by T W Iain
<You waited?>
“Of course.” He paused. “What happened back there?”
<You did what was right for those people. I put the kin out of his misery.>
That sounded like an excuse, but Brice let it pass. “Good,” he said, even though things were far from good. “Let’s get out of here.”
Cathal stepped past and strode along the tunnel. Brice followed.
They walked in silence. The tunnels twisted and turned. At times they squeezed through narrow openings, and Brice was pleased he couldn’t physically see how tight the walls were to him. The occasional sound of dripping and running water did nothing to settle his mind.
There were traces, but Brice couldn’t tell which they were following, or even how many there were, and he was forced to rely on Cathal. Just like before, when he’d been the crew’s grunt. When he’d had to rely on others.
Except in training.
Thinking back, that was when Brice had been at his most content. He loved solo exercise, but it was the combat training that gave him the biggest rush. And now, although much of his memories were a blur, little details rose. Like the way Keelin would brush her hair from her eyes before stepping onto the mats. Or Ronat, one of his sparring partners, and the way she would crouch, determined to beat him this time. It never happened, of course. She’d commit to a move, but she’d over-extend, and he’d take advantage of that moment of weakness every time.
But that was all gone now. Even though he knew he could fight far better now, he couldn’t imagine sparring like that again.
Moisture in the air dampened Brice’s face. There was a sense of space—his footsteps no longer echoed as much, and it no longer felt like the walls were pushing in on him. And Brice caught what sounded like wind in treetops. When he looked up, there was light. Not daylight, but a pre-dawn retreat of the night.
Cathal walked on, along what was no longer a tunnel but a gully, and Brice followed, relishing the freshness in the air, and the slow warmth on his skin. Trees emerged from the darkness, way over his head, some of them perched precariously on the rock walls.
“I know this place,” he said. “But not exactly. I think…yes, I’ve seen it before. From up there.”
He pointed, and Cathal stopped, turning his head to focus on the top of the rock wall to their left.
<It’s near the abandoned Proteus.>
Of course. And that meant the lost crew had probably met the shades.
Strange how that meant so little to Brice. Strange how he simply walked on, following Cathal. The sun rose, and they no longer walked in the shadows.
It felt wrong. Usually by dawn he was at a hold-out, encased in the concrete, eating and sleeping. When he woke in daylight hours, he sharpened his knives, or he exercised, or he explored the supplies that particular hold-out still possessed. Rarely did he step outside until the sun was well past its zenith.
Cathal looked uncomfortable too. He didn’t sleep much, but during the day he kept to the deeper parts of the forest. Brice knew that the sensation of daylight on the cloth that covered his body agitated Cathal.
“You want to stop for a moment?” Brice waved a hand across to their right, where a curving boulder and a couple of large trees provided dark shade.
<I’m fine.> Then, almost as an afterthought, <You?>
Brice had been walking all night, then climbing through tunnels. He was tired—but when wasn’t he? Even when he lay down in the hold-outs, sleep was something fitful, and he never felt fully awake afterwards. Tiredness was simply a part of his existence now.
“Maybe a couple more hours. I should probably eat then, anyway.”
Cathal grunted, and they walked on. The gully became open land, then the trees built up and they entered the cool, fragrant undergrowth of a forest. There was birdsong, and the occasional buzzing of insects. The light was dappled, and amongst the array of greens and browns were eruptions of yellow and red, early spring flowers and tree blossom.
They stopped by a river, about three hours later, still in the forest. The water splashed over rocks, and Brice sat on a boulder, flinging pebbles into the eddies. He ate one of the ration bars—dry and chewy, but it contained everything he needed—and took long swigs from his water bottle before refilling it from the river and adding a filtration tab.
Mid-afternoon they stopped again, and Cathal insisted Brice took a nap. He didn’t want to sleep, but he woke ninety minutes later to see Cathal’s back, his commander keeping guard.
“You need a sleep?”
Cathal shook his head. <Prefer to keep moving. You feel better?>
Surprisingly, Brice did. And their pace picked up as night approached.
They had another food stop a few hours later, although Cathal insisted he didn’t need anything. He scanned the dark forest as Brice ate, and muttered something about warths. Brice caught their traces too, off in the distance and so they were no threat. There were old traces of shades too, but Cathal didn’t comment on these.
They walked on. When the sun rose, Cathal insisted Brice took another rest. Once more he fell into a sleep he didn’t want but desperately needed. When he woke, Cathal sat against a nearby tree.
“You sleep too?”
<Might have dozed. But there’s nothing around here.> Brice couldn’t decide if Cathal sounded disappointed, or if he was simply disinterested. <We should get moving.>
The forest continued, with occasional open spaces. There were signs of warths, and birdsong always in the distance. Brice had no clue where he was, no idea how far he’d walked. For all he knew, they might have been travelling in circles.
But he plodded on, following Cathal. He didn’t ask if his old commander was following traces or finding his route by some other means. When he did speak, to ask if Cathal wanted a break, Cathal made it clear he didn’t want communication. Nor did he want to stop.
But he walked slower now. They trudged, painfully slow at times. Cathal checked the surroundings more often, especially when they came to junctions in the dirt paths they followed. When Brice came close, he swore that Cathal was breathing heavier than usual.
It was early afternoon when the grass grew shorter and boulders started to appear. The grey rock sprouted up, ugly and harsh, but still flowers clung to it, yellow and blue dots that wavered in cracks, and green moss that clung to one side, facing the sun and drawing from its warmth. The trees were gnarly and twisted. The forest grew around the rocks, like the stone and the plants were constantly fighting.
Then they came to a clear patch, with a fence a couple of hundred metres away.
At first, Brice thought his eyes were playing tricks. What he first took for something like a heat-haze grew sharper, like fine gauze across the view. As they approached, Brice saw how the fence ran from left to right, with no end in sight. If he concentrated he could see individual links in the wire.
Cathal grunted, and brought a hand up to his head.
“You okay?”
<I’m fine.>
They walked on. The fence was tall, about five times Brice’s height, and it stretched off into the distance. On the far side, the landscape was no different to this side—clumps of trees, boulders, a few rockier outcrops in the distance, and what could be the start of a forest off to the right.
Cathal grunted. His snout twitched—something Brice recognised as a grimace.
“Sure there’s nothing wrong?”
<I’m fine!>
There were a few clouds in the sky now, drifting across to hide the sun. Some were darker, threatening rain.
The ground darkened, bringing the fence into higher relief. There was a thick cable running along the top, and to their right was a metal post where the cable ran down to the ground.
“What do you think it’s for?” Brice asked.
But Cathal never answered, because that was when he collapsed to the ground.
Kesia knew th
ere were others like her, but had not seen any of them until the moment they were ushered into the Hermes’ hold. They didn’t talk, or suss, or openly acknowledge each others’ presence, but it felt right to be together at last.
As the Hermes lifted from the Deck and slid out of Metis, the man from the high room entered the hold. She knew it was him before he spoke, before he introduced himself, because she could feel his trace, cold and calculating. And marked.
“All ten of you together, finally. I’ve been anticipating this moment for so long.” He smiled. “I’ve talked to each of you, but I have not yet introduced myself. I’m Murdoch Kollias, chief operations officer on this project. And I feel honoured to be a part of something that has birthed such incredible beings.
“We have tested each of you, and I know that this has been tough at times. But you all passed. You exceeded our expectations. Earlier stages of this project resulted in creatures that were little more than animals, but you, my beautiful ones, you are different. You are perfect. You are more than ready for your first mission.”
He paused, and Kesia wondered if he expected some kind of response. She gave none, though, and nor did any of her sisters.
Sisters. Yes, that word felt appropriate. All daughters of this project.
Murdoch continued. “Your instructions will be relayed to you on the journey down to the surface, along with all schematics and information you should require. For this mission NuGamma Ena—Enya—will lead, and all liaison will be through her. Mission objectives are to be met, not exceeded, but you have free rein in the methods you use. However, I expect a quick, clean operation.” He smiled. “And I know you will do me—and Kaiahive—proud.”
He left the hold, the door sliding shut behind him. Data flooded into Kesia, and she pulled up menus on her lenses, eyes alighting on items to expand. She had maps, including near-virtual rendering, and schematics of the base. There was data on power and security, on the system, and on the current occupants. There was a file detailing atmospheric conditions outside the building, and predictions for how these might change in five-minute increments.
<Let’s plan,> sussed Enya.
It was clear that she should lead, because she was NG-1, the first of the sisters to wake. Kesia knew this, just as she knew all the others—their names and assignations, their strengths, their characters. Enya, Dia, Treya, Tess, Pen. Kesia herself was the sixth, followed by Peta, Occia, Ennis and Decla.
Ten perfect sisters, but one family. As they planned, their minds buzzed with criss-crossing data, exploring a multitude of possibilities simultaneously, and all of them based firmly on the objective.
And the plan took shape. It was simple, but that gave greater flexibility should conditions change. Possible issues were highlighted, and alternative strategies agreed upon.
<We are all clear?> Enya finally asked. It was a pointless question, but Kesia understood how Enya was in direct communication with Murdoch, and how this was a signal specifically for him, that the planning was complete. <Everyone knows their part?>
The tone of her voice changed as she communicated with Murdoch. <We’re ready.>
The door opened, and the man entered, smiling. “Thirty seconds. I’m impressed. We land in approximately three minutes. Make use of that time however you see fit.”
Kesia closed her eyes and stilled her heart, almost to the point of it stopping.
And she waited.
When the soft bump told her they had landed, Ryann forcing her mind to quieten and her heart to slow. She breathed deep, dragging air in and holding it before relaxing her muscles and allowing an exhalation.
This room was much like the one above the arena, but smaller, and with the glass replaced by a bank of screens that could be controlled from a small desk. It was cooler too, but Ryann put that down to the different atmosphere on board the Hermes.
“No matter how many bases I see,” Murdoch said, “there’s something touches me each time. I can feel it, here,” and he placed a hand over his chest. “I think it’s the promise. Such a small mass of domes, but each one has the potential to grow. I’ve seen bases become thriving hubs, even cities. Ah, from such humble origins does greatness arise.”
He shrugged, tilting his head as he looked at Ryann. “But sometimes, things don’t work out as we expect. Sometimes, to achieve greatness, we have to make great sacrifices.”
His words meant nothing to Ryann as she watched the domes. She could clearly see the Hub, right in the middle, and the pole on top of the Medi-pod. Keelin had flown far too close to that on numerous occasions, but that was the challenge, wasn’t it—pilot as close as possible without touching the thing.
From their approach angle, she couldn’t see the remains of the generator, but she knew what it looked like—a destroyed husk of a building, surrounded by shattered metal fragments and fallen trees.
“Why have you brought me back here?”
“Isn’t that obvious? I want to show you what my girls are capable of, but testing is different to reality. And maybe you deserve this. I’d like to think this will give some degree of closure. Their first mission will be one you should approve of.”
“How can I approve of anything those monsters do?”
“You’re letting emotions cloud logic. You’re better than that, Harris. Watch.” He tapped at the desk, and the images on the screens changed.
The first feed was from the sensor over the Hermes’ main hatch. Ryann saw it open, and the NeoGens emerged. They moved fast, but in step, more regimented than Ryann expected. They ran alongside the Hermes—the sensor turning to follow their movements—then down the landing pad’s ramp and into the trees.
Other feeds sprang up as the NeoGens disappeared into the forest. These images shook, and Ryann realised she was watching what the creatures saw themselves, the feeds coming direct from their lenses.
They ran fast, and the constant motion made Ryann nauseous. She concentrated on other feeds, ones she recognised—images from Haven’s own external sensors, showing the trees that surrounded the base. Everything appeared quiet.
<In position.> The voice came through Ryann’s lattice, and it was clearly one of the monsters. But not the one she’d seen before. This one spoke with more authority.
<Proceed when ready,> Murdoch sussed.
Ryann scanned the images, stepping back to take them all in. For a moment, nothing moved.
And then, in every image, grey streaks flew from the trees and converged on her old home.
Kesia ran with the others, perfectly synchronised. Data streamed through her lattice, and she knew that two of her sisters were already at the doors. They accessed Haven’s systems, using the codes the man Murdoch had supplied, and then they were in.
Her role was elsewhere, and she sprinted between two of the pods. There was a connecting passage ahead, a tube joining the domes, and Kesia climbed over this without slowing. Ahead was the pod they called the Hub, the one at the heart of Haven.
She used the ladder, but only because it was there. It made sense to conserve energy. She reached the top as three of her sisters reached the summits of their planned routes of entry, on other pods. On each one, they knew from diagnostics and plans, was a hatch, used for emergency exits. Or for unauthorised entrances.
<Looking good so far.> That was Enya, and Kesia sent back a silent ping, an agreement. Then she pinged the others by hatches, checking they were ready.
The metal of the hatch groaned as Kesia bent it back, revealing a short tube. There were rungs in one wall, but Kesia didn’t use these. It was easier to drop.
She felt her sisters as they entered the base, all but the two designated to remain outside. They’d remove any who tried to flee.
The sensors that fed to her lenses showed Kesia the subjects wandering around, almost like they were lost. But when she and her sisters appeared, chaos erupted.
Only it wasn’t real
ly chaos. Not when she spent a fraction of a second watching and analysing.
The subjects ran in all directions, but each individual had a set path as they rushed to escape. All she had to do was make sure she intercepted.
Kesia flowed amid the chaos, always in the right position. She raised her hands, talons glistening, and she danced.
Bodies fell and blood flowed.
None of these creatures were marked. None of the subjects were destined to survive.
The stench of rotten meat mingled with the coppery overtones of blood, and the air filled with pained hisses. Kesia ran, from one subject to the next, leaving nothing living in her wake. She pulled doors open, following traces, destroying everything.
Data flowed from her sisters, and Kesia viewed the whole of Haven. She turned a corner, knowing that a thrust of one hand at waist height would remove another creature. She let one of the beasts run along one of the connecting tubes, knowing that Dia was waiting at the other end.
She brought down another subject, and another. Blood coated her uniform, and the metallic smell drove the subjects wild. Their actions became like those of animals, and with their minds distracted, Kesia had no problems killing the next.
Then the next.
Then the next.
Until no more remained.
The next thing Cathal knew, he was on the ground, his back against a tree, and it was dusk.
His head buzzed. He examined his body, and found no injuries, although there were signs of pressure under his armpits. But he still felt drained, and when he moved everything responded slowly.
He groaned.
“You back?”
Brice stepped next to Cathal, the lad’s trace strong.
Cathal took a breath and focused on his surroundings. They were in trees, a couple of trunks back from the open land in front of that fence.
