The Malice (7 page)

The helmet is raised once more, put into place.

‘Consider my words … carefully. I will wait for your answer.’

Behind the barrier of light, all eyes go to Genner, then to the girl leaning over the sword, whispering, frantic.

Thought fragments float across Massassi’s consciousness, pieces of mosaic, disconnected. They blend with voices, also floating, near her head. She cannot tell which belong to the past, which to the future as she drifts through them, a happy phantom.

Words become clearer, more pressing. She recognises the speaker, identifies the words but their impact is distant, barely felt.

‘… And all I’m asking for is a moment of your cooperation. Then everyone can get on with their lives. Surely, you’d agree, that’s for the best?’

Massassi goes to speak but a mask stops her. Her eyes flare and she coughs, choking on the tube jamming her mouth, running deep.

‘Ah, I think she’s waking up.’

A second voice joins in, less familiar. ‘Let’s not get hasty. The body is recovering, yes, but cognitive function has to be verified if you want her statement to stand.’

Someone bends over her. She tries to bring the shape into focus. It is a head, blurry but recognizable. It belongs to her supervisor. He looks tired, bags like baby slugs sit heavy under his eyes.

‘Doctor, look! That was a smile. She recognised me, I’m sure of it.’

‘That’s hardly conclusive. It may just be a muscle spasm.’

‘Massassi? Massassi, can you hear me?’

She manages a nod.

‘Good. That’s good. Now pay attention: you were in an accident, a serious accident. We need to talk about what happened. There are arrangements that need …’

The words start to fall away, dropping into a chasm that opens up between them, her eyes closing.

‘We’re losing her. Do something.’

‘Her body has been under incredible strain. It’s natural that she’ll want to rest.’

‘But for how long?’

‘Difficult to say. It could be days, it could be more.’

‘That won’t do. We need to close the file and move on. We’ve spent too much on this already.’ The supervisor begins to pace, hands folded behind his back, reminiscent of a woodpecker strutting on a branch. Massassi smiles again. ‘I can’t go back without an answer. We need to wake her up.’

‘I can’t force her to wake.’

‘Yes, you can. Give her a stimulant.’

‘With the levels of pain she’s in, coupled with her medical history, I don’t advise that course of action. If I wake her suddenly, the shock to her system could be catastrophic. She needs to be stronger before she learns the extent of her injuries.’

‘I only need her conscious for a few minutes. Once she gives consent, you can keep her here as long as you like.’

‘I want it on record that I don’t endorse this action.’

‘Your objections have been filed, doctor. Now get on with it.’

The doctor moves out of sight, makes adjustments.

The feed of sedatives slows.

Pain climbs back inside, making muscles strain and knuckles white. With it comes something else. The world resolves itself in sudden focus, lines so sharp they cut into the brain.

‘Keep calm, Massassi, and listen. I promise I won’t make this last any longer than it has to.’

Her eyes lock to his, drawn to the lights starting to fizz inside the supervisor’s sockets. They have always been there, invisible to normal sight; manifestations of the man’s essence.

But not to Massassi’s unclouded mind. Not any more.

Unaware of how dramatic his face has become in Massassi’s eyes, the man continues, giving a speech repeated so often it has become a script: ‘You were in an accident. A serious one. As a result, Superior Class Harvester 4879-84/14 was shut down following emergency protocol. Hours of work time were lost, not to mention the cost of recovering your body, covering your shifts and ongoing medical care.’

He pauses to smile, a practiced calming thing. Massassi notes that it does not reach his real eyes, the ones that glow behind his face. She also notes his second mouth, the one etched in light, pale, remains sour. Around the tube, Massassi smiles back. The supervisor does not note its feral edge.

‘I want what you want. To get you back on your feet and working as soon as possible. You’re going to need a new arm, and a partial reconstruct of your upper body. The mods you’ll need will be expensive. Now, I’ve looked at your funds and you have a lot saved up. However, with the enquiry costs and the mounting medical bills, I’m afraid there won’t be enough left to restore functionality.

‘But don’t worry, I’ve got a solution. If you admit full responsibility for the incident then we can turn this into a criminal issue. We’ll lower your echelon class and take full ownership of your rights until the debt’s worked off. Heavy, I know, but it will make all the problems go away. I’ve got pre-approval to fund your operation based on your work record. We could have you back on the mechs before year’s end. What do you say?’

She tries to speak, begins to cough.

‘Can we take the tube out now, doctor?’

‘Yes, hold on.’

A command is given and the tube recoils smoothly into the mask, which the doctor removes, equally smooth.

Massassi coughs, then accepts the water offered by the doctor. A genuine frown appears on her face as she looks at the formless sheet covering her body. ‘I’ve still got my arm. I can feel it.’

Supervisor and doctor glance at each other. The doctor clears her throat. ‘I’m afraid that’s a common misconception. Your brain is so convinced the limb is still there, it fabricates sensation.’

‘I can see it.’

‘You want to see it? Well, if you’re sure.’

The doctor pulls back the sheet.

A plastic cap is fixed to her shoulder, running all the way to her right hip. Her left wrist is fixed to the bed. There is no tie for her right wrist. There is nothing there to attach it to. Despite this, she smiles. ‘There it is … what did you do to my arm? It’s … beautiful.’

Another glance is shared. They both retreat to the other side of the room, whispering.

‘Perhaps this was too soon.’

‘I did try and warn you.’

‘We’ll try again the next time she wakes. If her condition persists, it may actually work in our favour. How long before you can certify her?’

‘Normally, a month but, given the circumstances, we can come to an arrangement, I’m sure.’ The doctor returns to the pod. ‘Lie back, you can rest again now. This will get easier, I promise.’

Massassi does not relax. She sees the spark of thought appear in the doctor’s essence, the desire to silence her. ‘I’m not crazy, my arm is right here. Look!’

‘Yes,’ her supervisor says, adopting an expression of polite pity. ‘That’s good, that’s very good. You’ll be back to work soon, I know it.’

Drugs are authorised, dulling pain, dulling sense.

‘No!’ she screams, glaring at the space where her arm once was. At first, they do not see the luminescence, thin as bone, following the line of a lost limb. Then it brightens, thickens, light intensifying, hardening, like silvered diamond. Compared to the light she sees in their faces, her arm glows with a star’s fury.

Now they see it, falling back in their fear, legs scrabbling like a spiders on the slick floor.

With her shining fingers, she tears through the bonds on her left wrist and jumps from the bed. Weak muscles cannot manage the sudden demands and she falls.

For a moment the two adults relax, though they continue to back away.

Massassi extends her arm. One tug is all it takes to slide her over to them. She touches the doctor first. Silver fingers press against flesh, passing through to touch the soft light within. She does not mean to kill, but the action is too quick and anger-fuelled. The bubble of the doctor’s essence bursts, burns and is gone.

Like a doll, the doctor’s body flops over onto the floor.

‘I need immediate assistance in here!’ shrieks the supervisor. Suddenly, he remembers his authority, realises that a single command will shut her down. Before he can give it, however, Massassi reaches out and touches his ankle, and through it, his soul.

In the supervisor’s mind, she finds thoughts, treacherous. She squeezes them between finger and thumb, molds them anew.

Footsteps pound down a corridor. Burly men burst through the door. Inside, they find a dead doctor, a maimed, unconscious girl and a man on his knees, weeping.

‘You called us, sir?’

The supervisor gives a broken nod. ‘I was responsible for the accident. It was my fault. I thought I could bury it. I didn’t know the girl would wake up and tell the doctor the truth. So you see, I had to silence them. I killed the doctor first and I was going to kill the girl but then I wondered, where would it end? I’m sick. Sick in the head! You need to take me away. You need to process me.’

The men are so intent on the supervisor’s ravings that they do not see Massassi’s smile.

Behind its wings, an eye twitches, restless. Vesper watches it, desperate for it to open and give guidance. She feels the group looking at her, expectation pressing down. As tension rises, nerves break out in quiet ways. A foot shuffles. Throats are cleared. Armour creaks.

The pressure to do something, anything, becomes too much.

Vesper stands, the sword cradled in her arms. Heads tilt up, following the motion. All shuffling stops.

The girl walks towards the glowing barrier. As she does so, soldiers and knights and squires kneel. Even the wounded stir themselves, biting back pain to demonstrate proper deference.

She thinks of her father’s sure hands. How they have always carried her, kept her safe. She wishes she had inherited their confidence.

The sniper at the barrier moves aside for her and Vesper looks out over shimmering light. She sees the First waiting, and double takes, sure it would be larger. Beyond the infernal she sees soldiers massing around Crawler Tanks, like waves around rocks, and beyond them she sees the First’s sky-ships.

There are so many of them she cannot believe they could fight and win. All she can think of is the blood that will be shed, the blood that will be on her hands.

She feels movement in her arms. Metal feathers slide over one another as wings part. An eye opens, flicks up at the girl, then fixes itself on the infernal outside, narrowing.

Vesper turns back. The kneeling figures wait, letting heads hang, weary. Many are injured. Together they number less than a third of the forces outside. She looks at Duet, one half of the Harmonised standing watchful, hopeful, the other less so, the holes in her chestplate like the sky punched clean of stars.

The sword tugs towards the First, towards battle. To Vesper’s surprise, the motion drags her with it, till her elbows rest on the barrier. Light fizzes where blade and barrier brush, and the First looks up.

Eyes and eye meet.

The sword begins to hum, soft.

The light barrier quivers and the First tilts as if suddenly struck by a strong wind.

Vesper tries to retreat, feels resistance. Young biceps strain, bobbing under sleeves like a pair of apples, and she steps back.

It seems as if the sword wants to fight and she wonders what that might mean. For a moment eyes squeeze shut. No, she thinks. No more fighting. Unable to bear it, she tests the lie in her mind. It feels wrong but anything is better than more bloodshed. She clears her throat. ‘The sword has spoken to me.’

Beside her, Genner lowers his head. ‘We are yours to command.’

It is hard to tell if the sword vibrates or the girl’s hands shake. ‘Gamma … Gamma of The Seven … does not want you to fight today.’

A few look surprised, most simply accept it.

Slowly, an eye swivels away from the barrier and back to the girl, glaring.

From the back, a voice murmurs. ‘And so it was, for Gamma knew when to strike and when to hold back.’

‘And so it was,’ intone the others.

Vesper nods, finding a little confidence. ‘You can’t beat them today. Gamma doesn’t want any more of you to die. If you surrender, you can live on. And when the time is right, you can fight again.’

‘But what about our swords? They cannot be replaced.’

A bead of sweat escapes Vesper’s hairline. ‘I’m sorry, Gamma didn’t say anything about the swords.’ A muttering passes between the assembled knights and she quickly adds, ‘Maybe they can be remade. With The Seven’s grace.’

‘With The Seven’s grace,’ they echo, but another question drowns it out: ‘What about the knights? The First won’t let them go.’

‘They’ll be prisoners, yes, but they’ll be alive.’

One of the older knights looks up. ‘You won’t forget us?’

Caught in the veteran’s gaze, Vesper finds herself speaking. ‘I’ll come back for you. I mean, Gamma will, I promise.’

The old knight salutes and others follow. ‘So be it. But I beg you, give our sacrifice here meaning.’ His eyes hold hers as he speaks. ‘Make it count.’

‘I will,’ she says, meaning it.

Genner stands up. ‘Gamma has shown us the way. The bearer will go south to finish the mission. It is our job to make that possible.

‘We will stall the First here as long as we can while the bearer escapes. Demolitions, we need an exit and we need it now.’

A hand goes up. ‘The moment we start blasting, they’ll be on us.’

‘No,’ the old knight replies. ‘They won’t hear a thing. The death song of our blades will drown you out.’

Genner nods. ‘Good. Go to it then.’ While soldiers spring into action and knights prepare their farewells, Genner kneels before Vesper. ‘I’m sorry things have turned out this way. We have a contact in Sonorous. Another of the Lenses. She will help you to escape.’

‘You’re not coming with me?’

‘No. I need to report to the Winged Eye and communicate with our allies here. They need to know what you’re doing if they’re going to help.’

‘Can’t you do that and come with us?’

‘No. When I send the signal, I’ll draw too much attention.’

‘You won’t …’

‘Die? It doesn’t matter about me. The sword is what matters.’

Vesper bites her lip, blinks hard.

Genner’s face softens. ‘If it makes you feel better, I’m not planning on it. If I can escape, I will. And don’t worry, you won’t be alone. I’m sending Duet with you.’

‘Okay.’

‘Yes. Now get yourself ready. You’ve a long swim ahead of you.’ Genner turns to go but is stopped by a lip, trembling. ‘Here,’ he says, ‘we need to fasten the sword to you. May I?’

‘Yes,’ replies the girl.

‘It’s too big to sit by your waist, you’ll have to strap it to your back. If you wrap it and hold it in place, I’ll secure it for you.’

Vesper does as she’s told, relieved to cover the sword up again. Genner takes his time, careful not to touch the sword itself. ‘There. All done. How does that feel?’

‘That’s fine.’

‘There’s one more thing.’ He takes his pistol from its holster and presses it into Vesper’s hand, singing softly, secretly. Light glows from Genner’s palm, flowing around the grip, growing with the note, then fading with it. ‘I’ve keyed the gun to you now. Keep it safe and out of sight.’ Vesper nods, slipping it away into the pocket of her coat. ‘And do the same yourself, for all our sakes.’

Duet presses the foam into Vesper’s ears, covers them with her hands.

One of the knights raises her sword towards Vesper, then the sky. A final salute.

On instinct, Vesper closes her eyes.

The knight brings it down hard but the angle is wrong. Sparks fly and metal screeches. People flinch and grit their teeth.

Her sword doesn’t break.

She screams and lifts it once more. This time, her aim is true.

Even through the layers of protection, Vesper feels the sound cutting through her, the sensation sharp enough that she checks herself, half expecting to be injured. She also feels the explosion, more mundane, as demolition charges punch through stone.

Outside, the First sits motionless. Within its shell, essence ripples, pleased.

Inside the shelter, more knights come forward, a queue of mourners, faces stiff with grief. Swords are raised in salute.

Vesper manages a quick bow before Duet steers her to the newly made hole, still smoking. She peers down, hears water sloshing in the darkness.

Duet presses a mask to Vesper’s face. Clear plastic that covers her from forehead to chin. The mask adheres instantly, misting over briefly, then correcting, clearing.

Genner smiles at the girl, salutes and jumps down the hole. Red hair waves briefly and is gone.

Vesper mumbles something in return but, through the mask, through the breaking of steel, through the last song of the knight’s weapons, her words are lost.

Duet lowers one of herself into the hole. The other helps Vesper, then follows. They slide and climb their way down, the tunnel trembling around them as more swords are shattered above.

Stone is cold but water is colder, smacking legs in the darkness, stealing sensation. Vesper tries to pause, to prepare herself but Duet’s boots say otherwise, finding shoulders, urging her on.

Rigid with fear and cold, the girl allows herself to be pushed by Duet, pulled by her, handled through the tunnel and out into wider waters. Away from the rock, light finds its way underwater in fingers of red and gold, like two hands reaching from the heavens. They follow the shafts as if lifted by them, up, up and up, until heads break the surface, bobbing at the cliff’s base.

Too heavy to swim easily, Duet drags herself and Vesper along the rocks. It is slow jerky progress, punctuated by bumps, by numb fingers slipping on slick stone, by chattering teeth and unbidden grunts of exertion.

Behind them, perched high on a ledge like a black spider, tiny, Genner begins to signal, shining a light towards the sky that flicks on and off. Code flashes, fast and complex, baffling the uninitiated.

But even the most foolish can understand that a message is being sent and even the most foolish can trace the signal to its source. Before Genner has finished, a sky-ship rises above the rocks. It rotates slowly, opening a side door. A figure climbs out, dressed in black armour and loose black fabric and throws itself into the air without fear. Another fragment of the First.

It plummets, arms spread starfish wide, getting faster and faster until it passes Genner, plucking him from the rock face.

For a long three seconds, they fall. Water splashes, surging up in a circle. Then nothing.

*

In the streets of Sonorous, in a rusting house, a woman watches a window. She reads the distant winking light, stuttering on the underside of the clouds.

When it is finished, the woman stands up, snatches a bag hidden beneath a dusty sheet and goes to the door. She glances out. It is eerily quiet. People hide in their homes, in their workplaces. Too-calm voices speak at intervals, suggesting people stay safe, reassuring that everything is under control.

The woman smirks at that, then moves into the street, closing the door behind her. As she walks towards the docks, a figure peels itself from the shadows and follows.

She hears the footsteps getting closer. She considers running but checks the instinct. Instead preparing the dart hidden beneath the skin of her wrist.

Gradually, the second figure catches up with her, falls into step alongside.

The woman wraps her arms around herself as if cold. Seemingly by coincidence, her wrist now points towards the figure’s neck.

The new arrival appears weathered, tough as old meat. ‘This may come as a … surprise to you but we have something in common. Both of us pretend to be normal residents of this city when in fact our true loyalties lie … elsewhere. You are in truth, an agent of the Winged Eye and I am the First.’

The woman cannot help surprise writing itself into the curve of her eyebrows.

‘Did you know that there is something that moves faster than light?’

She shakes her head, humouring, thinking, furious.

‘There is. I move faster than light. Not this … shell, though it is certainly fast by your standards. My true self. And that is why I will always be … superior.’

They walk for a few more paces. Despite the cold wind, dark circles grow under the woman’s arms.

‘I know what you are. I know your plans and they will fail. But all is not lost. I am here to make you an offer. Don’t react. Don’t fight. Listen. Think. Decide for yourself how much you want this life.’

Abruptly, the woman stops. She flexes a muscle in her wrist and a dart fires.

Not as fast as light, but fast enough, the First moves.

*

Duet does not bother to hide her weapons. There is no-one around, no crowd to blend with. One of her moves ahead, eyes alert for changes. She checks left, checks right, squints at dusty windows, then beckons. The other follows, pulling Vesper with her.

The houses they pass are faceless cubes, temporary structures never replaced. Simple boxes designed for efficient use of space and little else. Aesthetics trampled in the name of speed and cost. In places the cubes are stacked to make flats, or linked up, for more affluent residents. Since independence, the people of Sonorous have begun to decorate, to distinguish. Childlike efforts to create art, without the ease or charm of childhood.

Where the maths goes wrong, or where the space runs out, pathways are squeezed to accommodate extra habitation, resulting in tiny alleys, accessible only to the small and slender.

Duet and Vesper barely pass, sidestepping through, the walls dragging across their chests. They dare not slow, for the sounds of pursuit have already begun. Tanks whirring back to life, soldiers shouting to each other, marching.

Above them, three sky-ships move, searchlights sweeping the streets. Before they arrive and pick them out, Duet shoulders her way into a house.

As the door splits open, a man is revealed. In one hand, he holds an autohammer. Behind him, tucked under furniture, his children squeal.

The tool is already set to maximum strength. He swings it at Duet’s head.

One of her ducks while the other steps in, sword held high.

The autohammer swings wide, burying itself in the door-frame again and again.

The man falls backwards, clutching his arm.

Duet steps onto him, boots pressing down on armpits, crushing.

The children squeal again.

‘Shut them up –’

‘– Or we will.’

For emphasis, Duet charges her pistol.

Vesper reaches for her but the other’s hand stops her, firm. She tries to reach the Harmonised with words instead. ‘Don’t kill them!’

‘We won’t –’

‘– Unless –’

‘– We have to.’

The family is bound with wire, hidden behind furniture. It is telling how quickly they capitulate. Vesper turns away, goes to the window. Through the grime, she sees lights pass by. The beams point eagerly, hoping to find a target. Once, twice, thrice, they appear, circling, moving on.

Vesper leans against the sill, resting her head on toughened plasglass. Muscles tremble, allow themselves a brief respite.

Time passes while she stares into space, seeing the outside world but mostly not seeing anything. Then, flitting past her line of sight, a small shape, bleating and frantic. Before she knows it, she too is running.