Defending Elysium Read online

  Jason was silent for a moment.

  "Jason! What happened!"

  Jason ignored her, turning and walking back into his room. He strode out into his hallway, then made his way to the room beside his own—not Coln's, but the one on the other side. He threw open the door, not bothering to knock.

  Denise sat up with surprise, but relaxed when she realized who he was. Jason strode past her without saying a word, walking to her room's control panel. He entered a few commands, and the light in the room grew far brighter, the bulbs turning slightly red in color.

  "How is that?" he asked, turning to her.

  Denise regarded him with confusion. "It's nice. It feels right for some reason."

  Jason nodded once. The light was bright enough that most people would find it very uncomfortable—in Jason's mind it was a virtual roar.

  "Please," Denise said, holding her hands forward. "Tell to me what you are doing." Her hands held forward—forward in the Varvax gesture of supplication. He should have seen it sooner.

  "Jason, you're freaking me out," Lanna said in his ear.

  "This isn't Denise Carlson," Jason said quietly.

  "What? Who is it?"

  "Its name is Vahnn," Jason explained.

  Suddenly, Coln pushed his way into the room. He immediately shielded his eyes from the light—light that imitated a harsh, hot sun, one that required a strong crystalline carapace to provide protection.

  "What are you doing, you maniac!" Coln said, pushing past Jason and altering the controls to the room. Then he turned to Denise. "Are you all right?"

  "I . . ." Denise said. "Yes, why would I not be?"

  Coln turned harsh eyes toward Jason. Then he paused, frowning.

  "What?" Jason asked.

  "Why are you looking at me like that, Write?" Coln demanded.

  "Like what?"

  Coln shivered. "Your eyes . . . it's like you're looking past me. Like . . ."

  Jason reached unconsciously for his face, feeling for sunglasses that weren't there. He had forgotten he wasn't wearing them. He turned from the room in shame, rushing out into the hallway.

  I mustn't let him see—mustn't let him know. He'll mock me. He'll laugh. . . .

  Coln stayed behind, watching with confusion as he knelt beside the creature that had the body of a woman and the mind of an alien.

  * * *

  "It's not possible," Lanna said.

  "They said that about psionics years ago," Jason said, striding down a walkway outside the hotel.

  "But, it's just so . . ."

  "So what?"

  Lanna sighed in frustration. "All right, let's assume you're correct. Who would do such a thing? Why switch someone's mind for an alien's? What good would it do them?"

  "The Varvax are the most developed Cytonics in the galaxy," Jason said, speaking quietly as he passed people on Evensong's dark streets.

  "So?"

  "So," Jason said, "what could you learn if you could spend a few years in a Varvax's head? What if you could get into a Varvax body somehow and infiltrate their society? Someone tried to get hold of a Varvax host—but something went wrong. The body they stole was killed, or perhaps the transfer went wrong. They disposed of the Varvax body afterward and left Denise wandering the streets."

  "But why Denise?"

  Jason paused. "I don't know. Maybe she was one of them—a spy of some sort. When a better opportunity came along, she took it."

  "That's weak reasoning, old man."

  "I know," Jason admitted. "But I can't think of anything else right now. All I know is that the woman back in my rooms is not human. She acts like a Varvax, thinks like a Varvax, and gestures like a Varvax."

  "She speaks English," Lanna pointed out.

  "Many Varvax study English," Jason said. "Or, at least, understand it. They find spoken languages interesting. Besides, maybe her body retained a residual understanding of speech and motion."

  "Maybe," Lanna said, sounding unconvinced. "Where are you going?"

  "You'll see." Jason continued on his way for a short distance until he came to the mental hospital. He strode in, and the same nurse sat behind the desk. She raised an eyebrow at him, confused and a little disapproving.

  Jason ignored her, striding into the facility itself.

  "Sir!" she called. "You can't go in there! Sir, you don't have . . ." her voice trailed off, but soon she began calling for security.

  "The nurse?" Lanna said, listening. "You're back at the hospital? So, you've finally admitted that you're insane and decided to commit yourself?"

  Orderlies, nurses, and even some patients began to look into the hallway. He'd better be here, Jason thought. Just after the thought occurred to him, he sensed a familiar face peeking out of one of the rooms.

  "Please alert the Evensong Police Department, Lanna," Jason said. "They're about to get a report of a madman attacking one of the orderlies in this hospital. Please tell them to ignore it."

  "Jason, you are a very strange man."

  Jason smiled, then spun and burst into the room. Several orderlies jumped back in surprise at Jason's entrance—the buzzing white room was some kind of employee lounge. The orderly, the one Jason had seen at the cafe, immediately turned to run. Jason jumped forward and snatched the man in one hand, then spun him around.

  The man struggled, but knee to the groin stopped that. Jason pulled off his glasses, then grabbed the man's head with both hands and turned it toward him.

  "Who sent you?" Jason asked, staring at the man with his sightless eyes.

  The man stared back defiantly.

  "Ah, I see," Jason said, hold the man's head in both of his hands. "Yes, I can read your thoughts easily. Very interesting. Ah, and yes. So they switched minds, did they? I didn't know that was possible. Thank you, you've been very informative."

  Jason released the surprised man's head.

  Lanna snorted in his ear. "Jason, unless you've been hiding some strange powers for a very long time, that was the biggest load of lies I've ever heard."

  "Yes," Jason said, replacing his glasses and striding out of the room. "But they don't know that."

  "What's the point?" Lanna asked.

  "Be patient," Jason chided, holding up his hands as security guards entered the hallway. "I was just leaving," he said, then pushed past them and left the hospital.

  * * *

  Back at the hotel, Jason gathered Denise and Coln in his room. One regarded him with customary wide-eyed confusion, the other with equally customary hostility. Jason removed his pin and handed it to Coln.

  "There is a ship chartered for Jupiter Fourteen," Jason said. "Be on it when it leaves, and take Denise with you. Go to the PC office, and they will protect you from the Bureau."

  "What about you, Write?" Coln asked suspiciously.

  "If I'm right, I should be going somewhere else in a bit. You should get moving—the ship leaves in less than an hour."

  Coln frowned. Jason could sense the apprehension in his face. He didn't want to accept the PC's help, but he also didn't want to face the Bureau's justice. Hopefully, he would see to Denise's safety.

  After a short internal debate, Coln nodded and stood. "I'll do it, Write. But first I want you to tell me something. Answer one question for me."

  "What?"

  "Do you have what everyone says you do?"

  Jason frowned. "Have what?"

  "FTL engines," Coln said. "Does the PC have the technology to create them or not? Have you been withholding the secret of FTL travel from the rest of humankind?"

  Jason paused. "You're asking the wrong question," he finally said.

  Coln's expression darkened. "I knew you wouldn't answer," he said, turning toward Denise's chair. "Come on, Denise."

  Denise didn't move. She slumped in her chair, eyes closed.

  "Denise!" Coln said urgently, kneeling beside her. She appeared to be breathing, but . . .

  Jason began to feel light-headed, and he noticed a faint scent in the air. He
cursed quietly, turning to dash across the room. He stumbled halfway to the door, losing his balance. He barely even felt himself hit the ground.

  They work fast. Must have already been prepared to gas us. . . .

  * * *

  Jason awoke to blackness. Pure, horrifying blackness. There was no sight, no Sense, no feelings at all. The darkness had returned.

  Jason began to shake. No! It can't be! Where is my Sense! He curled up, barely feeling the cold metallic floor below him. The blackness swallowed him—it was more than just darkness, it was a nothingness. A lack of sensation. It was the one true terror in Jason's life. And it had returned.

  He whimpered despite himself, memories flooding in.

  It had started with his night vision, as visual diseases often did. He remembered the nights spent in bed as a child, the darkness seeming to grow more and more oppressive. And then, it had started to come during the day. First his peripheral vision—it had been like the darkness was following him, enveloping him. Each morning when he awoke, it had seemed that the darkness was closer. It had crouched like a beast in the corner of his vision.

  Terror. The doctors had been able to do nothing. Jason had been forced to try and live his life as normal, the darkness seeming to grow closer every moment. He had lived in perpetual fear of what must come.

  And then there had been the children. The other children, who hadn't understood. He had tried to go on as normal, tried to live his life as if nothing were wrong. He should have admitted it to them. As it was, they only saw a stumbling fool. They had laughed. Oh, how they had laughed.

  Jason screamed, as if yelling could push back the darkness. Where was his Sense? What was wrong? He flailed in the darkness, his fingers brushing a wall. He pulled back into a corner, frightened and confused.

  "How did you do it?" a voice asked from above.

  Jason looked up, but didn't see, or Sense, anything.

  "Tell me, Mr. Write," the voice demanded. "Can you read minds? This is impossible of Cyto—even the Varvax cannot penetrate an individual's thoughts. How did you do it?"

  Jason didn't respond. The darkness. The blackness.

  I did this on purpose, a piece of Jason's mind thought. I baited them. I wanted to get their attention, so they would bring me to them. They did. This is what I wanted.

  But . . . the darkness.

  "How!" Jason croaked. "How have you taken it away?"

  "Answer my questions, Mr. Write," the voice said, "and I will return your Sense. How did you read that man's mind?"

  Jason shuddered, pulling back against the cold telanium. The man's voice was harsh and guttural. He spoke oddly—with an accent of some sort, but not one that Jason recognized.

  It's not permanent, Jason told himself. The darkness will go away. Just like it did when you developed Cyto.

  "I am not a patient man, Mr. Write," the voice warned. "Speak, and I will let your companions live."

  Coln, Denise. They were in the room with me.

  Jason didn't answer. He sat, breathing deeply, struggling to remain sane. Ever since he had developed Cyto, he had never been in darkness. His Sense worked even when there was no light.

  "Lanna?" Jason whispered, feeling the darkness advance on him. "Lanna!"

  "The link to your home base has been cut, Mr. Write," the voice said.

  Jason whimpered. The darkness seemed to be growing closer—closer to devouring his mind.

  "As you wish, Mr. Write," the voice said. "I will give you three minutes. If you don't have an answer for me by then, the woman dies."

  A click, then silence. It seemed worse without the voice—suddenly Jason wished he had kept the man talking. He wished he had told the voice the truth, that he couldn't read minds. Anything to keep someone else there.

  Now he had no one.

  I can't do this! Jason thought. Anything but this. I lived this horror once. I can't do it again!

  He tried to push out with mindblades, but nothing happened.

  Be calm, Jason. Control yourself. The Varvax said something about this. Sonn had said it once. He had been reserved and uncomfortable—odd for a Varvax. Jason had asked if there was a way to suppress Cytonic ability. Sonn had eventually admitted there was, but had told Jason he wouldn't need it. Not yet.

  The darkness . . .

  No! Stay focused. You don't have time for fear. There was probably a technological aspect to the suppressant device. Many Cytonic abilities had mechanical halves—like the FTL comm feed, which wouldn't work without physical receivers. The Cytonic behind his imprisonment would be feeding part of his mental energy into a physical device, one that used electricity to amplify the effect. But because of that augmentation, Jason would never be able to break free. He would be trapped forever in the blackness.

  Not forever. Just another few minutes, until they kill me. That would almost be preferable.

  An image came to him. An image of humankind escaping into space. An image of human merchants trading and cheating, of human tyrants capturing the technologically inferior Varvax, Tenasi, and Hommar. Images of wars, of fighting, of a paradise destroyed.

  I can't let that happen!

  But, what could he do? He felt along the wall, stumbling to his feet and feeling his way around the room. It was small, perhaps two meters square. He could barely feel the seal of the door—there wasn't a handle on his side.

  There's not enough time! Jason thought with desperation. I can't escape, I can't contact Lanna—

  He couldn't contact Lanna, but . . . He reached up to his ear, tapping at the control disk. They had broken his link to the home base, but perhaps they hadn't thought of stowaways. . . .

  * * *

  "You won't get away with this!" Coln screamed to the empty room. "I'm a UIB agent. There are serious repercussions for the imprisonment of a law enforcement officer!"

  There was no answer. Coln sighed, his rage weakening before sheer boredom. He had awakened in this room, which appeared to be some sort of storage closet, with a headache. He hadn't heard a thing outside the door since that time. Denise was there too, sitting quietly on a box.

  What is Write planning? Coln thought. He had us captured, but why? It had to have something to do with the PC master plan, whatever that was.

  Suddenly a sound crackled in his ear. "Coln?" The voice crackled sickly—like whispers from the lips of a dead man.

  "Write?" Coln asked. "Why did you imprison me!"

  "Hush, Coln," the voice whispered. "We are both imprisoned. We are going to die unless you can do something."

  "Something?" Coln asked suspiciously. "What?"

  "You need to knock out the power. Blow a fuse, overload a circuit—do something."

  Coln frowned. "What good will that do? They'll have backups."

  "Just do it." The link crackled off.

  Coln swore quietly. What was Write planning this time? Dared he trust the man? Dared he do otherwise?

  Denise watched with confusion as Coln searched through the small room, pushing aside boxes and carts. Eventually, he found a power jack on the wall. He stood for a moment, regarding it. Finally, he sighed and unloosed a piece of steel from a nearby box's constraint. Why not? It's not like I can get into more trouble than I'm already in.

  * * *

  Jason couldn't escape the darkness. He couldn't shut his eyes against it, he couldn't run away from it, and he couldn't ignore it. He could only huddle against the wall, feeling his resolve—and his sanity—grow weaker by the second. He heard, but didn't understand, the voice when it returned. His captors had made a grave mistake. They could make all the demands they wanted, but he was in no condition to respond to them. They could kill him. It wouldn't matter.

  The voice screamed at him. Jason felt his sanity slipping. He couldn't struggle against it. He didn't want to struggle against it. Struggling would be far too difficult. Blissful unconsciousness was the only answer—a silencing of thought and perception.

  At that moment, his Sense returned.

>   It was only a blip—a fractional waver in the power level. But it was enough. Sense flooded into Jason like drugs into an addict's veins. It immediately began to fade, the suppressor coming back on line.

  Jason blasted out a thousand mindblades at once, shredding the walls around him. He shattered the telanium into chunks, the chunks to chips, and the chips to dust. The walls dissolved like tissue paper before a nuclear blast, spraying grains of metal away from him. He screamed as he let out the surge of power, a bestial yell to push back the darkness.

  The suppressor immediately fell dead, its mechanisms destroyed by the blast. Jason lay huddled, his suit stained with dirt and sweat, on a bright telanium floor. He reveled in his returned Sense for a wonderful, silent moment. However, with Sense came sanity—the two were inseparable to him.

  There is another Cytonic in here, and he's not going to be pleased that I've escaped.

  So, taking a deep breath, Jason forced himself to stand.

  * * *

  Coln sat, stunned. He held a piece of rubber in his hand—the very same he had used to grip the metal as he rammed it into the power jack. He had expected a slight reaction; he hadn't expected the room next to his own to explode.

  Coln blinked, dusting the silvery telanium flakes off of his clothes. What . . . ? he thought with amazement, rubbing some of the telanium grains between his fingers. What could have done this? Modern weaponry had difficulty even scarring telanium.

  He looked up, and saw Jason Write standing in the direct center of the explosion. The operative's suit was torn. Coln let the telanium dust trickle from his stunned fingers as he saw Write's eyes. Like before, they were unfocused, even unresponsive. They stared dully forward, motionless, like the eyes of . . . a blind man.

  "What are you?" Coln whispered.

  Write ignored the question. "Take the girl and go," he said, his voice calm but ominous. "This area is about to become very dangerous."

  Coln nodded, reaching for the frightened Denise's hand. At that moment, a new voice spoke—one Coln didn't recognize.