Innocence Lost

by O. J. Lowe

  Behind the one he’d just shot, the one that had murdered Fazarn, another lurched into view. And another. And another. How many of them were there? He didn’t want to know but he felt the dread rush through him.

  The Tebbit didn’t hold as many shots as an X7 or an X9S, he burned through them as quickly as he could, putting fresh holes through bodies not showing any signs of distress. He gulped, slammed his weapon back into its holster and went for the rifle across his back. Brendan was on his feet, firing into the crowd, his blaster jumping in his hands as shots found their mark. One of them got too close to Suchiga, wrapped its arms around him despite his struggles, thin tendril-like ropes grabbing him tight. He let out a scream, fought against them, his struggles in vain. Wilsin could see them tightening against his body, the sound of cracking bone erupting over Aubemaya’s screams as one of them went for her. He continued to fire into the crowd, not sure where to shoot them, just determined to blow them apart if it came to it, the blaster rifle hammering against his shoulder. Suchiga went down with a whimper, vanished from sight, Aubemaya was silenced, did the same. Nmecha howled as a vine grabbed him by the throat and twisted hard, the snap cutting off any other sounds he’d ever make. Finally, he heard the familiar sound as Reeves’ kjarnblade snapped into life and the Vedo was past him, ducked under a vine and cut it away with a deft flick of his twist. The serrated limb hit the dirt with a plop, twitched into stillness. He saw Reeves dance amid them, blade hacking through bodies with little resistance but always there were more, he’d be surrounded in moments. Reeves looked like he’d had the same thought, tensed his legs into a crouch and sprang a dozen feet into the air, landed next to the fire.

  His rifle clicked on empty, he fumbled for another charge pack, heard Brendan let out a yell of pain mingled with fear and his boss went down. He slammed in the pack, raced forward to join Reeves in the fray, saw the three of them still alive being dragged into the darkness. Still more of them remained between him and them, he brought his weapon up and targeted the central one. Deep breath, fire on the exhale…

  “Move!” Reeves shouted, the urgency present in his voice and Wilsin dropped, heard the roar above his head, felt heat wash over him. The jungle was suddenly alight, flames covering the plant-things. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Reeves blowing on his palm, his blade still lit in his other. Finally, they made a dismayed shriek that sounded like metal being shredded as they burned, their bodies collapsing into piles of charcoal briquette.

  He lowered his weapon, glanced around. Nmecha and Fazarn were down and dead, he could tell that immediately. Nobody survived having their neck broken the way Nmecha did, his face almost a complete opposite to the direction it should face, his one eye showing surprise. Ditto Bryce laid on his back, a thorn-like branch poking from of his abdomen, final breaths already coming out ragged and broken. Blood stained the ground beneath him in the firelight, an eerie colour in the flicker of the flames.

  Ahead of him, Reeves deactivated his kjarnblade and let out a violent curse into the night, a language Wilsin had never heard before. The venom in the words left no doubt as to their meaning. He dropped to his knees, Wilsin paid little attention, was already crouched down by Bryce. They had to try and save him, no matter how futile it might look. Bryce’s shirt had torn, Wilsin finished removing it. He ripped his own shirt off, wrapped it around the wound.

  “Reeves get your arse over here!” he shouted, pressing it down. Staunching the bleeding at this point might be too little too late. He didn’t even know when Bryce had been hit, couldn’t say but it didn’t matter. “Reeves!”

  He came, his face pale in the firelight. He’d seen that look before, the expression of someone who’d just seen combat and hadn’t taken it well. Normally he might have tried to reassure him. These were about as far from normal circumstances as one could get. Those things weren’t human, they didn’t look animal either and he’d no idea what they were. If Reeves wanted to freak out, he could do it on his own damn time when a man’s life was at stake. This was in no way worse than the Quin-C final had been and Reeves had survived that with flying colours.

  “If you can do that fancy Vedo healing, you best do it and fast,” Wilsin said, giving him a hard look. He needed to snap out of it and fast, strong words and work would help. Something to focus on would help him forget his shock. That was his theory, he couldn’t let Bryce die while he worked out a better one. This had to work, and it had to work now. Worst came to the worst, he’d slap him and hope that brought him around. Slapping a Vedo. That had the potential to go badly. The way he’d burned those things was still branded into his memory, a sensation he couldn’t shake. It was one thing to hear about that power, it was quite another to see it flourished in front of you. The power in this instance was something that he couldn’t even start to comprehend, he couldn’t touch it, he couldn’t feel it, he could just see the way that it affected the world around him.

  Reeves came at last, a hand already snaking up across Bryce’s skin, the faintest glimmer of light creeping from them and into the wound. Bryce let out a shudder as the shimmering forced its way in, his mouth opening and closing in tiny whimpers. Once Wilsin had had a dog that’d gotten one of his furry little legs caught in a bear trap, he’d heard it make a sound like that. It had broken his heart. He didn’t care about Bryce like he had that dog, but it didn’t mean he wanted him to die. Gullit. He missed him. He’d always wanted that dog to be his first spirit, hadn’t happened and Gullit had had to be put down after that trap. The circumstances for survival just hadn’t been there.

  First rule of life. Shit happens. Can’t do a damn thing about it.

  He continued to apply pressure to the wound, saw the glow intensify within Reeves’ grip. Bryce’s body contorted, writhed in agony, hands scrabbled at mud and dirt. His skin felt so cold, like all the warmth had been sucked out of him. The fire was dying, Reeves had killed it in the attempt to save them all.

  If it went out… A chill rushed through his body, one he tried to ignore. Thinking about what might happen if it died on them didn’t bear thinking about it. The fire had killed them a whole damn lot more effectively than any other weapon barring Reeves’ kjarnblade and maybe it’d made them wary. No fire though...

  In front of him, Reeves groaned, sounds of pain slipping from him. When he looked at Wilsin, their eyes met, and he saw the blood running from Reeves’ gaze. He flinched a little, tried not to think about how much that had to hurt. Pain lingered in his smile, Reeves dropped from his haunches to sitting, leaned even further over Bryce, concentration triumphing over the discomfort for a moment. Still Bryce whimpered in agony, Wilsin reached to squeeze his hand. Hold on! Hold on. He repeated it again and again under his breath, determined that the words wouldn’t be in vain.

  When it came, death was quick and sudden. He saw Reeves’ eyes widen and he fell onto his back, hand coming away from Bryce’s skin with a faint pop. Where the Kjarn was involved, he’d come to expect big and dramatic, but that pop was a much more final sound than he ever could have imagined. Bryce’s final breath came out long and laboured, death rattling in his throat before he went still. His chest would never rise again.

  They’d moved the bodies of their comrades, wrapped them and secured them before returning to the boat. Neither of them was willing to share the deck with the corpses, they’d put them below deck and they’d remained up top. Neither of them felt like sleeping, though the first thing they’d done was move the boat away from the shore and drop anchor bang in the middle of the river, furthest point between two shorelines.

  Wilsin stared into the jungle, a prisoner of his own thoughts. He wondered how things had gone wrong so quickly. Just an hour earlier, Brendan had been making them tell those stupid stories to each other, all so that they could get to know each other. Wasted effort, but it left them something to mourn. Wasted lives. Unfulfilled futures. Something like that. He didn’t know. A lot of those epitaphs might be bandied around the group in front of him, people did
like their twee little moments of nonsense, fluff designed to distract from more serious issues.

  He didn’t mean that. Bitterness and anger didn’t feel far apart from each other lately, he didn’t know whether to scream or cry. Neither of them felt like his style, but Divines, this mission had gone so badly so quickly. It couldn’t have been true. He wanted to believe he’d fallen asleep around the campfire and this was a dream, he’d get up and tell his story shortly.

  He knew it wasn’t a dream. He knew too many had died, and Aubemaya and Suchiga and Brendan were still out there alive. Somewhere.

  Wilsin also remembered what it was that Brendan had said if something went wrong like this. Get out. Get home. Leave. Don’t come after us. Granted, it had been more if they were captured by Vazaran security forces, but the message remained the same. Vazaran security forces, man-plant things that rustled as they walked. What was the difference? They both had it in for them.

  He made his choice, got up and headed over to where Brendan had left his bag. Maybe it was possible to do both. Maybe.

  Reeves watched him get up, a bemused look on his face. “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t have an answer, just started to go through the bag. It had to be somewhere. He’d already wiped down and reloaded his weapons just in case. He’d helped himself to the spare charge packs in Brendan’s bag, rooting down to the bottom until he found what he was looking for.

  It didn’t look like much, a dull thick disc of metal with a crimson button supplanted in the middle of it. The very picture of temptation, he had to fight the urge to reach out and touch it, press it down until activation.

  “What’s that?”

  He tried to cut all negative thoughts, ignore what he’d been told to do and think about what was right. He’d come on this mission to watch Brendan’s back, make sure he got through it uninjured and unhindered. He’d failed in that. Looking at the emergency beacon rammed it all home. Wilsin smiled, with his face still covered in the dried blood from Bryce, it must have made for a terrifying sight. He continued to smile as he looked at Reeves.

  “Beacon,” he said. “Brendan brought it with him in case of emergency. Push it down and we’ll get an evac to its position.”

  “I think this qualifies as an emergency,” Reeves said. “Push it. We need to get out of here before those things find a way to cross the water.”

  Was that fear in his voice? Wilsin didn’t know whether to worry or feel disgusted. All that power and he wanted to run and hide.

  “No,” he said quietly. “I’ll push this beacon when I’m damn ready. You know what we’re going to do first, Ben?”

  Reeves shook his head, but his face betrayed him, gave the impression that he at least had the inkling of an idea. The corners of his mouth curled up in a smile. Maybe he’d read his thoughts, Wilsin thought. Some Vedo could do that, he’d heard.

  “We’re going to go find the rest of our expedition. We don’t leave anyone behind. Not now, not ever. More than that, we’re going to find where these damn things came from and we’re going to make sure they don’t come back. You in?”

  It took only a fraction of a second for Reeves to grin at him, offer him a hand which Wilsin slapped his palm into. “Partners,” Reeves said. “Let’s get this shit done.”

  Chapter Twenty. Last Rites.

  “Without the Kjarn, there is only chaos. Where only there is chaos, there can be no order. Without order, there cannot be the Kjarn. We are the servants and the masters, we cast the shadows that we might bathe our ignorance in. Without the Kjarn, there cannot be light. Without light, there can only be dark, and with the dark comes death.”

  Mantra of the Vedo old and new, according to Benjamin Reeves.

  They’d slept on the boat the previous night, uneasily for the dead bodies of their companions stared sightlessly at them through the burial wrappings they’d fashioned out of their clothes. Neither of them had relished the task yet it needed to be done. The first thing Wilsin had insisted on was moving the boat out into the middle of the river and dropping anchor at the furthest equal point from the two banks. If more of those things were out there, he didn’t want to make it easy for them to come aboard and murder them in their sleep. Or abduct them. He could remember the way they’d dragged off Brendan, Aubemaya and Suchiga. Better not to take chances that you didn’t have to. Common sense wasn’t something he’d always found in mass supply across the kingdoms, but it was amazing how much it put your mind at ease when applied to a situation. Maybe the plants could cross water. If that was the case, they were dead.

  Reeves didn’t look like he’d slept, his eyes black and his words a mumble. Wilsin’s response had been to go and look through Bryce’s pack, see if he had any alcohol left. Anything to pep him up. Might not be the most responsible thing heading into combat, but you did what you had to do. Besides, Reeves wasn’t a Unisco agent. He was a Vedo. Different rules. Different abilities. His metabolism could cope with it, Wilsin hoped.

  Hope. It was about the only thing getting him through the motions. Hope that they could pull this off. Hope that they could survive. Hope that they’d get there, and it wouldn’t be too late. Too much to hope for. Not all of it would be enough, too little might come to pass, and failure would reign.

  “You’re blaming yourself,” Reeves said, glancing at him. Neither of them had been in favour of chasing the rustlers off into the darkness. Good night’s rest, full stomach and they’d be in much better shape for it. Best possible chance. How far could they get with prisoners across rough ground in the dark? He didn’t know. Too many variables, but he’d made his decision. Wait until daylight. He supposed he outranked Reeves, though quibbling over the chain of command wasn’t going to be a helpful thing. Brendan had given him the orders of what to do in the crisis and he’d already made the choice to ignore it. A hard choice but the obvious one. He could no more have abandoned them than he’d hoped they could have abandoned him. “You think we should have done more already.”

  He wasn’t entirely right, but nor was he entirely wrong. Whatever decision he made, he’d have berated himself for its implications. Wilsin looked at him across the can of cold beans, boiled in their own sauce two days ago, tomato and muscardo mushrooms. He couldn’t enjoy it. They weren’t meant to be eaten cold and it was reflected in the taste. Still, any sort of sustenance. He’d eaten worse. These weren’t gourmet times.

  “Not that at all,” Wilsin said. “They took them alive for a reason. I’ve got to hope that that reason involves them being kept alive for long enough to catch up with them.” As gambits went, it was the only one he had to play. He didn’t have enough information to their motivations. The things looked like plants, it didn’t necessarily mean that they were. There were carnivorous plants. Maybe they wanted them for food. At the same time, they’d taken them alive and run. They’d left dead bodies behind. Maybe they liked living flesh more than dead. There’d been a lot of them, Reeves had burned a whole bunch of them, but he couldn’t have kept it up. If they’d desired, they could have overwhelmed the two of them and then they’d have even more bodies to feed on.

  It was a conundrum, he realised. Without studying them and their habits, he couldn’t hope to understand them. He just had to treat them as he would any other enemy and hope that he could improvise enough on the fly when the fighting started to get them out of trouble. Yet with that came the knowledge that they surely weren’t like any other enemy. He’d never faced anything like this. Their tactics might not even be tactics he recognised. He and Reeves could be running into a trap.

  “They’ll have a good start on us,” Reeves said. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Reeves,” Wilsin said. He’d had enough of the thoughts whistling through his head, doubts clawing at him. “You ever seen anything like those things last night before? Because I’m trying to work out what they are and I’m coming up empty.”

  The Vedo shook his head. “In all my time in these kingdoms, with all I’ve learned,
they remain a mystery to me. They were even alien to the Kjarn. They didn’t register as a threat. Not until they were on us.”

  “I don’t know what to say to that,” Wilsin admitted. He didn’t either. The Kjarn remained as much a mystery to him as the workings of the minds of women in most of the relationships he’d ever entered into.

  “I mean, the good news is that they can’t fool me again. Not like that. Before they gang up on us again and murder us, I’ll at least get us a warning.”

  “Not loving the optimism,” Wilsin said. “But that’s good. Any crumb of comfort, right? Anyway, they’re not going to ambush us.”

  “How do you work that out?”

  “Because of my plan,” Wilsin said, rubbing his hands together. “Rest assured, Ben, I do have one.”

  Reeves smiled at him. “You know, I figured you were cooking something up. Do I want to know what it is?”

  “Well they’ve got a good eight hours head start on us,” Wilsin said. “Across ground. We’re going by air.”

  “We don’t have any gliders, speeders or aeroships,” Reeves quickly said. “Doesn’t that pose a bit of a problem?”

  It was Wilsin’s turn to smile at him. “The only limits we have are the ones we make ourselves. You’re a Vedo, you should acknowledge that. It’s good advice.”

  “Master Baxter has a similar saying,” Reeves offered. “Whether you think you will, or you won’t, you’re probably right.”

  “Master Baxter is a wise man,” Wilsin said, fingering his summoner. He looked around the boat, took a quick mental count of the inventory they had here. Too many things to take. Not all of them important. “You know, we’re probably not going to get back to the boat. Soon as we hit the air, I’m activating the beacon, calling for reinforcements. They get the signal, they’ll scramble a transport to pick us up. A neutral transport.” He hoped that was the case. A Unisco vehicle would be shot down long before it got this far inland. All the negotiation in the kingdoms wouldn’t save it. Mazoud had made that all too clear. He didn’t want interference. He didn’t want Unisco entering his kingdom. He knew they were there, he knew they were hiding and that there was little he could do about it until they showed their faces, but an overt act would be too big a target for his ire to ignore. He could either act and prove himself a man of his words or he could fail to do so and prove his threats ineffective. He couldn’t afford to do the latter, yet the former would bring down all manner of unpleasantness on him. A war with Unisco would do Mazoud little favours, hence his reluctance to start one. The organisation might be split across all directions trying to counter the Coppinger threat, but a few more eyes on him might prove difficult for Mazoud to come away from.