by Martyn

This is an expanded version of a story I wrote for Further Adventures in SciFi & F. I’m considering using this longer version for my current course.

Things to consider:

1. Is there sufficient emotional content
2. Is the dialogue realistic
3. Are the descriptions adequate
4. Is there too much telling
5. Is the story engaging?

The tall, black-clad figure of Zinnai Savita Ké coalesced into corporeality with a sigh of expanding vapour and a shower of portal radiation overspill. The air, carrying a faint scent of ozone, rippled as her mass displaced it. Zac, her e-familiar—a sleek, obsidian drone —hummed into existence beside her, hovering resolutely near her shoulders. Its sensors rotated, making a swift threat level assessment, which, finding none, released it from its station to hover near the ceiling.

“Are you doing menacing?” she asked, a wry smile trying to break free as she looked up at Zac.

“It’s my go-to pose, boss,” Zac replied. “It goes nicely with the multi-terajoule directed energy array I’m wearing.”

Ké favoured making solitude a stranger, at least since the Insight Agency claimed her from the orphanage in which she grew up, but her hit-and-miss relations with other humans meant she never travelled without the irascible but likeable drone. The upside of this is drones never forget anything. This is also the downside, but Ké liked the constraints of always being on her mettle, especially when her witness was a combat-enabled drone with no firmware interdiction of human casualties.

Insight was more commonly referred to as “The Club” by its agents—a reflection of both its camaraderie and methods—but they never spoke the name within earshot of the uninitiated public. As a semi-autonomous, self-regulating body, which was equal parts law enforcement, judiciary, intelligence, and military, The Club trod outside ordered regulatory traffic, existing in a labyrinthine world of conspiracy, unexplained technology, and corruption, which meant their methods often reflected the circumstances of their investigations.

They had emerged into a broad, empty corridor, and Ké sent a note to her substack reminding her to congratulate Percy D’Auber, her transport tech. Subtlety was far from his forte, but he, for once, had managed to avoid disturbing the targets.

The corridor’s air held a faintly musky scent mixed with the subtle metallic tang of stale psychic echoes, and a background aroma of decaying wood. At one end, wooden steps, worn smooth by centuries of countless footfalls, spiralled upwards into impenetrable gloom. At the other extremity, a vast stained-glass window, its intricate design abstract, geometric, devoid of overt religious iconography, cast fractured, muted light across the dusty flagstones.

Beside the window, a heavy door loomed, solid and crafted from oiled oak; its grain was dark, rich, and spoke of ancient strength. An unwieldy iron handle, forged with brutalist simplicity, protruded and heavy black studs adorned the surface in a stern, symmetrical pattern. Craftsmanship which whispered of an age where brute force superseded mere elegance; where portals served to deter, not to beckon.

“Very medieval,” she murmured to Zac, one eyebrow arched. Her voice, a low mezzo-soprano, echoed softly. She gestured, the light catching subtle iridescence on her dark-clad sleeve. “I suppose we enter here.”

The drone bobbed twice, a nearly imperceptible nod of assent.

“Shall we proceed together, or do I take point—again?” Zac enquired.

Ké regarded the drone with amusement, but then her brow furrowed, and a faint undulation of energy passed beneath her skin. A distinct shift pervaded the moment, as the atmosphere made her psi-spikes jangle with a subtle psychic dissonance, like an off-key note marring a perfectly tuned orchestra. There was no discernible hostility, but a pervasive sense of wrongness, a disturbance in the localised psychic field she perceived with unsettling clarity.

“You first,” she instructed, her voice dropping a notch. A slight grimace touched her lips. “Just refrain from killing anything. Well, unless it attempts to kill us first.”

“Understood, boss. Truth be told, I find the constant association with blood and gore rather tiresome these days. My story holds more depth,” Zac buzzed. A familiar refrain, the drone’s nascent yet persistent quest for identity beyond its algorithms often caused Ké to wonder how much genuine sapience truly existed within, and how much was sophisticated programming. She guessed it was a process, with Zac’s personality asserting itself with each new experience. From her standpoint, he was no longer just a tool, with all the implications of expendability that came with it. Zac was her only friend.

Zac floated towards the door, its thrusters emitting a barely audible whine. As it approached the unwieldy iron handle, a shimmering, almost invisible planar field extruded from its array, solidifying into a rigid, precise tool. With surgical accuracy, it depressed the handle.

Bolts withdrew with a series of heavy, metallic clunks, finally resonating with a satisfying thud. Zac nudged the door open.

***

Beyond was an expansive patio. A sudden deluge of natural light, filtered through an unseen canopy, offered a stark contrast to the dim corridor. Air here felt fresh, carrying the faint, sweet scent of blooming flora. Floral decorations, arranged in intricate, deliberate patterns around its balustrade, were more than mere aesthetics; Ké’s sensors, sharpened by years of encountering esoteric technology, identified them instantly. Psi-jamming patterns, meticulously cultivated, hybridised botanical species whose bio-electric fields and crystalline structures forged localised psychic dampening. A common, if crude, method for crippling psionics. A clear sign that whoever dwelt here concealed something from potential psychic threats.

Standing together, near the far wall, were Arch-Teron Mise and an acolyte. The Arch-Teron, a stout figure of undeniable authority within the habitat’s ecclesiastical structure, swayed, his golden robes shimmering as the subtly shifting fabric was pulled carelessly aside. His mitre lay discarded on the patio flagstones, haphazardly tossed in a moment of unguarded passion. Ké’s heads-up display identified the acolyte as Novitiate Brime, as her briefing anticipated. The boy, barely beyond adolescence, with fair hair and a slender build, was a stark contrast to the corpulent priest. He was slowly kissing and licking the Arch-Teron’s fleshy chest, his youthful face buried in the older man’s ample folds.

Ké cleared her throat, a deliberately intrusive sound slicing through the illicit intimacy. The startled priest pulled his robe together with clumsily flustered haste. He swivelled his head, jowls flapping, mouth agape in an “O” of surprise, quickly displaced by default indignation.

Regaining his composure, a practised mask of sanctimonious authority settled into place.

“Agent Ké. What compels Insight to visit my humble haven?” he demanded, the question laced with forced politeness, a thin veil over deep suspicion, and simmering annoyance.

“Witness reports,” Ké responded, her voice calm, level, and devoid of judgment. “Several complaints surfaced concerning your activities. You know, disappearing novitiates and such.”

She allowed the implication to linger, permitting the priest to absorb the gravity of her words fully.

“I know nothing of disappearing novitiates,” Mise replied, his voice regaining its customary authority, now tinged with a cold, arrogant certainty. His gaze was unwavering. “As far as I am aware, the entire college remains present and correct.”

“Ah, now here’s the crux,” Ké continued, stepping further onto the patio, her movements fluid and economical. “We discovered four of the college’s novitiates are androids, disguised to mimic their missing doppelgangers.”

She paused, allowing the words to sink in, watching the subtle flicker of alarm in Mise’s eyes. “So, suspecting foul play, we conducted a bit of survey work in the Edge Sea, and it appears four bodies rest deep beneath the water in Corridors Sound.”

The Edge Sea, a vast, shallow ocean bordering the primary continental mass of the habitat, is known for its deep geological formations beneath its surface, including the infamous Corridors Sound. Insight’s aquatic survey drones, equipped with advanced multi-spectral sonar and bio-scanners, had pinpointed tell-tale organic signatures which could only have come from decomposing human bodies.

Then, touching her bottom lip with her index finger, Ké curved her mouth into a predatory smile, devoid of humour. “We haven’t retrieved them yet, but I wager when we do, they will be our missing novitiates.”

“It implicates me not, though. Does it, Ké?” Mise sneered, his composure returning, albeit with a brittle edge. He gestured dismissively at Novitiate Brime, who, composed, now stood nervously beside the Arch-Teron. “I am merely an innocent enjoying the company of this delightful young man. I hold no connection with any others, missing or otherwise.”

“Regrettably—well, for your sake anyway—we possess a pretty good network of informants, Arch-Teron,” Ké said, her voice remaining calm, almost conversational. “And one approached us with crucial information; Doctor Allman, a specialist in genetic alterations.”

She watched him closely, noting the nearly imperceptible tensing of his jaw. “And it emerged an elderly man with a cultured voice, just like yours, underwent an unusual procedure. Most unusual.”

“What of it?” Mise snapped, his eyebrows narrowing, a vein throbbing faintly in his temple. But his defiance was waning, replaced by a flicker of genuine fear. “Thousands of well-spoken older men populate this habitat.”

Ké smiled again and took a cautious step forward, closing the distance. “Ah, yes, true, but only one altered his genetic profile to render his semen a highly deadly toxin.”

The words hung in the air, cold, stark. “Fortunately, the doctor proved to be quite meticulous and recorded his patients’ genetic profiles. I’m not a betting woman, but I have a good idea whose profile will match once we gain access to your records.”

“It is inadmissible in any court. Patient confidentiality,” growled the Arch-Teron, a desperate, almost pathetic attempt to cling to some shred of legal protection.

“Indeed,” Ké said. “Which explains my presence. I do not stand on legal niceties. We only need confirmation that we have the right guy. The rest? Well…” Her expression remained impassive, but her tone held firm resolve. Insight operated beyond conventional legal frameworks when necessary, preferring a swifter, more direct form of justice.

The moment stretched, as everything held still and chilling realisation slotted into place. Mise’s face, his carefully constructed edifice of arrogance and denial, crumbled into a mask of pure, animalistic panic. His gaze darted frantically around the patio, seeking an escape route.

Grabbing the acolyte, Mise pulled a thin metal tube from his robes. He pressed it against the boy’s forehead. The metallic surface glinted portentously.

“I am certain you recognise this,” he said, his voice no longer arrogant, but a desperate snarl.

“It appears to be a shock-rod, boss,” Zac said, moving to one side to flank the priest, his thrusters humming quietly as he repositioned for maximum tactical advantage. His optical sensors focused solely on the rod, calculating its beam’s possible trajectory and energy output.

“Correct,” snarled the priest, confirming Zac’s assessment. He began to move towards a small gate in the floral arrangement, hidden by dense foliage. “And now, I intend to make my way to my slip-craft. Should you attempt to hinder me, I will release an energy pulse into his head.”

In a flurry of motion, Zac intercepted the rod. The priest fired, but Zac absorbed the full force of the blast. This concentrated energy pulse momentarily overloaded his shields, sending him cartwheeling across the patio flagstones and emitting a high-pitched whine of protest. But before Ké could seize the priest, even with her enhanced reflexes, Mise produced a small, ugly gun from his robes, a second, more conventional weapon.

“Now that’s a pity. You would have survived this but for that damn drone. Now I must deal with you,” Mise said, his voice laced with venomous regret. He adjusted his grip on the weapon, a crude yet effective slug thrower. “Do not bother attempting your psi-powers. I trust you observed that this exquisite floral arrangement incorporates a psi-blocking pattern. I quite like my privacy.” His sneer returned, a triumphant glint in his eye as he recognised that he had effectively neutralised her primary advantage.

He raised the gun, aimed it squarely at Ké’s chest. “Farewell, Agent Ké. I couldn’t say it’s been a pleasure meeting you. But your departure will be sweet. For me, anyway.”

His finger began to tighten on the trigger, but before he could squeeze it, the boy novitiate, an emblem of terror-stricken despair only moments before, leapt to his feet with astonishing speed and strength belying his slender frame. Kicking the gun from Mise’s hand with a precise, practised motion, he sent it clattering across the patio. In the same fluid movement, he locked the Arch-Teron in a vice-like neck-hold, his arms like rods of steel.

“What?” Mise exclaimed, his face purpling. He strained to wriggle free, but the boy’s arms remained unmoved, his strength terrifyingly absolute.

Ké smiled grimly as she strolled over to the fallen drone, which was attempting to right itself with a series of jerky movements.

Are you okay, Zac?” she cried, a taste of ash in her mouth.

“A bit shaken, boss,” the drone buzzed, its optical sensors flickering rapidly as it ran internal diagnostics. “But nothing a couple of hours in the workshop won’t remedy.”

Ké thought he sounded remarkably cheerful for a unit that a directed energy blast had struck. She took a deep, shuddering breath. “Thank the fates.”

She turned back to the priest, who still struggled against the novitiate’s powerful hold, his face contorted in disbelief and nodded at the acolyte.

“You are not the sole user of androids, Mise,” she said, her voice dripping with quiet satisfaction. “Once we discovered your scheme, it was a simple matter to place one of ours into the college.”

She picked up Zac with care and stroked the top of its carapace, then slipped the fallen drone into a pouch on her belt, where it settled comfortably with a faint whir.

She murmured, “You performed admirably, Zac.”

Then, she turned on her heel, marched back to the oiled oak door, leaving Mise sputtering in the android’s relentless grip.

“What becomes of me?” Mise wailed, his voice cracking with fear as he grasped the depth of his predicament. “You can’t abandon me to this machine!”

She glanced back, momentarily tempted to end it there, a fleeting thought of expediency crossing her mind. But Insight protocols endured, and justice, however harsh, required public observance. She addressed the android novitiate, whose grip on Mise remained unwavering, “Bring him. I suspect he’ll get a lengthy stay in one of our secure facilities, planet-side.”

The android nodded, its face impassive, its eyes devoid of the youthful innocence they projected moments earlier, and proceeded to half-carry, half-drag the Arch-Teron, now little more than a whimpering, struggling sack of flesh, back towards the open doorway, towards his inevitable destiny.

***

Later, in the Chapter House, a sprawling administrative complex adjacent to the college, Ké looked in on the disabled Zac in the workshop.

It was a cavernous space, filled with the hum of diagnostic equipment, the glow of holographic schematics, and the faint, antiseptic scent of circuit cleaner. The only presence was a lean, grease-stained individual with a permanently worried expression, bent over Zac, bits of the drone’s circuitry splayed around his bench like the dissected organs of a living creature.

Seeing him like that, Ké drew in a sharp breath.

“How fares the work?” Ké asked, leaning against a workbench, as the tech picked at strands of brightly coloured self-ware with an arcane, multi-dimensional tool.

“I’ll restore him to full functionality in next to no time,” he said, without looking up, his fingers deftly manipulating micro-soldering tools. The tech’s tone changed to one laced with a mixture of disgust and bewilderment. “I heard about the incident. It provokes thought, doesn’t it? We are meant to trust priests, yet here is the Arch-Teron, unleashing toxic essence upon adolescents. I don’t get it.”

“He found gratification in the terror etched on their faces, after experiencing his ecstasy, I suppose,” Ké said, her voice quiet, a distant sorrow residing in her eyes. It was a motivation she understood intellectually but found emotionally abhorrent. “It was swift-acting poison, thankfully. So their suffering was brief—perhaps a few seconds of realisation—then paralysis and death within minutes.”

She shook her head sadly. The toxin’s efficiency did little to soothe the horror of its grim purpose.

“I suppose it is not so different from your poisonous fingernail glands,” the tech said, coughing nervously, realising his faux pas. He quickly refocused on Zac’s internal workings.

Ké scowled, a flash of irritation crossing her features. Her glands produced a potent poison, capable of inducing rapid paralysis and death. Still, she viewed it as a last resort, an unavoidable evil, not a source of gratification.

“The intent differs profoundly,” she retorted sharply—her abilities were a biological inheritance—a defence mechanism—not a tool for sadistic pleasure. “I abhor using the glands. The entire point of his adjustment revolved around the terror.”

“So, what will you do with him? We can’t prosecute; he will have every political string pulled so vigorously, they’ll probably give him a medal,” the tech replied. The Arch-Teron’s connections ran deep, interwoven through the very fabric of power and privilege.

“It’s not my call, but I expect he will end up in an Insight internment facility planet-side, or on some remote asteroid,” Ké stated flatly, though a certain grim satisfaction gleamed in her eyes. The deep space facilities lay beyond the reach of conventional legal systems, places where Insight could mete out its brand of justice.

 “Hopefully, they will remove his weaponry. I am almost tempted to volunteer for the procedure myself, but I doubt the agency would sanction it,” she said with a wink, a rare, fleeting moment of dark humour sending a shiver down the tech’s spine. The ‘procedure’ would prove unpleasant, irreversible, and thoroughly deserved.

“While you’re here, I have a few upgrades you might find intriguing. It seems to me you could benefit from an offensive capability,” the tech said, a glint of professional enthusiasm in his eye as he pondered the complex engineering challenge. He’d been reviewing her mission profiles while repairing Zac, and he noted a recurring pattern where her reliance on physical combat or existing technology rendered her vulnerable, something he believed he could mitigate with sufficient enhancements.

“The more, the merrier. What sort of toys do you have for me?” Ké said, her eyes lighting up with genuine interest.

“Let me finish with Zac here, and then come down to see me in, say, half an hour, and we’ll see what I can unearth for you,” he replied, already mentally sifting through schematics and prototype designs.

“You got a deal. Just make sure Zac recovers fully. I miss the little twit,” Ké said, a touch of genuine affection softening her voice.

“I-can-HEAR-you,” Zac’s voice buzzed from his carapace, a faint, almost metallic chuckle in his synthesised tone. His optical sensors flickered, a sign he was almost fully operational again.

“And I miss you too, Zinnai Savita Ké,” he said, with a purr a cat would show pride in.