Berserker (Messenger Book 2) Read online

  Berserker

  by James Walker

  Copyright © 2015 James Walker

  Cover art by James Walker

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  Dedicated to all people of good will

  who choose peace and understanding

  over strife and animosity.

  books by James Walker

  Messenger

  Berserker

  Table of Contents

  First Escalation

  I'm adrift under the night sky

  Second Escalation

  Look to the stars to find my way

  Third Escalation

  but I can't see

  Fourth Escalation

  The shapes... constellations

  Fifth Escalation

  All I can see is the darkness

  Sixth Escalation

  between eternity

  Seventh Escalation

  The dim glimmer... it glows and grows

  Eighth Escalation

  The faint glimmer... it glows and grows

  Ninth Escalation

  'til it becomes a lightning bolt

  Tenth Escalation

  connecting the sky and the earth

  Eleventh Escalation

  The faint shimmer... it folds and waves

  Twelfth Escalation

  The gleaming blaze... it writhes and burns

  Thirteenth Escalation

  like a star that is dying

  Fourteenth Escalation

  in the throes of a supernova

  Fifteenth Escalation

  A devil walking by my side

  Sixteenth Escalation

  whispers in my ear to tell me lies

  Seventeenth Escalation

  but I can't see

  Eighteenth Escalation

  The shapes of deceptions

  Nineteenth Escalation

  All I can see is the darkness

  Twentieth Escalation

  between you and me

  Twenty-first Escalation

  My gleaming eyes... they flow with tears

  Twenty-second Escalation

  for lives I've rent, hearts I've broken

  Twenty-third Escalation

  and the words that I've left unsaid

  Twenty-fourth Escalation

  Darkening wings from white to black

  Twenty-fifth Escalation

  Unfurling wings coarsened

  Twenty-sixth Escalation

  and blackened from the fire

  Twenty-seventh Escalation

  from the fire burning in my soul

  Twenty-eighth Escalation

  My own angel has forsaken me

  Twenty-ninth Escalation

  I reach out to take its hand

  Thirtieth Escalation

  Without a word it turns

  Thirty-first Escalation

  away from me

  Thirty-second Escalation

  I just wanted to stay in my

  Thirty-third Escalation

  paradise; I can no longer return

  Thirty-fourth Escalation

  This crying voice is to

  Final Escalation

  lament my fading light

  Deescalation

  while I still can

  First Escalation

  I'm adrift under the night sky

  Janice Runner found herself standing in the middle of a dusty, war-torn street, surrounded by rebel troops destroying buildings and mowing down innocent citizens who were fleeing in terror before their rampage. The staccato of rotor blades signaled the appearance of a helicopter overhead, gleaming in the light of the distant sun, and a team of Peace and Security Agency troopers descended from the chopper onto the street. As they began pushing the rebel forces back with automatic rifle fire, a pair of P.S.A. exosuits—four-meter humanoid powered armor units—appeared at the end of the street and provided covering fire with a fusillade of missiles.

  Once the rebels had been routed, one of the P.S.A. troopers pulled off her helmet and came forward to address Janice. She was a slender young woman with emerald eyes, flowing blonde hair, and an angelic countenance to soften the most blackened heart. She looked better suited to model her curiously form-fitting uniform for a fashion publication than wearing it into combat.

  Janice recognized the image of herself from a few years ago. The virtual model was touched up to appear even more beautiful than the real thing, but otherwise it was indistinguishable from her current self. After all the virtual concerts and promotional holos she had produced, she should have been accustomed to facing her doppelgänger like this, but somehow she could never quite get over the surreality of the experience.

  The virtual Janice looked straight into the real Janice's eyes and spoke with earnest intensity. “With the rise of the Sarisan Liberty Coalition, peace in the outer colonies is being threatened by violent extremists. Although the threat is being contained by the valiant actions of the Peace and Security Agency, these terrorists have succeeded in inflicting damage on vital Union infrastructure and taking the lives of many innocent citizens.

  “Sadly, due to lies and misinformation spread by the rebels, making wild and unsupported claims of nonexistent Theran atrocities, some formerly peaceful colonists have chosen to join the rebellion in their spree of violence and crime. Among the terrorists perpetrating this barbarity”—here the virtual Janice paused to gesture behind her, where captured rebels were being cuffed and hauled off by the P.S.A. troops—“could be your former friends and neighbors who have been deceived by SLIC propaganda into joining the insurrection.”

  She turned back to face the real Janice and continued, “Remember, SLIC operates by hiding in plain sight and trying to recruit normal, peace-loving people like you and me to fill their dwindling ranks. If you are approached by anyone expressing anti-Union sentiments, or if you see people acting suspiciously, please contact your local P.S.A. department and report the incident immediately. It's to help protect your safety, and the safety of everyone around you.”

  The scene transitioned to footage of kindly counselors and doctors working with repentant criminals, administering treatments to make them fit for societal reintegration. Over these images, the virtual Janice narrated, “Those who have fallen into violence and insurgency during this difficult time need to understand that the Theran Union is not their enemy. Despite the crimes they have committed against the rightful government and their fellow colonists, forgiveness and reintegration into peaceful society are freely extended to them.”

  The virtual Janice reappeared, clasping her hands together, her pleading eyes staring straight through the real Janice. “Let us put the bloody history wrought by the insurgents behind us. Together, let us move forward into a peaceful and prosperous future, guided by the Theran Union's firm and righteous hand. We're all counting on you.”

  The shining logo of the Theran Union appeared over the scene, accompanied by an orchestral fanfare. Then the picture dissolved into a sea of pixels and was replaced by the countenance of an effervescent newscaster with an enormous hairdo, seated at a desk with a glittering city skyline visible through the glass behind her. She cocked an eyebrow as the holo-vid ended and turned to face the members of her virtual audience.

  “That was just one of many pro-Theran propaganda holos that were uncovered in a Union archive recently seized by Concord authorities,” the newscaster said. “Some of these holos, like the one you just saw, feature Janice Runner. Rumors have been floating around for a while, but now it seems official that the popular entertainer and celebrity did, in fact, play a prominent role in the production of Union agitprop. No doubt this comes as a shock to many of her most ardent fans
and defenders, but the evidence is incontrovertible. For further analysis on this scandalous revelation, we've brought in celebrity expert and entertainment critic Alan Sater.”

  The newscaster turned to her guest, an aging man with fashionable clothes and a haughty air. “Tell me Alan,” she said, “what impact do you think this discovery will have on Ms. Runner's career?”

  “It certainly raises a lot of questions, doesn't it?” the commentator replied. “Janice Runner is among the biggest rising stars of the post-Insurrection entertainment scene. It's ironic, to say the least, that one of the figures who has done so much to bring hope and joy back into people's lives after decades of oppression under the despotic Union was, in fact, among its most vocal supporters when the Union was still in power.”

  “Ms. Runner has expressed a great deal of support for the Concord now that society has begun to restabilize,” the newscaster said. “Do you think these holos raise doubts about her sincerity?”

  “How could they not?” Alan replied. “Janice Runner has been very vocal in condemning the atrocities committed by the Theran government, and yet here we see that she helped to prop up the very regime she now denounces. It's hard to avoid concluding that beneath that sweet angel face and fluttering eyelashes beats the heart of a cynical opportunist, don't you think?”

  “So you think it's a case of using—”

  “Channel off,” Janice snapped.

  The news broadcast vanished, replaced by Janice's custom main menu selection: a peaceful field bordered by forest on all sides, with a waterfall tumbling behind her into a bubbling creek. The violet hues and twinkling stars of a twilight sky glowed overhead, while portals to various software applications floated in the air around her.

  “They lied to me too, OK?” Janice said into the empty scenery. “They tricked everyone, including me. I only said that all that stuff because I believed it. How dare you stand there and condemn me when you bowed down to the Union just like everyone else, you hypocrites!”

  Her brief rant over, Janice stood motionless in the middle of the clearing, breathing hard. This was a disaster. Theran born and bred, she had demonstrated a talent for being an entertainer—singing, acting, modeling. She knew that her comfortable existence on Thera was made possible by resources imported from the space colonies, and thought often of how hard the colonists' lives must have been in this harsh and lonely frontier. With those thoughts, she had made the difficult decision to migrate to Chalice and use her talents to bring some joy into the people's lives, even though it had meant leaving behind everything she had ever known to embrace a new life in a frightening and alien land.

  Shortly after her arrival, the Colonial Administration had noticed her talents and proposed that she use them to help create public relations material for the peace and stability of the colonies. What reason did she have to say no? She had known almost nothing of the Union's repressive policies that kept the colonists crushed under its iron boots. Their manipulation of the media had seen to that: an absolute information control that she had unwittingly been made a pawn of.

  Once the rebels repulsed their Union occupiers and the newly established Concord released information showing the true extent of the Union's abuses, Janice had been horrified at the atrocities committed by the government she had advocated for. As penance, she had doubled down on her efforts to produce quality entertainment that brought some enjoyment into the colonists' dreary lives. And what thanks did she get for leaving the comfort of her home world to come out here and try to make Chalice a better place to live? To be publicly crucified for the mistakes of a misguided past.

  She shook her head, trying to banish her growing sense of dread. This was nothing to get worked up about. Her supporters would not abandon her because of the sleazy reports of some tabloid journalists. She could prove it right now.

  After a moment's hesitation, she entered the portal that launched her network browser and tried to connect to her own personal website. Her breath caught in her throat when her site failed to load, replaced by an endless black space populated only by a terse message from the Internal Security Commission regarding an investigation into her possible pro-Union sympathies. She backed out, accessed the universal search engine, and found that it had a copy of her site cached from just before ISEC had disabled it. She hesitated again, then walked through the portal.

  She emerged onto a concert stage perched atop a castle floating above an endless waterfall. Overhead, a sea of multicolored planets hovered within a starry sky. A virtual Janice in a flowing white gown danced on the stage, singing one of her most popular songs to a cheering crowd, while doors around the stage provided access to various sections of the site.

  Fearful of what she might find, but driven by a burning desire to know, Janice headed for the user interaction door. She opened it and stepped inside, only to be surrounded by screaming fans, their features and identities concealed behind stylized avatars. Her stomach lurched as their comments washed over her in rapid succession, assaulting her ears from every direction.

  “You're such a faker. You pretend you're a good Concord citizen, but you were a stooge for the Union's propaganda machine. You lied to everybody!”

  “What the fuck is this shit? You're just a Union mouthpiece and you made everyone believe you're a true patriot. Get out, you Theran whore.”

  “And to think I thought I was in love with you. So disappointing.”

  “She lied to her fans about being a Union sympathizer? Wow, what a bitch.”

  “I always thought you were a talentless hack and now I know why. Go back to the scum pond you crawled out of. Your filthy Theran parentage is showing.”

  Even viler comments were mixed with these, making graphic suggestions about sexual favors for the Union authorities. Tears stung Janice's eyes and her hands shook with fury.

  “Visor off,” she screamed.

  The image went black, then the visor turned transparent, returning Janice to reality. She was lying on a couch in her apartment, staring at the featureless white ceiling. She shot to her feet, ripped off her virtual dive visor, and threw it against the wall.

  “Screw you too,” she exclaimed. “I thought my fans actually cared about me. I guess I was just a big idiot. If this is what you're really like then to hell with all of you!”

  She dropped back onto the sofa and tried to calm her trembling breaths. Normally, a handful of derogatory remarks would not have bothered her—she had long since grown used to occasional detractors—but to see so many comments of such venom when she most needed support came as a bitter blow. The life that she had worked so hard to build was crumbling into dust, all because the Concord authorities unearthed a stupid video archive.

  Outside the windows of her luxurious apartment, twilight gave way to night, the dusty ocher horizon and blue firmament fading to blackness illuminated by an ocean of city lights. Janice wiped away her tears, got shakily to her feet, and headed for the kitchen. She got out a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass, trying to calm her nerves with a drink. Then she went to bed and, after an hour of fitful tossing and worrying, finally managed to fall asleep.

  *

  Janice was awakened the next morning by the electronic trill of the suite's servant computer. Morning on Chalice was relative—the moon's days were so long that they were broken up into three sleeping cycles, spaced out so that there were two daylight waking intervals to each nighttime waking interval. This was the nighttime waking part of the cycle, so it was still dark outside.

  “Ms. Runner,” the computer reported, “you have visitors.”

  Janice pulled a strand of hair out of her face and asked, “Who is it?”

  In response, a feed from the door camera appeared over her nightstand. She sat bolt upright and stared in fear at the sight of several police in Internal Security Commission uniforms standing outside her door.

  “Excuse me,” the lead officer said, “are you awake, Ms. Runner?”

  Janice pressed a button on he
r nightstand to respond. “Um, y—yes. Is something the matter, officer?”

  “We'd like to speak with you for a minute. May we come in?”

  Janice hesitated, then stammered, “Give me a second, please.”

  She turned off the video feed, then got out of bed, pulled on her silken dressing gown, and ran to the door. She opened it breathlessly and invited the agents inside.

  “What is it, officer?” she asked, her voice tight. “I hope there's nothing wrong.”

  The agents entered the suite and removed their hats. The fact that they were being polite gave Janice hope. They probably wouldn't bother with niceties if they meant to treat her like a criminal.

  “Nothing is wrong exactly,” the officer in charge said. Janice noticed his eyes wandering up and down. “You know, I'm quite the fan of yours, Ms. Runner. I've followed you since before you hit it big. I've always admired your... work.”

  Janice drew her gown more tightly across her collar. “Thank you.”

  “That's why it's a shame,” he continued. “A shame that story came out about your stint with the Union P.R. bureau, I mean. Janice Runner, rising star of Chalice's entertainment industry, a former mouthpiece for the Union's agitprop department. I never would have believed it.”

  Although the agents made no threatening gestures, Janice was suddenly very aware of their imposing physiques and the guns and stun rods on their belts. She shrank back and looked up at them through frightened eyes.

  “That's all in the past,” she said. “I was deceived by their total control over the media, just like everyone else. I'm a loyal citizen of the Concord now.”

  “I don't doubt it,” the officer replied. “But you realize that we can't just take your word for it. That news report raises some questions that need answering.”

  “I don't understand,” Janice objected. “It's not like my work for the Union was a big secret. There are still plenty of people who remember seeing me in their P.R. holos from those days. It's never been a problem before.”