Peter Newman - The Malice

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.

Duet’s voice is a chorus at her back. ‘Wait!’

But she doesn’t. A sudden burst of energy takes her through the broken door, onto the streets and away. She ignores the sword, heavy on her back, ignores the fatigue.

‘Wait,’ she calls. ‘It’s me. It’s Vesper.’

At the sound of her voice, the kid stops and looks round.

Vesper slows, crouches, opens her arms.

Little hooves skip across stones. Bleating becomes lighter and the kid throws himself into Vesper’s embrace.

‘There you are. I’m so sorry, I thought I’d lost you.’

The kid rubs his head against the girl’s. Lips clamp gently around an ear.

‘Come on, we can’t stay here.’

She gets up to find Duet towering over her. Their faces are hidden behind visors but she can guess enough from the two pairs of eyes. She is not afraid though. Compared to her father, their disapproving looks seem amateurish.

‘Are we going back to that house?’

‘No –’

‘– We have to keep ahead –’

‘– Of the search parties –’

‘– And get to –’

‘– The port.’

‘Genner said help would come.’

Duet takes her arm, talking as they go. ‘Help will –’

‘– Find us.’

‘Or the First will,’ adds the injured one, bitter.

Troops spread through the city, a net of people, threading between buildings. Crawler Tanks speed down the Tradeway, joining others already squatting at the port’s entrance. Sky-ships move in random patterns, combing the air.

Harmonised, girl and goat run, hide, run some more.

Slowly, the trap closes around them.

There is no longer time for care and Duet sprints, half dragging, half carrying Vesper between her. The girl tries to keep up, tries to help, but weary legs stumble, unable to find their rhythm again.

Nearby, a door opens and from its shadow, a man gestures, inviting them in.

They take their chances, bundling inside.

Vesper and the kid collapse gratefully into a corner. Duet does not have such luxury. One of her places herself between the stranger and her charge while the second leans against the wall, sword in one hand, the other resting on her injured chest.

The man closes the door quickly, then turns, tanned hands open, empty. ‘You’ll be safe here for a while. Don’t worry, I’m not your enemy.’

‘We’ll be –’

‘– The judge –’

‘– Of that.’

‘Yes,’ the man replies. ‘Perhaps this will help.’ A bag is placed on a table. Duet investigates, finds supplies. Rations, medicine, money, tools, all marked with the seal of the Winged Eye.

She frowns. ‘You are –’

‘– Of the Lenses?’

‘No. But these things once belonged to one. She would want you to have them.’

Against Vesper’s back the sword begins to stir.

‘Then who –’

‘– Are you?’

‘As I said, I am not your enemy. But I am not with the Empire.’

Duet raises her blades.

The sword hums louder.

‘Is this your … judgement?’

‘For infernals –’

‘– There is only –’

‘– One judgement.’

‘Are you certain? You do not … appear so. How can you be? The very words you speak are not your own. They are simplistic phrases designed to keep you simple. Only one judgement? If that is so, why are The Seven not here in person? Why do the Empire’s people turn away from Their leadership? If there is only one judgement for … my kind. Why was I asked to come here by yours?’

Almost imperceptibly, Duet’s sword wavers.

‘You are called a Harmonised. You are an attempt at a deeper union, a different kind of existence. I understand this … need. This desire to be greater than your physical self allows. Through me, you could experience complete fusion. It is not too late. Lower your weapons and I will give you want you truly want.’

The First takes a step towards Vesper. Duet does not move, one of her blocking the way, the other remaining by the wall.