The Flux Engine by Dan Willis Page B

as if she’d seen a ghost.
    The man who had come so silently up behind them was tall, well over six feet, and gaunt with long, slender arms ending in long-fingered hands. His head was bald and vaguely egg shaped, with dark, intense eyes and a beak-like nose over a clean-shaven face. The stranger wore a bottle-green military-style long coat with a gray waistcoat and pants. His white shirt was crisp and bright and his boots shone with polish. Gold buttons gleamed from the front of his waistcoat and John could see the holster of a flux pistol on his hip.
    “Who are you?” Robi demanded, edging away from the imposing figure. John noticed that she’d shifted her stance, crouching a little as if she were about to run.
    “I’m sorry,” the man said. His voice was deep and penetrating. “My name is Derek Morgan, I’m a … friend of Fixer’s.”
    At the sound of his name, the fat man appeared from behind a nearby machine.
    “What did you do, Fixer?” Robi said, not taking her eyes off Morgan.
    “Oh, you mustn’t blame Mister Fixer,” Morgan said. “He has standing instructions to let me know if anyone comes around asking about dear Sira.”
    “Sira,” John said. His would-be assassin had a name.
    “Sira Corven,” Morgan said. “And that must make you the boy from the Thurger’s Lab. I’ve been most anxious to speak with you.”
    John didn’t like the sound of that. Despite Morgan’s easy, almost friendly manner, something about him made every word seem like a threat.
    “Why?” he said.
    “That enforcer,” Morgan said. “The one who’s been following you around. He seems to think that the bloodsand crystal belonged to you rather than your master. If that’s true, I’d very much like to know where you got it.”
    What had he said?
    John could tell a Bug Crystal from a Glowstick on sight. He knew the precise combination of salt and chemicals used to grow Lifter Crystals, Repeaters, and Regulators but despite all that knowledge and study, he had no idea what Morgan was talking about.
    “What’s a bloodsand crystal?”
    Morgan’s mask of affability cracked. For a fleeting instant, a look of raw anger washed across his face.
    “Unfortunate,” he said, his quiet manner instantly returning. “I shouldn’t have said that.” He seemed genuinely sorry. “Now I’m afraid I must insist that you answer my questions.”
    There was a metallic hiss as Morgan drew a short, broad-bladed sword from beneath his coat. Robi took a step to run, but Morgan’s arm flashed out so fast that John could barely follow it. Robi froze with the point of the blade pressing against her chest.
    “I’m not done with you, young lady,” he said, pushing her back next to John. “Now that we understand one another, I’ll ask again.” He turned to look at John. “Where did you get that crystal?”
    “What crystal?” John lied. Morgan laughed.
    “You know, John,” he said, “disaster seems to follow you around. First the Tommys, then that mismanaged escape from the jailhouse. I wondered about that. Now I see it’s because you make bad choices.”
    Like a snake uncoiling to strike, Morgan’s left hand darted out and grabbed the back of Robi’s hair. He moved so fast that John didn’t have time to think, much less react. Pulling her into his chest, Morgan rested the blade of his sword against Robi’s throat. Robi froze, a look of terror on her face.
    “You need to learn something about life, John,” Morgan said. “Poor decisions get people killed.”
    Morgan’s pulled the blade an inch across Robi’s neck, slicing into the top layer of skin and leaving a ribbon of blood in its wake. Robi gasped.
    “Stop!”
    Morgan’s blade paused, and a crimson rivulet ran down the skin of Robi’s throat. All the rest of the world seemed to stand still.
    “I’ll tell you anything you want to know, I swear,” John said. “Just don’t hurt her.”
    Robi’s eyes were as wide as saucers and she held her body perfectly still.