new, aren’t you?” He put his head on one side, considering.
“Yes, I am,” Edward said, flexing his hands slowly. “And that’s no business of yours, I’m afraid.”
“Right, right; I don’t need to know,” agreed Marco. He came closer still. “All the same . . . I’m intrigued. You’re mortal, but not
Homo sapiens sapiens
! And you’re a cyborg, aren’t you? In a limited kind of way.”
“You’ve been here a long time, haven’t you?” Edward smiled at him. “They haven’t kept you informed. Yes, I’m the latest fashion in security technicals. But I’m not general knowledge, you see. Just like you.”
“A lot like me,” Marco said, sidling just a bit closer, sniffing the air again. There was something unnervingly familiar about the giant. Deep-set palest blue eyes, dun-colored hair, fair skin, and a general strangeness in the articulation of his upper body . . . and very broad, very high cheekbones.
Alec, who had had the opportunity to look into more mirrors than the other two men, understood first and grunted as though he’d been punched. Edward managed to smile.
“You know, I do believe you’re right,” he said. “Do you suppose we’re related, somehow?”
“Not a doubt in my mind,” said the other. “You’ve got some of our genetic material. So the Company’s trying again, huh? I knew they’d come around in the end. Well, this feels like a birthday or something! Can I offer you a beer?”
“No, thank you.” Edward kept smiling. “But please indulge yourself, by all means.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” said Marco, and sidled past him to reach out to the refrigerator. He began to smile, too, a funny little smile that stiffened Edward’s spine. Neither of them were turning their backs on the other.
Marco held up a beer in a salute—Edward had calculated its suitability as a weapon in a microsecond—and twisted its neck off.
“To the Old Guard!” he said, and drank.
“To the Old Guard,” said Edward. “And its last bastion. So this is what they’ve got you doing, is it?” He gestured at the table and its writhing occupant.
“That’s right,” Marco said, belching. He wiped foam from his mustache. “Reaching for the unreachable star. Every time I think I’ve figured out a way to make one of the little bastards die, they reroute or regrow or whatever—and I’m back where I started.”
“You seem to have damaged this one pretty badly,” Edward said, strolling around the steel table, to put it between them under pretext of examining what lay there. Alec had his eyes shut tight. Nicholas, weeping, couldn’t look away.
“It always starts out easy,” Marco said, setting down the beer. “They come here wanting to die in the first place. The sense of guilt—for whatever reason—is strong enough to override the basic defense programming. They let me strap them down, and then there’s nothing they can do but go along for the ride.
“That’s the honeymoon, then, that’s when I can take off their arms or their legs and ask them questions about what they’re experiencing. Only problem is, when I’ve worked on them long enough so they’ve lost voluntary control, the involuntary reflexes kick in, and those are unbeatable. So far,” he added, reaching for his beer again.
“There are no poisons?” Edward frowned down at the subject.
“None. Their systems neutralize them.”
“But—surely if you removed the heart—?”
“They start growing new ones. I could do that with this thing.” Marco pointed with the beer. “You know what would happen? He’d fugue out, and I’d put him back in his box and pump in bioretardant to keep the heart from growing back, and it wouldn’t—but nothing else would happen. The biomechanicals in his system would fight the retardant to a standstill. If enough time passed, they’d start converting molecules from the bioretardant into new tissue! He’d still be alive in there, shut down, until the next time I
“Yes, I am,” Edward said, flexing his hands slowly. “And that’s no business of yours, I’m afraid.”
“Right, right; I don’t need to know,” agreed Marco. He came closer still. “All the same . . . I’m intrigued. You’re mortal, but not
Homo sapiens sapiens
! And you’re a cyborg, aren’t you? In a limited kind of way.”
“You’ve been here a long time, haven’t you?” Edward smiled at him. “They haven’t kept you informed. Yes, I’m the latest fashion in security technicals. But I’m not general knowledge, you see. Just like you.”
“A lot like me,” Marco said, sidling just a bit closer, sniffing the air again. There was something unnervingly familiar about the giant. Deep-set palest blue eyes, dun-colored hair, fair skin, and a general strangeness in the articulation of his upper body . . . and very broad, very high cheekbones.
Alec, who had had the opportunity to look into more mirrors than the other two men, understood first and grunted as though he’d been punched. Edward managed to smile.
“You know, I do believe you’re right,” he said. “Do you suppose we’re related, somehow?”
“Not a doubt in my mind,” said the other. “You’ve got some of our genetic material. So the Company’s trying again, huh? I knew they’d come around in the end. Well, this feels like a birthday or something! Can I offer you a beer?”
“No, thank you.” Edward kept smiling. “But please indulge yourself, by all means.”
“Don’t mind if I do,” said Marco, and sidled past him to reach out to the refrigerator. He began to smile, too, a funny little smile that stiffened Edward’s spine. Neither of them were turning their backs on the other.
Marco held up a beer in a salute—Edward had calculated its suitability as a weapon in a microsecond—and twisted its neck off.
“To the Old Guard!” he said, and drank.
“To the Old Guard,” said Edward. “And its last bastion. So this is what they’ve got you doing, is it?” He gestured at the table and its writhing occupant.
“That’s right,” Marco said, belching. He wiped foam from his mustache. “Reaching for the unreachable star. Every time I think I’ve figured out a way to make one of the little bastards die, they reroute or regrow or whatever—and I’m back where I started.”
“You seem to have damaged this one pretty badly,” Edward said, strolling around the steel table, to put it between them under pretext of examining what lay there. Alec had his eyes shut tight. Nicholas, weeping, couldn’t look away.
“It always starts out easy,” Marco said, setting down the beer. “They come here wanting to die in the first place. The sense of guilt—for whatever reason—is strong enough to override the basic defense programming. They let me strap them down, and then there’s nothing they can do but go along for the ride.
“That’s the honeymoon, then, that’s when I can take off their arms or their legs and ask them questions about what they’re experiencing. Only problem is, when I’ve worked on them long enough so they’ve lost voluntary control, the involuntary reflexes kick in, and those are unbeatable. So far,” he added, reaching for his beer again.
“There are no poisons?” Edward frowned down at the subject.
“None. Their systems neutralize them.”
“But—surely if you removed the heart—?”
“They start growing new ones. I could do that with this thing.” Marco pointed with the beer. “You know what would happen? He’d fugue out, and I’d put him back in his box and pump in bioretardant to keep the heart from growing back, and it wouldn’t—but nothing else would happen. The biomechanicals in his system would fight the retardant to a standstill. If enough time passed, they’d start converting molecules from the bioretardant into new tissue! He’d still be alive in there, shut down, until the next time I
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