The Osiris Contingency

by Virginia Soenksen

  Seth beat his fists on the glass, shouting, “Liane, open the door!”

  On the other side, Liane looked up from the control panel. Her eyes were shining, her lips pressed together as she moved toward the glass. She was mouthing something; at first, he thought she was saying ‘no’, but then he realized she was saying, “Go...go...go…” Over and over until it became a desperate plea.

  Seth shook his head, shouting, “Not without you!”

  He bashed on the control panel with the butt of his gun; when that did nothing, he returned to pushing and scrambling at the glass to get it open. He only stopped when she moved closer to him, reaching out a hand to press it against the door. Seth’s frantic movements slowed as he looked up at her, his eyes burning. She leaned closer, her breath fogging the glass as she said, “Please...please go.”

  Seth raised his own hand, holding it against hers with only the glass separating their fingers. “Why?” he said imploringly. “Why, Liane?”

  She tried to smile, but it faltered and fell as she asked, “Do you really not know?”

  Behind her, the door to the room was giving way. Liane shut her eyes; in the flashing lights of the alarms, Seth thought he saw a tear escape from between her lashes. Then she raised her head, her face as controlled as always as she looked past him to Neil and ordered, “Go.”

  Neil stepped forward, pulling on Seth’s arm. Seth threw him off, snapping, “Get off me—Liane, open the goddamn door!”

  Neil grabbed Seth’s arm in one hand and a fistful of his shirt in the other, shouting into his face, “You can’t help her now! We have to get out.”

  Seth wrenched free, pounding his fist once on the glass so hard that a cry of pain escaped him. Liane let her hand drop from the glass, backing away with a bleak, resigned expression.

  Seth blinked hard with burning eyes, willing her to understand as he swore, “I will find you...no matter how long it takes. I swear it.”

  The promise didn’t even seem to register with Liane; she stood there staring at him, hopeless. With one last look at him, she turned to face the buckling door, pulled out the knives from her belt and gripping them loosely. Neil yanked on Seth’s arm,

  begging, “Come on, please, before that thing gets through...”

  Seth allowed himself to be pulled one step, then another and another. He kept glancing back, staring at Liane’s silhouette until Neil pulled him into a run and they were swallowed up by the darkness of the corridor.

  CHAPTER 31

  Liane stayed facing the door as their footsteps faded, unwilling to turn and watch them run. Seth had gotten away, and that was what mattered. Now she had to push away the anguish and focus on something real; for instance, how she would survive the next five minutes.

  A deafening explosion came from

  beyond the door, and it exploded inwards and crashed through the stairwell to leave a tangle of sharp, broken railings. Liane threw herself to one side, dodging the steel and landing on her injured shoulder with her arms up to protect her head. As the sound faded, she looked up to see the Tracker stepping through the ruined doorway, tossing aside his spent gun and his remaining explosive. He was bruised and bleeding yet wearing a smile of triumph as he stood at the top of the stairwell looking down at her.

  “You got your friends out, I see,” he noted.

  Liane stood and moved into a ready stance, her knives gripped in either hand. She tried to hide how much her legs were shaking as she said, “That’s right. It’s just you and me now.”

  The Tracker smiled, madness shining in his eyes. “Not for much longer.”

  He leaped over the stair railing, landing on the floor in front of her. Liane didn’t flinch, standing her ground as he straightened and circled her. She moved with him, her eyes never wavering from his body. The Tracker grinned, unworried. He was at full strength and hungry for the kill, while she could barely stand. His overconfidence was enough to anger her, and when he stepped close enough, she lashed out with her knives, slashing him twice across his chest. The Tracker leaped back, looking past the tattered ruins of his shirt to the deep wounds she’d managed to inflict. His head rose, and he gave her a lazy, disturbing grin before rushing at her.

  Liane fought back as best she could, but he still grabbed her throat and the back of her chest plate. Lifting her off the ground, he threw her hard into the glass door. The glass shook but didn’t shatter as she dropped onto the floor, her head spinning. She leaped to her feet, tightening her grip on her knives. The Tracker had fallen back, circling again and eyeing her. She fought to keep her hands steady as she lunged at him. He dodged the strike, sneering, “This is it? This is what they sent me after?”

  He seized her left wrist as she slashed at him, twisting it until she was forced to drop the knife. Liane threw herself forward, head-butting him in the face. The Tracker staggered back, and she punched his throat, twisting free and darting towards the staircase. Her foot had just touched the first step when something gripped the waistband of her pants, jerking her back and sending her tumbling to the ground behind the Tracker.

  He leaped at her, grasping her hair and slamming her head into the floor. Liane went limp, stars dancing across her field of

  vision as the Tracker leaned over her and whispered, “Pathetic... Why any Handler would fight to recover such a waste is beyond me…”

  Feeling light-headed, Liane smiled despite her pain, “Maybe it’s because of my sunny personality.”

  The Tracker drew back a fraction of an inch, amazed that she wasn’t more afraid; it gave her the opening she needed to kick him up over her head and scramble to her feet. He had already leapt up but was too slow to avoid her knife as she stabbed him in the side. Ripping the knife free, she backed away as the Tracker looked down at the gaping wound, tilting his head in surprise. Blood was dripping down his side as he turned to her, his eyes narrowed and murderous.

  He threw himself at her; they tumbled back, his hand locked around her right hand to hold the knife out of the way as he punched her in the torso over and over. Liane looked beyond him, spotting the jagged metal of the ruined staircase. She threw her weight into him, grappling and trying to throw him backward. He seemed to know what she was trying to do, fighting back and landing blow after blow. Liane tried to hide how much damage he was doing to her, inching him backward until his back was aligned with the sharpened railings.

  With a cry, Liane used the last bit of her strength to grasp hold of the Tracker’s arms and shove him backward. The Tracker went rigid, his arms loosening around her. Liane tore free, stumbling back to find he was impaled, two of the broken rails piercing through the front of his chest. Held upright, unable to move, the Tracker looked at her with wide, disbelieving eyes as blood bubbled up from his lips. He gave a few feeble jerks, then let out a shudder and went limp.

  Liane felt her legs shake, and she nearly fell as she turned

  towards the glass blast door. Still gripping the knife in her right hand, she reached out for the control panels, hoping for the space of a heartbeat she could still join Seth and escape...

  “Step away from the door!”

  Liane froze, looking back over her shoulder. The landing was filled with six armored, masked Agents, each of them aiming rifles at her. She turned back to face them, crouching into a ready stance as they hurried down the stairs and surrounded her. The lead Agent jerked the barrel of his gun at her as he demanded, “You are Agent six-four-three-eight-nine-thousand?”

  Liane felt her despair transmute into rage, and she straightened as she declared, “Not anymore.”

  The lead Agent lowered his weapon, gesturing to the others as he said, “Neutralize the target for a live-capture.”

  All the Agents stowed their guns, pulling out electric prods and snapping them open. The ends sparked and hummed as they came to life, and Liane felt her eyes go wide as they closed in around her. She turned, trying to keep them all in her sight, but one behind her darted forward and rammed the prod into her side
, the ends sizzling against her flesh through her clothing. Liane cried out, unprepared for the knee-shaking pain, and jerked away from the prod only to meet the end of another. The Agents were everywhere, electrocuting her over and over as she turned and slashed the air in a desperate attempt to escape. But there was no way out, and everywhere she turned there was just

  blinding, crippling pain.

  One of the prods jammed into her lower back near her spine; electricity ripped up her back, and without warning her legs gave way, sending her crashing to the ground. The knife skittered out of reach as she fell forward on her stomach, gasping for breath and trying to crawl away even as the Agents shocked her again and again…

  “That’s enough!”

  The Agents stopped at the sound of the thunderous voice, their weapons still humming. Liane looked up through her disheveled hair, fighting not to be sick as she watched Damian step through the ruined doorway at the top of the stairs. He was furious, anger crackling in his eyes, and he barely even glanced at the dead Tracker as he walked down the steps. “Step back, all of you.”

  They did as he commanded. Liane tried to keep her eyes

  focused on her Handler, though the world was blurring at the edges. She couldn’t move or breathe for the pain; she could only lie there, motionless, and watch as he closed in on her.

  Damian knelt in front of Liane, gloved hands resting on his knee as he gazed down at her. For a moment they looked at one another; his eyes were pensive, hers hopeless. Then Damian said in a soft, almost sympathetic voice, “It’s over, Liane. Time to stop fighting.”

  Her mouth tightened, and with her last ounce of strength, she lunged at him, her fist aimed at his face. But his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and using her momentum to yank her into his arms. Her unresponsive legs scraped across the metal ground as she kicked and twisted in a useless attempt to break free. Damian held her to him, face buried in her hair. Liane pushed against his chest as much as she could, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. Very softly, so that no one else would see, Damian let out a sigh of relief and pressed a hard kiss to her temple, whispering against her skin, “Welcome home.”

  One of the Agents stepped forward, holding out a small, silver syringe gun. As he handed it to Damian, Liane closed her eyes in despair, not wanting to see it happen. Damian gently moved her head to the side, and she felt the coldness of the barrel against her skin followed by the painful prick of a needle. A wave of relaxation swept through her body, fogging her thoughts, and then the world went black.

  CHAPTER 32

  Consciousness came in brief flashes. A glimpse of Damian’s face, his dark eyes filled with worry. The slow rumble of a

  vehicle, medics leaning over her and speaking in low voices. Nothing was concrete; nothing seemed real. Liane existed somewhere between sleep and awake, and whenever she neared consciousness there was only fear and feverish pain.

  Some time passed before she awoke, and when her eyes opened, she was nearly blinded by the lights

  shining down on her. Liane moved her head, wincing; she felt chilled, heavy, and slow from sedatives. The smell of disinfectant hung heavy all around her, and she was alone, lying on her back on a narrow gurney and surrounded by white. White walls curved around her, white sheets covered her naked body, and bright white lights illuminated every inch of the room. She tried weakly to move and found that she was restrained beneath the sheets, padded steel bands circling her wrists, arms, legs, waist…

  Twisting her head, she spotted several wheeled trays with

  medical supplies on one side of the gurney, and an empty silver chair on the other. There were two bags of fluid on a metal stand next to her bed, clear liquid dripping down through tubing that disappeared under the sheets as well. She could feel the discomfort of needles in her arms and struggled harder. But she was too tightly restrained to do anything aside from shifting on the table. She collapsed back, breathing hard from even the small movement. It was then she heard footsteps approaching.

  The door in the opposite wall slid open to reveal Damian. He stood on the threshold for a moment looking at her. Rather than looking triumphant, as she imagined he would be, Damian gazed at her with relief and regret. He walked in, and after the door closed behind him, he came over and sat down in the empty chair at her bedside. The scent of his cologne washed over her, achingly familiar, and she had to swallow down the knot that tightened her throat.

  For a moment he looked at her, the edges of his mouth pulled tight. Then he asked in a clipped voice, “Do you have any idea how worried I’ve been about you?”

  Liane felt tears prick at the edges of her eyes and clenched her fists shut, her nails digging into the meat of her palms.

  “Weeks of wondering where you were, what was happening to you out there in the ungoverned sections of this city.” He shook his head as he finished, “Then finding you half-dead in that

  shelter…”

  “As if you care,” she spat out. “You sent a Tracker after me, Damian. He nearly killed me.”

  Damian’s dark eyes lowered to the floor, avoiding her

  accusatory gaze as he said, “The Tracker was only supposed to find you. I didn’t want… I never meant for you to get hurt.”

  Liane gave a sudden shudder from the fever, her teeth chattering and limbs contracting to capture any measure of warmth. Damian stood, going over to a nearby cabinet and pulling out

  several blankets. He draped them over the sheets covering her, tucking them around her until she stopped shaking. The air hung heavy between them; Liane lay looking up at him, eyes half-shut from exhaustion, while Damian gazed down at her. When he reached a hand out to brush over her hair, however, she turned her head away from him. He stood for a moment, his hand outstretched, and then let it fall before returning to the chair at her bedside.

  She was the first to speak again, asking, “Is it going to kill me? The Osiris Contingency.”

  “No; we found you in time,” he answered with a shake of his head, gesturing to the IV bags as he explained, “This one has a concentrated version of the Strain to reverse the effects of the Contingency. The other has vitamins and saline; you were

  dehydrated and deficient in nearly every nutrient. You’ve already been given an injection of antibiotics for your wounds and run through regeneration.”

  “I don’t want any of it,” Liane declared, looking up at the ceiling lights and blinking hard. “I don’t want them to do anything else to me.”

  Damian glanced away, eyes unfocused and his thoughts elsewhere. She wondered what he was thinking about when he said with bitterness, “We don’t get to want, Liane.”

  Her eyes drifted back to him, afraid to ask but unable to stop herself as she demanded, “Did you capture Seth as well?”

  His gaze went hard and sharp as he admitted, “No,

  unfortunately.”

  She nodded, saying to herself, “Good.”

  “He left you, Liane,” Damian said. “When it came down to it, he ran to save himself. That’s how little you mean to him.”

  She shook her head, staring up at the ceiling lights once more. “If that’s what you want to believe, go ahead.”

  “He’s not one of us,” Damian went on, moving closer to her as he said, “He’s a civilian and a non; because of that he’ll never

  understand you.”

  “You’re wrong,” Liane said, her voice hollow. “He understood what I was missing.”

  “You never wanted for anything, Liane; not one thing since your recruitment,” Damian said, dark eyes flashing in anger.

  “That’s right; I had everything. Everything except freedom,”

  Liane went on, her lips curving in a ghost of a smile. “Seth showed me what that could hold for me. Kindness, friendship... love.”

  Damian shook his head as he chided, “Foolish dreams again, Liane; that’s all this has ever been. A futile, wasteful dream.”

  “Maybe,” Liane conceded. “But I’ll never regret knowing
Seth.”

  Damian’s lip curled. “Perhaps not, but he should regret knowing you. No contact with civilians; our first Cardinal Rule, and you chose to break it. The only reason Seth Laski will be shot and buried in a shallow grave is because you were just that

  selfish.”

  With an angry cry, Liane threw herself against the straps holding her down. Damian watched as she struggled, waiting until she gave up, her breathing labored and bare skin gleaming with sweat. He picked up a strip of gauze from a nearby tray, moving to dab at her forehead. She flinched away from him; he paused, then did it anyway, his face impossible to read. Liane watched him for a moment, then said, “Kill me, too, then. I won’t hurt people anymore, and you can’t make me.”

  Damian tilted his head in faint confusion. “I’ve never wanted you dead, Liane. I wanted you back. I wanted us back to how we were before.”

  Liane shook her head, saying in a voice that trembled, “Nothing will ever be like it was.”

  His face softened, and he said gently. “It will after the mind-wipe is done.”

  The door behind Damian opened again, revealing two masked medics in white surgical scrubs. They wheeled a heavy, stainless-steel cart into the room; on it, ready to be used, there lay several thin, sharp silver instruments.

  Liane felt a cold rush of fear as she looked at them, and her voice came out higher than before as she asked Damian, “Will it hurt?”

  Damian didn’t answer at first, instead reaching out a hand to take hold of hers. She considered pulling away, to show him she didn’t need him. But she knew that this was the only comfort she would be allowed, and she was afraid. So, she gripped Damian’s hand as he nodded and answered, “Yes. It will hurt. But you won’t remember it; not the pain, not the mods, not the Strain… It will all be wiped away.”

  Her breathing became fast and shallow as the medics moved forward, folding down the sheets to expose her shoulders. They began to stick electrodes to her skin, crisscrossing her upper chest and temples with wires. When they attached a heart-rate monitor to her wrist, the beats came quickly, accelerated by fear that only increased when straps were tightened across her forehead and chin to hold her head in place.