Holin’s eyes scan up Caufmann’s body, his old wounds, his imbedded gauntlet, and finally to his scarred eyes that glow eerily. Holin’s eyes focus, his breath stops for just a second, almost a gasp.
Recognition.
“Don’t,” is all that Holin manages to utter before a violent, powerful cut tears partially through his neck, jamming the knife into the floor.
The blade is stuck firm. Holin is coughing, trembling, trying to beg. Caufmann had intended to ask questions, though they are so far from his mind he can’t fathom anything apart from this very sudden, very brutal, aggression.
On any other occasion Caufmann would have cut with refined precision, taking the head clean off. He tries forcing the knife through but it still doesn’t move. He feels the knife scrape against Holin’s neck bone as he tries to wrench it. Caufmann slaps Holin’s reaching hand away from his face. With a grunt of exertion he grips a handful of Holin’s hair, dragging his head across the stuck knife. With a final effort and a spray of blood he rips the blade free of the ground, completing the decapitation.
Caufmann is seething far more than he thought possible. The very idea this disgusting butcher knew him means he probably saw him before he was turned into a CryoZaiyon. It meant he was probably one of the surgeons that cut out his humanity and imprisoned the last part of his being within a case, buried in his chest cavity.
As his anger subsides, the words of Antares run through his mind. It occurs to him that after all this time he does feel as strongly for someone as she.
It’s just not love.
He drags the body to his tomb pillar and connects some tubes into the severed arteries and another down the remains of the oesophagus. He shuts the tomb and powers it up. The pillar fills with nano-nutrient water and the tubes come to life, circulating the remaining blood in the body, making infinitesimal life signs on the monitor. Without a head, at first glance the body could be Nexarien Decora and that is enough. He seals all the tombs back within their pillar shell casings, seeing Antares one last time, watching as she is fully encased, and once again safely hidden.
He leaves the CryoZaiyon Tomb and finds himself in Del’s birthing chamber further up the hall. Inside, the upright pod chamber Del was hatched from stands empty.
Next to it, in the other pod, is the form of his brother: Adrenin. His formation is at last complete.
Caufmann smiles at Del’s younger sibling, another clone of the Suvaco units. This one is so close to the original genome that he’d be indistinguishable at first glance. Caufmann presses a few buttons on the console.
The gestation tank drains of its nutrient water, allowing Caufmann to open the door, inspecting his creation for defects.
Adrenin wakes up a moment before sliding to the floor, unsteady on legs he’s never used before. His orange snake-like eyes look up at Caufmann. He attempts to step forwards, but his leg doesn’t seem to do as he wishes, so he slips onto the floor. Adrenin looks as baffled as he is able.
Caufmann walks over and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t rush yourself. How are you feeling?”
Adrenin coughs up some nutrient fluid from his lungs through his bared, sharp, teeth. “I… am not ready.”
Caufmann feels a pang of guilt. That is exactly what Del said. “Nobody is. The mission you were programmed for contains parameters that need to be reset.”
Adrenin looks up at Caufmann. “Status?”
“Breaking point. You were to help your brother unit in the field defending the city but Raddocks Horizon is lost. You have a new mission.”
“Command channel open,” Adrenin announces in a deep resonating voice.
“Del has…” he sighs, “malfunctioned, and needs to be…” he clears his throat, “taken out.”
Adrenin’s head tilts to one side. “I did all my combat training with him.”
“That is irrelevant.”
“We fought together and trained together.”
“It was all imprinted, it wasn’t a real experience. I assure you, the Del you’ll come across out there is not the one you know in your head.”
“I can’t kill my own brother.”
Caufmann is now disgusted with himself at how human he’s made his two finest creations. “Del has become a very grave threat.”
Adrenin looks at his hands, then to his birthing tank, then to Caufmann. “What are my additional orders?”
“You have your brother’s mission now, understand?”
Adrenin nods.
Outside Raddocks Horizon in a survivors’ encampment, Outbound, Rennin has been in makeshift offices and portable, prefab rooms giving briefings on the conflict for almost two straight days.
Most of it has been like one long interrogation, but the data provided by Caufmann has gone a long way to smooth relations with what’s left of the local military presence. Dead Star is one of only three gunships to make it out of Raddocks Horizon. The Horizon Military have been crushed under the contaminant onslaught.
Rennin rubs the back of his neck for the hundredth time today.
This presentation is to the Head of the Defence Force, General Tristan Faraday. He is Rennin’s height, mid-fifties, and looks like he’s seen one battle too many. The only other person in the room is Doctor Jellan Roths, who stares at him as if her eyes possess Superman’s heat vision.
Rennin feels like he’s going around in one big circle. “So the general idea is to leave them stranded there ‘until further notice’?” he asks with his most polite sarcastic tone. “Even with all this information? The fortified zone in Whitechapel is secure, you can land and pull them out.”
“How many Suvaco units are there in total?” asks Faraday.
Rennin shrugs. “I don’t know, William didn’t say.”
“Armed with rockets and chain guns and all Godyssey weaponry?” asks Faraday, eyeing Doctor Roths.
“Stolen from the lab, yes,” she answers, meeting the general’s gaze.
“We have only three serviceable gunships and we can’t risk opening the underground train tunnel gates again in case of contaminants getting out and overrunning this position, you must understand that. And three gunships cannot evacuate civilians that number in the thousands.”
“Then call for aid, is it really so hard?” Rennin asks pinching the bridge of his nose hard enough to bruise it.
Faraday takes a breath, returning his regard to Rennin. “Given recent developments that you are as yet unaware of, we should be transiting people back into the fortified zone in Whitechapel.”
Rennin looks at him. “What?”
“There won’t be any help from outside here,” says Faraday slowly.
“Why?” he asks Faraday but the general looks to Roths again. Rennin follows his gaze to Roths. “Why won’t there be help coming?” he asks, finding himself smiling in frustrated disbelief, “Why won’t there be any help coming?”
“There is no one,” she answers plainly.
Rennin thinks for a moment but it only takes another second for the horrible truth to strike home to him. His face drops to a neutral expression and he doesn’t want to hear any more.
“No…” he breathes, taking a step back, then finding himself leaning against the wall for support.
“No one here knows yet. Faraday and myself were only informed the day you arrived here,” says Roths.