The Lazarus War: Artefact (31 page)

I imagined what I couldn’t see.

A jury-rigged laboratory, crammed with simulator-tanks and other tech salvaged from the med-bay of the
Oregon
. Maybe the same lab that Tyler had shown me: those darkened walls, scrawled with an ancient language no human tongue could ever speak, with knowledge that no human mind should ever possess.

Jenkins was forced into her simulator-tank, thrashing and screaming obscenities at the security team.

Kaminski shouted to Jenkins that it’d be okay, then again to the bastards making them do this that he would be back for them.

Martinez, stoic and calm, biding his time – mumbling a prayer under his breath as he was forced into his tank.

There was no compassion or sympathy for their situation. The security team laughed and jeered as my people were loaded into their tanks. There was the centre of this attention – Dr Kellerman. He grasped the armrests of his hover-chair so tightly that his old knuckles had gone white with the pressure.

“Get them all into the simulators,” he barked. “No time to waste. I want those tanks online and the neural-link established.”

Olsen anxiously followed instructions. This was not what he was used to; being expected to do things yesterday, being expected to do things with old and used equipment. But the fear of death – what greater motivation is there? – drove him on. His medical smock was filthy and torn, smeared with blood at the neck and shoulder.

The simulators waited patiently. Eventually all operators were sealed inside. None of Kellerman’s people paid any attention to the empty simulators – to my simulator, to Blake’s simulator. Both tanks sat unused and abandoned, a testament to my failure.

View-screens allowed a visual connection with Operations. The station staff watched on in silent anticipation.

“Good luck,” Kellerman said.

“Are all operators ready for connection?” Olsen asked hesitantly.

“All operators are engaged,” reported a technician.

“Establishing remote link with the sand-crawler,” another said. “Link is good, repeat link is good.”

“Are the operators ready for uplink?” asked the chief technician.

Jenkins punched the interior of her tank, giving Kellerman the finger. He ignored her wasted gesture. Olsen checked each of the tanks in turn, then raised a hand and spoke into his communicator.

“All operators confirm readiness. Commence uplink when you are ready.”

“We are good to go, repeat good to go. Commencing uplink in T-minus ten seconds.”

I awoke with a start.

I sat in the crew compartment of a sand-crawler, strapped into a seat. A glass-globe helmet on my lap. Inside a battered H-suit, with oversized gloves and another breather tank on my back – the same suit that I had worn into the desert, only a couple of days ago. I flexed my arms and legs, and found that I was no longer restrained. An ugly headache spewed behind my eyes as soon as I moved. Gingerly, I reached up to my brow and found that my injuries had been treated – a medi-pack was taped over my forehead.

Am I alone out here?
I suddenly panicked.

But I realised that I wasn’t. Two enormous armoured bodies sat opposite me in the passenger cabin, frozen in place. A third sat in the driver’s section up front. They too were strapped into seats, but their bodies were far too big for them. These things were not human – these things were beyond human: they were simulants. There was something beautiful and monstrous about them, in equal measure. Skin an alabaster white, almost marble in clarity. Human beings rendered beyond perfect. Impressions of their operators – of Jenkins, Martinez and Kaminski. Seven foot tall, with a musculature that a human body could never support. Perfect for only one purpose, made for war.

I watched as each came to life. In all of my years as a sim operator, I’d never seen simulants coming online like this. Power lights flickered on the interior of shielded face-plates, illuminating the human parodies inside each combat-suit. Those suits were unadorned, undecorated. No one had labelled them, marked them with honour badges or designations.

First there was Jenkins, her arms thrashing as she carried over activity from her real body. Then Kaminski, eyes flickering open as he made transition. Then Martinez, head shaking inside his helmet as he awoke.

I want to be like them
, I thought.
I want to escape this tortured body
.

“Sound off!” I said, simply through routine.

I had a personal communicator around my neck and a bead in my ear. Every member of the squad called in, and there were other voices in the background.

“
Confirming transition. We have affirmative on Corporal Jenkins
.”

“
Confirmation on Private Kaminski
.”

“
That’s an affirmative on Private Martinez. Transition successful
.”

Jenkins and Kaminski conducted the same ritualistic rundown of their new bodies – stomping feet, lifting limbs. In the driver cab Martinez had already mastered his body, and was over the crawler controls. Kaminski popped his helmet, revealing a caricature of his actual face.

“What the fuck is going on?” he demanded, his voice a mellow sonic boom. He scanned the cabin, his eyes widening as he saw me. “What’s happened?”

“I’ll live,” I groaned back. “We’re on a crawler. Kellerman – he wants us to go to the Artefact, and activate it.”

“There’s no way that we’re going through with this,” Jenkins screamed. She followed Kaminski’s example and removed her helmet, throwing it hard against the cabin wall. “Martinez, turn the crawler around and let’s get this over with.”

“Jenkins, calm it—!” I started.

The crawler PA system chimed.

“Captain Harris, this is Dr Kellerman. I am speaking on the general squad channel, through the sand-crawler,” he said. His voice was crystal-clear; whatever tech his boys had installed in the crawler antenna, it was good enough to filter out the background chatter. “Please do keep your squad in check.”

“Go fuck yourself, Kellerman!” Jenkins declared, pushing her face into Kaminski’s camera. Each suit was equipped with one, including mine.

“This mission is being recorded, via your combat-suit camera equipment,” he went on. “We are receiving real-time video and audio data at Helios Station. Everything is being relayed to me via the sand-crawler comms antenna. The crawler is appropriately equipped for the mission. You will find your weapons in the storage compartments.”

“And what’s to stop us rolling back to the station and taking you and your security team out?” Jenkins snarled. “You’ve obviously never seen what a sim is capable of.”

“Captain Harris, please remind your squad that I have their real bodies here. I can execute them.”

Jenkins’ mask of confidence slipped a little. She looked to me, then back to the camera, suddenly unsure of what she should do. I motioned her to sit down.

“As I have already told you, your survival depends on that of the rest of your squad,” Kellerman said. “The Artefact
will
be activated. You will find the Key in the crawler.”

A secure storage box sat on the cabin floor; the same box from the expedition to the Shard starship. Without looking, I knew that the Key was inside.

“Fuck this!” Jenkins shouted again.

Her anger was hot and volatile. Mine had cooled. Kellerman probably thought that made me despondent, that my miserable situation made it more likely that I would do as he wished. He was wrong about that: my anger was malleable, and I was going to use it. I glared down at the metal storage box again, thought of what the Key represented:
the star-data
. I was already scheming, considering the limits of Kellerman’s surveillance capabilities.

“We have successful transition,” I muttered.

“That’s more like it,” came Kellerman’s voice. “We are reading you loud and clear. Your signal indicates that you are leaving the vicinity of the outpost. Be advised that you should have a clear route cross-country for the next few kilometres. Atmospherics projected as optimal between here and the entrance to the tunnels. It looks like the gods are smiling on you.”

So I am expendable
, I thought.

I reached over to my wrist-computer and cut the two-way connection. In the passenger cabin, I exchanged a meaningful and sombre look with Jenkins and Kaminski. Now the connection to Kellerman and Operations was cut, Jenkins’ presentation softened. An impossible sadness crossed her simulated features as she looked down at me. The bodies weren’t meant for such depth of emotion; they were sharp instruments, tools of war, and nothing more.

“It’s all right. This is just another mission.”

“I’m so sorry, Harris,” she said. “I really mean it.”

I shook my head. “We’ll get through this. No more casualties. I promise you that.”

Kaminski sighed deeply. “We’ll do whatever we can, Cap. We’ll protect you.”

“That’s exactly what Kellerman is counting on.” I swallowed involuntarily. “Doesn’t look like we have much of a choice. We can’t go back to the station – he’ll just execute your real bodies.”

“And if we do as he wants, and go into the Artefact, then …” Jenkins said, her words trailing off. She didn’t need to complete the sentence with “
you’re dead
.”

“We’ll find a way through it. I might not be in a simulant, but I’m still your commanding officer. I want the three of you to stay frosty.”

Jenkins and Kaminski nodded unenthusiastically. Martinez looked back from the driver cabin and did the same.

“Now, what have we got on this crawler?” I asked Martinez.

He flashed an empty smile. “Looks like Kellerman’s people have been busy. This thing handles like a cow, but it has a kick.” He slammed a palm against the ceiling above him. “There are gun-turrets on the roof. Must’ve stripped some of those gun-bots they had on base.”

Kaminski motioned to the view-ports on the flanks of the crawler. “Shielded vision-slits as well. There’s some real heavy-duty metal grilling on the view-ports. It’s more like an armoured personnel carrier than a crawler.”

Will it be enough?
I wondered. Whatever shit Kellerman had stapled to the sand-crawler, it was still a civvie transport. We were expected to drive it through Krell-occupied territory. My squad was dressing it up, trying to make my situation sound better than it was.

“Are we really going to do as he’s asking?” Martinez said.

I very deliberately nodded. We were still being watched. “This’ll be fine, people. We can just drive the crawler into the Artefact, activate it, and pull out. Just keep the chatter to a minimum.”

I want him to hear everything I’ve just said
, I thought.
And I want him to believe it
. I just needed time to think of a plan. Already, the pieces were beginning to fall into place. I was going to make sure that Kellerman paid for everything he had done out here.

I made conscious eye contact with each of my squad, and they nodded in turn: they understood exactly what I was doing. I needed to tell them about the Directorate ship, but not while Kellerman was listening. I was going to make it through this, but not as Kellerman expected. I might be the one going into the tunnels, but he was already dead. He just didn’t know it yet.

“We’re staying with you all the way,” said Kaminski.

“We’re lean, mean killing machines,” Jenkins added, flashing a destructive grin. “And we’re the best damned bodyguards you’re ever going to find.”

“What’s our status, Martinez?” I asked.

“Weapons systems are operational. No targets to track just yet,” he called back. “Looks like the crawler navigation system has been loaded with maps for above and below ground.”

“How long until we reach the entrance to the cave network?”

“A few hours, tops,” Martinez said. “I’ve just got to follow Kellerman’s route.”

“Constant scanner sweeps,” I ordered. “Weapons prepped and loaded for operation at short notice.”

There were grunts of recognition from the squad.

Through the swirling dust, in the empty light of Helios’ suns, we made our progress towards the underground caverns.

Once we were out of the mountainous region surrounding Helios Station, the barren plains were easily traversed. Despite the squad’s constant vigilance, we didn’t encounter Krell resistance.

I wandered the cabin, watching the scanner diagnostics and monitoring bio-sensor sweeps. The landscape outside was relentlessly monotonous. The desert was empty. Our only companion was the howl of the angry wind.

That, and the Artefact’s song
.

“You think this wind could drive a man mad?” Kaminski asked.

“Only if you let it.”

Kaminski nodded in agreement. He cradled his M95 rifle across his lap, like a small child. Kellerman had equipped the crawler with a sizeable armoury – all of the salvaged sim-class weaponry. The squad had broken out rifles, handguns, grenades. I looked down at my own hands, felt them trembling inside my gloves. The plasma rifles were far too big for me to carry on a protracted operation, so I’d selected a PPG-13 pistol.

“It never stops though, does it,” Kaminski went on. “Think of being out here for ever. The staff here must be sick of the noise.”

“It’s like screaming,” Jenkins pitched in. “Like women and children screaming. Maybe this is the noise of everyone who has died here. Maybe Blake’s voice has joined the wind.”

Kaminski’s face crinkled in disapproval.

“No chance. Blake will be somewhere warm and wet. Just how he likes his women.”

Martinez hooted in approval.

“I’m not sure why I put up with this shit,” Jenkins said. “Maybe when we get back to the
Point
, I’ll apply for a transfer.”

The comment wasn’t meant seriously, but I immediately thought of Blake’s transfer request.
What if his resignation had been accepted before this operation?
He would be well on his way back to the Core Systems, planning the rest of his life. I suppressed the thought, and knew not to raise it with the rest of the squad.

“So the hatchet is buried now?” I asked Kaminski and Jenkins. “Between you two?”

“What hatchet?” Kaminski answered. “I only see guns here.”

“Right on, brother,” Jenkins said. They fist-bumped with armoured gauntlets, producing a loud thunderclap in the enclosed cabin.

“Glad to see it.”

The wind picked up again, and the conversation was over. I felt an awkward weight from one of the pouches on my suit belt, and opened it.

Inside was my father’s pistol, cleaned and ready to use. Ammo clips had been taped to my suit webbing.

“What a thoughtful bastard …” I mused to myself.

Kaminski went up front to monitor progress with Martinez, and I overheard them discussing the route ahead. Jenkins sat opposite me, her sim-body still. She gave me a tired smile, flashing new teeth.

“For what it’s worth,” said Jenkins, voice barely audible above the churn of the crawler engine, “I know that it wasn’t your fault. About Blake, I mean.”

“Thanks, Jenkins.”

“He was just – you know – so young,” she said, fumbling with her words. “I had a brother, once.”

“I never get the impression that you want to talk about your family.” Other than the occasional mention between operations, Jenkins didn’t seem to want to share much about her background with me or the rest of the squad.

She shrugged her enormous armoured shoulders. “Nothing to tell. He died.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“It’s all right. I don’t mind any more. He wasn’t much older than Blake. He was in San Angeles, when it got nuked. Damned Directorate. I guess I always thought of Michael – Blake – as my brother.”

I wanted to tell her about the Directorate Interceptor so badly. I wanted to tell her that Kellerman was a traitor, to stir her honest hatred of the Directorate. But now wasn’t the time, not while Kellerman could still be listening and watching. The camera on Jenkins’ shoulder stared down at me, unblinking.

“And what does that make me?” I asked, smiling.

“It makes you an asshole,” she said. “I’m going to check on Martinez. You need anything, just holler.”

Jenkins wandered into the driver cab, and I watched her go. The effortless stride with which she moved suddenly made me feel uncontrollably envious. She was made for war: I was a spent force.

Behind my eyes, so deep in my head that it felt as though it had always been there, I felt the ringing. I shook my head and tried to ride out a wave of nausea.

It was the Artefact, calling out to me.

Daylight eventually failed. Both suns still bore down from far above, but their light grew faded and old. I watched with a mixture of anticipation and resignation. With each passing minute, the sky darkened. Cloud cover became denser and denser. Eventually Martinez was driving using his infrared sights and suit scanners.

“You’ll be okay,
jefe
,” Martinez reassured me. “I’ll keep you safe.”

I fumbled through the cabin, flinching with every step. I felt like a fever was breaking. Maybe I had an infection. I reached down to my leg, patting the injury. I couldn’t remove the H-suit, so couldn’t see inside, but it felt wet even through the protective fabric.

The crawler PA chimed.

“This is Dr Kellerman. I’m sorry to inform you that a storm front is developing just beyond your sector. We are unable to predict its development or movement pattern.”

This time, my squad remained silent. There was no point in arguing with Kellerman, no point in crossing him further. They understood that it was better to wait.

I sighed in acceptance.
Got to play the part
. “We will proceed as planned. Keep us updated on the storm’s progress. We need to know if it reaches the Artefact, or moves in the direction of Helios Station.”

“I will do so. Godspeed. Dr Kellerman out.”

“Harris out.”

As I ended the communication, I saw that the sky had now turned black. Streaks of brilliant red lightning coursed the horizon. So completely alien, that the display was almost beautiful.

“This is going to be one hell of a storm,” Kaminski muttered.

I couldn’t have put it better myself. The suddenness with which it had materialised felt unnatural, but perhaps this was the way of Helios.

“Do you believe what Kellerman is feeding us on this?” Jenkins asked. “Because I certainly don’t. A storm develops as soon as we crash-land on Helios. Now another storm is mounting as we make our way to the Artefact. Feels like more than a coincidence.”

The thunderheads above twisted and swirled in response, blotting all light.

“Maybe you have a point.”

“Eyes on the prize,” Martinez interrupted, holding up a hand.

He activated the crawler headlights. A rack of strong lamps had been attached to the roof and prow, and they seared through the miasma of dust and grit to illuminate a pathway ahead: the entrance to the underground tunnels. There was a huge boulder beside the cave, sprayed with a colourful skull-and-crossbones motif. An arrow pointed down into the darkness.
Point of no return
.

“Take us in, Martinez.”

The crawler gently shifted gears and began the descent into the unknown.