The Omega Solution

by Peter J Evans

  "So we send nine hundred," called an admiral from the back.

  In response, Saulus just smiled. "Hm. Het, if we sent nine hundred she would have slaughtered a few dozen and escaped in the confusion. There is an upper limit to the number of troopers who can effectively target one mutant."

  Antonia pursed her lips. He was right on that score, at least.

  The slab changed view. The Blasphemy disappeared, to be replaced by a great sphere of sparkling dots. A sector-map. Green circles popped into being around one of the dots, then another, two more. A rash of danger-markers spread across the map.

  "The Blasphemy reappeared slightly less than six months ago. Since then, mutant uprisings have increased five-fold. Planetary sterilisations have been necessary on six worlds, the razing of cities undertaken on twenty more. Eleven Iconoclast convoys have been raided. The cost to the Accord - in lives, resources and stability - rises daily.

  "Directly or indirectly, the blame for this carnage can only be placed on Saint Scarlet of Durham."

  There were a few shouts at that, this time of agreement. Saulus leaned forward in the pulpit, resting his forearms against the rail.

  "You see our dilemma, Hets. We cannot suffer this abomination to live, or her followers will overwhelm us. Neither can we destroy her by normal means. She regards combat with our most skilled shocktroopers as little more than sport."

  "A special agent," said Trophimus, "almost bested her on Lavannos."

  Saulus raised an eyebrow. "With all due respect to Major Ketta, it would appear that the Blasphemy was debilitated at the time of that encounter. Still..." He straightened. "Your perception brings us closer to our solution, fleet admiral."

  Antonia found herself moving forward in anticipation. This should be interesting, she thought to herself.

  "The special agents," Saulus continued, "are the most effective weapon we have against the monster, but they are too scarce, too expensive. What we require is a new class of Iconoclast warrior, to target her and her alone - cheaper and more numerous than special agents, yet with combat abilities far surpassing that of the shocktroopers!"

  There were a few gasps, a catcall or two. Antonia saw the brigadier who had spoken before get to her feet again.

  "You go too far, Saulus. The shocktroopers have been the heart and spine of the Accord since the Bloodshed - would you overturn ten centuries of martial tradition?"

  "If it means survival, yes. Wouldn't you?"

  The woman reddened and sat back down. Saulus let the din go on for a minute or so, then raised his hands once more. "Iconoclasts."

  "Iconoclasts," he said again. "Our duty is to the protection of the human race. Sacrifice is an integral part of duty. Trust me, the Blasphemy can be brought down. But such an exceptional task requires exceptional measures."

  The sector map faded out, to be replaced by a new image. Hushed gasps echoed around the chapel.

  Up in his pulpit, Lord Tactician Saulus was smiling. "Comrades," he breathed. "Let me present the Omega solution..."

  The temple-station Noamon was nowhere near as vast as the primary Iconoclast bases, but it was still four times the size of Shalem. Antonia had felt lost ever since arriving here.

  Now, after Saulus and his revelations, she felt more lost than ever.

  After the presentation was over she had left the Chapel of Enlightenment swiftly, speaking to no one. She had thought about going back to her quarters on board the Merodach. Instead, she had made her way to one of Naomon's angel vaults.

  Shalem had one angel vault, forming the majority of the temple-station's bulk. A hollow sphere twenty kilometres across, filled with air but untroubled by gravity, it was hangar, dry-dock and repair facility for Antonia's fleet. Noamon's vaults were thirty kilometres from wall to wall, and there were four of them.

  Antonia stood at one of the vault's thousands of observation decks, looking out into infinity.

  She couldn't see more than halfway across Vault Gamma. The air was too full of fumes; exhaust gases, smoke from welders and the massive incense burners that studded its shell. From the observation deck, set roughly at the sphere's equator, looking down was like gazing over the edge of an endless cliff, the wall barely able to curve at all before it disappeared into the haze. Little sparks of light swam in that fog, hundreds of them. Gravity scows, airborne sleds carrying the vault's compliment of helot-workers to their duties.

  Along with the frigate Merodach, eighteen starships hung in the vault.

  Antonia watched a superdreadnought being towed slowly into position. It was a gigantic, cruciform thing, like two killships welded through each other at right-angles, studded with hunger-guns and the slender, skeletal tubes she knew must be a brace of forced quantum razers. The superdreadnought must be one of the first ships to be fitted with them.

  The quantum razers, it was said, destroyed by ripping matter apart at the subatomic level, shattering the very fabric of the universe itself. A horrifying thought.

  But were those thousand-metre barrels any more awful than what Saulus had proposed?

  Antonia leaned out over the rail, feeling the cold, thin air of the vault bite her skin. According to the lord tactician, the Omega-class trooper would be a quantum leap in lethality above even the hardiest shocktrooper. Their muscles and bones would be enhanced to almost superhuman levels, their senses augmented far beyond those of any Iconoclast save the special agents themselves. Their bite would be toxic, their saliva acidic, their blood artificial. They would be living, breathing weapons, constructed with one single intent - to hunt and destroy Saint Scarlet of Durham.

  Antonia had spent far too much time in the company of that monster. Her career was dead in space because of it, her followers outcast, her soul itself forfeit. To see Durham Red killed would please her no end.

  But what Saulus had in mind was... Antonia stared down into the abyss, unseeing.

  It was horrifying.

  Special agents like Major Ketta were augmented over years, their physical changes matched by intense training, until they achieved a balance of enhanced mind and altered body that was little short of godlike. If Saulus had his plans approved by the Patriarch, the Omega-class warriors would be created in just weeks. Iconoclast shocktroopers would be inducted into the conversion program and subjected to massively invasive surgical procedures. They would endure operations lasting days: their bones injected with liquid metal, reinforcing fibres inserted directly into their muscles, nerves stripped out and replaced wholesale. By the time it was done, there would be more machine there than man. Any vestige of humanity would be ripped asunder by the agonies of the Omega process.

  Antonia found herself shaking her head. It couldn't happen. Not even the Patriarch, for all his capriciousness, would force his loyal troops into that programme. And would anyone really be insane enough to volunteer?

  "Mad," she whispered.

  "These are mad times."

  The voice had come from behind her. Antonia spun on her heel, dropping automatically into a fighting stance. Only when she saw it was Trophimus did she relax. "Fleet admiral."

  "Daughter," he said quietly.

  Antonia gave him a look. "Not for the past six months, it would seem. You've been as conspicuously absent as the rest of my peers."

  He walked forward to join her at the rail, his long cloak flowing from the shoulders of black uniform armour. "My duties have been elsewhere. Making preparations."

  "For what?"

  "I'll not say, not at this juncture. But be warned: there are wheels turning among us, Antonia. Crushing wheels."

  "Am I already crushed, then?"

  Trophimus sighed. "No more than the rest of us." He turned away from the vault, rested his back against the rail. "Expect a visit from Saulus."

  "What?" Antonia's eyebrows went up into her hairline. "That spider? He'd risk his inexorable climb to face me?"

  Trophimus gave her a sour look. "You're not poison to everyone, Huldah Antonia, no matter how you might feel. N
ot to me, and not to Saulus."

  "I don't understand."

  "No, you don't." He frowned. "Daughter, Saulus is dangerous, more so than any of us realised. I will not let you encounter danger without the appropriate weaponry."

  Sweet God, Antonia thought suddenly. He's afraid for me!

  "Here's your first weapon, Huldah. The Omega plan is already approved."

  Antonia gaped. "You're joking."

  "If only." Trophimus turned his head to the vault and spat. "He was at Curia before he came here, filling the Patriarch's head with stories. A new breed of heroic warriors, an end to mutant defiance..." He let out a long breath. "He'll be recruiting shortly."

  "You'll forgive me if I don't sign up." Antonia made a face. "I rather like my veins filled with blood."

  Trophimus got up from the rail. He was silent a long time. Finally he said, "How many shocktroopers do you have stationed at Shalem?"

  Antonia rubbed her chin. "Maybe twenty thousand."

  "He'll take them all, if he can."

  Despite herself, Antonia took a step back. "All?"

  "Your second weapon - the recruitment process works like this. Ten planets are being chosen as we speak, for their harshness and isolation. Onto each of these worlds Saulus will drop one hundred thousand shocktroopers, plus limited supplies of weaponry."

  "To do what?"

  He spread his hands. "Fight, of course."

  "Who?"

  "Each other." He saw the look on her face, and nodded confirmation. "I had word from the Patriarch himself, demanding thirty thousand troops from Noamon. Saulus will set Iconoclast against Iconoclast until only one hundred remain on each world. This will give him his first thousand Omega-class warriors." Fury twisted his face. "The Lord Tactician believes that only the very best in every thousand regular troops is worthy of his process."

  Antonia felt the blood drain out of her, as swiftly as if the Blasphemy herself was at her throat. "He's mad," was all she could say.

  Trophimus could only nod. "Mad times."

  Saulus waited until she was back on the Merodach before he requested an audience.

  The frigate had a small communications vault set just off from the bridge. Antonia had the tactician's call relayed there. She took her time getting to it, too, dawdling just to make him wait.

  "Het Admiral," smiled Saulus, flickering into view before her. He had changed out of his uniform armour and into plain robes. Antonia, on the other hand, had chosen a full suit of carapace for the meeting: figure-hugging armour of black rubberised ceramic, topped with a tall headdress. Only her face, mask-like under white makeup, showed bare.

  "Lord tactician." She dipped her head. "Thank you for your presentation today. I found it most enlightening."

  "I thought it went down rather well."

  Even this holographic representation of Saulus was too close for Antonia's comfort. The man seemed oddly aquatic, streamlined. Sleek. He's not a spider, she decided, eyeing the shine on his high forehead. He's a fish. A fish with teeth that only emerge just when he's about to take a bite.

  It will be a warm day in space before he takes a bite out of me...

  "Het Saulus, I'm needed back at Shalem. My new flagship is arriving there shortly, and I need to oversee its re-supply."

  "Oh yes, the Voice of Pain." Saulus nodded slightly. "A fine vessel, I'm sure. And no doubt you'll be itching to get aboard."

  Antonia scowled. How had he known about the Voice? "That's one way of putting it."

  "Hm. However, I'd very much appreciate it if you'd stay awhile. There are some things we should discuss."

  "Oh yes?"

  "As you're aware, the Omega programme is targeted specifically at the destruction of Durham Red. It would appear that you have a greater insight into the Blasphemy than any Iconoclast I can name."

  Antonia had to admit she was surprised. That wasn't what she'd expected from Saulus at all. "In what way do I have insight?"

  "You spent time in the monster's company, Het Admiral. And lived. Don't you agree that makes you unique?"

  "You're forgetting Major Ketta."

  Saulus shook his gleaming head. "Oh no. Believe me, I've not forgotten Major Ketta. In any case, her exposure to the Blasphemy was far less than yours. A view shared by His Holiness the Patriarch, I might add."

  "Might you?"

  "Well, he said as much when I spoke to him this morning."

  Antonia cursed inwardly. Saulus well and truly had the Patriarch's ear, and who knew how many of the high command too. Not a fish, she thought sourly. Something with tentacles. "I see. In that case, I could delay my journey for a few hours. In order to share my unique insight."

  Saulus looked apologetic. "I'm so sorry, admiral, but I'm booked for the next three days. However, if you could give me an audience on, say, Day 215, I'd be more than grateful. Nineteen hundred hours."

  "Perfect," Antonia grated. "I'll look forward to it."

  "Hm." The tactician bowed and vanished.

  Antonia closed her eyes. Saulus had effectively relayed an order direct from the Patriarch himself, and made sure she knew it. Three days...

  Shalem was two days away. She couldn't leave and come back. He'd trapped her on Noamon. Who was making who wait now?

  She took a comm-linker from her belt and set the cipher to Merodach's bridge. "Captain?"

  "Yes, Het Admiral?"

  She took a deep breath. "Captain, stand the ship down. We'll be staying at Noamon for a while yet."

  "Thy will be done." The line went dead.

  Antonia switched the linker off, looking sullenly at her own arm. Carapace armour hadn't done the trick - he'd still managed to put his teeth in her.

  4. INCEY-WINCEY SPIDER

  Matteus Godolkin flew Crimson Hunter for three days straight, not sleeping, never moving from the controls. He ate little, nibbling now and then on one of his carefully-hoarded Iconoclast ration packs. Each of the finger-sized mealsticks were designed to keep a shocktrooper fed and alert for up to twenty hours at a time. Godolkin made one stick last seventy-five hours, with no water and no sleep. He was concentrating on flying the ship, and nothing - especially trivialities like hunger or thirst - would distract him.

  Crimson Hunter had taken off from a world where Iconoclast and Tenebrae were actively fighting. Durham Red had leapt aboard the ship with shocktrooper blood on her lips, and Godolkin had dodged stray missiles on the way to orbit. It was far, far too close to the war for comfort.

  Godolkin had refused to relinquish control of Crimson Hunter while there was still the slightest risk of pursuit.

  Only now, three standard days later, did he consider that risk to be lessening. He was alone on the bridge, as had become normal since Gadara. Judas Harrow showed his face every now and then, but respectfully withdrew after checking that Godolkin was all right. The Blasphemy had retreated to her stateroom during the first superlight jump, and not been seen since.

  As for their passenger, well... Godolkin found himself frowning, troubled. The Harvester child could have been sitting right next to him, and he still would have been alone.

  He allowed himself a moment's respite from the ship's demands, easing back in the navigation throne. Crimson Hunter's sense-engines were set to maximum resolution, its sentry guns primed and ready to fire. Finally, after nineteen carefully calculated jumps and some realspace thruster burns that had come close to detonating the ship's drives, Godolkin found himself ready to trust Hunter to fly itself for a while.

  He reached out and touched a control. "Harrow?"

  "Godolkin." Harrow sounded startled, unsurprisingly. "Is something wrong?"

  "I don't believe so. But we need to talk. Can you come to the bridge?"

  "I'll be right there."

  Godolkin released the control and closed his eyes. It had been a while since he had done that, save for blinking. He was just starting to enjoy the sensation when he heard the hatch slide open.

  He swung the throne around and saw Harrow duc
king through the opening. The mutant was dressed in a loose robe and carried a steaming beaker in each hand. "I brought you something."

  Godolkin took a beaker warily and sniffed it as Harrow sat down. "This is the stuff that she insists on synthesising for you?"

  "Coffee." Harrow nodded. "God help me, I'm starting to like it."

  "Vile concoction," said Godolkin, taking a sip. "Still, it could be worse. It could be blood."

  "Or tea," muttered Harrow.

  Godolkin narrowed his eyes and set the beaker down. He'd been rather getting to like tea, until he found what the abbot of Lavannos had been adding to it. "Has she left her stateroom yet?"

  "Not to my knowledge." Harrow shook his head, sandy hair flopping about his face. "As far as I know she's been in there since we broke orbit."

  "And the Harvester girl?"

  Harrow's expression darkened. "I've looked after her as best I can, but what she must have seen down there... She's, well, retreated. The horror of it..." The mutant shifted nervously. "She must have lost her mind completely."

  Godolkin nodded. "We agree on that. It might return, but not here. She needs to be with her own people."

  Harrow raised an eyebrow. "I hate to bring this up, but her own people are in no condition to help her right now."

  "There are other Harvesters, Harrow. One community plies a route not far from here - a day at cruising speed. We could arrange a rendezvous under false ident-codes."

  Harrow cocked his head slightly to the side. "That could work. We should check with Red first, though."

  Godolkin turned back to the controls. Harrow would want to do that, of course. His infatuation with the Blasphemy was complete, selfless. Hardly surprising, since Durham Red was saint and messiah to the entirety of mutantkind.

  Harrow had been Tenebrae, once. He'd torn throats and drunk blood in the name of Saint Scarlet. Had he ever been as extreme as those butchers on Gadara?

  "I'll ask her," he said.

  "Are you sure you don't want me to do that? The ship--"