Invisible Sun

by David Macinnis Gill

  I look into my empty arms and think of Vienne.

  “Durango!” Riki-Tiki calls. “Come quickly! Stain’s found something!”

  That something is a shipping container covered with Desperta Ferro graffiti. Inside, someone is hammering away on the walls.

  “Let them out,” I tell Stain.

  He points to the door, which is secured with a padlock.

  “Stand behind me,” I say, then put a round into the lock.

  I slide the door open.

  A Sturmnacht stands and fires a blaster round into my gut. It bounces off. I shrug, and the Sturmnacht aims for my face. I knock the blaster aside, then stick my cast under the poxer’s chin, lifting and slamming him into the opposite wall of the container.

  Stain and Riki-Tiki follow us inside.

  “We come in peace,” Riki-Tiki says.

  “You got a carking funny definition of peace,” he growls.

  “You got a funny way of answering the door, Franks,” I say. “Where’s your partner?”

  “He’s dead. When we come back without you, that little piss bucket Archibald put a bullet in him and threw me to the CorpComs.” His head has been split open, and his nose seems flatter, crooked, and he’s missing a few more teeth. “Thought you was one of them Rangers come back to finish the job.”

  “Rangers locked you in here?”

  “It wasn’t the tooth fairy.”

  “Pardon me if I’m a little skeptical.” I lean against him a tiny bit more, just to let him know I mean business. “Explain to me how Rangers came to lock you inside a shipping container.”

  “Reckon the locals called them in after us Sturmnacht started burning the place down,” Franks rasps. “Ain’t that hard to figure out, even for a dunny rat like you.”

  “You have a smart mouth,” Stain says.

  “You got bad teeth,” Franks snarks.

  I push my cast against the blighter’s voice box. “Enough out of you. Listen up. We’re after Archibald’s crew. From the looks of this place, they came through not long ago. You tell us which way they went, and we’ll let you go.”

  Franks winks. “If I don’t tell you?”

  “Then we can lock you back up and let the CorpComs take care of you.”

  “Go screw yourself,” he spits.

  “You’re telling me that you’re more afraid of Archibald than the CorpComs?”

  “No,” he says. “I’m telling you to go screw yourself.”

  “You are a very rude man,” Riki-Tiki says.

  Franks winks. “And you’re a fair dinkum susie.”

  “Shut up,” Stain says. “Or I’ll kill you myself.”

  Franks laughs. “You’re a monk! There ain’t a killer between the lot of you. Before you go threatening a man, you ought to make sure you’re willing to carry through with it.”

  He’s right. There’s only so far I’m willing to go to get information. I’m no Archibald. I release the hold on him. “It’s the Rangers then. We’ll be keeping the blaster.”

  We step outside. As I’m closing Franks back up, Stain sticks his hand in the door, blocking it. “I’ll have a word with this man.”

  “A waste of time.” I say. “Short of killing him, he’s not going to crack.”

  “Have faith. I can be very persuasive.” Stain slides the door closed behind him.

  Riki-Tiki walks across the alley to a cinder-block wall and sits down. She cups both hands over her ears and begins to hum a nonsense rhyme.

  “Mimi?” I say. “What do you make of this?”

  “Something unpleasant.”

  “Astute analysis.”

  “Garbage in, garbage out, cowboy.”

  Pressing my ear against the container, I listen for the sounds of their voices, but the insulation is too thick. Then I hear it, the familiar thrum of Stain’s staff. The metal skin of the container vibrates, amplifies the sound, making it louder and deeper. It hurts my ears, and I have to step back.

  Inside, Franks starts screaming.

  “Stain! Open up!” I yank on the door, but it won’t open. The bastard has blocked it from the inside. I punch the container, and my fist bounces off the thick metal. But I can’t punch my way through the door, and three more tries won’t open it. The screams continue, and I look across the alley at Riki-Tiki, who is humming louder.

  Then I remember Vienne. They didn’t mind torturing her, so why should I worry about the pain Stain is dishing out?

  Franks screams. I steel myself against the sound while inspecting the dirt embalmed in my cuticles. It goes against every principle I have to stand here and let the interrogation continue. But I do. Both because we need the information and because a small, mean part of me thinks the poxer deserves this. The monks call it karma.

  No, I tell myself, it’s not karma. It’s vengeance. Don’t let your heart turn hard.

  “Amen,” Mimi says.

  I take a seat beside Riki-Tiki. Bump her with my shoulder. “It’ll be over soon.”

  “Not soon enough,” she says, unplugging her ears. “He wasn’t always like this, you know. Ghannouj says that when Stain and Vienne came to live with the monks, they hardly talked at first. After a long time, they came out of their shells, and they both were devoted to the way of the Tengu. They were happy, too. But everything changed one day when a stranger showed up at the temple, angry and out of his mind with Rapture. He said he was Vienne and Stain’s father, and he was there to take them away.”

  So that’s why Vienne wasn’t sympathetic to the hostages Archibald took. “Was the man really their father?”

  Riki-Tiki nods. “Vienne said he was. I believe her. But he was an awful father. When the monks tried to calm him down, he attacked Ghannouj and started hurting Vienne. She fought him like a wild thing. The Rapture made him too strong. So Stain snatched a cleaver from the kitchen and threatened him with it. The man started to snap Vienne’s neck, so Stain killed him.” She sniffs and wipes her nose. “Tengu law says that we can’t commit acts of violence and we can’t desecrate the temple. Stain did both.”

  “What happened after that?” I ask.

  “The monks sent him away. Vienne left to become a Regulator. Stain gave up on the Tengu way to become a wanderer. He says he’s a better monk now than before, but I miss the old Stain. He used to laugh. Now I don’t think he’ll ever laugh again.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say. “If the monks kicked him out, how’s he still bönpo?

  “The staff. It contains a hive queen, so—”

  Franks screams again. The terror in his voice sends an ice-pick shiver down my spine. Riki-Tiki buries her head in my shoulder and plugs her ears. To help draw out the screams, I hum the only lullaby I know and rock her back and forth. Vienne’s words echo in my mind, and I realize how naïve I’ve been. How stupid, too. Being a Regulator wasn’t just about being a soldier to her. Returning to the monastery wasn’t just about a homecoming. She was healing. She was finding herself. And I asked her to give it all away for what? Pride? Honor? Call it whatever you want, Durango, it all comes down to vanity.

  Finally, Stain opens the door. Franks is lying on the floor in a fetal position, crying, his body covered in welts. A quiet buzz is coming from the pouch on Stain’s belt.

  “Torturing prisoners is not the way Regulators behave, Stain.” I stick a finger in his face. “We’re supposed to be better than our enemies.”

  “I am not a Regulator, so your rules don’t apply to me.” He bats my hand away. “My methods got us the information we need.”

  “Which is?” I ask, doing my best not to hit him.

  “The Sturmnacht are recruiting dalit for the war they’ve started,” Stain says. “They are assembling at Hawera Dam, which is where Archibald is holding Vienne.”

  I’m forced to admit that he’s effective. I also have to admit that I’m willing to use the intel, even if he tortured Franks to get it. The guilt and self-recriminations will have to wait for another day.

  “Grab Frank
s,” I say. “He’s going to help us, whether he likes it or not.”

  Chapter 24

  Hawera Hydroelectric Complex

  Zealand Prefecture

  ANNOS MARTIS 238. 7. 27. 17:59

  Archibald shields his eyes as the Hellbender lands on the observation deck. Two shock troopers jump from the cargo bay, followed by a Regulator in symbiarmor that bears the insignia of Zealand Corp.

  “Yes!” Archibald runs toward the Regulator. For a few seconds, the soldier seems ready to open fire. Then he extends his hand, and Archibald relaxes.

  “Hope you’re as tough as you look,” Archibald tells him. “This isn’t a job for the squeamish.”

  “They never are,” the Regulator says.

  As the Hellbender takes off, they run to an access door marked “Turbine” and enter. Archibald signals the larger shock troopers to stop and guard the door. They pass through the room, which houses the mechanical controls for the spill gates, then downstairs to an inner office, where a series of multivid control panels act as the hive mind for the entire dam complex.

  Across the room is a wide window made of thick plexi so that the operators can observe the spill gates. Duke is waiting for him there, drinking a cup of coffee.

  “My first Regulator has arrived,” Archibald says with a flourish that Duke appears to ignore.

  “Yeah.” Duke sets the cup aside and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “I know.”

  What a pig. A disrespectful, ill-mannered pig who needs to be taught a lesson. “Your post is outside!” Archibald snaps at the remaining shock trooper.

  Then he turns his attention to Vienne, who is cuffed to a metal chair. “This is your mission.”

  “I don’t kill women,” the Regulator says.

  Presumptuous idiot! “I said nothing about killing her!” He pauses to regain his composure. “Come, take a closer look. She is my masterpiece.”

  After observing her for a moment, the Regulator cups her chin in his palm. Vienne’s eyes snap open. She snarls and tries to bite him.

  He jumps back, quick enough to save his skin. “What have you done to her?”

  “Watch your fingers with this one,” Archibald says, snickering. “She’s not quite tame. One bite, and she’ll make a dalit out of you.”

  Purposely ignoring Duke, he saunters to the window, hands clasped behind his back, watching the water from the upper-level spill gates cascading to the lake five hundred meters below. “Vienne is the first of a new breed of warrior. Cunning. Fearless. Obedient. The perfect human weapon to replace all others. Soon, no one will even remember what a Regulator is.” He spins around. “Does that bother you?”

  “No,” the soldier says. “As long as you’re paying cash.”

  Archibald snickers. “That’s good, because the reason I brought you here is to help control her. You see, during our last outing, she got out of hand, and the shock troopers just aren’t able to make her behave. Do you think you can make her behave?”

  “I have no doubt,” he says.

  Arrogant bastard! She will make hash of you! “This,” Archibald says, laughing louder, “is going to be fun—”

  From the stairs comes the sound of a ruckus. The troopers are shouting, and the Regulator snaps to attention.

  “What the devil is that noise?” Archibald says. “Duke! Find out.”

  Duke snorts. “Find out yourself.”

  “What?” he says, stunned by the impertinence. “How dare you speak to me that way!”

  He starts toward Duke.

  The door flies open.

  A trooper shoves a captive through the doorway and hauls him down the stairs. Hands cuffed behind him, his nose and mouth are bleeding, his right eye swollen, and his hair falls in his face as he drops to his knees. His left arm is in a cast, and he’s wearing shock trooper armor.

  “What is this about?” Archibald screams, blood rushing to his face. “I gave explicit orders not to interrupt me!”

  “Sir! He tried to break in.” The trooper puts a boot on the captive’s back and slams him to the floor. “Want me to shoot him?”

  “Of course.” Archibald dismisses the trooper with a wave. “But not here. Take him outside. I don’t want blood on the floor.”

  The trooper hesitates.

  “What are you waiting for?” Archibald barks. “Quit dawdling and get him out of here before I have you shot as well.”

  “Yes sir!” After a couple of unsuccessful tries, the trooper scoops up the prisoner and throws him over a shoulder as Archibald turns to the window.

  The prisoner coughs. “What’s the matter, Archie? Afraid to shoot me yourself?”

  “Do not call me—” Archibald wheels around and sees the man’s face clearly. “You!” he shouts. He presses both hands to his cheeks, and he hops up and down, clapping. “It can’t be—it is!”

  “What are you carrying on about?” Duke says.

  Archibald is so overjoyed, he chooses to ignore the rudeness. He grabs the prisoner by the hair and lifts up his head. “Don’t you recognize him, Duke? This is Jacob Stringfellow, son of the former CEO of Zealand Corp. Soldier! Put him down! Regulator! Get him a chair. We must make our honored guest comfortable.”

  After the trooper follows orders, the Regulator pulls a chair from a console at the control panel, then sets it next to Vienne. He drops the captive into it.

  Stringfellow lets his head droop. Apparently, he isn’t interested in conversing anymore.

  “You made a mess of him, trooper,” Archibald says as he apprises Stringfellow’s wounds.

  “He’s a dalit.” The trooper shrugs. “He deserved what he got.”

  “Out!” Archibald snaps his fingers at the trooper, who departs begrudgingly. Then Archibald turns to the observation window, a fist at his mouth, his eyes squinted tight in gleeful triumph. Stringfellow! Captured! Lyme will be thrilled!

  He watches the spill water billowing up. A rainbow forms in the mist. It is a good sign, a harbinger of things to come.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Archibald says in his most theatric voice. “The way the sunlight catches the particles of water, creating a prism effect? Did you know that Earthers believe a small man lives at the end of the rainbow and gives a pot of gold to anyone who can trace the rainbow to its end and capture him? How apropos, then, that a rainbow would appear just in time for my very own pot of gold to appear. Are you listening to me, Mr. Stringfellow?”

  No, apparently he isn’t. Archibald grabs another chair and sits facing Stringfellow, the chair turned backward.

  Stringfellow’s lips move, but all he says is, “Nuh.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes. You and I have much in common, you know. Sons of powerful parents. The best breeding. The best educations,” Archibald says. “But like you, I found the best to be tedious, and I set out to make my own mark on the world.”

  Grabbing a handful of hair, he pulls back Stringfellow’s head. He takes out his lighter and flicks the flint under his exposed chin.

  “Sadly, I lacked your physical gifts,” Archibald says, “so I had to turn to other forms of expression.”

  He strikes the lighter. The flames lick the tips of Stringfellow’s luscious hair. “Of course, you didn’t come for me,” Archibald says. “You came for her, like I knew you would. You’re too much the hero to not show up.”

  He spins Stringfellow’s chair around so that he is facing Vienne. Stringfellow’s lips tremble, murmuring from either fear or pain. Hopefully, both.

  “Love hurts, doesn’t it?” Archibald says, mocking him. “You love her, don’t you? In that way that handsome, rich boys love the girls that turn them down. You know what’s sad? When you do catch her, you’ll learn the hard truth about love: It’s the chase, not the girl.”

  “Liar,” Stringfellow finally answers.

  “I knew you were listening,” Archibald says, laughing. “You’re such a bad actor.”

  He slides into Stringfellow’s lap, then grabs his bloodied face, giving a sque
eze for good measure. “‘That Jacob Stringfellow. Such a handsome young man.’ Do you know how many times my mother uttered those very words to me?” He twists Stringfellow’s face toward Vienne. “How about you, mon petit chou? Do you think he’s still—” He torques the head to punctuate each syllable. “A handsome. Young. Man?”

  Vienne doesn’t answer, but her body jerks as if racked by petit mal seizures.

  Stringfellow groans and fights to escape Archibald’s grip, but he is too weak.

  “Jacob! Look at my lovely lady and her new eyes!” Archibald says. “I’ve turned the cat into the leopard, and she has very, very sharp teeth. Maybe I should let her play with her food. See that cruel look? I made that. See the murder in those eyes? I put that there. Do you know why I was able to do that? Because you failed, Stringfellow. You led a beautiful young soldier into battle, and you left her to cover your ass while you tried to escape. Some hero you are.”

  Stringfellow struggles with the cuffs, straining to reach Archibald with his fists.

  “Truth is a bitter pill, isn’t it?” He grins. Then he pinches Stringfellow’s lips closed. “Talking to yourself again? Well, stop. No one is listening.”

  For a few seconds, Archibald enjoys Stringfellow’s growing agitation, then he feels the pang of something that’s been gnawing at him grow larger. “Why is it that Lyme wants you so badly, anyway?”

  He stands, then paces the room, pausing at the window. What does Lyme need with Jacob Stringfellow when he has Archibald Bragg? Could it be that—no, Lyme would never replace a loyal servant with a disgraced hero. Would he?

  He looks back at Duke, who only shrugs, which is expected because this game is beyond his capability for reasoning. The Regulator is no help, either. “What should we do with Stringfellow, then? Kill him in front of his beloved? Or let her do it for us? Which is the more poetic?”

  “Turn him over to Lyme,” Duke says. “Like we’re supposed to.”

  “Like we’re supposed to?” Archibald cries, pacing and waving his arms. “Suddenly, you decide to do exactly as you’re told. What kind of criminal are you?”