Excision Verdict, page 4
part #5 of ShadowTech Series
The Ancient’s face didn’t change. It stood motionless. But Brice got the impression it was considering his words.
“Understanding,” the Ancient said eventually. “You desire company. We have observed. In time.”
Brice frowned, added what he reckoned joined those statements together. “So the others come here? In this room?”
“This is your waiting area.”
“So we each have our own cell.”
And, as he said that word, Brice winced. This thing had different ways. This could be luxury compared to what the Ancients had to put up with themselves.
But it still felt like a cell. No windows, not even a door. He was trapped.
Brice nodded, and gave the Ancient another smile. “So I wait.” He put an arm across the back of the sofa, crossed his legs. “Might as well get comfortable, then. Any chance of a drink?”
Deva
The terminal dominated the wall. Deva, Wrench and two of the Heralds sat, eyes fixed on the image.
It showed a large room, with groups of chairs arranged around a small raised platform. Each group had three chairs and a glass-topped table. The walls were hung with terminals, colours swirling on their surfaces.
“Heard the gate had swirling colours too,” Deva said. “Is that the same thing?”
The female Herald—Chiron had introduced her as Alina, and Deva hadn’t caught a second name—shook her head. “It’s a Kanelos.”
“Kanelos?”
“Artist. If they’re not reproductions, they’re top-quality replicas. Reckon they set Macklyn back a fair whack.”
“Although if he paid for them, he’d have the company reimburse him,” said the other Herald, a short man called Driskell Nikas. He’d removed his jacket, had unfastened his shirt cuffs, and sipped from a tall glass as if this was all an entertainment.
“You say that like you know him,” Deva said.
“Know of him. Alina here’s met him. Right?”
The woman nodded. “Briefly. End of course ceremony, he was the big-wig handing out our certificates. Before he started running deep Kaiahive, of course, but even then he was shifty. None of us liked him. Had that predatory look about him, you know? Like he was undressing us with his eyes.”
“Probably to see how much he could get for your bodies,” Driskell said. Then he sat up straight. “And speak of the monster.”
The door to the room in the feed opened, and a man entered. He wore a dark, expensive-looking suit and his hair was so perfect it could’ve been a piece. He strode towards the front, and took the middle seat of the group directly before the platform.
Two others entered behind him, a man and a woman. They sat either side of Macklyn.
“Bloke’s called Pryden,” Driskell said. “Always reminds me of a leech. One of Macklyn’s advisers. Don’t know the woman, but I reckon she’s eye candy. See the way she’s got her buttons undone, top underneath is that bit too small?”
Alina rolled her eyes. “Or she knows how to divert attention, uses it to her advantage.”
Driskell gave her a smile. “I bow before your expertise.”
She rolled her eyes again, but Deva caught the hint of a smile.
A thought struck Deva. “You both used to be Kaiahive?” she asked Driskell.
He winced. “Not something I’m proud about. Chiron got me out.” He turned to Alina. “Same with you, right?”
“Research,” she said. “Not deep, but I knew my stuff. Looked like they were priming me for something else, you know? Wasn’t sure, started asking questions. Things got uncomfortable. Chiron got me out before…well, before the company had a chance to do anything.”
“And you’ve still got your lattices?”
Driskell smiled. “Had mine removed, last year. Strange at first, but it’s one of the best things I’ve ever done. Feel human now.”
“Down for the first op next month,” Alina said.
“What about the two with Chiron?”
“Both still got theirs,” Driskell said. “Blaine’s had loads of enhancements, and it’s making removal complicated. And Grania’s tied up in the backlog, further down than Alina.” He narrowed his eyes at Deva. “You?”
Deva shook her head. “Never took.”
Alina pulled a face—sympathy, like Deva had seen far too many times before. Driskell simply nodded, like it was a fact to accept, nothing more.
“Hasn’t held her back,” Wrench said. “I mean, the stuff Deva’s been through…”
Driskell leaned in. “Even a dormant lattice leeches.”
“Not as much, though,” Wrench said. “And she can get it removed later. Right, Deva?”
“Yeah. When things settle down.”
Driskell snorted. “Might be a long wait for that. Anyway,” and he pointed to the feed, “we’ve got more activity.”
Others entered the chamber, in groups of three. They wore suits and business clothes, and if they smiled it was only for effect, their eyes cold and questioning. They didn’t talk, although Deva caught eyes glazing, knew they were sussing.
Driskell and Alina made comments, mentioned names of people and companies. They meant little to Deva. The only time she paid more attention was when the Governor entered.
Of course she recognised him, with his expression that hovered between welcoming and severe. He appeared taller and thinner than she remembered, but most of the broadcasts she’d caught had been of him sitting, usually behind a desk.
His clothes weren’t as fancy as Macklyn’s, and when she commented on that Driskell nodded.
“Suits his image. Our Governor portrays himself as a man of the people. Can play the statesmen, but he doesn’t want to come across as a social climber.”
“You say that as if you don’t like him.”
Driskell shrugged. “Seems a nice enough bloke. But it’s all image, isn’t it?”
Deva had to agree with that.
Chiron and the other two Heralds were the last to enter. Deva thought he’d changed, then she realised that his suit, the one she’d reckoned was far too fancy on the boat, was cheap compared to those the others wore.
They sat at the last remaining group of chairs, right at the back. As soon as they settled the swirling art-works faded and the lights on the platform brightened. Then one of the lights angled towards the door.
It opened again. A grey shape appeared.
Deva shuddered. “Is that one of them?”
“I’d assume so.” Driskell spoke quietly. His eyes narrowed as he watched the feed.
The Ancient stepped into the room. Human height, it was covered head to toe in a dark grey cloak, the hood large enough to hide the face in shadows. The hem brushed the ground as the Ancient appeared to glide between those groups of chairs, as if it knew where it must be for this meeting.
It climbed the three steps up to the platform then turned. The hood moved, and Deva could imagine dark, piercing eyes surveying the scene.
Everyone in the room watched the Ancient Nobody spoke, nobody turned to their neighbours, but eyes glazed as they sussed. Some sat back, faces pale and drawn. Others, including Chiron, leaned forward with creased foreheads.
The Ancient stood for a full minute, silent, before Macklyn rose to his feet. He straightened his suit.
“Welcome,” he said. “This is an auspicious occasion—the first time our respective races have come into contact. I trust we’ll all…”
“No.”
The voice was quiet but piercing, and it sounded…not distorted, but there was something wrong with it. Like many voices at once, Deva thought.
Macklyn frowned. “No?”
“No,” the voice repeated “Statement is inaccurate. Prior contact.”
“Ah.” Macklyn nodded. “I’ll rephrase—our first formal contact. The previous misunderstanding is, perhaps, best forgotten…”
“The past is clear.”
“But the motivations for actions are often open to misinterpretation.”
“The past is clear.”
Macklyn’s mouth twitched.
“Think I like this Ancient,” Driskell said.
But Macklyn wasn’t about to be beaten by the Ancient. “I was led to believe this was a meeting to discuss our current situation, not a trial of previous actions.”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
Macklyn frowned. But Deva understood. “They screwed up, didn’t they?” she said. “At the gate. They annoyed the Ancients.”
“Yep.” Driskell grinned. “Macklyn’s picked a fight he can’t win.”
If that were true, Macklyn wasn’t about to show any weakness. He rolled his shoulders back. “So what do you have to say?” he asked.
The woman to his right tapped his arm. Her eyes glazed. Macklyn gave her a stern look.
But others watched the Ancient. The being lifted its arms and pulled back its hood.
The face was male, the features soft, almost effeminate. Long blond hair flowed around curved cheeks, the mouth a thin red line. There was no sign of stubble.
Or maybe there was. Could’ve been shadow, of course, but as the head turned Deva caught a darkness. And the eyes grew smaller as they met the gaze of every person in the room.
“The time is now,” the Ancient said.
Wrench leaned forward, tapped at one of the palm terminals. “Is there a time lag in the feed?”
Deva had noticed it too. “Lips don’t quite match, do they?”
Driskell shook his head. “Feed’s fine. Just the way he talks, I guess.”
In the room Macklyn frowned. “You said that before.”
“The time is now.”
Macklyn waved a hand. “The time for what?”
“Protocol has been adhered to. Prerequisites have been met. The time is. We appear.”
Heads turned. Eyes glazed with sussing, and brows knotted.
But Macklyn seemed to understand. “You’ve been waiting for us to open the gate, yes? So you’ve been watching us for a long time. How long?”
“Until prerequisites were met.”
Macklyn’s mouth twitched. “Okay. So, these prerequisites. That was us opening the gate, yes? We figured that out, and it released you.”
“No release. Appear. Protocol.”
“So you could’ve come through that gate at any time?”
“Protocol must be adhered to. The time is now.”
Macklyn snorted, something almost like a laugh. “You’re repeating yourself. Time for what?”
“You know this. To be judged.”
Deva frowned. “That wasn’t a rumour, then.”
Driskell shook his head. “Apparently not. At least Macklyn can’t keep that to himself now.”
Macklyn, in the room, nodded. “Fine. Judgement. But on who’s authority? What gives you the right to judge us?”
“It is decreed. We follow protocol.”
“But whose protocol? Surely we should have a say in this?”
“You have a say. Your actions will decide the outcome of your judgement.”
“But this is preposterous! You can’t simply appear and…and treat us like this!”
His face reddened. The woman by his side reached out, but he brushed her away.
Driskell smiled. “Looks like he’s losing his cool.”
Wrench grinned. But something tugged inside Deva.
“Might not be good,” she said. “He provokes that thing, who knows what’ll happen? And Chiron’s in the room too. The Ancient retaliates against Macklyn, he could get caught up in things.”
And it was strange, Deva thought, how Chiron sat so…so impassive. He leaned back now, one arm on the table, the other in his lap, as if this was simply entertainment.
“He’ll be fine,” Alina said, her eyes fixed on the terminal’s image. “Anything goes down, he’s closest to the door.”
The Ancient stood motionless, no expression on its face. The material of the cloak hung loose. The being—hard to think of it as a human, with those blurring features and strange, multiple voice—could have been a statue, didn’t seem alive.
The Governor coughed, and the Ancient turned at the sound. The Governor leaned forward.
“What my colleague means,” he said, in clear, measured tones, “is that we would appreciate more details on the procedure. We’d appreciate knowing the criteria for our judgement.”
“Protocol will be adhered to.”
“Would it be possible to know this protocol? Greater understanding on our part would go a long way to preventing any more rash actions.”
The Governor addressed the Ancient, but Deva didn’t miss the way he shot a look at Macklyn, or the way Macklyn bristled.
But Macklyn didn’t respond. He brushed his suit again, remained standing, faced the Ancient.
The Ancient’s head dipped, once. “The request is valid. Information is transferred.”
Alina shuffled and muttered. In the feed, others looked down then around. Eyes glazed.
“What?” Deva asked.
Driskell reached for the terminal on his arm-rest. “Just been sent a file. Loads of data.”
Wrench swiped at his terminal. “I’ve got it too.” He tapped. “Direct access. How did they manage that?”
“Better tech than us,” Driskell said.
Deva understood—the Ancient had said it would provide this protocol information, and it had.
But questions rose. She could buy that it had access to the system. But how did it know that they were watching the live feed? And how did they know Wrench and Driskell needed terminals where others used lattices?
In the feed, the Governor was the first to recover. “Thank you,” he said. “On initial inspection, the documentation seems extremely thorough. We’d appreciate time to inspect the contents.”
“Yes.” There was still no sign of emotion on the Ancients’ face.
The Governor frowned and looked across to Macklyn. Macklyn brushed down his jacket and straightened his back.
“That isn’t an answer,” he said. “We request time to read this file, before your judgement takes…”
He froze, mouth open. His eyes widened.
And nobody moved in the chamber. Some had hands raised, and they hovered over those glass-topped tables.
“Protocol will be adhered to,” the Ancients said. “Judgement commences. The system will be cleansed.”
The being reached up, arms and hands hidden in the folds of its cloak, and pulled its hood down. Face once more obscured, it floated off the platform and through the sea of chairs. Eyes turned to follow its movement, but no heads did, as if the audience were frozen solid.
The Ancient reached the door. It opened. Two guards were visible in the corridor, but they were as statue-like as the audience in the chamber. The Ancient brushed past them and disappeared from the feed.
There was silence in the room, mirroring the silence in the chamber. Deva turned. Wrench’s eyes were wide, and his lip trembled.
“What the hell just happened?” he said. “What does it mean?”
Driskell shook his head, mouth twisted. Alina’s eyes were glazed, and Deva assumed she was examining that file.
Deva swallowed. Her stomach twisted.
“Cleansed,” she said. “You heard that thing, right? Doesn’t sound like they’ve come to save humanity, does it?”
And it spoke volumes that none of the others in the room contradicted her.
Keelin
The marsh stank, and Keelin was tempted to get her lattice to block her sense of smell. But she needed to remain alert. True, the bandits that roamed this area worked in small groups, and she reckoned that between herself and Tallia they could see off any trouble, but there were still unknowns.
Like who had killed Cullen Goga?
One of the dead Collective agents, he’d been a keen hiker. Experienced, too—knew the area, went prepared. Wore a tracker as well, rigged to send an alert if his vitals dropped.
But the tracker’s signal had gone. Like it never existed.
Tallia grunted. “Call this a bloody path?”
Keelin didn’t turn. “Try the marsh if you want. Doubt you’ll get far.”
They moved slowly, testing each step. Plants grew everywhere, green so sickly it was grey, broad leaves and knots of vines. They sat on the paths and the water, impossible to tell the difference by sight alone.
So Keelin and Tallia used the retractable poles they had in their packs to test the ground. Some of the marshy patches wouldn’t come over the tops of their boots, others went down deeper than the poles could reach. The liquid bubbled each time they probed it.
“Stinks,” Tallia said.
“Vegetation.” And Ryann would’ve said it was a natural smell. “But, yeah, stinks of mouldy boots.”
“Yours, maybe.”
Keelin didn’t respond. Told herself that at least Tallia was talking now. She’d been silent for the whole three-hour flight in.
Hadn’t been the best of conversationalists for a while now. Not since Haven’s Deep.
“Quicker we get this done,” Keelin said, “quicker we can get back to the Proteus.”
“First sensible thing you’ve said.”
Their path twisted. Keelin tracked their movements against the data files, a combination of pilfered drone shots and the authority’s own records. Those had come through one of Annys’ sources. Possibly Cullen Goga.
She mapped their route, and updated a copy for Tallia. And when they reached the place Cullen had been found, she stopped.
The tendrils of weeds were heavy underfoot, and there was a stubby, twisted tree in the middle of what might be called a clearing. The branches bent down, like the marsh was claiming it.
“Found with his back against the trunk,” Keelin said
Tallia nodded. “Arms wrapped round it.”
“While he faced out.”
She’d seen the images the local authorities had taken, and at first Keelin thought they’d snapped the guy’s neck while he hugged the tree. It took her a moment to realise they’d twisted his arms back instead, breaking his shoulders.
She doubted that’s what killed him, though. His stomach had been torn open, and his face so badly slashed that they couldn’t get a visual identification, had to rely on his lattice ident.
