The Madman's Clock

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PROLOGUE

DATE: July 10, 2245

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

Wormhole initiation ready, the lithe, disembodied female computer voice intoned coldly. It was the loudest voice on the bridge, and cut through the near-deafening noise like a torch through the fog. Awaiting confirmation for final countdown.

The voice seemed to hover over top of the sirens, the voices both calm and panicked, and the deep hum of the experimental gear as it rattled the entire ship from its birth, deep in her hull. The computer's voice seemed to push aside the gunfire to my right, and the stark, increasingly desperate voices of my men. It swept aside the ceaseless, breathless muttering of the Captain's yeoman as he rattled off a constant stream of facts, figures, and reports, in total disregard of the chaos about him. He didn't see it. He didn't hear it. None of them did.

Captain Paetkau, I snarled through my clenched teeth, don't you fuckin' do it!

The Captain's eyes had a faraway look, their deep blue offset by the flashing red of the alert lights. The red flash reminded us that the machinery deep within the ship was coming to life, as if we needed reminding. As if anything else in the universe mattered at all, beside the slow, excruciating progress of the experiment about to be run. That single matter was the Captain's entire existence, and nothing else mattered at all. Not to her, anyway.

She seemed to look right through me, directly toward the main status board on the far bulkhead. She squinted, and I could see that she was reading the endless streams of information that scrolled by too fast for me to comprehend. I watched the displays reflect in those distant pupils of hers, and mixed with the flashing red; she seemed possessed, almost alien. Was it her temporal psychosis doing that, or was I starting to feel the bite of that particular terror? I shook it off. No time to think about that. No time. No time!

Captain, I said again, stepping closer, you need to shut this down, right goddamn now.

Mister Mallory, she said evenly, you are a Captain of Marines, but I am the master of this ship. I give the orders here, not you. Her voice was as distant as her eyes, calling out from the far off status board which held her in its grip. It was as though she were actually standing there, on the far side of the bridge.

Captain, I hissed in frustration, as my mind tried desperately to focus, despite the sirens and gunfire. Captain, you are not hearing me. You aren't hearing a damned thing, are you?

I pointed toward the starboard hatch, where my men were blazing away, their weapons flashing with every plasma burst. The air warped from the heat of it all. Still, I could still see Raj Sandhu's enraged face as he cut loose, his thoughts broadcast as clearly as could be, his expression almost as deadly as the pulse rifle in his hands. David Forres and Kyle Taggart were giving just as much hell to the enemy, but Kyle was bleeding heavily from a shoulder wound. His face was already drained of color from the blood lose.

They're right down the starboard passageway, I barked, stabbing the air with my finger. We can't hold them off forever.

Captain Paetkau shook her head, her tight, black ponytail waving behind her. Her cap kept the overhead lights from her eyes, but I could see well enough how they held to that status board. It doesn't matter, she said. This experiment will run its course. I have my orders.

She pulled a small, red keycard from her left breast pocket, and before I could tear it from her fingers, she inserted it into the console in front of her.

No! I snarled again. Listen to me! This experiment is a failure. Ship security is compromised, and I have orders to shut you down!

Card accepted, the computer echoed over the din. Awaiting verbal confirmation.

Captain, I yelled in her ear, so close to her now that I could smell the scent of navy-issue soap on her skin. Stop!

Authorization six-echo, Paetkau spoke into her headset without passion or hurry. Confirmed for final countdown. Begin now, please.

No! Fuck! I screamed into her ear, though she didn't seem to notice. She didn't hear me at all, anymore. Her focus was absolutely locked on seeing this damn thing through, as though nothing existed but this moment. Her psychosis was total, all-consuming.

Ten seconds to initiation, the computer confirmed, starting its countdown.

The hum grew louder, and the deck began to vibrate. I felt it inside me, the rattle shaking my bones. My ears seemed filled with the deep, endless hum. It made my nauseous. I wanted to puke.

Captain! I heard the voice calling out from my left, but I didn't clue in right away, as I tried to force my voice into Paetkau's consciousness. The voice grabbed at me again. Captain Mallory!

I turned to the voice. It was Kyle. Sergeant Taggart, report! Anywhere else, it would have been just 'Kyle.' Here though, my instincts barked out the formality without me even thinking about it.

Kyle was breathing heavily, the adrenaline overload and blood loss starting to have its way with him. He was crashing, but holding on through sheer willpower. His voice cut through the rattling gunfire and sounds of impacts like a hot knife through butter.

We can't hold them back much longer! he hollered.

How many are out there? I asked.

As I asked, the ship lurched to port, and I grabbed hold of the rail in time to stop myself from being thrown to the deck. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Captain Paetkau and her yeoman didn't lose their balance at all. I saw that the rest of the crew were the same. It was as though they were fastened to the deck, or part of the ship itself. The sense of that was stronger than ever, now. I was watching something from within, yet I was somehow removed from it.

Too fucking many! Kyle called back. I'm seeing ten, but it feels like twenty. They're throwing a lot of shit at us!

How long, Sergeant? I asked, knowing the answer before hearing it.

They're pushing hard, he yelled as his rifle spat plasma fire through the hatch. I heard a scream from somewhere downrange. Not long. If you're gonna do something, he started but didn't finish, as he turned back to the fight.

Nine seconds, the computer announced.

Captain Paetkau, listen to me, I tried, desperate to reach her.

No, Captain, she muttered distantly. This experiment will run its course. I have my orders.

I growled, and shook my head. I might as well beg the bulkheads to bend. In desperation, I tore the Captain's keycard from the console, in the faint hope that it would shut down the countdown, or at least disrupt it. The console, a fireworks display of flashing status indicators and data streams, barely seemed to notice my actions, as though it was just as removed from reality as this ship's Captain.

Everything is fine. This experiment will go ahead, the Captain said evenly, eyes still locked on the waterfall flow of readouts and displays. I have my orders.

Then, for no reason I could guess at, she turned to look at me, her eyes suddenly wide and fierce. I felt her reach out to me with them, as though through sheer will she could crush me. I swallowed hard, standing my ground, ready for whatever she had for me. At least I had her attention. Then her yeoman muttered something inaudible from her left, and she returned her attention to the status board. Once more, I was outside her notice, outside her universe. Whatever she was about to do, the ship, the experiment, all of it, drew her back in.

Eight seconds, the computer blared indifferently.

I heard a scream of pain, and turned in time to see Raj collapse against the hatch. Blood spurted out through a wound in his right arm, along with the smoke from the burned flesh. Taggart and Forres were covered in the gory spray, but neither stopped shooting. In a moment, Raj was back on one knee, firing again.

They yelled as they fired, their anger a weapon all its own. They were falling back on their deepest, most instinctual core training, and drawing on every mental weapon they had. The silent, calm professionalism that recon squads were known for was being set aside, but they were not losing their heads. They were digging deep, just like the United Earth Marine Corps taught us to do. Dig deep enough into a fighting marine, and you found more fight. It went right to our core.

Seven seconds.

I contemplated stepping in; adding my own pistol to the fight, but another shudder from the ship brought me back to my mission. I turned back to Captain Paetkau. She stood straight and still, her hands behind her back as she watched the status board. It was green, seeming not to notice the problems which I knew were there. The board seemed as oblivious as the crew, as single minded as the Captain. The red alert light blanketing the bridge now shifted to green, matching the status boards. The machine below was ready.

Six seconds.

Fuck! I yelled in frustration.

The seconds seemed to stretch out painfully, and I felt like I was trying to run underwater. Everything took too long, and I had no time. No time. No time, goddammit! I looked around me. I had no idea how this ship worked. I had no idea how to shut it all down, and reaching the ship's engineering decks was impossible. I squeezed the railing in frustration, as though I could crush my problems with my bare hands. The metal railing did not give out, nor did the problems blaring around me.

Five seconds.

They're coming through! Taggart hollered.

I turned to see the furious rain of enemy fire tear into the bulkhead just over Kyle's head. Forres growled at the singe of hot metal which caught the side of his neck, but he didn't even stop to check the wound. All three men flipped their rifles to full-auto and started blazing away. Their eyes flashed with each burst, and Kyle's roar almost overtook the thumping racket of the weapons themselves. They stepped into the passageway, out of cover, and out of sight.

Four seconds.

Wormhole origin is on the scope and active, Captain, one of the crew called out. It is a clean opening.

Captain Paetkau nodded. 'Very well, she said calmly. Start reaching out."

She was waiting for the next bit of information. It came quickly.

Wormhole destination is opening, the voice called from another station. We have a clear corridor, Captain. Sensors have found the beacon.

Three seconds.

I took a deep breath, and drew my pistol. The pistol grip felt good in my hand, a sense of control in the midst of chaos, like a life preserver in the hands of a drowning man. I pressed the weapon against the Captain's right temple. She barely seemed to notice. Her hands stayed behind her back, and she didn't even blink at the feeling of the cold metal barrel. She looked down at her board, its indecipherable flood of data telling her everything, yet hiding its secrets from me.

Captain! I was screaming like a lunatic. Maybe I was mad. Maybe we all were. Shut it down! Shut it down now, or I'm gonna blow your fuckin' head off!

Two seconds, that bitch of a computer announced, as though it secretly laughed at my impotence from behind its calm voice.

Now! I shouted over the ever-increasing rattle and hum.

One second.

Just then, ever so slowly, she turned her head to me. Her blue eyes reflected the dancing lights of the board in front of her. They gave her an almost demonic glare, yet there was nothing behind those eyes except the unmovable determination to see this experiment run.

I have my orders, she said as though we were standing on a quiet bridge. That had been long ago or maybe just thirty minutes ago. This experiment will run its course. Everything is fine.

I shook my head. She was as deaf to my warnings now as she had been when we first stepped onto the bridge of this damned ship.

I have my orders, she said for what seemed like the thousandth time.

So do I! I yelled.

I started to squeeze the trigger. I knew it wouldn't make the slightest difference.

It wasn't supposed to end like this.

CHAPTER 1

DATE: July 8, 2245

Remember boys and girls, I said with a smirk and a kindergarten teacher's tone, it's not whether you win or lose. It's how you play the game.

The chuckles around me were quiet, knowing. The squad grinned at me, Raj especially. He wore that cruel grin of his, the one that curled up the left side of his face. It told me he could smell blood in the air. His deep brown eyes, almost black, met mine, and I knew he was ready. I could hear David taking those deep breaths of his, as he focused himself. This sort of thing was practically meditation for him. Kyle was almost bouncing in place, impatient, ready to go. I shook my head at him. He was like a kid waiting for a toy store to open.

Like my three squad-mates, my gear was already checked, re-checked, and ready to go. My goggles were secure, though the built-in heads-up display was shut down. No HUDs today, and no comms either. The goggles were simple eye protection for this run. My rifle was tucked in close, the straps holding it against my chest until I was ready to use it. The grip felt good. It wasn't my usual weapon, but I still knew it well enough. It would do the job, even if it was underpowered.

I knew that instinctively. Our weapons had all been set to low power, well below their optimum ranges, by the instructors here. We weren't supposed to know that, and we weren't supposed to be able to tell by looking at the weapons, but I knew anyway. All four of us did, and though none of us said it, we had exchanged knowing glances as the slug-throwing rifles were issued to us. I could feel it in the rifle's hum and the temperature in the grip, the moment the instructors handed it to me. The rounds they fired wouldn't go far. The instructors wanted us fighting at close range. Fine.

My body armor felt good. The vest, shoulder pads, and arm guards were fastened to me like the second skin I had come to know them as. They could take a hell of a lot more than these rifles could throw at me, but I'd still know I was hit. The rifles we were using weren't our usual plasma rifles. These were slug throwers, the sort of weapon armies stopped using back in the twenty-first century. These rifles might be two hundred years out of date, but they could fire the paint rounds well enough.

My boots were a little too tight. They were new, and pinched at the back of the heel and above the ankle. The laces were fine, and the rubber soles gripped well, but the pinching was annoying. It distracted me, took up more brain time than I wanted. It always took a few days in the field to break in a new pair of boots. I had been wearing them since they were issued, three weeks now, but just wandering around the station wasn't the fastest way to break them in, which was one of the reasons why I agreed to this little dance. We were rusty, mentally as much as anything. Working in my new boots was just a bonus.

There was a new marine reconnaissance squad on the station, and Special Operations Command wanted them tested. There were instructors here for that, but we were here, so why not? Besides, a few hours in the station's training arena would be good for us. We were three weeks into an indefinite leave, but Port 25 was as boring as the name implied. We had come out of a long tour of ugly on Alpha Centauri, pulled out way too early for bullshit reasons. We were frustrated, and needed the rest. Still, a United Earth Marine can only sit still for so long. A short dance in the arena was good for the soul.

I leaned in close, the other three doing the same. Now let's fuck 'em up! I barked, loud enough for the other squad to hear us all the way down at the other arena door.

My guys roared, a sharp unified sound that practically shook the deck, and more to the point, the other squad. We sounded like a pack of very mean dogs.

I waved at the instructors in the control room, looming high above us on its perch atop the ceiling of the massive arena. From their vantage point they could see the staging area where we stood, and the entire combat training area, just beyond the door in front of us. The walls of the training area weren't very high. What dark corners and covered rooms they could not see directly from their high perch, the installed cameras would catch.

They could control every square inch of the training room, including walls and other obstacles which could be moved about remotely. I had seen training areas like this set up as everything from a swamp, flooded with water and other goo, to a dense urban environment with multi-floored buildings. I had once seen it as a ship's interior, with labyrinthine corridors designed to confuse us, which worked all too well when they shifted the walls around us as we moved. This time in, we were not told what we were walking into, though a dense rat maze was the usual setup for this sort of session. Hence the low-powered rifles. A high-powered shot would really, really hurt if you walked around the corner and found a barrel in your face.

Captain Mallory, weapons ready. The voice of Colonel Freeman echoed in the massive, domed room. Weapons free, upon entry. Wait for the signal.

We turned toward the massive metal double doors. They were painted with a large yellow and black hazard sign, reminding us that beyond the doors, predators hunted. Actual details were also listed, like wearing protective eye-wear, body armor, and avoiding entry while the area was in use. All of that blew past me. I had my head in the game, and all I saw was the gateway to my next objective.

Hey, Jack, one of the instructors, Major Jonas, called out to me as she leaned against the far bulkhead. Her sneer reeked of contempt. Don't be too rough on them. They're still new and shiny.

I shook my head. No promises. We don't play gentle.

Isn't that why you're stuck here to begin with? she asked with a biting tone.

Fuck you, I heard David mutter under his breath. Not quite enough, as it turned out.

Major Jonas pushed off the bulkhead, and took a step forward. Say again?

Stack up! I barked, cutting through the brewing argument.

We lined up at the double doors, two by two. A two-by-two stack allowed us to enter quickly and establish a full cover spread, watching for enemies from four vantage points. We knew our opponents were to our left, but you never could tell what the instructors had waiting for us inside. I took the front left, with David behind me. Kyle was to my right, with Raj behind him. We set our feet in position, one in front of the other, knees bent, ready to push forward at a good pace. We leaned into our rifles, looking down the barrels. I aimed directly at the seam between the doors, as did the others.

I briefly looked to the ready-light over the doors. After a moment, it went from red to green, and the doors slid open so fast, I felt the brief vacuum of it.

Go go go! I barked quietly.

We pushed in, our weapons finding their proper fields of fire. Ninety degrees each, allowing a full circle of fire. One step, two steps, down to one knee. I heard the doors shut behind us.

I blinked in surprise at the sight of the arena. No dense rat maze, no swamp, no multi-floored urban environment. It was open ground, with small, waist-high barricades scattered about. The ground was nothing but bare metal deck. The lights were bright, leaving the area free of shadows and ambush points. I could see straight through to the far wall. There was nothing overhead except the reinforced dome that protected us from the vacuum of space. That, and the control room. I could actually see two instructors watching us through binoculars, all the way at the other end of the arena, and high above us.

More to the point, I could see the other squad. Their entry door was one hundred meters downrange, and they had barely moved from it at all. They were looking about, clearly as surprised as we were. They stood there, unsure of what to do.

I looked for the nearest cover. Two barricades, simple gray metal things like those used to block traffic, presented themselves as a likely first step. I didn't even have to point. All four of us saw it. Besides, if I pointed, I might as well yell out my plan to the other squad.

Two and two, I muttered just loud enough to be heard by the three sets of ears around me. Fire and move, then hold. Go!

We pushed forward and left, downrange toward the other squad. We each fired several rounds, the paint rounds kicking slightly as they left my rifle. The sound was mostly fake, speakers built into the rifle to simulate the sound of a real plasma rifle's rattle and bark. The rifles were set on low power, and I could actually see the rounds traveling through the air. They struck the ground about halfway downrange. Fifty meters absolute range. Great. That meant an effective range of half that much. I might as well throw the rifle at them.

I heard David's rounds whip past me as he fired over my shoulder, sure about where I would be, and were I wouldn't. This was nothing new for us. Five years together, and we knew each other well enough to do this blindfolded. I could barely hear the footfalls of my squad, and certainly no rattle of equipment, which was all well secured to our bodies. I heard Kyle mutter to Raj, and they split off from us, moving right, toward their own barricade ten meters away.

The only loud sound we made was our firing, answered by the yelling from the far side of the arena. The other squad dove for cover, yelling at each other in confusion. These were not new recruits, newly shaven kids out of school. These were seasoned troops. Marines couldn't even apply for recon training until they had one combat tour under their belt. These four were scattering like recruits on their first field exercise. What sort of people were they recruiting into Recon these days?

No time to think about that, not now. I reached the barricade and took a knee, my rifle barrel just over top of our cover. David took up a position to my right. I looked past him briefly, toward the other barricade. Kyle and Raj took up their positions. Raj fired off two rounds, and I saw one of the other opposing marines scurry back into cover. Kyle looked at me for a moment, awaiting orders.

Too easy, Jack, David sneered. Something's up.

I shook my head, listening to the enemy squad telegraph their plans as they yelled and pointed in full view of us. Yeah. Let's do this by the numbers and get it done.

I turned to my right, and David inched back enough so my hand signals could be seen by Kyle and Raj, though remain hidden behind the barricade. I let the spring action in my