Eden's Endgame Read online

  An arm scooped around her waist and picked her up as if she was a rag doll. The ground skated along underneath her to the rhythm of Dimitri’s powerful stride, making easy progress in the low gravity. She felt something warm and sticky trickle from her nose and her ears. But tears also came; the connection with the Tla Beth was still there. It was in terrible pain, shocked at what was happening, and the realization that the external attack on the Ice Pick had merely been a lure to find and kill it. A cascade of images, some making no sense to Jen whatsoever, flickered in her mind’s eye. The Tla Beth had lived for aeons, and yet she sensed that same dread of any being about to die, who still had so much to do. This Tla Beth had been a star engineer, painstakingly creating new systems where life might take root and flourish. She saw nebulae condense into star fields, planets sculpted into habitable worlds, oceanic habitats precipitate in open space, held together by forcefields while they were ferried to barren waterless star systems, Dyson spheres the size of Earth’s solar system, and even a ring-world slowly turning around an ice blue star; wonders she had never imagined. But there was something else.

  For the last period of its life – the time-frame impossible to gauge accurately but possibly tens of thousands of years – it had been the guardian of this tomb planet, and its secret. And then its mind remembered she was there, and Jen had the feeling that a god-like creature was staring at her, seeing everything she was, her life, her thoughts, her very being, and through her the species she represented, all in an instant, judging her and humanity. It transmitted a fast thought-stream through her node:

  .

  She felt its life-force sputter, then it seemed to rally one last time. It said two more words to her, then with a feeling she equated with compassion, it cut her mind loose. Jen’s body stilled, sadness welling up at the loss of such a super-being.

  Dimitri was almost knocked off his feet by a massive quake. A curtain of blue flame rushed over them, burning itself out in a second, never really hot, she gathered, instead pure energy on some wavelength she’d probably never comprehend. A whirlwind of black and white confetti flushed through the tunnel as if expelled by one last gasp of life. Myriad tiny motes settled on her and Dimitri before melting like snowflakes, until the space around them was clear again, and Jen knew simultaneously that the Tla Beth was dead, and that they were hidden from Qorall’s sensors.

  They reached the drop shaft, and Dimitri set her on the ground. Nothing happened for a while. If Pierre and Ukrull were still in control, they’d have lifted them out of the hole using the Ice Pick’s gravitic scoop. She gazed upwards and thought there must be some visual after-effect from the nodal transmission. The entrance, ten kilometres above them, was green. Space itself was green, if it was still normal space. She’d heard about Qorall’s fondness for ‘liquid space’.

  “He’s changing the rules of the game,” she said, still feeling weak.

  Dimitri knelt next to her. “I fear Qorall himself is here. Only he and his ship could do this.”

  Then we’re screwed. That was when she noticed what Dimitri was carrying in his other hand: the husk, a dull, harmless-looking slab of grey metal, the last remnant of the Level Eighteen Machine race, the Xera.

  “We can change the rules of the game, too, if we so desire,” he said.

  She thought about it, as another impact rocked the planet. “Qorall’s trying to destroy it, along with us in the process.” She took a breath, staring at the remnant. Kalaran, I hope this is the right thing to do.

  She got to her feet, remembering the last words the Tla Beth had transmitted. And deep down she felt it was right, even if there would be hell to pay later. Probably sooner.

  “It’s time,” she said.

  Dimitri nodded, his eyes flattening, so she knew he was smiling. “You know me, my love. I’ve always wanted to open Pandora’s Box.”

  She handed him the nanosword. Re-activating the blade, he gingerly touched the black, flat object with the tip of the nanosword. Nothing happened for a few seconds, then the blade blazed purple and was gone. Dimitri studied the hilt, but Jen already guessed it was drained. She watched the box, waiting. A single point of light shone faintly, dead centre on the top side, then began to stretch into a line, reaching towards the edges of the box. She knew what it meant. It was going to open.

  “Dimitri, time to go.”

  They set off, jogging back into the tunnels, following the last map the drones had provided, heading down to the deepest level. As she began to sweat with the effort of running, she thought of Pierre and Ukrull, and prayed they’d escaped. But her mind kept swinging back to the Machine husk. Although there was no sound or light behind them, and she was sure nothing was following them, at least not yet, the back of her neck prickled, and she had trouble controlling her breathing. She lengthened her stride.

  “Faster, Dimitri. We need to run faster.”

  Sandy wondered if the concept of a cell was universal, or at least galactic. She and Antonia occupied a drab room just large enough to pace in: low ceiling, no windows, a wall-length glass front, and no apparent door. An uncomfortably narrow marble-hard bench, impossible to fall asleep on, tempted Sandy to sit but then made her want to stand. A seated contraption in one corner, with various controls neither Sandy nor Antonia had any idea about, had an obvious function which they’d both avoided so far; the fact that they’d had no food or drink for some time helped in that respect. The overall package put her on edge, and she guessed the set-up was aimed at priming them for interrogation.

  They had both awakened there, a few blurry days after the long trip to Savange. Neither of them had spoken much; they’d never been friends, exactly. Yet Sandy knew they had to work together, even though they were almost certainly being watched. She decided to test how well they were being monitored, by saying some things openly, and others more secretly. She made eye contact with Antonia, who still looked immaculate – tall yet slight build, two-tone hair, perfect skin, classic almond eyes and high cheekbones – aside from a faint puffiness around the eyes. Sandy hated to think how she herself looked, and was grateful the thin glass wall didn’t offer her reflection.

  She could see why Micah liked Antonia. She stopped herself, and switched tracks to her husband Ramires, who loved her unconditionally, never looked at another woman, let alone... She closed it all off. Micah was ancient history. Ramires was the perfect husband. She’d made the right choice. He would come to rescue them for sure. Sandy paced.

  “They’ll come for us,” she said, unsure if it was a good or bad thing, since if they did, they might be captured or killed. But it was as good a place to start a conversation as any.

  Antonia’s eyes stared back a moment at Sandy, unblinking. The look conveyed openness and honesty, but to Sandy it was a mask dating back to Antonia’s aristocratic upbringing; she had no idea what Antonia was thinking. Nonetheless, it looked as if her porcelain façade might finally crack.

  “You mean Micah?” Antonia said, then her face flushed a little, and she said in a quieter tone, “and Ramires of course, and your son, Gabriel.”

  “Kat, too,” Sandy added. She tried not to say the next thing on her mind, but it slipped out on account of her trademark ‘mouth’, as her long-dead brother used to call it.

  “If any of them are still alive.” Sandy knew she was inflicting as much pain on herself as on Antonia. Immediately Sandy thought of her son; the last time she’d seen him, Gabriel had gone with Petra and Micah to defend Esperia against the Alician attack force. Somehow she knew he hadn’t made it. She’d dreamt of him, and in her case that only meant one thing.

  Antonia looked aside. “They’ll come.” Her eyes pressed closed, lips squeezed tight, and her face closed like an antique China doll.

  Sandy had a fleeting urge to sit next to Antonia and p
ut an arm around her. But that would break the habit of a lifetime.

  “Do you buy that bitch’s story, about why we’re here?” Sandy knew saying such things openly might get her into trouble, but she didn’t care. Besides, that should get some kind of response from whoever was watching them.

  Antonia opened moist eyes, drew her knees up to her chest. “The need for genetic material? Well, we’re alive, and Alicians don’t normally take prisoners.”

  Sandy thought about it. Her right fingers were twitchy. She really needed a stimlette; the withdrawal was making her antsy. At least Ramires wasn’t there to tell her off about her minor addiction. But images of Gabriel growing up on Esperia flooded unbidden into her mind: as a young boy running around the farm chasing pigs, then as a young man doing martial arts with Ramires, and being heroic in the last sim-battle with Micah. She was convinced he was dead, such intuition a mother’s curse. Turning away from Antonia, she walked up to the glass, took a deep breath then hammered her fist into the barrier. The glass wobbled slightly, a dull boom quickly fading, her two front knuckles stinging where they had just connected, leaving a bloody smear on the glass.

  “That’s normally a guy thing,” Antonia said.

  Sandy gave a short, humourless laugh. “Try living with a Sentinel for eighteen years.”

  “We need a plan, Sandy.”

  Sandy turned around. She sucked noisily on her knuckles to stem the flow of blood, then swallowed. “We also need to be realistic. This is the Alician homeworld. Their chances of getting us out of here alive are remote.”

  Antonia folded her arms. “So what’s your plan?”

  Sandy sat next to Antonia, cupped her hands around Antonia’s ear, and whispered very softly. “Deprive them of the genetic material. Then they’ll die out.”

  Antonia cupped her hand around Sandy’s ear and whispered back. “You mean we kill ourselves?” She drew away, her brow furrowing before it smoothed. It was her turn to utter a mirthless laugh. “God, Sandy, that’s what Zack used to call Plan F.”

  “Exactly, when there are no better plans.”

  Antonia took her turn to stand up and pace, and shook her head. “You really have been living with Ramires too long.”

  Sandy approached her, made Antonia stop and face her. Again she whispered, close. Antonia was clearly uncomfortable with Sandy’s proximity; too bad. “But this way we’re not victims, we’re actually a weapon.”

  Antonia grimaced. “Listen to yourself.” She placed a hand on her shoulder. Sandy flinched, so Antonia withdrew it.

  “The answer is –” Antonia enunciated each word slow and clear – “no – fucking – way. There’s always hope. The others are coming to get us, and they won’t give up. We owe it to them –”

  Sandy grasped Antonia’s shoulders, holding her there. “They’ll die if they come here. We could save them.”

  Antonia stood there, then spoke in a quiet voice, her eyes narrowing. “No. That’s a word you should understand, Sandy, you’ve used it often enough in the past.”

  Sandy let go. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Antonia shook her head again, and returned to the bench. “Forget it. Forget I said it. But the answer will remain ‘no’, and in any case you’d never convince the others to go along with such a plan. At the first whiff of trouble the Alicians will put us back in stasis and harvest us when they need to.”

  That was the problem. Sandy knew her plan was shit. But sometimes better ideas grew out of bad ones. Shit makes good fertilizer, her Gramps used to say, and a wrong track can lead to a new perspective, and a better path. She just hadn’t gotten there yet. Besides, she was worried her intuition about Gabriel was right, and wanted anything to take her mind off it. She decided to try to salvage something out of this exchange. Maybe Antonia could help her think around the problem.

  “That’s what I don’t get; why they allow us to be awake.”

  Antonia looked up. “You think they need us awake?”

  “Maybe they’re not sure. It all sounds precarious, this genetic extraction process. And they’ve only got one shot, sixty of us. They botch it, they die out: no kids.” Which was why her idea of revenge tasted sweet.

  Antonia nodded. She did the whispering thing in Sandy’s ear.

  “We need to try to find out where all the other captives are. If the Alicians split us up around the planet, rescue will be next to impossible.”

  Sandy had thought about it. She whispered to Antonia, this time without Antonia shying away. “We’re lab rats. They’ll be analysing everything, comparing, looking for the most successful genes. We’ll be kept close together, at least to begin with, in the same complex.”

  “Then we need to find a way of communicating with the others, when we find them, so that we can all react when rescue comes, so –”

  Sandy shushed her by drawing a line across her throat with her fingers, and nodding to the other side of the glass. Someone was coming. The two women moved apart on the bench.

  Louise came into view from around a bend, blond ponytail swinging from side to side as she strode purposefully towards them. Sandy raised an eyebrow when she saw that Louise had a Q’Roth left arm, black with a dark blue sheen, ending in a crab-like claw.

  “Hello girls, bonding nicely?” Louise walked straight into and through the glass shield, slowing slightly as it traced the outline of her body then sealed again behind her. “It’s coded for my DNA,” she added.

  “Latest Alician fashion?” Sandy said, staring at the Q’Roth arm.

  Louise lifted it to shoulder height, opening and closing the claw, making a sharp clicking noise. She was clearly proud of it.

  “Sister Esma had one. When I lost my own arm, I decided to be symbolic, given that I was taking over from her as leader. By the way, you should be proud, Sandy; your son Gabriel killed Sister Esma, sacrificing himself in the process.” She shrugged. “Got me promoted.”

  Sandy’s breath went into overdrive, her fists closing tight. She focused on Louise’s pretty face, wanting with all her might to smash it into bloody pulp, to turn it inside out, to let her brains see daylight. Suddenly Antonia locked her arms around Sandy, part consolatory hug, but Sandy knew it was primarily a restraint.

  Louise smiled. “I see you two are getting on. That’s good; you’re going to be together a long time.”

  Sandy remembered Ramires’ training. Calming her breathing, she gathered saliva in her mouth by swirling her tongue around, and swallowed, repeating the process three times. Her arms relaxed a little, and Antonia let go. Sandy didn’t take her eyes off Louise. She felt her son’s presence next to her, telling her to wait, reminding her that a wise warrior never lets the enemy dictate the moment to strike.

  Antonia broke the silence and stood up. “Where are the others? Why have we been separated? And what do you want from us besides genetic material?”

  Sandy only half-listened. She was thinking tactics. When Louise departed, she would turn and slow as she passed through the glass; one lunge and a precision tiger punch to the vertebrae sticking out at the base of her scrawny neck. If she was quick enough, she could kill Louise.

  “You two have been separated from the others because I want you to lead them, to do what’s best for them, to keep them in line.”

  Antonia snorted. “And why would we do that?”

  Sandy studied Louise; the bitch had an ace up her sleeve.

  “Because then I will allow you to raise your child.”

  Antonia folded her arms. “Child? Are you deranged, Louise, I –”

  “You are pregnant, Antonia. Guess who the father is?”

  Sandy watched Antonia’s face blanch, saw her stagger back a pace, the backs of her knees meeting the edge of the bench, making her sit, her mouth open, her eyes wild, as if searching. Sandy’s rational mind wondered for two seconds who the father could be, but she already knew in her heart whose baby it was. Damn Micah again. He hadn’t changed.

  “What about me, Louise,”
Sandy said, “why should I cooperate?”

  Louise walked up close, far less than spitting distance. “Don’t you still care for Micah, Sandy? He escaped, you know. I’m hoping he comes here to rescue both of you. We have unfinished business.”

  Sandy willed herself not to react. “My question still stands, Louise.”

  “Alright, then. I want the Sentinel Ramires alive. On Esperia he beat two Q’Roth warriors in close quarters combat, something no Alician can do, despite genetic upgrading. I have a vid of him fighting; impressive, even by my standards. If you cooperate, I’ll spare him when he comes for you. He can train my people.”

  Sandy laughed. “He’ll never –”

  “But he will. If he was Alician, he would not, because we rise above what you call love. Honestly, you humans are so sad, so easy to manipulate. You’ll cooperate to keep him alive, and he’ll do the same.”

  Sandy tried to keep the words in, but they edged out. “And Micah?”

  Louise walked away. “You prove my point.” She turned back around, and waved her hand in Antonia’s direction. “But as your new best friend recently said, ‘no – fucking – way’. If he shows up, he dies on sight. You’ll have to settle for Ramires; which is what I hear you’ve been doing these past eighteen years.”

  Sandy lunged forward straight for Louise’s throat, but instead something that felt like a sledgehammer – Louise’s claw – smashed into her right cheek, knocking her clean off her feet. She hit the stone floor, her right shoulder thwacking the edge of the bench. She gasped for breath, unable to see clearly, dizzy from the blow.

  “One more thing,” Louise said. “While you were all in stasis, we implanted a failsafe device in your heads, a neurotoxin. It induces frontal brain death in three seconds, while leaving the core and brain stem working. We prefer to have you alive and functioning, but you might call it our ‘Plan F’. Every fifteen minutes a signal is sent out that prevents the toxin from being released. If you were to escape, you’d have that long to enjoy your freedom. And by the way, if I am killed, the signal will stop.”