Keystones: Tau Prime (21 page)

“Even so,” replied Calm evenly, “let’s try not to kill anyone else.”

Darya gave him a curt nod that acknowledged the statement but did not promise that she’d do as he suggested. As she strode down the hall, her body language made her look, if not happy, at least satisfied, like a cat that’s finished playing with its prey.

Calm gave Deklan a significant look. He obviously thought that Darya was dangerously unpredictable too.

All three of them stopped at the door to the room where the beacon was. Deklan tensed again. When Darya opened the door, instead of a few technicians they encountered five men with leveled guns.

The room was filled with all of the equipment that had been there on Deklan’s previous visit. This included six rows of tables, each row consisting of two long tables that held three screens apiece. Off to the side the beacon sat in a jury-rigged cradle.

The men stood behind the tables, three to the right and two to the left. Like the men whom Darya had just murdered, they looked steeped in cruelty. Deklan’s stomach turned at the thought of what he expected Darya to do to them.

The men’s gaze immediately focused on Calm. “Hello, tainted,” said one. Deklan had thought the hallway guards rude, but this man spoke as though the outsiders were garbage. “Hands in the air.”

With characteristic unconcern Calm entered the room with his hands up. Darya raised both hands in front of her, crossed at the wrist, and followed him.

When three of the men came forward with handcuffs, Darya waggled her fingers and shrank them to the same degree as the men in the hall. Expressions of shock and fear appeared on their faces as they zoomed to the floor.

Darya stamped her left foot three times in rapid succession, crushing a man with each impact. The sound of her boot’s hitting the floor wasn’t loud enough to cover the squelches of flesh and cracks of snapping bone.

“No!” one of the two remaining men called out, a hand extended before him, and the corpses sprang back to full size. A crunching noise was followed by Darya’s scream. It was the high-pitched scream of someone in extreme pain. Two bodies ran up the side of her leg, but the third body was the problem. Darya’s foot was embedded inside it. The bodies were flattened to half thickness with bones and organs and blood bursting from every inch of skin. The broken bones were jagged and sharp. Two ribs had forced their way through the sole of Darya’s boot and come out through the top of her foot.

Deklan jerked to his full height an instant after the bodies on the floor, growing over thirty centimeters in under a second. It was as unsettling as teleportation. With the sudden growth, however, came a loss of strength. Deklan felt as though he’d sprinted a kilometer and not yet caught his breath. His heart beat like a war drum, and all of his muscles tensed. This was going to be bad.

The guard’s hand holding a gun took aim and fired. Darya’s head snapped back, and she collapsed backwards, her skull making a sickening crack as it hit the floor. A small hole had blossomed in her forehead.

“Tainted!” exulted the shooter, his yell filled with horror and disgust.

The remaining guard then discharged his weapon. Calm grunted and bent forward like a man who has been punched in the gut. His hands clutched at his torso before his legs folded beneath him.

“Deklan,” whispered Calm.

Deklan’s stomach churned. Calm’s power wasn’t working, and Darya’s had failed before she died. He didn’t know why, but if their powers were gone his could be too. He’d felt similarly tired and weak after Mutuari had deprived him of his Keystone ability earlier.

Just then the guard’s gun swung in his direction. He had to get either far away or so close that he couldn’t be shot. With Calm injured on the floor, Deklan opted for the latter. He lunged to the left of Calm, hoping that the guard’s arm would follow him. It did, and bullets tore into the wall behind him, missing by only millimeters. Phantom currents of air ran over the back of his neck, assuring him that the next shots would find their mark.

Deklan’s terror kept his legs pumping. When the sound of bullets peppering the wall was interrupted by a noise like a “whumpf,” Deklan risked a glance to his right. There he saw that the guard shooting at him had shot his companion, who had fallen to the floor with three holes in his back. Dark stains radiated out from the wounds, and the man was not moving.

The guard who had fired the gun stared down at his weapon, eyes wide with horror and the gun trembling in his hands. Deklan knew that he wasn’t going to get a better chance than this. He bolted toward the shell-shocked man in red.

The attack had no subtlety or finesse. Deklan just made sure that he hit and hit hard. The impact swept both of them off their feet. The guard was groaning in a way that made Deklan think that the man might have broken a bone. Deklan didn’t have time for pity or compassion. Instead he reared up on his knees and straddled the guard, repeatedly slugging his opponent’s face.

Cheekbones snapped under Deklan’s blows, and teeth bit into his knuckles with each punch to the jaw. The man’s hands, now empty, reached up to stop him, but Deklan batted them aside and continued to punch until the body beneath him was limp and the face covered in a red spray.

“Deklan.” Calm’s voice trailed off again.

Concern for Calm made Deklan interrupt his assault on the guard. The pain in his hands demanded attention, and his shoulders burned from the beating he’d inflicted. Ignoring his own needs, Deklan dashed over to Calm and crouched in front of him.

A wan-looking Calm had pushed himself upright against a wall with his hands over a wound in his torso. Blood welled from between his fingers, and his face was twisted into a grimace. It was his eyes that captured Deklan’s attention. They were afraid. Deklan had never seen Calm look afraid.

“I don’t think. . . .” Calm swallowed in an effort to master the pain visible on his face. “I don’t think it’s too bad.”

Not sure that he agreed, Deklan did his best to nod encouragement. “You’re going to be fine,” he said, “but we need to go. They knew that we were coming.”

Calm’s face went white, and his nostrils flared. “I can’t stand on my own.” His voice was weak and imploring.

Deklan understood why Calm was so scared. It wasn’t just the fact of his having been shot and injured; it was the shock of it coupled with the possibility of losing his power. Deklan had been a Keystone for only days before Mutuari had deprived him of his power, and the loss had terrified him. Calm had been a Keystone for years and was accustomed to invincibility. The entire plan, reflected Deklan, had been ill conceived. They had put their trust in the elements of surprise and Calm’s ability, even though Deklan had firsthand experience with Keystones who could strip abilities from others. He’d assumed that Mutuari was unique and that with Calm along there would be no danger, but now Darya was dead and Calm shot.

Calm forced a smile. “Get the beacon.” He closed his eyes and mastered himself before continuing. “Then we can find Jamie and Jonny. After that you can stick me in a rejuvenation tank.” He smiled, and Deklan was glad to see that his mouth was free of blood. “Never thought I’d need one of those again.”

Deklan patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back.” So saying, he dashed over to the beacon. The setup for reading its stored data was more elaborate than he’d realized either time he’d been in the room. The beacon was a short cylinder, about twice the length of his palm, capped with two rounded ends that glowed green. It was held upright with both ends resting in a silver mesh. The silver mesh connected to a black box, and wires from the box ran to every computer in the room. The connections gave Deklan pause, but he didn’t have time to hesitate. He tore the silver caps from the beacon and shoved it into his pocket.

“Guns. Get the guns,” Calm called to him.

The guns, Deklan realized, would make them look more like guards and less like fugitives. The holsters were uncomplicated affairs made from a coarse black material and fastened to the leg with two adjustable straps. Deklan unstrapped the holsters from the two guards and appropriated their weapons.

Calm kept his hands pressed down on his wound and pointed his chin at the holsters Deklan held. “Quick,” he said, “strap those on us.”

“We don’t have time for that now,” replied Deklan. “We need to get out of here.”

Calm shook his head, his expression weary. “Have to. . . .” He stopped to wipe blood over his face. “I can’t get away on my own. Have to fake it.” He closed his eyes, fatigue washing over his features from the effort of speaking.

A flash of understanding suddenly came to Deklan. Calm didn’t want to run at all. Three of the guards were bloody pulps, and Darya was dead on the floor. If he and Calm pretended to be guards who had come out on top but needed medical attention, they might just be taken to whatever passed for a hospital. Calm had just taken the first step of making the improvised plan workable by smearing blood over his features.

Deklan meanwhile was busy at Calm’s thigh, trying to put a gun into the holster.

“No,” advised Calm. “Put the gun back by the man you killed. You need to explain the wound.”

He was right. In order for their story to hold up to quick scrutiny, they would need to look as though they’d been incompetent. The gun was covered in blood, but that shouldn’t be a problem because the room looked like hell, and Darya’s foot planted in her victim’s chest would probably dominate the first impressions of those who found them there. Deklan took the gun he’d stolen for Calm back to where he’d beaten the man to death and placed it on the ground nearby. Then he strapped the second holster to his leg and put his stolen gun in it.

“Go to the door and call for help,” said Calm. “That’ll make us look more innocent.”

Deklan was grateful for Calm’s clarity under the circumstances. He crossed the room and grasped the door’s handle, his fingers leaving a red smear on the metal. Calm had disguised himself with blood on his face, and Deklan copied his example.

“Remember to stretch out your vowels,” added Calm.

Right, Deklan realized. He had to imitate the local accent. Good thing that “Help!” was a short word. Deklan slumped down against the wall next to the door before opening it. From that angle all he could see was the far wall of the hall, but he could hear the sounds of boots running toward him. It wasn’t just one or two pairs but instead several. “Help!” he croaked, making his cry loud enough to be heard over the boots but quiet enough to suggest that he needed urgent medical attention.

Trampling feet stopped inches away from Deklan’s face. “What the hell?” said a voice above him at the sight of the room.

Deklan hoped that his heart sounded loud only to him. He and Calm were gambling a lot on the Tau Primans’ being confused.

There was a noise of someone else retching and then vomiting. Never before had Deklan felt a smile try to form after hearing that noise. If things looked that bad, they might just be okay.

A gruff female voice took control of the situation. “Get a medic. These two are still alive.” It was the voice of the type of woman that you pictured smoking cigars and drinking hard liquor neat.

Deklan suppressed the urge to see who was issuing these commands and kept his eyes at a bleary half focus.

“What happened here?” asked the woman in charge.

How elaborate an answer did he dare give, wondered Deklan, since each word could give him away? “Tainted,” he slurred, pointing in a way that encompassed Darya. He pretended that the effort had overwhelmed him and slumped further down against the wall.

Deklan heard the sound of new boots rushing to the scene, and four men entered the room. At least Deklan thought they were men. It was hard to see them when he couldn’t risk showing how alert he was. They stood out from the background because of their white clothes, like those of the man he’d stuffed into the morgue drawer. Beyond that he could vaguely discern that their heads were covered and their arms bare.

They knelt first by Calm and carried out a preliminary procedure before wheeling a pair of stretchers through the door and loading Calm onto the first one. “He needs to be hospitalized.” The male voice carried undertones of urgency that worried Deklan.

Seconds later a pair of faces hovered over him. Deklan deliberately kept his eyelids heavy and his vision fuzzy. He’d hit his head often enough over the years to know the effects.

Rough hands held Deklan’s jaw, and a light shone in his eyes. “This one might just be concussed,” said an attendant, “but we can’t be sure. Not all of this is his own blood.” Deklan had hoped that the medics would take longer to come to that conclusion. The less danger they thought he was in, the greater the risk that they’d discover his deception.

“Good,” said the gruff female voice. Her face swam into view as restraints were tightened around Deklan’s wrists.

Something cold and hard and metallic crunched into the side of his face, and a tooth came loose in his jaw. “Did you really think,” she crowed, “I wouldn’t recognize that you weren’t one of my men? Did you think that your abominable accent would fool us? Did you think that murderers could escape so easily?” Another blow snapped Deklan’s head to the side. “Get him to the infirmary,” the leader ordered. “We wouldn’t want him to miss his execution.”

Whatever hope Deklan had left withered. He strained against his cuffs, arching his back and pushing up with his feet. Another blow came, this time against his other cheek, and put him down.

Deklan didn’t have to fake his blurred vision anymore. The repeated blows to his head had left him feeling genuinely dazed. He’d been taken to an infirmary in an elevator with two doctors and another unit of five men with guns. They’d had their weapons trained on him for the entire trip.

Now Deklan lay in a morgue-like white room, his hands and feet strapped to a bed’s frame. He blinked his eyes, trying to clear his vision. For several seconds there was no improvement, but then his persistence paid off as the room’s features came into focus. Here, Deklan was glad to see, there were no drawers in the walls. Instead several beds were separated by glass or plastic. A tall and thin female doctor stood nearby, dressed all in white, but her head was turned away from him. He’d seen hospitals like this before in old movies. Their transparent walls could be darkened for use as screens to display patient information and vital signs.