Ouroboros 1: Start

by Odette C. Bell

  Carson had a relatively good working relationship with Admiral Forest. Sure, she was frosty, but that could be said for most of the admirals he’d ever met. You didn’t get to climb the ranks that high by being sweetness and light. Forest was efficient and to the point, and right now she growled at Carson once more to leave the damn hospital and go back to his apartment.

  Though he should have immediately snapped a salute, turned from her, and followed her direct order, he didn’t. Despite his years of training, he simply stood there, his lips parted in surprise.

  “You heard me,” Forest grumbled. “There is nothing you can do from this room. Nobody will answer your questions; I have told everybody in this hospital not to answer anybody’s questions. From the press, from her parents, from friends, from cadets, from anybody. This situation is now locked down,” Forest brought up a finger and pointed at the ground with so much finality it was a wonder the concrete didn’t shatter into dust.

  Carson swallowed hard, and he had to use every ounce of self-control not to tell her he had no intention of following her order.

  Forest pressed her lips together and considered him in silence for several seconds. “You have done all you can. We have got it now.”

  “So I’m just meant to return to my apartment . . . and what? Pretend nothing happened? Get on with my life? Forget this . . . whatever this is?” Carson pushed his questions out, even though asking them was against his better judgement. While he did objectively have a good relationship with Forest, she was an admiral, and he wasn’t. He was just a lieutenant, and he had absolutely no right to be peppering his superior with demands. She would tell him just as much as she believed he needed to know, and no more. That was how the chain of command worked.

  But right now, he chose to forget that as he squared off his shoulders, locked his jaw, and stared down at her, demanding an answer.

  Forest held his gaze like the true professional she was, then she arched an eyebrow slowly. “For god sakes, man, there’s nothing more you can do here. And no, you aren’t meant to go home and forget about this. We will keep you in the loop, but right now, there isn’t much of a loop to keep you in, and you aren’t doing anybody any favours by sitting grumpily in this room. We have our best people working on this, and right now, you need to go and get some rest. Because we never know when we might have to get the Force involved,” she added under her breath.

  Carson’s eyebrows crumpled at that. He couldn’t help it; it was an instinctive move. At Forest's mumbled comment, his belly kicked with nerves, and panic cascaded up his back like a cold, frozen wash of ice, freezing him as it went. “What is that meant to mean?”

  Forest looked up at him sharply. She appeared to consider her words before she answered, “we need to find out what is happening here, we also need to be prepared in case things get worse.”

  “Worse?” Carson took a step towards Forest, even though it was an intimidating move, and she was the kind of woman who could not be intimidated.

  Sure enough, she didn’t stand back or shut up, she simply hardened her gaze and shot him a look that told him he was nothing but a boy compared to her. “We have no idea what has happened to her implant, none. But it’s clear that whatever it is, it cannot be controlled and is very, very dangerous. We need to act to find out what is going on and to ensure that whatever the trouble is, it won’t spread,” Forest's voice became croaky as a burst of desperation constricted her throat.

  Despite himself, Carson shivered. “Spreads? How could it spread? The last I heard, the technicians told me that the damage to Harper's implant was likely due to some kind of impact.”

  Forest considered him in silence, then she shook her head. She had closely cropped brown hair, and for a moment, she forced her fingers through it, the knuckles white with tension. “That was just a theory, and now it has been superseded by another,” she said diplomatically.

  “Tell me.”

  Again, Forest arched an eyebrow at him. “I will tell you as much as I believe you need to know, and you should not push me for more information.”

  Carson slammed his teeth together, swallowing whatever insult came to mind.

  She was right.

  “But as for this, you will likely find out about it soon anyway,” she sighed, and it was a particularly heavy, fatigued move that suggested she was far more tired than her steely gaze allowed for. In fact, it was likely the Admiral wouldn’t get a chance to rest any time soon; the entire Academy and every member of its council would be awake until this situation was solved.

  Carson withdrew into silence, allowing her the opportunity to answer at her own pace. It was hard though; he wanted to rush up to her, beg her—no shout at her—to tell him everything right now.

  “There is some kind of . . . energy attacking the implant,” she managed.

  Carson felt cold. Colder than before. In fact, the chill that passed across his skin was so perfect and complete it felt as if the blood had been pumped from his veins and replaced with nothing but powdered snow. “Energy?” He repeated in a husky tone.

  Forest nodded, closing her eyes briefly as she did. When she flashed them open again, she appeared to double her efforts at composing herself. “We have kept it in check so far with a stasis field, but we cannot say what it is and where it has come from.”

  Carson doubled back. “What do you mean by energy?”

  Forest shrugged her shoulders, momentarily looking completely lost. Admiral Lara Forest was not the kind of woman who ever looked lost; she knew how to handle herself in every single situation, and it was usually with forthright power and determination. Yet now she brought up that same white knuckled hand and forced it through her short hair. “We don’t know. Something is attacking the implant. It could be an entity; it could be some form of radiation we have never encountered. All we know is that there is some kind of blue, cascading light that appears to be . . . well, destroying the implant,” Forest managed with a brief shake of her head.

  Carson stood there and waited for her to explain. Because what she had said made no sense. None at all.

  An entity, blue energy? It sounded like pseudo-science from 1000 years ago. And then he remembered something. Something that sent a powerful shudder shooting up his spine as if somebody had slammed a sledgehammer into it.

  Blue light.

  Several times, he had sworn he’d seen a flash of blue light in Harper’s eyes. Right in the depths of her pupils. Each time he had dismissed it, because, frankly, it had seemed impossible.

  Now it chilled him even more, until he felt like nothing more than a body carved from ice.

  “The short of it is, simply, that we do not know. We are still doing tests, and that is why we must be very careful. We need to keep this under wraps,” Forest's determination returned to her, and she pointed another stiff knuckled hand at the floor, “we cannot let word of this get out until we know what we are dealing with. There could be panic.”

  Carson did not need Forest to explain that; he understood the sentiment completely. At the mere mention that Cadet Harper's implant had malfunctioned several days ago, the Academy had buzzed at the gossip. Telekinetic implants, after all, did not malfunction. But what was now happening to Harper and her implant . . . went beyond that. It went several thousand light years beyond that. Something was attacking her, and nobody, including the smartest minds in the galaxy, had any idea what it was.

  Panic, in fact, would be an understatement. The kind of furore this news would create could cripple the Academy. Every single cadet, officer, lieutenant, captain, and admiral had a telekinetic implant. You received it on your first day at the Academy, and you wore it until you died. It was integral to the use of the United Galactic Coalition Army's technology.

  If something threatened that . . . god, it practically threatened the future of the United Galactic Coalition.

  For the first time he realised how serious this was, and he took a step back, slapping a hand on his open mouth and drawing a br
eath through his sweaty fingers.

  Forest watched him carefully. “No news of this can get out,” she repeated.

  He nodded. “But . . . ,” he began, searching for something to ask that would force this situation to make sense, “what do we do now?”

  “We let the doctors and technicians work,” she said clearly, false calm infiltrating her voice. It was false, because there was no way anyone, even Admiral Lara Forest, could be calm under circumstances like these.

  “Is she . . . . Do you think she'll be okay?” he stuttered.

  . . . .

  It was the dumbest question he could have asked, especially in the Admiral’s presence. A) she didn’t know, and b), it wasn’t her primary concern. As harsh as it sounded, Cadet Harper's life wasn’t the reason for Forest's dismay; it was the implant.

  Forest considered him silently, then shrugged, the move so tense her neck muscles protruded. “We are doing everything we can,” she managed.

  Carson just nodded, then he took another step back, and another, and finally he snapped a salute. Well, he tried to snap a salute; what he managed was more of a limp, sloppy wave, but at least Forest returned it.

  “Go back to your apartment, and you will be contacted when we have any information to share,” Forest assured him once more.

  He nodded at the Admiral. Then he turned, heading towards the doors. Before he reached them, he paused. He twisted his head, considering her from over his shoulder. “This all started on that planet, you know, Remus 12,” despite himself, his voice shook as he repeated the planet's name.

  Forest looked up sharply. “We can’t be sure of that.”

  Carson swallowed a bitter laugh. No, they couldn’t be sure of that, but they could be relatively certain nonetheless. According to what he knew of Cadet Harper, she had been nothing but the worst recruit in 1000 years before she'd ventured to that planet. Now she was quite possibly the greatest secret the Academy had.

  He shook his head stiffly. “It all started on that planet,” he repeated.

  “Unless you have solid evidence to prove that, I suggest you leave the theorising to the technicians.”

  Though the Admiral’s tone was aggressive, Carson didn’t react.

  He knew he was right. Dammit, he just knew he was right. Her dreams hadn’t started until she'd returned from Remus 12, right? And she certainly hadn’t harboured the ability to cause TI objects to go nuts around her before her mission to that world. If she had, Commander Sharpe would have said something about it.

  No, he knew it had started there.

  Suddenly he stiffened.

  He forced his mind to go through everything he knew about that planet, and as it did, it brought up one single fact and one single memory.

  Just after Carson had seen Harper on his return to Earth, she had apologised for losing his scanner.

  She had left it on the planet.

  . . . .

  Carson looked up and he knew what he had to do. He took a single determined step into the room, and his footfall echoed loud and clear. “We have to go back to Remus 12. I am almost certain that whatever happened to Cadet Harper can be tracked down to how she received her injuries. The broken rib, the sprained ankle, the concussion. Everybody assumed she’d fallen over, but I’m telling you, whatever caused that probably caused what’s happening to her implant,” his voice became unstable towards the end, but with a stiff breath, he managed to finish his words.

  Forest looked at him, a strange mix of concern, disbelief, and anger flashing through her gaze. “I told you, unless you have some evidence,” she began.

  He put a hand up in a commanding, authoritative move that could easily get him a reprimand. “I do. My scanner. Cadet Harper lost it on the planet. Presumably, it's still there.”

  Slowly Forest narrowed her eyes. “That’s it?”

  Carson swallowed uncomfortably, but he pushed on nonetheless. “Those scanners are hardy, and I’m damn sure it will still be there. If we’re lucky, it will be able to tell us everything about what happened to her.”

  “And if we are unlucky, it will tell us nothing, and we will have wasted a trip to Remus 12,” Forest shot back immediately.

  Carson took a frustrated, ragged breath. Planting his hands on his hips, he pushed his shoulders out until he felt the reassuring rigidity travel up his back and stiffen his legs and jaw. “It’s worth a try. You said yourself, we have no idea what is going on here. And if we have no idea, we must be sure to gather information from every possible source. You may not believe me that this all began on that planet, but give me the chance to prove it. Remus 12 isn’t all that far away using priority Coalition transport routes. I could be there and back in a week.”

  Forest didn’t say anything. Instead, she stood there, looking as stiff-lipped and severe as a statue of a vengeful goddess. But finally, she nodded her head. It was a curt move, but it sent a thankful wave of hope rushing through him.

  “It could be the only chance we have to find out,” he continued.

  It was Forest's turn to put a stiff hand up in a stopping motion. “Enough, Lieutenant; you have already convinced me. And you are right; in a situation as uncertain as this, we must look to every possible clue. I will clear a priority transport route for you, but I will not clear your whole team. You will have to go alone. I do not want the Force to leave Earth, not now,” she added in a far-off tone as she stared past Carson at the door.

  Carson didn’t want to know what she was thinking about. He could guess though.

  With a shiver, he snapped another salute, and this time it was firm and perfect. “Thank you, Admiral.”

  “Don’t thank me, just prove me wrong. Bring me back that scanner from Remus 12, and shed light on this rapidly darkening situation. I want to know what that blue energy is, and I want to find out if it can spread.”

  “And you want to save Cadet Harper’s life,” Carson added.

  He shouldn’t have, he really shouldn’t have. Forest had just given him what he wanted, and now he was subtly correcting her.

  But he had a point. A terribly good one.

  While everything else was critically important, they couldn’t forget that a cadet’s life was on the line.

  Far from reprimanding him, the Admiral nodded. “Yes, we need to do everything we can to save her life. Now you are dismissed. Go back to your apartment before I have a security detail escort you there.”

  With that threat ringing through his ears, he turned on his heels, didn’t bother to offer a goodbye, and half jogged from the room.

  As the doors closed behind him, he closed his eyes too and gave a brief prayer of thanks.

  It felt good to have a plan; it felt better to have the permission to go ahead with it.

  As he strode through the hospital corridors, he couldn’t help but notice how many security guards were dotted around the place.

  And not just your average security guards; he recognised the specific black armour and red insignia of the Academy Elite Forces.

  He knew some of those men and women, and he nodded at them as they passed.

  Though they returned his greeting, they did not seek to engage him in conversation. Instead they stood there, looking supremely watchful and powerful, their weapons ready at their sides.

  The other thing Carson noted as he strode through the hallways was the lack of staff and patients.

  It appeared they had all been shifted to another floor of the building.

  Of course they had.

  If he were in Admiral Forest's position, maybe he would have done the same thing. She had to keep this under wraps, and the best way to do that was to minimise how many people came in contact with Harper.

  With every step through those halls, it dawned on him how terribly serious the situation had become.

  It seemed like only a few minutes ago that he'd caught Harper slumbering under that oak tree. Well now she was in a locked down hospital, under some kind of stasis field, whilst every senior member of
the Academy tried to figure out what was going wrong.

  As he finally made it out of the hospital doors and into the cool, pleasant night, he couldn’t even muster a smile for the gentle breeze and the brilliant night sky above.

  Even though this city had a great deal of light pollution, you could still see the stars glittering down from on high, and it was one of Carson’s favourite pastimes to stare up at them and indulge in their unique beauty.

  Well, right now he didn’t have the time. And the only feeling he could indulge in was guilt. Guilt that he hadn’t seen what was happening. That he hadn’t figured it out. And that he hadn’t, importantly, stopped it.

  Though he made it back to his apartment in short time, as soon as he walked in the doors, he was at a loss.

  Though he wanted to take off his clothes, shower, and grab some food, he couldn’t.

  He simply ground to a halt in the centre of his lounge room floor, within distance of his couch, but without the energy to walk over to it and flop face-first into the cushions.

  So instead, he simply stood there and slowly surveyed his house.

  There was artwork on the walls and on the tops of the furniture. Tribal masks, intricate boxes and vases, holographic pictures of alien planets. All souvenirs he had brought back from his travels.

  They drew the eye, trying to distract him with their intricate and unique beauty, but again, there was nothing he could fix his attention on other than Harper.

  . . . .

  He closed his eyes. Pressing his thumb and forefinger hard into his eyelids, he watched stars cascade through the dark.

  Though he wasn’t a child, and knew better, he kept on pressing and pressing until his eyeballs hurt and the flashes of light merged like glowing trails squirming in the dark.

  It took a long time to force his hands to drop to his sides, and even longer to walk over to the couch.

  Then he sat. He rested his head against the high back of the couch, eventually managing to close his eyes.

  Now he would have to wait. It sounded like a simple enough task, but he was not naïve, and knew it would be almost impossible.