Shadowstrike

by T W Iain

  “Of course.”

  Ryann felt the NeoGen move behind her, close enough to catch the scent of freshly-laundered clothing.

  <‍Don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.‍> The suss came tight to Ryann, and she straightened up.

  <‍Thanks.‍>

  <‍You might want to stand with your legs slightly further apart, though. I know what Enya’s piloting’s like.‍>

  Ryann fought hard to keep the smile from her face.

  “What ‘problem’?” Siren pushed her face toward Piran.

  “They’ve added a layer of security. I can see the old system behind it, but if I try to breach I’ll trigger this new layer.” He shrugged. “Don’t know what I can do about it.”

  “So you’re saying we can’t get in?”

  Piran’s throat bobbed. “Not at the moment. I’ll keep working on it, but‌…‌I can’t promise anything.”

  Deva saw Siren’s left hand hardened into a fist. The veins in her neck grew fat and dark.

  “That is not acceptable,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “I‌…‌I’m working on it.” Piran’s words choked off in a whine.

  “Then work on it faster! You can’t get me in this craft, you’re no use to me.” She brought her Preben up, just to emphasise her point, then spun to the nose of the craft. “Soldier! Any signs of the ghouls coming back?”

  “Nothing.”

  Siren turned back to Piran. “Get it open. I don’t care how.” Then she stormed off, to where Soldier stood.

  Piran tapped away, muttering to himself. There was an oily film of sweat across his forehead.

  Deva approached. “No joy?”

  He shook his head. “Might be able to circumvent, but not any time soon.”

  Deva put a hand on his shoulder. The action surprised her, but it felt right. Maybe Piran wasn’t the easiest to get along with, and there was always tension between mechs and techs. But they were both in this together. She didn’t want to see Siren riled any more than he did.

  His fingers blurred on the screen, and Deva looked away, scanning the hull of the Proteus. Despite its obvious refit, there were damage marks. Whoever had piloted this in had skimmed too close to the trees.

  Her eyes settled on the new panel by the hatch. The fixings still held slithers of their covering gel. It was rare to see that on a craft that had been active‌—‌normally, any gel that wasn’t washed off through flying came away when the panel was removed for maintenance.

  An idea started to form.

  “Piran,” she said slowly, “what’s this extra layer stopping you doing? How’s it working with the rest of the system?”

  He looked at her, eyes narrowing. “Didn’t think you were into tech?”

  “Just humour me. In words I might understand.”

  He breathed out, either a snort or a laugh. Then he shrugged. “Okay. It’s like a sensor. It covers the normal system, and detects any attempt to infiltrate. There should be a back-door somewhere, but I can’t find it‌—‌and I don’t want to push too hard, because even that might trigger an alarm.”

  “Is it only looking for hacks?”

  Piran’s brow furrowed. “Don’t get you.”

  “Is it only virtual, or would a physical breach trigger it?”

  “Oh, right. Far as I can tell, just a hack. Why?”

  “I might have an idea.”

  The screwdriver was already in her hand, and Deva reached out, running a hand over the fixings.

  “Didn’t you hear me?” Piran reached out, like he was going to grab her arm. “You go attacking this thing, it senses you.”

  And she wondered what sensors the Proteus already had running. There were always some operating, even on standby. And any information would surely be relayed to the ghouls.

  This mission was ridiculous. Maybe Siren believed they’d be inside, with total control of the Proteus, before the ghouls returned. But who was she kidding? This would never work.

  But Deva could still get everyone inside the craft. She could do that much.

  She turned to Piran and grinned. “There’s always a way round. In maintenance, you wouldn’t believe the number of things we had to do behind the system’s back.” She waved her screwdriver. “That’s why we have sanctioned tools. The craft recognises the code on this, and lets it work unhindered, like it sees it as a friend. It won’t trigger an alarm.”

  “This true?” Siren grabbed Piran’s shoulder, pulling him round to face her. “She can get the hatch open?”

  Piran nodded, glancing at Deva. She waved the screwdriver again, and his mouth curled into a smile. “Sounds good,” he said. Then, with a glance at Siren that wiped the smile from his face. “And I’ll monitor. Any hint of things going wrong, I’ll tell her to stop.”

  Siren breathed in, through her nose. But it was still loud.

  “Fine. But trigger that alarm, and you’ll be first to face the ghouls when they come back. Don’t disappoint me.” Siren released Piran, and spun to face Deva. “Well? Get to work.”

  Deva did.

  The panel came free easily, and Deva crawled into the cramped space beyond. If she had a grapple and all the attachments, she could work from outside. But she only had the screwdriver. She needed to reach the hatch release manually.

  That meant a few contortions. Deva rotated her shoulders, wincing as they rubbed against metal, then pulled her arm back. Her muscles complained, but she continued, stretching her fingers. The mechanism must be there somewhere. Maybe a fraction to the left. Maybe if she shuffled her body round a fraction and‌…‌yes‌…‌pushed with a boot to give herself a touch more reach.

  This would be so much easier from inside the Proteus. There, the mechanism was a simple cog, just behind the emergency panel‌—‌and the panel itself could be snapped off. It had to be that way‌—‌this was an emergency over-ride, for those rare occasions when power died totally.

  It was never designed as a way to open the hatch from outside. But Deva knew she could do this. If she could only reach.

  She cursed as her shoulder rubbed against a sharp edge, but with one more push her fingers touched a cold, small ratchet bolt.

  Deva curled her fingers over the metal and twisted. With a creak, the bolt turned. Only a quarter turn, but it was a start.

  She adjusted her hand, gripped again, and rotated her wrist. Half a turn this time.

  Another shift of position, another half-turn, and Deva felt a rush of air. She heard voices from outside, excited and surprised.

  Rotation by tiny rotation, Deva opened the hatch.

  Keelin was right about Enya’s piloting.

  Ryann felt every move of the Hermes. When they took off, the craft whined loudly, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from Keelin. Things weren’t much better in the air. Instead of the smooth curves Keelin would take, Enya threw the poor Hermes from one side to the other. Even Murdoch supported himself against the desk a few times. He shook his head, and muttered.

  But he also watched the screens. The images brought a smile to his face, but they made Ryann’s stomach turn.

  The NeoGens must have planted sensors around the forest, because many of the images were from neither the creatures themselves nor the craft. The images were from slightly above eye-level. Many showed trees and not much more, but some showed action, and Murdoch flicked through them continuously.

  People marched through the trees, but there was nothing regimented about them. They carried weapons both old and new, and wore mismatched clothing and hard expressions. Many had scars or open wounds.

  One of the screens on the wall showed a map, and as Murdoch tapped dots appeared. It was clear to Ryann that the dots were these moving groups. And they were all in the area he had previously highlighted.

  He turned to her, hand on his chin. “Tell me, Harris. What do you make of all this?”

  She shrugged. “They’re congregating?”

  “But why?”

  She shook her head. It wasn’t
any concern of hers.

  “I’m not sure either,” Murdoch continued. “But it’s not something I can allow. It needs stopping.” He tapped, and a couple of the screens changed.

  The new images were from the NeoGens. They ran through the forest, trees blurring past them. And on the map, six dots sped toward the highlighted area. As they grew closer, they spread out.

  “And now we see once more how exquisitely my girls work.”

  But Ryann didn’t see. The images moved too fast, and all she caught was blood and pain. On the map, dots danced. Some stayed motionless, many faded.

  Murdoch tapped, bringing up lens feeds from his girls, and now Ryann saw faces etched in terror. She saw people being cut down, washed in crimson. She saw the forest tremble.

  Another slaughter.

  Murdoch smiled. He rubbed his hands together. He grunted, and at times he shouted out.

  “I hope you’re paying attention, Harris,” he said, keeping his back to her, his eyes fixed on the screens. “See how they’re taking the stragglers first, always going for the ones at the back? That way, they don’t have to face their enemy, and the enemy are never sure what is happening. And here, when these idiots open fire‌—‌they’re shooting at anything that moves. They’re doing the work for my girls.”

  He talked on. Ryann watched the screens, unable to turn her head.

  <‍Do they enjoy this, Keelin?‍>

  <‍That word has no meaning for us‌…‌for them. They carry out instructions. That is all.‍>

  <‍Don’t they realise that they’re killing people?‍>

  <‍Of course. But they don’t know these people.‍> Keelin was silent for a moment. Ryann heard her swallow. <‍There is no emotional attachment. It’s hard to explain.‍>

  The dots on the map thinned, and many of the feeds showed the aftermath of the bloodshed. Murdoch tapped again, and one of the screens changed, showing the drop zone. This view was from one of the craft, and it showed more people.

  “And now we see the reason for that congregation,” he said, a triumphant note in his voice.

  Ryann watched as familiar faces approached the Proteus. They stopped by the hatch, and Piran disappeared out of view, at the bottom of the screen. He had a screen himself, a small hand-held one, and Ryann knew he was trying to break in.

  It felt like good news. But she hid her smile.

  Murdoch didn’t smile either. He scowled. Especially when the girl disappeared with Piran, and then they all followed shortly after.

  He tapped, and one screen filled with an image of a hard-looking woman, with data scrolling to the side. It was too fast for Ryann to read, but Murdoch nodded. It must have been running through his lattice too.

  “Smart.” He jabbed a finger at the woman on the screen. “If she wasn’t such a sociopathic killer, she could do very well for herself. You see what she’s done? All that killing was nothing more than a diversion. Imagine‌—‌sacrificing all those lives to keep yourself alive.” He shrugged, with a smile. “Of course, it’s not going to work.” And he waved a hand at the map.

  Six dots converged, then formed a line. The line snaked away from the highlighted area.

  Ryann extrapolated the route they were taking, even though she already knew the NeoGens were running back to the drop zone.

  And Piran and Eljin were with the Proteus. Murdoch had another sensor feed up, from inside the craft. Ryann saw the two men, crouched over Piran’s screen.

  “Not a bad idea‌—‌steal a craft and fly out. Dodge the NeoGens and escape across the fence. That is,” and Murdoch grinned, “if they can initiate the Proteus’ flight controls.” He raised his eyebrows and cocked his head, as if he were waiting for something from Ryann. Or waiting for her to understand.

  It didn’t take her long.

  <‍They’re not going to be able to take off, are they?‍> She didn’t want to hear Murdoch gloat, but she needed to know for sure.

  <‍There’s extra security. Unless they can come up with a very sophisticated workaround, no.‍>

  <‍Then they’re trapped.‍>

  The words were more to herself than to Keelin, and her friend didn’t answer.

  Ryann looked at the dots moving on the map, judged how far they had left to go, how long it would take them.

  It wasn’t long. And if Piran and Eljin didn’t get that thing moving, or get out, soon, they were dead.

  Ryann took a breath, and focused on the Hermes’ system. She called up the routines Piran had shown her, the ones she’d used before, when she’d found the footage of the crate. It was easier second time round, and she piggy-backed the system, connecting it to her lattice.

  She ran through menus and subroutines, searching. And, after a few minutes, she found it.

  Proteus 1, bridge speaker system.

  She logged on to that particular system, and yelled through her lattice.

  <‍Piran! Eljin! It’s a trap. The NeoGens are returning. You’ve got to get out of there.‍>

  On the feed, both Piran and Eljin looked up, then to one another. They mouthed a word. Possibly her name.

  <‍I can’t do anything to stop them. Just get out. Before they come back.‍>

  They started to move, but a figure appeared at the door, the woman Murdoch admired. She held a weapon, and she shook her head.

  And in front of Ryann, Murdoch turned.

  Her blood chilled as a thin smile crossed his face.

  Brice watched his friends enter the hatch, then close it behind themselves.

  He’d climbed a tree long before they arrived, positioned himself so that he could look over the crate to the two craft. He’d seen a couple of ghouls return to the craft, and he’d seen six head away. None of them had turned back to the hatches, even before they closed. He’d seen‌—‌and heard‌—‌Deva check if the craft were empty.

  And something felt very wrong.

  There were four ghouls in the original Proteus. It didn’t make sense that the second only had a crew of two.

  A lone cloud drifted across the sun, and Brice’s eyes focused on the coldness of the crate. It looked out of place, a malevolent obelisk. But it was only a metal crate. Brice had seen many containers like it.

  Just as he’d seen the insides of many Proteuses.

  The ghouls were connected to Kaiahive, and the company was not stupid. It made no sense to leave craft unguarded.

  Disjointed thoughts, but he knew there was a connection.

  Brice closed his eyes and concentrated.

  The traces were vivid, a spider’s web of interconnected lines running around the craft, each one different. The traces were those of ghouls, although a few shades had ventured closer. Further off, he sensed the echoes of more shades, and people, faint enough that they were not a concern. Not like the activity around the craft.

  He counted. There were six individual lines leading across the clearing and into the trees at the far end. He’d watched those ghouls. But there were two other traces, older by only a short while, and they headed in a different direction.

  With his heart hammering, and his senses on full alert, Brice climbed down from the tree branch and headed out to meet these two traces.

  No. To reach the point at which they disappeared.

  He walked fast, the grass brushing against his lower legs. He could no longer see the two craft, and the crate grew larger as he approached.

  The crate‌—‌the place where the traces faded.

  Brice put a hand against the cold metal, and he closed his eyes. He pushed with his mind, seeking anything he could find, trying as hard as he could to push through the metal itself.

  And maybe there was something.

  The traces around him‌—‌human, shade and ghoul‌—‌were vibrant, like thick multi-hued strands knotting themselves tight. But there was another trace, almost like an echo, like the sound in the dark that you’re not even sure was real.

  He concentrated, focusing in on the phantom trace, pushing everything
else to one side.

  Not one trace, but two.

  Two ghouls, in the crate.

  Brice swallowed.

  A ladder ran up the side of the crate.

  Brice grasped the cold rungs and started to climb.

  Keelin burnt with a fever. Inside, she was fractured, two halves of her mind at war.

  She’d killed her commander, but he wanted to die, and he wasn’t her new commander. She watched her sisters slaughter like the machines they were, and she was equally attracted and repelled by their actions. She knew she must obey Murdoch whatever he said, but she also wanted to crush the life from his body.

  Her head pounded.

  On the screen, she saw the group approach the Proteus, and that triggered memories too. Faces she knew, people she had worked with. Names rose‌—‌Piran Remis, Eljin Galanis. One a tech expert, the other a pilot. Like her. They’d escaped Haven when she flew the Hermes up to Metis. And they’d been with her in quarantine, before Kaiahive took her.

  More memories rose, dark and disjointed but also vivid and intimate.

  She saw a room, felt webbing tight against her wrists and ankles. She was on her back, the light from above blinding. The stink of antiseptic assaulted her, mixed with something else, something bitter. She heard voices, but could not make out words.

  She was not alone. She couldn’t move her head, but she turned her eyes, saw someone else on a cot beside her, strapped down. Keelin recognised the face.

  Ronat. It had to be. Because‌—‌yes‌—‌they had walked together, along a grey corridor that echoed with each footstep. There were guards, then a man in a labcoat who told them to relax, and that this was going to be wonderful.

  And there was pain.

  It started at the top of her left arm, a coldness that should have numbed her. But instead it heightened her senses, enveloping her in a crescendo of agony. She cried out, and Ronat echoed that cry.

  The agony must have stopped at some point, but she couldn’t recall when. Memories faded, only to come back when she was Kesia. Being tested, being ordered to fight and to kill. And then she was taken to the Hermes, along with the others.