by Stu Jones
Zaldov takes a few clunking steps forward from the shadowed confines of the elevator. The arm Vedmak took has been replaced, though it looks somewhat immobile and cobbled together from junk parts. Am I actually happy to see this stupid bot?
“How did you find me?” I ask.
“I monitored the surveillance from Vel and saw you exit and reenter the elevator here.” His head adjusts with little jerking tilts. “Why did you leave us, Mila?”
I hug myself, squeezing away at the ache radiating from deep inside. “I couldn’t face the things I’d wrought. You all had lost faith in me and I ... I’d lost faith in myself.”
“But you are needed again,” Zaldov says, his movements accompanied by little buzzes and whirrs.
“No one needs me.”
“Bad things are happening.”
I pull on the back of my neck. “It’s Etyom. Bad things are always happening.”
“Not like this.”
“What is it? What aren’t you telling me?”
The silence in the room draws out, Zaldov’s lack of an answer more disturbing than anything he could have said.
“Well?”
“The one called Giahi has taken over Opor. Oksana, my benefactor, is his prisoner. Her other Creed were disabled and your friends were exiled.”
I clench my teeth. “Demitri said Giahi intended to overthrow Bilgi and me. Said the little power-hungry troll was in league with Vedmak. That they had a neural link. With us both gone, he succeeded.”
“If this accusation is correct, Mila Solokoff, their interaction may still be traceable through the neural web.”
“Are you sure?”
“There is a twenty-seven point six percent—”
“Yes or no?”
“I am not sure, Mila Solokoff. But we can try.”
“If there was proof, someone could take back control,” I say, now pacing. “If only Bilgi hadn’t contracted the NBD.”
“Bilgi is recovered.”
I stop dead in my tracks. “What? How do you know?”
“When we were thrown out, he found us. He did not have the plague, as you suspected. As best he could determine, he had been poisoned to mimic the effects of the NBD.”
“Giahi.”
“Yes,” Zaldov says.
I huff out an irritated breath. “So, who’s we? Who’s left?”
“The monk, the Kahangan, Husniya, a few others. Bilgi approached Faruq about helping but he turned us away—”
“Wait, what? Husniya? Husniya is alive?”
He hesitates. “Bilgi took her to the Vestals.”
My stomach knots. “But she’s alive, right?”
“We believe so,” Zaldov says.
“She is or she isn’t.”
“She was barely alive when he left her with the Vestals. That’s why I am here,” he says.
The irritation prickles across my skin, the familiar hot-headed Mila creeping back. Can’t do it like this. Got to remain calm. I exhale my frustration. “What happened?”
Without a word, Zaldov removes the small pack from his back. He sets it on the ground and unzips it, reaching inside. A ripple of fear courses through me as he draws a heavy tome from the bag, the cover charred by flame. The Writ.
Suddenly, I’m lightheaded, the air caught in my lungs, “Where did you get that?”
“Mila—”
My stare hardens. “Don’t screw with me. Where?”
“Vedmak sacked the Vestal’s temple. Few were left alive.” He extends the priceless volume to me. “I found the body of the senior Vestal, burned. She was still clutching this.”
My body shakes, tears welling in my eyes as I reach for the holy book. “Katerina.” I clasp the tome, bits of ash and charred leather flaking away beneath my fingers. “You and your sisters did not deserve this.” A terrible sadness pools within. “And Husniya?”
“We did not find her body. Bilgi believes Vedmak took her.”
Demitri, how could you allow this?
“Mila?”
“Give me a second,” I say sniffling and turning away. The storms of fate have returned this treasure to me one last time. The thought of revenge is all consuming. Yet, holding the book, Katerina’s words seem more powerful than ever.
Love and faithfulness are the only weapons that will overcome such evil.
Zaldov waits as still as a statue, his soft clicking the only tell he’s still operational. After a few moments I grab my old sling bag and insert the Writ, the weight comfortably familiar inside.
“All right, Zaldov,” I say, grabbing a bag from the counter and stuffing my remaining stash of fruit into it. “We go.”
“Yes, Mila Solokoff. We must. Time is running out,” Zaldov replies as I brush past him, step into my boots, grab my jacket and make for the elevator.
I turn to face him. “Time is running out. Did I miss something else?”
“Yes.” Zaldov’s joints squeak. “Something is emanating immense power from Zopat. The energy signature confirms the VME you and Oksana feared is on the brink of occurring. We must stop Vedmak.”
I swallow the lump of fear from my throat. “Of course it is. If the VME is on the brink, that means he’s been pulling in evil souls to attach to Graciles here. He has an army. We’ll need one too. You said Bilgi went to see Faruq. It was to ask for his help? Faruq is in charge now?”
“Yes. He controls Kapka’s forces. But he is caught in his own feud with Alya and does not wish to be drawn into a battle he does not view as his.”
“That’s unfortunate. We need more fighters,” I say.
Zaldov cocks his head. “Of all tools used in the shadow of the moon, men are most apt to get out of order."
“What?” I say.
“It is a quote from a book called Moby Dick,” he replies.
“Moby Dick?”
“It is a story of obsession, Mila Solokoff. Of reaching beyond human limits to achieve something no matter the cost. Oftentimes, we must enlist others to help in these quests, but it is oftentimes these same people who cause us more harm.”
Such wisdom from a machine, it’s almost as if Yeos were communicating through him. I put a hand on his shoulder. “The responsibility is mine, Zaldov. But I can’t do it alone.”
He seems to consider my words, then bows his head.
Another idea forms. It’s crazy. But what choice do I have? “C’mon. We have to move.”
“One moment, please.” Zaldov clomps past me to a seam in the wall. Scanning up and down, he stands there, his nose inches from the surface. He places his hand over a sensor plate set into the wall.
“What now?”
Unseen bolts slide free with several repeated thunks and a heavy, Gracile-sized section of the wall pops open and swings outward. Without a word, Zaldov steps inside. I peek inside at the small selection of plasma rifles and other armaments.
“Gracile weapons? How’d you know this was here?”
“It is in my stored memory. Every lillipad has an armory for the Creed to access in the event of an attack.” He stops stuffing weapons into a duffle bag long enough to tilt his head at me. “I thought we could use them?”
“How? Robusts can’t utilize Gracile weapons.”
“Oksana’s Creed can,” Zaldov says, standing and hoisting the ungainly bag of weapons over his shoulder.
“Good thinking, Zaldov. Let’s do this.”
***
The elevator door shunks open. I pull the lock and step onto the concrete platform beneath the stem that rises through the fake flickering blue sky above.
“Zaldov,” I say, “can you get back out?”
“Out?”
“Of this enclave. Unseen.”
His head bobs. “Yes, of course. I am equipped with stealth capability.”
“Good,” I say, casting a glance over my shoulder. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Yes?” the Creed says, tilting his head.
“Take my satchel. In exactly one hour, me
et me outside where we came into Vel the first time those many months ago. Do you remember the outbuilding?”
“Yes.”
“One hour. If I’m not there, take my bag and go back to Bilgi. He’ll know what to do.”
“Why should I not wait for you?”
I take off my jacket and re-shoulder the food bag. “Because I’ll be dead. Now go. No more questions.”
Zaldov reaches into his bag and lifts out a plasma rifle. Pulling a cable from his arm, he jacks it into a small square port in the weapon’s stock. His eyes flash, flickering for a moment before returning to normal. He unplugs the port and extends the rifle to me.
“It is now unlocked. You will need protection.”
“Thank you, Zaldov, but I’m all right,” I say, refusing the glowing metallic rifle. “No more guns for me. Now go.”
He looks like he wants to probe further, but without another word, Zaldov steps away with light footfalls until he disappears around the corner of a nearby building. Maybe Oksana was right. Synthetic or not, he’s nearly as human as the rest of us. Could a Creed have a soul if the Creator willed it?
Enough. No time to ponder the mysteries of the universe. I need my head clear for what comes next.
At a brisk pace, I cross the top of the orchard, the clear well-groomed rows only now starting to show the first signs of neglect. Pulling one of the red fruits from the branches of a nearby tree, I sink my teeth into the pink juicy center. Minutes pass.
From behind a nearby tree, a little face framed in dark curls looks back. I outstretch the other half of the fruit, smiling. The little girl creeps to me then cautiously accepts it, a curious laugh cresting her lips.
With deliberately slow movements, I rise and shoulder my bag. “Come on.”
There is neither sight or sound of any inhabitants, but I know better. This is Ripper territory, and we are being watched. The child wanders along three or four paces behind, focused on sucking the last bit of juice from her fruit. Our gazes meet for a moment as she registers the direction we’re walking. She picks up a stone and with a grunt throws at my legs.
“It’s okay, little one,” I say in a tone as soothing as possible.
Is it okay? Or am I a complete fool?
The child grunts again, this time grabbing my jacket and tugging. There is fear in her large eyes. I kneel to face her, “Don’t worry for me—”
The blow lands against the side of my head. The world spins and my vision narrows as the child screams, pulled away by a young mother. I crash against the brittle, dry grass. The air fills with hoots and shouts as scores of Rippers flood from the buildings into the narrow lane. I’d hoped perhaps having her with me would offer some kind of protection, a message that I came in peace. Guess not ...
“Yeos protect me,” I mumble, pushing myself to my knees. My jaw throbs with each beat of my hammering heart. I rise and take a few steps, my hands raised. A young male runs at me from my left. He strikes me in the stomach with the heel of his spear, doubling me over. The small crowd goes wild with approval. Gasping, I straighten and continue forward as another male shoves me from behind. A stone hits me in the ribs, then one in the thigh, the burning sting lancing into my hip.
I grit my teeth. Come on, Mila. You can take it.
Two more males approach. One knocks down my hands and punches me in the face while the other shoves me to my knees. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.
They’re going to kill me.
I raise my hands again as I’m kicked in the back, face down into the grass again, dust in my eyes and nose. The pack is wrenched from my shoulders, the zipper popping as it’s torn open. A second later, the contents are dumped over my head. I flinch as a knife slips beneath my neck and my hair is yanked back.
This is it, you fool. You asked for this. I pinch my eyes shut. “I mean you no harm,” I whimper.
The Ripper who holds a fistful of my hair jabbers in a rough dialect I can only partially understand. But two words stand out: baby killer. The others around us jump up and down and thrust their spears at me. They want my blood emptied onto the grass. I don’t blame them.
I do my best to show my palms again, the strain on my scalp excruciating. “Please. I come in peace.”
Another savage jerk of my hair shuts me up. Yeos be merciful.
There’s a squeal from behind. I can’t lower my head to see, but feel small arms wrap around my legs. It’s the little girl. She’s jabbering something at my captors.
Ahead, the hysterical crowd parts to reveal a large Ripper, muscled and bare chested. He approaches and the crowd quiets, waiting for their leader to speak my judgment.
“Please, I—” My hair is jerked again.
“Don’t speak,” the Ripper chief says, his words difficult to understand. “You have no voice here, woman.”
The insult might normally set me on fire, but in this moment, my life hangs by a thread.
He jabs a finger at one of his subordinates. “Take the child.”
The girl is grasped and peeled from me, kicking and screaming like a feral animal.
The large Ripper chief looks me over and picks up a bunch of red fruit. “And this is ... what?”
“It’s a peace offering,” I say, my chin high, hair pulled up at a miserable angle.
He throws the fruit against my face. The crowd laughs. “You think we can’t pick our own fruit?” The words growl from his throat. He squints and looks to the one with a death grip on my hair. “Open the child killer’s throat, then put her head on a stake.”
My body shakes with wild tremors.
The blade starts to pull when a crack splits the air. A blue bolt flashes against the ground, scorching the grass black beside the Ripper chief.
“Let her go,” the monotone voice calls out from beyond my field of vision.
It’s Zaldov.
A tiny stream of blood runs from my neck to the collar of my jacket.
The Ripper chief stands, his lips pulled back over broken teeth in a snarl. He looks to me then to where Zaldov must be standing. “And if I don’t?”
“Kill her then,” Zaldov replies. “But you die next, reduced to a pile of ash, followed by as many of your people as I can deconstruct or pummel to death before you tear me apart. Your choice.”
Oksana really has done a number on this Creed. He sounds almost ... emotional.
The Ripper chief casts a disgusted look at me. The moment grows heavy with anticipation. I swallow, the knife pressing.
The grip on my hair releases. The muscles of my neck and back scream at the sudden relief. Zaldov stands in the open, dividing the crowd, a plasma rifle extended in one hand.
“Mila, are you okay?” the Creed asks.
“Yes. Did you deliberately go against my directive?”
“I did. It was in your best interest.”
I rise to my feet and nod gratefully. “Now you’re thinking like a human.”
The Ripper chief crosses his arms. “What do you want, Logosian?”
I take a moment to compose myself, brushing the grass and dust from my clothes. “A truce.”
“A truce?” He laughs. “And why would we care to hold a truce with the murderous resistance leader who burned our nursery to the ground?”
“I’ll never be able to atone for my mistake.” I suck in a breath and hold it a moment before releasing. “I know you think me a monster. Hell, I feel like one. But there’s someone, something, far worse out there.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Have your people encountered a deranged Gracile? He wears a full cloak and carries an energy weapon that is curved like this.” I draw a crescent in the air with my fingers. “We all fought with him months ago in this same place.” I point to the blasted hole in the false blue sky above.
There is a flare of recognition on the chieftain’s face.
“He’s doing something that will destroy us, maybe everything,” I continue. “It’s complicated, but he has triggered something cosm
ic.”
He stares blankly at me.
“Think of it this way. He’s a demon. And he’s opened the gate to Hell to bring more like him into the world. It doesn’t matter how much you hate me. If I don’t stop him and close the gateway, we’re all going to die. Including your children.”
There’s a groan of discontent from the crowd.
The Ripper chief works his jaw back and forth. “Then why come back here? Why are you not fighting this demon?”
“I can’t do it alone. We could use some help against him. He’s set up his base near Zopat.”
The Ripper chief casts a menacing glance at Zaldov, who still holds a bead on him. “And you want us to die for your cause?”
“Not my cause. Our cause. Like I said, we’re all doomed if he carries this out. Besides, why wouldn’t you want to kill a bunch of Graciles?”
“I don’t make deals with your kind.”
This was always going to be a long shot. I must have been mad to think they would help. “Fair enough.” I raise my hands. “But let me go, at least. I have to stop him.”
The Ripper chief takes a step forward, the muscles of his jaw tightening. From either side, Rippers approach, pushing spears into my ribs. Zaldov tightens his grip on the plasma rifle.
“Then go,” the chieftain growls. “Stop him if you can. If you are successful, your head still belongs to me. There will be nowhere you can hide, no escape from the wrath of our blades. You are marked for death.”
I push a spear point aside and brush past the scowling Ripper on my right. “Aren’t I always?”
Chapter Thirty-six
VEDMAK
The luminous green fire is hypnotic. Tendrils of energy pass over one another, connecting and dissipating with a crackle, like neurons being fired in some ethereal brain. It has engulfed half the base now. The equipment, furniture, walls, ceiling and even the ground are now gone. The bubble’s incandescent surface blocking my view to anything that may exist on the other side. Yet I feel a kinship with this thing, a sense of belonging. Almost as if I can hear my comrades calling from the great beyond. Yes, this is the gateway to enough dushi to finish what I started those many long years ago. The last great purge.
