by T W Iain
“Others aren’t so violent, though. With Monk—I’m sure you’ll meet him sooner or later—it’s something to do with finances, screwing his company out of money. Had been for years, and they never had a clue it was him. Too pally with those above him, made himself too likable. Thing is, he worked for Kaiahive, so when they caught him they made him an offer. Guess what he chose?”
Kaiahive again. Brice didn’t think he could hate the company more than he already did.
“But what about Deva?” he asked, and when they both looked blank, added, “Fairy?”
“Cool kid,” Piran said, and his eyes lit up. “Good with mech, too. Think that’s one of the reasons Siren keeps her around. Took her screwdriver to the doors in this place, made them open better than ever.”
“And without her, Piran here wouldn’t be in Siren’s good books either.”
Eljin grinned, and Piran shrugged. Brice’s confusion must have shown on his face, because Eljin continued. “Piran found an old screen, got some surveillance routines working, and Siren saw it as a way to spy on other tribes. But with just one screen, and no system to piggy-back to other locations, it was pretty useless.”
“I would’ve figured it out eventually.”
“Yeah, right! And Siren’s got that kind of patience? Anyway, Fairy starts playing around with some of these casings she found, worked out how to turn them into containers for Piran’s software.” Eljin glanced at Piran, who was rolling his eyes. “Something like that, anyway. What, you expect me to bore Brice with all that technical crap? I reckon you’re making half of it up anyway, just to impress.”
Piran grinned. “Works, though.” Brice wasn’t sure if that was referring to the jargon, or the surveillance devices. Or who he was trying to impress. “So, yeah, we’ve got a few sensors set up around the place, feeding back.”
“And Deva—sorry, Fairy—was supposed to plant one in this Spark guy’s lair, right?” When Brice saw the looks on their faces, he told them what had happened.
Piran shrugged. “Knew it wouldn’t work. She might be able to flit round the demons, but walking into another tribe? Not a chance.”
“Siren’s not going to be happy about that.”
“She wasn’t.” Brice sat on the bed and filled them in on his meeting with the woman. After their prompting, he told Piran and Eljin how he’d ended up in this place.
Eljin focused on one detail. “And Cathal came with you? He’s on our side?”
“Cathal and Car. The others stuck to Nyle.” Brice didn’t mention Ap Owen’s switch. “And he took over Haven.”
“But he’s still there, right?” Piran asked.
“Far as I know. Although he’s got a bit of a thing for me. Don’t think he likes me.” Brice gave a smile, as best he could.
The door opened, and torch-light flooded in. “I don’t think you’ve got anything to smile about,” said a female voice. Siren stepped into the room. “You two. Out.”
Eljin muttering a short “See you later” as they moved past Siren.
Siren grabbed Piran’s wrist. “Just for the record, Bug,” she said, her voice both sweet and menacing, “I don’t care what you think of me. All I ask is that you do exactly what I say, when I say. Clear?”
Piran nodded.
“Good.” She let his arm drop. “Now disappear.”
Siren stepped forward, and Axe followed her into the cell, closing the door behind him before taking up position to one side of the woman. He held a Preben now, raised slightly. That made sense—in a space this small, a blast from a Charon would reflect back from the walls. And at this close range, there was little chance of him missing with the Preben.
Siren looked down at Brice, one eyebrow raised. He met her gaze, and stretched his arms out, resting his hands on the mattress. He could feel the bed-frame through it.
“Most people rise when I come into a room,” she said.
Brice shrugged.
“But you’re not most people, are you. You’re the great demon killer.”
“That my name? Demon Killer?”
She snorted. “You think you deserve a name like that?”
He shrugged again. “Describes what I did. What I do.” He nodded to Axe’s weapon. “Up close and personal.”
“I’m not convinced. There’s no way to verify anything you’ve told me. And now, from that conversation with your two friends, I learn that you have befriended one of these new demons they talk about. It makes me wonder whose side you are on.”
“I don’t care for sides,” Brice said. “Just looking to stay alive.”
After a pause, Siren turned. “Axe. What do you think we should do?”
The man looked surprised for a moment, then he sneered at Brice. “He’s trouble. We can’t take risks. I say we paint that wall with his brains.”
“Part of me agrees. But there is another option.” She pointed at Brice. “If you are as good as you make out—which I doubt—then I could use you. So I’m going to give you a chance.”
“Doesn’t deserve one.”
“Not interested, Axe. There’s a drop tomorrow. I know the other tribes are getting desperate for new supplies, so they’ll be pushing hard. That means we need to push harder. And that’s an ideal opportunity to see just what this rat is made of.”
Axe’s brow furrowed. “At the drop? What if he’s a plant? What if…” But he stopped when Siren raised a hand, palm almost in his face.
“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” she said, still facing Brice. “And that’s why you’re going to have Axe watching you the whole time. The minute you step out of line, he has the authority to ensure you never have the opportunity to screw with me. Or anyone else.” She folded her arms and looked down on Brice, like he was some urchin she wanted rid of. “You understand?”
“I understand.”
He didn’t know what this drop thing was, and he had countless other questions in his mind. But he read her firm expression, and saw the grin on Axe’s face. He understood one thing very clearly.
If this drop didn’t kill Brice, Axe would.
Murdoch explained, as the Hermes took them out of the basin. The screens showed two Proteus craft racing ahead. One veered off, and he told Ryann this one would clear up any subjects that had not been in Haven. The second, he said, was headed to the ‘proving ground’.
When he described this place, Ryann knew she should have been shocked. But those running Kaiahive were monsters. The volunteers Murdoch talked about, those who were pitted against the shades—Ryann knew they were either forced or tricked into becoming guinea-pigs for the company. No—into becoming food for the shades.
The sensors Murdoch pulled up showed a fence, and he spoke of its effectiveness at containing anything with a lattice.
“Then how did the shades reach Haven?”
He pulled a face, almost looking apologetic. “Our research wasn’t as thorough as it should have been. This place is riddled with tunnels in the rock, and unfortunately a number of subjects discovered a route under the fence before we could seal it. At the time, my predecessor didn’t consider the free subjects a matter worth pursuing.”
“More mistakes.”
“That is one of the reasons I was promoted. I understood the need for total security. That is why I am now clearing up all these mistakes.”
Ryann could’ve commented on the shift of blame here, but there would be no point—Murdoch thought he was doing the right thing, and at the moment nothing would change his mind. Instead, she asked, “So the proving grounds are a mistake too?”
“Not of themselves, but with the advances in the project they are no longer required. And that means they have to be cleaned.”
“Cleaned?”
The Hermes shuddered as it landed. “Keep watching the screens, and you’ll understand.”
The woman with the Tychon led the way along the path. Siren called her Soldier, and Brice thought that was a pretty
apt name.
He was in the middle of a group of about ten, with Axe right behind him. Every so often, the flame on the man’s Charon warmed his back uncomfortably.
They set off late in the afternoon, and half an hour later the sun was beginning to set. Siren called for them to halt.
They were at the edge of a clearing. The ground beyond the trees was grassy, with boulders strewn around. The open space was large, maybe a half-k across. There were other groups in the trees at the edge of the clearing, at least six, maybe more. Brice detected other traces too, hidden deeper in the forest. The shades were waiting for night to fall.
“Listen up,” Siren shouted, jumping up onto a fallen tree trunk. She had a Preben in one hand, and an Ambrus across her back. Ammunition cartridges hung from her belt. “They’ve been sending us crap for too long, but my intel says this is going to be a big one. We need a good haul, and we’ll get it any way we can.” She stressed those last words, and there were mutterings from the rest of the tribe.
“You know your roles,” she continued. “We’ve planned this. So let’s do it.”
She jumped down, and everyone sprung into action. Some climbed trees, settling on branches and raising their weapons. Others worked their way to the edge of the clearing.
“Move!” Axe grunted from behind Brice.
“Help if someone told me what’s happening,” he muttered.
“If you’re smart enough, you’ll figure it out,” Axe said, his warm breath in Brice’s ear. “And if you’re not, you’re no use to us.” The Charon’s flame flicked at Brice’s neck, and he jerked away. Axe chuckled.
“Look!” someone said—female, and Brice thought it might have been Soldier, because she raised her hand, pointing to their left. Brice followed her finger, and could see the shape moving across the clouds. He heard it too—the throaty rumble of a Hermes.
It came in high, then dropped, the air carrying the stench of fuel and ozone. Engines whined, and the craft settled in the middle of the clearing.
Arc lights burst into life, filling the centre of the clearing with a brilliant, glaring light that smothered the weakening daylight. Brice’s eyes adjusted to the light sufficiently for him to see a box drop from the base of the craft. Then the roar from the Hermes’ engines increased, and it ascended.
The roar was louder than it needed to be—Brice knew this, just as he knew, now, that the light was to disguise what was happening. Whoever was in charge of that craft—and it was surely, ultimately, Kaiahive—wanted those on the ground to see a particular chain of events. The craft landed, but when it took off it left behind, as if by magic, a container.
The container was large, probably taking up most of the Hermes’ hold, and was a block of corrugated silver-grey metal. It looked out of place here, too pristine, too imposing—and again, Brice assumed this was on purpose. Kaiahive wanted those on the ground to be awed by this gift, and maybe nervous too.
But those around Brice had seen this too often, and awe and nerves didn’t last long. Before the Hermes had reached the tops of the trees, Siren yelled at them to move.
They ran, racing from the trees, weapons in hand. Axe barked for Brice to move, and he started to run.
They were not alone. As they raced for the container, others flew from the trees, to their left and right. Ahead, groups on the far side of the clearing ran too, all focused on this gift from Kaiahive, all determined to gain their prizes.
But this was no game. Sharp cracks filled the air as weapons were fired. People fell, close to Brice.
“Faster!” a voice yelled to his left, one he almost recognised, and the group surged forward. “Someone’s already there!”
One figure—tall, long legs, face covered by a mask—climbed the container, using metal rungs that only now could Brice see clearly. He reached the top and darted out of sight.
There was nobody else close. Brice scanned the clearing, calculating. Long-legs might be a fast runner, but he had no back-up. Siren’s tribe would reach the container at the same time as a couple of other groups. They only had a few more paces.
Brice heard a metallic clang, and shouts about something opening. A few seconds later Long-legs reappeared, cradling a pack in his arms, and jumped down. He landed heavily, rolled, the pack flying out of his hands.
Someone rushed round from the far side of the crate and kicked him hard. As the fallen man rolled over another person grabbed the discarded pack. Instantly, two other figures fell on them. Brice heard the sharp snap of bone and a scream of pain.
“Get in there, grab what you can, and get out,” said Axe, just over Brice’s shoulder. The excitement in his voice was unmistakable.
There were people everywhere now, shouts and curses filling the air. Weapons were raised, but very few were being fired. Instead, people were using their fists. Fights broke out. As people climbed up the crate, others pulled them off. Those who had reached the top, who had disappeared inside, appeared again with large packs. Some tried to climb down, others threw the packs to waiting colleagues—who were instantly set upon by others.
There was no order, no plan. However detailed Siren’s strategies might have been, this was a chaotic free-for-all.
The air filled with the stench of sweat. And it was growing dark.
“They’re coming!” someone yelled, and Brice looked up to see Eljin on the container. He pointed to the trees, then crouched down, drawing an Ambrus and firing, the stuttering retorts loud, the ignition bursts from the barrel magnesium-bright.
Brice didn’t need to turn. He could feel their traces.
As the shadows from the trees grew longer and darker, the shades rushed in.
“Catch!”
Brice looked up, resting one hand on the warm metal of the container. Piran peered over the top and dangled a pack over the edge. As it dropped, Brice caught it. And something barrelled into him from the side.
He crashed to the ground, the pack grasped in his hands. He rolled, and sprang to his feet. The weight of the pack forced him to take a few steps.
Into a fist.
It caught him on the side of the head, and for a moment he tasted bile, and bright darts of light shot across his vision. But only for a fraction of a second. Already, he was shifting his body. He slipped an arm through one of the pack’s straps, and he ducked, bringing his body round, letting the pack slide onto his back as it slammed into whoever had punched him. A short man with a rusty Ambrus. Brice pushed harder, and the man fell, the gun dropping from his hands.
Then Brice ran, toward the trees.
Toward the shades.
Others ran too. They carried packs, some over one shoulder, a couple simply grasping the weight in front of them.
Brice tugged on webbing, pulling the pack tighter to his back as he sprinted. The shades would not bother him.
Ahead, a figure with a pack on their back raised a weapon, and their arm jerked as they fired. A shade fell back, a shower of blood and flesh erupting where the round hit. The runner yelled in victory, but another shade took its fallen comrade’s place, and it dipped its head as it charged. Its jaws were open, fangs grey-white. Brice could practically smell its hunger.
The weapon fired once, twice, a third time. The shade wove to one side then the other, and the shots went wide. Brice felt his pack pull as it was hit, and he stumbled. Another shot whistled by his head.
And then the beast pounced on the shooter.
Brice raced on. A shade ran past him, close enough to touch, its stench of decay and rotten meat almost overpowering. Brice felt his hand dip to the hilt of his knife, but he didn’t draw. He powered on.
And he reached the trees.
He knew he’d hit the same spot he’d left from, because Siren was there, with others from her tribe. They were shooting into the trees—not randomly, and not in panic. They chose their targets. They only fired when a shade came too close.
“Dump the pack and get back out
there,” Siren barked, one hand indicating the middle of the circle her sharp-shooters had formed. He saw a couple of other packs, open, and Deva going through their contents, passing things from pack to pack.
“Here.” He pushed through and dumped his pack down.
“No time for talking! Get more packs!” Siren yelled at him.
Brice nodded, smiled at Deva—he didn’t know if she returned that smile, or if she even noticed—and then ran back into the chaos.
A figure shot past, arms flailing, and a cry bursting from his lips. A shade darted toward him, hissing, claws extended.
Brice pushed himself to one side, the knife in his hand. He ducked down as the man’s cry grew more urgent. Brice thrust his arm round, and felt the edge of the blade sink into flesh.
It wasn’t a mortal wound, but it was enough to distract the shade. And it gave someone in the trees enough time to shoot the thing in the head.
As the beast flew back, flesh and tissue splattering a nearby tree, Brice saw Axe dive into the trees, saw another figure grab the pack from his back.
Brice ran, through the carnage.
Eljin was still on the crate’s roof, down on one knee, the Ambrus raised. He took single shots now, choosing his targets. His face was a mask of determination and concentration.
Piran appeared beside him once more, another pack in his hands. He threw it down, and someone Brice recognised from the walk in grabbed it and ran. But three shades barrelled in from the left, taking the man down.
“Catch!” Brice looked up, caught the pack Piran dropped. The tech smiled, then disappeared from view. Brice spun, slipping the pack onto his shoulders. The pack thudded against the crate with a metallic ringing.
Someone yelled. Around him, people pointed.
The echo of the thud became a roar, and a light burst in over the trees as a second craft entered the clearing.
Kesia brought the Proteus low over the trees, as instructed, and turned on the arc lights. She connected her lattice to the external sensors and the cool evening air rushed over her skin. She felt warmth from the lights, and the intense whiteness bleached colour from the scene below.