Remnant

by Dwayne A Thomason

  “Could you define ‘occult’?”

  The interrogator glowered at Remnant. Soma shook his head. How many criminals and AWOL marines had this man cowed by a single glance? How many had left this room, wetting their pants and crying? One little girl set him to steaming.

  “Relating to supernatural entities or powers.”

  “So do the Scions of Benefaction engage in occult activities?”

  “You may say so, but not in occult activities deemed dangerous.”

  “Deemed by whom?”

  “By the CAS.”

  “Whose authority on the spiritual happens to be the Scions of Benefaction?”

  “Yes.”

  Remnant nodded. “I commune with a supernatural being and engage in the activities he directs me to. If the Scions see my engagement as dangerous, I haven’t been told so. And I think it would be fair if a third party could oversee my work, and that of the Scions, and make an unbiased determination as to which is to be deemed dangerous.”

  “Moving on,” the lieutenant said. “How do you plead to the claim of healing as many as forty-seven individuals without proper medical attention?”

  “Do you have me on record claiming I healed those people?”

  “Not at the moment. Would you say you have healed people without medical assistance?”

  “Only insofar as a welder could claim it repaired a spaceship.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I am an instrument of my master’s choosing. He has chosen to use me as a technician uses a welder, to bring relief to the suffering. But the power to heal is his, not mine. And I haven’t counted, but I think it’s a lot more than forty-seven.”

  “In other words, you plead guilty to this charge!”

  “How can someone plead guilty to doing something good? Does one plead guilty to giving to a charity?”

  “You engaged in occult arts to heal the sick, or some facsimile thereof. You claimed to have at least taken part in healing sick people without medical assistance. True or false?”

  Remnant nodded. “I suppose it’s true. I plead guilty to the crime of aiding in healing the sick.”

  The interrogator’s chest heaved up and down. He tipped his head again but whoever spoke to him wasn’t in the room with Soma this time. He nodded, took a deep breath.

  “Now, as to the charge of inciting sedition. How do you plead to that?”

  Remnant frowned. “Not guilty.” She looked towards the glass, but this time to Soma’s left. Were all the big-time officers there? Or the MOD man? “I would never suggest that people rebel against the government that leads and defends them. The master says, ‘Pray for kings and all those in authority, so that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in—”

  “Enough!” The interrogator’s voice echoed across the walls. He stood as he spoke. Were a weapon on the table Soma was sure he would have attacked Remnant. Then his head tilted again. His eyes scanned a document he didn’t see. “But, sir?” He seemed to fume, then calmed. “Yes, sir.”

  The interrogator lifted the link from the table, shoved it into his pocket, then stormed out of the room. A moment passed, and the door slid open again. From it, now, entered a woman. She was young, later twenties, wearing a similar gray uniform. Smooth, fair skin and dark hair done up tight under her navy officer’s cap. Soma didn’t like her the second he saw her.

  She sat down in the same chair the man had once sat in, crossed her legs. She set a small purse on the floor, pulled a link out of it and started swiping across it. Soma looked at Remnant and saw a new expression in her face: determination.

  “Remnant, my name is Lieutenant Digos.”

  “Hello.”

  “Let’s change the subject, shall we?” Remnant didn’t respond. “Where is your,” she shrugged, “co-conspirator, bodyguard, whatever you want to call him. Where is Ganyasu Naboris?”

  “I don’t know where he is.”

  “But you know where you intended him to go, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “Did you know he managed to escape our custody by hijacking one of our gunships?”

  “I guessed he had made it away safe. I didn’t know how.”

  “Did he abandon you?” Soma got the feeling that Digos knew the answers to all the questions she asked. This woman wasn’t playing around. She wasn’t looking for an admission of guilt to some trumped up charges.

  “No,” Remnant said. “I asked him to leave me.”

  “Where did you tell him to go?”

  Remnant shook her head. “I won’t tell you that.”

  Digos tapped her tablet and Remnant winced.

  “Refusing to answer questions gives me grounds to treat you as a hostile prisoner. So I’ll ask you again. To where did you send Ganyasu Naboris.”

  “I won’t tell you.” Digos tapped again. Remnant winced again and grunted.

  “To where did you send Ganyasu Naboris?”

  “I won’t—” Remnant squeezed her eyes shut, gritted her teeth and trembled for a moment.

  “To where did you send—”

  “I will not, aah!” Remnant curled up, put her head on the table. She shook and convulsed. Soma squeezed his hands into fists. Some sane part of his brain was glad these techs weren’t the one electrocuting Remnant, lest he murder them where they sat. He tried to take deep calming breaths, but the rage built in him.

  Why am I like this? he wondered. She was just some girl, maybe even a legitimate criminal. Why was he rooting for her like she was some underdog hero?

  The spell ended, and Remnant panted. Her head was speckled with sweat. She lifted her head, sat upright and faced Digos down again.

  “You sent Ganyasu with an important artifact of your false religion. What was the nature of that artifact?”

  Remnant replied through hoarse panting and gritted teeth. “That is not for you to know y—” She cried out as she fell into another set of convulsions, these even worse than before. She didn’t scream but the pain running through her seemed to draw from her a long, muttering groan.

  Soma wanted to turn away, to leave. He couldn’t stand to see her tortured. He didn’t much have the stomach to see anyone tortured, but this girl seemed so innocent to him, so helpless. His body seemed to cry out to go and protect her.

  I am losing my mind.

  This latest, longest period ended with Remnant lying on the ground. Were the ends of her sleeves and hair singed? It couldn’t be.

  Digos remained sitting in her chair, looking at Remnant over the table. “You can give me the information I want and relax or resist and face more pain.”

  Remnant struggled to stand, got to her hands and knees, and then fell again. She swallowed hard. “Thank you, master, that I have been counted worthy of suffering persecution for your name.”

  Her words were loud and clear. It must have been a great strain to recite them. Soma shook his head. Maybe she had lost her mind.

  Digos shook her head, stood, and walked over to where Remnant lay. Then, kneeling beside her she said, “Young lady, you’re not suffering persecution. You’re being interrogated regarding a known criminal and illegal contraband. The sooner you recognize the mundanity of your situation, the sooner you can leave this room.

  Remnant did not respond.

  “So,” Digos said, returning to her seat. “Shall we discuss the whereabouts of your bodyguard first?”

  Remnant shook her head. Digos nodded. Something told Soma this was the answer she wanted. Digos tapped her tablet again. This time Remnant did scream.

  Chapter Fourteen:

  Iron Sharpens Iron

  Ganyasu Naboris found himself wandering the streets and forums of Lodebar Station. He did so invisible, a ghost amidst the visible people of the station.

  Gan looked at the power reserve icon on his HUD again and found the angry red image disconcerting. Shaumri had some of the most advanced tech in the galaxy, which included Gan’s smartskin. Skin-tight, form-fitting, strength-augmenting
and with active camouflage, his smartskin also had massive battery life. But nothing could run forever. Eventually his suit would fail, leaving him powerless, visible and as conspicuous as a clown at a funeral.

  In addition, the case holding the artifact was losing charge too. He feared for that more than his suit. Stations like Lodebar had public power outlets available but they would never provide the kind of juice he needed to charge his suit or the stasis box. He needed more power. He needed a private residence.

  He needed friends.

  You will meet friends there. They will help you.

  Those words seemed so easy to believe when he was hearing them come from her mouth. Now, reverberating in his mind, they seemed so hollow.

  Gan passed moms carrying their children, men in expensive suits chatting to their links, young couples holding hands. He looked at them, looked at their faces, some smiling, some frowning. None of them looked back at him.

  At five percent charge on his smartskin Gan leaned against the guardrail on a third story forum and looked down. He gathered this was a residential area. Each of the doorways went into apartments. One man pushed a food cart two stories down. Below and across the opening from him, four young men strode along to a doorway. On the floors above and below them, three doors stood to that one. Curious.

  He felt drawn to these four boys. He didn’t know why. The one in the lead was tall and well built for his age. Dad must have had money, and enough to have a say in the kid’s genetics. The two boys behind him were big and thuggish too, but not nearly so much as the front kid. The kid in back was unlike the others in every way. He was small and scrawny. A black hood covered his head and his hands were tapping on a link.

  Some strength and some brains. Maybe that was the help Gan needed? Then again, they had the look of people on their way to do no good. They stopped at the doorway. Black hood stepped up to the control box by the door, but the big kid pulled him back. He tapped the doorbell and nodded to his friends.

  Gan leapt across the gap and grabbed the guardrail of the opposite balcony. He engaged the magnetic locks in his feet, clamped them to the side of the balcony, and then let go of the guardrail. Swinging head over heels, Gan magnetized his hands and grabbed the struts above the four boys and the door, then loosened the locks in his feet. He let his feet swing and then dangle.

  The door opened, revealing another teenaged boy, this one scrawny like black hood, with a mess of black hair, olive skin and bright eyes. Those eyes went wide with panic before the big kid punched him.

  “You didn’t say anything about them needing my help, did you?”

  Gan shook his head, imagining Remnant’s serene smile, the one she knew annoyed the void out of him. He sighed and dropped to the ground as unheard as he was unseen.

  Gan dropped the active camo as he entered the house. He grabbed black hood by the back of his shirt and tossed him out of the apartment. The kid gasped, his shock stealing his voice, but the two minor thugs heard. They turned, lifting clubs in preparation for a fight. These they dropped as soon as they realized he wasn’t some other kid. Gan snapped a gesture, sticking his thumb behind him. The kids nodded and bolted past him.

  The brute held the runt by the front of his shirt, a fist lifted, ready to add a second black eye. Gan caught the fist just as it started to descend. The kid was strong, but not as strong as Gan, with or without his smartskin. He turned to Gan, fury in his furrowed brow and bared teeth, then his expression turned to fear.

  “What the void are you?” he asked.

  “Someone of whom you shall never speak.” Gan checked his HUD again, saw his smartskin now sat at 1% power. This was going to get a lot harder if things didn’t move along.

  “You got it,” the thug said. “I’m gone. You’ll never hear from me again. Promise.”

  Gan released the thug. He didn’t bolt, but backed through the front door, beholden to better instincts than his cronies.

  “Let’s get out of here!” The big kid said, and the quartet ran. Gan walked to the door and lay his hand on the control, setting his smartskin to lay down a heavy security code on the door.

  Then he turned to the runt with the black eye. He approached, and the kid started scrabbling away.

  “What...what do you want from me?”

  Gan let the mask dissipate and in the next second the suit became incredibly heavy. No one would ever guess the smartskin was a solid fifty kilos on its own.

  “I want a power outlet.”

  Thirty minutes later Gan sat on the couch, plugged into a power outlet in the wall, watching as his suit’s capacitors filled. The kid sat on the ottoman across from him, his eye now deep purple and swollen. He held an icepack to that eye and said, “So you promise you’re not here to kill me or take my stuff.”

  Gan sighed. “Didn’t I say so already?” His suit restored, he pulled the stasis box from his pack, unplugged himself, and plugged the box in. It’s power indicator rose much quicker than his suit’s had.

  “I know, but, what the void? Why are you here?”

  “I told you, I need power.”

  The kid deflated. He lifted his link, turned the mirror function on and moved the ice. “Oh, man. Dothin’s going to kill me.”

  “Is the big kid Dothin?” Gan asked.

  “No,” the kid said. “He’s my...kind of my...he took me in. If he finds out I got into a fight...”

  “It’s not a fight if you don’t fight back.”

  “Shut up.”

  Gan smiled.

  “What’s your name, anyway?”

  Remnant had discussed friends. Was this one of them? Could he trust this boy? Remnant would have.

  Gan leaned forward. The kid leaned back.

  “I can only tell you that if you give me your word to keep it and my stay here a secret.”

  “Why?” The kid lowered the cold pack again, revealing the big ring of black skin around his eye. “Are you wanted?”

  “By certain organizations.”

  “Does that include the Antarii Government?”

  What a fortuitous question, Gan thought.

  “No.” Gan enjoyed the fact he didn’t have to start this association with dishonesty. That was another quality he picked up from her.

  The kid sighed. “Then, yes, I promise.”

  “My name is Ganyasu Naboris. My...friends call me Gan for short.”

  “Niko Lanseidis,” the kid said, extending a hand. Gan took and shook it. “My friends call me Nix for short.”

  “Well, then, Nix. I need to ask you a favor.”

  “Okay.” The kid’s response was slow and cautious. “What’s that?”

  Gan sighed. They will help you. Could this kid help him? Was this providence? Or was he desperate? Gan looked at the kid, at Nix. How might Remnant have seen him? She had told Gan that she received words of wisdom and knowledge from her master, and these words would give her insights about people. What insights might she make of this young man?

  Gan wasn’t sure. He could only make a leap of faith.

  Gan unplugged the stasis box from the power outlet and held it on his lap.

  “I need you to hide this for a little while.”

  Gan studied the boy’s reaction. He found incredulity, mistrust, an expectation of trouble. This was overruled by curiosity.

  “That’s a stasis cube, isn’t it? Well, smaller, but basically, it’s a stasis cube.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Is there something...alive in it?”

  Gan couldn’t stop his sneer before it cracked. She would say it was.

  “No. It’s ancient and falling apart.”

  “Is it valuable? Um, not that I would...you know steal it or anything.”

  “Only to me. In fact, there are many who would gladly see it destroyed.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “That depends on your definition.”

  Now Nix’s face screwed up and his eyes narrowed. This kid was far from innocent or gullible. Gan
got the feeling that lying to Nix might be difficult. He had a world-weary quality.

  “It’s not a weapon, or a bomb, or a poisonous substance or anything like that.”

  “Can I see it?”

  Gan had felt that question coming, and he’d been wondering how he should respond. He didn’t want to open the box for anything but wasn’t sure he could ask this boy to make the same leap of faith he had.

  “Only for a moment. It is fragile.”

  Nix, curiosity overriding wariness, leaned forward. Gan lifted his thumb, willed the smartskin to retract from that, and watched as it crawled away from his thumb. Then he pressed it into the small screen and watched as the custom security application scanned his biometrics.

  The screen turned green and flashed. The box unlocked with a click and a hiss as air was reintroduced to the evacuated compartment. Gan let his smartskin recover his thumb. But before he opened it, he looked at Nix.

  “You mustn’t touch it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the natural oils and bacteria on your skin can cause it a lot of harm.”

  Nix nodded. “Okay. I won’t touch it.”

  Gan opened the box. Balancing it on his lap he lifted the artifact. It was rectangular in shape but made of hundreds of thin layers of some kind of natural textile, sandwiched in on itself. The outermost layer was brown and thicker than the many inner layers, though just as fragile.

  Nix narrowed his eyes at it, tilted his head one way and then another. Gan pinched the object somewhere in the middle of the layers and watched the many thin textile leaves covered in some kind of symbols flutter back into place.

  “What is it?”

  Gan shrugged. “It’s a kind of ancient data storage device.”

  “Those symbols, they’re some kind of text, right?”

  “It is text,” Gan said. “But in a language no one now can speak or read. It’s older than the Great War. Older than the Shaumri Empire, older than the Benefactors.”

  Gan pinched some of the sheets again and watched as they fluttered back into place again. As they did they left a gray powder on his fingers and a few of the sheets ripped in his hand.