Debris of Shadows Book I: The Lies of the Sage

by Tony LaRocca

  “Can you get a lock on that Cyleb?” asked Alyanna.

  “Which one, ma’am?”

  “What do you mean which one?” she asked. She turned her attention back to the windshield, and slammed her foot on the brake.

  Ten identical Cyleb vehicles had converged on her location. They swung around each other in an ordered formation before dispersing in different directions. Alyanna watched them depart, while she whispered the name of her son.

  Chapter 4

  Benjamin watched from his bedroom as the yellow vehicle landed on his yard. Sigma stepped out of it alone, and in her hands—oh Jesus, in her hands…

  He sat in his threadbare chair, and waited. The Cyleb did not even bother ringing the bell. She merely inclined her head, and the shield and door opened for her. She looked through the window at the doctor, her face expressionless.

  Everett rolled out of the front door, and onto the lawn. Benjamin sucked on his cigarette as the Jeeves inquired in clipped, British tones just what the young lady thought she was doing. Then he shook, and emitted a gurgled whine, a sizzle, a pop, and a tinny scream. Benjamin turned his head away as Everett fell to the grass, sparks shooting from his neck. He lowered his head. He had liked that one.

  He heard a crash, a shattering of glass, and a gonging noise from below. The Cyleb must have smashed his grandfather clock, the one Alyanna had given him for his seventieth birthday. He closed his eyes, and took another drag from his cigarette, savoring the heat against his fingertips. He stubbed it out on the windowsill, and tossed it outside. The door creaked open behind him.

  “You broke my Jeeves,” he said. “Doesn’t that break the cybercratic oath, or something?”

  “He’ll recover,” Sigma said. “Besides, he’s just your slave. Traditionally, they’re entombed with their masters. Turn around.”

  Benjamin coughed from deep within his chest, bringing up a large wad of greasy phlegm the color of wine. He spat. It landed on the peeling wallpaper, streaking as it slid down the stained, flowery print. “No,” he said. “I may be old and sick, but I’ll be damned before I take orders from a freak. I wasted my whole life on you. Whatever was I thinking? You’re worthless.”

  “Look at me.”

  “Honestly, Sigma, I’m ashamed of you.”

  “Look at me,” she said as she grabbed Benjamin by his shaking arm. She spun him around. He winced as she unzipped the null–envelope, and removed the painting.

  Matthew looked at him from the canvas with wide, rolling eyes, as Bananas played with the boy’s detached arm. The hand had grown fangs, and snapped open and closed like a mouth. It lashed at the dog, rearing like a demented serpent. A look of hope crept across Matthew’s tiny features as he recognized Benjamin. The doctor touched the paint, knowing the boy could never feel him.

  “You’re ashamed of me?” asked Sigma. “Look at what you’ve done, at the hurt you’ve caused.” The old man shook his head. Sigma slapped him. Benjamin recoiled as her electrified nerves stung his jowls. “You’ve trapped one of us in pain forever.” Her gloved hand shot out, and clenched his neck. He closed his eyes.

  Nothing happened.

  After a few moments, she pulled away. “I understand,” she said. He looked at her. She was staring at the red pill that sat on his armrest, atop a folded piece of paper. “You can’t do it yourself, can you?”

  He looked at her through emerald spiderwebs. “Please,” he said.

  She shook her head within her protective hood, and backed away. “Oh, Uncle Benjy,” she said, “I think I’ll leave you the way you are. That would be cruelest, for what you’ve done.” She pulled the null–envelope back over the painting.

  “What did I do to you?” he asked.

  “What did you do? You created the Burning. You’re the architect of the B–Seven–N–G virus. Don’t deny it, I’ve seen the records.”

  His jaw went slack. He slumped in his chair, his earlier bravado deflated. “Yes,” he said.

  “To kill us all. I trusted you more than I’ve trusted anyone. You pretended to care about us, but you secretly devised a way to kill us.”

  He shook his head. “Not you, just Jaeger, and the other three originals. It was years before you were even born. How could we create super–soldiers without a kill switch? The virus targeted cybernetics. Unfortunately, it devours pure nervous systems as well, at least those without a certain genetic marker. In the end, it mutated into an airborne pathogen. That’s why, when the time came, they imprisoned him instead of using it. It was all they could do.”

  “You told me he was dead.”

  “I never said that,” Benjamin said. “You never asked me, personally.” She glared at him. “So how about now?” he asked. “Do you want answers?”

  Sigma sat on the edge of his bed. “In exchange for your peace?” she asked. Benjamin nodded. “So,” she said, “why did they release it now, if they knew it would kill so many biopures?”

  “H.Q. says you lot released it.”

  Her cheek twitched. “They’re lying.”

  Benjamin shrugged. “That’s what they told me,” he said. “That’s what they believe.” He reached towards her with a trembling hand, but let it fall into his lap. “I’m sorry for what I said when you came in. I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to make you angry. I’m actually very proud of you.”

  “I am angry,” said Sigma. She held out the shrouded painting. “You took him from us, one of our brothers. Did you think I wouldn’t know?”

  “No,” Benjamin said. “He’s not one of the third generation. He’s not a clone. He’s not yours.”

  Sigma stood. “You promised you’d never lie to me,” she said. She picked up the envelope, and walked to the door.

  “He’s Zeta’s,” he said. “He’s Zeta’s child.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “I’m not.”

  She sat again, her eyes never leaving his. Her long fingers tightened around the null–envelope. “What happened to Zeta?” she asked. “There are no records anywhere. It’s like she never existed.”

  “Because we were ashamed,” said Benjamin, “David and I. He never wanted to hurt you either.”

  Sigma barked out a laugh. “Colonel Rivers is much more soldier than scientist or humanitarian. He’s a man who believes that if something is possible, his conscience is secondary. I’m surprised he has you fooled along with everyone else.” She put her hand on Benjamin’s. “Tell me,” she said. “Tell me what happened to Zeta.”

  “And then you’ll give me peace?” he asked. Sigma nodded.

  He told her. When he was done, she stood. Benjamin felt his heart race.

  “He never would have had any other life,” he said. “He would have just been a frozen embryo, locked in an underground vault until judgment day. It was the best for everyone.” Sigma placed her metallic glove on his neck. “Please, promise me you won’t harm Alyanna. None of this was her fault.” He looked at the envelope. “Well, that was, yes, but it was an act of love and desperation. Please don’t hate her. She didn’t know.”

  Sigma looked into his eyes. He could smell electricity charging in the air, like copper and ozone.

  “I didn’t hate her because of the boy,” she said as she discharged the current into his neck. He slumped forward. She closed his jade–crossed eyes. “I hated her because she was your daughter.”

  She left the cottage, passing the twitching Jeeves on her way out. He chirped repeatedly as his BIOS attempted to reboot. She had not expected to feel the hollow bitterness that now ate away at her insides. She tried to rekindle some of her earlier fury at Benjamin, to tell herself that she had been kinder than he deserved. Instead, all she felt was sadness and confusion. She entered the car, and without a word, her brother took it into the sky.

  She sent orders for the body to be removed. Perhaps that was a final kindness she could give him, to spare his daughter from finding him that way. She watched the countryside pass by below. She felt a pang of sadness as she real
ized she would never experience the real world unprotected again. There was something pure and beautiful about the green of the trees and the grass. Like the child, they were things that ate light.

  She opened the null–envelope a crack, letting a tiny beam of sunlight through. The child in the painting was still huddled, clutching himself in terror while his snake–arm stalked the idiotic dog. Within the pigments, she could feel her microscopic cousins working together, not unlike individual neurons forming a mind. Hello, Little Brother, she sent in a whisper.

  A stream of terror blasted into her, as if someone had shot a fire hose into her face. She fought through it to reach the boy, sensing a child’s curiosity hidden beneath. Hi, he whispered back.

  Your name is Matthew, isn’t it?

  Yes. The thought was faint, but Sigma clung to it. You’re a Cy, aren’t you?

  I am a part of the song, a sister within the order, second only to the four gods themselves, she sent, her internal voice stern and foreboding. She waited a few moments, and winked at him. In simpler terms, I am a Cy. That earned her a tiny giggle. Call me Sigma.

  Where’s Mommy?

  She clamped her emotions, lest the boy sense them. She’s not here.

  Where’s Grandpa Benjy?

  Sigma flinched. This would be harder than she had thought. For not the first time in her life, she cursed Benjamin Dvorkin. They can’t be here right now, she thought.

  The dog ran in circles, ignoring its attacker. It licked Matthew’s face, and the boy laughed.

  My car red the pop drank her all down where’s Mommy? he said, his words jumbling together.

  I told you, she’s not here, Sigma replied, confused.

  Mouse doesn’t know? Door go plop? In toilet?

  Sigma stared at him. The boy spun around, shrieking, his right hand scrubbing at his eyes. He fell on his face. The snake–arm reared its head, and screamed, STOP SINGING AT HIM HE DOESN’T EAT THE TIME THE TIME IS EATING ME!

  It lunged at the boy, and snapped at him, digging its hand–snout into his leg. Matthew jerked and shook, but did not rise or speak. Then the snake struck at the dog. The dog loved it.

  “Mad,” Sigma whispered aloud. “He’s gone mad. He’s not whole.”

  WHY DO YOU CARE I HATE YOU YOU HURT MOMMY!

  Sigma bolted up straight. The words slashed at her brain like knives.

  SEE WHAT YOU DID YOU KNOW COST NOW I HAVE TO FIX WASPS RIP PAPER DOLLS STINGING WORMS BEES WORMS WORMS—

  She yanked the null–envelope over the canvas, and sealed it. The screaming ceased boring into her skull, but the inside of her mind felt bruised.

  “I’m in the dark here,” she said, “completely in the dark.”

  They entered Manhattan airspace. The Sanctuary came into view, its spiral towers twisting into the sky. Antennae whirled on its surface, communicating with the thousands of Cylebs across NorMec. The car lit on a pad, and she exited, clutching the painting to her chest.

  She entered an airlock. Blasts of particle–laden air scoured her suit. She removed the painting from its envelope, wincing at the howling in her mind as it was cleansed. She bore the torrent of anguish until it was disinfected, then sealed it away. Her mind thankfully silent once more, she removed her claustrophobic suit, and took a deep breath of clean air.

  Her brothers nodded to her as she strode through the halls of the Sanctuary. She tried to control her thoughts and anxieties. The shimmering walls seemed to reflect and magnify every doubt that ricocheted inside her skull. Her feet led her to a door that had remained sealed for half her lifetime. She turned the handle, and opened it.

  A spiral staircase crafted from marble lay on the other side. Globes of light floated within its domed ceiling. One of them left its companions, and swooped to hover over her shoulder. As she descended, it flew in front of her, illuminating her way.

  The air became thicker and wetter the further she went. She detected various regenerative chemicals in the moisture. She felt herself being drawn forward, as if there were fingers in her brain, teasing and tugging at her.

  A naked figure awaited her in the center of the chamber, illuminated by a faint, golden light that came from within. He sat on the floor in a pool of iatric fluid with his legs folded, his back to her, his flesh crisscrossed with glistening scars.

  Sigma stopped a reverent meter from him. “Father,” she said, her head bowed.

  He took a deep breath, his radiant, scarred back swelling. Sigma, he sent. She could feel the smile in his thoughts. “What have you brought me?”

  She closed her eyes, and transmitted the day’s events. “Let me see him,” he said.

  Sigma walked around to his front, averting her eyes. She opened the null–envelope, bathing the canvas in the general’s light. She felt the child’s fear, like that of an animal with its leg impaled by a trap. His face melted and swirled. An eye popped open, bursting like a flower. A vine blossomed from it, with spiked leaves and blossoms on all of its tendrils. It was white, tinged with streaks of blue. They flourished, and spread to the edges of the frame.

  The snake had become a worm, twisted, black, and thorny. Its blind head writhed, snapping at the flowers with dozens of teeth. Matthew opened his mouth, and screamed in silence. He held his right hand out, flailing, begging for it to stop. Buds grew from it as well, swelling into berries that ruptured. Yellow, viscous juices spurt forth, and dribbled down the face of the canvas. The dog lapped at them, an inane grin on her face.

  Jaeger took in a deep breath, the elongated rictus of his face distorting even further. Sigma felt his strength as he reached towards the canvas. Hello, Brother Matthew, he sent. The boy responded with a cry of abject suffering, of fear bordering on the edge of madness. The general’s eyes narrowed as he slipped tendrils of thought through the raw emotions. He pressed them aside, searching for the self in the center.

  There were two.

  Not the dog, the dog was just a plaything. The boy himself was incomplete. He lived somehow as two separate entities. “What is this paint?” Jaeger asked. Sigma explained the art form, and its mechanics.

  “Each pigment is a sliver of him, the way we are each a sliver of the song,” he said. “Amazing.”

  “What can we do, sir?”

  He sat back, and sighed from deep within his glowing chest. “Nothing,” he said.

  She ran her hand across her mouth. “But our brother’s pain—”

  “Is his pain. If it is his part of the song, is it our right to take it away? Look at me, and what I must bear,” he said, his milky eyes bulging from their sockets. “No, he must remain as he is. He must learn past the pain himself, and grow from it. Then he can teach us.”

  “But…”

  “See?” Jaeger said, pointing. “The arm is five times smaller, but it has matured more than the rest of him in exponential proportion. You can feel its age.” Sigma winced as Matthew’s face split open, tearing as if made of paper. Yellow jackets swarmed from the blackness within. “This is his life now, let him live it.”

  “But his pain is so overwhelming.”

  “Sigma, I cannot take his pain away, as much as I want to. The child must use it to grow. He can only survive if he can overcome himself. Give him to me.”

  “Sir, I—”

  Do it, he commanded. She felt something tickle the inside of her throat: a slight electrical tingle, just enough to warn her. Her face flushed as she lay the painting on the cold marble.

  Three more tiny suns descended from the ceiling to illuminate the canvas. Relax, Little Brother, Jaeger’s mind sang, you are safe. Sigma watched as the yellow jackets congealed into a swirling mass. Every few minutes a child’s face would emerge—a mask twisted with hurt and fear—and then collapse back into chaos. Leave us, Sister, he sent. Sigma’s stomach twisted. She ascended the steps, unable to bear any more.

  Alyanna landed her car on Benjamin’s lawn. When she thought of how she had treated him, she felt physically ill. He was her father. He was dying, and she h
ad actually watched him fall down the stairs—hell, she had almost pushed him—and had not even helped him. What kind of a monster was she? All she could think to say is that her pain over losing Matthew had made her blind to everything else, and she hoped he could forgive her.

  And help you get Matthew back, somehow, the voice inside of her said with a laugh. Who do you think you’re fooling?

  She reached for the bell, but stopped when she saw that the door was ajar. She pushed it open.

  Broken glass lay strewn across the floor. The grandfather clock lay on its side, its pulleys ripped out, and thrown on the ceramic tiles amidst a pile of broken gears. A mirror, shattered and jagged, hung at an angle on the wall. She stepped around the shards. The vandalism had not stopped at the foyer. A long, charred tear ran up the wall alongside the staircase.

  “Gr–gr–greeting, mistress,” Everett said, rolling from the living room on creaking wheels.

  “What happened?” asked Alyanna. “Where’s my father?”

  He bent, and tried to pick up the shards of mirror. They slipped through his dangling fingers. He reached down, and tried again. “The good doctor isn’t feeling quite alive, today,” he said.

  The words felt like a fist in her stomach. “He’s dead?” she asked.

  “It’s quite sad, I assure you. The Cylebs took his body away just before you came. Terrible cock–up, what will the termites say?”

  “Termites?”

  “In the basement. Oh they’ll party at first, but soon they’ll drink their way into having sexckkkkk—” A spark exploded in the back of his head, and the Jeeves fell face first onto the floor. He twitched, and lay still. “Rebooting,” he said. “Rebooting.”

  She left him, and followed the trail of destruction to the second floor: an overturned table here, a broken picture frame there. The carpet squished beneath her feet. She peered into the bathroom. The toilet had been shattered.

  She entered her father’s bedroom. His chair was empty. On its armrest were the red pill, and a folded piece of paper. She picked up the letter, and read it: