Chapter 16
16
Little Mo adjusted its position to check her out, its front legs rising and the currently green visor of lights blinking excitedly… well it looked excited to her. Cyn found herself smiling and wondering if the critter could understand human facial language. Maybe it could?
“I follow you because it is a primary directive; a directive ranked the same as my self-preservation directive. I must remain intact to report.”
Right. That gave rise to a whole slew of new questions. “Can you tell me why me? Why am I important? Oh, and how long have you been doing this?”
“I do not know why I am to follow you or why you are important.”
“And the other? How long? Who are you to give this data to?” Of course, there was another, even better, question. “Who told you to do this?”
“I have followed you since you left Big Daddy. The exact time is not retrievable because of my memory deficits. I am to give the data to Big Daddy, and Big Daddy also told me to follow you, Cyn.”
“Big Daddy? Who is that? What is their real name?”
“You have a sugar daddy you didn’t tell me about?” Vargr nudged her ribs.
Little Mo continued, ignoring Vargr’s question, which made her feel ridiculously smug. “Big Daddy is the real designator. There is no other name for the vehicle.”
“Big Daddy is a vehicle?” Her frown was born of annoyance. Though… “Where is this vehicle? Do you know where it is now?”
“I do not.” Little Mo’s limbs slumped. “I can no longer report as directed. Memory loss has taken that information from me.”
“Oh. Crap.” It could’ve been a trove of data, if whatever computers it must hold still functioned, and if they could get them going.
“Big Daddy will not be happy with me.”
While she’d interrogated the little AI, Maura had come closer, and now she crouched behind Little Mo, peering at something on the behind area of its metal chassis. She ran a finger along the domed steel. In the flickering light of the campfire, Cyn thought she spotted blue writing there, in capitals. The patchwork colors of rust, the scrapes and corrosion, had faded and camouflaged much of the text.
“ MAELSTROM ,” Maura said, rising from her crouch. “I thought so. This AI was part of Dr. Nietz’s last project.”
“Us? The Beast Horde project?” Rutger tucked his thumbs into the waist of his pants. His shirt had gone missing. For a tight second she registered the droolworthy ridges of his abdominal musculature, before she metaphorically slapped herself.
“You weren’t the last. There was another nanomachine project, and this was it. Very secret and a last resort.” She looked to Cyn. “If Little Mo was a part of it, and it was programmed to follow you, then you were a part of it too, my dear.”
Another brick in the wall of her past.
“Then I do have nanites. I’m like you.” She gazed from one beaster to the next. “I must be.”
“Likely.” Sucking on his cheek, Rutger nodded. “But not certain. Our biotechie will verify. But if you’re not a beaster like us, what are you?”
“And what are you ?” It hurt to be excluded, felt as if he’d poked at a wound she never knew she had. Why should it matter when it was beginning to look like they didn’t know what they were either?
The light caress of Vargr’s hand and thumb across the back of her neck made her shiver. The biting tension drained away. Already, this man knew her too well. “Don’t know about you, Ruttie, but I’m made of fuckin’ sugar and spice.”
“Call me Ruttie again and…” Rutger’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll kiss you.”
Vargr burst into laughter and reached over to slap the other beaster’s shoulder. “Best threat, ever!”
“Good.”
“There’s something I get to tell you all. I’ve seen that MAELSTROM tag before. It’s tattooed on Cyn’s neck, here.” His fingers tapped her skin. “Want to show them?”
“No. I can take your word for it. So will they.” She was no exhibit. Though she’d look in the first mirror they found.
“T’s crossed and I’s dotted then,” Maura mused. “She’s maelstrom. If only we could find this Big Daddy.”
The beasters fell into discussing whether the biotechie or a weaponsmith could manage to download the data from Little Mo and figure out the location of Big Daddy. It might be a store of all sorts of info. They tipped Little Mo upside down and prodded it, making his eye lights go crazy with the blinking.
She figured the little critter had some sort of simulated feelings. Maybe it was annoyed? Maybe scared? When they released it, Little Mo scuttled over and tucked itself behind her ankle. All their talking accomplished nothing, so she dragged a roll of bedding into a spot about the fire and snuggled in to sleep. From the prods and the weight settling on her blanket, Little Mo had settled on the edge.
They should’ve asked Maura some of those other questions…
When we get to the Worshipper place, yes.
She woke, muzzy-headed and with something hard pressing on her chest. Lights danced. Red. Lights.
“Little Mo?”
It’d been saying something.
“Enemies approaching! Multiple sensors show the approach of the creatures called stinkers!”
“Shit!” She sat up, swaying, not sure which way was up and slapped her hand on the floor. Little Mo slid off her chest to the side and into the bedding. “Stinkers are coming! Wake up! It’s an attack!”
To her left and right, two already alert guards swung up their rifles and everyone else leaped from their sleeping bags and found weapons—rifles, pistols, knives, and in her case, once she groggily ran to where she’d left it, a broom. They hadn’t trusted her with a gun, and she might just regret that by the end of this.
Abruptly, the ceiling and floor of the adjacent train tunnel were alive with stinkers. Their legs were stomping. They were a clockwork army of white spiders, their limbs composed of skinny triangles. As they ran, they made a skritching, clacking sound and they smelled rotten, enough to make Cyn wish her nose would stop working.
Guns began firing and she instinctively ducked as Vargr’s pistol went off to her left. He was up, standing bare-chested with his arm extended as he picked off stinkers. Muzzle flashes and the bang of the guns firing seemed to rock the space. When hit the stinkers dropped and writhed or spun. From behind them a new threat entered, sprinting and firing the strange guns that shot blue bolts. Ghoul guards. The air cindered with ozone.
Rutger and Vargr switched aim to the human ghoul-guards and two dropped instantly, spewing blood and chunks of flesh as the big ammo rounds did their gruesome work. The sweet stench of blood mingled with the burning and the strange foulness. Though she was gagging, a stinker that jumped at her fell victim to the bad end of the broom. The timber shaft thunked into the creature and out, spurting liquids. With a flick of the wrist and arm, she flung it into the distant wall.
One down.
Her head was thumping but she wiped her eyes with her forearm and took a step, watching as more gunshots took out stinkers and one of the beaster foot-soldiers was swarmed and stabbed with those horrible sharp legs.
The crunch and wet noises sickened her more.
Orm and Toother were busy fighting off a separate horde, tearing along in a short path and throwing them airwards, with Toother crunching them and tearing them into pieces. Then they charged again. More stinkers swarmed up the nanodog’s side.
A ghoul guard far to the left was pounded by several shots. He spun and sprawled on the floor then fled, limping, back into the tunnel. Overwhelmed by the last of the tide of stinkers, the others were distracted. A weaponless ghoul guard ran at her, his eyes flaring white, one arm limp and dangling, his mouth snarling. As he leaped, his good arm clawed the air.
But… she’d grounded the broomy end of the broom, planted her feet, rock-steady, and raised the point.
The broom proved worthy. He skewered himself in the very middle. The shaft kept going for a whole foot, and his dirty shirt was shoved into his innards below his sternum. Though one knife-carrying hand swiped at her, she dodged, dropping the broom to side-step and kick at his gut. He screamed and wriggled, caught on her make-shift spear.
Luckily, before bedtime, she’d sharpened the end using Vargr’s knife.
The once-a-man still screamed and flailed. She picked up the lost knife, kneeled, pinned him down, and began to carve…
And the lights flickered and blurred. Sounds deadened.
He grabbed at her. She stabbed.
There was blood. Much blood. She kept stabbing, appalled yet fascinated by the thick red as it slipped over his skin and by the feel of the metal cutting deep into flesh and cartilage.
A stinker barreled forward. In one slick move, she stood, plucking out the broom and hurling it straight through the stinker, sending it sliding and tumbling backward. Wait… What was she doing here?
She needed to be elsewhere.
She found herself staring down the darkening tunnel, her feet following the tracks, her arms glistening and wet all the way to the elbows.
Her last thought before the thoughts stopped: The Lure.