by T W Iain
<I have blood,> the creature sussed, without pause. <Do you wish me to entice them now?>
<Whenever you’re ready.>
The creature nodded, and raised its right hand, one finger extended. Ryann zoomed her lenses in, focusing on the digit, and on the talon at its end. It arched over, looking almost sculpted.
The beast raised its left arm now, fist clenched loosely. Then it sliced those talons across the skin at its wrist.
Blood arced into the air, crossing a few paces towards the shades before splashing to the floor. The beast clamped a hand over the self-inflicted wound, holding the arm up. It never took its eyes from the shades as they shuffled and hunched over, their arms out wide, claws extended. Behind the glass, Ryann felt their hunger grow.
The creature dropped its arm, pulling its hand back. Ryann focused in on the thing’s wrist, expecting to see blood still flowing, but there was none now. It was as if the wound had already sealed over.
Then one of the shades leapt forward. It swung its arms, claws extended, ready to rip this creature to shreds.
Ryann didn’t see the creature move, but it was now a pace to the right, and the shade was on the floor, a wound in its stomach oozing a liquid that wasn’t quite blood.
The other shades rushed forward, and the new creature batted them away like flies, shoving them to the floor, opening up gashes in their bodies. The shades rose, and they attacked again. And again.
And every time, the creature countered their moves. It added to their wounds, and Ryann swore she heard the crack as it pulled at an arm sharply, leaving it hanging from the shade’s body at an unnatural angle, the clawed hand flopping at the end.
<You’re playing with them,> Murdoch sussed.
<I believed you wanted a demonstration of my capabilities.>
<And you have impressed me. But now I order you to finish them.>
And it did.
Ryann was sickened by the violence, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away. She struggled to follow the moves the beast made, so quick were its actions. She only saw, with any clarity, the aftermath.
Five shades on the ground, blood draining from their twisted bodies, and this new beast standing over them, talons dripping, but barely out of breath.
Murdoch tilted his head to Ryann. “Even you have to agree that was impressive. And I hope you see now why having shades on Metis is not such a big deal. If—and this is a very big if—they escape, we have the ability to hunt and destroy.”
Ryann didn’t respond. She didn’t turn her gaze from the scene on the arena floor. The beast stood in the middle of the carnage it had created, yet it looked at peace.
<You want me to feed?> There was no emotion in its voice, and Ryann had no clue if this was what it wanted or not.
<I don’t think we need resort to that,> Murdoch replied. <Return to your Chief Supervisor. We’ll have someone else clear up.>
<I understand.>
<And congratulations—you passed the test with flying colours.>
A man appeared in the doorway, the sol light streaming out, clipping one of the fallen shades and sending tendrils of smoke from its hide. The beast observed this before turning and walking to the man.
The door closed behind them, and the lights in the arena faded to black. But in Ryann’s mind she could still see those dead shades, and the beast that had slaughtered them with such ease.
They walked when it was night.
Brice argued that he did this for Cathal’s sake, but in truth he’d grown to enjoy the dark. The shades were no threat, and the shadows limited Brice’s world. They forced him to rely on senses other than sight, and this gave him something to focus on, something other than the horrible monotony that was his new life.
<Why this way?> Cathal asked.
“That first shade was in the caves by the waterfall, right? And we don’t know where those caves and tunnels originate. I’m guessing they go right up to the rim, and that’s where the shades got in. If we go in from the bottom, we can track their traces up.”
<Makes sense.>
But Cathal’s response was off-hand, like he wasn’t really listening. Like he was distracted.
They walked on, following the river. The distant, constant roar grew in volume, the sound pulling memories to the surface of Brice’s mind, memories of the Proteus filling with water, of swimming through the darkness, of the helplessness when the craft was dragged over the waterfall’s lip.
And then they reached the Tumbler.
The weak moonlight reflected off the plummeting water, and to Brice it looked like a living, slithering sheet, stretched from the top of the cliff to the churning waters at the bottom. The noise was incredible, and spray soaked Brice. He had to shout to be heard.
“You remember last time?”
<Of course.> But there was no emotion in Cathal’s voice. Brice’s old commander walked on, taking a path that ran alongside the plunge pool to the rock wall, passing the spot where they’d previously swum to shore.
“Hope there’s no warths this time.”
<Don’t think they’d be a problem now.>
Brice wasn’t sure if Cathal meant they’d be ignored by the bear-like creatures, or if Cathal was stronger than a charging warth.
The path turned, hugging the rock wall, and Brice ran a hand over it as they walked. Moss and moisture gave way to a drier, grittier texture, and the path widened. In the darkness, features grew in recognition. There was the tree that the first warth had been hiding behind. And here was the patch of stone Brice had stood upon as he fired on it, wondering why the rest of the crew hadn’t noticed the third creature.
And above was the black opening of the cave.
“No rush to climb this time,” Brice said.
Cathal shrugged. <No reason to hang around either.> And he started to climb.
Brice followed. The climb was easy, his limbs flowing, his eyes scanning the rock for the next hold, and the one after that. Last time, he’d been confident of his abilities, but now he felt even more at home on the rock.
They reached the cave entrance together, and Brice looked out over the forest, an ocean of treetops undulating in the moonlight. It looked so serene, and for a moment Brice almost forgot the horrors that the canopy concealed.
Almost. But it was impossible to ignore reality when Cathal’s rotten stink hung in the air. And when the coldness from the cave sent shivers down Brice’s spine.
He turned and faced the darkness, his eyes adjusting. He had no lens filters, of course, but his night-vision had improved beyond anything he could have imagined. And he’d learnt from Cathal, developed his other senses. As Brice stepped forward, he listened to the echoes and judged the size of the cave.
<Never thought I’d be back here.>
Brice almost responded, but he caught the tone and the ambiance in Cathal’s words just in time. His commander wasn’t sussing. The soft echo told Brice that these words were internal, thoughts that Cathal was telling himself.
It didn’t happen very often, and Brice had found no way of controlling this ability. Every so often, he’d hear an internal thought, usually from Cathal but sometimes from Car or Ap Owen. Like so much, it was connected with his screwy lattice. Back in Haven, he’d overheard others thinking. It might have been cool, but with no control it was creepy. Even now he felt the hairs on his arms standing upright.
<We going in?>
That was aimed at Brice. “You want to lead?”
<Might as well.>
They left the opening cave via the middle of the three tunnels, and the moonlight faded. The passage twisted and turned, and there were junctions, but Cathal didn’t pause. Brice assumed he was following a trace, one that was too weak for Brice himself to detect.
The tunnels felt dead. Brice wasn’t sure why, but there was a lifelessness about them. They were empty spaces, waiting to be fill
ed.
And that opened the floodgate to old memories.
He let them play through his mind as they walked; Ryann leading them through the forest as the warths, then the shades followed them. Keelin silent, mourning the loss of her craft. And Tris…
Those memories were the hardest. The mud that ran like a river. Tris’ cries as the shades surrounded him, and the putrid stench as they fell on him. And the helplessness and loneliness when they took Tris away.
Brice took a breath, the air cold and stale. He focused on Cathal, two steps ahead.
After fifteen minutes of walking, they came to a passage that Brice remembered all too well. The roof over their heads stretched up, like they were walking through a gully.
This was where it had happened. This was where the shade had bitten Cathal.
“How are you doing?” Brice whispered.
<Fine.> But Cathal didn’t elaborate, and Brice wasn’t sure what to make of that.
“You detecting anything?”
<Old trace. Stronger higher up.>
There were holes in the rock walls above their heads, lining both sides. Last time, the shade had been up there. It had jumped, from hole to hole, crossing from one side to the other.
The rock had appeared smooth back then, but running his hand over the stone Brice felt edges and undulations. He wouldn’t have been able to climb the wall before, but he could now.
“We want to follow it?”
<Might as well.> Cathal was still cold. But he’d never been open with his feelings. Maybe to Ryann, but not to Brice. <You go first. I’ll catch you.> A poor attempt at humour, and Brice didn’t respond. He didn’t know how to.
Instead, he climbed, following Cathal. They moved slowly, but were soon at one of the holes.
Behind the hole was another tunnel, running parallel to the one below. Brice closed his eyes—not that he could physically see anything anyway—and concentrated. He could just make out traces, but they felt old and musty.
“Which way?” he asked when Cathal joined him. “I can’t tell which of these traces to follow.”
Cathal was silent for a moment, then his voice entered Brice’s head. <Right.>
He set off. Brice followed, listening to the sound of his boots on the rock, listening to their echoes. The passage was narrow, but there were more holes leading through to the gully tunnel. Then the passage turned, and started to rise. At a fork, Cathal climbed into a crack that opened into a wide tunnel.
There were more tunnels, more climbing, and more old traces in the air. Brice lost track of time, and although he was confident he could retrace their steps, he had no clue where they were.
Then Cathal paused. He didn’t move, and Brice could hear his breath as he pulled air in.
<You feel that?>
Brice concentrated. Stale traces hung in the air, surrounding a fresher one. But it felt different somehow. It felt…fractured, or broken.
“That a normal shade?”
<It’s old. Set in its ways. The others have left, I’m sure of it. But this one has stayed.>
They moved slower now. The trace grew stronger, and maybe Brice could understand how the shade was old. There was a weariness about the trace, not an injury like Brice first thought.
Cathal slowed, then stopped. He breathed heavily.
Brice concentrated on the trace, but there was a metallic tinge to the air now, with strong overtones of death and decay. And it came from round the next corner.
Not one trace, but many.
“What is that?”
<Not good..>
“Danger?”
<No.> But Cathal had paused a fraction too long before answering.
The stench grew stronger, as did the old trace they’d been following. It moved, coming their way.
And then it turned the corner.
Brice felt the air move, smelled the rancid aroma of the thing—like rotten meat, but also like gone-off milk. His stomach heaved.
As Brice concentrated, relying on senses other than sight, he caught the shape of the creature. It hunched over, arms hanging loosely by its side. Its stomach was a bulge, totally unlike the too-flat stomachs of all other shades Brice had seen.
The thing ignored Brice—as he expected—but turned to Cathal, raising one hand, the claws broken and misshapen. It nodded its head, heavily, and Brice caught…not words, but sensations.
The shade was communicating. And Cathal listened, holding the thing’s hand gently, his own head bent forward until they were almost touching foreheads.
“What happened?” Brice asked, and even his whisper was too loud, echoing round the cold rock.
<At a guess, too much blood.>
“What?”
<It’s complicated,> Cathal sussed, with a sigh, as if he didn’t really want to be discussing this. <Blood gives energy, but if that energy is not used, the blood builds up. Then it starts to break down, and becomes toxic.>
Brice thought for a moment. “Like having too much of one thing in a diet.”
<Close enough. This caretaker has been feeding multiple times every day, but he’s hardly moved from this little area. And he’s suffering for that.>
“Caretaker?”
Cathal hesitated. He released the shade’s hand, and the thing shuffled away.
<I think that will become clear in a moment. But it’s not going to be pleasant.>
Farrell wasn’t in quarantine when the guards returned Ryann. Nor was he around when the androgynous voice called for her again.
The routine was the same as before—hazard suit, empty corridors, then delivered to Murdoch.
“You were impressed,” he said. The arena was in darkness, and the window acted as a huge mirror, reflecting Ryann’s sorry state. Her arms were thin, and the vest top made her look as vulnerable as she felt.
“Impressed?”
“The NeoGen. You were impressed. I could tell.”
Ryann bit her bottom lip. “I can’t see anything impressive in slaughter.”
“You’re a hard woman to please, Harris. You know your own mind. It’s one of your better qualities. And you don’t like my girl. Not yet, at least. But you’re intelligent. You don’t let emotions cloud your vision. Given time, I believe you will see this whole project in a new light.”
“Project Golem,” she said.
He nodded. “If you must call it by that name. And you learnt of it through Arelis, didn’t you.” It wasn’t a question. “Smart in her own way, but she would have done better to keep her nose out. At times, I almost approve of my colleague’s decision to kill her.”
Ryann stared hard at Murdoch as he stood waiting for a response. But she wouldn’t give in to his goading. She wouldn’t be intimidated by silence.
“I would be interested to hear just how much you do know,” he finally said, leaning on the glass, his arms crossed. “You listen to the gaps in what people say, and as a tracker your natural intuition is above average. So tell me, what happened on Haven?”
“The company screwed us.”
He calmly raised one eyebrow.
Ryann took a breath. She had to be careful. She couldn’t accuse unless she had something concrete. “Your job, when you came down to us on Haven, was containment.” She chose her words as if she were forming a report, keeping her anger sealed up. “Word of the shades was not to leave the base, at any cost. You had Daman run the operation. He sabotaged our best chance of escape, but it seems unlikely that the Hermes crash that took Haven’s power was what he intended.”
“That was unfortunate,” Murdoch agreed.
Ryann wanted to punch him. Nearly a hundred people, innocent workers on Haven, had died when the Hermes came down, and this monster dismissed it as ‘unfortunate’.
But she didn’t raise a finger. Even if Murdoch didn’t overpower her, or use the lash that was strapped to his belt—or the Preb
en she could now just glimpse under his jacket—he’d call for his guards.
All she could do was talk.
“And I believe Daman grew desperate after that.” She opened her mouth to say more, but images flooded her mind, memories of Arela drowning in a sea of shades, of Lynette dead from a Preben shot, of Merna bleeding out in the Hermes’ hatch.
“I would be inclined to agree. If he had not met with such an unfortunate accident,” and here, the intonation in his voice told Ryann that Murdoch knew exactly what had happened by Jettison, “I doubt he would still have such a high position in the company.”
“But you were his superior,” Ryann said, feeling heat rising. “You could have stepped in.”
“The situation was always under control.”
The laugh erupted from Ryann before she could prevent it. “You call that chaos ‘under control’?”
“Of course.” He was too calm. “You think we didn’t have contingencies in place?”
He grinned, and Ryann believed him. Of course they would have had a way out, just for the two of them. Anyone remaining in Haven would have had to fend for themselves.
She was surprised the company hadn’t simply destroyed Haven in the first place.
“But I’m thankful that you survived, Harris. You have great potential. Even now, you show such self-restraint. Combine that with the way you analyse situations, and I believe that Kaiahive have been remiss to look you over for promotion.”
The name chilled Ryann, and Murdoch must have seen something of this, because he smiled and nodded. “But there is still the issue of your unwillingness to accept their superiority. You still need to be taught how to respect their more problematic work.”
She gritted her teeth. “And that is why I’m here, isn’t it? That is why you showed me your new pet.”
“Again, that fast mind at work. I show you the latest results of our project precisely because I want you to understand. I would far rather view you as a colleague than as an enemy.”
He sighed. “There are some in the company who believe me a soft touch. Many wanted to obliterate Haven as soon as we realised what was happening. But I argued them round. I said that we couldn’t give up that easily. We already knew the subjects were changing—and the whole infection thing really threw a spanner in the works. I told them that we needed to know more, and where better to learn than at the source?
