Born in Darkness

by Thomas Farmer

  A shadow fell across the arena, and number Ninety-Seven sprang into action.

  ***

  By the time Tritogenes returned to his suite, night had fallen. Rather, the arbitrary point on the station's clock, synced to Limani's Day/Night cycle, which indicated “night” had arrived. The station's interior lights dimmed slightly, but that was all. The effect fooled no one into thinking it was actually “night,” but the existence of the cycle helped the human mind cope with living inside a windowless asteroid.

  A nearly windowless asteroid, Tritogenes corrected himself. The suite where he stayed had a few small windows in the upper rooms, as it was one of the only structures to poke above the surface. The other, the landing bay for small shuttles like the one he arrived in, sat directly above his roof.

  Four years ago, the entire suite belonged to him. Tritogenes designed and built it to his specifications to provide a comfortable place to stay when he came to inspect Project Titan. After handing the reins to Second Lord Pallasophia, she moved in full time and had since extensively modified the area.

  Tritogenes smiled. In a way, he was pleased that the suite barely resembled his original dwelling. It made coming and going easier if he thought of himself as a guest in someone else's home. As a Hexarch, Aphelion was one of the few places that engendered that feeling.

  Now, through the window in his room, he stared out at the distant suns. Aphelion, as its name suggested, sat at the outer edge of the system, far away from any inhabited planets. Espionage was a way of life for the Technocrat civilization, but the real reason he located Aphelion where he did was that its current location put his secret research station as far as possible from the mastigas battleship lurking on the other side of the system.

  He composed a pair of messages before checking to see what, if anything, required his attention. To First Lord Hyperion, the ostensible leader of the Council, he relayed a short dictation indicating that he had full faith that, come the next session, he would have good news to tell the Council. The second, slightly longer, went to First Lord Enyalios, requesting permission to visit Katarraktes before the Council session.

  With that out of the way, he checked his own messages. Most were the usual sort of things a Hexarch got on a daily basis. This was a task for which he did employ staff, which meant that the hundred or so messages hovering in the air above his desk had been pared down from ten or twenty times that many. Most of them were easy enough to reply to, a short dictation or holorecording and he was done.

  Here and there, however, lurked notes that he actually needed to pay attention to. First among them, was a message from Second Lord Philip.

  Tritogenes selected that message, and the menu vanished, replaced with the holographic visage of a man who might have been Tritogenes's younger brother. Philip smiled a greeting, saying, “I would shake your hand, but the distance might prove prohibitive.”

  He waited a moment, likely to give Tritogenes a chance to laugh at the attempted joke, which the Hexarch did. Continuing, Philip said, “First Lord, when you return to Limani, I would ask you to visit me in person. There are some troubling rumors coming out of Dasos concerning Pteryga. It seems First Lord Aegesander believes First Lord Hyperion to be ill and may be planning to call for his abdication.”

  Tritogenes frowned. Under his breath, he muttered, “bullshit. I spoke to Hyperion last week.”

  Philip's message continued despite Tritogenes's interruption. “On a positive note, the information publicly available from the other Hexarchs points to overall success with their branches of the Project. I know you don't like to talk about yours, but that's one of the things I would like to discuss with you in person.”

  Tritogenes raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

  As though anticipating the question, Philip's message said, “I believe I have uncovered information in First Lord Ophion and First Lord Adrasta's records that will be of personal interest to you. I will not trust this information to any encryption.

  “Selene's light guide you,” said Philip's hologram moments before it vanished. For someone in his position, Philip had an oddly religious streak.

  Tritogenes sat in thought for a moment. Philip never left Limani, and his position as Tritogenes's personal information gatherer more than adequately explained his distrust of electronic security. Those two things meant any information he had was kept under better security than even Aphelion Station, but it necessitated a trip to Limani to speak in person, which often took more time than Tritogenes really had to spare.

  Still, if he had information that would help Project Titan, the Hexarch could cut short his visit here, go to Limani, and then go to Katarraktes.

  He sighed. One of these days, he was going to finish decorating his shuttle. If this sort of schedule continued, he might find himself doing so very soon.

  The last thing that caught his attention was actually a note from First Lord Hyperion. Like everything the elder Hexarch did, it was brief, and to the point.

  “Do not forget our conversation. Remember Diomedes. Consider doing the same. I am. Do not speak of this to anyone.”

  Tritogenes deleted the message immediately. It contained no incriminating information, but if Hyperion had a reason for keeping the meat of the message secret, that was enough for Tritogenes. He might have been referring to a few different things—their conversations had a way of wandering, after all—but Tritogenes was sure he knew what Hyperion meant.

  Normally, Hexarchs were elected from the Second Lords, meaning that only six First Lords existed at any time. However, a legal precedent existed where a Hexarch could name a successor directly. It was almost never done that way, however, because the uproar from the Seconds was often proved difficult to deal with.

  Stars knew Rivka had more than her share of problems in her early years as Hexarch, Tritogenes reflected. People, First and Second Lords alike, eventually came around, but it took considerable effort on her part to sway the majority.

  The last time they spoke, Hyperion indicated his desire to name a successor and suggested that Tritogenes do the same. While he did not share Hyperion's outlook—in recent years, especially after an assassination attempt, the old Hexarch had gotten somewhat paranoid—Tritogenes failed to shake off his suggestion.

  Finding it at the forefront of his mind again, Tritogenes mulled over his options while he disrobed for bed.

  First on the list was Pallasophia herself. She certainly had the skill and the qualifications. There were days that he wanted to turn his entire empire over to her and be done with it all. She could run things far better than he could.

  With a chuckle came the thought that dashed that idea. Pallasophia would kill him for even suggesting she become a Hexarch. He raised the subject with her once, ironically when they discussed Hyperion's age, and her distaste was palpable.

  Tritogenes had not mentioned it again.

  Glaukos would also make a good Hexarch, but like Pallasophia, he would hate the job. Plus, with Enyalios still in power, the Seconds were unlikely to accept another military mind on the Council, mastigas or no mastigas.

  He never got to a third option, because Tritogenes fell asleep within moments of his head hitting the pillow.

  Chapter 3

  A crash rousted Victoria from her attempts at sleep. She found her knife, still her only possession, in her hand before consciously thinking about it. A moment after that, she was on her feet, crouched low, and moving away from the semi-secluded corner she found.

  Around the corner was another large room, smaller than the one in which she woke but less crowded by equipment. The crash came from that direction, and so it was in that direction that instinct drove her. Many of the times she died in her dreams were because she ran from the green-eyed monsters. When she pursued them, her chances of surviving the encounter increased substantially.

  At least, that was what happened to the others in her dreams.

  Three hulking, black-suited figured struggled with one another at the far end o
f the room. Caught between them was the remnants of something humanoid. Victoria was thankful for its damaged state. She could not tell if it was a person, like her, or if one of the green-eyes fell victim to its own brethren.

  At her approach, the three monsters stopped their struggle. One raised its head, making motions as though it were sniffing the air. Perhaps it was, Victoria realized a moment later as it bellowed and pointed her direction. As one, they threw the corpse away from them and picked up metal weapons from the ground.

  A notion, barely even a voice, told her that the trio was an easy fifteen or twenty meters away. She growled at the intrusion on her thoughts, but then stifled that as she realized exactly how useful that information was. The distance between herself and the three creatures was too far for them to cross without her reacting, which gave Victoria a moment to think.

  The nearest of the trio bellowed again and struck out with the metal object in its hand, smashing what remained of a nearby table. The action also let Victoria judge the weapon in its hand, little more than a small spike. The one behind it did likewise, reducing the already destroyed table to splinters.

  The third, not to be shown up by its brethren, kicked at the smashed pieces, sending them scattering.

  More important, knowing the distance allowed her to more accurately judge their size. That realization told her why they were making no attempts to be stealthy. The little monster that attacked her outside her shell was much smaller than she was, but these were easily much larger. Victoria suspected her eyes would come level with the creatures' chests, but it was their massive bulk that told her how much danger they posed.

  It helped that she remembered fighting similar creatures and knew that her eyes were not playing tricks on her. They really were as massive, and as strong, as they seemed.

  Two memories flashed across her mind at the same time, fighting with reality. She stumbled as three different things presented themselves in front of her eyes. For a moment, reality lost out as she again remembered how easily the faceplates on the monsters' helmets shattered. The other memory was a motion which brought only a little visual memory with it.

  Victoria stumbled again as the second memory fought with her real muscles. It replayed itself, feelings of her arm raising and uncurling, propelling something in her hand with the powerful muscles in her stomach.

  Her eyes widened as she understood. When the memory replayed for the third time, she raised her real arm in mimicry of the dream and threw the knife across the room. It rotated once, twice, and then smashed into the faceplate of the nearest of the giant monsters.

  It bellowed, screaming as it fell, and clawing at its face. The small knife sank past the rim of the thing's visor, and its attempts to remove it only drove the weapon deeper and tore the wound wider. Brilliant red blood streamed from its face, visible even from ten meters away.

  Victoria stood on guard, watching them come closer. Their ponderous, self-assured gait gave her several long moments to formulate a plan. She waited, not wanting to move too soon lest she discover firsthand exactly how much reality matched the losing fights she remembered. Though they looked small in the hands of the giants, vivid memories of ribs and bones snapping under strikes from the “little” spikes told her how much damage they could do to the human body.

  She adjusted her feet, subtle little variations in posture and stance as the next few seconds ticked by. The one she downed thrashed and flailed, forcing the third in the group to step around it to avoid being struck. Victoria watched as they maneuvered; the first one was now a step closer than his only still-living comrade.

  They took one more step before she sprang into action. She lunged at the nearer of the two, but turned her motion into a tight roll along the floor that passed under its counterattack.

  For a moment, she was surrounded, but she took another step, moving toward the other giant. It struck out and she shifted to the side. She seized its massive wrist with her right hand, and, in the same movement, lunged forward and pulled. The giant lost its balance for a fraction of a second, but that was all she needed to shift her posture again, slither around it, and propel it into the other giant with a shove.

  Her muscles protested with the exertion, but as memories and reality meshed, she knew the second time she executed that technique it would be smoother.

  The giants fell into one another in a tangle of limbs, and the one she threw crashed to the ground as the second swatted it aside. She made a mental note of that; her dreams had not prepared her for how poorly they coordinated their attacks. That piece of information would keep her alive, she knew.

  Victoria sprang forward. She threw a kick that intentionally fell far short and used that momentum to drive a second kick. Her heel, despite throwing the kick as high as her body would allow, only connected with the giant's throat. It coughed and growled, but remained on its feet.

  The prone giant struggled to its feet, bellowing rage. Its attempts to stand failed when the other giant, the one whose windpipe she should have crushed, twisted and grabbed the other's leg. With a grunt of exertion and rage, the nearer of the two hurled the other one over its shoulder like a club.

  Victoria lunged to the side, leaping out of the way of the falling giant. It hit the floor with a thud that echoed on the room's metal walls. Instinctively, she moved forward, intending to straddle it and snap the thing's neck. Instinct told her that was the wrong plan before she could move very far. A flash of moment out of the corner of her eye told her the other giant was maneuvering behind her in a surprising display of tactics.

  The still-standing giant swung its massive fist at her, leading with the metal spike. She jumped backward, out of the way, and it stepped over its fallen companion without any apparent care for the fallen one's wellbeing.

  It lashed out again and she retreated. It was only for a moment, Victoria promised herself, but she had to put some distance between herself and the giants. The first one had gone down easily enough, but without another weapon or some way to separate them, her list of potential options was growing shorter by the moment.

  The giant lashed out again, barely missing Victoria's bare skin with the end of the spike in its fist. A surge of adrenaline rushed through her blood as the proximity of the weapon drove home how much damage it would do to her.

  She maneuvered more, finding a heavy table similar to the one in the room where she woke up. The black-topped table had been pushed against one wall of the large room, lost in shadow. Hoping it was built the same way, Victoria grasped one edge and jerked it away from the wall. It rolled a meter on hidden wheels, but stopped abruptly as it caught some unseen piece of debris in the dark.

  She moved to the other side of the table and shoved again, this time with her shoulder. It slid another few meters as the other end rotated, but then it too stopped. The side that had been facing the wall was full of cabinets and drawers like the other table had been, but she ignored them. If the first table held nothing that could help her, this one would not be worth the moments it would take to search.

  The giant regarded her from behind its black facemask for a moment as the other struggled, again, to its feet. The featureless mask tilted left and right, examining her. Without eyes or any expression, it sent a chill down her spine.

  Victoria started to act when the nearer giant jumped flat footed onto the table. Instinctively, she jumped as well, using her hands to propel herself onto the black top. It slammed into the wall a heartbeat after her feet cleared the edge, knocking dust and dirt loose.

  She briefly considered diving between its feet, but the possibility of it bringing that spike down on her spine stopped her. That instinct, she noted, had been her own. The thought that followed it was hers as well.

  Victoria sprang backward, kicked against the wall, and propelled herself against the giant. It struck out at her, but did not expect her to move as quickly as she did. Its blow went wide and she slammed its chest with her shoulder.

  The giant rocked backward and
the table went with it, sliding away from the wall slightly. That sudden movement gave her the instant she needed to get away, and Victoria backed to the edge of the table and dropped lightly to the floor.

  Unfortunately, the giant regained its footing in that instant and stepped toward her. Its legs were long enough to take it to the edge of the table with that step. One more step and it would be within range to kick or stomp.

  She sprang forward. It raised its foot, prepared to bring it down on her head, but she again moved too quickly. She never could have blocked that blow, but it never came. Instead, she stepped, lunged, and then kicked at the table. Unlike the faceplate of the first assailant which cracked and yielded under her attack, the hard black tabletop held firm and sent a spike of pain up through her bare foot.

  Victoria winced, but there was no time to pay her foot any attention. The table moved backward, then shot away as the giant toppled off of the end. It hit the ground with a hard thump. She dove for the giant before it could stand. Instinct told her where to put her arms and legs, even on something so much larger than she was. It was disoriented by the fall, but even so she only had a few seconds to act, and she pinned the thing's arms with violent twists. She placed one hand on the back of the giant's head and the other on its chin and wrenched its head to one side.

  The giant continued to struggle, fighting to free itself. It tried to bring the thrusting spike down on her back, but Victoria kept most of her weight on the arm holding that weapon and the attempt was only partially successful. The tip struck Victoria's ribs anyway, sending a shock through them that eclipsed the feeling in her foot.