Born in Darkness

by Thomas Farmer

  Hyperion nodded. “I understand from your press releases that Helena is a cyborg?”

  Aegesander nodded. An expression Hyperion could not read passed over his face for a moment, then he smiled. This one was genuine, if somewhat stressed in strange ways around the edges. “Second Lord Helena has shown a proficiency with computer systems that outstrips any un-augmented technician I have on staff.”

  “Impressive. How long did it take to develop the implants so that her body didn't reject them?”

  Aegesander shook his head. “Longer than I would have liked, but fortunately Helena made great strides since then. She has also proven herself to be a capable combatant, which I admit I did not expect.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Before the implants, Helena showed little interest in hand-to-hand combat. Since then, however, she's discovered a love for it.”

  Hyperion considered that for a moment. He knew a few things about what Tritogenes did at Aphelion, but his former pupil learned Hyperion's own preferences for security rather well and kept a tight lid on information flow. All he knew about Aphelion had been from Tritogenes himself, and that was limited to three areas: genetic engineering, memory learning, and the Incident.

  After a few moments, Hyperion nodded. “If she's as skilled as you say, is it possible that she downloaded combat data to her implants and learned from that?”

  “Perhaps,” Aegesander replied. “Actually, no, not perhaps. I suspect that's exactly what happened. Hyperion, her abilities are actually quite impressive and, between us, frightening.”

  That stopped Hyperion cold. For Aegesander to admit something like that, even in private, especially to him, was a surprise. Aegesander's people respected him, but “vulnerable” was not exactly a word anyone would have used to describe him.

  However, Hyperion was not going to let the moment pass. “Frightening?”

  Aegesander nodded. “Yes. Her mind works in strange ways now.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  Aegesander sighed. “Because, Hyperion. I'm worried I made another mistake.”

  “Project Titan was not a mistake.”

  “And yet we never did anything about the mastigas until Tritogenes stepped up.”

  “You and Enyalios know better than most how bad those early years were.”

  Aegesander's face darkened. When the mastigas arrived thirty years ago, there was no warning. They came out of the stars, destroying everything in their path, and for years none of the Hexarchs even knew anything organic lived aboard that massive battleship. At that point, Hexarch Enyalios was Second Lord Enyalios, sworn in service to First Lord Meriones, but when military action truly began against the mastigas, he and Aegesander led the charge.

  The losses among their people and military over the next thirty years had been incalculable, yet the Technocracy never slowed its pace. By and large, they simply removed their presence from the system's outer rim, leaving it to the mastigas and the Technocrat military, whose standing orders were to “stop their advance and protect the civilians of the binary.”

  So it went until the day the mastigas hit Kipos, and First Lord Diomedes committed suicide out of shame and guilt. They had been repelled, but only after killing millions and destroying much of the garden-like planet's infrastructure.

  Hyperion knew that guilt all too well, as, apparently, did Aegesander. When the mastigas hit Kipos, he and Dasos's Hexarch had long since stopped regular communication. This conversation was a good step forward, however.

  After a moment, the dark cloud over Aegesander's face cleared. “Hyperion,” he said, them breathed. “Project Titan must succeed. You know that as well as I do. The mastigas cannot be allowed to attack another planet. They must be eradicated.”

  Hyperion nodded. He understood the fear all too well. Diomedes had been a personal friend. “Yes,” he said, then repeated himself. “Yes, my friend.”

  Aegesander smiled, but the dark cloud seemed to return. “I knew you would understand. My friend.”

  Hyperion spread his hands in a gesture of acceptance. “Of course. We made a mistake once. Not again.”

  Aegesander nodded. “Yes, and Diomedes paid the price for our inaction.”

  Hyperion allowed a smile, a genuine smile to spread across his face. “And to think, you and Enyalios voted against Tritogenes's elevation.”

  A ghost of a smile flitted across Aegesander's face. “Another mistake I am now trying to atone for. But tell me, are the news reports about your Titan accurate?”

  Hyperion nodded, then shrugged. He laughed. “Most of them. Tabloids will report whatever sells copy.”

  “Of course.” Aegesander nodded, then, “of course.”

  “Korakti has held three different planetary championships,” he said, ticking them off on his fingers. “One for wrestling, where she was champion for six years, and another for open-form combat, where she held the title for nine years straight. She was also the planet's champion marksman for three years. Not three consecutive years, though.”

  “That's an impressive resume for someone so young.”

  Hyperion laughed. “As it happens, Korakti enlisted in the Pterygan military when she was young. Very young.”

  To Hyperion's surprise, Aegesander laughed. “That would explain a few things, yes. Tell me, when do you plan to bring her to Prosgeiosi?”

  “Perhaps in two or three days. She wants to have an exposition fight before her training is officially over.”

  “Broadcast, I hope?”

  Hyperion's smiled turned into a grin. “Of course.”

  “Once you arrive, I would very much like to see your Titan against Helena. I suspect that would be an interesting match.”

  “I agree,” Hyperion said. “But now I must be going. Work calls my name again.”

  “Of course. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me.”

  Hyperion nodded. “Of course. Perhaps...” Hyperion hesitated.

  “Yes?”

  “Perhaps we can put the past away.”

  Aegesander shook his head. “The past will never truly leave us, Hyperion. The most we can do is make the best future for ourselves that we can.”

  “Very true,” Hyperion agreed. He took a deep breath before continuing. “When I come to Prosgeiosi, perhaps we can meet over drinks.”

  Aegesander nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Perhaps we can.”

  ***

  The challenge had been public, and open. When Second Lord Korakti awoke that morning, she knew the lines would be very long indeed, but this was to be her final exhibition before officially meeting the other Titans and training with them. As a result, a great many people expressed an interest in fighting her, despite the steep registration fee.

  Looking at the list that morning, Korakti had a single thought that overrode everything else: that was a lot of people. Even in the largest planetary tournaments, she only really expected to fight a dozen people spaced out over the entire day. This was vastly different, and Korakti wiped sweat from her face as she prepared to face down her thirty-third, and final, challenger for the day.

  The crowd outside cheered, giving her a measure of energy. That—and the knowledge that food, a hot bath and a long nap awaited her after she was finished—drove her to finish the fight. Fortunately, her challenger elected to make this fight one with swords. Her aching muscles could not have cared one way or the other, but her dwindling energy reserves were quite happy to have a weapon in hand. The stop-and-go of a sword fight was much easier to manage compared to the constant demands of a wrestling match.

  She sat out of sight of the audience as the arena's announcer finished introducing her challenger. Most of his words washed right over Korakti without her hearing them. At that moment, it was not that she did not care about her opponent, but rather that she was taking every spare moment to rest. She would pay attention to important things, her support staff coming with water or small bits of food, or her name being called, but that was the
extent of it.

  While he spoke at length about her opponent's achievements, Korakti mentally reviewed her day so far. Out of thirty two people, she had beaten twenty-nine. Loses were expected, even for a someone with her win/loss record, perhaps especially for someone with that record. Most wanted to wrestle her, that was what she was best known for, after all, and of those twenty matches, she won nineteen. Seven challenged her to point boxing, four of which she won, and two to competitive target shooting. Those, she won handily.

  Interestingly, this was to be her only sword match of the day, which was why Korakti had it scheduled for last. It would make the crowd happy to see something flashy for the final match, and, unless she was mistaken, she knew her opponent.

  Finally, the announcer called her name and she pushed herself to her feet. Gathering her mask under one arm and her fencing saber under the other, Korakti took one final moment to purge her mind of fatigue. Her body could be tired for all she cared, but as long as she could keep her mind alert and awake, she would be fine.

  Again, she reminded herself, she could rest afterward.

  Drawing herself fully upright, Korakti strode into the arena amid the cheers of the crowd. She had taken special care during her last break to make herself presentable to them. Her combat robe, itself such a part of her image that she based part of her fighting style around its swirling patterns and shrouding layers, was of a blue so dark it looked black from a distance. It also did not show sweat, no matter how damp. Likewise, she was careful to dry her skin and calm her breathing. Her hair, at least, was kept short in a military cut and took practically no time to dry.

  All in all, when she stepped back into the arena, she looked as fresh as she did before her first fight. That attention to detail helped her win more than one tournament in the past as her outward calm convinced her opponent she had more energy to spare than she really did.

  The cheering of the crowd continued to buoy her spirits, but Korakti did not let it show on her face or in her body language. With what she knew would appear to be singular purpose, she crossed the arena to her opponent. Despite that show, her eyes darted around, watching the assembled mass of people to gauge their reactions.

  Hyperion himself sat in the highest box opposite where she now stood. Despite being scarcely more than a centimeter tall from that distance, his very presence seemed to tower over those around him. His chair sat just a little taller than the others in his box, and the box itself had been installed half a meter higher than any other. It was a subtle difference, but the effect it created was anything but.

  She stopped in the center of the arena, finally taking her eyes off her opponent. Over her career as a professional fighter, and even moreso as Pteryga's Titan, Korakti spent a lot of time with her Hexarch. Even across the distance that separated them, she felt she could read his body language. He radiated pride and she knew his sapphire blue eyes were fixed on her.

  He nodded once, at that distance more a movement of his great, snowy beard than anything else, and Korakti felt a sudden surge of energy. Hyperion, elder of the Council and a man she viewed as a grandfather, chose her.

  This fight would be easy.

  She returned his acknowledgment, sending another roar through the crowd as hundreds of people, all convinced she nodded to them specifically, rose and cheered.

  To her opponent, Korakti gave a smile. She shifted her sword to her other hand, holding it with the same arm that held her mask, and offered her empty hand to her opponent.

  “Hello, Sotiria.”

  Sotiria took Korakti's arm and they clasped hands just above the wrist. From a distance, the two of them might have been sisters who pursued radically different hobbies. Where Korakti had the blocky torso of a traditional wrestler who optimized her physique to dominate her opponent on the ground, Sotiria was tall and thin with arms and legs that looked like they should have been doing flips on a balance beam.

  The similarities were in their height and faces. They looked one another directly in the eyes, staring out of eerily similar square-jawed faces.

  Sotiria also wore a more traditional duelist's robe. Rather than reaching the ankles or even the floor as most everyday clothing did, her duelist's robe barely brushed her knees. The top half of her robe was actually a separate padded jacket with hidden plates protecting her throat and joints. Despite its outward appearance, Korakti's robe sported similar internal pieces.

  Sotiria smiled and released Korakti's hand. “When I heard our fight was going to be last, I was afraid you would be too tired to carry on.”

  Korakti laughed and slapped Sotiria lightly on the shoulder. “And leave Prosgeiosi's champion fencer with a bad fight? Never!”

  “That's what I was hoping you would say, old friend. Now, are you ready to lose?”

  Korakti smirked. “Have you taken to talking to yourself, Tiri?”

  She laughed, but did not have a chance to reply as the announcer instructed them to take their places.

  Korakti and Sotiria retreated away from one another, pointedly not turning their backs to one another out of respect. Overhead, the announcer was explaining the rules to the crowd, but Korakti tuned him out. She set the rules for the day's matches and did not need to be reminded that this final fight was going to be what was still called a “first blood” match.

  The announcer finally finished and led the fencers through the ceremonial opening of the match. Korakti raised her sword's hilt to eye level, then flourished it through the air in a motion that ended in a deep bow from the hips.

  Sotiria's salute did not end in a bow, but rather a dip of her knees. The effect was the same, however.

  She then dropped her mask over her head while her opponent did the same thing. Korakti then raised her saber, waiting for the booming call that would come next. That one, she thought, was actually worth paying attention to.

  “Fencers ready?” demanded the announcer. A moment passed, the last chance for either of them to request another few moments to adjust something or to back out, and the booming voice commanded them to, “Fence!”

  Korakti sprang forward. Sotiria's strength came from her reach and flexibility, both of which augmented the long rapier in her hands quite well. Her own saber was a good thirty centimeters shorter, which put the burden of offense on Korakti.

  Their blades clashed multiple times as she tried to press in closer. Korakti would beat the rapier's blade away and step closer only to find Sotiria had faded backward and returned the weapon's point to center.

  Unfortunately, Korakti did not count on fatigue setting in as quickly as it did. Sotiria's defensive style demanded a lot of energy to fight, energy that she simply did not have. With each exchange of blades, Korakti felt her form slipping and her reactions lagging behind.

  A minute passed and she backed off. Despite several engagements, neither of them managed to hit the other yet. That, at least, was good, Korakti reasoned.

  They circled one another, weapons probing against out of distance targets. Sotiria had boundless energy on Korakti's good days, and while this was a good day, it was also the tail end of a good day. The more they played, the closer she could feel Sotiria's point coming.

  That gave her just one chance to make things work and Korakti took her eyes off Sotiria's hand. She needed the fast-twitch reflexes of peripheral vision now, not the analytical ability that came from focus.

  Their blades touched. She beat the rapier aside. Reflexes spoke to reflexes now. Inside her own fencing mask, Korakti was not watching anything. Her eyes were wide, taking in her surroundings on a subconscious level. She knew from Sotiria's movements that she was doing the same thing. If they could have seen one another's faces, neither would have been looking anywhere near the other's eyes.

  The rapier probed forward, closer now. The ring of steel shuddered through her hand, transmitted through her bones as much as through the air to her ears.

  Korakti allowed the sword to creep in. She beat at it again, readying another cut. She s
lashed the air in front of her, short of her target, but the movement prevented Sotiria from bringing the rapier on target again.

  She shuffled forward. The blades met again, rapier pushing forward with opposition. She felt the control over her saber being pulled away by the other blade.

  Korakti's hand twitched forward and her sword shuddered as the blade clashed against Sotiria's guard. The rapier shifted, rising, pushing her saber away and then pulling free.

  Sotiria twisted to the side, neatly pirouetting away, as her rapier blade traversed a wide circle. Korakti was inside her reach now, forcing her to twist even further and shuffle step backward as she tried to bring the long weapon on target. As she did so, her saber slipped in, point forward.

  Sotiria was not there. Her hand swatted Korakti's saber aside. She pivoted, turned her sword, and brought it down in a cut against Korakti's shoulder.

  Exactly as Korakti wanted her to. She lunged forward, blade outstretched backward, and seized Sotiria's sword arm at the wrist. Korakti pivoted, twisting, pulling the other woman off balance, and struck her in the side of the head with her saber.

  “Halt!” demanded the booming voice of the announcer.

  They froze, disentangled, and stepped away. As the announcer described the action, Korakti and Sotiria removed their masks.

  Extending her hand, amid deep lungfuls of air as she struggled to catch her breath, Korakti said, “you nearly had me several times!”

  Sotiria stepped forward so they they stood nearly shoulder to shoulder. As the crowd's cheering grew louder, it became hard for them to hear one another. “Trust me, I know! I'm kicking myself for not taking a few of those openings.”

  “Next time, yeah?”

  Sotiria clapped Korakti on the shoulder. “Definitely. Now,” she gestured to the cheering crowd and waved.

  Now that the fight was over, Korakti played to the crowd, smiling and waving. She turned in a circle waving to the crowd. Now that her fights were over, she challenged the crowd.

  Loud as her tired throat could mange, she yelled. “IS THERE ANYONE ELSE?”