Voidstalker

THE TRUTH

Sitting in a cramped and windowless interview room with her wrists secured to the table, Jezebel Thorn was outwardly silent and calm. Inside, she was fuming with impatience. Since it was the DNI who had detained her – apparently, on the ACS’s behalf – she wasn’t technically under arrest, and hence couldn’t be formally questioned. Instead, she had to sit there and listen as the details of her alleged guilt were discussed in front of her.

“So this data chip she took,” the ACS detective said to the DNI agent, “you said it was some kind of tracking device?”

“Oh, it was a lot more than just a tracking device.” The DNI agent replied, “it’s a shame she tossed it down the chute; otherwise I could have given you a live demonstration.”

“I still have no idea what either of you are talking about.” Jezebel lied.

“The chip was part of what we call a ‘MacGuffin trap’,” the DNI agent explained, ignoring the suspect, “it’s a kind of sting operation where we plant something supposedly important, make it out to be really valuable, and then see who comes to collect it. That way, we can lure out suspects, moles, and other people of interest.”

“I hate to presume to lecture a civil security officer on the law,” Jezebel interjected with a slight sneer, “but I believe it’s illegal to speak to a suspect without legal counsel present.”

“Good thing no one’s speaking to you, then.” the DNI agent retorted, “Now as I was saying, the data chip was also covered in a very fine layer of biometric sensors capable of scanning the DNA of whoever touched it. We were able to record not just where the chip was, but the identity of everyone who touched it as well as when and where they touched it.”

The DNI agent produced a holographic display on his wrist-top computer, displaying a list of dates, times, and faces. Jezebel saw Aster Thorn’s face displayed, followed by Felix Kessler’s face. She found it hard to keep her composure when her own face appeared.

“See right here?” the DNI agent pointed to Jezebel’s face, “She took the chip from your murder victim shortly before he was murdered, in the exact same place where he died.”

Jezebel was silent. Assuming the DNI agent wasn’t bluffing, there was no conceivable explanation or answer that she could give to make that fact go away, and opening her mouth to try would only make things worse.

“What about the other suspect?” the detective asked.

“She was blackmailed by Madam Jezebel.” The agent explained.

“For which I presume you have evidence.” Jezebel interjected with lofty sarcasm.

“Indeed, I do,” the agent replied, “Take a listen.”

The DNI agent pulled up another file – an audio file this time – and pressed play.

“And by coming, you’re officially complicit. Unless, of course, the real reason – the one you’d like me to corroborate if the investigators ask – is that you simply came to pick up your children from their grandmother’s home.”

Jezebel remained silent. There really was no explaining that away, assuming they had the whole recording in their possession.

“By the way, yes, we have the whole recording.” The DNI agent said, closing the audio file, “Which we can give you, along with the tracking logs from the data chip.”

“None of that proves that I had anything to do with Felix Kessler’s murder,” Jezebel said unconvincingly, “or that Aster Thorn wasn’t the one who killed him.”

“Aster Thorn was at home around the same time that the victim passed the data chip to you,” the DNI agent replied, “we have data to show that too. Bottom line: you’re fricked.”

* * *

Within a fist-sized containment bottle forged from material suitable for starship hulls, an electromagnetic suspension field was deactivated, and a globule of antimatter weighing precisely 2 grams dropped under gravity and inertia until it touched the side.

The resulting mutual annihilation of matter and antimatter resembled the life and death of a star compressed into a single blinding flash. The observatory’s containment shield barely held against the force of the explosion, sparing the witnesses from obliteration, and releasing energy only in the form of light.

As suddenly as it began, the explosion was over. A blaze of astral light that had lasted for a twinkling in time was gone, leaving the retinas of those who witnessed it bleached by the sight. The containment shield continued to glow faintly, but no trace remained of the Swarm or its Human host. The chamber was as silent as a tomb.

Gabriel lay sprawled on the ground where he had been pinned, lying as still as a corpse. He resembled a life-sized toy soldier, or a circus prop discarded on the ground to gather dust and dirt after the show had packed up and moved on.

He stirred.

The muscles in his arms were burning, and he could feel a set of stinging wounds in his neck where the combat claws had started to push through into his flesh. And yet, even though the bomb had detonated early, he was alive. Even though his arms hurt, his legs felt fine, so he kicked his feet into the air, lifting his ankles over his head and using the momentum to roll backwards onto his feet.

His armour had seen better days. Most of his shield emitters had been shorted out by the over-pulse he had triggered, as well as by the energy required to protect him from being crushed by the over-pulse from Ogilvy’s armour. Parts of his suit had taken physical damage as well, with the redundant motors in his exoskeleton picking up the slack for the ones which had been overloaded by electrocution.

But more importantly, he was alive, something which could not be said for most of the swarm of brainwashed zealots. Thankfully, the remaining members of his squad were also still alive. The bio-readings of Viker and Bale were orange, but they were alive and conscious, and Cato’s bio-readings were green.

Someone else was still alive. A figure kneeling motionless on the dais, dressed in a white hazmat overcoat covered in symbols and glyphs written in blood, his overgrown hair and beard covering his face. From the righteous and triumphant image he had projected earlier, the figure he now cut was miserable and defeated.

Gabriel approached the erstwhile Prophet Lawrence Kane, rage steadily building in his chest at the insanity and death this little coward, this one sad little traitor, had unleashed. Gabriel had lost his LMG again, his xenotech sword had been broken into pieces, and the combat claws on his right hand had been sliced clean off. That left only the claws on his left hand, his unused sidearm, and the combat knife on his shoulder.

Gabriel drew his knife.

He gripped the man’s hair and pulled back his head, looking the false prophet in the eyes. The microdots in his skin were still visible, but they were only useful against bullets and blast force, they could do nothing against a blade. Gone was the look of smug triumph that had been smeared across his face; now his expression was blank, and his eyes were wide and dazed, like a man who had just discovered that the world around him was a lie.

“All hail Lawrence Kane.” Gabriel sneered, his helmet speakers turning his voice into a deep and demonic snarl, “Leader of the Faithful. Prophet of the Voice.”

“You…” the prophet stammered, “…don’t know…what you’ve done.”

“I destroyed an alien threat to Humanity.” Gabriel replied.

“…Destroyed?” Kane murmured, then his voice became filled with anguish and rage, “you have destroyed NOTHING! What you have inflicted is a mere pinprick upon a god! The orb we found; it was an atomistic part of a far greater whole, a vessel for aeon’s worth of knowledge! Knowledge gathered from countless civilizations long extinct! Knowledge that could have been ours to wield!”

“What are you talking about?” Gabriel demanded.

“The Voice,” Kane continued, his own voice trembling, “It was the voice of an entity more ancient and more powerful than you could possibly imagine. I know because it touched my mind, just as it touched the minds of my followers and the mind of your comrade.”

Hearing Ogilvy referenced gave Gabriel the sudden urge to slit the self-styled prophet’s throat, but he resisted for the moment.

“The Voice speaks cosmic truth beyond the comprehension of creatures of mere flesh,” Kane continued to blabber, “it can bestow the knowledge to manipulate the building blocks of the universe at the quantum level, and the knowledge to construct world engines that can create and destroy planets and stars. All this and more!”

His rantings were getting more unhinged, and yet more fascinating.

“The Voice spoke, and I listened,” Kane’s ravings continued, a deranged smile starting to curl the corners of his lips, “the Voice spoke through me, I became the voice of truth! So much truth which I recited to my Faithful, and which I can recite for you!”

“I don’t want your recitation,” Gabriel replied coldly, “I want you silenced.”

Gabriel flicked the switch on his knife, flash-heating the blade. Then he sliced carefully across the top of the false prophet’s neck, directly above the thyroid cartilage. The incision was just deep enough to open up a slit without actually cutting his throat, and the flash-heated blade instantly cauterised the wound.

As the dying prophet reflexively choked and gagged, Gabriel deactivated the blade and replaced it in its sheath. Then he stuck his fingers into the wound. The dying Kane’s eyes turned wide as Gabriel wormed his fingers inside his neck and upwards, closing his grip around the tongue. Holding on tight to Kane’s head with his free hand, Gabriel yanked the false prophet’s tongue out through the slit in his throat.

There was a sickly series of tearing noises as Gabriel ripped the entire organ out through Kane’s neck, snapping it free of the muscles and tendons which held it in place. The prophet keeled over backwards, choking and gurgling blood from his now tongueless mouth and the crimson maw in his throat. And he wasn’t actually dead yet; the shock might cause him to lose consciousness, but blood loss would take several minutes to kill him.

It was a fittingly poetic end, and a deservedly gruesome one at that.

Gabriel stared at the mutilated corpse of the dead Lawrence Kane, wanting to feel satisfaction, or better still, vindication. Instead, he felt troubled.

He had no qualms about executing an enemy of Humanity, or the macabre method by which he had carried it out, but the dying words of the erstwhile prophet and the numerous implications they carried were what troubled him. What was the Swarm, and what did Kane mean that it was part of a greater whole?

There were countless other questions swirling around his head; fortunately, some of them could be answered immediately.

“Observer!” Gabriel called out through his helmet speakers.

“THE VOIDSTALKER IS TO BE CONGRATULATED ON HIS SURVIVAL.” The observer acknowledged, its voice booming out across the giant chamber, “PERHAPS YOU WISH TO KNOW HOW IT WAS THAT YOUR DEVICE DETONATED EARLY?”

“That’s one question I have!” Gabriel shouted in reply, turning away from the dais and walking back towards the rear of the scaffolding platform.

“The Swarm’s thralls – your kind – utilised primitive radio technology to communicate across distances,” the observer explained, adjusting the volume of its booming voice lower as Gabriel approached the wall of the chamber, “easily detectable and easily intercepted.”

“What about it, then?”

“Your communication system is far more sophisticated.” The observer continued, “It utilises extremely precise gravitic waves transmitted in the form of precisely timed quantum pulses. These pulses produce miniscule, but measurable, distortions in the…untranslatable…, which the observer can detect, but cannot intercept.”

“That doesn’t explain how the bomb detonated early.” Gabriel pointed out.

“Recall that when you were separated from your subordinates, you were unable to communicate.” The observer explained, “The observer has the ability to block the transmission of these quantum pulses. When the device was detached from your armour, the observer detected a similar signal from your armour to the device. The observer concluded that your life signs were directly tied to the device’s triggering mechanism.”

“So you disrupted the signal once the Swarm was inside the containment shield in order to detonate the bomb prematurely.” Gabriel guessed.

“Correct.” The observer confirmed, “There was no guarantee that the containment shield would retain enough power for long enough to wait for detonation. Furthermore, the observer could not guarantee that the voidstalker would survive further combat.”

Cato had found his way back and was tending to Viker’s head injury. Viker had his helmet off, revealing a grizzled face with the pale complexion of an Undercity dweller and the buzz cut of a marine. His eyes were brown and still slightly dazed from being smacked in the side of the head. Bale was sitting nearby, nursing the hole in his shoulder where the spiked baton had been rammed through, having survived being tossed into the air.

“Good to see you’re alive, colonel.” Bale said as he attempted a salute. The muscles in Gabriel’s arms were still burning, but he managed to salute back.

“There is no need to keep any further secrets.” The observer said politely.

“You said you wanted to guarantee my survival,” Gabriel called out, “Why?”

“The observer has three priorities: containment, observation, and self-preservation, in descending order of importance. Now that the Swarm has been destroyed, there is nothing left either to contain or to observe, leaving only self-preservation. Whatever authority sent you is evidently prepared to take extreme measures to neutralise perceived threats. In the interest of self-preservation, the observer wishes not to be perceived as a threat.”

“You want to use us as bargaining chips?” Gabriel asked.

“No, rather as emissaries.” The observer clarified, “threatening or terminating your lives would not engender goodwill from your superiors, and would most likely result in the observer’s own destruction. Whereas releasing you alive and unharmed would produce a chance of goodwill from your superiors.”

The squad members looked at each other. They wouldn’t have managed to defeat the Swarm without the observer’s help, but they still didn’t trust it.

“What are you offering in exchange?” Gabriel demanded.

“Knowledge.” The observer replied, “Without the insidious requirement for neural fusion or mental enslavement to the observer.”

“What kind of knowledge?”

“The observer has existed for over 610,000 local solar years,” the observer answered, “the observer has thus accumulated 610,000 local solar years’ worth of observations as well as a wealth of scientific knowledge above and beyond your species’ grasp.”

“You want to trade information in exchange for survival?” Cato concluded.

“Correct. The observer cannot impart knowledge if it has been destroyed.”

There was silence as the squad considered the proposal. In fact, it was Gabriel who considered it, since the offer had been extended to him.

“We would need to consult with our superiors first.” Gabriel replied.

“That is acceptable.” The observer replied, “As a further gesture of goodwill, and so that you can contact your superiors, the observer will guide you to the exit.”

“Bout’ time we get out of this fricking place.” Viker muttered as Cato finished salving his head wound, “and it’s good to see you shut Kane up for us. Literally.”

Gabriel saw that he was still holding Kane’s severed tongue in his fist. He dropped the bloody trophy on the ground and went to retrieve his LMG.

“Is everybody well enough to move?” Gabriel asked as he picked up his service weapon, “Or do some of you need carrying?”

“I can barely move my shoulder,” Bale answered, standing up as best he could, “but that spike missed all the major blood vessels, and I survived the trip downwards.”

“I got whacked in the head,” Viker responded as he put his helmet back on and retrieved his gun, “but otherwise I’m good to move too.”

“I got blasted off the edge of the platform by the over-pulse, and then got jumped by a bunch of fucking Faithful,” Cato replied, packing up his medical kit, “but no injuries here, either. Can’t say the same for them though.”

“Lucky you, play-fighting downstairs with the skinny little cultists whilst the big boys handle the monster.” Bale joked.

“Oh yeah,” Cato retorted sarcastically, “Because being impaled and then tossed into the air like a sports ball is SUCH hard work.”

Everyone laughed, even Gabriel.

* * *

It was a long trek back through the sepulchral alien labyrinth to the exit, and an even longer trek back to the loading bay where the Wolverine was waiting for them. From the loading bay all the way across the canyon network, there was nowhere suitable for the DNI vessel to land and pick them up; so Viker had to drive back to the landing pad.

There was very little talking on the way back, and the surviving squad members were all out of jokes and backslapping by the time they were back aboard the ship. The mission was a success, but they had still lost one of their number to an alien enemy they knew nothing about. In any case, they were exhausted; the most they could manage was to drain some energy drinks and get out of their armour.

Doran had made it back safely, at least. His casket had been packed aboard one of the automated cargo haulers and then driven back to the landing pad. His transponder had alerted the DNI vessel to his presence, and he was already onboard by the time the squad got back. Once they were back on Asgard, he was quickly transferred to a DNI medical facility.

Ogilvy’s helmet and service weapon – the only items left of him – were returned to the DNI. The weapon would be returned to the armoury, and the helmet would be prepared for a funeral service; his family would need something over which to mourn.

Whilst Viker, Cato, and Bale were debriefed and treated for their injuries, Gabriel was summoned to speak directly to the director-general. No doubt she would have already reviewed his helmet footage by the time he arrived, and would have further questions to ask.

And he had questions of his own.

* * *

“Excellent work.” The director-general said from her throne-like chair.

She had always looked cool and professional before, someone exerting dispassionate control over an enormous network for the good of Humanity. Hundreds of thousands of subordinates reported to her, and ultimately entrusted their lives to her decisions, and Gabriel had long been one of them.

But looking at her now, Gabriel’s impression of her had changed drastically. Now she looked like a smug and manipulative black widow, tugging on little strands of silk from the centre of her web, watching everything around her with that bionic red eye of hers.

“Thank you very much,” Gabriel replied professionally, before adding, “‘Dani’.”

A flicker of surprise passed across the cool and dispassionate look on Red-eye’s face.

“It would have been greatly appreciated if the Director-Admiral of Naval Intelligence had informed us that there was already a DNI mole stationed at the Loki facility before we deployed.” Gabriel said less-than-coolly.

The accusation was implicit in the phrasing.

“‘Director-general’ is a very ancient civilian title,” Red-eye explained, attempting to duck the accusation with trivia, “it refers to someone with general responsibility for the running of a large organisation. Since this is the Directorate of Naval Intelligence, ‘director-admiral’ was the technical division’s idea of a joke, hence the codename ‘Dani’.”

Gabriel’s normally impassive face was crinkled ever so slightly into a scowl. He had figured that out for himself on the journey back, and wanted an explanation – perhaps, even an apology – for his being sent in without 100% of the available intelligence.

“The short explanation is that Kane was written off as an expired asset.” Red-eye said, using the polite intelligence euphemism for ‘hung out to dry’.

“So you didn’t think he was worth mentioning because you had no further use for him and expected us to kill him anyway?” Gabriel’s tone began to rise in volume.

“Actually, no.” Red-eye replied, unfazed by Gabriel’s tone, “Kane stopped sending us data from the Dani spyware shortly before J.E. Co. lost contact with the Loki facility. When J.E. Co.’s security team didn’t return, I concluded that the team and the staff must be dead, including Kane. If I had known Kane was the cause of the incident, I would have told you.”

Gabriel remained silent. That was a start, now what about the rest of her explanation?

“As for the long explanation,” Red-eye said at length, “how exactly do you think we stay at the cutting-edge, ahead of Humanity’s enemies?”

“You think stooping to the level of corporate espionage is worth ‘staying ahead’?”

“‘Stooping’?” Red-eye raised an eyebrow, “the corporate sector’s highest loyalty is to their balance sheets – as you well know – which is why they steal secrets from one another and gamble with Humanity’s survival through reckless xenotech experimentation. The secrets we gather, however, are put to use designing and building the next generation of technology to keep the fight going, including the armour and weapons that you take into battle.”

Red-eye’s voice was disarmingly level. There was no defensiveness, no anger at being taken to task by a subordinate; just calm explanation of her reasons. And yet, her logic was a hair’s breadth away from the corporate sector’s own arguments for doing the same thing.

“So it’s justified so long as someone else gets their hands dirty, is it?” Gabriel spat in contempt, his composure breaking down, “is that what you told Kane when you recruited him, or did he just want you to treat his blood disorder?”

“Kane didn’t have a blood disorder.” Red-eye answered, “That was just part of the cover story required to exfiltrate data from the Loki facility. The important thing is that the intelligence he provided will bear fruit for years, if not decades to come.”

“Even more so if you take up the observer on its offer.” Gabriel added cynically.

“That’s for another discussion.” Red-eye replied, “But the fruits of that arrangement will be thanks to you. So I don’t understand why all this bothers you so much.”

Gabriel did something he had never dared to do before: he stepped forward, walking all the way up to the dais and planting his hands on Red-eye’s desk. The director-general wasn’t visibly moved, even as Gabriel narrowed his luminescent green eyes into a furious glare, locking with the impassive, heterochromatic gaze of his boss.

“I will not be lied to,” Gabriel said with a barely suppressed note of menace in his voice, “either directly or by omission. Not even by you.”

“Do you think that Ogilvy might still be alive?” Red-eye asked without even flinching, “Or that Doran might have been uninjured if I had told you about Kane?”

Gabriel had no answer. He couldn’t know how the mission would have turned out differently had he known about Kane’s status as a DNI asset, let alone how that information would have saved Ogilvy or Doran from death or injury. But he felt blindsided, nonetheless, and the apparent deceit and manipulation infuriated him.

“Or do you think I risked your life unnecessarily?”

“You risked all our lives unnecessarily by not telling us about Kane!” Gabriel shouted, the remains of his composure dissolving.

“If I wanted to do that, I would have sent you in alone.” Red-eye replied simply.

Gabriel was silent again.

“Did you seriously believe I foisted a squad on you in order to slow you down?” Red-eye continued, “The point of voidstalkers is to be able to act alone if necessary. Providing you with a squad increased your combat effectiveness dramatically, and probably saved your life. Otherwise, it would have been you who went tumbling over the railings instead of Ogilvy.”

Gabriel’s fingers curled into fists. Red-eye simply stared back at him, maddeningly indifferent to his anger. She knew he wouldn’t do it.

“If there’s nothing else,” Red-eye said, breaking the icy staring match, “I suggest you go home and reassure your family that you’re still alive. And you’ll also want to reassure Aster that she’s no longer in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?” Gabriel demanded, baring his teeth in a wolf-like snarl.

“Whilst you were on deployment, we raided J.E. Co.’s offices and labs, and prepared a MacGuffin sting operation.” Red-eye explained calmly.

“Of course, we don’t want the ‘competition’ stealing from us, do we?”

“The ‘competition’ turned out to be your mother,” Red-eye continued, “and the mole was initially believed to be your wife.”

Gabriel’s snarl vanished.

“The ACS also labelled her the prime suspect in the murder of her colleague, Dr Felix Kessler,” Red-eye added casually, “who turned out to be the actual mole.”

Gabriel was speechless with rage; even more so because all she did was stare back at him with one Human brown eye and one bionic red eye. She looked more like a cold-blooded machine than a person.

“In any case, it’s all been cleared up.” Red-eye said, “So go home and get some rest.”

Gabriel turned on his heel and headed for the door.

“Gabriel.” Red-eye called after him.

He paused at the door, wondering if he was about to be reprimanded for his attitude.

“Anger makes you Human.”

* * *

Gabriel was still angry when the chartered sky-car arrived to fly him home, too angry to parse Red-eye’s cryptic pseudo-profundity about anger making him Human. He had been prepared to sacrifice the whole squad, including himself, for the mission. But doing so on the basis of incomplete intelligence was a different matter entirely.

Ogilvy might well be alive, and Doran not in critical condition, were it not for Red-eye’s lie by omission. He couldn’t know that for certain, but something in his gut made him feel it, and anger was the only way he could express it.

Before departing, he was handed a report containing a summary of the events that had transpired while he was away. His face and mood darkened the more he read, and by the time the sky-car touched down at the landing pad, he was absolutely livid. His mother was lucky she was in custody, because he wanted to kill her.

Gabriel paused in front of the apartment door, his scowl relaxing even though his anger hadn’t abated. He couldn’t be angry at a family reunion; at the very least he couldn’t look angry, not in front of Aster, and certainly not in front of his own children.

The biometric sensor flash-scanned his eyes and the door opened for him. The maganiel android was standing guard in the hallway for some reason, with its sidearm primed and attached to the magnetic plate on its thigh. It nodded its head politely at Gabriel as he headed to the bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Aster was already there, lying on his side of the bed. She rolled around to see who had come in, and sat up abruptly when she saw him. Then she leapt off the bed and rushed over to embrace him. Gabriel reciprocated the embrace, squeezing her tight against his chest.

“Your bosses sent me a message saying you were back.” Aster purred with relief.

“It’s good to be back.” Gabriel replied.

“Gabriel, they accused me of–” Aster began to say frantically.

“I know, I was told.” Gabriel interjected reassuringly, “it’s all been taken care of.”

“What, so you know I was caught up in some kind of sting operation?” Aster asked.

“Yes, the DNI told me everything,” Gabriel said, then he added, “including about the trap into which you walked.”

The warm reunion suddenly became cooler.

“Excuse me?” Aster said with a marginally harder tone.

“You’re a brilliant engineer, but an absolutely terrible spy.” Gabriel said matter-of-factly, “Not only did you get recorded snooping around a place by three separate groups, but one of them was able to find out your personal override code by surveilling you with a simple camera that he made in the lab.”

“I know all that, thank you very much,” Aster said defensively, “so what?”

“So,” Gabriel continued, “you opened yourself up to being blackmailed and framed by a supposed friend and colleague, not only as the mole, but as the saboteur, and as his killer.”

“Fuck you!” Aster snapped, Gabriel’s words having hit a nerve, “Felix was a friend; I’ve known him for years! He couldn’t have been a mole, and he would never frame me!”

“Really?” Gabriel said with a hard glare, “how well did you know him?”

“Well enough to have been invited over for lunch countless times.” Aster responded, “Him and his partner are two of the nicest people I’ve ever met. You would’ve been invited over too, if you were ever home!”

“So you knew the two of them well enough to know that Kessler’s partner used to be a ship-board engineer?” Gabriel asked pointedly.

“Of course I knew that,” Aster shot back, “he worked for twenty five years on deep-space mining voyages before retiring.”

“And during his career, he must have been exposed to an awful lot of cosmic radiation.” Gabriel pointed out, “Treating and repairing the cellular damage caused by long term radiation poisoning must be very expensive, even with medical insurance and two salaries.”

Aster was speechless with shock and disbelief.

“It’s almost impossible to get an already loyal agent to infiltrate somewhere.” Gabriel continued, “It’s much easier to recruit someone who’s already on the inside, and bribery or blackmail – or a combination – are the two best ways to do it.”

“You think he betrayed his employer…and his colleagues…to pay medical bills?” Aster asked, her voice quivering with disbelief.

“I don’t ‘think’ that,” Gabriel answered, “I know that, because that’s what the DNI discovered during the investigation which cleared you of responsibility.”

“And you seriously expect me to happy about that?” Aster demanded bitterly.

“Happy about being exonerated on charges of corporate espionage, criminal complicity, xenotech possession, and first degree murder?” Gabriel shot back, his normally level tone hardening, “I would have thought so, yes.”

“One of my best friends was murdered this morning,” Aster said, angry and hurt, “and I’ve been suspended from my job. How the fuck am I supposed to be happy?”

Aster punctuated the last word by punching Gabriel in the arm. Of course it didn’t hurt, but Gabriel’s face twitched into an angry scowl at being hit, nonetheless.

“Oh, you don’t like that, do you?” Aster goaded him.

She followed up with a second punch, and in retaliation he grabbed her wrists and pinned her to the wall, baring his teeth at her in his typical, wolf-like snarl.

“Nice to see you drop the strong-and-silent pretence.” Aster said mockingly, unafraid of him, “anger makes you a little more human than normal.”

Gabriel had had enough of women manipulating him.

He abruptly released Aster’s wrists and reached down, hooking his hands behind her knees and hoisting her into the air. He carried her to the bed and tossed her down onto the duvet without ceremony, pouncing on top of her like a predator. Aster pretended to struggle back, then slapped him across the face just to show that she could. Gabriel snarled angrily and Aster laughed, daring him to go further.

He tore her clothes off like a primeval savage while trying to get out of his own uniform at the same time. Aster cut to the chase by ripping open his shirt. That rekindled his frenzied anger, and he pinned her back down to the bed and entered her.

She yelped at his forceful entry and wrapped her legs around him in response, hooking her legs behind his thighs and holding him in place as she ensnared him with her arms. He closed one hand around her throat and choked the pillow with the other, taking his anger out on her with a vigorous rhythm while she moaned her delight that he was home.

* * *

Gabriel finished with a climactic snarl, and Aster responded by raking his back with her nails like a feral cat, locking her limbs around his body and denying him the power to leave. They lay together as they coasted down from their mutual high, savouring the touch of each other’s skin and the satisfaction of their reunion.

After a while, Gabriel pulled out and rolled over. Aster rolled over with him, snuggling up against his chest and resting her chin on his shoulder. He pulled the covers over their hot and sweaty bodies, scattering the shredded remnants of their clothes across the floor.

“Welcome home, sweetheart.” Aster murmured sweetly.

“I’m sorry about everything.” He said, reciprocating the embrace and stroking her hair.

“You don’t have anything to apologise for.” Aster replied.

“Actually, it was a sympathetic sorry.” Gabriel clarified.

“Oh, I definitely don’t want that.” Aster answered, “The past day or so has been bad enough without other people’s sympathy.”

“Well, your day wasn’t as bad as mine.” Gabriel replied grimly.

“My career is on life support, my colleague was murdered, and I got blamed for it.” Aster said pessimistically, “You’re telling me you can top that?”

“You were accused of killing a colleague and then cleared of blame,” Gabriel answered stoically, “I actually had to kill a colleague.”

Aster looked up at him in shock.

“Did he deserve it?” she asked.

“No, but it had to be done.” Gabriel replied, “And if our positions had been swapped, I would have expected him to do the same for me.”

They lay together in silence for a while.

“Why does anger make me Human?” Gabriel asked Aster.

“You’re so emotionally repressed all the time.” Aster explained, “It’s hard to know what you’re thinking. At least when you get angry you show your feelings.”

“I don’t mean to be,” Gabriel answered, “it’s just that…”

“I’m guessing the DNI did something to you to make you as strong and silent as possible,” Aster said, resignedly, “and that what exactly they did is classified.”

“It keeps me focussed on the mission at hand,” Gabriel replied.

“I’m sure it does.” Aster said sceptically, “And I’m sure it’s not just a way for the DNI to make sure that its tool don’t answer back.”

Gabriel was silent for a moment.

“There was a point when I thought I might die.” Gabriel said eventually, “and I would have been ready to die to make sure you and the children could be safe.”

“What made you want to live?”

“Wanting to come back and see you all again,” Gabriel replied, “and to spare you the burden of having to explain to the children why daddy wasn’t coming home.”

“Very considerate of you.” Aster answered wryly, “Although, if anything did happen, we’d have to stop at baby number 5.”

Gabriel flinched.

“Relax.” Aster flicked him playfully under the chin, “I’m not pregnant.”

“Good.” Gabriel replied simply.

“Why ‘good’?” Aster asked, suspiciously, “You don’t want a fifth one?”

“I’m lukewarm about having another one.” Gabriel answered, “Four seems enough.”

Aster snuggled closer into his embrace.

“In that case, we’ll need to find another outlet for all that aggression.”

* * *

The Spire never slept. Tens of thousands of analysts, technicians, operatives, and agents worked in rotating shifts around the clock. It was, after all, the centre of all military intelligence operations in the entire sector, coordinating the activities of dozens of DNI stations and sub-stations, each of which, in turn, coordinated numerous smaller operations at the fringes of Human-controlled space and beyond.

And the aftermath of one such operation needed a lot of explaining.

“I have never believed you to be someone who takes unnecessary risks.” Said one of the speakers in the holographic teleconference, his face concealed and his voice electronically altered, “so to say that I believe this technical intelligence operation you were running in the heart of a major star system is ‘out-of-character’ would be a gross understatement.”

“If you read my report, as I assume you have, you will know that the operation was ultimately a success.” Red-eye replied, unfazed by the criticism, “Which, by definition, means that it was not an ‘unnecessary’ risk.”

“Indeed,” said a second digitally altered voice, “and now, apparently, this ‘observer’ wants to trade its knowledge in exchange for a stay of execution.”

“You would rather I destroy it?”

“Far be it from me to presume to tell you how to run operations in your sector,” the second voice replied loftily, “but if I discovered an active alien AI in the home system of my sector, I would have ordered its destruction sooner rather than later.”

“If this ‘Swarm’ is as malevolent as the reports indicate, I suspect we will need all the resources we can muster.” Red-eye replied, “Even including the support of an alien AI.”

“On a separate note, the performance of your voidstalkers continues to impress,” said a third voice, “even though one of them apparently threatened you.”

“I should hope so, considering that the Masterminds themselves commissioned the programme,” Red-eye responded, “and as to your second point, he did not threaten me.”

“His anger would indicate emotional instability,” a fourth voice noted airily, “an undesirable trait in a field operative at any level.”

“He is anything but unstable,” Red-eye answered calmly, “and in any case, if the voidstalkers were meant to be that docile, they would be an army of robots. They are not.”

“Robots lack the capacity to second-guess their superiors.” The first voice remarked.

“They also lack something much more crucial.” Red-eye replied.

“Which is?”

“The spark of Humanity.” Red-eye explained, “The voidstalker programme has long-term purposes which transcend its immediate utility as a tool of deep-space intelligence operations. They hinge on the long-term survival of Humanity as a whole, and it is therefore vital that the voidstalkers actually be Human, anger and all.”

“How very cryptic.” Remarked the first voice, “And uncharacteristically poetic.”

“No doubt you will all be ordered to initiate satellite programmes modelled on my own when the time is right.” Red-eye responded.

“I would not be surprised by that.” Said a fifth voice, “Projects of this sort are routinely allocated to each of us individually, and the reasons are entrusted to that person exclusively until the time is right to divulge the full explanation to the rest of us.”

“In that case, fellow directors-general, does that conclude our call?” Red-eye asked.

“I believe it does. Farewell until the next Terran year.”

The various callers terminated their secure, trans-stellar comm. links, ending the conference call and leaving Red-eye alone on her throne.

She turned back to a set of four medical reports on her desk, scrolling through the reports and absorbing the positive results with silent approval. When she scrolled back up and saw the grinning faces with their father’s emerald green eyes, she couldn’t help but smile.

THE END