by K. T. Hanna
Blood and pain, torn muscles and veins, punctured lungs and bowels swim in her vision when her eyes close, but none of it scares her anymore. If Dom could just split himself in two...
He chuckles. “If only, Sai. If only.”
He pushes her along in silence for a minute and the bed stops. “We’re here.” He says the words softly, a distant look in those silver eyes.
“Yeah.” She pokes at her shields, still too drained to rebuild them, but aware of her strength returning even as they speak.
“That Mobile had crappy luck, Sai. You can’t blame yourself.”
Sai wants to be angry and scream and yell at him. She wants to stand up and punch things, phase to the Damascus and make them all pay. It all flashes through her head and she almost yells it all out loud, but then she realizes why and jolts the adrium back into the background.
She opens her mouth, shuts it again, and sighs, staring at the ceiling.
Dom leans over, his gaze locked to hers like he’s searching for something.
“What?” she says, a little disturbed by the intensity.
He doesn’t say anything, just rests his hand over hers for a moment. “You tapped into it, didn’t you?” His voice is soft, velvety, and somehow full of sadness.
“Just a little,” she admits, knowing full well what he means, just not how he knows.
“Sometimes I forget how young you are. I think everyone does.” His eyes are steady in their silver hue, no sign of red anywhere.
“Sometimes, Dom.” She squeezes his hand, glad he’s with her. “Sometimes I do, too.”
One good night’s sleep and Sai is back at full strength. Helping the previous day, even if it was emotionally and physically taxing, went a long way to reinforcing her determination.
“You have always been useful.”
Sai raises an eyebrow, proud of her ability to conceal her shock at Dom being there. “And you’re like a shadow.” Her shadow. She suppresses a smile at the normalcy that’s entered their relationship again.
He steps a little closer. “You are useful.” The focus in his eyes is intense, as if he won’t let her entertain the thought.
“Maybe, but watching the scouting parties load up for the last days has made me want to stomp my feet and yell.” She laughs, aware of how little she sometimes thinks her actions through. “Pretty sure most of the guys have my technique down now. Mason said we need to send out a test team and see if this is even a viable weapon.”
“Sound theory.” Dom shrugs, cricking his neck higher as if he’s adjusting something.
“You okay?” Sai tries to keep the sudden concern out of her tone, but he looks at her and smiles that ghost of a smile he has.
“Still adjusting a little bit. Sometimes I get this pang of air, like it rushes through me. Maybe a phantom pain, I guess? A phantom absence?” He starts walking, and she falls into step. “Do you have a destination yet? How will it work? I have to get back to check on Bastian soon.” There’s worry in his tone, an overlying melodic sort of sound. Sai wishes worrying weren’t a bad thing.
“We have an idea of where to go. Mason is finalizing details about where he’ll send out the scouting party now.”
“And if this works?”
Sai mulls it over. “Then the drills I’ve been doing with the cadets and soldiers couldn’t be more important.”
“And who’s part of Mason’s little experiment?”
She can almost hear what he doesn’t say: because I can’t always be there to watch over you. Like he was for the first dangers she faced. Close and deadly. “Me, of course. Aishke, Iria, you and I.”
He looks at her. “So we’ll be doing this soon then?”
“Don’t worry. This scouting party will be over with plenty of time to get you to Bastian. We need him, you understand?” Because, suddenly, she has this horrible feeling that Bastian needs Dom more than anyone. All alone, no one close to him, security tighter than ever. Anyone else would just give up. Anyone else would just let the Exiled go it alone.
Dom bumps her shoulder, pulling her out of her thoughts with his crooked smile. “Don’t worry. I know.”
Dust clouds gather on the horizon, getting bigger and bigger as the Damascus approach the hidden location. The first test to see if her weapon actually works. It’s all Sai can do to stay concealed and not bounce on her toes in anticipation.
Mason’s fingers lower one by one, counting down from three.
Three.
Sai’s senses hone in on the insects. She can hear everything from tiny feet to dragging tails. Every plaintiff cry of a desert rodent hiding beneath an outcrop, the hoarse sound a product of the changed atmosphere. And the heartbeats—the adrenaline-filled heartbeats, pumping hard. All except for Dom, whose echo is inhuman, and yet somehow beautiful.
Two.
She watches the Damascus move closer to where they’re hidden and can make out their powerful limbs of strengthened steel. She locates her target and waits, poised to move. If only this works.
One.
Every pore pulsates and comes alive. She feels as each bead of sweat forms on her head, and the pulse beneath the tender flesh of her recent wound threatens to tear it open and spill out. She keeps her focus on the lieutenant, determined, grim. She motions with her crossbow, feeds energy from the pool in her gut into her center, and waits for the go-ahead.
Mason moves his fist slightly forward, and they spring into action.
Sai releases her carefully held trigger and watches, in slow motion, as her psionically-shaped bolt takes a seeming age to fly home. Pain wrenches in her gut from the reinforced walls she’s erected around her power core, and another second passes as her world, still in freeze frame and heightened motion sensitivity, passes her by.
Aishke dealt swiftly with her Hound, although exactly how, Sai couldn’t see out of the corner of her eye. But the lithe girl is now taking care of the mostly disabled soldier Dom left behind. Mason is focused on his own target, with two more still to be dispatched and moving in the same way everything else is in her mind: slowly, with Iria shielding them all.
The bolt finds its home with perfect aim, straight through the lieutenant’s head, ripping out the kernel and most of the visual and movement cortices of the thing’s brain—including its transmission center. At least she hopes that’s what it did. Sai blinks and watches the heads of the other soldiers react in the same way—but something is wrong.
Intent on their assignments, they all missed one crucial thing. The whole point of this exercise was to see how effective their core bolts could be, but they never expected a second Hound.
Sai reacts instinctively. She steps to the side and pushes out her shielding, rapidly weaving a complex brace around her skin before reaching out her right hand to catch the creature by thee teeth. The feel of the stretched, decayed-smelling flesh clings to her skin like a second armor. But she ignores it as it tries to mash its jaw, writhing against the psionically reinforced strength in her fingers. Sai feeds another slice of raw power through her left hand and smashes straight into the beast’s eyes. A high-pitched scream of terror breaks through the otherwise silent night, just a split second before the Hound’s body explodes from the inside out, splattering everyone within reach with a fine miasma of festering gore.
Sai blinks through the sudden red-brown sheen running down her face and shakes her head a little, trying to clear out her ears.
And the slow motion stops.
“Sai!” Dom yells, still too far away from her and suddenly running on an angle.
Sai’s knee hits the ground as she realizes she’s on the angle, not him. “Oh,” she giggles, foreign blood and saliva bubbling at her lips. “I don’t feel so good.”
She can hear their voices and watches them running around as she starts falling slowly to the side.
Instead of the hard, cold sand, the hands that catch her are familiar, as is the voice soothing her when darkness starts to claim her.
Except she’
s still aware. Not blacked out, just exhausted and weak. Perhaps her modified shielding helps more than she originally thought.
“I didn’t think I’d have to fend off a second,” she murmurs, at first not realizing she’s speaking out loud.
“What?” Dom’s voice is soft and right next to her ear. There’s a warm puff to his words that tickles her ear—his friendship and caring, her need for him in her life. Her eyelids are too heavy to push open, so she doesn’t. “I’m just tired. Wasn’t expecting there to be a second. May have overdone it.”
“There’s not much left of him now.” Aishke’s tone is relieved as she wipes cool water over Sai’s face, taking away the blood and sinew plastered to it.
Sai gives herself a brief inner examination, both excited and chagrined by what she sees. “Definitely overdid it. Reaction instead of planning made me waste a good two shots in one.” The others laugh nervously as Dom carries her to Mele. “Hey, at least I’m conscious, though.”
“Only in a manner of speaking. You really need to work on that endurance.” Mason’s tough voice overshadows a hint of relief. It’s his way of showing he cares.
The seats underneath her don’t make the best bed—she knows, she’s tried to sleep on it before—but right now she doesn’t care. Sai can hear the others strapping in, and Mason climbing into the passenger seat. Dom buckles her into her seat himself, but before he leaves, he bends down and brushes her hair away from her face. “You always overdo it. Stop before you can’t anymore,” he whispers, so close to her skin she can feel his lips graze it with a tingle, and then he leaves her alone.
Board meetings aren’t exactly Bastian’s cup of tea, so he drinks some coffee to try and chase the way the aftertaste of Shine sitting at the back of his tongue. His head has a stuffy sensation to it, like he’s in a soft haze. Nasty, but necessary when Zach is around. Bastian frowns, the recollection coming far slower than he’s used to. Zach has been around a lot.
“No,” he answers Owen’s question. “I don’t believe Sai was close to anyone. Those left from her graduating class will be perfectly safe, although Nimue’s inclinations lie...” He glances over at Deign. “Elsewhere.”
“I see,” Owen jots something down on his tablet and frowns, brow pinched in consternation. His expression smoothes out as he raises his head. “I’m ready to begin with unit production experimentation, Deign. You wanted me to let you know when.”
Bastian perks his ears up, focused on the bright-eyed scientist. “Unit production experimentation?”
He schools his face to look at Owen with surprise. Even though Dom’s report gave him some suspicions, having it confirmed still helps. It appears everyone else’s shock is genuine, though.
Deign smiles and taps her coffee mug lightly to get attention. Her long nail makes a slight ringing sound as it hits. “We’ll be restarting production of the Damascus shortly.”
Bastian can feel the blood drain out of his face, but attempts to show no other outward signs of shock. Harlow and Jamieson aren’t anywhere near as adept.
“You’re kidding, right?” Harlow doesn’t even try to hide her displeasure. She bites the corner of her mouth, eyes flickering through blues and greens, flashing briefly white as she does something to the system. The subtle movement of the Damascus lieutenant in the corner doesn’t seem to phase her. She’s the only one, though. Harlow has always been a little fearless.
“You have a problem with my kind?” The lieutenants rarely speak, but the distinct metallic and empty clang of its voice echoes the sound of fingernails on a chalkboard. Everyone in the room cringes.
“No.” She doesn’t rush to apologize, but turns to face it instead. “I merely wasn’t informed we’d be using resources in this way. I wasn’t informed I’d need to adjust my security systems to compensate. It’s a lot of work to adapt it to accept the Damascus imprint, let alone the marginally different one we’ll have from a new batch.” Her voice is steady, firm. She doesn’t add that the last time it was fully reconfigured was when the Damascus went on a killing rampage.
Bastian gives her mental props for having the guts not to back down or show any obvious fear in the light of so much danger.
It blinks at her and moves to stand as it did before, but its beady beams of light never stray from her form. Bastian isn’t sure how, but he’s quite certain it just imprinted everything about her on its memory. He’d have to keep an eye on Harlow, for her own safety.
“Are we launching our offensive before or after the new units join our current ones?” Bastian schools his voice to sound neutral, almost bored.
“Before. We have enough units at this point in time, but we’re expecting some losses and would like to make sure we have enough backups.” Zach taps the screen of his reader and doesn’t look up. “We’ve sent out several repaired versions, and they appear to be functional.”
Typical Zach—always coming up with fantastic strategies without ever thinking of the consequences. Bastian swallows slowly. There’s no time to get word out. He’s their last line of defense now.
“Frazzled.” Bastian pushes a hand through his hair and bites his lip. Neither of them are usual habits, but that’s what happens when you finally realize the meaning of a word you never completely understood before. “I’m frazzled,” he whispers to his huge empty office. Funny how he never thought it was too big before.
As long as Dom was around, things were easier. He had a friend, someone to bounce ideas and conversations off even if he wasn’t the most talkative person on earth. Though, lately, Dom’s changed. He’s not sure if it’s for the better.
The tangent isn’t helping, and Bastian closes his eyes to try and force himself to refocus. His list of student divisions lies half-finished next to him, scribbled in old-fashioned manner with lead on a piece of paper. It was an attempt to let the tactile sense of writing bring him back into line. Nowadays paper is a commodity, but sometimes the scent and feel of it grounds him in ways nothing else does. But it’s not working. Sometimes passing notes with psionically tuned triggers helps, too, but right now there’s no one he trusts within proximity.
Instead of finishing his work, Bastian finds himself running simulations through his mind of just how impossible it’s going to be to access the device to send out the pulse and disable the Damascus. No matter what way he twists or turns it in his head, the outcome isn’t going to be pretty. Not only that, but the remote possibility of achieving anything appears to be days out.
“Damn it.” He lets himself fall into his cushy chair and stares at his ceiling. “We deploy tomorrow, at least a day ahead of schedule. Reproduction of the Damascus is about to begin. Think, Bastian, think!”
But he can’t. Every time he tries to think of a way out, he hits another wall. Maybe he should have gone with Dom while he had the chance.
“How did I ever think I’d make a difference?” He laughs at the words as he bites them off. No one can hear him. No one will ever know how much he’s fought for.
He glances over at the lists, assigning little more than children to control the minds of an entire population, to tap them into a net. To tell people what it is they should be thinking and zap their own freedom of choice. Wasn’t that one of the freedoms this region of the world had been built on? A freedom of choice and speech and everything that no longer exists?
The view out his window is far bleaker than he remembers. Oversaturated advertisements flicker in and out for their allotted time. They reflect off the dome and the buildings, vibrant colors muted against the concrete walls, images distorted by the windows. There was a time he enjoyed that view, when his idealistic young mind showed him the wonders that might be. But now even he can’t fool himself into believing the crumbling walls of the buildings at the edge of the city will ever be more than that.
So he sits at his desk and transposes the hand-written list to his reader. In the morning, it will be a new day. A day full of tactical meetings as the Damascus are deployed, a day full of reasons a
nd excuses to destroy tens of thousands of people—all in the name of protecting a dying city system.
“There has to be a way.” Perhaps if he mutters the words over and over again to himself, maybe he’ll convince himself it’s true.
The next morning Sai can barely move. She groans as she flips herself upright in bed and lowers her legs to the floor.
“Overdoing it?” she grumbles to herself. “Who else is going to overdo it if I don’t overdo it?”
She gasps as she hoists herself out of bed and swivels around to face Aishke sitting in the chair next to it.
“I heard that.” Aishke doesn’t look up from the reader in her hands. “You should make sure your room is empty before you talk to yourself. Don’t want any witnesses after all.”
“Witnesses?” Sai’s head feels a little foggy.
“Yeah. Y’know how they used to say that they’d put you away if you talked to yourself?”
“Smart ass.” Sai pushes herself up from the bed, grabs her clothes, and heads for the shower, yelling back over her shoulder.
“You’d better be out of my bedroom by the time I get back...” The threat peters off as Sai remembers the destruction caused by Aishke’s meltdown. They don’t have a shower. “...from the hospital shower!” she finishes, heading out of the apartment.
There’s a soft humming noise coming from where Aishke’s bedroom was, and will be again, as a maintenance crew attaches new plates. Or, as Sai squints a little closer, recycled plates. They don’t have the same perfection about them. Older and of a different material. It lends a more lived-in look. She thinks she likes it and then realizes she’s still dressed in her pajamas. They’re navy and loose, but the shorts don’t cover her legs fully and Sai doesn’t have the energy to spare to camouflage her legs to skin. Nor the inclination, really.
