Traitor

by C R MacFarlane

  “Martyr,” grunted Rami.

  Kieran blinked. Another image of an explosion, throwing him and ripping the planet apart flashed in his mind. He shuddered. He didn’t want to die here. “Look,” he huffed, “can you keep the ship level? I’m going to look at this with Grant.”

  He expected argument, but there was none. Kieran ducked down, crawling under the console. The central hub was above them, dozens of connections spilling from it.

  Grant’s breath came in spurts and stops as he traced the lines with his fingers. “I was wrong, I have seen a system like this before. Just a picture they showed me at Evangecore. Something they pulled from the wreckage at the Lansford’s cabin.”

  “What?” Kieran blinked. “Who set it?”

  “The rebels — that’s their symbol too, the circle with the lines. They bombed Evangecore too, though I never got a good look at that system.”

  Kieran blinked.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Grant said. “Take the spacesuits or try to get the shuttle clear. I know you hate spacewalks, but I don’t know if I can stop this. If I can’t…. Kieran, I have my suit at least.”

  “No. We’re going to figure this out.” Kieran focussed on the hub above their heads, forcing his mind to stop thinking about the fireball that was now less than seven minutes away, or about Lauren — at least if it went off, he would see her again. Maybe.

  Sarrin would be somewhere down on the surface. Please, God, he prayed. He wanted to see her again too.

  Methodically, he traced each wire — some of them real, many of them fake connections meant to throw off anyone who was trying to dismantle the system. It was working. He’d never seen a system like it before either, and for the millennia of tech he’d studied, that surprised him. Humanity hadn’t come up with anything original in centuries.

  His heart crashed around in his chest. He forced himself to release a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

  Grant lifted a hand to his head. Blood seeped from the still-fresh line of suture. “I can’t do it.”

  “Like hell you can’t. Come on, Grant.”

  “Get out of here. There’s less than a minute left.”

  Kieran flinched. “How do you know?” But it was the same way that Sarrin always seemed to be counting time. He pushed himself out from under the conduit, looking at the display.

  “I think we’re far enough from the planet,” Rami grunted, his concentration still fixed on the controls as he tweaked each of the thruster banks individually, keeping the ship level. The countdown clock rushed past fifty-seconds remaining.

  “Shit,” Kieran muttered. “Grant, let’s go.” He banged on the console. They were low on options. “Get to the shuttle. Hopefully its shielding will be enough to protect us from the blast.”

  Maybe it would, maybe it wouldn’t. Rami ran ahead of him. Kieran waited for Grant, pushing him in to the corridor, running the short distance to the shuttle hangar.

  Grant turned, waving for Kieran to run in front. His suit ripped out of his back, pouring across his skin.

  In the same instant, Kieran felt the ship jerk and he went sprawling to the ground. Grant dove, covering Rami. The walls erupted as a massive fireball pushed down all around them — Kieran marvelled that it looked exactly as he had imagined. Lauren smiled at him. And everything went dark.

  * * *

  The tiny freightship exploded without warning, nothing more than a bright flash high in the stratosphere. Sarrin’s body crumpled, and she sank to her knees.

  But he couldn’t be dead. Maybe they got away in a shuttle, or maybe they jettisoned the bomb before it exploded. Kieran was clever. Kieran thought of things that others didn’t.

  Gods, let him be okay. She pressed her fingers to her chest, tapping rapidly.

  Beside her, the others stood, their slight movements slowing, or maybe she was speeding up. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears until it was overtaken by a high pitched whine. Someone moved their mouth, slowly, but she couldn’t hear a thing. A voice started to cut through the static, “-Rrin.” Hoepe’s face was pale, his pupils dilated. He took a heavy breath and set his face in a frown. He turned back to the sky.

  She followed his gaze — she had to watch, the shuttle would be coming down soon, now that the danger had passed. Kieran would climb from the hatch, find her in the crowd, and flash his smile.

  Cordelia’s long, silvery tendril started to retract. Her human body rematerialized, charred and bloody. She staggered, almost falling over.

  Hoepe pushed past Sarrin, knocking her to the ground. He cut through the crowd straight for Cordelia. In the hole left in his wake, Sarrin could clearly see the bodies at Cordelia’s feet.

  She had brought back bodies.

  There was no memory or awareness of running forward, but Sarrin suddenly stood on the edge of the crowd, looking down. Grant kneeled on all fours, his limpet suit covering him as he heaved for breath. Rami twitched where he lay under Grant, burns visible on his arms and legs. Hoepe reached down to look at them. And Kieran.

  Oh Gods, Kieran!

  Instinct took over, her body leaping across the distance, unsteady legs crashing down beside him. Kieran was pink and raw, deep burns covering his entire body. He took a shallow, shaky breath.

  She screamed for Hoepe.

  He turned his head instantly, his eyes scanning Kieran. Then he gave her a look she couldn’t interpret and his head shook once, side to side. Hoepe dropped his gaze, turning back to Rami.

  “No!” She pulled Kieran’s head into her lap, desperate. The seared flesh was hot to touch. He was too far gone, Hoepe knew it. He was keeping his focus on Rami — someone he might actually be able to save.

  She could already feel Kieran slipping away, his body’s energy desperately low, his heart rate too slow. Nothing like when she had touched him before, the beauty of his vibrancy gone. He took another incredibly shaky breath — some part of her brain told her it could be his last.

  There had to be something they could do.

  Her whole body folded as she sobbed, tears streaming down her face. It didn’t matter that everyone watched. It didn’t matter than no one cried in Evangecore.

  She felt his heart shudder, felt it take two more slow, pitiful beats, and then stop.

  A pain worse than any they had ever dreamed up in Evangecore, pain worse than Guitteriez’s negative pulse machines, overtook her.

  She needed Kieran. She needed him to understand her, needed the way he always saw her as herself instead of an Augment, needed the way his eyes, his smile, even his touch could pull her out of the darkness.

  Her mind worked, solving problems as it always had: it drew schematics like an engine, except it was the two of them. Kieran had shown her the way before, when she was desperate.

  She gritted her teeth, pulling together all the strength and courage she could find. Her hands spread wide on his skin, wincing at the heat and wetness from the burns that made her arms feel like were on fire too. She let the energy flow from her into him, giving all she had and then more.

  Kieran said she could use the abilities for good, she just had to figure out how. She didn’t really know the how, but this was the when. Her mind reached out, terrified to do it but desperate enough to try. She saw his heart in her mind, still in his chest, and gave it a little squeeze, willing it to carry on.

  She squeezed again and again, forcing it to beat, until it gave a little thump of its own. It was working. She dug a little deeper, finding more and more strength to give to him.

  His heart rate sped up a little, and he took another breath.

  Come on, Kieran. She slammed into him with all of her mental might.

  He gasped, a full, deep, startling breath.

  Hoepe looked up, spring to his feet. He pushed her out of the way. His expression was still grim, but at least his hands worked quickly on the charred body in front of him. He didn’t think Kieran was completely lost.

  Cordelia appeared next to them. “What do
you need?”

  “Hypobaric chamber,” he grunted, his hands and eyes focussed on Kieran, twisting into trigger points.

  Sarrin clambered out of the way as a table erupted from the ground and lifted Kieran up, a massive medical device enveloping him. Hoepe and Kieran disappeared, as she stared at the outside of the chamber.

  Someone touched her elbow, and Sarrin gulped. She still crouched on the ground beside the solid barrier that still contained Hoepe working on Kieran. Time seemed to have stopped altogether.

  Grant looked down at her, his hand by her arm, limpet suit still covering his body. Only his one eye was exposed. There were deep burns there, but he seemed not to notice, staring with her at the chamber.

  Slowly, Sarrin found her feet. Her legs still shaky, but not like before, not burdened as they had been, simply tired. Her hands flexed, pale pink skin looking so normal. She stared as though she had never seen them before. Such brutal devices, but maybe they had saved Kieran’s life too.

  TWENTY-THREE

  COMMANDANT AMELIA MALLOR SAT ON a medical bed in the centre of the bright infirmary. She had walked into the medical bay freely, but that freedom was tenuous at best. She picked at the piling on her sterile gown as the others talked around her.

  “Commander Jameson told us she began screaming while on the bridge of the Comrade. She had to be subdued and relieved of duty,” reported General Nairu.

  The same doctor who had assessed her before read through her charts. “Her physical exams and psychological evaluation have all passed within normal parameters. I see nothing worrisome behind the strange outburst of behaviour.” He shrugged. “We know she was close with the doctor, Guitteriez. Perhaps she was reacting to his untimely death.”

  Amelia clenched her fists under the folds of the thin fabric gown. His death had not been untimely. He had it coming to him for a long time.

  No, she liked the doctor. He was a friend. One of her only friends. He had helped her recover after her accident.

  The new doctor continued, “I see from the notes here she had been part of an unorthodox experiment, tying her mind to the mind of Augment 005478F. The Augment is presumed dead, her tracking and identification chip was found in the wreckage of the facility on Junk. There is no way for us to know how that may have affected her, how it would affect any of us, to be connected to someone as they died.”

  Hap Lansford grunted in disagreement. He paced the room, she could see his fat little feet stumbling in front of her, and her face contorted into a sneer, her mind overcome with hate.

  Shocked with herself, she schooled her expression into one of bland complacency. Hap Lansford was the First Speaker and a direct descendant of the Gods.

  But Sarrin was not dead. That much she knew. She no longer had her tracking chip, nor Amelia hers, but they were still connected. It was no more than a whisper in the commandant’s mind — without proximity, she could no longer feel the same sensations as the Augment, but she was there.

  “What is your recommendation, Doctor?” asked Hap.

  “She appears to be in perfect health. I see no reason she could not continue her duties.”

  Hap paused again, his feet turning toward her. “Commandant.”

  “Sir.” She saluted, lifting her hand by rote.

  “Stand,” Hap ordered.

  She resisted the urge to lunge forward and crush his trachea.

  “Jameson has made a report detailing your actions when the Comrade engaged the freightship Ishash’tor,” he said, his voice flat, lifeless.

  Amelia blinked. Even she hadn’t been able to truly understand her actions. Familiar memories had played in her mind, and then her arms had moved of their own accord. Then, while she lay in shock, her XO had taken over the ship, and she had sat in the brig of the Comrade until they returned to Etar.

  Hap stared at her for a long time, and she set her jaw, refusing to fidget under his glare. “Well?” he said. “Explain.”

  She tightened every muscle in her spine. What could she say? Should she try to explain the inexplicable pain she had felt, the connection to the Augment? The way the Augment had forced her hand to reach up and punch the controls? She swallowed once, praying silently to the Gods that they didn’t see her weakness. “The recently deceased doctor, Guitteriez, implanted a chip—.”

  “Yes, we know.” Hap slapped the table behind her hard enough to make it shake.

  The doctor beside him jumped. “I removed it, I swear.” His hand clutched an injector. Sedative, she guessed. He thought it could save him. Fool.

  Hap glared at the doctor before he turned back to her. “The chip has been removed.”

  “S— s—,” she stammered. What was happening to her? This was unbefitting, totally against her character. She paused, collecting herself. “005478F was still able to connect with me.”

  Hap raised an eyebrow. He shared a look with the general and then with the doctor. The doctor’s wide eyes were perfectly round. He shook his head once.

  Hap groaned, shrugging his massive shoulders. “That doesn’t explain your actions. Jameson said you were screaming uncontrollably. You are one of our finest officers and a great deal of resources have gone into your development. I expect better.”

  She nodded, “Yes, sir. I — I felt the pain from the bio-pulse weapons as she felt it. It was terrible.” A shiver ran through her at the memory, and she ran a hand over her arm.

  “The pulse weapons are not said to be powerful.”

  She shook her head. “It was like….” But there was no way to describe the feeling.

  The doctor turned to Hap, his shrewd eyes narrowing. “Thew weapon was designed specifically for 005478F’s altered neurocircuitry.”

  Hap leaned forward. “And you felt this. Through her?”

  Amelia nodded. That must have been it. “She was able to control me. My arms, my hands, they moved of their own accord.”

  “She could move you?”

  Amelia nodded. She never would have done those things on her own. Would she have?

  Hap slammed the table again.

  She braced, her chin held defiant. “What are my orders, sir?”

  The general answered, “You are relieved of duty, Commandant.”

  “Why?” she snapped. Questioning a general of the Speakers was borderline treason. She stared into the First Speaker’s dull, dark eyes. This made him angry, the lines of it clearly etching under his brows. “The doctor has cleared me for duty. I had an emotional outburst following the death of Guitteriez, but have recovered now.” She knew it was a lie, but it was believable and convenient.

  Hap turned on her, attempting a pose of strength that was obscured by his bulk. “We need to capture the freightship. I cannot afford mistakes or erratic outbursts.”

  “I am your foremost military commandant. If anyone should be on this mission, it is I.” If she could find the Augment first, maybe there was a chance.

  A chance of what?

  “Captain Jameson will take your place,” said Hap.

  Jameson? He was nearly as vicious as the First Speaker, he would torture them, kill them!

  Wasn’t that what she was going to do?

  “You wish to capture the freightship, not destroy it, sir?” asked the general.

  Hap threw a sharp look at Nairu. “005478F is everything Guitteriez promised. We need her. She must be brought back alive.”

  Amelia frowned. “Let me go after her. I’ve served you for years. I’ve hunted countless Augments across the stars. You’ll never capture her, but I can.”

  General Nairu spoke to Hap, ignoring Amelia. “Even if 005478F could do it, she’s caused us so much trouble already. We have the second generation. She needs to be destroyed.”

  “Do what?” Amelia asked.

  Hap turned. “Dismissed, Commandant.” He feared her. She saw it now, convinced in the way he held his shoulders against her, hunched as though he was protecting himself.

  “I have not questioned your orders before.” She
jumped off the table so she was standing before him. Taller than him.

  He took an involuntary step back, his eyes wide. “Sedate her!” he screamed.

  The doctor approached, Amelia glaring blatantly, her eyes locked with Hap. The auto-syringe pressed into her neck, the sensation horrifyingly familiar.

  * * *

  Halud wiped sweat from his brow, fidgeting before the door to Hap Lansford’s office. If there was any reason to avoid it, he would, but he couldn’t and so he plunged himself through the doorway. He sat in the same chair, opposite Hap, and waited for the Speaker to acknowledge him.

  Hap swivelled in his chair, his expression darker than usual. “The warship returned this morning.”

  Halud swallowed heavily and waited.

  “Are you going to ask about your sister?” Hap snapped. “Or perhaps what my orders to them will be on their return voyage.”

  Mouth suddenly dry, Halud nodded. He forced his mouth open, to form the question, but he never had the chance.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter now.” Hap’s rage was obvious, boiling off him as he pounded his tiny fists against the desk. “Look.” He spun the viewer around faster than Halud could catch up with what was happening.

  Bewildered, he watched the screen. On it, a dusty landscape decorated by pulpits of fire slipped by as the recording drone flew overhead. Darkened ruins came into view, jagged edges of con-plas sticking up from the ground.

  “That’s the facility on Junk,” growled Hap, “one of our premiere research laboratories.”

  Halud’s stomach clenched. Sarrin was in that facility. His eyes searched the video wildly for any sign of her. Anything at all. Even if he could think of words to say, he wouldn’t have been able to.

  “It’s all your fault,” said Hap.

  Halud turned his wide eyes on the Speaker. “My fault?”

  Hap queued another video roughly. “Watch,” he commanded.

  Now, the screen showed footage from what must be one of the internal security cameras, although the room was dark. Only shadows shifted in the vid, until a brilliant blue arc lit up the room, the unmistakable shape of Sarrin in the centre.