Born in Darkness

by Thomas Farmer

  Daniel's eyes narrowed slightly, but his tone was even. “My religion forbids those things.”

  “I see.”

  When Enyalios said nothing for a moment, Daniel stood and straightened his robe. “I apologize if I've gotten my friend's blood on your furniture. Your answer, please, First Lord.”

  “You start tomorrow.”

  Daniel nodded. “Thank you, First Lord.”

  “Don't thank me, Daniel. I've just signed your death warrant.”

  “Then I'll see Nikos sooner than I thought,” Daniel replied. “Sir.”

  “Go with the suns, Titan-Candidate Daniel.”

  Chapter 8

  The massive corpse of the mastigas elite lay sprawled on the sand at the far end of the arena, exactly where Number One Hundred left it. When she propped the puzzle door open, Pallasophia expected the other mastigas to drag it away for food.

  That it had not happened pointed to one of two things. Either One Hundred killed many more mastigas than she suspected, or something was actively keeping them away from the elite's area. The former made a measure of sense, but the latter would require a higher level of planning than she understood the mastigas to possess.

  Whatever the reason the mastigas had for staying away, Pallasophia was not going to complain. She and those of her team not guarding the doors had to explore the facility anyway to find Number One Hundred, and she knew they would encounter mastigas along the way.

  “Dekanii Isodorus and Myrto, secure the inner door.”

  “Understood, Lochagos.”

  “Lochias Photeos, accompany them, please.”

  He nodded and took off after the other two Second Lords at a light jog.

  Dekaneas Eleni's sudden gasp shook Pallasophia from her reverie and she automatically leveled her rifle, looking for whatever threat the soldier spotted. Instead, she seemed to be staring directly at the elite's body. “Holy shit.”

  Stavros waved at the dead monster. “I didn't believe it when I read the mission brief. There's no way, I thought, that one person could kill one of those things. I've seen footage of one elite taking out an entire squad before. But I can't argue with that.”

  “Number One Hundred is more than she appears,” Pallasophia said.

  “I can believe it,” Stavros said. “To have survived down here alone.”

  Pallasophia nodded. The official story was that after the Incident, the lower levels had been sealed off. That much was true. Where the official story diverged from reality was in that Pallasophia, over Tritogenes's objections, had in fact spread word among the facility's staff that she was Limani's Titan-Candidate up until one of the gestation pods “accidentally” activated, releasing Number One Hundred.

  “Not just survived,” she corrected, “but emerged triumphant.”

  Pallasophia watched as Stavros slunk, catlike, toward the elite. Even knowing it was dead, he moved with drilled precision, encircling it with his rifle raised as though it was merely sleeping and might wake up at any moment. Eleni hung back, torn between knowing it was obviously dead and the desire not to abandon Stavros on the off chance that it was, somehow, still alive.

  “It's quite dead, I assure you,” Pallasophia called. “Coming back to life is one of the few things they don't do.”

  “Understood, Lochagos,” Eleni replied. Despite her faceplate, her tone clearly indicated she was grinning when she asked, “satisfied, Dekaneas?”

  Stavros nodded. “I think so. 'Trust but verify,' is what I've always been told when you're dealing with these things.”

  Pallasophia exchanged an amused look with Eleni that translated even through the featureless faceplates of their helmets. Aloud, she said, “we will not find many other bodies down here. The mastigas are not above cannibalism, especially without a sophont to guide their baser urges, but there will likely be several recent ones.”

  “How many are left?” Eleni asked. “Should I set up detection perimeters as we go?”

  Pallasophia nodded. “Do so, but don't waste equipment on areas like this, which will be watched by the rest of the troops.”

  “Understood.”

  “If there is nothing else,” Photeos ventured, returning from his momentary posting at the puzzle door, “Strategos Glaukos stressed that we should spend as little time as possible, as he put it, 'dawdling.'”

  Pallasophia nodded. “It will likely take some time to find her. We are in no hurry.” It was a lie, but one that would help their nerves and, thus, their chances.

  “As you say, Lochagos,” he replied, then turned to where Stavros was examining the elite's corpse. Flies still swarmed, but he had scared most of them away. “Dekaneas Stavros! You have two minutes! You can poke at the elite later.”

  Stavros approached quickly, addressing both of them with formal language. “Apologies, Lochias, Lochagos. After seeing the inscription in there, I found my curiosity piqued. Crude drawings are one thing; we know of animals that do the same. But language...”

  Photeos grimaced. “I'm more concerned about what it meant by 'creators.'”

  Stavros spared a look back across the arena, as though looking at the door to the monster's lair would provide clues. “For all we know, it could be speaking of the mastigas themselves. I would certainly want revenge if the sophont locked me in the arena.”

  “But the sophont doesn't create other mastigas, does it?” Eleni asked.

  Pallasophia turned to face Stavros. “You're the expert. You tell us.”

  “I don't know,” Stavros admitted. “There are people who certainly think so. Being an expert in the mastigas is like,” he waved a hand, searching for the right expression. “It's like being an expert in FTL technology. We know it's possible, we just don't know how to get around the problem of...”

  “I understand,” Pallasophia said, “and I apologize. I should not take my frustrations out of you, Dekaneas.”

  Eleni cleared her throat slightly more dramatically than necessary. “If I may, Lochagos.”

  Pallasophia made a motion for her to continue speaking.

  “You need to let your frustrations out, otherwise they may affect the mission.”

  Pallasophia stopped pacing and laughed. She shook her head once, to clear it. “You're probably right.”

  “I do have a degree in the field, Second Lord.”

  “Of course. Still...” She made a noise that was half sigh, half growl, and all venting frustration. “What in the starless, gods forsaken, blue screened hell are these things really?”

  “I will be making every inquiry I can,” Stavros declared, speaking formally in deliberate contrast to Pallasophia and Eleni.

  Pallasophia nodded. “Good,” she said. “Good. I will expect you to keep me updated with any information you find.”

  “Of course.”

  “Now, are we ready to move further?”

  “We have been waiting on you, Lochagos.” Despite the helmet, Photeos's tone made the amused smile on his face impossible to mistake.

  She allowed herself to laugh, then beckoned the others to follow. As they approached the puzzle door, Pallasophia leveled her rifle again. The others followed suit, with Eleni last. Her gaze lingered on the puzzle door.

  “I am certain One Hundred did not damage your door, Second Lord,” Myrto quipped. She spoke formally, but the amused lilt to her voice was clear.

  Eleni laughed. “I'd be surprised if she was able to, honestly. It was smart of her to prop it open when she left.”

  Pallasophia watched the woman work for a moment before asking, “Dekaneas Eleni, your dossier indicated that you were in charge of wiring the communications lines?”

  She nodded, listening to her commanding officer, but obviously much more invested in the act of inspecting the door's complex mechanism.

  “It was the reason for which she was Elevated to Second Lord,” Photeos replied.

  “I did the job I was assigned, Lochias,” she argued.

  “Regardless, your work was one of the reasons t
he Project was able to continue on at all.”

  “Thank you.”

  Pallasophia cleared her throat. “Will you be able to repair anything the mastigas have damaged?”

  “Yes, Lochagos,” she replied without hesitation.

  Pallasophia nodded. “Good. The more equipment we can repair and use, the better. I have no doubt that you could do your job without it, but it is my hope that the mastigas have not destroyed everything.”

  Eleni nodded understanding. “I agree, Second Lord.”

  “Lochias Photeos,” Pallasophia said. “Your dossier indicated high marks in tracking, especially people.”

  He nodded. “Before I came to work for Tritogenes, I worked for First Lord Aegesander as a 'personnel retrieval specialist.' I have not lost the skills.”

  “Good,” Pallasophia said. “Because we have a lot of ground to cover. One Hundred could be anywhere.”

  “Understood, Lochagos. I will find her.”

  ***

  Victoria had been on her guard ever since the explosion earlier. She caught and cooked a rat after leaving the arena, in an attempt to stop the cramps in her stomach from growing worse. The paltry bit of food helped some, but within hours her body was once again reminding her that food was a necessity, not a luxury. Now that the explosion caused her adrenaline to spike, those feelings were only growing worse.

  The realization that the green eyes apparently had explosives did little to calm her nerves. She was not quite anxious, but the immediacy of her situation created a sort of annoyed, angry determination.

  The only positive she could rationalize out of it was that explosions usually meant destruction. She had no idea how she knew that, or even truly what “high explosives” or “thermobaric weapons” were, but the knowledge imprinted itself on her mind nonetheless. If the green eyes were blowing things up, then perhaps they had found a way out of the labyrinth.

  Whatever was happening, Victoria knew she had to keep moving. If the green-eyes were blowing things up, then every moment she stood in the same place was another chance for them to plan an ambush. Worse, if it was some new enemy come to kill her, and if they brought explosives, then it just added to her problems.

  Prowling with her stolen sword held at the ready, Victoria considered her options. Returning to the arena was not an option. Even if the explosion had not come from above, she saw how badly the four-armed monster tried to break down the door. Certainly there was nothing she could do, especially after breaking one of the swords in her first attempt to break the door down.

  Everywhere she went, the green-eyes had torn things apart. They rarely touched the floor except for what seemed to be random spots where they dug deep, ripping out some sort of electronic device and smashing it. She only knew that much because of the wires left behind.

  The walls, too, had been smashed seemingly at random. They succeeded in a very few places, spots where the material was thin or not reinforced, but those only led to more of the same empty, ransacked rooms.

  That left the ceilings. Too far to jump, she grudgingly sheathed her sword and piled larger pieces of debris in the center of one of the rooms until she could reach a part of the ceiling where the green eyes had already torn a hole.

  After a moment to adjust to the darkness inside the ceiling, Victoria took a single, crouching step. She yelped involuntarily as what she expected to be solid turned out to be thin and brittle. It shattered under her weight, and she fell hard to the floor beneath. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, and the gash in her side screamed its protestations.

  She tumbled off her pile of debris, coming to rest on the cold tile floor. Fighting to put air back into her lungs, Victoria's hands scrabbled not for her sword, but for the much more familiar baton that hung from her waist. Panting, and with back muscles that still protested, she came to her feet, brandishing the baton like a torch against wolves.

  Nothing approached her, and she let out her frustrations on a piece of the debris she used to reach the ceiling. The concrete cracked under repeated blows from her baton. It did very little to slow her pulse, but the momentary release did wonders to calm her nerves. She struck what remained of that block again, just to be sure, and the release she felt as it shattered under her weapon was palpable.

  The problem she now faced, other than the soreness in her back, was that she smashed a good portion of her way into the ceiling. With her temper expended, she looped the baton's wrist strap through her belt once more and set to work finding more debris with which to climb back into the ceiling.

  Fortunately, Victoria did not have to look very far. Debris of all sizes and shapes was easy enough to come by. In minutes, she climbed back into the ceiling, careful this time to keep her weight on the metal framework that seemed to be holding the brittle parts.

  A mass of wires and pipes surrounded her, answering at least one of the mysteries that had been plaguing her since she awakened. The pipes made a variety of noises, most of which she recognized and filtered out of her awareness long ago as something that was not dangerous.

  Still, she thought, it was nice to have a reason for things.

  Victoria tugged at the wires, but nothing seemed useful. Some felt like she could pull them loose, but that would do her no good. Piles of cables on the “floor” attested to how futile that was going to be. Likewise, pieces of shattered pipes told her that she would get nowhere there.

  Still, Victoria mused, once more thing remained. She considered using one of the broken pieces of pipe, but that was a somewhat ridiculous notion considering she had a hefty length of steel already tied to her belt. With no room to swing, Victoria rolled onto her back and jabbed at the stone overhead.

  It scuffed and chipped, but Victoria had no real idea how thick it was. As her arm tired, she supposed the task was ultimately possible, but if it was actually useful, the green-eyes would have smashed holes between the levels already. More important than travel between the levels, they would have broken their way past the arena.

  They had not done either of those things, and Victoria stopped her efforts. Inside her helmet, sweat covered her forehead. Very little air seemed to be circulating where she was, and it quickly grew to stifling temperatures while she worked.

  She considered sleep. The sudden warm temperatures certainly made her want to do that, at least.

  That desire was shattered by a sudden surge of adrenaline as she heard footsteps. Waiting where she was did not seem like a good idea. The pile of debris she made was directly under her, marking her spot for anyone—or anything, she thought—to see. Careful to keep her weight on the sturdy sections, Victoria crept forward.

  Despite being unable to go up a level as she planned, Victoria did discover one benefit to moving through the ceiling. Where she was had no walls. She could move freely without having to maneuver around obstructions in her path. Crawling might have been slower, especially with all of her things, but the ability to bypass doors made up for it. If she could keep track of her position, sure could potentially explore some of the locked areas she passed on her way up.

  Footsteps below turned her attention downward again. Whatever made them was not trying to be quiet. Victoria was thankful for that; it made her job of finding them easier. As she drew closer, the sounds became more distinct.

  The footsteps came from multiple sources, of that she was sure. They fell heavier than the little ones or the knife wielders, and they were too light and too regular to be the lumbering giants. She never heard the four-armed titan's footsteps on solid ground, but, given its size, she imagined it stepped even heavier than the giants.

  And, she reminded herself as a surge of adrenaline accompanied memories that were definitely her own, it was most definitely dead.

  Whatever the sources of the footsteps happened to be, Victoria had no desire to run into them without first having a chance to study them.

  A sudden thought chilled her blood. The idea of facing one of the green-eyes, especially one of the smaller va
rieties that would have little trouble maneuvering in the tight confines, was not a pleasant one. With that in mind, she drew one of her daggers from its calf sheath. With it in hand, her forward moment slowed, and at times she had to clamp it between her teeth to progress at all, but she felt much safer.

  As the source of the sound drew even closer, Victoria started to discern different voices. The green-eyes had not spoken that much, and certainly had not spoken to one another like these newcomers did. They spoke in short, clipped phrases full of numbers and complex words Victoria had no context for. The two most commonly repeated phrases were “mastigas” and “One Hundred.” Beyond that, she might have understood what they were saying, but had no idea what they were actually talking about.

  The positive was that their noise allowed Victoria to track them easily. After two short hours, she found them. Their small group had stopped a few meters away from another broken section of the ceiling. Crouched in the darkness above one of the few functional ceiling lights, she might as well have been invisible in her black suit.

  She waited, watching.

  Six creatures moved around below her. She wanted to believe that these were human like her, but their black suits gave nothing away. Whatever they were, the newcomers moved with methodical precision. Four of the strangers, including the only one of the sextet with green stripes running down the sleeve, seemed to be standing guard. The others all bore blue stripes on their suits. The two smallest had taken up part of the floor and were up to their elbows in it.

  Off to one side was a small pile of backpacks and equipment. Another, smaller, pile lay close to the pair working on the floor. They all carried what her brain told her were weapons: rifles and pistols primarily. The green eyes had never possessed weapons like that before, and she made the logical connection between these newcomers and the explosion earlier.

  Their faces were covered by helmets, but the design was not like the green eyes' helmets. They seemed stronger, better built, and even Victoria could see the antennas and connectors on the helmets and understand that there was more to them than simple concealing masks.