He’d wanted to be punished, and imprisoned…before Aaron Wake arose and took control again.
Vadim had promised Kazmer that this would be the case. Sadly, Sybar Rodensis had found a use for the returned prisoner, and had broken that promise, a betrayal that had brought the murderous alter ego of Aaron Wake swarming to the surface like bees from a hive.
We’re all so fucked, he thought.
He deserved some of the blame, he supposed.
He’d gotten an early warning when Kazmer had killed someone, but ignored it. He could have detained the man. Incapacitated him. For the sake of his career, he’d made the incident go away. Sybar needed this man. They were very close to brokering peace, in no small part due to Andrei’s testimony.
The human reporter spoke in hurried, clipped tones: “Attention. We have received a message from the fleet of the Reformation Confederacy. They claim that we have attempted to land saboteurs on Mars, in violation of the peace treaty. We are not able to confirm these details as of yet. We are also receiving word that they are recommencing war, and Dashka-class probes are detecting a surrounding action around Terrus. Such an encirclement would be a prelude to a ground invasion. More to follow.”
None of it made any sense to Vadim.
He started to cough, over and over, like an outbound motor on its last few dying cycles.
Each cough brought pain. Nerves were reawakening in his sternum, moaning to life. His destroyed body was finally becoming aware of what had happened to it.
He was glad he couldn’t hear, glad for the coldness spreading inwards into his head, cooling and chilling his mind.
An end to worry, an end to fear.
Suddenly, a booted foot kicked the door inwards.
He was dying, but still felt a sting of shock. A woman with a gun was striding into the room. Blood soaked her front, and she had a baby on her back in a sling.
…What?
“An emergency panel of Rodensis’s surviving officers have convened, and are re-opening negotiations with Raya Yithdras. With our command gone, our tactical options are limited, and we will follow a course of extreme prudence. Please remain at your posts. Until further notice, we are at war. You will be notified of further developments through the usual ch—“
The signal cut to static.
He met the woman’s eyes.
It was Ubra Zolot.
A marine who had been under Kazmer’s command on Caitanya-9, and who was now the father of his child.
“Where’s Wake?” she asked.
Even the idea of talking was unthinkable. His tongue was an inert thing, clinging to the inside of his mouth like a limpet. He had no muscular control there whatsoever.
“Yalin got hurt,” she said, insanity shining in her eyes, “and I had to take my eye off him. He escaped out the back of the hospital, and Yalin was hurt…where’s he going? Did he say anything to you? Talk to you at all?”
She spoke with concern, but not for him. He was an irrelevancy for her, just another game piece to be moved around.
Completely unlike the way I’ve treated the both of them, he thought wryly.
Then she saw the extent of his wounds, and winced. “Wait a second, I can bring you back. And then I’ll figure out if you deserve it.”
She took a triangular object from her belt. He had one second for his fleeting senses to feel faint wonder and curiosity, and then an incredible phantasmal light show started.
Fanning waves of particles blasted from the device, lighting up the dark bunker, scaring shadows into every corner, where they stood stark against the chiaroscuro of blazing light.
His feet kicked. His hands moved. His entire body started buckling, as if in the grip of galvanizing current. He felt sensations he’d never felt before, as if there was an entirely new network of nerves that he was only now being granted access to.
He felt the crushed cartilage in his sternum start to melt and shift, sliding like liquid mercury. The cluster of bullets lodged in his chest started to work their way out, retreating and receding.
All he could do was lie and spasm and let a miracle transform his body.
The torn and mangled flesh reworked itself like wax before a blowtorch. Every broken bone snapped back into place. Contused piece of flesh
Incredibly, he felt the pool of blood now around his ankles start to shrink, every lost liter re-entering his body. Even the blood drying on his short was receding.
His body was consolidating. Reclaiming itself. All in service of the thousand wandering beams of light, playing across his body.
When it was over, he stood up.
Jumped up.
He felt elated. Better than he had in years.
“Explain what happened,” she said.
She was angry. Perhaps angrier than any human being he had ever seen – and he’d been involuntarily committing people to asylums for years.
“A confidential matter,” he said. “Thank you for your help, but I will proceed.
“No. Explain.”
“You are my patient. And we are in the middle of an emergency. Why do you think you’re owed an explanation?”
She unslung the gun and pointed it at him. “Because this here says you do. And I won’t heal you a second time.”
Vadim sagged against the cinderblock wall, his sudden feeling of invulnerability leaving him. “I don’t know where he’s gone. He shot Yakub, shot me, and high tailed it towards the hospital.”
“Yes,” she muttered. “Believe me, I’ve heard. He killed everybody, and he almost killed Yalin.”
The baby at her shoulder was looking at him with wide eyes. Perfectly calm. Not a trace of emotion distorted those gray eyes or that perfect porcelain mouth.
“He has a second personality imprinted into his brain,” Vadim said. “He can manage it, but in times of stress, it comes out. One of the hospital members tried to kill him, and he must have thought I had something to do with that. That, and he was beginning to realise I wouldn’t be able to keep some promises I made. He was too valuable.”
“He doesn’t control Caitanya-9 anymore,” Ubra said. “How was he valuable?”
“He was responsible for peace between the Solar Arm and the Reformation Confederacy. At my direction, he made a threat to their survival. One that he could not fulfill, but nonetheless, it was successful in brokering a short-lived peace. In exchange, he wanted to be imprisoned. Unfortunately, our general needed for other things.”
“Then you tricked him,” Ubra said. “Believe me, that’s very bad. It’s not times of stress that set him off. It’s the sense that he’s being played. I’ve dealt with this before.”
“Yes,” he muttered. “From what I hear, so you have. So where is he now?”
“Gone. I don’t know where. I couldn’t chase him, because Yalin had gotten hurt.”
This was the third time she had said this. He looked at the baby, and there wasn’t a mark on her. She looked fine.
So long as you didn’t stare for too long into those eerie eyes of slate.
“I don’t know what his goals are now,” Vadim said. “He’s beyond my control. And right now, he’s the least of anyone’s problems. The peace is broken. And Sybar Rodensis is dead. The Reformation Confederacy is pouncing on Terrus, and soon all of us will be prisoners of war. Do you understand what the hell that means? We are not supposed to be here. This is a secret Solar Arm program. Either the last remnants of the Solar Arm will seal the mountain shut and pretend we never existed, or we’ll be captured by the Reformation Confederacy. If you’re unsure of what option is better, I’ll give you the answer: fucking neither. And another thing…”
“Shut up,” she snarled. “I couldn’t care less about this facility. I’ll find a way out of here, or I’ll die trying. Is there anything you can do that would help me? Any contacts with the upper brass that might be able to smooth my passage out of here?”
“The upper brass is dead!” he shouted. “And we are on our own! Will you fucking listen
to reason?”
“All I’m listening to is the ticking clock. Every second puts Andrei Kazmer further away, one more step away from my vengeance. I’m going to need you to forge a new identity for me.”
“Can’t do it.”
She fired a single shot, which tore a burning furrow in his leg.
This one hurt.
His knees unhinged, and he fell forward, screaming. She was on him in a flash, dragging him back up to his feet, and for a second he was face to face with the pale, expressionless face of Yalin, the baby.
What the hell is wrong with that baby? He wanted to shout through the pain. You just heard a gunshot. You should be screaming. I don’t think you’ve even blinked goddamn once since this talk.
Ubra brought out the triangular device, and another cascade of particles played over him. The puncture wound in his thigh was healed in seconds, the bullet retrieved and withdrawn.
“Why don’t you make this easy on yourself?” she said, “and do exactly what I tell you? We can repeat that as many times as you like.”
He gulped and nodded. “Come back to my office.”
They left the bunker, her prodding him along with the barrel of a gun. He felt pathetic, like a puppet. At least General Rodensis hadn’t been in his face this much.
As soon as they in his secluded back office, he explained her options.
“Your main concern is obtaining a new identity,” he said. “At the moment, ‘Ubra Zolot’ doesn’t exist. When you were admitted, you were scrubbed from every database we could get our paws on. This gives us an opening.”
“So, you can add me back in to the databases?” she said. “With some suitably non-suspicious profession?”
“No. I have no hard link to any Solar Arm database, for security purposes.” What a joke, he thought. “I have a handful of communications lines, all of which have now been cut. But the Solar Arm does allow a nanochipped paper id, which I can print for you. Whether the Reformation Confederacy will still honor such identification is anyone’s guess.”
“Make it happen. Give me a new identity.”
“What would you like to be?”
“A member of the constabulary,” she said. “Yeah, that sounds good. Gives me remittance to open doors, and ask invasive questions, stay out late at night, carry a gun.”
“That won’t work,” he said. “You’ll have to hope that nobody bothers to look too hard into your identity. If you adopt a visible role like a constabulary officer, then they absolutely will. And they’ll find that you’re a phantom, who never existed until a few moments ago.”
“We’re in the middle of a war. Cities are being bombed to pieces. Computer systems everywhere are probably an absolute mess. It’s entirely plausible that the identity of one particular officer would fall through the cracks.”
“It’s a tough sell.”
“But it’s my tough sell. Let me sell it. Just give me an occupation of police officer.”
Hastily, still casting eyes on the menacing gun by her side, he moved over to a nanochip encoding machine, authenticated himself, and started encoding a series of SHA-256-encrypted government licenses and privileges.
He could fuck her over. Give her a classification of prisoner, or make her into a rogue Solar Arm officer. She’d leave this place, and probably get arrested straight away.
But he had no desire to do that. She’d saved his life, pulled him back from the brink. He felt stirrings of hope that he might actually get out of this one alive, and he was keen to repay the favour.
The machine whirred, and spat out a business card sized length of paper. He hooked a thumb at it. “There you go. Carry that in your pocket. I make no guarantees as to whether they’ll buy it.”
He waited for some response. A question. Thanks. None came.
Her gaze was focused on his computer screen. A terminal which he logged on to once a day to send netmails to Sybar Rodensis.
She clicked on the latest one, and projected it holographically across the desk.
I have forwarded my last series of case notes on Andrei Kazmer to you.
Things are still going well. His mood is stable, and he can surely be induced to perform his patriotic duty. We can cover him in purple makeup, and use him to put the fear of God into Raya Yithdras in person. I believe you have some way to artificially stimulate the release of ions, the opening of a wormhole would? They'd certainly be on the lookout for such things, and it would confirm in their minds that we have a bona fide god under our control.
Here's an idea, and you may take credit for it. Radioactive paint on Kazmer's body. As soon as he walks into the room, Geiger counters would go berserk. It'd be perfect. They'd think that his mere presence was deadly. No reasonable person or agency would believe that Kazmer was a man after seeing such a demonstration.
Of course, such paint would shorten Kazmer's life. Regrettable, but unavoidable. But hopefully we won't really need him for years and years - once peace returns and the swords are beaten back into ploughshares, nobody would notice or care that he eventually dies. We can arrange for his body to not be found. He’s vanished before and can vanish again.
There remains only one small problem...how do we ensure his compliance?
He's under the impression that he will be returned to prison. That, of course, will not happen. As soon as he realises he's been tricked, he might be tempted to give the game away, and throw a spanner into the works of the peace process. "Hey, Raya, I'm a human being. You're being fooled. Blast these guys into atoms.”
Thankfully, we have leverage over him.
At the hospital, consider the existence of Patient #5313, Ubra Zolot. She is a past confederate of Andrei Kazmer, and she is the mother of his child, a girl about ten days old. He does not care for Zolot, but seems to hold some affection for the baby. She was one of the first things he asked about.
When we use Kazmer, remind him that Ubra Zolot is still here, captive in the iridium-laced bowels of Arrakhia mountain. And remind him of the baby.
Remind him of what he still has to lose.
Ubra read the netmail, while Vadim struggled to think of something to patch over the damage.
"That's not what it looks like," he said. "I would never have...I mean, I would absolutely not have...uh..."
“Shut it.” She still had her eyes on the netmail. She almost seemed to have forgotten he was in the room.
He knew she would soon remember.
"Listen," he said, sweat shining on his face by the computer's light, "it doesn't matter! The man I sent that netmail to is dead! They’re all dead! And Kazmer has escaped! The past is dead and gone, we need to find a way to survive in this new world. I can help you. I still have resources. I can..."
Ubra snapped the safety off on the Meshuggahtech, and pointed it directly at him. He lost the will to continue talking.
"You threatened my girl," she said.
“I wouldn’t have followed through on it.”
“Yeah, you would have.”
He held up his hands. "I was only following orders," he pleaded.
"And you followed them very well," she said. "You couldn’t have done a better job. I bet they’d all be so proud of you."
She took him out with a headshot. The round vaporised his skull from the eyebrows up.
She didn't stay to watch the body fall.
She had a lot of kilometers to travel on foot. She had no hope that she'd outrace Andrei Kazmer, not with a baby.
Yalin's soft breath was the only sound she'd made.
Her memories of what had happened to her girl were becoming vague and scrambled, facts falling through her hands like grains of sand the harder she tried to hold on to them.
She remembered massive force distributing itself through her body - but no pain. She remembered looking down, and seeing her hands filling with blood. Yalin's blood.
Beyond that, there was a dead zone in her memory.
Had Yalin died? Had she brought the baby back with the polyfleshi
ng device? It had happened just minutes ago, but grief and shock was turning her memory into a funhouse mirror.
She hoped Yalin had lived. Bad things sometimes happened when you revived the dead.
I’m just imagining things, she told herself. The bullet missed.
No doubt that if she told it to herself often enough, she’d really start to believe it.
One way or another, she’d need to find someone to take care of Yalin. The journey ahead would be hard and dangerous.
She did not feel any anger towards Lucas Farholt. Did not even hold him responsible for what had happened.
There was only Andrei Kazmer and the various minions who tried to control him, spinning faster and faster in orbital mechanics that left the world strewn with broken lives.
She wept, tears falling on her hospital gown.
There was little hope that any of this would end well. That was fine.
She broke open the Meshuggahtech, and checked her load. She didn't plan on it ending well.
As she reviewed the rest of her equipment, her eye rested upon the polyfleshing device.
It healed wounds. And it revived the dead. It was a Vanitar artifact beyond price.
Yalin hasn’t cried even once since I used it on her.
Revulsion welled up inside her, immediately spilling over the dams of need and rationality.
She unclipped it, set it on the ground, obliterated it with a single shot.
Goodbye, poison.
Zephyr City – Venus – June 14, 2143 - 1200
Secrets are swiftly found in shadows. They attract attention as surely as blinking lights.
Secrets are best hidden in the blazing midday sun. Revelatory light that is so illuminating and all encompassing that nobody can see what’s in front of their face.
A twelve year old boy sat on the edge of a mooring platform on Zephyr City, humanity's colony on the planet Venus. His name was Vante. But whenever a grown-up asked him his name, he told them something else.
The sun was a gigantic welt of light, searing the sky. You needed to put both your hands in front of your face to cover it up.
Temperatures seldom dipped below forty degrees Celsius. Everyone who went outside in Zephyr city needed to be slathered in UV-filtering body cream. After he'd arrived here, Zephyr had made the mistake of forgetting. After just fifteen minutes of exposure, his upper body was erupting in third degree burns. That was a mistake you only made once.
Foreverlight (The Consilience War Book 4) Page 2