by J D Huffman
William shook his head. “I don’t think that’s insurmountable. Fred’s shown himself to be very adept with Totality systems—any system he encounters, really. What do you think, Sasha?”
“It’s worth trying,” she said quietly. “Fred may resist the idea because he’ll find it crazy.”
“Being ‘crazy’ is why it will work,” William insisted.
Sasha glanced around the room. Everyone seemed intrigued by William’s idea, and she had to admit it offered them more than a little hope. The sheer boldness of striking the heart of the Totality may have lifted their spirits, which they needed after suffering such losses. But these people are my responsibility, not his. I have to make the decision. “William, I very much appreciate your input, and will discuss your proposal with Fred. In the meantime, I suggest you work on pl—”
The door to her office opened abruptly and another woman stepped inside. It was the elder woman who’d once occupied one of the beds in their infirmary. Wenda, Sasha recalled. Her name is Wenda. Wenda looked terrified.
“What is it?” Sasha’s tone was concerned as she approached the woman.
“It’s Serim,” Wenda panted, clearly out of breath. “He’s…”
Wenda didn’t need to finish the sentence for Sasha to know what she meant.
Sasha dashed past her and then took on as swift a pace as was possible in such tight surroundings, rushing across the rear of the command deck, ignoring the starscape outside the expansive front windows, nearly jumping all the way to bottom of the cramped shaft that led to the cargo deck. Through the door and a quick veer to the left brought her to the infirmary to a scene for which her imagination hadn’t prepared her.
Serim was on the floor, dead as Wenda had implied, but it was hardly a peaceful death. His face was twisted, tongue hanging out of his mouth, eyes bulging, and a massive slash across his windpipe, from which blood had poured plentifully until it covered the metallic floor all around him, tarnishing the dull bluish surface a rusty brown. At the far end of the room, near one of the free-standing curtains that had been set up for privacy, two men held Angel down on a bed. The woman thrashed against them, screaming incoherently, hands balled up into bloody fists, her visage distorted like Serim’s, only in the pain of life rather than death.
Sasha knelt next to his body, looking him over as if she still needed to absorb the reality of it. She remembered Tau’s slow decline back on Actis, the way he went from injured to sick and sicker to sicker, the inevitable and lethal deterioration that, as she witnessed it, allowed her to pull herself away from him. He’d been her friend, but by the end he no longer resembled that person—he’d become something else, a stranger, and so not as much a source of pain when he finally died, because the man on the bed hadn’t been Tau, but an imposter who merely looked the part. The real Tau had died in that crystal fire, the moment his arm caught ablaze. That was the last time she’d truly seen him.
This was not like that at all. Serim had been her friend, too, and he was her friend until just a few minutes ago. During the meeting she was angry that he and Angel hadn’t bothered to show up, and now she felt pangs of guilt that suggested she somehow knew in advance that he was about to die. That was irrational and she knew as much, but it didn’t alleviate the guilt. All sound faded from awareness, a defensive biological reaction as adrenaline rushed through her veins and arteries and dilated them to reduce the pressure, and all she could hear was a high-pitched whine in her brain, like its own internal distress signal, and no one could hear it but her.
She turned her eyes up toward Angel, whom the two men had managed to subdue—her thrashing about had diminished to the point where they didn’t have to use much force to keep her in place. Sasha stood up and approached, taking a position at the foot of the bed, crossing her arms. “I want an explanation,” she hissed through her teeth.
“He tried to touch me,” Angel rasped in a voice that didn’t sound at all like the person Sasha knew. She jerked her arms against the men restraining her in a futile token of resistance.
“That’s all? I thought you two were… together,” Sasha euphemized. “Don’t you normally touch each other?”
She stared at Sasha with fearsome eyes. Despite her apprehended position, she seemed to feel she held the advantage. “I have no idea who the fuck he was. Or you. You have to let me out of here!”
“The only place you could go ‘out’ to is vacuum,” Sasha said plainly. Her tone became more menacing when she said, “I’m leaning very much toward that option right now, too. You’d better explain. Now.“
“I have nothing to explain. I defended myself. I don’t know who any of you people are.”
Sasha could only think of one explanation for Angel’s abrupt personality shift and memory loss. But that’s not possible, is it? “What is your name?”
“What’s yours?” she shot back instantly.
Sasha leaned forward. “I’m Sasha. The man you killed, in case you’re wondering, was called Serim. Does his name mean anything to you? Does mine?”
Angel rolled her eyes. “Why would they? I just got here. I already said I don’t know you. It’ll be better for all of you if you just let me go. Give me a ship. Drop me off on a planet. I don’t care. Just get me out. I don’t want to be around you. You stink.”
Sasha was already frowning, but she found a way to frown even more. This can’t be right. She couldn’t believe what was staring her in the face. Everything she knew about the Totality told her this wasn’t possible. This wasn’t how things worked. This wasn’t what Fred told her.
But Fred’s lied to me. He’s kept things from me. Did he hide this, too? Or did he lie?
The troll arrived moments later, no doubt attracted by the same commotion that had already drawn a small crowd—possibly every person on the ship. He pushed through the huddle and came up alongside Sasha. “What is happening here?”
“You tell me,” Sasha reflected, nodding toward Angel. “She murdered Serim and seems to be out of her mind.”
Fred squinted at Angel, scrutinizing, his eyes moving up and down her form, and Sasha watched, wondering what his thought process was. Is he coming up with another lie? Deciding what else he should keep from me?
“Stop staring at me, freak,” Angel spat at him. It was a literal spit: droplets of saliva traveled well enough through the air that Sasha felt them on her cheek.
Casually, she wiped them away with her hand. “You see what I mean?”
Fred nodded. “This should not be possible. It is unheard of.” Despite his pronouncement, he didn’t sound terribly alarmed.
“Something you’ve never heard of? That’s not comforting,” Sasha darkly joked.
“Whom do you work for? Who sent you?” Fred demanded in a stern voice, one Sasha had rarely ever heard him use except when he was ordering members of their mining unit around for their own safety. He was normally right to do so, as far as Sasha was concerned.
Whatever had taken control of Angel showed no interest in cooperation. “I don’t have to answer you. I don’t answer to anyone.”
“You will answer to Cylence,” Fred threatened.
Angel shrugged. “I don’t know who that is.”
Fred took Sasha by the arm, pulled her aside and away from Angel. Their faces came close together and Fred spoke softly. “If she is Totality, it must be her first time. She knows nothing.”
“How do you know she’s not lying?”
“I cannot be certain, it is merely my intuition. You saw her eyes. Her face. You heard how she talks. That person is not Angel. No one is that skilled a performer. Certainly not Angel. We have known her for how many years?”
“You’re right. She’s never been anything but kind and gentle. I doubt she’d pick up a weapon even if the Totality boarded us.”
“And here she has slashed Serim’s throat. I see no other possible explanation.�
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“Then what do we do?” Sasha was afraid to pose the question. She knew of only one “cure” for the Totality.
“I assume you do not want to kill her.”
She grimaced. “Good assumption, Fred. What are our options?”
“It is said that there are ways to drive a Totality out of a person. It is difficult and not guaranteed, but it has been done.”
“I hope you know more about this than simple rumors.”
He sighed. “Not enough to reliably perform it, I fear.”
“Then, what? I’m not handing her over to the rest of the Totality.”
He shook his head. “I would not suggest that. But there is one place we could go.”
She stared into his eyes, full of anything but patience. “Keep going.”
“I have…” She watched his face as he searched for the best way to explain himself. She knew that meant he was going to lie, or dissemble, or obscure, or otherwise serve himself first. “I have friends on a planet not on any official Totality map.”
“But it’s within the Fortress?”
“Yes. If I am not mistaken, we can reach it in a few days.”
“Then that’s where we’ll go. You’re sure these people can help us?”
“No. However, they represent our best chance to save Angel from whatever is inside her.”
Sasha felt her anger growing. Questions started to bubble up from within, questions that continued to chip away at her trust in him. That trust seemed to disintegrate with each word he spoke, as desperately as she needed his help. “Who are they, Fred? You make them sound like potential allies, yet you never bothered to mention them before.”
“It is complicated.”
“Everything’s fucking ‘complicated’ with you!” She failed to control her volume that time, and became keenly aware that everyone was watching them, unable to hear most of their words but clearly leaning in with the hopes of finding out what their leaders were planning. She clenched her fists, took a deep breath, then unclenched as she let it out. She turned to the crowd. “I need to consult with Fred in private.” Then, to the men restraining Angel: “Keep her there. Don’t let her up for a second. Even if she seems to go back to normal, don’t trust her. Strap her to the bed if you have to.”
On her way out, she passed Janus. Stopping next to him, she tilted her head toward the body still lying on the floor behind them. “I want you to take care of his body.” He made a disgusted face, and Sasha summoned up enough willpower to avoid punching it. “It’s not a suggestion,” she added, then left with Fred.
Sasha and the troll returned to her combined office and quarters, and once the door was shut and locked behind her, she unlocked her own voice. She came at Fred like an out-of-control ship falling from orbit, and whether an intentional strategy or not, the idea was to scare him enough to give up whatever he was hiding from her. “I want a fucking explanation, Fred! Who are they? Who are these allies you’ve hidden from us? And why do you think they can help?”
He held up his hands in a defensive posture, which almost made Sasha laugh, and maybe would have if she weren’t already so pissed at him. The very idea of her relatively slight frame getting into a physical altercation with the man-and-a-half-tall creature was nothing less than the punchline to a bad joke.
“You are not going to settle for a simple ‘trust me’ on this one, are you?” he sighed.
“Absolutely not,” she articulated with almost enough friction on the consonants to crack her teeth.
He leaned back against the edge of her desk, casting his eyes at the floor. “They are Totality, Sasha. Before you attack me for saying that, let me finish. They are unlike the other Totality. They are not warlike, for one. They do not enslave. They do not kill. They are pacifists. Their very existence caused a fracture among the Totality ages ago, and being exiled to this one planet was the resolution to a conflict that might have destroyed them all.”
“Seems a shame that didn’t happen,” Sasha snorted. “So, what, you think we can trust them?”
“I was there when it transpired,” he said, his eyes glazed over in reminiscence. “It began when some of them started to question what they were doing. The fighting, the killing. The enslavement. An existence made up of nothing but conflict. Their leader posed the question: if all we wish is to exist, but our existence is nothing but slaughter and suffering, what is the purpose? He argued that it would be better if they didn’t exist at all.”
“Can’t Totality leave the bodies they take anytime they want?”
“Generally, yes.”
“Then why didn’t he? Set an example. Sounds like a hypocrite to me.”
“He wanted to convince others, which he did. In fact, many of them departed their bodies, back to whatever realm the Totality originate from. Cylence then killed the bodies they once occupied. He was not willing to let such a movement spread.”
“But it spread anyway?”
“Oh, yes. It’s impossible to say how many went for the idea, exactly, but it was enough that Cylence performed mass executions on a daily basis to make his point. Arkady—their leader—finally surrendered. Because this was ultimately a philosophical battle over whether they should exist and the manner of that existence, Cylence offered Arkady and his kind exile, but only if they agreed to be permanently bound to their host bodies.”
“Why would he take a deal like that?” Sasha scoffed. “Seems like it’d be against his principles.”
“Cylence was going to kill every last one of Arkady’s followers, Totality or not. Arkady simply wanted to stop the bloodshed, which agreeing to Cylence’s terms allowed. They were sent to a remote world that the Totality had no use for. I had sided with Arkady, of course—anything that would eliminate the Totality from our universe is something I favor—and so I was enslaved for my part in spreading his message. I served on many worlds before coming to Actis.”
“And you think Arkady’s people are still on this planet? And you know where it is?”
“I do,” he concurred. “If anyone can save Angel, it would be them.”
“You’d better be right,” Sasha said. Her subsequent thought, she kept to herself. If you’re wrong, those Totality—and Angel—will pay the price.
Chapter 25
Closed Spaces
Sasha debated herself for some time over how best to handle her next move. Going to the planet Fred mentioned was not a question in her mind. Even if these “peaceful” Totality couldn’t save Angel, she had to try. Her more mercenary side saw as a bonus that she would have a planet of Totality to wipe out if they failed to demonstrate their usefulness. As Fred had told her before, all Totality were parasites on human bodies. What person negotiates with a parasite? Sasha didn’t much care if these Totality had somehow made peace with themselves. Did they make peace with the bodies they stole? I doubt it. And that’s the only consent I’m interested in hearing about. Unless they were invited willingly into those bodies, they are ill-gotten and they deserve to be forcibly removed by any means necessary.
She reached for an analogy, imagined some kind of infectious worm that burrowed its way into a victim’s brain, wrapped tendrils around the spinal cord and mimicked the poor individual’s nervous system. Personality center? Eaten away, replaced by the whims of the worm. The person is dead, but the body remains animate, controlled only by the worm. Suppose the worm, in concert with the remains of the victim’s brain and body, behaves with a reasonable approximation of humanity. She had to ask herself: is such a creature human any longer? She came to the decision that it was not, and that putting the parasite to death was the only merciful option. The Totality were themselves just like the worm, even if they did not manifest physically. They had the same effect on the individual they compromised. And, again, she determined: There is no negotiation with parasites.
She knew she had to announce the co
urse change to the rest of the uprising sooner rather than later. Word had likely gotten around that their next move was to breach the Dominix Totality Centrality, so a sudden change in plans was sure to provoke questions and arouse suspicion. Everyone knew about the incident with Angel—they’d all seen Serim’s body, witnessed Angel’s deranged ravings—so Sasha had to proffer some explanation for that. I can’t tell them we’re going to a Totality planet, though. I want to give these creatures a chance to help us. There are those among us who wouldn’t allow even that much. We could have a bloodbath on our hands right at the start. She was loathe to promise publicly to kill the Totality, either. Fred would never go along with such a plan, and dammit, she still needed him. She hated how much she needed him—his knowledge, his wisdom, his expertise in seemingly limitless subject areas. He’d spent his unfathomably long life accumulating information and that was what she needed from him now, and surely would for some time to come. She remained quite angry with him for his endless dodges and deceptions, but she had to admit he shared what he knew with her once it became relevant to their situation. He could have told me there was no option but to kill Angel, and I would have done it. I wouldn’t have liked it one bit, but I wouldn’t have hesitated. She’d be dead right now. Throat slit, shoved out an airlock, I wouldn’t have cared, as long as the threat was gone. He gave me some hope that she can be saved, and I don’t want to think he would do that as part of some cynical manipulation. Fred is many things, but cynical? I’ve never known him to be that.
So, she came up with an alternative explanation. Since only she and Fred knew about the Totality planet, she would present it to the rest of the ship like so: Fred had suggested a planet whose residents had knowledge of how to remove a Totality spirit from an unwilling human host, without mentioning that these people actually were Totality themselves. Given that they needed to replenish their food supplies as it was, a lush world with edible vegetation would suit their needs perfectly, as well. Both problems could be resolved at once, which made a strong case for conservation of time, fuel, and manpower. She and Fred would take Angel off the ship themselves and seek help from these supposed Totality, and if that didn’t work out she would resolve the situation, one way or another. Everyone else could remain aboard, or perhaps be sent foraging in a direction that would not run them afoul of the Totality on the planet. Such a plan came with risks, but so did everything. She found these risks acceptable enough, and in discussing them with Fred, he agreed to their necessary but minor deception.