by James Walker
He recoiled in surprise and stammered, “Um, your restraints—”
“It's you,” she exclaimed. “The one whose voice kept calling out to me in the darkness. You're Vic Shown.”
“Yeah, I am,” Vic said, “but how do you know my name?”
“Because you told me.”
“Did I?” Vic replied in confusion. “Well, setting that aside. Somehow, you know my name, but I don't know yours.”
“You don't?” The girl looked confused. “I'm Experimental Subj—I mean, I'm Astral.”
“Astral,” Vic repeated. “It's good to finally meet you in person. There are a lot of things I want to know about you.”
Astral tilted her head, causing her wavy silver hair to spill down over the arm of the seat. “Like what?”
“Like...” Vic thought about it. “I kept hearing your voice, all that time you were in the Cage. Why were you calling out to me?”
“I was calling out to everybody.”
Vic frowned. “Then why does it seem like I'm the only one who heard you?”
“Because you were the only one who was listening.”
Although Vic did not fully understand what she meant, something in her words filled him with sorrow. “I have another question. Twice, you looked at me with your third eye, and it nearly incapacitated me. It felt like something was trying to take over my mind. It was awful. What was that?”
“It felt like that?” Astral said in distress. “I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to hurt you. It's just that I was alone in that dark place for so long. I was so happy when someone finally heard me that I wanted to see more of you, with all of my eyes.”
Vic felt a stab of sympathy for Astral. How long had she been locked up in that container? What would become of her now that she had fallen into the P.S.A.'s hands? If not for the poison that kept him dependent on his captors for survival, he would have been tempted to escape with her at the first opportunity.
“So your third eye,” he said. “It lets you see into people's minds? Communicate telepathically?”
“Umm.” Astral considered this. “Kind of.”
“What about now?” Vic asked. “Can you see into my mind right now?”
Astral shook her head. “No. I can't hear the Voice right now.”
“What 'Voice'?”
“That's what my third eye does,” she explained. “It lets me hear the Voice. Sometimes, when I can hear it most clearly, it enters my mind and speaks through me. When that happens, we're so close that it's hard to tell apart its consciousness from mine. But the Voice is very muted on this world. I can't hear it at all right now.”
Vic's mind raced to process this information. “What is this Voice?” he asked.
“I don't know,” Astral said. “The people who created me didn't include that information in my knowledge base. I think they had an idea what it is, though.”
“I see.” Vic could not entirely conceal the disappointment in his voice.
Astral's gaze fell. “I'm sorry.”
“No, it's all right,” Vic said. “It's not your fault. Thank you for telling me all this. I've wanted to know you ever since you first called out to me, but I couldn't tell anything about you, since I don't have a third eye.”
“Do you think it's weird?” Astral asked. “That I have three eyes?”
“No,” Vic answered. “It's a unique gift. I bet a lot of people would be jealous.”
“Do you think so?” Astral's expression grew introspective. “But some of the things I can see through it frighten me.”
“Frighten you?” Vic repeated. “What kinds of things?”
“Darkness everywhere,” Astral said. “Darkness and emptiness. But there's another darkness, much greater than all the others. I can feel it when the Voice is at its clearest.”
Vic considered this. “A couple of times, when you appeared in my mind,” he said, “I saw other things as well. Creatures. Monsters. Does that have anything to do with the darkness you're talking about?”
Astral nodded. “It tried to use our connection to seep into you. But I stopped it. I didn't want you to be infested by that darkness.”
An involuntary shudder passed through Vic. “I suppose you don't know much about this darkness either?”
“No,” Astral said. “I don't want to know about it.”
Before Vic could say anything more, they emerged from the shadows of the forest onto the northern bank of the Goldenenfluss. The transports waited near the shore with their ramps hanging open. Their hulls gleamed in the morning light of the distant sun and the cerulean face of Saris, the amoral god's visage floating huge among the clouds.
The forces boarded the transports and stowed their equipment. Vic disembarked from his exosuit and helped Astral climb gingerly down. He turned around and found himself facing the handsome but jaded countenance of Ridley.
“I see she's woken up,” Ridley observed.
Vic put an arm around Astral's shoulder and drew her close to him. “What are you planning to do with her?” he demanded.
“That's not your concern,” Ridley replied. “We won't hurt her, I can assure you of that.”
Suspicion clouded Vic's face. “Why should I believe you?”
“I give you my word of honor.” Ridley held out one hand. “Now hand her over. That's not a request.”
Vic knew resistance was pointless. Ridley could order him killed at any time. Reluctantly, he released Astral into Ridley's custody.
“A pretty little thing,” Ridley remarked. “As delicate as a glass flower. That third eye is like a jewel on her brow. Do you have a name, young lady?”
She said quietly, “Astral.”
“Come with me, Astral,” Ridley said. “I'll take care of you until we're back at Qilin Palace.”
Astral looked over her shoulder at Vic. “I want to stay with him.”
“It's all right,” Vic assured her. “The next time you hear the Voice, call out to me again. I'll be listening for you.”
Ridley gave Vic an inquiring stare. “What does that mean?”
“That's not your concern,” Vic replied.
Ridley paused, then answered, “Fair enough.”
Vic watched Ridley lead Astral out of the hangar, barely restraining himself from rushing after them. At the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, he turned and saw Tinubu heading toward him. Tinubu's exosuit sat behind him, missing one arm, its armor pocked with burns and holes. A pall of despair lay over the exosuit captain.
“Captain,” Vic said. “I'm glad to see you made it out alive.”
“Likewise, Corporal,” Tinubu replied, his voice dead. “But not all of us were so lucky.”
Vic's throat tightened. “Who did we lose?”
“Don't have a complete casualty count,” Tinubu said. “But we lost one of the best men the rebellion ever had. General Childers.”
“General Childers?” Vic exclaimed. “He's dead?”
Tinubu nodded. “They assigned him to the infantry. A Ghost showed up and started tearing our unit apart. A piece of debris from my exosuit flew through the general's squad and cut him in half.”
“I'm sorry, Captain,” Vic said. “He wasn't just your C.O., but also your friend, wasn't he?”
“It's not just that,” Tinubu said. “General Childers was the hope for the rebellion's future. Now that he's gone, General Demir will take command, and that man...” His expression darkened. “Well, perhaps the best way to put it is that the difference between his methods and the Union's is one of degree, not kind.”
“OK, that's enough yammering out of you.” A P.S.A. agent prodded Vic and Tinubu to join the rest of the rebels leaving the hangar. As he followed his comrades back to his cabin, Vic mentally railed against his own powerlessness. His friends and allies in SLIC were being hurt and killed all around him, and he could do nothing. He had finally met Astral only to have her pried away from him, and he could do nothing. He saw no hope of escaping this nightmare world where cruelty and madn
ess reigned and kindness was but a fleeting illusion.
“Please, Astral, call to me again,” he whispered. “Tell me how I can save you.”
*
Falsrain stood in the middle of the base with his head hanging low, drenched to the bone. Gradually, the rain slowed to a drizzle, then golden shafts of dawn light spilled through the thinning clouds and a double rainbow appeared in the sky. But Falsrain, blinded by despair, saw none of it.
“Why?” he whispered. “Why did you reject me? What is it that I'm lacking?”
In response to his question, his comm crackled and the C.I.C. operator's voice announced, “The unidentified enemy force is retreating. They have left behind snipers in the forest to cover their retreat. Initial attempt at pursuit suffered heavy casualties. Withdraw to the base and do not pursue. Repeat, do not pursue.”
Seconds after the transmission terminated, Koga's voice came through the comm. “Commodore. Commodore Falsrain, are you there? Please respond.”
Falsrain said nothing for a long time. However, Koga's insistent voice continued calling for him. Finally, in irritation, Falsrain pulled his comm off his belt and answered.
“Yes?” he snapped. “What is it?”
“So you are there,” Koga said. “I didn't see the dropship leave, so I thought you must still be on the base. What happened?”
“The dropship was sabotaged,” Falsrain replied. “The attackers got to it first.”
“Are you all right?” Koga asked. “What about the subject?”
“The enemy has it,” Falsrain replied through gritted teeth.
“They what?” Koga exclaimed. “We have to get it back. Commodore, you're the ranking officer on this base. You can override the withdrawal order, tell them to pursue—”
“Forget it,” Falsrain said. “There's no point.”
“Sir?” Koga sounded incredulous. “But we had top-priority orders—”
“The subject was defective,” Falsrain said. “There's no point bringing it back to headquarters.”
“Defective?” Koga repeated. “What do you mean?”
“I'm declaring our mission complete,” Falsrain said. “Relay a message to the Onyx Down telling them to send more dropships to pick us up.”
“But—”
“That's an order.”
Falsrain terminated the transmission and returned the comm to his belt. That idiot Koga, acting as though their mission carried even the slightest bit of importance. The mission did not matter. Nothing mattered. If the Xenowave refused to acknowledge him, then there would be no escaping this pointless existence. Everything was over.
Unless—wait. Falsrain reached into his pocket and pulled out Astral's tissue samples that he had confiscated from the medical laboratory. As he stared at the small containers with their hand-scrawled labels, “Subj. 778,” he felt a flicker of hope.
Perhaps there yet remained one last chance.
42
The three ships of the transport flotilla sailed down the wide, gentle waters of the Goldenenfluss, their progress aided by a lazy current. Verdant forest carpeted both banks while rocky hills rose in the distance to either side. A flock of wispy birds glided through the air on a branch-rustling breeze, emitting lonely cries.
The stillness was broken by a metallic thump as something bumped against the hull of the lead transport. A moment later, a ball of fire erupted from the water, tearing a hole in the bow of the ship. Water flooded through the breach, dragging the vessel down; before long, it hit bottom and ground to a halt after sinking a mere two meters. As the second ship drew even with the first, another explosion erupted from its bow and it suffered the same fate as its companion, digging its bow into the riverbed and then leveling out as water flooded the lower compartment. The third and final vessel turned wide and ran its screws at full astern to slow down, then dropped its anchor, coming to a halt behind its fellows.
*
Astral ran to the windows at the front of the bridge and peered out over the deck. She looked over her shoulder at the bridge personnel and demanded, “What happened? Why did we stop?”
Ridley turned to the captain, an aging man with clean-cut, graying hair and deep furrows on his face. “Any chance of getting her moving again?”
“That must have been a powerful explosive from how fast we went down,” the captain replied. “If we can patch the hull and pump the water out we may be able to get her afloat, but that must be one hell of a hole. Even if we do get her moving again, who knows how many more of those mines there are? We'd probably plow into another one and sink all over again.”
“Damn.” Ridley's mind raced. Who had planted the mines? Could Spacy have gotten ahead of them that quickly? Or was it another SLIC cell? The latter seemed more likely, in which case he might be able to use the rebel prisoners as a bargaining chip. But if it was Spacy, the most critical thing would be to avoid exposing their identity as a P.S.A. force, and holding the rebels hostage would be a dead giveaway. Either way, they were sitting ducks as long as they remained on the water.
“I guess we don't have much choice but to put ashore and continue on foot,” he said.
“And what if enemies are waiting in the trees to ambush us?” the captain replied.
“Good point.” Ridley grabbed the receiver for the intercom and announced, “Now hear this, now hear this. Ships one and two have struck mines and been disabled. All prisoners are to be locked in their cabins and kept under guard. All security personnel, take up positions on deck and man the guns. We'll light up the banks to soften up any enemy forces that might be hiding in preparation for putting ashore.”
He flicked off the intercom and glared at Astral, who was flitting about in front of the windows. “Astral, get away from there,” he ordered. “It's dangerous, and you're disturbing the crew.”
“But it's boring,” she objected. “There's nothing to do up here.”
Ridley let out an exasperated sigh. He walked up to Astral, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her over to the captain.
“Captain, could you lock her in your cabin?” he asked. “We need her out of our hair until we're ready to put ashore.”
“What am I now, a babysitter?” the captain snapped.
“Just do it.” Ridley pushed Astral into the captain's arms.
While the grumbling captain escorted Astral off the bridge, Ridley approached the windows and looked down over the deck, watching as security agents emerged from the ship's bowels and began taking up defensive positions. No sooner did one of the agents man the port deck gun and begin swiveling it toward the bank when his head erupted in a fountain of blood and his body flew back, followed an instant later by the echoing crack of a high-powered rifle. Then the entire northern shore erupted with the staccato of automatic gunfire, spraying the deck with bullets. The security agents dove for cover and began firing randomly at the trees.
Ridley staggered back as a burst of gunfire struck the bridge, shattering the windows. He dropped to a crouch and let out a string of curses. Of all the miserable luck, to be ambushed here when he was so close to returning triumphantly with Tango!
*
Guntar sat at the top of the ridge where the rebels had taken up position for their ambush, shielded by several rows of sandbags that they had transported from one of the Greenwings' secret caches. They had also brought along an arsenal of weapons and a score of Greenwings agents who had escaped capture. Scattered along the ridge, the rebels raked the disabled vessels with fire from their automatic rifles, hiding behind sandbags, large trees, and mounds of earth they had dug up for cover. Next to Guntar sat Cena, manning a gigantic sniper rifle planted on a bipod. She took aim at the next P.S.A. agent to man one of the deck guns and dropped him with another head shot. The shock wave from the weapon's discharge washed over Guntar.
“Alpha mike foxtrot, you pizza bastards,” Cena shouted as she pulled back the bolt on her rifle, causing a smoking cartridge to fly out of the chamber and clatter across the stony ground.
“Payback's a bitch, ain't it?”
A few meters further down the ridge, Eliot exclaimed, “I'm amazed you can take that recoil considering you were missing a big piece of your torso just a couple days ago. Wish they'd have put me in one of those regen tanks. All I've got is a few broken ribs and I'm still not recovered.”
“You want to get impaled with a three-meter molecular cutter?” Cena took aim, fired another deafening shot, and ejected the spent cartridge. “I'll trade you anytime.”
“Uh, no, I'll pass.”
“I thought so.”
Guntar raised a set of binoculars to his eyes, found a gap in the foliage, and activated the binoculars' zoom feature until he had a clear view of the lead transport. Bodies of P.S.A. agents littered the deck. Those that remained were hiding behind cover, pointing their weapons around corners and firing blindly rather than risk exposing themselves to the withering barrage. One foolhardy agent rose from behind cover and began taking careful aim when another deafening crack roared next to Guntar and the agent's head burst into fleshy jelly.
Guntar whistled. “Hot damn. That is some fine shooting, Sergeant.”
“Thank you, sir.” Cena pulled the bolt back and another smoking cartridge clattered across the stones at Guntar's feet.
Guntar lowered the binoculars and spoke into his comm. “All right, boys, we've got 'em pinned down good. Squad one, continue firing on the boats. Squads two through four, it's time to commence underwater infiltration.”
“Roger that.” Cena set her rifle aside, pulled a rebreather over her face, and patted a pair of automatic pistols on her belt. “Let's rock.”
Guntar and Cena led three squads of rebels, their faces hidden behind rebreathers, swiftly through the trees until they were well behind the P.S.A. flotilla. Once in position, Guntar's squad emerged from the forest and waded into the river until the water was over their waists, then they dove in while the next group followed them into the water. Once submerged, they made a beeline for the rear transport, the only one still afloat, swimming less than a meter above the riverbed.
