by M. R. Forbes
The soldiers charged her, all of them at once. She bounced backward, toward the rear line, spinning and activating her anti-gravity plate, slamming her foot into the first opponent to reach her.
She landed, slashing with the Uin, cutting down another soldier, ducking low, spinning and sweeping the Uin through a third Nephilim’s leg. She pulled her sidearm, heart pumping hard, adrenaline pumping harder, firing point-blank into a fourth soldier’s face, and then jumping up and away, clearing the rush of opponents and heading back toward Jol.
“Bale!” the Evolent shouted, already running from her.
Hayley heard the Goreshin howl. She cursed, ducking another blow, sidekicking an enemy, slashing another, shooting a third. It all happened so fast, years of training and instinct taking over for logic. Muscle memory guiding every movement.
Someone shot at her, but she saw the hand behind the trigger and stepped aside, the round screaming past her ear and hitting the soldier behind her. She returned fire, her round hitting the soldier in the chest and puncturing his blacksuit.
Bale emerged from behind the branches of a tree, charging toward her on all fours. She turned toward him, emptying her pistol into his face, not to kill but to distract. Then she jumped away, getting beside him and running her Uin along his body, cutting deep. It still had some of the isotopes on it, and the wound remained purple as he stopped and turned.
Tibor leaped out of the branches of a nearby tree, landing on Bale’s back, still in human form. He carried a knife, stabbing it into the Goreshin’s neck, trying to stay on him. Bale threw a large fist back, hitting Tibor in the face and knocking him off.
The soldiers charged him. Hayley blew past Bale, her Uin a blur as she cut into the onrushing enemy.
“Witchy, behind you,” Tibor warned, getting back to his feet.
She slashed the neck of another soldier and spun around.
The Executioners were coming.
She reached into her tightpack. She had one stim left. “Tibor.” She tossed it to him. He caught it, looking at it like he didn’t know what to do. Maybe it wouldn’t help.
Then again, maybe it would.
He jabbed it into his arm, stumbling back for a moment as it spread through his system.
The Executioners broke through the foliage, guns raised and ready to fire. Hayley ordered the naniates out again, her heart nearly stopping as a dozen large caliber slugs launched in her direction, and came to a stop only centimeters from her body.
She let them fall, fighting a wave of dizziness that crested over her.
Something hit her from the side.
She was thrown to the right, a gash in her lightsuit from Bale’s claws. She rolled on the ground, pushing herself back up as he came at her. She looked past him for the Executioners, finding them under attack by an altered Tibor.
“Come on, bitch,” Bale growled.
He rushed her, claws flailing. She skipped aside, barely feeling the pain from her wounds past the high of the stimulants. She swept the Uin around, catching him in the shoulder and digging in deep. He howled and kicked out at her, but she saw the move coming and was already past it, bringing the weapon down and into his calf. When his foot came down, it wouldn’t support his weight, and he stumbled onto the ground.
She heard the Executioner behind her, turning and raising her Uin just in time to block a hard punch. The force still pushed her back, and she planted her feet to keep from falling.
Then Violent was there, hitting the Executioner with a well-placed, naniate-powered punch of her own that broke the Nephilim’s nose and twisted his neck so hard it broke.
Hayley spun again. Bale was limping away, trying to escape. She took a step toward him and then thought better of it.
Where had Jol gone?
She looked back at Violent and Tibor. They were managing the remains of the Nephilim forces, holding their own against the blacksuits and Executioners. She scanned the garden, searching for the Evolent but not finding him. She ran in the direction she had seen him headed.
There was no way the damn coward was getting off this fragging planet, and especially not with the Colonel.
40
Hayley made her way through the garden. The sounds of fighting faded behind her as she continued running, in part because of the distance and in part because the battle was winding down.
She had no way of knowing if this was the path the Evolent had taken, but it was a path, a layer of stone over the dirt and greenery that lined the floor of the space and led across the large atrium toward a lift at the far end.
“Witchy, where are you?” Tibor asked, his tired voice piercing her com.
“I’m after Jol,” she replied. “What’s your status?”
“Bale got away. The rest of the soldiers are dead. Violent is hurt.”
Hayley pulled to a stop. Damn it. “How bad?” If it was bad, she would have no choice but to go back. That was another vow she had made. Healing before hurting.
“I think she’ll be okay. She has a cut on her forehead, and she’s out, but her breathing is stable.”
She started running forward again, relieved. “What about you?”
“I can see why you like the stimulants so much. Of course, I can’t change back to my first form now.” He laughed. “Which direction are you headed? I’ll back you up.”
“No. Stay with Violent. If she starts to look worse, let me know, and I’ll come back.”
“Why?”
“I’m a doctor. It’s my job.”
“Roger.”
She circled a palm tree. A bird flitted overhead, its qi blue and green. She couldn’t see the color of its feathers. In fact, in that way, every living thing and everybody looked the same to her. At the moment, it reminded her of the Font and the past. It drove her anger, which drove her desire, which drove her to run a little bit faster.
She reached the lift. She didn’t hit the panel to call it down. Instead, she jammed her Uin between the two doors, using it as leverage to pry them open. She leaned in and turned her head up.
“Gant, how many floors to the lift car?”
“Twelve, Witchy,” Gant replied.
She pulled her head out summoned the car as she let the doors close. It arrived a few seconds later, and she climbed in. It was always the stupid little things that were the hardest. She could dodge bullets, but she couldn’t select a floor on a lift without help. She could see the panel itself, but not the numbers.
“Gant, a little help?”
She put her hand on the panel. Gant guided her in distances, and she selected the floor. The lift started to rise.
She grabbed her second pistol from its holster on her hip. She held it in her right hand, the Uin in her left. The lift came to a stop. The door opened.
“You don’t want to be compared to your mother, Miss Cage,” Evolent Jol said as she stepped out into an open room surrounded by glass. “But you’re as impossibly resilient as she is said to be.”
He was standing in front of a gurney. Quark was laid out on it, unconscious. Jol had a blade against his throat.
His qi was purple and white and… red-gold?
What the hell had they done?
“You know what happens when you give someone the Gift, don’t you Miss Cage?” Jol asked.
“I’ve had my own experience with it,” she replied.
“You’re an exception,” he said. “A freak of nature. An impossible outcome. No, what happens is that the recipient either gains the use of the Gift, while becoming bound to the supplier, in this case me. Or the recipient goes insane, dies, and is converted to a Servant. Either way, once someone is given the Gift, they become a Nephilim. They always become a Nephilim.”
“My Mother didn’t,” Hayley said.
“Again, an exception. It seems to run in your family. I don’t think that’s what will happen here. He’s in the expected state after being injected. When he wakes, his control will be spotty. He’ll be angry. He might even attack you.”
“
He wouldn’t attack me. Besides, he can’t hurt me with the Gift. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”
“Which is why I have a knife to his throat. You killed my Goreshin. You blew up my mainframe. You ended Venerant Devain. Gloritant Thetan is going to be furious with me for the losses I’ve taken, and the only way I can redeem myself is to recover the data you stole. Toss the chip over, and I’ll be on my way.”
“I don’t think I’m going to do that.”
“If you don’t, I’ll kill him.”
“Then you’ll die.”
“I’m dead anyway if I don’t get that chip. That’s how these things work.”
Hayley focused on Jol’s hand, gripping the knife. She would be able to tell when he was going to move it across Quark’s throat before he did it. Would she be able to stop him in time?
“You’re wondering if you can stop me,” Jol said. “I can see it in your eyes.” He laughed at his stupid joke. “You can’t. It’s impossible.”
She had come to the same conclusion. She had to give him the chip if she wanted to save the Colonel’s life. There was no other way around it.
That wasn’t exactly true. The naniates were there to command, immersed in Quark’s bloodstream. She could use them against the Evolent. She could burn his hand. She could choke him. Any number of things.
All she had to do was break her vow not to use the Meijo in violence.
Violent had made a similar vow to herself, and she had broken it because her need was that great. Hayley already had one father who was killed, one mother who was killed, her biological mother missing and maybe dead too.
Quark was all she had left.
Wasn’t that something worth breaking the vow for?
“Make your decision, Miss Cage,” Jol said. He lowered the blade a little, enough that the edge bit into Quark’s neck and drew a line of blood.
If she broke her vow, she would be exiled from Koosa. She would be stripped of her title. They would scar her tattoos so they would be unable to hold the naniates. She would lose all that she had spent years to become.
Or she would lose Quark.
Or she would lose the data chip.
It was an impossible choice. All of them sucked.
She reached into her tightpack and withdrew the chip. She held it up, looking at it. Such a tiny thing had caused so much trouble.
Justice. That was why she had worked so hard to learn to see in her own way. To learn to fight. To become the soldier she had always wanted to be. To protect the individuals who couldn’t protect themselves, like the residents of Kelvar. To help individuals as a healer.
All in the name of Justice.
She exhaled slowly and then tossed the chip to Jol.
He smiled, reaching up to catch it, distracted for only an instant.
Her right hand moved, whipping up. Jol noticed the movement right away, his eyes coming off the chip, his hand turning red as his intent to cut Quark’s throat in the face of her betrayal became clear.
She squeezed the trigger on her pistol, still turning, pirouetting to gain momentum. The bullet passed so close to Quark’s chin it drew its own line of blood before slamming into Jol’s hand, the impact blowing it to pieces and forcing the knife out of it.
He tried to scream, but she completed her turn, releasing the Uin. It spun in the air like a discus, and he threw the Gift out, desperate to catch it.
The weapon was a distraction. Hayley was already leaping toward him, lunging with the strength of the lightsuit and the lightness of the anti-gravity plate on her back. He couldn’t use the Gift to stop her, and he drew back in pained surprise as her foot collided with his face, breaking his nose and shoving him back. He bounced off the glass behind him, trying to recover.
Hayley landed right in front of him. She shot him point-blank in the chest, three times. He slumped against the window, looking up at her.
She found the Uin on the floor and picked it up. Jol’s wounds were already healing, the Gift putting him back together.
“I guess you were right,” she said.
“About what?” he replied, frightened.
“The impossible outcome.”
Then she took off his head.
41
Hayley turned around, looking down at Quark. On the outside, he seemed peaceful. But there was nothing peaceful about the Gift finding purchase in his system, changing him into a symbiotic vessel of shared needs.
Needs she knew he didn’t want.
She leaned over him, putting her hands on his head. “Colonel,” she said. “Dad. This is going to hurt like hell. For both of us. I know you can take it.”
He didn’t move. He didn’t answer. She was so used to him being so damn strong, but at the moment he looked vulnerable. She hated it.
She lowered her head, sending the signal out to the naniates. “Get out. You don’t belong. Get the frag out of him!”
The naniates weren’t trapped like they were in the Goreshin. They reacted immediately, beginning to sink through his flesh toward her.
Except, they didn’t want anything to do with her. The Nephilim naniates hated her, and she hated them. They pushed back against her efforts, trying to retreat to escape. There was a reason she never used them. It took too much effort, and it fragging hurt.
She gritted her teeth against the pain, as the first of the naniates gathered in the tattoos on her skin. They burned her to escape, fighting back against her will. It was like a thousand needles all jabbing into her at once, a sharp tingle that left her whole body weak. Still, she persisted, watching the red-gold machines evacuate Quark’s blood and body and shift to her skin, the tattoos along her arms beginning to shimmer with their myriad presence.
It felt like it took forever. In reality, it was less than thirty seconds. She didn’t submit until all of the naniates were out of him. Then she took her hands away, backing up, in so much pain she had no means to comprehend it. Her entire body was on fire. Burning with the energy of the Nephilim Gift.
She hadn’t ended the war. Not yet. She had only changed the battlefield.
She turned to the window, looking out. The room was perched over the garden, giving her a bird’s eye view of the grounds. It was beautiful, but the true extent of that beauty was lost on her. She couldn’t see the variations of green in the leaves or the different colors of the flowers.
But she could see the Font.
The red and gold of the naniates stood out against the blue and green backdrop, a pool of blood a meter in diameter, a charging station for the Venerant and Evolent, as well as a means to communicate with Thetan.
“Hal?” Quark said behind her.
She turned her head, looking back at him. He was sitting up. His qi was white with fear for her.
She had never seen his qi turn white before.
“Hal? What’s going on?”
“Dad,” she said. “It hurts.” She tried to point. “Font. I have to go.”
She had to get them away from him. Now that they’d imprinted on him, if she released them, they would head right back to his bloodstream.
She put her gun against the glass and pulled the trigger. The rounds went through it, sending cracks along it. She hit it twice with her Uin, and then kicked it, sending it tumbling to the glass roof of the atrium below.
She looked back at Quark. He was on his feet, watching her. Terrified.
Then she jumped.
A thought got the anti-gravity plate up to speed, and she felt the tug as it worked to slow her descent. She spread her legs slightly, aiming her pistol between them and firing down at the glass beneath her, creating new cracks in it. The naniates continued to resist her, sending jolts of energy into her body. She felt like she was on fire, or being electrocuted. It was getting harder to think and harder to concentrate.
Her boots slammed into the glass, and it broke with her, falling beneath her feet. She pushed the anti-grav to the max, jerked hard as it slowed her to a not-quite-stop, allowing her to hit the g
round and start running for the Font.
Tibor was coming toward her, and his qi changed from red to white when he saw it was her. “Witchy?” he said.
“Font,” she replied.
Her legs gave out, and she stumbled, falling to her knees. She tried to get up, but she didn’t have the strength.
Tibor grabbed her, lifting her into his arms, cradling her and carrying her toward the Font. The naniates started attacking him, burning him the way they were burning her. He growled in pain, lip curling in a snarl, but he didn’t give in.
They reached the Font. He lowered her in front of it, holding her up while she looked down at the pool of blood, thick with trillions of the molecular machines.
She stared at it, the memory of it coming back to her. She shook in place, holding her hand out toward the Font, suddenly terrified. This was a personal demon. One she had to conquer.
She plunged her hand into the blood. Immediately, the area around it turned a lighter color, the naniates already in the Font trying to get away. She didn’t need to ask the ones on her body to join them. They were already moving to the Font, eager to escape, like fleas jumping off poisoned flesh.
She pulled her hand from the font, turning it over. She had dropped her Uin when she landed.
“Tibor, cut my hand,” she said, holding it out.
“What?”
“Do it.”
He brought his claw over her hand, digging one of the sharp nails through her palm. It started to bleed.
She held the hand over the Font and clenched her fist. The blood poured down into it, mingling with the blood of the countless innocents the Nephilim drained to create their monstrous fuel. The naniates hated her, and they hated her blood, and as it siphoned into the Font, they all started to die.
She looked down at it, shuddering and smiling, watching the red-gold sink away from the top and fade out as the machines ceased functioning. Tears streamed from her blind eyes, also falling into the Font. Then she took a step back, screaming as she kicked the side of it, knocking it from its pedestal and spilling it all in the dirt.
She looked back at Tibor, suddenly exhausted. She dropped back onto her hands and knees and vomited onto the grass. Then she fell over, laying on her back, looking up at Tibor and past him to the trees, and then past them to the darkness beyond. She imagined she was back on Earth, looking up at the night sky. She imagined she was eleven years old again, and that her mother and father were there with her.
