Berserker (Messenger Book 2) Page 16

  Hector had been following the exchange with a look of bafflement. “What the hell are you people on about?” he demanded.

  Tinubu ignored him. “It's still risky,” he said to Vic. “There's a lot of variables. Even assuming good time, we've barely got any leeway.”

  “According to the files from Ajna Station, a four day incubation period is rare,” Vic said. “We probably have more grace period than that.”

  “But we've been out of communication with SLIC for so long, they might have written us off as M.I.A. and stopped monitoring the contact point.”

  “Astral and the others would never give up on us.”

  “Maybe so, but they aren't the ones in charge.”

  “You should have more faith in Colonel Lane. You remember everything he risked to save us from Demir.”

  “Hey,” Young interjected. “Even if it's a long shot, if you've got some way of curing me, I'd like to come with you. If my grace period runs out and you still haven't been able to cure me, then it still wouldn't be too late to... euthanize me, or whatever.”

  This was met with a protracted silence before Cena said, “She's right, you know. We can't just give up without even trying.”

  “No need to give me those puppy dog eyes,” Tinubu said. “I agree with you. I just didn't want anybody going into this with false expectations.” He turned to Young and added, “We'll do our best to help you, but I have to be honest with you. I can't promise anything.”

  “I'll take whatever you've got,” Young replied, her face and voice still taut with fear. “Even a one in a hundred chance is still better than zero.”

  Hector regarded the others with a hybrid of amused disbelief. “You seriously want to bring a Messenger carrier along?”

  “Nobody's making you come with us,” Cena replied.

  “All right,” Hector shrugged. “But if we hit the time limit, either this girl goes or I'll put her down myself. Messenger syndrome is an awful way to die. I ain't letting that happen to me. Now can we hurry up and get out of here?”

  With that conflict resolved, they made ready to depart. Before they left, Cena knelt over the body of the dead Messenger and said a few words of silent prayer, much to Hector's consternation. Then they exited the tent and departed swiftly from the drug runners' camp, casting paranoid glances in all directions.

  Although the group left it unspoken, to Janice's mind, there was another question just as pressing as the matter of Young's infection. Chalice's atmosphere had been modified to block Saris' repil radiation. There would have been no way for anyone on the surface to contract Messenger syndrome unless they were exposed to it from some other source.

  In which case, how had the camp been infected?

  *

  From the cockpit of his black, vespine Asura class exosuit, Pierson led the First Knight Squadron toward the SLIC contact point. Aside from himself and Lieutenant Nhean Im, the First Knights also contained a half dozen latest gen drone suits procured off the black market, plus two other manned exosuits operated by top pilots knighted as defenders of the faith.

  As they flew low over a barren ridge, the sulky countenance peeking out from under the blunt auburn bangs of the diminutive Dame Aksinya Chernova appeared in the corner of Pierson's screen via optical transmission.

  “Captain,” Aksinya said in her high but quiet voice, “this has been on my mind since we were assigned this mission. Are you sure you'll be able to raise your blade against your former comrades?”

  Nhean's immaculately groomed visage appeared next to Aksinya's. “Weren't you aware, Lady Aksinya?” he said. “Betrayal is second nature to our dear captain. I'm sure someone who's switched sides as many times as he has thinks nothing of fighting those he once called friends.”

  Pierson felt a twinge of irritation. There had always been friction between him and Nhean, the latter's promotion to captain of the First Knights having been a foregone conclusion until Pierson had come along.

  Before Pierson could respond, the gaunt, pale haired visage of Larc Cromwell flashed into existence next to the others. “Watch your tongue, boy,” he snapped. “Does it befit a knight of the Xenolists to take such an ill mannered tone with his superior?”

  At once, Nhean's mocking sneer turned into a dangerous snarl. “Perhaps you should heed your own advice, Sir Larc. Just whom do you think you are addressing?”

  “Respect is earned, Lieutenant,” Larc replied. “You can start by showing a little of it yourself.”

  “We'll see soon enough who is worthy of commanding this squadron,” Nhean said. “It's a sad sight when has-beens don't know when to make way for the new generation.”

  With that, he cut his transmission, ending the video feed.

  “Idiot,” Aksinya said. “Perhaps now you can answer my question, Captain.”

  Strangely, Pierson found himself unable to process Aksinya's inquiry. He understood the words, but the question made no sense to him.

  “To realize Project Ascension, I will clear away all obstacles,” he replied. “I entertain no other considerations. And neither should you.”

  “A fine answer, sir.”

  “A shame that we have yet to face any worthy opponents,” Larc remarked. “These ambushes against inferior opponents are hardly suitable tests of your skill, Captain.”

  Pierson gave a sardonic smile. “This may sound strange coming from the captain of the First Knights, but epic struggles and pitched battles are for young glory hounds like Lieutenant Im. I much prefer these easy victories where my skills aren't put to the test. Any medieval knight worth his salt would have said the same.”

  Larc inclined his head. “I defer to the wisdom of the more experienced soldier.”

  Aksinya said, “Well then, let's rack up another easy win for the illustrious First Knights,” then ended her transmission. Larc followed shortly after.

  The First Knights' flight took them across the outskirts of a dead zone, then over barrens giving way to rugged scrubland. En route, they were joined by an automated transport helicopter loaded with extra fuel, supplies, and a squad of land drones. Finally, they came to a region of coastal cliffs where the dark seawater slammed against the stone bluffs in foamy waves.

  They were close to the contact point now. Pierson knew that if they approached much closer, they might alert any SLIC observers. He had the squadron put down in the shallows next to a corniche that connected a rocky beach at the bottom of the cliffs with the plateau at the top. Once they had landed, he ordered the transport chopper to drop off its drones and supplies before flying back to base. Finally, he commanded the aerial drones to completely submerge themselves while the pilots knelt their exosuits so that the lower halves were concealed beneath the water. Having hidden their equipment from casual observation, they disembarked and leapt out onto the beach.

  Pierson waited for the other knights to assemble around him, then laid out his plan. “Here's how we'll do this. We'll make camp here at the bottom of the cliffs so we can board our exosuits immediately if anything happens. I'll post three drones on randomized patrol routes at the top of the cliffs to watch for intruders, plus one more to keep the contact point under continuous observation. I've already programmed it to launch a flare if it detects any human presence or signatures of known SLIC equipment. That will be our signal to launch and capture the Unknown. Any questions?”

  “I have a question,” Nhean said. “How long are we supposed to sit here waiting for a bunch of refugees who might or might not show up?”

  “Until I decide that they're not coming,” Pierson replied. “But don't worry, they'll show. They have no other way to get in contact with their people.”

  “You'd better be right about this,” Nhean said. “The Regents won't be happy if it turns out their new commander led the First Knights on a wild goose chase.”

  “I'll accept your apology after we've retrieved the Unknown,” Pierson said. “Now let's get our trap in place so we can wait for the prey to spring it.”

&
nbsp; Thirteenth Escalation

  like a star that is dying

  Wyburn was back in his conference room, poring over the holographic map of Chalice that shimmered over the table. Everything was falling apart. The effort to contain the Messenger outbreak with drone checkpoints had failed. The infection was spreading across the moon's surface, causing mounting casualties and widespread panic. Civil order was breaking down. The Spacy landing forces, having suffered over 30% losses in the initial outbreak, lacked the manpower to enforce quarantines and quell civil unrest. A couple of Concord units, emboldened by their enemies' weakness, had attempted uprisings only to be blasted into oblivion by the Hydra and Virtuous Circle's main batteries. With orbital support, the Union still maintained military dominance on Chalice, but it was rapidly becoming dominance over an apocalyptic wasteland.

  News from the Ikazuchi was more favorable. She had successfully recaptured the radiation powered launch catapult that propelled interplanetary vessels with massive energy beams as well as two Saris gas mines. However, she had encountered trouble on the third mine when Concord forces took the facility hostage, threatening to blow it up if the Ikazuchi made a capture attempt. Wyburn had told them to storm the mine and take out the terrorists with a covert raid by special forces. He had yet to hear back regarding that operation's outcome, but regardless, the Ikazuchi was making good progress on its mission. Unfortunately, that was little consolation with Chalice's productive capacity being crippled by the raging Messenger pandemic.

  Wyburn was incensed by the chaos roiling his placid ocean. He could pick off any Concord gophers stupid enough to poke their heads out of their holes, but that made little difference with the colonial society disintegrating before his eyes. At this rate, High Command would issue a recall order for him to face disciplinary action. There was nothing anyone could have done to prevent an engineered outbreak of Messenger syndrome, but that wouldn't stop them from making him their fall guy.

  “Captain,” Ensign Ferrari's voice crackled over the speaker.

  Wyburn pressed the button next to the speaker and responded, “How many times must we go over this, Ensign?”

  “Er, I mean, Admiral.” Even through the speaker, Wyburn could almost see the young ensign flushing red with embarrassment.

  Wyburn sighed. “Well, what is it?”

  “We have a transmission being routed through the orbital elevator,” Ferrari said. “Someone claiming to be a high ranking rebel officer is requesting to speak with the commander of the Spacy expedition.”

  “Rebel officer? You mean the Concord?”

  “No, sir. He says he's with SLIC—the Sarisan Liberty Coalition. He claims that they're opposed to the Concord.”

  SLIC, the terrorist organization that had served as the progenitor to the Concord. So not all of them had been absorbed into the new government after the rebel takeover. Still, even if they opposed the Concord, SLIC was no friend to the Theran Union. Perhaps they had some sort of temporary alliance in mind. At this point, Wyburn was willing to hear any offer.

  “I'm on my way.”

  Wyburn walked briskly to the bridge, his cape trailing behind him. With the fleet struggling to coordinate the ground forces amidst mass panic and unreliable communications, the formerly quiet bridge was now buzzing with activity. Belloc, standing next to the captain's chair, saluted as Wyburn strode in and the master at arms on watch duty announced, “Admiral on the bridge.”

  Wyburn ignored his seat and stood in the center of the bridge to command as much space as possible. Tall and broad, with his cape flaring out behind him, he could cut an imposing figure when he wanted to.

  “Patch it through,” he commanded.

  A bizarre sight flashed into view on the main screen. Wyburn found himself facing a human figure clad from head to foot in cybernetic armor, concealing his—Wyburn assumed it was a man—features beneath a robotic shell. The chest plate on his suit sported an emblem of a many-headed serpent. The space around him was dark and featureless, providing no clues regarding the location he was transmitting from.

  Wyburn concealed his surprise and tilted his head back to stare down his nose at the strange vision. “I am Rear Admiral Fox Wyburn, supreme commander of the T.U. Spacy Chalice Reclamation Expedition,” he declared. “Who has the honor of addressing me?”

  The robotic figure chuckled, his voice distorted into a high pitched, mechanical trill. “You have my admiration, Rear Admiral Wyburn. It takes a brave man to boastfully take credit for creating such a mess.”

  “Did you go to all the trouble to contact me just to bandy petty insults?” Wyburn replied. “If so, then do me the favor of crawling back into your hole. You're wasting my valuable time.”

  “Don't be so prickly. I have a proposition that may interest you.”

  Wyburn scoffed. “You still haven't told me who you are. Or do you expect me to negotiate with a nameless mask?”

  “You can call me Providence. I command the Orochi cell of the Sarisan Liberty Coalition.”

  Belloc whispered to Wyburn, “There was some intel on Orochi in the SLIC briefings. They're the terrorists' intelligence division. They're supposed to be experts at cyberwarfare.”

  Cyberwarfare. That wouldn't help Wyburn curb the Messenger pandemic, but it might help him track down whatever pit the Concord leadership had crawled into. It might be worthwhile to negotiate with this lunatic after all.

  “Very well, Providence,” Wyburn said. “Let's hear your proposition.”

  “First, let us have a frank discussion of the situation,” Providence said. “Chalice is currently in the throes of the greatest crisis it has ever faced. Both your forces and the Concord have released competing information accusing each other of deliberately unleashing the Messenger outbreak currently ravaging the populace. According to my intelligence, your claim is the truthful one. Furthermore, your response to the crisis has been remarkably measured and restrained. Not very effective at containing the outbreak, but then nothing would be short of incinerating the entire surface. From where I'm standing, the Spacy occupiers seem like the lesser of two evils.”

  “What lavish praise,” Wyburn said. “Especially coming from a self-admitted terrorist leader.”

  Ignoring the slight, Providence continued, “Let's broaden our scope a bit. Although you've succeeded in forcefully ending the Concord's embargo, they've turned your triumph into a pyrrhic victory. Virtually all projections show that, before this outbreak runs its course, the damage will be so severe that Chalice no longer possesses the productive capacity to supply Thera's needs. Thera now faces an inevitable, crippling resource shortage. Even were you to secure what little will remain of Chalice's productive capacity, the resources would all go to Thera's wealthy elite, while the masses were allowed to starve. This would merely delay the Union's collapse by a few years, since the resulting unrest would topple the government in short order. With the rationing in place, I believe Thera has already gotten a foretaste of what the collapse will be like, only on a much larger scale.”

  That was true. Over the last year, the Union's forces had their hands full suppressing uprisings in the most poverty stricken countries. The situation was already ugly, and it would only get worse when the Reclamation Expedition failed to provide a steady inflow of new resources.

  “What I'm saying is this,” Providence said. “It gives me no pleasure to be the bearer of this ill news, but the reality is that the Union has already fallen. The collapse of Theran civilization cannot be stopped.”

  “This is heresy,” Belloc broke in. “We are loyal servants of the Union, and you contacted us just to spew vile lies that our civilization is doomed?”

  Wyburn held out one arm, beckoning Belloc to stand down. “Now now,” he said, “it won't hurt to hear him out. Continue, Providence. You said something about a proposition?”

  “It's simple,” Providence said. “Since Thera's fate is sealed, we must focus our efforts on saving Chalice. Neither your forces nor ours have the resources
to effect much change on our own, but together we might be able to pull off a miracle. I propose that we form a coalition with the goal of minimizing damage to Chalice and its people, and then rebuilding a more stable society after the outbreak has passed.”

  Belloc crossed her arms and shot a venomous glare at the cybernetic shell on the viewscreen. “You expect us to turn our backs on our home world to help you save your own skins,” she said. “You're the only ones who benefit. Your proposition is absurd.”

  “You think there's no benefit in it for you?” Providence replied. “Your superior seems a bit brighter than you are, Commander. By all means, reject my proposition and continue following your original directive. When the Union collapses, it will no longer be able to provide the support your forces need to survive. Without drastic action born of mutual cooperation, the Messenger pandemic will ravage Chalice until there's nothing left but a ruined wasteland. Your depleted fleet could turn to piracy and pick over the remains for a little while, but soon enough there would be nothing left on the corpse but dry bones. I wonder how long it would take your crews to resort to cannibalism once you realized you could no longer replenish your stores.”

  Wyburn cast his gaze around the bridge to gauge the reaction of his officers. Some of them, like Ensign Ferrari, looked fearful and unnerved by Providence's words. Others were skeptical. And some, like Commander Belloc, were openly defiant.

  “There's one problem with your scenario,” Belloc said. “You exaggerate the depth of Thera's resource shortage. Even with reduced imports from Chalice, she could survive. It would only be a matter of time until one of the other colonies was developed to the point where it could compensate for Chalice's reduced output. Rimis, for example.”

  Sensing a perfect opportunity to inject his own input, Wyburn said, “That's not quite true, Commander.”