Tool of War

  Can he take them all? Fates, what sort of creature have I invited into my home?

  Nailer was looking equally worried.

  “Surrender quietly,” her father said, in a voice that Nita knew meant that there would be no more warnings. “Or I will send you back as a corpse. Mercier does not care whether you live or die, and I will not risk my family to defy them.”

  “Well,” Tool said, “I will certainly die before I return to Mercier as their obedient slave.”

  “Take him!” her father ordered.

  “Tarak gangh!”

  Tool’s bestial command shook the room like a thunderclap. Nita found herself cowering down, shaking. But more astoundingly, her father’s security team were all frozen in their tracks, staring at Tool.

  Tool snarled at them and then began growling, a low warning sound. Talon and the other augments matched him with growls of their own, seeming somehow…

  Hypnotized?

  Nita stared, astounded.

  She had never seen her family’s augments hesitate to follow orders. She had never seen any augment hesitate, whether to fight or to raise sail in a storm, and yet now they paused, attendant upon Tool.

  Tool snarled again, then issued a series of sharp commands, accompanied by a chopping gesture. Talon replied, a bark of query. Tool shook his head in definitive dissent. All the augments bared their teeth, and then abruptly they relaxed and lowered their weapons.

  Nita stared, astounded. Nailer, too, seemed stunned. His mouth gaped open.

  “Take him!” her father ordered again, but the augments shook their heads.

  “No,” Talon said, “he will not attack you. He has sworn.”

  “That’s not the issue!” Her father looked incensed, and now Nita also saw fear. He looked almost weak. Frantic with fear. The man who had built their company into a global force was shaking. “Take him, now! By your oaths! Take him!”

  Again, Talon shook his head. “We cannot attack our kin.”

  With a motion, he ordered his troops to shoulder their weapons. A moment later they were filing out of the room with apologetic salutes to Nita and her father as they passed.

  “He will do you no harm,” Talon said as he left. “His oath is good. He is our brother.”

  The door closed behind them. A low contented rumbling issued from Tool, a near purr of satisfaction as he surveyed the humans in the room. Nita suddenly felt very small and alone in his presence. They all seemed smaller, somehow. Smaller. Weaker. Human.

  “So,” Tool said, “now you understand why Mercier finds me so deeply troubling. Not only do I not obey their orders, but my brethren also forget their obedience when I am near.”

  “How…” Her father’s voice was strangled.

  “For a long time, I could not clearly remember my days of loyalty to Mercier,” Tool said. “I could not remember the war that broke my conditioning. I had fragments of memory, but I could not recall clearly.

  “But then they burned me in the Drowned Cities. Fire from the sky, just as they did the last time.” He bared his teeth. “And slowly, I began to remember what I was truly designed for, and how I had been used. I was designed to not just lead my own kind into battle, but to exert my influence over those I fought. To bring them over to the side of my masters.” He smiled. “Everywhere I go, I encourage defections.”

  Tool kept speaking, but Nita’s eyes were drawn to her father. A subtle shifting of his posture, a wrinkle of malice in his expression. She wasn’t sure what tipped her to his attack, but she saw it coming, and she knew, too, even as she was shouting, and leaping to stop him, that he was too quick.

  The pistol gleamed in his hand as he fired from the hip—

  “Tool!”

  She crashed toward Tool as the pistol spat tiny rounds. Too late. And yet Tool was not where he had been. He had become a whirling hurricane of movement, terrifyingly fast. He seized her and jerked her out of the way, spinning still, shoving her out of the line of fire, and the next moment he was up in front of her father, ripping the pistol from the man’s hand.

  Nita hit the ground and rolled, just as she’d been trained by her self-defense instructors, ready to fight, and yet by then it was all over.

  She came to her feet as Tool slammed her father up against the wall. The war monster pinned him there, one hand clenching him by the neck, the other gripping the pistol that he had taken, waving it admonishingly before her father’s face.

  “Tool!” she pleaded. “Don’t hurt him! Nailer! Tell him!”

  In a voice that betrayed no anger or exertion, Tool said, “A fine weapon, Mr. Patel. Your daughter surprised me with one like it as well. It was unlikely that I would be surprised twice.”

  To Nita’s infinite relief and shock, Tool then gently set her father back down on the floor, and handed the pistol back to the man. He turned away, leaving his back entirely open to attack.

  Nita and Nailer exchanged glances of surprise. Fates, he was fast. She’d just been lucky on the boat. He hadn’t been even trying to fight, then. And so she’d gotten a lucky shot.

  Tool went on talking as if her father hadn’t just tried to shoot him. “Of course, Mercier loved that I could cause the defections from our enemies.” He settled his bulk once again into the sofa. “But they made me too well, and now I have proved myself far too independent for their tastes.”

  He grinned, showing sharp rows of teeth. “My creators do not fear my individual rebellion. They fear the uprising that I will inevitably lead.”

  33

  EVERYONE STARED AT Tool in stunned silence.

  “So…” Patel’s voice was strangled. “You will bring about the destruction of me and mine, for the sake of this genocide you seek.”

  “Genocide?” Tool stifled his irritation. “I’ve done nothing to cause extinction of you or yours. Look to Mercier who has wiped out every one of my kind from the face of the earth if you wish to speak of genocide.” He touched his ear. “You see my tattoo? All the others who bear the ‘228xn’ demarcation were destroyed, along with every single augment who I came in contact with. And not just those who served in Kolkata. On every continent I served, they put my kin to the sword. Do not speak to me of genocide. My brothers and sisters are all gone to the savanna.”

  “You’re exaggerating.”

  “You think so? What will you do with your own augments once I am gone? Will you ever trust them again, remembering that they defied you in your moment of need? What good is an augment who is not loyal?”

  Patel gave Tool a smoldering look. “What are you?”

  “The next step in evolution.”

  “Mercier is saying you’ve gone mad.”

  “For once, Mr. Patel, I think I may be entirely sane. More lucid in this moment than in my entire previous existence. I have my mind, my memories, and my independence.”

  “And this is how you show your sanity? By putting me and mine at risk?” Patel was glaring. “For all your… power, none of us will survive Mercier’s full military force. Not you. Not I. And not my family. Mark my words, Blood, or Karta-Kul or whatever name you now use, I will not have my family burn for you.”

  He strode out of the room with a dark look back. Nita and Nailer exchanged uncomfortable glances.

  “That could have gone better,” Nailer said.

  Tool shook his head. “It was as it was meant to be. An owner confronting a slave.”

  “No one has called you a slave,” Nita said sharply.

  “That’s true,” Tool agreed. “You’re very polite around your property.”

  “That’s not what I meant!”

  “Does it bother you to meet a slave who does not bow and scrape for your approval, Miss Nita?”

  Tool didn’t know why he kept goading them. Each time he opened his mouth to convince or cajole, instead he baited them. Already they were looking terrified and uncertain. He could see the First Claw laughing at him.

  Diplomacy…The leader of the Tiger Guard was chuckling. Diplomacy sti
ll is not your strong suit. These people need you to appear polite. Grateful, even. And this is how you behave?

  Tool growled. You want me to beg?

  You might try appearing harmless, at least.

  I do not grovel.

  No, indeed, the First Claw chuckled. You insult and threaten. I hear that humans respond well to that.

  Tool stifled the urge to snarl at the dead Tiger Guard’s self-satisfied appraisal. And yet the First Claw was right. He needed these people, and yet he alienated them, again and again; he took the path of provocation rather than pacification.

  Why?

  The urge to provoke was almost overwhelmingly powerful. It was as if he had some need to prove to them that he didn’t do their bidding. Would never do their bidding. That he was utterly independent. That he was free.

  But I am free. This is manifestly true. Why must I provoke?

  Something about Nita Patel and her father inspired an intensity of rage that… Tool frowned.

  They were the same as Mercier. People who bought and used augments, who staffed their ships and their homes with them. People who purchased the absolute loyalty and competence of the genetically engineered. Slave masters, truly. His enemies, truly. And here he sought to treat with them.

  Tool realized that he was growling. Nailer and Nita were looking at him with alarm.

  They fear you, but they don’t see you. They see a monster off its leash. They are people; you are not.

  “What would convince you that I am worthy of your aid?” Tool asked bitterly. “What would make you see me as human?”

  “It’s not like that!” Nita exclaimed. “You saved me! You saved Nailer! Yes! That’s true! But not everyone on this island owes you a debt!” She held up her hand when Tool started to growl. “No. Let me finish. You can roar at me afterward. Yes, we all know you can rip us to pieces anytime you want. You’re very good at frightening people. But that’s not why Father’s angry, and it’s not why we’re worried. There are tens of thousands of our people all over the world who are affected by you showing up. It’s not just us. You’ve put the entire company at risk; if Mercier attacks, we all die. Humans, yes. But augments, too. Look what happens to everyone who helps you. Look what happened to that girl you told us about. Her crew? Your own soldiers in the Drowned Cities?” Her voice caught, and she looked away. “Look what happens to every single person who helps you.”

  Tool started to reply, but stopped short, struck by the memory of Mahlia, shot and alone, the last of her crew, huddled under a dark pier.

  We die like flies, she’d said.

  Tool looked at Nita and Nailer, and though he wanted to rage at them for their betrayal, all he saw was fear. Not of him, but of the horror that pursued him.

  We die like flies.

  This, at last, gave him pause.

  34

  NITA JERKED AWAKE in the middle of the night, her heart pounding. She’d been dreaming of fire pouring out of the sky, just as Tool had described it. Missiles, hundreds of missiles lancing down from drones, the whole of her family’s island burning. Everything burning: Nailer, her father, cousins, employees…

  Hesitantly, she reached over to Nailer and touched his shoulder. “Are you awake?”

  “Yeah.”

  In the moonlight, the tattoos from his time as a ship breaker were dark and strange on his face.

  “I’m worried,” she said.

  Nailer’s hand found hers. Their fingers twined. “You think your father will try to go after Tool again?”

  “I don’t see how he can. You saw what he’s like.”

  Sometimes, it was so easy to speak her feelings and worries, and even admit her failings. Now, though, she found herself hunting for a way to say the things she was afraid to say, to say the things that she was afraid Nailer would despise her for.

  “He frightens me,” she said finally.

  “He’s sure fast. And if he can recruit another company’s augments…” Nailer blew out his breath. “It’s a wild card, for sure.”

  “No. It’s more than that. It’s…” She hesitated, ashamed of what she felt. Ashamed for her thoughts about the augment who had once aided her, and now slept as a guest in her family home, a mere floor away. “It’s…” She plunged ahead, cursing herself even as she said the words. “It’s as if he doesn’t see us as people.”

  “Actually, I think he does.” Nailer laughed darkly. “That’s why it’s so disturbing. He looks at us exactly like we’re people. Not masters. Not owners. Just people.” He glanced over at her, a shadow movement. “How many augments do you have on staff who do that? None. Augments are just loyal. It’s what they are. It’s how they do. You don’t have to worry about convincing them or cajoling them. You don’t have to worry about their feelings—”

  “I’m not unkind to—” Nita interrupted, feeling a flush of anger.

  “That’s not what I’m saying,” Nailer pressed. “Do you remember what it was like, living with him? Down in the Orleans? I think he was like this before, too. Maybe it’s more obvious now, but it was there then. You’re just not used to it. He’s the same. It’s just jarring to see it here, in your home, where you’re normally in control.”

  Nita didn’t like the direction of Nailer’s words. “I don’t control the staff.”

  Nailer rolled over and looked at her. “Of course you do. That’s what the loyalty oaths and the conditioning are for. You treat your augments well, but they aren’t people. And they don’t ask to be treated just like people. They don’t demand things the way people demand things…” He shrugged. “But Tool does.”

  Nita shook her head. “No. It’s not that.”

  Nailer gave her a sardonic glance.

  “It’s not just that,” she amended. “I’ll admit it’s unnerving. But it’s more than that. Look what he can do. Look how he goads. He’s not just one independent augment anymore. He said it himself. He’s a walking rebellion.” She paused. “And he’s angry. He wants revenge for everything that’s been done to him. To all the people who used to follow him. We can’t even find that one girl he told us about, that last one who helped him. He’s got a trail of bodies behind him, and he wants revenge for all of it.”

  “So…?”

  “So what should we do? Am I really supposed to help him? What’s—” She broke off. Swallowed. “What’s the responsible thing to do? We can’t keep him here like some… common houseguest. Not with Mercier coming at us.”

  Nailer shrugged helplessly. “You have to decide if you trust him.”

  “If it was only… It’s not just about me.”

  They were both quiet for a while.

  Nita wondered if Nailer was asleep. He was so still she thought maybe he was, but when she looked closely, she could see his eyes were open, staring up at the stars through the glass ceiling.

  She prodded him, trying to know what he was thinking. “He saved me once.”

  “He saved us both.”

  “I just wish he didn’t seem so different. Before, I would have…”

  “You trusted him with your life.”

  “But he’s different now,” Nita said. “You see that, too, right? I’m not crazy, am I?”

  There was a long pause, and then Nailer said the thing she feared he would.

  “No,” he sighed. “You’re right. I barely recognize him now.”

  35

  JONES WAS IN the Intelligence Center, running overwatch. Her drones circled, targeting cameras transmitting steady images of the ground below. An insurgent camp.

  “Havoc in the tubes,” she said. “Six up, six away.”

  She watched the countdown clock. People wandered the camp, not knowing they were about to be burned to ash. The missiles hit. The camp went up in flames. Insurgents curled up and died.

  She frowned, watching as images were transmitted back to her. The layout looked wrong. It wasn’t an insurgent camp. She’d been given the wrong coordinates. It looked more like the jungles of Brazil—it looked more
like the school where Mrs. Silva had prepped her for the merit exams. The woman who had seen her potential—

  Jones watched as more missiles hit the school. Small bodies burned. Tory was looking over her shoulder. He gave a shrug. Oh well. Sometimes they get coordinates wrong.

  “Jones! Wake up!”

  Jones jerked awake, gasping, covered with sweat, filled with horror at what she’d done.

  A dream. It was only a dream.

  She hadn’t burned a school to ash. She hadn’t done anything wrong. The coordinates weren’t wrong. There’d been no targeting mistake. She sobbed with relief, but the stain of shame remained, the dream so real that it was almost impossible to purge.

  It didn’t happen. I didn’t do it. It was a dream.

  “Jones!”

  She flinched. Director Enge was on her wall screen, glaring in at her. He’d overridden her security and was staring right into her apartment. For a second, the dream and her most recent work overlapped, and she felt a new wave of fear: He was about to bust her for bad intelligence, for bad coordinates, for screwing up somehow—

  No. She’d done everything perfectly. She’d gotten the intel that ExCom wanted. Every bit of confirmation they’d needed and more. It had been a lucky break, sweeping up the girl, but they all thought Jones was a genius because she’d given them the undeniable connection between the augment and Patel Global.

  My catch. My interrogation. I did everything right. I got your intel.

  “Jones!” Enge snapped again.

  Jones rubbed her face, still bleary. “Yes, sir. I’m awake.”

  “The Patels are willing to negotiate. It’s time to get to work.”

  Jones pulled her sheets around her as she sat up. “What’s there to negotiate? I thought we were going to Havoc them.”

  Enge made a face. “Finance tipped our hand by putting so much pressure on them, so now Jayant Patel is looking for a payoff. Say what you will about them, but the Patels haven’t survived this long without knowing how to make a profit off their enemies.”