The Eternity War: Pariah

by Jamie Sawyer

  “Desist,” the voice repeated.

  Still dripping cryogen, the alien towered over me. Its digitigrade legs quivered, head slightly cocked.

  I tried to let go of the power-wrench, but my fingers wouldn’t budge. I was already calculating how best to land the next blow, this time with enough force to break the xeno’s skull…

  “You see?” Skinner said. “Despite my seclusion, I have retained my sense of humour. Sergeant Byers isn’t the only one capable of theatrics.”

  “Please, Dr. Skinner,” Sergkov said, “was that really necessary?”

  “They’re on our side now,” Skinner said. His shadow lingered beside the Krell bio-form, and I was aware of him even if I couldn’t focus on anything but the alien. The Krell: that was all that mattered. The doctor drew a hand over the xeno’s still-wet shoulder, where it had sprouted the tertiary pair of limbs. “My apologies. I do hope that the lieutenant and sergeant aren’t too shaken by the ordeal…”

  I swallowed. Looked back at Zero. She was on her feet again, and staring at the alien in a mixture of amazement and terror. It was an expression I’d seen painted on her features before, pretty much every time we talked about the Krell.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “Fine,” Zero muttered, voice sounding reed-weak. “I’m fine.”

  “Are you insane?” I said to Skinner, waving the power-wrench. “Letting a Krell bio-form loose on this station! We have no frequency-beacons—”

  “Unnecessary,” Skinner said. “As you can see, this bio-form knows full well the difference between human and Krell.”

  The alien’s eyes scanned me impassively.

  “Time for another introduction,” Skinner continued. “Lieutenant Jenkins and Sergeant Campbell, of the Jackals, meet Pariah, of the Krell.”

  “We are allies,” came a harsh electronic voice.

  I laughed. Actually laughed. The voice, I realised, was coming from the Krell.

  “Do not be alarmed,” Sergkov said. “This Krell is different. This was why we have come to North Star.”

  As I finally managed to get my heartbeat under control, I noticed just how different this specimen was. A metal box was grafted to the alien’s thorax, fused to its flesh. That looked like a speaker unit, and I assumed that was what the alien spoke from. The contraption looked suspiciously like back-street bio-technology, a close relation to the machinery Carmine had instead of a leg.

  “As Pariah says,” Skinner explained, “it is an ally.”

  “I’d say that was a good thing,” I said, “but it really isn’t.”

  “She doesn’t mean it,” Skinner said, turning to the xeno.

  “It’s a fish head,” I said. “Do you think it gives a shit about what I think?”

  “Lieutenant!” Sergkov admonished. “That isn’t appropriate terminology.”

  “We do not understand ‘fish,’” the Krell said.

  Like most Krell, its posture was hunched, but while its physiology was familiar, there were subtle differences too. The head was larger, finned. A trio of nerve-staples—like Novak’s prison studs—marked the alien’s temple.

  “Comparing the Pariah to a typical Krell war-form is like comparing a dolphin to a shark,” Skinner said. “You must understand exactly what this specimen represents: the synthesis of Alliance and Krell bio-technology. It’s a directed adaptation of the Krell genotype, Lieutenant.”

  While I’d never seen a dolphin or a shark in real life—the West Coast’s ecosystem hadn’t supported that sort of wildlife since before my grandparents died—I’d seen plenty of pictures. When I was growing up, the education centre had been keen to explain that such things had once existed in Old Earth’s oceans, and I’d seen enthrallingly realistic tri-D footage of both. I vaguely remembered, in fact, that dolphins weren’t even fish, but I could well recall the intelligence that lurked in their features. Looking at the deep, black eyes of the Krell bio-form, I saw something like that here. The face carried some sort of dignity with it, like warped alien royalty. I wasn’t at all sure whether I liked it.

  “Project Pariah started a long time ago,” Skinner explained. “It was the reason that I left Simulant Operations. High Command and Science Division originally intended to make contact with the Krell Collective during the war, when things looked most desperate. However, the work took longer than anticipated.”

  “We were created to make contact,” the creature said. Its mouth didn’t move when it spoke, but every now and again the thing’s thin lips would twitch and a clicking noise—alien echolocation—would emit from its throat. “We are alone.”

  “The Krell…”—Sergkov paused as though searching for the right word in Standard—“ donated a number of specimens to Science Division. It has taken significant resources, but the pariah-forms are the result. I’d remind you that what you’re seeing here is highly classified. Project Pariah is a black op.”

  “So this is how Command makes contact with the Krell?” Zero asked, the hesitancy thick in her voice. “Using these creatures as a bridge?”

  Skinner gave a small shrug. “It is more complicated than a single bridge, but that is the basic principle. The Krell Collective mind is like a massive, organic computer,” he said. “Sci-Div has effectively extracted a single node from that network, and the pariah-forms are the result. The Krell have a form of deep comms—a sort of telepathy, as part of the Collective mind. Individuality is not only frowned upon, but it’s dangerous.”

  “How did you make it talk?” I asked, still incredulous.

  “The pariahs are created from a mixture of DNA,” Skinner explained. “The result is a hybrid, if you will. It’s a bridge, but with limitations. The Krell don’t comprehend language as such, but pariahs are unique bio-forms. Because they still carry deeply ingrained biological imperatives, in the right circumstances they could act as a gateway to the rest of the species.” The doctor sighed. “We’ve only been able to unlock a very small amount of information contained in the alien’s head—in every cell of its body.”

  “Why don’t we just ask it what happened to the Hannover?” I said, assuming that Skinner probably knew about our mission. “Hey, Pariah, what did your buddies do with our ship?”

  The Krell bristled. A ganglia of barbels drooped from its mouth, and they flared angrily. “We are not of Red Fin Collective.”

  “Right, right, of course not. That would be far too easy.”

  “The Pariah is coming with us,” Sergkov said. “As is Dr. Skinner. They will assist us with the next stage of this operation.”

  “You have got to be shitting me…” I said. Turned to the alien. “It’s a Krell!”

  I saw a dark ripple under the xeno’s musculature, and wondered if that was a deliberate show of force, so that we knew just how easy it would be for the alien to escape from the lab.

  “You’re going to have to tell Captain Carmine about this,” I said to Sergkov.

  “She will do as ordered,” Sergkov said, crossing his arms. “It’s your reaction that surprises me. I had rather hoped that you might take the long view of this mission. Don’t forget that I’m in charge here, Lieutenant. You’re a Military Intelligence asset now. You, also, will follow orders.”

  I glared at Sergkov. “There are orders, and then there are orders. The whole crew deserves to know what they’re getting into.” I nodded at Zero. “Sergeant, I want constant surveillance on the Krell, and any change in its behaviour reported to me immediately.”

  The sheen of sweat on Zero’s forehead was visible even in the low light. “Definitely.”

  “Our first priority is to secure the pariah-form aboard the Santa Fe,” Sergkov said. “As well as assemble Dr. Skinner’s laboratory.”

  “I’ve already packed up what I can,” Skinner said, shuffling around the nearest bench. “Many of the other specimens donated by the Krell proved non-viable. They can be disposed of.”

  I noted Skinner’s use of the word “donated,” echoing Sergkov’s. It made me ques
tion whether this had been a voluntary act by the Krell. The whole set-up reeked of an off-the-books, illegal project: the sort of operation that the Alliance might want to deny ownership or knowledge of at any time. But those thoughts were put to bed when I got a closer look into the unopened cryo-capsules… The Pariah’s kin, I thought. The Krell in those capsules were the stuff of nightmares, and they didn’t look like they had been created with much more than horror in mind.

  Skinner caught me looking, and smiled. “Not all of my experiments have gone to plan, but needs must.”

  Sergkov was eager to get the mission back on track, and asked, “How long will it take to pack up your equipment?”

  “A few hours,” Skinner said. His eyes lingered on the failed experiments a little longer than was natural. “Maybe less. I have a cargo-loading droid around here somewhere…”

  The doctor shambled into shadow, the pariah-form following after him like a loyal hound. Sergkov watched him go.

  “Sergeant Campbell isn’t right for this,” I said under my breath.

  Sergkov regarded me coolly. “We can’t always choose the assets that we have to work with, Lieutenant. You know that better than most.”

  I took that to mean the Jackals. “At least none of them are xenos…”

  “Is there a point to your insubordination?”

  “Zero has a deep-seated fear of the Krell. There are warning markers on her service record. Making her work with one of them—it isn’t right.”

  Zero stood close behind me. I could hear her breathing, heavy and frightened. In that instant, she was an eight-year-old girl again, and I wanted to do everything I could to get her out of here.

  “Do you think that any of us wants to ‘work with one of them,’ Lieutenant?” Sergkov asked.

  “Of course not.”

  “Then understand that I don’t care what the sergeant’s problem is, and that I want the Santa Fe loaded with Dr. Skinner’s laboratory equipment within the next six hours.”

  At that moment, my wrist-comp pinged with an incoming message. RIGGS, DANEB. What the hell did he want?

  “Go and assemble the Jackals,” Sergkov said. “Prep them for the loading process.”

  I nodded. “Copy that.”

  Zero went to follow after me, but Sergkov waved her down. “Not you, Sergeant. I want you to stay here. Your scientific knowledge will no doubt speed Dr. Skinner’s evacuation from North Star.”

  Zero looked at me, then at Sergkov. I could read the pain in her face. “Yes, sir,” she said.

  “You don’t have to stay, Zero.”

  “I’m good. Promise.”

  “Make sure that you are. No more tricks, Sergkov.”

  I turned and stalked out of the lab, glad to put the wretched place behind me.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  OLD RIVALRIES

  “So let me get this straight,” Riggs said, with an exaggerated frown. “We’ve come all the way to the edge of human space for a talking fish?”

  I probably should’ve rebuked Riggs for his insolence, but he was only saying what I was thinking. I had explained the whole Christo-damned mess, just because it seemed so insane that it couldn’t be real. The Jackals had listened dutifully, resisting the urge to comment until I’d finished the story.

  “That’s about the size of it,” I said.

  I’d tracked the Jackals down to a bar in North Star’s visitors’ sector. The establishment was occupied by a selection of the Drift’s famous explorers: a bunch of off-duty prospectors still in vac-suits, and some civvie pilots wearing aviator gear. The air stank of disinfectant and piss—a particularly disagreeable combination, which I nonetheless willingly drank in simply because it was a good deal more pleasant than the smell of Dr. Skinner’s laboratory. I could still taste that at the back of my throat, in every fibre of my fatigues.

  “And are you all right now?” Riggs asked. “You’re shaking.”

  I hadn’t even realised until Riggs had pointed it out, but my hands were tremoring hard enough that everyone around the table could see it. I felt a lot like I did after a firefight, the adrenaline crash finally coming down on me.

  “I’m okay,” I said. Swallowed. “Major Sergkov says that it’s safe.” I was struggling to keep the image of the Krell—vaulting from its cryogenic capsule—out of my mind. “So far as those things are ever safe.”

  “But it’s…” Riggs said, waving his hands around and searching for the right word, before settling on, “a fish head. And it actually spoke? Not just, you know, did that weird comms thing?”

  “It spoke. I know what I saw, what I heard.”

  “I’m not doubting you,” Riggs said, shaking his head. “But this … this is big.”

  “I didn’t think that they could do that,” Lopez said. “Have you ever seen one do that before?”

  “Of course she hasn’t,” Feng said. “The XTs don’t talk. That’s kind of the point.”

  “Just asking,” Lopez said. “Who died and made you the expert on fishes all of a sudden? You’ve seen, what, three of them back at Daktar?”

  “I’ve seen pictures,” Feng said, “and Krell tactical training was just one of the many things that I was born with already planted in my head.” Feng bit his lip, and then proceeded to ask the question that had been on his mind since my arrival in the bar. “So you left Zero down there with the major?”

  There was just a hint of accusation in his tone.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I did. She’s under orders just like the rest of us.”

  Feng nodded but I could tell he wasn’t happy with that answer. How much did Feng know about Zero’s background, about what had happened to her? I doubted that she had told him very much. Her history was a closed book: something that she preferred not to discuss until you really got to know her. If she had told Feng … Well, that meant their relationship—or whatever was happening between them—had moved on to a whole other level.

  “Can I get you folks anything else?” asked the bartender. He was hovering around the edge of our table, trying his best to avoid clashing with Novak’s drone.

  “More drinks,” I said.

  After the Fleshsmith’s dirty trick with the pariah-form, I desperately needed a pick-me-up. And that was regardless of Major Sergkov’s order to evacuate Skinner’s lab.

  “Anything particular?” the barman asked with faux politeness.

  “Anything alcoholic will do,” I said, slapping a universal credit chip down on the table. “Enough for my squad.”

  The tender was tall and whip-thin, wearing a worn grey vest that exposed veiny arms, tattoos that had faded to the point of near invisibility. He grinned at me, with a mouthful of gem-studded teeth. “You got some proper money, I can get you anything…”

  When the credit chip hit the table, eyes and ears swivelled in our direction, money a homing beacon. Novak raised an eyebrow at a hooker poised over the bar—a woman dressed in a pair of red silk panties and not much else—and she began to saunter over to us.

  “We’re all good, thanks,” I intervened.

  The woman sucked her teeth at me, nodded at Novak. “You his keeper or something?”

  “No, but I am his CO, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Whatever.”

  The woman had the skin-tone of station-bred, an unpleasant pallor that she shared with the bartender. She turned back to the bar.

  Novak grunted in disapproval at my intervention. “Maybe I make decision, yes? Is long time on ship…”

  “You don’t even have money, Novak,” I said. “I imagine your friend over there would be less than pleased when she discovered that.”

  “Does the drone have to watch if you go through with it?” Riggs asked. “Reminds me of an old joke: a Russian, a Chino, and a Proximan walk into a bar…”

  Novak slumped back into his chair. He gazed longingly at the table of beer bottles, all out of reach according to his terms of service.

  “I thought that Gaians weren’t supposed to eat o
r drink anything that isn’t from Earth?” Feng said, nodding at Riggs’ bottle of beer.

  Riggs pulled a face. “You got it, but what can I say? I’m a bad Gaian. In a place like this, who knows where the shit comes from…”

  “I really do not like it here,” Lopez said, rubbing her arms across her chest as though she was trying to make herself look small. “I think I’d rather wait on the ship, if it’s all the same.”

  I shook my head. “No can do, kemo sabe. You’re staying put. This is team building. We have six hours until loading, and Captain Carmine can sort out the niceties. We’re Army, after all, not Navy.”

  “Yeah, about Carmine,” Riggs said. “That was why I commed you.”

  “Go on.”

  “I can’t get through to her. The comms grid seems to be down.”

  “That’s hardly surprising for a place like this,” Lopez said.

  Loading could wait, I decided. I was still too damned wired to worry about the next stage of the mission, and I needed something to blot out the still-fresh memory of Dr. Skinner’s hall of horrors. The bartender placed a tray of drinks on the table, in glasses that looked as though they hadn’t been washed in a very long time.

  Riggs held up a drink. “To the Jackals,” he said.

  The whole group drank, except for Novak. I felt the sickly sour flavour hit my taste buds.

  “Christo…” I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “This stuff really is awful.”

  “Feels good to get off the ship,” Feng said. He rubbed his face. “I don’t think that Captain Carmine likes me much.”

  “Carmine doesn’t like anyone much,” I said, “but she’s one of the good guys. Trust me on this; if it comes to a fight, we’ll want her on our side. She’s okay. I’ll change her mind.”

  “And how, may I ask,” said Lopez, “is the mighty Keira Jenkins going to do that?”

  “I was Lazarus Legion,” I said. “I was a Legionnaire. I have my ways.”

  The Lazarus Legion was my former outfit, where I’d cut my teeth as a simulant operator. I felt an uncomfortable lump forming in my throat as I said those words. Thinking of the Legion brought back a wave of memories. Sitting in a bar, drinking, shooting the shit … The Lazarus Legion had been the most successful squad in Simulant Operations, and it had been with the Legion—under my former commanding officer, Conrad Harris—that I had learnt my trade as an operator.