52. Frequency 643z

Vanguards operated in complete silence. Zeke had never been aboard a craft, of any type, that simply made no noise. How this was possible remained one of the Institutes most closely guarded secrets. Unnerving to say the least, to travel through space in complete and utter silence. To create your own silence was one thing; to have it imposed, entombed upon you was quite another. Zeke nervously smiled at the thought.

Ji smiled at the added difficulty. The volume of one’s thoughts magnified in the vacuum of sound. Like walking outside in the deep wilderness and witnessing stars forever unseen, silence revealed the ever constant flow of thought, and the sound was deafening. Like the stars, these thoughts had always been there. Silent operatives in most lives, pulling strings and issuing orders from the shadows. These thoughts feared the gap like evil fears the light. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Zeke would face his tormentors, his captors and he would face them alone.

The questions flowed faster than Zeke could catalog them. Seemed each one came hand in hand with “Why.” They begged to be heard, begged to be addressed. Like the incessant knocking of a child at the front door, the questions banged from the inside of his skull begging for release, demanding answers. Zeke watched. No resistance, no judgment, nothing solid or enduring here. Watch, listen, watch again. Notice how they come. Notice how they distract. Notice how they leave like the caged animal who realizes you have no food for them.

“Lieutenant Zeke, come in please.” Startled, Zeke replied. “Roger, Zeke here, over.”

“Lieutenant, look to your right and switch your frequency to 643z.” Radio techs must have all gone through the same training. Zeke was damned if he could ever deduce any flavoring of tone in their communication. He called them blank voices.

Zeke couldn’t quite make out what he was seeing. The glare from Z16 made seeing difficult. He lowered his amber antiglare visor. Chills electrified his spine. The assault came not by way of vision but snuck in the twin back doors on the side of his head.

“What the hell is this transmission,” reacted Zeke. Almost immediately he regretted the tone in his voice. “Apologies. Transmission is garbled. Need clarification. Over.”

“Change the alpha channel two clicks to the right Lieutenant. That should clear most of the static. What you are hearing is being beamed from . . .”

Zeke didn’t hear the rest. He knew.

“Outpost surrounded. Stop. Situation desperate. Stop. Transmitting all scientific logs. Stop. Last rites performed. Stop. May Ji Qong revenge our souls. Over.”

The message was looped. Auxiliary battery power had been transmitting since inception. The signal was weak but unmistakable. Outpost 643’s last communiqué. The blank voices were no longer blank.

“Situation desperate. Last rites. Revenge our souls. Situation desperate. Last rites. Revenge our souls. Revenge our souls. Revenge our souls. Over.”

The words echoed within Zeke's heart like unexpected hammer blows long after he had clicked the receiver off. His eyes fixed on the sight before his drone. Not much remained of Outpost 643. Still golden, still beautiful. Still a tomb.

Surrounded. Annihilated. Defenseless Hynerian scientists had met their end here. Right here, in this place, floating before his eyes. The silence roared with the power of a hundred crashing waves on the beach of Zeke’s mind.

Zeke didn’t know it, but his first test had arrived. Ji sat silently in his chambers watching the events unfold. Did he have a bowie knife or did he have a samurai sword. He would know soon enough.

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