Dragan’s hands, holding his script, trembled. The viewfinder function on the device was still displaying Dian’s remains, zood in to such a degree that he could even make out the small insects crowding over the puddle of … puddle of at. Dragan swallowed down the foul feeling rising in his throat.
"He killed him," he whispered, eyes fixed on the screen. "He killed him for, for nothing."
It wasn’t that he had a moral high-ground. Shooting people in the back when they weren’t expecting it was his ultimate technique, after all. But still … he’d never murdered anyone. Never turned their corpse into a travesty.
He moved the viewfinder over to look at the Special Officer, still yelling inaudibly and waving his freakishly long arms. Silently, he snapped a photo, saved it to the script.
You’ll pay for that.
It was a stupid thing to think, of course - he had no way of getting payback, and he hadn’t even known Dian that well. Still, it seed certain in his mind. That damn Skipper must have been rubbing off on him.
Bruno’s hand landed on Dragan’s shoulder, heavy but trembling just the sa. "We need to move," he hissed.
They were just on the edge of the grasslands, where the terrain transitioned into hills covered with much longer flora. That would give them a hiding place, at least, but that didn’t really solve the problem at all. Sure, they could hole up in a cave where those automatics wouldn’t find them, but in a few hours Bruno and Serena would fall unconscious again - and without dical supplies on hand, it wouldn’t be as pleasant a sleep as last ti.
He’d managed to grab so sedatives on the way out - just in case Bruno went into another frenzy - but that wouldn’t help once the symptoms of Decimatus-3 started showing themselves again. On top of that, Skipper and Ruth would be walking right into a trap once they returned from getting the dicine.
They had to deal with this themselves.
"Hadrien," Bruno said again, tugging at Dragan’s arm a little more forcefully. "We need to go."
Dragan looked up, scanned Bruno’s face, the dilation of his pupils. At most, he had five hours of Bruno usage left. He’d have to make good use of that.
"Fine," he said quietly, and followed Bruno into the hills.
A plan slowly began to slot together in his head, like the accumulation of clockwork. Sedatives, Aether, Bruno, Serena, the ruins, the Special Officer. He could use them. He could use them all.
-
"You didn’t have to kill him," said the leader girl, glaring intensely at Zakos. That was fine, however. That kind of response was appropriate for the impression a Special Officer gave. Apathy would have been unacceptable.
Zakos smiled, dignified. "I didn’t need him alive, either. I don’t need to keep around the kind of filth that would lie to . That’s an untoward influence. Does the lion permit the presence of the flea?"
When he glanced through the crowd, their bodies instinctively cowered from his gaze. His smile spread just a tad.
Oh, he was enjoying this. With the people who were supposed to be his comrades, there were always the mocking looks and the suppressed laughter. Here, though, he was getting the respect he deserved.
Terror was a form of respect, after all - and the most potent. These people understood. The common folk were predisposed to fear, they understood it as their function. Only the truly exceptional could rise above that basic drive.
Perhaps this white-haired girl was like that, then. Hatred was only one step above fear in terms of dignity, but a step was a step.
"Your na?" Zakos said, grinning. The similarity to the question he’d asked Dian Mace just before his execution was no coincidence.
The lives of the common folk were conditional on the mood of their superiors, after all. Even children should know that.
The girl forced the words out through clenched teeth: "Helga Malwarian."
"Helga Malwarian," Zakos said, tasting the words. "I wonder if you’d be able to tell where exactly the man called Skipper and his entourage are. Don’t you dare try to say they’re in the ruins. That would make very angry."
Helga opened her mouth to speak, but Zakos interrupted her with a pointed finger. The doctor girl in the crowd stepped forward, but a glance from Helga stopped her in her tracks. An excellent decision.
"Ah, ah," he chided. "Don’t try to tell you don’t know, either. I know that you know. I can spot a liar a mile away."
He nodded towards the wreckage of Dian Mace, and Helga’s face turned red with fury, like a reactor about to go critical. That was splendid. Zakos wanted to see the asure of this person, prove his superiority to her when it ca down to it.
That was what the Supremacy was all about, after all. Victory in all arenas.
"Choose your words carefully," Zakos concluded, lowering his voice until it was near a whisper. "Make sure they’re sothing you’d be happy having written on your tombstone."
A mont passed in silence, save for the rustling of grass in the wind and the distant marching of his automatics. There was whimpering from within the crowd.
Zakos’ brow furrowed. Did she have to take so long to answer? This was annoying. He had better things to do.
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"Well?" he said impatiently.
Helga looked up at him, still glaring as if she hoped she could drill through his sunglasses with her eyes. "Skipper and Ruth Blaine aren’t here," she said, voice forcing itself into a monotone to restrain the anger. "But they’ll be coming back soon. I don’t know who Yakob del Sed is, but Bruno and Serena del Sed are in the dical tent. Dragan Hadrien too."
Zakos took in a deep breath through his nose, breathed out through his mouth. The calming techniques he’d adopted while preparing for the examination still worked well. He could adjust his mood however he desired, and it never got out of control.
But still, this wasn’t the kind of answer he liked. Half his quarry wasn’t here, and the authenticity of what was left was dubious.
"I see," he said slowly. "I hope you’re not lying to , Helga Malwarian."
"I’m not that stupid."
"Are you not?"
His hands lashed out, sending twin piles of dirt flying up from where they’d just been resting on the ground. Helga stepped back, eyes widening, but she was too slow - in a second, he had her head held between his hands, keeping her in place. His grip was such that he could crush her skull with the slightest effort.
Her life, too, was conditional.
"Leave her alone!" scread the doctor woman, showing the appropriate amount of fear. Zakos drank it in, smiling. This mont, here, with fate resting in his hands - it was the ideal of a Special Officer. The epito of his very existence.
He ignored her. That was his right.
"Look at , Helga Malwarian," he said quietly, angling Helga’s face so that she had no choice but to look directly into his eyes. "Tell you’re being truthful. I’ll know if you’re lying. All I have to do is apply the tiniest bit of pressure, and you’ll never lie again. Do you understand ?"
Helga winced in pain, nodded.
Oh, this was splendid. He truly loved these people. He’d tried to create this scene before, on past missions, but circumstances always got in the way. He was taking the position he deserved.
"Say it again," he said softly, his face so close to hers. "Look at and say it again. Now."
She looked at him. Her eyes were truthful. "Skipper and Ruth Blaine aren’t here," she said, pained. "The rest were in the dical tent."
He considered it, drumming his fingers along her forehead. She was telling the truth without a doubt, but that was immaterial. Should he kill her or not?
It didn’t really matter what he chose. The ultimate result would be the sa either way. What mattered was that the choice was his and his alone.
Slowly, he lifted her up by the skull, her feet leaving the ground. Still, she didn’t flail. She didn’t try to pry his hands away. She only glared at him with those wonderful resolute eyes. Yes, this was a person who understood the way of things.
He let her go and she fell to the ground, landing in the grass with a soft thump. Imdiately, the doctor ran over and began checking over her friend, running her hands over her head frantically. How touching.
Losing interest, Zakos looked up and walked a distance away. The crowd appropriately parted to allow him passage. Yes, that was the way things should be.
He tapped his wrist-bound script, activating direct reports from his automatics. He put the device close to his ear and spoke: "Focus dical tent. Report results of search."
He heard the splendid sounds of the tent being torn apart in the distance, followed by a beep from his script. With a tap of the screen, the report ca through. The automatic’s tinny voice was awkward and stilted, ford from a library of pre-recorded words.
"Search-complete. Search-unsuccessful. No-visual-match-for-targets. No-audio-match-for-targets. No-olfactory-match-for-targets. No-tactile-match-for-targets. Requesting-permission-for-level-two-search."
His automatics were equipped with the very latest sensory equipnt, far exceeding what any human was capable of, regardless of sub-species. If they said that his quarry was no longer there, then that was true without question.
Zakos bit his lip, considering his next move. He could very well turn around and punch Helga Malwarian’s head off with a single swing of his arm. He was within his rights to do that, exceedingly within his rights.
But that would not benefit his dignity. Once a man of dignity makes a choice, he should not go back on it. All decisions were final. That was the justice that Samael Ambrazo Zakos deliberated on and executed. Immutable.
He put the script to his mouth again. "Level 2 search permitted. Level 3 search preemptively permitted if necessary. If search is successful, begin tracking and dispatching of target elents, else return for new orders."
"Comncing."
That was what he liked about automatics. People were splendid if you could get them properly conditioned to respect you, but there was always the risk of disrespect if they got uppity. With automatics there was no such worry. They were efficiency itself.
He smiled as the script beeped again. His assessnt was proven correct so soon. The voice of his automatic rang out from his wrist.
"Genetic-trace-located. Match-Dragan-Hadrien. Match-Yakob-del-Sed. Comncing-tracking-and-pursuit."
Zakos’ smile spread into a jet-black grin. The hunt was on. "Fetch a chair!" he barked to the gathered Humilists. "My legs are tired."
-
The two of them were charging through the long grass, creating a flat trail behind them. It was unfortunate but unavoidable - they didn’t have any ti to cover their tracks.
Dragan’s eyes were half-closed; they had to be, or else the grass whipping at them would have already blinded him with the speed they were moving. The whole world was a rush of green coming towards him, the only contrast in that landscape being the form of Bruno running up ahead.
Bruno had clearly had so training in this kind of escape - even with that poison in his system, his posture was rigid, his sprinting asured and exact. So kind of military training, but not Supremacy. The UAP, then?
Suddenly Bruno - no, Serena, the expression had changed - whirled around, eyes narrowed. For a mont, Dragan thought she’d taken offense to his staring, before he realized that her gaze was focused at sothing behind him.
Her hand lashed out - violet Aether coursing around it - and pulled out a large bunch of grass, the flora already forming into a flexible sword. She swung with blinding speed, the green blade lashing out like a whip.
There was no ti to think - instead, Dragan threw himself to the ground, landing almost flat on his face as the sword passed over his head. Hell, he could almost feel the sword brush through his hair.
The sword clashed with sothing behind him - from the sound of it, sothing tal. Dragan rolled into a ready position and looked to follow Serena’s gaze.
It was one of that Special Officer’s automatics, it’s left arm hanging on only by a few wires. Despite its humanoid shape, it was on all fours like a dog, it’s glowing blue eyes inspecting them as it cocked its head this way and that.
Scanning them. Confirming them.
"They’ll have spread out in different directions to track us," said Bruno through Serena’s mouth. "If we don’t take care of this one quick, it’ll send out a signal to let it’s buddies know it’s found us."
Dragan nodded, readied his fists. Collections of blue Aether like boxing gloves began to coat them.
They charged.
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