The Broken Isles (Legends of the Red Sun 4) (8 page)

The hour was late, nearly thirteen, and a little tipsy from the drink Jeza shambled up the rusting metal stairs. Suddenly she realized what a noise she was making and then tried to act
stealthily to make up for it. Diggsy chuckled as he pushed her towards their bedroom.

They opened the door, and she pulled Diggsy to the bed, one soft beam of moonlight hitting the wall behind them. Haphazardly, she pulled off his clothes, then her own, before dragging him
clumsily under the bedclothes.

He was tender, too tender and too slow at times, when she wanted that little bit
more
. He did this thing with his tongue, which she appreciated, but he was more hesitant than she really
liked.

Enough
. . .

Jeza pushed him over on his back, climbed on top of him and, once he was hard and inside her, she began to fuck him aggressively.

A little later and they both collapsed in a state of sweaty breathlessness. She’d needed that, even though he barely lasted five minutes. What was it with good-looking guys? Did they just
not try that hard to hold it? Still, it had only been their fourth time. Maybe things would improve as they grew used to each other.

The room seemed hazy, she could taste the drying alcohol in her mouth and, just about satiated, she passed out.

*

Jeza woke up in the night, paranoid. Diggsy lay asleep beside her, his arm sticking out of the bed; she pulled the sheet over him to keep him warm, climbed out of bed and walked
to the window that overlooked the streets behind Factory 54.

Hidden somewhere behind the clouds or over the horizon, none of the moons was present, and the place was in darkness. She stood there, naked and cold, suddenly afraid of what she was getting
herself into.

She remembered the screams from the war. These streets were, not too long ago, littered with carts that carried dead bodies from the centre of the city. She remembered people crying and the
carts becoming more frequent. Some of the bodies had limbs missing, and even though she spent her time working with the animation of flesh, her experiences had not desensitized her – she knew
that they had been real people.

At the time they had all felt survivor guilt. They felt they should be doing something to help – but, as she said at the time, their contribution would come through what they were good at,
not lining up to die with so many others.
Now
was their time. She knew that, and liked that the commander spoke to them like real people and didn’t dismiss them like other
cultists.

She was only eighteen. Part of her wanted to spend time studying and drinking and sleeping with Diggsy. If she was to represent those who worked at Factory 54, would she be some kind of
commander herself? When money began to flow in and out, would she be in charge of its distribution? Would she be assuring the commander that they would hit deadlines?

What seemed a wonderful idea in the bistro began to cause her concern and she realized, then, that she would not be able to sleep well.

Instead she reached into the drawer beside the bed and pulled out a small sketchbook and pencil, and immediately began to plan out what their next monster might look like and how it would
function in a war like the one that had just passed.

‘What’re you still up for?’ Diggsy asked groggily.

‘I’m . . .’ She paused. ‘I’m just thinking about projects, that’s all.’

‘You’re crazy,’ he said, smiling. ‘Knew you’d be excited about being in charge. Let’s worry about that in the morning, yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ she said. Sighing, she tossed her sketchbook to one side and climbed back into bed, allowing Diggsy’s warm body to consume her.

*

In the morning Jeza headed down the metal staircase with the sketchbook under her arm. Seeing the mess, she put it on the table and began clearing up the plates and beakers, the
crusty bread and the warm cheese, from the night before. No one else was up yet; she was often the first down each day and liked the silence of the morning routine. It gave her time to think before
things became hectic and Coren began wittering his usual nonsense at anyone within earshot.

The factory was cold so she began lighting the firegrain stove they’d hooked up to a larger system, which in turned channelled the heat around the entire building in one fairly efficient
system. It coughed and spluttered like someone taking their first few drags, as the rich grain sparked and fired up.

That was usually the alarm call and, true to habit, moments later some of the others began stirring, banging drawers or doors upstairs.

‘Fucksake, Jeza. Don’t you ever sleep?’ It was Coren, lumbering down the metal stairwell, his heavy steps clanging as he came down.

Shortly after, Pilli strolled gracefully downstairs, wearing some fashionable jumper and boots with her laces undone. She sauntered into the kitchen area, said good morning, turned on the
firegrain stove and placed the kettle on it.

The three of them sat down at the crude, stained table while the sun reached a point above the rooftops that shone a beam of light across them. The kettle began to boil; in the distance the
firegrain system coughed.

‘Whose turn is it to make breakfast?’ Coren asked, his gaze flickering between the two girls. He yawned.

‘Yours,’ Jeza replied, glaring at him.

Pilli smiled, pulled back her hair to tie it. ‘Are you going to let him near the stove after last time? He tried to cook with a relic!’

‘Hey, those fish were edible,’ Coren protested. ‘They tasted fine.’

‘Sure – once Diggsy scraped them off the ceiling for you,’ Jeza said, standing. ‘OK, I’ll cook some oats. Happy now?’

*

After breakfast, Jeza gathered them all around the table, Pilli, Diggsy, Coren and Gorri, so that they could get on with business. At first she wanted to make some formal announcement, something to clear the way forward. She had rehearsed a few lines in her head but
they all sounded ridiculous. In the end, she opted not to acknowledge her new position at all – it seemed to be largely a label she wore outside this room.

‘So,’ she said, ‘getting on board with the military—’

‘I’m excited,’ Gorri burst out. The young lad with red hair smiled at her. ‘We’re going to make a fortune.’

‘It’s only money,’ Pilli said. ‘I just love the fact that we’re finally going to be
acknowledged
, you know?’

‘You wouldn’t care about the money, rich girl,’ Coren said, leaning back on his chair and gripping the rim of the table, ‘but for us dregs, this’ll sort us out for
years
.’

‘Hey, guys,’ Jeza interrupted, ‘we’ve not got any money or prestige yet. Don’t you want to see what the plan is before you start spending the money you don’t
have?’

‘Go for it,’ Coren said.

‘OK,’ Jeza said. ‘If our plan works – and even if it doesn’t we can still sell these on – I suspect they’re going to want some beasts for use in
warfare, something more akin to a weapon. For that I think we can mass-produce the Mourning Wasps. But for a start, how about selling the soldiers something that’s not too distant from what
they already have, something we can maybe clone and produce quite a few of?’

‘Mass-produced specimens?’ Diggsy suggested. ‘Some kind of monster?’

‘Not even monsters in this case. I’m thinking we give them a soldier that’s bigger, stronger – purely weaponry enhancements at first. Something that doesn’t even
require anything but themselves.’

‘Hmm,’ Coren stared. ‘Sure, sounds OK, but it’s a little dull.’

‘It’s an investment,’ she replied. ‘It’s something they’ll feel comfortable with at first. They might not feel good fighting alongside something as weird as
we can create, so it’s best to break them in easily to what we can provide.’

‘We don’t exactly churn things out at 54,’ Diggsy pointed out. ‘It could take weeks just to get a few enhancements. How long have we got?’

‘Working on Lim’s time theory, I think that we can produce what I’ve got in mind pretty quickly.’

‘Time theory . . .’ Coren repeated, nodding his head. ‘Like it.’

‘So with that in mind . . .’ She placed her large sketchbook in the centre of the table and began to describe what she’d drawn. ‘Look, I like the idea of Knights –
they’re pretty noble things throughout history. They’re also warriors that will kick the shit out of things. This is how a knight used to look, but with
biological
armour. From
that specimen of the Okun we took, just after the invasion, we can replicate its shell structure to form armour, as you can see here. Other than that, it’s pretty much a standard soldier, but
much more resilient.’

‘How can you ensure this will be able to fight normally?’ Pilli asked. ‘This will, presumably, need to have some finesse on the battlefield?’

‘You’re missing the point here. We’re not making anything sentient at first. If we make just the armour, we can just sell that straight to the military. Using time theory in
the replication process, we really can churn these out. They’re big enough to fit a human and, because it’s the shell material, as light as cloth. Afterwards we can start thinking about
filling in the armour with something cloned and fleshy.’

There was a moment’s silence as everyone contemplated her drawings.

‘What’s it called?’ Coren asked.

‘I’m not sure. Black Knight Armour?’ Jeza suggested. ‘That’s something the army would fall for.’

Coren nodded again. ‘Is it easy to replicate and mould the shell?’

Jeza looked to Diggsy. ‘What do you think?’

Diggsy leaned back in his chair, lifting the front two legs up as he gripped the edge of the table. He seemed to contemplate the sketches a little longer before he said, ‘Yeah, we’ve
done it before, haven’t we, Pilli?’

Jeza suddenly felt her heart beat a little quicker, but forced away her concerns.
Not the time or the place
. . .

‘Absolutely,’ Pilli said. ‘Jeza, this is marvellous.’

Coren said, ‘Looks like it was the right choice putting you in charge of us lot.’

‘Seconded,’ Pilli said.

‘Thirded,’ Gorri said.

Coren stood up, grinning. ‘Doesn’t stop you from making post-meeting drinks though. Put the kettle on. Mine’s a tea.’

*

They had found the Okun during the fighting in Villiren, when they had been investigating reports of new relics recently discovered in the Scarhouse district. The five of them had wanted to get there before other cultists or the gangs got the relics for themselves, to put them on the black market.

It was Lim who had pointed out the corpse. The creature must have strayed away from its own lines and then died from severe wounds to its torso and neck, but the rest of the body remained
intact. No longer interested in relics, Lim dragged it out of sight into a side street until he could fetch the others, whereupon they decided to keep it.

They brought it back to Factory 54. They wanted to study it and hopefully provide useful information to the military. Jeza had thought to herself that it seemed to appease their guilt for not
being involved in the fighting. The boys seemed to feel it most – the guilt, the pressure that they should be doing something. Herself and Pilli had pledged that they would enlist if they did
too, all together, the lot of them. But they did not sign up; they remained in the factory, listening to the sounds of war in the distance, occasionally retreating to the secure basement workshop
in case the defensive lines were breached. Of course, they never were.

She had never known how Lim was killed. They simply found his body after a skirmish a few days after finding the Okun. He had bled to death from a cut to one of his major arteries. It could have
been related to the war, or simply a casual murder, such was the way of things in Villiren at that time.

There had been daily reports of the ferocity of the attacks by the Okun – how they had cleared the island to the north of human and rumel life, how they had swarmed out of metallic vessels
into Villiren harbour, how they had eradicated people effortlessly. That the commander had managed to prevent them taking the city was beyond any of their reasoning; but he had, and these things
were – for the moment – not a threat.

She had to admit the Okun were frightening life forms, more sinister than anything they could ever create. Lim had commented at the time that nature was occasionally a sick beast herself, and
could create weirder things than they could imagine themselves.

A blend between a hominid and a crustacean, the Okun were huge, bipedal creatures. Though alien-looking, they never seemed
too
alien – they possessed eyes, arms, legs – all in
pairs, which seemed to suggest they were more a result of a perverted branch of evolution, rather than something monstrous from another realm. That was the military line, anyway, that they were
flooding in from another world entirely, though everyone had their doubts about such claims.

With the Okun corpse back at the factory, the group immediately began a kind of post-mortem. Lim needed to know everything about its inner workings, about its structure, the way muscles
functioned. He rolled up his sleeves, got all the tools organized, and together they got to work.

They bled its black, acidic fluids, which sat unused in containers. They tried for a while to cut through the shell, but in the end resorted to cutting through the joints and cutting flesh
underneath the shell plates so that they could lift the segments whole. There were around three hundred different shell armour segments, the largest being a chest plate, the smallest being tiny
forms of protection around their claws. Underneath, once the flesh had been cut away, they were amazed to see how similar it was to human or rumel anatomy, though augmented, transformed through
alien means to be something genuinely awe-inspiring. There were two, slightly larger hearts, and four equivalents to the lungs. There were more tubes akin to veins and arteries, and strange,
copper-coloured wires that led through the neck to the head.

The most difficult thing to prise open was the head. The gang tried all sorts of tools, but eventually used relics to burn open one side. When they managed to get it open, they stood back in
disbelief: there was hair-thin copper wiring and dozens of small, metallic square plates with grid-like patterns etched into and raised up from the surface. There were objects that looked like
gemstones, which they could not identify, and which were imbedded in a jelly-like substance that burned through their clothing yet not their skin. It was both organic and mechanical, with no
clearly defined facial structure whatsoever.