Infinity Wars

by Jonathan Strahan

  The muscles of Hatizda’s face scrunched together. Then she turned her whole head away.

  “I’m going to have to watch you more closely,” she said. “Don’t do anything like this again.”

  She left without another word.

  Daja sat down, and was surprised to find her body shaking. She observed that reaction with curiosity for a while, reaching out to touch the stability of a table, a chair, and then touched the console screen to call her friends back home.

  There was no answer. Her call was still blocked, and Hatizda wasn’t picking up, this time. But that was all right: that was a reminder.

  Daja let the call go out into nothing. She let it go on for a long, long time.

  FACELESS SOLDIERS, PATCHWORK SHIP

  Caroline M. Yoachim

  EKUNDAYO WAS SUPPOSED to be on watch, but after eleven straight months without a single damned ship coming through the jump point nobody took watch duty seriously. Who wanted to be alone for six hours staring at blank screens, right? So lately she’d been inviting Lieutenant Jaxon to keep her company. He was a hybrid ambassador —half human and half Leonid—and Ekundayo’s closest friend.

  “I brought us some entertainment.” Jaxon had a pair of fire kittens, probably siblings. The odd little aliens looked more like hedgehogs than kittens, but they had a playfulness about them that was distinctly cat-like. They tussled on the floor and the smaller one danced circles around the bigger one before popping out of existence and reappearing on Jaxon’s shoulder. He brushed the tiny alien away and hissed at it. Too hot. Burns my uniform.

  The fire kittens came from one of the free-floating planets in the Trapezium Cluster, and Station 17’s primary objective was to keep the kittens from being captured by the Faceless—a horde of alien invaders that used a disease called Patchwork to augment their bodies with parts from every species they’d encountered. Adding fire kittens into their mix would give Faceless soldiers the ability to teleport. It’d be the end of the war, game over, humans lose.

  Jaxon was trying to train his tiny pets to carry things across the void, so far without success. He draped a square of heat-resistant fabric over the smaller fire kitten, but when the kitten disappeared, the fabric dropped to the floor. The larger fire kitten popped out of existence too, and neither one returned. They’d show up eventually in Jaxon’s quarters, or back on his shoulder, despite his hissing.

  “I wonder what it would feel like to teleport.” Ekundayo curled up against Jaxon’s flank, enjoying his warmth. He was human on top and Leonid below. The tawny yellow fur that covered him from the waist down was structurally more like feathers than hair, and his six oddly-jointed legs kind of freaked Ekundayo out if she looked too close. His human skin was the same deep brown as hers, though, and his eyes were so dark they were almost black.

  “There’d be no time to feel anything. Instantaneous travel is what makes teleportation such a threat. Imagine trying to outmaneuver an enemy that could blink out like a fire kitten. Even your sister couldn’t do it.”

  “Neva’s my half sister.” Ekundayo ran her fingers through Jaxon’s fur. She wanted to be with him in ways he had no interest in, but he didn’t mind the casual contact. “But she’s an amazing fighter pilot. I wish I was more like her.”

  Neva was the ideal soldier, quick thinking and good in a fight. Everybody on the station adored her because she was brave and brilliant and swore fluently in both Spanish and Japanese. Her mother didn’t curse her with sickle cell trait. Meanwhile Ekundayo might drop dead if the action got hot or the air got thin—all because SCT was on the list of ‘non-fatal conditions with potential combat applications.’ Because obviously dropping dead in the middle of combat was a useful application.

  “Not everyone is meant for fighting, Ekundayo.” Jaxon brushed his hand against her cheek. He meant it friendly, but the gentle touch made her want to kiss him. She turned her attention back to the screens she was supposed to be watching.

  The Orion Nebula was in the middle of a radiation storm, and silhouetted against the delicate purple streaks was the black outline of a Patchwork plague ship. The irregular form was unmistakable —a lumpy ovoid with hundreds of long trailing tendrils. Ekundayo magnified the image and saw maintenance pods swarming like buzzflies on a dead Squidder.

  “Enemy ship arrived through the jump point at 22:06:59,” Ekundayo started her report while she ran additional scans. Data scrolled across the screens, interspersed with video of the enemy ship. “Stand by for incoming communications.”

  Ekundayo synced her audio implant to the station’s radio sensors. The enemy ship was putting out signal like a fire kitten puts out heat. The Faceless had no concept of stealth. Every individual on a Patchwork-infected ship broadcasted continuously, screaming into the void. Ekundayo couldn’t make sense of that many signals at once, but the station AI sorted it out. Most of the signals were in alien languages, but she programmed a filter to get only the broadcasts she could understand:

  “Nebula sky, birthplace of stars. Even the planets roam free.”

  “Eleven, thirteen, seventeen...”

  “Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease.”

  EKUNDAYO WAS SUPPOSED to sleep the next shift, but she was too amped. She bunked with Neva, who was in their quarters with one of the new recruits—Emma Liu—chattering about lifetime kill counts and who they wanted to screw. Pretty typical of Neva, using gossip to keep Liu’s mind off the enemy ship.

  “I heard Zinnie did it with that Squidder hybrid down on—” Liu flinched when the door opened, then relaxed when she realized it was Ekundayo. “You ever done a hybrid?”

  “Nah.” Ekundayo forced a smile and tried not to think about Jaxon. “But there’s a rumor going around that you like mermaids.”

  “Can’t fuck a mermaid, it’s in the Van Maanen Treaty: dead soldiers go back to their home planet, sick soldiers get treatment, don’t torture prisoners, and no matter what happens, don’t fuck the fish.” Liu made a rude hand gesture, then shrugged. “They’re on our side now, though, so does that part of the treaty still apply?”

  “You screw a mermaid, they might not stay on our side,” Ekundayo said.

  This, of course, was the moment that Station Surgeon (aka Sturgeon) Ness appeared in the door. Sturgeon was a burly redhead with a thick Piscean braintail instead of legs. Pisceans were more like snakes than fish, but they had a weird sense of humor. Not long after first contact they reshaped their exoskeletons and biosuits to have scales and fins so their hybrids would look like mermaids. Ekundayo didn’t really understand the joke, even after Sturgeon explained it.

  “Tachibana, Commander Bianchi wants to see you.”

  Ekundayo flinched. To her, Tachibana was Dad, and hearing his name was a painful reminder of his death. She’d convinced everyone to use her first name, but Neva had no such qualms. She was the older sister, the stronger sister, the soldier.

  Neva stood up. “Finally. Let’s go fight some Faceless.”

  “No, sorry. I meant Ekundayo.” Sturgeon gestured for Ekundayo to follow and slithered out into the main corridor that ran the circumference of the station.

  It was weird that command wanted her. Weird that Sturgeon would be the one to summon her. Ekundayo hoped that she wasn’t about to catch shit for having Jaxon with her when she was supposed to be working. Would they call in another hybrid to witness disciplinary proceedings for that?

  She was relieved when they got to the command deck and Jaxon wasn’t there.

  “We’ve got a mission for you.” Commander Bianchi pointed to a holographic projection of the Patchwork ship. “Infiltrate the enemy ship and infect it with a counter-virus.”

  “I think you’ve got the wrong sister, sir? Neva’s the soldier. I’m combat-exempt because of my SCT.” Ekundayo was disappointed to not be more useful in the war efforts, but part of her was relieved to have an excuse not to fight.

  “Your defect is why you’re here.” Bianchi cleared the projection with a wave of his h
and.

  “I’m not defective.” She had a medical condition, but she wasn’t broken. And the only reason she even still had SCT is that someone thought it might be useful.

  “In this context, you are most certainly not,” Sturgeon agreed. “The latest research suggests that the Patchwork virus replicates by mining red blood cells for iron, and misshapen cells—such as occur during a sickling crisis—slow the process considerably.”

  Bianchi nodded. “You’re somewhat resistant to infection, so you can board the enemy ship and deliver the counter-virus. That will decimate the Faceless soldiers and incapacitate the ship. It’s our best shot at keeping the fire kittens from being absorbed into the Patchwork.”

  “But to do that I’d need to pass as Faceless—” Ekundayo stopped, finally realizing why she was there. “You’re going to graft parts onto me so I can pass, and then hope my system can fight off a Patchwork infection long enough for me to complete the mission?”

  “Yes, and time is critical,” Bianchi said. “We only have a week before the ship reaches the Trapezium Cluster.”

  Sturgeon nodded. “I can begin the surgery as soon as you’re ready.”

  “Is it reversible?”

  “If you’re fast enough.” Sturgeon paused. “There’s a window of time after you’re infected, probably about 18 hours, where we can treat the Patchwork and reverse the surgery. After that, there’s not much we can do.”

  “Probably 18 hours? You want to graft a bunch of alien shit onto my body and you don’t even know?”

  “With healthy soldiers, we can treat cases in the first 10-12 hours after infection. Your sickle cell trait will definitely slow the Patchwork down, but without full scale human testing, we’re guessing at how much. I’ll give you a breathing mask that will let you lower your oxygen levels—if you need to buy more time, you can trigger a mild sickle cell crisis.”

  “Sounds fun. I can buy time by putting myself in pain, and if I don’t work fast enough, I turn into the enemy.” She could see from Sturgeon’s face that there was something more. “What else?”

  Sturgeon refused to meet her gaze. “We have to take one of your legs.”

  “What? No. Just no.”

  “It’s temporary! They won’t believe you’re Faceless if you’re a whole human with a bunch of surface parts. It has to go deeper,” Sturgeon explained. “I talked Commander Bianchi down. He wanted to take a leg and an arm.”

  Ekundayo glared at Bianchi. The silence stretched out. She’d always wanted to be more like Neva, to fight against the Faceless instead of sitting around on the station for watch after endless watch, but now that it was a real possibility she was more scared than excited. Still, this was her chance to get back at the Faceless for what they did to Dad.

  “I can reattach the leg when we’re done. It’s a routine procedure—”

  Commander Bianchi cut Sturgeon off. “You’re the best candidate for this mission, Tachibana, and I’m giving you an order.”

  If she didn’t go, they might send Neva. She was one of the best soldiers on the station, and she’d volunteer for something like this. “I need time to think about it.”

  “We’re out of time.”

  The thought of going to the Patchwork ship was terrifying, but it made sense for her to go. She’d have more time than anyone else. She couldn’t cower on the station in fear. “I’ll go.”

  “Station Surgeon Ness will go along as medical support,” Bianchi said, “but you may pick the rest of your team, subject to my approval.”

  “Fine.” The shuttles held four, and anyone who cut off her leg should have their fate tied to hers. Really all she wanted was to have Jaxon and Neva with her, so it didn’t matter if Bianchi insisted that Sturgeon go along. “One last condition.”

  “Yes?”

  “I get to choose which leg.”

  EKUNDAYO GOT ENOUGH drugs that there wasn’t any pain, but Sturgeon needed her awake for the surgery so she had to fucking watch while the laser amputated her left leg. It was bloodless, but the odor of burned flesh filled the operating room, and Ekundayo suddenly understood why Sturgeon had insisted she not eat beforehand.

  “You can’t put that back on me if it’s cooked,” she grumbled.

  “The burn layer is very thin, and the surgical procedures are—”

  “I don’t want to know.” Her leg went into a tank across the room, suspended in gel and hooked up to a bunch of wires. It twitched several times per minute to maintain muscle tone. Other tanks held the alien parts Sturgeon would graft onto her, presumably harvested from freshly killed Faceless soldiers at who-knew-what battle. Nothing Piscean, because they were too fragile, but there was a Leonid leg and some Squidder tentacles and a ridiculous set of wings. “Are the wings meant to be some kind of punishment?”

  “We needed parts that could be grafted onto a human frame, and then removed. You won’t be able to reach the wings very well with your arms, by the way. When it’s time to remove them you’ll need to use the Squidder tentacles.”

  “Wait, I have to remove this shit myself?” Bianchi’s brief on the mission was hastily prepared and thin on details, but even drugged for surgery Ekundayo recognized that this was a serious omission.

  “The wings won’t fit into your flightsuit, so you’ll have to remove them before you leave the enemy ship. I’ll demonstrate the procedure when the surgery is complete.” Sturgeon picked up a translucent disk and placed it onto the stump of Ekundayo’s leg. The disk contained thousands of tiny particles moving like fish on the surface of a 2D fishbowl. “The Faceless pick up parts from any species they encounter and meld everything together with Patchwork virus. These connector plates will allow you to appear Faceless without having the parts growing into you... at least at first.”

  “Right, because once the parts really grow into me I’ll be Faceless.” Which would make her unfit for the mission, among other things. “Shouldn’t you be in a haz suit?”

  “Patchwork only spreads through direct exchange of bodily fluids,” Sturgeon said, then laughed. “But nothing here is infected with Patchwork—these parts were built from scratch on a replicator. You won’t be infected with Patchwork until right before you board the enemy ship. Otherwise you’d never have enough time, SCT or not.”

  Sturgeon attached the Squidder tentacles to the top of her left shoulder and helped her roll over so the wings could go onto her back. They were heavy and leathery, and completely useless in a spaceship. Worse, they’d make her look like a goddamn pixie.

  “Almost done.” Sturgeon held up a segment of Faceless nervous system, encased in a clear plastic tube. Inside the tube, bundles of thick red nerve fibers expanded and contracted.

  “I don’t want that,” Ekundayo whispered.

  “You need this. Otherwise the ship will reject you as an invader and graft a Faceless head onto your torso.”

  “I want to stay human. This stuff,” she waved her hand at the alien parts grafted onto her body, “it’s all decoration. But that’s nervous system shit, and the Patchwork will make it grow into my brain.”

  “It’s a part, exactly like all the other parts. After you deliver the counter-virus, we’ll remove it, just like all the other pieces. I’m not going to put it on until you say okay, but time is critical. Are you ready?”

  She wasn’t. She absolutely wasn’t ready. She’d prepared herself for losing her leg, and for having alien parts grafted onto her body. But she could lose herself on this mission, have her mind absorbed by the enemy. Becoming Faceless was more terrifying than death.

  If they lost the war, all of humankind would face that horror.

  “Okay. Do it.”

  The nerve bundle went on her back, so Ekundayo didn’t have to watch Sturgeon put it on, but she heard the tube click into place. There was no sign it was there—no alteration of her perceptions, no strange alien thoughts invading her brain. She realized that she was clenching her jaw and forced herself to relax. She was okay. She was still herself.
/>   “Now I’ll demonstrate the release mechanisms, so you can remove your parts when you get to the target location.”

  “You’re going to show me while I’m drugged?”

  “There won’t be time later. As soon as you’re out of recovery sleep, we’re leaving.” Sturgeon grabbed hold of her new Leonid limb. The sensation of fingers in the fur—in her fur—tickled. Sturgeon pressed a pair of panels that were embedded beneath her fur on opposite sides of the Leonid limb and twisted, hard. The tickling sensation of hands on fur vanished.

  “I designed these connector plates myself—they’re a modification of the technology used to create hybrids, but temporary so they’ll be easier to remove when you’ve completed your mission. The nerve connections are programmed into the plates, so when I put them back together,” Sturgeon snapped the Leonid limb back into place, “instant sensation and motor control!”

  Ekundayo tried to make a snide comment, but the Leonid leg felt like it was on fire, and what came out was a whimper.

  “Sorry. Your brain isn’t used to the Leonid leg. Did you experience the nerve signals as pain?”

  “Come closer. I’ll rip some of your appendages off, and you can see how it feels.”

  “Tempting, but the Van Maanen Treaty forbids us to mate.” Sturgeon laughed, but Ekundayo wasn’t entirely sure whether that was meant to be a joke. Before she could say anything, Sturgeon slid the surgery table, with Ekundayo still on it, into a regeneration capsule. “You’ve got 24 hours of recovery sleep. Night night.”

  EKUNDAYO GOT FOUR extra hours of recovery because a radiation storm hit and the shuttles didn’t have enough shielding to go out in those conditions. Captain Flores herself came to see them off, along with Commander Bianchi and several high-ranking officers. Ekundayo stood at attention while Flores gave a speech about the critical importance of the mission, and her back ached from the weight of the wings. Worse, every damned seam between her body and the grafted parts was itchy.