“Of course.”
“Doctor Caufmann developed the vaccine and the antigen, I’m not sure charging him with treason will hold up. It’s commonly known already that without his android, the stadium would have fallen.”
“Have you seen the Suvaco units? Their resemblance to Del is too close to dismiss. The armour plating around the chest and shoulders is grown, not implanted, and they are almost identical at first glance.”
“It has been confirmed that Del killed a Suvaco unit barely fifteen minutes ago. Rumours have spread that the progenitor-class was crippled by it moments before the lab exploded,” says Hannon.
“All of this is connected, like a spider’s web, and I don’t trust the doctor or his android. There are too many androids in town and they’re all as bad as each other, no matter which side they’re on.”
Hannon takes a slow steadying breath. “What will Caufmann do if we kill Del and he escapes?”
Croft ponders that for a moment. “Can he do any worse than what he’s already done here?”
“I still don’t think he would have spent so much time working up a treatment if he released it in the first place.”
“He wouldn’t be the first doctor to do such a thing. Godyssey can expect a huge increase in public funding if Caufmann comes out of this like the proverbial knight in shining armour,” says Croft.
“This is a Godyssey mega-city, he could have chosen anywhere to release it.”
“A Godyssey city contaminated and overrun by its own inhabitants hits pretty fucking close to home, wouldn’t you say?” says Croft, wide-eyed.
“Let’s call in the Alpha HolinMechs.”
“More androids is the last thing we want here.”
“Yes, sir…” she says not sounding convinced at all. “Why do you keep watching the footage of the lab blowing up?”
“I’ve watched it a hundred times and since then everything has gone straight to hell. The lab explodes and the an infection turns into a warzone. That is not a coincidence.”
“What if Dead Star doesn’t come to Whitechapel after pulling out Verge’s unit?”
“Desolator 1 is in range.”
She nods and returns to her monitor where an incoming transmission registers. “Sir, we have a call coming in from an unknown origin,” she frowns.
“Put it on the screen.”
An image flickers into view of a pale face surrounded by a flow of long, jet-black hair that shimmers silver with every movement. The eyes are silver grey and almost reflective with lips tinted purple as if stained by some kind of soup. It’s an unsettling appearance. “Commander Croft,” its voice grinds out, sounding like glass over gravel.
Croft isn’t a fool, he knows what he’s talking to. “Progenitor-class android, serial number double-oh zero one. What can I do for you?”
“I have a program that will aid in the disablement of Caufmann’s forerunner,” it says.
The commander feels his spine tingle. “You can hear us.”
“I hear everything and what I hear, what I see, the ones behind my mind can see.”
Croft swallows and ignores the frightened glance of Hannon. “You are going to give me a program, you said?”
“I already have. Look in your private file. It will take care of the blind android.”
“You mean Del.”
“That name is just a name. It is a forerunner, merely the first of a legion. You will make an example of it, and its maker.”
“Who do you think you are to order me to do anything?”
“Since you are isolated and quarantined you have no contact with your superiors, who would certainly not want to assume responsibility of how you have handled this incident, and I am a Godyssey construct. Therefore, for the purpose of this conversation, I am Godyssey.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you to get the forerunner in range of that program’s signal, and to execute William Caufmann.”
“He’s en route here in a gunship and Del will be taken out in the field.”
The mockery of human likeness on the screen smiles lightly. “It will not be. I have already done most of the work for you, causing the city wide black out, and destroying the laboratory. Caufmann is exposed.”
“Where did you get this program, and how do you know it will work on Del?”
“I was logistics and tactics for a military division you will never know of. I have access, or can gain access, to any information ever so much as written down if given enough time. I disabled an entire city and military guidance system; a small program such as that was a simple stratagem. If you do not do as I say I will show you just how much more I will do. I am a machine. I think in Ones and Zeroes. You do as I say and that will read in my mind as One. On. Active. Positive. Done. If you refuse I will read it as Zero. Off. Dead. Negative. Undone. If I arrive at result One, so do your guidance systems. If I arrive at result Zero, so will you, am I understood?”
Croft frowns and thinks for a moment. “We could take back the city with guidance systems up and running…”
“If you hurry,” says the prototype’s harshly inhuman voice, ending the transmission.
Hannon checks the signal but the source has completely disappeared. She opens up Croft’s file. “The progenitor has uploaded a file into our systems.”
Croft wipes a disturbing amount of sweat from his brow. “Does it have a filename or just a bunch of numbers?”
She has a very bad feeling when she reads the name. “It’s called Harvest, sir.”
Sindaris Tessol enters the reservoir where thousands of contaminants are packed in like sardines. Despite the contaminant masses almost swarming over each other, Sindaris’ attention is strongly drawn to the one vacant area over the far side. A mist of light shrouds it in a perfect cylinder, reaching far above the crowd. Sindaris knows it must be an image projected into his perception. Attempting to blink it away only allows his eyes to see the mist evaporate for the smallest instant before flashing back into existence. He can feel a prickling sensation all over his head but puts that with the rest of his thoughts, as far away as possible.
The contaminants’ combined feeling of hunger is pressing on his mind so very heavily now. Though there are no lights in the reservoir, it begins to inexplicably become brighter. Sindaris finds himself squinting as the very air seems to glow before him, yet there are still no exact points of real light. A feeling of silence, of waiting, starts to spread over the crowd. The sensation is so intense that Sindaris almost feels his very consciousness slip away from him. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath to steady himself, trying to ignore the feeling of his bones pressing against his skin from within.
When he opens his eyes again, the reservoir is darkening again and the spiralling mist cylinder is settling into a humanoid profile. Sindaris joins the crowd and starts to weave through them, moving towards the front, carefully keeping any thoughts of the gun in his sleeve at bay. The minds of the others are all blank now, even the hunger is suppressed.
Sindaris keeps his head down, gradually closing the distance to the glowing mist, trying his best not to look at it. The prickling feeling across the top of his head feels as if his hair is moving about on its own. He keeps moving through the contaminants, shoving some aside if he has to, but avoiding contact as best as he can. Eventually the mass of locals stop moving altogether so Sindaris does as well. The mist spiral is close enough to spit at. He waits.
Slowly, as the gaseous shape continues to shrink, the figure becomes increasingly corporeal. Sindaris tries not to focus on it too closely, but his hands are shaking no matter how slow and steady he makes each breath.