The somatarchs beside Gavin prodded him forward as the group by the black door approached.
“These will escort you to the Processing Room,” the man said. “The Assessor Primary awaits you there.”
Two of the new somatarchs promptly fell in behind Gavin and herded him towards the energy door. The other two led him towards the barrier, which winked out of existence as they approached and flashed back once they passed through.
The corridor beyond was a long one, but eventually came to an end at a thick metal door. The door slid away, revealing a small room with no visible exits beyond a large circular opening in the floor with a black disc hovering over it. The disc was large enough to hold five or six people. A small group of figures stood beside it.
Two of them were somatarchs, but the third was a man wearing the gray robes of an assessor. The only difference was that his vestments were tinged with black around the shoulders and the hem. He wore a zoelith strapped to his belt. Dark hair and a beard neatly framed his face. His brooding eyes studied Gavin from beneath a prominent brow. He looked nothing like the rest of the Collective, and yet the ease with which he stood in the presence of the somatarchs clearly showed he belonged there.
The strangest thing about him, though, was the faint shimmer which surrounded his body. It was hard to see, only flashing into view from time to time, as if it were some sort of mirage.
“Welcome back, Gavin,” he said, striding forward and grasping Gavin’s hand. His voice was deep and rough.
Gavin stiffened, as if to match the posture of the regimented man before him. “Malthus, I’m glad you survived the storm.”
“Are you really?”
“Of course. But what’s going on with this underground base? The Collective’s construction abilities are impressive, but surely you didn’t just create this in the few days since the storm.”
“It’s called Manx Core,” Malthus said. “It, as well at the Collective, is strictly a military operation now. No more research unless it has combat applications. The building you are standing in is our Command Center. Would you like a short tour?” He motioned for Gavin to step onto the hovering disc. The pointed look he gave showed that his question was not really meant to be an actual one.
Gavin stepped onto the disc.
Malthus and two of the somatarchs joined him. The disc plummeted through the hole. They sped past three floors until it halted at the bottom of the shaft. A door opened and a long metal walkway stretched before them, suspended above a large room.
As they stepped off the disc, Malthus gestured towards Gavin’s injured arm.
“We’ll get that taken care of. Don’t worry.”
“Thank you. But what about the other Developers? What about the Collective? How many died in the storm?” Gavin asked as they stepped out onto the walkway.
“Eighty-nine percent casualty rate. Only a few in the smaller buildings survived.” Malthus spat out the information mechanically.
Gavin stopped a few steps onto the walkway. A deep sadness softened his eyes. His lips moved, but no words came out.
Malthus shot him a stern look. “Listen, Gavin, this was Darius’ project. Now that he’s gone, we’ve repurposed our time and resources into other areas. What happened in the storm is in the past.”
“You say ‘we’…How many of the Developers are left?”
Malthus started walking again. The somatarchs nudged Gavin to follow.
“Cyrith, Xander, and I are the only ones who survived.”
Gavin faltered, but he kept walking. “I had thought more—I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised but, still, I had hoped…”
Malthus cleared his throat. “We can rebuild the city another day. For now, we have other things to worry about.”
Malthus, two paces in the lead, marched briskly across the walkway. There did not appear to be any means of reaching the cavern below, but the room could easily be seen, even though it was poorly-lit by what looked to be auxiliary lighting. Hundreds of clear rectangular containers stood stacked in metal racks, five high. Inside each of them rested a human body dressed in white robes.
“Vacants,” Gavin said. “This is ten times the number we had in Oasis.”
“That’s right.” Malthus’ deep voice resonated throughout the chamber. “Darius planned for every eventuality. Within a few days, we will initialize this force and move up to establish ourselves on the surface once again.”
“But you can’t possibly need this many. The people of the Vast are no threat to you.”
The strange shimmers around Malthus made his expression hard to read at that moment. “Darius hoped that if we kept our presence on this planet a secret, our enemies would not be able to find us. But with Oasis gone we can no longer hide. Now our survival depends upon fighting. There is a war coming, Gavin.”
“A war against whom?” Gavin asked, his voice strained.
“The coming conflict does not concern you. Besides, I did not bring you here to ask you to fight.” Malthus placed his hands calmly behind his back. “I have something else in mind for you. There is a project of yours which I am interested in.”
“A project? Which one?”
“The chronotrace.” Malthus licked his lips, as if he had been waiting to say that word for a very long time.
“The chronotrace? What could possibly interest you about that?”
“You are not the only defector we’ve had from Oasis.” Malthus stopped abruptly in front of the door on the far side, the click of his boots echoing in the large chamber. The shadow of his brow had never been deeper. He stood perfectly still for several long moments, his back to Gavin, a chiseled man of stone.
Gavin broke the silence. “You want to use the chronotrace to find someone who escaped?”
Malthus turned, scattering the shadows on his face. “No, we know where he is. He’s building a city out in the desert. The renegade’s name is Nolan.”
“If you know where he is, then what do you need the chronotrace for?”
“I need it to recover his memories. You see, he erased them, not only from the Repository, but from his own mind as well. So capturing him would do no good.”
Gavin positioned himself to the side of Malthus, but the man refused to look at him. “What? Why would he erase his own memories?”
Malthus’ facade cracked. His gaze shifted so that he stared back out across the endless rows of vacants.
“I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. His memories are what I need.” Malthus’ words marched from his mouth one by one, a resolute force marshaled against Gavin’s questions.
Malthus turned back to the door impatiently. After a brief pause it opened and he moved briskly into the hallway beyond.
Gavin rushed after him. “I’m sorry, but that makes no sense.”
Malthus failed to acknowledge his words. His boots beat down the hallway in swift rhythm. They soon arrived at a door made from polished, silvery metal. After another short delay, the door opened and they passed through.
The somatarchs fanned out to either side. The large room was filled with cabinets and equipment. All the cabinets had transparent doors, Inside some could be seen hundreds of vials of remin fluid. In others, large capacity memory arrays were visible. These metal cubes about the size of a man’s head could each store enough memories to fill the lifetimes of hundreds of people. In the center of the room, dominating everything, stood a massive cylinder of smooth black stone with bluish veins running through it. It was twice as tall as Malthus and three times as thick.
“You had another Repository,” Gavin said in low tones, his expression one of awe. He wandered towards the memory arrays as if he meant to pull one out and begin accessing its information at that moment.
“What better place to recover someone’s memories.” Malthus spread his arms wide. “Welcome to your new home.”
“What do you mean?” Gavin asked guardedly, stopping where he stood.
“I need the memories back,” Malthus said. �
��And I believe that the chronotrace is the only means to achieve that.”
“But the chronotrace isn’t capable of reading thoughts. Even if it was, the power required would be impossible to achieve.”
Malthus spun back around and faced his captive, his eyes burning with a singular purpose.
“I’ve studied your logs. I know it was still a work in progress when you left, but I believe in you, Gavin. You weren’t given the time and the resources before to develop it fully. This time I’ll give you whatever you need to see that the technology is perfected.”
Malthus’ tone seemed almost friendly, but Gavin regarded him suspiciously.
“I’m flattered you think I could actually realize the full potential of the chronotrace,” he said, “But given that you’ve brought me here against my will and haven’t told me why you need this information so badly, you’ll understand if I’m less than inclined to help.”
Malthus’ mask of cordiality vanished. “Let me see if I can make you understand, then. The only reason you’re alive at this moment is because I have need of you. And if you do not do what I ask—”
“Then what? You’ll kill me?” Gavin cut him off, matching Malthus’ harsh tone. “Then stop wasting your time and get it over with. Because I will never help you destroy the people of the Vast. Wasn’t it enough that we hunted them down and killed them in secret? Now you’re going to slaughter them out in the open?”
“Ha!” Malthus sneered, making his bristly beard look like a wrinkled rug. “This isn’t about the andros. If that was what we wanted, we could have destroyed them long ago. That’s not who we’re getting ready to fight.” Malthus shook his head, pacing in front of Gavin. “I already told you: the chronotrace has nothing to do with the coming conflict. This project is personal. No one else even knows about it.”
Gavin glared at him and appeared about to speak, but Malthus raised his hand, signaling he had more to say.
“But if you care so little for your life, then perhaps I can help make this a personal matter for you as well.” Malthus fixed Gavin with a penetrating glare. He regimented his words again, speaking slowly and deliberately. “If you refuse to help me, or if you cannot get the device to do what I ask, then I will target the andros. I could wipe them off the face of this planet in a ten span if I chose to.”
The anger and bravado drained from Gavin. “What exactly is it that you want me to do?” His voice came out suddenly quiet and weak.
“I need the chronotrace to bring back the memories from before they were erased—two years ago.”
“Two years? But I told you—” Gavin began before stopping to regain his composure. “Not all the bismine in the Vast would be enough to go back that far, especially if you want to utilize the thought mapping algorithms.”
“But we have celerium—a great deal of it as a matter of fact.” Malthus gestured towards the large pillar of stone. “And I can get you more if you need it.”
Gavin walked up to the monolith and ran his hand along the surface. “This can’t be celerium. And a sample of this size? Surely you’re mistaken.”
“Why do you think Manx Core was built?” Malthus said. “This wasn’t always a military operation.”
“How long has this place been here, then?”
“That’s irrelevant. All I care about is getting back those memories.”
Gavin’s eyes flitted about the room, taking in the somatarchs, the celerium, the storage cabinets. “And what is this information that you’re looking for? What did this memorant erase that’s so important?”
Malthus paused a moment, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Whatever was passing through his mind, he seemed to be taking great pains not to let himself get worked up about it. He took in a deep breath, and for the first time since their conversation began, a hint of sadness washed over his face. “I want you to recover the memories of my son.”
“Your son?” Gavin blurted out. “Generic heredity was never used in the Collective. How could you possibly…” his voice trailed off, as if he were struggling to recall something that wouldn’t quite come to him.
“There is much that you know nothing about—nor do you need to,” Malthus said, quickly mastering himself again. “You need to run a trace back to the time before his memories were erased and copy them into one of these arrays. If you do that, I’ll set you free. No one will ever even know you were here.”
Gavin turned back to the celerium pillar, a frail figure against its immense solidity. “Assuming you actually had a son, I can understand why you would want to get his memories back, but what happened Malthus? How did someone else ever get his memories in the first place?”
Malthus passed a hand over his face, but the gesture failed to mask the pain plainly visible there. “My son died years ago. Darius helped me bring him back by implanting them into the mind of this fool Nolan. It seemed to work at first, but something went wrong. He rejected my son’s memories and erased everything. It was like he murdered Dane all over again.” Malthus stared longingly at the memory arrays surrounding him, a wealth of information, but worthless to him because it lacked the one thing he needed most.
He continued to speak, but his voice lost its air of command. “Those memories were all I had left of him. And you’re the only one who can help me bring him back. I need those memories, Gavin. I need you to help me resurrect my son.”
Eighteen
Fallout
The trace ended abruptly. Adan shut it off before the bismine chips dropped below rechargeable levels. The last image he saw was that of Gavin staring at Malthus, a stunned look on his face. Adan could not get the image out of his mind. Nor could he stop thinking about where Gavin had been taken—the Repository. It existed after all. If he found Gavin, he would find his memories as well.
“Your friend is in a tight spot,” said a voice from behind, startling him. He whipped around to see Bryce leaning against the opposite wall.
“How long have you been there?” Adan asked, unnerved by his presence.
Bryce shrugged casually. “Long enough to realize that you’ll probably never see your friend alive again.”
“What do you mean? Malthus said he’d let him go if he did what he asked.” Adan was stung by Bryce’s frankness, though inside he had been thinking the same thing. There was no assurance Malthus would keep his promise.
“The entire place is a military facility,” Bryce said. “It’s probably more secure than Oasis ever was. Malthus would never let someone out who knew about it.”
“I don’t care. I’m going there anyway.”
Bryce shook his head. “They said you were naive.”
Adan rose, forgetting Gavin and the chronotrace all of a sudden. “Who? Who said I was naive?” Bryce returned the question with a condescending look. “What do you know about me?” Still he gave no response. Frustrated, Adan flung out one last question. “Why are you even here?”
“Why are you here?” Bryce retorted.
“I’m trying to save my friend,” Adan said, lowering his tone. So far this conversation wasn’t going at all the way he had hoped.
“And I’m trying to save everyone else.” Bryce’s voice rose defiantly. “Don’t you even care what they’re going to do with that army down there?”
In that moment, Adan thought he caught a glimpse of Bryce’s thoughts, though he hadn’t been trying to. If what he saw was accurate, Bryce was telling the truth, at least partly. He did intend to save the Collective, but Adan wasn’t sure what that meant. Save them so he could manipulate them like the Developers or something else? There was a brash pride to his intentions that hinted his motives were not altogether pure.
“Saving lives is a good thing,” Adan said, choosing his words carefully. “But how do you plan on doing it? Do you really think you can stop the Developers when the storm couldn’t?”
Bryce snorted in disgust. “You’ll see soon enough.” He turned to go, but Adan called after him.
“Wait—Bryce—what abo
ut the extractor? I know you took it from the compound in the Vast. What did you do with it?” It occurred to Adan that if the Repository still existed the extractor might not be needed, but there was no telling whether Gavin’s memories were actually there, or if they were that they would be able to recover them.
Bryce half turned and glanced back. He did not look in the least surprised by Adan’s question. “I don’t have it any more.”
“But you know where it is.”
It was a desperate effort and Adan knew the moment the words left his mouth he wasn’t going to get an answer.
“I don’t have to tell you anything. There’s a lot you don’t know, Adan. I’d have thought you’d be getting used to that by now.”
Adan let out a frustrated sigh. He might have missed the one chance he would get to find out about the extractor. He had been too blunt, too direct.
“I don’t know who sent you here or why.” Adan paused, fumbling for the words to hold Bryce there a little longer, “But I—I think we should work together. If you saw the trace, you saw where Gavin was. He was in the Repository. That’s where they keep all the memories. Maybe your memories are there too.”
Turning his back on Adan again, Bryce passed through the door. “I don’t care about the past,” he said, not bothering to turn around. “All that matters is right now. And I’m going to finish what the storm started—whether you help or not. Just don’t get in my way.”
Adan was left alone in the empty tunnel, staring at the chronotrace and wondering what exactly Bryce had planned.
Zain clamped his jaw shut, his eyes aflame. Adan had never seen him this angry before. Though Zain was still able to restrain himself enough not to interrupt the others, when he spoke his words tumbled out in such a torrent his mouth never seemed to close.
“You yourself said there must have been thousands of the hollow men in that chamber, and that was days ago.” He directed his words to Bryce, though the entire cell was present. “Think of it, thousands of them and we can barely defeat one or two. This is foolishness. I cannot believe we are even entertaining such a plan. It would be a leap into sinking sand.”
The Chronotrace Sequence- The Complete Box Set Page 51
