Echoes of Guardians

by C. S. Harte

  “Right, sorry.” Jonas picked up a rifle from a guard on the ground. He followed Whisper through the labyrinth of the Wynter prison station, watching her slice through inconvenient walls and locked doors as if they were merely suggestions. He began to tire keeping up with her full-sprint speed.

  “There’s a prison transport ship leaving in 10 minutes. You need to be on it,” she yelled over her shoulder.

  “They won’t… let the ship… leave while on lockdown…” Jonas replied in between huffs of air.

  “Leave that to me.”

  Laser fire grazed Jonas’ shoulder.

  “Get down!” Whisper shoved Jonas to the ground. With a flick of her wrist, her torch blade expanded into a shield.

  “HALT!” ordered a combat droid. “Do not resist and you will not be harmed.”

  Blood oozed through Jonas’ shirt.

  “I can’t move my left arm,” Jonas said through gritted teeth.

  “Drop your weapons. You have three seconds to comply.” The combat droid moved closer.

  “Stay still,” Whisper held Jonas down. “Judging by the rate of blood loss, your brachial artery has been severed.”

  “TWO!” The droid stopped ten meters away.

  She removed a silver disk from her belt.

  “ONE!” It aimed its auto-rifle at Jonas’ head.

  Whisper pushed the large center button on the device. Red light rimmed the edges of the disk. Without looking at where the droid stood, she tossed it behind her back. The disk spun at a rapid rate as it zigzagged toward the droid, avoiding every shot, and attached itself to the head of the robot. Tiny drills bore holes into the armor of the droid. Pulses of electric currents followed, incapacitating the mechanical guard.

  Jonas raised his eyebrows at how easily Whisper disabled every obstacle thus far. “Do you have a gadget for every situation?”

  “I would like to think so,” Whisper said dryly. She ripped Jonas’ shirt open. “Put pressure on this. I can’t have you bleeding out before I close your artery.”

  Whisper… Whisper… The red and black combat suit… The Spec Ops insignia… Jonas gasped. “You’re a Whisper. I mean, you’re part of the covert Whisper Unit within Fleet. I’ve heard rumors about your team but didn’t know you actually existed.”

  She scoffed. “You’re not supposed to know.” Whisper poured a blue, viscous liquid over his shoulder. “This will hurt for about a minute.”

  As soon as the treatment touched his shoulder, Jonas opened his mouth to scream but held in the sound. He began breathing rapidly.

  Whisper pulled Jonas up. “We need to keep moving. There’s a transport ship waiting, but it’s not going to wait forever.”

  Jonas stared into her perfectly almond-shaped eyes. “Just answer one question. Why are you helping me?”

  “Apparently, you have some powerful friends.” Whisper shrugged.

  “I wasn’t aware I had any friends left.”

  “I meant friends loosely. Simply put, you serve a purpose to someone.”

  Is this new fate better than death? Jonas sighed.

  “You’re being given a chance at life.” Whisper narrowed her eyes. “You can go back to your cell and spend the remaining ten or so hours you have left regretting your decision before they execute you.”

  Jonas shook his head but didn’t reply.

  Whisper looked at her wrist. Her bio-information panel lit up with blue LED lights showing the current time and her vital stats. “We lost some time. We have to split up.” She gave him instructions on how to get on the transport ship. “And take this coin.”

  Jonas opened his palm and watched as Whisper placed a crudely struck, bronze coin with the image of two faces attached to one head looking in opposite directions. He turned it over to the other side and found the back void of design. “Where in this galaxy are coins still used?”

  “Hang on to it.” She wrapped his fingers closed around the token. “It’ll keep you safe. Trust me.”

  Trust me? Jonas narrowed his eyes. “According to you, everyone in the Commonwealth is conspiring against me. But you I can trust?”

  Whisper stared at her BIP, ignoring Jonas’ question. “How’s your shoulder?”

  Jonas rotated his arm. “It feels better. Thank you for that.”

  “Good.” She took her torch blade from Jonas. “I need both my swords. Remember, Caldia station, 30 days. If you’re there, I’ll find you. Don’t make me wait.”

  “You do know that station is controlled by pirates and smugglers, right?” Jonas asked with a pinched face.

  “It’s a good place for prisoners too.” She smirked and sprinted away.

  3

  With Whisper gone, Jonas descended back into the darkened recesses of his mind, forged from five years of solitude. The klaxons continued to blare, but Jonas could only hear a muffled ringing. Am I going to wake soon? He stared at the two-faced coin Whisper settled in his palm, bringing it close to his eyes.

  The face on the left began to animate as if speaking. Its lips were stuck in a loop, repeating one word over and over. Then, the right face joined the chant.

  Jonas closed his eyes to focus on the sound of their voices. It started weakly at first, lower than the flow of a breath. With each repetition, the word echoed in Jonas’ mind, like a subliminal seed taking root. Go. Go. Go. As the plant continued to mature, the voice turned into a scream. GO! GO! GO! The subdued ringing became roaring alarms. Jonas woke from his stupor with a situational clarity he had lost an unknown time ago. He gazed at the coin again. The faces looked still, silent. “I have to go. There’s a ship waiting for me.” After checking his laser rifle, he ran to the nearest decktram.

  “Airlock floor,” he said to the tram computer. A soft mechanical humming filled the silence as the decktram began its descent.

  One line from Whisper’s instruction stuck with him. “Don’t hesitate to kill people in your way. It’s either you or them.” Jonas had never killed before. At least not anyone he could recall. He may have been charged with 259 counts of murder, but it was beyond his internal capacity to perform. To Jonas, it was more likely a demon possessed him than to murder with a lucid intent. I don’t have to kill anyone in my way. I can just knock them out.

  Ding. The decktram stopped. The door slid open.

  Laser fire erupted into the cabin.

  Jonas dove to the side, shrinking himself into the corner.

  “We have you surrounded. Drop your weapon, Jonas!” shouted a male voice in between rounds of fire.

  “Close door! Close door!” Jonas commanded the decktram over the sound of laser blasts.

  The decktram closed its doors.

  Jonas pushed himself up and released a deep exhale. “Up one floor.”

  During the lulls in extreme situations, Jonas would instinctively turn toward the underside of his right forearm to check his vital stats on his BIP. It flashed the word “Error” for a moment before fading. Jonas became accustomed to relying on his neuromod enhancements for getting out of danger. It was part of Fleet training to use overwhelming force to ensure survival and a crutch he relied on for too long.

  The decktram stopped.

  Jonas stood behind the door, waiting with his finger on the trigger of his rifle. His muscles trembled with adrenaline. He heard Whisper’s voice again. It’s you or them. It’s you or them.

  Ding.

  The doors opened.

  Jonas half-pulled the trigger, but the other side was devoid of guards. He paused for a moment, waiting for an onslaught to arrive. When none came, he slowly peeked his head out the confines of the decktram. The corridor was empty. Jonas read the sign on the wall, “Science deck.”

  Whisper mentioned a second entry to the airlock level using the maintenance shafts. Jonas fired a dozen rounds into the decktram’s console, disabling it. He followed the signs toward the maintenance hatch.

  A trail of blood made him skid. Jonas nearly lost his balance. Did Whisper do this? He followed the crimso
n trail until he reached a corner. Slowly he leaned his head to see four dead prison guards. Something tore their bodies to shreds with what appeared to be massive claw marks. Jonas recalled snippets of conversation between rotating guards, complaining about how they hated patrols on the science deck.

  A banging sound came from further down the hallway.

  His eyes stared in the direction of the racket. He saw the orange markings of a maintenance hatch. Whatever the source of the commotion was, it originated where he needed to go. Looking closer in the streaks of blood, he noticed footprints. Someone survived? Or does it belong to the killer? Jonas shook his head and turned around intending to return to the decktram before remembering he destroyed the console. "Always forward," he repeated the motto of the Fleet service academy to himself, half wanting to gag.

  The internal clock inside Jonas’ head screamed at him. I need to get to the ship. If nothing else, I need to get to the ship. Blood spatter covered every centimeter of surface between Jonas and the maintenance hatch. Jonas felt his heart beating through his chest. He had no choice but to wade through the nightmare before him.

  At the hatch, Jonas fired two shots into the lock.

  It opened immediately after the second round.

  A prison guard cowered inside. He immediately drew his pistol.

  Jonas with his finger already on the trigger of his rifle, was quicker, firing a full burst into the guard’s chest, boring a hole straight through his body.

  After an abrupt gurgle and a cough, the light behind the guard’s eyes went dim. Dead.

  The rifle in Jonas’ hand shook. Jonas stared at the lifeless body at his feet, his mouth hung open. He had just taken a life. Jonas tried to turn away, but his body refused to comply. Like it was punishing him by forcing himself to absorb the evil he had committed.

  The guard appeared young, in his twenties. Jonas expected to feel a wave of remorse, guilt, and regret. Instead, he felt nothing. He caught me by surprise. He was pointing a gun at me. It was him or me. There was no shining beacon of change within his psyche. No moral inflection point to easily distinguish when his soul became corrupt. Killing this prison guard was necessary so he could live. Whisper’s voice echoed in his mind. It’s OK. It was you or him.

  Jonas stepped over the body of his first kill and climbed down the chute to the airlock deck. I need to get to that ship. That’s all that matters right now. He opened the door to the maintenance room and readied himself to make a run to the airlock.

  “Hello, Mr. Barick,” said Warden Dunn. “It seems you've been quite busy during the past hour.”

  Surrounding the Warden was a dozen combat droids and six prison guards — 18 guns, all pointing at Jonas’ head.

  “I believe we have an appointment with the executioner to keep at 09:00 hours,” the Warden continued. “It would be rude to keep everyone waiting.”

  Twenty-five meters. Twenty-five meters between him and the transport ship. He could see the airlocks were still engaged. The transport ship was still docked. Jonas hinted a smile but didn’t lower his weapon. “I’m just out for a casual stroll. No harm in that, right?”

  “If it’s all the same to you, Jonas, everyone here has had a long night.” Warden Dunn’s upper lip twitched as he twirled his mustache. “I would appreciate it if you lower your rifle. I'd rather you die on camera at your scheduled time, instead of here bleeding all over my hallways.” He reached out his hand for Jonas’ rifle. “I will not ask again.”

  Jonas finally lowered his weapon. “This thing? I found it during my walk. I was on my way bringing it back to a friendly guard.” He dropped the rifle to the ground and raised his hands.

  Immediately a prison guard ran to Jonas and slammed the butt of his rifle into his temple.

  Searing hot pain radiated across Jonas’ skull. He dropped to his knees. Blood streamed down his chin. “Don’t you need to keep my face pretty for the execution?”

  The Warden turned on a greasy smile. “Son, today is your lucky day. I just decided to postpone your execution.”

  Jonas tried to focus on the Warden as he spoke but there were two of him, and both kept racing across his vision. “I’m not sure lucky is the right word for the day I’m having. Strange, weird, unexpected. Hell, part of me is wondering if all of this is real.”

  “There’s something curious about you, boy. I’m wondering how you got out of your maximum security confinement the same time we had a breach in our research labs. I don’t intend on killing you until I have my answers.”

  So it is true. Experiments are going on here. What kind of experiments happen at a prison space station? Jonas covered his wound with his hand, trying to slow the bleeding. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  Warden Dunn leaned in close to Jonas. “Try me.”

  A red streak of light appeared in Jonas’ peripheral vision. He seemed to be the only one to notice. “I think I’m being haunted by a demon.”

  The Warden laughed. He turned toward one of his guards. “Take him to one of our luxury interrogation rooms. Make sure he enjoys his experience there. I’ll be up shortly.”

  As the guard bent over to cuff Jonas, Whisper’s coin slipped out of his pocket, distracting the guard.

  Jonas used the opportunity to headbutt the guard, breaking his nose.

  Five metallic green marbles rolled onto the ground around the Warden and his entourage. Green luminous fumes escaped the spheres, quickly masking visibility with a thick, smokey cloud.

  Whisper streaked behind Jonas and placed a gas mask on his head.

  “Wasn’t sure I would see you again,” Jonas said.

  She tossed him a blue med-pack. “Clean yourself up.” Whisper disappeared into the fog.

  In between the sounds of laser fire, screams, and groans, Jonas heard the distinctive hum of Whisper’s torch blade as it slashed through the air. Then silence.

  The cloud dissipated.

  Whisper casually strolled over to Jonas.

  She can’t be human. Not even with neuromods could she have taken down a dozen combat droids and six armed guards in a matter of seconds.

  She frowned as she neared him. “You had one job. I told you to fix your wound.” She took the med pack out of his hand and liberally applied the healing solvent to his fractured skull.

  “Who are you?”

  “Maybe you’ll live long enough to find out one day.” She smirked.

  He pushed himself up and scanned the surrounding carnage. The Warden, dead. The guards, dead. Combat droids, pieces.

  “I stalled the transport ship. Seems I have to do everything around here. But the ship won’t stick around forever. You need to get on right now!”

  “You’re not coming with me?”

  Whisper shook her head. “Remember to meet me at Caldia station. And don’t lose the coin I gave you.”

  Jonas headed for the airlock before turning back. “Hey, what’s your real name...”

  She smiled at him. “This won’t be a normal prison transport ship. Try to stay alive.” Whisper disappeared in a crimson streak.

  4

  Jonas stepped into the decrepit airlock of his transport ship. He tilted his head to read the ship’s name on the wall, “Independent Merchant Ship Dante.” He heard a hissing sound from the seal preventing him from floating into the vacuum of space. I didn’t realize the Commonwealth prison transport system was run by privateers — cheap privateers… Grime, rust, and a putrid purple substance caked the walls of the room. What’s taking so long to open the hatch door?

  The airlock began vibrating.

  Are they disconnecting from the station? Already? Jonas peered through the thick glass of the hatch door. He saw a young woman asleep in a chair. “Hey! HELLO! HEY!” he yelled through the glass.

  She didn’t stir.

  With both fists, Jonas banged against the window.

  Still sleeping.

  He kicked and rammed the door with his shoulder.

  Nothing.


  The hissing sound grew louder as the rumbling became more intense.

  This can’t be how it ends for me. After everything I did to get out… The face of the guard he killed flashed into his mind. He shook his head to rid the image. Jonas scanned the airlock for something he could use to break the glass. In the corner of the room, Jonas spotted a small stone the size of his hand. He picked it up and was about to slam it against the window when he heard a loud click and felt the rush of air running through his hair.

  The hatch opened.

  “Mr. Jonas,” the young woman said in a cheery voice with a bright smile. “Finally! We’ve been expecting you. Welcome to the Dante!”

  Jonas fumbled his words. “Um. Thanks. It’s. Barick. Jonas Barick.”

  “Ha! Sorry, about that.” She read from her BIP. “It does say Jonas Barick.” She giggled. “I guess I fell asleep waiting for you.” Her eyes darted toward Jonas’ head wound. “You had a little going away party before coming here, huh?”

  He raised his eyebrows. This is not what I expected from a prison transport ship…

  The young woman looked like a flight attendant from the early 21st century, wearing a fuchsia dress uniform ending high above her knees with white trim and decorative buttons. A matching cap sat snugly on her head in between two handlebar pigtails. Long white stockings covered her skinny legs. Even with the extra lift from six-inch heels, her head barely reached Jonas’ shoulder.

  “I’m Quip, by the way.” She squeezed Jonas’ arms and felt his ab muscles. “Very nice. I’m glad we waited,” Quip said suggestively and winked. “Follow me, please.”

  Jonas sighed and followed her, keeping three steps behind. The corridors of the Dante were just as contaminated as the airlock. The vile stench of concentrated sweat, urine, and feces was gag-inducing. He nearly tripped over a fellow prisoner in the murky hallway. Every few meters Jonas had to step over a scarred or mutilated body of another prisoner. He stared into their eyes and wondered if they were still alive. This seems like a place you would go to die.

  “I’m embarrassed by the mess.” She covered her cheeks with her hands. “We’ve been meaning to hire a cleaner.” Quip giggled.