Then, he had the sensation of being dragged backwards and upwards, as if on an invisible skyhook. Towards the cross.
“Don’t worry.” The woman said. “We can’t open fire – we need the Sphere back. It’s Vanitar technology, and we can’t build any more.” She paused, and added. “Or maybe you should worry. I don’t believe your own life is anywhere near as valuable.”
He’d had a brief and terrifying experience of being “locked in” once, during basic training on Mars. Someone hadn’t sealed a valve, and paralysis gas had leaked throughout his barracks. He’d spent five unbearable hours of being fully conscious yet unable to move a muscle, urine spreading underneath him in a puddle, before an antidote had been airdropped in from Deimos.
This was exactly like that.
He’d lost control of the Sphere. It wouldn’t respond to his thoughts. He was a bird with its wings cut off, a finless fish.
The light grew in intensity until he had to close his eyes, and the light was still bright enough to scar a lucent pathway into his brain. Finally, when he could bear no more, he heard the thunderous whoosh of a closing hatch, and the light dimmed.
He opened his eyes, and looked around.
He was in a circular room, edged with metal. There were two other people there. A short but imposing woman with long blonde hair spoke, and he recognized her as the voice in his head.
“Eject the pilot.”
He was about to inquire as to what that meant, when suddenly the tentacles were painfully sucking their way out of his flesh, extricating from him, until his extrasensory perception went dark and he was left with only the usual human ones.
Then a hole in the silver metallic surface of the Sphere appeared, and he was unceremoniously flung through it.
“Ummf.” He landed face-first on the ground, then stood up, unsteady and unsure on his legs again.
“Was Dedenki dead?” One of them asked. A gray haired man. “The pilot you took the Sphere from?”
“You know, it’s normally polite to open with ‘hello’.” Zelity said.
“Answer the question.” The man snarled. “This is a bad time and place to bullshit.”
“There was a dead body in that thing.” Zelity said. “I threw it out. The world was imploding out there. Sorry if funeral arrangements weren’t high on my priority list.”
A deadpan silence from the two people.
“What’s your name, offworlder?” The woman asked. Her voice was calm, but a calm about an inch deep.
These people were willing to kill. He knew this could turn ugly at any time.
“Uh,” he said, “Wake. Aaron Wake.”
The woman walked across the room to a computer terminal. She typed for a few seconds, then frowned. “You’re lying. Your name is Zelity. We have a contact on the station, and he keeps us posted with headshots.”
Zelity shrugged. “Look, I’d be more co-operative if I received some assurance of my own safety.”
The man rolled his eyes. “There’s nothing for you to co-operate on. We don’t want you, or need you. You just happened to be piloting a valuable piece of Vanitar technology.”
“Who are the Vanitar?”
Neither of them answered.
In the silence, he walked around the room, touching the walls, investigating it with hands and eyes. Nobody stopped him.
“So you’re the Spheres.”
“I believe that’s what you call us, yes.” The man said. He seemed to have the bearing of a leader.
“But you’re human.”
“Apparently so.”
“Up there, they think you’re some weird alien species.”
“And you think that we aren’t carefully engineering that perception? Anyway, you’re not entirely wrong.” The man said. “The Spheres are alien technology – we found them by sheer luck, along with a few other trinkets and toys. There’s a more to this planet than meets the eye.”
None of that made much sense to Zelity.
“Why haven’t you talked to us? And why the fuck are you killing us?”
“Yes, we apologise for that. An unfortunate series of errors.” The man had a talent for apologizing without sounding remotely sorry about anything. “The first attack on your scientists was unavoidable. You’d discovered the Doorway, the entrance to the Wipe that we’ve spent thirty years looking for. My daughter made a bad decision. She killed them.”
“I did polyflesh one of them. I gave us Nyphur, didn’t I?” The blonde woman asked. Zelity was suddenly struck by the facial resemblance between the two. Father and daughter.
“It was still unnecessary, Zandra. As was the attack you just performed against this man and his comrades.”
“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Zandra said. “One of their soldiers chased after me – how was I supposed to know what she was doing? I had to act in self-defense. And I polyfleshed her too – no harm done.”
“Polyfleshing? Is that what it sounds like?” Zelity asked. “Unbinding the enzyme chains in human cells and rearranging them to heal injuries? That’s suppose to be scientifically impossible. Was this something else you found on the planet? Another nice plate of leftovers from the Vanitar, whoever they are?”
“Evidently, the Vanitar achieved certain breakthroughs on that front, before they wiped themselves out.” The man said. “We aren’t geniuses, we’re just using whatever caches of their technology we find.”
“So how did you get here?”
The man now had a hint of humor in his eyes. “Thirty years ago I woke up on a Black Shift transport, just as you did, with no memories. The material I received about my past life horrified me – I was part of a global extinctionist movement on Terrus called the Sons of the Vanitar, and they wanted me to confirm the existence of a galaxy-destroying superweapon. I made the decision to go rogue, find the weapon, and disable it. We disappeared on the planet, and we’ve already had certain successes. The Spheres. The cloud-hidden fortress that you’re standing on now. Soon, I hope to make the ultimate discovery – The Wipe. Our success relies on secrecy. The Sons of the Vanitar cannot know that we are alive. Sometimes that means killing offworlders, sometimes destroying their memories.”
Zelity laughed out loud. “Murderers. And violators of minds. Do you lot ever look around and think ‘we’re the villains’? If this weapon exists, it’s better off in the control of the Solar Arm.”
“We do nothing that the Solar Arm does not do.”
“The Solar Arm doesn’t erase anyone’s memories.”
“A mountain of confidence resting a vapour. How do you know you’re really a soldier, Zelity? Because they told you so? Perhaps you’re a farmer who’s been hijacked and forced into conscription? What reason do you have to trust Black Shift, or the Solar Arm?”
“By that token,” Zelity said, “how do you know the Sons of the Vanitar even exist, or that there’s a weapon on this planet? Maybe some kid hacked their computer and doctored up some fake memories for you.”
“You think I haven’t worried about that for every picosecond of all the time I’ve been here? That’s why I was delighted when Nyphur and Golestani discovered what they did. Now I have some proof. Not just of the fact that Caitanya-9 is a weapon, but of everything. My life, I suppose.”
Zelity was struck by the sense that both of them were stalling for time. “You two are deciding what to do with me, aren’t you?”
Zandra smiled. “And I’ve just made up my mind. Father, can we keep him?”
“Keep me? Like I’m a pet?”
“The alternative is to drop you out in the wastes. You’ll stumble around for a few days until you die of thirst or get killed by a moon. I, for one, was impressed by how you handled that Sphere. You’re a natural. And we might need a familiar offworlder face if we’re to hoodwink them again.”
“You want me to betray my comrades.” He said.
“Oh, no. Your memory will be blanked, and replaced with the same generic set we gave to Nyphur. Y
ou won’t recognize any of them when you kill them.”
Zelity turned away, his face a rictus of unhappiness.
“So my options are…surrender to you, lose my memories, lose my soul, lose my identity, become one of your living, breathing automatons. Or…”
“…Or you can die in the desert. The choice is yours.”
Zelity was utterly exhausted. The events of the past twenty hours had been a cavalcade of nightmares. His body was scarred and aching for sleep.
But even so, he wasn’t stupid.
He knew that if he chose the second option, they’d probably just implant memories in him anyway. He’d never know.
The choice they offered him wasn’t a choice at all.
“I give up.” He snarled. “Do whatever you want with me.”
Zandra and Nyphur smiled at each other. “Pleasant to see wisdom prevail.” He said.
“Fuck you.”
“If we had time to explain, you’d realise how much is at stake. Individual choice is a golden calf – it’s nice, but we should never worship it. There are greater things.” The man said.
“Oh, and I apologizing for misleading you.” Zandra said.
“What?”
“We cannot implant memories unless your existing ones are gone from your head. The chemical states in your brain must be re-set to baseline. Meaning, we have to kill you. I’m sorry. This will be painful.”
After that, he had no time to react.
She drew a pistol from behind her back, and fired.
It tore a hole in his stomach, and instantly his entrails became a tangle of red-hot rivets. He screamed louder than he thought was possible. Agony washed through him, overwhelming him, overloading him, shutting him down before its all-encompassing fury.
He fell to the ground, thrashing and spasming. His vision rapidly turned black, as if the world was a fruit that was rotting.
His eyes rolled back his head, and he died.
Minutes later, he lived again.
He sat up, gasping and panting.
There were two strangers in front of him. A gray-haired man in his sixties, and a blonde woman who might have been thirty. They stared down at him in naked interest.
Where is this place? He started groping for answers, and found only more questions. How did I get here? Who am I?”
“What happened?” He stammered, eyes darting around the room.
“We’re sorry, Zelity.” The man said. “You slipped, and hit your head. Your memory has been affected. Thankfully, we made a backup. Please relax.
Then the woman was behind him, fitting a helmet over his head. He felt gentle stimulation, then colours and sensations began to flow.
He was born here.
He was a fighter. A rebel. A warrior born with a fist raised against the Solar Arm, and the vile death cult that controlled it.
Against this exultant backdrop, there was a single shouting voice. No…no…it’s all a lie…
He felt great. He felt fine. He was in control of his destiny.
You’re not fine…they’ve changed you…
The voice was getting quieter and quieter. Soon, it would be gone. Forgotten.
“Good to have you back with us, Zelity.” The man said, smiling and patting him on the shoulder.
The voice trailed away to an asymptote of madness. No…give my mind back…give it back…
Konotouri Delta – March 15, 2136 - 0700 hours
The prison door rasped open.
Wake raised his head, glaring at the light flooding in. He hated it, as if the light itself it was his jailer.
“Allow me to introduce myself, and also yourself.” An imposing silhouette split the light. “My name is Sarkoth Amnon, and yours is Andrei Kazmer. And this isn’t the first time you’ve stared at me from the wrong side of the law.”
Wake cleared his dazed head, wondering at the faint ripples of remembrance.
Amnon? Do I know you? Why do I think of sonic cannons when I hear that name?
“Even if I hadn’t purged your memory, you might have forgotten me.” Amnon said. “I changed my face. A decade ago I prepared a committee and just had them sort faces, thousands per day, for years. Attractive from unattractive. Active from passive. Honest from corrupt. Soon, I had a multidimensional Z-order index of nearly a million photos. Then, I gave them to a plastic surgeon, and set him to work on my entire cabinet. The head of my press bureau had her face altered to look like the most honest photo. The Minister of Defense received an aquiline nose, chisel-like cheekbones, the pugnacious jaw of a wrestler. For my part? Well, I like a bit of unmemorability. I took the face that most people forget. I like power. And power has to be invisible.”
Amnon came closer, breathing foul breath in Andrei’s face. He wanted to recoil. But he couldn’t move! Not so much as an inch back!
He was suspended six inches off the ground by a particle beam. His arms were spread out, as if crucified on crossbeams of empty air.
He’d been here for nearly a day.
Low risk prisoners were allowed a degree of range and movement as they came further towards (or further away from) the date of their trials and sentencing.
Having sent Professor Nyphur plus three of Konitouri’s security detail to the infirmary, Wake had demonstrated that he did not fall into that category.
He’d been detained here, at the outermost ring of the station. Ultimate destination unknown.
“Leave me alone.” He muttered.
“You should be eager for the voice of another human. Or perhaps that’s the problem, that you were born with a brain that regards the voices and opinions of humans as just another manifestation of wind – a passing, transient thing. Meaningless noise.”
“Go away.”
“As I’ve said, your real name is Andrei Kazmer. You were an evil man. Buried so deep in the filth and decay of a lifetime that I thought I’d clear all of it away, and give you a chance to escape. You think it was an accident that you woke up with no memories? Well, you’ve proven me. As soon as your memories were scraped away, you revealed that you were part of that filth and decay, that there was no dividing point where waste ended and Andrei Kazmer began. No baby in this particular bathwater. Just someone to be thrown on the nearest scrap-heap. There’s corruption in you, Andrei, and it goes all the way through. Not even the slightest bit of good!”
“JUST SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME!” He shouted against the invisible bonds that locked his jaw nearly shut. Veins pulsed at his neck.
Amnon looked entertained. Andrei felt rage beyond rage that there was nothing he could do to hurt him. He wanted to tear the gloating man limb from limb.
And he felt rage at himself.
That he was nothing more than a paramecium under the microscope, responding to the crudest stimuli.
‘I came here to give you a business proposal,” Amnon said. “I blanked your mind out once, and I will do it again. You know quite too much! But what would you prefer? To have the memories of Andrei Kazmer reinserted into your mind, and to spend the rest of your life serving his sentence? Or would you like to be reborn as a blank soldier, and put on the front lines of a battle, as were the counter-insurrectionists on Mars?”
“My choice…” Andrei said, his head swimming with the effort of trying to face Amnon manfully, rather than collapsing against the psionic bonds holding him upright. “My choice is that you turn around, lie down in the path of the automatic door, and crush your head with it, fat man.”
Amnon smiled. “Things are growing very interesting outside of this hole, Mr Kazmer. I have reason to suspect that Caitanya-9 is not a natural planet, but a weapon of war, built by a civilization that stands above man the way we do above insects. I will capture it, and control it. But there’s another presence on the planet that also seeks the Doorway – perhaps a native alien race, perhaps some human rebels. Either way, the stakes are high. There will be a battle, soon. And if you want, you can be in that battle.”
Amnon leaned in closer.
Andrei tried to escape through unconsciousness. Sometimes it worked. This time, it didn’t.
“How would you like to be in my infantry? The Spheres are deadly warriors, and casualties will be high. But that’s the best thing for you, isn’t it? You’ll wake up, charge in, and die a hero’s death. You’re a scumbag. I’m giving you a chance to become more than that – a splatter on the ground. Plus you’ll get a medal. What do you say?”
“Go to hell.”
“I am already there, and so are you.” Amnon said, his re-engineered face speaking of horrors. “We were born in hell, and only Caitanya-9 can we find heaven. With the planet under my control, I will use it to purify the Milky Way of the plague that rots.”
“You want to talk strategy, fat man.” Andrei snarled. “Do you know the Spheres possess the ability to clone people?”
“I know you possess the ability to have psychopathic delusions, Mr Kazmer.”
“On the planet, we found a piece of Professor Nyphur’s skull. Make no mistake, he died down there. The man walking around up here is an imposter.”
“Well, is that so?”
“Hell, maybe everyone on this station’s a Sphere. They’re too clever for you, too strong. You think you’re in control, but there are enemies all around. You’re going to get fucking pasted.”
Amnon giggled. “Fortunately for me, everyone’s already my enemy. Just the fact that something’s alive makes me want to kill it, even myself.”
The spurt of rebellion passed, leaving a gray and leaden exhaustion in Andrei’s limbs. “Just leave. Please.”
Black Shift (The Consilience War Book 1) Page 12