Flesh Blood Steel

by David Jones

  Escape

  They drove north into Paris at 7 a.m. along a road that followed the Seine. Jake had a feeling Harris would have known this city, but for Jake it was all new. He had never been outside the United States, and hardly beyond the borders of South Carolina. He gawked at the Victorian architecture displayed on churches, hotels, and even apartment buildings. At one point, he saw the Eiffel Tower in the distance, rising like a slender metal finger against the azure sky, and turned in his seat to follow it.

  “I wasn’t certain until this very moment,” Seanan said. She sat in the front passenger seat of their van, watching Jake.

  “Of what?” Jake asked.

  “That you were telling the truth about your memory loss.”

  Jake felt his face flush, embarrassed to be drinking in the sights like a hick out of Carolina, but he couldn’t help it. Half the things he was seeing he had no names for.

  “I wish I still had the internet in my head,” he said to Anya who sat in the captain’s chair next to his.

  She gave him a terse smile, but said nothing.

  Her demeanor reminded Jake why he was here. This was no sightseeing tour. Though Seanan had thus far been secretive about just what mission they were going to give him, Jake understood that this little trip was a test. If he expected them to shield him from Cymobius, then he would have to prove not only his loyalty, but his capabilities. Judging by Seanan’s face, she questioned whether he could live up to the killer he had been not three days ago.

  So did Jake.

  Hugo drove. The Frenchman navigated their van through a six-lane roundabout with practiced ease, steering them away from the river. “You like the sights, Monsieur Harris?” he asked in French.

  “I do.”

  “There’s not much to see here, though we are near the Natural History Museum and the best botanical garden in the whole of the world, Jardin des Plantes. It is just past that wall,” he said, inadvertently waggling a finger under Seanan’s nose.

  The leader of Dissolution gave him a cool look.

  “Sorry, ma’am.”

  “The place we’re taking you is just as beautiful,” Seanan said over her shoulder.

  “Where’s that?” Jake asked.

  “La Grande Mosque de Paris. The restaurant adjacent to it to be precise.” Though Seanan spoke with a British accent, her French was flawless. Where was this woman from?

  “What for?” Jake asked, reverting to English. Though he found French came easily to his tongue, he wanted to make certain he understood everything that was said.

  “I suppose the time is right,” Seanan said likewise switching languages. She turned in her seat, proffering a mobile phone.

  Jake took it. The screen showed a young man, probably twenty-five, with olive skin, though it looked as though he had been tanning, black hair and wire-framed glasses. By the reflection off his lenses, Jake could see that the glasses were for show, they had no prescription. The man wore a suit, blue with faint pinstripes, the kind that went out of fashion in the forties. Of course, for all Jake knew that fashion was back in vogue.

  “Do you recognize him?” Seanan asked.

  Jake started to say no, but then said, “I’ve seen him before.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, he was at the Cymobius building the day I broke out. He was headed for the elevators when they brought me inside.”

  Seanan smiled appreciatively. “Good to know your current memory is still perfect. His name is Phineas Knowles. At least, that’s the name we know him by. Like all cybrids, Phineas is rather an elusive sort.”

  “So he’s in Paris and you’re taking me to him?” Jake asked.

  “Just so.”

  Jake handed back the phone. He felt sick. “You expect me to kill him?”

  “No, Jake, killing a cybrid right now would be about the most foolish thing I could possibly do. Don’t you think?”

  Jake nodded, allowing himself some relief, as he glanced briefly at Anya. Not that he could relax. If Seanan wanted him to interact with another cybrid for any reason it couldn’t be to the good. “Yes. I’d be telling Cymobius where I am.”

  “Precisely.”

  “So what do you want? If this guy sees me then Cymobius will know. I’m sure he’s got a Spearcast just like mine. Am I supposed to just watch him?”

  “We want him subdued,” Seanan said. “But we can’t do that alone, not without causing a major scene. You must first lure him out of the crowd, get him into a controlled environment.”

  “But the Spearcast—“

  “Let us worry about the Spearcast,” Seanan said.

  “They have jammers,” Anya said. “The Spearcast is only as powerful as a cell phone. It’s less than one watt. Jamming it is easy if you’re in range.”

  “Which we will be,” Seanan said. “But being in range means we’re also in danger. Your kind are rather hard to manage when upset.”

  “And you expect me to manage him?”

  “With our support, yes.”

  Jake considered the plan. It didn’t involve killing. That was a plus. If all he had to do was pin the guy down while the others cuffed him, that would be okay.

  “But wait,” Jake said. “How do you plan to hold him?”

  “If all goes to plan,” Seanan said, “that won’t be a concern.”

  Hugo parked the van across from a white building overtopped by a three-story stone tower. A crescent moon glinted gold on its side, reflecting the Parisian sun.

  “Is that the mosque?” Jake asked.

  Seanan nodded. “Go inside that door.” She pointed at a wide entrance, an ornately carved arch festooned with painted flowers in blue and white checkered stains. People milled in and out of the arch, some dressed in traditional Muslim outfits, others in European styles though most of the women wore headscarves. “You’ll find the restaurant next to the main courtyard.”

  “Phineas is inside?” Jake asked.

  “According to our spotters.”

  “What do I say?”

  “Say nothing. Let him see you, act as though you’ve been caught out, and then hurry back here. Don’t let him get his hands on you. I want as little of a scene as possible.”

  Jake felt like maybe Seanan was underestimating a cybrid. She was going to have a scene no matter where they brought this guy. Obviously, she knew something Jake didn’t. He would just have to do his best to get back to the van fast.

  Moore and two of Seanan’s people, a man and woman dressed in coats to conceal handguns, opened the van’s back doors and stood casually leaning against it as if waiting on a delivery. Jake glanced their way, and Moore gave him a distrustful glare as if to say, this is your chance kid, don’t make me look bad.

  “Why should I do this for you?” Jake asked, turning back to Seanan. “I get that you protected me from Cymobius, but I saved your people, so I figure we’re even. You want me to work for you, serve you so far as I can tell, but why should I? I’m not sure you can protect me from my own kind, so what’s the point?”

  Seanan watched Jake’s face for an uncomfortably long time—long enough that Jake became thoroughly convinced she wasn’t like any other human being he had ever met. Her face gave none of the micro flexion that usually broadcast their thoughts. Her skin remained as smooth as alabaster, as still as porcelain. Even her eyes, so often jittering with minute saccades when it came to regular people, remained relatively fixed.

  “Do you think it’s a coincidence that a cybrid is here in Paris?” she asked, breaking the silence.

  “I—” Jake began.

  “Do you know how many cybrids there are in the world, love?”

  Jake resisted the urge to glance at Anya. “I’ve been told there are eight.”

  “That’s a good estimate, though the truth is we don’t really know. Cymobius is the only company capable of producing your kind, and they’re rather secretive about their figures, since you don’t officially exist.”

  “So this guy is here specifica
lly looking for me?” Jake lifted his eyebrows.

  “And the fact that he hasn’t yet tracked you down is solely due to our protection. We have people watching him from a safe distance day and night. They feed him conflicting clues, scatter the trail he’s following enough to frustrate his efforts. But his kind—your kind—they’re bloodhounds. Without our protection, he would have already delivered you back to Cymobius wrapped in wrapping paper with a bow on your head. Now, if you want such protection to continue, you will do as I ask and bring this man to me. It’s a rather simple equation when you get right down to the numbers.”

  Jake wasn’t so certain the math pointed the way Seanan said, but he had to admit the explanation for this cybrid’s appearance in the city made sense. Why else would the man come to Paris except that Jake was here?

  “Okay,” Jake said. “I’ll do it.”

  THE GRAND MOSQUE OF Paris restaurant’s interior was exquisite. More of the ornate flowers and symmetrical designs Jake had seen on the outside walls decorated the interior pillars, floor, and ceiling. Alabaster steps gave onto a wide patio shaded by living trees and cultivated shrubs. Colors Jake would have considered garish anywhere else here stood out in a sort of soothing clash: purple and red and green and orange all swirling into an exquisite tapestry.

  People sat in cushioned wooden chairs inside the main building, chatting in a mix of French and Arabic, while still more occupied the outdoor patio bright with unadulterated sunlight. The smells of mint, cinnamon, and strong tea tantalized Jake’s nose, reminding him of his constant hunger despite the big breakfast he had eaten only an hour before.

  A mustachioed barista fussed noisily over a cappuccino machine behind the bar, while patrons waited for their drinks. Most ate baklava with their coffee. Jake had only ever eaten the stuff once back in sixth grade when an exchange student had brought some to school. The sight and scent of it made his mouth water.

  A short Arab woman wearing a head scarf approached him. “Are you alone, young monsieur?” she asked in Arabic-accented French.

  Jake scanned the room. “I’m meeting someone.”

  “Very well. Do have some mint chai while you wait. It’s our specialty.”

  “I will, thank you,” Jake lied as his gaze lit upon the man he was searching for.

  Phineas Knowles sat alone at a booth, sipping from a finely sculpted ceramic coffee cup. His green eyes watched Jake like those of a puma on the hunt. He made no move to rise, but let his expression speak for him.

  You’ve seen me. I’ve seen you. Shall we chat?

  Jake thought of turning to run as Seanan had instructed. It would look as though he had happened upon Phineas without warning. He could even let his own face do some talking: surprise, dismay, fear. But he didn’t. Instead, he approached the booth without sitting.

  “Harris,” Phineas said in a faintly British accent. “How young you’re looking. Obviously, you know who I am. Have your memories returned?”

  The man sounded honestly concerned. He gestured for Jake to sit.

  Jake remained standing. “What were you before?”

  Phineas tilted his head. “Pardon?”

  “Before Cymobius made you what you—what we—are now. I was a kid in high school. A nobody. What were you?”

  Phineas was a long time in answering. He seemed to have less facial control than Oliver, the only other cybrid Jake had met. The delicate play of wrinkles along Phineas’ cheeks and at the corners of his eyes and mouth told Jake he was actually considering the question. Unless Phineas was a superlative actor, and he was just playing Jake.

  “I was a school teacher before I joined the Army. I had both my arms blown off not a hundred kilometers from here by a roadside bomb.”

  “We weren’t born killers,” Jake said. “None of us.”

  Phineas narrowed his eyes. “Oliver said there was something wrong with you. You reverted into a kid. I see it’s true.” He stood, every movement a perfection of grace and calculated purpose.

  “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “You’re not yourself.” Phineas drew a step closer. A few customers glanced their way, gazes drawn by the tension.

  “I’m not Harris, if that’s what you mean.” Jake took an involuntary step back, his heart racing. “He was a monster—a thing that never should have been. Just like you, I think. What happened to the school teacher you once were? Where is that man?”

  “Dead and gone. And good riddance. Our pasts are nothing but a hindrance, Harris. Useless weight. Come with me now, expunge this child who has usurped your rightful place. We are gods man, and you are the greatest among us, or you should be.”

  Without warning, Phineas lunged, hands outstretched, moving so fast even Jake’s cybrid-enhanced reflexes barely registered it before he had a hand on Jake’s arm. He pulled Jake into a pulverizing punch to the ribs that might have killed an average man.

  Agony sizzled through Jake’s side for the barest of a second before reducing to an urgent sense of damage—a wound that could matter later, after he was out of mortal danger.

  Phineas drew back, preparing for a second blow, but Jake was already moving. Rather than back away, which was his instinct, he stepped closer, shifting into the attack. Phineas’ next uppercut glanced off Jake’s right hip, painful, but far less damaging than the first. Jake dropped one shoulder, snaked an arm under the bigger man’s legs, and lifted him bodily from the floor.

  A woman screamed, and just on the periphery of his attention, Jake could hear a man cursing in Arabic. He ignored both to slam Phineas into a nearby table with all the strength he could muster while remaining standing.

  Jake knew such a move, though it would have probably incapacitated a regular human, would hardly slow his fellow cybrid. Jake had absorbed this caliber of trauma jumping out of the window last night. And indeed, even as Phineas slammed back, wood shattering beneath him, he positioned his hands and torso to make best use of the momentum in bringing him not only back to his feet, but back to a position where he could attack Jake.

  Jake wasn’t about to give Phineas the chance. He spun and dashed from the building into the street. His orders were to lure this monster. He had a feeling that wasn’t going to be a problem.

  Footsteps fleet as machinegun fire pummeled the street behind Jake. He didn’t look over his shoulder. What would be the point? This was the sound of a cybrid in full pursuit. For those few who ever heard such a thing, it was likely a death knell.

  Moore, Hugo, and two other people from Seanan’s crew stood next to the van across the street. They had the rear doors open, and were watching Jake approach, their bodies tensed.

  Jake dashed in front of an old model Citron, which barely missed him, the driver laying on the horn. He hoped the car might slow Phineas, but in the next instant he heard the unmistakable sound of his pursuer’s feet leaving the ground, followed by the flag-waving noise of clothes flapping during a short flight, and then the double thump of his shoes as he landed not a yard behind Jake.

  They had almost reached the van when Jake spun, sliding on his heels, to face Phineas. It was obvious the man had seen Jake’s companions, and equally obvious the contempt he held for them. Phineas gave Jake an exaggerated smirk as he casually drove a skull-crushing punch into the jaw of Seanan’s nearest man with all the force of his running momentum behind it. The concussion sounded like a gunshot. The guy flew across the adjacent sidewalk, spinning ankles over earlobes like a maladroit gymnast, blood fanning out from his ruined mouth to spray the side of the van, Moore, and a couple of passing Parisians.

  “Grab him!” shouted Seanan, who had retreated to the front of the van to watch the melee.

  Jake flung himself at Phineas, managing to get his arms around the bigger man’s waist, but not without paying a price. Phineas rained hammering blows on Jake’s back, each one striking down like a piston. Jake cried out, but kept his grip. He wasn’t certain what Moore and the others planned to do, but keeping Phineas busy seemed like the
best way to let them do it.

  A sudden shock jolted through Jake’s arms, his shoulders, even his face—every part of him in contact with Phineas. The bigger man’s body reeled, and though he didn’t go limp, his muscles loosened.

  Jake shoved him toward the open van and the shock came again. This time Jake could see that Moore and the other two men were pressing handheld Tasers to Phineas’ ribs, shoulders, and even his head.

  Phineas reeled back, his knees collapsing under him from the shock. The others dropped their Tasers to help pin him against the lip of the van’s entrance. Jake got a grip on Phineas’ shoulders while Moore and Hugo took an arm each. Even still they could barely contain the struggling cybrid.

  “Now what?” Jake asked through gritted teeth. His muscles were burning, fatiguing fast. Phineas was phenomenally strong, far more so than Jake. Something would have to give soon, and it wasn’t going to be their captive.

  “Do it!” Moore shouted.

  Anya, who had remained in the van, scrabbled forward, tablet in hand. She seized Phineas’s head, drawing her thumbs along his crown.

  Phineas roared like a caged animal, redoubling his efforts to escape. “Get your filthy hands off me, vermin!” he shouted in French.

  It was all Jake could do to hold on as the bigger man bucked and twisted beneath him. And yet he was hardly paying any attention to the struggle as he watched Anya work.

  There came a soft whirling sound from inside Phineas’ head, and a flap rose from his scalp. Jake wasn’t at an angle to see inside, but he could see the edge of something about as big around as a D-cell battery that rose up from the inside and clicked into place.

  Anya unspooled a heavy cord attached to her pad. Its end bore a complex, hexagonal plug which she pressed into the port. She tapped twice on the tablet, and the struggling man went immediately limp.

  Jake stared in awe. For a moment he continued pressing Phineas’ arms to the van’s floor, certain he would resume fighting any second. But he didn’t.

  “He’s out?” Moore asked. “We’re not gonna have him waking up too soon like last time, are we?”