Edge Of The Future

by Andria Stone

  ***

  On the Indian spaceship, Star of Jaipur, Beth Coulter paced back and forth fuming with rage. Her VIP stateroom lay in shambles. She hurled profanities nonstop at the Terran Military Defense until the vid on her desk pinged. She stalked across the room to answer it.

  A man with extensive facial scarring dressed in paramilitary gear, scowled at her from the screen. “We have everyone aboard, plus two armored TMD prisoners. Our ETA to the Space Station is one hour and eleven minutes.”

  “I am transmitting clearance codes for your arrival now, Krupic.” She sent the codes she’d stolen on her last visit to the Space Station, confident they would be accepted, as they had been for the Star of Jaipur. “You will dock adjacent to us in B-17. Now transfer me to Abrina.”

  The cloned version of Beth Coulter appeared on her screen. “Abrina here. What are your orders?”

  Beth gazed at her progeny with a critical eye. She could find no flaws. “Gather your coterie and prep them for transfer to my ship, which will take them for a longer journey to a new home.”

  “It will be done.”

  “Of that I am sure. Coulter out.” As the screen faded to black, a smug expression replaced the anger on her face. Despite the recent setbacks caused by the TMD, manufacturing of cyborgs and neural implants continued at her plants in Brazil and Bolivia. The biotech facility in Peru was a hidden gem, producing clonal offspring to which her corporation claimed sole ownership. Two dozen pubescent youngsters from that facility were already on board, soon to be joined by the group from Germany. All of them fitted with pre-programmed neural implants. This portion of her grand plan was well on its way to fruition.

  She commed her vessel. “Captain Dolkar, another ship is docking within the hour. We will be acquiring fifty passengers. Provisions will be required. You will depart as soon as everyone is aboard. I am sending you a departure code now.”

  “Yes, madam…but it is rather irregular the clearance code is not coming from the STC command center, especially since we're are traveling to the Martian Colony.”

  “No, it’s not irregular at all.”

  She changed into clothing more appropriate for a prolonged space journey. After leaving her cabin, she strolled through the barrack-style quarters of her new clones, making sure they were acclimating to their surroundings, before stopping for coffee in the galley. At the appointed time, she zigzagged through the ship to the airlock, which connected to the boarding area. Indian crew members were there waiting for the hatchway to complete its sealing procedure. The door opened with a hissing of air.

  Abrina herded the gaggle of young people into the corridor, followed by mercenaries escorting the large armor-clad prisoners.

  “Put them in the brig,” Beth said, waving at the black armor. “You.” She pointed at a crew member. “Take these people to the barracks. The rest of you men,” she beckoned to the mercenaries, “follow me to the Briefing Room.”

  Both Capt. Dolkar and his XO, Commander Bhatti, sat at the rectangular gray metal table. They stood as she entered. “Madam,” Dolkar said, “we shall be under way in five minutes. Do you have any further orders before we report to the bridge?”

  “See to it the prisoners in the brig are under heavy guard at all times.”

  He nodded, handed down her directive to his XO and they both left.

  “I didn’t instruct you to take prisoners, Krupic.”

  “It not easy to kill man in armor. Noisy. Lots of ammunition. Draws attention. Much faster and quieter to take prisoners. You can count armor as asset.”

  She knew Krupic was right. The soldiers inside the armor were assets as well. They would make good candidates for implants. She would have sent them back as unsuspecting operatives, after altering their memories. But that was no longer an option, since the TMD had adopted new scanning procedures to detect implants. Just another setback after the CAMRI debacle.

  She moved toward the door. “I’ll take a look at these two new specimens.”

  Krupic spread his hands, halting her. “My men have not eaten since yesterday.”

  “I’ll have the captain send a cook to the galley.” From the table’s console, she keyed a message to the bridge. “We’ll get everyone fed—while we go visit the brig.”

  They wound through the corridors searching for a small alcove with one gated holding cell. A single crewman armed with a pulse rifle stood guard, visibly intimidated by the black armored soldiers. The prisoners were almost the same size as one of her cyborgs, their stance aggressive and menacing even from behind the bars. She nodded at Krupic to take the lead.

  “Remove helmets. Identify yourselves.”

  Neither one responded.

  Krupic took the guard’s weapon. Motioned for him to leave. “I kill this one. Then the other one will talk.” He raised the rifle, thumbing the safety off.

  The soldier unsealed his helmet, lifting it off in slow motion. He stared down at them with an impenetrable insolence.

  “Speak.”

  “Sergeant Ricco Scarlotti, TMD, Sixth Tactical.”

  “Now you.”

  The second armored soldier moved up to stand beside the first. He too drew out the process of removing his helmet.

  Beth Coulter could not believe her eyes. A laugh escaped her lips, and another, until she was consumed with laughter. Moments passed before her mirth was contained. “Nice of you to join the party, Mark. Let’s get you out of that outfit and up to the Med Lab where we can have a nice private conversation.”

  “No,” Mark said flatly.

  She spun toward Krupic, drilling him with a look. “Do whatever you have to. Just get him to Med Lab. Make it quick.”

  Her delight froze solid by an innate cold-blooded hatred for this blond, blue-eyed male rival. She despised him—on so many levels.

  Beth Coulter raced through the ship to her cabin. After finding the required medical supplies, the Med Lab was her next stop. She’d wasted too much precious time and resources trying to acquire his research—plus her million credits had vanished. Hostility and loathing threatened to choke her before she reached the lab. Her mind whirling with possibilities. She’d embed an implant, then turn him into a eunuch. First, she would extract the data locked away in his brain.

  She heard them coming and pressed herself against the wall next to the door.

  At gun point, Krupic brought in his uncooperative prisoner. Mark was younger, taller and outweighed him, but both men were wounded and breathing hard.

  Without warning, she sprung toward Mark, jabbing him with a syringe of paralytic. Before he crumbled to the floor, they guided him to the centralized medpod, and attached the limb restraints. “Where’s the other one?”

  “On floor in cell.”

  “Dead?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Do not kill him. He can be useful.” Now gazing down at her nemesis, she keyed instructions to lower the clear cryo cover, as an added precaution against escape.

  Chapter 23

  Torance and Buchanan, stood in Harben’s office glaring at the split images of Dimitrios and Sorayne on the vid screen.

  “We’re still trailing them,” Sorayne said. “From Gerlingen to Amsterdam to the Space Station. They left using counterfeit departure codes twenty minutes ago on an Indian ship called Star of Jaipur. I also received visual confirmation Beth Coulter is on the ship.”

  Astonishment registered on all three officer’s faces.

  Torance was the first to recover. “Colonel, we’ve been monitoring their armor’s vital signs. They’re no longer wearing it. Coulter could already have them dissolving in body bags or could be hacking them to pieces by—”

  Harben broke in: “Since their ship has left, the casualty threat to the station is nonexistent. What are you waiting for, Sorayne? Christmas?”

  “All right, Harben, that’s enough,” Dimitrios said. “Sorayne has two warships following them in stealth mode. Two more stationed directly in their path to Mars. Instead of blowing them up
in space, we’ve commandeered the BioKlon ship they brought to the station and will try using it to board the Star of Jaipur on some fabricated reason.”

  “Furthermore,” Sorayne said, “there are clones on the Indian ship. Three dozen or more. Young people.”

  Torance struggled to comprehend her statement. “Clones? Kids? Coulter’s cloned human beings?” He reached for the desk to steady himself, feeling weak-kneed. “General, killing children is murder…”

  “Major, I wear the same uniform you do. I follow orders, like everyone else. My orders came from the Prime Council. That ship does not reach Mars, regardless of who lives or dies. Dimitrios out.”

  The screen filled with Sorayne’s image. “You three know your people. Do you think they could still be alive?”

  Harben and Buchanan replied in unison, “Yes.”

  Torance sank into a chair as energy bled out of him. “If it were the two of them, against a normal adversary, I would agree. However—Coulter is a pathological megalomaniac. She wants Warren’s research. Which he won’t give her. So she’ll use Von Radach as leverage, like she did with Mark’s father. After she has the data, there will be no reason to keep them alive. She will kill them. Because she enjoys it.” With arms on knees, he cupped his head and emitted a helpless sigh.

  Buchanan rested a hand on his shoulder. She gazed at Sorayne’s image. “Warren’s brother was on the Europa Mission. He’s aware Coulter sent a virus to the neural implants on some of those scientists and arranged the ship’s destruction. One of Von Radach’s men died when her mercenaries attacked CAMRI. He holds her responsible for that man’s death. If either one gets the chance—I believe they will kill her. Even if it means they die in the process.”

  “I understand.” Sorayne nodded. “Thank you, Major. If it’s within my power, I will bring them back alive. Uh—one more thing. How smart is Dr. Warren?”

  Torance raised his head. “The exact score isn’t in his file. But it borders on genius, maybe Nobel Prize winner category. Why?”

  “How smart is Coulter—by comparison?”

  “Well, she wouldn’t have targeted Warren’s research, or Jackson’s either, if she could have created the data herself. So, Coulter’s not in his league. Again—why?”

  “I’m on the BioKlon vessel now. We’re approaching the Star of Jaipur. I am going to board that ship. Sorayne Out.”

  A spark of hope coursed through Torance. Deep within his memories, a line of Greek mythology surfaced, “From the Kingdom of the Dark, I shall carry them over the River Styx.” He prayed Sorayne wasn’t on a suicide mission, and would bring back the two soldiers he was in fear of losing.

  ***

  Mark awoke feeling like he had a hangover. He had a bad taste in his mouth and hoped he hadn’t done anything stupid. Not that it would have been the first time. He tried to move. Nothing happened. Oh well, at least he hadn’t fallen off the bed. His head throbbed, more so with every passing moment.

  Something pierced his neck. A blinding flash of white-hot light shot through his brain. He yelled. His eyes flew open.

  Someone laughed behind him.

  He tried to turn around. Restraints. He’d been restrained before and knew how it felt. Oh damn. It all came to him. A gazillion thoughts to sort out in three nanoseconds. He. Axel. Prisoners. Ship. Clones. Coulter. Kill. Her.

  “Party time, Mark.” Coulter handed scissors to Krupic.

  The mercenary’s right eye was almost swollen shut, courtesy of Mark’s well-placed left hook. He freaked as Krupic moved closer until he saw the man was only cutting off his shirt.

  “What is this? Body art? How infantile.”

  “Not babyish,” Krupic muttered. “I have four.”

  She scanned Mark’s torso. “He’s got fractured ribs.”

  Krupic shrugged. “I don’t know my strength.”

  She attached electrodes to Mark’s chest, and hooked the wires into a machine, which blinked colored lights. “I have a treat for you.” She held up another needle for him to see, tapped it twice. “It’s an update on sodium thiopental, an old earth drug, better known as Truth Serum.” She jabbed it in his bicep. “In less than fifteen minutes, you’ll be telling me every secret of your boring, pathetic life, and the data I need for human augmentation.”

  Fear spread through his mind like a flu virus in winter, turning all his thoughts to mush. Save one: The spy had told him to: do what she expected. She knew the person he used to be. Not what he had become.

  He tried not to relax, but couldn’t help it. In the back of his mind, he remembered being restrained before, but he’d broken out of them. Could he do it again? Pain—he must inflict pain. His head had stopped throbbing, and his ribs didn’t hurt anymore. He closed his eyes, forgot about everything, and started drifting off. In his dream, he pictured formulas from blackboards, textbooks, tablets and vid screens. He imagined himself as a server farm, giving her an info dump which could take years to sort through. He hoped to live that long.

  A searing pain brought him back to consciousness. He looked around, fearful one of his limbs had been sawed off.

  “You’re not going to fool me with this garbage,” Coulter screamed. Cursing at him, she paced around the room, infuriated, waving her arms in anger. She scurried over to the machine, keyed in new settings, stood clear to watch the results.

  Sudden agony—so severe tears ran down the side of Mark’s face. This time he used the pain. Heaving and pulling with every ounce of muscle Axel had pushed him into building with every lap around the gym, every weight lifted, every time he’d gotten thrown on the mat and struggled to stand up again. He yanked at the base of the straps until screws started to pull away from metal plates.

  “I’ll give you a few minutes to get you head out of your ass, and we’ll try again.” She keyed the machine off, composing herself as she left the room.

  Mark was suffering. It was damn near impossible to breathe, think, or plan his next move. As of now, he had a first-hand understanding of Axel’s aversion to torture.

  A few of Krupic’s men had helped put Axel on the floor before removing Mark from the cell. He worried his friend’s injuries might be more serious than he’d first thought. If Axel didn’t make it—no—he was one badass soldier; he would make it through this. They both would. But Mark had to do one thing first: Kill Coulter.

  His pain subsided. The ability to concentrate became easier. His ribs still made breathing difficult. With renewed effort, he started weakening the connection between the screws and the metal plates to his restraints. He had to be ready to lunge at the first opportunity, knowing he wouldn’t get a second.

  Coulter hadn’t returned. There must be a reason. It must be important to keep her from coming back to torture him.

  Then a thought trickled through his damaged brain: The TMD. Hallelujah. The military had been tracking them. They were coming to the rescue.

  ***

  Axel’s last message to Sorayne had been during the confusion in the cell when the merc’s turned over guard duty to the new crewman. Liberation—or annihilation—would happen in dark space before this ship reached Mars. Axel leaned toward rescue. However, the TMD had a history of overkill, so the outcome was iffy at best.

  Krupic had ordered them out their armor before delivering Mark to Coulter. Because they’d refused, the merc had called for help, using multiple stun batons to garner cooperation. He’d inflicted an overabundance of punishment for their noncompliance. While Axel had been put down, Krupic had dragged Mark off to Coulter. Axel had remained on the floor, injured, but able to fight. He feigned unconsciousness, waiting for a chance to spring an attack. Two empty suits of polished black armor stood in the corner, immobile yet ready for action.

  Moments ago, the crewman guard had been relieved by a short, young twenty-year-old merc with crooked teeth. Half his group had the mean street look of homeless youth. Except for the leader and a few others, who were older, taller, heavier men and experienced fighters. They’d taught
the younger ones how to handle weapons, except the guns hadn’t yet become an extension of their being. He could use this to his benefit. One slip in concentration by the kid would be all Axel needed.

  Coulter charged into the room. She pointed at Axel. “Get him up. Bring him to the Med lab. Shackled.”

  The young merc commed for assistance. Two more rushed in with batons to provide backup. His guard unlocked the cell door.

  Axel uncoiled, striking them with a speed they had not anticipated. All three were out cold in as many seconds. He stunned them with heavy doses to keep them out. After removing their comm units, he looped one over his ear to monitor their communications, took their weapons, stepped into his armor, and attached his helmet on the way out. Exhilaration flooded through Axel as the armor wrapped around him. To better blend in with the ship’s corridors, he changed the armor’s color from black to urban gray. He was in control and ready to do battle.

  Okay, Coulter…you wanted me—I’m coming to get you.

  He set the pulse weapons to silent kill, strapped a rifle to each arm, slung one across his chest and went hunting.

  He turned the corner, running straight into a merc. He shot him, stuffed the body in a wall panel and kept going.

  The next two targets were young ship’s crewmen.

  “Where’s the Med Lab?”

  “D-down one l-level and, uh, aft.” The skinny youth pointed farther down the passageway.

  Using discretion, he smashed their comms, squeezed both into a storage closet, then sealed the door shut with his armor’s laser.

  Monitoring the chatter on the borrowed comm, he ducked into a Lav as several more mercs approached. One opened the door. Axel pressed the rifle barrel against his body, pulled the trigger, pulling him in. The merc crumpled. He flushed the dead man’s comm.

  Axel stepped out. “Who’s next?”

  Both mercs turned toward him.

  He shot them.

  Lav’s were always busy places, so he dragged all three down to a trash receptacle and got rid of them.