Skyline Severant (The Consilience War Book 3) Read online

  He denied it, and produced records proving that he had no daughter called Isolde. The rumors continued down a different path, claiming that she had changed her name, and that she was a front for him to receive off-the-books money. By this point, there were so many conflicting stories about Emil Gokla's past and history that it was hard to know what to believe, and what to disbelieve. This certainly wasn't the worst thing people were saying about him.

  Nonetheless, the unlicensed storefront was shut down. Boards went across the door. Isolde spent a substantial amount of time in prison, but when the time came to set her free, she had disappeared from the records of Titan’s prison. She could not be found.

  And then the glacier crashed down, entombing the entire event in the past. It became less and less relevant by the day. Forgotten. Swept under the rug.

  This was exactly what Emil Gokla had been counting on.

  But some things could not be forgotten, such as memories of torturing and killing women. Memories of hands floating in vats of acid.

  Andrei Kazmer was a changed man from that day on. Shorter. More abrupt. Still playful, and prone to bouts of playful silliness. But now there was violence in him, growing like a weed running wild.

  He started mixing up dates and names. When asked for his DOB he sometimes slipped up, and gave one that made him nearly eighty years old. There were wires being crossed in his head, identities getting scrambled.

  He always laughed, and explained it away as lack of sleep. Plus, didn't the seven in 2071 look an awful lot like the 1 in 2011?

  His girlfriend soon ended her relationship with him.

  His play-fighting was becoming increasingly short on the playing, increasingly long on the fighting. She was growing weary of using makeup to disguise the bruises.

  Newly single, he plunged into his work, attacking it with ferocious efficiency. Soon he was drawing commendations for his skill at police work. There was every sign that he’d become a celebrity officer.

  Soon he was famous for other reasons.

  In the present, Andrei Kazmer removed the headset from his head. The partial memory had been reinserted, and his brain was in flux. It took him a moment to remember the name of the person in front of him.

  “Is everything fine?” Vadim said.

  Andrei thought for a second. No, not really.

  But he nodded.

  “So now you see the ingredients necessary to make one Andrei Kazmer,” Vadim said. “You weren’t exactly born a psychopath. You weren’t exactly made a psychopath. Somehow, both of those things happened at once. On an ill-advised midnight jaunt, you put a serial killer’s memories into your head, along with great chunks of his personality. You also discovered why the Solar Arm has so much legislation surrounding Black Shift.”

  “I've always wondered what was going on,” Andrei said. “I've always felt a split, a divide. It's like a crack in your tooth that you can probe with your tongue. Sometimes I do things, and wonder why I did them. In space, I made a decision to destroy humanity, and I did so with glee. Now the notion horrifies me. Is this is the reason? I have a killer in my mind?”

  Vadim sighed. “You speak as if this is an alien presence. Not so. The killer has been grafted into your identity. It's not an intruder, it's part of you.”

  “Can it be taken out of me?”

  “Apparently not. Even blanking your memory leaves traces of the killer behind, as Sarkoth found out when he sent you out to Caitanya-9. Given the strength of the murder experiences, perhaps Black Shift purged most of your good personality, and left the murderer behind.

  “Depressing,” Andrei said. “But a memory is different to a personality. Shouldn’t I have memories but no psychopathic traits?”

  “Most likely the memory was botched, and not recorded correctly. It was my great-grandfather's first attempt, so it's reasonable that he made some mistakes. Maybe he didn't properly isolate the memory. Maybe he left too much of the residual personality behind. I don't know, and I'm proud I don't know. The day I start investigating this is the day I take after my great grandfather, and wander a path to destruction. I am content with keeping the particulars nice and vague.”

  “Incidentally,” Andrei said, “who was the woman who worked at the store?”

  Vadim’s face was stony. “This conversation does not leave this room.”

  “Of course not.”

  “She was my mother. If you’d come along ten years later, you would have seen a young version of me sitting on her knee. I do not wish to go into any further details. Let’s get back to you.”

  “Very well,” Andrei said, “I understand the benefits of leaving things well enough alone. I guess the question is, how do I manage this?”

  Vadim scribbled more notes. “You seem to be managing just fine. Other than one or two outbursts of violence, it seems I've only ever encountered ‘good Andrei.’ Either you're managing your psychotic personality, or it will gradually go away on its own.”

  “Do you think...” Andrei was deep in thought. “We wander into deep waters of intentionality here, but do you think that if the split personality goes away...my guilt will also go away?”

  Vadim couldn't even think of how to answer that question.

  “No,” Andrei shook his head angrily. “I can't absolve myself. I am guilty. I am a criminal. Perhaps I'll never do another thing wrong. It doesn't matter. I still must be punished. Speaking of which, have you or Rodensis figured out what prison to send me? Ceres would be good. One closer to home might be fine, too. Either way, I'm very keen to begin serving this sentence immediately.”

  “Not so fast. General Rodensis needs you to end a war.”

  “Ah. The video.”

  “Yes. Come, and let’s put the fear of God into those Reformation Confederacy scum.”

  The camera started to record.

  Andrei Kazmer was in a chair, sitting before them.

  His body was completely covered in purple, to match the appearance of his skin when he’d been the guardian of Caitanya-9.

  It wasn’t a perfect job. His actual skin had been a shade darker than the natural hue of the planet, but the makeup artist had modelled the tone off photographs of Caitanya-9, and hadn’t seen the point in getting the color correct. Raya Yithdras had never seen what he’d looked like, so who cared?

  And he’d remembered that he’d had white veins, but these were completely absent.

  Pitch-black contact lenses were fitted. He looked at himself in a mirror, and almost laughed. He was feeble, an embarrassment, nothing like the raw embodiment of an ancient race’s strength that he’d once been.

  But he didn’t have to look exactly how he’d looked. He just had to look close enough for government work, figuratively and literally.

  Just close enough to fool the Sons of the Vanitar.

  He started speaking.

  “This is a message for Raya Yithdras, the doomsday cult calling themselves the Sons of the Vanitar, and the entirety of the Reformation Confederacy.

  “Caitanya-9 still exists. You cannot destroy it through antimatter weapons or any other method. I have taken it beyond the observable universe. This does not matter. When I want it back, it will return. And its two eyes now rest on your kingdom, Raya Yithdras.

  “My quarrel was never with the Solar Arm. It was with you. And now that you have separated yourself from the innocents on Terrus and Selene, my vengeance will be very easy to exact.

  “As of today, there is a line in the sand. If Reformation Confederacy forces launch another attack on a Solar Arm colony, I respond. If Reformation Confederacy forces kill another Solar Arm national by direct actions, I respond. If a Reformation Confederacy warship ingresses upon Solar Arm territory without the knowledge of General Sybar Rodensis, I respond. This line in the sand must not be crossed, and if it is, it will be the last mistake you ever make. You will die, and the Solar Arm will live.

  “I have the power of worlds in my hands, and the power to end them. And I have chosen an ally
in this fight.

  “Choose your next step carefully, Raya Yithdras. I come from a planet of earthquakes.”

  The recording ended, and the Arrakhia Hospital technician gave a thumbs up.

  “Was that satisfactory?” Andrei asked, his voice and face losing their messianic bent and becoming laconic and dull again. “I can retake some parts, if you like.”

  “It was fine,” General Rodensis said. “We’ll edit it a bit, get some post production happening on it. Try and make you look more…otherworldly. But the video itself is fine.”

  “Thank you,” he told Rodensis and Vadim. “I’m glad I could help. Now hold up your end of the bargain. Show me my daughter.”

  Occlude

  Arrakhia Mountain Hospital – June 9, 2143, 1400 hours

  Ubra Zolot was in the rec room, changing a soiled nappy.

  She was an unlikely candidate for motherhood, and every day brought new and unpleasant life lessons. But she was safe, and she was dry, and more importantly, so was the baby.

  Yalin was already making progress. Her arms seemed to be getting stronger, she was becoming more alert and aware of her surroundings, and she as even showing signs of curiosity.

  She was becoming a bit too much of a handful for Ubra’s liking – literally. The frequency of the feeding left her sore and exhausted. She had scratches up and down her collarbone from the baby’s mauling.

  “So were you really wandering around California, completely naked, with nothing but a baby?” Nilux red asked.

  “Yep,” she said, gently exfoliating Yalin. Her mind was becoming a paranoid minefield. Was she moving too quickly, disturbing her girl? Was the surface she was changing the nappy on too hard and uncomfortable?

  Merely days ago, Yalin had almost died from smoke inhalation. If Ubra could help it, that would absolutely be the last time her girl experienced any sort of pain?

  “How did you get there?” Nilux asked.

  “I suppose someone brought me there. I made it into the city, somehow got past several blockades, and was picked up by the marines and taken here.”

  “That must have been an adventure.”

  “I can hardly remember it,” Ubra said. “And I’m glad I can’t. Did you know that a baby’s first poo isn’t actually poo? It’s just this awful runny black stuff? I had that running down my side, and tried to wash in a river, while the sky was filling up with smoke from the attack. I had no idea what was happening. It was just otherworldly.”

  “You must have thought you’d died and gone to hell,” Nilux said.

  She thought for a moment, and shook her head. “No, not hell. I wouldn’t have had Yalin with me if I was in hell.”

  She finished putting a fresh nappy on the baby, and started cradling Yalin, whispering a few words of love.

  The world had gotten much smaller, more concentrated. It was as though everything was in a fish-eye bubble lens, the baby as the distorted center.

  But she still had enough of her soldier instincts to hear the footsteps.

  Nilux’s eyes flickered to the presence approaching behind her back, and Ubra turned around.

  It was the man she’d hoped to never see again.

  Andrei Kazmer.

  The last time, she’d been a defenseless woman in the grips of labor, and he’d been the god of a world. They’d been as different in power as two entities had ever been in the history of the universe.

  Now they stood as equals.

  He was naked, and wearing garish purple makeup. There were white rings around his eyes, where he’d rubbed away the makeup in irritation. He looked ridiculous. Nothing like he’d looked on the planet. Ubra still feared him.

  “Hello,” Andrei said.

  She didn’t answer.

  “I’ve come to say hello to my daughter.”

  She tried not to react as he moved in closer.

  She had spent a long time on Caitanya-9, with this man’s inescapable presence. He had controlled the weather. He’d brutally slain anyone who opposed him. Even the moons themselves were under his authority.

  I can scratch him now, she thought and he would bleed. But the old fear held her in place. She was like a stone statue, unable to break free.

  He looked into Yalin’s eyes, and she looked into his.

  They had the exact same color: gray.

  She wondered how many more of his traits she would inherit. When her hair finally started to show, would it be his black? Would she have his height? Would she have his violence, his psychopathy?

  After a long time, gray eye moved away from gray.

  “You’ve met your daughter,” Ubra said. “I’ll give you that much, and not another inch. Please leave.”

  He recoiled, looking stung. “I want her to know me.”

  “She wouldn’t want to know you. If you value her feelings, or mine, you’ll disappear now and let us live our lives.”

  He put distance between them. “But I still want her to know me.”

  “You can’t,” she said. “And I want you to leave, now.”

  He turned, and started to leave. “I’ve been in a white room for days. I have a man asking me questions – so many questions. I’ve done a favor for him, and he’s repaid me by letting me see my daughter. But there is more to be repaid.”

  He stood in the doorway. “You’ll get your wish. I can’t imagine they’ll ever set me free. You have my apologies, and my regrets.”

  Then he had left out the back door, beginning his long trek through the dark to the Arrakhia Research Facility.

  “Who was that?” Yatz had arrived from the diagnostic ward, and was standing beside Nilux. He had a puzzled expression on his face.

  “That was Andrei Kazmer. You’ve met him before.”

  “The father of your daughter.” Nilux said.

  “Listen,” she told them. “I want to impress upon you what being a father means. Donating 26 chromosomes to make a new human being doesn’t make you a father. Any person can do that. Even someone who doesn’t rank as a person can do that. But fatherhood, beyond that, is a responsibility. And I refuse to allow him that responsibility. Not an inch, not a hair’s breadth.”

  “Woah, easy,” Nilux held up her hands placatingly. “I just noticed that, well, the baby, it looks kind of like him…”

  “I know she does,” Ubra said. She hated the idea that Yalin’s patronage was forever stamped on her face. She hoped to never see Andrei Kazmer again, but she knew she would see half of him every time her daughter smiled. It rankled.

  Thoughts of fathers and daughters set her mind down another path, and she remembered something. “Oh, damn. That could be a problem.”

  “What?”

  “Does anyone know where Mykor is?”

  “Out in the garden,” Nilux threw air quotes around the word ‘garden’. It was a few beds that grew sickly flowers beneath the artificial light. “It’s where he spends all of his time.”

  “Listen, I’m probably not supposed to blab about this, but don’t let him know that Andrei Kazmer is at the facility.” She remembered waking up on the planet, revived by Mykor’s daughter. She liked to think that was when things truly went terrible, but truthfully, things had always been bad with Andrei. Always. “Andrei Kazmer has done something terrible to Kymmure Mykor. Without going into specifics, it’s best that they don’t meet before.”

  “Relax,” Yatz said. “I’ve got a score to settle with that bastard, too. He won’t be leaving here to go to a prison. He’ll be leaving here to go to a hospital. Maybe a morgue.”

  “You should forget it,” she said. “Any kind of drama is going to give them a reason to keep you here.”

  “Like I give a fuck,” Yatz growled. “There’s no work to do, nobody to bow and scrape to. I’m here collecting sick pay. Every time they ask me about my arm, I make it sound ten times as bad. If I can wrangle this visit out to another week, I’ll be eligible for the Solar Arm’s Purple Heart. This place suits me. I’m kicking back my heels and planning on a loooon
g visit.”

  “Just make sure it’s not eternally long.”

  As Andrei Kazmer began the trek across the asphalt that led to Vadim’s research facility, he struggled to comprehended what had just happened.

  He was shaken by his encounter with Ubra and his daughter, and he wished he’d never made the attempt. It was as if some superstructure inside him had been gnawed away by ants, and was incredibly fragile. After several days of confinement inside the quiet mountain retreat, he’d almost forgotten the fragile structure. But the stress of Ubra’s rejection had caused it to collapse, to implode into its own footprint.

  He was destroyed.

  He knew his crimes were unforgivable, but his heart hadn’t listened. He’d thought that Ubra would soften, that they would perhaps embrace, and that he would join that happy duo of light.

  But he wouldn’t. And his heart had imploded at critical velocity against that truth.

  He started to cry softly, hardly aware that he was doing it.

  But inside, something was stirring, something he thought was under his cont

  I want them all to hurt.

  I want them all to die.

  Memories of violence and savagery began to rise into his head. Bullets killing Zandra. His merciless rampage through the ranks of the Solar Arm. The deaths of Sabrok, Enoki Kai, Emeth, Noritai, Sakharov, so many others. His destruction of the Vanitar at the heart of the planet, the lonely creature that had succumbed happily to the fate meted out by his hands.

  The hamster wheel of his thoughts kept spinning faster and faster, until he heard someone cough, not far behind him.

  “Hey. Kazmer.”

  He turned, and there was Yatz, lounging against the sheet metal wall.

  “Remember me? The guy you fired a sonic cannon at?”

  Andrei nodded.

  “Big day for me,” Yatz said. “After five days in a cast, stem cell therapy, and marrow infusions, that wrist you finally broke is back in action.”

  Andrei nodded. “Glad to hear it. I didn’t mean to injure you. I assumed you would remember how to take a fall. Arms at an obtuse angle, so the triceps can absorb the shock like a spring. But then I guess I didn’t give you any warning.”