Zero Site 1607

by Andrew Calhoun

  “Why?” Haley eventually asked.

  “Why what?” Saris said.

  “Why kidnap us? I mean, the effort Zodo went through to get us here – enticing Kettle and I to work on Diego Garcia, commandeering a military plane, faking the paperwork to get us on the same flight – it beggars belief. What in the world could be so important as to justify all that?”

  “I am not authorized to respond to that line of inquiry,” Saris told her with a straight face.

  “Why on Earth not?” she asked. Kettle wondered if Haley realized that ‘why on Earth’ was probably not a common expression for people not on Earth.

  “That information is classified, and I’m not high enough up the pay grade to be disseminating it.”

  “Is he?” She pointed to Radovan.

  “Definitely not.”

  Kettle re-entered the conversation. “Back on the Skag, he told us that we were Zero Stock. What does that mean?”

  “He shouldn’t have told you that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Classified.” Commander Saris put up both hands when he saw all four visitors begin to raise protestations. “You’ll have your answers shortly. Quadrant Manager Brennov is currently flying in from VGCP Fourteen. He should be here within the hour.”

  “And he’s authorized to tell us why we’re here?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “So what are we doing here now?” Kettle asked. “What can you tell us? Can you at least explain what Haley and I were injected with? Why our bodies are changing?”

  “No, I cannot.”

  “What then?”

  “I can answer any questions you have not related to the actual reason for you being here.”

  “I’m suddenly reminded that the term military intelligence is an oxymoron,” Kettle mumbled.

  “Tell us about the gates,” Soup said. This was the first time he had spoken at the meeting. “Tell us how it’s possible that we can travel from one planet to the next. They’re wormholes, right? We’re jumping from planet to planet across vast distances in the universe.”

  “That we can tell you,” Saris said with satisfaction, happy to move the discussion forward. “Perhaps Radovan can explain it more succinctly. I understand that he has a stronger background in science that I do. Radovan, would you?”

  “I’d be delighted.” He beamed a smile at no one in particular. “Right, well, where to begin. Ah, let’s see. First off, you should know that your initial assumption is false. The gates do not connect planets across a single universe. On the contrary, they connect planets that exist in entirely different universes. Eighteen universes in all. And, of course, when you look at it with a critical eye, the multiverse theory is the only logical answer to what you’ve witnessed. It explains the absolute minimal degrees of variation between connected planets. Now, the interesting . . .”

  “Slow down there, egghead,” Dallas commanded. “You’re talking to military grunts. What’s a minimal variation?”

  “Yes, sorry. Quite right.” Radovan stood up and walked over to a device installed at one end of the conference table. He tapped the top of it and a holographic rectangle blinked into existence. It stretched from the top of the table to above his head. He began drawing numbers and lines with his fingers on the artificial display. Each figure he drew sharpened in clarity after his fingertip withdrew. As this was going on, Radovan continued his explanation. “All seventeen planets are populated with humans and much of the same species of flora and fauna. There are notable differences in species – size variations, hunting and mating behaviors, etc., etc. – but the similarities far outweigh those variations. Now, despite the immense size of any given universe, that size will be finite. I.e. universes are not infinite. And with a bit of clever astronomy, it’s not overly difficult to calculate the number of stars that populate that given universe. From there, you can make an educated guess at how many planets exist that could support human life. The odds of seventeen worlds in a single universe being inhabited by human beings in relatively similar stages of development . . . well . . . those odds are, if you’ll excuse the pun, astronomical. A virtual impossibility.

  “But not in a multiverse.” Here he smiled again and raised both eyebrows twice to accentuate his point. “Imagine, if you will, a near infinite number of universes, all distinct and unique, but all held together by a time-space fabric that can support stable wormholes. As long as the number of universes approaches infinity, then the existence of seventeen planets with minimal degrees of variation will change from virtually impossible to, dare I say, quite probable. In fact, there are most likely more than seventeen planets populated by humans, but in the web we exist in, there are seventeen.”

  “But you said there were eighteen universes,” Haley pointed out.

  “Yes, again, quite astute. One of the worlds is a dead world. No life at all. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Now, where was I? Oh, give me just a moment to get this right, won’t you?” He stopped talking and paid full attention to drawing arrows between numbers. When he was finished, he waved his right hand with a flourish and bade them look at his work.

  “Seven is Earth?” Kettle asked.

  “Indeed.”

  “And Eleven is where we just came from.”

  “Yes, that’s right. The planet is called Erain. The entrance and exit gates are on either side of the Sollian Sea. And right now, we are sitting in a Zodo facility on Dremmos, which is Verse Gate Connected Planet Thirteen.”

  “VGCP,” Kettle mumbled, finally matching the words to the acronym.

  “And the arrows,” Radovan went on, “are the gate directions, as you may have guessed.”

  In fact, Kettle had already discerned the meaning of the arrows, and he was also keenly aware of the significance. “Which means there is a way home. You lied to me, Radovan. You told me I couldn’t go home, but I can see a path.” He pointed to the holo-display and counted off the numbers. “13, 16, 15, 10, 6, 2, 1, 3 and 7. It’s a long path, but it’s a path home.” As he spoke, Kettle thought of Emma, the daughter he had never met but desperately wanted to.

  Radovan’s expression saddened. “I was not lying. VGCP One has closed its exit gates. Nothing goes out. And I’m afraid I’ll have to leave the explanation for that to QM Brennov. Pay grade and all. I’m sorry.” Radovan at least looked sincere in his apology, a stark contrast to his companion still seated at the table.

  “Well, that sucks,” Dallas stated.

  A door opened on the opposite side of the room from the holo-display, enabling a middle-aged woman to walk in briskly. Her face essayed a concerned grimace, clearly staking her as the bearer of unfortunate news.

  “This is a confidential meeting,” Commander Saris scolded in an irritated voice.

  “Yes, sir. I know, but . . .”

  “Do you know what confidential means?”

  “There’s been an incident, sir. Not just an incident, actually. More of an ongoing situation, as it were.”

  “Report.”

  “We are presently assessing the incident, and, uuhhh . . .”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, spit it out.”

  “The other woman, the one with tattoos on her face.”

  “Saeliko,” Radovan provided.

  “Yes, that one. She woke up.”

  “Bloody good for her,” Saris stated.

  “And then she, umm, well, she escaped.”

  “Escaped! I ordered her to be restrained.”

  “She, umm, she was, sir. But, uuhhh, she’s currently unrestrained.”

  “If you say ‘umm’ one more time, you’re fired.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

  “Damn it, how hard can it be to catch a girl in bare feet and a medical robe? It’s not like she’s armed.”

  “Well, about that, sir. She managed to get, umm, a taser. Oh, sorry, sir.”

  Saris stared at the poor woman with baleful eyes, and Kettle was beginning to suspect that the commander would make good on his prom
ise. There was a part of Kettle that wanted very much to jump over the table and throttle Saris before he got the chance.

  This was the new Kettle, the stronger Kettle, the more combat-oriented Kettle. He was the product of pirate training in the Sollian and a mystery cocktail injection. He was Kettle Version 2.0.

  However, he saw a less aggressive, more prudent way to spare the assistant from Saris’ wrath. “Commander Saris.”

  “What?”

  “We need to find her.”

  “Who?”

  “Jesus. Saeliko.”

  “Jesus?”

  Radovan piped up from his end of the table. “The son of God in one of VGCP Seven’s major religions.”

  “Forget Jesus,” Kettle said. “You need to let us go find Saeliko. Otherwise you’re going to have a major disaster on your hands.”

  “My men can handle her.”

  A klaxon suddenly began blaring from somewhere in the facility.

  “Commander,” Haley said, standing up to presume a more dominant stance toward the still-seated Saris. “Saeliko was trained from birth to kill.”

  “Fine! I’ll order my men to use lethal force.”

  “No!” all four Earth humans shouted at once.

  “We need her,” Kettle said and immediately felt funny for saying it. This was the pirate queen who had come very close to getting him killed on a number of occasions. He was missing a pinky finger due to this woman. He wasn’t sure why he felt a bond with her now, but he did, and he wasn’t willing to stand for people trying to kill her.

  “Why?”

  “No time to explain. We need to find her as soon as we can.” In fact, he couldn’t think of a reason why they needed her, but Saris didn’t need to know that.

  A distant scream echoed out. The Saffisheen was unleashing terror on some poor soul.

  “Come with me,” he ordered. From his belt, he pulled forth a sidearm, which Kettle assumed was a taser. From Saris’ earlier comment about lethal force, Kettle also guessed that the weapon’s power could be adjusted, much like the phasers in Star Trek, a reminder of the level of technology that Zodo Corp had at its disposal.

  They moved out of the conference room clumped together in a group with Commander Saris leading them down a corridor in the general direction the scream had originated. Saris walked with the cocksure stride of a general that knew he was invincible. Kettle noted that with a pair of aviators and a corn cob pipe, Saris would have been a dead ringer for Douglas MacArthur, brash personality and all.

  The facility was a tangle of hallways, hangars, stairwells and various open spaces. The one thing it didn’t have was windows. This was a common theme for Zodo’s bases, as Kettle and the others had witnessed back on the Skag. The corporation was mandated to keep its presence unknown to local populations, so all facilities were built underground in remote areas. There were egress points for aircraft, but they were carefully disguised to prevent discovery. On the Skag, Radovan’s base had a sliding port door that opened up on a cliff face hanging over the ocean.

  Not that anyone would ever discover the Skag facility now. Radovan had initiated a self-destruct sequence to ensure that the Lavanthene pirates would never witness the technological wonders within.

  A series of panicked yells and taser-like sounds emanated from somewhere off to the right. Saris adjusted course with everyone else following suit. Haley, Dallas and Soup had a spring in their step; Kettle felt what they were feeling – a need to get to Saeliko before anything irreversibly serious happened. It wasn’t so much a concern that Saeliko would get herself killed but a worry that she would cause so much damage as to force Saris to lock her up in a cell and throw away the key.

  Radovan was the only one who looked hesitant, understandably so. The old man had spent the last quarter of a century in hiding, keeping himself tucked in a forgotten corner of the Sollian where he could avoid unwanted attention. It must have been a strange feeling for him to move towards danger rather than away from it. On top of that, he still had the scars on his face (and no doubt beneath his clothing) from being tortured on the Skag, a fresh reminder for him of the importance of steering clear of situations like this.

  That the group (Radovan and Saris aside) felt a kinship with Saeliko continued to tickle the periphery of Kettle’s thoughts. He supposed that he could chalk it up to survivor’s syndrome. The five of them, for all he knew, were the only survivors of the Epoch. They had bled together.

  Amba probably survived, too, he guessed. The Kalleshi was the luckiest girl in the Sollian. She had a scar from every battle or crisis she had ever been in, but fortune always favored her in the end. He envisioned her sneaking about on the Skag, maybe even with a couple of other Epoch survivors that had avoided detection, searching for a boat to steal.

  Kettle snapped back to the present. They entered a mess hall and immediately had to step over two bodies in military uniform lying on the floor, hopefully unconscious rather than dead. One of the bodies twitched. Probably just unconscious.

  Once into the room, Kettle was able to survey the full chaos before him. Tables had been overturned, food was scattered across the floor, chairs had been flung all over the place, and most conspicuously, at least a dozen bodies littered the floor – they were mostly military, but one was definitely a cook. A fair amount of blood was coming from the cook’s leg, which had a knife stuck in it.

  At the far end of the room, three men and one woman were squatting behind a barricade made up of four overturned tables set end to end. They were keeping their heads low and seemed to be discussing their next move. They hadn’t yet noticed Commander Saris and his entourage.

  The focus of their attention was on the other side of their makeshift barricade. Saeliko stood before them like a warrior goddess in a hospital smock.

  “Hooooooly shit,” Dallas and Soup said in unison.

  Kettle laughed. He shouldn’t have, but he did. Haley contained herself.

  Saeliko had blood smattered across her face, which only partially concealed the interlocking tattoos that testified to her upbringing. More blood rand own her arms and stained her smock. A hastily fashioned cloth belt ran around her waist and pinned a taser to her hip. In her right hand, she held a piece of metal pipe over a meter in length, wielding it in the same threatening manner she would a bladed weapon. It was a poor substitute for her scimitar, but Kettle pitied anyone who had gotten within striking range. Strapped to her left arm like a Viking shield was a broken piece of table, its outward facing surface blackened and smoking in three places.

  The Saffisheen harker was simultaneously growling and smiling, occasionally banging her pipe against her shield in challenge.

  “Wait here,” Kettle told Commander Saris.

  “You’re not the one giving orders.”

  “If you don’t want to be beaten to a pulp, stay here,” Kettle amended and then strode forward before the commander could offer a retort. Haley and the two Marines followed.

  “Stand down,” Kettle yelled at the four individuals behind the barricade. “Stand down!” he repeated when they looked back and saw the Earthlings approaching. “We’ll take it from here.” Relief flooded their faces. They weren’t eager to continue the engagement.

  “Haley!” Saeliko called out despite the fact that Kettle was leading the way. Fair enough; in Saeliko’s world, women came first. “And the rest of you lot!” she added. “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m happy to see your stupid, useless faces.”

  “Aye, harker,” Haley fired back. “Good to see you, too. But you have to stop this.”

  “They started it.”

  “I somehow doubt that.”

  “They took my clothes and strapped me to a table.”

  “You were in a medical ward,” Haley explained. “They were . . . Oh, it doesn’t matter. Saeliko, this is important. Did you kill anyone yet?”

  She took a moment to brush back some of her long hair that had plastered itself to the sticky crimson on one cheek. “Don’
t think so. Made some of them squeal a lot though.” She grinned. “Broke someone’s leg a while back. And I might have popped a doctor’s testicle.”

  “What? Oh, God. Why would you . . .”

  “That’s okay,” Kettle interjected. “As long as you haven’t killed anyone.”

  “Where are we?” Saeliko asked. “This isn’t Karramoor.”

  “Karramoor?

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, did you think . . . you were dead?”

  “We’re not then?”

  “Dead?”

  “Dead.”

  “No, we’re not dead. We’re all very much alive and kicking.”

  “Well, that’s good news. We need to go back then.”

  “To the Sollian? No, we can’t go back.”

  “Oh, yes. We have to. No choice. I have to murder Janx.”

  “She’s dead,” Haley called out.

  “Huh?”

  “Janx is dead.”

  “How?”

  “Kettle killed her. Stuck a cutlass through her ribcage.”

  She looked at him, confused but impressed. “You’ll have to tell me about that. In detail.”

  Kettle walked around the barricade where the four guards were still huddled and came within a couple paces of the Saffisheen, fully aware that he was potentially putting himself in harm’s way. He felt confident that she wouldn’t strike, but it was still like climbing into a cage with a tiger.

  “You’re not dead, and these people aren’t your enemy,” he assured her.

  “How do they speak Maelian? Why does everyone around here speak Maelian?”

  “They don’t.”

  “But the doctor was talking to me in . . . Oh. Oh!” Saeliko reached up to feel the back of her neck.

  “You won’t find anything there,” Kettle told her.

  “What did they do to me?”

  “Minor surgery. They installed a decoder at the base of your brain. They did the same thing for the rest of us. Pulled off the old external ones for Haley and me, and then they gave us new ones. They gave you immunization shots as well to make sure you don’t get sick.”