Modified Horizon

by Ran Vant

  Eve blushed, and then dropped her bag and moved quickly to him as he rose from his chair to embrace her.

  “I couldn’t stand it for another hour. I needed to escape. I needed to get back to you.”

  “Welcome back to the hidden fortress, where nothing can hurt you.”

  58.

  For Every Season

  She walked through the flowering city park. The blossoms were open. It was their time. It was their brief moment in the sun, their short season to radiate their glory to the world.

  Each flower had grown, had waited, existed for this time.

  Flora, too, had waited. She had made the preparations. She had taken her time. She knew the moment would arrive eventually. There was a cycle to everything. Everything had its proper time. And now she was ready.

  Someone's time was up. Again it was the season; it was time for someone to die.

  59.

  Action and Reaction

  Doctor Psycho looked both ways down the tunnel before stepping back into the room and shutting the door. “Private Bern, I know this sounds extraordinary, because, in fact, it is. But we need you to undertake a rather special assignment. We want you to continue using your training to ensure that the genbot heals appropriately.”

  “I’ve had the basic NHA medical care class. It can’t be that hard to find someone else to do it. Over half the people here could do it. What’s so extraordinary about that?”

  “Well, Maren, that takes a little explaining. I want you to not only to continue using your NHA training. I also want you to continue to pretend to be healing him after it’s technically no longer necessary, which may actually be about now.”

  “Doctor, now it is starting to sound strange. Why on earth am I to pretend to-”

  “Wait, that’s not all,” the Doctor smiled. “You may find this strange, but I also need you to tell him stories.”

  “Stories?”

  “Yes, stories.”

  “What kind of stories?”

  “Anything you can think of. Anything that might solicit a response. Tell him about the Refuge Territories. Tell him about life on the surface. Tell him about what you did last night. Stories. Simple stories.”

  “Doctor, now I think you’re the one who perhaps has experienced the brain damage.”

  Doctor Psycho laughed. “I admit, it sounds crazy, but it is absolutely critical. I need neural processing data. I need to better understand how it thinks, and you’re going to help me. He may not answer Jack’s questions, but he appears willing to engage you. There is more than one way to crack an egg.”

  60.

  A Mustache and a Drink

  Flora ran her fingers over the brass flower pin attached to the strap of her apron and casually eyed the mustached man from behind the counter. His mustache was perfectly groomed, as usual. He looked at the menu with precision even though he always ordered the same thing. She waited for him to make his order. She was patient.

  There was really no reason the job couldn’t be automated, but there was something about the corner beverage café that made customers in the rich neighborhoods crave a smiling face behind the counter, even if the other faces in the café were more often in a state of serious contemplation or studious concentration. Because the delivery mechanism for some of the more mild modification technologies had been via beverage shops, for a long time some truds remained skeptical of beverage cafés and those who frequented them. But some habits were hard to break, and the beverage shops had lasted longer than anyone could have predicted. Of course, the cafes were highly regulated and even the mildest modification technologies had been banned since the Conflict. Still, a stimulant or two could yet be found at the corner shop.

  Truth be told, she would count herself as one of the few truds who still looked askance at beverage café patrons. And if she wasn’t thrilled about working at a job that once delivered mild modology in a cup, she at least found the job convenient for delivering another substance. Besides, even if she hated the job, she’d only been at it three weeks. And if her service to the next customer went well, she would only stick around for a few more weeks after today. Just long enough to avoid suspicion.

  The mustached man stepped up to the counter. It was his daily habit to visit the shop and enjoy a beverage. He found it helped him wake up before facing a long day at his job. It was also, on occasion, a useful spot for quietly passing along information. He ordered his usual drink, and the middle aged woman proceeded to mix it. She was new to the job and really not that good at it, he thought. She never got the cream on top quite right. And compared to the types who normally worked at this location, she wasn’t very attractive and certainly didn’t make up for it in trendiness. Frankly, he didn’t know why they had hired her at all. He demanded perfection, and she and her service certainly weren’t it.

  She finished mixing the perfectly-groomed mustached man’s beverage, dashed in a little something extra, and added the cream on top.

  He took the beverage, shook his head slightly at the imperfect cream placement and how it hung sloppily on the rim of the cup, and took a long draught as he turned towards the seating area. Flora didn’t bother even looking in his direction for the rest of the time he was in the café or when, twenty minutes later, he got up and left.

  61.

  Unrestrained

  “Don’t worry, Private. We’re right outside the door if you need us,” Gildur said, patting his rail gun.

  “Just hit the panic button on your wrist band if you need us, Maren,” Franklin confirmed, essentially repeating what the others had said.

  Maren looked at the two and was not especially inspired with confidence. She looked towards Eve. Eve raised her eyebrows, smiled without parting her lips, cocked her head, and gave a quick shrug of her shoulders in an expression of “Well, you’ve got to die sometime” and hit the button, opening the door to the room.

  “Thanks, Eve,” Maren grumbled.

  The doorway hissed, closing behind her. There he was: Still on the hard floor, still strapped down by the spiderlyn. For a few more minutes.

  After taking in the scene, the voice in her head began again.

  I don’t even know what they want me to find out about him. How on earth did I get this assignment? Then out loud she made an attempt at conversation, “I must apologize about the lieutenant. My boyfriend, the lieutenant, he hasn’t always been that way.”

  At least I don’t remember him that way. The attack on the caverns changed him, when most his team was killed. Well, maybe he started changing before then, but it’s certainly gotten worse as a result.

  “When we first met, this was years ago, when I wasn’t even a part of this whole thing, he wasn’t quite so bitter.” She needed to distance herself from the threats Jack had made against the Doctor's plan. She needed to try to build rapport. “But you don’t want to hear about any of that, do you? You probably don’t even know what a boyfriend is. And if you do, don’t go gabbing about it with everyone, OK? It’s supposed to be a secret… but everyone knows already, so why shouldn’t you, too?” Tell him personal stories, the Doctor said. No repercussions. It’s important that they are personal stories. Her stomach turned: this seems dumb and dangerous. “I’m not exactly thrilled about this, but…” Yikes, confessions with a genbot. What am I doing? ‘No repercussions,’ yeah right. Jack’s going to flip if the Doctor doesn’t hold to the promise that he’s the only one who will see the raw data and video feeds.

  She moved the magnetic key over the bolts, and the spiderlyn that crisscrossed across Michael’s chest was released.

  “The instructions say I’m not supposed to remove the ankle restraints today, and I’m not going to.” She swiped the magnetic key again over the binding on his wrists and stepped back quickly as the small diode light on the restraints began to flash red, first slowly, then faster. “But you do get the arms freed.” It was another two seconds or so before the delayed-release clicked on the lock and his arms, both gashed and ungashed,
were relieved of their metal bands. Michael applied tension once more to the spiderlyn and found it released easily. Maren was already back behind the energy shield, but still on the genbot’s side of the metal bars, and thus held her left wrist with its panic button bracelet, just in case. She was observing him, waiting to see his reaction.

  Now that his arms and upper body were free, he was tempted to immediately throw his whole weight against the ankle restraints. With the proper leverage and momentum, the bolts might pull free from the concrete floor, depending on the precise construction techniques. But there was still the matter of the energy shield. Once past the shield, the metal bars should not prove problematic: he could see the hints of decay on them from moist air and age. But he was getting ahead of himself. They were waiting to see his reaction and would be most alert to his actions now. Later, however…

  “So, I guess you might be wondering what’s going on. Well, we don’t want your muscles to atrophy, and the Doctor says you’d probably get some nasty sores if we kept you tied down like that forever. If you don’t use your muscles, flex them and move around, they’ll waste away and eventually you won’t even be able to walk,” she explained, not knowing that Lightbringer was engineered to have a constant level of muscle mass. He could lay there for a decade and, assuming proper nutrition, still rise up with the same strength as if he had been training every day for two years.

  Why should it matter to you if I should walk? Michael thought, not realizing himself that atrophy was no issue for him. He didn’t really even know what muscle atrophy was. It wasn’t relevant to his existence.

  Maren continued talking. “The Doctor says that it’s a priority that you become able to walk again, so the restraints have to go.”

  Ah, Michael thought. In some matter of time the other restraints will indeed be removed. Lightbringer didn't understand why the truds should care if he walked again, but her superior officers must have their reasons. He reflexively pulled against the ankle restraints, flexing his muscles at the thought of movement.

  Maren noticed. It was the first real sign of physical vigor that she’d seen. “Try to move around a bit, but don’t go yanking on the ankle restraints or lunging at me or anything. Anything erratic and you get the cords again for a long time.”

  She guessed it was good that he was coming around, but it didn’t make her any more thrilled about the risk associated with being near him. She’d nursed his wounds as she was required to and as she’d been trained. But she wasn’t sure about keeping him company beyond that, let alone telling him stories. He looked so human, yet she reminded herself what he really was.

  “Well,” she said, “that’s about it for now. Just take it easy and… you know… don’t go anywhere.” As Maren passed through the metal bars and then out to the hallway, she exhaled deeply. Argh, she thought. I didn’t get him to say a word. On the other hand, I survived…

  Michael noted that the trud with the red hair, Maren, seemed to need to verbalize everything to him. He would find a way to use it to his advantage. The truds had plans for him, but Michael was working on plans of his own.

  62.

  Avoiding the Claudius Effect

  He strolled down the street. He could already picture it. The museum lights, the beautiful and elegant black dresses... at least one of which would be holding perfection. It was going to be a grand evening. Anyone who was anyone in the city would be there. And that, of course, included him. He was not one to miss one of the major social events of the summer. A haircut was in order. It had been a week and he could not stand having one hair out of place. The thought made him lift his hand to stroke his mustache. Tonight he would be at his peak. He would be magnificent.

  She watched the mustached man through the tiny scope and slowly squeezed the trigger. An invisible wave flew forth and hit the mustached man in the back, though he didn’t feel a thing and kept on walking along at a leisurely pace. The wave activated the chemicals that he had ingested with his morning beverage earlier and were now concentrated in his kidneys. She was always cautious about making sure she hit the right target. A two-phase approach was often the best. Not only did a two-phase approach make it harder to identify the source of the poison, but the requirement of an activator signal to make the poison effective also helped to avoid the “Claudius Effect,” that is, killing off someone (or yourself) rather than the person for whom the poison has intended.

  The poison having been triggered from a safe, anonymous distance, she placed the small activator unit in her pocket and turned back toward her apartment. Come morning, he wouldn’t ever have to worry about his mustache or cream placement on his beverage again. Before heading home, however, she thought she might pick up some flowers. Flora would enjoy their aroma, no matter how briefly they lasted.

  63.

  All the Way

  Damien lay prone in the cockpit of the combat sled, cycling through the displays. The sleds had to work perfectly the first time. And so the pilots had to be ready the first time, too. Once he saw one, Damien knew he had to fly one.

  This sled checked out fine. It was a beautiful creation. A fast, powerful weapon. One day, this very sled would fly to the heavens with nova bombs. With a little luck, it would make it all the way there and a fortress would come crashing to the earth.

  One combat sled, however, would not be enough. To be honest, Damien wasn't sure hundreds would be enough. If the fortress was active, if the machine armies were released, if the fortress weapons saw them, it would all be over in an instant.

  And what would the loss of a few fortresses really do to the gens? How powerful were they really? Were the fortresses the pinnacle of the gens' military capabilities? Or were the fortresses just the outer ring, with even deadlier weapons waiting out of sight? What did the gens hold in reserve?

  Damien crawled out of the sled and stood.

  Niles sat reclined in a chair.

  “This one tests okay,” Damien said.

  Niles did not say anything. His eyes were open but they darted back and forth, as if he was watching something, but not something in the room.

  “I'll check another one,” Damien said, more to himself than to Niles.

  But Niles' eyes suddenly focused on Damien. “Yes,” the scarred one said. “Yes, we understand.”

  “Huh?” Damien said.

  “We don't know how powerful they truly are. But we know how to kill them.”

  Damien was confused. Had Damien actually been talking to himself out loud when he was in the sled such that Niles overheard him? He didn't think so...

  Niles went on. “What do you think of the combat sleds? Of our plan?”

  Damien answered with a question of his own. “Do you think this is going to work?” Damien regretted it immediately; it wasn't his place to question it.

  The scarred one arched his left eyebrow and studied Damien. The expression was calibrated to make Damien think he was surprised at the comment.

  “I know better, we shouldn’t be taking about operational details,” Damien responded, backpedaling away from the implication that he had doubt. It was a mistake to express a lack of confidence in the NHA to those whom you didn't trust completely. Damien had been around a long time and knew that what he had said would not be viewed with charity by all.

  “No, please, share your concerns. There is probably no more secure place on earth than our current location,” the scarred one encouraged him. He was right, in a way.

  “Well...” Damien hesitated. It could be dangerous. Niles was part of the Network. If Niles wanted to destroy him, Niles probably could. Yet risks had to be taken. And Damien felt that if he didn't take the risk now, he might never have the chance again. None of them would. So he spoke honestly. “It just seems like there are too many things that could go wrong. Look how many things haven’t gone as planned up to this point. I fear we’ll only be making a dent.”

  “Ah, but the Natural Human Alliance has its sources.”

  “Personally, I don’
t know why they put such faith in them. Who knows their true motives?” Damien said, as he stared out across the facility at the combat sleds in various states of construction.

  “Who, indeed. Who, indeed. But what do you suggest we do?”

  “I know of the power some are rumored to possess,” Damien said, now turning and deliberately looking into the eyes of the scarred one. If he was going to take the risk, if he was putting his life on the line, if he was going to trust Niles, Damien was going to go all the way. “I know of these powers. What I don’t know is why the Organization is so hesitant to use it.”

  “That, Damien, is an excellent question.”

  64.

  No More Death

  Eve cried uncontrollably.

  “What's the matter, my darling?”

  Eve continued to sob.

  “It's okay.” He held her closer. “It's okay. I'm here.”

  She gradually gained control of herself. The sobs slowed to a few tears and sniffles.

  He stroked her shoulder and waited in silence. Sometimes it was better not to talk. Sometimes a person just needed another person to be there. Not to judge, not to rationalize, not to try and make it go away. Just to be there.

  They laid there in silence.

  “They all died,” Eve said.

  “Who did, Eve?”

  “Almost all of them. Almost all of my friends. I had a sudden feeling that it was happening all over again, just like before.”