by M. ORENDA
Jared…
Kazak isn’t beside her anymore, though she can hear his voice somewhere close by, talking to one of his men, his tone sharper, and clearer than it was a moment ago, though she still can’t hear every word. “---us there.”
“Extract transports---storm delay---”
“No. Unacceptable.”
“---flying blind.”
The old transport dips, rolling a bit, the pilot struggling to keep the wings level. It drops, and the braking jets fire, toppling bags from the racks, flinging storage compartments open. Supplies sluice from the shelf above, cascading down to hit the deck. Petra flinches, unable to move as a spray of thin silver welding rods falls loose around her.
A pair of gloves drop on her lap.
A helmet bounces across the floor.
In the main hold, heavy gas tanks roll and clank together, equipment escaping from tie-downs. Men curse, yell at each other. The Earthbounders shuffle around, focused on securing things she can’t see.
A small item nudges against her side, and she looks down, squinting to focus. The round top of a plastic container catches the light, a jar with a familiar label, a specific product used by her techs.
Welding anti-spatter.
Grease.
Only a criminal would find in luck in such.
She glances at her wrist locked tight in the restraint, fingers dangling.
Do what’s got to be done.
Twisting against the pain, she reaches down and grabs for the jar. It tries to slip out of reach, but she hooks it into her grasp, and slides it close. She’s breathing too hard, as if it’s a ton she’s lifted.
The ceiling blurs.
But she’s got a natural way with thievery, and turning a lid, one-handed in the dark, is a basic skill. The jar opens, lid dropping off into wherever. She runs her fingers into the grease, feeling it melt thickly along her fingers and slide up under her nails.
It takes a second to rub a slippery gob of it along her secured wrist, spreading it under the restraint, buttering the skin, and the plastic, and the pipe. Her hand is small, wrist delicate, and tucking the thumb along the palm makes it slide right out of the restraint. Nothing to it.
She sucks another breath and pushes it back in, keeping the look that she’s still secured there, though her hand can be slipped out at any time.
It’s well done, though what odds it improves are uncertain. Maybe it changes nothing because moving seems beyond comprehension, and escape would be noticed anyway. But still, it’s a stroke of luck, and a good smuggler never questions that luck will be needed.
This wouldn’t be the first time, after all, someone’s made the mistake of thinking she was too dead to fight back.
“Still awake?” Kazak calls from beyond the shadows, a black figure backlit by the thin illumination in the hold.
Petra swallows, and clears her throat with a wince. “Contract good?”
“All good.”
“And that med care?”
“Soon now,” he says, a wolf who enjoys the watching. “Almost there.”
BIOSTAT
BIOSTAT STATION
VAULT LEVEL
MARS DATE: DAY 25, MONTH 12/24, YEAR 2225
Logan walks out of the lower elevator, following the two women through a set of retracting doors and into a spacious hallway. The passage before them is curving and windowless, but elegant in its design, it’s silver walls ribbed with thin bulkheads, and flooded with indirect lighting, all its surfaces rounded and polished, meant to reflect Red Filter wealth.
The ceiling is lined with metal nozzles.
Fire extinguishers? Kill gas? What?
People in white uniforms are walking in both directions, and it’s impossible to ignore the fact that all of them are Earthbounders, and all of them are women. Most of them are young. Most of them are dark skinned.
A few even look familiar, like he’s seen them up close before, talked to them before…
And, of course, it’s possible.
How many women did we extract? His mind wanders, trying to come up with the number, though it couldn’t have been all that high. It was maybe one extract a month for the first year he was with the team, and then, more recently, it was a few every week, each one encountering greater resistance from faceless assailants that shot at them from the dark.
So, all he can really remember is a mesh of shell shocked expressions, some younger than Niri, but most about the same age, their dark eyes imploring him to help, to protect, but never to explain.
Like they all sort of knew what was coming.
He studies the faces for a minute, looking at each one as they pass by. They’re not mulling, not socializing, though they occasionally nod, smile to each other. They seem at ease. Some are carrying small items, holo pads, scanners, as if they’re at work, focused on whatever tasks have them walking down a corridor at this particular moment.
They don’t exactly ignore him, or Niri.
He catches glances, flashes of recognition, or even alarm, so fleeting it’s gone almost immediately, their gazes quickly refocused elsewhere, as if there’s still no need to ask… as if they still all know.
Dr. Williams keeps walking, and the number of women in the hallway dwindles to nothing, presumably because the doctor is moving into more restricted areas. No more doors. No more separate compartments.
Monitoring panels blink as they pass, tracking their progress.
Another pair of retractable blast doors appears ahead, and Williams actually raises her hand toward the cameras positioned around them, saluting the recognition software from four different angles.
The doors unlock and slide open.
The narrow corridor inside is brighter, harsher, an entrance hallway filled with white noise and the ionized smell of filtered air.
“The vault is in there, Niri,” Williams says, pointing to the dark glass doors at the end of the corridor. “Behind those doors is the observation deck, the place where we watch the vault, the cave. You’ll understand everything when you see it. You won’t believe what’s in there. We just need to do the routine scans, and then I’ll take you in, and you’ll finally be able to see the colony for yourself. You can even explore the external module, if you’re ready. We just need to get you out of that suit.”
Niri nods, and follows the woman into an open compartment, an exam room just before the glass doors. It’s a typical medical isolation unit, bleak, with a wall of screens standing in one corner, and table of testing equipment nearby.
Logan pauses, feeling like he shouldn’t be here for this.
Dr. Williams gestures that Niri should sit on the table. “This is really just a formality because we did these tests at Fort Liberty but----”
The lights in the compartment go yellow, spreading a sulfuric blaze over all the white surfaces. A tonal alarm sounds from all of the monitoring panels, both in the compartment and in the outside corridor.
What the…?
The doc looks back at Logan, and her face says it all, mouth open, dark eyes wide… Pure panic. She shakes her head. “Lockdown.”
“Excuse me?”
“We’re going into lockdown.”
She doesn’t have to explain it further because a computerized voice starts echoing through the monitors, doing the job for her. “BIOSTAT is now in lockdown. Please proceed to your designated security area. All doors will lock automatically in six minutes. If you need assistance, notify the monitoring station immediately. BIOSTAT is now in lockdown…”
Dr. Williams runs her small hands over her face then steeples her fingers, as if to brace herself. She looks at him, remorseful, though whether that constitutes an apology for forcing him to leave his gun behind is unclear. “Can you stay with her for a minute? I have to consult with the director.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says.
“Just stay right here.”
Logan says nothing, and she walks past him, disappearing in the odd light.
He checks
the holo comm on his wrist, and sees nothing for Voss, or Wyatt, but gets a green bead for Gojo. He activates the connection and gets static, then the voice of the tech sergeant filters through. “I got you online, Corporal,” he says, quick, distracted. “I am currently in the monitoring station, sub-routing our channel through the internal comms. You should be able to get Actual at the hangar, just not yet. The system’s busy.”
“What’s with the lockdown?”
“A precaution. Two armed aircraft may be headed our way, but we can’t see anything coming yet.”
“Copy. I don’t have a gun.”
“You what?”
“I don’t have a gun. They took it at the monitoring station.”
“Uhh, okay… hold on a sec.”
There’s a break, then Gojo comes back. “Confirmed, your sidearm is here, but I can’t get it to you.”
Logan nods. Of course, not. “Copy.”
“Got shit to do,” Gojo says, busy and done with it. “Will inform you if anything changes.”
Logan lets the connection drop, thinking that if anything changes, he’s going to be barricading chairs against glass doors, collecting syringes to throw at… whoever.
Niri’s still sitting on the table, watching him.
He considers her a minute then glances at the equipment around them, some collection of errant science. “You don’t have to do this.”
“I was designed to do this.”
“Really?” he replies, harsher than he intends, grimaces, softens his tone. “It doesn’t matter, whatever they’re telling you. It doesn’t matter. You can still walk out of here right now. I’ll get you out.”
“I can hear it.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to get closer to it.”
“You don’t know what it sounds like.”
She looks lost, so he moves closer. Only now it’s harder, being next to her, and she looks up at him in a way that brings it all back, the hours, days, spent in a windowless cabin hurtling across the black vacuum of big sky. Hard to forget that version of her, dazed and tormented, murmuring about her about evil, about how they would kill her in Red Filter.
They will have to. She said that, didn’t she?
Dreams, nightmares, he never knew, just listened as she went through it, her thoughts woven together out of order, threaded with the names of gods and monsters he didn’t recognize.
“You didn’t always want this,” he says. “Remember?”
“I was afraid.”
“Yeah.”
“But I was always afraid on Earth. Who isn’t afraid there?” She looks away from him, and he can see that she’s struggling with it, memories of what everyone remembers. For a second, the façade drops, and she’s not the starry eyed apostle. She’s just another survivor.
“You were more than afraid,” he says. “You thought they would kill you here. You told me they would have no choice. It was maybe a nightmare, but---”
“I was wrong.”
“I can get you out.”
“There is no out,” she murmurs. “This is what I am, and it will change everything. It will change this world, and will change Earth. This is what happens. This is what is supposed to happen to us.”
“Us?”
She looks at him, pressing her lips together, uncertain. “Us,” she repeats without explanation though the emphasis she puts on the word makes it seem as though it should be more than enough.
Us.
Meaningless.
He lets out a frustrated breath, unable to shake the protective burden, either because she seems fragile, or because he just doesn’t like what these people done. And maybe it’s both of those things.
It feels like he could just take her out now, with everyone looking the other way. It feels like he should do that.
“You are the best of them,” she says softly.
He looks down at her, and she clasps his hand, the way she did in the ship from Earth, only this time there’s more to it. He knows he should step back, but he doesn’t. He should let go, but he doesn’t.
She drops her gaze and grimaces, her lips parting, as if pain.
Then her hand slips away.
“Niri?” He watches her, unsure of what’s just happened.
Voices thread through the filtered air of the hallway.
Dr. Williams walks through the compartment door, leading an older man dressed in spotless white jacket, with loose pants that fall over soft soled shoes. He’s middle aged, black haired, and tall like they all are, though a bit puffier, carrying some extra weight.
“Niri,” he says, spreading his hands wide. “We’ve been waiting for you, dear. How wonderful you look. I’m Dr. Neilson.”
She looks up at him, as if she’s just finished contemplating the shards of a broken mirror. “I want to see the colony now,” she says. “It must be now.”
Dr. Neilson looks confused. “Good, ah… this… lockdown situation shouldn’t affect us down here. But it does place a priority on completing the indoctrination sooner, rather than later. Once it’s complete, we’re more flexible, if something should happen.”
Whatever that means. Logan scowls. The man is an ass. But then, he was always going to think so, no matter how the guy looked, or what he said.
Neilson looks at Logan, straightens, as if it’s man-to-man time. “And you’re a sergeant?”
“Corporal.”
Neilson nods, gives a derisive laugh, “Okay. Well, she wants you along, so it’s your lucky day, corporal. Keys to the kingdom and top secret clearance. Let’s hope someone’s thought that through. Let me take you to the observation deck, and get you orientated, so you don’t break anything when you’re out there. And who knows? If they put us in lockdown for a reason, and things get worse, we may actually need you.”
“You might,” Logan agrees.
Neilson flashes an irritated smile. “C’mon then.”
“I’m supposed to stay with her.”
“She’ll be along presently,” Neilson says, like Logan’s being tiresome. “And besides, she doesn’t need an orientation, does she? She was made for this. It’s you who doesn’t belong here, sport.”
The observation deck is a dim multi-level control room, an enormous semi-circle of windows peering out into a wet Martian cavern. Logan stops at the railing, lost in the sheer scope of it.
The cave itself is larger than he thought it would be, ridged with uneven rows of columnar grey basalt and squared volcanic pillars, pile formations that form its walls and ceilings. Along its floor, a watery landscape of pools and rock ledges stagger out in several directions, curving around the observation deck, and filling all the windows with color.
For a moment, he’s sure the glow is something they’ve installed, a flood of blue-green lighting set up for the benefit of the observers in hues that aren’t damaging to the BIO227 bacteria.
But then it hits him.
It’s not artificial. It’s biological.
The outside rock is glistening and iridescent, and color is flushing through it continuously, blooming green, then blue, shot with flashes of pure white, or muted purple.
BIO227.
He stares, trying to make sense of it.
It’s using bioluminescence, which not uncommon in Earth animals, but this seems different, too bright, complex. The whole thing is alive with it, rippling with bright chemical signals. BIO227 is communicating within its colony, its shimmer forming a kind of collective activity.
Dr. Neilson grins. “You get it, don’t you? You’re quick.”
“It’s communicating.”
“Give that man a prize.”
Logan glares at him though the guy doesn’t seem to register it, too busy being the chosen one, with a sense of humor that would get him punched in pie hole under different circumstances.
“It is communicating,” the guy confirms, waving one hand at the cavern beyond the glass. “What you see here are signals that are busy spreading information back and forth across the enti
re colony. Bioluminescence is something we’ve seen before, certainly. Earthbound bacteria were known to use it for quorum sensing, the most basic of decision making processes, yes-or-no stuff, colony-wide thought, frequently involving more than one species. BIO227 is also a combination of species, but it has developed very sophisticated communication methods. And how they live here---the energy they consume, the atmospheric by-products, these are capabilities that have taken us decades to even begin to understand. This colony has adapted, almost as if it was designed to live cleanly in this closed environment, and operate as one organism.”
Logan feels it take hold, the scope of something so massive, a collective entity that fills an entire cave, perhaps miles of it.
Nielson is still talking. “As far as we can tell, this is complex information that’s being shared, and processed. It BIO227 uses its mixture of species to full advantage, different cells that grow in different areas, and coordinate as multi-cellular structures. They don’t all have the same adaptations. They work together to create something larger. There are electrical signals passing back and forth between certain specialized structures as well, something akin to synapses in the human brain. The cells live and die in normal life cycles, but they refresh the colony in the same image, same types of cells growing in the same place, passing the same signals, perhaps even storing information, making BIO227, and whatever it thinks about, immortal.”
“Whatever it thinks about?
“Yeah,” Neilson arches one brow, his smile crooked. “We ran sensors through the cave and created our own custom EEG monitoring system. The electrical pulses match a recognizable brainwave activity, predominantly delta wave, like humans in a sleep state, like it’s dreaming. In other words, the colony itself is a structure for deep intelligence. A big brain. Incredible, eh?”
“That makes no sense at all.”
“Maybe not to you, but here it is. This is what evolution, outside our experience, looks like.”