“Stop it, stop, please.”
I try and shift my whole body to get out of the way of more attacks but I can only move each limb slightly. The back of my head bumps against a hard surface, while aches in my knees and bottom let me know I’m held on a seat. I screw my eyes shut and then open them. After I do this a few times I can make out indistinct shapes.
“Charity!” Ursula’s voice sounds slightly further away than the woman's.
The shapes resolve into people, standing still. Some look at me and some at Ursula, who sits facing me about three metres away secured to an upright pole. There is a red hand mark on her wide-eyed face but I can’t see any other injuries. Thick diamond bands restrain her arms, legs and neck.
I'm held in the same way. My bare feet are pressed against the floor of a featureless diamond box about ten metres square. People line the walls four deep, watching us silently and without expression.
The woman stands looking at Ursula with her back to me. She has Ursula's height and the physique I would possess if I spent six hours a day working out instead of two. Thick, almost black hair tumbles down her back and whips out as she turns to glare at me.
Her face is heavy-featured and almost brutally sensuous. The delicate tone of her very pale skin is offset by a sense that she doesn’t bruise easily, while the furious, unblinking stare of her dark eyes seems to reach the back of my head. She uses her whole body in her movements as if she is powered by so much fierce energy she has to constantly try and use it up but never can. She grips a fuze with sufficient force to make the whiteness of her knuckles visible from here.
Her name is Ashel 5.
My gaze moves from the fuze to the ridged musculature of the Ashel 5’s exposed midriff. She hasn’t got a navel. I look at the heavily armed crowd that surrounds us. Not one of their proudly exposed bellies is marked by a navel either.
Ashel 5 sees the realisation in my face and a small contemptuous smile flickers across her full mouth.
“Get it now do you?” Ashel 5 says.
“Yes,” I say, hearing the resignation in my voice.
“88 Rabian was a beautiful man,” Ashel 5 says.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Please understand…”
“He was my husband.”
Shame presses down so hard I'm actually glad the restraints are there to support me. I can't look at Ashel 5 but feel her rage like radiation. It echoes my own anger at the Sons of the Crystal Mind although that's a weaker force, like the rifle fire of Dad's MidZone attackers as they dissolved in acid; a hopeless gesture, not even impressive.
“You must know we didn’t kill him,” I say. “We never wanted that.”
“Really?” Ashel 5 says.
I make myself look up at her and see despair in the contempt. Did I want her husband dead? I try to focus on what was behind that decision in New Runcton. Bizarrely, Ashel 5's merciless presence helps; she will sense if I'm not honest.
“I don’t know,” I say finally. “You’re the first Blanks I’ve ever met. You’ve always just been there in the background.”
“We’re hardly a mystery Charity. I think if the Sons of the Crystal Mind hadn’t forced your prejudice out someone else would have.”
“I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” I say. “I never have.”
Unexpectedly I relax. I’m telling the truth.
“I don’t believe you,” Ashel 5 says. “To me it looked like you wanted to teach us a lesson for spoiling your sister’s party.”
“No,” I say. “Never.”
“I don’t care about the stupid party either,” Ursula says.
I can tell from Ashel 5’s expression she has stopped listening.
“My husband was a peaceful man,” she says and her voice wavers with grief. “He didn’t want bloodshed. Despite everything that happened in his life he was determined no one should die on our account; that we should be a source of hope, not loathing.”
She looks down thoughtfully and I feel a flicker of hope.
“I am not my husband,” Ashel 5 says.
The venom rises in her voice as she looks up again and her eyes brim with hate. I go in-Aer to buy shielding for me and Ursula but it doesn’t work. Ashel 5 owns this building on closed protocol so I can’t gif anything out of it.
The n-gun is still set to level 3. I point my gun finger at the armrest but can’t get the angle right; if I fire there’s a good chance I’ll blow my own legs off. Level 2 will kill one Blank but what about the other hundred? And do I really want to do these people any more harm?
“We will deal with the Sons of the Crystal Mind,” Ashel 5 says. “But first we need to give a small demonstration of our seriousness.”
“It was my fault,” I shout, “I told Ursula to say it…”
“But Ursula didn’t have to say it, did she?” Ashel 5 says.
“She did Ashel.”
“Ashel 5.”
“I’m sorry, Ashel 5. One of them was pointing a gun at my sister. They would have killed us too.”
“I think there is something you could have done,” Ashel 5 says.
“What could we have done?” I shout.
“You could have said no and taken a chance that with most of Diamond City watching, the Sons of the Crystal Mind would not have been stupid enough to publicly execute the People’s Princess.”
I look at Ursula, who sobs quietly.
“You love your sister don’t you Charity?” Ashel 5 says, her voice quiet now.
“Yes,” I say.
“If you’d been alone in front of the Sons you would have taken that chance wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I believe you. Steeber Loke thought the same.”
“How do you know Steeber?”
“He offered us your whereabouts for a rather large sum,” Ashel 5 says, “which we need to replace.”
“We can help you with that,” I say. “Take all of it.”
I access my Aerac, transfer every kilo I've got to Ashel 5 and look over at Ursula. She nods as much as the restraints will let her.
“Have you got it?” I ask Ashel 5.
“Yes,” she says, “from both of you. Thanks.”
I strain expectantly against the structure holding me. It stays in place. Ashel 5 contemplates the ceiling and the other Blanks watch Ashel 5.
“What are you doing?” I ask her.
“It’s not enough,” she says, almost with regret. “I thought leaving you without kilos would be sufficient but… it isn’t.”
Fear seeps through me like weight in my blood. Ashel 5 turns to Ursula.
“I have sent you a file Ursula,” she says. “I want you to open it.”
“What-what is it?” Ursula says.
“It’s a recording of the full-on vix link made by my husband as the Sons of the Crystal Mind burned him to death. You will experience that Ursula.”
“No!” I cry. “You’ll kill her!”
“Maybe not,” Ashel 5 says. “Some of the intensity has been reduced by elongating the file. It’s locked though, so once you’re in you stay until the end.”
“Send it to me!” I shout.
“No Charity,” Ashel 5 says, “because that is what you want. Open it Ursula.”
Ursula’s whole body shakes. Tears make shiny zigzags down her cheeks and her upper lip is wet where her nose has run.
“Open it,” Ashel 5 says. “Open it and know what my husband knew.”
“Please,” Ursula says.
“Come on Ursula,” Ashel 5 says. “We’re recording this for everyone to see later. I thought you’d like that.”
“I don’t,” Ursula says. She sounds like a little girl.
I send a message to Harlan with our coordinates:
THE BLANKS HAVE US. PLEASE HELP AND I WILL GIVE YOU EVERYTHING CENTRIA KNOWS ABOUT THE NFE.
“Ashel 5, listen, please,” I say.
“Open the file Ursula,” Ashel 5 says.
“Don’t,” I say.
“OP
EN THE FILE URSULA!”
Ursula sobs and shakes her head. Ashel 5 raises her fuze and shoots me through the right elbow-
Pain like the worst thing ever known condenses to a point.
A trillion of those points appear calmly and quietly in my body.
A nova of agony blasts everything, everything-
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHHH!
Stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop stop!
PLLLEEEAAASE-!
Aftershocks excruciate as the pain overwhelms me. I will do anything to blot it out, distract it or beat it down. I want to punish myself for feeling it but rage is like a blow to an open wound. I try and smash the back of my head against the diamond pole but can’t move enough to do it. I scream myself silent but rawness in my throat fades against the torment blazing in my elbow. I try to resist it, manage it and even make friends with it but it comes back at me again and again.
Ursula cries something that sounds like my name. Ashel 5 speaks too although I can’t understand what she says. She closes in and smashes the grip of her gun into my right cheekbone, the blow ricocheting across the bridge of my nose. I try to scream again and choke on rushing blood. I manage to spit it out and some hits Ashel 5. Her expression twists into a snarl; if the pain had a face, it would be hers. She jams the barrel of her fuze into the crook of my left elbow and turns to stare at Ursula. Ursula’s eyes widen and she jerks slightly as she accesses the file.
Sweet relief eases up from my bare feet and soon I no longer feel my shattered elbow or cracked face. Ursula doesn’t move; she stares in my direction but I know she doesn’t see me. Instead she sees what 88 Rabian saw when he was tied to that post in New Runcton.
Ursula flinches; this must be the moment when Thom3 Hobb shot the ignition into the pyre. Ursula tries to shy away from it but the restraints hold her. She whimpers.
“Ashel 5,” I say. My voice is thick and barely works through the painkiller rising from the Basis. “Please stop. I will do anything.”
“You’re doing what I want you to do,” Ashel 5 says.
“This won’t achieve-”
Ashel 5 shoves the barrel of her fuze into my mouth.
“Shh,” she says.
Ursula screams; a short piercing sound like an alarm. I imagine her/88 Rabian’s point of view: the terrible crowd, the rant from Thom3 Hobb and worst of all the heat, a terrible thoughtless energy that gets closer by the second and by the millimetre. Tears blur my vision into abstract shapes. Ursula is a streak of light in front of me, Ashel 5 a large dark block to the left and around us the Blanks are a silent grey border.
Ursula screams again, for longer this time. Sweat runs and drips as her body tries in vain to cool itself down. She wants to thrash from side-to-side but all she can do is tremble furiously. Her eyes are wide with horror and her flesh reddens. She coughs furiously, thinking her lungs are full of smoke. Will her body believe she has burned to death and therefore die? Like the flames, it is the unknowing agent of a universe hidden far above us that knows no love, only physics.
My eyes come back into focus and I become conscious of the hard plastic texture of the weapon resting on my lower teeth. Ashel 5 watches Ursula with a slight frown and presently pulls the fuze barrel out of my mouth. I try and call to Ursula but can’t; the pain-killing drug has anaesthetised me completely.
I send her a message:
STAY IN REALITY
It doesn’t work; she can’t see anything except the flames. Suddenly she presses her throat against the restraint. She is going to choke herself. Clever girl. It will be a victory of sorts.
The structure holding Ursula dissolves. She falls onto her back and writhes blindly, flipping over as if the floor is red-hot. The movement is ferocious, desperate; Ursula looks like she is trying to jerk out the agony in glistening droplets of sweat.
She stops writhing; her hands hook and tighten into claws as her legs draw up. For a while she stays in that clenched position, her inhuman gulping much worse than the screams. Every muscle in her body twitches visibly as if her trapped flesh is trying to flee. Slowly, the expression goes out of her face. She seems to become a simpler organism, one consisting entirely of tormented sense.
The burning goes on and on, longer it seems than at New Runcton. I wonder how close Ursula is to the moment of 88 Rabian’s death. How will she deal with infinity, my happy lovely sister? I picture the sunny avenues of her character darkening in the face of it, the shadow spreading through her.
Finally Ursula goes limp. After that awful tension it looks like she’s melting. Her long legs spread out and her arms slide off her chest. Her eyes are dead.
Ashel 5 grabs the front of Ursula’s jacket and pulls her up to stare into her face. I try and intuit what our captor will do but her rigid pose gives nothing away. She seems no less crazed; torturing us does not look like it has eased her grief or her rage.
Ashel 5 lets go and Ursula’s head thunks against the floor. Transparent slime oozes off her; I can smell its sour, rancid odour from here. My sister is in an unknowable place and I don’t know how I will get her back.
The structure that holds me is absorbed and I slump into a position where I can no longer see Ursula. Instead, the ceiling opens and the walls lower as the Basis takes them apart. The Blanks disperse without a word but Ashel 5 remains.
As she stares down at me I don’t feel anything except terrible regret. My mouth works but no sound emerges. I wish she would come closer. I use the last of my strength.
“Forgive me,” I say.
“No,” she says and walks away.
22
The painkiller still works but I don’t know how long it will last. I move my head, which rolls to the right like a huge weight barely within my control. I look down the side of my body. Shards of bone poke revoltingly from a burnt-edged hole in the jumpsuit’s right elbow, wet with seeping blood. Hot, sour fluid bubbles in my throat. My eyes flutter.
Time skews slightly…
I look up between two plain square buildings at a great dark vault lit by the glowing vertical line of a train tube. Beyond my splayed feet a sign swings in the middle of a crossroads. Further away a diamond plain extends to an unremarkable entrance through a wall whose height is in shadow.
We are in New Runcton. How very fitting. This is my third visit here and each one has been a disaster. I will never come back, providing I live.
Ursula lies motionless nearby, her face turned away. I can’t move my shattered arm and for some reason the other one doesn’t work either. My legs are more responsive so I press my feet against the floor and push myself across it.
“Ursula,” I whisper. “Baby?”
Ursula’s body is a range of soft curves. I manage to get my head onto her shoulder and damp heat rises against my cheek. Her shallow breaths gently lift me up and down as I hear the ooze drip thickly off her, its heartbreakingly strong burnt smell hinting at new and unwelcome otherness.
“Oi oi!”
It’s a male voice, to our left. Footsteps approach: more than two people and less than ten. Perhaps they will help.
“What the fuck is this?”
Or perhaps not.
I should be frightened but I haven’t got the strength. Even if I was able-bodied there would be little I could do; with no kilos I can’t fire the n-gun let alone gif a shelter. Ursula is a silent, immovable weight beneath me as the footsteps halt beside us.
“Fresh gash? On a Wednesday? Is this a fucking trap or what?” says a third male voice.
“The little one’s got a fucked up arm.”
“She won’t need her arms,” says a fourth man whose calm voice is nonetheless full of hate.
“Shit! Ain’t that Ursula Freestone?”
“Fuck me it is!”
“She fucking stinks.”
“I got something to wash her with.”
A few barks of insincere laughter peter into silence and then I feel the atmosphere charge with decision. A booted foot shoves me off U
rsula. My shoulder cracks against the floor and I hear myself groan. The men around us stare down.
There are five, none of them older than me. They are too well-fed to be subs and their bland faces are vicious with bored resentment. One of them grabs Ursula’s front so her head hangs back, exposing her neck. The man grunts, his eyes cold as he looks up at the others.
“Can we ransom them?”
“Got chucked out didn’t they? No one gives a fuck now.”
“Let’s do this.”
“Here?”
“No, get ‘em inside. We don’t want any interruptions.”
Ursula is dragged away and I hear the juddering squeak of her boots get fainter with distance. A hand grips my ankle with grimly indifferent strength as I’m swung around and pulled across the floor.
My precious sister and I are mere objects now; all we have ever achieved a minor enhancement to the cruel pleasure of strangers. The great space above New Runcton seems to move with me, a mocking reminder of my first time here when I was taken into the air to be loved, or so I thought.
My right arm tingles menacingly each time it bangs against the floor. The resulting bloody spatters make prickles of nausea drop through my gut. Soon the tingling becomes unbearable-
I convulse to a fanfare of agony that explodes out of my elbow as Ashel 5’s painkillers finally wear off. The pain is so excruciating it chokes my scream and the light around me seems to become blindingly intense.
“Don’t worry Charity,” the man says as he drags me, “I’ll give you something to take your mind off it.”
I try to stay silent but instead of willpower there’s just dreadful numb hysteria and I moan through clamped lips. Bitter, useless tears are acid in my broken cheek.
I’m hauled inside a building, glimpsing plastic table legs and a stained cardboard chair on its side. Both pieces of furniture are kicked away to clatter out of sight against the walls. I want the pain from being dragged to end but I’m terrified of what will happen when they get me where they want me.
Sons of the Crystal Mind (Diamond Roads Book 1) Page 15