by Mark Lingane
The contempt on Nikola’s face was plain for all to see. The diminutive man in over-regal clothing, which made him more velvet than flesh, shifted uneasily under the piercing stare.
“Perhaps they’ve met you,” Nikola said. He continued before the comment could be reflected upon. “Gentlemen, maybe it’s time to use diplomacy. War has been a great drain on the city and the surrounding areas. I would like to sustain this moment of peace. If we stretch out the hand of friendship to this unknown enemy first, we might be able to avert further loss of life.”
“That didn’t work with the cyborgs,” Rotund said.
“We’ve learnt much from dealing with the cyborgs. Let’s show we can learn from our mistakes.”
De Monet snapped his fingers. “I see where you’re going. We meet the enemy under the guise of a treaty, then we take down their leader in a surprise attack when their defenses are down.”
“I like it. I like it a lot,” cried one over-zealous official.
“What? No!” Nikola said.
“No, I think ol’ Geoff’s onto something,” De Monet said. “We now have the cyborgs as allies. Together, we can be an unstoppable force.”
“Our treaty with the cyborgs, if we can call it that, is only a temporary state of affairs,” Nikola said. “We all know this. The cyborgs’ offer of peace only lasts as long as they do, and we know their demise is imminent. I would never ask or demand that they sacrifice any more than they already have.”
De Monet snorted. “Pah! The cyborgs are stupid and know little of life. We should use them while we can.” He pointed at Nikola. “Let me remind you that, only months ago, you were expending every resource we had to defeat them.”
“We won. They were defeated. We’re not Romans. We didn’t do it to conquer them. We did it for defense.”
“As we shall do again with this new threat.”
“Show me, De Monet, the evidence that there’s a threat.”
“I know people. I can feel deceit in my bones.”
“I’m sure you can,” Nikola agreed.
“There’s trouble coming. We need to act.”
“Fine. But we send an envoy first. If that fails, then we discuss other options.”
A new member to the council hesitantly raised her hand. She was young, and, as such, not totally wound up in her own self-interest. “What about the constant shaking?” she said. “What’s happening with the administration building?”
“The administration building is no more,” Nikola said. “It’s now a cage for an Omega, for protecting people from it.”
“Is this the secret thing that existed on the sixth floor?” she asked.
Nikola nodded. “It’s grown now to inhabit all the floors. It’s changing. I believe this Omega is more of a threat than the one in the east.”
“That’s not the main issue,” blustered De Monet.
“We have the third Omega to defeat,” Nikola said. He raised three fingers to the man to illustrate the point to his enfeebled intellect. “It doesn’t matter what lies to the east if the Omega lays waste to the planet.”
“That’s just your science rubbish again. There’s no proof for what you’re saying. It’s scaremongering.”
Nikola held up his hands. Eventually, the rumblings died down, and all eyes turned to him. “I’ve spoken with Albert. We’re going to the capital to do something about it. We’ll discover more information about it there.”
“Near where this other threat’s coming from?” said the young lady.
“I cannot answer that accurately, as the information’s based on hearsay. But if there’s any truth in it, then yes, we think there’s more information regarding the Omega in the capital.”
“Fine. We send one party to deal with both threats,” De Monet commanded.
There was an outburst from the assembled crowd.
“I’ll lead the party,” Nikola said. “I suggest you find a city leader among yourselves.”
The crowd went quiet, assessing the various potential alliances and, more importantly, double-crosses.
17
KERRY CONSTANTINE READ through the documents once again. She rubbed the back of her hand across her good eye. Bandages were wrapped around her head, covering the damage she sustained when her eyeball was ripped from its socket. She dimmed the gas lantern on the large oak desk. The golden glow retreated from the walls to a small pool that gently covered the desk. The night closed in, and she pulled her sensible shawl around her shoulders.
In front of her was the signed document from the city officials nominating her as the new Number Two. She smiled, clasped her hands across her stomach and reclined in the great oak chair.
“Hello, Mother.”
Her eye sprang open. She twisted in her seat and searched the room. Before her was a tall and curvaceous young woman, who had apparently stepped out of thin air, her body appearing as though she had passed through an invisible barrier.
“Kerry!”
“Yes, Mother? I see by the engraving on the door that you’ve taken my name. Why would that be?” The young woman trailed her slender fingers across the top of the desk. Dark, burnt trails were seared into the ancient wood. “I’ll have to take a new one.”
Young-Kerry looked around the room. “Sitting alone again, working away on your plans for world domination? Where’s Father? Is he dead like all the others?” She traced the symbol of a cross on the desktop. Smoke drifted slowly, hanging eerily in the gaslight before dissipating.
“He’s not here. They all served their purpose.”
“That’s all we are to you, Mother, means to an end. You never cared for any of us.”
“How could I care for you—you, who are the spawn of the devil? When evil came, I was defenseless, and he took me. The devil in the guise of that drunken man poisoned me, and I’ve been repenting ever since.”
“That drunken man was my father,” Young-Kerry shouted. “Don’t you dare blame him for the evil you’ve done.”
“That man crippled me,” Kerry Constantine shouted. She slammed her hands down on the table. “My soul was ruptured by his sinful urges.”
“So you had to kill him?”
“I did it for the good of the people.”
“You did it for the good of your own self gain, Mother. You sacrificed Father and me.”
“You were dangerous,” said Kerry Constantine.
The gaslight seemed to dim and darkness drew in closer.
Young-Kerry’s voice lowered. Her eyes steadied and an eerie silence settled over the room. “More dangerous than you?”
“You were sinful. Born of unholy temptation, your body and your ways were a curse from God, only too easily devoured by those of such weak wills. With those disgusting men leering at you, always trying to touch you. And you liked it.”
Young-Kerry smiled. “It was a price worth paying, just to see you squirm. But then you abandoned me, forsook me.”
“You did that to yourself when you walked down the path of wickedness, when you turned your back on our Lord.” Kerry Constantine stood up and glared at her daughter.
“Do you know what they did to me, Mother?” Young-Kerry hissed. Her face floated inches in front of the elderly lady. “Can you imagine?”
She placed her fingers near the heavy bandaging on her mother’s face. She waved them gently and the fabric started to smolder.
“When they ripped the flesh off my body, when they drilled into my bones, can you imagine the pain?”
“There was nothing that could be done. We had to save the town. Even though you were lost to the Lord, I cried for you.”
“How sweet. Yes, Mother and her eternal politics. Politics: first. Everything else: last. I cried out for you. In the darkness, in the pain, I cried out to you for your forgiveness for some obviously horrible and unknown deed I had perpetuated against you. I lay alone in the darkness, but there was no redemption. There was no death. There was no God or devil, only the evil of mankind, and so I made a choice. It�
��s amazing the things we give up to survive, isn’t it, Mother?”
Kerry Constantine started praying, muttering to herself. She held her cross around her neck tightly.
“Your god will not save you now. Welcome to the darkness.” Young-Kerry whipped her hand away from her mother’s face, ripping away the remaining eye. Blood exploded from the socket, leaving a dark sticky trail over the paperwork on the desk.
Kerry Constantine’s body started to glow from the inside. Patches of bright yellow and red began to form on her arms. She collapsed to the floor in a vain and useless attempt to find her eye.
The young woman grabbed Kerry Constantine’s throat and sank her hand deeply into the burning flesh. She ripped out the vocal chords, leaving her mother mute. The patches of fire grew and engulfed her. Kerry Constantine’s whole body burst into flames.
From the street outside, the window of the office glowed a fierce yellow, which faded and was replaced by a pale blue glow shining out into the night air. It dimmed, and the street went dark.
18
MORNING CAME, AND Nikola wandered the streets under the guise of patrolling. He passed the mess hall, where Parker was eating with several guards. The front doors were flung open wide to allow the flatulence from high-protein breakfasts to seep out.
When Parker saw Nikola, he jumped up and came out. “Commander, you’re going to love this. One of my men has informed me from the highly reliable, ahem, grapevine that Kerry Constantine was found in her office this morning exceedingly dead.”
Nikola laughed.
“That’s a bit cruel.”
“I wasn’t laughing about her. I was thinking about the city officials. What’ll they do now? Let poor old Ralph actually do some work?”
“I’ve got some news there as well. Kerry and Ralph lived at Andy Latrobe’s mother’s home. You remember the private …”
Nikola nodded.
“Well, under the big rug in the living room were two bodies, Mother Latrobe and Ralph Constantine.”
“But they must have been there for months. Surely the smell …”
“They were wrapped in special silver foil and another strange material that seemed to absorb the smell. Once we unwrapped them, it was pretty bad. We moved the Constantine body over to the morgue. We’ve arranged a state burial for Mrs. Latrobe. I assume you’ll attend.”
Nikola nodded. Distracted, he watched a group of shady out-of-town traders, merchants who seemed to be flooding into the city in recent times. He indicated the men to Parker. “They come and go all over the country. Find one for me who’s been to Carranbine.”
Peter walked through the backstreets to his quarters, after spending the afternoon perusing the markets. He carried a valuable silver brooch he had found among the cheap rubbish designed to appeal to the unknowing and tasteless. The brooch suddenly grew warm, causing him to drop it in surprise. He bent over to scoop it up off the cobblestones, but straightened up quickly when someone pinched his backside. He spun around.
“Peter, what a surprise to see you.”
“Sorry, do I know you?”
“I’m Angel. You rescued me from the Hive.”
“I don’t recall …”
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember my face.” Angel gave him a sad face, jutting out her lower lip. “I’ll never forget you. I’d like to give you a present.”
“Angel, you say? Sorry, I don’t remember you.” He gave her one of his charm-laced smiles. “What is this present?”
She pivoted on the spot, clasped her hands behind her back, and gave him a shy look. She wore a deep red walking dress, complete with bustle, which accentuated her figure. Soft dark curls fell to her shoulders, framing her beatific face. The sun reflected off her skin, making her appear to glow.
“It’s something amazing. You simply must guess,” she said coyly, her full red lips caressing the words as she spoke them.
“Er, I’m sorry, I’m expected at the blacksmith’s shortly.” Peter looked away, although hesitantly, because a moment later his eyes were drawn back to Angel’s curves. “Maybe we can meet some other time.”
“That would be splendid.” She skipped off down the street, pausing to smell a bunch of flowers held by a market seller. The man grinned and handed her a couple of long-stemmed roses, revealing a mouth full of broken teeth. She gave him a curtsey and bounced away, tying the flowers in her hair.
Peter was hypnotized by the swaying of her hips.
“Well, Mother,” Angel whispered to herself. “I think I’ve found my pawn.”
Colonel Parker arrived back at the mess, forcibly dragging Andana. The diminutive man struggled ineffectually against the power of the soldier.
“Glad you could join us,” Nikola said to Andana. “Your cooperation will be recognized.”
Parker released the man, who readjusted his jacket and gave his head a shake to restore his dignity. Parker stared down at him until he looked away.
“Andana,” Parker said, “did your smuggling travels take you to Carranbine?”
Andana’s attention snapped to Nikola, who looked marginally less threatening. The great commander still towered above him, forcing Andana to stretch up onto his toes as he spoke.
“I’m a trader, I’d thank you to remember that.” He tugged on his lapels and twisted his neck. “Yes, I’ve been to Carranbine. I was there when the cyborgs came through and captured everyone.”
“Really? We’ve just found the body of Ralph Constantine. He claimed he was the mayor at Carranbine.”
“Don’t know no Constantine.”
“You might have known him as Ralph Whyte.”
“Oh, old Ralph. Yeah, I knew him. Used to get him some special deliveries, if you know what I mean. I saw him get shot through by the cyborgs. Glad to hear he recovered to rise from the dead.” He absentmindedly flicked his fingernails together as he stared at Nikola.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d take a look at the body, to confirm it’s him.” Nikola gave him a brittle smile.
“Is there a choice?” Andana replied.
“Follow me,” Nikola said.
He led the man to the medical research building, where they took a flight of stairs down to a lower level. Nikola pushed through a heavy steel door and they entered a coolroom.
Andana shivered. “Glad I wore me jacket.”
Nikola walked to the center of the room. There were two metal benches, both with deceased covered in white sheets. Nikola drew back the sheet from the first body. He glanced at Andana.
“That isn’t Ralph Constantine, or Whyte,” Andana said. “Not even close.”
“Same name, but a different man. Interesting. Did you ever see his wife?”
“Sure did. Short, older lady, always wearing the big stupid hat. Annoying preachy voice. Very religious.”
“Even more interesting. Perhaps she looked something like this.” He pulled the sheet off the next body.
Andana slapped his hand over his nose and pulled a face of disgust. “Doesn’t half stink.” He blinked furiously as the vapors crawled through his skull. “I can’t recognize the face, but the body looks the same, what’s left of it.” He looked up at Nikola, who hadn’t flinched. “You got a strong stomach there, Commander.”
“I’ve been on a battlefield. I can endure the worst that humanity throws at me. Except Parker’s wife’s cooking. That’s not good.”
Andana leaned down and his head swam. The overpowering smell of charred flesh filled the room. His hand bumped Kerry Constantine’s arm, which turned to dust. He fell to the floor, hitting his chin on the cold steel on the way down. Dazed, he tried to stand up again and misjudged the proximity of the bench, ramming his head into the underside. The shock jolted the corpse, which cracked, fell apart and crumpled to fine powder.
Nikola shook his head. “Thus ends the existence of the person we knew as Kerry Constantine. May she burn in hell.”
“Looks like she already did,” Andana said.
19
PETER POUNDED AWAY on the metal. Sparks flew around him as he brought down the hammer like a weapon of the gods. The furnace roared and his muscles flexed and steamed, sweat glistening on his skin. Almost instantly, his shirt became soaked in sweat and he hung it over the stable door. The leather of the apron was cool against his skin, but the occasional spark landed, gently singeing him, leaving him covered in soot.
He stood back and twirled the sword in his hand, feeling its weight and balance.
He laid the edge of the sword against the grinding stone as it spun furiously. Sparks shot up in a high arc before floating down.
There was a voice behind him.
He turned around. “What was that you said?” He gave Angel a quizzical look, followed by his megawatt smile.
“I said it’s like a fireworks display, with all these sparks floating down.”
He glanced back at the great stone spinning around. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
He plunged his sword into the barrel of water and it hissed violently as the steam rushed upwards. He removed his mask, sweeping his hair back out of his face, and struggled out of the heavy leather apron. His muscles flexed, some having to move out of the way of the others.
Angel gulped.
His stomach rippled as he bent his lean torso over, shrugging off the leather. His muscular abdomen twisted, with beads of sweat catching the light, like diamonds, in between bunches of muscles. He stood up, lean and toned in the midday sun, shining like a Roman god.
Angel eventually found her voice. “I didn’t know you were a blacksmith.”
“I’m not. I do a bit here and there to keep my weapon strong and sharp, so I get a clean entry with little resistance when I thrust it into someone.”
“I bet,” she whispered.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. As you stand before me fit for manual exertion, would I be a bothersome bore if I asked for your assistance in porting my cases to my apartment? They’re so heavy, it would be most splendid if you could assist.”
