Collateral effects drop.., p.15
Collateral Effects (Drop Trooper Book 14), page 15
The Predecessor ship had always been alien, but now, it felt… haunted.
I stepped out of the lander’s hatch with great hesitation, reluctant to leave the shelter of the little ship, as illusory as it might have been. I hadn’t come armed, not even with a sidearm, because I knew how pointless it would have been. If Lilandreth wanted me dead, I’d be dead. And there wouldn’t be a Goddamned thing I could do about it.
She didn’t come to greet me at the ship, and I debated internally whether I might not be better off waiting for her to, but I knew where she was. How I knew, I wasn’t certain, but she was on the bridge. I didn’t remember the walk from the hangar bay to the bridge being this long, and paranoia nagged at the edges of my thoughts with images of the ship rearranging its passageways to keep me lost.
Almost as if the ship had read my thoughts and decided the joke had run its course, the next curve in the corridor opened up onto the bridge. Lilandreth stood at the center of the compartment, and even though her hands were clasped in front of her rather than raised over her head, she reminded me of the statue back inside the Reconstructor city.
“I told you it was too late,” she reminded me, not turning toward me, her attention still focused on the central display where a star map rolled by.
“Is…” I coughed, clearing my throat. “Is it what they said? Were those Nova scientists telling us the truth?”
“As they understood it.” She finally looked away from the hologram and faced me. I swallowed hard at the sight of her black-hole eyes and nearly averted my eyes, “Their knowledge, of course, was incomplete. They were correct in their assessment of the motivation of my people. They came here to escape the predations of the Skrela, and the one thing they feared more than death, more than dishonor, was the idea of that plague following them here, searching out their last refuge.”
“That’s why they developed the… virus?”
She laughed softly. I knew her people didn’t laugh as a natural reaction, which made it calculated.
“That was where their knowledge was incomplete. You’ve come to have an understanding of my people, Cameron Alvarez. Do you think their first instinct would be to develop a weapon they would use themselves?”
The Predecessors had created the Tahni to be their warriors against the Skrela, then, when the enemy had advanced too quickly to use them, they’d run, taking humans and Tahni along. They’d established human and Tahni colonies, hoping to continue the program, and when those had proven disappointing, they’d created a hybrid race, the Quara, with the idea of turning them into their soldiers.
“No,” I agreed. “I don’t.”
“Of course not. Instead, they sent the servants they’d depended on for so long, the ones they’d brought along with them.” She waved long fingers in the air and gave me a challenging look, daring me to guess. I didn’t have to guess. The answer was blindingly obvious.
“The AI.”
“Yes.” She smiled approval. “The technical aspects of this are beyond not just your personal knowledge of hyperdimensional physics but that of your species. Up until today, they would have been beyond my own. But I will attempt to explain.”
Lilandreth made no move, not even a tilt of her head, but the holographic display changed from the star map to a diagram. A saddle shape, not two dimensional, not just three but somehow four, though I couldn’t explain how that was represented. It was as if the image extended not just off the screen but through time.
“This is a representation of the universe,” she told me. “Not a static point in time, but the universe from the beginning to the end.”
“I don’t see the Big Bang,” I told her, frowning at the projection, wondering if I was looking at it wrong.
“You wouldn’t. It was outside time and would be impossible to represent in any form that would mean anything to a mortal being. This is what you can experience, what your instruments can measure. And this…” the image shifted to what looked a lot like a reverse image of the first one, the areas that had been dark now light, glowing red, but not just in the gaps of the shape. The red was around it as well as inside it, and I got the sense that I wasn’t able to see much of what was there. “… is what you call Transition Space. To your understanding, this is as close as I can come. It would look to you as if it occupies the same space, yet it doesn’t. Transition Space is its own universe that merely exists side by side with ours.”
“Okay, I get that,” I said, shrugging. “That’s why we’re able to access it, because it’s connected to ours. And the speed of light is different there, or something.”
“It’s not that simple. Unlike our universe, Transition Space lacks the concept of time. It doesn’t exist there, which is why the journeys we make through it seem either instantaneous or much shorter than they would be normally. But that’s not the only difference.” She closed her eyes and sighed, like she was trying to explain nuclear fusion to a five-year-old. “Transition Space is, for want of a better word, a living thing. Not sentient, but still alive in its own way, as if each roil of quantum foam were a neuron in a living brain. This was how the Reconstructors hoped to gain access to its power… by overwriting the neural patterns of a sentience they could control atop it. I can’t explain to you the mechanism, but the brain patterns of sentient AIs were imprinted onto the neural matrix of Transition Space in the hope that they would help defend the galaxy from the Skrela.”
“Oh, I bet that didn’t turn out well,” I said. The AI were the ones who’d created the Skrela in revenge against the Resscharr who’d enslaved them.
“It did not. The AI ceased communication with their masters and the experiment was deemed a failure. That was when the Reconstructors developed the virus… and used it on test subjects among their own people.” She tossed her head. “But the AI they’d sent ahead of them weren’t dead, weren’t simply hiding. I described Transition Space as a living mind, but perhaps a better analogy would be to a quantum computer matrix. The AI had written themselves into the matrix. They knew that the Reconstructors would eventually try to access the matrix, and they set a trap for them.”
“How would they know that?” I frowned, confusion overruling the dread I’d been feeling. “How do you know any of this?”
Lilandreth sighed, obviously exasperated by my ignorance.
“Transition Space is a quantum computer the size of a universe,” she reminded me. “Imagine how many possibilities you could run through that processor in a fraction of a second. As fast as you could think. It’s not omniscience, but it’s close as anyone could come. You’ve been convinced I’m reading your mind, and you’re not entirely wrong. I’ve been running the possibilities of your reactions based on my knowledge of you through the matrix… not on purpose, not just on you. It happens automatically now.”
“And the Nova fleet? Was that automatic?”
“No,” she admitted, eyes downcast for a moment. “That took considerable effort. You have to understand, turning thought into kinetic energy takes considerable concentration and will. And each time I focus my consciousness so deeply into Transition Space, it gets worse.”
“What?” I asked, shaking my head. “You said the AI had set a trap. What is it?”
“The voices.” Her reply was so soft I nearly missed it. “The AI… they’re still there. They’re part of Transition Space now. The Reconstructors called them ghosts. And whenever one of us gains access to the matrix, the ghosts begin to whisper in our ear, telling us how incredible the power is, how we’re gods and deserve to rule. How we shouldn’t abide any competitors for our power, how we should crush them and solidify our hold.”
“And your people believed that?” I found myself gaping in horrified disbelief and tried to force my expression neutral again.
“They believed it enough that they destroyed each other,” Lilandreth told me. “Enough that they wound up distrusting even their most ardent followers and wiping out their own civilization. The last of them died hundreds of years ago, by their own hand, encouraged by the voices.”
Well, shit.
“Lilandreth, that isn’t you.” It was part argument, part desperate plea. “I’ve known you for a while now. You’ve come to terms with things that would have driven a lot of other people nuts—human, Tahni or Resscharr. You’ve made peace with them, and you can handle this too. You don’t have to listen to the ghosts. You know what they are, and you can fight them.”
Her infinitely dark eyes looked on me with what might have been fondness.
“You don’t understand, Cam. Imagine that you’re trapped in a cell every day for the rest of your life, and every day your jailer is whispering to you that your life is meaningless and you should end it, that you should kill yourself. At first, of course, you’d scoff at them… but day by day, the whispers would wear at you, break down your sanity. Sooner or later, you’d give in. And I will too. Not today, but someday. I’ll hold out as long as I can, but you should be ready for it.”
I tried to think of something, a solution, but just threw up my hands in frustration.
“There has to be a way to undo this,” I insisted. “We should go back to the lab, see if you and Dwight can figure out how to reverse it.”
“The lab there was badly damaged before we came. The functionality to simply release the virus stored there was barely existent. It would be a waste of time.” She paused, laying a long, agile finger aside her jaw as if in contemplation. “The only place that might have such equipment still intact would be at the heart of the Reconstructor civilization. A place that would be called Homecoming in your tongue. If it’s still intact.”
“Then that’s where we’re going,” I declared, not brooking any argument. “Take us there and we’ll fix this. I promise I won’t let this happen to you without a fight.”
“I’ll lead you to Homecoming. While I still can.”
“Oh.”
That was all Nance could say, and I didn’t blame him. I was pretty much at a loss for words myself. No Ops Center this time. Vicky, Nance, Fleet Intelligence Captain Nagarro, and I were all crammed into my office. It still felt strange having an office, much less the largest compartment on the ship, but once I’d taken over from Hachette, I’d inherited it.
For all that I’d fully intended to share everything with the crew, this was different. Maybe what Lilandreth was doing wasn’t exactly reading minds, but it was close enough that I wanted to keep the number of minds involved to a bare minimum. I hadn’t even intended to invite Nagarro, but Vicky had insisted, saying the Intelligence officer had proven herself and I needed to start trusting her.
I wasn’t so sure, but she was here and looking just as gobsmacked as the other two. As I probably did.
“We’re going to this Homecoming place then?” Vicky said, her words slow and deliberate, as if she was having to force herself to accept that any of this was real.
“That’s the plan,” I agreed. “It’s still quite a ways along the jumpgate route, and we might run into more of the Nova forces.”
Nagarro snorted.
“That shouldn’t be a problem, given what she did to this last bunch.” She was trying to sound cocky, blasé, but I’d been around the block long enough to realize it was a put-on, that she was more freaked out than any of us.
“Yeah, except that every time she accesses the…” I shrugged. “… whatever, the power, the matrix, whatever you want to call it, she becomes more susceptible to the influence of the ghosts.”
“You can’t trust her,” Dwight said, and I nearly jumped out of my chair. We hadn’t invited him in on the meeting, but there was no way to keep him out of it of course. His avatar paced along the confines of the holographic projection above the desk, a virtual caged lion, as if he’d been there all along. Which he had, though not visible to us.
“You still don’t trust her, after all we’ve been through?” Vicky asked, scowling at him.
“It’s not that,” the AI insisted. “We had our differences, but those are behind us.” He glowered at us from above. “It’s the Psi Virus.”
“The what?” Nance asked, glaring at him askance.
“The Psi Virus. The name isn’t exact, but it’s as close as your language can estimate.”
“And where did you get the term at all?” I wondered.
Dwight’s avatar adapted an expression that I thought was embarrassment, or guilt.
“You understand that I’ve left pieces of my coding throughout the ship, the Intercepts, the shuttles… and your Vigilantes.” He raised his hand to forestall the outraged protest ready to burst out of my mouth. “This is not intended to eavesdrop on you or spy on your private conversations. Rather, it’s to allow me to gather intelligence when you’re in the field, and the major portion of my coding isn’t able to convey my consciousness. Part of me was with you in your Vigilante when you were inside that lab, and it absorbed available data from the systems there without your knowledge.”
“Well, isn’t that just peachy?” Vicky murmured, eyes narrowed as she glared at his avatar.
“You have my word that I would never interfere with your suits. I merely wish to be as well-informed as possible in order to help you reach your goals and return home.”
Dwight sounded sincere, but that was the problem with an AI. He could pretend to show any emotion and we’d have no clue whether it was genuine.
“What did you find out?” I asked him, pushing the concerns aside for the moment. “Aside from what she already told us.”
“The data there confirms her account. It also detailed that the virus only infected a certain genetic profile, and of those, only a small percentage were able to undergo the transformation. The others died, horribly. The Remainder leader you spoke to, this Gandish, needn’t have worried about infection or death. His people were of the wrong genetic signature to succumb to the virus. I suspect he was working off warnings only half-remembered from the days when the daemons, as he called them, still lived. Perhaps the daemons created the taboo in order to make sure no genetic outliers would rival them.”
“I suppose that’s why the Nova wanted her so bad,” I said, nodding. “They had to know it wouldn’t work on any of the Remainders.”
“Unfortunately,” Dwight went on, sighing, “the data also confirmed her dire predictions of what’s to come. The incidence of mania among the infected was one hundred percent. There were no exceptions.”
“How long has she got?” Nance asked, running fingers through his beard in a newly developed nervous tic.
“The average time between infection and mental deterioration was measured in days, though there were mentions that some had held out for weeks.”
“Oof.”
“We have to help her get through it,” I said, sullen, mulish stubbornness setting into its familiar place in the set of my jaw. “She didn’t ask for any of this, and we wouldn’t have survived the Nova attack without her.”
“She’s not evil,” Dwight acknowledged. “But it won’t matter. There are some things that just can’t be fought. The danger is, once she’s gone too far, passed beyond the ability for reason, we may not recognize it. By then, it will be too late. We won’t even be able to strategize together because she’ll know what we’re going to say, know our plans before we do. My advice would be to use the Transition Drive to leave her behind, before she figures out a way to travel back to your Commonwealth.”
And shit, but that was a possibility I hadn’t even considered.
“We’re not abandoning her,” I said, not letting go of my resolve. “Not until there’s no other way.”
The others nodded agreement, and Dwight said nothing. He might not have been strictly human, but he knew us well enough to understand when there was no use in arguing. My mind was made up, and I was sure this was the right thing to do.
I should have remembered that every time I thought that, I wound up in deep shit.
18
“Sometimes,” Vicky confided, whispering close to my ear, “I think this is all a nightmare that I can’t wake up from.”
I stirred, blinking against the darkness, and turned around in bed to face her. I could just barely make out her eyes, the outline of her face by the soft green light of the chemical striplight above the hatch of our compartment. My first instinct was to ask what time it was, though the question was even more meaningless now than it usually would have been. We were between jumpgates and the last four systems had been empty wastelands, charred ruins all that was left where there’d once been habitables. I had no reason to hurry back to the bridge until we came to something interesting.
“What?” I mumbled, rubbing sleep out of my eyes. “You had a nightmare?”
Unlike me, Vicky was wide awake, her eyes clear and piercing.
“When we took Top’s offer to join this operation,” she went on, not bothering to correct my groggy mishearing, “I was kind of eager, believe it or not. I missed being a Marine and I knew you did too. I thought this would be good for both of us. I still thought that, right up to the time we left Yfingam.” She shook her head, and in the pale light I spotted the glint of tears. “But now…”
I wrapped her in my arms and, to my surprise, she was shaking.
“It’s okay,” I said inanely. “We’re gonna be okay.”
Vicky shocked me again by pushing away, face contorted in a grimace.
“Don’t lie to me!” she yelled, loud enough that I was glad the compartment was soundproofed. “Dammit, Cam, we’ve been through really bad shit! Do you think I’m a child who needs comforting?”
“Everybody needs comforting,” I reasoned, sighing as I fell back against the pillow. “I wind up having to comfort the whole damned crew.”
Her shoulders sagged and she laid a hand over my arm.
“You’re right. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you. But I don’t want comfort. I need to prepare myself for what’s actually going to happen. Are we just going to keep moving ahead no matter what until we’re all dead? Because I could live with that when the mission was saving the Commonwealth and I’d volunteered to die to do it. We don’t have any mission now except getting home… and I just don’t see how we’re going to do that.”
