Ceaseless Page 12

  “I can't imagine how long it took to come to fruition. Ages. Generations. But, somehow, finally, all of the species put their collective heads together and dreamed up a device to imprison all of the gods. A war was started. It was a long, brutal war and resulted in the near extinction of every species in the entire galaxy. But in the end...they won out. They won the fight. They imprisoned every last god in this device that we had discovered.

  “It gets a little fuzzy, but they were trying to find some way to destroy the device. Instead, they locked it away. Or tried to. I'm not sure, it's confusing. When my team and I got hold of the device, after puzzling over it for several weeks, one of us managed to activate it. We were all possessed almost immediately by eleven of the damned things inside. We didn't quite know it, though. But we all started doing weird things.

  “Looking back on it now, I realize they were gathering information. On us. On humanity. On the current state of the galaxy. And they had us dream up something wonderful and terrible for them. A suit of armor. A fusion of flesh and technology. Invincible. Unstoppable. A meat shell. For one of them to inhabit, to test drive. To work out all the bugs. They want to rule us, Sergeant. They want to return to power as gods among men,” Sergei explained. It was dead silent in the room when he finished speaking.

  “Hold on, you're...possessed?” Allan asked.

  “Yes,” Sergei replied, nodding. “But it doesn't...control me. Not anymore, anyway. I think it might be dying, this thing's consciousness...”

  After a moment of wrapping his head around this, Allan spoke. “There's a few things I don't get,” he said. “Number one, when you opened the box, why didn't they all just leave and return as gods? Why bother with a suit of armor? Why bother waiting? Why just go around killing people for the hell of it on a path to...somewhere?”

  “There is something you must understand. These creatures, they have been trapped inside of a tiny box for millions upon millions of years. Awake and aware. They must be...utterly insane by now. When the possession became apparent, and I started hearing thoughts that weren't my own...they didn't make sense most of the time. These creatures are demented in most ways, by now. I imagine that they may have forgotten most of their true potential, but they are still a large threat. You see, when we were 'possessed', we weren't taken over by the most powerful or the smartest...no, we were taken over by the first eleven to escape the fucking box. It was a mad rush, I imagine. They aren't all that together anymore. But that suit...we perfected that suit of armor. It is perfect. And one of them possessed it to go on a killing spree, to work out all the bugs.

  “Here's the thing. All of that information he gathers out there in the field is being transmitted to a secret installation buried deep underground. Not Obsidian Station. Another installation. When we were possessed, we had that installation set up. Automated. The idea was, once completed, it would begin automatically construction these suits of armor, using the original design. Once the god that was out in the field received the signal that they were ready, he would have to go and manually begin the automated process,” Sergei explained.

  “That's why he let me live in the beginning!” Allan exclaimed. “He must have got the signal, right then, as he was approaching me.”

  “Yes. Listen. Those bodies are ready to be made. The containment device is there, Sergeant. Ready to release the insane gods to inhabit the bodies. They will form an unstoppable army of killing machines. Though not as powerful as when they were originally, they will be more than a match for us. You must stop them. You must stop him from getting there and activating that army,” Sergei stated. He fell back onto the bed as he ceased speaking.

  Slowly, Allan began to straighten up. “We need to go,” he said, turning to face Montgomery. She nodded and began speaking, but Sergei interrupted her.

  “I have one more secret to divulge, Sergeant,” he said.

  Allan stopped and turned back, eager for more information. “What?”

  “Closer,” Sergei replied.

  Allan leaned in closer until his visor was almost directly over Sergei's face.

  “Goodbye,” he whispered.

  Faster than anyone could react to, the scientist snatched Allan's pistol from its holster, pressed the barrel into his mouth, angled up and fired the trigger. Allan cried out in shock as blood and brain matter sprayed his visor. He fell backward and landed on his ass, his body reacting automatically, scrambling to get away from the death.

  The Spec Ops troops and Montgomery surged forward, but far too late to do anything useful. He felt hands on him, hauling him or maybe helping to his feet. Allan's eyes were glued to the ruin of the man's skull, the scientist who had once been alive just seconds ago. The man who was possessed by an ancient, insane god and had worked to help bring about an apocalypse. Now he was dead. Gone. Montgomery was saying something.

  “Allan, here,” she said, handing him some medical rags.

  “Yeah,” he murmured, taking them and staring at them stupidly for a long moment. “Uh...yeah. Thanks,” he managed, and began wiping away the blood and brains.

  “Come on, we need to have the briefing now,” Montgomery said, her voice subdued.

  “Yeah,” Allan whispered, following her out, wiping gore off his visor as he walked.

  Chapter 13

  –Once More into the Darkness–

  Allan had mostly gotten to the gore off his visor by the time Montgomery had led him across the camp towards the main operations structure.

  She'd been talking, explaining what happened, what went wrong, while they walked and while he wiped what was left of a scientist off his armor.

  “It was all going according to plan,” she said. “We had him. He was locked down, passed out. After we dropped you off, we took him to our ship. We'd been given a planet-jumper, you know the model? Like cargo ships, sort of, fitted to hop between planets. We were taking him towards the sun, getting ready to launch him from the airlock. But we'd hardly left orbit when the fucker woke up. He was playing dead. He tore through the fucking ship, killed almost everyone onboard. We didn't get a chance to put him back under. I managed to get out with a few of the others in the escape pods. He took the ship, crashed it somewhere on the surface.”

  “You know where he is?” Allan asked.

  “Yes. We're tracking him. He left the wreckage and he's started walking again. Now that we have information on where he's actually going, we can project a path and timeline.”

  “And? How long do we have?”

  “We have time. He's still several hundred miles from his destination. We've got a while, at least. Unless he finds a ship or a vehicle. Come on,” Montgomery said, stepping into the structure. Allan followed her.

  Inside, it was cramped. A dozen men and women in black-and-silver armor were situated around a holographic display table. A collection of large structures was being displayed in glossy 3D green neon, lighting up the area in a curious glow.

  “All right, Allan. This is Shadow Squad. This is the bulk of what remains of us. You'll be joining them in the attack. This is Singer. She's in charge,” Montgomery said. Allan nodded to a tall, thin dark-skinned woman with buzzed hair and a razor sharp gaze.

  “Can we get to it?” she asked, clearly anxious to be gone.

  “Yep,” Montgomery replied. She and Allan joined them around the table. “This is pretty sketchy, guys, so bear with me. I've managed to scavenge and scrape together enough of the naontechnology-based weaponry for all of you to be armed. Unfortunately, they're all pistols, but it shouldn't matter. We're not looking for big and showy power here. You just need to shoot this asshole. Once should be enough to take him down.”

  She paused and turned her attention to the holographic display. “Now, this is an abandoned refinery. It sits directly in his path, so he'll likely be going straight through it. That's where we're going to hit him him. I've got two jump ships. The plan is simple. Shoot the asshole, secure him, we throw him into the sun. For real this time. I've managed t
o secure another planet-jumper, and I'm working on drumming up some more jump ships, but...” Montgomery hesitated. She looked slowly around the table. “This is really our last shot. Get it right, or we may not recognize the galaxy tomorrow. Does everyone understand?”

  Everyone indicated that they fully understood the situation.

  Montgomery nodded. “Good. Now, he's obviously built up a tolerance to the nanotech. So, every forty five minutes, I want it reapplied, so he doesn't fucking wake up and we get a repeat. We can't afford to fuck this up. Everyone ready?”

  There was a string of affirmative replies.

  “Excellent. I'll be here, coordinating with the locals for more support,” Montgomery said.

  The Spec Ops squad began to file out of the room. Allan followed. They slipped out into the desert night and moved to another structure, where they each grabbed a modified pistol. Allan looked it over as the others geared up. The pistol was pretty strange looking. It was sleek and glossy black, with a slightly bulbous muzzle.

  “Three shots, that's all you get,” Singer said.

  Allan glanced up, found himself momentary snared by the intensity in her gaze. For once, he felt close to comfortable about what was going to happen next. He felt like they might actually be able to pull this off, get it done and over with. He wasn't thinking about what might come next, what challenges he might face tomorrow or next week or six months from now. Just getting this one thing done, finishing off this insane god and stopping him from unleashing his army of malignant, deranged deities would be enough.

  “Everyone got their gear?!” Singer called out. Another string of loud, affirmative replies checked off one by one, until the last man was confirmed.

  “Move out!”

  Allan followed the men and women once more into the desert darkness.

  * * * * *

  It started raining about half an hour into the flight.

  Allan sat on one of the two jump ships, riding out the turbulence in silence, his eyes closed, hidden behind his opaque visor. He felt at home with these people, a certain calm serenity that he hadn't felt in...well, ever, perhaps.

  “So you're just SI?” Allan's eyes snapped open. He sat up and looked at who had spoken. It was a Poet. He was seated across from Allan.

  “Yes, for a long time now, over a decade,” Allan replied. “Why?”

  “I just...it's admittedly a little strange that glorified cop survived all this mess. Also,” Poet held up his hands, as if shielding himself, “no offense. I started off in SI. Did five years before I switched over to the Marines and worked my way up here. I know it can be brutal, but I also knew a lotta goofballs. Guys who'd screwed up their lives and guys who couldn't do anything else. Guys with issues who just liked the way a little bit of authority made them feel. You know, the jerkoffs that were either jocks or bullies in high school.”

  “Yeah, I know what you mean. Knew a lot of those types myself. I grew up on Frontier,” Allan added. Poet let out a low whistle.

  “Holy shit, that helps explain it.”

  Allan knew what he meant. Frontier had been among the original colonized worlds when faster-than-light travel hit. While it had once been a shining example of human ingenuity and exploration, by now it was essentially one giant city that hosted nearly a billion people. History aficionados enjoyed likening it to a massive version of New York City, back when there was a New York City on Earth. Being SI there was like a living nightmare.

  “I've also invested heavily into this suit of armor. It's far above the standard level that they pass out to standard SI troops,” Allan explained.

  Poet was silent for a long moment. Finally, after he seemed to consider something, he spoke up again. “So, this guy...this thing, you've talked with it?” he asked.

  The other troops in the shuttle might have been vaguely paying attention to their conversation before, or pretending they were, but now they all stared directly at Allan, and he felt somewhat like wilting under the combined power of their gazes.

  “Yes,” he managed, taking a deep breathing and letting out. “I did.”

  “What did it say?”

  Like most people who were experts in their given field, Allan's life was one of memory. In a way, he remembered things in exchange for a paycheck. He remembered how to take down an armed suspect. He remembered how to drive a variety of vehicles. He remembered how to keep his head during an emergency. There was more to it, he knew, but memory was very key. This was one such memory he wished he could forget.

  “He told me that everything that has happened so far is nothing compared to what he's going to do,” Allan said softly.

  The silence settled in after that. There was nothing left but the drone of the engines and the soft vibration of the rainfall on the hull.

  Allan sat back and continued waiting.

  * * * * *

  The twin jump ships settled down on a cracked, long-abandoned landing pad beside the gloomy, rain-slicked monolith of the refinery. The ships landed and killed their engines, crouching on the pad like inert metal insects until the pilots ran their scans and, assured that they were alone there, opened up the back ramps.

  Allan was the first to the ramp among those populating his jump ship. He stared into the rainy gloom, lit only by the exterior lights of the jump ships in stark shades of white that seemed to give the area a curious, surreal feel of some grainy alternate reality. Allan moved down the ramp, raising his weapon, securing the area, getting out of the way of the others. He listened to them doing the same, moving out into the area surrounding the refinery.

  “Kill the lights,” he heard Singer order over their communications network.

  Immediately they were bathed in gloom and almost unbroken silence as the jump ships completely killed their engines. There was nothing but the whisper of the rainfall. Allan stared out into the darkness, using his vision filter, hunting the immense wastes for any sign of the killer. He listened to Singer coordinate with Montgomery.

  A moment of cold silence passed.

  Suddenly, Singer's voice filled his ear. “All right everyone, we've got confirmation from the satellite that the target is still on course and will arrive here on foot within the next twenty minutes from the west. Take up positions on the catwalks of the refinery and on the ground.”

  Allan moved with the others. They all shifted in near-perfect synchronicity, almost seeming to slide across the darkened terrain in perfect silence. A shell of tension seemed to surround the area as everyone moved into place. Allan took up his own position in the shadowed recesses beneath some towering piece of equipment. He noticed someone join him in the gloom. Allan stood behind one large support strut, and the other person took up the opposite strut.

  “Nervous?” He realized it was Poet.

  “Very,” Allan replied. After a moment, he asked, “what's with the weird names?”

  “Code names. We use them on missions. Kind of helps makes things easier, I think. When you're on a mission, you aren't yourself. You aren't, in your example, Allan. You'd become someone else, someone who exists solely to complete the mission and nothing else. It's a way to let all the worries of real life get tucked away for a while. Also for security purposes,” Poet explained.

  “Interesting,” Allan murmured.

  They continued to wait in the rainy silence, continually scanning the night for signs of their prey. Time seemed to pass in bloated fragments, seconds bleeding into minutes. Allan had been on stakeouts before, back on Frontier, and they reminded him a lot of this. All that time, spent simply waiting, with so much riding on the outcome. Usually it was a live-or-die situation. Certainly this one was. He wondered how people lived with the stress of jobs like this, then realized that they didn't. Not really. In a way, they became more like a machine.

  Drinking or snorting or screwing the time away.

  “I have a visual on the contact.”

  Allan's thoughts were derailed sharply as he heard that statement whispered through the comms net.
He immediately began searching the darkness, his technology-enhanced vision penetrating the midnight curtain. It didn't take long for him to make out the hulking black figure of the killer, marching at a steady pace towards them.

  For the next however long, seconds or minutes, he wasn't sure, Allan watched the thing that was not a man, nor a machine, walk towards him. He swallowed, smelling the own stale scent of his fear, his hands trembling. By now, Allan was pretty sure he was beyond feeling terror, but he supposed it was a thing that you never moved beyond, not entirely. He steadied his hands, forced his fear down to a more manageable level.

  Not an easy task, but a job requirement when they gave you a gun on a daily basis and expected you to protect other people.

  Eternity came and went. Some unseen switch seemed to be thrown, and then the attack opened up. A volley of nano-enhanced bullets shot out as the killer came within five meters of the edge of the refinery. Almost all of the bullets hit their mark. The killer froze up, held his position for several terrible seconds, then collapsed to the ground with a heavy sound. Another long moment of terrible silence passed.

  “Okay, bag him and tag him,” Singer said.

  Allan and Poet began to move forward with the others. Allan noted that one of the men high up on a catwalk remained where he was, keeping the whole situation covered from above. As he came within ten meters, he hesitated, hanging back.

  “What's wrong?” Poet asked.

  “I don't know...something feels off,” Allan murmured as he watched the others.

  “What?” Poet asked.

  But Allan couldn't say. He began making himself walk forward, moving very slowly, taking into careful consideration everything that was being presented to him. There was the killer, lying on his back in the mud, inert, unmoving. Ten men and women in black-and-silver armor were clustered around him, covering him with their weapons, a handful of them moving closer, preparing to move him as quickly as possible onto the nearest jump ship.