The Path to Loss (Approaching Infinity Book 4) (20 page)

He watched the unmistakable flare of the echo descend one level and proceed forward, most likely towards the bridge at the fore of the ship. He scanned the ship, reduced to translucent meat and bones by the Spectacles, and plotted a path to intercept her or at least come up just behind her if she remained on her present route. He felt the urge to hurry and made to satisfy it.

He kept the Spectacles on to ensure that he would not lose sight of his target. He’d gotten very used to the lenses over the years, but they were still a challenge. Though his tolerance had increased, the influx of sensory input—not purely visual—still hurt after a fashion and sometimes blinded him to more mundane obstacles and threats, so while he was able to maintain a good pace, he did not see the two crew members until nearly bumping into them.

In the ship’s dim corridor, Stoakes, in his Darkened state, was difficult to see, but he’d abandoned one kind of caution for another and would now have to pay for doing so. Stoakes drew the Suicide Knife and thrust it forward. The first crew member canted as the left side of his neck was decorated with a bright red triangle. Blood fountained from the fatal wound, dousing his fellow and shocking him to reflexive action. He drew the heavy pistol from the holster at his hip and fired three wild shots. One of the shots passed through Stoakes’s gauzy, black midsection, spraying a fine mist of blood out his back. He dropped to one knee, gripping his middle with his left hand as he swept the Knife savagely with his right. The remaining crew member’s head jumped from his shoulders, hit the floor, and rolled a ways before settling.

“Ow!” Stoakes allowed himself to cry out, more in outrage and disbelief than anything. It hurt, of course, and would leave a scar, but he couldn’t allow himself to succumb to the pain. The experience did instill in him a belated respect for the devastating sidearms, though.

“Warning,” an automated voice echoed through the corridor. “Unauthorized weapons discharge detected on level fourteen, section twelve. Warning. . .”

“Shit,” Stoakes hissed.

He scanned ahead for his target, saw that she had paused but then continued on her way. He put the Yellow Diamond Spectacles away, and with his left hand still firmly pressed to his stomach, he bolted down the corridor. Still some ways on, crew members entered the corridor from several different access doors. He could hear other doors opening behind him as well. No matter. He stuck as close to the left wall as possible and at his maximum range, sent the phantom blade of his Longsword Knife into the already feeble overhead lighting, casting that section of corridor in total darkness and effectively blinding his opponents but not himself. He carved through everyone in his path before any of them could get off a single, errant shot.

Stoakes was worried but didn’t know why. He felt like he was racing the echo to the bridge, but why should he feel that way? What could she do there that would change anything? He tried to shrug off the feeling and just concentrate on what he had to do.

For the time being, he encountered no more of the crew. Besides those investigating the weapons discharge, many would now be occupied with the inexplicable scenes of carnage. Paranoia would spread and run its course before they could start a methodical search. And they
were
in the middle of a war.

He needed to climb several levels before continuing towards the bridge. He found a service ladder, used it, and sailed down the corridor, destroying the overhead lights as a precaution as he went. He took advantage of the current straight run to double check the echo’s position with the Spectacles. He was gaining on her and would in fact reach her before she reached the bridge, but just barely. He turned down a corridor to his right, climbed another ladder to the next level and steadied himself for his imminent encounter with the echo.

And there she was. She was the first of them that looked as though she could put up a a real fight. He supposed that Mai Pardine might have been able to, and there were probably others in the past as well, but Stoakes knew nothing of them. The woman was perhaps fifty meters from the pressure door leading to the bridge. Stoakes stalked silently behind her, drawing closer and closer until the woman stopped.

A vibration had shot through the ship. Stoakes felt it under his feet and could see the metal wall, the floor, the ceiling vibrating down to stillness.

Scilia Moro, whose name Stoakes would never know, cocked her head uneasily and dropped her hand to her hip and the waiting pistol. Stoakes slowed, crept more quietly, but continued forward, trying to ignore any significance that vibration might have had. He swallowed hard and wondered at his delicate nerves. What made this situation—this echo—any more dangerous than the fifty or so others that preceded her? It wasn’t her gun, though he was sure she could use it.

And use it she did. With a speed that surprised Stoakes, the woman whirled, leveled her gun with practiced ease, and fired. He felt his right cheek split and erupt fire, but he kicked forward, jamming out a Longsword Knife thrust, that despite his momentarily obscured vision, found its target unerringly. A blade of compressed air shot with a bass thump, passing between her gripping fingers, severing the handle of her pistol, and slicing cleanly out the back of her right hand.

“Warning. Unauthorized weapons discharge detected at bridge access one. Warning. . .”

“Warning. Unauthorized presence on the bridge. This is a security alert. All available hands to the bridge. Warning. . .”

Stoakes cocked his head at the competing announcements. Playing over each other, they didn’t seem to be for the same thing.

The gun fell in two pieces to the floor as she snatched up her wounded hand, clutching it to her breast. Panic flashed in her eyes. She turned and ran for the bridge.

Stoakes touched ground and kicked off again, significantly closing the gap between them. She reached the pressure door, calmed herself to work the code with her left hand, and found herself in an unbreakable embrace just as the door was about to slide open. Oily black smoke covered her mouth to prevent her from crying out.

“I’m sorry,” Stoakes whispered in her ear from behind. He took moments to steady them both then put the chisel point of the Suicide Knife to her temple before pushing it home. He freed the blade, releasing a fine red spray, like a spritz of hot perfume. Gingerly, and with a degree of care that had been building over the years, he eased her down into a comfortable sitting position against the corridor wall. He gently placed her hands in her lap, and fumbled for a moment, wanting to do more for her, but of course there was nothing to be done. She would not die, not directly from the two wounds he’d inflicted upon her, but from surgically induced apathy. He’d robbed her of her connection to the source and of her essential identity. He backed away, eyeing the open pressure door to the bridge for safety’s sake. What he saw beyond the door made him sick to his stomach, not from fear but from compounding guilt.

Jav Holson was on the bridge and staring right at him through the open door.
Jav Holson
. A throng of crew members stood between them and would slow Holson, but Stoakes realized immediately that this had nothing to do with odds and everything to do with Holson’s connection to the echo, now quieted. Stoakes had to get off this ship immediately.

He stupidly looked at the Suicide Knife in his hand, sheathed it, and made his way to the nearest airlock. He’d noted several while studying the ship for a route to the echo and was just minutes away from being free. At a ladder, he simply dropped down several levels, not bothering to use the rungs. He reached out, grabbed hold to stop his descent, and found himself half-surrounded by crew members. Without thinking, his hand went to the small of his back, and the Suicide Knife flashed. All four fell over dead, blood pumping from their cut throats.

The airlock was before him moments later. He palmed the plunger switch to open the first set of doors, stepped inside, pushed the second plunger, and turned his back to the doors that would open on the vacuum of space. He didn’t expect anyone to try to stop him, but he watched the first set of doors close just in case. All he saw, though, was the woman he’d ruined and sentenced to death. As the first doors closed, the doors behind him began to open. Warning lights flashed, an alarm sounded within the chamber, rising in volume to mix with the whoosh of escaping air. Stoakes let himself be taken and was sucked out of the ship. He waited for a full minute, his eyes seeing nothing but staring in the direction of the echo, before he activated the Tether Launch retrieval unit.

And then he was back in Bay 116. The bay doors were still open, but the Palace’s environmental system kept everything neat and tidy and oxygenated. He tore the retrieval pack from his wrist, cast it to the floor, then passed
through
the floor to his new quarters below.

Ana Tain still lay sleeping upon the bed, naked under the covers. He returned to normal and peeled off his clothes—already with a nice big hole burned through them. His cheek and guts stung hotly. Blistered black flakes decorated each wound but he didn’t care. He knew this was cheating, but he didn’t care about that either.

He went to the bed, roused Ana, and took her by the hand to the bathroom.

“Mr. Stoakes, you’ve been hurt,” she said, showing real concern.

He shut his eyes tighter to squeeze the tears from them and prevent more from coming.

He walked them into the shower, turned the knob, and sat them both down under the hot, purgative spray.

“Mr. Stoakes, are you all right?”

There were no more words, not for a long time. He held her to him, rocking back and forth, never wanting to let her go. She didn’t object.

The sense of urgency was palpable. None had ever seen Witchlan in such a nervous state. He wrung his hands, pacing back and forth in front of the war room’s main holographic screen, which showed a shocking development. The Palace was surrounded by ships of such size and in such number that the Vine was almost made to seem small.

“Unfortunately, General Holson’s data regarding their shields is outdated, incorrect, or somehow not applicable to Tether Launch. We’ve landed several bombs which have stopped just short of their energy screens. The damage has resulted in little more than temporarily upsetting ships’ courses. Currently we are running several Prisma Shield generators concurrently, with alternating frequencies to ensure that their weapons cause us the least amount of harm.

“On top of this, we’ve confirmed, through intercepted transmissions, that these two groups are at war with one another, making us an actual
and
collateral target.”

“Minister,” Jav said, “the jump ship literally crashed through the Kalnia’s hull. It was more or less unscathed.”

“Wait,” Scanlan said, “General Holson, you said it was during a jump that this happened?”

“Yes.”

“Then the jump ship’s energy screens were down at the time?”

“Yes.”

“Are the both of you suggesting,” Witchlan said a bit impatiently, “that we turn our jump ships into bombs, rather
expensive
bombs?”

“No, Minister,” Scanlan said. “But I believe that I might have a way to rid us of our problem.”

“How?” Witchlan said.

“Jump ship armor is essentially just intricately woven Vine fiber. I know the Emperor has been very busy of late, but if it would be possible to fashion eight one-man vessels with this same armor to get Shades into select ships, I believe I may be able to take control of both fleets.”

“Explain.”

“Minister.” Scanlan stood and backed away from the table. He stared down at an empty spot upon the floor and from the monocle covering his right eye poured forth the Clockwork Beam.

Jav watched in horror and fascination as the “beam” seemed to deposit a fast-drying liquid, which formed perfect cogs and gears, working together with surprising precision. The liquid built up, the parts took shape. Lights flickered on from various points upon the growing machineling which began to hum with strange life.

The beam ceased. Scanlan bent down to collect his creation, swung it around, and set it gently upon the glass table.

“If we install these within strategically located ships, I’m confident that we can utilize their communications system to establish a network. The ships with these devices would be the masters, the rest of the ships the slaves. As these devices are extensions of me, I would be in total control of the entirety of the two fleets, able to manipulate them as I would my own hands.

“Can this be done?” Witchlan said incredulously.

“It can.”

“We knew you were a worthy choice, Mr. Scanlan,” Witchlan said.

“Thank you, Minister.”

“Eight. That means all of you are going. We don’t like having none of you left within the Palace, but there is little choice. Tether Launch cannot reach beyond their screens, but all any of you need do is escape beyond those screens and we will retrieve you. It will take some time to create the vessels. In the meantime, report to Tether Launch Bay 84 to equip emergency retrieval systems. Mr. Scanlan, how long will it take you to complete the rest of the devices?”

“An hour perhaps.”

“See that it is no more. Have them ready in the Tether Launch bay so that we may load them into the vessels during production.”

“Yes, Minister.”

Tether Launch Bay 84 was crowded with Shades and operators already preparing for the Shades’ return.

Scanlan was standing by a holographic screen that was divided down the middle and which displayed an alien fleet on each half.

“Okay,” Jav said. “This is going to be simple. The target array has been mapped out as you can see.”

“Yes, we need to deliver devices here, here, here, and here,” Scanlan said, pointing to one half of the screen, then to the other, “and here, here, here, and here for this fleet.”

“Generals, we’ll take the first fleet. Titan Squad, you take the late arrivals. So far, with us as a shield, neither side has taken much damage, but that could change so be careful.