Excerpt: Accidental Deaths

Riecel, Daggerhand, has been on an offworld task. He returns back, but has been injured…
Klaxons and bells and sirens sounded out over the darkness of night. Geraint woke immediately, scrambling out of his bed and into clothes as he punched buttons on his callbox console.

‘Sounds worse than usual; Get a Sustainer, ready… Yes, I’m looking now…’

He opened his curtains, looked out towards Vortex Hill and the blackstone gatepads; the orange glow that presaged the arrival of a returning Operative was different, intermittent, fading and growing. He swore hugely.

‘Sorry, Mitrel; this is going to be a bad one… get me everything you’ve got. Oh, and contact the Flesherhouse.’

He grabbed for his emergency pack, plunged towards his Post Room and was running before his feet hit the floor. The interrupted glowing was a sign that the Blackstones were in a holding pattern; the Operative in transit was so badly hurt it was touch and go whether they’d live or die; only once a code was transmitted to the Blackstones would the Operative be released and returned. It couldn’t hold for long, of course, but it did give at least a fighting chance of getting a Sustainer and a Healer in place first.

He toiled on, wishing he had Rina with him…

And then stumbled, almost fell as it hit home; Rina was on an Operation and this might even be her.

Gods, he hoped not…

He paused for breath, looking back down the hill. Equipment was leaving Rebuilding, and there was activity from the Flesherhouse, too. Good.

Or not.

But if this was going to be as bad as he thought…

He punched a sequence into his wrist unit, hoping…

Presently a voice, scratchy over the miniature circuitry, barely distinguishable over the sirens.

‘Ruscus, Apprentice Healer…’

‘Good lad,’Geraint shouted into his wrist unit. ‘Geraint, Rebuilding. Get you to Vortex Hill, would you? I need support and I like your work. Go to the Down gates and put in the emergency code you learned in training with me. Hurry.’

The Apprentice arrived moments later in a flash of orange light through one of the several arrivals ports.

‘Director?’

Geraint stuck out his lower lip.

‘Sustainer’s just below the brow of the hill – three, five minutes away. Gate’s got to release the hold pattern soon or it’ll lose stability. Feel up to helping me?’

‘Of course; what do you need?’

‘Wish I knew, lad. Well, then.’

He tugged a skein of fabric from his emergency pack and unfurled it, pressing a switch on his belt unit. The fabric hovered mid air, and Geraint guided it towards the Blackstones.

‘Gate’ll drop the Operative onto this; easier to work with than the ground, and we don’t know where the injuries are like to be. You know what I need; heart, breath; I’ll do bloodflow and pain blocks.’ He raised his voice as the oscillation of the holding pattern increased and the shimmering sound of the working Blackstones increased. ‘Should warn you; it might be a woman…’

The siren sound dimmed, quietened as the Blackstones activated to drop a figure onto the waiting hoverbed. Ruscus coughed; the smell was terrible, but he ignored it and reached out to the figure, not seeing the exterior as he sent his gifts into the Operative and found, held, got control of the heart. Breathing next, and that was hard; so much damage, so much pain even though the injured person was screaming, or, rather, trying to…

Geraint grunted with what may have been relief; he knew Rina well enough to recognise her umbra, and this wasn’t she, it was a man, and he was screaming and that was making everything so, so much worse. He reached up over the body, touched pressure points on the neck and cut off all nerve transmission, then sent his gift lower and did a disconnect on the man’s vocal chords.

‘You’re just making it worse, doing that,’ he said gruffly to the Operative. ‘Ruscus, watch that breath, now! And the heart; every beat, every breath, I’ve had to paralyse him to get the pain down. Where the hells is that Sustainer..?’

‘It’s not going to help,’ a voice at his side; the team bringing the equipment was arrived at last. ‘He’s too damaged. The Ghostwalker’s behind…’

‘No!’ Ruscus looked quickly up. ‘He wants to be saved; he’s fighting so hard; we can’t just…’

‘Easy; we won’t,’ Geraint assured him. ‘Well?’ he demanded of the Senior in charge of the Sustainer team. ‘Work to do! Get that damn machine in place at least, then off you go and write me your resignation!’

‘But, Director, this is obviously…’

‘Man’s ears still working; you don’t say stuff like that in front of anyone you’re meant to be helping!’

Privately, though, Geraint had to agree with the Senior; there were so many injuries, so much damage…it hadn’t helped that, on top of everything else, this poor fellow had been dumped in a river or something, and the pungent smell of rotting mulm and mud was overpowering, particularly as it was not quite masking, but mingling horribly, with the acrid, bitter smell of… it took him a minute to recognise it… of burning.

And then he sent his Healsense in to cushion the man as the temporary floatbed lowered him onto the platform of the Sustainer, and deeper, and Geraint saw a trace of an old injury, a repair to the cheekbone near the eyesocket discernable even through the mantle of taskfleshing and he knew who it was and he staggered back and found he’d sat down on the ground with a bump, and raggedly pulled his wrist unit to his mouth.

‘Prand, oh, Gods, man, you’ve got to get here… hurry…’

‘Geraint? Is all well with you? Where do you need me; is it Rina..?’

‘No, there’s that, at least.’ He swallowed, ashamed and alarmed to find he was on the verge of weeping. ‘It’s Riecel. He’s back, but he’s badly… Vortex Hill…’

‘On my way.’

Geraint struggled back to his feet. At the top of the Sustainer, Ruscus was counting to himself, eyes defocused. One hand was clenching and unclenching rhythmically as he steadied the heartbeat; his other hand he raised and lowered in a slower rhythm, four heartbeats to the in breath, four to the out.

Good.

Geraint reached out to touch the least damaged part of Riecel’s taskflesh, grateful the lad was in a body several sizes larger than his own; it meant that the core of Riecel’s flesh was likely to have sustained less damage than the scorched, bloodied mess before him suggested. Gods, but it must have hurt!

He flowed his awareness in, starting to seal off blood vessels torn apart by the fire, tried to begin reconstruction… fluid loss was far too high, and the blood wasn’t staying where it should.

‘Steady on, lad,’ Geraint called out to Ruscus. ‘Slow that heart by one in four, and the breath… see if he can go without it.’

‘No… wait…if I lay in blocks… there’s another problem…’

‘If it’s congestion, it’ll be a residual. Can you hold him steady while I do a quick repair?’

‘Yes, I… a quick..?’

‘Good lad… there, that’s better, that’s nicely now… Riecel, lad, I’m going to… wait up! What’s this?’

He raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise.

‘Well, it’s a help…’

‘Geraint?’ Prand’s voice, horror in it, at his side.

‘There you are, man!’ Geraint continued working without looking round. ‘Lad over there’s got the heart and breath steady for me; lungs are mending. You’ll be interested to hear I saw another hand at work; your Rina was close enough to him to shove in a few blocks and start lung repair. Good girl, she probably saved us a load of trouble, of course, some of ‘em slipped in transition, he was feeling it when he arrived…’

‘There’s a Ghostwalker behind me!’

‘Just a minute… wait..there, that one, that one…Ruscus, can you feel, pain blocks in the lungs and throat?’

‘No… you masked them all when you blocked high…oh! Yes… lungs shouldn’t be that painful now… the throat’s beyond me, Director…’

‘A minute, then. Right. Prand, sorry.’

Geraint paused to nod towards the Ghostwalker.

‘I hope we won’t want you, but don’t go far, just in case.’

He waited until the Ghostealker had moved a little way off, turned to Prand.

‘Well, do your job, man!’

He saw Prand swallow and his face grow stern as he approached to stand at Riecel’s shoulder.

‘Riecel, Daggerhand, welcome back. I understand your difficulties; be assured Geraint and his assistant are doing all in their power to assist you…’

Riecel didn’t respond, and Prand turned anxious eyes towards his friend.

‘Sorry. Got him numbed stiff…I’ll try to give him some movement, but I don’t want to knock out the painblockings or he’ll start to yell again… there…’

Riecel drew a huge breath, gasping and raw, and began trying to form words with the ruin of his mouth.

‘More blocks, Ruscus!’

‘Yes, Director!’

‘No, Riecel; do not speak – give them a moment…’

Geraint straightened up, swept his Healsense over the injured Daggerhand.; he was managing to breath now with only a little support… Better. But better enough?

‘Ruscus, try to get everything as even as you can; I’m going to try the machine now…’

A two-note hum, broke, repeated, then a judder that made Riecel gasp and the glow of lights along the side of the machine as it began to work. Geraint drew a relieved breath, shaking his head.

‘That was a bit close!’

‘Director!’

The note of desperation in Ruscus’ voice alerted Geraint and he went back in with his gift as Riecel began to convulse.

‘Got it. Blood vessels constricting… Sustainer’s putting lines in now, just hold for a minute… that’s better. Prand, now would be a good time to talk to your Operative, he’s not stable in his flesh…’

Prand fell to his knees beside the floatbed and tried to keep his tone measured, calm.

‘Riecel, Daggerhand, hear me. I know you are in difficulties; remember, you have been here before many times; You did not give up your fight then; do not do so now. Remember Charlwood Bray; you were in worse straits then, albeit not so much pain. It will take but a moment for the Healers to assist you and…’

Riecel turned the remains of his face towards his Director; Prand tried not to wince, not to show his horror.

‘But I need your Recall; after all you have endured, for you to lose the information we so desperately need…’

‘Director!’ Ruscus spoke up, horrified. ‘You can’t expect Recall now, surely? Your Operative is in no condition…’

‘My gratitude for your concern; it shows commendable courage in the face of my wrath,’ Prand replied. ‘I am, at present, occupied. We can perhaps discuss this later, once Riecel is no longer in distress...’

‘Then may I say? Even with all our blocks, it’s going to hurt him to talk, and I fear he may even be lacking bits of the right anatomy. The Ghostwalker could help?’

‘A good thought.’ Prand nodded for the Ghostwalker to approach. ‘Riecel, think back to your Operation; try to concentrate. What is most pressing for me to know?’

Background sounds; a different sequence of noise from the Sustainer. Riecel twitched as intravenous lines from the machine entered his flesh to begin the task of consolidating and stabilising him.

‘Sorry about that,’ Geraint said. ‘I can’t do any more with blocks; you’re going to be hurting a bit if we can’t put sleep on you soon.’

He glared at Prand, who nodded imperceptibly.

‘Ghostwalker?’

‘Director. Your Operative says…’ the mans voice softened, the patterns changing as he began listening to the words in Riecel’s though and relaying them. ‘He’s dead. Tovaq. Not my hand, but perhaps my responsibility. Deia… I gave Skaarl my word to protect…’

‘Very well; that he is finally removed can only be a blessing. I will think on this. Anything else of note?’

‘I have to say…this will be…’

The Ghostwalker broke off.

‘This man is distressed to bring the next news; it is too difficult…’

Geraint looked up.

‘Whatever it is, he gave up fighting when he thought of it; Ruscus, we need to give more support to the systems. Kick off healing in the throat and mouth…’

Riecel moved, tried to form words.

‘Do not speak yet!’ Prand said. ‘Whatever this news may be, it will keep for a few hours. I need you alive, in this life, more than I need your Recall now. Hear the Healers; you know you can trust Geraint. Permit him to assist you further.’

‘Will you stay with him, while he undergoes Rebuilding?’ the Ghostwalker asked. ‘I have the sense that it would be of service to him.’

‘Of course I will; may Geraint let you sleep now?’

‘He agrees,’ the Ghostwalker said. ‘But he has grave concerns…’

‘Very well. My gratitude for your aid, Ghostwalker; you may return to your offices.’

He waited for the Ghostwalker to leave the vicinity, drew close to Riecel to speak to him.

‘I give you my word, I will attend you personally until you waken. Meantime, do not be troubled; sleep now.’

‘There we are, then,’ Geraint turned a control on the Sustainer, nodding as a fine line extended into the Daggerhand. A clear fluid ran along the line, into the flesh. ‘You’ll soon be better, now…’

‘Drugs, Geraint?’ Prand asked, disapproval heavy in his tone.

‘Lad’s really badly, man. Thought you could see that.’

‘Even so…’

‘Come on. Need to get him to Rebuilding now; there’s not a lot of fluids stored in here; he’s not safe yet…’

‘Geraint!’

The Rebuilding Director sighed, waved a huge paw over the float platform. Prand tried not to notice Riecel’s blood covering the hand.’

‘I don’t want to risk sending him too deep. The machine can calibrate it better; reading the lad, he don’t know how badly he’s hurt; could tip him too far.’

‘I see. Well, then; why do we tarry?’

The words were hardly out of Prand’s mouth when the sirens began again; a simple note this time, a simple notification of a returning Operative. He tensed; Geraint steadied the float platform, and all of them looked to the Blackstone gatepads.

An oscillation of orange lights swirled and flickered and a sound, an eerily beautiful song, crescendoed up with the lights. The glow and the song coalesced, and a figure emerged, stumbled out of air onto the platform of the arrivals pads. He was yelling something.

‘…ooo! Nooooo! Not yet; send me back!..No…’

Ruscus looked at the figure, at Prand, shaking his head in astonishment. Prand started forwards to the figure, reached him as the lights and the song ceased abruptly.

‘Vernil! Hold peace; steady yourself…’

Geraint saw Ruscus’ confusion, shook his head at the apprentice.

‘Don’t worry over it; it’s just Vernil in a taskflesh.’

‘But he looks like the Director…’

‘I’ll explain later. Prand? How is it with him?’

‘Vernil? Can you say?’

Vernil was gasping for breath, the exertion of his protest against his sudden return.

‘Prand, it’s… is Riecel back? He…’

‘Yes. We have him. Geraint has made him safe.’

Vernil strained to look at the float platform.

‘He… oh, look at him..! he’s going to be all right? Like that? I didn’t know it was that bad, I…’

‘Come. I need to get you to Ilesha…’

‘No! Prand, I have to go back! Rina’s still there, and…’

Prand took Vernil’s arm, began to lead him towards Geraint, who was gesturing impatiently.

‘We need to get Riecel to Rebuilding before any other action. If you need to go back, very well, but not in that flesh. Ilesha will shortly be offering the Flesherhouse to the inspection of the Council, and I’ve no wish to cause her any awkward moments explaining why I have had my appearance copied. I shall, of curse, need your Recall once you are unFleshed; might I ask, though? I understand Garan is dead?’

‘Yes, yes, that’s so. Riecel – Skaarl got the blame. They burned him, again.’

‘But it was not he.’

‘No; it wasn’t any of us.’

‘That’s good; there has been too much unnecessary intervention by other Directors’ teams…’

Prand considered matters. With Tovaq dead, and both Riecel and Vernil returned, surely Rina could not be far behind?

Vernil was speaking, gabbling, almost, the words falling over each other as he tried to get his story out.

‘Tried to stop it, gave him every chance to save himself – even offered to swap him for an illusion, but he wouldn’t…we did all we could, but it wasn’t enough, and Famma went off into labour at the same time, and…’

‘Vernil; breathe.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Good. Hold peace,’ Prand went on more gently. ‘Can you say – do you have any notion – is it likely to be long before Rina is finished with her task?’

‘I wish I could say. She’s finding it so hard; I don’t know, I don’t understand these things, not really…’

‘She’s not found Limnette, yet?’

‘No; I don’t think it’s time, yet. I think she has to stay there until the baby’s born…’

‘Famma’s child? You say she is in labour now, currently?’

‘Well, yes, but I didn’t mean Famma’s baby; I meant Limnette’s.’

Prand came to a stop.

‘You said?’

‘..so it’s likely to be a few more weeks…’

‘What’s the delay?’ Geraint, further down the hill, turned back. ‘We’ve got to get… Prand? You all right?’

Prand shook his head, managed to start moving again, holding peace. Seeing the look on his friend’s face, Geraint said nothing, just raising his shaggy eyebrows.

Oblivious, Vernil carried on with his report.

‘It won’t be long now, Rina says. And…’

‘Vernil. Do not…this is unpleasant for me…’

‘But…’ Vernil stopped, thought, realised. ‘You didn’t know? I should have realised; Rina didn’t, either. She…’

‘Spellbinder, hold peace…’

‘But no, Prand. You don’t see – you don’t think… listen, it’s not that – no-one knew, I think. Limnette and Skaarl… before Rina went across…’

‘You said..? But, that would mean when Limnette was here – how is it possible? How could Geraint not have seen..?’

They were near the bottom of Vortex Hill now, and there was enough artificial lighting for Prand to see the back of Geraint’s ears were red. He swallowed his fury and his pain and his outrage and focussed on matters to hand.

‘Vernil, I gave my word to Riecel I would not leave his side until he is healed. This means I cannot accompany you for to the Flesherhouse…’

‘It’s all right; I know the way to the back room. Can I ask, first? How is it with Shannah?’

‘Well; she is keeping well, although I think she is beginning to tire a little.’ He tipped his head towards the Spellbinder. ‘Go. Become unFleshed. I will speak with you as soon as I may do so.’

Vernil nodded and disappeared around the sound of the Flesherhouse towards the rear doors, and Prand turned his attention back to the float platform and his Daggerhand.

‘Apprentice? How is it with him now?’

‘Me?’ Ruscus swallowed, surprised at being addressed, and tried not to stammer. ‘Heart and breathing are settling down; there’s massive trauma and venous collapse is still imminent. However, he seems quite determined to survive.’

Prand nodded.

‘Gratitude. With regards to the way you spoke to me earlier…’

‘I apologise if I offended you; it seemed more important to look after the Operative than to let you worry him asking for information…’

‘Quite. On that basis, then, when you are sufficiently forward with your Educating classes to require a place with a Director, you might wish to contact me; you remind me of a Healer I used to Direct.’

Geraint guffawed, repressed it hastily. Prand ignored him.

He was still ignoring him when they reached the privacy of a room on the ground floor of Rebuilding; there was a Rebuilding bed set up and primed, ready to receive an occupant.

‘Ever used one of these before?’ Geraint asked of Ruscus.

‘No, Director. Just basic orientation and that time we used one for the Scryer…’

‘Hmm. Time to learn, then. I’m like to get no help from yon!’ he added in a sour aside, glowering darkly at Prand. We detach the line here – the one that goes into the neck, see? Now, that makes our first connection to the corresponding socket on the side of the big Rebuilder… wait for the light to change to orange…’

‘There, Director!’

‘See how the sockets on the portable match up with the Rebuilder? We just continue making connections all down this side… then we pull on the float from the other side of the bed…there, that’s it. Now, he’s over the Rebuilder, half the lines are in, check the settings and the status of the flesh… good. Now, as we’ve got half the lines in, we can just disconnect the other half and allow the Rebuilder to take over…’

More lines snaked into the Daggerhand’s injured flesh and Geraint allowed the float skein to lower him towards the bed base, pulling in the fine mesh at the last minutes so that the Daggerhand settled softly onto the surface.

‘Always, always check the Rebuilder’s getting everything; it’s not that I don’t trust the machines, it’s just that I like to be sure. It only takes one thing to malfunction and you’ve got a death on your hands. And I don’t think Prand would like that!’

‘Some of these readings are a little worrying, Director,’ Ruscus said. ‘The heart is not so regular as I’d like any longer…’

‘What? Oh, I see it. Well, I’ll sit with him an hour or two, see if he settles without additional support.’

‘Then, with your permission, I’ll take a time to visit your eating facilities. I’ll come back later, if I may. Will an hour give you long enough to talk?’

But for long enough, they did not.

Geraint sat at one side of the Rebuilder, monitoring the systems, while Prand took up a station at the other in grim silence. Every few minutes, Geraint would nod to himself as he interpreted the information from the Rebuilder, or frown if all was not quite as well as he’d expected.

Finally, it was Prand who broke the silence.

‘You were aware, when you received Limnette’s flesh, that the woman was with child.’

It was a statement, not a question, and Geraint was sorely tempted to treat it as such…

‘You must have been aware that asking Rina to inhabit this flesh would be incredibly difficult for her…’

‘You underestimate her; she’s very good…’

‘I did not mean to imply I doubted her talent!’ Prand snapped. ‘But that it will be distressful for her! I take it she did not know?’

‘Do you think she’d have done it, if she’d known?’

‘My point exactly!’

‘But we needed it to be done. You needed it to be done.’

‘Not this way! Had I known…’

Prand held peace for a moment; all argument, he knew, was futile. He could not alter what had already taken place; all he could do was, somehow, bear it.

‘For a moment,’ he began quietly, ‘on Vortex Hill, my entire world collapsed. You cannot begin to comprehend…’

He fell silent, struggling again as he relived the horror of the moment.

‘Had I known the condition of Limnette’s flesh earlier, it would have spared me at least a little distress.’

‘Would it, though? She’d still…’

‘Yes.’

Geraint sighed. He’d been in the wrong to keep Limnette’s pregnant state to himself and he knew it. But once Rina had left on her task, he’d fully intended breaking the news to Prand gently in a quiet moment. Only there hadn’t been any quiet moments…

‘Well, and I’m sorry you were upset. You can take some comfort, though; she was pretty far along when Rina got into her; if it’s like Vernil says, and she’s only waiting for the baby to be born, we won’t have long before she comes back…’

‘She would still have to try to locate Limnette’s umbra and reintegrate them. Besides, if it were so, then how could my Marwe not have noticed when she entered the flesh?’

Geraint looked uneasy again.

‘Aric didn’t want to complicate things. He wanted her to go willing to the task…’

‘Had she know, she would never have agreed… even so, there is something more. Limnette would surely have been with child the first time she was brought here? After Riecel saved her from the hunting pack?’

‘That was a puzzle to me, too, at first. But they’re different from us.’

Geraint stuck out his lower lip and waggled his hands in a shrug.

‘When one of our kind come into being, the first stage of development is the forming of the ossuary for the umbra. It’s basic, primitive, but within a few days it’s developed enough for the nascent umbra to seat itself there. That’s what we see, we Healers, when we test for pregnancy; a developing umbra.’

He pondered a moment, looking for words to express his thought.

‘They, on the other hand… the umbra of them is different. Only one life; they’re more physical creatures than spiritual. No gifts as we have them. Their spirits need a more substantial house of flesh to take up residence in. While our women carry for almost a year, the ladies of Esh – and many other single-life worlds – do it less, about nine months or so. Limnette would have been in the very early stages of pregnancy the first time she was here, in the weeks before her baby became engaged within its flesh. That’s why none of us – Rina included – spotted it.’

‘I see. But still, I am not comfortable that Aric has…’

‘You know something? Need to get that jealousy of yours under control…’

‘I?’ Prand tugged at the edge of his robe. ‘Jealous? Simply because…’

Geraint was grinning; Prand glared at him for a moment, then relaxed.

‘Of course I am concerned; I would not wish either my Marwe nor my Operative to have to do anything out of character for them. I have no doubt, however, that, given the choice, neither of them would willingly…’

‘I know. Lucky fellow aren’t you?’

Prand managed a hint of a smile.

‘Yes. Yes, I suppose I am.’