by R S Penney
An image rippled into existence before him: a large, blue rectangle with the Leyrian phrase “placing call” blinking at him in huge letters. He was dimly aware of Jena coming up behind and cursing when she saw it.
The hologram vanished to be replaced with the transparent image of a tall man in black pants and a white shirt with the collar left open, a man with smooth skin, tilted eyes and long dark hair. “Jack!” Grecken Slade exclaimed. “I was hoping that it would be you. I really must congratulate you on defeating Wesley.”
Clenching his teeth, Jack winced and tossed his head about. “Slade!” he growled, stepping closer to the hologram. “Does this mean you found the Key? Not enough to just take your prize, eh? You have to gloat as well?”
Slade crossed his arms with a sigh, smiling down at himself. “Oh heavens, no!” he said through a lighthearted chuckle. “If only it were that simple. Honestly, Jack, did you really think we wouldn't try checking Inzari devices for the Key's location?”
“You've already been here?”
“Many times.”
Jack closed his eyes, breathing deeply to calm himself. “Which means the place is empty,” he said. “How is that possible? Why would the Overseers put false information in their own devices?”
Spreading his arms wide, Slade bowed low as if putting on a performance. “Isn't it obvious?” he asked. “One would think that your clever mind would have put the pieces together. The Key was here, but they've moved it.”
“How?”
Jena stepped forward to stand beside him with hands folded over her thighs, her face as hard as rock. “Moved it,” she asked, raising one eyebrow. “I thought the Key was a place. How do you move a place?”
“Station Twelve is a place,” Slade answered. “Fire its thrusters to adjust its orbit, and you will have successfully moved it.”
Pinching his chin with thumb and forefinger, Jack squinted at the other man. “Wait, this makes no sense,” he said. “You work for the Overseers, don't you? Why don't your bosses just tell you where the Key is?”
“That's why I want you on my side, Jack,” Slade murmured. He turned to Jena with a sour expression. “You, on the other hand, can die at your earliest convenience. I have no use for you.
“A small reward for your cleverness. The Inzari created the Key for us, intending for us to claim it when we were ready to wield its power. But a small number of them – a faction that believed it was wrong to direct humanity's evolution to their ends – hid the Key and masked it so that even Inzari technology could not detect it.
“Only humans can solve the puzzle, and we have spent decades searching for the Key. Everything you think to try, every new idea you come up with, we've done it first. But I thought I'd leave this little greeting for you in the event you should stumble upon this place. You see, now I know you're looking for the Key too.”
Mopping a hand over his face, Jack raked fingers through his sweat-slick hair. “Isn't that just grand?” he grumbled. “I guess you're gonna tell me that the cave is empty. You'll have to forgive me if I don't take your word for it.”
A wicked grin appeared on Slade's face, and he replied with cruel, self-satisfied laughter. “I wouldn't say that it's empty,” he said. “Explore the cave if you wish, Jack. But you won't like what you find.”
The hologram vanished.
At his side, Jena stood with her lips pursed, gazing into the darkness. “No time like the present,” she said, starting forward. “Come on, kid. Let's go find something we know we won't like.”
“You want to go on?”
She turned partway around, glancing over her shoulder to study him for a very long moment. “If there's something down here, I want to know what it is,” she said. “Besides, where's your sense of adventure?”
They journeyed deeper into the cave, to a point where the ground leveled off and he could hear a soft dripping sound in the distance. His flashlight allowed him to see a small area right in front of him, but spatial awareness did the rest. He could sense the uneven ceiling, the pits and dips in the floor.
A small ledge rose up before them to the height of Jack's waist. Being a gentleman, he climbed up first, then turned and offered a hand to his companion. She murmured her thanks and then pressed onward, her own flashlight swiveling this way and that.
A few minutes later, he sensed it.
A circle of spikes rising out of the ground, each curving inward like teeth from a perfectly round mouth. At first, he thought they were stalagmites, but that wasn't likely. They were far too smooth, far too uniform. Someone had constructed these things.
Jack dropped to one knee on the cold, damp ground, thrusting one fist out to shine a light on the structure. “Okay…That's unnerving,” he muttered. “You ever get hit hard with a sudden burst of genre savvy?”
“What are you talking-”
The walls lit up with a soft blue glow, a radiance that permeated the entire chamber from floor to ceiling. It should have been frightening – and he could sense tension from Summer – but for some reason, Jack found himself feeling strangely calm. Hey, if he was gonna die in some Eldritch abomination's stomach, at least his story would have a cool ending. Find the silver lining in everything.
Something that looked very much like black smoke rose up from inside the circle of spikes, coalescing into a cloud that hovered just a few feet below the ceiling. Two yellow eyes appeared, blazing with the heat of a thousand suns.
Amateur parlour tricks.
Jack tapped away at his multi-tool, bringing up the scanning feature. As expected, this creature was nothing but a hologram. A very sophisticated hologram, but sculpted light nonetheless.
The yellow eyes flared, and the cloud seemed to loom over him, tendrils of smoke reaching out like tentacles. “They come again!” a deep voice boomed. “Seeking answers, seeking meaning. Seeking us.”
Craning his neck, Jack blinked at the thing. “I'm guessing you're an Overseer,” he asked. “Well, if you don't mind, maybe you could give us a little insight as to-”
The cloud trembled, yellow light flashing within as if it intended to spit lightning bolts at him. Hell, maybe it did. There was no telling what these things were capable of. “Overseer,” it said. “A new term for that which you can never comprehend.”
“Oh, I get it,” Jack mocked. “This is the 'I'm old and inscrutable' speech. Hang on while a fish out my book full of cosmic horror clichés. I do believe your next line should include something about us being the dust at your feet.”
Jena stepped forward with hands clasped behind her back, her face glistening with a light sheen of sweat. “I saw what you did on that ship!” she barked. “The people that you turned into monsters. You're building an army!”
“What need would we have for an army?”
“You plan to wipe us out!”
The cloud pulsed, yellow lightning flashing within. The rumbling sound he heard sounded so very much like mocking laughter. “What purpose would be served by your extinction?” it asked in mocking tones. “Limited creatures. You struggle for understanding, but the true nature of the universe yet eludes you.”
Jack got to his feet.
He crossed his arms with a heavy sigh, frowning down at himself. “Okay,” he said, pacing toward the apparition. “You've got my attention. If you don't want to kill us, then what do you want with us?”
The cloud expanded, wisps of smoke curling up toward the ceiling, and the yellow eyes were suddenly fixed upon him. Twin infernos that threatened to scorch him to ash with a single glance. “Your species considers itself the pinnacle of evolution,” the cloud thundered. “You sculpt metal to serve your will and think yourselves gods. We sculpt flesh to serve our will. You are flesh; you will serve our will.”
Terror seized Jack's heart in icy fingers. Was this thing saying what he thought it was saying? Was humanity just one more piece of organic technology to be used by these Overseers? That couldn't be possible! It was a lie; it had to be! Jack wasn't just
a cog in some great machine. He had a soul, god damn it!
Or did he…
The Nassai had been created by the Overseers to allow organic ships to reach faster than light travel. An entire species created and then abandoned because it had outlived its usefulness. If the Overseers could do that to Summer's people, then why not to humans? Was anything he had been taught in school correct?
Jack looked up with teeth bared, hissing like a steaming tea kettle. “I don't accept that,” he said, shaking his head. “Not for one god damn minute! Humans aren't so easily controlled. We will fight you.”
“In resisting, you serve us still.”
“How?”
The cloud pulsed, yellow light flickering within. It reached out with one smokey tendril, and there was a pressure on his mind.
A white flash drowned out everything, and suddenly he was standing in his sister's living room, just inside the front door, the containment unit that carried Summer resting on the table beside him.
A uniformed cop with an ugly face stood with a pistol clutched in both hands, its barrel pointed right at Jack's chest. Hutchinson. He remembered this moment. “Defiance is your purpose,” the voice echoed. “Your function.”
Another flash, and then he was standing in Slade's office, watching as the former head of the Justice Keepers approached a window that looked out upon field of stars. The man stood with his back turned, hands clasped behind himself. Jack knew this moment as well; this was the day he had been suspended for defying Breslan's orders and capturing Nicolae Petrov. “Defiance is your central imperative. It is coded into the very essence of your being. In following that imperative, you serve us.”
A flash returned him to the cave.
Jack squeezed his eyes shut. “That's not true,” he said, his voice thick with hatred. “Break out whatever mind screw you want, but you do not own me!”
“Ownership. A human concept.”
Something touched his arm.
A glance over his shoulder revealed Jena standing there with a thin smile on her face. “Come on,” she said, jerking her head toward the cave's entrance. “Let's go. There's nothing for us here besides a bunch of empty posturing.”
“Your arrogance blinds you,” the voice boomed.
“Funny,” Jena replied. “I was about to say the same thing.”
Despite his anger, Jack allowed himself to be led away from the strange hologram, back to the mouth of the cave. The walls dimmed as they went, and they had to rely on their flashlights once again. “Serve your function, Justice Keeper,” a deep voice echoed from behind them. “The next phase will soon begin.”
Chapter 30
No more dead babies.
Thin rays of sunlight came through the skylight in the ceiling, illuminating a large lobby with gray carpets and a curved wooden desk along the wall opposite door. Half a dozen people – most of them women – knelt in front of the bench seats in the middle of the room with fingers laced over their heads.
Christopher tossed the receptionist to the floor.
A tall woman in a black skirt and matching blouse, she landed on all fours, her dark hair fanning over her back. “Please,” she whimpered, her body shaking with every gasp. “You don't have to do this.”
Christopher stood over her in blue jeans and a gray t-shirt, the gun in his right hand pointed at the back of her head. He was a tall man with pale skin, stubble on his jawline and dark hair that he wore neatly combed.
Christopher winced, turning his face away from her. “You kill babies,” he growled, kicking her in the short ribs. “Use their bodies for your twisted experiments, and yet you are afraid to die?”
One of the women near the door rose.
In a heartbeat, Christopher had the gun pointed at her, and she froze in a crouch, raising both hands into the air. “Stay on your fucking knees, whore!” he spat. “That's where you belong. All of you. Murdering children to avoid responsibility for-”
His phone rang.
That damn police sergeant wanted to talk again. As if he would entertain anything the other man had to say. If there were any justice in this world, those officers out there would be on his side, but America had thrown justice to the wind over fifty years ago. Someone had to take a stand. Someone had to speak for God.
He answered the phone, lifting the receiver to his ear. “How you doing in there, Chris?” Sergeant Matthews's voice came through the speaker. “I'm hoping you've had a few moments to calm down.”
Gritting his teeth with a hiss, Christopher looked down at the floor. “Calm down?” he said, ignoring the sweat on his brow. “You want me to calm down? You've got twenty men surrounding this building, and you want me to calm down?”
“No one wants to hurt you, Chris,” Matthews assured him. “We want to help you get better, but in order to do that, you're going to have to give us a show of good faith. How 'bout releasing two of the hostages?”
“Fuck you!”
“Chris, you're gonna have to play ball here.”
By instinct, he moved to the back of the lobby, near the wooden door that led to the examination room. The front windows were all frosted glass - the better to let these sinners escape the eyes of judgment – but he didn't want their sharpshooters getting any bright ideas. “How far you've fallen,” he whispered into the phone. “These people butcher children, and you defend them?”
“I understand what you're feeling, Chris, but-”
“There was a time when this country stood for something!” He rolled up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo of Old Glory on his upper arm. Seven red stripes, six white stripes and fifty stars: once upon a time, it was a symbol, a beacon to the rest of the world. But now, America was nothing but a hollow shell of its former self, a nation that had turned its back on God and suffered for it.
“Chris…”
Shutting his eyes tight, Christopher gave his head a shake. “I'm not giving you any of the hostages,” he said. “You pull your people back, give me some breathing room, and maybe we'll talk.”
“Chris, I need you to-”
The line went dead all of a sudden, and before Christopher could even wonder what had caused the disruption, gunfire erupted, filling the air with a vicious growl. Hostages shrieked and dropped to the floor in terror, but none of those shots hit the window. Not one stray bullet found its way into the clinic. Whatever the cops were shooting at, it certainly wasn't him.
The shots stopped, leaving a silence that felt like going deaf, but he could just make out the sounds of voices outside. “Jesus Christ!” someone shouted. “How in God's name did they do that? Did we hit one?”
One what?
A moment later, the skylight shattered, raining shards of glass down on frightened people, and once again, the lobby was an echo chamber of screams and pleas to the God who had long since forsaken these sinners. “Shut up!” Chris bellowed, gesturing with his pistol. “Shut your fucking mouths!”
A man dropped through the opening, landing on one knee in the middle of the floor. Tall and lithe, he wore black pants and a red coat. He was Asian, with delicate features and long dark hair. “Greetings,” he said, rising.
Three others followed him through the skylight. A woman in beige pants and a white t-shirt landed just behind the newcomer, swiveling around to point pistols at the cowering hostages. Her face was hidden behind a ski-mask.
Next came a black man who wore simple gray clothing. His face was handsome with a square jaw, and his dark hair was kept short in a crew cut. The smile he directed at everyone in the room made Christopher think of a cat that had just cornered its lunch.
Finally, another woman dropped from the roof into the lobby, this one short and slim with olive skin and brown hair that fell over her shoulders in curls. She looked like she could kill with a glance.
Christopher stared at them with a gaping mouth, blinking slowly. “Who are you?” he said, raising his gun to defend himself. “Who…Why would you? What do you want with me?”
The As
ian man turned with his hands raised defensively, a sly, satisfied smile on his face. “Please…You have nothing to fear from us,” he replied, starting toward Christopher at a measured pace. “Your faith and dedication have been rewarded.”
“Rewarded?”
“Why have you come here, my son?”
Red-cheeked, Christopher squeezed his eyes shut. He let his head hang and heaved out a breath. “These people are murderers,” he muttered. “Somebody has to take a stand for justice!”
“They have transgressed?”
“They kill babies!”
The Asian man's smile deepened, and he bowed his head almost respectfully. “Do you know who I am, my child?” he asked in a voice as smooth as silk. “I am a servant of the Divine. My name is Grecken Slade.”
Something about that name tickled Christopher's memory, but he couldn't say what. He'd heard it before, but he didn't know where. Not that it mattered. If this man intended to stand in his way, he would simply pull the trigger. “That's close enough!” Christopher shouted, gesturing with his pistol.
Slade stopped in his tracks.
The man turned his head to direct a frown over his shoulder. “You are a man of true dedication,” he said, nodding with satisfaction. “It takes an enormous amount of courage to stand up for your convictions.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Allow me to introduce my companions,” Slade said, gesturing at the black man. “This is Arin. He has only recently joined us.”
Before Christopher could speak, Slade was spinning around and facing the masked woman. “Isara,” he said, striding forward and clapping her on the shoulder. “By far, my most skilled warrior. She has been at my side for over a hundred years.”
Some the hostages perked up at that, exchanging startled glances with one another. The receptionist was so shocked by what she heard, she actually got up on her knees so she could get a good look at the woman. Christopher couldn't say he blamed her. Over a hundred years? Was the mask hiding an ugly, withered face?
Twirling on his heel, Slade approached his third companion with his head down. This one had the appearance of a lioness, and whenever she looked at Christopher, he couldn't help but feel like she was thinking about ripping him to pieces. “Valeth,” Slade said, gently touching the woman's arm. “Our newest recruit.”