Page 36 of Tyton: The Spider and the Dragonfly (Tyton #1)

T

he red glow of afternoon had long since faded. The stars and the city provided the only light. Talia’s knives lay spread out on the table. She drew one across the whetstone, meditating in the monotonous scrape of metal against stone.

Distraction found her anyway.

Talia placed the knife she held next to the four others, meticulous in their arrangement, and pulled out an old stack of cards from her sharpening kit. She shuffled the tarot.

Talia did not believe in the tarot but Georg had given it to her. It had been his mother’s and he had no-one else to give it to, so it had become hers. Talia used it to concentrate. And keep her connection to Georg.

Despite Talia’s tarot agnosticism, Sesi had only made the mistake of commenting on it once. It carried no magical powers, but like Sesi’s ulu, it meant something. Sesi understood and had felt deeply ashamed. They hadn’t spoken of it ever again.

She turned the first card, relaxing her gaze into the image. The Tower. Talia would be the bolt of lightning that would trigger its collapse. The structures. The organisation. Their purpose. It would all come crashing down. The hint of a smile passed her lips.

Talia took a deep breath and turned the second card. Justice. That was for Elena. The Natalists’, as a group, were indisputably evil. But one could justify the brainwashing. Elena’s sin was uniquely horrendous. She knew the consequences and did it anyway.

A small part of Talia hoped that Elena had changed.

A larger, more vengeful part of her wanted retribution — even if the outcome would have been the same.

She couldn’t forgive her betrayal, but the guilt of leaving her behind ate at her nonetheless.

Elena, alive. Elena dead. Elena freed. She could live with two of those outcomes and Elena had already rejected one of them.

Talia hoped she regretted her decision, but she knew better. They were too much alike – unwavering in their choices once made.

She turned the next card. The Wheel. Change was coming, an unstoppable juggernaut. Talia had known this, but she had not prepared for it.

Before, the voice that told her she would need to change had been a whisper.

Now it screeched incessantly in her ear.

She had turned her face away every time.

She did not know who she would be after.

She did not know how to be after. But that remained a future problem. Right now, it was a distraction.

Talia turned the last card. The Star. Hope. Sesi. Callie. Kids. All of it too good for her. More than she deserved. Especially Callie. Sesi could understand her need for revenge. But Callie was too pure for it. It’s why she would need to change.

That made her afraid – and Talia never showed fear.

She had moulded her muscles and mind to ignore it.

But now that tiny voice, that distraction kept telling her that once she fulfilled her purpose, she would fuck up the rest. That Callie and Sesi would see her as a liability, a finely honed tool fit for a single purpose, but obsolete.

“You never got that far, did you Georg,” she muttered. She bundled the worn cards and placed them back in her kit. She needed a different tactic.

Talia paused and took several deep breaths.

She counted her knives. She chose one and drew her eyes along the blade, finding the nicks.

She found the point. It had a three-degree angle from the distal ridge.

She followed it to the hilt. Her current purpose was to coat as much of it as possible in blood.

She could examine her other purposes after.

Georg had taught her that.

Georg had also been too good for her. The designer of the Ruskov chamber had sold all of his stock the day before he had discovered it and told the board that Model 21 had been founded on the uploaded consciousness of Dr. Morgan Black.

Black had succeeded with the upload but told the board he had failed.

And while NovAITech benefited financially from his continued inventions, Model 21’s purpose was never to invent.

It was always to preserve and propagate Black’s mind.

Georg just didn’t have all the details.

That came from Sesi and an old biology textbook much later and only after they had found and killed Georg. At the very least, he had been able to be a pain in their asses for several years. He had bought them some time and she would always be grateful.

Talia smiled, remembering the day Georg discovered that biosig sensors couldn’t read Sesi.

She had grinned like an arrogant idiot, stance wide, a crate of experimental IntelArms that she had simply picked up, hoisted on her deliciously wide shoulders, and carried away.

Their SmartCartridges drove the Styx out of The Cars for good.

That was the night Talia fell in love with her. She always did fall hard and fast. And Talia suffered from persistent colour blindness when it came to flags. Red? Green? Who cares? Sesi was fucking hot.

As was their sex life. Like two lionesses and violence was their love language. She knew how that would end. She knew that even now, if she lost either her or Callie, those wounds would never heal.

Callie had somehow given her Sesi back. And what pittance could Talia offer in return? It was all too much. Too good for a fuckup with anger issues like her. A tear blurred her vision. Talia wiped it away angrily, wishing she could punch her emotions into submission.

Talia sighed and grit her teeth. She finished oiling her knives and placed them back in their sheathes.

By tomorrow, Sesi would have the location of the Natalists’ labs and she could put her past behind her.

She could begin anew. She could take the first step on her journey to becoming good enough for Callie and Sesi.

January 14 2268

Talia sat up, bleary-eyed. She cursed herself for never muting her Opti. Too few people even knew how to reach her.

But it was too late. A rush of guilt flooded over Talia, followed quickly by the type of blinding rage she hadn’t felt in years. She could dissect who had seen her without her mask on later. Right now, she needed to get to the base and then she would kill every last one of them.

Talia flew into her clothes, cinched her knife belt and burst out the door. Sparx’s motorcycle thrummed lowly outside the alley.

“How did you…” she started.

“If I know where she is now, I knew where she was last night.” Sparx refrained himself from making any further suggestive comments. Talia forced herself to be as grateful as she could be in this situation.

Talia hopped on the bike and Sparx revved the ethanol. The cowling glowed brighter in response.

“You had to pick the most conspicuous mode of transportation?” Talia growled. The whine of the supercharger echoed off the Hexaline. Thankfully the streets were mostly devoid of people at this hour. “Does it also shoot confetti?”

“You’re welcome,” Sparx shot back.

They lucked out with a clear stretch of pavement to power through all eight gears, but in the early morning, a thin sheet of frost still clung to the roads.

Sparx locked the front wheel. The back slid gracefully across the ice, positioning the bike to power at full speed around the corner. Talia had to admit, this was kind of badass, though she’d never admit that to Sparx. She would need to look into getting a bike of her own after this was done.

Sparx glanced back to check on Talia. “What the fuck? Where’s your helmet?”

“It fell off the back.”

“Christ, Talia! You’re supposed to put it on your head!”

“No time.”

“If you die, whatever horrible thing you think you can do to me, Callie will, in fact, do worse.”

The thought of Callie losing her shit and torturing Sparx because of her death did cause a thrill to sparkle over her. Sparx felt Talia shift in her seat.

“Jesus, you’re not really getting off thinking about that, are you?” Sparx yelled, horrified.

Talia squeezed him in response.

“You truly are a sick fuck, you know that?” Sparx grumbled.

“Just get me to the base. You can lecture me on the morality of my sex life later.” Talia squeezed him again. “And the sex life of your best friend.”

Sparx gritted his teeth and sped faster.

They heard a sharp crack. Talia jerked to the side. “Fuck!”

“What now?”

Sparx heard the slide of a knife and then a tear.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He screamed.

“Cutting a strip off your t-shirt.”

“What? Why?”

“I need a bandage. That arsehole shot me.”

Sparx tilted his rearview to catch Talia wrapping a piece of his shirt around her arm and one of Black’s SecTac goons racing after them.

“Fuck, Talia! This isn’t a military bike!”

Talia turned to get a reading with her Opti. Trevor McKellan. Age 33. Reflex enhancers, Aggro ChemTec and visual lockers. They wouldn’t be getting away without stopping him.

“Keep going, I’ll deal with him,” Talia yelled, checking her magclamps against the cowling.

She pulled her IntelArms pistol from its holster and began firing round after round.

She had the advantage with two free hands while Trevor had to stay steady enough to use one.

As long as they kept him far enough away and she kept shooting, he wouldn’t be able to hold steady long enough to get another lock.

Three shots hit. None of them did a goddamn thing. Trevor’s military grade BulitWeave performed admirably. Talia swore and grit her teeth.

“What kind of tyres is he using?”

“I don’t fucking know!” Sparx yelled.

“Check. Your. Mirror, motorboy.”

Sparx tilted the mirror, his Opti catching the signature grip pattern of the Verglas DeepFreeze line.

“They’re Verglas, why?”

“Winter tyres. Then they aren’t armoured.” Talia tossed one of her pistols and pulled two knives, placing one between her teeth and firing sporadically. “Take this corner. Now!”