Resist the Red Battlenaut (13 page)

 

"Hey! Watch it!" said Trane. "You almost knocked over the hydrochloric acid!"

"Sorry." Scott snapped his attention back to the chemicals and equipment in the lab around him. He knew he needed to focus one hundred percent on the task at hand, testing pieces of the Red Battlenauts retrieved from the surface of Shard.

But he also knew it wouldn't be long until his attention wandered again. The fact was, he couldn't stop thinking about the Red pilot.

Since their meeting in the brig a day ago, Scott had become obsessed. He kept playing back his memories of what the guy had said and how he'd looked, hunting for some clue that would remind him of where and how they'd met before.

If, indeed, he did have memories of a past meeting, and the pilot wasn't just making it up to get inside his head.

"You're distracted as hell," said Trane. "Tell me again why you need to be here?"

"Because I'm the only one who can see all the pieces of the Reds' armor and extract samples," said Scott. "You can't run your tests without me."

Trane sighed. "I keep hoping the answer will change." He reached for a purple-stained slide and placed it under the lens of the electron microscope. "Since you're here anyway, take a look at this." He stepped aside and gestured for Scott to take over.

Scott stepped in and looked into the viewer on the device. He saw the same thing he'd seen in every other magnified sample so far: tiny crystalline shapes arranged in a spider-web pattern around a central diamond-like particle.

"Same result, right?" said Trane.

"Yes." Scott turned knobs on the microscope, sharpening the focus. "Another viral web in the exact same pattern."

"Which confirms it." Trane clapped his hands together. "All three Red Battlenauts and the rubble from the building were coated with identical viral particles arranged in identical matrices at the microscopic level."

Scott looked up from the device. "And that coating might be what's creating the stealth capability?"

Trane scowled and shook his head. "There's no trace of it in the samples from the prisoner. Unless there's a different process at work when it comes to cloaking a living organism."

"Hm." Scott rubbed his chin. "And it's definitely not something the Reds picked up on Shard. You said it's not native to the planet."

"Not a chance," said Trane. "The genetic structure of the virus shares no markers with any known Shard lifeforms. Plus which, none of
our
armor came back with a trace of the stuff on it. It's not from
around
here." Hands on hips, he walked off across the lab, frowning in thought.

Instantly, Scott's mind returned to the pilot. Maybe he was starting to seem a little familiar after all--or was that just because Scott kept thinking about him?

The only thing Scott knew they had in common for sure was their homeworld, Tack. That did make it more possible that their lives had intersected. Could they have gone to school together or met at a summer camp? Maybe they'd gone to the same church...or, more likely, crossed paths at boot camp or the Academy. Scott certainly couldn't remember everyone he'd ever met back home or in the military.

Why, then, did the pilot claim to remember him so well? And not in a
good
way? Had Scott burned him at some point and moved on, not realizing the guy would come back to bite him in the ass someday? It was possible, wasn't it? Scott thought of himself as a good guy, but he'd never claimed to be perfect.

So who
was
that pilot?

Scott's thoughts returned to the business at hand as Trane strolled back over, scrubbing his knuckles through his bright white crewcut. "So far, the virus hasn't exhibited any cloaking-related properties. That raises the question of what it
can
do." He stopped at the microscope and took another look at the slide mounted there. "Or maybe that's not important. Maybe that's beside the point."

"How so?" said Scott. "Isn't cracking the virus' capabilities our top priority, if it might be connected to the stealth technology?"

"But our
other
priority is
finding
the Reds." Trane looked up from the microscope. "Perhaps we can trace the virus' genetic structure to a biosphere on record."

Scott nodded. "Good plan."

"We'll start now." Trane tapped the countertop, summoning holographic controls to float in midair in front of him. "While we keep testing the virus' capabilities and tolerances, of course. Moving forward on parallel tracks is the way to go, don't you agree?"

"Absolutely." Even as he said it, Scott was drifting off on his own personal parallel track again, ransacking his mind for the umpteenth time for some clue to the pilot's identity. Just like every other time, he was coming up empty.

"I'm bringing in Abby, Khalil, and Feinberg," said Trane as he manipulated the glowing holo-controls. "With that much brainpower at work, I guarantee we'll solve this mystery."

Maybe teamwork would be the answer to Scott's mystery, too. Other people were working on it already; maybe one of them would come up with something before it finally drove him crazy.

All he needed was a hint. Just a nudge, and the tumblers would fall into place, the vault would unlock, and he would remember.

Maybe then he could get some real answers, the kind that would help the Diamondbacks stop the Reds before it was too late.

 

*****

 

"As far as we can tell, the man in the brig does not exist." Captain Rexis spread her arms and shook her head. "He's a nobody in every sense of the word."

A wave of disappointment rolled through Scott. As he stood there stiffly in Rexis' office and took in the verdict, his spirit fell like an anchor tossed overboard from a seagoing vessel, heading straight for the bottom.

"We've run searches based on what you've told us about him." Rexis swung her arms in and plopped them on the desk in front of her. She looked more angry than disappointed. "And we've come up empty."

Scott scowled. He hadn't given them much to work with, but he'd hoped
something
would turn up.

"Based on your description, we came up with a computer-generated image of the pilot." She picked up an 8" by 10" printed photo from her desk and handed it over to Scott. "We circulated that to all military and law enforcement sources...but no one could I.D. him."

Scott nodded as he gazed at the image. "This is a good likeness of him. I can't believe it wouldn't generate any leads...especially since we know he's from Tack, a Commonwealth world. There
must
be some kind of evidence in the Commonwealth records."

"Not that
we
can find." Rexis leaned back in her chair. "He's a
ghost
."

"Damn." Scott glared at the computer rendering of the prisoner. What
was
it about that guy? "Is there anywhere else you can look?"

"Believe me, we've tapped every resource at our disposal." Rexis shook her head. "It's
critical
that we I.D. this Red. But it's like he never existed. Either that, or..." She turned her head and stared into space, looking deep in thought.

"Either that or what?"

Rexis returned her gaze to him. "Either that, or he's being protected."

Scott frowned and took a seat, dropping onto the antigrav chair floating in front of the desk. "You think so?"

"Actually, it's the only explanation that makes sense to me." Rexis folded her arms over her chest. "It explains a lot of other things, too."

She was right. The more Scott thought about it, the more he agreed with her. Protection and guidance from inside the Commonwealth would have greatly enabled the Reds' secrecy, access to information, and freedom of movement through Commonwealth space.

"You think someone in the Commonwealth is backing the Reds?" said Scott.

Rexis propped her elbows on the armrests of her chair and steepled her fingers in front of her face. "If they are, they'd have to be in the upper echelons to pull off what they've done.
And
..." She raised her eyebrows. "...they'd be willing to do
anything
to protect their secrets."

Her meaning wasn't lost on Scott. "So we might be up against our own people," he said.

"It's possible." Rexis unsteepled her fingers and used them to rub her temples. "In which case, we've already tipped them off, and the ice we're on is getting thinner by the minute."

"Wow." The implications were pretty ugly. They would transform the mission from a risky hunt for a secret force upsetting the balance of power to a paranoid struggle in which no one could truly be trusted.

"Enough to give you a migraine, isn't it?" Rexis kept rubbing her temples. "Or keep it permanently cranked up to maximum intensity."

"So what do we do next?" said Scott.

"Carry on with the mission, I suppose. Remain aware of the possibilities." Rexis shrugged. "I still think you're our best weapon. The personal interest the Red has in you--I think you can use it to our advantage."

"I'm not so sure," said Scott. "He won't even tell me when and how we supposedly met."

"Keep trying," said Rexis. "Maybe it'll come to you."

Scott took another look at the computer rendering of the pilot, fighting for recognition...but he drew another blank. Whatever secrets might be locked away inside his own mind, he couldn't touch them. "Still nothing."

"Don't give up." Rexis tapped her lower lip with a forefinger as she stared at him. "You know what else you could try? Ask a family member. Someone you can trust without reservation."

Was she talking about Grandma Bern? "If you mean Commandant Chalice, I'm not sure she'd remember the pilot any better than I do."

"I'm more interested in her resources than her memory." Rexis raised an eyebrow. "You might be surprised what the Commandant of the Marine Corps can come up with when she puts her mind to it."

Scott thought about what she was saying. Getting in touch with Grandma Bern was not a simple matter. He'd spent his adult life making it a point not to play that card--but maybe, given the stakes, it was time. Maybe Bern could turn over rocks that no one else could, especially if Rexis was right about a possible conspiracy in the Commonwealth's hierarchy.

"I'll see what I can do," said Scott. "But I can't promise anything. The Commandant doesn't always take my calls."

Rexis tapped the obsidian desktop in front of her, summoning a cluster of holo-controls. "I'll schedule radio time for you on the top-security encrypted channel...as much as you need. Twenty hundred hours tonight sound good?"

"Sure." Scott got up from his chair. "I'll let you know how it goes. Just don't expect any miracles."

"Don't worry," said Rexis. "We're working
all
the angles. Sooner or later, something's got to give."

 

*****

 

"Commandant Chalice is not able to take your call at this time," said the holographic projection of the pretty redhead in the Marine uniform. "She will contact you at her earliest convenience, Corporal Scott."

"Thanks." Scott saluted and closed the comm channel. The redhead--Lori, one of Bern's personal assistants--vanished from the chair across the round black table from Scott, which was where her image had been projected.

With a sigh, Scott got up and left the comm booth. It hadn't surprised him that Bern wasn't available; as Marine Commandant, she was busy beyond belief. But he'd been looking forward to seeing and talking to her. It had been at least eight months since the last time they'd spoken, and he missed her. He'd had the time set aside, approved by Captain Rexis, and now he'd just have to wait until Bern called back.

Not that he was going to let that time go to waste. He hadn't seen Donna all day, so now was the perfect opportunity.

When he got to the medicenter, Doctor Beauchamp was away. A male nurse named Golah Tourmal was in charge until she got back.

Tourmal ran the stats for Scott, which wasn't exactly an uplifting experience. Donna's vital signs had been irregular throughout the day; she was finally stable, but Beauchamp was worried that she might be losing ground.

"We'll see how she holds up tonight," said Tourmal. "Maybe having you around for a while will give her the boost she needs."

As Tourmal walked off to do paperwork, Scott pulled a chair up beside the bed and sat down. Taking Donna's hand, he caressed it, watching the motion of her chest as she inhaled and exhaled medicenter air.

"Can you hear me, Donna?" he said softly. "I know you've been through a lot, but you need to get better fast. We need your help." He stopped caressing her hand and held it tightly. "
I
need your help."

As always, Donna showed no sign that she had heard him. Her chest rose and fell, rose and fell as breath passed through her.

"The Red prisoner claims to know me, but I don't remember him," said Scott. "I feel like everything's riding on this, and I can't figure it out."

Donna just lay there, still and silent as ever. She had no answers or encouragement to offer from the depths of her coma.

"Maybe, if you were awake, you could talk me through this," said Scott. "Or at least make me feel better. You've been great at that since Day One."

Again, she had nothing to offer. Just another dead end.

Scott sighed and sat back, holding on to her hand. It was warm and pulsing with blood, with all the heat and force of life--but none of the animation. Without movement or voice to interact with, she might as well have been another piece of furniture.

Disheartened, Scott slumped in his chair. A wave of hopelessness rolled through him, dragging him down. The future of the quadrant rested squarely on his shoulders, and he felt like the weight was crushing him. He was tired of thinking about it, tired of trying so hard to stop it from coming down around him.

He was just plain tired. Before long, his eyes flickered shut, and he started to drift off. His brain disconnected from consciousness, and dreamlike images passed before his mind's eye.

At first, the images focused on Donna, but she wasn't in bed in the medicenter. She was down on Shard, sharing the cockpit of Scott's Battlenaut, squeezed next to him on the pilot's couch. She and Scott were laughing and kissing as they unleashed one volley after another from the Battlenaut's guns, firing again and again at an unidentified target.

Then, suddenly, Scott was outside the Battlenaut, standing directly in its line of fire. As laser blasts and barrages of slugs poured toward him, he ran, barely getting out of the way in time.

Somehow, as he ran, he knew Donna was still doing the shooting. He couldn't see inside the cockpit or hear her voice over the comm, but he knew she was trying to kill him.

He also knew he wasn't on Shard anymore. The planet's surface had changed from silver metal to dirt and rock in all shades of brown. When the Battlenaut's guns churned up clouds from the ground around him, the dust was dark brown, and the chips of rock were pale tan.

Panting for breath, Scott raced across the plain as fast as he could, running serpentine patterns to evade the Battlenaut's fire. As fast as he ran, though, the long strides of Donna's Battlenaut were closing the gap between them.

Scott ran harder. A missile flashed past, barely missing him, and he bolted left--right into the path of another missile. This time, the hurtling object clipped his head, sending him spinning to the ground.

Scott tumbled head over heels three times before he came to a stop. Dazed, he sat up and looked around, poised to leap into action. He stuck his right arm behind him to prop himself up--and the arm kept going, passing through thin air.

Crying out, he caught himself with his left hand, holding on to a rocky ledge. It was then he saw that he was on the brink of a sheer drop. He'd barely saved himself from a fall of thousands of meters straight down.

Gasping, he scrambled away from the ledge, but he didn't get far. The Battlenaut with Donna inside was standing ten meters away, pointing an array of weapons right at him.

With the ledge behind him and the Battlenaut in front, Scott had nowhere to run. As the weapons aimed at him started to hum in preparation for firing, he took a deep breath and clenched his fists, getting ready to die.

That was when a mysterious figure leaped down out of nowhere, grabbed him under his arms, and vaulted away with him in its grip. As Scott's feet left the ground, Donna's Battlenaut's weapons pounded the spot he'd just occupied, chewing it into smoking rubble.

"Who are you?" Scott craned his head for a glimpse of his rescuer's face but couldn't make it out in the shadows of the hooded cloak he was wearing. "Tell me your name."

The rescuer said nothing. He just went on soaring through the sky, dodging weapons fire cast up from behind by Donna's Battlenaut.

Unable to see the face of whoever was carrying him, Scott turned his attention to the scenery sliding by far below. Only then did he realize he was somewhere different.

The vast brown plain had become a gigantic canyon, sprawling to the horizon and beyond. It was like a gaping maw carved into the ground, deep and broad enough to contain multitudes and swallow up the world in its entirety. A skyscraping crag towered at its heart, jabbing upward like a slender, jagged thorn.

Scott felt dizzy as his savior flew him over the hungry vastness. He was terrified of it for some reason, though he'd never been afraid of heights. It was as if all the darkness in his life had gathered down there like a thick black fog, clutching at his soul to drag it down and hold it fast forever.

"I want to go," he told his rescuer. "I want to get away from here."

It was then that they froze in midflight, hovering high above the canyon. The rescuer said something as he lifted him up, and his voice sounded like the voice of a little boy.

Then, he dropped him.

Scott plummeted face-first toward the mammoth canyon below, but he didn't scream. He just watched as the dark depths raced up toward him, looking more and more familiar the closer they got.

Until, finally, he recognized them. All at once, he knew exactly where he was and why he'd felt dizzy and afraid.

It was all because he was plunging into the Iridess Chasm on Tack, where he'd suffered and died. The towering crag flashing by in the heart of it was Penitent Peak.

Suddenly, something flipped him around to face upward, and the man in the cloak was there above him. With a sound like a little boy laughing, he pulled back his hood, exposing his features for Scott to see.

At first, the man's face was that of the Red pilot, with his cobalt blue eyes, blonde hair, and angular nose and cheekbones. But as Scott watched, the face compressed, becoming rounder and softer. The eyes grew larger, the hair thicker, the head smaller. He still had the body of a grown man, but his face became that of a child.

A child glaring at him with blistering, naked rage.

It was then that Scott was struck by the shock of full recognition. His heart hammered in his chest as he realized who the child was, who he'd become...and where they'd met.

The sky was lit with bursts of lightning all around. The wind whooshed past as Scott plunged downward, rocketing toward the floor of the chasm. The boy in the cloak said something, but he couldn't hear it.

Then, the boy lashed out with his fist, which was the size of a man's, and plowed it into Scott's face. Scott's head whipped to one side; he felt bones break and teeth break free from the impact.

The boy hit him again, flinging his head to the other side. Scott lost more teeth and felt hot blood fill his mouth.

Before the boy hit him again, he said something else, and Scott heard him this time. It was a single word, a name--and Scott didn't have to search his mind to connect with it. He knew it all too well.

Vore.

He said it aloud himself, through shattered teeth and bloody lips--a word that had haunted his every bad dream for years--but he said it as a question.

And when the boy heard it, he howled with rage and hit him again. Not that the pain much mattered, because both of them were about to hit the chasm floor at a high rate of speed. Scott sensed it racing up to meet them like a battering ram, as if propelled by rocket engines from below. Any second now, it would turn them into pulp.

Any second now, it would finish the job it had started thirteen years ago.

In the face of impending oblivion, Scott screamed his lungs out, screamed for all he was worth. He thrashed and kicked like a lunatic, as if somehow that would gain him purchase against the fall.

Then, at the height of his screaming and thrashing, he felt someone squeeze his hand...squeeze it so hard, it felt like it might break.

Spurred by the pain of that squeeze, he snapped out of the nightmare. He stopped screaming, and his eyes shot open, revealing the medicenter around him.

Panting and soaked with sweat, Scott slumped against the chair. He looked around to see who'd awakened him--and it was then he realized he was alone.

Except for Donna.

Just then, the medicenter door swept open, and Nurse Tourmal entered the room. "What the hell?" He frowned at Scott. "Are you all right?"

Scott sat up and nodded. "She squeezed my hand." He looked at Donna. "She squeezed it
hard
."

Tourmal checked the holographic readouts hovering over her, then marched to the foot of the bed, where her chart appeared. "I don't see any change."

"But it's still a good sign, right?"

"Absolutely." The way Tourmal said it made Scott think it wasn't such a good sign after all.

The truth was, Donna didn't look any different than before Scott had dozed off. She lay there in a state of near total stillness, eyes closed, chest rising and falling gently. When Scott squeezed her hand, she didn't squeeze back.

But he knew what he'd felt. He knew she's pulled him out of his nightmare before he could crash to the chasm floor.

He knew she was coming back.

For now, though, he couldn't stay by her side. Now, with the face and name from his dream still echoing in his head, he had business elsewhere. He had the information he'd been searching for; now, he had to put it to use.

"I have to go." He leaped out of his chair and ran for the door.

"Are you sure?" said Tourmal. "You're flushed and soaking wet. You might have a fever."

"Let me know if her condition changes," said Scott as the door slid open before him. "I want to know
immediately
."

"At least let me do a quick exam," said Tourmal. "It'll only take a minute."

Scott paused at the threshold and shook his head grimly. "I don't have a minute."

"Well, you should take one." Tourmal scowled. "At least tell me where I can reach you."

"The brig," said Scott, and then he bolted out the door and down the corridor.