Twenty-three thousand, seven hundred and twelve.
Fuck Rathnam—trying to use remorse against me. No one ever apologized for what they did to me, Sera, and the other children. How many have died for their projects? How many have they killed to make their human weapons?
When the guard takes me back to the group cell, it’s open and empty; the other women must be eating, or having their walk in the recreation area. I take advantage of the vacant room to pace. I scratch the back of my head and wince, feeling a bump where Kirino struck my head against the ground.
I feel crazed almost: angry and quickened. I want to flex my mind and feel something break, but all I can do is pace.
“Anxious?”
Ali’s standing just inside the cell holding a small bundle.
“More like agitated,” I say. “Maybe bored.”
She frowns, then asks, “Have you eaten?”
I’m about to tell her what I think of the prison’s food when she peels back the wrapping on her parcel, revealing two roasted legs of whatever poultry they use for meat in this place.
“How did you get that?”
“I know someone in the kitchen. Here,” she says, offering me one.
I take it and at first I’m disappointed that it’s cold, but then I bring it close to my face and the scent of it fills my nose: no spices, no sauce, just the rich, fatty smell of dark meat. The skin cracks as I bite through it and the crispy outer layer gives way to soft flesh. I groan as I tear the meat away, then smile at Ali as I chew.
We sit against the rear wall of the cell, silent as we eat. I strip all the meat and start chewing on the cartilage at the joint for any residual flavor. I break the bone in half and suck at the marrow, but stop in disgust—cold, it’s just flat tasting and gritty.
“Thanks,” I say.
Ali bumps her shoulder against mine. “I thought you’d be hungry after the session.”
“Nothing like a long, drawn-out interrogation to work up an appetite,” I say it lightly, but when I glance at Ali her face has gone slack. “You’ve had your share of interviews too?”
Ali nods. “I must’ve given up everyone I ever knew, but it doesn’t end.”
“Is everyone in here political?” I ask.
“Everyone I’ve spoken to.”
“Even Kirino?”
Ali nods. “She led the miner’s revolt in the Mohsin Belt.”
I make a noise like I understand, but I’m not familiar. “Has she always been so aggressive?”
“I don’t know what she was like before, but they say she lost her wife during the revolt.”
“That could change a person.”
“She’s always had someone in here, though,” Ali says. “You always say yes to her; it’s not worth it to fight.”
“That’s fucked,” I say, and Ali nods.
After a few silent moments, Ali changes the subject: “Did that hurt?” She points to the tattoo of three lines on the back of my hand.
“Yes,” I say.
“What does it mean?”
“It’s the letter Xi in the Greek alphabet.”
“That’s cool,” Ali says. “Why did you get it?”
I exhale sharply through my nose. “Because when MEPHISTO experimented on me as a child, they needed some way to group us together.”
“Oh,” Ali says.
I run my thumb over the jagged edge of the snapped bone, then put it in the waistband of my pants.
Eventually Ali asks, “Those experiments: that’s why they’re so scared of you?”
I nod.
“What can you do?”
“I could tear this whole place apart.”
* * *
I jolt up. I must have been asleep, but I’m wide-awake now; heart thumping, adrenaline lighting up my veins.
Twenty-three thousand, seven hundred and twelve.
Muscles ache from the cold, hard floor, but my mind buzzes and sings. The other women are asleep still, all except Kirino. She’s sitting cross-legged, and when she sees me looking at her she winks.
Her features were probably attractive once, before she spent years in the asteroid mines, before she got locked away at Homan. It’s hard to know for sure when she’s always either leering or sneering.
I lie back down and push Kirino from my mind.
* * *
I wake late the second time, and already the other women are lining up to exit the cell. I join the line and Kirino edges up behind me. I put my hand over the jagged bone in the waistband of my pants and wait, but she doesn’t touch me.
She sticks close as we walk through the shield opening and out into the corridor, a large presence I can sense just over my shoulder. She leans close and says quietly, “What kind of a name is ‘Mookie’ anyway?”
I stop dead in my tracks, and she jostles me hard as she walks past.
“What did you say?”
Kirino laughs and keeps walking.
She reaches the mess hall and I rush to catch up. I grab her by the shoulder and spin her around. “What the fuck did you just say?” I repeat through gritted teeth.
A guard standing in the corner bellows, “Xi, calm yourself,” but they don’t move.
Kirino takes a small step to bump into me. I move back and sweep my eyes down her body, taking in the words “Homan Sphere” stenciled on her tunic above a serial number somewhat lower than twenty-three thousand, seven hundred and twelve.
She turns her head to motion to Ali. “Your girl was asking after him for you, but I found him first,” she says. “I told the guards—they should have him by now.”
“You fucking snitch.”
She shoves me hard and I stumble backward, knocking into an older women with intricate white patterns tattooed over all her visible skin. Kirino is already moving at me; she hits me once in the jaw and I stagger and duck under the second punch. I step back, beyond her reach, tasting the blood that lines my teeth and gums.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” she says.
I spit red on the floor. “Really? Rare for a person to enjoy their own death.”
Her nostrils flare as she leaps forward and throws a fist. She hits me in the face and hot blood floods the back of my throat. I cough and spit, spraying blood on us both. I start panting, focusing on my breath so I don’t lash out. There’s a dull ache in my mind: the reservoir of unspent rage.
A crowd of women forms around us; their cheers a soundtrack accompanying every move as we dodge and dance. Kirino swings and I block my face with one arm, and with the other I reach into my waistband and grab the piece of bone.
She lands another punch and my nose jolts with pain. I feel it run with wet warmth, but with my mediag switched off, I can’t know if it’s broken.
I grip the bone like a dagger and thrust it into her neck. It digs into the skin and Kirino’s face goes blank. She stumbles back as I pull the bone from the wound. Blood gushes down Kirino’s neck, then between her fingers when she puts a hand to her throat.
“You void-damned bitch,” she splutters, breathless.
I rush forward, jump at her, and ride her down to the ground as she falls. She tries to push me off, but I stab her again. I’m not doing this for Mookie, I’m not even doing this for me, I’m doing it because fuck you, because fuck every piece of shit that uses their strength, their power, their privilege to harm those weaker than them. I keep stabbing and it’s the first time since getting here that I’ve felt alive, that I’ve felt whole.
The ragged gouges in Kirino’s neck ooze blood with a slowing beat. The bone slips from my blood-slick hand, stays stuck in her skin.
I’m panting and my throat is raw; I hadn’t even realized I was screaming. My heart is racing and blood drips from my nose and mouth to spatter on Kirino’s static face. Last time I was soaked in sweat straddling a woman, the circumstances were very different.
If I’m honest, this is nearly better.
I look around, and all the women surrounding me stare in horror. I li
ft my head and try to slow my breath.
“Get off the inmate, Xi.”
I stand and the circle of women parts, revealing a guard with their sidearm at Ali’s head. In the rush of the fight I didn’t process the other sounds I was hearing—the sharp yelp Ali made when they grabbed her, the clatter of her tray hitting the ground.
I didn’t even use my abilities, but it’s not about the rules. They have to try and control me, have to do their best to break me. My whole life they’ve tried to break me, because an unbroken witch is too powerful, too great a threat.
“Fuck this,” I say, and use my mind to tear the collar from my neck, feeling one short spark as it reacts to my powers. I break it into a thousand tiny pieces that wash down my body as they drop to the floor. Next I take hold of the envoy threatening Ali and crush it, then I grab the rest of the screws lining the wall of the cafeteria and crumple them—android bodies bending in unnatural arrangements as their spines and limbs are mangled.
I feel like electric sex, like the woman who broke Death’s heart and face.
“Get out of here, Ali,” I yell, “run, hide,” but my voice sounds deadened by my bleeding nose, and a Klaxon has started blaring. I don’t know how much of it she heard.
I flee the mess hall and run into a dozen envoys charging down the corridor, armed with stun-batons. I don’t stop moving, I just blast them apart. There’s a pop as their torsos explode, then the sharp patter of debris showering the walls, ceiling, and floor. I keep running, keep rampaging.
I leave the women’s wing and tear through the sealed door that leads to the central building. I pass the clinics, and reach the group cells.
There are four people standing in the center of the room—Rathnam and Sergeant Stockton pointing their weapons at Chopper and another prisoner with dark skin and a shiny scalp, his shackled arms lined with fine bioluminescent tattoos that glint beneath the room’s bright lights.
Mookie.
Everything else goes out of focus, and there is only Mookie standing ahead of me. He’s naked, hands covering his junk. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him nude, but it’s shocking how much his body has changed. His skin is discolored, covered in bruises and lacerations. He was thin before, but now he looks like a skeleton with skin—each of his ribs clearly visible, expanding as he breathes, and there are deep hollows behind each of his collarbones.
When I finish examining his body and look up at his face, I see he’s smiling—eyes bright, broad grin showing yellowed teeth. He’s fucking smiling. I never thought I’d be so happy to see someone that wasn’t Ocho.
The squeal of a waver brings me back to the scene. Rathnam lowers his sidearm and Chopper falls forward, prosthetic knees clanking as he hits the floor.
“No!” I yell, but it’s too late.
“Mariam,” Rathnam calls out. “Before you act, I must warn you that your friend’s collar is primed. If you destroy either of these envoys, he will be killed.”
A red light blinks on Mookie’s collar. There’s a gap beneath the segmented metal on either side of his neck, like they haven’t bothered to adjust it since they starved him half to death.
I breathe in through my mouth, my nose completely blocked and probably broken. I try to say, “OK,” but can’t make the hard K sound. I raise my hands and put them behind my head.
I look at Mookie and give a tiny nod to let him know that everything is going to work out.
Everything is going to work out, isn’t it? I came this far so it has to. It fucking has to.
CHAPTER TWELVE
They fabricate another collar. Once it’s around my neck, four guards escort me to the clinic, which is pointless overkill now that I know Mookie’s at risk. I guess they don’t know he’s the only reason I’m here.
A wide swathe of blood covers the front of my tunic, the wet fabric sticking to me like a second skin.
As we enter one of the examination rooms, the autodoc stationed inside comes to life. It takes a couple of goes to scan my retina past my swelling eye sockets. It shines a light from one of its fingertips into my left eye, then the right. It orders me to stand while it watches me with its lenses clicking quietly, before telling me to sit.
The autodoc’s fingers are cold and hard as it pinches my nose. Its hand actuators whir for a short moment, then it snaps my nose back into place with a shock of pain and a burst of speckled white across my vision.
It sprays antiseptic on my wounds without bothering to warn me. The spray stings in my eyes only slightly less than in the splits across my lip and the bridge of my nose.
“Apply ice to minimize swelling,” it says, synthesized voice too bright for these circumstances.
Yeah, I’m sure the guards are prepping an ice pack for me right now.
“These painkillers and antibiotics will help with the healing process.” The autodoc’s arm folds backward at the elbow. Segments of the forearm’s shell split apart, leaving an empty hollow wide enough for a person to fit their arm inside. I shift back from the autodoc, but a guard is there. She pushes me forward and keeps a hand on the back of my neck.
I sigh, and slide my left arm into the gap. The mechanism in the autodoc’s upper arm ticks and whirs, then three needles emerge. Green light stripes across my arm and I turn my head just as the needles plunge into my skin. I chew the inside of my cheek to stop myself from making noise.
I pull my arm free and the autodoc turns away, apparently done. I stand and pitch to one side, then right myself. The guard shifts her hand from my neck to my arm, the android’s metal fingers pressing into the fresh puncture wounds.
The painkillers kick in and the various stinging and aching parts of my face fade as the guard leads me from the clinic.
* * *
“Strip.”
We’re in a small tiled room with a drain in the floor, but no showerheads or taps on the wall. The envoy blocks the exit.
There’s a squick as my bloodstained tunic comes away from my skin, and a wet slap when I drop it to the floor. I take off my bra next, then peel off my pants and underwear together.
The guard crosses the room and kicks the discarded clothes aside.
She walks back to the door and thumps one of the tiles. It swings open, revealing a coiled length of bright-blue hose. Before I can speak she sprays me in the face. The water is so cold it forces the air from my lungs and I pant and sputter as I struggle to breathe. I hang my head and hug myself as she runs the blast of water over my body. Looking down, I watch the whorls of diluted red swim toward the drain.
All I wanted to do was save Mookie; get inside Homan, find him, and leave. I wasn’t planning to kill everyone who had a hand in running this place, but plans change . . .
“Turn around,” she yells over the roar of the hose.
The water hits my back with enough force to push me toward the wall. Soon she turns off the water and I stand shivering while she replaces the hose.
“Alright, prisoner, come with me.”
“Are you going to give me a towel?”
The woman grins.
“What about something to wear?” I ask.
“I knew I forgot something,” she says, then she closes a pair of handcuffs around my wrists. “If you wanted clothes, you shouldn’t have gotten blood all over your uniform.”
* * *
She pulls me by the short chain between the cuffs, as though I’m an animal struggling against its leash. My feet slap wetly across the floor. Long after that sound has dried, water drips from my hair and rolls down my back.
We reach the cells of the central building and walk past the large group units to the small, solitary rooms. She pushes me into one of these bare cells—a two-meter cube, every surface the same white polyplastic, glowing diffusely.
I don’t see the guard work any controls, but a slit opens in the ceiling and a chrome hook protrudes through the gap.
“I’m not doing this,” I say; “get me Rathnam.”
The guard ignores me, and aft
er a few seconds the far wall of the cell comes to life with an image of Mookie’s face. It’s only when I see the light on his collar blinking that I realize it’s a live feed. She doesn’t remind me what will happen to Mookie if I misbehave, she doesn’t make any threats, she just says, “Rathnam will see you when he’s ready, and not a moment sooner.”
“You can’t do this,” I say, but even I hear the lack of conviction in my voice.
She grabs my arms and lifts them until the chain of my cuffs is over the hook’s curl. There’s a ticking sound overhead as the hook retracts, pulling my arms and lifting me up until I can barely touch the floor with the tips of my toes.
The guard exits the cell, leaving only silence behind.
* * *
My heart beats hard, struggling to push blood up to my hands. I can’t feel my fingers, can barely feel the cuffs digging into me, hard metal against bone.
The cell’s walls, floor, and ceiling dim so slowly that at first I’m not sure it’s happening. Soon I’m in darkness.
My breathing sounds ragged, too loud. It scrapes my ears. My pulse thrums against my collar. My head rocks with the pulse, forward and back on the tide of my blood.
“Let me out!” I yell, but the words dissipate on the walls, refuse even to echo back at me.
The pain in my shoulders switches from sharp to dull at intervals. I drop my head and hang from the hook, let the cuffs carve deeper into skin.
I close my eyes—black.
I open them—black; inky black that churns with impossible shades of dark. I see movement somewhere beneath me. I know the cube is two meters a side, but the moving shape is much farther away than that. It drifts and shifts as it approaches—soft, gray, with four white spots.
“Ocho?” I say, picturing those spots as her little paws.
I hear her maow, but she’s not there. The darkness folds and swims. I close my eyes, but it’s the same.
* * *
I jolt awake, screaming. The scream rattles my vocal chords, but I can’t hear it. The Emperor’s Requiem fills my head, skull vibrating with the deep tones of the dirge.
They’ve pulled the hook up higher now. Even stretched, my toes don’t reach the floor, and I sway without purchase.
Void Black Shadow Page 7
