Shattered Dawn (The Eternal Frontier Book 3)

by Anthony J Melchiorri

  Maybe this was how they had created the Drone-Mechs.

  There was no telling what the Collectors had planned for him. Would he end up in a suspension chamber, just another anonymous soul preserved like a specimen in a jar? Or worse, would he be turned into a mindless soldier for the enemy?

  You won’t take me, Tag thought. He tried to think of a way to prevent the nanomachines from overtaking him like a swarm of parasites. There must be a way. He would rather die than become a tool for the Collectors.

  He wondered if this is what the Mechanics had felt when the nanites crept into their brains. How many of them had tried to fight it, tried to fend off the psychological changes commanding them to betray their own race? Had they felt the horror of losing control?

  Maybe they were prisoners, just as he was now. Maybe there was still a conscience trapped beneath the nanites controlling the Drone-Mechs. The thought of being forced to kill his friends, his family, his people—it was too much to bear.

  No, Tag thought, I won’t let that happen to me. I won’t.

  If he had a chance to fight back against the nanites, he would take it no matter what.

  And if he could not win that fight, he’d die before becoming one with them.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Tag was falling. He tried to put an arm out to brace himself, but his body wouldn’t move. His muscles were as useless as his non-existent voice. He slammed into the hard deck, and the impact sent a bright pain through his side, radiating from the rib he feared was broken. He couldn’t do anything but wait for his suit to kick in with fresh painkillers.

  Then something else was thrown to the floor beside him. Sofia.

  She lay on her side, unmoving, her brown eyes wide. Dried blood crusted around her nostrils. She didn’t blink. Just stared straight back at him with a look that wasn’t accusatory or damning or even angry.

  It was just sad.

  A single tear rolled from the corner of her eye as more bodies hit the floor next to them. Black shadows skirted around Tag’s periphery. He couldn’t turn his head to confirm it, but he had no doubt those were the golems. He hoped the thumps of other things smacking the deck signaled that the others had been spared death like him.

  Still alive, Tag marveled.

  His mind whirled back to when they had first encountered the golems. Their intentions had been clear—to kill, not to capture.

  What had changed?

  The mere fact that something had changed its mind, had decided to keep them alive, gave Tag reason to hope. There must be someone he could bargain with. If he could just talk to one of the Collectors, there was a chance, however slim, he could convince them to let him and his people go.

  The last of the bodies was tossed to the floor, and the sound of heavy footsteps faded as the golems left them. For far too long, the only other sounds Tag heard were the rasping of his own breath and the pounding of his pulse within his eardrums. He wondered if the nanites had control over those involuntary physiological functions. Could they stop his heart or cease his lungs without warning?

  He continued to stare at Sofia, unable to avert his gaze even if he had wanted to, and she stared back. In a strange way, it was as if they were sharing in their mutual feeling of utter isolation.

  Then he heard a new sound. Like heavy boots plodding against the deck. A thicker, richer sound than the mechanical smack of the golems’ footsteps. Without warning, his body was lifted from the ground.

  No, not lifted.

  Rather his body stood on its own, without any input from him. Then he began marching to a massive viewscreen. All the stars of space shone across the void. Some were painfully bright, glaring at him. Others were wrapped in curtains of color, dust illuminated in the distant swirl of another galaxy. And at the center of the screen floated the planet they had just left.

  Tag hadn’t expected to see it again. Large and round, a ball of dirt and rock undergoing an autonomous terraforming procedure that would forever change the face of the lifeless sphere.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice said from behind them.

  Whoever it was had spoken his language. It had a strange accent, nothing like any SRE world he had ever heard, but it was nonetheless Sol Standard. There was also something else odd about the voice. It contained a rich array of sounds, like a whole chorus ranging from sopranos to basses, delivering the words in perfect unison.

  “Everything is ready to be molded,” the voice said. “Like a block of clay waiting for a sculptor. Brand-new opportunities. Nothing to stand in the way of achievement but the desire for perfection itself. I relish these moments.”

  Tag tried to ask, Who are you? Other questions—what do you want, what are you doing to us, why are you doing this—clamored in his mind.

  The words died in his throat.

  He wanted to turn and see who it was that had taken him and the others prisoner. But he was still just as paralyzed as before, functioning as nothing more than a puppet with invisible strings. His eyes remained fixed on the planet.

  “This world is one of many,” the voice said. “It is the future. Our future.”

  More footsteps, like someone was pacing behind Tag.

  “Everything we have is built on the backs of planets like these. Each one is a chance to reclaim what is rightfully ours. We deserve to live.”

  So did everyone you’ve killed, you bastard, Tag thought.

  “We deserve a chance at life.” There was a sigh. “But others would prevent us that. Even our own people would try to regulate our progress under the guise of false prophets like morals and ethics. Now we stand victorious. The gods have granted us an opportunity unlike any other.”

  The voice paused, his words still resonating in Tag’s mind.

  “We have a chance to become gods.” Another pause. “Is that something you would pass up?”

  Tag wanted to yell at this thing to quit its proselytizing and face him, to explain itself without being obstinately vague. Then a hand slammed on Tag’s shoulder. Long gloved fingers wrapped around it, squeezing slightly.

  “I was surprised to see a Sape here. It must have been a long, messy trail to reach this point, and I’m sure now you are wondering why you and your little band of unevolved misfits are still alive.” The fingers tightened around Tag’s shoulder. He wanted to wince, but the nanomachines wouldn’t even allow him that much movement. “You impressed me. I hate to admit it, but a Sape like you deserves an opportunity.”

  The fingers released Tag’s shoulders, and the multi-octave, harmonious voice continued, “I have met other Sapes. Surely you noticed the ships when you arrived here. Those Sapes were easily manipulated, won over by promises of money and greatness.” The voice laughed. It was a disharmonious sound, full of piercing high-pitched notes that clashed sharply with lower, grating pitches. “You are something else. You are driven by another desire, and I haven’t quite figured out what exactly that is.”

  Tag felt the thing lean over his shoulder, its body bent low so its cheek was practically touching his. From the fringes of his vision, he saw only a glimpse of the cerulean flesh of the creature’s face. This must be a Collector, just like the ones reported in the Mechanics’ ship’s log at the Hope station.

  “You’re a failure,” the thing said. “A failed officer of the bridge. You were offered another chance to succeed as a scientist and medical officer. But you failed to save your crew when the things you call Drone-Mechs attacked your ship. You failed to save the Montenegro fleet from almost complete destruction.” That grating laughter, again. “The ship was limping when you got there. How many died because you couldn’t be there sooner? You failed to save the Forinth on Eta-Five, you failed to prevent the deaths of so many Mechanics who sacrificed their lives when you promised to get their planet back.

  “And how long will they hold that planet? Was the sacrifice worth it? They’ll die now anyway, and we will take back what was ours.”

  The Collector took a step backward and yanked of
f Tag’s helmet. Hot air rushed in around him, smelling at once sweet and putrid, like flowers stabbing up through a garbage dump.

  “Now you have failed to stop us. Failed to warn the rest of the Sapes still shoving their way around the stars like toddlers. Everything that happens next is, in a way, your fault. How does that make you feel?”

  The Collector’s words fell harshly on Tag’s ears like a rain of pelting rocks, battering his mind.

  No, Tag thought. I haven’t failed. We still saved the Montenegro. We still saved Meck’ara. We still found the Hope. And we found you.

  He vowed not to let the Collector control his emotions as it did his body. Slowly his body began to turn, his muscles involuntarily swiveling him away from the viewscreen. His eyes remained fixed ahead, unable to look away as the Collector at last moved into his field of vision.

  And then, despite his promise, Tag lost control of himself. Although he could not make a sound, inside he was screaming with mind-shattering horror.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  The Collector towered over him, skinny as a Mechanic, but corded with muscles that pressed against the thin suit covering its body. It stared down at Tag with three eyes. Two mirrored Tag’s own, with another in the center of the Collector’s wide forehead. Its jawline was striking and square, like a champion Turbo player, but covered in blue flesh.

  And yet, even though the Collector was most decidedly not a human like him, it was human.

  “I can only imagine the expression that would be on your face,” the Collector said, “if you weren’t pumped full of nanites controlling your body.”

  The Collector put a five-fingered hand over where Tag presumed its heart was. “Welcome to the Dawn of Glory. I am Ezekiel.” It jabbed Tag’s chest with a long finger. “My grandfather was a Sape like you. And in three generations, look at what we have accomplished!”

  Ezekiel paused as if he expected a response from Tag. Then he snapped his fingers.

  “There,” Ezekiel said. “That should be better.”

  Tag’s eyes went wild, searching for what had changed until he realized it was him. “Wha...wha...how are the others?”

  He tried to walk, but his body locked up. His eyes were free to rove the vast room. There was a chair in the center, large enough to be a throne. Before it stood a single terminal with a holoscreen—the only gods-damned computer Tag had seen in the vast Dawn of Glory. Behind it lay the bodies of his crew alongside the Melarrey and the Mechanics. He couldn’t tell if they were still breathing.

  “They’re crawling with nanites, of course,” Ezekiel said, “but they’re alive. Even that abomination of yours—the one you call Alpha—is functional.”

  Tag spotted her silver form. Her chest plate lay open as though Ezekiel had been toying around with her insides.

  “Did you do something to her?” he asked.

  “She’ll be fine. They’ll all be just fine.”

  Tag opened his mouth to speak again, but Ezekiel cut him off with a snap.

  “So very impatient,” Ezekiel said, “just like all the other Sapes.” Ezekiel motioned to the planet, then to the interior of the Dawn. “But before you go rattling off a dozen questions, let me explain a few things.”

  “Fine,” Tag said. “I’m listening.”

  Ezekiel laughed, and Tag found himself wanting to cover his ears again.

  “Very good,” Ezekiel said. “Let me bring you up to speed. You are a basic human, a homo sapiens. I am what you might call a post-human. I still share much of the same genetic information as you, but you will never be like me. For all intents and purposes, we have taken a leap in the evolutionary scale, bounding past the false hurdles of natural selection, making our own biological destiny. That was the dream of my grandfather’s generation.”

  “You altered yourselves, tampered with your DNA to force drastic changes in the human species.”

  “Exactly,” Ezekiel said. “My ancestors traveled the UNS Hope. But human bodies weren’t meant to travel beyond Earth. It was meant to be a mission of exploration, but instead generations lived and died in a metal hellhole.” Ezekiel prodded Tag again. “Your bodies are weak. Humans thrived on Earth, but post-humans will thrive beyond it.”

  Tag’s darkest suspicions about the Hope and the Collectors seemed to prove true. There had been no humans within the specimen chamber back on Hope because they were the ones doing the collecting. “That’s why you studied all those poor captives on the Hope. You were selecting traits from other species, weren’t you?”

  “Good deduction,” Ezekiel said. “I knew there was a reason I wanted you alive. You are correct. My ancestors collected that data and experimented on themselves. All of that, of course, was strictly against UN regulations.”

  “Because it’s inexcusable. Imprisoning other sentient beings so you can experiment on them and then genetically altering humans with total disregard for the long-term effects of those changes...it’s horribly irresponsible.”

  “Maybe it seems that way to you,” Ezekiel said. He slouched into his crash couch, looking like a lonely king in an empty kingdom. “But we saw it differently. Or at least, my predecessors did. Technology was a gateway for us, a preemptive defense. Because without it, without this forced evolution, we would be extinct.”

  “Extinct?” Tag asked. “The human race is thriving.”

  Ezekiel raised a wide, hairless brow. “Thriving? More like fumbling. Your own colonies have erupted in ill-fated rebellions, and you’ve faltered against unfriendly races. In the face of these dangers, we have done what is necessary for the survival of our species. There is no room—nor time—for moral quandaries when our very survival is at stake.”

  “What are you talking about?” Tag asked. “The most dangerous thing I’ve run across in our travels is you.”

  “Because you haven’t traveled long enough,” Ezekiel said solemnly. There was no wry smile or expression of smug superiority across its face, just a deep sympathy that surprised Tag. “There are things out here that you wouldn’t understand. That you couldn’t hope to understand.” Ezekiel looked away, his lips curling into a frown. “Things that even we don’t understand.”

  Tag’s body twisted, jerking around to face the center of the bridge. A holo bloomed to life there showing a familiar sight: the corridors of the Hope. Only now they weren’t covered by Raktor’s draping vines. Normal humans walked the passageways wearing the old-fashioned uniforms of the UN navy.

  Then something appeared within the corridors. A flash of light. It ran between five of the crew members, and all five disappeared. The other crew members screamed and fell against the walls. One of them began clawing at a bulkhead like he was trying to tear through it.

  The holo flickered off.

  “I don’t understand,” Tag said. “What was that?”

  Instead of offering an explanation, Ezekiel waved his hand over his terminal and the same holo appeared again, this time zoomed all the way in on one of the flashes of light. It vaguely resembled an explosion, but between the spikes of spreading light, Tag thought he saw something like a hand, and another area that appeared almost like a face without eyes.

  “Is that...is that some kind of alien?” Tag asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Ezekiel said. “Whatever it was, those crew members who were taken never reappeared. The other witnesses never recovered either. They all died screaming and crying, hooked up to machines to keep them alive until someone finally let them die.”

  “Did you ask the other races you encountered about these things?”

  Now a smile spread across Ezekiel’s face. It wasn’t a nice smile. “We tried. Some listened to us, some said we were crazy. A few reported similar occurrences. But we had already made our decision at that point. It didn’t matter much what these other races said or did. We had already determined that we would control our own destinies, harnessing whatever technology and science could grant us to advance our species. To ensure that we would progress, that w
e would survive.”

  “All of this was inspired by those creatures your ancestors saw?” Tag asked skeptically.

  “Yes, that was the catalyst,” Ezekiel said, pointing at the vague holo forms still floating in the middle of the bridge. “We must find out who they are, and what they are.”

  “This doesn’t make sense,” Tag said. “The crew of the Hope was so scared after a few crew members got killed by some unseen alien or weapon that you went around massacring other races, conducting experiments that would make Dr. Frankenstein cringe, and doing this to yourselves.” He jerked his head toward Ezekiel, still unable to gesture with his hands.

  “It wasn’t just a few crew members,” Ezekiel said. “I showed you only one image. Half of the Hope was killed that day. Half of them dead, gone within seconds. Much of the surviving population went insane. There were only a few humans left, deep in space, isolated from the rest of civilization. They did what they had to do.”

  Ezekiel stood, clenching his fists, his voice rising to a pitch and volume painful to Tag’s ears. “The UNS Hope was a vanguard for the new era in human expansion. It was to be the harbinger of everything that was good about exploration and discovery. But instead the Hope was shattered. This new dawn, the idyllic future of humans in space, was destroyed before it began.”

  An intense fire burned behind Ezekiel’s three eyes as he stared at the planet far below. “But in that day”—the Collector put his hand on his chest—“we were born from those ashes.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Tag wished he could shake his head in disbelief. Everything Ezekiel had said was insane, and yet the post-human continued talking as though his ancestors had taken the only logical course of action.

  “You thought the best way to react to a new threat was to massacre all your possible allies,” Tag said. “That’s ridiculously short-sighted.”

  “We tried diplomacy,” Ezekiel said, “but it is a tedious affair. It soon became clear that we were wasting our time. There were far easier methods of convincing others to do what we want.”