The Malice. Peter Newman

Or we will.’

      For emphasis, Duet charges her pistol.

      Vesper reaches for her but the other’s hand stops her, firm. She tries to reach the Harmonised with words instead. ‘Don’t kill them!’

      ‘We won’t –’

      ‘– Unless –’

      ‘– We have to.’

      The family is bound with wire, hidden behind furniture. It is telling how quickly they capitulate. Vesper turns away, goes to the window. Through the grime, she sees lights pass by. The beams point eagerly, hoping to find a target. Once, twice, thrice, they appear, circling, moving on.

      Vesper leans against the sill, resting her head on toughened plasglass. Muscles tremble, allow themselves a brief respite.

      Time passes while she stares into space, seeing the outside world but mostly not seeing anything. Then, flitting past her line of sight, a small shape, bleating and frantic. Before she knows it, she too is running.

      Duet’s voice is a chorus at her back. ‘Wait!’

      But she doesn’t. A sudden burst of energy takes her through the broken door, onto the streets and away. She ignores the sword, heavy on her back, ignores the fatigue.

      ‘Wait,’ she calls. ‘It’s me. It’s Vesper.’

      At the sound of her voice, the kid stops and looks round.

      Vesper slows, crouches, opens her arms.

      Little hooves skip across stones. Bleating becomes lighter and the kid throws himself into Vesper’s embrace.

      ‘There you are. I’m so sorry, I thought I’d lost you.’

      The kid rubs his head against the girl’s. Lips clamp gently around an ear.

      ‘Come on, we can’t stay here.’

      She gets up to find Duet towering over her. Their faces are hidden behind visors but she can guess enough from the two pairs of eyes. She is not afraid though. Compared to her father, their disapproving looks seem amateurish.

      ‘Are we going back to that house?’

      ‘No –’

      ‘– We have to keep ahead –’

      ‘– Of the search parties –’

      ‘– And get to –’

      ‘– The port.’

      ‘Genner said help would come.’

      Duet takes her arm, talking as they go. ‘Help will –’

      ‘– Find us.’

      ‘Or the First will,’ adds the injured one, bitter.

      Troops spread through the city, a net of people, threading between buildings. Crawler Tanks speed down the Tradeway, joining others already squatting at the port’s entrance. Sky-ships move in random patterns, combing the air.

      Harmonised, girl and goat run, hide, run some more.

      Slowly, the trap closes around them.

      There is no longer time for care and Duet sprints, half dragging, half carrying Vesper between her. The girl tries to keep up, tries to help, but weary legs stumble, unable to find their rhythm again.

      Nearby, a door opens and from its shadow, a man gestures, inviting them in.

      They take their chances, bundling inside.

      Vesper and the kid collapse gratefully into a corner. Duet does not have such luxury. One of her places herself between the stranger and her charge while the second leans against the wall, sword in one hand, the other resting on her injured chest.

      The man closes the door quickly, then turns, tanned hands open, empty. ‘You’ll be safe here for a while. Don’t worry, I’m not your enemy.’

      ‘We’ll be –’

      ‘– The judge –’

      ‘– Of that.’

      ‘Yes,’ the man replies. ‘Perhaps this will help.’ A bag is placed on a table. Duet investigates, finds supplies. Rations, medicine, money, tools, all marked with the seal of the Winged Eye.

      She frowns. ‘You are –’

      ‘– Of the Lenses?’

      ‘No. But these things once belonged to one. She would want you to have them.’

      Against Vesper’s back the sword begins to stir.

      ‘Then who –’

      ‘– Are you?’

      ‘As I said, I am not your enemy. But I am not with the Empire.’

      Duet raises her blades.

      The sword hums louder.

      ‘Is this your … judgement?’

      ‘For infernals –’

      ‘– There is only –’

      ‘– One judgement.’

      ‘Are you certain? You do not … appear so. How can you be? The very words you speak are not your own. They are simplistic phrases designed to keep you simple. Only one judgement? If that is so, why are The Seven not here in person? Why do the Empire’s people turn away from Their leadership? If there is only one judgement for … my kind. Why was I asked to come here by yours?’

      Almost imperceptibly, Duet’s sword wavers.

      ‘You are called a Harmonised. You are an attempt at a deeper union, a different kind of existence. I understand this … need. This desire to be greater than your physical self allows. Through me, you could experience complete fusion. It is not too late. Lower your weapons and I will give you want you truly want.’

      The First takes a step towards Vesper. Duet does not move, one of her blocking the way, the other remaining by the wall.

      Duet raises a pistol in her spare hand, points it at the First as it advances. ‘We will not –’

      The sentence hangs, unfinished.

      Duet looks to her partner, still by the wall, silent. ‘Stay with me!’

      The First shakes its head. ‘But you are not … together on this. You’ve never truly been together. You are a pretence of oneness. You are a mockery of it.’

      The pistol begins to charge. ‘Shut up!’

      ‘You would rather fall to violence than admit the truth of your position? How sad.’

      She squeezes the trigger. But the First has already stepped aside. Powder explodes from the back wall as she swings the gun round trying to track the infernal.

      There is a blur of movement, too fast for the human mind to follow, and a broken gun falls to the floor. Moments later, Duet joins it, groaning in the dust.

      The First turns to the other half of the Harmonised. ‘And you? What is your … judgement?’

      She looks at the trembling girl and her dazed counterpart. ‘I don’t know.’

      ‘But you do. Allow yourself the thought and it will come.’

      Her blade lowers. ‘She’s yours. But I want what you promised.’

      Vesper chokes back a sob.

      ‘And you shall have it.’ The First crouches by Vesper, leans forward until only inches separate them. ‘You are lost. How could you not be? That broken … relic cannot help you. It is a reminder of something dead, nothing more. Give it up to me and I will let you go.’

      Vesper shakes her head, the movement slight, fearful.

      The First reaches out to