by Bill Denise
“We could shoot him!”
Ken stopped his talking and turned away from his console to look at Leland his eyes wide and non-comprehending. “Wait, what?”
“Shoot him! Of course!” When it was obvious that Ken thought he was crazy, Leland went on, speaking quickly. “The guns they used on him, they were able to affect him through his armor. I never really looked at them closely, but somehow they penetrated the armor. Could we modify them to get in? To help him? To save him?”
Ken jumped up and started talking to Camden immediately as he ran for the shuttle. Leland was left behind momentarily until he realized Ken was leaving, and had to jog to catch up.
Ken put the weapon through a complete diagnostic scanner that revealed everything about its form and function. Once the projectiles were identified as microscopic needles, which they dubbed nano-needles, the surgery team flew into action. Now that they knew what to look for, they began extracting the nano-needles from all over Damon’s body. At the same time, Ken had the ship manufacture more of the projectiles so they could use the weapon to administer drugs and diagnostics.
The first shot was the hardest, and Camden couldn’t do it. Aiming the ugly weapon at a patient and pulling the trigger was just too unnatural an act for the doctor. Finally, Ken took the weapon, pointed it at Damon, turned his head, closed his eyes, and fired.
Everyone in the room flinched even though the sound was a soft “whoosh” instead of a sharp report.
Some of the nano-needles punched through the table under Damon and others ricocheted off in random directions, but luckily no one was injured. The majority of the needles hit home and stuck into Damon’s armor.
Camden was the first to approach the inert form and began testing the needles for what he called “viable penetration,” using one of the robotic surgeons. He hooked electrodes to the needles, hoping he could get enough signal to feed his instruments. Soon everyone in the room was completely engrossed in the proceedings, and Leland left feeling strangely satisfied that he’d been able to help.
**** ****
Darkness. But even this he knew was different from what it had been before. Floating with no sensation, yet feeling as if something had changed. Did he see something? Did he feel something? He could not be sure. He did not even know who he was. Sudden realization told him that he should know, that there was something to know. This in itself was a change; this knowing.
Sounds! Now he knew that he had heard something. He was positive. Another part of his mind asked how he knew about hearing. What are sounds? it asked him. Don’t be stupid! He answered himself. Of course we know what sounds are!
Maybe I am crazy, arguing with myself - and losing. This self-awareness was also new, he could sense that he was not aware of himself previously, although just how he knew that, he did not know.
Is it getting lighter? The center of the darkness was definitely different from the edges. And now he was sure he heard sounds. Voices. The shuffling of feet. Suddenly a clink of metal on metal.
Light burst open in front of him, hurting his eyes and head. He groaned and turned away from it, rolling to his right. Quick, excited sounds - voices again - crying out in alarm. A painfully loud cacophony of metal pieces scattering as they hit the floor followed by louder crashes as larger objects fell, bouncing and sliding around him.
He felt the cool, hard surface beneath him. What he saw was odd; gray and smooth. He couldn’t figure it out until he turned his head and realized he was lying face-down on the floor. From his sideways, low-angle view, he saw mostly feet scurrying around, picking up the results from his ignominious return.
He sat up, his head still pounding. “What in Kyndra’s blessed name happened?” he said in a voice rough from long disuse. The cheering surprised him and made him wince in pain.
**** ****
After the frightening start of her newest adventure, Joann Tashus found her Trueblood captors to be very accommodating. Other than the first meeting with Reave Nachman, she had been well treated by everyone else. They told her she was going to rejoin the development team that created the Demon, although they were working on a new project now. They couldn’t give her details, but it was easy enough for her to figure out it would be another weapon program.
Despite being uneasy with the end results, she did enjoy the challenge, and found herself looking forward to seeing some of her colleagues again. Overall, she began to wonder why she had gone into hiding in the first place. Was I wrong about the whole thing?
The two weeks passed slowly, since she kept mostly to herself. Two guards followed her wherever she went. They rotated shifts, but she quickly got to know most of them. She was convinced they were there to protect her from Reave, rather than to keep her from escaping. Overall, she found that the Truebloods were decent people and they treated her with respect.
Reave, on the other hand, made her extremely nervous whenever he showed up. She could tell he was different, and he certainly did not fit in with the other soldiers. They all seemed to be on friendly terms, but Joann could tell Reave was really an outsider. She tried to avoid him, but he seemed to follow her around. As time passed, he left her alone and she began to relax.
Finally, they made the trip to Havyn and were ferried down to the surface. The grandeur of the Spire and its surroundings had her gawking like a tourist. She’d never seen anything so beautiful, inspiring, and intimidating all at once. She noticed with satisfaction that Reave looked nervous and scared, another unexpected reaction from him.
Once inside the Spire, she was reunited with the old team. Tears ran down her cheeks and she wiped at them self-consciously. Everyone tried to talk to her at once, confusing her about the actual project in progress. She laughed and truly relaxed for the first time in a long, long time.
A few days later and she was pretty much up to speed. The project fascinated her because she had never imagined the path Dr. Baksa had taken with human modification. Even though it was nearing completion, and she was disappointed to have missed most of the development, there were still plenty of last-minute problems to solve. The final experiments would be rushed and her additional help was welcomed by the team. Joann’s personal assessment of the project was positive, although she thought they were being pushed too quickly into implementation, which was nothing new to her.
The next major task would be selecting the first subjects for implementation. Since she came late to the program, and was not able to dig too deeply into the technical details, she provided the most help by taking charge of the tedious screening process. She was always amazed by the number of people willing to take the risk of unproven augmentation to make themselves more powerful, more beautiful, or more whatever. In this particular case, since it was a military application, the candidates were pre-screened, and her job was much easier than expected.
Joann was deep in thought as she scrutinized personnel files and personality reports, when the door to her small office flew open and slammed into the wall. She nearly dropped the screen as she tried unsuccessfully to jump up out of her chair. Her legs hit the bottom of the desk painfully and she nearly fell as the chair refused to get out of the way.
Her surprise and pain turned to fear when Reave Nachman sauntered into the room. He smiled knowingly at her reaction, sending a chill down her spine. Her heart pounded against her chest when she realized there were no more bodyguards to help her.
“Well hello, Joann” Reave drawled. “Did you miss me?”
Joann tried to compose herself, but she was shaking too hard to hide. Her hands twitching, she gripped the screen tighter in an effort to calm them. She sat down, half involuntarily as her legs would no longer hold her up. She answered with all the bravado she could muster.
“What do you want, Reave?” she cursed inwardly at the tremor in her voice.
Reave laughed and ran his finger along the edge of her desk as he spoke.
“I just wanted to see how you’re doing, how you’re adjusting, see how you fit in.
You know, I worry about you.”
“Uh huh, sure.”
“Well, I heard you were picking subjects for the first trials.” He picked up a picture off her desk; a picture of her mother and father.
Surprising herself, she slapped the picture out of his hand. Reave caught her wrist before she could withdraw and her momentary bravery faltered.
“You need to be nice to me, you know?”
“Why, Reave? Because if I’m not you’ll kill me? Torture me? What? I’m not afraid of you anymore. Do what you will; I’m tired of this game.”
She looked into his eyes and he glared back. His grip tightened painfully on her wrist and she could feel his anger welling up. Despite her fear, she held his gaze. Her hands were shaking, but she didn’t care anymore. Finally, he released her hand by pushing it away with enough force to nearly knock her over backwards.
“You should be afraid,” he growled as he turned to leave. Stopping at the door, he jabbed a finger toward her. “Just get me into this program as one of the first volunteers. If you don’t, I will hunt down your friends and kill them all—I know where to find them. I’ll kill them slowly, just like the Woodalls and their kids.”
Joann gasped and her hands flew to cover her mouth.
“That’s right. If you’ve never believed anything before . . . believe this. Get me on the list!”
Joann’s mind was spinning after Reave left, and she couldn’t concentrate. Learning that he was the one who killed her friends shook her confidence and left her feeling helpless.
She did believe his threat, and she now knew he was every bit as dangerous as he acted. At first she was adamantly against giving him even more power and better weapons, but soon she began to think about the implications of such a move. Before the day ended, she had convinced herself that it would be better to have him in sight and under the control of the program rather than running free and unrestrained.
Despite the risk in her gamble, she felt the best path forward was to include him on the subjects list, and let the Truebloods take care of the rest.
After all, she told herself for the hundredth time that day, the new control systems will ensure he stays in line. Regardless of the logic, her self-assurances didn’t relieve her feelings of foreboding.
**** ****
For the first time for almost as long as he could remember, Renard Trueblood was excited about a Council meeting. Avelina Baksa was ready to unveil her new weapons program, this time under Trueblood control.
She would not do the presentation in person. Renard had become paranoid about her safety, especially considering the value in her ability to create generational leaps in weapons technology. She is truly gifted, but what a strange bend on her genius, Renard thought. I wonder what she could accomplish in other fields if she put her mind to it. Did we do the right thing in channeling her abilities this way? He shrugged off his thoughts, all too happy to be the recipient of her genius.
This time, Renard had told himself again and again, this time I’ll do it right. No Council involvement, no Consensus Research and Development Lab, no other controlling interests, and most of all no chance of Pryke stealing away control!
Renard ran through the possible variations on the speech he would give to the Council. He wanted to tell them to go back home and huddle in the squalor of whatever scraps he deemed worthy to send their way.
He wanted to wipe the smug look off Stacey Magourik’s face; she always thinks she’s on higher moral ground. He smiled to himself as he thought of the unfathomable riches lost because their ancestors, the Yeboah twins, handed out the wormhole technology to “the people” so many centuries ago. Holier-than-thou—ha! Poorer-than-thou is more like it.
He considered the possibility of removing Esme Burdekin from the Council altogether since she really served no purpose, and had been getting cozy with Pryke for too long. His brow furrowed at the thought, even though he no longer needed to fear an alliance there. Not anymore, thanks to his new weapons.
He coveted the Kline drive monopoly, so well established and perfectly maintained. Now that’s the proper way to build a fortune, he thought, and wished he could take it for himself. However, there was one problem: he actually liked Jonathan Kline, and wouldn’t want to lose his support.
Finally, he considered the Prykes. Upshot, usurper, thug, deviant, thief . . . his list of names went on and on. He dreamed of destroying every last one of them and every planet they infested. He felt the heat rising in his face and sweat formed on his forehead. On paper their wealth appeared legitimate, but everyone knew they were fronting massive organized crime. They just couldn’t prove it. Not even Jeffrey Allen could crack their cover. Renard looked forward to the day he could expose the Prykes and throw Alexander into the deepest, darkest dungeon he could find. I don’t suppose I’d get away with an actual dungeon, but I’m sure we could find something nasty!
Renard knew these were simply fantasies because he wouldn’t dare disrupt the Consensus by destroying the Council. After all, it would be worthless to have singular rule over a crumbling empire, and the ruthlessness required would destroy the benevolent character he’d worked so hard to cultivate. The high priest of Kyndraism could hardly be seen as a bloodthirsty tyrant. No, he’d have to settle for complete and undisputed control of the Council, and thereby the Consensus. Renard smiled and ran through some more lines he might use in the Council meeting.
He entered the meeting room almost on time. He realized it went against his habit of making everyone wait, but he was too eager to make his presentation. Alexander was sitting at the table, looking dark and brooding as always, with Esme seated next to him, leaning toward him. Renard anticipated seeing fear in his eyes.
Jonathan stood as Renard entered, shaking his hand warmly. Renard smiled in genuine pleasure, hoping that Jonathan would not be pushed away by the upcoming revelations. Stacey stood apart, looking out the window at the star field beyond. There was nothing noteworthy in the view, Renard noticed, so he assumed she was posing for effect.
“Let’s get started, please,” Renard said as he took his seat. “If you’ll bow your heads—”
“No prayers, Renard, let’s get down to business.” Alexander interjected while the others looked uncomfortable, unsure whether to pray or not.
Renard recited his prayer anyway, but Alexander kept talking over him. “Where’s the Demon, Renard? We haven’t heard from him in weeks!” Alexander leaned forward, punctuating his question by poking his finger into the table.
Renard ignored him and continued to pray. He made a point to go a little longer than usual.
“Sit down, Alex,” Renard said softly.
“I want answers!” Alexander said through clenched teeth. “This was your cursed project from day one and now where are we? Any closer to shutting down dissension? Any closer to quieting the rebellious factions? NO!”
Renard looked across the table at Alexander in his belligerent pose with his anger so plainly written on his face and he marveled at the man’s acting ability. Surely he must realize that his infiltration had been compromised and the Truebloods had exposed it.
Surely he must know, Renard thought as he watched the man’s anger grow and grow, yet he continues the façade?
Finally, Renard couldn’t take it anymore, and he laughed. Out loud and with true mirth, he laughed. It felt good to laugh, it had been too long.
Seething, but impotent, Alexander waited for a moment until Renard’s laughter subsided. Finally he asked “Are you done? Can we actually get something done now?”
“Of course, of course,” Renard replied, wiping tears from his eyes. “Whatever you’d like, Junior.”
“Really Renard,” Stacey dropped into the conversation, “what has gotten into you?” Her voice was haughty as always, but Renard sensed a curiosity in her tone.
“Too much time in Kyndra’s whore house, that’s what,” Alexander growled.
Stacey threw him a disgusted look one would give an immature boy.
“What has gotten you into such an . . . unusual mood? Please, let us all in on the joke.”
“No joke,” Renard replied, “but good news nonetheless.” He paused to gather his thoughts. “As some of you know, Dr. Baksa has been safely under my protection for quite some time now. I wouldn’t want you to think her time has been spent in leisure, however. I assure you she has been hard at work.”
Alexander snorted and made a comment under his breath, but Renard ignored him.
“Avelina has been hard at work indeed. And today she is ready to announce her latest contribution to the defense of the Consensus and all it stands for. Unlike her ill-fated attempt with the Demon, this time everything is accounted for and under control.”
No one spoke, but he could feel the excitement building in the room. He imagined he could sense some fear, too, at least he hoped so.
“I could not have Avelina come here in person, for obvious reasons, but she will be connecting here to present her findings herself.” Once he finished his sentence, he sent a command to the table and a projection of Avelina Baksa appeared to be standing with them in the room.
“Gentlemen, ladies,” she said formally with an inclination of her head, “I’m honored to be with you once again. As you know, my last development, the Demon, took many long years to develop, due mostly to the difficulty of creating and working with the exotic material D-SAP. Soon after its completion, the shortcomings of the Demon became quite obvious, and now, the project is at an end. I apologize for my failure, and I hope to make it up to you with my newest endeavor.
“The inherent problem with the Demon project was the attempt to fuse a completely unnatural material, D-SAP, into the human. I have solved this problem by using completely natural raw materials this time; by which I mean derived from natural parts of the human body. I call the resultant a Biologically Augmented Human.”
