Wanderer 3: Tainted Universe (37 page)

The
Wanderer
impatiently nudged Jess towards the information that had it so excited.  Jess’s heart leapt as he absorbed it.  The
Wanderer
had a way to incapacitate those who were tainted.  A way to render them harmless without hurting them.  A way to save Ali.  If there was anything left to save.

*****

Some of the excitement left Jess as he absorbed the information properly.  It wouldn’t save Ali.  However it would keep her safe.  It would keep her body from harm.  If there was any part of her left, and if that part had any awareness of the horrific situation she was in, then it would spare her from suffering any longer.

More information about the Taint flowed into Jess, further dampening his enthusiasm.  He’d come to think of the
Wanderer
as something amazing, something far beyond any other ship.  He viewed whoever had first created the
Wanderer
in the same light.  Their technology was thousands, of years ahead of anything else he had seen.

But they had no way to cure someone who was tainted.  The best they could manage was containment.  Despite their amazing technology they’d found no way to purge the Taint.  Not before the
Wanderer
was sent on its way at least.

It was like a kick in the stomach to Jess.  It was as good as saying that there was no way to cure someone.  No way to cure Ali.  Jess gritted his teeth.  Fine.  If the best he could do was to spare Ali torment that would have to be enough.

He wanted to start straight away, but it wasn’t possible.  They needed control of the shields, and that had been lost to the Taint again.  No matter.  He’d clawed back control of them once before.  He would do it again.

Grimly he started expanding the barrier.  Forcing the chaotic touch of the Taint back.  Strengthening the barrier as he went.  The Taint responded in force, sending creature after creature to crash against the defences.  To die.

It used a more subtle approach too.  Wherever Jess turned he was confronted with a version of Ali which whispered and cajoled, cursed and pleaded.  More than anything else it pushed the idea that he was already lost.  That the Taint was taking hold within his mind.

He didn’t care.  If it was true then when he gained control of the shields that part of him would be neutralised.  Maybe he wouldn’t notice.  Maybe he would drop to the ground in agony.  Maybe there
was
no Taint within him.  It didn’t matter.  Whatever the truth, he needed to regain control of the shields as soon as possible.  Then he would find out.  Then they would all find out.

Chapter Forty-Four

Clay lay in his bunk, desperate for the oblivion of sleep.  It wouldn’t come.  The parade of faces wouldn’t let him.  The faces of those he had killed directly and those he had helped to kill.

He knew that only a few were real faces, faces he had seen.  The rest came from his fevered mind.  That didn’t make them any easier to ignore.  The faces might be fake, the people they represented weren’t.  And he had killed them, either directly or indirectly.

After the unexpected briefing he and the other pilots had flown the rest of the scheduled missions.  Clay had killed in every battle.  Mostly he’d killed other pilots, but every defender he killed made it easier for the fleet to carry out its slaughter.

His
fleet.  He had made his decision.  He had stayed quiet while others made a stand, then were killed for daring to speak out.  In doing so he had accepted innocent blood onto his hands.

As he wrestled with his conscience he knew he would never have the courage to make that stand.  After all his time as a combat pilot, after all the times he’d faced death unflinchingly, he’d discovered he was a coward.  He burned with shame and anger at the bitter knowledge.

*****

Greenseed Station

Marsh watched as another three ships vanished into jump space.  Another three ships whose cargo holds were packed with food and supplies.  Another three ships that would inadvertently be spreading the Taint.

How many was that now?  Too many.  Forty maybe.  Fifty even.  He’d stopped counting.  What was the point?

Around him his officers got back to their jobs.  They’d watched the three ships leave but it had just made them more determined.  There was no need for another pep talk.  Not yet.

So many ships though, and still no way to get a warning out.  How much longer could he let this continue?  How many more ships would he watch flying off, each carrying a ticking time bomb?

It wasn’t just about the visiting ships.  Marsh had his own people to think about.  Not just those in the operations room.  Over the day small groups of survivors had been sending out signals confirming they were still alive.  That they were still free.  The communications had to route through the station's main systems so they were quickly shut down by the tainted.  That didn’t matter.  Knowing the groups were out there gave him hope.  Not everyone had been killed or corrupted.  There was still time to save at least some of the station’s residents.

Marsh was surprised there had been no attempt to breach the operations room.  He’d been expecting an attack for hours, but nothing had happened.  The corridors leading to the Operations Room were the only places he could still watch.  Hardened cameras covered the approach.

The corridors had stayed eerily quiet.  Apparently the tainted were quite content with how things were.  They didn’t believe that Marsh and the others were a threat.  Marsh was starting to believe they were right.

*****

Clay lay blinking in the bright light, puzzled by the ringing.  It took him nearly a minute to rouse to the point where he realised it was the signal to get up.  He must have fallen asleep eventually, but his dreams had not been restful.  The faces of those he’d killed had followed him into his dreams.

He dragged himself up and prepared to face another day.  As he dressed an urgent message arrived on his console.  Orders to attend a briefing.  It was due to start in five minutes.  Clay could just make it if he rushed.  So much for breakfast.  Not that he felt hungry anyway.

He made it to the briefing room with half a minute to spare.  Taking a deep breath he stepped through the doorway… and froze.  The room was almost empty.  It contained only three other people. Two guards, flanking the door he had used, and an officer.  The same one who had led both briefings so far.

Where were the other pilots?  They couldn’t all be late could they?  And the officer didn’t seem upset.  In fact she smiled, gesturing to Clay to come closer.  Resisting the urge to glance at the two guards he marched forwards.

The officer stood by a desk with food on it.  Several pastries and two cups filled with dark coffee.  Clay stopped several feet short of the officer and snapped out a salute.

“At ease,” she said, smiling slightly.  “Help yourself to some breakfast.”

Clay still didn’t feel hungry, but refusing the direct order felt like a very bad idea.  He took the smallest of the pastries and one of the coffees.

“Thank you… I’m sorry, I don’t know your rank.”

Clay was surprised to realise this.  So much had happened in the two briefings that he hadn’t noticed how different her rank badges were to the norm.  She had clearly been an officer, and in charge of the briefings.  With everything else that happened he hadn’t thought to look at her exact rank.

Now he came to check he saw that all she wore was a silver diamond on the left side of her chest.  Nothing else.  She smiled at him again, seeming pleased by his confusion.

“
No.  You don’t.  Maybe one day you will.  Or maybe not.”

Clay tried not to frown at the strange response, forcing himself to take a bite of the pasty instead.  Somehow he managed to swallow, despite his churning stomach.  Something was very wrong.  The whole situation stank of danger.

“You’re wondering why you are here on your own.”  It was a statement, not a question.  “We have been watching you closely.  Your skills in the cockpit are stunning.  You are a natural pilot, yet disciplined with it.  You have no idea how rare it is to see those traits combined.”

Clay decided that the less he said the better his chances of walking out alive.

“Thank you, ma'am.”

“
It’s not a complement,” she said sharply.  “I’m just giving you the facts.”

“
Sorry, ma'am.”

“
Hmm.  Anyway.  You have also proven yourself to be committed to the cause.  Not to mention brave, even outside of your cockpit.  With a gun stuck to the back of your head yesterday you didn’t flinch when the shooting started.”

She fell quiet.  Clay waited for her to continue.  Despite the glowing appraisal he felt in even more danger than before.  What was this leading up to?  She studied him carefully before speaking again.

“I’m here to tell you that you have impressed some important people.  You will fly with the others today on one final mission, then you will be transferred into an elite fighter wing.  One that takes care of our more… difficult issues.”

“
Thank you sir.”

Clay tensed in case she took his words badly again, but apparently this time they had been appropriate.  She smiled at him one more time.

“Now, I need to prepare for the briefing.  Your fellow pilots will be arriving in the next few minutes.  Enjoy the food.”  Her manner changed abruptly.  The ice was back.  “And don’t tell
anyone
what I just told you.  Is that understood?”

“
Yes ma'am!”

She nodded, took her cup and quickly disappeared through the door at the front of the room.  Clay glanced round.  The guards were still standing by the main entrance.

Taking another bite of the pastry he thought about what had just happened.  The complimentary report didn’t surprise him.  He’d received many during his career.  The offer did though.  In some ways it was tempting.  Being part of an elite strike force would be the best way he could stay safe from the Taint.

He was only slightly tempted though.  The officer had said herself that the strike force took care of difficult problems.  Clay wasn’t stupid enough to think that just meant tough targets.  It would also mean dealing with things that the main group of pilots couldn’t be trusted with.  Missions that were too tough, but also missions that were too dirty.  Missions that would require unquestioning obedience.

He couldn’t refuse.  Somehow he’d managed to convince the officer, and whoever she reported to, that he was exactly what they needed.  That he agreed with their plans.  That he would be happy wallowing in the muck and blood those plans generated.  Refusing the posting would quickly change that, and almost as quickly lead to his death.  He’d already seen how they dealt with dissent.  Even expressing doubt was a capital offence.  His only hope was to escape, but that seemed impossible.

Clay chewed his pastry mechanically, certain he was being closely studied.  He had to keep up appearances.  For the moment control of his future was in his hands.  Showing the wrong reaction could destroy that.  Bleak as things looked, he still had access to space in a fighter.  That gave him far more freedom than the vast majority of those on the ship.

The other pilots soon started drifting in.  Conversation was muted, almost furtive.  Many entered in silence and found somewhere to sit without speaking.  Several of the pilots carried food and drink, so Clay didn’t stand out.  Other pilots cast longing glances at the food.  Clay guessed they’d gone without food rather than risking arriving late.

“
At least we got here before the Cobra…” one of the pilots said.

He was quickly shushed by those around him.  The Cobra?  Clay was puzzled for a moment, then he made the connection.  The unnamed officer with no rank markings.  He couldn’t help smiling slightly.  The name fit.

Clay was surprised to find he’d finished his food.  He hadn’t really tasted it, but his body would appreciate the nourishment.  Glancing back he saw that all the pilots were in the room.  More troopers had entered and were standing motionless along the back wall.  Staring at the pilots.

People around Clay shot to their feet.  Clay immediately followed suit.  By the time he was facing the front of the room he was already beginning to salute.

Sure enough, the officer was there.  The Cobra.  The name certainly suited her.  Viciously dangerous and ready to strike at any moment.  She glanced over the room quickly then dived straight into the briefing.  Clay could feel the relief around him.  Apparently there would be no more executions.  This time at least.

“
Something a little different today,” the Cobra said.  “Our target is still a fair way outside the safe zone, but this one has too much strategic value for us to destroy it.  Instead our job is to take control of the station, with as few holes in it as is possible.  A permanent detachment of ships and troopers will be left here to keep the station safe from any hostile action.

“
First some background.  The station’s main export is food, though it is able to produce a variety of tools as well.  It has formidable defences deployed nearby.  A large part of your role will be taking out those defences if the station doesn’t surrender to us.

“
What else?  Oh yes.  The name of the station.  It is called Greenseed.”