by Peter Newman
Under the cover of darkness, a diminutive man and a sour-faced half-breed whisper.
‘Interesting conversation, no?’
Bruise rolls his eyes. ‘It’s just us now, you can talk normal.’
‘I thought you liked my sales voice.’
‘No, I hate it. You sound like your bloody father. Why do you do it anyway?’
‘Lots of reasons. People expect me to sound like him. You know that’s not his real voice either?’
‘Serious?’
‘Yeah. He told me once. Said he made more sales when he used it and he told me that it’s easier to lie when you don’t use your normal voice. But what do you think?’
‘I told you. I hate it.’
‘No, you idiot. About our new friends and their very generous offer?’
‘I think they’re full of shit.’
‘You don’t think they’ll deliver an island to us then?’
‘Last I heard, the First helped kick the Empire out of Sonorous.’
Little Ez nods. ‘I heard the same. And even if I hadn’t, that kid can’t lie for shit.’
‘Heh. That’s true. Nor the woman, thought her eyes were gonna pop out of her head when the girl started lying. You reckon they got anything worth anything under those rags?’
‘They look desperate and poor to me. Shame. I was hoping for desperate and rich.’
‘I told you didn’t I? I said they’d have nothing.’
A finger strokes Bruise’s chest, soothing, and the young man gives him a sympathetic look. ‘Of course you did. Now you have the joy of being right.’
‘Lucky me. I suppose you got a plan though.’
He flashes Bruise a smile. ‘Naturally. We go back to plan A: sell them to the First, and fast, before anyone else gets wind they’ve even arrived. I need to find the money to get a message out of the city. It may take a while.’
‘What should I do?’
‘Go feed our friends and make sure they don’t do anything stupid.’
‘You want me to drug them?’
‘No. Don’t give them any reason to be suspicious. Just be your usual self and don’t smile too much.’
‘Fuck you.’
Little Ez smiles and pinches the half-breed on the bottom. Bruise’s half-closed eyes narrow further. ‘Fuck. You.’
‘Soon, my lusty friend, soon.’
The wheelbarrow is crudely made but strong. A good fit for the Usurperkin that uses it. His uniform is worn open at the collar, his sleeves rolled back over thick forearms. In each hand he carries a child’s body. Even in the dark they are disturbingly still.
First one, then the other is put into the barrow, as gently as Max can manage. He feels sorry for the parents, old friends of his, and consoles himself that they are not alive to witness the end of their line. He sprays the door to warn off any well-wishers. Another house claimed by the plague. Max sighs, sure that the barrow will be more than full before he’s finished for the night.
Footsteps march loudly down the street towards him. They are heavy, purposeful, belonging to his sister, Maxi. He knows from their pace that she is not happy about something. A second set accompany them, stumbling rather than walking, as if being half dragged. He smiles grimly, knowing how it feels to be in their position.
Maxi marches into the light of the barrow’s lamp.
Her hair spikes are lightening at the roots, the first signs of getting older. Usurperkin are blessed to grow strong much faster than their human counterparts and cursed to age just as quickly. For now, though, the changes are merely cosmetic.
Self-conscious, Max touches his scalp, aware of the way his body mirrors hers in all things, while his sister hauls her cargo into the light.
‘One of yours,’ she announces, throwing another Usurperkin down between them.
Young and also uniformed, she looks up at him, pleading.
Max groans. He has many children spread across the city and beyond. Like him they have grown too quickly into adulthood. Like him, they have a tendency to make mistakes. ‘What is it this time?’
‘This one opened the gates without permission.’
‘I dint do nothin’!’
Maxi’s hand moves smartly across the back of his daughter’s head. ‘She claims she was testing the mechanism, despite the fact the city is under lockdown.’
‘Ah, Jo-lee,’ he says. ‘That was dumb.’
She looks up at him, pleading. ‘I dint do nothin’!’
Maxi hits her again. ‘You opened the gates. One of mine saw people come in.’
Jo-lee’s reply is too slow to be convincing. ‘That’s spawn shit!’
Max sees Maxi raising her hand and intervenes quickly. ‘Hold on! Don’t break her.’
‘Don’t break her? She broke lockdown, took a bribe—’
‘I dint!’
‘—let suns knows who inside!’
‘I dint!’
‘And now she’s lying to her superiors.’
Max steps between them. His twin takes on the incredulous expression that heralds future violence, while Jo-lee cowers behind him. ‘Right. But she’s my daughter.’ He rubs at the stubble of his chin, slow and thoughtful. ‘So I should be the one to beat the truth out of her.’
Maxi folds her arms. ‘Alright.’
*
The kid jumps onto one of the crates. He turns slowly on the spot, wobbling a little but keeping balance. Satisfaction is short-lived, however. The rotation has brought another crate into view. A higher crate. It is smaller than the one the kid currently stands on and less secure. But it is higher. The jump required is by no means certain for little legs. The kid chews thoughtfully, weighing the options. He probably shouldn’t. He is quite comfortable where he is.
But the other crate is higher.
Vesper sits against a nearby stack, rubbing her empty belly. ‘Do you think they’ll be long? I’m starving.’
Duet has stood by the door since they left, fingers curled around the hilt of her sword. ‘This isn’t right.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘That man. His skin …’
‘I know. Do you think it hurts?’
She shoots Vesper a quick glare then resumes her vigil at the door. ‘Who cares? He’s tainted. We can’t trust him.’
‘The other one seemed friendly.’
‘He was oilier than a fish. I say we go now and take our chances.’
‘Go where? We have no food. We’re exhausted. If what he said was true then we can’t just go walking the streets.’
‘Maybe he made that up to keep us here.’
Vesper shrugs. ‘Maybe.’
Footsteps approach the door, then stop. Vesper instinctively reaches for the pistol that once weighed down her pocket. It is gone, leaving her fingers to make a fist around empty air.
Duet’s sword is in her hand, blade held high, ready to strike.
The door opens.
Bruise walks in, hefting a bag. It drops from his fingers when he sees Duet. ‘Fuck!’ Slowly, he puts up his hands. ‘It’s only me.’
‘I can see that,’ she replies, closing the door but keeping her sword up. ‘What’s in the bag?’
‘Food, like we promised.’
‘Show us. No fast moves.’
Vesper murmurs an apology as Bruise opens the bag. Inside are a trio of cooked lizards, each the size of a puppy and run through with a stick. They bear expressions of profound surprise.
Duet’s sword wavers, her nose wrinkling behind her visor. ‘What are they?’
Bruise shrugs. ‘Mousespawn or maybe birdspawn. Hard to say.’
For a moment, they all stare at the lizards.
‘I think they’re birdspawn,’ says Vesper, uncertain.
‘Really?’ replies Bruise.
The girl points. ‘I think I can see nubs on the back of the one on the left. Wings could grow from them.’
Duet’s sword slides back into its sheath. ‘I’m not eating that.’
Bruise takes
one of the skewers. ‘More for us then.’
They eat in silence, Duet making no effort to disguise her dislike of the situation. Bruise assumes a nonchalant position, careful not to make eye contact.
Silver feathers ripple, restless, as if moved by an unpleasant dream. Vesper watches them, alternately chewing her lip and the unknown meat.
More footsteps approach the door and Bruise is grateful for the distraction. ‘At last,’ he mutters, getting up. Duet moves to one side of the door, the half-breed goes to the other. No love is exchanged between them.
Bruise’s face sours. ‘It isn’t him,’ he hisses. ‘Shit, it sounds like more than one of them. Knowing our luck, it’s marshals, or worse.’
Vesper hugs her knees. ‘What should we do?’
Duet raises her sword but Bruise shakes his head. ‘Do nothing. Say nothing. No noise at all. Got it?’
They all wait, bodies rigid, hardly daring to breathe.
The footsteps get closer, louder.
Right past the door they go, maintaining speed, growing quieter as they move on.
Bruise holds his hand up, counselling further silence.
They are so intent on the door that they do not see the kid reach his decision. Do not see him tense his hind legs.
Bruise lowers his hand and Vesper lets out a huge sigh. Even Duet relaxes a little.
The kid jumps.
One Thousand One Hundred and Eleven Years Ago
The quarry has gone, the workers persuaded to go elsewhere. In its place is a large domed building, squatting next to an innocent patch of rock.
People gather outside it, a mix of men and women of varying ages, all hoping to be accepted. They have travelled from the far reaches of the world, from the Dagger States in the west and the Constructed Isles in the east. A few have been sent straight from the growth tubes, three dozen babies frozen inside square cases, presided over by sweating Genetechts.
All seek the master’s approval.
The gathering is something of an oddity, forcing an unlikely mix of social groups and designations. Conversation is strained by more than just nerves and all are grateful when the door finally opens.
Collectively, the group shows reverence, through inclinations of the head or body, by raising hands together, palms pressing.
The moment is solemn and dignified. A fitting greeting for their new master.
Massassi sticks her head outside and sweeps them all with a look. A single word is muttered, disparaging, and she withdraws again, closing the door with unnecessary violence.
For a moment the group remain as they are, then nervous looks are exchanged. An older man, uncomfortable in his ceremonial robes, scratches at his head. ‘Do you think this is a test?’
Another in the group speaks up, wearing almost identical robes. ‘No.’ It is the first time members of the Severed Nation have spoken civilly in nearly thirty years but both are too stunned to appreciate it.
‘But she said something. I’m sure I saw her lips move.’
The other man sits down on a rock, shaking his head. ‘She said: “Crap.”’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure.’
The first man scratches his head some more. ‘But what do you think it means?’
‘It means,’ replies the second, his voice becoming shrill, ‘that we aren’t good enough.’
The two men sit together, joined in misery.
A young woman in a blue exo-suit strides past them, servos humming. ‘I didn’t come all this way to be turned down.’ Her boots make deep prints in the ground as she stamps her way towards the building.
Her clenched fist clangs impressively against the door.
There is a pause.
‘Open this door!’ she shouts, continuing to hammer.
The rest of the group creep back a few paces, underlining the fact that they do not stand together.
With a sudden jerk, the door opens, so fast that the woman cannot stop her hand rushing down towards Massassi’s head.
There is a flash of movement and a crunch as the blue fist is caught in a silver palm.
Massassi’s and the woman’s eyes meet.
The woman swallows in a throat suddenly dry.
‘I like you,’ says Massassi.
‘Th-thank you.’
‘Come.’
She leads the woman around the side of the building, still holding her hand, and points towards the empty rocks. ‘What do you see?’
‘Dust, rocks. A few hills.’
‘And?’
‘And … Is that a yellowback beetle?’
‘What else?’
Curved shoulder-plates droop. ‘I don’t see anything.’
Massassi lets go of her hand. ‘Didn’t think so.’
‘Wait! What do you see?’
Her eyes are drawn to a space several inches above ground level. ‘I see a micro-fracture in the skin of our world and the storm that’s going to tear it open.’ She begins to tilt forward, as if about to fall then checks herself, planting her feet, forcing her eyes down. ‘And that’s just the beginning.’
‘Can you stop it?’
‘Not alone.’
‘Then –’ she tilts her head, trying to catch Massassi’s eye ‘– let me help you.’
‘You’re not strong enough.’
‘Then teach me.’
‘Some things can’t be taught.’
The woman thinks for a moment. ‘They say you can make people do anything you want. Is that true?’
Massassi nods.
‘Then make me see as you do.’
Massassi frowns, then smiles. The idea had never occurred to her. ‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m ready,’ replies the woman, full of the confidence of youth.
In Massassi’s silver palm, an iris opens, bathing them both in brightness. She rests her hand on the woman’s chest, extending her energies slowly, memories of burst essence still fresh years later. The woman’s essence is stronger than most but even a dazzling firefly can vanish against the radiance of a star.
She wills the woman to be more than she is, charging her spirit, polishing, expanding.
They share a smile, blazing silver, and the light builds between them.
Too late, Massassi hears the screaming. The woman’s other face, the true one is growing, stretching like a picture on a balloon, at first merely increasing in size, but then distorting, pulling apart, burning.
An exo-suit clanks to the ground, smoke pouring from its joints.
Massassi staggers back, staring in horror at her hand. When she finally looks up, she sees the rest of the group are watching her.
Old anger quickly returns, hardening her face again. ‘Who’s next?’ she barks.
Nobody answers, except one young man, who retches noisily.
Her mouth curls in disgust and she takes a step forward.
They run without another word. A headdress and a sandal are left behind, along with thirty-six babies, frozen in square crystal.
Lips pressed together to stop them shaking, she picks up the first of the cryo-cases and carries it inside.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Essence lamps lend the room a green tinge and its occupants a sickly pallor. Tough Call, once rebel leader and now Verdigris’ chief official, hopes it is only a trick of the light. She has lost too many of her people to illness recently.
One by one, the leaders of Verdigris shuffle into the emergency meeting. Marshals Max and Maxi come first and flank her chair. Neither looks happy and she suspects that the fresh scabs on Max’s knuckles are connected. Next comes Ezze, the stripes on his tunic curving around his belly. Cavain joins them soon after, red tattoos looking like bloodstains in the alien light.
Tough Call makes a point of looking around. ‘Where are the others? Where’s Doctor Grains?’
Ezze pulls at his beard. ‘Having more of the fun than we are, yes?’
‘Shut up, Ezze.’
‘If I may,’ begins Cavain, cl
earing her throat. The woman irritates Tough Call, always seeming polite but never feeling so. ‘Doctor Grains apologises but he cannot attend.’
‘Did he say why?’
‘I’m afraid it’s the plague.’
‘Ha!’ booms Ezze. ‘Even the doctors are sick!’
‘Ezze,’ snaps Tough Call, ‘I refer you to my earlier comment.’
‘Many apologies, great leader.’
‘What about Snare and Galloway?’
Cavain raises a finger. ‘I’m afraid Galloway is sick also. I don’t know about Snare.’
‘Anyone else?’
Max bends down to her ear, his whispers carrying easily across the small chamber. ‘I heard he’s on the prowl tonight, boss.’
‘He’s an architect not a bird of prey. On the prowl for what?’
‘Dunno, boss.’
‘He’s supposed to be here.’
‘You want me to go find him?’
Tough Call brings her remaining fist down on the table. ‘What I want is for people to do their jobs!’ She takes a breath, consciously relaxes her hand. ‘No, I’ll deal with Snare later. What have you got for me, Cavain? Did Doctor Grains find anything useful about the plague before he fell ill?’
‘As you know, our medical supplies are a dwindling resource …’
‘Just the useful bits, Cavain, I’m well aware of how bad things are.’
‘Unfortunately, there has been no definitive progress on how the disease is transmitted and so far, none of the treatments have been effective in slowing or reversing the symptoms. Doctor Grains did note that those with partial tainting survived longer and that there have been no Usurperkin patients so far.’
‘Maxi? All of yours still healthy?’
‘Yes, boss, we’re all good. If it could get us, we’d know by now.’
‘Okay, anyone got any good news?’
But Tough Call notices Cavain has a finger raised, her manner imperious, her face a mask of patience. ‘Yes, what?’
‘Our stockpiles of grain are diminishing …’
‘The useful bits, Cavain.’
‘It happens that the new seeds we brought back from the wallstain are attracting new predators into the city. Some kind of bug. I fear they might have brought this new plague with them.’