Death’s Dimensions a psychotic space opera

care, Death Angel. I know what lurks and I won’t go. It grows stronger every time, but so do I. Your soothing won’t work. I’m going back this time, and the next. See me there? That smile? That’s because I know that I can die again and again and-

Again I try to push past and-

Again. Something pushes me back. Blackness all around before me, punctured by stars.

“Prepare to transfer.”

Virgil pushed the button once more.

In control over death, I can sit while my blood freezes in its motion, while air stops in my throat, while darkness and then light smear together, wrap around me and twist and push and shove until I feel pushed into-

The body I need to survive.

– the door, but I slam it just in time. Something howls after it shuts and I run down the corridor, the door bending in toward me stretching to almost bursting and I run and run and-

The kick of the engine array thundering into power shoved against Virgil’s back.

Back again! Nightsheet, I’ll keep winning-

“Beacon information shows that my calculations were accurate to seventeen hours in twenty-four years. Prepare to rendezvous with cloning tank. Telemetry reports all systems functioning; the clone is healthy.”

Virgil let go a sigh and sank back in the acceleration padding. I’m a father.

Chapter Twelve 2199

The lifeship eased into the starboard docking bay under Virgil’s guidance. He shut the engines down and turned off the scrim that offered him a cockpit’s-eye view of the docking. When the air had cycled, he stepped into the bay to examine the small craft. Twenty-four years had done little to its exterior.

He shoved off from the bulkhead and clambered for the cargo hatch, unlocking it and pulling it open.

Somewhere in that black tank she lies, blank slate ready for RNA and picotechs to draw thought designs. Straps undo in my hands and I push so gently, easing Death Angel’s new hideout toward the medical bay. The plan goes so easily, I wish I…

I wish I knew what-the plan-was. Is.

“Medical bay ready for further operation.”

He took the machine to the medical bay and disconnected the cloning tank from its peripheral equipment. The computer talked him through the birthing procedure.

“The machine will puncture the neoamnion and drain the support fluid. Disconnect the anatrophant collars first so she doesn’t break any bones.”

Virgil opened the tank and watched the clear, viscous liquid drain from the sack surrounding the human form.

Death Angel! Hair so long and black, skin so pale pink, the pain of years nowhere on you. He turned the dial that unlocked the rings connected to her arms and legs. Her muscle tone had been electrically stimulated to that of someone her own age. She jerked all over from the induced exercise.

“Quickly, Virgil. Remove the neoamnion and administer oxygen.”

The sack slipped around in his fingers, covering the surgical gloves with glistening neoamniotic fluid. He ripped it apart and reached for the oxygen mask. Brushing wet hair from her face, he placed the mask over her nose and mouth.

“She’s not breathing,” he said.

“Turn her over and apply pressure to the back to allow the neoamniote to drain from her lungs.”

Your body so soft and light in my arms, your back so smooth-

“No, Virgil. Hit her on the back, do not press.”

She coughed after the first hit, the fluid splashing into the curve of the tank where a small fan drew it out of the air. Despite the machine’s effort, bits of fluid floated around the medical bay. She continued to cough.

“She’s breathing.” He put the mask on between coughs. “Can’t we have some gravity here?”

“Not until we are certain of her bone strength and heart capacity. She will require extensive tests to-”

The clone screamed. Her voice wailed inhumanly, unlike even the cry of a baby. It was a shriek of bestial madness.

Feral Death Angel, fear all things new. So many years in warm floating and now air instead of water, light instead of dark.

“All vital signs positive,” the computer stated flatly over the howl. “Administering ten ccs of DuoTranq to depress excessive heart activity and hyperventilation.”

Virgil looked at the syringe moving toward her arm. Duodrugs! So now I serve the Master Snoop. Death Angel you brought this on yourself when you tried to play Snoop against Nightsheet for Wizard’s sake. So many games you’ve been playing but I’m still in control. Sleep, Death Angel, and awaken renewed, reglued.

“You may remove the monitoring contacts-I have remotes on her. Then detach the primary and secondary umbilical tubes and units, initiate the cleansing cycle in the unit, and remove her to the recovery room. Make certain no direct light gets in her eyes.”

“She hasn’t opened them yet.”

“I can see that.” The computer was beginning to sound impatient to Virgil, almost annoyed.

Virgil carefully moved Delia’s clone into the recovery room and sealed the hatch, then returned to the bay to prepare the boxdoc.

“Is she ready?” he asked.

“You mean, is the original Delia Trine ready for RNA leeching?”

Virgil almost said something, then swallowed the comment. “Yes. That’s what I mean.” He leaned over the stainless steel container to observe Delia’s torn body.

I can’t have you like this, Death Angel. And you don’t want this. I know, I’ve cracked your code. You don’t want this. You wanted to die but picked the wrong way. I’ll throw the rebirth in for you, this time, gratis. Died satisfied, didn’t you? No, you didn’t. Death Angel.

A wheel whirred into action. The computer told him that process C1204 stood by for his order.

“Begin process See-One-Two-Oh-Four,” he said.

The disc moved from its housing above her head, all life support tubing and electrodes withdrew from her body. It quivered several times, then stopped moving. A red globule from the hole in her chest grew, shaking like jelly.

Virgil watched the spinning disc approach the hairless skull. The abrader hummed even through the thick, insulated walls of the boxdoc. It edged closer, eroding the first few layers of epidermis on her scalp. It backed off for moment, then moved on its path toward the other end of the tank.

The first spatter of brain and blood against the glasteel startled him. He looked away.

Death Angel this magic box makes you disappear and you’ll reappear in the other room the same as you were, please, be the same Delia so cold and thinking with that brain lying in pieces all through the box.

He forced a look inside. A pale, thin liquid filled the tank, holding the grindings in suspension. The disc reached the top of her eyes. The upper half of their orbits missing, their lids ripped away, the eyes shook and twisted madly about. Then the disc bit into them.

Virgil kicked away from the machine and covered his face. His shoulders thudded against the other side of the room, but he did not notice.

Death Angel, it will work. Trust me. I haven’t killed you. You’re alive. First your body, then your soul. I’ll take your mind and soul and everything that’s you and carry it in a bag to the next room and you’ll be