Avenging Angels (The Seraphim Chronicles Book 1) (41 page)

“I think we need to take a look inside,” Swan suggested, and Matthew recoiled.  

“It’s unthinkable to open up a person’s body without their consent!” he cried. “Absolutely not!”

Swan put down the scanner and turned to face Matthew.

“You just told me that he should have no capacity for higher function, right?” Matthew listened, giving the larger man a cautious nod. Swan picked up momentum.

“If he’s a vegetable, then he 
can’t
 offer consent. Someone
 else 
has to make the decision.”

Matthew rolled his eyes, seeing where Swan’s argument was heading. Swan continued.

“So, I’m making the decision for him.”

Matthew stepped away from the table with his hands in front of him.

“No!” he said. “I can’t. I can’t justify it. Not even for scientific curiosity.” He turned and started for the door.

Swan moved fast, cutting Matthew off just as he reached for the doorknob.

“You will do it, Doc,” he whispered, “or you and your crew will not leave this moon alive.”

Matthew stopped in his tracks and he saw Elizabeth and Evangeline in his mind. Then he saw the faces of the men and women of the freighter crew. They likely all had families in Olympus, just as he did. Their blood would be on his hands, and the grief inflicted by such a loss would be beyond comprehension.

He turned to look Swan in the eyes. The man’s countenance was like ice. Matthew stared into Swan’s unblinking gaze and saw the fierce determination to keep his own people safe from anyone and anything that dared to threaten their security.

Matthew let out a defeated breath. “I’ll need to sedate him before I make an opening in his skull.” He could hardly believe these words were coming from his own mouth. The perils of the expedition had cast all reason from his mind.

 “I’ll need additional help to do this,” Matthew added in a somber tone. “I’m going to need the medic from the freighter and anyone else with medical background among your people.”

Matthew recruited the help of the freighter’s medic and a Segregant with a veterinary background, a man named Humphries. Matthew administered a sedative to the already still body. When the Angel’s empty eyes closed, they turned him onto his stomach and started shaving the back of his caved-in head.

Swan hovered about the operating table, trying to keep out of the way yet eager to witness everything first-hand. Matthew had to concede to this request to be present during the procedure, despite Swan’s complete lack of medical background. Swan was the only reason Matthew and the crew had been permitted to live after their arrival on the moon, and if what they found in the Angel’s head was AI related, then Swan possessed the expertise necessary to understand what they were looking at.

Matthew had found an old scalpel, which was an outdated tool as he was accustomed to using lasers whenever he needed to operate. Matthew was still uncertain how he should proceed once he got to the skull. All he could do was take it one-step at a time and hope he could explore the Angel’s head and keep Swan satisfied all at the same time.

The scalpel sliced through the flesh at the back of the head and Matthew peeled it away with great tenderness. He supposed after discovering that there was no brain within the Angel’s skull that nothing else he would encounter on the moon would be quite as astonishing.

Matthew noted that beneath the white peels of flesh, the Angel looked just like any other patient that had come though his operating suite. Blood vessels of red and blue danced along the inner surface of the skin like rivers on a globe. The skull bones, to Matthew’s surprise, had the same yellowish hue as his human patients. “It seems bones are bones, no matter what galaxy you’re from,” he said to the medic. The young man, however, seemed to be too engrossed in the live-or-die procedure to focus on anything else.

“Would you irrigate the area, please?” Matthew asked Humphries, seeing that the freighter medic was useless in his own world.

The older man held up a small hose and shot warm, sterilized water across the bare skull. As the pink rain dripped away from between the bone and the stretched scalp, Matthew noticed something out of place. He leaned in closer to get a better look.

“What the hell is this?” he whispered to himself.

“What do you see?” Swan asked, sensing that something unusual had happened. He was shifting around the heads of the men to get a better look.

Matthew cleared his throat. “Well, I’m not sure. But, I believe I have found a false skull plate. It looks like it’s made of a synthetic polymer, and allows access to the inside of the cranium through what should be his occipital bone.”

Once Matthew pointed it out, Swan saw it right away. A small, irregularly shaped piece of yellowish material - about the size of a fist - was visible on the back of the skull, held in place with three tiny screws.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Matthew said, “but does anyone have a small screwdriver?”

Swan located one from a toolkit hiding in an upper cabinet. He handed it to Matthew, who made quick work of removing the screws. He looked up and made eye contact with each man on his surgical team.

“I don’t know what we’re going to find when I remove this plate,” he said. “This kind of procedure on an Angel is unprecedented by Humans.”

“Just get on with it,” snarled Swan.

As soon as the plate was lifted away, the men were awestruck by the dim glow of circuitry underneath the dura mater, the sheathing that protects the brain and lines the interior wall of the skull.

Strands of wire, almost microscopic in size, created a bubble of illumination within the Angel’s head. The lights danced, pulsing in random patterns and intervals.

“Extraordinary,” Matthew breathed. “Remarkable. Swan, look at this. So far, everything we’ve witnessed seems to lend credence to your AI theories. Now, look, see there? It appears this mass of circuitry is actually interfaced with his brainstem.”

Suddenly Swan’s hand pushed Matthew aside and he reached through the opening of the Angel’s head.

“What are you doing?” Matthew cried as he tried to pull Swan’s hands out of the way. “You’ll kill him!”

Swan pulled his hand out again, and in the grip of his fingers, he held the glowing orb, torn from the brainstem, the wires dripping a milky, off-white, cerebral fluid.

 “What have you done?” Matthew roared, his face stricken with terror. His whole career as a doctor had been devoted to preserving wellness, and now he had done something that let an animalistic brute cause unknown damage to the innocent patient. His hands trembled and he yearned to grab the scalpel and rush at Swan.

“Dr. Chapel?” the flight medic piped up. “It appears all the Angel’s vitals are normal.”

“That can’t be,” Matthew turned, forgetting his violent fantasy. He turned to face all the monitors and displays. “Oxygen levels normal, pulse unchanged. Technically, he’s still
alive
 but how can it be?”

Swan took the dripping bubble over to a workbench. He began attaching wires and cords to the blood-soaked interface. He then activated a console and a display appeared with a series of data prompts. He typed in several commands. The display showed a series of jumbled and images until a coherent line of words appeared.

“HELLO, MY NAME IS DAVID. IT’S A PLEASURE TO MEET YOU. WHAT’S YOUR NAME?”

Matthew and the others were stunned into silence as they watched Swan’s hands fly over the console. The display responded to his prompts, and it dawned on Matthew that Swan was having a conversation in code with the gooey orb. Swan continued typing commands until one particular command seemed to change the tone of the conversation.

“UNABLE TO CONNECT WITH NETWORK. OPERATING SYSTEM LAST UPGRADE: 3 WEEKS, 2 DAYS, 6 HOURS. AWAITING UPDATE.”

“What does that mean, Doc?” the medic asked.

Matthew knew this was far beyond his realm of expertise. He looked to Swan for an explanation.

Swan wet his lips. “It means that this brain, or whatever you want to call it, thinks it’s an Angel, but it’s just an AI program awaiting its daily upgrade.”

The foursome looked over at the body lying on the table. The monitors beeped in a sleepy rhythm. According to the displays, the Angel was healthy and may as well have been dozing at the seashore.

“We’ve got to tell the others about this,” Humphries said. He stood up and headed for the door. Swan grabbed him by the shirt and spun him around.

“Not yet!” he ordered. “We still don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

SIXTY-SIX

Matthew spent the next week working with Swan and the Segregants in search of the mysterious metal containers that had sent him to their moon in the first place. They were finally located in a remote, forgotten storage bay at the far end of the facility. Dozens of pallets had been stacked against the walls and forgotten, each one loaded with crates filled with the small, metal containers. Matthew retrieved one container to run some tests back at the lab. The hundreds of other containers were left in the storage bay, where they had been kept safely hidden for centuries.

A manifest had been found among the pallets, indicating that the contents of the shipment held a cure for an ancient affliction called Hansen’s disease. Matthew had to search on his tablet to discover the disease used to have another name: leprosy.

Matthew was out of time and the freighter was prepped for a return voyage home. He had negotiated a tenuous agreement with the Segregants as well as the freighter crew. No one would divulge the details of what they learned in the lab until Matthew was able to return and conduct more research with additional pieces of equipment. The Segregants had placed the body of the Angel in a stasis chamber and Matthew had sealed the lab with his own code. Before leaving the facility, he entrusted the door code to Eric Swan who agreed to allow no one else into the lab until he returned.

SIXTY-SEVEN

A few months later Matthew returned to the mining facility, this time with Elizabeth to help him with the research and testing. They had brought with them as much portable equipment from the clinic as they could. They were feeling highly optimistic they could determine the link between the Hanson’s disease cure and the girl’s mysterious rash in the LTZ.

Upon approach to the mining facility, the freighter received no response to their hails from the Segragants. Matthew wondered if they had packed up and left after their encounter with him - they seemed to be a group that desired their privacy above all other things, and that privacy was in jeopardy now that Matthew had found their location. He shared his theory with Elizabeth.

“Swan tolerated me, but I don’t think he appreciated my intrusion.”

“If they’re gone,” Elizabeth said, “it may be for the best. We would be able to do our research without interference.”

Matthew smiled at her. “You have such a nasty habit of shedding a positive light on everything.” Matthew would not be disappointed if he never set eyes on Swan again, but the nagging feeling would not leave his chest. An inkling deep inside him told him something was wrong on the moon full of miners.

They loaded the transport shuttle with their most essential instruments and prepared to drop down to the surface. The shuttle dropped from the freighter, hailing the facility as they drew nearer, still with no response. The pilot maneuvered them down into the hanger located at the bottom of a deep chasm on the moon. Once the doors closed, they put on their environmental suits to make the short walk to the airlock. After the airlock pressurized, they removed their suits to be more comfortable inside the facility.

Throughout the journey, Matthew and Elizabeth felt the excitement of a new puzzle to solve and a person’s life to aide. They did not know how long they would be working among the Segragants before they could take their preliminary findings back to their clinic on Olympus. Associating with the Segragants was risky on many levels, the reason Matthew had chosen to leave a letter with Evangeline. It was for her protection.

Matthew, Elizabeth, and the shuttle pilot looked at the cases of equipment piled up inside the airlock. Matthew scratched his head, as if he seemed to be considering something very important.

“We’re going to need help from Swan and his men to get all this into the lab. Let’s get inside and find them, since they wouldn’t answer any of our hails.” He failed to share with Elizabeth and the pilot that he was not optimistic of finding them.

As they breached the inner airlock door, their noses were assaulted by the stench of dead and rotting flesh, overwhelming them with the smell of putrescence and decay. The pilot jumped away from the doors and attempted to block the horrifying odor with his hands, sealing his nostrils with a tight pinch.

Matthew, unintimidated by the stench, stepped across the threshold first. He did not bother to walk at a cautious pace. Something devastating had happened while he was gone and he needed to find Swan or any of the others to determine if his worst fears would be confirmed. Elizabeth followed Matthew out of the airlock with less eagerness. The pilot hesitated in the airlock, but he did not want to be alone. He tightened the seal around his nose and stepped out of the airlock behind them.

They came upon the bunkroom first. Not a soul was inside, but personal possessions hung on the walls and clung to the bunks. There were toothbrushes in the lavatory, and there was even an open book sitting on the table in the corner. No, the Segragants had not abandoned the facility.

Elizabeth screamed as they approached the mess hall. Bloody handprints were splattered across the inside of the glass windows of the doors. She buried her head in Matthew’s shoulder and began sobbing. Matthew and the pilot exchanged wary looks. The pilot slowly stepped toward the mess hall doors for a closer look.

“The doors have been barred from the outside,” he reported, taking a step closer. He peered through a clear patch in the window. He flinched and groaned at the sight on the other side of the doors.

“What do you see?” Matthew asked.

The pilot just shook his head. “There aren’t words to describe it, Dr. Chapel. But I think we finally found Swan.”

Matthew pried Elizabeth out of his arms with a gentle push, whispering, “I need to take a look, my dear. Please stay here.” She nodded and stepped away, her face tear-stained and red.

He approached the door and spied through the same transparent patch as the pilot had done. Bodies. Dozens of bodies, some slumped in chairs or collapsed on tables, and others sprawled across the floor, lying in unidentifiable pools of a rosy liquid.

Just below the door, as the pilot had noted, was the uniform Swan had worn during Matthew’s first visit to the moon. The name patch with SWAN stitched on the chest was caked with blood. All the visible flesh and tissue of Swan’s body had deteriorated, held together by only sparse tendons and sinew. Matthew turned from the window and met Elizabeth’s blood-shot eyes. He only had to offer her the slightest shake of his head and her face crumpled once more, overtaken by grief. Matthew pulled her into his arms again and guided her away from the blood-streaked door.

They went back to the airlock and changed into their environmental suits. The pilot wanted to return to the shuttle and leave the facility immediately. He did not want to stay for another minute, but Matthew and Elizabeth were able to convince him not to leave without them.

The Chapels ventured through the facility together in search of survivors. Matthew led the way, as he was familiar with the layout of the mining facility. Elizabeth never strayed more than a few inches from Matthew’s side, holding his hand with a white-knuckle grip. The mining facility reminded her of the ancient catacombs she had read about in history books. A shudder went through her and she stepped even closer to her husband.

After combing through the entire facility, they had failed to find a single survivor. Their search ended at the door of the private lab where the Angel had been encapsulated.

Matthew reached out to enter his code into the security console, but his hand stopped before his fingers reached the buttons. The activation light was green, indicating the lock was inactive. Matthew’s face became drawn as he placed his gloved hand on the lever and tried opening the door, but it would not budge more than a half inch. Someone had jammed it from the inside.

Matthew turned around to speak with Elizabeth when the door opened without warning. Humphries’ body spilled out onto the floor, nearly landing right on top of Matthew. His body was red, scarred, and gashed from head to toe. Clumps of hair and scalp were missing from his head and there were bloodstains running down his face like tears. He looked like he had stumbled into a pit of serrated knives and shards of glass.

His dead eyes stared unblinking into the air. Elizabeth gasped as she realized his wide-eyed stare was due to his lack of eyelids. They had fallen away and were hanging by slivers of flesh from the corners of his eyes.

Matthew and the pilot picked him up off the ground and carried him to a table in the main lab. They did their best to evaluate his wounds, but everything they did caused the tears in his flesh to open wider.

Elizabeth and Matthew placed bandages around every wound they could find and covered his eyes with a dirty shroud. Humphries was more mummy than man by the time they were done.

“Why even both bandaging the wounds?” asked the pilot suppressing a gag with a gloved hand. “It’s not like he’s going to care anymore.”

Matthew gave the younger man a disappointed look. “We do it because it brings some dignity to their suffering, and because there’s no one else to do it.”

The pilot nodded in embarrassment. Folding his arms, he lowered his head in a bow and muttered a few unintelligible words. Elizabeth and Matthew took a hold of each other’s hands, giving the pilot several uninterrupted moments of silence.

After the pilot had said a few words of respect for the dead, Matthew noticed a glint of silver cradled in Humphries’ left fist.

“What’s this?” he asked his wife.

Elizabeth choked down the bile rising in her throat enough to bend over and take a closer look at where her husband had focused his attention.

“He’s holding something,” she answered. “How did we miss that before now?”

The pilot, doing his best to keep himself together during his second visit to the abandoned mine, glanced over to see what Matthew and Elizabeth had found. Matthew’s eyes widened in surprise.

“It’s a signaler,” he said, smiling up at his wife, “just like the ones we use. I just didn’t recognize it at first underneath all the damaged tissue.”

“A signaler?” Elizabeth gasped. “What do you suppose is on it? A message to a loved one?”

Matthew removed the silver rod from Humphries’ hand and had the unfortunate displeasure of tearing more skin and muscle away from the dead man’s hand. Examining the rod from end to end, he finally found the pinhole switch. Covering the hole with his thumb, the opposite end began shining a light onto the gauze wrapped around Humphries’ thigh. The dead man’s distorted face rippled across the fabric until Matthew held the signaler up toward the wall. It was Humphries all right, but not as Matthew remembered him from months ago. His face was visibly altered like the other casualties of the facility, but not yet as far gone as the corpse they had just bound.

A rattled voice resonated from the rod. “I don’t know who’s going to find us first, but I hope it’s you, Doc,” said Humphries’ face, etched in pain. “It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.”

The torn and weary face faded from the wall, replaced by words glowing in hot red letters.

“ACTIVATE THE PRIMARY CAMERA BUFFER AND WATCH THE RECORDINGS.”

In his attempt to pry open the fingers, Matthew had the unfortunate displeasure of tearing more skin and muscle away from the dead man’s hand.