Coldware (Part 1: Software) -- Chapter Two

I allow the rhythmic sound of my heels clicking against the moldy cobbles to pull me into a state of absent walking, my mind lazily pushing images and thoughts into my awareness so that I may ponder them briefly before discarding them. The Dock Master comes to mind, and I let out an involuntary snort. She’s a bloody fool, allowing me to stay onboard with the company. Lying about my prison time is a royal offense; the King hates his records being muddled. Clenching and unclenching my hands—a subconscious action I’ve done since I was a young biter myself—I think on how I might use that against her. One has to think practically if you want to get through this miserable world on top.

Something snaps me out of my trance. My footsteps… something’s wrong. I continue walking solidly, unwavering, while I identify the disturbance, opening up my senses to my surroundings. Stretching lazily, raising my arms up high to feign a yawn, I rest my hands in front of me instead of resting at the base of my spine as they were before. Muscles taut, left-hand fingers resting on the hilt of the blade I keep hidden up my right sleeve, I pinpoint the cause of the death of my thoughts.

As my heels tap quietly in the hardly lamp-lit darkness, another pair of clicks follows closely behind each sound. I nearly laugh aloud again; someone is following me, and with a purpose. It’s painfully obvious how hard they’re trying to synchronize their steps with my own. It is also plain how miserably they have failed.

I whip around to my left, hearing a surprised shout from ten yards behind me. Ten yards?! Heavens, they sounded closer than that—

Something hits me on the back of the head, knocking me down to my hands and knees, lighting a fire of flashing lights behind my eyes. Mentally, I curse myself. There’s more than one; they were likely trying to be heard so I would react. Damn it. Air wheezes to my left; I frantically dive to the right, rolling onto my back—oh, mercy, the smell of urine is intoxicating down here—legs folded tightly over my stomach. I see the dark figure looming over me, some sort of wooden stick in their hands having just me harsh contact with empty cobbles. A stick?! Son of a—

I kick out, the heel of my shin-high boots slamming into their shins with a jarring, satisfying force. They shriek, doubling over, and I smile darkly. Mistake. I lash out with my heel again, my blow missing their head—I’d hate to break the shoe—grazes their ear, and barrels toward that sensitive, vulnerable part where your shoulder meets your neck. As it gets close to the skin, my hands grasp a small lever on my leather belt disguised as a decoration. I flick it with my thumb, listening to the happy grinding of metal-on-metal. As the contraption releases, a blade ejects from the heel of my boot, embedding itself into this wretch’s flesh.

Blood spatters as my attacker howls, gripping my ankle as he releases his chunk of wood. I hear him blubber out cries for mercy, falling to his knees as he vainly tries to pull my blade from his shoulder. I hate to sound cruel, but it’s bloody hilarious. “Please, please, ma’am,” Now I know he’s a man now, at least, but hardly so. He can’t be more than fifteen. Nasty biter. “It’s the King, ma’am! Said you wouldna’ come without a fight, he did! Told me to… please, ma’am! It ‘urts!”

The King?! I twist my ankle, digging the blade farther, the metal harshly grazing what feels like bone. His collar bone, perhaps? “Why?” I growl, putting more pressure on my heel. He screams; in the darkness behind him, I see two dark figures retreating and snort.

“Says you got information on the Queen, he did.” The boy sniffles, his face contorting like a monster’s as the pain reaches new, unthought-of heights. Well, he should’ve considered that I’d fight back before he swung a stick at me. I’ll have a knot on the back of my head for ages now. “Says you helped her escape.”

Everything in my mind goes blank. My muscles loosen as I slowly flip the lever back into an upright position, sheathing the blade in my boot. The boy gasps, falling to the ground beside me, shivering as he grips his oozing shoulder. I glance at him sadly as his dark leather hood falls back. Sweet face, pretty emerald eyes, soft female-like lips, muddy-brown hair; looks like the children Fey used to make me kill in the Pit. “Escape?” I falter on the word, breathless. His eyes widen, surprised I hadn’t known. He knows he’s in deep, but there’s no going back; I can see it on his face. That, and given how he howled, he likely didn’t want to be stabbed again. Maybe the biter is smart enough to know I won’t stop next time; I slash his pale little throat out.

“Yes, ma’am,” he chokes, curling up into the fetal position. Weak little worm; I find it hard to believe the King would send such a pain-intolerant child to do his bidding. At least give the boy some endurance first. “She survived the fall, she did. That’s what the advisors are saying, anyhow. There’s been reports of massive cybermancy in the East. That’s all they would tell me, but even a fool would know she was the last one of them witches left.”

I whack him on the head with a tightly-clenched fist, hissing when he whines again. “Where in the East?”

“I dunno, ma’am!” He whimpers, and I roll my eyes in irritation.

“Who does, then?”

“Why?”

“Because she’s not the only one left,” I shriek, on top of him. I don’t remember straddling him like this, but my hands are on his neck now, my left hand digging into his bloody wound. “Where is she?! Who knows? Dammit, I’ll kill ya’, ya’ filtha’, weak little worm of a bita’,” I hear my dreaded Pit accent come back, same as this boy’s. The tears start burning behind my eyes. I don’t want to remember this. I don’t want to remember this ever again!

“The Eastern clans ‘ave her! The Luminex; the dark ones! The dark ones…” He sobs, struggling against me.

“Be still!” I scream, lifting his head before slamming it against the cobbles. My mind whirs furiously, processing this. She’s alive; oh, thank the gods, she’s alive! Pushing back the relief for now, I find my plan of action. “Is that all?” Composing my voice, I sigh.

He nods, so I clench his throat a little tighter, but he only nods again. I smile, making him cringe. Smart boy. “Don’t kill me, ma’am; please!”

“I won’t, but you’re coming with me. I’ll be damned if you tell the King a word of what I’ve said.” Pulling off my stained gloves, tossing the pieces of fabric to the cold, dew-covered ground, pressing my bare hands against his wound. He whimpers, but stays still, sensing I need him to. Smart little biter… I chew up the thought and spit it out, though. Last time I sympathized, I lost everything I cared about. I should just go ahead and say I lost her, though; I didn’t care much for anything else at the time.

“Of course, ma’am. Of course.” He whispers.

Satisfied with his response, I close my eyes, feeling the massive amount of metal that surround us pricking with a faded violet energy. From the iron and brass that make up signs over closed shops and the gas street lamps to the small mechanics on my knife sheath on my arm, the blade in my boot, and… inside of the boy? Ah. Cyber prosthetics, somewhere around his chest.

Mentally, I touch them, feeling my physical awareness fade. The metal and machinery hum happily at my call, latching onto invisible tendrils connected to my body. There is no copper nearby, so my abilities will be limited, but…

I jerk at the metal, hearing a nearby lamp post squeal in metallic agony, a large chunk screeching as it is dragged by unseen forces across the cobbles, over the boy’s arm, and onto his neck. I work quickly, mentally pushing the image of what I want as I attempt to construct the proper device for my purposes. Might as well knock out two birds with one stone, as the saying goes. I pull brass from a nearby sign, the sharp clanging sound as it hits the ground and slides toward us ringing out in the darkness. I force the brass and iron to warp, bend, compress, strip itself down into thin wire-like shapes where needed, reinforce it, shove deep into his wound unit he shrieks uncontrollably, not even bothering to try and stay still now.

Lashing out at me violently, his eyes go wide with the animal instinct to avoid such unimaginable pain as I force metal to fuse with flesh and bone, closing up the nasty gash before he loses anymore lifeblood to the disgusting ground. My vision begins to waver, fading in and out like a pulsing wave in the ocean as it rolls to shore, my head throbbing and my chest aching as my body searches for a Conductor but finds only useless flesh. If only she were here. If only…

I see the glint of metal on the biter’s shoulder—a finished metal patch, now forever part of his skin—as my hands slip away and my head rushes forward. I fall awkwardly, the right side of my jaw striking painfully against his metal patch—ironic, something I did to save him gives me a nasty bruise—while the majority of the rest of my face cracks loudly as I meet the cobbles unwillingly.

Too weak to move. Too weak to curse. Too weak to push the child away as he grips my body, no doubt trying to break my fall, and feels the cold metal of my cyber prosthetics through my clothes. I remember Fey, then, for some reason. Pale hazel eyes looking into my own—into my soul—telling me it isn’t murder. It’s mercy. He was giving me… mercy… with every strike… of the blade.

I hear a scream as I black out, and with shame, know that it is from my own throat.

*****

Sitting on the edge of the furs that make up my Lady’s crude bed, I watch her flinch, fingers twitching as her eyes scrunch up and relax again and again. Her lips, so beautifully formed, move as they form words in an ancient language. She always dreams in ways I can never understand. I like to think she does it on purpose, just to spite me, even though if I could understand the words she breathes, I certainly wouldn’t listen.

Her eyes open, temporarily illuminating the tent with a piercing violet glow that pulses from her tainted eyes. My body hums in response to her power surge as her back arcs, a cry escaping her open mouth, the copper that lines every one of my bones, muscles, and tendons vibrating as her energy flows from her body, through mine, and back again. I can’t help but double over, even after all of these years. Being a Conductor has its perks, if you were trained correctly. When I volunteered to be her personal Conductor so many years ago, they conditioned me to feel pleasure, not pain, when she channeled her energy through me. It’s an unimaginably lovely feeling, making my skin tingle and my hairs raise. I crumple next to her, the top of my head brushing her shaking fingers as I intertwine a gloved hand with hers. Biting down on one of the furs, I shudder, trying not to release a sound as she surges again.

This one is painful. The violet light flickers; glancing up, I watch her force her eyes shut, even in her sleep. But now they’re open again, another surge, and another, back to back, never-ending. I nearly bite through the leather it hurts so much now. There is only but so much pleasure you can feel having this much raw, untested energy raging through you. I can’t imagine how she must feel. It’s better that she’s asleep, I tell myself. Far better. Let her sleep. Don’t wake her…

She screams; it’s sudden, and incredibly loud. It lasts forever, to the point of where the tent flap flies open and Rynel, her short white hair gleaming in the moonlight, dives into the small space. Tightening myself up into the fetal position, I let my Lady squeeze my hand so tightly my fingers crackle. The scream ends, then begins again as a massive surge rushes through her. Her skin is hotter than fire, getting hotter still with every passing second. I feel the pressure ease slightly as Rynel removes her Inhibitors, her black feathered wings jerking as the onslaught of raw energy flow slams into her. She, too, is a Conductor, but the person for which she lined herself with copper has long since passed on. Or so she says. You can never trust a Demonic Luminex.

“Why is it so strong?” Rynel whimpers, gripping my Lady’s other hand. Tanned, unblemished skin gleams with sweat that drips down the Luminex’s arms, neck, and head. Locking my grey eyes with her lavender ones, I let out a pained sigh, trying to keep my voice low.

“It’s the trauma. Her ‘love’ shoved her out of a damned Aerial Hovering Device, for heaven’s sake.”

Rynel groans as another surge hits her. I growl, quieting her. “Are you sure? It could be…”

“It’s not.” I snap, the blooding draining from my face as my voice causes my Lady to stir. Rynel and I both agree on something for once; we need to pipe down or die in this bug-infested tent. If my Lady wakes up… it might very well kill all three of us.

“I’m telling you,” Rynel hisses under her breath, just loud enough for me to hear. “It looks like Metamorphosis. It feels like it, too.”

“I won’t let her turn into one of you!” I spit back, furious. Rynel sputters, her supposedly pretty face contorting into a mask of anger.

“She doesn’t have to turn into one; she already is! It’s in her blood. Luminex, Reaper; she’s a damned Luminex, so suck on it!”

“Damn you to Hell.”

“I already am.” Her voice is bitter at the statement; subdued. I regret my words instantly, no matter how much I might hate her. Lord, I hate her so.

“Let’s just… get through this. We can leave tomorrow. God forbid the King finds us before then.” I say quietly as darkness comes over us once more. The pain subsides as the surges end. It won’t last long before the surges start back up again, but at least I can relax my muscles for a little while. Nothingness, pleasure, pain, repeat; the cycle goes on and on until my Lady’s body feels as if it has properly dispelled the waste that lies within her. I have no idea what that waste might be, but contamination is the only reason she would react like this. Unless of course this is, indeed, Metamorphosis.

“Do you think she’s still alive?” I hear Rynel whisper. Biting my lower lip, I struggle with the smile that can’t help but rise onto my face at the thought of that particular woman. “Maira? No doubt. That woman can’t even blame her cyber prosthetics for the amount of strength she has, however bitter.”

“You like her?”

“Hell no; I hate everything about her. That’s what makes it so interesting.”

“Does the Que—Does your ‘Lady’ like her?”

I frown deeply, suddenly depressed. “Very much.” Rynel laughs softly, and my Lady responds by stirring, a low humming of pain rising in my bones once more. We both curse, and the pain begins again.