Berserker (Messenger Book 2) Page 15

  Once again, harsh laughter issued forth unbidden from Omega's gut. As the dust from the destruction began to settle, his laughter died on his lips. He let out a trembling sigh and settled deep into his seat.

  “Omega,” Alpha's voice crackled through the speaker, “what have you done?”

  “What I was created to do,” he replied. “I've brought destruction.” He manipulated the communication board on his instrument panel and added, “I think we'd better inform the Hydra of what just happened here.”

  *

  “Captain,” Ensign Ferrari exclaimed, swiveling in her seat to look at her superior.

  Wyburn glared at her.

  “Um, I mean Admiral,” Ferrari said sheepishly. “Sorry sir, old habits die hard.”

  “What is it?”

  Ferrari swiveled back to her instruments. “The sensors have detected an enormous energy surge inside Artair. The skies are clear, so I've managed to get an optical feed. I'll bring it up now.”

  Ferrari tapped at her console until the display of Chalice in the main screen was replaced by an overhead view of Artair. Where the factory district had stood before, there was now an enormous, glowing crater, spewing smoke high into the atmosphere.

  Wyburn rose from his chair. “What the hell?”

  “What of our forces in the area?” Belloc demanded.

  “A scan for elements of the 323rd is turning up nothing. They appear to have been annihilated,” Ferrari reported. “No, wait. I've got two exosuits hovering over the impact crater. I'll magnify the image.”

  The view zoomed in to reveal a pair of exosuits floating over the destruction. The one on the right sported an angular shape, enormous wings, and equally enormous cannon; while the other featured distinctive curves like a cybernetic flower.

  “The system identifies the exosuits as the X-23 Arrow-4 Tsubasa and the X-36 Blossom,” Ferrari reported. “Pilots, Lieutenant Omega and Ensign Alpha of Meteor Squadron.”

  Wyburn remembered those names from Belloc's report. “Did Omega just wipe out the 323rd?” he exclaimed, his eyes threatening to bulge out of his head.

  “I'm picking something up from the Tsubasa,” Ferrari said. “It seems to be emitting a coded message via optical transmission.”

  “What does it say?”

  “I'm decoding the message now.” Ferrari paused, then went on, “It says, 'Concord prisoners contained carriers of Messenger syndrome. Massive outbreak swept through 323rd Regiment. Used annihilation cannon to destroy factory district and 323rd per Colonel Hoang's orders. Colonel Hoang presumed killed in explosion.'”

  “Messenger syndrome?” Wyburn's mouth twisted into a draconic snarl and his hands curled into trembling fists. “Those Concord degenerates snuck Messengers into their surrendering forces?”

  “Those factories would have provided valuable productive capacity,” Belloc said. “Between their loss and the destruction of the 323rd, this is a serious blow.”

  “Just a moment, Admiral.” Ferrari put one hand on her headphones. “I'm receiving a transmission from the 214th via the orbital elevator. They report...” Her eyes widened in shock. “Messengers discovered among recently captured Concord forces. Outbreak within headquarters has been contained, but they had to purge 20% of their unit and they believe the infection spread beyond their encampment before it could be quarantined.”

  Wyburn's head spun. Had the Concord snuck Messengers into all of their surrendering units? If so, then nearly every major Spacy force on Chalice would be infected. He was conscious of every pair of eyes on the bridge staring at him, looking for guidance.

  “Your orders, sir?” Ferrari prompted.

  “There's only one way to be sure of containing the outbreak,” Belloc said. “Glass everything within a 50 kilometer radius at the epicenter of every infection point.”

  For once in his life, Wyburn wished he had someone to tell him what to do. But he was the supreme commander. There was no one else to make the decision. The fate of all Chalice—and by extension, Thera—could depend on his next words.

  Nothing for it, then. He would just have to cast the dice and see what numbers came up.

  “No,” he said at last, in answer to Belloc's suggestion. “Glassing the outbreak points would be counterproductive. That's exactly what the Concord wants, to provoke us into destroying our own forces and major centers of production. Besides, it's almost certain that the infection has spread beyond the initial outbreak points. The only way we could be sure about getting them all would be to incinerate the entire surface.”

  Belloc furrowed her brow and pursed her lips, but she did not contradict him.

  “The fleet will take no action,” Wyburn said. “Ground forces will initiate full quarantine procedures. I want drones setting up blockades at all major roads connecting the infection points. No one gets in or out. By Messenger syndrome's very nature, it causes heavy initial casualties, but it burns itself out quickly. As long as we can keep it contained to the origin points, we can limit the damage. Also, we're not accepting any more Concord prisoners, under any circumstances. All Concord personnel are to be shot on sight.”

  “I'll relay your orders to the ground forces,” Ferrari said.

  Wyburn sank back into his chair and stroked his temples. “Those colonial animals,” he muttered. “This had to come straight from the top. That murderous wipe, Demir. When I find out where you're hiding, you miserable rat,” he reached out one hand and clenched it into a crushing fist, “I've got a salvo of nuclear-tipped railgun slugs I'm saving just for you.”

  Twelfth Escalation

  The gleaming blaze... it writhes and burns

  As Janice and her companions continued on their course, the scrubby hills of the rock country grew steadily more barren. With every day of travel, the outcroppings overcame more soil and foliage until finally nothing but naked rock stretched to the horizon in every direction. A frigid wind carried in a canvas of black clouds that flashed and thundered without rain. All color had been bleached out of the world, leaving only shades of gray and darker gray, a perfect reflection of Janice's isolation and lifelessness.

  Deep within the deserted wasteland, they came upon a jumble of towering stone edifices protruding at intervals from a vast plain. To Janice, the pillars resembled crude carvings of hideous reptilian forms, their features so ill defined as to make abstract mockeries of whatever creatures they were meant to represent. As she stared at the nearest monolith, a flash of lightning illuminated half of its misshapen face, casting into its pits and crevices shadows so deep that they resembled holes opening in the creature's stone skin, exposing an empty shell of darkest midnight.

  “That's creepy as hell,” Young remarked. “What kind of sick mind carved these monstrosities?”

  Tinubu turned a lopsided smile on her. “You think these were carved by human hands?”

  Young returned his look of amusement with an uncomprehending frown. “What, are you saying they weren't?”

  “I guess you haven't heard of this place,” Tinubu said. “This is called the Plain of the Unknown Statues. The first settlers found this plain with these monoliths right here, just like you see them now. Some of them thought it was evidence that intelligent life existed on this world before humans ever came here.”

  “What, you mean like aliens?” Young said. “Come on, that's just stupid.”

  Tinubu shrugged. “There were other theories. For example, that a secret wave of colonists had arrived on Chalice ahead of the first sanctioned settlers, and they were the ones who carved these statues. Some researchers have expended a lot of effort investigating these theories, and their consensus is that they aren't true.”

  “What do they think these things are, then?”

  “They weren't able to find any evidence of artificial manipulation on the stone,” Tinubu said. “So their conclusion was that these are natural rock formations. Just an odd coincidence of nature.”

  “These things?” Young stared at the monolith in disbelief. �
��These don't look like no 'coincidences of nature' to me. More like the product of a really sick mind.”

  “What's your theory, then?” Tinubu asked. “Is it aliens, after all?”

  “No. I guess they are just natural formations.” Young jammed her hands into her pockets and looked around, taking in the bleak landscape. “How come nothing grows out here, anyway? The land was all fertile just a few days back.”

  “This must be what comes of mugging people when you should be studying in school,” Tinubu sighed. “This is one of Chalice's dead zones. Some places just wouldn't take to the terraforming. Heavy erosion, toxic chemicals in the bedrock that poison anything you try to grow out here, that sort of thing.”

  “Great,” Young said. “And I thought the city was bleak.”

  “All right, enough with the nature tour,” Hector growled. “Let's keep moving before this 'dead zone' lives up to its name and makes us all part of the landscape.”

  They pressed on deeper into the Plain of Unknown Statues, the oppressive aura of the place seeping into Janice's thoughts. Unbidden, an alternative explanation for the monoliths appeared in her mind. She found it hard to believe that these alien forms were the work of human hands, or any other physical creature for that matter. But neither were they the product of centuries of erosion and other natural forces. Within her mind's eye, she could see them springing from the ground, molding and shaping themselves into their present, unnerving forms. They were a product of Chalice itself, an expression of twisted will born of the very earth.

  She shook her head to clear the macabre image from her mind. The thought had not originated from within herself, of that she was certain. It could only be a product of that cursed Voice. She tried to mentally recite the songs from her latest album, to drive the invasive presence from her mind.

  Late in the day—of which they could be certain only by checking their pocket computers, since the roiling storm clouds removed all sense of time from the sky—they came across the remains of an encampment nestled deep within a valley. They found ratty tents fluttering in the wind, shanties cobbled together from scrap materials, scattered wood and metal containers, and portable toilets and garbage pits that emitted the reek of a thousand kinds of human refuse. Vic stayed behind with Janice at the edge of the encampment while the others spread out to perform reconnaissance. All of them returned within a few minutes.

  “The place is deserted,” Cena reported. “It seems to have been inhabited until just recently. No bodies, no signs of external attack. It's like they just disappeared. Whoever they were, they took off in a big hurry—left behind most of their supplies.”

  “Any idea who they were?” Vic asked.

  Hector took a vial full of glittering liquid out of his pocket. “Drug runners,” he said. “I found a stash of ether shroud and all kinds of illegal spices.”

  “Ether shroud ain't really my thing,” Young said. “You find any good stuff?”

  “Well, there's some—”

  “Hey, hey.” Tinubu snatched the vial out of Hector's hand and threw it away, shattering it on the rocky ground. “We steer clear of drugs in this outfit. Is that understood?”

  “What was that for?” Young protested. “Ether shroud may be nasty garbage, but that stuff is worth good money.”

  Tinubu gave her a withering glare. “We're not drug dealers.”

  “Fine, sheesh.” Young threw up her hands. “You're picky about who you'll steal from, you won't sell drugs. No wonder you people don't have any money.”

  “Enough of the damn drugs,” Cena snapped. “Look, here's the deal. We don't know why these drug runners took off. This place might be dangerous. On the other hand, we're low on supplies and there ain't no food or water in this rotten dead zone. I say we scavenge everything we can from this dump and then vamoose.”

  “Agreed,” Tinubu said. “Everyone split up and take anything that looks useful, especially food and water. You find any narcotics,” he looked pointedly at Hector and Young, “you leave them behind. Is that understood?”

  Young rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  Hector threw a mock salute. “Anything you say, Captain.”

  “All right, let's meet back here in twenty,” Tinubu said. “Move out.”

  They split up to scour the camp for supplies, with Vic sticking close to Janice. Together, they found enough canned goods and water to last both of them for a few days, along with some extra soap and tissues. Once they had filled their packs with all they could carry, they headed back.

  They found Hector and Tinubu already waiting at the meeting point, and Cena joined them a few minutes later. They continued waiting, Hector showing increasing signs of impatience with every passing minute.

  “Women,” he exclaimed suddenly. “What is taking so damn long?”

  “She is taking an awfully long time,” Vic said. “Hopefully she's not pocketing a bunch of drugs or something. Maybe one of us should—”

  A terrified scream from deep inside the camp cut him off. He traded alarmed glances with the others, then he, Cena, and Tinubu drew their sidearms and fanned out. They ran in the direction of the scream at a crouch, with Hector following some distance behind and Janice bringing up the rear. After a brief sprint, they took cover behind several outcroppings and paused to survey their surroundings.

  “Young?” Cena called out. “Young, are you all right? Where are you?”

  There was no response.

  “I think it came from that tent over there.” Vic nodded in the direction of a ragged tent about 30 meters distant.

  Tinubu signaled for Vic and Hector to help him surround and converge on the tent while Cena covered them from behind her outcropping. They ran into position, then Tinubu nodded to the others and jerked the tent flap open, pointing his weapon inside.

  “Oh, my god,” he gasped.

  “What is it?” Janice asked, unable to keep the trepidation out of her voice.

  “It's clear,” Tinubu said, though his tone was rueful. “You should probably all see this.”

  Janice followed the others into the tent. Young was sprawled on her back, gripping her sword, her chest spattered with blood. Her face was frozen in a horrified grimace. Across from her lay a body with a fatal sword wound in its chest, covered from head to toe in grotesque growths, its features disfigured beyond recognition. A dead Messenger.

  “Oh, no,” Cena breathed. “Young, don't tell me...”

  Young turned to stare uncomprehendingly at Cena. “It was sleeping in here when I came in,” she said in a hollow voice. “I killed it right away, but I... I've been exposed.” She cupped a hand over one eye and clawed at her bangs. “I'm infected.”

  “For blood's sake.” Hector wheeled on the others. “Did anyone else come anywhere near this tent?”

  The others shook their heads.

  “Good.” Hector let out a sigh of relief. “At least it's just her, then.”

  “What do you mean, just me?” Young exploded off the ground and latched on to Hector's collar, shaking him forcefully. “I've been infected with Messenger syndrome, you one-eyed piece of shit! I'm going to die!”

  A look of uncharacteristic sorrow crossed Hector's coarse features. “I'm sorry about that,” he said quietly. “But there's not a damn thing I can do for you, sweetheart.”

  Young's grip on Hector's collar slackened. She slumped onto her knees and her head drooped, staring blankly at the floor. Then, after several moments, she looked up at the others with desperate hope in her eyes.

  “Hey, I—I wasn't exposed for very long,” she said. “Maybe I'm not infected. Right? Don't you think?”

  It was Vic who took on the burden of answering her. “I don't know, Young. Messenger syndrome still isn't very well understood. But as far as we know, it doesn't take long for the infection to transfer. It might happen with as little as a few seconds of exposure. It... doesn't look good.”

  Once again, Young's expression went blank in a refusal to process this information. />
  “You blokes seem pretty knowledgeable about this Messenger stuff,” Hector observed. “I'll let that pass for now, but since you know so much, about how long does it take for symptoms to start appearing?”

  “It varies depending on the individual,” Vic said. “In the worst case, it reaches the contagious stage in about four or five days. Best case, maybe three weeks. Once it becomes contagious, the carrier has a few days to live.”

  “So we've got four days before she might kill us all.” Hector fingered the handle of his knife. “Well, girl, we could leave you behind and let you decide how you want to check out. Or if you want, I could do you the mercy of ending it here. Least I can do for someone infected with Messenger syndrome.”

  “What?” Young swept her sword off the ground and scrambled away from Hector. “No, stay away from me!”

  “Whoa, whoa.” Tinubu stood between Hector and Young with his arms outstretched. “Both of you stand down. That's enough of that kind of talk. Nobody is killing anyone, OK?”

  “So we leave her behind?” Hector said. “That's fine with me, but then let's hurry up and get out of here. We don't know whether more of those things might be lurking around this camp.”

  “No,” Young cried. “Don't leave me alone like this.”

  “We can't take you with us, sweetheart,” Hector said. “We have no idea when you might turn infectious and write all our death warrants.”

  “Hold on,” Vic interjected with an uncharacteristic forcefulness that drew everyone's attention. “How much longer until we reach the contact point?”

  “We're very close now,” Tinubu replied. “About three days.”

  Cena asked, “Vic, are you thinking...?”

  Vic nodded. “Astral might be able to cure them both.”

  “But we know she can't cure people who've already been infected,” Cena objected.

  “She can't cure people who are already in the terminal stages,” Vic corrected her. “But we know that if we treat it early enough, there's a chance. I'm living proof of that. If not, I would have been killed by my exposure to Falsrain.”