Mask of Humanity

Nicolai closed his eyes, standing there, doing his best to centre himself. He breathed slowly out, forcefully slowing his heart, calming his body, emptying his mind. I’m calm and I’m in control. Calm. And in control. The urge to kill retracted slightly, slithering away to watch him from a distance, waiting for a better moment.

His eyes opened and his gaze fell upon the two women who watched him warily from the corner. One of them was older, greying hair, faint lines on her face, pinched little lips, and she stood almost in the corner with the little girl behind her. The old woman looked more affronted than afraid.

In front of her stood the other woman, who was pretty much the opposite appearance wise. Voluptuously, artificially attractive, tweaked by surgical bots back on earth to fit into a kind of ideal as determined by the average man’s desires. She held one hand out a little oddly, as though prepared to use it, but more like a tool than a hand. That plus her generally high level of cosmetic enhancement told him she probably had some kind of weapon there, likely a taser integrated into her palm. She was watching him with hard, wary eyes, the eyes of someone who’d survived a difficult life.

Behind them, the little girl, who had been squeezed into the corner by the other two, peeked around their legs. She was a mousy little brown-haired thing with big blue eyes that stared at Nicolai with childish worry. Even at her age, he could tell she knew something was very wrong. For a moment Nicolai paused, meeting that gaze, finding himself wondering what it was like to be her, what she was thinking and feeling, experiencing an odd sense of connection.

The teenager blocked Nicolai’s view, stepping sideways to put himself between Nicolai and the women, holding a sword and wearing an almost-terrified expression. Nicolai met the youth’s eyes, and couldn’t help but snort. The boy considered it his job to protect them. In his opinion, the woman with the taser, or whatever it was, was the most dangerous of them all. The old man was gibbering something from beside him.

Nicolai sighed, frustrated, annoyed. ‘I’m not going to hurt anyone.’ Not unless you make me. He faced the old man again and resumed trying to explain himself as he pulled the Searchlight ring on and hung the Swollen Eye from his neck. Calm and reasonable. ‘What would you have done, then, if he took your Seed?’

‘I would have reasoned with him, that’s what I was trying to do, before you killed him!’ the old man said, waving his arms madly, heavily emphasising his words as if talking to a moron.

Nicolai scoffed. ‘That was never going to work. He was set upon it, he saw my Seed as his only chance. You would never have convinced him.’

‘You could have let me try! Why did you kill him?’

‘He was harming my Seed!’ Nicolai screamed, his throat flexing. He tried to recover his composure and failed. ‘MY SEED!’ Spittle flew.

The old man flinched back, wide eyed, but to Nicolai’s surprise the man’s face firmed, and he leaned forward. ‘It’s just a little worm!’ he yelled. ‘It’s not important!’

‘Not important.’ Nicolai gaped at the old man then started laughing. ‘Not important!’ He shook his head and stepped closer, staring into the old man’s eyes. ‘Are you insane?’ he muttered, searching for the signs of madness in the old man’s pupils. For a moment he felt sure he saw it, until he realised he was seeing his own face, reflected in the man’s eyes.

‘You’re the one who’s insane! Why, I just… I don’t understand!’ The old man’s face was a picture of misery and frustration.

‘HE! SAID! HE’D! BREAK! MY! SEED!’

It was to this explosion of words that the door opened and the rest of them burst in, and Nicolai saw John gaping at him, realised that he was currently looming over the old man.

‘What happened? What the fuck is going on?’ John cried, stepping towards Nicolai, half-raising his sword. ‘Move back from Ben,’ warned the big man.

Something vicious inside of Nicolai lunged at the reins of his body, eager to attack, but Nicolai tightened his fists and forced it down. Control, control, control, he chanted to himself, hands clenched, teeth grit and lips spread in a humourless grin, and he took a careful step back.

‘He killed Tom!’ screamed the old man, pointing a wavering but still firmly accusatory finger at Nicolai.

‘Tom tried to kill my Seed!’ Nicolai snarled, pointing an accusing finger of his own at the corpse.

‘I was reasoning with him!’ The old man gnashed his teeth madly.

They were all coming in now, weapons half raised, but they didn’t look like they were preparing to attack, either. They seemed very confused, much as Nicolai was.

A calculating core within him considered this, and realised that the more they saw him and the old man arguing, the better. The more he explained himself, the better.

He could establish his actions as justified, as right and proper. On top of that, them seeing him and the old man arguing, engaging in a dialogue rather than fighting, would reduce the odds of them attacking. That would leave them more open to a surprise assault. If necessary.

‘That bastard stole my Seed, and he stood over there, and he started crushing it, crushing it in his hands. He said he would destroy it,’ Nicolai told them, his own hands raising and crushing at the air in mimic. He noted that some of the glances at the corpse, amongst the shock, held a kind of grim amusement, even satisfaction, and he realised the man hadn’t been well liked. Good. He followed up his words by shooting a glare at John and saying, ‘You shouldn’t have let him stay here, it was clear he wanted to steal my Seed.’ Always good to shift the blame nice and early.

‘I was reasoning with him!’ the old man repeated for what seemed the hundredth time.

‘And he was ignoring you, he was moments from crushing my Seed,’ snapped Nicolai.

‘It’s just a Seed! It doesn’t matter!’ The old man’s mouth was working madly, and Nicolai saw, glinting within, the man’s own Seed. The dark fury pulsed within him, tired of words, demanding action.

The knife was at hand. The cage was collapsing.

Nicolai lunged forward and some part of him kept the hand with the knife down, but his other jabbed out like a striking snake, and two fingers snatched at the little pale glow in the old man’s blabbering mouth. He stepped back with the man’s Seed raised high, victorious. He smiled at the old man.

‘Just a Seed?’

The old man gaped at him. The room was dead silent.

‘Give it back,’ the old man said.

‘But it’s just a Seed. It doesn’t matter,’ Nicolai hissed at him, his smile twisting into a vicious grin.

The old man’s rationalism was collapsing. Nicolai saw it in his face and his eyes and his pleadingly raised hands, saw that the old man was experiencing the same desperate fright he experienced whenever his Seed was in danger.

‘Don’t harm it!’ the old man took a few wavering steps forward which caused Nicolai to raise the Seed higher, out of reach.

Nicolai began to squeeze the tiny worm, his eyes fixed on the old man’s face. The Seed let out a squeal. There was a unified flinch from those watching. It sounded like the cries of a child.

‘It’s just a Seed,’ he repeated, smiling, and squeezed a little harder, enjoying the way the old man’s face writhed as the Seed sung with pain. How would that face change when he crushed it? How beautifully ironic would it be? His fingers spasmed. The Seed screamed. Nicolai laughed.

‘Stop,’ came a deep voice, and Nicolai saw John had stepped forward. Saw the others were scowling at him, weapons raised. ‘You’ve made your point. Give it back.’

The dark, angry urges pulsed through him, hot and demanding. The old man would be made to understand the pain and fear Nicolai had felt. He would crush the old man’s Seed and it would be a beautiful moment. Then they’ll attack me, and I’ll kill them all… Nicolai frowned. What about the band? He needed to get it off and these people were his current best chance. Leave one alive, someone weak, pliable, take them hostage… force them to remove it.

The shadows squirmed all over the walls, the torchlight brightened, and the faces staring at him melted, turning into blank fleshy masks, faceless blobs, less than animals, wearing pouches that must hold Oma crystals and holding weapons which shone to his eyes, more real than the creatures that held them.

For a frozen moment he hovered on the precipice, the madness rising and pulsing through his blood like a poison, imagining them torn. Bloody. Broken. Bones. It considered the nearest weapons, the route it would take and the moves it would make, the reactions and counter-attacks it would foil.

The terror they would feel.

His eyes fell on one of them, still a faceless blob but shorter, child-sized.

No. This isn’t the right way. This isn’t being a Better Man. With a gruelling, massive effort of will Nicolai pushed the mad, vicious darkness down. He released a slow breath of air, relaxed his body, and the shadows stilled and the people had faces again.

He flicked the Seed back to the old man who scrambled at the air and failed to catch it. The old man wailed then dove for where it had fallen and snatched it, rising, tottering, breathing heavily. The older woman grabbed him and towed him away, holding him tight. The old man was mumbling something incoherent, looking like he was moments from crying. The woman gripping him gave Nicolai a furious glare.

Nicolai felt an urge to laugh at the expression on the old man’s face, but he pushed it down easily enough, and to his surprise the darkness went, too. It was satisfied with the pain it had generated, considered itself avenged.

‘So,’ Nicolai relaxed his stance and turned to fully face John. ‘You tested the Soul Trap, and you’ve seen it works. So, now you know I didn’t kill anyone to feed my Seed. Therefore I am a good and reasonable person.’

There was a lengthy pause, John staring at him, all of them staring at him. Nicolai quirked an eyebrow.

‘Okay,’ said John slowly. ‘It did work. I’ll allow that.’ He glanced at the lawyer’s corpse.

Nicolai ignored the meaningful glance. He smiled. ‘I feel we all got off on the wrong foot. I apologise for my part in this… miscommunication. You all need a safe place to stay. There’s something I need, too.’ He tapped the band. ‘I want this removed from around my neck. This is what I’ll do: you can have the Soul Trap. It is my payment to you, for the use of his orb.’ He gestured to the young man. ‘Further still, you can come with me, to my place. It is safe from the Chosen, and when we get there, one of you will remove my band in return.’ He glanced at the torch and saw it was orange. ‘If you’d rather not come, that’s fine. But if you do we should probably move soon, get there before dark.’

John wore a big frown. They were all silent, and Nicolai judged them to still be in some kind of shock from the quick pace of things. Slowly, John looked around at the others, gauging their thoughts and moods from the various expressions.

Nicolai wasn’t worried. These people were desperate. They needed him just as much as he needed someone to remove his band, perhaps even more.

‘We need a safe place.’ It was the woman with the bionic arm, speaking grudgingly. ‘I don’t trust this Raw, this snake,’ she added, glaring at Nicolai.

Nicolai wanted to smirk at her and tell her he didn’t give a shit what she thought of him. But that wasn’t diplomatic, that wasn’t the way to improve his image, that wasn’t working together. He gave her a respectful, penitent nod.

‘Before I make any decisions, I want to know exactly how this went down. Tell us what happened, start to finish,’ said John, turning to the teenager and the two women.

‘W-well, I, uhm, he…’ the boy stuttered as everyone looked at him. ‘Uh.’ He blushed and froze, swallowing.

The enhanced woman who likely had a taser in her hand spoke up instead. She now lounged against the wall, arms crossed, clearly more relaxed with the return of the whole group. ‘Tom grabbed the Raw’s Seed and tried to run out the door.’ She nodded at Nicolai. ‘He got his bindings off, looked like he had wormed his way out of them a while ago, and jumped between Tom and the door. Tom retreated into that corner.’ She waved a hand at the corner in question. ‘Old Ben was trying to reason with him, make him hand it over.’ The woman aimed a gaze that held not an ounce of sympathy at the corpse. ‘If you ask me, he wasn’t going to hand it over. The Raw is right about that. He was squeezing it, making it scream like the Raw did to old Ben’s. Then while Tom was distracted, looking at old Ben, the Raw threw a knife and nailed him right through the eye, took his Seed back after that. Didn’t see where or when he got the knife.’

Nicolai stared at her, a little shocked. He hadn’t expected one of them to give such an unbiased and accurate accounting. He smiled at her, pleased, and she gave him a vaguely contemptuous look in response.

‘Still, he’s a Raw, and Raws are all freaks and crazies. But if he’s got a safe place we might as well go.’ She shrugged as though she didn’t care either way.

‘Uh… okay, then,’ said John after a pause. ‘Anyone else got something to say?’

There was a moment of silence and shaken heads.

John stared around, all big and portentous looking, chewing his cheek. In the depths of the man’s eyes, Nicolai saw the decision being made. ‘All right then,’ John said. ‘In that case, my decision is we go with the—with, uh.’ He paused, and looked expectantly to Nicolai.

‘Nicolai,’ said Nicolai. He thought of adding something like pleased to meet you all, but considering the circumstance he determined it wasn’t appropriate.

‘Start gathering everything up,’ John resumed, ‘then—‘

‘Wait.’ Nicolai’s voice snapped like a whip, silencing John and attracting the man’s gaze. Now he had accomplished the creation of a kind of partnership, it was time to move to the next matter. A matter that was just as important to him as having his band removed. A matter the resolution of which would decide whether these people lived or died.

‘There is something else,’ he said. ‘I want all that is mine returned. I don’t deal with thieves. You have my glove and my gun.’ Nicolai stared pointedly at both articles where John wore them.

John frowned at him. ‘You’re still on probation. We can discuss all that when we arrive—‘

‘No, no.’ Nicolai let out a derisive little laugh. ‘I don’t think so. Give me my shit back and you can come with me, or keep it and stay here.’

‘Why does it matter? Unless… could it be that you have no safe place? Maybe as soon as you have your stuff you’ll be gone,’ said one of them, the girl with his Pegasi ring, her voice in a tone of strident musing. She had her hands on her hips and was staring at him with eyebrows raised.

‘That’s a good point,’ said John, nodding at her, for some reason wearing a proud smile.

Nicolai did his best not to glare balefully at the girl, but knew he was only halfway successful. ‘Why does it matter? Because it’s mine,’ he growled. ‘What reason do I have to help you people? You knocked me on the head, tied me up, and stole all my things. One of you almost destroyed my Seed. If you want my help, return what’s mine.’

The tall woman moved closer to John and he saw them match gazes, saw their throats faintly flexing as though talking, though their mouths remained closed. A tell-tale sign of vocalisation into implants, talking over a Local connection. John frowned, blew air out his nose, looked around. Nicolai saw the man taking in the state of the small room, the worried faces and the lack of security, and he knew he’d won.

John gave Nicolai a careful look, then shrugged, and slowly tugged on the glove’s leather fingers one-by-one, pulling it off, the whole act unhurried, no rush. John held the glove out.

Nicolai extended his hand for it but before he could take it, John pulled it back, out of reach. ‘You can have the rest, everything, but I’m keeping the gun,’ he said, his stern tone announcing he would not be budged on this.

Nicolai’s eyes narrowed.