by Jo Anderton
That wasn’t all. Blue light – something between the blaze of my suit and shocks this place had given me – snaked its way along the outside of the glass. I didn’t dare touch it. It sparked between each tube and brushed against me with a prickling warmth.
Hurts.
“They are doing something to the debris, aren’t they?” I stood, and glanced around me. So many tubes. “Is this how they create their monsters? Is this how they twisted you?”
I do not know. I remember needles and silver and light, such cruel light. But there are so many pieces within me. You, Tanyana, are within me. I cannot tell you how each part was made. They are too many, and they all tumble into one.
“I could break them, set the debris free.” I said this even though I feared to touch the tubes. “Give it all back to you.”
That is not why we are here. And I do not know what good it will do. Continue on, and save him.
That surprised me. But I took the Keeper’s advice gratefully, and let the tubes be.
When the tube-forest thinned out, nothing arose to replace it. The sparkle-shine lights behind me faded, and a single beam flashed on in the distance. It was focused on something, but all I could make out was a rough form in white.
“Is that–?”
No. Continue past it.
But something drew me forward. That white, draped form, glowing in the beam.
You will regret it.
I broke into a run.
It was a sheet. Roughly formed material of off-white, stained in places with paint made from mud mixed with blood, and already fraying at the edges. After all, Volski and Zecholas had been rushed when they created it.
Lad’s shroud. I recognised the weave, made from jackets and scarves with listless, unstable pions. I knew the roughly painted symbols. I had seen him wrapped in it, by Kichlan’s side in the underground room. I had seen him carried away in it.
This was Lad’s shroud, and it was empty.
“What have they done to him?” I whispered.
He is dead.
“What have they done to his body?” I demanded. My voice rang out louder than I intended, sharp against hard surfaces I could not see, losing itself among the buzzing tubes.
As I said, Tanyana. He is gone.
I gathered the shroud to me. It lay on something that looked like a chair but was deeply indented, so that to sit in it you would have to squeeze into the form fitting-metal and it would hold you tight, like a hand. While it too seemed built of suit silver, like everything else down here, the inside was not. It was strange: dark, soft looking yet solid, and it throbbed. Almost alive. It made me shiver, it made something within me clench in fear. So I dropped the shroud again, let it fall and softly cover the chair.
And suddenly, I needed to leave this place; I could not stroll through and blithely observe abomination after abomination. “Where is Kichlan?” The words almost choked me. I stared at the dried blood. Was that really all that remained of Lad? My Lad. “Tell me.”
Run. I will direct you.
So I ran. With the Keeper whispering in my ear I glanced aside from the forms looming in the bobbing lights that flickered on and off as I passed: vats, only bigger; something that looked like an insect, but metallic and still and many times too large; dials and flickering numbers and the ever-crackle of blue lightning. I did not stop to stare, to try and understand. I did not want to understand just what they were doing down here, and how they did it. What the puppet men were.
Slow down.
I pulled back to a light trot and wondered, only briefly, that I was not out of breath. Another sign that the suit was rebuilding its strength?
There. Ah, stop them. Hurry, please.
I knew that tone, that fearful, pained, desperate tone. He was failing again.
More tubes. Not a forest this time, but something stranger. They wound and twisted their way above the ground like hollow tendrils or webs, and planes of debris surged within them. I made my way through, arms lifted, careful of the energy that crackled over their surface.
The further I went, the thinner the tubes became. The debris within them solidified, but not into something I would call grains, and the energy surged until it was so thick, so bright that I couldn’t even look at the glass. I held my arms tight against my sides. But still I felt it, the touch of lightning racing up my limbs, the faintly nauseating scent of burning hair.
The tubes rose into a curve above my head, drawn together and secured with wide metallic ties. The whole structure, the blue, black, energy, debris, and glass snake ended at a great head. Weird and insect-like, bulbous with many small glass eyes, it was suspended from the distant ceiling by chains of bright links, and hung above another chair.
But this one was not empty. Kichlan was strapped within.
I ran to him. I could feel the pressure of debris planes above me. Wild, lancing energy broke from the creature to touch me, to quest over my back and arms with strange delicacy. My suit, quiet and compliant until now, rallied only enough to whip free, flick the energy away, then settle back into its bonds.
Kichlan was ashen. He had been strapped into the moulded seat with firm, iron-buckled leather. I brushed his cheek; his skin was clammy. I pressed a forefinger to his neck; his pulse was weak. He did not move.
I glanced around. The Keeper was certain the puppet men were here somewhere. So what were they doing? Hiding, watching, staging another test?
Kichlan’s eyelids fluttered. He squinted up at me. His eyes were red-rimmed and red-veined and I ached for the emptiness there, the fear. “T… Tan?”
“Shh.” I traced soft fingers own the side of his face. He was shaking, almost imperceptibly, but a constant deep-cold or deep-shock quake. “I’m here. You’re safe now.”
“Should have run, Tan. I told you to run.”
“I couldn’t, Kichlan. I couldn’t leave you.”
“They took him.” His mouth wasn’t working properly. He drooled as he spoke, so I unfolded the end of my clean shirtsleeve and dabbed at his lips. “They–”
“Shh.” And because I had nothing else to say. “They can’t hurt him anymore.” What had he seen? I thought of the shroud and the chair and prayed to a Keeper I knew could not help me that he had not seen it working. That he had not been forced to witness whatever it was the puppet men had done to his brother’s body.
He groaned, turned his head to the side. I winced. Below his collar, around the edges of his suit, he was bruised. Horrible and deeply black, I wondered if they had broken his collarbone. What they had done to the rest of him, to the parts of his body I could not see, to make him as ill and weak as this? How they had even brought him here at all?
Hurry.
“Keep still,” I whispered, as though he could do much else.
I extended a short, sharp knife of suit to slice clean and quickly through Kichlan’s leather bonds. Their iron buckles rattled sharply against the metal chair. Then I bent, scooped my arms beneath him and lifted him free.
He cried out as I moved him, a weak noise of exhaustion beyond pain. But still, he braced himself as I placed him on his feet, as I slipped his arm around my shoulders and steadied him against me. Even in his hurt and loss, Kichlan tried to be strong.
“Let’s get you out of here,” I said, as though it would be that simple, that easy.
The debris, the Keeper murmured in my ear. You’ve seen what they are doing to it. Right above your head they are torturing me, right as we now speak. Can you really leave here, Tanyana, and not stop them?
I scowled into the darkness; aware the Keeper probably wasn’t right in front of me, but hoping he could see the expression anyway. “We came to save Kichlan.”
Not him alone.
I should have known the Keeper was interested in more than Kichlan’s welfare. “But what can I do? I thought you said there was no point in breaking the tubes.” I glanced up at the monstrosity above us. Just what would have happened to Kichlan if I had not come?
; Those tubes, yes. But that thing above you that… that abomination, is different. You must destroy that, he pleaded, his voice desperate. Do not let them do it again!
“Do what?”
Why won’t you simply do as I ask, Tanyana? He sobbed, and drew away. And now they are here.
Mist settled in from the darkness, drifting around my ankles, coating and filling the chair, wrapping the insect head and its glass body. Forms birthed in its thick folds and the hazy, bobbing light. Shadows and faces and smiles.
“Do you like our laboratory, Miss Vladha?” a puppet man whispered. “Did you see our little toys?”
“We have improved so much upon the programmers’ crystal hubs,” said another. Or the same one. It was impossible to tell.
“You could have had access to all our knowledge, all this power. Yet, you ignored us. You even fought against us. You did not choose well.”
“Even so, we give you another chance.”
One of the puppet men stepped clear of the mist, his body solid in an immaculate white suit, his face full of dry amusement. The rest, for I was certain there were more – countless masses, perhaps – remained in the mist as shadows and half-illusionary horror.
“We are fair, wouldn’t you say?” He tipped his head. I fought the need to back away, all too aware of the mist behind me. “To give you so many chances.”
Break it! Break anything you can find. Do it, hurry!
I shook my head, unable to speak, barely able to move. My suit began spinning, sending its own bluish light to join the mist, to cast shapes and movement of its own. It tugged, deep in my bones, as though the very presence of the puppet men was enough to awaken it, to give it strength and remind it that I was but its host, and it needed a body to control.
The puppet man gestured to the empty chair. “Replace the collector, if you will. Our experiment is about to begin.”
“No!” I spat the word out around wires in my throat. They fought my voice all the way. Not again! I would not let the suit control me again. “No.” A deep breath, steadier. “I am taking him with me, and we are leaving this place.”
And you will destroy the tubes as you go.
But the puppet man shook his head. “We gave you choice, you used it poorly. We showed you strength, you rejected it. We even gave you space, quiet and time to grieve and to reassess your situation. You did not take it. We are done with freedom, we are tired of choice.”
My hand tightened into a silver-coated fist. I forced it open.
“Do as we command, Miss Vladha, and place the body in the chair.”
I did not move.
A shrug, elegant and unemotional. “As you wish.”
The puppet man stepped back, and above us, insect eyes opened.
17.
Too late! The Keeper cried.
Glass slid free from the insect’s head, countless small, round caps that fell to crash against the stone floor. Then the blue energy sizzled, the glass tubes pulsed and rattled. Debris wriggled out of the insect’s eyes. Like pale snakes it squirmed free of its incubation chambers and writhed down to join the shattered glass.
I recognised those thick, animated scars on the fabric of the world. I knew the touch of their hunger and need.
“Oh, Other.” I held Kichlan tighter against me and tried not to picture Lad, with the Hon Ji Half’s head in his lap, as the debris devoured her. I tried to forget the weight of her blood on my silver hands.
You should have listened to me.
“Replace the body.” The puppet man smiled his horrid smile.
“No.” I would not let them destroy Kichlan. “We have to open a door,” I called to the Keeper, uncaring if the puppet men could hear me. “We have to get rid of the debris.”
Open one in here I cannot promise I will be able to close it.
But I knew of no other way to deal with debris like this.
“Can you stand?” I whispered to Kichlan.
He glanced sideways, his red-shot eyes wide and fearful. “Are you sure about this?”
“I haven’t been sure of anything for a very long time.”
Kichlan could not stand. So I eased him to the ground and swept long and fan-like suit appendages over the surrounding stones, clearing them. The debris snakes were not fast. They had not yet fattened themselves on life and pion bonds and were not able to fully coalesce, to rise body-like against me. Which, I supposed, was why Kichlan had been strapped to the chair beneath them. A first meal. The very idea made me shudder.
I stood in front of Kichlan, legs wide and stance strong, ready for whatever the puppet men could throw at me. No one would take a blow for me this time. I could suffer my own scars.
“Once I have destroyed your weapon,” I said, teeth gritted, to the puppet man so implacable before me, “I will destroy the rest of your laboratory.” I swept an arm wide. “Every last tube, every creature, every chair. That is what I choose, and that is my strength.”
You could have done that a moment ago and saved us the trouble.
I chose to ignore that.
The puppet man shook his head again. “Weapon? Are you still so fixated on that? We have moved beyond the need for weapons, Miss Vladha. And you have followed.”
“What do you mean? I know you have built more weapons like me and Aleksey.”
His smile grew. His mouth was black inside his ill-fitting lips. No teeth, no anything. I could not look at it. “The enforcer showed promise, that is true. But only you have come this close to reaching your full potential. We are pleased you have returned to us. Together, we will achieve it.”
“No.” I flexed my suit. It slid urgently over my arms, legs, and torso. I would use its battle lust, for now. Only now. “No, I came to rescue Kichlan. And you don’t have Aleksey, this time to stop me.”
“What a shame.”
My suit was slowing, its growth nearly stilled, even though I urged it on. This was not usually how our battles played out.
“But the time for choices is over.” The puppet man lifted an arm. And the mass of torn debris that had been writhing toward me rose at the gesture. They thickened, united, wound into a shape like a many-clawed hand, like the tentacles of glass coiling from the insect’s head.
What was happening to the debris? How was it growing like that, moving like that? In time to the puppet man’s movements, in tandem with his stretching fingers. It was almost as though he controlled it.
And the idea chilled me.
No, stop it! the Keeper shouted at me, utterly panicked. Please, Tanyana, make them stop it!
“While we would usually be happy to let you open a door, encourage it even, that is not the purpose of this test. He is.” The puppet man tipped his head toward Kichlan, still slumped behind me. “And so, I’m afraid, we cannot allow you to interfere. Not this time.”
Allow me? Who did they think they were?
“And not you either, brother.”
Then the Keeper began to scream. I could make no sense of the words he gabbled in his pain. The puppet man twisted his hand and the debris clawed the air, raw and surging, and I hated to imagine that the Keeper was there, right there, being attacked by what had once been a part of himself.
“Oh, brother.” The puppet man snarled through his blackened smile. “Are you not weakened enough, how much more must we do to you to make you understand?”
Brother?
“Enough!” I lurched forward, my suit still half-spread over me, away from my face and my eyes. Even though I could not see what he was doing to the Keeper – and maybe I was glad – I would not stand by and let it happen. “I won’t let you–”
“Stop.”
More voices than that single puppet man. Voices from the mist, from the stones, from the coiling debris and the metal and glass. All around me, resonating within me. And to my horror, I obeyed.
I stopped. One foot slightly raised, what suit I had summoned over my hand in the act of sharpening, all of it froze. I could not breathe, and the pumping
of my heart slowed. Head dizzy, sight dotting with black, I stared in horror at the puppet man and the faces materializing, smiling, all around me and could do nothing. Nothing at all.
“Tan?” Behind me, Kichlan gasped over the word. I could not turn to console him, I could not move to protect him, while the debris grew and loomed over us. It was Lad, all over again. And I could do nothing.
“Perhaps you understand a little more clearly.” The puppet man lifted his second hand. “You have surpassed what we expected of you, Miss Vladha, and your experiment is ended. So you shall serve us, as you were designed to do.”
I could not move and I could not speak.
“Step aside.”
Again, my body acted without my consent. Two steps to the left, feet together, a curt turn so I could see it all: Kichlan, the chair, the debris and the puppet man. Or puppet master. Perhaps that is a better term.
“What are you doing?” Kichlan pleaded with me, struggling to stand.
This was no battle in my body; this was not the suit vying for control of our flesh. If anything, the suit had gone dormant, silent and still in a way I had never known. In the face of the puppet man’s control, it did not fight. The spinning slowed, the light died, and the ever-present tugging in my bones, that need for violence they had planted in me with their living wires and their horrible needles, faded away. I had never felt so empty, so alone.
The suit.
It was all so clear. I was more suit than human, more silver than muscle and bone. The suit was debris. And there, twisting and grown, was all the evidence I needed that the puppet men could do the impossible and manipulate debris. Control it, the way I had once controlled pions.
So what was I really, other than a human-shaped tool utterly under the puppet man’s control? A weapon, a sword, should he so wish it.
“See, you do understand.” The puppet man nodded, like I was a servant or a pupil and he was pleased with my work. “Brother, if only you could join her.”
He tipped his head, appeared almost to be listening. I heard nothing.
“Fool.” A murmur of agreement from the mist. “He will join us, in time. No matter. The experiment must begin.” The puppet man made a small flicking motion with his spare hand, palm up and fingers slightly curled. I could see the seams where his fingernails were attached, the stitching, so clearly.