“We trust that we have chosen appropriately. Barring production defects, she is essentially the same person. She is as she was, forty years old. She will not degrade or degenerate during her lifespan, which, on average, should be about twenty years. You will find her significantly more durable than the stock upon which she was modeled, but alas, gene soldiers were never known for their intellectual prowess. She and all iterations of her will know you by name, by sight, by scent, and by DNA through touch. However, this recognition is completely subconscious, and while it will engender a sense of familiarity, of security, and ultimately ensure attraction, she has no memories of your past time spent together.
“We are still gathering information on the echo’s location. For now, you and Miss Tain should reacquaint yourselves. Shortly, we will have tentative coordinates for a Tether Launch at which time you will be put to work.”
“Yes, Minister.”
“That is all, Mr. Stoakes. Enjoy yourself.”
“Thank you, Minister,” Stoakes said, but the screen was already gone.
Stoakes regarded the blade of the Suicide Knife then the woman before him. He let go of the Knife, causing it to disappear, as he approached the unchanged form of Ana Tain.
He reached and gently touched her left cheek. “Ana. . .”
She nearly folded at his caress, closing her eyes and letting out a soft, uncontrolled gasp.
“These. . . These are for you, Mr. Stoakes,” she said, indicating the bundle in her arms. She clutched them to her breast now, faux protection she entreated him to challenge.
He took the clothing from her and flung it onto a chair, leaving her exposed. Her nipples stood in clear, straining relief beneath the thin fabric of her shift. She swallowed hard and was having difficulty looking him in the eye.
“Do you know me?” he said.
“I. . . I. . .” Her breath came thickly now.
“Are you afraid of me?”
Now she did make eye contact and shook her head in short little bursts.
“This is very much like the first time we met,” he said, drawing closer to her. “Except that I had clothes on then.”
The blush in her cheeks had spread, and he could feel heat coming off of her.
He pressed up against her and whispered in her ear, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
10,810.302.2340
Stoakes awoke with the shaking of the Palace. He sat up immediately, scanned the room to ensure that the structural integrity hadn’t been compromised, breathed a sigh of relief. He looked down to the reproduction of Ana Tain, still asleep next him on the bed. He ran his hand through her curls and for the first time in a long time felt the dim glow of happiness tingeing the more common sense of physical satisfaction he was used to.
The Palace shook again. And then again. Something was wrong.
He dressed in the clothes Ana had brought him, his charcoal field suit, tight only about the calves and forearms, with its high stand-up collar to cover the lower half of his face. He went Dark and jumped straight up, his misty black form pooling at the ceiling before finding the narrow gap that allowed him passage between levels into the Tether Launch station immediately above his new quarters. At the control podium he returned to normal and called up an exterior video feed. A holographic screen two meters wide by one meter tall flashed into being and revealed the ships Stoakes had seen from the strut—only now they appeared to be surrounding the Palace, the closest vessel mere kilometers away.
“The hell?” he murmured to himself.
He signaled Witchlan and awaited a response, which wasn’t long in coming.
“Excellent timing, Mr. Stoakes. This saves us having to rouse you,” Witchlan said.
“No disrespect intended, Minister, but I thought I would be put to work before finding this fleet at our door.”
“Such was our aim. There are two fleets which have apparently decided to place us in the middle of their war. And we have had difficulties.”
“Difficulties?”
“Yes. The energy screens defending these ships are proof against Tether Launch, which severely limits our ability to place you where we need you. Alternative means will be ready momentarily. As for the main threat, with no atmosphere or other medium of transmission, our Lightning Gun batteries are useless. Delivery by Tether Launch of payloads as far as the ships’ screens has proven moderately effective, but there are perhaps a hundred heavy fighting ships on either side, each measuring from seven to twelve hundred meters in length. With the firepower they can bring to bear, we have been forced to focus on defense, using adjusted Prisma Shields.
“It doesn’t sound good,” Stoakes said.
“You need only concentrate on your part. Retrieve the Yellow Diamond Spectacles. In your new quarters, you will find the wall opposite the bed to be of soft, manipulable Vine fiber. Pass through the fiber and you will find yourself in a phloem tube. Go now.”
“Yes, Minister.”
Stoakes did as told. He put the Yellow Diamond Spectacles into a pocket, bent to kiss the still sleeping Ana Tain upon the cheek, stepped to the wall where he pushed through the fiber and was swallowed whole.
He was enveloped in moist darkness for an instant before being shot—up or down he couldn’t tell—at monstrous speed through the vertically running phloem tube. He came to a sudden, jarring halt and was expelled onto the floor of a dark, close chamber.
A single red emergency light lit the chamber, revealing what little was present. Set within and jutting from the wall opposite the phloem tube was a cylindrical projection open at the top. Stoakes couldn’t ignore its resemblance to a coffin. Though he couldn’t be sure with the lighting, it appeared to be constructed of resin-hardened Vine fiber.
A holographic screen flickered on to occupy the center of the small room. “This is your means of entry, Mr. Stoakes,” Witchlan said from it. “And potentially of our deliverance from the warring fleets. Please climb in head first. The unit is completely automated and self-contained. It will seal itself once you are situated within.”
“It’s a torpedo,” Stoakes said with some measure of surprise.
Witchlan nodded approval of Stoakes’s deductive reasoning skills.
“That is correct. Your mission is as it always is. Find the echo. Kill her without killing her so that she may die a natural death, however expedited.”
“Yes, Minister.”
Stoakes climbed into the torpedo and found it not altogether uncomfortable. The interior was padded and just beyond a pair of forward hand grips—solely for maintaining his stability within the torpedo, he was sure—was a small electronics cube projecting a view of what he assumed was immediately ahead. The skin of the torpedo closed over, cutting off the red light, and Stoakes felt the padding inflate from all directions, pressing close to his body to prevent any movement.
Witchlan’s voice seemed to come from everywhere within the torpedo. “This unit, and others like it, have been designed with the sole purpose of penetrating the screens and armor plating of those ships to allow you entry. By design, the unit will lodge halfway through the armored hull and stopper the hole it creates. Attention would be called to hull breaches, and this is a mission of stealth. The unit’s front will blow open upon successful penetration, allowing you exit. Be sure to collect the emergency Tether Launch retrieval package located beneath the view screen before abandoning the torpedo. On completion of your mission, you need only find your way to open space to return to the Palace. Oh, and do be careful. I have reports that their sidearms are quite devastating.”
Stoakes cocked his head, wondering how the Minister of Affairs could have come by any such reports.
“That is all,” Witchlan said.
Stoakes didn’t bother with a verbal reply. He simply nodded.
He felt the torpedo slide further into the wall from which it jutted, then up with a disconcerting ratcheting motion. He imagined a bullet being fed into a magazine, cycling up towards the breech. There was a paus
e and then there was unimaginable acceleration. The phloem tubes were not necessarily stagnant by comparison, but perhaps close to it.
The small screen before Stoakes showed the target ship fast approaching, and he had to force himself to keep watching as the side of the ship filled the view just before explosive impact. The sudden change in inertia was disorienting, but didn’t affect him overly long. A green light lit the interior before the front of the torpedo burst apart. The padding deflated and Stoakes pulled himself from the confines of the spent missile.
He found himself in the dark. From the short trip, he had been able to get some idea of where he would be entering, but had no idea of how this ship was laid out. Perhaps this was a small cargo hold or a service compartment. He was pretty sure that the operations bridge was forward. He would need the Yellow Diamond Spectacles. Before putting them on, he took the Tether Launch retrieval pack and strapped it to his left wrist. Just to be safe, he wasted no time breaking the silver sphere which contained the liquid Vine fiber and allowed the animate fluid to merge with his Artifact. There, now he felt safe. It wasn’t logical, but the closer he got to the end of his mission—and he did feel he was closing in on it for good and all—the more he feared being abandoned and cut off from the Empire. He shook his head clear of the notion and placed the Spectacles carefully over his eyes.
Within seconds he’d found his target. How could he not when the infinity spiral blazed from her head as it did. He’d never seen it so bright, so powerful before. Without even seeing the echo’s face, all his feelings of regret and remorse and self-hatred bloomed like black flowers in his mind, oily wet and debilitating with the crushing depression they birthed. His breath caught in his chest. It was psychosomatic, but Shades weren’t immune to such things. Why was he doing this again?
He thought of Ana Tain, so recently returned to him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her, even a shadow of what she’d been. He thought of his youth and its potential return, of how he’d never been able to really appreciate it in its passing, not like his fellows. Most importantly, he thought of the promise he’d made. Everything that would come as a result of that promise was a bonus as far as he was concerned. His word was all he had. He’d done terrible things throughout his long life, mostly in the service of the Empire, but his word was the one constant by which he could judge himself. He would endeavor to put atrocities behind him once his obligation was fulfilled, but until then there was nothing but to see his contract with the Emperor to completion. Of course fate had some say in his success or failure, which was fitting and right, and which he would not challenge.
His vision had blurred. Only when he blinked was he aware of the tears that had filled and now fell from his eyes. He squeezed his eyes shut and ran his fingers over them beneath the lenses of the Spectacles.
Once more resolved to his purpose, he studied the location of his target, focused his vision through the subtle perceptions afforded by the Spectacles to reveal a potential route through the ship to her. Since these ships weren’t grown and subject to the will of the Emperor as was the Palace, and precautions against the vacuum of space were a much higher priority, he would find fewer paths leading to his goal. There were too many hermetically sealed compartments to make a straight run. If the echo moved from her present location, it might prove rather troublesome.
• • •
Scilia Moro dallied in her cabin. For accommodations on a guild ship, her cabin was luxurious with space, with light, with equipment—as was appropriate for quarters belonging to the captain. She knew she should be on the bridge, especially now while in the middle of a firefight with the Patrol, but she’d been overcome by the strangest sense of languid euphoria. She’d never felt like this before. The closest thing she could compare was when she’d given over just the once and indulged in Cryonyte during the guild’s early smuggling days to see what all the hype was about. The high was something like what she was feeling now, but she remembered a manic quality to the euphoria then which was altogether absent now. What she felt now wiped out her every ambition, made her want to give up all she’d already achieved, leave both the pirate guild and the Patrol far behind, and start over with. . . with someone she didn’t know. . . No, that wasn’t right—with someone she didn’t know existed.
She’d had many lovers, but had settled for none of them. She had attained her captaincy on her own, with no help and despite plenty of interference. Many used to joke that her ship, the Sasahn, was the only lover she wouldn’t cuckold, and she’d begun to wonder herself. Now her ship was the farthest thing from her thoughts. Now she was helpless, both offended and encouraged by her own wet hand, bedridden by a malaise of lust and the phantasmal promise of real and total fulfillment. Who was he? Where was he? She felt like she knew, but clarity was just out of reach and it was maddening.
Reports had been coming steadily from the bridge. The anomalous botanical mass had shown signs of being inhabited, had put up a mild offense before the arrival of the Patrol had forced it to resort to full defense. The Patrol’s resources were, as rumors indicated, depleted and this might make for their last stand. The biological deterrent the guild scientists had come up with had all but destroyed the Patrol’s outposts and it was only the activity therein that had brought the guild out here to investigate. She sighed as these thoughts filled her head and suppressed her more provocative but less productive feelings. She rose, nude, from her bed, shook her mass of wild black hair, and dressed quickly in a pair of tight brown britches, a band of elastic material to bind her breasts, a white linen shirt, too big for her, and a thick coat over this that reached down to mid thigh. She strapped her gun belt around her waist, checked the heavy Farmington pistol in its holster to ensure a full charge—this particular ritual had saved her more than once in circumstances that one never would have guessed called for a Farmington—and exited her cabin.
• • •
Stoakes was making progress but at the expense of time. He felt like he was competing against a ticking clock, though there was no real reason he should. He’d covered more than half the distance to the echo’s location when he suddenly felt the urgent need to confirm her location once again with the Yellow Diamond Spectacles. A little caution would prevent a lot of unnecessary frustration.
Through the Spectacles, he saw that he was right to check. He sighed, realizing that the more he stalked these echoes, the more attuned to them he became. He had mixed feelings about this. He was already having trouble banishing his guilt. Would it ultimately become impossible for him to do so? Maybe. And that would be a kind of justice, not fair and balanced, but a variety of justice just the same.
He watched the unmistakable flare of the echo descend one level and proceed forward, most likely towards the bridge at the fore of the ship. He scanned the ship, reduced to translucent meat and bones by the Spectacles, and plotted a path to intercept her or at least come up just behind her if she remained on her present route. He felt the urge to hurry and made to satisfy it.
He kept the Spectacles on to ensure that he would not lose sight of his target. He’d gotten very used to the lenses over the years, but they were still a challenge. Though his tolerance had increased, the influx of sensory input—not purely visual—still hurt after a fashion and sometimes blinded him to more mundane obstacles and threats, so while he was able to maintain a good pace, he did not see the two crew members until nearly bumping into them.
In the ship’s dim corridor, Stoakes, in his Darkened state, was difficult to see, but he’d abandoned one kind of caution for another and would now have to pay for doing so. Stoakes drew the Suicide Knife and thrust it forward. The first crew member canted as the left side of his neck was decorated with a bright red triangle. Blood fountained from the fatal wound, dousing his fellow and shocking him to reflexive action. He drew the heavy pistol from the holster at his hip and fired three wild shots. One of the shots passed through Stoakes’s gauzy, black midsection, spraying a fine mist of blood out
his back. He dropped to one knee, gripping his middle with his left hand as he swept the Knife savagely with his right. The remaining crew member’s head jumped from his shoulders, hit the floor, and rolled a ways before settling.
“Ow!” Stoakes allowed himself to cry out, more in outrage and disbelief than anything. It hurt, of course, and would leave a scar, but he couldn’t allow himself to succumb to the pain. The experience did instill in him a belated respect for the devastating sidearms, though.
“Warning,” an automated voice echoed through the corridor. “Unauthorized weapons discharge detected on level fourteen, section twelve. Warning. . .”
“Shit,” Stoakes hissed.
He scanned ahead for his target, saw that she had paused but then continued on her way. He put the Yellow Diamond Spectacles away, and with his left hand still firmly pressed to his stomach, he bolted down the corridor. Still some ways on, crew members entered the corridor from several different access doors. He could hear other doors opening behind him as well. No matter. He stuck as close to the left wall as possible and at his maximum range, sent the phantom blade of his Longsword Knife into the already feeble overhead lighting, casting that section of corridor in total darkness and effectively blinding his opponents but not himself. He carved through everyone in his path before any of them could get off a single, errant shot.
Stoakes was worried but didn’t know why. He felt like he was racing the echo to the bridge, but why should he feel that way? What could she do there that would change anything? He tried to shrug off the feeling and just concentrate on what he had to do.
For the time being, he encountered no more of the crew. Besides those investigating the weapons discharge, many would now be occupied with the inexplicable scenes of carnage. Paranoia would spread and run its course before they could start a methodical search. And they were in the middle of a war.
The Path to Loss (Approaching Infinity Book 4) Page 15