Origins

by Jamie Sawyer

  I looked up at the immense distance I had to clear. The range-finder on my wrist-comp – unreliable, but the best guess I had in the circumstances – suggested that the structure was already a kilometre tall, and still rising. I was never going to make it using my thruster.

  Then I looked back at the Krell, at the seething mass of alien bodies moving up the side of the structure.

  “I don’t have a choice,” I declared to myself.

  I vaulted up the side of the structure, and clambered on top of the Krell assault force, joining them in the attack. If I could reach the summit, I could stop the beacon. That was the source of the transmission into Shard Space. If I could silence it, maybe I could stop this.

  The Krell numbers swelled with each second. The tsunami we’d encountered in the swamp? That was nothing compared to the number of bodies gathered at the foot of the platform. Soon there were thousands of them, clambering over each other, clawing up the smooth black sides of the structure. Bodies on bodies, they were slowly but surely reaching the top. Already, some were collapsing back down to the jungle floor. Already, more were struggling to get up there. When the black tide reached them – wracked their organic bodies with phage, consumed them with shadow – more took their place.

  The Krell were in a rabid state. They barely noticed me, and took no hostile action against me at all. I climbed with them, firing my thruster in short bursts, using the strength-augmentation of the Ares suit to vertically clear the distance.

  I reached the tip of the Krell’s attack force. The xenos there were ragged, skeletal shapes: almost completely scoured by the Shard Creep. The air at the peak was thick with nanotech; the Krell warriors were stripped rapidly, and many fell from their position in the column. I grappled onto some, but their strength was waning. More and more, I was relying on the thruster pack in my suit.

  Don’t look down, I insisted, as I hauled myself over the lip of the platform.

  The world around me had irrevocably changed. The sky was a bitter green glow now, the underside of the clouds skated with fire. Buffeted by winds that bore ash and phage, I stood on the edge of the structure: surveyed the dead world that had been Devonia. There were several black structures, just like the one that I was standing on, now pocking the surface of the planet. Enormous black edifices, cast of shadow, each flickering with pent-up energy.

  Director-Admiral Kyung stood in front of a control console, the Shard Key in her hands, in the centre of the platform. Surrounded by a dozen or so Directorate Swords, weapons trained on the platform edges.

  As I saw Kyung’s ravaged condition, questions fired through my tired mind. What did the Shard think of her? I wondered. She was a thing both woman and machine – a cyborg entity. Organic, to be consumed, but machine, to be assimilated. She would be forever linked to the Shanghai Remembered. To me, the practice of mind-slaving a captain and her ship sounded despicable and inhumane, but the results spoke for themselves. She was the ship, and the ship was her. Even down on the surface, she was no doubt in regular comms with the Shanghai.

  I wondered what state the Shanghai was in now. Was the ship’s AI feeling her pain, struggling to interpret a plethora of new data-streams that no human mind should ever endure?

  The camo-field projected by Kyung’s ghost-plate had malfunctioned, and still broadcast myriad Shard symbology, glowing white-hot as though she had been branded all over. Her face-plate was damaged too, a nasty fracture webbing the plasglass, turning the plate transparent.

  I unholstered my plasma pistol. Stalked towards her, close enough that I could see the hideous mess of her face. The lightshow under her skin had turned black, throbbing with new life, a crawling poison. Her lips were twisted into a grim smile; a bitter expression that suggested she had accepted that she wouldn’t be getting out of this alive.

  “I have done my task,” she said. Her voice was distorted, just wrong. “It is finished.”

  I’d so far escaped discovery by the Directorate; this was my only chance. I aimed the plasma pistol at Kyung. My own suit was so badly damaged that I suspected I would end up the same way: consumed by the Shard Creep.

  “We’re all dead,” I said, broadcasting over my battle-suit speakers. “But you’re not taking her with you.”

  Elena. If all had gone to plan, she was in orbit around Devonia right now, planning our escape. But there could be no life for her if the Revenant broke through, if the Shard were allowed to spread their poisonous technology across the galaxy again—

  The Directorate bodyguards closed around us, but with hesitancy. Laser sights were aimed at me, weapons trained in my direction. I flagged the Sword commandos: read their armaments and intentions. Heavy carbines. Wearing hard-suits with full exo outlays. Respirators, equipped for hostile environment ops: sealed, currently immune to the Creep. A wave of anxiety seemed to emanate from her troopers, although Kyung was oblivious. They’re scared of her.

  “I killed Williams,” I said. Readied my plasma pistol, began to think about how best to do this. “He got what he deserved.”

  “No matter. His job was done.”

  When she spoke, her words resonated from the world around us: not from the twisted physical form in front of me.

  I nodded at the nearest trooper. Said in Standard, “She tell you that you were going to be dying down here?”

  The Sword looked back impassively. His or her helmet was mirrored, only revealing the burning horizon of Devonia. But he didn’t shoot, and that had to be something.

  “You see now why we had to do this?” Kyung asked. “Why I needed to do this?”

  “I don’t much care,” I said. “Unless you close that Gate, you’ll have the blood of billions on your hands.”

  “It’s too late for that,” she said.

  “No, it isn’t.”

  Kyung’s face was suddenly almost aflame with activity. The tracery of subdermal electronics flashed incandescently. She hunched over; looked like she might be sick.

  One of the nearest soldiers lowered his rifle. For all their discipline, they were losing the will to fight. I couldn’t say that I blamed them. They weren’t sure about this.

  “We can stop this,” I said.

  “We cannot be stopped,” boomed the voice that was at once Kyung’s but also something else: something that I had heard before. Machine-code. The Reaper’s voice; the thing that had spoken to me on the Damascus Artefact. She was acting as a conduit for the Machine-Mind, for the Shard.

  Shit. This was first contact. This was really happening.

  The Arkonus Abyss blazed with new light overhead. The only functional sensor-suite left on my Ares suit began to chime with warnings. I was being saturated with radiation; enough that even the battle-suit was insufficient protection.

  “What do you want with us?” I asked.

  “This is our empire,” Kyung said. “We are the Singularity.”

  The fracture in her face-plate had grown. From a hairline crack, it was now clearly visible. The woman inside the hard-suit had begun to look frightened, terror creeping across her features.

  “If there is anything of Kyung left,” I said, “know that the Directorate wouldn’t want this. There is no arms race here; there is no technology to be salvaged. There’s only death.”

  I spread my arm out across the surface of Devonia, to encompass the dying world around me.

  “We can use them,” a voice implored, somewhat meekly. It sounded an awful lot like Kyung, fighting for escape with whatever was now occupying her armour. “They can be the ultimate ally!”

  “Against who, Kyung? There won’t be anyone left.”

  “I… I didn’t fail at Damascus!” she implored. “Doing this – it will make everything right! I cannot leave here in failure, not again…”

  “We have to stop this!” I yelled. Brought my plasma pistol up, aimed at the Shard console in front of her.

  The commandos made their decision. Twelve rifles aimed at me: with my null-shield down, even in a battle-suit
they could take me.

  “It’s too late,” Kyung whispered, as she was consumed by the black metal: as she became whatever the Shard really were. Hesitation fled across what remained of her eyes, so fast that I almost missed it. “They are already here.”

  I fired.

  The Kyung-thing moved faster than the real Kyung ever could.

  She instantly shifted sideways, covered the console and the Key embedded into it. Caught the volley of plasma pulses that coursed the platform. I kept shooting, and a pulse hit her helmet. Her face-plate exploded outwards. The result wasn’t what I was expecting: the woman staggered backwards but remained standing. Black mercury lapped at the remains of her hard-suit. She was changing—

  Sim-fast, I dodged into cover, behind the nearest Shard structure.

  Gunfire chased me, and hard rounds split the air, bouncing off the obsidian ground, but it was not directed at me. The Directorate Swords were firing on what Kyung had become. Their dedication had been sufficiently shaken that they would betray Kyung completely. Crack-crack, the rifles fired. One of the Swords hit Kyung, punched another hole through her hard-suit—

  Kyung stumbled. Hands to her face. There was liquid pouring from her helmet. The stuff was also erupting from every seam of her suit, I realised, and enveloping the armour. Where the armour breached, wet metal tendrils lashed free.

  Kyung rolled over. More rounds pierced her suit.

  The Creep had got into her armour, had compromised her life support. Maybe she was especially prone to the contagion – being a machine-hybrid – or perhaps it was one of a hundred other possibilities. The reality was that a Reaper was birthing on the platform top – forming from the remains of Admiral Kyung.

  More Directorate guns hit the body. The living metal sprayed, superheated, but instantly reformed. It threw out a spike of mercury in the direction of a Sword – effortlessly spearing the commando and tossing the corpse away, before the soldier had even considered responding – and circled another Shard structure.

  The Shard control console was still operating. I could feel the Machine-Mind traversing Shard Space, moving to Devonia…

  Then I saw them.

  Nightmare-quiet things.

  The Krell.

  One by one, tertiary-forms and primary-forms were clambering onto the platform. They were wraiths: bodies destroyed by the Creep, bio-armour plating flapping wildly in the wind. Individually, they were weakened and dying – such easy prey. But they were not individual.

  Krell poured onto the platform, clambering over each other. A leader-form led the assault – had fared better from the storm than its brethren – and clutched at the dead and dying as cover. They fell on the Reaper with a hundred pairs of claws and talons.

  As secondaries arrived at the summit bio-weapons were being fired into the thing as well. The Reaper fought back with abandon. It whirled about, moving so fast that it betrayed gravity and the rules of physics. It was a blur of activity, eviscerating Krell. Pure shadow, no shape whatsoever; then a million spikes, black fractals that were painful to look at.

  And yet still they came.

  A hundred on the peak one minute, then a thousand. I crept towards the edge of the platform, against the tide of bodies. Holy Christo. Columns of xenos had formed on every flank; were streaming from every direction.

  Through the chaos of battle, I reached the console. Hands to the machine: to the Shard Key…

  I was paralysed by the signal. It consumed me. The futility of human existence became overwhelming, disablingly apparent.

  A trio of Krell Needlers passed my flank, dangerously near to the platform edge. They were flying full-throttle, nose down. I watched in a kind of hypnotic trance as the much smaller ships adopted an attack formation. Krell stinger-warheads slammed into the platform, sent bodies toppling over the edge—

  Two Krell Needlers exploded, chased by silver lances.

  Got to stop this!

  A third Krell Needler flew closer, and began to erratically jink. I saw the engine contrails flicker, thrusters cutting in and out. The ship was in trouble, even if the pilot didn’t know it. A strand of black metal – tight and sharp as a spear – shot from the mêlée that enveloped the centre of the platform. With terrifying precision, the protrusion slammed into the Needler’s belly. It tore through bio-plating, into the guts of the ship.

  I braced. Knew what was coming next. I grabbed for the Key—

  The ship banked dangerously. Clipped the structure. Krell slipped, fell from the platform. The Needler was on fire, engines suddenly buzzing with the swarm—

  The ship hit the platform and exploded.

  My perspective shifted, and I sailed over the edge of the structure.

  As I dropped, confident in the knowledge that the fall would kill me, I saw the Abyss overhead.

  Reality split at the seams, and the Revenant came through.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  NO COMING BACK

  It would be so easy to sleep.

  To sleep, and never get up.

  To just let this happen.

  I woke up in my simulator, surrounded by noise and activity.

  The SOC was in a state of panic, but on a whole other level. The overhead lights flickered, power fluctuating, and white noise was being piped into my ear-bead. I tore that free, rested against the inside of the tank, and realised that the noise was also coming from the ship’s PA: broadcast throughout the vessel.

  The Shard are here.

  With the noise came a cold that seared through me. Something more than just temperature: a soul-scathing chill. I struggled to breathe, forced air from the respirator into my lungs. My body shook, quaking in time with the rest of the ship, and gravity shifted around me.

  Every limb burnt. Blazing welts – where the fall had just killed me – lined my body. Bright streamers of blood rose from wounds across my back, my chest, my face – wounds that should’ve been simulated.

  Begrudgingly, the tank emptied, and as it did – in the flittering, unreal half-light – I saw Elena standing in front of me. She mashed her small fists against the outer canopy, her beautiful face stained red. The door slid open and amniotic fluid spilled onto the SOC floor.

  “You’re hurt!” Elena cried. “He’s been injured!”

  She dragged me from the tank, still trailing cables, and held me to her. Kissed me on the mouth: her lips invigorating, drawing me back to the now. I couldn’t reciprocate, but then I couldn’t do much. I was slick with both blood and amniotic: an adult newborn. Even the touch of her lips to mine was searing; sent ripples of pain through me. I slumped to the floor.

  This was no normal extraction.

  Elena sat on the deck of the SOC and cradled me in her arms. Dressed in a new Colossus crewsuit, deep blue now stained black by the simulator fluids.

  “I… I made it,” I said. “But I failed.”

  “That you made it is enough,” she whispered. Her voice broke with emotion, and though it pained my eyes I focused on her face: saw tears rolling down her marble cheeks. “You tried, Conrad. You did what you could.”

  I felt the prick of a hypodermic on my forearm, the swell of medi-nano in my bloodstream. Dr Serova was beside me, taking readings – reeling off requests to the sci-med team. None of this will do any good, I thought. Not if they are here. Other faces swam into view around me: the Legion, Loeb, James.

  “He’s bleeding,” Elena said. “This isn’t normal! What’s happening to him!”

  Dr Serova shook her head. “I don’t know! I’ve already told you people, I’m no expert on this technology!”

  This was not the stigmata. This was something different, something more real. My data-ports – the connections in my limbs, chest, spine – were all wet with real, honest-to-god blood, and my chest was covered in lacerations. Whatever had happened to me down there on Devonia, I’d brought a little of it back with me. And a little of this pain: that was all I needed.

  Hunt warned me of this.

  “
He’s dead, and I’m not,” I said, my voice garbled and defiant. “I’m fine.” My vision was wavering, jumping. “Ky… Kyung: she did it.”

  “We know,” Loeb said, his craggy features sullen, the weight of defeat on his brow. “It’s over.”

  “No…” I insisted. I struggled to my feet, Elena’s hands supporting me. That I could stand at all was a miracle. “It isn’t until I say so.”

  A minute or so later, dressed but no more recovered from the ordeal on Devonia, we assembled in the CIC.

  “This is it,” Loeb declared. “Take it all in people: we’re the ones here at the end.”

  Elena’s arms were wrapped around me, keeping me upright. Her aura was like a beacon; despite our situation, her strength was somehow keeping me going. This was the first time in ten years that our real bodies had been together, I realised. So many near-misses, simulated meetings, and now here we were, watching the end of things.

  “By Gaia,” Saul whispered. “It’s incredible.”

  “That’s one word for it,” Kaminski said.

  The Revenant was in orbit around Devonia.

  It was created from a substance so dark that it was the epitome of night – that it sucked in all available light, like the Artefacts. The Shard ship was enormous – much bigger than any of the Krell bio-ships in Devonian space, than even the Colossus – and only occasionally could I focus on it. The ship’s outline was jagged, uncompromising: no bridge, no engine even – vaguely star-shaped, just layer upon layer of detail, sprawling and ramshackle and ancient. Reality seemed to warp around the vessel as it moved: gliding almost serenely through the destruction. A rock of calm among the madness.

  The Krell had taken immediate offensive action.

  Bio-ships swarmed the enormous Shard vessel, were peppering its hull with seeker missiles and more esoteric living ammunition. Occasionally, and with no regularity or frequency at all, did the underside of the ship light up with a nearby explosion. Then the ship’s skin would ripple with runic impressions, as though the metal skein had a life of its own. Every surface was covered in Shard cuneiform, a billion lines of nightmarish hieroglyphics.