Trinity

by Patrick Morgan

  Megan saw the creature rotate its left forearm, as if offering up the vein of the wrist. As it did so, two long blades extended from the posterior flank behind the clenched fist, catching the light and reflecting it with the iridescent sheen of oil on water. The sight of the blades galvanised Megan and, with no conscious thought, she threw herself into the darkness to her left. As a diversion, she slung off her rucksack in a single, smooth motion and hurled it behind her.

  Seeing a wide beam running down from an old cast-iron tank, she sprinted towards it and charged upwards. In front of her was a gantry, a crane of some sort for loading the locomotives. She scaled it, forcing her movements to be deliberate and slower than was natural. Reaching a platform, she ventured a look back. The creature was still at ground level, seemingly scanning around, apparently looking for Olson. She could see him crouched between the platform and the engine he had so admired earlier. The creature was now very close to him. It seemed to be sniffing the air, swaying as if trying to catch a scent and inexorably zeroing in. Olson, from his position below it, could not know how close it was.

  Forcing her mind to calm, she tried to assess why the creature had not followed her. It was as if it were setting the scene, making sure it knew where both its targets were before deciding in what order to pick them off. With a sickening feeling, it dawned on her that the chances of them both surviving was essentially zero, but there was a possibility one of them might make it back to Pegasus 3 if the other could create an effective distraction. Instinct took control of Megan, pushing back the terror to bury the little girl that wanted to hide. She filled her lungs with stifling, dust-laden air and called out as loudly as she could.

  ‘Up here! I’m up here!’

  The creature’s head snapped around and it bolted for the base of the structure, bounding across from one platform to the next with sickening agility. It began to climb the metal framework towards her as she saw Olson move and she hoped he guessed her intentions. She felt, rather than heard, a reverberation from below and guessed she had only a few moments to react. In the unreality of the situation she found a clarity. A phrase she had heard long ago came back to her, from where she had not the faintest idea. ‘People always panic upward. If you want to survive, you need to do something different.’

  She looked below her and saw a pile of debris, loose wood supports that might break her fall. It was a chance, if only a slim one. She made the decision just in time, throwing herself over the edge of the platform as the creature reached it. The sensation of falling ended in a crash of old, dry wood that gave way and splintered.

  Expecting to be set upon a moment later, she looked up to see the figure standing high on the platform above, clearly distracted. From somewhere in the distance, Olson was shouting. Looking back around her for a means of escape, she saw a series of old mesh gratings set into the floor off to her right. One lay discarded to the side just a few metres from her, leaving an opening to the crawlspace below.

  She plunged at the hole with an inelegant stumble. Finding the space below barely ample, she began to drag herself forward on knees and elbows. Fighting back pain from the fall, she heard the creature land somewhere off to her left.

  Not a moment later, the screech of metal, as twin blades stabbed down through a grate behind her, brought a fresh panic to the fore. With a twisting motion the creature raised the section and tossed it aside. Possessed of a relentless speed, it systematically followed her, ripping up each grate in sequence.

  She was sobbing, waves of nausea crashing over her as she willed herself forward. She knew it was over when the blades stabbed down within centimetres of her face. They paused for a moment, long enough for her to take a last appreciation of her dirty, sweat-covered hands. With the heel of her palm she pushed back a matted clump of her once-blonde hair, now reduced to a stinking, grit-infused mess.

  With a deft flick, the creature flung away the last of her cover. It stood motionless for what seemed like an eternity, before squatting down to regard her curiously. Distantly she heard Olson again but couldn’t make out the words. They didn’t matter now. She felt sick emptiness mix with a resigned defiance and, against her every instinct, pushed herself up to face her end.

  Before she was upright a powerful grip took the back of her neck as the creature lifted her out of the pit. The grip eased for just a moment before it threw her back against a wooden pillar. She crumpled to her knees as the twin blades drove with sickening force into the beam to either side of her neck, pinning her in place. The creature was squatting again, its smooth, blank face level with hers. It drew in, cocking its head to the side in a gesture dripping with intent and menace. Megan tried to turn away and felt a stinging heat as the blade’s edge cut into the muscle at the base of her neck. She screwed her eyes shut and mustered every last remaining fibre of being she had for one last act.

  ‘Tyler, get out of here. Forget Kittala. Just get out of here.’

  Nothing happened. She ventured a terrified look at the creature, which was looking around, regarding its surroundings curiously. It brought its attention back to her and, to her utter astonishment, it spoke in a melancholy, slightly distorted rasp.

  ‘You are looking for Benjamin Kittala?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Megan, in terrified confusion.

  ‘Then I would say that you’ve found him. Mine is not a name many of your people would know.’

  She felt the blades jerk from the wood and slide back past her neck before she collapsed in a heap. She saw the blades glint, then disappear; they didn’t so much retract as disassemble themselves or dematerialise. It happened so fast Megan couldn’t tell if she was making sense of what her eyes were telling her. She looked up at the towering figure above her. To her amazement it offered her a hand.

  ‘What the hell?’ she said, looking up in disbelief.

  ‘You can come out, you’re safe,’ called the figure over its shoulder. Despite its metallic ring it reminded Megan of Jean-Louis’ accented speech.

  With trepidation, Megan took the hand that was still thrust out to her. It was undoubtedly synthetic, a plated armour of some sort. The feel of it was of a strong material that had just a little give to it.

  ‘I’m sorry I frightened you. I thought you were looters,’ the figure said.

  Megan got to her feet. Her ears were ringing and she felt generally dizzy. From the far shadows she saw Olson cautiously approaching. He was as dirty as she was, and equally wide-eyed.

  ‘Come, you’re safe. I’m Benjamin Kittala. You were looking for me?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Olson, but sounded unsure.

  ‘Fine. If you knew I was here, I am to assume you are friends?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Olson again.

  ‘Your vehicle is outside?’ He addressed this question to Megan.

  ‘Yes,’ she said shakily.

  ‘Good. Mine also. We should leave this place if we are to talk. I have a camp three miles south of here. You follow me, and we talk there?’

  ‘Okay,’ said Megan, looking to Olson, who nodded his agreement. ‘How far is, what did you say, three miles? I don’t know what that means.’

  ‘Ahh,’ said Kittala, as if enlightened. ‘About five kilometres to you.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Megan absently.

  ‘Then follow,’ he said and turned towards the bright light of the entrance. Dazed, Megan found her rucksack, frowned in astonishment at Olson and followed.

  *

  Outside, the armoured figure of Benjamin Kittala made his way towards Pegasus 3, which sat as they had left it, about thirty metres away. Kittala bent his huge frame to peer underneath the chassis, then walked around to the rear, where the tailgate remained open. Following him around they found him performing a cursory inspection of the inside of the vehicle. Seemingly satisfied, he made his way back out, ducking his head through the opening as he did so.

  ‘Can’t be too careful,’ he said in an offhand manner. Looking to his left he added, ‘I’ll meet you at the southernm
ost corner of the city.’ And with that he turned and jogged off at a casual speed that would have put the fastest sprinters of Skala to shame.

  Megan and Olson exchanged glances before moving to the cockpit. Olson began the ignition process and felt a pang of comfort as the familiar whine of the turbine reached his ears. Staring blankly ahead of her, Megan once again caught sight of the errant leaf stuck to the windshield. With a compulsion she didn’t quite understand, she bolted back out of the rear of the vehicle and dislodged it carefully. Returning, and fumbling the lone piece of foliage between the pages of a field journal inside her rucksack, she heard the ramp clang shut behind.

  Within a few moments they were moving, turning southwards in the direction Kittala had been heading. They skirted the outer wall of Kul for a couple of turns before they saw him sitting astride a purposeful-looking hydrocycle. On seeing them, he spun the rear wheel and turned the bike on its axis to accelerate away as Olson throttled up to follow.

  They drove in frantic pursuit as the plume of dust that followed Kittala turned to the right and disappeared. Throttling back, Olson saw the unmistakable form pulling up outside an outcropping of rock. The figure dismounted and indicated for them to stop outside the mouth of a cave eroded into the rock face. Olson did so and cut the turbine before lowering the tail ramp.

  The cave was dark and surprisingly cool compared to the arid heat outside. Olson and Megan followed the hulking figure inside, both still unsure of their host, who bent down and, as if by sleight of hand, lit a small fire. Given the ambient temperature it was a baffling thing to do, but before either could express concern, Kittala placed a tubular structure around thirty centimetres tall atop the flames. Almost immediately the temperature around them began to drop to a tolerable level.

  For a few moments, Megan and Olson stood in an uncomfortable silence. Megan reached up to her neck, which still stung from the cut. She ran a finger over it, finding that the damage was minimal. Satisfied with his fire and the refrigerant device atop it, Kittala turned back to regard his guests.

  ‘We thought you were the monster,’ said Megan, hesitantly.

  ‘I’m not,’ said Kittala, who raised his hands to his neck and began unhooking something below the flowing braids of hair. The faint hiss of slowly escaping gas passed within a few moments.

  ‘Then why the suit?’ asked Olson, with a jocularity he didn’t quite feel.

  ‘I hunt the monster. Don’t want to get infected.’

  Megan and Olson exchanged astonished glances. The possibility that a monster really existed in Kul took a moment to sink in. Looking back, they saw Kittala slide his hands across his faceplate and pull forward. It came away easily and he took a deep breath before turning to assess them with his own eyes.

  Like the inhabitants of Buni Sound, he was dark-skinned but his features were fuller, as if better nourished, which he probably was. His face was purposeful but not unkind, though his stare was intense. He turned to stow his faceplate on a rack designed for the purpose, and as he did so Megan saw that he wore a sort of neck support that ran high up behind his head. The braided hair was not part of the suit. It was his own, channelled up through an orifice formed at the joint of the neck support and faceplate. Reaching for his neck he removed the support, which allowed his hair to fall down across his shoulders in a manner that made him suddenly far less intimidating.

  ‘Sit,’ he said simply, the synthesised quality of his voice replaced by a more natural tone. He gestured to a pair of plastic carry boxes and settled himself on a third.

  ‘You came to Kul looking for me?’ he asked Megan.

  ‘We were sent by the Shaman of Buni Sound in Skala,’ she said, not at all sure of herself.

  Kittala gave a short laugh. ‘That old wizard’s still alive then.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Megan, who didn’t recognise the word wizard but went along with it all the same. ‘Are you Hadje too?’

  Kittala seemed to consider this question for a moment. ‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘But for now let’s say yes, I am Hadje of a sort.’

  ‘The Shaman suggested you could help us,’ said Olson, with that confidence Megan had heard in the Siphon.

  ‘Did he? And what would I be helping you with?’

  ‘We need to get to Tsarocca.’

  Kittala frowned. ‘Do you, indeed? And why is that?’

  ‘Have you heard of the Intercessor Drive Cores in Skala?’ asked Megan.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘One of them has been stolen. We are trying to recover it, but…’ Megan stumbled a little, wondering how to explain.

  ‘There is a concern,’ said Olson chipping in, ‘that there is more at stake than we might understand. The Shaman suggested as much, but was cryptic to say the least.’

  At this, Kittala regarded them with a hard stare, but said nothing.

  ‘He suggested there’s a bigger picture, a history that we know little about. By travelling to Tsarocca we might learn for ourselves. Why us, Megan and me that is, I don’t know.’

  Kittala considered this for a while before giving a curt nod. ‘If the Shaman thinks it is required, then who am I to judge his wisdom? I will take you to Tsarocca, but I warn you now, it is a perilous journey.’

  ‘We’re getting used to perilous,’ said Olson with a smile. It was the first time he’d looked that way for some time and Megan felt reassured by it. To her surprise, Kittala reciprocated.

  ‘Then it is agreed,’ said the huge man. ‘We will eat now, and sleep. Then we begin.’ He paused a moment before enquiring of Olson, ‘Now I know Miss Megan, but you are..?’

  ‘Tyler Olson,’ said Olson, who thought he saw the faintest flicker of recognition in the man’s eyes.

  Megan and Olson retrieved food packs from Pegasus 3, while Kittala prepared a stew of a sort neither of them recognised. Its aroma filled the cave and for a few turns they ate in silence. Megan felt a calm come over her, a feeling that was growing familiar. She sat for a moment in silence, looking between the two men as the firelight flickered across their features. They seemed to see something in each other that she couldn’t quite identify, a mutual respect between two people who recognised each other for what they were. Whatever it was, she felt at ease in their company. Feeling a little braver, she asked a question for herself.

  ‘So, there is a monster in Kul?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Kittala. ‘A hybrid. We are not sure what they are exactly.’

  ‘They?’

  ‘At one time there were at least five of them, but I believe there is only one remaining.’

  ‘What are they like?’

  ‘They’re big, taller than I am, very strong and extremely vicious. They look a little like a human but have a thick, tough skin, as black as coal. We think they were created, not a natural occurrence. Many years ago my people found a laboratory high up in the mountains north of here. We think the first of their species was birthed from there.’

  ‘But there is only one now?’ asked Megan, who was still grappling with the alien way the Hadje measured time.

  ‘For now, yes,’ said Kittala. ‘We take turns to hunt them, to stop them from breeding. I killed the last male about fourteen months ago, but there is still a female. I have been searching for her for many weeks, but she has gone into hiding somewhere deep in the sewers. That means either she’s hurt or she’s pregnant.’

  ‘Pregnant?’ said Megan, horrified.

  ‘They have an unusually long gestation period, nearly three years. It is very plausible she is carrying offspring. If that offspring is male there is a possibility she can breed again.’

  Megan pulled a face of disgust at this prospect and Kittala laughed.

  ‘I think if your species were on the point of extinction you would find society’s taboos a little less important.’ He seemed to be about to elaborate on this, but apparently decided not to.

  ‘And this female lives in the sewers?’ asked Olson.

  ‘I believe that is where she is hiding, deep i
n the darkness where she feels safe. I have travelled in that darkness, searching for the creature, but so far I have not located its nest.’

  Again, Megan grimaced at the thought of a nest. ‘You said something about infection earlier.’

  ‘Yes, the creature harbours a potent biological disease, an elegant defence mechanism. More than one of my predecessors succumbed to infection, a fate I do not intend to emulate.’

  ‘But we’re safe here?’ she asked, suddenly aware of the lack of protection within the cave.

  ‘The creatures have never left the confines of Kul,’ said Kittala firmly. ‘That is not to say their pattern will never change, particularly now the last female is vulnerable. She might try anything. But I think it unlikely she would leave, or find us here. The danger is your kind entering Kul and providing her with the food source she so desperately needs.’

  ‘Is that why you attacked us?’ asked Megan

  ‘Exactly. If she were to find you, months of effort starving her would have been undone.’

  ‘You would have killed us instead?’

  ‘No, no. But I think you would not have returned to Kul after you survived. Am I correct?’

  ‘I think that’s fair to say,’ said Olson with a smile.

  Seeing lingering discomfort on Megan’s face, Kittala unclipped an ornate-looking rod from his left thigh and handed it to her.

  ‘Here, take this if it would make you feel safer.’

  Megan reached over and took the object, which resembled the blade-less haft of a sword. It was remarkably heavy and felt unwieldy as a weapon. She studied it intently, turning it over in her hand.

  ‘It keys off nerve impulses,’ said Kittala. ‘Squeeze it with intent.’

  Puzzled, Megan tried this, shaking it nervously and not knowing what to expect. After nothing happened she looked up, confused.

  ‘Try again, but imagine the blade extending,’