Ash Ock

by Christopher Hinz

  “Jon,” began Inez, “have you tried the new scanners yet?”

  On the FTL screens, Van Ostrand’s multiple images nodded vigorously. He seemed relieved to escape yet another Council rehash on the subject of unknown Paratwa technology.

  “Yes, Inez. We have a prototype up and running, and to date it has expanded our detection capabilities by almost six percent. My compliments to your research group. My people tell me that we should be able to begin production and distribution within the coming week.”

  “Excellent,” complimented Blumhaven.

  “We’re certainly pleased,” added Van Ostrand. “But frankly, Inez, I’m not sure these new scanners are going to mean much in the long run. We’re already probing for vessels as small as a number-five shuttle, and have our defenses aligned accordingly. I can’t imagine the Paratwa returning in ships any tinier than that.”

  Inez nodded.

  “How are your people holding up?” asked Losef.

  Van Ostrand shook his head. “We’ve had three more committed to psychplans in the last two days. The tension—the waiting—is atrociously unhealthy, according to my personality specialists.” He shrugged. “But the scanners say there’s nothing out there. Until that status changes, we’ll just have to maintain vigilance.”

  For a moment, no one spoke.

  Is there a massive argosy of starships poised at the boundaries of our detection network? the Lion wondered. Are they armed with weapons two centuries more advanced than what the Colonies consider state-of-the-art? Are these ships preparing to overwhelm our defenses? Are we faced with an enemy that we have no hope of defeating?

  Not knowing. That was the worst part.

  Blumhaven broke the silence. “On the positive side, my people still maintain that the Paratwa could not have developed FTL travel. Our latest projections indicate, with ninety-seven percent certainty, that their culture, with its limited resources, would not have been capable of developing a faster-than-light drive.”

  Ninety-seven percent certainty? The Lion kept his doubts to himself. Computer projections often took on an absurd quality when substantial data was lacking. How could they really be certain of anything regarding the returning Paratwa?

  On-screen, the Guardian commander turned sideways and motioned to someone off-camera. “I have to go,” he said. “Admiral Selleck has orders to fire up the FTL and contact you immediately if there’s any news while I’m gone. Otherwise, you’ll hear from me at Wednesday’s session. Van Ostrand out.”

  “Thank you, Jon,” said Blumhaven graciously.

  As the FTL screens went blank, Losef’s eyes panned the Council chamber. “Any comments before we move on to other matters?”

  No one spoke.

  “Very well,” replied Losef. “The next order of business will be a discussion of yesterday’s massacre in Honshu. E-Tech has a report on the incident.”

  Blumhaven glanced at his monitor and nodded. “As all of you know, the fanatics struck again yesterday. The main shuttle terminal in Yamaguchi, Honshu Colony, was attacked during a peak travel period. The death toll is currently at one hundred and fourteen, with another thirty-five seriously or critically injured. Out of the five known Birch attacks over the past four months, this one is by far the worst.

  “Once again, the killers proclaimed that the Paratwa must not be allowed to return. Again, they announced their affiliation with the Order of the Birch.”

  And again they escaped, thought the Lion.

  “We have already interviewed numerous witnesses,” continued Blumhaven, “and are currently looking for others who fled the scene. As in the previous attacks, there were two killers involved. Their modus operandi closely matches the style of the Alpha Ostrava massacre, twenty-nine days ago.

  “Again, the first killer attacked with the daggers. A few moments later, with the crowd beginning to panic, the second individual opened up with the other weapon . . . this spray thruster.”

  “Anything new on these weapons?” asked Inez.

  Blumhaven nodded. “We still believe the spray thruster is virgin technology. We have nothing like it, nor can we find any mention of such a weapon in pre-Apocalyptic archives. I was hoping La Gloria de la Ciencia could provide us with more data.”

  Inez shrugged. “I wish we could. I have an entire task force assigned to investigating the technological aspects of these Birch killings, specifically the weapons. Unfortunately, my people essentially agree with your conclusions. Virgin technology. In fact, we can’t even duplicate the effects of the gun. Normally, thrusters require about a one-second recharge-interval between blasts—that’s a law inherent to the nature of the weapon. The only method known to circumvent this recharge cycle essentially involves putting multiple thruster tubes in tandem—a process that quickly increases the gun’s mass. Yet according to the witnesses, this spray thruster is apparently no larger than a small rifle, and is even thinner than a regular thruster. And the estimated firepower rate is somewhere in the neighborhood of twenty blasts per second.”

  “How about the other weapon?” asked Losef.

  “There we’ve had a breakthrough,” announced Blumhaven, with a hint of triumph in his voice. “Flash daggers—pre-Apocalyptic devices, believed to have been developed by the North American CIA in the mid-twenty-first century. Basically, a flash dagger is an energy weapon—a physical blade surrounded by an induced field, which, by means of transformations within the metal, allows a hot particle stream to flow down the length of the knife, effectively doubling or tripling the weapon’s reach. This particle stream will cut through anything, short of a crescent web.”

  Inez nodded thoughtfully. “Flash daggers . . . weren’t they from the same technological line of development that ultimately led to the Cohe wand?”

  Blumhaven nodded. “Flash daggers were indeed a precursor to the somewhat deadlier Cohe. Unfortunately, although E-Tech possesses some documentation on the history of both these weapons, we have been unable to locate archival blueprints for either one. We do possess the pair of Cohe wands that were taken from Reemul, fifty-six years ago. But, for better or worse, the Colonies no longer have the sophisticated manufacturing techniques necessary to reproduce these weapons. More specifically, we cannot duplicate the power units—the extraordinary wetware batteries that enabled such tremendous energies to be contained within such tiny devices. Such organic technology is long-lost.”

  The Lion kept silent. On one level, it was certainly important to examine all aspects of these heinous murders, including the type of weapons. But whether virgin technology, developed by hi-tech outlaws, or ancient technology, lost hundreds of years ago in humanity’s mad escape from a dying planet, the fact remained that two vicious killers were on the loose.

  Two of them. That fact worried the Lion more than anything else.

  “Any new leads on the Order of the Birch?” inquired Losef.

  Blumhaven shook his head. “E-Tech Security has thoroughly infiltrated the structure of the organization.” The councilor smiled. “Some of the Birch’s newly elected officers are even E-Tech operatives. Yet, we’ve found nothing to indicate that the Order is anything other than what they proclaim: a minor political party, totally legal, whose members happen to oppose any compromises or concessions to the Paratwa. The Order of the Birch believes that any returning starships that attempt passage through our defensive network should be destroyed. The Birch’s leaders make no bones about the fact that they would prefer outright war with the Paratwa to any sort of peaceful solution. Yet these same leaders flatly deny any affiliation with the killers. Most of the organization’s senior officers publicly and privately abhor the massacres being done in the Birch’s name. My Security people are convinced of their sincerity.

  “However, there are radical members within the organization who appear, at least privately, to support the terrorist actions. It’s very possible that we’re dealing with a secret faction within the Birch itself—fanatics, willing to kill innocent people in the misgui
ded belief that it will bring support to their cause.”

  “Any concrete evidence to indicate such a faction actually exists?” asked Inez.

  “Yes. But not enough to link them directly to the killers.” Blumhaven paused. “However, we’re hopeful that a connection will soon be uncovered.”

  “All well and good,” said Losef. “In the meantime, what can be done to stop these killers?”

  “Or killer,” added the Lion.

  They all stared at him. Blumhaven’s jowls twisted into a stout grimace.

  “I thought we had disposed of that nonsense at the last Council meeting,” muttered the E-Tech councilor.

  “Have we also disposed of open minds?” challenged the Lion.

  Losef ran a hand through her close-cropped hair. “Any new evidence to indicate that these two killers could actually be a Paratwa assassin?”

  “None whatsoever,” insisted Blumhaven. “We’ve done full profiles of each attack in order to specifically study that possibility. The parameters obtained at the Yamaguchi massacre site support our earlier data. E-Tech archives contain a wealth of information about Paratwa attacks and we’ve applied sophisticated analysis techniques to each incident. If these two killers were actually one mind-linked creature—a Paratwa—our tests would have uncovered certain characteristics relating to the way the killers operated. If they were actually one consciousness with a telepathic link between the two bodies, a certain modus operandi would have been revealed.

  “But the results prove just the opposite. There is nothing to indicate that we are dealing with a Paratwa.”

  The Lion was not satisfied. “What about the speed of the killers? Survivors of these massacres have claimed that the killers exhibited superhuman movements.”

  Blumhaven sighed. “It is well known that people exposed to incredible stress often perceive events with time-altered awareness. In some cases, movements appear to be occurring impossibly fast; with other individuals, time seems to slow down, as if everything is occurring in slow motion. These temporal alterations—these tricks of the mind—have been well documented.”

  Inez nodded her head in agreement. “Also, there are ways to actually increase the speed of the human nervous system, ways that mimic the genetic enhancements that the Paratwa were blessed with. Retinal implants, coupled with minor surgical alterations, enable ‘pictures’ to be sent from the eye to the brain at speeds beyond the normal ten-per-second average that limits human reaction time. These retinal modifications have been available on the black market for years.”

  “Quite true,” said Blumhaven. “And it’s likely that the killers have access to the black market—these unknown weapons would seem to substantiate such a possibility. And the Birch assassins could also be using microtransceivers to communicate with each other, coordinate their attacks. Transceivers would explain some of the witnesses’ accounts that the killers seemed to be able to see what was going on behind them. Paratwa assassins generally arranged the two tways so that they could cover each other. Often they fought back-to-back. Yet with some training and the use of implanted transceivers, two men could essentially mimic such combat positioning.”

  Losef bored into the Lion with her cold blue eyes. “And in addition to technical reasons, why would a Paratwa commit these ruthless murders in the name of the Birch—an organization dedicated to assuring that no Paratwa ever returns to the Colonies?”

  “Subtle human reconditioning,” proposed the Lion. “Even if the Order of the Birch officially denies involvement in these massacres, the Birch’s cause is adversely affected. Citizens who might agree with Birch ideals become uncomfortable with the thought of supporting the organization. A certain psychological advantage is thereby granted to opponents of the Birch, who favor a peaceful solution to the Paratwa return.”

  Losef shook her head. “It’s true that Birch membership has declined slightly since these massacres began four months ago. But the latest opinion polls have found no corresponding increase in support for allowing the Paratwa to return peacefully to the Colonies.”

  “And we don’t even know whether the Paratwa want to return in peace,” suggested Blumhaven. “For all we know, they fully intend to make war on us as soon as they arrive.”

  “Possible, but unlikely,” said the Lion. “Our destruction will bring them nothing. Everything we know about the Ash Ock suggests that they’re conquerors, not destroyers.

  “And in regard to psychological advantages, there are subtle facets which do not always manifest themselves in public opinion polls.”

  “True enough,” agreed Losef. “But I simply cannot accept that these massacres are being done by a Paratwa assassin for such subtle psychological reasons.”

  “We’re dealing with madmen,” said Blumhaven angrily.

  “Madmen?” wondered the Lion. “Let us not forget the events of fifty-six years ago. The assassin Reemul was on the loose for almost a month, and even by Paratwa standards, he was quite mad. Yet most of Reemul’s killings were done at the bequest of his Ash Ock masters.”

  Blumhaven rolled his eyes, a gesture that said: We’ve heard all this before and do not wish to hear it again.

  Losef spoke calmly. “All of us are more than familiar with the events of fifty-six years ago. We have all read the history texts, though naturally our knowledge cannot compare with the intimacy of your own experiences.

  “Even so, you must admit that your case is weak. If this is a Paratwa assassin, where did it come from? Who awakened it from stasis? Granted, some attributes of these massacres resemble Paratwa attacks. But if this is a binary killer, murdering innocent citizens in order to alter public opinion polls, then why even take the chance of being mistaken for a Paratwa? Isn’t it much more reasonable to assume that we are dealing with killers who are attempting, for whatever reason, to mimic the actions of a real Paratwa assassin?”

  “Watch our glorious newscasts,” growled Blumhaven. “The freelancers love the idea that we could be dealing with a Paratwa. They’ve even named the tways!”

  Inez gave a weary smile. “Slasher and Shooter.”

  “Slasher and Shooter,” repeated Blumhaven. “Now I ask you, Councilor, to consider a pair of fanatic madmen, hungry for publicity. Would not the idea that they are being mistaken for a dreaded Paratwa seem more tantalizing? Would not these killers be able to feed their warped egos upon such public fears?”

  The Lion nodded. “Maybe I’m wrong—you’ve all offered valid rebuttals to the idea that we’re dealing with one of the assassins. But be that as it may, we should at least consider the possibility that I’m correct.”

  He turned to Blumhaven. “I’m not asking for a full-scale investigation. You know that. I’m not asking that we feed public passions by announcing my suspicions. What I’m asking for today is the same thing I’ve been asking for during the past four months, ever since these massacres began.”

  Blumhaven stiffened. The Lion sighed, knowing it was no use, but determined to press on anyway.

  “Awaken the two men that E-Tech holds in stasis,” he pleaded. “Awaken the two men who’ve been asleep in your freezers for the past fifty-six years, the only two men who could dispel our doubts once and for all.”

  “Your doubts,” pointed out Blumhaven coldly. “For the last time, the Council of Irrya does not share these ideas of yours. Gillian and Nick, however useful they might have proven themselves in the past, are nothing more than contract killers. These two men made their livelihood hunting down and destroying—quite brutally, I might add—Paratwa assassins.”

  The E-Tech councilor turned angrily to Losef and Inez. “I request that the Council censure, once and for all, this endlessly repeated argument, which the Lion leads us into at these meetings. E-Tech does not intend, at the present time, to awaken Gillian and Nick. We do not feel that their particular talents will prove advantageous to the current situation. I reiterate that we have not blinded ourselves to the possibility that they may prove useful at some point in the futu
re. We are certainly keeping our options open. But if and when Gillian and Nick are brought out of stasis, it will be E-Tech that makes the decision. On this matter, we will not bow to Council pressures.”

  “Understandable,” said Losef. Inez gave a thoughtful nod.

  Blumhaven turned back to the Lion. “And may I respectfully ask you, sir, once again, to examine deeply the roots of your own overwhelming belief in these two individuals. And may I also respectfully suggest, and with no denigration whatsoever intended, that at least some of your passionate faith in Gillian and Nick remains the faith of a twelve-year-old child.”

  The Lion found himself glaring at Blumhaven, and he could feel the rage bubbling up inside him. Doyle Blumhaven was a fool—a bureaucratic imitation of the kind of man who had ruled E-Tech fifty-six years ago. And Doyle Blumhaven was dead wrong about Gillian and Nick—they would prove useful.

  But Blumhaven had also touched a nerve. The Lion could not deny that some of the councilor’s words were right on target.

  I want to see Gillian again.

  It was a simple feeling, and one that the Lion had carried inside him for the past fifty-six years. It was a longing, totally irrational, an emotion that had grown in stature over the years until some days it almost seemed to dominate his thoughts.

  I want to see Gillian again. I want to walk beside him, talk to him, better understand the man who saved my life, as I saved his.

  The memory returned, as clear now as it had been for over half a century.

  The colony of Lamalan, where the Lion had been born. The most terrifying day of his young life. A twelve-year-old boy, trapped with his mother in their own home, facing certain death at the hands of that insane Paratwa assassin, servant of the Ash Ock—Reemul, the liege-killer.

  And then Gillian had appeared. And the two incredible warriors had plunged into a battle to the death, their genetically enhanced muscular systems operating at inhuman levels, three twisting blurs, hi-tech energy weapons shrieking, the Lion and his mother frightened beyond all reason, hoping against hope that Gillian would endure.