by Gregg Vann
He sat back down on the bed and looked up at me compassionately; I stood there dumbfounded, frozen in disbelief.
“They recorded it all,” he continued. “They said it was a lesson for all enemies of the Udek. And they made us watch…the entire block. They made us all… I am a soldier, Udek. I have seen death—caused it myself on many occasions—so believe me when I tell you that this was as depraved and sadistic as anything I’ve ever seen…even in war. In the end, the guards stripped her naked, taking turns cutting long strips of flesh off her body while she wailed.”
The prisoner took a breath and fought the impulse to cough again. He looked down at the floor of the dingy cell and placed his head in his two remaining hands. “She screamed…cried for help…pleading for someone to save her life. She begged for Tien to come. She just knew he would. She really believed that. But this is Nilot; she had to know it was impossible. When the pain became overwhelming and she couldn’t remain conscious any longer for their amusement, they garroted her.”
He looked up to meet my eyes again. “The guards left her body in view for hours before finally dragging her away by the hair.”
No. It can’t be. She can’t be…
I couldn’t breathe.
The room closed in on me—an oppressive weight, crushing in from every side, getting heavier and heavier. This cell was so small, and dark…so very, very dark.
My only thought was to leave—to get out of there. To get away from…this. I started backing up, through the door and out of the cell. If I wasn’t here…if I didn’t know…then it wouldn’t be true.
It couldn’t be true.
“Stop! Don’t move!”
I froze, listening to the sound of dozens of footsteps clanking up the stairways. I slowly turned my head from left to right and saw guards coming at me from both sides of the walkway, leveling their guns at me. More were crossing the common area below and heading toward the stairs to join them. In all, there had to be twenty guards in the cellblock now. And only one of me.
But I would be enough.
Especially now.
My two middle fingers closed slowly onto my palm. The guards weren't close enough yet to see the movement, or if they were, they didn’t recognize the significance of it. I depressed the control pad at the base of my glove three times—releasing a concussion-smoke capsule from my belt. When it hit the platform at my feet, a wall of sound and light exploded, followed by the rapid expulsion of dark smoke.
My earpieces—designed to augment my hearing as well as for communication—automatically shut out the explosion. And my lenses compensated for the blinding flash. The guards closest to me weren't so well equipped and fell down, clutching helplessly at their eyes and ears. Those further away lost sight of me as a black cloud expanded out from the capsule.
I spun around and grabbed the railing, using it to leap over the edge and swing down to the first floor. I tucked myself into a rolling ball as I hit the ground—to minimize the impact of the fall. But it still hurt. As I jumped up to my feet, I pulled my rifle out of its sling and shot the two guards closest to me. Ducking behind a large service cart used to feed the inmates, I pulled two more smoke capsules from my belt and threw them out into the center of the room. The combination of all three devices quickly reduced the visibility to zero in the entire block. The inmates were waking now, and the sound of their voices mixed with the confused and conflicting orders from the guards.
“Everyone down on the first floor,” one of the guards yelled out.
“No,” another barked. “Get up higher and try to spot him.”
With my lenses, I could read the heat signatures from everyone in the building. I calmly…methodically…began shooting those that weren't in cells.
They killed her! My mind screamed. The animals killed her!
But my hands remained steady. The rifle growing hot as I fired; up, down, left and right. Stationary, running…even injured and crawling. I shot them all. Always the same, always the head; there would be no survivors. They all died in darkness, never knowing where the shots came from.
Never seeing the face of the man who killed them.
When I was certain that every heat signature was cooling, I moved to the door and out of the block—back into the hallway where I’d knifed the desk guard. I wasn’t naïve; I knew that the entire base would be on alert—that I probably wouldn’t get out of here alive—but I didn’t plan on leaving now anyway. I intended to visit the warden first and learn why Dasi was murdered.
I was going to find out who was responsible.
And then I was going to kill them.
Chapter Three
I pushed the door open a crack and threw out two flash grenades timed to explode five seconds apart. After the second telltale pop, I darted outside and started scaling the wall of the building, making my way back up to the roof. I no longer needed to remain silent and climbed quickly, glancing back only long enough to see several disoriented guards struggle to their feet. A loud klaxon pierced the night air, and I saw the bright lights of approaching vehicles—speeding in from other parts of the base.
After pulling myself over a disused drainage gutter that framed the top of the building, I vaulted onto the roof, drawing my rifle and ducking behind a large electrical box. I leaned out to check the mostly open space and saw that it was still deserted…for now anyway. I knew that I only had a few precious minutes to act, so I quickly accessed the stolen prison schematics stored in my lens array to locate the warden’s office. Normally, he wouldn’t be there at this time of night, but the building also doubled as the prison’s action station; he should be headed there now to lead the search for me. The office was only a short distance from this cellblock, but I needed to make them think I was headed in the opposite direction if I was going to have any chance of getting there alive.
I peeked out over the edge to see three personnel carriers stop in front of the building. Udek commandos began to pour out of them as I watched—elite troops that were battle-hardened and very capable. They fanned out to surround the cellblock, and I saw several of them begin to scan the rooftops with helmet lenses and rifle-mounted scopes.
I had only seconds to devise a plan.
I aimed the rifle at a large patch of open air, just to the side of a distant building, and fired two disrupt shells—spacing the shots three meters apart. As they ate away at the shield, they merged to form a large hole in the force field. Other alarms then began to sound, eclipsing the roar of the original klaxon.
Many of the commandos started to move toward the breach, believing I was trying to escape through it. It was an easy assumption, and the logical thing for me to do, but I wasn’t concerned with logic now; I was motivated by revenge.
I ran across the roof and stabbed a lockdart into the same upright stanchion I’d used to land on the building. Then I put another one on the rifle, attached the microfilament to it, and fired at the ledge of the building across from me. I clamped down on the wire and swung over the edge.
The trip was short and fast, and I hit the side of the structure hard, compressing my legs to reduce the shock. I reached up and pulled myself onto the roof, then ran to the opposite edge and jumped over to the next building, landing roughly. As I worked my way to the center of the compound like this, the buildings got closer and closer together. And after several, much easier jumps, I checked my position to find I was already close to the target. I lodged a lockdart between two sturdy pipes, and then played out some microfilament from its housing and tied it to the dart. I tested the setup with a sharp tug, and then used it to lower myself back down to the ground.
Looking around, I saw that I‘d dropped in close to an abandoned sentry post, evidence of how completely they’d bought my escape charade. I ducked into a darkened alley created by the close proximity of the buildings, and then ran toward my destination—still maybe fifty meters away. My darksuit rendered me almost invisible in the shadows, and I kept to them for the final stretch.
> Before emerging from the alley, I peeked around the corner—spotting the building that housed the warden’s office. Two guards were posted outside it, but they were too distracted to notice me. I could hear the pair excitedly discussing the current situation, rather than scanning the area for hostile forces, as they should have been.
This prison’s reputation has made them complacent, I thought.
I knew I needed to drop them both before they had a chance to sound an alarm; it was imperative that the commandos didn’t know I was in this part of the compound. I spun the ammo dial on the side of the rifle to Silent Projectile, then focused in on their movements and mannerisms—their personal tics and gestures.
Timing would be critical.
The guards were spaced approximately a meter apart; one constantly shifted his weight from foot to foot, while the other had a habit of turning sideways to face his companion as he spoke. I moved the rifle barrel from guard to guard and slowed my breathing. Watching, waiting…there. One turned in to speak as the other shifted his weight in the same direction. I fired—pulling the trigger twice without pause—and both of the guards collapsed. Each hit by a single shot that sliced through their throats—silencing them, and severing their spines at the base of the skull.
They had no choice but to fall silently to the ground and die.
I sprinted out from cover and moved past the two bodies; there was no use trying to conceal them, their absence would be just as noticeable as their corpses, then I jumped up the three steps leading into the exterior foyer of the squat building. The door wasn’t even locked—a further testament to their hubris. It opened with a gentle push, and I moved stealthily through the opening, finding myself in a short hall with two doors on either side. Set between the left pair of doors, I saw a stairwell descending to an underground level. The sign above the opening identified it as the Situation Room. I crossed the hall and began descending the stairs slowly, keeping off to one side and planting my feet gently.
Other than the small, glowing strips that marked each step, the staircase was dark. The only real source of illumination was light spilling in from the brightly lit room below. I heard three distinct voices rising up through the air.
“It has to be Tien! Who else could possibly do it?”
“But he was seen on Rilen less than two days ago…looking for her. He couldn’t have gotten here so quickly.”
“I’ll say it again. Who else is capable? Or this motivated.”
“Enough! Both of you,” a third voice thundered, silencing the two men.
“Apologies, Warden Cullz.”
“Yes. Apologies.”
“It is Tien,” Cullz continued, “of that I’m certain. What I can’t fathom is how he found out we were holding her here in the first place. I should have told the general, no. I despise having anything to do with the Special Corp and their operatives.”
“Yet here we are, Warden. Regardless, he won’t get past my commandos, Special Corp or not.”
I reached the bottom of the stairs and ducked down low to peer around the corner. There were only three people in the small room, the warden, and two men on either side of him—their insignia identifying them as a guard supervisor and commando captain. Without hesitation, I leaned out and shot them both through the chest.
Before their bodies hit the ground, I fired again, striking the astonished warden in both knees. He feebly grabbed at what was left of his legs and rolled down onto on the floor.
I stepped out of cover and calmly walked over to him.
“Why?” I asked, ignoring his screams. My tone was level and detached. “Why did you kill her?”
“I didn’t…it wasn’t—” I cut off his denials by shooting him in the arm.
“Why?” I repeated.
“Wait! It wasn’t m… General Queltz! It was General Queltz! He didn’t tell me why…I swear! He just sent the order to have her killed. You have to believe me!”
“Was it also his idea to torture her first? Or did you decide that yourself?”
His eyes went wide in fear. “No! No! It was the guards! I had nothing to do with that! I swear to you!”
I shot him in the other arm at the elbow, rendering the last of his limbs useless. Then I pulled out the needleblade and he started sobbing. I leaned over and lifted his head up by the hair.
“Please don’t…don’t kill me…it’s Queltz you want. It was him!” Tears were streaming down his face now, and I could smell that he’d lost control of his bowels.
“Don’t worry, Warden. I’ll deal with him soon enough.”
I slit his throat, and then dropped his head down hard on the floor. Let him spend his last few moments in terror while his life bled away.
Just as Dasi had.
I heard a choked cough and looked down to find the commando still alive. I’d been careless! He hit a communications device on his wrist and barely got out a whisper. “Situation Room…he’s in the—”
I stomped his head down, but it was too late—they were coming. I quickly shortened the stock on my rifle to a close-combat configuration and ran back up the stairs. But as soon as I reached the top, I saw three commandos coming through the front door.
And they saw me.
I ducked back behind the wall and we exchanged fire. I managed to take two of them down quickly, but as I stepped out to shoot again, the third one got off a round, striking me in the leg. I returned fire, hitting him in the head twice—the second shot just barely piercing his armor. As he fell, glass shattered out of a large window above the front door and projectiles slammed into the wall next me, missing my chest by millimeters.
Snipers.
I awkwardly stumbled back into the stairwell for cover; there was no feeling in my right leg and I looked down and saw why. The commando had used an explosive round, and what remained after the impact was a tangled mass of flesh and exposed bone…barely holding me up. I was reaching down to spool off some microfilament to use as a tourniquet when a concussive round sailed past my head; it bounced off the wall behind me and detonated.
My optic and hearing apparatus did their best to compensate, but the explosion was too large and shorted out all of my electronics. I pulled the lenses off and yanked out the earplugs, throwing them all back down the stairs behind me. My vision was blurry and I could taste blood in my mouth. I looked back out into the hall just as the front door blew off its hinges, exploding into fragments that sailed through the smoky air.
Commandos came rushing in and I fired indiscriminately. My vision was useless, but I laid down a withering barrage of mixed munitions fire that certainly killed many of them. Then a sharp sting hit my left eye and my head flew back; I staggered forward into the open, taking multiple hits to the chest…so hard to breathe.
I kept firing until they hit the rifle itself and it blew apart in my hands…with my hands. As I looked down with my remaining eye at the shredded gore that had once been my arms, a commando stepped forward and struck me in the head with the butt of his rifle.
And blackness overtook me.
“Stop!” I heard someone call out. “I want him alive!”
But I already knew that wasn’t going to happen.
It was my final thought before I died.
Chapter Four
The large ship thundered through the atmosphere, a conical trail dissipating in its wake as it leveled out for the approach to the research facility. Unlike most spacecraft that strove for elegant design and aesthetic perfection, this ship was all business.
The business of war.
Brother Dyson looked up at the vessel as it came into view and sighed. He’d told them not to come—that it was no use—but they didn’t listen.
Ha, he reflected amusedly, do they ever?
Of all the races that contracted with the Bodhi to resurrect their dead, the Udek had always been the most problematic. They were remarkably ambivalent about the consciousness transfer process itself, the procedure in which a perfect clone was imbued with th
e mind of the deceased—complete with all of their memories up until the last cerebral mapping, but they detested the monk’s religious dictates. Specifically, the one requiring that before anyone could be reborn, they had to cleanse their karma by undergoing a penance ritual. Without exception, all clients had to seek atonement for their prior sins.
Brother Dyson viewed the Udek protests a gross overreaction, born from their distrust of all religion. Besides, the actual person themselves didn’t have to perform the cleansing ritual—the journey to make amends for misdeeds from their previous life. A cyborg monk was crafted to look like the deceased, and that construct went about dispensing restitution to the wronged. All while a new, perfect clone grew to full size back on Bodhi Prime.
The dead client’s consciousness made the journey as well, installed inside a ‘soul chamber’ deep within the cyborg’s chest cavity—the deceased’s mind kept fully aware of what was going on so they could reflect on the harm they’d done. But they did not, could not, control the cybernetic monk. It was programmed by the Bodhi to accomplish its mission to their requirements, and they’d taken extreme measures to make sure their cybernetic creations couldn’t be tampered with.
The Bodhi protected their secrets well.
When the penance tasks were complete, the consciousness was then transferred from the cyborg into the newly cloned body—the person ready to resume their normal lives as if they’d never died; the entire experience a small side-trip on their long journey through life.
Most clients were grateful for the extremely expensive service—penance requirements and all—but not the Udek. Never the Udek. Dyson suspected that it wasn’t the actual atonement that angered them, as much as it was the Bodhi forcing them to do something against their will; they were always such a difficult race. And certainly, the old monk knew, not one to be trifled with.
