it worked better than expected. Since we weren’t allied at the time, I won’t apologize. If someone came into your house with kill orders, you’d do worse.”

  He thought of Jamal and how unlikely it was that he’d ever see him again weighed against the unspeakable things he’d already done for his son. “You’re right.”

  His head was swimming by the time she finished with his chest and applied Nu-Skin. It was definitely better than dirty bandages, probably better for him, even if it was expired. Gingerly, he shrugged back into his shirt.

  “How does that feel?” she asked.

  “I’ll live,” he said with a faint trace of irony.

  For now. But I guess that’s as much a guarantee as anyone gets.

  “Ready to take a look at the handheld?”

  “Where is it?”

  In reply, she handed it over. As expected, the unit was obsolete compared to the skin tech that had replaced external hardware, and it was completely dead. Not surprising. He’d have been startled and suspicious if the battery retained a charge after all these turns.

  “Can you fix it?”

  “Maybe. Find me some thin power cables, and we’ll see.”

  Once she left the dormitory, he slumped against the wall. Vost tried to stand and found his legs too shaky to bear weight. Damn. He had to repair the handheld so he could record a message for Jamal; he believed in contingency plans for the worst scenarios. The last time he saw his son, the boy was too medicated to recognize his own father. And before his illness worsened, he’d yelled at him for some idiotic reason. Vost couldn’t even remember why, now.

  A few minutes later, Dred returned with a few frayed cables. He opened the unit up and took a look at the hardware. It needed a good cleaning, so he grounded himself and went to work. This wasn’t his field of expertise, more of a hobby, but he’d always been better with machines than people. If you used the same process on a gadget, you got the same result, whereas different people reacted to the same stimuli in random and baffling ways.

  She leaned in close. “How does it look?”

  “Shouldn’t you be helping the others?” Vost tried not to show his discomfort, but he wished she wouldn’t tilt her head toward him that way.

  “Fine, I get it. Let me know if you find anything interesting.”

  “Will do.”

  • • •

  SILENCE studied the network of cuts, mapping the man before her as if memorizing alien topography, a luscious perusal of red rivers and blue veins. The scent of copper hung heavy in the air. This one had a capacity for pain the like of which she’d never seen before. In its own way, his tolerance was beautiful, like the darkness when a star winked out. Whether it was dying light or perishing flesh, nothing was more gorgeous than death.

  She gestured at the two who flanked her, and they knew what she meant, melting into the dark to leave her the sweet intimacy of getting to know her new love. In agony, he was exquisite, each twist, each writhe of his spine. And this one was so quiet, delicious with it, apart from the panting breaths he couldn’t help.

  He’s only screamed once. I should like to hear it again. But it’s hard to find unblemished skin now.

  She’d never seen anyone last so long. Most succumbed to death long before now, and she understood the allure. Silence never blamed those who couldn’t resist that dark seduction and chose to transcend rather than serve Death’s Handmaiden. Leaning close, she scrutinized his body from head to toe. His eyes were closed, but it didn’t matter. No matter where he went, he couldn’t escape. Silence set her blade to flesh and traced downward. A trickle of red blossomed, bright and beautiful. With trembling, delighted fingertips, she dipped
into the blood and tasted it. Pleasure spiraled through her, multiplying and infinite. He twitched. She painted his mouth red and kissed him.

  You feel it, too. It’s time. Time for you to join the ranks of the silent.

  It had been a long time since she took so much joy in a new disciple. With deft hands, she parted his lips and slipped a wafer-thin disc between them. He choked and tried to spit at the bitter flavor, but she sealed a palm over his mouth, leaving him to gasp through his nose. When she tilted his head, the medicine went down.

  Give it a moment. You’ll understand everything, then.

  His frantic thrashing slowed, and his eyes fluttered open. They were dreamy and unfocused, so she knew he was seeing the other side, as she always had. This time, when she touched his mouth, his lips opened voluntarily, tasted his own blood on her fingertips. A shiver went through her and she crawled onto the table, each trembling centimeter bringing her closer, blade in hand.

  He didn’t resist as she hovered above him. There was no need to ask what he wanted. She knew. The knife slipped between his lips and he didn’t cry out when she sliced his tongue out in a river of blood. The soft, fleshy muscle flexed when she pressed it between her fingertips, then she swallowed it whole.

  You’re mine now. Your voice belongs to Death.

  Blood filled his mouth and would choke him if she didn’t complete the ritual. So she tilted him forward, filled a bowl with it, and cauterized the wound. His breath came in panting moans that sent shivers through her. Once the danger passed, she submerged her hands in the red fluid up to her wrists and she rubbed her palms all over his body. The pleasure in such things had dimmed, but the way he responded to her touch brought it back.

  With blood-slick hands, she touched him once, twice. He jerked. Gasped.

  Yes, you’re the one.

  His fingers flexed where his wrists were pinioned as if he wanted to touch her. Soon enough. Let’s finish what we’ve started.

  13

  Wickedness Burns Like Fire

  In the security room, Dred sprawled before the monitor, watching the corridor feed.