Messenger

by James Walker

  “Are you serious?” Ridley cried. “Could the point be any more obvious? You act as though, if only the Union was gone, everything would be sunshine and rainbows. You couldn't be more wrong. The second you kick the Union out, the infighting and bickering will begin, and the ruthless and power-hungry among you will claw their way to the top of the new order. Your precious freedom, paid for with the suffering of millions, will start unraveling the minute you lay claim to it. Every insti­tution naturally degrades into tyranny over time. The Union isn't the problem. Humanity is the problem.”

  “So you're saying,” Pierson replied, “that because all governments are imperfect, a government that has abandoned its responsibilities to its citizens should be permitted to continue ruling?”

  “The Union hasn't fallen that far yet,” Ridley said. “As long as they keep their heads down and go along with the status quo, the citizens can lead peaceful lives. To throw that away for the chaos and anarchy of a revolution is irresponsible. If you have your victory, you're less likely to save the colonies than to burn everything to ashes.”

  “That's where our thinking parts ways, Director.” Pierson looked up at the face of Saris hovering beyond the clouds. “Your mistake lies in thinking that this conflict is just one phase in an endless cycle of rising and falling governments. But colonizing space presents us with an unprecedented opportunity. Out here, we can build a new and fundamentally different order, and break forever with Thera's bloody history.”

  “I'm afraid you'll be disappointed,” Ridley said, “when you discover that space isn't some mystical realm that makes men into angels, but a harsh and alien environment that requires the most sophisticated technology ever developed by man just to survive.”

  Pierson started to answer, but Guntar raised his arm and cut him off. “As it turns out, I agree with you there,” he said. “I'm not a romanticist like Major Cutter. If idealistic philosophizing is what makes him tick, he's welcome to it. Me, I'm a simple man, with simple problems. Right now, my problem is that I've got a whole lot of enemy prisoners and I need to decide what to do with them.”

  “Why not take them along with us?” Pierson suggested. “The Executive Director of the P.S.A.'s Hongpan division would make a valuable prisoner.”

  “Forget it,” Guntar said. “Prisoners are a pain in the ass. You've got to feed them and keep them guarded at all times. Besides, the good director is a little too shrewd for my peace of mind.”

  “Then what do you suggest we do with them?” Pierson asked.

  His expression disinterested, Guntar swept his gaze across the prisoners. “Let's just shoot them and leave their bodies here.”

  “You can't do that!” Ridley flailed against the grips of the rebels keeping his arms pinned. “That's barbaric! We're prisoners of war. We have a right to—”

  Guntar grabbed Ridley's collar and pulled him forward until their faces were a centimeter apart. “The P.S.A. gunned down my wife and son in cold blood,” he hissed. “They didn't commit any crimes. They just happened to be a little too close to some protesters when they got vaporized by your precious kill bots. You tell me. Tell me what my family did to deserve being slaughtered like animals. If you can give me a satisfactory answer, then maybe I'll take your supposed rights seriously.”

  Despite the ice-cold rage in Guntar's eyes, Ridley kept his calm. “Murdering us won't bring your wife and son back.”

  “You're right. But it will give me some satisfaction.” Guntar shoved Ridley into the arms of his guards, then turned around and held up one hand. “Men, ready your weapons.”

  “Wait!”

  Guntar turned toward the sound of the interfering voice. “What is it?”

  It was Vic. He had come forward to stand between the rebels and prisoners. All eyes were upon him.

  “You can't do this,” he said. “Kill them, and you kill your entire justification for the rebellion with them. You can't create a more righteous government if you become just like your oppressors.”

  Cena came forward to stand next to Vic, helping him to shield the prisoners. “I'm with Vic,” she said. “I signed up to be a soldier. Not an executioner.”

  Without a word, Esther also broke ranks to stand next to Vic and Cena.

  Eliot interjected, “Much as I hate to side against the babes, I'm with the colonel on this one. The P.S.A. are a bunch of animals. They gave up any right to mercy a long time ago.”

  Tinubu retorted, “So the answer is to descend to the level of animals ourselves? Listen to yourself.”

  “Pretty harsh on your own allies, huh?” Eliot snapped. “Why not save some of that harshness for our enemies, buddy?”

  The rebels' ranks exploded into heated argument. Guntar watched in dismay as the troops' order broke down. Finally, he drew his sidearm and fired a single round into the ground. The rebels fell silent and turned to the colonel.

  “It looks like there's some disagreement over this matter,” Guntar observed. “This is not a democracy—not yet—but I don't want to be accused of never taking my subordinates' opinions into consideration.” He turned to Pierson. “Major, what are your thoughts?”

  “According to the rules of warfare,” Pierson said, “prisoners of war have basic human rights. The Union might not recognize us as a legitimate military, but we still wish to comport ourselves as one, do we not? In that case, if we're not interested in taking the prisoners with us, our only alternative is to set them free.”

  “Not the answer I was expecting from you,” Guntar said. “You know if we let them go they'll come back again to fight us later.”

  “Then we'll kill them honorably, on the field of battle,” Pierson replied. “Not like dogs on chains.”

  Guntar sighed. “Killing them now or later seems to me like a difference without a distinction, but I can see I'm in the minority on this one. This goes against my better judgment, but I'll give in this time. Let's just hope we don't regret it later.” He turned to the guards. “Release them.”

  The guards complied. The P.S.A. agents stared at their captors in bewilderment, hardly able to believe their good fortune.

  Guntar waved his hand at them. “Get lost. Don't try to follow us or we'll kill you. Beat it fast, before I change my mind.”

  Most of the P.S.A. agents fled into the forest at once. Ridley lingered for a moment, meeting the gazes of his enemies. His eyes fell first on Guntar, then Pierson, and then finally on Vic, where his gaze lingered the longest. Then he turned and departed from the clearing.

  44

  Once the last of the P.S.A. agents had departed from the clearing, Pierson turned to Guntar and said, “You made the right decision, Colonel. Even if Director Nimh comes back to oppose us, the enemy we know is better than the enemy we don't. Besides, you know as well as I do that we won't win this war by inflicting casualties. Not while the Therans outnumber us twenty to one.”

  Guntar glared at Pierson and growled, “Don't push it.”

  “All right,” Pierson shrugged. “So, what next? With General Childers killed in action, you're the ranking officer. Given that the Greenwings' mobile base has been wiped out, I can't say that returning to Hongpan seems like a good option.”

  “I was talking with some of the liberated prisoners,” Guntar replied. “Apparently there's a another cell called Aqualung hidden around Inverted Sound to the north. I think our best bet is to link up with them.”

  He turned to look at Astral, who had been hiding behind Vic ever since the rebels had liberated her from the captain's cabin. “Now that we've finally got our hands on this mysterious young lady that we sacrificed so much to recover,” he added, “perhaps they can help us fig­ure out why the Union was so desperate to get her back.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Pierson said. “Let's move out before the enemy gets wise to our position.”

  *

  The rebels made their way eastward through the forest until they reached several trailers disguised as delivery trucks that Guntar's group had hidden jus
t off the road. They boarded the trailers and pulled out onto the road, which wound its way northward through a series of forested hills. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, they took side routes off the main road so as to avoid inhabited areas.

  After several hours, the trailers approached the crest of the tallest hill they had yet encountered. As they rounded a bend that arced around the peak, an enormous body of water came into view, its still surface acting as a mirror that reflected the surrounding hills and forests, the cotton candy clouds floating amidst a sea of blue, and the gigantic face of Saris. A village sat clustered around the southern shore and a small fleet of fishing boats floated atop the water.

  As the trailers followed the road's snaking path down the side of the hill, the forest rose up to obscure the sublime view, and the trailers descended into the shadows.

  *

  Vic sat on a bench inside one of the trailers, rocked and jarred along with the other passengers with every bump in the road. The trailer contained no windows or other openings, and the back was closed to hide the passengers from view, so they had no visual indications of their progress. Cena sat across from him while Astral sat to his right, leaning against him and grabbing onto his arm every time the trailer hit a rough patch of road.

  “Attention,” came Pierson's crackly voice over speakers installed on the ceiling. “We are now approaching the village of Light's Edge on the southern shore of Inverted Sound. We'll get there in about ten minutes. Prepare to disembark upon arrival.”

  Astral looked up at Vic and asked, “Does that mean we can get out of here soon?”

  Vic nodded. “Yeah, sounds like we're almost there.”

  “Good.” Astral threw her hands over her head, swung her legs up, and stretched. “I'm getting stiff from sitting on this bench for so long.”

  “Sergeant Northwood,” Tinubu called from a few seats to Vic's left. “What's up with you? You look awfully happy.”

  “Do I?” Cena said. “Well, it's just that Light's Edge is my hometown. I haven't been back in ages.”

  “What's it like?” Tinubu asked.

  “It's pretty rustic,” Cena replied. “Just a fishing town stuck out in the boonies. But the people here are a lot more sympathetic to our cause than city folk. Light's Edge was founded by people who wanted to build a settlement far from the influence of Colonial Admin so they could live in relative freedom.”

  “Sounds like a nice place,” Tinubu said.

  “There is one thing, though.” Cena's gaze drifted to Astral's third eye. “There's kind of a strong purist thread here. Some of them see anyone that's had their genes tampered with as an abomination. I don't think that way,” she added quickly. “I'm against the Union's genetic alterations, but this girl isn't to blame. She's one of the victims.”

  “Her name is Astral,” Vic said.

  “That's a curious name.” At Astral's wide-eyed stare, Cena tried to smile reassuringly. “I'm not trying to say anything bad about you, honey. My point is just that, I think it would be a good idea if you kept your hood up while we're in town. People would freak out if they saw that third eye. Better to just avoid that whole mess.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” Vic gently swept Astral's long curtain of hair up, then pulled her hood over her head and down across her brow.

  Astral turned to look at Vic, one red eye glinting from deep within the hood's shadow. “Will people hate me for having three eyes?” she asked.

  “Not everyone,” Vic replied. “But some people might. Try not to worry about it. It's their problem, not yours.”

  “I'm sorry,” Cena said. “Looking at this girl makes me ashamed on their behalf.”

  “No need to apologize,” Vic said. “You don't have to answer for other people's prejudices.”

  The trailer slowed to a crawl and began making frequent sharp turns, indicating that they had left the winding paths of the wilderness and entered the right-angled streets of a settled area. Soon, the trailer stopped and the rear gate opened, letting in a flood of light.

  The rebels disembarked into a deserted lot. Simple townhouses flanked the lot on two sides, while a third side connected to the street. Opposite the street, beyond a chain link fence and a poorly tended lawn, the gently rippling waters of Inverted Sound glinted in the sunlight.

  The rebels lined up in front of Guntar and Pierson. A handful of pedestrians passed by on the street, casting curious glances, but they gave no indication of alarm. Once the troops were assembled, Pierson raised his voice to address them.

  “Welcome to Light's Edge,” he announced. “Colonel Artega and I have been informed that the civilians here are sympathetic to our cause, so we needn't fear informers among the populace. Still, it would be inadvisable to remain out in the open. It seems that a SLIC cell called Aqualung keeps its base of operations in this region. Our first priority is to establish contact with them. Sergeant Northwood?”

  “Yes, Major?” Cena responded.

  “I've been given to understand that, before you transferred to the Greenwings, your first assignment was with Aqualung. Is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then you'll be our point agent for contacting them. Corporal Shown?”

  “Sir,” Vic responded.

  “You seem to have a special bond with our guest,” Pierson observed, eyeing Astral hiding behind Vic's back and peering nervously about at her surroundings.

  “Her name is Astral, sir.”

  “Very good. Since the two of you get along so well, you can act as her escort and accompany us while we contact Aqualung. Dr. Klein?”

  “Yes, Major,” Esther responded.

  “We may need your technical expertise when it comes time to analyze Astral. You'll also be on the contact team.”

  “Understood.”

  Guntar stepped forward to conclude the briefing. “All right, that's it. Sergeant Northwood, Corporal Shown, and Dr. Klein will accompany myself and Major Cutter to contact Aqualung. The rest of you, split up and get to know the town. Keep a low profile and don't cause any trouble for the townspeople. Report back to this lot at nightfall for further orders. Dismissed.”

  *

  Falsrain entered the Onyx Down's sick bay. A simple diagnosis and treatment center comprised the first of the sterile compartment's numerous sections. The ship's doctor, a solidly-built man with a well-groomed beard and mustache, was looking through a series of read­outs when Falsrain came in. The doctor looked up and gestured to Fal­srain to have a seat.

  “Hello, Commodore,” he said. “I received your note that you wanted to see me. Are you having health troubles? Nothing serious, I hope?”

  “Nothing of that nature, Doctor,” Falsrain replied, declining the offer to sit down. “I'm not here for a checkup. There's something I need you to do for me.”

  “Of course. What is it that you require?”

  Falsrain extracted Astral's tissue samples from his pocket and handed them to the doctor. “I want you to store these tissue samples for safekeeping,” he explained. “Except for one. One is to be prepared with a growth-accelerating solution and administered to me via intravenous injection.”

  The doctor looked at the samples in confusion. “That's a strange request. If I may ask, what is the purpose of the injection?”

  “You don't need to know,” Falsrain replied. “Just prepare the solution and give me the injection immediately.”

  “Of course. I meant no harm by my inquiry. Just professional curiosity.” The doctor started toward the lab. “Give me just a moment.”

  Falsrain fell into step behind the doctor. “I'll come with you.”

  “As you wish.”

  Falsrain followed the doctor into the laboratory and watched as he prepared a slide with one of the tissue samples and examined it under a microscope. As Falsrain expected, the doctor pulled away with a gasp.

  “Commodore,” he stammered, “are you aware that these are—”

  “Diffusion cells,” Falsrain finishe
d. “You needn't concern yourself. They are inert, not emitting any repil radiation. More importantly, can you prepare an injection with them?”

  The doctor took a moment to compose himself. “Yes, I believe so. The cells appear to be in good condition. But I don't understand why in the world anyone would want to—”

  “I already told you,” Falsrain interrupted, “you don't need to understand. Just prepare the solution as I ordered, Doctor.”

  Falsrain waited while the doctor combined one of the tissue samples with a growth-accelerating solution, then stuck a syringe in the solution and drew back the plunger. As the pinkish fluid filled the syringe, Falsrain felt his breath quicken in anticipation.

  “It's ready,” the doctor said. “You're sure?”

  “Quite sure.” Falsrain pulled up his sleeve and held out his arm. “At once, if you please.”

  The doctor shook his head. “I certainly hope you know what you're doing, Commodore.”

  The doctor found a good vein, wiped Falsrain's skin clean, then stuck in the needle and depressed the plunger. Falsrain's eyes widened as he watched the fluid flow into his body. It seemed an age before the doctor withdrew the needle and affixed a bandage over the tiny puncture.

  “There you go, sir,” he said. “One full dose of inert diffusion cells and growth accelerator. Better than grandma's soup. Is there anything else I can do for you while you're here?”

  “No, that will be all.” Falsrain met the doctor's gaze, his reptilian eyes filled with intensity. “Just make sure the remaining samples are kept in secure storage.”

  Without another word, he turned on his heel and left the sick bay. Once back in the passageway, he collapsed against the bulkhead and closed his eyes. The die was now cast. All that remained was to wait for the injection to progress. In the worst case, he would become a failed Messenger and perish, dooming everyone on the ship to an agonizing death by radiation poisoning. But if his body did not reject the modified diffusion cells, then he would transcend the petty limits of hu­manity, even the Union's most advanced augments. He would not be rejected a second time. The Xenowave would have no choice but to make him its vessel.