Merillian: 2 (Locus Origin)

by Christian Matari

  Chapter 23

  Having hidden in her quarters for the better part of the day, Serena was finally bracing herself to rejoin the others. Marcus had paced back and forth in front of her door since she’d returned in hysterics, trying to convince her to come out or at least to tell them what had transpired, but to no avail. When she hesitantly emerged, Marcus awkwardly placed his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to console her as she tried to explain what had happened during her ‘lesson’.

  “What did he do to you?” Marcus demanded, his voice trembling with anger.

  “Nothing,” Serena tried to convince him. “He… tried to kiss me.”

  Even now, hours later, she was as pale as a ghost, and for the briefest of moments Marcus thought he caught a glimpse of guilt in her eyes.

  “Kiss you?” Captain Mitchell demanded as he came striding down the corridor, Taz bobbing along in his wake. “Is that all?”

  “You didn’t see him Captain! His face…” she paused, shaking her head in disbelief.

  “Couldn’t have been much uglier than the Ape,” Taz sniggered.

  “It was the most revolting thing I’ve ever seen,” she shuddered.

  “So he didn’t hurt you in any way?” Marcus probed, still not sure whether he was going to let Roshana off the hook.

  “No, nothing like that,” Serena protested. “He was no worse than any of the men back in Sol. He was just… hideous. I can’t even describe it. Just seeing him made my insides feel all wrong, and I felt like I was about to throw up.”

  “That’s probably what that armored suit is for,” Captain Mitchell speculated. “They must be very self-aware.”

  “I guess that’s why they surround themselves with such extravagance,” Serena added. “But then why remove his mask?”

  “I don’t know, Serena, but I think it’d be best if you avoid seeing him again,” Marcus told her firmly.

  “You’re right,” she agreed. “I don’t think I could even stand to look at him, knowing what’s underneath that mask.”

  “You won’t have to,” the captain assured her.

  “If it’s alright with you Captain, I’d like to just be left alone for a while,” she concluded, already stepping back towards her small room. “I would really just like to spend the rest of the journey studying the Sheshen language, by myself.”

  “Of course,” Mitchell agreed. “Take as much time as you need.”

  She turned back towards her room, her head hung low. Marcus caught hold of her arm just as she was about to close the door.

  “Serena,” he pleaded with her quietly. “If there’s anything you need, you’ll let me know, won’t you?”

  “Yes,” she said, looking up at him with watery eyes, on the verge of tears, but still managing a heartfelt smile. “Thank you Marcus.”

  “Marcus, have Reid guard her door,” the captain ordered, as the hatch swung shut. “Just… in case.”

  * * * * *

  The Sheshen freighter powered down its superluminal engines and the Tengri emerged unscathed from its bowels. Roshana had apparently been insulted by Serena’s sudden withdrawal from their lesson, and had refused to meet with the captain and his crew, informing them curtly via radio transmission that they’d arrived in the contested system. The Sheshen freighter changed course and pulled away, leaving the Tengri on her own, sailing through a nebula of glowing golden wisps, heading towards the coordinates Roshana had provided.

  Captain Mitchell gave the order for the old squad to gear up and assemble at the forward airlock. Marcus felt a sudden rush of energy as he ran to the ship’s cramped armory and began strapping on his armor, grabbing the familiar K-660 medium carbine. All around him his squadmates were preparing for battle, although Jago was struggling to don his massive armor plating. Reid propped his long sniper rifle up against the bulkhead in order to help the huge man.

  This would be their first engagement since leaving the Terran solar system. It had been a long time but Marcus was amazed at how easily they fell into the familiar rhythms.

  “Seems our little voyage has made you fat!” Captain Mitchell shouted at the Ape. “I guess I’ll have to have a talk with the cook about lowering your rations.”

  “I’m fine boss,” Jago muttered, sucking in his gut so that Reid could fasten the clamps on his chestplate.

  The armor provided by C-CORE was nearly identical to the gear they’d used in the Terran military, although it weighed a tad less and was painted a shade of dark grey, with the insignia of the Terran Republic prominently emblazoned in red on the chestplate, rather than the faded yellow of their old gear.

  “Move it ladies,” the captain bellowed from the hatchway, sending the squad rushing to the airlock.

  * * * * *

  Raven was now just about able to make out the outlines of the gas refinery, shrouded by the nebular cloud that permeated the entire system. It was difficult to gauge the facility’s size from such a distance, but initial indications from the Tengri’s sensors estimated that it was over a kilometer in length and almost as tall, but only half as wide. The inhabited part of the station was a long flat roughly-rectangular construction no more than a few levels tall, from the underside of which hung eight massive cylindrical silos in two rows of four which accounted for most of the station’s volume. The whole thing was a uniform dark grey in color, although bright yellow stripes ringed the silos, presumably indicating their contents. Plumes of smoke billowed out into space from several exhaust vents.

  Along the irregular edges of the station proper, several docking bays, at least two of which were big enough to accommodate cruiser sized vessels, protruded from the kilometer-long edifice that housed the refinery machinery and crew quarters. Raven adjusted her course for one of the larger bays, alerting Captain Mitchell and the assault team that they were minutes away from docking.

  “Wei, adjust the scanners,” Raven ordered. “I want to know if there are any other ships in those bays. We can’t afford to let those bastards get away.”

  “Scanning now,” the Navigator acknowledged, hammering away at his console to configure the scanners for optimum performance.

  As the Tengri drew closer, a swarm of drones began to appear, each one no bigger than a dot on the horizon.

  “How do you suppose they transport all that gas?” Copilot Gardulo wondered aloud, staring intently at the enormous tanks.

  “Not now Gardulo,” Raven snapped.

  “Those things are huge. The docking bays…”

  “I said not now!” the pilot barked.

  They were drawing nearer to the station, and Raven was beginning to think it was suspicious that they still hadn’t been hailed. The swarm of drones she’d seen had gotten larger. They looked like little spiders with eight mechanical legs stretching out in front of them, while behind their bodies dragged bloated containers of gas. The ones heading away from the station were dragging only tiny bundles barely larger than they were, leading Raven to deduce they were some sort of balloon-like contraptions, expanding as they filled up with harvested gas.

  “We’re receiving a signal,” Wei called, turning to look her in the eye. “I hope you lie as well as you fly.”

  “Put it through,” she ordered him with a stern look.

  With the flick of a switch, the ship’s comms began to warble, producing static, but after Wei made a series of adjustments, the signal became clearer.

  “Yalus sakushin, tishun subetsukoy sarale,” a thick, brutish voice was saying.

  “Ehm, hello. This is the Tengri,” Raven stuttered. “We require assistance. Please reply.”

  There was a distinct lack of response from the outpost. As the silence dragged on, the bridge crew stared at one another, unsure how to proceed.

  “Tengri, what your purpose here?” came the brutish voice once again, this time speaking a distorted but understandable Terran.

  “I… eh… our drive system is malfunctioning,” Raven attempted to explain. “We were on our way from Natallus to Volu
na when our ship experienced engine failure. We need to make repairs and we were hoping you would allow us to dock and make use of your facilities.”

  “Hold,” was the only response.

  Raven shrugged her shoulders at the Navigator, who returned a sly grin.

  “You may dock Bay 3,” came the reluctant reply from the station, drawing sighs of relief from the bridge crew.

  “Taking her in,” Raven proclaimed. “Wei, what’s the status on the scan?”

  “Scan completed. All the bays appear to be vacant,” he replied.

  * * * * *

  As the Tengri finished docking, Captain Mitchell prepared the assault team for battle. The atmosphere in the forward airlock was intense. To Marcus, it was an all too familiar feeling. They’d been through numerous engagements together, yet this was the first time they were acting out of choice rather than following orders. He felt his mind begin to wander back to the last time he’d fired his weapon. Their mission on the Strom sensor outpost wasn’t so much different than what they were about to do now. The outpost was a remote installation on the edge of the Terran solar system that had been infiltrated by Alpha Terran terrorists, among them the first friend Marcus had ever made, Steven Meer, who had taken the installation’s staff hostage, even executing some of them, before rigging the station’s reactor to go critical. A lot had happened since then, but thoughts of that day would always weigh heavily on Marcus’ mind.

  This time will be easier, he told himself. He wasn’t facing someone he knew, didn’t have to kill his oldest and dearest friend. These were aliens, brutish and inhuman. When it came to it, he assured himself that he would have no qualms about pulling the trigger.

  “Ready Captain?” asked Raven over the comm.

  “Open the hatch,” he ordered.

  Armed and ready, the assault team marched out through the airlock. Marcus took the front, he and Taz flanking Captain Mitchell while Jago, Reid and Doc Taylor brought up the rear. Unlike the cold steel plating of the docking bay on Semeh’yone station, what greeted the clones was a harshly-lit compartment with exceedingly rusted and pitted bulkheads covered in pipes and valves, everything stained with oil and grime. They strode down a narrow gangway being held by a pair of robotic arms protruding from a circular protrusion in the floor. As they neared the bottom of the gangway to the rectangular bay’s deck, the double-wide door on the opposite side of the bay slid jerkily open.

  Four yellow-eyed Hrūll guards, looking eerily like Ordo’nak, the customs official who had interrogated the crew on Semeh’yone station, came out to greet them. If his demeanor was any indicator of his race, the guards they faced would be as unflinching and lacking emotion. These four were wearing black uniforms with faded yellow stripes running down the length of their sleeves and pants legs. Metallic boots with studded toes clanked loudly as they marched towards the Tengri, each carrying what appeared to be a cross between a cleaver and a club. Square pouches hung from one side of a metallic belt around their waists, and what looked like a highly-advanced handgun of some sort was strapped to their opposite hips.

  The largest of the four halted his advance roughly a dozen meters from the Terrans, the other three spreading out to stand in a line beside him. The harsh looks and intimidating stares they cast at the new arrivals from their blank, expressionless faces would have been enough to break the resolve of most men, and they seemed utterly unimpressed by the assault team’s show of force. The clones too had stopped moving forward, and stood staring down at the muscular aliens on the deck ahead of them in uneasy silence.

  A staring contest wasn’t exactly what Marcus had been expecting. He’d envisioned the team entering the docking bay with guns blazing, tearing through a horde of ferocious adversaries hell-bent on stopping the Terrans from freeing their hostages. He soon became very aware that no one was saying anything.

  The clones outnumbered the Hrūll six to four, yet there was no way of knowing how the fight would turn out. Given the larger bulk and hardened appearance of the aliens, he realized they might not be as easy to take down as Marcus had hoped. The silence stretched unbearably as none of the ten figures in the bay moved so much as a muscle. Marcus could feel sweat trickling down his back.

  The sound of gunfire blasted through the air as Taz suddenly opened fire. The twitchy scout had lost his composure and squeezed the trigger on his carbine, emptying half a clip into one of the smaller Hrūll. As bullets ripped through its flesh, both sides sprung into action, Jago roaring in defiance, pushing Marcus and Captain Mitchell aside as he charged forward.

  As adrenalin surged through his veins and he brought his weapon up to fire, Marcus realized he was grinning like a madman.

  Chapter 24

  The view from Captain Intari’s private suite aboard the orbital space platform was nothing short of breathtaking. A wide window display ranged from wall to wall and floor to ceiling, bathing the chamber in the blue light reflected from Beta Terra.

  Captain Intari had been particularly irate of late. Not that he had been particularly calm or even-tempered since he had been betrayed by the man he had considered his closest confidant, Lieutenant Robert Mitchell, almost ten years ago. He stood by the window, admiring the view of the world below, surrounded by the chamber’s minimal décor. Ten long years. Almost a decade... Intari had never been one to feel comfortable around others. Even when he’d been a child his lecturers – even his own parents – had found him cold and distant. Though they’d never said it, he had seen it in their eyes when they’d looked at him. As if he were somehow broken, different from all the other children. He was different. He didn’t view the world as others did, with desire, hated, love, or other strong emotions, but with what could only be described as a morbid curiosity.

  They had sent him to Father Maris for tutelage not long after he’d started school, hoping that through religion he might find his place in the universe, and he did for a spell. Or rather, he learned how to pretend he had, to hide his true nature. He quickly learned when and how to fake emotion. He knew to smile whenever Father Maris showed him kindness. He learned to feign reverence during mass. He even learned how to manipulate others into doing his bidding, a skill which he proceeded to use to subvert the authority of those who sought to guide him. When the damage was done, and Father Maris finally saw him for what he truly was, the horrified priest had arranged for him to be shipped directly to the military.

  It was not uncommon for Terran families to send their unwanted scions off to the war, but those who did so made sure that their offspring were given rank, or an appointment safely behind the lines. His appointment was not as impressive. He was assigned ­– quite deliberately, he was sure – to the rank and file as a Private in a squad full of common clones, who had readily mocked his true-born heritage and social ineptitude at every opportunity.

  Though his demeanor had done little to help his squadmates warm to him, his superior tactical mind had proved invaluable after the death of their squad leader, Due to the huge attrition rate in the Nyari War, it had not been long after that that he begun a steady climb through the ranks, until Division 6 had approached him with an offer he could not refuse. After all, an organization that relied on secrecy and the subtle exercise of its power was the perfect place for him to hone his own manipulative nature.

  When, after decades of service, he was finally awarded his own battleship – one that answered more to the Shadow Council of the Division than to the Admirals of the Fleet – he had named it the TFS-Genesis, a reference to the time he’d spent with Father Maris in his youth. When Robert Mitchell had been appointed his second in command, Intari had sensed something amiss. The following months had only helped to further fuel his distrust of the newly-promoted Lieutenant, as he knew full well that Division 6 encouraged rivalries as a means of pushing its agents to excel, often promoting those of lower rank for acts of subterfuge and subversion.

  It wasn’t long before he felt his paranoia alleviated, as the two had shared a momentary r
espite on the Genesis’ observation deck, gazing over the barren landscape of Alpha Terra. Mitchell had spoken first, disrupting the awkward silence, declaring his pure unbridled hatred for the Nyari and the lengths to which he would go to see them all burnt. What had followed had been a philosophical discussion over the future of the Terran race and the measures they were both willing to take to ensure it. Intari had found, to his surprise, that they seemed to share much in common.

  What a fool I was, he thought, for all my skill at manipulation, he tricked me so easily. Perhaps it was for that alone he wanted to see Mitchell burnt at the stake.

  “Captain Intari,” came a call from the chamber’s internal comms, interrupting his train of thought. “Dr. Reisner is ready for you.”

  Intari turned his head, as if to acknowledge the speaker’s physical presence, yet he stood alone in the cold steel chamber.

  He turned his gaze once more to the world below, a sly grin forming at the corner of his lips.

  “Soon,” he spoke.

  * * * * *

  The fluorescent lights illuminating the abandoned platform flickered erratically, casting tinted shadows across the vacant square. Takahashi had never been there before, but he could see it was the sort of place no one would expect him to visit. Hollow ceramic building blocks were lined up against the metal banister, tagged with layer upon layer of illegible graffiti. The pungent aroma of urine hung in the air, momentarily alleviated by gusts of wind.

  He leaned against the railing, casting his focus down into the bowels of the train yard. Dozens of maglev tracks were neatly arranged side by side, some of them occupied by the rusting husks of engines and maglev cars. Somewhere deep in the bowels of the yard, in the tunnels beneath the platform, a freight train skidded to an abrupt halt, most likely due to the presence of vagrants or hooligans in the tunnels. He’d read reports of an entire society of degenerates which made the tunnels their home. He had a difficult time imagining how anyone could live under such conditions, shuddering at the thought of a life spent in never-ending darkness.