The Negator, page 14
Two patrol subs dropped from above, trying to pin us against the seafloor. Axion’s fingers flew across the weapons console, and our submarine shuddered as it launched its own harpoons—not at the subs but at the nearby canyon wall beside us.
The explosion created a slow-motion avalanche of rock and debris. Despite its slow pace, one patrol sub got caught in it, its hull crumpling like paper as boulders the size of houses crashed down on it.
“Five more,” Axion said.
Nira gripped my arm, her fingers digging in painfully. Her face was pale, eyes wide with terror as another explosion rocked our submarine.
Axion accelerated straight up, using what proved to be our submarine’s superior power to climb faster than the patrol vessels might have expected. Two of them collided trying to match our trajectory. Through the rear viewport, I saw them spinning away, locked together and sinking.
To tell the truth, the android was magnificent. Every move was calculated, and every action perfect. He used the vessel’s weapons with precision: a harpoon here to create a debris cloud, another there to force an enemy into a canyon wall.
We burst out of a trench into open water. The last three patrol subs followed, spreading out. No doubt they thought they had us in their sights.
Axion launched all the remaining harpoons at once, not at the patrol subs, but in a spread around us. The explosions created a massive bubble cloud, a whiteout of churning water and pressure waves.
Before it cleared, we were gone. Axion had used it to drop into another trench, running dark and silent while the patrol subs probably searched the cloud above us.
“The Kitharas build excellent submarines,” Axion said with what sounded like admiration. “But they think in alien ways, not at all like us.”
We rose from the trench several hundred meters away, already accelerating toward the surface.
“We’re ascending,” Axion said.
The pressure readings dropped steadily for a time. Through the viewports, the water gradually lightened from black to azure. I couldn’t believe there was no pursuit. We’d actually done it. Maybe the Kitharas really did think like fish instead of humans.
When we were halfway toward the surface, Axion turned from the controls.
“Now,” he said, his optical sensors fixed on the box in my hands. “Open it. We must see whether we have the Negator.”
I’d been dreading this moment. I didn’t know how to outfox or outright fight the android. The box sat heavily in my lap, its Polarion script still flowing across the black glass surface.
“Sure,” I said, trying to sound confident.
I held up my right hand, letting the High Circle ring catch the submarine’s internal lighting. The ring responded, glowing with soft golden light. I pressed my palm against what looked like the primary seal on the box.
Nothing happened.
I tried again, pressing harder, willing it to open. The ring grew warmer, its glow brighter, but the box remained sealed.
“What’s wrong?” Axion said, his voice sharp.
“I don’t know. It should have worked.” I turned the box, looking for another access point, another seal, but there was nothing.
Axion stood up from the pilot’s seat, and suddenly the submarine’s control chamber felt very small. “Open it. Do it now.”
“I’m trying!” I pressed the ring against every surface of the box. There was not even a flicker of response.
“The ring opened the vault,” Axion said, taking a step toward me. “Why won’t it open the box?”
“Maybe it needs something else. A code word, or—”
“You’re lying.” Axion’s hand shot out, grabbing my wrist. His grip was steel. “You know how to open it.”
“I don’t! The ring should have worked!”
Nira pressed herself against the far wall, probably trying to stay out of the way.
Axion’s grip tightened. I felt bones grinding. “Then we’re screwed,” he said, his voice flat and mechanical. “All of this for nothing. A box we can’t open.”
His optical sensors studied me, calculating. I could practically see the decision forming in his artificial mind.
“I don’t need you anymore,” he said.
“Wait,” I said. “I have an idea.”
Axion paused, his hand still crushing my wrist.
“Let me try something.” I wrenched free from his grip, probably because he allowed it. I rubbed my aching wrist. “Just give me a second, okay?”
“What do you propose?” Axion said.
I set the box on the submarine’s deck, then knelt beside it. The ring was warm on my finger, responsive, but somehow incompatible with the box’s locking mechanism. But the ring had another function. It helped me phase-shift.
I closed my eyes, reaching for that calm state I needed. It was hard with Axion looming over me, with Nira’s terrified breathing, with the submarine rising through alien waters. But I found it, that quiet place between heartbeats.
“What are you doing?” Axion demanded.
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t answer. I needed all my concentration for this.
I held my right hand over the box, feeling the ring’s energy flowing through me. Then, carefully, I began to phase-shift—not my whole body, just my hand. It was the hardest thing I’d ever attempted, keeping part of me solid while part became something between matter and energy.
My hand shimmered, became translucent. I could see through it to the box below.
“This is impossible,” Axion said.
I pushed my phased hand down, through the black glass surface of the box. It felt like pushing through thick honey, resistance that wasn’t quite physical. Inside the box, my fingers found something solid, real.
The Negator!
It was warm, almost alive, and it recognized me, or recognized the ring. I wrapped my fingers around the grip and began to pull, maintaining the phase-shift on the weapon and my hand as I drew the Negator through the solid matter of the box.
Maybe my fingers should have gone through the weapon, but they didn’t. That part was luck, or part of the weapon’s power, maybe.
In any case, the weapon emerged like Excalibur from the stone, materializing in my hand as I solidified my grip. It was beautiful and terrible, dark metal, with energy patterns flowing along its surface like living circuitry.
Axion lunged at me.
Time slowed in that instant. I saw his hand reaching for my throat, his optical sensors blazing with fury and surprise. He was faster, stronger, and smarter than I was.
But I had the Negator.
I raised the now solid weapon and pulled the trigger.
There was no beam, no projectile, no visible effect. Axion simply ceased. One moment he was there, silver hand inches from my throat. The next, he was gone. Not disintegrated, not vaporized—negated, erased from existence as if he’d never been.
The only sign he’d ever existed was the sudden hole in the submarine’s hull where the Negator’s effect had continued past him.
Water exploded through the breach with crushing force. The pressure at this depth was still enormous, and the ocean wanted in.
“Kane!” Nira screamed.
I grabbed her with one hand, grabbing for the emergency patch kit with the other. Yes, I dropped the Negator. The water was already knee-deep and rising fast. The submarine groaned, its hull integrity compromised.
“Hold this!” I picked up and shoved the Negator at Nira, and grabbed the emergency hull paste. Axion had explained it to me before. It was designed for small breaches, and this was pushing it, I’m sure. I slapped the entire contents of the tube over the hole, the chemical foam expanding and hardening on contact with water.
The flow slowed but didn’t stop. Water kept seeping through cracks in the patch.
“Will it hold?” Nira asked, clutching the Negator like a talisman.
“Long enough,” I said, hoping I was right. I jumped into the pilot’s seat, grabbing the controls. They were simpler than I’d feared, as Axion had already set our course for the surface.
The submarine lurched upward, damaged but functional. Through the viewport, I could see the surface approaching, sunlight filtering through the waves.
“We’re going to make it,” I said.
The patch bulged but barely held.
We broke the surface, the submarine wallowing like a wounded whale. Through the viewport, I could see the purple beach and the massive ferns beyond. We’d come full circle, although we weren’t ashore yet.
“Thank you, God,” I said, meaning it.
Axion was gone, really gone. The bastard who’d hijacked my ship, threatened my crew, and treated me like a suboptimal fool, he’d been negated from existence by his own arrogance. He was so certain of his superiority, he’d never considered that I might find a solution he hadn’t calculated.
I looked at the Negator in Nira’s hands. One shot fired, and it had erased a High Polarion android from reality. This thing really could kill a proto-god.
Now I just had to get off this planet.
-35-
We landed, wading through the surf to shore.
Bodies of Kitharas in their bulky suits were scattered across the purple sand, their bubble helmets cracked or shattered.
High Priestess Serena met us at the beach. She’d lost her golden mask somewhere during the battle—or at least, she wasn’t wearing it.
“The sky demon returns,” she said, but there was no hostility in her voice. “With the temple maiden and a weapon of power, yes?”
I held up the Negator, its dark surface gleaming in the morning sunlight. “This is what Axion and I were after.”
Serena nodded. “Our legends speak of such weapons. Tools of the star gods, meant to slay entities that threaten all existence.”
“That’s about right,” I said, swaying on my feet. Exhaustion hit me like a sledgehammer.
“You look sick,” Nira said, taking my arm to steady me.
I nodded.
“The temple healers can tend to your injuries,” Serena said.
“There’s no time,” I said. “I need to get back to my ship. There are people depending on me.”
Serena studied my face, probably seeing the determination despite my condition. “You mean going back into the heavens?”
“I’d like to try the teleporter,” I said. The memory stick had retrieved that data from Axion. It was how the android had planned to return to the Theron.
“Ah,” Serena said. “If the ancestors smile upon you, it might work.”
Nira squeezed my hand. “I should come with you, Kane.”
“No,” I said, turning to face her. “This is where you belong. Your people need you to help rebuild after the attack.”
Her eyes filled with tears as she searched my face, but she nodded. “Will I ever see you again?”
I thought about the Burnt Polarion in stasis aboard the Dreadstar. About the Null Equation that could unravel all existence. About the three quarantine ships probably still blocking the Theron’s exit from this system.
“I don’t know,” I said. “But if I survive this, I’ll come back. That’s a promise.”
We kissed there on the purple beach, with the sound of waves lapping against alien sand and the smell of smoke from the funeral pyres. It was one hell of a way to say goodbye.
Then I followed Serena and the soldiers back to the temple. Once there, she led me to the teleport chamber. It looked the same as when I’d left it. The two giant reptilian guards had returned. It didn’t seem they’d been in the fighting. Maybe they had been too important to risk against the Kitharas.
In any case, Serena activated the controls as I stood on the platform. After a time, she said, “I see your vessel in the imager. There, I have the coordinates.”
“Let’s do this,” I said.
She did, and I could tell something was wrong. The golden light that surrounded me wasn’t the smooth, controlled energy I’d experienced before. This was raw and chaotic, like being caught in an electrical storm.
The sensation of being turned inside out was magnified a hundredfold. I felt like I was being pulled apart at the molecular level, stretched across impossible distances, scattered through space and time.
Then, just when I thought I was going to come apart, reality snapped back together.
I materialized on the Theron’s bridge and collapsed to my knees, vomiting onto the deck. My entire body felt like it had been through a blender, my vision swimming with afterimages of the teleportation process.
“Kane!” Alina said, her voice full of relief and concern.
Strong hands lifted me up. That was Gorrax.
The big Tokari warfighter’s translator crackled: “Captain returns. The ship is whole again.”
“What happened to you?” Alina asked, scanning me with a medical device. “Your cellular structure is severely strained.”
“That’s a long story,” I said, holding up the Negator. “But I got it, the weapon that can kill the Burnt Polarion.”
Both of them stared at the sleek pistol. Even inactive, it radiated a sense of barely contained power that made the air around it shimmer.
“The Negator,” Alina breathed. “Axion’s memory files were accurate.”
“Speaking of Axion,” Gorrax rumbled. “Where is metal bastard?”
“He’s been negated,” I said, struggling to my feet. “He won’t be bothering us ever again.”
“Unless there is a backup of him somewhere,” Alina said.
I didn’t even want to think about that.
I made it to the pilot’s chair and activated the ship’s sensors. Through the Theron’s eyes, I could see the planet below us, its blue-green surface marked by the purple continents where I’d spent the last day. And there, at the edge of sensor range, were three massive shapes holding position between us and interstellar space.
“The quarantine ships are still there,” I said.
“They’ve been waiting,” Alina said. “No communication, no movement—just waiting.”
I slumped in the chair, exhaustion settling over me like a blanket. We had the Negator—the one weapon that could stop the Burnt Polarion from ending the universe. But we were still trapped in this system by three warships that outgunned us by orders of magnitude.
“Captain,” Gorrax said. “What are your orders?”
I looked at the Negator in my hand, then at the tactical display showing the quarantine ships. Somewhere out there in the galaxy, a god-level entity with the power to unravel reality was waiting. And between us and him stood three ships full of robots and automated systems who thought they were protecting the universe by keeping us contained.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Give me some time to really think.”
“You must rest first,” Alina said, snapping her fingers. “Go to the medical bay. You’re in no condition to make strategic decisions.”
She was right. My body felt like it had been disassembled and reassembled by a drunk mechanic, and my mind was fuzzy from exhaustion and shock.
But as Gorrax helped me toward the medical bay, I couldn’t help but look at the Negator I held. We’d done the impossible, stolen the universe’s most dangerous weapon from the bottom of an alien ocean.
“Kane,” Alina said as the medical bay doors closed behind us. She was using the comm. “For what it’s worth, I’m proud of you. What you did down there took courage.”
I nodded, too tired to speak. The medical bed felt like paradise as I sank into it, letting the Theron’s healing systems begin to repair the damage from my adventure.
Through the bay’s viewport, I could see stars wheeling past as the ship maintained its position at the L5 Lagrange point. Somewhere among those stars was our real target, the Dreadstar and its passenger with his reality-ending equation.
But first, we had to get past three quarantine ships and out of this system.
I closed my eyes and let the medical systems do their work, the Negator’s weight pressed on my mind.
-36-
Colonel Pendance
Colonel Pendance walked on a treadmill aboard the Collector’s sleek starship, his footsteps keeping a steady rhythm. Time had become a foggy concept lately. He was sure it had something to do with the surgery aboard the Dreadstar.
There was no parasite to torment him anymore. Now, though, a void in his brain taunted him with the almost certain knowledge that Nask was using him. Surely, there were posthypnotic commands in him. What could he do to thwart that?
So far, Pendance had no idea. It was so refreshing to even pretend to be free from the Ick. Soon, though, he’d have to exert his normal iron will on the problem.
He’d gained some weight back during the journey, but he was still whipcord-lean and hard as steel. He flexed his bionic arm: the cybernetic replacement for the one he’d lost on Antares 8. Then he opened and closed the mechanical hand, watching the servos respond to his neural commands.
Someday, he would put this hand around Kane’s throat and crush the windpipe. He wouldn’t take time to gloat over his victory. That was for amateurs and fools. He would kill Kane quickly, the way a professional should. The way he’d learned to kill in the underground warrens of his youth.
As Pendance walked on the treadmill, his thoughts drifted back to how harsh the universe had been to him. He remembered his youth in the slums of Praxis 3, that underground planet filled with refugees from a dozen different wars. The cramped tunnels reeked of unwashed bodies and desperation, lit by flickering neon signs that advertised pleasures no child should know about. Always hungry, always pilfering and stealing and running from whoever wanted to beat him down.
He could still taste the stale protein paste they’d doled out at the orphanage—when there was any food at all. Most days, he’d fought the other kids for scraps, learning early that the weak got nothing but pain. The bigger boys had taken turns beating him, holding him down while they stole his meager possessions, laughing when he cried.
Until the day he’d stopped crying.
Pendance had been eleven when he’d picked up that broken piece of pipe in the orphanage’s recreation area. Tommy Vickers—two years older and twice as mean—had been grinding Pendance’s face into the concrete floor, demanding the small piece of chocolate another kid had traded him for cleaning duties.
