“Good. So I know what I’m looking at.” She took a couple of steps back. “Now show me specimens from Dr. Fenix and William Alva.”
Bakos went back to the storage chamber, but Settile held up both hands, an apologetic little girl.
“No, I mean prepare me some slides now. In front of me. Like a thrashball drug test, you know? The player has to urinate in front of the doctor so everyone knows he isn’t dosed to the eyeballs and using his friend’s untainted pee to beat the test.” Settile looked at Adam. “You won’t feel a thing, Professor, and I swear I won’t make any little prick jokes.”
Nevil almost looked at Dury but resisted. Settile loved her long shakedowns. Okay, she was going to do the big theatrical act, make Adam feel small and foolish—always more painfully effective with a brilliant man than breaking his fingers—and tell him not to do it again or else he’d find himself wired to the electricity supply by his balls or Marcus would end up as another mortality statistic in the Slab, some suitable deterrent or other.
Okay, dear, get it over with.
Adam stepped forward, expressionless and rolled up his sleeve as if he was expecting Bakos to draw the blood. Settile shook her head and pulled down some latex gloves from the box.
“I started in narcotics,” she said. “Chemistry grad. I also know how to do a quick blood sample, so perhaps you’ll just prep the slide for me while I watch, Dr. Bakos. And I do know how to handle biohazards.”
Nevil really thought Adam was just going to confess now because the outcome was inevitable and he wasn’t known for his patience. But he seemed set on going through with it. Settile took a glass sharp and nicked the skin of his thumb to let a blob of blood well up. Bakos held the slide to it and prepped it on the bench as Settile watched. The agent didn’t even blink until that slide was under the microscope and she could look down the eyepiece.
“There,” she said. “That looks to me like a Lambent-contaminated sample. Just confirm that for me, Dr. Bakos.”
Adam was still licking the cut to stop the bleeding. For a second, it looked faintly comical, as if he was sucking his thumb. But he’d had enough now.
“Yes, Agent Settile, I exposed myself to the pathogen,” he said wearily. “It’s a time-honored method in scientific discovery. Most of us in this room benefit from the fruits of such methods on a daily basis. Your point?”
“Why didn’t you mention this? Why is it not in any of your notes?”
“Oh, laymen get worried about things that don’t really warrant it,” he said. He was playing up to Prescott’s stereotype. “And Richard would start fretting about my dying prematurely before he’d had his money’s worth from me.”
“So the test results we’ve seen are based on your specimens, not Mr. Alva’s.”
“Yes.”
“Do I need to test Mr. Alva to verify that he’s not contaminated?”
At that moment, Nevil started to realize that the rather gentle confrontation was now heading in a slightly different direction. The worst thing about working with chess players like Settile and Prescott was that they … well, contaminated you. Nevil found his physicist’s thought process—observe, theorize, test—was slipping into speculate, speculate, and second-guess. His mind was racing ahead of what he was observing, running down all the avenues to see where Settile might go and why. He tried to call it to heel.
“He’s not contaminated,” Adam said at last.
“Okay.” Settile stepped back and motioned Bakos to deal with the slide, taking her gloves off and dropping them in the bin. “I’m glad we’ve established that. I’m sorry it took so much laborious theater, Adam, but I wanted to make it clear that I’m very motivated to find the truth and I don’t need to rely on your answers to do so.”
“Come on,” Adam said irritably. “It’s unconscionable. Pedophile or not, we can’t test pathogens on human beings—not even with their informed consent, as far as I’m concerned. I’m willing to take the risk. That’s the moral thing to do.”
“I know, which is why I knew there was something wrong when I heard you were using a prisoner for tests. I think I know where you draw your line, you see. I remembered just how agitated you were when we were talking about whether to assassinate or kidnap UIR weapons scientists.”
“Yes. You mentioned that before.”
“Put a face on it, and you can’t pull the trigger. Make it anonymous, and you can wipe it out along with a few billion others with the Hammer of Dawn. And I’m not moralizing, Adam, I’m explaining how I reach my conclusions. Scientific method.”
“I’d give you a round of applause if I weren’t still sucking my thumb.”
“So … you lied. Again. Lied by omission.”
Adam did seem stung by that. “I know. What are you going to do, ground me?”
“No, I just want you to come with me.” She sidestepped Adam to look at Nevil and Dury. “You too. All of you. Come with me.”
Nevil was now lost in the alleys of Settile’s game with no idea what was coming next. That was when he recognized her as the expert interrogator that she clearly was. Uncertainty shook people down; fear of the unknown was even more powerful than pain. Nevil followed the procession along the corridor to the small library at the corner of the building, and Settile opened the door to usher them in. William Alva was sitting at a marble-topped table reading a book. The floor was beautifully inlaid parquet, red and black wood.
“Hello, Mr. Alva,” she said. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, Louise,” he said. It was creepily familiar to use her first name, but damn, he really did look like a nice guy. Nevil had never quite squared that with the reality. “Am I going to have some tests?”
“No, this is just a demonstration.” The center casement window was slightly ajar. She pushed both panes fully open and secured the latch, letting the warm, fragrant air wash in, and beckoned to Alva. “Come on. Would you just stand exactly here, please?”
She was about half a meter from the window. Alva gave her a look. He didn’t have to be Adam Fenix to work out the physics of an open window and a tall building, and he’d spent years in the Slab, so he was probably wary of ambushes. He smiled, pushed back from the table, and did as she told him.
God, no. She’s not going to push him out the window, surely? Why? Nevil hit a moral brick wall. He didn’t like Alva’s kind but something told him to do something, anything, even though he had no idea what was required, or why. So he froze.
“Does it matter which way I face?” Alva asked.
“No.” Settile had her arms folded. She stepped behind one of the tables, still facing him. “Whatever suits you.”
Alva’s smile got a little more knowing. He turned slightly sideways and gripped the windowsill with his left hand. “Just in case I slip and fall,” he said, looking at Dury. The breeze ruffled his hair. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
“Absolutely not,” Settile said.
Then she drew her sidearm and put one round through his head.
He didn’t fall through the window: he went down like a stone. The glass either side of the open window was instantly sprayed red with blood. Bakos didn’t make a sound, but Adam gasped. Nevil couldn’t even move. He was sure he was going to throw up. He’d never seen anything killed, not even an animal, and he hadn’t known how fast and awful it was, nothing like the movies. Bakos simply stood there, staring and swallowing. Biologists weren’t the fainting or screaming kind.
Adam shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of the nose. It seemed to take him a few moments to find his voice.
“You bitch,” Adam said slowly. “What the hell was all that in aid of? You think I’m impressed by murder? Was that all for my benefit?”
Settile holstered her weapon and stepped around the table to squat and check the body. She straightened up, apparently satisfied that Alva was dead and not just malingering.
“I know you think the world pivots on you, Adam,” she said. “But that was for all kinds of reasons. O
ne, we don’t want a homicidal pedophile wandering around Azura. Two, you didn’t use him so he’s surplus to requirements. And three, I did it by the window to minimize the spatter on fabrics. Look.” She peered over the sill. “Oh, there’s some on the stonework, but it’s mostly dispersed. Never mind. The next rainstorm will clean it off.” Now her voice hardened a little more. “Yes, I could have shot him on the ranges or dumped him from the Raven out at sea, but I think you all get my point now. It’s not just how easily it can be done, but that the situation is so serious now that it will be done.”
Adam went over to look at the body. Nevil didn’t dare, but Adam had been a frontline Gear and he could probably cope with that kind of thing better than he could. Nevil still felt he was going to vomit. And he still thought he should have done something, anything, without knowing what. That was shock, he supposed. He’d expected to feel something more complicated and emotional, not this weird physical reaction and little else.
“You should know by now that I don’t respond to threats,” Adam said. “And I don’t respect violence.”
“And I don’t care,” Settile said. “I just want you—all of you—to remember that we can’t have secrets on Azura. It’s the one place where everyone has a need to know. Do you get it? This isn’t Jacinto. The rules are different. We have to work together. You no longer have secrets, and you no longer have the cozy luxury of a conscience. Understand what we have to do to survive.”
Settile looked as if the execution hadn’t even raised her pulse rate. If anything, only Adam’s stubbornness had. Nevil had always thought he knew how high the survival stakes were in this war, but now he realized that he hadn’t understood them at all. He was only just beginning.
To save a world, everyone was potentially an acceptable loss.
CHAPTER 17
They’re coming in from the western edge of the plateau as well, Colonel. They’re going to take the Andius highway again in the next ten hours, and then you’re going to have pull a whole battalion back from somewhere else to get them out. Right now, you’ve got one platoon sitting here waiting to be turned into Gear puree.
(Lt. Mel Sorotki, pilot of KR-239, reporting back from recon sortie over western Jacinto.)
THE SLAB: ONE HOUR AFTER THE START OF THE LOCUST ASSAULT, GALE, 14 A.E.
Reeve could see the size of the problem as soon as he stepped through the doors into D Wing with Leuchars, Warrick, and Van Lees. Marcus shouldered ahead of them and let out a weary breath.
Wretches were rooting around the cells and exploring the place as if they didn’t have a pressing schedule. There were about a dozen of them, dark gray and a meter tall. One was scuttling along the balustrade of the gallery, bold as brass. More movement caught Reeve’s eye and he looked up at the ceiling. Marcus followed his gaze, squinting along the rifle’s sights.
“Shit, I didn’t know the assholes could climb,” Reeve murmured.
“Yeah, I should have said.” Marcus squeezed the trigger, a Wretch crashed to the ground, and its buddies turned around to start a loping run toward Marcus. “They do that. You might want to start shooting them now.”
“Can’t we tackle them?” Leuchars asked.
“You’ve seen the claws on those things.”
“You’ve never been out drinking in the docklands, have you? No worse than a guy with a knife and a broken bottle.”
Reeve, distracted by the rush of holding a loaded weapon for the first time in years, squeezed off one careful shot just to get the feel for it again and sent a Wretch skidding across the flagstones with half a head. Another one broke off from the pack and made a feint to the left but Leuchars and Warrick jumped it and pinned its arms. It bucked around like a demented spring, spitting and cussing.
“I said don’t!” Marcus barked. He dropped to one knee and started picking off the others one at a time as they came at him. “Save it for when you have to.”
“Hey, Leesy, give us a hand.” Leuchars ignored him. “Can’t hold the asshole all day. Ow, shit!” The Wretch had slashed a chunk out of his arm. “Move it, Leesy!”
Van Lees moved in, trying to get a kitchen knife into it. He had a length of metal bed frame shoved down the back of his belt. “What are they, armor plated?”
“Thick hide,” Marcus yelled back. “Stab it somewhere soft, for fuck’s sake.”
Reeve fired once and took down another Wretch. His second shot only wounded one, but it was good enough to leave it howling and struggling on the ground. He was counting his ammo in a way he’d never had to before, suddenly debating whether to finish off the wounded one that was now shrieking its head off.
“How about the eyes?” Warrick said. “Just do it, man. It’s going to get away.”
“Ah … okay.”
Reeve stepped back and looked just as Van Lees grabbed the thing’s head and tried to hold it steady as he rammed the knife into its face. He managed to get the blade into its mouth. Leuchars cheered. Van Lees had another couple of tries before he lost patience, pulled the length of pipe from his belt, and clubbed it senseless. But damn, it took a lot of blows to put it down. This was going to be a long day. They’d probably be out of ammo long before they ran out of Wretches, because more seemed to be ambling along the gallery.
Campbell, Parmenter, and Jarvi ran up behind Reeve. “Where the hell are they getting in?” Jarvi asked. “We can’t keep dropping them.”
Marcus was still taking aim and firing with calm deliberation. The last three Wretches from the first batch backed off a few meters and seemed to be working out if they should run for it or try to jump Marcus, but Reeve solved the problem for them by shooting two in the back as they turned tail. Campbell aimed and shot the third one. The Wretches up on the gallery vanished into the darkness.
Jarvi looked around.
“I’ve got twenty-five rounds left,” Marcus said, standing up. He didn’t look at Campbell or comment on the shot. “It’s a gamble. If we piss all our ammo on these things, then we’ll be in real trouble if we get drones or worse. How do we seal off this wing? Where can we put everyone and keep the grubs out while I find where they’re getting in?”
“The old A Wing,” Parmenter said. “No plumbing. Doors on manual locks.”
“What if they’re getting in via the roof or something?” Reeve asked.
“They’re all coming from the far end of this wing,” Marcus said. “I’m guessing the basement again, the psych wing. It floods. So there’s probably a route in of some kind.”
Jarvi walked out into the center of the floor and looked around. It was so damn dark in this place that a black shape like a Wretch was next to impossible to spot if it wasn’t moving. “Okay, so we lock ourselves in A Wing. Then what?”
“I plug the hole and wait for me give you the all-clear,” Marcus said. “And you better start planning in case you need to let everybody out. It won’t be a picnic out there, but if it’s a choice between being trapped with Locust inside, and being able to run for it outside, you stand a better chance over the wall.”
“I’d have to be authorized by Sovereigns.”
“Yeah, terrific, but consider thinking of your own asses and do it anyway.”
“I’m not happy leaving you to do this, Fenix.”
“Too bad. I’m the only grub expert you’ve got.” Marcus jerked his head at Jarvi to go and picked up a length of pipe. “Do it. You too, Reeve.”
“No way.” Reeve started walking toward the doors with the warders but he had other plans. “You want to cut around through the dog runs?”
Marcus started after him. “No, I want you to damn well listen to me and hold A Wing with the warders.”
“You’re not going down there alone. Spare me the heroics.”
“Bullshit.”
“You’ll have to shoot me to stop me, and you can’t spare a round.”
Reeve stopped and turned, blocking Marcus’s path. He really should have been far more worried about where the Wretches were, especially as they co
uld climb pretty well like spiders, but he’d never move a muscle if he let that get to him. Marcus brushed past him, shaking his head, because he always had to lead the damn cavalry charge. But Reeve couldn’t leave him to do this alone. It was starting to look like he wanted to force a suicide mission and get it all over with, just the way he had when he first walked into this place. Prisoners were standing at their allotted positions with their makeshift weapons as he approached.
“I said get everyone into A Wing.” Marcus’s voice echoed in the corridor. A guy called Manon came from the direction of the kitchens bouncing half a dead baby Corpser in one hand like a ball. “Shit, Manon, are they back?”
“Just a few. You want any help with the monkeys? I just saw one trying to climb the dog runs. They’re stuck the other side of that wall.”
“Great. But get everyone into A Wing and wait.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Leave this to me.”
Manon walked on. Reeve could hear whooping from the toilets. It sounded like guys were having a perverse kind of fun killing Corpsers, which beat screaming panic, he supposed. Marcus projected grim calm and let’s-do-it, so everyone else had picked up on that and thought they could beat grubs too. So that’s the sergeant thing. Nice trick if you can do it. Reeve caught up with Marcus and nudged him in the back with his elbow.
“You don’t go anywhere without backup, hear?” Reeve said. “If you don’t give a shit about yourself, at least worry about the rifle.”
“I gutted grubs for ten years,” Marcus muttered. “They’re just Wretches. It could be worse.”
“Yeah, but you had armor and a chainsaw rifle then. And what if they open the doors for their big buddies?”
“You want some advice?”
“You’re going to give it to me anyway.”
“Don’t try to save me. I told you that before.”
“You’re not a one-man army, Marcus. Get over yourself.”
“I’ve got to live with me.” He tapped his chest as he walked. “And this is the only way I can do it.”
Gears of War: The Slab (Gears of War 5) Page 53