by S.
“Do you want the hat?” Leigh asked. “It will keep some of the sun from your face.”
He shook his head, lowered his arm, and blinked. “No. I want to feel it. My eyes will adjust in time, and I suppose the pain is a small price to pay for a little fresh air. Do you know that sharks will sometimes swim to the surface and sunbathe? Not unlike snakes when they sun themselves on rocks. All creatures crave light and warmth, Enetic or otherwise.”
“I’ve never seen a shark, and I don’t suppose I ever will.” Leigh positioned herself between the Shurin and the crowd. If rocks flew or someone decided to take a swing at Sairel, it would fall to her to take the blow and keep order. She wondered if Orin had ever had to do the same thing, and guessed he had, many times.
She motioned. “Down the steps.”
Sairel didn’t move right away. A serene look replaced his cunning smile as he studied a crack in the stone step. Then, he made his way down the steps, hands atop his head as he flashed a vicious grin at the gathered people.
“This is the first time I’ve seen Dogton during the day,” he said. “Does it strike you all as a bit amusing that I’ve lived here for two years, and no one, save for a few Enforcers, has seen me up close in all that time? Strange, I know more about each of you than—”
Leigh pushed the pistol against the small of his back, hissing between clenched teeth. “This is not the time to goad them! They’ve had weeks of abuse at the hands of Scrappers and Evrik Niles, and I am not Orin; they won’t listen to me the way they listened to him.”
“I beg to differ.”
“Walk.”
Sairel fell quiet as he moved, sweat already slicking his shoulders and back. He didn’t seem to mind, but by the time they neared Neiro’s office, his steps lagged. Leigh guessed this was the longest walk he’d taken since being locked in the jail.
“Stop here,” she said. “Wait.”
The camera above the door swiveled in their direction, scanning them with its dark eye. The door clicked open and Garv poked her nose out, face flushed. Looking Sairel up and down, she snorted. “If Mi’et were still around, you’d give him a run for the title of ugliest Enetic this side of the Belt.”
From inside, Vore called, “I thought that was your title, Garv.”
The burly woman gave another snort before moving aside. “Almost got things in order down here, Leigh, or as much as we can, anyway. Neiro’s been throwing a fit upstairs. We can both hear him bitching about how long it’s taking for you to bring the Shurin.”
“Misses my company, perhaps,” Sairel said without any humor. Leigh pushed him forward, but he hesitated staring into the dark office as though afraid of being swallowed by that cramped space. “It smells awful in here. Evrik Niles has burned his presence right into the wood and stone, didn’t he? The stink will never come out. Maybe he meant for that to happen; every time Neiro sits in his desk, he’ll have a ghost to contend with. A pungent one, with blue lips.”
Leigh didn’t want to think about Evrik Niles being a Nah’gatt. She pushed him again. “Upstairs.”
As they stepped through the room, Vore gave a low whistle. “Why, Leigh, you could have at least put some damned clothes on him. That ain’t no decent way to go walkin’ around town. They’d throw the rest of us out if we let our credentials swing in the wind.” He smirked, arching a brow. “Especially Garv.”
“Fuck you,” Garv said amiably. “Help me try to get this threk back together.”
Leigh left them to it. Sairel moved toward the stairwell, placing a long hand against the wall. Faint mutterings and curses drifted down from Neiro’s room, while light from the open doorway splashed across top stair, more ominous than beckoning.
“Are you afraid?” Leigh asked.
“Of Neiro Precaius? No. Of being executed? It’s not a pleasant thought, but I’ve come to terms with death a long time ago. In the Junk, we were surrounded with death, and there have been other times I’ve come close enough. I’d argue Shurin don’t pay much heed to fear. . . not the way you might think, anyway. Are you afraid?”
“Bring him in here!” Neiro bellowed. “I can hear him babbling. I’m not going to wait all afternoon.” He sounded so strong Leigh could not picture him still lying abed, pale and listless.
He sent Gren to die for some Worm Glass. And I almost did, too. Romano Vargas did die for it, and Kaitar. . .
“He’s waiting for us, Enforcer Enderi, and yet you’re standing here, having second thoughts.”
Leigh adjusted the brim of her hat and slid the gun into her belt. “I’m going to trust you not to attack me. I will not follow an order to execute you unless you make a move to harm someone.”
“Where the fuck is Sairel?” Neiro’s voice bounced down the stairwell. “Get him in here!”
She cleared her throat. “Let’s go. He’s going to make Sokepta carry him down the stairs if we don’t.”
“That would be an amusing sight, don’t you think?”
“No.”
Sairel shrugged before taking the last few steps with quick, long strides. He crossed the patch of sunlight and vanished into Neiro’s room. Leigh made her own way to the second floor and through the open doorway. There, Neiro and Sairel had already locked in some silent battle of wills she and Sokepta— who stood silently near the window— had no part in. The Shurin leaned close to the bed, running his tongue over his teeth while Neiro trained his shotgun stare on the Enetic’s face.
Neither man flinched.
“You’re looking a tad under the weather,” Sairel said. “I tried to warn you, but you didn’t listen. For two years, you ignored everything I said and kept wagging your tail for the Syndicate. I suppose you feel foolish about all that, now.”
Neiro’s lip twitched. “No, I don’t. I’m still alive, aren’t I? Niles was the fool for not killing me when he had the chance.” He leaned up, shoulders shaking from the strain. “I should have you shot for what you did.”
“And then you can shoot yourself for what you’ve done, too. No more games, Neiro, or they’ll have us both locked in the Junk by summer.” Sairel looked away at last. “Enforcer Enderi might agree with me on that. It’s not just what you’ve done in Avaeliis that you’ve got to answer for.”
“What I’ve done? What about you, and the rest of the Cursors?”
“You know where they are, Neiro. Or were; most of them are probably dead by now for crimes they never had the option to refuse.” A fleeting grief twisted the Shurin’s features. “I think—”
Leigh interrupted, sick of the arguing. “Dogton is in a very bad situation. The Scrappers used much of our fresh water supply, and what’s left in the reservoir has to be filtered. The crops were ruined in the Bloom, and people are scared. You’ve only got three Enforcers left, and no scouts at all. No caravans will be coming to Dogton for at least three or four months. We need water, food, and supplies, now, before the town collapses.”
Neiro dropped to the bed, all the steel and fire draining from him in a single sigh. He appeared old at that moment—a man worn out from long years of battle. It was, Leigh realized, the first time she’d seen Neiro Precaius looking human.
“Yes, I suppose that’s right,” he muttered, rubbing his jaw. “To hell with all of the rest for now. Nyia thinks she’ll have my town, but she can’t make a move until spring. We have that long, at least.”
“You knew this would happen?”
“I suspected it might eventually, but I never thought they’d use someone like Evrik Niles to do it.” He sneered. “I figured someone like the damned fish here.”
Sairel tilted his head, smirking bitterly. “Oh, yes, after all they’d done to me, I’d be more than thrilled to take orders from anyone affiliated with the Syndicate or the Harpers.”
Neiro gritted his teeth. “You probably would.”
Cold fury coursed through Leigh, and she imagined herself hitting Neiro, grabbing him by the shoulders, and demanding answers for all of it. Instead, she swallowed her ang
er. “That isn’t fixing the current problem in Dogton. We need to regain control.”
“I need Orin here.” Neiro dropped his hand to the coverlet. “You’ll do, though. You’ve been wearing the mantle the past few months, haven’t you? Take Sairel to Viyr. You’ve got your orders, Captain Enderi. And when. . . if. . . he can get Viyr functioning again, find him some fucking pants. I’m sick of seeing his ugly cock swinging around.”
“Things are going to change in Dogton, Neiro.” Leigh turned to Sairel. “I’ll take you to Viyr.”
“The static round will have erased all of Viyr’s files, and I’m not sure those can be completely recovered. But Verand’s data was Archived in the Shelfing. However, I need to turn my Shelf back on. Everything’s on standby right now, and I can’t access Verand until I can access myself.”
Leigh had no idea what any of it meant, and did not really care. “Neiro?”
“Yes. I heard.” Neiro scowled. “There’s a Cyth-wire in the desk. Let’s hope Niles didn’t find that one. It’s hidden under a false bottom in the top left drawer. You know what to do with it, I suppose.”
Sairel nodded. “I do, yes.”
“Go and do it, then. Bring him here, if you can.” Neiro turned his face to the window and mumbled something so quietly, Leigh could not hear the words. Sokepta shot him a look, but kept his silence as he poured a glass of water and offered it to Sairel. Grinning, the Shurin took it and drank half before shoving it at Neiro, who drained the remaining liquid.
That’s the truce. Water, shared from the same container. For now, they’re allies. And I’m Captain of the Enforcers. . . the three of us still left.
“Get going.” Neiro wiped his lips.
The warehouse proved to be in no better condition than Neiro’s office. Boxes and crates lay strew about, most opened and ransacked by Scrappers. Smaller cardboard boxes marked with the Veraleid logo littered the floor, and Leigh wished Mi’et were there to put things in order to his meticulous standards.
“There he is,” Sairel breathed, breaking the murky silence. His grip on the Cyth-wire tightened. “Verand Eleid. Genius or madman, Leigh, take your pick. It’s been twenty years since I’ve seen him.”
Twin beacons shone in the unwavering stillness, too bright-blue to be anything but artificial light. They fixed on a point at the warehouse ceiling, where the sheet metal caught the neon glint along it’s correlated surface. As her eyes adjusted, Leigh made out Viyr’s pale form, half-buried with crates and boxes. Someone had taken his armor. His white hand rested against an empty box that had once contained Firebrand cells. The line of wrist and forearm vanished in the shadow of more debris only to appear again at a higher angle, forming a serene, too-perfect face.
The notion of lying there without the ability to speak or move made goosebumps break along Leigh’s skin. Her boots scuffed loudly along the rough floor, but Viyr did not move as they approached.
“He’s looking a little worse for wear.” Sairel knelt, twisting the thin Cyth-wire around his wrist. He held the pin-like end of the wire between thumb and forefinger, pursing his lips thoughtfully.
“Sairel?”
“Sshh. A moment, please. Let me connect him first and begin the process. After, I’ll answer your questions. I’m sure you have a thousand rolling around in that brain of yours.” He showed his sharp teeth in a grimace. “I won’t know how well this is going to work for either of us until the Cyth-wire is in place. Do you know much about Cyth technology, Captain Enderi?”
“No. Only that they use it in Avaeliis for. . . for technological purposes.”
“Then best sit back and be quiet. If I go into convulsions, assume it didn’t work and put me out of my misery with that gun you’ve got.” Giving the pin a final twirl, Sairel reached to move his hair aside. There, at the base of his skull, a small indentation marred the skin. He traced it with a clawed finger. “The skin grows over the port if you don’t use it, and it’s been a long time since my Shelfing was active and wired in. This will probably sting.” He pushed the pin into the skin, hissing in pain. The Cyth wire stuck from his neck, and a little trickle of blood—
. . . not black or green, but red. . .
—rolled slowly down his back.
“Come and hold his head up so I can plug him in,” he said. “I want to hurry with this and get it over. It’s a bit like setting your brain on fire, and not very pleasant.”
When Leigh lifted Viyr’s head, it rolled limply against her forearms; what she held was neither living nor dead, but some abomination of both. She nearly cringed at the thought. If things had not been so dire in Dogton, she’d dump Viyr to the ground, sprint out of the warehouse, and leave Sairel to his task. But all she could do was ignore the sharp edge of a crate jabbing her shoulder and lean back to give Sairel room to work.
“Do you have hold of him?”
“Yes.”
Viyr stared into space, expression emptily content, his long, silver-blonde hair falling across her forearms. Leigh contemplated his face, fine-boned and ambiguous, neither heavy nor too delicate, with a straight nose above bowed, bloodless lips.
He’s a statue. Think of it like that, and not as though he were a dead body.
“This may be the last thing I ever say, so please listen,” Sairel said. “Don’t let Neiro surrender Dogton. He may still roll over for the Cynops. He’s Syndicate to the marrow of his bones, and never forget it, Leigh. Useful, yes, and Dogton needs him, but don’t let him have all of it. There’s more at stake here than you realize.”
“No. Too many have died because of the Syndicate. I won’t let anyone hand the town to them.”
“Well then, let’s slip in, shall we?” Sairel slid the Cyth-wire behind Viyr’s head and fitted the pin into place. The wire vibrated softly, glowing the same shade of blue as Viyr’s eyes. Sairel’s face went slack, his mouth opened, and small bubbles of saliva formed at the corner of his lips. His sharp teeth clicked together rhythmically. One hand clenched, fingers twitching along his thigh as though he were typing out a message, or—
“Access file error,” he said in a flat, familiar voice not his own. “Terminate process?”
Viyr.
But Viyr lay unmoving in her arms, face blank as before. Tears gathered in Sairel’s eyes and rolled silently down his cheeks to spatter his knees. His thin lips moved, breathing out some mute answer. A vein pulsed along his temple, showing blue under the skin.
Viyr gave a sudden jerk, and Leigh tightened her grip, fingers digging into the colorless flesh so hard they left imprints. No blood rose to bruise the smooth skin. The mechinae stiffened, his entire torso going rigid as he kicked convulsively, sending a box skidding along the floor. It slammed into another crate, toppling it and stirring up a great waft of dust that made Leigh’s chest heave. She choked down her cough and held on.
“Archive access denied. Incorrect procedure. Error. Abort?”
Viyr’s voice echoed from Sairel’s mouth again, blending with the Shurin’s clipped tones until they became one. The Cyth-wire flashed brighter, and Sairel’s muscles rippled under his goose-pimpled skin. Spit ran down his chin, mixing with his tears.
No one has told any of us about how this works! What’s he doing? Is he trying to tell me to shoot him?
Viyr’s head thumped painfully against her chest, making the ribs ache where knitted bone and bruised muscle were still tender.
“Sairel, I can’t hold him!”
“Access file Verand Eleid from Archive. Proceed?” Sairel mouthed, and the barest hint of a smile showed on his face. “Yes. Transfer.” He blinked rapidly and leaned back, muscles slack.
Viyr’s body went limp. Leigh could do nothing but catch her breath, listening to the Shurin mouthing command lines in some foreign, technological tongue, whispering strings of data like an incantation. The Cyth-wire pulsed. Sairel’s eyelids fell until only a slit of the mother-of-pearl remained, flicking rapidly back and forth—reading. Seeing something that she could not see and did not
want to see.
Like a bolt of lightning, a vivid memory flashed through Leigh’s mind: a dingy canvas tarp, smeared with blood, reeking with the odor of decayed meat. Kaitar Besh bound next to her, his head leaking blood and his eyes burning amber in the gloom. Lein Strauss parted the darkness, showing a wide grin against the great, dense tangle of beard. The shadows over his eyes twisted together like—
No! Lein Strauss is dead. Close your eyes and wait.
She did, but the image intensified, looming so big behind her closed lids a scream welled up in her throat. It came out a soft groan, lost beneath Sairel’s voice as he whispered. Strange patterns began to trickle across the nightmare memory, leaving long streaks of numbers and phrases about access points and corrupted data, and something. . . something. . . called a Pinnet. Finally, white light filled her mind, each brilliant ray forming a sharp needle—thousands of them, dripping blue like the deadly venom of some horrific wasp. When they pricked her skin, Leigh screamed and her eyes went wide.
Except the high, terrified shriek did not come from her; it came from Sairel. Through the horror-riddled nonsense, Leigh could see his eyes rolling to the back of his head. He toppled forward, shivering and gasping for breath, blood coating his neck where the Cyth-wire broke the skin.
“Pull it out. Leigh. . . pull it out!” He made a blind grab for the wire, leaving half-moon gouges in his neck where the nails bit into the skin. Another scream tore from his throat, rising like a siren and echoing off the warehouse ceiling. “Unplug him, he’s burning my Shelfing!”
Leigh clamped her hands over her ears, too afraid to move, too afraid that if she reached for the Cyth-wire it would sear her or take her down into the darkness, where Lein Strauss waited. Would always wait.
“Leigh,” Sairel yanked the pin from his neck, heedless of the red tissue stuck to the end. He fell onto his hands and knees, bloody froth dripping from his mouth and nose. “Please. . . unplug.”
Somehow, she caught hold of the glowing wire. It felt ice-cold against her fingertips. Leigh pulled blindly, not sure if she would kill—