CHAPTER FIVE
Diebol
Jared Diebol strolled the factory catwalk with his hands in the pockets of his studded leather jacket. The secret service guards in the doorways below glanced up at him every now and then with eyes full of curiosity. Or fear. Sometimes fear. He stood out, certainly: their pressed uniforms and silvery body armor looked nothing like the ragged black vest and pocketed pants he wore. But they didn’t need the same kind of mobility he did.
Around them automated conveyor belts crisscrossed the factory floor, punctuated by scientists in gray lab coats and robotic arms injecting samples or sealing packaging. Chemicals bubbled in a large sealed tank in the far corner, the heart of the production.
Diebol leaned his forearms on the cold railing. “How many?” he called down.
The lead scientist didn’t stiffen, or snap to attention—Diebol liked this about him. The hoary man stood straight already, as if waiting for the question, and met Diebol’s eyes with calm self-assurance. Without even glancing at the compupad in his hands he answered: “Two thousand samples by tomorrow. Enough for a trial run. We’ll stop production to avoid waste until we receive your results, but we’re poised for immediate ramp-up afterward.”
“You’re my favorite for a reason, Sanders,” Diebol grinned. Several soldiers tensed—he rarely grinned—but Sanders gave him a short nod, and turned back to his work, unperturbed by the half-smile that sparked everyone else’s imaginations.
If you see the smile, you’re about to die, the rumors said.
Diebol had something to smile about, though. He’d bottled the essence of the female Stygge like a fine perfume. He swung himself over the rail and landed on the story below with the light footfall of a feathered cat. With a flourish he plucked one of the finished delivery systems off the assembly line. It was rounded dart like a rubber bullet, but lighter, and rough, with tiny hooks, much like the seeds of plants that spread by falling onto animal pelts.
They’d had a lot of issues testing the delivery system so it could be fired at an unsuspecting target without punching all the way through vital organs, or bouncing off. The goal was to stick, stab, and cleanly deliver the first burst of neurotransmitter into the target before he or she could attempt to remove the device. They’d devised two ways to keep any helpers from removing the device, as well: one, it would deliver an incapacitating electric shock when it began to lose skin contact, and two, if lodged in the cervical spine, it could latch on to the spinal cord so removal would cause death or permanent paralysis.
They’d also struggled to maintain the radio signal to the delivery system from each main control panel—affordably—and Diebol still needed money. But the new efforts on Bijou should take care of that.
“What are we calling these, Sanders?” he asked, turning the little seed around in his fingers.
“Whatever you like, of course. We’ve been colloquially saying stingers. Or freedom pills,” the scientist smiled.
“A little on the nose,” Diebol laughed. “May I?”
Sanders nodded, although really he had no choice. Diebol pocketed the device and whirled to leave the room, stopping in the doorway to give his favorite scientist a friendly joking salute. “You will receive orders about the first target shortly,” he said. “Give me an hour.”
“We are ever at the ready.”
“Of course.”
Diebol took five steps down the silvery hallway, then ducked into the nearest janitor’s closet, phasing through the polymerwall entrance as it sensed his DNA and softened with a slurp. He waved his hand over the lock on the inside to guarantee a moment’s solitude, and took a seat cross-legged on the floor between two trash-bots.
Diebol had played the long game, and now he finally almost had the win.
The young Growen leader closed his eyes, tilted his head back, and stepped into the hallway in his mind that he shared with his archenemy, lilting along that electromagnetic bond forged in captivity together so many years ago.
In his mind, Diebol’s hallway was long and white, with pristine matte walls. They’d been reflective once. He’d ended that two years ago after his “father” tortured him last.
Diebol’s boots made no sound as he strolled down the hall toward the abyss at the end. He could see the wooden cage floating in the darkness now. It reeked of fearful sweat, and blood, and cedar.
Comforting, in that old, twisted familiarity.
Diebol crossed the darkness and opened his cage door. It creaked as he entered. That creak had heralded food, punishment, human contact—everything in his childhood followed that creak.
He stretched out his back, then his shoulders, and took a deep breath, feeling his ribs expand to their limit as he took a seat on the floor to lean against the bars.
The shadowed figure in the ivory hallway opposite his began to move now. It shambled with a limp, each step measured and painful. Diebol’s heart beat faster—this felt like fear, but bled with anticipation. He clenched his teeth; the shadow reached its abyss, crossed, and found its cage door.
Jei Bereens stepped into his side of the cage and slumped to the ground, covered in rivulets of blood.
“Hey Jared,” he winced.
“You appear so quickly these days,” Diebol gloated. He’d discovered he could usually summon Jei back here on command now after what Morda did to him.
“Well, you need me, so,” Jei shrugged. It seemed casual, but his eyes burned: Diebol couldn’t escape him, either. “I’m your only path to Njandejara.”
The name brought bile into Diebol’s throat. “Whatever twisted alliance you’ve made with the Contamination from Outside,” he sneered. “I’m not part of it.”
“Yeah, except I was thinking about that,” Jei blew wet hair out of his face, shifting position with pain to lean his head back against his cage door. Agonized sweat gleamed on his forehead. “If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t know Njande the way I do.”
“I did everything to save you from It. I’ve tried,” Diebol hissed.
“But everything you did just made me want him more,” Jei chuckled. “We always want what we’re not allowed to have. The glittering facets of the rare mineral in the museum. The neighbor’s wife. The colors of the worlds distance says we’ll never see …” Jei wheezed, the rise of his chest ragged and jerking. “It’s so strange. Since Mera deafened me I can’t stop thinking about his voice. About what it’s like to live outside of time—to play history like the keys of a musical instrument. To … feel … everything. And care about everyone. It’s—”
“It’s sick, Jei,” Diebol snapped. The tortured man before him turned his gut. He hadn’t done this. It was the Being’s fault. They’d had to—
Jei coughed, and closed his eyes for a moment.
With his eyes closed, Jei’s face bore the features, just for a moment, of the little boy who once stood between Diebol and his violent “father,” jaw firm but lids squeezed shut to lock out the terror: “Leave him alone! Take me instead!”
How long had they known each other now? Twelve years?
Diebol rose, and crouched beside his enemy. “Jei,” he said, reaching for firmness but unable to hide his gentleness. “I can make you better. All this struggle, all this—attachment. You’re being torn between two universes. I really can free you from it.” He closed his mouth before saying how. If only he could make this voluntary, though—!
Jei chuckled, eyes still shut. “Free me? It won’t be that easy to take me out now.”
Diebol tilted his head. Ah. Jei had a bodyguard. “She’s back, isn’t she.”
Jei’s lids fluttered open now. He sighed. “What do you want, Jared?”
It was her fault, too, that Jei suffered like he did. Diebol wished they could measure her Contamination like viral load, or radiation—wished he could prove how much she’d poisoned the young “Paradox Warrior.” He should’ve shot her in one of his dirt tunnels underground. Let her bleed, then suck out her last breath with a kiss—
But she, too, served a purpose. A something. A kinship. And a brightness …
He ached, and it made him furious. Sever the attachment that causes pain—he asked the next question with a cold sneer dripping in mockery. “How are her spirits these days? After all of you betrayed her.”
“What do you want, Jared?” Jei repeated. Not angry, not triggered at all. Just tired, and firm.
As if talking to a mere child.
How dare you.
Diebol struck him on the jaw.
The crack echoed. Jei’s head snapped to the side; pain flashed across the muscles of his cheek, his neck, but his eyes did not flinch, and his gaze returned to Diebol’s face with something that looked like disappointment. Or teasing? Was it compassion, or pity? Something Diebol couldn’t read, and something he hated, because of late the Paradox Warrior he had always controlled through anger no longer reacted.
“Can you feel it, in real life?” Diebol hissed.
“Yeah,” Jei answered, adjusting his jaw, and wiping blood from his mouth. “But I know you can’t help doing it. You’re sinking; it’s not going well for you.”
“I’m not sinking! It’s all very well, I am winning!” Diebol snarled. “I have everything I ever wanted. I am days away from a final conquest that will seal every Frelsi fool in a prison of their own bodies, in a—” The intent, listening glimmer in Jei’s eyes stopped Diebol’s mouth. Shyte, he was being played. He was never the one to be played.
Diebol forced a laugh. “You’re getting good,” he said.
“I’m always here to listen when you need it,” Jei grinned—the enemy grin of old, the teasing Diebol felt comfortable with.
Diebol kicked him, enjoying his enemy’s spasm, and backed away to his own side of the cage. Enough distraction. He’d summoned his rival to make a decision, not to gloat. “If you could vacation anywhere, between Bijou, Forge, and Luna Guetala, where would you go?”
Jei heaved himself to his feet, gripping the bars of the cage. “What are you doing, Diebol?” he asked.
“Bijou?” Diebol watched Jei’s eyes—no blink.
“What are you deploying?”
“Luna Guetala?” Diebol asked. Ah, a flicker of pain in Jei’s eyes—no, too much memory there. He was likely headed there now, but wouldn’t stay long.
“You don’t have to do this anymore, you know. I know you’re tired.”
“Forge?” Hm. A twitch in the corner of Jei’s left eye. Something there intrigued or worried him. Diebol only had to plant the seed of suspicion to ensure he made the appointment. “I’ll see you on Forge, then,” he said.
With that, the young Growen leader slammed the door of his cage behind him. He awoke back in the janitorial closet with his good mood shattered. No matter. He would feel better once he ended this war.