by Jason Hutt
“You couldn’t know…”
“I didn’t trust you,” Max said, “I thought you’d blab all this to security and I’d never have the chance to get Sharon and…and Hannah… out. Turns out that wouldn’t have mattered. The Republic found this place anyway.”
Nick grimaced and looked to the horizon. He closed his eyes a moment, inhaled deeply, and tried to gather strength from their surroundings.
“You were right not to trust me,” Nick said.
Max didn’t respond; he just looked at Nick quizzically.
Nick reluctantly brought his eyes up to meet Max’s stare. “The other night when you got drunk, I sent a message to my mother. Told her where we were headed. Between the drinking and the way you’ve been acting around Eleanor, I just didn’t think you were all there.”
Max didn’t get angry; his face didn’t turn beet red. He simply smiled and laughed slightly.
“Well, Nick, I’d say that you and I need to work on our communication going forward but I don’t think that’s really going to matter.”
“Good that we can agree on something.”
Max smiled again and shook his head. “I sound like my wife.”
“Heard from Eleanor?” Nick asked.
Max nodded and gestured to his wrist computer. “She sent me a message when they lifted off. She’s okay. Reggie’s been deactivated, hopefully not permanently. She’s scared.”
As she should be, Nick thought, as they all were. The sled passed from daylight into the shadow of a mountain and the air noticeably cooled. Off in the distance, the peak of Mount Aldous became visible.
“My father’s here,” Nick said, “Sent me a message yesterday just after the Republic fleet arrived.”
“Well, maybe that’ll be a good thing,” Max said.
Nick nodded and looked to the sky. As he did, an orange fireball streaked across it, followed quickly by another and another.
“What’s that?” Nick asked.
Max shrugged.
“Don’t think it’s a meteorite, but whatever it is, I doubt that it’s good news for us.”
***
The sled crested the far end of the large landing field that sprawled before Mount Aldous. The last time they had been here, the only thing on the pad was the ragtag group of rusted and decrepit freighters and haulers that belonged to Max and his friends. This time, a small fleet of silver, ovoid-shaped shuttle craft sat gleaming in the sunlight. The ships were neatly aligned in two columns and the sled took a course right down the middle.
“Do you recognize the model?” Nick asked.
“Never seen it before in my life,” Max said, “They look brand new.”
“This is crazy,” Nick said. Max shook his head in agreement.
There was no movement on the pad with no robots or people milling about. There was no one doing maintenance checks, no one doing preflight inspections, and no one boarding. It all looked abandoned in place.
At the far end of the pad, just before they reached the hangar doors, the Hannah stood out like a sore thumb. It looked like an ancient relic next to the shimmering smoothness of the shuttle craft. Max looked over at his old ship as they whisked by it. Everything looked okay from the outside.
The sled slowed as they approached the hangar doors. Nick looked back at Francis, who was busy entering commands on his wrist computer. Wally and Gordo’s eyes suddenly popped open and the two creatures shook out their wings and stretched. The joints in their talons popped as they stretched to the limit. A chill ran down Nick’s spine.
They pulled into the hangar and the chill turned to unfathomable dread. There, standing en masse was the largest army Nick had ever seen assembled. Row upon row of the creatures, at least fifteen to twenty bodies deep in each row, stood waiting. They stood in silence, all staring directly ahead.
Were they wild animals, Nick would have expected them to be a writhing mass of feathers and talons, cawing and hopping about. But they stood stock still, waiting to be awakened.
“Jesus,” Max said.
Nick had to suppress the urge to tell Max to whisper. But Nick couldn’t bring himself to say anything; he just sat there with his jaw hanging open.
The sled stopped in the middle of the throng. Francis stepped down and motioned for everyone to follow him. There was no thought of running as Gordo and Wally were watching them carefully. Nick got up, his muscles aching from having sat on the sled for so long. He extended a hand to Max and the two men locked eyes for a moment.
There was nothing to be said at this point. The dread they both felt was painted clearly on their faces. Francis became impatient at their slow pace and signaled to his pets. Nick felt the claw of one of the things push him in the back and he stumbled forward slightly. Francis led them to a lift and moments later they emerged into a spacious control room.
Their attention was immediately drawn to a wall of monitors showing images from throughout the subterranean facility. On most of them, automated factory lines progressed at full speed. Nick caught a glimpse of one line that appeared to be making the creature’s rifles while another appeared to be making the neural processors that graced the heads of Gordo and Wally. On another, he picked out a line creating casings for drones and another manufacturing something that Nick didn’t recognize.
The images were a flurry of mechanical activity. The assembly lines moved at a frenetic pace. Automated cargo haulers ferried components from one line to the next. Completed items were automatically put in crates and then those crates were put on conveyers that took them to other unseen parts of the facility. The whole thing was mesmerizing.
This was why neither of them took much notice of Aldous Sinclair, as the slight old man stood with his back to the monitors. It was also why they didn’t notice Aldous look at his misshapen son with an unspoken question. Francis nodded his head in Nick’s direction.
Aldous brought his hands from behind his back, raised a gun, and shot Nick in the abdomen. He didn’t use a modern plasma gun or even something like Max’s slightly outdated atomizer. No, Sinclair used an antique and shot Nick with an actual bullet.
When the shot rang out, it was accompanied by the surprised scream of a little girl. At first, Nick’s attention was drawn to Eleanor, seated at a large table at the other end of the room. Then, Nick felt a sharp bite in his midsection and he looked down at the rapidly spreading blood stain on his shirt before he fell to his knees. He was too disoriented to cry out in pain; he merely looked at the doctor with a complete lack of understanding.
“Now, we’ll both be dead by the end of the day,” Sinclair spat.
“Jesus Christ, Doc!” Max yelled. He rushed over and grabbed Nick. Nick was holding himself up with one hand while pushing on the wound with his other. Max pulled a rag from the pocket of his coveralls and pressed it firmly on the wound. He looked at Nick’s back; no blood was present.
“It didn’t go through,” Max said.
“Tell me if that’s good news or bad.”
“What the hell is wrong with you!” Max yelled at Sinclair.
“Shut up,” Sinclair said, “You’re supposed to be dead anyway.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t shot me yet,” Max said. He shook his head in disappointment. “And here I thought, that maybe, just maybe, this had all been some sort of mistake and that you hadn’t really intended for those things to get loose on the station.”
“I never hired you for your brains, Max,” Sinclair said.
Max closed his eyes and tried to breathe deep, but the redness of his face betrayed the fury he felt.
“You son of a bitch,” Max said and he took a threatening step toward Sinclair. One step was all he took before one of the creatures lashed out and sent Max flying with a thunderous blow to his flank.
Max was back on his feet quickly, his eyes filled with murderous intent.
“Stop, Max,” Nick said, “Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
“Oh, I’m quite satisfied,” Sinclair said, “
I’m satisfied that you’ll die a slow, painful death here on the floor of my office. It’s a small price to pay for destroying my life’s work.”
Sinclair touched a button on his wrist computer and the images on the monitor shifted. Instead of views of the factory, they now showed views from orbit around Dust. Sinclair’s orbital platforms were now burned-out, tattered wrecks drifting listlessly in their orbits. All around the platforms, fragments of obliterated ships floated about. A gleaming Republic flotilla was nestled in amidst the wreckage.
“I wasn’t about to let you murder anyone else,” Nick said.
“It’s not murder,” Sinclair retorted, “It’s an awakening. Those people are slaves to the Republic and the corporations for which it stands.”
“I’m sure killing them will open their eyes and make them sympathetic with your cause,” Nick said. Fire seemed to be shooting through his abdomen. Nick’s arm shook and threatened to give out, but Max put his hands on Nick’s shoulders and eased him onto his back. Eleanor rushed over.
“What can I do?” She asked, tears streaming down her face.
“I don’t know,” Max said softly, “Help me keep pressure on it.”
“The only thing you’ll be able to do is let him die,” Sinclair said.
“Christ, Doc,” Max said, “I think that’s enough.”
“No,” Sinclair said, “There will never be enough. There will never be enough blood, Max. Not until I bleed every last drop of blood out of the walking corpses that inhabit the Republic.”
“Doc, what the hell is wrong with you?” Max asked. “How could you do this?”
“Because they took my son!” Sinclair thundered. “Because they took from me the one thing that mattered most and then denied me the means to make him whole again! I could have saved him, Max. I could have re-grown his damaged brain tissue, but they wouldn’t let me do that. No, they hid behind their false morality and suggested I was a monster for trying to make him whole again. Just like you, I wanted my child back. My son was dead, but I didn’t want a copy of him.”
Sinclair walked over to Francis and looked up tenderly into the behemoth’s eyes. Sinclair raised his old, fragile hand and placed it on Francis’ cheek. He then ran his hand up and touched one of the misshapen nodules that dotted his son’s forehead.
“My son died long ago, Max. This creature before you is a perverted facsimile of life, a bag of flesh and bones made to appear alive thanks to circuitry and programming. His emotional, physical, and mental responses are the outcomes from a series of algorithms I wrote myself.
“Francis feels what he is programmed to feel, he reacts how he is programmed to react, and he fights how he is programmed to fight. His brain was a prototype for the brain of my creations. It took me years to refine the code, until Francis’ responses were indistinguishable from the average person.
“I wanted my son back and because of their meddling this was the best I could do. They took him from me. They robbed me of who he truly was and who he could have been. For that, I’ll kill every single one of them.”
Max looked down at Nick and swallowed hard; Nick could see the concern in his face. The pressure in Nick’s abdomen seemed to be building. His stomach felt like it was about to explode.
“Don’t you think I know how you feel?” Max asked Sinclair. “God damn. Every person in the damn valley knows how you feel.”
“I’m not looking for empathy, Max.”
A chime sounded throughout the room. Sinclair looked at his wrist computer.
“Please, just give him some regen pills, Doc,” Max said.
Sinclair ignored him and received the incoming transmission. The far end of the room suddenly blurred and a three-dimensional, photorealistic projection of the bridge of a Republic flagship appeared. A tall, severe looking woman, dressed in her cleanly-pressed Republic uniform, stood in the center of the projection. The silver-haired, sharp-nosed woman took a measured step forward and stuck out her chin.
“Doctor Aldous Sinclair?”
Sinclair stepped forward and nodded his head.
“I am Commander Dorn. I am here to place you under arrest for the terrorist attack on Nexus Station. You are hereby ordered to deactivate your facilities. Noncompliance with these orders will be met with deadly force. You have two minutes to comply.”
Commander Dorn and her crewmembers were watching Sinclair intently. He calmly laced his hands behind his back.
“I will not stand down,” Sinclair responded.
“I am authorized to use deadly force to secure your facility. Stand down or we will open fire,” Dorn repeated. Her face was drawn in a grim, tight-lipped expression.
“Attack me, Commander,” Sinclair said, “And this will be a day you never forget.”
A chime sounded on the bridge of the Flagship and Dorn looked over at her communications officer.
“Ma’am, we’re receiving a transmission from another ship. The Pasteur. It’s a Conglomerate ship,” the young man reported, “Their Captain says he has vital information for us on this mission.”
Dorn frowned ever so slightly.
“Patch him in.”
The projection of the bridge of the Republic ship shifted slightly and another projection appeared beside it. Rather than a spaceship bridge, this one appeared to be of a small office with a single desk centered in the projection. Nick’s father was seated at the desk.
“Commander,” Henry Papagous said, “I apologize for the interruption. My name is Henry Papagous. I am the Vice President of Research and Development for the Marshall Conglomerate. I was en route to Nexus Station when we received the information that Doctor Sinclair was behind the attack.
“I am transmitting to you a revised order authorized by Senator Rommell. Aldous Sinclair’s facility is believed to have information that is pertinent to Republic security interests. He is to be captured alive. The Conglomerate has been contracted to investigate his facility and collect data that may be of interest to the Republic.”
This time there was no hiding the Commander’s displeasure.
“Ah,” Sinclair said with a smile, “I see the Conglomerate has called on their Republic lackeys. I’m shocked at this turn of events.”
“Doctor Sinclair,” Henry said, “I may be stepping out-of-bounds here but you should know that we’ve filed suit against you for 56 suspected patent violations in connection with the technology recovered from the Nexus Station attack. We are seeking two billion dollars in damages.”
Nick coughed, pain pulsing through his body. He forced himself up on his elbows and started to stand. His arms and legs trembled with the exertion.
“Easy, Nick,” Max whispered.
Nick waved him off; this was something he had to do. He rose to his feet and a jolt of pain flashed through him. It took all of his willpower to not curl up into a ball on the floor. He slowly stepped toward his father’s projection.
“You don’t quit, do you?” Nick asked as he entered the field of view of the projection. “All you can think about is the money you’ve lost.”
“Quiet, boy,” Sinclair said.
“No, I will address my father.”
At this, Sinclair’s eyebrows arched in surprise. Wally had started to stomp forward, but Sinclair motioned for him to hold.
“I should’ve known you’d get mixed up in this,” Henry said.
“At least now you’ve finally found me,” Nick said, “And you can stop with the veiled threats.”
Henry sneered at him.
Nick stepped forward and stood inches from his father’s projection. He stood up straight and looked down into his father’s eyes.
“Even now, father, after everything that’s happened, your first thought is about how you can profit from this. To hell with the people who died. You need to stake your claim.”
“You’re a naïve jackass,” Henry responded, “A spoiled little boy who clearly was not taught enough about the realities of the galaxy.”
Nick laughed slig
htly and that small movement of the muscles in his abdomen sent waves of pain throughout his body. He winced momentarily.
“I’ve learned a lot in recent weeks and I’ve had a lot of time to think about you. A new friend of mine asked me if I thought your greed, your wanton avarice, was unique to you or whether it was a part of your corporate culture. I think that answer is pretty clear now.”
“Please forgive my son for interrupting this conversation with our little family squabble. He’s a bit of a fool,” Henry said, with an embarrassed shrug.
“No,” Nick said, “This isn’t just about you, about us. This is about what you’ve done to people, what your Conglomerate does.”
Nick pulled the data crystal out of his pocket. He held it up in front of his father’s projection.
“This is what you’ve been after, father,” Nick said, “This is why you’ve been chasing me for the last few weeks. All your files are here. Records of every development project the Conglomerate has undertaken under your leadership. Data from every test, logs full of observations, risk assessments, budget assessments, personnel files, everything. This is why you couldn’t just let me walk away.”
Henry’s jaw was set and he stared at his son with his iron gaze. “You’re right, son. This isn’t about me. Those files you hold…in the wrong hands, they could damage the lives of so many. This has never been about me. It’s been about the safety of the people.
“The Conglomerate works every day to better people’s lives and some of the work we do, some of the things we delve into, would be extremely dangerous if exploited. I needed to get those back, not to protect me, but to protect everyone. You’ve got a good heart son, but there’s so much you don’t know.”
Doubt crept into Nick’s expression. He looked at the crystal, so small in his hand, and then back at his father.
“You’re a liar,” Nick said, “You always have been. Doctor Sinclair, do you have a crystal reader?”
Sinclair hesitated a moment and looked at Nick with a furrowed brow.
“Yes,” he finally stammered, “Yes, I do.”
