Nascent Decay (The Goddess of Decay Book 1)

by Hash, Charles

  “No. We can get her through this. We have to get her through this. We have no alternative at this point,” Isaar said. “What is your name? Your real name?” he asked again, pressing her. She struggled to recall. What was her real name? How long had it been since she had heard it spoken aloud by another being?

  She remembered being called another name, a long, long time ago, when she had been someone else, something else. Sometimes she would have dreams about those times, before she became Gota. She closed her eyes and focused on her real mother’s face, trying to remember what she had been called when she was still just an innocent child. The forbidden name. She opened her eyes.

  “Rhylie,” she mumbled, as the fog broke and colors began to form into shapes. She could almost make out the face above her. “Rhylie Ella Underhill.” Her lips were dry and her throat ached. The throbs of pain in her head began to soften in frequency and intensity. She heard Isaar sigh heavily with relief.

  “You have been through something very traumatic, Rhylie,” he said, placing one of his hands on her head. His touch was cool, and soothing. “Something that had to be done. I take full responsibility for the decision. The rest were just following my orders.” His voice had a serious tone, like her Sergeant’s, but it was soft and apologetic at the same time.

  “Wh-what are you talking about?” she asked, stumbling over the question. Her mouth was so dry. All she wanted was some water.

  “If you need someone to blame, that someone is me,” Isaar said plainly. “I rescued you and brought you here. I made the decision to perform the procedure.”

  “What procedure?” she asked, trying to lift her head up. It felt like a ton of rocks. The conversation was bringing her headache back in full force.

  “You had…a neurobionic implant…along your spine. The neurotransmitter was placed at the base of your skull,” Reskle interjected into the conversation. “The tendrils had extended themselves the length of your spinal cord as we had suspected, and compromised your nervous system.” Rhylie didn’t like where this was going.

  “With it, Vorcia had access to all of your physical senses, your thoughts, emotions…location,” Isaar said. “There was only one way to remove that type of implant without the master tech.”

  “What did you do to me?” Rhylie asked, panicking. Fresh pain crept through her skull, finishing with a crescendo that pounded mercilessly behind her eyes. She shut them again, blocking out the blinding light that came with her revitalized vision.

  “The only thing we could do, Rhylie, other than kill you and eject you into space,” Isaar said, sounding remorseful. “We removed your body and replaced it with a cyberbionic skeletal graft.” She clenched her fists and began to tremble with anger and frustration. She could hear something rattling softly, and it took her a moment to realize it was the sound of her shaking on whatever she was lying on. What kind of monster had they turned her into?

  “Her biostreams are erratic. I’ve never encountered readings like this,” Reskle said. “She’s syncing almost as fast as Konii did but she’s extremely unstable right now. We have to calm her down.” Isaar looked at Reskle for a moment and turned his head back to Rhylie.

  “Rhylie, you have to listen to me. Please do not kill my crew,” Isaar implored. “Just me, if you must. This is all my fault.” Rhylie began laughing.

  “I told you she’s mad,” Reskle said. “She’s too dangerous. She’ll be able to tear the ship apart and there’s nothing we can do to stop her.” This made Rhylie laugh even harder.

  “Please, Rhylie-” Isaar began.

  “I know I’m still in the Chamber, you stupid assholes,” she cackled mirthlessly. “It’ll never let me leave, never ever.” Suddenly her vision sharpened and everything around her came into full view. She could see Isaar’s face and his solid red eyes with their golden ringed irises. Beside him was another, shorter alien wearing a white apron that was smeared with blood. It was the one that had scanned her in the cockpit before she’d blacked out. She decided that he must be the one called Reskle.

  “She’s reaching full sync,” Reskle said. Rhylie sat up on the table, looking down at her new body.

  She was connected to a myriad of cables and tubes that limited her movement. From the neck down she was numb, there was no sensation; no heat, no cold. Her entire body was now a series of slender, polished tubes that interlocked at the joints. Her fingers and toes were tiny, linked bars. She flexed her hand. It opened and closed silently. She could control it, but she couldn’t feel it.

  She slammed her fist down on the table, sinking it in. When she pulled it away, it left a deep, fist shaped dent in the dull unpolished metal. She grabbed the edge of the table and pulled it back as if it were paper, tearing it with a loud rending sound.

  “Stop!” yelled Isaar. “Please!” He placed his hand timidly on her forearm. She couldn’t feel his touch. She looked up at his eyes. They were more expressive than the Siirocians’ had been.

  “You are much…much stronger than you were,” Reskle said, stressing the words. “Your new body is…not as frail as your old one.” He was wringing his hands, trembling as he looked up at her.

  “Why did you do this to me?” Rhylie asked numbly, looking back down at her form. She looked like a macabre stick figure; a grotesque mockery of the human form.

  “The Masters believe you are dead now,” Isaar said. “And us as well. They will not come looking for us.” Rhylie shook her head. She wished she were dead. This all could have ended a long time ago.

  “Why didn’t you just kill me?” Rhylie asked. “Why this?”

  “Because there are greater plans in progress for you now,” Isaar said. “With your consent, of course.”

  The thought terrified Rhylie. It wasn’t the first time she had heard that.

  17

  Before long Rhylie was able to walk back to the cockpit unaided. Her new body was different, lighter. She felt as though she could run forever, or jump higher than she had ever dreamed possible. It was just horrific to look at. She was glad she didn’t have to see herself.

  The crew treated her like a ticking bomb. When she stepped through the doorway, one of the aliens swiveled around in their seat. His eyes grew wide at the sight of her. He was covered with dark green scales ringed with a lighter, paler green. They were much larger and more course than the Siirocians’ had been. His eyes were a pale green, almost white, split in the middle with a black slit. He gripped the arms of the seat tightly, digging his fingers in.

  “That is Drasce,” Isaar said, stepping into the cockpit behind her. “And this is my half-sister, Noura,” he said as he motioned towards the female that had just turned to face them. She could have easily passed for a human, other than her drab yellow eyes and deep purple complexion. She had long, black hair that flowed past her shoulders in shimmering ringlets, and the same long, pointed ears as Isaar’s, only more petite. “And Mersi,” he said, motioning towards the last seat. Mersi had her back turned to them and did not move. A petite hand with long, slender fingers poked up from the chair and waved. The skin on it was rough and pebbled, with a brownish tone. “Everyone, this is Rhylie.”

  “What’s on the feeds?” Reskle asked as he stepped into the cockpit behind them.

  “The Masters are spinning it all of course. The feeds claim Primiceps was attacked by humans with the assistance of the Siirocian Opposition, and Gota was rescued,” the voice from the chair said, sounding young and squeaky.

  “Rhylie,” Isaar said cautiously. “Her name is not Gota.”

  The chair spun around, and a small, child-like alien sat in the seat. She had large, bulging eyes that almost sat on either side of her head. Her eyes were a soft, velvety brown with a golden iris and black pupils. One of them blinked as she stared at Rhylie with her mouth agape, and then the other followed suit. She had clear membranes underneath her eyelids, like a toad, making it appear as though both eyes blinked twice.

  “I didn’t mean-” she began.

  �
�It’s ok,” Rhylie said softly. “What do you mean, humans freed me?”

  “They are attempting to garner support for the war,” said Isaar.

  “What war?” asked Rhylie.

  “The war against humans,” Isaar responded.

  “I don’t-” she started. “What? They’ve already authorized the Extinction Decree.” she said. Isaar placed his hand on what used to be her shoulder.

  “Is that what they told you?” he asked.

  “Yes. I was there,” she responded. Isaar guided her to a seat. Everyone was watching her.

  “No, you were not,” Isaar said as he looked in her eyes.

  “They…told me that humans were unfit for a civilized society and that they would be wiped out,” Rhylie said.

  “Those are all lies, Rhylie. The Masters are still preparing for a war on humans. They have been using feeds of you to gather support for the war,” he said cautiously. But his eyes were as intense as they could be. She could feel the fire inside of them. “Matriarch, display feed Mantis Widow.” She was shocked. She didn’t know what to say.

  Before she could even process and consider what he was telling her, a three dimensional image appeared in the center of the cockpit, as real as could be. It showed Ryan backing away from her, his hands raised, begging. She looked away as she heard his screams.

  “Shut it off,” she said. It hurt to watch it.

  “You have to know,” said Isaar. She looked back to the image.

  The scene cut immediately to her stumbling towards the children as they turned and ran upstairs in fear.

  “That’s not how it happened,” she said, closing her eyes again.

  “Matriarch, shut the feed,” Isaar said, as the children began screaming. “That is all I needed to hear.”

  “Why?” asked Rhylie, keeping her eyes closed. Tears began to wet her cheeks.

  “Because Vorcia has been lying to every one, especially you. Everything that has happened to you since you were captured has been fabricated by the Chamber. You have not harmed anyone,” Isaar said. “We have to warn your people. We can still save your race if we move fast.”

  “How?” she asked. “Humans don’t have the technology to fight the Masters.”

  “We…are currently developing something that needs a little more field testing,” said Reskle. Rhylie looked over at him. He dropped his head and began fidgeting. I must look horrible, she thought, even to those who can’t see. She put her head back down as well.

  “The Masters control all of the technology in the galaxy. Or they try to anyway,” Isaar said. “They hoard it for themselves, and have strict regulations on development and applications. This causes technological developments to progress very slowly at times.” Isaar cut a glance over to Reskle.

  “Yes,” said Reskle. “So those of us…willing to do our research and development outside of their oversight…well, we can make some truly significant advances.”

  “I’m not sure what all of this means,” Rhylie asked cautiously.

  “We can give you a new body, Rhylie,” said Isaar. “And you will be more powerful than you ever imagined.” She frowned darkly.

  “What if I don’t want it? What if I want my old body back?” she asked.

  “We can do that too. You have time to consider it. We will not reach our outpost for at least another 200 nanocycles,” Isaar said.

  “I don’t even know how long that is,” Rhylie said numbly.

  “Galactic time measurements are determined by a pulsar,” Mersi piped in with her high pitched voice. “90 nanocycles are approximately one earth rotations.” Isaar looked at her quizzically. “What?” she asked. “I’ve been watching old human broadcasts. It’s strange how we’ve never noticed them before. They use some really archaic tech that went obsolete thirty centicycles ago, or longer.

  “Possibly because Vorcia has been suppressing their existence,” Isaar said. “The Siirocians stand to lose the strategic buffer between them and the Siddish if humans are allowed to join the Galactic Council.”

  “That makes sense,” said Mersi.

  “Wait,” said Rhylie. “So we can still save my people?”

  “If we move quickly,” said Isaar solemnly. “But I am afraid this may be the final push they needed for the extermination to begin.”

  *

  When they arrived at the outpost, Rhylie was shown to a private room. It was sparse, with a single cot. She was watching a feed of herself waking up from the cryostasis pod when Isaar walked in.

  “You should not be watching that,” he said, sounding concerned. Rhylie frowned.

  “I have to. I have to know…” she trailed off as the scene cut from her climbing out of the pod to her hurtling herself at the doctor. She shook her head. “That’s not how it happened. That’s not how any of it happened.”

  “I know,” said Isaar. “I saw some of the feeds they filtered out, and kept suppressed. I did not have time to watch them all, but I saw more than enough.” She nodded her head numbly as the scene ended.

  “So the doctor wasn’t real?” she asked.

  “No more real than your…husband and children were,” he said cautiously. “Although there are some that would argue the things that happen in the Chamber are more real than what is going on right now.” He frowned. “There are some that even beg for the Chamber.”

  “Really?” said Rhylie in disbelief.

  “Yes,” Isaar said. “Soft minded fools or broken souls that would rather live a fabricated existence than deal with reality.”

  “I see,” Rhylie said. “I don’t ever want to go back.”

  “I don’t blame you,” he replied.

  “Have a seat,” she said, motioning to the only chair in the room. He smiled slightly, but remained standing.

  “I am sorry our accommodations are not more luxurious,” Isaar said. “But we are not much of a resistance anymore.”

  “It’s fine,” she said as she looked around. “It’s not like I can even feel anything. I have no use for a bathroom or even privacy. As long as the pillows are soft it will be fine.” Isaar gave her a sideways grin. It made Rhylie feel a little more at ease.

  “I’m glad you’re taking it so well. I plan on introducing you to the others that have gone through this process, so that they might demonstrate their capabilities,” he said. “Before you give us your final answer.” Rhylie didn’t respond. She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t taking it well at all, but she let him keep talking. She owed him that much, at least. “I will not lie to you. Less than half of those that have attempted to be bonded have survived. And none of the survivors have had a full body graft performed.”

  “So it’s dangerous,” Rhylie said. “I understand. But no more dangerous than having a new body cloned, right?”

  “Less dangerous actually,” Isaar said. “We would have to remove your cyberbionic skeleton before we grafted your cloned body to your head. That would be two cerebral amputations in less than a microcycle. But with the atomorphic tech, we can just graft it directly to your current cyberbionics. You’ve already survived the worst of it.”

  “But I’d be normal again,” said Rhylie hesitantly. She wasn’t even sure what that meant anymore.

  “Yes, you could return home to your people, and no one would ever know what you have been through, if you did not want them to,” Isaar said. “But your potential with the atomorphic graft…you could help us end the oppression under the Masters and the Galactic Council.” Rhylie looked down.

  “I suppose I owe you something for rescuing me,” she said reluctantly. Suddenly she wished she were back in the Chamber. She pushed the thought out of her head angrily.

  “You owe me nothing,” Isaar said. “I tried to kill you, remember?” Rhylie nodded her head once without looking up and followed it up with a shrug.

  “I remember,” she said numbly. A shadow darkened the doorway.

  “Ah, this is Rahve,” Isaar said. “The first to survive the procedure.” Rhylie looked up,
and saw a hulking alien that could barely fit through the door of the compartment. His skin was dull, dark and leathery with the texture of burnt plastic. There were two 6 inch tusks jutting from his lower jaw, and a long, thick tail flickered behind him. He stared at Rhylie for a long moment before grunting. But that wasn’t the strangest thing about him. His arms were. They seemed out of proportion with his body, larger and more muscled, covered with a dull metallic material instead of skin. There was something about them that made the hair on the back of Rhylie’s neck stand up, her heartbeat quickening at the sight of them. Her mouth opened unconsciously.

  “Rahve had his arms amputated as punishment for killing a slavemaster, and was thrown in a trash processor to die,” Isaar said solemnly. “Instead, he was salvaged and I found him for sale in the local market. The price of real meat can be incredibly high in some places.” He frowned. “Rahve is from one of the slave races, those held in servitude by the so called civilized races.” Rahve growled deeply. Isaar sighed. “He does not communicate well, but he is intensely loyal. Show her what you can do, Rahve.” The hulking beast nodded his head at Isaar.

  He flexed his arms and spikes raised up along them, dozens of thin, needle-like sabers that pulsed in a steady sway with each breath he took. His hands began to glow, red at first, then white hot, radiating a searing heat throughout the room. Rhylie put her hand up to protect her face from the heat, but the skeletal digits of her cyberbionic fingers did little to protect her. Isaar made a silencing motion with his hand. Rahve’s arms and hands returned to normal.

  “Isaar…save…Rahve,” the beast growled. “You no hurt him.” He narrowed his eyes at Rhylie and pointed at her threateningly with a huge, metallic finger. His fist was as big as her head.

  “That is enough, Rahve,” Isaar said with a hint of frustration. “If she wanted to hurt me, she would have done so by now. You can go.” The beast nodded his head again and turned, wriggling his way through the doorway.