The scuff-marks were definitely more obvious now, and Tris found himself following them to the exclusion of all else. They passed another pair of bodies without stopping to examine them; a general consensus seemed to have passed unspoken. Get to the lab. Do our job. And get the hell out of here.
Tris was happy to oblige.
“This must be the lab,” Sera said, as they approached sliding double doors. “The layout is different here — we’re approaching from the other side.”
“Does that make a difference?” Tris asked her.
“It means that if Gerian is still here, we’ll be behind him.”
Tris refocused his mind, questing beyond the doors. This close, he could definitely detect a sliver of mental energy; either someone struggling to hide their talent, or someone close to death.
Possibly both.
Tris stepped up to the door, and it slid open.
On a massacre.
18
Tris took two steps into the lab and stopped.
The fighting had been heaviest here. At least ten bodies were strewn about the place, linked to one another by splatters of gore. Most wore white overalls, though a few were in uniform; it looked like the latter had rushed in to aid the former, only to be slaughtered themselves. Heavy machinery lay smashed on all sides, torn cables still crackling and sparking. Severed limbs were strewn about the place, and the metallic stink of raw flesh was overpowering.
The others recovered quickly, spreading out to search. Tris stood gulping down breaths. He’d seen plenty of battles now, had inflicted a lot of death himself.
But it’s different when I’m fighting for my life. It’s so desperate, so vital. Here it’s like… like someone just tore these men to pieces for the fun of it, and left them here to rot. Closed up inside this tin can in the middle of nowhere…
“Tris.” It was Ella. “You okay, Sweetie?”
“Yeah. I’m just… this is sick.”
She nodded. “No blaster burns. No blade marks. A few puncture wounds, but… this was all done by hand.”
“And the equipment?” He flapped a hand at the wrecked consoles, smashed tables, and huge steel contraptions that appeared to have been torn off the ceiling.
Ella was about to offer an opinion when Àurea gasped. “Father!”
Sera waded over, kicking debris and body parts out of her path.
Tris followed more delicately, while Ella moved back to the entrance to keep watch.
Àurea had discovered a kind of window built into the wall at waist-height. A greenish-yellow glow came from within. Tris moved past Sera, who was already studying a control pad built into the wall next to it, and crouched down for a better look.
Kreon was in there alright; the old man looked like he was taking a nap. A profusion of tubes and wires were hooked up to him, concentrated around his head. Tris watched for a few seconds, and was rewarded with a slight fall of the Warden’s chest. “He’s alive!”
“It’s a stasis pod,” Àurea enlightened him. “He’s unconscious in there, but the machines keep him fed and breathing.”
Tris’ mind groped for a sci-fi equivalent. “Does he age?”
“Every time you look at him,” Sera quipped. Her tone was cold, as though finding Kreon had been more of an inconvenience than a blessing.
“Well can we get him out of there?” Tris snapped.
“With your permission, commander, I am attempting to do just that.” She tapped away at the control panel, not waiting for a reply. “The old bastard can at least enlighten us about all of this.”
“Unless he slept through it,” Tris said.
“Slept through it?” Sera frowned at the controls. “I wouldn’t put it past him to have caused this. Gerian was experimenting with control of that construct. He has Kreon wired up to some kind of interface; perhaps the old man took over.”
She pressed a last few keys and stood back expectantly. Àurea was studying her father through the glass, while Ella patrolled the rear of the room.
Tris backed off, casting an eye around the carnage. “This is the same lab you were in, right?”
“Yes,” Àurea replied without looking up.
“So where was Gerian?”
“In the middle. That wreckage is the sarcophagus.”
Tris wandered over, careful not to step in any entrails. The colossal machine was mangled beyond all recognition, but even so its origin was blatantly alien. The material it was made of had been smooth and glittery, faceted like a diamond rather than curved, and covered in marks and ports that meant nothing to him. A series of huge cables stretched away from it like umbilical cords, the whole bunch severed not far from the sarcophagus. Tris traced them idly, while he waited for Kreon to wake up. Some of the cables led to what had once been a control console, whilst others vanished into the deck. The last cluster stretched clear across to the far side of the room, or would have if they hadn’t been ripped in two. They terminated in another wrecked machine which crackled and gave off intermittent sparks. Tiny wisps of smoke drifted above it as Tris wandered over to take a closer look.
He was glad he did.
Poking out from beneath a buckled metal cover he saw something he recognised.
He dug his fingers under the rim of the cover, glad of the tough gloves that came with his armour, and heaved it upwards. The metal groaned, its new shape not well suited to opening, but Tris put more power into it. The hinge gave grudgingly, and when he let go the thing stayed where it was.
Reaching inside he fastened his hands around a battered box and carefully drew it out.
“Loader!” Tris leapt clear of the machine in case it decided to slam shut, and held his prize up for all to see. “I’ve found him!”
“Indeed,” wheezed a new voice. One Tris hadn’t heard in a while. He turned to look — and Kreon was lying on a low shelf, with Àurea kneeling beside him.
YES! Tris turned his attention to the Warden, starting to sense the man through the Gift. Kreon’s consciousness seemed to ooze upwards, welling into place like water trickling up from an underground spring.
It was an odd sensation, and Tris took a few seconds to study it. To his Gift, it felt as though Kreon might have been there all along; just underneath the surface somehow, too low down for him to notice.
It’s like there’s a frequency to minds, and unconscious ones are lower?
So low he’d passed right over the top of it with his searching.
Was I looking in the wrong place? Damn it. There’s still so much to learn about this stuff.
Applying the new knowledge to his surroundings, he began a more careful scan. He’d assumed the spark he kept sensing had belonged to one of the victims in here, perhaps still clinging to life by the skin of his teeth.
But what he discovered was far more interesting.
“Guys…” he said, tension creeping into his voice. “There’s someone else in here.”
It was like an electric current ran through them. Sera dropped to one knee beside Kreon, her rifle snapping up to cover the front of the lab. Àurea trained hers backwards, while by the entrance Ella crouched low, her weapon roving both sides of the room. But Tris didn’t bother with his rifle. Judging by the state of this place, any survivors were unlikely to be much of a threat. Unfastening the glaive from the small of his back he made it baseball-bat sized, and cradling it in both hands he stalked towards that shard of consciousness.
He heard the man before he saw him. Two thirds of the way down the room, beyond the piles of wreckage and corpses, an almost imperceptible blue shimmer hung in the air. Close up it was easy to identify: a forcefield, like the ones Askarra had generated to contain Ella. Damn Lemurians must be fond of ‘em.
From just beyond the haze of energy, Tris could hear breathing.
The breath rasped, as though its owner was injured; Tris reached out for the source of it, and felt a familiar touch on his mind.
Well, shit! We’ve got a full house.
It was Ger
ian.
The clone was leaning back against the wall, propped up by the side of a console. The forcefield stopped Tris leaning over to see more of him, but it was obvious from his position on the floor that Gerian was badly hurt.
“Can you hear me?” Tris asked softly.
“Tristan!” the man wheezed. “I thought it was you! So good to see you, my boy. How… how’ve you been?”
“I’m alive,” Tris said. “No thanks to you.”
“Yes, yes! That trial was a… nasty business. You really… raised the roof!”
“You’re hurt?”
The man’s arm came into view, his blood-soaked hand flapping dismissively. “Just a scratch.”
Tris turned back to the others. They all came closer to listen, save Ella who was still keeping an eye on things from the entrance.
“What do we do? I can’t get through the forcefield.”
Kreon was sitting up now, rubbing his bald head where Àurea had removed the wires. “Give me a moment,” he said, his voice like dry sticks rubbing together. “Where is Loader? Is he functional?”
“He’s on that broken console right there,” Tris pointed. “His housing is pretty damaged, and he hasn’t said anything. I think his speech synthesisers are wrecked, at least.”
Kreon pushed himself to his feet, using the wall for support. He looked wobbly, but Tris knew the old man despised weakness; he’d rather stand and risk falling than lie there like a victim.
“I’m activating my transceiver,” Kreon said. “If Loader is still able to communicate wirelessly, we should… Ah. There he is.” The Warden stared off into space for a few seconds, as though reading something only he could see. Tris had seen this behaviour before, although it clearly intrigued Àurea.
“He can lower the forcefield, when you’re ready,” Kreon said.
Tris nodded, and shrunk his glaive to stow it. Taking the grip of his rifle, he trained it on the edge of the console where he could just made out the side of Gerian’s head. Surely the injured clone wasn’t capable of putting up a fight? But if he was, Tris felt way more comfortable holding him at gunpoint than he would putting a blade to the man’s neck.
“Lower away.”
The blue haze sparkled more brightly, then vanished. Tris tentatively waved his rifle barrel through the previously impenetrable air, then stepped through. Gerian’s mind was still closed to him, still guarded; it spoke volumes of the man’s strength, that he could maintain his defences in such a state.
“Believe it or not, I’ve missed you,” Gerian drawled. “There was a time when I thought we’d be doing this work together.”
“Work?” The word came out loaded with venom; no matter how Tris tried not to let Gerian get to him, the man’s casual cruelty drove him mad. “These people are dead! You did this, I’m guessing.”
“Oh, not me, not this time. It was our guest.”
Tris had drawn level with the console now. He peeked around it, and was rewarded with a sight of Gerian sprawled in the corner, one arm clutching a deep wound in his stomach. “The robot did this? That big blue thing you’ve created?”
“The very same.” Gerian grunted in pain. “Though I only wish I could create something so… magnificent!”
“Yeah, he’s great. A real entertainer. What’s the matter, you’re bored with hookers so you reanimate a giant sex robot?”
“Oh, Tris!” Gerian tired to chuckle, but it came out as a cough. “How I miss our little conversations! But you forget — I’m just a servant to the people. This is not for me, it’s for them.”
“We’ve run you out of Transgressors, have we? No monsters left, so you break out the killer robot?”
Gerian closed his eyes. “I was so close, Tris. So close… You would have loved to see it. Shining with power, invincible, immortal… and all within reach. Controlling it was nothing. To be inside it…” he coughed again, and his body spasmed.
Tris threw a confused look back over his shoulder. “What the hell is he ranting about?”
Kreon had limped forward, and was bracing himself against the wreckage of the sarcophagus. “He means to enter the machine with his mind. It was his plan, only he was too terrified to proceed. Instead he used me; strapped me into that chamber, and sent my mind into the body of that thing.”
Tris stared back at the Warden, his eyes going wide. “He transferred your mind into it?”
Gerian cleared his throat. “My opus! And the salvation of my people. When all life as we know it is wiped out in the cataclysm to come, only the chosen can survive. I sought to give them a vehicle. To ensure continuity for our way of life. To live forever in the machine!”
Tris moved around the console to face him. Gerian’s clothing was soaked with his blood; the wound was still leaking profusely. One of Gerian’s hands was pressed to it, as though by that power alone he could keep the blood inside him. “I’m guessing the robot wasn’t keen on sharing his body?”
Kreon spoke up from behind them. “At first the machine was dormant. Gerian was controlling it using a remote. But when he put my mind into it, I suddenly knew all about it. I had access to data stored in its memory banks; an almost infinite amount of information that has been lost to this galaxy for millennia.” He took a faltering step closer. “I will admit, it was intoxicating.”
“But you woke the beast,” Gerian snarled, clearly not happy to be sharing the spotlight. “You Lantians! Just like your ancestors. You’ve destroyed everything!”
Kreon sighed. “When he sent my mind back into my body, the mind that had lain dormant in there took my place. This part I felt happening, though I was unconscious for the rest. But it is not hard to piece the puzzle together. The robot would have awakened, after countless eons of torpor. Finding itself imprisoned in a lab, it went berserk.” He waved a hand at the surrounding devastation. “These people were all collateral damage in Gerian’s experiment. And now that thing is on the loose, with no concept of where or when it has been revived.”
Gerian snorted. From the wince that accompanied it, the noise had cost him; derision must have been his calling card for so long he couldn’t turn it off. “It should have been perfect. It should have been me. But the transfer of consciousness is an ancient process. And their technology is so beautifully complex, so harmonious — light years ahead of our own understanding. I couldn’t know what state the mind would arrive in, or it if could be successfully removed and re-installed. How could I risk being trapped inside that shell, a gibbering manic for all eternity? No, the machine needed a test pilot. An individual with a strong mind, and a…” he coughed, and spat bright red blood on the deck. “A body not worth saving.”
Tris let his rifle hang. It seemed ridiculous to keep it pointed at a man in Gerian’s condition. “You wanted to possess the robot, then return to your own body. I get that. But why? What kind of a sick joyride would that have been? Kill a few people for the hell of it, then home in time for dinner?”
“Tris,” Gerian gasped, “you’re a bright boy, but you lack vision. If you knew what was coming for us, you’d understand. We’re the same, you and I.”
Tris shuddered. “I am nothing like you,” he said with feeling.
Gerian chuckled, a low, ugly sound. “No? The darkness you claim to despise? It’s in you, as well. You’ve felt it, I’m sure? The thrill of discovery, even at the expense of others; the joy of taking a life in the service of your cause. The only difference between us is, I know my cause. Whereas you fight for this blathering idiot.” He paused for another coughing fit, and it went on longer this time. “And he doesn’t tell you anything!” Gerian wiped his mouth on his hand, leaving a fresh streak of blood. “Not that he knows much to start with.”
“Tell me, then,” Tris said. “Tell me about this ‘cause’. Tell me what’s so important that it justifies all this evil.”
For the first time, Gerian actually looked up at him. “Or what? Are you here to forgive me my sins, Tristan? Or to punish me for my crimes?” Gerian hel
d out his free hand in mock submission. “Take me away, then! Imprison me, torture me if you must. Find out all I know! Should I tell you about your father? Or would you rather hear about the creature from beyond the stars, the real monster in this tale?”
Tris shook his head. The thought of tainting the Folly by bringing Gerian aboard turned his stomach. Certainly, the medical facilities were there; they even had a doctor on staff, for the first time since forever. But even so…
He couldn’t imagine letting this spider into his most private sanctuary. To risk being confronted by him again and again, always with these insidious whisperings about the darkness in Tris’ soul. He spent too much time worrying about that as it was. As for watching him recover in a room just down the hall from Kyra…
No.
That couldn’t happen.
“I won’t save your life, Gerian. You don’t deserve it.”
“What? You can’t leave me here, like this!
“No,” Tris shook his head. “I won’t do that, either.”
The man went suddenly silent, as the implications of that sank in. “All my life,” he said quietly, “I’ve served faithfully. I’ve been the faith. I only wanted to protect my people.”
“Your people live in fear of you, Gerian. And your life is nothing but misery. I’m going to put you out of it.”
And with his rifle barrel dangling a few inches above the clone’s forehead, he pulled the trigger.
Kreon hobbled over, staring down at the body. He put one hand up and gripped Tristan’s shoulder with fingers of steel. “Hard choices are part of the job,” the old man rasped. “You did well.”
“It was right to kill him?” Morality was something Tris had struggled with since the first time he’d been forced to take a life.
“Indeed,” Kreon said, poking Gerian’s body with the toe of his boot. “You saved me the effort.”
“What do we do now?” Sera asked, coming over. Tris was grateful she’d stayed out of his exchange with Gerian, but he was equally glad she was here to ask that question. It needed to be asked, but he hated the way it sounded coming from his own lips.
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