Page 44 of Scion

We move in a single file for five minutes but the pace is glacial, Verity clearly starting and stopping based on some memorised pattern. We’ve turned several corners, can’t see the hatch through which we entered, and my revs itch at every blindingly fast flyby. Annoying under most circumstances. Potentially disastrous if it masks the approach of whatever’s after us.

“Here.” Verity motions to a container. Easily more than double the size of the one that Jasa and I took to Themis.

“This says biohazard,” Jasa notes. “And explosive.”

“Means that drones have to move it more slowly.” She starts punching in a keypad code as I keep my gaze roving the shelves behind us, watching for any sign of pursuit. “A lot fewer broken bones.”

“But what if DeGov registered it as an empty container at some point, and decided to fill it?”

Verity bio-verifies and wrenches the door open, peering in as both Jasa and I flinch. “Looks like we’re okay.” I turn and we both glare at her as she smirks. “DeGov doesn’t bother—”

My revs prickle again, and I half pause in anticipation of another blast of air from a passing drone.

Jasa gives a small sigh, and sways, and looks down with a confused frown at the Ceramic that’s now protruding from her stomach.

Verity chokes off whatever she was saying as I hurl myself forward, every rev active as I sweep them both through the opening and into the darkness. Pain blooms in a line along my shoulder, the second Ceramic slamming into the far wall and clattering to the floor. I haul the door closed, and it seals just after a third white blade comes ludicrously close to slipping through the narrow remaining slit.

“How long till we’re collected?” A yellow light snaps on above, illuminating the space. Four-by-two metres. A table, couch, small cupboard to the side. Even a holo. I take it in at a glance, quickly on my knees by Jasa, whose breath is coming in wheezing gasps. I move her carefully to the couch.

“Ten seconds from the door shutting.” Verity’s face is sickly in the coloured light. “Was it a bio?”

“Cushions,” murmurs Jasa hazily. “See, Azure? Some people think ahead.”

“I didn’t see anything.” I reply to Verity, stripping away the already sodden cloth from around Jasa’s wound. I let my voice convey how concerning that is to me. I don’t care how careful they were being: I should have spotted anyone, or anything, close enough to throw a Ceramic. “Medical supplies?”

Verity is already moving over to the cupboard. “Just stitch spray.” She tosses me the small bottle. Shaken, but still in control.

“That will help, but she needs an AID. Soon.” There’s the slightest tremor and then our container is moving. Verity was right, thankfully. One hell of a lot smoother than our last ride. I sponge away the blood and apply the spray. Jasa shudders slightly at the sensation. “Where are we going?”

“The Outs.”

I grimace. “Can we change that?”

“Maybe.”

I meet her steady, cool gaze. “I know. I know, Verity. I’m sorry about this. But trust me, letting her die won’t make things easier or better.”

Verity continues staring, then sways over to the cupboard again and brings out a pad. “So where do you—”

There’s a thump. Not that noticeable against the rocking of our journey, but enough. My revs, still taut, scream.

“Move!” I dive at Verity. An arm punches through the wall next to her head. One motion. Impossible; the impact would break even my bones. But there it is. A hand, snaking through. Grasping, snagging Verity’s long, flowing hair. Yanking her backward.

I snatch up the bloodied Ceramic from the floor and fling it past Verity’s ear, digging desperately into my pocket even as it’s in the air. The blade lodges in the attacker’s sleeved forearm, though doesn’t slam it back or make it flinch the way I would have expected. It doesn’t matter. I’m flicking the switch on my Plasma. Lunging. Swinging. I swing down with all my momentum, all my rev-enhanced strength.

I swing down hard.

The white-hot knife connects just above the wrist. There’s a shocking moment of resistance, a heartbeat where I think that maybe whatever nightmare is clinging on outside might genuinely just be invulnerable. But then there’s a strangled sound above even the intruding din of the warehouse, and the hand is dangling, still clutching Verity’s hair, and the stump I just separated it from is spraying arterial blood, and thrashing, and then withdrawing as it follows a dark form toppling briefly past the small opening.

With my cogs slammed on the way they are, though, I get a look at the attacker’s face as they fall away. Not a good look. But good enough.

“Azure?” It’s all happened in moments and Verity’s perception is finally catching up, stumbling away from the hole and then standing very still. She shudders, takes a long, shaky breath, and then turns with dignified grace to show me her back. “If you could, please?”

I dazedly disengage the severed hand tangled in her locks. Red blood. Five fingers. No different to mine. “You’re going to need a shower,” I murmur hollowly, examining it. Still trying to process what I just saw.

Verity shudders again, though this one is delicate, more showy. “Or a haircut. How did it… What?” She’s noticed my expression.

I hold up the dripping, severed left hand. The cross-like scar on it livid.