The Seven

by Peter Newman

  ‘You small,’ interrupts the Usurperkin. ‘I am Flat Head. Thought you’d be bigger.’ She points at the First. ‘We know that one. Respect.’ She points at Samael. ‘We know Handlers. Respect less but respect. Don’t know you.’

  Vesper puts on a big smile. ‘That’s the reason we’re here, to talk and get to know each other. At Crucible we’re all equal.’

  Flat Head laughs and the others laugh with her, the sound echoing inside the valley. ‘We not equal. And talking is slow. I want to know your arm.’

  Vesper’s smile falters. ‘My arm?’

  ‘Words easy. I want to feel the truth of your arm.’ She flexes her fingers, making knuckles crack. ‘Come. Let our arms meet.’

  Vesper exchanges a look with the eye at her shoulder. It is not impressed. ‘Can’t we just talk?’

  Flat Head’s heavy brow furrows, making the plate cast a shadow over her eyes. ‘Arms!’

  ‘Right, yes … arms.’ Vesper flexes her own fingers. They seem awfully delicate in comparison. She wonders whether it is better to face humiliation or to back out. A hopeful part of her wonders if this is just a request for a handshake but the sword twitches in its scabbard, suggesting otherwise.

  Vesper takes a hesitant step forward and Flat Head lifts a hand towards her, waiting.

  She takes another step, committed now, accepting that it will probably hurt a lot but that even bones will heal in time.

  An eye twitches to her left in warning, and then the First is moving. A blur of shiny black, the infernal overtakes Vesper, and grabs Flat Head’s outstretched hand. It pauses, giving the half-breed time to brace herself before slowly, casually, driving the giant to her knees.

  ‘You know me. I am the First and I have an … accord with Vesper. Know that I am her arm and I am but one of them.’

  Flat Head tries to push upwards, the great muscles in her thighs trembling with effort. Finally, she smiles. ‘Good. Now you have our arms too. They’re bigger.’

  The First releases her and backs away behind Vesper who offers her hand to the Usurperkin.

  Flat Head takes it and stands. ‘We will follow you.’

  ‘Thank you, but really I see us as equals, finding a way forward together.’

  Flat Head squeezes her hand, surprisingly gently, then throws Vesper onto her shoulders, as easily as a cloak. Vesper’s gasp is masked by the delighted roar of the Usurperkin.

  ‘The Thousand Nails follow Vesper!’

  Together they march towards the dome, Vesper’s flush of embarrassment gradually evolving into a grin, delighted.

  Vesper looks at the room she’s been given, a small but functional space, currently devoid of furniture. She tries to decide what to put inside it, what would make it feel like hers. At the moment, a set of mutigel cubes have been squished to-gether to make a bed, and her things are in a pile next to it. Hardly homely.

  And yet, when she tries to think of home, none of the images in her mind quite fit. She remembers the house she grew up in, with its myriad flaws, characterful. She remembers her quarters in the Shining City, featureless. Both are lost to her now.

  In any case, Vesper’s mind tends towards the horizon, her fondest memories of the Shining City are when it was viewed from a distance, a glorious mystery. By contrast her fondest memories of her house were conjured when she was in peril on the other side of the world. As soon as she gets to either, the longing to travel starts again.

  She moves to the outer wall and presses a hand to it. At her touch the plasglass clears, allowing a view of the top of the valley and a peek at the countryside beyond. It also allows a view of the buck, who is wandering along the top on business unknown.

  Her hand stays flat on the plasglass as she leans into it, watching the buck’s meanderings, thinking of other times and deeds.

  A soft ping from the door interrupts her.

  ‘Come in.’

  The door slides open to admit Genner, who steps inside and salutes. ‘Forgive the intrusion but there are things to discuss.’

  She nods, suddenly envious of the buck’s freedom. ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Are you sure the Thousand Nails are under control?’

  ‘Why? Have they done something?’

  ‘Not yet but we have more delegations arriving any day and none of them are expecting the Thousand Nails to be here. We’re totally reliant on your relationship with them until the Order of the Broken Blades arrives. If anything happens before then, we won’t have the manpower to contain it.’

  ‘They’ll be fine. I’ll handle them.’ She tries not to think too hard about the casual way Flat Head has of throwing her about. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘We have another, bigger problem. Word has got out that The Seven are coming. While a few are preparing to fight, many people are fleeing. I’ve got reports of overloaded ships sailing south and hordes of people just packing up and going from settlements between here and the coast.’

  ‘That’s good isn’t it? Didn’t you say that the best way to survive was to scatter?’

  Genner remains by the door, awkward. ‘I said that was your best chance of survival. I’d be lying if I said it was theirs. It remains the best way of avoiding The Seven but there are lots of other ways to die outside of the protection of the cities.’

  Vesper frowns. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

  ‘Some of them, a lot of them, are coming here. They’re hoping you’re going to give them sanctuary.’

  ‘And they’re right to hope,’ she replies, immediate, ‘make the arrangements.’

  ‘At once. That is, if you’re sure?’

  She turns from the plasglass wall, pulling her hand away and letting the surface mist over. ‘What is it, Genner? Something isn’t right. You don’t seem yourself.’

  ‘I was worried you’d want to protect them all. But do you appreciate the scale of it? This place is big but it’s not a city. You have multiple armed groups coming here that aren’t used to working together, much less living together. It’s already a volatile situation. If we add thousands of desperate and hungry people to the mix, we’ll lose control. The war will be lost before it even starts.’

  ‘We can’t just turn them away …’

  Genner’s face is sympathetic. ‘The world doesn’t deserve you, Vesper.’ Both of them blush and he pushes on swiftly, sadly. ‘Sometimes in order to win, and for the greater good, we have to make tough decisions. Even if it means sacrificing those we love.’

  Vesper’s expression hardens with thoughts of the past. ‘I understand that better than you will ever know. If it comes to it, if there is no other choice, I’ll do what it takes to win. I’ll be a monster if that’s what it takes. Until then, we do what’s right. Send out word that we’ll provide sanctuary to those that need it. Coordinate with the First. Let’s use those sky-ships for something other than fighting, and get them bringing in extra supplies. I’ll talk to the Thousand Nails, have them escort travellers here and help transport heavy goods.’

  ‘The Thousand Nails? They’re little better than animals! They’re as likely to slaughter people as help them.’

  ‘No. They’re proud. If they agree to do something, they’ll do it well.’ Her voice softens a little and she sighs. ‘If this is going to work, all of the people here need to trust each other, and quickly. The only way I know to do that is by example.’

  ‘Forgive me, but even with extra supplies and the resources we’ve stockpiled, you’ll be cutting the amount of time we can hold out from months to weeks. And when supplies run low, our forces will turn on each other. You’re handing victory to The Seven.’

  ‘If it comes to that. I’m still hoping we won’t have to fight.’ She pauses, nearly says more, then shakes her head. ‘You have your orders, Genner.’

  He salutes again, smartly. ‘Understood.’

  For a few minutes she watches the space where he stood, churning words over in her head. A bad feeling nestles in her stomach, nearly pulling her over. She does not let it.

>   Doubts are tucked away to be dealt with later. She picks up the sword, straightens her shoulders and walks to the door.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Vagrant shifts a little. His mouth works sloppily a couple of times before being consumed by a yawn. Amber eyes open without focusing. He blinks slowly, then a few times more, rapid.

  He tries to stretch, but his wrists are held above his head, bound by straps, ankles fastened tight to the table that he lies on.

  By straining he manages a little movement of the head. The room appears to be the same one as he went to sleep in. A second table, thin and metallic, with wheels on the end of each leg, is to his left, Jem strapped securely to it. The man is sound asleep.

  He looks to the right, finds Reela has been left against the wall, unbound. He whistles at her, hopeful, but her features do not flicker.

  Bonds are tested again, found more than up to the task. The table judders as he fights them, rocking from side to side, alarming.

  At the sound of the door opening, he stops, the table rocking left, right, then left once more before settling.

  Giblet lurches into the room and slaps Jem’s face playfully. When there is no response, the half-breed leans over the Vagrant and brings back a webbed hand.

  Amber eyes glare and the hand pauses.

  Giblet begins to jump up and down making happy grunt-ing noises until the walls fade to transparent and the tubes filled with orange liquid and old wrinkled bodies glide into view once more.

  ‘Well done, Giblet,’ says the man’s voice from the speaker. ‘Well done. Now settle down.’

  A tune plays, simple, and Giblet’s enthusiasm leaches away, the large body flopping immediately onto the floor. Two more repetitions and he is sound asleep.

  ‘Congratulations,’ says the speaker. ‘You’re the first to wake up and this means you’re the first to be interrogated. I don’t know if you recall but I mentioned earlier that we would have questions and that you would be answering them.’ There is a brief crackle. ‘This is what’s going to happen now. If we’re happy with your answers then there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing to worry about at all. Are you ready?’ He doesn’t wait to see if the Vagrant will answer, his voice cheery. ‘Good! Then let’s begin.’

  The Vagrant glances around again. He sees the bonding gun that Jem had scavenged in the corner, along with Delta’s sword. By stretching the tie on his wrist to its limit, he is able to get his fingers to the wall.

  ‘Something easy to start with: what is your name?’

  The Vagrant pushes. Wheels turn easily on the polished floor and the table drifts towards the opposite corner where the weapons are. There is a moment of hope before mo-mentum trails off, stranding the table in the middle of the room.

  ‘You know, my colleagues didn’t want to bother talking to you at all. You’re clearly not a rescue party from the Empire, they said. Best to use you as breeding tissue, they said. But I said no. Because that would hardly be civilized. Surely you’d rather answer a few simple questions than be turned into gestation tubes for Giblet’s descendants?’

  The Vagrant stretches out his foot, trying to reach Jem’s table but the toe of his boot is held in the empty air, the ties too tight for his plans.

  ‘I’m not sure what you’re hoping to achieve but it won’t work. Now tell me: Who are you? Why are you really here?’

  The Vagrant sighs, closes his eyes.

  ‘Perhaps you’ll change your mind, perhaps you won’t. It doesn’t matter. Your colleague seemed a lot more forthcoming. He can answer my questions instead. We don’t need you. Well, Giblet does.’ The speaker stutters with a suppressed giggle. ‘But perhaps I’m mistaken. Yes! I see it now. You’ve become fond of him and you wish to develop your relationship. To become, what’s the word? Intimate. So be it.’

  A tune plays and the half-breed becomes alert.

  Locking his arms and legs, the Vagrant begins rocking the table again, desperate.

  ‘Giblet,’ says the old man, his voice sing-song. ‘Wake up Giblet! It’s time for you to become a daddy.’

  A sky-ship drops from the clouds, phasing out of cloak as it does so. Reflective shielding fades, revealing a sleek metallic body, its wings adorned with the badge of the Empire of the Winged Eye. Already, they are rotating, engines moving from horizontal to vertical, allowing the craft to descend directly onto Ferrous.

  Coming to a stop twenty feet above the tower, the sky-ship opens a hatch, allowing armoured figures to jump out. Each one is linked to the ship by a cable that unravels behind them, measured, controlling their fall.

  Two lieutenants lead the group. The first to land secures the tower’s entrance, the second makes her way onto the sea-shuttle that is docked alongside. As more soldiers arrive, the first lieutenant enters the tower and they begin streaming in behind him. Only two soldiers peel off to join the one on the boat.

  While their colleagues make their way deeper into Ferrous, the remaining lieutenant and her two soldiers check the sea-shuttle for stowaways, carefully avoiding the prone form of Delta on the deck.

  The sea-shuttle is small and the search quickly completed. ‘There’s no one else on board, ma’am,’ reports one of the soldiers. ‘What are your orders regarding …?’ He stops, unsure of the proper form of address in the circumstances. The point of his rifle begins to drift in Delta’s direction, to signal his meaning but he snaps it back into place.

  ‘Report that She is here, and that I’m investigating Her situation. Update in five.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘And watch my back, I don’t like it here.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  The lieutenant sees that someone has tried to hide Delta under a dirty old coat. The attempt is laughable as it fails to cover legs, head or the tops of Delta’s shoulders. Then it occurs to her that the attempt might not be to hide the body completely but to cover up an injury or other blasphemy. She moves closer, wary of any reaction, but none comes. Though Delta’s eyes are open, they do not respond to any outside stimuli, staring straight up.

  She finds those eyes mesmerizing, like looking into the sky of another world.

  When one of her soldiers speaks, the lieutenant jumps.

  ‘Ma’am? Command wants to know if Her sword is here.’

  ‘Negative. I repeat: Delta’s sword is not here.’

  She admonishes herself for allowing herself to become distracted and pulls the coat away, tossing it into a corner.

  Delta blinks, her eyes focusing on the movement. Both the lieutenant and the immortal find themselves watching the coat as it lands in a crumpled heap. Then, slowly, magnetically, they turn back to face each other.

  It is one thing to watch a storm at a remove, through the protection of a screen, another to stand naked before it.

  For a moment, the lieutenant experiences an instant of total openness, as if all of her thoughts were laid out, cards on a table, carefully labelled.

  After that, all she feels is Delta’s displeasure.

  After that, nothing.

  The table falls over with a clang, the impact jarring through the Vagrant’s body. He is now agonizingly close to Delta’s sword but arms remain tied, unable to cross the short distance to the hilt.

  However the noise has woken the blade, wings parting to allow a wary eye to peek out.

  The Vagrant catches its eye with his own, a silent plea for help.

  Guiltily, it looks away, closing again.

  Lips curl, disbelieving, exasperated, before parting in surprise as a rounded shadow falls over them.

  Wet palms slap against the sides of the table, a soft grunt sounding as the half-breed lifts it off the floor.

  Delta’s sword vanishes from sight, replaced by a wall, a ceiling, then the other wall and, briefly, Reela’s face. The girl is awake! Then he is moving the other way, the table set right and the horizon is suddenly full of Giblet.

  The half-breed is excited, something akin to sweat oozing milkily from his pore
s. Thick fingers struggle to find the fastenings on the Vagrant’s chest plate and, when they do, they struggle to work them.

  The Vagrant struggles too but his efforts do little to weaken the bonds.

  ‘Well,’ says the man through the speaker. ‘If you’ll excuse me, we have more unexpected guests that need attending to. I’ll come back when this is over. It’s Giblet’s first time so he won’t be gentle. If it’s any consolation, you’re going to serve as such a potent example to your companions, I’m sure they’ll answer my questions without hesitation.’

  As the speaker cuts off, Giblet gives a grunt of delight, lifting the chest plate away from the Vagrant’s shoulders. Another tug and he is able to toss it over his shoulder, nonchalant.

  Amber eyes widen as they notice the unusual bulge in Giblet’s stomach. Folds of flab peel apart, revealing a translucent tentacle.

  The Vagrant struggles harder, threatening to topple the table until Giblet puts his weight on it, straddling the smaller man. As the Vagrant catches his breath, Giblet rips the fabric away from his chest, exposing skin.

  The tentacle swells at the sight, its tip hardening into a ridged point. Tiny blobs swirl inside it, like shoals of fish, barely visible to the naked eye.

  The Vagrant turns his head away.

  Giblet pulls himself further up the table, positioning his tentacle directly over the Vagrant’s sternum. The pitch of his excitement changes, his whole body tensing.

  The Vagrant takes a breath, closes his eyes, and begins to hum. It is a simple tune, and the sound of it freezes Giblet in place.

  Taking another breath, the Vagrant hums the tune again, and again, until the tentacle retracts back into Giblet’s belly and his head droops forward. The weight of it brings the body after, until Giblet flops onto the Vagrant, silencing, squeezing the air from his lungs.

  Precious seconds pass as his mouth opens and closes, futile. Veins bulge at temples and then, just as vision begins to blur, Reela’s face appears.

  The Vagrant tries to mouth something but the girl stops him, putting a finger to her lips.

  She releases his right arm from the straps, then his left, and together, they attempt to roll Giblet onto the floor. Both man and girl strain until the cords stand out on their necks, tilting the blubbery form until gravity takes over. The half-breed lands with a soft squelch but doesn’t wake up.