Sword

by JC Andrijeski

  They were at the top floor, in the senior executive suites of Black Arrow itself.

  The company CEOs would have additional, multiple constructs and security up here. Those same bastards who made all their money selling seer children and adults, slicing up the leftovers they couldn’t use to throw in those vats––they wouldn’t hesitate to use every Barrier technology at their disposal to protect themselves from harm.

  As he thought it, Wreg saw Allie’s eyes shift to his.

  Understanding grew there, brief but sharp.

  Then he felt the impulse, strong in his light.

  “Move!” he yelled.

  He pushed the other infiltrators––Garensche, Ike, Qualen, Nikka, Holo, Jax, Loki, Niwa––behind the wall, out of the path between her and the line of security guards in Black Arrow uniforms. Seemingly the instant he crossed the wall’s line, a sharp wave of light streaked across the Barrier space.

  Wreg watched in disbelief, half in and half out of the Barrier, his consciousness split as he saw her hand come up.

  It all happened in a blink, less than seconds.

  The security guards, who Wreg realized now, had been raising their guns to shoot at them, flew backwards into the suite behind them.

  They moved as one, cracking into and through the organic double doors. Pieces of wall broke off. The force of their expulsion brought a loud crash and cracking of metal, plaster and bone, sickeningly loud, but so fast Wreg barely heard it before it was gone. The hard green material barely slowed them down. Nor did it seem to change their trajectory.

  Another shockingly bright coil of light streaked past him in the Barrier’s shadows.

  Explosions rocked the inside of the suite.

  Wreg ducked, grabbing Nikka’s arm when she fell.

  The top of the building rocked, trembling the floor under his feet. He scanned the suite as the construct faltered without the presence of the seers holding it in place. He felt fires in the office suites, more broken windows. Another set of grenades went off, igniting ammunition in one guard’s extra clips, then igniting the walls.

  Wreg looked at Alyson.

  She stood there, unmoving. Light billowed around her in a cloud, sparking from her fingertips. It was dwindling now, though, like a circuit shorting out. He was still staring at her when she swayed on her feet.

  Before he could move, she collapsed.

  He ran for her, the others trailing behind as they checked the corners.

  Three of them walked backwards, guns up now. They aimed their weapons at the suite, and Wreg saw arms and hands trembling, shaking with adrenaline. Still, their eyes looked clear. He felt their light focused intensely on Alyson’s.

  Nothing left the broken doors but clouds of smoke.

  Wreg knelt down, coughing from the thickening air. Most of it escaped through the broken window at the end of the corridor, but he could feel the temperature heating up from the fires spreading in the other room.

  He gathered her up in his arms, fear exploding in his chest. She felt so light, close to weightless in his arms. It was like holding nothing.

  “Give her light!” he yelled to the others. “Anything you can spare! Anything… now!”

  He plugged his own aleimi into hers, asking a quick forgiveness in the Barrier of her mate as he coiled into her as far as he could, giving her everything he could in a hard flush. She didn’t struggle in his arms, but he felt her light briefly try to fight his.

  She was looking for the Sword’s, most likely.

  Seconds later, she surrendered to the connection between them.

  Wreg looked at Nikka, who stood against the wall, bleeding from a piece of shrapnel sticking out of her side, fighting unconsciousness. He saw that she was trying to do the same, trying to help him by offering her own light. Wreg stopped her, raising a hand. The Bridge was feeding on him already, making him light-headed, but it lessened his panic at least a little.

  “All but you!” he said to Nikka. He pointed at Garensche. “And you. I need you to help Nikka. Pick her up!”

  Ike touched the Bridge’s face, his fingers reverent.

  “Is she all right?” he whispered.

  “We’re leaving,” Wreg growled. “Now! Up the stairs, all of you!”

  Clutching the Elaerian to his chest, he ran for the stairwell door.

  Qualen held it open for him, his eyes on the Bridge’s face as they passed. Wreg heard at least two of the infiltrators murmuring prayers.

  Holo also touched her as he passed, his fingers caressing her bare arm.

  Wreg’s clarity began to return slightly.

  Exhaling, he felt his light begin to stabilize. It occurred to him that the others were helping him with her. All but Nikka gave light––even Garensche––using the structure of Wreg’s aleimi to channel their own light to the Bridge. At first, he had to slow it down some. She could only take in so much. After a few seconds, however, he felt the drawing from him increasing steadily.

  As the flow of light strengthened, Wreg felt her react where he held her, breathing more deeply against his chest.

  Relief suffused him, bringing him almost to tears.

  He still hadn’t felt the boss.

  Shielding, she sent in a whisper, clutching his arm.

  Wreg looked down, made uncomfortable by his own reaction to her touching him, especially with his light wound so deeply into hers.

  Then he heard what she’d said.

  “You’re keeping him out, Esteemed Bridge?” he said softly. “The Sword?”

  She nodded, looking up at him.

  Don’t tell him, she sent. Please… don’t tell him what I did.

  Wreg could only stare at her, speechless. He continued to climb the stairs, watching where he placed his feet. He could smell the smoke thickening, saw it billowing up through the open stairwell door from the corridor below. He glimpsed cameras in the corners, standing above where bodies sprawled on the stairs. He remembered the guards who went airborne out through the windows of the high floor, and the executive suite engulfed in flames behind them.

  I think he might notice, princess… he sent finally.

  She didn’t answer, but her fingers tightened on his bicep.

  When they burst out on the roof a few minutes later, the helicopter was waiting, guns out, manned by three of their own.

  Faces stared at them above black uniforms, pale and ashen.

  Only Hila broke the silence, and then from behind the Barrier.

  What the fuck happened? she asked Wreg. Her golden eyes looked stricken. Gods almighty, Wreg… boss wanted low casualties!

  Ignoring her, Wreg ducked under the helicopter blades. He climbed into the back of the modified Apache, sliding to the far corner of the long bench they’d rode in on, still holding the Bridge in his arms. Hila continued to try to reach him through the Barrier.

  We saw bodies going out the fucking windows! Every news crew in the city is on its way here, Wreg… half of them already saw the explosions from the ground!

  Wreg held Alyson tighter while the others stared.

  Hila seemed to give up, watching the bruised and battered team climb in after him. Hands and arms came out to help take Nikka from Garensche, who also walked with a limp from a piece of shrapnel sticking out of his leg.

  Wreg barely noticed any of this.

  He stared down at the Bridge, murmuring prayers.

  Carefully, he caressed the hair back from her face, feeling another surge of relief when he saw her eyes flicker, her heartbeat louder in her chest.

  Is that everyone? the pilot asked.

  “Get us the fuck out of here!” Wreg growled. “Now!”

  39

  KILLER

  I WATCHED HIM walk in, if only to see that he was all right with my own eyes.

  I stood on the far side of the open hangar, in a shadowed alcove, and kept my light tightly shielded as I followed him with my eyes. I watched as he entered from the door nearest to where the two runways lived, surrounded by
his ground team.

  I still wore all of the gear I had on when we’d landed, only a few minutes before.

  He was dirty, too.

  His black armor still appeared cleaner than any of ours, but he looked light-depleted, tired, a little out of it. His hair was sweated to his head, but he looked happy. The others cheered, raising hands in the sign of the Sword when they saw him, and I saw his light feed on it, pulling theirs up higher, infusing the construct with his warmth. It grew brighter as I watched, raining down that blue-white, soft but still frequency I associated only with him.

  He laughed aloud then, and I felt something in my chest tighten.

  The room relaxed when they saw him, like an exhaled breath.

  I didn’t know, yet, if he knew about me.

  Before I could find out, before I could read the knowledge inadvertently on his light, or see him pick it up in the mood of those I’d been with in the Black Arrow building, I slipped out the back door. I didn’t want to know if he could be so happy, knowing what I’d done.

  I knew it made me a coward, but I couldn’t be the one to tell him, either.

  I just couldn’t.

  REVIK WALKED INTO the back storage unit, where bunks were laid out in a series of rows. He wiped his face with one hand as he walked, using his fingers to scrub the hair on his head before he started scanning faces in the room.

  He smiled a little at the shout that went up when his presence was noticed.

  He raised a returning hand, but didn’t stop looking for her among the infiltrators wearing black armor and organic vests. She hadn’t been in the hangar when he landed. He’d expected her.

  Then they told him what happened.

  No one wanted to drop that on him while he was en route transporting prisoners, they said, but Revik read more behind their words. They’d been afraid for her. No one wanted to tell him anything until they knew for certain she was all right.

  He pinged her light, softly.

  No response.

  Walking in and among the infiltrators, he continued to touch arms and return smiles. Most of them sat on the floor, or on one of the wooden benches against the wall. A few sprawled on cots, their armor off, shirts open in the front. Others were in some state of undress, pulling off boots and pieces of armor, rubbing dirt off their faces and taking long drinks of water, beer or stronger things as they waited their turn for the one real shower that lived outside the hangar door.

  Revik made his way over to one of the cots, looking down at the face of Nikka.

  Her features tightened while a tech worked on sewing up her side, but from her eyes he could tell they’d given her some kind of painkiller. Nikka returned his smile, glancing at the bloody piece of shrapnel that now stood in a metal dish on the floor beside the cot.

  “You all right, sister?” he said.

  She clasped his hand. “Fine, brother Syrimne. Thank you for asking.”

  Revik looked at the wound. He scanned her briefly as he did, to assess the wound’s severity, but also as a cover as he looked for information.

  But she hadn’t seen his wife either, not since they landed.

  Fighting the desire to ask her questions about the mission itself, he moved on. In a few more steps, he saw Halo as well, and Qualen, Ike and Garensche. All three of them lay on the cement floor or sat cross-legged on the same, drinking beer, their vests open. They were talking in pidgin Prexci until they saw Revik.

  He only caught a few words.

  “…fucking goddess. Couldn’t believe it when that one guy…”

  Looking up, Garensche trailed, paling a little.

  But Revik only gave him a smile.

  Startled, Garensche smiled back. “Hey, boss.”

  “Hey. You all okay?”

  He glanced around as they nodded.

  Ike offered him a beer, but Revik declined with a wave of his fingers.

  He’d finally seen the other face he’d been looking for. Picking Wreg out of the wash of black-clad soldiers, he nodded briefly at Garensche and the others, giving Ike’s back a friendly pat as he passed. He made his way around more cots and clusters of seers, his eyes trained on the other end of the cylinder-shaped storage unit they’d all been using as sleeping quarters.

  He saw his lieutenant seated alone on a metal bench, his back to the curved wall. Revik almost didn’t recognize him with the soot covering his face.

  He walked closer, watching the seer tilt his head back, drinking tequila straight out of the bottle. Wreg closed his eyes as he swallowed, leaning deeper into the wall. His armor lay open in front, exposing a light gray T-shirt stretched over his thick chest. The shirt looked oddly bright against the soot on his arms, legs and outer armor.

  The infiltrator hadn’t even taken his boots off yet.

  “Greetings, brother,” he said.

  Wreg’s eyes opened. He looked up at Revik, his face holding remorse, a kind of crushing guilt. Seeing his expression, Revik waved it off with his fingers.

  “You did well.”

  He shook his head. “We were too slow to get out.”

  “Or I was too eager,” Revik said. “I should have given you more time, given the size of the thing. I didn’t adjust fast enough.”

  “She saved our lives.” Wreg looked up at him, dark eyes serious, holding a kind of measured pleading. “She saved us, brother. There is absolutely no way we would have gotten out of there without her. They had security coming at us from both sides, the staircase blocked…”

  Trailing, he shook his head, clicking softly.

  “Hell, at least a few of us would have been lost before we’d even reached the mainframe, by that goddamned sentient machine.” He took another drink off the bottle. “As it is, we didn’t lose a single damned person. Not one, Nenzi.”

  “I saw that,” Revik acknowledged. “That is good, brother.”

  “She couldn’t feel worse,” Wreg added, not seeming to hear him.

  Revik frowned. “Why didn’t you contact me?”

  Wreg gave a humorless kind of laugh, clicking his tongue. “She didn’t want you to know. She was shielding you from us, brother. Drained of light, barely conscious, and she’s asking me not to tell you, using the last of her light to keep you out, like you’re not going to know.”

  Revik felt his chest clench.

  “Where is she?” he said.

  Wreg hooked a thumb towards the wall, indicating outdoors.

  Glancing that way, Revik gestured in acknowledgement.

  “What time are we leaving?” he said.

  Wreg lowered the bottle. “Ten hours. They’re taking the prisoners out before they try to remove the implants, as a precaution. We’ll get the second plane once they refuel and come for us. I could try to hurry it up a little––”

  “No.” Revik studied his face, feeling his chest tighten. “You’d better go shower. They’ll use up all the hot water.”

  He sent a pulse of warmth to Wreg, startling the older seer.

  “Thanks for getting her out safe, brother,” he said.

  Wreg continued to look at him blankly as Revik walked away, heading for the small wooden door in the curved side of the storage unit.

  HE FOUND HER at the edge of the field.

  She sat alone, in a thick cluster of grass. The air strip stood at her back, the jungle before her; he could barely make out her dark outline amid the waving fronds. Palm trees swayed overhead, along with Brazilian dates and a type of orchid-bearing tree with bright pink flowers. Blue sky curved over the jungle canopy, still changing colors from the early morning sun, broken here and there with scattered cumulous clouds.

  Later, the glare from pollution and sun would turn that sky a duller yellow if it didn’t rain, but for now, it wasn’t even overly hot.

  She still wore her full combat gear––everything but the helmet, which sat next to her hand planted in the grass. As he stood there, a breeze caught her dark hair, rippling it along her back, then flickering it up and around one shoulder.
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  He wondered if she felt him.

  Taking another breath, he walked the rest of the way up to her, and sat down. He let his legs sprawl beside hers, planting his hands on the bent grass behind his back to support his upper body.

  She didn’t look at him for a long moment.

  He waited.

  He’d already decided it would be better to let her come to him.

  Eventually, she looked over. Her face was smudged with smoke; her hair smelled singed. He saw nicks from glass and metal on her cheek, dried blood under her hairline and by her left ear, a bruise on her collarbone where the armor hung askew in front.

  Seeing the brightness of her eyes, the grief that stood out plainly in them, his resolve evaporated.

  He slid his arms around her, pulling her against him. He wrapped his legs around hers from behind once she sat between them, then tightened his arms crosswise as he cuddled her against his chest. Kissing her neck, he opened the armor locked across the front of her body with his fingers, unhooking snaps. Breaking her free of the dark-colored organic, he caressed her through the shirt below, putting light into his fingers.

  He felt the light of the infiltrator team in hers, and a surge of gratitude found him. He kissed her neck again, caressing her face with his.

  “Darling,” he murmured. “Darling, I’m so glad you’re all right.”

  Her body grew taut, but she only held onto him.

  When he softened his light still more, she cried against his shoulder, clutching at him, and he rocked her gently in his arms. The grief on her worsened, expanding into his light, and his throat closed.

  “Alyson, love… it’s all right.”

  She didn’t answer him, but he felt her disagree.

  He held her tighter, curling his body around hers.

  He tried to let her feel he understood.

  She didn’t want to hear it. She fought his understanding at first, but slowly, slowly, she let him in. Once she had, he began talking to her again, his voice low.