by T W Iain
<Ryann. Yes. I…I’m sorry. He made me do it. I didn’t want to. I’d never harm him. But…I can’t disobey.>
<What are you talking about?> Ryann tried to imagine where the girl might be, pictured her in some medi-bay, only now waking from a drug-induced sleep. But why would Murdoch have her on the Hermes? <Where are you?>
<I can’t come in. He’ll notice. But you’ve seen me.> There was a pause. <Well, what I am now. They changed me, Ryann. They made me something else. But…I’m back. I’m not that thing anymore. Not inside, at least.>
Ryann’s stomach lurched. She brought her hands up to her head. Even with her eyes closed, the room swam and the nausea rose.
Another victim.
<You’re…they made you one of those things? One of his NeoGens?>
<I…yes. They made me a NeoGen, and…and I’m not proud, Ryann. I’m not proud of the things he ordered me do. And I never wanted to kill him. To kill any of them.> Keelin’s words cracked, and there were sobs just beneath the surface. But she kept them in.
NeoGens didn’t cry. Nothing disturbed their hardened shells.
Keelin was trapped. Just like Cathal.
But she was fighting to get out.
Ryann followed her intuition, let it make the leaps she needed in order to understand. She pushed down the swirling sickness, and reminded herself that she had been more than a tracker. In the old crew, Cathal had been commander, but she had been the one to care for the crew. She had kept things level between Brice and Tris. She was the one to talk them through their problems.
And she could do that again, with Keelin.
<He made you do it, didn’t he? Murdoch. It’s his fault, Keelin. Not yours. And Cathal would understand. I know he could be a bit blunt, but he…he always knew you were special.>
Ryann stopped herself from rambling. She had to be strong.
<I know. And…I tried to refuse. But Cathal said I had to do it. He said Murdoch would…would kill me if I didn’t, and that Murdoch would get someone else to take over. And I know he was right.>
<I understand.> Because she did. Maybe she couldn’t quantify that, but she sensed its truth. <I know you’d never hurt him.>
<Cathal wasn’t well. I think he was struggling.> There was a sound that might have been a sob or it might have been a laugh. <Maybe I understand that, in a way. But…I don’t think he could cope. I think he wanted a…a way out.>
And, somehow, there was comfort in those words. Cathal had always been determined, but he’d also been pragmatic. What was it he told her? If you want to win all your battles, know when to walk away from a fight.
<Yes. That sounds like Cathal. Thank you, Keelin. Thank you for helping him.> More thoughts came, her intuition bringing her understanding. It hurt, but she pushed the pain to one side. She’d deal with that later. <And he was right—if it hadn’t been you, it would have been one of the others. Enya, maybe—is that her name? At least you were able to…do it as he deserved.> That didn’t come out right, but Ryann could only hope Keelin understood.
It was only after a pause that she replied. <Thank you. He also said that it might help…help me get closer to Murdoch. So that I might…> There was a pained grunt.
<Keelin? You okay?>
<Fine. Just a headache.>
She was far from fine, but Ryann let that go. For the moment, at least.
<But it worked. You’re with Enya, right? Just the two of you.>
<Everyone else is beyond the fence.>
Ryann opened her eyes, sending more salty rivers down her face. Through the blurring, she saw the bland walls, the dim overhead lighting. She saw the sealed door.
But Keelin was on the other side. She had access to the man.
Murdoch had Enya, but Ryann had Keelin. That evened the odds up considerably.
<So…> Ryann took a breath. <How do we get rid of Murdoch?>
Murdoch took a sip of ice-cold water. The liquid slid down his throat, bringing cooling relief and sharpening his senses.
He couldn’t have planned things better.
<Enya. Have you checked?>
<You asked me to. Of course I’ve checked.>
Murdoch smiled. She was getting sassy. He liked that.
<And? Tell me what I want to hear.>
<The infected who was once Cathal Lasko is no more. Kesia did as you instructed.> There was a pause. <Despite her hesitancy.>
Murdoch stroked his chin. Best to deal with this sooner rather than later. <And what do you read into her actions?>
<She fought your command. That makes her unstable.>
<But she did what I ordered.>
There was no reply to this, and Murdoch smiled. As intelligent as his girls were, their logic couldn’t contend with emotions, and Enya didn’t understand exactly what he had put Kesia through.
<I can assure you that the execution of Lasko was the hardest test Kesia has yet faced. There was a strong possibility she would fail. That is why you were standing by. But she passed, and that shows her strength. I have confidence in her.>
There was silence as Enya contemplated this. It would have been easier if Murdoch could have told her about Kesia’s previous life, but that might have led to…issues. Murdoch considered his girls as beings reborn, and he didn’t need confusion over their pasts clouding their judgement. He was certain that Enya, if she started to suspect she had a previous life, would push it to one side and still serve Murdoch. But the others were not as strong as Enya, except maybe Dia.
And it had been a risk, sending Kesia out to kill Lasko. Murdoch had read the man’s file, and even though he didn’t like the whole ‘still waters run deep’ nature of Lasko, Murdoch admired the man’s results. As a commander, he understood the psychology of the crew, and used suggestions as orders in a way Murdoch almost envied.
He was another individual who, if situations had been different, would have been a strong candidate for the project.
<I must accept your word on that,> Enya eventually said. <But I will remain vigilant when she is around.>
<Wouldn’t expect anything else, Enya.>
<I have a request.>
After a beat, Murdoch prompted her. <Go on.>
<If she proves less than trustworthy, and if the situation arises where her presence is a hindrance, I would like to be the one to remove her.>
Murdoch grinned. He almost laughed. But he refrained—Enya would take that as an insult. <Of course.>
He took another sip of water.
This was going better than he had planned. He already had another task in line for Kesia, one that would possibly push her harder than Lasko’s execution had done. Murdoch believed she would succeed, but if she didn’t, Enya would take her place. And then Enya would kill Kesia.
NeoGen against NeoGen. What a battle that would be!
The trees had always been a comfort to Deva, so strong yet subtle, gentle despite their hidden strength. But now they leaned in on her, reaching out with their branches, dark and twisted sentinels encouraging the depravity and desperation that surrounded her.
But she couldn’t leave yet. Brice was right—she couldn’t abandon those who would be her friends.
They crept through the forest. Soldier was at the front, followed by Bug and Dart—Piran and Eljin—and it was clear that the pilot was struggling. His head jerked at the slightest sound. Siren, just behind Eljin, kept rolling her eyes. Every so often, she muttered under her breath. Probably cursing Axe for his absence.
Deva walked just behind Siren.
Five of them. That was all. Five, to take a Proteus from the ghouls.
It was madness, but Brice had said they needed to go through with it. And he was aroun
d, somewhere. She hadn’t caught sight or sound of him, but Deva trusted him.
She had to.
The overnight clouds had cleared by daybreak, and the sun was now high in the sky, its warmth breaking through the cover of leaves. Despite the looming intensity of the trees, Deva would rather be out here than back in the Warren’s tunnels.
She’d hidden by Siren’s office for much of the morning, listening to reports of movement throughout the forest, and of minor skirmishes between tribes. But it sounded like most were heading to the rendezvous point. Earlier than requested, but that was to be expected—none of the tribes trusted others, especially Siren, and so they rushed to get there first, and to monitor the others as they approached.
She had reported the second Proteus, as Brice had suggested—it would, he said, put her in Siren’s good books. But the woman seemed unconcerned by the news. If anything, she was pleased, as if it would only make her diversion all the more bloody.
No. As if it would ensure the total destruction of the tribes—including most of her own—while she made her escape.
Soldier held up a hand, bringing them to a halt. On Siren’s ushering, they stretched out behind the line of trees, and peered across the sunlight drop zone. Everything was calm. The crate sat like a shiny sentinel, but now Deva could see dark stains splattered on its side.
Soldier looked up at the sun. “This diversion going to work?” she asked, her voice hushed.
“Course it is.” Siren shot those words in a harsh whisper. “Look.”
The ramps lowered on both craft—Deva could see the shadows underneath. Figures appeared in their now-familiar grey uniforms, their heads almost shining in the sun’s rays. They walked away, to the far side of the clearing, in the direction of the disturbance.
Deva counted. They all did.
Six ghouls.
“That all of them?” Soldier asked.
Siren shrugged. “We need to know. Deva, go check.”
She looked at the open expanse that surrounded the craft, then to the ghouls as they approached the trees. “How?”
Siren shook her head. “Go over to the craft. Check the hatches. I don’t know. Bang on the tin cans, see if you get an answer.”
“Why me?”
“Because you’re good at sneaking round.”
And because Deva was expendable.
“What if there are more? What if they come out?”
“Then you run,” Soldier said, and she smiled. It was almost friendly.
“But not this way,” Siren said quickly. “Lead them away. Now get out there!”
Deva did. She waited for the shadows to move beneath the craft as the ramps retreated. Then she stepped into the brilliant light.
It was hot, and Deva wiped a film of sweat from her forehead. The grass whispered as her boots swept through it. In the distance birds called.
Brice was out there somewhere, too. He said he’d be watching, ready to do whatever was needed.
Deva swallowed. She wiped her forehead again.
Heat rose from the hull of the first craft. She considered climbing, then hammering on the emergency hatch. If there was still a ghoul inside, she might have a head-start then. But no way could she outrun one of those things. So she might as well make things easy, and walk round to the main hatch.
The ghouls had disappeared into the trees on the far side of the drop-zone now, and from this side of the Proteus Deva could no longer see Piran or Eljin in the tree-line, or Soldier as she peered around a trunk, her weapon raised in readiness.
The Proteus was silent and still.
“Hello,” she whispered. No response. She raised her voice, and called again.
There was still no response.
The hatch was closed. The metal was clean, and it looked like this craft had undergone a recent overhaul. There was a patch, just to the left of the hatch, that looked like it had been replaced. She could just make out the etching that held the serial number.
Deva knocked with her knuckles. “Hello. Anyone home?” After a couple of seconds of silence she opened her fingers and slammed her palm against the metal. “You in there?”
She stepped back, anticipating the hatch sliding open and ghouls rushing out. She took a breath, conscious that it might be her last.
But the hatch remained resolutely sealed.
Deva darted to the second Proteus and repeated the process. Again, there was no response.
She walked between the craft, and gave Siren a thumbs-up. She even managed a smile.
Solider came first, weapon ready. Deva thought it was a Tychon, one of those narrow two-handed things, apparently good over long distances. But she’d never liked guns. Give her a screwdriver any day.
“No sign of anything?” Soldier asked as soon as she reached Deva. Deva shook her head as the others arrived.
“Good,” Siren said, smiling. “Told you there wouldn’t be a problem. Soldier, watch to the south. Dart, to the north. Bug, do your stuff. That Proteus.” She pointed to the first one to land, and gave Piran a push.
He almost tripped, and Deva thought that he might have been as nervous as Dart. But he pulled a screen from the pack on his back, removed a couple of wires from a side pocket, and set to work.
He’d tried explaining it—something about hacking the system to insert a false identity—but Deva couldn’t follow. So she had no idea what the two black boxes were, or why he placed one just by the rear hatch and the other on the ground, attaching this to his screen by a thin blue wire.
He tapped the screen, his fingers a blur. Deva was used to this—although most of the techs on Metis used their lattices, some still preferred to interact physically, and she’d watch their digits fly over screens like this. She’d tried following them a few times, but the configuration on the screen seemed to change each time they clicked on something, and she was soon lost. And although there were things she recognised as letters and numbers, there were also obscure symbols, and sliders, and far too many other controls.
Then he swore. It was quiet, the word barely more than a muttering, but in the stillness everyone heard.
“Trouble?” Siren asked. She loomed behind him, arms folded across her chest.
Bug held up a hand and tapped away again. His brow shone with perspiration. Behind him, Siren’s foot tapped slowly.
“We need to get in there,” she said, her lips barely moving, her tone menacingly flat.
“I know.” He cursed again, and one hand curled into a fist. “Just a few issues. It’s not a problem.”
His fingers flew again. Siren huffed. Her thumb ran over her weapon. Deva was certain that was a Preben.
Eljin had a gun too, a Tychon like Soldier. The two of them stood at either ends of the Proteus, scanning the open spaces. Both had their weapons raised, the butts or whatever they were called resting against their shoulders.
Deva tapped her inside pocket, the one with the screwdriver. It was always a comfort to feel it, even if it would be no use against a ghoul.
Bug swore, louder this time. Siren stopped pacing and stood over him.
The tech stood, slowly, and looked at her. Then he dropped his eyes to his screen. “We have a problem.”
Ryann stood at the back of the room, level with one of the NeoGens. She couldn’t tell who it was, but it made no sign of recognition, so she chose to believe it was not Keelin.
“Interesting,” Murdoch said, watching the screens and tapping to change the views at regular intervals. “I think this will be a good training exercise.”
Ryann hadn’t slept. She’d held her eyes closed for hours, but her mind refused to rest. And when the door unlocked she shuffled behind the NeoGen—again, she didn’t believe this to be Keelin—and entered Murdoch’s office space once more.
And she still had no idea how to get rid of him.
He’d talked exuberantly, proud of the way his ‘girls’ were eradicating these tribes, one by one.
He spoke of their efficiency, of their speed and determination. But he was sending them into caves where, in effect, people were trapped. They were being slaughtered, like the leoprides on her father’s farm, the ones he’d sent the dogs after. Ryann still recalled the hot sting of tears as the dogs disappeared down the leoprides’ holes, and the squeaky screams that rose up from the ground.
At least her father had the common decency to look sad. Not like Murdoch.
Now, Murdoch pulled up a map and tapped to highlight an area. He zoomed in, stroking his chin. A grainy image showed shapes moving beneath branches.
He turned to her. “Carras was never much of a leader, was he?”
“Why?” She didn’t appreciate how he spoke of Brice in the past tense. She would believe the young man still alive until there was evidence to suggest otherwise.
“Just thinking. Seems those reprobates behind the fence are working together.”
“Working together?” Ryann felt her spirits lift—anything that went against Murdoch’s wishes was good news.
He was silent for a moment, staring at the map.
“I think we need to be closer.” And then Ryann heard him call internally. <We’re moving. Kesia, I want you with me. Enya, you pilot us.>
There was a pause, then a response. <Sure you don’t want Kesia to fly? That’s her speciality.>
<No.> Murdoch looked at Ryann, a vague smile on his face. <I have something special for Kesia.>
<As you command. Where are we going?>
<Drop zone. You know what’s happening. We need to be on the ground.>
<Okay. On our way.>
Murdoch’s eyes never left Ryann’s, and she felt incapable of turning her head. She shuddered.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “We don’t need to put ourselves in any danger. We’ll still watch on screens. But there’s something special about being close to the action, wouldn’t you agree?”
The door opened. When the NeoGen spoke, Ryann recognised the voice.
“You wanted me?” Keelin said. “Not piloting?”
“As I told Enya, I have another job for you.” He jerked his head to Ryann. “Much as I want to trust this one, I feel it would be wise to keep her under closer scrutiny. At least, for the moment. If you could stand behind her and ensure she doesn’t do anything she might regret.”
