The Madness Engine

by Paul B Spence

  He knew from previous missions that shooting himself in the head would only reset the simulator back to the beginning, and he'd already suffered through too much to do it over again. The only way to exit the simulation was to successfully complete the mission at hand. Or at least survive up to the point where whomever had programed it wanted him to die anyway.

  The sterile Martian landscape abruptly faded from view, and Geoffrey found himself in a white, misty void.

  "What the fuck?" he exclaimed. "Hey! Hello? Is this thing broken?" He was still dressed in the battered armored spacesuit he'd been fighting in. Red dust still clung to the armor in patches and drifted slowly to the surface under him, whatever that was. His nearly-discharged laser rifle had vanished along with the rest of the world.

  "Geoffrey?"

  He spun toward the voice. A familiar red-haired man stood a few meters away. "Drake? What are you doing here? Is this a joke? Is this for real?"

  "What a bizarre dream you've been having," Drake said.

  Geoffrey dismissed any lingering thoughts about it being a prank. No one could program a simulation to accurately depict Drake's strangeness. "It's not a dream. I'm in a training simulator, and you're not supposed to be here."

  Drake cocked his head in that odd, alien way of his. "I hear that a lot. Your brain is dreaming, you know."

  Geoffrey shook his head and shrugged. He knew some things couldn't be easily explained to Drake. He had his own way of thinking, and no one was going to change it. Geoffrey had learned that the hard way, years ago. "Okay, so you're real, and you're here, wherever that is. What are you doing here?"

  "I've been trying to contact you for some time. Are they treating you well?"

  "For the most part," Geoffrey replied. "I'm not real fond of the way they train people in this place, but it's effective, I'll give them that. What I've seen of the Concord is cool, an interesting place. Not as scary as some of the other places we've been, at least not so far. Everyone here has been friendly enough. Food could be better." He shrugged. "Given the alternative, I can't really complain."

  Drake had saved Geoffrey from certain death in the aftermath of a particularly nasty world war.

  "How are you coping?" asked Drake.

  "I'm holding on. I can't believe what's happened. I mean, everything I knew, just about everyone I cared about – gone. It's been months, and I still feel like I'm in shock. It's as if I'm stuck in a bad dream or something. You could have stayed in touch, you know," he said angrily. He turned away so Drake couldn't see the tears that welled up. "That would have helped. Have you found Jason or Elena?"

  "Not yet," Drake replied, "but I haven't given up hope. I have leads. I have Hephaestus looking, as well."

  "How are things there?" Geoffrey asked, hating himself for doing so.

  For a moment, Geoffrey could dimly see a blasted landscape with blackened trees and rain that fell smoking from the sky. Feral things skittered in the ruins; it took Geoffrey a moment to realize they had once been human.

  "It's bad," Drake said simply as the vison faded.

  Geoffrey nodded, too choked up to speak. That had been his home once, before the war.

  "I need you to give a message to my son."

  "Your son!" exclaimed Geoffrey, turning back to face Drake. "I didn't even know you had a son. Damn! Why don't you tell me these things?"

  "I have a lot of children, Geoffrey. I lived a long time, you know."

  "Yeah, I suppose you have." The thought of Drake having children disturbed Geoffrey in a way he couldn't quite put into words. He definitely couldn't imagine Drake as a father. "Listen, how am I supposed to contact your son? I'm stuck here, remember? Why don't you contact him?"

  "I can't, not without directing unwanted attention toward him. He is there, in that Realm, with you. His name is Hrothgar Tebrey. Ask for him. Ask for Admiral Shadovsky if no one else knows him. The admiral will help you. Do you remember the admiral?"

  "I remember him. I assume you're not directing that attention at me? Never mind – I know you wouldn't do that, and the enemy wouldn't care about me anyway. What do you want me to tell your son when I find him?"

  "I can sense powerful forces moving there, even from here. It could be... No, I won't even think it. I can't come back right now. I will return soon. Tell him that. Tell him to be ready. I think things are going to start getting bad there," said Drake. "Give him a warning. Tell him to fear the giants."

  "I will," Geoffrey promised. "But he's going to think that's pretty vague. Giants? Can't you tell me anything else?"

  "No."

  "Not even for your son?" Geoffrey was actually thinking of himself, although he wasn't going to say so.

  "I'm sorry. If I could, I would. You know that. I can't see the threat clearly, but something new is coming, something terrible. My visions aren't always clear, Geoffrey. Just tell him."

  "Okay, I will. Good luck, Drake."

  "Geoffrey," Drake said, clutching Geoffrey's shoulder with not quite bone-crushing force. "You know where I come from. You know my rank and titles. You know what I fought against during the war. The threat there is like that. Tell my son that. Tell him what you know about me."

  "I will." Geoffrey struggled to get a handle on his emotions. When Drake said the war in such a way, he could only mean one thing... It had been a war that almost tore apart all of reality, and most people had never even known it happened.

  "Take care of yourself," Drake said. "And, Geoffrey, that last part is only for my son. No one else." Then Drake was gone.

  The simulated reality came crashing painfully back down into Geoffrey's mind. Then it froze. The Martian landscape was the way he had left it, but the other soldiers had stopped mid-stride, dust hanging in the air. His shoulder still ached from where Drake had grabbed him. It was all a bit disconcerting.

  "Neural interactive simulation paused," a genderless voice said clearly. "Geoffrey, your brainwave patterns are highly irregular. Do you require medical assistance?"

  He laughed. He could well imagine what being in contact with Drake must have done to his brainwaves. "Yes, please. I need to come out of the simulation. I need to talk to someone."

  "Will anyone do?" the voice asked. "I can talk with you. I am also certified to give psychiatric counseling if you feel you need it. Graphic combat simulations are psychologically traumatizing to most individuals. I detect high stress patterns in your thoughts. I can change the environment to an office if that would be more soothing."

  "Thank you, no," Geoffrey replied. He found the medical virtual intelligence a bit strange, but then, a few months ago he would have found any intelligent computer strange. No one had developed artificial intelligence in his world. "Just get me out of here. I need to talk to someone named Hrothgar Tebrey."

  "The commander is not on this station or within hailing distance."

  "What about an Admiral Shadovsky?"

  "The admiral is aboard this station. May I ask why you feel you need to talk to him?"

  "Tell the admiral it's about Daeren Drake."

  "I know no one of that name," the virtual intelligence replied. "Let me query the admiral."

  Geoffrey rolled his eyes at the computer. Virtual intelligences weren't very bright. Sometimes it was like trying to reason with a child. He waited patiently a few minutes in the frozen simulation, wishing he'd let the virtual intelligence change the setting to an office. His nose itched, and he was as frozen as everything else.

  "The admiral has agreed to see you," the virtual intelligence said suddenly. "Please prepare yourself for extraction from the simulation tank."

  Θ

  "I'm sure Tebrey is okay, Ana," Mason told her.

  Ana looked up from watching Amanda nurse. To be able to give life to another being, to feed her from her own body... she shook her head. She'd never expected to have a child, much less be sitting on an alien world feeding her. Ana's breasts had swollen, engorged with milk, and become very sore. Feeding little Amanda was painful and
yet somehow strangely fulfilling. "Were my thoughts that obvious?" At six months old, baby Amanda was almost nine kilograms, large, especially for a half-Taelantae baby. Given her unique genetic makeup, though, it wasn't exactly unexpected. The doctors all said she was healthy and fine. Not that the doctors had ever seen any baby like her before.

  Mason nodded and sat down next to Ana on the sofa. "Just a little," she said. She placed her glass of tea on the table. "You tend to look worried when you're distracted and not hiding it. How is she?"

  "Growing daily. The doctor said she is a very healthy baby. I really wouldn't have expected anything less."

  "Did he check her for... cognitive problems?"

  "What do you mean?"

  "She never cries, Ana. It isn't normal."

  "Why should she cry?"

  Mason seemed at a loss for words. "Babies cry, that's all."

  "Babies cry because they are frustrated at not being able to communicate," Ana replied. "They cry because their diapers are soiled, or they are hungry and not being cared for. Little Amanda doesn't have that problem."

  "Babies are fussy for many reasons."

  "Maybe, but if Amanda needs something, she need only ask."

  Mason choked on the tea she'd just taken a sip of. "Ana, she's only six months old. She can't talk."

  "Not verbally, no," Ana said. "Not even in language, as such. That doesn't mean she can't communicate. Think about who you're talking to, Mason. Amanda began communicating telepathically with me before she was even born."

  "You're sure you aren't just projecting your feelings?"

  Ana sighed. "Mason, do you still doubt telepathy?"

  "No, of course not." She didn't sound convinced.

  "Hrothgar and I are both fairly powerful telepaths. Is it really a surprise that our daughter would be so gifted?"

  "It's a surprise that she was born at all. You two shouldn't have been able to have children."

  "She's our little miracle. Besides, Hrothgar's father told us that his unique genetic makeup allows him to be fertile with just about anything."

  Hunter came into the room and lay down, his huge head on the sofa next to Ana and Amanda.

  "What's he want?" Mason asked. "Come to defend you?"

  Ana laughed. "No, he's fascinated by Amanda."

  "Hah. Just wait till she's two and starts biting him."

  "Hunter says he's fairly sure he'll survive."

  "I'm sure."

  "In fact, he really wants to have children of his own."

  Mason choked on her tea again. "What?"

  "He has a girlfriend."

  Hunter sighed and looked away, obviously embarrassed.

  "I'm not sure I want to know," Mason said. "I can't imagine a baby neo-panther."

  "I think it would be cute."

  "I'm sure you do." Mason looked at her tea and sighed. "You're great at changing the subject. You know that?"

  Ana caressed Amanda. "Yes, I'm worried about him. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

  "I'm not trying to hurt you, Ana, you know that."

  "I know," Ana replied. "I try not to think about it so I don't worry Amanda."

  "Hunter can't talk to him?"

  "Not across such distance. Neither can I. There is too much interference. Too many minds between us."

  "I'm not even going to pretend that I understand that," said Mason, "but I'll take you word for it. You're sure he's... still alive?"

  "Yes, of that I am sure. Hunter and I would know, no matter the distance. Remember when he was with the Aurorans? I felt him even then. I feel him in my mind now. We just can't communicate."

  "Bauval and I worry, too, you know. We don't have a psionic connection to rely on."

  "He is all right, Mason. You know he can take care of himself."

  What bothered Ana was the argument she and Hrothgar had had the last time she had seen him. He'd been with Amanda, who'd only been three months old at the time. Her thin, red hair had still had a tendency to stick out, giving her a clown-like appearance that went well with her impish personality. She giggled and stuck out her tongue at Hunter, who was rolling on his back to look at her upside down.

  Ana came out of the small kitchen and scooped Amanda up, kissed Tebrey on the cheek, and sat in the recliner to breast-feed her. The small suite of rooms was larger than most personnel of Hrothgar's rank were assigned, but still small and claustrophobia inducing after the airy house they'd had on Dawn. Hrothgar'd had to threaten to resign to get even that much. The battle fortress was filled to capacity with military personnel. On the planet below, refugee camps were even more badly overpopulated. Steinway wasn't a hospitable world; it was cold and rainy, and those were the good parts of the planet. He'd stoutly refused to allow his wife and daughter to be subjected to those conditions.

  "Amber called while you were out," Ana had said, opening a subject she knew he didn't want to talk about.

  "How is the good doctor doing?" asked Hrothgar.

  "Well. I guess you knew she's administrating one of the refugee camps?"

  Hrothgar nodded.

  "She told me a lot about the conditions down there. Did you know?"

  "Ana…," Tebrey began.

  "No," Ana stopped him forcefully. "Those people are like family, Hrothgar! Why didn't you tell me?"

  "Because I didn't want to worry you. Mason and Bauval choose to go down there. They were offered positions here aboard the station. They refused. Mason took the administration post, and Bauval is helping with a biological survey that was never completed. It's not as if they were abandoned."

  "She said people are starving in some of the outlying camps."

  "I know," Hrothgar replied. "I saw the reports. There was breakdown in the food processors. By the time the techs got there, the camp had been without food for a week. These things happen, love. They're still better off here than in any other system."

  "That was Mason's camp. She was starving along with the others. Jane is down there, too. She told me that they hadn't had a choice about going to the camps."

  "I just know what I was told."

  "And you trust what you were told over what our friends say?"

  Hrothgar sighed.

  "You knew, didn't you?"

  "What do you want me to say, Ana? I don't make policy."

  "Did you say anything? Did you even try to prevent them from being sent down there?"

  "It was hard enough to convince them not to send you and Amanda down there, too."

  Ana shuddered. She didn't want to think about what that would have been like.

  "Will you talk to the admiral? Have him pull some strings? Jeroen was sent back to Cedeforthy, but Jane and Pierre and Amber were sent down to the surface to starve."

  She knew it wasn't her husband's fault, but she'd been angry.

  "Ana, I'm just a soldier," Hrothgar had said.

  She'd gotten up and taken Amanda into the bedroom. She hadn't even said goodbye to him. The next day her friends had been transferred up to the station. She couldn't even tell him she was sorry. Or thank him. He was on a mission, and forgiveness would have to wait.

  Chapter Three

  Tebrey found himself being dragged down a corridor when consciousness returned. His head felt as if it was going to explode, and every muscle in his body felt torn. The two brawny marines holding his arms didn't seem interested in letting him walk on his own, so he relaxed and let them do the work. His hands were bound behind his back, but he was confident that he'd be able to overcome the two guards if he needed to.

  His interrogator was waiting in the room when he was dragged in. Another man Tebrey didn't recognize was discussing something with him, but Tebrey couldn't make it out. The room was dominated by an independent stasis pod: the kind of pod designed to transport dangerous criminals. It was much like the one in which Hunter had been transported to Cedeforthy.

  Tebrey had no intention of letting them put him into that.

  He threw himself against the taller of the
marines holding him, and the man stumbled. Both men let go of Tebrey for a moment, just long enough for him to drop away from them. He hit the deck and rolled, passing his cuffed hands over his legs. As the first guard closed in on him, Tebrey slammed the beryllium steel cuff into the man's face. He thought he had a chance when the second guard went down, but his hopes were dashed as his body suddenly spasmed out of control, and he collapsed. His interrogator loomed over him, shaking his head; he was holding a stunner. More guards came in and picked Tebrey up.

  "Put him in the stasis pod and ready him for transport," his interrogator directed.

  "I think he'll make an excellent specimen," the other man said. "Will the Engine be there when we arrive?"

  "It is coming through civilian channels to mask the route, but it should arrive on time."

  "Where are you taking me?" Tebrey asked as the guards strapped him into the pod.

  "You needn't concern yourself with that," said his interrogator. "What difference does it make? You belong to us now."

  It matters a lot to me, Tebrey thought as they closed the pod. If they don't take me to Arietis, this whole operation is a fail– His thoughts cut off as the stasis pod activated.

  Θ

  It's no good, Tonya thought, sullen and just a bit desperate. Those damn blast doors aren't going to open.

  She was trying not to notice the burned, bloated corpses floating in what had been a section of crew quarters before a thirty-megaton directed-energy warhead had detonated less than a kilometer away from the hull. Most of the energy of the blast had been directed away from the area by the thermal-superconducting layer on the hull, but even that could be overloaded. The next layer, a solid meter of beryllium steel, was capable of taking tremendous damage. It absorbed everything the super-conducting layer didn't channel away. The inner hull had ruptured, but only the outer compartments vented to space. Most of the bodies had been drawn out of the hole when that happened. The bodies remaining had probably been alive, albeit badly burned. They had died of explosive decompression while hoping against hope for rescue. It was grisly to look upon and made Tonya's own mortality much more real to her.