by T W Iain
The attacker stared at Brice, then those eyes flicked to Siren, and the masked head nodded. The man backed off, holding one arm tight against their chest.
“You’re right, Fairy,” Sired said, to one side of Brice. “He is quick.” Once again her eyes travelled his body. “Enhanced?”
“Once.” He relaxed his body as the attacker returned to the shadows.
“No more?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated. As if anything is ever easy. So tell me, what now? You’ve caused me problems with Spike, and you’ve wormed your way into the Warren. By rights, I should have killed you the moment you came to me.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Doesn’t mean you’re safe. You might have beaten one man with a knife, but can you escape three men with guns?”
He stared at her, refusing to show fear at her threat. And a look of amusement crossed her face.
“What’s your game? What’s in this for you?”
“I just did what I felt I had to do,” he said. He shrugged—what more could he add?
“Very noble. But while your little act of bravery was enough to fool our weak little Fairy, it doesn’t convince me.” She stopped rounding Brice and stared at him, arms crossed. “You’re fast enough to know what you’re doing. And your strength and control tell me you’re enhanced, even if you lie about that.”
She circled him again, then yelled into the darkness, “Get me Axe.”
A door clicked open, and Brice heard muttering in the distance. Then the door slammed shut, and footsteps echoed across the cavern.
The man must have been Axe. He was large, muscle rather than fat. He had a full beard and long, wild hair. His eyes were cold as they bore into Brice.
And he held a Charon, the warmth reaching out to Brice. The tiny flame flickered at the end of the barrel, and the man’s finger rested on the trigger, ready to release the jet of gas that would burn everything in its path.
“Who’s this runt?” His voice was deep and harsh, filled with hatred.
“Might be useful, might need incinerating,” Siren said. “But for now, I want him detained.”
The one called Axe nodded, never breaking Brice’s gaze.
“And if he wants to live, he’ll come quietly.” Then she moved her head in closer, and Brice could feel her musty breath in his ear. “Because you really don’t want to get on the wrong side of Axe.”
Even though Cathal repeated that there was no way through the fence, Car wanted to investigate. And it didn’t take long for Cathal to give in.
They walked at a safe distance from the fence. For most of the time they were silent, and Cathal was fine with this. There was nothing to talk about, anyway. And the stillness of the night was comforting. There were no stray kin around. Even other creatures, warths and insects and small rodents, seemed to stay away from the fence. There were only the trees and plants, and Cathal and Car.
No Ap Owen. No Brice.
But so many others were missing. Ryann, Keelin, Tris. His old crew. His family.
So much suffering. Perhaps it would have been better if that thing in the cave had killed Cathal rather than infecting him. At least then he’d be at peace.
<We need to have a break,> Car said, stopping and shrugging the pack off his back. He opened it up, and Cathal was conscious of the cold, clinical presence of blood-packs. Car held two in his hands. <You want one?>
<I’m good.>
<Still limiting yourself?>
<Something like that.>
Car shrugged. <Suit yourself. But if Nyle catches up, you’re going to want your strength.>
<We can take him.> But, even to Cathal, those words had no conviction.
Car slurped from the blood pack, the coppery aroma making Cathal drool. Oh, for a sip of fresh blood. Oh, to sink his fangs into flesh, driving down to where blood vessels flowed, the heavy ones that pumped hard. To feel the lukewarm fluid splashing against the back of his throat, and the energy running down inside.
He turned away. <Just pacing myself,> he told nobody in particular.
Cathal stood, walked to the edge of the trees. This place was like a natural landing pad, with a rocky platform surrounded by trees, and Cathal rested a hand against the cold stone. He ran his fingers over the gritty surface, recalling the nights spent camping with his brother. The woods back home had outcrops similar to this, and they always set up camp close to one. Then they’d climb to the top with a hot drink and watch the stars.
He raised his face to the sky and breathed in the cool air. He listened to the wind rushing through the trees.
There was a rumble, almost a drone. Cathal knew it wasn’t natural.
Car must have heard it too, because he was beside Cathal in a single bound. <Something’s flying in,> he sussed. <Sounds big. Possibly a Hermes. It’s coming from…from the basin.>
<From Haven.> Cathal thought of what Car had told him, of the grey beasts that had overtaken the base.
They stood in silence as the soft rumbling grew into the familiar throbbing of a Hermes’ engines. Car suggested they move back, into the protection of the trees.
The craft came closer, and it turned on a light, one of the aft spots. The warmth washed over Cathal, filtered by the trees. The Hermes’ engines gave a whine as it hovered.
Then it descended. Cathal knew enough to tell its movements from sound alone—the clicking as it fired balancing shots, the whoosh of expelled air as the hydraulic anti-grav engaged, just for a couple of seconds. The whine increased in pitch, passing from hearing—although Cathal still sensed it in other ways, could still feel the waves passing through the air—and the Hermes landed softly. There was a soft crunch, a final whine, and then the noise settled into a background hum.
<Let’s investigate> Car motioned toward the trees that grew by the cliff, high enough to see onto the rock plateau above.
Cathal followed as Car climbed until they were level with the rock platform. The plateau was large, but so was the Hermes, and it took up most of the space. Fuel and burnt ozone hung in the air, but the engines had stopped.
<Hatch.> Car pointed. <Opening.>
It was. Not the main hatch, but the smaller service one, near the aft, starboard side, just by the engine casings. A buzzing sound accompanied the ramp as it descended, followed by metal echoing as a figure stepped from the hatch.
<It’s one of them,> Car sussed. <One of the things that attacked Haven.>
The thing walked down to the rock, and then paused. Cathal focused. It smelt like nothing he’d encountered, but there was familiarity—a hint of the kin, maybe, or a touch of human. He pushed, intrigued. The thing’s trace was strong, no doubt about that, and there was a taste of intelligence. And…and a feeling of resistance.
<It’s trying to reach out,> he said, knowing that didn’t quite fit. But he felt something reaching for his mind, for his presence. <That thing can read our traces.>
The thing looked into the trees, to where Cathal and Car hid. It tilted its head a fraction, and its snout twitched. Cathal could hear its breathing, or maybe he imagined he did. Slow, steady. In control. And excited.
<Don’t move,> Car said, and Cathal’s muscles tensed. He held his breath and tried to empty his mind.
The creature took a step forward, then another. Then it paused. It remained motionless, as still as a statue.
Cathal’s mouth was dry. His head throbbed, a pulsing that he first thought was blood, but it was at a different beat. He focused on that throbbing, and he channelled his discomfort, forming a wall in his mind.
Or something like that. He’d done this before, but he couldn’t quite remember when, or how. But he had to keep that thing from entering his mind.
He was vaguely aware of Car’s voice, but it was now distant, muffled. Like it was trying to pass through thick water t
hat solidified into ice, hard and impenetrable. The voice faded. Everything faded.
A part of Cathal still felt the tree around him, still felt the air reaching through his coverings and entering the pores in his skin. He still knew where he was. He still had control.
But a greater part of him, the part that mattered, was locked inside.
The creature by the Hermes remained still for maybe a minute. Then it turned. It walked slowly away, making a circuit of the craft, before ascending the ramp. The hatch sealed behind it, and the ramp slid back into the body of the craft.
Car shook Cathal, one hand gripping his arm.
Cathal let the barrier inside fall.
<You okay?>
Was he? <Fine.> He nodded to Car. <Let’s get down.>
Car didn’t need telling twice. He practically jumped to the ground, grabbing branches to slow his descent. Cathal followed, climbing. When he reached the ground, Car was pacing, his hands twitching, his claws clicking.
<It felt us,> he said. <It was in our minds. That means it knows we’re here.> He looked up, and swung an arm, violently. The claws gouged grooves from a trunk. <We’re not safe.> He turned to Cathal. <I told you what they did, right? Even if that thing’s the only one on that Hermes, one against the two of us is not good odds. Not good at all.>
<But we’re not in Haven. Why would it want to kill us?>
Car shrugged. <I don’t trust it.>
<So what do we do?> Cathal knew he should be leading—hadn’t Car followed him all this way? But he couldn’t think.
<I don’t know,> Car said. <But I don’t want to stay here. Not with that thing invading my mind. Let’s just carry on walking. Maybe something will turn up.>
He started walking. Cathal followed.
<But if that thing comes for us?>
There was no hesitation when Car answered. <We run.>
The very thought of running made Cathal weary. But he trudged after Car, back through the forest, away from the thing and the Hermes.
Towards what, Cathal didn’t know. And nor did he care.
Brice’s cell was a tiny room, two of the walls and the ceiling rough stone, everything else cold concrete. He sat on the thin, stained mattress atop the metal-frame bed that was bolted to the floor. There was a plastic bucket in the far corner, and a light panel on the wall. The dim illumination it gave off stopped if Brice didn’t move about every so often.
When Axe had pushed Brice into his prison, he’d slammed the thick metal door, then locked it. Brice had heard two heavy clicks—mechanical locks, not tech.
He’d seen very little tech in this Warren. The weapons on view were older models, many in need of repair. He’d seen no screens. And when he’d focused on traces, they were dim. Hadn’t Deva mentioned something about everyone having their lattices tweaked? To Brice, it felt like they’d been turned off.
The light dimmed, but Brice didn’t move. There was nothing to see, so why bother?
Someone pounded on the door, the metallic ring piercing Brice’s head. He heard the click of locks, and the door opened.
Brilliant light shone into his eyes, forcing Brice to shield them with a hand.
“You’ve got visitors.” Axe’s voice. Then the sound of shuffling, and two shapes entered the cell. “She says you’ve got ten minutes. And don’t try anything daft. We’re watching and listening. So don’t get too comfortable.” He chuckled, the light flicked away, and the door slammed.
The dim wall light cast his visitors’ features in shadows, but Brice recognised them anyway.
“Piran? Eljin?” Brice stood, and they stepped forward. “What are you two doing here?”
“Admiring the scenery,” Piran said with a grin. “Shame we have to look at your ugly mug.”
Brice looked the man up and down—scuffed boots, grey patched trousers and a badly-fitting jacket. One of the front pockets hung loose, and padding leaked out from a rip in the arm. “See you dressed up for the occasion.”
“Special guest like you deserves the best,” Piran said. “But seriously, good to see you. Kind of.”
“Shame its here,” Eljin said. He was thin, his face gaunt. His clothes were as poor as Piran’s. Not what Brice would have expected from his pilot friend. “And it’s not Eljin, it’s Dart. This is Bug,” and he waved a hand at Piran.
Brice must’ve looked confused, because Eljin went on to explain—with the odd comment from Piran—how they were all given a new name after their initiation in the tribe.
“Initiation?”
Eljin nodded, then said. “You’ll have yours soon enough. Well, you should do. Can’t see how she can give up the chance to have you in the tribe. And then, depending on how you do, you get a name. I’m Dart, apparently because I dart around a lot. And he’s Bug because he bugs the hells out of everyone.”
“Or,” Piran said, holding one finger up, “it’s because I’m the best hacker this lot have got. That’s not saying much, though—hardly a brain cell between the lot of them.”
“And Siren chooses names, right?” Brice said, remembering the conversation with Deva.
“It’s her tribe.” Eljin shrugged. “Suppose you could join another tribe.”
“But this lot are the best of a bad bunch. And Siren might be…” Piran pulled a face, and glanced round the cell. “She’s not the easiest person to get along with, but she gets the job done.”
Brice filled in the blanks in his own mind. Do what Siren said, or suffer the consequences.
“And we thought we had it hard in training,” he said, but he couldn’t make that sound jovial at all, so he changed tack. “But what is this place? There’s the tribes, and the drop—whatever that is. And who are all these people?” He trailed off as both Piran and Eljin waved their hands to shut him up.
“You want us to answer all that at the same time? Tell you what, have a seat,” Piran said as he cast his eyes to the bed, then looked at Brice with one eyebrow raised, “or stand, and we’ll tell you everything you need to know.”
Brice remained standing, and they told him.
This place, it seemed, was some kind of testing ground. The only rule was survival. Eljin said it was set up by Kaiahive, as somewhere to test their shades—although he used the word ‘demon’, like Siren had. The fence circled the whole area, keeping every person and shade inside.
Brice told them what he’d seen earlier and they said that, yes, every so often a few people rushed the fence. Piran and Eljin had been here for only a couple of months, and there had been over ten of these ‘suicide runs’, as Eljin called them.
“So how did you get here?” Brice asked. “Thought you went up to Metis?”
Piran nodded sadly. “Yep. Worst thing we could have done.”
Then he told Brice about quarantine, and how they took people out ‘for testing.’
“Think they were testing to see if we’d keep quiet,” Piran said. He shrugged. “Guess they decided we couldn’t. They brought up things we’d done, and threatened us with trials. Some of the stuff they had on me was probably genuine—guess some of the data I accessed wasn’t totally legit. But the rest of it was a load of crap. Said we were looking at thirty years minimum, in some far-flung hell-hole. And because it was all within the company, they could fast-track it, bypass all the red tape. Then they offered us an alternative, and voila…” He opened his hands, taking in the whole cell. “Prison, or this experiment.” He hunched his shoulders. “When they put it like that, it’s not much of a choice, is it?”
“But what about Keelin?” Brice asked. “Ryann. Ronat and Farrell.” And a chill went down his spine as he realised how few had survived Haven.
Eljin shrugged. “Far as we know, they’re still on Metis. But this place isn’t so bad. The caves are pretty well protected, and when we do go out, we’ve got weapons.”
“But no sol,” Brice said. �
�Haven’t noticed it being used anywhere.”
Piran shook his head. “All old, cheap tech. Light is whatever they give us, no way to change it. I’ve tried.”
“They?”
“Kaiahive.” Eljin spat the word out. “They dump a bunch of us here with those things, then ship in a few more when too many die. Like we’re nothing but meat.”
“So everyone here was brought in by the company? Where from? Didn’t anyone notice them missing?”
“Anyone notice us?” Piran asked. “Your folks know what you’re up to?” He shook his head. “Come off it—we’re all so spread out, people disappear all the time. And with this lot,” and he jerked a thumb at the door, “they went for the bottom of society anyway. Lifers, those in solitary, serial killers. Not a nice bunch.”
“So they’re all criminals.” Somehow, that didn’t bother Brice like he thought it should.
“Depends on your definition, but yeah. Most of them pretty violent, so it’s worth staying on their good sides. Like Axe. He’s a pretty good bloke once you get to know him, but he’s got a temper, flies off the handle really quickly.”
“Tell Brice how he got his name,” Eljin said.
“Sure. Apparently—and I didn’t hear this from him, so it could be a rumour—he caught his partner with someone else, and took an axe to them both, hacked through the bedsheets, didn’t stop until the blood was dripping through the mattress and you couldn’t tell which bits belonged to which body. But then he gets suspicious, wonders what else she’s been up to. Tracks down everyone who knew her, everyone who might have been a ‘friend’, and finishes them the same way.”
There was silence in the room. Brice should have felt something—repulsion, maybe shock—but there was nothing.
Piran and Eljin watched him, like they were looking for a reaction. He pulled a face, then asked, “What about Siren?”
Piran shrugged. “If anybody knows, they’re not telling. I reckon it’s some sex thing, though.”
Brice glanced over to Eljin, who rolled his eyes. Some things never changed. But Piran didn’t seem to notice, and continued talking.