Triorion Omnibus

by L. J. Hachmeister

  “Please, stop,” he pleaded, falling to his knees. “You know I’m telling the truth.”

  She did, and she withdrew, but not all the way.

  “I designed them to deactivate specified DNA structures, perform basic decontamination sweeps on biospheres and assess for bio-reintegration compatibility.”

  Pain creased the corners of his eyes as Edgar rose slowly on arthritic knees. He pulled out an old print photo from a desk drawer lined with protective velvet. The old man held the photo away from her, studying it with reverence.

  “There were those on Earth who had mapped a way to save the planet 1,100 years ago, and there are a few of us who still believe that it’s possible. Most of the datafiles were destroyed after the war, but from what was salvaged we are trying to rebuild. These machines were designed to kill the diseases spread by the bioweapons and plant the nanite ‘seeds’ designed by our Father to revitalize our world, but there are missing schematics, and I have yet to figure out the master design.”

  “Your Father?”

  The old man gave the print one last look before turning it over to her with trembling hands. “The Father of nanotechnic engineering, Josef Stein.”

  The photo was in her possession for less than a second before it slipped from her fingers. “Oh my Gods.”

  Edgar tried to keep her from falling, but her bloodless legs could no longer support her weight. Her hand caught on one of his bladed tools as she fell, slicing straight through her glove and into the pink of her skin.

  I’ve seen that man before—

  Jetta remembered. She squeezed her eyes shut, clutching her bloodied hand to her chest as her stomach convulsed in the wake of her revelation. The man in the photo print was the same man she had seen when she first assaulted Victor’s mind—the angel with the immeasurable second shadow that had risen from the ashes of the Earth. He was the same man she had seen again in her waking nightmare on Jue Hexron when Victor was promising her all the things she wanted to hear.

  Jetta opened her eyes and forced her breath through clenched teeth until the blood returned to her limbs. With shaky hands, she collected herself off the floor, brushing away dust and debris. She nabbed the photo and looked at it again. “Josef Stein. Doctor Death.”

  “No!” Edgar said, swiping the photo from her. He carefully wiped it off and put it back in the desk drawer. “No,” he repeated more calmly. “He was a good man. He was wronged by those he trusted most. What happened to him—what he did—you have to understand that sometimes good people make bad choices.”

  Jetta inhaled sharply. “What do you mean? Why is this important? Why did you need to show me this?”

  Edgar Wallace removed his headgear and knitted his hands together nervously. “Because you are so much like him.”

  When Jetta turned to leave, Edgar raised his voice. “He was persecuted, you know, for his abilities, his superior intelligence. People were jealous of what he had, and because of that he was isolated most of his life. Governments and militaries exploited his talents, and finally, after he put all of his efforts into saving mankind, he suffered the worst betrayal of all.”

  Jetta stopped in her tracks but didn’t turn around. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I believe in you. You have the power to change people’s minds, make the Starways rethink old ways. You represent hope and redemption, Jetta Kyron. You were once the Dominion’s Warchild, but you choose to fight for the Alliance. And now you can fight for the most worthy cause of all: rebuilding lost worlds. You can help the human race restore Earth. You can give us back our home, give us a second chance.”

  “But,” he said, touching her arm. He immediately retracted his hand once he saw the look on her face. “I fear your fate will be the same as his.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Ramak Yakarvoah happened. But we shall not speak of him,” the old man said. He tried to take Jetta’s hand and bandage it, but she pulled away.

  “No,” Jetta said, holding him at the wrist. “Tell me about this Ramak.”

  Edgar looked around the room nervously. Jetta peered around the secret door dividing them from the main part of the store, but she couldn’t see past the piles of metal and wires.

  “Nobody in my line of work talks of him. All I know is that one day things looked promising for Earth—Josef Stein had mastered nanotechnics, and with his microscopic robots he could do anything. Destroy cancers, reconstruct missing limbs, revitalize dead tissue—the possibilities were endless with his Smart Cells. He could even program his little bots to decontaminate biohazard zones. Impossible things. And his son had genetically catalogued all living creatures on Earth. The two of them could literally rebuild Earth. Despite the wars, everyone believed that these technologies represented a chance for peace. But then Ramak appeared.”

  “What do you mean?” Jetta said.

  Edgar sat down on the stool and dabbed his forehead with the corner of his apron. “Nobody knows where he came from. All that is known is that he started a movement, one to end the world. They called themselves the Doomsdayers.”

  “Doomsdayers?”

  “I don’t know the real translation in Common. All that matters is that he found Josef and did something to him—got in his head, changed him. Josef had many terrible things happen to him in his lifetime, but it only made him more devoted to his family, and to saving mankind. He was a strong, loving man. Somehow Ramak found a way to take that away from him.”

  “So he was tricked into becoming Doctor Death?”

  “You don’t understand,” Edgar said, his tone changing sharply. “Ramak wasn’t like other people. He had a way of finding your weaknesses and making you forget everything but your shame. He ground anything decent—anything human—out of you; he made you into a shell of a person. Then he filled you with what he wanted. The only thing he left Josef with was his anger. The rest he filled with madness.”

  (I could do that.)

  Jetta didn’t know where the thought came from, but it sprang up with troubling urgency, as if it needed to be known. But before she could put more thought into it, she realized a frightening possibility. “Victor Paulstine is—does he have any connection with Ramak Yakarvoah?”

  Edgar shook his head. “Victor? That bastard on the nets? No. The historians say Ramak died in the bombings during the Last Great War. And it would be hard to miss him if he was still around—he was hideous, covered in burn scars from head to toe.”

  “Victor has claimed to be 1,100 years old—he could have known Ramak.”

  Edgar laughed. “Victor is a jackal—resourceful, ruthless—but he’s not 1,100 years old. That’s impossible. No human could live that long. Human cells are too fragile—they degrade over time, even with nanotechnics. Josef proved that 1,100 years ago. And besides, those aristocrats that injected themselves in the twenty-first century, hoping to elongate their pathetically empty lives—they all went crazy. Crossing nature isn’t a good idea in the first place. But I suspect that those little buggers did something to you.”

  Something didn’t sit right with her, but Jetta couldn’t pinpoint her discomfort. There was a connection she was missing, something vital, but it was too much to determine from Edgar’s words alone. Most of Earth’s written history was destroyed in the Exodus, so its survivors had handed it down to the next generation.

  “What became of Josef Stein?”

  “He was killed in his underground lab during the Last Great War. He died distraught, alone and ashamed of what had become of him.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Some of his electronic journals survived the war on the smart servers, though his more important work and personal journals he kept locked away on hard copy. Rumor has it that his lab still remains, but deep in the heart of the Deadzone where no sane person would ever dare venture.”

  Jetta thought about it for a minute. “From what you’re telling me, the key to rebuilding the planets means the recovery of both Kurt a
nd Josef Stein’s work.”

  “Yes,” Edgar said eagerly. “But they were both very private men. Their most important work was always kept secret. Nobody even knows where Kurt hid the Ark. He was even more secretive that his father.”

  “These hard-copy journals—would they have details about his Smart Cell experiments? Would they give me insight into Ramak?”

  Edgar’s eyes darted back and forth like excited fish. “Many have tried to unearth those same secrets, and none have survived. There is something evil there, a curse—something worse than the Necros that roam those lands. It was as if some monster was created by his suffering and lords over his remains.”

  Jetta looked at Edgar, studying his wrinkled face. “What do you want of me?” she whispered.

  Edgar carefully reached for her lacerated hand. At first she resisted, but not sensing malice in his thoughts, she allowed him to take it. He turned her palm face up, exposing the wound. The cut had stopped bleeding, but it was deep and needed sutures.

  “I read all the nets, see all the vids,” he said, gingerly holding her hand in his. “I know your story. You are an orphaned child of Fiorah, a telepath—and human to some degree, right? You have had so much against you, so many reasons to hate this world, but you still fight for what is right. There is something special inside you, like there was in Josef Stein—I feel it. Just know that I believe in you, and the others like me who are working to further the dreams of our Father—they believe in you, too. Lead us home, Jetta Kyron. Help us all find peace.”

  I am nothing like Josef Stein, she thought to herself, thinking of how she had just killed a man moments before she had entered Edgar’s shop. And for what? Because his pain was too real.

  “Help me then. Give me the things I need,” she whispered, taking her hand back.

  She could see the worry in his eyes. “Terrible things are happening right now. Victor Paulstine—he is not to be underestimated. Last year my wife disappeared after we made a presentation at the Human Rights Summit. He’s going to find a way to sell or kill every last human—every Sentient he deems unworthy. He’s worse than Ramak. What are you going to do about him?”

  Jetta thought of Victor, and with it came the rush of terror and hunger she had come to crave. “I don’t know,” she said swallowing hard, fighting back the dark longings surging through her veins. She caught a reflection of herself in the metal carapace of one of Edgar’s mechanoids and didn’t immediately recognize herself. It was something in her eyes—something she hadn’t seen before. “But I will do something—I promise—before it’s too late.”

  TRIEL DARED TO OPEN the solar shield when she heard the shouting. She was worried about Jetta, and when she heard screams she feared the worst. A riot had erupted on the strip, and a fire was burning dangerously close to the refueling station.

  “Ju’thera,” she cursed. She fumbled with the engine, but Jetta had locked them out in case the craft was boarded.

  Jetta, she silently called, hoping that her thoughts would be heard, come back now.

  She had tried to use the com, but someone was jamming all the surrounding frequencies. It was most likely someone within the rioting group trying to prevent any of the storeowners from sending out distress signals to the Alliance or other neighboring colonies.

  Even though she feared using any of her powers, she had to know. Triel closed her eyes and reached out. The rhythms of the surrounding Sentients were tense, agitated. She heard fragments of conversations, thoughts—

  No food

  (starving)

  —Can’t go on like

  isn’t fair

  Can’t live like—

  Why do they have—

  “Oh, Jetta,” Triel whispered, pulling away, afraid of what the foreign thoughts would to do her. “I hope you can see this.”

  There were distinct groups of rioters, mostly humans against Vreapers, but other Sentient races were also taking sides. Most of the battles were happening outside the storefronts, with people tearing each other apart for any semblance of basic rations.

  Triel knew that with the increasing threat of the Motti’s new weapon and the Alliance’s military breakdown, vulnerable areas like this one were the first to feel the supply shortages. And this was only one of thousands of places experiencing the violent backlash.

  Shivering again, she pulled Jetta’s jacket more tightly around her shoulders. She had to keep it together long enough to reach Algar. There she would find answers, or so she convinced herself.

  Triel was checking the activity on the rear monitor when something struck the fighter and knocked her off her feet. She racked her head against the console, and in the dizzy confusion she didn’t know what was happening. There was a flurry of activity, rapidly exchanged gunfire and the smell of burning circuitry. Triel reached for her gun and took aim, but someone redirected her.

  “Shoot them, not me!”

  “Jetta?”

  When her vision finally reoriented itself, Jetta was furiously unlocking the engines and firing back at the people crawling up the ramp.

  “Shoot, Triel!”

  Triel raised her gun again, aiming at the nearest human, but his emotions infected her concentration.

  Starving—

  “I can’t!” Triel exclaimed, trying to push the foreign thoughts out of her head.

  Jetta shouted something before hitting the ignition. Most of the people clinging to the ramp were blasted off by the engine fire, but some remained, desperately pulling themselves up.

  “Jetta, help them!” Triel cried.

  She had never seen such cold intensity in Jetta’s eyes. Jetta took aim, shooting the last of the rioters in the head with deadly precision before resealing the ramp.

  “They tried to kill me,” Jetta said, returning to the pilot’s chair. “Buckle up—this is going to get nasty.”

  Triel wouldn’t let the argument die. “They were confused—desperate. It wasn’t about you. They didn’t deserve to die!”

  “This is not the time,” Jetta said, banking hard to port as incoming fire rained down from above.

  “What’s going on?” Triel said, strapping into the nav seat.

  “I’m not sure. Something about a ration shortage. Vreapers and humans never got along. It’s just another excuse to rip each other’s throats out.”

  “Watch out!” Triel said.

  The fire finally melted one of the charging lines at the refueling station, and even though it was dry, enough igniter was left in the pumps to send part of the outpost spewing into space. The blast force smashed into their ship, testing the strength of their harnesses. Jetta was quick to recapture the ship’s direction, and Triel held her stomach as Jetta wound through the flying debris with uncommon reflexes.

  “I thought you weren’t a very good pilot,” Triel said as she watched Jetta thread through two oncoming ships at an impossible angle.

  “Jaeia just likes to tell everyone she’s better than me at something,” Jetta grumbled as she dipped toward the planet, nearly colliding with another rogue ship trying to evade their pursuers.

  “We only have one more charge, so check the map. Where’s the next closest station?” Jetta said as she skimmed over the nose of a felled cargo ship.

  Triel clung to her harness with one hand while scrolling through the options. “Ummm—how about Teraportis?”

  Jetta shook her head. “Something past Breck’s Pass.”

  “Iyo Kono?”

  “Punch it in—quickly!” Jetta shouted as she returned fire.

  A quick glance at the viewscreen showed a gang of starships now trailing them on the radar. The onboard computer warned of critical damage to their forward shields as the enemy fighters’ missile carriages charged to red. Triel braced for impact, but time pulled apart as their fighter passed through the hole in space, and a flash of white light blurred the oncoming fire.

  Triel let her breath out as the constellations changed on the viewscreen and the jumpdrive spun down. Jetta br
eathed a sigh of relief and unstrapped from her chair.

  “Hey, speak in Common,” Triel said as Jetta mumbled in her native tongue.

  “The forward shields were toasted in that blast. Secondary engines look like they took a nasty beating, too. The computer’s acting twitchy; can’t tell if there’s a coolant leak or a damaged Erteriam relay.

  “You got us out safely, and that’s all the matters. I can’t believe you can fly like that!”

  Jetta ignored her, hunched over the nav computer, trying to calculate the safest route to Iyo Kono. “I think we’ll be okay until we get to port.”

  “Hey—what happened to your hand?” Triel said, trying to get a better look at the gash.

  Jetta nearly tripped over herself getting out of the way. “Just scratched it.”

  “Am I really that bad?” Triel whispered.

  “No—no!” Jetta said. The level of her voice rose, and she involuntarily rushed her words. “It’s just—I don’t want to add to your worries right now.”

  “Jetta,” Triel said, reaching for her arm. Jetta didn’t move, but her body went rigid as soon as Triel touched her sleeve. “That’s not the way it works. Healing someone with positive energy is revitalizing.”

  Jetta looked away from her. “Then you definitely don’t want to come anywhere near me.”

  “Why? What do you mean? What happened?”

  Jetta gripped her hand and kept her gaze trained on the wound. “I killed a man.”

  “Oh,” Triel said, trying to reach through her words. “Did he threaten you?”

  “In a way,” Jetta said. She laughed to herself and shook her head. “Do you ever...do you ever hate the way others make you feel?”

  Triel nodded. “Yes. It can be damaging. That’s one of the ways a Healer can turn into a Dissembler.”

  “That’s the way this man made me feel. Damaged. I felt infected by his misery. I felt... weak. And I hated him for it. I saw—I became all the pain inside him. I just wanted it to stop, and I just... reacted.”

  Triel didn’t know what to say, though Jetta was hanging on her every word. It frightened her that Jetta had killed someone so easily, but at the same time she understood. Jetta and her siblings had never been trained how to handle their extrasensory experiences, and ones as intimate as what she was describing were handled by the Prodgies as a tribe.