He would not see the skies of Earth again, no matter what. Even if he hadn’t fallen in with Click, if he’d been a good and loyal Deathguard, he would have rampaged behind enemy lines until the alien soldiers destroyed him, or until his systems shut down from cascading failures in the cyborg process. What remained of his human body—wired up and intertwined with weapons and armor—could not withstand the shock for long. Maybe biological tissue rejection would get him, or faulty mechanical and electronic integration.
The Werewolf Trigger was oddly quiet inside his head, and he felt no compulsion to rampage among Jaxxans and slaughter them. Maybe that compass of violence had also gotten skewed, the neural hookups damaged somehow by his second thoughts. But no, it was more than that.
Each day, Click focused his thoughts and manifested the shimmering holystal. After watching his comrade’s meditation, Rader had begun emulating the process as best he could. The Werewolf Trigger could send him into a murderous frenzy at any time, but he was learning to quell the urges. He hadn’t known that a Deathguard could control the trigger—no one had mentioned it in his training.
Now, Click rotated and inspected the glowing image he had manifested, and even Rader could see the extreme changes in the crystal pattern. As his mistakes piled up and his options became more limited, the three-dimensional map of Click’s life became more jumbled. The holystal was a sorry mess, a lump with no discernible paths leading into the future.
“We can’t just stay here and hope no one finds us,” Rader said. “We’ve got to get off of this asteroid.”
During basic training with his squadmates, Rader had studied the layout of the Fixion Belt. He knew the handful of human outposts and remembered one of the first facilities the League had built here: an automated observatory on a small outlying asteroid, established before the initial encounter with Jaxxans. Observation dishes mapped the deep cosmos and monitored the Belt’s other asteroids. Years ago, those telescopes had been the first to spot Jaxxan incursions into the asteroid belt, watching the aliens build their own bases on the handful of habitable rocks.
The observatory was out of the way and uninhabited, but with functional life support installed and left behind by the original construction crew.
“I know someplace safe. We’ll have time and breathing space—if we can get there.”
After Rader described the observatory, Click said, “But we cannot live there for long. It can only be a temporary measure.”
Rader’s voice was bleak. “My life is just a temporary measure. If we reach the observatory, maybe I’ll stick around long enough to help you find a safer place. One step at a time. First, we’ve got to get from here to that little asteroid.”
Click pondered for a moment. “If we need nothing more than an in-system ship to take us through the asteroids to the observatory, the Jaxxan base’s landing field has many capable vessels. We could take one.”
“I couldn’t fly it,” Rader said. “How about you?”
“That depends on the specific type of vessel. I flew several of those craft during my team’s work on the System Holystal. We could try.”
“We could try,” Rader agreed.
Click looked across the landscape to where the distant Jaxxan base and its landing field glowed above the foreshortened horizon. Suddenly his holystal shifted, adjusted itself to the new reality—and one new bright spire emerged.
–11–
Commissioner Sobel traveled in secret to a landing field near the main Jaxxan base, where he would meet with Warlord Kiltik. Together, they would unleash their special team behind battlefield lines to take care of the embarrassing situation before rumors could leak out.
Sobel could cover up the problem for another few days, but high command would know about it before long. He wanted to be able to announce that he’d eliminated the defective Deathguard before uncomfortable questions came down the pipeline. He didn’t have much time. Although he had no understanding of Jaxxan politics or military protocol, he sensed that Kiltik felt just as much incentive and anxiety.
As he and the alien Warlord watched the ten human and Jaxxan trackers demonstrate their cooperative efforts, Kiltik startled him with an unexpected comment. “I have learned that your people call us ‘cockroaches,’ Commissioner.”
Sobel tried to cover his embarrassment. “Roaches? Yes, I’ve heard that. It’s just an Earth insect. There are some … physical similarities.”
“Not just an Earth insect, Commissioner, but one that is considered filthy, one that wallows in or feeds on garbage. In reality, the Jaxxan race is quite fastidious.”
Sobel gave an unconvincing laugh. “I wouldn’t worry about it. It’s a common practice among grunts—er, lower level soldiers—to create derogatory names for the enemy. I’m certain your race does the same. Don’t you have any insulting terms for humans?”
Warlord Kiltik twitched. “We call them humans. That is all the insult we need.”
The ten-member hunter squad continued training. The human soldiers had already been briefed specifically on how to kill a Deathguard (details they would not reveal to their alien counterparts). The current exercises showed the team members how to effectively combine Earth League laser weaponry and Jaxxan energy-web techniques. Most importantly, they got used to working with one another. That was the big barrier to break.
Kiltik said, “I find it discouraging that ten trained fighters are necessary to combat two deserters.”
“No one is more annoyed than I am, but those two have already killed fourteen of my fighters and six of yours. I should be proud of our Deathguard’s fighting skills, but I cannot help but wonder if your soldier somehow corrupted him.”
Kiltik choked his dry, rustling cough. “Who corrupted whom? Remember, Jaxxans are empaths. How can one of us possibly remain normal when constantly bombarded with your Deathguard’s alien perspectives? Our deserter was already flawed, in the wrong place after being removed from the System Holystal project. Your Deathguard has irreparably damaged him.”
A Jaxxan trotted up from one of the outpost buildings and handed the Warlord a small geometric crystal. Kiltik turned the object over in his hands, feeling the facets and reading its shape. When he finished, the crystal vanished from his hands.
“I have just been informed by my reconnaissance that the two deserters were spotted in the wastelands, moving away from the front. Then they vanished again.”
Sobel frowned. “If we knew where they were going, our hunter squad could intercept them.”
The Commissioner remembered visiting Rader in the med-center when he was no more than a few mangled lumps of flesh wired up to life-support; he’d had high hopes for his newest Deathguard. Now, he just wanted him removed from the equation.
He and Kiltik stood together, admiring their special team.
* * *
High above the ecliptic, bright starlight reflected off of the giant planes of polished cometary ice and majestic crystal spires being assembled there by Jaxxan imaginers and psychics.
The human military did not know the location of the System Holystal construction above the asteroid belt. Even if they did stumble upon the site, they wouldn’t understand it. Warlord Kiltik did not understand it himself. Holystal interpretation was not the duty of his caste, but he trusted the skills and knowledge of those who manifested such a representation. They could read the lines of fate, the fractures and angles that showed which paths Jaxxans could take into the future.
Thousands of workers operated here in space. While high-powered imaginers used their mental powers to create holographic portions of the ever-changing structure, teams of builders pushed small chunks of orbiting ice and diverted comets to deliver the materials here.
The Jaxxan race now inhabited five star systems. In each one, a revered System Holystal such as this one guided their decisions. The Jaxxan deserter who had joined forces with the human Deathguard had once been a skilled holystal imaginer who could understand subtle nuances in the cosmic construct
ions.
Now the Warlord flew in a small observation shuttle, piloted by his chief adviser. It was part of Kiltik’s regular briefing to plan the next week’s tactics, but he was losing confidence in the adviser’s recommendations. Any decent interpreter should have been able to warn against the current mess. The chief adviser knew his failing and desperately wanted to return to the Warlord’s good graces.
The observation shuttle approached the gigantic holystal, and Kiltik marveled at its facets, saw the distant starlight that reflected from the shining surfaces. He realized that it had been a mistake to demote the holystal engineer and turn him into a mere battlefield soldier. Observing the facets and angles, the Warlord could see how easy it would be to predict a different future from all the complexity. Even his chief adviser now suspected that some of the deserter’s contradictory warnings might have had some merit.
However, the deserter’s actions were indefensible: collaborating with a human—and not just any human, but a Deathguard who was single-handedly responsible for the murder of dozens if not hundreds of Jaxxan soldiers! It was shameful, an embarrassment, and Warlord Kiltik needed the situation resolved. In that, he was completely aligned with his human counterpart.
Reticent and chastised, the chief adviser flew the survey shuttle in a tight orbit over the giant holystal. Kiltik remained silent, his disapproval hanging in the enclosed cockpit. The adviser devoted his attention to the kaleidoscopic facets, the ever-changing fissures, crystalline angles, cracks and impurities, each of which indicated a different future, a path of fate that must be heeded.
Finally, the Warlord expressed his impatience. “I am not sightseeing. I am here to ferret out information. You are my interpreter. If you wish to regain my respect, then find answers.” He turned his polished eyes to the nervous chief adviser. “Look at the holystal, find the portions that are relevant to these deserters. I need to know what their plans are. Our hunter squad must know where they intend to go.”
The adviser’s voice was thin and warbling. “The holystal is still under construction, Warlord. Even if we find the proper facets, any answers are merely within a locus of possibilities.”
“Then I need those possibilities. Narrow them down so I can make my decisions.”
The chief adviser guided the survey shuttle over an expanse of stalagmite-covered ice and broken shards, a jumble that meant something to a Jaxxan properly versed in interpretation. “There, Warlord!” The adviser pointed to a flurry of cracks and warped transparency in the polished ice. “That appeared since my last visit here.”
“What changed?”
“The deserters have made a concrete plan, which is reflected here. This allows us to draw conclusions.”
Kiltik was careful not to praise the man too much. “How accurate can you be?”
“I have a … reasonable certainty.” He was cautious, not wanting to commit to what might be another error. The chief adviser stared through the windowport, assessing the ripples and distortion in the crystalline structure. “We cannot extrapolate far into the future, but I can project where they intend to go next.”
Kiltik felt pleased. “If that information is accurate enough for our hunter squad to intercept them, then we won’t need any further projections.”
–12–
With Click leading the way, they entered the hulking lump of buildings that was the Jaxxan military base—neatly organized but crowded structures, large and small, with flat walls slanted at hard-to-interpret angles. The buildings were dark, the passages between them narrow, the architecture strange and disorienting to Rader—everything based on oblique angles rather than perpendicular walls.
The Jaxxan military base, as with the human outpost on the other side of Fixion, had started out as a basic forward station, a testing ground for a possible colony, before the war broke out. But no hopeful colonists had ever arrived, and now the temporary city was a bizarre collage of trading posts, refectories, warehouses, arsenals, administrative hives, and command posts.
He and Click had to make their way through the middle of it at night, skirt any populated sections, and reach the landing field, where they hoped to steal a small in-system craft.
Rader used his suit sensors to scan for danger, while coaching Click in how to keep himself from being seen. Somehow, the alien couldn’t grasp the technique of searching for cover. However, after countless switchbacks and false starts, Click had become lost in the tangled streets. He sounded dismayed. “I was assigned to the System Holystal project out in space. I spent very little time in this settlement.”
Rader scanned ahead. “We’ll figure out a viable route to the landing field.” He and his companion moved from alley to alley until they had lost all sense of direction.
Disoriented and impatient, Click stepped into a wide intersection to get his bearings while Rader took a reading to determine how far they were from the ships. The Deathguard’s sensors detected movement in the shadows, forms converging on them with high-sensitivity detectors of their own. He knew this wasn’t right.
He heard a voice hiss, a human voice, here in the middle of the Jaxxan base. “That’s him! The Deathguard—and the deserter!”
A laser rifle etched a molten line across the flat tan wall of a nearby building. Rader jerked Click back into the dark alley as a freshly formed green energy-web hurtled toward them. The shimmering threads sliced off the corner of a structure.
The hunters surged out of their cover, humans and Jaxxans tracking them together. Before Rader could grasp the implications, he used his laser rifle to kill one—a Jaxxan, he thought—and scatter the others. One down. Synthetic adrenaline juiced him, and he fell into full defensive mode. He dragged Click with him down to the end of the alley and blasted a hole through the thin wall so they could push their way into a side street.
They dashed through the maze of passageways, glad for the darkness. Deathguard reflexes kicked in, filling him with a sense of heightened danger. Without saying a word, Click ran along beside him, in shock. From behind, they could hear shouts and noises as the hunter squad continued their pursuit.
Rader was amazed to realize that the Earth League and the Jaxxan military had cooperated to hunt them down. It would take all his skills and energy to avoid capture and keep Click alive. He focused entirely on their escape.
Suddenly his insides jerked, and he felt pressure building up in his brain as the Werewolf Trigger activated: KILL. KILL.
“Click, get out of here!”
The Jaxxan stumbled next to him. “But where should I go?”
“I’m dangerous! Get away from me!” Rader shoved him off to one side, hunching over in his futile attempts to control himself. “Quick, dammit!” Click stumbled off, running but woefully clumsy.
The Deathguard’s implanted weapons systems activated, his laser rifle became part of him, and his head exploded with red noise, the alarm voice pounding against pressure points in his brain.
The whole world around him became a target, and the enemy lost its distinct form. He didn’t know for sure what it was he must KILL, but he had to KILL it anyway. The berserker alarm told him to.
Gripping his laser rifle with reinforced gloves, he leaped out into the street, taking pot-shots at buildings, shooting at shadows in windows. Rader’s shout was amplified by his helmet speakers—and from his scream, the hunter squad pinpointed his location.
He looked ahead down an alley, studying details through light-amplification sensors. A vague memory jumped into his mind. Someone had gone that way, indistinct—the enemy? He bounded between the angled buildings, paying no heed to the movement behind him.
Rader breathed with mechanical rhythm, peering into the shadows with heightened senses. His cyborg systems increased his metabolism, supercharged what remained of his biological tissue.
A brilliant shooting star, gift from the Fixion Belt, whistled over his head in a final flash of glory.
Rader leaped forward, unable to control his actions. He saw a Jaxxan a
head of him, running, stumbling along. A vague, distant voice tugged at the back of his mind, telling him that this wasn’t the real enemy … but the Werewolf Trigger drowned the rational voice.
Click.
The lone Jaxxan let out a chitter of fear and ran along a perpendicular alley, straight toward the landing field, still trying to reach the ship they needed. He reached an open construction area where skeletons of oddly angled buildings stood among piles of naked plastic-alloy girders.
Rader launched himself into the construction area like a jungle fighter. Shadows surrounded him, but he paid them no heed. Ahead, he saw the alien, the enemy. Recognition flickered in his mind for a moment—but the clamor forced it away.
KILL
No!
Click stumbled among tangled wires and slabs of polymer concrete in piles for assembly crews. He stopped short against a half-constructed wall, wheezing in the thin air.
Rader stepped victoriously over a girder, then leaped down in front of the cornered target. He pushed the laser rifle close to the Jaxxan’s large black eyes.
But the alien refused to use his energy-web. Click merely regarded the weapon’s blunt barrel.
KILL KILL, the voice of the Werewolf Trigger insisted.
No! No!
Rader’s will struggled against a fortune of scientific conditioning. He had to fire, had to destroy. The command pulled harder at his mind, building in intensity, tearing him apart.
KILL KILL
No!
The Deathguard swung his weapon up and went wild, blasting buildings, slicing through support struts, destroying anything but Click.
Jumping away, he charged back in the direction he had come—and ran abruptly into the hunter squad. They reacted, but the Deathguard was too fast. The Werewolf Trigger ordered him to KILL—and this time he didn’t resist. He left two dead human soldiers and one Jaxxan in the wake of his fury, then dove into cover, racing through the construction site. Four down.
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