by Ginger Smith
“Why is she here?” Max asked.
“Her reprogramming didn’t go well, so Balen chose her for this demonstration,” Trelan shrugged. “She might as well be of some use to the ACAS, he said.”
“Are you feeling better?” Max asked her.
She shifted her gaze to his right shoulder but didn’t speak.
“Don’t bother, Parsen. Every once in a while we get a vat who’s resistant to programming like this. We pretty much wiped everything out in there. She’ll follow simple commands, but that’s all.”
Max’s mouth was suddenly dry as he looked into the empty eyes of the blonde girl. She blinked once slowly as Dr Trelan stuck a few sensors to her forehead.
“Balen didn’t tell me what the brass was here to see,” Max said in a low voice.
Just then he sensed that the doctor and his guests were drawing near.
“Gentlemen, this vat has been reset. She has an interface and is completely comparable to a fully functioning vat. She will be our subject today to test the device.”
This was the first time Max had seen any testing like this, and it shook him. He’d thought he knew most of what went on in the facility, but apparently not. It was clear that the poor helpless creature didn’t understand what was happening to her.
Balen was proudly describing a handheld device to the ACAS heads. With a sense of growing horror, Max realized what the doctor was about to do.
“Here we have a prototype of the device.” Balen held up a square item with a single button on its surface. “A simple handheld apparatus, that will easily dispatch any vat within its range.” He walked to within four or five feet of the girl, and with a dramatic glance back at the ACAS brass, he pressed the button on the small, concealable device.
The blonde-haired vat dropped like a stone. She was killed so quickly she never had a chance to scream.
There was an exclamation of surprise from the uniformed men. The one in the combat fatigue uniform nudged the dead girl with the toe of his boot. Her head rolled lifelessly back and forth as he pushed it. “This device will kill both in-service and inactive vats?” he asked.
“Yes. Unfortunately, it is indiscriminate when it comes to dispatching them,” Balen said.
The other ACAS wore a dress uniform; he had white hair and a hawkish profile. “This is amazing, doctor. I will share this breakthrough with the Doyen immediately.”
“I must caution you – the device is still in development,” Balen noted. “Right now, the range is extremely limited, but should we face released vat soldiers in combat, this could save the life of a natural born soldier.”
“Yes, I see the possibilities,” the old man said with obvious fascination.
“We have some very good data, Dr Balen. I’ll have it to you by the end of the day,” Trelan said.
As Max listened to them, he felt nauseous. He wanted to speak up but didn’t dare in front of their visitors. He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the dead girl’s staring blue eyes, and before he knew it, the delegation was leaving him behind.
“Parsen, don’t take it so hard. In about every eighty vats we get one like this, and if we can’t fix them, it’s best to let them go. At least she was of some use, right?” Trelan said, eying him closely.
Max found himself breathing heavily, taking a step back as the gravity of his realization sunk in. Their work here wasn’t noble as he’d always thought. He wasn’t saving lives by making vats stronger, faster, and more intelligent. He was engineering vats to place them in the hands of monsters like Trelan and Balen.
“Dr Parsen?” Balen had been calling Max’s name. He tore his gaze away from the dead vat and glanced toward the door.
“Yes. Sorry.” With a sinking heart, Max followed them.
“But Dr Balen, vats were created to save lives on the battlefield.”
Max had requested a meeting with Balen right after the ACAS left the base. He was disturbed enough from the trial of the vat device that he had to express his reservations, so the administrator had called him to his office at the end of the workday to talk it over.
Dr Balen turned around with a bottle of Celian whiskey in one hand, two glasses in the other. “Oh, Max.” He rolled his eyes. “They’ll never use it. It’s just a sort of safeguard. That way, if the vats do decide to join together and rebel against the Coalition in great numbers, we will have an appropriate defense.”
“But… it’s just wrong,” Max said, raking a hand through his hair as Dr Balen poured him another whiskey. “I mean, I see that we have to protect ourselves, clearly, but we’re the ones who made vats. We’ve already developed technology to program them to follow our every wish. It– It just seems like this is going too far. Perhaps there’s a way we can increase their loyalty to the Coalition through programming…”
Balen began to laugh.
Max had always cared about the vats he created. He had begun his work on Chamn-Alpha doing the delicate surgery of inserting the interfaces in the brains of the one year-olds. Back then, he had told himself that he was doing the vats a favor. He had felt their interfaces would help them become better soldiers, which would save their lives. There had been nothing he could do about their lifespans, but he had decided that he would do everything he could to make sure that they’d survive their tour of duty to live as full a life as possible.
When he’d moved to working on vat genetic editing, he’d done his best to amplify the genes that would allow the soldiers to become stronger, faster, and more intelligent than they’d ever been before. Using epigenetic mechanisms, he turned up genes that allowed them to be fearless and brave, and suppressed those that encouraged them to be hesitant. He’d improved the reaction time of his vats twenty-five percent during the years he’d been tinkering with their genes. But now… after today? He questioned everything he had ever done.
“It’s now you want to be worried about the ethics of this program? Nothing we’ve done has been ethical, son. You have to remember, we didn’t invent this. We’re just the only guys smart enough to work with it. If it wasn’t us, it would be other people,” Balen said.
“Perhaps.” Max took another long pull from his glass.
He could sense Balen watching him carefully. Max realized if he did not appear to be on board, he would be replaced. Or worse. He remembered another researcher, a woman named Leah who had served as a counselor to the troubled vat teens. She had just disappeared one day last year. Rumor was that she’d been complaining about the treatment of the children. And it was not appreciated. Max suddenly realized the risk he was running just by voicing his opinion.
Dr Balen leaned forward. “These are just lab subjects, Max. You’re overreacting a bit, don’t you think? It’s not as if the vat was a person. It was obviously defective and could be of no use.” He sighed in frustration and sat back again. “You need to think about the danger humans are in. Number one from the Mudar, if they decide to return. Number two is the threat from disgruntled vats who are joining the opposition in Al-Kimia. I don’t know if this is something coming from the Al-Kimians who may be encouraging unrest, or from the vats themselves, but it’s something we must protect against, correct?”
Max nodded slowly, trying not to let his face betray him. The whiskey he’d swallowed made his stomach burn, and he began to feel nauseous again. “I can see what you mean, I suppose. I mean it really does come down to the safety of the people of the Coalition.” He shifted in his seat, realized he looked uncomfortable, and managed to smile. It felt greasy and slick on his face.
“Exactly. Remember, that’s what we’re here for. To save everyone, some… sacrifices must be made. You’re a strong scientist, Max. I’d hate to lose you.”
“You won’t,” Max stood, realizing it was time to go before he tipped his hand if he hadn’t already. “Thank you, doctor.”
“Of course,” Balen replied.
Max felt Balen’s eyes follow him all the way to the door. When he reached the cool hallway, he felt a sense of reli
ef. He didn’t know what he was going to do next, but the ACAS had to be stopped. That much was clear.
TWENTY-SIX
Tyce entered the galley before anyone else. He’d tried getting some sleep, but ended up reading Eira’s report, fascinated at the differences between what he’d been taught and what Eira said had happened during the Mudar war. Even if the real events fell somewhere in between the Coalition’s take and the Mudar records, it was still obvious that fear of the Mudar had been used to keep Coalition planets in line.
By the time he’d put his handheld down, it was after 0700. He went to the galley to make coffee, then realized they didn’t have any on board. Beryl had said something about the local supplier being out of stock yesterday, but with the search of the ship they’d forgotten.
After the day they’d all had yesterday, he was pretty sure the crew would riot if they woke without some caffeine. So he pulled on his boots and got ready to go.
“Ru– er, Eira? I’m going out to get some coffee. If the crew wakes, let them know where I am.”
“Yes, Tyce.”
“And, er, watch out for them? I’m leaving them in your care,” he said, as he grabbed his handheld and headed for the door.
“I promise, Tyce,” she replied.
About thirty minutes later, Tyce returned to the Loshad, pausing as he saw a dark-haired man, dressed in a black coverall, standing near the ship.
“Can I help you?” he asked. Few people were in the dock area so early. He didn’t like the idea of someone nosing around the Loshad and was immediately suspicious. The hair on his neck stood up as the pale man smiled at him, but he didn’t show it.
“I was lookin’ for Berth 234LD.”
“You’re on the wrong level. This is 234LA.”
“Oh. Well, shit.” The man gave him another easy smile and turned to go. Ty watched him with narrowed eyes. He didn’t turn back to his ship until he’d seen the strange man turn a corner near the lifts and disappear. Feeling a sense of relief, Ty turned to the Loshad and began to put in the code for the ramp. Just as it began to lower, he saw a dark shadow in the corner of his vision. Before he could duck, a bright light exploded on the right side of his head and he felt like he was falling.
Putting an arm out, he caught himself on the ship and ducked a second blow.
He pulled his blaspistol, but his attacker had already leveled his gun. “Drop it,” the man spat.
Ty raised his empty hand and the one with the blaspistol. “OK.” He let go of the hand grip, allowing the gun to dangle by one finger in the trigger guard at arm’s length as if he were going to drop it. Then he slung it at his opponent and leapt towards him at the same time.
The attacker shot his blaster into Ty’s shoulder, but it didn’t stop him. Ty’s forward momentum pushed him into his opponent’s chest and they both tumbled onto the metal ramp as the attacker’s blaspistol went flying.
Punches rocketed back and forth as they wrestled across the floor. Each tumble brought them closer to the stranger’s weapon. Ty could taste blood in his mouth; his lip was busted and he was dizzy from the head wound.
His attacker came back at Ty and pushed him over, slamming his head against the metal ramp. As Ty’s head bounced off the deck, he saw a vat tattoo across the man’s wrist. A vat? Have the ACAS found us? The next punch slammed into his temple, causing his vision to blur. He felt himself beginning to lose consciousness, but he had to fight it. He wouldn’t allow this killer onto his ship to hurt his crew.
There was a humming sound that Tyce didn’t immediately recognize; he didn’t have time. He brought his knee up and jammed it into his attacker’s crotch. At the same time, the man folded down on top of him and punched him in the stomach, taking the wind out of him. As he pulled up, Ty felt a sickening warmth spreading in his belly as he caught the glint of a viblade in his attacker’s hand.
Scalpel had been enjoying himself. He didn’t usually allow himself that pleasure, but kicking the shit out of this nat was fun.
But the feeling was beginning to fade, because this nat simply refused to stay down, even with a viblade wound that he was going to bleed out from very quickly. Scalpel was surprised that the nat was able to still kick up and push him off.
As Scalpel regained his bearings, the nat heaved himself up with one hand, the other grabbing at his stomach, in a futile effort to keep what blood he could inside his body. He staggered toward the inside of the ship. “Eira! Seal the inner door.”
Before whoever this Eira was could react, Scalpel was there again. With a guttural snarl he slammed back into the nat, throwing him to the ramp.
Ty could feel impacts against the middle of his back as he struggled to turn.
The first blow was deflected by his shoulder blade, but the last two hit home. There were more impacts to his spine, then he felt nothing. Everything faded away, smothered by a grey woolen shroud of unconsciousness.
* * *
“Hal. Wake up.”
He came to in one fluid motion, sitting up and grasping her wrist in his hand. He looked at Vivi for two or three seconds, before his mind registered who she was. He looked around and realized that the emergency light was blinking and Runa – no, Eira – was speaking.
“Tyce is in combat with someone outside the ship,” Eira said, “He needs immediate assistance.”
Hal threw himself out of bed, cursing. He ran out of the room barefooted, after snatching Vivi’s blaspistol from her nearby belt. “Stay here!” he called.
He hit the cargo bay at a full run. When he saw Tyce face down in a pool of blood and a man kicking him, his vision narrowed to a single field. He was reacting on adrenaline – moving without conscious thought. He shot Ty’s assailant with Vivi’s blaspistol, but never slowed. With a roar, he plowed straight into the dark-haired man, knocking him off the ramp and back onto the causeway. Dropping the pistol, his hands closed around the pale throat of his enemy and he held on, despite the punches he was taking to the chest.
Realizing he was being stabbed, he released the man’s throat with one hand to grab the knife hand and try to wrestle it away. Blood covered both their limbs, but Hal managed to maintain his grip.
“Who are you?” he growled, slamming his attacker’s hand back against the causeway until he let the viblade go. Hal caught a glimpse of the trademark bar lines and squares on his opponent’s wrist. So. Another kill team from the Coalition. Somehow, they’d figured out where they were. It didn’t matter. He was prepared for a fight to the death. And he was not going to lose. Tyce needed him. If he was still alive, he had to be saved. If Tyce was gone… well, vengeance was something worth dying for.
Vivi raced into the cargo bay. The first thing she saw was Ty, lying on the ramp in a pool of blood.
Further down, on the walkway, Hal grappled with a dark-haired man. He was getting punched in the face again and again, blood spurting everywhere. Her heart was thundering so loud she couldn’t hear anything else as she lifted the blasrifle and pointed it toward Hal’s attacker. She waited for a very clear shot; she’d never fired a rifle before, and her hands were shaking.
More by luck than judgement, the blast took the man in the shoulder, throwing him back onto the metal walkway. Hal was up immediately, leaping at his opponent.
Scalpel was getting pissed now. He hadn’t anticipated there being such resistance, or he’d have popped an amp medjet beforehand, and now he was getting his ass handed to him by some second-rate old vat.
The nat was bleeding out on the ramp, but his vat crewmate had an ally somewhere who was handy with a blasrifle. Distracted briefly by the pain in his shoulder, Scalpel didn’t see the vat’s fist before it punched him so hard on the nose that his eyes watered and momentum sent him back to the ground, dazed.
Shaking his head harshly, Scalpel saw the vat staggering toward his discarded pistol. Playtime was over. He pulled his spare blaster from his belt, and started to pull the trigger.
And never saw anything again, as a blast from the
rifle went through his skull at a phenomenal speed.
Vivi had been looking for an opening to shoot again, but Hal was constantly in the way. As he went for the blaspistol, it gave her a chance.
Her shot found its mark. Blood and brains spattered the cargo bay ramp behind the attacker. His body fell to the decking with a clunk.
Hal staggered forward a step, gasping for breath. His eyes fixed on her – impressed? Shocked? Disgusted? – then he pointed.
“Ty,” he said simply, and he stumbled over to his best friend.
Vivi turned to see Beryl running down the ramp. “Fucking hells…” she uttered as she knelt beside Ty. Hal joined her, but Vivi took a moment to search the vat. She found his handheld and shoved it in her pocket before rejoining Hal and Beryl.
“People saw things,” Hal said between pained gasps. “We have to go.”
Vivi looked around and noticed a few people coming and going from the nearby ships. Two or three were staring and one was speaking into a comm.
Beryl looked up. “Hal, I can’t take him like this. I need the backboard. In the back of the cargo hold.” He ran into the ship without another word. Vivi watched as Beryl filled and administered two medjets. “Coagulant and blood stimulator,” she murmured to herself.
After a moment, Hal returned with the board. “He’s not moving. Beryl?” he asked, as he fell to his knees beside her.
Vivi fought hard against panicked tears. Seeing Ty down was like watching a sun go out. It was horrifying, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away.
“Beryl!?” Hal said again, an uncharacteristic note of panic in his voice.
“He needs plasma. There’s damage to his spine, and possibly his brain, so we need to get him on the backboard before we can move him.” She glanced up and realized just how much blood covered Hal. “Oh my gods, Hal. How much of that is yours?”
He shook his head impatiently. “Some of it. Ty first. I’ll live,” he rasped out.