She felt the grip closing tight once more, the lock back on her mind, the hand at her throat. Laia stumbled, exhausted in the dawn of a new day, and would have fallen into the molten sands at her feet if her brother’s hand hadn’t caught her arm.
The Master looked at her, and the sands at her feet, nodding at her exhaustion. “A pity,” he said. The whip dangled from his hand, then he turned away. “Breakfast, and be quick about it.”
Zacharies helped her sit, then turned over the heat from the sands, the porridge cooking and steaming. He took care to prepare breakfast just so, but his eyes never left the Master, smoldering with a heat of their own.
⚔ ⚛ ⚔
Zacharies stretched before her, the skin on his back torn and bleeding, the whip coming up and around again.
Laia was sobbing. “Master, please!” She reached her hands forward, then covered her head as the whip moved to lick at her. The strands of old leather and metal slashed out, the pain burning bright along her arm and her jaw. She cried out.
Her brother was struggling, trying to get to his feet. “I—”
The Master turned to look at him again, his hand raised up, clenching into a fist. Zacharies cried out, falling back to one knee. “I do not like the way you look at me,” he said. “I will teach you respect. I will break it upon your body, and work it on your mind.”
The whip stretched back again, lashing out. Zacharies was spun with it, a piece of skin pulling loose at his shoulder, glistening red. Sand clotted against the lash wounds.
Laia tried to stand, but the fist on her mind returned, and her legs felt like stone. One of her hands reached up. Her master came to stand over her, one gloved finger tracing along the cut at her jaw, then down her neck towards her small breasts.
“I do not wish to mark your face, little one. Your ugliness would not please me in the evenings. But your mind?” He raised his hand, and the pain blazed bright behind her eyes, a red poker stabbing into her skull. She screamed with the pain of it, falling back. “I can leave you a vacant-eyed doe. I can burn the thoughts from your head, given enough time. And we have plenty of time.”
The light of the old red sun looked down on them, walking its slow steps into the sky. If only the angel would come, would step back into the world. If the angel would drop once more, stepping onto the blasted circle in the desert… All this would stop.
As if it had never been, the pain in her head vanished. She fell forward with the relief of it, gasping, then retched onto the sand.
The Master’s head was turned towards the circle of blasted and crushed sand their small camp was built next to. “What…” His voice trailed off, slaves forgotten.
Laia could feel it too, the sense of something, a pressure building. She saw Zacharies’ hand was stretched into the depression in the sand, and pulled herself over to him. He was bigger than her, and she was so tired, but she dragged him back from the edge. Her small footprints marked the sand as she staggered back.
The Master continued to ignore them, looking at the air above the cracked glass of the depression. He walked around the circle, steps careful and slow, his shadow stretching out like a finger away from the dim morning light.
“Something is coming,” he said. It wasn’t clear who he was speaking to. “It wants to come back. It was here.”
Fear flicked at Laia. No, please. If the demon came back, not the angel…
A small grain of hope, smaller than the sands beneath her, kindled into life. The demon might have been here. It might have fought the angel. The demon could be running, in fear, or pain.
Such hopes were dangerous.
A point of light, a tiny star in the air, sparked above the crushed sand and glass. The pressure built, her ears popping in her head. A bolt of lightning arced from the light, leaving a trace of red and yellow across her vision. It had reached out, falling short at the edge of the circle.
“Please, brother.” She got a shoulder under Zacharies. “You must get up. You must be ready.”
A swollen eye looked up at her, and she could feel his breath rattle against her. But he tried to get up, getting a knee under him. They rose together, unsteady, leaning against each other, watching as the lightning coiled and struck.
It’s trying to escape, Laia thought. It’s a lion in a cage.
“The fury,” she said, her voice lost against the noise. She squinted her eyes against the light, pointing at the circle of it. It was marking a sphere in the air. “Brother! The angel!”
Zacharies looked at the circle, one hand — broken nails, broken bones — held up in front of his eyes. “It is the devil, Laia.”
The Master walked close to them. “The devil? No, slave. Something worse. Something much worse.” He began to laugh, a deep sound from his belly.
The air snapped and popped, a pressure blast of air spitting sand out from around the sphere. The lightning stopped, the three of them blinking in the silence.
A ripple, a wrinkle of something, held itself around the sphere in the air. Through it, they could see a room, the floor hard and real, solid stone in the centre of the sphere. The sand was gone, and Laia could see four people on the other side.
From above, a falling star, blazing blue and white, fell to the ground on the other side of the ripple. Wings of blue were etched on its back, and fire stitched a double line out from its arms as it landed. She could see the ground on the other side crack and fragment as it hit.
The angel.
She grabbed her brother’s arm, and ran towards the edge of the sphere. Her hand touched it, cool and quiet against her skin. She blinked, and —
Fire burned around her, and something was thrown past her head. She fell to the floor, huddling over her brother.
Silence fell, and she looked up. She saw perfect boots, the feet of the angel in front of her. Laia turned her head, seeing the blaze of its face against the black of the room. Force poured from it, terrible as the dawn, and she cowed in fear.
The Master stepped through from behind her, facing the angel. “You will kneel,” he said. “You will kneel or you will know pain beyond imagining.” He raised a gloved hand, closing his fingers into a fist.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“I feel like I got my balls hanging way out here, is all I’m saying,” said Harry. “You know what I mean?”
“You want me to be honest?” Lace coughed down the link at him, her smoker’s voice rough. “It might sting a little.”
“I love your honesty, Lace.” Harry flexed his feet in the space below him, the planet stretching out dark under his feet. The lights of the city were hidden behind cloud, whites and yellows blurred under a blanket of black as far as he could see. “It’s why we make such a good team.”
“You don’t have any balls,” she said.
“I don’t think you should be quite that honest,” said Harry. “You might hurt my feelings.”
“I’m just saying. It’s all in your head. Positive thinking, Fuentes. Positive thinking.” She started to tack targets up onto his overlay, pinpricks of red light marked on the city far below.
“Jesus,” said Harry. “That’s a lot of dudes.”
“Yeah, but they’re all normals,” said Lace. “Well. Not enforcer class, anyway.”
“Tell me, Lace,” said Harry. “And again — be honest. Do you know what you’re talking about? I hear sounds, but, you know, I don’t think you’ve ever been in the field.”
“I live vicariously through you,” she said. “I tell you, they’re fine. Easy targets for a big man like you.”
“Hey,” said Harry. “Did Carter and Mason just drop out?” He looked at the lights underneath him, a small section where the red dots flickered out to dark. “What the hell is going on down there?”
“Wait one,” she said, her voice flat and empty. “Crap.”
“Crap?”
“They’re gone. They’re just—”
The link flared back on, hard in Harry’s mind. A lash of static, then —
/> “Now, Carter. Get Harry here now!” Mason sounded panicked, the icon on Harry’s overlay flickering in and out.
“They’re back,” said Lace.
“About goddam time,” said Harry. He looked up at the drop ship above him, holding steady in the cold of the thin air, then down at his feet. Big metal shoulders shrugged against the drop harness, and he initiated the burn.
The ship above him confirmed his orders, the AI speaking over the link. Her voice was quiet against the thin atmosphere around him. “HALO insertion beginning. Time to burn, zero seconds. Time to fall, 11,000 meters. Time to impact, 47 seconds. Beginning burn, mark.”
The clank reverberated through his chassis, and he felt the sudden hard push of the fusion drive, fingers of fire stabbing upwards into space as it pushed him down towards the Earth. The Gs were a solid pressure, a fist slamming him towards the ground below.
He let out a whoop. Whatever had happened before, the accident —
The pain went beyond words. He was trying to scream, but his throat had burnt out, lungs pumping flames instead of air in and out. The lattice thrashed inside him, flailing left and right, but he was stuck in his seat, the wheel pressing him back into the burning seat. His hand flailed at the dash, fingers sloughing off like melted plastic.
— it let him do this kind of shit, and it was nothing a norm could do.
“You still… me?” said Lace, the link crackling against the burn of the drive. He felt the subtle tugs and shifts of the gyros holding him upright, his vision shaking against the vibration from the rockets. The red dots stuttered a little, the scan lines vibrating in his optics.
“Sort of,” said Harry. “You’re breaking up a bit. Can you clean that up?”
“On it,” said Lace. The link firmed up, markers for the syndicate agents on the street popping into his overlay, still images against likely load outs.
“Are those assholes wearing sunglasses?” said Harry.
“Looks like it,” said Lace. “Reed.”
“What’s up with that?”
“Carter says they’re robots.”
“They’re remotes,” said Carter, cutting into the link. “They’re not — look, it doesn’t matter. How far away are you?”
“30 seconds, give or take,” said Harry. “How bad is it?”
“I don’t know, Harry,” Carter said. “He’s in the middle of something. He doesn’t usually talk to me when he’s working.”
Harry punched through the cloud deck, and lightning crackled around him as he burned for the Earth. He was falling through water, the rain lashing against him, rising up at him as he burned for the ground. Streaks of water ran across his chassis, blasting to mist as they passed into the streak of fire from the rocket.
“Ok,” said Harry. “Lace, I’m going in hot on… that one.” He marked up a van on the street, within the Reed group. The rockets roared into the atmosphere above him, and the tips of his armored feet had begun to shudder against the thickening atmosphere.
“Not Metatech first?” She sounded doubtful.
“You want to do this?”
“Yeah. Actually, yeah. I’d love to do that.” She sounded wistful.
Christ, Harry, way to go. Why don’t you just call her Hot Wheels while you’re at it? Instead, he said, “Sorry, Lace. You see—”
“It’s ok. At least I’ve got nice rims. You’re in a metal coffin.”
“Metatech armor their vehicles,” said Harry. “I don’t want to hit—”
He was cut off by the AI from the drop ship. “Initiating breaking burn in 3, 2, 1, mark.” The rocket on the harness kicked and coughed, the flame above him stuttering out, then the drive below him lit. A line of fire lashed out, the torch of the drive cutting off the scene below him. The overlay continued to mark targets, red dots over the white stabbing down below his feet. He felt the force of it, and if he’d still had teeth they’d have snapped shut. Harry tried to swallow, the old reflex still there, metal arms reaching out to his sides as he fell towards the ground.
“Overtime, Lace,” said Harry, kicking in the system. He got an answering click over the link from her.
The overlay was still stuttering into white, showing his descent speed as he fell. Slowing, slowing, but when he impacted against the van — through the van, into the tarmac below it — he was doing just under 30 meters per second. His metal legs were braced for the impact, but one hand still reached forward to help with the impact. The shock from the fall blasted out around him, the van exploding into a fireball, shrapnel spitting out around him. The men standing near him were knocked from their feet as the ground bucked from his landing.
The sound was deafening, windows in the buildings around blasted inwards into shards of glass. Harry stood up, chassis causing the air to shimmer with the heat, and the harness on his back clanked and rattled as the weapon rails rotated up from his back and over his shoulders.
“Game time,” he said, the external PA system switched high and loud. The lenses in his faceplate burned red, and he leaned forward, flames from the van licking up around him. “Under the Syndicate Compact of 2087, Apsel Federate invokes its right to recover intellectual property and—”
Something hard impacted against the front of his chassis, making him take a step back. High velocity. A man down the end of the line had recovered his feet. Harry’s optics painted him with the Metatech crossed saber logo, MT9 over his head. Harry’s overlay showed a Metatech-manufactured coilgun on his shoulder.
That’s the way it’s gonna be, is it? Before the man could finish cycling the weapon for a second shot, Harry marked and fired his own coilgun. The sharp hammer of sound was almost as much a force as the launch energy, and he took a step back through the debris of the van underneath him.
The man’s torso exploded into mist, his legs staggering before falling over.
Silence fell for a heartbeat of time. Reed men looked at each other, then at Harry. Metatech men looked at their fallen comrade, then at Harry. Then everyone was moving at once.
Harry stepped from the wreckage of the van, metal feet clawing up chunks of tarmac as he stepped into the street. The cleats on his feet fired, driving pitons into the street, and he swiveled his torso around to face the Reed contingent.
The weapon mounted on his other shoulder hummed, the plasma cannon coming online. The reactor on his back lit up, the Apsel falcon bright against the night. The wings stretched blurred fingers of shadow against the buildings at his back.
Harry keyed a targeting solution, and he fired the cannon, bolts of plasma spitting and roaring across the street. Night was thrown back as cars shattered and melted, Reed operatives turning into human torches, stumbling before falling forward.
There’s some weird shit right there, thought Harry. None of them screamed. Still. Not my circus. Not my monkeys.
The coilgun on his other arm swiveled back over his shoulder and began to fire rounds down the street, the noise like a jackhammer as the rounds traced white lines through the air. They tore through machines and bodies alike, superheating metal and destroying flesh.
Another coilgun round hit the side of his plasma cannon, shearing it off from the harness, and he stumbled as one of his cleated feet tore loose from the tarmac. He let his torso swivel with the impact, his own coilgun spinning back over his shoulder and towards the Metatech line. It fired against the man who’d hit him, the stream of shells shearing the vehicle the man was taking cover behind in half, turning the man’s body into mist.
Harry laughed, unlinking his feet from the ground and walking down the street. The coilgun barked against the dark as small arms fire shattered against his chassis. He stepped through a burning vehicle, snatching a Reed man from the ground. The man was shouting something at him, but Harry slapped his hands together, crushing the man in an instant.
The coilgun ran dry, and Harry blew the bolts on the harness. The metal frame spun away into the night, taking the rocket with it. He held one of his arms out in front of him, t
he fingers articulating back, exposing the fusion cannon inside. The reactor on his back flared like the sun, and a stream of white energy flashed out down the street, carving a molten track through the tarmac, cutting across vehicles and men too slow to get out of the way.
He wondered how Mason was doing, and looked at the door to The Hole.
No news was good news, right?
CHAPTER TWENTY
Sadie looked over at Aldo. “That’s your problem. You’re basically an asshole.”
“Hey, screw you.” He stood up from the couch, pacing across the room. “I haven’t done anything—”
“Yeah,” she said. “You have.”
“Like what? Name one thing.” Aldo’s voice was starting to rise, and he pointed a finger at Sadie. “Come on, Sadie. Tell me. What have I done that’s so bad?”
She looked at his finger, stabbing in the air, then turned away towards the mirror. Her fingers found the lipstick by themselves, and she pursed her lips in the reflection. “There’s always Janice. That’ll do for a start.”
“Jan— What?” She could see his mouth hanging open in the mirror.
“Janice. You know her.” Sadie turned back to face him, lipstick held in one hand. The other hand came out to just over her own shoulder height. “She’s about this tall. Blonde hair. Pretty, if you like that kind of thing. Oh, shit. That’s right. She plays bass guitar in our band, too. That’s where you may have seen her.”
“What?” said Aldo.
“Janice. And you.” Sadie threw the lipstick back onto the dressing table. “You’ve been fucking her.”
“I—”
“I don’t even care, you know.” She picked up a different color, a darker shade, the red almost black. “Because I was pretty sure I didn’t love you anymore.”
“Who told you I was… That Janice and I were…” Aldo’s voice had gone quiet and still, anger leeching it dry and bare. “I’ll kill them.”
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