Blood Relative

by James Swallow

  There was just one drawback. The protein circuits could only exist for a maximum of sixty seconds outside of an organic host before they began to degrade, bleeding off memory and intellect with every passing moment; they required a constant power source to maintain an active matrix. Ever inventive, Milli-Com's tek-division supplied the troopers with chip support units and added energised slots to every major item of GI-issue hardware: to rifles, backpacks, helmets, pistols - and so dead men could survive and accompany their squad mates, staying out in the field for days or weeks before returning to be regened, synthetic souls inhabiting their war gear like possessive spirits.

  The biochips would serve the will of the officers in command even when their bodies were destroyed; that was the plan. But the Quartz Zone changed all that. Some said it was a turncoat inside Souther Command, others talked about a conspiracy of corporate and military interests opposed to the GI programme, or even a combination of both. However it happened, the first mass capsule drop into enemy territory by Genetic Infantrymen was a descent into hell. The Norts were waiting and they wiped out the clone soldiers. When the massacre ended, the GI programme was scrapped, a costly failure that had wasted billions of nu-creds and almost three decades of research. Nothing remained; nothing but one man.

  Ferris watched, forcing his gut to stay down, as Rogue quickly patted Zero's body, looking for any gear that might be of use to him. The dead GI had nothing but a pair of ripped fatigue trousers and Ferris noticed for the first time that the other man hadn't been wearing any boots.

  "Hey, uh, Rogue," he nodded at the body. "I got some tarps, if you wanna wrap him up-"

  "Where are we now?" The piercing yellow eyes cut into him like lasers.

  "Crossing over a chem-swamp."

  "Good enough." Rogue hit the hatch control and pushed Zero's corpse into the airlock.

  "Don't you want to, I dunno, bury him or something?"

  "What would be the point?" The GI pushed another button and the lock opened, venting Zero out into the air. The body tumbled away from the shuttle, falling toward the toxic marshes. Rogue nodded at the chip frame. "It's not like he's dead."

  "Don't be so sure," said Bagman carefully. The backpack's diagnostic cables were connected to the unit holding Zero's biochip. "We got a situation here."

  "Let's hear it."

  Ferris heard the hesitation in the synthetic voice. "Rogue, I'm running a chip-check through the internal sensors on the frame and I'm coming up with some bad numbers. Zero's dog-chip has got some serious degradation, I'm talking major loss of deep memory and engram failure across the board."

  "What the hell are you saying, Bag?" Gunnar demanded.

  "I'm saying that we're looking at a matrix failure."

  Rogue drew a sharp breath. Those last two words were a death sentence for a Genetic Infantryman; the spectre of physical trauma resulting in organic termination was almost an occupational hazard for the GI corps. The Genies had trained them not to fear death as the end to their existence it was for normal soldiers, but the corruption of their biochips held the very same terror that "real" termination did for a human. Matrix failure was quite simply the death of a GI mind, total and unrecoverable.

  "Can you patch him into your synth?"

  "I can try," Bagman said. "Wait one."

  There was a sharp crackle of static from the pack's chip slot and then a thin, ghostly mimic of Zero's voice emerged. "Rogue? NNNnnnnnhear me?"

  "We hear you, pal," Gunnar broke in. "Hang in there."

  "Aaaagain!" The word was a cry of pain. "Dead again! Rogue, help meeee."

  "Zero!" Rogue snapped. "I need you to focus! We don't have much time."

  "I nnnnnnknow. Leaking like rrrrrain. Losing myself. Self. Self."

  Ferris swallowed hard. "Can't you do something for him?"

  Helm answered for all of them. "No."

  Rogue knelt close to the synth pickup, as if that would make the strength of his words all the more urgent. "You were at the Quartz Zone with the rest of us, Zero. Gunnar, Bagman, Helm, everyone else, they were killed... How did you survive? Where have you been all this time?"

  "Dead," came the flat, toneless reply. "Died in the glassssss."

  "But he was alive..." Ferris gave an involuntary glance at the pool of blood.

  "Rrrrrreborn, Rogue. Reborn where I fell. Dddddddomain Delta. She did it."

  "Who, Zero? Who did it?" hissed Rogue.

  "I'm losing him," said Bagman. "He's cracking up on me."

  "Got away. Came looking for youuuuuuu." Violent crackles and barks of static punctuated every one of Zero's words. "Get her-zzzzzt. Ssssstop her. Delta. Ddddelta."

  "Where?" Rogue demanded. "Where is it?"

  "Kill it," Zero spat. "Savezzzzt-" The static hum rose to a peak and then suddenly ceased.

  "No matrix function detected," said Bagman, after a long moment. "He's gone."

  With infinite care, Rogue decoupled the support unit and removed Zero's dog-chip from the device. He turned it over in his blood-stained fingers, watching the play of light off the metallic surface. The chip was cold to the touch, bereft of life. The GI ran his thumb over the raised code number etched on the silicon and then thoughtfully placed it in one of his panniers.

  Ferris watched Rogue handle the tiny sliver of memory-circuit. The GI treated the corpse of his comrade with all the respect of a piece of rotten meat, but he held the biochip like it was the most fragile thing in the world. The pilot understood; if there was any place that a GI's soul rested, then it had to be there.

  Helm broke the silence. "Domain Delta again. There's gotta be something to that place, we just need to find it."

  "Reckon we already have," said Rogue quietly. "You heard Zero."

  "His mind was falling apart, Rogue," Gunnar snapped. "I didn't hear anything but garbage."

  "He said he was holding on, waiting for me to come get him," Rogue was introspective, weighing the dead soldier's words. "He wanted to tell me about Domain Delta."

  "He said 'reborn'," Ferris spoke without thinking. Rogue looked up at him and suddenly the pilot felt like he had intruded on a private moment. "Uh, sorry."

  "No, you're right," Rogue replied. "He said he was 'reborn where I fell'. He was regened in the place where he died."

  "You know where that is?" Ferris asked.

  "Oh yeah," said Bagman coldly, "we know."

  Rogue got to his feet and fished the Vok-IV datacore from his pocket. "Here, take it. You got us out like I asked. Here's your payment."

  Ferris took the device and weighed it in his palm. He could almost feel the crisp nu-credits it represented. "So, uh, can I drop you off somewhere?"

  "You could do that," said Rogue, considering, "or you could take us a little further."

  The datacore vanished into the pilot's pocket. "Hey, no offence, but hanging out with deserters isn't exactly going to improve my standing with the Milli-Fuzz..."

  "Can't say the Norts will be pleased to see you, either," drawled Bagman. "Reckon they'll have your ident code flagged from here to Timbuk-2, which pretty much makes you a wanted man north of the borders, and after that little disagreement with the law in Pitt City, you ain't exactly welcome in Southside turf."

  The pilot's expression soured. "Son of a bitch..." he said to himself, the realisation of his predicament dawning. "Anywhere I land I'm a dead man walking."

  Gunnar made an electronic grunt. "Catches on quick, doesn't he?"

  Rogue inclined his head. "We're not done with this yet."

  Ferris gave a slow nod; he wasn't a fool. His options had just shrunk to zero. "I'm guessing you all are going to need another ride, right?" He sighed, resigned to the situation. "How about a fresh trade, then? I get you where you wanna go, you help me keep breathin'."

  Rogue considered this for a moment. "We can do that."

  "What?" said Gunnar hotly. "We looking after waifs and strays now? I still don't trust this flyboy. We can just kiss mud and leave this airhead to watch his own pi
nk behind!"

  "Gunnar's got a point," began Bagman, "but a shuttle could get us there in hours instead of footslogging it all the way."

  "There?" repeated Ferris. "Where's there, exactly?"

  "The place where we fell," said Rogue. "The Quartz Zone."

  The orb-drone caught up with her as she reached the upper tier of the central dome, the whine of the spherical robot's impellers matching the resolute clatter of her boots on the polished neoplastic floor. It held a sample case in one thin steel arm which dangled below its drifting fuselage. The drone looked like an errant balloon tethered to a silver brick. It spoke with a synthetic analogue of her voice; all the drones in the facility did, from the smallest auto-tek to the large autonomous robo-gunner patrol units. It was a subtle conceit, but one that Schrader felt underlined her position of authority here.

  "Kolonel-Doktor," it chimed. "Here is the item you requested."

  Schrader took the case without halting, flipping it open to double-check the contents before locking it shut once more. "Dismissed," she told the machine, and obediently it fled, vanishing down the curving corridor toward the lower levels.

  She paused for just a moment outside the conference room, examining herself in the reflection of a polished steel panel displaying the Nordland sigil. Her ice-blond hair was impeccable as ever, framing a milky face so pale it was almost blue. From behind a set of wafer-thin data-glasses, Schrader's expressionless, doll-like eyes studied and then confirmed her own chilly perfection. She was the very model of the Nort ice princess, razor-keen and cold enough to burn. The woman allowed herself the brief interlude of a smile, then shut the expression away and entered the room.

  Standing to attention by the panoramic window, Volks stiffened as she approached, and that amused her. Poor, loyal Johann; he lacked the ability to consider any of his emotions in anything other than a military context, sublimating his barely concealed attraction to Schrader into the need to salute whenever she came near him. She was only nominally an officer, after all, her rank conferred by the Nort High Command as a function of her superlative talents in other areas. All those mixed messages she gave off around him... It had to be confusing for the piteous Kapten.

  Volks glanced at her, then to the room's other occupant. The second man was tall, wide across the shoulders but surprisingly slender in build. Schrader saw the close-cropped hair framing his blunt skull and the dark battle coat he wore ostentatiously over his tailored chem-suit. The general had his back to her, watching the play of clouds and light through the window.

  "Ah," he began. "So good of you to join us, Madam Director. At last."

  "The pleasure is mine, general. Welcome to Domain Delta," she answered with obviously false politeness. Schrader had already mapped the course of this meeting in her mind, so she saw no reason to pretend at courtesy. She settled into a chair and laid the sample case on the table before her. "I was detained by an important experiment on the sub-levels," she said airily. "I'm sure you understand."

  Volks, seeing he had missed a cue, became animated. "General Rössa, may I present Kolonel-Doktor Lisle Schrader, base director-"

  Rössa waved him into silence. "I know who she is," he turned to give her his full attention, "and she knows why I am here."

  Schrader held his gaze for a calculated moment, then looked away. "The loss of the material." Beyond the window, she could see the trio of parked flyers that had brought the general and his retinue to them. Rössa's personal guard stood around them in a loose ring, stances casual and bored. Sloppy, she thought.

  "The material," Rössa repeated. "I marvel at the way your kind shake your test tubes and come up with these little words to minimise your gargantuan errors!" He flicked derisively at his beard. "You allowed a live test subject to escape, Schrader! You let it go free to run halfway around the planet!"

  Volks swallowed hard. "Sir, it was never expected to survive that long. The gene-markers were designed to begin a process of breakdown the moment it left the sealed environment-"

  "I did not address you, Kapten!" Rössa snapped. "Your part in this debacle is well documented and you will be seen to account for all your mistakes!" He glowered at the younger officer. "It is clear to me now why you were reassigned from the Kashar Legion to such a backwater posting as this, Volks. I can barely conscience how an officer so inept could have served Nordland for so long!"

  Schrader gave a theatrical yawn. "Oh, General, please. You have blown this entire incident completely out of proportion."

  Rössa's face reddened. "I beg to differ, Kolonel-Doktor! Quite frankly, my colleagues and I have never understood High Command's dogged interest in this freakish circus you have out here..." he gestured at the dome with an angry flick of the wrist. "But your cavalier attitude towards protocol has come to an end!" The general produced a digi-pad from his pocket and tossed it on to the table before Schrader. "Endless requests for extra funding, prisoner transfers for unspecified experimental testing, requisitions for weapons and hardware - and yet with all this you find it nearly impossible to submit satisfactory progress reports on your research!" He took a step closer to her. "Domain Delta is not your private little kingdom, woman! You are a servant of the Nordland people!"

  She sighed. "I admit the escape of the test subject was slightly problematic, but it is dead now, isn't it? Volks assured me that it had been captured and scheduled for execution."

  Rössa sneered. "No thanks to you. You have made your last error, Schrader. By my order, Domain Delta is to cease operations and close down." He gave a harsh smile. "This sick little project of yours has no place in a man's war. It is a waste of time and valuable resources."

  "General, thank you for confirming my diagnosis that you are a gutless, short-sighted imbecile. You have no comprehension of the scope of my work. I am unlocking the genetic potential of super humanity; superior physical and mental power, perhaps even extra-sensory abilities, all of it within my reach..."

  "I know what you are hiding!" the officer barked. "I know all about the off-book research and unreported testing you have been doing!"

  "Yes, your pathetic spies hiding among my staff," she said in a bored voice. "I wonder, has it occurred to you that you haven't heard from them in a while?" Schrader watched him carefully. "They all suffered a terrible lab accident when a seal vented unexpectedly. Quite tragic, really."

  The general bared his teeth. "You are relieved of your post, Madam Director," he said with venom. "Both of you are to consider yourselves under arrest! You will accompany me to Nu Nuremburg where I will convene an immediate court martial into your activities here... Perhaps if both of you throw yourselves on the mercy of the tribunal, you may avoid a firing squad!"

  "I think not," Schrader gave Volks a shallow nod. "Johann? If you would?"

  Volks hesitated for a moment, licking his lips. He looked to the woman for some kind of guidance.

  "Kapten..." Schrader insisted, her voice hardening.

  Volks gave the smallest of nods and then whispered into a communicator on his uniform collar. "Code one, expedite."

  "What-?" Rössa whirled as shapes moved outside the window. Troopers from the facility's garrison emerged to surround the parked flyers and robo-gunners floated into view. Although the armoured plastisteel of the dome was thick enough to turn away a las-bolt, the sounds of gunfire still penetrated. The general watched his personal guard cut down in a storm of laser blasts.

  Rössa's pistol was in his hand as he turned to face Schrader. The ornate Rheinmetall SonneHauk was a family heirloom that dated back to the earliest Nort campaigns on the Argentine Moons, and the heavy, blunt maw of the gun yawned before him. "You're insane!" The general squeezed the trigger, but the weapon emitted nothing but a harmless click. Rössa worked the gun fiercely without result.

  Schrader pointed up at the ceiling, where a lamp concealed a humming pack of circuits. "Beam polariser," she explained. "Negates all laser reactions within a fifty metre radius." The scientist stood, opening the sample
case. "You're a victim of your own vanity, General. That antique you haul around with you like some ridiculous fetish is your undoing. If you had lowered yourself to the indignity of carrying a ballistic handgun like most senior officers, then you might have been able to kill me." She produced a pistol-like device made of plastic and glass. "As it is, your toy is now no more than an elaborate paperweight... Unlike this one."

  She pressed the skinny weapon into Volks's grip. "Let's finish this sordid matter now, shall we?"

  Rössa snorted. "You wouldn't dare. Kapten Volks, you are an officer and a member of the Nordland Party! You will obey me and surrender your weapon!"

  Schrader continued to speak as if Rössa had said nothing. "This is a bact-gun. I've loaded it with some of the less promising examples of my experiments. Show the good general, Johann."

  With an angry roar, Rössa launched himself at Volks, his greatcoat flaring open behind him like wide black wings. The Nort officer fired on reflex and the bact-gun spat a viscous plug of jelly into the general's face. Rössa fell back under the shock of the impact and shrieked. The gelatinous fluid burned into the bare skin around his throat and chin, seeping directly into the pores.

  Wracked with agony, Rössa crashed to his knees and clawed at his flesh. "What have you done to me? Stak! Nain!" Blood flooded out from his nostrils, mouth and eyes. "Aieeee!"

  Schrader stood and watched Rössa collapse to the floor screaming and convulsing; seconds later, he was dead. Volks pushed the bact-gun back into her hands with sweaty fingers. "He... he won't be the last. What will we do when more of them come?"

  She gave him a cool smile. "We'll burn that bridge when we come to it, Johann. We're beyond the point of no return now. The location of this dome is recorded in only the most secure of High Command's files. Domain Delta is so secret that even Rössa wouldn't have known exactly where he was going. We'll be safe until I'm ready." Schrader crossed to the window, ignoring the general's corpse. Volks followed her, unable to avoid looking at the dead man. "This place is a graveyard, nothing but desolate wastelands and endless glass." She pulled Volks into a lingering kiss, mentally detaching herself from the physical sensation. "No one will find us here," said Schrader, breaking away. "No one comes to the Quartz Zone."