Vadim tapped a pencil against the table. “Are you aware that post-mortem analysis of Yatz’s body revealed knuckle-shaped bruises against his carotid artery, and an additional set of bruises over his heart? Whoever took him down used a front choke, a close combat move taught by the Solar Arm Constabulary.”
“So what?” Kazmer said. “What does that prove? Probably seventy percent of the people here have a military background, and a good number of military personnel are recruited from the Constabulary. There’s probably twenty or thirty guys here who can do a front choke.”
“I’ve spoken to witnesses. You and Yatz had a problem, going back to the day you first met. You deliberately injured him so that soldiers would arrest you.”
“This is true, but again, supererogatory. Yatz had a problem with nearly every single person in the building. You could sooner list the people who didn’t have plans to shove his nose in his mouth.”
“How do you know about that?” Vadim shot out of his chair, jabbing the pencil at Andrei’s chest. The big man didn’t move, didn’t even show a reaction. “I specifically told the orderly not to tell anyone that detail. Yes, the killer cut off Yatz’s nose and stuffed it into his mouth. As far as I know, this known to only her, and to myself, and to the coroner.”
“That’s three holes in your sieve. For the record, I was told this by Nilux Red, who claimed she’d heard it from the orderly. Get wise, Vadim. People talk. Your impenetrable web of silence under the mountains isn’t as silent as you’d want it to be.”
Vadim sagged back into his seat, fuming. There was something incredibly wrong here.
“Listen,” Andrei said, like a man explaining very basic facts to a very unobservant person. “You are running a facility that takes less than sane people and denies them their freedom. You lack the courage to admit that to the inmates here, and perhaps even to yourself, but it’s true. This is, in effect, a prison, filled with people who would embarrass the Solar Arm if they were out in public. There’s Nilux, who was stranded in a spacecraft by a failed Black Shift pod, and cannibalized one of her fellow passengers. There’s Farholt, who was a prototype for me – they blanked his brain and told him he was a killing machine blessed by the hand of god, and he’s been living that fantasy ever since. There’s Ubra Zolot, found wandering California with a baby, stark naked, covered in drying placental fluid and infant shit. Then there’s myself: a god who killed himself and was reborn as a man who is now perpetuating a hoax on an empire of billions. This is a place for embarassments, and freaks, and misfits – and you are one of those embarassments. Admit it. Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later.”
“So, you’re claiming that someone just randomly went crazy and murdered Yatz, and that person isn’t you,” Vadim said.
“I’m sure it isn’t me. I tend to have a pretty good recollection of what I’m doing moment to moment.”
“But here’s one thing I don’t get,” Vadim said. “I could buy one of our guests having a psychotic episode and tearing him apart…but why did they do it so well?”
“Pardon?”
“Not a trace of evidence left behind! No fingerprints! A perfect alibi! How would a crazy person possibly have covered their tracks like that? No, this is not a crime of passion. Those tend to be very specific, and I see hallmarks of that sort of thing here. Whoever did this wasn’t mad, they were sane. They knew exactly what they were doing.”
Andrei Kazmer shrugged. “Does it seem like I know what I’m doing? I’m asking you to arrest me, and imprison me. In a real prison, not this illegal and unconstitutional hole in a mountain. I’m the boilerplate definition of insanity. If you want pre-meditated murder, I’m not your man. I’m sorry. I wish the solution to your crime was as simple as pinning it on me, but life is not that simple. For fuck’s sake, I’ve already confessed to many crimes. Wouldn’t I own up to this one, if I’d actually done it?”
“I did not bring you here to plead your case,” Vadim said. “I merely wanted to pick your brains, and also, to inform you that you are under house arrest.”
“What?”
“Your door privileges are suspended,” Vadim said. “No walking around at night. You will stay in your room. You must be accompanied by a guard at all times. Once we have discovered the true killer – it can’t be too difficult, this is a closed system, and nobody gets in or out without my knowledge! – you can have your freedom back. But not before.”
“Wait,” Vadim said. “You told me that I would go back to Ceres.”
“That will not be happening at the current moment. Your whereabouts are dictated from my superior, General Sybar Rodensis. At the moment, he wishes you to stay here. When the time comes, you might be asked to go above ground. Obviously, you will be under a good deal of security when this happens.”
Andrei Kazmer was now growing visibly upset. Lines in his face were appearing and disappearing, like the faint ripples of a material under stress.
“So I’m to be some kind of performing monkey?” he asked. “Rodensis wants to parade me in front of the Sane, or whoever the hell they are, and make scary war faces at them? I recorded a video for you. Isn’t that enough?”
“I suppose not,” Vadim said.
“I’m a killer! A merciless thug! Why isn’t he enforcing the law?”
“It’s more important that we preserve the fragile peace and unity that has now been achieved between the Solar Arm and the Reformation Confederacy. And that peace depends upon your co-operation.”
So the rumors were true. He’d been hearing rumors for days that Rodensis had accepted terms from Raya Yithdras, and that they would be merging the two halves of their empires.
Clearly, he’d been wrong to imagine Sybar Rodensis as a hammer crushing the Sons of the Vanitar into little pieces.
Protecting his mandate. Re-establishing the trade routes. Those were the things Solar Arm general was trying to do.
We’re all despicable, he thought. Selling out, even though we have nothing to sell.
“Please don’t do this,” he told Vadim, sounding and feeling pathetic. “I had hope. I just want to be in a place where justice is done.”
Vadim shook his head. “I do not know the first thing about justice. I only follow instructions.”
“Look, you want a confession before you’ll punish me?” Andrei Kazmer gibbered, his self control flying away like a startled pigeon. “I did it! I killed Yatz! I snuck out at night, wrapping cloth around the door hinges so they wouldn’t make noises as they squeaked. I wrapped my hands in polyplastic, so they’d leave no fingerprints. I hid the body in the garden, where I knew few people go and nobody is bothered by strange smells. It was me. Are you happy now?”
“Now you’re just telling me what you think I want to hear,” Vadim said. “Lies do not help you, Andrei…or Wake, I should say. You think you can tell a small one, just to cover your tracks. But then you need a bigger lie to cover that one, and a bigger lie still to cover that one, and eventually your lie stretches to cover the entire universe.”
He stood up to go, hardly noticing how Andrei Kazmer was on the verge of tears.
Tears were such a cheap commodity in this place. They purchased nothing. Never had, never will.
“I hope we’ve clarified where we stand, Andrei,” Vadim said. “You are under house arrest. You will toe the line. You will follow instructions. And when the time comes, when Rodensis and Raya Yithdras shake hands and rebuild bridges, then you’ll be at their side, keeping a fiction alive. The rest of your life will be spent in the service of the Solar Arm.”
“You promised that I’d go to prison,” snarled Andrei.
He leaned down, until his face was an inch away from Kazmer’s.
“And if you refuse…think of Ubra. Think of your daughter. You care for them as you will never care for yourself. If we have the slightest bit of trouble from you, that trouble gets visited on them, tenfold.”
Then he left.
Andrei Kazmer died that day,
perhaps forever.
And Aaron Wake returned to full control.
The peace was brokered, and the broken halves were mended.
It had happened with astonishing speed.
Merely a week previously, Mars had been taken, and hellfire was raining down on Terrus. The Atrium on Selene had become a slaughterhouse. They had been a hairs’ breadth from issuing a surrender order.
But now Rodensis was reasonably comfortable that he was back in control of the situation. He didn’t have all the high cards, but he still had the best hand.
A transitional government had been established, with Raya Yithdras still controlling her section and Rodensis controlling his. Neither of them lifted the bonds of martial law. And both of them continued military production at full speed.
It was a fragile peace. It couldn’t last. It didn’t last.
Descent to Valashabad – June 9, 2143, 0200 hours
Their downwards vector towards Mars was palpable. Gravity was relentlessly pulling them to the descending nose of the ship, and soon everyone was clutching on to hand-rails for support.
“We have to bring him back,” Haledor said. “Otherwise, we’ll be shot out of the air. I won’t let that happen. I’ve come too far. I want to make it to Mars, so I can at least tell my story.”
Zelity stared in numb horror at the Grand Guignol show inside the cockpit. The remains of three dead men were plastered all across the cabin. “We can’t use the polyfleshing device on them, Haledor.”
“We can try.”
“No,” he shook his head. “The device works by imaging a rough phenotype of a human body and then moving displaced molecules to their original destinations. It can’t do that when multiple bodies are all mixed up like this. You might as well try to piece three separate cakes back together after throwing them in a blender.”
“I know all that, idiot,” snapped Haledor. “I’ve been with Mykor for thirty years. I was with him when we found the devices. This is not going to have pleasant results, but I’ll be damned if I’m not going to at least try.”
The holographs up ahead showed a vision of Mars that almost occupied their field of view. They were coming down, and their precious time was ticking away.
“Do it,” said Jagomir. “This is the only way.”
Zelity wanted to stop them. He wanted to fight them. Something inside him screamed that this was wrong.
He remembered Ubra, and what she’d said not long before they’d departed the planet.
Why don’t we try being white?
And now his friends were about to bring back the dead, the one of the darkest pages of Mykor’s life and legacy.
Fighting an enemy that wishes you harm is one thing, he thought. But bringing back the dead, stealing deceased souls from peace…
“Fuck this,” he reached out to grab the polyfleshing device from Haledor’s hands.
Immediately, he caught a fist to the face.
“Oof.”
Then they were on him. Lots of them. Swarms of them. His friends and comrades leaped on to him, pinning him against the wall with their numbers.
A strap was found, and his arms were fastened behind his back.
Jagomir was in his face then, as he blinked back tears of rage.
“Listen,” the bearded man said. “I understand you have ethical issues with this. But you yourself are a reanimated dead person. We shot you, brought you back, and made you one of us. Would you rather we’d let you die?”
“That’s different,” Zelity blubbered.
“How? Explain to me how.”
He couldn’t. He just struggled against the bond, his arms as helpless as his tongue.
He felt light illuminate his face from the cabin. Haledor was bringing Calixtus back.
There were oscillating flashes of particles, as though the cabin was creation’s furnace, and a new order was arising from the mire of blood and pain. It took a long time, far longer than any polyfleshing procedure Zelity had been a part of. He prayed that it wouldn’t work. He prayed that it would fail.
But this was one of those things that can fail and succeed at the same time.
“Holy shit…”
“What the fuck…?”
“I’m going to be sick…”
A pathetic mewling sound was coming from the cabin now, like a knife-stuck animal. Zelity chanced a look, and was mortified by what he saw.
The polyfleshing device hadn’t been able to isolate which particles of tissue had belonged to which person. It had assumed that they all belonged together, and had created a disgusting inhuman behemoth.
Three bodies, merged into one.
Six arms waved and dangled, pulled by the strings of three neocortexes and three sets of nerve endings.
Superfluous legs kicked furiously from the massive ball of flesh.
It was a confusing, horrifying thing, something that nature would never have permitted to exist. Nature, for all of her cruelty and red-toothed savagery, had boundary lines, and the Defiant had crossed them.
The worst part were the faces.
They jutted out from the tangled ball of human remains, mouths opening and closing almost at random. Eyes rolled around in a panic. They did not understand what was happening to them. All three sets of their memories were gone. There was only confusion and suffering.
“Listen,” Haledor said, clutching the face that had been Calixtus’s. “Can you hear me?”
“Y…Y…Yes…” the face blubbered.
“A very nice man is about to ask you if everything is going well. You are going to tell him your name, which is Gunnery Sargeant Calixtus. And then you are going to tell him ‘situation is handled, let us land.’ Can you repeat that?”
“Situation…is…landed…”
It went on and on, Zelity thrashed against the bonds, wishing his arms were free just so he could block the sound out his ears. Occasionally the other two reanimated corpses spoke, adding pointless echolalia to the bizarre question and answer sequence.
The reanimated were impressionable. Easy to fool, easy to mislead. He himself was living proof of that.
Fuck having proof of things, he thought, listening to what was happening in the cabin. Fuck the real world. Who’s with me for a nice warm cup of denial?
Finally, the shambolic tri-human creature had learned a simple line to Haledor’s satisfaction. A commlink was engaged to the ground.
“This is Renoy Zar, clearance commissioner of Valashabad Spaceport.”
The creature slurred out an identification. “It’s Gunnery… Sargeant… Calixtus.”
“Oh, well, look who finally decided to show up at his seat. Everything fine out there?”
“Situation…is handled, let…us land.”
“Copy that. Damned well gave me a fright, I thought the hostiles had broken through. I’ll get the railgun emplacements to stand down. What were you doing? You’re supposed to remain in the cabin while -”
Click.
Haledor ended the call.
Then, he drew his pistol, and fired it empty.
The reborn creature had three heads, and each of them received two bullets. Calixtus slumped over the panel, dead. That was, if you believed that he’d really been alive to begin with.
“We’ll be landing in less than hour,” Haledor said. “Buckle yourselves in. Everything should be automatic, but who knows what got fucked up when the grenade went off. It could be a rough landing.”
“Fuck this,” Zelity said, with feeling. “Fuck everything about this.”
“You’ll get over it,” Haledor said. The man’s stare was cold.
“You’re them. You realize that, don’t you? You are functionally working at the same level they are.”
“It was that or die.”
“Have fun when we land,” Zelity said. “When they hack through the door, and see that…thing in the cockpit. They’ll have all sorts of questions for you, I bet.”
The roar of the descending craft made conversation mercif
ully impossible. The twenty remaining Defiant closed their eyes, and waited for the landing.
The systems took control, as Haledor had had said. Azipod jets angled the descending missile of the craft, and retro jets negated their downwards speed. With each tremor of a new thorium rocket activating, Zelity squeezed his eyes shut a little harder.
Wherever Ubra had ended up, he wished he was there. Even if she’d died on the planet, it would have been over quickly.
The Dravidian slammed home into the nano-teflon surface of Valashabad, Mars’ largest city. It was like the thud of a judge’s gavel.
Zelity was lost in morbid thoughts until he heard the door slide open. He looked through.
The tarmac was covered by soldiers. Hundreds of them, guns up. Beyond was the pale tan sky of Mars. A sight that Zelity didn’t think he’d have long to appreciate.
So what’s the big idea now, Haledor? He wanted to ask, but didn’t.
Haledor unbuckled himself, and let himself drop to the ground. He stood in the doorway, facing the soldiers with his hands up.
“I would like a chance to explain myself,” Haledor said. “Can I have that?”
The curtain of soldiers parted, and a woman approached. She was dressed in civilian clothes.
Jagomir mouthed four words to the others. Son of the Vanitar.
“There is no need to explain yourselves,” the woman said. “You’ve given us an incredible gift. An attack inside Reformation Confederacy territory, in defiance of an established treaty. Casus belli for an immediate and unilateral counterattack. Thank you, whoever you are. Thank you.”
She laughed as soldiers came to take them away.
Terrus-Mars Interspace – June 10, 2143, 1600 hours
Raya Yithdras was on a Dravidian, heading towards Terrus. Her first journey to humanity’s homeworld since the breaking of the Solar Arm.
Now, there was hope that it could be reforged.
The thorium engine took them past the asteroid belt, and then an antimatter impulse drive accelerated them through space lanes that Sybar Rodensis had generously cleared.
Skyline Severant (The Consilience War Book 3) Page 18
