Fort Liberty, Volume Two (13 page)

“We’ll use the lines.”

“Get in behind them.”

Voss looks at the sniper, seeing the blood speckling his boots, pooling along the tarmac behind him. “That shrapnel tore deep.”

“Not too deep,” Wyatt replies. “I’m good.”

Of course, he’s going to say it. He would say it as long he could draw breath and pull a trigger. It might not be exactly true, but it’s true enough, and Voss doesn’t have the luxury of second guessing. “Need you to stay here, and secure the hangar. That second ship is inbound for extract, and I need you to warn it off, or hit it with a rocket if it doesn’t change course.”

“Roger that.”

“The hanger’s primary control system is down, everything fried, all the computers destroyed. The backup power’s engaged, which is why that atmosphere shield is still up, but we still have no control over the blast doors or the weapons systems.”

Wyatt grimaces, casting a suspicious look toward the hangar entrance, the tangle of dented skimmers. “Outstanding.”

“I’ll take Rhoades with me.”

“Just Rhoades?”

“He did alright.”

“Didn’t get us all killed.”

“In other words.”

Wyatt shakes his head. “You need two. You can’t go blazing in there with one recruit who is subject to forgetting important shit under fire, and expect him to watch more than one sector. James can cover rear security. You gotta take him. You know that, sir.”

Voss does, though he doesn’t like it, because it means pulling more firepower away from the hangar, leaving a team of wounded to fend off whatever comes. “Then who have you got? Fulson’s still lying on the deck.”

“Fulson’s always lying on the deck, always taking something to the forehead.” Wyatt grins. “And besides, I got your girlfriend, don’t I? Isn’t that where your sidearm went?”

Voss doesn’t answer, doesn’t have to.

Wyatt slides his pistol out of its holster and hands it over, along with two full magazines. “Just full of noble gestures today, aren’t we?”

“Apparently.”

Wyatt nods, squints back at his recruit. “Private Rhoades. You have just graduated. Congratulations on your remarkable success. Now go get James, and follow the colonel down that hole.”

Rhoades looks up at them, looking like he’s been hit in the gut, surrounded by the first massacre he’s ever seen. “First Sergeant?”

“Time to go maim and kill.”

The kid takes a moment. “Now? We aren’t waiting for reinforcements?”

“You are the reinforcements.”

Rhoades flits his gaze between them, still uncertain.

“Nut up, private. This is the fun part,” Wyatt snaps, gesturing to the deep hole in front of them. “Happy hunting.”

She drags air into her lungs, feeling a foreign warmth coiling through her, searching.
One. You are one.

And the life slowly pulls out of her, a million ghosts set free, the murmur of a dozen languages. It’s the song of Earth, its sky muted by a yellow haze, its ghettos flooded with mothers and children. They are the helpless ones, the weak, the afraid. It is a world overrun by scavengers, partitioned by warlords, laid waste by monsters of ego, and by the old religions of blood and darkness, servitude and murder.

The worst of us
.

The War of Last Nations, glittering cities gone dark, integrated economies, law and order, everything buckled under the strain of cyberattacks and physical destruction. It was quick, and ruthless, and took less than thirty years to move across the globe. Remove the fragile structures of civilization, and human nature does the rest.

Earth was destroyed because the wrong people wielded the wrong power, destroyed the truth, stirred hatred, and set cultures against another in a way that became unstoppable.

The death of us.

Earthbound civilization was a sparkling moment on a blue planet, the elaborate dance of empires, and the music of singular voices, dreamers who took flight into starry skies, warm creatures propelled through the blackness of space.

It seeded the great Empire of Mars, generations born on a different world.

The flood of it passes through her, along with images she doesn’t understand, symbols memorized at the temple, designs, and maps. It flows into the luminous consciousness, absorbed into its soft mesh of color.

The Devas listen, their divine quiet interrupted. It is understood. It is recognized.
This is the beginning. You are one.

It doesn’t sound like a question, but it is.

The Devas are waiting.

She must choose.

Her human body, or the colony.

Detach. You are one.

There is no risk, and the world of light beckons, it’s history forming just out of reach, vast and unexpected. There are stories here, memories that should not exist. There is knowledge that is specific, not formless, not without sensation or sight, or experience.

It was not always the way it is now.

Niri understands some of it, but not all of it.

The colony has a history too.

She hesitates, surrounded by their light, and humbled by what is offered. One. I am one. I can go where others cannot. I can understand what they do not. I can join. I can live. I can perceive, but there is no return. Not for me.

Detach.

It should be easy, but it’s not.

In the haze of dreams, it seems as though she is turning her face from the glow, and looking back, trying to see the man behind her. He is there, isn’t he? Somewhere? Logan… the one who won’t let go.

He is human. He is the best of them, determined to heal, to protect, to honor his brothers and his purpose. Flawed, arrogant, but lost whenever he looks at her, gazing across the immeasurable distance between them.

Warrior.

The Devas understand this too. Colonel Voss, they understand. The Asura, they understand. It is all recognizable. It is expected. Nothing will be forfeited. It will all be shared.

You are one.

Their colors change, slowly, peacefully.

Niri feels the hesitation slip away, surrendering to pure awe.

Detach.

 

Is the patient unresponsive because she’s been exposed to an alien life form? Yes? Outstanding. Let’s take her pulse again. Let’s check her temperature. Let’s sit here, in contamination suits, and stare at her like idiots, hoping the shit we’ve done won’t blow up in our faces.

“She’s stable,” Williams says like it’s news. “There’s nothing dangerous indicated here.”

“You can’t wake her up.”

“She’s obviously processing something. We may need to wait.”

“Processing something?” Logan repeats. “That’s a diagnosis?”

Dr. Williams glares at him. “Good enough for a medic.”

Right. Logan drops his gaze to Niri, her body lying flat on the exam table in the exterior cave module, its padded surface flanked by two med scanners and a half-dozen computers.

She hasn’t moved, hasn’t made a sound. Clear water---or whatever it is--- drips from the white fabric of her med gown, glossing the dark curve of her neck, casting a faint blue-green shimmer along her skin. Her face is turned to the side, rapid eye movement flashing under closed lids, her thick black lashes trembling with it, gripped by something torturous and frenetic.

It looks like a seizure to him, but the med computers say otherwise. Heavy REM, unnatural EEG, desperate activity measured in cold screens… in data that produces no answers.

What does it think about? Why do you think you’re here, sport?

Logan grimaces, lifting his gaze to the windows and reading a quieter response in the cave, its glow changing slowly, thoughtful, deliberate… a snake consuming a mouse.

He looks at Williams. “You have to stop this.”

And he can tell, even before she pretends to think about it, that she has no intention of stopping anything.

Williams keeps her attention on Niri, and purses her lips. There’s a tinge of regret, perhaps, something that vanishes almost immediately. “We don’t know what that would do to her. None of the others had this reaction. None of the others were so compatible. For all we know, BIO227 is communicating with her right now. We can’t interrupt that.”

“Why not? Why are you doing this?”

It comes out as an accusation, because it is. They’re asking him to do the impossible. Duty is one thing. But now the wires are crossed. Protect Niri. Protect the undefined interests of the NRM. There’s no way to protect one without turning on the other.

Dr. Williams grimaces, like she knows it’s past the point of bullshit, and maybe it’s not in her best interest to pretend otherwise. She meets his gaze, apologetic. “It’s already too late for that.”

“What?”

“From a cell perspective, she’s more BIO227 than human. She’s more them than us. If the colony has accepted her, it may interpret her removal as a threat, which could be lethal for her. It has control now.”

“Over everything?”

“We have to let the process work.”

“For how long?”

Williams frowns, and lets out a frustrated breath. “It’s complicated. There’s a protocol that was given to her through the meditative hypnosis, by those who trained her.”

“The monks?”

“It’s a psychological construct, a method for communicating our interests. Right now, she should be delivering a message in images. She is transferring knowledge regarding our biology, Earth’s history, culture, language, some of the questions we have, some of the technology we are attempting to perfect. This is an important message. We have to wait for the colony to respond.”

“Respond,” he says, the word flat. “How?”

“If we’re right, the colony will communicate with Niri.”

“Communicate what? You’re talking to something that lives in a cave.”

“It might be more complicated than that. It’s adapted, it’s---”

“She’s something foreign in its space. It could just as easily determine her presence is the real threat. It could kill her just for that.”

Williams glances out at the cave. “You still don’t understand. You’re not listening. She’s more them than us. You think she’s human. You’ve attached to her as if she’s human, but she’s not.”

“How much time have you spent with her?”

“Don’t be childish.”

Logan ignores the woman, reaching down to take hold of Niri’s hand. He lifts it in his, though he can’t feel anything through the gloves. He can’t touch her in the way he needs to, assess her in the way he’s used to---though part of him knows that it’s just his superstition as a medic, the idea that human touch has a power all its own.

He leans down, speaking softly. “Niri, we’re here, okay? I’m here.”

It’s stupid. It sounds stupid, not the way he normally says it. He’s used to treating men in the field, and civilians when they reach out, and it’s all the same. It’s trauma he understands, tissue torn, shot through, or burned, bones broken, sickness that dehydrates and drains strength. Tell them it’s going to be okay. Tell them they’re doing well. Tell them that you’ve got them. The reality can be different, but the tone of voice doesn’t change.

What can I tell this woman?

“You’re…” He takes a breath. “You’re human. You feel that. I know you feel that. I’ve seen it when you look at me. And if that’s what it takes, okay, fine. I’ll admit to that. You were looking at me, and I was looking at you too. I knew exactly what it meant. I wasn’t going anywhere. I’m still not going anywhere, so come back to me.”

“You can’t say that,” Williams hisses.

He shakes his head, never taking his eyes off the woman on the table. “I’m right here, Niri. I’m waiting right here.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Logan glares up at Williams. “And you do? What if that thing out there isn’t what you expect?”

“Look, I know it doesn’t make sense to you---”

“Why should it make sense to anyone?”

“But it’s is a necessary step forward.”

“Into what? You raise your test subjects in a warzone. They’re always female, always Earthbounders. You program them with a message, and you toss them to that thing. Why? How is this a step forward?”

“You want answers I can’t give you.”

“You think it’s only me? You’re never going to have to answer for this?”

“Shhh,” Niri’s voice is nothing more than breath, so soft he almost misses it. He looks down, and she’s staring at him, her eyes large, and dark, unblinking. “Do not be afraid.”

His heart sinks. It’s not her. He can tell it’s not.

Logan releases her hand, takes a step back from the table.
Where is she? What did you do to her?
He wants to ask, but there’s no asking it anything. The words die in his throat.