Queen Killer

by M. H. Johnson

  Dry laughter echoed through John's mind. "Of course, such restrictions mean nothing in an alien universe ruled by different computational laws and limitations, filled with more than a few exiled scientist with gifts for the... unorthodox, shall we say.

  "And for a paradoxical twist, it is only thanks to the efforts of another exiled researcher that you are even here with us today. Along with countless other hybrid offspring designed for far more innocuous purposes, like the girl you fell for, the moment you caught her scent. Yet almost every trump card we forged specifically to counter the threat being designed have met their end, most expiring rather horrifically, truth be told. In fact, the only counter to the Plague Queens that survived the early stages of their metamorphosis is your own series, dear brother.

  “Of course, Father and I suspected foul play. But even with Dauda assassins on our payroll, no leads have panned out. We're now forced to face the possibility that successfully fusing symbiotes to hosts is a far rarer occurrence than what our calculations predicted."

  The pain had abated for the moment, but the awful twisting in John’s gut was almost worse. "You are seriously scaring the crap out of me. How are you even talking to me, and what do you mean by my series? Is this a dream? A nightmare? Please, just help me wake up!"

  He could sense Mitch's smile.

  "I know you always had a thing for Emily's violet eyes. Her taste in cute contacts, you had said. The irony of it is that she, like you, is able to hide so many dark truths in plain sight."

  "Jesus, Mitch, what the fuck!"

  Rueful laughter. "I told you that you shouldn't have been so afraid to ask her out. With the pheromones you're releasing, she would have said yes in a heartbeat."

  "Emily! Is she okay? Please tell me she's okay!"

  A sad sigh. "It hardly matters now with where you're going, John."

  John's heart began to pound with barely suppressed panic. "Please make some fucking sense!"

  "Shut up and listen. Father's just come back. He's prepping the jump gate, and we don't have much time. Right now, you're sedated. The moment you transport, the drugs will leave your system. Once that happens, you're going to be facing down opponents like nothing you've ever faced before. They’re cold, vicious, and would happily kill you and wear your face like a mask. Do you understand me, John? You don't hold back."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "Silence!" Mitch's voice had lost its gentle mockery. Now it was as hard and cold as his father’s had been.

  "As I said, you were designed for a reason, John. And now it's time to live up to your purpose."

  "Mitch... who the fuck are you, really?"

  Dry laughter echoed through his skull. “My name is Michaelmas Farreach. Highlord and firstborn of Malus Farreach. And should you survive the trial before you, you will have earned our father's respect and the right to claim your true name. Johnathan Farreach, descendant of one of the oldest clans within the Dominion."

  John was speechless. "Mitch..."

  "You were forged for one purpose, little brother. To serve as a receptacle for the symbiote we implanted within you, four years ago."

  ‘You’re fucking kidding me!”

  "You're our bloodhound. Should the Plague Queens escape their containment facilities here on Earth, we have the technology and the atomics to take them out. But should our weapons breach planetary containment and escape through the jump gates, well, little brother...

  "The fate of the Dominion now rests on your shoulders."

  3

  "Warning. Portal transfer imminent."

  John cried out against the alien voice echoing within his skull.

  "Linguistic memtape download complete."

  "Mitch!"

  "Listen to me, little brother, and listen well. Multiple Plague Queens retaining the sentience of their hosts did not flee in the direction we expected. Instead of nesting here on Earth, they swarmed the European branch, infecting security and staff alike before taking over the gates and jumping back through. Our surveillance protocols back on Jordia are extremely limited, and simple knowledge of atomics there is enough to sentence one to instant death, spared eternal pain simply to prevent any curious Highlord from learning secrets forbidden to anyone lacking inquisitorial status."

  "Mitch, seriously, what the hell does any of that even mean?"

  "It means that our only hope of preventing a plague on Jordia every bit as catastrophic as that scandalous mockery of a succession, is you. Your piece has kept the queens in check long enough. Now it’s time to finish the job.”

  For all that his world was a sea of blackness and pain, he could feel Mitch's eyes boring into his own. Not the soothing brown he remembered so well, but rather a brilliant gold, just like his father's.

  Just like their father's.

  "Do you remember the rage you felt, just catching sight of Mr. Harveson?"

  John tensed. Even in dream, he remembered that awful rage all too well.

  "Well, that was your symbiote. It senses its natural prey. Your natural prey. And once you gate through, there will be no difference between the two of you."

  "What?"

  "You and the symbiote, John. You two will fuse into one. Quantify yourselves into one being."

  John's gut clenched. "This is a fucking nightmare."

  Bemused laughter, almost mocking, caressed John's soul. "You don't get it yet, little brother? Half your awareness, your sentience, your sense of self is your implant. You're as much Symbiote 271 as you are Johnathan Farreach, kin to bloodlines far nobler than those possessed by any Terran here on Earth. Once you make the jump, your sense of self will fully emerge, your symbiote's DNA fusing with your own. And thanks to Christine Highblood, every child you sire will be one more safeguard against those queens ever raging out of control again."

  "That's impossible!"

  "Hardly, brother. You passing on your seed is vital. Hundreds of other candidates perished in our attempts to make you. And when you think about it, this isn't the first time fusions of this sort have occurred. Think of the mitochondria within every oxygen breathing organism in both our galaxies. Without those little organelles, you'd drop dead almost instantly. They fused with larger cells countless millions of years ago."

  "That chip dad implanted in my head. That's what you're talking about!"

  "Correct. Though it's no chip, and that extra lobe in your brain has synergized completely with your neural network. It is as much you as you are."

  John froze in horror. Wondering what sort of creature was in his mind. Wondering if he was even thinking these thoughts, or if it was this parasite. Was he even himself?

  Mitch chuckled. "Should you survive the transition, it won't even matter.”

  John's heart began to pound. The Readit rumors were true. Mitch was reading his mind.

  A Highlord was in his head.

  "Correct. And I've uploaded a few programs into your symbiote that just might awaken your potential after you jump. Expect some very lucid dreams in the near future."

  "Mitch, please, I want this nightmare to be over. I want to wake up. I want to go home!"

  His brother's voice turned cold and hard. "Such weakness is beneath you, brother. I know I forged you to be stronger than that. Face your darkest fears, best them, and be twice as strong! Let your enemies see the potency of your gaze, and quail before you. How many times have I told you that, brother?"

  John swallowed. "Every time we sparred. But today we actually, well, fought for our lives."

  "Yesterday, brother. For you it was just yesterday that we fought in earnest. Killed in earnest. And you must ready yourself to kill again. Now we have no more time to waste. Your mission is simple. Survive the transfer. There will be an agent of ours waiting to guide you on the other side, helping us to track your targets and orient you to Highlord politics and Jordian culture. He will also make sure that you are equipped with weapons and armaments well suited to your task."

  "But what if som
ething happens? What if this all goes wrong? How will I recognize him or her? How do I get back home?"

  "He will recognize you. How many times have you mooned over the most insipid of role-playing games, wishing you could be a real-life hero? Rejoice, brother! Now is your chance. Kill those Queens and be a hero worthy of the sagas."

  “Warning, transfer imminent. All observers are to clear the chamber.

  "Brace yourself, brother. You're going through. No matter what happens, remember your core mission. Track down those parasites and slay them by any means necessary."

  "Mitch? Mitch! How will I recognize these so-called Plague Queens? Mitch!"

  "Subject has successfully transported."

  Those were the last words he heard before blacking out completely.

  4

  The agony had not dulled, it had only grown.

  But with the agony came a strange clarity to his thoughts. John was somehow able to sense himself, who he really was, what he really was, with a focus he’d never experienced before. He forced himself to accept the true nature of his implant. What he had once thought a technological marvel had turned out to be some sort of weird parasite that had fused with his mind. It was why his memory had improved so drastically. The symbiote had been handling that burden. Worst of all, he was thinking these thoughts in a brain that was as much biological implant as it was John Reacher. And if his brother was right, it had fused with his very genes.

  Now symbiote and host truly were one and the same.

  And just as potent, just as vital as the mitochondria within every cell of our being, he thought, before his guts twisted in horror, suddenly not sure if that had been his own thought at all.

  The power I bring you is even sweeter than the air you breathe. John silently howled, desperately pushing back the voice even as he examined himself with clinical detachment, forced himself to accept and come to terms with the Horror he had been transformed into, even as he was overwhelmed by rage, pain, and a hunger unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

  _________________________________________

  John Reacher – Level 1 Evolved Symbiote

  Primary Attributes

  Strength 11 – Stronger than average only because your Highlord brother pushed you daily, your musculature is within completely normal parameters! For a Highlord hybrid, you're actually a bit scrawny!

  Vitality 11 – You can run farther than 60% of your classmates. Which means you might make it on the Junior Varsity track and field team. Wonderful.

  Finesse 12 – You're more coordinated than 75% of your classmates, or 60% of those still alive. (Natural selection, you understand.) Looks like all those hours your brother spent teaching you how to throw a punch, land a kick, and swing a saber finally paid off!

  Quickness 11 – Just scraping into the top 40% You're a tiny bit faster than the average stoned 17-year-old. Don't you feel special?

  Perception 12 – Maybe that fused alien lobe that's now oozed itself into every cell of your body, trickling into your genetic pores and doomed to infect all your future children, has actually boosted your senses. Or maybe you're just lucky! Then again, your sense of smell barely cuts it for a Highlord, though you can sniff out the rot of parasite-infected flesh to a degree even the noblest of clans would find uncanny. Not that they'd take the word of a half-blood freak!

  Scholarship 11 – Thanks to your Symbiote status alone, you actually do well on dumbed-down tests covering material spoon-fed to everyone in class! Only because your Hippocampus was a full standard deviation below the norm did you feel like you had been granted exceptional powers. Truth is, even with the Symbiote, your ability to memorize and master large blocks of material is little better than average. And for a proper Highlord, it's abysmal! It's only because you pick up mathematical concepts far quicker than the average Terran that you're now able to excel at school. Who knows? Maybe if you put a little bit of effort into it, you'll actually be capable of reading a proper chart!

  Willpower 13 – More mule-headed than 80% of Terrans. Congratulations! Your hot temper and stubborn resolve are all that let you maintain your sense of self when another far better suited to life on Jordia would have been happy to take over. And now that darker side of yourself is tied to you forever. Have fun leveling up! And you better hurry up with that, John. It's not like you have a lot of time.

  Charisma 12 – Your life weaves a tale more significant than that experienced by 75% of Terrans. Congratulations! Your unique set of circumstances and ability to survive a forced evolutionary fusion that spelled the death of hundreds of your genetically tweaked siblings has actually made you mildly interesting. Now, will you survive long enough for the tale of your life to be worth anyone's notice? Time will tell!

  Luck 12 – You were lucky enough to survive a procedure with a 99% fail rate. And unlucky enough to ask out the girl of your dreams, a hybrid just like you, right before the zombie apocalypse, or the closest thing to it! You now have a chance to play a dramatic role in shaping the fate of your brother's birth world, assuming you survive long enough to unlock your true potential. Good luck with that!

  Secondary Attributes

  Health 10xVit+Str= 121

  Survival (Health+(10xLevel)+Luck) = 143

  Stamina 10xVit+Str= 121

  Mana 50 - Congratulations! You can actually access the electromana field that is a fundament of this universe's reality! It's probably your ability to make use of all the forces and fields you find yourself exposed to that's allowed you to survive your forced fusion so far.

  Psion 50 - You're the son of a Highlord. Of course you have psionic potential. Too bad you were deliberately left untrained. All the better for your masters to pull your strings!

  Insight 14 - You're better able to read between the lines, sense a con, or find an unexpectedly clever solution to a perplexing problem than 90% of Terrans. When it comes to thinking on your feet, you're actually a hell of a lot better than average. And if you can survive the den of snakes you were just thrown into with all your dark potential locked away, you'll show yourself to be far more clever and luckier than even your stats give you credit for!

  Base Appearance 10. +1 (12 charisma) +1 (athletic) -1 Dark Point (Your genes have been fused with a horror, and it shows! One day you will learn to master your darkness, unless it masters you first! Flaws aside, more girls your age find you attractive than not. You enjoy a +1 reaction modifier. Enjoy it while it lasts!)

  _________________________________________

  John was frozen in horrified wonder as he gazed at a perfect mirror replica of himself within his mind's eye. His muscles writhed and burned with what was now more a tingle than inhuman pain, and he could sense the sudden surge of strength he had been gifted with.

  He had always enjoyed sparring with Mitch and shooting hoops but knew he was nothing special, on the better side of average, maybe. If the game rules here mirrored his sense of them, his stats meant he was faster and stronger than about 60% of people his age. Probably true for most kids that played sports, especially when they got their asses handed to them by a skilled martial artist on the regular.

  The thought of having access to magic, however, filled him with a sense of awe and wonder. Assuming he could ever figure out how to use it. Too bad his personal appearance had also taken a hit. Not that there was anything visibly different about his features save for a strange intensity to his gaze. As if he were holding back ugly, monstrous secrets.

  That's when the mirror in his mind's eye began to bubble and froth like a boiling kettle. His twisted image flashed a hideous smile as it lurched free of the now liquid mirror, clawed hands throttling John as he stood there in a horrified stupor, unable even to move.

  "Fight, damn you, or we'll lose everything to the madness! Everything we might have accomplished, everything we could ever hope to be!"

  A girl’s voice. Both melodious and husky, hauntingly familiar and unlike anything he had ever heard before. The pleading urgency in her voice
brought life to his numb limbs.

  John abruptly twisted back the thumbs of strangling hands that had been gripping his neck so tightly before pivoting around, locking his mirror-twin in an armbar, and giving a savage twist that came with the snap of bone.

  For some reason, John and his double both screamed in agony, the fight quickly devolving into a desperate struggle for survival. It was everything he could do to keep from being beaten unconscious, but his foe's damaged arm and John’s ability to think with cold precision even when swimming in a sea of rage was the edge he needed to subdue his opponent. He grinned with fierce satisfaction when his mirror twin began to gasp and writhe. Faint alarm bells blared in his own mind when his foe collapsed, unconscious.

  A final twist and jerk or just applying more pressure, and his foe would be dead.

  John!

  A bolt of alarm as he felt himself being swept up by tides of blackness.

  What if it was still him? What if he was killing himself?

  Immediately, he eased his grip, desperately rubbing his foe's neck, trying to bring back circulation.

  Congratulations! In besting yourself, you have reclaimed yourself! You have survived a number of blows that should have had you spitting up blood, and your shattered elbow is already healed!

  Congratulations! You have achieved Rank 1 in Greater Regeneration! Thanks to both your mutant physique and ability to feed off the electromana field of Jordia, you can now regenerate 1 Health per second! (Vitality Dependent) When Health is fully recovered, so are you!

  Congratulations! You have successfully quantized Grappling Rank 3!

  Now open your eyes and see what your savagery has wrought!

  5

  John groaned, forcing gummy eyes open. His entire body throbbed with unexpected pain.

  The first thing he saw was red. Red everywhere.

  The charnel reek of ruptured bowels, the coppery tang of blood in the air was so thick he thought he would vomit.