by T W Iain
She wouldn’t throw herself directly at him, though. She’d aim for the left. When she held him, she’d use her momentum to pull him round. As he started to turn, she’d twist her arms sharply.
It would be agony for her shoulders, but snapping that beast’s neck would make it all worth-while.
It might not be a clean snap. She might only pull him to the ground. But she’d still have surprise on her side. When he fell, she could…she could drop a hand to his hip and pull his weapon free.
Ryann swallowed. She watched Murdoch, concentrated on the way his head twitched as he sussed to his girls.
<I’m ready.>
<What do you need?>
<Just…release me.> The pressure on her shoulder lifted. <Thank you.>
She took a breath. Her thin top clung to her body, and sweat cooled on her skin. She swallowed the bile back down.
Her legs twitched as she raised one, planting the sole of her right foot on the wall. It was surprisingly warm.
Ryann took one last breath, felt her chest rise. She opened her half-closed eyes.
It was time.
The pain in Brice’s arm was sharp and precise, and he knew the bone was broken. He also knew his fingers had spasmed outward—a momentary lapse in control. He’d seen the knife fall. And he’d heard the shout of victory from the ghoul’s voice in his head.
But he had his other knife.
Brice rolled, reaching down to free the second knife from his waist. It felt uncomfortable in his left hand.
He finished his roll with a twist, and came to his feet. His thighs throbbed as he stood.
The ghoul laughed. Mocking him. Playing games.
Vision blurring, Brice launched himself at the beast. He brought his left arm back, ready to power the blade down.
But he never got the chance. The ghoul shuffled, and an arm collided with Brice’s right arm, sending white-hot pain screaming through his whole body.
He collapsed onto the roof once more, bile rising as his head struck metal.
The ghoul laughed again. “How disappointing.” It stepped closer, but Brice couldn’t focus. “I thought we’d have more fun, but it looks like you’re finished.”
It spat that last word out, and Brice recoiled. He shuffled away, hands pushing on the metal, and realised he no longer held the knife.
Light flashed in his eyes, a bright reflection from the metal object the ghoul held in its hand.
“Looking for this?” It twisted the blade. “Have to admit, you did well. You’re the first person to make me bleed.” It jerked its arm, and Brice saw the knife fly over its shoulder, over the edge of the craft. “But you’re getting tiring. He wants you dead anyway.” It crouched, took a step closer. “And I’m going to enjoy every last second of this.”
The deep, constant throbbing across Keelin’s head brought its own kind of clarity.
It was pain, but she’d known pain before. She’d lost her Proteus—something that only a true pilot would understand. She’d been thrown into a nightmare that had made her an outcast in Haven, even if it was an outcast by her own design. She’d watched people die. And now, she’d killed friends.
But pain was nothing more than synapses firing in her brain, and pulses travelling along myelin sheaths. It was all chemistry and electricity.
And when Ryann dipped down, when Keelin felt her fingers slip from that shoulder, she felt a moment of jubilation. She felt the urge to shout out in joy.
Ryann sprang forward. It happened fast, but Keelin analysed the movement, saw how she must have planned this, recalled how she had lifted her foot from the ground before, testing her idea, running through her actions before committing to them.
Murdoch turned as Ryann grabbed him. And Enya turned too.
<No!>
Keelin wasn’t sure if that was Murdoch or Enya. But both of them reacted.
Ryann’s hand slid round Murdoch’s throat, but he was already turning, and she fell to one side. At the same time Enya swung one arm in a wide arc. It struck Ryann, sending her crashing into the wall. She cried out, and collapsed in a heap.
Murdoch coughed, clutching his throat. “Finish her!” Enya stepped forward, but Murdoch held up a hand. “No. Not you. Her.” He extended a finger, and pointed it at Keelin.
Keelin looked from Murdoch to Ryann. Her old friend’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open. Ryann pushed herself to her feet, back against the wall, and would have fallen had she not grabbed the desk.
“No. Keelin, no.” Her voice was groggy.
Murdoch laughed. “Keelin? She’s gone.” He waved a hand. “This is Kesia. Think of her as Keelin mark two. Keelin’s evolution. And you, Harris, are going to find out exactly what that means.” He turned sharply to Keelin. “I said finish her!”
Keelin’s skull tightened. Without thinking about it, her fists clenched, and then her fingers stretched out, her talons extended. His words, both angry and strangely soothing, repeated on an endless loop. Her legs moved of their own accord, and Keelin took a step forward, then another. In this small room, that brought her close enough to Ryann. Close enough to finish her.
“Keelin, you don’t have to do this. Whatever hold he’s got on you, fight it. You’ve always been strong.” Ryann’s voice was quiet, but its strength built as she continued. “You always thought for yourself. It drove Cathal mad, sometimes, but he loved you for that independence. He always knew you’d be something special. Out of the whole crew, he always said you were the one to watch.”
“Kesia, you have a job to do. Do it.”
The throbbing behind Keelin’s eyes deepened, pushing back into the core of her head, then down her spine. Her muscles flexed into a combat pose. Her knees bent to absorb any force and to give her a springboard. Her stomach tightened in anticipation of any comeback. And her arms pulled back, her talons pointed at Ryann’s chest. Keelin knew how they could puncture the sternum and crush the internal organs. Or they could go lower, slide up under the target’s ribs, squeezing and twisting the organs to prolong the agony. Or she could slip to one side, force the target to step away from the wall, and destroy her from behind.
There were almost too many choices.
“No! Keelin, you’re better than this!”
Keelin’s arm pulled back. Adrenaline coursed through her. She shifted her stance, ready to react when her strike landed.
Enya came closer, shifting so that she stood to one side but between Keelin and Ryann. Her head turned as she watched both of them, her arms crossed and her lip twisted in a sneer.
“Do your job, or you’re no use to me.” Murdoch’s voice was stronger now, and he no longer rubbed his throat.
The pounding in Keelin’s skull sounded in time with her heartbeat now, and she felt the pain pulse with the flow of her blood. It was all one—she was all one. She was perfect, a being born, evolved, and then improved. She was a machine, a new breed. She was the pinnacle of the company’s success, the breakthrough.
She was perfect. And this human was pitiable. This human was pathetic.
“Keelin, you can fight this.”
Murdoch slammed his fist into the desk. “Last chance, Kesia. Do it now!”
Heat rose inside her. Her whole body spasmed as the agony tore through her skull with a roar that never ended. Her heart pumped strong blood, her arteries bulging. Adrenaline surged. Her muscles ached where they held her arm ready.
She yelled, and her body unwound.
Deva’s heart plummeted as the second knife disappeared.
She glanced down, back into the Proteus itself. The gun she’d taken lay at the foot of the rungs, so powerful and yet so useless. There was no chance of getting it before the ghoul attacked Brice. The pathetic thing Siren had given her lay even further away—and Deva was sure a shot from that would do little to discourage the ghoul.
The creature said something to Brice, and he shuffled, rising onto one elbow. His face twisted, an
d Deva heard his sharp intake of breath. There was no way he could fight that thing. And when it finished with him, it would return to the hatch.
They were screwed.
But maybe she had something. It wasn’t much, but Deva allowed herself a sliver of hope. Gripping tight with one hand, she lowered the other to the pocket on the left of her jacket. She reached in, and pulled the object out.
It was comfortable in her hand, but she knew this wasn’t her job. She needed to give it up.
Deva judged the distance. It wasn’t far. She could do this. It was just like they did back in Metis, dangling above a broken craft. She was only passing a tool to another worker.
Before doubts rose, she shouted across the roof of the craft, and pulled her arm back.
“Brice! Catch!”
Both Brice and the ghoul turned, and Deva launched the screwdriver into the air.
As the object spun through the air, Brice reached up. The agony from his right arm threatened to send him to the metal once more, but he fought it, gripping his eyes shut tight, driving the pain away.
He didn’t need to see anyway. The throw was perfect.
His fingers tingled as the handle of the screwdriver brushed them, and Brice closed his fist. He pushed with his left arm and jumped to his feet, just as something crashed down behind him, close enough that he felt the air move.
As he stood, he turned. He didn’t so much pass the screwdriver across as drop it from his right hand and catch it in his left. He took a ragged breath, forced his eyes open.
The ghoul—Tess—was on all fours, where she’d fallen when Brice moved. Her whole body trembled with rage, and she emitted a low, bitter growl. Brice didn’t know how he’d moved fast enough for her to miss him, but he wasn’t going to question such good fortune—especially when her back was so close.
Brice threw himself forward as she pushed herself to her feet. He slammed into her back, powering his left arm down. The tip of the screwdriver sunk to meet her rising body.
Blood splashed across his face as her shoulder slammed into his nose. The air rushed from his lungs, and his body tipped back. Air rushed round him.
The ghoul turned as they both fell, but Brice rode her, legs locked around her midriff. He yanked the screwdriver free, then drove it back in.
The side of the Proteus flew by in a flash. Brice’s body jarred as they slammed into the ground.
His legs were still clinging to the ghoul. She lay face-down, her muscles pulsing.
The screwdriver was still in the ghoul’s body. He pulled with his arm, twisting his wrist, widening the wound as much as he could. The beast bucked, and Brice slipped from atop her. There was a new pain in his side, a blow that pushed him away.
A shadow blocked the bright sun, and Brice raised his left arm in defence as the ghoul dropped. His shoulder jarred.
Pain erupted in his chest as the ghoul’s talons tore through his jacket and into his flesh. Blood sprayed onto his hand.
Those things were not connected.
The beast shrieked as it rolled over. Blood and gore ran down its face from the hole where its eye had been.
Brice twisted, stabbed again. His aim was true, despite the rising black pit of agony. The screwdriver arced through the air, leaving a trail of blood, and bored into the ghoul’s other eye, deep enough that Brice felt the tacky skin of that grey face on the side of his hand.
The ghoul convulsed and screamed. Brice twisted the screwdriver, and the beast spasmed. Blood ran from its mouth. Its fingers clenched and unclenched. He pushed harder, the metal shaft driving down into something soft.
The spasms stopped almost as quickly as they had started.
The ghoul lay still, its ruined eyes bleeding crimson and white ooze.
As Brice and the ghoul fell, Deva heard Siren yell.
“Fairy! Stop bloody playing around.” There was a crack, and another thud of an explosion. “Give us a hand here.”
There was nothing for Deva on the Proteus’ roof now, nothing she could do to help Brice, so she climbed down. The gun she’d borrowed from Piran was gone. Deva saw it in Siren’s hands, the woman’s own weapon discarded on the floor.
Siren turned her head and screeched. “Bug?” Her neck stretched, veins showing through her sweat-covered skin. “You any closer?”
“Working on it.”
“Not what I asked! If you can’t get us off the ground, make yourself useful and help us shoot them. We’ll fix the craft when we’ve killed them.”
Siren fired again, adding another small dent to the crate. She yelled, like she’d scored another victory, and fired again.
“Fairy, you help too. Bloody useless girl!”
Deva looked around, grabbed the only weapon available—her stupid pop-gun. She stumbled to the hatch, raised the weapon to her shoulder, and squeezed the trigger.
Nothing happened.
She tried again. Again, nothing.
“You’re not helping!” Siren screamed at her, firing her own gun again. She scored another hit on the crate, and jumped, her top riding up. Deva saw the bulge in the back of her trousers, then she could make out the weapon tucked into her belt.
Deva dropped the toy, and took a step back. “I…I need a weapon that works,” she said, reaching for Siren.
“Don’t have any spare.”
“But the one in your belt…”
“Is mine! See what you can find in the storage units.”
Deva took a quick look to the crate. A patch of grey appeared from the right, and three cracks echoed around the Proteus. Soldier ducked, and Piran swore loudly.
“They’re shooting at us!” Eljin yelled.
“Tell me something I don’t know, idiot! Shoot back!”
Both Eljin and Siren fired, but the ghoul had already disappeared back behind the crate.
“Didn’t know they had weapons,” Soldier said, as another of Siren’s shots pinged off the crate.
“Must’ve got in the crate somehow,” Piran said. He’d moved next to Soldier, and raised a small weapon—Deva thought it was a Preben.
Another flash of grey caught her eye, and Deva instinctively ducked as the storage unit doors pinged and dented.
“Don’t care how they got ‘em,” Siren said, firing again. “Just shoot.”
They did, all four of them. Deva heard four distinct thuds from the crate.
And before they could fire again, ghouls appeared.
Deva flung herself to the floor as the metal around her erupted in a thousand explosions.
Ryann flinched as Keelin blurred towards her, but she refused to look away. She caught the stale air that washed from Keelin’s mouth as she cried out, the sound inhuman and tortured. She saw the hand tipped with those deadly talons as it shot forward.
The hand brushed Ryann’s hair and slammed into the wall. The wall vibrated, shock-waves rippling down Ryann’s spine.
She turned her head. There was a dent beneath Keelin’s now motionless clenched fist.
“Well, well,” Murdoch said, slowly. He half sat, half leaned against his desk, his legs crossed at the ankles. “Maybe the old Keelin is in there somewhere. You were right, Harris—she is strong.”
“Strong enough to ignore you.” Ryann nodded to Keelin, who slowly pulled her hand back, examining her knuckles like they belonged to someone else.
“Momentarily, at least. But that took a lot of effort. Didn’t it, Kesia? Effort and pain.” Keelin brought her other hand up to her head as Murdoch continued. “And the pain will only increase the longer she fights. She cannot deny her natural instincts.”
<Keelin, we can stop him. He’s not in control. We have to end this.>
Keelin trembled as she turned. Her feet shuffled as she positioned herself next to Ryann, facing Murdoch.
Murdoch raised one eyebrow and glanced at Enya. “Interesting. But the pain is still tightening around your head, isn’t it, my dear? I can see it in your eyes. And I do beli
eve you’re sweating. So unbecoming. It’s tiring simply standing by this woman, isn’t it?” He took a step towards Keelin, almost within striking distance.
<Whenever you get the chance, Keelin, take it.>
Murdoch took another step. He tilted his head back and looked up into Keelin’s eyes. His body was puny compared to Keelin’s, but it was her who trembled. It was Keelin who struggled to meet that gaze.
Enya stepped closer, too. She watched Keelin intently, her mouth a thin, straight line.
<Don’t let him win,> Ryann sussed. Keelin’s fists clenched, the knuckles growing pale. Muscles bulged beneath the fabric of her jacket.
Murdoch leaned in, his chin almost touching Keelin’s chest. “You can’t do a thing about this, can you?”
He grinned, and slammed his own fist into Keelin’s stomach.
She exhaled sharply, and Ryann saw her muscles absorb the blow. But she didn’t step back, and she didn’t double over.
Murdoch punched her again. Keelin shook. Her jaw hardened. She looked down on Murdoch, and her arm inched back.
<Yes. Fight it, Keelin.>
Murdoch slapped her again. “This isn’t fair, is it? The perfect killing machine, and you’re letting a puny man hit you. Why don’t you do something about it?” He reached up and slapped her. The crack of flesh on flesh echoed around the room.
“Stop!” Ryann took a step forward, but Enya rammed an arm out, firm enough to hold her back.
“Stop?” He slapped Keelin again, then kicked her. “What, stop this?” He pummelled her, with both fists, moving around to her sides. Keelin stood firm, but her grey skin glistened with sweat, and her face twitched as she battled inside.
Then Murdoch did stop, and took a step back. He breathed heavily as he put his hands on his hips and smiled. “She can’t do a thing against me.”
Keelin’s head bowed. A low growl escaped her throat.
<Keelin? You okay?>
<Couldn’t move.> Her voice was ragged. <Wanted to, but…can’t hurt him.>
“Do you really believe I’d put myself in danger, Harris? Do you honestly think for one moment that I’d surround myself with such powerful weapons and not protect myself? You saw the tests, so you know she can’t harm those with marked lattices. I’ve simply insured that my marker provides a stronger layer of protection. It means that my girls will never harm me. No matter what I do,” and he punched Keelin, an upper-cut straight to her jaw, “they cannot raise a finger in anger towards me.”
