“Bukra’s balls.” Galinak somehow managed to deal with the helmet faster than I had. His hands moved around in the air, touching the screens hovering around him.
“Galinak, don’t—” I said.
“Armed,” a voice rang out in my head.
I turned my head sharply. On the left side of the screen a picture of the Leviathan’s wing tip blinked red while on the right side I zoomed in on another Sky Bird on the far side of the tarmac.
“Locked.” A red rectangle surrounded the Sky Bird I was looking at.
“—touch anything,” I finished, but it was too late.
There was a swooshing sound in my ear and a heartbeat later the other Sky Bird blew up in a mushroom of fire.
We sat in silence for a while, not daring to move our heads or even blink. I reached under my chin and slowly unfastened the helmet. My surroundings winked out of existence.
“Rust,” Galinak said, still wearing his. “The Dwaines ain’t looking happy.”
I closed my eyes and leaned back in my seat, which, surprisingly, reclined itself back so I was facing the ceiling.
“I have a feeling they won’t give us some of their stew when we try to leave.”
“You don’t say,” I murmured and shut my eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed and tired.
Galinak freed himself from his helmet. “What now?”
I kicked my new boots off my feet. “I need to rest a bit. I haven’t slept right since, well, since I was born. The Dwaines are not going to shoot at us and they can’t get in. I’m almost positive Dwaine is illiterate.”
“And if he’s not?”
I turned my head and looked meaningfully at Galinak’s new machine gun. Taking the hint, he smiled back at me, picked up the heavy gun and turned his seat to face the doors behind us. “I’ll take first watch, then?”
I didn’t answer. A little later I was fast asleep.
14
Peach
A dream, but not a normal one, I knew. Finally, Command was reaching out to me, but I knew instinctively that this dream briefing was different than usual. An image of a woman came into view. She was a warrior by the way she stood, not young but still powerful. Red hair, and black markings around her neck and ears. She turned to me, drew a power gun, aimed, and fired. But as I flung myself to the side she changed into a young woman in her teens, dressed in a simple brown linen dress. Her hair was voluminous and red, and she had grey eyes, fair skin, and a strong body. She could have been stunning if it were not for a slightly wide chin. The warrior’s younger self … no … her child … the warrior’s child. The younger woman was my target, Emilija, and the mother was her protector.
I was lying in the mud and saw a name written, Vincha, before I rose slowly and realised I was standing in a field. From afar I could see the familiar silhouette of the City of Towers and my heart skipped a beat. Then a splash of muck stained my clothes as someone stepped over a puddle and walked past me. It was Vincha again, gun in hand, looking with open suspicion in all directions, but not seeing me or the shadows that surrounded her. I felt the urge to follow, saw her walking towards her daughter, who was standing with her back to us, oblivious, as shadows grew around her. The dream was telling me that there were others looking for the girl … but who? Before I could find out the answer the warrior jumped into the shadows and disappeared. The daughter remained, although she began to fade into the distance as bells began to ring. The image changed again into a fountain I recognised, and lastly into a bird which landed on a wide straw hat. It was a rendezvous point, a place where I would make contact.
I woke up to the sound of chimes, curled up on a thin rug that was spread on the floor. The dark chamber had no door, and I saw three people slowly passing the entrance as they walked the lit corridor, one holding a pot filled with burning incense and the two others playing delicate chimes. Turning on the rug, I surveyed the room. There was no one with me in the small, windowless chamber, empty of furniture save for several other hand-stitched rugs, a candle holder with a short stump of a candle in it, and a knee-high wooden table. As soon as I rose to a sitting position, three more men came in. Since I did not believe in coincidence, it was logical they were standing outside, waiting for me to wake up. One was carrying a bucket of water with one hand and a smaller, empty bucket in the other, another lit the candle in its holder and the third man was carrying a tray, which he placed on the small table. It contained a loaf of freshly baked bread, hard cheese, several vegetables and a covered plastic cup.
“Wash, use the empty bucket for yar needs, and eat,” one of the men ordered, but not unkindly. “Then you shall cleanse and see da Healer.” His accent did not come out as natural as the others’, a little distorted, like he forced it upon himself. I made a mental note of this, even though it seemed to be of no importance.
“How is Brak doing? And Trevil, my companion?”
“See da Healer, then all will clear,” the man said.
Both men stayed in the room as I took care of my vessel’s bodily needs, and other people who passed the room could see me as well. Despite occupying a vessel, I had to remind myself of my time in the military in order to relax enough to relieve myself in front of strangers, a sign I was slowly merging with my new body. As soon as I was done one of the men carried the bucket away without a word. The food was simple, but after surviving on a severed leg, nourishment pills, and food scraps, it felt incredibly good. I took my time eating, savouring each and every bite. The vegetables looked fresh and the cup contained boiled water, still warm. Like everything else in this area, it was contaminated, but with a surprisingly low dosage considering where I was located.
As I ate I thought about the dream briefing I’d received. My mission was clear and the dream came exactly on time, a week after awakening, once my brain waves completely merged with the vessel, making deep sleep a possibility. Yet something felt wrong. On the one hand, only Tarakan Central Command had my unique brain patterns and the ability to send me dream sequences, which was good news. That meant that contrary to what I had heard so far, Tarakan had survived. Someone had woken me up, given me a body, and ordered me on a “find and retrieve” mission. It would have been a laughably easy assignment under normal circumstances, way under the level of my expertise or my rank, but in this new, broken world, without the help of satellites, global communication, facial and body recognition scanners, and the ability to reach any point on the globe within an hour, this simple mission felt like trying to find a needle in a haystack.
There were other things in the dream sequence that worried me. By my last few missions, a few of Tarakan’s more advanced foes were already suspected of having the technology to pick up dream sequences, and as a result the dream should have been a little vaguer. This mission briefing felt like a parent pointing a child to a task, a gross breach of protocol, which could also be the result of all of Tarakan’s enemies having been wiped out. The dream world should have also been richer, more immersive. This one lacked complexity and depth, reminding me of an old virtual reality game I had once tried in a museum, when you had to put a mask on your face in order to play instead of immersing your consciousness into the machine. Something was amiss. That I knew for sure.
Since there was no way I could solve my concerns regarding Central Command, I forced them aside and my thoughts shifted to last night’s events as I chewed on a bitter radish. It was unlikely that the man calling himself “the Healer” had managed to hide a cell regenerator in his palm. Even the emergency combat version of it, used on the fields of battle, was the size of a human arm and took some time to function. Technology could have advanced forward as I hibernated, but it seemed improbable that Tarakan managed to minimize the size and accelerate the speed of the cell regenerator to such a degree. I went as far as considering that he was an Angel who had replaced his arms with medibot arms, but that was going too far.
Finally, I accepted the facts as I saw them; that this man somehow healed Brak, that he was worshipped by the men and women here, and that he had some kind of interest in me. His speech about the steep price was a matter of concern. Now that the orders of my mission were clear, I was not about to waste time or risk myself unnecessarily. I finished my meal with a drink from the cup, feeling its warmth course through my body. It was time to get some answers.
I rose and indicated to my guardian that I was ready. He led me through a short corridor dotted with doors leading into small side rooms, very much the same as the room I’d slept in. Most of them were empty; a few had groups of people sitting on floor mats, listening to preachers or meditating. We passed a chamber where a large group of people were busy having slow, ritualistic sex. There was a supervisor, or a teacher of some sort, standing above them as couples of both sexes copulated in a deliberately slow rhythm. My vessel was created with all the anatomical features of a human female and was able to have sex, of course, and I admit that walking among the writhing bodies did wake up some long-hibernated desires. Instead, I was steered towards a larger corridor leading outside, where I was taken again to the steam room and went through another process of cleansing. A pair of rope sandals and a long grey dress awaited me as I emerged. This time the clothing was made of linen, still a little rough on the skin, but a great improvement.
I was taken back to the main building and led up to the second floor. Surprisingly, there was no large hall, no high dais, or an adoring crowd. The only person in the medium-sized room was the man with the bone earrings. He bowed a little as a form of acknowledgement and gestured towards a rug. As in all the chambers I had seen in the building, this one had almost no furniture, with only a few comfortable cushions on the floor. I sat down on one of them, but before I got too comfortable the Healer came in and I rose to my feet. Instinctively, I decided not to bow this time.
The Healer was naked except for what looked like a bandage surrounding his pelvis, in the same place where Brak was wounded. He held a walking stick made of gnarled wood and limped slowly into the room, assisted by one of his four guards. What a show, I thought as I scrutinized his markings.
The Healer motioned for me to sit down, and he positioned himself slowly and with a theatrical grimace on a cushion next to me.
“How are you?” There was no better way to begin the conversation.
The Healer handed his walking stick to his aide and turned to me.
“Da Patshin is back in the light. My burden is a shadow of his. I heal by morrow.” The Healer’s eyes were large and brown, full of kindness, warmth, intelligence, and openness, tempting me to trust him. I was immediately on my guard.
“You mean you took Brak’s wound upon yourself?”
“I see your eyes not believing.” The Healer shook his head and gestured at his bandaged side. “I can show you his wound but you’d say I harmed myself.”
“I just don’t believe in miracles,” I said in an even tone. “What I saw definitely falls under that term, so I am looking for a logical explanation.”
He smiled knowingly. “What is a miracle for one, is natural for another. The man called Trevil swears you move and fight like the marked”—he indicated the markings on his own body—“but we see no markings on you, and the man called Brak says so, too. Maybe you can do miracles, too?”
This time I found myself nodding in acknowledgement. The man had a point. There were many things I did not know.
“You are from far away, a different land and time. You do know of the marked, for you it is a miracle, but you were born not from a woman’s womb, how that is not a miracle? The world is a miraculous place.”
How did he know that? Despite my training I tensed on my seat.
The Healer held his marked hands up in a sign of peace. “Worry not, Miss Peach, I am here for da helping. Say what you need and if this is in my power, I will make it happen.”
Things which were too good to be true were usually a lie, but if this man was willing to help me …
“I need to get to the City of Towers,” I said, unwilling to expose the rest of my mission.
“Then da man called Trevil will pay da price of taking you there.”
“And my own price? You said yesterday that the price is always steep.”
“There is always a price,” the Healer agreed, “but by helping you I pay a debt.” The Healer put both of his hands on his heart. “My own debt.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Hear my story, then.” The man straightened on his pillow. “My first mark appeared when I was already seventeen, and it was not in an obvious place …” The Healer smiled for the first time, but it wasn’t a pleasant smile. “It was actually discovered by someone else, the girl I was going to marry. I was twice a fool, to think our love would endure and to believe she would not betray me. I was seized the very next day and taken to the elder and he who put the knife to me.” The Healer pointed at his crotch. “He cut the essence of my manhood. I was put in a cage and left outside da village, to heal or die. I wanted to die, but my body be strong even when my spirit be broken and the mark tainted my skin. On the fifth night, a man came and saved me, a special man. I be marked on my body, but he be marked on his soul. This man helped me heal, and his price was that I would help whenever you showed up at my door. He described you to me, said you will be moving like the marked and that you would bring death wherever you go.”
“That is … impossible.”
“Only for those who do not accept truth.” The Healer indicated himself. “I can cure people and take their wounds on me. You can move like the wind without having a mark on your body, and the man who saved me foresaw that you would come here and ask me to help you. He told me that this would be the best of the foreseeable futures.”
“Who was this prophet?” I asked.
The healer leaned over and whispered, “His name … was Nakamura.”
15
Twinkle Eyes
I t materialised out of the darkness, slowly and from afar, and I knew what it was even before it filled my entire field of vision. I have heard Vincha tell me about it in detail, even though she herself never saw it and only relayed Rafik’s story secondhand. Nevertheless, here I was, standing, mesmerised, in front of a puzzle wall, or perhaps the Great Puzzle Wall Rafik had mentioned. Hundreds, no, thousands of strange symbols raced before my eyes in all directions. How someone, even a Puzzler, could find a pattern within this chaos was beyond me.
I reached out, my arm extending farther than my eyes could see, and stopped a symbol with my finger. It felt cool but vibrant. I extended my other arm and after several attempts and failures managed to stop a similar symbol, not the exact same, but close enough in resemblance.
Now what?
Symbols kept floating all around my hands, but I knew that if I let go of the ones I was holding I would lose them all.
Suddenly another symbol changed course, slowly moving to the one I was holding and attaching itself to it with a mental click. Soon after another symbol moved on its own accord towards the three I was holding, as if someone else was helping me from beyond the wall. When the pattern was complete it shimmered and detached itself from the wall completely. The symbols spanned before me to create a metal double door. They slid apart and I stepped forward and into the chamber of the Leviathan. I saw Galinak sitting, examining his machine gun in his lap. He did not acknowledge me or look at the doors. My own body was lying motionless, but in this reality I was wearing the helmet. My transparent image drew closer to my body until we merged into one.
A little later I woke up.
Galinak turned his head towards me. Maybe he asked something, but I was already in the process of fastening the helmet on my head. Like waking up from a vivid dream, the images were slowly fading from my mind, and I had no idea how long they would linger.
The Leviathan sprang back to life, and I let my hands move and touch the transparent screens around me. Galinak put his own helmet on, but this time he took care not to touch anything.
We could both hear a hissing noise.
“What’s that?” Galinak’s voice rang inside my head as I somehow established a link between us.
“How long was I out?” I asked, more to keep him from distracting me with questions than anything else.
“Not long, but you were out cold. What are you doing?”
“Not sure, but I know what to do.” I touched two transparent buttons and turned a dial.
“That is a contradi—”
The music caught both of us by surprise.
“Whoa.” Galinak grabbed the seat with one hand. “What is that?”
“I think it is the music Rafik and Vincha used to listen to,” I said, still fiddling with the numbers on my screen. “It’s called Beethoven.”
Galinak sat motionless for a while. “Rust,” he finally muttered, “that was what we heard when Vincha was strapped to that chair. Rust, that half-man Jakov was a piece of work.”
I nodded but kept fiddling with the buttons as the music grew louder. Jakov was the weapons merchant who had stolen Rafik and sold him to the Keenan guild. Years later he returned with us to the City Within the Mountain, hoping to reestablish a supply route, or perhaps looking for redemption. He got neither.
“I’m trying to find a way in,” I said. “There is a pattern I need to latch on to and then we can establish a link with Tarakan, but I need to find the right channel. It involves delicate fine tuning.”
“And you know how to do this because …?”
I stopped myself from turning my head towards him. “I dreamt it. No, don’t ask. Find out what is going on outside instead, but don’t … touch … anything.”
As the music grew louder Galinak turned his head left and right, seeing through the metal wall of the Leviathan. “They established a perimeter around us,” he informed me, his voice growing into a shout as the music became almost unbearably loud. “Two snipers with long rifles on either side, the rest spread out. Guess they’ll wait us out. Bukra’s balls, how long is this gonna take?”
It took a lot of willpower not to throw the helmet off my head as the music got louder and louder.
“Getting there,” I shouted back, but Galinak unfastened his own helmet and took it off his head.
Suddenly the music ceased and Rafik’s face filled my field of vision.
“Hello,” he said.
I leaned back in my seat and let out a long sigh.
Rafik nodded in approval. “You did well.”
“Well? We did well?” My inner voice was rising with every word I uttered. “We woke up in a room filled with poisonous air and no idea what to do and where to go. You bet we did well, no thanks to you.”
Rafik remained calm. “We did not expect such a malfunction in transmitting you, but these things were bound to happen over time, even with Tarakan technology.”
Galinak watched me solemnly. Without the helmet he could not hear the conversation.
I turned to him. “It’s them,” I whispered and motioned at his helmet.
“Rust ’em,” he muttered. “I don’t want to hear anything they have to say. You talk to them and tell me the gist of it afterwards. Besides, the Dwaines might find a way inside. Someone should take watch.” He turned and left the cabin before I could react.
“Perhaps it was more than that?” I said to Rafik, turning back on my chair. “You told me this Mannes was dangerous. Maybe this was sabotage?”
“This is also a possibility within the realm of reason.” When I did not respond Rafik added, “I see you got yourself some gear. That is good.”
I could understand Galinak’s reaction. We had been cheated by the Tarkanians, only to be forced to work for them again and almost be killed before we even started. Now we were stuck inside a Sky Bird, surrounded by the hostile Dwaines, and none of that seemed to register with Rafik. The whole situation was infuriating.
“We managed to reconstruct the vessel, or body, the hibernating agent was downloaded into,” Rafik ploughed on.
A picture of a woman appeared in front of my eyes.
“Doesn’t look like much,” I commented without thinking.
“Don’t let appearances fool you,” Rafik admonished. “Luckily for you, this is not a full combat vessel, but Colonel Major Vera Geer is a veteran of many battles. She is one of our most experienced operatives, capable and dangerous, and she has a two-month head start on you.
“If Cain takes control and extracts the code from Emilija it would allow him even deeper access into Adam. There is no telling how much damage he could do, but it would be severe, perhaps even lethal.”
“So, you want us to find Emilija and bring her back to you.”
“And if at all possible, eliminate Mannes Holtz.”
“If possible …” I stopped myself from pointlessly arguing. Instead, I changed the subject. “How did I know how to do”—I gestured all around us—“all of this? The dream, the puzzle wall …”
“When Tarakan began cloning agents, we used to grow their bodies filled with hardware, but it didn’t take the others long to realise this and they began scanning for it. Hardware was too easy to spot. We needed a different method to send information to our operatives. One which did not involve detectable hardware.”
“Dreams? You communicate in dreams?”
“Brain waves, thoughts, they are but a shot of neurons, an electric pulse. Too weak to be transmitted under normal conditions, but when biological humans sleep deeply enough, the brain becomes much more susceptible, and with some DNA manipulation and mental practice it could be a reliable, effective tool.”
Rafik correctly interpreted my expression because he added, “No, we cannot read your minds, control your actions, or even send you complex orders. The subconscious cannot be fully controlled like that.”
“So every time I want to talk to you I should find a bed?”
“No. This time you fell into a deep sleep with a definite problem on your mind. We were trying to find you and we managed to do just that, but it doesn’t work every time. You should just be aware we may try to contact you. It is part of how you were made, how you are wired, so it might get easier with time.”
“Rust,” I cursed, it was almost too much to sink in. “What now?”
“Find Vincha’s daughter. Your best course of action is to find Vincha herself and convince”—Rafik tilted his head slightly—“or coerce her to lead you to her daughter.”
“You want me to look for Vincha again?” I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony of it.
Rafik ignored my reaction. “Vincha is not in the City of Towers, and she does her best to reduce her communication presence, but from the few activities she was unable to cover, we believe she operates along a long stretch of a Tarakan highway, not too far from the city itself.”
“It is still a very large area to look for a woman who does not want to be found.”
Rafik’s deep eyes found mine. “It’s a good start.”
“Galinak is not going to like this idea. Neither will Vincha, if we find her, to put it mildly.”
Rafik’s face didn’t show any sign of sympathy as he said, “Deal with it as you need to, but bring the girl to us.”
“Fine.” I was getting tired of this. “Anything else? I need to deal with an angry Troll and an entire tribe of Secluders who are as pissed as hell.”
“Actually, yes, there is more. Mannes had a personal log in his brain amp—all high-ranking Tarkanians used to have it. With all but the furthest communication devices down, it took a long time but we managed to reconstruct some of the data that was transmitted before it abruptly stopped. Only a severe head trauma or a very delicate medical operation could stop an amp from transmitting. That’s why we concluded the man died but now we know he lived, so he must have found a way to physically remove the brain amp from his head.”
