The Malice. Peter Newman

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СКАЧАТЬ can only stare and shiver.

      Quickly, fourteen identically dressed figures converge on a house.

      Inside are two bodies. One is of a man, aged by time outdoors, eyes staring towards infinity. They gather by the body. From two sword cuts and a hole made by angry light, essence escapes in little puffs of smoke.

      Working as one, the figures capture the wisps, weaving them together. A coherent ball begins to appear, cupped in protective hands. At the same time, the group begin to excavate the essence in the body, clawing it out from the deep places, adding it to the ball. When they are finished, they close the man’s eyes.

      Then the ball is taken to the second body, that of a woman, half of an abandoned Harmonised. They press it into the wound in her chest, then bind the cavity shut.

      Any last spark of the woman flutters away in the flicker of eyelids.

      The First opens its eyes and stands.

      Restored, it lowers its head and the others do the same, until fifteen skulls tap together, sharing knowledge, making plans.

      Less than a second later they break, ten of them sprint for the door, the other five move to an innocent looking corner of the room, reaching for the hidden doorway, glimpsed through dying eyes. But for the First, the panel refuses to open.

      Gauntleted hands clench and the First leans over the rebellious plastic. Fists move like pistons, drumming, hammering, penetrating.

      The passageway is narrow, forcing them on hands and knees. The kid bounds ahead, a perfect fit. From Duet’s visor a diamond flares into life, pushing back the gloom.

      Vesper shoots her an envious look.

      ‘What?’

      ‘Nothing.’

      They crawl on. Vesper lets out a sigh, murmurs: ‘I wish I had a torch.’

      ‘You’ve got …’ She pauses, taps the side of her head irritably. ‘… Two.’

      ‘I do?’

      ‘The Navpack … and the … gun.’

      ‘They’re torches?’

      ‘They’re torches.’

      Distant drumming reaches them. Then a single crack, a dulled burst of thunder.

      Duet accelerates, knocks into Vesper. ‘Go faster.’

      ‘What’s going on?’

      She punches the girl in the back of the thigh. ‘Go faster!’

      Vesper yelps, complies. Behind them comes a rasping sound, of lightweight plates sliding over stone, rapid and numerous.

      In their haste, knees are bashed, knuckles caught on the tunnel’s sides, a catalogue of minor traumas to be pored over later. Several times the tunnel divides but Vesper doesn’t hesitate, following purple lines held tight in memory.

      The sound of the hunters pauses.

      Vesper slows, takes a breath to speak but Duet knocks into her, hissing in frustration.

      When they come again, the sounds of pursuit are diminished.

      ‘They don’t know the tunnels,’ Vesper pants. ‘We’re dividing them.’

      ‘It doesn’t … matter. Even one … of them’s … enough.’

      All at once, light hits the end of the tunnel. A solid wall, decorated by damp, and, in front of it, another hole. Vesper pulls out the Navpack and shines it down. The beam dances on water and bends around the long cylinder of an escape vessel, bobbing leisurely on the surface. Where the light hits the side of the hole, bars glint. Each one is as wide as a giant’s hand, inviting them to climb. Vesper does so.

      Before she reaches the bottom, the cylinder cracks open, welcoming. Vesper drops from the last bar, her impact absorbed by the cylinder’s thick inner lining. Girl and tube wobble in the water but neither tips over.

      Vesper rocks the cylinder gently, testing buoyancy. Then she shines the Navpack around the chamber, mapping a shape not much bigger than the boat she sits on. She points the Navpack down, switches it from torch to navigator. Lines of light quickly describe a way out. Vesper frowns. ‘The exit is below us, we need to go down.’ She pats the side of the cylinder. ‘In this. It’s safe, I think.’

      Above her, in the tunnel, Duet crawls backwards. Slowly trying to rotate in the cramped space. ‘No.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘You go.’

      ‘What about you?’

      She completes her turn, then tries to work her sword free. ‘I’m staying.’

      ‘But why?’

      ‘To protect …’ Her elbow cracks against the side, painful. ‘… you. Give you time.’ Her sword is nearly free but within the confines of the tunnel she cannot fully straighten her arm. The tip remains caught in its scabbard.

      ‘Don’t leave me. I need you.’

      ‘It’s better … this way.’

      Vesper lowers her head, hesitates, mouth moving quietly, planning the words before she says them. ‘It’s not up to you. The sword wants you to come.’ Duet edges back, feet dangling over the edge. With effort, she twists her head, craning until she can look down at the girl, suspicious. ‘Gamma’s sword spoke to me, remember? It needs me to carry it and it needs you to keep me safe.’

      Duet just stares, face unreadable behind the visor.

      ‘Don’t be stupid! You can’t even swing a sword up there. They’ll kill you in seconds and you’ll have died for nothing. If you want to protect me then you need to come down, now!’

      Her voice echoes in the tunnels, repeating and fading, fading and repeating, travelling, retreading their steps. When it has gone, silence follows.

      The sounds of pursuit have stopped.

      Girl, Harmonised and goat freeze, wondering who else listens in the darkness.

      Then, sudden and decisive comes the sound of armoured limbs, battering the tunnel, supernaturally fast, gaining.

      With a muttered curse, Duet lets her sword fall back into its sheath and lowers herself into the hole. The descent is controlled and quick, her landing soft. Fractionally, the cylinder dips, high sides untroubled by lapping water.

      The kid appears at the top of the ladder, afraid to jump, afraid to stay.

      ‘Come on,’ encourages Vesper.

      ‘Leave it.’

      ‘No!’ She reaches up, smiles encouragingly. ‘Come on, you can do it. Jump. I’ll catch you.’

      The СКАЧАТЬ