“The worst nightmare of any general would be an army of augments gone rogue. They are faster, stronger, and smarter than the average human being. If they were independent as well?” He shook his head. “It would be disastrous. And so when they are cut off from their own, or lose their masters, they die.”

Ocho puzzled on that for a little while. “But that one didn’t die.”

“That’s right, soldier. That one didn’t die. It bided its time. It survived for months, and then it escaped, and it tore a hole in us and ours. It’s all alone, but it’s still alive and running.”

“So what do you think you can do with it? It’ll rip our throats out if we find it. Practically did, already.”

The lieutenant shrugged. “Let’s just say that it might have a use.”

“If it’s still alive.”

“It’s out there.” Sayle stared out at the jungle. “It’s out there, and that castoff knows where it is. If we find the girl, we find the half-man.” He looked over at Ocho. “I have a job for you, Sergeant. It’s time for you to redeem yourself.”

16

THE PRICK OF a needle. A surprise.

Small pain.

Which meant large pain was receding.

Tool held still as the needle found its way into muscle tissue. Monitored the liquid as it spread warmth into his muscle. A deep injection. 1 cc… 3 cc… 5 cc… 10 cc… 20 cc. A great deal of it. An antibiotic, from the way his body drank it in, instead of rejecting it as it rejected toxins.

The needle withdrew.

“That’s right. Now check the bandages.”

A man’s voice. Full-grown. Unusual in the Drowned Cities, where war ate its young long before they reached maturity. And a doctor from the sound of it. Two oddities. Tool couldn’t remember the last time he’d encountered a genuinely trained medic.

“Are these clean enough?”

A girl’s voice, and with it, the whiff of blood and fertility. Postadolescent, human, female.

The man’s voice responded, irritated. “It’s why we boil them.”

Delicate hands picked at Tool’s chest. Peeled away stinking bandages with a wet tearing. The smell of infection and iron. Blood and stink.

Again the man’s voice, flat. Instructive to a fault, but laden with disapproval. Disgust, almost. “That’s right. Pluck out the maggots. You don’t want them turning to flies.”

Tool let them work and listened. No other exhalations nearby, no scuffles or footfalls. Two only, then. And close enough to snap in half. Tool relaxed; he had the tactical advantage. These frail and stupid human beings had no idea that they were being stalked. He was upwind of them.

“If it’s healing,” the girl asked, “why don’t it wake up?”