The Composer of Screams Read online

  Arhestanots was a small skyscraper, only thirty stories. Their most sensitive data was secured on floor twenty-five, a floor without windows or any entrance except for one door, closely watched by a dozen cameras.

  Simon thought it was disturbing, really, how easy it was to break in. Obviously, he had an easier time than most due to his membership, but he had still managed to hack his way into their data center with nothing but a pad and some off-the-shelf virus programs. He couldn't help but think it would have been much more difficult if they had even a single guard physically watching the door.

  But he supposed it was a good thing it was so easy. It was Friday night. It was his last chance to steal the Helix for the Queen of Loveless, and the fey were not known for their leniency. And if there had been a guard... he didn't know what he would have done.

  And he didn't want to know.

  This wasn't the first time he had done something stupid for his sister, but usually it was small things. Stealing candy when they were kids, that sort of thing. Not treason. Well, it was too late to back out now.

  He crept through the rows of servers, his breath creating little puffs of fog in front of his face. It wasn't actually freezing, but it was pretty damn close, in order to keep the servers as cool as possible. He had never been here before, but he knew the layout well enough. Even a low-ranked member like himself had access to the blueprints.

  When he reached the center of the room, however, he found out that not everything was on the blueprints.

  There was... something in front of him. It was hard to tell in the dark, but nestled between three servers was a mass of pink flesh ten feet high and about five wide. It was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, and smelled terrible—at least the cold dulled it a bit. Sparse hair sprouted here and there, mostly on the thing's rounded top, which was far too lumpy and misshapen to be called a head. The mound of flesh shrank back as Simon watched, then expanded again, then shrank back...

  It was breathing. It was alive.

  Then its eyes snapped open, and Simon jumped about three feet.

  The eyes were located almost dead-center in its chest, and as big as golf balls. They were a harsh silver, matching the fog and mist of the server room, and positioned just over what he now realized was a closed mouth.

  Then the mouth opened, revealing a too-large tongue and broken, twisted teeth.

  “Sibriex?” the mouth asked, in a deep, rumbling male voice.

  Simon opened his mouth to speak... then closed it again. He couldn't find the words.

  “SIBRIEX?” the creature asked again, punctuating its demand with a turret that unfolded out of the ceiling and pointed itself at Simon.

  “Yes!” Simon said, finally finding his wits. “Yes, yes, I am a sibriex!”

  There was a long rush of air. It took Simon a moment to realize it was a sigh of disappointment.

  “Never get to shoot anything,” the creature muttered. Then its eyes fixed on him again. “Password?”

  Simon swallowed. “I'm sorry?”

  “Password,” it repeated. The turret whirred as it prepared to fire. “Any real sibriex would know the password.”

  “I'm new!” Simon insisted. “I don't know any password!”

  “It is the fourth thing sibriex are taught, impostor,” the fleshy beast hissed. “You would have learned it on your very first day.”

  Simon blinked. Wait, the fourth thing he had been taught was...

  “Never leave an experiment unattended, no matter how harmless it seems?”

  That rush of air again, and the turret withdrew. “Correct.” The creature grumbled to himself. “Never get to shoot anything...”

  “Uh, right,” Simon said a little anxiously. Or a lot anxiously. “Wh-who are you, exactly?” He had been about to say what, but had a feeling that wouldn't have gone over too well.

  The mouth laughed, spewing some fluid Simon didn't want to identify all over his black sweatpants and sweater. “They still haven't told you?” The mound of flesh quivered with amusement. “Narek said they were keeping me hidden, but I didn't think he meant from our own culture.”

  Simon blinked. Narek Nhang was the sibriex warlord... well, for a loose definition of the term warlord. More like CEO. He was far more interested in experimenting with the toy maker than politics and violence. Then again, that described most sibriex pretty well.

  “I... don't understand why he would hide you,” Simon said slowly. “From anyone, not just us.”

  There was a long, long pause.

  The fluid on Simon's clothes slowly began to drip onto the floor.

  “Frozen hells,” the creature finally muttered. “You're serious. Are you an idiot?”

  Simon frowned. “No need to be rude. I just don't get it. However you were made, you're clearly an impressive use of the toy maker. Why wouldn't he want to show you off?”

  “You kids have skewed priorities,” the creature grumbled. He was speaking easier now. Simon wondered if that was because he hadn't spoken in so long and needed to warm up first, or if he had just been faking before. “What do you think the Servants would do if they discovered me?”

  The Servants were... hard to categorize. Based in the Cathedral, they were the closest thing Domina City had to an organized religion. Sure, the city had a few churches here and there to every major religion and quite a few minor ones, but none of them had really taken root. The Servants had grown from the city itself, and thus had a much stronger following. Even though most people thought their beliefs were a bit weird, they were highly respected for their humanitarian efforts.

  But what would they do if they found a creature like this?

  “Probably nothing, actually,” Simon said after a moment. They just weren't hostile in general. “I'm not sure why you'd think otherwise. Besides, they have a lot more on their plate than worrying about one slightly creepy experiment.”

  The creature laughed again. “It's cute that you think that. Haven't you ever wondered—wait. What's on their plate right now?”

  Simon raised an eyebrow. “Well, they're pretty involved with cleaning up after the screamers. They don't really have time for much else.”

  The mound of flesh shivered. “Screamers? That a new subculture or something?”

  Simon blinked. Huh. “When's the last time you talked to someone, or checked Fundie or anything?”

  The creature's eyes closed. “Ahh... not sure. Six months for the internet... about a month since I saw an actual person.” The mound of flesh quivered. “But that's not so strange. I mostly just keep an eye on our servers here.”

  Simon rubbed his hair back. “Right... I'm guessing you stay off the internet to stay out of MC's sight.”

  “Exactly,” the creature said. “I don't know what she'd do to me, and don't particularly want to find out. However.” His tone turned serious again. “You're avoiding the subject. What are these screamers you mentioned? Last I heard the Rahabs were the only gang that was still giving Necessarius trouble.”

  Simon closed his eyes. “Superpowered zombies.”

  The creature chuckled. “No, really.”

  “Really,” Simon said seriously. “I figured you wouldn't believe me, but it's the truth.”

  “Uh-huh,” the creature said dryly. “I'm sure—” He stopped talking suddenly. “That's odd.”

  “What is?”

  “My scans indicate you're telling the truth. That's very... odd.” He quivered again. “Do me a favor—see that loose cable behind you?” Simon searched around and found an inch-thick cable next to a nearby server. “Yeah, that's the one. Hook it up to that port there, would you?”

  Simon did as the creature suggested, and heard the hum of another machine powering up. “That your internet connection?”

  “Yeah...” he muttered, his eyes distant. He licked his lips with a too-long tongue. “One second, I'm just gonna—”

  He stopped. Dead still.

  Crap, Simon thought. Did I kill him? “Uh... dude? I mean, sir? Yo
u alive?”

  The creature gurgled wetly. Simon couldn't tell if that was a confirmation or one last death throe.

  “I'm gonna go find help,” Simon said. Nine Hells if he knew what he'd tell anyone to explain his presence, but he'd think of something.

  But just before Simon ran off, the creature recovered. “No, no, I'm fine. Just...” He swore in a language Simon didn't recognize. “Dzhokhk... need a minute to digest all this.”

  Simon could relate. The entire city was still reeling a bit. Between the biters, the burners, the bats and the bleeders... it was a lot to take in.

  The creature spoke up sooner than Simon expected. “Has anyone been able to determine where these powers come from? What they are, how they work?”

  Simon shrugged. “By now, you probably know more than I do. All I know is that Doctor Clarke is working around the clock to figure that out, but he hasn't reported any results.”

  “I need to talk to MC,” the creature muttered. “Wonderful.”

  “Uh, didn't you just say—”

  “Let me rephrase that: You need to talk to MC for me.”

  Simon blinked. “Wait, how's that work?”

  “We'll set up an anonymous server that I can look at. I might not be as good as her, but I can at least make sure she can't detect me. Then, you ask her questions.” He grinned with that mouth too-full of teeth. “Simple.”

  “That's not what I meant. Why me? Surely there's someone else better suited.”

  The creature grunted in annoyance. “Did you miss the part where I haven't seen anyone in a month? Nhang and I aren't on good terms.” He quivered. “No, you'll have to do. Tell me your e-mail address, and we can get down to business.”

  Simon opened his mouth to complain—then quickly shut it again as a thought occurred to him. He could use the creature. He'd realize Simon was using him, of course, but this was still the perfect opportunity.

  “I'll do that,” Simon said slowly, “but first you have to do something for me.”

  There was a short pause.

  “This is the part where you tell me,” the creature said after a moment, annoyed.

  Simon winced. Not the best start. “Right. I need a copy of our Helix. Without there being any trace it was copied.”

  The creature licked his teeth. “Hm... simple enough. Of course there's always the risk... I assume you have a flash drive ready?”

  Simon almost said yes, but thought better of it. “No. I don't have any with the spare space.”

  “Good,” he said, quivering in what Simon thought was a nod. “I half expected you to try and upload a virus.”

  That was Simon's worry too, actually. He could imagine plenty of reasons the Queen of Loveless would want the record of the sibriex experiments—but he could think of many more reasons why she would want the creature that kept an eye on their servers dead or incapacitated in some way.

  One of the servers that made up his little nest spat out a flash drive, which Simon retrieved carefully.

  “That has everything you need,” the creature said. “Check it, if you like.”

  Simon did, plugging it into his pad and scanning through it. It was just text, which he was thankful for. His programming skills were sub-par, but it was harder to hide things in a pure text file. A quick glance was enough to tell him that it at least seemed in order.

  He removed the drive, pocketed it, and bowed deeply. “Thank you very much. I look forward to working with you.”

  “And now for your end,” the creature said. “Your screen name?”

  “Obyrith576,” Simon replied without hesitation. “Spelled the normal way.”

  “Hm, good,” the creature said. “Found it.” His eyes darted up to Simon's face. “When's the last time you updated your picture?”

  Simon winced. Long before he got his skin and hair cosmos, that was for sure. “Maybe... a year?”

  The creature rolled his eyes. “Well, this is clearly you. I'll contact you soon and give you instructions for the interview.” His tone had a sense of finality to it, and Simon knew it was time to go.

  But before he did, a thought occurred to him, and he turned back to the creature. “What's your name, anyhow? You never said.”

  The creature grinned, too many teeth shining in the dim lights of the servers. “Aramazd.”

  Chapter 9: CARO ARTIBUS

  JELENA

  Jelena Aune was a Glasyan of the Third Circle. Third out of Nine, with higher being better. In other words, she was not very important, and she knew it.

  But it was for that very reason that Noble Glasya liked to take her along to meetings. She waved it off to everyone else as Jelena being her assistant—and she did make very good tea—but Jelena knew she valued her keen political ear far more than her beverages.

  But still, she had to play the part, so she carefully placed a cup of tea on a saucer in front of their guest.

  “Thank you, Honored Nightstalker,” the naked woman said graciously. She was a beautiful twenty-five year-old woman with flawless pale skin and very long brown hair pooled behind her. She carefully lifted the teacup and blew on it until it cooled, then took a sip. “Yes, thank you indeed.”

  The Queen-Mother of Fevered Day, the Crone of Night's Eastern Autumn, appeared mostly baseline, except for her marble-black nighteyes. But Jelena knew better than to be fooled by her appearance. She was stronger and faster than Jelena by an order of magnitude. Glasya would probably be able to keep up with her, but Fevered Day's body was just an expendable homunculus, which gave her a large advantage.

  Not that this would come down to a fight. Glasya wasn't that stupid.

  Glasya sat down in the chair opposite the fey very carefully, not making any sudden movements. She was a gray-skinned vampire with dusky black hair in a long braid, dressed in a cute ankle-length skirt and a truly marvelous corset. There was nothing really unique about her appearance, since the culture favored internal toys.

  “Forgive me, Honored Crone,” Glasya said after a few minutes of the fey just enjoying her tea. “But can we get down to business? It's been a while since I received your Invitation.”

  The Queen-Mother smiled as she put her cup back on the saucer. “Oh, I just figured that it seemed like a good time to tell you about the side effects of the toy box.”

  Glasya froze. So did Jelena, behind her. After a moment, she continued preparing more tea on the table behind her, hoping the fey hadn't noticed.

  Necessarius had built a few dozen toy boxes and used them each several times a day. If they had side effects, people were in serious trouble. Worse, the Glasyans were the ones who had negotiated the deal where they bought the prototype from the fey. Even if it was something minor, Butler would come down on the culture like an airstrike.

  Glasya tried not to let her anxiety show, but she was having trouble. “You didn't mention anything before.”

  The Crone grinned. “Now, where would be the fun in that?”

  Jelena heard the leather armrests of the chair squeak as Glasya gripped them, likely to keep herself from strangling Fevered Day.

  “In the future,” she said with admirable calm, “I would prefer to be given a full list of any and all side effects you know of before the transaction is finished.” She plastered on a fake smile. “Now, what is the problem in this case?”

  The Crone tapped her chin thoughtfully. “You know, 'side effects' might be the wrong phrase. The device itself works exactly as intended. No, the problem is the security system.”

  Jelena raised an eyebrow. She had seen the blueprints, and while she was no engineer, she knew enough to be sure there hadn't been anything like that. The 'sarians definitely would have noticed guns or whatever when they were playing around with it.

  But Glasya just forced a smile. “Please, continue.”

  The Queen-Mother leaned forward, her breasts jiggling distractedly, and smiled. “Did your tech-priests notice a filter when they were taking the device apart?”

  “They're not
our engineers—tech-priests. But I vaguely remember seeing something like that. Why?”

  “It modifies the air passing through it,” Fevered Day said. “Uses a few control nodes to introduce an artificial pheromone, and pumps it back out.”

  “To what purpose?”

  The fey grinned. “Come now, Noble Glasya. Surely you can figure it out?”

  Glasya narrowed her marble-black eyes. “No, I can't. What is it?”

  The grin grew wider. “It plants a very specific desire in the mind of anyone who inhales it. An obsessive, illogical compulsion to keep the toy box safe at all costs.” She tapped her lip. “Of course, there is the slight side effect of dementia, eventually leading to the afflicted to decide everyone nearby is a threat who must be eliminated...”

  Jelena closed her eyes. That was... bad. But not as bad as it could be. The Necessarian version of the box didn't have that device, because it was open-air and they hadn't seen the need for what seemed like just an air filter. But the original was still a problem.

  Jelena wasn't quite clear on who had it right now. According to the news, it was the aves, but they were a weak culture, so it had probably already been stolen from them again. Especially if everyone nearby was compelled to keep it “safe.”

  “There is other news,” the Crone said, “there is a very small segment of the population who are immune.”

  She took a sip of tea.

  “Who?” Glasya demanded, finally getting impatient.

  The Crone smiled. “A small control group. One hundred randomly selected blocks were chosen. We then piped a... vaccine, of sorts, into their water supply, and watched what happened.” She frowned. “Two of the blocks were still affected, though. We're not quite sure why.”

  Glasya brushed her hair back with a shaking hand. “I'm going to need a list of those blocks which are immune.”

  Fevered Day's grin was back.

  “You want something in return,” Glasya said flatly. There was no denying it. They really should have expected this from the start. The fey didn't request meetings just to chat. Well, okay, they did, all the time actually, because they were all as crazy as a bag of wet cats, but not like this.