The Coming Storm_A Pax Aeterna Novel

by Trevor Wyatt

  Marcus had just enough time to clean up and hide his personal tablet before Trevor showed up with a box full of food containers. From the looks of him, he didn’t sleep at all. Marcus hadn’t expected him to, but he had to get out of this blasted place. He set the box down on the nearest station. One of the interns would distribute it later. Marcus waved him over, bringing up the stats on Ethan.

  An alert flashed across the screen as he walked into the office. New orders for Section 23, Cell 18. Exploratory surgery followed by a full necropsy. In other words, cut him open. When he bled to death, cut him open some more. To buy time, Marcus requested preliminary diagnostics first, to make sure they had gained all the intel possible.

  “You look sick,” Trevor was genuinely concerned, he was just that kind of man.

  Marcus silently handed him the tablet. It took a moment for the implication to sink in, but then all the color drained from his face as well.

  He handed the tablet back and sat on the stool beside Marcus, “What should I do, sir?”

  Marcus just looked at him a moment, considering the hidden inference of the question, then shook his head, “When I tell you to go home, go. No questions.”

  Trevor gave a firm nod, “Remember before the war when Ribhus looked for cures and designed equipment to make the food industry more productive? Ah, well,” he sighed and stood, shuffling out the door. It was the shuffle of a conquered young man.

  Marcus would pity him if he didn’t feel the same. As it was, they were stuck, and there was nothing to be done about it. Not if they wanted to survive. One word of contention and he would never see his Becka again. Trevor would never cook another meal. It seemed wrong that he was more afraid of Ribhus Industries than the entire Terran Union, or the Sonali for that matter. It wasn’t the life he envisioned fresh out of University, but when the war started, he and everyone else had no choice. At first, the money was good. But now...it wasn’t enough. Not for what they wanted.

  The tablet flashed with the answer he was waiting for. The green light for further testing before exploratory surgery. He hoped they would take their time responding so he could prepare, but at least the answer was affirmative.

  Ethan

  The cell door slid open and the misnamed Sonali squinted at the intruder. He had actually managed a few hours of sleep and hated the disturbance. After they bound him to the bed, they never bothered to check on him. He had crusted blood all over himself and it was starting to itch. At least the bleeding had stopped, but his slits pulsated into the back of his skull. The glaring light exacerbate the agony, which he channeled into anger. Even if he didn’t have the opportunity for revenge, he would rather die angry than hopeless. The older doctor from the day before rolled a stool next to the bed and perched, studying Ethan closely. The Sonali tried to pour all of his hatred into his slits, aware that he was in no way threatening.

  The doctor finally relaxed with a tiny smirk, “It seems you’ve overcome the effects of the thiopental-4. The only creature, human or otherwise, to do so. How did you do it?”

  Ethan only glared.

  “I know you understand. We embedded a translator chip in your ear. So, how did you do it?”

  I want to rip your spine out and use it as a garrote.

  “Hmm. Since I’m doing all the talking, you should know I ramble. Well. I see your bleeding has stopped. Let’s wash that dried shit off you,” he walked to the small sink, slapped on obnoxious orange nitrile gloves, and wet a towel, “My name is Dr. Marcus Carson. Since I don’t know yours, I’ve called you Ethan.”

  That proclamation elicited a growl.

  “If you won’t tell me your real name, then Ethan will have to do,” Marcus wagged the towel like a lecturer, “Now be still.”

  Ethan obeyed only because his desire to be clean outweighed his desire for murder. The wet towel was soothing against his slits.

  “There. Now I can see who I’m talking to. We’re going to run some more tests on you to try to figure out how you bypassed the thiopental-4, among other things. You’re a unique patient, Ethan,” Marcus stood to rinse the towel and folded it, lowering it over Ethan’s slits, “I’m going to draw some blood now.”

  Ethan flinched as the needle hit its mark. It only lasted a second before the orange capped vial began to fill slowly. He couldn’t do anything and he was beginning to accept that. He let himself relax a little as the cool towel eased his throbbing head.

  Marcus

  After the blood draw, tissue cultures, and a saline drip for dehydration, Marcus ordered an MRI. Far from the cumbersome machine conceived centuries ago, a tech brought a handheld scanner and slowly passed it over Ethan’s body. It only took two minutes.

  “That wasn’t so bad. I’ll be back to check on you later,” Marcus slipped out and rushed down the hall.

  He sat the tablet on the desk to catch the results as soon as they came in, then slumped on his stool. Exhaustion took its toll and he caught himself nodding off more than once. A soft rap at the door startled him enough to jump off the stool. He turned and smiled as he saw Trevor on the other side of the glass and nodded for him to enter.

  “Sir? I need to talk to you about something personal.”

  “Close the door. Sit.” Marcus popped a stim tab and let it dissolve under his tongue.

  “I, um, know about your diagnosis,” Trevor flinched.

  “Huh?”

  “The DID. I’ve known about it for years.”

  “Oh, that,” Marcus gave a dismissive wave, but his heart sank, “It’s under control. Does everyone know about it?”

  Trevor shook his head, “Only me. I’m telling you now because I know what you’re planning. We both know the consequences, Marcus.”

  “Yes,” Marcus sighed, “I’m prepared.”

  “I understand. Since I can’t talk you out of it, I’m with you.”

  Marcus looked at Trevor in horror, “No. I don’t want you anywhere near this.”

  “You don’t have a choice. I’m with you. I would tell you to get some sleep first but that’s a moot point. When you’re ready, I’ll be right behind you,” Like a son lecturing an elderly parent, Trevor stood and gave Marcus a look of stern determination, “Don’t start without me.”

  Marcus felt his determination wilt. He could be brave working alone but Trevor and Becka were the only people he cared about. Well, there was no turning back. The results had not come in yet, but it didn’t matter. He slipped his tablet in one pocket and a bottle of stimulants in the other. Hesitating only a moment, he jerked the office door open and made the long journey back to Section 23. Maybe Trevor would get lucky by not catching up in time.

  Ethan

  It was actually a comfortable bed, after he was cleaned and the pain subsided. No one bothered him after the talkative doctor left. Besides the restraints, his only discomfort was intense hunger. He slipped in and out of consciousness, just thankful they let him sleep.

  He had no idea how much time had passed when the chatty doctor next interrupted him. Just go away and let me die in peace. He wanted to scream, but wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. They can do their poking, prodding, scanning, and incessant talking, but he wouldn’t make it easy for them. The only reason he was still alive was because he was an anomaly, and he knew that wouldn’t last long.

  Marcus barely spoke this time, and he wasn’t alone. The stern woman stood in the doorway, looking pensive. Good. Let her be the one afraid. He threw her a snarl for good measure.

  “We’re just waiting for your MRI results,” Marcus removed the IV, tossing the cannula over the empty saline bag and sat on the stool.

  The woman must have decided she wasn’t needed and walked away, leaving the door open. Marcus watched from the corner of his eye. Once she was out of earshot he leaned in slightly.

  “When these kick in, it’s imperative you remain perfectly still until I return,” he whispered, digging in his pocket. One last glance back to make sure no one watched and slipped three caplets in
his mouth. They tasted sweet and began dissolving immediately.

  His eyes popped open as the stimulants kicked in. Suddenly he needed to move. Needed free. Marcus frowned and shook his head and Ethan forced himself to remain calm. The soft beeping of the monitor sped up, then slowed. Marcus nodded and stalked out.

  Marcus

  Marcus stepped into Edie’s office without knocking, “It’s time to take him to surgical. I’m just waiting for—,” He turned his head in surprise at the little fake cough behind him, “Nevermind.”

  “Shouldn’t I do this?” Edie asked. Marcus didn’t blame her. She was the MD, after all.

  “If this goes sideways, the fault is mine and you’ll get a promotion.”

  Edie frowned her skepticism as Marcus slipped out of the office. But the next second, he came face to face with Trevor.

  “Leaving without you was a hint,” Marcus hissed, “Go back to your office.”

  “I’ve always been behind you. You forgot this,” Trevor handed him his personal tablet, “In six minutes a select few of the doors will glitch. On screen is the route.”

  “You think of everything, don’t you?”

  “Sir, you’re a genius, but you have the planning skills of a teenager.”

  Marcus slipped the tablet in his pocket and detoured to the front door. Luckily there were no interns to worry about, only the guards and Edie.

  “Who thinks of everything, Doctor Carson?” One of the guards asked.

  “Trevor,” Marcus said absently. He approached the guards, standing nose to nose with them.

  “Who is Trevor?”

  “My assistant,” Marcus held his gloved middle fingers up. Their looks of indignation were worth it as he reached up and tapped them each under the chin. The guard on the right collapsed and before the other could react, he switched, touching his own face with the left finger and the guard’s with the right. He collapsed on top of his partner and Marcus ran.

  “Edie!” He barreled into her office, flushed and panting. She jumped from her stool and ran toward him, worry in her eyes. He felt a twinge of guilt as he touched her neck and watched her crumple. She would live, and so would the guards.

  He didn’t have time to properly test it, but they should be awake in an hour, with the last two minutes of memory gone. By using the left glove to ground, touching the head and neck sent a powerful and specific EM pulse to the limbic system. Any more power would fry the brain, but an hour of unconsciousness and two minutes of amnesia were enough. He powered down the gloves as he sprinted back to cell 18 and furiously worked to loosen his patient’s restraints.

  “I didn’t sign up for this bullshit, and neither did you,” He muttered, “Trevor, help me.”

  The Sonali looked at him with dubious eyes and struggled against the restraints. He growled in frustration, but still no words.

  “Stop that. You’re making it harder. Trevor!”

  Ethan settled down and let Marcus work. Finally, the legs broke free so he moved to the abdominal restraint.

  “I can’t help you with this. I’m always behind you, but you’re the one in charge. The best I can do is help you make better decisions,” Trevor said, “Becka and I only want to help you. Listening is your decision.”

  Marcus stopped and turned around, “Becka?”

  “Becka and I only want to help you. Listening is your decision. You’re not eating or sleeping. Your behavior is erratic, and your short term memory is shit. You have to get back on your meds,” Trevor lectured as he chopped vegetables for their dinner.

  Becka sat on the couch with a sympathetic look. When she said he offered to cook them dinner, Marcus was pleasantly surprised. That quickly turned to embarrassment and shame when he realized they were staging an intervention.

  “I’m fine, just...busy,” he shrugged and thought that would be the end of it.

  Becka held his hand and looked him in the eyes with grim determination, “No, sweetheart, you’re not. If you can’t promise to take your meds, we’re going to have to report you to Corporate and Doctor Winslow.”

  With each word, Marcus zoned out a little more. The chatter began, drowning out Becka and Trevor’s chopping. When the chatter finally stopped, Marcus sat on the couch alone, bloody hands draped between his knees. He glanced over to the kitchen entrance and wasn’t surprised. Becka’s body covered Trevor’s, tangled together in a red viscous heap.

  Everyone assumed they ran away together, case closed.

  Ethan

  Marcus ran into the room with wild eyes and began tugging at the restraints like a madman. He kept looking back and yelling for someone named Trevor to help. Ethan didn’t fully understand what was happening, only that the good doctor was trying to set him free and had either gone mad, or overdosed on those stimulants. Impatience got the better of him and he struggled until Marcus chastised him. He wasn’t helping. He settled down and wondered at this man who helped him, all the while acting as if he wasn’t even there.

  Legs freed, torso freed, then Marcus froze and turned around, “Becka?” He didn’t move, just stood there listening to nothing.

  It was time to break his silence. It seemed a foolish protest now, so he lifted his foot and pushed Marcus, “Doctor!” He winced as the raspy word stung his throat.

  Marcus stumbled a couple of feet and shook his head before rushing back to his side, at last freeing his arms.

  Ethan jumped out of the bed, bare feet slapping on the tile, “Why do you free me?”

  “I’m a researcher. I don’t do dissection,” he pulled out the tablet, “Two minutes.”

  Ethan grunted and followed Marcus out the door. They ran down the corridor, each grabbing a taser rifle as they pass. The doctor was not only helping him to escape, but trusted him with a weapon. He set it to the maximum power level and kept running until they reached the front door. He smirked in approval at the guards heaped in front of it.

  Marcus glanced at the tablet. Ethan looked over his shoulder. The route was outlined in red with a timer counting down. One minute ten seconds.

  “Now we wait,” Marcus said.

  Ethan nodded and stared at the guard on top. No, that wouldn’t do. He nudged him with a foot and he rolled off the second guard. Yes, that was better.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Clothes.” He set the rifle down and yanked on the boots. They slid off the dead man’s feet with ease so he set them aside and took the pants. They were loose, but would stay up. He pulled them on, followed by the boots. Those were too tight and the shirt would never fit, and one look at the blue skin would be a giveaway, but it was better than an infirmary gown.

  The route turned green as the countdown reached zero. Marcus stepped over the guards and opened the door with ease. He shouldered the rifle and fiddled with his strange gloves. Most doors were closed and all the corridors looked the same. If not for the map, he would be lost in the first turn. They ran in silence, both occupied with watching for trouble.

  The stimulants made him hyper-alert and more than a little paranoid. He could have sworn someone was following them more than once. When he looked back the corridor was empty. How big was this place. They had already made five rights and seven lefts, and the doctor showed no signs of slowing down as they passed through one section door after another. It was strange. Why had they not encountered any humans yet? His question was answered as Marcus slowed them down, half jogging to next door.

  “Those were closed sections. Here it gets interesting,” He whispered and grabbed the handle, “Go!”

  Ethan readied his rifle and Marcus yanked the door handle. They sprinted across the corridor, ready to fight. Open section doors sprinkled the path, but most inside were too busy to notice. For a moment he thought they would make it to the end. The door was only a few paces ahead.

  “Hey!” A voice behind them shouted.

  They ducked their heads and sped up, pushing the stimulants to their limits. They reached the door just as a siren began wailing. Marcu
s opened it and let Ethan through. Glorious fresh air filled his lungs and he inhaled deeply, smiling back at his cohort. He froze that way. The crazy slag stood just inside the doorway with that wild look in his eyes again. Three guards closed in behind him.

  “Shoot me,” Marcus said.

  Ethan shook his head.

  “Shoot me! The building will go on lockdown and you’ll have a chance. Do it now!”

  “Why?” They could escape together. The order made no sense.

  “Atonement,” Marcus said simply. The wild look in his eyes died, replaced with emptiness.

  Ethan nodded, “My name is Zehlege,” he confessed and fired. Atonement was a concept he knew all too well.

  Marcus dropped and the door swung shut. The last thing he saw was the dismay of the torpid guards before it slammed.

  TUS Terror

  I am sitting with a group of commanders in the officer’s mess of the TUS Terror. The four of us are gathered around a small square table 6. Commander Tadius is to my right, while Commander Hadley sits to my left. Across from me is Commander Chen. Commander Tadius is the head of security, while Commander Hadley is head of engineering. Commander Chen is the science officer.

  “Okay,” I say, bringing their attention back to me. “We only have a few minutes to talk before one of us gets called.”

  They nod in agreement.

  There aren’t a lot of officers about the TUS Terror, so the officers’ mess hall is quite small. There are only about five tables and three sets of food dispensers. The TUS Terror is an attack frigate; small in comparison to some of the front line vessels the Armada is throwing at the Sonali. At the moment we are the only officers in the mess, and we have the door closed so no passersby would see us.

  “It’s getting difficult out there, Craig,” says Tadius, my good friend for over ten years. Tadius is a tall, square chested black man with a bushy mass of hair that is lined with streaks of white. He’s a married man with two kids, who are all living in New Washington.