Her mind grasped at improbable hopes. Jonathan was clever, and he had known he was under surveillance for a while now. He’d simply found a way to give Olivia’s team the slip. The hope was useless though—no better than a penny tossed in a fountain. She remembered the state Jonathan had been in the night before. Trembling, clutching himself against her living room wall as though under some internal assault.
The whispers returned, telling her it was too big and beyond her to make a difference, to even understand. There was no way to know if he was in danger…
A thought struck home as she remembered the footage. Maybe there was no way for her to know, but Jonathan had known when Rylee’s life was threatened.
Was it possible that this went both ways? If he’d been taken, if he had been harmed, would Rylee already be aware of it?
She was supposed to rendezvous with The Cell to plan their next course of action, but Leah had already decided not to follow those orders—not immediately. She ground to a halt before the front door and turned to the garage. If Jonathan was in trouble and Rylee had felt it—Leah could get it out of her. She would read it off the fear in Rylee’s eyes just as she’d seen it in Jonathan’s the night before.
She steadied herself in front of the garage door. She breathed, centering herself so that no one would suspect the growing storm of fear underneath her carefree smile, and she opened the door.
She found Rylee leaning beside Hayden on the washing machine. He was grinning and animated, excited about whatever they were talking about as Leah walked in on the middle of it.
“—Like sculpting, but with an arc welder and stee—” Hayden broke off, grinning when he saw her. “Hey, Leah! Guess your ears were burning.”
“I’ve told you before, it’s near impossible for me to manipulate your device,” Heyer said. “The Borealis extinction left my brother and I bereft of the necessary knowledge to bypass the device’s encryptions. We lack the expertise, and anyone who may have possessed it is long dead.”
Jonathan nodded.
“That remains mostly the truth, but not the entirety. You see, when the Borealis died, certain fail-safes went into place.”
“Fail-safes?” Jonathan asked.
“Have you seen a television or computer that had parental controls?” Mr. Clean asked.
“Sure.”
“The network that links the Borealis’ accumulated knowledge throughout the known dimensions went into a type of lock-down the moment our leaders began dying in droves. Specific types of information became inaccessible. The records we can access are what one might call ‘safe for public knowledge,’ those that remain irretrievable seem to be what the Borealis gatekeeper’s thought too dangerous to leave unprotected,” said Mr. Clean. “Much like the governing entities of Mankind guard the operational instructions of nuclear weapons, the Borealis locked down their accumulated knowledge on biological functions of all known species, archives on destructive weaponry, and dimensional manipulation. If this were not the case, then events would not have led to where we are today. If I had access to these records, perhaps I could instruct Malkier on how to set about repairing the Ferox biology. At the very least, I would be able to get around more of the encryptions placed on the human implants.”
Heyer spoke up then. “As it is, Malkier and I found we had inherited our species’ technology, but if the equipment we wished to use was deemed too dangerous during the lock down, we essentially had no user manual or access codes.
“You see, we have tried a number of alternative workarounds in attempting to make Ferox males fertile. Hormonal and genetic manipulation, hallucinogenic compounds, holographic and robotic combatants. In the end, we found that our ancestors had been far more effective at safeguarding their control over the Feroxian genome. Despite generations of Feroxian evolution since the Borealis died off, we have been unable to remove the hardwiring that forces their need for physical confrontation. We cannot be certain that the potential to reverse the process still exists within the gene pool.”
Jonathan bit his lip. “So, when the Borealis altered the Ferox, they included traits that would safeguard the changes they made. They were trying to make it difficult for natural selection to ever rid the species of certain traits by chance.”
“That is an accurate way of describing it,” Mr. Clean replied.
“Which brings us back to today,” Heyer said. “The safeguards on my ancestors’ knowledge base proved themselves wise, but, ultimately, too little too late. Whoever was responsible for the extinction must have gained the skill and knowledge necessary to bypass the security protecting each Borealis implant. They used this knowledge to exploit a weakness that caused fatality in every implant installed throughout the species. However, the Borealis leaders never suspected an event as cataclysmic as what transpired was approaching. These lock-down procedures were in place long before.”
“It’s rather frustrating, for my part,” Mr. Clean said. “Not unlike paralysis in a limb, I imagine.”
Jonathan turned his attention back to the monitor and frowned. “I don’t follow.”
“It’s the best analogy a man might relate to,” Mr. Clean said. “I am intended, amongst many other things, to be a facilitator—a librarian of sorts—for a member of the Borealis seeking information. In that regard, it’s as though I have limbs I cannot communicate with. I can send a request for information, but any inquiries for specific subjects go unanswered, as though I sent them to a place that no longer exists, never to receive a response from the network. I do not even know if the request was received.”
Jonathan nodded. “You said there were consequences because of this. Consequence to Earth in particular?”
Heyer nodded. “Imagine you have accidentally left a child alone with your computer. With nothing to occupy himself, the child gets bored, and eventually starts using the machine. When you return, you find he has been on your computer for hours. What concerns come to mind from this scenario?”
The question was peculiar, but Jonathan humored the alien. “I’d be anxious. Who knows what the kid mucked up while he was screwing around.”
“Exactly. It’s a complicated piece of equipment that you need for certain things. You don’t want to find that the child did something that will cause a problem.”
Jonathan nodded.
“Now imagine that your computer is not a modern model. That it was some old relic, put together from spare parts, and running on a pirated operating system you don’t have a backup for,” Heyer said.
Jonathan sighed. “Well, then it would be worse. I couldn’t get the computer back to its original settings if the kid had done something I didn’t know how to fix. Why are we talking about a hypothetical child breaking an imaginary computer?”
Heyer pointed to the dormant device sitting on the table between them. “The human devices are much like that hypothetical computer. Mr. Clean and I are the child.” Heyer pointed to his chest then. “The Borealis device in my chest is user-friendly. It doesn’t require I get involved in the complexities of its operation. I can insert myself into any intelligent species I encounter, and the implant adapts on its own, not requiring me to do any adjustments beforehand for compatibility. Had this not been the case, then Malkier and I would not have survived the failure of our original bodies, as the A.I. on our vessels would be unable to adapt our implants for use in another species,” he said, then nodded back to the dormant device. “The older they are, the more difficult they are to operate.”
Jonathan nodded, starting to get an inkling of what the alien was getting at. “So, the device you are installing in men is old and complicated, something you are afraid to mess with. Because, once broken, you can’t fix it.”
Heyer nodded.
“So,” Jonathan said, “don’t screw with it?”
Heyer bit his bottom lip, looking pained. “In the end, that is not the point. The reason for the implant in my chest is clear—the existence of a Borealis implant requires no explanation. The q
uestion you should be asking is why my ancestors created an implant only meant to be installed in humans.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
“SOME TIME AGO, Malkier and I excavated a planet in this dimension. It was the home of a sect of the Borealis that called themselves the Foedrata. Historically, this group was not regarded highly throughout the rest of the species,” Heyer said.
“Why is that?” Jonathan asked.
“A difference of opinion would be putting it lightly. The Foedrata were the religious adherents to the teaching of a self-proclaimed prophet by the name of Foedras, from which the religion obviously took its name. Their religion proclaimed that the Borealis were born to be the caretakers of all realities, and its adherents weren’t the type to entertain any arguments to the contrary. Similar sects were not unheard of in other dimensions throughout Borealis history, but due to the Foedrata’s proximity to Earth, they had contact with humanity.
“Foedras saw that our species possessed great mastery over the environment, power inherited from centuries of technological innovation, but he did not accept this as merely the result of history. Foedras assumed this to be a predetermined fate—the birthright of all the Borealis. It was a view his followers perpetuated, indoctrinating in their children to accept generation after generation.”
“To what end?” Jonathan asked. “I mean that isn’t much to base an entire religion on.”
“Foedras believed the universe had a conscious creator, and that this consciousness had put all that existed in motion for the very purpose of creating our species. He claimed that the Borealis were, in fact, the living embodiment through which this conscious creator would control all it had built—the idea being that all my ancestors, even those who did not adhere to his beliefs, were the vessels through which the creator divided itself. A belief that, in the end, justified seeing all other life as animals to rule over.”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “Well, that would explain why they weren’t regarded very highly. Hard to imagine how he was able to sway an entire planet to his way of thinking.”
Heyer nodded. “Not as hard as it may seem. Once a belief such as this solidifies within the collective consciousness of a planet, it tends to become self-sustaining. The Foedrata quickly became closed off to ideas that would take away the belief by which they saw themselves as more valuable than others—to do so would call into question the wisdom of their decisions. To relinquish their beliefs would have left them accountable for justifying their actions to all those they had labeled as ‘less.’ That this value was artificial, awarded to them by none other than themselves, became easy to ignore.
“This sect’s beliefs were historical remnants of the same period that saw abuses of other life, the genetic manipulation of the Ferox counted among them.”
Jonathan turned up his palms. “The rest of the Borealis just allowed them to act on their beliefs?”
When Heyer responded, his expression had become burdened. “As mankind has come to find, there is a dilemma in purging destructive beliefs from society as a whole. To do so is to be guilty of the very thing you abhor: to conclude one view as superior to another’s. By the end of their era, most of the Borealis were guided by logic, science, reason, and compassion. Still, they knew they could not decide for the rest of the species that the historical teaching of their parents, their culture, their very identity, lacked evidence to justify its continued existence.”
“I get it,” Jonathan said. “They couldn’t force anyone to abandon their beliefs.”
“No. All that the rest of the Borealis could do was intervene when necessary, try and ensure that the Foedrata’s way of life was not allowed to harm others. However, this required a degree of vigilance they were not always able to enforce.”
Jonathan nodded. “Okay, so the majority of your species compromised with a fanatical sect inside the population, and that sect’s home planet shared mankind’s dimension. What was it you found on their planet?”
“These,” Heyer said, his open palm indicating the dormant device. “Hundreds of them.”
Slowly, Jonathan returned his eyes to the implant resting innocently on the coffee table.
“The Foedrata, like the rest of the Borealis, upgraded their individual implants when newer models became available. The implant you see here was, at one time, installed in one of the Foedrata.
The picture this was giving Jonathan was getting disturbing. He closed his eyes and sighed. “It sounds like you are telling me that I have a hand-me-down implant that was originally installed in a Borealis religious zealot.”
“That would be accurate,” Mr. Clean said.
Jonathan grimaced, shutting his eyes and nodding.
“The encryption on these older devices was highly guarded, for obvious reasons. However, the Foedrata managed to bypass the security on the older models in order to repurpose them. How they did this, we do not know, but they were able to reprogram the device for implantation in a man, absent a Borealis host.”
“Why? What were they using them for?” Jonathan asked.
Heyer’s fingers tapped the arm of the chair, a moment of silence passing before he spoke. “I think it best, Jonathan, that you see it for yourself.”
“Uh,” Jonathan frowned. “Are you saying we’re going to planet Foedrata?”
“No, that will not be necessary,” Heyer said as he rose out of his chair and prompted Jonathan to do the same. “Mr. Clean, please access the records recovered from the Foedrata’s mainframe.”
“Which file?” the computer asked.
“Take us to the last recorded Arena event, involving the bonded pair,” Heyer said. “Jonathan, you may want to prepare yourself—this will be disorientating.”
The moment Jonathan nodded that he understood, the room began to shift around them. The surrounding walls and furniture temporarily shimmered away, leaving them in a void of black. Jonathan circled, finding that the alien’s warning had still left him unprepared for the unsettling effect—it was as though he floated in complete darkness. He tried to remind himself that his environment was a fabrication, but his perceptions failed to keep up with him. Though his feet could feel the resistance of the floor, his sight was unable to perceive it, and he began to lose his balance.
He spun to Heyer, still standing a few steps away, and it gave him enough reality to center himself just as the void began to take shape. Jonathan’s feet sank into soft, black sand as his balance adjusted to a graded slope. Light followed, emanating out from where the void met the sprawling creation of the landscape that had begun to spread from where Heyer and Jonathan stood. The bright glow was too much for his pupils to adjust to. He was already trying to see through narrowed eyelids when a massive column of light took shape in the sand in front of them, forcing Jonathan to raise a forearm over his eyes.
He felt a warm wind pushing past him, heavy with steam. It carried the scents of saltwater, wet ash, and a faint but unmistakable touch of Feroxian blood. His expression grew slightly repulsed by the toxic odor just as the light from the column dimmed down. Finding himself in the shadow of its solidified shape, he peered over his forearm, letting his eyes crawl up a monolithic pillar of jagged obsidian rock. It disappeared beyond a ceiling of turbulent clouds overhead. As he turned his gaze from it, he saw more of the columns taking shape further and further away, their lights coming and going, one after the other as the reach of the world spread into the distance.
Their arrangement was too evenly spaced and proportional to be natural, as though he were looking at a massive system of buttresses holding up a roof he couldn’t perceive through the clouds above.
“Watch your step, Jonathan,” Heyer said, stepping out of the pillar that had formed in front of Jonathan, as though it was not physical at all. “This footage is partially interactive. Standing obstacles are only projections, but the topography on the ground behaves as the eye perceives it.”
Jonathan nodded, still taking in the strange, alien terrain.
&nbs
p; A beach lay at his back. He would have thought it an ocean coast, but the water was stagnant and black like that of a swamp. A wall of fog only a short distance from the shoreline blocked whatever lay beyond. That fog wall, he realized, was a constant, encompassing all that he could see in a vast circle. As his eyes followed the boundary, he saw that it was not simply a circle, but a dome, and that he was standing near one of its edges.
Toward the center, after the beach ended, a maze-like wasteland of glassy black rock covered the terrain, until the edges of the fog dome stopped him from seeing anything beyond. There were distortions of the air over the rock, heat rising from the ground.
He turned to Heyer, ready for an explanation, but upon pivoting to find the alien, he was surprised by the sudden presence of a form taking shape. The screaming came upon him first, drawing his eyes to a savage face headed straight for him. He staggered back in dumbfounded alarm, his feet catching clumsily on some protrusion from the ground. Jonathan fell onto his back in the sand, and scampered away on instinct as the shape barreled toward him, his eyes focusing on the length of sharpened steel in its grip.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
THE FORM RACED forward, overtaking Jonathan as he attempted to scuttle away on his back. When it had closed the distance, it headed straight at him. Its foot stepped through his chest as though he were a ghost. After passing over him, Jonathan rolled onto his stomach and watched it go, finally recognizing the shape of a woman receding away from him. She bounded off, sprinting with the speed and form of an athlete.
“I warned you to watch your step, but I would be lying if I said I did not find that amusing,” Heyer said as he walked up beside him.
Feeling foolish for having been startled in a place with no real danger, Jonathan sighed, got to his feet, and began wiping the sand off his clothes. Though it had happened quickly, he had gotten a good look at the woman. She’d had crude, black smears across her face and carried the strong scent of Feroxian blood. The smears had been tar-like, and it occurred to him that she must have painted them on using the bodily fluids of a Ferox corpse. The smell was sickening, but the effect had been an excellent camouflage against the glassy black stone of this place.
The Never Paradox (Chronicles Of Jonathan Tibbs Book 2) Page 26