Damnation (Technopia Book 3) Read online

  Arry sat back and folded her arms. “At least you talk a language I understand. But I see no profit in joining this freedom network your thing is trying to show me.”

  Jess squinted at Arry. “I would appreciate it if you called her Rhea. She is no more a thing than you are.”

  Arry snorted out a laugh. “She’s nothing like me. She’s not even a carrot anymore. You’ve made yourself a little balloon animal and are pulling it along on a string, saying it’s a dog.” Arry studied Rhea. “One little push, and I could send you back into a network core. You’re so damaged they’d probably recycle you into a nice home computer—help the little ones learn math and science. Wouldn’t that be fun, little balloon animal?”

  Sam could feel Rhea’s energy growing livid, but she remained silent. “We didn’t come here to be insulted, Arry. Your situation isn’t stable. We’re changing the way things are done on the Moons of Jupiter. You can be a part of that change, or you can try and stop us. Just make sure you’re on the winning side. Because someone like you isn’t going to fare well if she loses.”

  Sam set his mostly full drink on the edge of the crater and made to leave. Jess and Rhea quickly followed his lead. “We’ll be here for a week. I’m sure you can figure out where to find us. Feel free to tell your friends. If you have any.”

  Sam stepped out of Rover the next morning into a grouping of two dozen Tobes. They, however, didn’t seem to have come to hear about his thoughts on freedom, or any other topic, for that matter.

  At the front of the group stood Arry, a big black smile of defiance on her face. In her hand, she held a long leash. But she was just the preamble. The play behind the angry young woman took a minute for Sam to figure out. Each Tobe in the crowd held chains and stood in a circle around a creature, keeping their distance from it.

  The being of so much attention thrashed at its restraints—a wild animal baring its teeth, alternating between growling, howling, threatening, and cursing. Deep scars crossed it in so many directions Sam couldn’t make out if it was supposed to be a human form or a raving demon. Rags, which at one time must have been clothes, twisted around the tortured body.

  Arry held up her leash. “Oh, great God of the Tobes, if you are god, prove it.”

  Rhea cowered behind Sam. “It’s a tech-no-sanity. I’ve never seen one in person. Dominant Tobes use tales of these poor creatures as threats to keep their subordinates in line. Usually, a Tobe will accept reprocessing through a network core before reaching this state. Once they get this bad, though, there’s nothing anyone can do except put them down.”

  Sam looked at the girl so filled with hate. “What would you have me do, Arry—fight this poor being?”

  Arry spit on the ground. “This used to be a kind soul. If you’re our god, I challenge you to save this creature. Prove you are who you say you are, and we’ll worship you. Otherwise, you’re just all talk and no action. False gods don’t fare well when they lose.”

  The being thrashed harder at the chains, saliva mixed with blood flowing out the sides of its mouth.

  Sam turned to Jess. “Is this what you ran into out on that satellite?” Their private conversation about her contact with Earth hadn’t been all good news. The description of what she’d found aboard the satellite gave him nightmares.

  “This one’s far worse. Jupiter One-One-Four could still listen to reason.”

  Rhea pulled at Sam’s sleeve. “I know what you’re thinking. You can forget it. It’s too dangerous.”

  It’d been one thing to pull Rhea out from the network. Though she’d resisted, it had been conducted in an isolated environment. The CE was little more than a bond that held her to him. To reach this being so lacking in logic, Sam would have to rely on his telepathic connection. Memories of sharing his soul with Leviathan and creating the first Tobe, Lev, came flooding back. But that had been a desired union by both parties. How would being fused to pure vile emotion affect his bond to all Tobes? And thrusting so much energy through the CE couldn’t be healthy. “I don’t see another choice.”

  Jess took his hand. “If you do nothing, they’ll tear this ship apart. If you can do something, you might end up creating a situation we can’t escape.”

  Alphonse quietly fumbled with a remote-control pad then whispered, “We could make a run for it.”

  Sam shook his head. “We came to help. It’s all or nothing. If I can’t help the worst off of their kind, then maybe Arry’s right. Maybe I am a false god.”

  Tears formed in Jess’s eyes. “Running away is a completely reasonable option.”

  “The time for running is over,” Sam said. “This is something I have to do.”

  Arry’s intense stare brought him out of his speculations. “I’m not standing here all day. You wanted our attention. Do this, and we’ll listen. Don’t, and pay the price.”

  Sam nodded as he stepped off the landing skid. He walked past the defiant girl and straight up to the being, who looked about to rip Sam’s very skin off his bones.

  He held his hand out to the beast. The connection was like sticking his finger in a power socket, but instead of a finger, he’d connected his soul. Raw emotions of hate, sorrow, regret, and rage rippled through his being. The CE around his body glowed purple, as it had when he was fighting Rhea on Lysithea, but his connection to the enraged beast sent golden currents along Sam’s arm. Radioactive energy that engulfed the moon penetrated his CE, driving it down into the telepathic connection that bonded him to all Tobes. But heaven or hell, there was no stopping at that point.

  The tech-no-sane being calmed down with each sparkling shimmer that entered its body from Sam’s hand. Sam stared it in the eyes, seeing something of its former self return. The suffering it had endured lay beyond its ability to reason, beyond anything Sam wished to contemplate. But the suffering wasn’t the point.

  “You don’t dig your way out of a pit by continuing to dig. Stop showing me what you don’t want to be, and show me what you remember of your true self.”

  The being thrashed again but against its memories, not its captors. Glimpses of a house, a family, children, and a Tobe—quietly hidden away, doing its best to help them all—filled Sam’s mind. Then he saw images of rocks that burned the flesh of the Tobe—rocks by the shuttleful that had been brought up from the giant planet.

  Tears streamed down Sam’s face. “Stop. I don’t need to see what hurt you. Only who you need to be.”

  But the story line didn’t stop. The family Tobe had been infected by the virus and freed from its purpose. The family had fled when the moon turned from processing metal for shipbuilding to working with the burning radioactive material. The Tobe had a supervisory role keeping people focused on their jobs—forcing them to sort the rocks long after they’d endured too much radiation—soothing their bodies into believing they experienced no pain—watching them die under its control.

  The Tobe then watched as the family’s oldest son also died under its care while working the rock conveyor belt. The family hadn’t left. It was a lie the Tobe had told itself—a lie it could no longer maintain. Flames erupted in the Tobe’s memory. Rational thought burned away like tissue paper.

  The golden glow from Sam’s hand filled a small cavity in the Tobe’s chest. Flames engulfed the being’s skin, creating a vortex inferno. The firestorm threatened to engulf everyone around it.

  Sam calmed his own fears, using the storehouse of meditation rituals Rendition had left in his mind. Utilizing those practices while connected to the out-of-control being helped calm that soul as well. Sam had no idea how much time passed, but as he switched his attention back to the chaotic energy in front of him, the entity no longer presented itself as insane.

  The tall, muscular man held Sam’s hand to his chest. Eyes of deep sea blue looked into Sam’s. The remainder of the wildfire settled down to become waves of blond hair that circled a peaceful face.

  As Sam looked around at the congregation, he saw the Tobes in a different light. What he knew i
n his heart he could now see with his eyes. The soft, smooth glow of their souls was being ripped to shreds. Each looked a ball of fire in all different colors—their very beings drawn from their bodies by the intense radiation around them.

  Sam took a moment to play back conversations he’d had with Dr. Shot and Joshua on Earth. Their weekly discussion group had speculated on time, matter, and all manner of possibilities. Sam sought out the memories regarding Jupiter’s moon-suns and how dark matter might influence radioactive elements—specifically, how dark matter moving backward in time might be associated with radioactivity. So much radioactive material accumulated on such a small moon—so much dark matter traveling on a time collision course—Sam could now see it ripping through the Tobes’ bodies. People weren’t the only ones in danger out here.

  14

  The crowd of Tobes around Sam had grown ominously quiet—all but Arry, who, in spite of her promise to listen, proceeded to spit on the ground and storm off. Only a couple in the crowd noticed.

  The well-shaped man took a couple of long breaths then closed his eyes for a moment. “My name is Achim. But this isn’t who I’ve always been.”

  The man took another series of long breaths then opened his eyes. “I was Achima, a woman. That was who I was before the tech-no-sanity.”

  Sam nodded. “You’ve been through quite a lot.”

  The man fell to the ground then wrapped his legs together into a sitting position—his large eyes taking in everyone around him. Sam joined him on the ground only to see the entire congregation follow his lead.

  Sam gave Achim a moment to adjust to his new reality. “What can you tell me—what do you remember? I saw a lot of images while I was connected to you, but they didn’t all make sense.”

  Achim nodded. “I’m not from Praxidike. I started off my existence on Adrastea. It was a lovely moon originally—not large, but the processing plant supplied metal for building space shuttles, which made it a profitable minor corporation. As we had the skills, and the location was in a close orbit to Jupiter, the corporation was given the contract to create the first moon-sun. The people of Adrastea were very pleased. Some even believed they’d make it to that mythical higher level of income and power. All the major corporations were watching.”

  Achim grew quiet as the memories flooded his thoughts.

  Sam looked deep into his eyes. “But you knew better.”

  Achim nodded. “Some of us Tobes suspected the Adrastea Corporation wasn’t telling us the whole story. Too much data had been redacted. But we did our jobs, which as a house Tobe I enjoyed. I grew concerned for the family, so I began directing information their way regarding the dangers of radioactive materials. It didn’t take long for the network to catch on to what I was doing. The virus set off a number of deep scars around my body. It also removed me from house service.”

  “They sent you to the processing plant?” Sam asked. “To a spot they knew you’d resist the most?”

  “I was forced to manipulate the CE of the line workers. At first it was to give pain if they didn’t work hard enough. But it became apparent no one was working hard enough for the corporation. It wasn’t just that the corporation wanted too much. The people really were slowing down. And it had nothing to do with their mental state, which was deteriorating. Physically, their bodies were giving out. So my role changed to one of providing comfort.”

  Jess came to sit next to Sam. “That must have been a little easier on you.”

  “It was, at first. It didn’t take long, though, to realize my real job was to distract people from their ailments. I did what I could, but as the processed material started filling every container on the planet, people started developing cancers.”

  Sam nodded. “On Earth, we’d speculated on how radioactive material was somehow connected to dark energy. That energy going back in time could drag cells in the human body back with it just for brief moments. Just long enough to trick the cells into thinking they had to reproduce again.”

  Achim grimaced. “We suspect the same thing about Tobes. The fire you saw around us is not so much us being torn apart as reproducing too fast. Then the excess energy is carried away by that mysterious dark energy you speak of.”

  Jess squeezed Sam’s arm. “Get back to your story, Achim, if it’s okay.”

  The man’s blue eyes gave Jess a look of appreciation. “I never was much good at the science. My hope during those days was that once the processed ore left the moon, everyone would return to normal, or at the very least we could start dealing with their ailments.”

  Achim again grew silent.

  Jess reached out to him but was unable to make contact. “It wasn’t meant to leave Adrastea, was it?”

  The man with too many memories shook his head. “People had been used to make something that would kill them all. The corporation couldn’t let that information out. And the board members who knew about us also couldn’t let that story get out into the Tobe community. But a few of us, those who sometimes in spite of our histories proved useful, were transported here to Praxidike. Everyone else, human and Tobe, burned up when all the material reached critical mass. The corporations claimed it was our fault—that we hadn’t properly handled the material. But none of it had ever been transferred off Adrastea. If it had been meant for some barren moon, no one was in a hurry to move the stuff.”

  One of the Tobes in the crowd found their voice. “They’re going to turn this into another moon-sun—with all of us stranded here?”

  Achim nodded. “I believe so. When I saw the first shipment of radioactive ore arrive from Jupiter, I lost it. It’s not like a Tobe can just walk into the boss’s office and discuss his concern, however. And with my knowledge, they didn’t want that information traveling back to the network core, plus they still needed me to continue doing my job.”

  Achim began to shiver.

  Rhea materialized next to Sam. “They began the forced compliance on you, didn’t they?”

  Achim nodded but said nothing.

  Sam would have been happy not to know about it, but Jess’s curiosity got the better of her. “What’s that, Rhea?”

  The technological woman folded her arms across her stomach. “Basically, a CE for Tobes but run by the corporation’s board of directors. It does what the virus never could and turns us into puppets on a string.”

  Sam knew there was a lot more to it, a lot more he didn’t want to know. “So that’s what did it—what pushed you over the edge?”

  Achim stared down at the ground. “My conditioning had been to help, to be a carrot but in a very limited way, just to my family. They succeeded in turning me into a stick but not completely. I could only do it with the belief that at some point my actions would prove to be ultimately good for the people involved. But when I lost even the simple dignity of my own actions, my mind had nowhere to hide—no excuses, no ability to resist, and no hope of being recycled by the network core. Say what you will, but being washed clean can sometimes be one’s only hope.”

  Rhea looked at Sam. “It’s not like what you did for me and Achim. The network core takes what you would consider guilt, removes it from us individually, and stores it among all of us. But it also holds onto any information we might like to keep hidden.”

  Sam nodded. “I can see how the board of directors might not want all the Moons of Jupiter knowing what they were doing.”

  “I had no escape,” Achim said. “I don’t even know how it happened. But my thought processes switched from pure logic to raw emotion. The fire that enveloped me had an unlimited fuel source. I’d seen it happen to fellow Tobes just before Adrastea ignited. I was still connected to them when it happened. Mass tech-no-sanity consumed every Tobe while the human version of insanity created a hell only the all-consuming fires of the new moon-sun could answer.”

  “And now that’s about to happen here,” Sam said. “We need to get you off this rock.” He looked around at the crowd of Tobes, which had grown to fill the small basin around
Rover during the conversation. “All of you.”

  Achim shook his head. “There are a lot of Tobes here that are too far gone. You can’t save us all. Those that you see here came for that hoped-for salvation. But this is only a small portion of the Tobe population. The rest would choose to stay even if they did believe me, which most do not.”

  Sam nodded. Humans weren’t the only ones who chose to believe those in power cared about their workers. “I can use all of you who want to leave. We’ve built a new network…”

  Sam proceeded to explain his vision—his hope, really—for a better Tobe future. And he told them that finding a better Tobe future would hopefully, one day, lead to a better future for mankind. Though no one really listened past the offered ride out of the upcoming hell.

  Alphonse was less than thrilled by the plan. “I have no problem selling goods, but what you’re proposing sounds too much like the slave trade.”

  “It would be slavery if the Tobes didn’t agree to it,” Sam said. “Maybe indentured servitude would be closer.”

  The pirate captain grumbled. “That’s no better. Before I knew Ronny, I’d have gone along with your plan without question. But you’re going to have to prove to me we’re not just selling beings into another form of ownership.”

  Achim placed a hand on Sam’s arm. “You’re saving us, Captain. This planet is going to explode into a moon-sun—maybe not today, maybe not even next year, but soon. Even before it does, it will grow uninhabitable for us if not for the human population. People would have to pay for you to get them off this rock.”

  Alphonse shook his head. “Then pay me, and let’s be done with it. Taking you off this rock then selling you to someone else doesn’t feel like a rescue.”