Voidstalker

by John Graham

  She left her office and took the elevator down to the primary testing floor where the actual ‘project’ was being built. It was a concert hall-sized space, with a dozen little workshops scattered all over, all revolving around the project itself: an experimental fusion reactor the size of a sky-car. The reactor frame was double the size, however, covered as it was in a jungle of wires, cables, and supporting equipment.

  It was the work of several years’ research and another year’s worth of construction, and was almost ready for activation; and yet the incident on Loki could sink J.E. Co. and render the whole project redundant. It was a shame to think it might be mothballed before they had gotten a chance to see if it worked. Then again, it was potentially based on xenotechnology research; how many lives had been lost to build it?

  Acting as casually as possible, Aster made her way to the side office at the far end of the testing floor. The side office stored a variety of things, mostly spare tools and computers, but in pride of place was the activation key safe. The safe had a biometric lock, preventing anyone except the project-lead or one of the company directors from accessing it.

  Aster allowed the scanner to flash-scan her eyes and the safe door popped open in response. Then she plucked the red data chip from her pocket and stuffed it in the far corner of the safe, shutting the door before anyone could walk in on her. The chip was safe for now. Unless, of course, someone with more authority than her decided to look inside.

  Aster left the side office and headed back the way she had come across the testing floor, only to freeze up when she saw who was coming the other way. It was Felix – of all people. Had he seen her leave the side office? Would he try and get her to change her mind on something she had just done?

  Felix was still walking in her direction, but apparently hadn’t noticed her. She started walking again, trying to keep her pace slow and steady. As they walked past each other, their eyes met for a split second before quickly averting again.

  The awkwardness was cringe-inducing, but at least she was safe from suspicion.

  * * *

  The main conference room in J.E. Co.’s corporate offices was swanky and spacious, with an oval conference table carved from bioengineered wood, and lined with comfortable, high-backed chairs. An entire wall of the conference room was a single pane of glass, providing a sweeping, panoramic view of Asgard City.

  No one dared stop to enjoy the view, however, because the boss was furious.

  “Who does that bitch think she is?!” Chairman Darius raged at nobody in particular, pounding his fists furiously against the table, “first she shorts my stock, then she brings over some military prick to threaten me, then she rats me out to the fleeking spooks?!”

  One of the intimidated spectators opened his mouth to point out that there was no proof Jezebel Thorn had tipped off the DNI, then thought better of it.

  “This could sink the entire company,” Darius continued, growing short of breath from the effort of venting his anger, “The Loki rumours alone made the stock price tumble 15%. When the media finds about the DNI raid…or worse still, if they find out about the missing security team we sent in…”

  The chairman was silent for a moment as his anger ran out of steam. The assembled staff waited with baited breath, wanting to be sure that their boss’s temper really had died down.

  “We’ve…finished screening all the staff.” Someone announced nervously.

  Darius looked up with interest, a signal that it was safe to continue talking.

  “Based on an analysis of staff members’ personalities, behavioural patterns, and personal circumstances, we were able to cross–”

  “I don’t know what any of that means.” Darius said impatiently, his hardened tone warning the man to get to the point.

  “…No one we looked at has done anything to warrant suspicion.” The security officer said, knowing full well that the chairman wouldn’t be happy with that answer.

  “In other words, you’re telling me that you didn’t find the mole.” Darius answered. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement tinged with anger.

  “Sir, we don’t know for certain that there is a mole.” Someone else in the security team spoke up, not wanting to leave his colleague to face the storm alone.

  “Of course there’s a mole!” Darius bellowed, his temper reigniting, “How else would Jezebel Thorn have known that the Loki facility had gone dark before the rumours came out?”

  Again, no one dared to contradict the chairman, especially since his logic actually made some sense this time. Instead, a security technician stepped forward with a flexi-computer and laid it out on the table for the chairman to see.

  “We did flag these individuals as warranting extra attention.” He said.

  Chairman Darius looked over with interest. Then his interest turned to puzzlement.

  “What the fleek is all this supposed to be?” he demanded.

  “Bribery and blackmail are the two most common ways to recruit a double agent,” the security technician explained, “so by compiling and cross-referencing information on the personal circumstances and private lives of the staff, we can determine who is most vulnerable to being recruited as a mole.”

  “And thereby find out who the mole is.” Darius concluded, sounding encouraged.

  The security technician wasn’t actually going to say that, but kept his mouth shut.

  The names on the list included, among other things, an applied mathematician who liked to frequent strip clubs, a married junior accountant who was having a lesbian affair, and a metallurgist with medical bills.

  “What about this person?” Darius tapped one of the names.

  “Dr Lawrence Kane.” The security technician said, “He was the liaison officer for the Loki facility. He’s a loner, likes to drink at bars alone, and occasionally brings home a prostitute. Apparently, he was also diagnosed with some kind of blood disorder five years ago.”

  “Pitiful loser.” Darius sneered, “He’d be an easy target.”

  “However, he’s been up at the Loki facility for the past few weeks,” the technician continued sceptically, “which means he’s probably dead by now.”

  “That doesn’t mean he wasn’t a mole when he was alive.” Darius pointed out, “look into him, just in case. Who else is there?”

  “There’s also the lead scientist for the reactor project.” The technician said, highlighting her name from the list, “Dr Aster Thorn.”

  “‘Thorn’?” Darius growled, his fingers curling into fists at the mention of the name.

  “By marriage,” the technician clarified, “it’s not her maiden name.”

  “Even so, there’s no fleeking way that’s a coincidence!” the chairman exclaimed with absolute certainty, “Does she tick any other boxes of suspicion?”

  “No, she doesn’t.” the technician replied, warily but truthfully, “She’s originally from the colonies, happily married, four kids, no criminal record or history of questionable behaviour, and an excellent credit score. Other than the coincidence of names and her colonial background, her profile gives her the weakest probability of being a mole.”

  “Check her again,” Darius ordered, “Do a deep probe of her if you have to. There’s no way that slippery snake Jezebel wouldn’t consider recruiting a family member or an in-law.”

  “We can check her workplace activity.” The technician suggested, “See if she’s tried to requisition any equipment or use her personal override code.”

  “Do it.” Darius ordered, snapping his fingers commandingly at the other technicians. They nodded and hastily departed the conference room. The technician waited until he was alone with the chairman before continuing.

  “We also did a search for this ‘Gabriel’ person.” The technician said.

  “What did you find?” Darius demanded.

  “This.” The technician answered, opening up a separate file.

  It was marked: ‘Access Denied: Tier 2 classification’.

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nbsp; “I see.” Darius said simply, his eagerness for revenge evaporating in an instant, “forget about him. Focus on Kane and Thorn.”

  * * *

  The squad exited the decontamination chamber and fanned out to secure the area. They found themselves in another atrium, more spacious and high class than the first waiting lounge, and with holographic screens displaying soothing images and sounds from nature.

  “Welcome to the Research Labs,” the android receptionist said congenially, “please check in at the front desk before–”

  Viker silenced the android with a single headshot. The round punched a hole clean through the robot’s forehead, blowing out the back of its head in the process and spraying shattered electronics against the back wall.

  No one questioned Viker’s decision. Any amateur techie could reprogram an android to be hostile. Furthermore, the squad no longer had the element of surprise, and there was no telling what kind of booby-traps might have been rigged in anticipation of their arrival.

  There was one detail, however, that arrested the squad’s attention, one which looked decidedly out of place in this otherwise generic corporate lounge. It was a message scrawled on the wall above the front desk in dark red capital letters:

  ‘KNOWLEDGE SETS YOU FREE’.

  Cato climbed up onto the desk and swiped his hand across the bottom part of the right-hand ‘E’. The sensors in his gauntlet confirmed what they suspected.

  “Blood. Human.” Cato confirmed grimly, “But not Ogilvy’s, thankfully.”

  The letters were enormous, too large for one person to have provided all the blood. That still left open the question of what kind of psychopaths would kill people just to daub giant slogans on the walls in their blood.

  “Colonel,” Bale asked, “what exactly are we looking for here?”

  “No one goes to this amount of trouble just to kill a prisoner.” Gabriel reasoned, “Whatever they want with Ogilvy, they’ll need to get his armour off first.”

  “The medical bay, then?” Cato suggested.

  “That’s as good a place to start as any.” Gabriel resolved.

  Gabriel took point as the squad proceeded down the eerily deserted corridors, following the signs on the walls towards the medical bay. The whole place resembled a deserted hospital from a classical horror film with perfectly perpendicular walls and floors, and the eerie absence of people; even the lights were flickering to complete the effect.

  Perhaps ‘mental asylum’ was a more appropriate metaphor. The walls, ceilings, and floors were covered with disturbing writing; bizarre slogans and phrases crudely daubed in block capitals, and in what was almost certainly also Human blood.

  ‘TO KNOW GOD IS TO BE GOD’.

  ‘SUBMISSION MEANS PEACE’.

  The sinister invocations of the divine became creepier and creepier as they proceeded through the eerily deserted corridors. Warnings about monsters and demons in the dark, awe-filled references to the ‘Temple’ and the ‘Voice’, and many other pseudo-religious babblings covered virtually every surface.

  There was also more esoteric graffiti: long passages of text written in an indecipherable script that the squad’s suit computers didn’t recognise. Alongside these were complicated mathematical and chemical equations scrawled on the walls like devotional art.

  The squad turned yet another corner into one last corridor leading towards the medical bay. Painted on the floor, next to the fundamental theorem of calculus, was one piece of writing that was refreshingly straightforward: ‘FUCK THE CORPORATES!’

  “At least we agree on something.” Cato remarked.

  “Just how many people worked here?” Viker wondered aloud, changing the subject.

  “Officially, around 1000.” Doran reminded him.

  “Yeah, the ‘official’ number is clearly bollocks,” Viker retorted, “We’ve encountered a grand total of three people so far, and two of them are corpses.”

  “Leave it to Viker to complain about a LACK of things to kill.” Cato joked.

  “Hey, I just want to know where everybody is.” Viker answered, “Also, how in Terra’s name did J.E. Co. manage to build a facility this big right under our noses in a major star system? Is the DNI’s intel really that bad?”

  “Any insights, colonel?” Doran asked.

  “I agree,” Gabriel responded, “normally illegal labs like this are small and hidden out on the frontier. But this place must have taken years and cost tens billions of credits to construct, and probably a lot more to keep it secret.”

  “What are you saying, sir?” Bale asked.

  “I’m saying that either there was an awful lot of corporate – and possibly political – buy-in to this project,” Gabriel clarified ominously, “or something about this location meant that the base couldn’t have been built anywhere else. Maybe both.”

  Without warning, the lights died. The squad closed ranks as their visors readjusted, then two office doors slid open on either side of them simultaneously and the squad opened fire.

  Bale shot one target through the wrist, who screamed in agony as his hand was severed clean off, his fingers still wrapped around a grenade. The other target opened fire with an auto-pistol, hitting Viker in the back. His shielding deflected the shots, and Doran returned fire, three controlled bursts eviscerating the target’s organs.

  Cato and Gabriel covered the corridor while Doran and Bale secured the two rooms.

  “Clear!” each of them shouted in turn.

  The attacker who’d lost his hand was still alive. He lay on the floor, groaning in pain and struggling to breathe, clutching the mangled remains of his wrist.

  Bale stowed his weapon and picked the captive up by the throat.

  “Where’s the prisoner?” Bale questioned him through his helmet speakers.

  “Go to hell!” the prisoner spat back defiantly.

  Bale paused for a moment.

  “You first.” He replied, snapping the man’s neck with an audible crack and discarding him on the ground like a limp doll.

  “If killing the lights is their only plan for slowing us down,” Cato remarked, “this’ll be an awful lot easier than I thought.”

  “Found something.” Doran announced.

  Still covering the corridor, the squad filed into the room Doran had secured, stepping over the bleeding corpse on the floor. They found themselves in a small security room with banks of computers and security monitors. The monitors were dead and the computers had been powered down, and the equipment lockers had been emptied of their contents.

  Doran held up a data pad that had been discarded on the table.

  “Looks like they were worried about an infiltrator.” Doran said, scrolling through its contents, “listen to this: ‘the walls have eyes and the floors have ears. Dani is watching and listening, an agent of the fricking corporates and government spooks. The Voice has whispered to me that only the Temple can be deemed safe; fall back there and leave her to watch over nothing and listen to silence’.”

  “What the fuck does all that mean?” Cato asked rhetorically, “Apart from the fact that they have a leader who receives instructions from voices in his head.”

  “‘The walls have ears and the floors have eyes’,” Gabriel said pensively, “could there be spyware in the system?”

  “That’s what I think.” Doran replied, “It would explain why the computers were shut down; and if it had root access, it could hijack all the security camera feeds.”

  “That doesn’t mean there wasn’t an infiltrator.” Bale replied sceptically, “Assuming those aren’t just paranoid rantings, if there really is spyware in the system, someone would have had to plant it in the system. Perhaps someone called ‘Dani’.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Viker objected, “if ‘Dani’ is a Human mole, then retreating to some stronghold further back wouldn’t root him out.”

  “Well, what else would ‘Dani’ refer to?” Bale asked.

  “I don’t know,” Viker admitted def
ensively, “a codename, a metaphor, a figment of the facility’s staff’s imagination, it could be anything–”

  “It doesn’t matter who or what Dani is.” Gabriel interjected, cutting short the discussion, “We can find out more on the way to the objective.”

  “The medical bay is on the other side of the ‘live-testing hall’, whatever that is.” Doran said as he consulted the map, “it should be at the other end of this corridor.”

  Practically on cue, the door at the far end of the corridor opened, letting in a beam of light from the other side that forced the squad’s visors to readjust yet again.

  “New contact!” Gabriel shouted.

  The squad exited the room and took aim at the source of the light.

  A figure appeared, standing on the other side of the doorway, partially obscured by the light behind him. Though difficult to make out, the figure was dressed in a technician’s overalls with the J.E. Co. logo instead of body armour, and was apparently unarmed. Of course, this wasn’t the first time they’d encountered a supposedly harmless techie.

  Gabriel primed a single high-powered shot and crouched down on one knee, taking dead aim at the silhouette’s head. His helmet’s optical suite was equipped with a variety of visual filters, and the software darkened the otherwise blinding halo of light around the target whilst highlighting the target itself in enough detail to line up a clear shot.

  Then the doors shut again, plunging the corridor back into darkness.

  Somewhere, deep down beneath the layers of training and psychological conditioning that had made him a voidstalker, Gabriel was starting to feel a rankling hatred for this deranged enemy. They had brazenly kidnapped a member of his squad, and were using his life to lure them deeper into this Mastermind-forsaken death-trap.

  Gabriel didn’t mind death-traps. He did mind being mocked on his way through one.

  “Everyone,” Gabriel growled over the comm., “On me.”

  The squad followed Gabriel’s lead as they walked towards the door, weapons raised and ready to shoot. ‘Walk to your death, don’t run’, the drill instructors always said.