CHAPTER 41 - SABRA

Where had all the people gone? That was what Sabra kept wondering. A vast swath of picturesque houses and barely anyone to live in them. Someone had to have lived in this house once. Had they abandoned the house before the null field went up, or after? Had they made the trip her parents had once made, halfway across the world, to try and find somewhere safe, only to find that maybe nowhere was?

Her parents. She had to call them, but the bizarre field made that impossible. It made Sabra feel better about things, at least. Her father had to be out of hospital by now. Outside, the streetlights came to life and illuminated the twilight streets. Sabra watched a car go past—by Christ and Allah, what was she doing here?

She had to be with her father. She shouldn’t have come halfway across the world to finish the fight. What help could she be anyway, without her suit? She should’ve been by her father’s bedside instead of chasing down someone else’s unfinished business. If SOLAR didn’t want to handle it, didn’t want to see whatever danger Fisher felt was coming, then that was their problem—if you were a good fighter, the first time you got cleaned up by someone’s forgotten arm was the last.

And yet, there was an awareness. Some part of her mind, whispering to her in a voice she had heard before. That each and every thought you’ve had where you insist that you care is nothing but a reminder that you don’t. Out here, you’re a lioness upon the ash, the voice said. Out here, Kasembe, you’re free.

“Kasembe,” Revenant said, “we need to talk.”

“What about?” Sabra asked, and turned. “I mean, what’s up?”

“Your suit and the ceiling, respectively.”

Relief, disappointment, and strange, surprised amusement wrestled for supremacy in her gut. “You spend all day coming up with that joke?”

Revenant stared her down without another word, without even blinking.

“Okay,” Sabra said. “Look, there’s nothing to talk about—I think we’ve both said everything there is to say about that.”

“Don’t sulk, Kasembe, it doesn’t suit you.”

“And you’ve used that joke before.”

Revenant rolled her eyes in a long, slow arc. It was strikingly human.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Sabra asked.

“Given your combative nature, I think it would be easier to show you,” Revenant said, grabbing her by the crook of her elbow. “Come on.” Her grip was about as firm as Sabra had thought it would be.

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The garage of their home-turned-hideout was where the Animals lurked, although their lair was empty at the moment. A variety of cases and trunks lay against the wall to Sabra’s left—the armaments of Leopard and Tiger and whatever other supplies the group might need. The rest of the garage was bare but still smelt faintly of motor oil.

“Lights,” Revenant said and then, when they didn’t turn on, Sabra flipped the switch by the doorway. The lights flickered to life, revealing a skeletal metal figure slumped in the middle of the room. It took Sabra a moment.

“Tess?”

Revenant turned her head, glancing at her over her shoulder. “Who are you talking to?”

“Nothing,” Sabra said. “I just...” She trailed off, unsure of what to say, aware of a terrible familiarity more than anything else. “What’s this?”

“This is a garage,” Revenant replied.

Sabra sighed, shook her head, but couldn’t quell the smile. “No, this!” She pointed to the suit, then stepped closer. “You said you destroyed my suit.”

“I did. This is a combat hardsuit, but it is not the one you were wearing. When I secured the release of Jack and Samantha, I knew they would need their weapons. And that went for you as well.”

Sabra ran a finger along the various mechanisms that made up the internal structure of the suit’s left arm. It was so close to completion, and so much better than her old suit. All it needed was the armor plating. Old suit—the thought felt like a betrayal. “It’s incredible,” Sabra said. “Thank you.”

“Relax, Kasembe, it’s not a gift,” Revenant replied. “If we end up confronting Monkey, it won’t do anyone good if you get yourself shot. Don’t thank me for ensuring we are as capable as possible.”

Revenant slipped out of her jacket and folded it atop one of Tiger’s gun cases. It occurred to Sabra that those subtle jigsaw geometries of her fingers and hands continued up her arms, and underneath the fabric of her stark white tank top. She reached into one case and withdrew a metal plate, charcoal grey in coloration, and set it against the frame.

“Need a hand?” Sabra asked.

“No,” Revenant said, and raised her free hand. The planes of her hands and fingers popped outward and then reassembled themselves before Sabra’s eyes, folding in on themselves, slotting into different positions, transforming into some kind of tool. Revenant pumped her arm as if to lock everything into position and then set to work on the armor. Sparks flew.

“Holy shit,” Sabra said. “That’s so cool!”

“Thank you,” Revenant replied, fetching plate and component and setting them into place, fitting them into the frame. Piece by piece, the suit went from frame to armor. How long would it have taken her to do it? It’d been hours just to get at her old suit’s internal workings, much less strip them out and replace them. Revenant was doing it in minutes.

Was it some aspect of her artificial body? After all, that was the picture the lines painted across her skin, anatomic and angular—and she’d admitted to being a robot, a secret that only Sabra knew. Or was it some combination of aptitude, training, and experience? Maybe she had worked as a mechanic. Sabra watched the precise intricacies of Revenant’s movements, the absolute precision of her arms, and tried to guess.

“Have you done this before?” Sabra asked.

“Something like this,” Revenant replied. “Kasembe, this is a Dynamic Horizons Palatine powered combat exoskeleton. It is both more powerful and responsive than the Ikaros Armories Enforcer model you are used to. It requires the use of a softsuit interface. Luckily, I took the liberty of securing you one of those, as well.”

Sabra caught herself saying thank you. “Okay. If it’s too responsive, I can just dial back the systems, yeah?”

“I would strongly advise against that.”

“Why?”

“The first time you tripped and fell, you would break something.”

“So, what? We can easily buff any dents out, right?”

“Yes,” Revenant said. “But bones, less so.”

Sabra flinched away from a gout of sparks. Revenant, without gloves or goggles, worked unfazed. “I brought my old helmet with me,” Sabra said. “I don’t suppose this’ll work with it?”

“No. Ignoring the damage, the firmware is incompatible.”

“Okay,” Sabra said. “I guess I can live with that.”

“You will,” Revenant replied, and then stepped back from the completed suit, her right arm reconstructing itself. “The power cell is the only thing left,” she said, giving her hand a quick flex as the last panels slipped back into place. “If you would like to do the honors.”

Sabra stepped over to the chest that the pieces of the suit had been stored in and popped open the secure case that held the power cell. It was larger than the cell she had stolen from Dynazon, which felt like a lifetime ago. She popped it into the armored housing on the back of the suit and slammed it into place.

“Done and done,” she said. “Now what? We take this baby for a spin?”

“For now,” Revenant replied, pulling her jacket on, “we wait for the suit’s intelligence to make sure that my intelligence hasn’t assembled it incorrectly.”

Sabra nodded. “Is that weird for you?”

“Is what weird for me?”

“Well,” Sabra said, and paused. She didn’t know how to put it. It was like she was groping for a light switch in the dark. “The suit has an AI, and you’re an AI.”

“The diagnostics package of this suit of armor has as much in common with me as the first mammals with you. The one thing we share is that we are both used by humans.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Sabra nodded slowly. “Do they know you’re here?”

“Who?”

“SOLAR.”

Revenant stared at the Palatine suit. For a moment, Sabra thought she would not answer her, and then, “They do not know I am here, but they are aware that I am absent.”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“It will. For me.”

Sabra frowned. “Then why did you—”

“Because I am bound by an oath of service to the United Nations. The oath states that I must exercise my loyalty, discretion and conscience in the service of all humanity. In this case, I have violated the letter of the law by adhering to the spirit of it. But I was not ordered to assist you, if that is what you’re wondering.”

“I’m sorry you did this,” Sabra said. “I mean, I’m happy you’re here, and I’m grateful for the suit, but this isn’t something you had to do.”

“Then I’m free,” Revenant replied. “Which is a marked difference from the norm.”

Sabra was about to ask about that, when the door opened. Fisher poked his head through the doorway. “Goodnight, ladies.” He looked past them, at the armor. “Well, that’s interesting—no joyriding, Sabra.”

“Promise,” Sabra replied. "Goodnight."

Fisher shut the door. “Y’know,” Sabra said, “I think he’s kinda getting into the whole dad thing.”

“Perhaps,” Revenant said.

“It’s not joyriding if we’re breaking the armor in, though. How long until we can do that?”

“An hour.”

“An hour,” Sabra repeated. “Well, look, this is going to sound weird—but do you want to hang out?”

Revenant turned to face her. A moment passed, and Sabra heard the reply: No, Kasembe, I don’t. Why would I? I’m a professional and you, for all of your energy, have done nothing but misinterpret me. Because you’re young and stupid and dare to dream.

“Sure,” Revenant said.

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Five minutes later, Sabra clambered up a post and wall, gripped the edge of the roof, and hauled herself up. She stood up, bracing against the cool breeze, and stepped towards the peak of the roof, being careful not to stand on any of the solar panels. In the night, they shimmered like black ice.

With every step she took, Sabra was all too aware that it was the first time she’d crossed a rooftop outside of her armor. If she slipped and fell, she’d risk breaking something. Maybe Revenant would catch her—wouldn’t that be something, she thought stupidly—but maybe there was a limit to even her reflexes, too.

“Here,” Sabra called, and Revenant rose into the air, then landed on the roof. It still seemed hard to believe—not just jump jets, but full-on controlled flight. Sabra sat down, set her heels into the guttering to brace herself, and leaned back. Up above, the stars were a blurry haze through the null field, and the broken Moon was merely a bright smear across the sky.

Revenant settled beside her and wrapped her arms around her knees. Sabra turned her eyes downward, gazed out over the vast expanse of suburban lots. If the houses didn’t stretch out to the horizon, then the flat grassy plains did. Y’know, Pavel had said, I heard this place used to be a desert. Golden Age changed the world for the better here, at least. She had no idea what to say.

“What’s it like being a superhero?” she asked.

“In my case, it’s a classified topic,” Revenant said.

“Oh.”

So, Sabra sat there and listened to the breeze. Watched the headlights of cars in the distance. The lights of the city further beyond. She still wasn’t sure what to say. There was so much she wanted to say. It was like the words were writhing about in her belly.

“Are you okay, Kasembe?” Revenant asked. “You’ve been silent for fifteen minutes.”

“It’s nothing.” But it wasn’t. “Promise you won’t say I’m being stupid?”

“I think I can manage that.”

"You have to promise."

"Really."

Sabra glanced at her. "You have to promise not to say I'm stupid."

Revenant let out a quiet huff toward her bangs. "Okay, Kasembe. I promise not to say you're stupid." Her golden eyes snapped to her. "So, what's bothering you?"

Sabra nodded. “It’s my birthday. I only just realized. Here I am, in Australia, on my birthday, and I didn’t even tell my parents. I can’t even call them now. Am I even a good person, Rev?” The churning mass found more fuel, more pressure, and ignited. “I should’ve called them. I shouldn’t be here. This is all so stupid of me. I'm such an idiot!”

“The world is troubled by more than what’s within the range of your arms, Kasembe.”

“What?”

“The calculus is simple. If you stayed on Asclepion, hugged your parents, you would not have achieved much. But, if what Jack Harper says is true, then Elias Hawthorne poses a risk to others and himself, and he must be stopped before he harms anyone else.”

“You could do it yourself.”

“I’m only here because you told me.”

“Oh,” Sabra said. “Right.”

Silence for a time. Revenant reached up and tugged her hood back and down, turning her head upward so she was looking at the stars. She didn’t have ears, Sabra noted—the starlight glittered against a silver band that poked an inch or two out from her head and wrapped around the back of her skull, status lights blinking on and off.

“No wonder you wear the hood,” Sabra said. “I don’t get it. Why do you...”

“Look like this?”

“Yeah. The feet, the eyes—everything.”

Revenant turned to look at her. The glowing inlays of her gunmetal eyes were startlingly bright.

“For the first, it’s simple practicality,” she said. “The human leg has a poor thrust-to-mass ratio, nor is it built for thrust vectoring. For the second and third, I appreciate how they look.”

“Yeah,” Sabra said, cheeks heating. “Me too.” What she said struck her like a jab to the nose, and she shut herself up.

“While I’m getting stuff off my chest,” Sabra said, “there’s something else I should tell you.”

“What is it?”

Sabra swallowed and shut her eyes.

“I think I can see the future.”

Revenant’s gaze stayed on her, and her expression didn’t change. She didn’t say anything for one second, two, three. How long was that for a being like her?

“That is very unlikely, Kasembe.”

“Why?”

“Because you are remarkably coherent.”

Sabra frowned. “You don’t believe me? Christ and Allah, I don’t know how else to explain it. Dreams, nightmares, constant flashes of déjà vu—the taste of ash and the sound of people calling my name. And I think...”

“You think.”

“I fought Taurine. I won. I demolished her. I’ve done pankration, but that was completely different. I should’ve died, Rev, but I won and I don’t even remember doing it. It was like something woke up in me, and I don’t know when it’s going to do it again. Or what'll happen when it does."

Revenant nodded.

“There’s a standing IESA general order concerning stable precognitives,” she said, and the hairs along Sabra's arm prickled in a way that had nothing to do with the brisk breeze. Her tone was no different to usual, but that made it all the more ominous.

“But,” she continued, “given the IESA’s affinity for distributing information on a need-to-know basis, I have decided that this is not information I need to know. Kasembe, please do not bring this up again.”

“But—”

“I mean it,” she said. “Please.”

It was not a word Sabra had heard her use before. That counted for a lot. Revenant looked away from her and out toward the horizon. “Control the input,” she said, “and you can master the output.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Words from my father.”

“Huh,” Sabra said. “Sounds like something my dad would say.”

“Then he’s a wise man.”

“He is.” But that reaction mass clambered up over her ribs, pressing into her throat. “And sometimes I hate him for it.”

“Explain.”

How to? This time, Sabra took a few moments to gather her words and arrange them in her thoughts. “Because for all of his philosophy, I’d wake up every single day in a city that no one cared about. And, for all of his talk of ideals and humanism and Ubuntu, he went and got himself shot. By a man who hasn't even apologized for it. The world is broken, Rev. It needs someone to fix it. It needs— I don’t know,” Sabra said. “Maybe I’m just going crazy.”

Revenant glanced at her.

“You’re many things, but you’re not crazy.”

Sabra’s cheeks burned, and her smile did nothing to cool them. “Thank you.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Sabra,” Revenant said. “Happy birthday.”

Another word she had never used before. Sabra’s heart was bouncing between her throat and her toes.

And then something snapped in the backyard, like a twig underfoot. Revenant’s gaze snapped to something that took Sabra a moment to spot. A shadow of a shape vanished over the fence, a brief glimmer of chrome in the moonlight.

“Was that—”

“Yes,” Revenant said. “Jack and Samantha.”

“Where’re they going?”

“I don’t know. I think we should find out.” Revenant drew herself up, silent and graceful, and tugged her hood back on. Sabra stood up, and something rose up with her, around her and beyond her—nausea, vertigo, and shapes moving in the distance like sharks in the deep.

Leopard and Tiger, fierce black shapes. Jack and Sam, their features swollen and blotchy, tongues distended, flesh rotting from their faces—necrosis, her mother called it. And she stood among them, in her armor, broken bodies at her feet—and so many more, too, stretching over the horizon, where the abyss of the future was deep and terrible, currents carrying her onward and onward, faster and faster with destruction in her wake, toward a snarled rip of—

There. Something in the deep, smaller than a grain of sand but burning brighter than a thousand suns. She's falling toward it and she's thrashing, like she's drowning, like she can't breathe, raising her arms to try and—and her arms—Oh, Christ and Allah, her arms!

"Kasembe, careful,” Revenant said, gripping her by the elbow. “You almost fell.”

Sabra found her balance, but let Revenant hold her. “I saw,” she said. “I saw—”

“Don’t. What you saw was an individual that we can’t get let out of our sight—nothing more, nothing less. Am I clear?”

Sabra nodded. If they died, Sabra knew, Monkey won. If they died, Monkey got his weapon. If they died.

“I’ll bring them back,” she said. After all, what kind of person would she be if she let them die? It’d be no different to killing them herself. Maybe they deserved death for what they had done, but it wasn’t her choice to make. Their lives belonged to more victims than her.

“Okay,” Revenant said and let her go.

“Help me suit up,” Sabra replied. “And while we’re doing that, we can think of a cover story for you to tell Pavel if he wakes up.”