impietas – 9.3

Content Warnings

Starvation, again.



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Elpida was crouch-walking down the capillary tunnel inside the combat frame, moving as fast as she could in the narrow, lightless, bone-smooth passageway. She had one hand on the wall for navigation, her submachine gun strapped inside her coat, and Hafina bringing up the rear.

She and Haf had left their cloaks and boots behind in the tiny shaft beneath the access hatch, bundled up next to the weapons they’d discovered — Vicky’s rifle and the LMG. The garments were heavy and sticky with grey mud from long hours of belly-crawling across the impact crater; the cloaks from Pheiri’s storage racks had served their dual purpose well, both as an extra layer of visual concealment and as a barrier to absorb the worst of the waterlogged muck. Elpida’s trousers and armoured coat were dry and almost clean by comparison. But even unencumbered by shoes and cloak and mud, Elpida felt slower than usual. When they’d wriggled into the capillary tunnel Elpida had to crouch and duck, which compressed the lingering pain of her gut wound, pulling on the stitches which were still holding her belly shut. Haf had wordlessly folded up her limbs and crawled inside, with no more difficulty than a spider slipping down a paper straw.

Elpida’s heart had blossomed with painful nostalgia the moment her fingers had touched the perfectly smooth nano-composite bone of the capillary tunnel. She was back inside a combat frame at last; she longed to lie down in the dark and press her face to the wall, even though she had never known this particular frame. Pheiri was her brother, a fellow child of Telokopolis no matter how distant in time, and she did not spurn the safety of his sanctuary, not even in a stray thought — but he was not this, he was not the missing component of her own body.

Howl grunted in the back of Elpida’s head: Lie down later, Elps. Keep moving.

I know. No rest for the dead.

Ha!

Elpida opened her mouth to call out down the passageway, hoping for Vicky or Kagami to lead them in; radio contact would not work within the hull, so she had already stowed the comms headset inside her armoured coat.

But then somebody screamed.

The sound came from up ahead, echoing down the smooth curve of the tunnel, lost in a labyrinth of sinusal caves. She could not tell if it was Kagami or Vicky; the scream was muffled by the chorus of intestinal gurgling and muscular creaking from deeper within the living guts of the combat frame.

Elpida called out: “Vic—”

Thump! Thump-crack! echoed down the tunnel, followed by the meaty clatter of a body hitting the floor.

“Vicky!” Elpida shouted into the pitch black in front of her eyes. “Kagami! Respond!”

A reply floated out of the womb-like darkness. Vicky, shrill with panic: “Here! Elpi, we’re in here! Right at the crossroads! Go right!”

Elpida hit a junction in the capillary tunnel — the wall ended, her hand met empty air. “Halt,” she hissed to Hafina. She reached out and touched the corners to confirm she was in a cross-junction, then followed Vicky’s directions and looked to the right. Faint red light glowed from around another curve of passageway.

Howl sighed with pleasure: Fuuuuck yes. Sight for sore eyes, yeah?

The scarlet and crimson of combat frame biology, the interior body-light of a living frame, calling her to safety and home.

Elpida hissed over her shoulder: “Haf, turn right at this junction. Follow the red light. Be ready.”

“Yup yup yuuuup,” Hafina confirmed, her voice muffled by mask and tunnel.

Elpida turned and hurried onward. She called out again: “Vicky! Vicky, are we clear to enter?”

“Y-yes! Yes, I think so! Yes!”

Kagami’s voice joined her, raw and ragged: “Fucking get in here, Commander! Right now!”

Elpida shouted: “Hostiles?”

Vicky stammered: “N-no! Uh, yes! Yes! I think!”

Elpida took the grip of her submachine gun and flicked the safety off. She hissed to Hafina: “Check your targets. That’s our friends in there.”

“Mmmmmmmhmmmmm!” Hafina purred. “No worries, boss lady.”

Elpida burst from the mouth of the capillary tunnel and into a welcoming waterfall of blood-red light.

She straightened up, raised her weapon, and stepped to one side to clear the tunnel mouth.

She found herself inside the main human-habitable chamber of the combat frame. The space was oddly bare — no crash webbing, no padded sleeping caskets, no storage modules, no weapon rack, no MMI-uplink hub, nothing which might be needed during an extended expedition out into the green, nothing but bare walls and the mess of bulkheads and bolts on the floor. But she felt the rush of nostalgic longing all the same, the familiarity and comfort of a place like those she had known inside and out, as close as any of her cadre sisters. The frame’s scarlet and crimson biology throbbed from behind the thin bone-white ceiling; Elpida longed to close her eyes and bask in that homeward glow.

She swept the room, muzzle low.

Vicky was on the floor, on her arse, panting, wide-eyed, face covered in a sheen of sweat. Her left boot was smeared with blood and fragments of flesh. Kagami was slumped sideways in the doorway to a manual control chamber, her back to the wall, her bionic legs jutting out before her, with a bank of glowing screens highlighting her face in profile; Elpida guessed that Kagami had probably lurched out of the seat and crawled into the aperture. She was squinting, her hair a bedraggled mess, gritting her teeth with effort and pain.

On Elpida’s right, lying next to the exit from the capillary tunnel, was the Necromancer.

The corpse looked like a badly drawn parody of a human being. The limbs were angled wrong, the joints either too small or too large beneath the clothes; the hair was stiff and rubbery, like exposed cartilage; the skin and clothing were melted into each other, like the aftermath of burn wounds but without any damage; the hands were not remotely plausible, fingers melded together and turned backwards and missing half the fingernails, the palms the wrong shape, lacking bones or proper structure. The face was a bloody smear; the nose and jaw and eye sockets had been broken with a swift kick. One dark eyeball had burst, spilling black jelly down a jagged cheekbone. Several of the steel teeth were bent or broken.

Dead — but still grinning.

Elpida could see the vague resemblance to herself, beneath the damage.

You’re kidding, Howl said. Doesn’t look shit like you! You think I’d fall for that, Elps? You think I’m blind?

Elpida replied: It’s not meant to fool anybody. It’s meant to unnerve and upset. 

Howl snorted. Why?

I’ll let you know when I figure that out.

Six cigar-shaped silver oblongs floated in the air around the corpse, like the anchor-points of an invisible net, perfectly silent and rock-solid still — Kagami’s drones.

Elpida covered the corpse with her submachine gun, purely to bolster morale. She spoke quickly: “Kagami, I see your drones. Are you jamming?”

Vicky blurted out: “Elpi! Elpi it moved, it—”

“Commander!” Kagami slurred, her speech thick with pain. “It did more than— f-fuck! What—”

Vicky yelped as well. She scrambled backward.

The corpse hadn’t moved, not even a twitch; they weren’t reacting to further undead activity — they were both staring at Hafina, as she stepped into the chamber and unfolded herself like a telescoping artillery piece. Haf was wearing her full combat outfit, layers of robe and rag wrapped around bulletproof plates and curtains of ballistic fabric, with a core of liquid armour beneath that, and snatches of colour-shifting cuttlefish-skin visible through the gaps. The suit of armour was topped by an eyeless black beak. Haf carried several guns in her six arms: her strange weapons of chrome and black, and her gigantic anti-materiel rifle.

Elpida indicated Haf with a sideways nod. “This is Hafina, from Pheiri. You know that already. She’s on our side.”

Hafina reached up with one massive black-armoured hand and tilted her helmet back. Blonde hair spilled out, followed by a big goofy grin beneath her wide, all-black eyeballs.

“Hiiiiiii,” she purred.

Vicky heaved for breath, one hand to her heart. “Oh. Oh fuck me. Hi, yeah, okay.”

Kagami snapped: “You could have said something, Commander!”

Scaredy cats, Howl grumbled. She ain’t that big.

Elpida said, “I told you Haf was large. Kaga, the drones. Are you jamming?”

Kagami blinked hard. “No. No, if I was then you would get fried as well. This close we’d all feel like we were standing inside a particle accelerator. They’re ready, a precaution!”

Elpida said, “Right. Vicky, Kagami, are either of you injured?”

Kagami shook her head. Vicky made a weak coughing sound — Elpida realised it was meant to be a laugh — and said: “Yeah, obviously, but not like, recently.” She pointed at the corpse. “Elpi, it moved! I swear, it moved—”

Kagami snapped: “It did more than fucking move! It spoke! I fucking told you, Victoria, I told you it was going to come back to life! That’s why they call it a Necromancer!”

Vicky said, “And I kicked it in the face! Okay? What else was I supposed to do? We don’t have any bullets!”

“Maybe don’t touch it?!” Kagami shrieked back. “Maybe don’t go hand-to-hand with the protoplasmic blob monster that could fucking absorb you?! What, one moment of surprise and you regress back to street fighting techniques?”

Vicky coughed. “You try beating a Chicago curb-stomp, moon princess!” She gestured at the corpse. “And it worked, see?”

Kagami shouted: “It’s playing dead!”

Howl snorted: These two really need to fuck.

Later, Elpida replied. Maybe I’ll lock them in the bunk room together when we’re safely back in Pheiri.

Ha! They’ve been locked in here for two days and they haven’t done it yet. That isn’t gonna help!

Maybe they have done it, then.

Bullshit.

Out loud, Elpida said: “The Necro, what did it say?”

Vicky gathered herself, blinking hard. “Uh. Something like … ‘nice work, dead thing’. Then I kicked it. Elpi, we— we can’t— it moved— it—”

Elpida gestured at the dubious corpse. “Haf.”

Hafina levelled all five of her weapons at the Necromancer, including the anti-materiel rifle; if she fired that in here then everyone would probably go deaf, and the bullet might rip a chunk of nano-composite bone from the inside of the combat frame, but Elpida judged the threat was worth the risk. Haf braced her arms and legs, locking her limbs.

Hafina did not need orders repeated — Elpida had learnt that over the course of their long, gruelling, boring journey across the sucking mud and freezing water of the impact crater. Hafina operated with a clarity of action and instant comprehension that Elpida had rarely encountered outside of the cadre. She required only a short explanation of any plan and then slotted herself into it perfectly; the journey had required perfect silence — both radio and vocal — and Haf had picked up Elpida’s hand signals after only a single demonstration. Her goofy grin and loose-limbed mannerisms belied tactical acumen beyond anything Elpida had expected.

Before she and Hafina had left the safety of Pheiri’s hull, Elpida had discussed her idea in detail with both Hafina herself, and with Melyn, whose reliance upon and open love for Hafina could not be discounted. Neither of the ARTs had been certain about Elpida’s theory — that the Necromancer’s paralysing control would not extend to an artificial human. But they both agreed it was worth a shot.

Hafina’s bullets might not do much against a Necromancer, but bullets were better than nothing.

Elpida lowered her submachine gun, flicked the safety back on, and set about tending to her comrades.

Victoria and Kagami looked awful, as if they’d spent a week locked in a cell with nothing but dirty water and mouldy bread to sustain their bodies, rather than two nights confined inside the warm, comfortable, glowing safety of a combat frame. Vicky couldn’t keep her eyes straight — she kept squinting and glazing over, then blinking herself back to clarity, clear signs of a traumatic brain injury. She was shivering despite the perfect body-temperature heat inside the frame, a thin trickle of drool was running down her chin, and her dark skin was ashen and grey. Kagami was faring a little better, but she huddled beneath her armoured coat as if she couldn’t retain any body heat. Her left eye was a mess of burst blood vessels and a streak of crimson was running from her nose. She looked greasy and filthy. When she spoke her voice was raw and rough.

Elpida had expected this. The state of her comrades confirmed that being cut off from the atmospheric nanomachines presented serious danger of starvation, degeneration, and possibly worse. Pira had warned her that Vicky and Kagami would not be able to stand, let alone fight.

She swung her pack off her shoulders and placed it on the floor halfway between Vicky and Kagami. “It’s good to see you both, I’m glad you’re okay. Let’s get you back on your feet.”

Vicky stammered: “What about the— the— Necro? Y-you’re just gonna leave it there?”

Elpida crouched down and unzipped the backpack. “Haf’s got it covered. I need you two up and moving first.”

Kagami said, “Took your sweet time, Commander. Got into a fight out there? Got shot at and slowed down?”

“Only at the very end,” Elpida replied. “Uneventful journey. Haf’s stealth field worked perfectly, but we had to switch it off at the last second to make radio contact. Here.”

Elpida lifted a cannister of raw blue nanomachines from inside her backpack; she had only brought one along, the other remaining three were stashed safely aboard Pheiri, in case of mission failure. The blue glow was dark and muted beneath the combat frame’s blood-red bio-light.

Vicky let out a moan of desperate need. Kagami made a throaty noise, almost a growl.

Elpida uncapped the cannister. “Half each. Don’t drink the whole thing. You have to share.”

Vicky slurred through a mouth full of drool: “Kaga, you first—”

Kagami snapped back, “You fucking primitive, this isn’t a heroism contest, we’re not living in caves! You’re the one with the brain damage! You drink—”

“No. Kaga. Go first, go.” Vicky wiped her mouth on her sleeve. 

Howl took control of Elpida’s lips: “You bitches really need to fuck this out.”

Vicky blinked several times and stared at Elpida. Kagami frowned, eyes narrowed in disbelief.

Elpida re-assumed control and held the cannister out to Vicky. “You drink first.”

“ … Elpi?” Vicky said.

Kagami snorted. “Losing your mind, Commander?”

“Gaining it, actually. I’ll explain later. Not before we deal with the Necro, not before we get you both on your feet. Vicky, drink half the nanos. That’s an order.”

Victoria nodded and accepted the cannister. She drank with urgency, throat bobbing, eyes screwed shut. Elpida put a hand on Vicky’s wrist when it seemed like she was going to drink more than her share, but Vicky lowered the cannister and let out a gasp. “Uuuhhh … y-yeah, okay, okay. I’m good, Elpi, I’m good. Uh … ” She stared at the cannister, then at the fingers of her free hand. “You … you think I should smear some of this on my … back of my skull?”

Kagami huffed. “No, you moronic dirt-eater! Don’t touch it! You’ll give yourself more brain damage and pass out again!”

Elpida said, “I’ll check your head wound in a moment, Vicky. Here.” She took the cannister and held it out to Kagami. “Your turn.”

Kagami drank with less urgency than Vicky, but she consumed every last drop. The glowing blue slid off the inside of the cannister with perfect viscosity, leaving nothing behind. As Kagami drank, Elpida examined the pair of black cables which extended from Kagami’s left wrist; they led back into the manual control chamber and plugged into the control panel. A web of circuitry lay just beneath the skin of Kagami’s left wrist and palm and fingers, grey and dull in the red light.

Kagami finished drinking. Elpida recapped the cannister and stowed it in her pack, for later use. Then she pulled out the second cannister, full of water from Pheiri’s internal cistern.

Vicky spluttered: “Oh, thank fuck.” 

Vicky and Kagami passed the water back and forth without complaint. Elpida nodded at Kagami’s cables. “You’ve plugged yourself directly into the combat frame, is that correct?”

Kagami glared back. “I told you already. Jealous, Commander?”

Elpida smiled. “Visual confirmation feels different. You’ve reverse engineered Telokopolan MMI-uplink technology. Perhaps not all the way, but it’s a promising start.”

Kagami rolled her eyes. “Thank you so much for your confidence.”

Vicky nodded at the ceiling, water running down her chin. “Elpi, is this really what your great big forest-walking mechs looked like on the inside?”

Elpida said: “Most of ours were smaller. But yes. This is a Telokopolan combat frame. In here is one of the safest places in the entire world. I know it looks strange, it looked strange to most people from my time, from Telokopolis. It’s part of why they didn’t like me and my sisters. But this creature is on our side, born from the city of Telokopolis itself. In a way it’s a little bit like Pheiri, and a little bit like me. It is a child of the city. And we’re going to wake it up. Don’t be afraid.”

Vicky tried to smile, but she couldn’t hide her nerves. Kagami just snorted.

Ignorant cunts, Howl hissed.

It’s not their fault, Elpida replied.

Elpida had seen that kind of reaction so many times before — at least it wasn’t the open disgust of the Covenanters. She told herself that Vicky and Kagami did not mean it in that way; they were frightened and exhausted and this was alien to them. It was not a reflection of any deeper ideological position.

Elpida tried not to think about her own missing MMI implant. She did not yet fully understand how Kagami had grown herself a set of interface cybernetics, but she understood it had required resources, pain, and time; the first could be spent, the second Elpida could endure, but the third was in short supply. If they truly couldn’t help the injured pilot up in the capsule, then Elpida could have plugged herself in and gotten the frame moving, but that wasn’t possible without an MMI uplink socket at the base of her skull.

Elpida crushed those thoughts down. She said: “Is the pilot stable?”

Kagami nodded. “Yes. She’ll keep. Days, weeks, I don’t know.”

Elpida nodded. She briefly checked Vicky’s skull fracture — a nasty mess of bone fragments, matted hair, and dried blood — and decided not to touch the wound. The raw blue would do more than she could, at least without Melyn’s medical skills. Kagami wasn’t wounded anywhere but inside, her reserves of nanomachines spent on that imitation MMI-uplink and the processing power inside her left arm.

Elpida said: “You two sit tight and let the nanomachines do their work. You’ve done well.”

Kagami snorted and jerked her augmetic legs. The bionic limbs scraped against the floor. “Yes, Commander, without your sagely advice I would have gotten up and gone for a light jog.”

Vicky slumped forward and squeezed her eyes shut. “Kaga, stop being a bitch, please.”

“We’re all bitches here,” Kagami growled.

Ha! Howl barked. I like the moon bitch. I wanna play with her. Pretty please, Elps? Can I corner her later?

No promises.

Awwww.

Elpida stood up and turned back to the Necromancer’s corpse; Hafina was still covering it with her weapons.

The pulped crimson mess of the face was almost black in the blood-red bio-light, the copper brown skin a shade too dark, the hair the colour of blood, the same as her sisters had always looked when inside a combat frame. The implicit insult made Elpida angry and offended in a way she had not expected. This interior, this warmth and safety, it should have been one of the most inviolate places in the entire world, a mobile piece of Telokopolis itself. Yet here was an imitation of her face, bloodied and twisted, a mockery meant to unsettle her comrades.

Vicky muttered: “Kaga must be right. There’s no way kicking that thing in the head a couple of times killed it.”

Kagami said, “Of course I’m right.”

Vicky continued: “The mech — sorry, the combat frame — fried it for us, the first time, when it tried to plug in and take control or whatever. We couldn’t do shit to it, not really. Bullets were a joke. Even Kaga’s gravity trick just stunned it for a bit. It’s just pretending to be dead. Playing possum. Elpi, that thing is still alive.”

Kagami snorted. “Nothing is alive here, Victoria.”

Vicky sighed. “You know what I mean.”

Elpida looked from the corpse to the dark mouth of the capillary tunnel, then over at the control panel in the next room, then at Kagami. She said: “Did the Necro move before or after you popped the hatch?”

“After. After! What difference does it—” Kagami went wide-eyed, then spat: “Fuck!”

“Mmhmm.” Elpida nodded.

“Fucking hell!” Kagami said. “Shit, I should have— fuck! I’m an idiot. Moron! My brain is turning to mush down here!”

Elpida said, “You were starving to death, dehydrated, and cognitively impaired. Don’t beat yourself up, Kagami.”

Kagami snorted. “You could have said something, Commander! You could have warned us!”

“I only just figured it out. I apologise for my laxity. It was my responsibility to consider what might happen when we cracked the hatch.”

Vicky frowned at both Elpida and Kagami. “Am I the only one not following this?”

Kagami rolled her eyes. “You’re brain damaged. Don’t worry about it.”

Hafina purred like a big cat: “Noooope. Me neither.”

“Kagami,” Elpida said. “You can explain better than I can. Please.”

“Damn right I can!” Kagami said. “We’re networked.” She jabbed a finger at the ‘corpse’ of the Necromancer. “So is that thing! The whole planet is networked. Every piece of flesh, every cubic inch of air, all of it is stuffed with nanomachines, and all of them are networked together.” She slapped the floor. “They must be, it’s the only explanation.”

“For what?” Vicky said.

Elpida added: “Unless that’s just what the Necromancer wants us to think.”

“Don’t!” Kagami snapped. “Don’t say that! Look, this machine, this mech, it’s a sealed environment. You and I starving to death proves that part. But it’s not just atmospherically sealed. It’s sealed against comms, too. Nothing can get through that hull out there, not radio, not radiation, IR, radar, nothing! Probably not even quantum entanglement. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Commander’s freakish base-eight-thinking civilization figured out how to break that, too!” Kagami held up her left hand, showing the two black cables that linked the cybernetics in her wrist to the control panel; the circuitry was beginning to glow blue and green beneath her skin, a soft flutter of candlelight inside her flesh. “The only way to get a signal in or out is via the brain — ha!” she spat. “‘Brain’. This thing’s brain would redefine the fucking word. Eight-lobed, I’m guessing. But the point stands. You want to talk, it has to go through the beast itself.” She pointed at the control panel in the next room. “Either via that, if you can convince it to let you, or via the pilot upstairs. I suspect her connection doesn’t come with this bastard machine arguing back against every interpretation of every word.” She nodded at the Necromancer. “When that thing got bricked, it had no way to reboot from external backups. No contact with home base.”

Vicky squinted. “You think it was remote controlled?”

Elpida said, “Yes. I told you two about the sleep paralysis message it sent me. That happened while this corpse was lying right here. The Necro’s true body is elsewhere.”

Kagami scoffed. “‘Remote control’, ‘true body’. You two are like a pair of paleo bone-humpers looking at the night sky and trying to comprehend the flare of a fucking ion drive. No, it’s very likely a network presence. Maybe with some master-instance in an AI substrate enclosure somewhere. But I would bet a handful of moon dust that it doesn’t have a ‘real’ body at all.”

“We don’t know that,” Elpida said.

Kagami ranted on: “When we opened the hatch, the nanomachines could talk to each other again. The Necro uploaded its memories, or reconnected with its master copy, or whatever! I don’t know exactly! And we don’t have the tools to find out. I would kill for one Tycho City nano-lab right now. I’d put that thing through a fucking autoclave and see what it’s made of, empty out its cache and trace every signal it’s sent.” She glared at the ‘corpse’. “How would you like me rooting around in your head, you spooky little shit?!”

Vicky said, “You don’t think it could like … download into one of us? Like taking over a body?”

Kagami huffed. “Why bother? Why not just coalesce a body from the air and the dirt? It’s all nanomachines! All networked! How many times do I have to repeat this?”

“Fine, fine,” Vicky grumbled.

Elpida did not look away from the corpse; she stared into the one remaining eye in the Necromancer’s imitation face. A black orb, oil-dark in the blood-light. Vicky and Kagami had been alone with this corpse for two full days — but then it had been a true corpse, not just pretending. After Kagami had popped the hatch, they’d been alone with it for less than two minutes. One of them had screamed.

Could the Necromancer have taken over Vicky and Kagami while Elpida and Hafina had been hurrying down the capillary tunnel?

If Kagami was right, and it was a network presence, then why bother?

But if it had taken her over, then it was telling Elpida exactly what she wanted to hear.

Nah, Howl snorted. Doesn’t make sense, Elps. You’re being paranoid. Why take them over? Because it wants to come with us? It can spy on us anyway, remember? Sent you that message while you were sleeping? There’s no reason. They’re clean. Simmer down.

Elpida nodded. “You’re right.”

Kagami grunted. “Mm?”

“I think you’re right, Kagami. I don’t think bodily invasion and assimilation is how these things work. At least, that’s my best guess.”

“Um,” Vicky said. “What about the blood on my boot? That’s Necromancer blood, right?”

Kagami snorted. “Just don’t lick it up, Victoria. I don’t think we have to worry about that. You’re a lot of things, but you’re not a boot licker.”

Elpida gestured to Hafina. “Haf, lower your guns, please.”

Kagami spluttered. “Commander, what!?”

Vicky said, “Uhhh, Elpi?”

Elpida explained. “There’s no point. The Necro is immune to our weapons. You made that clear before. Guns will do nothing.”

Hafina said: “Sure is sure?” Her huge all-black eyes peered at Elpida with curious concern from beneath the rim of her raised helmet. Her big mouth was turned downward with anxious discomfort.

Elpida nodded. “Do it.”

Hafina unlocked her limbs with a jerk, lowered her weapons, and straightened up to her full height.

Elpida walked up to the ‘corpse’, then crouched down so she could peer at the face.

Kagami snapped: “You don’t have to get that close to it, fucking hell!”

Elpida spoke right to the Necromancer’s imitation face: “If it wanted us dead, we would be. If it wanted to kill you two before Hafina and I had finished crawling down the capillary tunnel, it would have done so. If it wanted to kill me right now, it could grow a spike and ram it through my eye socket. As far as I can tell, it could paralyse all of us with a thought, and there is nothing any of us can do to stop it.”

Kagami croaked: “I can jam it again. Pin it in place with gravitics, I can … ”

Elpida looked back at Kagami. She knew Kagami was bluffing; the raw blue would work fast, but not that fast, and Kagami was still an exhausted, shivering wreck. Deploying her drones’ on-board gravitic fields took a great deal of concentration and cybernetic coordination.

Kagami trailed off. No words needed.

Elpida turned back to the ‘corpse’. It was still staring at the ceiling with one black eye, the other a blob of dark jelly stuck to the cheekbone. Elpida said: “It doesn’t want us dead. Specifically it doesn’t want me dead. When it visited me via the imitation sleep paralysis, it told me to keep my head down. Go off unnoticed. Don’t be seen.”

Vicky asked, “By … by what?”

Kagami suggested: “Central.”

Elpida nodded. “That was the word it used with you and Vicky, upstairs in the pilot chamber. Correct? ‘Central’s attention’?”

“Mm,” Kagami grunted.

Vicky said, “I’ve been thinking about that a little bit, sure. But what the hell does that mean? Some kind of command and control? That thing has a boss, a superior officer, what?”

Elpida stared into the dead face of the Necromancer, a parody imitation of her own. “I have no idea.”

Vicky said, “And why jump scare me like that? If it’s just gonna lie there now and pretend to be dead? What was the point?”

Kagami snorted. “It enjoys spooking us! It enjoys the cruelty!”

“No,” Elpida said slowly. “Same reason it told me to keep my head down. It wants us scared, running, hiding. But I don’t know why.” She reached out and nudged the dead shoulder; the flesh was spongy and yielding, more like foam than meat and bone. “I know you can hear me. I know you’re still in there, still active, still listening. A stomp or two to the face did not disable you, not like trying a hostile MMI-connection to a combat frame did. That must have really hurt, right? I don’t know if a thing like you feels pain, but I’m hoping you can. It doesn’t matter what physical structures you imitate, you’re not a pilot, you’re not one of my sisters, not one of our clade. And the combat frame could tell that. But a stomp? No way. You’re in there. Feel like talking?”

The corpse did not move.

Elpida kept a tight hand on her frustration. If only she could make the Necromancer talk, there would be no need to kidnap Yola and no need to deal with the Death’s Heads again. Right here, lying on the floor, was a direct line to the secret workings of this nanomachine ecosystem — a representative of the power behind the system, or at least a being with a better understanding of how that system worked. If Elpida and her comrades were pawns in a game they could not see, then here lay a queen.

Elpida said: “Your plan to commandeer this combat frame has failed. I don’t think you want to try again, not after you plugged in and found that it could scramble you. You obviously want me to do something, to stay clear of something. But I need you to explain why, I need you to explain what you think I’m going to do. And then maybe I’ll do it.”

Silence. Unblinking death.

Elpida had neither the tools nor the knowledge to contain or interrogate this being. Kagami was right, she would kill for a proper nanomachine laboratory right now. She would gladly take the Necromancer apart piece by piece. But all she had was small arms and her comrades.

Elpida tried one more time: “What is ‘central’?”

Nothing.

“Fucking hell, Elpi,” Vicky hissed. “I don’t wanna hear that thing talk again. I don’t.”

Kagami said, “We cannot leave it at large inside the combat frame. We can’t. Commander. Commander!”

“Wait,” Elpida said. “If I can just—”

“I know!” Kagami snapped. “Commander, look at me.”

Elpida looked over her shoulder.

Kagami was clear eyed. She said: “I know, Elpida. I know this is a wasted intel opportunity of the worst kind. An asset like her, I would have scooped up as a priority one target and wrapped her in cotton wool until I could get her off-surface and into orbit. But we do not have the tools, Elpida. We don’t! If I had half a dozen lab-size electromagnets and a shielded Faraday cage, then maybe — maybe I would be willing to risk interrogating that thing. But right now that undead monster is a danger. Sure, it’s playing possum at the moment, having fun winding us all up. But what if it changes its mind?” Kagami gulped, dry and raw. “We need to get rid of it. Now. Right now. You want to go up into the pilot chamber and help the pilot, get this stupid mech moving? Fine. We need to dispose of that thing first.”

Kagami stared, breathing hard. Elpida stood up, took a deep breath, and nodded.

“Kagami, you are correct,” she said. “Thank you for your counsel. Let’s get this thing out of here before it changes its mind.”

Kagami sighed with relief and visibly sagged. Elpida was glad to prove her worries wrong.

Howl was giggling inside Elpida’s mind: Oh, oh, oh, I like this bitch. She’s jittery and juicy and smart. You given her a reward yet?

Not my place to do that, Howl.

Pffft. Whatever. Bet she’s a squealer.

Out loud, Elpida said: “Right, we’re not leaving the Necromancer inside the combat frame. Hafina, are you comfortable handling the body?”

Haf pulled a grimace, but she nodded. “Suuuuure.”

“Kagami, get back to the control panel and set the pilot access hatch to open manually, from the inside. Hafina will drag the corpse back down the capillary tunnel, I’ll cover her. We’ll open the hatch, dump the corpse down the side, then button up again. Any questions?”

Vicky nodded. “Hell yeah. I mean, uh, no questions. Just yeah, cool.”

Kagami hissed between her teeth. “What are you going to do if it comes to life in the tunnel and eats you both?”

Elpida said: “It won’t.”

“How can you be so fucking sure, Commander? How are you so certain about everything?!”

Elpida replied: “I’ll say this out loud so the Necro knows that I know. I don’t think it wants to be in here. I think it wants out, and it doesn’t want to talk to us. It knows that body can get stuck in here, full of intel — we might not be able to extract that, but something else might. It’s taunting us, to get us to freak out and dump the corpse. And we’re going to give it what it wants, because we want it too. A mutual deal, made in silence. Right?”

The Necromancer did not move. Not a whisper. Not a twitch.

Dragging the dead weight down the capillary tunnel was easy enough for Hafina’s artificial muscles; she gripped the Necro’s imitation-collar, then dragged the ‘corpse’ behind her, vanishing into the mouth of the pitch-black passageway. Kagami withdrew her floating drones, stowing the silver oblongs in her coat pocket. Elpida followed Haf a moment later, her senses swallowed by the darkness.

The journey back down the capillary took only 153 seconds — Hafina moved almost as fast as she did when unencumbered. Elpida did not bother to clutch her submachine gun; she had no illusions that she could stop the Necromancer if it decided to change tactics. She couldn’t see anything in the lightless tunnel anyway. She concentrated on navigating via one hand on the wall, and on not blundering into the Necromancer’s booted feet as Hafina dragged the corpse ahead of her.

When they reached the vertical shaft beneath the pilot access hatch, Hafina straightened up, propped the corpse against one wall, and mounted the ladder, ascending quickly with her six arms. Elpida wriggled into the shaft after Hafina. Weak illumination filled the cramped space, glowing from the palm pad just beneath the hatch, twelve feet up.

“Hit the palm pad to pop the hatch,” Elpida said. “I’ll pass you the body, then you toss it out, as far as you can.”

“Could take it to the edge?” Haf suggested. “Quick like, quick run to the edge and back?”

Elpida shook her head. “Absolutely not. Puts you in too much danger. Revenants out there will be watching this hatch. Just throw.”

Haf nodded, then scurried the rest of the way up the ladder. Elpida bent down and hauled the Necromancer’s corpse up by the armpits, keeping the face turned away from her; she didn’t want it bursting into a mocking grin at the last moment, when she had no choice but to carry on with the plan.

“Ready?” she said.

“Ready!” Haf purred.

“Go!”

Haf hit the palm pad. Elpida heard the hatch unlock with a deep clunk of mechanical release. She hauled the body upward, passing it to Haf’s considerable multi-armed grip. Hafina accepted the weight with two arms, pulled it upward, then shoved the hatch open with two other arms.

Elpida caught a glimpse of the black sky, lit from a distant corner by the smothered red sun.

And a tiny dark dot, moving fast against the clouds.

Hafina braced to throw the corpse.

Elpida saw the Necromancer’s grin flash wide, full of steel teeth and dried blood.

Hafina hurled the corpse through the hatch with all her strength. Elpida realised her mistake at the last second — she had ordered Haf to throw the Necromancer as far as she could; Haf’s arms slammed forward like a set of pistons, hurling the body like a shell from a cannon. The Necromancer was gone.

Hafina did not wait to admire her handiwork. She reached up and slammed the hatch shut again as quick as she could. The locking mechanisms engaged with a loud clunk.

Elpida said: “Did you see that dot in the sky?”

Hafina dropped back down the ladder. She tilted her massive head to one side, big eyes blinking black in the gloom. “Dot?”

“Nothing. Never mind. Good work, Haf. Nice throwing arm.”

Hafina grinned, big and goofy. “If she’s still alive, she’ll feel it when she lands.”

Elpida couldn’t help laughing.

When they returned to the circular chamber, Kagami was shouting in panic.

“Commander! Elpida!” Kagami yelled from the control chamber as Elpida emerged from the tunnel. Vicky was already in there with her, slumped against the wall. “Elpida, you need to see this, get in here!”

Elpida hurried across the main chamber once again, past the discarded bulkheads and the pack she’d left on the floor. Hafina unfolded herself from the tunnel and followed at a trot. Elpida stepped into the control chamber and slipped down into one of the seats. The bank of screens was a dizzying array of exterior camera views, filtered through dozens of readout types and sensor equipment. She’d never liked these manual controls; they were crude at best and useless at worst, designed for the bone-speakers doing diagnostics and the engineers to convince themselves they understood the combat frames. The clarity of an MMI-uplink was instant and instinctive; this was just noise.

“What am I looking at?” she said.

Kagami pointed at one of the true-colour readouts — a view of the ground, the grey waterlogged mud right up against the side of the combat frame’s hull.

It was Elpida.

The Necromancer, wearing Elpida’s face and Elpida’s skin, Elpida’s clothes and Elpida’s long white hair, Elpida’s gear and mannerisms and everything, whole and unwounded once again, rather than the parody corpse they’d carried to the hatch. She was ankle-deep in grey mud, staring directly at the camera feed from the exterior sensors, one hand raised in a lazy wave.

Elpida said, “That was quick.”

Kagami snapped: “She hit the side of the mech and slid. By the time she was on the ground, she was you again! Looking like you again, I mean! Fucking hell.”

Vicky hissed, “Fuck me, that’s creepy.”

Hafina let out an uncomfortable whine from the doorway.

Random pot-shots and sniper fire cracked through the air around the Necromancer, but she ignored the bullets. A couple of rounds slammed into her imitation armoured coat; one hit her in the leg, but she didn’t react. Her lips were moving, repeating the same few shapes over and over.

Elpida said: “We have external microphones, yes?”

Kagami scoffed. “You want to listen to it?”

“It wants to talk. External mics. Kagami, do it, please.”

Kagami hissed, flexed her left hand, and jabbed a few buttons on the control panel. Audio crackled through the little membrane-speaker, punctuated by the distant bang and crack of gunfire.

“Thanks for the assist, Commander,” said the Necromancer, in a perfect copy of Elpida’s voice.

It’s not perfect! Howl spat. Doesn’t sound anything like you! Doesn’t have shit on your tone, Elps!

The Necromancer kept talking, staring into the camera feed. Bullet impacts churned the mud at her feet.

“I know you can’t reply, so I’ll keep this short and to the point,” it said. “I’ve fucked up. These local discrepancies have not gone unnoticed. My mistakes have been registered, but not accounted for. Central is on the way with physical asset, to resolve the situation.” The Necromancer reached forward and rapped her knuckles against the hull of the combat frame. “The ‘situation’ being this. I suggest you all run. I will be covering my tracks, and I can cover yours, but I cannot hide you if you remain in plain sight.” She mimed a two-fingered salute. “I hope to meet you again, Commander Elpida. Good luck, dead thing.”

The Necromancer turned away. Within seconds she was lost amid the churned mud and waterlogged holes.

Nobody spoke for a moment.

Elpida said: “Kagami, broadcast to Pheiri and the others, let them know the Necromancer might approach them while wearing my face.”

“Oh, trust me, ‘Commander’, I’m already on it!” Kagami snapped. She jabbed at the control panel.

Vicky was panting, wide eyed, sweat on her face. “Central? Physical asset? What? What did that mean? Elpi? W-what does that mean? Have we pissed something off? What do we do? Elpi?”

Elpida stood up from the bench-seat. She looked out of the control chamber and across the main room, at the narrow aperture which led up to the pilot’s chamber.

“The plan remains unchanged,” she said. “We need to get this combat frame up and moving.”


Previous Chapter Next Chapter



Yeet that leech! Uh, I mean lich. But that doesn’t rhyme properly. Still, hell of an arm on Haf.

Does the Necromancer count as a lich? Is a networked AI core a phylactery? Do Necromancers bounce when they hit the ground? Will Vicky and Kagami ever fuck? All very good questions.

Time to talk to the last human on Earth.

If you want more Necroepilogos right away, there is a tier for it on my patreon:

Patreon link! Right here!

Right now this only offers a single chapter ahead, about 4.5k words.  Feel free to wait until there’s more story! I’m focusing on trying to push this ahead for now, seeing if I can make more time in my writing schedule to get an extra chapter or two out. I’ll keep doing my best!

There’s also a TopWebFiction entry! Voting makes the story go up in the rankings, which helps more people see it! This only takes a couple of seconds, and it really helps the story.

And thank you for reading Necroepilogos! I know I say this literally every single chapter, and if you actually read all of these thank yous then I would be really surprised, but I never tire of repeating myself: this story would not be possible without all of the support of you readers! Thank you! Until next chapter!

impietas – 9.2

Content Warnings

Starvation



Previous Chapter Next Chapter


“She take the bait?” said Vicky.

Kagami didn’t answer — she just stared at the bank of screens inside the combat frame’s manual control chamber, reflections dancing in her bloodshot eyes. Deep red vein-light throbbed from behind the osseous walls; a patchwork of unhealthy blues, rotten yellows, and muddy greens glowed from the surface of the control panel. Kagami’s soft brown skin was dyed the colour of drying blood. Her long black hair hung down limp and tangled. Her breathing was shallow, rough, and laboured.

Vicky hoped that Kagami was merely ignoring her. The two of them were sitting less than arm’s length apart, in adjacent grooves on the control chamber bench-seat.

Vicky cleared her throat as best she could. Her saliva was thick and gummy; she was so thirsty, her mouth felt like sandpaper.

She tried again: “Kaga. Did she take the bait?”

“Go back to sleep, Victoria,” Kagami muttered.

Vicky tutted softly and looked at the bank of screens again, trying to ignore the heartbeat of pulsing pain in the back of her fractured skull.

She could still not understand most of the exterior views provided by the combat frame’s sensor suite, despite having little else to stare at for the last thirty-six hours — or was it forty-eight hours? Time had grown slow, fuzzy, and indistinct, hard to track when blurred by the awkward, broken sleep, the hyper-vigilance Kagami demanded regarding the corpse in the room behind them, and the growing hunger gnawing at Vicky’s guts. She’d spent much longer than two days in much worse places than the inside of the combat frame, doing much worse things than sitting quietly and waiting for pick-up — at least she wasn’t eating handfuls of cold rice and dodging counter-battery fire in muddy foxholes.

But back in life she’d never had to nurse a biologically impossible head wound. The rear of Vicky’s skull had healed very slightly — the pieces of bone no longer shifted when she moved, no longer wracked her body with waves of disorientation and nausea. But the pain was a sharp, hard, rapid throb whenever she dared do anything more than sit and breathe.

Several of the screens made more sense in the reddish dawn, showing real-time views in human-visible light: the fingers of broken skyscrapers reaching up to tear the belly of the gravid sky, their lines of concrete and steel obfuscated by the omnipresent drizzling rain; the occasional scurrying revenant spotted through a window or doorway or broken patch of rubble, always keeping beyond the sight of snipers and rivals and predators; and the sea of grey mud below the bulk of the combat frame, churned by the storm overnight.

Vicky hadn’t heard a whisper of that storm. She and Kagami were tucked away behind meters of armour inside the combat frame. She’d witnessed it on the screens as a heavy static against the dark background.

Most of the other screens made no sense at all — ghostly night-vision peering into shadowy gaps, thermal readouts and infra-red picking up undead body heat, purple swirls and white flickers of echolocation and nanomachine readout, and other things that even Kagami could not explain in simple language. The scrolling text on some of the lower screens was worse; Vicky’s eyes stung if she stared too long. She wasn’t sure if that was her nanomachine biology struggling to translate, or because of the head wound.

She squinted at the blobs of thermal readout inside the nearest intact skyscraper — the skyscraper with those grinning skulls daubed on the exterior walls — but she couldn’t make out what was happening.

Vicky said: “Answer the question, moon princess.”

Kagami hissed through her teeth, but she did not look round. “Stop calling me that. Wish I’d never told you.”

Vicky forced herself to laugh; that made her skull hurt, but she needed to keep their spirits up. “But you’re a princess. From the moon. That makes you a moon princess. Am I wrong?”

“For the hundredth time, I was not a fucking princess, you dirt-sucking surface barbarian,” Kagami grumbled — but her words lacked venom. Vicky worried about that. “How many times? Luna did not have a monarchy, my father was not a king, he was elected—”

“For life! By a council of electors, not popular vote. That’s a monarchy, an elective monarchy, sure, but still a monarchy.”

Kagami sighed. “That doesn’t make me a princess, you mud eater. There was no royal family, no royal titles, no palace—”

“Oh, come on!” Vicky laughed again. “‘Tycho City’, ‘Princess’ of Tycho city? You were a princess, and you lived in a techno-palace on the moon. You were so proud when you said it yourself, like I was gonna roll over and show my tummy to your big flash aristo title.”

Kagami snapped: “It was never a title. It was what the people called me—”

Vicky snorted. “‘The people’, there you go! Face it, Kaga. You’re a princess, from a monarchy. My old comrades would have loved you.”

Kagami muttered, “Yes, I’m sure they would have loved to string me up.”

“Not you. You’re my little moon princess.”

Kagami clenched her jaw. She said: “And you have a head wound, Victoria. Go back to sleep.”

Vicky flexed her shoulders and lower back against the oddly soft bone-white seat; that made her head throb with a spider web of spikes, but she didn’t want to fall back asleep. She paused and breathed slowly, trying not to show the pain. She kept her arms crossed beneath the makeshift blanket of her armoured coat. At least this was more comfortable than a wet hole in the mud.

She said: “Nah. Don’t feel like it. Come on, Kaga. Keep me in the loop. Did the death squad girl take Elpi’s bait, or not?”

Kagami sniffed hard and wiped her nose with her right hand — her left was still plugged into the control panel. Vicky pretended she didn’t see the streak of crimson nosebleed, or see Kagami sucking her own blood off her knuckles. The nosebleeds had been getting more frequent.

Kagami gestured at one of the screens, at a lone blob of what Vicky guessed was nanomachine-detection readout, moving horizontally down a corridor inside the Death’s Head skyscraper. She said: “Cantrelle’s not heading back toward Yola. She’s rejoining the troops. Score one for our Commander’s theory of leadership, I suppose. Huh.”

Vicky squinted hard. “Which one is which again?”

Kagami sighed. “Yola’s the leader. Cantrelle’s the second. This is why I told you to go back to sleep, Victoria. You have a fucking head wound, you should be concentrating on healing. Leave the strategy and coordination to me and the Commander.”

“So, is that good, or bad?”

Kagami sighed harder. “Not enough information to determine. The external DR microphones on this ridiculous machine are extremely high quality, but they can’t read thoughts. All we can do is let the bitch chew on betrayal for a few hours, see if she goes for the deal.” Kagami snorted with disapproval and tapped her finger at another screen, a visible-light view of the skyscraper. “Pity she didn’t icepick her ‘dear leader’ through the head when she had a chance. Fuck interrogating either of them. Waste of time. Let them murder each other, that’s how I would do it.”

Vicky looked at the screen Kagami had indicated: an exterior view of the Death’s Head skyscraper, several floors up, with a huge ragged hole blown in the wall. The hole framed a tiny figure, blurred by the thin, misty rain, outlined against the background of broken concrete. Purple and gold glinted in the ruddy light — a suit of powered armour, topped by a barely visible wisp of ruby-red hair.

The figure moved her hand to her mouth, eating something, too small to make out at that distance and resolution. She stared out across the impact crater, looking right at the combat frame.

Yola, the leader. Vicky stuck her tongue out for a second, as if the woman could see. Sadly, Yola did not react.

Vicky croaked: “Confident, isn’t she?”

Kagami grunted. “Hmm? What?”

Vicky uncrossed her arms, peeled back her coat, and pointed at the screen. “Yola. Skull queen. She’s not even taking cover. Unafraid of snipers or spotters or even just random heavy weaponry. Just out there in the open. Rookie mistake. Get her head taken off if she’s not more careful.”

“Oh,” Kagami said. “Right. Whatever.”

Vicky said: “I thought you were supposed to be some kind of small-squad mission control expert? You never yell at a private to keep his head down and put his helmet back on?”

“Wire-slaved surface agents did not need ‘reminding’ of anything,” Kagami muttered.

“Ha!” Vicky barked — ow, that made her head throb again, worse than before. “You know, if you don’t agree with Elpi’s plan, we could just … pow.” Vicky spread her fingers toward the distant figure of Yola, eating her cannibal snack in that great big hole in the wall. “Blow her away right there. One round would do it. She’s not even moving. Give me one decent howitzer and I could land a round right on top of her head. Do it on paper, even, screw the computers, and I’ll put one right through that hole. Hell, I’d do it with a mortar team and guesswork. Make her run around a bit first. Ha.”

Vicky was exaggerating, perhaps outright lying; she’d never been good with trajectory calculations. But it might keep Kagami engaged, stop her from slipping away again.

Kagami did not respond. She stared at the screens, eyes fixed on a single point. Her whole body was sagging forward. A bead of blood gathered below her right nostril.

Vicky reached out and nudged Kagami in the shoulder. “Kaga. Hey. Kagami. Moon princess.”

Kagami blinked several times, smacked her lips, and wiped her nose. She licked the blood off the back of her hand again.

“Hear what I said?” Vicky asked. “I said we could blow her away with one artillery round.”

Kagami raised her left hand and stared at the pair of black cables which sprouted from her wrist, joining her to the combat frame’s control panel. The visible circuitry beneath the skin of her fingers, palm, and forearm had glowed earlier, when Vicky had first seen it, but now it had faded to a dark grey, like a coral reef choked by ash.

“Kaga. Hey.”

“I don’t have weapons access,” Kagami muttered. “This fucking bitch of a robot still doesn’t want me in its head.” She winced. “Huh, shouldn’t call it a robot either, it doesn’t like that. Weird little alien bastard. Yeah, you heard me. You want me to call you something else, then give me a real name. Huh? Thought not.” Kagami trailed off briefly, then spoke again: “If this is how the Commander’s people thought, then I’m glad I never met them. The only reason it’s not fighting me anymore is the say-so of that pilot upstairs. And she can’t put it into words either. Huh. Mute ordering around the mute, ha ha.”

Victoria tried to smile as if this was funny and new, as if she hadn’t heard Kagami repeat the same complaint a dozen times over the last two days of confinement. She had almost preferred when the combat frame was fighting Kagami’s network presence — not because she wanted Kagami to be in pain again, but because Kagami coated in sweat and shaking and shivering and swearing up a storm was far less worrying than Kagami hunched and fading and falling apart.

Vicky had not yet decided what was causing the rapid deterioration.

They’d had no water since before they’d entered the combat frame; Victoria felt thirsty and dehydrated, but not desperate, not as a living human would have. There was nothing to eat either — except the corpse of the Necromancer, and they weren’t that desperate, not yet; Vicky kept telling herself that, every time she looked at the corpse.

Elpida’s theory made a lot of sense — Vicky and Kagami were cut off from the ambient nanomachines in the atmosphere, so perhaps this was more like slow asphyxiation rather than starvation.

They had debated cracking the exterior hatch, like opening a window to let in fresh air, but they’d agreed it was too dangerous. The hatch was easily visible from the ring of skyscrapers, and they had no idea how fast or how stealthily a revenant might move to gain access. If Kagami didn’t spot a potential intruder in time and shut the hatch remotely, they could both get eaten. Something might be watching the hatch right now, waiting for them to do exactly that.

So, no fresh air.

But Vicky had a head wound, healing slowly, blurring her thoughts; perhaps the only thing keeping her going was the bionic heart pumping away inside her chest. Kagami had pushed herself hard to communicate with the combat frame, then to help fight the Necromancer, then to plug herself back in and coordinate Elpida’s rescue. They were both exhausted and worn out, their resources burned through, but all they could do was sleep, not eat.

And Vicky was growing afraid of sleep. She was growing afraid that one of them would go to sleep and not wake up.

Elpida would be here soon; Vicky knew she had to keep Kagami talking.

“Kaga,” Vicky rasped. “The pilot. How is she doing?”

“Same as before,” Kagami answered. “Vital signs stable. Sleeping. Stop asking me. If she starts dying, I’ll let you know.”

Kagami stared at her own arm for a long time, then wiped her nose again, licked up the blood, and finally turned to look at Vicky. Her eyes were so bloodshot and ringed with such dark circles, despite her taking the lion’s share of the sleep; her beautiful long black hair needed a comb and a wash. Vicky would have loved to take a brush to that hair; she would like to see it clean and well cared for. Vicky knew she probably looked horrible too, exhausted and dark eyed and ashen in the face, her expressions all de-synced and messed up by the head wound and brain injury.

“Victoria,” Kagami rasped.

“Mm?”

“Go the fuck to sleep.”

Vicky shrugged. “Nah.”

Kagami’s jaw tightened. She spoke through her teeth. “We are meant to be sleeping in shifts.”

Vicky sighed. Her head throbbed. “Kaga, it’s dead.”

Kagami said, “It’s a fucking Necromancer. I’m pretty sure there’s a good reason the zombies and freaks out here call them by that name. And you — you came back to life! Elpida came back to life! Things come back from the dead here, Victoria. It’s inherent in the word ‘zombie’, in case you missed the linguistic connection somewhere.”

Vicky indicated the bank of screens with a tilt of her chin. “I don’t see you keeping a close eye on the body while I’m sleeping.”

Kagami pursed her lips and made a noise halfway between a strangled cat and a broken locking pin. “I was helping our ‘Commander’.”

Vicky shrugged again. “Well, I’m not tired.”

“Well I am!” Kagami snapped. “And I would like to sleep with somebody’s eyes on the fucking monster right behind us!”

Vicky rolled her eyes, pushed her armoured coat down, and sat up straight in her seat-groove. She turned her whole body so she could look over her shoulder without putting pressure on her neck and the back of her skull. She’d almost passed out earlier when she’d made that mistake the first time; since then she’d taken her turns on watch sitting propped in the control chamber doorway, while Kagami lay across the bench-seat. Kagami snored ever so softly, which helped keep Vicky alert.

In the circular chamber behind them lay the corpse of the Necromancer.

It was crumpled on the far side of the chamber, past the debris of osseous white bulkheads and bolt-shaped fastenings, with its head turned away, to face the wall.

Kagami and Vicky had worked together to remove it from the pilot’s chamber right after the confrontation, shoving it down the awkward spiral tube back to the lower levels of the combat frame’s human-accessible areas. They had hoped to locate a stomach or some kind of interior disposal mechanism, but Kagami had come up with nothing after re-linking herself back to the combat frame; even if she had found a convenient hatch leading to a giant pool of hydrochloric acid, neither Kagami nor Vicky were in any state to go crawling through the pitch-black passageways of this bizarre living machine — which also ruled out any attempt to drag the body to the access hatch and dump it outside.

The face still looked a tiny bit like Elpida, which was why Vicky had turned it toward the wall, but the rest of the body didn’t seem remotely human. Vicky had handled her fair share of corpses back in life — she’d spent a whole month on grave duty in the Irregulars once, cleaning up after the first battle of Chicago — but this thing didn’t even feel like real flesh, dead or alive or frozen or waterlogged or anything else. The angles and curves were all wrong for a living thing, the hair was stiff and artificial, the eight feet of height was all jagged and jinking and jumbled, and even the clothes were rubbery and wrong beneath Vicky’s hands.

But whenever Vicky looked at the corpse, hunger pangs gripped her stomach. Her hands quivered. Her salivary glands tingled.

Nanomachine flesh, rich and ripe — but also Necromancer.

“Kaga,” she said slowly. “It’s not moved an inch. I think we can safely assume it’s not going to.”

“Victoria.”

“I like that you call me that, you know?” Vicky turned away from the corpse and settled back into her seat; the hunger throbbed in her stomach like a second heart, but she ignored it, swallowing the excess saliva. “But you can use ‘Vicky’. We’re friends now, right?”

Kagami peeled her lips back from her teeth and put her face in one hand. “By Luna’s silver sands, I pray that you are not still like this when you don’t have brain damage. Can we please, please, please take seriously the threat of an undead monster, which might get up at any moment and eat us? Please?”

Vicky forced herself to smirk. “What are we gonna do if it does?” She gestured at her handgun, lying on the control panel where she’d tossed it earlier — out of bullets. “This time I really will have to throw the gun at it, no bluff. Think that’ll spook it?”

Vicky’s LMG and sniper rifle were still in the shaft beneath the access hatch, where she’d left them after falling into the mech. If she’d retrieved them right after the confrontation with the Necromancer then she might have stood a good chance of making it back to the circular chamber, even with the throbbing pain of her fractured skull; but now she was too drained, exhausted by slow starvation. Vicky knew that if she attempted the journey now she would collapse halfway there or halfway back, unconscious, alone, in pitch darkness. And then Kagami would be by herself with the corpse of a monster.

And the guns wouldn’t help anyway.

Kagami said: “I will pin it with gravitics again. With the drones. And then we’ll run.”

Vicky tried to keep smiling. She failed. “Neither of us are running anywhere.”

Kagami clenched her jaw and snorted through her nose, as if she was about to argue. But then she glanced at the Necromancer instead. The fight went out of her. Kagami turned away and shrank back into her seat, small and bony beneath her armoured coat.

Vicky reached out and tried to take Kagami’s right hand — clammy and cold and shivering. “It’ll be alright, Kaga,” she said. “Elpi’s gonna come for us.”

“Tch!” Kagami batted Vicky’s hand away. “Don’t!”

Vicky said: “Seriously. How long ‘till Elpi gets here?”

Kagami scowled at the bank of screens again. “I have no idea. Six hours, eight hours, half an hour? She and that massive android have to keep radio silence once they start, and ‘Haf’, whatever the fuck she is, seems to be the only thing these sensors can’t pick up properly, only if I catch her with the right wavelength of spacial distortion matrix, and that does tend to also pick up things like wind and rain. Unreliable nonsense. And they’re going to spend all those hours dragging themselves through the mud out there. A million things could go wrong, Victoria. A million ways to die out there and leave us stranded in here.”

“She’s going to come for us,” Vicky repeated. “Elpida’s going to come get us. The Commander will do right by her girls.”

Kagami squinted at Vicky, bitter and pinched. “Why do you have so much faith in her? We barely know her. What did you do, sleep with her that night before she got captured? Loyal to the tongue in your cunt, huh?”

Vicky laughed at that, for real. Kagami could be as crass as any Irregular when she felt like it. “Nah. She’s just … good at this. Gotta have faith in something, you know?”

Kagami snorted and leaned back. At least she was relaxing at last. “Never took you for the religious type.”

“I’m not.”

“Good,” Kagami grunted. “You’d probably be some pre-collapse happy-clappy Anglo Christian. You’d be even more insufferable than you are now.”

“Mmmm,” Vicky tried to purr. “You know it.”

Silence descended on the control chamber, broken only by the distant throb of the combat frame’s biology, a heavy pulse deep within the machine’s body. The bank of screens cycled and panned in silence, registering audio as scrolling readout graphs. Kagami’s breathing was shallow and rough. Vicky tried to concentrate over the slow heartbeat of pain radiating out from the rear of her skull — and the terrible hunger gripping her belly.

She needed to keep Kagami talking. She needed to keep both of them awake, coherent, and present.

She did not want to start thinking of Kagami as food as well. Would that happen, eventually? Was that how starving nanomachine zombies went, if they lasted long enough without food? It would explain all the scavengers. Maybe the next time she glanced over at Kagami, Vicky would see a big chicken drumstick, like in the goofy cartoons from the Old Empire.

But Kagami spoke first: “You didn’t have much faith in our fearless leader earlier, when she recruited the little fascist.”

Vicky tried to laugh. “Yeah. Well. Nobody’s perfect.”

Kagami looked at her sidelong. “Are we still on for shooting her? And Pira, too?”

Vicky sighed. “No, Kaga. I told you, I changed my mind. And I’m not going to be very impressed if you just go and start shooting captives and hostages. Elpida has her reasons. I’m reserving further judgement, until she can explain why she’s taken Pira and her friend on board.”

Kagami said nothing for a few moments, then: “Nobody’s perfect. Said it yourself.”

“We will defer to Elpida’s judgement. Please, Kagami.”

Kagami snorted. “You’re brain damaged. And you should still get some sleep, Elpida will be hours and hours, even if she does make it. You’d have better luck sleeping if you tried lying down. Is that another thing you surface dirt-eaters have forgotten about, bed and pillows?”

Vicky laughed, naturally this time. “Kaga, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve got a bloody great spider web of fractures on the back of my skull. Lying down makes it hurt more, not less.” She pulled a big grin, enjoying the way it made Kagami scowl. “Unless you wanna offer me your feather-soft lap for a pillow, my moon princess.”

Kagami blushed and looked away. “ … I … Victoria … ”

“Oh shit.” Vicky laughed, then winced past the pain in her skull, and put a hand up in surrender. “I was joking. You were seriously considering that? No, Kaga, your thighs would not make any difference to a head wound, even if they weren’t bionic legs. Sorry, I guess that’s not the kind of thing you could even do in life. Sorry for being weird.”

Kagami kept her face turned away. “In … in simulation.”

Vicky blinked at her. “You’ve given lap pillows? What? No, come on—”

“In simulation,” Kagami hissed between her teeth. “For my AI daughters. And yes, of course I didn’t have a lap in the flesh.” She snapped with derision: “Fucking legs!”

“Ah.” Vicky cleared her throat. At least Kagami seemed animated now. “You know, it’s not the rough conditions that stops me sleeping, that doesn’t bother me nothing, it really is just the head wound. I’m surprised you’ve managed to sleep at all, Kaga. You spent most of your life sleeping every night in a vat, right? The world’s best water-bed.”

“Luna’s best water bed,” Kagami corrected.

“Yeah, exactly! Whereas me? I spent most of my life sleeping in conditions you can’t even imagine, princess. The early years in the refugee camps we had tents, actual tents, no permanent structures allowed unless you were a Chicago City-State Citizen, or if some PRC diplo was visiting and they wanted to put on a good show for the television cameras. So it was a tent for me, for a long time. Used to get cold as all fuck in winter.” Vicky sighed with a mixture of nostalgia and pain, sinking into her seat again. She and Kagami stared at the bank of screens, side by side, close but not touching. “I’ve slept in truck beds next to spare tubes. I’ve slept inside the SP mount of a half a dozen types of gun. Slept in an old prison once, we were using it as a hospital. That was creepy and weird, hated that building, but it did have good walls, and heating. Slept in foxholes aplenty, of course. Worst foxhole I ever slept in was outside Charleston, while we were dropping H&I on the city for months.” She trailed off for a moment, gripped by a sudden morbid curiosity. “Did Charleston exist again by your time? They ever rebuild it?”

Kagami shrugged. “Coastal NorAm. So, no. Probably underwater before I was born.”

“Ha.”

Silence crept back. Kagami’s eyelids fluttered downward.

“Can’t believe you lived on the fucking moon,” Vicky said, shaking her head. “On the moon!”

Kagami blinked herself fully awake again. “We lived on the moon because my people got there first.”

Vicky laughed, forcing it to keep them both talking. “No you didn’t! My ancestors got there first! The moon landing? Neil whatsit? I do know some history, we did have school in the camps. I remember that from the textbooks. The Old Empire got there first, beat out some other place that used to be allied with the PRC.”

Kagami turned her head to Vicky with the most withering expression yet.

“What?” Vicky demanded. “You know I’m right! Don’t tell me they teach you some revisionist shit up on the moon?”

Kagami said: “Those people weren’t your cultural ancestors any more than Tokugawa Ieyasu was mine.”

Vicky squinted. “Who’s that?”

Kagami blinked with surprise. “A-an ancient warlord from the old country. Look, it doesn’t—”

“I think you’d make a good warlord,” Vicky said. “War Lady of the Moon.”

Kagami looked like she wanted to slap Vicky across the face. “It doesn’t matter! My point is, those people were not your ancestors in any real way. I thought you were a good little pre-NorAm citizen, all materialist analysis and grand social forces and dialectics, not national myth-making like all the other dirt-eating womb-born primitives down there. Down here. Whatever.”

“Hey!” Vicky tutted. “I take offence at that. A little bit. I think.”

Kagami snorted. “You’re talking about pre-NorAm, pre-collapse, old old old expansion period, Old Anglo pre-CF power, all of it. The people who landed on the moon first wouldn’t recognise you or I as anything.”

“I dunno about that,” Vicky said slowly. “People are always people. Look at Elpi — she’s millions of years removed, not just a few hundred.”

“Yes,” Kagami snorted, “and she’s completely impossible to deal with.”

“And she’s kept us alive.”

Kagami huffed, then lapsed into silence. Her eyes drifted across the bank of screens, growing distant once again. She sagged downward in her seat.

Vicky fished around for something new, anything to keep them talking: “I miss peanut butter.”

Kagami winced. “Don’t talk about food.”

“No, I’m serious. I really miss peanut butter.” Vicky smacked her lips at the memory, hamming it up for Kagami. “I was thinking about it because I mentioned growing up in the camps south of Chicago. Peanut butter was a real treat, you see. We used to get it in these little packages in the HM rations, all orange packaging so they were easy to see. And they’d always have these slogans stamped on them — they did that with all the best foods, the high calorie stuff, chocolate, jerky, stuff like that. They’d say things like, ‘With the best wishes of the people of China’, or ‘Eat with love, our American brothers and sisters’. My dad used to save those — the peanut butter, not the slogans — to make sure I could always have them. Loved that stuff. Used to squeeze it right from the packet and—”

“Stop. Talking. About. Food,” Kagami said.

“Sorry, just thinking out loud.” Vicky wet her lips with a dry tongue. Maybe she should stop talking, conserve energy. But then the worst might happen. “You know, I wonder if Chicago is still around somehow, just another part of all this jumble.”

“What?” Kagami grunted.

“I mean, it’s not impossible, right? It’s been hundreds of millions of years but the continents themselves are still there, all part of this mega-continent now, and maybe we could find the spot that used to be the shore of Lake—”

“Victoria,” Kagami snapped.

“Y-yeah?”

Kagami turned away from the screens again and made eye contact. Her face was a blood-dyed ghost, framed by the vein-light and the glow of the screens, hollow-eyed and drawn, like a starving wraith.

She said: “I’m not an idiot. I can tell what you’re doing. And we would be better served by you going the fuck to sleep and healing that head wound.”

Vicky swallowed, rough and hard. “Promise me you’ll stay awake?”

Kagami rolled her eyes. “Yes, I will watch the Necromancer corpse, of—”

“No,” Vicky said. “The Necromancer’s dead, Kaga. Promise me you’ll stay awake.”

Kagami blinked. She sighed, leaned back in her seat, then reached over toward Vicky with her right hand. She hesitated for a moment, then placed her hand atop Vicky’s waiting palm.

“Go to sleep, Vicky.”

Victoria held onto Kagami’s hand, no matter how cold and clammy. She snuggled down beneath her armoured coat, closed her eyes, and drifted off.

Sleep came and went for several hours. Whenever Vicky stirred she cracked open her eyes to find Kagami staring at the screens, washed in that blood-red light, a streak of crimson running from her nose and into her mouth. Each time she squeezed Kagami’s hand, and Kagami squeezed back, and Vicky returned to sleep.

Vicky wasn’t sure what finally woke her — Kagami’s voice, or Kagami’s hand slipping out of her own.

“She’s here!” Kagami was saying. “They’re here, they’re at the hatch! Vicky, wake up, they’re here. Wake up!”

Vicky snapped awake, stomach growling with hunger, rubbing her bleary eyes, then blinking at the bank of screens.

One of the screens showed a view high up on the exterior of the combat frame’s surface. A pair of heavily cloaked figures were crouched between the knots and gnarls of the bone-white armour, caked in wet grey mud. A narrow smear indicated where they’d scaled the side of the machine, their stealth ruined by the sucking mud through which they had crawled, picked out against the combat frame’s hull.

They could have been anybody or anything.

“Kaga—” Vicky croaked.

But Kagami’s hands were already flying across the control panel. Blood was running freely from her nose. She looked ready to collapse, eyes bulging, breathing wet and hard. “Come on, pop the hatch, pop the cork, get us out of here, get us—”

“Kaga, that could be anybody, that could be—”

“They’re in radio contact—” Kagami broke off for a second. “Yes, Elpida, she’s right—”

A voice crackled from the control panel, from the membrane-like speaker through which Elpida’s voice had issued before, when she’d made contact from inside the tank.

“Vicky, Kagami. Yes, it’s me,” Elpida’s voice sliced into the control chamber, clear and clean. “I’ve already verified—”

Kagami laughed like a barking dog. “At this point I don’t care if you’re another Necromancer, Commander! Come on in, and get us the fuck out!”

Up on the exterior view a piece of the combat frame’s hull suddenly popped upward — the hatch, opening to admit Elpida and Hafina. The two cloaked figures lurched from cover and slipped inside. The hatch slid shut a second later.

Vicky stood up, draped her coat over her shoulders, and stepped out of the bench-seat.

The rear of her skull throbbed with pain as she staggered out of the manual control chamber and into the circular room. She had to keep one hand on the wall. Her stomach was clenching with hunger. She was almost drooling. Elpida was bringing raw blue, raw nanomachine juice, everything she needed, everything she craved. Any moment now. Any moment.

“Victoria?” Kagami called after. “Vicky, what are you doing? Just sit! There’s nothing more we can do now. Sit down!”

Vicky stepped around the fallen bulkheads and faced the access tunnel which led to the hatch. She tried to ignore the Necromancer’s corpse a few feet to her left. She could hear faint noises now — like two people shedding layers of camouflage and crawling through a dark tunnel? Or was that just her imagination? She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. She really was drooling.

“Just … ” she slurred. “Just want to say hi … welcome her … mm, m’fine, Kaga.”

“You’re delirious with hunger!” Kagami called. “Sit down, you dirt-mating surface-monkey, before you fall over and—”

Crunch-crunch-click-click.

The Necromancer’s head turned away from the wall.

Vertebrae crunched and cracked as the corpse came to life and broke the rules of a human neck. The face came round, a parody of Elpida, the textures of skin and hair all wrong, rubbery and stiff and fake.

Dead black eyes stared upward at Vicky. The lips peeled back in a grin, to show a mouth full of gleaming, razor-sharp, steel teeth.

The teeth opened. A swollen red tongue flickered in the void.

“Nice — work dead, t-thing,” it said in a voice like broken static. “But we, didn’t fin—”

Vicky raised one boot, gathered all her remaining strength, and stomped on the Necromancer’s face.


Previous Chapter Next Chapter



Boo!

Fun little thing about this chapter: Vicky stomping on the Necromancer at the end was completely unplanned. The outline originally had the scene cut after one line of dialogue, but when I hit that point in drafting, Vicky was not having any of this shit. I love it when this happens! My characters defying the outline is a delight. Actually like half the dialogue in this chapter was unplanned, this was the product of throwing Vicky and Kagami in a room together for two days and letting them get to know each other properly.

But now, it is time to scream. Or stomp.

No Patreon link this week! It is, after all, the last day of the month; if you subscribe today, you would get double charged. If you’re really desperate for more, then please wait until tomorrow! In the meantime, go check out the fanart page. We have Serin flipping you off with ten fingers, naked angry Kagami, and an artistic representation of the end of this very chapter!

There’s also a TopWebFiction entry! Voting makes the story go up in the rankings, which keeps it more visible! Voting only takes a second or two, and it really does help!

And thank you for reading! Thank you so much for following my little story. Arc 9 is brewing up nicely behind the scenes, and I’m very excited about where it’s all going, to sharp and dangerous places. Until next chapter, dear reader!

impietas – 9.1

Content Warnings

Toxic relationship dynamics (I mean it!)
Emotional sadism
Extreme jealousy
Burn wounds described in detail

Also, once again, just like the Ooni POV in the previous arc, this chapter is from the perspective of a fascist; no, this doesn’t mean the author thinks this is a good thing just because we’re seeing events through these eyes, and I hope that the overt politics of the story so far should make this clear.



Previous Chapter Next Chapter


Cantrelle found Yola in the bomb-damaged casino, with her chin in her hands, her head in the clouds, and nobody at the wheel.

Thirty two hours had passed since the so-called ‘superhuman’ — Elpida of Telokopolis — had broken out of her cell and escaped the Sisterhood’s temporary fortress. She had taken the apostate with her, and made an unexpected traitor out of Ooni. She’d also been assisted by her gang of reprobates and a figure that half the Sisters swore was an ART, an artificial human, a nano-blank void who had somehow walked right past every sentry and guard and pair of eyes the Sisterhood possessed. Cantrelle had not witnessed the ART herself; she had only woken from her undead coma about ten hours ago, when her own latent nano-load had resuscitated the grey meat inside her skull. She’d spent all of those last ten hours scrambling to reassert control — tending to her own wounds, then pinging the comms network for a basic roll-call, gluing and stitching and jamming the Sisters back together as best she could without the use of her hands, counting the dead and locating their corpses, distributing meat to the wounded, and figuring out what in frozen fucking hell Yola was playing at.

Daydreaming. Building castles in the sky.

Yola was sitting on an overturned slot machine, amid the wreckage of her command post, gazing out through a massive hole in the exterior wall of the skyscraper, a ragged wound torn by a red-lined plasma rifle used as an IED.

Ooni’s handiwork, apparently; Cantrelle never would have guessed that the little worm had it in her.

Cantrelle regretted missing the fireworks. She would have enjoyed seeing Yola forced to leap out of the way. But she had not enjoyed applying nano-mould to explosion burns all down one side of Neoci’s body, or gluing pieces of Sofika’s skull back together, or amputating the remains of Luuia-chuut’s left arm and feeding the pieces of charred meat back to her. Ooni was lucky that she’d fled Cantrelle’s justice.

Yola was not alone in the casino room, though the Sisterhood was no longer using it as a command post — something about the gilt and gold covered in soot and burns offended Yola’s delicate sensibilities. DeeGee and Yazhu were lounging against one of the rear walls, both of them sealed up inside their suits of powered war-plate.

Cantrelle stopped just inside the casino, at the edge of the blast damage. She gave DeeGee and Yazhu an unimpressed look, then spoke to them over the comms network, via her own internal bionics.

Click-buzz.

<<Why the fuck didn’t either of you tell me the boss was in here?>>

DeeGee levered herself up from the wall, joint-servos whining with minor damage; Cantrelle added that to her mental list of necessary repairs. The list was getting very long, and the Sisterhood was running low on parts. They could not stay here much longer without hunting.

Yazhu kept lounging; she nodded sideways toward Yola’s back, then answered over comms.

<<Boss wanted to be alone. Said to ignore everything.>>

Cantrelle stared. She let her expression do the talking. Her blank bionic eyes were often useful for this.

Yazhu finally straightened up. She sent over the comms network: <<Uh. Sorry, Canny, she—>>

<<Cantrelle.>> Cantrelle corrected her.

<<Cantrelle. Ma’am. Boss gave orders. You know? You know how she is. You know better than anybody, right?>>

Cantrelle sent: <<You two can make yourselves scarce for a while.>>

Yazhu and DeeGee shared a look, war-plate helmets turning to glance at each other. DeeGee shrugged and broadcast something on a private channel; Cantrelle felt it flicker across the network.

Yazhu sent: <<The boss told us to watch her back. Canny, come on. She’s not—>>

<<And I am ordering you to leave me alone with Yola,>> Cantrelle said. <<Go stand in the corridor if you must, you can see her back from there, it’s purple enough, you won’t miss it. Just fuck off for five minutes, both of you.>>

Cantrelle resisted the urge to flex her mechanical tentacles, or spit on the floor, or snap orders. She had to maintain her temper and her nerve, especially if she was about to deal with Yola. Somebody around here had to keep her head on straight, or the Sisterhood was going to fracture and break.

DeeGee saluted. Cantrelle didn’t like it when she did that; the gesture was a rotten holdover from DeeGee’s life before resurrection, a pantomime of submission to military rank. But at least it meant she was doing as she was told. Yazhu just shrugged and wobbled her head, abandoning responsibility. The pair of them trudged out of the room, past Cantrelle and into the long dark corridor. Cantrelle made a show of ignoring them, not even turning to cover her own back — not because she trusted them, but because her authority and credibility should extend without question.

God knew that Yola’s credibility wasn’t extending past her own fingertips right then.

Cantrelle crossed the blackened, soot-stained carpet, weaved her way between fallen slot machines and spears of shattered card table, climbed the twisted, half-melted steps up toward the raised platform, and approached the suit of ridiculous purple plate armour which contained a woman who had once been her closest friend and most unshakeable ally.

Yola did not look up, too absorbed in the view.

The ragged hole in the skyscraper wall reminded Cantrelle of an exit wound; the edges were fringed with clumps of concrete clinging to spikes of bent rebar and scorched water pipes, dirty with burnt wiring and sooty residue. An unstable lip threatened to collapse toward the ground below.

Beyond the hole the hateful sky glowered down upon the world, ruddy red in one corner with the ghost of the unborn sun. The rainstorm had blown itself out overnight; the air was filled with dull damp drizzle, reducing visibility. Ordinary eyes could not have seen across the impact crater outdoors, across to the other skyscrapers on the far side, but Cantrelle’s bionic eyes saw further and with more clarity than most. Above the rotten fingertips of the skyscrapers she could just make out the dark line of the graveworm’s mountainous body.

Rain had turned the grey earth of the crater into a sea of mud, filled with stagnant pools and little runnels of silt and slop. No revenant would be crossing that today, not unless they wanted to volunteer for target practice.

The strange bone-armoured mech — Elpida’s ‘combat frame’ — lay crumpled at one end of the impact crater, a helpless pale phantom in the grey drizzle.

Cantrelle stood next to Yola for a moment, but she couldn’t tell what Yola was staring at; the ‘boss’ was buttoned up tight inside her purple and gold war-plate. Yola’s helmet turned her face into a segmented beak beneath glowing emerald lenses.

Click-buzz.

<<Boss.>>

Yola did not move.

<<Boss. I’ve been pinging you for two hours.>>

Yola sighed through the external speakers in her helmet. The shoulders of her plate armour went up and down.

<<Boss. Don’t make me use my voice, for fuck’s sake. Your superhuman bitch choked me out, my throat is a mess. Boss? Pay attention, boss, or I swear I will put a fucking round down the exhaust on your war-plate’s power-pack.>>

Yola finally looked up. The helmet of her armour turned away from the view, though she did not raise her chin from her hands. Emerald lenses blazed above that sharpened beak.

<<Lower your fucking helmet, for God’s sake,>> Cantrelle sent.

Yola’s purple helmet slid back segment by segment, sinking into the rear of her armour.

She’d been caught by the outer edge of the explosion from Ooni’s red-lined plasma rifle: Yola’s right cheek and the right side of her jaw were crispy black with burns and dried blood; her right eye was milky with damage, the lid crisped away, lashes and brow burned up, the brilliant green colour turned swampy; the trailing edges of her ruby-red hair were singed and blackened. She’d already begun to heal — her own nano-load was higher than the Sisterhood’s average. But she would carry the scars for weeks yet.

Yola didn’t show any pain; she never did, and Cantrelle had yet to figure out how. Back in the good days — back when they’d shared a bedroll every night — Yola had been a crybaby, worrying at every minor wound and aching muscle, weeping into Cantrelle’s shoulder in fear of half the others. Now she was like a statue.

She spoke in a voice like molten honey dripping on hot steel.

“Sent my guard away, have you?” Yola said. “Cantrelle, if I didn’t know you better, I would say you’re planning an assassination.”

Cantrelle cleared her throat — which hurt, a lot. She tasted fresh blood again. But then she spoke out loud, for pure spite: “Yola, if I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t send anybody away. I’d do it in front of as many Sisters as possible. With you on your feet. And armed.”

Cantrelle’s voice sounded worse than a corpse. Her usual mechanical buzz was warped and broken; she needed time and meat to fix the damage.

Yola chuckled softly, in the exact manner which she knew full well made Cantrelle grind her teeth. She glanced past Cantrelle, ensuring they did not have any eavesdroppers, then said: “You always did have a more esoteric understanding of leadership than I. Sometimes I wish I had your gift, instead of the ones that nature and breeding have bestowed upon me.” Yola looked Cantrelle up and down with her healthy left eye, lingering on Cantrelle’s hands, her face, and the ends of her four metal tentacles. “Ella, Ella, Ella,” she purred. “You look terrible, my dear. You look like you have been dredged from the hangman’s pile and warmed up in a manure pit. How are you feeling? I hope you are not too sore, in either sense of the word.”

Cantrelle had so many wounds that the pain was an overlapping cacophony; she had administered her own analgesics, but they were ineffective at such low doses. She didn’t want to drug herself insensible, not yet, not while Yola was acting like this.

Her throat was a mangled mess, one big throbbing purple strangulation bruise, puffy and swollen, flesh and metal both marked with the outline of the chain which Elpida had used to choke her to death. Her bald scalp was scraped and grazed from where she’d hit the ground several times. Her hands were much worse, nails and knuckles skinned and bloodied from the struggle, with several nasty bite wounds on her fingers and palms and wrists; the little one — Amina, Elpida had called her — had taken serious chunks out of Cantrelle’s hands, but also bitten her in the face several times. Cantrelle had not lost any fingers to the little biter, but her hands were out of action for the foreseeable future, wounds slathered in nano-mould, wrapped in gauze and bandages, swaddled up like mittens. She was forced to use her two tentacle-claws for everything, including bandaging the bite wounds on her own face.

One of the facial bites had gone right through the skull-tattoo on Cantrelle’s cheek; Amina had ripped away a chunk of flesh, bisecting the Sisterhood’s symbol, leaving it ragged and fractured.

In life Cantrelle had believed in signs and symbols, in messages from God found in the flying of birds and the entrails of road-kill.

She was glad she had left such infancy behind. But she tried not to think about the meaning of the broken and bisected skull.

Worse than throat and hands and face, worse even than the insult to her allegiance, the superhuman and her little rabid bitch had broken the ends of Cantrelle’s other two tentacles: her bone-saw and her needle-delivery system were both snapped and shattered. Regrowing those bionics would take months of work, constant mental reinforcement, and several whole corpses worth of fresh nanomachines.

They’d stolen her favourite shotgun too, the nice little super-compact she could fire one-handed. They’d even taken her sidearm. She had a jerky little PDW tucked under her coat for now, and a pair of large calibre revolvers shoved into her waistband.

But Elpida had not killed her.

Elpida had her unconscious, helpless, and wounded — but she’d not finished the job. Yola’s ‘superhuman’ was naive and weak at best, sentimental and foolish at worst. If their positions had been reversed, Cantrelle would have shot her without hesitation and eaten her corpse with relish.

Elpida had not, however, looted Cantrelle’s other personal possessions. When Cantrelle had awoken from her coma and fixed her own wounds, she had been surprised to find everything else still in her pockets, including the box with the tiny locket of Yola’s hair — blonde hair, not Yola’s current ruby-red, from before Yola had changed herself.

Another death avoided. Another lucky break. Cantrelle was beginning to get tired. She’d whispered something to the locket of hair, something like ‘let me fucking go’. A shameful lapse, now carefully locked away again.

She echoed Yola’s question, deadpan: “How am I feeling?”

Yola’s one unblinded eye twinkled with cruel mischief, emerald in the grey light. “Yes. Can’t I show concern for my dearest friend?”

Cantrelle rasped, “I feel about as bad as you look, Yola.”

Yola chuckled, her laugh trailing off into an amused sigh. “Don’t feel too humiliated. You may have been overpowered, stripped of your weapons, and ignored as not worth killing, but it was the superhuman who did so. Such a result was only to be expected. In truth, the fault is mine, not yours. I should have sent Kuro with you to bind her ankles. I should have given you backup. After all, I am in charge, am I not? The buck — as the peasants used to say in the north — stops with me. Do you think that saying was a reference to hunting deer? I rather like that notion. Regardless, Ella, she did leave you alive. I am glad you are still with us, old friend. Where would I be without you?”

“Dead.”

Yola’s lips twitched. “Probably.”

Cantrelle jerked one mechanical tentacle-claw at the ragged hole in the wall. “That sniper is going to get you, sitting here like this.”

Yola shook her head. “The sniper is gone. Of that I am quite certain. A clever little creature, but unwilling to confront us directly. She didn’t even score any real kills, did she?”

“She did.”

Yola raised her eyebrows. “Did she now?”

Cantrelle said: “Yola. What the fuck are you doing?”

Yola smiled, making that infuriatingly perfect bow-shape with her lips, soft and red and inviting. The expression pulled at her cracked, burned, bleeding cheek, opening a dozen tiny wounds in the blackened flesh; watery blood and bloody plasma ran down her jaw. “Thinking. Considering further options. Observing our prize.” She gestured with one purple gauntlet, indicating the massive form of the bone-armoured mech, embedded in the grey mud outdoors. “Staring upon the world and lamenting our wayward superhuman, who could not pause to listen for long. Such a pity, is it not? She was so strong, so—”

“You are spending us,” Cantrelle grunted. She tasted blood again.

Yola showed no surprise. “I am spending well, dear—”

“We need to move. We need to consolidate, pull together, regroup, and hunt. We are wounded and reeling.” She jabbed one mechanical tentacle toward the hole in the wall again, past the form of the fallen mech, across the impact crater, toward the other skyscrapers. “Any one of those groups of reprobates and degenerates out there could fall on us right now, and we might not be able to fight them off. I’ve spent all night stuffing organs back into the Sisters’ bodies, stitching wounds and gluing bellies shut and cramming nano-mould and meat into girls’ mouths. And then I find out you’ve sent Sisters beyond the graveworm line, to chase your fucking missed conquest.”

Cantrelle stopped, breathing hard. She wanted to slap Yola right across that bleeding cheek.

Yola tried to flutter her lashes, but with only one eyelid the effect was grotesque, one naked eyeball twitching in the burned socket. She purred, “Ella, my love, my side is always open to you, even now, even—”

Cantrelle spat: “I don’t care what you want to do with your ‘superhuman’, if you want to eat her, or put a collar on her, or feed her to Kuro, or if you want to tie her up and force her to grow a phallus and use it to fuck yourself up the arse every night. I do not care, Yola. I care that you are spending us.”

Yola tilted her head sideways. “Are we quarrelling, Ella?”

Cantrelle snapped both of her tentacle-pincers shut with a click. “You’ve done this before, but never this badly. Remember the time with Warusei—”

“A traitor and a false prophet, yes, of course I—”

“—or the group with the red flags and the clever plastic decoys? Or the time that scavenger with the stinger broke in when we were staying at the old university buildings? Or the—”

“Ella, I understand your frustration with—”

“No, you don’t understand,” Cantrelle hissed. “All those times you kept control. You spent lives wisely, to re-establish our dominance and position against anybody who thought we could be pushed around. That’s part of why I let you lead, Yola. You get results. Your obsession and sadism and lust for revenge gets results. But this isn’t revenge, it’s something else. You’re slipping. It’s disgusting. You’re acting like them, the degenerates. No better than a zombie.”

Yola wasn’t smiling anymore. “How is this any different, Ella? We have been undermined. We must show our strongest hand. We must recover the superhuman—”

Cantrelle snorted; she tasted blood again. “Recover. Exactly. Not kill, not string her corpse up on a pole and show what happens to fucking zombie filth that tries to fuck with us, not carry her skull around for a while as proof — but ‘recover’. And she’s fucking gone, Yola. She’s gone beyond the graveworm line. Who cares? We need to move, and eat. Soon.”

Yola straightened up. Her eyes were like green fire. “She is a natural born leader. She is everything the movement has ever needed. She will see our way, Ella. I will prove that, to you and everyone else.”

“And for that you’re sending girls out to die, beyond the graveworm zone, for nothing.”

Yola shrugged to indicate that she was done justifying herself.

Cantrelle felt her blood go cold.

Was this the moment she’d dreaded and yearned for these last six years? Was this the moment that Yola’s charisma and cunning had finally run dry, exposing the pathology and obsession beneath the waters? It had happened before Yola, when Furina had led the Sisterhood, and Furina had deposed Quietusul before that. Cantrelle did not want to lead, did not want the responsibility of corralling the Sisters in the right direction, but she would not see them spent like this.

And Yola was her fault, her responsibility. She’d put Yola on the throne in the first place. She could remove Yola just as easily — poison her armour intakes, overload the chem-levels inside her war-plate, or just walk up behind her and put a bullet in her skull. Yola did not even pretend to be afraid of betrayal from Cantrelle.

But Cantrelle wanted to see Yola weep.

At least one more time, like she had done in the old days, like when she’d buried her face in Cantrelle’s shoulder and clung to her for everything. Cantrelle wanted to see Yola’s face scrunch up with fear and longing and desperate need.

Was the old Yola even in there anymore? Maybe. Maybe she would show herself in the last seconds, overpowered and staring down the muzzle of a gun.

Cantrelle could not grasp the pistol-grip of the PDW beneath her coat, not reliably enough to win in a struggle; her hands were too mangled and too swaddled. But if she could get a good hold on Yola’s armour with her tentacle-pincers, she could stop Yola redeploying her helmet, then she might be able to handle one of the revolvers and get it in Yola’s face. One shot would end an era. She’d need to deal with Kuro afterward, and possibly Nahia and Joye, but most of the Sisters would side with her. Nobody else would mount a serious challenge to Cantrelle’s justification for a change of leadership.

Her throat felt thick. Something was thudding and shuddering inside her chest. She was sweating.

Cantrelle took a final shot: “Yolanda, you need to lead us. Or I will.”

Yola stood up. She held her chin high, burned cheek gleaming in the grey light. She did not look at Cantrelle, but gazed out across the fallen mech, the sea of mud, and the drizzling rain.

She spoke in a voice of caramel and iron: “We need that mech. Not I, not you, but we, all of us, the Sisterhood as it stands. The tank as well, if we can lure it back and disable it briefly, but mostly the mech. Either or both of them represent a kind of power we have been seeking for many years now. With the mech at our command, we could approach the graveworm as an equal. Could we not? The pilot — Elpida — is the key to entering and controlling our prize.”

Cantrelle suppressed a sigh and unclenched her jaw, shuddering as she backed off from violence. Yola was finally speaking sense again, or at least pretending.

“True, boss,” she croaked. “But what about—”

Yola gestured sharply at the far side of the mech, lost beneath the ruddy light and the grey raindrops. “Those three worm-guard did not withdraw far. I do not believe we can approach without the cover of the pilot. If recovering her becomes impossible, then I am willing to entertain alternative courses of action. But mistake me not, my dear friend, I am not willing to abandon this prize, this great promise, this gift. And I do not believe the worm itself will move, not while this machine lies here. Does this meet with your approval, dearest Ella?”

Cantrelle grunted. “Barely. Boss, you can’t keep sending Sisters out beyond the graveworm line, it’s folly and madness. We don’t have the numbers to—”

Yola snapped: “Casualties?”

That was more like it. “Four dead, unrecoverable. Hatty, Zdenka, Esmae, and Cui. Three dead, recoverable and regenerating: Soo-Hyun, Urd, and Mojdeh. They’ll need about six to seven more hours before they can move. Sixteen additional wounded, including you and I, all able to walk, except Onyeka, she’s got two mangled legs from the road collapse. Everyone in plate armour is fine, including Kuro, incredibly, considering that apostate bitch dropped the entire fucking road on her with a coilgun.”

Yola nodded. She did not look away from the mech, out there in the rain. “Kuro is fine, indeed. A little dented. We spent the night together.”

Cantrelle clenched her teeth. Of course Yola had spent the night with her favourite pet while ordering all this ongoing madness. Cantrelle said: “There’s also the six you sent beyond the graveworm line. We’ve lost comms with all of them.”

Yola ignored that. She asked: “The dead have been distributed?”

“Stripped and rendered. Armour and weapons divvied up by the usual permissions. Meat went to the strongest of the wounded on down. I do know what I’m doing, Yola, when you’re too busy sucking your thumbs, or fucking Kuro. And here.” Cantrelle dug around inside her coat with one tentacle-claw, opened a pouch, and pulled out a package of cloth-wrapped gore. She held it out to Yola. “Your share.”

Yola smiled with girlish delight. She accepted the package and unwrapped the cloth, revealing the chunk of greasy grey-pink meat. “Oh, brains,” she cooed. “Ella, you shouldn’t have.”

“It’s Hatty’s brains. Good luck getting any nutrition from it.”

Yola giggled, then tucked into her share of the dead. She chewed and swallowed delicately, staring out across the downed mech.

Cantrelle allowed the silence. She had one more question, one further probe for Yola’s leadership; but this one was hard to ask, especially after bringing Yola around, after backing down from a change of leadership. If Yola gave the wrong answer, Cantrelle knew she would have to act.

Yola spoke first, licking brain grease off her perfect lips.

“We must claim that mech,” Yola said. “The tank, the pilot, my superhuman, all of it is secondary. You are correct about that. The only thing which matters is securing the graveworm, and glutting our future on the innards. Thank you for reminding me, Ella. I do love you, I hope you still know that.”

Cantrelle grunted. She had no good way to ask the question. She stared out of the hole in the wall, and said: “Have we received any more outside help?”

Yola smiled, thin and bright, her emerald eye glittering. “The Necromancer has not contacted me, not since the previous time. I assure you, Ella, we are not guided by the secret hand of another. We are in control.”

“Right,” Cantrelle said.

But she could tell when Yola was lying.

Cantrelle went cold inside; all this coaxing and cajoling had been a total waste. Yola was still being used by the Necro-fuck corpse-rapist thing — willingly.

Cantrelle glanced over at her old friend, slipped one tentacle-pincer inside her coat to grasp the handle of a revolver, and braced the other pincer to grab the lip of Yola’s armour, where her helmet would deploy. She should have done this earlier, not waited until Yola was standing up. One shot, one bullet in her perfect, too-pretty mouth, to shut her up forever, to stop her lies and her little betrayals, to put the Sisterhood back in Cantrelle’s hands. One bullet. Maybe Yola would cry for mercy first. Cantrelle would like that. Cantrelle’s tentacles were quivering. One bullet, one moment, and it would all be over. She pictured Yola’s smile, together in the dark, coiled up together in a bedroll, when it had been a real smile, when they’d made their pact, their deal. That smile was gone, and the tears which came before. This Yola was a ghost — no, a zombie. Cantrelle would put her down with a bullet and forget her tears and her smile alike.

“First order of business,” Yola was saying between bites of brain, “is, as you mentioned, rapid re-consolidation. Give me a moment to finish my meal and—”

Click-buzz.

Cantrelle’s internal comm-link pinged her on a private channel.

She almost jumped. She let go of the revolver, lowered the other pincer, and accepted the connection; DeeGee and Yazhu were probably getting impatient out in the corridor. She needed to stall them for a few moments. There was nothing wrong with a couple of witnesses for a change of leadership, but Cantrelle did not want anybody else to ever witness Yola’s tears. Those belonged to Cantrelle alone.

She started to send, but somebody else spoke first.

<<Don’t reply to this message out loud. If we’ve gotten this correct, then I should be speaking with Cantrelle. I’ll keep this line open so you can go somewhere private and we can have a conversation. I have a proposition for you. I’ll wait.>>

Cantrelle froze.

That voice did not belong to any Sister she knew. But she recognised it all too well.

It was the pilot, the Telokopolan, Yola’s superhuman toy — Elpida.

She was inside the comms network.

“—then we’ll check on the wounded,” Yola was saying. “Together, of course. I can judge who is fit to carry on, though I surmise that all will be, except possibly Onyeka? But then, she is very strong. I think she will make it with the six to seven hour window. Ella?”

“ … yes, boss,” Cantrelle answered out loud. “Got everyone laid out in the big conference room, we’re already regrouping there. I’ll head back first. Make it look like normal, like you came without my prompting. Sounds good?”

Yola smiled; the gesture made her cheek bleed and weep again. “Delightful, Ella.”

Cantrelle gestured at Yola’s cheek with a tentacle-pincer. “And we’ll get some nano-mould on that. See you in five, boss.”

She left Yola behind to stare out of the ragged hole at her unattainable prize, eating her piece of Hatty’s brain. Cantrelle descended the steps, crossed the ruins of the casino, and walked back into the dim and shadowy corridor. DeeGee and Yazhu were waiting for orders, but Cantrelle gestured them into the room and ignored any further questions, stalking back down the corridor. She turned two corners, paused in a dark place amid the dusty marble, and listened to the soft hum of the open line.

<<Elpida?>>

<<Yes.>> Elpida replied.

<<How did you crack encryption on the comms network? You’re not on an open line, you’re inside. What did you do, use Ooni’s helmet? We’ve already terminated her permissions, that shouldn’t be possible.>>

Elpida replied: <<That’s for me to know and for you to never find out. I assume I have to be quick and covert, so I’ll skip straight to the point. When you and Yola had me in captivity, you disagreed with her about one important matter: you don’t like that she’s working with a Necromancer. Is that correct?>>

Cantrelle wet her lips. She tasted blood.

Had Elpida been listening to her conversation with Yola just now? That wasn’t impossible, not if Elpida had broken into the comms network somehow. Cantrelle glanced up and down the corridor, switching her sight to infra-red and low-light. She could not risk anybody tapping into this connection at close range.

Cantrelle sent: <<How are the stitches in your belly holding up? I expect you ruined all my hard work by falling on your face.>>

<<They held well, thank you,>> Elpida said. She did not sound sarcastic. <<Lasted until I got to safety. Your medical attention saved me.>>

<<Got a medic of your own, have you?>>

<<Maybe,>> Elpida said.

Cantrelle asked: <<Is Ooni alive?>>

<<No. We killed her and ate her corpse. Thanks for the nanomachines.>>

Cantrelle didn’t believe a word of that. <<What do you want, Elpida?>>

<<I want Yola.>>

Cantrelle clenched her teeth and stopped breathing.

Opportunity, yes — but was it the one she wanted? She’d rather see Yola dead than deliver any Sister into the hands of some degenerate, let alone Yola. Her oldest friend needed to be removed, but Cantrelle would do it by her own hand, and see Yola’s tears before the end. But this way—

Elpida continued: <<If I’ve read your situation correctly, I believe you wish to remove or usurp her as leader of your group, or at least stop her plan to bring me in as a new leader. Neither you nor I want that, Cantrelle. We both know it makes no sense. We can reach a mutually beneficial arrangement. I’m not interested in your internal politics and power struggles. All I want is Yola, alive, intact, and able to answer my questions.>>

Cantrelle bristled. Yola belonged to her. <<And you think I would just hand a Sister over to you? You think I’m enough of a traitor that I won’t tell Yola about this conversation?>>

<<Maybe,>> Elpida said. <<Maybe not. We’ll take her anyway, with or without your inside help. We won’t do it just yet, we’ve got matters to attend to first. But I’m contacting you early, to give you time to consider this offer. We would rather not engage your group in direct combat, we would rather this be achieved without further bloodshed. I believe you probably desire that too, because now we have weapons enough to crush you with ease. Give me Yola, and we’ll leave quietly.>>

<<You’re bluffing. You’ve got shit. That tank can’t even approach us. Fuck you, ‘superhuman’. You’re nothing of the sort.>>

<<Correct, I’m not. Think about my offer. There is a time limit, but I’m not telling you what it is. If you change your mind, ping this private line again, then wait. I’ll be here, Cantrelle.>>

Click-buzz.

The channel went dead.

Cantrelle stood in the dark, breathing hard, feeling every one of her bite wounds and every chain-link bruise across her throat. She looked toward the light at the end of the corridor. The rest of the Sisterhood was gathering in the conference room up ahead, ready to regroup and make a new plan, ready to keep manifesting their vision into reality.

Then she looked over her shoulder, back toward the bomb-damaged casino; she pictured Yola’s infuriating smirk, then imagined it collapsing into tears.

And she remembered that private smile back in the old days, so sweet and so real, alone in the dark with a needful friend.


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Toxic yuri! You don’t have to be a zombie-girl to be this toxic, but it helps!

Surprise, it’s another new POV! Where the dynamic is vile and the vibes are rancid. Holy shit, these girls are more fucked up than even I imagined they would be before they hit the page. I gotta admit, I went back and forth on whether or not I should put the Cantrelle POV in the story at all, in order to follow the Death’s Heads in more detail, but I think this has worked pretty well? Cantrelle came out a lot more interesting and weird and extreme than I thought she might. Depending on how things develop in arc 9, we might be seeing more of her, or maybe other Death’s Heads, it depends on the pacing; arc 9 is probably going to be a long one. Anyway, in the meantime, what the hell is Elpida doing?

If you want more Necroepilogos right away, there is a tier for it on my patreon:

Patreon link! Right here!

Right now this only offers a single chapter ahead, about 4.5k words.  Feel free to wait until there’s more story! I’m focusing on trying to push this ahead for now, seeing if I can make more time in my writing schedule to get an extra chapter or two out. I’ll keep doing my best!

There’s also a TopWebFiction entry! Voting makes the story go up in the rankings, which helps more people see it! This only takes a couple of seconds, and it really helps the story.

And thanks for reading! Thank you for reading Necroepilogos. As always, I could not do this without all of you, the readers. And still, I feel like we’ve barely scratched the surface of this nanomachine afterlife. Until next chapter!