the blood he spilled during his violent outbursts. You could never tell what would set him off. He had no friends, and his enemies daren't touch an Investigator.
He didn't respond to reason, kindness, or military discipline. To control him in the field, you had to prove you were the better man and keep on proving it, by brute force if necessary. In a working Investigator such qualities could be condoned, even encouraged on occasion, but in a man close to enforced retirement, he was a danger to himself and everyone around him. It helped that Edge was somewhat intimidated by Half A Man's legend, but then, most people were.
Barr was the other end of the spectrum. A military man through and through, gung ho and eager for battle, dedicated to the Empire and its Empress. A dangerous fighter with any weapon, he was never happier than in the midst of action, probably because he had no social skills whatsoever. He didn't like people. Luckily, he liked aliens even less. He was here on Technos III because he'd been ordered here, and he'd fight and kill and if need be die to carry out those orders. Or at least, he always had in the past. Now that his Empress had apparently lost faith in him and was contemplating retiring him from the field, he might start feeling differently about things. He wasn't stupid, just single-minded. He wouldn't retire from action. He had nothing to retire to. He'd bear watching.
Shoal was a whole different kind of problem. Sharp, bright, and terrifyingly efficient, Shoal was one of the top ten Investigators in the field at the moment, and she knew it. She was dying slowly of a rare degenerative nerve disease. There was no cure except for regeneration, and that was available only to the aristocracy. If she'd been young and in her prime. Half A Man might have been able to get her an exception, as a personal favor to him. But even before the disease took hold, there'd been talk she was getting older, slowing down. The Investigator's life was a hard and brutal one. She wasn't bitter. She was a good soldier. For the moment her faculties were still clear, and her experience would be invaluable. He could rely on her—probably.
Half A Man pushed his chair away from the table, stood up, and moved over to the bed. He lay down on it without bothering to pull back the bedclothes. He didn't sleep anymore. Hadn't since the aliens worked on him. But he still made a point of resting a few hours every night so he could dream. Sometimes in his dreams he remembered some of the things they'd done to him, and then he woke screaming. But he needed to dream. He had to remember exactly what had been done to him. All of it, no matter how bad it got. Because the real horror was that the change they'd worked in him wasn't over yet. Every year the energy construct that made up the right half of his body grew a little larger, by eating up a little more of his human half. Only a very little. But it was an ongoing process that showed no signs of stopping or even slowing down. Eventually, all his humanity would be gone, and he had no idea at all who or what he might be then.
It also seemed to him more and more that the energy half of his body was slowly changing shape, becoming gradually less human and more something else. Something alien. He had no memory of what the aliens who changed him looked like, except briefly in his nightmares, but he found the hints in his changing energy half disquieting and disturbing. But even worse than that, he was beginning to worry that the energy half might have its own subordinate intelligence, its own secret thoughts, and just possibly its own hidden agenda. It was vital he hang on grimly to what was left of his humanity and his mind, for fear of what might replace it.
Which was one of the few reasons he had to be glad he was here on Technos III. It would be good to be back in the field again. Mostly he ran a desk these days, but the Empress had wanted results on Technos III fast, and he grabbed the chance with both hands. Things were so much simpler in battle. It always felt good to be killing the Empire's enemies. According to all the reports, the Rejects and their new leader, whoever he really was, would make a good enemy. They were clever, cunning, and brave fighters. A real challenge for once. He'd enjoy killing them. And just maybe he could use the occasion to teach Edge, Burr, and Shoal to be part of an armed fighting force. Why not? He'd taught them how to be Investigators in the first place.
Toby Shreck had charmed, persuaded, and bullied various factory personnel into letting him use part of the complex's communications center as a mixing room for the broadcast he had to put together for the next day. He had a hell of a lot of footage, courtesy of the redoubtable Flynn, who was probably currently relaxing in his quarters in a nice little twin set and pearls, hopefully behind a locked door, leaving Toby to do all the hard word of choosing which precious moments of recorded history would make it into the final mix. Toby glared at the viewscreens and control panels before him, poured himself another stiff drink, used it to wash down a couple of uppers, and stuck his cigar back in his mouth. Two in the morning, wired out of his skull, his fingers moving faster than his thoughts could follow. That was how you got your best work done. If you were Toby Shreck on a tight deadline.
He missed having room service to shout at, but otherwise this was business as usual. The whiskey burned in his chest and in his mind, the uppers hammered through his bloodstream, and the cigar smoke kept him balanced as he sorted the gold from the dross. He had to make this compilation look good. Really good. The live footage of Half A Man and his Investigators had made people sit up and take notice, and won him his best viewing share ever. But it hadn't made him any friends among his fellow reporters, who had been besieging the Wolfe complex with requests, demands, and pleas for entry visas ever since. The Wolfes, not surprisingly, were stonewalling. They still thought they could control things, as long as it was just Toby Shreck and his cameraman. Toby grinned around his cigar. He'd show them.
But he couldn't continue to rely on lucking into great found footage. He'd caught everyone's attention, but to hold onto it he'd have to follow up with a bloody good program about what was really going on down here on Technos III. It hadn't been easy. Everyone in and around the factory complex was being very careful about what they said in front of Toby, whether Flynn was with him or not. The word had come down from Above. Luckily, he already had enough good stuff to rock the Wolfes back in their luxuriously designed and expensive shoes. This particular compilation would make a fine example of what he could do, showing off his talent and establishing him as a major name in the news business. If it didn't get him killed first. It would also be a perfect thumbing of the nose to all those who had snubbed or insulted him. He rolled his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other, grabbed a few chocolates from the nearby box, and knocked back another belt of whiskey. He was supercharging now. Start with the Mother Bea footage. That was the mother lode.
He ran the tapes again, glaring in concentration at the tiny screens before him. He had two and sometimes three running at once, to keep up with his rocketing thoughts. Flynn had got some great panning shots of the hospital tent with the factory complex in the background, to show off the relative size of each. Then there were shots inside the tent, with the wounded lying still and silent, only sometimes moaning quietly on their narrow cots. He called up the master shot of Mother Superior Beatrice explaining who would and would not be allowed treatment, according to the Wolfes. Then a close-up of her tired, nearly defeated face.
'In the winter… I've seen the surgeons stop in mid operation to warm their hands in the steaming guts they've just opened up.'
Yes, that would make them sit up and take notice. The Sisters of Mercy were well loved and well respected throughout the Empire. They weren't supposed to be forced to work in conditions like that, not even by the high and mighty Wolfes. Assuming, of course, he could smuggle this past the censors. There were a lot of people who thought they were in authority here who'd demand to see the tape in its entirety before it went out. Toby grinned around his cigar. He had an idea or two.
More whiskey and another chocolate.
The next tapes were from the brief interview Half A Man had reluctantly granted him. He hadn't wanted to, and Toby had had to use the Empress's name as a threat more than once just to get the man to stand still long enough for Flynn to point his camera at him. Half A Man looked even weirder on holo film. Something about the energy field that made up his right side interfered with the holocamera, giving the field a strobing, shimmering look that was actually painful to the eye after a while. Look at it long enough, and it felt like you were falling into it. Into a hell without end. Toby sniffed. He'd just have to do a lot of cutting back and forth between Half A Man and himself. It'd distract from Half A Man's speech, but he wasn't saying anything new. Toby leaned a little closer, frowning at the screen before him. The half a face was hard to read on its own, but there was no mistaking the sincerity in the harsh, clipped voice.
'Anything that distracts humanity from defending itself from invading aliens cannot be permitted to continue. It must and will be stopped, by whatever means necessary. The Empire needs the new stardrive this factory will produce. The rebels through their actions are threatening that production. I will put an end to that threat, even if it means wiping out the rebel population, down to the last man, woman, and child. The Empire must be protected. I know what aliens are capable of.'
Toby pursed his mouth unhappily as he hit the tape stop. Any aliens who could produce such a thing as Half A Man had to be seen as a threat to humanity as a whole. But no one had seen a trace of those aliens for over two
