Day of the Damned dh-2

by David Gunn

  You don’t run black ops out of your regular base and this has U/Free written all over it. I thought OctoV was behind tonight until the crowd changed its chant. Now I know it’s Paper’s mob who are driving the slaughter. And since they’re not going to run this out of their embassy, and she or Morgan will want to be on site, this is the next best guess for their centre of operations.

  Looks like Colonel Jaxx has been playing the guessing game too.

  Chapter 33

  A naked chambermaid clutches the remains of her uniform at the top of a flight of stairs. She has blood on her lips and between her thighs. A puddle of piss darkens the red carpet beneath her.

  Three ex-guests, a slaughtered floor manager, and someone from security who has been kicked to death. Leona looks sicker by the second, which makes me wonder if I was wrong about her. She’s meant to be experienced.

  We’ve gone in the back way and we’re ahead of the crowd. What does she expect us to find? This stuff can’t come as that much of a shock.

  Next floor up a bellboy huddles over a gut wound. The terror in his face says he knows it’s going to kill him. He’s lost too much blood to lift his stolen gun for more than a second and his shot shatters plaster ten paces away.

  Kneeling, I take the piece from his grip.

  The knife I slide under his ribs topples him sideways.

  ‘You mean it, don’t you?’ Leona says, when I recite the soldier’s prayer over him. ‘You really believe there will be a better life next time.’

  ‘Can’t be worse.’

  On the stairs to the next level, I catch her watching me. It’s not the look a militia sergeant gives an officer. Mind you, it’s not the look a woman gives a man. I’m not sure what it is. Other than strange. ‘What are we searching for?’ she asks.

  ‘I’ll tell you when we find it.’

  The penthouse of this hotel can only be reached by a one-stop elevator that begins in the lobby way below us. Since the power in this city is out, and the emergency stairs don’t rise that high, we need another plan.

  It’s rusting. But it’s waiting where I hoped it would be.

  ‘We’re going to use that?’ says Leona, then remembers to add sir.

  ‘Yeah. And you’re going first.’

  Leona climbs out of the window, sighing as the grating creaks beneath her boots. The fire escape sways as she yanks a ladder down and paint flakes from its steps as she begins to climb.

  She moves slowly.

  Her stolen machine gun is ported across her chest and I get a good glimpse of her arse as she goes. The uniform looks standard issue. But since when is standard issue that well cut? Also, the rest of us are filthy but the dirt drops off her.

  Cloth like that is expensive.

  Filing that thought, I watch her go. It’s a day for doubt and darkness. These are not doubts I usually get. Because I don’t get doubts. Only, Farlight has changed me. The harsh simplicity of my life in the Legion is too far back for me to recover.

  I find that thought shocking.

  Not least, because it never occurred to me I’d want it back. Certainly not when I was living it. When Leona reaches the top, I slide myself through the corridor window and stand on the grating below her.

  It protests under my weight, as does the ladder.

  Leona offers her hand to help me onto the upper level, stepping back when I ignore it. We face a steel door, bolted from the other side. On the plus side, it’s old, with hinges that slot together.

  All I’ve got to do is lift it off its hinges.

  One-handed.

  My arm locks and muscles tear as sinews pass popping point. Finally, it occurs to me that it’s not the weight that’s the problem. Rusty hinges make the door hard to move.

  ‘Scrape those down.’

  She does, as silently as possible. And then I lift it free.

  A scullery, complete with bucket and a mop that chirps happily to see us waits on the other side. It’s obviously been a while since anyone used the fire escape.

  ‘Wait here,’ I tell Leona.

  She looks like she wants to protest.

  ‘Sir,’ she says.

  ‘Later.’

  This corridor has marble tiles and expensive rugs. Oil paintings hang from the walls. A portrait of OctoV in cavalry uniform, his hand on the hilt of a sword. Beyond it is a cityscape of Farlight, as it must have been when first built. And beyond that, a seated nude. The nude is particularly tasteful. Little body hair, the slightest tint of nipple. Painted to give the minimum offence.

  I’ve come to the correct place.

  A desk by an elevator is where the receptionist sits. She’s probably only there when VIPs check in. Marble steps lead to double doors. One of the handles shows a man’s face. The other shows a woman.

  Try to remember where I saw that before.

  One of the double doors is slightly open. Comms noise comes from inside. The sound of AI chatter, the whirr of memory boxes, the beep of incoming calls. Remember, this is a city without power. So now I’m certain I’m in the correct place.

  I’m right about one thing and wrong about another.

  Paper Osamu’s husband Morgan has set up his HQ in the most expensive hotel in Farlight and filled it with enough machinery to run a war. He’s even had the door handles replaced with his and her faces to make himself feel at home.

  ‘Sven . . .’

  Not sure which one is more shocked to see me.

  Colonel Vijay Jaxx, who carries a blade of his own. Or Morgan, who is still wearing one of those flowing robes and looking tense. That’s because Vijay has his blade to the U/Free’s throat. Paper is nowhere in sight. Probably trying to avoid getting her hands dirty.

  ‘Don’t let me stop you,’ I say.

  Morgan scowls. It’s instinct. He can’t help himself.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Colonel Vijay demands.

  ‘Could ask you the same question, sir.’

  He raises his eyebrows. ‘Thought that would be obvious, Sven. I’m following the U/Free example in making the world a better place.’

  ‘Sven,’ whispers Morgan. ‘I know we’ve had our-’

  Differences? Vijay Jaxx draws his blade hard across Morgan’s throat. He does it fast, putting all his strength behind the cut. Blood spurts halfway across the chamber and redecorates a wall. Eventually, Morgan’s heart loses its battle and the spurt is reduced to a trickle that stains tiles and finally runs down his leg.

  Morgan only falls when Colonel Vijay remembers to let go.

  ‘Fuck,’ the colonel says.

  A handful of steps takes him to the bathroom and I hear him retch. The retching lasts longer than it should. Long after the colonel’s stomach has emptied. When Colonel Vijay returns, he’s wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  ‘You know,’ he says, ‘they killed Sergeant Hito.’

  The old man’s pet assassin. He gave me a dagger that saved my life once. If I remember right, he was the man who taught Vijay unarmed combat.

  ‘Worse than that, sir. They got the general.’

  He closes his eyes. Swallows. A tear squeezes from under a lid to remind me how young he is. Nineteen last birthday. That’s what he told me on Hekati.

  ‘Sir,’ I say. ‘You planning to destroy Morgan’s back-up?’

  Colonel Vijay looks at the body.

  Then he looks at the room, as if seeing it for the first time, with its blood splatters and stained tiles, and the inevitable puddle of piss, and the stink of shit from where our dead U/Free shat himself.

  ‘Or shall I do it, sir?’

  ‘If you would,’ he says.

  Rolling Morgan onto his front, I steady my blade.

  Morgan’s memory unit is at the back of his skull, just below the curve. It’s expensive, which I expect. The surgeon cut away bone to let the unit fit flat. This means the symbiont running the unit can access both brain and spine.

  It twitches when I prod it.

  And when I begin to saw, Morg
an’s whole body begins to thrash. So I saw harder and listen to Colonel Vijay vomit. Doesn’t matter that he doesn’t reach the bathroom this time. There’s nothing in his gut to throw up.

  ‘If you’ll allow me, sir.’

  Dropping the symbiont to the tiles, I crush it under my boot heel until the last tendril stops thrashing. There’s sourness in my gut, and a taste of vomit in my own mouth. The kyp in my throat feels Morgan’s symbiont die. It must do, because it convulses as I flush his next life down the pan where it belongs.

  ‘All done, sir.’

  ‘Sven . . .’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘I’ll need a moment alone.’

  Chapter 34

  I’m wondering how brief to make colonel Vijay’s moment, without wanting to push him into fury or despair. Since I never knew my parents, their death didn’t touch me. Can’t imagine what it would be like to have the general as a father. Suspect it’s one of those things you don’t want to think about.

  While Colonel Vijay gets over his misery, I go check on Leona.

  She’s missing.

  That is, the fire escape is empty.

  A sound of water splashing leads me to a door.

  At first I think she’s taking a piss but it lasts too long. Twisting the handle, I find myself in another bathroom. The biggest I’ve seen. More a room with a shower for its ceiling.

  Sergeant Leona stands in the middle, stark naked.

  Hot rain falls from above onto the coloured pebbles at her feet. A cactus grows from the pebbles in one corner. Damn thing is soaking wet, but it has to be a cactus because it has spikes. A little bridge joins her part of the room to mine.

  The stream separating us is fed by water that runs down a marble slab set into one wall and disappears into a floor-level slit in another. I have no idea how the fish living in the stream survive the hot water raining down on them or stop themselves being swept away.

  Unless they’re an illusion.

  As Leona tosses her hair, shampoo sprays upwards and she raises her face to the ceiling to rinse herself. She’s humming something loudly. Sounds classical. A march, or one of those strange pieces Debro likes.

  The sergeant’s body is perfect.

  I mean it. Firm buttocks, soft waist and wide hips. Legs that combine elegance with looking like they could squeeze the life out of you. Her breasts would fill, but not quite overflow my hand. A flash of nipple as she turns slightly takes my breath away.

  And when she kneels to wash her feet, I’m speechless.

  I’d know that arse anywhere.

  There isn’t a man in Farlight who wouldn’t.

  Only the arse I remember is bronze. And its owner kneels beside a different stream. She sits in a park in the oldest part of Farlight, near the cathedral. Serenity, says the plaque on her base.

  No idea if that’s her name, or why she’s supposed to be peaceful. Sitting around naked by a stream with a body like that can only attract attention. As Leona stands she sees me watching.

  ‘Shit,’ she says.

  Having clicked her fingers to stop the shower, she grabs a towel and wraps it tightly around her. She wears it like armour.

  ‘Sergeant . . .’

  ‘ Yes and no,’ she says.

  Her feet seem small for the boots she’s been wearing. The tattoo on the inside of her wrist has a barcode and number I don’t begin to recognize, and the dog tags around her neck are not standard issue. Hanging beside the tags is a weird-looking key.

  ‘Oh well,’ she says, seeing me look. ‘You were going to work it out eventually.’ Her voice is sad as she adds, ‘I used to love this place.’

  You used to . . .?

  Sergeant Leona holds her ground as I stamp towards her, fists bunched. This is a militia NCO, I tell myself. An NCO who disobeyed an order.

  A direct order. I could shoot her now; no court martial and no appeal, and still be within my rights. Only, she’s not really militia, is she? And that’s no way to treat soldiers, militia or not.

  The thought stops me dead.

  ‘Nature,’ she says. ‘Nurture. They’re a bastard pair.’ Obviously enough, I have no idea what she’s talking about. ‘I need to get changed,’ she tells me.

  Then waits for something.

  ‘You plan to watch?’ Leona asks after a while.

  When I say nothing, she shrugs.

  ‘Guess so.’

  Dropping her towel, she reaches for a sodden singlet and wrings it out, before dragging it over her head. Climbing into a thong, she yanks up her combats and slides herself into a shirt and then her flak jacket. Her light machine gun, boots and helmet stand in one corner, away from the water.

  ‘How’s Vijay?’ she asks.

  ‘You knew he was here?’

  Leona shrugs. ‘It seemed likely. Although it was hard to be certain with the nodes down. There are only a few left. As I’m sure you realize.’

  I’m sure I don’t.

  She opens the door for me.

  At a window, we stop so she can look at Farlight.

  I’m not sure what she sees that I don’t, but when she turns away there are tears in her eyes. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be like this,’ she tells me fiercely. ‘Not now, not then, not even in the beginning.’

  She’s talking to herself.

  She has to be. Nothing she’s said so far makes sense. ‘You didn’t answer. How is Vijay taking the general’s death?’

  ‘Badly.’

  ‘Good. Better he gets over it now.’

  Leona agrees that cutting Morgan’s throat probably helped. The U/Free was behind this. She nods when I say that. Not just him, she tells me. But he was part of what happened. And now the general is dead, killing Morgan, I tell Leona, will help Colonel Vijay negate some of his inevitable guilt.

  Inevitable guilt?

  Where does this stuff come from?

  ‘Your head,’ says Leona. ‘Intelligence is a construct. Well, mostly . . . You have yours locked down.’

  ‘Fuck,’ I say. ‘You’re-’

  ‘Run in survival mode long enough, you’ll believe that’s all there is.’

  I’m not sure if she’s talking to me or about me. Maybe both. And I notice that, not only did she interrupt me, I allowed it to happen. That tells me we both know she’s not a militia sergeant.

  ‘Actually,’ she says, ‘I’m-’

  ‘One of OctoV’s handmaidens.’

  Taken me long enough to work it out. They’re stuff of rumour and fantasy. Only the most intelligent, most talented, most beautiful and most deadly are ever chosen. The official version says all are virgins. Their relationship with OctoV is chaste and he’s interested only in their beauty and weapon skills. Obviously, that’s bollocks.

  ‘You don’t believe it, do you?’

  Of course not.

  You don’t put a fourteen-year-old in a harem and expect him to be interested in needlework, sword skills and musical talents. I imagine OctoV screws himself stupid most days. If he exists at all.

  Leona looks at me. ‘Ah yes,’ she says. ‘I forget.’

  She forgets I’ve talked to our glorious leader. And to his mother. At least that was how he introduced Hekati, the autonomous and self-aware habitat on the edge of Enlightened space. The ex-habitat.

  Hekati no longer exists. I still hear her screams in my head.

  ‘Sven,’ Leona tells me, ‘there are no handmaidens. There haven’t been handmaidens for years . . . Centuries,’ she corrects herself. ‘Not for centuries.’

  ‘Then what are you?’ I demand.

  ‘Good question,’ she says. ‘A monster, I guess.’

  She stares through the window at the burning city, and then looks at the black zep still hanging in the sky. ‘They lied,’ she tells me. ‘They said the furies would be programmed to kill only specific, pre-chosen targets.’

  ‘You don’t programme furies,’ I say. ‘You release them.’

  ‘These ones were supposed to be different. The U/Free promised
.’ She shakes her head, runs one hand through her hair and flicks sweat from her fingers. Her mouth trembles and she looks close to tears again.

  ‘Leona. Who are you?’

  ‘Doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Believe me,’ I say. ‘It does.’

  Don’t want to kill her. But if she’s a traitor, I will.

  Chapter 35

  ‘Let us start,’ She says, ‘With who I was . . .Leona Zabo, third in command of App 85. An exploratory mission with terraforming abilities. Five officers, fifteen NCOs, one civilian physicist, two biologists, a pet geek, and sixty passengers.’

  Leona shrugs.

  ‘They were frozen, obviously.’

  Obviously?

  ‘Thirty pairs,’ she says, adding, ‘the passengers,’ when I look blank. ‘That was our minimum for long-term DNA mixing. Sixty disparate sets. All of us had been screened for hereditary diseases, genetic weaknesses, the usual.’

  Leona turns back to the window. She’s looking for something. When she finds Calinda Gap, she stops. So I guess she’s found it.

  ‘That’s where our lander crashed,’ she says. ‘Caught in the bow wave. Its core went critical. All that fallout fucked the carefully chosen DNA . . .’

  ‘Caught in the what?’

  ‘Bow wave,’ she says. ‘The singularity bow wave. A hundred and fifty years out. We’d been left behind and then the future overtook us.’ Her mouth twists and she bites her lip without realizing it. ‘Pods fell out of the sky, oxygen scrubbers failed, half the food coming out of the Drexie was poisoned.’

  She wipes her eyes.

  ‘I assumed command when Colonel Farlight died. Major B didn’t disagree. Of course, she was dying by then. I named our base after the colonel, and our landing fields after Major B . . . Betty Emsworth,’ she adds, in case I’m not following.

  ‘And then,’ she says, ‘I went to sleep. When I woke . . .’

  Leona nods at the city beyond the glass.

  ‘Most of that was already there. We had oxygen, water, grass and trees. A main street, a square, a cathedral. All it needed was people. And that wasn’t a problem because Calinda downloaded minds into meat as fast as she could.’