Locus
Disclaimer: The characters portrayed herein belong to DC, Warner Bros and whomever else. This does not include me. Used without permission, and without profit.
Notes: Just stuffing around with this fic. It's a fairly bog standard YJ-travel-through-hyperspace-to-another-earth type of thing, but weirdly written. I wrote it because I'd just gotten home from surgery and the lovely cocktail of analgesics that the anaesthetist had given me was strong enough to make me too scatterbrained to do anything academically useful, but too weak for me to be comfortable enough to sleep it off. I posted the fic, on the other hand, because Kaelin was kind enough to offer constructive criticism on my last experimental writing style effort. So, Kaelin, this fic's dedicated to you!
"Are you absolutely certain?"
"Yes sir, I'm afraid so."
"It's not a Suit monitoring failure?"
"Systems check indicates not. We ran it six times to be sure. The data –"
"Run it again."
. . .
"Yes, sir."
Pause. Tension. Fraying of nerves nearly audible in the silence.
"Results?"
"Unchanged. Pulse, blood pressure, respiratory rate, and brainwave function all read zero. pH remains in non-physiologic acidosis. Suit-based automated cardioversion has been attempted unsuccessfully sixteen times. Attempting seventeenth." Baited breath, "seventeenth failed. Attempting -"
"STOP IT!" Sobs, struggles.
"Who the hell let her in here!" "Get her out!"
"Stop it! Just stop it! He's dead, can't you just leave him be?!" More struggles, increasing desperation. "You used him his whole life! You used him up! At least let him have his death!"
"The junior research representative is obviously overwrought. Remove her at once."
Scuffles. Shrieks. Blessed return of quiet, if only for a second.
"She may well be overwrought, sir, but she's also right!"
"I know. God help us, I know."
Pause, respectful silence.
"Send a message to headquarters."
"Yes, sir."
. . .
"Sir? What should it say?"
" 'Dreadnaught Daedalus reports mission objective accomplished. Metropolis Viruser Base destroyed. Estimated collateral damage one-point-six million infected but un-turned citizens, destruction radius of twenty kilometres. Confirmed loss of twenty-six of our drone units, all destroyed by Viruser metas, and. . ." Pause, infinitesimal but present. "The Locus established infected and dead. Repeat, the Locus is dead. End report.' Transmit."
"Transmitting now." Feverish activity, then hesitation. "Sir? Uh, what . . . what'll happen now?" Young face, young voice, both cracking with fear. "Now that Locus is, uh . . ."
" 'Never have so many owed so much to so few.'"
"Sir?"
"Nothing Ensign, just talking to myself. Change course! We need to retrieve the Master Unit and the Locus corpse."
Time passes. Objectively, only a few minutes. Subjectively a lifetime.
"Master Unit confirmed aboard. Locus's Suit's beacon is reading as within the Master Unit."
"Okay people, plot us a course out of here. It's time to take him 'home' to the scientists." And pray they can do something with his remains, infected though they are. I'm sorry, Stephie, but I can't do as you asked. I can't let your little brother have his death, I have to give it to the research scientists. I have to, or God help us all, humanity will die with him!
He remained ramrod straight in his chair, no weakness, no regret. The perfect leader, calm and in control, Captain Drake commanded his vessel on its long, solemn flight home, the cooling body of his only son in the Dreadnaught's hold, encased in the tons of advanced engineering and nanotechnology that made up the Master Unit. An impressive enough coffin. I pray it's not for all of us.
The Master Unit operator, the official report read, was confirmed permanently non-functional at 3:45 pm. The Locus was dead, and without him the Master Unit inoperable.
This, of course, never hit the news services. An announcement such as this would have resulted in widespread panic. It wasn't all that difficult; ruthless media suppression was the rule, not the exception, and this had been the case for long enough that the populace no longer questioned it. At any rate, the research scientists had ample matter from which to create another Locus, a clone identical to the first in every respect.
At least, that was the theory.
"What do you mean, you're 'technically unable' to do it?!"
"I meant exactly what I said."
"How could this happen!"
"The broadband electromagnetic pulse the Virusers hit us with temporarily took down the computers. The loss of power from that took out both the replacement units we had growing in the birth tanks and the refrigerators, so we lost both the juvenile clones and the blood samples from the original Locus."
"But this is why we have a corpse, dammit! Use the blasted thing!"
"Impossible.
The boy . . . excuse me, the Locus was infected by Virus before he died. The
genetic material from the body is corrupt."
"Are you certain of that?"
"We've confirmed it by comparison with the genomic sequences recorded in our files. The capsid insertion and helical distortion caused by the viral infection approaches nearly a hundred percent. We can do nothing with such contaminated material."
"Bah! And you call yourself a senior researcher! Next you'll be turning into a funeral director and suggesting we bury him!"
"That would be appropriate, yes."
"WHAT!"
"We can derive no further benefit from the corpse. So, really, a burial is the least we should do. We owe him more, but it's a start."
Pause, tension builds in one, the other remains resting behind a blithely unconcerned facade.
"Have it your way. Bury him, cremate him or whatever. Just don't let it go public."
"As you wish."
"I'm watching you, Grayson. The Locus is gone now, so no more hiding behind that pathetic 'stabilising effect your friendship has on him'. One slip and I'll have you!"
Angry stomps fading into the distance, release of a breath unwittingly held.
"I'm sorry, my young friend. I'm so sorry it ended this way. At least you won't be lonely. A lot of us will die and keep you company, die free rather than live enslaved." Another soft sigh. "But you'll never know that feeling, will you? The Virusers may have killed you in the end, but it wasn't they who bound you. You were a slave all your life. 'The subjugation of one for the protection of many' they said, though never to your face. I guess it's a moot point now, but I still doubt it was the best way."
Turning, Senior Researcher Richard Grayson wended his way deeper into the complex. The Virusers would retaliate soon, rendering him and everyone else in the resistance base either busy or dead, but in the meantime, he had a funeral to organise, a test subject – say rather, a friend – to mourn.
*****************
"I still doubt this is the best way."
"Aw, c'mon Cass! We're just gonna give it a bit of a spin, what could go wrong?"
"Do you want that alphabetically or categorically?"
"Rob! Hey, I didn't hear you come in, Mister Gloom and Doom. Back me up here, Cass thinks me and Imp shouldn't fire this thing up. Speaking of which, I wonder where Imp got to. . ."
"I agree with Cassie. It's a largely unfamiliar, and highly sophisticated, technology. The only thing we really know about it is who made it and what they were attempting."
"Yeah, exactly! Brainiac 5 is a Legionnaire! He isn't gonna make anything nasty, so why shouldn't we fire it up?"
" 'isn't going to make anything nasty'?! Great Hera, Kon, were you asleep or something the last time the Legion was here?! That machine computer-y thing Brainy made nearly trashed the planet!"
"Cass is right. This was technology Brainiac developed in an attempt to find a way for the legion to return home. It obviously didn't fulfil that function, but we have no way of knowing if it does something else, or what that 'something else' might be."
"Alright, alright. Don't get your tights in a twist, oh not-very-fearless leader. So, what do you suggest we do, then? Coz we can't leave this thing lying around here."
"Brainiac was working with a Mother-box we had available, seeing what he could cobble together. That's New Genesis equipment, and we happen to have a resident, well . . . 'expert' is probably the wrong word, but he's still a lot more familiar with the technology than any of the rest us."
"You can't mean Slobo, can you?!"
"I can't mean anyone else, can I? Big Barda's left the JLA, not to mention the planet."
"Yeah, I know. Sucks, doesn't it. She had such great . . . assets."
"KON!"
"Hey, guys! You called me, Rob?"
"Yeah, hi Slobo, Anita. Seen this thing over here?"
"WHOA! This can't be what I think it is! That's impossible!"
" 'Impossible simply means nobody's done it yet.'"
"What was that, mon?"
"Nothing, Anita. Just remembering something Brainiac once said to me. So, Slobo, impossible or not, what is it that you think it is?"
"Where do I start? Say, are you familiar with the idea of 'Hypertime'?"
"Yeah. It's –"
"I'm baaack! Got the popcorn oh good everyone's here say Kon haven't you pushed the button yet? Man, you guys are soooo slow oh well I'll just push it myself!"
"NO! DON'T!"
Click. Flash of light, loud crashing noise, subtly different from the usual sound of a Boom Tube.
When the light faded, and the noise returned to nearly normal, the device, as well as the six people around it, had vanished.
End Prologue.
Please C&C! I wanna hear from you, even if it's to say that the writing style is as confusing as all heck, I wanna hear what you think!