A video call notification flashed up on her monitor, and Rayker slammed her desk in frustration. How dare someone disturb her without warning? The caller was Cardinal Merris, but what could he want? She took a moment to calm her demeanor before opening the line.
Merris’ face popped up on the display. “Rayker, hello. It’s been a while since we last spoke,” he said.
Rayker blinked. “I believe my updates have been delivered on schedule. What is the reason for your call?”
Merris fidgeted for a moment. “What’s the progress of the project?” he asked, eventually.
“As detailed in my last report on the subject,” Rayker said and cocked an eyebrow. “Did you read it?”
“I understand you hired only six researchers in the fields of biology and genetic engineering?”
Where was he going with this? “Correct.”
“Only six?”
Rayker exhaled slowly. He could not possibly know about the team’s corporate cover stories already. “Merris, we are making substantial progress on the project and that means, obviously, we are all very busy. If you have any more of these administrative queries, I suggest you direct them to Captain Reed.”
“I ask the question,” Merris said as he fiddled with his pen, “because it seems that a good deal more than six researchers in a variety of fields are currently not present in their usual posts in Rackeye.”
Rayker drummed her fingers on the desk. Could one of Reed’s soldiers be a traitor? Unlikely, but nothing was impossible. “I haven’t heard anything about this.”
“You aren’t the only one with sources on Caldera.”
“Well, then, perhaps you should be contacting whoever is responsible for those individuals?”
Merris paused again. Rayker suppressed a smile when she saw that the effort to speak seemed to cost him greatly. “We’ve also been getting some unusual calls from the Chief of Staff for the Army. It seems that personnel assignments are being made against the usual procedure…”
Rayker silently cursed. Reed had obviously not covered his tracks well enough.
“Merris, I’m sorry,” she said, adding an edge to her voice. “I obviously haven’t been making myself clear. I simply cannot divert my resources into helping you chase down interdepartmental administrative blunders. I’m in the middle of a revolutionary project which will provide immense benefit to the future of the Helvetic league, not to mention the Adjudicate. Frankly, I think that what you’re asking would fall under Captain Reed’s purview, and if you would be so good as to put your concerns in a memo, I will make sure he receives it. If you have no other pressing concerns, I certainly do, and I need to get back to them.”
“Well, not pressing concerns, but if we could find some time to discuss—”
“Thank you, goodbye, Merris,” Rayker said, and disconnected the call.
Her first step was to go and see Reed, and as usual she pushed through the door to his office without bothering to knock. He was alone, working, and didn’t react to her entrance.
“The Army is asking questions about the soldiers you transferred here,” Rayker said.
Reed looked confused for a moment. “I thought you were able to deflect—”
“And someone has told Merris about missing researchers in Rackeye. I thought you were keeping track of his agent’s communications?”
Reed was silent for a moment. “What if it’s not the Adjudicate? Graduates talk quite freely amongst themselves, and their parents have connections. Maybe someone got jealous of their friend’s nice new job and decided to have Mommy and Daddy start asking questions?”
Rayker sighed. There was no part of the League’s bureaucracy that was not burrowed through with family ties and old boy networks. “We may need to accelerate our plans,” she said.
“Weslan’s work is at least a year away from completion,” Reed said, doubtfully.
“Well then, it would be in your interest to motivate him, or else you will soon be dealing with a company of your former comrades knocking on our door, and you won’t have an army of killing machines to call on.”
“Madam Raker, he has been working tirelessly. This kind of work requires careful—”
“Oh, I see. So I find once again that I must do your job for you, is that right?”
Reed didn’t respond as he rubbed his eyes.
Rayker slapped the door. “Very well, come with me.” She led him out of his office towards the Research Zone. “Is he still trying to message that Academy girl?” she asked, as they walked through the tunnels.
“Kayla Barnes. Yes, but it’s all reviewed before transmission. We added a silent receipt tracer to his messages, and we can see they have to pass through a very strong firewall to reach their destination. High level security.”
“Any replies?”
“No,” Reed said. “She was recruited recently, and if they’re as secretive as they’re made out to be, it’s doubtful she would even have access to her personal messages.”
Rayker nodded. “Perhaps. But keep an eye on it. I would like all of Weslan’s emails to that address—including the drafts—forwarded to me.”
“I will be sure to set that up, but the contents are really nothing to worry about.”
“Not the point.”
They arrived in the Researcher’s common room, where Weslan was making a pot of coffee and chatting with an attractive woman from the engineering team. Rayker noted with satisfaction the hunched shoulders and dry eyes of the young workers.
“Weslan?” she said, so loudly they jumped. “Is that another girl you’re trying to charm? Rather out of your league, don’t you think?”
The woman blushed, took one look at Rayker and hurried out of the room. Weslan stared back with fright in his eyes.
“Madam Rayker,” he said, “I… No, we were just—”
“I understand you’ve been flirting with a variety of young women while using the on-site communication system we have generously provided for you. Do you think you’re here to entertain yourself?”
“No, Madam, of course not.”
Rayker shook her head. “I can’t imagine why you think girls like that would be interested in you when you show such a sloppy work ethic. I have to say you are not making a good impression of yourself.”
Weslan looked like he was about to cry, and his voice wavered as he spoke. “Madam Rayker, I am so sorry, I did not realize—”
“How are you proceeding with the animal specimens? Have you worked out a detailed plan of their hormonal networks, as we discussed in our meetings?”
“Yes, well, I mean… I am making good progress.”
“So, you haven’t done it?” Rayker said with a raised eyebrow.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Weslan paused in silence. “No, Madam Rayker.”
“Do you know that your peers in the other research teams have met their project objectives already and are much further along than you?” It was an easy lie. The students did not have the time or energy to discuss more than casual gossip, and were undoubtedly all insecure about their progress. “Not surprising, given your poor attitude to this endeavor,” Rayker continued. “You are letting our community down, Weslan.”
“Madam, I—I don’t… I’m trying as hard as I can, but there is so much work—”
“Don’t lie to me Weslan. I’ve put so much effort into building this place into something that could change the world, and the League. After all I’ve given you, you have the nerve to stand there and lie to me?”
“No, Madam,” he said hoarsely, eyes fixed downward.
“So, you will have a presentation ready for me next week?”
Weslan’s blotched skin went paler still. His expression became glassy. “Yes, Madam.”
“Glad to hear it. With me, Reed,” Rayker said, as she turned to leave the common room.
“Did you take notes?” she asked, once they were out of earshot.
“If I were to be brutally honest,” Reed said, “and I know you appreciate that—I would say that young men are more sensitive to that kind of criticism from attractive women.”
Rayker stopped walking and turned on him. “Really? How attractive?”
Reed sighed. “Madam, please.”
“No—you must qualify your remarks. We are no longer merely a military operation. We must also consider ourselves a scientific community.”
Reed stood stock still, his eyes fixed on nothing as though he were thinking quickly. Rayker savored the moment. He could resist any form of adversity, whether physical or psychological, and that was what made him so desirable. In a world of sheep, thugs, and powerful, yet vacuous narcissists, Reed was the only man she had met that could keep a sharp, clear mind no matter what the situation. He disproved everything she believed about humanity’s fragility, and so she had to control him. But nothing she tried would unlock his mind for her, and that was almost intolerable.
“I would rate you as a ten,” he said eventually.
Rayker crossed her arms. “A ten? And what poor excuse for a man can resist the charms of a ten?”
“Madam,” Reed said firmly, “as I have explained many times, we must demonstrate discipline, we must set an example for the men—”
“You lie poorly, as most soldiers do. No, you are a coward obviously.”
Reed matched her gaze. “If you feel that way, then I am a liability to the plan, and you must dispose of me immediately.”
She held the stare until he blinked. “If Weslan fails, I will put you in the machine,” she snapped.
Reed’s expression didn’t waver. “I could break his spirit, if that would help?”
Rayker waved a hand dismissively, and now it was her turn to break eye contact. “Oh, he’s young, he’ll be fine. For heaven’s sake Reed, use your imagination. Play to your strengths—use your physicality to intimidate him. Make it work.”
“Yes, Madam.”
Rayker turned away. There was business to resolve, instead of petty arguments. “You will start sending your team out to begin collecting subjects,” she ordered as they resumed their walk.
Reed nodded. “Good. They’ve been getting bored playing babysitters.”
“Do you know where you will store the drones, once transformed?” she asked.
“The barracks cave should work—it’s huge, and out of the way of the research labs. We’ve installed robust security on the doors and in the corridors. If they really can be controlled, then we should be able to manage a few hundred.”
“Excellent. Collect as many colonists as you can.”
Weslan wiped his mouth and stepped back from the toilet bowl. At first he had cried, and then emptied his stomach, but eventually the chill of dread had faded. He knew he would have to reduce his sleep limit again, and he certainly wouldn’t have any time to socialize.
Leaving the bathroom, he ran into Julie.
A hand flew to her mouth. “Wes, you look awful!”
He shook his head slowly. “I’m okay. We’re all tired—I know you are too.”
Julie looked down. “It’s not right, what she said to you in the common room,” she said quietly. “She humiliated you.”
Weslan sighed. “She’s a great woman, Julie. People like that don’t fit society’s mold and sometimes they speak more freely than the rest of us.”
“I know she is, and I know she’s leading us toward something… but Wes, sometimes she scares me.”
“It’s okay, I trust her. I believe in what she’s doing and, well, we’re here to save lives. To save colonists’ lives. Doesn’t that demand a great effort on our part?”
Julie wiped away a tear. “Yes, but there has to be a limit. We’re only human.”
Weslan gave her arm a squeeze. “We push that boundary back every day.”
“You’re so strong Wes. I admire that in you,” she said, and smiled bravely.
He smiled back sheepishly. “I have to get back to work.”
As he returned to his office, he wondered if he really believed what he’d said.
“What’s up boss?” Kyellan Bell trudged into Reed’s office, eager to be pulled away from the mindless work of reading the researcher’s messages and listening to their conversations. He stopped when he saw that Reed looked pensive. Something had to be up.
“Everything fine with the science team?” Reed asked.
Bell chuckled. “I heard the Madam put the screws on that kid. She sure knows how to hurt people; I’ll give her that. No wonder they’re so well behaved. I’d have told you if there was trouble—my guys are going brain dead with nothing to do.”
“Garron’s detachment will take over. I have a new job for you.” Reed pulled out maps of the region, flattening them out on his desk.
Bell’s eyes went wide. “Are we finally being let outside to play?” he asked, daring to get his hopes up.
“Yes,” Reed replied. “Madam Rayker has determined that we should begin the collection of subjects for transformation. You’ll take your detachment down to the farms and set up shop.”
Bell stroked the small beard he had been working on. “That’s a tough one. It’s a two-week hike down to the farms, and you want me to manage both kidnapping and transportation? I have enough security for maybe five per trip, so it’s going to be slow.”
Reed nodded as he examined the passes the team had mapped out over the years. “Once we have the first drones ready, we’ll send them down to you. Based on the strength we saw in the first test; they should be able to manage the rough north route quickly, which will speed up the transit.”
Bell felt his gut tighten. “And they’ll be… manageable, right?”
“Put it this way,” Reed said, giving him a significant look. “If they aren’t, you’ll never hear from us again.”
Bell shook his head as memories of the mountain climber surfaced in his mind. Still, this had always been the plan, and it was high time to put it into motion. “Okay,” he said, “and what kind of subjects are we talking about? Men, I guess?”
“Start with isolated men first, or word will spread quickly—but find a woman for the first batch, and we’ll see how that works out. Under no circumstances are children to be harmed, or they’ll send militias after you.”
“There are a lot of homesteaded families.”
“Avoid them,” Reed said. “Get creative. Or would you like to entertain the thought of what Madam Rayker will do to you if you compromise this project?”
Bell sighed. “I think I’ll keep my imagination on our eventual victory.” He chuckled. “Masters of a whole planet. Can I get my own tropical island?”
Reed laughed. “We’ve penciled you in for the frozen north, actually.”
A month later, Bell was nursing stiff legs while he sat in a muddy ditch somewhere on the Lanstead farming plain. A stolen truck—lights on and one of his men in the cab—sat in the middle of the main road, while the rest waited in cover for the vehicle that was due in the next few minutes. Bell watched the horizon through night vision goggles. When light bloomed in the distance, he sat up and tapped his radio’s transmit key, sending a burst of static as a signal to the squad. The soldiers were tense, since it had become clear that the colonists were well armed and alert for danger, despite the scarcity of animal attacks in recent months.
The team had completed the long hike out of the mountains and set up camp in the foothills overlooking the scattered farm settlements. They sent out patrols to covertly observe the landscape. At night they explored, getting as close to the homesteads as they dared, in order to learn the dependencies and weaknesses of the sleeping colonists. During the day, they watched the roads and traffic, identifying patterns of life that would help them set up their first ambushes.
The truck now closing on them had made its daily delivery of wood to the local construction crew and was returning on schedule to a distant sawmill, closer to the forests. The villages in the area had replenished their stockpiles, and further deliveries would not be needed for several weeks. The sawmill would assume the driver had returned to his secondary job, working as a mechanic, alone on his small property. It would be some time before his absence was noticed.
The vehicle came to a halt. The Special Forces soldier—dressed in local rags—jumped out of his own cab and waved, before gesturing at it helplessly. The truck driver stepped onto the road holding a shotgun, but after he inspected the scene, he threw it back inside.
“What’s the problem, buddy?” he called.
“My brakes gave out,” explained the soldier. “Had to roll to a stop. I don’t know, they seemed fine when I checked them last week.”
The driver shook his head as he approached. “Can’t be half-assing inspections out here, son. Your accent is kind of strange. Where’re you from?”
“Rackeye; came down on a long-haul assignment.”
The driver laughed. “Okay, that explains it. Let me take a quick look for you.”
As the man bent down by a wheel, Bell emerged from the ditch, silenced weapon raised, as the soldier grabbed his target with a chokehold. If he failed, and the target got away or started to yell, Bell would be ready to drop him. Once the driver was unconscious, the rest of the team moved in, cuffing and muzzling the prisoner before securing him under their truck’s tarpaulin. Two men took the delivery truck, and they drove both vehicles back to the hide site.
They dumped the unconscious prisoner into the makeshift pit they had dug, to join four others. Bell’s eyes lingered on the torn clothes of a quietly sobbing woman. He wanted to indulge his urges, but he probably wouldn’t get away with it. His detachment had developed their own dynamic over the years. Some were high-aptitude criminals, though others believed at least in the true purpose and morality of the League, if not its current leadership. They would not tolerate him crossing certain lines. His personal tastes would have to wait until after the fall of Caldera.
“Dawson,” he said to one of the pit guards. “Five is enough. Let’s move this group to the lab. Get them dressed in cold weather gear and pack your rucks.”