Necroepilogos

Elpida dreamed of chasing Howl.

The chase started in the cadre’s private gym, on the sparring mats. Howl put Elpida on her back — a narrow win in a bare-handed wrestling match; Howl rose, panting, soaked in sweat — then cackled a teasing insult, implying that Elpida had only lost because she was too distracted. Howl offered to fuck her back into good sense; the exact words were blurred by the logic of the dream.

Elpida jumped to her feet; Howl grinned like she was trying to split her face open, then bounced away on spring-loaded heels and sprinted for the door; the others who were present — hazy dream-blobs of Yeva, Metris, and Third — all whooped and cheered, shouting: “get her, Commander!”; “bring some back for me!”; and “stay hydrated, Howly.”

Howl shot out of the gym, skidded across the floor, and bounced off the wall. Elpida gave chase, through the hallway-alleys and corridor-streets of Telokopolis.

They ripped through in the cadre’s own quarters, leaping the bunks, drawing shrieks of amusement and encouragement, and dodging hurled projectiles — pillows, balled-up sheets, stray shoes; then through the closed armoury, where neither of them touched the weapons, but Howl toppled a rack of hardshell armour and sent it crashing to the floor; then out into the Legion-district of spire-floor 186, slamming palm-pads to wrench open doors and jumping over checkpoints to speed past the security systems; then they burst beyond the borders of the Legion-district, sprinting down public streets, with their great sweeping archways of Telokopolan living metal.

Elpida and Howl were wearing nothing but their pilot-suit base-layers. By evening this would be a public scandal, all over the broadsheets: the pilot-project Commander and her rarely-spotted second, sprinting through public streets and screeching at each other like a pair of banshees in heat.

But Telokopolis was deserted.

The greatest city in all human history, the home-machine and cradle of more humanity than had ever lived outside her walls in all prior ages combined — was empty. Except for the cadre.

Elpida knew this was a dream; she didn’t care.

Howl was skilled at moving fast in tight confines, at using her momentum to change direction without warning, at wriggling through tiny gaps and leaping from unexpected angles — but Elpida’s legs were longer. Now they were out in the public streets Howl had nowhere to jink and dodge to confound Elpida’s greater reach. Elpida grinned; she was going to catch Howl and pin her down in public and make her—

Make her do what?

Elpida longed to touch Howl’s cheek, to hear her voice, to see her face.

This street seemed to go on forever; the shining arches and public walkways and wide side-streets were giving way to naked stretches of Telokopolis’ bone-layer substrate, yellow and brown and reddish with incredible age. Dark crimson light pulsed from behind the exposed bone.

Elpida couldn’t catch up to Howl, no matter how fast she ran. She slowed to a jog, then to a walk, then she stopped.

Howl kept running, plunging deeper into the red light of the city’s open wounds.

Elpida looked over her shoulder: behind her the long street was going dark. Lights were dimming, spluttering out, switching off. Darkness crept through the city’s veins, moving to engulf her.

Howl stopped too, far ahead. She turned and started walking back. Elpida watched her approach, studying the face and form she knew so well.

Howl was physically the smallest of all Elpida’s cadre-sisters. Four feet eleven inches, petite and slender and flexible — but over one hundred and forty pounds, impossibly heavy for her size: all that was wiry, taut, hyper-dense muscle, packed onto bones made slim and slight but so much stronger than their unaltered baseline human equivalent. The miracles of Telokopolan genetic engineering. Copper-brown skin, sweat-slick and glowing; purple eyes always narrowed in amusement or argument or anger; white hair kept short enough to rake back over her skull with one hand. Her other sisters often joked that Howl’s entire purpose was to be the devil on the Commander’s shoulder, or to use the Commander as a punching bag — a genetically engineered loose cannon. Howl went along with that because it was funny. But everyone knew the truth — Howl had been bred as an assault specialist. She was designed to go quickly into small spaces with big weapons and surprise people with sudden overwhelming violence.

Not relevant for a pilot. But Old Lady Nunnus had always said that the pilot project was more than it appeared.

Howl rejoined Elpida, stopped a few paces short, and cocked her head to one side.

“Elps?” she asked. “Why’d you stop?”

Howl did not speak the question in Mid-Spire Legion Standard, the language in which the cadre had been raised. She used cadre’s own private clade-cant instead, the organic language they’d built together as children.

Elpida glanced at the darkness over her shoulders. Her eyes were wet. She replied in clade-cant too. “This is more than a dream. Isn’t it?”

Howl snorted. “We were rocking out! You got cold feet? Have I gotta go finger-bang myself in the shower without you?”

Elpida stared at Howl. “You’re not the real Howl.”

Howl showed her teeth. “You always loved me more than you loved the others.”

“Graveworm?”

Howl just grinned.

“This is more than a dream,” Elpida repeated. “This is some kind of software, an in-between state, between life and death — or whatever life and death means for nanomachine revenants. Pira—” Elpida winced; the thought of Pira made her stomach hurt. “Pira mentioned this. Back in the bunker. She said the first resurrection is free, but then you have to make a decision, you have to make a deal. That’s what this is, isn’t it?”

“Nope,” said Howl. “You’re alive and kicking, bitch-tits. No easy out for you. And when you wake up it’s gonna hurt like fuuuuuck.”

Elpida shook her head. Her eyes were full of tears. She turned away from Howl and faced the oncoming darkness.

“Hey! Hey!” Howl snapped. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, Elps?”

“I failed,” Elpida said. She was crying, but her voice was steady. Her shoulders were squared. She took a step toward the darkness. “I made a stupid, wild, unsafe plan. I got everyone killed, all over again. I did it again. And I’ll keep doing it. Because—”

“You know why the Covenanters killed you last?”

Elpida turned back to Howl, blinking in surprise. She wiped the tears from her eyes so she could see clearly. Howl was backlit by the glowing burgundy intestines of Telokopolis.

“What? Howl, what?”

Howl had that dangerous, sharp smile on her face, the one that said she always knew better, the one that said she was about to put Elpida on her back with an unexpected lunge. She said: “Because they were fuckin’ terrified of you, Elps. Had to peel each of us off you first. Get us away from you so they felt safe dealing with you. Because once you were alone, that was the only time they could take you out.”

Elpida laughed once, a hollow sound. “Howl, they shot me in the back of the head. I’m pretty sure they could have done that any time. Thinking back, I’m surprised they didn’t just walk into that spire seeing-room and machine gun us all in a big pile.”

“But they didn’t.”

“They could have done, any time they liked. Because I got us—”

“Bullshit!” Howl marched up to Elpida and jabbed her in the chest with one finger, looking up into her face. “If you had even one of us left to command, you could always work miracles. That’s what you did!”

Elpida shook her head; she wanted to take a step backward into the darkness, let it flow over her shoulders and consume her. But Howl was touching her. She reached up and closed her hand around Howl’s palm.

Elpida said: “What … what is this? Are you trying to convince me to try again? To get another group of comrades killed, again?”

Howl said: “Telokopolis is eternal.”

Elpida shouted in her face. “Telokopolis fucking murdered you, Howl! It murdered all of you! It killed us. I killed us. And now I’ve done it again! Telokopolis is dead.”

She could barely see for the tears.

Howl just snorted. “Pffft. As if. You saw the city in the satellite picture, back in the tomb. You saw the combat frame. You saw that crawler. Now that was some top-class weird shit.”

“It’s been millions of years. You’re all dead.”

Howl said it again: “Telokopolis is eternal. Do you know why?”

Elpida shook her head. “Why?”

“Because as long as one of us is up and breathing, the city stands. One of us fights, we all fight. One of us, Elps — you, me, our sisters. Not the fucking Civitas or the Covenanters or the Legion or even the civvies. Us. Us!”

Elpida tried to shake her head again, but Howl’s other hand shot upward and grabbed her chin, squeezing her jaw hard enough to hurt. Elpida jerked her head out of Howl’s grip and snapped her teeth shut on Howl’s palm. She tasted blood.

Howl grunted with pleasure. “Better! Now, you gonna leave all those girls out there on their own? Those girls who followed you? ‘Cos they’re not dead. You know that. Two of them got into the combat frame. The others, shit, you didn’t see anybody get hit, you melodramatic old bitch. What about the one who looks like me? You gonna leave her all by herself, leave her behind?”

Elpida relaxed her jaw and allowed Howl to remove her hand from between Elpida’s teeth. Her tears had stopped, but the darkness still called. “Illy doesn’t look like you.”

“Bullshit.” Howl snorted. She wiped her bloody hand on Elpida’s chest, then sucked on the wound, tasting her own blood. “She’s close enough. Fuck her if you like, just don’t moan my name if she makes you cum.”

“Howl—”

“Telokopolis never rejected anybody, Elps. The Covenanters did. But they weren’t the city. The city was built by people smarter than us. A lot fucking smarter than us. Smarter than the cunts in the Civitas, smarter than the bone-speakers who interpreted the combat frame data. Smarter than Nunnus. You think about that? ‘Cos I do. All the fucking time. And those smart people who built the city, they made it so it never rejected anybody. You and me both know it doesn’t even reject half the fucking Silico.”

“Howl, plain. Please.”

“Telokopolis is eternal, Elps. And right now, you’re it. You giving up?”

Elpida closed her eyes, filled her lungs, and slowly let the breath out again.

Howl’s blood tasted like iron on her tongue.

“No,” she said.

“Fucking right,” Howl barked.

Howl pulled her by the hand; Elpida allowed herself to be led a few paces forward, so the darkness no longer clawed at her heels. They walked together into the red light of the truth behind the clean white bone of the city walls. Then Elpida let go and pressed one hand to her own stomach.

She said: “Pretty sure I’m gutshot, out there in reality.”

Howl shrugged and patted Elpida’s belly. “I’ve done you worse. Remember when we were twelve and I hit you so hard you vomited? Ha!”

“Shit,” Elpida said. Her memories were condensing, like steam on a mirror. “Pira shot me. Turned on me. She had a … an old friend? I’m not with the others, am I? I’ve been captured. Else they would have dosed me with the nanos. Pira. Fuck!”

“Hey,” said Howl. “Don’t hate her. What if it had been me?”

“What?”

Howl shrugged. “What if I’d leaped over your cover in the middle of firefight, and Pira had shoved a gun in my face?”

“Howl, I would have disarmed her, not shot her in the stomach.”

“Yeah? What if you’d been wandering this shit-world of ash and rot for two hundreds years, looking for me? What then? Would you shoot Pira for me then? Bet you would, Elps. Come on, you’d kill everyone else you know for any one of us.”

Elpida sighed heavily; Howl always did this — cut through her thoughts and turn everything upside down. “What are you saying? Don’t be too harsh on her? She betrayed us. I … I can’t even … I don’t know what to do about that. What are you trying to be, Howl? My conscience?”

Howl cackled. “I was always your brain, you idiot!”

Elpida looked at Howl carefully; she was exactly as she had been in life, all energy and muscle, tight with intense emotion behind her purple eyes. Petite, unstoppable, irrepressible. Elpida reached over and ran one hand through Howl’s white hair, raking it back, and then running her fingers down Howl’s neck. Howl closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure.

Elpida said: “You’re not Howl. You’re a software ghost, pulled from my memories. Or you’re the graveworm.”

“Does it matter?” Howl purred, eyes closed. She turned her head and bit Elpida’s hand, gently. “Got you on your feet, didn’t I, Commander?”

Elpida pulled Howl into a hug. They clung together, hard enough to hurt.

* * *

Elpida woke all at once, sudden and sharp, her gut screaming with pain.

Telokopolan genetic engineering pushed her from unconscious to combat-ready in the space of three heartbeats, flooding her veins with adrenaline and cortisol and pain-blockers, readying her muscles, quickening her thoughts; she tried to hold on to the dream-image of Howl, to the texture of Howl’s hair and the heat of Howl’s flesh and Howl’s body pressed against her own. But her mind was already in motion, memory drowned out by agony.

She was lying on a sheet of metal — a surgical table — on her back, tilted at about forty-five degrees; there was a shelf at the bottom, against her feet, so she didn’t slide to the ground. Her hands were secured above her head, wrists locked inside thick metal handcuffs; the cuffs were chained to a metal stake driven into the wall. She was already testing the bonds, trying to slip her hands out — maybe if she broke a thumb? No, those cuffs were inches thick, like they were designed to withstand cutting tools.

Every motion drew fresh pulses of agony from her stomach.

Elpida looked down; she was still wearing her clothes, her grey underlayers and armoured coat, all except for her boots. Her armoured coat lay open. Her grey thermal t-shirt had been shredded in the middle and hiked up to expose her belly.

Her stomach was wrapped in bandages. The fabric was soaked through with a mess of dark crimson and ruddy brown; the blood was drying where it had run down her flanks, turning sticky and gummy. The air reeked of blood and faecal matter.

Elpida tried to take a deep breath. She coughed. The pain threatened to tear her in half.

Years ago — a million years ago now, she reminded herself — Elpida had saved a Legion General and the staff of his command post, during one of the Legion’s more optimistic forays into the edge of the green. Silico murder-machines had somehow ghosted right through an entire division of Legionaries and ambushed the command. As the news had come into the city, Elpida had grabbed whoever she could find first — Snow, Dusk, Here, and Silla — broken several rules about when the combat frames were allowed to deploy, and then linked up with the Legion’s XII Division and what remained of General Inglas Orion’s command.

The General had personally taken a sucking gut wound, right though his greensuit and hardshell. Baseline humans did not have the advantages of cadre-standard pain-blockers or hormonal rebalancing; in order to give the man a fighting chance, Elpida had to ensure he’d stayed inside his ruined hardshell while they’d retreated to the plateau. It had taken four hours to get him back to Telokopolis and into a medical pod, where the cirgeon-machines could peel him out of his hardshell, unpick his ruined guts, and repair the damage.

General Inglas was popular with the rank and file of Legion; a father-to-his-soldiers type. Elpida had run into him a few times, and had to admit that he was one of the toughest non-cadre humans Elpida had ever known. A gut wound took all that away; by the time they were pressing him into the medical pod he had screamed himself raw and made sounds Elpida did not know could come from a human throat.

She concentrated very hard on not screaming. Pain-blockers helped.

“Perforated bowel,” she croaked. “Good thing— we’re all— zombies, hey— Howl?”

Her mouth was dry. She craved water — and meat. The hunger was returning, desperate and urgent. The brains had sated her for a while, but her nanomachine physiology was demanding resources with which to repair the damage.

Something to her right went: “Mmm!”

Elpida squinted through the pain and examined the room. She almost laughed; she was chained up in a public toilet.

Marble floors, pale and tarnished, covered in dust and blood. Sinks lined one wall, below a row of mirrors — mostly shattered and empty, a few shards still standing. Toilet cubicles lay partially demolished, sections of partition all heaped up in the far corner. This room was once golden and gilt and gleaming. Now it was all dirt and ruin.

The door stood opposite Elpida. No lock — but a blob of thick black goo, like tar, was affixed to the inside of the door and the frame.

Elpida’s boots were by the door. No sign of her weapons. No coilgun.

And to Elpida’s right was—

“Amina!” Elpida croaked. Her stomach screamed. “Ah! Ow— ah—”

Amina was sitting in a heap on the floor. She still had all her clothes as well, though she looked rumpled, as if she’d been frisked. Her wrists were locked inside the same kind of heavy handcuffs as Elpida, and a metal chain ran from the cuffs to a spike driven into the marble floor. Her eyes were wide with terror, dark with exhaustion, and ringed with red from crying. She’d been gagged with a metal muzzle.

“Mm! Mmm!” she grunted through the gag.

“Ami— na—” Elpida forced the words out. “Hey. Hey. Hey. Are you— wounded—? Nod for— yes. Shake for no. Wounded?”

Amina shook her head.

“Good. Good.” Elpida nodded, rubbing her head against the metal bed. “The— others— is it just me and you— here?”

Amina nodded very hard — then paused and shook her head instead.

“Who? Pira?”

A nod.

“Okay. Nobody else?”

Another nod.

“Did you— did you bite? Is that why the— muzzle?”

Amina nodded. Her face scrunched up, eyes filling with tears. She gestured weakly with her cuffed hands, toward Elpida. She sniffed very loudly, then started to whine, deep down in her throat. “Mmmmmmm!”

“Amina. Amina. Amina. Listen,” Elpida forced herself to smile; there was nothing she could do in this state to help free herself. But she could help Amina. “Amina, you’re a good girl. You bit them. Good girl. Good girl! I need you to— do something— for me.”

Amina sniffed again. She stared hard, trying to stop crying.

“I need— information. Okay? Do you know what happened to anybody else?”

Amina shook her head. “Mmm-mmm.”

“Have you— heard the combat frame— power on? Big noise?”

Another shake. Amina sniffed.

“What about the crawler? Anything— from the crawler? Heard it … ” Amina’s eyes were wide with incomprehension; she didn’t know what that meant. “Okay, never mind- about that one. Are we— with that— the people with— the skulls?”

Amina nodded very hard. “Mm!”

“Have they been in to interrogate us? You?”

Amina nodded a little, then changed her mind and shook her head.

“Alright. Alright. Okay. Okay.” Elpida struggled not to whine with pain; she needed to keep Amina’s spirits up, not show that she was burning to death from her guts outward. “I have a plan, okay? Need you to— pretend— I’m not— awake. Okay? They— come back— I need to— pretend.”

Amina nodded, three times.

“Good girl, Amina. I have to close my eyes now. I have to rest. Give the— nanos— a chance to work. When one of them comes in— I’ll make a plan. Make a plan.”

Amina nodded slowly. She swallowed hard. She stopped crying.

Elpida closed her eyes and tried to think.

The pain from her gut ruined her thoughts; it didn’t throb or ebb or come in waves, it was like molten metal pouring into her belly in an unceasing torrent, crawling out into her torso and burning away her insides. She forced herself to relax her jaw muscles, to slow her breathing, to be as still as possible. Her best hope was to pretend to be unconscious, to let the nanomachines she had consumed that morning do their work, and to wait for an opening.

And what about the others?

Kagami and Vicky had gotten inside the combat frame — along with that thing wearing her face. A Necromancer? She had no idea. Atyle was unaccounted for, as was Ilyusha. She hoped both of them were safe. Amina was right next to her.

And Pira.

Pira had shot her in the gut. For the sake of an old friend.

Elpida was trying to make plans — get to the combat frame, link up with Vicky and Kagami, somehow, find the others, no matter how wildly optimistic — but Pira was a hard stop on her planning, a problem for which she lacked context. Pira had fought alongside her, saved her when she was literally dead and the others could have been scattered by chance — and now she had betrayed them all, broken the group, left the others isolated and alone.

Elpida had no idea what to do about Pira. One of her clade-sisters would never have betrayed the cadre. The idea did not make sense. She’d never had to think about it before.

She lay still for thirty seven minutes. Sleep was impossible, even with Telokopolan pain-blockers surging through her arteries.

From beyond the walls of the public wash room where she and Amina were chained up, Elpida heard the occasional raised voice, nothing more than a distant echo. Footsteps passed by the door several times but did not slow. Twice she heard gunfire, single shots, then silence.

Then, on the thirty eighth minute, somebody opened the door.

The bio-tech tar-lock opened with a wet ripping sound, like waterlogged velcro. Heavy booted footsteps entered the room. The door closed again with a slap of meat.

Elpida concentrated on keeping her eyes shut, on breathing slowly, on not showing the pain.

Whoever had just entered the room let out a big sigh and ambled over toward Elpida, clanking with weaponry or equipment. She stopped, then clanked again — hands going on hips, perhaps — and sighed a second time, a big professional puff of problems unsolved.

“Fuck me, you’re a mess,” said a voice — a half-mechanical buzz, like the exterior speaker on a hardshell helmet. Fingers brushed the edge of Elpida’s stomach, inspecting the bandages. Elpida concentrated on not flinching. The voice muttered to herself: “What the hell, Hatty? Did you even get the bullets out? This is sloppy work. Yola, this girl ain’t any more superhuman than me. Your special pilot is gonna go crackers from pain if we don’t fix her up. Not like we’ve got any god-damn blue for her.”

A snort. The hand withdrew. The revenant sniffed the air.

“Yuuup,” she said. “That’s bowels. I don’t even know why we make solid waste. At least you can’t die from sepsis.” A pause, then: “She really is tall though, huh.” The voice turned aside and added: “Hey, little thing, how you holding up down there?”

A clank — Amina’s chain. Then a tiny grunt from behind her metal gag. “Mm.”

“Look, I’d offer to take that off your face, but I don’t feel like losing any fingers. Those two you got your teeth into are my friends. You can sit and choke a while longer. I’ll be back again in half an hour. We’re gonna come stitch your friend’s belly up again — correctly this time.”

“Mm mm!” went Amina.

“Yeah yeah,” said the half-metallic voice. She stomped away. The door opened again with that wet-velcro sound, then slammed shut.

Elpida cracked her eyes and whispered to Amina: “Good job. Keep pretending.”

Amina nodded. Her eyes were wide and wet.

And then the door opened again, with that moist and sticky tearing sound. Elpida closed her eyes quickly. She expected the same voice from before to deliver some parting remark to Amina — but booted feet stepped into the room and stopped. The door closed with a slurp of affixing meat.

Whoever had joined them did not speak. Elpida could hear them breathing — shuddering, shaking. Afraid, or angry?

Then the booted footsteps approached.

Amina went: “Mmm! Mmmmm! Mm!” She sounded angry.

“Shut your fucking mouth,” the intruder hissed at Amina — full of rage. Unobscured, human. Not the voice from before. “Just shut up, or I’ll pull your tongue out!”

Amina went quiet.

The intruder walked right up to Elpida and stopped. For a long moment she said nothing. She drew a shaking breath between clenched teeth, then sobbed with anger.

“Who the fuck even are you, you bitch?” she whispered. “What makes you so fucking special?”

Elpida put two and two together; she didn’t recognise the voice — she hadn’t heard it long enough to encode it in memory, let alone in the middle of a firefight — but she guessed who it belonged to.

The intruder swallowed, dry and difficult, then hissed: “You knew her for what, a week, tops? You lead her out of a fucking tomb — so what? She would have made it without you and your sob-story cunts. Leuca and I were together for twenty three years. You’re fresh meat. You don’t even understand what twenty three years is like, out there. And you knew her for a fucking week! One week—”

A clank came from the corridor outside. The intruder cut off, listening carefully. Elpida could hear her fighting down tears.

She was not supposed to be in here. This could be an opening. But how?

“Mmm!” went Amina. “Mmm-mm!”

“Shut up!” the intruder snapped at her. “Just let me have one minute with her! Shut up! Shut up!”

Amina went quiet.

The intruder took a deep breath. “You knew Leuca for one week. And now she’s weeping, over you. Leuca doesn’t weep. I never saw her weep like that. Never. But for you? ‘Cos what, she’s sad she had to shoot you? And now she won’t even talk to me. She called me— called me a— fucking traitor. Just like that. The dead-heads are the only ones trying to do anything, and I’m the fucking traitor?”

A loud sniff.

Then the intruder slammed a fist into the metal right next to Elpida’s head. Elpida almost flinched.

“Don’t you pretend to be out cold, you fucking bitch! Yola is convinced you’re a real superhuman — so you can fight through a gut wound, right? Stop faking!”

Elpida felt spittle hit her face. She stayed very still. She breathed deeply, in her sleep.

The intruder stepped away again. Then she said: “I don’t get it. Why are you so important? Yola wants you soooo bad. Leuca cries because of you. But you’re just … you’re not one of us. You won’t ever be one of us. You’re filth. Meat. I should … I should … give me one good fucking reason.”

Elpida took the only gamble she had: she opened her eyes.

A painted black skull grinned down at her from the chestplate of a suit of dirty grey armour carapace, tongue hanging out in mockery. Above the chestplate, a face full of rage and hate stared at her — olive skin framed by long dark hair, green eyes contorted from crying.

Pira’s friend.

“I saved Pira,” Elpida said. “Pira saved me. I saved her again. She betrayed me. She made a mistake. Twenty three years is a long time. I’m sorry.”

The revenant’s face twisted with rage. “Oh, fuck you, Leuca!”

Pira’s friend surged forward and jammed her fingers into Elpida’s gut wound.

Even Telokopolan genetic engineering and pain-blockers could not stop Elpida from crying out. Her eyes flew wide, vision blurred with tears; her breath left her in one throat-contorting yowl. The revenant squeezed; something inside Elpida went crack.

She managed to pull one leg up and kick Pira’s friend in the chest. Her heel connected with the torso of the armour carapace.

The blow to her chest knocked the revenant back a single step. Elpida’s body contorted around the agony of her stomach wound; she tried to bring a leg up for another kick; tried to predict the oncoming blow the revenant would undoubtedly aim at her vulnerable belly. Amina was going “Mmm-mm! Mm!” Elpida’s vision was blurring and wavering and she wanted to vomit.

But Pira’s friend just stepped back, face pinched with fury and humiliation. She shook her blood-soaked hand, as if she’d injured it on Elpida’s belly. She spat on the floor, glared at Amina, then turned and stalked away to the door. She listened for a second, then yanked it open and stepped out into the corridor. The door closed with a wet slap.

Elpida lay back, panting, shivering, sweating, letting the pain wash over her like a storm. Amina was trying to say something, but Elpida was too far away.

Eventually, she looked down at her belly, to inspect the damage.

And where the revenant had stuck her hand inside Elpida’s guts — beneath the mess of bandages, beneath the crimson-brown stains, already fading rapidly as her nanomachine physiology absorbed the bounty of raw resources — was a blushing bloom of brilliant blue.