Authors: L. J. Kendall
'I just wish I'd picked up on what was happening sooner,' Sanchez said for the fourth time that night. They were parked in a side street off the main road, giving them a clear view of the alley. The soup kitchen was seven blocks away.
'Stop hammering yourself, Marta. At least you did spot it.'
Sanchez wanted to admit the truth: that it had been a tip-off,
but…
She and Henderson were colleagues. Workmates. Sure, she liked him, but that's as far as it went. And if she mentioned her contact, Henderson'd start digging. And for some reason, she didn't want to tell him about the other man.
'And they're not dead. Maybe they'll recover.'
'Sh'yeah, right. No one even understands what exactly’s wrong with them! These people depend on us, Henderson. You ever think, if we didn't take the time to talk to people like Old Joe, how long this would've kept on before anyone noticed?'
That, and my tip-off,
she thought. ‘I just wished we'd happened to talk to Joe on Sunday.'
'When there was no pattern, just a single chica zombied?'
The discussion died mid-breath as three people headed toward the alley. The woman was wearing old, threadbare clothes, and held the hand of a small, thin boy. The man was solidly built, but his tailored suit had seen better days. When they reached the alleyway where the last girl had been found, the man stopped them.
The two detectives tensed, ready to move.
The man said something and the woman shook her head, pulling the boy tight to her side. The man spoke again, and the woman's shoulders slumped. She looked torn as the man gestured for her to enter the alley; perhaps wondering if it would be kinder to leave the boy briefly alone on the street corner.
Sanchez swore under her breath as all three moved off down the disused alley. Henderson was already on the comm, ordering one of the security bots to meet them here as he and Sanchez exited the car and raced across the street.
At the end of the alley, the three figures disappeared to the left. The two citycops pounded down after them, guns drawn.
Things happened very quickly as they rounded the corner. Their quarry stood waiting, facing them from five meters away, the boy and the woman on either side. The man's face registered nothing as Henderson shouted for him to freeze.
He moved, shockingly fast. Jerking the boy, screaming, into the air. The child arced high before hurtling down towards Henderson.
Cursing, he slammed his weapon into his holster as he raced forward to try to break the child's fall.
With inhuman speed the man bore down on Detective Marta Sanchez, the woman held in front of him, a screaming shield.
Sanchez tried to dodge to the side, tried to risk a shot… then the woman's skull slammed into hers, and blackness claimed her.
Chapter 19
For long seconds, Miss Leeth lost herself in admiration of the sky.
So blue
. She'd never seen the sky so blue. So very blue. The warmth of the sun, so
warm
; the wind so breezy. Even their progress along the winding country road: so
speedy
. Everything was just so…
very
. She looked at the man seated beside her as he drove. On her right. It seemed strange, yet so normal. So
very
normal
.
It made her uneasy. He smiled back at her, his dark eyes sparkling. She did love the way they crinkled up at the corners.
She knew him so well. Her dear colleague.
'Keep an eye peeled, Miss Leeth.'
Miss Leeth.
It sounded wrong, but somehow comforted her.
'What are we supposed to be looking for?' Her own voice sounded odd: her vowels all… rounded, every syllable perfectly enunciated.
'I'm not entirely sure. Something odd about the people. Anyway, we'll see for ourselves, shortly. The village is just around this bend. We'll stop at a charming little pub for lunch, and then take a stroll and see what we can uncover.'
English. He spoke with an English accent.
So did she.
The road dipped down as it curved under a verdant tunnel of interlacing branches.
And then, abruptly, they were passing a field on their left so deeply green it made her heart ache. The smell of the cut grass was intoxicating, overpowering her senses.
The car cruised into a village square. Ancient, low houses enclosed a small pond. Miss Leeth saw whitewashed walls and a lot of dark wood. Aged wood.
Teak
. Briefly, she wondered how she knew that.
A sign sticking out from the front of the pub drew her attention: "The Elephant and Castle." The flowery script of the lettering was carved deep, and filled with gold paint.
The man steered them past, and parked. Picking up his umbrella and his funny rounded hat with its stiff brim, he strolled round to her side. Smiling, he opened the door for her, holding out the crook of his arm. For a moment she bristled – did he think she couldn't get down from the vehicle by herself? But an odd compliance settled over her, damping her annoyance. Taking his arm, she stepped down onto the… running board. The car looked very old, yet gleamed like something new. Together, they entered the pub.
Her vague unease grew. Apart from the unnaturally pure birdsong, the village was eerily silent. She herself felt strange.
Inside, the room was dark. More of the same black wood. Exposed, roughly hewn beams supported a low ceiling, and the furniture was all dark, heavy wood. She felt a rising panic. Threat seemed to hang like a miasma in the gloomy interior, and
she couldn't hear anything from outside!
She swallowed against a throat suddenly dry. Something else was wrong – the darkness wasn't clearing properly: her eyes weren't working right. What was wrong with her?
A man at the bar,
silently
polishing glasses stared at them blankly, and with a shock she realized she couldn't hear
him
, either! Not his breathing, not even the rustle of his clothing – what was
wrong
with her?
Eyes wide, she gripped the arm of the man beside her for reassurance. He watched her in growing concern.
'Miss Leeth? Are you all right? Whatever is the matter?'
And with a shocking chill that started at her scalp and raced down to her feet, she realized she couldn't hear
him
breathing, either. Dropping his arm, she backed away from him, toward the door..
It was like a nightmare. As though this one room was all there was, and everything else no longer existed. Outside would be nothingness, the car and village swallowed up. And she was trapped in here with two robots that looked like human beings.
A nightmare.
The face seemed to swim, the room wavered.
Stimsense
.
Abruptly, she remembered the helmet going over her head. Remembered asking Nelson about his "special" work with Emma. It was like a kind of game, he'd said, and kind of like training, at the same time. She'd done interactive stimsense, right? It was kind of like that.
She never had, but she wasn't going to admit
that
.
He'd asked if she'd like to try one of Emma's recreational scenarios? It
did
sound interesting.
‘I dunno. Uncle wouldn’t approve.’
‘Well, I won’t tell him if you don’t.’ Nelson had smiled; looking
so
superior. ‘But I guess you do everything he tells you, don’t you?’
That had decided her. 'I can get out if I don't like it, right?'
'Sure!' he'd laughed, and rolled his eyes, then sat there, clearly expecting her to ask a bunch of dumb questions. 'Are you
scared
, Leeth?'
She
so
wanted to punch him, right then. 'No! Of course not.'
He waited. Raised his eyebrows.
'Okay, okay! So, how do I do it?'
He'd looked pleased, she remembered. Maybe even more than pleased.
He
tricked
me into doing stimsense!
Snarling, she reached up to her head to tear off the sensory induction helmet… only to feel nothing but her own hair.
Hissing in fury, she shut her eyes, and while still holding her head, forced her other arms – her
real
arms – to reach up again.
Felt plastic.
And wrenched it off.
Blinking in sudden light, the dark inn room vanished in one dizzyingly chaotic moment. Nelson stared at her in shock as she shuddered in her seat, then forced herself to stand, legs wobbling.
'Miss Leeth. Uh, Leeth, what are you doing? How did you know….'
She ignored him, while
Miss Leeth
fell away. She swayed as facts vanished, leaving gaping holes; unmoored from herself by the dream-like draining of knowledge. Blinking at Nelson – who had a strong resemblance to the older man, she saw – she felt herself shedding the strange deference to that older man. Felt the
like
, perhaps even
love,
evaporate. The loss tore at her, like the memory of Faith, of having to leave her behind. Faith, who still waited for her back at the Institute.
Tears sprang to her eyes.
I'm
me
again
. The debonair gentleman's pallid young imitation unplugged a hair-thin cable from the back of his own head. And as he watched her,
guiltily
, she understood why.
He just tried to
program
me!
She flushed.
No,
she vowed.
Enough.
She tried to speak, but her lips had pulled so far back in a snarl that she couldn't. Anger burned in every muscle, flared in every nerve, its intensity momentarily paralyzing her.
Nelson's face whitened, reading his death in every line of her shaking body.
Batting aside his out-flung arm she grabbed his throat and pinned him in his seat. Summoning the razor tingle, fingers poised over his chest, she saw him jolt back as she pricked his flesh. His eyes jerked down, searching for the knives, then back up to meet her gaze, uncomprehending.
Good
. For a moment she paused, surfing the cresting immensity of her anger, picturing her hand plunging-
'LEETH,' boomed Uncle's voice like a thunderclap. 'LET NELSON GO!'
She stared up at the concealed speaker in shock.
'LET HIM GO!'
The room seemed to shake with the cry.
The desperation in her Uncle's voice reached her. Turning back to her prey, she hauled him up from his seat one-handed, by the throat, until their eyes were level.
Their faces only inches apart, she didn't speak. She didn't need to. Tossing him back down hard into his chair she stalked from the room.
-
In another room in the complex, the lights came up as the recently-recorded scene faded. Nelson drew a shaky breath, turning angrily to Mother and Father.
Seated to one side, looking smug, Harmon radiated an air of “I told you so.”
'Why'd we have to watch that?' asked Nelson. 'You were all watching it on the monitors, and I was
there
!'
Mother glanced toward Harmon. 'Apparently the Doctor thinks it will help him explain that Leeth is neither unstable nor a personal danger to everyone here.'
Harmon looked down his nose at her. 'I
did
advise against the experiment. Although I admit she reacted a little sooner, and more strongly than I predicted. You must also admit she would be no use to you unless she
were
dangerous. And she
is
predictable, to me. Therefore, controllable.' He spread his hands.
'She didn't have
you
by the throat!' Nelson rasped.
'Exactly,' responded Harmon.
'She didn't look controllable to me!'
'Because you don't understand her, Nelson,' Harmon replied. 'I warned you all against trying to program her as you do your other agents, through their NuLife "entertainment." And for Leeth, with no experience of that type of stimsense….' He shook his head.
'Boot up, Doc!' Nelson snorted. 'Where'd you think she grew up – a desert island?'
'It was the Doctor who raised her, Nelson,' Mother said. 'From the age of eight. So he should know.'
Nelson snorted. 'So what? Even if the Doc didn't allow it, her friends would've let her use theirs.'
'She had no friends,' Harmon said.
Mother and Father exchanged a look.
'Boo hoo,' said Nelson. 'Killed them all, did she? Look, the readings showed she was meshed: deeply.'
'At first, Nelson, only at first. Within nine minutes your fantasy was falling apart.'
'That just means I need to implant my MetaLife chip so she can receive direct neural stimulation instead of a washed out, toned down, analog-'
'No, Nelson.' Harmon gave a single emphatic shake of his head. 'Adding cyberware subtracts magic. And so much of what Leeth can do lies in her very subtle magic. So it would rather defeat the purpose in this case.'
'So you say. We only have your word for it she's magically active,' Nelson retorted. ‘I’ve never seen her do any magic.’
Harmon raised one eyebrow. 'It's encouraging that you still think that, despite having just experienced a taste of it. A
tiny
taste, which came near killing you. I believe Dojo will also vouch for her magical abilities.'
Though extracting that information from her trainer had been tediously difficult.
Nelson's hand went to his chest, recently healed by the Doctor.
'She can bench press more than Dojo and James combined, for example,' Father offered.
Nelson blinked. 'But she's so-' He made a curving hourglass gesture in the air.
'Mmm,' Father agreed. 'She certainly doesn't appear to carry the necessary musculature. Her reactions are frighteningly fast, too – faster than any but the most extensive neural re-wiring. And all without a single cybernetic implant. On any security scan she appears to be a perfectly normal girl.'