Gamma Nine (Book One) (30 page)

Christian
chuckled from frustration at the cryptic words as he trudged
through the sand and wind to join his dream stalker. His laugh died
on his lips as he saw what the figure was pointing at.

Beneath them,
scores of dead littered the grey sand. Men, women and children were
all distorted parodies of their last moments before death. Limbs
bent at irregular angles, faces frozen in screams no-one ever
heard, eyes and tongues removed by whatever snatched them from the
living world. Each body was different, unique in shape and
position, silent and unmoving as the storm battered their dead
flesh. There were no carrion birds circling the bodies, no
scavengers picking at the buffet of meat. There was only the
forgotten and the dead.

Christian could
see the faces of the bodies closest to where he stood. The decaying
smell hit his unsuspecting nose moments later; it caused what
fluids he had in his guts to churn violently.

“It is a sight
to remember,” the smoky stranger said.

“How many are
there?” Christian asked, trying to hold back the sickness he
felt.

“They stretch
as far as the horizon and more beyond that. Millions upon millions
of them, frozen forever in time, stuck in your mind, stuck in mine,
stuck in everyone’s.”

“Why did you
show me this?”

“You showed
yourself this, I am only the instrument you used to distance
yourself from the pain. You have used me many times before, in
different forms, but always the same essence.”

Christian fell
to his knees, choking on the spit and bile rising in his
throat.

The stranger
remained unmoving as it said more. “Your mind, me, did this to
motivate you. So you would do what needs to be done. So you can
remember why it is you fight, why everyone still fights.”

“What needs to
be done?” Christian asked, succeeding at holding back his stomach
contents.

The figure
moved what Christian guessed was its head to look at him. “Why do
you ask questions that you already know the answer to?”

Christian did
not know what the figure meant. He was searching his thoughts as
best as he could with the smell of the dead filling his senses.
Something that was almost impossible with such a horrific
distraction nearby.

“You will know
when the time comes.”

“You can see
into the future?”

It laughed at
Christian, shaking its smoky head in disbelief. “No, you fool. I
can see the future as much as you can. But you will be faced with
many choices soon enough. Your mind created me to blot out the fear
stemming from the possible outcomes of those choices.”

“I must be
going crazy if I am creating identities in my head. My mind must
have been...” Christian’s last words bled into the figure’s own
words.

“...damaged
during the fight. It was not, and you are far from insane. All of
this is just a manifestation of fear, fear of the future, fear of
the past, and mostly the fear of defeat.”

“What defeat?”
Christian asked, rising from his knees.

The stranger’s
body stopped moving in the wind, its head snapped up as if it was
listening to something in the distance. “Our time is up once
again,” it said. It body solidified for a few seconds and reflected
Christians own face back at him.

Sudden bright
lights tore through the clouds above Christian’s position, beams of
light snaking through the sand, like search lights looking for an
escaped prisoner they scrutinized the dunes around him.

One light hit
the stranger and it disintegrated, another focused on Christian,
its brightness building in intensity as Christian tried to see the
source of the lights above him.

A shock hit his
entire body as the light blinded him, drowning out all sights and
sounds of the desert.

His eyes
snapped open, seeing nothing but metal ceiling. Two robed figures
were speaking and hovering over him. Christian could not understand
what they were saying as they used a hand light to shine the beam
of light into his open eyes.

Had his hearing
been fully restored he would have heard the first words he had
spoken after waking up.

Sacrifice. That
is what he had said as his limp body was dragged out of the
recovery tank and onto the cold table for inspection.

It was lost to
him now, unheard and forgotten. It was hidden within his mind.
There it would remain until it needed to be remembered.

Nathan was
still in recovery, his body taking longer than the other Wolves to
heal. Christian had visited his brother a few times every day since
he had woken up, sitting in front of his recovery tank. He wore
standard military fatigues, as did every other Wolf.

All Titans were
forced to wear regular clothing after a stint in the recovery
tanks. The interface plugs were raw and painful after extended time
within the Titan suits, the forced separation allowed the skin
around the plugs and the nerve endings connected to each plug to
heal faster.

Christian sat
on the cold decking in front of his brother’s silent and suspended
body. He watched Nathan’s eyes move behind closed lids through the
murky water-like substance inside the tank.

Nathan was
never a sentimental soul. He was always focused on whatever was in
front of him, able to do anything he put his mind to. Christian
always wondered what his brother dreamed about, and watching him
now he was even more curious to know what those eyes were
seeing.

The family
called him a genius, but they were all wrong. He was a hero, to
every extent of the word, strong and powerful in mind and body. It
was not difficult to look up to Nathan and his commanding
personality. Perhaps that was why Christian was always afraid of
him, afraid of disappointing him, afraid of failing, afraid of his
brother’s rejection.

It was Nathan
who inspired Christian to volunteer for the Titan training, against
the rest of the family’s wishes.

Christian would
prove that he was worth something, and he would do so at any cost.
He craved Nathan’s acceptance.

During his
visits he was unable to speak at first, sitting in silence as his
mind grasped at thoughts from his past. One thought stuck in his
mind and he spoke before he could stop himself. Luckily his brother
was unconscious, and would not have to hear the reminiscing about
their past. Nathan would be angry at his brother for bringing up
forgotten times; his anger was probably his only true character
flaw.

“Do you
remember the day you left?” Christian asked his comatose
brother.

There was
obviously going to be no reply, so Christian just chuckled at the
thought of talking to himself.

He looked up at
Nathan and continued. “I remember the day. I can’t forget it even
if I tried. Our father, who we will not speak of, was already long
gone by then, leaving us to fend for ourselves. You took care of
me, through your anger and hate, helping me whenever you could. I
regret not listening to your guidance back then. My stubbornness to
enjoy life instead of working hard to make something of myself is
one of my many shortcomings.” Christian sighed as he battled the
tears trying to fill his eyes. “When you left, without a reason, I
struggled to understand why, or how easy it was for you to just
leave me behind.”

Christian stood
up, taking a step closer to the tank before speaking again. He
lowered his voice, to try and sound more sincere, but mostly it was
because of the emotion connected to the memory. “I understand now.
It was not easy at all was it?”

Again there was
no answer, only his brother’s silence.

“You had to
leave. You did not abandon me. I never held it against you, I never
hated you. I only wish I could have gone with you or shown you that
I am not the same childish person I was back then.” Christian made
a fist with his right hand and placed it against Nathan’s recovery
tank, the cold glass pressing against Christians knuckles. “Forgive
me for my arrogance, my ignorance, my laziness, and most of all,
not picking your side when our family fell apart. I will make
amends for it, somehow.”

The door behind
Christian slid open the moment he finished speaking. Christian did
not remove his hand from the glass, only turning his head at the
person who entered through the open door.

Pyoter stepped
through and nodded at Christian. Pyoter’s giant frame almost
squeezing through the portal meant for regular sized humans.
“Captain wants to see us in the armoury. Come Little Bear, leave
Big Bear to sleep.” He gestured with his hands for Christian to
follow him. Pyoter did not wait for a reply, turning to leave as
soon as he had entered.

Christian
removed his closed fist from the recovery tank’s glass, whispering
words between brothers, words that meant something to him and
hopefully his brother would see the truth in those words in
time.

It was the same
phrase painted on his now scratched and damaged armour - Forever
Loyal.

Christian let
the whispered words hang in the air before leaving his brother to
rest, closing the door behind him as he headed for the armoury.

The instruments
measuring Nathan’s brain activity within the tank spiked slightly
after Christian had left. It was as if the words his brother had
spoken echoed through Nathan’s dreams.

As if, somehow,
Nathan had heard everything.

“What did that
thing say?” Rivers asked Locke. Rivers was seated at his usual work
table while on-board the Hyperion. He was fiddling with a heavily
modified rifle, one of his many custom creations.

Christian
entered moments after Pyoter returned to fetch the rookie from the
med-engineering. Xander greeted the rookie with a respectful nod,
while Rivers only acknowledged his presence with a raised hand in
greeting.

Pyoter joined
Xander on the bench bolted to the far-side wall of the small
armoury.

Locke said
nothing at first. He stood in the middle of the armoury, facing the
door Christian had entered through. The Titan Captain had his arms
folded and his face showed no emotion.

Christian froze
as soon as their eyes met, standing to attention as soldiers should
in the presence of their superiors.

“It has said
nothing we don’t know about already. It chooses to remain quiet for
now,” Locke finally replied to Rivers’ question. He was letting the
rookie sweat on purpose.

Christian
remained absolutely still, maintaining his focus on the wall behind
the captain. He had learned as a cadet not to look officers in the
eye when their moods were so unpredictable.

“Have you tried
other means of getting information out of it?” Rivers’ asked with a
hint of disdain dripping from his words.

“It’s not
possible to torture a machine, if that is what you were getting
at.”

“What a pity
that is.”

“Do you need a
backrub old man?” Xander asked sarcastically from the bench behind
him.

“Are you
offering?” Rivers retorted.

The pair of
Titans on the bench chuckled at their sergeant’s comeback. At least
he had not lost his sense of humour during the fight on the Fateful
Moment.

“It has been
making strange requests. Its most recent is one I find very
troubling.” Locke’s focus shifted back to Christian still standing
at attention at the entrance to the armoury.

This made
Rivers stop fiddling with the rifle on his table. He turned to look
at Locke, waiting for the captain to continue.

“It asked for
the rookie. To speak to it alone,” Locke said.

Christian
swallowed slowly, his muscles tensing as he grew anxious.

“What? Why?”
Rivers said. The surprise was evident in his voice.

“I will not
pretend to understand its reasoning, nor do I want to know what it
thinks about. It asks, and for now, we must give it what it wants.
We need the information it is keeping from us.”

Rivers shrugged
and returned his attention to what was on his work table. “It
sounds to me like that bastard is running the show now.”

Locke did not
reply to Rivers’ poorly disguised sarcasm. Instead, Locke stepped
closer to Christian, stopping only a few feet away from the rookie
Titan.

“Corporal,”
Locke stated instead of asking.

“Sir!”
Christian replied.

“You will go to
it and find out what you can. Tell it nothing about our destination
or the status of anyone or anything on-board. Give it nothing. Is
that clear?”

“Perfectly,
sir.”

“You are
dismissed, Corporal. It is waiting for you down the corridor.
Storage B.” Locke said nothing more, turning to speak to the other
Wolves, ignoring Rivers in the corner of the armoury grumbling on
about how it can’t be trusted.

Christian heard
Locke make a comment about Rivers’ wet undergarments just before he
closed the armoury door behind him.

He made his way
down the corridor, his mind racing, his anxiousness growing with
every step. His mind was a mess of memories, emotions and scenes
from the Fateful Moment. The medical staff that had pulled him out
of the recovery tank had informed him that his mind would settle
eventually, the drugs used to keep the Titans unconscious had some
side-effects on the human brain. Hallucinations was the worst of
them all, luckily he had only suffered from a few since he had
woken up.

Christian
reached the door leading to Storage B before he could recount the
hallucinations he had seen the night before. He would have to think
about it later, when he had some free time. Not that there was such
a thing anymore.

For some
reason, Christian knocked on the door, pausing to listen if the
thing on the other side said anything.

The voice on
the other side of the door sounded more surprised at the action
than Christian was at the reply.