by G J Ogden
Valerian root tea
Sterling turned to see a Sa’Nerran warrior march a prisoner into the room then push the woman to her knees in front of the wall. A black hood covered the prisoner’s head and her wrists were bound together in front of her waist.
“Aide Sterling, I want you to kill this human,” said a voice from behind him. Emissary Lana McQueen stepped into view, her hands pressed to the small of her back. “I would like you to strangle her to death.”
Sterling frowned. This isn’t right… he thought, again looking back at the prisoner kneeling before him. I killed McQueen already, so why I am back here?
“Strangle the human, Aide Sterling,” McQueen said, issuing the order again because of Sterling’s inaction. “Prove that you are worthy of the title.”
“What title?” Sterling asked, glowering at the Emissary.
“The title of Omega Captain, of course,” McQueen replied, making it sound as if the answer should have been obvious to him.
The Sa’Nerran warrior then whipped the hood off the prisoner, but instead of Corporal Dietrich’s swollen and bloodshot eyes, Sterling found himself peering down at Mercedes Banks.
“No, this isn’t what happened,” Sterling protested as Banks simply stared back at him, blank and emotionless. “This isn’t right.”
McQueen’s boots thudded against the cold metal deck and moments later the Emissary was standing directly in front of him. She leaned in closer, bringing her lips so close to Sterling’s ear that he could feel her breath on his skin.
“No, Captain Sterling, this isn’t right,” McQueen whispered. The words sent a shiver down his spine. “A moral and honorable man would never murder one of his soldiers to save his own skin, isn’t that right?”
Sterling drew back and jabbed a finger at the Emissary. “You forced my hand,” he hit back, starting to feel his pulse thumping in the side of his head. “I did what I had to, for the sake of the mission.”
“You did it to save your own ass!” McQueen hit back. The Emissary was now wearing a thin, conceited smile. “You strangled her because you were afraid, and weak.”
“You know that’s a lie,” Sterling countered. McQueen could play mind games all she liked – he wouldn’t crack. “Dietrich was dead either way. By killing her myself, I deceived you and made you drop your guard. If I hadn’t killed her then we’d both be dead, and you’d have command of the Vanguard.”
Sterling was absolutely certain of his argument. McQueen was trying to inject doubt into his mind – doubt about his mission and the necessary sacrifices that the Sa’Nerra had forced him to make.
“So the ends justify the means?” said McQueen, raising a quizzical eyebrow.
“Yes,” Sterling answered with the same unflinching conviction. “The end game is the survival of the human race. If I have to sacrifice the few in order to save the many, I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever I have to.”
McQueen’s smile broadened and took on a more sinister twist. Sterling swallowed hard, realizing he’d fallen into the Emissary’s trap.
“If that’s true, then you will have no difficulty strangling this human,” McQueen said, pointing to the blank face of Mercedes Banks. “Prove me wrong, Lucas. Prove you are worthy of the title.”
“This is ridiculous,” Sterling hit back. “You’re already dead, and this is just some crazy, drug-induced nightmare.” He turned to leave. He’d already had enough of being held prisoner by his own mind. “So, you can go to hell, McQueen,” he added, stepping toward the door.
“I’m already there, Lucas…” the Emissary replied.
A shooting pain raced through Sterling’s temples, taking him completely by surprise. He dropped to his knees; hands pressed to the sides of his head.
“You sent me there!” McQueen snarled, suddenly rageful and bitter.
Another burst of pain sliced though Sterling’s head and this time he collapsed to his hands and knees, crippled by blinding agony.
“What are you doing to me?” Sterling cried out, turning to face the Emissary. “How are you doing this?”
“It’s just a dream, Lucas,” said McQueen, shrugging. “You can wake up and it will all be over.”
Sterling pushed himself to his feet, though his legs were still unsteady. “To hell with his,” he said, closing his eyes. He had no idea how to wake from a lucid dream, but closing his eyes seemed like as good a place to start as any.
“But if you do wake up now, you just prove that I’m right,” McQueen said.
Sterling cursed, realizing he couldn’t leave while McQueen still taunted him. Whether it was a dream or not didn’t matter – her accusations would haunt him even after he woke. Opening his eyes again, he saw that McQueen was now on her knees beside Banks. She was stroking her finger down the side of her face, but Banks did not react. His first officer was still staring into dead space, as if she was hypnotized.
“Still here, Lucas?” McQueen said, mocking Sterling with her smile. “Perhaps you’re not so sure of yourself, after all?”
“I’ve already killed hundreds of turned human aides of the Sa’Nerra,” Sterling hit back. “I even strangled my own commando. And don’t forget that I killed you.” McQueen’s smiled wavered as Sterling pointed this out “What more do I have to prove?”
“You claim that you’ll do anything for the mission, but we both know that you can’t kill Mercedes Banks,” McQueen said, still stroking Banks’ face. Sterling felt a flutter inside his gut and he forced down another dry swallow. “Sooner or later, you’ll be faced with that choice, Lucas. Then, when the fate of humanity rests on your ability to kill your precious Mercedes, you’ll falter and fail.”
“I won’t,” Sterling hit back, marching toward McQueen with fists clenched. “Mercedes and I have talked about it. If it was the only way, neither one of us would hesitate to kill the other.”
McQueen laughed and shook her head at Sterling. “Lies, Lucas,” she said, scathingly. “It’s a lie and you know it.”
“I’ve come this far, Emissary McQueen,” Sterling hit back, spitting the word ‘emissary’ at his former colleague. “I’ve done terrible things. I’m already irredeemable. What’s one more life?”
McQueen slid her forefinger underneath the prisoner’s chin and turned Banks’ face towards hers. The Emissary kissed Banks softly on the cheek before standing up and gesturing to the first officer of the Invictus with her open hand.
“Then prove it,” McQueen said, still smiling.
Sterling snorted a laugh then marched toward the manifestation of Banks. She’s not real, so what does it matter? Sterling said to himself. Just do it and then you’ll wake up. Dropping to his knees in front of Banks, Sterling wrapped his hands around her neck and began to apply pressure. However, the moment he did so, Banks’ eyes came alive and locked onto him like laser sights.
“Lucas, don’t kill me!” Banks cried, pleading with him to stop. Her face, which had been as blank as shop mannequin’s up to that point, now wore an expression of terror and pain. “You can find another way!”
Sterling gritted his teeth, closed his eyes and continued to increase the pressure around his first officer’s throat.
“Lucas!” spluttered Banks. “Please!”
She’s not real, damn it! Sterling told himself. It’s just a dream!
“It’s not… a dream…” Banks croaked. “It’s a trick… McQueen… tricked you… I’m real!”
Sterling’s conviction faltered and loosed his hold, but only by a fraction. He peeked open his eyes then wished he hadn’t. The sight of Mercedes Banks’ face twisted in agony made him feel physically sick.
“It’s just a dream!” Sterling yelled, though he was trying to convince himself, not the woman in front of him. “It’s not real.”
“Lucas…” Banks said, her voice now weak. Sterling could feel her body going limp and her weight starting to press against him. “Please…”
Sterling gritted his teeth and closed his eyes again. He tried to increase the pressur
e again, but he couldn’t do it. Finally, he gave up and pulled his hands away from his first officer’s throat before releasing a wild, inarticulate scream of rage into the air.
“See, I told you,” McQueen said. Her voice was calm and contemptuous.
Sterling looked up and saw that it was no longer Mercedes Banks kneeling in front of him, but the Emissary herself. She was dressed in her Omega Taskforce Captain’s uniform with its unique silver stripe.
“You’re weak and unworthy,” McQueen added. She then spat in Sterling’s face, striking him directly in the eye with a warm globule of sticky saliva. “And that’s why you’ll lose.”
Sterling wiped the spittle from his eye and looked at it, smeared across the palm of his hand. His teeth were still clenched and the rage that had built up inside him had now reached a point where it couldn’t be contained. Releasing another primal roar, Sterling grabbed McQueen around the neck and squeezed. McQueen coughed and spluttered, but despite her garbled cries Sterling could also hear her laughing.
“Die, you traitorous piece of shit!” Sterling roared, pressing his thumbs into McQueen’s esophagus and crushing it like a stick of celery. “I killed you and I’ll crush the Sa’Nerra!”
McQueen fell, but Sterling continued to choke the woman, straddling her in order to press down with all his weight. Eventually, exhaustion and muscle weariness set in and he was forced to relinquish his hold. Falling off the lifeless body of Emissary McQueen, Sterling scrambled back against the wall, chest pounding and muscles burning.
“Very good, Captain Sterling, you may now stand up,” came a voice from behind him.
Sterling shot a glance to his rear and saw Mercedes Banks standing there, dressed in an Omega Captain’s uniform.
“Mercedes?” Sterling said, climbing wearily to his feet.
“Come here,” Banks added, issuing the command as if she were the superior officer. Sterling dragged himself to his feet and staggered over to his first officer, more out of curiosity than because Banks had demanded he do so. “Now kiss me.” Banks ordered.
Before he knew it, Sterling had slid his arm around Banks’ waist. He tried to stop himself, but it was like an external influence had taken control of his body. Then, powerless to do anything to prevent it, Sterling pulled Banks toward him so that their lips were mere millimeters apart.
“I know you want me, Lucas,” whispered Banks. “I want you too. Stop fighting your desires.”
Banks then kissed Sterling passionately on the lips. He was hesitant at first, but Sterling soon took control of the embrace, pushing Banks against the wall and kissing her with even greater intensity. He could feel his first officer’s hands slipping underneath his tunic and tank top, caressing his body. The taste and touch of her thrilled him like nothing he’d experienced before. Before he knew it, Sterling had slid his hands beneath Banks’ uniform.
“See, I knew I was right,” a voice whispered into his ear.
Sterling froze. The voice wasn’t that of Mercedes Banks. He pulled back and forced down another hard, dry swallow then found himself staring into the eyes of Lana McQueen.
“You’re weak because of her,” McQueen said “And because of her, you will lose.”
A blast of plasma burned through Sterling’s chest, coring a hole through his body directly through his heart. Sterling opened his mouth to speak, but he could feel his life slipping away. He eyes darkened and his body went limp, and the very last thing he heard was the mocking, derisive laugh of Emissary Lana McQueen.
Sterling shot upright in bed and immediately pressed his hands to his chest. The lights in his new Captain’s quarters on the Vanguard had already turned on and were blaring down on him at maximum intensity.
“Reduce the damned lights!” Sterling cried out, pressing his eyes shut as his heart continued to thump against the inner wall of his chest. The beat was so hard that he could feel each thud through his hand.
The light level dropped and Sterling realized that only one of his hands had any sensation. His raised his right arm and found himself staring at the jet-black prosthetic hand that Commander Graves had attached two-days earlier. He still hadn’t gotten used to the bionic replacement. Then he noticed that the frame of his bed to the right-hand side was warped out of shape. He cursed, realizing that his lucid dream had led to some undesirable side-effects in the waking world too. Bending the metal back into shape as best he could, Sterling flopped back in his bed and allowed his head to sink into his sweat-soaked pillow.
“Good morning, Captain,” said the chirpy voice of his gen-fourteen AI, which was still in the process of transplanting itself into the hulking mass of the Invictus. “I have taken the liberty of preparing a nice cup of Valerian root tea for you,” the computer went on. “It is waiting for you in the food processor.”
Sterling laughed and shook his head. “I like your new counselling tactics,” he said, staring up at the light tiles on the ceiling. “Much more subtle.”
“Thank you, Captain, I am learning,” the computer replied. “In fact, you might say that I’m evolving.”
“Well, if you know how to de-evolve my brain’s tendency to screw with me while I’m asleep, let me know, okay?” Sterling replied.
“Aye, Captain,” said the computer, cheerfully. “Don’t forget your tea. It will help, I promise.”
Sterling snorted then spent a few moments focusing on his breathing. The techniques he’d honed over the last couple of years were still effective, and soon he’d blanked the nightmare from his mind. Sliding his legs over the side of the bed, he stood up and made his way over to the small kitchenette, which contained the sophisticated food processer. He picked up the steaming cup of tea with his left hand, wary of crushing it with his new prosthetic, and raised it to his lips. As he did so, Sterling surveyed his new quarters. Compared to the Invictus, it was four times larger and felt more like a suite in a five-star hotel.
“I miss my old quarters,” said Sterling before taking a sip of the tea. The taste was woody and bitter and it caused him to scrunch up his nose in disgust. “Damn it, computer, this tea tastes like feet,” he added, directing his complaint to the ceiling, where he always imagined the computer to reside.
“How it tastes is not important, Captain,” the computer hit back, sounding like a bossy schoolteacher. “It will do you good.”
Sterling tried another sip, but the drink still tasted like week old socks. “How can something that tastes so disgusting do me good?” he said, placing the cup back onto the tray in the food processor.
A second later, a drizzle of golden liquid appeared out of the nozzle of the processor and streamed into the tea. Sterling frowned at the food dispensing machine, which then spat out a teaspoon. It landed in the cup with a delicate “plinking” sound.
“What the hell was that?” Sterling said, scowling at the ceiling.
“Honey, sir,” answered the computer. “Try the tea now, but stir it first.”
Sterling frowned up at the ceiling again, but then did as the computer suggested. Cautiously, he raised the tea to his lips and sampled it again. This time it tasted like sweet, week old socks, though he had to admit that this was a significant improvement.
“Better,” said Sterling, grudgingly. “Thanks, computer.”
“My pleasure, Captain,” the AI replied. “Do you want to talk about your latest nightmare?”
“No,” Sterling snapped before taking another, much larger sip of the tea. Despite its odd taste, he had to admit that it had some soothing properties.
“Very well, Captain,” the computer said, displaying no sign of offense. “But know that I am here, if you need me.”
Sterling then felt a connection form in is mind. It was Commander Mercedes Banks.
“Need anyone to sit on your back this morning?” his first officer asked. “I think we should start building you up to one hundred press-ups in the morning, now that you’re an augment that is.”
Sterling laughed. “No thanks, Mercedes, I�
�m skipping the press-ups this morning,” he said. The intense dream had proven to be enough of a work out for him.
“Are you okay?” Banks asked.
Their link was strong, and Sterling knew that she would be picking up on the residual stresses and anxieties that had assaulted him only minutes earlier. The image of himself kissing and caressing his first officer then sprang to the forefront of his mind. He wrestled it away quickly, conscious that Banks would feel the sudden thrill that had electrified him.
“I’m fine, just a little tired still,” Sterling replied. It wasn’t a lie – it just wasn’t the whole truth. “The wonder drugs that Graves prescribed are pretty amazing, but there’s only so much the human body can take.”
“I guess that means you’re not up for a number twenty-seven then?” teased Banks.
Sterling froze with the cup half-way to his mouth. “They have them?” he asked.
“Hundreds of the damned things,” Banks replied. “Razor had one of the Obsidian Soldiers cart a bunch of the best meal trays out of storage. “They’re in the temporary canteen we set up on deck nine, waiting for us.”
Sterling gulped down the rest of his tea then tore off his t-shirt and made a bee-line for his rest-room. “I’ll see you there in twenty minutes,” he said, trying to remove his pants while still on the move.
“It’s a date, sir,” Banks said. Then the link went dead and his first officer slipped out of his mind as effortlessly a ballerina dancing across the stage.
Sterling knew that Banks’ phrasing was innocent, but it again conjured up the images from his dream. This time, he found it much harder to push them away.
“Damn it, Sterling, get a grip,” he snapped, turning on his shower and stepping in before the water had even gotten hot. He figured a cold shower would do him good. “It’s just a dream. It doesn’t mean anything.”
The stream of water quickly warmed and Sterling allowed the heat to soothe away some of the lingering aches in his war-weary body. However, the troubles in his mind were impervious to the comforting effects of the water. The apparition of Lana McQueen had been right. When it came to Mercedes Banks, Sterling was vulnerable. He just had to hope that if the time ever came when he was forced to make the impossible choice of saving Mercedes Banks or saving the mission that he’d not hesitate. However, neither the shower, nor the computer’s odd-tasting tea, could hide the fact that for the first time since taking the Omega Captain’s chair, Sterling had doubts.