Aliomenti Saga 6: Stark Cataclysm (24 page)

Perhaps the same would happen with them.

XIV

Immersion

2150 A.D.

Her eyes were full of disappointment. Disappointment in him. Disappointed that with all his power he’d been unable to track them down before they were trapped, bound and gagged, in a room with a maniacal red-eyed killer. Disappointed that he’d let his beloved daughter be abducted and threatened.

“I love you,” he whispered. “I will avenge you. I swear it.” Did his words seem hollow to her? Did they mean nothing given his colossal failure as husband and father to protect those he’d loved?

They meant nothing to the killer. The man laughed, the red streaks flashing deeper in color, the laugh an ice pick through Fil’s heart. “How touching.”

The knives flashed, and he could see nothing but the eyes of his wife and daughter as the blades penetrated their skin, and…

Fil bolted upright in his bed, sweat drenching his skin and sheets. He breathed deeply, trying to calm his racing heart, to drive the horrific image from his mind.

He woke up in such a condition most mornings. The extreme heat of the Energy seeking release through his skin cooked him from the inside out. They’d developed a second skin suit for him, using technology first built by the Aliomenti, a skin that suctioned Energy from him. For most Energy users, that second skin would drain them as if Aramis himself laid hands upon them. For Fil, it made restful sleep possible. At least possible when his mind avoided dredging up memories of the Cataclysm.

It had been his standard condition waking up much of his life, but prior to the development of the Shield skin, it had been due to the extreme heat generated by his massive Energy stores causing the overheating. Now, though, it was the memories of his failure, of the moment he’d learned that his arrogance about his power was worthless if he couldn’t save his family from men like that new Assassin.

He continued to breathe in huge gulps of air. It didn’t help. The images failed to dissipate when his sleep ended. Even awake, he could see little but their eyes, their fear, their disappointment in him.

Their eyes reflected the disappointment he felt in himself.

Angel told him it was his imagination. In those nightmares, everything changed to reflect his interpretation of the events based upon his self-image. The words exchanged hadn’t happened that way at all. It was his mind playing cruel tricks on him. He wanted to believe her.

He sat up, steadying himself with hands on the edge of his bed, and took a few more rasping breaths before he felt able to stand up. He donned his new clothing, a bodysuit made entirely of nanos, and left his home. He didn’t bother with shoes; he wanted to feel every pebble and stone and granule of dirt against his feet, let them pierce the tender skin on his soles and bleed. The pain helped, keeping him focused in the moment, on the fact that he must live these next few decades to complete his mission, before his purpose on the planet ended.

He’d save his father’s life; he owed that to his mother and sister.

Then he’d join his wife and daughter. Forever.

The chilled early morning air in the Cavern felt brisk, a contrast to the temperate warmth of the daytime. They piped in the sound of crickets; the chirping merged with the smell of burning wood tonight to give the sensation of an autumn hayride. He’d been on a hayride, back when he was silent to his father’s ears, unable in his early youth to show his enjoyment of such experiences. He could feel the prickles from the individual bits of hay sticking out of the bales they used as seats, could hear the clopping of hooves as the horses pulled the wagon, could smell the burning wood from the campfires of those enjoying the brisk autumn temperatures. His mother’s strained facial expression in these memories cut at him; she’d expended tremendous effort in keeping his power secret from his father and his existence secret from the Hunters. Her thanks for that sacrifice? She’d aged to look centuries old, had lost her mobility, her teeth, her hair, and her vibrancy. Angel assured him that was no longer true; their father had found some means of restoring Hope’s youthful appearance and zest.

Abaddon, in contrast, was probably “suffering” from excessive adulation at the hands of the Aliomenti Leader. In their minds he’d enforced their stupid Oaths by killing Sarah and Anna. Would Abaddon feel remorse for killing an unarmed woman? For slaughtering a little girl? Would he wake up from nightmares every night, seeing their lifeless eyes, screaming as he faced another day knowing what he’d done?

No.

His guilt continued to haunt him, though it had lessened over the decades. He’d suffered enough according to Angel, had repaid his debt to society. She was the reason he could sleep at all. He’d sit in the discharge chamber with her and she’d release all of her Energy as positive empathic reinforcement. He’d leave those sessions feeling better than he could remember feeling in his life. The effects wore off after ten days, and his mood was reflective of the duration since his last “cheering” session. The effects would wear off—they always did—and he’d feel guilty for putting the burden of healing his spirit upon his sister. She had her own life to live, and deserved to do so without trying to soothe his incurable emotional angst.

The “sun” began to rise in the Cavern, gradually brightening the massive underground chamber as the sounds of the chirping crickets faded. They’d tried to simulate an actual glowing orb upon the ceiling but had never succeeded, settling for the lighting that perfectly simulated the natural light and warmth of the sun. Fil enjoyed his pre-dawn walks just for this experience, watching the darkness fade and the light return, feeling the warmth wash over him.

He moved toward the lab and the conference room where his father had been the first to use the machine decades earlier. The efforts had been essential to their success in carrying out their roles over the past dozen decades. The memories extracted and recorded ensured the great blaze was ignited—at the proper time—by the original Assassin, who’d done so trying to kill him and his mother while trying to destroy his father’s mental concentration for the Hunters’ benefit. The memories helped them save everyone affected that day, save for the one man who’d chosen not to avail himself of the opportunity. Gena had moved on from the loss; she often tried to talk to him about his own and offer her insights. He appreciated the generous effort, futile though it was. Gena always tried to help him and Angel.

He stepped into the room. Charlie was testing the connections and making sure everything was properly set up. Fil was reminded of two men lost during the Cataclysm as he watched Charlie work, as Eva stepped into the room. Graham had been working in London when Fil’s Energy blast incinerated the city; Eva’s love, Aaron, had been lost when Fil leveled most of the population centers in Australia.

Eva’s face registered a rare hint of emotion as she walked in. It wasn’t melancholy at the site of the one who’d destroyed the man she loved, but a look of wistful reminiscence. She glanced at Fil. “I remember the first time your father sat in that chair, Fil. You look a great deal like him.”

Fil, uncertain how to respond, said nothing.

“He was nervous, uncertain, and convinced he was doing something wrong. Once he knew the machine worked, he allowed full access to his memories, sitting in that chair for hundreds or even thousands of hours. He said the same thing each time he unstrapped and removed the sensors. Do you know what he said, Fil?”

Fil had a hunch, but he shook his head.

“He told us that it was an unpleasant experience, but he knew that his discomfort would ensure that you and your sister would come into the world. There was no price he would not pay for his children’s safety.”

Fil nodded somberly, watching as the man’s only worthy child entered the room. Angel noticed Charlie working on the chair and her face flushed slightly. Fil frowned, wondering what
that
was about. He opted instead to reply to Eva with a confidence he didn’t feel. “I try to live up to that example every day, Eva, though I doubt I’ll ever measure up.” He paused, realizing something. “But your words ring true, Eva. It’s clear to me that he’d readily sacrifice everything on our behalf. Having lived through exactly the scenario he feared, I can say with confidence that I’d sacrifice everything to undo that experience.”

Eva nodded, glancing at Charlie. “Charlie, I remember when your father joined us here in the Cavern. It was he who first invented our video and audio transmission and recording technology. In many ways this machine is one of Charles’ inventions, for those who came after used his breakthroughs to make this machine possible.”

Charlie glanced up from the recording chair at her words, looking startled. He caught sight of Angel and flushed slightly. Fil scowled. “Really?”

Eva nodded. “It was an accidental discovery made while Charles, Will, and others sought the cure for ambrosia. When they realized they needed to see inside living cells, Charles worked until he created our first miniature cameras and microphones.” She smiled at the memory.

Fil glanced at Eva. “I appreciate the history lesson and reminders, Eva, but… why are you telling us this?”

Eva paused. “It is my tribute to those who have advanced our knowledge and technology throughout our history, from the earliest and simplest inventions to the latest creations from the Labs. Many of those people are still with us; others are not.” Fil felt his face flush and his mood collapse. “It is important that we understand that, trivial though our activities this day might seem, they will benefit those yet to come in ways we cannot conceive.” She looked to Fil. “My words are not meant to inflict pain on you, Fil. You father and all the others are, and would be, proud of how you have overcome your personal tragedies, though you still blame yourself for things outside your control.” Her face filled with sympathy. “I hope that one day your guilt disappears and you experience
true
peace.”

Fil felt his heart stop. She knew what he planned to do; she wanted him to know that she knew, and that… she forgave him? With no idea how to respond, he simply nodded.

He glanced at Charlie, who was sneaking glances at Angel, and cleared his throat. Charlie’s focus returned to Fil and the chair. “Are you ready for me?”

Charlie nodded. “Yes. Step into the chair. It will close around you. There are no electrodes now; Graham and Aaron both modified this from the original, so it’s much simpler to use.”

Fil climbed into the chair. As the walls closed in on him to complete the cocoon, he experienced a brief surge of terror, a memory of the void that he’d created as he’d obliterated water and ship at the end of the events of that awful day. He expected to fall without stopping. When the walls made contact, they touched his skin with a gentleness he’d not felt in… perhaps ever. It was a loving embrace, and it gave him a sense of comfort long absent in the mental torture of his existence. He relaxed, perhaps more deeply than at any time since that horrific day, and allowed his muscles to loosen. He closed his eyes, feeling total immersion.

“Can you hear us, Fil?” Charlie’s voice surrounded him, faint, like a distant thunderclap snapping him from the quietude inside.

Regretfully, he opened his eyes. “I can hear you. Are we ready?”

“Machines are ready and recording.”

“How do I do this?”

“Go back in time to your memory of the event. The chair is designed to help you feel isolated from the outside world and totally immersed in your memory. We won’t talk to you while you relive the experience. Forget we’re here and just… remember.”

Instinctively, Fil nodded, though his motions were constrained in the womblike interior. He closed his eyes again, traveling back in time twelve decades. He wasn’t Fil Trask, a widower grieving the loss of his wife and child, weeping for children not yet and never to be born. He wasn’t the killer of billions of innocents.

He was a little boy. He was Josh Stark. He was six years old, and he didn’t like that his mother Shielded him and kept him from using his Energy. He was angry that he wasn’t allowed to talk to Dad. But Mom said there were bad people in the world, and if they didn’t do this, they would come when she and her friends weren’t ready. One day, though, they’d be ready, and they’d let the bad men come.

That day was today.

He felt himself waking up, felt the warm fur and familiar smell of his dog. His mother wasn’t Shielding him, and he could tell something was wrong with her. She didn’t remember who she was. That didn’t seem like a good thing. He wondered if he could help her. Could he? He sat up, and Smokey sat up as well, panting in a good-natured way as dogs do. She flicked her tail, and he knew what she meant.

Play?

Perhaps for just a bit. Then he’d need to check on Mom.

He found the ball, the only one in his room, and tossed it against the wall, letting it hit the ground. They’d told him a true baseball would hurt her, would break her teeth. He didn’t want to hurt her. The bounce off the wall deadened the speed, the force at impact, and Smokey could retrieve the ball safely without injury. She seized the ball, trotted back, tail high and twitching, and dropped it—

The terror swarmed through him, filling his mind with images of a man climbing the tower outside their neighborhood. He saw everything through that man’s eyes, saw his reflection and his blood red eyes reflected in the glass outside the tower, felt the displacement as he teleported inside the tower. He could feel the excitement rising in the man, knew as that man did that the nearby guard would soon be dead. The man turned slowly, like all humans. The Assassin unsheathed his sword and whisked it through the air, and—