‘I’m going to fuck you to death with your own knives!’ Silas managed through a mouth gummed up with red liquid metal as it tried to repair the damage she’d done.
‘Go and f—’ Grace started, holding in her guts. Her own nanites were trying to heal her and fight off the ones attacking her. ‘Sick … fuck.’
The 40mm HEAP grenade caught Silas in the side and sent him spinning through the air. The grenade exploded, almost tearing him in two. It left a hole in his midriff, exposing his spine. Red filigree tendrils shot out from his stomach cavity and wrapped themselves around his vertebrae.
The recoil from firing the grenade had knocked the weakened du Bois off his feet. Grace looked over to where he lay. Blood bubbled around her partner’s mouth as he struggled to breathe. She managed to turn her head and look at Silas. He was still moving weakly. Silas opened his mouth and emitted an inhuman-sounding howl. She watched the filigree lashing out into the earth to use its matter to rebuild his body. Grace looked down at herself. The wound in her stomach had almost closed, although she was still a mess internally. Nanites were fighting a number of wars in her feverish flesh, but her innards probably weren’t going to fall out if she stood up.
Grace staggered over to du Bois. He looked up at her, his blue eyes full of pain but still alert. He was a mess. Multiple wounds, including a large one in his upper-right chest, weren’t closing. The wounds also looked dry. She reached down and grabbed his belt buckle, removing the concealed punch blade. The blade was designed to disintegrate into nanites on command after it was stabbed into flesh. Du Bois looked up at her and nodded. Grace staggered away from him.
Silas was clawing at the ground as Grace tottered towards him. A disturbing amount of his body had been regrown but he wasn’t able to move yet. He was still making noises like a wounded animal. Grace cut the palm of her right hand open with the punch dagger and then collapsed onto her knees next to Silas. Silas moved his head to look at her with pure hate.
‘It was nearly over …’ Silas managed. ‘I’m going to—’
Grace spat in his face. Then she rammed her hand into Silas’s rapidly healing wound. She felt the tendrils of living red filament wrap around her hand and wrist, piercing her flesh. She tried to ignore the pain as best she could. Silas was howling and writhing at the violation. Her fingers wrapped around its stem. She used the blood on her hand to hack his flesh. Then Grace tore the Red Chalice out of his stomach cavity, where Silas had crudely implanted it, along with the red, living filaments, which retracted into the chalice. Silas howled in agony again. Grace raised the punch knife, preparing to plunge it through his skull. The bullet blew her hand off. Crying out, she collapsed onto Silas.
The wiry man with weather-beaten skin advanced rapidly, keeping Grace covered with the suppressed M14 rifle. There was still smoke rising from the weapon’s barrel. The newcomer had a stubbly beard, and greying hair tied back in a ponytail.
‘Sorry, Grace,’ he said. He had an American accent, New England. ‘I had to stop you stabbing him.’ Holding the rifle at port with one hand, he reached down and dragged Grace off and away from Silas as gently as he could. She was still conscious, sobbing. The American then moved back to Silas. The serial killer was trying to push himself up on his arms. The American put a booted foot against his chest and forced him back to the ground. ‘You just stay put, you piece of shit,’ the American told Silas. He was standing where he could keep an eye on Grace and du Bois.
‘Josh, what the fuck?’ Grace spat through the pain. She was losing flesh as her systems fed on her matter to heal the extensive wounds she’d received. She was hungry. She saw du Bois trying to push himself into a sitting position with some difficulty.
‘Orders, Grace, you know that. I’m really sorry, but your blood was up. If I thought you’d have listened to me I’d have asked.’
Du Bois’ laughter was devoid of humour but had a horrible bubbly quality to it as he spat blood down his chest. ‘You shooting your own side is getting to be something of a habit, isn’t it, Josh?’ he asked weakly.
‘Once every two hundred or so years doesn’t sound like much of a habit to me,’ Josh said. ‘How are you doing, Malcolm? You don’t look good.’
‘Fuck this,’ Grace said, her voice still full of pain. She used her left hand to push herself to her feet, then cradled the stump of her right hand in her left. The Red Chalice was lying in the dirt at her feet, forgotten. She started walking towards Silas. Josh brought the M14 to his shoulder and levelled it at her.
‘Are you out of your fucking mind?’ Grace demanded.
‘Please, Grace, be reasonable.’
‘I am being fucking reasonable!’ Grace shouted at the American. ‘Have you any idea what that evil fucker’s done?’
‘Let us kill him,’ Malcolm managed.
‘I’m afraid not, Malcolm, and I’m sorry we keep having this conversation.’ The voice was incredibly deep. Mr Brown walked into the retort building. He glanced at the hole in the wall, looking through into the next building. He was wearing a finely tailored dark-coloured business suit and leaning on a thick stainless steel staff. Four IV-style bags hung from the top of the staff; tubes connected each bag to a main tube, which ran into the left arm of Mr Brown’s business suit. As they watched, one of the bags was deflating in front of them, its contents – a clear liquid – running down the tube and, presumably, into Mr Brown’s arm.
The Pennangalan was at Mr Brown’s side in her beaten-silver facemask, carrying a Sig Sauer 716 Patrol Rifle with an underslung grenade-launcher.
‘Why?’ du Bois asked, desperation and pain mingling in his voice. ‘The Circle has enough pet killers. Enough grotesques.’
‘Like Grace and yourself?’ Mr Brown asked.
Du Bois managed to glance over at Grace. She was still cradling the stump of her hand, but had started looking around for a weapon.
‘He will escape, do this again, you know that,’ du Bois said.
‘Malcolm, do you really think we have that much time?’ Mr Brown asked.
‘Then why’s he so important?’ du Bois asked. The first IV was empty and the second was starting to deflate. ‘We deserve an answer.’
‘You probably do,’ Mr Brown conceded. ‘But you must have realised that I am going to erase the memory of my explanation from your mind.’
‘Fuck you!’ Grace spat.
Mr Brown grimaced, as if the profanity bothered him.
Silas was making keening noises, trying to stand again. Josh slammed him down into the dirt with his boot and told him to shut up. There was obvious disgust in the American’s voice.
‘He is a Bad Seed. A member of an S-tech-infused bloodline. One that we, or rather I, have driven insane,’ Mr Brown told him.
‘Why?’ du Bois asked.
‘He is a harbinger.’
‘Of what?’
‘Pain, all of it,’ Mr Brown said sadly.
‘You’re as mad as he is,’ du Bois said.
‘Do you know how we drive them mad?’ Mr Brown asked, ignoring du Bois’ remark. ‘We make them just sensitive enough to really feel what’s going on around them. What do you think that says about humanity?’
Du Bois looked down. He started to laugh but ended up coughing instead. When the spasm subsided, he asked, ‘Do you know the one trait in people that I have constantly underestimated?’ Mr Brown raised an eyebrow quizzically. ‘Kindness.’
This time it was Mr Brown who laughed. The second IV bag was empty and the third started to deflate.
‘When it comes, nobody will see me any more,’ Silas said.
The American slammed him down into the dirt again. ‘I thought I told you to shut up,’ Josh said.
‘We’re on the wrong side, aren’t we?’ du Bois said.
Grace was looking between him and Mr Brown.
‘No, but every time I’ve explained it
to you in the past, you haven’t seen it that way. Your race will cease to be soon.’
‘The evacuation … ?’ Grace said, her voice sounding small.
‘Oh, the people we take with us will look and sound human, but we’ve learned the control lessons taught by the parasites that humans think of as their leaders in this grand era. They will wear silk collars, but they will be no less a slave race for it.’
Du Bois and Grace stared at him.
‘Malcolm’s wrong,’ Grace said. ‘You’re madder than him.’ She nodded towards Silas.
‘Why do this?’ du Bois asked, trying to keep a pleading tone out of his voice. ‘We had the thinkers, the scientists, the artists, philosophers—’
‘And bastards like you to keep everyone in line,’ Mr Brown said. ‘Because humans, though they may have forgotten it in this era, are extremely capable of resisting when they put their minds to it.’
Du Bois looked between Josh and the Pennangalan. ‘And you’re both all right with this?’ du Bois asked. Then he noticed that Josh was looking at him with an expression of disgust on his face. Du Bois had never quite forgiven the American for shooting him at the Manufactory, but there had always been a degree of respect for each other.
‘The Pennangalan is more Naga-tech than person, and Mr Ezard’ – he nodded at Josh – ‘has just heard an entirely different conversation.’
‘I am going to kill you,’ Grace told Mr Brown evenly.
Mr Brown sighed. ‘And I think your partnership has reached its logical conclusion. You’ve both questioned orders, broken doctrine and acted of your own accord too often. I think you bring out the worst in each other.’
‘I don’t agree,’ Grace said.
‘You do understand that I can reprogram people, don’t you?’ Mr Brown asked. Grace clutched her head. Du Bois looked on, horrified, as blood seeped out of her ears. Then the expression on Grace’s face changed and she turned on du Bois with an expression of total hatred.
‘You bastard!’ she screamed at him, tears pouring down her face as she stormed towards him. The Pennangalan interposed herself between Grace and du Bois. Josh was running towards her. ‘I’ll fucking kill you!’ Grace was shouting at him. ‘How could you? How could you!’
Josh grabbed her by the shoulder before she could push past the Pennangalan.
‘I’m so sorry, Grace,’ Mr Brown said. ‘I would see him punished as well, but I need him alive, just a little longer. I wouldn’t make you suffer so if it wasn’t important.’
Grace turned and gave Mr Brown a look of utter contempt. Then Mr Brown stopped and concentrated for a moment, his face filling with concern.
‘We’re being attacked,’ Mr Brown said. ‘We need to go, now.’
‘C’mon, Grace,’ Josh told her. ‘He’ll get his, I promise.’
Du Bois was staring at them, appalled. ‘Grace, look, they’ve done this to you—’ he started
‘They!’ Grace screamed and tried to break free. The Pennangalan slung her rifle over her shoulder and grabbed Grace with both hands. She started pulling Grace bodily out of the retort building. Josh let them go, then went and retrieved the Red Chalice from where it was lying on the ground. Then he walked over to du Bois.
‘Josh—’ du Bois began.
‘You want to regenerate? Then I think you’ll need to eat some dirt.’ Josh kicked du Bois in the head as hard as he could. Du Bois slumped to the ground, barely conscious. Josh turned and walked back to Silas, stuffing the Red Chalice into his jacket as he did so. The killer was mostly healed now. Josh yanked him to his feet and marched him out of the retort house.
Some time later, du Bois started shovelling dirt into his destroyed mouth.
Du Bois parked close to the lifts in the hotel garage. Only a few people saw him staggering from the Range Rover, but they stared at his filthy, blood-covered clothes and his emaciated appearance. If people had subsequently called the police, none had come to speak to him.
Du Bois managed to shower. Then he called room service and ordered a great deal of food. He spent several hours gorging himself until finally he started to feel better and his body began to bulk out again. All the while he was trying to think where he was most likely to find Mr Brown.
He would need nanite-tipped bullets if he was going after Mr Brown, but that was okay, he knew a way to make them. He slid a magazine into the .45, chambered a round and holstered the pistol. He picked up his bag and headed for the garage and the Range Rover.
As du Bois climbed into the Range Rover, the pain felt as if his head was being split in two. His vision filled with white light.
Du Bois sat in his Range Rover, looking around. He was in Birmingham, he knew that, but he couldn’t remember how he had got there. He quickly audited himself. He was missing about four weeks of memory. The last thing he remembered was being in Pohnpei, and recruiting Lodup Satakano for the Kanamwayso operation. He had worked that job alone, just like he always did. He started beating on the steering wheel, the roof, the armoured window, the dashboard, flailing wildly and violently.
‘Again!’ he shouted. ‘A-fucking-gain!’ He repeatedly hammered the horn. The few people in the underground garage were staring at the Range Rover.
Eventually he managed to calm down. He understood that some missions were so sensitive they were classified even from the operatives who worked them. It still didn’t stop him from feeling utterly violated when it happened.
Malcolm’s phone rang. He answered it.
‘We need you in London,’ Control told him.
41
A Long Time After the Loss
Vic escorted Talia into the stone chamber in the monastery. He was pretty sure it was the place where his clone tank had been but there was no sign of it now. Instead there were three uncomfortable-looking stone benches. Two of the red-robed monks stood against the wall, cowls hiding their features. There was no sign of the black, viscous liquid in the transparent, floating container. Vic was thankful for that. Something about the liquid disquieted him.
Scab was leaning against the wall. Talia looked at him. Vic wasn’t sure if she was hurt, frightened or angry. Probably a combination of all three.
‘I won’t try and hurt myself,’ she told Scab.
‘Didn’t you enjoy the immersion?’ Elodie asked. Vic couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a degree of cruelty in the feline’s question.
‘It didn’t work,’ Talia said simply.
‘You’ll like this, there’s drugs,’ Vic told the human nat, hoping to cheer her up.
‘And you’ll be sold soon,’ Elodie added. Vic half-expected Talia to burst into tears. Instead she just turned and looked up at Vic. The ’sect knew she was asking him to kill her. It wasn’t self-pity, she just didn’t want things to get any worse. Talia hadn’t even asked about the eyeless blank in the white linen suit and Panama hat sitting on one of the benches. Or the scorpion made of living brass nestled into the flesh of Scab’s right arm.
‘Will that thing be any use where we’re going?’ Vic asked Scab. He’d always hated the Scorpion, partly because it was an arachnid and partly because it hated him – and everything else.
Scab ignored Vic. He turned to Elodie and nodded. The feline smiled. Her prehensile braid darted out.
‘Ow!’ Talia cried. The stinger on the end of Elodie’s braid had embedded itself in Talia’s arm. Talia tried to slap the feline but Elodie caught the human girl’s hand easily. Vic was already moving towards the two women to separate them.
‘Relax, Vic,’ Elodie said. ‘I was just taking some blood.’
Vic stopped. Talia glared at the feline. The tension was broken by the arrival of Steve’s P-sat carrying a tray with its manipulators. On the tray were three vials containing a brackish-looking liquid.
‘Can I come with you, please?’ Steve whined. ‘After all, I made it.’
&nb
sp; ‘The dream dragons made it, you refined it,’ Scab said. ‘I’ve programmed the ship. If you want to use your P-sat, it needs to return to the Basilisk now.’
‘He can go instead of me,’ Vic offered. Scab handed Vic one of the vials and gave another to Talia. He watched them both expectantly. The vial’s smart matter unsealed the top and Talia knocked back the contents.
Scab turned to Vic. ‘Now.’
Vic shook his head, opened his mandibles and drank the liquid in the vial.
There was a brief falling sensation, and it occurred to Vic that he should have sat down before drinking the vial of Key. Talia got there first. They were in a bar or café. Floors of bare wooden boards. Small tables with low stools around them. Several tables held complicated-looking devices filled with water, with tubes running from them that emitted smoke. The bar was polished dark wood, and behind it were racks of dirty bottles. The air was hot and dusty. An open door led to a balcony that looked out over a souq. Beyond the souq was a complicated city made up of a jumble of architectural styles, everything from adobe and handsomely carved wood to red brick, glass and steel. There were bamboo houses, tree houses and houseboats, and rising above them were domes and minarets. Jungle grew up, around and through the city like a fungal infection.
All sorts of strangeness inhabited the souq. Humans with insect heads; centipedes with human faces; oiled, heavily armed gladiators with stylised facemasks and impractical weapons. Green mists floated though the marketplace, mingling with the clouds of smoke rising from it. And everywhere were beautiful young men of every conceivable shade, colour and size that humanity had to offer. The place appeared to be a combination of drug hallucination and monosexualist fantasy.
Talia was looking around. ‘Are we in North Africa?’ she asked, confused. She was wearing a long, simple, elegant dress with a blue and gold diamond pattern on it. She had no make-up on and her hair was a dark brown colour, long and straight.
‘Where?’ Vic asked. He was bereft of augmentations, a natural ’sect, yet he was somehow still able to stand up and function in the apparent 1G. He wore a light summer suit, a short-sleeved shirt and had a trilby on his head. He was carrying a Browning Automatic Rifle and had a number of other weapons in various holsters. He moved to the door and glanced out over the souq. He could see steps leading down to the marketplace.
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