Hybrid (22 page)

The lieutenant focuses on him as its legs give way, and Dom barely rolls away in time. It crumbles to the ground, arms flailing, fingers digging through the muck and sewage to gain leverage.

The tiny yellow light on the side of its head tells Dom it’s already transmitting. But with the conditions down here, it’s doubtful any of the sensors are working properly and Dom’s organic signature could just as well be rats.

He jumps on the left arm and holds it with his foot as he reaches forward and pulls the right arm out of its socket. He doesn’t say anything—no reasoning, no wisecracks—because he realizes any type of imprint other than the dim reception they’ll have of him is enough to get both him and others killed. The GNW can’t track him; for all they know, he’s defunct. Can’t hurt to let them think that a little longer.

He kneels down slowly, uses his fingers to cut away at the rear of the Damascus’ skull, and then delicately removes the kernel, severing both visual and audio centers as he does so. When he removes the perfectly preserved specimen, the limb beneath his foot stops its frantic and futile attempt to break free.

He stands for a moment and looks at the Damascus, hating it for the damage its kind did to the Exiled. For the damage they almost did to Sai. She’s the one thing in the world that matters more than Mathur. Her ability to forgive, her ability to see past people’s faults and find something in them that warrants care.

Those thoughts cause the tendrils of the ever-present parasite to pull back, as if they’re sulking.

For a brief moment, he wishes someone had been there to record his actions, but he’s quite sure he could easily remember to instruct the dominos on how to disable a Damascus. The tidbit of knowing the adrium can flow to reinforce an area is a great little discovery.

Dom checks his backpack carefully, glad to find he’s not crushed its contents or hurt it in any way other than to putrefy it. He places the kernel inside a padded pocket and pops it on his back before heading away from the scene of the carnage. He won’t be able to use the sewers to gain access again. Now all he has to do is make it to Bastian.

The lower level laboratories do not share the same fate as the streets above. Sadly, it seems the GNW are not happy with their current Damascus numbers. People scurry back and forth, experimental Damascus left lying on the same tables that held dying psionics months earlier. The stench of death still lingers, but there’s a strange metallic overlay to it now that makes the scent more of an impending doom. Bits and pieces of machine and adrium lie around like severed limbs in a mad scientist’s lab.

Machines beep with a different cadence than when attached to humans, like they’re humming a language only the Damascus and their cronies understand. Some of the scientists tend to the machines with a strange wand that fuses metal together before testing the electrical pulses in the open conduits, all of which must work together for the adrium to fuse.

Dom shudders at their eyes, sunken and frantic, the fear rolling off them in waves, and yet these revived Damascus are born. Slowly for now it would seem, but frightening because of what it could mean for the future. If the state of some of the constructions is anything to go by, time is truly of the essence. With a revitalized supply of soldiers, the Exiled stand no chance, and once the Exiled are gone, neither will the people of the United Conglomerate.

It takes longer than he thought to navigate the passages. None of the laboratory corridors are deserted anymore. As he makes his way to the stairwell, he notices not even one darkened corner remains. No chance to hide himself easily, so he has to move slower than usual. With so many people and Damascus hovering around, it’s dangerous for him to try and keep up his usual pace.

His progress slows to a crawl as he nears the stairwell, and he slips gratefully inside after a lab-coat-clad woman who nervously twists her hands.

The stairwell is a welcome change to the well-lit and bustling labs. It’s gloomy and darker, lights flickering ominously. As he passes the woman on the way up the stairs, he understands her nervousness. With every step, he wonders if something is waiting for him that he can’t see.

Dom suppresses a sudden laugh and wonders when he became susceptible to his own form of nervousness. It’s a long way up, and the stairway isn’t deserted like it was the first few times he used it. People walk down in twos and threes, casting strange shadows onto the walls that make it difficult to blend in.

There’s a woman by herself, tinkering away on a reader as she makes her way up the steps. She’s the only chance he has to piggyback on. The effort and concentration bring a fringe of darkness around his mind, but he keeps it at bay.

“Coming through!” Two men dash down the long flight of stairs, taking them two at a time. There’s a split second to make a decision, and Dom choses to balance precariously on the railing as his body flickers desperately in and out of the color of space. If anyone looks directly at him, he’s a goner. But the focus isn’t on him; it’s on the men as they practically fly down the stairs, a wake of fear trailing after them. As soon as they pass, he fixes himself firmly on the steps again, falling back into the woman’s shadow as she makes her way up.

He’s never been more relieved than when he finally makes it to Bastian’s floor. Compared to the rest of the building, Bastian’s area is seriously understaffed. There are no patrols and very little video surveillance. It’s easy enough to camouflage when it’s not completely necessary.

As usual, the doors to Bastian’s quarters are closed. Dom waits, standing perfectly still while he whiles the time away with a series of projections about the outcome of this war. None of them are appealing, and for the first time, Dom has doubts. He really hopes that talking to Bastian will help and not just put his friend in danger.

He shakes his head, trying to get rid of the all too human doubts, unable to tell if they’re his own or if his darker side is trying to coax him to feed it. The more he thinks about the situation, the more dire it appears. Time passes slower than he’d like. His projections are grim and so dependent on Mathur finishing the domino repairs. With all the calculations running through his mind, Dom pushes himself away from the wall, suddenly determined to figure out how to get back to his father without
Mele
. He has the kernel, after all, and what better way to relieve Bastian of his woes than to defeat the GNW?

The door opening almost takes him by surprise, but he rolls through just in time, disturbing the air enough that Bastian stops in his tracks.

“You’ve been gone longer than usual.” Bastian turns around and leans against the now closed doors. “I was starting to get worried.”

From the way he holds his head, Dom knows he speaks the truth. There’s an almost defeated air around him, from the slump in his shoulders to the limp way his hair hangs over one eye. Bastian seems to have aged a couple of years. The boyish charm is gone now, replaced by a soft crease in his forehead, a worry line he shouldn’t have.

“No need to get worried.” Dom slowly regains his own form. It’s more difficult than usual with how long he’s been out of it. The picture in his head is tinged with memories of fighting in the sewers. He has to exert strength to make sure he appears normal and not enhanced.

Bastian is frowning at him. “What’s wrong with your morphing abilities? You’ve never had that much trouble regaining your facade before.”

Dom laughs softly. “It’s nothing, really. I’ve just spent several hours completely melded. I had an encounter which preoccupied me. I almost forgot what my humanoid form is like.” He tries to keep his tones even, to not show his concern about the power the alien properties in his body have over his human components now.

“Almost forgot?” Bastian raises an eyebrow. “You’ve used it for as long as I’ve known you.”

Dom shrugs and walks over to the desk, plopping himself into the chair in front of it. “I know. But since my communication channels were liberated from the other dominos, I have to say I’ve been feeling a little odd.”

“Odd?”

“Exactly.” Dom raises a hand and morphs it from human to weapon and back again. “There are these instincts I have, part of how and why I was made. Whenever I think of revenge or imagine the damage I could do, I experience this type of...glee. It’s like the parasite was contained and only gave me a tiny portion of its strength. Now, it wants to give me everything, as long as I let it do whatever it wants.” He looks up at Bastian, who still hasn’t sat down. “Killing. It makes me good at it. I was made for it, Bastian.”

“You evolved past it. I’ve never seen you like this. You’ve killed two people I know of recently, and you’re envisaging yourself as a weapon, not a person. What’s happening to you?”

“I don’t know.” Dom puts his heads in his hand with a sudden cold realization of how true those words are.

“We can figure it out, Dom. I’m sure Mathur can help you figure it out.” Bastian pats his friend on the shoulder as he walks past and lowers himself into his own seat.

“But he can’t.” Dom doesn’t take his head out of his hands. It feels oddly comforting even if it muffles his voice a little. “He can’t because I’m finally becoming what he created. He didn’t create a great bodyguard or a friend. He created a killing machine far more advanced than the Damascus.”

“You’re not a killing machine, Dom. You’re very much a person. What you started out as has little to no bearing on what you’re becoming. The only way it can use you is if you let it.”

“But you’re wrong. What I started out as has
everything
to do with what I’m becoming.” This time he raises his head from his hands and really looks at his friend, pushing with his mind, trying to show him what he means. “What I’m becoming scares the hell out of me. And what’s worse...”

Dom takes a deep breath, trying to fight the recurrence of that feeling of enjoyment every time he thinks about how much more volatile he’s become. “What’s worse is I think I like the power it lends me.”

Bastian leans forward, elbows on the table. “That’s a different story. Do you want to tell me why?”

“Why?” Dom leans back and stares at the ceiling, searching for the answer. “I’m not sure. I think it’s because feeling in control, feeling powerful—it’s addictive and I want more.”

“That’s the problem, then.”

“What is?”

Bastian laughs. “You’ve always been powerful. You possess an inhuman strength. But contrary to you, I’m fully aware of the control you’re able to exert over yourself. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit.”

Dom laughs. “Control is irrelevant. I’m fully aware I have it in me to control it. The thing is, this damned parasite is bloody persuasive.”

He watches his friend digest the information. Perhaps it was reckless to blurt it out so bluntly.

“You said you often find yourself not wanting to rein it in.” Bastian leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair. “When do you find yourself
wanting
to?”

“Nicely played, Bastian.” Dom can’t help but laugh. “She’s the only reason I have to maintain or lose my control.”

“For both?” Bastian raises his eyebrow. “She makes you want to both keep control and lose it?”

“I want her to see me as someone she can trust, and I want to hurt anyone and everyone who hurts her or tries to.” Dom pushes himself up from the chair. “It’s a strong feeling, almost overriding, and it carries over to the rest of the Exiled. I don’t care so much what they think about me, but I care what she thinks and that they survive
for
her.”

He paces over to the window and looks down at the ant-sized patrols below. “It’s difficult to reconcile these feelings.”

“But you came to tell me something anyway. Would it have anything to do with the huge beacon of ‘come kill us’ that went up yesterday?”

“Everything to do with that.” Dom keeps watching the activity far below and briefly pulls his attention away from himself, attempting a scan of his friend.

“How the hell did you make it here from there in that short time? The Damascus are still trying to find the fastest way to amass troops and send them out.”

“I flogged
Mele
a bit. And when I say flogged...” Dom turns away from the window and leans against it, smoothing over his features so his irritation doesn’t show. Bastian is heavily shielding himself. “She needs to recharge, so I’ll be here a few days. Let’s hope nothing too dire needs my attention.”

Bastian is quiet for a moment. “What am I supposed to do about the beacon? They know the general vicinity. The Exiled have, at most, three days to scatter from their current locations.”

“They’ve already started moving. Mathur isn’t stupid enough to stay where they are. Although he’s slightly preoccupied with rebuilding his pet project.”

“You say that as if it leaves a bad taste in your mouth.”

Dom shrugs. “It does sometimes. I’m not sure he actually ever thought my creation through. It wasn’t an
I will do this because it will make a better world
. It was an
I’ll do this simply because I can
. Do you understand what that’s like, Bastian?”