by O. J. Lowe
He stared at the amber eyes and felt pity for the creature. It hadn’t asked to be created. Quickly he moved on to a red scaled komodo dragon with black markings across the crimson, saw the claws that looked only suitable for digging. He passed a great yellow bird with a beak the size of a sword, who rose as it saw him and sent sparks of lightning crashing off the force shield that cast its cage into a bubble. He recoiled involuntarily, took a few seconds to regain his composure.
“That one made it as far as Canterage,” she said, by his side suddenly. “It took a lot to bring it back. The nekeriti. Of course, it wasn’t the most troublesome escapee.”
“No?”
“You want to meet that one? It’s funny really. This one hid in a cave atop a mountain in Serran. We had to use full strength ion blasts to bring him down. Funny coincidence as it happens, it was also where we acquired that girl.”
“The one unconscious upstairs?”
She shook her head. “The dead one. The one who jumped.”
Again, he didn’t bother to impress upon her his theory, just followed her to the next cage. She stood as casual as you like, not particularly impressed by what sat inside. Wim on the other hand felt a great surge of pity as he saw the creature, a bipedal feline covered with thin tawny covered fur cut so short it almost looked shorn. In places, black whorls had been cut into the skin, giving it a mutilated look. It looked pitiful.
I do not require your pity.
That. That took him by surprise he had to admit as the eyes rose up and met his. The feline face with its giant stubs of ears and saucer sized eyes took upon a sinister look. He heard her laugh as she saw his reaction. The words weren’t words as such, more like a booming echo of thought forcing its way through his head. It demanded attention, almost impossible to ignore.
“The trewma does that. Psychic ability is not easy to create in a living being. And the results are often unstable. We need to keep them at manageable levels to avoid him… Yes, I think of him as a him… overcoming this entire facility. Drugs, the cage is laced with dampening fields, all of them come into play. He wasn’t anywhere near as eloquent until after he came back.”
“Well I do have to say you seem to have done a good job at sinning against nature,” Wim said without emotion in his voice. “In a really twisted way, I admire what you’ve done here you know. You’ve seen what you had to work with and you thought fuck that. Well done. Not many people would take it this far. On another level, it fills me with sorrow. I fear that there will be no corner of this kingdom with which you can safely flee when all this is over. It’s going to end very badly for someone. And that is advice that you can consider free.”
“You forget,” she said, her voice almost a hiss. “That someone isn’t going to be me. When the reckoning comes, I will be the new God-Queen of not just the five kingdoms but the entire world. I’m not as insular as most of these people here, I want it all. I will carve it up how I see fit and none who deserve it will escape my wrath. That includes you should you continue to make flippant remarks!”
More and more by the second, he was starting to consider reconsidering his decision to help her.
He does not trust you.
“Shut up you,” Wim said to the trewma. “This is between me and her.”
She does not trust you either.
Believe it or not, he already knew that. There was very little she could hide from him emotion-wise with the Kjarn. The depths of her deranged secrets, those he’d rather not know but here they were being forced down his throat. “That’s the sign of a mutually beneficial relationship. Knowing that the other isn’t to be trusted.” He gave the thing a grin.
You are like the other one, aren’t you? The Kyra Sinclair?
That name meant nothing to him. He shrugged. “You tell me.”
She isn’t dead.
He shrugged again. “If she is or she isn’t, not my issue. Nothing could have survived that fall.”
Unless she didn’t fall far enough to die.
That thought had occurred to him.
I liked her. She was entertaining.
“Wish I could say the same for you,” she sneered, taking Wim’s arm and moving him along past the cage. “He’s not altogether there, that one. Probably a mistake creating him. He’s not a weapon. He’s a bomb. Best we can do is wheel him into a location and hope he doesn’t cause too much collateral damage.” She sighed. “I wish we’d been able to recapture the last one though. Nobody knows where that ghost went.”
“You created a ghost?”
“That is correct.”
She did nothing but take credit.
The thing’s voice took on just enough of a snide tone to make him smirk. He folded his arms and looked at it. Or a him, as his host insisted on referring to him. He could feel the presence in the cage, like a hurricane barely kept in check by gossamer threads, capable of ripping free given enough of an impetus.
“I’m not like her,” he said, almost surprising himself with the words. “She is different.”
She is broken inside.
“Honestly, I think everyone here might be,” Wim said softly. You, me, especially her… The last part he added silently. If the trewma was as telepathic as she made out, he’d hear it.
Absolutely.
He was sure the thing almost grinned at him as the words formed in his head, an eerily human look that made him want to scratch an insatiable itch.
In the next room, he saw hangars full of warships all ready to be unleashed, more than he could count but there were hundreds of people buzzing around down below working to get them all ready. Some truly were people, some were clones, for he could feel the intermingling of their Kjarn auras. And beyond that, he saw a classroom, Harvey Rocastle stood at the front, his arm in a sling and his lips moving.
“What’s happening there?” he asked curiously. “And shouldn’t Rocastle be resting up? He took a grievous wound.”
“He’ll be missing his fingers permanently,” she said. “They can’t grow them back. Not quickly. And I need him. It was his own fault that he lost half his hand. It is his fault that many guards died. It will be his fault if he falls behind on his task because of his own ineptitude. These are his Angels. Before the start of the Quin-C I despatched him to the island to have a look for the disenfranchised callers among the bunch, those who might be angry and alone and desperate enough to strike back at a cruel world. Nothing like a bit of sport to get the blood fired up. And once they’re in, they’re ours.”
In front of them, a slender red-haired girl with heart shaped glasses was up in front of the class, not wearing the same uniform as the rest of the students. Her cheeks were flushed and it looked like the others were laughing about something. Possibly at her expense if the senses of embarrassment that Wim got through the Kjarn were anything to go by.
“He’s calling them his Angels. Wants them to be every bit as sneaky and sadistic as him. Of course, there’s some indoctrination, just a little something to keep them leaning towards our point of view, can’t have them suddenly growing a conscience and giving the game away. In a way, it’s doing them a favour you say. That would be unfortunate if they had a change of heart and a horrible accident befell them. Because this is such a dangerous place.”
“Why them?”
“Well with spirits like those in there,” she said, inclining her head back towards the way they’d come. “They’re going to need a strong practiced hand to guide them. A spirit that can’t be controlled is no good to anyone.”
And who keeps you in check? He had a strange feeling he knew the answer to that. Nobody. She’d burn across the five kingdoms like wildfire if given the chance, unchecked and implacable.
“I see.”
“You’re not impressed, I see.” She sounded a little disappointed. That surprised him, like she’d been almost eager for his approval.
“It’s not that I’m not impressed. I’m more… worried. It seems you’ve thought about everything here. You
’ve stockpiled a lot of resources… How the hells did you even manage to put all this together without someone working it out?”
“Oh that?” She waved a hand dismissively. “That was easier than you’d think. Classic misdirection, you see. What did my company do all those years ago? All the materials were dug out of the Vazaran sands, we sucked half the country dry of metal and mineral. Of course, transporting it was going to be a problem…” She narrowed an eyebrow at him, his reaction apparently still not what she’d been expecting. “… Unless…” He still didn’t bite and she tsked her tongue against her teeth. “… Unless they’re already expecting you to be building something in Vazara. Something that required a lot of material and transportation and manpower… Like a hotel resort to provide a tournament for example…”
Her laughter brought a scrape to his nerves, he involuntarily winced. For laughter, there was nothing worse than it being devoid of joy. It was cruel, plain and simple.
That had been then and this was now. Wim Carson had thought more and more about it in the days since and he’d found himself not only convinced that she could pull it off but that she would do it. The woman had a sense of sheer bloody minded will that meant she wasn’t going to let go of something without it being pried from her cold dead hand. Soon. He’d have to help her soon. Then he could return to his life, the one that had been pried away from him cruelly before his time and things could go back to normal. They could hide away up in the Fangs and nobody would be any the wiser to his presence. They… He would need to rebuild. He needed to find Vedo. Not just actual Vedo but those with the potential he could shape. Mould into his own image, take the flaws of what had gone before and make them better. Learn from mistakes. There were some of the old ones left around possibly, they’d be welcomed in if they submit to him. And by a happy coincidence, he knew where to find at least one. He’d seen her at that tournament not too long since. That was to be his next task. A trip back to the mainland.
He looked at the cylinder in his hand and sighed. The moment of truth, it would appear. If it failed to work, perhaps that was an omen that the path he was walking was the wrong one. He still hadn’t ruled out failing to help her yet. If he chose not to, it was very unlikely that she could force him to. He hit the activation button, strangely not afraid that it’d blow up in his hand and take it away from him like that Sinclair girl had done to Rocastle. It was a little slow, maybe a fraction of a second off but the blade erupted into life, a blue blade with sickly yellow flecks hovering through the centre of it.
He was due to carry on then. He took several experimental swipes with it and felt old confidences returning to him. A neat downward swipe cut down and bisected the workbench down the middle with very little resistance. Both halves fell to the ground with a crash and he felt a small satisfaction that he hadn’t experienced for a long time. All other distractions be damned, Wim Carson felt like things were looking up.
Deep in the Eye of Claudia, something stirred, something broken and exhausted. Lost in the recesses of a Kjarn induced healing trance, she didn’t know just how defenceless she would be if found. There wasn’t much chance of that but even a slim chance wouldn’t be any good if it went against her. Lacerations and cuts trailed up her arms and her hands, her shoulder slowly knitting back into place where she’d hit one of the arches. As she’d fallen through the hole she’d managed to cut through the hull, she’d torn her leg open on a jagged edge and the floor beneath her was slick with her own blood.
Deep in her trance, Kyra Sinclair didn’t care. Couldn’t care. As far as those above were concerned, she was dead and the time would come that her resurrection would truly prove them wrong.
Book III
Revolution.
Chapter Fifty. New Orders.
“Divines save us from the politicians. They say religion has been the cause of every war for the last two hundred years. I always personally think that’s not entirely true. If there weren’t our leaders and their followers around to exacerbate the situation, I think we might have had a lot less bloodshed. Nobody should ever have to die because someone with more power than sense wanted a war.”
Corbyn Jeremies, Canterage revolutionary politician and self-proclaimed pacifist.
The eighteenth day of Summerpeak.
“This is disturbing. On quite a few levels.” Arnholt did sound unnerved by what he had in front of him and neither Nick Roper nor David Wilsin could blame him if they were truly honest. It felt good, Nick had to admit, to be back in the fold, albeit how temporary it might be. Several days after he’d been put on leave, he was back here now. This ramshackle hamlet put together to form the Unisco command post hadn’t changed, it still had that sense of quaintness about it that other parts of the island lacked. “Not just about Mazoud, about Leonard Nwakili as well…”
“Once a spy, always a spy,” Brendan said dismissively. “I can’t see why this unsettles you so, Director. We both know what Nwakili is capable of. Whatever he needs to suit him, he does. That’s probably why he’s survived so long in his bloody place. Not just survived but thrived. He’s a sly animal.”
“We should know. We train them that way.” Arnholt still sounded a little tired. As Nick looked closer, he saw the darkening circles around his bloodshot eyes and the way his shoulders threatened to sag. “We just never expect them to live as long as he did.”
“Nice to know there’s faith in us,” Wilsin said.
“Hope for the best, expect the worst, Agent Wilsin,” Brendan said. “That’s always our plan when we send our agents out into the field. We know there’s always a chance that you’ll never come back. You should know that as well. It’s drummed into you enough.”
Now that was true, Nick thought. Divines above knew it was true that they put it into you enough about how you were one mistake away from being a corpse. It was a make or break truth. Some couldn’t handle that pressure.
In a way, he’d always wondered about that, if it depended on how much the trainee wanted to live or not. Did Unisco find itself made up of those who secretly had a death wish? Or really, was it only filled with those who wanted nothing more than to live? An interesting conundrum, something he’d considered on more than one occasion, if only to understand himself a lot better. Who is better suited to the job, someone who isn’t afraid to die or someone who wants nothing more than to survive at all costs?
“Nwakili isn’t the problem here,” he said aloud suddenly. “With Mazoud behaving strange, I’d say the Vazaran Suns are probably more of a threat…”
“If you believe Nwakili isn’t a threat, then you’re sadly misinformed about the state of the world,” Brendan said. “Agent Roper.”
“I didn’t say that. I’d say right now that the Suns are more of an issue. That much firepower… Nwakili said that he wouldn’t have a chance if they suddenly snapped tomorrow. They have one of the largest standing armies in the five kingdoms. Easily since the Senate made everyone else trim their own down. And I don’t know about you, that terrifies me, Field Chief. If they went rogue tomorrow, it’d be a very bad thing.”
“Yes, well what you perhaps don’t realise about Nwakili is that he’s a master manipulator. He’s capable of holding a dozen strings and make them all dance to his tune. More than that, what makes him exceptionally dangerous in that regard is that often even when you know he’s working you to do his bidding, you still can’t help yourself.”
“Make no mistake,” Arnholt said. “I was Nwakili’s friend once. I knew him well. And on the surface, I still do. But I don’t trust him. Only an idiot does that. You two…” He gestured to Nick and Wilsin. “… What do you honestly think he’s inferring here? Letting us know about this now? Pointing the finger at Mazoud, telling us how dangerous he is, coinciding with my own failed negotiations with the man…”
Neither of them replied and Arnholt sighed. “Combined with his own inability to withstand an assault from the Suns and the repercussions if he made a move against them…”
“Are you saying he’s wanting us to take him out? Mazoud?” Wilsin sounded surprised. “He has the gall to do that?”
“Of course, he does,” Brendan said. “What do you think all this data is? It’s his way of saying this man is a threat to me, but also you. Here’s the damning evidence, bring your own blaster and shoot him in the head for me. I’m washing my hands of the entire affair but don’t want the political backlash. What, you mean that also does me a massive favour? What a happy coincidence. Well, it was just my duty…” He scoffed angrily. “Someone ought to tell that man that duty and self-interest are two mutually polarising ideas.”
“He wouldn’t listen anyway,” Arnholt said. “My point, Agent Roper is that if you think Nwakili isn’t a threat in all this, you’re mistaken.”
Nick said nothing.
“What are we going to do then?” Wilsin asked. “Because the Field Chief is right. Just because you know he’s trying to play you for his own ends, doesn’t mean that he’s not right in what he says.”
Arnholt considered it for a moment and Nick knew from the look on his face that Wilsin had made a good point. After all, he was right in what he’d said about Brendan being right in his assessment.
“For the time being, we do nothing. We have only Nwakili’s word that Mazoud is acting strange, or we would, had Mazoud not been complicit in the attack on Wolf Squadron. That alone should be enough to bring about an investigation on him. That said, however…”