Stormblood, стр. 34
Lasky jammed the handgun harder. ‘Who are you? Why were you following us?’
‘Which one you want me to answer first?’ The words were barely out of my mouth when I realised my mistake.
A grin spread on Lasky’s face. ‘That’s not a Compass accent. He’s not from here.’ The grin widened as he patted my shoulder. ‘We progress.’
‘Cut him out of that armour,’ grumbled Hausk, ‘or put a bullet in his face.’
Grim would wait twenty-four hours to hear from me before alerting Harmony. If they took him seriously and acted fast, maybe they’d find me, but not before these guys got the cutters and electric grinders out.
‘Oh, I’d like to,’ said Lasky. There was a glimmer of cruel curiosity in his child-like eyes, as if he wanted to start hacking and sawing away at my body, just to see what fluids would leak out. ‘If only we had the tools to do it without killing the sod. But she’ll want to talk to him. You don’t wear this sort of gear for a stroll in the park.’
The temptation to butt him in the forehead, hear the crunch of his nose breaking, swipe the shardpistol from his hand and blast away was so strong I could feel my arm almost swinging into motion, the muscles twitching.
Lasky rapped my visor with my own shardpistol. ‘Someone sent you here. And you’re going to tell us who.’
My neck flushed hot with stormtech and the words came spilling out. ‘They’ll come for me,’ I rasped. I glanced about for exits, blind spots, tunnels I could dart into. Nothing. Hausk and Lyndon were already moving behind me, hands flexed and drawn into a fighting stance, as if waiting for me to try. ‘They’ll come here and mow you all down.’
‘Bleeding stars, just shoot the bastard and peel him apart afterwards,’ grumbled Lyndon. ‘Get it over with.’
But Lasky only grinned. ‘Oh, haven’t you heard? People are going to come for him.’ He stuck his face inches from mine. ‘Who is?’
I clamped down hard on the stormtech, glued my mouth shut. Put my two objectives at the forefront of my mind: not, under any circumstances, taking my armour off and risking Artyom, and getting the hell out of here.
Lasky’s grin was hungry. ‘All right, tough guy.’ He gently patted my chest. ‘I want you to remember you had a way out. You could have talked to us at any time. No one to blame but yourself for what’s coming.’
Hausk and Lyndon moved towards me. I jerked away on instinct, but they cornered me, grabbed one arm each, kicking my legs out from under me and slamming my helmet back against the concrete. My body pressed up against the wall, I watched Hideko toss Lasky a matte-black gizmo the size of a fist and slap it against the side of my head. Spindly needles going rat-tat-tat against my helmet as it secured itself. My HUD scrambled, readouts and icons flaring in and out like neurons firing, all devices and security dying. Overriding and shutting down my suit. I couldn’t get it off now, even if I wanted to.
Hausk and Lyndon jerked me to my feet, twisting my arms behind my back and marching me down a series of shadowy hallways. With the device fizzling against the side of my helmet, walking felt like I was encased in wet cement. Hideko walked in front and Lasky from behind, heavy footsteps echoing across the scuffed floor. Reaper training teaches you to suppress fear, to channel it into something proactive. Formulating an escape route, clawing up a weapon, getting an emergency signal out. Anything that’ll keep you breathing long enough to fight back. But coldness was starting to fester inside me, born of Lasky’s smile, and I’d realised the types of people my captors were. It would be so easy for them to kill me, as they had Alcatraz and Samantha. Leave me Blued Out on hard concrete. Another dead Reaper on the pile.
Would Artyom even care, when he found out?
At the far end was an image on the wall, like a tattoo stamped in concrete. A thick, matte-black shape, the edges entwined together and vibrating with an outline of dark energy.
Tried to get a better look, but the world kept sliding in and out of focus. The gizmo crackled against the side of my helmet again. I just had time to recognise the whining prime of an EMP before it exploded in my skull. The world glared hot white, shadows spearing through my head. Blood and metal filled my mouth.
‘Is the son of a bitch down?’ one of them asked from a hundred light years away. My knees gave out under me. ‘Good. Get him locked in.’
The concrete floor came rushing up like a kick in the face.
11
Nightware
I emerged from deep smothering darkness to find myself strapped into a metal cradle. Thick, titanium restraints clamped tight around my wrists, ankles, thighs, between my legs, over my shoulders and crisscrossed my chest. Metal shackling had been secured along my spine, locked around my neck. The reclined cradle was deep and sturdy, built for carrying fully-armoured men in chainships, now retrofitted to secure prisoners. I tried to move, but I might as well have been wrapped in concrete. The cradle registered even my feeble struggle and all the restraints tightened with bone-crushing force.
I settled back, sweating and raking in lungfuls of air, my hands clenching, the cradle hard and humming against my back. They hadn’t carved me out of my armour. Not yet.
The minutes trickled by, the whole situation horribly familiar. Unwanted memories of being captured by Harvest surfaced. At least then I’d been brimming with stormtech, letting me hold out against advanced torture techniques that would have broken most men. Now I had nothing. My stormtech was wild and unharnessed.