by M. D. Cooper
Cullen is good, but this time you’ll have military backup. A platoon of Marines will be there to give you proper support. We’re going to lay the bait, then when Hart’s deep inside, we’ll spring the trap. This time, he won’t get away.
Good luck. I’ll be there in seven days. With any luck, you’ll have this squared away by then.
P.S. I hope you aren’t beating yourself up over what happened at the SATC. You’re an engineer, not a soldier, Erin, and you made the right call trying to catch this asshat.
Erin felt a sense of relief wash over her while chuckling at Tanis’s colorful name for Hart.
NEW ORDERS
STELLAR DATE: 12.02.8935 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Island of Cypress
REGION: Carthage, 3rd Planet in the New Canaan System
Nathan Hart slowly regained consciousness. He opened his eyes, his eyelids strangely heavy. An odd, tingling sensation suffused his body from his scalp to the tips of his toes. He tried to move, but his arms and legs wouldn’t obey. They seemed awkward and cumbersome.
He tried to focus on the ceiling above his bed, and had to blink two or three times before it swam into sharp definition. Somewhere nearby, a machine was softly whirring. The ceiling was white and brightly lit. He seemed to be somewhere like a…a….
He tried to sit up, but his stomach muscles wouldn’t respond. He tried to call for help. “Arghh…urghhhh…” The words wouldn’t form in his mouth.
“You’ll regain the power of speech in an hour or so,” said a voice.
Nathan tried to turn his head to see its owner, but like his stomach, his neck appeared to be outside of his immediate control.
“Major motor movement will fully return by tomorrow,” the voice went on. Nathan recognized it. The person speaking was Myrrdan’s agent. He tried to bring the person’s face into his mind, but his memory was blank.
“Fine motor movement will take longer, perhaps another couple of days. All will be necessary for the task you have to complete, but fortunately we have time.”
“Urghewwerrrr,” Nathan grunted.
“The picotech will be employed again soon. There are a few candidate projects on Carthage and in space that I suspect they may use it for, and I’ve made sure you are well suited to infiltrate any of them. I have left plas sheets containing the details and other relevant information here for you to read when your movement returns. Destroy the sheets after you’ve committed the contents to memory—do not use your memory mods to store the information. Once you leave this place at the allotted time, you will not be able to return. You will not be able to recall this location either, so please do not waste time in trying. You will find you have little need of shelter anyway.
“Everything is clearly laid out in the plas sheets, including the equipment you require and what you must do with it. I don’t imagine stealing the picotech will be too difficult this time, not now that you’re in your current form. If I had thought to alter you before your first attempt at the SATC, you would not have failed. Still, we all learn from our mistakes, don’t we?”
“Owwwweeerahhhhhh.” Why can’t I move? What have you done to my body?
“The pain medication will wear off in about thirty minutes, by which time I will be gone. Do not be alarmed by the sensations you experience. They are only the consequence of severed nerve endings adjusting to their new state. Follow the exercises outlined in the sheets, and the discomfort will dissipate somewhat over time.”
The voice was coming from close by, as if the speaker was only a few centimeters from his ear. Nathan strained with all his might, but he couldn’t turn his head to see Myrrdan’s agent.
“In the unlikely event that you are detained, no routine bio security scan will identify you as your former self.”
My former self?
“Your retinal and breath signatures no longer match those you had previously. But your appearance will attract attention and create unnecessary inconvenience and delay at the very least. For this reason, you must travel at night and stay away from areas where you may encounter people. Sustenance will not be necessary for the duration required to perform your task, as an SC battery pack is now satisfying your energy requirements.”
As Myrrdan’s agent paused, Nathan became aware of the sound of his own breathing. The noise was oddly rhythmic and mechanical.
“Perhaps you are wondering if success in this task will elevate your importance in the eyes of Myrrdan. Of course, this thought comes frequently to your mind. His control of you mandates it. Even revealing the fact to you won’t diminish the desire you feel to please him. The answer is yes. Myrrdan will look favorably upon you if you deliver the picotech to me. Perhaps he may even allow you to return to your previous form.
“But do not forget that failure carries an equally weighty outcome. If you are not successful, you will have demonstrated that your caliber is not of the quality required to remain in his service. Yet you will know too much to be allowed to go free. Think on the implication of those two facts. I am leaving now. You will see me again.”
Beyond Nathan’s vision, a door opened and closed. Then there was silence, save for the automated whirr and the regular sigh of his breath. ‘The pain medication will wear off in thirty minutes…. Your retinal and breath signatures no longer match those you had previously.’
Panic flared in Nathan’s chest, but his body did not respond. His heart rate and breathing remained the same. The way his body gave him no feedback on his mental state terrified him further. All he could feel was the weird tingling all over. The sensation was growing stronger by the second.
He had to move. He had to find out what had happened to him. Nathan focused with all his might on the forefinger of his right hand, but the finger remained like frozen lead. He strained again. Finally, his fingertip twitched. As it came into contact with the surface of the bed, a sensation like white-hot needles piercing his skin jolted from the digit. Nathan wanted to gasp, to scream, but his lungs would not obey.
As he continued to try to regain control of his body, the tingling became painful. His fear at what had happened to him rose to dread. Part of him wanted to give up, to lie still and die where he lay. But he knew that would not stop the pain that was creeping up, stronger and stronger, and it would not bring him to Myrrdan.
By this time, Nathan was able to move his head a little. His view took in the bare, clinical room, the seat where Myrrdan’s agent had sat, and a monitor that was the source of the mechanical whirr. But what of himself? What did he look like?
He moved a leg, only a fraction. He shifted an arm. His hand slipped off the bed, and his arm hung awkwardly. He managed to raise a knee. He forced his chin down, trying to see his leg, but his neck was stiff as a rod. Instead, he jerked his head sideways and was rewarded with a view of a table and the plas sheets Myrrdan’s agent had left.
The pain was beginning to overwhelm him. Moving his body didn’t ease it, but neither did it make it any worse.
“Ehhhhhhhpppppmeeeeee. Ehhhhhhhhpppmeeeee. Pppppppppp.” Help me. Help me. Please.
But something overcame Nathan, coldly shutting down his plea for rescue from his horrific situation. His mouth snapped closed. His mind rejected further thoughts of release. He had a job to do. Myrrdan needed him to do something. He had to please Myrrdan.
Suddenly, Nathan’s stomach muscles obeyed him. He sat bolt upright, and for the first time, he had a good view of his surroundings. The room he was in was small and white. All it contained was what he had already seen, except for the simple hospital bed where he sat.
Horror gnawing at his belly, he turned his gaze down to his legs. They were not his legs. They were some kind of organic/mechanical hybrid. He could feel himself inside them, but hard, metallic elements shifted in the place of his muscles and skin.
As Nathan brought up a hand to touch his leg in disbelief, he saw that
his arms and hands had been altered the same way. His metallic fingers touched his stomach, his chest, his neck, only to discover the same odd machinery operating in what remained of his body. He did not yet have the courage to touch his face. He didn’t think he could deal with what he might discover.
Myrrdan’s agent had altered his body. Why?
Now that the government knew it was Nathan Hart who had tried to steal the picotech, it made sense to alter his appearance and biosigns—he would be immediately identified, otherwise. But what was the reason for these extreme alterations being forced on him?
Nathan had seen the supplemented bodies of soldiers, and even members of his own profession, but they still looked outwardly normal. The changes he’d undergone were far more radical than the job should require.
His nerves were screaming at him, but he couldn’t deny the compulsion to rise and go across the room to read the plas sheets. Maybe they would offer some kind of explanation for the radical surgery performed on him. He swung one leg over the edge of the bed, and then the other. Steadying himself by gripping the mattress, Nathan lowered himself to the floor. As soon as his legs bore his weight, his knees buckled under him, and he collapsed.
Still lying on the hard white tiles of the floor, he shuffled along on his side, bending his legs and pushing with his feet against the smooth surface. When he reached the table, he tried to pull himself up, but only succeeded in dragging the table over. It landed on him, sending his nerves into brittle spasms of agony. The plas sheets had spilled across the floor. Nathan’s fingers scrabbled at the nearest and managed to grip a corner. He dragged over the transparent sheet until his gaze could rove the writing and diagrams.
As Nathan read, the reasons for his physical modifications became clear. Of course he would need his new capabilities. Everything Myrrdan’s agent had said made sense now.
He would steal the picotech. He would be successful. Then Myrrdan would look favorably upon him.
CONTINUATION
STELLAR DATE: 12.02.8935 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Marine Eco Station #14, Knossos Island
REGION: Carthage, 3rd Planet in the New Canaan System
For the first time in his long career, Martin found he was becoming distracted from his work. It didn’t matter how often or how far he swam, he couldn’t shake thoughts of Erin from his mind. He would chuckle over the first time they’d met, at her casual humor at his disadvantaged state, he would regret his anger after she’d begun setting off explosives in the cliff, and his heart would warm with the memory of the time they’d spent together in the rain on his boat, visiting the newly forming landmass near the gas plumes.
His projects no longer held the same allure they once had. Though he was conscientious and maintained the same attention and exactitude as usual, he found that he didn’t revel in his successes anymore. He liked—if he was entirely honest with himself, he loved—the organisms he grew just as much, but they weren’t enough.
His problem was a simple one, and yet surprisingly difficult to solve: he wanted to get to know Erin better. He had a suspicion that being around her would make him content with his life again.
After a long day in the water, Martin returned to his laboratory residence and took a long shower in fresh water, washing the brine from his hair and eyes. He filled his mouth with the sweet liquid and spat it out several times, rinsing away the salty taste. After drying himself, he went into his living area and made some food. The Link provided music as he ate, then after, he filled in his data sheets with the day’s observations.
He recognized Cameron, a fellow marine biologist.
Martin considered the possible issues before replying.
Martin sucked air between his teeth.
Martin chuckled.
Martin smiled as their connection closed. He’d met Cameron at college. His friend had taken to calling him ‘old man’ not long after, in reference to Martin’s habit of shunning the latest fads in leisure and entertainment.
It wasn’t that he was a Luddite; he didn’t object to using whatever devices were required to help him in his work. But outside of work, it was true that he preferred simple, ‘old-fashioned’ pursuits, like plain old swimming, walking, and reading. He would rather read a book than experience a sim any day of the week. He preferred his own imagination.
Or he had. Until a certain person had interrupted the peaceful serenity of his thoughts.
He finished completing his notes on his observations and went to bed early.
The next day, he left at first light and piloted his boat along the coast to Knossos’s seaport. From there, he took a shuttle to Paros, where Cameron picked him up in a bright green, metallic, amphibious vehicle.
“This is what you use for work?” Martin asked, eyeing the craft. It was about the size of a four-seater autocab, but it ran on caterpillar tracks and sported several propellers.
“Sure,” Cameron replied. “I can go to any depth I like, and if I use the extendible equipment, I don’t ever have to leave my duck.”
“Your duck?”
“That’s what I call it.”
“OK, but being in the water is part of the fun, isn’t it?”
“It’s all right, but it’s colder here than where you are, don’t forget. And I don’t like wearing a wetsuit.” Cameron opened the hatch on the top of the vehicle. “Jump in.”
Martin climbed inside and sat in the passenger seat. Even before his friend closed the hatch, he began to feel claustrophobic. The feeling didn’t go away as they traveled to his colleague’s seeding site on the coast of the Aegean.
The wide ocean stretched as far as the South Pole and beyond, which made it cooler than the Mediterranean. Cameron drove down to the sand, across the beach, and straight into the waves. As the greenish water went up and over the windows, he star
ted up the propellers and dove downward, following the seabed.
Turning his attention to the transparent floor and the sand below it took Martin’s mind off his strong desire to leave the vehicle. Though the air inside turned colder now they were underwater, he still felt warm.
“The main kelp bed is about a kilometer offshore,” Cameron told him. “We’ll be there in a minute or so. I’m interested to hear what you think; there has to be something I’m missing. I’ve done everything by the book, so I can’t think of an explanation for the kelp just not taking.”
“I’m happy to look at it,” said Martin, “but I can’t promise anything.”
When they arrived at the site, Martin crouched on the floor of the amphibious vehicle to get a close look at the sand while Cameron propelled his duck through the water. What Martin saw confirmed exactly what his colleague had said. He might have planted the area with young kelp plants ten days previously, but there was no sign of the plants anywhere. It was as if they’d never been there at all.
“Are you sure it isn’t just that something ate them?” he asked.
“I’m pretty sure. There just isn’t enough life around here at the moment to eat it all—I planted acres of the stuff. I even scanned the bed to check for organisms I might not have taken into account, but I didn’t see anything unusual. I held back on releasing too many organisms before the kelp was established. But what I have released is already breeding, so if the kelp doesn’t grow soon, it could be a disaster.”
Martin shook his head. “This is no good. I can’t get a proper look at anything through the floor. I have to get out there.”
“If you insist, there are a couple of sets of diving equipment in the back,” said Cameron. “I’ll come out with you, but I don’t think it’s going to make any difference.”
Martin put on a wetsuit as Cameron guided the vehicle up to the surface. After dropping the anchor, he also put on a suit and fins. When he opened the hatch, Martin took a deep, pleasurable breath of the fresh ocean air before fixing his face mask and rebreather. It was just as pleasant to leave the confines of the craft and plunge into the cool water.
