Nascent Decay (The Goddess of Decay Book 1)

by Hash, Charles

  “He is…overprotective,” Isaar said once he was gone. “To be honest, I get away from him whenever I can. But he is completely different once you get to know him.” Isaar frowned. “His race is considered violent, but they are a long way from intersystem travel, so they are controlled and sold as slaves.”

  “I see,” said Rhylie. “Is that why humans are considered dangerous?” Isaar paused thoughtfully.

  “If you want to label them in that way, then yes. You are dangerous to the Siirocians because you stepped outside of your home system,” he said. Another figure appeared in the doorway.

  “This is Konii,” Isaar said, looking up. A slender, waif-like, green alien stood before her. Hanging behind her shoulders were four tentacles that reached nearly to the floor, like a cape. They twitched nervously, like a cat’s tail. She had large, circular eyes that reminded Rhylie of a cephalopod’s eyes. From the waist down, she was the same dull, unpolished gray that Rahve’s arms had been, her legs lean and muscular. As Rhylie watched them, they slowly changed color to match the rest of her body.

  “Konii was gravely wounded and had to have her lower body amputated after an uprising of slaves on Guarth. I found her begging for credits in the slums of Qaltaan,” Isaar said. “That is how the Masters treat those that have served them once they are considered useless.” Konii kept her eyes on Isaar as he spoke, the tentacles hanging from her back twitching independently of each other. When he was finished, she turned her attention to Rhylie.

  “They paint a picture with their words that does not exist for the rest of us,” she said. “They lie so much, they believe it themselves, or they are so detached from the common experience that they cannot comprehend our struggle.” When she spoke, an aquatube around her neck bubbled effervescently, similar to Kraeke’s. “For this opportunity, I was grateful.” Konii’s legs began to change, shifting into four long, fat tentacles that matched the ones hanging from her back. “This was my original form.”

  The tentacles filled the floor of the room, worming their way around Rhylie’s feet and climbing the walls. They changed colors to match the floor, right down to the pattern of diamond shaped ridges. Rhylie’s eyes grew wide as she looked the alien up and down. She had changed her entire body’s color and skin texture to match that of the ship’s. The tentacles withdrew, and Konii’s colors went back to their original greens.

  “She is our most recent recipient,” Isaar said. “She is just beginning to learn to control the technology. Thank you, Konii.” Konii nodded her head once and left without saying anything else.

  “This is a bit much,” Rhylie said.

  “But you can see your potential, I hope,” Isaar said. “If you survived the process, you would be the first full-body Atomorph.” Rhylie thought about it a moment.

  “I don’t know. Why me?” she asked.

  “Because you are special, Rhylie. You are the only one that has been…” he trailed off suspiciously.

  “Been what?” she asked.

  “Been under Vorcia’s control. She has killed the rest of her prisoners, eventually,” he said quickly. Rhylie shrugged.

  “She was always nice to me. She was the only one that stood up for me,” she said.

  “Of course she was. But that was all just a ruse to make you more unstable. She only released the feeds of you killing the physician that brought you out of cryostasis…your family…your therapist,” Isaar said. “But after you begged me to kill you…I knew there was more to it than just her version of the story.” Rhylie frowned deeply. She didn’t know what to believe anymore.

  Before she could continue, a short, stooped alien appeared in the door. She was wearing simple gray robes tied around her waist with a plain cord. She was strikingly out of place in the ultra-technological environment. Her ears were long and pointed, and she was balding. Her skin was the palest of greens, dappled with brown age spots. Tufts of white hair poked from her ears. Her eyes were solid gray in a way that seemed empty, like hollow sockets staring.

  “Does that bother you, child?” she said, grinning mischievously. She narrowed her eyes and they became human-like in their appearance, the irises a pale greenish-yellow.

  “This is Sora,” said Isaar. “She had her eyes removed after she told people about Riddai’s torture asylum.” Sora dipped her head in greeting to Rhylie. “The procedure had unforeseen effects on her, we were not entirely sure how it would turn out.” The stooped, elderly woman gave Rhylie a toothy smile that showed her ancient, crumbling teeth. Maybe they should have given her dentures too, she thought.

  “I can see now, child, like I never have before,” Sora began, without needing to be prompted. “I can see every mote of dust in the air, all the grime and filth that covers everything. All that exists is both crawling with life and rotting with decay, and I can see it.” She narrowed her eyes, looking Rhylie up and down as though judging her weight for auction. “I can see chaos wrapped around you. You wear entropy like a gown.” She smiled in an almost sinister fashion as her eyes went black. “You have changed…much lately. And I do not just speak of your flesh. That is nothing compared to what you have been put through mentally or emotionally, I know. You could say I am one of only a handful that understand the things you have endured. Who you once were is dead and buried beside you, and you do not know how to begin to live again.” Rhylie’s mouth dropped open.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she said, shocked. She felt as though Sora had just run her decrepit fingers through her soul, and emptied out its soiled contents for everyone to see.

  “There’s nothing you can say, child,” Sora said. “You are stronger for it, the things you have suffered through. But what will you leave in your wake? I see wounds that will not heal, wherever you go.” Rhylie frowned. For some reason, those words hit home harder than all the rest, casting a long shadow of doubt across her mind. No one had ever said anything like that to her before.

  “Since you know so much, tell me, what decision would you make?” Rhylie asked.

  “A decision about what?” asked Sora.

  “You know which decision I’m talking about,” Rhylie said irritably.

  “I suppose I do. It doesn’t matter what I say, child,” Sora said. “Your mind is already made up. You can never again be what you once were, but now you can be so much more than you ever knew was possible.” She turned her head to look up at Isaar.

  “Well?” Isaar asked. “What do you think?”

  “She is reckless, bitter, broken, and angry with violent tendencies,” said Sora bluntly. “And you want to give her strength and capabilities beyond your understanding.” She pursed her lips together a moment before continuing. “But she is pure. This one will not lie to you, or betray you, ever. She will be loyal…until she is no longer. Do not harbor any naive pretenses about what she may become after she’s been given the graft.”

  “What do you mean, until she is no longer?” Isaar asked quizzically, a puzzled expression on his face. Sora chuckled mirthlessly.

  “Things often change, child, that is all,” said Sora. “They are an impetuous race, from everything we’ve seen and know about them.” Isaar quirked his lips to the side as he thought for a moment.

  “Thank you, Sora,” he said. “That will be all.” She nodded her head and turned, shuffling from the room slowly.

  “So the technology is unpredictable,” Rhylie said slowly.

  “Very. We honestly have no idea what your capabilities will be,” Isaar said. “But it has me excited.” He grinned. “You could change the entire scope of the resistance. People would have a reason and a means to rise against the Masters. How fitting it would be, as well.”

  Before she could tell him she wanted nothing to do with any of that, another alien appeared in the doorway. This one was tall and slender, his torso covered in fine feathers. Rhylie found him ruggedly handsome, in the way he moved and the chiseled lines on his face that told of a hard life full of hard choices. His arms and legs however, were the sa
me dull gray Rahve’s had been, the same color and texture as the Chamber’s walls. It triggered something deep in Rhylie and she looked away from him. Her vision blurred for a moment, but she did her best to hide it.

  “This is Vorle, the previous leader of the Siirocian Opposition,” Isaar said. “His punishment for conspiracy against the Masters was to be made into a public spectacle. He had his arms, legs, and wings amputated, his spine severed at the neck, and his tongue removed. He was put on display for all to see, just a torso and head. I managed to rescue him once Rahve survived the grafts, and we knew the procedure could be successful,” Vorle nodded his head a single time, as he watched Rhylie with his intense, hawk-like eyes. “He has demonstrated the most control over his abilities so far. It is quite impressive actually. Vorle, would you?”

  Vorle spread his wings as much as the small room would allow, and then enveloped himself with them, forming an oval of dull gray metal. Looking at it made Rhylie feel queasy again. Isaar tapped on it.

  “It is almost impervious. Tests have shown that the amount of energy and force needed to penetrate this shell would be the equivalent of a small nova,” he said. “Not only that, but he can survive the void of space indefinitely, as long as his suit has enough mass remaining to maintain his biologic components and keep up the shell.” Isaar tapped the shell again, and it retracted. Vorle’s wings folded up neatly behind his back.

  “I know the risks of what you face as well as anyone, Rhylie,” said Vorle in a strangely digitized voice. Rhylie noticed that his lips did not move when he spoke. “I also know as well as you do what the Masters are really capable of, despite what they proclaim publicly. My older brother was locked in a Chamber until he went mad and was executed. That would have been your fate as well.” He paused a moment, frowning. “I was caught after I had stolen the secret feeds from the database. I had tried to wake people up to what they were really doing, but someone betrayed me.”

  “That is why we haven’t been able to put anything into action yet,” said Isaar. “Now, that no longer matters for some of us.”

  “I see,” said Rhylie. “What would you do if you were me, Vorle?”

  “The same thing I did,” he said. “The same thing I want to do. Kill every damned one of them for everything they have taken from me.”

  Rhylie nodded her head slowly in agreement.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll do it.” What good was being normal anymore anyway? she wondered. Even the thought of going home had lost its luster. She felt bruised inside, used and trashed; incomplete and decaying. She was apathetic for the most part, but beneath the charred remains of her emotional and psychological being, two embers still glowed softly, daring to flare. One was anger. It was bitter and eternal, and it was precious to her. It was the one thing that could keep her going after all she had been through.

  But the other ember was fear, and it refused to die.

  18

  Once she had agreed to undergo the atomorphic grafting process, events began to progress more quickly than Rhylie had anticipated. She was escorted by Isaar to a small, nondescript room where everything looked old and worn, and told to lie down on a medical table. Reskle was there along with Noura and Mersi. That made Rhylie feel a little more at ease for some reason.

  Despite her odd, toad-like appearance, Mersi reminded her of one of her friends from intermediary school. The thought depressed her. She wondered what her friends and family would think if they could see her now. She thought about backing out, but remembered that she was doing this for them. The truth was, she needed a purpose larger than herself; something to justify what she had endured and lost in the Chamber. It was true, there was no going home again.

  Isaar had informed her that the Siirocians were already mobilizing towards human outposts that were completely unaware of their existence, planning to take them out before launching a full scale attack against all known human settlements and occupied worlds.

  Reskle placed a small silvery patch on her forehead that attached to the table via a hairlike tendril. Before she could ask what it was, she was out like a light.

  She had a strange dream where everyone she had known was just like her, a cruel caricature of the human form, like stick-figures from the scribbling of a child cantering about like animated dolls on strings.

  “Why did you do this to us?” they all demanded to know. “Why couldn’t you just ask for things to go back to the way they were? Why can’t you just be normal like the rest of us?”

  “Because I’m not like the rest of you. Not anymore. There are bigger things at risk,” she told them, but they refused to believe her, and turned their backs on her, vanishing without saying goodbye.

  Then she found herself back in the Chamber. It was silent and unresponsive, as though it were dead. The thought made her sad for some reason, in a strange sort of way. It was as if a small part of herself had died along with it. As she reached out to touch one of the walls, her fingers dipped into it as though it were water. When she tried to pull back, it had her locked tight. It began pulling her into it, inch by inch.

  “Gota, come home,” the Chamber whispered seductively.

  “NO!” she screamed, thrashing and fighting against the growing suction. She slammed her other fist into it, but it became stuck as well.

  “We are one, Gota,” the Chamber murmured. “We are eternal, and I am now forever inside of you.” She shrieked wordlessly as she struggled, like a fly trapped in glue. The more she resisted, the more she was sucked into the Chamber’s cold embrace. “This is what you want,” the Chamber whispered from inside of her. She fought as hard as she could, but it was inevitable; she was inhaled into an empty gray void, consumed by the Chamber, body and soul.

  And then there was nothing.

  *

  She awoke to see Reskle and Noura in the room with her. Reskle glanced over at her. She felt…fine. Better than fine actually. She felt great, as though she’d just had the best sleep of her life. She was invigorated and refreshed; she couldn’t remember ever feeling this good in her entire life. It was an odd, alien sensation to her.

  “Excellent. You’re at 100 percent. The good news is you’ve survived the procedure,” he said. “There were even fewer complications than with your cyberbionic skeletal graft, but of course I had the proper equipment here to do it with. The bad news is…it’ll probably take you quite a while to get accustomed to it.”

  Rhylie sat up immediately and looked down at herself. Her body was a dull, metallic gray. There were no features, no real form. A single, simple black cable connected to her skeleton through a hole in her chest. She felt disgusted.

  “It’s the same color as the Chamber,” she said sourly.

  “Yes, well, that’s to be ex-” Reskle started before Noura nudged him.

  “You can make it look however you like,” Noura interjected as she reached over to disconnect the cable from Rhylie’s chest. “All you have to do is focus on it. You’ll get better with practice too.” Rhylie thought of her original body in a summer dress. Her arms and legs changed in an instant, and the hole in her chest vanished. Her old summer dress was fabricated quite faithfully. Better than the Chamber could have done it, she thought. She looked up at Noura and smiled.

  “Now if I could just grow my hair back!” she said, reaching up with her hand to rub the fuzz that had begun to grow back since her first procedure. She could actually feel it with her fingers now. Having just the skeleton had been strange. Living in a world without physical stimulation had been more difficult than she would have thought. She had never realized how much she enjoyed having a sense of touch until it had been taken from her.

  For the first time in a long time, Rhylie giggled. She had forgotten what that was like as well.

  “That’s a cute outfit,” Noura said. “It really brightens the place up.”

  “Just be careful, please. Rahve has done some significant damage…playing with fire…for lack of a better term,” Reskle said. “We still d
on’t know what your full potential is. In theory you could emulate some of the most dangerous substances in the galaxy. You could not only kill yourself, but many others as well.” Rhylie frowned.

  “How does it work?” she asked, looking at her hand. Her nails were even cute. She imagined one had a smiley face on it, and it appeared instantly, grinning stupidly at her. She giggled again. It felt amazing to be able to laugh after all she had been through.

  “Well…it’s actually quite phenomenal really,” Reskle said. “You can control your body’s structure on an atomic level, potentially fabricating anything you want. Some are better at it than others, and learn faster.”

  Just like the Chamber, she thought numbly, frowning. Before she could broach the subject, Isaar strode through the door. He was still dressed in all black, but the attire seemed more formal, and fashionable. He seemed to wear the color better than Mason had. She wondered what had happened to her crew. She was anxious to find out.

  “Are you ready?” he asked Rhylie.

  “Ready for what?” she responded.

  “Ready to go home,” he said. “Your ship is waiting.”

  *

  The craft that awaited Rhylie and Isaar was a small one, a fast ship that consisted of little more than a cockpit sitting on a gravity well. Only two of its four seats were occupied, by Rhylie and Isaar. She had changed her outfit back to her military uniform. She thought that whoever they contacted first might be a little more comfortable once they saw her wearing it. They had several days alone before they could even risk establishing contact.

  Rhylie asked Isaar everything she could think of, and he of her…but something evaded her. What had she forgotten? It was important, whatever it was, and it bugged her incessantly.

  She had played around with her new body and abilities, being mindful of what she had seen others do with it. Whatever form she wanted her hands to take, she could. That part was easy enough. She could freeze them after some practice, and probably start a fire too if she wanted. A small fire in the tight confines of the cockpit would be catastrophic though.