by Marc Everitt
“Yeah, Major. It’s Alan. I’m at Will’s room. You’d better get down here.”
***
With the body cut down and the scene in Shanks’ room recorded for the sake of an inquiry, the late scientist’s quarters were sealed by the Major in front of a tearful Sara and the still shocked Alan.
“Why do you think…. he….?” attempted Sara as the Major set the final code on the security door seal. Alan put an arm around her to try to comfort her; she seemed so ill equipped for such things. As were they all, he thought, but a pretence of assurance had to be upheld.
“I don’t know. He was never one for conversation. Perhaps he….” he stated before being interrupted by a grim faced Hastings. “This place can get to a man sometimes. I’ve seen it before on other commands. It takes a strong will to survive on outer colonies.”
“And you don’t think he had a strong will?” asked Sara, finding it hard to use the past tense when referring to Will.
The Major looked her full in the eyes, “No, I’m afraid I don’t. Very sad, but it happens. Come on, let’s get the poor bugger buried.” The three scientists walked away from the sealed room and Alan, for one, was glad to put some distance between him and the scene. However hard he tried he could not push the image of Shanks hanging lifeless in his room from his mind. A cold shiver ran through him as he walked along the corridor towards the main entrance. And so it was that Alan Johnson found himself attending the second funeral on Graves’ World in as many weeks.
***
On worlds that had been colonised by the Company, the unpleasant duty of burying the dead was one that was expedited as quickly as possible. The state of the body of Will Shanks was recorded in every way possible before it was moved and prepared for burial. A short ceremony presided over by Major Hastings was followed by the briefest of burials. Will Shanks’ remains were laid to rest beneath the sands of Graves’ World in the compound surrounding the research station. All the research team was present, and not one of them could think of a word to say. Alan stood comforting Sara, as Chris Maxwell and Eli piled the sparse soil over Shanks’ body bag. Taylor stood impassive throughout, watching the other people, keen to pick up on any unguarded emotion that may slip out. He was sure Shanks had not taken his own life but could think of no motive for his killing. Clearly, he thought, there was a lot more going on under the surface of things on the research station then he had previously imagined.
***
With the rest of the day filled with sombre efforts to concentrate on their work on the part of the scientists, Taylor found himself left pretty much to his own devices. He and Eli had little in the way of maintenance to perform and, with the Major distracted, were not called upon to serve any other purpose. They sat together in quiet contemplation as the huge nuclear reactor hummed nearby. Eli was the first to speak for a long time, “I hope Sara is OK. She seemed very upset.”
“Hmmm,” affirmed Taylor absently.
“What on Earth do you think made him do it?”
“What? He didn’t,” replied Taylor without looking up.
Eli’s eyes boggled. “So you’re saying he was.”
“Murdered,” offered Taylor simply, as if discussing an engineering problem.
“But why kill Shanks? And who did it?” frowned Eli, more to himself then in expectation of an answer. When his answer came it was not what he expected.
“Could be any of them. At the minute the only one I know didn’t do it is you. Still at least our list of suspects is shrinking by the day,” said Taylor. Eli knew his friend well enough not to be surprised by this apparent lack of regard for life being shown. Taylor West had a way of dealing with events such as this, and it was one all his own. He saw them as further pieces of the puzzle, dehumanising the tragedy he saw all around him. The people who had, in the past, called Taylor West cold or callous could not have been further from the truth.
Taylor’s analytical mind was working overtime, any number of possible explanations flying through his consciousness before being discounted as unlikely, impossible or ridiculous.
“I’ve got my suspicions,” muttered Eli. Taylor smiled kindly, as if to a small child who had just claimed knowledge of quantum theory.
“Thought you might have. Forget it, it’s not Maxwell,” he said bluntly.
Eli looked frustrated. It was unlike his friend to discount someone as a suspect so soon.
“How can you be so sure?” he asked patiently.
“I can’t. Like I said, could be any one of them, but I don’t want you jumping to any conclusions yet. I think we are dealing with a killer more cunning then I first thought. We need to suspect everyone equally, don’t let Maxwell’s gruff personality sway you in his favour.”
“But still.”
“I know, I know.”
“What do you think is going on here?”
“A lot. This planet has many mysteries, Eli. The murderer’s identity and motive not the least of them.”
“Do you think this killer will strike again?”
“Doubtful, every person who they kill reduces their cover. They’ll only kill of it is necessary. Of that much, I am sure.”
“So, what did Shanks’ do wrong, or Hanley for that matter? I’m sure you don’t think his death was unrelated. Why those two?”
“That, my friend, is what we have to find out.”
***
The low, even voice of the computer guidance module cut through the still sterile atmosphere of the small craft. All around the sole occupant of the ship, lights flashed their hypnotic rhythm and complicated machinery of ancient origin went about its fiendishly complex business. If all the best of the Company’s scientists and artificial intelligence experts were to have a glimpse into this one small chamber of the craft for even the briefest of moments they would have enough inspiration to fuel a lifetime’s work. The science that lay all around the warrior was centuries beyond earth technology and yet had only recently been activated after lying dormant for over nine thousand years.
Created at the height of the T’suk empire this craft represented a minuscule fraction of the wonder the ancient race had been able to manufacture. None of the technological marvels the vessel contained would have made its creators as proud as its occupant. The result of genetic engineering, the magnificent creature never once allowed the assorted paraphernalia around it to distract it from its purpose. It’s driving purpose, total and all consuming. It would not be deferred, would not be waylaid and would never allow anything to come between it and what it had to do.
Since awakening some hours earlier, it had thought long and hard about its raison d’être. While not for a second questioning what it had to do, it sensed that there had to be more to existence then the brutality it knew awaited it at its destination. It had begun to reach the conclusion that its best course of action would be to complete its assigned task and then attempt to seek out a new philosophy to guide it.
The creature curled its tail limb over its head as it stretched the powerful concentric muscles in its lower back in an effort to keep itself physically primed for combat. It hoped it would receive more of a challenge then the small scout ship it had encountered hours before. That craft had been disposed of all too easily for the creatures liking, it sought the thrill of a battle; only then could it experience the glory it knew would come from a hard-earned victory.
Destroying a primitive vessel manned by a backward species held no interest for it, and it bemoaned the fact. Although such emotions as agony and despair were beyond its limited new born state of mind; still it had feelings which would not subside, emotions which would not dwindle. A creature created for the depths of space and the gulfs of the stellar void, it knew it could be more. Present a sentient beast with a cacophony of alternative futures and it will always choose what is the most appealing to it. This beast was no different, offer it an admirable existence and it would comply.
Yet, if all it was faced with were an existence where retribution
and violence were its agenda then it would react accordingly. This was not an amoral being, merely an organism bio-genetically engineered to serve a purpose. That purpose – annihilation. This was all its unnatural species knew, all it was bred for. Yet what could it be held accountable for in that case; genocide?
Certainly its predecessors had achieved that. Was it not more than that? Certainly it was. This warrior could be anything; it was the sum of its biological programming, a result of decades in the research chamber. A deadly being? Undoubtedly. A sentient animal capable of self-awareness and cognisance; well who could make that distinction? It was certainly a fact that any being who ventured close to this pure specimen of drive and base instinct would end up being more immobile than they would have preferred. Suffice to say this was a creature that you would not wish to meet in a floodlit broadway with a posse of hardcore fanatics eager to protect your bodily functions. A dark alleyway? Forget it.
The creature awakened from its self-induced reverie and surveyed its immediate environment exactly as it had been programmed to do. Danger? None. Action? None to be taken. The creature had little to do on its journey except wait; and prepare. The smallest of distractions would be welcome, and one was, at that moment, provided. The computer ceased its monotonous systems check and sounded a whistle that immediately alerted its master, who strode purposefully over, tail limb dragging across the metallic floor, to the main console. Once the computer was sure it had its master’s attention it spoke.
“We have reached the pre-scheduled moment when sufficient time has elapsed for your neuro-pathways to cement their channels. Message may now be played. Please hold.”
After a few seconds of static, a face from aeons past looked out of the view screen at a creature it had, at the time of recording, just sealed in its cryo-pod. A T’suk scientist cleared its reptilian throat and ran a long thin tongue over its eyes. When the words came they were entirely alien to the creature, who had only ever heard the voice of the computer, and yet the rasping sound of the T’sukian’s words sparked a chord in the creatures mind. “Greetingssss. You are the third of your kind to exisssst. You are now ready for briefing confirmation. Thisss may be repetition of what we have jussst programmed into your neural ssssub-processsorssss, but reality check issss needed after cryo- ssssussspensssion. Allow me to tell you what you are and what you musssst do.”
The Warrior cocked its head and listened to a long-dead being condemn others to join it.
***
The atmosphere in the room was fairly upbeat considering someone had died not so long ago. The canteen was not full by any stretch of the imagination yet Eli felt claustrophobic. He was sat toying with a piece of re-hydrated chicken, trying to persuade himself it was palatable. He had never seen a worse meal, but it was not the contents of his plate that was bothering him as much as the contents of the room. He had insisted on going for his evening meal without waiting for Taylor, and was now regretting the decision. He always felt more secure with Taylor around, especially when the others in the room could be killers.
Two other members of the research team were also eating their food at that time but only one of them seemed to be enjoying the experience. Chris Maxwell was not a man who cared overly what his food tasted like. He was more of a functionalist when it came to such things, he had to eat so did and enjoyed it whatever the food actually tasted like. It was enough that he was eating, he didn’t really care what. In a way he was glad the choice of food was so limited on the small research station. Decisions were not really his thing; they tended to give him a headache. Much easier to eat whatever the auto-vendor spewed out at him. Grabbing the chicken in his large hairy hands he bit a huge chunk of the soggy mass of fatty tissue, juices fell from the corners of his mouth and he grunted his approval.
The other member of the research team who Eli could see sat in the canteen area was Sara Crick. She was sat eating her meal, as she did everything, quietly and without fuss. Eli felt a strong longing to speak to her as she sat barely three metres from him. ‘She seems so sad’, he thought to himself as he tried to avoid staring at her, ‘so lonely’. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to be with her but knew he found her fascinating. It was as if she were attracting him with her lack of interest in him, a welcome change from the openly flirtatious antics of Lana Maxwell.
‘But what would she think of me, that’s another matter,’ thought Eli. An intelligent woman like her would no doubt be interested in men who could engage her in witty conversation, tax her brain as well as her body and be capable of stimulating her intellect. Eli was not sure he could do this.
It was a long time since Eli could remember any kind of happiness with a woman. Whilst he was basically a shy person, it was nevertheless the case that he found it all too easy to attract women on a physical level; but he knew it wasn’t what he really wanted. Even when he spent the night with some of these women he would know at the time that he was yearning for more. Their embraces, their soft yielding lovemaking, their cries of pleasure; these things fed his ego but little more.
Often these encounters left him feeling shallow and false, somehow mechanical as if he was acting out the motions of love for the benefit of his peers and contemporaries whilst caring little for it himself. The attention he received from these women was simply not enough, a drop in the ocean.
He felt a yearning gulf in his life that appeared the instant his schoolteacher had taken him from his class as a child and told him of his parents’ ‘accident’. From then on nothing had been enough. He had managed to find relationships with women who gave him a level of content but these were all too brief whatever their duration. He always gave these women too much of everything; too much love, too much attention, too much of himself. It was as if only through them could he find out who he was. He could only really exist if he was with someone with whom he could receive the love he had been denied as a child by the loss of his parents.
However, as he found, women who understood his, often over attentive, behaviour and could live with it were few and far between. Unless they had been hurt themselves in a way which allowed them to empathise, he could find no way of getting them to see why he did things. Never things to hurt them, but displays of over-reliance of devotion which they found unsettling in a man so powerful.
At first they all loved his manner, but after a time there began to be signs of confusion from them, then resentment at being unable to find fault with him as regards his behaviour towards them. He always kept his potentially volatile temper in check when dealing with women, which was now he knew it should be. Some women grew to believe this left him impotent and thinking this made it true in their eyes. From a nice, kind soul who cared about them he became a wimp, dull and predictable. He knew this was how they felt about him but did not know how to counteract it.
He could not be anything other then what he was, nor would he try to be. But the loneliness and the waiting preyed on him like a hunter; always menacingly close by – unseen, and deadly – and striking when he was weakest. Vulnerable, that’s how he felt constantly. The jagged wound of his parents’ death left him a ‘dear john’ owner waiting to receive. On more than one occasion the women concerned had finally told him they liked him, liked him immensely and would do anything to avoid hurting him but, that dreadful word which takes a compliment and twists it into something more sinister, they needed to be free. They needed to be away from him. They invariably could not cope with the burden he represented to them. Nearly always they were sure he would find someone soon who could give him everything he deserved and to make sure he stayed in touch. He never did, he knew they wanted that even less than he did.
The weight of his history hung heavy upon him as he sat in the canteen looking at the delicate Sara Crick trying to enjoy her dinner. He decided it was foolish to add to the list of women who found it impossible to love him. Better to stay lonely then go through the pain again.
Pushing his cutlery to the side of his plate he stood, picked up h
is dirty plate and walked past the other two in the room towards the sink area. Maxwell glowered fiercely at him as he passed the surly scientist and could have grunted something. He was aware for a second that Sara was glancing up at him, but then he passed and the moment was gone.
***
Taylor was beginning to get itchy feet. He was becoming increasingly concerned as to the death of Shanks, with its obvious suicide verdict drawn from the other members of the research team not ringing true with him. A lot of things on the station did not seem to ring quite true the more he thought about it and he had long since learned to trust his instincts. He tried to remember when he had first been able to sense things other people didn’t, but then forced himself to abandon that train of thought. Too much in his past he didn’t want to remember, better to stick to the present and get on with the task in hand.
What is out there? He pondered to himself as he glanced out over the plain inside and outside the perimeter fence. Was it his intuitive sense calling him outside the fence or just natural curiosity of which he had more than his fair share of. He had found in the past the two were often so interconnected as to be virtually indistinguishable from each other. A perfectly symbiotic emotional state that both fed him and fed from him, and more often than not, placed him in serious danger.
Danger, however, was something he neither feared nor craved; it was something that usually existed as an obstacle to a thing he desired. If it could be overcome then the danger was a mere hurdle to be jumped on the path to a greater success. If not, then he would have to find another goal to achieve, another pot of gold to quest for. That was the great thing about the vastness of the Company’s frontiers; there was always a new challenge to feed him and a fresh drive to fuel him.
