by K. T. Hanna
“We’ll have a massacre on our hands.” Dom paces around the table, concentrating on each movement, focusing on the human elements of his body to quiet that slurred word. “Mathur is working on a defense. Sai is only just becoming functional. She injured her shoulder yesterday because Mathur’s an idiot and had her try to phase before she was ready. And we need to train Aishke before she kills us all.”
“Come again?” Bastian half-stands before letting himself fall back into his chair. He brushes his hair out of his eyes, and Dom resists the urge to tell him to cut the front off because it’s always in the way.
Instead, he says, “Aishke is a harmer and needs direction.”
Bastian pauses briefly, eyes wide but not focused on anything in particular. He shakes his head. “Well. Hell. I wasn’t expecting this.”
“Neither was she.” Dom had sensed the fear off Aishke at fifty paces. “Sai will get it under control.”
Bastian looks up. “You two are doing better?”
Dom rolls his shoulders, refusing to meet his friend’s gaze. “We’re doing okay. I think. Maybe.” The roll turns into a shrug, and that same helplessness starts creeping through his mind again, leaving behind sinuous strands weaving their way back into control. For a few moments, Dom is tempted to let them, but he changes the subject instead. “Mathur and Mason aren’t sure what to do. They’re worried. No one foresaw that she’d release the Damascus.”
“I think it might have been Zach. He can be such a worm.” Bastian’s tone is soft, as if he’s almost talking to himself. “These riots are going to kill a heap of people. But maybe the more they suffer under the GNW, the easier it will be to weaken their hold.”
Dom watches his friend for a moment. Those words don’t suit him. “You know you don’t mean that.”
Bastian chuckles, but it sounds pained. “We’re all waiting and watching for Deign’s plan to unleash our childhood nightmares.”
There’s no platitude he can offer, no real sympathy that makes the loss of Bastian’s mother because of the Damascus any easier to endure. Nothing makes the guilt over his father and grandfather’s part in the creation of Shine any less.
Dom takes a few steps and puts a hand over his friend’s as it rests on the desk. The tension in Bastian’s arms lessens ever so slightly, and his whispered thank you is barely audible.
“Do you think they’d notice if I took Mele with me this time?”
“Not like anyone else can get her to work properly.” Bastian grins.
“Touché, my friend, touché.” Dom smiles wider than he normally would, but not for himself.
It’s quiet in the living quarters once Bastian goes to bed. There’s nothing for Dom to do but listen to the war going on in his mind. He paces the training area, restless and not wanting to rest lest the parasite take advantage of a less alert mind.
The music doesn’t even help drown it out anymore, let alone get rid of the constant loneliness, the lack of static in his head. It helped at first, but now it’s just something else he’s become used to. While the vacancy in his mind smarts, it’s the constant battle for control over his consciousness that’s both wearing and scary.
Dom blinks and cocks his head to the side. There it is again. A strange noise, sort of like an attempt at sneaking in while wearing clogs. Perhaps clogs is an over-exaggeration, but there’s someone outside the room who shouldn’t be. Not that it matters. There’s not much in existence that has a chance against him—or Bastian, for that matter.
Technically, his friend is supposed to be the headmaster of the facilities. It makes him have to at least pretend to be available to students around the clock.
Melding in with his surroundings, Dom waits by the door and probes for who’s snooping around. Surely they’ve—she’s tripped Bastian’s wards by now. If Dom is getting a read off her, Bastian must at least be alerted.
The huge doors swing in silently on perfectly oiled hinges. A bounce of brown curls surrounding a somewhat pensive expression peeks around the corner. Dom watches her look of apprehension change to fear as she sees Bastian appear at the entrance to his quarters.
“Long time, no see, Nimue.” Bastian leans nonchalantly, like she hadn’t just woken him up by setting off his wards. Dom remains hidden, choosing to observe.
Her face is frozen in terror, but she gulps it down, squares her shoulders, and stands up straight, her pale chin raised.
Bastian maintains his casual stance and crosses his arms. “I’m quite sure you didn’t come here to try and steal test answers since we don’t really have those types of tests at your level. So I can only assume you were either dared to try and enter my office undetected or sent here to sneak in and spy on me.”
“I...” She clears her throat as her cheeks color an odd pink that sort of clashes with her hair. Minuscule tells like the crease in her brow, the slight shake to her fingers—they’re all in plain sight. And her voice quivers when she speaks.
“She always said you were nice.” Nimue’s gaze is still directed away, and as the words escape her, the pink in her cheeks intensifies. It’s like she wants to say something else but can’t get the words out.
Bastian takes a few steps toward her—non-threatening, just slow, reassuring steps in a way only he can manage. “She?”
Nimue juts her chin out again, an attempt at defiance that falls flat when her lip quivers and tears well in her eyes. “Sai. She said you were harsh but fair. She enjoyed her lessons with you. I just...” Her shoulders sag, and the air whooshes out of her in a sound that’s too sad to be defeat.
“You miss her?” Bastian asks, his tone soft and forgiving, but still holding that note of wariness Dom knows by heart.
“Yes, and I wanted to know what it was like. What you were like.” Nimue grimaces. “Well, and I was also sent to spy. Sort of.”
Bastian chuckles, a warm sound like the trickling of a stream over pebbles. Dom closes his eyes to get the full effect. His friend’s voice is just as smooth and elegant when he speaks again. “Thank you for being honest. With yourself and with me.”
Nimue starts. “With myself?”
“That you miss her, that you still think of her. I think she’d like that.”
One of the tears escapes down Nimue’s face, but a soft smile graces her lips and she looks up at Bastian, a clarity to her gaze. “Thank you. It’s been...” She pauses and twirls a strand of hair around a finger, pulling it so tight that it tugs at her scalp. “It’s been so quiet without her around, even if she was gone much of the time.”
“Lonely?”
“Yeah.” She smiles a little wanly. “Thank you again. I miss her and…my teachers don’t really understand the whole friendship thing.”
Bastian laughs. “Especially not your teacher. Feel free to come and…spy on me again sometime. I’ll make sure to let Deign know it took a while to catch you snooping.”
Nimue’s eyes light up. “Really?”
“Really.”
With that the girl grins, turns on her heel, and flies back down the hall the way she came. Bastian stands for a few moments more, watching her, before he turns and motions the doors closed. He sighs out a breath before he speaks. “I know you’re there, Dom. Stop grinning at my nice self.”
“I would never have thought you’d be nice to one of Deign’s students.” Dom materializes into form, melting the shadows away. They’re starting to feel proprietary.
Bastian walks briskly to his desk, perhaps forgetting he still has a robe on. “Sai asked me to keep an eye out for her. She’s a pretty good judge of character.”
“But you…” Dom tries to figure out how to form the words. His head is pounding, and that damn compulsion is tugging harder at every stray thought in his head. “You don’t seem yourself, Bastian. We need you, the ruthless you, the one who can do anything.”
Bastian looks up at him, and for the first time the fatigue around his friend’s eyes becomes truly obvious. “I’m just uneasy. And so tired, Dom. Dulling
myself and constantly fighting at half-strength, only able to use some covert avenues to pursue our ends? Feels like the weight of a meteor on my back.”
“You’ve always had that, my friend,” Dom says. “What else?”
“Nim. If she was sent by Deign, which I don’t doubt she was, I have to find out what Deign’s motivation is.”
“Really?” Dom grins, and the tug toward blackness almost wrenches his eyesight into heat mode. He steadies himself and starts again. “Why didn’t you say so?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer because the only thing keeping the parasite from overcoming his thoughts right now is movement, and Bastian doesn’t need to see the switch flipped.
Dom follows the thought trail Nim leaves behind. It’s disjointed, but he can’t tell whether it’s from her end or interference from his. Only sheer will power is keeping the tendrils in his mind at bay. Which is odd because, around Sai and Mathur, they recede. Maybe it’s the surroundings, this place, where the parasite was harvested.
Maybe it’s just the parasite upping its bid to take him over.
He shakes his head, momentarily clearing it, and follows Sai’s friend down the hall. Four years of brainwashing, of thinking they owe everything to the GNW, of thinking that letting a psionic live or die is GNW’s decision to make. Such arrogance.
The heat-seeking film tries to cover his eyes again, and he pushes it back with annoyance. Nimue’s feet make barely a sound against the polished marble floors, echoing so slightly that only his enhanced hearing could detect it rebounding off the concrete walls. She pauses at a door, three corridors and a flight of stairs later. Her chest rises and falls, her breath almost audible. She raises her hand and knocks twice slowly, followed by three quick, sharp raps.
Dom has to move lightning-fast to make it through the doors before they close behind her. His camouflage almost drops, but he manages to maintain control. Adrenaline triggers the darkness again—the thoughts, the need, the compulsion.
Selwyn.
It’s all he can do to strangle it into something resembling temporary submission.
“And?” Deign asks, her voice curt and impatient.
“Yes. Ma’am.”
Dom gives Nimue credit for the steadiness of her voice.
“Let me guess. He found you?” There’s a mocking tone to Deign’s voice, a jut of her hip as she towers over the girl.
Nimue just nods.
“Sit down. Sit.” Deign motions with an impatient wave of her hand. “And why did you send her, Selwyn? Now she’s on his radar even more than she was.”
Selwyn’s voice is like oil. It slips and slides but won’t stay in place, like a man with a bad comb-over. “I didn’t think he’d have his quarters so heavily barricaded. Now I’m sure he’s scared of being found out.”
Dom pauses for a moment, taking in the information, tackling the vicious snarl in his throat that almost makes him break cover and dive for the man hidden by the shadows of a bookcase. Killing him here would do no one any good.
Deign yawns and focuses on her fingernails. “Riots? Infiltrations? He’s my eliminator? You don’t think these are good reasons?” She raises an eyebrow. “Want to inspect my shielding?”
Dom narrows his eyes, switching so he can see adrium and psionics. Deign is surrounded by a dense layer of psionic energy, levels above anything he’s seen Sai use to reinforce her fighting skills. The woman is her own fortress, and he stores that information deep. If nothing else, it may give Sai a new weapon. He has to wonder where Deign pulls the power from to fuel what seems like such a dense and constant barrier.
Selwyn’s color flushes, and he looks away. “He just seems so hesitant to vote for the Damascus activation.”
Deign laughs, and Selwyn’s open mouth mirrors Dom’s surprise. “Really? You idiot. Last time I trust you to think.”
“I...” Selwyn frowns and clenches his hands into fists.
“Bastian’s mother was severely injured by the Damascus more than twenty years ago. She died from that injury. Of course he’s wary. They’re dangerous. He’s always been the Devil’s advocate, my voice of reason. Though I’ll never admit it to his face, he’s why we rarely fall on our asses like fools.”
“I didn’t—”
“No, you didn’t.” Deign snaps the words out. “Run along. I have to speak to Nimue and remind her to only listen directly to me. Now get out of my sight, Selwyn, before I decide to have Bastian take care of some dirty laundry for me.”
Deign’s admiration for Bastian triggers something in Dom’s subconscious, and he grins, fingers slowly morphing into claws. Dirty laundry? Why didn’t she say that to begin with? With a slight grin, he follows Selwyn out of Deign’s quarters.
Selwyn makes his way through the deserted hallways, his gait a little unsteady as he traverses down eighteen levels and across an arching bridge to the residences on the other side of the street.
Dom grins and is careful not to act rashly, although it’s an afterthought to the need, the want coursing through his system, taking him over little by little.
Selwyn lives down lower than Dom expected, and he wonders if maybe he’s misjudged his status until the man pulls out a gorgeous workstation and Dom realizes where all his money has gone. All the money he earned by screwing up an entire species, by tinkering with what he didn’t understand.
Selwyn.
There’s a flash in Dom’s head, and he’s relegated to the backseat, eagerly looking over the driver’s shoulder. It’s darker there now and he can’t make out his own features, but he knows it’s grinning wide, showing alien teeth that are somehow completely out of place in his face.
“You realize, don’t you?” he whispers to the air, his voice hollow and full of murderous desire. “That you’ve lived a life profiting from the misfortunes of others?”
Selwyn stands up, batting his hands around him frantically as if it could push the voice away. Peering around, he sees nothing, but his face retains its pale shade and he approaches the alarm button at the front door.
Dom kicks out, a vicious impulse driving him to maim. Selwyn’s kneecap shatters in a crackling high note of sound that’s like music to Dom’s ears. He goes down, screaming in agony, cut short as Dom puts pressure on the Selwyn’s windpipe, just enough to shut him up.
Still, he doesn’t reveal himself.
Selwyn’s eyes dart back and forth as he grasps his destroyed knee with one hand and his throat with the other. He rolls a bit, gasping hoarsely as he tries to locate his attacker.
“Do you know what I am?” Dom asks, and the question bounces around in his head.
The man shakes his head, eyes wide with fright.
Dom drops his camouflage to reveal his true self. Not the socially acceptable version he usually wears, but his primal nature. A black so deep it drowns all colors and then reflects them back in a cascading iridescence. His body is fluid, rippling, constantly alive and moving, especially with the darkness devouring his mind. Sometimes he forgets how alien he truly is and how much it defines him.
“Selwyn.”
And this time the word is real, a guttural uttering with a metallic taste on his tongue. He savors it, savors the heightened fear that adds to the energy in the man’s body.
“You hurt my siblings by tinkering with what you could never understand. There’s no way you’re getting your scheming hooks into Bastian.” Dom reaches down, claws digging into the man’s shirt, ripping it. He adjusts his grip, sinking into the flesh and bone around his neck. The hold is much better, despite the blood spurting out.
Selwyn’s mouth opens in a silent scream.
“What was that? I can’t hear you.” Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dom’s not sure if that’s cruel or comical, but it makes him chuckle anyway. “I don’t have the time to waste on you anymore.”
He clenches his fist, solidifying the rest of his fingers into sharper edges. They cut through Selwyn like a knife through butter, partially severing the neck and disguisin
g the claw marks. He frowns at the now lifeless body as the blood continues to spurt for a few seconds. Closing his eyes, he exerts will through his fingers, knife style. He needs to disguise the wounds he already made.
It takes all his control not to rip the body apart, limb from limb.
It drops to the ground, and Dom sighs. Blood is everywhere. He didn’t think that one through. He wraps the body in a blanket and stuffs it in the steam shower. Once done, his mind still distant, he glances over at the workstation. Selwyn was about to answer his correspondence files. With a quick dive through them, Dom is able to ascertain his tone and sends a quick email to Deign, Bastian, and Markus, explaining he is ill and will be resting for a few days.
All he needs is a head start before they scan for him. All he needs is somewhere alone to get his headspace together again.
All he needs is to stop the bloodlust from using him as the weapon he was created to be.
The psionic leaning on his door shouldn’t be capable of sounding so damn loud. Bastian groans and rolls out of bed, quickly pulling on his body armor pants and a button-up shirt. Bare feet will have to do. He knows it’s Deign, and laces take too long for her apparent level of patience.
He releases the binding on the door as he half-stumbles into his office and directs a glare at her as she enters with Nimue in tow. Bastian checks himself, not having noticed the girl. Perhaps he should tone down on the Shine dosage for now. He smoothes the reactions off his face immediately, unsure how much he should say about Nimue’s visit last night.
“Sorry for the early hour.” Deign doesn’t seem sorry at all. In fact she makes it painfully aware as she glances down the sliver of chest not covered by his unbuttoned shirt that she has no regrets in the least.
He fights the blush he can feel begin to color his cheeks. Sometimes her flirting is entirely bad timing, even if she rarely means anything by it. “Yes. Someone interrupted my sleep.” He looks pointedly at Nimue. “I never sleep well as it is.”
