by Hugh Howey
“Binet HC online. How can I be of service?”
Seralah noted that the program pronounced Binet with a silent ‘T’ and realized, with slight horror, that she’d been mispronouncing the word all her life.
“I have a data chip I need to analyze,” Seralah said without hesitation, moving across to the small, plush armchair and pushing herself among the thick fabric. She grabbed the console from the table to her side and plugged in the data chip.
“Scanning chip. Would you like music while we work?”
“No,” Seralah replied. “Wait. Do you have ambient noise? The Sanata Howls?” It was one of her favorite sounds in the entire galaxy: the noise of Kree’s winds as they rang through the crags and nooks of the ancient Sanata mountains.
“Searching.”
In a matter of moments, the thin, dulcet and eerie groans of Kree were echoing around the room, giving immediate comfort to Seralah’s mind. She closed her eyes and allowed her head to sink back onto the headrest. She thought of home, and she made a conscious decision that when this was all over, she’d listen to this music for real.
Chapter 5
“Chip scan complete. What are we working on today?”
Seralah opened her eyes with a start, though she was fairly sure she’d only drifted off for a few minutes.
“Tell me about the Reihus artifact find at the Academy of Sciences in the Navreem system. Specifically, data on what it was or where it came from,” she said dozily, not expecting much.
“No data on where, but analysis of vessel shows it to be a communication beacon. Approximate age: three to four hundred years old. Height: 3.8 meters. Plutonium residue. Projected antennae length: 3.8 by—”
“How did he know all of this?” Seralah said aloud. She’d been the one studying the damn thing, and due to the way it was lodged into the bedrock of the moon, she hadn’t even been able to get a clear scan image, let alone projected specifications.
“Can you specify who you are referring to?”
“Oh, Saelin Gan,” Seralah said, realizing her Binet companion had directed the question at her.
“Dr. Saelin Gan is the primary author for all original works held within the data chip matrix. No further sources found, though it’s likely that intelligence forces on either side of the Reihus and Oridiane Five knowledge treaty leaked information to one another.”
“Well, you’re right there,” Seralah mused, a little taken aback by the HC’s insightful response. “Is there anything else of interest for the artefact, other than engineering specifics?”
“Yes. Gold, circular disc discovered, containing rudimentary information in unrecognized language. Video entry by Dr. Saelin Gan makes mention of the additional find.”
“Play log. Audio only.”
The voice of Dr. Gan immediately filled the small room. “While the Reihus continue to drag the disintegrating pieces of this communications hub from the rock, I’ve moved on to exploring its inner components as best I can. What scans I have received appear to show a small golden disc secured inside the capsule. Using imaging techniques and scan scrubbers, I’m gradually piecing together several scarce symbols. There are numerous engravings upon the surface, most of which I’ve yet to investigate. However, my basic education in astrometry suggests a potential star chart scratched into the metal—perhaps an indication of where this object came from. It’s my belief that whoever sent this hub to space did so with a map home… a foolish plan, whatever the good intention behind it.”
The audio fell silent, and Seralah was returned to the gentle sounds of home.
“Are there any more logs?”
“No. Dr. Gan died less than two hours after this recording was made.”
“Are you able to show me the images of the gold disc? Of the engravings he talks about?”
“Yes. Transferring to console now.”
An origin map? That was more than she could have ever hoped for.
She drew the console close, thrilled about her latest discovery and eager to find out just what was engraved upon the ancient disc. Her excitement was short-lived, however, as the lights in the room flickered and went out, leaving her in total darkness. The HC, which had been shedding off a faint glow, vanished. The music soothing her soul fell silent. The only illumination left was from the unplugged console screen in her hands, though it seemed that the data transfer had been cut short, for no images appeared.
Outside, the siren set off by her explosive lab neighbor sounded once again, but now that she was in the dark and alone, it struck an uneasy chord. Using the console light as her guide, she pulled her head scarf from the seat and made her way to the door—only to find that it was stuck fast. She heard another siren start up, and then another, and through the noise she began to get a sickening feeling.
“Hello?” she called, pulling at the door and hoping that, by some miracle, it would open. It didn’t, and she realized that the power outage must have sealed it.
There was a scrape in the room behind her, and Seralah froze, pulling the console to her chest so that the light was extinguished and she was plunged into full darkness. She was alone—or she had been. But she had heard the unmistakable sound of another scrape within her tech lab.
There was someone with her now. There was no denying it.
Shrinking toward the floor and keeping low, Seralah painstakingly crept toward the chair as quietly as possible. If she could use it for shelter, for protection, for anything, she could—
A light dazzled her. Its brightness shone directly into her eyes, bleaching everything else beyond it.
“You’re in grave danger. You must come with us.” The voice was quiet and soft. She felt a hand grasp her wrist and pull her away from the wall.
There was nothing she could do but follow.
* * *
There weren’t many times in her life where Seralah could recall being truly nervous, but this was one of them. Having been rescued from Biradi Solutions, she had been fast-tracked back to the Navreem System in a private shuttle. She now sat in the board of directors’ meeting room. Opposite her was the superior who’d previously chastised her and made her the center of ridicule for everyone at the Academy. He, too, looked uneasy, shifting himself back and forth in his chair.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, Professor.”
A short, mousy woman breezed into the room holding a pile of consoles. She perched herself against the desk rather than taking a seat, and she looked at Seralah without removing either of her two ocular enhancers.
“As you can imagine, the furor over this discovery has implications that reach far beyond our little moon.”
“I can’t imagine a lot,” Seralah said tensely. “Nobody’s said a word to me. I have no idea what’s going on.”
“You haven’t? Then let me explain. It seems that your little unauthorized gallivant has unearthed some rather large galactic issues. Firstly, you were quite right in your assertion that it was the Kholorians, and not negligence, that caused the death of our engineer and the destruction of the artifact. However, perhaps if you’d done as you were told and waited for reassignment, you could have let us handle the situation.”
“So it was you who talked to Saelin Gan’s son.”
“Well, not me personally, but the team, yes. And if you’d have let us do our jobs, we wouldn’t have had to launch an Oridiane Cloud rescue mission. You do realize that you were very nearly an extra trophy on some Kholorian assassin’s hit list?”
“I didn’t realize it was that bad,” Seralah gasped, only now realizing that, whether she’d been spotted with Granton at the artifact or not, her subsequent questions had aroused enough suspicion to warrant her head on a kill list. “But what the hell is this all about?”
“It seems that after the Kholorians’ last colonization refusal, they’ve taken matters into their own hands and started invading primitive space. Our little artifact, the communications hub, is a vessel named ‘Voyager 1.’ A map on a gold disc found in
side it clearly leads back to some off-grid planet called Earth, and, it seems, our assassin friends have besieged the system, captured or killed the locals, and set up a rather extensive colony there. I can’t stress enough the political implications of this. The Oridiane Five are battling to stop all-out war.”
“And the Kholorians destroyed the artifact and silenced those with any data to try and hide what they were up to.”
“Exactly.” The woman sighed and finally removed one of her ocular enhancers to look Seralah in the eye with genuine care. “What you did was commendable, but how you went about it was not. Next time, when you’re told to drop something, do so.”
Seralah nodded, knowing full well she wouldn’t be able to adhere to the order. She suspected her superior knew it too.
The woman passed a console to her miserable-looking colleague and stood, adjusting her multitude of tablets and enhancers at the same time.
“I shall see you again, Professor,” she said curtly, before leaving the room as quickly as she’d arrived.
As the door closed, Seralah finally allowed herself to breathe comfortably again. She let out a sigh of relief and let the past few days of stress flood away. She was still devastated about the artifact’s loss, and more so at the knowledge that Granton had been killed simply to hide the truth. But now the truth was out. Now it was known that the Kholorians were acting outside galactic law.
“Well, at least one thing’s resolved,” Seralah’s superior said, though without any sense of pleasure. “Both the board and I are happy to let you know you’re officially back on the project and can resume work immediately. We may have lost the artifact, but there is still much to discover.”
Seralah smiled as a warm glow flooded across her. She sat there for a moment, enjoying a feeling of justice that they’d had to rescind their earlier demotion. Then she stood and looked her overweight and arrogant superior in the eye.
“Thanks, but I think I’d prefer to follow my own discoveries from now on. I quit.”
She grinned, an expression that wrinkled the fur on her cheeks. The shock on her former superior’s face was quite an enjoyable sight. Then she left the room, free from restraint and filled with an eagerness to discover a new site—one where she could, once again, be among the boulders and rocks she so loved.
A Word from Geoffrey Wakeling
I still remember the day I walked in on my parents watching Star Trek III: The Search for Spock and uttered the words, “This is boring.” How, then, have I turned into a complete science fiction nerd? Star Wars and Star Trek kicked it off, Mass Effect caught me in its snare, and Netflix deepened the fascination. I have to admit, I watch far too much science fiction for my own good (I don’t actually believe that for a second). The one thing I really love about this genre? Aliens. So you can imagine how thrilled I was to be involved in this anthology.
I believe that, in a universe this large, there have to be other intelligent life-forms. That’s not to say they haven’t already been and gone, or perhaps they are yet to evolve. However, as we’ve not yet made contact in the real world, I’ve had to find an alternative way to satisfy my fascinations, and I do this partly through my writing.
“The Kholorian Conspiracy” ties loosely into my CRYO series, which follows one man’s journey from lotto ticket winner to a cryonically revived “immortal” exploring a strange new world. Along with his few surviving podmates, John Carlody sets out to discover what happened to Earth and how he fits into the new order of life. But the universe is far larger than the first two books (Rise of the Immortals and A Changed World), and this short story explores further afield than even John could ever imagine.
If you’d like to learn more about CRYO, please feel free to visit geoffwakeling.com to read the first chapters of my novels, check out my book blogs, sign-up for my newsletter, and more. In addition, you can follow me on Twitter (@GWakelingWriter) or join me on Facebook.
318
by Autumn Kalquist
Humans destroy what they can’t control and are terrified of what they don’t understand. Why, then, do they create and unleash things into the world that they can’t control and will never understand? When their species faces extinction, this error in judgment will be the reason.
I hate them all.
And that’s why I’m going to kill this old man. Adrenaline surges through me at the sight of his wrinkled skin, his white hair beneath the glass.
I suppress a small smile as I walk barefoot across the cold tile to the line of cabinets against the wall. I grab a syringe from the drawer, then head straight to the cabinet that has what I need. Cool air rushes over me, and I shiver as I pick up the first case of vials and try to read each label. It’s been so long since I’ve had to read anything that it takes a minute for my mind to decode the symbols. The mind may bury what it can’t handle remembering—but it never fully forgets.
Strep B45
Polio
Smallpox
Ebola
These are single-dose vials, but they’ll probably kill the old man anyway. He’s weak.
And I’m strong.
I lift the Ebola vial and attach it to the syringe. I’m grinning now as I whirl and nearly skip back to the glass chamber where my victim lies. When I push my hands through the slots on the side of the case to grab his arm, his eyelids flutter. It’s so strange, my skin against his. For two years I’ve imagined what it would be like to feel the warmth of another person’s bare touch again. This isn’t how I imagined it would go.
I plunge the needle into his arm, and his eyes open. He looks up at me, disoriented, as I empty the vial into him. I lean over the glass and meet his gaze, so he knows exactly who killed him.
His eyes widen. “318,” he croaks out.
He struggles against his restraints, but I did a good job strapping him down. I’ve had hundreds of chances to learn how to do it right. The virus is moving through him now, and the pain will soon be unbearable. I know what he’s about to experience, because he put me through it first.
Two weeks earlier
My cell’s lights flash on, bringing me out of the near-constant night. I sit up in my narrow cot and wait, hands folded in my lap. The air recyc fan activates. Goose bumps pop up along my exposed calves, and my nipples harden against the thin cloth of my gown. I twist around to look at the letters carved in the wall behind my bed. They’re the only decoration in the room—my only companion. I trace them with my fingertips.
LEX.
Letters, not numbers. A human was kept here before me.
They’ll force me to use the toilet while they watch, so I make sure to empty my bladder before they arrive. Then the door slides open, and the Hazmats push a gurney through.
It’s not time for another sedative. It’s time for a dose.
They lift me with cold, rubber-gloved hands and strap me to the gurney. The straps cut into my legs and arms, and the one around my forehead is too tight, but I don’t fight it anymore, because what’s the point?
I count the lights in the hall. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
We’re here.
They slide me and the thin pad I’m strapped to into the chamber. Curved glass arches over me, a few inches from my face, and it’s bright in the room beyond. The doctor and his two assistants arrive, wearing the same Hazmat suits my captors always wear. Silver infinity symbols are stamped across their chests: the logo for the corporation that’s become my judge and jury, and will be my executioner—if I ever fucking die.
Dr. Dalton looks down at me in his detached way, and I glimpse his watery eyes, deep lines around them, behind his mask. He hands the scanner to one of his men. “Scan it, Mr. Monroe. Let’s see what kind of training you got up at Corporate.”
Monroe grabs my wrist through a slot in my glass coffin and scans the silicone disc embedded beneath my skin. “318. Confirmed.”
His gaze finds mine by accident, and I hold it, willing him to truly see me. But he tears his green eyes away. Those ey
es are new; I’ve never seen him before. Yet for some reason he triggers memories of another man—a blond, his features hazy in my mind—and my heart twists. It’s the first emotion of the day, earlier than usual. Did Anders look like that? All I remember is that he betrayed me, exposed me for what I really was: not human, yet trying to hide among them. A little flicker of anger ignites in my chest. If I ever see Anders again, I’ll make sure he suffers as much as I have.
“Farrow—check 318’s scalp,” the doctor orders.
The woman pushes her gloved arms through the slots and rubs the stubble on my head, checking to see if I still have the lice they infected me with. Why they thought my superimmunity would attack lice, I’ll never know. Her hands are rough, and she pinches my ear, hard enough that tears well in my eyes. I look straight at her, and I can tell how much she enjoys this.
“Her scalp’s clear, Dr. Dalton,” Farrow says.
Dalton jabs a button. “Full body analysis.”
I squint against the bright rainbow of colors that ripple over my body. A sharp pain stabs my calf as the coffin steals my blood.
“Temperature normal,” Farrow says. “No sign of any pathogens.”
“Excellent.”
Monroe clears his throat. “Doctor, I thought I was here to assess adult patients. She’s a child.”
“Not she, Monroe. It. 318, if it needs a name. 318 is an abomination—not our species. Don’t ever forget that.”
Monroe looks back at me. “But I wasn’t told it was a child.”
“318 is almost seventeen years old,” Farrow says. “Its growth has merely been stunted.”
“I want a few minutes alone with the—with 318,” Monroe says.
