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"Please press your forehead against the head rest for a retina scan."
The metallic voice always sounded urgent, though bored in the way only a recording could. He wondered if the security device was networked into the mainframe and thus could respond to non-compliance with an interpretive response. He considered telling it to attempt something obscene just to find out, but thought better of it. The scanner made no sound, and only the barest blink of a red flash indicated activity.
"Identity confirmed. Entry granted."
The door slid open, receding into the wall without a sound. He stepped through the opening, feeling the air rush out to greet him, since the room was kept at positive pressure to keep out contaminants. He moved around the room, downloading data from various diagnostic stations into his hand-held. The drudgery of it all both mystified and irritated him. It was all so unnecessary, given the ordinary capabilities of modern communications, to require him to make the trip down here and manually check the status of a patient whose condition hadn't changed in three years. But the contract was explicit: no hardwires apart from electrical in or out, and a dampening field to prevent wireless transfers.
Not that anyone cares to spy on a dead man, he thought to himself, cynically, and not for the first time.
His checks complete, he paused next to the padded table in the center of the room, on which rested the remains of man, past middle-age, appearing only to be asleep, though the monitors hooked up to him told a different story. No heart rhythm, no respiration. One would be tempted to believe the man was in fact dead, except that the plastic bag hanging next to the bed was dripping a clear liquid into a vein in his left arm, and that bag was replaced once every 19.6 hours, day after day, for 1,017 days straight. And the body remained at a constant 97.5 degrees fahrenheit. And a yellow goo oozed out from the catheter inserted into the man's groin. And there was the electroencephalogram, which was always off the charts with brain activity. How could a dead man dream? Who was he? Why was he here? What was the point of this? How long would it last? The contract didn't stipulate such things. It only required monitoring and basic maintenance. For a substantial sum in payment. With very emphatic assurances of several types of peril if the contract terms were not followed to the letter. Dr. Carlos Rivera Montez, former director of medicine at Palermo Base no longer cared. He cared about the money, because it funded his other research, and only required a small investment of time. He'd never done so little to be paid so much before.
He looked at his hand-held. The time was getting away from him. He needed to get back to his real work. For the 1,017th time he wondered why he didn't send an intern down here to take care of this. For the 1,017th time he reminded himself of the stipulated penalties for violating the contract. Some of them were...ambiguous, in a possibly disturbing fashion suggestive of physical rather than legal repercussions. For the 1,017th time he glanced once more around the small room before exiting. His gaze paused on the electroencephalogram. For the 1st time, it looked...normalish. He looked down at the patient, and saw the man's deep, midnight eyes, wide open, staring back at him.
~
For an age after planetfall, the Orange Dream was the color of midnight: the inky darkness of the void stretching outwards beyond the boundaries of gravity and even imagination. Then a patrol discovered the first rift among many in the fabric of space-time that opened up the Sirius Sector to exploration, colonization, and dominion. Yet, still the Dream was destined to languish among the many sensualities embraced by the human species, until the tidal forces of ancient and modern conjoined to reveal humankind's greatest threat, and greatest promise.
Most felt revulsion at the revelation of the body snatching, mind-controlling creatures, but some embraced them as gods, both terrible and awe-inspiring, come to render judgment and prepare the path for the chosen to survive the coming apocalypse. Though small in number, the latter few's fanatical zealotry vastly multiplied their relative power. In the darkness of the void, midnight black was rent asunder by lightning blue, and blue set the darkness ablaze.
~
For nearly three years the body rested on a padded slab on a remote base carved into a nondescript asteroid, and the conscious mind slept. For an infinity of time, the preconsciousness that foreshadowed thought swept through a universe of intricacies, searching for patterns, reliving memories, grasping at the shape of the future, the better to slow the momentum of the onrushing end. Amidst the storm of possibilities, one image recurred again and again: Fire leading Blue through a rift, set against a backdrop of barrier ice, and betrayal followed in their wake.
~
Dr. Carlos Rivera Montez gasped in shock, while the man lying prone before him inhaled deeply. Montez opened his mouth to speak, but the man spoke first.
"Your services are no longer required, Doctor. You may leave now."
The way he said "now" caused Montez to hesitate before speaking, think twice, then quickly exit the room.
In the center of the room, the man carefully removed the catheter from his lower region, and pulled the needle from the vein of his arm. He crossed to a sealed cabinet against the wall, punched an access code into the keypad, and dressed himself with the black pants, shirt, and coat that lay within.
He returned to the middle of the room, detached the bag of fluid from its hanger, removing the tube and sealing the bag. He then entered a code into another cabinet, and pulled several more bags of fluid from the refrigerated interior. Placing the bags carefully in the large pockets of the coat, he stepped to the room's exit and passed through the door.
He walked briskly down the hall, decisively making several turns at intersections until he reached a dead end corridor. He reached out and placed his hand against the wall, which immediately lit up beneath the pressure, revealing a scanner that assessed his fingerprints. A small panel in the wall slid up, and a retinal scanner pushed outward. Scan completed, the scanner retracted and the panel closed, while the wall to the left slid open. He quickly entered the opening and crossed to the light fighter resting in the small launch bay.
With long time familiarity, he prepped the fighter for space flight, after carefully stowing the bags of fluid in the fighter's cockpit. Pre-flight complete, he transmitted a code using the ship's computer, and after the launch bay depressurized, the bay doors opened. The launch bay shoved the fighter out the doors using a small catapult system, after which he engaged the ship's thrusters to stabilize a trajectory towards his plotted course. The asteroid base quickly receded into the background as he engaged cruise engines.
The eerie nebula of the system had always seemed to him like mist rising from a darkened swamp, and he piloted with calm precision until he reached the jump hole. Just as he reached the jump hole's event horizon, an Outcast Patrol transmitted a broadband hail and identification request.
"Thanks for the memories," he muttered, as the Dagger slipped into the rift, and out of the Omicrons.
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Man, in his egocentrism, thinks of space as empty, but the void of space is not empty. Scattered across its vastness are incredible centers of mass and gravity forming stars. These stars collect debris from previous supernovae, forming systems of planets, moons, and asteroids. Between the stars lie immense nebulae of gases, refracting the light from stars into celestial works of art. Man, observing these random phenomenon from a great distance, arranges these visions into patterns, and gives familiar meaning to those patterns. Constellations take on the forms of heroes and villains, and nebulae resemble more mundane objects.
The subconscious mind works the same, arranging the images, memories, fears, and desires into understandable patterns of thought called dreams.
Most men forget their dreams upon awakening.
After three years of deep sleep, fed a continuous, intravenous diet of liquid cardamine, the sleeper awoke, and the dream did not fade away. The dream burned before his eyes like the inferno of a thousand suns, unforgettable, unmistakable, irrepressible, all-consuming.
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Most pilots thought of space as endless, monotonous blackness, but he had spent so many years in the Barrier that he thought of it as a blanket of comfortable, white mist, enfolding him in its secure, hidden embrace, safe from the prying eyes of his enemies, shrouding his approach from his unsuspecting prey. But the Barrier's mist of ice crystals and frozen asteroids was also lethal to the unitiated or the arrogant. Countless scorch marks marred the otherwise pristine landscape from the impacts of ships piloted by those who disregarded the dangers lurking within the Barrier - dangers both inanimate and animate.
The Barrier was wisely avoided by corporate vessels, but smugglers trying to avoid border inspections and law enforcement frequently took calculated risks to traverse its terrain hoping to escape detection. Some survived to earn enormous profits, some paid pirates for safe passage, some were still floating in the mist forever as mere fragments of their former vainglorious selves.
The Dagger sliced through the Barrier's icy mist, precisely weaving among the rocky hazards and passive sensor arrays scattered throughout the expanse. Occasionally, the ship's communications array picked up encrypted transmissions from various ships navigating the system, but the pilot ignored them, adjusting his course to avoid detection in each case. Eventually, after a circuitous route that painstakingly avoided the secret sensor network deployed to detect intruders, he reached his destination: a large asteroid deep within the system. Knowing that detection at this stage was unavoidable, he oriented his trajectory directly at a precise location on the asteroid, and engaged full throttle.
With reflexes honed from years of practice, he inverted his ship's heading 180 degrees, nose over end, and halted his progress just meters from impact with the asteroid. Motionless relative to the asteroid's position, he reoriented, and used thrusters to carefully reposition the ship alongside the rocky surface, facing an overhang. He then nudged the Dagger forward until it seemingly impacted the asteroid - passing through the holographic field and entering a small docking bay. The bridge crew on the base hidden within the asteroid barely had time to react to the presence of his ship on their scanners before it's signature merged with the asteroid and disappeared, leaving them wondering if their equipment needed a diagnostic.
The pilot transmitted a signal, causing the bay doors to close, seal, and pressurize the hangar. He exited the Dagger and, after patting its outer skin affectionately, left through the door which opened via retinal scan. Walking swiftly through the tight passageway, he reached a hydraulic lift large enough for one person. After a short descent, and another retinal scan, he stepped into an office lined with bookcases. He stepped behind the large wooden desk, and placed his palms down on its familiar surface before sitting. He smiled as he surveyed the room, untouched and spotless since his last visit three years before. When he focused his gaze to a point three feet in front of him, a holographic display automatically activated, displaying options which he selected optically. He settled into a reading posture as logs, reports, and data began to flash across his field of view.
And now, I await my visitor, he mused, as he surveyed the information unfolding before him.
For her sake, she had best not disappoint.
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At the same time, several light years away from Magellan system, a team of Lane Hackers were overseeing the transfer of a number of captives to a smuggling ship belonging to the Slavers Union. The look of the captives was blank and all of them were staring on the ground, simply following one another while entering the transport. Even to the unexperienced eye it was obvious that each one of them had recently been through a tremendous amount of psychological pressure.
Notoriously known as "mania-interrogation", this practice is used by the Lane Hackers to the majority of their captives. Once the subjects have no more meaningful information to provide, they are being sold to the Slavers Union or to other smugglers and are usually then transported to Planet Malta to spend the rest of their days working on the cardamine fields. Most of the Hacker-sold slaves by this time are empty husks with little self conscience left inside them. The slavers do not mind that, as long as their newly purchased possessions are physically strong and well-fed.
"This is the last batch that we are sending north for 822. Cochrane and Mactan will send their batch in a week from now." An old-looking Lane Hacker announced to the rest while they were slowly walking on a ramp.
"How many of them will remain in Leiden?" The Lane Hacker with the tight suit asked him back. He was relatively short in stature but displayed an air of authority. Once he made the question, his watch ringed and displayed a holoscreen with the content of the message.
"About 5%. Most of them for entertainment purposes while a small number is considered as high-value captives..." The old man hesitated to continue seeing his superior occupied with his incoming message. "Shall I take you to the high value captives?" He asked.
However his question was left hovering since his superior wasn't even paying attention as he was studying the incoming message for several moments. The superior then departed without saying a word. He took a couple of turns and elevators in Leiden until he reached the docking bay where his personal combat ship was located, a modified Rapier. The Hacker boarded the ship and quickly left the base, setting course for Mactan. With Nicole Hunter occupied with her mission and unable to fulfill her duties, Yoshida was given clearance and access to several top level functions of the Lane Hackers. This message was a notification that someone entered the hidden level of Mactan. He had received strict and specific instructions on what to do in such case, however he never prepared himself for that scenario. The Lane Hacker silently cursed to himself for being ill-prepared, he was a man who did not allow mistakes.
Once he reached Mactan he exited the ship with his Detroit blaster in his pocket. After exchanging the necessary pleasantries, he quickly moved to the hidden level while making sure in the entire way that he wasn't followed. He entered a desolate tiny dark room which was currently used for temporary storage. His eyes scanned the room for a moment while he was trying to remember the verbal instructions that he was given on what to do next. A few moments later his hands slipped in a seemingly innocent hole which had a button inside. He pressed the button while staring on the other side of the room. The button activated a microscopic camera on the other side of the room which automatically conducted a retinal scan. Once the retinal scan was completed, a side of the room's wall retreated, revealing a hidden passage.
"Smart." He thought considering that without having proper instructions it was near impossible to solve this simple puzzle even if you had found the button. He then slipped inside the passage which automatically closed once he entered. Unlike most situations, Goro Yoshida was not confident this time. His right hand groped the pocket which contained his firearm, confirming for the third time that it was inside there.
When Yoshida entered the office, the gaze of the man behind the desk didn’t deviate from the flashing holographic projection above the desk top in front of him. Yoshida paused a moment before stepping directly in front of the desk. The hands of the man seated behind the desk spread out, palms down, onto the desk and the projection vanished.
This is an unexpected development, the seated man thought. Does it increase or decrease the likelihood of conflict, I wonder.
The smallest finger on his left hand caressed a small depression in the wood where a knot had long ago formed in the grain, providing the perfect camouflage for a tiny button. Moments stretched into minutes as the two men studied one another without speaking. Finally, the seated man smiled.
He’s very controlled, but let’s see what I can shake free, he mused.
“You may commence your report, Mr. Yoshida.”
Those words broke the awkward silence between the two men. Listening to those words, Yoshida approached him, still surprised to see him alive and well after he had convinced himself that he was gone for good.
“Of course, however I do believe that there are more important matters at hand, Professor Moriarty.”
Moriarty’s eyes narrowed. To dismiss me so easily he must be quite assured of his position. Perhaps there is more to him than I knew.
“And what, pray tell, is so pressing, then?” Moriarty replied.
Yoshida’s facial expression softened.
“I believe that your situation and your current status is a much bigger concern at the moment. It’s not every day that our long lost Senior Professor returns from the dead.”
The Lane Hacker added a tone of concern to the last sentence.
Moriarty wasn’t sure if Yoshida was acting or not.
Is it his life or his rank that concerns him the most? I must tread carefully or I risk turning a possible ally into an enemy. Moriarty inhaled a long, gentle breath before speaking.
“My situation is one of perfect health and optimal intellectual faculties after my long...constitutional. I have discovered first hand the wonders that liquid cardamine can accomplish...in sufficient doses administered with great care. As to my status, I had expected to discuss the matter with Professor Hunter. Will she be arriving shortly?”
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Yoshida nodded. He was also a strong supporter of cardamine usage to the point that he considered all non-users as below his intellectual level. His focus then shifted to the rest of the office, observing the antiques and bookcases that Moriarty had amassed in such a small place.
"Professor Hunter is leading a very special mission and is not with us for an indefinite amount of time. She has entrusted me with many important responsibilities, including this one." Yoshida added as he turned back to Moriarty in a more serious and formal tone this time.
"I would like to officially welcome you back to the Lane Hackers, Professor. A word of advice though: many things changed since your departure. The transition of power back to your hands will not be a smooth process, should you vie for such a thing."
Moriarty’s finger caressed the small knot in the desk’s surface that would trigger the immediate and brutal end of the person standing in front of the desk, should he only press hard enough. Is it possible that Nicole Hunter placed a tracking device on my Dagger and was aware of my imminent return? Has this pawn who stands before me become a Knight while the Queen is away, or is this merely a masquerade to draw me out and expose my back for a hidden strike? Moriarty quickly reconsidered all that he remembered of Yoshida. Treachery was not one of the traits he recalled.
"The Lane Hackers would be ill served by any internal divisions or divisive power struggles. I trusted Nicole Hunter to administer our plans, and if she trusted you to do the same, I see no need to dispute her in absentia. I have returned to share the revelations that I have been entrusted with after a long meditation, not to wrestle in the mud for control. I’m sure you have day to day matters well in hand without need for my input or direction." Moriarty leaned forward and tilted his head to the side. "Is that not so, Acting Professor Yoshida?"
Yoshida noticed that Moriarty had referred to him by using that distinguished rank. He certainly did his research before I arrived, Yoshida assumed.
"Mr Moriarty, I believe I was not clear enough. With Professor Hunter’s departure, she left the chair vacant. It will be filled by someone sooner or later." Yoshida said, leaving his last sentence to hover in the thick atmosphere of Moriarty’s office. After a few moments, he continued.
"But undoubtedly we are grateful for your return. Your wisdom will certainly be an asset to our cause."
Moriarty smiled slightly. “The utility of my ‘wisdom,’ as you put it, has never been in doubt Mr. Yoshida. What appears to be an open question is the matter of whose authority shall be relied upon to enact it after Professor Hunter’s departure for realms unknown. Knowing her reputation for thoroughness first hand, I’m sure she left left no doubts about her intentions in that regard, nor any allowance for the lowly to dispute them. In short, you appear to be holding the scepter, will you crown yourself or pass it to another?” Moriarty tensed. Now is the moment when he chooses to live or die where he stands. His finger prepared to depress the trigger in the knotty depression on the desk. Only cardamine can approach the pleasure of a moment such as this, he mused. Just what I needed after such a long sleep.
Yoshida instinctively groped his pocket again containing the firearm. He knew very well that Moriarty was a man capable of doing anything, much like he was himself. En route to Mactan he had prepared his own defences. He had created an automated message which would alert his men on Mactan to immediately assemble and kill everyone at his location, should the computer lose access to his life signs. A dead man’s trigger, of sorts.
“Miss Hunter has indeed entrusted me with the scepter, if that’s the way you want to put it. Temporarily, until a permanent king is found. But as you may well know, I am not eligible to become one, even if I wanted to.” That was simply because Goro Yoshida was a Provocateur, not a Professor of the Lane Hackers.
“There are candidates of course. The taste of power is almost as alluring as cardamine, Senior Professor.”
Moriarty searched Yoshida’s tone and phrasing for subtle clues to his intentions. Perhaps he isn’t as ambitious as Hunter always was...perhaps that’s why he rose so high under her oversight without suffering any lethal malfunctions to his ship’s operations, Moriarty thought. But she always knew how to play the long game better even than Phate, and Yoshida may have learned its wisdom under her tutelage. I didn’t return in order to instigate a fight for the throne, but Yoshida does not know that, and may strike against me preemptively if he perceives me to threaten his ascension.
“I’ve always admired a Hacker who could conceal his dagger up his sleeve before he needed to strike,” Moriarty said. “But it does tend to draw one’s own blood if concealed too long. Who do you support to take over Nicole Hunter’s position?”
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Yoshida smiled slightly. The stakes had been raised and he was going to increase the odds even further.
"That is a very good question Professor Moriarty, though I would personally prefer to call it a card, not a dagger. My successes on the field and Professor Hunter’s open trust have given me a great deal of influence. It will certainly be a considerable boost to a candidate if I support him, should I elect to do such a thing of course." He paused for a moment in order for his words to sink in.
"However, your wisdom is of great value to me, so I would like to hear your thoughts on this matter first."
Moriarty settled back into his chair, though he kept his hands on the desk, ready to react in an instant. If this one possesses the ambition to match his patience, the greed of Phate, and the cunning of Hunter, then I may not be safe no matter how this discussion unfolds. I should have commissioned a far more thorough psychological profile on Yoshida before I departed, but of course, I expected Hunter to deal with her rivals in a fashion lethal enough to save me such troubles.
"If Professor Hunter entrusted you with the task of ensuring the continued productive administration of the Lane Hackers, then I expect that you possess the judgement to make that decision for yourself, Mr. Yoshida. As I stated before, I have returned to share my hard won meditations, not to tend to the mundane details of operations and protocol. Name your candidate, so we may dispense with any further meandering conversation and attend to more vital concerns."
So it is down to business, Yoshida thought. He slowly sat on the chair in front of Moriarty’s desk, despite not being invited to do so. The Hacker then crossed his legs.
"Firstly, I should mention that I have prepared my counter-defences before I stepped into this office, Moriarty. On the event that you do not agree with my judgement, it would be highly inadvisable to attempt a move against me." Yoshida warned, as he wasn’t sure about the mental state of Moriarty after such a long absence.
"I joined the Lane Hackers almost five years ago. Nicole Hunter was not even one of us back at that time. The fact that she raced through the ranks may be impressive but she was never my leader in my eyes. That does not mean I am not faithful to my superiors of course." Yoshida swallowed before he continued.
"To my eyes, you will always be my leader. I cannot think of a more suitable person for this position." Yoshida said while keeping intense eye contact with the man on the other side of the desk.
Moriarty exhaled slowly while maintaining utter control. He allowed his face to display some of the surprise he felt at hearing Yoshida’s proposal, just enough to encourage Yoshida to let down whatever guard he yet maintained. Now is the moment to test whether this Hacker is trustworthy or treacherous, Moriarty decided.
“Leadership is a heavy burden, as you have no doubt discovered, Mr. Yoshida. I expected Nicole Hunter to have matters firmly under her control when I returned, but I see that not even cardamine’s enlightenment can reveal every potentiality. While this is not a role I have coveted since my departure, I cannot in good conscience decline and place the Lane Hackers in greater jeopardy than that which already threatens us.” Moriarty leaned forward and said with firm emphasis, “And have no doubt that we are in grave jeopardy, Mr. Yoshida. We, Liberty, and all of Sirius face a dire threat. It seems that you and I will yet face it together as allies, rather than as rivals.” Moriarty smiled, “As it should be. There is no time to waste on ritual or protocol.”
Moriarty’s fingers danced across a keypad embedded in the desk. A panel retracted in the desk top near Yoshida, and a console rose up from inside the desk. Yoshida could see that the console was already connected to the Lane Hacker communication network and ready to transmit.
Moriarty smiled again. “You may use this to announce the fulfillment of our leadership vacuum without delay. I’m sure every Lane Hacker will rejoice to know that unified leadership of our faction will continue without conflict, doubt, or hesitancy.”
“Mr Moriarty, I would advise caution. As I had previously mentioned, the transition won’t happen without any obstacles and my help will certainly be vital to make this as smooth as possible. I could provide my services and serve as your right hand, should you wish that.” The Hacker straightened his suit and continued.
“I am also curious about which threat you are referring to. Corporatocracy? Gallia? Or the alien life forms?”
Moriarty’s smile faded ever so slightly as he considered Yoshida’s attempt at distraction. “All of these, and worse. I have spent the past three years in a liquid cardamine induced meditative state deliberating an almost infinite number of possibilities. My perusal of our recent intelligence gathering operations gives me cause for great alarm.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “But we shall discuss this at great length in the near future. First, the new leadership of the Lane Hackers under our joint administration needs to be announced in order to flush out any disruptive elements in our midst so that we can turn our attention to these more serious threats.”
Moriarty gestured to the console in front of Yoshida. “If you please, a formal announcement of your support for my resumption of the Senior Professorship will set the stage for our next steps. In the near future I’m sure we can reach an agreement about what sort of operational portfolio is best suited to your unique talents.”
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Yoshida had voiced his concerns and Moriarty had made his decision. The die was cast.
"Computer, prepare a message for me. Use high encryption protocols and set its priority as urgent. The recipients are... all Lane Hackers."
"My dear colleagues, the previous month, as you may well know, I temporarily served in Professor Hunter’s place. As we face greater and greater challenges every day, I feel it is imperative to fill the leadership vacuum as soon as possible so that we stand united once more against the overwhelming odds of corporatocracy and their controlled institutions."
"This is a great day for the Lane Hackers as I have the honor to announce that Senior Professor Moriarty has returned and is ready to assume the leadership of our organization once again! I invite you to stand beside us and devote yourself to our just and righteous fight!
- Goro Yoshida"
Yoshida looked at Moriarty after finishing, before standing up. "That is only part of my work. Now I need to speak to many of my contacts and arrange things behind the scenes."
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