Messenger

by James Walker

  “This the people of the colonies know. But what remains hidden from their eyes are the nearly universal corruption of Theran officials, the consignment of nonconforming children to reeducation camps, the destruction and pollution of our fragile living environments, and the arbitrary arrests and seizures by the ironically named Peace and Security Agency. Many of those taken in for questioning are never heard from again. But even these brutal actions are not the worst of the Theran Union's transgressions.”

  The film transitioned again, this time to a series of fuzzy, amateurish videos that looked like they had been captured by witnesses using pocket computers. The first video showed a bomber strafing a city block, the ensuing explosion consuming the entire street and several bystanders. Next, heavily armed police charged into a crowd of civil­ians, flinging tear gas canisters and beating everyone in their path with batons and stun rods. Then a chaotic scene of a screaming throng flee­ing in panic before a pack of battle drones indiscriminately firing into the crowd. The scene could practically have been torn straight out of Vic's recent memories of the attack on Port Osgow. It sent a shiver up his spine.

  “At the merest suspicion of subversive activity, the Theran Union does not hesitate to deploy the police and even the military in acts of preemptive mass slaughter,” the narrator continued. “They care nothing for collateral damage and the deaths of innocent colonists caught in the crossfire. They do not feel burdened by the need to carry out due process or to publicize evidence of the alleged guilt of those who are murdered in their campaign of terror. Yet so absolute is their control of the media that many citizens and colonists remain unaware of these atrocities.”

  “Just two days ago, I'd have said this was mostly bullshit,” Vic whispered. “Now, it's easy to believe every word of it.”

  Next, the film displayed a video pirated from the Theran army's marketing material depicting legions of battle drones swarming over helpless enemy positions. “Yet even with their powers of censorship,” the narrator said, “the Theran Union could not hide its atrocious actions from everyone, least of all from the survivors of its brutal crack­downs. Among those who knew of the Union's cruelty, a few brave souls found the courage to fight back. But these early efforts ended in tragic failure, for small resistance forces are helpless in the face of the Union's legions of remote-controlled battle drones.”

  The military propaganda video ended, replaced by photographs of a microscopic organism and a series of chemical, biological, and electrical diagrams. “The chance to strike back would come, ironically, from Thera's own research laboratories,” the narrator said. “The Theran Union has devoted great resources to studying the so-called xeno-adaptation effect, a process of rapid evolution in alien environments which is greatly enhanced by prolonged exposure to Sarisan radiation. One of the results of the Union's research is a cybernetic microorganism which reproduces rapidly; synthesizes nutrients from a combination of Sarisan radiation and Thera's altered atmospheric composition; and as a byproduct of this synthesis, emits intense bursts of noise in random bands on the electromagnetic spectrum. Individually, these microorganisms have no appreciable effect on their environment, but in large groups, their collective random bursts combine to create a uni­versal white noise that renders long-range sensors and communications inoperative and interferes with sensitive electronic equipment. These microorganisms are colloquially known as silence particles.”

  The narrator continued, “The chance for a decisive blow came on 13-42, 1992. Only weeks prior, a Theran researcher had defected and leaked the plans for the silence particle to the resistance. Shortly afterward, the rebels intercepted and decoded a transmission from the Colonial Administration. This transmission announced that, in response to increasing resistance activity, the Halispont atmospheric processor was to be loaded with N-32624, also known as the 'tamer,' a behavior-altering nanomachine that raises passivity and reduces independent thought in everyone who inhales it. By loading this nanomachine into the atmospheric processor, the Administration ensured that everyone on Chalice would be subject to its effects.”

  Vic started as the video transitioned to several photographs of Pierson. “The opportunity was seized by Pierson Cutter, a veteran exosuit pilot and former mercenary for the Voc Mercantile Corporation who had recently transferred his services to the resistance movement. Armed with a supply of silence particles, Cutter led a company of rebel forces in an assault on the Halispont atmospheric processor. After a fierce battle in which Cutter personally destroyed over a dozen Theran drones and exosuits, the rebel force gained control of the processor. They quickly burned the entire reserve of tamer nanomachines, filled the tanks with silence particles, and set the processor to full output.

  “Theran forces mounted a fierce counterattack, but Cutter's forces valiantly held the processor for over 48 hours. Finally, they were forced to retreat under the Union's withering attack, but it was already too late to prevent the silence particles from spreading across Chalice. As they withdrew, Cutter's unit detonated explosives that resulted in the complete destruction of the atmospheric processor, ensuring that the Union could never again attempt to use the processor as a weapon to subdue the people of Chalice.”

  Vic struggled to process this flood of information. So Major Cutter was a hero of the resistance—the man responsible for dispersing silence particles across Chalice? Vic had heard of the assault on the atmospheric processor, but the official version of the story merely said that terrorists had hijacked the processor, used it to diffuse harmful materials, and then demolished it beyond repair. Naturally, it said nothing of a Theran plot to use the processor to disperse passivity nanomachines.

  The orientation video went on to explain that, without the ability to remote-control its battle drones, the Theran Union was forced to deploy them in autonomous operation mode where they were less effective, especially with silence particles disrupting their electronic systems. This crucial disadvantage gave the resistance enough of an edge to become a threat. Building on this victory, resistance movements continued spreading throughout the Sarisan colonies, formally joining together in a loose collection of pseudo-independent cells called the Sarisan Liberty Coalition.

  The video ended. Vic removed his eyepiece and headset and stuffed them back into his pocket. He lay on his bedroll for a long time, thinking.

  Theran propaganda painted the resistance movement as a band of radical terrorists, wreaking havoc without justification. Vic could see now that this simplistic view was nonsense, but he was not about to make the same mistake again by swallowing SLIC propaganda without question. He had already seen with his own eyes that they wrought their own share of violence and collateral damage. Indeed, even the dispersal of the silence particles, necessary though it may have been for the survival of their rebellion, caused immense disruptions in communication, commerce, mobile computing, and many other aspects of people's daily lives. It was not so far off the mark to call it a terrorist act. How much did SLIC's desperation to overthrow the Union's oppressive rule justify? Could there be any right or wrong in this brutal conflict?

  15

  Vic's tired thoughts gave way to a strange vision in which he suddenly found himself floating in a pool of water. Alarmed, he began flailing about until his feet made contact with a rocky floor. He righted himself and stood up straight. The water came up to his waist. It was still and cold. All around him was darkness. There was just enough light to make out indistinct patches of color within the black canvas; not sufficient to identify anything, but enough to use as a reference for navigating. He looked around, but could not locate the source of the minimal illumination.

  A series of ripples broke the stillness of the water, lapping against his waist. The disturbance was subtle, but his lack of vision had sharpened his senses enough to detect it. Although he had no rational reason for it, he felt a surge of fear in response to the disturbance in the water. Something was in the lake with him—no, not just one thing; but many, surrounding him on all
sides.

  He was seized with a desperate urge to escape. He picked a direction at random and struck out, forcing his way forward. Every step required tremendous exertion. Did water normally provide this much resistance? No, he was sure it did not. This water was unnatural, as though it actively sought to hamper his movements. Or perhaps, the cold liquid that he had taken for water was not water at all?

  Something rose out of the lake to his left. He stumbled and looked in horror as a silhouette, barely discernible in the poor illumination, emerged from the still surface and rose to a great height. He feared it might attack, but then, before his eyes, the creature began to disintegrate. Pieces of it broke away in flecks, but rather than falling into the water, they floated slowly upward. His eyes followed the bizarre column of rising flecks skyward and saw a new shape materialize overhead.

  It was Saris. The cerulean gas giant appeared within the sea of blackness, its swirling eyes staring down at him, seeing all. The last remnants of the shadowy creature broke apart and drifted upward to be consumed by the inscrutable planet.

  Vic struck out again, forcing his way through the water that worked to impede his every step, desperate to escape Saris' penetrating gaze. More creatures rose to either side of him, only to fall apart and waft away into oblivion. Some of them issued terribly human cries as they disintegrated, moaning in pain and despair.

  Vic perceived a great rush through the water behind him. He looked frantically over his shoulder and saw nothing, but he could feel a presence closing in on him. Was this one of the entities he had sensed upon first entering this nightmare world? What was their purpose? Were they coming to transform him into one of these ghouls, to infect him with this disease that caused all life in this world to break apart and be swallowed by the cruel god watching from the heavens?

  Though he feared his actions were futile, he continued splashing forward through the endless lake. Every step was an agony of effort. The unseen entity glided effortlessly through the water, closing on him with tremendous speed.

  Just as he was about to lose all hope, a light appeared some distance in front of him. Encouraged by this unexpected development, he found new strength and plunged ahead. As he drew near the light, it began to resolve into a distinct shape—almost human and yet, not quite. There was something cold and inscrutable about this light, but he had nothing else in which to place his hope. He pressed on toward it.

  Finally, the light was nearly close enough to reach out and touch. A single glowing arm extended from the luminous mass and reached out toward him. He extended his own hand to meet it, but hesitated when he saw a pair of crimson eyes open on the creature's indistinguishable face. No, not a pair—three eyes.

  Three eyes.

  *

  Vic emerged from the trance with a start. He was drenched in sweat. He realized he was holding his arm out over his head and let it drop to his side, feeling foolish. The tangled state of his bedroll suggested that he had been thrashing. Had he fallen asleep? If so, it didn't feel like he had been out for very long.

  The cramped storage compartment flickered with the dim light of the lantern. Vic let out a long breath. Rarely had he experienced such a vivid dream as that one, only thinly distinguishable from reality. It must have been because he had barely dozed off, only a hair's breadth away from consciousness. Or perhaps the mental strain of the situation was getting to him.

  He propped himself up into a sitting position and was about to venture outside to see what the rebels were doing when he heard a voice. Yet it was not exactly a voice, for he felt it rather than heard it. It contained within it a message, expressed not as words but as a primal thought; a raw concept, unmitigated by human speech. The thought had arisen not at his own bidding, but rather invoked within him by some external force.

  The thought evaporated before Vic could grab hold of it. He felt that something had just tried and failed to make contact with him. As absurd as the notion seemed, he did not entertain the possibility that it was his imagination. The impression was simply too forceful to be a product of his own mind.

  The message repeated, no more intelligible than it had been the first time, but insistent. Moving under an impulse, not quite certain to what degree he was acting of his own volition, Vic stood and picked up his lantern. He opened the door of the storage compartment, stepped outside, and looked down the dusky corridor.

  A light flickered in the distance and disappeared around the corner. Again, a vague impression touched upon Vic's mind like a faint echo. He had little doubt of the unknown messenger's intent this time. It wanted him to follow it.

  He made his way cautiously down the corridor, letting the brief flashes of light lead him out of the warren of storage compartments. He emerged into the adjoining cavern, currently devoid of activity save for rebel soldiers standing guard at the entrances, plus an additional pair guarding the cargo hauler. There was no sign of the strange light. The impression of being in the presence of a foreign entity had faded.

  Faded, but not vanished completely. Vic turned off the lantern, then, letting intuition guide him, made his way to the cargo hauler. Recognizing him, the guards nodded as he stepped up the ramp.

  There it was, filling the far side of the hauler: the Cage. Vic walked slowly across the floor, his steps sending metallic echoes through the hauler's interior, and stopped just in front of it. He reached out and traced one of the foreign writings with his finger.

  Are you there?

  Vic froze. He had heard the voice—or rather the thought—more clearly that time. He had no doubt now. The Cage was calling out to him, just as it had done when he first encountered it on Port Osgow.

  “Well, I didn't expect to see you up and about so soon.”

  Vic spun around in surprise. He had been so absorbed with the Cage that he had failed to notice Esther Klein enter the cargo hauler and come up behind him. She smiled at his exaggerated reaction.

  “You shouldn't push yourself too hard,” she chided. “It's tough for a civilian to keep up with hardened soldiers.”

  “I'll be fine,” Vic snapped. The words came out harsher than he intended. Esther's interruption had completely severed his mental connection with the Cage. He added, speaking more softly this time, “It's not like I have a choice.”

  Esther regarded him curiously. “Putting on a tough act? Or maybe it's not an act. It's hard to tell with you.”

  Vic noticed she was holding a pocket computer. She flipped open a panel on the side of the Cage and plugged her computer into a free port. The fingers of her other hand danced across the holographic keyboard, navigating a series of diagnostic screens.

  “What were you doing in here, anyway?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the readouts. “I have no suspicions about you, but some of the troops think you might be a spy. Hanging around the Cage too much will only reinforce that impression.”

  “They'll think whatever they want to think,” Vic replied. He stared at the Cage for a while, more entranced than ever by the ancient script scrawled incongruously over the container's slick metallic surface. Then he turned back to Esther and ventured, “Dr. Klein?”

  “Mmhm?” she replied absently.

  Vic asked hesitantly, “Do you ever get, um, a strange impression from the Cage?”

  Esther paused in her diagnostic and regarded Vic with new curiosity. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean like there's something alive in there,” Vic said. “Something that's aware of what's happening around it.”

  Esther frowned. For a moment, Vic feared that it had been unwise to voice his thoughts. Would she think he was cracking under the pressure? But finally she said, “No, I haven't had any such impression par­ticularly, but you're not the first one to say that. Do you really think there's something alive in this thing?”

  “I don't know,” Vic said. “But I hope you can figure out how to open it. I want to find out what's inside.”

  Esther was about to reply when they were interrupted by the sound
of footsteps coming up the ramp. They turned to watch Pierson, Huan, and Eric enter the hauler. Eric glared at Vic out of the corner of his eyes, but remained silent. Pierson stopped and put one hand on his hip, his expression, as usual, concealed behind his shades.

  “Dr. Klein, good to see you at work,” Pierson said. “How has our prize weathered the pursuit?”

  “The diagnostic system reports all systems normal,” Esther replied. “I'll just have to take its word for it, since I can't peel it open to take a look for myself.”

  “That's good to hear.” Pierson tilted his head in Vic's direction. “Vic, I'm surprised to see you here. How are you feeling?”

  “As well as can be expected,” Vic replied.

  “Did you have a chance to watch the primer?” Huan broke in excitedly.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah,” Vic stammered.

  “Ah, so Corporal Yun gave you his orientation datacube,” Pierson said. “Then I suppose you know my role in choking Chalice with silence particles now.”

  “Um, yes.” Vic had the feeling that this ground would have to be navigated carefully.

  “So?” Pierson prompted. “Some people have called me the savior of the colonies. Others, their destroyer. What do you think of my actions?”

  Vic paused to size up the present company. Pierson remained inscrutable. Huan's expression suggested the giddy excitement of a schoolboy. Eric's face was scrunched up in hostile suspicion. He, for one, would clearly not tolerate anything but fawning admiration for his beloved leader.

  Vic decided to answer honestly. “I'm not sure. What the Union tried to do was far worse. By spreading silence particles across Chalice, you've given the resistance the strength to fight against them. But it hurt the lives of the colonists, too. If you're able to claim independence, maybe it will have been worth it. I'm not a prophet, so I can't really say.”