The Blood Solution (Approaching Infinity Book 3) (31 page)

“Holson, your hand,” Vays said.

Jav looked absently at his palm. He studied the two pale ridges of parted white skin surrounding a wet line of bright red blood, which was welling up, soon to overflow. He looked at it, amazed at the detail he saw and the clarity of his vision. Each of his fingers bore a similar cut in miniature and he thought for a moment, because of the color and the lazy flow of the blood, that his hand had been caught in a flash freeze. He looked at his hand, so close and yet it seemed so very far away.
Everything
seemed so far away but right in front of him within easy grasp at the same time. Everything was disjointed and surreal. His head swam and the room began a gentle spin that seemed to continue endlessly, but somehow remained at the same maddening cant. What was it he was thinking just a moment ago? Something in his head. He wasn’t sure if it actually hurt or not, mostly there was the sense of pressure. Suddenly he was sure that he’d lost something. He closed his fingers over the wound, sending drops and a thin stream out either side of his fist to the floor. Still staring at his hand, he said dully, “It’s okay. I heal fast.”

Vays at first frowned at this response, but then said with some interest, “You
do
heal fast.”

“It’s the Bones. Or the Mask. Maybe both. I usually scar up pretty good, though.” Jav didn’t seem to be engaged at all, his tone was completely flat. The words came without any thought.

Vays scrutinized him for a moment and said as he realized, “You don’t have any scars on your face.”

Jav turned to him, and Vays started somewhat at the slight sign of animation. “Let’s see that you don’t make it your goal to change that,” Jav said.

Vays laughed a little nervously at that, but his concern returned. “Are you all right, Holson? I’ve never seen you lose your focus in a fight before. What happened?”

Jav shook his head noncommittally.

“The scary thing is, even when you lost your focus, you still managed to catch my damned sword in your bare hand, and I couldn’t budge it. If I didn’t know better—and maybe I don’t—I’d say you might actually be the monster some people say you are.”

Jav looked at him with eyes that were still far away and yet seemed to see into and through him. Vays hissed his breath in as a chill racked him suddenly.

They stood like that, regarding each other for what seemed a long time until finally Jav spoke in the same flat, unaffected tone, “I have to go.”

“O-okay,” Vays said, unsure of how else to respond. Jav was already passing through the exit when Vays called out after him, “Get that hand looked at anyway, huh?”

Jav had to go, but where he had to go, he had no idea. He couldn’t help feeling a sense of loss, of desolation that painted everything gray and hopeless. He’d never felt like this before. Had he? He started to think that this feeling was not so unfamiliar to him, and it frightened him a little.

He returned to his quarters, stripped his clothes off, leaving them strewn about on the floor, and crawled into the shower. He sat beneath the spray, letting the water rinse the blood covering his hand and the last of the blood coming out of it. His cuts had already sealed at bottom and would be thin white scars by morning. When he concentrated on it, he could feel the minute itch of the skin mending. Through that though, that feeling of desolation once again overwhelmed him. The hopelessness that came angered him, and he sensed in himself the capacity for black hate. A
return
to black hate? He tried not to think about it. Tried to think of nothing at all.

Eventually he pulled himself from the shower and got into bed, curling up in the fetal position, clutching his hand which no longer bothered him in the slightest.

Hours later, Mao returned to the quarters she shared with Jav and was surprised to find him in bed.

She bent over him and gently turned his face to hers. When his eyes opened, they went wide with something akin to shock.

“Mai!” Jav shouted. “Thank god you’re here.”

“God?” Mao shook her head in confusion. “Jav, it’s me, Mao. Are you all right?”

He looked at her for a moment, his sleep-muddled head clearing. “Mao. I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head again, but this time she was smiling. “It’s okay. Just as long as your still glad I’m here.”

Jav’s lips trembled, and for a moment Mao thought that he teetered between tears and a smile. It was the latter that won out and he threw his arms around her.

Salton Stoakes rarely left his concealed quarters within the Palace, but did so on occasion, if only to stretch his legs or to keep certain people company. As yet, no one knew or even guessed at his true identity. He was always careful to avoid contact with the current generals or anyone from Blue Squad. They would know him, but he was discreet and good at going unnoticed. Immortality brought with it its own brand of boredom, and being confined to a small space only intensified that boredom to unendurable levels. His quarters had been expanded and equipped with a small gravity block to allow him to train, but there were times when he simply had to get out.

There was a small group of middle-aged women, all of them still quite attractive, who, unknown to each other, awaited his unexpected visits with the remembered blush of youth. They were always so astounded by his stamina, which was rare in a man his age. But a man was only part of what he was and a man had to keep busy, or so he thought, and this was justification enough.

He would need to leave that behind for a time, though. The new system harbored an assignment for him.

There were twelve planets in System 284. Planets six, seven, and eight were populated and had exceptionally close orbits which were nearly synchronized. Regular contact between these three planets had been observed, and it was the last of them, the eighth planet, to which Stoakes would be sent. Another hapless soul echo awaited.

He stood over the sleeping form of Ana Tain. She was his favorite with her appetites, her freckles, and her red curls—on her head, under her arms, and between her legs. She lay totally exposed upon the bed they’d put to good use not more than an hour ago. He placed a hand upon her smooth, white belly, feeling a useless charge rush through his body. No more time for that. He finished dressing in his charcoal field gear, raised the special collar to cover the lower half of his face, and went Dark.

He breezed through the empty corridors, a figure of streaming black smoke, taking his secret shortcuts, and making his way back to his quarters. There was no door, but from where he entered, his meager accommodations were laid out before him. To the left was the aperture leading to his claustrophobic gravity block that barely afforded him room for practice. His bunk was straight ahead. Immediately to the right of that was a low table and next to that was the Tether Launch Tank, which was set into the wall.

Stoakes took the control device from the table, fixed it to his left wrist, and stepped into the Tank. He adjusted the settings on the control device, and ghostly jellied Vine matter spurted out from unseen nozzles, enveloping his torso.

“Salton Stoakes, ready for launch,” he said.

The Tank revolved 180 degrees with a single jolting lurch, turning Stoakes towards the black of open space. An audible but muted countdown from ten concluded and Stoakes was converted to energy, into a crackling bolt of lightning that lashed out from the Palace, streaking to touch down upon the eighth planet, a wilderness of ice and snow.

Jerra Olaff paused before the mirror. She held her hair brush, clasped in both hands, to her breast and looked over her shoulder again. She had the strangest feeling of being watched, though clearly, she was alone in her room. They were all waiting for her outside. Her brother was visiting, probably for the last time in a long time to hear him tell it. He had business again on Shaala, he said, that would keep him very busy. More than that he wouldn’t say, but Jerra felt the truth of his words, saw it in his eyes. She had toyed with the idea of pursuing Entitlement, had a natural talent for it, but decided in the end that a life in the Church was not for her. It was enough that her brother had become an Initiate of the Sixth Secret.

“Who’s there?” she said suddenly, whirling.

It was more than just a feeling now. Someone was in the room with her. She was sure of it.

From within the closet, Salton Stoakes looked at the girl through the Yellow Diamond Spectacles. Light poured from her head, from a wellspring. Given time, he thought that he might be able to discern its source. Unfortunately, he was supposed to cut it out of her instead. It was as mesmerizing now as it had been with Anis Lausden. He’d wasted too much time admiring it, though, and would have to force himself to take action. He prided himself on his ability to conduct his missions undetected—or at least unseen—but this Jerra Olaff was remarkably perceptive, alert to his presence. It had been difficult to get her away from her family as well. The house was small and cozy, and she rarely left or was left alone. And now another had joined them, her brother, called Faaylin Olaff, whose perceptions were of a far higher caliber. It wouldn’t do to rush this. He would wait a little longer. He would recede further into the shadows, into the cracks and crevices of the house, and wait for her to sleep.

She relaxed when he was gone. He removed himself to a place within the walls where he could watch them all, once she had joined them, through a seam. Whenever he moved even the slightest bit, though, he got the impression that Faaylin Olaff sensed it, so he sought to be very, very still until he was taken for a part of the house itself instead of the intruder he was. He could wait. He was nothing if not patient.

The sun went down and the wind outside howled. The cold didn’t bother him, but Stoakes wondered how and why people settled in places like this, on planets like this, when there were alternatives. From what he heard, a place nearby called Shaala was a paradise. Still, the house was warm enough, built half into the ground for superior insulation. They apparently grew tubers and mushrooms in a sub-cellar which alone might have sustained them, but they also had some animals, which they slaughtered for food as necessary, penned up in another detached structure not too far from the house.

He was impressed by the simple efficiency of their lives and was struck with a peculiar kind of shame: he was growing ever fonder of the smell of Jerra’s mother’s cooking, which filled the house in waves throughout each day. Beyond that was the useless guilt that seemed to plague him of late. Like Anis Lausden, this girl, Jerra Olaff, was beautiful. He could easily see her arm in arm with Holson, even though Holson was now coupled with the last of the Pardine girls, and even though he knew it must never be. He could see the rightness of it, too, but only let that cement his resolve. Stoakes was the Emperor’s man and there would be reward. It may be a long time coming, but his youth returned to him was worth it. After all, people died every day, and she wouldn’t, strictly speaking, be dead when he was finished, not right away, anyway. In the end, she would just be another statistic.

When everyone in the Olaff household was in his or her bed and all was still, Stoakes passed through the catacomb cavities within the walls and eased through a crack at the back of Jerra’s closet. He passed through the hanging clothes and into the room like a rippling black cloak given life. She lay upon her bed and was covered with quilts piled high. These rose and fell with her breathing, and Stoakes had no doubt that she was lost to sleep. Soon she would be just plain lost.

Stoakes pulled the Suicide Knife from its sheath at the small of his back and moved to occupy the impossible space behind the head of the bed, which butted up against the wall. He hovered above her, staring at the whorl of light gushing out of her with the aid of the Yellow Diamond Spectacles—he was getting used to them—judging the best angle to enter and the appropriate depth. The chisel-point tip touched her temple, slid in without resistance until half the blade was buried inside her head. The light winked out, and though respiration did not occur for Shades while Dark, Stoakes felt his breath catch in his throat. His hands were suddenly shaky. He firmed his grip on the Knife and drew it from from the soft embrace of Jerra Olaff’s brain, leaving a few beads of blood in a line upon her temple. He thought that if he returned to normal he would find his eyes wet with tears. He remained Dark.

Someone stirred in another room. The sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, and a man’s voice called, “No. . .
No
!”

The door to the room burst open. Standing there with an eerie light encircling his head was Faaylin Olaff. “
Jerra
!” he cried.

Stoakes was mildly surprised by Olaff’s speed and the subtlety of his perception. He moved out from behind the bed into the center of the room, regarding Olaff through the Yellow Diamond Spectacles. The light around the young man’s head was different from that which came from Jerra, but within it Stoakes thought he saw another kind of infinity. The Spectacles were more distraction than help, so he removed them. Olaff’s crown light was still clearly visible.

Stoakes drew back his Suicide Knife and thrust it forward, a short powerful jabbing motion that had no hope of reaching Olaff there at the door, and yet a chunk of flesh just under his ribs on his right side, turned to pulp and sprayed the wall behind him red.

Olaff bent double, the crown light wavering then growing stronger again. He straightened somewhat, and through bloody spittle he hissed, “What are you? Surely not the King of Spades come to claim my sister.”

“Something like that,” Stoakes croaked out in reply, his Artifact automatically adjusting his speech to make it understood. “I’ll claim you, too, before I’m done.”

The man smiled blackly. “It will cost you.” With an effort, he stood straight, and his crown light surged.

Stoakes felt power on a scale that momentarily shocked him. It seized him, rammed him into the wall behind, and pinned him there. Splintered wood and bits of plaster sifted down. A white-gold ring—the crown light—burned in the wall and held him suspended. His wrists and ankles felt like they might pop, but his left wrist, though it throbbed, had somehow managed to escape the crucifying trap. Stoakes examined his free hand and noted the smoking debris below his feet. The Tether Launch control. He slowly raised his gaze to fix it upon Olaff.