Spider Zero: Interlude 2&3

Hey, guys. So I couldn't quite finish Spider Zero before my small vacation trip at the end of the month (it will be the longest book so far, probably close to 40k words), so to tide you over a bit longer here is the next interlude between Ch 2 and 3. 

Enjoy!

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Search complete. Zero results found.

Spider Zero sighed and leaned back in her chair. While she had only estimated a twenty-two point nine percent probability of this search producing any information of value, she was starting to wonder if she had miscalculated. In theory, the Avernal Fury’s computer had access to the vast majority of the Convectorate’s central database, including information that had been assimilated from Old Dominion records following the signing of the Keledon Accords. Despite that, she still hadn’t found any trace of a human named ‘Cole Vontera’ in the system. Even his given name had not produced any results. It wasn’t just that no one realized he was alive—according to the logs, he had never existed in the first place. 

Among the thousands of potential explanations, only two had a statistically significant chance of being accurate: either the data wasn’t in the Avernal Fury’s logs, or it had been deleted. The basic law of parsimony suggested the first option—it was the simplest explanation. But Spider Zero’s instincts told her that there was more going on here than she realized. 

Never trust instincts over data. Never trust intuition over complex analysis. Never trust the remnants of your flawed human brain when your cybernetic implants provide you with a vastly superior intellect.

Spider Zero closed her eyes and tried to focus. For almost two decades she had been content to suppress her humanity, and the results spoke for themselves. She was more than just the template for the Spider Program; she was perhaps the most vital asset in the entire Convectorate Intelligence Ministry. Her primary directive—to prevent the needless loss of life—had saved billions of sentient beings over the past few years alone. She had crushed dozens of nascent rebellions on former Dominion worlds, and usually with only a handful of carefully planned, precisely targeted deaths. Logically, the loss of a few individuals was preferable to the endless bloodshed of another war. 

But what if the rebels had been right? What if their cause had been just?

Spider Zero winced. Those doubts had always been there lurking beneath the surface, but they’d never risen to the surface until she had seen Cole’s face again. Suddenly, all her calculations were different. Suddenly, a resurrected Dominion was a genuine statistical possibility. 

It shouldn’t have mattered, of course. Even granting the most generous assumptions, the analysis was clear: killing the Last Blade remained the most reliable strategy to prevent another war, especially if she killed Cole along with him. Without them, the probability of a Seraphim revival within the next fifty years was only two point nine-three percent. The numbers did not lie. Her “instincts” were irrelevant. 

Spider Zero’s eyes slowly fluttered back open, and she stared at her reflection on the blank screen of a nearby terminal. Not everything she did was governed by logic, of course. After all, there was no logical reason why she shadowed her eyelids or brushed her hair every morning. She did it out of habit. She did it because a small spark of vanity still burned inside her. 

I do it because I still want to feel human. 

She ran the tip of her tongue across her purple lipstick as she tilted back to the main monitor. “New query,” she said. “Display all Dominion casualty reports for the Battle of Talasea.”

“Acknowledged,” the AI responded in a flawless simulation of a cool Subari voice. “Working.”

A moment later, a seemingly endless, barely readable list of names scrolled across the monitor. Spider Zero had already saved this data to her implant for future recall, but for reasons she couldn’t explain she wanted to sift through the list again. Cole might not have been there, but another equally-important name was. 

Trell, Selorah. Age 7. Birthplace: Keledon.

Spider Zero stopped scrolling and called up the full biographical profile. A small hologram of a little girl appeared on the projector, and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t stop staring at it. Eighteen years had changed the face and body, but the green eyes were the exact same ones she saw in the mirror every morning. 

“Selorah,” she breathed. 

Just speaking the name aloud caused a wave of weakness to crash over her. She knew that the only sensible course of action was to deactivate the projector and close the file before it caused any more psychological distress, but for some reason she couldn’t.  

I can still hear the bombers screaming through sky overhead. I can still feel the shockwaves from the artillery guns firing back at them. I can still feel the debris slicing through my heart after I dive protectively atop the little boy next to me…

Selorah Trell leaned up and forced herself to breathe. The emotional walls in her mind refused to stop collapsing, and it felt like a great weight was suddenly pressing against her chest. When she placed the back of her wrist on her forehead, it returned covered in tiny beads of sweat. If she didn’t know better, she would have assumed she had accidently fiddled with the environmental controls…

“Spider Zero.”

Selorah hopped a full centimeter in her chair and turned around. Commander Korax was standing behind her, his fangs bared and his tail twitching slowly behind him. The fact he had come to check on her was not surprising; the fact she hadn’t heard him until he was standing right behind her was. Tarreen weren’t known for their stealth or subtlety. 

“Commander,” she said, pivoting around to face him. “Do you require my assistance?”

“I require you to tell me what the hell you’re doing,” he growled, flicking a claw at the holo-projector. 

“I was searching the Spider database for additional information on the Last Blade’s potential recruits,” Selorah lied. “When our scouts do finally locate them, it may be prudent for us to—”

“What is wrong with your eye?” he interrupted. 

She frowned and glanced back at the reflective console. It didn’t seem possible, but a fresh line of tears was streaming down the left side of her face beneath her organic eye.

“I…” she stuttered. “I am not certain.”

Korax growled softly under his breath. “Perhaps you are distressed that I discovered your sabotage.”

Selorah dragged her gaze away from the monitor. “I beg your pardon?”

“My engineers discovered a problem with the main computer—a problem that made absolutely no sense considering the ship’s recent maintenance schedule,” he told her. “When I investigated further, I realized the search pattern you sent to our scout ships was faulty as well.”

“In what way? I established the parameters to—”

“You established the parameters to slow us down,” Korax snarled. “Your ‘error’ has already cost us almost two days!”

Selorah tiled her head. “If that is true, I apologize for my miscalculation.”

“You don’t make ‘miscalculations.’ That’s the entire reason Admiral Ferron wanted you on this mission instead of another dreega. You’re more machine than woman—except now, for no apparent reason, you managed to lose your quarry one day and then sabotage our search effort to recapture them in the next.”

“I understand your frustration, sir,” Selorah said, “but I calculate an eighty-three point six percent chance we will apprehend them within—”

“You’re protecting them,” Korax said, unimpressed. “What I cannot seem to understand is why. What happened to you on that ship? Did that Velothi whore twist your mind somehow?” 

He hissed and flicked his claws towards the security mechs surrounding the room. All six of them advanced towards Selorah until they were standing in a semi-circle like a firing squad. 

“Or perhaps your mistress has designed a special mission for you,” Korax went on. “The admiral and I have never trusted the Widow or her dreega slaves. The Hierarchy should keep you on a far tighter leash.”

Selorah surreptitiously placed her palm flat atop the computer console. She could feel the currents of energy coursing through the Avernal Fury, and she reached out with her powers and psionically linked with the ship’s systems. 

“Without the Spiders to contain them, the Blades of the Seraph will eventually rise again,” she warned. “We are the only reason that peace has been maintained.”

“The Seraphim are all but dead,” Korax sneered, “and the Dominion is a pale shadow of its former glory. With the Last Blade in our sights, the usefulness of you and your kind is swiftly coming to an end.”

Selorah glanced over at the mechs. “You have not captured Wynn Mosaad yet.”

“No, but we will—without any more of your ‘help.’ I am not sure if you are a traitor or simply incompetent, but either way I will not allow you to sabotage our final victory.” He hissed and took a step back. “Shoot her.”

The mechs raised their weapons, took aim—

And then remained perfectly still. 

“What are you waiting for?” Korax growled. “Shoot her!”

“They will not obey your commands,” Selorah told him, removing her hand from the console. Her entire body tingled with residual energy. “I have temporarily deactivated the combat modules of every mech on the Avernal Fury.”

Tarreen rarely felt fear, given that they were the near-invincible rulers of the galaxy’s largest empire, but the look of horror on Korax’s reptilian face was unmistakable. His claws unsheathed, his tail froze in place, and his yellow eyes widened. Evidently he had only just realized what the woman in front of him was capable of. 

“Based upon my initial calculations, the safest course of action would be for me to kill you,” Selorah told him, standing upright. “You will undoubtedly report your suspicions to Admiral Ferron, and considering your shared distrust for the Spider Program I calculate a ninety-seven point three six percent probability that he will act upon your allegations. This will compromise my primary directive.”

The Tarreen backpedaled a step, and his fingers twitched at his side in search of a plasma pistol that wasn’t there. 

“Fortunately for you, that particular solution is plagued by a tremendous amount of statistical uncertainty,” Selorah went on. “Explaining your death will not be easy. While I doubt anyone on this ship is competent enough to trace it back to me, I do possess another option: I can forcibly access your neural implants and trigger a cascade failure in your brain.”

Korax froze. “What?”

“I can easily sabotage one of the plasma conduits to make the malfunction appear like an accident,” Selorah told him. “The medical AI will be able to repair most of the damage, but you will remain unconscious for at least a week—more than enough time for me to complete my mission.”

“Dreega filth!” Korax hissed. “You will burn!”

The Tarreen reared back on his haunches, sucked in a deep breath, and prepared to spew a cone of fire hot enough to roast a human to cinders. But an instant before he exhaled, Selorah thrust out her hand and smashed him with a fist of telekinetic force. Korax soared backwards, flames shooting from his mouth and searing the chassis of one of the combat mechs. He struck the wall hard enough that the impact would have shattered the bones of a human body. Thankfully, his Tarreen skeleton was far more resilient. 

“Wretch!” Korax screamed, hoisting himself back to his feet. He lunged forward to try and slice Selorah with his claws, but she slammed him with another wave of force and pinned him against the wall. As he twitched helplessly in place, she touched his leg and linked her mind with the cybernetic implants throughout his body. 

“Do not worry, Lieutenant,” Selorah told him. “I calculate a seventy-three point two percent chance you will live long enough to die at the hands of a real Blade of the Seraph.”