Wild Thing

by L. J. Kendall

  She nodded, chewing her lip.

  'Well, perhaps we could begin tonight. Let me think… Ah, I have it! A simple exercise, to start with: get up on my desk, Leeth. On all fours. Your task will simply be to stay still. Do you think you can do that?'

  'Sure!'

  She nimbly hopped up onto his desk.

  Deep in her psyche, Harmon found the worn and abraded links that connected her fears to her stress systems, and began unlinking and re-linking those systems to different parts of her psyche. Yes, this looked an excellent source of pressure to advance her Unfolding.

  And given that her magic seemed to be directed entirely inward, into her own physical and mental abilities… Yes, this should work well.

  He would just have to be careful.

  Chapter 63

  She hated the new lessons. They were horrible and confusing and at the end she always felt like she was about to explode. She was never quite sure whether she wanted to sex her uncle, or hurt him. But that was the point, he'd say: she had to learn to control herself.

  She flinched, but otherwise held herself still as the cane struck again.

  But, kneeling on his bed in the horrid “schoolgirl outfit,” with her hands tied, she heard his outer office door slowly open and then several pairs of feet quietly entering. They paused, then moved stealthily toward his bedroom. She craned her neck around to her uncle, her head frantically nodding toward the doorway.

  The footsteps stopped just outside the door, then she heard a faint tap as something pressed against it.

  'What do you hear?' her uncle asked.

  She spat out the ball gag. 'There's a whole bunch of people right outside!'

  Before her uncle could react, the door leading to his bedroom burst open and men with guns poured in. Not just men: Jax was there, and those two cops who hated her: the fat one and the huge one. As well as two other men with guns. From the speed with which the huge one darted across the room to cover her and her uncle, she didn't even need to hear the ultrasonics of his cyborg muscles to know he was in full combat mode.

  The fat one – the mage – was the one she'd have to deal with first, though. Mages were always the trickiest. But why was Jax here? And why did he have a gun? And why wouldn't he meet her eyes?

  All six men were staring at her, then their gazes went to Uncle standing behind her with the cane.

  Oh, no, this must look really bad for poor Keepie! She could feel her face blush bright red. She wanted to slice through the ropes and explain, but it was already too late.

  The huge cyborg spoke. 'Detective Adam Garland, New Francisco metro police. I would advise you against resisting arrest, Dr Harmon.'

  She heard her uncle's in-drawn breath, and the sound as he fell back into the chair by his bedside. She saw one of the other men move to her left, to keep him covered.

  Jax stood in the doorway, as if expecting them to run; and then the fat cop, the mage, moved up to her and flipped open a small blade, and began cutting her free. She got ready to make her move.

  She heard her uncle gasp and straighten; heard him whisper, just for her: 'Leeth, don't-'

  The man to her left shot Keepie.

  For a moment she froze, disbelieving. “Leeth, don't-"

  Don't what? Don't let them take me, of course!

  She heard his breath sigh out. She twisted in the fat cop's arms as he continued to cut the ropes around her knees. And saw her uncle on the floor.

  Unmoving.

  She felt her heart stop. They'd killed Keepie!

  It only took a moment to break the mage's neck, and at the loud crack they all looked at her. Now what? Oh! They'll have read the reports about the attacks, and Her! Maybe she could trick them?

  As the fat mage collapsed at her feet, she screamed, staring into the doorway and pointing to where Jax stood. She visualised Her there, sliding into the room, coiling around Jax. It wasn't hard to remember the fear she'd felt back in Godsson's cell. Still staring in terror at Jax in the doorway, she scrambled off the bed and to her left. Working her way closer to the man who'd killed her Keepie.

  'Stop it, keep it away,' she begged as she moved toward him, as if she thought he could protect her. He just stared from her, to the doorway, then back to her, confused.

  Good.

  One of the other police turned, gun aiming down at the floor as he scanned the doorway, trying to see whatever she was seeing, sidling around to put himself between her and Jax in the doorway, backing toward her to cover her.

  Now.

  'No!' she screamed out, staring in horror at Jax and throwing up her hands as if he'd just done something. The man angling back toward her got close enough: as fast and as hard as she could, she punched him once, twice in the kidneys, feeling things rupture.

  Backing away from that man, now toppling in front of her, brought her to her next target: the man who'd killed Keepie. Feeling behind her, her hand made contact, and she clutched at his clothes as if in fear, pressing back against his front.

  But the others were no longer fooled. She saw their guns already tracking toward her. Bracing her shoulders, her back still pressed up against the front of the man behind her, she jumped. Just a small jump, but she felt her head strike his chin as he now half-held her. Heard the crack from his neck.

  The big cyborg fired, but she was already spinning around behind her latest sagging enemy, grabbing him around the stomach to take his weight as he slumped against her, using him as a shield.

  She had to take down the cyborg next. It was just him and Jax left. After Jax, she'd make Dr Simmons heal Keepie.

  Something stung her shin, then another in the arm she had around the man she was holding up, and suddenly the room wavered into darkness.

  She didn't even have time for a last thought.

  Chapter 64

  Detective Garland, watching at the rear of the gurney they'd handcuffed the girl to, saw her stir, saw her eyelids flutter.

  Her lips moved. 'Keep-y.'

  She blinked, her head falling to one side. Her pupils were dilated, and he saw her hunch forwards and her cheeks puff out as if she was about to heave. She shouldn't be coming around yet!

  'Move it,' Garland ordered the PI, Jackson Stark, as he lowered his end from the foot of the stairwell.

  They'd entered the final length of corridor leading to the front doors. From outside, flashing lights splashed red and blue through the glass doors.

  The girl seemed to recognize the ceiling above her, and he saw her wrists and ankles jerk against the metal cuffs.

  Then she froze, her eyes going wide, and she lunged upwards, all four chains snapping taut. He heard metal groaning, saw one hand dragging impossibly up as the metal rod it was fastened to bent, the chain biting into her wrist – but he was already drawing his gun. She lunged sideways, spoiling his shot and forcing him to grab the trolley, fighting to stop it tipping all the way over. Stark cried out, going for his weapon.

  Garland fired, but she twisted again, the trolley partly shielding her, and he heard the tranq spang against its metal. She cried out, the same weird thing – 'Keepy' – as she tore at her unyielding metal bonds, trying to tug the trolley over her for protection, still wrenching at the cuffs. He saw a link start to part.

  What the fuck?

  Crouching down, aiming carefully, he shot again. This time it struck, and a second later she slumped unconscious again.

  Stark began wrestling the gurney back upright, the dead weight of the girl making it difficult. 'Jesus! I thought she was about to get free!'

  Garland said nothing, just watched to make sure she wasn't playing possum. Finally, holstering his tranq pistol, he stepped up to the end of the gurney and flipped it upright, dragging the girl cuffed to it by her wrists and ankles back into view. She flopped limply.

  'You said you put two darts into her, up there, Garland.'

  'I did, Stark.'

  'Jesus, look at her wrists. She's bleeding pretty badly.'

  'Yeah, well, she s
hould've thought of that before she tried to snap the cuffs. Stupid bitch. There's a first-aid kit in the lock-up. We'll spray her with quick-seal.' He motioned Stark forward and began pushing the trolley again. 'What'd she mean by “Keepy”? What's that?'

  'I think that's what she sometimes called her uncle. Dr Harmon.' Stark paced ahead and to one side, his own sleeper pistol now out and ready. He kept one eye on Sara as if he expected her to start lunging up again like a wild animal. 'Oh. Shit: she thinks we killed him.' Stark's eyes met Garland's. 'That's why she went crazy. Back in his office, and again just now. You think that might be considered extenuating-?'

  Detective Garland snorted. 'I don't even know she's human. Who knows what kind of crazy shit goes on here? I still have her pegged as the perp for two killings a year ago at the Golden Gate Park, bugger what the DNA evidence says. I reckon her shithead Uncle altered the DNA magically. I'm gonna test her again.'

  He moved to the side, examining the chains on the cuffs. Jesus. One wrist was torn down to the bone, but she'd bent the cuff, and one of the links had indeed opened. He shook his head in disbelief. Freak.

  He gestured Stark ahead. 'You get the door. And keep your pistol out. Maybe next time we won't get a warning as she comes round.' He frowned. She should've been out for another fifteen, thirty minutes, easy.

  They reached the front doors and Jackson Stark, “Private Investigator,” undercover as a mechatronics engineer, keyed them open. Stark again took the front of the trolley, lifting, while Garland took the back, muttering. 'Extenuating circumstances? Jesus.' He shook his head in disbelief. Stark must be an idiot.

  Stark went first, backing carefully down the wide stone stairs in the evening light. One police van still waited, lights flashing: the other, carrying Harmon and the recently-healed members of Garland's team, already gone.

  Two days earlier, Stark had found the drugs in the locked drawer in Harmon's office. They'd still been there tonight, Harmon's fingerprints all over the container.

  Stark bet the blood tests would show they were both dosed up on them, too. Sara had been practically in heat. Remembering, he passed the evidence bag over to Garland, who took one quick, experienced look.

  'Shit.' Garland recognized them before his imaging unit had scanned and counted them. 'Scope and Beep. Twenty seven doses. Dirty bastard.'

  At least Harmon had healed the two guys the girl had killed, before they'd locked him up and driven him off. Including Garland's partner, Berlusconi. Who'd be mad as… oh, fuck! 'Stark.'

  Garland had frozen, staring now into the darkness past Stark to the front drive.

  Behind Stark, a long, low growl rumbled, growing angrier by the moment. The next sound was one Stark had never wanted to hear again; thought he'd never hear again, after the Eco War down South: the soft hum then the snick of a rocket pod locking open in the Armed position. He winced. One of the two rocket pods he himself had checked and made certain was fully working, only days before.

  It would blow both of them to smithereens. He heard a second soft hum and snick, and his eyes shut, briefly. Gently then, using his body to cover the movement, he pulled out his Colt Terminator .44.

  Garland had carefully lowered the gurney, angled as it was still halfway down the steps, and slowly locked the brake on with one foot.

  'Easy, boy, easy.'

  The growling deepened.

  'That's a fucking cyborg dog, Stark. Why is there a fucking cyborg war dog aiming two mini-rockets at us?'

  'That's Faith. An Asgard Model 3 CK9, with maximum weaponry fit-out. They have… a dangerous inmate here. And she's, ah, in good working order.'

  'Why is it aiming its rockets at us, Stark?'

  'Because it loves Sara. Move closer to her: Faith is also a real smart dog. She won't fire if Sara's close to you. Oh. And she has lasers, too. Built into her optics. I wonder why she hasn't used them to take us out?'

  Garland began moving his hand slowly toward the holster with his Nemesys Sleeper, but the dog's angry snarl stopped the movement. That, and the red dot of a laser sight on his hand. 'I see what you mean.'

  As he moved his hand away from the holster the snarling settled back to the low growl.

  'She can't understand us, though, can she?'

  'She's still only a dog, Garland. Neural implants don't let her understand language. But… I think she does know some words, yeah.'

  Garland's voice suddenly got a lot friendlier. 'That's a good girl, Faith. Good dog. Guarding Sara, yeah?' He continued in the same friendly tone, but catching Stark's eye he glanced at the man's drawn weapon. Stark had drawn it carefully, and his body still shielded it from the war dog's view. 'She's about six meters back from you, aren't you, girl,' he continued in the same friendly tone, 'and maybe two meters to your right. What would you rate your chance of taking her out with a head s.h.o.t, there's a good girl?'

  Stark understood. 'I'm an excellent s.h.o.t and very fast; but I'd say, only about a ten percent chance. She's that fast.'

  'Shit.'

  'What about you? Could you…?'

  'If she'd let me draw my g.u.n, maybe.'

  Pounding footsteps came around the side of the building, Brian Shanahan scrambling to a sudden stop on the loose gravel.

  Faith's growl rose again. There was another short hum and a heavier click from behind Stark. He recognized the sound; and saw Garland's expression sour further. 'That's her rear machine-pistol. She can independently target that,' Stark explained, helpfully.

  Shanahan was staring in dismay. 'Faith! Stand down, girl! What're you doing, lass?'

  Faith just growled. And refused to stand down.

  'I just love this fucking place,' said Garland.

  Chapter 65

  This time when she came around, she was outside. Jax was talking to her. Softly, gently. Reassuring. She smiled, briefly, before she remembered how he'd betrayed her, betrayed Keepie- Keepie!

  Then Jackson's words penetrated the mush in her brain. 'Your Uncle is alive, Sara. Tranquilized. Sara, your Uncle is fine, he's not dead. Sara, your-'

  Keepie was alive? Keepie was alive!

  'But we have a little problem, Sara.'

  She heard Faith growling, and turned her head to see.

  The small motion made her gorge rise in her throat, and she had to struggle not to throw up. Her head swam, her tongue felt thick, and she had an awful pain in her head. And wrists. They felt wet. Why were her wrists wet?

  She was strapped to a trolley, angled down the front steps of the Institute, her pulse pounding in her head.

  'Your Uncle is fine, Sara, he's not dead, just tranq-'

  'Okay, I get it, I'm not stupid. Faith? What's the matter, girl?'

  Faith's growling suddenly stopped. There was a short, hopeful whine.

  'Yeah, I'm okay. Sorta.' She turned her head, more slowly, and saw Faith at the edge of the dark. 'Oh, wow! Your new rockets are so pretty! Oh! You've got a machine pistol, too. That is so cool! I didn't know you had a machine pistol.'

  From the top of the steps, Professor Sanders's voice came. 'Sara, it appears that Faith objects to you being arrested. I need you to-'

  She snorted. 'Well, I guess you'd better not arrest me, then. Arrest me for what, anyway? I didn't do anything!'

  The huge detective loomed forward slightly; Faith growled. He growled back. 'You assaulted four police officers and killed two, and say you did nothing wrong?'

  'You attacked us first! You shot K- You shot my uncle.' Though she had, maybe, killed a few of them. And Jax said Keepie wasn't dead. Keepie was alive! The trouble was, her thoughts felt like they were struggling through molasses. Why was it so hard to think? Oh. Yeah. Tranquilizers. But Keepie was alive!

  Professor Sanders was speaking again. 'Sara. Faith can't get you free. She can't fire her rockets, or she'll kill you. And even if she uses her lasers to take us out, you'll still be cuffed to the gurney. There is also a stealth-chopper delivering a sniper to the area as we speak. She'll be here in perhaps ten minutes. I
don't know where she will set up, but unless you convince your friend to stand down and disarm her weapons, I'm afraid Faith will be shot. And she is only acting out of misguided loyalty to you. We still need her here at the Institute. Don't make your friend sacrifice herself.'

  Leeth felt tears well up in her eyes. Could the Director be bluffing? But listening for it now, she could hear a whuff-whuff-whuff of some kind of silenced helicopter passing nearby. For a moment she saw a dark oval shape cross the night sky from the same direction.

  'Where's Keep- Where's Uncle? Is he really all right? Let me see him.'

  Professor Sanders came down the front steps. Faith growled, and he stopped. 'Your Uncle has been arrested, Sara. He's already been taken away.'

  'I don't understand! Everything had just gotten to be perfect!' She and Godsson had killed Her; Jax was real sexy; she was learning how to control herself; and then…

  'Sara! Please. Faith is running out of time.'

  She heard the whuffing-shushing noise slow; stop.

  'Let me free.'

  'Sara, we can't-'

  'Faith won't believe me unless I'm free.' It was true; she knew it instinctively. 'I promise I won't hurt anyone.' She felt suddenly tired. So tired. 'Or try to escape.'

  She'd only been trying to do good.

  'Please.'

  'Look, I saw what she did back inside,' Garland began, but Professor Sanders interrupted him.

  'She's not lying, Garland. I'll take full responsibility. Unlock her, and do it quickly. The sniper is moving into position. And Faith really is rather exceptional.'

  Leeth stared up at the huge cyborged cop, saw his frustrated anger. She looked him in the eye. 'Please. I'm sorry. I thought you'd killed my uncle.'

  For several seconds he said nothing.

  'And if Faith gets shot because you didn't unlock me in time, I swear I will hunt you down and kill you.'

  Strangely, at that, he smiled. 'Okay. That I believe.'

  'Quickly!'

  'All right, all right!