GHOST SQUAD:
KALKIN'S DILEMMA
by Chris Eisenlauer
Top student Lor Kalkin's graduation from the Locsard Psychic Academy goes off without a hitch. The day after has a catastrophic snag, however, that will forever change him and the Empire both.
Published in the United States of America
by Chris Eisenlauer.
Copyright © 2011 by Chris Eisenlauer.
All rights reserved.
First published August 2011.
Cover by Chris Seaman.
1. Class
10,499.359.1340
Lor Kalkin sat in rapt attention, listening to the little old man at the head of the room. Kalkin didn't know why he found Taal Fanslo's classes so engaging. Perhaps it was the man's strange, youthful energy, or the total command he seemed to have of the subject matter, or maybe it was because of the personal interest Fanslo had taken in him. Of the two classes he had with Fanslo, this, Sinzer Method Projection, was the more difficult as Kalkin's discipline lent itself better to the measured release method codified long ago by the Academy's founder, Velt Locsard. But despite his own self-criticism, Kalkin was the top student in this class as well as in his other with Fanslo, Mind-Body Synergism. In fact he was top student in all his classes at the Locsard Psychic Academy, and could boast one of the highest Raw Mental Power ratings in recent years at five thousand three hundred.
It had been a good year at Locsard. Karlan Farsal came in a close second behind Kalkin and his skills were readily recognizable, as Kalkin's were, in their value to the Empire and its expansion. The year before, Kass Orlo graduated at the top of her class, and among these three, there was almost no overlap, each being unique and unparalleled in his and her respective disciplines. The Viscain Emperor, pleased with the Academy's varied successes, had declared that in lieu of an Artifact Competition, the top students this and last year would be awarded Artifacts. These three would become Shades, part of the Empire's elite vanguard force, replacing the accomplished Triangle Squad, and working alongside the three 20th Generation Generals. This was a fact of some note only because no member of the Triangle Squad was a Locsard graduate. They were all F-Gene fighters, each an example of advanced physical perfection, expertly versed in the martial arts. There was no set formula for awarding Artifacts. Sometimes it was all F-Gene fighters; sometimes it was all Locsard graduates; sometimes it was a combination of the two. It was always according to the Emperor's whim.
Though it was the highest honor to receive one of the Emperor's Artifacts, and while he would be presented with one in less than twenty-four hours, Kalkin wasn't thinking about that. Something Fanslo said sent his mind off on a tangent.
"Mr. Kalkin, your thoughts appear to be elsewhere," Fanslo said. "Have you already started celebrating? Or are you planning on how to use your impending celebrity to woo all the starry-eyed young ladies you'll be leaving behind here?"
Kalkin grinned. "Neither, sir."
"Oh? Then would you mind telling us all what is on the mind of a man soon to be immortal?"
"Uh, well, it's really not as grand as all that."
"Go on."
"Well, actually, with everyone staring, it's just embarrassing."
"Maybe so, Mr. Kalkin, but in all our class time together, nothing you have ever said—question, answer, comment, or opinion—has been out of place or irrelevant. If you would be so kind as to indulge me..."
Kalkin shifted in his chair, not quite uncomfortably, and sat straight. "It's really more of an ethics question. You just mentioned local police actions. It's just occurred to me that, at the Empire's behest, Locsard is producing—among other things more useful—a number of loaded weapons that have just as much chance of being misused as not. No offense to anyone in this room, but that's a little frightening.
"If in a pinch one of us is faced with someone who may or may not be guilty, may or may not be telling the truth, we don't have the luxury of finding out one way or the other. But everyone in this room has practiced the Sinzer Method to reflex. If anyone with an RMP of two thousand or more reacts reflexively to circumstances they believe to be dangerous—and by that I mean if they panic—the person on the receiving end hasn't got much of a chance."
"Not with you, anyway," a little man said snidely.
"Careful, Borba. Tomorrow he could turn you to jelly and no one would give him a second glance."
"Hey, Kalkin, what'll it take to make that happen?"
"All right, all right, quiet down," Fanslo said. "Mr. Kalkin brings up a good point. Naturally the focus of this course is understanding and using the Sinzer Method. It's very unlikely that any of you will find yourselves in a situation like the one Mr. Kalkin described. But what if you do? And, as he is most likely of us all to find himself in these circumstances, please consider his dilemma. Mr. Kalkin's ability to initiate and expedite rot is already quite astonishing in terms of speed and virulence. If we imagine that through the lens of the Sinzer Method, we are left with a very messy and irrevocable result instantly achieved, as Mr. Borba has so graciously pointed out.
"Mr. Kalkin rightly referred to this as an ethics question. Given the right stressors, anyone is susceptible to panic. But panic aside, let me ask you, Mr. Kalkin, do you feel properly prepared to make such an evaluation of character or of morality?"
Kalkin stared at Fanslo in silence.
"Does anyone in this room? And what about the consequences if you find you acted in the wrong?"
"If we've been given an order, it doesn't matter, does it?" the man who chastised Borba said.
"Doesn't it?" Fanslo said with a wry smile. "I think it does. I think every one of you has a responsibility to yourself and to the Empire to know the difference between right and wrong and to make a choice. You are worse than useless if you simply apply your discipline blindly without knowing why or what the consequences might be. Also, if you are a constant victim of panic, you should be locked up.
"Let's take a step back, though, and put it in even simpler terms. Never mind police actions. What about simple personal disputes? They happen every day. Conscious choice or panicked response: does it really matter which it is? If someone dies as a result of your use of a discipline in a mundane dispute, who is accountable? You for being the agent of death? The Academy for teaching you the means? Or the Empire for charging the Academy with that task?
"There is no course in ethics taught here at Locsard, but there should be. Perhaps in the future, one of you will endeavor to start one. I do believe, though, that I can speak for," he paused a moment, eyeing a number individual students, before continuing, "most of you, I think, and say that you are of tough enough moral character to make the right decisions and—hopefully—steer clear of the panic reflex."
"But Professor, why don't you teach a course in ethics?" Jen Wu Sin said.
"Ah, my dear Miss Wu Sin," Fanslo said, smirking. "Unfortunately, that brings me to a piece of news, sad to some and a blessing to others, I'm sure. I'm afraid that this is my last year here with the Academy."
Groans and shouts rose up from the students, but Fanslo continued. "Those of you continuing on next year, I apologize in advance for not being able to contribute to your ongoing education. I will miss all of you and this place as well. We are just about out of time, though, so I will bring Sinzer Method Projection to a close for this term. You've been a great class and I know you'll all go on to great things. I also know you all have other classes to get to now, so let's make the most of the commencement ceremonies tomorrow. I'm sure I will see each and every one of you there. I'll have time enough for any who are interested in having a drink with me."
The students gathered their things and made their way out of the classroom, paying their respects and saying words of thanks as they went.
As Kalkin approached, Fanslo stopped him. "Mr. Kalkin, if you wouldn't mind staying a for bit, I would appreciate it."
"Of course, Professor."
As the last of the students exited, Fanslo closed the door and stood before it. "I wanted to tell you what a pleasure it was having you as a student. The Empire obviously recognizes your worth, an Artifact is proof of that, but I have been personally impressed time and again by your intelligence, your insight, your desire and ability to question and to understand. Few have taken away from my classes what you have and I'm proud to have been your teacher."
"Thank you, Professor. I feel like I learned the most in your classes. I still think you're using some kind of trick on the gravity block, though."
There was a gleam in Fanslo's eye, at once mischievous, calculating, and perhaps even sinister. "And what do you think that trick might be?"
"I've asked you before, sir. What's your RMP?"
"I've told you before. It's about two thousand."
Kalkin smiled and nodded. "And you're just really good at MBS."
Now Fanslo smiled. "I'm a very good teacher. But your skepticism, Mr. Kalkin, is, as always, well-placed."
"What does that mean?"
"Let's meet and talk more the day after the ceremony. You'll be very busy and very popular tomorrow. I'll let you know the time and place later."
"Here at he Academy, though?"
"Oh yes. Very definitely."
2. Commencement
10,499.360.1800
All of the Academy's eight hundred and thirty-two students were gathered in the main public hall of the former Root Palace on Planet 517. Now the structure housed the Locsard Psychic Academy, but ages ago, when the Vine made planetfall and up until a fresh shoot emerged and departed to establish the next link in the chain of the Viscain Empire, it served as a frontier fortress, a juggernaut nudging fate onward and spelling the inevitable end of the native civilization. From here the Shades of that time had gone forth to subdue whatever opposition the denizens of Planet 517 had been able to provide. It was only fitting that the former Palace would accommodate the inauguration of three new Shades and the inception of the Plague Squad.
One hundred and ninety students were graduating today. Some, usually those with the highest RMPs, would receive official Imperial posts within the myriad Divisions, some would entrepreneur on colony planets, some might even enter into intern positions here at Locsard and pursue careers in teaching.
After the diplomas had been handed out, and the Triangle Squad's farewell ceremony had been completed, the Artifacts were presented by a holographic representation of the Viscain Emperor. Samhain was like a giant disembodied head of grotesque proportions. He was, in fact, a plump gourd, pasty white and tinged with orange, hollowed out with a steady red glow radiating from angular, carved features. He spoke with a wheeze, but never went unheard, his voice reverberating not in the eardrum but in the mind.
Declared leader of the Plague Squad by virtue of her seniority, Kass Orlo received the Plague Pelt which bolstered her discipline and enabled her to summon a phantom swarm of vermin to spread disease and bacteria with unnatural expedience. Lor Kalkin received the Contamination Pump which, when activated, made him into a living cancer able to infect anything, organic or otherwise, with his rot. Karlan Farsal received the Relic Cords which raised the number of individuals over which he could assume total control from one to 4,500. These were the Artifacts' main powers, suited to their individual hosts, but they also provided strength, durability, and among other things, passive immortality. Shades could be killed but did not age, nor would they suffer from any naturally occuring physical ailment.
With the new Shades now instated, the stiff formality of the proceedings gave way to a more relaxed atmosphere. Kalkin knew Karlan Farsal, but not Kass Orlo. She approached him with two drinks and handed him one with a smile that somehow felt to him like a pleasant kick in the stomach.
"So, you're the resident boy genius, huh?" she said. She was almost Kalkin's height, of an athletic build, and had short blond hair that immaculately framed her pert face. Her cheeks were deeply flushed.
Kalkin took the drink, took a draft, and said without a break, "Yes, I am." He was a bit out of his element, but he was smitten. He wondered how he possibly could have missed her during the years they must have shared at Locsard. It didn't matter anymore since he'd get to see her every day now, and he decided right then and there that he would shamelessly reap whatever advantage his RMP would give him with her.
She smiled and laughed nervously, confirming for Kalkin that the flush wasn't from her drink.
"I'm really looking forward to working with you," she said. As an afterthought she added, "A-And Mr. Farsal as well, of course."
"And I'm looking forward to," he said, pausing purposely to clear his throat, "doing everything you tell me to."
The flush of her cheeks intensified, and still smiling, she took a deep breath. "We're going to get along famously."
Taal Fanslo joined them just then, and with him was Karlan Farsal. Farsal was tall and thin, almost giving the impression of being sickly. His pale skin and hollow cheeks didn't help dispel the image, either.
"Miss Orlo, it's been a while," Fanslo said. "How are you?"
"Yes, sir. I'm fine, thank you, sir."
"You've got quite a task ahead of you, keeping these two in line."
Farsal looked confused, even hurt a little, but Kalkin laughed. Kass Orlo smiled and took a drink.
"And here they all are," Kimbal Furst said, standing with the other two members of the Triangle Squad on either side of him. Furst had very dark skin and sharp features, but exuded an open sense of friendship. Cov Merasec looked stern and fatherly, while Laedra Hol seemed completely out of place, aloof and uninterested in the party.
"Congratulations," Furst said, shaking hands with each of the new Squad members. Hol did the same, her expression changing to one of genuine warmth.
Cov Merasec clapped Kalkin on the shoulder, gripping his hand powerfully. Kalkin shook his hand, but otherwise didn't budge.
"What's your rating on the gravity block, son?" Merasec asked.
"Twenty-five, sir."
"That's pretty impressive for a Locsard graduate," Furst said. "He's got you beat by one, Cov."
Merasec tried to smile.
"I had a very good teacher," Kalkin said. He was about to gesture towards Taal Fanslo, but the professor was gone.
"I suppose so," Furst said. "What's the record for a graduate, anyway? Standard trainers go up to twenty-five, but I guess someone with the right discipline could beat that."
"Thirty Gs. It was Geiss Sinzer."
"Geiss Sinzer," Hol said, reflecting for a moment. "I haven't heard that name in a long time."
"Did you get a chance to talk with your colleagues, the generals?" Merasec said, changing the subject.
Each nodded and Farsal said, "It's going to be interesting working with Professor Winn."
Furst thought for a moment about Tia Winn. A veritable giant at 215 centimeters, buxom with a wasp waist, and often wearing very little to cover herself, he could well imagine the kind of fantasy she must represent to the impressionable young students at Locsard. Then again, perhaps youth and impressionability had little to do with it. "Likely so," Furst said.
"Kass! Kass!" Jen Wu Sin cried. She fairly dove into the group of six, latched onto Kass's arm, and dragged her off to cliques unknown.
"Oh! It was very nice meeting you," Kass said as she was pulled along. She said this to the Triangle Squad members, but her gaze lingered on—and her smile was exclusively for—Lor Kalkin.
"Bye," Kalkin said, waving after her.
3. Revelation
10,500.001.0500
Kalkin had a clear memory of Fanslo saying they'd meet early at 0500 at the old gene soldier factory, out of service for centuries now, but he couldn't remember when and where they'd had that conversation. The evening had fast progressed into hazy chaos and Kalkin was pleased with the contrasting quiet of early morning. Technically, this was his first day of active duty at the Root Palace on Planet 1322, but with the use of a jump deck, there would be plenty of time to report in.
The halls were empty, deserted which was appropriate because of the hour, and also because the term had finished, but the accumulation of years this place had witnessed seemed to encroach today like a stalking predator, always just out of sight and teasing the senses. It was probably just his imagination, but Kalkin couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was about to happen.
The feeling intensified as he entered the disused wing of the Academy where Professor Fanslo suggested they meet. The location was unusual, but Kalkin was sure there was some reason for the professor's choice.
Nearly reaching the appointed place, Kalkin took one step around a final corner and stopped immediately. Wheeler Barson and Mefis Abanastar, two of the three 20th Generation Generals both Dark with the power of their Artifacts, had Taal Fanslo backed up against a wall. They appeared to be threatening him.
The generals made an unlikely pair. Barson stood taller than Tia Winn at 221 centimeters, but was yet taller when Dark because of the horned horse helmet that topped his head. He looked like an animate shadow, a distortion of man and beast made one by a trick of the light. Abanastar, in stark contrast, was as small as a child, adding to the partial illusion of Barson's giant stature.
Barson drove a heavy fist into Fanslo's stomach, causing the professor to fold and vomit a wet bubble of blood.
Kalkin took another step, but a voice, both familiar and full of authority, rang out like the pealing of a great bell in his mind, commanding him to stop. He did, and time stopped with him.
"Step back, Mr. Kalkin," the voice echoed in Kalkin's head. "It wasn't my intention to get you involved in this, not in this manner. Watch. Whatever you do, however you feel compelled to, do not interfere. Investigate later if you ever valued our friendship, and make your own decision. I believe you can do good from within the Empire so I make no demands of you. I only ask that you try—that you make the effort—to understand."
"But how are we communicating, Professor?" Kalkin thought back.
"Through our Artifacts, of course."
"Our Artifacts?"
"Watch, Mr. Kalkin. And be prepared for the worst." And with that, time resumed.
"That's very good, Mr. Barson," Fanslo said, wiping blood with the back of his hand from smiling lips.
Kalkin did as asked. He stepped back, out of sight, and peeked from around the corner.
Barson struck Fanslo in the jaw, dropping him to the floor.
"Where is Taal Fanslo?" Barson said.
Kalkin jerked. Wasn't that Taal Fanslo?
Mefis Abanastar stood idly by, arms folded. "The Triangle Squad is on the way. If you think that together we can't compel you to answer our questions, especially with this," Abanastar said, tapping the Focusing Lens that forever obscured his face, "you're mistaken."
"Mr. Abanastar," Fanslo said, placing strange emphasis on the mister, "though, I have come to expect such from Mr. Barson, I thought you were the more reasonable and better informed."
"What's that supposed to mean? Tell us what happened to Taal Fanslo!"
"Nothing, Mr. Abanastar. He's right in front of you. Or perhaps it'd be better to say that there is no Taal Fanslo. There never was. He was a fabrication, a way for me to keep tabs on the Empire and make sure that the crimes of the past didn't recur. But they have recurred."
As Kalkin stared, more intrigued now than concerned for his professor's safety, the face of the man he thought he knew melted away as if in streams of hot wax. In less than a moment he was staring at a face still familiar, seen countless times in reproductions; the face of the sixteen-year-old prodigy who graduated from this Academy one thousand five hundred years ago yesterday, with the unheard of and never seen again RMP of ten thousand; the face of Geiss Sinzer, the legendary Shade turned rebel terrorist.
Sinzer, still a boy of sixteen locked in permanent youth by his Artifact, looked up and around and shouted, apparently to no one in particular, "I warned you. It was a small thing to ask—"
"Ask?" the walls shook, producing a booming voice sharp with indignation. "You demanded. No one makes demands of Samhain."
Barson and Abanastar wheeled around, shocked by the unmistakable voice of the Emperor himself.
Kalkin swallowed hard. This was a former Root Palace, the Vine and the Emperor were one, and now the Emperor was speaking through the walls. He had to know that Kalkin was hiding here, didn't he?
"Subdue him," came the Emperor's voice again.
Before either Barson or Abanastar could reply, Laedra Hol and Cov Merasec came charging down the corridor, but preceding them was Kimbal Furst, Dark with the Taikou Quills, an anthropomorphic phoenix composed of blazing pink fire.
"It's a good thing Miss Winn didn't join you," Sinzer said. "While I admire her... attributes, it's very likely that she wouldn't have survived."
"Do you think you can defeat us all?" Barson sneered.
"What I know, Mr. Barson, is your ability. Can you say the same of mine with confidence?"
Sinzer's eyes flared blue-white and Kimbal Furst advanced no further. He cried out as his pink fire bowled and flashed, leaving a ring of charred papery flakes where fire made contact with the corridor. With a suite of curses, Cov Merasec and Laedra Hol proceeded forward as Furst disappeared, his shout echoing ominously down the corridor and then through the burnt out tunnel his body bored through the wall in his path.
Barson, now employing the Nine Order Fist, was about to punch Sinzer a third time. An expert in this martial art, Barson could, with sufficient concentration, rock tectonic plates, but all he managed to do was shatter the wall behind Sinzer. Sinzer now stood between his initial assailants and the remaining Triangle Squad members.
Cov Merasec freed the sickles from their holsters at his hips, and using his Wind Fission technique, moved them invisibly fast, making them split the air with shrieks and whistles. "Murderer!" he shouted.
"I suppose you're referring to Jav Corso?" Sinzer said.
Laedra Hol winced.
Sinzer caught both of Merasec's wrists in mid swing, stopping him cold. "The propaganda corps is, was, and always will be convincing, but I had nothing to do with that," he said, and savagely kicked Merasec in the groin.
Merasec toppled, gurgling a half-comprehensible, "30 Gs."
Laedra Hol's clawed fingers passed through Sinzer's right side, spilling blood like wine from a glass. Sinzer clutched at the wound, but still he smiled.
"Jav Corso was a hero and his loss was tragic," Sinzer said, his eyes locking with Laedra Hol's. "It's also a shame that his absence made room for you in the Triangle Squad, Mr. Merasec. You're a thug who can only think in straight lines. I should think you'd thank me if you thought me truly guilty."
"What about me, Professor?" a sad, gruff voice said.
Kalkin gawked. It was Professor Mont Cranden, the retired 18th Generation First General. He slowly walked towards Sinzer as the other Shades watched.
"Am I so simple?" Cranden said.
Sinzer sighed. "I don't want to hurt anyone, Mr. Cranden, least of all my former students. Through that hole Mr. Barson was kind enough to furnish, you can see why I'm doing what I'm doing; why I did what I did back during my term as leader of the Ghost Squad. There are records of experiments, samples being kept alive solely for data collection. My mother was one of those experiments. My father, an unlisted Shade sanctioned by the Emperor, tortured her, raped her, and conditioned her to produce a psychic of untold potential."
Cranden shook his head incredulously, even condescendingly. "You were the miracle child of two Shades, heroes who died in service to the Empire."
There was no smile on Sinzer's face now. He shook his head grimly. "No," he said flatly, "I wasn't. Perhaps you are that simple. Or perhaps you prefer comfort to the truth."
"Enough of this," Barson said, raising the index finger of his right hand.
Kalkin shuddered. Was Barson preparing for his Singularity Punch? Right here at Locsard?
A black speck began to coalesce just above the tip of Barson's finger.
"Wait, Mr. Barson," Cranden shouted. "Let me try." At the base of the thick blond braid that issued from the top of Cranden's otherwise bald head, his Artifact, the Gate Crown, came to life. The image of a great bronze ring, like a millstone, appeared above Cranden's head and began a slow, inexorable spin. He held out his hand before him and lines of golden light began to trace around Sinzer. They formed the frame of a cube that, with a final gesture, Cranden sealed, banishing Sinzer from normal space.
"You can't hold me, Cranden," came the hollow echo of Sinzer's voice from nowhere. "You couldn't then and you can't now. But how should I defeat your little trap? Shall I simply teleport out of it? Or would destroying it utterly be better?"
A bass explosion shook the corridor as Cranden's dimensional vault shattered like glass. Ghostly shards sprayed in all directions, evaporating before ever hitting the floor, but still making everyone reflexively cover their eyes.
Barson hadn't given up on his Singularity Punch. He opened his hand, caught the speck in a tight fist, and proceeded to drive that fist into Sinzer's face. But Sinzer wasn't there. He was in fact behind Barson, about a meter off the floor, kicking Barson in the back. Barson stumbled forward, uttering sharp curses.
"Did you learn nothing from your duel with Dolma Set so long ago?" Sinzer said, out of patience.
"Barson," Abanastar said, "confine him. I'll aid you."
It took Barson a moment to understand, but he looked down to his still-clenched fist, and then at Sinzer before bowing his head slightly. The floor that Sinzer stood upon suddenly cracked and began to crumble. Sinzer dropped to his knees, then bent and had to support himself further with his hands.
"You did pay attention to your lessons, I see," Sinzer said. "That's a nice gravity well you have. It wouldn't be anything without your little friend's help, but I'll give you credit this time."
Cov Merasec stood and suddenly the corridor was filled with him. Using his Artifact, he had summoned forth his Fugue Army. Countless glossy black figures stood ready, each topped with the sharp, angular head of an unnatural crow. They surrounded Sinzer, making room only for Laedra Hol, and they all set to beating him while Barson and Abanastar held him down through their combined concentration.
Sinzer started laughing. Blood covered his face and soaked his clothes, but he laughed and laughed.
"What was that?" one Merasec said. "Did you hear something just now?"
Faintly, a feminine voice could be heard coming over the PA system. "The premises are secure. Repeat. Locsard Academy is secure."
"Thank you, Miss Wu Sin. We'll be going now," Sinzer said as if in response to the broadcast. "Mr. Merasec, let me show you the model your Fugue Army is based on."
Sinzer's eyes flared that brilliant blue-white again. His wounds began to seal before everyone's eyes and he rose from his place on the floor, despite the terrific localized gravity and the numerous figures attempting to hold him down. His whole body began to glow, expanding like a living balloon, his clothes and skin becoming translucent, stretching to the bursting point. And then all present stared at Geiss Sinzer, Dark with his Artifact, the Spectral Coat. He was exactly like a ghost from a pulp story: white body, like a sack, plump but with no real substance; his arms and legs like cinched corners of fine, white fabric; his head the same with cruel, jagged triangle eyes and a mocking gash of a mouth; he produced a corona of liquid blue light that was both mentally and physically oppressive in its raw power.
The gravity well no longer affected Sinzer. No one in the corridor could touch him. And then, for every Merasec that filled the area, there was a Sinzer, like a distorted, perhaps even comic, white shadow. At once, every pair of Sinzer's eyes flashed and every Merasec cried out, crushed by the power of Sinzer's psychokinesis. One Merasec remained. He stood for a moment on unsteady legs, then fell for the second time, uttering not a sound.
Laedra Hol sprang from her place and would have landed deftly upon Sinzer's shoulders, ready to rend his head with her infinitely strong claws, but she simply passed through him and dug her fingers into the already crumbled floor.
More Sinzers crowded into the corridor and into the secret room Barson had inadvertently revealed. Every one of Sinzer's heads turned to the Shades who had assaulted him. Their voices were his voice and they rang out in maddening concert. "You would do well to leave now, or prepare yourselves for a long trip. Planet 517 is dropping out of the Empire, just like Planet 1001 did. All you have to do to be free of me and my terrorism is put a stop to these experiments. It's enough that you destroy everything in your path to sustain the Empire. I won't allow you—or anyone—to further degrade or defile the dead or their memories."
The Sinzers turned away, their eyes beginning to glow furiously, far brighter than they had so far. Barson leapt for what he assumed to be the original Sinzer. Halfway through his flight, his target turned and fixed him with a wicked, knowing grin. The brightness of his eyes peaked and Barson felt an instant of pressure greater than anything he had ever known. Despite the powers of his Artifact, the Gravity Spike, and the added density it provided for him as a defense, he felt his ribcage reduced to splinters as his course was instantly reversed. A second impact from the wall behind robbed him of consciousness.
Kalkin watched as the army of Sinzers—the Ghost Army—laid waste first to the research cache and then to the Academy itself. He was surrounded by the ghosts, but was not afraid. Perhaps he should have been, but he wasn't. Despite his natural charisma, Sinzer had no ability to control the thoughts of others, but it was clear that he had accomplices. The banter between Fanslo and Jen Wu Sin over the years took on a new depth and made a kind of sense now. It was possible that others unseen might be engineering Kalkin's feelings, but he didn't think so. Nor did it matter. He was in enough control of his faculties to realize the possibility, and that was sufficient for now. Though he didn't know all the facts, he knew that Taal Fanslo was—and that by extension Geiss Sinzer must be, despite all the stories to the contrary—a good man. Kalkin knew that he was making a rash and uninformed judgement, but he couldn't help feeling that what was happening here was a just reckoning. Still, though many were already back home with the school year finished, what about the stragglers? What about the faculty? How many would needlessly die as a result of this just reckoning?
"Mr. Kalkin," one of Sinzer's army said, rousing him from his reverie, "you may survive what is coming if you go Dark, but you will be trapped here, at least for a while, and that would cause unnecessary speculation. I consider you a friend, but I do have an agenda which I'd like to see accomplished. I have arranged transportation for you from this place to your quarters within the Root Palace on Planet 1322. No one, not even the Emperor, knows that you're here, and no one need suspect that you were anywhere other than in your new home, completely oblivious to what is about to befall Locsard Academy. You have no reason to trust me besides what you have seen here just now and our friendship, which I assert is genuine, though not without necessary deceptions before today. If you wish never to hear from me again, I understand and you will not. I only hope that the actions of the Empire do not put us at cross purposes. If, however, you believe what I said earlier in my defense of—or as justification for—my deeds, then I encourage you to look into Planet 1001. It's no longer part of the Empire, but for those who look, there are answers to be had."
"What about everyone else here at the Academy?" Kalkin said. "I can't go to the Palace knowing that countless others are going to die."
"Of course you can't, and I wouldn't ask you to. There is no one left here. Only Shades, and though the damage to this place will be catastrophic, I assure you they will survive. This time.
"It's your choice. You could attempt to turn your power against me and uphold the Imperial decree demanding my capture. Or you can trust in what I've tried to teach you outside of class. Further persuasion on my part will have the opposite effect, I'm afraid, so I will leave it to you. What do you choose, Mr. Kalkin?"
4. Aftermath
10,500.001.0800
Kalkin awoke to a sudden cacophony. He found himself under heavy and luxurious sheets in a bed that was unfamiliar, but his just the same. He had to remind himself that he was in the room made available to him a week ago in the current Root Palace, not at Locsard Academy. He sat up and focused upon the small holographic screen at the foot of the bed. The screen had just come to life with excited reports from Planet 517.
"You can see from these orbital feeds," the commentator said, "that the Locsard Psychic Academy is gone. The former Root Palace is gone. The Vine is no longer connected to Planet 517. This was an overt and unprovoked terrorist action carried out by Geiss Sinzer. Sinzer has been quiet for some time, but whenever he makes an appearance, the results are staggering. We need only look back to the Sinzer Rebellion of 9,367 during which Sinzer apparently lost his mind, killed a number of Shades, and destroyed Planet 1001. Then again in 10,011..."
The reports continued all day. Wheeler Barson and Cov Merasec were hospitalized, but Mont Cranden, Mefis Abanastar, Laedra Hol, and even Kimbal Furst were apparently unharmed. Several students were missing or presumed dead. Kalkin thought it more likely that they simply accompanied Sinzer as Jen Wu Sin had. He felt a pang of regret. He didn't know if he would have gone if given the chance, but now he was stuck, a Shade of the Viscain Empire with knowledge that wouldn't let his conscience rest. He felt privileged to have earned Geiss Sinzer's personal attention, but he also felt a dual and contradictory obligation to Sinzer and to the Empire.
No mention was made regarding Sinzer's motives. There was nothing about the hidden stash of research, nothing about any experiments. Kalkin would investigate. He didn't know what he would do if he found Sinzer's truth, but Sinzer believed that Kalkin could do good as a Shade, so, even in light of potentially damning proof against the Empire, he would trust in that belief. That's all he could do. There was good in the Empire, just as surely as there was bad. Kalkin would have to find the balance.
No one ever questioned Kalkin about his whereabouts on 10,500.001 and no one ever would. In a way, he half-wished that everyone knew what he knew so he wouldn't have to bear alone all the weight of the conflicting decisions sure to come.
No comments:
Post a Comment