Stormburg cackled again. “Professor! I like that. No, revered Firstmade. Too-many-hundred years a raving religious fanatic, I’m afraid,” his voice became sombre. “And I understand that the formula Blacknettle and I worked out with Gabriel has … run into a setback.”
“If by ‘setback’ you mean ‘my sister was brutally mutilated and killed by Demons’,” Ariel said sharply, before reminding herself that this was all an academic exercise to Stormburg. And that as far as he was concerned he was talking to an immortal whose Sister could not possibly be killed. “I’m still mostly human,” she said, resenting the apology in her voice. “I can’t really think of it in terms of ‘I’ll see her again in a few years’. Although I admit, it helps,” she added.
“Therein lies the essence of faith,” Stormburg said. “You have the benefit of knowing that your particular system works in a slightly more concrete way than the rest of us, who just have to leap blind into the dark.”
“Except right now,” Ariel said, “I’m not actually certain.”
“Well, true,” Stormburg acknowledged. “The careful positioning we’ve been doing has been hit hard by this Demonic attack. I’m … sorry for your loss, revered Firstmade.”
“The Demons are the ones responsible,” Ariel said. “And Fury already paid her price.”
“Hmm, yes,” Moskin said. “And now, it’s already too late. If you’d all died within a few days of each other, we could at least have guaranteed you came back, not as siblings perhaps but at least in the same area, you would have stayed together, strengthened. Now, you will drift apart again. The next generation should have been the final focus. Your full emergence, considering how unexpectedly well you were doing this time,” he seemed to realise this was a rather brutal way of criticising Ariel and Ash for losing their sister and selfishly refusing to die, because he added, “although, since the Demons were involved and may have had some sort of plan to gain control of your newborn selves, it was probably better for you to break up again, until such time as the Demons and their support structures are removed from play.”
“Even if it means the next generation will be all different ages and out of focus?” Ariel asked.
“Maybe it will, maybe it won’t,” Stormburg said. “We can try again. It seems there is a system in place now that will help preserve Earth and humanity, buying you more time to return to yourselves. And leaving something for you to return to,” Stormburg paused for a time, and Ariel glanced in concern at the smooth white block where Marietta was trapped. She hoped the girl wasn’t panicking. “The next step, always assuming I’m alive to plot it,” Stormburg went on, “depends on the Second Disciple and whether he – I’m sorry, she – dies.”
“She won’t let herself die,” Ariel said, “whatever you do or say. She can’t. She doesn’t have it in her.”
“It’s a skill she may need to learn,” Stormburg declared, “one day.”
“Well, all I can do is wish you luck,” Ariel said. “As for me, the Destarion was just talking about sending me and my … human friend back to Earth,” she smiled. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to calling people ‘humans’ like I’m not one,” she said. “Maybe I won’t need to worry about it until my next life,” somehow, she became aware that the silence from the Destarion’s communication system had turned uncomfortable. “What?”
“How was the Elevator – the Destarion taking you back to Earth?” Stormburg asked. “She’s not mobile, is she? Because I don’t know if the human race is ready for that kind of power, it was why the whole conduit and allocation idea–”
“Oh, no, no, I think she’s still buried on Europa,” Ariel said, and paused as the truly bizarre fact occurred to her for the first time. She and Marietta were on Europa. They were further from Earth than any human being had ever stood. Well, she amended to herself, further out than anyone’s been since this whole veil thing happened. And only one of us is human all the way through … “She – the Destarion was saying that she had some way of doing the Demon teleport thing,” she went on, “which I hope will be more pleasant than the way Fury did it, but even so, as long as it’s over quickly…”
“I see,” Stormburg said. “I didn’t know that. Well, I suppose that is best. You certainly can’t stay on the Destarion for long.”
“Why not?”
“Not safe,” said Stormburg sharply. “You’re not a full Pinian. Not yet. It’s not safe for you to be aboard the Godfang.”
“You are a shade,” the Destarion’s voice cut in kindly before Ariel could question Moskin’s dubious certitude, “wearing meat.”
“You can’t give her orders,” Stormburg continued. “But she can’t incorporate you, either. It runs against her primary programming.”
“Incorporate me?”
“Bayn – that is, the vessel Blacknettle and I are living in while we do our research – operates in this way and I understood the Godfang did too,” Stormburg said. “She requires a human crew, but the relationship is far more intimate than it would be on a normal, non-sentient ship. Some crew … well, the Destarion has been growing and developing like a living thing for so long, I don’t really know…” his voice, which had seemed younger and happier while he was discussing his theories and system, now became papery and querulous again. “I’m not a student of Destarion lore. The Godfang is more myth than history to my people.”
“More than she is for mine,” Ariel muttered, crossing to the pod. “Let her out. I want to see my friend.”
“I’m sorry,” Stormburg was suddenly gone, and the Destarion’s voice was back again. “I’m afraid I cannot do that. I need Marietta here. And I need you … gone.”
“I can’t leave her here,” Ariel said, putting a hand on the smooth enamel. She really was like a tooth. “Not if I’m going…” she stopped, then smiled. “You can’t send us back to Earth at all, can you?”
“Well, I can,” the Destarion said, “but not quite in the way you were probably thinking originally. I lack the capacity to access God-space.”
Ariel sighed, finding that she was barely capable of feeling betrayed, much less frightened. “So what happens now?”
“That rather depends on you,” the Godfang said. “Both of you.”
“What – Marietta?” Ariel blinked. “Is she still–”
“Oh no. The poor thing. She burned brightly, but her mind was rather feeble. She will serve well, for my limited peacetime duties, but it is an irreversible procedure. No,” the Godfang repeated, “I am talking about you … and the other one.”
“You know, I’m used to nothing you folks say making sense,” Ariel remarked.
“Moskin brought it to our attention first, after he learned about it from higher authorities,” the Destarion said. “There was some doubt and research was ongoing, but it is apparent from your spectacular arrival here, even if it wasn’t something we could infer from the rate at which you and your fellow Disciples regained focus.”
“Oh yes?” Ariel said, while the cold inside her tightened and coiled.
“Your soul isn’t the only one hiding in that body, sneaking from life to life outside the sensors,” the Destarion said. “You have a passenger, revered Firstmade. One capable of feats that are … well,” she laughed softly. “Perhaps we should leave it at ‘beyond the Thingy Barrier’?”
“I do?” Ariel frowned. “Is it … do you mean Roon?”
“No,” the Godfang said. “It is not your Sister, although that connection is of course part of what defines you as a Firstmade.”
“Okay,” Ariel said. “So … who is it? And does it really matter what they think?”
“On balance, probably not,” the Destarion admitted. “My main concern is the level of emergence we are dealing with, and the response we might expect from your passenger … but I think it’s a risk worth taking. I think, now that your task is complete and the conduit energy can be utilised at Earth’s end, our fellow exile will be of one mind with me – that it would be best if you
went back into circulation.”
Ariel spun abruptly, setting her back against the pod that had apparently … incorporated Marietta. The pallid monstrosity looming behind her tilted its head, doglike, and looked down at her.
The thing was huge – close to two-and-a-half metres tall, although it was hard to estimate – but as thin as a bundle of sticks. Its head was grotesquely elongated, its skull gleaming white like the tooth-enamel of the Destarion herself. Its body was covered in a garment of equally pale wrappings and hooded robe, so it was difficult to make out limbs and details. Only its face was really visible, hanging above her like a degenerate moon.
It had no mouth, and its nose was just a series of folds and grooves in the hard white skin. Its eyes occupied much of the vertical space on the warped skull, but they were like slits. Each one was like a fifteen-centimetre slash in the front of the creature’s head, and both of them widened and narrowed in synchrony, more like gills than eyes. The glistening black orbs of the eyeballs or brain-membrane inside looked similar to the Angel-Demon stew, but on some instinctive level Ariel could tell this was different. Not biological, more machine than organism, but at least natural. For certain twisted definitions of the word.
“So,” Ariel murmured. “This is what you meant by sending me home.”
“I wish you luck in your next life,” the Destarion said, “and I trust that once you are fully returned to your Pinian self, you will be able to provide better guidance to this world.”
“Have you considered that I’m not likely to remember this meeting – or you – particularly fondly?” Ariel asked. She let her hand wander over her portable defence system. If this thing was fast … “I mean, once I fully return to my Pinian self?”
“I suppose, like the Atonement, this is a risk worth taking,” the Destarion said, sounding a little hurt at Ariel’s selfishness and lack of empathy, “and necessitated by your actions, not mine. I can only operate according to the protocols you placed in me. Moreover, you represent a security risk in your current situation – from what I hear, it may be one of the reasons we are all in this mess,” the pale creature pinning her against the interface block leaned closer, eyes opening, closing, opening. “I hope you will conclude, with the benefit of hindsight, that I acted in accordance with protocol.”
“Right,” Ariel said quietly.
“It’s possible, of course, that this question will be deferred almost indefinitely,” the Godfang added. “Moskin may never complete the task of bringing you to focus. Maybe you and your Sisters will simply fade away as the human race dies out. Maybe–”
Ariel moved fast, but the creature was faster. She tightened her grip on the stunner and the thing’s arms whipped out. She twisted as best she could in the cramped conditions and pressed the weapon to the hard, cloth-padded abdomen, but didn’t have time to consciously activate it. Blades, or claws, trailed white wrappings like comet-tails as they whispered through flesh and bone. Her hand clamped down spasmodically on the firing pad and there was a flat snap as the charge went through the Flesh-Eater with no noticeable effect.
She didn’t actually feel the cuts. She did, however, feel the long, hard fingers gently lifting the pack off her shoulders as she fell.
That was strange.
II
(UNDISCLOSED LOCATION)
She woke up but schooled herself to stillness, keeping her eyes closed and breathing steady. She took in as much of her surroundings as she could, through minute movements of her shoulders, hands, legs.
She was on a thin mattress overlaying wire mesh, a military or prison bed. The air was warm but stale. Artificial and recycled, and somehow dusty. She was almost certain it was filtered through old Baddersmith equipment, used in mining operations under disputed territory. Well, as far as the media and local governments were concerned they were mining operations.
There was a faint whirring sound that bore out her guess, and on top of them…
“I know you’re awake. Even if I couldn’t hear it in the shift of your breathing and heartrate – you have amazing control of your involuntary movements, by the way – we have sensors in place.”
Ash ignored the words, lying and taking in what else her surroundings had to offer. The quality of the sounds had already told her she was in a cell, even if the bed and climate control hadn’t been enough. From the sound of her captor's voice, there was a fibrous carbon exclusion screen providing a view into the cell, and probably out as well. Sound was filtered through the screen in a unique way that dropped words to a hollow drone. Combined with the adjustable blurring and shading effects that could be woven into the panels, it was a low-tech way to obscure identity and intimidate prisoners.
There wasn’t much more she could do lying down and she could tell she was alone in the cell, so she pulled off the sheet and swivelled to sit up. Her bare feet met cold concrete, and she sat for a moment looking down at them, gathering herself. Her left foot had a pale knot of scar tissue just above the big toe, where she’d been bitten by a honey badger during a mission. That had been a truly psychotic animal. The human traffickers she’d encountered on the same operation had possessed only a tiny fraction of its tenacity.
She was dressed in a solid grey jumpsuit a size or two too large, with a familiar papery feeling that told her it would disintegrate if she tried to use it as a rope or weapon. Sitting and lying were about all it was good for, and it would be in tatters within forty-eight hours of even that much. Within seventy-two, it would be a pile of fibrous dust ready to be recycled. Which meant that either she would be dead by then, or they’d be opening some sort of access point to muck out the cell and give her a new garment.
Aside from the coverall, she was naked and unarmed. A pair of matching dull aches in her forearm and calf told her even the military-implanted metal rods – molecular explosive, comms transponder, and simple knitting-needle spike for use as a weapon – had been removed.
Oh well, she thought, and looked around.
She took her time, ignoring the chest-height-to-ceiling viewing panel in favour of the rest of the cell. Such as it was. Aside from the bed, there was a hinged device rigged to a finger-bore water pipe. Wash basin, drinking fountain and toilet rolled into one. The other three walls were brushed concrete with a ridged pattern showing the reinforcing pylons underneath. The ceiling, too far up to be a serious prospect even if she could wedge herself into the corner and climb up, was another unforgiving surface of concrete and a series of hand-width air vents covered with metal grilles. Baddersmiths, like she’d guessed.
When she finally turned her attention to the panel, the man standing outside gave her a forbearing smile.
He wasn’t immediately impressive, being of below average height and possessed of a plain, slightly over-tanned face that nevertheless looked soft. Grandfather, but not tough Grandfather. His hair was a wavy, distinguished silver coif, far too carefully tended and styled. His suit would have made Ariel’s agent Jérôme weep with ecstasy.
The man smiled, reached inside his perfectly-cut lapel, and produced a matte grey cigar tube. The cigar went between his blinding white teeth, the tube went back in his pocket apart from a strip of its wood lining, and then a familiar bronze lighter snapped open and lit the taper.
Ash watched the man light his cigar, turn the lighter around in his beautifully-manicured fingers – I.A.H.Y – and drop it back into his trouser pocket. He puffed, smiled at her … and his left eye, as bright and cheerful a blue as his right, momentarily swelled and distorted with an oily black bulb like a fleeting tumour. In an instant the dark blot was gone, his face was smooth again … but Ash's insides had curdled and frozen in that moment. There was something inside this man. Something terrible. Something that only looked like tar because she didn’t want to think about what it was.
She didn’t let her loathing and nausea show. Not for an instant.
“Ashley St. Claire Vandemar,” he said. His voice, as she’d already noted, was distorted through the panel b
ut Ash was accustomed to the material and could adjust for its distorting effects. His voice was really rather normal, as she’d heard on the interface already.
All in all, aside from that brief moment of contamination from whatever-it-was in his eye, the man seemed like an ordinary human. Certainly he had none of the supernatural glamour that the Archangel Gabriel had possessed.
“Mercibald Fagin,” she replied.
“So nice to meet you face to face,” the Demon said, “so to speak,” Ash sat and looked at him with vague interest. “You ran us a merry chase,” Fagin went on once the silence had extended to an uncomfortable degree. “You almost had me in Detroit. I was very unhappy with my strategists. They were so sure that using myself as bait would work.”
“Looks like it did,” Ash replied.
“Well yes, but it was a close call,” he tilted his head. “What made you go for the Synfoss offices? I thought you’d satisfied yourself that the corporation and your poor would-be brother-in-law were not involved.”
Ash shrugged. The movement continued the motions she’d been making on the bed, working the stiffness from her joints, warming her through the after-effects of whatever they’d dosed her with. She was fairly confident she recognised the effects, but there was a hollow ache in the pit of her stomach that told her she’d been under for a while, which meant numerous doses or some more potent mixture.
The important thing was, he didn’t seem to be aware of Osrai's existence or help.
“I was actually tracking a lead in Synfoss R&D,” she three-quarter-truthed. “I figured if I could find where Sloane sent the items he stole from us, I’d find you.”
“And I thought that was such an obvious thread, we had covered it sufficiently to make it untraceable,” Fagin marvelled.
“You did,” Ash admitted. “But I knew what the device was, and there were only a handful of labs with the capacity to test and develop that technology. Synfoss happened to be the first on my list, especially since they could bypass a lot of the legal issues involved with using Vandemar proprietary materials and patents, which we thoughtfully agreed to uphold with the company itself,” this time it was her turn to tilt her head. “Provided Berkenshaw didn’t find out where the machinery came from.”
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