Carlos sighed nervously, putting on his bodysuit. How long had it been since their last spar? Not long enough to be sure, his spine still felt phantom pain from the knee fracture. The trainee walked out of the locker room and stepped into the wide training hall of the Barjoni family. Large enough to fit a small city block, the hall was built in the shape of a dome, lit by the countless lamps that were placed across the ceiling. It currently had a few running tracks and rings for the fighters to spar in, but with the snap of a finger, walls could rise from the floor to create entirely new sections. Swimming pools, shooting ranges, weightlifting, and even urban combat training—the ingenuity of the engineers responsible for the construction of this part of the manor allowed for everything.
Famous for being able to accommodate a crowd short of a hundred thousand people, the hall felt desolate right now. No spectators were present at the bleachers, but the automatic seats were nonetheless extended. No scions were running the courses, performing athletic feats under the stern gazes of Barjonis’ elders or trainers. Today, the entire hall was reserved for the two of them. He, a prodigal son and a source of constant disappointment to his parents. And his father was waiting for him in the center of the ring.
Enrico Barjoni, head of the Barjoni family’s Private Burial Brigade, was built like a god. Tall and handsome, his green bodysuit barely covered his muscles, and the highly tanned skin added to the charm of his close-cropped hair. Each of his nails was painted yellow, signifying his mood for the evening. Subdermal implants under his nails could change their color at will. His father’s eyes were black, but a golden ring in the shape of a snake eating its own tail encircled each pupil. Divine in body and soul, that was Barjoni’s creed, and Enrico obeyed it, never allowing a trace of imperfection to remain on his body. A scar, a bruise, a defect of flesh—everything was removed.
Enrico gestured with a hand, and Carlos stepped into the realm of superspeed at once. Sounds faded, his father’s movements slowed, and the trainee broke the sound barrier, tearing up pieces of the mat as he charged his father. Enrico had managed to raise his arms and take his son’s cruel blows to the forearms. Tough. His father’s body felt like a concrete wall towering over him. But where years ago he would’ve shuddered at this feeling, now a surge of adrenaline coursed through the boy’s veins. He can tear that wall down! Trained by that pissant Rho, Carlos’ fists had endured numerous cracks and bruises. But with each healed wound, he grew tougher and better able to ignore pain. Carlos unleashed a hurricane of blows on his father, pushing the bastard back.
“Today you’re going down, Dad!” Carlos laughed, witnessing the ripples going across Enrico’s sleeves. Harder, stronger, faster!
Enrico threw a punch, and Carlos disappeared with a whistle, feeling ecstatic about the fact that his dad had just hit his afterimages. Augustus’ teachings took effect, and the trainee followed up the opening with a quick swing to his father’s jaw. Enrico stood undaunted and attacked with a roundhouse kick. Carlos darted out of his reach and immediately returned, punching his father under the ribs and evading an elbow just before it could touch his hair.
He can do it! Carlos felt his heart pound. Here and now, he was going to win their argument and prove once and for all that he could win his way! He dodged the grab and slammed his elbow into his opponent’s ear, returning to his straight punches. Don’t hurry. Don’t let him get to you. This fight has barely begun.
“You are pathetic, Carlos.” Enrico’s voice sounded a bit dull, but the boy caught a hint of boredom in it. “But don’t worry, my boy; everyone starts this way. Your physique has improved…”
Pathetic? A vein burst in Carlos’ eye from sheer anger. He dares? He dares to suggest that he was still weaker than him? It took all his self-control not to pierce the judging eyes with his fingers. He will win in his own way. Carlos increased the assault, driving his father back and forcing him to concentrate only on weathering the storm. Then he circled around the opponent, faster than the leather on his father’s sleeves could settle. And delivered his blow straight to the back of Enrico’s neck, holding back for fear of breaking the bones.
“Ha! Got you, asshole!”
“You disappoint me, son.” The head moved, locking his fist between the occipital bone and the neck. Enrico twisted like a snake, grabbed his son’s arm, and let go of the trapped hand. “In a battle, there is no place for taunts unless you are trying to draw your opponent’s ire and distract him.” Carlos threw up, releasing the contents of his stomach along with blood, after Enrico’s fist landed in his solar plexus. “No, you must attack relentlessly, with every hit carrying an intention to kill, if you truly are wanting to help your cause.”
There was no mercy. Carlos thrashed, trying to break his arm free or even rip it off, trying to do anything to dodge the straight right hand blows his father had unleashed on him. When he tried to block, Enrico’s fist left purple swellings on his body, reaching all the way to the bone. Carlos kicked his father in the groin and Enrico barely blinked, rewarding his attack with a brutal hook to the midsection. The trainee spat blood into his father’s eyes, but the enhanced vision pierced the bloody veil, and the beating continued.
“You have the speed, Carlos.” Enrico continued his lesson, each word accompanied by a punch. “But you refuse to use it wisely. You hold back in life-and-death situations and get hurt every time. What am I to do with you, son?”
Enrico shifted his hold, grabbing Carlos by the right shoulder and between his legs, lifting the beaten-up trainee up. And he brought his knee forward.
“Stop!” Carlos screamed. “I give up! Time out, time out, Dad, I mean it! Not my spine again...”
Enrico put his son down and walked Carlos to a bleacher, putting a hand on his shoulder. Gently. Carlos looked up, listening to his father’s words, absorbing what he had done wrong in their spar and how he could have won. There was nothing left of the man who once broke his back, putting him out for a whole day.
They sat on the seat and Enrico checked Carlos’ legs and arms. The swelling had already begun to subside, but Enrico repaired a few dislocated bones and reached for the syringe with a shot that would help the body regenerate.
“You worry me, Carlos,” Enrico said. “First, that incident with the Numbers. Then your injuries from the training. When I was your age, I was chasing after girls, giving my father endless headaches. Your brothers and sisters followed in my footsteps in this regard. Yet you chose a different path. Could it be that you swing the other way? If so, just tell me who he is; I won’t judge or oppose.”
“No, Dad, I am into girls!” Carlos frowned in pain as his finger got fixed. “I just haven’t met a proper goddess to propose to yet.”
“Goddess…” Enrico shook his head. “You listen to your uncle a little too much. Looks are not the most important thing in a woman. It is passion and loyalty that counts.” The elder Barjoni sat down next to his son. “It’s good to see you again.”
Carlos coughed and looked at his father in surprise. The last time they spoke face-to-face, he spat on carrying on the family legacy and ran off, claiming he was joining the explorators. He saw his father only once afterwards, back when Carlos was injured by Eight. His dad and mom stood by the sides of his bed, waiting for him to wake up. And Dad left soon after, not saying a word, while Mom stayed and cheered Carlos on, soon joined by his siblings. Back then, he expected being mocked or ridiculed for leaving the family. Well, he was somewhat mocked, but this was their usual back-and-forth banter. None of his brothers and sisters have said anything about his leaving. They clung to him, telling stories and bringing snacks.
In truth, Carlos didn’t leave the family because he didn’t want to carry on the legacy. He grew afraid of Enrico and the matriarch. And of what he might have become. The Family was ruthless, even if they no longer murdered their opponents in the streets. Carlos had finally decided to sever all ties with his family after seeing how easily his father had murdered a man. They were returning home from a movie when an assassin attacked them, separating them from their bodyguards with an explosive device. Carlos wet his pants as he looked down the barrel of the man’s gun, but Enrico grabbed the man by the throat and lifted him into the air. Barjoni ignored all pleading and beating, choked the man to the point of losing his conscience, and then broke the man’s throat.
Carlos didn’t want to become a person like that. And so he escaped, only rarely calling back home and living in Morningstar. But he could no longer run from his family. Not if Carlos was going to help Jumail with his problem. He clenched his fists and called his father, asking for a sparring match to hone his skills. He expected a match in a few months, or maybe a refusal, but Enrico had canceled every meeting and told him to come over right away. Carlos postponed the meeting out of fear and visited his mother and siblings first. After talking with them, he felt more confident and went to see his father.
“I thought you’d hate me after… After I…”
“Carlos, Carlos, I am your father, not your owner.” Enrico shook his head. “And you are not my hound for me to yank your chain the moment you run your way. You want to serve Iterna rather than your family? Feel free. Either you will come to your senses when you see how ungrateful the common masses are, or one of your brothers will take over if someone takes me out.”
“Don’t joke about that, Dad,” Carlos asked.
“That wasn’t a joke, son.” Enrico pointed at the portrait of their family’s founder on the dome. “Death is a part of life. Biologically, age will never take me. But we both know that either a bullet or a beam one day will. Nothing lasts forever, but it is our job to build something that will outlast us. Now stand up; we’re not dead yet. Let us enjoy life a little.”
“Actually, I wanted to talk with you about something, Dad,” Carlos said, and Enrico sighed.
“I had a feeling you didn’t just come to have a family chat. Go on, Carlos; I am listening. Who is she, and how long has she been pregnant? Is my grandson or granddaughter healthy?”
“What? No! It’s nothing like that!” Carlos exclaimed.
“Your ability to make me break my promises to Maria is uncanny,” Enrico said, his nails turning blue. “When you called me, she and I were hoping to become grandparents.”
“I’m fifteen years old! Why in... Never mind. It’s about Malformed...” Carlos began, and Enrico slammed his palm down on the seat.
“Such a word should not be uttered lightly in this house.”
“It’s not about ma… It isn’t about that, father.” The trainee said. “You see, there are several Malformed kids in the Academy. They are good people; one even helped save my bacon during the training.”
“Only because you didn’t pull your weight. Son, with your power, you should have been saving them. What about these kids? Did they impregnate someone?”
“Seriously, dad, what was your youth?” Carlos cried out.
“Wild,” Enrico said. “As yours should be.”
“Anyway, they have troubles,” Carlos said, trying not to think about the sort of horror his dad was doing when he was young. “They can leave the Academy’s grounds only for thirty minutes and only with the permission of their PO or the headmaster.”
“Foolishness. How are they supposed to be rehabilitated if they are treated like criminals?”
“That’s the point, father! They are rehabilitated!” Carlos fell silent under Enrico’s inquisitive eyes. There was an incident, and no doubt Enrico knew of it. A girl was transferred to the Akebia Group. When Akebia was in training, the girl snapped after being called a ram and an animal, all because she startled a couple leaving a shop on the piers. The Malformed used her spatial manipulation to arrive at a cemetery, where she took out her frustration by eating the rotten human flesh. She surrendered right after, but the news ran with the story, stroking fears against the Malformed. “Yes, there are troubles. But they are happening because of the strict rules by which they are forced to abide. So I was thinking… Could one of Barjoni’s news agencies work some miracles to help with PR and alleviate some fears? If the locals would only stop calling police on these kids, it would already be a great help!”
“Headmaster Torosian and the government seem to be doing just that,” Enrico said. He tapped on the seat, and a bottle with a vine rose through the opening in the wood. He offered wine to his son and poured some to himself. “Why should we chip in? Where is the profit?”
“Well, there will eventually be a sizeable number of nonhuman looking abnormal in Iterna. It may happen in a decade or in a century, but it will happen, am I right, father?” Enrico gave a nod, and the encouraged Carlos continued. “So we better start making good PR for them to smooth rough edges; none of us would benefit from having fights on the streets.”
“Government’s job,” Enrico said, examining his nails. The color changed to gray.
“But we can profit from it!” Carlos said. “By showing ourselves as champions of equality, we can set up a line-up of goods! Clothing, items, weapons, gear—that sort of thing. Not all Abnormals will choose to become similar to humans, even if they are eligible for the procedure. I have that weird girl in my class who could be a real beauty... But I digress. The point is, such people will need special items. If the Malformed and other Abnormals see us on their side, they will buy more eagerly from us! What, you want Rho to get ahead of the family and cash in on the situation?”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
This had the effect he had expected. A spark appeared in Enrico’s usually calm eyes. Barjonis and Rhos had been rivals for as long as Iterna had existed. In the past, it ended in brutal fighting and death; in modern times, both companies switched to more civilized methods of one-upping each other. The goal was no longer to see the other company destroyed; both Rho Corporation and the Barjoni family wanted to end the rivalry with a resounding victory that would see one side serving the other.
And Carlos bet his own plan on this. He spoke with this lowborn, Augustus, and came clear about everything. The mere fact of relying on a Rho for anything had almost made him tear his own heart out, but there was more at the stake than his ego. Augustus promised to try to convince Argus. If Carlos can do the same with Enrico, then the two companies will end up turning their rivalry into a betterment of the Malformed’s and, by extension, Abnormals’ lives. Sure, both will find a way to make credits out of this, but most importantly, people’s lives will be improved!
“Your suggestion has merit. Perhaps it will also allow us to bolster our own ranks with potential abnormals too…” Enrico’s hand tapped on the seat. “But you are failing to see the scope of the potential. Future profits are good, but why miss out on today’s ones? PR alone won’t be enough. Take that girl who ate a dead person recently. I would bet good money that she did so because she had no outlet for her frustration and because human flesh reminded her of a simpler time. We can synthesize food with a similar taste—it might even become a new hit. Either way, the government will buy it for the Malformed in rehab. And as for an outlet, maybe a special training center where kids can tear everything down? I’ll see if we can negotiate…”
Enrico stopped and pressed a finger to his ear, his face changing. He gestured with his finger, and Carlos quickly sat up like a well-trained student. A holographic screen came to life in front of them, showing the face of a man in a police uniform.
“Mister Enrico,” the man said with a nod, and Carlos saw that one of his eyes had been replaced with a compound eye. A curiosity, and from a government official, no less! “I hope you are in good health.” The man glanced at Carlos.
“And in good spirit,” Enrico replied, placing a hand on Carlos’ shoulder. “Speak your mind, Commissioner. The last time we spoke, you warned me about... reckless donations. I half-thought you disliked me.”
“Perish the thought, Mister Enrico.” The Commissioner smiled thinly. “I shall speak plainly. There was an incident in Iterna earlier today.”
“Of what nature?”
“One that ended in several deaths,” the commissioner said, and Carlos felt his father’s hand tighten. “The Cartel sneaked several people into Iterna to hunt down a refugee who had brought his daughter with him. They kidnapped the child, but ran into a trainee from the Academy and several concerned citizens. Things got ugly. The student is injured, several of the attackers are dead, and the rest are in serious condition…”
“Who?” Carlos asked. “What is the name of the injured student?”
Please don’t be Elina. Please don’t be Elina. His heart started racing out of worry.
“This is confidential information that has no bearing on the current discussion,” the man said.
“Commissioner, please. You have come to plead for our aid. Indulge in this request to show us the seriousness of your intentions,” Enrico asked.
“Fine.” The police chief closed his eyes, and Carlos felt sorry for the man. From what he knew of him, the Commissioner was a good man who had always fought against corruption in his department. Whatever made him talk to his father had to be killing him right now. “Vasily Rasputin.” Carlos forced himself to keep calm and kept listening. “The boy suffered a knife wound that damaged one of his lungs. His life is out of danger.”
“Ah, so this is why you are here.” Enrico lifted a glass, admiring the wine, and saluted the Commissioner. “The retaliatory strike.”
The retaliatory strike. Iterna had a soft position when it came to other countries. Border skirmishes, industrial espionage, and many such things were forgiven and resolved by diplomatic means. But the murder of a citizen within the country itself was another matter entirely. The last time such a thing happened, the Shadows, an elite unit of Iterna, slaughtered the Reclamation Army official and all his bodyguards right in his own mansion, leaving only his family and servants to tell the tale.
The policy against the criminal organizations was even harsher. Any terrorist attack on Iternian soil was punished with the utmost severity. The Shadows would target a facility of the said criminal organization, always the one closest to Iterna, and make it disappear. Either with an orbital strike or a missile strike, leaving only a crater in its place. The mere threat of such an event was enough to make even the most brazen maniacs think twice before tampering with Iterna. But the last such strike was a hundred and ten years ago. Clearly, someone thought Iterna had gone soft.
“Yes,” the Commissioner said. “I can stall the process long enough for a third party to carry out a justice strike of sorts on the Cartel’s facility located in the neutral mountains between the lands of the Resistance and the Desolation. On Iterna’s behalf, of course. Do that, and I will see to it that the Barjoni family will have a chance to offer jobs to the Abnormals leaving the juvenile prison next year.”
“A very interesting proposition.” Carlos could almost taste the greed in his father’s voice. Former gang members, foolish youths who had joined criminal activities in search of easy money—all of them were being rounded up and sent to rehabilitation facilities after a reunification. To prevent a relapse into a life of crime, the government created a series of safety nets for the abnormals from the newly joined countries. “But what I want to know is, why are you offering me such a price?”
“Because it is a slave facility. The Shadows might not care, but there are thousands of people in there, all in the process of being mentally broken to be molded into slaves.” The Commissioner’s natural eye hardened. “I took an oath to serve and protect. I cannot in good conscience condemn these people to death. As one concerned citizen to another, I humbly ask for your assistance in the matter, Mister Enrico.”
“Just Enrico, please.” The father made a gracious nod. “But I believe you should have come clean from the beginning..”
“Beg your pardon?”
“Commissioner, please, there is no way you yourself would make this decision. Especially when it comes to giving us the first pick of the former prisoners. Do not insult my intelligence. A person of your character would have resigned your position instead of breaking the law. I can see the pain in your face, my dear Commissioner.” Enrico took himself by the chin. “Her Majesty and a group of others are behind this, and you are willing to play the role of a sacrificial lamb should I reveal the information to the Shadows, am I correct?”
“I have no idea what you are talking about, sir.” The man’s face didn’t twitch. His breath remained the same. Carlos found himself admiring such self-control.
The queen? Could the father be telling the truth? The last monarch of Iterna had given up her title willingly, refusing to restore the monarchy even after the horrible culling. From her palace in the capital, she did all she could to encourage the growth and spread of democracy on Iterna. Her words inspired hearts and calmed dissidents. A fierce defender of human rights, she played a role in the political life of the nation. Why would she break the law now of all times?
“I will consider your proposition and give the answer shortly, my dear friend.” Enrico stood and bowed deeply, turning the display with a snap. Then he turned and looked at the wall.
“Father?” Carlos asked carefully. “What is there to think about? Lives are on the line!”
“Lives are always on the line.” A voice spoke behind him, and Carlos’ blood froze.
He loved the family. The Barjonis were a dysfunctional family, one in which every baby received extensive biological and mechanical augmentation from birth, grafting strengths on the newborns. Their children were raised with a great deal of freedom and harsh training designed to mold the scions into people capable of standing up for themselves. Despite the occasional coldness and bickering, the family stood up for their own. Build a legacy that will outlast you. The Family adhered to this rule.
But there were two people who frightened Carlos to death. One was his father. And the other was slithering from the space between the bleachers, rising high behind him. Blood pounded in his temples. The empty gym. No training personnel. No maids serving refreshers. What a fool he was! His father didn’t allow him to hear the Commissioner’s speech; he let the man speak so she could hear too!
“Look at me, Carlos,” the Matriarch commanded. Without voice manipulators, her voice was a mixture of wet pops and sighs, growls and sucking, all mixed together. Enrico stepped closer and placed a hand on Carlos’ shoulder.
The boy obeyed, facing the living horror. Cointa Barjoni, the third matriarch of the Barjoni family, stood before him; the coils of her tail had already begun to wrap around him. A three-fingered hand reached out, and Carlos kissed the gray flesh, fighting the urge to vomit. Four smaller eyes, four golden jewels surrounding the single large orb of purple, narrowed in delight at his manner, and Cointa moved closer. Mouths kissed the boy’s face, and hands left traces of incense on his forehead.
Cointa always preferred to appear before others, family or otherwise, in human attire. Few members of the family were even aware of her deformity, due to a thick layer of holographic imagery, well-fitting dresses, and numerous mechanical devices implanted in her body. But Carlos saw her. By accident. The Matriarch summoned him, a boy six years old, to chastise him about his bad grades. In his foolishness, he stormed into her room instead of knocking on the door and waiting.
He could still remember the horrid screams of the dying maid and the thrashing of her legs. The Barjoni family toned down on the killing. Unlike before, they fought for their personnel, tough and nail, too. But when their own staff tried to smuggle poison or steal private secrets from the matriarch... Cointa showed no mercy. It was then that Carlos collapsed, whimpering and begging the monster to spare his family as the giant shadow enveloped him. He awoke in bed, and his mother later took him to the Matriarch, who wore no disguise. They spoke at length. And so he learned one of the family’s darkest secrets. Since then, Cointa has welcomed Carlos into the private circle, even though he has no real influence or skills to rival the elder Barjonis.
“Welcome back to the family.” Cointa’s voice changed to her usual stern one as the voice manipulator installed in her throat began to work.
“I haven’t really returned to the family, Grandmother,” Carlos said stubbornly.
He could taste the change in the matriarch’s mood. The arms put him down, Cointa’s main eye narrowed, and the coils slipped off his body. Carlos found Enrico in front of him. Cointa dropped low, almost piercing the boy with her unblinking gaze.
“And what if I tell you that the family will only help you with this stunt of yours if you return and be a good boy, Carlos?” Cointa said.
“Grandmother,” Enrico warned her.
Carlos met her gaze. Come back. Leave the Academy, drop the place that had become his home—a real home, as opposed to this place of guile and violence. He could endure Enrico’s beatings and Cointa’s poisonous tongue; Carlos wasn’t soft enough to fear those discomforts. But the family will rule his life, decide where and for whom he will work, all for the glory of the Barjoni family. Worse, he might one day become a murderer like his father.
Yet there was no alternative. The people needed help, and the family could provide it. He hated this situation and cursed both his father and the matriarch for trapping him like this. There was only one right decision.
“If that is your price, I will return,” Carlos said defeatedly, and Cointa laughed, shattering the gloom that had settled over him.
“And what good would a discontented puppet do us, boy? Live as you see fit.” The coils closed around him, and Enrico and the matriarch kissed him on the brow. “It has been so long, my boy. But you have found your way home, and your petulance is forgiven and already forgotten. Have you noticed, Enrico?”
“The commissioner is missing the point, matriarch,” Enrico stated.
“So you picked up too,” Cointa said.
“Father? What do you mean?” Carlos struggled not to be suffocated by the Matriarch’s natural musk. The woman used the most exquisite perfume, one that filled the nostrils with a divine scent, but at this distance, her true scent began to break through.
“Think, son. The Shadows exist to protect Iterna.” Enrico grunted and pushed the coils aside. “To that end, they have been given almost unlimited authority. They can listen to phone calls without a warrant. They can spy on citizens and even assassinate targets outside the country. What are the chances that they slept on such a crude kidnapping attempt?”
“Are you saying that the whole situation was planned by the Shadows?” Carlos couldn’t believe it. The Shadows were cold-hearted people, more machines than men. But they put their lives on the line again and again to save Iterna’s civilians, dying in droves if it meant saving just one Iternian life.
“It makes sense,” Enrico said. “At the cost of two lives, though I am sure the Shadows kept someone at the border to rescue the girl, the situation is resolved. The Cartel’s contacts within Iterna are exposed. Their hunter is caught. Emboldened by the righteous anger, the public will approve the strike, leading to the slave facility near our border, that cesspool of slow-spreading rot, going the way of the Old World. And as for the slaves in the facility, well, there are casualties in any war.”
“The Shadows protect Iterna, Carlos,” Cointa said. “Me, you, and all the country. And should they decide that it would be best to sacrifice a life to remove a greater threat, they would do so in a heartbeat. They are hard, but by fighting their own war in the dark, this unit has saved Iterna and the world at large several times. Push and pull. No wonder she stepped in,” the Matriarch muttered. “You plan to refuse the Commissioner?”
“No. First, his offer is too good for us to refuse, Matriarch. And second. We need to see the latest prototypes in action. This scramble should provide adequate marketing material,” Enrico said.
“But you will keep the word, right, Father? The slaves will be sent to the refugee camps?” The trainee asked. No doubt there will be Abnormals among the slaves. Should his father renege on the deal, he himself will report to the Commissioner.
“Of course.” Enrico ruffled Carlos’ hair. “Son, there is something you must learn about business. Your brand, your word, your reputation—all these things matter in the long run. The family has been around for a long time, and we plan to keep going ad infinitum. We can’t afford to waste any resources, material or otherwise. Having said that, you want to go kill some people? It shouldn’t take long, a day in and a few days out.”
“I’d rather go and check up on Vasily, Dad.” Carlos smiled. “He is my friend. Plus, I have a job to do back at the Academy.”
“Suit yourself.” A rare smile crept on Enrico’s face, and his nails turned light violet. “War.”
“Enrico, what am I to do with your antics?” Cointa pondered, gathering her tail around her. “A peaceful life is the best goal a living being can strive for.”
“I do not dispute the correct assessment, Matriarch.” Enrico bowed, accepting a pat on the head. “Yet as an individual, it is my personal preference to have my utmost happiness on the battlefield, surrounded by the screams of the dead and dying, be they my enemies or my own side. Forgive this flaw of mine, matriarch, but I was born to die a violent death.”
“Have your fun, but keep restraint,” Cointa advised him. “I will assign someone to browse the potential abnormals. We need to convince them that no one but the family can provide them with the best conditions.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult," Carlos said. “Offer them education, payment, free health care, plenty of freedom, a new house, and you’ll have a small army of volunteers.”
The matriarch merely patted him on the head, smiling with all sixty-eight mouths.
“Farewell, then,” she said. “I will ponder about something.”
“What about, Grandmother?” Enrico asked.
“Enrico, you accused the commissioner of missing the grand picture. Yet you, too, have failed to spot the obvious.” Cointa raised a finger. “How did they learn about the Shadows’ scheme so soon? Could it be that the Shadows are no longer united? But that doesn’t make any sense due to their nature. Ah. Our queen has her secrets still… Mayhap it is we who are being manipulated? Go on, children. I have to think about what this means. And how we can profit from it.”
“I am off to the hospital,” Carlos said.
“Come by for New Year’s,” his father asked as they walked toward the lockers. “Your mother misses you.”
“I will!” Carlos promised.