Subtle weapon, p.6
Subtle Weapon, page 6
part #2 of ShadowTech Series
“Like I said, just did what I needed to.”
Deva talked too much. Could mean she was more relaxed. Might be nerves, or delayed shock.
“But it was the way you did it. You knew exactly what you were doing, every moment, right? It was…it was perfect! Like a fine-tuned machine. Like a perfect engine. It was…just incredible.”
Keelin tore a branch out of her path, threw it to the ground. “Us or them,” she said.
“I only wish I could’ve helped. Not that you needed me there. I mean, you had it all in hand. Would’ve been nice to do something, though.”
The path widened. Deva fell into step beside Keelin.
“You stayed out of the way,” Keelin said.
“Yeah, but that’s not much, is it? And I screwed up. Thought they were going for the story, you know? That one with the beard especially.” She sighed. “Missed all the signs. Not like me. Sorry.”
“Nothing to apologise for. Good distraction.” The tension still rode Keelin’s shoulders. “We survived. All that matters.”
There were more traces ahead, approaching. Three. Again, no lattices.
She stopped.
“What?” Deva whispered.
“Company.”
Keelin relaxed her legs, dropping her stance. She tensed her arms. She prepared.
The three figures stepped onto the path. They walked calmly. All were male. The one at the front—tall, well-built, black trousers and dark green jacket—held his hands at his waist, hovering over weapons. The two behind—similar build and clothing—had their Prebens unholstered, safeties off, but kept them pointed to the ground.
They stopped. The two at the rear raised their weapons.
“Identify yourselves,” the front-man said.
“Why?” Keelin turned side-on.
The man stared back at her. He breathed steadily. The two behind shuffled. One of them—barely old enough to shave—trembled, and the finger that rested on his gun’s trigger twitched far too much.
“Our land,” the front-man said. “Need to protect ourselves.”
“We come in peace.”
The man looked her up and down. He glanced at Deva, then returned his gaze to Keelin. Yeah, he saw her as the major threat, the one he had to be careful of. Wasn’t stupid.
She still had blood from the guards on her, too. Keelin could smell it.
“But you’re no stranger to violence.”
“Only when necessary.”
“They all say that.” He sneered. “Who are you?”
“Visitors.”
“From the crater? Only trouble comes from there.”
Keelin shook her head. “Don’t work for the company. Passing through.”
The men behind glanced at each other when she mentioned the company. The younger one swallowed. Sweat coated his forehead.
The figures to either side remained hidden, but Keelin could sense them. Hell, she could smell them. Wherever these people came from, they either didn’t have decent wash facilities or they’d been out on patrol for too long.
“Passing through?” the front-man said. “Same way you passed through the sentries?”
So they’d been watching the lip of the volcano. Or they were in communication with others who were watching. They wore ear-pieces and wire-mics, so it was possible.
“Would’ve preferred to come down without any hassles,” Keelin said. “Company arseholes with guns had different ideas. Didn’t work out too well for them.”
She tilted her head, let the threat hang in the air.
The front man’s eyes narrowed. His hand brushed against his Preben. Then he smiled.
“Always a pleasure to see the company knocked back,” he said. His hand lifted from his gun, and he waved it. Must’ve been a signal, because his two colleagues stepped back and lowered their weapons. Scaredy-boy even lifted his finger from the trigger.
“We need to talk,” the man said. “Not here. Come with us.”
Brice
They put Brice in a room carved from rock. The floor was smooth but the walls and roof were rough, all angular and discoloured. The door was metal and thick, the crash of it closing echoing around the cell for a long time.
Dim light fell from a strip in the middle of the roof, enough to see the metal bucket in the corner, and the threadbare bed-roll on the floor. It might provide some insulation from the cold, but that was about it.
He was trapped. He was Kaiahive’s prisoner once again. They watched, from sensors embedded in the rock.
Brice sat on the bed-roll, shuffled to find a relatively comfortable position for his back, and closed his eyes.
And relaxed.
Stress wouldn’t help. He was a prisoner, which meant they wanted him alive—for the moment, at least. He doubted they’d leave him in this cell to rot, so they’d come for him eventually.
Their probing, or whatever they had in mind, might be worse than death. But he’d deal with that when it came. For the moment, there was nothing he could do. And so, Brice did nothing.
They left him for what felt like a few hours—long enough for Brice’s stomach to rumble, and for him to consider using the bucket. Then they came for him, three armed guards with masked faces. They led him along dim corridors, through a heavy metal door, past a couple more guards, and into a medi-lab.
There was no mistaking it—the bright lighting, the exam chair centre-stage, the equipment and work-surfaces around the walls. And the medi-tech.
She was in her late thirties, maybe early forties. Slim and tall. Wore a long white lab-coat, hair tied back severely, face blank. She scrutinised him like he was a specimen.
There was also a man in a suit, looked important. He gave Brice an empty smile then waved the guards away. They closed the door as they left.
“Brice Carras,” the man said. “Please, take a seat.” He waved to the exam chair.
So these people knew who he was. Not too surprising.
“Been sitting too much,” he said. “Prefer to stand.”
“As you wish. This is only a preliminary observation.” He turned to the woman. “You can perform the necessary checks with our guest standing?”
She nodded, then tapped on her palm terminal. Strange, Brice thought, how so many medical staff preferred physical recording to virtual, lattice recording.
“Good. Introductions. This is Doctor Zurlo, and she is one of our experts in the field. And I’m Macklyn Grivas. I run this little enterprise. And I want to assure you that you have nothing to fear.”
“I’m not afraid.”
Macklyn’s fake smile froze, and he tilted his head. “No, you’re not. You’ve shown no signs of apprehension since we brought you in. Most unusual. It could be an indication of lower intelligence—a failure to fully comprehend the situation—but that simply isn’t so in your case. You’re no genius, but you’ve overcome the odds too many times for it to be pure luck. Your calm attitude is interesting. Don’t you think so, Doctor?”
Her head jerked. “I’m not much of a psychologist, sir.”
“You sell yourself short. But your expertise is in another field. And that’s what you’re here for. So perhaps we should begin. Proceed with a standard check.”
“Sir.” She dipped her head, then turned to Brice and took a step in his direction. She held out her hand, palm to the side, and waited.
Brice presented the rear of his neck to her.
There was no point resisting. The man knew Brice’s name, must have access to secure records. Brice wouldn’t be surprised if this Macklyn Grivas started referring to him as ‘the Anomaly’.
Besides, if Brice resisted, the man would call for the guards. No point fighting a battle he couldn’t win.
“Mark time,” Doctor Zurlo said. “Commencing standard point contact with patient number five three.”
Her hand was warm, and Brice felt her lattice probing. It tingled where it prodded against his own, demanding access.
It was always the same with Kaiahive—just because they’d designed the lattice they saw it as their own, ignored the body around it. But his lattice was a part of him now, wasn’t it? That was what Doctor Regas had said, back in Haven. Becoming biologically entwined, or something. So this busy-body was intruding into Brice himself.
Not going to happen! Not if he had anything to do with it.
“I can’t get a connection,” she said. “Presence of subcutaneous structure confirmed through echo method, but I cannot find the node.”
“If he has a lattice he has a node,” Macklyn said. It was a statement rather than a question, but his brow furrowed anyway.
“Definitely. Theta gradients suggest a node in the standard position, but attempts to form a bond, even a transient one, are rejected.”
“That statement implies wilful force.”
“It does. That’s the impression I get.”
“Explain.”
“I’m not sure I can. I’m receiving a bounce-back similar to that found in a dormant or relegated structure, but the bounce-back contains a…signal is the best word I can use. There seems to be a purposeful deflection of my attempts to connect.”
Macklyn tilted his head, demanding a response from Brice.
He shrugged. “Been screwy for a while now. Does a lot of odd stuff.” He paused. “You’ve seen my record, right? Doctor Regas must’ve made notes.”
“He did indeed. Met the man on a few occasions. A wonderful combination of bright intelligence and warm humanity. A very sad loss.” Macklyn turned his attention to Doctor Zurlo. “Break for a moment.”
Her hand lifted from Brice’s neck. He rubbed the moisture away. Didn’t need to, but that would be the kind of action they’d expect.
And he’d managed to resist her. He’d willed his lattice to block her probing.
Interesting.
<I don’t understand.> Doctor Zurlo’s voice floated in Brice’s head, although she sussed tight to Macklyn.
<So we need to learn more. I told you this specimen was unlike any other.>
<And I’ve read the reports. But still—to resist like that goes against all the core code.>
<Then maybe we need to go beyond standard procedure.>
<We have to do this properly.>
<And who says the normal rules apply here? His lattice is no longer standard. To understand it, we must use alternative methods. I’m sure you know what that means.>
<I don’t like it.>
<I’m not asking you to. You’re here to do a job. This particular job requires skills that you most definitely possess. Don’t forget what brought you here, Doctor.>
Brice glanced at the work-bench closest to the Doctor. He recognised some of the implements, but others looked…grotesque. He wondered what else Zurlo specialised in, besides probing lattices.
“Brice,” Macklyn said. “I want you to take a few breaths and calm yourself. Yes, yes—I know you’re standing there like you don’t have a care in the world, but we need total peace for this to work effectively. I’m going to ask the Doctor to try again, but with slightly more intent. We need to understand you, Mister Carras. We need to fully analyse your lattice before it causes problems. Ultimately, this is for your own good. Yes?”
Brice nodded. It was easier than arguing.
“You’re sure?”
“Yep.”
The only thing he was sure about was that he couldn’t trust this man. Brice wouldn’t let the Doctor in.
“Good. Doctor, whenever you’re ready.”
Her hand brushed his collar. Was that an accident, or an attempt to distract him? Then her palm rested on his neck once more.
“Second attempt to connect with the subject. Time mark. Increasing from standard to additional point five.”
“Make it higher.”
“Correction—additional point seven.”
<Give him everything.>
<I…I don’t think that’s…>
<I’ll take responsibility. Dig in as deep as you can.>
<But what if I…>
<Do it!>
<Yes, sir.>
An ice-cold blade stabbed into Brice’s neck, pushing upwards. His vision flared white. He cried out.
Tingling, all over, flesh alive. Pin-pricks that increased, like his circulation was cut off.
But only like. His blood flowed fine. His body was fine. This intrusion—this battle—was in his lattice.
At least, it would be, if she cut any deeper.
He pulled himself tight, inside. Brice’s stomach contracted. His breathing stopped. He withdrew.
But he couldn’t run away forever. The Doctor had done this before—the touch of that serrated edge was experienced and sure. And…and she enjoyed this. Not the chance to break through and learn his secrets, but the act of infiltration. She got off on this abuse.
He focused on her point of entry. She attacked steadily and relentlessly. But it was rhythmic.
Brice read the rhythm. He matched it with his pulse, with his lungs. He aligned his lattice to her motions—and to her own lattice.
Yes. He could feel the Doctor now. The taste of a trace was nothing compared to the touch of an in-situ lattice. it was soft as silk, hard as rock. Her whole lattice vibrated in sympathy with her attack.
He rode the vibrations. He aligned himself with the Doctor. He slipped over her, felt his lattice connect to hers in a way he couldn’t even begin to describe.
Brice pulled.
He didn’t rush, and didn’t throw everything at her. He worked with her, matching her attacks. He entwined his intentions with her own.
And she retreated. The pressure inside lifted, as her hand rose from the back of his neck, leaving a sweaty, itchy residue.
Brice staggered. He thrust out a hand, leaned against the wall to stop from falling. In his peripheral vision he saw Doctor Zurlo fall back onto her bench. Equipment clattered. Some of it fell to the floor.
Macklyn stood impassive. He looked from Brice to Zurlo and back again.
“Sorry, sir,” There was dampness on her exposed throat and neck, a stain growing on the top she wore under her lab-coat. “Couldn’t gain access.”
But her private communication didn’t suffer from so much exhaustion.
<He threw me out! How’s that even possible? He reached in and…and ejected me!>
<You’re sure? It was a willed action?>
<Willed? Of course it was! Felt like he punched me in the face.>
She glared at Brice, eyes filled with anger and hatred—and fear.
Macklyn took a couple of breaths—following his own advice—and then stepped up to Brice. He reached out, large hands clamping Brice’s shoulders, and stared into Brice’s eyes.
“And you still don’t show any fear,” he said.
“Why should I?”
Macklyn leaned in closer, nose almost touching Brice’s.
<Guards!> Macklyn’s suss shot into the corridor.
The door opened behind Brice. He heard two guards enter, heard the click as they raised and readied their guns.
“Confidence is admirable,” Macklyn said. “But over-confidence can be fatal.”
“If you wanted me dead, you’d have killed me already.”
“Don’t even begin to tell me what to do.” Macklyn’s warm, stale breath washed over Brice. “I’m Kaiahive, Mister Carras. I do whatever is necessary.”
Macklyn’s gaze followed Brice as the guards took him from the room.
Piran
They forced Piran through the door, and light burnt. Filters should’ve kicked in, but he still brought up a hand to shield his eyes.
“What’s going to happen to me?” he said, turning to the door. But they’d already shut it.
He slammed his hand on it, the harsh ringing echoing around his head. “You can’t leave me here!”
Piran heard something that might have been a laugh.
“Hey! Open this door! I haven’t done anything wrong!”
This time, there was no sound.
He turned, eyes adjusted to the light now. They’d left him in a cell—bucket in the corner, mattress on the floor. Sensors blinked, one in each corner, where the walls met the ceiling.
Piran waved at them, one at a time. “Hello? Anyone there? Come on!”
No response. Light burnt down from the ceiling tiles. Piran shivered. He turned back to the door, slapped it again. Yelled. Kicked.
Nothing.
“This isn’t bloody funny!”
He hammered on the door until his fists were red and sore. He shouted, wasn’t even aware of the words he said. He coughed when his throat dried out, choked on his own phlegm. Spat. Stomach clenched, sweat clinging his top and trousers to his skin. Too warm. He shivered.
He stopped when his head fell forward, when the cold metal slammed into his forehead. His whole body shook, and his legs gave way.
Piran collapsed.
He didn’t know how long he sat there, back against the door, legs stretched out alongside the mattress.
The light from above burnt down. When he tilted his head back it forced his eyes closed.
But they’d still be watching. And listening. They’d know he was on the floor, with tears in his eyes.
They’d know why his crotch was stained, why it had been warm for a moment.
Piran sobbed. He swallowed, despite his aching, sandpaper throat. Had he been shouting that loud? And his hands were bloody, stung like hell.
He turned to the door. No handle, but that wasn’t unusual. Didn’t need it when there was tech. Yeah, they’d have it set up, only accessible to a few. Guards, whoever ran this place. Not Piran, though.
But Piran knew tech.
He forced himself to his feet, massaging life back into his legs. He ran his hands around the door, concentrated, focused with his lattice, with what he knew.
