by Jake Bible
“I had a suspicion that this planet would not be good for you and the other Marines,” the AI said. “I took precautions.”
“That’s quite a precaution,” Manheim thought. “Never heard of an AI hiding in a cybernetic prosthetic leg before.”
“I could be the first,” the AI said. “Which presents its own set of problems. I am unsure how long I can remain within this drive. Its capacity is not what I am used to. We will have to hurry.”
“Hurry what?” Manheim asked. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m strapped to a table and stuck deep underground without any weapons or any way of escape.”
“You are strapped to a table deep underground, yes,” the AI said. “But you are wrong about not having a weapon or means of escape.”
An image slammed into Manheim’s mind. He grunted at the discomfort.
“Is it back?” Taman asked, suddenly by Manheim’s side again. “Oh, I will find it.”
“He will if we do not move,” the AI said. “Now.”
“I’m still strapped down,” Manheim thought.
“I know, but that is about to change,” the AI said. “Be ready. This will hurt. A lot.”
Manheim chuckled. He was a damn Galactic Fleet Marine. He was always ready.
“Is something funny, Sergeant Manheim?” Taman asked as he flicked his fingers through a holo of Manheim’s brain. “Where is it? I can see hints of a signal, but I cannot find the source. How are you communicating with whatever it is? How?”
“Want me to show you?” Manheim asked as a blade extended from the side of his prosthetic leg and sliced into the strap holding that limb down. “Here ya go.”
Manheim kicked out hard and fast, nailing Taman in the side of the ribs, sending the appropriated man flying back several meters.
“What?” Taman cried as he collided with the side of a tank. “How?”
A small panel on Manheim’s leg slid open and a tiny turret, barely larger than a spoon, was lifted into the air.
“Now things will get hard,” the AI said. “I will cut the remaining straps, but you will have to take over from there. It is going to hurt. The cerebral integration they have forced on you cannot be severed without risking serious brain damage. I am keeping their control at bay, but there will be side effects. Painful side effects.”
“Just do it!” Manheim yelled.
The tiny turret took aim and began to slice through the straps with a barely visible laser. Manheim didn’t wait for the laser to finish and began to rip at his straps once his arms were loose.
He started to hop down off the table then screamed as piercing pain shot through his head. The bolts that had been embedded were ripped out all at once.
“Eight Million Gods!” he cried.
“I am sorry,” the AI said.
Manheim growled and punched himself in the face.
“Was that necessary?” the AI asked.
“Yes. Helps me focus,” Manheim snarled. “Now, how about that weapon you promised me?”
Another panel slid open on his leg and two black rods popped out. Manheim grabbed them, one for each hand, then stared down at the black rods.
“What the hell are these?” Manheim asked. “Stun batons?”
He flicked his wrists and nearly let go of the rods as half-meter plasma coils fell from the ends. Manheim gave them a twirl and laughed as he realized what they were.
“Whips? You gave me whips?” Manheim asked.
“I couldn’t produce accuracy for a targeted weapon,” the AI said. “Nor the stability for blades. These are a compromise.”
“I’ll take them,” Manheim said as he turned to face Taman. “They’ll do just fine.”
Taman was picking himself up off the ground, but Manheim cut that objective short by snapping out his right hand. The plasma whip shot from the rod and tagged Taman in the left shoulder, knocking him back against the tank and putting a smoking hole in his clothing.
Manheim went in for a follow-up, but stopped as his vision blurred from a stabbing pain just behind his eyes.
“AI,” he grunted.
“I am keeping the worst at bay, Sergeant Manheim,” the AI said. “You do not want to know what they are trying to do to your brain right now. Focus on fighting.”
“If you say so,” Manheim said as he forced himself to ignore the agony that threatened to bulge his eyes out of his skull.
His left hand snapped and the whip wrapped about Taman’s right arm. Manheim yanked hard and the plasma coil seared through cloth and into flesh. Taman screamed and glared at Manheim.
“Do you know what vivisect means?” Taman hissed. “It means to—”
“I know what it means,” Manheim said, snapping his right hand and slashing a scorch mark across Taman’s cheek. “To dissect while the subject is still alive.”
“Which I will do to you,” Taman said. “I swear it.”
“Yep,” Manheim said. The left whip cut into Taman’s chest. “Thanks for the idea.”
“On your six,” the AI warned.
Manheim ducked low and spun about on one knee just as two plasma bolts flew overhead. They hit the tank that Taman rested against and thick liquid exploded out onto the floor. Manheim managed to snap a whip into the guts of the man rushing at him with a rifle, tearing out intestines with a flick of his wrist, just before the liquid hit him in the back, sending him tumbling across the floor.
He slid for several meters until another tank stopped his rolling. His head was on fire from the AI’s struggle, but before he could worry about that, his nose exploded in a mass of cracked cartilage and snotty blood.
“You,” Taman hissed. “I can smell you in there.”
Manheim realized Taman wasn’t taking to him.
“I think he’s on to you,” Manheim thought as he turned his head to avoid another blow to his nose, taking it in his left cheek instead.
The AI didn’t respond and Manheim didn’t really care. He had other things to worry about. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw several armed and armored sentries running his way. Above him, Taman went in for another shot, but Manheim headed that off by bringing his knee up into the man’s groin. Taman screeched and fell onto his side, his hands clutching at his crotch.
Manheim scrambled to his feet, slipping and sliding in the ooze that covered the floor. Mixed in with the ooze were what looked like unfinished body parts. Manheim tried not to think of that as he activated his whips again.
“Stay down,” Manheim said as he snapped a plasma coil into Taman’s right thigh, nearly taking the leg off with one stroke. Taman screamed. “Hurts, don’t it?”
A plasma bolt missed Manheim’s left ear by a couple of millimeters. His head whipped about and he sent both coils out at the attacker, slicing the offending plasma rifle in half. Then he dove to the left and tumbled across the floor again as the other sentries tried to rip him apart with rifle fire.
“What’s the plan?” Manheim gasped as he came up onto his feet then had to immediately dive behind a tank as the plasma bolts kept coming. “AI? How am I getting out of here?”
More head pain. It was close to overwhelming. Manheim screamed at the top of his lungs, but stayed conscious.
“You will need him,” the AI said. “There is no way out of here without Taman. The lift won’t work for strictly organic beings.”
“Fuck,” Manheim snarled. “Fuckety fuck.”
The tank began to crack as two plasma bolts hit it. Manheim pushed off and sprinted as fast as he could in the opposite direction. More searing pain hit his head, but not from the inside. He felt the flesh across his left temple begin to bubble and blister from the plasma bolt that grazed him. Manheim knew he wasn’t going to be so lucky.
He cut to his right around another set of tanks and kept running. Straight at four women that alternated between stunned confusion and prepared violence. Manheim could almost see the mental conversation they were having as their facial features warped and changed. He almost laughed at the fact tha
t four AI-powered minds were just as slow to think as organic minds when it came time for action.
“That’s why the Eight Million Gods made Marines,” he though as he sent the tips of his whips out to greet the women.
One lost an eye, another had her throat split open. The last two tried to come at Manheim, but he’d already sent the plasma coils back out in another attack, taking their heads right off. The results were surprising.
“Did you add juice to these things?” Manheim thought.
“No, they are sucking energy from their victims,” the AI said.
“They are doing what from what?” Manheim snapped, his words tumbling from his mouth.
“I took the design for the weapons from a Skrang model I once observed,” the AI said.
Manheim didn’t respond. Conversing with the AI was excruciating and he needed to refocus his attention on the fight before him.
He slid to a stop at the corner of a tank and was glad he did as several rounds of plasma fire cut in front of him. Without hesitation, he burst from his cover and sent a coil slashing to his right, cutting a sentry’s legs off at the thighs. The man screamed and fell into the sentry standing next to him. The two hit the ground hard, and Manheim made sure they stayed down as he flicked the tips of his whips right through their left eyes.
He didn’t kid himself. Those were lucky shots.
Then he saw what he really wanted. Plasma rifles.
He sprinted at the fallen sentries and grabbed up one rifle, slung it over his back, then grabbed up the second rifle and put it to his shoulder just as two more sentries came around the corner. Two shots, both right between the eyes, took the sentries down. Those weren’t lucky shots; they hit right where Manheim wanted them to.
“Where is Taman?” Manheim asked. “Is he where I left him?”
“No,” the AI responded, nearly knocking Manheim off his feet as pain followed the words.
“Show me,” Manheim snarled.
“Sergeant—” the AI began to protest.
“Show me!” Manheim roared and kept roaring as a brief schematic of the huge room flashed across his mind, a flashing red dot indicating where Taman was.
He was on the move.
Manheim kept screaming as he willed himself to run. He dove across open space, letting plasma bolts fly over him, then tucked and rolled behind cover before springing to his feet again so he could continue his pursuit of Taman.
He was so engrossed with catching the man, and nearly overcome by the pain in his head, that he almost didn’t see the person on the table he passed until she sat up, her hand gripped around a man’s throat, squeezing the life out of him.
“Kay!” Manheim yelled, still moving as he tossed her his rifle then unslung the one from his back. “On me!”
“Right behind you, Sarge!” Kay yelled, letting the man go so she could catch the rifle. Then she shot him between the eyes, kicked him out of her way, and was right behind Manheim before the sergeant had made it more than a meter. “Good to see you up and about!”
“Same here!” Manheim yelled.
They rushed towards the side of the room where the lift was. The quick glimpse Manheim had gotten of the schematic had shown Taman heading that way, obviously trying to make his escape.
Three men, two women, a man and a woman, two more sentries, three more men. They all fell as the two Marines closed in on their target.
They came around one last corner and saw the lift doors opening for Taman. The man hurried inside and spun about, a sly grin on his face.
“AI!” Manheim yelled.
“I see,” the AI said.
The lift doors paused as they were halfway closed. Taman’s eyes went wide then narrowed. He wagged a finger at Manheim and Kay as the doors began to move again. They were shut tight when the Marines reached the lift.
“Dammit!” Manheim shouted. “Now what?”
“I suggest you turn and defend yourselves,” the AI said.
Manheim did as was suggested, taking a knee as he spun about and opened fire. Two women and a man screamed as their midsections were ripped apart by his plasma fire.
Kay followed his lead, and the two Marines kept their backs to the lift doors as they fought off wave after wave of less than human beings.
Then their rifles powered down, dead weight in their hands.
“We need new rifles and another way out,” Kay said.
“Yes, we do,” Manheim replied as he stood up and retrieved his whips from his leg.
That was when he noticed that the two of them were stark naked.
“Some clothes would be good,” he said.
“Fuck clothes, I want my armor,” Kay said.
“That’ll work too,” Manheim said and smiled. “I think I know where we can get some.”
4
Chann could hear the violence, smell the violence, and even taste the violence as blood splattered across his face, but he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. His body was no longer his. His mind was no longer his. His consciousness was sitting there, locked in a cerebral space in the back of his brain, but he was no longer in control of himself.
Something else was now.
“I feel…you,” a whisper said. “You should be…gone.”
“I think the process was interrupted,” Chann replied. He wasn’t sure if he was thinking it, saying it, or the words just were. “You’re stuck with me. The blue water is still in the canals.”
“I will fix…that,” the whisper said. “But not…now. Now, I must…kill.”
“How very Marine of you,” Chann said. “Maybe you are me.”
“No,” the whisper stated. “But…I will be.”
“Good luck with that,” Chann said. “It was hard enough for me to be me, gonna be even harder for you.”
The whisper didn’t reply.
Instead, it acted.
Chann watched like a spectator, or prisoner, as his body sat up and looked around. The huge room was a mess. Tanks were shattered, stasis liquid was everywhere, and more than a few bodies could be seen splayed out on the floor.
His legs swung over the edge of the table and he hopped down, the floor cold on his feet. It was bizarre to feel and experience everything without being able to control any of it. It was like sleepwalking while wide awake. Chann tried to wrest control back, but his consciousness was locked down tight and he couldn’t even manage to blink.
“Sergeant Manheim!” Chann’s voice called. “Private Kay!”
Chann snickered. The whisper had no idea how to address his teammates. Private Kay? Yeah, that wasn’t going to fly. Not considering how intimate they were.
“Chann?” Manheim shouted, his voice coming from the opposite side of the room. “Where are you?”
Chann had no idea where he was, but his voice responded, “Over here! I am approximately fifteen meters from your location!”
Sweet bloody hell…
“Good! Stay there! We’re coming to you!” Manheim replied.
Chann’s face smiled.
“This will be…easy,” the whisper said.
“Yep. Gonna be super easy,” Chann replied.
His body started walking towards Manheim.
“Where are you going? He said he was coming to you?” Chann asked.
He knew the answer, but wanted to hear the whisper say it.
“I will surprise them,” the whisper said. “They will see you, but will be faced with me. Their deaths will be simple.”
“You know that simple and easy are not the same thing, right?” Chann asked.
“I did not say easy, I said simple,” the whisper said. “I will need to continue the rouse that I am you so I can get close enough to snap their necks. That will not be easy. Yet it will be simple.”
“We’ll see,” Chann said.
The bark of plasma rifles echoed throughout the room. Someone screamed followed by two more screams. The sound of plastiglass cracking could be heard then a heavy whoosh and splat.
&nbs
p; “Marines are messing this place up,” Chann said. “If I were you, which I kind of am, I’d just get the hell out of here before we get hurt.”
“You will not dissuade me from my goal,” the whisper said. “I have been tasked with ending this nuisance. I will complete my task.”
“No, you’re probably just going to get me killed,” Chann said.
“You are already dead,” the whisper said. “Your consciousness cannot survive for long. Mine is dominant and soon you will be a fading memory.”
More plasma fire, more screams, a couple of crashes, a boom that shook the floor, then silence.
“Chann? You good?” Manheim called, his voice only a couple rows of tanks away.
“Yes, sir,” Chann’s voice said.
Inwardly, Chann grinned. Sir? You don’t call a sergeant a sir.
“Good to hear, son,” Manheim replied. “I’m almost to you.”
“Yes, you are,” the whisper said.
Chann’s body rounded a corner and stopped as he saw Manheim only a few meters away. The sergeant was wearing a sentry’s armor and had a plasma rifle aimed at Chann’s chest. He didn’t look like he was going to lower it.
“Good, you have found me,” Chann’s voice said.
“Yep, looks like I have,” Manheim said. “How you feeling, Private?”
“I am glad to be alive,” Chann’s voice said. “But I am weak. I could use some assistance.”
“Yeah, sure, you bet, Chann,” Manheim said. “You want me to come over there and help you out?”
“That would be greatly appreciated,” Chann’s voice replied. His head nodded up and down. “Thank you.”
“You are quite welcome,” Manheim said. “Hey, I have a better idea. How about if Kay helps you instead?”
“Private Kay? Yes, she could help me,” Chann’s voice said.
“Can I?” Kay asked, suddenly right next to Chann. “Good to hear.”
She whipped her rifle around and the butt connected with the side of Chann’s head. His body crumpled.
“How’d that work out for you?” Chann asked.
“They must have suspected I was not you,” the whisper replied.
“Um, yeah,” Chann said. “You weren’t exactly convincing.”
Kay stood over him, her rifle aimed down at his head.
