Blood Will To Blood
They’re on their way.” Kerr angled her way through the hole, concrete dust clinging to her coveralls. Piston acknowledged her presence. Chalice did not.
“How many?” He held out his metal hand to pull Kerr the rest of the way through.
“Three. Like you said.” She grabbed it and he lifted her like she was nothing.
“I’m surprised you can count that high.” Chalice didn’t look up from the worn table. Printer parts lay strewn across the top.
A previous version of herself would have been riled up by the insult, been astounded at the gall of playing the victim when she’d been the antagonist. This version of Kerr had been worn down by Chalice’s shite for so long that she couldn’t find it in herself to mutter fuck you in response.
Chalice was simply an arsehole now and couldn’t be expected to act any other way.
Mourning the person she had been would be pointless.
“Do we have enough for the trade?” Kerr directed her question to Piston instead of Chalice, even though she was the one counting and organising the parts. Chalice snarled silently, likely adding the slight to her pile of grievances to bolster her own victim narrative.
Piston ignored her. He might have organised a motley crew of addicts, dragging their Chem-addled corpses out of the tunnels and into the streets. He might have saved innumerable lives the rest of Tyton had deemed too wretched to be worth the effort. But being a father had proved too much.
Kerr thought it might be the guilt over losing Lydia. Or it could simply be as common as with many other great men – their lives are given to causes. Their families wither, or worse, suffer sides of them the rest of the world doesn’t see. Thankfully, Piston was the former.
Whatever Chalice needed, Piston was unable to provide. Then again, Kerr couldn’t either, so she didn’t judge too harshly.
Or perhaps, it was that Kerr herself was a cause – Piston’s duty to care for after that disastrous mission, winning accolades for his generosity toward the orphan that Chalice believed should be bestowed on her.
Anyone with a functioning Opti could see that’s when things between her and Chalice changed.
Piston gave a cursory glance at the pile of parts on the table. “That will depend on the negotiation, but I think so.”
Chalice snorted just loud enough that they could hear. “We don’t even know what printers they have,” she said when Piston didn’t acknowledge her. “I have parts for half a dozen different models.”
“They can print override chips. That narrows it down to two.” Piston said.
Chalice swept most of the parts off the table. She glared defiantly as they clattered noisily against the stained concrete. “That’s what we have then.” She pointed to the remainder on the table. “Enough?”
Piston refused to be baited. “Enough.”
A hollow metallic bang resonated from the stairwell. Piston eyed both of the girls. The time for petty shite was over. “Ready?”
Chalice stood, scraping the chair along the floor as she did. Kerr wrapped her small fingers around her oversized pistols.
“Calm down, cowboy. This is a trade negotiation. We’re not killing anyone.” Chalice shook her head, disdain dripping from her eyes.
Kerr attempted to save face. “Ideally.” She checked the magazine. “Can’t be too careful though.” When Chalice’s expression didn’t change, she turned to Piston. “Excited to finally get a proper arm?”
Piston held out his hand, flexing his titanium composite fingers. “I’ve kind of grown attached to her.”
“Your arm’s a girl?” Chalice mocked.
Piston snorted. “Ever give a rig a boy’s name?”
“Cao-Kerr’s guns are boys,” Chalice said flatly.
“Nah.” Kerr pulled her pistols. “Mercutio’s trans and Tybalt’s a butch lesbian, yeah?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Chalice pushed past her. Kerr shrugged and holstered her guns.
Leaving the musty stairwell, Kerr got her first real look at the Adlets she’d heard so much about.
Spoken of as quasi-mythical beings who couldn’t be detected by any scanner, and they’d disappeared around the same time as NovAITech fell, plunging the rest of Tyton into chaos.
Some of the more conspiracy minded folks thought that they were the ones who really controlled the city.
And here they were, gods among mortals. Except that their leader appeared to be a short sepia-skinned woman with a mop of greying chin-length hair, shaved on the sides and a long fuzzy coat. She looked like someone’s grandma, not a feared gang leader.
Then she removed the coat, permanently altering Kerr’s opinion on grandmothers. She had the largest arms she’d ever seen and could probably give Piston a run for his money.
The girl beside her had a similar hair style, but shorter and standing on edge.
It was also flaming red and her face was nearly covered with freckles, though they didn’t stand out as much as Kerr’s, due to her darker complexion.
Her eyes twitched but she held her rifle with a relaxed, practiced grip.
Old, but well-maintained. Best to watch out for that one.
The last one stood at the improvised entrance.
Light filtering in from outside appeared to give her an angelic glow, caressing the shape of her jaw, highlighting the outline of her long, dark coat.
It seemed to have been tailor-made just for her, an obscene display of wealth.
She carried no weapons that Kerr could see, but she was the one wearing their gift.
Her disciplined stance and slightly raised chin should have made Kerr hate her.
Instead, she wanted to run over and ask how she liked the device Kerr had made.
To beg for attention and melt into a stammering mess.
To run away before she could respond. To dream about what could have been and hope she was thinking about her.
“Embarrassing,” she muttered to herself. Even after Chalice’s neglect, that was a little desperate.
Kerr looked around to see if anyone else had noticed her gawking, only to find that Piston and Sesi were engaged in a conversation she’d missed entirely.
“And your tech?” Piston said.
The woman dropped her head with a knowing smile. Like a polite rejection after you’d been dancing around all night, waiting for just the right moment to ask for her number.
“It’ll leak eventually,” he added. “Tech never stays secret forever. Might as well get paid for it.”
“You’re right it doesn’t.”
Piston was about to try a new tactic, but the woman held up her hand.
“Don’t try and convince me it’s for the greater good. We’re not good. We kill people. And we’ll be extinct before you figure it out.”
The woman’s face gave nothing away, but Kerr thought she saw the girl at the door flinch a little.
“Let’s start small.” The woman held up a small case. “Go ahead, scan it.”
Piston looked intently at the case and then nodded, satisfied at its contents. He turned to Chalice, who held up a bag of printer parts.
The woman didn’t move.
“Is she not going to scan it?” Chalice was a lot less polite than Piston.
“Lusa?” the woman called.
The girl – Lusa, strode over. Kerr’s mouth ran dry at the flow of her body in motion. Chalice curled her lip. Embarrassed, Kerr tried to find another place to park her eyes.
Suddenly, Lusa snapped to attention and whispered something in the woman’s ear.
“What are you trying to pull, Piston?” The woman stuffed the case back into her coat and made for the gap in the wall. The red-haired girl followed.
“I swear, they’re just printer parts.” Chalice raised her hands, panicking.
Cinder stepped through the gap before anyone could reach it, pistol pointing straight at Lusa’s forehead. “We tried to play nice, but we want the tech.”
“Cinder!” Piston yelled. “Stand the fuck down.”
The rest was a blur. Lusa twirled. Kerr’s heart leapt for a split second, admiring the graceful acrobatics of her evasive manoeuvre until four of Cinder’s fingers hit the floor with the wet thud of living tissue on concrete.
Lusa had her knee in the man’s back and the point of a knife at his neck.
Kerr hadn’t even considered that she might be carrying knives.
Her Opti flashed a cortisol spike warning.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the muzzle of the red-haired girl’s rifle rising. She spun on her heels, Tybalt discharging a round before the SmartCartridge could get a lock on.
The girl jerked back. Before the horror of what she’d done could hit, her arm slackened, dropping Tybalt into a growing pool of blood. Her blood.
The air in the room suddenly disappeared. Piston jammed an EpiRDC into her heart and shoved her into the stairwell, slamming the fire door behind her.
Muffled shouts. More gunfire. The cold brick pressing into her back.
And then the ringing in her ears that drowned out all else.