by M. R. Forbes
“Seriously?” Bastion said.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Trin said. “But I am on your side in this war.”
“Why the change of heart?” Bastion asked.
“Maybe a literal change of heart?” Benhil said, laughing.
“Queenie, I might kill this one,” Trinity said, pointing at Benhil.
“Be my guest,” Abbey said.
“What?” Benhil replied. “I’m just fragging with you. No harm done, right?”
“That’s enough,” Gant said. “Let her work.”
The Rejects fell silent. Abbey smiled out of the corner of her mouth so they couldn’t see. She was damn glad to be back with her family. One part of it, anyway. She was worried about the other part. More worried than before, but she had work to do before she could think about that.
She closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths before opening them again. Then she put up her hands. One toward the Faust, the other toward the debris on the hangar floor.
The sleeves of the shardsuit began to move, freeing the naniates beneath them as the atomic machines penetrated through the cells of her skin. She sent them forward with little instruction other than to “fix it.”
The Faust began to rise as the Gift wrapped around it, pulling it upright and leveling it off, changing its position in the hangar. The bay door was too narrow for the wings to fit through fully extended, but that didn’t seem to matter. The intact wing snapped halfway across as a silver shimmer that matched the shardsuit appeared around it, sealing off the outer edge. Further away, the bits and pieces of the damaged wing were lifted into the air and brought together.
Hundreds of parts that would have taken her weeks to sift through and figure out how to assemble spun around one another, shifting position as the Gift worked out the problem. It was obvious by their actions that the naniates did have some level of intelligence, and by the way they seemed to learn it appeared to be shared. They re-engineered the wing within minutes, altering the form to match the opposite side before carrying it over the heads of the still-gathering crowd and moving it into position beside the Faust.
“I don’t know whether to be amazed or terrified,” she heard Captain Davlyn say to the Rudin beside him.
“I’m both,” she clicked in reply, the translation following behind the response by a second.
Abbey was too, in her own way. She couldn’t believe what she was doing. She was also afraid it wouldn’t be enough. Thraven was immensely powerful, and while she was stronger than she had been the last time they met, she was still nowhere near his level.
She turned her hands over, merging the Gift. The wing came in contact with the side of the Faust at the same time, a dense cluster of the naniates circling the junction point and welding the two pieces together. A moment later, the reactor turned on, the inside of the cockpit becoming visible as it lit up. The landing skids extended, and only then did the ship return to the floor, turned to face the hangar doors and ready for action.
Abbey put her hands down. She could feel her energy begin to drain as she did, the naniates feeding on the nutrients in her blood to replenish themselves and begin replication. She was amazed by the innate way in which she could sense the mechanical processes, the power of the Gift demystified from a greater understanding of how it all functioned. Maybe it wasn’t magic, but even watching it with an idea of how it worked, it still looked like magic. And felt like it.
“I’ve never seen anything like it without the use of the Focus,” Jequn said as Abbey turned to face them.
Abbey could see the wonder written across the faces of the High Noon’s crew. The Rejects were impressed too, but less impressed. They had seen the Gift before. Her stomach began to rumble. She was hungry. Very hungry. She had expected as much.
“Okay, Imp, can you go see if there’s any ice cream left? If not, I’ll take whatever you can find that has a lot of calories.”
“On it,” Pik said. He had to wade through the crew that had come to see the spectacle, and they scrambled away at his approach. Bastion trailed behind him, using the freshly opened lane.
“Cherub, Joker, head down to the armory and start picking out anything you think we can use. Weapons. Armor. That sort of thing. If there’s a chance to get our hands on a more stable copy of Lucifer’s Covenant, I want it.”
“Yes, Queenie,” Jequn said.
“Phenel, you don’t have a nick yet, do you?”
“No, Queenie, though Bastion has called me jello mold and pudding a few times. I don’t know what those things are.”
Damn Bastion. “I know what they aren’t. Your nick.”
“I kind of like pudding.”
“You know it’s a human food, right? He’s making fun of your physiology.”
“The sound of it is pleasing to me.”
Abbey hated to give Bastion credit for another of the Reject’s names, but she wasn’t going to keep arguing. “Pudding it is, then. I guess it’s better than Shmoo.”
“Shmoo?”
“Nevermind. Can you start running diagnostics on the Faust, and make sure everything is functioning the way it should? I have something else I need to take care of.”
“Of course, Queenie.”
“What would you like me to do, Queenie?” Trinity asked.
“Save your energy. I’m not sure when we’ll be able to refuel you.”
Trin’s head lowered slightly, suggesting her disappointment. Abbey couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be a living human brain inside a mechanical body. For all the power the form provided, the drawbacks were unbearable.
“Trinity,” she said hesitantly.
“Yes, Queenie?”
“If you ever want me to… end it. I will.”
“Not while Thraven is still living,” Trinity replied. She hesitated for a moment as well. “Maybe after.”
Abbey nodded. “Captain Davlyn,” she shouted, getting the Captain’s attention.
“Aye, ma’am?” he replied.
“When you rejoin Kett’s fleet, do what he says until I return, but don’t forget whose side you’re on. You won’t like me when I’m pissed.”
He bowed, mimicking the way Erlan had done it. “Of course. After what I just saw? I’m not going to do anything to get on your bad side.”
Abbey turned away from him, climbing into the Faust and making the short walk to the ship’s Construct room. She slipped inside and closed the door before activating the system.
She had been reluctant to contact Hayley before because she didn’t want to break her daughter’s heart twice if something happened to her. She realized now she had made a mistake. A big mistake. Maybe Thraven would have left Hayley alone before when he still had hope of bringing her to his side. Now? They had destroyed a good portion of his fleet, and soon enough the Crescent Haulers would know who was really responsible for the attack on the Devastator. Not only that, but she had almost succeeded in killing him. It was one thing to be a thorn in his side, but she had grown into a tumor, and she knew from Coli that Thraven knew Hayley existed.
Whether for leverage or revenge, her daughter wasn’t safe anymore, and she had to warn her. She just hoped she wasn’t too late.
She entered Hayley’s Construct ID. Even if she were offline, she would get a notification that she was being contacted through the system. Abbey waited impatiently for the connection to be made and the data to be transferred. The activity was easily traced, but she didn’t care. Let Thraven come for her. As long as he didn’t go after her child.
She could feel the sense of relief as the VR scene morphed around her, a sign that the connection had been accepted. The small farmhouse room appeared. The old couch. The fireplace. It was comforting. It was even more comforting when Hayley’s avatar faded into position, standing opposite her.
“Mother,” Hayley said.
Abbey’s heart lurched. She knew instantly the person who had joined her in the Construct wasn’t her daughter. Mom. Mommy. Mamma. Ma when she had be
en an infant. Even Abbey when she was really throwing a tantrum. But Hayley had never called her Mother.
“Where is she?” Abbey asked.
“Dead.”
5
“Have you found him yet?” Olus asked. “We’re running out of time.”
Pahaliah nodded. “He’ll meet us at the Construct Gym downtown,” she replied. “He said he wants double. PD almost nailed him after the tri-towers.”
“Frag his double. Does he know what’s at stake here?”
“He’s a Rudin, Olus.”
“Do we have the funds?”
“I’ll get them.”
Olus checked the time. Lorenti had been delivered back to her condo. The vote was going to happen in three hours.
They still had no idea where Ruche was keeping Hayley. He had spent every available minute hacking at the Galnet in hopes of finding something, anything to give him a clue where the Nephilim had brought her, with no luck. He knew it had to be close. Thraven’s plan wouldn’t work otherwise.
It wasn’t as simple as letting Lorenti vote in favor of the legislation and collecting Hayley wherever they decided to drop her off. Olus knew, and he was sure Ruche knew he knew, that there was no way the Nephilim were simply going to let her go. That part of the equation was a ruse, an obvious ruse that was a win-win for Thraven whichever way Olus played it. If he didn’t find Hayley, she was going to be on her way to the Gloritant the second Lorenti cast her ballot. If he did find Hayley?
They wanted him to. Hayley was bait. Ruche would be waiting, no doubt with enough Children and Converts to ensure he wouldn’t survive the exchange. And once he failed, then the Evolent would ship her off.
Neither outcome was acceptable. Olus was going to find her, and he was going to save her. He knew Ruche was right. If Abbey found out her daughter was in trouble, not only would she be at risk to losing herself to the control of the Gift, she would probably abandon anything else she was doing to find and kill Thraven whether it was strategically viable or not.
Whether she could defeat him or not.
And if Abbey fell, what would happen to the Rejects? He couldn’t imagine that group of misfits staying cohesive without her. Not now. And he didn’t have many other allies. Efforts to reach Ruby had failed. Her comm seemed to be permanently offline. Without it, he couldn’t talk to Kett. He couldn’t talk to Abbey or Gant or any of the others. Without it, he was more on his own than ever.
He was grateful for Pahaliah, and for the Servants. Lurix especially. The Plixian had sacrificed himself back at Nez’pa, both saving him from the Goreshin and taking the fall for the attack. He was likely going to spend the rest of his life in prison as a result; a sacrifice Olus wouldn’t waste.
Ruche wanted to be found, and Olus wanted to find him. There was a gray area in there, one that Killshot had every intention of exploiting.
“Xanix?” Olus said.
“He’s already waiting for us.”
“How did he manage to get what I asked for so quickly?”
“He’s a Servant. It’s part of the job description. You know, to serve?” She passed him a sarcastic smile.
“I didn’t request milk and cheese,” Olus replied. “Zip-10s are hard to come by, even for the government.”
“It’s all about who you know. In this case, Xanix knows a collector who’s a friend of the Ophanim. He lent it out from his private stock, so try not to lose it. Or break it.”
“I can’t make any promises. You know what we’re going to be up against.”
She nodded but didn’t speak. He could sense her tension. She had spent years preparing for the war, and she had handled herself well so far. But this? This was going to be the most grueling test yet.
Olus guided the car through the city traffic, using a busier lane to blend in more completely. They had borrowed the vehicle from Pahaliah’s parents, though the parents didn’t know it yet. He imagined they wouldn’t be too happy when they found out. If they found out. He had already disabled all of the tracking services on the vehicle.
A few minutes later he guided the car down to the street, landing on the corner of a busy intersection. They were surrounded by high towers, their reflective panes collecting sunlight for energy and creating a mirrored infinity that would dizzy anyone who wasn’t used to it. They weren’t headed for the towers though. They were going down.
A loop station sat at the corner, and they descended into it, down to the waiting area where hundreds of individuals were loitering, watching the tracks for their ride across town. Most of them were human, but he spotted a couple of Trovers and a few Plixians, as well as a Curlatin and a group of Skinks that looked like tourists. He didn’t notice Xanix in the group.
“He should have been here,” Pahaliah said, scanning the platform.
Olus put his hand on her shoulder. “Be patient,” he replied. “Let’s move toward the back of the crowd.”
They did, finding a spot behind the others. Within a minute the group of Skinks had eased their way over. Three of them stood in front of them with their backs turned, while the fourth brushed aside his long coat and held out the Zip-10.
Olus didn’t even look at it. He just reached out and grabbed the sniper rifle, tucking it under his jacket. That Skink kept moving, circling to the others. The next in line backed toward them, passing out ammunition. The third handed over a small, wrist-mounted device, while the fourth gave Pahaliah a fancy handbag. It all happened in a matter of seconds, and then they faded back into the crowd without a word.
“Let’s go,” Olus said.
They made their way back out of the station. Olus slapped the small controller onto his wrist as they ascended, pulling up the projection and activating the transport bot. It was at the top of the steps by the time they arrived, a round, narrow, self-balancing wheel with a storage compartment in the center. He wasn’t going to open it in public to see what prizes waited inside. He directed it over to the car, opened the back and lifted it in. He gave a cursory glance before pulling the Zip-10 from beneath his coat and placing it on top of the bot. Then he closed the trunk and regained the front seat.
“Xanix should have told me he was sending someone else,” Pahaliah said as they started rising into the traffic lanes.
“Then you would have been too obvious looking for them,” Olus replied. “It was a smart move, as long as he can trust those Skinks.”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t have used them if he couldn’t.”
Pahaliah opened the small bag. She lifted a smaller container out of it. There were four pills inside. He recognized two of them.
“I-” Pahaliah started to speak, then stopped. She shook her head. “I’m not ready to do this.”
“You don’t have to,” Olus said. “I’m not asking you to.”
Dilixix had given him the pills without telling him what they were. At least Pahaliah had a chance to make an informed decision. It was her life, after all.
“I’ll keep them close,” she said. “If things go really bad, I’ll take them.”
He nodded. “Do you know what the other two are?”
“Yes,” she replied. “Kill-pills. If things go wrong, they’ll guarantee a quick, easy death instead of a slow, torturous one.”
“That won’t work on me.”
“It will. They contain a radioactive isotope that will weaken the Gift while the poison kills your body.”
“I thought cutting off the head was the only way.”
“It’s difficult to force someone to swallow a cocktail like this in the middle of a battlefield, and external poisons aren’t as effective. They can weaken the Gift but are rarely fatal.”
“But we could use something like this to weaken Thraven?”
“If you can touch him with something poisoned, I suppose. You’d have to be able to touch him first.”
“The devil is in the details, isn’t it?”
“Always.”
She dug one of the kill-pills out of the container and hande
d it to him. It wasn’t the first time he had been given the means to take himself out of a situation this way. He shoved the pill into the back of his mouth and then checked the time. A little over two hours.
He started to descend again when the Construct Gym came into sight ahead. It was easy to pick out by the projections that surrounded it, each a stream of some of the action going on inside. Different types of warfare, mostly. Starfighter battles, mech fights, even some historical action using cannons and muskets. You could be anyone, anywhere, in any time real or imagined in the Construct, and some people got so addicted they lost everything to dedicate their lives to the escape.
Not Olus. He had never used it and never intended to. No matter how shitty reality got, at least it was real.
There was no external parking near the Gym. Instead, they were directed to a landing sled. He placed the car on it, and they disembarked. Olus turned back to watch as the car was carried into underground storage, slightly concerned about having left their equipment inside. The Zip-10 was irreplaceable.
As long as they hadn’t been tracked or followed, it should be safe enough.
“Is he here already?” Olus asked.
“Yes. In a private booth. Of course, we’ll be paying for the booth.” She smiled and shook her head.
They entered the Gym. Olus had always found moving around inside of them a surreal, disorienting experience. The entire thing was for all intents one massive construct room, with millions of points providing the proper VR to the hundreds of individuals standing within, each of them wearing goggles and earplugs that provided the visual and auditory immersion into whichever world they were in. The floor was specially designed so that players could move in all directions without actually moving no matter where they stood, while non-players could travel around them without incident.
What made it the most creepy was the sound. Since everyone was in their own little microcosm, they elicited noises that suited their situation, which combined with everyone else to provide a chilling audio track. While this was a public Gym and mature themes were banned, that didn’t prevent a strange mixture of screaming, laughter, cursing, joy, and most other vocalizations of emotions from mingling.