Dimension

by Shay Zana

  The interior of the station is stark white, though littered with hallways and illuminating blue consoles on nearly every wall, but despite the lucid environment, Lander’s dark eyes sweep the room with a flinching shadow. The headquarters is the main access to all servers on the station, all fragments of stored data at their fingertips, yet they were bested by automated processing.

  The room falls silent as everyone stares at Freeman, whose face burns a bright red again under the sudden scrutinization.

  "There was no choice," Chief Lander breathes out with a husk of a voice, closing his hacking program that he designed himself. Obviously it is not good enough to beat a Serenity guardian virus. "We're just gonna have to make do with what we managed to get, we couldn't risk that virus growing anymore and infecting the Marauding Exile."

  None of the technicians question Lander's decision, but some of them exchange sidelong glances. Rockland is not going to be pleased with their performance.

  "Freeman, George, and Torney, I need you three back to the ship. Scrub it, make sure this virus hasn't left us anymore surprises." The technicians acknowledge and quickly dart out of the room, beginning to make their way back to the warship.

  Lander watches them leave, an excuse to accumulate his thoughts, and now addresses everyone else in headquarters. "The Commander isn't going to like this, but at least we managed to get a little of the data. Have this decrypted and analysed immediately, I want to know what we've got, and the sooner we're off this planet, the better." With that and a load of heavy disappointment, Lander leaves the facility, heading back to the Exile to inform Rockland in person of what had just happened.

  The humid heat of Olympus batters his face the moment he sets foot outside, but the material of his UEU uniform keeps his core temperature cool, despite the heat-attracting blackness. Lander is a short and relatively solid man, with a constant rigid expression and a balding scalp. He walks with a slight limp, an injury he sustained a few weeks ago during a breakout fight on the Marauding Exile’s crew deck.

  Tensions had been running high on the ship since their close encounter with a minor effect of the disturbance of Scattered Planet, but instead of punishment for the crew's violent behaviour, Rockland had let the incident slide. Too much grief had already been cast on the crew, he had claimed.

  Lander respects Rockland greatly, but he also feels that the commander is too soft on his crew, and unwilling to make the necessary sacrifices if duty calls for it. He has been assigned to Rockland's crew for over a year now and has grown close to the man, but he knows where his true allegiances lie, and that is not with the Marauding Exile’s crew, his tech team, or even Commander Rockland, but with the Universal Eden Union.

  As his capsule glides to a landing beside the Spartan, the chief stumbles out of the vehicle and onto the carpet of broken jungle, grimacing as he spies an unattractive insect crawling along beside him. Kicking it away, he continues through the ship to the commander's private quarters.

  "Rockland?" he calls informally, banging his fist on the door. "We need to talk."

  A moment passes, and now the pitch black door is exchanged with the firm wrinkles of Rockland's face, staring at Lander expectantly. "Have you got what we need?"

  Shaking his head, Lander shrugs and stomps past Rockland, making himself comfortable inside his quarters. "Things didn't exactly go as we'd planned."

  Rockland turns and studies the man as he seats himself at the workstation. He looks disappointed, and this worries Rockland. Ignoring the chief’s lack of protocol toward his superior, Rockland follows him back inside and lets the door morph closed behind him, creating a subtle draft of air.

  "The damned tree-huggers had a counter-virus; as we expected," Lander begins, leaning forward in the chair and looking up at Rockland with grave eyes. "But I've never seen one like this. Hell, I've heard of ones like this, but never actually seen one for myself. They call them guardian virus', and they can hack into the invading network and wipe everything that has been downloaded, all while simultaneously uploading its custom virus that it designs specifically against the invading network. We worked fast, but I'm not sure of the total damage yet."

  Rockland's dark grey eyebrows lift in shock. "Are you telling me that the Exile has a virus in its systems?"

  "Maybe. I don't know yet. I've sent three of my best to sweep the systems."

  "Oh this is just perfect, Lander," Rockland mutters sarcastically, pacing a little. "What am I supposed to tell the admirals? We forgot our cyber condoms? For crying out loud!"

  “Now don't go and get your panties in a twist. Sure we got caught with our pants down, but we still managed to get some of their data. My analysts are working on it now. But what I’m curious about is why we didn’t encounter some sort of counter measure like this when we disabled the guardian station orbiting the planet. If we did find one then, then we would probably be dead right now regardless of how safe a distance we were from its heavy shard cannons. Who knows how advanced a virus like that could grow when invading a foreign network, it’s almost like an A.I more than a virus..." He trails off in thought.

  "You know, you’re not making me feel any better. You better hope that data has what we need, Lander."

  "It will, don't worry."

  "How can you know that?"

  Lander cracks a wide smile. "Because if it doesn't, then we're screwed!"

  Not put at ease by Lander's humour, Rockland crosses his arms over his chest and silently shakes his head. This entire mission has been backfiring on them from the moment they set out. First they were almost destroyed by a planet mysteriously knocked off its orbit as they entered the Messiah System, then five SSP’s carrying potential Paragons land nearby, and now his ship may be infected. He wants to be off this planet and out of the Messiah System right now, but without that data, this whole mission would have been for nothing.

  All the deaths of his crew in vain.

  Lander can see Rockland's concern and the visible stress in his features. "What are you going to tell the brass?" he asks, his humour now vanishing with a sense of fleeting worry flashing over him.

  "The truth," Rockland answers.

  "Rockland, c’mon. I'd lose a shitload of respect, and I wouldn't be surprised if they slapped a demotion in my face. Why not just tell them we were attacked, make it look as though we were lucky to get any intel at all. We may even get promotions instead of demotions."

  The commander looks to Lander steadily, not surprised to hear this suggestion from the shady technician. "We may still get attacked. Get what we need, fast. I want my ship off this planet."

  Lander is aware that Rockland is trying to brush him off, so he stands his ground, giving the commander a steady stare right back in return. "Attacked by what, Commander?"

  “Paragons.”

  "Why would Serenity send Paragons to protect a cache of data? Is there something you're not telling us, Rockland?"

  Rockland gives no reply, he just paces away from the pressing man, facing the wall of his quarters absently, burying a sigh.

  "Well?" comes Lander's impatience.

  "We identified five SSP's a few kilometres from our position. I sent Morrison and a fireteam to check it out last night. They haven't found anything yet."

  Lander now stands from the commander's workstation, approaching the man curiously. "And she's expecting Paragons?"

  "She's expecting anything, you know Morrison."

  Lander smirks. "Yeah, she'll be wanting a bit of action, especially after what she did to my leg a few weeks ago," he glances down at his right leg, feeling the torn ligament ache as he subtly puts pressure on it. “Bitch is crazy, but I don’t really blame her after losing her bro to that distortion.”

  Rockland shoots Lander a cautious glare, warning him to stow his attitude, but Lander counters it by saying, “are you sure she was the best choice? She hasn’t been right in the head, Rockland, not since the event. Everyone’s noticed it.”

  That very issue has been c
hewing on Rockland since he sent her out into the wild, but he had no other choice. She was the only qualified officer left of the crew. All the other candidates had perished in the distortion event. “She assured me of her mental state,” is all he can conjure to justify his decision.

  Lander only gains an unsure distance in his eyes. “But up against Paragons?”

  Rockland eventually drops his stoic facade and shakes his head, though barely focusing on Lander. “This could turn into a real shit-storm, Lander. Paragons don’t mess around.”

  “I hear they’re not even human anymore. Just machines bred for war. People who’ve tangled with one and managed to live say they don’t feel pain, emotional or physical.”

  “They don’t show mercy, either,” Rockland mumbles more to himself.

  “You ever seen one with your own eyes, Jaron?” Silence is all Lander receives, one that drifts through the room coldly and tells him that this is an issue he should not press further. “I know I wouldn’t want to,” he deflects tactfully.

  Turning to face Lander again, Rockland finally releases that sigh. "So now you know the stakes. Keep this to yourself, and get your people working quickly.”

  With a nod, Lander gives his commander a quick informal salute. “Got it, boss. Paragons don’t mess about, and neither do I,” he chants as he disappears out of the room again, giving Rockland a firm pat on the shoulder as he passes him.

  Jaron Rockland waits for the door to seal shut again before burying himself in his mission report, dreading it with every keystroke.

  WELCOME TO THE JUNGLE

  In the very depths, in the very abyssal of space, I feel it. Lurking closer, shattering in the lingering shadows. Magnetic fields rupture and fall, planet cores freeze or explode, and stars shift or implode.

  Stars birthed within gods, distorting the code of nature. Grotesque flesh of the creators writhing against the grinding metal of the created. Which shall be our demise?

  A large boulder now blocks their path, made of some sort of compacted sandy grit. Natheus runs his gloved hand over the strange sandy rock, examining it inquisitively as it crumbles under his touch. "Curious," he says aloud, a soft frown on his face.

  "What is it?" Boone asks behind him.

  "Unsure. It's not igneous, sedimentary or metamorphic. Perhaps it's not rock at all."

  "Then what else could it be? A giant ikamanu turd?"

  Natheus just glances back at Boone questioningly, unable to grasp his concept of humour.

  “Alright, you two, stop messing about,” comes the inevitable scold from Mazayus. “We’ve found a way through here.”

  Once the team find a way around the strange boulder, they continue west, enjoying the light on their bare faces once more. They have entered a less dense part of the jungle, where the light is no longer blocked and the fresh air is free to flow around them. With the new day brings renewal, and the team feel slightly more refreshed after their short rest.

  Mazayus is now leading the way, his dual handguns drawn and hanging loosely at his sides. He has grown more wary now since Kitera's warning, and because of his heightened tension, the other Paragons automatically respond with equal tension, sensing this in their leader. They each have their primary weapons drawn, except Boone, who is casually gripping his Phoenix and letting his entity meld with it effortlessly, the symbols along the weapon undulating in a bright red.

  Boone’s primary weapon is a Genesis, a multipurpose heavy weapon, and not suitable for lengthy jungle-walks. The Genesis is capable of loading with one of every heavy shard element, and can morph itself to accommodate for each selected shard. Its classification is not set on one heavy weapon variant, hence the unique name of Genesis. The weapon can be operated as a mini-nuke, a missile launcher, a portable machine turret, a flamethrower, or an electromagnetic arc projector. When fully morphed, the Genesis is the length of just under one metre, and because of the size and weight, it is mostly used by Paragons, or soldiers with the physique to wield it. As his Genesis is slung on his back, it is morphed down to an acceptable size, allowing Boone to move with ease with balanced weight.

  Now that the jungle is more sparse and arid, they are able to move with more efficient haste. They cross more streams and wade through shallow lagoons, making sure to keep at a steady pace despite the beauty around them. Insects and small curious birds flutter in their darting motions, while tree-bound mammals climb and swing from great heights above, fluid and agile. They seldom speak, trying to keep as silent as possible for a better chance to keep from UEU detection.

  Kitera seems to appear out of touch with reality, walking aimlessly, her face blank and expressionless, her eyes dull and distant. Mazayus notices this more frequently than the other Paragons, but unlike them, he knows what is on her mind. Whenever he turns back to check that she is still behind him, her eyes do not even meet his, and it is like she does not even notice him.

  She wanders as if in a trance, her fingertips deftly gliding over the tall blue grass as she passes, touching the leaves around her gently and taking in everything she can. She feels the energy of the jungle around her, the collective existence of every living thing, all soaking through her soul. She cannot help but dwell on this, the fact that all of this will be gone soon, all of Olympus, gone. An entire world, so much like their beloved Earth, with its vast ecosystems and exotic lifeforms. The planet keeps its own memories locked away beneath layers of rock and dust, bones dormant, making way for new chapters of evolution. History and ancestry and unique genetics. Why must nature be so cruel? Why must it reign with beautiful domination and then fall with heinous destruction?

  She feels her eyes burning in anger and pressure climbing in her chest, but she fights to keep her emotions hidden, just focusing on the energy of nature to bury herself in, hiding in its embrace, savouring the last of it. So much like her home.

  A towering body bars her way. Knocked out of her depressive trance, Kitera looks up to see Mazayus has frozen, his body erect and his fist raised and closed in a halting hand signal. Immediately, the other Paragons freeze too and their eyes search through the blueness before them, straining to see or hear anything.

  Kitera refrains from even breathing, her eyes darting, but she cannot see or hear anything. What do their enhanced predatory senses detect out there?

  At once, as if they have been given a sudden command, all four of the Paragons duck down to a swift kneel, and the Cipher is scuttled back down the line and behind them all, instructed with eye and hand motions to stay down and quiet.

  A tense moment passes when nobody moves a muscle, poised, scanning, an anxious swallow fracturing the lull. With silent understanding, the Paragons morph their armour simultaneously in a chain of rupturing stutters, the electronic notes causing the native life to scatter. The vitasuits generate thick nikita armour plating on almost every portion of their bodies, covering and protecting vital organs and muscle. The nikita is pulled from various segments of the vitasuits, such as stored areas around the weapon holsters on their backs, arms and legs, and portions of compartments and utilities.

  Once the plating is fully morphed, another area of nikita at the backs of their necks morphs to form helmets, complete with transparent ikamanu skin serving as fully reflective visors, just like the windows of Altair’s observation rooms. The close fitting and sleek helmets seal over their heads perfectly, providing air ventilation and purification for protection against shards or explosions. The visors are melded with each Paragon's entity, displaying and alternating in a hazy effect between shades of reds and golds, like nebulous gas vying for dominance.

  The morphing combat suits sound like techno moans, and give the already-mighty Paragons an even more daunting appearance, clad in sturdy armour and wielding their power with honour. To the Cipher, the sight of her Paragons fully clad is breathtaking, their powerful forms now reinforced in their magnificent individual designs. Serenity civilian life has somewhat glorified the iconic armoured vitasuits of the Paragons, througho
ut cybergrid shows and movies, but to see them in person, right before her eyes, Kitera feels belittled and frail. How long has it been since she last saw them in their armour? If ever? Watching them operate in the cybergrid is just like watching the shows and movies. Not the same impact.

  She watches in admiration as they seem to move as one and creep forward through the jungle, spreading out widely in a flanking circle. She keeps low amongst the grass, her eyes pinned on them, though barely able to see them now. She has no idea what they have seen or heard, but she knows they are communicating with telepathy, a recent technological breakthrough in Paragon training, using an advanced combination of their neural-roots, their entities, and rigorous mental training.

  Telepathy is usually used amongst large groups of Paragons who are working together in hunting parties, as it is obviously more efficient than hand signals or speaking. Once again, the ikamanu inspired the use of telepathy with entities, but still, Paragons are not powerful enough to be as efficient. The human mind is simply not designed to accommodate for the demanding neural activity, so the use of a datakey is crucial to help channel the brain activity.

  Soon, the Paragons vanish from sight, and Kitera suddenly feels alone and vulnerable, and she hates her importance and need for safety, hiding in the grass like a coward. But despite her vulnerability, she trusts the Paragons implicitly, and is confident in their ability to handle whatever dangers they sense.

  The jungle falls completely silent for what seems like an eternity. The footsteps of the Paragons have gone out of earshot, the wild animals and insects have disappeared, and even the wind has ceased rustling the foliage.

  Kitera lies flat in the blue grass, her white robes splayed, her bright eyes scanning desperately, and a small bead of sweat dripping from her forehead. She can feel it dribble down the centre of her nose, tickling, and now drop from the tip. She watches it as if in slow motion, fearful for any sound it may make and the prying genetically enhanced hearing that could pick such a sound up. It lands on the back of her hand... and as it lands, the sudden sound of gunfire vibrates through the jungle. First a suppressed burst, now loud and clanging fire joins afterwards, followed by disorganised and alarmed yelling.