The Pathfinder Trilogy

by Todd Stockert

  “Your assurances mean nothing to me any longer,” growled Bok in response. “I do not believe you.” He raised a clawed hand threateningly and pointed a sharp finger at the physician. “If I end up going through all of this for nothing, then you WILL die by my hand.”

  The Doctor snorted loudly, clearly unimpressed. “The Caucus would kill you instantly,” he replied defiantly. “I think you underestimate yourself. You are one of the best patients I have ever seen – your ability to endure pain is truly astonishing. I have written several reports to your training commander, letting him know this. Many have preceded you on my table, and you would laugh hysterically if you heard some of the things that they tell me, begging me to stop. You never do… you simply accept that you must undergo this process.”

  Bok considered the Doctor’s appraisal carefully. “There has to be a better way to do this,” he concluded at last. “We have the most modern medical technology of any home world, so I find it difficult to believe that this procedure is the only way. There has to be a method that would be less painful for the patient.”

  “Oh there is an easier way,” noted the Doctor, watching Bok’s surprised reaction. “But only those who have officially completed their Caucus membership are allowed to undergo it. The equipment and energy required are considerable, so those who are merely initiates are not allowed access to those resources.” He shrugged his broad, muscle-bound shoulders indifferently. “I suspect that the first transformation for initiates could be easier, but the Caucus considers this to be part of your training… feeling pain and learning how to control it.”

  Now his interest was truly piqued. “How does this other process work?” Bok wondered curiously.

  The Doctor studied him thoughtfully. “It involves Canivir radiation,” he stated matter of factly. “Instead of removing DNA from a dead, frozen donor, we irradiate a live subject with a Kuth soldier nearby. A special chamber focuses the bio-matter torn from the donor on the recipient. We deploy a radiation level sufficient to strip usable tissue from the subject but low enough to allow easy absorption by the Kuth. If you survive long enough to serve reliably in the Caucus, they will want you to be able to assume a variety of different humanoid forms. So this is more than likely only your FIRST transformational implant… the Caucus will probably choose at least two or three additional identities for you.” His lips curled upward in a hideous smile. “I assure you, the next time you are asked to assume someone else’s shape, the new round of treatments will be significantly less painful. Now get out of here, you smell of your own fecal matter.”

  Hissing approvingly in response, Bok picked up the towel and complied.

  The Doctor watched him leave while scribbling a series of notes on a chart attached to a clipboard he was holding. He answered the last question regarding the patient’s ability to tolerate pain with an ‘Outstanding’ rating. Then he added a final note at the bottom of the form, ending his comment with the phrase ‘Applicant is highly recommended for undercover, covert operations’.

  *

  Later, Bok took some time to lie in the hot, overhead sun and recover from his latest procedure. He had a small house on the edge of the city, near the outer, electrified wall that protected its inhabitants from outside predators but far enough away so that his yard caught most of the afternoon sun. He was renting the place from a friend, hopefully only long enough to complete his training and receive full employment within the Caucus membership. Once he proved his ability to shape shift successfully on demand, the remainder of his training could be completed within a standard month. Bok was fully planning to meet that deadline, confident in his abilities even though his resistance to the DNA injections had so far proven frustrating. His thoughts drifted to familiar faces – from people he knew he could count on to people he loathed. One of the first things that he learned as a Caucus candidate was to eliminate any friendship ties.

  Trust no one but yourself. That was what kept you alive in the long run.

  The colleagues he despised were prioritized with his top three picks scheduled for assassination. As part of his training, Bok was required to terminate at least ten of his Kuth brothers… the choices were his to make. No one provided him with any background information or consulted with him on the matter; it was completely his decision as to who specifically should die. Many of his competitors for Caucus membership were the first to fall – that was true of most of the participants. And yet eventually those who survived realized the importance of keeping even strong and intelligent comrades alive, those who might edge them out in the final challenges. It seemed foolish to do so at first, and yet they did so anyway, because it was the physically weaker candidates and those who lacked the strength to do what was necessary that were the true threat to the Caucus. And in the end, the long-term survival of the Caucus leadership was the most important priority… even more important than the ambitions of any single soldier, in fact.

  Bok had come to the conclusion long ago that he might not make it through all of the challenges on his first try. He didn’t consider that probability to be a big deal… his endurance and ability to work at hard labor made him an automatic hire in the private sector employment industry. There were resources hidden safely away that he could draw upon in an emergency, opportunities he made certain were available to him if the worst came to pass. But he was certain that it would not, and that energy was what inspired him to strive for Caucus membership as soon as possible. Everyone in Kuth cities knew that the government was an elitist ‘members only’ club… things had been that way for most of history. Bok was determined to use his talent to get there, and across the Bridge to the other universe, as soon as possible. Ambition and the pursuit of power would lead him to a permanent position of authority in the so-called ‘members only’ club.

  It was inevitable.

  A soft burning in his gut snapped his attention back to the events of the day. Usually the residual pain from the treatments was brief – Kuth warriors tended to be quick healers. But today the pain persisted, and the non-stop discomfort was extremely annoying. Bok had very little time to himself these days, so he liked to treasure the time when he could simply lay in the sun and absorb the sweltering heat. He luxuriated in it, basked in it, and did everything he could to prolong each session for as long as possible. As he lay there, the pain spread through his body and out toward his extremities, seemingly as if it was following the blood flowing through his veins. The discomfort that bordered on pain escalated in his right arm, and he looked down at it with frustration, curling his claws together into a tight fist.

  As he watched, both his arm and hand began to CHANGE, gradually transforming into a humanoid arm.

  Bok was elated… he sat straight up in shock and looked at the new appendage, studying its weak, soft skin and taking cautious note of how lacking in strength it was. The burning continued, and even though only five hours had elapsed instead of the Doctor’s recommended eight, Bok focused all of his attention on the rest of his body. The Doctor was right, his body wanted to change, it wanted to mimic the foreign DNA floating around in its midst, and he watched the rest of his body swiftly transform into the shape of the human donor whose DNA had been repeatedly injected into him over a period of several weeks. It took only seconds to change, but change he did. Unfortunately, he would discover over time that the discomfort never really went away. Even so, it was a small price to pay for the opportunity its presence offered him.

  He was now officially ready to complete his candidacy for acceptance into the Caucus order, and once he did so the opportunity to cross the Bridge and work among humans in the safer, newer universe would only be one small step away. The change didn’t come without trepidation, because he realized instantly that as long as he wore the humanoid body he WAS in essence, a human. The vulnerabilities of the donor would now be his to bear, and he would have to work much more carefully while literally wearing a thinner skin. Reaching up to touch his face, he verified that his head and feature
s, too, were now fully human. His vision had noticeably changed – the limitations of the humanoid eye was suddenly, blatantly obvious. And yet he was curious as to what he now looked like. Rising to his feet, he retreated back into his small home and entered a washroom, stepping up to a mirror and glancing into it with extreme curiosity.

  The face of Tran Wuu stared back at him.

  *

  Adam snapped suddenly awake and sat bolt upright on the cot. Never before in his life had he dreamed so intensely or actually felt the physical distress of its participant. There hadn’t been any actual physical pain, but there was extreme discomfort, and once again the anxiety and morbid nature of the dream left him with a severe headache and profuse bouts of sweating. Furthermore, residual images flitted back and forth within his brain, brief flashes that continually reminded him about the horrors he hoped were gone. Sitting on the edge of the small mattress for a few moments, he relaxed his body and breathed deeply, taking his time and forcing himself to wake completely.

  [“This is yet another consequence of my decision to read Bok’s memories using the implant, isn’t it?”] he asked no one in particular with a simple thought.

  [“Uh huh.”] His wife’s prompt response caused him to chuckle lightly.

  [“It was also the intensity of today’s action, wasn’t it?”] he continued, determined to press forward. [“Seeing that human being subjected to radiation was emotionally painful to watch. The intensity of those events must have dug down deep within my psyche and triggered some kind of residual memory extracted from Bok. Am I doing okay here… am I succeeding as a part-time, self-analyzing psychologist?”]

  [“Uh huh.”] Nori paused for a moment, but the ‘tone’ of her presence remained extremely stern. [“Dr. Simmons is already planning to write a paper on you. She has lots of tests planned once you get back.”]

  [“Wonderful, something else to look forward to.”]

  [“How are you feeling?”] she asked him, focusing her manner on a more serious note.

  [“Drained,”] Adam told her in response. [“It’s as though the sleep didn’t do me any good. I feel like my energy levels keep going down, and no matter what I do nothing seems able to replenish my vitality.”]

  [“Constant pressure and anxiety will do that, and the more intensely those negative traits are applied against a living being, the faster his faculties begin to break down.”]

  [“Honey?”]

  [“Yes…”]

  [“I hope this isn’t your idea of a pep talk, because it sounds like more of a downer to me.”]

  [“That’s because you don’t know about our surprise yet.”]

  [“What surprise?”] Now he was intrigued by the conversation, because obviously something was up.

  [“If you’re not on the starboard side of your ship, go there. Go there and look out a window.”]

  Unfortunately, Adam was on the port side of the Ali Rinai, but that didn’t stop him from bolting out of the small cabin and moving horizontally across the deck. He ran at a brisk trot, repeatedly diving through access hatch after access hatch. Many of the uniformed Zaketh and Yakiir warriors moving back and forth along the corridors raised eyebrows in surprise or glanced at him as though he was out of his mind. But Adam sensed that something big was up; he could feel it in the thought patterns of his wife’s presence. There would be no brief appearances by the Ranger and Corona, followed by quick departures this time… he strongly suspected that the time had come for other ships to move into the Wasteland.

  Or, more importantly, for ONE of them to.

  When he reached the outer, starboard corridor leading to the cargo bay he moved immediately to the windows and looked outside, eyes searching for the familiar lines of the vessel he was waiting to see. And it was there, floating right alongside the Ali Rinai as though the lady he named his ship after had just picked up an escort. The Pathfinder was here, fully armed and ready, and Snee Vasten was suddenly speaking in his ear, letting him know that President Kaufield wanted Adam’s command team to come aboard for a major meeting. Elated, Adam nodded and requested that Vasten confirm the transmission. He had been privately hoping for additional help to arrive as soon as possible for some time now. Although he was more functional than expected in a war zone, the repeated clashes with the enemy were taking their toll on him.

  Especially the loss of MY friend because of MY screw up.

  Reaching up to touch his earwig, Adam smiled. “Adam Roh to Kra Wonin, please respond.”

  The unit fought to subdue unwanted electronic feedback and temporarily triumphed. “Wonin here.”

  “Assemble several of your officers and meet me by the starboard docking collar in five minutes.”

  “Is something up?”

  “You might say that. My friends are here. And they brought enough firepower with them to end this war.”

  Aboard the U.S.S. Pathfinder…

  The Pathfinder’s cargo bay was a huge, barren chamber at present. There were still a few stray forklifts and boxes still to be found, but overall almost all of the necessary, heavy equipment had long since been moved to the surface of Tranquility. The bay itself was positioned just below the starship’s main hangar bay, and it didn’t take long at all for Adam and his officers in the Command Center to maneuver the Ali Rinai alongside for docking. All of the Wasteland guests were awed by the sight of so large a ship as they walked across the floor of the cargo bay slowly, clearly impressed, their eyes shifting this way and that, studying the details of the alien ship’s contoured shapes and lines with astonished eyes.

  They were given a brief tour of the hangar bay, with its small and large shuttles sitting alongside the sleek, arrow-nosed F-175 fighter craft. Fuel trucks and racks of ship-to-ship missiles still lined the port and starboard launch tubes, a clear indicator that the main ingredients for a sustained offensive were available to draw upon if needed. Once more standing on board the friendly vessel, Adam walked ahead of the members from the three clans that he had brought with him, cheerfully pointing out to them the various advantages of the ship’s layout and the deadly capabilities of its fighter squadron. No one was allowed to bring weapons onto the Pathfinder, and in addition to the restriction there were at least four armed marines watching over the small group. It was clear that President Kaufield was taking absolutely no chances.

  Eventually a large cargo lift on the lower deck took them all the way to the top of the starship, depositing them in a lengthy corridor that led to one of the huge domes along the dorsal hull. Adam ushered his people inside with a bold confidence that reassured them. The three Crasel were already comfortable and at ease, even while aboard a strange, alien vessel. It was blatantly obvious that they trusted Adam like a blood brother. Snee Vasten and Kra Wonin, judging solely by their expressions, were also obviously impressed with the sleek design and sophistication of the Earth starship. And yet they too appeared to be in charge of their emotions and relatively unflappable. The same could not be said of the other half dozen Zaketh and Yakiir, many of whom had served most or all of their lives as front line shock troops. To them, the starship was an advanced design that appeared to be almost magical to them, and its presence tugged at the edges of their superstitious natures.

  Kaufield stepped forward and hugged Adam warmly, wrapping his arms around the taller, more muscular man and pulling him close. “You and I are both in a tragic, shared club now,” the President told him wistfully. “We have both lost men under our command. It is something that you cannot possibly prevent if you are in combat for any length of time, and the emotional knife cuts even more deeply when it’s someone close to you. You have my deepest sympathies, and Dr. Simmons will make her services available if you need to talk about anything while you’re here.”

  “Thanks,” nodded Adam in response, glancing toward the far side of a lengthy conference table that was lined with his friends. Colonel Murray Neeland headed the list, still in command of the Pathfinder’s marine squadron even after the passage of ten yea
rs. Although his men periodically ran drills over the past decade, the vast majority of them were lifelong soldiers with their training ingrained deep within them and they were thus always ready for action.

  Thomas Roh sat smiling next to the Colonel, along with Noriana, who surprisingly maintained her professional demeanor even though she quite obviously wanted to run across the room and also embrace her husband. Karen Simmons was present, along with Glen Fredericks, his wife Mary, and the infamous Dr. Julie Markham. All of them were once again reunited aboard the Pathfinder and ready for action. What astonished Adam the most was how prepared they all were, since each and every one of them had notes of one kind or another setting in front of them along with laptops and other portable devices capable of storing critical details. Also, each of his friends wore a tag with their full name printed three times, one for each of the three clan languages involved in the meeting. It was obvious, judging by the sheer amount of food on the table, that they had jumped through plenty of hoops to make their guests feel welcome.

  “These are my friends from tiny Clan Crasel,” Adam began, waving a casual hand to introduce Janney Stox, Arte Kasik and Cren Hollis. “I’ve known them almost the entire time I’ve been in the Wasteland.” He carefully pronounced their names for the official record before ushering each of them to an empty chair. He shook his head at the sheer quantity of food and drink set out on the table before encouraging his friends to have a decent meal while the opportunity presented itself. Shortly thereafter, Big Cren Hollis informed him that he had never before tasted food so wonderful, and he only half-jokingly inquired as to how specifically to go about being assigned to the Pathfinder for a full tour of duty.