The Osiris Contingency

by Virginia Soenksen

  Liane stood staring at the targets, rooted to the spot in

  confusion. She went to the spindly table, slamming down the practice gun in frustration without even bothering to unload the remaining bullets. Barely aware of what she was doing, she returned to the training arena. The mods had all dispersed, so she went to a humanoid strike dummy and turned on the sensors. The base glowed white as she practiced her punches and kicks. With each strike, an automated, cool female voice announced the damage she had done.

  Punch to the head. “Nose broken, head trauma…”

  Kick to the side. “Deep tissue bruise. Minimal damage…”

  Bewildered by how little harm she was doing, Liane threw all her weight into each strike, fighting harder and harder as the

  sensor said, “Bruising to the chest. Minimal damage...Bruised ribs. Minimal damage...minimal damage...minimal…”

  With a cry of frustrated rage, Liane shoved the dummy over. It fell to the floor with a deafening crash and a low whir of broken machinery as she collapsed beside it, her head swimming and her breathing shallow and rapid. Liane sat there, hands splayed against the concrete floor as she fought to lower her heart rate. It was no use; whatever was happening to her was slowing her down, make her weaker. More human, she thought bitterly, her shoulders heaving. It’s not fair...none of this is fair…

  “You’re weakening, aren’t you?”

  Liane looked up too fast, dizziness sweeping through her as she spotted Paz leaning against the doorframe. The mod was watching her, commenting, “Owen told me you weren’t well.”

  “I’m fine,” Liane snarled, forcing herself to her feet.

  Paz straightened, and she cast a critical look over Liane with her dark, inscrutable eyes. “I don’t think you are. I saw your

  targets in the shooting range; your shots were all over the place. You barely managed to cause non-level damage on that strike dummy. You’ve lost muscle mass... Something’s wrong with you.”

  “It’s none of your business,” Liane snapped.

  Paz gave her a withering look. “It is if you’re sick enough to compromise this mission. If you can’t do what’s being asked of you, then you need to speak up and tell Owen.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with me,” Liane shot back, walking past her. “Now leave me alone.”

  She marched up to the main floor of the bunker, going to the canteen and loading up a tray with every type of food she could get her hands on. Slamming the tray down on an empty table, she sat and began to cram forkfuls into her mouth. Willing for it to stay down; willing herself to be healthy again…

  “You ok?” Seth asked, sliding into the seat next to her.

  Neil sat down opposite them, flashing a bright smile at her, “Be careful, Seth. Your ray of sunshine looks more murderous than usual right now.”

  “Sod off, Neil,” Liane said around a mouthful.

  The mod just laughed while Seth nudged her gently with his shoulder and said, “Seriously... Are you alright?”

  “Just thinking about the mission; we need it to be a success,” Liane said between bites, forcing herself to swallow it down

  despite her stomach rolling in protest.

  “And kill as few civilians as possible,” Seth muttered under his breath.

  Neil nodded, a dark look passing over his face. “You’re not the only one who feels that way. Right, Liane? Liane?”

  She had dropped her fork, sitting up and taking deep breaths as she fought against a swell of nausea. As they all stared in

  concern, she leaped up, careening across the canteen to the

  nearest rubbish bin and vomiting into it. She heaved several times, tears blurring her vision as everything was forced from her. She could hear soft, worried noises from around her as she stood bent over and shaking from the effort.

  Seth laid a hand on her back, murmuring, “Hey...you need the medic bay?”

  Liane wrenched away from him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Seth looked hurt, and as she turned away from him, she realized that almost every mod in the canteen was

  staring at her, whispering to those around them. A lump rose in her throat, and she quickly walked from the room, needing to

  escape from their questioning eyes.

  She walked through the corridors in a daze, ending up in the tiny room she shared with Seth. Closing the door behind her, she took a moment to look around as she considered her options. Then she pulled out one of the empty duffel bags, shoving clothes and supplies into it. She was so absorbed in her own thoughts she barely heard the creak of steel hinges behind her, and jumped when a voice demanded, “What the hell are you doing?”

  Seth was standing just inside the door, his hand still on the knob as he looked at her with undisguised outrage. Liane froze, her hand still clenched around a handful of shirts as her face flushed in discomfort. “I was just putting some of our things away—”

  “Bullshit,” he said angrily, closing the door. “You’re thinking about leaving.”

  She ducked her head. “No, I’m not. I’m packing your things so you can leave.”

  “Why? Tell me what’s going on with you, Liane.”

  “I want you to get to away from here.” She raised her eyes to him, desperate to make him understand. “I’m getting worse, Seth. I doubled my dose of the Strain and I’m still not better.”

  “You’ve got to give it time,” he said, gesturing furiously. “It’s only been a couple of days, and—”

  “And it hasn’t lessened my symptoms at all,” she interjected. “I can’t fight, I can’t eat… What am I going to lose next?”

  Seth struggled to answer for a moment, then said, “Look, I don’t know what’s happening any more than you do. Maybe you need more of the Strain. Since Owen is willing to help us get it from the Agency, doesn’t that make it smarter to stay?”

  She looked away from him, trying to keep her voice flat and

  detached as she explained, “You heard his plan today; it’s a blitz attack. Get in, strike, get out. There’s not going to be enough time for us to reach the medic bay, find the Strain, and get out before the building blows up.”

  “He promised he would help us,” Seth protested.

  “It’s nothing but false hope, Seth,” she said, shaking her head. “The Agency used to do that to targets all the time, promising mercy to ensure their cooperation.”

  Seth’s lips parted in shock, and it took a moment before he managed to ask, “You think Owen is playing us?”

  “I think he wants to win this fight, regardless of the cost.”

  “So then why are you trying to get rid of me?” he demanded. “Why aren’t you talking to me so we can figure this out together?”

  “Because I don’t want you to have to watch me die!” she burst out, whirling to face him. Her cheeks flushed as she shouted, “That’s what’s going to happen, Seth—I’m going to die. Whatever this is, it’s killing me.”

  “You can’t possibly know if that’s true—”

  “And you don’t know that it’s not,” she interrupted.

  Seth held out a hand, fighting to keep his voice level as he

  reasoned, “You’re sick and you’re scared, Liane; I know you are. But you can’t crawl away and give up. You have to keep fighting.”

  “I can’t,” she said helplessly. “I don’t know how to fight without the Strain, and it’s not fair.” She shook her head, blinking hard, and before she could stop herself, she burst out, “It’s not fair! I got out, I got away! I was supposed to be free of them! But I never was, and I never will be, and it’s not fair!”

  Her face contorted, her eyes closing as she brought her hands up to cover them. Seth crossed to her in a few steps, his arms coming up around her and pulling her into a tight embrace. She jerked back, trying to pull free while struggling not to burst into tears. But he didn’t let go, saying softly, “I know it’s not. But you still can’t ask me to leave you.”

  “Why?” she demanded, her shou
lders shaking. “Why can’t you be smart for once and get out while you can?”

  She felt his hand come up to cradle the back of her head, thumb smoothing along her cheekbone as he asked, “Do you

  really not know?”

  Liane remained silent, then let out a quaking breath, her face pressed hard into his shoulder. She felt several tears trickle hotly through her eyelashes and scrubbed them away with a swipe of her hand, hating herself for being so weak. Seth’s arms loosened, but he didn’t step away. Instead, he let his head fall forward, lips brushing against the back of her neck as he murmured, “It’s okay to be scared. Just don’t push me away.”

  Without lifting her head, she choked out, “I have ten vials of the Strain left, Seth. Ten; at the Agency I used to get weekly

  injections. What are we going to do when my supply runs out and Owen levels the Agency and the rest of the Strain with it?”

  “We’ll think of something,” he said firmly.

  Liane’s voice broke as she said, “Promise me something. If I get to the point where I can’t defend myself against the Agency,

  promise you’ll shoot me before they get to me.” Seth drew back, horrified, and she went on before he could speak, “Please. I’d

  rather be dead than mind-wiped.”

  “No,” he said, his voice resolute. “Because it’s not going to come to that. I don’t care how bad things get; there’s always hope, Liane.”

  She felt her lower lip tremble, but she didn’t have the heart to tell him how wrong he was. He managed an attempt at his usual crooked smile, brushing back her hair as he said, “Partners, right? We’re a team in this. We’ll figure something out.”

  Liane nodded, though the gesture felt hollow and meaningless. Seth seemed to know it, suggesting, “Look, why don’t you lie down and rest for a while? I know you haven’t been sleeping.”

  She let out a sigh; exhaustion was pulling at her, though she doubted sleep would help her feel better. But perhaps for lack of a better option, she lay down, asking wearily, “What will you be

  doing?”

  “Finding us some better options,” Seth said firmly, turning out the light and closing the door behind him as he left. For a moment, Liane considered going after him, but then her limbs began to feel heavy and she slipped into a dreamless sleep still

  wondering what he had in mind.

  CHAPTER 25

  The interrogation Supporter murmured, “An unfortunate setback, to be sure.”

  Damian said nothing, his eyes fixed on the scene beyond the observation glass. The Black Sun mod, Alec, lay slumped within the chair, his open eyes glassy and unseeing. Around him, interrogators were working to remove the shock pads that had been used during their futile attempts to save his life.

  “A weak heart, perhaps,” the Supporter went on. “He was unusually resistant to the truth serum; a maximum dose was more than what he could take, it seems.”

  “And did he divulge the location of the hideout before he died?” Damian asked.

  The Supporter brought up a tablet, scrolling through the screen as he read, “An underground bunker, abandoned after the war and within the city limits. There are only so many of those. I’ve already sent the interrogation report to the new Chief Handler, and Agents have been dispatched to search the first of the locations.”

  Damian let out a breath of relief, nodding to himself. “Good. How long until they’re all searched?”

  “A week, at most.”

  I can wait a week; a week is nothing, Damian thought as he walked through the dark, cavernous lobby of the Agency building. That bunker will be found and raided in a matter of days, and then there will be no place for Black Sun or Liane to hide.

  It was late, well after midnight, but his work had kept him there long after everyone else had left. Only his two guards, drawn from the top five percent of active Agents, remained, keeping pace him as he made his way out into the cool night air. His chauffeured car was waiting for them, and Damian settled into the back seat with a grateful sigh, loosening his tie as he leaned back against the headrest. He could feel weariness clouding his thoughts and wanted nothing more than to return to his flat, shower, and perhaps enjoy a drink and a few hours of peace before the calls and demands would inevitably begin again.

  Even if the appointment wasn’t official yet, a Director’s work was never done.

  Success was all about utilizing resources, he reasoned as the car pulled away from the curb into the empty, rain-dampened streets. Running the Agency alone was more than impractical; it was dangerous. To have no one to trust, no second-in-command to watch his back, was to be expendable. Little wonder the

  previous Director had broken. Things would be different for Damian because once Liane was recaptured it would be—

  A deafening explosion split the air, and then the car was

  careening out of control. Damian lurched against the seat belt, grabbing for his gun only to have it go flying across the car as the vehicle swerved again. Gritting his teeth, he used his arms to brace against the sides as the car veered sharply to the right and crashed into the side of a building. Damian gave his head a shake with a grimace of pain, unbuckling his seat belt as he glanced up to see how much trouble they were in.

  The car was partially wedged into an alley, the hood crumpled and smoking. The left side of the car, the one parallel to the main street, was too damaged to offer an escape. The only way out was to the right, down the darkened alleyway. The chauffeur was slumped over in the front seat, either dead or unconscious, but the two Agents were unbuckling their seatbelts and moving at a crouch to the right doors. One of them glanced back at Damian, ordering, “Stay in here, sir!”

  Guns drawn, the Agent pushed open the door and stepped out, followed by his comrade. Their footsteps echoed through the alley outside, and Damian watched through the tinted windows as they pointed their weapons down the alley and then up, searching for enemies.

  Two shots rang out, and the Agents both fell to the ground. Damian wasted no time, moving at a crouch to the front of the car to search for his own weapon. Then a ringing voice from the alley ordered, “Come out of the car. If we see a weapon, we shoot.”

  Damian paused, turning to look through the open car door. The alley was dark, and empty save for the two dead Agents. His eyes narrowed; knowing the car was bulletproof, he moved to close the door, his hand already reaching for his phone to

  summon backup…

  Then, movement came from the alley, and the pale face of Seth Laski emerged from the shadow of a nearby doorway and moved out into the center of the narrow pathway. Damian inhaled sharply, frozen in disbelief for a moment. But it was real—the officer who had corrupted his Agent, who he had dreamed of

  killing for weeks, was less than twenty meters away. His eyes darted past Seth to the alley, but the darkness hid everything beyond the officer.

  The man was bait, obviously. But knowing that didn’t make it any less tempting.

  Calm and impassive, Damian stood up out of the car. The air outside was cold enough that his breath hung in clouds of

  vapor, and his shoes crunched over icy puddles as he walked away from the wreckage. He headed towards Seth without a trace of fear, imagining how satisfying it would be to wrap his hands around the officer’s neck and squeeze…

  But before he could get close enough, Seth brought his gun up, gripping the weapon in both hands as he took aim at Damian’s head and ordered, “Stop right where you are.”

  Damian came to a halt, his thoughts murderous even as he said amiably, “There’s no need for weapons, officer. Or may I call you Seth? I think, considering our history and mutual

  acquaintance, that we should be on a first-name basis by now.”

  Seth said nothing, his face grim as he ordered, “Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  Out of curiosity, Damian asked, “How did you find me?”

  “The mods in this city have gotten good at hunting down Agents,” Seth
answered, his aim unwavering. “Luckily, they like me almost as much as they hate your lot.”

  Damian’s dark eyes drifted to the weapon, and he commented lightly, “I hope you’re a good shot. You’ll need to bring me down with the first bullet to stop me from killing you.”

  “I figured that,” Seth said, raising his left arm in a signaling gesture. “Which is why I didn’t come alone.”

  A small cluster of laser sights settled on Damian’s chest as the mod snipers along the roof took aim. He looked down at the red glow and smiled, inclining his head towards Seth as he said, “You’re not as stupid as I assumed you to be, it seems.”

  “Yeah, well, you wouldn’t be the first to be fooled by my rugged good looks,” Seth said, lowering his gun but keeping his finger on the trigger.

  Damian tilted his head, glancing beyond Seth as he asked,

  “Liane isn’t here?”

  “No. She doesn’t know about this.”

  “Ah, I see,” Damian smiled. “You’ve come to turn her in and

  negotiate your reward.”

  “What? No,” Seth shook his head, saying with disgust, “God, you people… You think everyone in the world is as immoral as you are.”

  “Is it immoral to want to put things right?” Damian asked,

  raising his eyebrows. “Liane is an Agent. That’s the only life she knows, the only thing for which she’s suited. Be smart. Turn her over and you get to walk away from all this. As soon as I have what I want, you’re free. You can go far away, live out your

  pathetic life and die of old age for all I care.”

  “Whether she goes back to the Agency or not is up to her,” Seth said, eyes narrowed. “Which doesn’t seem likely at the moment.”