Chrysalis Corporation

by T. A. Venedicktov

  Requiem kept his head down from the time Security came and retrieved him until they brought him to the Creators’ facility. They informed him his trips to the Diagnostic section in the Medical Bay would be more frequent. There would also be unannounced escorts. Requiem had calculated the trips varied in seven- to ten-day patterns. He continued to keep his gaze lowered even as they lifted him and set him in a chair similar to his own on the Ares. Except with this one, they strapped him in by his ankles and wrists. It was only once they left that he dared to look up cautiously from under his bangs.

  He didn’t know where Damion was, but he knew that if Damion had been available to get in the way, he never would have been brought here. He was merely intrigued and mildly curious as to where Damion was. If Damion had gotten himself into a situation he could not return from… well, there wasn’t much sense in continuing to exist. And it was either end his life or be wiped, which he didn’t agree with. He would not continue to be as he was now, trapped within his own mind. Except worse. Much worse.

  Requiem’s gaze fell upon a woman sitting in front of a console, the glow from the machine haloing the Creator in a white light, which silhouetted them in the dark room. Something within Requiem started to struggle, tried to get away, even if his body merely blinked and continued to watch.

  The Creator stepped out into the light holding a multitool in one hand and a media pad in the other. The pad scrolled information as she bent down and momentarily used the multitool to flash a light in Requiem’s eyes. “47, report physical status.”

  “Acceptable. Although semiweary from recent patrol, still at 87 percent physical capacity,” he said in a monotone voice. He didn’t even wince away from the light in his eyes, although his pupils contracted to pinpoints and then back once the light was retracted.

  “Your recent sessions have reported normal once again. Your intake of supplement has also been back to normal. It is all acceptable.” She looked over to the media pad. “We are still unable to replicate the Barrier you use during your flights. I require you to give us the entire schematic to the Ares for the modifications you’ve performed, including the technology for that Barrier.”

  “Understood. I must report that retrieving the data in full will take approximately one week. Additionally, the Impulse Barrier has yet to be completed. I am still modifying it.” Inside, Requiem was grinding his teeth in frustration. He didn’t want them to have it yet, not until it was complete. Not until he could make it so that it wouldn’t injure other Cores. “The Barrier still requires modification in the power supply, and I have yet to design a way so that it will not affect Cores in other Zodiacs if they come within range of the Pulse. It is not a weapon that can be used in close formation with friendly Zodiacs.”

  “Understood. You have seven Earth-side days to deliver those schematics. Your performance has increased and your compliance improved.” She tucked the multitool into her white coat pocket and gave 47 a smile that contained no warmth, merely approval that the tool was working correctly. She pushed back a long piece of brunette hair as she looked at the scrolling information displayed on the screen to her right. “Exemplary. Report now on your Fighter’s recent decrease in performance.”

  That was a subject that Requiem really didn’t want to talk about, and warning signals flared in his brain. He would have to be careful. “Fighter Damion Hawk has of late become increasingly agitated due to lack of sleep and correct nutrition. While he is still one of the most successful Fighters, these combined points have decreased his reaction time.”

  “Those reasons are unacceptable explanations for a decrease of 43.4 percent in performance for an Alpha Fighter.” The Creator sighed and put the pad down on an instrument tray to her left. She looked up, obviously monitoring not only 47’s facial response, but also physical response. “If his performance decreases even further, we cannot overlook a potential liability to the fleet. If Fighters cannot adapt, they are useless.”

  She walked over to the monitor to the left of 47’s head and punched in a short code. “I am supplying you now with a list of other choices. You have the right to choose another. You have possibly outgrown your Fighter, making him useless to us. A replacement would be the right choice.”

  Requiem inhaled sharply as a jack entered the input in the back of his skull. The system came up faintly, names and test scores rolling through. But he didn’t pay attention to them.

  “Fighter Damion Hawk is the best. I will remain with the best and work with him to put him back on the path toward improvement. I will succeed within ten Earth-side days to get him back to full capacity.” The thought of choosing another Fighter nearly made him physically ill, but he managed to keep all his levels steady to not disrupt the monitoring process.

  The Creator’s lips tugged slightly downward. “I see that your stubbornness still has a hold on your decisions. Do you truly believe you can get your Fighter to improve? His scores have fallen off dramatically in the last three weeks. It is a bit illogical to try and fix what is beyond repair.”

  “Nothing is impossible,” Requiem said, the words coming out like the mantra they were for him. “If it was illogical to try and fix what appeared to be beyond repair, would not I have been wiped already?”

  “I believe your last invasive treatment here has done wonders for most of your flaws. As I have said before, your recent activities show that you have been performing above average and you’re developing into one of the finest Cores this fleet has produced. You will bring us much knowledge to improve not only Zeus, but other fleets.”

  “It is enlightening to know that I am improving to be better than my previous state. It is what I strive for,” Requiem answered truthfully.

  “Yes, and you do deserve the best. A Fighter who gets himself thrown into the brig due to a testosterone brawl of no significance is not the best and is not for you.” She showed him on the monitor that Damion had been taken into custody for the next twenty-four hours.

  “I waited for and then chose Fighter Hawk because he is the best,” Requiem said. “The best reaction time, the best with weapons technology, the best with hand-to-hand, and his IQ scores are well above average. From my understanding, every human has a period of time in which they are what is called ‘off.’ I believe, at this point in time, that Fighter Hawk is merely off his normal path. I will attempt to work with him to get him back to his normal levels.”

  “I do not believe this is the most logical course, since he is the reason you went off your supplements to begin with, but we will give you the time you request. If, at that point, his performance is still suboptimal, then we will have him removed from the Zeus.” She turned around and called over a younger male assistant. “Now we will check your implants.”

  Requiem nodded while internally breathing a hesitant sigh of relief. “All seem to be operating at full efficiency,” he stated as the assistant undid the straps tying him to the table. Once ordered to, he sat up, letting the assistant unzip his uniform to slip it off his torso.

  “I saw a change in the receiver in the back of your skull and your tracking chip. Perhaps your use of the Barrier is affecting it. We must make sure you do not have any flaws.” She turned back with another tool, this one similar to an input jack with a sharp pointed end and a wireless receiver at the other end. “Sit forward.”

  Requiem did so, tilting his head forward so that the Creator could have better access to the input jack in the back of his skull. He braced for the unpleasant sensation, wincing as he was rewarded with a sharp jab.

  “Good. Now hold still.” She held the probe with one hand and typed with the other. “You have also been spending increased time with 108. Report on his well-being.”

  “Acceptable. Fighter Mathis is a good addition to the Alphas, and it was a logical course of action for 108 to choose him. 108’s previous Fighters were very violent, with abuse and rape causing him to lose efficiency. Bonding with Fighter Mathis has increased his performance and also his ability to speak ou
t when he has an idea or question. I have been helping him to expand his abilities.” Requiem held stock-still, not even blinking as he reported. The Creator knew all the information. Requiem knew she was asking in an attempt to see if she could elicit any response in regards to 108.

  “Interesting.” The Creator pulled out the probe and moved down to the next port in his spine. “Has your Fighter influenced 108 or Fighter Mathis to disobey protocols?”

  “Negative,” Requiem answered without hesitation, only flinching at the disagreeable pain in his spine.

  “You are to report if Fighter Hawk tries to influence other Fighters in any way against protocols. You should follow your Fighter’s requests, but you must follow our orders.” She pulled the probe out and handed it to the assistant.

  “Understood,” he replied reluctantly. He didn’t sound hesitant, but internally he roiled in confusion and mental distress. He was bonded to Damion. Damion was his Fighter. He had always been taught to follow his Fighter’s orders above all others, but now he was told to follow the Creators’ above his Fighter’s. His mind was torn, but it was definitely leaning more toward his Fighter, and that confused him even more. He would receive brief flashes of memory. Those memories were vague flashes of kisses to images of them in the Ares. They were momentary, and they perplexed him. When Damion touched him, Requiem had sensations of calm and sadness. He could not deny he felt a deep trust in his Fighter. But none of this showed on the readout or in his face and body.

  “Excellent.” The Creator was quiet through the rest of the exam. If anything, she was thorough, not allowing him out of the Diagnostic section before finishing what she determined necessary.

  “Am I acceptable?” he asked as he pulled his uniform back on.

  “I believe your positioning chip has shifted slightly. It does not pose a problem at this moment. We will monitor it. Your ports look fine. Are there any upgrades you determine you shall need to improve the Barrier?”

  Requiem thought about it for a moment, running through schematics in his mind. “I was thinking of implanting a suppression device. When the Impulse Barrier runs through the auxiliary power supply, it begins to drain the energy from my body. I would be able to hold it longer, releasing a larger pulse, if I could temporarily ignore the drain on my systems. Therefore I was thinking of a device that would allow me to do so.”

  “To cut off your link to the Zodiac’s supply would be quite difficult. I shall try to run a few tests and determine if a device would be possible without cutting you off from the entirety of the Zodiac.” She typed furiously on the media console. “I will know more once you give us the schematics of the Barrier.”

  “I am not speaking of cutting me off from the Zodiac’s supply, merely deadening my senses on control,” Requiem explained. “This allows me to use the Impulse Barrier but sustain less damage. As well as when I acquire any injury while inside the Ares, whether it’s an electrical backlash or direct physical damage, I won’t be distracted by pain and can continue to perform.”

  “Interesting,” she said again. “I will look into it for you. You are exemplary.”

  “Thank you. I strive to be the best for the Corporation and the fleet.” And for Damion, he added silently as he nodded. “Do you have need of me for any longer?”

  “You should report to your room for the remainder of Fighter Hawk’s detention.” The apparent disapproval for the Fighter was clear in her tone.

  “Understood.” Requiem slid off the table onto slightly shaky feet. Relief rushed through his system for the mere fact that she hadn’t thought to put him in the immersion tanks for this session. “Do you wish me to go on my own, or is there a reason I do not understand that you sent Security to bring me before?”

  “It was for your protection, of course.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “Certain precautions should always be made.”

  “Might I ask what I would need protection from?” He tilted his head, perplexed.

  “From your Fighter.” She turned and narrowed her eyes in suspicion at him.

  Requiem blinked, now completely confused. “My Fighter? Is that not a change from the general populace thinking I was going to terminate him? What do you base this on? I am merely questioning for my own knowledge, so that I may know what to look for if you feel I am in danger. That way I may report it.” He really wanted to know.

  “He has become unstable. His actions also pose a threat to your well-being. If, say, he would be foolish enough to try to leave with you, that would be a grave mistake.”

  “Understood,” Requiem replied after a moment’s thought. He gave the Creator another bow of his head. “I will depart now.” And he did so, quickly and efficiently moving through the door and out into the hall.

  All he wanted was to sit down and think, but instead he walked to the elevator to get to his room. Inside, he was panicking. He needed to talk to Damion now, but that wasn’t possible since Damion had ended up in the brig. Requiem knew Damion was becoming more volatile each day, but he didn’t think he would be illogical enough to actually get himself in serious trouble.

  When he finally arrived at his room, he unlocked the door with his verbal key code, but caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he saw Juni standing about three meters away with a container in his hand.

  “108 told me they had released you. Are you all right?” Juni asked, searching the hall to make sure they weren’t being watched.

  “I am acceptable.”

  “D’s in the brig,” Juni said after a moment, looking at him to gauge his reaction and physical well-being.

  “I was informed. What did he do?” Requiem asked.

  “Cracked one of Arkin’s old lackeys over the head with a metal tray.” Juni gave a snort and shook his head.

  Requiem’s own headshake was nearly imperceptible. “That was illogical given the current situation, but I cannot say I know what else Damion could have done. They have the potential to be as abusive as Arkin himself.”

  Juni let out a half laugh. “No shit.” He placed the container in Requiem’s hands. “Here’s your mush. Thought it would be a good idea not to miss a dose or else they’ll take you away again. This time permanently, and that would just plain kill D. Let me or 108 know if you need anything. We’ll be here as fast as we can.”

  Requiem took the container, looking at it for a moment before raising his gaze to meet Juni’s. “I acknowledge and appreciate your concern. If I have need of anything, I will let you know. Have a good evening.”

  “Yeah, you too. Take care.” Juni said, moving away and back down the hall.

  Requiem moved into the empty quarters, trying not to notice the lack of his Fighter. He placed the container on the table and sat down on the bed. And for a long time after that, he merely stared at his rations, thinking.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Friday October 14, 454 MC

  0900 GMT

  Damion

  DAMION WALKED back to his room with two things on his mind. First, he needed a shower, badly. He smelled like the ass end of a Mercurian workhorse. Second, he was tired. He hadn’t been able to sleep the entire time. He was worried about Requiem. Even if Requiem wouldn’t miss him, and the doctors and the creeps would keep Requiem safe for the most part, they could also take him away or wipe him again.

  Requiem looked up, his ice blue eyes locking on to Damion’s face as soon as he walked into the room. Damion could tell Requiem had showered and changed into a new suit. He was happy seeing Requiem sitting on the bed instead of inside his capsule.

  “You’re still in one piece.” Damion gave him a small, sad grin. “What, not plugged in? That’s not like you.” He pulled off his shirt and winced at the ache in his ribs. “Fuck if Collins doesn’t have a big fucking fist.”

  “You are hurt. Your ribs are bruised, as is your cheek, and you have blood on your mouth,” Requiem said. It sounded less like a report and more a slightly surprised observation. Damion didn’t miss the fact Re
quiem ignored his words. He stood from the bed and walked to the bathroom, returning with a wet washcloth, and began to methodically, but gently, clean the blood from Damion’s face.

  Damion stood still, eyeing him closely with slight suspicion but also a smidgen of hope. The sudden change in Requiem’s behavior shocked the shit out of him. This was the closest thing to emotion he had seen from his Core in weeks. “I’ll live.”

  “That was never in question. Your body will take much more damage than this before it shuts down.” Requiem finished his task and put the washcloth in the laundry chute. There he paused, his back to Damion, his head down in obvious thought. “You have been emotionally unbalanced as of late. I have come to the conclusion that this was the reason you ended up in the brig.”

  “Emotionally unbalanced?” Damion let out a bitter snigger, angry with himself for even having the slightest bit of hope. So much for thinking that Requiem was showing more emotion. “Not surprised you’d put it that way. I’m going to grab a shower.”

  “As you wish,” Requiem replied quietly, sitting back down on the bed.

  Damion walked into the bathroom, not saying another word. He tried to never get his hopes up when he saw a flicker of emotion in Requiem. In the past, every time he saw it, or thought he saw it, he would get hopeful, but it was dashed away soon after. Requiem was safe, and for all of Damion’s bitching and stress about the situation, that was the most important fact to him.

  After he washed, he stepped back into the room, tossing all the dirty clothing and towels into the laundry chute and pulling out some fresh underwear.

  “They wish for me to choose another Fighter,” Requiem said behind Damion’s bare back.

  “What? Oh. Didn’t take the bastards long.” Damion ground his teeth, not turning to look at Requiem. Requiem would ask too many questions if he saw the anger in Damion’s features. “What do you want?”