by Paul Collins
Nevertheless, Quesada was beating them back, slowly, yes, but inevitably. The war in space had become a war of patience, of attrition, and could end only one way.
The war on the ground was different.
It was brutal pandemonium with little doubt as to its outcome. It wasn’t that the Omegans had superior numbers, and that they fought with insane disregard for their own welfare. The deciding factor was simpler: terror.
The Omegans inspired sheer terror in all they met.
Realising this early in the conflict, Anneke had had a human-tailored viral neuronotic whipped up (viral ‘drones’ were always kept in readiness) and seeded over the battlefield. Symptoms included itchy eyes, slight rashes and sneezing – in other words, hay fever. Only this strand of hay fever implanted deep hypnotic suggestions into the reptilian part of the human brain, countermanding the instinctual fear that the Omegans induced.
Unfortunately, a sizeable percentage of casualties were coming down with ‘catatonic terror’.
Black had undoubtedly calculated this into his dreams of empire, had been counting on it.
Another sector blinked red.
Anneke shut her eyes. All she wanted was sleep.
Earlier, Anneke had called Lob Lotang to her side. He had been slumped on a divan at the back of the war room, his face drawn with pain. She thought he should go to bed, have his doctors tend to him, but he wouldn’t hear of it. He was dying, and wanted to make his life count. Soon, she knew, he would go somewhere private and seek his death, but until then …
‘What do you wish, Anneke?’ said Lotang, hopefully.
‘I have a small favour to ask. Would you check on Deema for me? She’s pretty excitable right now.’
‘Of course. And who can blame her?’ Lotang smiled. ‘I too would be happy to know my mother had been found.’
Lotang turned smartly and strode out of the room. He did not allow himself to slump until he was out of sight. Then he staggered, and would have fallen if he hadn’t thrust a hand hard against the nearest wall. He took several deep panting breaths, wiped the sweat from his face, and made his way to Deema’s apartment.
He had been the leader of an empire once – admittedly a middling one, and an empire of thieves and cutthroats – but he had always cherished his reputation for fair dealing and loyalty. He had never double-crossed anyone, never shot anyone in the back, and always accorded his enemies the respect he demanded from them.
It wasn’t much in light of current conflicts, but it was something.
And now he was dying, and had lost the woman he loved.
Not lost, he reminded himself bitterly. She is out there, even now – a monster …
He clenched and unclenched his fists. The pain in his heart was greater than the pain in his flesh.
Then all was driven from his mind. He found the apartment door open, Deema gone. He was about to call Anneke, but stopped. The room hadn’t been ransacked, and Black was gone – had another enemy penetrated the Fortress? Had Deema been kidnapped twice?
Unlikely.
Lotang used his field sensors to pick up residual ‘ghost’ movements in the room, a temporal reconstruction of events. It was patchy, like trying to hear a broken song in the midst of static. But the gist was that Deema had left of her own accord.
Which could mean only one thing.
There was no time to lose. Leaving the apartment, he stood for a moment in the corridor, thinking fast. Which way would a child go? A child who had been a slave, who was street smart, and determined. He called up a map of the Fortress and the city, plotting alternate routes to the Sentinel Consulate. Whichever way Deema went she must pass a ‘choke point’ or else risk venturing too near the hue and cry of battle.
Lotang hurried from the Fortress, avoiding the main route, which was clogged with troop movements and supplies. He emerged, fifteen minutes later, from the south-side gate, and struck out through the town, aiming for another section of the star-shaped Fortress where the wall angled sharply and ran southeast before curving back to the north.
Lotang had taken the viral neuronotic, though his doctors had told him not to. His immune system, they said, could not handle the extra load; but without it, he could not go into battle.
It was just as well.
Within minutes of leaving the dubious safety of the wall, he encountered three Omegans creeping down a garbage-strewn alleyway, the same one he had been sneaking along. Everyone froze when they saw each other, then the Omegans gave a short blood-freezing howl, and charged.
Lotang blasted one. The remaining creatures were too close to shoot. He drew a long vibroblade, and waited. They rushed him, depending on brute force – their undoing.
Lotang did not waste time with fancy moves or feints. He spun, slashed, stepped aside, slashed again. And the Omegans were dead.
Out of habit, he wiped the blade on one of the bodies, though the molecular-thin weapon retained no taint of blood.
He caught his breath then forced himself into a jog. Deema must be kept safe. If she met a group like this … He shuddered, and hurried on as fast as he could.
He nearly missed her. His calculations had been right, his timing wrong.
Gaining the choke point, Lotang settled down to wait. A faint noise drew him to a bend in the road; peering round it, he saw Deema ahead, hugging the wall.
Cursing himself, he hurried after her, keeping back so as not to alert her, but not so far that he couldn’t come to her aid, by blade or blaster.
Alisk had left the sounds of battle far behind.
She felt torn and diminished away from the others. She wasn’t entirely one of them either. For all their hideous transformation, they were Omegans. She was not. And they sensed it.
No matter. She was nearer her goal now. She could smell Him. He was here. Close. She moved faster. The thought of Him was a kernel inside the dark folds of a brain changed beyond recognition, yet the kernel shone out, radiating with a heat more intense than the gene-encoded neuronosis Black had implanted.
A tiny portion of the old Alisk, buried but not asleep, thought scornfully, What would Nathaniel Brown know of love?
She sniffed the air, felt wild elation overpower her, and picked up speed.
Deema consulted the map on the screen of her e-pad.
She was close. Another block and a half. Only there was a problem. That last block and a half was over exposed ground, no back ways, no slimy snaking alleyways to follow, hugging the shadows, staying small and unseen.
It was as if to meet her mother she must make a declaration, an entrance.
Well, if that’s how it was, then that’s how it would be.
She wasn’t aware of it, but she was experiencing Anneke’s certainty: she knew she would see her mother. She just didn’t know what lay in between.
Taking a deep breath, she hitched her backpack tighter, put away the e-pad, and stepped into the street. Sunlight struck her, warming her, and she took that as a good omen.
Nevertheless, she hurried, eyes darting to and fro.
The nearest battlefront was five city blocks away, shifting further northwards. She prayed that it would keep moving away. She hadn’t actually seen an Omegan, but she knew they were pretty horrible to look at, so horrible, grown men puked at the sight of them.
Her head whipped around at a noise.
The street was empty, but her heart hammered against her ribcage. Decorum and entrances were all very well, but not today. She broke into a headlong run …
… and skidded to a stop with a gulping shriek as six Omegans loped from a side street ahead of her. The Omegans stopped, transfixed.
Deema stood frozen.
Lotang temporarily lost sight of the girl. She’d entered a long straight alleyway that provided no cover for him. He was forced to wait till she vanished round the far corner, then he lumbered into a painful lurching run, made the corner, and cursed.
Where had she disappeared to? The girl was canny, as if she knew she was being
followed – or simply assumed so.
Catching a reflection in a shop window, he grunted, and ran once again. Reaching the next bend, he pulled up abruptly.
One hundred metres away, Deema stood in the street surrounded by Omegans. Lotang raised his blaster, then dropped it with a curse. There was no clear shot. He couldn’t risk hitting the girl.
His heart sank. He was about to launch himself from his cover when another creature appeared from nowhere. Without hesitating, the newcomer hurled itself across the street and into the clot of Omegans. With wild cries, it attacked them, slashing, destroying, screeching.
Lotang had no idea what was happening and didn’t wait to find out. He charged into the melee.
Close, so close now. He was here, she could almost taste Him.
She shambled along, sniffing the air, taking this turn and then that. Suddenly she saw a little girl, rooted to the spot, Omegans hungrily circling her. Alisk recognised Deema, feeling old memories well up. This child was connected to her love. In another second the girl would be dead, torn limb from limb. She didn’t stop to think. Like a charging bull she threw herself across the street and attacked.
Taken by surprise, she killed two Omegans in her first assault then spun on the others, ripping into them with claw and tooth, snapping bones, screeching her rage.
Two more fell, but she was wounded. Howling, she held her hand to the great gash in her belly, glistening entrails visible through her fingers. She felt no pain, but a loss of something, a diminishment.
Then a human appeared, sword slashing. Alisk stumbled to the child who bubbled in terror. Alisk put her arms around her, dropping to her knees, blinking away darkness.
‘Dee-ma,’ said Alisk thickly. The girl looked at her with terrified eyes. ‘Dee-ma …’
The girl blinked, frowned, some of her terror abating.
The last two Omegans were down, dead. The man, badly wounded, raised his sword, but Deema stopped him with a frightened gesture. Lotang hesitated, meeting Alisk’s eyes. He fell to his knees beside her, staring, fighting back horror and pity, fighting back hope.
‘Alisk?’
Alisk nodded. She put out a hideous hand and gently touched his cheek. ‘Loob,’ she said with her remaining vocal chords.
Tears streaming down Lotang’s face, he opened his mouth to speak. Before he could utter a word there was an explosion of howls behind them.
Lotang slumped. A horde of twenty Omegans had burst into the street. He got to his feet, and gently helped Alisk to hers. ‘Deema, go girl! In there!’ he ordered, indicating the consulate, thirty metres away. ‘GO!’
But Deema stood, irresolute, afraid. She could see the other two were hurt, barely able to stand, let alone run.
‘Go to your mother, Deema.’
Alisk gave her a push. ‘Go!’ she croaked.
Deema turned and ran for the consulate. Behind her, she heard the triumphant howls of the Omegans, and turned, briefly, to look back, but she could see nothing of her friends. They had been swallowed up.
With a sob, she plunged into the Sentinel Consulate.
THE scout ship had gone into auto-docking-approach minutes ago. Maximus sat with nothing to do but watch the stars and the great shadowy behemoths as they slid silently past.
He couldn’t stop shivering. It had begun soon after takeoff. He felt cold, terrifyingly small, which the star-field and looming ships did nothing to diminish.
They’re alive?
The ship docked in the starboard bay of the Saviour. Maximus went straight to the bridge, taking the captain’s seat without word. The captain, seeing the blood and the patched wound, sent for the medic. Maximus was hardly aware of the man’s ministrations, thoughts spinning around and around in his head.
What if it’s a trick?
The captain’s voice broke through. ‘This came for you, sir, from the surface. We scanned it for viruses. It’s clean.’
Maximus read the data package sent by Anneke, saw the DNA comparisons, recalled the quantum capsule on Jake Ferren’s desk, realising it was probably his own suggestions that had helped unlock it, and his past. The hair inside the capsule might well have yielded mitochondrial DNA, but more would have been found on other objects.
There was no doubt. He and Deema were siblings, and Mirella Quist was their mother. There was a photograph of them as children. Maximus saw himself as a six-year-old: thin and curious, with large dark eyes, holding his mother’s hand. His father wasn’t in the picture – presumably he’d been taking it.
The shivering returned. Fear flooded him. What if the Omegans rampaged that sector where his mother was and tore into the consulate?
‘Captain, I want you to beam down a prohibition – interdict the Sentinel Consulate, blockade the entire suburb. I don’t want any Omegans in there.’
The captain looked uncomfortable. ‘What is it?’ Maximus said.
‘Sir, the prohibitions aren’t working. They’ve been on the decline for some time now. The creatures are mutating. The gene-encoding is – being changed.’
‘How? How fast?’
The captain flinched. ‘The encoders figure you’ve got about twelve hours until the beasts are beyond control. A sample showed that the original virus is orchestrating the mutation, as if it’s – well … sentient …’
Maximus tapped his foot in annoyance. He’d obtained the original virus from Lob Lotang who had in turn acquired it from the planet of Arachnor …
The virus that was a descendant of the doomsday virus he’d tinkered with a thousand years ago. Was the past coming back to haunt him? He pushed that thought away. ‘So there’s no way to keep the Omegans out?’
‘Some will respond, others won’t, sir.’
Maximus sighed. ‘Do it anyway. See if we can amp up the signal strength.’
The captain strode off.
Maximus considered the problem. His mother was down on the planet, in a place where she could be killed at any moment – by the forces he had unleashed. His mother.
When the captain returned, Maximus asked for an update on the battle both ‘upstairs’ and ‘down’. When she’d finished he sat back, feeling no satisfaction that things were going his way.
Soon the Omegans would be inside the Fortress’ outer wall. A few hours after that, they would take the Fortress of Kestre itself, which had stood as a symbol of empire for over a thousand years – long after the empire itself had ceased.
Word came then that the IMC had suffered a devastating blow: the Myotan flagship, with its leader, Sasume, on board, had been destroyed. Immediately, twelve vessels that had sworn personal fealty to Sasume departed the field of battle, fatally weakening the defenders’ position in space. Maximus knew he could crush the remnants – nothing could stop him.
Nothing, except a middle-aged woman and a small girl, somewhere on Se’atma Minor.
‘Your orders, sir?’
‘Hold your positions.’
‘Sir? This is a golden opportunity to –’
‘I said, hold your positions, Captain. And have all my naval commanders report here for a briefing.’
Maximus rose, and strode from the room, his head whirling.
In his ready room, he began to pace. For the first time in his life he felt gnawing indecision, like a pain in his chest.
Esprin Harbage knew Black was back on board. Partly he was relieved – he wouldn’t die right away because of the antidote being withheld – and partly he was bitterly disappointed. He wanted Black dead more than he had wanted anything in all his life.
He paced his cabin, unaware that his persecutor did likewise elsewhere on the ship.
He had hit back at Black, though the man would not find out right away that it was he, Esprin, who had destroyed his deepest hopes – indeed, Black probably wasn’t even aware he held such desires. But Esprin knew. He had seen Black experiencing a rare naked moment – vulnerable, transparent, and unaware of Esprin’s perception.
If Black found out, he’d have Esp
rin murdered on the spot, but Esprin wanted him to know, wanted him to know he had done this to him, to his tormentor, to the man who had made him a traitor, who had used his cowardice for his own ends.
All that remained for him was to gather the courage to tell Black. Esprin had a plan for that, too. It involved an old RIM saying: The most dangerous man is he who has nothing left to lose.
In Esprin’s mind, most ‘dangerous’ was the same as ‘bravest’. And he would manufacture courage. He looked around the spare cabin. There was little there bearing his imprint. Some clothes, an e-pad he’d had since his training days. And a small framed photograph of his family.
He picked up the photograph and gazed at it, angry and wistful at the same time, before slipping it inside his tunic. He belted on his field-generator, took one last look around, then let himself out.
Maximus was still pacing.
His whole life had been shaped towards this moment, towards the resurrection of empire. To give it up now when he was so close … He could almost taste it …
What was his mother to him?
She had failed him once, allowing him to be taken by slavers. Who was to say she wouldn’t fail him again? It was a long time ago. A lifetime, it felt, had elapsed since then.
But what of Deema? She’d just been a baby. He couldn’t hold her accountable for his misfortunes. He wondered what it would be like to have a sister – to be part of a … family.
It was too much. He couldn’t decide.
His pacing grew frenzied; his stomach roiled. Then suddenly he made up his mind. To hell with them.
He buzzed the bridge.
‘Captain, put together a special assault team. I want them ready in one hour. Have them familiarise themselves with the area around the Sentinel Consulate.’
‘Yes, sir. What kind of mission is it?’
Maximus hesitated. ‘Extraction of personnel. And Captain. I’ll lead it.’
He cut the connection before she could reply. And just like that, a great burden lifted from him. He could breathe again, and the gnawing pain in his chest vanished. Maximus laughed. He would make peace with Anneke Longshadow. Collapsing on the divan, exhausted, he dropped into a light doze. His face, in sleep, was more relaxed than it had ever been.