Shadowstrike

by T W Iain

  “I am not your enemy, Harris. I wish you no harm. But I need you to believe in this project like I do.”

  He waved a hand at the glass, and must have sussed at the same time, because the arena became visible. Soft light flooded in, almost slow enough that Ryann could see the darkness recede.

  “You want me to watch your beast slaughter more shades?”

  Murdoch shook his head. “You already know how strong she is. This time, you’ll see how safe she can be.”

  The door at the far end of the arena opened, and three people stepped through. Not shades this time, but people‌—‌two male, one female. One wore a lab coat, brilliant white with creases along the arms. He turned his head constantly, and when Ryann pushed with her lattice, she read his increased heartrate. The woman walked with more purpose, striding into the middle of the room, head held high. She wore a smart trouser and jacket set, and stood slightly forward of the other two.

  The final figure wore a hooded top and old, tatty trousers that ran down to his bare feet. His hood was pulled up, masking his face, but Ryann had seen enough to recognise him.

  “You’re letting that thing loose on Farrell? You’re no better than Daman!”

  “Patience,” was all he said.

  The other door into the arena opened, and yellow light streamed in. As the grey-skinned NeoGen entered, Ryann watched the trio at the far end. The man in the lab coat shook violently, and Farrell backed up a half-step. The woman stood strong, but there was fear in her eyes.

  <‍Can you hear me, Kesia?‍> Murdoch sussed. The thing nodded, once. <‍My staff been treating you well?‍> Another nod. <‍Pleased to hear it. Are you ready for your next test?‍>

  <‍Eager to start.‍>

  Murdoch turned to Keelin. “How many times do you hear that?” Then he shifted his attention back to the arena. <‍You see the three figures in the centre of the room?‍>

  <‍Yes.‍>

  Murdoch smiled. <‍Kill them.‍>

  So far, the trials had been easy. Whatever they told her to do, she did. But there was also a degree of satisfaction in the perfection of her body. When the man in the observation room told Kesia to kill those six subjects, she sensed something akin to excitement, followed by pleasure when she was able to end their lives with such tightly controlled actions.

  And now she had been instructed to kill the three people who stood before her.

  The task appeared too simple, and Kesia hesitated. She stared at the trio, using all her senses to pull in information. The one who wore a coat similar to her Chief Supervisor was clearly nervous, jigging from foot to foot and jerking his head constantly. He had no real muscle-tone, and there were no indications that he had a weapon. Kesia could dispatch him with a single swipe of her talons.

  The one in the centre, though‌—‌the female‌—‌was different. She she held herself with more confidence, in a manner that was almost taunting. She was keeping her fear well in control.

  While she killed the man in the long coat, Kesia would study the moves this female made, and react accordingly.

  She turned her attention to the third person, the one with the hooded top. There were bulges in his clothing, but she did not think he held any weapons. Maybe the bulges were there to trick her. Or maybe he possessed something else that could be used against her.

  He seemed familiar, but his appearance, size and trace didn’t match anyone who she could recall. She pushed, ever so gently, aiming to read his lattice. He was scared, but that was to be expected. Everyone Kesia had been in contact with showed signs of fear, except the man in the observation room.

  The hooded man’s familiarity was an annoyance, but Kesia pushed it from her mind. It wasn’t important. Her mission was to end his life.

  Maybe he would be the second to go. Once the man in the coat fell, Kesia could drive the talons on her left hand deep into his internal organs. That would remove two of the targets while giving her a few more seconds to analyse the woman.

  Yes. That was the strategy she would use.

  She crouched, pulling her arms up and extending her talons. She stepped forward.

  The room swayed, and pain darted behind her eyes.

  She shook her head to clear the sensation.

  <‍No playing this time. Kill them.‍>

  <‍Yes,‍> she responded as she took another step forward, breathing deeply as she set her sights on the first victim. His sweat was pungent, and Kesia detected a tang of urine.

  Her head throbbed. She took another step, almost within striking distance, and she staggered.

  <‍Come on! You’re wasting time!‍>

  The air was heavy. Her head throbbed, and her vision blurred. She growled, more in frustration than aggression.

  And the woman spoke.

  “Thought you were supposed to be strong.” She had her hands on her hips, and was glaring‌—‌actually glaring‌—‌at Kesia. The look of contempt on her face was sickening.

  <‍They need to die now!‍>

  “Come on, ugly! Show us what you’re made of.”

  And now the man in the lab coat joined in, although his voice wavered far more than the woman’s. “Thought you were, like, some ultimate weapon?”

  Kesia pushed herself forward, managing a half-step. It felt like a band was tightening around her head.

  “You want something easier to start with, bitch?” said the woman, her voice horribly screechy now, driving into Kesia’s mind like a spike. “How about this one.” She reached across and grabbed the one with the hood, pushing him forward. He almost fell.

  <‍I order you to kill them all. I want to see three lifeless bodies. I want to see limbs torn off and throats slashed. This is what you were designed for! Do your job! Kill!‍>

  Kesia screamed, as loud as she could, and pushed with her legs. Her muscles were strong, and the leap carried her through the air, arcing across to the one with the hood. In mid-air, she reached back with one arm, curling her fingers round, ready to strike.

  The man flinched.

  And Kesia collapsed on the ground. White-hot pain shot through her, and the air filled with a high-pitched, terrible whine.

  She curled up, begging for the pain to leave.

  Something rammed into her side. It didn’t hurt‌—‌there was too much pain elsewhere‌—‌but she felt it all the same, sudden and hard. She forced her eyes open, looked through a film of sweaty water, to see the woman bring her foot back for another kick. And the man with the hood was right by her head, within easy striking distance.

  <‍Goddamn! You’re that close, do something about it!‍>

  With a yell, Kesia swung her arm round, already picturing where her talons would rip into his leg. This close, she could slice through to the bone. If she grabbed and twisted straight away, she could rip his foot from his leg.

  And her arm felt like lead, and hammered into the ground. She stretched out her fingers, and they were not even close enough to reach the man’s foot.

  He stepped back. The woman kicked Kesia’s thigh and then she, too, stepped away. Through blurred eyes, Kesia watched the three people walk towards the door and leave.

  The lights went off, leaving Kesia in the dark, still curled up in a ball.

  <‍Thank you.‍> The man’s voice was calmer now. <‍I apologise for any pain, but it is only temporary.‍>

  <‍Why?‍> she managed, just one word of the questions screaming at her.

  <‍Please know that you passed the test. There was no way you could have defeated them.‍>

  <‍But‌…‌how?‍> The pain was reducing, although Kesia remained where she was. She wouldn’t try to stand until her nerves stopped twitching.

  <‍You could only get so close, correct? And when you approached with aggression, you were repelled. Use that brilliant mind of yours, Kesia. Why do you think this is?‍>

  She let her mind run, and one word shone bright. <‍Protected.‍> Yes, that was right. When she’d pushed into the hooded man’s lattice,
there had been resistance. Then the air itself had seemed to repel her.

  But it wasn’t the air. It was her own body, the way it responded, and the way it refused to obey her.

  <‍So you understand.‍>

  <‍Yes.‍>

  She understood clearly now‌—‌how their lattices reacted with her own, and how there was nothing she could do to hurt them.

  But more than that, she understood why the man in the observation room had no fear of her. As powerful as she was, there were limits to what she could do. She could kill, but only those the man decided should die.

  As the pain receded, and as she slowly felt ready to move, Kesia understood that she was nothing but a weapon.

  The caretaker led Cathal and Brice along a tunnel, then round a corner. The poor thing’s trace was sour with blood, but there was a coppery aroma in the air now. It mingled with other stenches; sweat and excrement, and something putrid.

  It was what Cathal expected, but not to this degree. When the caretaker led them into the pit, and Brice recoiled at his side, even Cathal shuddered.

  The caretaker stepped to one side and waved a hand, offering Cathal whatever he pleased. The poor thing seemed willing to serve, a rarity amongst the kin, and Cathal wondered how long the caretaker had been here, all alone.

  Alone, except for the bodies.

  Nyle had something similar, back in Haven. But Nyle had others care for the vessels, keeping them clean. It made sense‌—‌they provided more when they were in better condition. If they degenerated, like they had done in the pit, their blood would grow rancid.

  The caretaker called to Cathal, telling him to feast, to take whatever he wanted.

  “What is this place?” Brice whispered, his trace rich and full, his blood so fresh.

  <‍It’s a farm,‍> he said, the only suitable word he could bring to mind.

  “But‌…‌they’re people.”

  Brice stepped forward, a couple of paces along the raised stone walkway that ran the length of the chamber. The edges were lower‌—‌naturally eroded or carved out by kin, Cathal didn’t know‌—‌and in these grooves sat the vessels themselves.

  Cathal knew Brice would be looking at each body, each person the kin had captured.

  “Their legs! What’s happened to their legs?”

  Cathal focused, sensed on the vessels’ deformed limbs. Some were dislocated, but many were broken. Wounds were caked with dried blood and pus, bones protruding through flesh.

  <‍It stops them running. In case they wake.‍>

  But they never would. Venom‌—‌the same venom that had rendered Cathal unconscious when he’d been bitten‌—‌shut down much of a body’s systems. It kept the heart pumping and the lungs working, but the rest was left to fade away. After all, only the blood was important.

  The venom, from what Cathal understood, would seal a wound so that it didn’t bleed out, but that seal could be easily pierced, allowing the kin to feed. And the bodies would continue to make more blood, to replace what they had lost.

  “And that thing’s been feeding from them!”

  There was anger in Brice’s voice, harsher than Cathal had heard for a long time. It reminded him of the bitterness between Brice and Tris, but amplified. And this was directed at the caretaker.

  The old kin hovered close. It indicated one of the vessels, a female whose legs were bent backwards under her body. When Cathal pushed out, she possessed only the slightest of traces, barely pulsing.

  “They shouldn’t be like this.”

  <‍No. But to the kin, this makes sense.‍>

  Brice spun. “Sense?” Spittle flecked Cathal’s face.

  <‍I know that doesn’t make it right,‍> Cathal said, taking half a step back, suddenly very conscious of the vibrant blood pounding through Brice’s veins. <‍At least they didn’t kill these ones.‍>

  Brice took a deep breath. “No. But they should have done.”

  He walked along, now stepping down into the gully, treading carefully to avoid the twisted limbs. Then he crouched, bringing his hands out, lifting a head up and staring into the face.

  He mumbled something. It might have been a name, but Cathal didn’t catch it. He did focus on the trace, though.

  He recognised it, even though he’d never felt it like this before. He knew who this vessel‌—‌this person‌—‌was.

  Brice said the name again, clearer this time.

  “Tris.”

  Brice’s voice cracked.

  Cathal felt the lad’s trace, the angry red flash and the deep black void that pulsed strongly. Brice dipped his head, letting it touch Tris’, and he sniffed.

  “He helped save us.” Brice’s voice was barely a breath, and sibilant echoes almost drowned it. “He was brave enough to leave the hold-out. And‌…‌and we were getting along. We worked together. Until…”

  <‍There was nothing you could have done.‍> Cathal knew the words were weak, and he thought how Ryann would know just what to say, if she were here.

  But she was gone, the crew disbanded. It was only himself and Brice now. And now Tris.

  Or what remained of him.

  Brice cradled the tech’s head and whispered in his ear. Cathal didn’t listen closely, but he caught apologies, and promises.

  The caretaker stepped forward, and Cathal first thought it was gesturing for Cathal to join them. But the kin could not notice Brice. It was indicating for Cathal to climb into the gully because‌…‌because it mistook Cathal’s lack of movement for interest. Interest in feeding from Tris.

  From his crew’s tech.

  He couldn’t do that. Besides, Tris’ blood would be thin. From the state of his trace, and the aroma that hung in the air, Cathal knew the caretaker had not been fulfilling its role. How could it, when there were so many to look after? So the blood would be weak, acidic. It would smart going down, and while it would give Cathal energy, the rush would not last.

  Not like fresh blood would. Not like a sup from Brice.

  Cathal’s stomach clenched, and he turned, pushing the caretaker away. The kin’s trace flared with indignation, but it took little strength to force the poor old thing back.

  “He can’t come back, can he?” The words seemed to come from too far away. “Once they’re like this, nothing can bring them back to‌…‌to how they were, can it? Cathal?”

  Cathal shook his head. <‍No.‍> Maybe with a medi-bay and trained medics, but not here. Not now. <‍There’s nothing we can do.‍>

  “Yes there is.”

  He heard the sound of Brice unsheathing one of his knives, and Cathal knew what the lad was about to do. He focused on Tris’ trace, holding tight to that sliver of a line, feeling the undulations as the tech’s heart weakly pumped.

  “I can’t get you out of these caves, Tris,” Brice said, his voice cracking. “But I can give you peace. I’m sorry I can’t do more. But I’ll never forget you. I’ll never forget what you did for me, or for the others. You saved us. And now, I’ll do what I can to save you.”

  Then Brice cried out, and the coppery aroma of blood rushed at Cathal. The trace he held quivered violently for a second, then stilled.

  The caretaker moved forward, incensed by the free-flowing blood, but Cathal threw an arm out to grab a bony shoulder. The kin struggled, and Cathal increased his grip.

  And his stomach growled.

  “We can’t leave the others,” Brice said. He moved to the vessel next to Tris. “I need to do what I can.”

  The aroma of blood grew stronger, a tumult of sour strands joining forces, and Cathal’s pores opened up, dragging the promise of food deep within. He swallowed saliva, and tasted the intoxicating air.

  Brice reached the end of one side of the cavern, then started on the other. With each throat he sliced, there was a yell, and when Cathal concentrated on the lad’s trace it quivered, like Brice was sobbing.

  The caretaker pushed harder, struggling in Cathal’s grip, and now it kicked. It sent noises into
Cathal’s head, animal screams of distress, and they pounded against Cathal’s skull. He tightened his hold, then pulled it close, inhaling the flaky scent of its hide. But that did nothing to hold back the metallic aroma that assailed Cathal.

  Brice moved down the line, coming closer. Cathal focused on each life Brice ended, each throat from which he allowed that energy-giving liquid to flow. He was ten paces back, now nine, now eight. The free-flowing blood came closer, and the caretaker shook more violently.

  So much blood, flowing onto rock. Weak, yes, but still blood. And Brice was wasting it.

  Brice was three paces away now, then two. Close enough to reach. The caretaker struggled, managed to free an arm and take a swipe at Cathal. Growling, Cathal moved his head in and clamped his jaws tight.

  The caretaker struggled. Cathal’s body tingled, the scent of blood calling to him. He sunk his fangs in deeper, and the caretaker’s throat ruptured. The blood of many shot into his mouth, drenching his tongue and sliding down his throat.

  It tasted mouldy, past its date, but that didn’t matter, not when there was so much of it. Cathal ignored the scent of blood in the air as energy flowed into him, becoming a part of him. The blood of the vessels, their very life, continued in him now.

  “We need to go.”

  Cathal didn’t remove his mouth from the puncture wound, but he focused, for a moment, on the lad. Brice had sheathed his blade, and no doubt he’d wiped it first, removing the stain from so many half-lives. He waited by the entrance of the cavern, impatient.

  And his blood was fresh and rich, and so very full of life.

  <‍Go.‍>

  “You’re not coming?”

  Brice’s trace throbbed. Cathal clamped his fangs down harder on the caretaker’s throat as he started to sway.

  <‍I’ll catch up.‍>

  Brice nodded, and left the chamber.