Human
Page 12
She felt the girl still. “And they sent you here?”
Sarrin rubbed a hand across her nose to keep from crying.
The girl deposited her on the bed. Frowning, she looked around, as though checking no one was listening. “Look, just for now, until you’re a bit… taller… I’ll sleep on the top bunk, you take the bottom. Make sure it’s always made, in case there are inspections. I don’t want to get in trouble because I’m helping you out. Understand?”
Sarrin nodded.
“And don’t cry,” said the girl. “No one cries in Evangecore.”
In a flash, Sarrin found herself fumbling with a laz-rifle: The other girls pulled apart and reassembled the laz-rifles easily, but Sarrin couldn’t figure out where to start.
She fought the urge to cry.
A hand reached down and took the gun. The blonde girl — Amy — scanned the group the group before she bent down to Sarrin’s level and pulled the battery pack and then the fuses and ion converters from the rifle, her hands moving slowly so Sarrin could follow.
She handed the weapon back and went back to her own, falling into rhythm with the other girls.
The scene changed again, Sarrin’s breath catching in her throat like a physical blow.
Amelia tugged a comb through her hair while Sarrin clutched a pillow to her chest. Amelia’s own strawberry blonde hair gleamed in the light having been brushed through thoroughly. Sarrin’s was still wet from the shower Amelia had pushed her into, and it hung in dripping clumps around her head. Not the first time, she’d been in Evangecore for nearly a year.
“Sarrin, listen to me. You have to brush your hair. If it’s clumped like this, they’ll see. You don’t want any reason to be singled out.”
No, she didn’t. A shudder passed through her.
Then, they were in the arena:
An explosion blew up dust on the simulated battlefield twenty metres away. Amelia grabbed her and pushed her behind nearby cover.
Sarrin crouched behind the bush and adjusted her too-large helmet and faceplate. Her laz-rifle stuck out from her lap where it was squished between her legs and chest.
Across the scrub, she saw a boy crawling on his hands and knees. Behind them, infiltrating their front line. He looked at her, then squatted back on his feet and held up his laz-gun.
He aimed at Sarrin.
Amelia threw herself into a defensive position on the ground and let off a series of shots with her laz-gun.
The boy crumpled.
Amelia half-dragged, half-threw her until they had reached another cover of scraggly brush and broken down shuttle parts.
“He was going to shoot you,” she yelled. “Gods.” She ran both her hands through her hair before she remembered what she was doing and reclutched her laz-rifle. After a minute, she glanced at Sarrin again. “You shoot first. Got it.”
She nodded, because that’s what Amelia wanted.
“You always shoot first. Act, not react. Okay?”
Sarrin nodded again.
Amelia shook her head once. She was twelve now, taller even than before. “Gods, Sarrin. If anything happened….” She trailed off as she lifted her rifle and let off another series of shots.
Each zap of the laz-rifle sent a shock through Sarrin.
Zing-zing-zing-zing. Until it started to blend together, repeat on repeat. She shut her eyes against it. Hated the sound. Hated seeing the boy fall over and over and over again.
And the zing became a clang. And then a ding. Ding. Ding. Ding! DING!
And then a sound that was not a ding. Loud and clear and solid. Like a branch snapping from a tree in a storm. And a sound that was omega.
Time stopped. Her vision was dark.
Targets surrounded her, one close, reaching for her. It moved fast, almost as fast as the holograms in Evangecore. But she was faster, catching it, and throwing it.
The others scrambled away. Someone was shouting. People were on the roof.
She leaped towards the target, grabbing it with her hands. He grappled with her, strong, fast. Her hands fell into place, twisting automatically, snapping his neck. But he dodged, twisting violently out of her grip, and threw himself over the side of the building.
She turned, more target-points behind her. She saw how they moved, watched them circle around, saw their murderous thoughts. Angry. Afraid. Determined.
She leapt at the two that were closest together, grabbing their throats and throwing them to the ground with what should have been fatal force for any guard or UEC soldier. But they rolled away, scrambling.
A heavy whack came across her arm and back.
She leapt backwards, letting herself fall so she could kick out with her feet.
Where was Amelia? She yelled for her, still half in the dream. If this was the battleground, she would be there. The units always trained together. But this wasn't Evangecore.
The target point fell.
She leapt at him, pushing off the rooftop to propel herself. She slammed her knee into the soft abdomen, preparing to make him omega.
Her ears detected the whistling as another wooden staff came down, aiming for the back of her skull, and she flung herself out of the way. He advanced on her again, quickly, and she pulled the spear, taking it from his hands.
Amelia was dead. She died. She fell in combat. In her mind, Sarrin saw the blonde girl collapse beside her.
The target points turned away, they started to run, fast. They leaped into the air, jumping easily to the nearest building.
She hefted the spear and aimed, loosing it with the power of her entire body. But even as it flew through the air, she knew she had missed.
She never missed.
She prepared to give chase. Once she saw them, they would be omega. That was how they trained her. To fail meant more tests, more training, more torture. To win….
A hand grabbed onto her sleeve.
She heard a shout as she threw him to the side. Anguish.
The dark haze cleared only the slightest fraction.
“-Rrin. Stop.” The boy climbed to his feet again. Blue eyes. Like hers.
“Where is Amelia?” she roared.
He flinched. “Sarrin,” he tried again, his voice shaking.
The name was familiar. She panted, her heart crashing in her chest.
The boy turned behind him, shouting to someone, “I don’t know what to do.”
In the pause, the targets disappeared across uneven rooftops. She could still catch them, still sense them, if it weren’t for his hand on her arm.
She threw him off. A fit of rage took her. “You killed her.” She should crush his windpipe — simple, fast, effective.
His blue eyes blinked. No, one eye. The other was covered. Some bizarre part-skin creature.
“Sarrin. It’s Grant. Stop. Calm down.”
A throaty growl left from somewhere deep inside her, from a monster that was both a part of her and something completely separate.
The boy looked behind him. “I can’t stop her. Kieran’s the only one who can.”
She paused. Kieran?
She looked at the boy again, blinking.
Behind him, a girl crouched by the one who was omega.
The darkness began to clear. “Amelia? Where's Amelia?” Her voice held all the longing wail of the eight year old girl whose only friend lay dead on the battlefield beside her. Simulated or not, Amelia had died that day.
Sarrin shook her head.
No, not omega, not the way the Augment hospital in Evangecore worked. Amelia had returned that night, deposited in the dormitory to bed 7C. But she wasn’t the same. Sarrin tried to comb through the now tangled strawberry blonde, but Amelia told her no. Told her, “They hurt me because I helped you.” Told her, “You have to take care of yourself now. You’re special. You can do it.”
She blinked.
Her heart rate started to slow. Pain seared across her back and her head. The darkness started to clear.
Standing beside her was
Grant, set in a fighting stance, his muscles strung taut. His ugly skin suit with the gaping hole over the eye on full display.
“Where is Amelia?” she whispered, the events of the day rushing up on her. She hesitated to look behind him.
Grant swallowed. “I told you, I didn’t kill her. But….”
Sarrin frowned. “I know.”
“But Sarrin, She’s the UEC Commandant, the hunter. She ambushed us today. She was wearing a UEC uniform.” His face had gone ashen. “It’s my fault.”
Sarrin finally turned her head. Excruciating to hear it aloud.
Luca flinched. Beside her lay Alex, sprawled as though he were sleeping. But Sarrin knew better, knew the life had passed from him: omega. Blood pooled under his head. A broken spear lay next to him on the ground, a similarly sized hole through the back of his head.
This wasn’t Evangecore. There wasn’t a team of doctor’s waiting to resuscitate him. He was omega, truly.
“What happened?” she heard herself ask.
They stared at her.
Gal, huddled against the wall with Rayne, started, “They came for us. No one heard a thing until you started to….”
She willfully ignored the remainder of his sentence. “Who?” she said.
“The Uruhu.”
Her fists clenched. “Why?”
Gal shook his head.
Grant peered over the side of the half wall. “One of them is down there. Moving a little.”
“You’ll have to bring him up here,” said Gal.
Grant frowned.
“They attacked us,” spat Luca. He can rot in the Speakers’ prisons for all I care.”
“If they find him…. They’re not supposed to be there, in the forest. Definitely not in the city.” Gal let the rest sit unfinished.
The bleak first light of early morning was starting to show. The first sun cracked above the horizon.
Grant ran a covered hand over the head of his ugly suit. He jumped over the ledge. A moment later he returned carrying the unconscious warrior over his shoulder.
He dropped him unceremoniously on the ground, Gal coming to examine him.
Sarrin stared at Alex’s body — for it was truly a body and would stay a body. Alex, the boy she had saved in Evangecore. Who had never said anything but thank you. Who had never once said she needed to do anything more than what she had already done for him. Who had helped her in her search for Halud. Reminded her they all needed someone’s help from time to time.
And she hadn’t saved him.
She laid a hand on him, met with nothing but cold.
“Hey,” said Gal, his voice a pitch higher than usual. “Where’s Rayne?”
Sarrin turned. There were only the four of them on the roof.
“Oh no,” said Gal. “Oh no, no, no, no, no.”
* * *
Rayne dropped the last few feet to the alleyway below, not daring to look back to the rooftop as she took off running. Her heart pounded, feet flailing almost uncontrollably. It was too early to be out, the streets were empty, the city still under curfew, but she ran just the same.
A surveillance drone whirred ahead, crossing an intersection and heading along a different path. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if she was caught by a drone — it could only take her picture and move on, but it would be recorded, go on her service. And, most importantly, surveillance drone or not, the Gods would know. The Gods were good, they always provided.
Like they had provided her escape from the roof. That’s how she had known it was time to go. In all the confusion, she’d flung herself over the edge, fleeing the madness, and the fighting, and Alex’s cold, bleeding body. Fleeing Gal.
The morning air snagged in her throat
She kept her eyes fixed on the Speakers’ Tower, a beacon leading her to the central square. Her father’s apartments were in the Speakers’ Compound at the base of the tower.
It took her a moment to recognize the door, having been there only a few times since the compound was built. She’d spent too much time running freight with Gal. With Captain Idim. The cracked, deranged Captain Idim.
What a fool she had been. She should have been a better servant for the Gods.
She would be.
The Augments were good too. The Gods looked after them too, and they could serve the Gods the same as any of the rest of them. The folk needed to know it.
Breathless, she found the door, and pressed her face into the retinal scanner.
The door opened with a soft click and she pushed it open, slipping inside. She leaned back as the door auto-closed and sealed itself. She hadn’t been seen — the Gods were good.
“Hello?” she called out into the dark house. The chronometer on the wall told her it was 0430 — the general would be in his bed, nearly ready to rise for the day.
With no answer, she took a step forward, the automatic sensors clicking on the lights in the main floor. “Hello?” she tried again. “Dad?”
Unusual for the general not to come running, especially to an intrusion into his home.
She ran a hand over the neat cut out window between the entry hall and the living space. A grey statue was the only decoration — something new, something from the Artist Laureate. She stared at it a minute, something unsettling in its rigid cut.
The living area was neatly laid out, the furniture plush, befitting her father’s rank and his close association with the Speakers.
She went through to the kitchens — another perk in his luxury home, he could have food delivered and eaten at home instead of in the cafes with the folk. The table was made of heavy steel, it’s appearance only slightly improved from the tables in the mess hall on the Ishash’tor. She nearly turned away, when a familiar glint caught her eye.
On the table, tucked into the decorative grey bowl, was a book. A long-cherished thing, it’s cover worn and browning from age. She smiled, taking it in her hands. The book -- not actually a book -- was a novelty she’d had as a girl. She opened the cover, revealing the diorama within. A scene of the Gods, each of them set in action. Strength stood, pushing on a heavy boulder, Fortitude beside him. Knowledge spoke to a group of folk who gathered at his feet. Prudence watched Strength and Fortitude, her face cast in concentration. Faith stood at the front of it all, her eyes closed, her face deep in thought but serene, as though she could see the outcome, knew it would all be well in the end.
‘Day 1’ it was called. The previous Artist Laureate had made it for her mother, and her mother had passed it to Rayne on her fifth birthday. Rayne could nearly hear her voice as they stayed up late into the evening, her mother sharing stories of the Gods, of their miracles and their wisdom. The way they worked together. The way they ate and slept and breathed as if they were human, until eventually they forgot what they were, and their stories lived on forever.
A week after her birthday, her mother was found dead. She had been too good. It was the Will of the Gods.
Such pretty things, such things full of vibrant colour were not meant for the hands of a child. The piece belonged in the Speakers’ collection, but her father had kept.
She hugged it tight to her chest.
At the far end of the living quarters, the interior door that led into the corridors of the Speakers’ Compound opened. The general had been working late, then.
She took a silent step into the sitting room. His back was turned as he shed his shoes and jacket, and she called out to him instinctively. “Daddy?”
He turned, startled.
She hadn’t called him Daddy in years. Embarrassed, she dropped her head in acknowledgement. “General,” she addressed him by the proper title.
He took three quick strides forward, stopping just in front of her. His face registered an expression she had never seen before — at least not in real life — his eyes lighting up with joy. “Rayne?”
She smiled. “Yes.”
He stammered, “You’re here? You’re alive?”
She nodded.
She shook her head, ready to laugh in delight. “The Ishash’tor was destroyed in an explosion.” One she had helped cause. But that didn’t matter now. “Daddy, I didn’t want to be a part of anything that happened. The captain — Gal — he’s completely cracked.” He didn’t even flinch at her calling him Daddy. “But, the Augments, they’re not like all the stories say. They’re —.”
He rested a hand on her shoulder, his brown eyes staring into her. “Where are they?”
He heart leaped — she knew he’d want to help. “They’re entrenched on a rooftop. I said I would —.”
But his entire body stiffened, the hand on her shoulder suddenly rigid. “They’re here? In the city?” His eyes darted to the door and his recently hung uniform jacket.
“Yes. Daddy, I —.” She gripped his wrist, but he jerked it away.
“I have to go.”
“Wait!”
He pulled the jacket on over his shoulders, reaching for the door. “Rayne, stay here.”
She rushed after him, but her toes stopped at the line between his apartment and the corridor. “Where are you going?”
“There’s a lot going on right now, Raynie.”
“I have to talk to the Speakers.”
“Stay here.” He lifted his hand, and she responded to the military signal immediately, freezing in place. “Just… don’t leave,” he said. "Not until I've sorted it." The door shut behind him, closing right in front of her face.
She blew out a shaking breath. But if he said he would sort it out, he would. No doubt, he was letting the Speakers know about her return, clearing her name in front of the Gods.
She found the diorama, sitting with it on the couch, and like Faith, she knew that everything would be okay.
ELEVEN
“YOU SHOULD HAVE TOLD HER everything,” said Aaron.
Gal braced against the half-wall, staring at the deserted streets. “I know.”
“Now, who knows what she’ll say to him.”
There was no doubt that Rayne would find the general. But would she tell him everything? Where they were? Would she lead him here, to the roof?