Berserker (Messenger Book 2) Page 12

  He turned back to Pierson. “You have a new mission, Captain. Recover the Unknown. This discovery could greatly accelerate the progress of Project Ascension.”

  Pierson saluted. “As you command.”

  Pierson turned to leave, but as he started for the exit, a mental wave crashed over him. The force of the will behind the wave was so great that it drove him to his knees and caused his head to throb with pain, like his brain was being squeezed in a vice. He knew that such an overwhelming surge of mental power could only come from the Cage.

  “The light still burns,” a tinny voice emanated through speakers attached to the grotesque container. “The light still burns. The light still burns. Darkness. Darkness. Smothering darkness. Smother the light that threatens to burn away the Ascension.” Then, it added in a breathy hiss, “Berserker.”

  With a burst of static and a swell of crushing will that nearly made Pierson black out, the entity within the Cage thundered, “FIND IT.”

  All at once, the invading will subsided. Pierson staggered back to his feet and glanced over his shoulder. The hunched forms of Regina and Wizard, with their faces cradled in their hands, suggested that they had not been spared the Cage's outpouring of mental power. Pierson turned away and, his head still reeling, departed from the chamber.

  *

  The location of the Temple, the facility that housed the Cage, was to be kept a secret from all but the Regents and their personal guard. In accordance with this protocol, after Pierson concluded his audience, he was sedated and transported back to the Garden, the secret complex that served as the headquarters of the Harvesters.

  Pierson woke up in the sterile infirmary, with a doctor and his second in command watching over him. His second, Lieutenant Nhean Im, was an extremely fit young man with an expression constantly furrowed in various states of anger. Someone with so much barely suppressed fury would not have been Pierson's first choice in an executive officer, but he had not been given much choice in the matter.

  “I see you've awakened, Captain,” Nhean said in his usual clipped manner. “How was the audience with the Regents?”

  Pierson sat up slowly, his head swimming from the aftereffects of the sedatives. “We've been given a new assignment.”

  Nhean looked expectantly at his superior.

  “Our analysis of the information we stole from P.S.A. Data Center B has revealed a promising candidate for Project Ascension. An unknown type.” Pierson took out his pocket computer and pulled up the relevant data. “The target's current whereabouts are unknown, but I know where they're heading. Their destination lies on the western coast of Artair County. Since it's so far away, we'll need to coordinate with the local shrine for resupply and support. We'll take First Knight Squadron and set up an ambush at the destination. We must secure the target intact at all costs.”

  “I'll tell the others to prepare for a sortie.” Nhean saluted and walked briskly out of the room.

  Pierson got up slowly, then took his uniform from the doctor and changed out of his medical gown back into his captain's robes. He was curious to see what kinds of powers the Unknown would manifest. Even more thrilling, the Cage had made it clear that this was a vital component in accelerating Project Ascension.

  This would be an interesting mission.

  Ninth Escalation

  'til it becomes a lightning bolt

  Premier Aykut Demir was standing at the head of the conference table deep within his underground bunker. The brutalist styled architecture matched the severity of Demir's own disposition, with pale lights casting a sickly illumination over surfaces of bare concrete. On the wall behind him hung the flags of the Concord, while a holographic display of various theaters of war shimmered over the conference table.

  Every theater displayed the same situation: vital strategic objectives controlled by the Spacy invaders, entire Concord armies annihilated, poorly coordinated guerrilla forces scattered everywhere. Vast swaths of terrain glowed with warning markers that indicated areas within range of the Spacy fleet's orbital bombardments. Demir's most trusted generals stood around the table, alternately studying the holograms and casting wary glances at each other, not daring to meet their leader's eyes.

  “It seems that none of my generals has the courage to speak the truth of the situation,” Demir spat. “Very well, then allow me to do it. Here are the facts. The bulk of our fleet is destroyed. We have lost most strategic objectives. About half of our standing forces have been eliminated by orbital bombardment, and there is mass desertion among the survivors. In short, within a single cycle, we have lost all capability to meet the invaders in open combat.”

  Demir's frank appraisal of their situation caused many of his generals to blanch in fear. One of them, General Worner, cleared his throat and mustered the courage to address his superior.

  “Your Excellency,” he said, “the situation is not without hope. We still have the elite guard, and massive guerrilla forces and saboteurs ready to harass the Union occupiers without end.”

  Demir slammed his hand on the table, causing the holograms to flicker. “That's not good enough. That puts us back at the very beginning, back to the early days of SLIC, when our very existence was precarious. The only reason we were victorious was a fluke of luck when an internal Spacy squabble severely reduced their forces in this region. Do you think such a miracle will repeat itself for us again? Do you?”

  General Worner stammered as he struggled to find an adequate reply.

  “No,” Demir answered for him, “it will not. Thera has scored a decisive victory. Already the cowardly people are flocking to welcome them with open arms. It would take decades of scattered resistance to push them off this world again. What good is that to us? We will all be dead by then. I did not spend so many years of my life fighting to see our great empire crumble to pieces so soon after we have taken power!”

  The ensuing silence lingered for an uncomfortably long time until finally another general, Antunes, ventured, “It is their fleet that makes the invaders invincible. Their ground forces are well trained and equipped, but numerically they are at a disadvantage. If we could remove the threat of bombardment, we could overwhelm the occupiers with sheer numbers. We only need to get one of our anti-orbital batteries operational—”

  “That is nothing but a child's dream,” Demir scoffed. “We have no way of launching a barrage strong enough to overcome their defensive systems. Their fleet is untouchable, and they know it.”

  Worner asked, “Then what do we do, Your Excellency?”

  Slowly, Demir began to regain his composure as a plan formed in his mind. He walked away from the table, wagging one finger at the air, then turned and walked back, smiling.

  “The facility we repurposed to Xenowave research,” he said. “As I recall, it is still under our control?”

  “Yes, Your Excellency,” Antunes answered. “The invaders have yet to attack it. They might not be aware it exists.”

  “And the Messenger specimens? They are still being kept in cold storage there?”

  “Yes.”

  Demir chuckled. “Then we are saved.”

  The generals exchanged confused looks. Worner turned to Demir and asked, “You have a plan, Your Excellency?”

  “You do not see it? That is why I am the premier, and not you.” Demir placed his hands on the edge of the table and leaned forward. “The answer is a mass surrender. We acknowledge our defeat, and have our remaining regulars throw themselves on the mercy of the occupiers.”

  Worner frowned. “Your Excellency, I don't understand—”

  “It is a ruse, of course,” Demir said. “Only a fraction of our remaining forces will actually give themselves up. And seeded among the surrendering units will be the Messenger specimens, fresh out of cold sleep.”

  Looks of horror punctuated the generals' faces. Demir savored their astonishment. Indeed, no one but himself could have conceived of such a cunning plan.

  “But Your Excellency,” Antunes stamme
red, “once it starts, we have no way to control an outbreak of Messenger syndrome. The invading forces will be routed, but when the outbreak spreads into the general population, the damage will be catastrophic.”

  “You exaggerate, General Antunes,” Demir said. “We will likely lose a fraction of the population, yes. But that is a small price to pay for the final defeat of the Therans. This invasion was their last gasp. If we can repel them one more time, they will not have the strength to attack us ever again.”

  “But the fleet,” Antunes objected. “They might glass cities, entire counties in reprisal.”

  “They wouldn't dare,” Demir said. “Thera needs our infrastructure to survive. To destroy it is to destroy themselves. After we've reclaimed the surface, all we have to do is wait them out. Without resupply, their stores won't last forever. Once they run out of food and fuel, even Spacy's vaunted fleet will be powerless.”

  Demir could see from their expressions that his generals were still not convinced. The whimpering cowards. They didn't have the guts to make the sacrifices needed to win. Well, Demir was prepared to make those sacrifices.

  “My decision is made.” He slapped the table again. “Choose select groups within the most heavily occupied regions to surrender to the enemy. Do not inform them of the true nature of this operation. Then bring the Messenger specimens out of storage and discreetly seed them throughout the surrendering units. Employ full containment procedures. We don't want the infection spreading too early. Is that understood?”

  The generals hesitated, casting uneasy glances at each other. Demir could sense a spirit of dissent growing within them. Their cowardice could ruin everything. This might call for extreme measures.

  “Your Excellency,” Antunes ventured, “I cannot obey this order. I cannot, in good conscience, initiate an operation that is sure to spell the deaths of thousands, or even millions of our own—”

  Demir drew his sidearm and shot Antunes in the face. The general's blood spattered the conference table and his body fell to the concrete floor with a thud. Demir observed the remaining generals impassively.

  “This is no time to be squeamish,” he said. “The future of the Concord is at stake. Does anyone else have a problem with these orders?”

  No one did.

  “Good. Then see to it.” Demir holstered his weapon. “And someone do something about the corpse.”

  Tenth Escalation

  connecting the sky and the earth

  The campfire burned a flickering hole through the fabric of darkness that permeated the forest. Cold and tired, Janice sat close to the fire and stared dully into the flames until they burned discolored splotches into her retinas. Soon, the entire world dissolved into nothing but a hazy black canvas populated by a dancing orange blob.

  Janice lifted her gaze above the flames and three faces swam into focus, illuminated by the flickering light. Cena and Tinubu were absent, the former setting traps before the group settled in to sleep, and the latter standing watch on the perimeter. That left the youthful but perspicacious features of Vic on the right; the leering, cyclopean face of Hector in the middle; and on the left, the brooding expression of Young.

  True to her word, Young had guided them safely out of Morganna, but they were not even close to trusting her yet. Hector was holding on to her sword, and at least one of their group kept an eye on her at all times, never permitting her to wander off alone. Janice wished she could convince herself one way or another about their new companion's trustworthiness, but she could detect nothing in Young's dark eyes and feline expressions except the edgy cynicism forged from a lifetime of hardships.

  As Janice scrutinized the newcomer without result, Young got to her feet and headed for the edge of the camp. In an instant, Hector was on his feet and stomping after her.

  “Hey,” he called, “where do you think you're going, sweetheart?”

  Young shot an exasperated glare over her shoulder. “I've got to take a piss. Problem?”

  “Then I'm coming with you.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  Hector assumed an expression of mock contrition. “Don't blame me for this, darling. You don't go anywhere by yourself. This policy is nonnegotiable.”

  “Then why can't she come with me?” Young pointed at Janice. “At least she's a girl.”

  “'Cause if you got it in your head to kick the crap out of her, she probably couldn't do anything to stop you,” Hector replied. “You want a girl, you'll have to wait for country gal to get back. She could take your skinny ass.”

  “I've been waiting. I need to go.”

  “Then it's me or nothing, sweetheart.”

  “For blood's sake.” Young stormed away from the camp. “Come on then, you voyeuristic pervert. I suppose you'd like me to do a little dance too while I'm taking care of business?”

  “Cripes, what a little spitfire,” Hector muttered as he followed Young into the trees. “I'm not running a frickin' babysitting service here.”

  Bemused, Janice and Vic watched the bickering pair vanish into the shadows, then turned back to the fire. As Janice receded into the silence of her thoughts, Vic stood up and came around the fire to sit next to her. She gave him a surprised glance.

  “What's up?”

  Vic usually looked serious, but now the flickering fire cast deep shadows on his face that made him look positively grave. “This is as good a time as any,” he said. “I've been wanting to talk to you, Janice.”

  Janice suddenly felt awkward. She hoped this wasn't the prelude to a romantic overture. Vic wasn't bad looking and he seemed like the most kindhearted of her companions, but this was hardly the time or place for a profession of love.

  “About what?” she asked suspiciously.

  “It could just be my imagination,” Vic said. “But I've felt something from you. Just traces, but it's a feeling that's very familiar to me.”

  Janice gave him an odd look. If this was a love confession, this was one of the weirder openers she had heard—and being a celebrity, she had heard some pretty weird ones.

  “I, uh, don't quite follow.”

  “Then try this on for size.” Vic spoke his next words slowly and deliberately, as though citing them from distant memory. “'If you wish to reject your humanity, take the monster's hand in yours, and bring it into yourself.'”

  Janice shot to her feet, terror coursing through her body. “Is it you?” she hissed. “Are you the one who's been putting those words in my head?”

  “So that was coming from you,” Vic said. “I'm not the source of those words. Do you remember our discussion back in Morganna? I told you there was someone else in our group who could hear messages from the Xenowave.”

  “Yeah. What about it?”

  “Her name is Astral,” Vic explained. “She's a conduit for the Xenowave, and I... I'm like a conduit for her. I don't know why, but I'm the only one who can hear her thoughts.”

  “That's sweet and all. Very romantic,” Janice said, fear causing her to fall back on causticity as her only defense. “But I don't see what it has to do with me.”

  Vic stood up, bringing him eye to eye with Janice. His gaze had grown even more intense. “I don't understand it, but it's some kind of power I have,” he said. “I can hear the thoughts of people who are attuned to the Xenowave. We call it the Voice. I wasn't sure at first, but now I'm positive. The words I've been hearing are coming from you, because you can hear it too. The Voice of the Xenowave.”

  “No.” Janice shook her head and stumbled away from Vic. “That's ridiculous. I don't have a power like that.”

  Vic came forward and grabbed her by the shoulders. “You do have that power,” he insisted. “And it's a very dangerous power. The Voice I sense from you is different from Astral's. Her Voice is full of light and compassion. It's a very comforting sensation. But yours is warped by darkness and hate. If you let it, it will consume you.”

  Janice struggled in vain to free herself from Vic's grip. “What are you sa
ying, that I'm some kind of monster?”

  “No.” He tightened his grip on her. Despite his light frame, he was surprisingly strong. He forced her to look into his eyes and said, “The monster isn't within you. It comes from outside. It finds a hole inside you, and it fills it deeper and deeper until it devours you from within, and in the end there's nothing left but an empty shell.”

  “What,” Janice stammered, “what can I do to stop it?”

  A wolf whistle cut Vic's answer short. “Well, well,” the familiar gruff voice of Hector called, “since when have you two been such lovebirds? Leave you alone for a couple of minutes and you're into each other like a pair of tapeworms.”

  Vic pulled Janice's ear next to his lips and whispered, “Don't listen to it. Whatever you do, don't listen to that Voice.”

  With that, he released her, returned to his side of the fire, and sat down. Hector and Young returned to their spots, staring curiously at Janice and Vic. Janice likewise sat down, avoiding her companions' gazes.

  “Looks to me like he got shot down hard,” Young said, observing Janice's anguished expression. “Hey Vic, if this chick ain't putting out, try looking me up. That blonde bombshell is out of your league anyway, but as for me, I'd like to have a good time with a fellow Easterner.”

  “Thanks, but I'll pass.”

  “Whatever,” Young shrugged. “Looks like I'll be hanging with you wipes for the foreseeable future, so let me know if you change your mind.” She crawled away from the fire, curled up into a ball on her blanket, and closed her eyes.

  “Notice I don't get any offers,” Hector sneered. “Damn pretty boy.”

  “It doesn't take a pretty boy to get picked over your ugly mug,” Vic shot back.

  Following Young's example, Janice distanced herself from the fire and crawled into her sleeping bag. Had Vic not known, word for word, the phrase that had been echoing in her thoughts lately, she would have thought him insane. But he did know it.