Future Unleashed

by Daniel Pierce

  I slid magnetic drawers open to reveal surgical tools, supplies, and tubing, all in orderly rows. Some of it had on obvious purpose; some of it was from after my time and had changed enough that its meaning was lost on me. It didn’t matter. I found the items I needed and rolled an elevated tray table toward the Proc. The tray moved silently on wheels that had almost no resistance; with the slightest touch it slid across the floor and bumped gently against the Proc’s holding place, the tools flashing with evil intent under the bright lights.

  He smiled, and it was a thing of horror. He had small teeth, and too many of them, the palate of his mouth bone white and bloodless in a face that was still close enough to human to rattle me, but I shook that off and returned his expression with a wintry smile of my own.

  “While I appreciate your need for theater, do you think you might get to the point? I find this whole scene rather dull, just like your people. You dress like civilized beings, but you smell like a swamp and your hygiene is a distant memory. If you intend to torture me for your own stupid purpose, please get on with it. My time is valuable, unlike you,” he said.

  “Torture? Who said anything about torture? I’m a soldier, and the leader of a free people. I don’t torture anyone. At least, I haven’t yet, and I certainly don’t plan on starting now,” I said, allowing him a look of mild disapproval.

  His eyes narrowed at that. “So, you’re a liar as well as a torturer. Quite the officer you are.” His snort of disgust sounded strange coming through his narrow nose, but it made his emotions known.

  “I don’t lie, either, so you’re wrong on both accounts.” I picked up a thin scalpel, the blade little more than a whisper of something that looked like steel but shone like glass. The handle fit my hand perfectly, and I tested the balance as any fighter would before looking the Proc up and down like he was a piece of fruit with a bad spot that needed cutting. I touched his arm, and he fought to recoil but failed, though his face remained impassive as stone.

  “You may place the blade in my eye, if you’re wondering how to kill me, you vermin.”

  “Shh. I’m trying to—ahh. There it is,” I said, looking at him but not moving to touch him again.

  “There’s what?” he asked, and for the first time, there was actual uncertainty in his voice. He was far from human, but I knew worry when I heard it. And I heard it now.

  “Aristine, if I give you something, can you have a Condor take it on a joyride and dump it in a river?” I asked.

  “Of course. Weight?” she replied.

  “No more than a kilo,” I said.

  “You think cutting a piece of me off is going to what, exactly? Yield twenty-three centuries of scientific culture?” The Proc sounded irritated, not angry. He was back in control of his fear.

  “Did you say . . . twenty-three centuries? Hmph. That would mean your, ah, people date from prior to the fall of my world. That would mean”—I tapped my chin in wonder— “that you are from before the virus, and my only conclusion would be that you had something to do with it. It’s the only logical conclusion, but vermin like me aren’t really that intelligent. What we are is clever. Aren’t we, Aristine?”

  “Quite clever. Devious, even,” came her voice from above.

  “Devious. I like that even better.” I began probing his chest, where the sternum ended and the ribs hadn’t begun. There was a small expanse of raised skin that looked nothing like any genetic modification. In fact, once he told me about his extra ribs and drew my attention there, I knew what I had to do. I drew the scalpel across his skin, opening him up with a single, methodical cut, looping around in a T shape, then closing the ends and slipping the knife under his pale skin. He hissed, long and slow, his face twitching with pain.

  “You’re doing it wrong,” the Proc said, but I waved him silent with the bloody knife.

  “No, I’m doing exactly what I want.” I folded the flap of skin back and ran the knife over his flesh again, and this time, something dull and silver emerged from his body—a T shaped object with a softly pulsing blue light in the center. “Aristine, if you would? This is the item that needs to go on a long, random flight, then into the water.”

  “You miserable fucking scum. You’ll—” the Proc said, and he would have kept talking had I not put the scalpel up his left nostril and held it still, so it didn’t touch any part of him.

  “Your tracker, I presume? Allows you to call your people, remote vehicles, and the like? It makes sense. You don’t carry anything with you, and you were left there to rot for a reason. I gather you were a very bad boy in the past, but your kind don’t kill each other since there aren’t many of you left to rule and hunt and do whatever it is you do. Oh, and by the way—we’ll get to that next.” I tore the tracker out with a wet squelch, and the Proc shuddered in pain.

  Aristine stalked into the room, paused, then held out a plastic bag with a seal. “Drop it in here, if you please.”

  “Of course, dear. Thanks,” I said. She gave the Proc a sad smile, then kissed me on the cheek. It was a nice bit of acting on her part, as I knew she had plenty of combat experience. A simple surgery—even without drugs—was nothing to her.

  “I’ll just give you some privacy. So much to discuss,” Aristine said brightly. She left and closed the doors behind us, and the room was quiet again.

  I removed the scalpel and stood, staring down at the creature—I refused to call him a man—until the weight of my gaze made him move.

  The Proc turned his head slowly, and I watched him, listening to the sound of air blowing through the vents. A chemical tang filled my nose, plus the coppery hint of his blood. I watched his strange irises dilate even further from the lights overhead, and then I turned, pulled a stool over, and sat down.

  “I want you to know that this doesn’t end today, so if you don’t feel like talking, you don’t have to,” I said.

  His wisp of an eyebrow rose at that.

  “Seriously. I’m going to let Aristine’s team find your secrets, since I think most of them are biological. I can make some guesses as to what you are and why you’ve devolved—”

  “Evolved,” he corrected. “We’re the next step in humanity, not a regression.”

  “Really? But you look so similar to the ogres. I thought it was obvious that you were harvesting people—or whatever you call that butchery—in order to fight off some kind of deteriorating genetic condition,” I said amiably.

  He bared his teeth in what was far from a smile, but before he could say anything, Aristine and three of her people bustled in, full of purpose. Without fanfare, they began taking blood, tissue, and hair from the Proc, then Aristine forced his mouth open with a hard wedge of plastic, scraped his cheek roughly, and pulled the bit all before he could mount a complaint. In twenty seconds, they were gone, and I was left staring after them with a smile mixed between shock and respect.

  I rubbed my hands on my thighs, sighing. “That was unexpected, and I’ve got to say it doesn’t bode well for the rest of your stay.”

  “And how long will that be, you overblown child?” He tried to sneer, but it fell short after what I’d seen happen a moment earlier. It had robbed him of some of his menace.

  I stood and walked to the door, then grinned. “Until the end of your life, of course.”

  19

  I left the Proc behind and emerged into a throng of people, busy at workstations and screens as they launched a massive biomedical effort to unspool the secrets within the Procurator’s blood, bone, and tissue. To my surprise, Tegan was among them, waiting for me and looking more like a queen than ever despite being in combat gear.

  “Like it?” she asked me, posing in what was clearly riding armor. The hides were black and brown, heavily stitched, and had enough places for weapons that she could carry an armory with her. Her red hair was back in a ponytail, and there was a kiss of sun on her freckled cheeks, blue eyes dancing in the low light of the Chain.

  “It suits you, my queen. Or should I say Tegan of
the Waves?” I asked her, smiling.

  “Tegan is fine, as there are no waves nearby. None that I can see, anyway,” she said as Yulin came up to us, her lips a grim line. “Twelve hours to crack the Proc’s data, but we’ve plenty to do in the meantime. I’m told you’re an expert in all things pertaining to the, ah . . . hippo cavalry?”

  Tegan gave a serious nod, but there was humor in her eyes. “I am. Though he was raised around the plump beasties, you certainly don’t want Stoddard advising you on their care and feeding. He’s a more delicate breed of man, suited to city living and—well, not spending hours rocking back and forth on the wide bum of an armored hippo. I think they sense his distaste for warfare. And heat.” She thought for a minute, then smiled. “Maybe they don’t like him because they’re both the same shape.”

  “Stoddard is rather full-figured,” Yulin said diplomatically.

  I snorted and Tegan laughed outright. “Why do you need a mistress of hippos?” I asked Yulin.

  “I don’t, not specifically. I need a mistress of armored animals, because our weapons division has been busy, and we have something to test. That means you and Tegan are going to do a live-fire targeting exercise safely away from here, topside, and if it works, we’ll have added a new wrinkle to your forces attacking Kassos.

  “My forces? Aren’t you a part of it?” I asked.

  “I am, but the battle plan so far is yours, and I don’t have a lot of experience at open-field tactics. Tegan does, and you do. I need to see if this new item works, and then make my suggestions to you at the war council. I assume we’re not taking Kassos in some brutal frontal assault?” Yulin asked. Her blonde hair was slicked back, and goggles rested on her head as if she was ready to go topside for the first time in days. I noticed she looked tired, her pale skin marked by circles under her eyes.

  “General Yulin?” I asked, in a tone that was quite different from my easy banter of a moment before.

  “Yes?” Yulin said, but in a guarded way.

  “How long will this weapon test take?”

  “An hour, tops. We’ll know if it works almost immediately, and then”—she shrugged—“we can begin installation when the Konnodar are all at the rally point,” Yulin said.

  “Great, so what I’m hearing is that you have eleven hours of leisure time in between the weapon test and Proc data?” I asked her.

  “What? No, I have to—” Yulin began, but I waved Aristine over.

  “What is it?” Aristine asked, giving me a sidelong glance.

  “Regardless of the results, when this weapon test is complete, I want General Yulin knocked out for eight uninterrupted hours of sleep. I want her to shower, eat, and have tea. If she resists, shoot her with a trank gun, but get her in a bed and resting,” I said.

  “Jack, I have too—” Yulin said.

  Then Aristine put a hand on her shoulder. “We’re all tired, but you need to rest. He’s right. We go to war soon enough. The fight will be here when you wake up.”

  Yulin simmered for a long moment, then her face softened, and she looked even more like a twin of Aristine than a sister. “All right.”

  “I need the Falling Stars at our peak when we launch any kind of attack,” I said.

  “If you’re going to make me wear a costume, just shoot me with something fatal. Please. Let me die with dignity,” Yulin said.

  “What I’m hearing is that you want a long dress and lots of lace for the fight? Is that correct?” I asked Yulin, who stuck her tongue out at me as she was led away by her sister.

  “I would fight in a dress, but only if I could wear boots. I like to move around a bit,” Tegan said, grinning.

  “Let me tell you about something from my time. It’s called a kilt,” I said, taking her arm as we walked toward the techs who looked at us expectantly.

  “A kilt? I like the sound of it. Anything that lets us fight well—and in style—is worth noting for when I’m queen,” she said.

  “I’ll make a note of it for when you ascend, lady,” I said.

  “Thank you.” Her smile was warm, and she kept it on her face as we approached a group of three techs who were clearly engineers. They wore clean smocks, but all had an array of tools on their belts that were distinctly different from anything I’d ever seen in a surgical ward.

  “I’m told we’re testing a weapon?” I said to the group. There were two women and a man, and I’d never met any of them before.

  The first woman was of middle height, with dark hair and a slight Asiatic cast to her eyes. She introduced herself as Poulter, with her female colleague as Tifton and the man as Wyles. All three were serious people covered with an air of uncertainty, and it occurred to me that whatever we were testing was more than just a weapon. It was an idea.

  I introduced Tegan, then myself, and then asked the first question that needed an answer. “Why is this weapon so important, given our level of tech?”

  “Because it isn’t a weapon at all. It’s an augmentation, and it’s the first time we’ve tried to blend two levels of advancement into one system,” Poulter said.

  That got my attention, so I gestured to the doors. “We’ll follow you. I assume we’re testing this immediately?”

  “As soon as we get topside. Only you and Tegan will go up; we’ll watch from a safe distance by drone and camera. If it works, we don’t have a second to spare. We begin printing the item to ship ahead for use in the field,” Wyles said. He had scarred hands and a friendly face, but I could tell he had a lot riding on whatever it was we were doing.

  “And you trust me to use an untested system with no prep? Does that sound logical?” I asked the engineers as we walked out into the main chamber to stand among the trees.

  “I understand you’re good with weapons, and when you see it, you’ll know. We need to know if someone can adapt to this on the fly, because it has the potential to act as a force multiplier for Tegan’s cavalry,” Poulter said.

  “Understood. We go up alone then?” I asked.

  “To the secondary entrance, back there. There are two Konnodar waiting for you, and a pair of targets will fly over to the west three minutes after your eyes adjust. This is a realtime exercise, and we’ll be in touch to let you know what the first steps are. Your go bags are packed and up top. Once the test starts, we’re concerned with time and efficiency, so don’t hesitate. Use the system per our instructions and tell us if it works. If it doesn’t, well, we need another option then,” Poulter said.

  We were standing before the steps that went up and outside to the world. Tegan looked nervous, and the engineers matched her with grim expressions.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  Tegan and I climbed the metal stairs, passed through the first security doors, and then opened the second to bright sun. It was nearly noon, and the day was already hot. Sure enough, a pair of massive Konnodar waited for us, one rust colored and male, the other a dusky female with tan flanks. Both were several meters long, healthy, and wearing a saddle unlike anything I’d ever seen.

  On the top of the saddle where the horn should have been was an empty socket, the dull metal gleaming in the daylight. To the side of the Konnodar were heavy weapons—squad-sized at least, but designed to be lighter than their bulk would suggest. Beside the guns were two L-shaped ceramic frames, a gimbal on one end and a strange, spherical attachment on the other. I looked at the bottom of the gun and saw an obvious connection point. This was the new system.

  “It’s not a new gun. It’s a new mount. The Konnodar,” I said.

  “It—what? How?” Tegan asked, touching her Konnodar on the flank with a gentle hand. She was good with animals of all kinds, it seemed, and the Konnodar merely snorted, then looked back at her with a flick of its second membrane. It snuffled her and turned away, the inspection complete.

  “She likes you. Guess we’d better get these weapons operational, since that’s the test,” I said.

  “Correct,” came Poulter’s voice through my comm unit. “Clock is t
icking.”

  “Understood.” I lifted the first weapon with ease. It was light but substantial. The gimbal end didn’t fit under the gun, but the other did, snapping together with a magnetic click. “Okay, so far, so good.”

  Tegan followed suit, and we lifted the guns onto our Konnodar, stepping up in the stirrups while balancing the weapons. We stood in unison and placed the bases over a pre-mounted socket on the new Konnodar saddles; there was a magnet present, but it was a tricky fit due to a small row of opposing teeth on both base and gimbal. After a few tries and some cussing, we both got them attached with a decisive snapping sound. The guns powered up automatically, and I felt a small hum under my palm, which was resting on the weapon’s stock.

  “Target inbound,” Poulter said, and I heard the soft whine of a drone approaching at high speed.

  “You know what to do?” I asked Tegan, who looked quite comfortable at the helm of the long weapon. Her Konnodar shifted with unease, sensing the change in our mood.

  I tapped my comm. “Before I fire, what kind of report will this weapon produce? If it’s too loud, I don’t want to be thrown from a wild lizard scared shitless by the futuristic equivalent of a boomstick.”

  “The hounds are ready to hunt,” Poulter said. “They’ve been exposed to weapon fire, just not by you. I promise, if they bolt, I’ll come get you and buy the booze for a week.”

  “Consider that a deal,” I said. “Tegan, eyes up. We’re skeet shooting.”

  “Skeet? Is that like a dinobird?” she asked.

  “Sort of, but faster. Ready?” I asked, and she nodded once, squinting up into the glare where the drone was approaching.

  The shadow of the drone fell through the trees, and I saw it turn hard once it broke into the open. So it wasn’t a dumb drone—probably under control of someone who wanted to see the swing range of the gimbals and weapons. That was good. We needed to know.

  I spun the barrel left and up, then pulled the double trigger as soon as I had a shot. Tegan’s weapon discharged right after mine, and the drone shredded into black dust with a small cloud of flame before vanishing as if it had never existed.