Grail - By Elizabeth Bear Page 0,57
a suit missing, along with the paper Bible and an unblade—or the third person took absolutely no damage at all.”
“In any case,” Nova said, “if there’s DNA in these suits of armor that does not belong to any of the dead, it may lead us to identify survivors.”
“Indeed,” Tristen said. “It’s possible none of the killers died here, and all this death is to cover up their escape.”
“That’s worthy of your father,” Mallory said over the comm.
Tristen frowned, both stung and grateful that Mallory could not see his response. “That I can recognize the possibility does not mean that I advocate the act.”
The necromancer made a rough sound of constrained laughter. “Indeed. Tristen, come see this?”
Tristen left the storage cubby open and returned to the charnel house of the hydroponics lab. As he walked, he heard Jordan’s voice in his helm, relayed by Nova.
“Hello, Tristen.” Strange to have his former apprentice treating with him as an equal now. Strange, and satisfying. After his return greeting, she continued, “It looks as if the colony-entity that invaded this space disguised itself as pieces of Nova, broadcasting the usual surface signals—and totally bogus data. Nova didn’t know a parasite was masquerading as a portion of her own body. When it retracted, it simply withdrew its presence and wiped its program from the infected units and left them vacant. There is not even a line of physical retreat to follow.”
“That also explains how it kept her out of the Bridge access,” Tristen said. “That suggests a crafty and experienced angel or djinn.”
“It suggests somebody in particular to me,” Nova said, “but I ate him. Also, if there was DNA residue in the suits, it’s been consumed. Somebody’s colony was careful.”
“Well, crap.” Tristen opened the hatch and stepped back into the Decker farm. Mallory, helm open and gauntlets retracted, crouched beside the body of a young woman who had fallen back in the chair she’d died in, a yellow line of bile dried down her jaw and staining the front of her blouse. The parrotlet, still breathing softly, lay amongst wadded fabric on the desktop.
Tristen cleared his throat. “Is it safe to have your helm open? You might contract the agent of death. You might transport it outside this sealed environment.”
“Can’t kiss a corpse with sealed lips,” Mallory said. “Nova says it was a poisoned program, wiped along with the presence that spawned it. We’re as safe here as we are anywhere.”
Assuming the Angel’s not being fooled by the enemy’s camouflage again. Tristen bit his lip. “It seems like there are a lot of familiar modi operandi at work here. And all of the individuals those tactics suggest are supposed to be dead.”
“Well, death,” Mallory said. “I wouldn’t use that to rule out suspects. Death is my specialty, and you have my professional assurances that it’s not in any way permanent. I’ve got a head so full of dead people I suspect whoever I started off as should probably be counted as one of them.
“Transformation, on the other hand, now, that’s the one you have to watch out for. How much of you has to die before you stop being you and become somebody else?”
Tristen thought of Cynric, of Gavin, of Nova and Rien. He thought of Sparrow and Dorcas, and himself and a dark hole full of wings and insects and the heat of decomposition. He came a step closer, itching to reach out to Mallory, forcing himself to observe. But he did not open his helm.
The necromancer framed the dead woman’s eyes with soft fingertips, and leaned so close that Tristen felt as if he had interrupted a seduction.
As he watched, the kiss was completed. Mallory pressed pink lips over the dead woman’s mouth, and Tristen could see the worming motions of the necromancer’s tongue working between the corpse’s teeth. Mallory’s eyes closed, fingers fanning through brown hair to hold the head steady.
There was not much rigor yet, or it was passing. By the lack of cadaverine and sulfur compounds in the air, Tristen presumed the former—but with luck (and skill) Mallory would have a better answer momentarily. When the necromancer straightened, dark eyes thoughtful, Tristen knew some ghost of an answer at least had been retrieved.
“The brain is dead but fresh,” Mallory said. “A virus is interfering with the symbionts, preventing regeneration; Nova and Jordan will likely be able to remove the inhibition and at least get the bodies back. And perhaps learn more about how Nova was kept out of this