Voices of the Lost

by C. S. Harte

  In the distance, Dren noticed towering walls — 5000-meters tall according to his ocular implant. It was conclusive now; they were not outdoors but in an arena-sized room.

  “Dren!” Kara yelled. “What did you do?”

  The rest of the team stared at him with narrowed eyes.

  “I…” Dren shook his head. “I think I found the light switch…”

  “Combat droids!” Kingston shouted. “3 o’clock!”

  Standing among them like silent trees were building-sized robots, easily 100-meters tall. They were so immense Dren had thought them to be pillars at initial glance.

  “Another one,” Jann said. “9 o’clock!”

  “They’re everywhere!” Kara shouted and pulled out her rifle.

  The colossal robots were humanoid in design with a head, torso, two arms, and two legs. Thick, heavy sheets of silver metal with the same concentric circle patterns plated their entire body, nearly camouflaging them with the room. On their fists, the armor looked thick enough to punch a hole through a mountain. While the room lit up and hummed with energy, thankfully the metal monsters did not. Still, that they were offline made them no less imposing.

  “We should probably get out of here,” Jann said. “In case they wake up.”

  “Agreed,” Kara said. “Somebody find me an exit or a comm station! Fan out marines. And stay alert everyone.”

  Each member of Phoenix Company went in a different cardinal direction.

  Dren took the southern area of the room, walking about 400-meters when he found something — the white-haired little girl from when they first entered the alien ship. At first, he wondered if she was actually the same individual. She had the same silvery hair, same snow-white flight suit, and the same blank expression on her face. It has to be her. But how did she get here? Did she travel in the sphere with us?

  His nostrils flared as he remembered Wyrick and Veillon. She was the one who placed them in a tunnel with Mimics. She was responsible for the death of his squadmates. Dren aimed his rifle on her. “Don’t move.”

  “What’s going on, Arvol?” Kara asked.

  “Guys, I think I found something…” He steadied his finger on the trigger. “Or someone.”

  The rest of the squad converged on his position.

  “Easy everyone,” Kara said, arriving first. “We don’t want to be stuck in a hallway with Mimics embedded in the floors again.”

  “How did you get here?” asked the little girl with a tilt to her head in a heavily synthesized, computer voice.

  “Where is here?” Kara returned the inquiry.

  “You should not be here,” said the little girl. Her expression remained flat. She did not seem concerned at the four Mattix rifles trained on her.

  Dren was unsure if the little girl meant they did not belong for their safety or if it wasn’t possible for them to be there.

  “Listen, we don’t want to be here,” Kara said. “If you could just send us back…”

  The little girl disappeared for a moment, then reappeared behind the squad. Her right hand sharply rose up.

  Suddenly, gravity went away.

  Dren and the team floated upward along with loose bits of dirt on the ground.

  “I don’t like where this is going, Commander,” Jann said.

  “Me neither,” Kara said. “If anyone of you dupes makes it out alive, remember your mission. Whatever you do, make sure Fleet gets intel about this hell.”

  “One of you has Aorgarian genetics,” said the girl. “How?” She tapped her lips.

  “Aorgarian?” Dren asked.

  “Like farmers?” Jann asked.

  “That’s agrarian.” Kingston sighed.

  The little girl twirled her fingers like a puppeteer. Each marine acted as if there were strings attached to them, their arms and legs now moving without control.

  With an inward flick of her wrist, she brought Jann within a meter of her face.

  “Wait…” he turned away. “I’ve never planted a seed in my life…”

  Her entire left arm glowed a warm yellow light. In one quick motion, she opened her palm and struck Jann in the chest, piercing through his Tempest suit like it was rice paper.

  Jann howled in pain as the girl’s hand probed his torso. There was no blood; he was still alive while she scoured the inner portions of his body. Whatever she was doing sufficed to be considered magic in the eyes of the other three marines.

  “Stop it!” Kara screamed. “Stop! I’m the leader here, interrogate me!”

  After the little girl finished with Jann, she tossed him to the side where his body laid motionless while floating half a meter off the ground. Her eyes pointed to Dren next.

  Dren tried to resist the force pulling him toward the little girl and her luminous yellow arm. No amount of resistance worked. He injected himself with a combat stim, hoping it would be enough to dull the copious amount of pain soon to be unleashed on his body.

  As she was about to insert her palm into his Tempest suit, she halted and looked into Dren’s eyes. With her other hand, she wiggled her fingers, and Dren’s helmet unscrewed. Their eyes locked on one another. “You?” She tilted her head as if she recognized him. “Were you successful in your mission?”

  “Who? Me?” Dren fumbled his response. “Mission… What mission?” He furrowed his brow as he searched his memories trying to understand what she was referring to.

  The sound of motors whirring came from all around. The giant robots in the room had been activated; their eyes glowed a demonic red light as they powered up. Laser cannons rose from compartments in their shoulders.

  For the first time, the little girl showed an expression. Her eyes bulged as her shoulders tightened. “The automated defense droids have been activated.” Her words rushed out of her mouth. “We will soon be under attack. We must escape now.”

  We? Dren furrowed his brow. “You’re not safe from them, either?”

  She ignored his question. With a quick nod of her head, gravity returned.

  All the marines landed on their feet. All except Jann who remained motionless on the ground.

  “Jann!” Kara said. She and Kingston rushed to him and turned him over. Jann’s mouth gaped open, and his eyes had dimmed.

  “No…” Kingston said in between breaths.

  The area filled with green lasers originating from the towering robots.

  “They are targeting you,” the little girl said to Dren. “For your safety, I strongly suggest you run and hide.”

  “Where can we go…” Dren panned his head. “Where is safe?”

  BOOM!

  A powerful burst of energy struck near Dren’s feet, sending him flying 25-meters in the air.

  “DREN!” Kara screamed.

  “KARA!” Kingston yelled as he shoved the commander out of the way of a laser blast.

  With a loud thud, Dren crashed into the metallic flooring. He lay still on the ground, unable to move. The motors in his Tempest suit had frozen. Critical error messages flashed on his HUD. His suit was too far damaged to repair; he needed to eject. With his eye movements, he navigated to the ejection system and activated it.

  Nothing happened.

  Voids! He tried again. “I can’t move!” Dren called for help.

  “I got you, marine!” Kingston yelled while running toward him.

  The little girl floated to Dren, reaching him first. She placed her hand over his Tempest suit.

  “No… No…” If he was going to die, he preferred the laser blast than being tortured.

  Arcs of electricity traveled from her hand to his suit, forming waves of rolling energy. The critical error messages disappeared. Green signals replaced all the alarms.

  “You fixed me…” Dren looked up into the girl’s eyes. Her expression returned to its original blank state.

  “You must run,” she repeated.

  Dren picked himself up.

  She pointed to her left. A rectangular door made entirely of white light appeared.<
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  That wasn’t there before… He looked back at the little girl.

  “Go!” she said. “Find safety.”

  His eyes darted between her, the door, and his squadmates. “My friends… I can’t just leave them!”

  “GO!” Her voice registered as an explosion in his head, nearly knocking Dren off his feet.

  He stumbled for a moment but caught himself. Dren did not want to leave his friends but an overwhelming sense of inevitability crested in his mind. The commander said someone had to survive. He picked up his rifle and ran for the white doorway. As he crossed the threshold, he saw a group of four marines laying motionless on the ground. Three in Tempest suits, one female in an Obscura suit. Next to them were a dozen Reapers that also appeared unconscious. He immediately switched to arc ammunition and fired at the pile of Mimics.

  Multiple direct hits. The Mimics stuttered in place, their bodies convulsed from the overcharging of electrical impulses.

  Confusion settled into Dren’s face. What just happened? Was that me before? Some kind of time loop? He turned around and retreated into the white doorway, expecting to re-enter the room of colossal robots. Instead, a new figure greeted him.

  “Fleet Marshal Jonas Barick…” Dren stopped in place and saluted. The figure before him looked almost exactly like the Fleet Marshall, but there was no logical explanation of how Jonas could be there in the same room as him. “Sir? What are you doing here?”

  6

  “Sir?”

  No response.

  “Fleet Marshal?” Dren asked again.

  No movement, not even a glance in Dren’s direction.

  This made little sense — questions screamed for answers in Dren’s mind. Why is the Fleet Marshal here? How did he get here? Where is the rest of his squad, his protection detail?

  Fleet Marshal Jonas Barick didn’t seem like a ghost, he looked too lifelike. He could be a hologram, but a hologram of the Fleet Marshal was just as baffling given the circumstances. Dren never met Jonas before. There was never an occasion to as grunts rarely met with the Admiralty. I’m positive it’s him. All clones were created with the images of their superior officers embedded into their memories. Dren stepped forward.

  Jonas finally made a gesture, locking his eyes on Dren.

  “Sir?” He stiffened. “I’m Private Dren Arvol, Phoenix Company, 81st Battalion, 2nd Division Space Marines.”

  The Fleet Marshal maintained his steady stare on the confused marine without responding to any of his inquiries. He held his statuesque pose on a half-meter high hexagonal platform. His exo suit, silver and white, was not Fleet in design. It appeared to be a cross between an Obscura suit and a Tempest — sleek and slim with metal plating. The plating contoured and molded to the shape of his body.

  Dren peered around the room while waiting for his commanding officer to respond. His mind was desperate to make sense of what was happening. Floating walls of glass surrounded him in the hexagonal room. Scrolling quickly on the glass were the concentric circle patterns — different sizes, thicknesses, and colors. In the center, a large crystalline structure floated in mid-air. It hummed with a soft energy and faintly pulsed a pale blue light. Looking more closely, Dren noticed it was oscillating while floating, dipping and rising by barely perceptible amounts. On the top and bottom of the crystal, large reflective panels angled light onto the glass structure producing a prismatic effect, giving it the illusion of infinite depth.

  “Sir,” Dren pleaded again. “Do you know what’s going on?” He turned around to see the doorway had disappeared. His stomach quivered when he realized there was no longer a way back or even a way out. One problem, one mystery at a time. The loudest one, the one screaming at him to solve was, “Sir, how did you get here?”

  Jonas again maintained his silence.

  “Please, my team. They’re under attack. We have to help them.” He approached Jonas, stopping in front of the platform. Is he a hologram? Dren reached for Jonas’ leg. A force field zapped his gloved hand. The area he touched dispersed into thousands of tiny balls of colored light before coalescing back to its invisible state.

  “You made it back. I was not confident you would,” said the platinum-haired girl from the alien ship.

  Have I been here before? Dren shook his head and scoffed. “You have me confused with someone else. I’ve never been here before…” His eyes darted back at Jonas. “… with the Fleet Marshal posing like a piece of art? Trust me, I would remember if I’ve been here before.”

  “Intriguing.” The little girl touched her lips. She blinked from view and reappeared floating in the air, on the same eye level as Dren. Without hesitation, she plunged her hand into his head up to her wrist.

  He gasped and scrunched his face expecting a flood of pain. “What… What are you… doing to me?” Dren relaxed when the agony never came.

  “Looking for answers.” She removed her hand from his head.

  “Answers to what?” Dren backpedaled. “You’re searching the wrong brain — there’s nothing in my head but questions.”

  “This is quite puzzling,” she mumbled to herself while gliding toward the floating crystal in the room’s center.

  “Can you at least tell me who you are?” Dren followed her. “You owe me that at least. I don’t let just anyone feel around in my head.”

  “I do not have a name,” she answered with her back to him. “Only a designation. Research and Automated Intelligence Number 17.”

  “RAI-17….” he mumbled to himself. Why do I know that name? The feeling of familiarity differed from the déjà vu experience earlier. Like a dream he remembered having, but the details of which had long since faded.

  Movement in the peripheral of Dren’s vision made him swivel his head. The man in black returned. He was standing next to the floating crystal with his helmet off. His face was still blurred.

  “Do you see someone?” RAI-17 asked.

  “Yes, do you see him too?” Dren wrinkled his brow. “Do you know who he is?”

  “Intriguing that his identity is a mystery to you.” She flitted away to a glass panel with the scrolling symbols. As her fingers neared the surface, the concentric circles morphed in size and thickness. Without looking back, she asked, “Are you damaged?”

  “Damaged?” Dren pinched his face. “No…” This was getting annoying — questions answered with questions. His squadmates needed help; they could be dead or dying. This RAI-17 person — or thing — didn’t seem intent on offering it.

  “That is erroneous,” she said.

  “What?” Dren raised an eyebrow.

  “I intend to help.” Both her hands scurried against the glass panel, faster than Dren’s eyes could follow.

  You can read my thoughts?

  “The neurological system of your species is exceedingly simple.”

  “Then you understand…” He clutched at his chest.

  “… your situation quite succinctly.”

  “Will you help me then? And my squadmates?”

  “There is possible damage to the memory centers of your brain. I am in the process of analysis and repair.”

  “Wait!” Dren said in a half-shout. “I don’t know exactly what you think you’re doing but…”

  “There are limitations to your species’ intelligence. Answers are useless without context.”

  “But… But…” Dren fumbled his words as he tried to stall. He didn’t want anyone altering his brain, certainly not an alien girl. “Why don’t we try answering my questions before we use extreme measures?”

  “I already have.” She finished her sequence of hand gestures and disappeared.

  Dren spun around expecting her to appear to his side. Instead, she floated above him. Her hand reached inside his head once again. At first, Dren convulsed as he arched his spine backward. Then his body locked into an unnatural position. Every muscle contracted intensely. Strangled, gurgling sounds emerged from his mouth, filling him to the brim with agony.

  �
�The changes, if successful, will require an indeterminate time to take effect,” RAI-17 said when she finished her procedure. “You must remember.”

  Dren fell backward onto the ground. He couldn’t move. Every part of him hurt, from his toes to the staggering migraine pounding inside his head. “Am I dead?” he hoarsely whispered. Dren wished he was as he closed his eyes, ready to let sleep carry him away.

  “NO!” RAI-17 yelled. “You must not sleep. Not yet. The changes will take time to fully incorporate.”

  Dren felt a force pulling his arms up. The headache throbbed behind his eyes, blurring his vision. On the floor, he made out the outline of his rifle. He considered using it against the girl. She did after all, just attack him, but given her unnatural abilities to blink and more, it was probably futile to resist.

  RAI-17 took Dren’s hand. She steered him back to the platform with Jonas on it.

  “Is that the Fleet Marshal?” Dren asked. “Jonas Barick?”

  “No answer I give you will be adequate.” RAI-17 turned her head to the side. Another rectangular doorway composed of a brilliant white light appeared. “I cannot help your friends. It is beyond my abilities.” She pointed at the door. “Death is your only means of escape. You must take it.”

  Dren’s mouth fell open. “But… I don’t want to die.”

  She offered her hand for Dren to take.

  He folded his fingers into hers. Her hand had a warmth to it he did not expect. He found a small measure of comfort in it and squeezed as he tried to hold on to that solace.

  “In the many universes, the nature of life is forever intertwined with the nature of death.” She nodded her head in the doorway’s direction. “One cannot exist without the other.”

  Dren didn’t pretend to understand. He also didn’t want to walk through the doorway. Every exit like that only led him into more trouble. But what choice do I have? Staying in this room of mysteries wasn’t exactly a great option either with the all-powerful, cryptic alien girl. He let out a deep sigh and took steps into the light. His body separated into bubbles like before. For a moment he heard the voices of his commander and Kingston. The sounds faded away as did the colors of the world. He returned to the darkness that brought him to the strange place with giant robots, towering crystal structures, and a mountain of questions. Pinpricks of light broke through the bleakness. Feeling returned to his body as he drifted toward the illumination.