A Perfect Machine(67)

Marcton launched himself across the room, tackled Kendul. Both men crashed against the window behind Kendul. It bulged, but didn’t shatter, then they were on the floor, Marcton on top of Kendul, right fist pummeling his face over and again.

At the sound of the scuffle, Cleve, Bill, and Melvin came running. The door was open and they burst in. Cleve immediately grabbed Marcton by the shirt collar, yanked him off Kendul. It took both Cleve and Bill – one with each arm – to subdue Marcton. He didn’t say a word, just stared at Kendul where he lay bleeding on the office floor, and struggled against Bill and Cleve’s bulk, trying desperately to break free so he could pulverize Kendul’s face some more.

Melvin stepped outside the office, told everyone everything was OK. A friendly disagreement. Sorted out in a matter of moments.

“What the fuck happened?” Cleve said in Marcton’s ear. “Calm down, man. Come on. Calm down.”

At Cleve’s words, Marcton struggled a little less, sanity slowly filtering back into his brain. His breathing calmed, arm muscles relaxing enough so that Bill and Cleve felt safe releasing him. Marcton shrugged his shirt back into position, smoothed his hair back, said, “This piece of shit killed Palermo. It’s his fault.”

Bill and Cleve said nothing, just looked down to Kendul for his reaction. Kendul pulled himself into a sitting position on the floor, back against the front of the wooden office desk. Caught his breath. “Sure,” he croaked, leaned to the side, coughed twice, spat up blood. “I killed him. He killed himself. I guess both are true.”

Cleve and Bill just looked to both men, confused.

Kendul stood up slowly, arranged his clothing so it settled on him properly, wiped blood from his nose, said, “We let it happen, Marcton, and we shouldn’t have. We should have told people. At least you. Probably others. But we didn’t, and Palermo’s dead. That’s on me. That’s on Palermo. But there was something… intangibly bleak about Adelina when she started changing. It washed over Palermo and me in that house. By stopping her ascension, we felt like we were simultaneously saving her and damning her… But listen, we can do something about it now. We can take Kyllo down. Bury him. Like we buried Adelina all those years ago.”

“Why not just let him ascend?” Marcton said. “What’s he to you? You’re not saving a son or brother or something, so just let it run its course.”

“Marcton, that’s what I’m trying to say: I don’t think ascension is a good thing. If you’d felt what we felt back then… You’ll have to trust me on this. Kyllo needs to be stopped. Hell, the Inferne Cutis as a whole probably needs to be stopped. Palermo could have put this in clearer terms, but I think there’s just something cosmically… wrong with us.”

Marcton went silent.

“All that aside, I know where she is,” Kendul continued. “And I think I know how to bring her back. I have no idea how – or even if – we can control her, but it’s our best shot.”

After a long moment Marcton said, “You said she’s a machine. Like Kyllo.”

“Pretty close, yeah. By the sounds of your description, she’s a bit smaller than Kyllo, but probably not by a lot… And if we can bring her back, she needs to know that Kyllo killed her father. That could be our ace. Once she knows that, it might be enough for us to control her – to a certain extent, anyway. She can bring down Kyllo, then we put her back in the ground, just like we did the first time. Then we fucking well leave this place. Try to set up again in some other part of the country, far away. Or hell, another country entirely. We’ll do what we’ve always done because what other choice is there?”

Time ticked by. Bill and Cleve remained silent, thoroughly in the dark about most of what was said, but smart enough not to ask questions right now. Outside the office, every pair of eyes was aimed toward the window. Marcton glanced out at them, felt the weight of his responsibility to them, then looked back at Kendul.

Finally, Marcton said, “We do this last thing together, then you step down. I think we can agree that your views on our society leave a lot to be desired – especially in a leader. Agreed?”

Kendul turned his head, spat more blood, turned back, looked down at his boots, said, “Agreed.”

“OK,” Marcton said. “Show me.”





E I G H T E E N





This is the house in which she was born. This is the house in which she died. Well, kind of died, anyway.

Three years ago, Adelina – the daughter of the Runners’ leader – had been the first to achieve ascendance: full lead content in the body. Almost too perfect to be true. But she had never thought anything was perfect, and she was right about that – especially in this case.

She’d been in bed when the change came upon her. It had happened differently than it had for Henry Kyllo. For Adelina, it was swift and agonizing, completing in a matter of hours rather than days. She had gone to bed looking as she normally did, but when she woke up the next morning, sixty percent of her body had metallized overnight. She woke up screaming and didn’t stop until her father and Kendul burst into her room. Kendul had been visiting as he occasionally did – secretively – for a shot or two of single malt scotch, maybe a cigar.

When Palermo saw her, he froze. As he watched, she began thrashing madly, the increased weight of her body causing the cheap wooden bed frame to crumple under her as she chopped at its sides with her metal hands and feet. It thumped to the floor, and that sound was what finally snapped Edward out of his paralysis.