by Paul Grover
“I feel fine, just like yesterday morning and the morning before that. I’m no expert but if I were going to sprout, it would have happened by now.”
He sat up and ran his hand through his hair. It came away greasy. The room was equipped with a shower in an en suite bathroom; in recent days he had let his hygiene slip. His four-day beard growth itched, and his teeth were sticky.
“You have a visitor, Jack.”
“Great, another faceless voice to talk to. Is this one like you or does it have a name?”
“We have names, Jack, we just can’t tell you. I’m sorry.” She sounded apologetic.
“So Gemma,” Jack had given her the name to distinguish her from the other voices he heard. Gemma was his favourite. He spent his time in this… whatever this place was… wondering what she looked like. She had a mild Frontier accent overlaid with a familiar Earth intonation. It was South East Asian but Jack could only guess where. China? No, Japan? Again no; maybe Vietnam? No, Korea was a possibility. He once dated a girl from Seoul and Gemma sounded like her.
“Jack, I need you to get dressed. We are bringing you out of isolation. A company representative will explain everything.”
He sat up.
“Do I get to meet you today, Gemma?”
“That is not my name. I will come for you in fifteen minutes. Please Jack, get dressed.”
He climbed out of bed and walked to the bathroom, splashing lukewarm water on his face and under his arms. He eyed the shower and rinsed the grease from his hair under the tap. A sharp pain in his lower back almost made him reconsider. The wound was healing but remained tender.
Satisfied he was clean enough to meet with this mystery visitor he dressed in one of the simple grey jumpsuits sent to him by delivery chute every morning. There were four unused ones already on his dresser. Once done he sat in an armchair and waited.
Several minutes passed before the door slid open. A girl in a white lab coat stood in the opening, flanked by two armed guards. She was tall and lithe, her eyes were dark, her skin olive. She wore her long dark hair in a pony tail.
“Jack, will you follow me?”
He stood and offered his hand. “Pleased to meet you Gemma.”
“That is not my name…” Hesitantly the girl took his hand and shook it.
“I need to call you something; you’ve been cagey on telling me anything. I’m filling in the blanks myself. In my mind you’re Gemma and you are from Seoul. Your father was a… fisherman and your mother was a… lawyer. This place is a testing facility for people with super powers… I failed the tests and you’re sending me home.”
“You have a good imagination,” she replied. There was a blush in her cheeks.
She led him out of the room. He was in a long windowless corridor, lit with subdued daylight matched panels. She dismissed the security guards.
“Jack, there is little I could tell you; this is very much a need to know operation. My name is Chloe, Chloe Song.”
“That’s more like it! Pleased to meet you Chloe Song. I thought you were the big boss around here. You asked me enough questions.”
She gave a slight shake of her head. “I’m just part of a bigger machine. I get told what to ask, what to observe; that is all.”
They continued onward. The corridor was empty. Jack heard machinery running in the distance. He was not on a ship or a station, of that much he could be certain.
Underground, I’m underground.
“So what about the ship… The Torrence? What happened to her?”
Chloe turned.
“I don’t know. They brought you in and I headed the observation team. Knowledge of your prior situation could influence our observations.”
Miss Song had no answers, but she was easy on his eyes.
Guilt gripped his soul bringing a lingering sadness.
“What happened to Rosa? My shipmate. I put her in a pod and ejected her. Did she make it?”
Jack had tried not to think of Rosa. At the time he thought he had given her a chance; now he was certain he had killed her.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I really know nothing about what happened before you came here. Mr Kramer will have the answers.”
“Kramer? Wait… this is a Lightfoot facility?”
“Astro Archaeology Divisional HQ. You are on Mizarma.”
Before he could answer a door in wall opened with a hiss of compressed air.
The facility is running with atmospheric under-pressure, he thought. Only bio-weapons facilities do that…
A fat man in a suit was sitting at a round table. A pitcher of fruit juice and a tray of pastries rested in the centre. He stood and introduced himself as Franz Kramer.
“Please accept my apologies, Mr Lawson, but as you can appreciate we could not take any chances with contamination,” he said, offering Jack a seat.
Jack poured juice into a glass and took a sip. It had an unfamiliar sweet and earthy taste; he assumed it was an indigenous species.
“Our first encounter with the nano organisms was when the Riley rescued you. We have learned much in the past month. We have established the infection is spread by blood and by air. Airborne infections take longer to manifest. Most nano airborne colonies are destroyed by the human immune system. As in your case.”
Jack pushed his glass away unsure if it was the taste of the juice or the bullshit he hated more.
“So why did you kill them?” he asked.
Kramer glanced at Chloe. A fleeting shimmer of shock flicked over the girls face.
She doesn’t know… there is something rotten here.
Kramer toyed with a pastry. “I won’t lie to you Jack. The crew of the Riley were instructed to contain the infection. We could not risk bringing a pathogen to a company facility.”
“Except me.”
“A calculated risk. You were the finder of the object?”
Jack nodded.
“Then you will be able find more. You are not working for an independent company now, you have the full resources of the Lightfoot Development Corporation behind you.”
Jack knew he was getting a corporate shafting, work for us or work for no one. This time it was different. He suspected there would be no walking away.
“I have a question,” he said.
“Ask,” Kramer replied.
“What happened to the ship, the Torrence?”
Kramer paused.
“It’s still out there, orbiting the anomaly. We left her and the Sagan in the Vale.”
Liar.
“And Rosa?”
“I am sorry, Jack.”
Jack sat in silence. “What now?” he asked, eventually.
Kramer produced a synth-leather folder and slid it across the table. Jack opened it and surveyed the contents. A Mizarman passport, corporate ID badge and title deeds to an apartment in Delain.
“You are free to go. Take a week to settle in. Details of your work placement are in the folder.”
“I never thought I’d end up working for LDC; needs must, I guess.”
Kramer extended his hand. He gripped Jack’s tightly and held it just a little too long for comfort.
“You work for me Jack,” he said with a smile that never quite made it to his eyes.
“Miss Song, please would you escort Jack to the pad? When you are done, return. I have a use for you.” Jack had all but forgotten she was there.
She ushered Jack through the door. He walked in silence, wondering what he had been co-opted into.
Jack boarded the aircar and strapped himself in. Chloe prepared to lower the gull wing door.
“We’re on an island?” Jack asked, gazing at the topaz ocean stretching in every direction.
“Our facility is on the ocean floor,” Chloe replied. There was an edge in her voice.
“What happens now?” Jack asked.
“The car will take you to Delain and your new life. It’s about an hour’s flight time.”
“Thank you Gem… Chloe, for keeping m
e sane. I will miss our conversations.”
“You’re welcome, Jack. Maybe we’ll catch up sometime soon. Good luck.”
“Wait…” he said. “Do you trust Kramer?”
Chloe hesitated.
“Yes… why wouldn’t I? Mr Kramer has always been fair…”
“That’s what I thought,” he replied. “Be careful, Chloe Song. I’ve met his sort before.”
The door closed and he raised his hand. She stepped back, returning the gesture as the car lifted into the air. It tuned and headed for where the ocean met the sky.
Chloe returned to the briefing room, Kramer was waiting. He placed a datapad on the table. “Miss Song,” he gestured for her to be seated. “How are you settling into your new role?”
“It’s interesting. Very different from field work.”
Kramer was studying her. She had seen him do this before; it always made her feel uncomfortable.
“Good or bad?”
“Different,” she replied. “I may not be the most experienced member of your team, Mr Kramer, but I’m a realist. AstroArc isn’t just about digging. That’s probably the smallest aspect of the job.”
Chloe sat in silence as Kramer continued to stare.
“Do not underestimate your importance, Chloe. You are smart, hardworking and understand how a team works. I read your piece on how the nano swarm functions. Your analysis of its learning ability is impressive.”
“The crew of the Sagan laid the groundwork.”
Chloe wondered how data belonging to Regina Enterprise had come into the procession of LDC but figured it was better not to ask.
Another pause.
“Chloe, we are engaged in sensitive work. The technologies we are researching have the potential realise benefits we can barely imagine. In the short term they have the scope to win a war we both know is coming.”
Chloe assumed Kramer meant war with the Federation. No one ever spoke of the Pharn or the Blackened.
“In the long term the technology we are discovering could improve healthcare and extend life expectancy. Someone as young as you will not understand how important that is. Wait until you reach my age, it will make more sense.” He finished the sentence with a laugh, it petered out when Chloe remained silent.
There was something about Kramer she had never liked. At first she thought he was too quick to place his hands on her. Now she realised there was something else, something darker still.
Kramer stood and leant on his chair. “We are preparing the next phase of this project. We want to understand how the nano swarm behaves in a controlled environment. We brought the project fully in house where we have people familiar with correct scientific method. People like us, Chloe.”
“What do you need me to do?”
Kramer pushed the datapad toward her.
“We will introduce an agent into a live biosphere, one we can destroy if need be. It will be a large environment to make sure we have enough reaction mass.”
“How big?”
“A station or remote colony world be the best choice. Where and how is not your concern. What I need you to do is draw up an insertion method and an observational programme.”
Chloe fidgeted in her seat as her eyes scanned the summary on the pad. It contained mass and composition of three potential test subjects.
“What about… people?”
“I will take care of that. I just need you to concentrate on the targets I set. Chloe there are few people I trust; you are one. You have consistently proven your ability to think through problems. We need that skill. You are also a scientist, so you understand how sometimes we must push the boundaries of morality to advance our knowledge.” He walked to the door.
“Take a week shore side and read up on the project. We’ll meet in fourteen standard days to discuss your ideas.”
Chloe watched him leave. She scanned through information he had provided. The project was already well developed and it was clear where her work would lie. Unease returned. The document was clinical, full of technical details yet light on specifics. It spoke of transformation mass, reaction units and host forms.
We must push the boundaries of morality to achieve our aims.
Chloe Song rubbed her temples and leant on the table.
She had never felt so alone.
Jack Lawson wandered listlessly around his apartment. It was on the top floor of a newly re-built block in Delain’s fashionable harbour district. It was decorated in neutral colours and the walls adorned with attractive, mass produced artwork. He lingered in front of the entertainment system and wondered if he could find a holo-movie he hadn’t seen. He decided he had spent too long inside. He wanted air and sky. He made his way to the kitchen and retrieved a bottle of Mizarman red wine from the refrigeration unit. He searched the unfamiliar cupboards for a suitable glass, settled on a heavy-bottomed tumbler and climbed the stairs to the roof garden.
The air was pleasantly chill, still damp from the afternoon’s monsoon. The sky was clear, scrubbed clean by the rains. Over the bay lightning danced beyond the horizon.
He sat on a bench and gazed up at the stars. He roughly orientated himself with the Vale and thought of Rosa. Her face haunted him when he closed his eyes. He missed those stolen smiles, the hidden glances.
She was dead, of that he could be certain. He had tried to save her, done his best at least. He was certain she would have been shot by Kramer’s dogs. Whatever had happened, he hoped it had been peaceful.
He poured himself a glass of wine, guzzling it with no sophistication. It was smooth and full bodied. Regardless of his haste to consume it he could still enjoy the journey into emotional numbness.
Jack watched as four points of light tracked over the star field, too high for sub orbital craft. He assumed it was the Valhalla and her escorts in high orbit.
He poured another glass and sipped it more gently.
“I’m sorry, Rosa,” he whispered.
Jon Flynt watched as the planet passed below the unshielded viewport. He stood alone on Valhalla’s observation deck, watching Mizarma rotate beneath him.
The ship was on the nightside of the planet. Delain was visible as a gentle curve of light along the shore of Channing’s Bay. Beyond the horizon the soft glow of the terminator was approaching quickly as the Valhalla raced the night.
He picked up his datapad and re-played the message.
Mira’s voice came through the concealed room speakers. She sounded tired but there was no hint of emotional fragility.
“Hey Jon,
I guess I can call you Jon, seeing as we are both Admirals now. I know this message will take a little longer to get to you; I wanted to speak rather than write.
I’ll level with you, these past few weeks have kicked my arse but we’re doing okay.
Hopefully Senator Meyer and her party have arrived. Vanessa will tell you all you need to know about what happened on Baikonur.
She will also tell you of our decision to go looking for answers in the Vale… We found them and much more.
I fucked up, Jon. I fucked up like I’ve never fucked up before.
The Blackened are free… It’s my fault.
I’m taking responsibility. I will defeat them. We need all of our resources to do that. This petty human war will weaken us. We have to fix the Federation. I hope the data Vanessa is carrying will help.
I have attached a full report.”
Mira paused.
“Take care old man, see you soon.”
“Not so much of the old, shorty,” he said with a smile that hid his concern.
Flynt had studied Mira’s data, read her report. He understood. She had been played. The Blackened had used her. He could see it but knew Mira well enough to know she was blaming herself.
The general quarters alarm rang out, rousing him from his thoughts. He tossed the datapad to one side as he ran for the door. He keyed his link.
“Sammy, what’s happening?”
“Admiral, we
have four large envelopes collapsing on the edge of the system. They do not have human energy signatures.”
Flynt’s heart pounded. He entered the transport tube and headed for the flight deck.
The running lights were down and the crew calmly operated their stations. There was tension in the air.
“Sammy, talk to me.”
Samantha Clark turned away from her console.
“Three large vessels are in the system. We detected a fourth smaller one, but it has dropped off our scopes.”
“Can we get visuals?”
“Illustrious has a patrol in the outer system. They will be in visual range in twenty-three minutes.”
“Patch their feeds through to us.”
He turned to the helm control station. “Mr Cole, break orbit and get there as quickly as you can.”
“Aye, sir!”
“I want full tracking and sensor analysis. Weapons are hot. All vessels to adopt defensive positions as per plan Alpha 3. Declare a full system-wide alert.”
“Aye, sir,” a chorus of voices replied.
The deck vibrated as the Valhalla’s giant sublight engines came online and built toward full power. He leaned forward to counter the acceleration.
Time slowed as he listened to the chatter between Chrome and Frantic, the Typhoon pilots tasked with intercepting the interlopers.
A woman’s voice broke through.
“Valhalla, Chrome; in visual range in 3,2,1… standby.”
The main screen flickered into life. Fighters were closing on the lead intruder.
Flynt estimated the ship was close to three kilometres long. It was dark green, flecked with flickering colours. The forward section was bulbous, tapering to a point at the stern. As he watched six giant arms extended and gold sails unfurled, pointing toward Mizarma’s star.
“Sir, incoming transmission,” Sam reported.
“Put it on speakers. Stand the fleet down,” he replied.
“Hey, Mizarma! I heard your life was dull! Never fear Xander is here and this time I brought the whole parade.”
A ripple of excited laughter echoed around the flight deck.
