Subtle weapon, p.27
Subtle Weapon, page 27
part #2 of ShadowTech Series
“An inkling I get.”
That could’ve been an insult, but Lise’s tone was soft. Deva could see how she worked with Chiron—he gave the hard orders, and Lise softened the impact. She was good with people. Reminded Deva of Ryann.
Deva swallowed, felt the emptiness open up inside. Ryann wasn’t here. Nor were Keelin, Brice and Piran. She didn’t even know if they were alive.
She was all alone.
A man across from Deva sniffed, and wiped moisture from his eyes. His companion—they sat close, had been talking in hushed tones earlier—put his arm around the man’s shoulders, gave a squeeze. Didn’t say a word.
Deva wasn’t alone. She might not have the crew—her friends—but she wasn’t on her own. She was with these people now. These Heralds.
She looked around. Most people sat in silence, heads bowed, avoiding eye contact. A few glanced across to her, and she wasn’t sure if that was because she was new to them, or because she talked with Lise.
None of the looks were unkind. Most were vacant, but some were friendly, and she returned the nods a few gave her.
They might be Heralds, but they were still people. And Lise had been right—nobody had tried pushing any stupid ideas on her. And they’d fought Kaiahive, hadn’t they? No lattices, limited resources, and these idiots took on the company.
And the company had beaten them. They were on the run, under the ocean.
But that was only one battle. And there were more of these Heralds out there. They’d continue fighting. They’d regroup and replan. Even though the company was stronger. Even though many of them would die.
But that had to be better than being taken by Kaiahive.
At least Deva was still free.
Piran
Piran didn’t expect to be offered a seat, or a drink. He took the first—perched forward, kept his arms tight to his sides—but said no to the drink. No knowing what Macklyn would put in it.
The boss sat behind the desk, some kind of terminal-art display on the wall behind him, all colours and blocks that slowly morphed. If Piran saw it repeat, it would mean he’d been in here too long.
Hell, even being in here for five seconds was too long. This was Macklyn’s office! Second level, through all those secure doors, past those hard-looking guards. Even Casey looked nervous.
She sat to the side of the desk, angled so she kind-of backed Macklyn up. Would’ve done that anyway—she was Kaiahive, wasn’t going to take Piran’s side over theirs. But she shuffled, and looked around too much.
There wasn’t much to see in the office—the art thing, some large-leafed plant in the corner, then the desk and chairs. And that was it.
Macklyn wore a black suit over a white shirt. Trim beard, not a hair on his head out of place. He’d either just showered, or used artificials to keep his appearance perfect.
Piran shuffled, aware of the stains under his arms. He’d showered last night, but it had been a hectic day.
If it was even day. Hard to tell down here, right?
“You’re an interesting character, Piran Remis,” Macklyn said, leaning back and resting one hand on the dark wood of the desk. “Your record makes fascinating reading. You don’t stick to one place very long, do you?”
“Tend to have disagreements with people.”
“Indeed. Often those in charge. And the disagreements don’t concern your official work so much as your extra-curricular activities. Would that be a fair summary?”
“Suppose so.”
“Nothing more to add?”
“Get restless. Try new stuff. Upsets some people. Not like I mean to. I just…I dunno.”
“You ‘dunno’. You talk like an adolescent. And your record suggests you act like one most of the time too. No respect for authority. A natural troublemaker.”
Macklyn tilted his head, turning that into a question. Piran nodded. After an uncomfortable pause, he tried speaking.
“That’s what they say. But…it’s the way I am. Don’t mean anything by it. Don’t like being boxed in, is all.”
“Clearly. But let me show you something, Mister Remis. I’m hoping you can shed some light on the situation.”
Macklyn must have used his lattice to trigger the art thing, because the strange image cleared, replaced by a sensor feed.
Piran recognised it instantly, and his stomach knotted.
“So much potential wasted,” Macklyn said as the image zoomed in on the body. “Keen to learn, applied himself with determination, worked tirelessly. All taken away in a second. A life full of promise, cut short by a single bullet.”
The image must’ve been enhanced, because the pool of blood under the young guard looked deeper than Piran recalled. And the barrel of Ryann’s gun, just to the side, was sharper, larger than it should’ve been.
“A tragedy,” Macklyn said, and he almost sounded sincere. “And so out of character for the perpetrator. The first death might be justified as self-defence, but the second?” He shook his head. “One has to wonder what was going through her mind.”
Piran swallowed. Macklyn continued.
“And then there are the peculiar lattice signals. My people have analysed them in depth—they work fast, when sufficiently encouraged—and they tell me there’s an artefact in the signal. They describe it as a ghost, a fleeting impression that evades direct attention. They say that the person behind such interference is clearly some kind of tech genius.”
Macklyn gave an icy smile. The terminal flashed up another image—Ryann, disappearing into the debris-strewn tunnel, tucking the gun into her waist belt.
“And then there is our murderer’s escape. She heads into unknown tunnels. She’s pursued by professionals who have access to our geological analysis charts. Yet she doesn’t put a foot wrong.
“And all the while, there’s this haze over her lattice signal, with pulses my people have never seen before. They are at a loss for an explanation. But someone must know what happened.” Macklyn brought his arm back from the table, rested it on his stomach where it met its partner, fingers entwining. “Isn’t that so, Mister Remis?”
Piran pulled the collar from his neck. He glanced at Casey, and she looked away. He listened for the inevitable sounds behind his back—guards readying their guns. But that would make a mess of Macklyn’s office. So the guards would take him away, throw him in a cell, leave him to rot.
Unless the man had another idea. And maybe Piran could get a feel for that, if he could reach Macklyn’s lattice.
He pushed, ever so gently. Didn’t use any routines yet, needed a sense of Macklyn’s lattice first.
“That won’t work, I’m afraid,” Macklyn said. “There’s a highly specialised dampening field in this office. Can’t you feel it?”
He smiled, turned that into a challenge. And Piran, against his better judgement, accepted. He scanned the room, reaching out.
The field was gossamer-thin. He could see through it—there was Macklyn’s lattice, and Casey’s, as well as the room’s system—but when he pushed the strands held, wouldn’t let him any further.
There were always ways, though, and Piran turned his attention to the field itself. Impossible to hack without serious work, but he could read the surface, could get a sense of the underlying structures.
He teased an edge, enough to pull a fragment of…not code, but the shifting of variables, the sense of movement. It was impressive—silk-smooth yet hard as diamond, soft as the wind bit rigid as steel. It felt like the code wrote itself, adapting like his lava-crawler.
Totally alien, but very familiar.
“Wow,” he heard himself say.
“Praise indeed, from an expert.”
Piran prodded at the hard nothing to feel it again. “Ancient tech?”
“And what makes you say that?”
“Feeling I get from it. Same as the weapon.”
“Ah, yes. The Caduceus. Impressive, how you’ve uncovered so much in such a short period. One might almost believe you had prior knowledge.”
Piran frowned. “Never heard of it until a few days ago. Any background was stuff on your system.” He pulled a face—shouldn’t have said that. Casey only gave him limited files.
“Which confirms my suspicions. Your previous supervisors were wrong about you, Mister Remis. Your troublemaking, the out-of-hours mischief—that wasn’t a sign of delinquency. No, it was a sign of a mind unfulfilled. Work is mundane, so you seek challenges elsewhere. And you question. You ignore boundaries imposed by others. You test and develop with a single-minded purity, unburdened by questions of morals, only seeking solutions. And that, my dear Piran, is the root of your genius.”
Genius? It was the second time the man had used that word.
“You’re messing with me.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because…because you’re angry. Right?”
Macklyn shrugged. “We lost many lives. The two guards, of course, but also the team following our murderer through the tunnels.”
“But I never…”
Macklyn raised a hand. “Nothing directly to do with you, I understand. But you still had a hand in it, in guiding your friend to freedom. Of course, she had assistance, once in the trees. An interesting development indeed.”
And Piran realised that Macklyn didn’t speak of Ryann in the past tense. She was still alive!
“Our sensors tracked an Ion with a particularly heavy payload over to one of the neighbouring islands. We’ve recovered the craft, and it will only be a matter of time before we apprehend the occupants. And your other crew-mate—another resourceful character, but we’re confident he won’t get far.”
Piran almost asked what other crew-mate, but then he realised—and had to hold the smile at bay. Brice had escaped too? How the hell had he managed that? Bugger always was lucky.
And they’d left Piran alone. As usual. No mention of Deva and Keelin, so they were out of the picture too. Had one of them helped Ryann? Both? Could’ve been all three of them in the Ion. Tight squeeze, and they’d say there wasn’t space for Piran, so what could they do?
Well, screw ‘em.
“We live in dangerous times,” Macklyn said. “The threat to humanity, in the form of the Ancients, is very real. We’ve tried convincing those with the political power to make a difference, but they dither. They worry about their standing, about image and public perception. They’ll fail us. So we have to take matters into our own hands. If we’re to stand any chance of surviving as a species, we need the best. We need those who push the boundaries, who think the unimaginable, who aren’t afraid to experiment. This is a race against time, and we won’t win by checking every step we make. We need people like you, Piran.”
He leaned forward, and a shudder ran down Piran’s spine. This man was Kaiahive! He couldn’t be trusted. He acted like he was doing Piran a favour, but Piran was still a prisoner.
“I have a choice?” he asked.
“There’s always a choice. You could be belligerent—and we could lock you away. We could deactivate your lattice again. But what would that achieve? You’d nurture your hatred of the company, and we’d lose one of the best tech minds we’ve ever come across.
“Or you can play. The Caduceus is a new landscape for us, and you’ve only started exploring it. By all accounts, it’s a beautiful place. My team—Miss Romberg’s team—all agree that the challenge is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
Casey tilted her head, like she wanted Piran to nod, like she wanted him to agree to Macklyn’s terms.
Terms? There were no terms. Either he helped, or they locked him away without his lattice.
He closed his eyes, data swam across his lenses—feedback variables, lines of code, the secrets of the hybrid in his language of symbols. Macklyn was right—it was a whole new world. And the weapon, their bloody doofus thing—it was incredible. Even the tiny part of it in his node, those two routines he’d studied and tested, even they contained years of potential. The rest of the code—who knew what that could open up?
It was like…like the rising of a new sun. Everything before this Ancient tech was dark and cold.
Piran had a choice—darkness or light. Bloody obvious which way he’d go, wasn’t it?
“When can I get back to work?” he said.
Brice
The Proteus still rested in the small clearing by the rock wall, branches and leaves overhead, black mouth of the cave behind it. But they’d stripped the thing. Panels lay on the ground, dented, buckled, scratched. Some had been cut—oxy-torch burn-marks around the edges, the lines ragged. Cabling hung loose, much of it ripped to shreds. Booster casings lay discarded, inner workings mangled.
And inside wasn’t much better. Every storage unit overturned, bunks trashed, padding ripped open. Even the shower room was destroyed.
There was no sign of anyone nearby. All the traces were days old. As soon as they’d captured him, Ryann and Piran, they’d wrecked the craft.
Deva and Keelin? Their traces went to the cliff, and Brice considered taking the same route. But he’d be too exposed.
And he didn’t want to find Deva and Keelin. Didn’t want to be around anyone.
On the way out of the base he’d come close to others, and he could feel them, like they were infecting his body, like they were a part of him. His head pounded against his skull. His stomach churned. His muscles ached.
Couldn’t cope in his own head most of the time, so being in so many others was torture.
He felt them pushing in, too, like they were looking for him, tracking him. He didn’t want that, so he’d shut himself down, built a wall in his mind. Had willed his lattice to block them.
And it worked. How, he didn’t have a clue, but he wasn’t about to question his good fortune. When he resisted, the probing from Kaiahive’s guards faded.
Even when he was close enough to see the guards—and, considering this dense forest, that was very close—the guards ignored him, acted like he wasn’t there.
He could still feel them, though. And he hurried on, as fast as his bare feet would take him. Back to the Proteus, back to where it started.
He read the traces in and around the craft, analysed the chaos, knew they’d been searching. This wasn’t mindless vandalism.
And he reckoned he knew what they were seeking.
Brice took his time, looked for his own things. Changed into comfortable clothes, cleaned his feet and put on socks and decent boots, then grabbed a pack, filled it with things he might need—tools, food-packs, water flasks, weapons.
He tried connecting a terminal to the Proteus’ system but the only terminal he could find was an old one, something Piran had been playing with. It barely turned on, had broken external inputs. Worthless. And no other terminals in the place.
All taken, then. Evidence, or data Kaiahive thought they might use.
Brice shoved the old terminal into his pack anyway, then headed out of the hatch. The day was warm, nearing its end—direct sun no longer beat through the canopy of leaves, the rock wall of the crater casting its shade wide.
He walked into the coolness of the cavern, underneath the gouges from the Proteus. Still impressive how Keelin had flown through these tunnels. Good pilot. One of the best.
And Ryann had returned to this cave, hadn’t she? Once she’d made sure they were all okay, done a quick scan of the area. Said she wanted to do a personal check. She’d taken a pack, a few things ‘in case’. Didn’t say in case of what. And when she’d returned, five minutes later—hardly long enough to check anything—the pack had looked lighter.
The cave disappeared into darkness. There was the opening they’d squeezed through, and smaller openings to either side. The rock was ragged, and Brice knew enough about nature to know this wasn’t formed by water. Maybe originally, but most of the work had been through—what, rockfall? Loads of tunnels in the area, so the place was unstable, right? That’s why he’d felt that tremor a few days ago.
He scrambled around the edges of the cave, climbing part-way up the walls. Ryann’s trace crossed back and forth, with no clear path. Brice followed. He investigated cracks and hollows.
And all the while his lattice buzzed. Sometimes it was loud, other times quiet. It wasn’t uncomfortable—not like being inside another person—and he let the buzzing guide him. Why not? It wasn’t like he had any other way of searching, was it?
When the buzzing was at its most insistent, he found it. The thing Ryann had left behind.
The box was small, and she’d wrapped it in a dusty grey work-rag, had piled loose rocks on top. It looked natural. Even this close, Brice almost missed it. But the buzzing increased when his hand brushed it.
Like he was being led.
Just one more mystery of this screwed-up lattice he had.
Brice pulled the box from the blanket, unlatched and opened it.
The Cyastone sat in a foam bed, so small and innocent-looking. But it was supposed to be a key of some kind. That’s why both Kaiahive and the Heralds wanted it.
And if Brice wanted to keep it from their hands, he needed to move.
He was on his own, but that was nothing new. Back in Athelios, with the rest of the crew, he’d been on his own. Even as far back as Haven and the basin, he’d been on his own.
Which was fine. He could move faster without anyone else dragging him back. He didn’t have to cope with hearing their thoughts, or putting up with their two-faced comments. He didn’t have to discuss plans, could act as he saw fit.
He looked out of the cavern, to the dead Proteus under the trees. He wouldn’t be flying out. Might be able to figure out how to pilot, but not that craft. Brice had to rely on himself, on his own body. Honestly, he preferred it that way.
Climbing the rock wall was a non-starter. He’d be seen, and Kaiahive would have people waiting for him when he reached the top.
