Evolution

by R S Penney

  “A transfer can be arranged,” Larani answered. “And I would be willing to start the paperwork, but only if Melissa herself agrees to it.”

  Closing his eyes, Harry nodded to her. “That's more than fair, Director,” he said, getting to his feet. “I'll discuss it with Melissa when this crisis is over. You will have her response as soon I can manage it.”

  “Excellent,” Larani said.

  The hologram vanished a moment later.

  Lying in bed and listening to the sound of Gabi breathing next to her, Anna found herself staring up at the ceiling and thinking deeply about her future. So…She was going back to Leyria after all. A part of her was relieved – this planet had nurtured a cynicism that she would never have thought herself capable of – but leaving did feel like giving up. Worse, it felt like she was letting the bigots win.

  Every slight by the people – mostly men – who should have respected her position felt like an open declaration that she couldn't do this job, and that just made her more determined to prove them wrong. Decisively. On the other hand, it was an honour and a recognition of her talents to be chosen for this task force. She could do a lot more good working to bring down Slade. Being a Keeper was about more than satisfying her own ego; in the end, it didn't matter what other people thought.

  She was going; there was really no way of getting around that. It was best for the people she was meant to protect and for her career as well. The truth of that had been swirling around in her mind for nearly an hour because thinking about her career allowed her to avoid thinking about the one thing she really didn't want to think about.

  Her relationship with Bradley was over.

  On some level, Anna knew that she should have expected as much; the likelihood that she would live out the rest of her life on Earth was extremely small, and that would have been true even if this position had been every bit as fulfilling as she had hoped it would be when she applied for the transfer. Keepers traveled; that was just a fact of life. Sooner or later, she was going to take an assignment on another world. Bradley, on the other hand, would be ill-suited to life anywhere else in the galaxy.

  Space-faring cultures were just different than their planet-bound neighbours. You didn't develop the technology to travel faster than light without also harnessing incredible power sources, without also developing nanotechnologies that could build structures and devices at the microscopic level. For centuries, her people had possessed the ability to meet the basic needs of every human being on their planet, and in a society like that, the use of currency just didn't make sense.

  Bradley was accustomed to life on Earth. She had no doubt that he would be able to adapt to a moneyless society, but Bradley was a programmer; to be a programmer on her world, he would have to learn new languages, new types of algorithms.

  No…

  Hard as it was to admit, her relationship was over. She started crying even though she couldn't figure out why it hurt so badly. Just the other night, she had fallen asleep while wondering what it meant that she didn't feel warm and safe when she thought about her boyfriend. Why did emotions have to be such a mess of contradictions?

  You can't afford to think about this now, she told herself. Distractions might get you killed. Push them aside and focus on the mission.

  So, she pushed.

  It didn't help.

  The window on the second level of a warehouse in southern Brooklyn offered nothing but a view of an old streetlamp that cast white light down on the street below. It was dark in this little office.

  He liked it that way.

  Grecken Slade stood with his arms crossed, frowning through the open window while the wind teased his hair. “Impossible,” he muttered to himself. “The Inzari would never allow it.”

  And yet, he had felt it. In that brief moment when Lenai had thrown herself at him, protecting Hunter like a mother lioness guarding her cubs, everything had seemed so very familiar. Feelings he hadn't experienced since, since a time long before he'd ever called himself Grecken Slade.

  It couldn't be; every rational impulse insisted that he must have been imagining it, but that did nothing to stop memories from rising unbidden to the forefront of his mind. Blood in the snow, the gleam of sharpened steel in the moonlight, the hiss of a serpent. White and red. White and red. White and red. He tried to fight off the memories, to stuff them back into the darkest recesses of his soul, but they kept flowing like water through a crack in a dam. He had to bottle them up before-

  The old woman was there in his mind, sneering at him with tears glistening on her face, smirking and weeping at the same time. No! Get back! Get back, witch! Her vicious laughter filled his thoughts.

  Grecken Slade winced, hissing air through his teeth. “No,” he growled, shaking his head. “No, I will not let you back in! You are dead, hag! Dead! Your threats mean nothing to me now.”

  “Growing restless, Slade?”

  Contact with his symbiont allowed him to perceive a tall, hooded figure standing in the doorway behind him with her cloak wrapped tightly around her body. “Best not to let the men see you like that,” Isara purred. “They may begin to question your leadership.”

  “Where is Flagg?” he growled.

  When he spun around, Isara stood before him with the cloak parted to reveal a sleek black dress underneath. She spread her hands in a placating gesture. “Dead,” she replied and stopped there. If she had intended to say more, she clearly thought better of it.

  “And Valeth?”

  “Unknown.”

  Slade looked down at the floorboards, a blush burning in his cheeks. “With Arin in a holding cell,” he began, “it seems that all the help we've acquired recently has become unavailable. A pity.”

  Isara tilted her head just enough to allow light from the streetlamp to penetrate her hood. The outline of her face was barely visible. “Shall I join you here? If you wish, I can kill Hunter and Lenai for you. They'll never see it coming.”

  “No,” Slade answered. “Continue your work on the space station.”

  “Very well.”

  He pushed past her, exiting the small office and stepping onto a narrow catwalk that overlooked a room where men in tactical gear stood in little clusters, conversing with one another. A quick count brought the total to just over seventy. Seventy men who had joined him here after he called them in from roving the streets.

  Over two hundred men had followed him on this campaign, and this was all that remained. The others had all been killed or captured by Justice Keepers and their allies. That didn't bother him; these men were fodder.

  Humanity was a great machine that existed to serve the Inzari, and each man must play his part. Slade was one of the central cogs, but each one of these people had a role in the grand design. If some of them died, it was only a mercy from the Inzari, a chance to claim the rewards that awaited them in the next life.

  They were a motley group: tall men and short men, men with muscles and men who looked as though they had trouble carrying the weapons they had been given. Some were fair, others dark. Some had tattoos in the shape of a burning crucifix while others wore the emblems of Islam. The one thing each of these men shared in common was a hunger for the promise of delivery.

  Their false religions had promised an eschaton in which sinners would be burned away by a righteous god, in which the world would be cleansed of wickedness, and these men had grown tired of waiting. Slade had restored their faith, had brought them to kneel before a god they could see and hear and touch. Now they were eager to work together in the service of the Inzari. Yes, a motley group of people. There were even some women among them.

  He was more than willing to allow anyone who wished to serve him to pick up a gun and kill his enemies, but these people were considered fundamentalists among their respective religions, and most followed a doctrine that said a woman's place was to stand silently behind her husband. With the exception of one or two, most of the women who served him had been atheists before he brough
t them to the Inzari. Yes, the faithless were quite eager to serve as well. Most people hungered for an end to the pointless monotony of everyday life, and even skeptics would open their eyes when you showed them a god who was really there.

  Everyone kept clear of the five large lumps underneath gray canvasses at the far side of the room. That was good. Awe and spectacle were the bread and butter of a man who wished to claim the devotion of his neighbours.

  Gripping the railing in both hands, Slade leaned over to direct a smile down at the people who had assembled. “You've come as I asked,” he said, running his gaze over the lot of them. “It's time we put an end to this conflict.”

  One of the people below – a pale man with rosy cheeks – looked up to squint at him. “My Lord,” he said in a gruff voice. “Less than half of us remain. We've all fought Keepers, and they're too strong.”

  “We're stronger.”

  “But-”

  Slade stood up straight and crossed his arms, keeping his face as smooth as ice. “I am disappointed,” he said, stepping closer to the railing. “Is your faith so fragile that it wavers the instant things become difficult?”

  The man bowed his head, rubbing his forehead with the back of a gloved fist. “No, my Lord,” he mumbled. “Of course not. But many of us wonder how we can stand up to the Keepers in light of what they can do.”

  Moving with the smooth grace of fog rolling across the surface of a pond, Isara stepped closer to the railing. The woman looked like a spectre, her face hidden beneath that gray hood. “Be at ease, Zachary,” she said. “The Justice Keepers are not the only ones who possess such abilities.”

  “The Inzari will provide,” Slade insisted.

  “But how-”

  He rolled up the sleeve of his purple coat, exposing the multi-tool on his left wrist. The screen lit up at the touch of his fingers, and he tapped in a few commands. “You are soldiers in the army of God,” Slade said. “Do you believe the Inzari would allow you to walk naked into the embrace of death?”

  Those five large lumps at the back of the room began to stir, sheets of gray canvas falling to the floor as they rose like men climbing out of bed. Tall and sleek, five robotic soldiers rose from a squatting position to stand like sentinels guarding the crowd, light glinting off their metal limbs.

  Each one possessed something that looked very much like a camera in place of a head, and the lenses focused when they settled on the crowd of startled humans. As one, the battle drones took a single step forward and came to attention.

  Large doors to the right and the left swung open, allowing ziarogati to flow into the room. They moved with an inhuman grace: men and women clad in next to nothing with blinking panels on their chests and not a trace of hair anywhere on their bodies. Nine of the creatures remained.

  They came together to form a front rank among the soldiers, then dropped to one knee before Slade. “And so it was written,” he intoned, “that though you walk through the valley of the shadow of death, you shall fear no evil. For I am with you.”

  Grinning exultantly, Slade turned his face up to the ceiling. “The old world shall be purified in fire,” he shouted. “And the blood of these sinners will wash away the stain of wickedness! Join me!”

  They cheered his name.

  “Join me!”

  They cheered again, then quieted.

  Approaching the railing with his arms spread wide, Slade let his head hang. “The time has come!” he said softly. “The Inzari have come to uplift the faithful, Now, kneel before your messiah!”

  One by one, every last person in the room dropped to their knees. Slade gloried in their adulation, accepting the role that destiny had chosen for him. Not king, not emperor. Saviour. At long last, the Final Days had come. He would deliver these people from the wicked world, and then…maybe the Inzari would finally let him die.

  The End of Part 1.

  Interlude

  Keli's eyes snapped open.

  She was lying face-up with her hands folded over her stomach, staring up at a dark ceiling. In fact, the entire room was pitch black except for a sliver of light that streamed in through the crack beneath the door.

  Keli felt her mouth tighten, then turned her head to look over her shoulder. Again? she thought, her brow furrowing. You never do learn your lesson, do you, Skoro? It seems I'll have to make this one stick.

  Telepaths dreamed but not in the same way that other people dreamed. Too often, the thoughts and feelings of other people drifted into a telepath's unconscious mind, and that made for some colourful and sometimes disturbing imagery. Still, it allowed her to keep tabs on people she didn't trust.

  She had sensed Skoro's presence the instant he took his first step toward her room. The man had made three attempts to stab her in her sleep, each one resulting in a very angry Keli waiting for him with some particularly brutal imagery that she forced into his mind. His last attempt had left him weeping on the floor for over an hour.

  Shoes behind the door cut off the light from the hallway, creating shadows on the floor. There was a soft jiggling sound, and then the knob slowly turned. Bit by bit, inch by inch. He was careful not to make too much noise, though it didn't do him any good.

  The door opened slowly.

  Keli snapped her fingers.

  Skoro dropped to his knees with a shriek, lacing fingers over the top of his head. In her rage, she imagined spiders crawling over his body, and so there were spiders crawling over his body. Not just the image, but the sound and the texture. What the mind perceived as real was real.

  Spiders crawled into Skoro's mouth, and then he was coughing and wheezing, both hands clamped onto his throat as he hacked phlegm onto the floor. “You never do learn, do you?” she hissed. Keli swung her legs over the edge of the bed.

  She rose and stood over him with her arms crossed, like a taskmistress disciplining a lazy employee. “Perhaps I should leave you like that.” The tip of her shoe found its way under his chin and then slowly tilted his face up so he could gaze into her eyes. “Would you like to spend the rest of your life as a madman?”

  “You…don't…You…”

  “I don't what?”

  Skoro shut his eyes, tears leaking from the corners to run over his cheeks. His face was beet red. “We're leaving,” he squeaked. “Palia and I, we've been here too long. The authorities will come looking for us.”

  “You sneak into my room to tell me this?” Not likely, but she sensed no deception from him. Still, even her talents were not absolute. With enough practice, a disciplined mind could hide things from her.

  “Come with us,” he gasped.

  Stroking her chin with thumb and forefinger, Keli narrowed her eyes. “You've tried to kill me three times,” she hissed. “Why would I go anywhere with you? For that matter, why would you want me?”

  Skoro was still clutching his throat, choking on his own fear. “You're stronger than you look,” he squeaked. “There are many opportunities for a woman who knows how to handle herself.”

  “I have no interest in material wealth.”

  “Power then,” he squeaked. “Influence.”

  A sly smile blossomed on Keli's face, and she bowed her head to the man. “As you can see,” she began, sitting down on the mattress again. “I have all the power I will ever need. Go if you're going; I don't care.”

  He looked up to blink at her, phantom spiders scurrying through his salt-and-pepper beard. “You can't stay here,” he mumbled. “They're watching…They'll…If you stay, they will take you!”

  “I know about the Overseers.”

  “But-”

  “No.” The spiders vanished when she stopped concentrating on them, and Skoro dropped to all fours on the floor, wheezing and gasping. “I came to this world to find the Overseers,” she went on. “I will not run from them now.”

  Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Skoro let out a growl that could have come from a tiger. “You stupid woman,” he whispered. “Only an idiot chooses to w
alk among living nightmares.”

  “Take your ship and go, Skoro,” she murmured. “Pray we never cross paths again; because if we do, I'll do worse than kill you.”

  He was on his feet in an instant, shuffling back toward the door like a man who had imbibed too much alcohol. “What will you do?” he asked before leaving the room. “You have no ship of your own. Without us, you'll be stuck here.”

  “I will survive,” she answered. “Even now, the help I require is on its way.”

  The shuttle dropped out of warp, and Jon Andalon watched a planet expand from a single point to fill his canopy window. A dry, brown world of clay and sand and rock, its left side bathed in the light of a distant yellow sun. On the right, the gloom of night was unbroken; there were no signs of civilization here.

  Jon scrunched up his face, pulling back from the window. “What an ugly place,” he muttered, sinking deeper into the pilot's seat. “This better be worth it, Jena. If you ordered me here for nothing.”

  Alarms screeched.

  Checking his display screen revealed three ships rising from the planet's surface, ships in a configuration he had never seen before. He tapped in a few quick commands and made three green dots appear in the window.

  Jon narrowed his eyes to slits. “What in Bleakness are you?” he asked, shaking his head. “Who in bleakness sets up a base all the way out-”

  The dots were expanding into wire-frame outlines of tube-like ships with prongs that extended from their bodies, prongs that curved inward toward the front. Two rushed past him into the depths of space.

  The third…

  When it got close enough, it matched his velocity and loomed over him like a hawk bearing down on a sparrow. This close, he could see that the hull was not made of metal but of something that looked very much like flesh. Living ships? Jon had heard the theory proposed several times, but no one had the slightest notion of how to begin.

  The computer warned that he was being scanned, but he silenced the alarm. If these people wanted a good look at him, he wasn't about to provoke them.