by David Brush
“Among other things. I’d rather we find an entire ship and get the hell out of here.”
The sphinx flashed a small smile. “I wouldn’t count on it. You see how many guards he’s kept on just the two of us? There’re at least ten of them lurking around the temple and another thirty-odd guarding the perimeter. Even if we managed to get around all of them and into a ship, half of his fleet is in a defensive orbit around the planet. We’d have to bypass the blockade somehow. I have a feeling that Francis would sooner shoot us down than let us go.”
Nightrick grinned, carefully disconnecting the wires linking the arc cannon with the temple’s power supply. “He can shoot us down if he wants, but I can’t imagine he’ll have much luck stabilizing this thing if he does.”
“I think you’d be surprised at his reach. If we were to die, it would slow him down, sure, but I don’t believe it would stop him. He abducted me straight off of Sphandaria while I was under King Raydon’s personal protection. If Francis needs more scientists, he’ll get them.”
Nightrick frowned, rotating his freshly uncast wrists as they started to cramp. “How could he possibly have abducted you on Sphandaria? Surely he didn’t attack the Xarkulthian Empire with his fleet or I imagine the battle would still be raging.”
“Nothing quite like that. There’s an insurgent group operating on the planet known as the Plague Bearers. They’re radicals who’ve somehow gotten the idea that the Plague is actually the catalyst needed to purify and strengthen our species’ bloodline. Ever since the first case was diagnosed on-world, they’ve been actively attempting to cultivate and spread the affliction. For whatever reason, they not only know of the Dread Lord, but serve him in some capacity or another. When they got their hands on me, I was leading the effort to cure the disease. They smuggled me off-world without too much of a fuss and brought me straight here. At first I assumed they’d want me to help amplify the outbreak, but instead they set me to work on this. I suspect that whatever the source of the pandemic is, Francis is involved.”
Nightrick paled a touch. “Has he said anything to that effect?”
Dr. Mudaw shrugged. “No, it’s just common sense I suppose. I haven’t the slightest clue what his association is with the lunatics on Sphandaria. His whole history is veiled. There are always whispers around here, but who can say what the truth is? They claim that Francis is human, but I couldn’t verify it. Don’t let his limp fool you; no man that I’ve ever seen possesses strength or speed like he does. Supposedly he crashed here some twenty years ago and discovered the remnants of the Andalarian Empire. It’s said that he’s quite disfigured, but whether it was the crash or something else is beyond me. The humans he landed with began to serve him sometime after he led them to the ancient spire they currently inhabit. Once they scavenged the technology left behind by the Andalarians, they set to work assembling the rather diverse labor force you see here now. While Francis claims that his primary goal is to activate the probe and join the Transcendent, I don’t think that’s the truth. Not the entire truth anyway.”
“What makes you think that?” asked Nightrick, lifting the cannon off of its makeshift tripod and setting it down on the stone floor.
Dr. Mudaw hesitated for a moment. “He took a big risk abducting you like he did. Now his forces are known to both of our empires, and he’s given them ample time to mobilize their respective militaries. While he claims to have needed you to finish activating the probe, I think there’s something deeper there.”
“He’s a former… patient of mine. I saved his life. One would think that thanks would be the more appropriate response. And as for augmentation… well, you’ve seen the results. Human biology is complicated. We found that some of our procedures were actually causing him to deteriorate physically over time, hence the limp. I shelved the program until I could work out the kinks, and it’s been dormant ever since. He’s one of a kind in that sense.” Nightrick paused, looking up through one of the openings in the stone ceiling. The purple sky had faded to black. “Anyway, enough for one evening. Let’s head back to base. I’m exhausted and I think that sleep would do us both some good.”
The sphinx nodded, walking with the doctor out of the main chamber and into the short hall leading to the temple’s exterior. “A word of advice, Dr. Nightrick. While we may speak freely here, where the Anomaly’s presence distorts whatever surveillance equipment Francis might hope to use, I would guard my tongue carefully in the Spire. The Dread Lord has many ears and many eyes within his bastion.”
“It’s not my tongue I need to guard,” said Nightrick, stepping out of the hall and into the dry air that wafted gently across the plateau. “It’s my mind.”
Admiral Dorian walked across the barren plain, flanked by his honor guards. Loose, reddish dust kicked up around the procession, caking the admiral’s once pristine white suit pants just above the cuff. He looked down at the stain and sneered. All around him, he could feel hollow eyes tracing his every move. The lost souls of the Terra Meridiani refugee camp climbed over one another to get a good look at the human beings wandering through their shantytown. Creatures and humanoids of all shapes and sizes had taken dwelling there, connected only by the Plague that had driven them from their home worlds.
Admiral Dorian spit a large, orangish glob down into the dirt in front of him. “How the hell do you stand breathing this dust day in and day out, Zuma?”
Governor Zuma turned towards his guest. “It’s not so bad when you realize that we get to head back into the colony proper at the end of the day. These poor wretches are the ones who suffer the most from it. We’re working on securing the funds to modify the terrain, but the camp was set up so quickly that I fear we’ll do more harm than good if we start shuffling the soil around.”
“If it levels this cesspit, then you’ve done good,” replied Dorian, looking around at the blank faces staring at him from all directions. “Xarkulths, gors, and hell, even a full colony of hivorians, yet not a single borrr among the lot. Tell me Zuma, are the slugs the only species in this godforsaken galaxy not scrambling to invade our territory?”
The governor sighed, leading the party down another street of makeshift buildings. “By order of Dr. Nightrick himself, the borrrian refugees have been relocated within the colony proper. The loose dust of this camp is too harsh on their mucosal membranes.”
Dorian flushed. “Insanity, pure and simple. Now we’re letting them enter our cities. A hundred-thousand Trojan Horses, ready to tear down the walls of our burgeoning empire, and how do we respond to the threat? We throw open the gates and usher them in.”
“If it weren’t for the Borrrian Intervention, there would be no empire left to destroy. We owe their race a great deal. Obviously Dr. Nightrick is of the same mind.”
“Was of the same mind. The opinions and ordinances of a dead man make no difference to me.”
Zuma nodded tepidly. “Be that as it may, his orders stand. And for what it’s worth, Admiral, I think it’s foolish for you to come along on this excursion. This camp can be more dangerous than you might realize.”
Dorian waved his hand dismissively. “Nonsense. These people need to see what justice looks like firsthand. I want them to think about this the next time they decide to protest our kindness.”
The procession came to a halt at last in front of a rusty hut, surrounded by similar structures in the shape of a neighborhood block. A sphingian face peered through a slit in the frayed, white fabric that had been draped over the open window on the side of the house. After a moment, the figure pulled its head back and walked out through the front door to meet the group. Though the alien’s face seemed worn, he was built like a member of the warrior class. The creature stood a head over any of the humans present, and had massive wings tucked behind his broad shoulders. The talons projecting from the sphinx’s hands seemed even longer and sharper than normal for the species.
Governor Zuma cleared his throat. “Admiral Dorian, I present to you Harin Karosh, leader o
f the camp’s unofficial governing council.”
The admiral took a moment to study the sphinx. “So you’re the beast who’s been causing all the trouble around here.”
Harin grunted. “I had nothing to do with the protests. In fact, I did what I could to prevent them.”
Dorian scoffed. “I’m sure. And tell me, sphinx, what were the demonstrations concerning?”
“The deplorable conditions in this camp,” replied Harin, crossing his arms. “Every day these people have to look out on your colony with its streets of gold, while they slurp down the dirty water you’ve begrudgingly provided. They’re tired, they’re thirsty, and they’re starved. While I don’t agree with their methods, you have to understand that all they’re asking for is a chance.”
“You’re entitled to nothing. That we’ve allowed you to resettle here at all is an act of unfathomable mercy.”
“I agree, but it’s not too much…”
“It is,” said Dorian, waving two of his guards forward. “Harin Karosh, you’re being detained for inciting a riot.”
The large crowd of refugees that had gathered to watch the spectacle began to screech and caw all at once, starting as a low rumble and working itself into a fever pitch as the black-clad guards reached out to restrain Harin. The sphinx pulled back and extended his massive wings, knocking the armored men aside with a bestial strength. He let out a loud, piercing screech and the crowd responded in turn.
“You will not imprison me for a crime I did not commit, human,” he said, lifting off of the ground with a powerful flap of his wings. The dust swirled around him as he hovered over the roaring crowd. Dorian turned towards the guards behind him, who had fanned out slightly to keep the onlookers back.
“Take him down,” he yelled over the cacophony.
Zuma’s eyes widened. “No, Admiral! You’ll…”
The shots rang out, hitting the soaring sphinx squarely across his torso. With a final screech, the creature came crashing down onto the rusted roof of his shanty hut. All around the block, stones, trash, and whatever other debris the crowd could find began pelting the human procession. The admiral stumbled backwards as a particularly large stone found its mark across his forehead. He felt the sticky, warm blood begin to trickle down his face as he ducked low behind his armored escort. He pulled his pistol free of its holster, but before he could raise the weapon, his honor guards pressed around him and began forcing their way back through the horde, firing at anyone who didn’t move out of the way fast enough. The crowd parted around the retreating humans, allowing them to reach the large, well-manned gate separating the camp from the actual colony. Dorian craned his head back and saw the two guards who’d been knocked down by the sphinx carrying Zuma out of the riot. The group was ushered behind the gate by members of the colonial militia, who were rushing back into the fray to break up the chaos.
The admiral looked out at the battle as smoke began to rise over the camp once more. He pulled a white cloth out of his jacket pocket and wiped his forehead, smearing the river of blood oozing down his face. A red drop trickled off, landing on the breast of his dress coat. He turned towards one of the two guards holding Governor Zuma’s limp body. “You, take that lackwit up to his suite and hold him there for the time being. He’s not to leave his room. And you,” he said, turning to address the other guard, “tell the militia to pull back their men.”
“Sir?”
“Once they’re behind the gate again, open a line to Captain Viridian onboard the Silica. Have him isolate Martian intercolonial communication, then glass the camp from orbit. It’s time we save mankind from itself.”
CHAPTER TEN
Johnathan Nightrick felt the coarse dirt rub against his palm as he clenched his hand into a fist. There, set on the ground beside the open pit before him, were two matching coffins made of cheap lumber. He had hoped to be able to afford a nicer sendoff for his parents, but since the start of the Raynon Uprising, one barely had enough money to eat, let alone die with any semblance of ceremony. To the left of the open plots stood a lone gravestone, which marked the final resting place of his brother, Brian. He watched, unmoving, as the two coffins were lowered into their holes, taking in the last rays of sunlight before entering the shade of the large Corenian fir tree that his family had planted there five years prior. Once the priest had finished giving his final blessing to the deceased, John tossed the handful of dirt down onto the top of his father’s coffin. He bent over, grabbed another fistful from the earthen mound, and peppered his mother’s casket as well. Beside him, his mentor from the Corenian Academy of Science, Dr. Omar Karich, stood silently.
“They’re all together now,” said John, staring straight ahead. “In some form or another.”
Dr. Karich nodded, putting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Your parents were good people, John. They’d be proud of you.”
“Perhaps.”
He turned at the sound of a car door shutting behind him. A young woman, who looked to be only a few years older than him, had climbed out of the passenger side of a black jeep. She wore a dark dress, which matched the piercing depth of her gaze. Though she bore no insignia, he could tell that she was some sort of soldier based on the way she carried herself. Escorting her was a large man dressed in a sharp, olive-colored suit marked with the trappings of a Special Branch officer. The duo made their way across the grassy field, stopping for a moment to pay their respects in front of the freshly dug plots before turning to face the mourners.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” said the young woman, extending her hand towards John. “My name is Zoe Varin.”
He took her hand in his, and, for the briefest moment, felt transported away from the dreariness of the graveyard.
“And this is my associate,” she continued, “Colonel Joseph Bismuth.”
“A pleasure,” said the colonel with a small nod.
Dr. Karich eyed the woman for a moment. “Zoe Varin, the director of Special Branch?”
“Yes,” she replied. “As of last week anyway.”
“Not to be rude, but I’m surprised they’re allowing someone your age to run the entire branch.”
A small smile traced her lips. “As they say, any port in a storm. There aren’t many senior members of Special Branch left these days. We make do.”
“And why are you here?” asked John.
“Serum V. I’ve read all of your papers, Mr. Nightrick. If your product is even half as effective as your publications suggest, we could put it to great use in the service.”
“Serum V is still in its trial phase. Besides, I created it to relieve post-traumatic stress disorder, not for whatever purpose I’m assuming you have in mind.”
Zoe nodded. “Oh, I’m sure of it. And don’t get me wrong, Special Branch appreciates your efforts on that front, but my research director at Command has suggested that with a little bit of tweaking, you could turn your compound into a traumatic stress inductor.”
A gust of wind blew through the graveyard, rustling the autumn leaves dangling from the trees nearby.
“To what end?”
“If we could dredge up all of the suppressed memories locked away in our prisoners, we’d gather more intelligence in twenty minutes than we could hope to obtain through months of hacking and spying. Your mentor,” she said, momentarily regarding Dr. Karich, “has already given us the tools to generate intricate neural maps of individuals and to translate their brain’s chemistry and electrical impulses into tangible thoughts.”
John frowned. “So now that you can read the mind, you want me to help you search it?”
She nodded. “Something like that. What do you think? Is it possible?”
“I suppose, if it would even make a difference at this point.”
“Come to Dovaruss with me, Mr. Nightrick, and I’ll show you the difference it would make,” she said as another gust of wind gently blew her black hair to the side. “I know it’s not easy, especially now, but your people need you. We can’t u
ndo the past, but together we can prevent this tragedy from being repeated over and over again, all around the world. Make their deaths count for something, John. I promise you, if you show us how, we’ll break the men and women who did this, as well as the countless others who would have if given the chance.”
“You think I’m out for blood now, don’t you?” he said, turning his head towards his parents’ graves. “Blood won’t bring them back. I want something else instead.”
“And what’s that?”
“Eternal life. I’ll give you your serum, but in return I want a lab of my own design, unlimited state funding, whatever staff I require, and most importantly, no oversight on any project of mine that isn’t directly related to Serum V.”
“The resources of Coren are at your disposal,” said Zoe with a nod. “What you do with them is your concern, not mine, as long as you produce results. We’re well beyond any notion of ethics, I’m afraid. Morality is useless if the power that enforces it collapses in on itself anyway. Do what you need to do, get the job done, and you’ll never have to worry about how you managed it.”
“Fine. When do we leave?”
“When you’re ready, we’ll send a car.”
“Now is as good a time as any,” he said, hearing the leaves rustling behind him. “There’s nothing left here for me except the memories of what I’ve lost.”
He looked over at Dr. Karich, whose face was expressionless. Still, John could swear that a hint of something unpleasant was leaking through the blank canvas.
The doctor turned to his student. “I’ll join you in a day or two, John. I just need to finish putting my affairs in order here.”
Zoe reached into her pocket and handed a small, black box to the doctor. “Keep this with you; it’s a signaler. Once you’ve settled everything at the Academy, turn the device on and we’ll come get you.”
“Noted,” he replied, grabbing the device and looking it over for a moment before sliding it into his coat pocket.
