Page 11 of Scion

“How many people have you killed, Azure?”

I pause mid-step, mentally running the abrupt question over in my head to make sure I haven’t misunderstood. It was posed casually enough. The sort of thing I know a lot of people wonder, but no one asks. Of course Old Woman’s asking.

“I don’t know.”

“Nonsense.”

“Really.” I meet her gaze steadily. She’s looking for humour, or anger, or emotion of any kind. I don’t give it to her.

She just nods. An unperturbed, thoughtful motion. “Why not?”

“Because it doesn’t matter.”

“How many people you’ve killed doesn’t matter,” she repeats.

“It’s the job. I’m not proud or ashamed of the number, so I don’t keep count.” Feels weird to be having this conversation. Uncomfortable. But not so uncomfortable that I’m going to risk losing that file, no matter how unlikely it is that Old Woman can ferret out a lie from me.

Old Woman squints at me. Wisps of smoke still curling around her. “You’re aware that some people think killing other people is wrong?”

“So I’ve heard.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“A lot of people think that people being allowed to live forever is wrong, too.” I reach out and steady her as she stumbles over a piece of debris. “Sixty-five percent of Themis. Around eighty of Oceanus, and Phoebe, and Crius. What I do wouldn’t be legal, otherwise.”

Old Woman brushes me off and gives a disapproving grunt. Not that surprising. Few with her kind of wealth—the kind that live out here, in places like this—enjoy being reminded of the megacities’ DeGov systems. “So you only kill lifers?”

“I only kill Proscriptions.”

“Just people who are profitable to kill, then?” Said with absent curiosity rather than condemnation.

“It’s the job,” I repeat, a little irritably. “Not much of a living in it if it’s not profitable. And besides—the Keres make those decisions, not me.”

“Of course they do, dear.” Old Woman continues to sift through the charred remains of her Loop pod, then sighs. “Are you going to be able to get anything from this?”

“No. It was thorough.”

“That it was.” Old Woman gazes around interestedly. “That it was.” I still don’t know whether she has a complete misunderstanding of how close she came to death, or she’s just getting used to the experience. Either way, she’s remarkably composed.

“How long until you can get it repaired?”

“Back to being able to launch from this end?” She shakes her head. “All the drones along the line are for maintenance. Minor issues, cracks. They can do it, but it’ll be slow. Days at best.”

I was hoping otherwise, but no surprise there. “Closest road?”

“That’s useable? I don’t know. Maybe fifty kilometres?”

Great. And a volo is out; if whoever wants her dead is being this thorough, there’s no way they’ll have ignored her most obvious point of egress. “I need a map of the area. Sat photos, as recent as you have. Then I need you to show me your biosecurity. Everything you can.”

“Now?”

I open my mouth to say yes, of course now, and then hesitate. Old Woman is swaying on her feet. She’s been nearly blown up, thrown somewhat violently through the air, and all this on a body that I honestly would have assumed couldn’t take a firm slap on the back. Plus it’s two, maybe three in the morning. Not an issue for me with my revs to keep me alert, but she doesn’t have anything like that advantage.

“Morning is fine.” We’re not at the running stage anyway, not yet. It’s concerning that someone knew enough about the setup here to sabotage the Loop, but nobody’s made it through the EMP ring yet, let alone into the house itself. A panicked run for the city will only benefit whoever wants Old Woman dead.

She smiles at me. It’s a weird smile. Pleased. Almost smug. “Thank you.”

I ignore her. We leave the smouldering ruin of the pod for the much more pleasant atmosphere of the house. The hidden door snicks shut behind us, sealing with a soft whir as we start up the aquarium-lit stairs.