by Hanna, K. T.
“For?”
“Making you worry. Again.” She chuckles, like she always does when she’s over-tired—like a lot of humans seem to when they’re exhausted.
“We leave at dusk. The Ebony will be ready later today.” He keeps his answers short. It’s so easy to talk to her, to talk about her. His reserves are running so low he finds himself watching what he says.
“Will Mason be back soon? I’m worried about him. Aishke desperately wants to talk to him.” Her fingers brush Dom’s chest, tapping out a beat he doesn’t know the source of. It tickles slightly, the warm brush of her skin against his adrium.
“It’s almost dawn. As far as I know, they were on their way back at midnight.” He keeps his voice calm, his own feelings well under wraps.
“Good.” She yawns, her eyes bleary. “Thank you, Dom.”
“Stop that. There’s nothing to thank me for.” There’s a bitterness he can’t quite keep from his tone every time he looks at her legs. That parasite causing the dominos so much trouble is in her bloodstream, too.
“Always…thank you.” Her voice trails off as she leans against him, ponytail trailing over his arm.
Dom frowns as they near her apartment and pushes open the door, trying not to wake her now she’s fallen asleep. Aishke is awake, eating breakfast. She smiles as he walks in.
“You shouldn’t keep her out past her bedtime.” Her voice is soft and there’s a hint of a smile at the corner of her lips, but she gets up and helps him tuck her into bed. “She okay?”
Dom nods. “Pushed herself too far.”
“Again. Regardless of how far she builds up her endurance, she always pushes herself further.” They watch Sai sleep steadily for a moment. “I don’t know what she’d do without you watching over her the way you do. Sometimes I think she relies on you too much…like I rely on her.” She stops and turns, her strange eyes piercing. “Who do you rely on, Dom?”
He laughs. It’s a harsh sound even to his ears. “Myself, Ash.” He steps away from the bed and toward the exit, not wanting the conversation to start up again. “Mason will be back soon. He’ll report to the navigation deck immediately if you’re wanting to see him.”
He leaves the apartment, determined to check on Mathur. The man has a tendency not to take care of himself. Dom focuses on making it there as soon as possible instead of on Ash’s question.
Mathur stands in the back corner of his lab, a tiny blowtorch in one hand and a soldering wire in the other while he works on the pulse device. Dom leans against the doorframe, frowning. He can tell by the way Mathur’s hands need to steady the tools that the man is running on empty. On a normal day, his psionics are precise enough that he’d never touch the tools.
Just as Dom opens his mouth to speak, he sees Mathur’s right hand shake. The thin beam of fire displaces itself momentarily before he snaps the command back and leaves it useless.
But it’s long enough to send a small spiral of smoke up from the device.
“Are you okay?” Dom takes three strides to stand next to Mathur, whose mouth is hanging open. His eyes are bloodshot, bleary, and there are tears welling in them, if only for a moment.
“No.” Mathur sits down heavily on his seat, the soldering wire clattering to the floor. The man practically crumples in on himself, deflated. “This is not okay.”
Dom glances at the device and back to his creator. “You or this?”
“Both.” His skin pales another shade, and he leans against the wall, eyes cast to the ceiling.
“Mathur, please. Tell me what I need to do to help?”
“Look at it.” The old man says without making eye contact.
And so Dom does. All of the intricate wirings, the circuitry and connections—and then he sees it. There, nestled in its crowning spot, the kernel is a flame-scarred, charred mess.
Mathur sighs, a sound of melancholy Dom has rarely heard. “There is no way to get it finished now.”
Dom stands in the docking bay as they slow down to take on the returning Mobiles, trying to figure out how to break it to the rest of the team that they no longer have a pulse device. He’s going to have to travel to Central and try and locate another lieutenant that’s been separated from its squad. Taking down a full patrol is tantamount to suicide. And they have to get a kernel back.
A few of James’ teams burst into activity. Three men arm themselves, training the red sights of their crossbows onto the hull of the non-Alpha transport being loaded back onto the craft under James’ guidance. Others man the manual winches should the automatic ones fail.
Mason steps out of the vehicle, blood spattering his long coat in a sheen of dried bronzed gore. His gaunt face makes him look like the walking dead himself, but the anger in his eyes gives new life to his failing body. He motions to one of the others to clear out the transport and steps over to join Dom as they survey the incoming survivors.
“That bad?” Dom asks as Mason peels gloves off his hands with a squelch. Underneath the black material, his hands are stained red, even up under the fingernails, wedged in there, semi-permanent.
“Worse.” Mason shakes his head and coughs. It’s a hacking cough, like part of his lungs might rise up to choke him. But Dom knows that isn’t what’s making him sick; he can feel it, hear it. His psionics are burning him out, threatening to tear him apart from overuse. Dom doesn’t know how else to comfort his friend, so he listens to him talk instead.
“The only reason we have any survivors is that the victims played dead, and the Damascus were too cocky to think they’d survived.” Mason laughs, as if laughing is better than crying for now, as if the hitch in his throat is his cough and not unshed tears. “They hit Ksi with everything, Dom. From the few accounts we received, there were a dozen patrols. Almost a hundred Damascus.”
“Did they take any down?”
The expression on Mason’s face makes Dom want to retract the question, but he knows that’s not possible. As much as it might hurt, Mason needs to recount the events so they can judge how much they’re diminished in ranks and what they can do with any information gained. “Mason.” Dom’s tone is harsher this time. “Did they take any down?”
Mason scowls before sighing with resignation. “They managed three full patrols. Several separate soldiers and about seven Hounds in total. They put a dent in their forces, but what with Owen’s experimentation, it will be meaningless.” The determination fades slightly, revealing how wilted he has become. “How are things here?”
Dom hesitates, unsure how to deliver the bad news. “There’s been a problem with the pulse device.”
Mason raises an eyebrow. “Problem?”
“The kernel is damaged beyond repair, as is most of the device’s circuit board. It won’t be ready anywhere near when we need it.”
Instead of a wave of disappointment, Mason pats a pouch hanging from his waist and smiles grimly. “We have another intact kernel for Mathur. Will that help the timeline any?”
Dom eyes the pouch, not quite willing to believe they could have such luck. Although, it’s just one component. “It’ll speed it up a few days, but…”
“The whole thing is fried?” Mason’s tone holds an edge of disbelief and his shoulders sag.
“Not completely, but about three-quarters of it will need to be rebuilt. He was so close.” Dom can still see the shock and frustration in Mathur’s face as it happened.
“We will figure it out.” Mason sounds so confident and he squares his jaw. “Everything else?”
Dom blinks at the change of topic. “We finally have progress with the dominos’ recovery. They’re pretty much fixing themselves, thanks to Sai.”
Both men stand in silence, surveying the scene before them. It’s plain to Dom that there are less of their trained soldiers returning than left on this mission. Several people are gently placed on gurneys under Marlene’s pale-faced but stern supervision. One man’s tattered leg looks like it went through a meat grinder. Mason retches and turns his head aw
ay. Dom watches Marlene give the man a sedative and rush him along.
Humanity can be so ugly. Dom shakes his head and glances back at Mason.
Mason runs a hand through grimy hair. “That girl will either save us—or kill us all. I’m hoping whichever one it is, it’s appropriate for the situation.”
Dom isn’t sure how to respond, but standing there seems to be enough to encourage Mason to continue.
“Not many of us in command have anything to lose, Dom. We gave up our families, our history, and any sort of claim to a normal life to lead the Exiled back to their rightful homes in the Protected Conglomerate. People should be free to be themselves, even if it’s not the ideal of the people in power.”
Dom just nods, knowing far too well what it feels like to be other.
Mason grins, but it’s not a happy expression. It’s bitter and lost. “We just need the world back—before the government commissioned the Damascus, before the GNW took control of our thoughts.”
“The whole world has changed, though, Mason. Atmospheric changes, meteor showers… You can’t compare.”
“Yes, I can. All of us can.” His words are snapped, heated.
Dom takes a long look at him. “With that world, I wouldn’t exist.”
Mason blinks. “I didn’t mean…”
“I know you didn’t. I’m just saying that we have what we have now and we will deal with it.” Dom tries to keep his voice calm and thinks he succeeds from the expression on Mason’s face.
“True.” He glances at the muck from his hair mingling with the blood on his hands and sighs again, his tone almost wistful. “No time for a shower?”
Dom shakes his head. “Briefing first and let Mathur know we have a kernel. Then, shower. Then, talk to Aishke.”
His brows pinch. “Talk to Aishke? Is she okay?”
“Sai said she needs to see you.”
Mason tsks. “She worries about me. It makes me feel old.”
Dom nods. “You’re even older than me.”
“Technically.”
“No, not technically. Literally.”
Mason stops in the middle of the hall, hands on his hips. “Are all the dominos going to turn out like you?”
Dom thinks back to his conversation with Twenty-Seven and the slowly awakening personalities of all of his siblings and grins. “Yes, I think they are.”
Aishke attends the meeting to fill in for Sai, but Dom thinks she probably wanted to check on Mason, too. He scans for Sai, but she’s still asleep, her regulated brainwaves steady and peaceful, for once. So he stands and waits as Mason ushers in a few people and moves into the center of the room.
A small, wiry young man with dirty blond hair stands with him, a cap clutched in his fingers. His eyes dart constantly to Mason, as if seeking reassurance that the man won’t disappear.
“It’s okay, Lorn, you can speak. Just tell them what you all told me, and you can go have dinner, a good steam shower, and lie down in safety to sleep. I envy you. It’s what I’d love to be doing right now.” Lorn visibly relaxes, and Mason’s smile puts the entire room at ease. Even as sick as he is, he still puts others first. It’s just one of the things Mason is good with—people.
Lorn takes the chair offered, his green eyes bright with adrenaline and lack of sleep. There’s a slight twitch to the side of his face where something obviously smashed into him, if the beginning of the blood bruise is anything to go by. He collects himself and speaks, voice shaking just a bit.
“The alarm only gave us about ten minutes’ notice. The sensors don’t pick them up as well as they do other stuff. We got an old batch. I heard Nathan say so. He told us if they’re an older batch, any organic matter has decayed to such an extent it’s no longer readable.
“We grabbed our weapons and sent those incapable of fighting into hiding.” He pales for a moment before taking a deep breath and continuing. “There were just so many of them. Wave after wave of patrols. Hounds ripped my little brother apart…” He bites his lip and wipes harshly at the tears running down his good cheek, smearing blood and dirt on his face as he does. “Hounds ripped a lot of people apart before we realized they were the easiest target. Pick them off, and it disorients the lieutenant just long enough.
“I think we got four of them. The lieutenants, that is. Four full patrols, about a dozen of those damned dogs, and another fifteen or so soldiers. We might have taken down about thirty-five of them, not including Hounds, but there were at least a hundred. Two dozen, Nathan said.”
“Two dozen patrols?” Dom needs the clarification, not for himself, but for the disbelief in the eyes of everyone else in the room. Except Mason—his eyes are hard.
“Two dozen patrols, give or take. We took out half of their mutts.” There’s a tinge of pride in Lorn’s voice, barely audible through his grief. “I fought so hard…” His voice drops a notch. “I wasn’t playing dead. I truly wasn’t.” He rings the cap in his hands, knuckles white. “I got smashed in the face by one of the lieutenants. I tried to duck but wasn’t fast enough…” He shrugs, obviously uncomfortable. “But when I woke up, it was all over. It was burning and almost everyone was dead. Finding shelter was the only thing I could think of.” The tears start to flow, and this time he doesn’t make the effort to wipe them away. “I’m not a coward. I swear I’m not a coward.”
It’s that moment which makes Dom realize just how vital Sai is to everything. Aishke is a lovely girl, but her compassion is reserved for those she knows and trusts. Even though Sai trusts few, she feels the weight of everyone on her shoulders. If she were here, she would comfort him.
Before he can second guess himself, Dom takes a step forward and places his hand gently on Lorn’s shoulder. “You did well. You’re not a coward. A hit like that is something even I’d feel. We should check for a fracture.”
Lorn looks up at him out of bleary eyes, obviously only just registering what Dom is. For a moment, he seems confused. Probably by the expectations of what a domino is supposed to be, especially in the wake of the Damascus reactivation. But the confusion is replaced by gratitude. “Thank you.”
Dom nods. “No, thank you. You are the reason we know the size of the force they’re currently moving with. And you are the reason we know to distract the lieutenants with the Hounds’ death. Put that all aside and you are the reason we send out our patrols to see if we can rescue anyone or anything. Because all of us matter.”
Lorn nods, his tears nothing but a memory of dirty streaks down his face. Jeffries ushers him away.
Mason pats Dom on the back. “You’ve been taking lessons from Sai.”
Dom grunts, feeling oddly conflicted by having practically impersonated her.
Mason laughs. “Don’t worry, my friend, we’ll make you human yet.”
Something snaps in Dom’s tolerance levels and he scowls, barely able to clamp down on the coiling rise of the parasite at his anger. “No, thank you. We can’t afford for me to be weak.”
His friend takes a step back, surprise on his face.
“Your daughter needs to speak to you,” Dom says before stiffly walking out.
Unsure why he’s suddenly so irritated, Dom doesn’t stay outside the meeting room for long. He isn’t needed to decide which families should go where. It’s not his area of expertise.
Instead he cricks his neck and allows himself to blend for a few moments, to be himself. He moves easily, through the halls, along the walls, taking care to match the uneven paneling that seems to be increasing in frequency as he makes his way to Kayde’s lab to check on Ebony’s progression.
Letting himself meld, utilizing his abilities, has a calming effect on him, despite the nagging shadows at the edges of his vision. He sighs and shimmers back to himself as he approaches the lab. It’s his favorite place to go when frustrated, but he hesitates before poking his head around the door.
Kayde is nowhere to be seen. Twenty-Seven sits on one of the stools in front of a bench. Its bald head favors no hair, and its
sleek form is only modeled vaguely after human form, leaving little to identify it as such. It smiles, an eerily human gesture considering how difficult it was the previous evening. “Dom.”
“Hey.” For some reason calling the domino by its number just feels wrong. And he hesitates as he walks into the room, now cautious.
“Kayde will be back shortly. I have a favor to ask of you.” The more Twenty-Seven speaks, the less its voice sounds foreign. It’s got a lilting human quality to it, much like Mathur’s.
“Speak away.” There’s almost nothing Dom wouldn’t do for them—almost. In a way, he feels like they’re his responsibility.
“We do not want our numbers to define us. We are…growing into individuals. There is no one—we are all separate. Do you understand?” Again, those hypnotic eyes fixate, studying Dom’s every move. It watches him, follows him, studies him.
Dom nods slowly. “You want names?”
Twenty-Seven nods eagerly. “We would like to pick our own. We have access to the databases—it is not like we do not have an imagination.”
“No…” Dom pauses, thinking. His feeling of dread dissipates. “I suppose it isn’t.”
“See.”
Dom shakes his head. “See what?”
“Did you always use contractions?”
“No, I learned.”
“Exactly,” Twenty-Seven continues. “Did you always have a real voice—not an echo in your head, not a strange and foreign sound that makes people cringe when they hear it?”
“No, I developed.” Dom understands the train of thought better now, irritated at being slow to catch on.
“Exactly. The communication channel they forced into all of us was unnecessary. We only need psionics to communicate amongst ourselves if we choose. What they did stunted our growth. We wish to evolve, to be more than they intended us to be.” It pauses, focusing its pale gaze on him. “To be like you.”
Dom laughs. “Like me?”
Twenty-Seven nods.
Dom suddenly feels a little self-conscious. He’d never intended to be a big brother. “I’m not what you’re making me out to be.”