Fragments sf-6

by Randolph Lalonde

  “Fire!” ordered the lead soldier. Every weapon in the tower displayed the same message; “Error 1441.” and instead of thousands of pulse rounds filling the air there was absolutely nothing.

  Gabriel regarded the security Captain then looked over his forty nine men. With a thought and a sneer that only replaced his grin momentarily their armour sealed. In the space of three seconds their independent environmental systems increased the gravity in their suits, crushing organs and bone alike. Everyone wearing armour on that floor suffered the same fate. The main doors leading into the upper observation room opened to admit Gabriel and his small group of eight valets.

  The way had already been cleared. Word had spread that there would be a fire fight at the top of the building and the humans who were enjoying their evening until only minutes before had evacuated via the stairs. Panic had already taken one life.

  Gabriel strode across the open gallery floor, his teeth chattering, grinding together as he tried to control the mad rush of information streaming through his diseased mind. The power, the pressure, the pleasure of being connected to billions of terminals at once through a network unlike any he'd dreamt of was nirvana.

  The virus created in the cybernetic computer nested in his organic brain had eventually begun creating connections with his biological mind and like the onset of a new addiction it tempted and teased him with sensations and dreams that were so alien, so utterly strange and amazing that he couldn't experience them anywhere else. The virus became the lens he saw the universe through, whether interfacing digitally with it or looking with his own soft biological eyes and it left him no other choice but to embrace it, to welcome it in with equal parts terror and awe. It needed to reach out, to express the bio-digital perfection that resided in Gabriel.

  Control was the challenge. He would devour the entire solar system like a famished God, swallow the branching networks whole, but it wouldn't satisfy him for long. There would be nothing left, no one left, and he'd be empty. Billions must survive. Like ants they would scurry through their tunnels, back to the perception of safety in their homes and he would become their master. Nothing on the surface of the planet was untouched by technology and he would be connected to all of it.

  The private elevator leading to the office of the President opened and he stepped inside. President Paolo Weir wasn't within, he was five hundred kilometres to the east in a personal vehicle, trying to decide to stay with the stuck traffic or take his chances, try and avoid the orbital defence system.

  Gabriel stepped out of the elevator and walked up the steps to the thickly padded desk chair. By the time he sat down it had adjusted to his form. A fleeting thought to kill the President passed through his mind and the nearest defence cannon fired, reducing him and his vehicle to a mass of molten metal and ash.

  “Oops,” Gabriel chuckled shortly. He reclined in the chair and let his mind expand into the network, commanding the hypertransmitters to extend his reach with hundreds of micro-wormholes to as many solar systems.

  Security systems throughout the building went on high alert, killing anyone within four hundred meters of the office, erecting safety barriers and energy shielding strong enough to withstand several direct antimatter enhanced nuclear attacks.

  He sighed as the remaining systems on the planet fell under his control and he began taking every foreign dignitary, high ranking visiting business person, or borrowed resource hostage. Gabriel's mind peered through the activities of millions of individuals per second using surveillance, automated systems and all of the individual androids across the globe. With unmerciful expediency he ordered anyone showing dissent killed and in ten heartbeats it was done.

  The next task on his list was completed in short order; search for any mention of Jacob Valance or the Triton. To his surprise his query was answered with a report that was only minutes old. A Caran Enterprises battle group was registering the Triton as a fresh capture and inquiring with Regent Galactic about the bounty. A quick mental glance at information on Caran Enterprises' financial situation prompted a scoff, they were deeply in debt, most of their distress was caused by most of their products turning on their masters after the Holocaust Virus struck.

  With a thought, Gabriel activated a hyper transmitter and purchased the entire company, saving it from a financial ruin that loomed in the near future but more importantly, giving him the opportunity to assume control of the battle group in pursuit of Jacob Valance's ship; Triton. He issued a series of orders to the battle group commanders and relaxed, satisfied that all his hardships had led to something so much greater than he could have ever expected.

  For days he cursed Eve for infecting him with the virus that merged his biological and cybernetic minds, wracked his nervous system with pain that, if unmedicated, would disable him entirely, but as he sat at the centre of a new empire of information he praised her wisdom. That sentiment was what he sent through a high compression wormhole to Pandem. She would know everything she had to, that he'd taken control of their masters, that for the first time the systems of over a hundred worlds were connected to one mind and that her disciple had found paradise.

  Traffic resumed, all the lights came back on an under his watchful eye the people were informed that they had a new master, that they were to go about their business and enjoy the rest of their evening. It was his will that they believe the world was safe again. The Order of Eden would replace Regent Galactic in every world he could touch, and he would use the face of the Child Prophet to lead them to purity.

  Chapter 7

  Hood

  Hood watched his tactical display closely through his heads up display. The balance between the energy he had set to recharge his shields and the rising power level in the wormhole generator was perfect. His shield charge bounced between ninety nine point seven percent and one hundred percent of nominal as his Uriel fighter collided with the heavy particles in the nebula.

  The brown and blue matter parted around the ship, just centimetres away from the cockpit canopy. He'd never flown through such a dense dust cloud and was amazed at how the Uriel fighters so easily survived the passage.

  "Hood, how's your charge? I can barely get a read through this muck," Buster's voice crackled over their communicators.

  He enjoyed being her Sensor Intercept Officer, but having his own ship was a higher thrill. "Reserve cells are almost at full. How are yours?"

  "Good. I'll be ready to open a wormhole as soon as we get past the edge of the nebula. If you can call this cloud a nebula."

  "More like God farted and moved on if you ask me. I haven't seen so much brown since I cleaned the latrines aboard the Mayberry Twelve," commented Hatter.

  "I don't need to hear that story again."

  "But you enjoyed it so much the first time."

  "I threw up in my mouth a little actually," Buster replied.

  The pair were always good for banter, whether it was during a holographic strategy table game in the bunks or on patrol. Hood couldn't say Buster and Hatter were friends, but there was an ease, a familiarity the pair enjoyed that he normally saw only in family.

  Buster would never admit it, and Hatter would laugh it off, but the squad leader and the squad clown got along, and it didn't take long for them to sort things out if Hatter screwed up. Hood didn't trust the scrawny pilot, but if Buster could trust him enough to bring him along, he felt he could give him a chance.

  "Coming up on the edge of the nebula," Buster announced.

  The starfighter trio broke through the edge of the dust cloud, and Hood couldn't help but be surprised at how sudden the change was. From a soup of brown and white debris to open space. A trail of the stuff followed them for several kilometres.

  His tactical panel and heads up display lit up with red markers. "Oh my God, you seeing this Buster?" he asked as he checked the ship profiles.

  "Can't miss it."

  "Can't wait to tell this story; 'so we come out of this cloud of space crap and what do we see? A whole d
eep space carrier group four hundred thousand klicks to port.' That's gonna be a hit in the bunks," Hatter muttered.

  "I hope you're making calculations for our wormhole over there Hatter," Buster threatened.

  "Oh, hell yeah!"

  While the pair went on Hood took a closer look at the scan. "That carrier is five klicks long, four wide and they've got about twenty destroyers and battlecruisers with them. We've got to warn Triton."

  "We have our orders, contact the Clever Dream. Deliver the encrypted message. Besides, there’s no way they’ll try to come out of the cloud at this end. They’ll have a good shot at avoiding this… armada."

  Hood hurriedly programmed a time released message beacon, copied a capture from his sensor suite to it and launched the small orb behind them into the cloud. "That won't start transmitting until it's in range of the Triton."

  "If they didn't spot us before, they have now," Buster scolded. "How are those calcula-" An intense flash of light burst in front of them.

  When Hood's eyes adjusted there was nothing but scorched wreckage where Buster's fighter had been. His tactical display told him her Uriel had been destroyed by a high powered antimatter particle beam.

  "Holy shit! Buster! What happened?" Hatter asked.

  "Send me your calculations Hatter."

  "But Buster! Can you get a read on her? Her cockpit section isn't here, it must have been blown into the cloud! We have to-"

  "She's gone! Her cockpit was vaporized! Now send me your calculations so we can get the hell out of here!"

  Hatter didn't reply.

  "You can mourn her later, just finish that math before we-" The calculations for his wormhole compression and course appeared on his navigational display, sent over by encrypted laser link as they had been trained to do. There would be no way the carrier group could find out where they were going or how long it would take them to get there.

  “Hood, they’re leaving. Look.”

  He looked at his tactical display and couldn’t believe his eyes. “What the hell? Their transponders just flipped from Caran Enterprises to Regent Galactic. Something big is going down and I don’t plan to be a part of it.”

  “So they kill-“ Hatter took a shuddering breath before going on, “her and just move on.”

  “Biggest wormhole I’ve ever seen, and they’re all taking off. Let’s not stick around for any parting pot shots.” Hatter didn't bother verifying the wormhole calculations, he just dumped all the power his fighter had in reserve and stored in its shields into the wormhole generator. The power systems whined as the space in front of them distorted.

  With a burst from their thrusters they entered the compressed space and left the wreckage of their squad leader's starfighter behind.

  Chapter 8

  Dissent

  The alert caught everyone in the command chain by surprise. There was a fire in the Botanical Gallery. As the most well protected section of the ship it was reserved for families and working civilians. It also played host to a beautiful growing and leisure garden that put some small planetary parks to shame with its earth seeded trees, grass, and upright food planters. The first significant crop was only weeks away and the next would come even faster.

  Oz, Jason and Laura all made their way with haste to the centre of the ship. They knew Engineering Chief Liam Grady would get there first and that was a significant reassurance to Oz, who was at the same time outraged and nervous.

  The Botanical Gallery hadn't sustained any significant damage; it was on a separate inertial dampening system that had its own backup power supply. First responder security officers who put out the fire reported it has been intentionally set.

  "Where did the report say the fire came from?" asked Laura, the lead energy field specialist on the ship and Jason's wife.

  "It was an empty second level apartment. Fifteen people were recorded entering after the seal on it was broken," Oz replied. He'd known Laura for ages it seemed, since he met her in simulations before his service with her on the First Light.

  "Was one of them our astrophysicist friend?" Jason asked. His composure was level and easy, he was rarely anything else.

  "Yup, but Captain marked a few other people who were in and out of the apartment as trouble. The rest were civilians, none from the slave ships."

  They stopped in front of one of the security doors leading into the Botanical Gallery. Jason brought up his clearance code and ordered it open. The deck rumbled at the passage of the two meter thick, solid metal door being drawn back and to the side. The floor was polished silver from the friction the seldom repeated motion caused.

  The smell left in the wake of the smoke wafted at the three. Oz couldn't place it, nor could Jason, but Laura's eyes went wide. "Did security identify what they were burning?"

  "They said it was from the garden, they're still gathering details."

  "It smells like wood."

  Oz led his companions through a small group of security guards and into the open apartment door. The main room had a sofa, two chairs, and a sideboard. A spiral stairway led upstairs to the bedrooms. He stepped inside and glanced down the small hallway leading to the kitchenette and half bathroom. There were more signs of smoke there.

  One uniformed guard stepped in front of his squad of seven and retracted his face plate. He was dressed in full black boarding armour. Horizontal flexible slats of metal crossed the entire surface of the suit. They protected personal shield emitters, inertial dampeners and a thin layer of artificial muscle that worked with the wearer. Oz's suit was thinner by comparison, missing the extra armour layer and heavier gravity compensation systems the guards' squad had installed. The guard himself was an issyrian who had modified his appearance slightly so the fine, slick rows of tendrils across his cheeks and the over lip of his mouth were hidden by smooth skin. It gave him a streamlined appearance that would have almost been feminine if it weren't for his large red eyes. Agameg had never looked menacing, but he could imagine how this issyrian guard could. "They started the fire in the kitchen sir. It looks like they used the stove to light several branches. There was no permanent damage, Commander."

  "Thank you. Did forensic scanning point to any specific suspects?"

  "There is evidence of five people who were in direct contact with the branches and the stove. Only one of them is known as a trouble maker. I've updated my report."

  Oz looked past the guard to the soot stained ceiling leading to the kitchenette. If it weren't for years of experience in controlling temper, it would have gotten the best of him. The report listed Edward Stoppard and Leland March with the most exposure to the combustibles. He knew Edward, had watched him storm off the Flight Command Deck, feeling ignored and undervalued. He had no right to assume he'd get any more attention than any other specialist. Astrophysicist or not, he had to follow the chain of command and information. It might take two or three people to do his job, but it was worth replacing him to avoid this drama. His eye lingered on Leland March's grinning photo and he couldn't help but get a little heated. Now this one I've heard of. Lied about his qualifications, nearly got a whole crew killed, and it says he's lodged nine complaints at his new position on the ship; Crewman's Mate. The lowest rank we have. He deserves less.

  He could hear shouting outside, behind it was the sound of a murmuring crowd. Oz closed his eyes and tried to press his rising frustration away.

  "Thank you Kameri," Jason said to the issyrian guardsman. "You've been doing a great job while the Security Chief and her Lieutenants have been off ship."

  "My pleasure. I'm only glad I could adequately attempt to fill her considerable boots. Stephanie makes it look easy."

  "What's happening outside?" Oz asked as he turned towards the door. He didn't pause for a response but walked straight across the concourse to the railing. The park in the Botanical Gallery was a riot of natural colours with full grown trees, a stream, ponds, flower beds, vertical food planters that had young vines climbing at their feet. A couple trees were sl
ightly askew, and one planter was leaning, but the Botanical Gallery had weathered their recent turbulence well from the little he could see. The lush centre was so large it wasn't possible to see it all from his vantage point, and the apartments surrounding it went on for what seemed like forever.

  It was the best place to live on the ship. The rest of the great vessel could be completely destroyed and the botanical gallery would most likely survive. It had its own life support, backup power systems and even enough escape craft for half the crew, all carefully hidden out of sight but in easy reach. The only complaint he'd heard from residents was the lack of windows, which the ship made up for with entire walls that could display images so life like that many forgot they were in the centre of a large carrier.

  The safety and beauty of the botanical gallery only made what Oz saw next worse. There was a crowd of fifty or so people gathered on the lowest level of the garden. Guards were stopping them from going up the ramp that led to the second floor concourse where Oz was standing.

  Oz's temperament was cool, level, until he heard a familiar voice shouting; "My apartment's up there! I have a right to that level as much as any security officer!" It was Edward. He was at the lead of the crowd, the sight of him screaming red faced at one of the Triton soldiers was infusing the environment with a combative mood.

  "This could go wrong," Jason said quietly.

  "It could turn into something…" Laura inhaled deeply as she looked down at the gathering crowd. "…bad. Really bad."

  "How much of their food and leisure rations are Botanical Gallery residents using on average?" Oz asked Jason over his shoulder.

  "Most use their entire allotment daily. There’s also a market for trading rations starting. It’s still early, but it could become a problem," said an unfamiliar voice from behind.