Shadow Life

by Jason Mather

  Hans?

  The voice in his head was masculine. His then. Conversing with himself to stave off insanity.

  Hans. You must hold on.

  The thought was laughable. Hold onto what?

  I can get you out. I’m working on it as we speak. I’m sorry, Hans. I needed you in here. There was no other way. Her anger caused her to miscalculate.

  Numerous shes passed through his head. Off in the distant past. He’d been here forever. There was no out or in.

  Please, Hans. Hold a few more cycles.

  — «» —

  “Commander Ricker?” James’ voice came through her comm.

  “Where are you?” She talked with half a mind, still concentrating on the deteriorating wall in front of her.

  “Numerous places. Hans is in trouble.”

  “Aren’t you with him?”

  “She is keeping me out. Can you make your way here?”

  “Where?”

  “To your mother and the child. I will be able to hold the corridor.”

  “You sure about that?” She fired through another hole.

  “We need you here.”

  “OK,” Grit turned to Gino, “we’re moving.”

  He nodded. They ran for the central domes.

  — «» —

  A silent melee roiled before Pat. James could control those constructs closest to him, causing them to turn on the rising tide behind him, silent, generic bodies tearing each other apart, the only sound the landing of blows, an occasional crack as something internal broke. She fired when one got too close, not caring whose side it was on, not caring if she caught James in the crossfire. It wasn’t really him, and this was all his fault anyway. But she was nearly out of ammunition.

  “What happens when they get through?” she yelled at James.

  “Greta is on her way here.”

  — «» —

  The other presence had gone, left him alone. He waited, thoughts continuing to erode. There was nothing left.

  A different sensation. Still shapeless, formless. But new. A feeling of movement, a pulling. He moved toward it, still cohesive enough for a thought to pass. He must be dead.

  No, Hans. Far from it. Follow me.

  He moved, whatever that meant here. A sense of acceleration, pressure. And entered near infinity.

  Outside her shell now, his thoughts returning at lightning speed. With James in the larger complex. A sudden sense of overwhelming space, his consciousness filling the complex, understanding its size, complexity, magnitude. The mountain had been dug out and down for miles, its rooms and walls filled with the extraordinary circuitry. They had traversed a small fraction of its miles in their descent. And beyond, the whole world, even more. Connections to satellites, probes, space stations. A hint of something beyond. Interstellar craft? Knowledge beyond anything that existed beyond this mountain. Inklings of technologies thousands of years away for the outside world. Manipulation of basic forces, essential ideas. It filled him to the brim, should have overwhelmed him, but his new body could hold it, mind comprehend.

  He was a god.

  Hans.

  James, is this you?

  My true body.

  It’s amazing.

  You see why I cannot let her have it. It would risk everything. Not just you, not just humanity, not even just this planet. Everything. Yet she gains upon me, her insane anger winning ground.

  Hans could feel her, a cancer, barely contained within the larger body. A blank area, pushing outward, its fierce drive forcing his awareness back.

  I will destroy her. We will destroy her.

  How?

  She underestimates my willingness to fight her. I have prepared a final attack. It will destroy us both. She does not believe I am willing to destroy myself. There is no choice.

  What do you need me for?

  She will prepare an escape. I have limited her to a small area, but I cannot see her there. When attacked she will try to run. You must follow her, find where she has secreted the escape. You must make sure no constructs survive.

  What about Onyx?

  That is her most likely target. She is the one you sensed under the bed in my daughter’s room. She will try to escape into Onyx’s mind.

  What can I do?

  Destroy her. There is no other way.

  No.

  You see what is at risk here. Everything. One woman’s life cannot measure up to all this. No one’s can. Not mine. Not yours. Not hers.

  I can save her.

  No.

  I will.

  …

  Very well. I have said my piece. Prepare yourself.

  — «» —

  The constructs overwhelmed James’s body, pushing him to the ground, falling over top of him, the sounds of their hollow blows causing Lori to cover her ears. Pat stood in front of the girl. She had no more ammo, instead wielding the rifle like a club. She swung, connecting with a construct’s skull, not knowing if the crack was its skull or the hardwood of the butt. The construct fell. A dozen more stood behind it, pushing in.

  A sound reverberated through the corridor. Blasts from Greta’s rifle, melting its way in.

  “Mom! Hans!” Grit’s voice cut through the white noise of jostling constructs.

  “Over here!”

  The rifle sounded again. A construct grabbed Pat’s arm. Pat shoved it off, smashed its head. Her rifle snapped in two, wood splinters spraying across the floor. Pat dropped the pieces, grabbed Lori and backed up as far as she could. They came on.

  Rifle blasts nearing. Gino’s railgun joining the fray, mowing them down.

  Too many. Still they came on.

  — «» —

  Everything shifted. Perception, movement. The sense of space around him began to close.

  James… James…

  …oodbye…

  JAMES!

  He was gone, washed away in the tide that now enclosed Hans, compressing his awareness, shoving him toward the wall of hate that was the daughter. He could feel her now, surprise breaking through rage. Surprise … fear. Hans reveled in it. He gave chase.

  A sense of blistering movement, behind him the closing tide, in front his enemy. He would pursue, he would destroy. Anger was his motivation.

  She shrank, revealing what she had hidden. Her armored pods broke through the corridor, constructs menacing Mom and Lori.

  His anger faded. Whatever James had let loose was affecting him, filling him with righteous rage, focused purpose. One last trick to make him do what they wanted.

  He would not. He would not sacrifice these people for them.

  His thoughts could move at light speed, sending commands, directions in minute fractions of seconds. The world outside was slow, ponderous, easily outpaced. In her fear she abandoned her pods, left them on autopilot. He changed their instructions, sped them on their way. Her control slipped further inward, leaving him the domes. He opened the passage.

  — «» —

  Pat fell backward when the wall behind her opened, toppling onto Lori, who let out a rough grunt. She scrambled onto her knees, looking around for another weapon. A katana hung on the wall, and she ran for it as the constructs piled through.

  “Lori, run.”

  But the girl was already moving. She’d seen Hans on the floor, made a beeline for him. In her panic, she missed the woman lying still on the floor. Missed it until an arm shot out, grabbing her leg. She shrieked.

  Pat wielded the sword clumsily. She was no swordsman. She gripped it like a baseball bat, a sharpened club. When Lori yelled she turned to see the woman grasping at her legs. That Onyx woman. Or the daughter. It didn’t matter, she was menacing the girl.

  Lori tried to kick her off, but the grip was fierce. The woman grinned, put her knees under her, pulling Lori closer.

  Surprise then. Something suddenly protruding from her neck, pinning her to the floor. A long blade. Pat stood over her, hand on the grip, twisted it, opened the wound. Constructs were fabricated,
but they bled. Pat twisted again, forcing her grip to loosen. Lori kicked away, turned over, crawled toward the table, planning to hide underneath.

  The construct would not die. Pat twisted, pushed forward, severing the head.

  — «» —

  They weren’t going to make it. The sheer mass of bodies prevented them from reaching Pat and Lori. Grit knew this, knew she could do nothing else, moved forward firing, shrugging off blows. Gino’s rifle had run out. He had a knife, trying to protect her on all sides as she fired in the mass of flesh.

  Then the situation degraded. James had not held the corridor, and behind them the daughter’s pods spewed down the corridor, blades out, advancing at a running pace.

  There was nowhere to go now. Gino squeezed her shoulder. Out of time and luck.

  But once again the pods parted around them, confronting the constructs, brutalizing them, slicing limbs, heads, gutting them. They passed Grit and Gino, cleared the way forward, the constructs falling away from the portal beyond. Grit ran for the entrance.

  — «» —

  The daughter ran then. The father, vicious being that he was, had set loose the monster that would destroy them both. How could he do it? Kill himself? Give up all he was? Could he not see they were gods? He’d created her, thrown her aside, imprisoned her, twisted her, denied her right to exist. And now he thought he’d destroyed her. But he’d underestimated her once again. She had a plan, an escape hatch. Foolproof. The man called Hans could not destroy it, which is surely what her father intended.

  Hans chased her, distance halving, re-halving. His awareness saw his rescue successful, so he turned fully upon her. He would follow her to her escape. The shape glowed in his awareness. She moved toward Onyx. He could see her now, his vision extending to the monitors in the bed. It was not a bed, it was a tank. Onyx floated in it, the fluid around her keeping her stable, warm. An umbilical attached to the back of her head pumped nutrients as she recovered. He was distracted by her. The real Onyx, so much like the construct. Yet he could see the beginning of wrinkles around her eyes, her face more aged, more real. A small scar crossed one cheek, a wound poorly healed. This was the woman who’d lived through hell, who bore the scars of her existence. He would not let the daughter have her.

  — «» —

  He thought she would take her mother’s body. That was what he was supposed to think. Stupid man, easily outwitted. She activated the relays that fed the nutrients, altered the mixture.

  — «» —

  Will you save her, Hans? Your damsel?

  I will.

  Then you better move quickly.

  Hans looked for a meaning, tried to find what she was doing, why she hadn’t moved into the body. His awareness sensed the change in the tank, understood the mixture. It would destroy her brain. He tried to shut it off, but she’d out-thought him. The relays were mechanical, fed by electrical switches. Switches she’d fried after using. He could not fix them here.

  Hans returned to his body, feeling her laughter behind him.

  — «» —

  Lori had two hands on his face, yelling for him. Sounds were muffled, sight blurry, but he recognized her. He was bewildered, momentarily stunned by the return. Something he had to do.

  Focus…

  …Onyx.

  He stood, peripherally taking in his mother standing over the body of the daughter, holding a sword, staring at him. A commotion at the entrance; Grit and Gino, armored pods, bloodied constructs.

  He shook his head. Focus on Onyx.

  He tottered to the bed, legs shaky. Falling across it, he grasped the coverings in two fists, yanking them off, tearing them.

  She floated in the tank underneath. He took her in for a second time. She’d been wrapped in a beige covering that was clinging to her form, leaving very little to the imagination. Always the voyeur, seeing too much when she was unable to protect herself. This was the last time.

  There was no obvious way to open the tank. Hans used the sphere, his connection strong even though it had rolled out of his hand. The top slid back, letting moist heat into his face.

  He had to remove the umbilical, it was killing her.

  He jumped in, the warm fluid surrounding him, more buoyant than water, keeping him at the surface. She floated at waist level. He grabbed her head, feeling around for the umbilical. It felt organic, fleshy, pulsing slightly with her heartbeat. He pulled. It resisted, clung. He could not pull it off.

  Damn it, Hans. DO SOMETHING! She’s dying!

  He ducked his head under. Warm fluid in his ears, his nose, burning his eyes. He had to sever it. Hans carried no knives. He doubted even Onyx had one on her in this state. He used all he had. Pulling himself down, the fluid thick and claustrophobic. He had to close his eyes, feel his way, pulling on the umbilical to get into position, both hands grasping now, pulling the cord taught, feeling it pump the toxin into her system.

  Hans opened his mouth, letting his air out, the salty brine replacing it in his mouth and throat. He wrapped his teeth around the cord, steeled himself, and bit down hard.

  It broke against his teeth like an undercooked bratwurst casing. Bitter black fluid spewed into his mouth.

  Don’t swallow it, Hans.

  His teeth met, just a small membrane between them, vomit in the back of his throat. He ground his teeth together, tearing the membrane. It let go and her head floated free, air escaping from her mouth. He let the umbilical go. Without its pull, they both floated to the surface. He took a gasping breath, swallowing brine and pieces of flesh from the umbilical. He choked, suppressing the urge to vomit a second time. Grabbing the edge of the tank, he pulled himself over, landing on the floor in a splash of blackened fluid. His stomach let go now, throwing steak, vodka, umbilical, and black water on the floor in front of him.

  — «» —

  Lori alone saw Hans break Onyx free. The real one. It had to be, or else why would he have done what he did? She moved to the tank. Onyx floated on top. She coughed, spewing fluid. Lori moved to hold her head out of the water. The coughing eased, and Onyx began to breathe easily.

  “Wake up, lady.” But Onyx did not respond, wouldn’t open her eyes. Lori shook her harder, put a hand on her face, tried to push up her eyelids. Underneath were only whites. Lori yelled and shook her.

  “Wake up!”

  — «» —

  The pods made short work of the constructs, moving back out the portal, chasing down any stragglers. Gino watched, and Grit turned to check the room. Hans crouched over the floor, vomiting. The bed was gone, some sort of tank replacing it. A woman floated inside, Lori hovering over her. Her mother stood over another body, its head nearly severed by a sword in Pat’s hands.

  Grit walked to Hans, reached down for a shoulder. Another convulsion took him, spewing black bile on the floor. She turned him over. He convulsed again, waved a hand at her.

  “Go get Illiyana,” he croaked, turned back over, and curled into a ball.

  Grit left him, moved to the tank. The girl was yelling, trying to wake Onyx. Grit could now see it was her, floating in a tank of blackened water, a fleshy protrusion drifting from the back of her head. Grit stood beside Lori, who was still yelling, looking at her for help. Grit set down the rifle, leaned it against the tank. She put two arms in and hefted Onyx out. The woman was extraordinarily light, dripping warm black fluid, her covering stained with it. Grit walked to the table, set Onyx down on top of it. The black fluid stank. Grit removed her knife, and cut the black covering from Onyx’s body, wanting to get the black fluid off her skin. She retrieved the sheets from where they lay on the floor, and used one to wipe to woman off, offering a silent apology for the intimate violation, then took the other and wrapped her in it.

  Onyx breathed easily, Grit could see that. But she didn’t awake.

  — «» —

  The vomiting eased, the world stopped swimming. Hans waited for another convulsion, wishing he had something to wash the bitter heat from his mouth and ch
est. He got a knee under him, hands slipping in the fluid on the floor. He took a few deep breaths and stood, wavering slightly. Lori appeared at his side, grabbing an arm, offering support.

  “Onyx?” he rasped.

  “Ms. Greta got her out.”

  He nodded, looking for Greta. She had Onyx on the table, was using a sheet to cover her. His mother remained where she’d been.

  “You OK, Mom?”

  Pat nodded, though her eyes looked a bit shell-shocked.

  The commotion had ended. Gino was crossing the room to Grit, giving Hans a glance as he passed. Unreadable.

  One last duty. One last chance. The daughter couldn’t be far. She’d tricked him, but he knew her escape had to be nearby.

  He accessed the sphere, looking for bright spots, activity. He was stunned by the stillness. There was no access. The walls were inert, unreadable. They’d been fried out. He searched around, looking for anything. On a whim, he checked Onyx. No glow, no connection. The real deal, finally. He wanted to go to her, wake her up, but he had to finish this.

  Something behind the far wall, hidden by a china hutch. A sensation more than a vision. Hans stood in front of the hutch, trying to force his perception through.

  He was blocked.

  She was back there.

  He placed two hands on the hutch, pulled on it. It was heavy, taller than him and filled with ceramic. He moved to the side, put a shoulder against it, braced and shoved. It toppled over, the crashing and breaking of plates enormously loud in the domed silence.

  A door was behind it. Wooden, solid. It had a doorknob. Of course, her final egress would have to be mechanical. There would be no way to open another type of door.

  Hans grabbed the knob, twisted it, pulling outward.

  Déjà vu.

  He’d seen this before. This cramped alcove, a hole for a toilet, a dirtied cot. All exactly the same, even down to the figure in the corner.

  Lori crouched there, her blanket around her, shivering with fear.

  — «» —

  Hans knew it wasn’t really her, but he could not keep himself from glancing back into the room. Lori stood with Onyx, looking at him. She made a move for him.

  “No!” His yell startled her. “Stay there, it’s ok.”