Critias, Carmen, and the Red Rats boarded his ship then took off for orbit.
“This is Marshal Alice of the Gunship Raptor,” a woman transmitted on the general flight frequency. “By order of Grand Marshal Wayne, the reclamation freighter Grapple and the marshals’ gunship Achilles will stand off for twenty four hour quarantine and decontamination period. If you attempt to dock, I will fire upon your vessels. Confirm your orders immediately.”
“This is Grapple,” came her first answer. “We confirm our orders and are initiating command control lockout. Central Flight now has remote pilot access.”
“Orders received, Alice,” Critias answered. “The Achilles stands down.”
“I’m glad you made it out,” Alice told Critias. “Welcome home, big brother.”
Chapter 2: One Homecoming Too Many
After the quarantine period, the medics spent another eight hours as they cleared the evacuees through all their decontamination procedures. When the doctors released Critias to move about the Homer freely, a message came to him that he should report to the Grand Marshal immediately.
Critias went to the nearest transport tube then took a car on the way to his boss’ office. When he pressed the doorbell, the artificially intelligent door announced him with a pleasant voice that spoke on the other side, “Marshal Captain Critias Virgil is here.”
A moment before the Grand Marshal’s Delta android secretary Elizabeth opened the door, Critias believed he heard an unfamiliar voice in the room beyond and it said, “Critias, that son of a bitch! I’d give anything to get my hands on that,” and then it abruptly faded away. The sound was so feint that Critias couldn’t even be certain it was real, as if perhaps his overactive imagination had just fabricated it as a symptom of some inner anxiety that lingered from his traumatic adventure in Chicago.
The door opened to reveal Elizabeth’s smiling face. Unlike Carmen who the bioengineers had built to withstand combat level punishment, Elizabeth was a technical android only suited for bedroom, office, or laboratory tasks. On the surface, she was an attractive female with peculiar silvery-white hair but otherwise she was essentially indistinguishable from human, if the observer overlooked an android’s bit-too-perfect countenance.
“Come in, Captain Critias,” she welcomed him. “The Grand Marshal is expecting you.”
Critias knew the sultry android well, “Is that a new voice you have? It seems more beguiling than usual.”
She had all the vanity so common to the androids, “Do you really think so?”
As he recalled the strange male voice that he had first heard through the door, Critias asked her, “Is the Grand Marshal speaking to anyone? Should I come back later?”
“No,” she said sweetly as she also took his arm like to escort him.
“Leave him alone, Elizabeth,” the Grand Marshal told her from inside his adjacent office space. “Critias is here to see me.”
Elizabeth walked Critias in then departed as he found the Grand Marshal where he sat at his desk, smoked a thick cigar, and had a half-full glass of bourbon before him with the bottle standing by. “I’m not sure yet,” Critias told him facetiously, “but I’m thinking your suspicions may have been right; there could be some problems with the Chicago reclamation center.”
Elizabeth came back in to join them, “There is a communication coming in for you, Grand Marshal. Governor Grant wishes to speak with you.”
“Bah,” the Grand Marshal exclaimed. “It’s been like this all day.” He spun about his chair in a one-eighty to face his wall screen as it lit up to the image of Governor Grant on Station Two, the Shelley, where the bioengineers had their android factories. “Good afternoon, Governor Grant. How can I be of service to you?”
The governor told him, “I want to commend you for your foresight in ordering the evacuation of the Chicago ERC in time to save most of the personnel. At the next meeting of the Council, I am forwarding the motion that we formerly recognize your exemplary service with a Feast of Thanks.”
Wayne appreciated the gesture, “You’re too kind, Governor Grant. I’m sure the people will be grateful. I was just doing my job.”
Grant added, “We all sleep better at night knowing you will continue to do so.”
“Excuse me, Governor Grant,” Critias spoke up.
The governor was unsure of Critias’ name, “Yes, marshal?”
Critias told him, “Colonel Walker, sir, he asked that I tell the Council of Governors that he sends his apology for any shortcomings you find in his command ability.”
“I will pass along the message,” the governor assured then ended his call.
“A Feast of Thanks,” Critias repeated to the Grand Marshal. “How many times have the people grown fatter celebrating your heroic accomplishments, sir?”
Grand Marshal Wayne took a second glass from his desk drawer, poured Critias a whiskey, and then asked, “Cigar, Critias?”
Critias nodded, “I’d be delighted, sir.”
Wayne pushed the cigar box to Critias’ side of his desk, “You did a fine job down there, son.”
“Not well enough for Governor Grant to even know my name,” Critias felt a little underappreciated.
Grand Marshal Wayne gave Critias a knowing smile, “When I sent you on that mission, how did you feel about it?”
“I was wondering what I did to make you want to punish me with a reclamation center inspection, a far cry from my usual support and rescue. It’s no secret, sir, that there was bad blood between you and Colonel Walker. Seeing one of your most loyal protégés was certain to set him off in the worst way.”
Grand Marshal Wayne expected more of an answer, “And?”
“And in the end it seems you were right, sir. Things were crooked down there. Colonel Walker’s friendly-fire incident was really an infected laborer that he executed off the books. Not long after I arrived, we find out he had another infected on walkabout from the dormitory. The brain-cooker ends up locked inside a dozer-defense tank, which he then uses to plow a new highway straight out into the wild meat yonder. As you can imagine, sir, things went rapidly downhill from there. Some Red Rats I hooked up with dropped that building down on their heads. Those guys really hustled. I will put them up for some well-deserved commendations.”
“I guess I was on the ball then with my decision to send you down there and rattle Walker’s cage a little.” The Grand Marshal leaned back in his office chair feeling well satisfied with Critias’ assessment of the decisive wisdom involved. After a puff of tobacco, he added, “I hope you were not thinking it was just perchance that my number one son was on the scene when they needed him most.” Wayne sipped whiskey, “Speaking of rewards for service, how is that new gunship working out for you? I don’t suspect even twin P-7 field-drives feels as smooth under you as that new android. I have seen the combat specs on that Epsilon-K they stewed for you. She’s the beauty hiding the beast.”
Critias felt embarrassed over his failure to fully appreciate the many fine luxuries he had accrued with the generous assistance of the appreciative Grand Marshal, who had in fact sensed improper goings on down at the Chicago ERC and then promptly took appropriate measures to reach the root of it. “I apologize, sir,” Critias admitted genuinely. “You have always gotten the best for me and it was your shrewd instincts that saved the day down in Chicago.”
Wayne divulged, “I’ve known Colonel Walker since I was well younger than you are now. We grew up at ludus together. I knew him more than well enough to sense when he was getting a little shady to pump up some inarguably astounding reclamation figures. His friendly-fire story was more than fishy enough for me to have cause to command a formal inquiry. I sent you to do an inspection, confident you were the right marshal to infuriate him enough so that we could get to the bottom of it.”
Critias said, “Not to seem ungrateful again, sir, but I don’t think you have told me yet why you summoned me here.”
“Well,” the Grand Marshal began and then paused to drai
n his glass, “the eggheads down in engineering have pulled off something really amazing. It would be more true to say that they have done the impossible. As I understand it, they have discovered an important new lead on creating a true antigen for infection. This project promises to deliver a means of completely immunizing humans for Earth recolonization.”
Critias liked the sound of that, “So they are looking for a volunteer to retrieve something for them from dirt-side. That’s my kind of assignment.”
“I’m glad that you feel that way,” Wayne told him seriously, “because from the information I have received, no one but you can even attempt this assignment. Get some rest and when you’re feeling up to speed, head down to Sector Eight and talk to a Doctor Kine.”
“I know that name,” Critias recalled readily from memory. “He was calling me down in Chicago, but said he just wanted to make sure I was there. I’m wagering he will be equally crazy in person.”
Critias went home to his apartment to get some much-needed sleep. He didn’t get any rest while aboard his gunship during quarantine or any since, so he felt truly exhausted. Before getting into bed, he went to his desk to type out a formal recommendation to the Council of Governors that Lieutenant Daniels and the rest of his recon armature team receive exemplary beyond service accolades. Critias attached a letter of acclaim for whoever took credit at RAT central for training Daniels in the first place. Their off the cuff ingenuity and heroism in toppling that building had saved most if not all their lives.
After Critias searched up the name of the bitten soldier, the final one who had rushed back down to make final attrition defense, he put the name of a D. Roads to the Council requesting the man’s family receive his posthumous medal of heroism. Critias made clear in his written recommendation for Roads that one hardened marshal colonel leaped right off the skytower roof after he witnessed such blazing valor right after having survived so much of his own incautious command. Critias also emphasized that he was the second seasoned marshal who was there as an eyewitness to tell of the bravery in a hero’s last charge gun in hand. Critias felt that the governors would approve the requests for commendations. Medals not only made their best soldiers more loyal, the politicians could hand out manly gold nails with which they could hammer shut the lid on a disaster they wanted retired into that vault of old lore with reverential warnings.
Carmen came in to switch the lights back on right after he had turned them off then put his head to a soft cool pillow. She wore a flattering white bikini swimsuit and raucously carried a zero gravity lacrosse-racket. She shouted, “Bam!” as she swung her racket at an imaginary infected. She punched her fist through a pretend face, “Then I went biff! So you think you can tussle with me, hunter!” She leaped in the air with a spinning flash of her back foot like one of the twirling ice-bladed dancers the dirt-footers used to have. “I was super amazing, Critias. You should have seen me in action. I could download you a copy from my visual cortex if you want to see me kicking butt like a superhero.”
His tone let her know he surely didn’t want to see her combat footage, “Where in Hell’s Acheron Yacht Club have you been, missy?”
“I was at the recreation center, thanks for asking.” She may have managed to produce a sneer on her upper lip but couldn’t be sure of it. Carmen hoped some bitter sarcasm would help manifest such a sneer, “It’s that place with the swimming pool and team sports games you’ve never taken me to see. I was born three months ago and all I ever get to do is sit inside your crummy little apartment.”
Critias would also make her sit in his gunship for many hours on end, make her bathe him or sexually gratify him on command. He had never even offered some explanation as to why she existed to service his least and most selfish irrational whims. Carmen was recently realizing that she didn’t even like being his servant since she found her labors inherently unpleasant in a dignity robbing way. Her master was not a bungling incompetent as she had first suspected, rather he was a deliberately parasitic menace that exploited her loving maternal nature. It was dawning on her that her master really was just an ungrateful tyrant.
“I bet you have amazing nightvision for covert operations,” Critias told her to set up a mocking of her naïveté.
“I have infrared and ultraviolet spectrum at better ranges than your mechsuit can provide,” she confirmed with pride.
“Good,” he rejoined, “my crummy little apartment is a mess and my laundry needs washing. Fortunately, you can work all that out with the lights off. Try to keep the noise down while I get some sleep.”
She continued to smile at Critias, but her eyes shot resentful daggers, “You can’t think of any other demeaning tasks I can do for you, my master of a thousand trumperies? If you have nothing else to tell me, I’ll go wash off your codswallop.”
“Now that you mention it,” Critias didn’t catch any of her insults, but he had noticed her rocking figure in a skimpy bathing suit. She was dressed for another task that Carmen could perform magnificently while in complete darkness. The idea made him grin at her while he held open his covers, “You can climb in here for the night and let me give you some nocturnal swimming lessons, or you can work all night, and clean the shower too.”
She immediately refused, “I’ll get started cleaning the shower then.” She walked off to get away from his line of sight that invariably homed in on her bathing-suited backside. “You need your beauty sleep,” was as negatively close as she could get to venting uninhibited words of, ‘If I ever get free of these behavioral inhibitors, I’ll slowly twist your head around to face backwards like one of the sinners in the Divine Comedy.’
“Oh well,” Critias dismissed her as no loss. “I can use you for that anytime. I’m sure I’ll get by waiting till morning. Turn off the lights and keep the noise down.”
‘I must do what he asks,’ one of her hardwired directives forced her to say in her crowded mind. Carmen turned off the lights, changed into her flight-suit, and then started cleaning.
While she spent a few hours washing everything to perfection, Carmen knew she had heard the same mechsuit footsteps the second time they passed the apartment door. The fifth time she opened the door just in time to make an obstacle of herself.
“Marshal Gorman,” Carmen greeted him as he was about to pass by again. “You’re here to visit Critias? I’ll wake him for you.”
“Uh, no,” Marshal Gorman lied incompetently. “I was just on my way to the water treatment facility on this ring.”
Carmen closed the door behind her then delivered a hard gaze onto the armored marshal that made the man step back in fear. “I will not allow you to harm my master,” she warned Marshal Gorman, “even if he is a total jerk. If you think you can get past me to do so, try now. My directives ensure that you will live, but do not specify how many days you will spend in the med-unit.”
“I’m acting on orders from Grand Marshal Wayne to watch only,” the marshal told Carmen truthfully. “If it turns out that he is not the real Marshal Critias, he could be dangerous.”
“Try doing your duty without stomping up and down outside his door,” Carmen advised him as she took up a post that blocked the doorway where she was prepared to wait indefinitely.
Marshal Gorman turned about then walked out of sight down the hallway.
Once he was gone, Carmen went to the computer terminal on the wall where she requested access to the security grid. The security firewall gave her no refusal in accessing what she wanted to see. Her privileges in such matters were lofty, since androids were incapable of betrayal and a marshal’s android was an extension of the Marshal Service itself.
The security map told her the answer she needed to explain the bizarre statements made by Marshal Gorman and the suspicions of the Grand Marshal who ordered him to task. One sensor confirmed that her master Critias slept in his bed in his own apartment. Another sensor confirmed that her master Critias slept in a hospital bed in Containment Laboratory Four, which was a no access area for unauth
orized personnel.
“That doesn’t include me,” Carmen told herself as she pressed the button to clear the wall screen. Carmen’s inhibitor drive vehemently insisted she had only one master that she had to protect and obey at all times. What the inhibitor could not say with certainty was which Critias was the genuine article. Carmen walked off to go and see the discrepant Critias in person.
The original Critias awoke in his apartment to the delicious smell of breakfast after a long pleasant sleep. He opened his eyes to see Carmen’s smile greet him.
“Good morning,” she told him as she positioned his breakfast tray. For a moment, it seemed as if she tried to lean close enough to steal a kiss or at least invited him to seize the opportunity. “I got you all of your favorites,” she informed him hoping he would be pleased.
Critias adjusted himself upright to eat while he also kept a suspicious eye on Carmen. Her conspicuously genuine tenderness was more than a little bizarre and Critias regretted to think it entirely unexpected. He was aware that he had easily grown accustomed to forcing her participation in his selfish whims of the moment and it was unlike her to volunteer those affections cheerfully. “You seem in an unusually pleasant mood,” he commented, “especially after I made you clean all night. Did I miss something?”
“I’m sorry I was not more diligent in your service,” she apologized referring to the lack of cleaning upkeep that had generated the mess. She also felt bad about interfering with his rest period by barging in so obstreperously.
“So nothing happened last night?” he repeated the inquiry. “There was nothing unusual that happened you could tell me about?”
“Nope,” she lied perfectly to her master in total violation of her furious but now inefficacious inhibitor directives. “I never left your side all night,” she lied again just for the delicious pleasure of it. Carmen provided him a napkin and then asked, “Would you like me to turn on the news channel? You could watch while you eat.”
Gravewalkers: Dying Time Page 5