Chapter 69
Maya ran to Tone's house, hoping the Contegon Councillor would be home. She didn't know what might happen if not: after what she did to the Shields, Maya couldn't be trusted with evidence so explosive and revealing. She couldn't even consider the consequences if another episode ruined the admissibility of this evidence...
When she arrived, out of breath and sweating, Tone’s Servant thankfully said, “Acolyte Councillor? Contegon Councillor White is in her study.”
Maya sighed, grateful, between torrid breaths. “Thank you.”
“I can go and bring her down here if–”
“No,” Maya interrupted. “No. I'll walk up there myself. Thank you, though.”
“Very well,” the Servant said as she stood aside.
Relief brought the impacts of her sprint crashing down on her. Drained, she stumbled to Tone's study. Her breathing slowed as she went, the world cleared, her blood blunted. She couldn't believe how unfit she'd become: she wouldn't have noticed that run a few years ago. Her Acolyte activities had replaced her training, and now she was a wreck. Climbing the stairs onto the second floor, she resolved to get back into a training regime, not allow her political capabilities to blunt her physical ones.
The second floor corridor ended abruptly after the stairs: Tone reduced the official Contegon Councillor's home when she came into office, deeming it too grandiose. Maya touched the new wall – artfully done, but obviously newer than the others – before knocking on Tone's study.
“Enter,” the Contegon Councillor replied.
Maya stepped in. In the small room was a miniscule desk and the vital woman behind it, both lit by dancing candlelight. “Good evening, Tone.”
“Maya, what an unexpected treat,” Tone replied, taking off some reading spectacles and standing. Then she saw the sweat covering Maya. “Sol, did you sprint here?”
“Yes, I did,” Maya said. “I couldn't risk flying as it might tip people off.”
“Who? Maya, what's wrong?” she asked. “Are you feeling okay?”
Stepping into Tone's study and closing the door, Maya said, “No, I’m not. But there is good cause this time. There's something that I must show you.”
Five minutes later, Tone understood Maya's urgency. “May I review those documents?” Tone asked. “You are not supposed to be involved in this investigation.”
“I didn't go there expecting to find evidence on Lun's Burst, Tone,” Maya said as she handed over the scrolls. “'Evidence of Heresy' could have meant anything.”
Tone didn't reply, just looked over the documents. One was a key for the markings on Farmer's jars: some signified the type of food inside, others predicted when the contents would spoil. Twin crosses were, 'Vital contents. Must not be opened or dropped at any cost. Failure will result in disbarment.'
“Disbarment?” Tone whispered when she read that.
“Seems extreme,” Maya asked. “Kicking someone out of the Station because they dropped a jar.”
Tone moved onto a directive issued by Flux that ordered that twin-crossed jars must be transferred to his warehouses along with regular deliveries of food. This was likely done to prevent anyone knowing how many jars there were, and ensure that no other Station commented on how many deliveries Flux received. He’d said himself that he took many, many deliveries, so who knew how much contraband he’d moved...
The Contegon Councillor read through the other documents, things written in Flux's hand that further confirmed that twin-crossed jars were his. When done, she put the scrolls carefully on her table and looked at the ceiling, tried to put together what she'd read.
“Your interview of Flux turned up nothing, didn't it?” Tone asked after a minute.
“To my shame, yes. There was an accident which ended it abruptly, and we didn't really follow up on it.” Maya gripped her hand into a fist. “I was too focussed on my political enemies, on who I wanted the Heretic to be. And Request followed my direction.”
“Don't be angry,” Tone said. She stood, straightened out her robes. “I wouldn't have concentrated on Flux either. In fact, I overlooked Visit, but Request turned up evidence that she was a strong suspect. She's currently working with the Mater Councillor, trying to prove her guilt. Wastefully, it seems.”
“Thank you,” Maya said. “I still blame myself though.”
Tone took a deep breath. “Of course you do. Just remember that shame and anger in future: it's the only way to not end up drowning in regret. Anyway, I must bring Flux in for questioning. If he is a Heretic, it's unlikely that I can bring him in alone. Acolyte Councillor, would you accompany me to detain Flux?”
“I... I would like to, but I'm unsure of my health...”
Tone stood and put a hand on Maya's shoulder. “I'm not wasting time waiting for Request, so your concerns are noted, but you are coming with me. Don't worry, I'll keep you in check. Let me talk, and only step in if he becomes violent. I know you, Maya, and I know that isn't asking too much.”
“Okay,” Maya said reluctantly.
“We will take my carriage: you were right, your flight might risk alerting Flux.”
Tone's Servant – Leg, Maya remembered her name was Leg – brought Tone's weapons as the Contegon Councillor put on her armour. Tone leaned on her spear like a staff. Maya supposed the weapon had once been perfect for striking at a Disciple's weakness, but it did not suit someone of her advanced years. Not that she would say anything: it was Tone's place to decide her limits, not Maya's.
Once the Contegon Councillor geared up, they went to her waiting carriage. Tone secured her spear to the side before saying, “Hurry to Farmer's Park, and I do mean hurry.”
“Yes sire,” the Contegon manning the carriage said.
Maya stepped onto the carriage and it set off, maintaining an impressive pace as it wove towards Flux's home. The Contegon never put a pedestrian at risk, keeping complete control and grace in the horse's movement, only slowing for sharp corners. An Aureu bathed in Lunlight passed by the carriage window, unaware of the showdown that was to come.
They were at Filter's Mansion in record time. “Stay here. Raise the alarm if I don’t return in ten minutes,” Tone told her Contegon. “All stay-at-homes must track down the Farmer Councillor in that case.”
“Yes, sire,” the Contegon said, her fear barely showing.
Tone jogged over to the mansion and knocked. Maya was just behind. The butler who answered her insistent demands turned pale at the sight of an armed Contegon Councillor and the Acolyte Councillor. “Hello, sires. What can I do for you this evening?” he asked.
“We will speak to Flux,” Tone ordered. “Now.”
“The Farmer Councillor is in the drawing room,” the butler said. “Please follow me.”
“Don't ring that bell,” Maya said when he reached to warn Flux visitors were here.
The butler baulked, but did as he was told.
It was impressive enough that Flux's relative had built a drawing room at all, let alone one as big as the one they entered: it took up the whole depth of the Mansion and was filled with comfortable seating and wide desks. Flux sat on a couch at the middle of the great room, his burly Servant Receptacle beside him. They had been in a deep, quiet conversation when the Butler opened the door, but now they stood.
“Sires,” Flux stammered. “Why are you here? It is too late for a social call.”
“This is not a social call,” Tone said, her voice hard as her expression. She closed the drawing room door, shutting the butler out. “I need to ask you some questions, Flux. It might be best if your Servant left.”
Receptacle, who seemed to have suffered no ill effects of his accident, not even a bruise, shook his head. “Whatever you have to say to Flux, you can say to me too.”
Maya didn't like the Servant's manner, his stance. It was fine for the Stationless to be confident and forthright around the Stationed, but there was something else there: amusement, maybe.
Still, Flux nodded at his sent
iment. “He, that is, Receptacle, is right. There is nothing you can say to me which he shouldn't hear.”
“As you wish,” Tone said. “I need to ask about your personal deliveries. Specifically, a marking which denotes that some Farmer's jar carry the penalty of disbarment should they be dropped.”
Flux's face went through several emotions, going from shock, to terror, to panic. Then he sighed, and looked to Receptacle as though for aid. “What do we do?” he asked.
Receptacle tutted. “What exactly do you think you've found, Councillors?”
Maya suddenly became aware of a small scratching sound, like a dozen pencils writing on cheap, rough paper. It was low, almost a whisper, but it was definitely there. She looked around, but couldn't see the source. Perhaps, she feared, this was just in her head.
“Why am I answering to a Servant, not my fellow Councillor?” Tone asked.
“He speaks for me!” Flux thundered, sounding brattish and young. “Receptacle is my Servant, but he speaks for me. Now, answer the question!”
Maya subtly reached for Nephilim's ring. Using Mission's power was much different to Applekill's, more like directing soldiers from afar, so her mantra for him was different: “I ask, you do, we win.” She thought this over and over, securing their connection.
Tone waited for Flux to calm. “Jars marked as being your personal reserve – we have the documentation to prove it, multiple letters written in your handwriting – were found to contain Disciple technology. These are delivered to your home only, and only you and people you have designated can open it.”
“So, you're not here to investigate me,” Flux shouted, his face turning a bright red. “You're here to arrest me. They're here to arrest me, Receptacle! Me!”
“I don't suppose you have the evidence with you?” Receptacle asked. He stepped forward, a grin slowly growing on his lips. “You can't prove it right now, can you?”
“Step back, Servant. Of course we didn't bring the evidence to an arrest,” Tone said.
“That is a shame. It would have made this much easier.”
Tone tightened her grip on her spear. “Made what easier?”
“Command Alpha Whiskey Echo,” Receptacle said.
The scratching tripled, so even Tone heard it. The sound came from all directions, from each wall, the floor and the ceiling. Maya called up Mission's Cyrus Force, preparing for an attack.
“Call off whatever you just did,” Maya said. “Now.”
“Why would I–”
Tone stabbed the Servant, a shot in the thigh not meant to be fatal. Receptacle roared, a bellow of agony.
No, it was a word. He shouted 'Execute'.
Arachnid Disciples then burst from the walls, ripping right the plaster to assault Tone and Maya. Maya recognised them from Chain’s reports. Mission reacted quicker than Maya could, threw his energy around her. Its intensity melted the Disciple monsters’ thin legs where they tried to pierce her skin.
But Tone had no protection from the cruel Disciples. They viciously stabbed into her, a thousand small wounds. She screamed once before falling to the floor, where she convulsed, her eyes rolled back into her skull. She did not suffer long, though she died a mess.
Black fury threatened to overcome Maya, a familiar and consuming desire to destroy. She looked at Receptacle - the smiling, thuggish Disciple bastard - and Flux, who had paled but seemed triumphant nonetheless, and wanted to hear their screams, wanted to burn through their forms and find the horrible parts of their minds which followed the Disciples, freeze their eyes in their skulls, feed them their own–
“Maya, concentrate,” Mission said. “You are losing yourself.”
“Listen to our voices,” Applekill said. “Please. Don't fall into their grip.”
“Yes, take control,” Mission said slowly. “Be yourself.”
Maya could hardly make out their words, but their tone, their concern and love, got through. She trusted Mission to keep her safe and closed her eyes, swallowed, denied the part of her that wanted such destruction. For just a second, she saw her rage: familiar red eyes in an infinite darkness. Then it was gone.
The insect Disciples were worrying at her, draining Mission's power as they crawled up and over her body, when she returned in control. She called for more Cyrus Force and shot it out around her in burst. Mission chose to turn it into tiny shards of icy shrapnel that slammed into the creatures, leaving them scattered across the drawing room as nothing more than metal and horror.
Flux shrieked as he was peppered with Disciple's remains. “You said that you would definitely be able to kill an Acolyte if they came! Receptacle, what the fuck are we going to do?”
“Shut up, Flux. I don't know what we're going to do.” The Disciple looked at Maya and tutted. “It's a damn shame that Cyrus Force constructs are faster than ours.”
“How do you know of Cyrus Force?” Maya asked.
Receptacle frowned. “How do you?”
She took advantage of his surprise and jumped at him. A spike of Mission's power appeared in her hand, just corporeal enough to feel like a sword as she cut into his other leg. His skin froze and cracked where Mission’s power touched him, parts of him falling like dust.
The Servant fell to the floor, and held up his hands. “Wait, you must let us go!”
“You just killed a Contegon Councillor. I will destroy you.”
“You shouldn’t, though: there are dozens more Black Widows across Aureu,” Receptacle said. He kicked the remains of his personal army. “They have an order keyed to my life signal: if it is snuffed out, a hundred more of these will go into a frenzy and slaughter many, many people.”
“You're lying,” Maya said.
“He isn't. He isn't!” Flux said quickly, his voice quavering. “I helped him. They're across Aureu. It will be a slaughter if you don't let us go.”
“If that is true,” Maya said, gripping the spike of Cyrus Force tighter, “I will incapacitate you and allow the Contegons to prepare for a battle. Then I'll kill you.”
“I can set this order off any time I want to,” Receptacle said. “Let me go and I won't have to.”
Maya laughed. “Do you think me stupid? How could I possibly trust a Disciple to keep their word after I let them go? You were going to attack Aureu with these things anyway. If anything, you have given me a reason to kill you, ensure we get every monster on the streets for a real fight.”
Receptacle's eyes widened. He went to say something more, argue for his life, but Maya slashed his throat. His red blood – human blood – sprayed onto Mission's Cyrus Force, where it froze. Receptacle gripped his bleeding throat and fell to the floor, doomed to die in a few seconds.
“You... you've just killed hundreds of people,” Flux said. He sank to his knees. “People I knew. People who worked for me. You've just doomed them.”
Maya kicked him in the stomach, winded the bastard. As he doubled up, eyes watering, barely able to breathe, she knelt and sliced the backs of his legs, ensured he wouldn't escape.
When his wheezes of pain died down, Maya said, “I have killed only a Disciple traitor. You doomed those people when you helped the Disciples, when you spread these weapons across the city. Remember that, Flux. I hope every death weighs on you heavily.”
She left the drawing room, ignoring his replies. The Butler cowered in the corridor outside, having apparently heard everything that transpired.
“I am ordering you and everyone else in Filter's Mansion to ensure Flux does not leave this house. I will be back soon and, if he is not here, everyone who lives, works, or even has visited here in the past month will be put on a Hereticum,” she said. “Am I understood?”
The Butler nodded hurriedly. “What... What about the Contegon Councillor?”
“Don't talk about her now,” Maya said, a wave of emotion threatening to overcome her senses. “I... I cannot deal with her death. Prepare her for...” She couldn't continue talking, her battle mind compromised by the passing of her friend
. She sobbed.
“I understand what you're trying to say, sire,” the Butler said, straightening. “I will inform the Contegon outside and get it done.”
Maya nodded, pitifully grateful, and ran out of Filter's Mansion. Screaming greeted her. Death greeted her. Receptacle hadn't been bluffing: Aureu was under attack.