Berserker (Messenger Book 2) Page 24

  “We've entered the Esperanza's hangar,” the driver called from the front of the A.P.C. “Just a few minutes while we pump the water out.”

  Several minutes later, the rear hatch opened and the refugees emerged onto the wet, tilted floor of the Esperanza's hangar deck, where they found the familiar faces of Amos, Esther, Celeste, and Astral waiting for them. Astral came forward and caught Vic in a tight embrace.

  “I knew you would come back,” she said.

  “Sorry it took so long,” Vic replied with a tired smile. “Careful with that arm.”

  “Sorry.” Astral released him and took his good hand in her own, staring up at him through shimmering red eyes.

  “Those injuries look terrible,” Esther said. “Colonel, we need to get them to sick bay right away.”

  “You're right,” Amos agreed. “We're all relieved to see that you're safe, but the reunion can wait until we've treated those wounds. Including your, uh,” he cast a skeptical glance at Hector, “new friends.”

  Tinubu grabbed the prisoner, who had not said a single word during the entire trip, and pushed him out in front. “Have your men take this one to the brig. Treat him carefully. He should be considered extremely dangerous and extremely valuable. I'll give you the full report later.”

  “Right.” Amos gestured to the guards. “You heard him, men. See to the prisoner.”

  As Vic and the others began filing out of the hangar after their welcoming party, Astral fell into step by Young and placed an arm on her shoulder.

  “What?” Young recoiled from the pale young woman. “What is it, you little ghost?”

  “This one,” Astral said slowly, “has Messenger syndrome.”

  The party halted. Amos, Esther, and Celeste spun around with exclamations of alarm.

  Tinubu put a calming hand on Amos' shoulder. “We know. She was only exposed four days ago.”

  Amos' look of alarm did not abate. “Then it won't be long until she's contagious.”

  “We were hoping maybe you could cure her,” Vic said to Astral. “Like you cured me of Falsrain's infection.”

  Astral cast her gaze to the floor. “I'm not even sure how I did that,” she said quietly. “But I can try.”

  “We'd better not let this get out,” Esther said. “If the men knew we had a Messenger on base, there would be pandemonium.”

  Young retreated against the bulkhead, staring at the others through accusatory eyes. “I thought you said you could cure me.”

  “I told you we couldn't make any promises, Young,” Tinubu replied. “I told you that. Astral will try to cure you, but it's a long shot. That's all we can give you.”

  Astral tried to reach out to take Young's hand, but again Young recoiled from her. Slowly, Astral let her hand drop and turned away.

  “Well, none of these ailments are going to cure themselves,” Esther said. “Let's hurry to sick bay.”

  *

  In sick bay, the refugees were treated by Aqualung's chief medical officer, Captain Blaise Moitessier, a bald old man with a bulldog's saggy jowls. He was assisted by Esther, who among her many intellectual achievements also possessed a medical license.

  “You're suffering from mild malnutrition,” Esther said to Cena.

  “I'm sure that's true of all of us,” Vic interjected. “We haven't exactly spent the last month dining on gourmet cuisine.”

  “Well, that's nothing some rest and regular meals won't fix,” Esther said. “You've also got a light concussion and some nasty bruises,” she noted of Cena. “We'll want to monitor that head injury, and you should take it easy with both physical and cognitive work for a couple of weeks. Aside from that, you seem to have gotten off easy compared to the others.”

  “Now there's the soothing bedside manner we all know and love,” Cena said.

  Captain Moitessier was examining Vic. “You did a pretty good job with this splint considering the circumstances,” he said. “You're lucky it's such a clean break. I'm afraid all the chaos has put a halt on regen serum production. We have enough stores to last for a while, but even so, we're strictly rationing it.”

  “Under my orders,” Amos said. “Once we run out, there's no telling how long it will be until we can restock.”

  “Still,” Moitessier said, “for a broken arm, I think I can justify giving you a half dose. It will still expedite the healing process considerably.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” Vic replied.

  “In the meantime,” Moitessier removed Vic's splint and began applying a cast, “let's replace this stopgap job with some proper treatment.”

  While Moitessier wrapped Vic's arm, Esther examined Tinubu next. As she probed his wound, she remarked, “I can't wait to hear this report. Broken limbs, gunshot wounds, Messenger syndrome. You look like you've been fighting a war out there.”

  “That's because we have,” Tinubu groaned. “So what's the damage, Doc?”

  “We'll need to remove the bullet, of course,” Esther said. “Then a full course of antibiotics to fight off infection. I don't think you'll suffer any permanent damage.”

  “Well,” Tinubu gave a laugh of relief, “that's the first good news I've heard in a long time.”

  Once Moitessier had finished with Vic's cast, the doctors moved over to Hector, who had been lying on the examining table as the medical scanner performed an automated analysis. Moitessier brought up a screen with Hector's results and exclaimed, “Good heavens.”

  “What is it?” Esther asked.

  “This hormone production is a mess,” Moitessier said. “Traces of nanobiomechanical alterations to the nervous system. And look at these artificial fibers in the musculoskeletal structure. Many of them have ossified, but there's no mistake.” He stared in wonder at Hector. “This man is an augment.”

  “What?” Cena sat bolt upright. “But that's impossible.”

  “Why is it impossible?” Esther asked.

  “Because he never took any nutrient solution.” Cena looked at Celeste. “Augments need to take a special solution regularly to survive, right?”

  “That's true,” Celeste agreed. “Our nutritional requirements are very different from normals. If Esther didn't keep producing new solution for me, I would die.”

  “I've got an answer for you.” Hector sat up. “I told these blokes here how I was a Spacy officer until a mission went sour and I got captured by a gang of drug runners. They wanted to recruit me into their ranks, but they knew I wouldn't be much good to them dead and they couldn't produce the solution needed to keep me alive, see?

  “So, it turns out they did business with an old sawbones who knew how to perform an ersatz augment decommissioning. The procedure is pure agony and it reduces the effectiveness of the augmentations. You can see how most of my strengthening fibers have dried up. And you think my biochemistry is messed up now? Believe me, it's a lot closer to human than it was before. If you thought I was nuts going hand to hand with an exosuit, well, back when my augmentations were fully functional, I would have won that fight.

  “Still, thanks to that, I can survive on a more or less regular diet, and for medical purposes I can be treated like a normal in most respects.” Hector shrugged. “A worthwhile trade-off, all things considered.”

  “Is that true?” Celeste limped several steps closer to Hector, a pleading expression on her scarred face.

  “Why would I lie?” Hector said. “My life depends on giving accurate medical information.”

  “What strain are you?” she asked.

  “Tau. Why?”

  “That black market doctor you mentioned,” Celeste pressed. “Do you think he would be able to decommission a Chi strain?”

  “Chi strain, huh.” Hector's mouth twisted into a jeering grin. “SAL's latest and greatest. I heard you jocks were rolled out as our replacements. We Tau were engineered more to be foot soldiers, then Spacy decided it would be more useful to have a lineup of super pilots. I wonder how many of my old comrades were forcibly 'retired' once Chi got High
Command's stamp of approval for full production?”

  “Please,” Celeste said. “Do you think he could do it?”

  Hector's grin collapsed into puzzlement. “Why bother? If you've got a steady supply of nutrient solution...”

  “Just look at me.” Celeste gestured to herself. “Look at this pathetic sight. My augmentations are the reason I'm disabled. SLIC can't heal me because no one here knows how to treat someone with my modified physiology.”

  “But SLIC has an alliance with Spacy now,” Hector said. “Why bother with an illegal sawbones when you can be shipped back to the original manufacturer for maintenance?”

  “I put in a request on her behalf,” Amos interjected. “Unfortunately, their fleet only had one ship equipped with facilities capable of decommissioning augments, and it was destroyed during the orbital battle.”

  “Besides, I wouldn't trust Spacy to tie my shoes,” Celeste said. “If I went to them for decommissioning, they would probably reprogram me to spy on my friends or sabotage the base, or something even worse. So back to my question: can this black market doctor decommission Chi strain?”

  Hector rubbed his chin and contemplated the question. “Hard to say. Chi strain wasn't even deployed yet by the time I went through the procedure. How different is Chi physiology from Tau? If I knew that, I could tell you. They're likely pretty similar. There haven't been any recent revolutions in augmentation technology that I've heard of. So it's probably possible.”

  “Then,” Celeste said, “can you take me to him?”

  “Well, hypothetically, I could take you to where he was last time I saw him,” Hector said. “But that was years ago. He could have been busted by the P.S.A. or ISEC; he might have moved shop; he might have gotten killed in the invasion or caught Messenger syndrome. I'd place long odds on him still being there.”

  Celeste took another halting step forward, bringing her within arm's reach of Hector. “Even so,” she said, “you can take me there?”

  “Damn, you're persistent,” Hector snapped. “Sure, I can. The more pressing question is, why should I? In case you missed the part about me being a dangerous criminal, allow me to state the obvious: I'm no altruist, sweetheart.”

  “Can this argument wait until later?” Esther broke in. “Setting aside the matter of his augmentations, the medical scanner also reports that this man is suffering from serious internal injuries that are in need of immediate attention.”

  “Right. Of course.” Celeste backed off.

  Everyone else filed out of the sick bay as Moitessier and Esther prepared for emergency surgery on Hector and Tinubu. Young glared at the others with her characteristic insolence.

  “So what about me?” she demanded. “Your doctors just don't give a shit, or what?”

  Rather than responding to her rancor, Amos asked mildly, “So what was your story, miss...?”

  “Young. My story is that I'm infected with Messenger syndrome and your people promised to help me. So far, all you've done is jerk me around.”

  “The doctors can't do anything for you, Young,” Vic said. “The only one with any hope of curing you is Astral.” He turned to Amos. “Colonel, we've already entered the beginning of the contagion window. If we're going to treat her, it had better be right now. Where would be a good place?”

  “The sick bay has a secondary compartment,” Amos said. “Let's take her there.”

  *

  Before meeting the others, Astral stopped by her room and retrieved a pair of metallic spheres about the size of lawn bowls. These were her MINDs—Mental Interference Negation Devices—which enabled her to dependably tap into her powers even on the surface of Chalice, where the concentration of repil radiation was sparse. As soon as she activated the MINDs, they came to life and floated next to her, bobbing at her sides.

  Astral made her way to the secondary medical compartment, a small, sterile room with a pair of examining beds and various medical supplies and machinery. Young was sitting on the nearest bed with the others gathered around her. As Astral came in the room, Young stared in wonder at the MINDs trailing behind her.

  “All right, Astral,” Vic said. “It's your show now.”

  Young asked, “And just how is this girl supposed to do what the combined knowledge of modern medicine can't?”

  “Because.” Astral brushed her bangs up and secured them with a hair clip, revealing the third eye in her forehead. Her extraneous eye glanced aimlessly around the chamber, independently from the others.

  “I'm a Messenger,” she said. “Like you.”

  “Oh my god.” Young fell off the bed, scrambled to her feet, and backed away, cowering against the wall. “What the hell are you?”

  “I just told you,” Astral said. “I was genetically engineered to be a receptacle for the Xenowave without succumbing to its deadly side effects.”

  “Y—you're not human.” Young stammered. Astral could not only see the terror on Young's face, she could also feel it like hot waves crashing over her.

  “Very perceptive,” Astral said. “If you don't want to die a monster like me, you should probably let me treat you.”

  Vic objected, “Astral, you're not—”

  Astral silenced him with a wave of her hand. “Well, Young?” she said. “You can either let me examine you, or Colonel Lane will have to order you put down before you turn and infect the entire base. Which will it be?”

  Young remained paralyzed for a long time. Then, slowly, she peeled herself away from the wall and came back to the examining bed. Trembling, she laid down, refusing to look at Astral's face.

  “OK,” she said. “Do whatever you have to do. But make it quick, all right?”

  “No promises,” Astral said. “But I'll try.”

  She laid her hands on Young's forehead and closed her two normal eyes. Her third eye shone with scarlet light and ceased its roving to fixate on the face of the terrified girl below. Her MINDs ceased their lazy bobbing and began to spin around her, reacting to the channeling of her power.

  Images and sensations flooded Astral's consciousness. The highlights from a short life of violence and pain bombarded her mind within the space of a minute. Reeling from the intensity of her subject's inner agony, Astral marshaled her willpower and tried to sift through the surface thoughts to the infection that lay at Young's core.

  The infection had already progressed far. It was seizing control of its host with unusual speed. Young's mental shell was beginning to show cracks, allowing fragments of an invasive will to seep through. Within the depths of her subconscious, Young's mind was fighting to reject the foreign presence, but it was a futile battle. Soon the invader would begin to fill the holes within her soul, and the line between her consciousness and that of the intruder would become blurred. This would coincide with changes in her physiology that broke down her D.N.A. while simultaneously growing alien diffusion organelles in her cells that would broadcast the infectious radiation to everyone around her.

  Astral tried to release the light within her, to repair the cracks in Young's mental shell and vaporize the invasive presence pooling at the bottom of her mind. Although she was able to heal the breaches, they reopened as quickly as she could close them. She realized that this was because she was only treating the mental side of the infection, while the cells of Young's physical body retained their increased receptivity to the minute quantities of repil radiation, soaking it up like a sponge. The infection had progressed too far for Astral's powers alone to fight it—and once the physical breakdown had begun, there was no known medicine or surgical procedure that could even arrest its progress, let alone reverse it.

  Finally, Astral could sustain the effort no longer. The presence growing inside Young repelled her back into the physical world with a shock. She found herself back in the medical compartment, standing over Young, panting from exertion. Her MINDs slowed their frantic revolution and once again hovered quietly at her sides.

  “Well?” Cena said hopefully. “Any luck, Brig
ht Eyes?”

  Astral bit her lip. “I can't. The infection has progressed too far. I'm sorry.”

  “Please.” Young grabbed Astral's shirt. “Please try again.”

  Astral shook her head. “I can't—”

  “Please,” Young begged her. “I could feel the horrible thing retreat inside of me, just for a moment. Please just try. I don't want to die.”

  “All right,” Astral relented. “But as long as you maintain your heightened receptivity to the radiation, it will just keep coming back.”

  Astral made another excruciating attempt to expel the invader from Young's mind, with the same result. Trembling from exhaustion, she marshaled the full force of her will and made a third attempt. This time, she attacked with such force that for a moment the invader was fully banished from Young's subconscious, but it soon returned with even greater fury. When Astral was expelled a third time, she fell to the deck, her limbs trembling and tears streaming down her eyes. Her MINDs fell to the deck with a clang and rolled down the tilted floor into the wall. Vic dropped down next to her and cradled her in his good arm.

  “I'm sorry,” Astral sobbed. “I tried. I tried with everything I had. If you'd gotten her to me earlier, I could have cured her, but it's just too late.”

  “No.” Young blanched and her eyes widened in horror. She got off the examination bed, her movements forced and jerky. “You mean that's it? I'm really going to die?”

  No one said anything. The only sound was the rustle of fabric as Vic helped Astral back to her feet. A protracted silence filled the room.

  “Well?” Young screamed. “Someone answer me!”

  “All right,” Celeste said quietly. “I'll be the one to say it. If we let you be, you'll enter the contagious stage of Messenger syndrome and infect the entire base. We have to euthanize you, Young.”

  “No.” Young clawed at the sides of her face. “NO!”

  Without warning, she bolted for the hatch. As Amos moved to intercept her, she dropped to the deck and slid into his legs, tripping him. In one smooth motion, she shot to her feet and lunged for the hatch. Cena leapt at her only to eat a faceful of metal as Young flung the hatch open into her path. Cena fell to the deck with a grunt and Young sprinted into the passageway, her light footfalls echoing behind her.