Semblance of Eden 11 ~ A Bullet for the General

I look down at my whiskey and make my mind a wall.

Well, I try, at any rate. It's a nice amalgamation of words, but I don't really know what it means. Maybe Legato does; I'll ask him sometime.

But for now I settle with a cool, objective, "Drink, sir?"

"No, thank you. The taste is a bit harsh for me." There's a thin vein of malevolent laughter beneath the words.

Too bad for him. I gulp down the last of the beer in my glass, feel it hit my gut like a rush of courage. "If you're not here to drink, there's not much else this place has going for it."

"Babylon, you mean?" His eyebrow arches jauntily, and the vinyl barstool grunts beneath his weight as he shifts on it. "You seem to know this city well. I wonder what else you know."

Marlowe's been sitting silent until now, shoulders rigid as though waiting for Death to pass him over. But when Legato speaks, he gives a little hiccup of surprise, swiveling abruptly in his seat so he faces away from us. I can feel myself scowl; no use hiding my embarrassment now, not as long as this kid keeps acting like the relative I'd have to keep locked in the basement whenever company called. That banging noise? Just the wind…

"I've heard my share of rumors," I say evenly. "But I'm sure you're not interested in gossip, Legato."

"Don't be so sure of that." He sounds… almost curious. It must be something tight in his eyes, something drawn taut between us, because there's really nothing different about his voice – not something I can pinpoint, at least – but I know I'm not imagining things. Marlowe must have noticed it too, and he spins back to face us.

"Even idle gossip may have some truth to it, Dominique." When he speaks again, that edge is gone from his words, that treacherous undertow of emotion, and his gaze is the same as it's always been. But it doesn't make it any easier for me to breathe.

"I suppose it could."

He watches me expectantly, and I realize, I have something he wants. Even if it's just for an instant, until he loses interest in me again and wanders off to kick a puppy. If I looked out the window right and Four Horsemen were preparing to make their grand entrance, it wouldn't be as grand and glorious a revelation as the one I'm having right now.

I lean a little closer. "It's an ugly story. Are you sure it's not too harsh for you?"

"Don't push your luck, Dominique."

As though I haven't pushed it hard enough already. Just sitting at this bar, drinking this beer, preparing to say what I'm about to say because I'm not a smart enough woman or a brave enough woman or a loyal enough woman not to. And don't I know, in the end, the game always goes to the House.

So I throw my chips on the table and, lowering my voice a little, I ask him, "Have you ever heard of the Human Modification Project?"

He raises an eyebrow slightly. Looks almost intrigued, but I know better than that. I really do. "The use of Plant energy in gene therapy to cure birth defects." He recites it cleanly, casually… you'd never know he was talking about an experiment half a century old. "A monumental failure, wasn't it?"

"Something like that." I nod slowly. "The therapy worked better than anyone had hoped, but there were side effects. Nasty poisoning from direct exposure to Plant radiation that most of the subjects didn't survive. After a few years they pulled the plug on the procedure."

"I never pictured you as having a mind for current events." Legato drums his fingers once, sharply, on the edge of the bar.

"Only when they concern me."

He leans forward slightly, and I catch myself before I pull back, bite my lip before I can gasp. "That project was discontinued decades ago."

"And that was just the official story." At those words, he recoils a little, and I can tell by his eyes that even he doesn't really know why. Something he can feel, maybe. A static tightness in the air. "No one cared about medicine. The whole project was just a front for something crueler."

As though to make up for a moment ago, he says coolly, "Well, I like it already."

There are a thousand things I could answer to that, but in the end, for what feels like the first time in years, I settle for the truth. "They wanted better weapons. It's all anyone on this planet wants. But instead of creating more efficient guns, they tried to create more efficient people to use the guns they already had. Did you know the Babylon Plant sponsors a free clinic for children of poor families?"

"How philanthropic," Legato says disinterestedly. But he is interested. I know him better than that. If he didn't care, he'd already be gone.

I feel a bitter smile come to my lips. "They had all the doctors in their pocket. They pumped those kids so full of condensed Plant energy they must have glowed in the dark. Ask anyone that lives around here; they've all lost family under mysterious circumstances."

Marlowe gasps softly, and his eyes light so abruptly with realization that I can almost hear a crackle of electricity. Is it possible he's brighter than I thought? "You mean like that—"

He bites off the rest of the words as Legato's eyes fall on him, but I assure him all the same. "Yeah, just like him. But there were a few that survived the treatments, and it changed them somehow. They developed heightened senses, a higher tolerance for pain. Any number of things depending on how they took to the treatments."

Legato takes a moment to fold his hands before him, peaking his fingertips as though he's about to pray. "I don't suppose you have any evidence of this, Dominique?"

I'd thought for a second there that he'd forgotten how to be an aloof and unavailable bastard. But there's that familiar haughtiness in his voice now, and for some reason that comforts me, warms me to the core like a hot bath.

And I lift one hand, raking my hair casually from my face to reveal the Demon's Eye. I tap my finger against the metal plate over it, and if clangs hollowly, the loudest sound I've ever heard. "What do you call this?"

He reaches for me, and for a moment I'm afraid I've said too much. For a moment, I think his fingers are going to close around my throat because suddenly he's forgotten that he can split my heart wide open in my chest and only bare hands will be enough after what I've done. For a moment, I'm too scared to be afraid of him, and I lean forward slightly. Just in time to feel two fingertips glide over the leather strap stretched beneath my temple.

"I see," is all he says, and he pulls away once more. "You needn't be concerned, Dominique. I believe you." He pushes abruptly to his feet, straightening the lapels of his coat. He turns deliberately away. Turns away, and then back, fixing me with that tarnished yellow stare. "By the way, have I told you yet who it is we're here to kill?"

"No, Sir, you haven't."

"What a grievous oversight on my part." A knife blade smile curves his lips. "Marcus Rien? Perhaps you're familiar with the name…?"

I can taste my pulse in the back of my throat. There was a part of me that had known it all along, but I kept it quiet. Clenched my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut against it, gulped it down like one of the foul, slimy things you eat to stay alive out amongst the dunes. But it's here now. The goddamn inescapable truth staring me in the face again, like an old friend that never left. "You mean…"

"The manager of the Babylon City Plant." He searches my expression for a moment, but I'm not giving him any more than I already have. I know I don't look panicked yet, and so I hold my breath. He laughs quietly, and starts for the stairs that lead up to the rooms we have rented. "I'm sure you'll think of a suitable revenge, Dominique. I do have that much faith in you."