by John Graham
“The Voice speaks cosmic truth beyond the comprehension of creatures of mere flesh,” Kane continued to blabber, “it can bestow the knowledge to manipulate the building blocks of the universe at the quantum level, and the knowledge to construct world engines that can create and destroy planets and stars. All this and more!”
His rantings were getting more unhinged, and yet more fascinating.
“The Voice spoke, and I listened,” Kane’s ravings continued, a deranged smile starting to curl the corners of his lips, “the Voice spoke through me, I became the voice of truth! So much truth which I recited to my Faithful, and which I can recite for you!”
“I don’t want your recitation,” Gabriel replied coldly, “I want you silenced.”
Gabriel flicked the switch on his knife, flash-heating the blade. Then he sliced carefully across the top of the false prophet’s neck, directly above the thyroid cartilage. The incision was just deep enough to open up a slit without actually cutting his throat, and the flash-heated blade instantly cauterised the wound.
As the dying prophet reflexively choked and gagged, Gabriel deactivated the blade and replaced it in its sheath. Then he stuck his fingers into the wound. The dying Kane’s eyes turned wide as Gabriel wormed his fingers inside his neck and upwards, closing his grip around the tongue. Holding on tight to Kane’s head with his free hand, Gabriel yanked the false prophet’s tongue out through the slit in his throat.
There was a sickly series of tearing noises as Gabriel ripped the entire organ out through Kane’s neck, snapping it free of the muscles and tendons which held it in place. The prophet keeled over backwards, choking and gurgling blood from his now tongueless mouth and the crimson maw in his throat. And he wasn’t actually dead yet; the shock might cause him to lose consciousness, but blood loss would take several minutes to kill him.
It was a fittingly poetic end, and a deservedly gruesome one at that.
Gabriel stared at the mutilated corpse of the dead Lawrence Kane, wanting to feel satisfaction, or better still, vindication. Instead, he felt troubled.
He had no qualms about executing an enemy of Humanity, or the macabre method by which he had carried it out, but the dying words of the erstwhile prophet and the numerous implications they carried were what troubled him. What was the Swarm, and what did Kane mean that it was part of a greater whole?
There were countless other questions swirling around his head; fortunately, some of them could be answered immediately.
“Observer!” Gabriel called out through his helmet speakers.
“THE VOIDSTALKER IS TO BE CONGRATULATED ON HIS SURVIVAL.” The observer acknowledged, its voice booming out across the giant chamber, “PERHAPS YOU WISH TO KNOW HOW IT WAS THAT YOUR DEVICE DETONATED EARLY?”
“That’s one question I have!” Gabriel shouted in reply, turning away from the dais and walking back towards the rear of the scaffolding platform.
“The Swarm’s thralls – your kind – utilised primitive radio technology to communicate across distances,” the observer explained, adjusting the volume of its booming voice lower as Gabriel approached the wall of the chamber, “easily detectable and easily intercepted.”
“What about it, then?”
“Your communication system is far more sophisticated.” The observer continued, “It utilises extremely precise gravitic waves transmitted in the form of precisely timed quantum pulses. These pulses produce miniscule, but measurable, distortions in the…untranslatable…, which the observer can detect, but cannot intercept.”
“That doesn’t explain how the bomb detonated early.” Gabriel pointed out.
“Recall that when you were separated from your subordinates, you were unable to communicate.” The observer explained, “The observer has the ability to block the transmission of these quantum pulses. When the device was detached from your armour, the observer detected a similar signal from your armour to the device. The observer concluded that your life signs were directly tied to the device’s triggering mechanism.”
“So you disrupted the signal once the Swarm was inside the containment shield in order to detonate the bomb prematurely.” Gabriel guessed.
“Correct.” The observer confirmed, “There was no guarantee that the containment shield would retain enough power for long enough to wait for detonation. Furthermore, the observer could not guarantee that the voidstalker would survive further combat.”
Cato had found his way back and was tending to Viker’s head injury. Viker had his helmet off, revealing a grizzled face with the pale complexion of an Undercity dweller and the buzz cut of a marine. His eyes were brown and still slightly dazed from being smacked in the side of the head. Bale was sitting nearby, nursing the hole in his shoulder where the spiked baton had been rammed through, having survived being tossed into the air.
“Good to see you’re alive, colonel.” Bale said as he attempted a salute. The muscles in Gabriel’s arms were still burning, but he managed to salute back.
“There is no need to keep any further secrets.” The observer said politely.
“You said you wanted to guarantee my survival,” Gabriel called out, “Why?”
“The observer has three priorities: containment, observation, and self-preservation, in descending order of importance. Now that the Swarm has been destroyed, there is nothing left either to contain or to observe, leaving only self-preservation. Whatever authority sent you is evidently prepared to take extreme measures to neutralise perceived threats. In the interest of self-preservation, the observer wishes not to be perceived as a threat.”
“You want to use us as bargaining chips?” Gabriel asked.
“No, rather as emissaries.” The observer clarified, “threatening or terminating your lives would not engender goodwill from your superiors, and would most likely result in the observer’s own destruction. Whereas releasing you alive and unharmed would produce a chance of goodwill from your superiors.”
The squad members looked at each other. They wouldn’t have managed to defeat the Swarm without the observer’s help, but they still didn’t trust it.
“What are you offering in exchange?” Gabriel demanded.
“Knowledge.” The observer replied, “Without the insidious requirement for neural fusion or mental enslavement to the observer.”
“What kind of knowledge?”
“The observer has existed for over 610,000 local solar years,” the observer answered, “the observer has thus accumulated 610,000 local solar years’ worth of observations as well as a wealth of scientific knowledge above and beyond your species’ grasp.”
“You want to trade information in exchange for survival?” Cato concluded.
“Correct. The observer cannot impart knowledge if it has been destroyed.”
There was silence as the squad considered the proposal. In fact, it was Gabriel who considered it, since the offer had been extended to him.
“We would need to consult with our superiors first.” Gabriel replied.
“That is acceptable.” The observer replied, “As a further gesture of goodwill, and so that you can contact your superiors, the observer will guide you to the exit.”
“Bout’ time we get out of this fricking place.” Viker muttered as Cato finished salving his head wound, “and it’s good to see you shut Kane up for us. Literally.”
Gabriel saw that he was still holding Kane’s severed tongue in his fist. He dropped the bloody trophy on the ground and went to retrieve his LMG.
“Is everybody well enough to move?” Gabriel asked as he picked up his service weapon, “Or do some of you need carrying?”
“I can barely move my shoulder,” Bale answered, standing up as best he could, “but that spike missed all the major blood vessels, and I survived the trip downwards.”
“I got whacked in the head,” Viker responded as he put his helmet back on and retrieved his gun, “but otherwise I’m good to move too.”
“I got blasted off the edge of the platform by th
e over-pulse, and then got jumped by a bunch of fucking Faithful,” Cato replied, packing up his medical kit, “but no injuries here, either. Can’t say the same for them though.”
“Lucky you, play-fighting downstairs with the skinny little cultists whilst the big boys handle the monster.” Bale joked.
“Oh yeah,” Cato retorted sarcastically, “Because being impaled and then tossed into the air like a sports ball is SUCH hard work.”
Everyone laughed, even Gabriel.
* * *
It was a long trek back through the sepulchral alien labyrinth to the exit, and an even longer trek back to the loading bay where the Wolverine was waiting for them. From the loading bay all the way across the canyon network, there was nowhere suitable for the DNI vessel to land and pick them up; so Viker had to drive back to the landing pad.
There was very little talking on the way back, and the surviving squad members were all out of jokes and backslapping by the time they were back aboard the ship. The mission was a success, but they had still lost one of their number to an alien enemy they knew nothing about. In any case, they were exhausted; the most they could manage was to drain some energy drinks and get out of their armour.
Doran had made it back safely, at least. His casket had been packed aboard one of the automated cargo haulers and then driven back to the landing pad. His transponder had alerted the DNI vessel to his presence, and he was already onboard by the time the squad got back. Once they were back on Asgard, he was quickly transferred to a DNI medical facility.
Ogilvy’s helmet and service weapon – the only items left of him – were returned to the DNI. The weapon would be returned to the armoury, and the helmet would be prepared for a funeral service; his family would need something over which to mourn.
Whilst Viker, Cato, and Bale were debriefed and treated for their injuries, Gabriel was summoned to speak directly to the director-general. No doubt she would have already reviewed his helmet footage by the time he arrived, and would have further questions to ask.
And he had questions of his own.
* * *
“Excellent work.” The director-general said from her throne-like chair.
She had always looked cool and professional before, someone exerting dispassionate control over an enormous network for the good of Humanity. Hundreds of thousands of subordinates reported to her, and ultimately entrusted their lives to her decisions, and Gabriel had long been one of them.
But looking at her now, Gabriel’s impression of her had changed drastically. Now she looked like a smug and manipulative black widow, tugging on little strands of silk from the centre of her web, watching everything around her with that bionic red eye of hers.
“Thank you very much,” Gabriel replied professionally, before adding, “‘Dani’.”
A flicker of surprise passed across the cool and dispassionate look on Red-eye’s face.
“It would have been greatly appreciated if the Director-Admiral of Naval Intelligence had informed us that there was already a DNI mole stationed at the Loki facility before we deployed.” Gabriel said less-than-coolly.
The accusation was implicit in the phrasing.
“‘Director-general’ is a very ancient civilian title,” Red-eye explained, attempting to duck the accusation with trivia, “it refers to someone with general responsibility for the running of a large organisation. Since this is the Directorate of Naval Intelligence, ‘director-admiral’ was the technical division’s idea of a joke, hence the codename ‘Dani’.”
Gabriel’s normally impassive face was crinkled ever so slightly into a scowl. He had figured that out for himself on the journey back, and wanted an explanation – perhaps, even an apology – for his being sent in without 100% of the available intelligence.
“The short explanation is that Kane was written off as an expired asset.” Red-eye said, using the polite intelligence euphemism for ‘hung out to dry’.
“So you didn’t think he was worth mentioning because you had no further use for him and expected us to kill him anyway?” Gabriel’s tone began to rise in volume.
“Actually, no.” Red-eye replied, unfazed by Gabriel’s tone, “Kane stopped sending us data from the Dani spyware shortly before J.E. Co. lost contact with the Loki facility. When J.E. Co.’s security team didn’t return, I concluded that the team and the staff must be dead, including Kane. If I had known Kane was the cause of the incident, I would have told you.”
Gabriel remained silent. That was a start, now what about the rest of her explanation?
“As for the long explanation,” Red-eye said at length, “how exactly do you think we stay at the cutting-edge, ahead of Humanity’s enemies?”
“You think stooping to the level of corporate espionage is worth ‘staying ahead’?”
“‘Stooping’?” Red-eye raised an eyebrow, “the corporate sector’s highest loyalty is to their balance sheets – as you well know – which is why they steal secrets from one another and gamble with Humanity’s survival through reckless xenotech experimentation. The secrets we gather, however, are put to use designing and building the next generation of technology to keep the fight going, including the armour and weapons that you take into battle.”
Red-eye’s voice was disarmingly level. There was no defensiveness, no anger at being taken to task by a subordinate; just calm explanation of her reasons. And yet, her logic was a hair’s breadth away from the corporate sector’s own arguments for doing the same thing.
“So it’s justified so long as someone else gets their hands dirty, is it?” Gabriel spat in contempt, his composure breaking down, “is that what you told Kane when you recruited him, or did he just want you to treat his blood disorder?”
“Kane didn’t have a blood disorder.” Red-eye answered, “That was just part of the cover story required to exfiltrate data from the Loki facility. The important thing is that the intelligence he provided will bear fruit for years, if not decades to come.”
“Even more so if you take up the observer on its offer.” Gabriel added cynically.
“That’s for another discussion.” Red-eye replied, “But the fruits of that arrangement will be thanks to you. So I don’t understand why all this bothers you so much.”
Gabriel did something he had never dared to do before: he stepped forward, walking all the way up to the dais and planting his hands on Red-eye’s desk. The director-general wasn’t visibly moved, even as Gabriel narrowed his luminescent green eyes into a furious glare, locking with the impassive, heterochromatic gaze of his boss.
“I will not be lied to,” Gabriel said with a barely suppressed note of menace in his voice, “either directly or by omission. Not even by you.”
“Do you think that Ogilvy might still be alive?” Red-eye asked without even flinching, “Or that Doran might have been uninjured if I had told you about Kane?”
Gabriel had no answer. He couldn’t know how the mission would have turned out differently had he known about Kane’s status as a DNI asset, let alone how that information would have saved Ogilvy or Doran from death or injury. But he felt blindsided, nonetheless, and the apparent deceit and manipulation infuriated him.
“Or do you think I risked your life unnecessarily?”
“You risked all our lives unnecessarily by not telling us about Kane!” Gabriel shouted, the remains of his composure dissolving.
“If I wanted to do that, I would have sent you in alone.” Red-eye replied simply.
Gabriel was silent again.
“Did you seriously believe I foisted a squad on you in order to slow you down?” Red-eye continued, “The point of voidstalkers is to be able to act alone if necessary. Providing you with a squad increased your combat effectiveness dramatically, and probably saved your life. Otherwise, it would have been you who went tumbling over the railings instead of Ogilvy.”
Gabriel’s fingers curled into fists. Red-eye simply stared back at him, maddeningly indifferent to his anger. She knew he wouldn’t do it.<
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“If there’s nothing else,” Red-eye said, breaking the icy staring match, “I suggest you go home and reassure your family that you’re still alive. And you’ll also want to reassure Aster that she’s no longer in trouble.”
“What kind of trouble?” Gabriel demanded, baring his teeth in a wolf-like snarl.
“Whilst you were on deployment, we raided J.E. Co.’s offices and labs, and prepared a MacGuffin sting operation.” Red-eye explained calmly.
“Of course, we don’t want the ‘competition’ stealing from us, do we?”
“The ‘competition’ turned out to be your mother,” Red-eye continued, “and the mole was initially believed to be your wife.”
Gabriel’s snarl vanished.
“The ACS also labelled her the prime suspect in the murder of her colleague, Dr Felix Kessler,” Red-eye added casually, “who turned out to be the actual mole.”
Gabriel was speechless with rage; even more so because all she did was stare back at him with one Human brown eye and one bionic red eye. She looked more like a cold-blooded machine than a person.
“In any case, it’s all been cleared up.” Red-eye said, “So go home and get some rest.”
Gabriel turned on his heel and headed for the door.
“Gabriel.” Red-eye called after him.
He paused at the door, wondering if he was about to be reprimanded for his attitude.
“Anger makes you Human.”
* * *
Gabriel was still angry when the chartered sky-car arrived to fly him home, too angry to parse Red-eye’s cryptic pseudo-profundity about anger making him Human. He had been prepared to sacrifice the whole squad, including himself, for the mission. But doing so on the basis of incomplete intelligence was a different matter entirely.
Ogilvy might well be alive, and Doran not in critical condition, were it not for Red-eye’s lie by omission. He couldn’t know that for certain, but something in his gut made him feel it, and anger was the only way he could express it.
Before departing, he was handed a report containing a summary of the events that had transpired while he was away. His face and mood darkened the more he read, and by the time the sky-car touched down at the landing pad, he was absolutely livid. His mother was lucky she was in custody, because he wanted to kill her.