Shadowkill

##

The Omphalite settled himself before the operations console, brought a screen humming up and spreading before them, waved a gloved hand at the image that appeared when he tapped a sensor at the center of the board. “There she is, your… ah… nemesis.”

The contempt and mockery in those words ate at Ginny, but he gave no outward sign of this.

A young woman with matte brown skin and hair a mass of bronze springs sat in a narrow cell staring into the lens. On one cheek she had an outline of a hawk acid-etched into her skin, an elegant brownline drawing. She looked tired and fearful, her eyes were red and still teary, though she’d stopped crying. She was twisting her hands together, repeating the same motions over and over.

It was almost three years since Ginny had first seen her; she’d looked about fourteen then. Despite the stresses and strains of the time since, she seemed hardly older though she had to be nineteen or twenty. Bone structure, he thought, and that baby skin. And playing the child. He didn’t believe any of what he was seeing; he’d learned better. “Kill her.”

The Omphalite snorted. “She’s nothing,” he said. “A front for that sauroid. A pawn. That creature was the real source of her so-called powers.”

Ginny turned his head, stared a moment at the shadow under the cowl, the black jut of the voice distorter. You are a fool, he thought, but he didn’t say it. He went back to gazing at the girl.

“No profit in killing a strong young thing like that,” the Omphalite went on. “She’s due for mindwiping tomorrow, then we’ll put her into a labor levy and sell her services such as they are.” He paused, contemplated the image. “We thought about training her as a courtesan, but she didn’t catch the fancy of anyone here and she’s not pretty enough to be worth the trouble. Strong back and clever hands, that’s her forte. Just recently we acquired a contract labor company, Bolodo Neyuregg Ltd. It was forced out of business because a ring of Execs were caught dealing in outright slavery. Caught, hnh. Foolishness.” He clasped his gloved hands over the solid curve of his belly. “We have reorganized the company and gotten it reinstated with Helvetia. It’s proving a very profitable addition to our portfolio and a useful dump for products our Interrogators have finished with.” Contempt crept back into his voice. “Since you’re so nervous about that chocho, we’ll flake her mindwipe for you. Watching her drool, you’ll see you can forget about her and concentrate on your work.” He touched another sensor and the scene shifted.

A Dyslaeror was prowling about a cell, his fury almost tangible. Rohant the Ciocan.

“Magnificent beast, isn’t he.” The Omphalite flashed images of other Dyslaerors onto the screen, ending with the dark glowering Tolmant. “Aren’t they all. Along with the four we captured during the attack on Betalli, these are the first Dyslaera we’ve managed to lay our hands on. Interesting creatures. Dangerous. Which makes them all the more valuable. Rohant the Ciocan. He and his woman run Voallts Korlach, you know. We want that business. Very profitable. Excellent reputation. Access to places we haven’t been able to touch, you understand.” He grunted. “Stubborn beasts. We tried the probe on two of the younger ones. One of them’s dead, the other might’s well be. Vegetable. They seem to have some twists in their heads our savants haven’t seen before. Perverse. One almost feels it’s deliberate. Which reminds me, our chief Savant will be visiting you in a day or two, give him everything, you know about the Dyslaera. Hnh. They’d make magnificent guards, very decorative and maybe even effective. Assassins perhaps. Think what we could charge for them if we could guarantee conditioning and control. We can start with these, but we’ll have to have more of them. We need to know how to avoid stirring up that cohesiveness and bloody-mindedness they show when one of theirs is attacked. Or perhaps we could learn to transfer that loyalty to us. That’d be good.” He tapped the sensor again.

“That’s a tracer Op called Samhol Bohz, he’s a native of Ekchua-TiHash, interesting world, I’ve sent a small expedition to see what we can pick up there. This obsession of yours, Seyirshi, it’s proving immensely valuable to us. We acquired Bohz in that attack on Betalli; he was leading it. Works for something called Excavations Limited, the proprietor of which is one Digby no-last-name no-planet-of-origin. Digby. My chief Interrogator thinks the name’s a pun, shows the way the blitsor’s mind works, something he thought up when he started his business. Odd man, if you can call him a man these days. Tied to his kephalos with more fibers than a Paem bud to ve’s parent. Stays in his nest, never goes out except by holo. Can’t get at him. Which is the point, I suppose. He’s beginning to be a nuisance, but we have to leave him be until we have more data. We’re thinking of programming Bohz and sending him back to scavenge for us. Maybe, maybe not. Depends on what we can wring out of him here. Whatever, there’s always the labor levy. One way or another, he’ll make us a profit. We have expenses, you know, we can’t afford to waste anything. Besides, recycling is a virtue, yes? Talking about profits…”

He began pulling up images of the rest of the prisoners, commenting on each. Some were to be milked of everything they owned and killed. Those with positions of power in their home spheres would be given blackmail poisons, tailored parasites or other addictions, according to the assessment of the Savants and Interrogators, and sent home to work for Omphalos. A few would be sold to their competitors-through convoluted cutouts to keep Omphalos clean. These were stacked in stasis pods; they’d been kept unconscious so they wouldn’t have any notion of who had collected them. “Except you, Seyirshi. If any of that lot came across you, say a year from now, I wouldn’t give odds how long you’d last.” He droned on until he reached the end of the images. “We should harvest several billions by the time we’ve finished with this. To say nothing of an exponential increase of influence in a number of sectors. A successful operation, wouldn’t you say, Seyirshi?”

“Most commendable.”

“Ah, yes. Now. One last thing. Certainly you would prefer to avoid the Probe. It’s so easy to slip and apply just that little extra pressure that does so much damage.” He tapped a sensor and retracted the wristcuffs that locked Ginny’s arms to the chair. “So much simpler and safer if you give us the location, entry codes, and totals in your various accounts, then authorize the transfer of these funds as we direct.”

Ginny Seyirshi turned to stare at him; then, without a word he began entering the data.

Dyslaera 1: Rohant