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Subject: (Voyer) The Orion Legacy (Part 3) mc nc mf scifi
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The Orion Legacy (Part 3)
MF MC NC SCIFI
voyer@notme.com
Note: This story is a fantasy, contains examples of bad
science, adult language and situations, and fictional
characters doing illegal, immoral and/or impossible things to
other fictional characters. If you are under the age of
consent in your community, or find such concepts
distasteful, or try to do these things in real life, please stop
reading now.
Permission granted to re-post this story to any on-line
medium, provided no fee is charged to view the story, and
this disclaimer and the above e-mail address are not
removed.
Copyright me, 1998.
******
Captain Angelica Phelps regained consciousness. But true
to her training, she did not open her eyes. She lay perfectly
still, and listened.
-What happened?-
-I was on the street. Heard something.-
-A stunbomb. Recognize that screech anywhere. Fark it, I
*knew* I should have gotten those farking filtration
implants when I had the chance...-
-And now? Where am I?-
She felt a warm semi-liquid softness beneath her, a more
solid one laying gently over the top of her. She was in a
nongrav gellpak bed, evidently. No restraints, physical or
field, that she could feel. A bomb of that type usually
knocked a human out for about twenty-four hours.
(Rigellians, about thirty-six, her mind added helpfully; there
had been a few on the street when it went off.) It was
possible to wake a person up sooner, but was usually only
done if there was some pressing need. So, assuming she
hadn't been kidnapped, it was likely she was in a hospital,
sleeping it off.
She lay perfectly still, and listened, keeping her breathing
and brainwaves slow and regular.
Hospital noises. Equipment beeping, the soft hum of
antigrav wheelchairs and gurneys, many people talking off
in the middle distance. Hospital smells: ozone from the
antisepts. Fibercarbon. Plastic. Gellpaks. Sickness. Blood.
Even now, after all of the strides that medical science had
made, the blood was still there, always, lurking in the
background.
She cracked open an eye, and scanned her surroundings
without moving her head. The voice of one of her trainers at
the Academy came down to her, speaking as if standing
right by her head:
-Until you know otherwise, assume that a bomb like that
was directed specifically at you. Assume that everything you
see is a lie, a subterfuge, a hologrammatic simulation. Take
nothing at face value. And if someone is watching you, now
might be the only chance you'll ever get to catch them off-
guard.-
It appeared to be a hospital cubicle, empty except for
herself. She closed the eye all the way again.
And, she thought, a cubicle was *probably* what it was,
although the smell was more of a confirmation than the
sight. It was almost impossible, even with the best of direct-
brain holosims, to fake that smell, that subliminal aura of
years of blood.
And death.
Which, of course, ultimately proved nothing. It was about
80% likely to be a real cubicle in a real hospital, but Doctors
and Nurses can be bought. (After all, they had already been
bought once...) Whole hospitals could be bought. Whole
hospitals could change hands three or four times in a single
day, sometimes in a manner that called for their services.
Still. No more time for stalling.
She opened her eyes, fuzzily now, blinked them a few
times, and looked around herself in well-feigned confusion.
Standard hospital cubicle. A bed, surrounded by the usual
blue glowing ring of the antisept. Active diagnostic
holoscreen over her head, Moran5000 bednurse standing
nearby, its multitude of pink fibercarbon arms dangling
limply. Large nutrient C-gang gently insinuated into a vein
in her arm. Cheap grade of Tintglass window, slanted
against the orange sun which still beat in relentlessly. If
anyone was watching her from a remote location, they must
have been monitoring her vitals, and probably knew that she
was awake, despite her efforts. She could run for it, but she
decided she'd better play it straight for the moment. Watch
and wait.
-The game begins..-
The bed controls (Moran again...) floated near her
outstretched hand. Examining them, Captain Phelps had
another momentary, irrelevant, thought: was all of this
antigrav was really necessary? A pair of farking legs would
be fifty times cheaper, and do the job just as well in many
cases. Still, 'antigrav' meant 'modern' to people, and so it
was used.
At least this *bed* wasn't antigrav, like...
--Forget about that.--
She mentally shook her head in irritation as she pushed
the thought, whatever it had been, out of her mind. She
brushed the 'summon human' pad and waited, still looking
nervous, trying to pump up her internal adrenalin levels for
any watching scanners.
It wasn't a Nurse who eventually stepped through the
door and the outer antisept's cleansing field, but an actual
Doctor. He was young, and thin, and looked like death
warmed over. The existence of beard inhibitors meant that
his chin remained smooth and stubble-free, but his pleasant
brown eyes were shot through with fatigue, and his clothes
were crumpled even past their self-cleaning abilities. A
standard GP-Guild caduceus glowed weakly on his left
chest. Must be fairly new at this, if his title was still under
ownership of the hospital...
He saw her looking at him, and managed to smile.
"Ah. Miss..." A covert glance at the medichart in his hand
"...Phelps... Say... The grid must be back up finally. Glad to
see you're back with us as well. How do you feel?"
"A little woozy..."
--You have a headache.--
" ...and I have a headache. What happened to me...
Doctor?" Her face was *made* for looks of wide-eyed
innocence.
"Yes, Doctor." He tapped the caduceus in an absent
fashion. "Doctor Yanderman. Nathan. You're in Tarquain
City General. Do you remember *your* name?"
"Angelica Phelps, Doctor. I work for Antiquated
Exports."
"Good. I mean, good that you remember. As for what
happened, you were caught in a stunbomb blast yesterday
morning on Cabal Street. Do you remember?"
"I... I was walking down the street, and there was this
funny screeching noise..."
He nodded.
"Yes. That was the bomb going off. A group calling itself
the... uh..." Another look at the medichart, some quick
tapping and scrolling... "...Tarquain VI Anti-Corporate
Front... evidently claimed responsibility just a couple of
hours ago."
"I... I've heard of them, Doctor. They did this before,
didn't they?"
"Yes. Three or four months back, upriver at Bridgehead
City. Want to break the municipal corp's contract, and
merge with the UE, I guess." He sighed as his 'chart
suddenly started beeping urgently. "I have to go. I'm sorry if
I'm being abrupt, but this blast caused several aircars to
crash, and we've been... very busy. I'll have a Nurse come in
and help you, check you out more thoroughly, as soon as
one is available. You were quite lucky, and according to our
tests, should be able to leave by tomorrow." He turned to
go, then turned back towards her, lingering for a moment in
the antisept's glow, the field making the usual self-important
snapping and crackling around him. "Oh... We just haven't
had time to contact people's friends or relatives, even when
we knew who they were. If there's someone you'd like to
call, please feel free to use the 'phone, since I see you don't
have an implant. If you have any problems, ask the Nurse
for some help. I'll be back to see you tomorrow before you
leave."
"Thank you, Doctor."
"Nathan, please." His smile was a quite nice match for his
eyes. And his hair...
"OK.. Nathan.." As she watched... Nathan... go, Captain
Phelps speculated. Even looking like he did, he was pretty
cute, and she was a practiced expert at recognizing interest
in men. *And* he was a Doctor, with a 'D'... If he turned
out to be who and what he claimed to be, she would
definitely pursue the matter. It
A voice surfaced in her mind. It was her own voice, but it
was cold. Hard. Utterly without mercy.
--Forget it, slit. You only have sex when it profits the
Master. You only masturbate when it profits the Master.
You only orgasm when it profits the Master.
*Understand*?--
-yes- The meekness was not assumed this time.
The voice sank back beneath the black waves, taking even
its memory with it.
was a pity that she couldn't pursue the matter. For all she
knew, he was going to try and keep her here, he was her
kidnapper. The possibility seemed less likely, however. The
TACF and its tactics were well known and documented; the
blast five (not three or four) months ago was just one that
the more covert elements of the UEDF hadn't been able to
thwart. Ironic, really, since the UEDF basically approved of
the TACF's ultimate goal...
Still, until she got out of here, and was safe up in orbit, in
the Laymon's debriefing center, she'd assume the worst. She
didn't bother sending out any messages. She had caught
Doctor Yanderman's comment about 'the grid' being off-
line. It wasn't surprising; the modified EM pulse of a
stunbomb had a way sometimes of scrambling
communications, especially in backwater border-towns like
this one. One of the disadvantages of using biochips...
But now the grid was back on. So, if everything was on
the level, then Someone would already know what had
happened to her, and be on their way here very soon. And if
no one showed, then she'd have a pretty serious hint that
something was wrong...
* * *
"Miss Thurnton?"
The thin woman looked up from the chair in which she sat,
her legs crossed.
"Yes, Sir?"
The invisible source of the voice continued.
"Rise."
She did so.
"Approach my voice."
She circled the desk and walked across the room. Arriving
at one of the walls, she stopped.
A picture appeared on that wall, or inside the lenses of her
glasses. It was the same thing.
"Do you see this individual?"
"Yes, Sir."
"Study this face carefully. Memorize it." A pause. "Have
you done this?"
"Yes, Sir."
"The next time you encounter this individual, -hear this
voice- you are to obey. You are to obey without question,
without boundaries. Do you understand?"
"I understand, Sir. Without questions. Without
boundaries."
"That will be all. Return to your duties."
"Yes, Sir."
Miss Thurnton returned to the chair, and primly re-
crossed her legs.
* * *
Doctor Yanderman walked back into Miss Phelp's cubicle,
feeling a little more sentient. He'd actually gotten an hour or
two of sleep and taken a moment to static his hair, although
he was still wearing the same clothes. Seeing Miss Phelps
through her check-out procedures... just talking to her...
would give him another boost.
And maybe give him a chance to get to know her a little
better.
He clutched the medichart tighter at the thought, grateful
for once that hospital policy dictated that he carry one of
the stupid things when visiting a patient. With the now-
widespread use of biocircuitry implants, they had been no
longer really needed, even before he had graduated, but they
made a Doctor look more...
He stopped and stared. Miss Phelps was laying on a
gurney manned by two hard-looking humans. Both men
wore the standard hospital orderly uniforms, but he was
quite certain that he had never seen either of them before.
They stood as if they had been waiting for something.
For a moment, Yanderman had an intense, inexplicable,
flash of deja vu, which he shook off.
"What's going on here?"
Miss Phelps smiled, a trifle sadly.
"I'm sorry Doctor Yanderman, but I have to be going.
Thank you for everything."
"What..."
"Doctor?"
Even as he instinctively turned towards the man who had
spoken, something prompted him to try and raise his 'chart
like a shield.
There was a flas-
The three of them watched as Yanderman stared vacantly
for a moment, then staggered backwards, the medichart
clattering on the floor.
Angelica stared as well as the Doctor finally hit the
cubicle's sloping wall and started to slide down towards the
floor, his eyes still open and fairly aware.
"That... that shouldn't have happened! Unless he was
Zapped sometime in the last three days. How..."
The two men exchanged a glance. The one holding the
Zapper deftly flipped it end-for-end in his hand, and tapped
the new end against Angelica's neck. She twitched, and her
eyes glazed. In a moment, her boneless body lay smeared
across the gurney.
"Fark."
"Yeah. You get her outta here. I'll take care of th' dre.. th'
Doc."
"You gonna..." A vague but somehow extremely
unpleasant gesture.
"Nah." Annoyed but business-like. "Better take 'im with
us, pump 'im out." As he spoke, the Zapper-wielder crossed
the room to stand next Yanderman, who stared up at him,
trying to make his mouth work. "At least we gotta get a
description of who Zapped 'im before." Another tap to a
neck, and Yanderman toppled over sideways, his eyes
finally closed. "Let th' big boys decide what to do with 'im
then."
"Always need more Docs in th' service."
"Uh."
* * *
Doctor Nathan Yanderman woke up. He opened his eyes
and groaned. The pain spiked through his head, and he
clamped his eyes shut again. Memories flooded over him,
and the dry, analytical, voice spoke up inside his mind,
automatically tapping into the universal medical database via
his implant:
-Patient is exhibiting standard reaction to exposure to a
'Zapper'-type neural pacification device twice within a
seventy-two hour period. Headache. Dizziness.
Hypersensitivity to external stimuli, once full consciousness
is regained. Further symptoms...-
"Yanderman." Another spike accompanied the physical
voice.
"Not so loud." He whispered, and attempted again to
open his eyes.
"Yanderman, I apologize for what has happened to you,
but I must speak to you now."
He was laying in a gellpak bed, looking up at a ceiling,
the chromapaint slowly shifting through various soothing
shades of blue and green and violet. Hospital colors. But
not *his* hospital. The datastream in his head was the
wrong... flavor. And there were numerous odd barriers in
the data... places he couldn't see into... He slowly, carefully,
rotated his head in the direction the impertinent voice was
coming from.
A small Asian woman stood there, looking at him
expressionlessly.
-Correction. A small Asian Doctor. There goes the
impertinence crack... and her caduceus... never seen one
quite like it...-
"What... Guild are you in?" He asked, wincing. "I don't
recognize..."
"I am a United Earth Defense Force Medical Inspector.
Ichikawa. I realize that my title does not mean anything to
you at the present time, but perhaps, before long, it will.
Yanderman, we need your help."
"United Earth Defense... You need *my* help, Ichikawa?
To do what? Where *am* I?"
"You are on board the UEDF Orbital Fortress 'Laymon',
in orbit of Tarquain VI. We have already obtained part of
what we need from you via linking with your biocircuitry
implant and scanning your memories. The rest, however..."
"What?"
She hesitated for a moment, and then explained.
* * *
Captain Angelica Phelps sat stiffly in the bolted-down
chair, staring at the crysteel bulkhead opposite. The days of
interrogation, questioning, psiscans, had left her drained,
and oddly cold. A coldness that only now was finally
releasing its hold on her bones. Now, as she was waiting for
the final word from the final Doctor. Would they release her
back into service, or declare her a permanent security risk?
If it was the latter, if her career and her every last memory
of it were about to be flushed down the recyc because she
had been caught in a stupid terrorist bombing... She ground
her teeth and found she had to make a conscious effort to sit
still.
Finally, a bell sounded, and a nearby hatch irised open.
She rose, and adjusted her black uniform meticulously. Her
back straight, her hair carefully pinned up and staticed into
position, she marched through the large circular hole.
In the chamber beyond, a small, pinched-looking,
Japanese Doctor sat behind a wide metal and Tintglass desk.
The woman's delicate hands were steepled on the desk
before her, the Inspector caduceus on the left chest of her
gray-green tunic glowing a soft blue, the color of an
antisept. A single Doctor dyestreak curled up the left side of
her head and vanished into the tight bun on the back of her
neck. Framed on the bulkhead behind her was a large, old-
style 2-D stillpic, a reproduction of Sanchez's famous shot
of the ruins of old Tokyo after the High Oligarch's army of
cyborgs and drones had finally bombed and blasted its way
past the city's defenses.
The Doctor looked up at Phelps sourly.
"Captain Phelps."
"Inspector Ichikawa." Angelica stared straight ahead, still
looking at the stillpic. One of the gutted, half-melted,
buildings in the scene was the old Japanese Diet, and still
sported part of an inscription carved out of genuine stone,
in archaic Standard: 'United Communities of North Ame'.
Inspector Ichikawa unclasped her hands, and picked up a
medichart from the desk. She spoke in a dry voice,
obviously reading what was before her.
"Final Debriefing Report for Phelps, Angelica Johanson,
Captain, United Earth Defence Force, Internal Security
Division, UE Sharehold Number 5313-S6-97632. Reporting
officer, Ichikawa, Tomoko HarvardNT33, Medical
Inspector, United Earth Defense Force, Internal Security
Division, UE Sharehold Number 5651-D4-96210. Dated
and Verified EarthSept 15, 2354." A tiny pause. "While
certain questions remain about the terrorist incident
occurring in Tarquain City, Chartered United Earth colony
of Tarquain VI, Dated EarthSept 2, 2354, after extensive
testing and examination, no indication of harmful intent
directed at or by Captain Phelps has been uncovered. After
due consideration, it is the recommendation of Inspector
Ichikawa that Captain Phelps be restored to active duty, on
the express proviso that she is routed to a new assignment,
preferably in another Sector. In addition, the Captain should
take a leave of absence before assuming this new
assignment, spending the time at an approved UEDF
recreation facility. Hopefully, time spent in this fashion will
enable the Captain to regain her focus, and clarity of
purpose. This leave of absence shall not be less than one
Standard month. Report ends." She put the medichart back
down, and re-clasped her hands.
"Do you have anything further you wish to add at this
point, Captain Phelps?"
"No, Inspector Ichikawa. Thank you."
"Then you are dismissed, Captain."
Angelica left, still rigidly straight. Inside, she was
cheering.
And deeper inside...?
Twenty-four hours later, she was on a Tachyon jumpship,
headed out of the Tarquain system.
* * *
The 'approved recreation facility' was on a nameless blue
planet which orbited a numbered sun, a pleasant yellow orb
much like Sol; a bit smaller perhaps, a bit brighter. At night,
a large nebula sprawled across the eastern sky, the exploded
remains of one the star's nearer neighbors. She had been
assured, without having to ask, that the radiation levels
were nonetheless well below safe levels of exposure. One
large island on the planet was set aside for those who
arrived to recreate; the drop-zone and Strip for the orbital
shuttles and their tachspacer crews was on another,
somewhat smaller patch of land set just over the horizon
from the main resort. Small, sporty hoverboats ferried the
guests back and forth. When the resort staff learned she had
no implant for the downloading of information, she was
quickly supplied with a tourchart; enough people still
refused the implant to make the practice common. The
'chart was rather vague about what exactly, if anything, the
rest of the planet's land surfaces were being used for, and
Angelica didn't bother to ask for details; that wasn't why she
had come here.
The island was ringed, layered, with overlapping and
overhanging pools of water, all shapes, sizes, temperatures
and temperaments, formed and fed by endless ranks of
cascading waterfalls, all tumbling down to the sea below,
washing among carefully imported and bioengineered palm
trees and Earth shrubs. It gave the island the appearance of
a volcano that spewed water instead of lava. If a guest
wanted to, he or she (or it) could float in an endless circle
around the island, from one pool to the next, under and over
walkways and bridges, past and through restaurants and
bungalows and brothels and indoor rec centers, up and
down, in and out, either pulled down by the slightly below-
Earth gravity or, by brushing on a pad on one's floater,
rising upstream against it.
She did not float in the water, or mingle with the other
guests, politely brushing off the trickle of individuals, male
and female, that showed any interest. (She noted with vague
surprise that there were some Rigellians among the guests,
although of course none of them hit on her; what could they
possibly find of interest here?) She simply sat cross-legged
on a tuffet by the pool nearest to her modest quarters, and
gazed out over the ocean from under the wide sunhat she
had picked up somewhere. No other land was in sight.
Except for an occasional darting parasail, or further out, the
tiny, sinister, glint of a airborne security drone, there was
nothing beyond the pale blue sand of the beach but dark
blue water and light blue sky. Blue on blue on blue, until
darkness came and the gaudy nebula once more blotted
itself across the sky. She could see that as the sun set, a low
bank of fog came rolling in off the sea, not rising any further
than the shore.
Angelica sat and watched until full darkness came, and the
lightglobes rose up out of their tastefully-concealed daytime
nests, casting a somber, but mellow, light over the scene.
Other parts of the island featured more boisterous night-life,
and she could hear the mingled sounds of laughter,
enthusiastic sex, and cheerful thumping vibramusic drifting
in from somewhere. Holospheres flashed a (from her
vantage point) dim rainbow of colors, no doubt intentionally
counterpointing the nebula overhead.
Finally, she rose, stretched, and returned to her room.
The message came two weeks later. For those days, she
had sat by the pool in her modest swimsuit (even keeping
her breasts covered), except when she ate in the nearby
cafe, and swam laps in the pool, back and forth, keeping her
body from going flabby, even as she let her mind run along
in idle. Waiting. The UEDF had invested a lot of money in
her body, and she had a duty, despite their recent treatment
of her, to keep it in good working order.
The message was in her room when she returned one
night, static charges holding the gathered dust in the shapes
of bits and pieces of letters that shimmered in the globelight.
For a moment, lavender filaments wavered up in her mind,
filling in the remaining gaps.
O
BOAT
21.18N 157.50W
She memorized it all, and waved her hand through the
words, disrupting the tiny fields, scattering the dust to the
metaphorical winds.
The next morning, she rose early, and had breakfast in the
cafe, smiling at the dark-skinned, black-haired waiter who
returned the compliment with a set of flashing white teeth.
(He was only one who had even tempted her during her
stay; she had always had a thing for men with black hair...)
Afterwards she rode one of the magtrams down to the
marina in the island's only harbor, and rented a small
hoverboat for the day.
The day was as cloudless and calm as always and she
skipped the boat out of the harbor, into the vast open sea.
Other boats passed by the distance, and parasails darted
overhead, some swooping down over the water, others
rising up to be specks in the sky. There were no animals, or
plant life beyond the masses of primitive algae that swarmed
in the water and supplied the planet's oxygen. It rendered
the scene rather sterile, especially with the lack of clouds.
However, this changed, with the sudden reappearance of
the nightly fogbank, wafting towards her from further out to
sea. As she approached the desired coordinates, as indicated
by the boats' on-board GPS system, the fog grew worse,
and she slowed the boat to a crawl. The fog sparkled and
glittered in an odd fashion as it wrapped itself around the
boat, seeming to be almost alive.
Abruptly, another resort boat loomed up out of that
whiteness, crawling along as slowly as her own. They came
together, the crafts bumping lightly against one another.
Angelica activated her vessel's maglock, and looked over at
the boat's pilot.
It was herself, or at least her face. Somehow unsurprised,
she looked more closely, and saw a telltale vagueness, lack
of depth, behind the woman's eyes.
-A cheap vatdroid. Probably programmed with just
enough knowledge to take my place for a few hours, out on
the boat..-
The 'droid spoke, her voice somehow both flat and lilting.
"Stand please." Angelica did so, and the 'droid did as well,
both being careful not to fall overboard. The 'droid opened
her hand, and something the size and shape of a baseball
rose from it. The buzzing object started circling Angelica,
obviously scanning her, following a path that brought to
mind a DNA helix. Finally, the 'droid's eyes glazed over a
little more, and she spoke again:
"Standard UEDF implants. Additional tracker recently
implanted in pelvic region. Tracker frequency located.
Matched. Override in progress. Override complete." Her
eyes came back into focus, more or less, and she spoke to
Angelica as the scanbot returned to her boat.
"Please trade boats. This boat will take you to the Master."
They silently swapped, and Angelica dropped into the seat
of the new boat. The 'droid broke the maglock, and they
separated. Angelica's boat immediately powered itself up,
and went swerving away across the water, dipping in and
out of the fogbank as it raced along for what seemed like
ages.
Then something new loomed up out of the mist, much
larger than the boat in which she rode. She wasn't entirely
sure what it was; possibly some kind of submarine, but she
got the distinct impression that it had landed in the water
from the air, and was capable of rising once again. The boat
zipped into a small bay carved in the larger vessel's side,
neatly came to a stop, and died with a certain finality. She
looked around, and then got out of the boat, climbing up
onto a small rail-equipped ledge provided for this. The iris
of a heavy airlock door slid open, and she stepped inside
without hesitation.
Traversing the airlock, and a series of empty one-way-
only corridors, she finally arrived in a room occupied by a
desk-bound woman wearing a large pair of dataspecs. The
women smiled at her in an unpleasant way, and jerked her
head in the direction of another door.
"He's waiting for you."
The indicated door led into a small gravlift chamber, rising
up and spilling her out into a final corridor, with only one
hatch at the end.
And beyond that hatch, a thin gray-haired man in a brown
robe, standing next to an antigrav couch.
Angelica smiled, and kneeled down before him, peeling
off her bathing suit, kicking off her red thongs.
"Master."
"Hello my dear. Get in the couch."
"Yes, Master."
The tendrils slid up around her body, entered it.
* * *
O sat on the edge of the bed, and looked over at her,
once again pulling his robe tightly around him.
"And you understand what you are now to do?"
She stood demurely near him. "Of course, Master. Once
my leave of absence is finished, I will report my new UEDF
posting, and contact your agent for delivery of the portable
Beast-tamer. I will then begin programming all other female
UEDF personnel with whom I come in contact."
"Excellent. The presence of that additional tracker
indicates they still suspect something, but if you are careful,
it shouldn't be any problem. It is almost time to send you on
your way. But first, I think we have time for one more..."
The door to the bedroom opened, and O turned from
Angelica with annoyance.
Miss Thurnton stepped into the room, an odd smile on her
face. She was no longer wearing her glasses. The
biocircuitry implants at her temples glistened in the dim
light. Annoyance was replaced with anger.
"Miss Thurnton? What are you doing in here?"
"I'm sorry, sir, but there's someone here to see you. It's
important."
"What?"
The thin woman raised her hand, and opened it.
Something lay there in her palm, looking like a small flat
yellow butterfly. It twitched, then moved.
Not like a butterfly at all, but with swift, deadly, accuracy.
It zipped across the room, a blurred yellow dart, and
embedded itself in O's neck. He gave a strangled gasp, and
tottered backwards, sliding off of the bed and onto the
floor. Angelica stared down at him, then up at the woman in
the doorway, her eyebrows arched.
"Why did you ..."
Still smiling slightly, Miss Thurnton opened her other
hand, and another dart winged its way across the room,
sinking into Angelica's shoulder. She stared at it for a
moment, then slowly dropped to her knees, her eyes wide.
Miss Thurnton moved aside of the door.
Someone new stepped into the room. Or rather, ducked
into the room.
The Rigellian looked at the two attacked people, his
silver-eyed, bug-like visage as impassive as all members of
his species. Angelica thought vaguely how silly the creature
must have looked, driving his little hoverboat out here from
the island...
She blinked.
O was able to speak from his position on the floor, his
voice a strangled croak.
"What... what..."
The Rigellian spoke, the voice a good match for the face,
stilted, controlled, exactingly precise. His multitude of
mouth-pieces clicked back and forth, up and down, in and
out, strongly resembling the movements of a typical hatch
cover...
"You pride yourself on being an individual in control. Of
yourself. Of others. You claim to remain calm and collected,
above the fray, as you peddle the flesh of your fellow
humans across the stars." The alien leaned far forward in a
way that no human could ever match, sterile brown
wrappings rustling softly. "And you fail miserably. You
copulate with your pawns, become *emotionally* involved,
instead of moving them to and fro, and discarding them
when no longer of use. You do not play the game as it
should be played." He straightened up. "And what is truly
pathetic, is that you are among the best of your species that
we have ever observed. Your race is dominated by greed,
and passion, and carnal lust. By *spontaneity.*" He said the
word as a human might say 'cannibalism', or 'genocide.'
"This must not be allowed to continue. Too long, we have
stood quietly, and watched your race spread across space
like a fungus, a disease, sowing discord and putrefaction
everywhere your spores come to rest."
"You... you are going to kill...?"
"We are going to control. Regulate. The device will be
distributed throughout your vile criminal organization, an
organization that reaches everywhere humanity has gone,
even beyond the graspers of the United Earth Defense
Force. Soon, the army you envisioned will come to pass.
And it will attempt to bring control. Order. Discipline.
Regimentation. It may well prove an impossible task. If so,
then your species will render itself extinct. Our army will be
ordered to suicide, quietly and cleanly, and to take as many
fellow humans with it as is possible."
O stared. For the first time, Angelica spoke, her voice
strained but calm.
"How long... has your government been planning this?'
The Rigellian made a twitching gesture of repulsion with
his upper graspers.
"The Hierarchy has lost its focus. It has associated with
humans and other species for far too long, and distorts the
vision of both itself and the lower Levels. It was this
weakness, this loss of clarity, that led us of the true faith,
the faith of focus and clarity, to begin this campaign. Sixty-
seven cycles ago, we brought forth the creatures you called
Orions. Raised them up. Guided them. Gave them the
power to... not destroy you, but challenge you. Repel you.
Disgust you as you disgust us. They attacked, giving you an
obvious enemy to fight. But, inevitably, they were defeated.
As we had planned. We knew that your species, like the
vermin-infested primates from which it evolved, would not
hesitate to pick among the ruins of your vanquished foe,
your curiosity and greed leading one of you inevitably... to
the Device... A device which *we* gave them." He paused
and nodded at O.
"Why... why didn't you just give... it to us..." O's words
were becoming weaker.
"Because whoever you gave it to... would... have
suspected something." Angelica replied.
"Correct. Letting you take it from a detested, defeated,
enemy was the only sure way. Once you rebuilt the device
and began to use it on your subordinates, it was a simple
matter to infiltrate your communications system, and place
a... trapdoor in the back of this female's mind." A gesture
towards Miss Thurnton. "Total obedience to a voice and an
image is a mandible that can slice in both directions. If a
voice and an image can be synthesized, obedience can be...
usurped." He paused.
"But that is the past, and the future is now our concern. It
is time to begin our great task."
"Great task..." Miss Thurnton mouthed the words, her
voice and exposed brown eyes taking on a fanatical tinge.
"Before you... begin that great task, there's something...
you've overlooked..." Angelica said in the same, strangely
flat, tone.
"I overlook nothing. It is outside the realm of possibility
that the United Earth Defense Force could have been fooled
by this one's transparent ruse in your regard. Your
programming has been broken, and you have been returned
to him as a counter-agent. This is why it was necessary
to..." Another twitch of disgust... "...move ahead with our
plans, not waiting for this one to distribute the devices. If
we had waited, you would bring the UEDF to him, and
destroy everything, just as it stands at the edge of
fulfillment. Now, we will do that distribution, in his name.
The poison courses through your system even now. You
will die, the UEDF will find your body here in the sea, and
we will be long departed."
The blonde woman kneeling on the floor again looked at
the Rigellian, and down at the yellow thing embedded in her
tanned flesh. Then, casually, she reached up, plucked it out
of her skin, and crushed it between her fingers. It splintered
loudly. She waved the remains in the general direction of O
and spoke in a calm, clear, firm, voice.
"Captain Angelica Phelps is just as much this man's slave
as she was when she last left his presence." She smiled
winsomely. "I, however, have just remembered that I am
not."
The Phelpsdroid simultaneously became aware of and
flipped a switch down inside her chest, hidden behind
specially-grown tissue that shielded it from even O's
scanners.
She opened her mouth, and she screamed.
She Screeched.
* * *
Captain Angelica Phelps lay on the cot, and stared up at
the ceiling, her hands clenched at her sides.
She had woken up here, obviously somewhere inside a
UEDF containment facility, after that bizarre scene in the
hospital with that poor (...nice...) dreeb Doctor Yanderman.
And here she had stayed, well fed and well cared for. And
totally ignored. No one had interrogated her, no one had
asked her any questions.
But no one had answered any of her questions either, or
let her out of this room. This cell. The hard-eyed staff had
been bland, courteous and totally unhelpful, either deflecting
or simply ignoring her queries. Obviously they suspected her
of something. But what could it be? Why didn't they just ask
her? Ask her something, anything? She gave a snarl of
frustration, and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.
On top of everything else, she hadn't been sleeping well at
all, having the strangest dreams. Dreams about lavender
mists, dancing endlessly before her eyes, surrounding her,
caressing her... And a voice, talking to her, asking things,
demanding things... promising things... *giving* things...
She moaned, and had to make a conscious effort to keep
her hands away from her crotch. Those dreams... Someone,
human or otherwise, had to be watching her at this very
moment, and she was *not* going to give that someone the
pleasure of a little private pornovid.
She just had to wait, and
--Escape. You have to escape. They must know. They
know about the Master. You have to run to the Master, and
warn him. Now.--
figure out how she was going to escape. It was all so
clear now. This was all a trick. Someone was holding her
here, waiting for her to crack, betray the UEDF in exchange
for her freedom. She gave another little snarl, more
emphatic than the first. That would *never* happen. She'd
show them, whoever they were. She'd break out of here,
and bring the crushing weight of the UEDF down around
them. The next time someone came in, she would...
As if someone was reading her mind, the circular door to
her cell irised open. She sat up on the narrow bunk, forcing
her body to become calm. Just wait for the right moment. If
it didn't come this time, maybe next time it would.
A man tottered into the room, looking rather crumpled
and stooped. She stared at him for a long moment before
she recognized him. It was
--My Master my Master my Master Oh god oh god he's
here my Master he came here to rescue me he can do
anything anything at all go to him grovel plead beg
forgiveness for failing him no no wait for orders maintain
the cover...--
O. Perhaps literally the last man in the galaxy she would
have ever expected to see.
"You?! What... what do you want? How did you get in
here? Are you responsible for all of this?"
He looked at her. His face was terrible, pale and drawn,
and about twenty years older than when she had last seen
him, that day in the Moonbeam meeting room with Smith.
Something had damaged one side of his neck; it was blotchy
and inflamed. He smiled, a ghastly sight.
"Hello, An... my... Captain Phelps." He hesitated a long
moment, then continued. "It's all right. You don't have to
maintain... your cover persona anymore."
"MASTER!" She slid off the bed and scrambled across
the room to him, feverishly pulling off her institutionally
bland pants and shirt as she did so. She needed so badly to
kneel naked before her Master, feel his strong, powerful,
hands on her, feel him plunging inside of her... "I'm so sorry,
Master, I... I failed you. I think they suspect me." She
settled into the position, feeling as if her body had slotted
itself into some invisible but tangible niche.
"No, Captain Phelps, you've... you've done very well." His
eyes darted back and forth slightly as he spoke, as if he were
hearing invisible voices. He jerked his hand out, patted her
on the shoulder, retracted the appendage. "Please get up,
and come with me."
She got to her feet, her eyes burning with desire, lust,
awe.
"Are we leaving this terrible place, Master?"
"Yes... and no." He led her from the room, out into a
stark, utilitarian, corridor. There was no one else in sight.
They walked down it for some distance, passing closed
metal hatchways on either side, all of which lacked the usual
opening touch-pad. Finally, he stumbled to a stop in front of
one of the sealed circular openings, one that looked exactly
like all of the others. Stopped as if abruptly reaching the end
of a leash. The hatch opened, seemingly on its own, and he
stepped inside, Angelica trailing dutifully after.
The room was small, and circular, with a low ceiling. She
looked around in surprise.
"Master? Why are we back in the training room?"
"There are... some additional things I need... to teach
you." He jerked up an arm again, stabbed a finger at the
antigrav couch in the middle of the room. "Please get in."
"Yes, Master." She hurried over and settled into the field,
feeling it slide smoothly around her bare skin, supporting
her. Then the tendrils came wavering up out of their little
cages, sliding around her, once again seeking out her most
secret places and filling them... She gave a little gasp of joy.
She had already forgotten how *good* the training felt. She
spread her legs wide, and the tendrils probed deeper and
deeper, taking her down into a delicious warm lavender
darkness.. a darkness that gradually filled with pleasure, and
a voice, a voice that she loved and trusted, a voice that also
filled her body, filled her mind... deeper and deeper... even
better, more wonderful than before...
* * *
There was a chime at the door, and the tall, dark-haired
woman rose from her desk, and crossed the room to answer
it, her long dress rustling around her ramrod form. She
could no longer be called, with strict accuracy, beautiful,
but she was far from ugly; her features strong and noble, her
violet eyes calm intelligent pools. Pools of steel. Her long
coil of black hair was now shot through with (natural)
streaks of gray that merely added to her imposing aura.
She opened the door, tapping the appropriate pad.
The dark, bulky, man stood in the reception room beyond,
his face carefully expressionless. She smiled at him, a smile
that lit up the room like a whole bank of holospheres.
"Ah, Director-General. Hello. My aides told me you
wished to speak with me privately, and in flesh, no less."
He gave a slight bow. "If you can spare a moment,
Senator St. Clair, it is a matter of some urgency."
"Of course. Do come in." She stepped aside, and ushered
him into the room. She continued, her tone lightly jesting.
"Although, perhaps we should not be discussing matters of
state high security before the Shareholders' vote."
The Director-General formed a smile with his lips, and
sank into the offered seat.
"I'm afraid the matter cannot wait until then." He held a
small holoemitter, which he turned over and over in his
hands.
Senator St. Clair perched in the chair opposite, her years
of military service still showing her stance.
"Can I offer you some tea, Director-General? Cola,
perhaps? No? Well, then, what is it that I can do for my old
friends at the UEDF?"
"Senator. I... we... would very much like to obtain your
reaction to a piece of holofootage that has recently come
into our possession." He held out the emitter, and clicked it
on. Between them, a figure sprouted up like a noxious
weed, yellow and red eyes bulging, mouth grinning.
Marla St. Clair's eyes instantly turned from steel to ice.
"You desire my reaction to this... thing?" The voice
matched the eyes.
"No, Senator St. Clair. The whole world, and every
United Earth colony, knows your reaction to this. What we
need to know is..." He slid his thumb across the emitter, and
the creature spoke a single word in his cesspool of a
language.
The woman in the chair was gone, replaced by a thing
with inhuman eyes that fell into bottomless depths. The man
opposite this sight, for the first time in many, many, years,
felt a twinge of fear, of true doubt and uncertainty. But only
a tinge. He swallowed hard. Not from the feelings. Those
were quickly conquered. The swallowing activated a device
that had been attached to his vocal chords. He spoke again.
When he did, the grinning phantom was from where the
words came, speaking in a dead language...
-Can you hear me, property?-
-Yes. The property of the glorious Pack G'Fgcac awaits
its orders.-
-Listen carefully, Marla St. Clair. These are the last orders
you will ever receive from the Pack G'Fgcac. The Pack is
moving on, travelling to the next existence, joining the ranks
of the Past Ones in the Eternal Battle. After this
conversation, you are to *never* again obey to any orders,
listen to any words, from anyone claiming to represent the
Pack G'Fgcac. If any such orders come, they will be lies and
deceptions, sent by vile imposters. Do you understand?-
-The property understands.-
-These are our final orders. First, you will remember that
the Director-General of the Internal Security Division
came to see you, but you will also remember that it was a
matter of no importance. Nothing worth thinking about, or
pursuing further.-
-The property understands.-
-Secondly, and most importantly.- A long hesitation.
-Remember this well. Remember this always. If... when...
your people come to choose you as their leader, lead them
well. Lead them in peace. Lead them in strength. Lead them
in prosperity. Lead them in freedom. Lead them to a place
of honor, of tolerance, and of respect in the great
community of species that surround them. Lead your
fellows as you have always led them. Use everything we
have given you to make your world, your galaxy, the best
that they can be, for all of their inhabitants. Do you
understand?-
-The... I understand.-
The Director-General spoke a final, single, word, and
swallowed.
Marla St. Clair shifted in her seat, and looked around,
slightly puzzled.
"I'm very sorry.. Director-General. I'm afraid that I voided
there for a moment. What was it you wished to ask me?"
Then her gaze fell on the figure between them, and her lips
tightened once again.
"I regret bringing this... thing... into your presence,
Senator, but it was of vital importance." He slid his finger
along the emitter once again, and once again the word was
spoken.
The woman in the chair remained a women, although her
eyes were again icy cold.
"Does the word this creature has just spoken mean
anything to you? Anything at all?"
"No. Nothing." She looked over the Orion, at the
Director-General. "Should it?"
"We were hoping, actually, that it wouldn't. It has to do
with the Eutrophies Campaign during the Orion War, and
we have been questioning some of the veterans of that
campaign. There was a chance that some old Orion
technology had fallen into... certain hands. I am afraid I
can't be more specific, even to you. This is also why I had to
meet with you in flesh."
"Of course. I understand."
"Fortunately, judging from the reactions we have been
getting, it appears to have been a false alarm." He turned off
the 'emitter, and pocketed it. Rose to his feet. "Thank you
for taking the time to see me."
"Not at all." She rose as well. "I hope we will be seeing
more of each other in the near future." She gave a smile that
was almost... *almost*... impish.
The Director-General stood silent for a moment, then
smiled as well, perhaps the first real smile he had given out
in years.
"Madam, strictly off of the record, and speaking only as a
shareholder of United Earth, I hope so as well. I will show
myself out. Good day." He gave a small bow, and turned to
go.
"Director-General. Mr. Nkrumah."
Nkrumah turned back.
"Ms. St. Clair?"
She stepped up to him, and gave him a light kiss on the
cheek.
"Senator? Why..."
"I'm not sure. But it was the right thing to do. Thank you,
and good day."
He bowed again, and departed.
Senator Marla St. Clair stood for a moment, deep in
thought. Then she moved to her desk, frowning, and
brought her personal computer back on line inside her head.
She issued a mental command.
The figure sprang into view above the desk, grinning as
always, red and yellow eyes staring.
It began to spin slowly in the darkness around it, showing
a view from all sides. For a long moment, she watched in
silence, her expression conflicted. For a long moment, an
emotion surfaced in her mind. Faint, but there nonetheless.
Gratitude.
And then it was gone. She spoke aloud to the creature,
her voice calm, cool, deadly.
"Rot in hell."
She turned off the picture, summoned her various aides
back into her virtual presence through her implant, and
returned to her plans for the upcoming debate with
Ingersoll. The man was a slippery little weasel and even
now, with her solid lead in the psipolls, she couldn't afford
complacency...
* * *
"All right, Smith, that's far enough."
Smith turned in the darkened corridor, and staggered back
in surprise.
"What...? How did you find me?"
"It doesn't matter." The tall figure swirled forward in
shadow, its red eyes glowing behind the helmet's narrow
eyeslits. "Mr. M sends his regards."
"I still have the datacore! We can still..." Something slim
and lethal slipped out of Smith's sleeve even as he said the
words. Before he could raise it, the figure gestured, and a
multitude of small, extremely sharp, objects filled the air.
What was left of Mr. Smith splattered against the plasteel
walls and floor.
(END PART 3)
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