by C. S. Harte
“Thank you,” Alyana flashed a half-smile. “That will be all, Ensign Sanghvi.”
It had been five years since Jonas promoted Alyana to captain, but she still wasn’t used to people calling her “Sir.” She smirked every time memories of her smuggling days floated into her head. Most of her responsibilities as the right hand to the Fleet Marshal were administrative — organizing meetings for Jonas, handling media inquiries, or asking a small army of staffers to do all her work for her. Alyana’s life was more comfortable than it was before, but she missed being a pilot and navigating ships through dangerous space.
Alyana left the docks and headed for a hyper-tram. The reshelling facility was on the opposite end of the 100-kilometer space station. The tram brought her there in less than 60 seconds.
Waiting for her on the platform was a middle-aged man wearing a white lab coat. “Captain Harrows,” he greeted. “I’m Corpsman Walder. I’ve been instructed to assist you.”
“Thank you, Corpsman Walder,” Alyana said, noticing an eye roll from her guide. Her legs wobbled as she stepped off the hyper-tram.
“You OK, Ma’am?” He held steady, not offering an arm or any help off the hyper-tram.
“I’m fine,” Alyana took a deep breath before attempting to walk again. “I’m only here to see one replicant.”
“So I’ve been told,” Walder said while he walked away. “You’re looking for that offprint that found the hidden Voidi base. A private with the name Dren Arvol — the one with the funny face.”
“We don’t use vulgar terms like ‘offprints’ to refer to our clones, Corpsman.” Alyana had shorter legs than Walder and had to increase her gait to keep up.
“Yeah sure, OK.” Walder shrugged. “The replicant you’re looking for is in cloning bay ATX-512.”
Everything about Walder rubbed Alyana the wrong way. The lack of respect for a commanding officer, the lack of common courtesy, and the disdain for clones. She pinched her face. I can make his life miserable, but I have more important things to do. He doesn’t understand the new dangers…
“Mr. Walder,” Alyana said, “You’re the Vat Technician for Private Arvol, is there anything you can tell me about him?”
“It’s Corpsman Walder,” he said with a sneer. “I believe I earned that title. And I am not privy to any of the mission details, Sir.”
Alyana scowled. Walder seemed like the type to argue over petty things. “You misunderstand me. You’re the last person I would go to for mission details. Obviously, I have access to that information. Is there anything about this replicant that stands out to you; anything that makes him stand out from the others? Isn’t it true every clone has their own quirks that the geneticists have yet to figure out?”
“I wouldn’t know any of that.” Walder briefly clenched his hands. “My job as a Vat Technician is to clean them when they come out, put on some diapers, and update them with the latest repo files.”
“I see…” Alyana pressed her lips together.
“You’re not here every day, Captain,” he looked over his shoulder before continuing, “These offprints…” he stuttered. “I mean replicants, they’re creepy… I don’t know what else to say. I don’t like being around them longer than I have to…”
“What do you mean, Corpsman?”
“Well, they’re human and yet, they’re not. They look human for sure, they talk and act human, but they’re also machines, you know. They’re manufactured instead of birthed, that makes them machines in my book. Their memories are downloaded into them instead of experienced. And then you officer-looking people teach them how to kill efficiently…”
“Mr. Walder, my skull must be as thick as a Rarkoo moose. I’m not seeing the problem you’re trying to get at. Replicants are fighting our battles, so we don’t have to. We should be grateful to them.”
“Grateful, huh?” Walder chuckled. “The clone or replicant you’re on your way to see, Dren Arvol, his eyes always have a different look to him.” He entered his passcode into the door of the replicant facility.
“Different, how?” She raised an eyebrow. “Shape? Color?”
“No, nothing easy like that. Like an intensity, you know? Before my current station as a VAT Technician, I was a prison guard. You could always tell the ones beyond saving by the distant look in their eyes. Same way you can tell the dangerous ones. Dren has both, dangerous eyes and ones beyond saving. It sends a shiver down my spine every time I have to look at him. I don’t want him to know this though. He’s liable to kill anyone at any time. I try not to spend too much time around that one. That’s my advice to you too, Captain.”
Did he just offer unsolicited advice to a commanding officer? She scoffed. “I see. Well, if you’re concerned about a clone uprising, I wouldn’t worry. Every replicant has a remote kill switch. We can take one out anywhere a Fleet comm frequency can reach.”
“Yeah, I know. Thank Hasha for that.” They stopped at Dren’s cloning pod. “This is him,” he pointed to the unconscious Dren floating inside the viscous green liquid.
“Wake him up,” Alyana commanded. “I would like to talk to him.”
“Nope.” Walder shook his head vehemently. “I have orders not to.”
“By who?” She jerked her head back. “Let me see those orders!”
“Clones can be marked as DNR — ‘Do Not Reshell’ — by any superior officer.” Walder flicked through several screens on his datapad and showed the contents to Alyana. “Dren was part of a batch of DNR’s listed by the Fleet Marshal’s office.”
“The Fleet Marshal’s office?” She furrowed her brow. “But I’m from the Fleet Marshal’s office. We definitely don’t deal with mundane details like replicant reshelling.”
“I’m just answering your question, Captain Harrows,” Walder said with a smug smile.
“Well, I’m giving you a direct order. Reshell this replicant.” Alyana bared her teeth. “Do it now!”
“Can’t, Captain.” Wadler’s smile grew.
“And why not?” Alyana crossed her arms.
“Paperwork and protocols. I wish I could help you, Captain.” He started to walk away.
“Where are you going?” Alyana yelled. “We’re not done here!”
“Helping you, Captain,” He said with his back turned. “I’m getting the filings for you to sign.”
I can see why Dren would want to kill the guy. Alyana took a deep breath to calm herself. “Dangerous and beyond saving, huh?” She leaned against Dren’s tube. “I used to know someone like that too.” Alyana smirked. “Sadly, the book is still unfinished with that one.” She rapped her fingers on the glass, hoping Dren would just wake on his own. “Reports said you wandered off by yourself in the middle of a firefight when you discovered the underground Voidi base. That’s a hell of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say?”
Dren twitched inside his tube.
Alyana hopped back. “Did you… Can you hear me?” She straightened her captain’s uniform. “So how did you find out about the base… Were you a coward that got lucky when you ran? Or did you know something the rest of us don’t?”
Dren’s bio-monitor beeped. He was showing signs of alpha and theta waves in his brain. “So you can hear me… There’s something different about you, Private. I wonder what that could be.”
She accessed the terminal next to Dren and pulled up his reshelling history. “There are anomalies in your repo files…” Alyana scrolled further down. “You have larger than average memory sets for a clone your age. Way larger… Almost two decades worth of memories. Is there a corruption in your repository?”
Alyana had seen this pattern before — when the mysteries started to add up around one individual. She no longer believed Dren ran away from his squad because he was a coward. He knew something; she was sure of it. The memory volume of a 20-year-old clone; the discovery of the hidden Voidi base; the secret orders to not reshell from her office without her knowledge — dots in the dark with their invisible connections. She returned to his dossier page an
d honed in on a particular data field.
Variant: Nemean
“That would explain things…” Alyana focused on Dren’s face. “I thought I recognized you!” Her eyes exploded open. “I didn’t think it was possible! But here you are…” She bit her thumb. “Nume was right. Some things are impossible to kill.”
13
An invisible force field separated Alyana from the newly acquired Fleet prisoner — a Chordan named, Samara, who adamantly insisted on adding her title, Voice of House Taumate, whenever she was introduced. Alyana stood centimeters from the force field with her arms crossed, her toes on her left foot tapping steadily against the ground, and her gaze fixed on the alien woman. Samara’s body language was the opposite; eyes away from Alyana, sitting motionless with straight shoulders.
If Samara was like an Entrent with telepathic abilities, she could read Alyana’s mind at that moment. Alyana had no idea how to guard against such talents. Meomi’s logs only mentioned Voices in brief; her interactions with them were limited. Could they talk to any creatures? Animals, too? Or just intelligent ones? What were the limits of their powers? How did she learn to communicate with humans?
Alyana knew the only way to get answers was to ask. Yet, 20 minutes later, she had not moved from her place in front of the force field. She knew the havoc an Entrent could cause if they trapped her under their spell. Meomi recounted in horrid detail how Roni confined her consciousness under several levels of illusions. The human mind had no natural immunity from lies other than reason and rationalism. There was no defense when both these pillars of truth were compromised.
The standoff couldn’t last forever. Alyana had other pressing concerns. She believed Fleet once again had traitors among the highest level of its command structure. A telepath would be a great ally to help weed out the treasonous roots.
Alyana’s face soured at the notion of more traitors within Fleet. She genuinely thought when the Mimic war ended, all Fleet traitors — Destiny’s Edge, The Strixs, and The Alliance of Faith — realized the folly of fighting against their own kind. When the Defiled surged through Anchors, they encountered a fractured, bickering group of individuals whose only interest was their own.
“Focus on the problem in front of you, Alyana.” Jonas used to say. Her lips curled upward. She missed the old Jonas. There had to be a reason the Voidi imprisoned her… The lilac-skinned girl with deep black eyes and long, mauve hair could well be a critical source of information. Or even a weapon.
Ensign Sanghvi entered the brig. “Captain Harrows.”
“What are you doing here, Ensign?” She shook her head. “I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed.”
“Sir, my apologies.” He kept his distance. “I wanted to see if you needed anything.”
“The prisoner has been isolated, correct? Has anyone other than the transport crew made contact with her?”
“No, sir. Only you and the aforementioned transport crew.”
“She hasn’t tried to make any demands?”
“None.”
Alyana nodded. “If that is all, I need you to leave me alone with the prisoner.” She wasn’t sure if Sanghvi could be fully trusted or if anyone could be.
“Sir,” The Ensign planted himself in place. “If I may, I have a question.”
“What?” She snapped.
“I was wondering what you intend to do with the prisoner?”
“Interrogate her…” Alyana frowned. “At some point.”
“But… But…” He stuttered. “Sir, we have interrogators that are trained for this.”
“That will be all, Ensign Sanghvi.” She dismissed him with a wave of the hand without facing him.
“Understood. Sorry to bother you, Captain.” He lingered but eventually left the brig.
There were no interrogators Alyana could trust. Even as humanity shrank to a tiny sliver of its former size, those who remained sought to maximize their own powers and influence. She recalled the last Leader’s Summit, a forum where Fleet and the various human faction leaders discussed military actions and ramifications. In the previous meeting, a Fleet admiral was knocked unconscious by a Destiny’s Edge general during a brawl. No one seemed to care about the human race, only that their constituents benefited from the rebuilding of human society more than others.
As Fleet Marshal, Jonas was required to attend. Something Alyana knew he hated. He no longer contributed anything meaningful to the assembly, often staring blankly into the crowd of bickering diplomats and officers. I should have seen the changes in him earlier. Maybe things would be different now…
Answers hid in the alien girl’s mind across her. Alyana was sure of it. She had to figure a way to talk to Samara without endangering herself. Her lips curved into a smile as an idea arrived.
“I’m Captain Alyana Harrows,” she slowly lowered herself into a chair across from the prisoner.
Samara narrowed her eyes at Alyana before speaking. “I am Samara, First Voice of…”
“First Voice of House Taumate,” Alyana interrupted to dominate the conversation. “Yes, you’ve mentioned that several times.” She shifted in her seat. “Samara — nice and pronounceable. I take it you can understand me?”
Samara nodded slightly.
“Are you able to read my thoughts right now?”
“I cannot.”
“Because of the glowy collar ‘round your neck?”
“A simplistic Voidi toy. Nothing more.”
“Good,” Alyana smirked. “Wouldn’t be fair if you could read my thoughts. I’m here on behalf of the Fleet Marshal Jonas Barick.”
Samara leaned forward upon hearing Jonas’ name.
Alyana picked up the interest. “Do you know that name? Do you know Jonas?”
“What are your intentions, Captain Alyana Harrows?” She pressed her lips together.
“With you? That depends on how helpful you can be.” Alyana shrugged.
“Humans.” Samara scoffed. “You are prone to subterfuge and dishonesty.”
“That implies you’ve met other humans before. Have you?”
Samara looked away.
“Hey, I’m not perfect,” Alyana sighed. “I’m sure if you ask around, loads of people will confirm that. But you haven’t even given me a chance yet.”
Samara glanced at the illuminated restraints on her wrists. With a wrinkle of her nose, the cuffs came off. The glow faded, transitioning to a dull, gray metal.
Alyana stayed calm, not breaking eye contact with her prisoner. Doing anything else would suggest fear. She did this even though her heart wanted to beat out of her chest from seeing the alien’s telekinetic abilities. And she said she was weak. Don’t want to see what full-strength looks like…
“You hide from me, why?” Samara sneered. The cuffs levitated off the table. With a slight flick of her chin, the cuffs crumpled into a ball of jagged metal and shot through Alyana’s head, slamming into the wall behind.
“That wasn’t very nice,” Alyana said.
“You have shown yourself a coward. You are not deserving of the honor of my trust.”
“You said you couldn’t use your abilities?” Alyana’s hologram rippled as she stood. “Trust is earned. Trust is mutual.” She sighed and turned her back to Samara. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. Your people attacked us first. Seems like if you want peace, you should make the first gesture.”
Samara exhaled deeply. “This Voidi trinket limits my abilities. Its effects are weakening, but I am not at full vigor. Your mind is clouded.” She sighed. “I do not seek to be enemies today. Ask your most pressing inquiries.”
“Most pressing inquiry?” Alyana rubbed her chin. “Why don’t we start with something simple. What’s a lovely lilac-looking girl like you doing in a subterranean Voidi prison? Aren’t they, your people?”
“The Voidi…” She hissed as she said their name. “They are not and never will be my people.”
“Clarify for me then,” Alyana sat back down. “Who are your
people and what’s their relationship to the Voidi?”
“The Voidi are less than worthy to be the dirt underneath our feet. They are nothing to Chorda. That you associate them with our greatness is a vast insult.”
“Geez, tell me how you really feel about them.” Alyana snickered.
“I am Chordan. Not all Chordas believe in the war against humans. Certainly not my Archon and not my House.”
“Archon? House? By house, do you mean your faction?”
Samara nodded. “There are 12 Chordan houses, each led by an Archon. In your language, the closest analogy would be a prince of a kingdom.”
“I see your societal structure hasn’t advanced past our medieval age. And what is your role in your house?”
“As a Voice, I speak for my Archon. I am his will, his desires executed.”
“Then why aren’t you with your Archon now?” Alyana creased her forehead.
She repeatedly swallowed before answering. “A story for another time.”
“Fine. Earlier you reacted strangely when I mentioned Fleet Marshal Jonas Barick. Why?”
“He is your leader, is he not? This Jonas Barick?”
“One of them,” Alyana nodded. “But you already knew that. I feel you know a lot about our Fleet Marshal.”
“I know of him. I know the tales.”
“What tales have you heard?” Alyana raised her eyebrows.
“You have yet to see the true faces of your enemies — your true nightmares.”
Alyana leaned back in her chair. She remembered Jonas mentioning masked faces and old evils — that there were, “more notes left to play,” in the symphony. This was immediately after the Battle of Final Hope, a long war that killed most of humanity. When the Defiled made their grand entrance, Alyana thought Jonas somehow had advance knowledge of the Defiled. But what if he was talking about something else… And how did he know what was coming? Too many missing pieces to the story…
“I sense your mind opening to new possibilities,” Samara said. “Perhaps, there is hope for you.”
