by Jeff Taylor
Naitus Brill cursed under his breath. The porcelain cup brimming with hot herbal tea had just touched his lips when the anchorwoman, Loura Lake, pronounced the prison’s demise and casualty count with no small effort to veil her satisfaction. As he listened, the cup in his hand tipped and spilled the warm liquid in his lap. He cursed again and tossed the expensive piece of china out the open window of his luxury sedan. The spilt tea only contributed to his already sour mood. He had been unable to sleep the night before on account of the bizarre dream with the cyborg. It had upset him enough. He didn’t need any help from the fallout of an international incident to make him feel any worse. His driver, a young Asian woman named Qui, chuckled at his reaction but quickly returned her focus to the road as he sneered at in her rearview mirror.
“Government sources have confirmed,” Ms. Lake continued, “that communication with the prison was lost at approximately 5:37 yesterday afternoon. After numerous failed attempts to raise the facility, the Pentagon authorized the mobilization of a specialized division of the Marine Corps to investigate.”
“This video,” she continued, “recorded by the Medes Corporation’s Magellan satellite, clearly shows an explosion erupted underground.” The screen switched from Ms. Lake’s face to a zoomed-in angled view of the prison’s location. The gray, pock-marked lunar surface suddenly swelled like a massive balloon then collapsed, a stream of light and gas spewing from outlying exhaust ports on the surface.
“Dr. Raj Tashken of the University of San Francisco believes based on the extent of the damage, the size of the blast, and the intense levels of radiation emitting from the site, that the explosion could only have been caused by a massive explosion of the nuclear power plant below the prison’s lower levels. An anonymous source at the Pentagon, not authorized to discuss this matter, indicates that its analysts agree with Dr. Tashken. But they also believe there may have been a stash of high-grade weaponry that may account for some of the residual damage. If that is true, the newly-merged Carsus Corporation and ConSystems International, the principal administrators and suppliers of the prison, could be looking at severe sanctions and possible criminal charges for illegally harboring strategic arms in violation of the Outer Space Treaty of 2025.”
Brill’s chest ached as he heard the report. The story itself was not news to him. He had learned of the incident shortly after Selene I, Carsus’ titanic space station orbiting the moon, reported it had lost communication with the facility. The details were relayed quickly to Brill through his well-placed connections and he gave strict instructions that they were to be kept under wraps until all the facts could be determined. Not even the Kratins were to be told until it was absolutely necessary. Obviously, someone had spoken out of turn and informed the press.
The information that had reached Brill just that morning indeed concluded that the nuclear plant was compromised and had indeed ignited the weapons cache destroying the prison. The facility was a complete loss. Storing the heavy artillery and bombs there had been Strón’s suggestion as a first strike response to any pirates or overly aggressive strike-forces aimed at a rescue attempt. Schulaz had whole-heartedly agreed to the request. Only a select few knew of the devices’ presence on the station.
The news report continued. “Newly appointed president and majority shareholder Nathaniel Kratin said he had no comment, but would make a statement when he knew more about the situation.”
“Well done,” Brill mumbled under his breath. Kratin was smart enough not to say anything without first checking with Brill. Things would have been better for them if Kratin hadn’t promised a statement at all, but for now it would have to do. Unfortunately, the company’s problems were just getting started. The report, unbelievably, only got worse.
“The week’s events have only stirred the debate of the ethical and moral dilemma created by a prison on the lunar surface,” Ms. Lake reported. “Senator Jack Marshall, one of the initial sponsors for the project and a Carsus shareholder, was berated on Capitol Hill this morning by protestors and family members of the deceased inmates and security teams. The senator had no comment for us as well, but it was obvious from his demeanor that he was not pleased with the gathering.” Marshall appeared on the screen surrounded by dark-suited Secret Service agents, his jaw clenched and a grim expression shadowing his face as he and his protection team forced their way through a horde of angry protestors on the steps of the Capitol building in Washington.
The picture then changed to the United Nations building in New York. “Representatives at the U.N. openly attacked the Carsus Corporation for failure to live up to the assurances that such a disaster would ever happen.” The Nigerian ambassador in his native attire jabbed his fist into the air as he shouted aggressively. The audio translation blasted from the car’s speakers as the ambassador lambasted the corporation for its false promises and inadequate security measures.
Another image, this one of a busy college campus, its ancient buildings overgrown with ivy and other vegetation, suddenly materialized on the small screen imbedded in the seat before Brill.
“At Harvard University, Professor of Sociology, Mohamoud al Aki, decried the logic in mankind even establishing a permanent presence in space.” A clip from one of the morning talk shows portrayed a wizened, white-haired academic expressing very stoically his opinions on the crisis.
“Earth life,” the professor opined, “as we know it now is the result of an evolutionary process that took millions of years to develop under specific conditions that are specific to this world. Trying to bend the universe to our will is egocentric and frankly, dangerous. Space exploration corporations and national governments have wasted trillions of dollars in researching the expansion of our way of life on other planets when we haven’t even perfected it here on Earth. Millions of people still live in poverty and sickness with little or no future prospects ahead of them, and yet the rich and capable look to the stars for their legacies. I am aware of the Carsus Foundation and its work with developing nations, but more could be done to alleviate the world’s problems before we migrate to the moon.”
“Know-it-all hippie,” Brill growled.
Qui had been silent as the report played out but took this time to turn and comment as she drove. “I think he has a point,” she said cheerily.
Her words went unanswered. Brill’s eyes bore through the back of her head. Without looking for it, he pressed the button that raised the divider between the driver and passenger section, effectively cutting her off from hearing the rest of the exclusive. Pity, I was just starting to get used to her. He’d find another driver tomorrow.
The reporter’s tanned, lightly-painted face returned on the monitor. “This disaster begs the question, will the Carsus Corporation, which for so long has teetered on the verge of committing all of its resources to its lunar and Martian experiments, continue to dedicate so many dollars and human lives in what is increasingly becoming a risky and now deadly enterprise?”
Brill leaned forward, resting his forehead in his large hands. The tightness in his chest now moved down to his stomach and made him want to wretch. The fatigue in combination with the stress of the upcoming lunar visit had exhausted him beyond his limits.
“TV off,” he muttered.
The console ahead of him dimmed and then fell silent. He needed a break, both from the future and especially the present. He needed to get away from the mob of reporters he knew would be waiting for a quote in the lobby or the humiliated board members gathering in the conference room of Carsus Tower to demand his head.
“Qui,” he mumbled into the intercom.
“Yes, sir,” she chirped.
The old man sighed. “Take a detour. Go to the pier.”
“Right away, sir.” The petite driver turned the wheel of the glistening, ebony sedan and headed west toward the Puget Sound.
When they reached the ferry landing, Brill took his heavy wool coat from the seat next to him and instructed Qui to pick him up in an hour. Donning th
e coat, he hobbled toward the ferry station, leaning heavily on his cane, and waited impatiently to cross the Sound to Bainbridge Island. When the boat arrived, he found a seat in the general passenger area facing the bow and tried his best to ignore the other passengers streaming by him.
There were other means of transportation to the island, but the antiquated ferry system had always been Brill’s favorite. Having made the voyage many times in his youth from his parents’ home on the steep slopes of the island to the mainland, the ferry comforted him like a familiar friend.
Growing up on the island he came to love the water, calm or rough. The cool breeze blowing across his face, the salty air wafting around him; there was a romance about it that had always enchanted him like a siren, and had very nearly lured him to a life at sea. In the months between high school and college, he had seriously considered enlisting in the United States Navy, but the compulsion to business and money proved much stronger influences than the mighty Pacific Ocean.
Brill pondered the outcomes of his life, wondering if he had made the right choices, wondering if he could have been someone else instead of the miserable cur that succeeded in business but failed in life. His ruminations were interrupted by the television broadcasts displayed on the large transparent partitions of the deck. A lengthy report on the demise of the Apollo Prison and the helpless inmates who perished therein blasted from the screen. Brill’s stomach churned and he decided to go outside to the observation deck overlooking the water.
The air was cold as the ship clipped along. The frigid January wind pricked at his face as the boat continued across the choppy water. He buttoned his coat and then turned the collar up. The deck was largely empty, except for a few pre-adolescents who didn’t know any better than to be out in the weather, leaving him relatively alone as he crossed the deck. Arriving at the railing he gripped his hands around it and leaned slightly forward, deeply breathing in a healthy helping of the brisk air. This was what he needed, fresh air and silence. He cast his eyes at the water below and watched as the white-capped waves crashed against the hull of the ferry. The rhythmic sights and sounds of the open sea soon entranced him.
Every once in a while, a jellyfish would spring up in the boat’s wake. He began counting the small pinkish specks in the dark green of the Sound just as he had as a boy. He and his friends had made a game of counting the invertebrates as they bobbed near the ferries. The other boys had always been better at spotting the little blobs than Brill, but that hadn’t taken any of the joy from trying.
Instinctively, he began to tally the creatures, counting silently to himself. When his count reached seventeen he heard the ferry’s horn signal its approach to the island. He pulled himself from his daze and observed the thick greenery obscuring the island’s many homes. Although he now only lived a few short minutes away from his hometown, he had not set foot there in well over a dozen years; not since his mother had died and he’d gone to settle her estate. Despite his promises of a lavish lifestyle, Brill’s mother had refused her son’s overtures to leave the home she and her beloved husband had made half a century earlier. When he cleaned out her home Brill discovered a trove of sentimental keepsakes and heirlooms, but none of them would be of any consequence to anyone else. The Brill family had never seen more than a modest income until Naitus ventured into the world of business. But he always believed that his humble background fueled his drive to succeed, pushing him to live better and be better than his family and magnify their name. He adored his older brother and mother but deep inside he wanted to be better than them, to achieve more than them.
Reminded of his brother, his thoughts suddenly returned to the unsettling dream from the night before. The face of the metal monster had haunted him all night long. The brilliant blue eyes and reverberating voice still clung to Brill’s mind like cold tar. He had laid awake for several hours afterwards pondering every possible explanation for such an apparition’s appearance in his subconscious, afraid that such a configuration of flesh and iron would be waiting for him to return should he close his eyes again.
What did it mean? Who was this cyborg and why should I fear him? These questions had worn on him as he repeated them again and again in the dark, with no clear answer. His overly ambitious nature had created its share of enemies over the years. The beast possibly represented any number of them, most notably the odious Mylan Tackkert, head of Medes Corporation. The two of them had been going at one another for years and Brill surmised that the old fossil would likely do anything in his power to destroy Brill and everything he’d worked for, especially now that he’d thrown off the sale to Medes.
Perhaps the dream had something to do with his visit to the ConSystems facility the morning before. Was there something about his or the company’s future that loomed over them like the flaming bird the cyborg lofted proudly over him? Would Carsus’ commitment to space exploration and scientific development end in a catastrophic failure that would consume it like the fire consumed the banner?
These were all questions Brill considered in his sweat soaked pajamas in the early hours of the morning, dreading the discovery of any one of them being true. Before the clock reached 5:00 a.m., the likeliest scenario occurred to him. What if the dream was nothing but that; a manifestation of his unconscious mind, an illusion with no real reason for its emergence or any truth in its existence? Brill was no prophet. He had no ability to foresee the future or divine events that were yet to come. Ultimately, he concluded that the dream was a falsehood, something that his mind had devised on its own with no real significance or bearing on the events of his life. Yet, as he now stood on the deck of the ferry skimming over the water toward his childhood home, he realized that he had not truly convinced himself of that early morning conclusion. Something deeper, ominous engulfed his heart and filled it with a terror he couldn’t explain, a prescient horror that someday he would come face to face with the metal demon who would then escort his beleaguered soul down to Hell.
Suddenly, he began to wonder if the beast were real. Was it actually something, or someone, currently alive? He had known men and women who had been the victims of horrible accidents and whose bodies were repaired with metal and circuits. Volkor Con, for one, was more metal than man. In fact, through advances from Brill’s own company, bio-mechanical prosthetics were practically undetectable without the aid of instrumentation. Metal infused bones, synaptic-relay boosting microchips, medical nano-robots working feverishly within the confines of the human animal; these and other marvels were all the offspring of Carsus Corp’s Research and Development Division.
Brill’s eyes began to dart around the deck, scrutinizing the other passengers advancing toward the exits as the ferry secured at the dock. The kindly-looking old woman on her motorized scooter, the tall, wiry youth with mousy-brown hair tossing his friend’s wool cap around to his other companions, the businessman in his cheap polyester suit and battered briefcase seemingly talking to no one as he closed some real estate deal on his phone, the young couple pawing one another like a pair of pups; all unknown faces around him that incited a tightness in his chest making it difficult to breath. His anxiety peaked when he felt the crowd closing in around him and the realization hit that they could all possibly be cyborgs.
Each face in the crowd contorted before his eyes. Seemingly innocent but they soon began transforming, their flesh rotting away and falling to the ground like ash revealing internal organs and bones made of aluminum and steel. Their eyes rolled upward into their lids, exposing pairs of demonic orbs that radiated an unearthly blue glow.
Surrounded by these beasts, Brill panicked. He knew they would soon overtake him if he did not act quickly. With a madness that he had never known, Naitus Brill attacked the creatures with his cane, shrieking and growling with feral aggression as one by one his attackers collapsed before him, each screaming in pain as the blows from his cane scored on their heads and chests. His ferocious attack succeeded in pushing the horde back but his fear would not let hi
m stop. He lunged at the retreating crowd, connecting blow after blow on the unholy machine hybrids.
Finally, he came upon a rounded version of the beast machine, cowering on the deck while holding a small object. Its blue orbs gazed up at him full of fear but Brill would not be deterred by such a look. It was most likely protecting a bomb it would use to sink the ship. He saw only deceit in the creature’s eyes and dared not believe his own, deciding instead to raise his cane high, ready to unleash the blow that would send this fearsome creature and her spawn back to where they’d come.
The attack was stayed however, when a sudden pain burst in Brill’s shoulder. Under normal circumstances, such a sensation would have caused him to cry out in agony, but instead he roared in anger. Brill’s frame shook violently as the last traces of current dissipated and he was free to feel the excruciating aftereffects of a stunner at close range. His body convulsed sporadically before finally slumping to the ground.
“You won’t get me that easy,” he mumbled through his clattering jaw. He rose onto his knees and extended his arms at the approaching machine in the dark suit. He flailed at the man wildly unaware of the badge and uniform his assailant wore.
“Just calm down, sir,” the officer urged, but Brill did not hear him.
He swung his cane without forethought, not caring now who or what he struck. At last the officer pressed something to the hallucinating Carsus executive’s temple and the old man collapsed onto the deck, intermittently convulsing as he faded into unconsciousness. But before he blacked out he saw where the round machine had been. A woman, unfettered with metal and blue light, cradled a small baby in her arms, trying to calm it as it screeched into the cold winter air. Realizing what he been about to do, Brill surrendered to the darkness.
CHAPTER 17
PARADISE
The massive asteroid floated in space like a solitary bead lost in a field of darkness. From the outside the enormous rock did not appear to be anything special. The rust-colored surface, riddled with craters and open fissures, left no allusion that underneath was a thriving city of glass and lights teeming with tourists and pleasure-seekers. Elegant casinos, gourmet restaurants, and luxury resorts were just a few of the many attractions that lured travelers millions of miles into space. The lack of any extradition agreements with Earth-bound nations also contributed to its popularity with the morally bankrupt crowd. That last fact was not openly expressed among the plethora of information streaming on the cockpit display of the Distant Horizon, but it was useful nonetheless.
