Messenger

by James Walker

  Koga trailed off at the sight of Falsrain's unresponsive form. As Falsrain's slow rotation brought his unconscious face into view, Koga hissed, “Don't tell me the coward killed himself?”

  He reached out one tentative hand, then recoiled as Falsrain's eyes flicked open. The commodore righted himself and activated his magnetic boots, which pulled him down to the deck with a reverberating clang. Koga withered under Falsrain's cold stare. His reptilian eyes had always unsettled Koga, but now a dark malice so intense that it sur­passed all depths of human loathing lay upon his face.

  Koga recovered his composure enough to stammer, “So, you're awake after all, are you? Can you even comprehend how badly you've botched this mission? Not only did Charlie escape, but we've lost both of our augments and most of our spacecraft—untold billions of guilders worth of equipment destroyed. Are you even aware that happened? Being stripped of command will be the least of your worries after this kind of failure.”

  Falsrain hardly seemed to be processing the furious rant, but Koga pressed on.

  “Well, I don't intend to go down with you,” he declared. “I want the records to make it clear that Charlie was permitted to escape under your orders, despite my protests, and that you permitted massive damage to this vessel and its resources through dereliction of duty. In fact, under Article Seven of the naval code, I intend to relieve you of command and assume control of this vessel. Are you listening to me?”

  Finally, Falsrain spoke. “Most of our spacecraft have been destroyed? Well, that is a problem. What about the Onyx Down? What kind of damage?”

  “Oh, so now you're interested?” Koga said. “The hangar is trashed and the point-defense systems have been destroyed. It will take the repair crew a while to clear the debris so that we can even launch and receive craft again.”

  “Main batteries?” Falsrain asked.

  “Undamaged,” Koga said. “Why the hell would that matter? There aren't any craft large enough to use them on around here.”

  “For now.” Falsrain eyed Koga like a spider regarding a fly caught in its web, his long hair dancing around his face within the zero-g environment. “Tell me something, Commander. What do you think the Theran Union accomplishes by expending so many resources and slaughtering so many people for the sake of preserving an empire that's doomed to fall into eternal ruin someday, as is the fate of all empires?”

  “What kind of question is that?” Koga snapped. “Those words could almost be considered treason.”

  Falsrain sighed. “It seems you need to be freed from that narrow, military perspective. You deserve to have your talents put to better use than amplifying the futile death throes of a fading empire. Think with how much pride you could carry yourself if you helped bring humanity forward into a new future, a future where there would never again be chaos or disorder, marked by eternal peace and stillness.”

  Koga took a step back, looking at Falsrain in alarm. “You're insa—”

  Falsrain lunged forward and clamped his right hand over Koga's forehead. The commander tried to draw away, but an unseen power kept him rooted in place. In desperation, he grabbed Falsrain's wrist with both hands and tried to pry his arm off, but the commodore seemed endowed with superhuman strength. Finally, Koga let out an agonized cry and went limp. His magnetic boots kept his feet clamped to the ground, but the rest of his body swayed like a lifeless mannequin.

  “You should be honored that you get to be the test case for my new powers.” Falsrain reached out and pried one of Koga's eyes open. Although Koga was unconscious, his eye jerked convulsively in its socket. Falsrain let the eyelid close and placed his hand on Koga's forehead, then smiled in satisfaction.

  “Not long, and you'll awaken to a new and better world.” Falsrain turned his eyes to the hatch and said, “Now, why don't we grant this blessing to our comrades on the bridge?”

  *

  The bridge crew turned in surprise as the hatch hissed open. In tense silence, they watched Falsrain take his seat in the captain's chair. If he was perturbed by the failure of the mission and the battle that had occurred in his absence, his contemptuous expression gave no sign of it.

  “Commodore,” Ensign Taggart said hesitantly. “Are you well? We've been trying to get a hold of you, but there was no response. Lieutenant Lambda went berserk. We sustained enormous losses when she commandeered one of our fighters and opened fire in the hangar. Lieutenant Omicron was killed in action trying to stop her.”

  Falsrain tapped his fingers against the arm of his chair. “A minor setback, in the grand scheme of things,” he replied.

  The bridge crew stared at their commander in disbelief. “Sir?” Taggart stammered.

  Falsrain swept his narrow gaze across the bridge. After several moments, the crew began grasping at their heads, their faces contorting in pain. One crewman collapsed at his station and blood began pooling around his head. Taggart lurched forward and fell to his knees, looking up at Falsrain in alarm.

  “Commodore,” he gasped. “What's going on? Are you doing this to us?”

  Falsrain's only reply was a cold smile.

  Slowly, the gasps of pain and contortions of the crew ceased. Taggart regained his feet and, along with the rest of his crewmates, stared blankly into space.

  “Resume your stations,” Falsrain ordered.

  The crewmen complied.

  “Set a course for Port Osgow,” Falsrain said. “There, we'll do what we can to repair the damage to the ship. Meanwhile, prepare a message to be relayed to Governor Song via the elevator.”

  The crewmen tapped at their stations, then Taggart reported, “Ready, sir.”

  “The contents of the message are as follows,” Falsrain said. “This is Commodore Bertrand Falsrain, commanding officer of the Spacy task force sent to retrieve an object which had fallen into rebel hands. There is a matter I would like to discuss with you regarding said object, as well as an assault by so-called 'unidentified' attackers on Fort Spriggan. As our transport shuttles are presently inoperable, I am en route to Port Osgow to ride the elevator to the surface. Upon arrival, I will ap­propriate military transport to your estate to meet with you personally. You will be prepared for my arrival. Should you reject this meeting, I will be forced to take up the matter with High Command. End message.”

  51

  The members of the laboratory infiltration team stood in an interrogation room of the underwater Aqualung base. A pane of one-way glass provided a view into an adjoining chamber, empty except for a chair to which Celeste had been shackled using restraints designed to withstand even the superhuman strength of an augment. She had given no objection to this arrangement, even surrendering her exosuit into the hands of the rebels.

  “I hardly know what to make of all this,” Amos said. “To think that the very radiation which has plagued our colonization efforts is a medium of communication for an alien intelligence.”

  “The question is, how does this help us against the Union?” Guntar said. “What are we gonna do, publish blueprints of Astral's modified cells all over the networks? That would prevent the Union from having a monopoly on the technology, at least.”

  “That seems like a rash move,” Amos said. “Apparently, all but one of the subjects who underwent the Syneger modification went berserk and wiped out the entire population of Ajna Station. Unleashing such unstable technology into the general population could have devastating consequences.”

  Guntar scowled. “So we just sit on her? Then we've gained nothing. What have all these sacrifices been for?”

  Esther pointed out, “They've prevented the Union from recovering the ability to produce any more test subjects. Had they perfected the technology and gained the ability to mass produce Synegers, their strength would have become irresistible.”

  Astral hung her head and clenched her tiny hands into fists. “My being here only causes problems for everyone,” she said. “I'm a monster. I should never have been created.”

  “That's not true.” Vic le
aned down and looked Astral in the eyes. “None of this is your fault. You're not a monster. And I, for one, am very glad you're here.”

  Esther glared at Guntar. “Now do you see what your callous attitude has done? I hope you're happy.”

  A look of shame showed on Guntar's grizzled face, but he could only stare awkwardly at the sobbing girl.

  Amos' mouth curled into a slight grin. “Astral,” he said, “would you feel better if we could put your powers to good use?”

  Astral wiped the tears off her face and peeked up at Amos from under her bangs. “What do you mean?”

  “An interesting idea just occurred to me.” Amos looked pointedly at Vic. “Corporal Shown, if I understand correctly, you're the only one who is able to receive thoughts from Astral. Is that correct?”

  “It seems like it,” Vic replied.

  Amos said, “In that case, I wonder if you would be kind enough to lend us your help for a little experiment.”

  Vic frowned. “What kind of experiment?”

  “I've heard that you're a capable exosuit pilot,” Amos said. “How much more capable do you suppose you would be if you could see the enemy's movements before they happened?”

  Vic's eyes widened in dawning realization.

  “In the heat of battle, verbally communicating the enemy's intentions would be too slow,” Amos said. “But if that information was conveyed at the speed of thought—you see? That's why it has to be you, Corporal. No one else has proven capable of hearing Astral's mental communication. I'd like to run a series of battle simulations pitting you against the best exosuit pilots we've got, while Astral tries to read your opponent's thoughts and convey them directly to you.”

  Cena raised her hand. “I'd be up for that.” She grinned at Vic. “Give you a chance to pay me back after our last mock battle.”

  Pierson nodded in agreement. “A pilot who can sense his enemy's movements before they happen. Interesting indeed. I'd like to try my hand against an opponent like that.”

  “What about Astral, though?” Vic looked down at her. “Putting her on the front lines would expose her to grave danger.”

  Astral clasped a hand tightly to her chest. “I'd be willing.” She looked up and met Vic's eyes. “If it would help you.”

  “There is one issue, though.” Amos put a hand to his chin, his brow furrowed in thought. “Her powers down here on the surface are unreliable. It would be a big problem if her ability to read the enemy's moves gave out in the middle of a fight.”

  “I might be able to help you there,” Esther broke in. “I've been looking through the pocket computer we recovered from the lab, and I found schematics for some kind of device that's supposed to enhance a Syneger's powers in low-radiation environments. With the right materials, I think I could build a prototype for Astral to use.”

  Amos' face broke into a wide grin. “That's fantastic. Do you think you could get started on it right away? I'll put our facility's full resources at your disposal.”

  “I'd be glad to, Colonel,” Esther replied.

  “Well, as long as Astral is OK with it, I'm willing.” Vic looked at Pierson and Cena. “Fighting against these two would certainly test whether Astral and I can work together effectively as a team. But, you know what would be the ultimate test?”

  The others followed Vic's gaze as he turned to look at the one-way glass and the augment shackled to the chair in the dark room beyond. Celeste's gaze was fixed on the floor, her expression a mask of resignation.

  “Ah, yes,” Guntar said. “That brings us to our next problem. What do we do with our little guest? I wouldn't be surprised if those crafty Spacy bastards sent her to spy on us.” He looked at his fellow officers and asked, “Want to join me in having a talk with her?”

  Pierson nodded.

  “I'll stay out here,” Amos said. “Interrogations have never been my forte.”

  “Your call.” Guntar turned to the others. “The rest of you, stay out here. Major Cutter and I will handle this ourselves.”

  *

  Celeste looked up as the door to the interrogation room opened, emitting a rectangle of searing light into the darkness of the chamber. A pair of SLIC officers filed into the room. First came a short, bulky man sporting bushy facial hair; behind him, a taller, handsome officer whom Celeste recognized as one of the operatives she and Omicron had confronted in Hongpan.

  The second officer closed the door behind him, then the pair of them stood in front of Celeste. The stout officer took the lead in the interrogation.

  “I'm Colonel Guntar Artega, former commanding officer of the Quicksilvers, before your people wiped out most of our unit,” he said. “This is Major Pierson Cutter, my second in command. We've looked over the records in your I.D. tags. Lieutenant J.G. Lambda, officer of T.U. Spacy, Chi Strain augment.”

  “Celeste,” she interrupted him. “My real name is Celeste. I never want to become Lambda again.”

  Guntar grunted. “All right then, Lieutenant—”

  “You can dispense with my rank as well,” Celeste said. “I've defected. I'll never again fight for the Theran Union, as long as I live.”

  “I'm afraid it's not that easy,” Guntar said. “According to my men, we've already tangled with you plenty. They say you're one of the auggies that's been hounding us ever since Port Osgow. If that's true, a lot of my men have died at your hands.”

  “It's true,” Celeste said. “I've already prepared myself to accept any punishment for what I've done. I can't say I don't deserve it.”

  Guntar looked taken aback. Before he could speak again, Pierson broke in.

  “How did you break free from the Union's mind control?” he asked.

  “I think Astral had something to do with it,” Celeste said. “She did something to my mind. It caused the Union's programming to fade, and my true memories started resurfacing. Once I realized what they had done to me, I forced my maintenance supervisor to inject me with a nanomachine solution to wipe my firmware configuration clean.”

  “And how did you escape?” Pierson pressed.

  “I hijacked a suit with add-ons for space travel and blew up everything in the hangar,” Celeste said. “Or, almost everything. My partner, Omicron, managed to intercept me, and I... I had to shoot him down.” She shook off her momentary regret at the memory. “In any case, you shouldn't have to worry about any more pursuit from our ship. I de­stroyed everything they've got. You can check the flight records on my suit for verification.”

  “Records can be fabricated,” Guntar pointed out.

  “That's true,” Celeste admitted. “I can't make you believe me.”

  “Supposing we did believe you, though,” Pierson said. “What do you intend to do now that you've escaped the Union's control?”

  Celeste considered this. “I don't know,” she said. “I think nature might intervene before long. Augments have more stringent nutritional requirements than normal humans. I stole as much nutrient solution as I could, but once it runs out, I'll starve to death. I've probably got about two months to live, Theran time.”

  “That seems a little pessimistic,” Pierson said. “A nutrient solution can be replicated.”

  “It's not that easy,” Celeste said. “The nutrient solution is one of the Union's security layers to curb rogue augments and prevent soldier augmentation technology from falling into hostile hands. It's an astonishingly complex chemical-nanomachine formula, specifically designed to be difficult to analyze and manufacture.”

  Pierson gave Celeste a piercing stare. “You know,” he observed, “you seem almost eager to die.”

  Celeste held Pierson's gaze for a moment, then looked away. “When the mind control started to fade, all I could think about was gaining my freedom,” she said quietly. “But now that I've escaped them, I don't know what to do with it. I've slaughtered so many people. Even before they modified my brain, during the augmentation training, I tore fellow augment candidates to pieces just for the sake of my own survival. That's w
hy they selected me—because I'm a natural-born killer. Why wouldn't I want to die, after discovering that about myself?”

  Pierson's expression hardened. “I'm a little disappointed,” he said. “From our earlier confrontations, I had the impression you were a warrior of courage and determination. I had no idea you were so weak.”

  Celeste wheeled on Pierson, held in place by her shackles. “You don't know anything,” she snapped. “You've never been through this. Finding out that your whole life was a lie, that your real past is nothing but years of pain, despair, and bloodied hands.”

  “Now there's a trace of the fire I'd hoped to see.” Pierson leaned down, bringing his face closer to Celeste's. “Imagine for a moment that the nutrient solution can be duplicated; that there's no taking the easy way out; that you've got decades of life left in you, whether you like it or not. Sure, you've got a dark past. But are you really the type to let your potential drown in self-pity? My gut tells me you're not.”

  Celeste glared at Pierson, anger still glowing within her mismatched eyes.

  “Enough beating around the bush,” Pierson said. “I'll get straight to the point. If we can keep you alive, would you be willing to fight with us against your former masters?”

  Celeste's anger gave way to surprise. “What?”

  “Now, wait a second, Cutter,” Guntar broke in. “You don't have the authority to—”

  “It's just a hypothetical question,” Pierson cut him off. “Well?” he prompted Celeste.

  “I...” Celeste ceased straining against her shackles, and her expression grew introspective. “I'd consider it.”

  Pierson straightened up. “That's all I wanted to hear.” He turned to Guntar and gestured to the door. “Why don't we go check up on her story?”

  *

  Some time later, Pierson returned, along with a thin, scholarly-looking woman with long hair prematurely fading to gray. Celeste watched them enter the room, her expression impassive.