Legacy of the Argus

by E. R. Torre

  Catherine Holland frowned. She motioned B’taav to a table and he sat down. She dealt with a trio of patrons, all male, sitting before the counter. They looked like they didn’t have any place better to be.

  “Snowflakes in August,” one of them muttered.

  B’taav’s attention shifted from the conversation between the three patrons and Catherine Holland to the vid unit nailed to a corner wall. On it was what looked like a news anchor finishing a rundown of the latest headlines. Once done, she introduced a pair of guests. She asked them questions and an argument ensued regarding political posturing between mega-Corporations. That argument segued into the role of religion in a society devoted to the acquisition of wealth.

  “The more things change, eh?” Catherine Holland said. She stood at B’taav’s side. “What brings you here?”

  “I wish I knew,” B’taav said.

  “Spur of the moment decision?”

  “More like something forced upon me.”

  “By?”

  “It wouldn’t make sense if I told you.”

  “Mister Mysterious,” Catherine Holland said. “Were did we meet?”

  B’taav shrugged.

  “Can’t remember.”

  “And yet you remembered my name?”

  “Lucky guess?”

  Catherine Holland couldn’t help but laugh. The laugh didn’t last very long and the expression on her face turned very serious.

  “Our bills –including utilities and rent– are paid and all taxes properly filed. If you’re some kind of city inspector, I’ve got plenty of documents in my office for you to check.”

  “I’m not an inspector.”

  “You didn’t look like one,” Catherine Holland admitted. “So what are you? A creep?”

  “I’m not a—”

  “Creeps come in all shapes and sizes so I’ll warn you: I will put you down if you try any shit.”

  “I won’t try any shit.”

  Catherine Holland nodded.

  “Damn you’re easy. All right. What can I get you?”

  “Get?”

  “To clarify: This is a bar. It’s customary for people who come into bars to order drinks.”

  “I don’t have any money.”

  “You sure?”

  B’taav reached into his pocket and, to his surprise, found a handful of strange silver and gold coins.

  “What do you know?” Catherine Holland said.

  B’taav handed her his money.

  “That’s a hell of a lot of cash,” she said. “You buying for everyone?”

  That remark drew interest from the men at the bar’s counter.

  “It’s a joke, fellows,” Catherine Holland told them.

  They grumbled before continuing their conversations.

  “So what’ll it be?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Honey, if you didn’t have all that cash, I’d say you were more trouble than you’re worth. Tell you what, I’ll give you something that’ll warm you up. A Selabro. You like that?”

  “I don’t know…”

  “It’s one of our best beers,” Catherine Holland said. She scratched her chin. “And most expensive. But you, my friend, can obviously afford it.”

  B’taav took a sip of the Selabro and winced.

  “This is one of your best beers?”

  “No refunds,” Catherine Holland said. She returned to her place behind the bar.

  “Capitalism at its finest,” B’taav muttered and smiled.

  It wasn’t the first time a merchant passed off crap as solid gold.

  The blare of street traffic filled the interior of the bar and all eyes turned to the person who just entered. She was a tall woman dressed in a faded blue jean jacket and matching jean pants. She sported short black hair and her eyes were hidden behind a pair of equally dark sunglasses. A trio of blue bars, tattoos, were on her forehead and just over her right eyebrow. Her body was lean, well-toned, and very athletic. She looked dangerous.

  “Nox,” B’taav said.

  Catherine Holland also noted Nox’s arrival.

  Though the two eventually became lovers, the way Catherine Holland reacted to Nox suggested they had not yet met.

  Catherine Holland spotted the three vertical blue bars tattooed above Nox’s right eyebrow and let out a small gasp.

  Though shaken by this sight, Catherine Holland nonetheless invited Nox to the bar’s counter. Nox ignored the suggestion and walked to the back of the bar. She passed within a foot of B’taav and sat at a table farther in the shadows.

  Catherine Holland approached Nox with a smile that looked as sincere as she could manage at this time of night.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Selabro,” Nox said.

  “Big spender,” Catherine Holland said. Though she hadn’t intended to, she said it loud enough for B’taav to hear and, realizing this, her cheeks turned red.

  Whatever embarrassment she felt was quickly gone when Nox said:

  “Spend what you got…”

  Catherine Holland, in turn, whispered:

  “…there might not be another day.”

  She took a moment to compose herself before adding:

  “A…ain’t that the truth. Some fellow said that the other day. Nice thought, I suppose.”

  “I suppose.”

  Catherine Holland returned to the bar’s counter and was about to reach for the Selabro. Something on the news caught Nox’s attention and a broad smile filled her face.

  “Fuck the Selabro,” she called out. “Get me a Prestigio.”

  As Nox said this, the interior of the bar faded away. B’taav was no longer sitting but stood in the Yoshiwara’s parking lot. Like before, it was night, but the air around him felt different.

  B’taav stood next to a familiar vehicle, Nox’s motorcycle. He ran his hands over the cycle’s handlebars and, for a second, remembered the last time he rode this bike. He was a passenger and barely conscious. He saw… or rather he felt…

  A fierce desert storm. Metal structures rising from the ground.

  B’taav looked away from the vehicle and at the Yoshiwara.

  The bar was closed and most of its lights were off. Through the front window he saw a woman’s shadowy form. She carried a broom and swept the floor. B’taav then spotted movement from the side of the bar.

  Nox was there. Her face, unlike moments before, was bruised and battered. She walked on, into the alley behind the bar.

  B’taav followed.

  In the back alley and near the bar’s rear entrance Nox stopped. She hid in the shadows and waited. Soon, the rear door opened and Catherine Holland emerged.

  She carried two bags of trash and placed them in a metal container. When she turned, Nox was by the door, blocking her way. Catherine Holland reached for a pouch on her belt, something B’taav assumed held a defensive weapon, but Nox grabbed Catherine’s hand before she could pull it out. She said:

  “I’m not here to hurt you.”

  Catherine Holland relaxed.

  “Ms. Prestigio.”

  Nox released her.

  “I never formally introduced myself. My name is Nox. I’m a veteran of the wars, like you. I’m interested in your expertise. There wasn’t a computer you couldn’t handle back then.”

  “Not a one.”

  They were outside.

  Then they were in the bar’s basement. Catherine Holland was on her computer and Nox stood behind her, looking over her shoulder.

  “My name’s Catherine,” she said.

  Images blurred. Memories faded and changed. It was later in the conversation.

  “Did Donovan deserve what he got?” Catherine asked.

  “He was responsible for the deaths of several… Independents. He nearly got me killed, too.”

  “Then he had to be stopped.”

  “There were consequences,” Nox said.

  “There always are.”

  Nox nodded. She faced B’taav.


  They were outside. They were inside the bar’s basement. They were with Catherine Holland. They were alone.

  A rumbling came from below their feet and deep under the Earth.

  “There always are consequences,” Nox said.

  78

  “Is this wise?” Lieutenant Daniels asked Inquisitor Raven.

  Inquisitor Raven was in his quarters and staring at the image of Lieutenant Daniels on his computer monitor.

  “If the Prototype is out there, we should stay together,” Lieutenant Daniels continued. “We split apart and we’re hardly able to defend—”

  “We were sent here by Saint Vulcan for a reason, Lieutenant.”

  “Understood.”

  “That being the case, the distress signal has to be investigated.”

  “The signal’s been repeating for at least a thousand years,” Lieutenant Daniels said. “Another couple of days –or even weeks– shouldn’t make any difference. You could wait until the Wake is ready to lend assistance.”

  “That would be optimal,” Inquisitor Raven agreed. “But our time may be limited before the Prototype finds us. I propose the Cygnusa investigates the signal –quickly– while you and your personnel work on both your vessel and the Displacer. The trip to the third planet and back should take less than two weeks’ time. Hopefully, we resolve this mystery and get back by the time your ship is ready to move.”

  “It could be a trap.”

  “Clearly,” Inquisitor Raven admitted. “But if it isn’t, each passing minute we spend here increases the odds the Prototype returns and finishes us off before we investigate. We do things my way and resolve everything at once.”

  Lieutenant Daniels was quiet for a few seconds and, during that time, Inquisitor Raven had difficulty keeping his impatience from showing. Finally, the Lieutenant said:

  “We are commanders of vessels which hail from different Empires. I have no control over you or your vessel and you have none over mine. If you feel it is necessary to investigate the distress signal now, there is nothing I can do to stop you. Not that I necessarily disagree with your choice of actions.”

  “Good enough,” Inquisitor Raven said. “We’ll depart—”

  “Before you go, I wish to thank you for what you’ve done, Inquisitor. You didn’t have to go to The Fields. You didn’t have to risk your life and that of your officers to help the scavengers. But you did and so long as I live, I will make sure your actions are known and recognized.”

  For a moment the anger, impatience, and eagerness to hunt down Inquisitor Cer melted and Inquisitor Raven was at a loss of words.

  “Lieutenant… I…”

  “There are those in Epsillon who say Inquisitors are stubborn, harsh creatures,” Lieutenant Daniels said. “That your kind uses religion and picks and chooses which passages of the Holy Texts are relevant to justify your actions. I’ve always felt that generalization was unfair. Since the beginning of time people have justified immoral actions any way they can. Religion is simply one excuse among many. Inquisitor Raven, you are a man of great integrity and it’s been a pleasure working beside you.”

  “I… thank you for your faith in me.”

  “Even capitalists like myself have a little of it,” Lieutenant Daniels said. “Please keep us informed of your progress and, if you should find yourself in any trouble, call. We might be able to help. Wake out.”

  With that, the monitor went black.

  Inquisitor Raven remained in his chair for several seconds.

  His head came down and, for a moment, he felt a sliver of shame.

  He hated lying to Lieutenant Daniels about the real reason he wanted to investigate the distress signal. Especially now.

  As tantalizing as the mystery of the distress signal was, he didn’t care. He wanted to capture the Xendos. He wanted to bring Inquisitor Cer to justice.

  In that very moment, when he thought of her, he couldn’t help but also think of his wife. The woman he loved so much and who died because…

  Keep focused.

  Inquisitor Raven pressed a button and the monitor’s screen again came on. Displayed were images from the landing bay. He saw the many families of scavengers working with his crew.

  He pressed another button and saw other corridors within his ship. A group of children played while mothers, fathers, and grandparents watched. He pressed the button again and saw the medical bay. Scavengers tended to the sick and families sat by the beds of the elderly.

  Inquisitor Raven shut the monitor off and got to his feet.

  He straightened his jacket and noted his family portrait.

  “This is for you, Holly,” he whispered.

  He activated his communicator.

  “Lieutenant Sanders,” he said.

  “Yes sir?”

  “Prepare for departure.”

  79

  Around B’taav was darkness.

  He was no longer in the Yoshiwara but instead inside a very dark room. The air around him was stiflingly hot.

  It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust but when they did, he took a quick step back. There was a man before him tied against the room’s far wall, as if a grotesque trophy. The man’s body was filled with cuts and slashes both large and small and, in some cases, gaping. He was missing fingers. He was missing his right ear.

  The man’s blood was splattered all over the room and, B’taav realized, the many bodies lying around him.

  They were all still. They were all dead.

  No.

  Not all.

  One of them moved.

  It was a woman and, like the others, she too was covered in the dead man’s blood.

  She coughed and pushed herself up and into a sitting position. She rubbed her face and cleared the dry blood around her eyes.

  “Nox?” B’taav said.

  Nox did not hear B’taav’s words. She stumbled toward the man tied to the wall.

  “Spradlin,” she said.

  I forgive you.

  Incredibly, the words sounded as if they came from his corpse and Nox was as surprised as B’taav to hear them.

  No sooner were the words said that B’taav sensed another presence. A strange figure appeared before him.

  The figure was neither male nor female and had neither flesh nor hair. Its body looked as if made of crystal glass and was see-through. Under its glass-like surface were lights and circuitry along with mechanical approximations of bones and muscle.

  “B’taav,” the creature said.

  “What are you?”

  “Two of Three.”

  “You’re what’s inside Spradlin.”

  “His nano-probes are all that’s left of me. This was the moment they emerged from Spradlin’s body and became a part of Nox.”

  “Your –his– nano-probes are killing her,” B’taav said.

  The figure nodded.

  “Even back then and at this memory moment, Nox knew it would happen. When you first met her, she was in incredible pain.”

  “She didn’t say anything.”

  “She isn’t the type to do so. If Spradlin wins this struggle, the person you know as Nox dies.”

  “And if Nox wins?”

  “She cannot win. She can only fight until she loses.”

  Two of Three walked around the room.

  “I don’t want her to die, B’taav. She doesn’t deserve to be harmed by Spradlin or… or what’s left of me. Keep her alive as long as you can. Keep her alive through her memories.”

  The figure bowed its head. He froze and changed. A rocky crust grew around him and the world changed.

  They were no longer with Nox and the many corpses. They were in a mountain’s cul de sac and Two of Three was propped against the rocky wall. Near him was a very young Paul Spradlin. He was alive though unconscious. Standing over him was an old man dressed in filthy clothing made of the pelts of dead animals.

  Spradlin’s eyes opened.

  “For what are we,” he said. “If not our memories?�
��

  80

  The cul de sac was gone and B’taav was in a cold forest filled with lush greenery.

  He was amazed by its beauty yet detected the bitter smell of something burning. Plastic. Fuel.

  Flesh.

  B’taav moved. After a hundred yards, he spotted wreckage.

  The helicopter crashed into a rocky outcrop and its insides were ripped open.

  Five bodies littered the area and the sound of approaching helicopters was heard coming from the distance.

  There was movement around the wreckage.

  General Paul Spradlin exited the helicopter’s crumpled frame. His face was covered in blood and his clothing torn and burned. He shook off what should have been extreme pain and got his bearings before looking back. The pilot of the craft was a woman, this much B’taav knew, yet her face was all but gone.

  “Samantha,” Spradlin whispered.

  “She’s dead,” a woman said.

  The woman was seated by a mossy boulder a few feet from the wreckage. B’taav didn’t recognize her at first because she was so very human.

  It was a young Becky Waters, well before the scars and metal hardware.

  “Are you…?” Spradlin began and stopped.

  Becky Waters was remarkably intact though her fatigues were torn in places and there were small cuts along her arms and face.

  “I… I saw Samantha… I…” she said. She was in shock.

  The sound of the approaching helicopters grew louder.

  “They’ll be on us in seconds,” General Spradlin said. “We have to move.”

  “No time to bury the dead,” Becky Waters lamented.

  General Spradlin reached into a mangled crate and found a small, round metallic ball. He pulled a pin from it and tossed it into the remains of the helicopter while grabbing Becky Waters. They quickly moved away while the ball ignited and flames spread throughout the wreckage. Becky Waters couldn’t help but stare at the woman pilot’s body as the flames edged closer to it.

  “After everything we’ve gone through…” she said.

  They ran through bush and forest.

  B’taav hurried after them and suddenly stopped. For a few seconds, the bush was gone, replaced by desert. Nox stood before a freshly dug grave, her mangled motorcycle was in the distance.