Nemesis

Tariel recoiled and blinked. Looking again, he drew up data from his memory stacks, classifying the plant life. Castor, nightshade and oleander; Cerbera odollam, digitalis and Jerusalem cherry; hemlock and larkspur and dozens of others, all of them brimming with their own particular strains of poisons. He kept his hands to himself from then on, not wavering at all from the pathway until it deposited them in a clearing – although clearing was hardly the word, as the place was overgrown with vines and low greenery. In the middle of the area was an ancient house, doubtless thousands of years old; it too was swamped by the jungle’s tendrils, and Tariel noted that such coverage would serve well as a blind for orbital sensors and optical scopes.

‘Not what I expected,’ muttered Kell, as they followed the man in the kimono towards an ivy-covered doorway.

‘It appears to be a manse,’ said the infocyte. ‘I can only estimate when it was built. The rainforest has reclaimed it.’

Inside, Tariel expected the place to show the same level of disarray as the exterior, but he was mistaken. Within, the building had been sealed against the elements and wildlife, and care had been taken to return it to its original form. It was only the gloom inside, the weak and infrequent sunlight through the windows, that betrayed the reality. The Vanus and the Vindicare were taken to an anteroom where a servitor was waiting, and the helot used a bulbous sensing wand to scan them both, checking everything down to their sweat and exhalations for even the smallest trace of outside toxins. The man in the kimono explained that it was necessary in order to maintain the balance of poisons in the Orchard proper.

From the anteroom, they went to what had once been a lounge. Along the walls there were numerous cages made of thin glassaic, rank upon rank of them facing outward. Tariel’s skin crawled as he made out countless breeds of poisonous reptiles, ophidians and insects, each in their own pocket environment within the cases. The infocyte moved to the middle of the room, instinctively placing himself at the one point furthest from all the cage doors.

A thing with a strange iridescent carapace flittered in its confinement, catching his eye, and the sheen of the chitin recalled a recent memory. The flesh of the Callidus had looked just the same when they had pulled Koyne out of the vacuum over Jupiter; the shapeshifting assassin had done a peculiar thing, turning into a deformed, almost foetus-like form in order to survive in the killing nothingness of space. Koyne’s skin had undergone a state change from flesh to something like bone, or tooth. Tariel recalled the disturbing sensation of touching it and he recoiled once again.

He looked away, towards Kell. ‘Do you think the Callidus will live?’

‘His kind don’t perish easy,’ said the Vindicare dryly. ‘They’re too conceited to die in so tawdry a manner.’

Tariel shook his head. ‘Koyne is not a “he”. It’s not male or female.’ He frowned. ‘Not any more, anyway.’

‘The ship will heal… it. And once our poisoner joins us, we will have our Execution Force assembled…’ Kell trailed off.

Tariel imagined he was thinking the same thing as the sniper; and what then? The question as to what target they were being gathered to terminate would soon be answered – and the Vanus was troubled by what that answer might be.

It can only be–

The thought was cut off as the man in the kimono returned with another person at his heels. Tariel determined a female’s gait; she was a slender young woman of similar age to himself.

‘By the order of the Director Primus of our clade and the Master of Assassins,’ said the man, ‘you are granted the skills of secluse Soalm, first-rank toxin artist.’

The woman looked up and she gave a hard-edged, defiant look at the Vindicare. Kell’s face shifted into an expression of pure shock and he let out a gasp. ‘Jenniker?’

The Venenum drew herself up. ‘I accept this duty,’ she said, with finality.

‘No,’ Kell snarled, the shock shifting to anger. ‘You do not!’ He glared at the man in the kimono. ‘She does not!’

The man cocked his head. ‘The selection was made by Siress Venenum herself. There is no error, and it is not your place to make a challenge.’

Tariel watched in confused fascination as the cool, acerbic mien Kell had habitually displayed crumbled into hard fury. ‘I am the mission commander!’ he barked. ‘Bring me another of your secluses, now.’

‘Are my skills in question?’ sniffed the woman. ‘I defy you to find better.’

‘I don’t want her,’ Kell growled, refusing to look at Soalm. ‘That’s the end of it.’

‘I am afraid it is not,’ said the man calmly. ‘As I stated, you do not have the authority to challenge the assignment made by the Siress. Soalm is the selectee. There is no other alternative.’ He pointed back towards the doorway. ‘You may now leave.’ Without another comment, the man exited the room.