Ruin's Wake

by Patrick Edwards

  He held up the pistol, his face quizzical. Impatiently, like swatting an insect, he cranked the action back. There was a grating sound from the mechanism.

  Kelbee watched the scene as if separated from herself, rooted to the spot as he took aim again. Another dead click. She felt the burn in her lungs, the cold floor under her palms, the heaviness of her limbs. She tried to rise.

  He threw the gun at her. It caught her on the side of the head and knocked her down, ringing her skull like a bell. She bounced off the counter and onto the floor, bringing with her a rain of jars and utensils. For a moment there was only blind panic as she thought of the child, the fragile thing she carried, if it had been hurt. She curled up, protecting it with her own flesh.

  He was there, standing by the counter island and looking down at her as if he’d never seen her before, his head cocked and his eyes full of chilling curiosity.

  ‘How long?’ he asked.

  ‘Sir, I—’

  ‘How long have you been rutting with another?’

  ‘Seregad, it’s not… Please, don’t. The baby…’

  ‘Not mine,’ he said, as if discussing the weather. ‘The tests were conclusive. You’ve whored yourself.’ He made eye contact. ‘Don’t you dare use my name.’

  A fresh wave of terror hit her, the calm in his voice somehow worse than rage. He watched her like a specimen.

  His movement was sudden – one moment he was staring down at her, the next he had her by the throat, crushing her chest with his knee. His fingers were like sprung steel on her windpipe, pressing tighter. She tried to bat him away but he was so strong.

  ‘I’ll find him,’ he said. His eyes were so red! Had he been crying? ‘I’ll kill him. You will be forgotten.’ He pushed down harder, ignoring her hands batting at his face. This time, his voice caught in his throat. ‘I… I thought we could be happy.’

  All that was left in the world was the hand at her throat, stopping her breath as the edges of her vision blurred, then nothing mattered any more. There was something like bliss, a moment of acceptance – this was it, she was going to die. It was over; no more running, hiding, crying. No more struggle.

  She felt something familiar, a thin wooden handle her fingers knew so well.

  Leave it, said the little voice. Leave it all behind.

  No.

  With her last strength she stabbed the filleting knife into the side of his neck. Blood covered her face; it tasted like metal. He let go and air sprang into her lungs as his weight fell away. The world rushed back in to find her on her side, wheezing, her throat bruised.

  The Lance Colonel sank against the cabinets. He tried to grip the knife but the handle was slick with his blood. He tried to stand, slipped back down. He looked like a child searching for help, his eyes wide and panicked. They found her; they pleaded so hard she almost went to him. He tried to talk but the blade had pierced both blood vessel and airway, leaving him nothing but wet gasps.

  She sat up, her whole body drained of energy. She watched him die, the two of them sitting opposite each other like old friends on the kitchen floor. His leg twitched for a while, and he sucked in weak gasps. She made herself hold his gaze throughout it all, until there was nothing left of him.

  The chrono on the wall said it had only been minutes, but it felt like hours. Kelbee stood and checked herself, remembering. It hurt to suck in breath, but she forced herself to move to the bathroom, to sponge some of the blood from her face and hands. She watched it circle the drain, languorous.

  Someone would have heard the gunshots, might have called the Factors. She grabbed her overcoat from the bedroom, not bothering to change. The bullet holes in the hallway looked like gaping wounds in the plaster. The Seeker’s portrait had been knocked off and the frame had shattered – she left it where it was. Just before she went for the door, she saw the briefcase where he’d dropped it, propped half-tipped against the leg of the table. He’d not even stopped to rotate the code cylinders. She could imagine him, his face losing its colour as he heard the news, rushing home to confront her only to find the confirmation of an empty house. The vision was so clear she had to shake her head to rid herself of it.

  The case popped and she grabbed the first thing her hand found – a tan folder stuffed with papers, new, its edges barely damaged. It fit snug against her ribs under her coat.

  As the door squeaked open, she caught a glimpse of him where he lay. The boots she’d worked on so many nights, making them shine. They were dulled now, marred by grime and blood. She wondered why she felt nothing, no rage, no relief, no sadness, just the polish that had gone into those boots.

  She left the apartment, locking the door behind her.

  * * *

  Nebn’s eyes were fraught as he pushed aside the plastic curtain that led to their hideaway. When he saw her, his jaw dropped with relief.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you. There’s been an alert.’

  She shifted under the blanket, pushing her hair out of her face. It had been cold in the night – she’d not dared to fire up the generator and start the heater, so she’d collapsed onto the bed in her bloody clothes and fallen asleep for a few fitful hours, then spent the rest of the night hearing armed men in every creak and click of the dilapidated building. Her eyes felt gummy with fatigue.

  ‘Did they find the body?’ she asked.

  Nebn took her in his arms, crushing her against him. His face filled with concern as she winced.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said, hugging her knees. ‘Just a bruise – I fell.’

  ‘The baby?’

  ‘I think…’ She looked up at him. ‘I think it’s all right. But he tried to hurt it.’ For the first time since it had happened, tears crept up on her.

  He just sat and held her for a while, taking all of her weight on him and running his fingers through her hair. She drifted off into a dreamless, exhausted slumber. When she woke he was sitting across from her, a mug of hot tea in his hand, reading the folder she’d smuggled out. His face was drawn, his eyes narrowed. He saw she was awake and passed her the mug. The brew was thick and sweet and spread all the way to her fingertips.

  ‘Did you come straight here?’ he asked.

  She nodded. ‘I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t want to come to you, in case there was someone…’ She let her voice trail off. Should she mention what had happened the day before, in the alley? Had it even been real? It seemed so trivial now, but something had turned her away from the sewers and towards this place instead.

  ‘You did the right thing. There’s been no announcement, of course, but we monitor local enforcement channels and they’re buzzing with talk of a senior intelligence officer found dead in his home.’ His voice broke. ‘I thought they had you.’

  She reached out, took his hand.

  ‘You’re…’ The question came from his eyes, never quite making it to his lips.

  ‘I’m all right. It’s done now.’

  He kissed her fingers. ‘I need to get you back, have you checked for injuries. Then Tani can look after you for a little while.’

  ‘What do you mean? Where are you going?’

  He held up the folder. ‘This is big. It should never have left his office. They’re close to infiltrating one of our bases. Details are sparse but I need to warn them to ramp up security.’

  ‘You have to go yourself?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You can’t leave me here.’

  ‘Listen, you’ll be safe as soon as we get you underground. We have people who can check you, check the baby, make sure everything’s all right. Then, when things have died down, we can move you.’

  ‘If you’re going, I’m going with you.’ She saw his refusal and cut it off. ‘All of this has been to get out of this place, anywhere as long as it’s not Karume. I’m not going back to the sewers, I’m going wherever you’re going.’

  ‘It’s one of our most important bases, hidden and very sensitive. They won’t let me—’


  ‘You can persuade them. I just want to get out of here, Nebn.’ She indicated the folder. ‘I brought you that. I could have left it, but I didn’t. You owe me this much.’

  He considered this for a moment, studying her. She held his gaze, the eerie feeling of calm still enveloping her. Perhaps once she was away from the city she would feel the weight of what had happened in the last hours, but for now it was held back by a thick blanket of resolve.

  ‘At least let me have you checked over. You could be hurt.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘You have to believe me. He didn’t hurt the baby.’ As she said it, she felt her hands itch, and she hoped that what she said was true.

  Nebn nodded and helped her up. ‘There’ll be some first-aid supplies in the car. Bring your coat, it gets cold in the tunnels.’

  Cypher

  Another concrete wall. A single naked light.

  Cale was tied to a steel chair. It creaked when he shifted, but it was solid, much heavier than an ordinary chair; hard to lift, harder to throw. His ankles were tied to the legs, his wrists bound behind him. A thick rope wrapped his chest, stopping him from leaning. The bonds had been tied well by someone who knew what they were doing – not tight enough to cut off the blood but enough to stop him from working free.

  He tried shouting, but no one came. The door stayed shut, time stretching out for minutes or perhaps hours. His eye started to find the patterns in the rough concrete, following the contours that had been left by damp and age. There were stains where moisture still darkened the surface and faint brown outlines where old patches had dried. In one corner was a rusty smear that might have been old blood. He let his eyes trace the edges of each patch, learning its bays and headlands. A draught from under the door flurried dust motes, tumbling them like a cloud of sparks.

  Cale knew he was not the first to be tied to this chair in this bare room. He thought about shouting again but gave up. Waste of effort. Waste of air.

  The attack on the beach had come so fast. He remembered his skin burning, stones popping under the weight of something huge, and there had been a sting on his cheek as something sharp flew past. Then the light, the deafening pulse of sound that had knocked him flat. Blood trickling from his ears.

  He could reorder the thoughts now, put them in their proper place, re-evaluate. Plasma fire – unmistakeable from its ozone stink – and heavy footsteps. Walker. Then he’d felt his insides pulse, shimmering at an awful frequency like he was pressed against the world’s loudest, biggest speaker. A sonic weapon? Unusual for the military. Someone else, then.

  What was a war-walker doing on a remote beach? Who had access to complex weaponry like sonics? Something about that voice, the one that had spoken before he passed out, was familiar.

  Is Brennev still here? Did he watch me the whole time, as I tried to scratch my way through that rusty wall? Was he there, inches away, listening?

  ‘Is that what happened?’ he asked the wall.

  The wall ignored him.

  The door squeaked and a masked man entered. He was thickset and his mouth and nose were wrapped in black cloth. His eyes were fierce, calculating. ‘Why are you here?’ he said. The voice was pleasant, musical even through the muffle of the mask.

  Cale remained silent.

  The masked man leaned in closer, but, Cale noted, out of range of a head-butt. ‘Again, why are you here?’

  Cale found the brown patch on the wall.

  ‘Why were you on that beach?’ asked the masked man.

  Blood. He was sure of it now. Old blood.

  ‘Who do you work for?’

  Cale snorted.

  The masked man backhanded him across the face, hard enough to sting. Then he did it again. ‘What is your regimental number?’

  Cale spat a gob of blood onto the floor, then met the man’s hard green eyes. Stared.

  The man hit him again. He leaned in close. ‘The others have talked, you know. They say you’re the leader.’

  Cale breathed hard. Definitely blood. Not the last.

  The masked man stepped back, assessing. ‘If you don’t tell me what you’re looking for, I will kill you.’

  Cale spat again.

  ‘I’ll kill them too, after I take out their teeth. Then I’ll do the same to you. Such a waste of everyone’s time.’

  Cale glared back.

  The masked man was still for a moment, his head cocked as if listening to something. Then he gripped Cale by the shoulders and brought his face in close, almost nose to nose. ‘What colour was your son’s uniform the day you last saw him? White or black?’

  Before Cale could stop himself, the answer jumped from his mouth.

  ‘Green.’

  The masked man pulled away and walked to the door. Cale heard bolts drawn back and it opened.

  A man with an eyepatch held the door. ‘It’s him,’ he said. ‘You can go.’

  ‘You’re sure, sir?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll take it from here.’

  The masked man nodded and left.

  Eyepatch came over and pulled a knife from his belt. Cale flinched and earned a wry smile.

  ‘You’ve become skittish in your old age,’ he said. He cut the ties around Cale’s ankles then moved behind and loosened the rope before cutting his wrists free. ‘There you go. You’re lucky I was on-station to recognise you. None left from the old days now, bar me.’

  Cale rubbed his wrists, searching the grizzled face. The single eye was a deep shade of purple, and he’d only ever met one man with eyes like that. ‘Brennev,’ he said.

  ‘Didn’t have this last time we met.’ He indicated the patch.

  ‘Why have your muscle knock me about if you knew it was me?’ Anger bubbled through the layers of guilt that had smothered it for so long. ‘Where the hell are the others?’

  Brennev sheathed his knife. ‘We’re taking care of them. You understand how it is, or have you gone soft? I needed to know it was you.’

  ‘Dammit, where is my son?’

  ‘This is going to be confusing for you.’ Brennev paused, studying him. ‘Cale, I’m sorry. Bowden is dead.’

  The walls disappeared and a pounding started in his skull. He couldn’t feel his hands any more.

  Gone?

  ‘How long have I been here?’ he managed to choke out.

  ‘A few hours.’

  ‘But… he was stable. How—’

  Brennev looked away. ‘He died months ago.’

  * * *

  Racks of equipment almost hid the polished rock of the med bay’s walls. The rubberised floors muffled the clicks and hums that came from the blinking machinery and the steps of the quiet, efficient staff who went about their tasks.

  Before them, covered up to its chin with a white sheet, lay the body that Cale had brought here. It looked alive still, as if in a deep sleep, though there was no breath coming from the pale lips. The eyes were as sunken as they’d been in the hospital bed he’d pulled him from, his hair the same russet stubble he’d stroked, sure he’d see it grow out again.

  Not my son, raged his mind. How could he not have known?

  ‘You’re sure?’ he asked, his mouth still struggling with words. Somewhere nearby, all-consuming blackness threatened to suck him in.

  Brennev was straight-backed and still. A slight inclination of the head. ‘We were thorough. It’s not Bowden.’

  ‘A copy?’ The idea almost made him laugh. He held it at bay, feeling the danger of hysteria.

  ‘It was someone, once,’ said Brennev. ‘Probably a soldier. Volunteers – you remember how it works with them. Surgically altered to match Bowden – they must have dug up his personnel file from his time with the Marines. Poor bastard was exsanguinated and crammed full of heat-retaining gel that doubled as a preservative. A pump in his chest to make it look like he was still breathing. Quite a number.’

  ‘Why would they do this?’

  ‘Someone wanted you to look for us. Someone who knew you well enough to know that he
was the key to getting you to do it.’

  Did Brabant know? he thought, remembering the last time they’d met. No, he has nothing to gain from this. And I’d have seen it in his eyes. He shook his head, barely able to process. Who would play this deep a game?

  Brennev continued. ‘We thought the body had some kind of tracker, that a Hegemony fleet would be standing off and ready to shell us into oblivion. That’s why we took precautions with you all.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It was clean.’ Brennev stroked his chin, like he always used to when examining a problem.

  Suddenly, Cale couldn’t look any longer. The thing on the table was alien, grotesque. He turned away as Brennev nodded to an orderly, who pulled the sheet over the corpse’s face.

  A little way off, an observation window looked down on an operating theatre. Cale watched as a medico wearing a blue mask manipulated tiny levers, his movements relayed to a cluster of slender metallic arms that emerged from the ceiling. The patient was hooked to an air hose, red hair spilling out at the sides of his cap. Cale watched as the spindly fingers dipped in and out of the open hole in Derrin’s belly as if feeding on him.

  ‘He’s not too far gone, they tell me,’ said Brennev, joining him at the window.

  ‘What happened to Bowden? My real son. I need to know.’

  ‘He was working for us. He’d gone north, his own operation. That’s where it happened.’

  ‘Don’t mince words. What was he doing?’

  ‘I don’t have the details. He persuaded his commander he needed to get close to an academic. He was hard to dissuade when he had an idea. Remind you of anyone?’

  ‘Why wasn’t I told?’

  Brennev paused, watching the operation. The surgeon twisted the controls and one of the arms lifted something from the cavity. It dropped a compressed bullet fragment into a steel tray, then returned to searching the wound. ‘You disappeared. I wasn’t sure you were even alive.’

  A pang stabbed Cale under his heart.

  ‘How could you let him go off by himself like that?’ he snapped.

  Brennev frowned. ‘He was his own man, trusted enough to judge what was necessary. He was with us for years, Cale.’