by T. K. Toppin
“There’s not much we can do about that right now.” John glanced about the room with a scowl.
Simon saw it also. He’d been meaning to deal with it, but it had slipped his mind. There were too many people standing about, shuffling, uncertain, awaiting instructions. Too many civilians.
“Kakuta,” John glanced at the Elite before he and McLinney reached the exit. “Get these people out of here. Anyone not military—out. Escort them to a safe point. Then straight to the Labs.”
“Where did all this blood come from?” Margeaux spoke for the first time, her voice a bit strained and thin. She stood with her Elite escort, her eyes scanning the floor.
Simon turned to face her. Narrowing his eyes, he tried to focus on her through the fug. “Your father’s men. They’re in the storeroom above us if you’d like to pay your respects. Some might still be alive to hear.”
“I think not, thank you. Once my father comes here, you’ll be sorry.”
“I think not.”
“You’re going to die, just like those you killed. My father will see to it.”
“Just shut the fuck up.” Josie marched up to her. “No one wants to hear how superior your daddy is to the rest of us. He’s a twisted, murdering bastard because his genetics have been screwed over, and—”
“Josie,” John warned.
There were too many ears. Simon’s included. What the what? Curiosity tweaked him. What have I missed?
“Sandvik, take your men and wait at the rendezvous,” John continued. “The rest of you, stand guard at the door. No one who’s not supposed to be here is allowed in. Understood? Ox, hold fast.”
“As soon as Grosjean comes, I’ll send her here.” Sandvik gathered his men together. “Good luck.” He inclined his head to John with an odd stiffness, then left. His men fell in behind him.
Simon watched as the room cleared, leaving just John, Josie, Margeaux, Ox, and the bland-featured Elite called Parker. Three Junkies and two droids manned the entrance, the Militia having joined Sandvik. Parker, sensing the sensitive nature of what was to follow, sidled to one side and joined those at the door. But he faced inward, watching the girl.
“Am I missing something here?” Simon asked.
“A great deal.” John moved closer, poked gingerly at Simon’s midsection, sniffing the wound. Simon grunted, then winced as his shirt was rolled up and tucked up around his chest, exposing enough skin that he felt a chill. “I’ll tell you in a minute. Let’s change this dressing, it’s sodden.”
Simon sighed. “You just love to make me suffer. Josie, hold this. Do not let it out of your sight.” He handed her Jane, then reclined as John began cutting away his bandages, shifting his body so his left side was a little raised.
Simon hissed in pain and squeezed his eyes shut. “If it pings,” he nodded toward Jane, “it means Ho has reached the outer doors. We may have the advantage in numbers, but he has Mwenye. I’d rather he didn’t get hurt, even if he is a tight-ass—Ah, careful!” Simon glowered at his friend. “You’ve the delicacy of a bull in a china shop!”
“Let me do it, for fuck’s sake.” Josie pushed John away. “You go deal with what you need to deal with over there.” She waved him away, squatting next to Simon.
“Oh, dear God. Not you,” Simon groaned, rolling his eyes up. “Take me now. Please.”
* * *
The wound was hideous, about two inches wide and gaping, revealing pink muscle tissue. Farther in, it was dark and rank with thick blood and fecal matter. Blood oozed, slow but constant. The outer rim was charred, the skin curling away like a gnarled tree root. The antiseptic skin-sealer had slipped away thanks to too much blood getting under it. I pinched it away and let it drop with a heavy splat to the floor. I looked inside a box of medical supplies; some items were familiar, others not so much.
“You’ll have to talk me through this since you’ve more experience with things like this.” I sprayed my hands with disinfectant and rubbed them together. I took a bracing breath and awaited my instructions.
“Well, then,” Simon grimaced. “I think you’d better deal with the back end first. Because I don’t think I can keep this position for much longer.”
“The back? It’s gone through?” Horror slackened my face. “Jeeeezz…” I couldn’t finish.
Swallowing down a small retch, I nudged him gently so he turned, and gasped. Bile churned in my stomach. The exit wound was twice as large and looked as if it was torn to shreds. If there was any skin there, if it was once part of his back, I couldn’t tell. And a section of intestine poked through, pinky-gray and peppered with clots of blood. Faintness wobbled my vision, but I held fast.
Ignoring the blood and stench, I decided to recount all the events since Simon had left to come to the Yard. My kidnap and how I’d maintained my cool, James the Rogue and his oddness, Iceland, the fight with Ho, the freaky revelations about my past—Ho’s past—everything. Speaking helped to steady my mind and focus it on the task at hand. I paused only to listen to Simon’s instructions. It helped. Soon, the horror before my eyes no longer affected me.
Simon listened with care, absorbing every word as if his life depended on it. He was in a lot of pain, that was plain enough. His face had been set in a grimace for the last half hour, and his body vibrated as he tried to manage the agony by sheer force of will. I knew now what he was going through. I felt it too, but maybe not as amplified. The knife wound in my shoulder ached, but it eased when I was distracted from it. Listening to my tale, Simon breathed a little easier, seemingly managing his pain.
Working as fast as I dared, following Simon’s directions, I sanitized the area once more and sprayed more skin-sealer. He grunted. Then I applied a pressure bandage and wrapped him tightly, trying my best to avoid the injury at the front as I did so. Once his back had been dealt with, I repeated the process at his stomach.
The moment I finished, Simon exhaled with a groan and struggled back to a sitting position. A weak smile crooked his lips as he leaned forward. It seemed keeping a reclined position had hurt him; he looked a little green and was drenched in sweat. He gasped for breath. “I need another patch, that one with the blue on it.” He sounded winded.
I handed him the saline patch with bloodied fingers, surprised at how steady my hands were. If I didn’t know any better, one could have thought I was a veteran combat medic. Even the blood on my hands no longer bothered me. After all, it was Simon.
“Here. These I know.” I offered him two painkillers. He made a face and almost waved them away but caught the look on my face. I couldn’t hide the concern or affection pulsing through me. “I’ll get you some water.”
“No…no. Bad idea.”
“Why? You need them.”
“I’ve a hole in my gut, remember. Use the syringe instead—stick me in the arm. It’ll work faster.”
“Oh, right. You mean I get to stick you?” I tried to sound pleased. When I drew out the syringe, I rotated the barrel and selected the yellow, happy-face icon that meant painkillers, then hesitated. I couldn’t do it. “Simon, I…” Blinking, I glanced up at him. “You’d better do it.”
“Josie, you disappoint me. I thought you’d be first in line for a chance to stick me with a needle. Does this mean you’re in danger of being nice to me?”
Taking the pressure syringe from me, he fumbled it as he placed it over his arm. I watched, gritting my teeth. A two-year-old could’ve pulled the trigger. Simon was weakened to the point where even such a small action had become an effort. The thought of hurting him further tore at my heart. Just watching him struggle with the syringe had me swallowing hard. Finally, he pulled the trigger. It hissed and ejected the solution. With a groan, he slumped back, breaking out in a fresh batch of sweat. A shiver ran through him.
“There, see? You did it much better than I would’ve. You know how bad my aim is.” I shrugged, more to hide the embarrassment. “I might’ve stuck you in your eye. I’ll get you good and proper when you’re up and running
again. Bad sport of me to do it when you’re already down.” Nerves made me laugh. I stopped abruptly and fussed unnecessarily with the bandages.
Simon reached out and patted my arm; his fingers were like icicles. He didn’t actually say it, nor did I expect him to, but it was a good enough substitute for a thank you. I smirked back. What I really wanted to do was wrap my arms around him and comfort him but decided the horror of the act would kill him for sure.
“By the way, you look paler than I probably do,” Simon grinned and flicked his eyes to my shoulder. “Hurt much?”
“My neck’s stiff as a dick.”
“Lovely picture. Thanks.”
“My shoulder aches all the time. I get light-headed now and again, but that’s probably from the space travel.”
“No, it’s not. You just can’t help it. Nothing’s in there, so…”
“Ha-ha. I hurt, I ache, and I’m pissed off. Other than that, I’ve been better.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
I got up and flexed my limbs. Turning, I met Margeaux’s cool stare and unreadable expression.
Beyond her stood John, watching us.
I didn’t doubt Margeaux had heard every single word I’d said to Simon. Something in the girl’s eyes glittered with new knowledge, new understanding.
“Here,” John said, offering a bottle of water, but his eyes were still on the back of Margeaux’s head. “Wash some of the blood off.”
I walked past the girl, took the water bottle, and rinsed my hands as best I could. “It looks really bad, John,” I whispered to him.
“I know.” He stroked my arm in comfort. “You did good.”
“Do you think he’ll make—”
“Shh-shh.” He shook his head to silence me. “Simon’s a strong man. His will to survive is even stronger.”
“He can’t die on us.”
“Death comes to everyone.”
“I know, but still. Simon…”
“You love him just as much as you love me. I know.”
“I do not,” I muttered quickly and spared Simon a look, ignoring the fact that Margeaux still watched me. Simon was steadying himself with deep, controlled breaths, his eyes closed. His entire body trembled. “But he’s grown on me.”
John smiled, then took a small breath as he stared at his friend with an agonized expression. He turned to face me. “I don’t care what he says. You have to escort him to the labs. You know the way. It should take you less than ten minutes.”
“John, that’s madness. Even if Kakuta and McLinney cleared a path, I can’t fend off an army on my own. He can barely raise his arms to hold a fucking syringe—”
“You were ready and willing to free Renna,” John scolded me with a glower.
“Yeah, with a bunch of Elites as backup. But he’s too weak to fight.”
“He will if you’re there. And by being there, you’ll keep him alive—keep him going—long enough for Aline to get to him. Please do this? For me? I need to be here. You know he cares for you more than he cares for himself.”
Flustered, I scrubbed a hand through my hair. “Then Margeaux and Parker are with me. I’m not leaving that girl alone with you. She’s watching you with murder in her eyes.”
“As she was watching you. Still is. You think I’ll let you take her with you? Ho needs to see her.”
“Fine. I’ll give Simon five minutes to catch himself, then make ready.” I sucked in a breath and tried to clear my mind. It didn’t work.
Chaos flooded me with wild thoughts about leaving John alone. Panic, sheer panic, numbed my limbs and my injured shoulder flared with renewed pain. I willed for calm by reminding myself that John probably felt the same way. And neither of us could afford to turn into a puddle of mess at the same time.
“Right. Okay. How is Ox coming along?” I took another steadying breath.
“He’s running into trouble. It’s tricky. Mwenye’s a bloody magician. He may have rigged it so he alone can work it, but Ox is talking about layers and sub-layers.” John shook his head in incomprehension. “I think he’s about to have an orgasm in praise of Mwenye’s genius.”
I craned my neck to stare at the large man hunched over the controls. His head rocked from side to side as he muttered appreciatively over something. It sounded a lot like “wicked” but I couldn’t be sure.
“Any plans for when Ho gets here?” I asked.
“Hold him here for as long as possible until we get reinforcements or find a way to kill him.” John shrugged. “Either way, he will be stopped.”
“You think using Margeaux will loosen his mind up a bit? You think it’ll work?”
“He cares for her. If I’m here to make the threat, he’ll believe it more. He may reconsider, he may not. It’s a risk. But we’ve no other cards. We need to stall, wait for Grosjean to come.”
Jane pinged, making me jump with a yelp.
“Fuck!” I croaked. “Is he here? Already?”
“In position, now.” John had already grabbed my arm and swept me across the room, taking position behind a large console.
Parker had crossed the room in swift strides, gripping Margeaux by the scruff of her neck. We all retreated near to some shelves. Margeaux’s eyes glittered with excitement, her head almost swiveling around with expectancy.
Simon struggled to stand, but teetered. He slumped back down shaking his head. I made a move to help him, but John restrained me. I watched as Simon took a deep breath, dug his heels in, and wheeled himself until he was closer to Ox. He turned to John, and it was like I could read his thoughts. If he was to die, he was going to do it fighting.
* * *
Michael Ho was livid.
Mwenye had tried to run. Twice. Ho had to use brute force to subdue him and got a fist to his face for his pains. Twice. Now, nose bloodied, lip cut, he was in no mood to show civility.
The delays he could live with, but the presence of so many droids disturbed him. He was aware of the two deep-space war cruisers, but they didn’t worry him much. Once he had control over the mainframe, all the droids were his.
And the cloning technology would be his. All his! He would be unstoppable.
But the droids, so many of them, meant someone controlled them from the mainframe. It meant his mercenaries no longer had the upper hand. He cursed. He couldn’t depend on anyone to do anything right!
When he turned the corner and saw the destruction in the anteroom to the mainframe, his heart pounded. No! A split second of hesitation faltered his movements. He tightened his grip on Mwenye, wedging his pulse gun more firmly under the governor’s throat.
Three Junkies at the wrecked entrance barked for Ho to halt. He ignored them. What would they do? Shoot him while he held Mwenye’s life in his hands? Junkies were loyal, but not stupid. If anything, they were stupid because of their loyalty.
Without a word, Ho pressed the pulse gun harder into Mwenye’s throat. He smiled wide, ignoring the sting of pain it caused his split lip. The droids shifted, assessing the situation and running probabilities in nanoseconds. They wouldn’t shoot unless ordered to, nor would they so long as their governor was under direct threat. Droids, dependable as ever…
“You shoot, I shoot,” Ho said in a singsong tone, never once stopping as he picked his way over the wreckage.
“Do as he says,” Mwenye instructed, his voice calm. He sported a bloody nose and his left eye was puffed, squeezing the lid shut. A brilliant bruise was forming.
“I’ve more men behind me. You cannot win.” Ho spared a moment to wonder what kept them. “Stand aside and let me through.”
“Let him pass,” a red-haired man called out from inside the mainframe. “Let’s get this thing over with already.”
“Simon,” Ho beamed back. “What a pleasant—” His eyes darted to John, then to Josie.
They stood together, their stance almost identical. Ready.
“Surprise,” Josie sang. Her krima, already released from its holster, slid into her hand. “I’
m still alive and ready to kick your ass.”
A struggle in the corner to Josie’s left caught Ho’s attention. He froze.
Margeaux wriggled and twisted in an Elite’s grip. The man had a hand clamped over her mouth.
“What is she doing here?” The crack in his composure at seeing his daughter caught him by surprise. It was too late to pretend he didn’t care. Instead, he snarled and aimed his fury at Josie. “You brought her here!” He cackled in laughter. “You think you can work a trade? Don’t be ridiculous!”
“I can play just as nasty as you. After all, we basically come from the same tree, do we not?” Josie smiled, taking a step closer. “Bring her here, Parker.”
Ho darted his attention from Josie to Margeaux. He was shocked, yes. A nugget of fear dropped inside him. It was so sudden, it rattled him to the core. Margeaux was his only daughter. His. But, he reasoned again, she knew the risks, the dangers—she understood. She knew. But still. To see her here, right now, when he’d thought she was safe and secure in the Citadel. It…upset him.
And this wasn’t how the plan was supposed to go!
A setback. A mere setback, he told himself. He stared hard at his daughter. She looked back at him with relief and confusion on her face. And something else. Accusation.
* * *
“What’s the matter, Ho?” I taunted him with a scathing tone, watching him closely. “Afraid?”
“Let her go. She is no longer a player. Her role is done. You should not have brought her here.”
“Oh, it’s touching how you care so much about her, isn’t it?” I flicked my attention to the girl.
Margeaux’s eyes were riveted on her father. Reaching out, I yanked her by the back of her collar and dragged her closer. I wrapped my arm around her skinny neck like we were old buddies, but it was a vice grip, a warning to make sure she knew that to run was useless. The krima, hidden in the folds of clothing and between bodies, was pressed into her spine. One flick of my thumb would engage its laser, immobilizing her in an instant.
