The Saffron Malformation (66 page)

             
“I want to start with the part where she builds a lunatic,” Reggie said solemn.

             
“He’s not a lunatic,” Ryla replied softly.

             
“Oh yeah,” Natalie said, “He seems real stable, how about we invite him up for some tea?”

             
Ryla looked at her.  It was a sad look.  The look a witch might have had just before being burned at the stake and it panged Natalie with a bit of guilt.

             
“Sorry,” Natalie said softly.  Quey had assured her this was the safest place for her and her daughter but they’d been here two days and she’d been threatened with death on both.

             
“I didn’t mean…” Ryla began but trailed off.

             
“To build a psycho?” Reggie asked.

             
Natalie laid a hand on his and gave him a look.

             
“What?” he asked.  “It tried to kill her, right?  Says it wants to kill humanity and liberate its people.”

             
“Everyone calm down,” Quey said.  He pulled out a chair and said, “Come on, sit.”  Then he sat himself.

             
Ryla went to the chair and settled gingerly upon it, as if moving to quick would cause it to break.

             
Nodding he said, “Alright.  So what about it?  Is that true, about him trying to kill you and all?” Quey asked.

             
Ryla nodded.  “But I handled it,” she defended.

             
“If he tried to kill you,” Reggie began, “Why did you keep him around?”

             
Ryla shrugged, “I thought I could help him.”

             
Quey nodded, “Why not just reprogram him?”

             
“It doesn’t work like that,” she replied.  “Not with the hardware he has.”

             
“So unplug it,” Natalie suggested.

             
Ryla looked at her blankly.

             
Quey hushed Natalie with a look then asked, “What about Annie?  It said that was your sister?”

             
Ryla looked at him and nodded.  “In a way.”

             
“And what way is that?” Reggie added.

             
She looked at the large man who seemed to loom over her and trembled.  “I don’t know,” she answered.  “It’s just what she was.”

             
“You said she killed herself?” Quey asked.

             
Ryla nodded.  She looked helpless, her eyes shimmering.

             
“How's a robot do that?”

             
“Pulled out her power supply,” Ryla said with a shrug.  “Wiped her ram.  I tried to reboot her but…”

             
“What’s Jacob then, your brother?” Reggie asked.

             
She shook her head.

             
“So what is he?” Quey asked.

             
“I wanted a friend,” she said sadly.  “You left,” she told Quey and there seemed a bit of bitterness on her tongue.  It vanished into meekness.  “I wanted a friend.”  A pair of tears trickled from her eyes.  They watched in amazement, Quey settling back in his chair and Reggie backing away.

             
Rain emerged from the hallway, saw Ryla and chided them all. “Yeah, just stare,” she said as she walked briskly to her.

             
“Woah,” Reggie said reaching for her as Quey snapped, “No,” and tried to intervene as well.

             
“Back off,” she snapped, slapping their hands away and she wrapped her arms around Ryla.  Everyone waited.  Nothing happened.  Reggie and Quey were staring at Ryla.  “What?” Rain asked sharply.

             
“Sort of curious about how you’re still alive with nothing coming to kill you,” Quey said.

             
Unfortunately Reggie said, “I didn’t know she could cry.”

             
Ryla’s eyes swelled and perhaps a few more drops fell, but no one could say for sure.  Rain glared at him, shaking her head slowly.

             
“What?” he asked.

             
“Just go away,” she answered, glaring at the big man as if he were no bigger than a child.

             
Reggie noticed Quey run a hand down his face.  After that he said, “Regg, seems your mouths gotten away from your brain again.  Might want to tend to that.”

             
The big man swallowed, nodded and sat.  “Sorry,” he said.  “I didn’t mean it like that, I just meant-”

             
“Please, don’t explain,” Rain said.  “I don’t know if we can take anymore of your eloquence.”  That silenced him.

             
“Can we get back to how you’re not being riddled with holes right now?” Quey asked.

             
“Please,” Rain balked, turning on him.  “I told you, she’s just scared.  Nothing’s going to kill me for touching her.”  The words themselves were truthful enough, though the conclusion they surely led the others to was a lie.  But it was a good lie, because it made them think the defence protocols had been something she made up and that made them less afraid of Ryla.

             
Rain stroked Ryla’s hair and asked, “What happened?”

             
“Nothin’ lynchlike,” Quey assured her.  “Leone and Amber went exploring and discovered a few things that we had a need to sort, that’s all.”

             
She looked down at Ryla who nodded that they’d spoken true as Quey began to explain the situation.  Leone and Amber chimed in when it was their turn, adding their bits with a tone of shame in their voice.  Rain shook her head at them, “What the fuck were you thinking?”

             
“I was just curious,” Leone said but that was the wrong thing.  He knew it was coming before she said it.

             
“Well you know what that did to the cat and he had nine lives.”

             
“Sorry,” he said and Amber followed with her own, “Yeah, sorry.”

             
Finally Rain looked down at Ryla and asked gently with a slight smile, “You had a sister?”

             
Ryla nodded.

             
“She killed herself?”  Another nod.  “You know why?”

             
Ryla shrugged.  “I don’t know.  She wouldn’t talk to me.  She was never the same after... the last day,” she finished.

             
“Last day?” Quey asked.

             
“One of her first memories is an angry mob coming to kill her.  She doesn’t understand why or what happened but the building defended itself and she’s been alone ever since.”

             
Ryla appreciated Rain’s omission of her being the one who told the building to defend itself.

             
Rachel sat forward in her chair.  “What about Jacob?  What happened with him sweetie?” she asked.  “I know you didn’t mean to make him that way.”

             
Ryla turned toward the table but held fast to Rain’s hand.  “The technology used… You can’t really make it turn out any ‘way.’  I mean, all you can do is load the program and allow it to develop.  Everyone is different.”

             
“Why is he so angry?” Natalie asked softly.

             
Ryla shrugged, “I don’t know.  I don’t understand.”

             
Reggie said, “He’s worked himself into a mighty hatred toward humans.”

             
Ryla was on the verge of crying.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  “I didn’t mean.”  She looked at them.  “I tried to make him good.  Tried to teach him.  He misunderstood things.  He drew his own conclusions.”

             
“He’s dangerous,” Natalie added.

             
“And Ryla here has him locked away good and tight,” Quey interjected.  “From the look of it, huh?”

             
Ryla nodded.

             
“Then near as I can tell that’s that.”  There was going to be protest, he could tell the others were forming words of it in their minds so he continued before they had a chance to speak them.  “’Sides, near as I can see a head in a sub basement locked up and harmless is the least of our concerns at the moment.  Case any of you forgot, just before Tweedle dee and Dumb over here caused a ruckus we were in the midst of a discussion about how Blue Moon is intent on killing everyone on this little rock.  Now… which conversation do you want to have?”

             
When finally someone spoke, it was not about Jacob.

Stone Crow and Brood

             
Richter Crow stood before the floor to ceiling windows on the top level of the Blue Moon building in Saffron city, looking out at the capitol, a cluster of high rises with patches of green here and there.  Streets flooded with cars, sidewalks swarming with citizens moving briskly from here to there, stopping on occasion to purchase something from one of the vender’s carts along the blocks or stepping into a shop.  It was a dance scored by revving engines and honking horns and the occasional shout.

             
Richter sipped coffee slowly and sighed heavily.  The weight of his thoughts pulled his features tight and tensed in his shoulders and back.  He was trying to decide where things had gone so wrong.  Was it Sticklan Stone who was to blame for involving the Angels of the Brood or Richter himself, for letting the dog off its leash.  Chicken or egg.

             
He’d just left a press conference where the questions came more boldly than anticipated.  He was no fool, he knew the Brood raids on the towns would bring heat but since they hadn’t attacked any actual cities he figured people would be happy enough to hear that they were looking into the situation and that it was a top priority for Blue Moon security.  It was a classic response that had worked in the past but this time it just seemed to infuriate the media and incite more questions.

             
“What does that mean, exactly,” one reporter had asked him harshly.  “I mean considering these raids have been going on for nearly a year now, with over a thousand dead, not bothering to count the injured, how much of a priority could they possibly be?”

             
Richter had no answer for this and it took him a moment to formulate one.  What came out was bullshit and the galley smelled it.  “We take these attacks very seriously,” his response started then at some point he said, “It’s difficult to deal with an enemy that goes to ground in the wilds and the waste.”

             
“There are reports that the gang is searching for two people, any idea who they are and why?”

             
This was a dangerous question.  He could not answer it directly because any answer left him open to taking a hit… a bad hit.  If he said yes they would want to know more and if he said no he looked incompetent, because if they had this information how could he not.  Worse yet, if they knew more than he anticipated either answer could be used against him to devastating effect.  The world was already on the fringe, not in the cities where the people were mostly happy to serve the machine in exchange for the luxuries it provides, but outside where people tried to study more than what was in their job placement curriculum.

             
“We are aware of the broods desire to find and, presumably, settle a score with the moonshine maker known as Quey Von Zaul, though we have no information linking this desire to the raids.  Any prisoner taken tends to say the two acts are unrelated during interrogation.  They keep an eye out for him but they hope someone’ll turn him in with the hopes these raids will stop.  Information collected thus far suggests it will have no effect.”

             
It was a bad answer and everyone knew it, but there was no way to refute it as few prisoners had been taken and no one had access to what interrogation may have taken place.  Truth was there had been none, because Richter knew it all already.  They were held for a few days, paperwork was forged saying they’d been transferred to some facility or another and they were released.

             
Sticklan Stone entered the empty room quietly and stood waiting near the door.  There was a long meeting table between him and Richter.  Richter took another sip of coffee and tried to clear his mind.  He turned and looked at the man, the egg.  Of course that made him the chicken… or maybe it was the other way around.  He decided if he thought on it too long he’d go as mad as his pet without his pill.

             
“Can you explain to me how it could possibly take this long to find these people?”

             
Sticklan began with the obvious.  “Viona had her tracker taken out, Leone’s as well.  They keep to the outskirts and move often.  And then there’s the Moonshiner and his crew.  They’re good.  Sloppy maybe at times, but good.”

             
“Yes,” Richter said stepping forward, setting his cup on the long table.  “That’s interesting isn’t it?  The brood has videos all over the signal claiming the raids will continue until this Quey Von Zaul is found and yet they still manage to hide.  How is that possible?”

             
Sticklan thought about it for a long moment and an answer came to him but he did not give it.  Instead he shrugged and said, “Saffron is a big planet, the population sparse.  They could settle in one of the wild lands and, with the proper shelter and environmental precautions, live unnoticed by anyone for years.”

             
Richter nodded slowly.  “I want these people found.”

             
“You still want the girl alive?”

             
Richter’s eyes bulged.  “Why would you ask that?”

             
Sticklan shrugged, “A man can dream.”

             
Richter took a long breath and said, “Just sort it out.  I need this taken care of before too many eyes start looking with too much scrutiny.  Rickety operation like this is likely to buckle under that.”

             
Sticklan nodded and left the room.

             
Richter sat alone at the massive meeting table and sipped his coffee, now barely warmer than the room.  There was something different about his pet, something that made him uneasy.

             
Sticklan left Richter Crow in his bullshit meeting room and was glad to be away from him.  He hated the man, now more than ever.  He’d been given a prime opportunity to inflict chaos on the world, to watch people die and see survivalism in its purest form and instead of embracing it he shunned and whined and cried about his fucking career.

             
Truth was he’d been over Richter Crow for a long time and if it wasn’t for his desire to catch Viona things would be very different already.  He sure as fuck wouldn’t be eating the sniveling whelps shit, that was for certain.

             
On the elevator ride down to the parking garage he smiled slyly however.  The man had done one thing for him.  He’d given him an idea of where he might go to find the girl and her Moonshiner.  The only place they could hide where no one would see them, where cameras wouldn’t capture them, where even the brood would not go.  They had gone into the wastes.

             
It was insane, Sticklan knew, to think people would try to hide out and survive in such a place, with savages roaming freely and the water and ground more tainted than anywhere else, but it was the only place left.

             
Eloine was sitting on the pullout bed in the back of Render’s rig, wearing something bright red and lacy that he’d picked out for her during one of their raids.  The color of it sat well against her olive skin and the bit covering her chest grabbed her breasts and lifted them while keeping each one separate.  Render reached over and ran a hand through her dark hair, “Try a little?” he asked offering his pipe.

             
“Fuck no,” she declined, batting at the thing with the palm of her hand.

             
“All right, no need to be hostle,” he told her and laughed.  Then he took a hit and held it before turning to leer at her.  He reached out and ran his hand over her chest and sighed.  A billow of smoke poured from his lips and flooded her face.

             
“For fucks sake,” she protested, waving her hand about.

             
“Take some,” Render told her, holding the pipe to her once again.

             
“No,” she remained firm.

             
He shoved her back on the bed and climbed on top of her.  He was pissed, she knew because she’d been there when he’d gotten the news that not only had the moonshiner evaded him once again, he’d killed four more broodlings.

             
“Try some,” Render told her through clenched teeth, holding the pipe between them.

             
He was in a dangerous state for her.  In the time between when he’d killed her father and taken her from him and the present (she wasn’t really sure how long that was) he’d only struck her once and it was with a similar look in his eye.  She tried to look up at him with as much submissiveness as possible as she shook her head and said, “Please don’t make me.”

             
Render sat back a bit and glared at her.  “You think you’re better than me?  That it?  Too good to do as I do?”

             
She shook her head.

             
Render gripped her face in his hand, squeezing her cheeks until her lips puffed up and shoved the pipe between them.  “Smoke,” he barked.

             
She could see that he wasn’t going to respond to submission so she flipped it on him.  Glaring at the leader of the brood, she flicked her hand, smacking the pipe from her lips and sending it flying toward the curtain between them and the driver.  He looked over at it for a long moment, then back at her with disbelief.  She glared at him, daringly and waited to see what would come next.  When he raised a hand to her she barked, “Yeah, fuck you and go ahead.  Beat me if you like, I won’t smoke that shit.”

             
His hand gripped her throat instead of striking her and he pulled her close to his face.  “You’ll do whatever the fuck I tell you or I’ll have you raped to death you mouthy little cunt.”

             
She met his eyes and did her best to keep her tears from showing.  “Do what you like.  I’ve seen what that shit does to you and I won’t have it happen to me.”

             
He laughed at her.  “If that were true you’d be drooling for a pull,” he told her.  “It makes the world look sharp and my mind into a needle able to thread anything that happens along.”

             
She was shaking her head.  “If that were true then some piddly moonshiner wouldn’t be able to best you at every turn.”

             
He smacked her instinctively.

             
“It’s not you’re fault,” she told him, caressing him from shoulder to forearm.  “You are a brilliant man, the leader of the brood who under your leadership has become the richest gang on the planet.  It’s that shit you smoke.”

             
Render looked over at the pipe.

             
“Think about it.  Years ago, when you were fighting to get where you are now, would this asshole have been able to thwart you like so?”

             
Render glared at the pipe and shook his head.  He looked at Eloine and caressed her cheek, red from where he’d struck it.  “You’re right.  You really are looking out for me.”

             
She shrugged, “I wouldn’t mind being yours if you’d just be the man you could be and kill this fucking moonshiner.”

             
He smirked at her then leaned in.  When he did she kissed him deeply.  She loathed every moment their lips were pressed together and despised what came next, feeling him inside her and acting as if she enjoyed it.  But what could she do?  In the short time she’d been with the brood she’d heard the stories of what happens to the girls Render gets bored with and that wouldn’t happen to her, if she could help it.

             
She’d mourned her father with enough tears to fill her body three times over, what would being gang raped and shot on the side of the highway do for him now.  A great man once wrote ‘get busy living or get busy dying.’  Eloine meant to live long enough for an opportunity to present itself.