The Variant Effect

by G. Wells Taylor

  But there was another, a well-made approximation built from records and enhanced to show the effects of age on someone who hadn't been skinned alive.

  "I won't do it," Hyde rasped, raising a hand toward the doorbell. You must be authentic. That's all they left you.

  He rang the bell and sank back under his hood. Then he looked toward the street, clicking his teeth. A sound from inside. Was it inside? Then he thought perhaps it was the wind pressing against the windows.

  Damn! Hyde's gloved hand came up, pushed his left sleeve back to show the skin-shell controls at his wrist. He activated the display. Light flashed before his eyes. He paused a second and pulled his hood back.

  An emotional chord thrummed in him.

  There was a face reflected in the glass panel on the screen door. Older, glowing slightly with strange spectral light, but it was the face of Captain Eric Hyde. Tears welled up and the eyelids quivered. He studied the lines around the forehead and mouth, the white-gray tangle of sideburns and the straight nose with flaring nostrils.

  Amazing. True, the display cast a slight aura to compensate for existing light conditions, but it was amazing.

  Keep moving.

  He reached out and rang the doorbell again, and was amazed again to see his hands-the skin weathered and wrinkled but somehow powerful, bunching, synchronized with the muscles beneath.

  This is dangerous. Don't believe it!

  He moved forward to peek through the door. Now that you're not a hobgoblin!

  And his breath caught.

  Across a cream-colored carpet he saw the patio doors were broken inward onto toppled table and chairs. There were muddy footprints, leaves and detritus tracked all over the carpet. An electric chandelier hung over the scene. Darkness sucked gauzy window sheers out toward the ravine.

  You're too late!

  Hyde hooked one cane over the top button on his coat and pulled his .44 magnum. He heaved the screen door aside and tried the inside door-it was locked so he shot the deadbolt. He snarled as his canes tangled in his legs, as he shoved the door aside in a haze of gun smoke.

  He swung back to the street before entering. The Corporal was alarmed by the gunshot, was pulling his hood awkwardly over his head-almost dropped his shotgun in the process.

  "A hunting pack!" Hyde shouted. "Hurry!"

  He struggled past the doors, lurching on one cane. His gun swept from corner to corner.

  He moved into the house, pushing the magnum left to a half-open closet and right to a living room with couch and chairs. He pointed his gun up the stairs across from him.

  "Hello!" Hyde shouted, his amplified voice sounded alien in the setting. "Anybody here?"

  He lurched toward the patio doors, turned his gun into the doorway past the stairs-the kitchen.

  Something alerted him, set his nerves on edge and he turned, but it was the corporal. The man looked startled-his eyes fixed on Hyde's-face-Hyde had a face!

  Hyde rasped something unpleasant and pulled his hood up before turning the display off.

  "I couldn't raise Captain Dambe," the corporal said, his muffled voice tight with anxiety. His shotgun swung toward the kitchen. "I get a signal but I can't link up to the base."

  "Blast," Hyde cursed distantly, before pointing his gun at the carpet. "Someone's been taken. At least three Biters entered here."

  "Jesus!" the corporal swore, and when Hyde started out the broken doors he blurted: "Shouldn't we wait for backup?"

  "Someone's been taken," Hyde hissed. "Every second counts."

  "Taken?" the corporal's voice shook. "Don't Biters just take the skin?"

  "Agreed," Hyde stated firmly. "Something is different. It is important that we find out what."

  He stepped out into the night, pleased with the stability offered him by his skin-shell suit. "Keep trying to raise the squad on your palm-com."

  The corporal hurried back to button up the Horton, while Hyde anxiously studied the shadows.

  We can't assume the Effect transmits every time. There might be a survivor! There has to be!

  Trees loomed high over him, and a gusting wind made the dark underbrush shake and sway. Hyde flicked on his hood-lamps and moved across the grass. Footprints tangled the dark green blades, made a path toward the forested ravine. To his left, a broad expanse of lawn opened onto Ridgeway Memorial Park. He could see the lights of several large homes on the far side-the gated community, Ridgeway Heights.

  The corporal returned. Hyde motioned for him to follow. The trail led to the right on a western course where the ravine passed through the center of Parkerville.

  CHAPTER 57

  Wizard's quick thinking saved her. Already wearing a bag-suit for the coming deployment, she turned from the communications panel to see Mao enter T-2 pouring the contents of the jerry can over his head. She smelled the gasoline fumes and just managed to pull her hood on and start her breathable when Mao lit up. He was laughing as he flicked the butane lighter.

  The bag-suit gave Wizard enough protection to shove past him and get clear of the machine before the remaining fuel in the jerry can exploded.

  She survived.

  Mao and two other baggies were not so lucky. A former Metro detective-turned-bagged-boy with a shield-name of Badge burned alive. He had been copping a nap in the transport's overhead sleeping berth. No one knew he was up there. Aggie filled Borland in on the dead baggies' specifics while others made attempts to save them.

  A bagged-girl called "Patriot" had suffered severe burns to her lungs and died despite Dr. Cavalle's best efforts. Patriot was a federal air marshal that abandoned plans of being a homeland security agent to die a Variant Squad member. She had been following Mao's movements from the other side of T-2 and ran right into the fireball as Borland started shouting.

  As the smoke cleared, it didn't take Borland long to figure out why the explosion in the transport had been so violent. As the squad was preparing to deploy, equipment and supplies were set out in T-2's squad compartment for baggies to grab as they needed: water, food-sticks, batteries and hood-lamp bulbs. Luckily, most of the explosive cutting tape had already been doled out. Otherwise, it would have been much worse.

  The squads called them sparklers back in the day because of the way their fuses burned. Each baggie was issued four lengths of the tape that they then carried in special heat-resistant graphite containers. Based on thermite cutters used in demolition, these flexible explosive lengths burned hot and violently and were used to cut through steel, wood or concrete rebar for rapid entry or exit. The sparklers were adapted to ignite at lower temperatures with either spark or flame and had saved many a squad over the years.

  The last to grab his sparklers, Chopper, said there were maybe 10 left-and yes, he left the box open for the next baggie up.

  Unfortunately, that was Mao. Seconds after Wizard left the van, the sparklers lit up causing a hot, intense explosion of molten metal that cut a hole through the floor of T-2. It made a mess out of Mao as well.

  Luckily, the army's portable fuel container across from T-2 was well under a quarter full from the squad refueling transports and civilian vehicles for the mission, so the second explosion was bright and noisy but ate up most of the combustible.

  Colonel Hazen's army fire trucks arrived in minutes and doused the blaze before the warehouse caught fire. The squad was banged up, pissed off and frightened. Cutter and Slick received some fairly serious burns while dragging Patriot's body out of T-2; but Cavalle said their injuries would not keep them from duty. The squad bandaged its wounds, mended or replaced damaged bag-suits and stood in a loose formation around their commanders.

  Aggie was pissed. She shot a withering gaze at Borland that kept him from firing any defensive volleys.

  "What happened?" Aggie confronted him.

  "Had to be Pyromania," he said, shaking his head and baring his teeth. "He had that zombie walk from back in the day, but I didn't put it together quick enough."

  "He presented?" Aggie shook he
r head. "Come on! I'd be more apt to believe it was sabotage." She glared at T-2's blackened profile. "Do you know the chances of a pyromaniac presenting spontaneously after the number of Biter transmissions we've seen?"

  "He could have been exposed during the autopsy on the-the shopkeeper," Cavalle interjected. Her hair was singed. Borland had been impressed by her actions. She'd run right up to the heat and flames behind T-2 to work on Patriot. "It only requires exposure to body fluid containing the Varion-hybrid molecule, and those scalpels are sharp." She looked at the body bags containing Mao, Patriot and Badge's remains. "The video may show."

  "Don't rule out sabotage too quickly," Colonel Hazen joined in. "Look at the timing of this."

  "Who would want to sabotage us?" Borland asked, hackles rising.

  "Lots of people," Aggie explained. "As Hyde says: Remember, history! There was a strong green movement back in the day that sabotaged Bezo properties and squads because Bezo invented Varion, and we were seen as corporate hired guns." Aggie shook her head. "And there were enough indiscretions and accidents among the squads to earn some of the distrust. Those Green Groups have grown powerful since the day."

  "Who's going to set himself on fire?" Wizard piped up. Her bag-suit was scorched in places. Borland noticed some of it looked shrink-wrapped to her body. "There are a hundred different ways we could be sabotaged. That's pretty spectacular."

  "Good point," Aggie agreed. "Did anyone notice Mao's behavior before?"

  "I have to admit, his communications during the autopsy bothered me," Cavalle said, wiping grime from her forehead with a sleeve. "I started cooking samples and left him to it. When I talked to him on the com-link from outside, he was giving one or two syllable answers."

  "Actually, I should have said something; but when I was watching the autopsy outside on the screen, I asked Mao a couple things and he didn't answer at all," Hyde's medic added. Gordon was a tall thin man in his late twenties, though his balding crown made him look older. He was wearing a blue squad uniform under his bag-suit. He held his hood in his hand. The med-tech shrugged. "So I tried to kid with him, and then he set his scalpel down and walked out. He didn't even shut the door."

  Aggie glared at him.

  "I thought he was pissed at me-and it was weird, yeah, but I went in to cover the body and lock up." Gordon lowered his eyes and he shrugged. "The explosion came before I finished."

  Aggie's shoulders stiffened, but Borland moved before the worst could happen.

  "Okay. A lesson for us," he said, stepping in close to Aggie. He pushed Gordon away and turned to the group. "Report any weird behavior right away."

  "And get another point of view," Aggie growled. "If someone's behaving strangely, check it with someone else." She whipped around. "This is not the time for doubt. We can't worry about embarrassing questions. Understand?"

  "Agreed," Dr. Cavalle put in. "I am also Psyche Ops Officer for this squad. Report any unusual feelings, any fears to me. It's probably just paranoia, but we can't take the chance it's something else."

  "So where do we go from here?" Borland set his feet wide apart, and frowned at T-2. He was started to feel the need for something to settle his nerves. He'd had a couple jolts before talking to Hyde, but all the new excitement had left him agitated and had burned away his reserves. He was starting to feel his injuries again.

  Borland absently pressed at a hernia and kicked his leg.

  Aggie noticed the action but started: "Wizard, transfer communications to the backup in T-1. Hazard?" The damaged transport's muscular driver snapped to attention. "Will T-2 be able to see action?"

  "It'll carry troops, ma'am," Hazard replied. "The sparklers cut the hydraulics but missed the drive shaft. I can fix the hydraulics; but the electrics are burned out of the main squad compartment and overhead. Potentially dangerous scenario, but in a pinch, from point A to point B, it should be safe enough."

  "Colonel Hazen, I'm sure your men and women are willing to accept the risk," Aggie said. "Hazard, you prep T-2 and be ready to bring the Colonel's squad when we need it. You have an hour." She exhaled and squared her shoulders. "I regret the loss of our people, but we've still got a squad." Her chin dipped. "We go ahead with the plan."

  Everyone jumped at an electronic warbling sound. Aggie shifted, looked down at her belt and grabbed her palm-com. She held it to her ear.

  "Yes?" she said, the squad stared, straining to know. Aggie's shoulders squared. "How many?"

  Borland frowned and leaned in.

  "What's the address?" She held her palm-com away, watched as the information appeared. She nodded and returned the phone to her ear. "Thank you, corporal. Do not engage. I'll send backup. Update them en route," Aggie said, and snapped her palm-com off.

  "What?" Borland grunted.

  "Someone was taken by Biters from an address near Ridgeway Heights. The east end of our hotlink." Aggie's expression was grim. "Hyde is in pursuit."

  "Hyde went after them?" Borland growled. Ridgeway Heights? Then he must know. Borland shook his head and snarled, "Are they all in wheelchairs?"

  CHAPTER 58

  Hyde was getting tired. True, he had quickly adapted to this novel mode of locomotion, but he was out of shape. An invalid. His damaged body was unused to this sort of work-any kind of work-and the slippery grass had combined with the darkness to produce some awkward falls. That resulted in painful muscle pulls that finally forced him to put his gun away and take up both canes. To hobble. Adrenaline still burned along his nerves, but his atrophied muscle had little to give in return. The leg braces were so heavy.

  You can't stop. You can't fail.

  The corporal was there eager to help-and survive. His shotgun trembled in jittery hands, ready for anything-for everything-as long as he could refrain from killing Hyde. He was jumping at shadows. The night crowded in and a breeze in the leaves whispered.

  Skin. He has skin. He should be afraid.

  They had continued three blocks west, until being forced by fences and other obstacles to take to the street. The sidewalk and streetlights on Falcon Avenue made for faster travel-though Hyde's legs and back were paining him terribly-but he assumed that the Biters would make a beeline for their lair. When he found no blood angel or scene of carnage, Hyde imagined that the victim had either escaped, presented during the first stages of the attack or was being taken somewhere secure for that purpose.

  The first violent stages of the ritual would be unnerving to the anxious Biters, though their need overrode any discomfort.

  You screamed until your voice broke.

  Incidents of hunting and gathering were recorded back in the day, but such reports were sketchy. Of course, study of Biters from the very early days of the day was incomplete for obvious reasons. No one knew that the packs were even there until they grew to a size where they could hunt openly for skin. Parkerville's pack would be small, and most of its members sick and dying. It was easy to hypothesize that early-stage hunting packs brought their captives back for Ritual in private and relative safety-the survival imperative.

  There's a slim chance.

  The corporal had twice suggested that he go back for the van, but Hyde insisted there wasn't time. If the Biters did begin the ritual, then the only chance of interrupting them lay in pressing forward.

  People can survive. You're proof of that.

  Soon they took the turn where a street jogged to the right and north, where the ravine wended toward the military base.

  There's still time!

  At the corner, he told the corporal to contact Lazlo again. Right after Aggie called and ordered them to push toward Lazlo's location where she'd meet them with the squad; they'd hailed Lazlo via palm-com. The Variant veteran was surprised to hear from Hyde-especially that he was on foot, but he was glad the squad was coming.

  He and his team, Jailbird and Shanju, had retired to the van and were keeping watch. They'd seen no activity in the ravine, though Jailbird swore he'd heard something hiss the word: "Skin" near th
e sewer mouth.

  Hyde pushed along, his feet cramping. Drool dangled from his jaw. Strings of it fouled his face-shield and his breath fogged the anti-fog material. His relentless stagger forced the corporal to operate his palm-com on the move.

  "Can't raise him," he said, looking at overhead power lines. "Must be interference."

  "Is there a signal?" Hyde wheezed, and then: a gunshot!

  And another.

  "That's up ahead!" the corporal said, pointing with his gun.

  "Hurry!" Hyde barked, pushing himself to greater effort. His heart pounded, and his legs throbbed. The scar tissue on his skull and neck twitched.

  There was a streetlight ahead where the road turned left and the tree choked ravine loomed in shadows. Hyde knew the gully narrowed at a culvert that allowed runoff under an east-west stretch of road. Past that, the ravine wall would rise to the north where the sewer opened up.

  They rounded the corner and saw Lazlo's van parked on the raised shoulder just inside the rim of direct streetlight-perhaps 50 yards from them. Past it, Hyde knew the black portal of the sewer opening lurked in darkness.

  The street ran past the van to a dead end. A fence closed it beside a line of tall trees. Beyond that, Hyde saw headlights and heard cars whizzing on the north-south stretch of highway. It was a merge proposed for better fiscal days.

  "I still can't raise them," the corporal said breathlessly, tapping his palm-com's redial. "Do you think they went into the sewer?"

  Hyde suddenly stopped, hung a cane over his top button and drew his gun out of his coat. Silence often meant the worst. He pointed at the van and lurched forward leaning over his cane. The rear doors were ajar.

  "Oh no!" the corporal said, struggling. "Please tell me that's good."

  Hyde limped toward the van. He pointed at the back of the van with his gun and made a stopping motion-signaled for the corporal to cover him from there.

  "Now you're not talking!" The corporal's voice quavered as he aimed at the van. "You can't do that!"