Lotus Blue

by Sparks,Cat

  = Forty-seven =

  Star awoke with a start, wondering where she was at first. Not curled up beneath the green-and-blue wagon, nor snuggled by the dying embers of a communal Sand Road fire. Not with Nene. Nene wasn’t her sister anymore, and Lucius . . . Lucius was gone.

  It took a moment to remember she’d gone to sleep in the belly of an ancient metal plane on a concrete island out beyond the Black. Something was wrong. She sat up, peered through the battered silver skin, down to where the half-drum fire had burned the night before. Quarrel was shouting down below. One of the nameless men was trying to explain something. Badly, apparently—Quarrel knocked him to the ground with a single blow.

  Tully Grieve was nowhere in sight. Star furled up her makeshift blanket, slung it over her shoulder. She needed to piss but that would have to wait.

  She jumped from the rusted ladder onto cracked concrete.

  Hackett and Grellan stared at her in accusatory silence, her boots loud in the still, crisp air. Bimini clambered clumsily down from another plane, one which still had wings attached on either side.

  “Is he up there with you?” shouted Grellan.

  Star shook her head, as there was only one person he could have meant. “Haven’t seen Grieve since nightfall.”

  He looked as though he didn’t believe her. “Then he’s taken off with the waterskins, plus what was left of the roo.”

  “And Jarvis,” added the nameless man. “Jarvis is missing.” His offsider.

  “You shouldn’t have wasted water on that boy,” said Quarrel, glaring across at Star.

  “Should have shared your suspicions if you had ’em,” shouted Bimini, hurrying across the cracked cement to join the conversation.

  “Can’t have got far. We can hunt them down,” said Hackett.

  “They’re not worth the effort,” Grellan added.

  None of them were staring at the open sand. They stared at Star, as if Grieve’s betrayal of their trust was somehow on her shoulders. Not fair—she was not his keeper—no need to make the point. He had sweet-talked the lot of them—and Jarvis as well, evidently. But deep down she conceded there was probably a damn good reason he’d been left chained to die a horrible death.

  Speculation was useless—Grieve was gone for good. He was a canny one. A survivor. Not fool enough to ever let them catch him.

  Quarrel turned and stared out across the Black. Above it, the sky was a flat, discoloured expanse. No sign of the creature-storm that had chased them from the splintered Dogwatch ruins. The patch of bruised and bloodied sky remained above the horizon, the same place they’d first caught sight of it from onboard the ship. No bigger than it had been the night before.

  “Boy’s words were all bullshit, nothing he said can be trusted,” said Quarrel.

  “Oh, and your lies can be trusted, I suppose,” snapped Bimini. “We are only in this predicament because of your bullshit. Promises of tanker and Angel harvest—remember those?” She made a big show of looking around. “I’m not seeing any tankers. I see only dead things here. Nothing worth a single coin—or life.”

  “Agreed,” said Grellan.

  Quarrel stared her down. “Mesh guided us true. How else you think we found this place? Blind luck?” He forced a laugh, a sound that slid very quickly into coughing. “Damn sand gets into everything.” He sniffed. “We’ve got a job to do, nothing more to be said about it.”

  “Your job, not our job. How are we supposed to reach this dangerous weapon you speak of without food and water?”

  “Get your shit together. We’re moving out,” he replied.

  “We don’t have any water!”

  “The ship that dumped the boy’s got water—and supplies.”

  “The Razael’s probably sailed right off the Black by now, and they’re probably salvaging the blue weapon—if it even exists—as we speak.”

  “That ship hasn’t found jack shit,” said Quarrel.

  “How could you know that?”

  Quarrel raised his arm and jabbed it in the direction of the sickly sky blister. “They don’t know how to handle that Lotus. I’m the only one who knows that trick.”

  “The only one—is that right?” Bimini stepped up closer to the big man. “I don’t believe you. Don’t believe you know what you’re doing—don’t believe you’re who you say you are. We’re lost—I say we better start looking for water.”

  Murmurs of agreement lingered.

  Quarrel turned his back on the lot of them. He strode off, the sand cloak sloughing from side to side.

  Star followed, keeping her distance, all the way up to the Sentinel. She watched him stand before it, staring with what appeared to be great longing. He sighed heavily and then, ignoring her, made his way to the nearest of the planes and started rummaging amongst the piles of junk scattered across the warped and buckled tarmac.

  Star ran to catch him up. “What will happen to the people aboard that ship?”

  Quarrel tugged a spanner from a tangle of twisted metal shards and banged it hard against a concrete slab, wiped the corrosion off onto his pants. “They’re all gonna die.”

  “What?”

  He laughed and banged the spanner harder, holding it up to his eye and squinting. “Made in China—will you look at that. I recall when China was a thing. Back before—when you weren’t even spit in your mother’s gravy, little girl. Not that you ever had a mother.”

  He threw the spanner over his shoulder and continued searching noisily.

  “What do you mean they’ll die?” said Star. The plane above their heads loomed large, made fierce by a mouthful of jagged teeth painted on either side of its nosecone.

  “Everybody gotta die sometime. Even me, apparently.” He yanked a long piece of metal free, gave it a quizzical look, then tossed it aside.

  “What about that storm creature that chased us from the wreck? You keep staring back as if you expect it—”

  “Least of our problems,” said Quarrel, hauling out another piece of junk. Appraising it, then setting it down gently at his feet.

  “My friend is on that ship,” said Star. “An innocent girl taken against her will.”

  Quarrel paused. “Innocent? Innocent? No such thing as the innocent rich.” He yanked another piece of metal from the pile, wiped sweat from his brow.

  “Grieve said they were going to try and harvest the Lotus Blue.”

  Quarrel turned, metal bar gripped in his meaty hand. “You don’t harvest a Lotus—it’s practically a god. It’ll kill them, and it’ll kill us too.”

  “But you’re going to try to stop it?”

  “Kid, I don’t have any choice.” He brandished his mesh at her. “You don’t either.”

  She took a step back.

  “Stick close. But first things first.”

  With the metal bar gripped tightly, he marched towards the Sentinel. Star ran after him. “Where are you going?”

  He didn’t answer. When he reached the Sentinel he worked at prising the metal hatch open with the bar, huffing and grunting, giving it a kick or two to loosen the bolts. “You can watch if you want but I’m not gonna share. Not enough juice left for a decent high.”

  Star glared at him in disbelief, her mind ticking over, remembering. “You were at the Vulture. You’re the one who . . .”

  “Damn straight.”

  Star felt the pieces falling into place. “You broke the taboo on entering and then you broke the Sentinel. More than a hundred of my people died!”

  The hatch was finally coming loose. A few more kicks and then he was inside.

  “Stop it!” She lunged and grabbed his arm. With a beast-like roar, he picked her up and hurled her through the air. She landed hard, slamming up against the side of a rusted skip,
banging her head, crawling on all fours, managing to stand, then collapsing to the dirt.

  When Quarrel eventually emerged from the hatch still clutching the metal bar, Star watched him through blurred vision. He staggered, tripping over his own feet like he was drunk.

  She clambered up and shouted, “You killed my friends!”

  His skin was flushed and glowing with vitality. He grinned. “Killed me a lot of people’s friends across the years. Collateral damage they call it, don’t you know?”

  Her vision cleared. “Without a functioning Sentinel, this place will get trashed by storms.”

  “So fucking what—what’s it to you? Why you get so jumped about everything?” He leered in closer, “They’re not your people—or your kind. Haven’t you worked out what you are yet?”

  Star felt sick in the stomach. “I’m not like you!”

  His eyes went wide. “Liar liar, pants on fire—and you don’t know the half of it.” An involuntary shiver rattled down his spine. He smiled, then waggled the metal bar menacingly. “Never met a five-star-G who could tell a story straight. They sent us out into the thick of battle with broken weapons, contaminated food, pissweak shelter, fire raining from the sky. All talk of honour and safety and the future—those polyp storms piss acid, bet you didn’t know that. Only one thing makes polyp storms, and it looks like it’s back in business.”

  Quarrel stabbed the bar into the concrete, making it crack. He stood over the damage, tall and proud like a mighty hunter, even as he swayed woozily.

  “Nisn always lied to us. Told us all the Blues were dead and buried. The buried part was true enough. Damn things dug themselves deep underground. They were always smarter than the think tanks and ordnance wombs that spawned them anyways.”

  “What is a polyp storm?” Star’s voice sounded so weak and insubstantial.

  “Rogue Blues couldn’t be bargained with. With minds of their own, it was them that tipped the balance. Was them that lost the war for everyone. Armies stopped fighting each other, got sent out to fight the Blues instead. No one realized what they’d created until it was too late to stop them.”

  He paused and looked to her, as if expecting another question.

  “Who won?” she asked carefully.

  He guffawed awkwardly. “This look like a winning world to you?”

  “We’re alive, aren’t we?” she said. “Sand Road’s filled with decent folk. We didn’t forge the Dead Red Heart. We didn’t start any wars.”

  Quarrel stared at Star blankly, blinking. She braced herself, expecting more shouting, or an argument at least. Instead a subtle sound like tinkling bells.

  “What do you want now?” the Templar screamed.

  She cringed, backing off when she realized that he was screaming at his arm, not her. At the mesh and its private messages.

  Star kept still, not risking any sudden movements.

  “You’re not fooling me. I’m not risking my life for you. Not bringing a single scrap of it back for you to get your grubby mitts on.”

  “It’s a fucking bomb,” he yelled at her. “The Blue ones were the worst. You can kiss your arse—and your precious Sand Road goodbye . . .”

  She turned and fled, suddenly remembering something Lucius had said. Lucius, who had known all along he would die out here. I can smell the stench of suicide upon that Templar. A one way trip. That Templar won’t be going home again.

  “They’re not your friends,” Quarrel shouted after her. “They’re not even your species!” He staggered, giddy, tripping over his own feet.

  The others were approaching, attracted by all the shouting. Star hurried back to try to shush the Templar but he pushed her away. “I don’t give a shit about them and neither should you. We have a job to do.” He attempted to straighten himself up and stand proud, despite his heavy intoxication. “I need you and you’re stuck with me.”

  “I’m not going with you. I can’t—”

  He grabbed a fistful of her shirt. She tried to twist free without ripping the fabric. The others started running towards them.

  “Let me go—please!”

  She struggled with him until Bimini caught them up, her face clouded with anger. “Let her go.”

  Quarrel ignored her.

  Bimini raised her voice so all could hear it. “Look at him—he’s stoned. I say we take him down now while he’s weak and confused and can’t fight back,” spittle flying as she let loose the words.

  “No,” Star pleaded, “You’ve seen him fight. He’s too strong. Too dangerous.”

  Quarrel did not appear to be listening. He dragged Star, struggling, to a position where he could see the horizon, out through a gap between two planes. He began mumbling prayers and mantras, denotations offered to the open sand.

  “Now’s the time,” said Bimini through gritted teeth. “We might not get another chance.”

  Grellan and Hackett had moved to catch up. They’d had this discussion often before, Star could suddenly tell by the way the three of them caught each other’s eye. Planning it, biding their time, waiting for the right moment.

  Bimini edged herself around the far side of Quarrel’s bulk, and snapped her fingers close up to his face. “Hey, you, Templar. Explain what happens when you find the Lotus. What you gonna do to shut it down?”

  “The darkness crumbles!” Quarrel shouted, eyes blazing.

  Bimini drew her blade. “He’s definitely stoned or infected with something or plain snapped crazy broke down. No more stable than a tanker or a storm.”

  Her wavering voice betrayed her fear. She gripped her knife and steadied her stance. “Look, whatever’s out there, it ain’t our fight. We’re damn lucky to have survived this far, but this is where the journey ends.”

  Quarrel glared at her, nostrils flaring. He let go of Star’s shirt and gave her a mighty shove, sending her sprawling. “Of course its your fight. It’s everybody’s fight. Everyone who wants to keep on living. Everyone not already slaughtered, gotta put the genie back in the bottle. The ghost back into the machine, the fire back into the mountain . . .”

  Bimini gritted her teeth. Beads of sweat were forming on her temple. “I’m not following you another step. Not one more step, do you hear me?”

  Quarrel’s glazed eyes snapped into focus. “Mesh tells me there’s a settlement, walking distance from this place. But in which direction, huh?” He swung his arm, an expansive gesture indicating nowhere in particular. “Which way you gonna walk without my intel?”

  Bimini held her stance awhile longer, then sheathed her blade, a look of bitter disappointment on her face. “Let’s get out of here. Place gives me the creeps.”

  Hackett and Grellan moved to join her.

  “Come on, girl,” said Bimini to Star, “What you waiting for?”

  Quarrel was softly humming to himself, staring off into nothingness, like he’d forgotten the rest of them were there. Star got to her feet and edged close to Bimini, making no sudden moves.

  Fast as lightning, Quarrel lashed out and grabbed her wrist. Star yelped.

  “This one’s mine,” he said, calmly, yet loud enough for all to hear. “My back up plan—that old General’s clawing inside my head. Reading my thoughts, making a mess of things.” He shook his head, like shaking might make a difference. “But her head, see, it’s too empty to infect. The scaffolding wasn’t seeded right. She’s no more than half and half, but half might be the right amount. The perfect number as it turns out.”

  Bimini’s expression changed. “What’s he on about?”

  “Nothing,” said Star, her voice crumbling with panic. “Let me go!” She tugged her arm and twisted, trying to break free.

  Quarrel did not let go. Instead, he held her arm up high so all of them could see. Tugged down her sleev
e and ripped the dirty bandage from her skin.

  “No!”

  The more she kicked and struggled, the more tightly he gripped.

  “Don’t look at it!” she pleaded.

  But it was too late.

  “What the blessed—” Bimini started, staring at her mesh.

  Quarrel got up, dragging Star screaming and howling along beside him, not caring if the others stayed or followed.

  “We will cross the sleeping sands between with strong eyes and fine limbs,” he said.

  Star tripped and stumbled trying to keep pace. She made the mistake of looking back, in time to catch the look of horror on all their faces.

  = Forty-eight =

  The dirty buzz from drained Sentinel juice was fading fast, leaving Quarrel with a powerful blasting headache. Gradually his jumbled mind reordered itself and his spectrum-split vision cleared.

  Quarrel hadn’t needed data streams to tell him people had been sheltering in and around the aircraft boneyard. Subtle signs were everywhere: a footprint here, drags marks there, indicating recent removal of equipment and other useful salvage. Wind whistled through cracks in the disintegrating planes. The old husks weren’t much use for shelter, and would be even less use next time a storm came charging through. His mesh had revealed some useful data for a change. A settlement not far ahead, on a strip of land that fringed the open sand. Sand where tankers screamed and rolled. The settlement would have what he required.

  He felt no guilt at what he’d done. Guilt was for the weak. The dregs of his pathetic, useless crew, still trailed along behind. All threat and no marrow, lacking the grit to look out for themselves. At this point, he didn’t care what those people did so long as they kept their distance. He didn’t need them. He had the girl—his backup plan, the rest were dead weight, more trouble than they had ever been worth.

  He’d need the girl if he couldn’t go the distance. Only if he found a way to block the mesh and that other thing. That voice nagging at the edges of his consciousness.