The Future is Now
Chapter 2
"…in her food. She goes to sleep and never wakes up."
"Fuck yourself. That's called cold murder."
The two female voices that welcomed Lethanial back onto the bridge were Larissa, her even, uncaring voice just as cold as her plan, and Zadia, much more brash and honest.
"Besides, that wouldn't work." The quiet, polite voice was Catleia, the youngest person on board at age fourteen. "We've already told the officials we found a survivor. They'll want a gene scan to confirm ID, and then a thorough check when she shows up coming from a quarantined planet. They find inoculations and poisons in her system and we'll be up the Swanny."
"Very good." Lethanial said, ruffling her hair as he joined the discussion group. He didn't have to bend his arm past horizontal at the elbow – Catleia's Ardanian ancestry meant that she was, among other things, short. "I say we look after her."
"Wires, are you nuts?" That comment came from the nickname-fixated second-in-command, Roderick.
"Please don't call me that, and yes, I am. We can't just leave her high and dry, that's asking for her to be abused. She's sentient, and likely bright enough to adapt. And we could use a second person on domestics for those places Catleia can't reach."
Catleia bit her lip, a sure sign that she wanted to kick him in the shin, but was too polite to actually do it.
"More than that," Roderick said. "Designated scrap-comber. Wouldn't take her that long to learn what she was looking for."
Larissa snorted. "I still say…"
"And I still say go fuck yourself." Zadia reiterated.
"Lethanial, I agree we have to look after her." That female voice, laced with cool authority, was Lin, Commander of their mercenary company. "But like Catleia said, we've already called her in as a survivor. How do we explain a quarantined life-form on a devastated Freeport?"
"And how did she get there in the first place?" Will, two years Lethanial's junior, was the youngest fully-active mercenary with the group.
"She's the one who blew the hole in the reactors." Lethanial said. "She managed to blow something up that released a ridiculous amount of force. Her sheer velocity meant that before decompression or asphyxia could take hold, she bashed right through five layers of metal before being knocked out against the antimatter containment deadzone, coming to rest between the layers of said deadzone, meaning she was virtually in a temporal standstill until we dug her out."
"And you told her that?" Lin pressed.
"Of course not. I told her she'd been flung inside a satellite. Anyway, you didn't let me finish – with the antimatter explosions from the station impact we can just tell the officials she must have been sucked up in a singularity and take custody of her."
"Far cry." That clipped accent and distant, indifferent tone was Trak, the final member of their company and despite his limited number of words, was often the one who said the most.
"Yeah, but how are they going to contradict me?"
"Game set and match, Lethanial," Lin said with finality. "She knows you, Lethanial. Tell her gently."
"Right away."
When Lethanial walked into the room, the newcomer was lifting her arm, visibly straining against her own weight.
"You get used to the gravity eventually," he said. "Look on the bright side – when you adjust, you'll be four times as strong as you were."
"But I already weigh four times what I did."
"Clever girl. How did you work that out?"
"I ri…" She swallowed heavily. "I used to ride griffons. Lesson one – turn too tight and you start weighing your mount down." Pause. When she spoke again, her voice was quivering, conveying obvious fear. "What's gonna happen to me?"
"Unless you want to end up a sex slave, you're going to stick with us." Lethanial said, deciding that making her options clear would lead to more cooperation in the long run. "Without an income and your own way of getting around, it's only a matter of time before you end up selling yourself. Trust me, I've seen it happen far too many times. We don't mind putting you up rent-free until an opportunity presents itself."
"But… you just said I'd end up a whore like that."
"Flleyar, we're the five-three-two-two-zero Independent Mercenaries, 'Red Wolves'. Being with us is anything but 'normal circumstances'. Hell, any group of mercs would have that effect."
She finally turned to face him. Lethanial picked up pride was behind her hiding her face – her eyes were bloodshot and tearstains streaked her face. "What did you call me?"
"Flleyar. It's a multilingual term that means… well, it doesn't translate well to your language, but it's a polite form of address for a young woman."
"Kylier."
"Lethanial."
"That was my name."
"Same here." Lethanial said. "Can I get you something? Food? Water?"
"Some water… I don't think I could eat right now."
"I wouldn't expect so. I'll be back in a minute."
Lethanial left, this time leaving to door open.
Kylier still didn't know what to think. She was alive, and yet… and yet he'd said himself that she was dead in Midgard. Everyone had heard stories of people travelling and starting a new life, and she supposed this was something similar, but this… she had nothing to base a new life on. She doubted griffon breeding was a viable trade, she had few other skills, and hell, she was surprised Lethanial spoke a language she understood. She was going on just the goodwill of an indeterminate number of people she knew nothing about.
Add to that the gravity, and it was a replay of what was hands-down the worst time of her life: while practising dogfighting manoeuvres during her griffon rider training, she's come unseated and fallen a hundred and fifty metres, bruising her spine and getting a major concussion that knocked her out for a month. She'd woken up with severely atrophied muscles and complete retrograde amnesia – she could barely remember her own name. One person – Milanor – had stuck by her, and with time, her memory and strength returned, and she'd even gotten back in the saddle.
She'd been confused, scared, and hated herself for being so weak and helpless.
In almost every way this was the same, but there was one ripping, brutal edge that made it incomparably worse.
She knew, she knew, that there would be no gradual recollections, no familiar faces, no quiet corrections when she blundered. Her strength would come with time, but that was all.
And perhaps worst of all… no Milanor. No faithful, endearingly stupid friend to hold her hand every step of the way.
A hissing noise that was the door closing brought her back to reality. Lethanial took his time unpacking a tray onto an end table – Kylier realized she was crying again and took the opportunity to wipe her face. Where she could clearly see it, Lethanial poured two glasses of water from the same jug, then added equal amounts of a reddish liquid to both before picking one up and drinking the contents.
"The red stuff's a stimulant that should help your muscle growth." he said, holding the other glass out to her. Kylier took it and had a sip – the extra chemical seemed tasteless.
"Why do you need it?" she asked.
"I don't. But if I drink it as well you know I'm not poisoning you."
Kylier nodded – that thought (both that he might be trying to kill her, and was showing that he wasn't) had occurred to her. She took a deeper swallow of her water.
"I'm surprised you understand me." she said after a while.
"I'm fluent in over a hundred and eighty languages – I used to be an interpreter. Midgard is similar to another language I know, plus it was chronicled by Hegemony scouts during observation."
"What?"
"Sorry… I forgot I'll have to start from scratch with you. The Hegemony of a Thousand Worlds is the society we're a part of, though the 'Thousand Worlds' bit is outdated – it's at least fifty times that number. Anyway, worlds that don't have a world government, cyber technology, and at least orbital travel capabilities – such as yours – are considered quarantined and allowed to develop naturally, but to determine that, disguised scouting parties are sent down to establish whether there's intelligent life in a place, and record their language for future reference."
Kylier nodded slowly and sipped her water again. After a moment's reflection, she figured that she should at least learn about the people she was with. "Lethanial… what do you do?"
"Mercenaries do pretty much whatever they're paid to do. There's your usual security details, bandit eradication, assassinations and so on, but we get more mundane jobs too. Hauling cargo, helping with construction, hell, we've been hired to clean houses before."
"Sounds more like freelancer work."
He paused. "Maybe. That's not a word I've used before. Freelancer… it's got a ring to it." He caught himself rambling and pulled a small, silver device from his pocket. "Can I touch your arm?"
"Why?"
"That force field," he gestured at the blue barrier that covered the doorway, open or closed, "is called a gene-screen. I need to put your genetic code into the system so you can pass through. This thing will just take a small blood sample."
Kylier hesitated, then held out her arm. Lethanial placed the device against her skin for a moment, pulling it away when it beeped. "Done."
As he pulled out a slightly larger device and unfolded it like one may open a sideways book and stuck the two together, Kylier inspected her arm. If blood had been drawn, there wasn't the slightest pinprick to show it.
"There we go. You can now pass through all the gene-screens except the engine rooms and private quarters." Lethanial put both devices away. "You feel up to a walk? You could meet the crew."
A walk, meeting people. First steps. She mightn't have any way of figuring out what was coming, but at least she could learn what was going on in the present.
"I can walk," she said. She followed Lethanial out of her room, shuddering at the warm prickly feeling the gene-screen elicited. He led her down several more metal corridors, and finally into a side-room. The walk, maybe a hundred meters, tired her out, but she set her jaw and had a look around.
This room looked remarkably clinical, with jars of vari-coloured liquids on shelves, and complex-looking equipment out on tables. A busty, redheaded woman was already in the room, holding what looked like a small, wet, furry white worm in her fingertips.
"Kylier?" Lethanial said from off to her left.
"Yes?" she looked at him. As she did, she felt fingertips on her ear, then…
Then a feeling like a wet cotton bud in her ear.
The woman had just slipped that worm into her ear!
Kylier gasped and clawed at the side of her head, but it was futile. She could feel the worm crawling deeper into her ear canal, until it stopped at what had to be her brain. There was the sickening feeling of cold tendrils spreading over the inside of her skull, and slowly sending roots deeper in. Realizing she'd dropped to her knees, Kylier glared daggers up at the woman. Her mouth was moving… she was speaking…
And Kylier understood her!
"IrqFEGwdsvef defeefsd-stand defsa? eFrfe? Edfg do you feGRsdFg me? WEfre yet…
"Do you understand me yet?"