Next Stage

Next Stage

Our salvation is death, but not this one.

—Franz Kafka

Varin Omega was in a foul mood.

He should have been the ruler of the entire Junkyard, the one in prime position to reach the gates of Nirvana, but ever since that chaotic day—the day that their Atma had first manifested—he had been in a constant state of vexation, and pretty much everyone else in his tribe, the Brutes, knew it.

He wasn’t even sure himself what he was so aggravated about. The Church, the unquestionable highest authority in the Junkyard, had given out information about the Atma, but it had done nothing to help rid him of his annoyance.

He hadn’t been overly concerned about Atma, or the hunger that came with it. It had stung that his bishop had died, overwhelmed by the conflicts between the Church’s conditioning and his Atma impulses, but aside from that inconvenience the new realities of Junkyard conflict had little effect on his strategies. Just as before, all they really needed to do was to fight and to win. No one knew what happened to those who lost now, but if devouring others made someone stronger, he welcomed the opportunity.

The Atma hunger also served as a driving force for people within the tribe. There were some who had expressed unease at the prospect of feeding on their foes, but weaklings like that were quickly killed and devoured by their more assertive colleagues. Varin Omega was unconcerned with cannibalism amongst his own tribe. Officially, he had forbidden fighting amongst his tribe members as a way of preventing senseless loss of personnel, but if a coward getting eaten enabled a more talented individual to become more powerful, he was more than willing to look the other way.

In the Junkyard, the strong reigned supreme. And not only was that principle the law of the land—it was his own personal creed, as well. Now, as leader of the largest tribe in the Junkyard, he certainly ate his fair share of enemy soldiers during battles. He had no qualms about the practice; this was how things were done now, and so it was what he did. Nothing had really changed. Weren’t they still doing what they always had?

He didn’t much like how the state of things in the Junkyard had developed in other ways lately, however. According to intel he’d received the other day, the Embryon, lowest-ranked of the top six tribes, had defeated their neighbors in Svadhisthana, the Vanguards, and from there had gone on to form an alliance with the mid-ranked Maribel. After that, they apparently all but wiped out the Maribel’s enemies, the Solids. It was a somewhat far-fetched story, but it had been confirmed several times over. Notices from the Church backed it up. It was unprecedented for two tribes to agree to end hostilities of their own accord without the Church issuing them an armistice order.

And yet after their battle with the Solids, the Embryon had maintained their alliance with the Maribel. The two now helped defend each other’s territory, and they were apparently working together in hunting down the remaining members of the Solids and even in taking in Newborns.

Since the Church had not decreed that the Solids were eliminated, that had to mean that their leader, Mick the Slug, was still alive somewhere. Their base, however, had been fully occupied by a contingent of Embryon and Maribel forces, and the word was that members of the Solids were still turning up there to surrender. It was doubtful that Mick would be coming back in the short term. For now, the Solids were no longer a going concern in the Junkyard.

This meant that the Embryon and the Maribel—perhaps it was accurate to say the Embryon had absorbed the Maribel—now controlled a total of four areas: their home territory of Muladhara, plus Svadhisthana, Manipura, and Anahata.

A shudder ran up Varin Omega’s spine, but he shrugged it off. He’d seen the Embryon leader once, back at the Temple. He was a young man, with a relatively small, slender frame, along with silver hair and facial features that were nearly feminine. At the time, Varin had thought him a fool for showing himself where the others could see him, but it seemed like the young fellow was steadily making his way up in the world.

As the top-ranked tribe, the Brutes still possessed the strongest military force, and the area they controlled, Ajna, was the largest in the Junkyard. However, if the current trend continued, the Embryon might manage to overtake the Brutes’ current enemy, the Wolves of Vishuddha. Then, despite the Brutes’ strength, they would find themselves surrounded on all sides by a superior foe, forced into a defensive battle they couldn’t hope to win.

Lately, the conflict with the Wolves had drifted into a temporary standstill. The Wolves’ intentions were unclear. Perhaps they simply hadn’t yet extricated themselves from the chaos into which nearly all the tribes had plunged after their Atma were first unleashed. If that was the case, Varin thought, then now might be a good time to take out the Wolves and add Vishuddha to the Brutes’ domain, but the current situation with the Embryon made the prospect of an all-out war too dicey.

The worst-case scenario was that the joint Embryon–Maribel forces had added the remaining Solids to their ranks and were going to approach the Wolves with an offer of alliance. If the combined forces of three tribes added the Wolves to their number, they would be a foe to be feared indeed. The Brutes needed to prevent any such alliance, if possible, but without knowing the Wolves’ current disposition, now was not a time for rash action. He would have to proceed carefully.

The intercom sounded. Varin Omega pressed the call switch. “What is it?” he growled.

“Sir, someone has come to surrender.”

Varin detected a hint of fear in the man’s voice. He was pleased. The taste of power always put him in a good mood. “Surrender? From which tribe?”

“I, well—”

A deep, gravelly voice interrupted him. “Is this Varin Omega?”

“Who’s asking?”

“Oh, you wound me! I know you heard my voice at least once, when the Church had us all come to the Temple.” The speaker’s lips smacked when he talked; then he let out a deep laugh. “This is Mick the Slug, leader of the Solids, as I’m sure I don’t need to tell you.”

Varin had somehow been expecting that response. Having lost his base and most of his tribe members to the Embryon, Mick would have a hard time gathering up new recruits from amongst the Newborns, and the forces he did still have were far too weak. After the loss of one’s tribe, the next move that a smart leader might make would be to take refuge with a tribe bigger than the one which had defeated him. He’d just have to be prepared for the fact that he wouldn’t be given the leader treatment anymore once—if—he was taken in.

“Give me video,” Varin said, leaning with his elbows on his desk. The screen on his wall lit up. Nearly half of the image was taken up by a massive man with dark brown skin. His pink lips were spread in a broad grin, showing off his big yellow teeth.

“There’s someone else behind you,” Varin said. “Who is it?”

“I am Bat, of the Maribel.” The man’s voice was high-pitched and grating. He looked nervous, too, his alert eyes constantly darting to and fro. Strands of purple, blood-matted hair draped over his narrow shoulders.

“More like ‘former’ Maribel, really,” Mick followed up with a laugh. “He couldn’t put up with that dumb bitch of a leader of his, and so he left and came to me. Isn’t that right, Bat?”

“I will kill them,” Bat said, his tone completely neutral. “The brat who leads the Embryon, the woman, the fools in my tribe—I will show them no mercy. I will tear them apart with my bare hands, and then I will devour them.”

The Brute standing at his side looked somewhat uncomfortable hearing that.

Varin shrugged. “You will wait there while I verify your identities,” he told them. Then, breaking the connection for a moment, he set about confirming that his visitors were who they claimed to be. If he’d still had a bishop, he could have simply given a brief command and the verification would have been complete in a matter of moments, but as it was, he had to boot up his own terminal, access the Church’s system, and do the search himself. He compared their recorded characteristics against the names and positions the two had given. It appeared they were telling the truth.

Varin reopened the channel and peered at Mick and Bat. “By surrendering to the Brutes, do you mean to serve us as ordinary tribe members? Surely you don’t intend to take my place as leader. Regardless of whatever Atma you might possess, there are only two of you. You wouldn’t be bolstering our fighting strength all that much. What benefit do the Brutes gain by taking you in?”

“Right here. Take a look at this.” Mick held up a small container. It was made of metal, about half a meter on a side. Its pale blue paint job was peppered with bullet holes and bloodstains. “This is a device that the Embryon worked up, to create a medicine that can control Atma.”

“What?” Varin shot to his feet. “Control Atma? You must be mistaken.”

“Oh, there’s no mistake. This was the bait the Embryon used to get all buddy-buddy with the Maribel. For whatever reason, that woman felt she was too good to eat people.” Mick clutched the container tightly against his broad chest. “We haven’t quite figured out how it works yet, but the stuff it makes is extraordinary. Bat can vouch for that personally. He says that this is how the Embryon have been able to avoid going cannibal after a person’s Atma awakens.”

Varin grunted. Mick was still grinning toothily.

“The Maribel haven’t been wiped out yet, right? Somehow, the right dose of this stuff can even rein in an Atma that’s started to go berserk. When the time came for us to fly the coop, we were certain that bitch Jinana was doomed—either going to die or get herself killed, but it looks like she’s still alive, and back to normal.”

“I see. I will speak to you again after I’ve looked into your story.” Varin switched off the call, pondering this new information. He ran a search, and it seemed that Mick’s account of the Maribel leader surviving was true, but the circumstances surrounding her survival were unclear. Had the Embryon really taken steps to change her back and keep her alive?

The idea was ludicrous. The Embryon could have killed her and eliminated the Maribel in order to boost their own tribe another spot up the ladder. If she’d gone haywire, that was all the more reason to finish her off. Had this whole “alliance” really not just been some ruse they’d devised to crush both the Maribel and the Solids in a single stroke? That was what Varin himself would have done.

Thinking about the silver-haired upstart who ran the Embryon drove him into a fit of rage. He couldn’t even conceive what the boy could be planning next.

Varin knew he couldn’t put too much trust in Mick and his companion. One of them had betrayed his own leader, and the other had abandoned his own people, and then they’d come begging help from yet another tribe. They might talk a good game now, but there was no telling when they’d double-cross him if they saw the opportunity.

But he was very interested in this “Atma-controlling medicine” Mick had mentioned. If the Embryon had been able to use it to eliminate or take over three other tribes, he was sure the Brutes could put it to good use if they could get their hands on it.

If it were me, Varin thought, I’d find a far better purpose for it than those sniveling maggots did.

He was reaching for the intercom switch again when he heard a low voice chuckle behind him.

“You always were so easily deceived by the promise of power, Colonel.”

He spun around to see a figure standing by the door, clad from head to toe in a long, black robe. Without a word, Varin called upon his Atma and let out a burst of blue-white lightning, hurling the jagged bolts directly at the interloper.

The man in black held his ground and merely raised one hand, palm inward. Light glowed around the back of that hand, dispersing Varin’s attack before the lighting could strike. The intruder’s black hood rippled in the darkness of the office; otherwise the man just stood there, as if Varin’s attempted attack had never occurred.

Peering at him warily, Varin could see that there was a symbol on the back of the white glove on the man’s uplifted hand: a pair of intertwined, thorned circles, the emblem of the Church. It flickered with pale blue light. The leader of the Brutes was dumbstruck.

“You should know that the container they have is a decoy.” Another faint chuckle came from underneath the hood. “The Embryon’s ever-canny bishop took them for the fools they are. The true means of controlling Atma is elsewhere. And I know where.”

“Who are you?” Varin asked. He could feel himself breaking out into a cold sweat. He realized that he didn’t know when the man had come in—he might have been standing there for quite some time. The intruder was a small fellow, slender, not even tall enough to come up to Varin’s shoulders, but while he was not physically intimidating, there was something deeply disquieting in his presence. Something about him didn’t quite fit in with the Junkyard at all.

The Church markings suggested that he was a priest, but his sarcastic speech and mocking laugh were quite different from the white-clad warrior priests Varin had encountered before, who carried out the Church’s orders like machines.

“It would be best if you could remember that on your own, Colonel.” There was still a hint of laughter in the stranger’s voice. “For now, consider me to be a messenger from the Church—as well as your new bishop. And you should know, Colonel, that the Brutes now have the full support of the Church. Or at least the support of Angel. My heart goes out to you. After all, you’re the victim here. No one back then could have predicted you’d come to this.”

Varin stood up almost without realizing it. “What are you talking about? Listen, you bast—ahem. Look, I would like an explanation. Is there something you know? About the Junkyard? About Atma?” His throat strained to even get the next words out. “About . . . me?”

Who am I, really?

Varin would have been shocked to realize that he was starting to ask the same questions that Serph had not long before. His memories of the time before he was bestowed with his Atma seemed so far away now, as if they had faded behind a veil of mist. It almost seemed to him as if they were unreal—like they were the memories of a completely different person who had fought, who had won, who had led his tribe to prominence.

Someone else. The nagging question he felt now wasn’t about his Atma or anything of the sort. He wanted to know something much more basic—he wanted to understand what actually made up the person called Varin. Who was he? Why was he here? What was he fighting for? Where was the paradise he’d been taught to seek, and what was the salvation the Church promised?

Who am I?

“I can give you your answers, Colonel. Come with me.”

The hooded man beckoned to Varin as he stepped toward to the tactical table. As he began to step away from his desk the Brutes’ leader could hear anxious shouting coming through the intercom. “Sir? Sir, what’s going on? Please respond!”

“Take those two and lock them up somewhere,” he grunted into the microphone, ignoring the subsequent shouts that came through just before he flicked off the switch.

The hooded man stood waiting in front of the table. The lower part of his face was barely visible in the shadows beneath his hood; its contours were rather feminine, the lips slender and curved into a smiling bow. There was a quiet hum as the table established a connection with the Church. A green light began to glow, faintly illuminating the dark room.

The face that appeared was not the expressionless flesh mask of the Dissemination Machine.

“It has been quite some time, Colonel William van Beck.” It spoke in a calm voice that was neither male nor female. “I apologize for the delay in getting in touch with you. First, allow me to say that I am glad that you are well. As we are presently unable to make use of the Technoshaman, establishing a stable connection is not easy. You will forgive me for not speaking up at the Temple; in addition to other Asura being present, he was also there.”

Varin was dumbfounded. “Who do you mean, ‘he’?”

“The man who killed you before, Colonel,” the hooded man responded with a chuckle. With a fluid motion, he drew his hood back, revealing a striking visage. His hair came down to his shoulders, a shade of black that didn’t exist in the Junkyard. His skin was pale white, and his face was downright womanly.

Only half of that face was visible, however, due to the dark, blocky goggles he wore over his eyes.

She still hadn’t stopped sobbing.

“Hey, Sera, you should really get some rest,” Argilla said, putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder, unable to bear it any longer. “Cielo’s not in critical condition anymore, so why don’t you calm down, get some sleep, and you’ll be your boisterous little self again. Besides, you’re probably still suffering from blood loss right now.”

“But . . .” Sera hiccupped as she rubbed at her face. Her eyes were flushed red from all of her crying. “It’s my fault that Cielo—”

“Look, it’s not your fault. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

But Sera still just hung her head and sniffled. Argilla sighed, folding her arms across her chest as she looked at the sleeping form of Cielo on the bed, covered in bandages. There was a faint bitterness in her eyes.

Ten days had passed since the battle with the Solids. The objective of the enemy task force had apparently been to abscond with the Embryon’s secret of controlling Atma, and so they hadn’t made a point to devour their fallen foes. Gale’s decoy had done its job in fooling them, and thankfully they hadn’t been drawn into a longer battle; casualties were far lower than expected, and the injuries of those who’d survived weren’t all that bad, either. Aside from Cielo, that was.

Given the base’s cramped quarters, it had been no small task to fend off the onslaught of enemy intruders while trying to lead a scared girl to safety. But Cielo had gotten the job done.

If the enemy had seen Sera’s black hair and black eyes, they would have realized at once that she was the girl that the Church was searching for. After fleeing for dear life, Cielo had shoved Sera into a gun locker in an unused cargo room in the very depths of the fortress, then told her not to open the door, no matter what, before turning to face down a powerful enemy assault squad all by himself.

His injuries had been severe. He’d suffered damage to the joints in his left leg, and one of his arms had been torn completely off. He also had burns and lacerations all over his body, along with countless other external injuries. If it hadn’t been for his Atma and its powerful regenerative capabilities, he’d likely have died on the spot.

As luck would have it, his rescuers had found his severed arm intact where it had been tossed into the corner of the cargo room. The odds were only fifty-fifty that the surgeons’ attempt to reattach it would take, but for now, the prognosis was good. He still couldn’t move the arm due to the sutures and the delicate nerve grafting treatment that Gale had devised, but at the very least, the medics were confident that necrosis wouldn’t set in and cause him to lose the arm.

“Come on, Sera,” Argilla said. “You should go back to your room. Cielo’s been a real trooper through all this so far, and I’m sure he’s going to keep fighting. It won’t do him any good if you pass out here.”

“I—no, I know that, but . . .” Sera lowered her head again, more tears falling onto her hands, which were clutching her knees. “It’s just that . . . I couldn’t do anything. When the Solids attacked us, I knew Cielo was fighting all by himself, but I was so scared that I couldn’t even move. And Cielo . . . The only reason we were attacked was because I was here.”

From the bed came a weak voice. “That . . . isn’t true . . . Sera.”

“Cielo!” Sera practically leapt to her feet, clutching the end of the bed.

Argilla followed suit. “Cielo, you’re finally awake! How are you feeling?”

“Oh, I’m fine. Never better. One look at Sera’s face was all it took.” Even now, despite his shaky voice and pained breathing, Cielo managed to turn his head atop the pillow in order to flash Sera a smile. “Why the long face? A cute girl like you needs to smile more. C’mon, show me a smile.”

“She’s so stubborn, isn’t she?” Argilla wiped away her own tears. “All right, you stay put and don’t move. I’m going to get Gale and the doctors.”

“Cielo, I’m so sorry.” Tears began to well up anew in Sera’s eyes as she sat back down beside Cielo’s bed. “All I did was watch. I couldn’t do—”

A sudden weight fell into Sera’s lap with a dull thump, shocking her into silence.

“Heat!” Argilla snapped. “What are you doing? What are you even thinking, bringing something like that in here?”

“She said she couldn’t do anything.” At some point, Heat had entered the room. Now he stood by the door, arms folded, not sparing a glance at Argilla; his intense gaze was focused on Sera’s small, startled face. “There’s nothing I hate more than people who whine about not being able to do anything when they just plain don’t even try. Take it.”

Sera tentatively reached down into her lap and lifted up a heavy handgun, its black surface gleaming like new.

“I’m not saying you need to learn how to shoot a gun. You don’t have the disposition or the upper body strength for it anyway. But if you’re ever surrounded by bad guys, you can at least put that against your head or stick it in your mouth and threaten to pull the trigger if they come any closer.”

Cielo tried to get up. “Whoa, hold on just a—” His words were cut off by a groan of pain.

Heat didn’t look away from Sera. “As long as you’re still alive, people are going to want to hand you over to the Church. Better to present a credible threat than arm you with some small-caliber weapon that doesn’t even suit you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Argilla said sternly. “We are not making her do that. I don’t know what the hell you’re thinking. Sera, here, give me that.”

“Wait,” Sera said, and when Argilla tried to pull the gun from her hands, the girl yanked it out of reach, clutching it to her chest as she got to her feet and scampered for the door. Heat, having said all he needed to say, turned to leave.

Sera called out to him, and he stopped to look back over his shoulder.

“Thank you, Heat,” she said. “I always thought you were just upset with me.”

“I’m not much of a handgun guy, myself. You should ask Serph to teach you.” With that, Heat disappeared down the hallway.

“What was that all about?” Argilla shook her head, still aggravated. “Honestly, I think I understand Heat less and less by the day. Don’t you be sorry, Sera. You’re a marvelous help to us just by being here. Without the blood you gave us, Jinana and so many others would either have died or gone mad.”

Jinana had finished recuperating a few days earlier, and had gone back to the Maribel base, which had also come under attack from a Solids force on the day of the battle. They hadn’t suffered losses as heavy as the Embryon, but the survivors had been disheartened by the news that their leader had gone berserk. Hearing that the Embryon had brought Jinana back from the brink had given a major boost to their morale. They were now rebuilding their base even as they worked with the Embryon to maintain control of the Solids’ stronghold and clear out any remaining resistance nearby. They still hadn’t found Mick the Slug since he’d fled, and so they had been careful not to let their guard down, but the trust that formed the cornerstone of the Embryon–Maribel alliance was holding strong.

“Come on, cheer up,” Argilla continued. “And . . . that gun doesn’t suit you at all, so just let me hold onto it, okay, Sera?”

Sera didn’t move. She clutched the heavy gun close, and shut her eyes as if in prayer.

“Argilla, is Cielo really awake?” Serph said as he came rushing into the room, only to stop short when he saw the handgun in Sera’s arms.

Sera opened her eyes and looked right at him. “Serph,” she said calmly, “I have a favor to ask you.”

“Stand with your feet a little wider apart, so they’re even with your shoulders. Like that, good. Now shift your right foot back a little. Square up your shoulders, and lean your weight forward just a bit. Don’t hold your arms straight; let your elbows bend outward. You want them firm but not locked—that’s right. Relax your upper body . . .

“Now focus on those sights—you want that front sight right on the center of the target.”

Serph and Sera were out amongst the ruins in a relatively safe area near the Embryon base. The rubble and debris had been cleared away enough to form an open space, and a series of concentric circles had been painted on one of the concrete walls at the far side. Argilla, along with a number of other tribe members who’d been scheduled to patrol during this time, looked on worriedly from nearby.

Sera kept a serious face as she followed Serph’s instructions step by step. “Good,” he said. “Now hold that stance, and remember, you want to squeeze the trigger smoothly. Okay—fire.”

As the hollow gunshot echoed, Sera let out a yelp and nearly dropped the gun. Red paint splattered from a piece of debris; the shot had missed its mark by a mile. Argilla brought a hand to her forehead, and the other tribesmen traded pitying looks as they whispered to each other.

“Like I said, you need to relax your upper body,” Serph reminded her. “Especially your shoulders. That’s only a paint gun, but it still has some kickback. For someone like you, who’s never held a gun before, recoil can be a lot stronger than your body is expecting, and if you tense up too much to anticipate it, it interferes with your ability to aim. Use your elbows like they were springs, to absorb the recoil’s impact. Try it again.”

Sera rubbed her cheek and nodded. She faced the target and got back into shooting position.

After about an hour of further instruction, Serph told Sera that he needed to go to a meeting with Gale. He and the bishop needed to discuss where exactly they were going to send the girl.

Mick and Bat had fallen for the decoy container, but they weren’t going to stay fooled forever. Bat presumably still had the blood capsules that the Maribel had given him, and it stood to reason he and Mick might analyze their contents. They probably wouldn’t make the immediate leap in logic that would connect the blood with the girl the Church was seeking, and thus lead them to Sera, but since the enemy knew the location and layout of the Embryon base, the first order of business was for Serph’s tribe to find someplace to keep the girl safe.

He drew Argilla aside. “Would you mind looking after things here until she finishes up? When she’s done with target practice, I also want her to learn how to field strip and repair her gun. You can handle all that, right?”

“Well, yes, sir,” Argilla said, furrowing her brow. “But do you really want to have Sera going into battle wielding a gun?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t dream of having her see live combat, if I have any choice in the matter,” Serph replied. “But Heat did have a good point. Sera’s really hurt by the fact that Cielo got injured while she stood by, afraid, without anything she could do. She needs to feel empowered, and while maybe it’s a bit drastic, I think letting her get some hands-on gun practice is for the best. Gale approves of it, too.”

“Well, sure.” As more gunshots rang out from the makeshift shooting range, Argilla looked over with a worried expression. “But it makes me nervous. Forget about ever having been in combat—she’s never even held a gun before.”

“Argilla, you know better than anyone that a nine millimeter doesn’t amount to much in a close-combat situation. For Sera, it would just be a means of self-defense.” Serph shrugged as he glanced over at Sera, who was still intently focused on the target. “Besides, with the way Atma are spreading and growing throughout the Junkyard nowadays, even a high-caliber magnum barely qualifies as a powerful weapon. And she’s only training with paintballs, not real bullets.”

Another gunshot sounded, and red paint spread across the wall where the target had been drawn. It wasn’t anywhere near the center of the circle, but she’d at least managed to hit the right wall this time.

“It’s not like she’s going to cause any real damage with a stray shot. Then maybe after she gets used to handling the gun, she can switch over to real bullets.”

“Sure.” Argilla pursed her lips. “But I still don’t understand why she needs to have a weapon. She’s got us to protect her, right? We’re hardened to this way of life. But her? I get what Heat is thinking, but . . .”

“But what?”

“It’s hard for me to put into words,” Argilla responded softly after a moment. “But I just want her to be someplace where ‘kill or be killed’ isn’t how things are done. I want her to stay her beautiful, kindhearted self. And to see her trying to learn how to kill, when it’s so far from who she is, is like watching her trying her hardest just to sully herself. It tears at my heart.”

Serph was quiet for a while, just watching Sera’s target practice, unable to find words to answer.

“I spoke to Jinana,” Argilla went on, voice even quieter than before. “I’m not going to use Sera’s blood anymore. Neither is Jinana. We’re going to kill and devour our opponents, just like everyone else. Because this is what we are now.”

“Argilla?” Serph was startled. Hadn’t it been Argilla who had most fiercely resisted the urge to feed her Atma, who had wanted more desperately than anyone else to go back to normal?

“Don’t say it,” she interjected. “I promise I haven’t given up on myself or anything like that. But Jinana and I talked it over and we came to this decision together. When we fought that skeleton creature in the Solids’ basement, I finally understood. This is who I am, now. What I am. When I crushed that bastard’s skull, it gave me chills. I was horrified—but it felt so, so good. You know what I mean, don’t you, sir?”

Argilla wasn’t looking back at him with her usual pink eyes; now they had taken on a faint golden sheen.

“Yeah.” It took a few moments before Serph replied, his voice calm. “I know what you mean.”

Serph had felt it, too, countless times, in the heat of battle: that detestable thing inside him that stirred up revulsion and pleasure at the same time. Until now, Argilla seemed to have been avoiding acknowledging it. A shadow crossed the side of her face as she averted her eyes.

“Sera’s blood keeps that in check. It lets you get by, without killing, without eating, going on like you’re still human, but it’s . . .” Argilla’s voice trembled, and she wiped roughly at the corner of her eye. “As much as I don’t want myself to get hurt, using her blood is like nibbling away at her life, bit by bit. I can’t let myself say I’m protecting her while putting her through so much suffering. I can’t stand it.”

Serph gently patted Argilla’s hand. He could imagine how long she and Jinana had agonized over the subject before coming to this decision.

“So I don’t need any more of Sera’s blood,” Argilla said after a brief silence, steeling her resolve. “I will fight, I will win, and I will eat those who I kill. And I will become stronger, for her sake. I don’t want to get hurt, but if it comes down to a choice between my safety and hers, I will choose Sera every time. I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to go back to being truly human, someday, but for the time being, this is what we are. That girl has done so much for us that it doesn’t matter what happens to me in the course of paying back that debt.”

“Stop it with all this ‘it doesn’t matter what happens to me’ talk,” Serph insisted. “You’re an important member of my team, Argilla. There’s not a single person in the Embryon who ‘doesn’t matter.’ That includes Sera, but it includes you, too.”

“Of course. I apologize.” Argilla stared for a moment at a teardrop on her fingertip, then flicked it away. “But I’m still opposed to having Sera carry a gun. It just feels wrong to me. Especially Heat’s suggestion that she use it to threaten to kill herself. Why would she ever even be in that kind of a situation if we’re doing our job protecting her?”

“Think of it this way, Argilla,” Serph said, watching Sera struggling to load a new clip. “We’re going to do all we can to keep Sera safe. Not because of some Church decree, but because we—myself, the Embryon, Jinana, and the others—all decided to. But there are other tribes here in the Junkyard, and they’re all looking for her. And the Wolves and the Brutes are the two biggest remaining. Not to mention we don’t even know where Mick the Slug is. Sera still has a lot of enemies out there.”

“I know that, but—”

“If we don’t do everything we can—or even if we do—there’s a chance Sera might get captured. In that case, if there was something she could do that could buy her even a little bit of time, or possibly create an opening for us to exploit, we’d want her to do it, right? So having her carry a gun isn’t a bad option. Worst-case, if she winds up ever having to actually use it, that means we’ve already failed.” Serph’s tone was stern, now. “At that point, rather than having her gun pointed at the enemy or at herself, she may as well be pointing it at all of us.”

“If she winds up having to use the gun, we’ve failed,” Argilla repeated with a sigh before shaking her head in frustration. “Fine, I get it. We just need to keep her safe. Plain and simple. No matter what happens, I will protect her. If you want her to carry a gun, fine. But just you watch. She’s not going to need to use it. I’m not going to let anyone lay a finger on her.”

“That’s the ticket, Argilla.” Serph smiled and patted his sniper on the back. “We’ll protect Sera. No one lays a finger on her. No one causes her any harm.”

A moment later Sera came trotting up to them with soft little footsteps, the gun clutched tightly against her chest. “I’m sorry,” she said to them, catching her breath. “I’m not sure what happened, but the trigger won’t pull anymore. I think it might be stuck on something. I’ve looked it over but I can’t see why it won’t move.”

“Huh? Here, let me see it for a—Sera, your hands!” As Argilla took the gun from the girl with a practiced motion, her voice suddenly wavered. Sera looked confused. “Look at those cuts you’ve got!” Argilla exclaimed.

Sera’s delicate hands were bloodied in several places. When she gripped the gun too high, the recoiling slide had struck her hand between thumb and forefinger, tearing open the skin. She had also managed to get a couple blood blisters when she clumsily seated the clip, and another when she pinched her finger in the slide while reloading.

“Sera, it’s okay. You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” Argilla cupped Sera’s injured hands in her own as she looked the girl in the eye. “We’re going to be sure to keep you safe, no matter what happens. Training with firearms is fine, but if it’s going to cause you to get hurt like this, then—”

“Argilla, stop. Please, let me do this,” Sera said with such desperation that it made Argilla snap her mouth shut. “Doing this makes me happy. I like that I’ll be able to do something the rest of you can do.”

Argilla was at a loss for words. Sera averted her eyes, but she went on speaking. “I want to be able to do the things you guys can. I don’t want to just stand by doing nothing while other people protect me. All this fighting has been really scary, but you guys are always able to handle yourselves. But you had to learn too, right? And I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me like Cielo did, all because I don’t know how. I . . . I want to be able to fight on my own, and so—”

“I understand, Sera,” Argilla said. The girl was on the verge of tears, and Argilla breathed a soft sigh as she squeezed her hand gently. “Just don’t push yourself too hard. Why don’t you stop here for today, and you can do some more tomorrow. If you don’t get your hands patched up, it’ll hurt too much for you to be able to aim anyhow. Remember, I’m the best sniper the Embryon has, so I know what I’m talking about.”

“All right.” Sera’s melancholy face at last broke into a smile. “Sure, tomorrow. Do you think I’ll be able to hit the target then?”

“Heh. We’ll see. But first, if you don’t get those hands looked at, you’re not going to be hitting anything. Come on.”

Leaving Sera in Argilla’s care, Serph turned to head off to his meeting with Gale. No sooner had he started toward the base, however, than he heard a panicked voice shouting his name. Looking around, he saw a tribe member hurrying toward them from one of the nearby buildings. On instinct, Argilla pushed Sera behind her.

“What is it?” Serph asked. “Is it Mick and Bat?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s something that . . . I’m not really sure.” The tribesman had run so fast that he was gasping for breath, bent over with his hands on his knees; his face was twisted up in consternation. “On the other end of the base, an entrance to some passageway that wasn’t there before just suddenly . . . opened up in the ground, and about twenty Newbies came out of it.”

“Twenty?” Serph could barely believe what he was hearing. A passage suddenly opening in the ground was bizarre enough, but to hear that a group of twenty people had made it past the Embryon’s security cordon and gotten so close to the base was both improbable and disturbing.

“They say that they’re survivors from the Wolves—which doesn’t make sense, but it seems that the tribe was . . . swallowed up by something.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure, exactly. They don’t seem to know, either. They just said that, before they knew it, their entire area was swallowed up, and the only place for them to flee was underground.”

The thought that some Atma had gone berserk crossed Serph’s mind, but it was hard to believe that even a powerful group of feral Atma could so swiftly destroy the Wolves, the second largest tribe in all the Junkyard. “Who’s over there now?” Serph asked.

“The bishop and Heat, sir. For the time being, all the intruders have been restrained—they gave no resistance. One of the Newbies seems to be their leader. He asked to speak to the leader of the Embryon. The bishop refused him, but Heat said we should go and fetch you, sir.”

Given Gale’s cautious nature, Serph understood why he’d be wary about having the tribe leader appear in front of an unknown party. But why would Heat request his presence?

“I’ll be right there. You go on ahead and tell the others I’ll be there soon.”

The tribesman saluted in acknowledgment and ran off. Argilla and Sera, who had been standing by listening, looked on dubiously. “What’s with that?” Argilla asked. “It doesn’t sound like we’re under attack.”

“Something strange is going on. I’m going to go check it out. Sera, why don’t you stop for today and go with Argilla to get patched up and get some rest. Don’t overexert yourself.”

Sera nodded, her face pale. She clutched her handgun tightly in her injured hands, as if it were some sort of good luck charm, and Serph went to follow after his man.

The ruined back section of the base had been converted into a storage area. Unused materials and broken-down pieces of equipment had been piled inside, leaving almost nowhere to walk. Now, in one corner, an area of roughly five square meters had been hastily cleared, and amidst all the tidied-up junk stood fifteen or sixteen Newborns, faces awash with nervousness. They were surrounded by Embryon members, most of them armed with guns, some having called upon their Atma to add to the intimidation factor.

Gale and Heat were overlooking the scene from a mezzanine one level above when Serph joined them. Serph thought it strange that Heat hadn’t manifested his Atma; if anyone would have been eagerly belligerent in this sort of situation, he’d have figured it would be Heat. Instead, the big shock trooper simply stood with his arms folded across his chest, glaring down at the group of nervous-looking rookies.

“Sir,” Gale said, turning to Serph as he came in. Faint creases appeared across his forehead. “There is no need for you to be here. I can interrogate these people and report to you.”

“Shut up, Gale,” Heat snorted dismissively. “Serph.” He gestured silently with a nod of his chin, and Serph let his gaze follow.

“Are you the leader of the Embryon?” asked one of the Newborns, trying to step forward. The surrounding tribesmen quickly intercepted him, but he showed no sign of being afraid as he stared past their raised weapons.

Serph could feel his face going pale.

“I apologize for the deceitful means we employed in coming here,” the man said. “But please understand that my men and I were left with no other choice.” He gestured with one hand to his fearful comrades.

The speaker was a tall man in good physical condition. He had a low voice that carried well, and fine red hair a duller shade than Heat’s, tied into dozens of slender braids. He had the white markings of the Wolves painted across his cheeks, but didn’t appear to be their actual leader. His chiseled masculine features and tanned complexion made him look far older than a typical Newborn.

“How rude of me. I haven’t given you my name. I am—”

“Lupa.” The name spilled from Serph’s lips as he stood there, dumbfounded.

“What?” A look of shock crossed the other man’s face. “How do you know my name, Serph of the Embryon?”