Flesh Blood Steel

by David Jones

  “Do you speak French?” Hugo raised one eyebrow at Jake.

  “A little,” Jake said in English, kicking himself for staring. He should have acted more nonchalant.

  “Are you dangerous?” Hugo asked.

  “A little,” Jake said in French.

  Hugo laughed. “You’ll do,” he said, also in French. “We know what you are. We specialize in killing your kind. Just know that when you’re inside. Keep it in the front part of your skull and we won’t have any problems, no?”

  “No problems,” Jake said.

  Hugo led Jake and Moore into the house while the Brit who had met them at the airport took the others to find rooms for the night in an adjacent building.

  Inside, the house smelled as musty and dank as it looked. They entered a living room devoid of furnishings. Its wooden floors, which might once have been beautiful, were scratched and scuffed and even burned in several places. The power was out, or so Jake surmised. He couldn’t hear the nearly inaudible whine of televisions or computer screens, or even the bass hum of a refrigerator.

  He could hear the creak of upstairs floorboards and the murmur of voices. A woman was talking directly above him. Though her words were inaudible, Jake could tell by the tone that she was giving orders to several people in the room with her.

  She stopped speaking and the group broke up. They were all wearing boots. Jake could hear the unmistakable clomp as they descended a stairway in the next room. Then seven armed men and three armed women entered the living room followed by a short, slim woman in her forties dressed in a brown business suit. She peered at Jake for a long moment without speaking, her guards giving her just enough room to make eye contact while keeping their bodies between her and Jake.

  “So you’re Harris,” she said at last. She spoke with a British accent.

  Jake nodded. Something told him he had been wrong about Crown. They weren’t a group of people, they were the woman standing before him.

  “Moore tells us you’ve lost your memory. You think you’re a kid.”

  “It’s true,” Jake said. The woman, small as she was, gave him chills. She didn’t move like a fellow cybrid, but there was something about her piercing eyes, the set of her jaw, that made him question that assessment.

  “Do you know who I am?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No.”

  Her eyes skittered up and down his face, finally coming to rest on his forehead.

  “How old do you think you are?” she asked.

  “Sixteen,” Jake said without hesitation.

  Again she scrutinized his features and Jake realized she was watching for micro-changes in his expression. He tried to give her nothing, but couldn’t be certain what even that might tell her. Finally, he settled for reacting normally. He had nothing to hide. Whatever secrets this woman might want from him, he had lost in his wreck.

  “My name is Seanan Reese. Does that mean anything to you?”

  “Only that you’re probably Irish, or maybe Welsh,” Jake said. This wasn’t something his cybrid told him. It just happened that one of his mom’s favorite authors was named Seanan McGuire. Jake had been so intrigued by the name when he first heard it that he had Googled to trace its origin.

  “I’m a full yoke, an egghead. Do you know what that means?” Seanan asked.

  Jake shrugged, uncertain. “That you’re smart?”

  Seanan drew a long, cleansing breath. Then she said, “He’s telling the truth, at least so far as he understands it. Well done, Moore.”

  The big man nodded. “Thank you.

  “May I ask a question?” Jake looked around at the guards to gauge their reactions, but none of them stiffened or unslung their rifles.

  “You may,” Seanan said.

  “What happens to me now? Obviously, you aren’t planning on killing me or else I’d be dead by now. Right?”

  Hugo smiled at that.

  “Quite the opposite,” Seanan said. “We’d like to employ you, Mr. Harris, young as you think you are in your head.”

  “It’s Jake.”

  Seanan nodded. “Then Jake, know this: we are a rebellion against the tyranny of corporate largesse and greed. We are a small force compared to our enemies who number the nations of the world, so we aren’t in the habit of tossing away resources, not so long as they’re productive for us. And we are you’re only real protection from the likes of Cymobius and your fellow cybrids.”

  “Does that make me one of your resources?” Jake asked.

  “You could be, love, assuming you’re willing to serve.”

  Jake felt an electric tremor of fear shudder its way through his stomach, though he wasn’t immediately sure why.

  “Serve how?” he asked.

  Seanan’s eyebrows rose as she tilted her head ever-so-slightly. “Why, by doing the thing you’re best at. Making inconvenient people disappear.”

  Chapter 13

  Revelation

  Jake awoke the next morning at 3 a.m. He had intended to wake early, had even thought three would be the best time as he dozed off the night before, but he hadn’t realized he could set an alarm with his cybrid.

  There were so many things Jake didn’t know about his new body, his new abilities. It was like someone had handed him a fighter jet, but given him no training in how to use it. Confusion mixed with stinging ignorance filled his every waking moment. And he was sick of that feeling. He knew of only one person whom he trusted—as much as he dared anyway—who might have the answers, and something told him she hadn’t yet shared all she knew.

  It was time to get those answers.

  The rebels had put Jake in a room with no door on the second story of the dilapidated house. He was alone save for a guard in the hall sleeping upright in a chair, an automatic rifle across his knees.

  Jake’s cybrid did not make him magically silent. He knew that. But his heightened senses combined with his increased dexterity and balance did give him an advantage when it came to moving stealthily.

  He eased out of the one-person cot the rebels had provided, thankful that the blankets were made of wool—scratchy, but quiet. He pulled on his t-shirt and jeans, but left his boots beneath the bed.

  The room’s single window was original to the house. Its wooden runners creaked when Jake lifted it, making his heart pound, but the guard didn’t stir, so he opened it still wider. If the guy woke up now, Jake could just tell him he wanted some fresh air. Once he judged it stood wide enough to let him pass, he climbed through, getting a tight grip on the eaves. Unfortunately, there was nothing else to grab onto. The house was covered in old clapboards, latticed together so the outside slats faced downward. Even in bare feet, Jake could find no purchase.

  He hung from the open overhang, contemplating the ground two stories beneath him. It was black in the weak moonlight. Too far? Or was he thinking like his old self? Could his legs take that sort of jolt?

  The feeling he got from his cybrid was yes, easily. But was that just wishful thinking? Why hadn’t the people who created the cybrid given it a voice? That would have made these sorts of decisions so much easier. Of course, then he would have a second voice besides his own speaking in his skull, and that idea did not appeal.

  Guess I’ll have to trust you, thought Jake. He let go.

  The drop was over in less than a second. Jake’s bare feet struck the ground with a soft thump and he rolled to throttle the momentum. Though the jolt of landing had jarred him and sent a cold flash up his legs, he felt no pain beyond a momentary shock in his feet.

  He crouched in the darkness, marveling at his success, and just barely escaped notice of a rifle-armed guard pacing around the backside of the house. Jake eased himself behind a clump of hedges left wild near the old house’s rotten porch.

  Of course these people would have patrols. Jake cursed his own stupidity for not thinking of that as he waited for the guard to spot beam him with a flashlight. But no light came. The guy walked past Jake’s hiding spot, humming softly u
nder his breath.

  Slowly, Jake eased around the house, keeping his ears open for the approach of boots, the soft sigh of breath. He could hear another guard some distance away, trudging through the forest, the man’s cigarette alternately brightening and dwindling in the darkness.

  Jake put a clump of trees between him and the glowing ember, and hustled to the large outbuilding where Moore and his people slept. The place looked like an oversized garage that might have once housed eight or nine cars, but the vehicles were gone, replaced by steel-framed cots.

  No guard stood outside this building. Jake peered inside through a filth-stained window. Moore’s people slept in two rows of cots, several long bed sheets separating the men from the women.

  The access door at the side of the building was locked, but the window next to it opened when Jake pushed on it. He climbed inside, ears perked for anyone who might wake, but all he heard were soft snores.

  Anya’s cot stood close to one of the garage doors, moonlight illuminating her face. Jake was hesitant to move into the light, but saw no better way to wake her without noise.

  He crept close and crouched next to her. She slept peacefully, her long lashes lightly shut. Looking at her made him feel like a creeper. This was weird. He couldn’t kick the feeling that he was a thief, or worse, but how else could he speak to her without others listening? Steeling himself, he clamped a hand over Anya’s mouth.

  Anya’s eyes flew wide and she grunted. Jake expected the fear written on her face to reduce when she saw him. It didn’t. In fact, she looked even more terrified.

  “Stay quiet,” he whispered. “We need to talk.” He lifted his hand from her lips.

  She took a breath as if to scream, and he slapped his hand back over her mouth.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, unable to keep the incredulousness out of his voice.

  Slowly, she nodded, and Jake pulled his hand away again.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Three fifteen.”

  “Why are you here? What do you want?”

  “Quiet.” Jake peered around at the others. No one appeared awake.

  “What’s your name?” Anya asked.

  Jake lifted an eyebrow before realizing why she would ask him that.

  “I’m Jake, not Harris.”

  She relaxed, but only a little. Even under the sheets, Jake could tell Anya’s body was stiff with tension.

  He hadn’t realized how little she trusted him. But maybe that was right. Didn’t amnesia end sometimes without warning? Of course, he had only ever seen that happen in movies, but it seemed right. Who was to say Jake wouldn’t wake up one morning with all his memories intact, his identity as Harris returned in all his morbid glory? Jake shivered at the thought.

  “Okay,” Anya said, her hushed voice calmer now. “Still, what are you doing here?”

  “Crown wants me to kill for them.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  “I can’t do that,” Jake said. “But I told Seanan I would.”

  “Why did you lie?”

  “Because there were eight armed guards with us. I thought if I refused they’d just kill me.”

  “They might have,” Anya said.

  “There are things you haven’t told me,” Jake said. “You know more about me, what I am, than you’ve let on.”

  Anya stared at Jake for a long minute, the moonlight glow exaggerating her features. She started to speak, stopped, then said, “You’re right. I’ve withheld things about you. But I have a good reason.”

  Anya turned away from him. At first, Jake thought she was turning her back, dismissing him, but then she pulled her phone from one of her boots next to the cot. She brought up an image, shielding it with her hands to keep the light from waking anyone.

  It showed a woman gagged, and bound to a chair. She looked like an older version of Anya though her cheeks weren’t quite as high. The expression on the woman’s face was one of utter shock and dismay. She had been crying, and one of her eyes was bruised and swollen.

  “My sister, Tia,” Anya said.

  “What—”

  “Moore,” Anya said. “Well, not just Moore, him and others in Dissolution. They took Tia seven months ago, because I was trying to distance myself from the rebellion. I wasn’t in line with the things they were asking me to do, so I told them no. They don’t like no, Jake.”

  Jake’s heart was hammering. He could feel blood rushing into his face. “Where are they holding her?”

  Anya shook her head. “No idea. They send me updates every week, pictures of her tied up in different places. I’ve tried tracking them, but the walls are too bland, there’s nothing to match.”

  “This is why you won’t tell me more about who I am?”

  Anya nodded. “They won’t let me.”

  “I hate these people,” Jake said. “Them and Cymobius. What gives any of them the right to treat us this way?”

  “Money,” Anya said. “And Power.”

  “I want to run,” Jake said.

  Anya shook her head. “You can’t. Cymobius would find you. That’s what they do.”

  “From what you’ve told me, that’s what I do too. I’ll just have to stay ahead of them.”

  “Harris probably could do that. But you don’t have those skills.”

  Jake pursed his lips. “I might. I’ve surprised myself, and others, with the things my cybrid can do.”

  “It can’t help you stay hidden,” Anya said. “It can’t hide your identity online, or erase your transactions when you have to buy things.”

  “Come with me,” Jake said. “We can both hide. We’ll look for your sister.”

  “No. They’d kill her. I won’t chance it, and neither should you. You don’t want Cymobius and Dissolution chasing you, Jake. You’re pretty special, but you can’t beat them. They have thousands of people at their disposal, and some of those will be cybrids just like you.”

  “How many?” Jake asked.

  “Cybrids?”

  “Yes, in the whole world, how many?”

  Anya looked uncomfortable. She gazed about as if someone might be eavesdropping. “There are eight, so far as I know. That’s including you. I’m only telling you this because you’ve got to understand that all seven of the others are probably looking for you right now. Without Crown’s protection they’d track you down inside a day.”

  “So I’m supposed to kill for Crown just to save my own life?”

  “Maybe they won’t ask you to kill anyone. I told you the day we met that wasn’t a cybrid’s only mission. In fact, Seanan would be crazy to have you go assassinating people so soon after you escaped Cymobius. They’d know precisely where to look for you, and us.”

  Jake nodded. That made sense, but did little to assuage his fears. If they asked him to simply deliver packages or maybe steal some secrets, he could deal with that. He certainly wasn’t a fan of Cymobius, or any company that perpetrated their sorts of crimes.

  “Do you know much about Seanan Reese?” he asked.

  Anya shook her head. “Not really, just that she runs Crown.”

  “She’s the leader?”

  “Yes.”

  “She called herself an egghead. Does that mean anything other than she’s pretentious about her brains?”

  Anya grinned. “It means she’s a genius, but she wasn’t born that way. Eggheads are an accident. About ten years ago a couple of states, Georgia and Texas, decided to give inmates ineligible for death row due to low IQ stem cell and gene modification therapy. They figured that once the criminals were smart enough to score well on the IQ tests, the state could put them on death row for their crimes.”

  “That’s awful.”

  “The first batch of inmates to receive the treatments came out far more intelligent than anyone imagined. Most of them scored so high the then-current exams couldn’t accurately measure them.”

  “So, did the states execute them?” Jake asked.

  �
��No. The inmates petitioned the federal government claiming they were no longer the same people they had been when they committed their crimes.”

  “And that worked?”

  Anya nodded. “After the first case passed muster, every one of them got off using the same defense.”

  “I guess the states learned their lesson,” Jake said.

  “No. They just got their doctors and scientists to mellow the therapy. For about five years they were producing what everyone called no yokes. They were formerly mentally challenged inmates who had been given average or else slightly above average IQs. The states beat back challenges against putting them on death row by defending the idea that these weren’t different people than they had been since they’re mental advancement was so much lower percentage-wise than the eggheads.”

  “Judges accepted that?”

  “For a while. Some eggheads brought a suit that eventually stopped the practice, claiming the mentally challenged couldn’t agree to the surgeries involved since they lacked the mental acuity to understand the consequences. Namely, that they would be killed.”

  “So, is this therapy being used by doctors on non-criminals?” Jake asked.

  “Yeah, for people who can afford it, which isn’t many amongst families with mentally challenged children. But the point is this, Seanan Reese is an egghead. Her IQ is off the charts. She may not have your physical abilities, but that big brain of hers makes her every bit as dangerous as any cybrid.”

  “I guess increased intelligence didn’t make her go straight? What was she in prison for anyway? And why in the States? Isn’t she British?”

  “Yeah, go figure, making criminals smarter just makes smarter criminals. As for why she was in prison in Texas back then, I have no idea. But it must have been a heinous crime.”

  “So, you’re telling me I’d be a fool to try outsmarting her?” Jake asked.

  “That’s exactly what I’m telling you. You don’t want Crown and Cymobius as enemies. Eventually, assuming you want to live, you’ll have to make the same decision I did: join the one to protect you from the other.”

  Chapter 14