Berserker (Messenger Book 2) Page 32

  “When it's all over, your internal organs are back to nearly human and most of the little nuts and bolts that drain your energy and try to siphon exotic nutrients out of your bloodstream are rendered inert. I'm made to understand you augments are rather fond of your enhanced abilities, so I try to leave those as intact as I can. You'll find that your capabilities are considerably reduced afterwards, but you'll still be faster, stronger, and better than an unaltered Homo sapiens. Best of all, no more being enslaved to that proprietary nutrient solution, and no more overdrive metabolism pushing you to an early grave.”

  “How long is the recovery period?” Celeste asked.

  “Left to your own devices,” Fingers said, “anywhere from two to six months until you resume normal activity. With the right treatment and medications, you could be back on your feet in two weeks. But that costs extra.”

  “As you might have noticed, Doc,” Hector interjected, “it's more than just her augmentations messing her up. She suffered a battle injury that left her with some kind of nerve and muscle damage, so she can't move the left side of her body so good. Can you fix that up after you've decommissioned her?”

  “I don't see why not. It should be a routine operation once her augmentations are rendered inert.” Fingers cleared his throat. “But first, there is the matter of payment.”

  Hector pulled out one of his vouchers, input the decryption code, and handed it to the doctor. While Fingers read, he explained the situation with SLIC, Spacy, and Operation Reanimation.

  “Interesting,” Fingers responded. “I'm glad to hear someone is doing something about this pandemic. I suppose, with Spacy's backing, I can consider this a reliable form of payment. Since it's delayed, though, I'll have to charge interest. How long until these unlikely allies expect to reassert order?”

  “About nine months, I guess,” Hector said.

  “That seems optimistic, but all right, we'll go with that.” Fingers shook his head sadly. “A shame, though. I'm afraid 25,000 isn't enough to cover a decommissioning. The nanomachine solutions involved are horrendously expensive. When I factor in nine months of interest, the deficit is even greater.”

  “Good thing I have another of these, then.” Hector took out a second voucher and handed it to Fingers.

  The doctor accepted the voucher and counted on his fingers while he performed a mental calculation. “That will cover the decommissioning,” he said. “Ordinarily it would be enough for expedited recovery as well, but factoring in the interest, you come up a little short.”

  “For blood's sake, Doc.” Hector took out a third voucher and handed it over.

  “75,000.” Fingers nodded. “That will cover decommissioning and expedited recovery. Not quite enough to cure the young lady's mobility problems, though. Do you have any more of those?”

  “No, that was the last one, you damn vulture.” Hector pulled out his pocket as proof.

  “Well...” Fingers considered. “You're only a little short, and considering the circumstances, I think I can throw it in as an extra service. Very well, one augment decommissioning: Chi strain with expedited recovery service, and an operation to restore impaired mobility. A fine day's business, I must say. Give me a few hours to prepare the necessary solutions, and then we can get started.”

  “You're just as much of a money grubbing bastard as ever, Doc.” Hector turned to Celeste. “This is your last chance to change your mind, sweetheart. The decommissioning procedure is dangerous even when a certified Spacy lab does it. It's even worse with some black market hack like this wipe. If he screws it up, you could end up paralyzed, or comatose, or even dead. You still want to go through with this?”

  “You already know my answer,” she replied.

  “Yeah, I guess I do.” Hector sat down, pulled out his pocket computer, and fired up a strategy game. “This is going to be a long night.”

  Twenty-seventh Escalation

  from the fire burning in my soul

  Amos read the latest report from Providence on the progress of Reanimation. The operation was proceeding much as he expected; which was to say, FUBAR. Just prioritizing which regions and towns to evacuate was an exercise in capricious moral judgments. Actually carrying out the evacuations, moving large populations and provisions while trying to keep shelter locations and supply routes under wraps and providing security against marauders, was a logistical nightmare—to say nothing of coordinating disparate SLIC cells and Spacy units across the entire globe through an unreliable comm network. An operation of this scale would have been daunting under the best of circumstances, let alone under a worldwide crisis with chronic manpower and resource shortages.

  And yet they were making progress. They had already succeeded in moving sizable populations to some of the shelters, with enough supplies to keep them going for a couple of months, and more on the way. They had lost a couple of small convoys to marauders, but in general their security was adequate. If they could keep up the pace, the miracle of Reanimation might not be impossible after all.

  Buoyed by the unexpectedly favorable report, Amos turned his mind to other matters. Providence had not succeeded in dredging up any useful information about the Xenolists, a rare failure for the masterful intelligence officer. There was nothing coming in from the field, either. It seemed there was only one source left to turn to for intel about this paramilitary cabal.

  Amos summoned his chief security officer, Captain Dick Gamlin. Within minutes, the chief was in his office. Tall and broad shouldered, with a square jaw and black crew cut, Gamlin tended to dominate any space he occupied; although on close inspection, his puppy dog eyes went a long way toward softening his gruff appearance.

  “You rang, boss?”

  “I've neglected the matter of the Xenolists for long enough,” Amos said. “Tell me how things are going with the prisoner.”

  “Oh, that little punk?” Gamlin scratched at the side of his head. “Not so good. The little cretin wouldn't even give us his name. I tried to buddy up to him, but that didn't earn me anything but a lot of dirty looks. So I stuck him in solitary for the past week, but it don't seem to bother him at all. I even authorized the use of some truth serum. Finally got his name and rank out of him that way—Lieutenant Nhean Im—but that's pretty much it. Whatever is going on with that guy, I think it goes beyond simple stubbornness. His organization must have screwed around with his head for him to keep his trap shut after the dosage we shot him up with.”

  Alarmed, Amos said, “You didn't cause any mental damage, did you?”

  Gamlin looked offended. “Boss, please. I'm a professional.”

  “Good,” Amos said, relieved. “It sounds like you've pretty much covered the bases. I think it's time to bring out the big guns.”

  “You don't mean trying to beat it out of him,” Gamlin objected. “It's against the rules of war to get too rough with prisoners.”

  “If I was comfortable with that, I'd have joined Demir and his thugs.” Amos stood up. “No, I have something far more effective in mind.”

  *

  Twenty minutes later, Amos was in the Esperanza's security monitoring station along with Vic, Cena, and Tinubu. Gamlin, who was not privy to the secret of Astral's true identity, was not invited, to his chagrin. They watched a video feed into Nhean's cell, where he was shackled to a chair. Within moments, Astral entered his cell, her MINDs bobbing at her sides.

  Nhean's hunched head perked up and he recoiled at the sight of Astral. Through the staticky audio feed, they heard him exclaim, “No, that's impossible.”

  Astral tilted her head, causing her long, pale hair to sway playfully. “What's impossible?”

  “You,” Nhean said. “Unless...” He paused in sudden understanding. “There was a survivor from the Union's research project after all,” he said so quietly that the microphone barely picked it up.

  Astral walked to within arm's reach of the prisoner. “How much do you know?” she asked.

  “I've said enough already,” Nhean rep
lied. “You've been corrupted by the heretics. Your impurity is a sacrilege to the gift of the Xenowave.”

  “You know what I am,” Astral said. “So you're aware that I don't have to ask to learn what I want to know.”

  “I have the protection of my masters,” Nhean said with a triumphal air. “Your feeble powers are worthless in the face of their divine aegis. Do your worst.”

  “If that's the way you want it.” Astral reached out and placed her hand on his forehead.

  *

  She met the others a short time later back in the monitoring station.

  “How did it go?” Amos asked.

  Astral gave the thumbs up sign.

  “Atta girl,” Cena pumped her fist. “What did you find out?”

  “The Xenolists have Synegers,” Astral said. “Like me.”

  This elicited surprised reactions from the others.

  “How is that possible?” Vic demanded.

  “I don't know,” Astral replied. “They seem to keep their secrets close. He's not important enough to know their deepest mysteries. He doesn't even know the location of their headquarters.”

  “Does he know anything useful to us?” Cena asked, her initial elation at Astral's success deflating.

  “Many of his thoughts were hazy to me, as is so often the case,” Astral said. “It was even worse than usual, because one of their Synegers has placed a shroud over his mind. But I was able to pull it back enough to learn some very important information. The Xenolists' ultimate goal is something they call the Ascension Project. Nhean doesn't have any details on how they intend to accomplish it, but apparently their objective is to place everyone on Chalice under the rule of their Synegers.”

  Tinubu sighed. “So it's just another Union or Concord, this time with the trappings of an alien cult. Just more wannabe dictators.”

  “This crisis presents a golden opportunity for them,” Amos said. “The Concord is shattered, and Spacy's and our resources are stretched to the limit dealing with the pandemic. There's quite a power vacuum on Chalice right now. With the Xenolists' access to military hardware, we'd better take their threat seriously.”

  “Don't forget Janice,” Vic interjected. “If we can figure out where they're holding her, we can organize a rescue mission.”

  “Assuming there's anything left of her by now,” Cena added. “I don't know what they had in mind when they captured her, but I'm betting it wasn't so they could have her star in a promo vid.”

  Amos asked Astral, “Did you learn anything else?”

  “Yes,” Astral said, “something that could be a severe check to their ambitions, if we seize the opportunity.”

  “What is it?”

  “The location of the center of their military operations,” Astral replied. “They call it the Garden.”

  *

  Following the successful raid on Tigerhöhle and the acquisition of the Messenger spores, the Xenolist attack force returned to the Garden. Most of the force remained there while Janice escorted the spores back to the Temple. Upon her arrival, the spores were taken to the bio lab for modification while she retired to her private suite for some rest.

  But rest proved elusive, as her sleep was troubled by disquieting dreams. She dreamt of being chained at the bottom of an empty well, staring longingly at the pale sky as the well filled with water. She was soon submerged, and though she thrashed and struggled, she could not break free of the chains. Yet even as water seeped into her lungs and her heart beat its last, she did not die. Instead she became an undead creature of the water, forever shackled to the bottom of the well, looking up at the shimmering light she could never reach.

  Janice awoke coughing and sputtering. She realized that she was not actually drowning and struggled to calm her gasping breaths when the buzzer next to her bed trilled. It was the Regents, summoning her to the conference room.

  “I'll be right there,” she replied distractedly.

  As she changed into her Regent's regalia, she realized that her forehead itched. She reached up and felt a bump in the middle of her brow. At first she thought something had bitten her in her sleep, then the bump twitched as if beset by a muscle spasm, and she came to the obvious conclusion.

  “I'm growing a third eye,” she whispered.

  She did not feel the elation she expected. Instead, a vague disquiet permeated her consciousness. She tried to push it aside as she finished changing and left her chambers to join her fellow Regents in the conference room.

  She found Wizard seated at the far end of the table with Regina standing at his side. Wizard was reading something off a digital clipboard. He set it down and turned his attention to Janice.

  “Welcome back, Janice,” he smiled. “This report says that you did well on your inaugural mission.”

  “Hell yeah.” Janice shook her hips in a little victory dance, then flung herself into a chair opposite from Wizard, crossed her legs, and slung one arm over the backrest. “Would you expect any less from the Xenowave's executioner?”

  Nonplussed, Wizard went on, “I am concerned, however. Your behavior shows a certain recklessness. I'm not sure that you fully appreciate your value to humanity, Janice. You must be more careful with your own safety.”

  “Value to humanity?” Janice thrust a finger at Wizard. “Listen, pretty boy. I'm valuable to humanity like an exterminator is valuable to a nest of cockroaches. They're nothing but prey to me now.”

  Wizard traded looks with Regina. Janice could see the concern on their faces like parents worrying over a misbehaving child. Their condescension infuriated her.

  “Janice, that's not what Project Ascension is about,” Regina said. “Our purpose is to bring salvation. Destruction is simply a means, to be applied in moderation, not the final end.”

  “Maybe for you it's not,” Janice replied. The Voice, so much clearer and more powerful since her transformation, filled her mouth with spiteful words. “I don't give a damn about your utopian delusions. I'm playing along with you because you helped me bring out my gift, but I'll do it my own way. And that way entails wreaking lots of havoc. If you've got a problem with that, too damn bad.”

  Wizard remained patient in the face of Janice's pique, which only made her even more annoyed. “I understand that you're eager to make use of your new powers,” he said, “but you need to learn to moderate your passions. We Regents need to work together as a cohesive unit, not bicker among ourselves.”

  “So stop arguing with me,” Janice snapped.

  “Janice.” For the first time, a flash of annoyance showed on Wizard's face. “Releasing the spores from Halispont will be a very delicate operation, requiring judgment and restraint. If you can't promise to contain your destructive impulses, then it might be better if you stayed behind.”

  “Ha!” Janice shot out of her chair and leaned over the table. “You told me yourselves, the whole reason you went to so much trouble to kidnap me is because you need me to carry out your plan. You read that report. You know that I took out Demir's base almost singlehandedly. Fat lot of help your stupid goons were. Try taking Halispont without my aid, and see how fast your sad little dream goes up in smoke.”

  She took a moment to enjoy the Regents' stunned expressions, then flicked her cloak and stormed out of the room. Once back in the corridor, she made it only a few steps before a throbbing pain in her head made her stagger and slump against the wall.

  God, it felt like her brain was being squeezed in a vice. Becoming a Messenger was supposed to bring her fulfillment. So why was she so miserable all the time? Everything that happened, everything anyone said or did, filled her with irritation. The only way to sate her fury, however briefly, was by embracing her destructive impulses.

  What little remained of Janice's true self made a feeble effort to regain control. I don't want this, she cried silently. I never wanted this. Even after the collapse of her life and career, the crisis of Chalice, all she had really wanted was to be left alone; to crawl in a secluded hole and
curl up into a ball. The tranquility of solitude—she would have been content with that.

  But that damn Voice just wouldn't leave her alone. Every time she had a hateful thought, the Voice encouraged and amplified it, overwhelming her rational mind with nihilistic rage. Resisting it was an exhausting endeavor that wore her down day by day, until finally she gave in out of sheer fatigue.

  And so it was again. The brief moment of resistance passed. Janice straightened up and continued her haughty stride down the corridor, her mind a whirl of dark thoughts.

  So, the Regents weren't happy with how she was executing her duties? Well, she had an answer for that. She would just have to make some unauthorized modifications to the Ascension Project so that it was more suited to her unique talents.

  *

  After his interview with Astral, Amos made organizing a conference with Providence and Admiral Wyburn his highest priority. The first attempt failed due to a vital comm cable going down. After a day's delay, an alternate route was established, and now Amos found himself sitting once again in his office, with fuzzy images of Providence's robotic mask and Wyburn's roguish countenance flickering over his desk.

  “Good day to you both,” Wyburn said. There was an air of superiority in his voice that Amos didn't like, but he let it pass. “Colonel Lane, your contact request implied that you had a matter of some gravity to discuss. Has something gone awry with Reanimation?”

  “Not exactly, but we've got a new wrinkle to contend with.” Amos related everything he had learned about the Xenolists, including his subordinates' encounters with their forces. The only thing he left out of his report was Astral, instead implying that they had extracted their information from the prisoner with truth serum.

  When he was finished, Wyburn asked, “So do you really think these cultists pose a credible threat to our control of Chalice?”