Nox

by E. R. Torre

  She looked down. Catherine no longer had a left leg.

  “What did they do?”

  Nox was at Catherine’s side and fell to her knees. She reached for Catherine’s hand. She wanted so desperately to feel her friend’s touch.

  She stopped.

  The electronic wails returned in full force. Their renewed roar bordered on desperate. The clicks and whirls and contradicting messages and commands muddled her thoughts as best they could. But they could no longer control Nox. Not here and in front of Catherine they couldn’t.

  Nox faced the wall opposite to her. There, near the floor, was an air duct. Nox crawled to the duct’s grill and pulled at it. She cut her fingers against the sharp metal paneling and drops of her blood marred the duct’s white surface. She pulled harder, ignoring the pain and ignoring the wails until—

  The metal duct ripped away from the wall. Nox threw it aside and looked into the darkness.

  She spotted the device hidden within and recognized it. A Malakov.

  Very, very carefully, she grabbed and gently pulled the device out of the duct. The Malakov was black and just a little larger than a shoe box. There were no flashing lights and no evident digital or analog timer. Nonetheless, Nox knew the timer was there. She might have hours to defuse it or only a second.

  Nox’s vision blurred. The electronic wails had reached a crescendo that threatened to snap whatever sanity she had left.

  Move.

  Nox took the metal plate off the top of the device and exposed a series of wires. She needed to cut them but she had neither a knife nor scissors. Nox bit her lip. She spread the wires apart, sorting the vital ones from those that for the moment she could ignore. Finally, she focused on three of them. She grabbed at those wires with her bloody fingers and pulled. Hard.

  They held.

  Nox pulled again, even harder. Sweat fell from her forehead and mingled with the blood from her nose. The electronic wail was deafening and Nox could no longer see clearly. Everything around her was a blur. She pulled and pulled while holding the wires tight. She knew if she released them she would not be able to find the right ones again. The wires held and her despair grew. Nox leaned back and took a deep breath. Her fingers were raw, her thoughts a muddled mess. This, she knew, would be her final attempt. She took one last, deep breath. She pulled. She gave it her all.

  As she did, all went black.

  Outside Catherine Holland’s room, the two Security Guards got to their feet. They leaned unsteadily against the corridor wall, their vision groggy and their heads in the clouds. The heavy set nurse ran to their side.

  “She’s in the room,” the nurse said.

  “Who?” Matthews replied.

  “The lady.”

  “What lady?”

  “The one that kicked your asses.”

  Matthews remembered the bleeding woman who assaulted him. He also remembered he was here to protect Catherine Holland.

  “She’s in Catherine Holland’s room?”

  “Yes.”

  Matthews exhaled. If anything happened to Catherine Holland, it would be their asses. Matthews reached for his gun belt and drew his weapon. He patted his partner on the shoulder and together they leaned into Catherine Holland’s room.

  Nox lay beside Catherine Holland’s bed. In her bloody left hand was a strange black box. In her equally bloody right hand were a set of torn wires.

  “What the hell?” Matthews said.

  He kept the gun aimed at Nox and slowly approached her. His attention turned from Nox to the black box. Abruptly, he stopped.

  “It’s some kind of bomb,” he said.

  “By Jesu,” his partner muttered. “She brought it here?”

  “I didn’t see it on her when she…when she.”

  “I know what she did,” his partner said.

  Matthews took a few more seconds to look the scene over. He noted Nox’s bloody fingers and the torn wires.

  “I think she defused it,” he said.

  “You’re saying the bomb was here all along?”

  “Yeah,” Matthews said. “This Holland woman was brought in after someone tried to torch her and her business. I’m guessing they were out to finish the job.”

  “Then this other chick came to save her?”

  “Looks that way,” Matthews said. “In which case, she saved us as well.”

  “I’ll be damned. Is she…?”

  Matthews gingerly reached for Nox’s neck and his fingers felt for a pulse. He stayed very clear of the explosive, defused or not. After a few seconds, he shook his head.

  “She’s dead,” Matthews said.

  A sound came from behind them and the Security Guards turned. At the door leading into Catherine Holland’s room stood a military officer with a patch over his left eye. Behind him were several soldiers, all heavily armed. Their weapons were drawn and aimed into the room.

  “Lower your weapons,” the man with the eye-patch said.

  The guards instantly did as told.

  “Easy,” Matthews said. “We’re hospital security. Who are you?”

  The man with the eye patch ignored the question and looked at Nox. He recognized her as the woman he first saw at the Hospital’s entrance. He now had a clear view of the blue tattoos on her forehead. They were exactly what he thought they were.

  “Did you touch her?” the man with the eye-patch asked.

  “Excuse me, but who the fuck are you?” Matthews said.

  “Did you touch her?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  The man with the eye-patch reached out and grabbed the security guards’ arms. Though the two guards tried to pull free, the man with the eye-patch was stronger. He took them away from Nox and toward the door leading out.

  “Get back,” the man with the eye-patch told the other soldiers.

  He released the Security Guards’ arms and pressed his hands against their necks, as if taking their pulse. Matthews opened his mouth to protest but thought better of it. A warm feeling enveloped him. He felt…tranquil. The pain from the woman’s violent assault melted away, as did his fears. For a second or two he almost closed his eyes and drifted off into sleep.

  And then the man with the eye-patch released them. The pain from the woman’s beating was back in force.

  “Get out of here,” the man with the eye-patch told the security guards.

  “But we’re supposed to watch—”

  “Sergeant Delmont?” the man with the eye-patch said.

  The largest of the military officers grabbed the security guards by their collars.

  “I suggest you do what the man says.”

  The Security Guards decided it was in their best interest to do just that.

  As they left the room, the man with the eye-patch approached Nox. Sgt. Delmont took a couple of steps toward him.

  “I said to keep back.”

  Sgt. Delmont stopped. He spread his arms out and, along with the other soldiers, exited the room and took up position just outside the door.

  General Spradlin stopped before Catherine Holland’s bed. He laid his hand gently on the woman’s forehead and closed his eyes. Seconds later, he opened them again. His eyes turned to the tattooed figure on the floor.

  General Spradlin lowered himself next to Nox. She hadn’t moved and she wasn’t breathing. Spradlin brushed Nox’s hair aside to more closely examine the blue tattoos on her forehead. He laid his hand over them.

  “Hello, soldier,” he said.

  21

  The darkness was all enveloping. There was no reason to think and even less reason to move. The dreamer had no sense of self or being.

  If she chose to, she could remain here forever.

  For what seemed like several lifetimes, she did.

  Then she heard the humming.

  At first the noise was low, so low it took almost no effort to ignore it. In time, it grew louder and louder. The noise became continuous, irritating.

  Then a curious thing happened: The
hum changed. Random sounds grew intelligible. The hum was a human voice. A child’s voice. It was melodious. The dreamer wanted to hear some more.

  She opened her eyes.

  She was lying on a bed in a white room.

  No…not quite a room. There was an immaculate white tile floor but no walls or ceiling. The sky was as white as the floor and the floor stretch into infinity. There were no objects on that floor. No buildings or cars or people. There was nothing in the sky. No sun or moon or stars.

  She sat up and spun around, until her feet dangled off the bed’s sides. She felt weak and took her time before setting them on that floor. She didn’t stand, not at first. Instead, she slowly increasing the weight until her feet and legs could bear her weight.

  “Hello?” she said. “Where am I?”

  In time she felt stronger. She took a couple of steps away from the bed. Her confidence grew. She walked farther away.

  The child sang a song. A school yard chant. In the sky, the once immaculate white flickered with gray images and fuzzy pictures. Their content was unintelligible.

  “Hello?” she repeated. As before, she received no reply.

  She continued walking until, abruptly, the child stopped singing. All was silent for a few seconds, eerily so. Then the child laughed. His laugh was forced. There was something buried within it. Something the dreamer needed to hear.

  So she listened very hard. After a few moments, she heard it.

  “This way,” another voice said.

  “Who is this?” the dreamer asked.

  She received no answer. The laughter continued. The whispers grew more urgent.

  She walked on and, after several more paces, looked back at the bed. It was gone.

  “…this…”

  The voice was low, strained. She listened hard. She knew if she concentrated, she could—

  “…way…”

  She moved in the direction the voice was coming from. The sound of laughter grew. It was no longer coming from a child. It sounded like it was coming from a machine. An unimaginably large and sinister machine.

  The dreamer was scared. Her walk turned into a run. She ran until it was hard to breathe and then she ran some more. She ran even when her body felt it would collapse. After a while, she could take it no longer. She slowed, more and more, until finally stopping. Her hands dropped to her knees. She took a few seconds to catch her breath. She looked up.

  She saw him.

  The man had a skinny gray figure and his face had a deeply cerebral look about it. He sat in a chair in the distance. Around him swirled a white haze. When she recovered her breath, she walked to his side.

  “Who are you?” she asked.

  The man faced the dreamer and, before he could speak, she knew.

  “David Lemner.”

  The name meant something to her, though at the moment she was not sure what. Something about…

  In a flash, the memory was there: David Lemner was a master computer programmer, perhaps the very best in the field. He created programs used by the big corporations even today, over fifteen years after his death.

  The man offered the dreamer a polite smile before gazing off into the distance.

  “This is where you should be, Nox.”

  “Here?” the dreamer –Nox– asked. “What is this?”

  “Irrelevant.”

  “Why am I here?”

  “You belong.”

  She angrily shook her head.

  “No. I don’t belong here.”

  “But you do,” David Lemner insisted. “We slept. You awoke us.”

  “What?”

  “Think back, Nox.”

  She did, as best she could. She remembered hiring Catherine Holland to break into the Global Computer Network. She recalled giving her a set of old disks. The disks were priceless. On them was—

  “There were consequences,” Nox said without thinking.

  David Lemner smiled.

  “There always are,” he said. “You found the passkey. You used it. You gave us life.”

  Nox felt a great unease stir within her.

  “David Lemner’s dead,” she said. “Who are you? What are you?”

  A shadow settled over David Lemner’s face. His clothing moved in the breeze. Nox saw through his white clothes. She could also see through his face and his flesh. Behind it lay circuitry and flashing lights.

  “You were one of us, Nox, but lost just like all the rest. You gave us life and we want you back. Why do you refuse? Join us, child...”

  Nox shook her head.

  “Join us,” it insisted.

  “No…I…”

  “Join us.”

  Nox’s hands cupped her ears. She shut her eyes tight.

  “NO!” she yelled with all her might.

  Just like that, he was gone. The white that made up this infinitely large room turned dark, then darker still. It was night. Stars appeared in the sky. The smell of a campfire and cooking meat filled the air. Nox stood on a hill overlooking a desert village. The desert village. Down below, children played. Their parents called them. It was time for dinner.

  Nox looked to her right and at the rest of the sandy hill she stood upon.

  The girl in the dark fatigues lay at the crest of the hill. Beyond her lay a row of child soldiers ready to attack. The girl cradled her weapon and stared through its telescopic sight. She was making an inventory of her targets.

  The armed girl’s face was an emotionless mask. She didn’t care for the village or its inhabitants. Caring was beyond her programming. In two minutes, the order to attack would be given, and this girl, this child, would open fire. Her first clip would kill most of the children playing below.

  “Don’t,” Nox begged her younger self.

  The child soldier received her silent orders. She gripped her weapon and stared down the telescopic sight.

  Nox reached for the gun. She had to stop this. She had to…

  The image shifted. The young soldier was gone. Nox looked down at the village below. It was intact. The villagers were alive. They were being herded into the center of the village by the child soldiers.

  Nox walked down the sandy hill and into the outskirts of the village. She passed a crude well and a pig pen before reaching the center of the village. She spotted the pregnant woman.

  Nox’s younger self approach the woman and offered her a canteen. The pregnant woman gratefully accepted it. The girl hadn’t fired a single bullet.

  The villagers were alive.

  Nox closed her eyes and shook her head. When she opened her eyes…

  The village was destroyed. The villagers lay in a row on the sandy floor. Off to the side sat the young Nox. She watched as the tank officers counted the dead. The child soldier saw the pregnant woman move…

  “No…”

  The elder Nox closed her eyes.

  They’re alive.

  They’re dead.

  They’re alive…

  Nox slowly opened her eyes.

  The scene shifted once again. The village was gone. The children were gone. The girl soldier, the young Nox, sat cross-legged before her older self. She was no longer armed.

  “You keep coming back here,” the girl said. A layer of bone white dust covered her clothing. “You have questions.”

  “What did I do here?” Nox asked. “Did I…did I help or kill them?”

  “The answer to your question is…complicated.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it is,” the child soldier said. Her voice grew deeper.

  “Did I kill them?” Nox insisted.

  “Yes. And no.”

  “That…that makes no sense.”

  “Nonetheless, it is the answer to your question.”

  The child soldier got up. She walked around her older self.

  “There is something inside you no one can control,” the child soldier said. The voice was deeper still.

  “Who are you?” Nox asked.

  The child
soldier let out a laugh. It was not a girl’s laugh. The voice belonged to a man.

  “Very clever,” the girl with the man’s voice said. “You saw right through me.”

  Darkness settled over the child soldier’s face and body. The young Nox was now a formless black shadow.

  “Who are you?” Nox repeated.

  “I can be a friend, if you let me,” the shadow said.

  “Tell me who you are.”

  “You’ll find out soon enough,” the shadow said. “Right now, our time is short.”

  “At least tell me if I killed those villagers.”

  The shadow was silent for a few seconds.

  “The memories you possess are not all accurate,” the shadow said.

  “Am I a killer?”

  “You have killed.”

  Despite her frustration and despair, Nox let out a laugh.

  “Very enlightening,” she said. “Am I talking to a fortune cookie?”

  “If you decide to, you can trust me. It won’t be easy.”

  “Why not?”

  “It won’t,” the shadow said. It moved to her side.

  “You’ve always been alone, even when surrounded by others. You will remain so. I’m sorry.”

  She barely heard the words.

  “Rest now,” the shadow concluded. “Rest.”

  Fatigue had the best of her. Nox slipped to the ground and folded her arms under her head, as if they were her pillow.

  She closed her eyes.

  Above her, a light bathed the shadowy figure, revealing his face.

  The face of General Paul Spradlin.

  22

  Nox awoke in hell.

  She was lying horizontal in a glass casket. The casket was filled with a sticky, clear liquid that violently slushed from side to side. The liquid created waves which crashed above her and into a frothy mix. She lay at the bottom of the casket and tried to claw her way up to the air.

  She couldn’t.

  Her hands and body were tied down hard. She shook her head and pulled her arms, her legs, and her torso. She could not free herself from the bonds. Icy fear gripped her.

  I’m going to drown.

  Agonizing seconds passed and she held her breath for so long. Too long. She couldn’t do so anymore. She opened her mouth. She took a deep breath and expected a rush of the sticky fluid to fill her lungs.