Freedom: Part 1

This story is fan-fiction made in the Grimdark Future universe, by One Page Rules.

Commandant Schuler was a prisoner.

No matter how he looked at the situation, he couldn’t see it any other way. Oh, the Lance-Captain had been very polite; had a slew of excuses, apologies, and promises of vacating the colony soon enough, but Schuler was no fool. Despite all the ‘sir’s and ‘please’s, there was no mistaking the tone of command in the Lance-Captain’s voice. There was no missing the heavy rifles gripped in the hands of every armored-soldier that now crawled over the tiny colony “for their protection.”

Even now, in the back of an APC with no one but him and two “escorts,” a fully-charged plasma pistol was gripped in one of their fists, as if the gene-modded super-soldiers couldn’t snap his neck with all the effort of cracking an egg.

They didn’t even move right. Schuler watched as the APC tore over the uneven landscape, pitching left and right, rocking him back and forth against the metal walls of the transport enclosure. The soldiers barely moved at all, looking for all the world like they had been carved out of the APC, as much a part of it as the walls.

At last, the APC slowed to a halt and a loud rapping echoed through the enclosure. One of Schuler’s escorts opened the rear door while the other — the one with the pistol held firmly at their side — gestured for Schuler to leave first.

Free from the confines of the green-lit APC, the bright red sun of SB-29, nicknamed “Hell’s Horizon,” burned Schuler’s eyes and made everything look even more twisted and alien than usual. For not the first time, he wondered why he still thought Hell’s Horizon was alien. He had lived on the planet for over fifty years. The plants and animals didn’t look too terribly different than the ones on the planet he’d grown up on. He’d only ever seen pictures of the flora and fauna of old-earth, and mostly from ancient picture books from his childhood.

Nevertheless, somehow, the world he lived in was still foreign to him, like a borrowed suit that didn’t fit quite right.

“Sir, please follow us.”

Schuler followed his captors as they ushered him towards the entryway of a large compound. Had the large painted wall announcing their location not been there, Schuler still would have known instantly where he was; RS-Kappa was an old abandoned research station from the time of Operation New Sky. Schuler’s grandmother had been on one of the ships ripped across the universe, and she had told him everything about those early days; the struggles, the fear, the desperation…

Now, it was Comandant Schuler who half-led the soldiers through the twisting hallways of Research Station Kappa. The passages were twisting and haphazard, a byproduct of choosing the location before considering the requirements of the building. RS-Kappa had been built quickly, and in the worst possible place for a long-term research station. The ground in one direction was too unstable to build any secure facilities, and the other direction was far too solid for anything but the most expensive and time-consuming excavation operations. Long before Commandant Schuler had become head of researches at RS-Gamma, the Protectorate had largely written the facility off as a loss.

Finally, Schuler and his escort reached the center of operations at RS-Kappa, his office. Schuler waited patiently while the battle-soldier knocked on the thin door with a fist the size of a basketball.

“Enter,” came the calm voice of Lance-Captain Hart.

Schuler allowed himself to be ushered into the office and sat down in one of the ancient chairs on the near side of the desk. The Lance-Captain was standing on the other side of the desk, staring out the window at the landscape. He had stepped out of his battle-suit, and looked so very small.

“Have you ever been here before?” Hart asked, his voice much richer and smoother than the helmeted digital-voices of Schuler’s escort. “I ask, because I know this station was abandoned long before you became head of research at Gamma site.”

“No,” Schuler lied. “I know its history, but not much else.”

“Do you know what they were doing here?”

Schuler frowned. Had he been brought all the way to an abandoned research station just for an interrogation? “Not exactly. I certainly don’t know any details. I know what their directives would have been under Operation New Sky, but what they were actually doing…” he let his voice trail off into a shrug.

Now Lance-Captain Hart turned around to stare Schuler in the face. “Would they have disobeyed a direct order from the Founder?”

“I’m not certain, you understand,” Schuler gave a mild smile, “So far outside the Protectorate, things tend to get a little more…casual. We aren’t visited often by the Custodians, and we’re used to a certain amount of autonomy. We can’t expect the Protectorate to hold our hands when strange things happen, after all.”

“Strange things? Like what?” Hart leaned closer.

Schuler took a steady breath. “Like a poor harvest or a new species of fauna. Lance-Captain, this is a conversation we could have had back at the colony. why am I here?”

Hart stood straight again, his face snapping back to the familiar placid visage of a soldier. “I don’t appreciate your tone, Commandant. I told you when we arrived, our quarry is wily, dangerous, and possessed of surprising resources. The sooner we find them, the sooner you can return to your own business.”

Schuler gave a slow nod. Very well, I’ll play along with your little performance. “How can I help?”

Hart pointed across the office to a small console. “We have been trying to access the station’s databanks, and had little success. We need passcodes and a head-researcher’s clearance to gain access.”

Codes and clearance you could have gotten with a single call to the Protectorate, Schuler noted. “What information do you need?”

“We’ll know it when we see it,” Hart shrugged. “Our quarry has been traced to this region, and we’re certain he’s after something here.”

“Well, I don’t expect you or he will find anything,” Schuler waved a dismissive hand. “When the station was closed down, they would have done a complete data-purge. Burned all the files, logs, everything would have been moved to different stations offsite. If you want to go take a look at RS-Gamma, I can certainly help you there.”

Hart gave a chilling smile. “We already searched your database. We also looked at the databases of seven other research stations on this planet. None of them have any backup-records from this site. I found myself wondering, if things so far from the Protectorate get “casual”… did all the data get purged? Or is it still here, waiting to be stolen by our target?”

“I…suppose it’s possible,” Schuler licked his lips. “All the same, It’s been years since this station was in operation. I have no idea what the passcodes might be. Even if I did, the database wouldn’t recognize my credentials as head-researcher, so I don’t see how I can help you.”

“Yes you do,” Hart leaned forward over the table, his fingers pressing hard into the plastic. “I know you do, because your second isn’t terribly loyal.”

Schuler felt a chill shoot up his spine. “What do you mean?”

“She’s provided us with dates, times, and a fairly comprehensive picture of your behavior these past few months. Given the times you’ve been outside the colony and a rover’s maximum travel distance, this is the only location that makes sense. You’ve been here many times before, Commandant, and not in any official capacity.” His eyes narrowed. “Have you been aiding enemies of the Protectorate, Commandant? Do you know where our prey is?”

For a moment, the two men stared at each other, their eyes steady and cold. Then, Schuler’s finger gently extended towards the patch of a rampant wolf on Hart’s left shoulder. “Is that patch ‘official?’”

Hart didn’t answer.

Schuler gave a nod and steepled his fingers. “Am I right? You and your squad are one of the splinter detachments?”

Hart took a deep breath. After a moment, he gave a slow nod. “As you say, when you are outside the Protectorate for so long, things can get less official.”

I doubt the Custodians would see it that way. No wonder you haven’t contacted them to gain access, and behaving like an occupying force. You don’t want anyone in the colony to contact someone outside… “According to the Custodians, some of the splinter detachments are to be treated as traitors to the Protectorate.”

Hart gave a wry sneer. “We are loyal Battle Brothers to the Founder. We simply…have different priorities.”

“Oh?” Schuler cocked his head. “Such as?” You’re either a fool or an honest soul, and damn me but I cannot tell which.

“Such as hunting enemies of the Conduit, no matter where they hide or how far or fast they run.”

“Ah,” Schuler pursed his lips. “Well, I’m afraid…being so far from the Protectorate…I didn’t pay much attention to which detachments were which.” He leaned forward to meet Hart’s gaze. “Tell me who you’re hunting, and I’ll see how I can help you.”

Hart thought for a moment before giving a small sigh and pulling a metal slab from his belt, thumbing the switches at its side, and sliding it across the desk. Schuler picked up the device and stared at the picture on its screen for a moment before laying it back down. “Yes, I’ve seen this before.”

Hart’s face blossomed into a look of surprise. “You have? Where?”

“In the old archive files,” Schuler gestured across the room at the console. “This is one of the 31-R-2 line, I believe. A disappointing failure.”

“Failure?” Hart grabbed the screen and stared at it, his eyes wide. “What are you talking about? Do you mean to tell me this alien was man-made?”

Schuler laughed. “Hardly alien. The 31-R-2 program was…” Schuler paused. He thought for a moment before shifting forward in his seat. “How much do you know about Operation New Sky?”

It only took a moment for Schuler to realize his mistake. Hart looked old for a soldier — late forties, early fifties, perhaps — but that didn’t mean much to a Battle Brother. He could have been anywhere from eighty to over two-hundred years old. Chances were, he had lived through New Sky.

Sure enough, Hart’s eyes narrowed. “I spent ten years fighting along the 21st front. I was part of the original 311th. I could tell you more about New Sky than you’d ever want to know.”

Schuler cleared his throat. “Yes, well…I’m afraid most all I know is from records kept in our historical files. This station was one of the first built, you know. Our ancestors — and you, of course — needed to figure out how to survive in a dangerous and unknown sector. The first generation was largely trapped, imprisoned in their crashed space-vessels, in bio-domes, on the few planets that were survivable. To free our future selves, there were thousands of different experiments; many were never released, fewer were admitted to, and almost all of them involved expanding and improving the Founder’s genetic manipulation technology.”

“I remember,” Hart nodded. “We ate some of the foulest gene-rations I’ve ever tasted those years.”

“Before we managed to modify several regional plants to our specifications, yes.” Schuler shifted uncomfortably. “Modifying local flora and fauna was our primary goal, but…we had a secondary objective if that proved impossible.” Or inconvenient, really, but you don’t need to know that…

“Modifying ourselves to adapt,” Hart nodded. “We had heard that was a possibility.”

“Yes…” Schuler chose his words carefully. “The 31-R series was already being researched before we were pulled to this sector. Gene-mods were being applied to Mice, pigs, rats, dogs, apes…we were hoping to find animals that could become augmented co-soldiers for elite Battle Brother squads.” Or replacements.

Hart looked again at the picture. “So these were supposed to be some kind of super rat-soldiers?”

Schuler waved a dismissive hand, “Well, that was a secondary option for some animals, and not for the rats. We needed beings that could survive in corrosive environments, engage in exploration, be servants, mechanics, scientists even, wherever they would be useful. Operation New Sky expanded the requirements, given our need for productive population and survivability traits. Machines were good for some tasks, but others needed…a biological component.”

Hart closed his eyes. He thought in silence before heaving a deep sigh. “This is incredibly useful information. Thank you. How many specimens escaped?”

“Escaped?” Schuler blinked. “None, of course. They were all destroyed.”

Hart’s eyes slowly opened. “We have been fighting these things for years, defending our people from raids and stopping terrorist activities. That picture was taken two years ago, only a few hours before a high-grade Nitrogen power-plant was sabotaged outside Highsteppe Colony.”

“Impossible.” Schuler held out his hand for the picture. Looking again, he could see the picture had indeed been taken somewhere else than RS-Kappa. “But…no, all of them were…”

“I tell you, they weren’t.” Hart leaned forward again, his eyes grave. “This one in particular has been a thorn in our side for years, and we’ve tracked him here; this jumpgate, this planet, this region, perhaps this very base. I need you to tell me everything you know about these rats, now.”

“I told you everything,” Schuler licked his lips. “I…if they escaped, and they haven’t died out yet…they must be breeding…”

“Everything,” Hard pressed his thick hand into the table. “They’re breeding? Fine. How big are their litters? How long do they gestate? How fast might they spread, what technology can they use, can they communicate, coordinate…”

“I don’t know!” Schuler protested. “They…the animal gene-mod program was designed to get as many viable specimens up and running as soon as possible. There were different plans to…” Schuler stood from his chair and moved to the console. He had accessed the databanks in seconds and was crawling through the ancient data as fast as he could. “It depends on which branch survived. If the Alpha branch survived, they were to be sterile until given a specific synthetic hormone that would unlock their mating instincts, and they would go into a kind of permanent heat. The Beta program was planned to be a beehive-like society, where only one female was capable of pregnancy, with huge litters, while most other specimens were permanently sterile. Gamma branch was more human like, with all specimens fertile, but with an fast estrous cycle and only two-month pregnancies. Delta was completely sterile — they were planning on breeding once positive results were confirmed.”

“Positive results for what?” Hart asked. “Were the rats supposed to be engineers? Scientists?”

“No, no,” Schuler pulled up another file. “The apes were going to be the engineers. Pigs were showing the best results for the scientist program. The 32-R-2 series, the rats, were best for…well, you’ll remember how when we first came to this sector, we couldn’t use the jump-gates?”

“We could,” Hart crossed his arms, “just not reliably. Somehow all the Alien fleets we saw popped out without a scratch on them, while we kept losing ships to strange distortions and eddies in the wormholes. "

“Right,” Schuler fought a smile at the archaic term for between-space. “Accepted theory was the other races were able to safely traverse through the jump-gates because of some highly evolved supernatural senses — a natural assumption with the discovery of the psychic field. The 31-R-2 Navigator program was to see if we could engineer a servant animal who could sense jump-space the way the aliens could. We made some incredible advances before the treaty with the DAO and our efforts became superfluous. The Navigator program was scrapped, and soon after so was the rest of the animal gene-mod program.”

Hart groaned. “You were making the rats psychic?”

“I wasn’t doing anything,” Schuler shrugged, “but yes. Rats adapted to the mods even faster than our human test subjects. Preliminary tests showed they were able to see the between-space with…a higher resolution, as it were. It’s possible, given enough time and funding, that they might have even been superior to the best Jump-nav systems available.” Schuler sighed. “Time and funding that we didn’t have and didn’t need once the DAO traded us jump-nav technology.”

Hart’s voice was tight. “Might they have been able to see formations and fluctuations that others wouldn’t? Secret passages, perhaps?” He was staring at the picture, gently tapping it with his finger.

Schuler grimaced. “I’m not one for flights of fancy, Lance-Captain. Everything I’m telling you was documented generations ago. Yes, they might have gotten to that point, but there is no evidence that there are any ‘secret between-space passages’ between jump-gates. At best, they might — might, you understand — have been able to safely navigate some of the collapsing gates that are too small for regular use, but it’s been confirmed that all the waning gates are redundant; newer gates connect the same galaxies with far more stable and reliable passages. Besides, they would have required extensive training and—”

“And if there are other passages in the weakening ones? What if they are weakening because they connect to more gates than just one? What if they’ve found ways to galaxies that we’ve never even seen before?”

“Now you are speculating wildly,” Schuler rubbed his temples. “Besides, if one of the branches survived, it is just as likely that through multiple generations that they would lose any rudimentary psychic abilities instead of improve them.”

“I know who we’ve been fighting, and I know what they can do. There are psychics in their broods, and some of them are even more powerful than our archivists.” He looked up from the picture, staring at Schuler with haunted eyes. “What if specimens from all the branches survived. Could they have bred with each other?”

“If they weren’t sterile, I suppose so,” Schuler scratched his neck. “Again, that requires a lot of speculation to say what would come of such a union, especially over several generations.”

Hart’s response was cut off by an alert from his com-unit. He half-turned from Schuler and tapped the side of his communicator. “Yes?”

“Lance-Captain,” the voice was tinny and metallic, no different than the digital voice of their helmets. For a moment, Schuler smiled at the thought of a tiny Battle Brother trapped in the small metal box on the Lance-Captain’s hip. “The Sonic Sensors has found something you should see.”