Finality

by Amy Cross

  I open my mouth to reply, but finally I pause for a moment. The truth is, I'd usually trust Amanda without hesitation, but this time I can't help thinking that she's bitten off more than she can chew. She's in the heart of Supreme Command, and right now she's probably being subjected to horrific reprogramming procedures. I can barely imagine what she'll be like once they're finished with her, but I'm damn sure she won't be the same person she was in the old days. Then again, I don't have a better idea.

  "So you think we should go into deep space?" I say after a moment, turning to Deborah. "You think we should infiltrate Supreme Command and try to get ourselves posted out there?"

  "It's the best option," she replies.

  Sighing, I realize that she's right: this is the best option. It's also suicidal, and I doubt it's going to work. Then again, with the weight of the entire rebellion on our shoulders, I guess we don't have much choice. We have to at least try to help Amanda, and even if things don't work out, we can always hope to come up with a back-up plan. The fight is too important to abandon, and we need to make a stand. For better or for worse, this is our only option. I could turn and run, but then I'd just spend the rest of my life safe in the knowledge that I'm a coward.

  "You want me to go, don't you?" I say eventually. "You want me to go to deep space and wait for her."

  I wait for one of them to reply, but it's already painfully obvious that I'm right. They've decided that I'm the perfect person to wait for Amanda and then shepherd her toward the right path. I guess I should be flattered, but there's one problem; I have no desire whatsoever to be a hero. In fact, the idea horrifies me. Unfortunately, it's clear that I'm in the minority. The plan is so insane, so completely out of this world, I can't help feeling that some people might think it has a chance of working. The worst part is, those people are sitting right here, staring at me and waiting for me to agree with them.

  Part Five

  Shapes

  Prologue

  Ten years ago

  The pain arcs through her mind, obliterating everything else.

  Secured to the operating table, with thick metal bands around her wrists and ankles, she cries out. Although she twists and turns, desperately trying to get free, she has no chance; her tormentors have waited too long, and the wait has allowed them to plan this procedure with absolute precision.

  "Eighty-four," says one of the surgeons, keeping his eyes fixed on the monitor. "Eighty-five. Remember, eighty-eight is the cut-off. Any more than that and we fry her."

  "I'm willing to go as high as ninety," says one of his colleagues.

  "Impossible. She'd die."

  "Tests show they can endure up to ninety-two. If we keep the levels too low, we risk having to repeat the procedure, and I don't think any of us wants to end up back here."

  "She's holding steady," says the nurse. "Heart-rate is within acceptable parameters". He turns to the others. "She's as strong as an ox."

  "Of course she is," the first surgeon replies. "Say what you like about her politics, but she's in peak physical condition. These people sure as hell know how to look after themselves."

  On the table, she lets out another anguished scream. With her eyes squeezed tight shut and her face contorted into a rictus of agony, she has several wires attached to her forehead, while a tube has been inserted into her neck to ensure that she's still able to breathe while the procedure is being carried out. A saline solution is being pumped into her right wrist, mixed with a little iodine to ensure that her blood pressure can be manipulated if necessary. Although they don't care about her level of pain, her tormentors know that they'd all be executed immediately if they let her die.

  "Eighty-six," says the first surgeon, still watching the monitor. "How's her heart?"

  "Still good," the nurse replies. "I don't think I've ever seen someone hold up so well."

  "I'm almost impressed," the second surgeon adds. "If it wasn't for the fact that she's tried to kill us all multiple times, I think I'd be quite fond of her. The human body can put up with so much punishment, but this is an extreme case. She must have been conditioning herself for years, probably so she could withstand something like this."

  "No chance," the first surgeon says with a smile.

  "Intermittent heart fluctuations," the nurse says. "I think we might be looking at a peak point in the next thirty seconds."

  "Everyone ready," the first surgeon says, grabbing the main conductor leads and carrying them over to the top of the table. "Given her condition, we're probably only looking at thirty seconds here, so we need to get the job done properly. She's in good shape, but let's not forget that she's still human and we -"

  Before he can finish, the girl lets out one final gasp before her body falls still.

  "Heart's stopped," the nurse says. "Go!"

  After attaching the conductors leads to the girl's head, the first surgeon hurries to the main control panel and lifts the safety shield. He glances back over at the table one final time, just to make sure that everyone else has cleared the area, and finally he throws the switch. The main generator unit immediately begins to whine as it builds up its static charge, ready for release at any moment.

  "Good luck," the first surgeon mutters under his breath, staring at the girl's calm face. "Where you're going, you're gonna need it."

  With that, he flicks the final switch, delivering a massive burst of static load directly into the girl's head. Her body immediately begins to shudder with such violence that both her wrists break as the manacles continue to hold her down. Seconds later, she opens her mouth and lets out a pained gasp, accompanied by a thin, barely visible plume of smoke. She continues to shake for a few more seconds, and finally there's a snapping sound from her right ankle as the force of the vibration causes another bone to break.

  "And we're done," the first surgeon says, flicking a switch that immediately deactivates the generator.

  The girl's body falls still again.

  "Heart-rate is climbing," the nurse says, keeping his eye on the scanner.

  "She opened her eyes," the second surgeon adds.

  "Impossible," his colleague replies.

  "I'm telling you," he continues, "she opened her eyes. Just for a second, but I'm sure of it."

  "She can't have done," the first surgeon says firmly. "Not only would it be neurologically impossible, but with the force she was under, her eyeballs would probably have come out of the sockets if they had the chance. Trust me, I've seen the results of a few experiments."

  "I know what I saw," the second surgeon continues, walking over to the table and looking down at the girl's face. "It was only brief, and it wasn't all the way, but they definitely opened for a few seconds." He pauses. "Believe me, I'm fully aware that it shouldn't happen, but it did." He turns to the others. "What do you think it means? Do we need to run the procedure again?"

  "We'll note it on her chart," the first surgeon replies, "but I see no reason not to hand her over so the conditioning can start. If her eyes opened, it can't have been anything more than a brief reflex action. Her heart was stopped and her brain was in shock, so there's no way any kind of consciousness can have survived so far into the procedure. Let's not get carried away here. She's an impressive specimen, but she's still human. There's no way her old personality could have survived." He starts to unhook the wires from her head. "We've done our work. She's a blank slate now, ready for the real artists to get to work. If there's a problem, they'll send her back to us, but I'm confident it won't be necessary."

  Reaching down to the girl's face, he brushes the matted, sweaty hair from across her face.

  "Her old personality is dead," he continues. "Time to introduce a whole new one."

  Ten years later

  Chapter One

  Crizz

  As the dream ends, I realize I'm screaming.

  Sitting up in my bunk, I take a deep breath and listen to the silence in the room. I'm pretty sure the scream was confined to the dream, but for a moment I'
m worried that Sutter might come running in to ask what's wrong. After a few seconds, however, I realize I can hear him shuffling about in the control room, and I allow myself to relax a little. The details of the dream are already slipping away, so all I can remember now is that I was being pinned down and someone was reaching into my mind.

  It felt very real.

  "This isn't going to hurt too much," a female voice kept saying in the dream. "Even if it does, you won't remember the pain, so it'll be like it never happened."

  I remember screaming as I tried to get free, but steel manacles were holding me down. I swear, it's more like a memory than a dream.

  "She's gonna be a tough one," a male voice said.

  "Good," the woman replied. "I like a challenge."

  I pause, hoping that the rest of the dream might come back to me, but I guess I have to admit defeat. Whatever it was, it wasn't important; just the fearful ravings of an undisciplined mind. They told us back at the academy that nightmares were a sign of weakness. I'll stop having them eventually.

  Realizing that I'm never going to be able to get back to sleep, I check the time and see that I only have another forty minutes until I'm due to relieve Sutter. Hauling myself out of the bunk, I strip out of my night clothes before opening the steamer, removing a fresh uniform, and shoving my pajamas inside so they'll be ready again in twelve hours. I head over to the sonic cleansing unit in the corner and hit the button, and after a moment I feel thousands of high-intensity sonic waves passing over my naked body. Within a couple of seconds I'm clean, so I step back into my uniform and - finally - I turn and stare at myself in the mirror.

  Every day.

  This is what I do every single day, and there's no hope of change for at least four years, when - if I'm lucky - I might be cycled off this damn station and end up in a more active role. These deep space stations are well known to be mentally challenging, but that's why they send newly-graduated cadets out here: to test us, and to see if we've got the fortitude to survive extreme conditions.

  No wonder people lose their minds.

  Then again, there's one thing that's a little different today.

  Heading over to the small porthole next to my bunk, I peer out at the vast star-field. At first, I don't see anything unusual, but finally I spot a small white dot moving steadily toward us. It's right on time, having scheduled its journey across the void with expert precision, and since I'm up a little early I figure I have time to watch. After a few minutes, it's possible to pick out a distinct shape to the dot, and finally I can't help but smile as the cargo ship begins to sail past us just a few hundred meters away, headed for the surface of Io-5.

  People.

  Finally, other people.

  I watch as the ship slowly moves toward the planet. It veers to the port side as it approaches the upper atmosphere, and the huge ion engines fire intermittently as it steers itself onto a descent trajectory. I've never watched the delicate maneuvering of a deep space vessel before, especially not as it approaches a planet, and there's something curiously compelling about the spectacle; those ships are so large and bulky, so awkward in size and shape, that it's hard to believe they could ever be piloted with such precision. Nevertheless, whoever's in control of the damn thing, they're guiding it down toward the surface with expert care. The crazy thing is, there's a part of me that wants to have that role one day, to pilot a ship through the vast reaches of space with only myself for company.

  It'd be less lonely than being stuck on this station with Sutter.

  "Hey!" he calls out from the control room. "Did you forget to set your alarm? We've got a visitor!"

  "Coming!" I shout back, keeping my eyes on the cargo ship as it heads down into the planet's atmosphere. These vessels are only scheduled to drop by every six months, so I figure I should get my money's worth. Closing my eyes, I try to imagine the day - many years from now, but still coming - when I'll just be visiting dead planets instead of orbiting them. I never, ever thought I'd be the kind of person to yearn for adventure, but being stuck here on the station is starting to eat away at me. I want to be out there among the stars, and I don't want anyone to hold me back or tell me what to do.

  Feeling a twinge of pain in my left wrist, I wince for a moment. Every morning, my wrists and my right ankle feel a little sore. It's not a big problem, but it's annoying and I wish I knew why it happened.

  "Crizz!" Sutter calls out. "I'm going to make a few more quick fixes to the comm-link, so I need you to prep the lander. Think you can do that?"

  Sighing, I turn and head through to the control room. Somehow, Sutter manages to turn even big events into a series of small, dull routines. I bet he didn't even look out the window as the cargo ship passed.

  Chapter Two

  Sutter

  "Over," I say, whispering into the microphone before pausing for a moment.

  Nothing.

  Just static.

  "This is Io-5 sub-station commander Nick Sutter," I say again, "calling Jupiter-class mining vessel C-150. Acknowledge contact, please. Over."

  I wait, but there's still nothing more than static.

  "Tom," I continue with a sigh, "don't be an ass."

  "Hey," a voice says finally, bursting through the noise, "how you doing, old man? Still sticking to the rules?"

  "They exist for a reason," I remind him, even though I know I sound like the kind of bureaucrat I used to hate at the academy. "Can you confirm -"

  "All readings are fine," he replies, clearly not taking the planetary approach routine too seriously. "Don't you think I'd have mentioned it if there was a problem? These creaky old tubs never break down, man. They just keep plugging along. You know it's all on auto-pilot, right? I could drop dead right here at the controls and the damn ship'd just keep on going for years before anyone had to intervene. You ever hear that story about -"

  "Stories are for children," I point out, interrupting him. "I need you to concentrate on your approach to the rig. Did you ever hear the story about the cargo ship that crashed on Plenitude-5? Some asshole at the controls wasn't paying attention, and the ship plowed straight into the ground. It took them almost a decade to clean up the mess and get the mining operation back up and running."

  "At least they weren't bored," he replies.

  "Good point," I mutter with a sigh. "Go ahead, then. Crash. Give us something to worry about."

  I wait for a reply, but all I hear is static.

  "So are you are you two coming down?" he asks after a moment, and this time there's a new tone to his voice. "I mean, that's kinda the idea, right? I park up, you two pop by for a quick natter while the ship's filling up. I hope you're not planning to hide her away up there in that little station of yours, Nick. I know how protective you can get when you're working on a project."

  "She's preparing the lander," I tell him. "We'll be with you in less than an hour."

  "And how is she? Still -"

  "She's fine."

  "But is she getting better?" he asks. "Your progress reports haven't exactly been full of detail, man. We were starting to think they were getting lost in the ether."

  "She's improving slowly," I continue. "There are flashes of her old self here and there, but mostly..." I pause for a moment. "Just be prepared to be surprised," I add finally. "She's more different than you might be expecting, and she had a case of Hidden Eye Syndrome a few weeks ago. Whatever you do, don't start trying to push her into remembering anything. We need to ease her back to us."

  "Crizz, right?" he continues. "That's what they're calling her?"

  "Great name, huh?" I mutter. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. She won't be using it for much longer."

  "Whatever you say, boss," he replies. "I guess they put you in charge for a reason."

  "Damn straight," I tell him. "Now get on with your job and land that pile of junk at the rig. We'll be down in about an hour and you can see how things are going for yourself. Don't forget why you're here, though. It's not just a social call. We
're -"

  "I'm sorry about Deborah," he says suddenly.

  I pause.

  "That's all I wanted to say," he adds. "I know you and her... I'm sorry, man. Even with the way things have to be, it can't have been easy, especially having to sit around for weeks by yourself."

  "There's no point fussing over it now," I reply. "It is what it is. Let's just get on with the task at hand. It's what she would have wanted."

  I wait for him to reply, but after a moment I realize that he's closed the comm-link. Sighing, I switch the transmitter back to its usual frequency and replace the panel. Of all the people they could have sent to check up on us, Tom is pretty much the last person I've have wanted. Then again, he knew Amanda as well as anyone, and I can't deny that he's well-placed to assess her progress. I'm pretty sure he'll be surprised, though. Crizz is a strong personality, and she won't be easy to displace.

  Her real mind is buried far too deep.

  Chapter Three

  Crizz

  "Impressive, isn't it?" Sutter says as we climb down from the lander. "Sometimes, spinning around up there in the station, it's easy to forget what's going on here on the surface."

  He's right. The rig is a huge industrial facility embedded in the rock close to Io-5's northern pole. A large metal dome covers the main rig components, while mainline pipes run from the dome's sides and dig down toward the planet's core, controlling a massive network of underground pipes and tunnels that house the automated mining units. Io-5 is one of this quadrant's most significant sources of methane-hydrozone, a gas that helps power ion engines, so extra resources were invested in this project in order to ensure that there could never be any kind of breakdown. Day after day, the rig fills up with riches, and twice a year it gets emptied by a cargo ship.