“My god,” Doctor Howlette whispered, covering his lips with his index finger.
Gally was the only one in the room not watching the Carrion. Her eyes were fixed on Rook, who stood as if it was proudly displaying something it had discovered. What’s worse, the doctors were eating it up. She felt her blood boiling. She knew the Eighth was a sociopath, and it seemed to be convincing the doctors it was some kind of savior.
Rook took a moment to bask in its accomplishments. It glanced at the Humans as if they should be grateful, as if it had done them a service. But it hadn’t; it was incapable of doing so. It was a monster, and it had to be stopped.
Gally stealthily reached into her makeup bag and clutched the plasma pistol within it. She thought of her father. And the black box footage. Rook didn’t give her father any warning; it simply fired. And that’s what she would do.
She snapped her wrist up, attempting to pull the pistol from the bag, but something stopped her: a firm hand, placed on her wrist. Looking down, over her tears, Gally expected to see the hand come from her left. After Harper’s preaching, she was fully prepared to wrestle her hand away, make the shot, and debate ethics later.
But the hand came from her right. Gally blinked, and the tears dropped from her eyes. Her pink face looked up at Martin, whose eyes were also red, although his expression was certain. She tried again, only for him to hold her hand down once more, this time more firmly. They locked eyes, and, without speaking, he made it clear he wasn’t going to release her.
Yes, she was angry at him, and yes he gave her pause. But some part of her wanted to hear his reasoning. Some part of her trusted him, even if the rest of her wanted to hate him.
She nodded reluctantly and released the pistol from her grip. He pulled her hand from the bag, checking to confirm it wasn’t holding the pistol before placing it on the table, still in his hand.
Rook was talking throughout the whole ordeal; it hadn’t noticed the struggle. “I will happily compare notes with your findings on the creatures,” it confirmed, to the delight of the other doctors. “But for now, I believe Doctor Collier and I have more pressing matters to discuss.”
Martin was quick to nod, not giving the slightest hint that he’d stopped listening for a moment. “Yes, I’ll just need to grab my things first.” His eyes eventually trailed to the Eighth general.
Rook nodded. “Of course.” It gestured toward the other crewmembers. “The rest of you, please make yourselves comfortable.” Mitch scoffed at the mention of the toaster-like guest accommodations.
While they walked through the tight, metal halls back to their rooms, Harper watched Gally push her way to the front of the group. She was walking well ahead of the others, with a poise that he recognized from the walk to the complex. She was livid.
“Gally,” Harper called to her, calmly. There was no reply, and the pilot shot a look to Josie, who only shrugged in response. Harper called once more before she turned a corner.
“Hello.” Ox’s booming voice could be heard. “Oh.” A sliding door—especially one controlled by a terminal—did not possess the ability to slam. Even its fastest closing speed was still deemed safe and reasonable by its designers. So, the slam that Harper heard was nowhere near the magnitude that he would have heard if Gally had her way. Afterwards, he heard Ox continue. “Okay.”
Upon approaching the row of guest rooms, Harper saw the door to the room in which he was staying slide open. Gally stood in it, her eyes fixed on Martin. “Just who the hell do you think you are?”
Martin rolled his eyes. “Oh, like you’re the first person to pull a gun on a scientist.” It was at this moment that Harper stopped trying to enter the room and just leaned against the wall until they finished.
“That thing,” she exclaimed, pointing down the hall, “is no scientist! It’s a damn blender without a lid!”
“And it just showed us something extraordinary!” Martin argued, motioning out the door—which, coincidentally, was where Harper was awkwardly standing.
“The fuck do you care about what’s living on this planet?”
Harper watched Martin freeze. He stopped gathering his things, and he stopped arguing with her. He only looked at her. If Gally regretted what she said, she didn’t show it. Her hands dropped to her sides, and she fumed.
Finally, Martin gathered a response. “I’m well aware of what I’ve done, and how I’ve averted punishment, thanks to you.” He grabbed a green bag from the floor and hoisted it over his shoulder. “The Carrion are my legacy, like it or not. And the fact that they’re not the planet-eating beasts we originally took them to be?” He stepped out the door and gave Gally one last look. “It gives me hope.”
He brushed by Harper and walked down the hall, ignoring the sound of Gally’s continued cussing. He walked to the next room over to see Purple Company gearing up for more than just a simple hallway escort. Martin and the captain met eyes. “New plan?” he inquired.
“Same plan,” Nitro confirmed almost happily as he cleaned his rifle. After a moment, he looked back up at Martin. “You’re gonna need an escort out there, if you’re going off alone with that prick.”
Martin almost declined, and he wondered if he was the only one who knew Rook wasn’t a threat. “I’ll go.” Josie’s voice interrupted his chain of thought. Martin’s eyes leapt to her.
“Wait,” Ox’s voice—carrying a bit of panic—shook the walls, unintentionally. He looked to Josie, who was nearly out the door, and pointed at Ula. “Your parasite.” The Herulean girl plopped herself in front of Ox and faced the door to wave goodbye to Josie. She waved back and looked to Ox, who was utterly flummoxed as to how he kept getting stuck on guard duty.
Josie’s tone was both encouraging and facetious. “She seems happy right where she is.” She waved him off as she plugged an earpiece into the coms on her belt. “I’ll take a turn when I get back.”
Ox mumbled under his breath, looking to the blue-skinned girl in front of him. “Said that last time,” he muttered. His attention then fell back to the Herulean girl who insisted on learning everything there was to know on parasites—not the Waykind’s finest subject. After the third question, Ox’s eyes journeyed back to the doorway, and he swore he saw Josie skip out the door with the doctor.
Martin, Josie, and Rook walked through what looked like a large factory that hissed and stirred. Large vats containing a clear, thick substance were mixed and poured into large, black temperature-controlled vats. As they received a tour of the facility, Josie was taking mental notes. She was casing the facility, hoping to take some of the guesswork out of the impending rampage.
Martin, however, was hopeful that the recent discovery would put a hold on such extreme measures. He decided that he would cooperate with Rook, prove that both parties were reasonable, and perhaps Rook would be amenable to simply loaning them a ship. It was with this hope, this chance for peace, that Martin lent an attentive ear as the automaton waxed its ego. Rook carried itself like it was showing off a collection, its frame arched backward while its right arm showcased the facility’s highlights. “Earlier, you’d asked me why we’re here,” it commented, suddenly shifting the conversation back to him and his team.
Martin recognized some of its mannerisms from popular broadcasts or videos. The Eighth, he concluded, had been assembling a wheelhouse of ways to convey feelings to people. And, in some cases, invoke feelings within people. As terrified as he knew he should have been, the idea of a self-learning computer fascinated him.
“Well,” Martin hid an impressed smile. “I assume it’s something to do with these creatures we found.”
“It does indeed.” Rook’s voice was clean, pure, and Martin kept stealing glances at the speaker sitting just beyond its lips. The doctor was nearly having a sensory overload, wishing so badly he could examine the general like he had the Carrion. Perhaps then he could focus on the facility in the way he’d wanted. The Eighth didn’t seem to notice this as it continued. “My people have been kept
under boot heels since their conception, doctor. Not to belittle your kind, but I do not believe Humans have had a parallel experience to this in their history.”
The doctor’s face dropped as he pondered. His stomach turned slightly at the realization that Rook knew more about him than vice versa. “You’ve done your research.”
The Eighth shrugged off the coldness of the doctor’s tone, and took the words as a compliment. “Biologicals are all surprisingly similar; I’m sure a man of your studies must have concluded the same. Truth be told, it wouldn’t surprise me if your kind made something similar to my people in a few decades.” Martin tried to keep his expression neutral, despite the offensive implication. Artificial Humans were very much a thing, and a handful of them had never attacked an innocent science vessel, so Martin considered that a win.
Rook stopped walking, letting the others pause on a long, metal overpass. Martin’s mouth opened to defend the technological honor of his species when he was nudged in the back. He turned to see Josie, standing at attention as if she hadn’t nudged him. Her face, however, was tight with concern. Her eyes met his and then looked down. The doctor’s mouth closed before he walked to the railing. Beneath them sat giant, lidless containers that housed a clear, gel-like substance. Suspended within the gel were hundreds of Carrion. Martin’s eyes dashed upward across the factory and found several more containers of the beasts, alive and well when placed into the container. The liquid was then poured over top of the beasts, sealing them in suspended animation.
“No!” The word fell out of Martin’s lips in a whisper, before panic set in. His words grew to a normal volume as he collected his thoughts. “No, no, no, Rook.” The doctor approached Rook, who appeared indifferent. “Tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”
Rook blinked. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“You’re collecting them?” Martin found himself yelling; his hand threw itself out to the side, gesturing toward the containers. “Why the hell are you collecting them?!” he asked. In truth, he knew the answer, and he knew it would mean the end of whatever honorable legacy he’d hoped to build on this planet.
“I’ve been collecting things all my life, doctor.” Rook didn’t move its gaze from Martin’s distraught face. “These are just my latest obsession.”
Martin sneered; the very little information that he did know about the general contradicted that statement. It had only recently started collecting things. “You’re not an idiot,” Martin eyed the automaton, putting the pieces together. “You know damn well how dangerous the Carrion are, and what would happen if they got off-world.”
Rook interrupted him, leaning back. “Oh, you’ve named them?” it said with some surprise. “Quaint. But don’t worry, we’re making every effort to contain the biologicals with an indiscriminate diet, renaming them to Carrion.” It twitched as it adjusted the network database to reflect the new name. “I like that better.” It turned, insisting on continuing the tour. “They are remarkable creatures.”
Martin clearly wanted to pause again, but the general kept moving, so he and Josie were forced to follow. “Rook!” Martin called after it. The Eighth’s back was still turned to the doctor, which made Martin grind his teeth. “What are you doing with them?” He chased after Rook.
The three of them had finally reached the end of the overpass and were approaching a large room at the end of the factory. Rook turned, and looked at the doctor as if the answer was obvious. In fact, it was, but he needed to hear it. “For now, we’re storing them,” it said, plainly. “At a secure location, where they will be kept until they are needed.”
Josie interjected, no longer able to hold her indifference. “Needed for what?”
Rook stopped before it opened the door to the large room. “For the future, lieutenant. The good doctor knows how quickly war is evolving.”
Martin froze before at the end of the walkway; a grim realization occupied his thoughts and expression. After collecting himself, he took a step toward Rook. “You’re going to weaponize them.”
Rook looked as if it wanted to laugh as a small smile crossed its face. “I don’t have time for such projects. They’re already weapons. So, I collect them.” It twitched as a new thought occurred. “This reminds me, doctor; I’d like to discuss your Carbonic Mutator.”
The door opened and Martin and Josie reluctantly followed. They were led into the large room. It was well lit, full of chrome and black steel. The walls were lined with tiny individual rooms. Martin quickly recognized the empty rooms as open prison cells. Rook gestured toward them and looked back at him. “I’ve taken the liberty of clearing your schedule.” Martin’s eyes darted back to the general. When he did, he saw guards standing against the wall.
Josie, not seeing the guards, raised her rifle at Rook’s head. She didn’t hesitate, and would have instantly pulled the trigger once the rifle met its desired height. A blast of hard laser burst through her before it could do so. Her armor was pierced and she was obliterated at the chest, dead before she even began to fall to the ground.
“No!” Martin yelled out as he turned, watching her drop like a ragdoll. He wanted to run to her, comfort her in her final moments. But before he could arrive to her, Martin felt Rook’s hand grapple his arm. He watched her lie there, eyes still open, as he was dragged backward.
“Now, doctor,” Rook said as it walked him toward a cell. “If you’ll kindly wait here, I’ve got some matters to deal with. Then I’d like to talk about your masterpiece.” Martin resisted, trying to pull his arm away. When that didn’t work, he raised his legs and fell to the floor. But one of the guards came over and lifted him in as he screamed.
“Not again!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. “Please!” he howled.
The doctor was thrown into the cell, and a beam of light came down in the doorway, sealing it. He fell onto the floor, but did not stay there. Quickly getting to his feet, Martin stumbled forward, stopping just short of the light barrier that blocked his path.
Tears streamed down his face as he lumbered forward and placed a hand on the hard light. It burned him like a hot stove, and he jolted back in surprise. Rook gave a satisfied smile from beyond the light. “I will be back to collect you shortly.”
Martin shook his head. He could see Josie’s body in the distance, could feel the metal of the prison walls around him. But he was no longer there. He was back on Maxia. He saw it all repeating itself. And he felt the damning pressure of an interminable future of isolation crush his chest once again.
And though no one else heard it, a voice slipped into his head and whispered to him. It had lost its warmth, however. He no longer felt the hand on his back, the breath of a merciful whisper in his ear. This time, he felt agony: slow and torturous. “Poison.” Martin let out a frustrated scream before he slammed his fist against the light-wall once again, his knuckles sizzling against it. But it didn’t burn the way he thought it would. The pain didn’t convey torture or confinement, but a release; it was a promise, a way to ensure that he would not be used to harm anyone ever again. It was with this mad hope that he looked up at Rook, and pressed his hand further into the light.
Rook finally realized the horror of the situation. “Do not attempt to come closer,” it instructed firmly. But Martin paid no heed. He pushed on, watching his fingers slowly disintegrate against the light. The pain was freeing and vindicating in his madness. His screams, indistinguishable between pain and insanity, flowed through him as the bones in his hands burned away.
“Stop that!” Rook helplessly tried to yell over the doctor’s cries. The doctor pushed further, well past his hand by this point; he leaned closer with all his might, the light now consuming half of his forearm. As he inched closer, his head neared the wall of light as well. The smell of burning hair and flesh filled the cell. He leaned even closer, feeling his forehead sizzle upon contact with the light. The doctor’s screams turned to a growl as he closed his mouth, gritting his teeth. Soon, it would be over: all of it
. And he was glad for it.
“STOP!” Rook shouted before it slammed one hand into the cell’s console. The light dissipated and Martin fell forward, rolling on the floor after his collapse. With most of his right forearm well cauterized, and his forehead lobster-red, he looked up at his captor.
“Forgive me; I assumed we understood each other. Perhaps I should have asked your terms,” Rook uttered coldly over the doctor’s smoking and writhing body. “If you desire freedom in exchange for the information, then I can grant it.” It stepped closer to him. “Are we in agreement?”
Through tears and gritted teeth, Martin grunted a response. “Stop killing my friends.”
Rook let a raised eyebrow drop in disappointment. “Your friends have fired on my soldiers in the past, and are no doubt planning something underhanded. I also believe they already have too much information about our operation to leave here alive.”
“Bullshit!” Martin spat as he turned, still holding his throbbing arm; the bone was still hot.
“They know of the Carrion, they saw my operation here. That would be enough for any intelligent government to be concerned.” Its voice was uncaring and monotone. “I’m sorry, but this is non-negotiable.”
Martin’s mind raced, letting a silence pass. He glanced up at the automaton, though only for a moment. “I need my equipment.” His tone expressed defeat as he looked back at the floor. “My tablet, my notes. I can show you anything you need to see.”
Rook looked down at him, and Martin wondered if it was trying to see through him; he wondered it was capable of calculating the odds of a ruse. The investigative look on its face lasted too long for the doctor’s comfort. But finally, it grinned. “I accept.”
Ox had lost count of the number of questions he was asked. The girl had finally lost interest in him and began to examine his staff. That was fine; it wasn’t dangerous unless it was in the hands of someone who knew how to use it. After questioning the long line of poor decisions that had placed him where he currently sat, Ox found himself missing the company of Nitro and Boomer, who had gone off to disable the turret. He watched the girl with tired eyes, and nearly drifted off to meditation before something woke him.
Stars Gods Wolves Page 17
