by T W Iain
She saw the confusion Murdoch had anticipated. The clearing was a glorious mess. Bodies, both human and subjects, lay on the ground, while many more ran in panic.
She brought the Proteus lower once she was clear of the trees, almost touching the heads of those below. Some of them cowered, others tried to reach for her—for the craft—as if it would offer them salvation.
Oh, how wrong they were.
Ahead was the container, swarming with people, the lights of their traces glowing so feebly, so pathetically. What was it he had said? Kesia and her sisters were a new breed, an evolutionary leap. They were far superior to normal humans. Especially these criminals.
She spun the Proteus through a quarter-turn, tilting at twelve degrees and finding pleasure in the way the blast from the engines knocked so many of those pathetic creatures to the ground. Then she dropped.
<We’re down.>
<You know what to do.>
There was no hint in Murdoch’s voice of that being a question, so Kesia didn’t answer. Instead, she triggered the hatch mechanism, and rose to join her sisters.
<Reconfirm instructions.> Enya didn’t use more words than necessary. Kesia sometimes saw this as a failing, but she wouldn’t mention that to anyone. You didn’t question the one in charge.
Kesia and the other two responded simultaneously. Kesia heard each voice clearly.
<Action.>
Even before Enya had finished that word, the four of them stepped across the threshold, leaving the Proteus and entering the wonderful chaos around the crate.
People cried out. Some ran to the Proteus, others ran from it. The shades took many of them down, adding to the carnage.
Brice watched as he slipped the pack onto his back. Through the brilliant white light, four figures stepped onto the ramp. They wore dark trousers and tight-fitting jackets, and their grey skin shone. They had no hair—Brice saw this clearly as they ducked when they left the hatch. That meant they were large, taller even than the infected.
Around the Proteus, those who had not turned their backs shielded their eyes. Apart from one man.
He wore goggles, and he walked calmly to the Proteus. He held his weapon up, pointing to the sky, and raised his other hand too, as if he were surrendering. His mouth moved, but his words were lost over the distance. He placed one foot on the ramp and raised his head to the four figures.
It was the last thing he would ever do.
One of the creatures grabbed the man’s arm, the one with the weapon, and swung its other hand round. The man screamed as his bone cracked, and his legs gave way. But the creature still held him. It seemed to smile—hard to tell when their faces looked deformed—and brought its free hand round again, onto the man’s head, fingers curling down to his eyes.
The man’s yell was like a cry of an animal as the creature crushed his head.
Blood dripped, then poured to his feet, pooling on the platform. The creature regarded him for a moment, then flicked its arm.
The man flew off the ramp. The shades grabbed him before he hit the ground.
And the grey beasts strode into the clearing.
Brice ran.
It was almost easy.
Kesia analysed. The retreating humans offered no resistance, and she could snap their necks before they knew what was happening.
Then there were the attacking humans. Initially, there were quite a few of these, and they came at Kesia and her sisters with weapons, either guns or knives. The knives were no problem—it did not take much to stop a thrusting arm, and that still left one hand free with which to dispatch the attacker. But the weapons that fired required a different strategy. It was necessary to judge, from the movements of the attacker, when they were likely to squeeze the trigger, and exactly where the weapon was aimed. Not a problem, but it took time.
It was easier to remove them after they’d fired. As long as Kesia concentrated, she could remove herself from the line of fire. Those with weapons seemed momentarily stupefied after each shot, and in that instant they were more vulnerable. Many died before they were able to fire a second time.
Finally, there were the subjects. They were stronger than the humans, of course, but didn’t have the same flair for inventiveness or unpredictability. This made their removal routine. At one point, as an experiment, Kesia allowed one of the subjects close enough that it was able to drive its fangs into her arm. She felt the poison enter her body, quickly followed by her own body’s defences kicking in—she was at no risk from infection. The sensation was interesting, and she studied it for a short while, killing others while the black beast hung from her arm.
Then she ripped out the subject’s spine and let it die.
After a couple of minutes, most enemies were fleeing, both humans and subjects. As they had planned, Kesia and the other NeoGens stopped. The purpose of this first assault was to reduce numbers, but primarily it was to instil fear.
<He’s pleased with our work,> Enya told them. <He says that should give them something to think about.>
<Hopefully they’ll come up with some defencive strategies,> said Dia. <They’re too easy to kill like this.>
<Don’t grow complacent. But for now, watch and study.>
Kesia focused, concentrating on the weak traces that surrounded her. With data coming from her sisters, she narrowed her attention onto a handful, ones the others did not follow. She sent her data to Enya, who acted as a conduit, building a complete file.
Many of those she tracked moved chaotically, but a few were more disciplined, and ran straight for the trees. Occasionally these traces would converge with traces of subjects, with predictable results.
Except for one. It started from the crate, and Kesia knew from the trace residue that, during her sisters’ attack, it had stood still—most likely in shock. But then it took off, speeding to the far edge of the clearing. It never deviated, even when subjects were close by. And the traces of those beasts didn’t move towards this person either.
It was behaviour she could not readily account for.
Kesia stored the data, and flagged it. This individual was an anomaly, and that piqued Kesia’s interest. Murdoch had mentioned an anomaly, a particular individual he was interested in. Kesia wasn’t sure if this trace belonged to that individual, so she searched the whole clearing, tracking this particular trace, counting the times it had made the run from trees to crate and back.
Like every trace, it had a unique flavour, and she tasted it, drawing deep. She wanted to recognise this one again, should she chance upon it.
But there was something else. There was a familiarity to that trace. Kesia wondered if this individual had been on Metis during her own training, but this was unlikely, especially if this was the one Murdoch had mentioned. She considered briefly that these sensations of familiarity were simply due to concentrating so hard on it—but again knew this was not the case.
The trace, and the individual to whom it belonged, were known to her. And for her to feel this so strongly, it must have been a strong bond, one that developed over time.
Kesia took in a breath and forced her heart-rate to remain steady. She couldn’t show signs of agitation, not when Murdoch—and her sisters—could monitor her so well. She couldn’t let them know of her excitement.
Because she was certain of one thing—although she had no recollection of being anything other than a NeoGen, this person knew her before she became Kesia.
Brice ran. He concentrated on his surroundings, but at the same time he thought about these new creatures.
They were brutal, but also incredibly calm. They were fast without rushing, and they slaughtered as if it was nothing to them.
They acted like machines.
He ran with others, and was conscious of shades taking down many around him. A few shots were fired at the beasts, but not nearly as many as there had been. Everyone was dete
rmined to reach the trees.
Which made no sense. Those grey monsters were surely as deadly in a forest as they were in the open.
Siren was at the tree-line—something that surprised Brice. He’d assumed she would run at the first sign of danger, looking after herself. But there were others round her, and she stood in their midst, tall and angry, waving her weapons and letting loose short bursts.
“Back to the Warren,” she yelled at a figure a few paces away. Then she glared at Brice. “These your ‘infected’, then?”
He shook his head. “No idea what they are.”
She snorted. “Like to see you kill one of them.” Then she raised one weapon and let loose two shots. Brice heard a scream from his left.
“Axe!” she yelled. Brice turned to see the man running, a pack over each shoulder. He was panting, sweat plastering his hair to his head and drenching his top. “Drop a pack and get a move on!”
He shook his head, tried speaking, but the words choked, and he coughed, stumbling.
A black shape pounced, hammering into Axe from behind and sending him flying. He crashed to the ground, and the shade rose over him, its claws embedded in one of the packs.
Brice was close. Without thinking, he leapt.
He raised his arm, the knife still in his hand, and as he came down he drove his fist toward the shade.
The blade sunk into the thing’s neck. Blood erupted. He pulled the knife free as the shade bucked, and thrust it down a second time. He inhaled the rotten meat stench of the beast as warmth splattered his chin. The shade writhed, hissing angrily, arms flailing as it tried to pull Brice from its back.
But he held tight, grinding the blade in again, twisting it, doing as much damage as he could. The shade’s legs buckled, and it fell. Brice stabbed down again, and the creature’s hiss of pain rose to a scream, then died.
The beast lay still, its rancid stink overpowering the warm coppery smell of blood.
Brice turned, just as the second shade launched itself. There was nothing Brice could do to stop it landing on Axe.
There was a sharp crack, and the shade jerked in mid-leap, crashing to the ground. Brice saw Siren by the trees, weapon raised.
But the shot hadn’t killed it. The creature rose, one arm bleeding. Axe, still on the ground, tried to back away. The beast snarled, and Brice knew it wanted blood.
Brice dropped his knife and reached down for the dead shade at his feet. He grabbed both ankles and, with a yell, he swung it. It didn’t reach the other shade, but it went far enough. The live shade turned, and pounced. The beast brought its head down and started to feed.
Brice picked up his knife then pulled one of Axe’s packs off the ground. “I’ll take this one,” he said, slinging it over a shoulder and offering a hand to the man.
“Thanks,” Axe muttered, pulling himself to his feet with Brice’s hand. He gave Brice the slightest of nods before turning and running into the trees.
Siren ran too, catching up with dim figures further in the forest. She yelled for them to get back to the Warren as quickly as possible.
Brice loped behind, keeping up without effort. He still had the stink of death in his nose, still felt warm, sticky blood on his face. And he had to wonder—how safe was the Warren from those grey beasts?
“Another slaughter,” Ryann said as she watched the aftermath of the NeoGen’s attack. Even though night was descending, and much of the detail was in darkness, she could still see the bodies that littered the open space.
“We need to remove all the subjects.”
“More innocent people killed.” Ryann refused to look at him.
“Innocent? Have you already forgotten what I told you about this place?” He seemed genuinely offended.
“You did,” she said, and she took a breath. Maybe she was being too harsh. “But are they so bad that they deserve this?”
“Let me show you.” Murdoch tapped on the screen before him. The image in front of Ryann zoomed in on a fallen figure. Female, her eyes open and unblinking, her neck twisted at an impossible angle. She wore a sleeveless top that showed a snake tattoo stretching round both arms. “This was Aline Mikos. She killed hundreds, removed their organs and ate them.”
He tapped again, and a different image zoomed in on another mutilated corpse. Ryann closed her eyes.
“And this one was Weylin Balis. Last lived on Feronis—harsh weather conditions, popular with extreme sports enthusiasts. His sport of choice was murder and rape. This one,” and now Ryann opened her eyes, saw a third body, “was Kayne Kazan. Possibly not his real name. His fetish was toxins, especially ones that rotted the body from the inside. He’d kidnap children and…I’m sure I don’t need to continue.”
The sweat coating her skin was icy cold, and Ryann shivered.
He waved a hand back at the screen. “So this wasn’t some indiscriminate killing spree. Look on it this way—keeping these individuals incarcerated cost a fortune, in both money and resources. With them dead—a punishment that many would consider they deserved—the money and resources are freed up. That has to be a good thing, doesn’t it?”
Ryann stared at the bodies. She saw the marks on their arms, the wounds from lives of pain, but pain inflicted on others. She saw the hardness in their faces, even in death.
Monsters to fight monsters.
And she nodded.
Her throat was dry as she swallowed, and her skin was clammy. She hated herself for the thoughts that rose.
Murdoch was right. These people deserved their punishment. It was right that they die.
“Instructions?” Occia asked. She sat across from Kesia, in the Proteus’ cabin. It had been configured to provide two benches, slightly higher than normal seats.
Kesia wondered how she knew this, and why the place felt familiar. But she was a pilot—wasn’t that why Murdoch had her fly the Proteus?—and so her knowledge of this craft must come from her previous life.
“Wait,” Enya said. “That is all he says at the moment. Wait for the rabble outside to organise themselves. In the meantime, we develop further strategies.”
“Without more data?”
“I assume that is part of the challenge.” Enya smiled, and Kesia knew her sister relished this. The first attack had been a success, after all. “But we still have our initial brief. Treya, remind us.”
“All physical reminders of previous phases of the project are to be removed, permanently. This is to include both subjects and those who are aware of their existence, barring explicit exceptions.”
Kesia didn’t have to check her own recollections to know that these were Murdoch’s exact words.
“What of resources?” Occia asked. “Do we have an update on the arrival of our sisters?”
“Accessing data.” Enya retreated within herself—Kesia felt the subtle change in her sister’s trace, and knew she was connecting with the system, calling out for those they had left back in the basin.
Data flowed, and Kesia accepted it. She scanned the reports, summarising as she read.
Dia and Ennis were on the far side of the fence, prepared for any eventuality outside. Decla, Peta, Pen and Tess were finishing up in the basin. Records showed another thirty-two subjects removed, and traces of only five yet to be accounted for.
“They have no leads on those tagged?” Kesia said. The data indicated certain individuals that required ‘special treatment’—a term Murdoch had yet to fully explain.
“Worrying. I’ll contact Pen. Give me a moment.”
The private conversation took a matter of seconds, then Enya glanced around the room, shaking her head. “It appears that all three have left the basin. Murdoch had been alerted, and he seems to believe they will be headed this way.”
“Any reason for that?”
“He says we are to trust him. I see no reason to do otherwise. And the remainder in the basin should be removed within the hour. Our sisters will join us t
hen.”
“That is good,” Occia said. “With a greater force, we can complete this mission with greater efficiency.”
“Agreed. And if we develop a strategy, we can be prepared for when they arrive.” Enya leaned back. “So. Thoughts.”
That was the signal for all of them to download their personal strategies. Kesia did so, aware of the flow of data from the others, and she scanned their reports too.
Occia favoured shock and awe, going in with as much force as they could muster. Treya suggested a more targeted approach, using stealth and precision. Kesia believed they needed more data, using reconnaissance to focus on the lairs of both subjects and others.
Enya kept her thoughts hidden, but as the data from the other three flowed, she nodded, and smiled.
“Excellent. Treya, pull up the most detailed plan of the proving ground.”
Kesia’s lenses flashed, and a file appeared. “This is what we have so far,” Treya said. “It has gaps, but not many. If you like, I can recon those areas now.”
“Not yet. Let’s work with what we have. Sisters, explore. Where would our targets be?”
Kesia opened the file, and dove in to the virtual landscape. “I would suggest initially targeting people,” she said.
Enya looked at her with a head-tilt. “Reasoning?”
“They show more intelligence. Remove the trickier targets, and the rest becomes a mopping-up operation.”
“Makes sense,” Enya said. “We’ll go with that.”
“What about this area?” Treya pushed a marker onto the plan. Kesia zoomed in, and saw a small clearing, one side bordered with a cliff. There were many traces—some subjects, but the majority were people. “I’ve marked what I believe to be the only entrance to a small series of caves and tunnels.”
“Promising,” Enya said. “Strategies?”
“Steam in and flatten anything in our paths,” Occia said.
<Two front, two rear.>
<Some tunnels will require single file.>
<Weapons?>
<They’ll have some, so we move fast.>