The Tabit Genesis (22 page)

‘How could you leave without telling me? You don’t understand what you’ve done!’

The Zeus atmosphere was a primordial soup loaded with all the raw ingredients necessary to support life: abundant water, carbon-based organic compounds, and energy from the planet’s core. It was unfathomable that humans had been in Orionis for almost two centuries without studying this planet in detail. The trove of Helium-3 in the thermosphere was what drew civilisation here, but the real story was the water in the troposphere. Atmospheric pressure at that depth was three to seven times that of sea level on Earth. It was unknown what depths the Arkady could survive to, and discovering that was key to understanding their origins.

‘You do realise you’re not in charge of the science mission?’

Viola had been forced to be dismissive about Karyn’s theory on the fate of the DIVE probe. In fact, there was no doubt in her mind that it had struck something much, much denser than the surrounding air: tissue, almost certainly. She just needed time to confirm it, which meant distracting her colleagues. If there was to be a groundbreaking Arkady discovery, she needed to find it before anyone else could twist its potential into something that could benefit Travis Mareck.

Again, at the thought of Travis, she felt a strange, distracting physical sensation that was both repulsive and irresistible. She needed to get to the bottom of that, and soon.

‘Viola, all of your selections are Mareck’s people. There is not a single person on that ship you can trust.’

She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt genuine love for Klaus Silveri. The notion was just as sickening as the thought of Travis Mareck. Perhaps the two were connected, she mused, as if there was time to psychoanalyse herself. Both men were abusive, deeply insecure, and controlling; and both had somehow become crucial figures in her synthetic life. Travis always threatened to take away her Arkady research. Klaus always threatened that she’d be a failure. She was subjected to enough negative reinforcement to make a normal person wither into psychosis.

But not enough for the amniosynth creation of a psychopath. Though she was so very tired of being threatened.

The only challenge, Viola thought, arose from not knowing who else knew what she was – when people found out, how might it change their perception of her? All this time, she had believed she was firstborn and mingled freely among them. No one knew she was really a ‘ghost’, which all but proved that the modern interpretation of the Heritage Act amounted to racism: a societal mandate to protect a privileged class that was fearful of their own creation. Now she was on the other side of it. And the irony was, if Klaus’s claims about her abilities were to be believed, this side was the superior one.

‘I know what Cerlis told you. She had no right.’

Merckon’s investigators had discovered several interesting facts about the rig where the hunter tentacle had been found. The location was unremarkable, but the rig itself was in terrible condition; it was miraculous that it was still maintaining orbit at all. The operators were a family that went by the surname Lethos; the youngest on board was a boy of just eleven. They were leasing the rig from Ceti, and had fallen on deep financial troubles.

But according to the report, there were no functioning point defences or radar systems on board. It might be the most vulnerable rig on the planet.

‘Working late?’

Viola never bothered to look up from her console. She had been aware that Captain Mohib had been standing in the doorway for nearly a minute.

‘
Solid
observational skills,’ she said. ‘You should be a scientist.’

He was wearing a throwback Navy overcoat adorned with Merckon insignia on the lapels. That he was clearly annoyed at her tone delighted her.

‘Are you looking at the DIVE data?’ he asked, walking closer.

‘You are well informed for a freighter captain,’ she said, shutting everything down.

‘This ship is my business,’ he said.

Viola smiled at him.

‘And the scientific data is mine,’ she said.

‘You realise that information falls under the purview of—’

‘That is what we agreed to, right?’ she interrupted, beaming the loveliest smile she could. ‘Or did you have other plans?’

This was a career Navy man accustomed to having his orders followed without question, and Viola was having none of it.

‘I want to know what it is about that data you find so interesting,’ he demanded.

‘I find all kinds of data interesting,’ Viola said, pushing towards the door. When she was alongside him, she grabbed a rail to stop herself, and the momentum carried her long ponytail into his shoulder.

‘Do I make you uncomfortable, Captain?’ she asked.

He laughed.

‘Only the thought you’re withholding mission data from me,’ he said. ‘Did the probes hit something or not?’

Viola smirked.

‘Do you believe every fairy tale the children tell around here?’

‘I see,’ he said through his teeth.

‘I doubt it,’ she said, gliding away.

From the privacy of her cabin, Viola played the final message in the queue.

Mace Merckon commissioned me to help develop amniosynthesis in 2657. The scientists I worked with believed that we were building something to help ensure the survival of our species. And though we understood the harm this biotechnology could potentially cause, we believed that good would prevail over evil.

I could tell you precisely how complex molecules would interact with each other, but I couldn’t discern which applications of amniosynthesis were considered ‘evil’. Lance Alyxander and Masaad Obyeran left Orionis to create their own empires with it. Were they not repopulating the human race, as was intended? Did the augmentations they applied to make amniosynths better adapted for life in space help assure ‘our’ survival? Did those changes make them ‘superior’ to the generation of humans who left Earth? Which of these applications is morally unsound?

I cannot say. For every living amniosynth born to either House, dozens were terminated, either for the sake of experimentation or because they were accidental abominations. One could argue those creatures had to die so today’s generation could live. By that reasoning, amniosynthesis is Darwinism, and moral considerations do not apply.

But I would rather be remembered as the scientist that brought dirt to our world. I thought I had left amniosynthesis behind when Mace Merckon contacted me again, as he lay dying of old age. He … coerced me to create a new kind of amniosynth. You see, the Independence War had just begun. The highborns were alarmed by Ceti’s power, and, fearing they would use nuclear weapons against them, sought a new way to repopulate the species. But not just with any humans. Only … them.

Viola, the captain of the
Lycidas
is not Abel Mohib. That man is Travis Mareck, augmented to disguise his identity. You are biologically attracted to him, and all highborn males, because you are genetically predisposed to be. As the potential progenitor of a post-war human race, Mace Merckon wanted your instincts hardwired to protect the continuance of dominant highborn lines. You should assume Travis Mareck knows, and that as a firstborn with highborn lineage, he will attempt to exploit this.

You know who I am. I never wanted to be a father, let alone raise a child. And yet, as little as I understand of love, I thought it might help if you believed you had a real mother. That was a mistake, and I regret it.

I had to be harsh. I was forced to learn your limits. You didn’t turn out the way I expected. You became so much more. You are, without question, my greatest achievement. Now that you’re aboard the
Lycidas
, there is nothing else I can do to help you, except pass on what I’ve learned, and share the truth with you.

No one deserves your fate. But you represent a giant leap for humankind. Mace didn’t know everything else I put into you. You are so much stronger than you think. In the days ahead, you will need to call on that strength to survive.

I now understand the difference between good and evil. I did not expect to end up caring for you so much. And I know that you will never forgive me.

Viola pulled the earphones out, and watched them float away.

I’ve been trying really hard not to lose my patience.

In the last month, Dusty has had a rough time recovering from a broken back, orbital bone, jaw and mouth palate, plus swallowing his two front teeth. The attack left him traumatised, not so much because of physical discomfort, but for the fact he felt a spiritual connection to the assassin who beat his face in.

He just couldn’t forgive the Minotaur for shooting her. Dusty didn’t feel it was fair to judge her ‘for just doing her job’, and that her hostility didn’t marginalise the ‘magic’ they shared before she tried to kidnap him. He believed they might have worked things out and lived happily ever after.

Eventually I gave up trying to convince him that her death was to be counted among the positives in his life. Until last week, his jaw had been wired shut. But he made a great effort to bitch-mumble at me even as I helped feed him, change him, and clean him. Now that he could talk, he was
still
being an unappreciative little bastard.

My Ceti business was being neglected for this. But after the attack, hiring help or even a droid was out of the question. We were both way up on the Navy’s shit list. After a while, relentless vigilance became outright paranoia. It had reached the point where I would taste Dusty’s meals before him, hoping I’d die of poisoning.

After all this coddling, he was getting a little too comfortable being waited on, and I was sick of it.

‘Have you ever tasted real fruit before?’ Dusty asked, as I cleared his plate and tossed the remnants of dinner into the sink. Of course I had no idea what he was talking about and reached for a smacker.

‘What?’ I said, lighting the joint.

Dusty’s handsomeness didn’t exactly improve with the accident. The metal now holding his cheekbones together gave him an unsightly bulge beneath both eyes. He’d opted for titanium instead of bone to leave the door open for augmentations that would make him a better pilot than he already was.

‘You know, like an apple, or an orange,’ he continued. ‘Real stuff with real skin, not plastic wrappers.’

Dusty had enough money to live as lavishly as a Ceti lieutenant. Instead he lived in a messy low-income flat that was covered wall-to-wall in electronics. The living room was an exact replica of the
Breakaway
’s bridge, fully capable of simulating real flight. An industrial workfab unit was crammed into the master bedroom, where he refitted engine components and built drones, scale models of Navy warships, and replicas of his favourite comic book heroes. Most of the gear was shut down and stowed in preparation for the journey to Corinth.

The few articles of clothing he owned were arranged in random piles throughout the place. And anything that wasn’t autonomously self-cleaning just wasn’t cleaned, ever.

‘No, Dusty,’ I said, as green tendrils of smoke hissed out of my nose. ‘I’ve never had a real apple.’

Turning towards the living room, I saw the Minotaur lounging in the captain’s chair.

‘He’s got that
look
again,’ the bull-man snorted. ‘Reel him in before he gets crazy.’

I ignored the advice.

‘Well, I have,’ Dusty said. ‘They grow trees in the biodomes on Eris. Inner Rim people get to eat the produce. Not the synthetic shit we eat here.’

An involuntary twitch contorted my face. That was happening more often lately.

‘So …?’ I asked, taking another deep puff.

‘So when this is over,’ Dusty said, ‘I want an apple tree.’

Swallowing the smoke by mistake, I burst into a hoarse, phlegmy wheeze.

‘I think I’m missing a few blunts,’ I managed.

‘I’m serious,’ Dusty said, moving into the living room. ‘That’s what I want.’

‘If we survive this,’ I vowed, ‘I’ll buy you a whole damn orchard.’

‘You’re such a fatalist,’ Dusty fumed. ‘It’s depressing.’

That was understandable. But when he wasn’t moaning about his dead ‘girlfriend’, he fantasised about heroics in the attack on the
Archangel
. The prospect of shooting Navy ships filled him with euphoria. Dusty dreamt of having each kill painted on the nose of the
Breakaway,
thinking it would earn him more ‘status’ with the other Ceti captains.

‘Did you actually read the battle plan?’ Dusty ranted. ‘I bet you don’t even understand it.’

God, he was annoying.

‘I know a bad deal when I see one,’ I said.

‘The shield tech is the difference,’ Dusty insisted, throwing a canvas sheet over one of the dashboard displays. ‘You haven’t seen what it can do.
I have
.’

I blew out another wisp of smog.

‘Even if you had seen it – and I’m going to call bullshit on that – what difference does it make?’ I asked. ‘It doesn’t help
us
, right? The
Breakaway
isn’t shielded.’

‘We have the element of surprise,’ Dusty said.

The Minotaur snorted into a brief laugh. Another twitch grabbed hold of my face.

‘This fleet’s too big to sneak up on anything,’ I said. ‘It’s going to be a massacre.’

Dusty stamped his foot like a little girl.

‘Just once, try to be positive about something!’ he scolded, before calming down. ‘Anyway, check your corelink. You have procurement chores.’

I fished the device out of my pocket while sucking the joint down to the hilt.

Glancing over his list ignited a bomb fuse within me.

‘Are you shitting me?’ I said.

‘It’s a long ride and cryo makes me sick,’ Dusty said. ‘I aim to stay busy.’

‘You’re strangling the corelink,’ the Minotaur observed.

‘This is … what … synthetic
cow
meat
?’ I growled. ‘Really?’

‘Steak,’ Dusty said. ‘The stuff is delicious. Have you ever tried it?’

‘I’m offended,’ the Minotaur smirked.

‘No!’ I fumed. ‘Jesus
Christ
.’

‘They sell it in the Sixth Ward,’ Dusty said. ‘Just follow that succulent aroma; it’s the signature scent of Brotherhood.’

I had heard enough.

‘Fuck this,’ I snapped. ‘I’m not ordering a three-week supply of your favourite takeout.’

Dusty turned all red.

‘Then I’ll ditch your drug stash and see how
you
enjoy the trip!’

The bomb exploded. My fist lashed out on its own, smashing one of the electronic displays on the wall into pieces.

I didn’t even hear the words come out of my mouth.

‘The
fuck
you will, Dusty. I’ll hurt you real bad.’

His expression changed from defiance to fear, and for a moment I was gratified. Taking a frightened step backwards, he tripped, pulling more random junk down on top of him as he tried to catch himself.

‘Atta boy,’ the Minotaur said, as Dusty landed with a crash.

Horrified, I rushed forward to offer a hand. But Dusty cowered away as if I were a monster.

Maybe he was right.

‘Sorry,’ I muttered, heading towards the door.

The sun was setting on another Brotherhood ‘day’ as the giant mirrors that focused Orionis sunlight onto the curved city grids were gradually redirected away. All the activity to prep the Ceti fleet made for slow travelling, and it took me nearly an hour to reach the nearest tram station.

Along the way, I smoked as much as I could.

If you were a mutant, the Sixth Ward was an exclusive place to call home – and a miserable, impoverished slum to everyone else. People who settled there worked the most menial, dirty, or dangerous jobs in the station. But they were a proud community who wore their deformations like a badge of honour. If you didn’t have one, you didn’t belong.

The tram platform was crowded, but no one stood anywhere near me as I waited. Maybe it was because I smelled like a chemical refinery, or perhaps it was the green smog surrounding my head, or maybe the Ceti lieutenant insignia spread across my coat. Whatever the case, the express to Camden Market, the closest stop to the Sixth, was nearly empty. No one else boarded when I did. A few exhausted souls were already inside, every single one a mutant. Some had probably been working for days without sleep. The impending attack on the
Archangel
was an open secret now, and huge sums of wealth had transferred from Ceti captains to the labour force in preparation for the journey.

Taking a seat near the door, I reached for another joint – and realised it was my last one. Desperate, soul-shearing panic sets in. Just like that, my high evaporates and I’m back in the vortex, drowning in a sea of self-loathing, where drugs are the only thing keeping me alive. As the tram glides away from the platform, I begin hyperventilating. The curved cityscape looming high above is suddenly terrifying, and Zeus is readying to feast on us as the whole station spins round and round, hundreds of thousands of pointless lives just turning in circles.

One scene of hardship after the next blinked by as the tram picked up speed. All these people were slaving to earn a few more CROs in the rush to send thousands of their own to fiery Inner Rim deaths. I broke into a nervous laugh, spawned by the madness of life and the terror of not having the fix I needed to cope with it.

When the tram passed by a larger-than-life projection of ‘The Patriot: Vladric Mors’, my self-loathing became hatred.

Vladric, the bane of my life. Of
all
lives. Yet he commanded such respect from them,
reverence
even. What had he done to earn it?

I knew the answer: he had given ‘hope’. The simplicity of it made me furious. Evil as he was, that motherfucker gave ghosts and mutants more hope than Orionis ever did. All he had done was recognise them as people with as much right to be here as anyone else.

What the hell had I spent my life defending? Tabit Prime had
made
this man. Without him, there would be no need for a Navy, or the
Archangel
. But if not him, their regime would have just created someone else.

Vladric Mors ruled Ceti through his lieutenants. His government was akin to feudalism, but the people who lived here preferred that to Chancellor Jade’s ‘democracy’. If a lieutenant was being harsh or unfair, Vladric made an example of him – often in brutal fashion – to send a message to the other lords. Although he had his own use for violence, he wasn’t interested in officers who relied on it. Instead he sought out those with real intellect. These lieutenants formed the core structure of Ceti, and most, if not all, owned warships with crews of their own.

Somehow, Vladric had convinced all these bright individuals that attacking the
Archangel
was not only possible, but an imperative necessity. Most of the fleet was flying straight into a gunfight they couldn’t win. Yet if Vladric’s lieutenants knew more,
knew
that this wasn’t a suicide mission, they weren’t interested in explaining why his plan would work to anyone else.

Something sinister was happening. I had infiltrated the inner circle too late. Dusty was a social outcast whom other captains shunned, and I had the reputation of a sadist. We were locked out from the intelligentsia of Ceti for good.

Deep down, I must have known it all along. The bad things I did to fuel this transformation from the person I was into the monster I needed to become accomplished nothing but the death of my own soul.

I accepted that everything I had sacrificed was for nothing. Reaching again for my last joint, I knew now what needed to be done.

‘You piece of shit,’ the Minotaur said, loud enough to startle the nearest passenger. He must have been sitting next to me the whole time.

‘Likewise,’ I muttered, lighting up. Immediately, a woman’s voice came over the tram’s loudspeaker.

‘Smoking is illegal on this tram,’ she said. ‘Please extinguish your narcotic.’

‘No, really,’ the Minotaur said, leaning forward. ‘Who do you think you are, threatening Dusty like that?’

There was nothing to say. He was right.

‘There’s one person in existence that gives a damn about you,’ the bull-man said, unrelenting. ‘Just one. And you were going to do what?’

‘Please extinguish your narcotic,’ the tram-bitch said.

Out of nowhere, my ears started to ring.

‘You were going to kill him!’ the Minotaur exclaimed.

Every passenger on the tram got up and moved away from me. And the ringing in my ears was getting louder.

‘You’d kill your only friend for a fucking joint,’ the Minotaur scoffed. ‘Pathetic.’

‘Jack Tatum, the Ceti Municipal Affairs Division has just issued you a summons for the misdemeanour of public narcotic consumption.’

‘End yourself and be done with it,’ the Minotaur said.

The ringing was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think.

‘What are you waiting for, Jack?’

‘
Please extinguish your narcotic.
’

I inhaled deeply. Too much.

‘Do it!’

The noise was overwhelming.

‘
Please extinguish your life.
’

The tram stopped. Or maybe the world had stopped moving long enough for me get out.

‘
You have been summoned,
Jake Reddeck, Jack Tatum, Jake Reddeck, Jack Tatum …
’

I staggered onto the platform to escape and tripped over my own feet. A Ceti guard approached, weapon in hand, as I picked myself up from the pavement and drew a deep, deadly puff.

‘Were you just smoking on that tram, junkie?’ he asked.

‘Fuck you just call him?’ the Minotaur snarled.

When I looked up, the guard’s face was melting in viscous slags of flesh.

‘Jack
Tatum
?’ it said, drawing closer. ‘Are you alright, sir?’

The world was stretching and contracting. Every breath burned like a furnace. Fire pumped through my veins. I covered my temples to keep my head from flying apart.

‘I’m looking for a mutant,’ I managed. ‘He’s a … dangerous prick. I need your sidearm.’

‘But it won’t do you any good,’ the melted face said.

‘
Give him your goddamn weapon
,’ the Minotaur shouted. ‘
Now.
’

I felt a gun pressed into my palm.