by Alex White
She peered down at the cheese grater of a road below. A false move might throw her from the trailer or get her squished by one of the other drones. They were supposed to have collision avoidance, but she didn’t enjoy gambling on that. She blew Orna a kiss and leaned back, walking down the side of the trailer.
When she was just a meter off the roadway, she leaned down and traced her glyph, connecting to the platform’s internal network. Instead of a single entity, Nilah found a swarm, each platform talking to those nearest it. With a few pinpoint attacks, she lowered her flatbed’s guard and connected directly to the steering. With one member of the swarm under her control, the others were easy to compromise.
Nilah redoubled her efforts and was rewarded with root access to eight of the vehicles nearest her. The heady rush of seeing the world through so many imagers threatened to bowl her over, and she had to shut her eyes to keep her composure.
She directed her captives to form the shape of a V, with its wide-open mouth toward the fleeing Loy Vong. As they sped up to catch him, she shaped the flow of traffic using tens of thousands of hours of racing experience. She knew how to maintain a tight gap at breakneck speeds and navigate a dangerous pack of cars. Unlike catty race car drivers, though, the cargo containers were obliging, politely yielding their positions whenever asked.
Then she had eight pairs of eyes on Loy. He hunkered low on his motorcycle, an obvious pro, given the way he weaved between shipping containers. Nilah remained hidden on the far side of her trailer as she came alongside his bike.
“Hunter One, in position,” said Orna.
Nilah locked down the steering and acceleration and let go of the platform. She planted her feet against the side of the container and judged the distance to the front. Her plan would require perfect tensioning of her hook line, so she took hold of the controls at her hips.
“Copy that, Hunter One. Start the show.” Nilah dashed forward, sprinting parallel to the ground. She let out her line as she leapt, then hit the brakes to whip around the front of her container like a pendulum.
As she came around the bend, she found Loy preoccupied by Orna and the twins as they fired from nearby trailers—all the shots going wide, of course. Her target had exactly enough time to register Nilah’s onrushing presence before she swung past, snatching him off his bike by his neck. She jammed down the emergency reel on her grappling hook and zipped back into the opposite side of her trailer, slamming Loy into the wall hard enough to knock him unconscious.
He went slack in her arms—it took a headlock to keep her from dropping him—but she finally managed to wrestle him up onto the roof.
“Why are you so heavy, you little bastard?” she grunted as she rolled up alongside him and began trussing the kid. She wasn’t taking any chances, so she bagged his hands in calcifoam cuffs and inflated them to paralyze his fingers.
They took a container down the first exit, then ditched it and dragged their now-sedated hostage into the alleyway between an abandoned trolley stop and a sewage processing substation.
“We look like monsters,” Nilah said as they gently set him on the ground. “Snatching a child.”
“They don’t call it kidnapping for nothing,” Orna said, clearly remorseless.
“Why are you so happy?” she asked.
“He hit us with a heavy spell and led us on a car chase. I figure that means we’re on the right track.”
“Absolutely,” said Alister, dusting off his hands. “Let’s wake him up and crack open that mind, shall we?”
“I’ll keep an ear to the police scanners,” said Jeannie, tapping her comm. “Boss, did they accept our Compass IDs?”
“They said they did,” Cordell replied. “The cops are steering clear, but stay sharp. They might be setting something up.”
“Let’s get this underway,” Nilah sighed, breaking out her salts and waving them under Loy’s nose.
She watched his eyes creak open, and then he tried his restraints before sizing up his opposition and checking for escape routes. His eyes cast about for anything else of potential interest before meeting Nilah’s.
He began to scream, and Orna drew out a styptifoam canister from her first-aid pouch. She shot a glob into his mouth, and he spluttered white suds like a rabid dog.
“Bad,” said Orna. “No.”
Nilah had always heard the stuff was bitter, but she’d never had the misfortune of getting any in her mouth. “Loy, let’s cut to the point, shall we? We know what you are. You’re supposed to protect Origin, and you’re going to do that by helping us.”
Loy simply stared back at her, wide-eyed and tearful, sniffling over the mass of foam.
“Oh, my god, you can stop,” said Orna. “We know you’re a Conservator.”
“And that you’re trying to keep the forbidden art… you know, forbidden,” Nilah added, and Loy’s demeanor changed instantly.
The tears stopped, as did the struggling. He chewed on the hardening ball of clotting foam for a moment before working it loose with a trail of spittle.
He gave her a professional smile. “Of course, Miss Brio. Just cut me loose, and we can get right to it.”
“Oh, no,” said Nilah. “You were quite the handful.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to practice,” he responded.
“Henrick Witts is an alchemist. You’re sworn to destroy him, so give us your information.”
“We’re working on Witts,” said Loy, flipping his long, black bangs out of his eyes.
“And how is it going for you and your timeless spies?” asked Nilah.
“Admittedly, I’m in the body of a child,” he said.
“And that means?” asked Orna.
“That I died pretty recently. I’ve only been in this one for about three years.” He wriggled in his restraints, and Orna rested a boot atop his chest.
“Whatever you’re doing,” said Orna, “don’t. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a murderer, a body-thief.”
“You know what it means to do what’s necessary,” said Loy, “even if that’s a bit messy.”
Orna added pressure, and the boy grunted underfoot. “If you know my history, you know I’ve got a real thing for people who hurt kids.”
Loy relaxed and flashed a beguiling smile far too old for his face. “Hurt? Loy and I are the same now. We had an amicable meeting of the minds, as it were.”
The quartermaster’s nose wrinkled in disgust. “You’re not making me any happier.”
“I’m really glad to hear that Loy is still in you,” said Jeannie, kneeling before him, “because children are very trusting. They always want to help.” Then she glanced at Orna. “But not with a boot on them. I can tell you’re scared, Loy. Don’t worry. You won’t even have to speak.”
Orna withdrew her foot with a scoff.
“If you’re thinking of mind reading,” Loy said bitterly, “you’re wasting your time. I’m a master meditator with centuries of experience. You’re a squealing brat in comparison. Now why don’t you take off these restraints and we’ll see what we can do together? Let’s team up.”
Jeannie stroked his cheek with a smile and traced her glyph. “Shush, now. It’s okay. Just tell me what you’d do if we let you loose.”
She touched a finger to his brow, and his breathing steadied, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Jeannie looked to the others. “His plan is to get onto our ship so he can overload the main drive and kill us all.”
Loy’s eyes shot open in surprise.
“Wondering what happened?” said Jeannie. “You may be very old, but your brain and body are that of a child. You’re very mature software on brand-new hardware. Also, I don’t think your host liked merging with you.”
She and Alister nodded to each other, both carving out their spells and holding hands. They touched their index fingers tip-to-tip and traced another reader’s mark, as though writing on an invisible pane of glass.
“I want you to think about what you’re doing,” sa
id Loy, glancing between the pair. “The information in my mind has been used to protect life since the Exodus. You might feel like heroes, like you can handle the responsibility, but you can’t. This is for the Conservators alone, and—”
“Don’t care,” said the twins in perfect unison as they laid their palms to his chest. “You’re a failure, and we’re taking over now.”
Loy’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he began to shout something in another language: guttural and ancient, probably one of humanity’s elder tongues. He sang a haunting tune, his voice doubling in his throat with polyphony, mastery in every note.
Alister thumped the kid’s bobbing throat, eliciting a cough, and asked, “Where is Origin?”
Loy chanted louder in response, his ringing song conjuring misty arbors and untouched coastlines in Nilah’s mind. It captivated her, and she imagined the little monster had all sorts of interesting skills.
“Where is Origin?” repeated the twins, and then they began parroting his song back to him in discordant tones.
Nilah was never sure how they pulled off that trick. She could barely speak when there was a delay on the comm, yet the twins were able to maintain near-perfect concentration. She would’ve had to stop talking almost immediately.
But Loy Vong kept on singing.
The twins fell in time, harmonizing with chord progressions Nilah had never heard before, their voices commingling with breathtaking precision. There was something holy in the notes, like someone mourning the loss of a temple, a dirge for something precious.
Jeannie and Alister took hold of some accompanying lyric, repeating it in eighth-note steps between Loy’s long stretches. Either they were familiar with the tune, or they’d dug something out of his head.
Loy’s brow knit with the exertion, or was it pain? Alister’s voice grew in volume, his soulful rendition a captivating spectacle. Nilah could hardly believe what she was hearing from him; he’d never shared this talent before.
“Bloody hell…” she whispered to Orna, who hushed her.
Then Jeannie surged ahead as well, bringing the composition to a frightful fever pitch. It was definitely a song of loss and sorrow, even if Nilah couldn’t speak the language. A sparkle at the corner of Loy’s eye caught her attention; he was crying as he led their strange chorus.
They stopped abruptly with a barking shout, and asked once more, “Where is Origin? Where is the Wellspring?”
Loy’s eyes went wide. “Damn you!”
Jeannie and Alister smiled, then pulled out portable terminals and began writing down a phrase. They each held out their pads for the rest to see the words:
A CHERRY BLOSSOM OF FIVE PETALS
INEXORABLY, ONE HAS FALLEN AWAY.
ONLY BY SHARP CONDUCTOR’S LIGHT
DID THEY LAUNCH INTO ELEGIAC NIGHT.
CAN THE HEARTS OF THE LOST
BE KNOWN WITHIN THIS GREAT STRIDE?
ALL STARS TO CLOTHE THEIR SHIPS,
THOSE WHO FLY TASTE HEAVEN ON LIPS.
“Stop,” said Orna. “That’s crap. It’s the ‘Legends of the Landers.’ Arcan folk song.”
Nilah spied a furtive smile from Loy. Alister frowned and drew some lines under some of the words, and for a brief moment, anger returned to the little boy’s face.
“What are those lines supposed to mean?” Orna asked Alister, but then looked to Loy. “What are those lines?”
“You’ve made an enemy for the rest of your short life,” said Loy, grinning wickedly. “No matter where you go, no matter what you do, I’m going to hunt you until the secrets are extinguished—so you’d better kill me now.”
Alister drew out his slinger. “Okay, sounds good.”
Nilah snatched the weapon from his hand with a shout. “He’s trying to respawn, you git! If we kill him, we won’t know what he looks like when he comes for us!”
Loy shrugged and shook his head. “And as soon as you leave, I’m throwing myself over the balcony, so it’s a moot point. Why not do it, and give yourselves a head start?”
“Or why don’t we publish the Recursive Primacy genetic algorithm we used to find you? I bet the press would have a field day with all the Conservator operatives they dug up. Who else is a Conservator, I wonder? Anyone famous?”
“You’d never find another one,” said Loy. “I’d imagine it’s taken you a long time to find me.”
“We could find the five other people who helped you destroy the Vogelstrand,” said Nilah. “They have modern descendants, and we could blow that cover wide open.”
She’d struck home with that one. Loy looked like he’d bite her throat out, given half the chance. “How did you get that information?”
“I stood on the deck, mate. I saw what you did to those people, how they hung from the ceiling,” she said, flexing her fingers. “Tell me what I want to know, or I blow your covers, along with the method you use to hide.”
The little boy scowled at Nilah. “You’d be a fool to hobble the protectors of humanity.”
“What a joke!” said Nilah. “We stopped the PGRF. We found the Harrow. What did you do?”
He demurred. “You’d never believe me if I told you.”
“Too right, chum. Now explain those lines or we’ll be here all night.” She turned to Alister. “Can you hit him again?”
But Loy began to scream.
“Knock it off,” said Orna, shooting another huge blob of calcifoam into his mouth.
Except this time, Loy sucked it into his lungs as hard as he could, face going red.
“Damn it!” said Orna jumping onto him and scooping suds from his mouth. He bit her, and she slapped the daylights out of him before trying again.
Blood vessels popped out along his forehead as he sat up, grinning madly, and Orna forced him back down. Nilah took a step back in horror; the foam would harden in his lungs and suck away all the moisture. It’d shatter his little air sacs and flood his airways with blood. He wouldn’t survive—not given that they were minutes from any other help.
“Orna…” Nilah touched her fiancée’s shoulder, and she backed away, fists clenched.
Loy looked Nilah in the eye and pointed at her with his index finger. He mimicked pulling the trigger, then fell still.
“Quit gawking,” said Orna, balling her fists. “We got what we could, and it’s time to go.”
Chapter Eighteen
Crypto
Though there were a few cops and special forces loitering around the docked Capricious, no one had the authority to stop their departure. Boots knew that if they stuck around long enough, some government jerkwad was going to figure out how to detain them, so she was happy when they launched.
She’d only just finished freshening up when she emerged from her room to find Alister standing in the hallway.
Boots shouted in surprise, then clutched her chest. “You trying to scare me to death, Al?”
He stared at her for a moment. “Hm?”
She snapped her fingers. “Alister. You okay, buddy?”
He shook his head. “Spaced out. Sorry. I came up here for something.”
She gave him a concerned look. “Let me guess. You forgot.”
He didn’t deny it this time, expression like he was wringing out his brain. “Yeah. Sorry.”
“You’re forgetting a lot of things.”
“Yeah. Sorry,” he repeated, a little more sadly this time.
They stood in the hall, Boots watching him sway, bereft and lonesome. He wouldn’t meet her eye.
“Hey, okay…” She closed the distance and patted his shoulder. “Uh, I know it’s upsetting, but a lot of people are forgetful, and we can figure it out.”
“Boots… what, um…” His eyes went red, and a tear welled in one eye. He wiped it, pretending to scratch his cheek. “What did we do today?”
“You were in a car chase.” She made sure her tone conveyed her unwillingness to accept any lies in return. He seemed contrite, but he’d so casually thrown her a story in the past.
“Alister, I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“Don’t tell the captain.”
“I already did,” she said, “because I care about you, okay? You can’t deal with this alone. I think it’s fair to say that you’re going to be a danger if you keep going out on missions.”
“Please don’t ground me. Just help me, and we can get to the end. Please.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. “The ‘end’ of what?”
He leaned back against the wall. “This. I must stop Witts. You get it. You can help me.”
“I’m going to, buddy. You’ve got to believe that. We’re all going to stop Witts.”
He gave her a bitter shake of his head and sniffled, patting his pockets. Boots went back into her room and fetched a box of tissues, then reemerged to give them to Alister.
“Thanks,” he said, honking into the tissue. Sometimes, he was an icy killer and a capable liar. Other times, he was just a child. “I’m not sitting on the bench while others do the work.”
“This isn’t about getting credit—”
“I don’t want credit,” he said. “I just want to make sure the job is done, and no offense, but I need to be there.”
“Al, no one is benching you, but you have to do something about this! How are you going to feel when your…‘condition’ gets someone killed?”
“I can pull my own weight.”
“You’re going to cause a lot of tragedy if you space out on a mission. I don’t know how you feel about the rest of us, but what if it’s Jeannie, huh?”
“I shouldn’t exist. I don’t want to exist. There’s something wrong with me,” he replied quietly. Then his eyes met hers, pupils going to pinpricks. “But I do exist, and those are the ‘facts on the ground,’ as you like to say. Witts created me to be broken, and I am exactly as ordered.”
