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adverse_camber In the centre of the Denizens’ current main living area under Shahr-Pieni, Rasa stood and clapped her hands for attention. “All right, you lot, listen up! Announcement time!” She waited until the twittering of voices had stilled before speaking again. “I want everyone to be happy that they understand what I mean before I do it, which means this is your chance to speak up. Right?”
A flurry of nods answered her question.
“Right, good! First up, we’re going to have a little, ah, ‘leadership reshuffle’. Now, I know I’m going to regret this, but…” She took a second to rub her temples, as if in preparation. “Art? Danny? You two are in charge for a while, all right?”
The two stood up, startled. “What?” the spur challenged, surprised. “In-in charge-... what? What about you?”
The Denizens’ reluctant leader gave them a tired smile. “Daina tipped me off about some, ah… rumours, you could say… that have begun to surface up north. So I’m heading to the capital with this bunch of reprobates,” she jerked a thumb at Slipstream, “seeing as without someone sensible guiding the way, fates only know what trouble they’ll get into. Right, Seemy?”
The little Policebot managed a half-hearted smile. “I guess so.”
“I know so!” She gave him a quirky little affectionate look. “So, I’m taking a rig, and we’re going up to Stolica. Anyone who wants to come with me – yeah, Ausra, I took it as read you’d be coming – better get their gear stowed and ready to ship out in an hour or two. I can take about six of you, excluding Slipstream’s party, so if I get a rush, we’ll draw straws, a’right? Right…”
Danura caught her leader before the medusi could go to talk to Slipstream, and the fessine looked sorely peeved, arms folded defensively across her chest. “Hey, Rasa?” she groused, hostility glittering in her eyes. “I thought better of you than that.”
Rasa looked up at her, and offered an apologetic smile. “Yeah. I know,” she accepted, tiredly. “I should have talked to you about it. But this was sorta… spur-of-the-moment. Surprised myself with it, a bit. Never thought I trusted you that much!”
Danura pursed her lips. “That’s not funny, Rasa. I know I act stupid some of the time-”
“Most of the time.”
“-but I kinda hoped you’d give me a responsible role one of these days ‘cuz you wanted to. Not because you have to, and think I’m only good enough if I’m sharing with Art.”
“Don’t you want to do it?”
“I don’t know.” Danura gave her a lopsided look.
“Danny.” Rasa took both her friend’s hands in her own, and gave her a squeeze. “If you don’t want to do it, don’t do it. I’m not gonna be offended! I just thought it was better you took on the leadership together, as that way you and Art could support each other while I’m away.”
Danura looked down at her feet. “I don’t want you to go at all,” she admitted, softly.
“I’m not going forever, Sweetheart…”
“Might as well be.” Danura scuffed her toes against the dirt. “You’re only going because you want to see Daina, anyway.”
“I’m not only going because I want to see her,” Rasa argued, casting her eyes heavenwards. “I’m going because I want to help Seem. Seeing my sister is just a little bonus.”
Danura gave Slipstream a strange sort of look; as if she wasn’t sure if she should be resentful, or not. “Better damn well behave himself,” she groused, and finally headed off in search of Artur.
Slipstream watched her go, not sure if he should be hurt or confused and settling on being both. “What was that all about?”
Rasa looked back over her shoulder to watch the younger woman depart, and waved a hand. “It’s me she’s smarting about, don’t you worry,” she soothed.
Slipstream hrm-ed and stared at his feet. “Are you really going for my benefit?” he wondered. “Or was that just to calm Danura?”
Rasa lowered her voice. “A little of both,” she admitted. “I need to go see what’s going on up north, because there’s been rumours that a number of important sympathisers to our cause have been intentionally killed off. That same sort of ‘we’ll make it look like an accident, or self-defence’ trick my husband tried to pull. You know?”
Slipstream nodded, recalling what she’d told him. “So your sister’s a Denizen too? Did she join up because of you?”
“Kind of. Daina’s my sister-in-law,” Rasa corrected, with a sad smile. “She’s actually my ex-husband’s biological sister. He let things slip to her, and in turn she tipped me off about what he was planning, so I had half a heads-up when the police came a-calling.”
“So no, uh… family loyalty?” Slipstream gave her a wary look.
“Pff, loyalty, what’s that? He’d never once been loyal to her, did all kinds of things to her when she was young.” Rasa’s lip curled in a scornful smile. “So no. No loyalty in our family, when it comes to him.”
“But… why?”
“Why? Eh, easy. Daina’s fessine. Lowest of the low, prime breeding material.” The medusi snorted a disgusted laugh. “He’d been trying to get our Ma to get her married off to some rich city employee for years, to get with the babymaking. Thankfully, Mam’s not quite so hard, she said she’d only let her go if someone met her and wooed her properly, the old fashioned way. Of course, when all this blew up in our faces,” she spread her hands, “Daina had to skip to the sewers, anyway, to save her skin. Wouldn’t have mattered what she’d said, he’d have had her strung up by her ears regardless.”
Slipstream made a face, and automatically covered his antennae with his hands. He’d heard rumours (from his friend Sharpshins, back home) that it was particularly painful.
“She’s ok, anyway. Down below the city, it’s easier to be treated as a person, not as your gender. I think she prefers it, in a way.”
“So why is it you’re so keen to take me along?” Slipstream wondered, quietly. “If it’s for your sister that we’re going?”
“Well, see, that’s the thing. I’ve not had time to talk to you about it, but… There’s been some stories beginning to circulate. About a new product.”
“…and?” the mech prompted.
The laima smiled. “I think… I could be wrong, but I think… they might be talking about a creature like yourself.”
“…Lara!” He suddenly sat up a whole lot straighter.
“Now, we’re not a hundred percent sure on what the ‘creature’ is,” Rasa cautioned. “And we’re definitely not a hundred percent sure they have her somewhere we can get to, if it is her. But we’re definitely going to check it out while we’re up there.”
0o0o0o0o0
Celerity’s chronometer told her that her hurting mind had floundered through the murky silence of a destabilised cortex for several hours before she finally began to stir. After so long spent restabilising her core the last time she’d been overcome, it was oddly painful to do, this time around. She hoped she hadn’t ‘strained’ something – saved a bad code to her core memory, which would give her problems until she could get to a doctor.
She stirred, awkwardly; flickered her pale optics, tried to get them to focus, but-… no luck. All she could see was lots of gloomy static. Her head was floppy, too, as though her neck didn’t want to support it, so as her optics began the long, low process of rebooting and recalibrating, her first in-focus view was of the azure gleam of her eyes reflecting back off her own silver chest.
At last, she managed to lift her head, and… a chain clanked. The first shiver of anxiety strummed chilly fingers up her spinal complex. Was that just a coincidence? Come on, girl, arms up.
Nothing.
She jiggled her right arm and there was more of that quiet, barely-heard jingling. Same with her feet.
What had-… before she collapsed, where-… Slipstream? In the sewers, those creatures… No, no, there’d been things happen in between, hadn’t there? What was… what was it… she chased memory fragments around for a while, carefully sorting them back into chronological order… and immediately wished she hadn’t.
Madame Pabishka.
Of course, Celerity was ‘property’, now, wasn’t she? Pabishka’s property. The memory made her groan, piteously. You only have yourself to blame, Lara. You were the careless one. If you’d kept away from the sewers, like Seem had wanted in the first place, you’d still be together.
I wonder how he’s getting on? Her thoughts returned once more to her nephew. I hope he’s all right. Still on Firewire’s trail. She studied the damp wall opposite, sadly. I hope he’s not given up. Giving up wasn’t the usual Slipstream modus operandi, but he was definitely not operating at his peak, right now. If Mirii wasn’t there for emotional support – and she was more than just relieved that they had bumped into each other – he might well have had some sort of… ‘episode’. Like he did when Footloose had first gone missing. Not a pretty sight.
The collar, Celerity was half-relieved half-disturbed to find, was missing. Relieved, because that horrible collar was an uncomfortable hindrance, getting in the way of every movement she made with her head. Disturbed, because what if they’d given her something worse? What if… what if they’d decided to keep her in solitary, close confinement forever? At least she wasn’t claustrophobic, not like Slipstream’s family – his father would already be kicking up an awful racket, swearing and pleading and trying to kick his way out, and even Dack would be struggling to keep his head. Although that didn’t mean she wouldn’t end up claustrophobic, after this.
Her upper back hurt. Her diagnostics were still offline, so she wasn’t sure why it hurt, just that it did – she hadn’t fallen on her back, after all. Maybe they’d bumped or scratched it as they’d been manhandling her down here, wherever here was.
It was a sort of… narrow version of the Pit. No, not even so elaborate – just a long, narrow hole in the ground. Perhaps a large well, or a borehole. The top had been covered with a sort of translucent lid; daylight did filter through, and just brightly enough for her to be able to see where she was. Not that it inspired much hope. The brick walls were rough, slimy with years of algal growth, and two or three little viney ferns grew in crevices in the walls. Water dripped quietly down the sides and pooled at her feet, uncomfortably, pressing at her moisture seals, but even had her ankles not been restrained, she couldn’t have lifted her feet up out of the pool, because her knees would have bumped the wall. At least, she consoled herself, it wasn’t getting any deeper. Yet.
From somewhere above, an engine started up. Celerity lifted her gaze, curious in spite of her alarm, and watched as the lid crept back. The weather above was grim – she could hear rain falling, and the plink of water dripping from a great height, and the light that streamed into her prison was a murky, wintry grey.
The chains clanked again, and tightened round her – at first, she thought they were going to tighten enough to crush her, until she felt movement and realised that the device whose engine she could hear was in fact lifting her. She was being released! Oh, thank the holies, she could have cried. Even just a few minutes down there was uncomfortable misery.
She was only a fraction of the way out when the lift… stopped. “What’s hap-” was as far as she got before electric fingers closed on her vocaliser, and choked her back into silence.
The reasoning immediately became obvious as Pabishka strutted up, looking like she was struggling to restrain the foulest of tempers, her long, clawed toes clenching and digging grooves in the dirt. The two females were on the same level, could stand eye-to-eye.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you dismantled, right here and right now,” Pabishka snapped, shakily.
Celerity had plenty of reasons why not! But none, she sensed, that would soothe the angry medusi.
Pabishka’s eyes narrowed – but at least her voice softened. “I take it by your silence that you don’t have one.”
Celerity studied the ground, and quietly shook her head. “No, ma’am.” The words were painful to force out; No, I have no reason at all why you shouldn’t take me to pieces, like some faulty vehicle. At least, no reason you’d understand.
“I suppose it’s lucky for you that I don’t have any genuine desire to take you apart either,” Pabishka growled, pacing slowly around her. “Aside from the fact it’d help my temper! But it wouldn’t help my researchers.”
Celerity had to stall her vocaliser in her efforts not to protest. I’m not a lab specimen, either!
“I nearly had to congratulate you,” Pabishka said, quietly. Her voice had that sort of grim softness that Celerity recognised as a prelude to yelling. “You’re the first specimen who’s ever escaped from the Pit, and convincing my guards to let you out, that was impressive! Using the threat of their employer’s wrath to put the fear of the divine into them, that was very clever. But… then I remembered that even the stupidest of farm animals can surprise you if they feel threatened enough.”
“I’m not livestock,” Celerity pleaded, miserably.
“Silence!”
“Yes, ma’am-”
Pabishka interrupted her again, this time more softly, more obviously angry. “Silence.”
Won’t even let me apologise? Those same chilly fingers of anxiety stroked gently around her power core, making her energy field wobble, frightened.
“I wish I could feel happy with trusting you again, Celerity, but I don’t – no, can’t trust you. You lied to my staff and got away once before, I can never let that again.” Pabishka lifted a small control pad, like she’d used to control the collar. “We’ve had to take more drastic measures with security.”
The disorienting pain of electrical discharge flared in the four distracted hurt spots along her shoulders; Celerity squeaked in hurt and alarm and bucked, involuntarily, unable to lift her hand to the places it hurt. “Ow, ow, oh please oh stop!” she bleated, involuntarily. It felt like four solid rods of white-hot steel were pushing down on her core.
“The studs have been keyed to respond not only to the pad,” Pabishka explained, coldly, ignoring the prisoner’s pleas, needlessly twisting the controller a little further over, jerking a flurry of frantic tears from the large blue eyes, “but also to the perimeter. Attempt to leave again without express permission, and this is an, ah… sample… of what you’ll get. Understand me?”
The giant wrothe helplessly, unable to nod anywhere near as hard as she wanted to confirm her agreement.
Pabishka seemed satisfied, though, for now. She deactivated the studs, and Celerity sagged, pathetically, her fans roaring in an effort to drag enough cold air through her to soothe the pain.
“All right, put her back,” the laima snapped, sharply, waving an arm at the workers above. “Needs a little time alone to think about what she’s done wrong.”
Celerity glanced up at her, alarmed. Please, no!
“You will learn,” the medusi murmured, softly, crouching to watch as her victim sank slowly back into her silent prison, “that you do not make an idiot out of me, and you especially do not make an idiot out of me in front of my staff. And if I have to use more extreme measures to beat it into your thick metal head? So be it.”
“But I won’t, I won’t-!” Celerity shook her head, frantic.
“And a few months in solitary confinement should make sure of it,” Pabishka agreed, with a cruel smile. “We’ll let you out when we think you’ve learned your lesson.”
The crane’s claw finally unhooked from the chains, and withdrew, leaving Celerity standing in the cold, murky water in the bottom – still restrained, and a little deeper than before (at least, she hoped it was just deeper, and the well wasn’t flooding), but at least on her own two feet. The lid finally closed fully with a dull thud; not an echoing clang, just a thud, which made it seem all the tighter, down here – all the closer, narrower, deader.
And darker! She couldn’t even tell if it was the ‘collar studs’ implanted in her shoulders, a fault in her optic circuits, or just the fact that the well in which she was trapped was so beautifully sealed, not even a shred of light could get in. Even the glitter of her own optics seemed to have been swallowed up. All she was aware of was the fact that without her headlights, she was blind, completely and totally. And the dulling confines drank up every sound; it all felt flat and muffled, as if damping gel had been packed around her audio receptors. She almost felt the need to talk to herself, to make the silence a little less crippling.
Water plinked again, below her. Water itself was not an issue – being cold was not an issue, either. She by far preferred being cold to being hot, because heat made her run a high resistance, and made her circuits sluggish. A combination of both, and the protracted nature of it, did worry her a little. She wasn’t sure what her corrosion point was, and if the ‘water’ contained anything other than just water… well, she didn’t like to think what else Pabishka might have ordered put into it. The one comfort, that she clung to above all else, was that she knew the laima wanted her as a reference sample, and having legs corroded away beneath the hip joint meant studying them would be impossible.
Something touched her throat – she lit her headlights, alarmed, and promptly overloaded her visual circuits again. “Oww…” You stupid femme, Lara. You knew you’d recalibrated for the dark.
When she finally got her optics to reactivate, and cleared the static from her vision, she found that her impudent ‘visitor’ was one of the little ferns growing in a crevice in the wall, by her shoulder. It seemed to have grown bigger, unless that was her imagination (and that in itself wouldn’t have surprised her, given her current frame of mind) – perhaps it had grown, or at very least unrolled a little. Its long, narrow flower stalks were waving slowly in the air around her, like lots of little dark green mouths.
“What do you want?” she asked it, faintly, as the little meandering tendrils brushed gently across her chest, shoulder, down her arm.
It soon became apparent that the tendrils were attracted to the heat coming off her vents; when she kicked in her coolant system and the air ran cold, the fern waved confusedly for a moment or two, then retreated back to the slick walls. It’d probably come back, she knew. She had only so much strength, and she’d never be able to run her air conditioners for a whole month without refuelling – cold fusion was efficient, but not that efficient – so by the time they let her out, if they let her out, she undoubtedly be covered in those annoying little fronds.
She closed her eyes and closed off the sensors in her lower body, to get away from the distracting, unpleasant cold. She felt ashamed for her stupid behaviour – had she really thought she could actually escape? – and didn’t want to have to face Wen again. She knew the little female wouldn’t say ‘I told you so’, and in a way that was worse. She wanted to be shouted at, so she’d have an actual excuse to wallow in pity – not just be all stupid and melodramatic about it.
Will they stay angry with me for very long? she wondered, in a sort of audible daydream, as if addressing her friend via her thoughts.
Angry? Maybe not. But they didn’t like the fact that you escaped, Celerity, ‘Wen’ answered, promptly. They’re not going to give you many more chances like the last one.
Of course, it was so simple, even ‘Wen’ – or her conscience, or whoever this little daydream voice was – didn’t even have to think about it. The real Wen would probably say the same thing. A thinly veiled ‘you’re a moron, Lara. Even for just thinking it.’
Then I’ll have to just terminate myself, won’t I? she heard herself say, as though it were the most normal thing in the world. To escape a torturer, kill yourself before they get the chance.
Oh Lara, no, no no! Wen clutched at her friend’s hands; dream Wen had either grown, or Celerity had shrunk, because the two females were now pretty much the same size. Killing yourself is never an option. No-one’s life is so worthless that they should throw it away like that!
So I’m worthless, now. It’s good to hear the confirmation from someone else.
You know that’s not what was meant. Wen mantled an arm across her shoulders. You’re not worthless, and you certainly deserve more good in your life. Throwing away your promise because you’ve hit a bump in the road?
This isn’t just a bump in the road. It’s a bump in me. And I want it to go away. Celerity sat down on the squashy heap of pillows, cradling her stomach; the big, wet tears that rolled from her eyes plopped like heavy drops of mercury onto her swollen frame. I don’t want this, she pleaded, shaking her head. I can’t live like this. I can’t.
Wen sat beside her, and took one shaking blue hand into her own. I know you don’t want it, she soothed. And I’d take it away for you, if I could, but you know that’s not on the cards. You have to get used to it, Lara. You’re their prize specimen. If you fight it, you’re only making it needlessly difficult for yourself. Accept it, and it’ll be easier. You might even learn to love your little ones.
I could love them easily, she wept. If I weren’t forced to walk around like a water-balloon, full of babies I have no choice over carrying. How can I love something I’m forced to bear? Artificially sparked like some… some prize cow.
It won’t be forever, Lara-
It will be forever, unless I get myself out of here. Unless I end all this, myself. She closed both fingers around the piece of metal laying discarded by her feet, and traced the sharp tip over the curve of her belly. If I have to cut them out myself, I will.
Lara, please. Wen leaped for her, circled her with her arms, trying to trap the blade away. Nothing is worth this. Nothing! Are you listening?
Celerity struggled, but her strength was… just… gone, along with everything else. No strength, no size, not even any freaking dignity, any more.
If I have to, I’ll hold you like this until you come to your senses, the voice from behind said, but it wasn’t Wen any more. Big, heavy and excessively powerful, Pabishka had turned into one of those monsters in the shadows; she was now not only stronger than her prey, but bigger than her, too. You stupid little fessine. This is how it’s been since time immemorial. You have no rights, no say in how things are run, and no worth outside of as a nice, cosy little tank for making babies in. Her hand dropped firmly onto the swollen mass in front of them. Got that?
-Celerity blinked, drowsily. It was almost as if a gauzy curtain had been pulled across the front of her eyes; the whole world had a dreamy, soft-focus about it. Not a big hole in the ground – where had that thought even come from? – but a nice cosy clean room. She sat propped up in bed on a heap of pillows, in a quiet corner of the room, watching as the doctors and nurses moved about like wraiths in the distance, behind her curtain of drugged sleep. Fragments of speech filtered through the damping gel that seemed to be packed into her audio receptors – stable at the moment… no active problems… the others seem to like her… Ardent’s still on suicide watch just in case… will repair the damage as soon as she’s not a risk… - but most of it remained a low, lulling murmur in the background. Pleasant, but soporific. Comforting. Cosy, almost.
The room had a bright but chilly austerity about it, with its white walls, its pale green curtains, and glittering chrome fittings. The big window at the end of the bay looked out over her brightly sunlit home district, and she felt a pang of longing, deep inside herself. Oh! To be home now… Six berths accommodated six femmes, herself included; three along each side of the room. Three were asleep, one was watching television, headphones pressed down over her audios, and the last – a delicate little silver-blue creature, directly opposite Celerity – was sitting up in bed, reading a magazine. She met the bigger femme’s gaze and smiled, wiggled her fingers in a little wave.
Celerity went to wave back, and made her first discovery of the day.
Her wrists had been cuffed to the bedrails, and her ankles similarly pinioned at the far end. For a moment, she just stared, baffled, then tugged on her left hand, clanking them, experimentally. The material was dense and very heavy; she could barely lift her hand from the crisp white sheets she lay on. Or was that just all the sedation they’d pumped into her?
She cast a pleading look at the doctor standing to one side, checking her harmonic. “What’s going on?” She felt so dull, so sluggish. Doctor? Where was she? Why was she here? Was she ill?
The doctor glanced up and smiled, reassuringly. He looked eerily like Whitesides, even down to the traditional police blue and yellow chequers under his smart white coat, although she sort of knew her friend didn’t really have the smarts to make it as a doctor. “Hello, Celerity,” he replied, ignoring her question. “How are you feeling today?”
Celerity looked back down at her arms, and jingled the chain. “…confused.”
“That’s understandable. You had a very rough day, yesterday!” He reached out one small hand, and folded it gently around her fingers. “But you seem to be through the worst of it.”
“…will you take these off me?”
“We can’t let you go,” the doctor apologised, softly, cupping her cheek and gently using the pad of his thumb to stroke her, gently . “Not until you’ve proven you’re not a threat to yourself any more.”
“But I’m not a threat… to… myself…” she began to protest, but the doctor’s hand had already dropped lower to stroke gently across her scored paintwork – caressing the thick, gouged lines that bit through enamel and substructure, that somehow she knew she’d been responsible for. Over almost every inch of her surface, but concentrated mostly over her broad chest, as though someone had tried frantically to get through to her power core. Raw, unoxidised metal glowed fresh in the gashes.
“-…is this-…”
“I’m sorry, Lara. We thought we might lose you, yesterday. Ardent found you just in time.” He gave her a sad smile. “She said you’d told her you were… what was it… ‘trying to cut the damaged parts out.’”
The words felt right, but at the same time felt wrong. Not something she should say. “He might still love me if I wasn’t full of all this dead stuff,” she murmured, beaten.
“He does still love you, Celerity. These… ‘dead things’… it’s all a creation of your subconscious.” He stroked the back of her hand. “I know losing your child was hard. I know you blamed yourself for it. But you’ll get over it, in time, and quicker if you just let us help you.”
“My chest hurts,” she pleaded, weakly, closing her hands into fists and struggling against the cuffs. “Please, let me go.” She wanted to touch the spot of hurt, nurse it better with her fingertips, but couldn’t. “I just-… just want…”
“I know. It’s a sensor ghost, love,” the technician said, briefly touching their cheeks together. “I’ll go see if the Head will let me give you a painkiller, all right?”
She watched him go, brushing out through the scuffed old doors, his dirty white coat flapping in his wake, and winced and shifted her shoulders, uncomfortably. If only there was someone else here to talk to, not just all these rusted old beds covered in dusty tarpaulins, the ground around them spotted with crystals of long-dried fuel. The long strips of corrugated iron roofing that formed the high ceiling were punctuated with a staccato series of holes, through which muddy daylight shone. The rustling, hissing sound was presumably rain – she could hear the occasional high plink of droplets of water falling from a great height in the distance.
Didn’t like it here. She shrank back into her heap of fusty old pillows, trying to ignore the long, dull ache in her chest. It was a difficult, grumpy sort of pain, though – never eased enough to let her get comfortable, never faded enough that she could ignore it… She tugged on her cuffs again, but the leaden material just clanked, heavily.
For several long minutes she just sat there on her blanket, waiting. Had they forgotten about her? Maybe they’d abandoned her here, after all. A broken-down old warehouse for broken-down old machines that had outlived their purpose. She wished she could have at least been allowed to say goodbye to Dack, to say goodbye and apologise for being such a pathetic failure.
Maybe she could ask to use their radio? There was one on a rickety old table in a pool of sunlight only a few strides from here. Might not work, sure, but it was worth a try! All she had to do was release the lock on these rusty old cuffs… so… needed something long, and thin…
She gave her head a good whack against the rail alongside the pallet, and as she’d predicted, two of her antennae dropped onto the blanket. Poor little aerials – their bases were all crumbly and oxidised, ‘rotten’, and she barely felt them come away. She leaned forwards a little, picked up the longer aerial between her denta, and inserted the tip into the keyhole, carefully.
The lock felt… gritty, inside. Rusty. And her rotten antennae just bent with even the gentle pressure she was applying to it. Stupid body, were you made substandard? She frowned, and persevered for a little longer, until the old metal sensor finally corroded right away, leaving only a gluey, tarry black corrosive residue in the lock.
She stared at it for a few more disappointed seconds, as if hoping to scare the manacle into spontaneously clicking open, then sighed, sadly, and returned to her laying position. Rain still hissed against the roof – sounded like the soft static of despair – and a raindrop squeezed through the broken corrugations and splashed down on the centre of her chest-
It was like being suddenly doused in boiling acid, or having a javelin rammed all the way through her, not caring what it punctured on the way. She arched her back against the old mattress, and made stuttering, incoherent pleading noises in pain; let me go let me go oh please it hurts so much I want to curl up and let it consume me. Broken springs – or were they nails? – poked through the worthless fabric and scratched more gouges through her paintwork, and the chains clanked and tightened as she jerked against them-
“Help me-!” she pleaded, in a brief lull in the hurt. “Oh please oh help me-!”
The doctors closed in around her – looking more like recycling technicians than medics, now. Four- six- no, eight big, unfriendly-looking mechs, hard-faced, grim-lipped, they encircled the slatted pallet and held her steady against the ruined wood.
“Don’t worry,” the one at her right shoulder reassured, gently. “We’ll get you out of there, darling. You just let us work!”
“But this-… this is… me-“ Celerity managed to get the protest out before pain choked her words off again.
She watched – with a mixed horror and dismay – as the ninth doctor advanced brandishing a hooked, bladelike implement. She squirmed, but the eight weighed her limbs down as though each machine was crafted from sentient blocks of lead.
The blade came down in the centre of her chest; the tough metal yielded as easily as though it were the skin of a soft fruit, or a stick of warm butter. The surgeon/recycling tech yanked back and forth on the device and cut a rough line all the way from her abdomen to the top of her chest, shredding metal, tearing up great pointed shards that threatened upwards, like claws-…
She groaned, unheard, feeling fuel from ruptured piping coming up like bile to fill her mouth. She lifted her head and spat it out, another wine-red crystal among the other thousands scattered across the floor.
The shrieking torment of a crying infant reached her audios – she watched, wide-eyed but somehow not surprised, as the ninth mech finished peeling her chest open like an old food can, and gently removed the squalling infant. A weird gelatinous pale blue fluid dripped away from it in big, unappealing clots; some sort of… of birthing fluid, to surround and protect it while it grew inside her.
The baby hesitated in its squalling when it finally met the doctor’s eyes, and the distressed noises faded into a curious, and almost happy coo. The doctor smiled and swaddled it in a towel, carrying it away, all snuggled up to his chest. Happy gurgling followed him away.
…Fuel continued to pool and drip around Celerity like a lake of crimson gemstones. The doctors weren’t paying her any attention – just looking at the ninth, and the baby, and smiling to each other. Was that it? Was she… doomed to lay here, to bleed out until her pumps ran dry in the middle of an old warehouse, a spent cocoon for a larval machine, a withered old husk discarded by the parasite that had grown silently inside?
“Shouldn’t-… shouldn’t you-…” Her words were difficult to twist into any understandable form, they were just… grinding static, or… broken cogs, skidding over each other. “Please, I’m-… I can’t-…”
“Can’t what? I shouldn’t?” the right-shoulder ‘doctor’ questioned, leaning down towards her face and shouting, as though she were just another stupid domestic food animal. “Shouldn’t I?”
“Chest-…” she wheezed, fluid bubbling around her vocaliser. “Chest…!” She flapped a hand, unable to gather the strength to lift it all the way to her ruined chassis. “Broke-… broken-…”
“This?” He brushed a hand over the broken claws of metal jutting up from the gaping wound. “Very untidy. What a mess! We can’t sell you looking like that.” Casually, he folded the edges back closed, standing on top of her with both feet flat against her chassis, and dabbed black, tarry glue across the broken edges, crudely sealing her armour closed. “That’ll do for now.”
They helped her sit, shakily; in spite of the knowledge that the broken lines were all still spilling out fuel into her chest cavity, she felt… okay, actually. A bit congested, like her vents were full of glue, but better than she had felt before. The constricting pain was gone. Had been gone since the baby was removed. That was a relief! Maybe that was all it had been? It was telling her it wanted to get out.
The doctor approached, warily, a blanket-wrapped bundle in his hands, and held it out to her. She couldn’t get her arms to function, at first, then jerkily accepted the bundle of cloth and held it closer-
The infant – a tiny, beautiful female, with the biggest blue eyes and an adorable smile – cuddled up against her chest and clicked affectionately.
She felt an immediate flush of happiness; they’d torn her apart and left her still bleeding out – how had she even got this much fuel inside her? – but given her the most beautiful little gift. The infant had a strong harmonic, and her static envelope harmonised beautifully with her own-…
“My baby girl,” she crooned, softly, caressing the tiny head that rested on her welted chassis. She could sense the little harmonic inside the newborn’s chest, and it felt… familiar. Almost like… like Dack’s gentle, protective aura. “You’re so beautiful.”
The infant clicked happily and nuzzled at her. The response was nonverbal, and were more of an impression than anything in actual words, but she understood it perfectly. I love you, Ama.
“I love you too, Spark,” she whispered, softly, ignoring the low pain in her chassis. “You beautiful, beautiful little thing.” She winced and stiffened at another little shiver of pain.
The baby clicked anxiously and rubbed cheeks… then quirked her little head over to one side and chirped, dabbled her little fingers into the fuel still oozing slowly from the rents in Celerity’s chest. What this, Ama?
“That’s-… that’s bad-… stuff, little one,” Celerity shuddered the words out, brokenly. Her chassis was constricted, heavy-… Like a balloon full of water, and still the fuel was flowing out of the hundred thousand broken lines inside her. Pressure rising. Fans flooded.
The baby clicked, and licked her fingers. Energy. Nice! Approval – and an unsettling sense of like / want / need – flowed across their bond.
Celerity shifted, uneasily, and struggled to send no / bad / wrong back across the bond, but hungry came back and more loudly than she herself could broadcast. The infant had already wriggled free of the cradling fingers, and was licking curiously at the spots of fuel that had oozed around the haphazard solder to the surface.
“Please don’t-… don’t do that-…” she pleaded, trying to catch the tiny hands, but the baby was still slippery with birthing fluid, and impossible to catch as she pulled energetically at the welds. “Please, Spark-… don’t-… that hurts-… We’ll find-… find you some-… something else…”
The tiny creature ignored her, pulling excitedly at the remains of the flimsy armour, licking at the fuel that leaked out, like some neophyte mechanical vampire. Hungry, Ama. I have this! Feel better! Fuel wasn’t so much oozing as dribbling, now, running out in a thin, steady stream.
Celerity plucked the infant off herself, feebly. “Stop that,” she told her, sternly, but her voice was shaky. “Stop hurting me.”
The infant gave a squall of anger and bared her little denta. Angry / denied / defiance flashed over the bond, then love / please / hungry / sad. The little spark was so openly distressed, big wet tears spilling down her face, that Celerity instantly felt bad for denying her. But she couldn’t drink this, she had-… had to get… pure, fresh, new fuel…
“Doc-… doctor?” she croaked. “Can you get-… get me something-… for the baby? She’s hungry-
The technicians all clustered behind her, peered over her shoulders, and cooed and admired the infant.
“Fuel,” Celerity reminded. “She’s hungry. Needs-… needs fuel.”
Of course, of course, they all responded. Collectively, they guided Celerity back down onto the pallet, murmuring about how the baby must be given the best chance to survive.
“Not me-…!” she protested, struggling. “Get new. New!”
But they were sitting on her arms, and she couldn’t free herself, and as the baby continued its unwholesome first meal, a sort of… resignation slowly began to take hold of her. This was how it worked, here. She shouldn’t fight it. It was what she knew would happen, what she had agreed to accept when she first allowed the harmonic to bud off from her own. Mother carried the baby until it was born, and then it consumed her remains as its first meal.
She just… wished she could have spent more time with it. It had already fastened its tiny lips around the largest rent in the metal, and was suckling energetically. It wasn’t just lapping up spilled drops, any more, it was actively stealing her own essential fluids out of her. The tiny body seemed no barrier to it taking every last drop she contained…
Love you Ama, came that noncorporeal voice, accompanied by another pulse of happiness. And – thank the powers – alongside the love / bliss / thanks there came sated / full.
Celerity flopped her hands against the pallet, shakily, and the doctors somehow knew what she want. They helped her sit, and guiding her hands up to cradle the tiny form on her chest, still sucking her dry.
“I love you, my little one,” the brutalised femme creaked, and was greeted by the biggest, most adoring smile she’d ever seen – marred by the ruby-painted lips, still dripping fuel… before her primary pump ran dry and stalled in her chest. A second or two of blissful silence elapsed before a slug of pain shot through her, the hardest and most violent kick she’d experienced thusfar, and-
Everything went black. Black, and silent, and-
She gave a start, engine revving up in alarm and her fans coughing out great clouds of frightened heat. It took a minute or two of in-depth sensor scans to convince herself of what her primary senses were telling her, but finally she worked out that the blackness was not because she was dead, but just because it was night… time…
She was back in the Pit. She checked her chronometer, wondering if she’d somehow slept through all those months, and it reported back that an hour or two at most had passed. She sagged against her bonds, palpably relieved.
She hadn’t been hacked to pieces. Her chest still showed the tiny scratchmarks where they’d roughly sanded her enamel off, and where she’d scored it in her efforts to escape, but no deep glittering gouges. Her chest hurt because she was running a high resistance and her harmonic was constricted. The hissing static and running, flooding fuel was just the fizz of rain against the upper security field, and the drip of water down the sides of the Pit. And somewhere in the distance, an infant wailed, miserably; a soft male voice was crooning to it, low and comforting.
…she was still in one piece. A little scuffed about, and fastened securely back into her scaffold, but still in one piece.
Her alarmed awakening had apparently woken her friend, as well, because Wen’s kind voice spoke from close to her audio. “Hey, hey, Lara? You all right?” Seemed the little femme had taken up her usual spot on the giantess’ shoulder as soon as they’d brought her back.
“Bad-… bad dream.” Celerity staggered over the words. She wasn’t really supposed to have dreams – none of her kind did. ‘Sleeping’ was a time for mental housekeeping, defragmenting, removing irrelevant data and storing the useful bits. So where this horrible nightmare had come from, she wasn’t sure. She’d have to ask Sepp, when she got home, she resolved…
…when she got home. Some hope of that. Tried once, and blew it. They wouldn’t ever let her off her leash any more. Stupid Celerity, always over-reacting… She was shaking, she realised; a steady beat of motor twitches all the way from her feet to the top of her head. She lowered her head and felt the cold caress of a teardrop sliding along the side of her nose.
That was enough to break her composure; the stoic face creased into a moue of distress and the tears started in earnest. And she couldn’t even damn well wipe them off, not with her arms still anchored in place…! Frustration made them flow harder.
Wen stroked her antennae, gently. “Hush-a-bye, love,” she soothed, like one might speak to a frightened child, using her long prehensile tail to dab a cloth over her friend’s face. “No-one’s going to hurt you. It was only a bad dream. We all have them, and they can’t hurt us.”
“I know that,” Celerity mewed, shakily, fans stuttering. “I just… I wuh-want to go huh-home.”
“I know. I’m going to make sure you do, too. You just need to keep it together for me for a little longer, Sweetie, all right?”
62915 / 80000 words. 79% done!
A flurry of nods answered her question.
“Right, good! First up, we’re going to have a little, ah, ‘leadership reshuffle’. Now, I know I’m going to regret this, but…” She took a second to rub her temples, as if in preparation. “Art? Danny? You two are in charge for a while, all right?”
The two stood up, startled. “What?” the spur challenged, surprised. “In-in charge-... what? What about you?”
The Denizens’ reluctant leader gave them a tired smile. “Daina tipped me off about some, ah… rumours, you could say… that have begun to surface up north. So I’m heading to the capital with this bunch of reprobates,” she jerked a thumb at Slipstream, “seeing as without someone sensible guiding the way, fates only know what trouble they’ll get into. Right, Seemy?”
The little Policebot managed a half-hearted smile. “I guess so.”
“I know so!” She gave him a quirky little affectionate look. “So, I’m taking a rig, and we’re going up to Stolica. Anyone who wants to come with me – yeah, Ausra, I took it as read you’d be coming – better get their gear stowed and ready to ship out in an hour or two. I can take about six of you, excluding Slipstream’s party, so if I get a rush, we’ll draw straws, a’right? Right…”
Danura caught her leader before the medusi could go to talk to Slipstream, and the fessine looked sorely peeved, arms folded defensively across her chest. “Hey, Rasa?” she groused, hostility glittering in her eyes. “I thought better of you than that.”
Rasa looked up at her, and offered an apologetic smile. “Yeah. I know,” she accepted, tiredly. “I should have talked to you about it. But this was sorta… spur-of-the-moment. Surprised myself with it, a bit. Never thought I trusted you that much!”
Danura pursed her lips. “That’s not funny, Rasa. I know I act stupid some of the time-”
“Most of the time.”
“-but I kinda hoped you’d give me a responsible role one of these days ‘cuz you wanted to. Not because you have to, and think I’m only good enough if I’m sharing with Art.”
“Don’t you want to do it?”
“I don’t know.” Danura gave her a lopsided look.
“Danny.” Rasa took both her friend’s hands in her own, and gave her a squeeze. “If you don’t want to do it, don’t do it. I’m not gonna be offended! I just thought it was better you took on the leadership together, as that way you and Art could support each other while I’m away.”
Danura looked down at her feet. “I don’t want you to go at all,” she admitted, softly.
“I’m not going forever, Sweetheart…”
“Might as well be.” Danura scuffed her toes against the dirt. “You’re only going because you want to see Daina, anyway.”
“I’m not only going because I want to see her,” Rasa argued, casting her eyes heavenwards. “I’m going because I want to help Seem. Seeing my sister is just a little bonus.”
Danura gave Slipstream a strange sort of look; as if she wasn’t sure if she should be resentful, or not. “Better damn well behave himself,” she groused, and finally headed off in search of Artur.
Slipstream watched her go, not sure if he should be hurt or confused and settling on being both. “What was that all about?”
Rasa looked back over her shoulder to watch the younger woman depart, and waved a hand. “It’s me she’s smarting about, don’t you worry,” she soothed.
Slipstream hrm-ed and stared at his feet. “Are you really going for my benefit?” he wondered. “Or was that just to calm Danura?”
Rasa lowered her voice. “A little of both,” she admitted. “I need to go see what’s going on up north, because there’s been rumours that a number of important sympathisers to our cause have been intentionally killed off. That same sort of ‘we’ll make it look like an accident, or self-defence’ trick my husband tried to pull. You know?”
Slipstream nodded, recalling what she’d told him. “So your sister’s a Denizen too? Did she join up because of you?”
“Kind of. Daina’s my sister-in-law,” Rasa corrected, with a sad smile. “She’s actually my ex-husband’s biological sister. He let things slip to her, and in turn she tipped me off about what he was planning, so I had half a heads-up when the police came a-calling.”
“So no, uh… family loyalty?” Slipstream gave her a wary look.
“Pff, loyalty, what’s that? He’d never once been loyal to her, did all kinds of things to her when she was young.” Rasa’s lip curled in a scornful smile. “So no. No loyalty in our family, when it comes to him.”
“But… why?”
“Why? Eh, easy. Daina’s fessine. Lowest of the low, prime breeding material.” The medusi snorted a disgusted laugh. “He’d been trying to get our Ma to get her married off to some rich city employee for years, to get with the babymaking. Thankfully, Mam’s not quite so hard, she said she’d only let her go if someone met her and wooed her properly, the old fashioned way. Of course, when all this blew up in our faces,” she spread her hands, “Daina had to skip to the sewers, anyway, to save her skin. Wouldn’t have mattered what she’d said, he’d have had her strung up by her ears regardless.”
Slipstream made a face, and automatically covered his antennae with his hands. He’d heard rumours (from his friend Sharpshins, back home) that it was particularly painful.
“She’s ok, anyway. Down below the city, it’s easier to be treated as a person, not as your gender. I think she prefers it, in a way.”
“So why is it you’re so keen to take me along?” Slipstream wondered, quietly. “If it’s for your sister that we’re going?”
“Well, see, that’s the thing. I’ve not had time to talk to you about it, but… There’s been some stories beginning to circulate. About a new product.”
“…and?” the mech prompted.
The laima smiled. “I think… I could be wrong, but I think… they might be talking about a creature like yourself.”
“…Lara!” He suddenly sat up a whole lot straighter.
“Now, we’re not a hundred percent sure on what the ‘creature’ is,” Rasa cautioned. “And we’re definitely not a hundred percent sure they have her somewhere we can get to, if it is her. But we’re definitely going to check it out while we’re up there.”
Celerity’s chronometer told her that her hurting mind had floundered through the murky silence of a destabilised cortex for several hours before she finally began to stir. After so long spent restabilising her core the last time she’d been overcome, it was oddly painful to do, this time around. She hoped she hadn’t ‘strained’ something – saved a bad code to her core memory, which would give her problems until she could get to a doctor.
She stirred, awkwardly; flickered her pale optics, tried to get them to focus, but-… no luck. All she could see was lots of gloomy static. Her head was floppy, too, as though her neck didn’t want to support it, so as her optics began the long, low process of rebooting and recalibrating, her first in-focus view was of the azure gleam of her eyes reflecting back off her own silver chest.
At last, she managed to lift her head, and… a chain clanked. The first shiver of anxiety strummed chilly fingers up her spinal complex. Was that just a coincidence? Come on, girl, arms up.
Nothing.
She jiggled her right arm and there was more of that quiet, barely-heard jingling. Same with her feet.
What had-… before she collapsed, where-… Slipstream? In the sewers, those creatures… No, no, there’d been things happen in between, hadn’t there? What was… what was it… she chased memory fragments around for a while, carefully sorting them back into chronological order… and immediately wished she hadn’t.
Madame Pabishka.
Of course, Celerity was ‘property’, now, wasn’t she? Pabishka’s property. The memory made her groan, piteously. You only have yourself to blame, Lara. You were the careless one. If you’d kept away from the sewers, like Seem had wanted in the first place, you’d still be together.
I wonder how he’s getting on? Her thoughts returned once more to her nephew. I hope he’s all right. Still on Firewire’s trail. She studied the damp wall opposite, sadly. I hope he’s not given up. Giving up wasn’t the usual Slipstream modus operandi, but he was definitely not operating at his peak, right now. If Mirii wasn’t there for emotional support – and she was more than just relieved that they had bumped into each other – he might well have had some sort of… ‘episode’. Like he did when Footloose had first gone missing. Not a pretty sight.
The collar, Celerity was half-relieved half-disturbed to find, was missing. Relieved, because that horrible collar was an uncomfortable hindrance, getting in the way of every movement she made with her head. Disturbed, because what if they’d given her something worse? What if… what if they’d decided to keep her in solitary, close confinement forever? At least she wasn’t claustrophobic, not like Slipstream’s family – his father would already be kicking up an awful racket, swearing and pleading and trying to kick his way out, and even Dack would be struggling to keep his head. Although that didn’t mean she wouldn’t end up claustrophobic, after this.
Her upper back hurt. Her diagnostics were still offline, so she wasn’t sure why it hurt, just that it did – she hadn’t fallen on her back, after all. Maybe they’d bumped or scratched it as they’d been manhandling her down here, wherever here was.
It was a sort of… narrow version of the Pit. No, not even so elaborate – just a long, narrow hole in the ground. Perhaps a large well, or a borehole. The top had been covered with a sort of translucent lid; daylight did filter through, and just brightly enough for her to be able to see where she was. Not that it inspired much hope. The brick walls were rough, slimy with years of algal growth, and two or three little viney ferns grew in crevices in the walls. Water dripped quietly down the sides and pooled at her feet, uncomfortably, pressing at her moisture seals, but even had her ankles not been restrained, she couldn’t have lifted her feet up out of the pool, because her knees would have bumped the wall. At least, she consoled herself, it wasn’t getting any deeper. Yet.
From somewhere above, an engine started up. Celerity lifted her gaze, curious in spite of her alarm, and watched as the lid crept back. The weather above was grim – she could hear rain falling, and the plink of water dripping from a great height, and the light that streamed into her prison was a murky, wintry grey.
The chains clanked again, and tightened round her – at first, she thought they were going to tighten enough to crush her, until she felt movement and realised that the device whose engine she could hear was in fact lifting her. She was being released! Oh, thank the holies, she could have cried. Even just a few minutes down there was uncomfortable misery.
She was only a fraction of the way out when the lift… stopped. “What’s hap-” was as far as she got before electric fingers closed on her vocaliser, and choked her back into silence.
The reasoning immediately became obvious as Pabishka strutted up, looking like she was struggling to restrain the foulest of tempers, her long, clawed toes clenching and digging grooves in the dirt. The two females were on the same level, could stand eye-to-eye.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you dismantled, right here and right now,” Pabishka snapped, shakily.
Celerity had plenty of reasons why not! But none, she sensed, that would soothe the angry medusi.
Pabishka’s eyes narrowed – but at least her voice softened. “I take it by your silence that you don’t have one.”
Celerity studied the ground, and quietly shook her head. “No, ma’am.” The words were painful to force out; No, I have no reason at all why you shouldn’t take me to pieces, like some faulty vehicle. At least, no reason you’d understand.
“I suppose it’s lucky for you that I don’t have any genuine desire to take you apart either,” Pabishka growled, pacing slowly around her. “Aside from the fact it’d help my temper! But it wouldn’t help my researchers.”
Celerity had to stall her vocaliser in her efforts not to protest. I’m not a lab specimen, either!
“I nearly had to congratulate you,” Pabishka said, quietly. Her voice had that sort of grim softness that Celerity recognised as a prelude to yelling. “You’re the first specimen who’s ever escaped from the Pit, and convincing my guards to let you out, that was impressive! Using the threat of their employer’s wrath to put the fear of the divine into them, that was very clever. But… then I remembered that even the stupidest of farm animals can surprise you if they feel threatened enough.”
“I’m not livestock,” Celerity pleaded, miserably.
“Silence!”
“Yes, ma’am-”
Pabishka interrupted her again, this time more softly, more obviously angry. “Silence.”
Won’t even let me apologise? Those same chilly fingers of anxiety stroked gently around her power core, making her energy field wobble, frightened.
“I wish I could feel happy with trusting you again, Celerity, but I don’t – no, can’t trust you. You lied to my staff and got away once before, I can never let that again.” Pabishka lifted a small control pad, like she’d used to control the collar. “We’ve had to take more drastic measures with security.”
The disorienting pain of electrical discharge flared in the four distracted hurt spots along her shoulders; Celerity squeaked in hurt and alarm and bucked, involuntarily, unable to lift her hand to the places it hurt. “Ow, ow, oh please oh stop!” she bleated, involuntarily. It felt like four solid rods of white-hot steel were pushing down on her core.
“The studs have been keyed to respond not only to the pad,” Pabishka explained, coldly, ignoring the prisoner’s pleas, needlessly twisting the controller a little further over, jerking a flurry of frantic tears from the large blue eyes, “but also to the perimeter. Attempt to leave again without express permission, and this is an, ah… sample… of what you’ll get. Understand me?”
The giant wrothe helplessly, unable to nod anywhere near as hard as she wanted to confirm her agreement.
Pabishka seemed satisfied, though, for now. She deactivated the studs, and Celerity sagged, pathetically, her fans roaring in an effort to drag enough cold air through her to soothe the pain.
“All right, put her back,” the laima snapped, sharply, waving an arm at the workers above. “Needs a little time alone to think about what she’s done wrong.”
Celerity glanced up at her, alarmed. Please, no!
“You will learn,” the medusi murmured, softly, crouching to watch as her victim sank slowly back into her silent prison, “that you do not make an idiot out of me, and you especially do not make an idiot out of me in front of my staff. And if I have to use more extreme measures to beat it into your thick metal head? So be it.”
“But I won’t, I won’t-!” Celerity shook her head, frantic.
“And a few months in solitary confinement should make sure of it,” Pabishka agreed, with a cruel smile. “We’ll let you out when we think you’ve learned your lesson.”
The crane’s claw finally unhooked from the chains, and withdrew, leaving Celerity standing in the cold, murky water in the bottom – still restrained, and a little deeper than before (at least, she hoped it was just deeper, and the well wasn’t flooding), but at least on her own two feet. The lid finally closed fully with a dull thud; not an echoing clang, just a thud, which made it seem all the tighter, down here – all the closer, narrower, deader.
And darker! She couldn’t even tell if it was the ‘collar studs’ implanted in her shoulders, a fault in her optic circuits, or just the fact that the well in which she was trapped was so beautifully sealed, not even a shred of light could get in. Even the glitter of her own optics seemed to have been swallowed up. All she was aware of was the fact that without her headlights, she was blind, completely and totally. And the dulling confines drank up every sound; it all felt flat and muffled, as if damping gel had been packed around her audio receptors. She almost felt the need to talk to herself, to make the silence a little less crippling.
Water plinked again, below her. Water itself was not an issue – being cold was not an issue, either. She by far preferred being cold to being hot, because heat made her run a high resistance, and made her circuits sluggish. A combination of both, and the protracted nature of it, did worry her a little. She wasn’t sure what her corrosion point was, and if the ‘water’ contained anything other than just water… well, she didn’t like to think what else Pabishka might have ordered put into it. The one comfort, that she clung to above all else, was that she knew the laima wanted her as a reference sample, and having legs corroded away beneath the hip joint meant studying them would be impossible.
Something touched her throat – she lit her headlights, alarmed, and promptly overloaded her visual circuits again. “Oww…” You stupid femme, Lara. You knew you’d recalibrated for the dark.
When she finally got her optics to reactivate, and cleared the static from her vision, she found that her impudent ‘visitor’ was one of the little ferns growing in a crevice in the wall, by her shoulder. It seemed to have grown bigger, unless that was her imagination (and that in itself wouldn’t have surprised her, given her current frame of mind) – perhaps it had grown, or at very least unrolled a little. Its long, narrow flower stalks were waving slowly in the air around her, like lots of little dark green mouths.
“What do you want?” she asked it, faintly, as the little meandering tendrils brushed gently across her chest, shoulder, down her arm.
It soon became apparent that the tendrils were attracted to the heat coming off her vents; when she kicked in her coolant system and the air ran cold, the fern waved confusedly for a moment or two, then retreated back to the slick walls. It’d probably come back, she knew. She had only so much strength, and she’d never be able to run her air conditioners for a whole month without refuelling – cold fusion was efficient, but not that efficient – so by the time they let her out, if they let her out, she undoubtedly be covered in those annoying little fronds.
She closed her eyes and closed off the sensors in her lower body, to get away from the distracting, unpleasant cold. She felt ashamed for her stupid behaviour – had she really thought she could actually escape? – and didn’t want to have to face Wen again. She knew the little female wouldn’t say ‘I told you so’, and in a way that was worse. She wanted to be shouted at, so she’d have an actual excuse to wallow in pity – not just be all stupid and melodramatic about it.
Will they stay angry with me for very long? she wondered, in a sort of audible daydream, as if addressing her friend via her thoughts.
Angry? Maybe not. But they didn’t like the fact that you escaped, Celerity, ‘Wen’ answered, promptly. They’re not going to give you many more chances like the last one.
Of course, it was so simple, even ‘Wen’ – or her conscience, or whoever this little daydream voice was – didn’t even have to think about it. The real Wen would probably say the same thing. A thinly veiled ‘you’re a moron, Lara. Even for just thinking it.’
Then I’ll have to just terminate myself, won’t I? she heard herself say, as though it were the most normal thing in the world. To escape a torturer, kill yourself before they get the chance.
Oh Lara, no, no no! Wen clutched at her friend’s hands; dream Wen had either grown, or Celerity had shrunk, because the two females were now pretty much the same size. Killing yourself is never an option. No-one’s life is so worthless that they should throw it away like that!
So I’m worthless, now. It’s good to hear the confirmation from someone else.
You know that’s not what was meant. Wen mantled an arm across her shoulders. You’re not worthless, and you certainly deserve more good in your life. Throwing away your promise because you’ve hit a bump in the road?
This isn’t just a bump in the road. It’s a bump in me. And I want it to go away. Celerity sat down on the squashy heap of pillows, cradling her stomach; the big, wet tears that rolled from her eyes plopped like heavy drops of mercury onto her swollen frame. I don’t want this, she pleaded, shaking her head. I can’t live like this. I can’t.
Wen sat beside her, and took one shaking blue hand into her own. I know you don’t want it, she soothed. And I’d take it away for you, if I could, but you know that’s not on the cards. You have to get used to it, Lara. You’re their prize specimen. If you fight it, you’re only making it needlessly difficult for yourself. Accept it, and it’ll be easier. You might even learn to love your little ones.
I could love them easily, she wept. If I weren’t forced to walk around like a water-balloon, full of babies I have no choice over carrying. How can I love something I’m forced to bear? Artificially sparked like some… some prize cow.
It won’t be forever, Lara-
It will be forever, unless I get myself out of here. Unless I end all this, myself. She closed both fingers around the piece of metal laying discarded by her feet, and traced the sharp tip over the curve of her belly. If I have to cut them out myself, I will.
Lara, please. Wen leaped for her, circled her with her arms, trying to trap the blade away. Nothing is worth this. Nothing! Are you listening?
Celerity struggled, but her strength was… just… gone, along with everything else. No strength, no size, not even any freaking dignity, any more.
If I have to, I’ll hold you like this until you come to your senses, the voice from behind said, but it wasn’t Wen any more. Big, heavy and excessively powerful, Pabishka had turned into one of those monsters in the shadows; she was now not only stronger than her prey, but bigger than her, too. You stupid little fessine. This is how it’s been since time immemorial. You have no rights, no say in how things are run, and no worth outside of as a nice, cosy little tank for making babies in. Her hand dropped firmly onto the swollen mass in front of them. Got that?
-Celerity blinked, drowsily. It was almost as if a gauzy curtain had been pulled across the front of her eyes; the whole world had a dreamy, soft-focus about it. Not a big hole in the ground – where had that thought even come from? – but a nice cosy clean room. She sat propped up in bed on a heap of pillows, in a quiet corner of the room, watching as the doctors and nurses moved about like wraiths in the distance, behind her curtain of drugged sleep. Fragments of speech filtered through the damping gel that seemed to be packed into her audio receptors – stable at the moment… no active problems… the others seem to like her… Ardent’s still on suicide watch just in case… will repair the damage as soon as she’s not a risk… - but most of it remained a low, lulling murmur in the background. Pleasant, but soporific. Comforting. Cosy, almost.
The room had a bright but chilly austerity about it, with its white walls, its pale green curtains, and glittering chrome fittings. The big window at the end of the bay looked out over her brightly sunlit home district, and she felt a pang of longing, deep inside herself. Oh! To be home now… Six berths accommodated six femmes, herself included; three along each side of the room. Three were asleep, one was watching television, headphones pressed down over her audios, and the last – a delicate little silver-blue creature, directly opposite Celerity – was sitting up in bed, reading a magazine. She met the bigger femme’s gaze and smiled, wiggled her fingers in a little wave.
Celerity went to wave back, and made her first discovery of the day.
Her wrists had been cuffed to the bedrails, and her ankles similarly pinioned at the far end. For a moment, she just stared, baffled, then tugged on her left hand, clanking them, experimentally. The material was dense and very heavy; she could barely lift her hand from the crisp white sheets she lay on. Or was that just all the sedation they’d pumped into her?
She cast a pleading look at the doctor standing to one side, checking her harmonic. “What’s going on?” She felt so dull, so sluggish. Doctor? Where was she? Why was she here? Was she ill?
The doctor glanced up and smiled, reassuringly. He looked eerily like Whitesides, even down to the traditional police blue and yellow chequers under his smart white coat, although she sort of knew her friend didn’t really have the smarts to make it as a doctor. “Hello, Celerity,” he replied, ignoring her question. “How are you feeling today?”
Celerity looked back down at her arms, and jingled the chain. “…confused.”
“That’s understandable. You had a very rough day, yesterday!” He reached out one small hand, and folded it gently around her fingers. “But you seem to be through the worst of it.”
“…will you take these off me?”
“We can’t let you go,” the doctor apologised, softly, cupping her cheek and gently using the pad of his thumb to stroke her, gently . “Not until you’ve proven you’re not a threat to yourself any more.”
“But I’m not a threat… to… myself…” she began to protest, but the doctor’s hand had already dropped lower to stroke gently across her scored paintwork – caressing the thick, gouged lines that bit through enamel and substructure, that somehow she knew she’d been responsible for. Over almost every inch of her surface, but concentrated mostly over her broad chest, as though someone had tried frantically to get through to her power core. Raw, unoxidised metal glowed fresh in the gashes.
“-…is this-…”
“I’m sorry, Lara. We thought we might lose you, yesterday. Ardent found you just in time.” He gave her a sad smile. “She said you’d told her you were… what was it… ‘trying to cut the damaged parts out.’”
The words felt right, but at the same time felt wrong. Not something she should say. “He might still love me if I wasn’t full of all this dead stuff,” she murmured, beaten.
“He does still love you, Celerity. These… ‘dead things’… it’s all a creation of your subconscious.” He stroked the back of her hand. “I know losing your child was hard. I know you blamed yourself for it. But you’ll get over it, in time, and quicker if you just let us help you.”
“My chest hurts,” she pleaded, weakly, closing her hands into fists and struggling against the cuffs. “Please, let me go.” She wanted to touch the spot of hurt, nurse it better with her fingertips, but couldn’t. “I just-… just want…”
“I know. It’s a sensor ghost, love,” the technician said, briefly touching their cheeks together. “I’ll go see if the Head will let me give you a painkiller, all right?”
She watched him go, brushing out through the scuffed old doors, his dirty white coat flapping in his wake, and winced and shifted her shoulders, uncomfortably. If only there was someone else here to talk to, not just all these rusted old beds covered in dusty tarpaulins, the ground around them spotted with crystals of long-dried fuel. The long strips of corrugated iron roofing that formed the high ceiling were punctuated with a staccato series of holes, through which muddy daylight shone. The rustling, hissing sound was presumably rain – she could hear the occasional high plink of droplets of water falling from a great height in the distance.
Didn’t like it here. She shrank back into her heap of fusty old pillows, trying to ignore the long, dull ache in her chest. It was a difficult, grumpy sort of pain, though – never eased enough to let her get comfortable, never faded enough that she could ignore it… She tugged on her cuffs again, but the leaden material just clanked, heavily.
For several long minutes she just sat there on her blanket, waiting. Had they forgotten about her? Maybe they’d abandoned her here, after all. A broken-down old warehouse for broken-down old machines that had outlived their purpose. She wished she could have at least been allowed to say goodbye to Dack, to say goodbye and apologise for being such a pathetic failure.
Maybe she could ask to use their radio? There was one on a rickety old table in a pool of sunlight only a few strides from here. Might not work, sure, but it was worth a try! All she had to do was release the lock on these rusty old cuffs… so… needed something long, and thin…
She gave her head a good whack against the rail alongside the pallet, and as she’d predicted, two of her antennae dropped onto the blanket. Poor little aerials – their bases were all crumbly and oxidised, ‘rotten’, and she barely felt them come away. She leaned forwards a little, picked up the longer aerial between her denta, and inserted the tip into the keyhole, carefully.
The lock felt… gritty, inside. Rusty. And her rotten antennae just bent with even the gentle pressure she was applying to it. Stupid body, were you made substandard? She frowned, and persevered for a little longer, until the old metal sensor finally corroded right away, leaving only a gluey, tarry black corrosive residue in the lock.
She stared at it for a few more disappointed seconds, as if hoping to scare the manacle into spontaneously clicking open, then sighed, sadly, and returned to her laying position. Rain still hissed against the roof – sounded like the soft static of despair – and a raindrop squeezed through the broken corrugations and splashed down on the centre of her chest-
It was like being suddenly doused in boiling acid, or having a javelin rammed all the way through her, not caring what it punctured on the way. She arched her back against the old mattress, and made stuttering, incoherent pleading noises in pain; let me go let me go oh please it hurts so much I want to curl up and let it consume me. Broken springs – or were they nails? – poked through the worthless fabric and scratched more gouges through her paintwork, and the chains clanked and tightened as she jerked against them-
“Help me-!” she pleaded, in a brief lull in the hurt. “Oh please oh help me-!”
The doctors closed in around her – looking more like recycling technicians than medics, now. Four- six- no, eight big, unfriendly-looking mechs, hard-faced, grim-lipped, they encircled the slatted pallet and held her steady against the ruined wood.
“Don’t worry,” the one at her right shoulder reassured, gently. “We’ll get you out of there, darling. You just let us work!”
“But this-… this is… me-“ Celerity managed to get the protest out before pain choked her words off again.
She watched – with a mixed horror and dismay – as the ninth doctor advanced brandishing a hooked, bladelike implement. She squirmed, but the eight weighed her limbs down as though each machine was crafted from sentient blocks of lead.
The blade came down in the centre of her chest; the tough metal yielded as easily as though it were the skin of a soft fruit, or a stick of warm butter. The surgeon/recycling tech yanked back and forth on the device and cut a rough line all the way from her abdomen to the top of her chest, shredding metal, tearing up great pointed shards that threatened upwards, like claws-…
She groaned, unheard, feeling fuel from ruptured piping coming up like bile to fill her mouth. She lifted her head and spat it out, another wine-red crystal among the other thousands scattered across the floor.
The shrieking torment of a crying infant reached her audios – she watched, wide-eyed but somehow not surprised, as the ninth mech finished peeling her chest open like an old food can, and gently removed the squalling infant. A weird gelatinous pale blue fluid dripped away from it in big, unappealing clots; some sort of… of birthing fluid, to surround and protect it while it grew inside her.
The baby hesitated in its squalling when it finally met the doctor’s eyes, and the distressed noises faded into a curious, and almost happy coo. The doctor smiled and swaddled it in a towel, carrying it away, all snuggled up to his chest. Happy gurgling followed him away.
…Fuel continued to pool and drip around Celerity like a lake of crimson gemstones. The doctors weren’t paying her any attention – just looking at the ninth, and the baby, and smiling to each other. Was that it? Was she… doomed to lay here, to bleed out until her pumps ran dry in the middle of an old warehouse, a spent cocoon for a larval machine, a withered old husk discarded by the parasite that had grown silently inside?
“Shouldn’t-… shouldn’t you-…” Her words were difficult to twist into any understandable form, they were just… grinding static, or… broken cogs, skidding over each other. “Please, I’m-… I can’t-…”
“Can’t what? I shouldn’t?” the right-shoulder ‘doctor’ questioned, leaning down towards her face and shouting, as though she were just another stupid domestic food animal. “Shouldn’t I?”
“Chest-…” she wheezed, fluid bubbling around her vocaliser. “Chest…!” She flapped a hand, unable to gather the strength to lift it all the way to her ruined chassis. “Broke-… broken-…”
“This?” He brushed a hand over the broken claws of metal jutting up from the gaping wound. “Very untidy. What a mess! We can’t sell you looking like that.” Casually, he folded the edges back closed, standing on top of her with both feet flat against her chassis, and dabbed black, tarry glue across the broken edges, crudely sealing her armour closed. “That’ll do for now.”
They helped her sit, shakily; in spite of the knowledge that the broken lines were all still spilling out fuel into her chest cavity, she felt… okay, actually. A bit congested, like her vents were full of glue, but better than she had felt before. The constricting pain was gone. Had been gone since the baby was removed. That was a relief! Maybe that was all it had been? It was telling her it wanted to get out.
The doctor approached, warily, a blanket-wrapped bundle in his hands, and held it out to her. She couldn’t get her arms to function, at first, then jerkily accepted the bundle of cloth and held it closer-
The infant – a tiny, beautiful female, with the biggest blue eyes and an adorable smile – cuddled up against her chest and clicked affectionately.
She felt an immediate flush of happiness; they’d torn her apart and left her still bleeding out – how had she even got this much fuel inside her? – but given her the most beautiful little gift. The infant had a strong harmonic, and her static envelope harmonised beautifully with her own-…
“My baby girl,” she crooned, softly, caressing the tiny head that rested on her welted chassis. She could sense the little harmonic inside the newborn’s chest, and it felt… familiar. Almost like… like Dack’s gentle, protective aura. “You’re so beautiful.”
The infant clicked happily and nuzzled at her. The response was nonverbal, and were more of an impression than anything in actual words, but she understood it perfectly. I love you, Ama.
“I love you too, Spark,” she whispered, softly, ignoring the low pain in her chassis. “You beautiful, beautiful little thing.” She winced and stiffened at another little shiver of pain.
The baby clicked anxiously and rubbed cheeks… then quirked her little head over to one side and chirped, dabbled her little fingers into the fuel still oozing slowly from the rents in Celerity’s chest. What this, Ama?
“That’s-… that’s bad-… stuff, little one,” Celerity shuddered the words out, brokenly. Her chassis was constricted, heavy-… Like a balloon full of water, and still the fuel was flowing out of the hundred thousand broken lines inside her. Pressure rising. Fans flooded.
The baby clicked, and licked her fingers. Energy. Nice! Approval – and an unsettling sense of like / want / need – flowed across their bond.
Celerity shifted, uneasily, and struggled to send no / bad / wrong back across the bond, but hungry came back and more loudly than she herself could broadcast. The infant had already wriggled free of the cradling fingers, and was licking curiously at the spots of fuel that had oozed around the haphazard solder to the surface.
“Please don’t-… don’t do that-…” she pleaded, trying to catch the tiny hands, but the baby was still slippery with birthing fluid, and impossible to catch as she pulled energetically at the welds. “Please, Spark-… don’t-… that hurts-… We’ll find-… find you some-… something else…”
The tiny creature ignored her, pulling excitedly at the remains of the flimsy armour, licking at the fuel that leaked out, like some neophyte mechanical vampire. Hungry, Ama. I have this! Feel better! Fuel wasn’t so much oozing as dribbling, now, running out in a thin, steady stream.
Celerity plucked the infant off herself, feebly. “Stop that,” she told her, sternly, but her voice was shaky. “Stop hurting me.”
The infant gave a squall of anger and bared her little denta. Angry / denied / defiance flashed over the bond, then love / please / hungry / sad. The little spark was so openly distressed, big wet tears spilling down her face, that Celerity instantly felt bad for denying her. But she couldn’t drink this, she had-… had to get… pure, fresh, new fuel…
“Doc-… doctor?” she croaked. “Can you get-… get me something-… for the baby? She’s hungry-
The technicians all clustered behind her, peered over her shoulders, and cooed and admired the infant.
“Fuel,” Celerity reminded. “She’s hungry. Needs-… needs fuel.”
Of course, of course, they all responded. Collectively, they guided Celerity back down onto the pallet, murmuring about how the baby must be given the best chance to survive.
“Not me-…!” she protested, struggling. “Get new. New!”
But they were sitting on her arms, and she couldn’t free herself, and as the baby continued its unwholesome first meal, a sort of… resignation slowly began to take hold of her. This was how it worked, here. She shouldn’t fight it. It was what she knew would happen, what she had agreed to accept when she first allowed the harmonic to bud off from her own. Mother carried the baby until it was born, and then it consumed her remains as its first meal.
She just… wished she could have spent more time with it. It had already fastened its tiny lips around the largest rent in the metal, and was suckling energetically. It wasn’t just lapping up spilled drops, any more, it was actively stealing her own essential fluids out of her. The tiny body seemed no barrier to it taking every last drop she contained…
Love you Ama, came that noncorporeal voice, accompanied by another pulse of happiness. And – thank the powers – alongside the love / bliss / thanks there came sated / full.
Celerity flopped her hands against the pallet, shakily, and the doctors somehow knew what she want. They helped her sit, and guiding her hands up to cradle the tiny form on her chest, still sucking her dry.
“I love you, my little one,” the brutalised femme creaked, and was greeted by the biggest, most adoring smile she’d ever seen – marred by the ruby-painted lips, still dripping fuel… before her primary pump ran dry and stalled in her chest. A second or two of blissful silence elapsed before a slug of pain shot through her, the hardest and most violent kick she’d experienced thusfar, and-
Everything went black. Black, and silent, and-
She gave a start, engine revving up in alarm and her fans coughing out great clouds of frightened heat. It took a minute or two of in-depth sensor scans to convince herself of what her primary senses were telling her, but finally she worked out that the blackness was not because she was dead, but just because it was night… time…
She was back in the Pit. She checked her chronometer, wondering if she’d somehow slept through all those months, and it reported back that an hour or two at most had passed. She sagged against her bonds, palpably relieved.
She hadn’t been hacked to pieces. Her chest still showed the tiny scratchmarks where they’d roughly sanded her enamel off, and where she’d scored it in her efforts to escape, but no deep glittering gouges. Her chest hurt because she was running a high resistance and her harmonic was constricted. The hissing static and running, flooding fuel was just the fizz of rain against the upper security field, and the drip of water down the sides of the Pit. And somewhere in the distance, an infant wailed, miserably; a soft male voice was crooning to it, low and comforting.
…she was still in one piece. A little scuffed about, and fastened securely back into her scaffold, but still in one piece.
Her alarmed awakening had apparently woken her friend, as well, because Wen’s kind voice spoke from close to her audio. “Hey, hey, Lara? You all right?” Seemed the little femme had taken up her usual spot on the giantess’ shoulder as soon as they’d brought her back.
“Bad-… bad dream.” Celerity staggered over the words. She wasn’t really supposed to have dreams – none of her kind did. ‘Sleeping’ was a time for mental housekeeping, defragmenting, removing irrelevant data and storing the useful bits. So where this horrible nightmare had come from, she wasn’t sure. She’d have to ask Sepp, when she got home, she resolved…
…when she got home. Some hope of that. Tried once, and blew it. They wouldn’t ever let her off her leash any more. Stupid Celerity, always over-reacting… She was shaking, she realised; a steady beat of motor twitches all the way from her feet to the top of her head. She lowered her head and felt the cold caress of a teardrop sliding along the side of her nose.
That was enough to break her composure; the stoic face creased into a moue of distress and the tears started in earnest. And she couldn’t even damn well wipe them off, not with her arms still anchored in place…! Frustration made them flow harder.
Wen stroked her antennae, gently. “Hush-a-bye, love,” she soothed, like one might speak to a frightened child, using her long prehensile tail to dab a cloth over her friend’s face. “No-one’s going to hurt you. It was only a bad dream. We all have them, and they can’t hurt us.”
“I know that,” Celerity mewed, shakily, fans stuttering. “I just… I wuh-want to go huh-home.”
“I know. I’m going to make sure you do, too. You just need to keep it together for me for a little longer, Sweetie, all right?”
