Stan Nicholls - Quicksilver Zenith

‘Yes, sir. And thirty-one of those resulted in summary execution, as allowed for by the new emergency regulations.’

‘Excellent. Things are certainly looking up now we’ve been allowed to take the kid gloves off.’

‘The Clan High Chief must be very pleased, sir.’

‘My uncle?’ Bastorran’s face clouded.

‘As he’s campaigned for so long for tougher measures against the insurgents, sir,’ Meakin hurriedly added.

‘Ah. Yes, Uncle Ivak’s a pig in shit at the moment.’

If Meakin thought that was disrespectful, he knew better than to say so. ‘Do you want the details, sir?’

‘What?’

‘Of the arrests. I can break them down into –’

‘Details weary me. You should know that by now. The only important thing is that we’re consigning more of these criminals to prison or to the block. But that isn’t the reason I wanted you here.’

‘Sir?’

‘I want you to meet someone. I’m doing this because you might have to liaise with this person if I can’t. But you have no need to know what task they’re performing for the clans. Nor do you have to know more than necessary about this visitor.’

‘I understand, sir.’

‘Understand this, too.’ He spoke emphatically, his gaze unblinking. ‘Everything to do with this person is to be regarded as secret. Any breach of security will have grave consequences. You’re comparatively new to my service, so let me underline the importance of the oath you took to the clans, and your personal oath to me. Break it and you know what the consequences will be.’

‘Yes, General.’

In a slightly softer tone, Bastorran went on, ‘You’ve made good progress in the paladins, Meakin. I might say remarkable progress given that you weren’t clan-born. That’s rare. And not everybody approves of your rise. So see this as a test of your loyalty. Serve me well and you’ll not regret it.’

‘Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.’

‘There’s just one thing I should tell you about our visitor. She’s a symbiote.’

Meakin found it difficult to hide his surprise. ‘A meld?’

‘I believe that’s the common term for a very uncommon … relationship. But it might be better not to use it in front of her.’

‘Of course not, sir.’

‘I expect you to extend the same courtesy to her as you would anyone else acting on our behalf.’

‘I’ve never seen a symbiote before, sir. Not insofar as I’d know it, anyway.’

‘Very few people have. There can’t be too many around, after all. It’s not a pact many would willingly enter into.’ There was the sound of movement in the corridor. ‘I think you’re about to have your first encounter, Meakin.’

Somebody rapped loudly on the door.

‘Come!’

Their guest entered, accompanied by a guard whom Bastorran curtly dismissed.

The person standing before them was an arresting sight. Her appearance was androgynous. She had straw-blonde hair cropped so short it could have been shaven. Her skin was white like marble, and she had thin, bloodless lips. Meakin found her eyes frankly disturbing. They were inordinately large, and their irises were blacker than any he’d ever seen on a human, stressed the more by unusually milky surrounds. She was trimly built, yet her frame implied a well-disciplined strength.

There was something slightly odd about the geometry of her face, as though every line was one percent out of true. She was neither ugly nor beautiful. What she possessed was a severe elegance; like a glacier made flesh. The overall effect was alarming, and somehow mesmeric.

She was completely at ease, and returned their stares with a brittle gaze of her own.

At length, Bastorran said, ‘Welcome.’

The woman barely acknowledged his greeting.

‘This is my aide,’ he continued, ‘Lahon Meakin. Meakin, say hello to Aphri Kordenza.’

Nods were exchanged. Hers was slight, disinterested.

‘In the event that I’m not able to deal with you myself, Kordenza, you’re to liaise with Meakin here. Meakin and no other. I trust that’s clear.’

‘Yes.’ Something about the timbre of her voice set the small hairs on Meakin’s neck tingling.

‘There’s no point in you lingering here, Meakin,’ Bastorran decided. ‘You may go.’

He didn’t seem to hear. He was staring at her.

‘Meakin.’

‘Sir!’

‘Get out. And make sure we’re not disturbed.’

The aide gathered his papers, then quietly left.

The bed-ridden paladin and the glamour symbiote studied each other.

‘Mind if I demerge?’ Kordenza asked.

‘Mind if you do what ?’

‘Sharing with a glamour pair gets uncomfortable when we’re both in at the same time. Makes me feel like I’ve eaten too much. I’m hoping to make our cohabitation less unpleasant in future. Until then …’ she thumped her flat chest with a black-gloved fist, ‘… better out than in, know what I mean?’ She smiled, though her face wasn’t made for it.

‘Just remember I have men outside that door. If you even think of –’

‘Calm yourself, General. We should trust each other; we’re in a business relationship. Besides, if we wanted to kill you, you’d be dead by now.’

He felt a little confused by her use of ‘we’. ‘So go ahead.’

What took place next was no less startling for happening fast. Aphri Kordenza simply stepped to one side. But an outline of herself remained in the space she vacated. It hung in the air like a slender rope, mimicking her shape. Within its contours a kaleidoscope of particles churned and vibrated. They coagulated and clarified, and within seconds came together to form something that looked human. The emerging figure appeared to be Kordenza’s twin.

Bastorran saw that an almost invisible membrane, a viscous, cobwebby lattice, attached Kordenza to the conjured glamour. The filmy web grew taut, snapped and was immediately reabsorbed by the twin.

On closer inspection, Kordenza’s double proved not entirely identical, though its clothes were.

It, too, was androgynous, but with definite masculine features. Nor did it look completely human.

Kordenza was stretching, elbows back, head rolling. Unwinding after a weight had been removed. Next to her, the glamour twin did the same. They unconsciously mirrored each other, like a well worked-out piece of choreography.

Straightening, expelling a breath, Kordenza declared, ‘Anything you have to say can be said to both of us.’

‘We work together,’ the glamour added. Its voice was a giveaway, if one were needed. It had the timbre of sorcery; a little hollow, a touch lifeless, a hair away from humanity.

Bastorran regarded the pair silently, as though he were weighing whether to deal. At last he said, ‘What do I call you?’

‘Aphrim,’ the glamour replied.

Aphri leaned against a dresser, arms crossed. The glamour, which Bastorran was forcing himself to think of as ‘he’, adopted a similar pose by the hearth.

‘Let’s get on with it,’ Bastorran prompted. ‘You’re aware of the nature of the commission.’

‘We only accept one kind,’ Aphri said.

‘All we need to know is the target,’ her twin finished.

‘When you do, you might think twice about taking the job.’ The pun had been unintentional, but neither of his guests seemed aware of it.

‘We always appreciate a challenge,’ Aphrim told him.

‘It keeps us on our toes,’ Aphri explained.

‘Your problem,’ the glamour ventured, ‘is connected with your present state of health, yes?’

‘You want vengeance,’ Aphri reckoned.

‘Not just for your injuries …’

‘… but for the terrible public humiliation you suffered.’

Bastorran found the way they shared speech as provoking as what they said.