The Forgotten City (3 page)

“Eli.”

Eli snapped up straight and answered, his voice thick, “Yes, Boss?”

“I’ve been trying to get through to tell you. My menu function froze again and I can hear you.”

“Oh …” Eli blinked three times, engaging his implant’s hologram menu. He found that the com channel between himself and the commander had opened automatically. It had already done this several times, but Eli had thought he’d fixed the glitch. Clearly not. It was a system far more complex than any of his other com systems, thanks again to the lack of restrictive laws, but it was still a work in progress and full of faults. He was trialing it between himself and the commander before unleashing it on the rest of the tracker team.

“How long have we been connected?” he asked the commander.

Copernicus answered with silence and Eli flinched a little.

“So you heard me talking to the self-esteem program?”

“Yes.”

“And the crying?”

“That too.”

“Well, that’s not embarrassing.” Eli felt hot, red splotches of shame break out all over his face and neck.

Faint amusement edged the commander’s words. “Of all the things I’ve caught you doing, Eli, making nice with a hologram and crying into your otter seems like the least embarrassing.”

“Thanks, but that really doesn’t make me feel any better,” Eli gave a laugh, but it became a sob and he slapped a hand over his mouth.

After a pause Copernicus said, with his restrained concern, “What’s getting you, Eli?”

“It’s nothing, I mean everything … And I don’t know … This fight-in has just thrown me …”

Copernicus processed his words for a moment, then said, “I’m uploading a picture to you – can you see it?”

Eli accessed the menu again and saw the waiting file.

An image flickered up in front of his face. It was a kid – a very homely-looking kid – skinny and sitting awkwardly, all nose and teeth and wildly overgrown mane of shaggy dark hair.

Eli stared at the picture, unsure of what to make of it. “Is this one of those moments where we make ourselves feel better by laughing at others?” he asked.

Copernicus snorted. “Who do you think this is?”

Eli studied the hologram again, but couldn’t see a resemblance to anyone and he was usually very good with faces. “Who?”

“Caesar K-Ruz.”

Eli burst out laughing. “No, really, who is this?”

The commander altered the image and the hologram morphed into another picture of the Pride King as he was today. His face had grown into the nose and mouth and his hair had been shaved short, but it was definitely him. Eli smiled. For some reason he felt a whole lot better knowing that Caesar had once been a gangly kid with the worst haircut he’d ever seen – extremely tough competition considering Eli himself was among the contenders. (His gran’ma used to give him a bowl cut – an actual one, with a bowl on his head.) It wasn’t surprising that the commander knew how to make him feel better. He’d always known.

“I think I’m okay now,” Eli said.

“Good. What’s your progress with the
Ory
?” Copernicus turned to business.

“So far I’ve almost fainted, stood admiring my work, and then had a mental breakdown – so not much yet.”

“You know what to do, then,” the commander said.

“Yes, Boss, I’m on it,” Eli promised. He disengaged their connection, then double-checked it was off.

Nelly jumped off his shoulder and onto the workbench. She scampered along it to her bowl of pinkfin fish, which Eli had placed just inside her new enclosure. She bit down on the bowl and deliberately dragged it out of the enclosure and onto the bench, pausing to scold Eli in her squeaky chattering voice, before starting to gobble down the fish.

After she’d escaped from his pocket and gotten lost during the Skreaf uprising, and then almost been shot on one of the team’s reconnaissance missions into the war zones, Eli had started to have major anxiety about taking her everywhere with him. Before the wars they were never parted – the otter always riding in his pocket or on his shoulder – but they’d entered dangerous times and nearly losing her twice had shaken him badly. Just the slightest thought of anything happening to Nelly made him break down. So he’d constructed a brand new enclosure for her, with so much play equipment, so many feeding chutes, water pools and fountains that Nelly hadn’t known where to turn first. She’d loved it – but then he’d closed the door and the love affair between her and the enclosure had abruptly ended, because when she went inside there, it meant he was leaving her. He’d designed it with many mechanisms of alert and escape that would be triggered in the event he didn’t return to let her out, and he’d tested them all half-a-billion times or more just to be absolutely sure she would never be trapped. The trouble was, now that she understood what it meant, getting her in there was next to impossible. Nelly cast him a cranky look with fish hanging out the sides of her mouth. She just wanted to stay with him. He understood that. And he just wanted her to stay alive. Unfortunately she didn’t understand that. It was an ongoing saga.

Eli sighed and turned back to the
Ory
, the dart-vials stored in the back of the
Gypsy Rose
catching the light and his attention. The vials were full of his latest Ravien antidote. Ev’r Keets, legendary treasure hunter, infamous criminal and now one of his best friends, had transformed into a Ravien after one of the monstrous creatures had bitten her, and Eli had been working ever since to find a cure. After several formula failures, he believed this was finally it, the formula to change Ev’r back … He just had to get the chance to use it.

Penman zoomed in beside him, staring with bright, inquisitive eyes. The robot made a series of soft beeps of concern.

“I’m alright,” Eli said. “But we really have to get to work now. We’ve only got four hours – make that three and a half – to get the
Ory
airborne. Would you mind grabbing me a starnose driver and the size 8 infused pliers, please?”

Penman squeaked and zoomed off to get the tools, while Eli grabbed a wrench off his tooling bench and knelt beneath the
Ory
to examine the landing gear. He felt the
whoosh
of the little 0318’s fast return. Without turning back, he reached out for the pliers. His fingertips brushed against something smooth and cold – it twitched. Eli gasped and leaped away, rolling and flipping into a crouch, holding the wrench out in front of him like a weapon. Luther loomed over him, his face shifting with disturbing fluidity between the strikingly sharp features of his human-breed side and the monstrous appearance of a Midnight Man. Moses, Luther’s big white wolf, lunged at Eli, knocking him onto his back and licking his face with a rough tongue. Luther reached in with shadowy hands that felt like frozen steel and tried to help Eli up, but ended up just pushing him down, crushing him further into the ground. Eli found himself laughing hysterically while in significant pain.

“Luther,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. “Luther, enough, that’s okay – just – stop, stop, STOP!”

The Midnight Man backed away and stood staring at him, apprehension in his yellow-green python-blood eyes.

“Sorry, sorry.” Eli struggled to his feet. It was the first time Luther had appeared to any of them for more than a few seconds since they’d defeated the Skreaf, and Eli didn’t want to discourage him. “I didn’t mean to yell at you. Only – that was the worst massage I’ve ever had, including the time I accidently walked into a gargantuan-breed grindhouse thinking it was the post office.”

Eli meant it as a joke, but Luther’s expression saddened.

“No. I’m just – I’m totally kidding,” Eli tried to explain.

Luther considered the words, then signed into the air, “
I am not so good with people.
”

“Of course you are!” Eli said. “Trust me. I’ve had social therapy – a ton of social therapy. Every race has their own social expectations and norms, but as far as Urigin standard behaviors go, you’re doing very well, all things considered.”

Luther suddenly darted forward. He sniffed at the wrench Eli was holding, then he bared enormous, sharp teeth in his hugely elongated jaw and chomped the tool in half. He chewed several times, then spat it back out onto the concrete with a ding.

Eli tried to hide his shock, but some must have surfaced, because Luther’s expression turned to embarrassment. He hung his head.

“Ah …” Eli searched for words. “Maybe I can give you a few tips …” He brightened. “How about
Ten Tips to Not Terrify People
? Does that sound okay?”

They heard a mechanical tweet as Penman zipped back in with the requested tools. Luther whipped around and snarled at the little robot. Penman squeaked, dropped the pliers, and shot straight upward, hiding in the rafters of the ceiling.

“Tip One,” Eli decided to jump straight in. “No baring teeth –
unless
you’re smiling – See? Like this.” He demonstrated a grin for Luther. “Try it.”

Luther leaned in inches from Eli’s face, opening his mouth into a twitching snarl. Even for an imp-breed with no sense of personal space, this was way too close. Eli could feel the heat of Luther’s breath on his face and neck.

“Not bad.” Eli let the lie happen naturally as he fought the urge to back away. “But just try – a bit further back – so that people can see your whole face.”

Luther straightened up and stepped back a few paces, but he was still just as – if not even more – horribly frightening.

“Maybe try smiling without showing your teeth,” Eli suggested. Luther immediately closed his mouth, again ashamed.

“There’s nothing
wrong
with your teeth,” Eli hurried to clarify. “But some people – not me in any way– may feel nervous at their razor sharpness and dagger length … just a thought.”

Luther’s unblinking eyes bore into Eli, the snake pupils spreading and retracting as though he were weighing him up for the kill.

“Which brings me to Tip Two,” Eli said. “Usually I try to limit my staring. If it’s a passing stranger, then a glance is fine – like this …” He glanced at Luther then away. “If you’re talking to a stranger then make sure to look away and back again as you speak. If it’s a friend then more sustained eye contact is acceptable, but still with some breaks.”

Luther came in closer again and sniffed at Eli’s wing. His forked tongue flickered out and tasted it.

“Tip Three,” Eli rushed, his voice somewhat squeakier. “No sniffing and no tasting. A subtle inhalation is fine if someone is, say, wearing a perfume you like. But most definitely no inhaling as though you’re about to, you know, bite the person’s wing off.” He gave a nervous laugh, which came out more as a shriek and Luther shied back in horror.

“Sorry, sorry – don’t be frightened – that’s just me laughing. Tip Four, laughter is okay – as long as it’s not random or insane. So I tell you a joke – you laugh, so it’s attached to the joke. Generally, try not to burst into spontaneous laughter if you’re alone, even if you think funny things, but if you can’t help yourself then limit the sound. That’s one I struggle with all the time. Would you like to try it: I’ll tell you a joke and you laugh?”

Luther gave a hesitant nod and Eli repeated the first joke that came to mind – something about a Fen, an Ar Antarian and a scullion entering a bar. At the punch line, Luther made a shivering movement that signaled his laughter.

“That’s great!” Eli said. “Perfect! Only I wonder if there’s something we can do to animate your vocal chords. I’ll have to run some tests.” He reached out to Luther’s neck.

The Midnight Man reared up into a massive howling shadow. Eli stared in terror at the surging darkness. Cos magics shook the underground hangar, threatening to bring the dirt crushing in on it.

“Not bad tests,” Eli managed to stutter out. “Good tests – I swear. I wouldn’t hurt you, Luther – you know that, don’t you?”

The shadow tore to pieces with the sound of a thousand frenzied wings and the pieces vanished into the walls.

Eli’s legs gave way and he plonked down onto the ground. Nelly jumped out from her hiding place on the bench and ran to him, burrowing back into his pocket. He could feel her little heart beating fast. He remembered then something Ev’r had said – that Luther was most likely the byproduct of experimentation. Who knew what had already happened to him? The thought sat heavy and prickly inside Eli as Penman reappeared above the
Ory-5
and gave a cautious beep, reminding him that they only had three hours remaining. Forcing his ill-ease aside, Eli shook himself off and resumed work at double speed.

S
ilho moved with the night shadows, just a glimmer in the rain, a suggestion of form – there but gone and never was. With her heavy body armor pressing on her shoulders, she stepped carefully on the slippery cobblestones. Ishtamar was one of the oldest levels of Scorpia, the streets winding and narrow, completely unmarked like most of the underside – outsiders not welcome, even before the war. But for her it wasn’t a destination, just a through road to where she was going – to where she had to go, even though the thought of it tightened her throat to strangulation. Defeating the Skreaf, and surviving the recovery, hadn’t taken away all her fears, but it had given her new strength to overcome them, to walk through them without doubting herself and turning back. Although it hadn’t been just the surviving, it had been who she’d survived with – the tracker team. Eli. Diega. Jude. Copernicus …

Guilt stabbed at her. The commander’s orders had been to keep to their hideout until they were called to rendezvous, but she’d felt compelled to leave. She knew it was a breach of orders, but with Copernicus distinct boundaries had been blurred – it was what happened when soldiers started kissing their commanding officer. Kissing only, because they hadn’t had more than minutes alone since the beginning of the war. The desire for more than a kiss was there – not just there, but utterly overwhelming to the point where the thought of having sex in front of everyone had actually started to seem not so inappropriate. For just on a year-cycle, she and Copernicus had eaten together, slept together, even showered in close vicinity – but they couldn’t touch. One of the team was always there and watching, and the frustration was excruciating. Maybe if they’d been together for a while before the war, the limited privacy wouldn’t have prevented them from taking things further, but they hadn’t, the relationship was new and everything was an uncertain first, made more uncertain by the fact that Diega and Jude’s feelings were also tangled up with theirs. Silho could see now that she’d been handling things with Jude all wrong, but if there was a right way, she still didn’t know what that was …

Stunted Emotional Intelligence
… It was an ugly phrase, one that had stuck with Silho ever since her first-year military training report … “
Recruit demonstrates exceptionally high aptitude in every field except that of Emotionality, where assessment indicates stunted Emotional Intelligence …
”

When she’d read the report, it had felt like her blood had turned to fire and rushed through her body in an inferno of emotion – anger, disappointment, anxiety, shame. Stunted? She’d wanted to go to the Assessor’s office and explain, she wasn’t really stunted – she’d just been raised in hiding by a hardened ex-soldier in the middle of the Matadori Desert, with little outside contact, except with violent criminals, cannibalistic desert-mutants and scullion tribes … She wasn’t really stunted – just on powerful drugs to keep her secret skills in check. The chemicals had blunted her feelings, so she’d struggled to respond quickly enough to the emotion tests – but she’d known the answers. If she’d actually gone and confessed either of these things, it would have put not only her training, but also her life in jeopardy, so she’d had to accept it –
stunted Emotional Intelligence
. Even five years on, in certain moods, the words still replayed and flared her anger. Now more than ever, because she’d started to suspect that this assessment had actually been accurate – and maybe still was.

A memory took form in Silho’s mind: her carer, Hammersmith, drawing a line in the sand, then turning to her, his eyes bloodshot glazed, his beard wild and voice a growl, “On one side of this line is love, and on the other is happiness. You can’t have both. Stick to happiness. Forget love.”

At the time she’d just thought he was having one of his episodes, where he spent hours looking at faded holograms and singing old songs to the empty sky, when he’d give his slurred and bitter life advice. She’d let his words blow away in the Matadori wind. Love wasn’t a line drawn in the sand. In her mind love had been a boy with dark eyes who would appear on the horizon and come to take her away from the desert. Love was the look between Ismail and Ev’r – Zingara at the time – the way they’d held hands and kissed. She’d longed for that love, dreamed about it, created whole fantasy worlds where it existed – where ‘He’ existed. She’d thought once she reached the city, love would be there.

As a recruit there’d been hundreds of men around her. One had particularly caught her interest, but if she’d had to explain why, she would have stammered – there was just something about him. It was as complicated and simple as that, and it had caused all kinds of desperate angst when he hadn’t been the slightest bit interested in her, yet had still treated her with the same friendliness with which he’d treated everyone else. In a way it had been even worse, or at least more confusing, than if he’d completely ignored her. She hadn’t understood how to deal with the feelings, or the rejection, and at one point had thought maybe starting something else with someone else would be the way. She’d gotten lost in a moment, and had almost let her secret out, almost exposed her skill and put in jeopardy all that had been sacrificed for her, just to feel like a normal girl for a second in time. It had terrified her how easily everything could be thrown away, how love, or lust or whatever it was, could take control. How it could lie so believably. She’d said
never again
– but had found attraction and desire couldn’t be easily switched off. So she’d diverted it, rechanneled it – put everything into her training, into her study, into her work, and pushed dreams of love aside as far as they would go.

It had worked – until Copernicus Kane. When it came to him, there was no choice. The feelings could not be ignored or put on hold. She couldn’t keep her eyes away from him and the fact that he was looking back at her with the same interest still took her by surprise – when fantasies came true it always felt like there should be a catch … And then there was Jude – she’d thought that once he saw that she and Copernicus were together, he’d understand she didn’t have feelings for him, but he hadn’t. If anything, the more time passed, the more he pressed closer to her. Uncomfortably close. And she couldn’t help but blame herself. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, so she’d been trying to compensate on a friendship level, but perhaps it had come off as giving him hope … and perhaps part of her had actually meant to keep him interested for her own self-gratification … perhaps because part of her believed that Copernicus would eventually leave her and she was trying to hang on to what she had with Jude … She didn’t know for sure what she’d been thinking.
Stunted Emotional Intelligence.
She hated that phrase.

An air-shaking explosion sent Silho diving to the ground. She scrambled up, readjusting her face mask as a fierce heat roared down the alleyway beside her. She peered around the corner and saw figures, black silhouettes against the backdrop of flames, moving around at the other end of the alley. Someone screamed and Silho jumped to her feet. Keeping close to the wall, she ran along the alley until she had a view of the square beyond. She crouched down in the shadows and watched through the greenish hue of her night-vision mask as three Androts dragged themselves out of their burning transflyer, with gangsters closing in on them from both sides. Their modified electrifiers were aimed and primed. Silho counted the gangsters – five – and through the shadows caught reflective flashes of red and yellow, the colors of Kelly’s Crew – the second most powerful gang now that the Galleys had been all but wiped out by the Skreaf. By their panicked scrambling and lack of weapons, Silho knew these Androts weren’t rebel fighters, just civilians like so many of the machine-breeds caught up in war. Three young guys probably trying to flee the city under the cover of night. Unfortunately they’d flown right into a gangster net, and were now trapped in a no man’s land between the ghost buildings of the Empty Quarter and the gateway to Ishtamar’s Grand Markets, an underground maze of stalls and sellers.

Silho squinted and saw the Androts preparing to run for it. They wouldn’t make three steps before the gangsters dropped them. A fiery boom exploded from the crashed transflyer and the Androts lunged out from their cover. One immediately tripped over and fell. The others didn’t see him through the smoke and ash. The gangsters aimed to fire and Silho blinked into light-form vision. She saw their bodies as a mass of glowing lights, dullest at their weakest points. She lifted a hand and drew a blast of power from their body-lights into herself, enhancing her own strength. The gangsters dropped instantly, incapacitated, but alive. 

With the gangsters down, Silho dashed across the square and used her temporarily heightened strength to drag up the heavy, fallen Androt. She helped him run across to where the other two were hiding behind the ruins of a stall. She threw their friend in beside them and the machine-breeds stared up at her, eyes wide with terror, black barcodes standing out bold on their pale necks. One lunged up trying to strike her with a piece of metal pole. Silho wrenched the pole out of his grasp, hurling it aside. She shifted back to normal sight, then pulled up her mask so they could see her face, but they weren’t looking at her, just at her weapon belt and her electrifier.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she told them. “Follow me. I’ll take you to cover.”

“Get away from us!” one of them yelled, and they took off through the gateway and down toward the Grand Markets. Silho watched them run. The Markets had only one entrance and exit – the gangsters, experts in urban warfare, would easily flush them out.

She stepped to go after them, but a zap of fire aimed her way made her dive down behind the wrecked stall. Voices and running bootsteps headed toward her. Silho dragged her night-vision mask back down over her face and leaped up, racing for the shadows of the nearest alleyway. She ran through, pursued, until she hit a dead end. Fire glanced off her body armor and she whipped around to face her attackers – four more Kelly’s Crew gangsters, with electrifiers all pointed at her chest, their fingers tense on the triggers. Their dogs growled behind them, snapping overgrown, trap-like jaws. One barked and the gangsters opened fire. Silho dropped to a crouch, blinking back to light-form. She gestured, drawing from the gangster’s body-lights until they slumped to the ground, their dogs beside them. Silho paused, watching their chests rising and falling. She listened to hear if more gangsters were coming. The only sounds were the roar and crackle of the burning transflyer, but she knew that wouldn’t last long. Soon more gangsters would be swarming the place and she couldn’t risk going back now to find the Androts.

Feeling heavy with ill-ease, Silho approached the stunned men. She could have easily drained the rest of their body-lights, taken their lives with a flick of her hand, and breathed their life force out of her mouth in a blast of fire – like the firebird dragon of her bloodline marks. It was the skill of the Omarians, of which she was the last. But instead she stepped over them and headed back down the alleyway. She hadn’t used her skills to kill anyone since the Skreaf. 
She understood that everything she
’d gone through could have turned her colder,
 immune to others’ suffering, indifferent toward life, but she hadn’t. The effect had been the complete opposite – never more acutely than now had she sensed the life around her and understood the precarious confusion in which most people existed, and her lack of right to judge who should live and who should die. Right and wrong, good and bad had all run together like watered-down paint.

Halfway down the alley, Silho heard a thud behind her and spun around. Jude stood there, one foot in an extension rope attached to the rooftop of a building above, from where he’d dropped down. The red eye-lights of SevenM, his companion spider-like robot, locked onto Silho’s face, feeding images back to Jude’s mind. Jude made a quick gesture for her to come to him and she stepped forward. When she was within reach, he dragged her closer to him and wrapped his arms, mixed-metal prosthetic replacements, around her. He released the lowering-hold of the extension, shooting them back up to the rooftop, where he rapidly disconnected the anchor and re-coiled the line into his belt. As he ushered her behind the small icehouse in one corner of the flat space, Silho felt a flare of frustration; she hadn’t needed rescuing and she didn’t need shepherding. He knew that, he knew what she could do, but still insisted on shielding her, even more than Copernicus did. Once they were behind the icehouse, Silho lifted her mask, her breath misting the air.

“You left – I didn’t know where you’d gone. Why did you turn off your locator?” Jude asked, his upper-level accent made heavier by frustration. “Kane told us to stay low until we rendezvous.”

Silho noted he didn’t use the commander’s title. Things had changed between them, and not just because of her.

“I know,” she replied. “But there is something I really need to do. Just like Diega. She left as well.”

“Diega can take care of herself,” Jude said.

“And I can’t?”

“No, Silho. Clearly you can’t,” he responded sharply. “You turned your back on the enemy.”

“They were neutralized.”

“Yes, but for how long? Even you don’t know the exact extent of your ability. Some people stay down longer than others. You said it yourself.” He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t know why you keep taking deliberate risks.”

“I wasn’t trying to take a risk. There were …” She hesitated. Jude already seemed on edge and any mention of Androts had become a trigger for him.

“What?” he prompted.

“Nothing … I just took a wrong turn,” she said. “I was fine. I had everything handled.”

Jude gave an unconvinced nod and lifted his eyes away from hers, looking into the darkness around them. The silence stretched on and Silho shifted, listening for sounds of approaching gangsters. She couldn’t hear anything except the rain tapping across the rooftops.