CHAPTER 20

 

 

 

Guildmaster Silvan's face exploded in a spray of smoking, red flesh that splattered the wall behind her, visible in the bright flash of the plasma weapon. The sharp smell of burning meat filled the tiny room while a fine crimson mist coated Wren's hands. Silvan's body crumpled to the floor with a dull noise like a thick jacket that's been carelessly dropped.

Wren darted back, gun still in hand, and switched the light off again. Darkness gave her an advantage over any normal soldiers or enforcers who might be nearby. She strained for any hint of sound. Sure, she thought she'd seen Silvan's head explode. But what if that had been a trick? A key lesson hammered into Wren at the Guild; don't relax until you're sure they're dead. Three more heartbeats and the only noise was a steady drip. Too thick for water; blood then.

The dripping blood and continuing stillness suggested Silvan really was dead and that there were no other enemies in the room. Wren flicked the light on once more. With eyes squeezed shut, she took three quick steps to the right, just in case Silvan threw or shot at her in the sudden clarity of the light. Still no noise.

Wren opened her eyes a slit, allowing just enough light to filter through to make out the scene. Silvan lay on the floor near the far wall. The steady glow of the overhead light revealed in detail what Wren had only seen a flash of before—the ruined remains of Silvan's head. Her neck ended in a jagged tear of flesh, the top of her spine poking out like a white skewer from her back.

Blood and bits of brain smeared the wall behind. Thick chunks slid down the smooth metal and pooled on the floor. The dripping came from Silvan's neck, where a stream of blood dribbled the short distance to the floor in a steady rhythm. Drip. Drip. Drip.

Iron tang in the air, unmistakable. Below that a more subtle smell, one that Wren had never sensed before because Silvan had been so meticulous about removing her own scent. In death she had no such control.

Wren stayed frozen in place for two more deep breaths; despite a missing head, Wren couldn't quite believe that Silvan was dead. A small part of her had believed the Guildmaster was invincible. Ridiculous of course, but she'd spent so much of her life watching the woman do impossible things… and now she lay dead in a pool of her own blood, just like so many of her targets. Would anyone believe that she was dead? What did it mean for the Guild? Would their association with FutureFarm and the Imperium continue?

So many questions, but Wren silenced them. It didn't matter to her what happened to the Guild. She didn't belong to them anymore. Still, she owed Silvan some small gesture for taking her in as a child and teaching her what she needed to survive.

Wren closed the distance between them to stand over Silvan's body, her boots just clear of the growing puddle of blood. "Atoms to atoms."

Neither Wren nor Silvan had any extra clothes to cover the bloody mess so the words alone would have to do. When Wren had first learned about Silvan's treachery, she'd promised herself that she'd tear out the woman's lying tongue. Now that gesture seemed pointless. And besides, Wren had more pressing concerns.

Wren knelt and stripped Silvan's body of its weapons. A dozen knives and throwing blades, more poisoned darts, and a tiny plasma pistol with more power than seemed possible. Wren strapped the weapons around her body. She also found an access card which she slipped into a pocket.

Pain pulsed in time with her heart from her injured right hand. Purple bruises spread halfway up to her elbow. The base of her thumb had swollen to three times its normal size while the thumb itself dangled useless from her hand.

Looking at it made the pain worse but Wren knew enough about injuries to know that if she didn't do something soon then she would lose the use of her hand forever. That couldn't happen. With a sharp blade, she cut away a clean strip of fabric from Silvan's pants. She held one end in her teeth and with her free hand she wrapped the fabric around her bruised palm, doing her best to fix her thumb in place. She bit down hard on the cloth, more pain than she'd felt in a long time filtering through the walls she'd set up to block herself from feeling anything. It seemed like hours later that she finished wrapping the bandage. By then, sweat poured down her forehead and she was breathing hard. Hell. She'd have to get someone to help her set it properly, and soon. Damn Silvan. She'd wanted to hurt Wren and had succeeded, but where had it gotten her? Dead.

Wren turned away, shutting away thoughts of Silvan into one of the many compartments that occupied her mind. Stray thoughts like that only got in the way of things. Worse was the burn of poison at Wren's neck. She didn't have time to assess it, and besides, she didn't have any antidotes on her, but already Wren could feel it eating into her nervous system. Besides, she had bigger problems. Cameras blinked in the corners of the room. What would her captors do now that she'd killed Silvan? They were probably on their way at that very moment. But they'd made a fatal mistake; they'd left her with weapons.

"Wren!"

Wren pulled a knife and spun toward the voice, ready to kill whoever had managed to sneak into the room without her noticing. Empty.

"Wren, it's me."

Wren didn't lower the knife. "Kari?"

"What the hell happened?"

"Long story." The voice came from the camera. But how could Wren trust that it was really Kari? And if it were Kari, how could Wren be sure Jic and his lot weren't making her say what they wanted? Nothing could be trusted. Nothing.

"Tell me about it. But, Wren, you've got weapons and hopefully a way out of that room. I need you to come and get me. The others are in trouble."

Wren took three steps backward so that her spine pressed against a smooth metal wall, protected in case of a trap. "What kind of trouble?"

"They're trying to convert Ryker again."

Not good. Wren had noticed a darkness in Ryker after the last time. She suspected the conversion had come closer to success than anyone wanted to admit, and now they were trying a second time? Based on how long she'd been trapped in the room fighting Silvan, she wasn't sure Ryker could be saved.

"Why haven't you stopped them?" Wren said.

"I'm strapped to a bloody chair."

It sounded like Kari. Certainly had the same voice patterns, but they could be replicated by machines easy enough provided they had a big enough sample.

"Dammit, Wren, you're the only one in a position to help us, but I doubt you'll be left alone for long."

"If you're so trapped and helpless," Wren said. "How are you talking to me?"

"Damn your suspicions, Wren."

"My suspicions have kept you alive on more than one occasion. Of course, if you were really Kari, you'd know—"

"Of course it's me. Piper knew the master code for the equipment. I've managed to override it but I'm sure they're working to kick me out right now. Either that or they'll bust through the door and kill me. Hence, get your ass here!"

Wren kept her injured hand hidden in the folds of her jacket; if there were enemies watching then there was no point giving them an even better look at her weaknesses. With her other hand she fiddled with the sharp throwing blade. Her plan had been to try to save Kari and the others anyway; she'd come to appreciate some of their quirks, even if she'd never quite understand them. So what harm would it do to listen to this voice that claimed to be Kari? It could lead her into a trap, sure, but she was just as likely to step into one of those without the guiding voice. At least this way she had a better idea of what was coming. "Where are you?"

Silence for a few moments, broken by occasional muttering that sounded a lot like Kari's cursing when she was trying to work out a problem. If it were a simulation, it was doing a good job.

"Ha!" Kari said. "Idiots. Through your door, turn left. Through two sets of double doors, then turn right. Third door on your right after that."

Wren raised an eyebrow. "Good instructions for someone strapped to a chair."

"If you get your ass here you'll be able to see why."

"Fine. But—"

"Oh shit." A muffled bang and then the sounds of a struggle.

Wren pushed away from the wall and ran to the door. The sounds of struggle cut off, the audio feed going dead. Not good. If it wasn't really Kari then she had nothing to worry about, but if it were, then things could get very bad, very quickly. Wren slapped Silvan's access card to the lock panel and it flashed green. Wrenching the door open, she paused just inside the doorway, expecting a stream of plasma fire. Nothing.

Wren ducked her head out then back in. Still nothing and the hall had looked empty. She returned the throwing knife to her belt and instead took up the plasma pistol. She preferred knife work, but with her injured hand and the fact that she might well come up against armored enforcers or super-soldiers, she felt that just this once a plasma pistol might be a better option. Especially as Silvan's weapon had a higher power rating than any Wren had seen before.

The dripping from Silvan's neck had stopped sometime during Wren's conversation with Kari, but the smell of her had only gotten stronger. Tendrils of scent clung to Wren as she moved into the corridor. She closed her sense of smell off for the moment, finding the cloying odor too much.

Wren crept down the corridor, leaving the small room and Silvan's dead body behind. Every few paces she stopped to listen. If enforcers or super-soldiers did come for her, she would hear them. No matter how softly they walked, their armored boots gave them away. Nothing so far. Other noises though. The rumble of engines through the floor, the buzz of electricity in the lights above her head.

A dull awareness of the pain in her hand, and throbbing from her injured leg and shoulder, hovered in the back of Wren's mind but for the moment she could ignore them. Harder to ignore was the hot pain burning at the back of her neck and spreading down her spine. Silvan's blade had been poisoned. Wren had hoped that the graze wouldn't deliver enough toxin to have an effect, but already she could feel it; interrupting nerve impulses, sending out signals of its own, so that Wren's little finger jerked every few seconds of its own accord.

If the effect got stronger, it would be her whole hand spasming and she wouldn't be able to shoot or fight. Then she'd end up back in a cell, this time with no chance of escape.

She drew a deep breath.

The worst thing to do when poisoned was panic because it pumped the toxin faster. So she slowed her breathing, then her heartrate as she'd trained to do for so many years. During complete relaxation, sitting in her locked room, she could take her heartbeat down to twenty beats per minute. Creeping down a corridor with her senses on full alert while also numbing her own pain, she could only get down to thirty beats per minute. Still, it would give her twice as long with the poison as a normal person, and maybe that would be enough for her liver to process and get rid of it.

Maybe.