Her life as she knew it was over. Looking back, she realised that it had been over since the moment van Asch had broken the thing in her mind that had made her special. The week of agonising pain that had followed had been like some kind of hellish pupal stage, a rebirth, and she had emerged from the cocoon of Tobias’ room as a different creature, one that she no longer recognised as herself.
The Redman hauled her unceremoniously forward, and this time she did fall. She flailed at his arm for purchase. Her hand slipped down beneath his glove.
Something happened.
The Redman stopped dead, and Ursie thumped into his side, but she didn’t notice the impact. She wasn’t looking through her own eyes anymore.
The images were coming at her mind so fast that she couldn’t hope to process them entirely. She saw a dusty red sky, a group of boys in a pit with glinting swords in their hands. Cold stone sleeping pallets. A fantastic domed city, the likes of which she would never have imagined could actually exist. The interior of some kind of vehicle, black space outside, a sprinkling of stars. A group of men in prayer. Crimson armour lying on a bed. An old man’s haggard face.
She gasped. Even in the early days when she’d first discovered her abilities, she’d never seen the images with this kind of clarity. With this kind of depth. She could smell the red dust, feel the solemnity of the prayers aching through her bones. She wasn’t just seeing these memories. She was living them.
Somehow she pulled herself free of the deluge of thoughts and emotions and brought her mind back to herself. Peripherally, she was aware that her fingers had touched the Redman’s bare skin under his glove. She realised that, at that moment, she had entered his mind in such a profound way that it dwarfed anything she had ever experienced before.
She looked up. The Redman was staring down at her, his face a rictus of horror. He seemed frozen in place. As he sought to break his paralysis, his free hand began to move jerkily in her direction.
Instinctively, Urise reached up and hooked her toe into the Redman’s belt. She thrust herself upward onto his back and, in one motion, looped her arm around his bare neck as if she were grabbing him in a choke hold.
Her fingers alighted on the Redman’s jaw, and…
Oh my god…
Here, her touch was like sinking herself into the very essence of the Redman. She occupied him as if she’d slipped into his skin. She could feel the fabric of his garments, the weight of his boots on her feet. The slightly stale taste in his mouth was now in hers, the air in his nostrils filtering down into her lungs. There were a dozen other sensations that came to her that were so foreign she could barely begin to describe them.
Everything that had been his to experience was now hers.
The Redman’s resistance ended and his hand dropped away again.
He was like a puppet dangling in Ursie’s hand.
Vishesh watched idly as a scattering of travellers, vendors and administration staff shuffled past along the concourse. His eyes drifted toward the far end of the habitat, where the OrbitPod dock was located, and he wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to travel down to the Reach and join rank with his brothers in the Crimson Shield who were stationed there.
In truth, he was bored here in the habitat. Sure, there was security in this place, high above Earth in the sterile bubble he called home, but that was not what he craved.
Vishesh desired action. He wanted stories to take back to the Citadel when his service here ended, exciting tales to enthrall and delight, just as the old grey-haired Evocatus had retold when Vishesh had been a wide-eyed youth.
Up until now, the only story he would have to recount was how he watched travellers shamble through the habitat on their way to destinations unknown. There had not been a single skirmish, let alone a battle, in the years he had been stationed here. Not a single incident worth speaking about.
In contrast, things were happening down at the Reach. The arrival of the insurgents had caused concern among some of his colleagues, but Vishesh had felt nothing but excitement. Anticipation. He hoped that soon he would receive the call to take his place on the OrbitPod, to travel downward and take up arms against the filth that threatened to destroy the Reach.
And now there were reports of another attack, this time centred on the Atrium. With comms disrupted, details had been sketchy, but Vishesh had a feeling that this might be it. This might be his chance.
Across the concourse, Argyle had left his post and was now hunched over, talking to a kid in a checkered coat, a skinny adolescent with messy blonde hair. It was an unusual sight, since Argyle wasn’t usually the talkative type, but Vishesh supposed even a grump like Argyle had to pull the stick out of his ass now and again and lower himself to conversing with the commoners. Vishesh himself would have done it more often had it been allowed; a good conversation might help pass the time in this dreary place.
He glanced further afield and saw Dylan sauntering around on patrol, well out of earshot, his crimson armour sharply contrasted against the attire of the commoners around him. He looked as bored as Vishesh felt. Vishesh smiled and hit the communicator on his shoulder.
“Yo, Dylan. What’s happening?”
Dylan continued to walk, but his eyes shifted toward Vishesh. “More than you can handle, Vish. You hear any updates on that fracas down south?”
“Last report said a few of the brothers were closing in on the Atrium, but it was a mess. The place is overrun with scum making their way up from the lower levels. I–”
“What’s Argyle doing?” Dylan said suddenly. There was a note of incredulity in his voice, mixed with a vague kind of unease, and Vishesh snapped his head across to the other side of the concourse.
Argyle had straightened and was now standing deathly still, head bowed.
The kid who had been talking to him a few moments prior was now clinging to his shoulders, as if she were gearing up for a piggy-back ride. Like Argyle, her head was bowed, her face hidden behind the tangle of her hair.
The same unease that had permeated Dylan’s voice now wormed its way into Vishesh. There was something spooky about the two of them joined there in silence.
“Hey, Argyle,” he said, moving forward, “quit playing with the wildlife, will you? We’re on duty here.” Argyle did not respond or even attempt to lift his head. “Argyle?” Vishesh said, raising his voice and walking faster now. “This isn’t funny, man.”
As Vishesh approached, Argyle turned his face upward. Vishesh stopped dead. Argyle’s eyes seemed dark and hollow, haunted.
“Everything’s fine,” Argyle said in an oddly stilted voice. “Go back to where you came from.”
The face of the girl draped over Argyle’s shoulders was still hidden, and Vishesh craned his neck as he tried to get a better look at her.
“Put the kid down, Argyle. I’m not kidding.”
“She’s my niece,” Argyle said, and he gave Vishesh a plastic smile, then began to turn away. “I’m going to show her around the observation deck–”
Vishesh’s sword was in his hand in a flash, barring Argyle as he tried to leave.
“Stop right there, brother.” He touched his finger to his comms again. “Dylan, I need you.” As he turned, he saw that Dylan was already running toward them.
Argyle’s hand dropped to the hilt of his sword.
“Don’t do it,” the Redman named Vishesh was saying. “Don’t you fucking do it!”
Ursie scanned rapidly through Argyle’s memory, digging up information on the Redman who had accosted them. She found what she sought quickly, which pleased her. Navigating through Argyle’s mind was becoming easier by the second, and she figured that within a few minutes she would feel right at home here.
Assuming either of them lived that long.
Vishesh was young, a bit brash. Argyle didn’t like him a whole lot. They’d sparred often, and Argyle invariably won, a fact that did not sit easily with Vishesh. Argyle had also accumulated a nice repository of V
ishesh’s shortcomings in technique during their time in the training room.
That was all Ursie needed.
She drew her sword with blinding speed, knocking the other sword away. All of Arygle’s instincts, all of his knowledge were at her disposal. She was not only living vicariously through him, she was him.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said with Argyle’s voice – indeed, with Argyle’s mouth – as she dropped into a ready stance. “Just turn around and walk away.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Vishesh said.
Ursie struck with a savage combination, forcing Vishesh backward, and then disarmed him with a move that had worked often in training. As the sword clattered to the floor, she became aware that people around them had begun to scatter in all directions, crying out in fear.
She turned just in time to see Dylan bearing down on her.
As she parried the first blow, recollections of the newcomer filtered through Argyle’s consciousness and into her own. Dylan was a somewhat more formidable opponent than Vishesh, and could hold his own against Argyle in most training situations.
This wasn’t going to be easy.
Dylan drove in at her, and as she backed up, she kicked Vishesh’s sword out of reach before he could reclaim it. She parried, then took a glancing blow that skidded off her armour, but which still hurt like hell.
“Are you crazy, Argyle?” Dylan panted. “What’s gotten into you?”
Ursie glanced around through Argyle’s eyes for somewhere to which she might run, but she knew that there was no chance of losing the two Redmen in the confines of the habitat. She would have to incapacitate them somehow if she wanted to slip away.
“Get the kid off,” Dylan was saying as he circled, and Ursie realised that she’d lost sight of Vishesh. Too late, she felt him grip a handful of blonde hair and begin to pull.
She swivelled Argyle’s body instinctively, bringing up the short sword in self-defence, and the blade ripped through the weak spot in Vishesh’s armour directly under the arm, plunging deep into his flesh. Vishesh’s eyes flung open in shock, and his mouth made a soundless ‘O’ shape.
“No,” Ursie cried in horror. “I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to–”
The words lodged in her throat as an excruciating pain lanced her side. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before, like fire ripping through her entire torso. Somewhere deep inside of her, she felt Argyle’s mind spasm, a reflection of the pain she was feeling.
Beside her, Dylan grunted with effort as he drove the sword deeper into Argyle’s body.
Before she knew what she was doing, her own sword had been wrenched free of Vishesh’s body and was arcing toward Dylan’s exposed neck. She felt the weapon bite, then Argyle’s mind seemed to convulse. She felt herself being ejected from his consciousness like a wad of phlegm, and everything went black.
She felt her own body again – her own hands and coat and shoes – and sensed the floor rushing up to meet her. Then she was sprawling across the hard, unyielding surface, the wind knocked out of her, her eyes blurry and her mind halfway between her own reality and that of Argyle.
She lay there for a moment, the roof of the habitat spinning around her, and then slowly, everything came into focus.
People were still running, screaming. There was blood on the floor, a veritable ocean of it that was spreading further by the second. Looking down, she saw that she was covered in it as well – her coat, her arms, her legs. She brushed apprehensively with her fingertips against her ribs and her belly, where she’d felt that indescribable pain, but she was unharmed.
The blood was not hers.
Around her, the three Redmen were dead. She climbed to her feet and stared in horror at the carnage she’d left in her wake, wondering what in hell she had done.
She thought of van Asch covered in blood, the other innocents in the observation deck. The technician out by the departure gates. Was this to be the way of it from now on? Was everything that Ursie Meyer touched destined to fall into ruin?
Movement caught her eye. Further down the concourse, Redmen reinforcements were headed her way.
You can hate yourself later, she thought bitterly. Just get out of here.
Ursie stumbled awkwardly as she began to run in the opposite direction, hoping against hope that she would somehow be able to blend in with the crowd of terrified citizens who were still trying to flee the concourse.
40
Roman nestled in behind the shields that jutted up from the floor, along with Talia, Silvestri, and the two strangers, Zoe and Duran, as the light by the elevator suddenly shone bright in the evening gloom.
Whoever was inside would be stepping out of those doors any second.
Roman glanced down at the handgun resting in his palm, trying to balance the unfamiliar weight as he wondered what he was going to do. He wasn’t a soldier – quite the opposite. These days he was more of a farmer than anything else, spending his time at Grove where he nurtured the fragile plant life that grew therein. His fingers had become accustomed to the feel of fertiliser and soil and shovels, not the cold steel of a weapon such as this. Zoe had given him a few pointers as they’d gotten themselves ready, but that brief lesson had done little to reassure him.
Beside him, Silvestri wrestled with one of the discarded pulse rifles that had been left in the wake of the Redmen’s demise, yanking the bolt handle back and forth with little effect. Roman noticed that the glowing blue strips of light that had adorned its edges a few minutes earlier were now dull and lifeless.
“Problem?” Zoe said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.
“This pulse rifle looks dead,” Silvestri said, disgusted.
“They probably use some sort of biometric security,” Duran said as he surveyed the elevator through the sights of his gun. “If it doesn’t pick up a heartbeat from its owner for a couple of minutes, it shuts down.”
“So it would seem,” Silvestri said. Relenting, he tossed the weapon aside and reached for an assault rifle. “I guess we’re going to have to do this old school.”
There was a muffled shout from behind them, and they turned to see Remus manhandling one of the bound technicians, attempting to haul him back toward the empty railcar dock.
“Remus, get out of sight!” Silvestri yelled.
“What’s happening over there?” Remus called back. He turned and kicked the technician in the stomach to prevent him from rolling away again.
“Don’t worry about us,” Silvestri said. “Just keep an eye on those techs and help Yun where you can.”
“Can do,” Remus said, ducking out of sight again.
Roman glanced up at the Wire, but the railcar had already disappeared from sight into the night sky. Strangely, he could still hear the sound of it; a deep whirring, grinding noise that seemed to emanate from all parts of the sky at once, like some sort of residual background thrum.
He wondered, with some excitement, how it would look from up there. To leave Earth behind. How would it feel to shoot upward when it was his turn?
The elevator doors slid open, and Roman abandoned his reverie. Those around him readied their weapons.
The five of them breathed a collective sigh of relief. There were no Redmen inside. Those who had arrived were a ragged-looking bunch, devoid of armour or any kind of distinctive clothing, but Roman could see rifles and clubs in their hands as they began to move outward.
“Get back!” Silvestri shouted, discharging a warning shot over their heads. “This is a restricted area.”
There were several bursts of gunfire in return, and Silvestri ducked his head as the shields were struck. The newcomers found cover inside the elevator car, but the doors remained open.
“What do you think? Looters?” Silvestri said.
Zoe nodded. “Opportunists. Or could even be more Children of Earth.”
Roman stared cautiously over the shield and saw those in the elevator arranging several large objects in the space just
outside the doors.
“What are they doing?” he said.
“Dammit,” Silvestri said. “Looks like riot shields.”
“They might have raided the Enforcer barracks,” Duran said. “Who knows if there’s anything still protecting the place by now?”
“I don’t want to kill any of these dumb bastards,” Talia said, her .22 at the ready, “but if it comes down to them or us…”
The looters began to advance behind their shields, and Silvestri fired a burst that thundered into them, striking one of their number in the foot. The man cried out and the group began to retreat once again toward the elevator.
“For now, we just need to keep them where they are,” Silvestri said. “We need to hold our position until the railcar returns. They can squat there all night, for all I care. If they make it beyond the path, that’s when we need to worry.”
“We need to conserve ammo,” Zoe said, glancing at the supplies around them. “Don’t get too trigger happy. Make your shots count.”
The elevator doors closed again, and the looters remained eerily quiet as they crouched behind their shields. Roman and the others did the same, and a strange kind of standoff began, as both sides evaluated what to do next.
Roman’s eyes fell upon the charred and battered RECS nearby, the one that Knile had used earlier, and wondered if there would be cause for him to step inside before the night was done.
The moon had risen high in the east, gibbous and blotchy yellow-white, like a baleful eye watching over those gathered on the roof. The standoff had gone on for hours, the elevator making routine trips to and from the Atrium, sometimes bringing new passengers, and at other times taking them away. Silvestri studied the looters warily through squinted eyes, obviously unsettled by what he was seeing.
“They’re gearing up for something,” Duran said. “And the elevator will be coming back for another visit soon. Are we just going to sit here?”
“What do you care?” Roman said. He still had not become accustomed to the idea of having this guy around, given his history with Knile. “I thought you didn’t want any part of this.”
Skybreach (The Reach #3) Page 30