She spat on the ground. “Hinir dauðu eru dauðir. No, I want to know who killed him.”
“Also dead.”
Hannesdottir narrowed her eyes. “Convenient.”
Laura chuckled. “Far from it. He had information we needed.” She shrugged. “But there was an air strike. A lot of people are dead.”
Hannesdottir pounded on a table with her claw. It split in half under the impact, dumping lab papers and glassware to the ground. That was going to be a bitch to clean up. “Stop mocking me! I want retribution! Who killed my father? I'll—”
“You'll what?” Laura asked. “Kill his family? His clan? His culture?” She stepped closer. “That's exactly what the Composer wants, you know. He chose the perfect moment to start a civil war.”
Her mandibles clicked, and she stepped forward angrily. “Don't patronize me, little girl.”
Laura held her ground. “You're not much older than me. And clearly less intelligent. You're a diplomat, you know this is a bad idea.”
Hannesdottir snapped her claw dangerously close to Laura's face. She ignored it. It was grandstanding, nothing more. Like a captured monster that knew it was caught. “Life for life, baseline!”
“And that code has been satisfied,” Laura pointed out. “The man who killed your father is dead. Now you get to carry on their legacy.”
Hannesdottir backed up, her mandibles waving slowly. A gesture of confusion. “Wait... their legacy?”
“The legacy your father and his murderer shared,” Laura said gently. “They both wanted peace and cooperation between the cultures.”
She roared forward. “THEN WHY DID HE KILL HIM!?”
Exactly the response Laura was hoping for. She didn't flinch. “He was hypnotized.”
Hannesdottir blinked. “What?”
“The Composer has some power to control people. To program them, like sleeper agents. During the battle five percent—exactly five percent—turned on their allies at the exact same moment.”
Hannesdottir stepped back again. “That means—”
“It could mean many things. Right now, it means we lost a battle. But we haven't lost the war.”
She looked around, swallowed any complaints, and nodded. “What do you need me to do?”
“If you have any scientists in your entourage, send them over,” Laura said. “Other than that, just let us work.”
Hannesdottir nodded very slowly and headed back the way she came without another word. Henry and Robyn stared at her as she left, then turned to Laura, mouths agape.
She sat down heavily in a stool, since her shaking legs wouldn't support her. “Henry, tell them to bring in the next sleeper.”
Chapter 20: CURA
AKANE
Akane wasn't worried. Not in the slightest.
The sleepers were... something to think about, but Laura had that all under control. That wasn't their job, they were just here to make sure nothing went wrong.
No, the thing she wasn't worried about was Flynn.
“You can't just run off on your own like that,” Derek said. “There was an emergency and you were nowhere to be found.”
Ling tried to meet his gaze and failed. “I was busy helping a friend.”
“Doing what?” She tried to answer, but Derek just cut her off. “I don't care. You should have answered your phone, explained the situation.”
She planted her feet firmly. “I'm not a 'sarian, and I'm not Akane. I'm not a soldier, I didn't volunteer for any of this.”
Flynn had already proven willing to follow friends into dangerous areas. The fact that today's screamers had been relatively harmless was nothing short of a miracle, but probably not one that would be repeated.
He shouldn't be doing that. It didn't matter that he could handle himself in a fight. He wasn't immune to infection, so he was always at risk. That's why the Paladins always went in first. Was it really so hard to understand?
“Sometimes you don't get a choice,” Derek said. “You've been recruited. Stand up and do your duty.”
Ling snorted and shook her head. “Seriously? That's the best you can come up with?”
Akane needed a way to keep him out of danger, but nothing was coming to mind. Flynn might not have the stupidly unconquerable heroic spirit Derek did, but he still wasn't one to let others get hurt when he could stop it.
She glanced over at him. He was taking a nap in a small folding chair, his sword held close. Adam was also sleeping, though he had managed to secure a slightly more comfortable seat. Both of them had been up for too long. The rest of the group should probably be sleeping too, but... well, Ling and Derek were yelling at each other.
Derek sighed. “You've been fine the past few weeks. What changed all of a sudden?”
Ling started looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Nothing, really. I just don't like being tied down.”
He noticed her evasion. “You've also never been afraid to share what's on your mind. What aren't you telling me?”
“I... I...” She floundered for a moment or two, but then her expression shifted, almost scary fast. She grinned, and took a step closer. “I'm hiding several things from you.” She stepped directly into his reach and put her arms around him. “Which I'd be more than happy to... reveal.”
“This is no joking matter,” he said, frowning. “If you don't give me a half-decent explanation, Butler's going to ask for your security pass back.”
She sniffed. “Like I care.”
Derek pushed her away. “You should care. What do you think will happen if Butler writes you off as a loss?”
Ling shrugged. “I get a black mark in the Necessarius books. So what?”
Maybe Akane should talk with that Canian, Guland. He was Flynn's roommate, after all, he might be willing to help a little. He was off in the cell block talking to the Romanian that got hypnotized, but he'd be back.
Even if she could get Guland on board, that still left the problem of getting Flynn to listen. She supposed she could ask Derek or Laura for help...
No. Out of the question. This wasn't their concern. She needed to handle this on her own.
“A black mark from Necessarius is a little more than a so what,” Derek said with a snort. “You won't be able to get a job with anyone respectable. Unless you're planning to join up with the Nessians? The Satanists?”
Maybe that was the answer. Convince him to get a job, something that would tie him behind a desk for as long as this stupid zombie apocalypse was still going on. Not a literal desk job, of course. He had too much energy to stay sane doing that. Maybe training? He had said he liked kids, maybe he could act as an instructor for one of the Necessarius junior classes. They taught kenjutsu at that level, which he could definitely help with. Akane had started learning iaido at about that age, but she wasn't sure if that was normal curriculum.
Ling just huffed. “Of course not. But there are plenty of options. The Belians would take me. They've never had a good relationship with the 'sarians. Then there's the Jotuun, the goblins, and the angels. I've also got some friends in the aves.”
“The Belians are just a bunch of chem-heads,” Kelly said from the door without even turning around, scratching the skin around her fixer slightly. “Stay away from them.”
Ling waved her hand. “That's still four good options for me.”
“The angels require a level of devotion far greater than Necessarius,” Alex pointed out. “If you chafe under Butler's command, the Saints will be infinitely worse.”
She scowled. “Fine. The goblins and the aves are perfect.”
Derek shrugged. “Even if you're willing to go through the extensive modification required—which I doubt—neither of them have much power. You'll be trapped in dead-end jobs for the rest of your life. Didn't you want to be a director? That will never happen with them.”
Ling grinned. “The aves might surprise you soon,” she said cryptically. But then her smile faded. “Of course, I probably wouldn't look good with feathers...”<
br />
“That's one reason,” Derek said, deadpan. He rubbed his head again. “Look, if you can't make it because there's an emergency, that's fine. You're only human, and it's not like these things are happening on a schedule. Just call and explain it as best you can.”
She threw up her hands. “And I don't think I should have to. This is a voluntary outfit.”
Derek took a deep breath, and Akane could tell he was counting to ten. “I know. I am just asking you to extend some common courtesies. Let us know when we're going to be a man down, and why.”
Alex had some pull with the teachers, right? He had mentioned something about his friend being a Necessarian Lucifer. Akane should ask him. Maybe he could get Flynn a job. Of course, she still needed to ask Flynn, but she'd wait for Guland to come back. Present a united front.
Ling shook her head again. “You military types and your rules. Whatever.” She turned to leave.
Derek blocked her way with a barrier.
She cursed as she bumped into it. “Derek, what the hell—”
Without the slightest sign of hesitation or anger showing on his face, he boxed her in with more barriers, until she could barely even move. The rest of them all scrambled back, knocking over their chairs in their haste to get as far from what was about to happen as possible—while still staying close enough to watch.
“In combat,” he said calmly, as if nothing was amiss, “a lack of intelligence can get a lot of people killed. Something as simple as not knowing what kind of shops are in the area can mean the difference between life and death.”
Ling struggled, but she just wasn't strong enough to break free of his barriers. She wasn't wearing her armor, and she had to be touching stone in order to move it. She looked too angry to talk.
“One of the biggest causes of casualties in combat is reinforcements,” he continued. “Either the enemy has backup you don't know about, or you don't have the backup you thought you did.” He gave Ling a level gaze. “So I'm sure you can see why you always need to know when one of your soldiers is otherwise engaged.”
Ling tried to meet his eyes, but broke the gaze after a few seconds. There weren't many people who could do better.
Derek let the shields fade into wisps of azure. Ling collapsed to the ground, breathing hard. After a moment she calmed down, but she didn't rise from the floor.
“I'm glad we had this talk,” Derek said, and left without another word.
Just as he stepped out, Guland stepped into the room with a plate of doughnuts in his arms. He looked around at them all. “What'd I miss?”
Chapter 21: MUTARE
JARASAX
Jarasax of the Blood-Doused Hunters didn't remember his real name. When the Queen of Harvest Black kidnapped him, she shaped him and molded him so much that his memories were lost in the transformation. Like all changelings, his name was simply something he chose. And as was traditional, he chose an outlandish name to further identify himself from the fey's apathetic cruelty.
Unlike most of his kithmates, his first memory was not a particularly unhappy one. He awoke in a human form, serving as a living chair for guests visiting the Court. That might sound horrible and demeaning, but there were much, much worse fates available at the hands of the fey.
By the time he escaped, the Queen had taken a bit of an interest in him. He didn't look even the least bit human by the time he reached a 'sarian compound. The only reason he survived was because of his thick armor plating. The soldiers shot on sight.
But, thankfully, they thought it was odd that he refused to fight back, so they took him to Clarke's lab, where the lovely Mary Christina—the lab tech, not the one who ran the city now—realized that he was actually human underneath all the toys.
They rebuilt him over a few months, but there was only so much they could do. No one, including Jarasax himself, knew who he was, and toys couldn't just be unplugged. They had no idea what he was supposed to look like. So, they were forced to use his DNA as a map. It said he was male, average height, and of Middle-Eastern descent, so that's what he ended up looking like. He had no idea if any of that was true, and in all honesty, he was sure there were at least a few details that were very wrong.
“Jarasax,” his companion snapped. “Pay attention.”
He instantly straightened. “Apologies, Honored Mother. I let my mind wander. It won't happen again.”
The First Monster sighed. “Honestly, you're almost certainly older than I am. How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”
“At least once more, Honored Mother,” he said without a hint of sarcasm.
She rubbed her forehead. “Fine. Why don't we talk about the fey?”
Jarasax blinked. “My lady?”
“That is what you were thinking about, right?” she asked, eyeing him carefully. “I can always tell when you're thinking about them. You get a... look.” She shrugged. “We need to clear out your mental cobwebs. What's the problem?”
“I...” He cleared his throat. “Nothing, Honored Mother. Don't worry about it.”
She glared at him for a moment, then rolled her eyes. “It's about the Courts, isn't it? How organized they are?”
He tried not to let his reaction show on his face. Instead, he shook his head. “Please forgive me, my lady. But... I would really prefer to talk about something else.”
She gave him a careful look, then nodded. “Fine. Consider it tabled. Let's get back to the matter at hand. How are the screamers?”
“As well as can be expected. There's not really much Clarke can do to study them without invasive procedures.”
The Mother Monster raised an eyebrow. “Are my strictures really that confining?”
Jarasax shook his head again. “No, not at all.” Then he paused. “Well... yes.” He shrugged a little helplessly. “But to be honest, most of the people involved don't think there's really anything they can learn from the screamers. Dissecting dead ones hasn't found anything different from normal humans, why would doing it on live ones be any different?”
“I'm not here to give you a cost/benefit analysis on vivisection,” she said dryly. “I just want to make sure no one is being hurt.”
Jarasax shrugged a little helplessly. “Well... they're not. I mean, sometimes they bash themselves against the cages, but there's only so much the lab techs can do to stop that.”
“They're doing their best,” a cool female voice said. “More than enough to satisfy your strictures, little one.”
Jarasax didn't have the same blind hatred towards the fey as most changelings. Honestly, he liked his current life, with Necessarius and the retinue and everything else, and he was a little bit grateful towards them for giving it to him.
But the second he saw the Queen-Mother of Killing Sparrow standing there as though nothing was out of the ordinary, he had his gun out and aimed at her face.
Grateful or not, the fey were ridiculously dangerous. If nothing else, their homunculi cheapened their feelings towards death and made them more likely to use lethal force.
The Mother Monster glared at him. “Put that down.” He obeyed grudgingly, and she turned to the fey. “You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?”
For all appearances, the woman in front of them was an exact clone of the Princess of Killing Sparrow he had met earlier, during the burners incident. But while the Maiden had short-cropped brown hair, the Crone's was long, reaching past her naked rear end. It was a distinct enough hair style that it was generally called a crone's cut in Domina.
The nude woman grinned. “Of course I'm not going to do anything, Honored Mother. What ever gave you that idea?”
The First Monster sighed. “What do you want, Crone? You didn't sneak past 'sarian security on a lark.”
Killing Sparrow giggled, making sure to get her chest to bounce around as much as possible. “You sure about that?”
“Crone.”
Killing Sparrow settled down a little. “Ah, but yes, I did have something I wished
to speak to you about.” She smiled devilishly. “Politics.”
“Politics,” the Mother said dully, making no effort to hide her feelings on the matter.
“The Courts are in disarray, Honored Mother. My sisters, my nieces and grand-nieces...” She shook her head. “It looks like war between the séasúir will be inevitable.”
Fifteen years ago, when the toy maker was first introduced, the owner of a sanitarium went crazy and started torturing and experimenting on all his patients. There were ninety-six survivors, who split themselves into thirty-two Courts. First were the four seasons called séasúir, then the four primary compass directions—treo—then night and day, or éadrom. Each Court consisted of three women, a Maiden, a Matron, and a Crone. The Princess, the Queen, and the Queen-Mother. Then they used the toy maker on people and animals and whatever else they damn well pleased.
That was the official line from the fey. Well, the short version. One of the easiest ways to distract them was to ask about the Courts. They'd spend hours ranting about the politics, all while dropping bad Irish at strange moments.
But it didn't quite sit right with Jarasax, and a lot of other people as well. The fey were completely chaotic and insane, and yet all ninety-six of them agreed to pretend to be Celtic fairies? It didn't help that their homunculi made an actual headcount impossible.
The prevailing theory among the changelings was that the Nameless One—the only way the fey would refer to their former psychiatrist—had used Celtic mythology as part of his tortures, imprinting it on the survivors. The fey always laughed at this suggestion, though.
But actual war between the Seasons... that was rare. Virtually unheard of. Yes, they were chaotic, yes, they were as likely to smile at someone as kill them. But that was part of what kept them at peace. When you didn't care about anything, you didn't take offense to getting attacked by monsters every once in a while. The functional immortality probably helped too.
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