The Altreian Enigma (Rho Agenda Assimilation Book 2) Page 22

  He and the high inquisitors who labored for him had been selected for their positions for a reason. Whereas the more refined high lords regarded some of their work as an unfortunate evil, necessary to keep society safe from those who would otherwise try to tear it apart, the inquisitors had a certain affinity for the suffering of others. To be truly good at any job, one needed to enjoy it.

  Even though Lord Grellen would not be able to feel the mental suffering of those he was about to interrogate, he would see and hear it. And he would get answers.

  As he considered which of these Khyre would be his first subject, the floor lurched beneath him, the jolt sending Grellen tumbling forward onto his face before he could throw his hands out to catch himself.

  Gasping, he rolled onto his side, feeling the blood pour from his mouth and nose. As he struggled to orient himself and rise, the blare of distant disaster warning sirens wormed its way into the building’s interior.

  Once again the prisoners spoke, their voices a chorus that sent prickles along Lord Inquisitor Grellen’s spine.

  “The Ripper comes. Flee now or die.”

  Grellen felt Inquisitor Trantor grab his arm, help him to his feet, then steady him. He glanced down, seeing rivulets of rich red blood stain the front of his white robes, and struggled to clear his head of the dizziness that threatened to drop him back onto the floor.

  “What is happening?”

  Trantor glanced at the open door. “Lord Quoran has gone to find out.”

  Just then Quoran reappeared, fear distorting his face. “There have been multiple explosions at the spaceport. The ministry of defense has ordered all officers to respond to the scene. We must get you to the roof and evacuate this building, immediately.”

  Before Grellen could process this new information, he heard and felt the concussion of another explosion, this one from within the building itself. The screams of the dying in the forward section were accompanied by the distinctive pop and sizzle of firing pulse weapons. Krell’s bands! They were close.

  “Go,” Grellen snapped.

  “The prisoners?” asked Trantor.

  “No time. Leave them.”

  Lord Quoran raced from the room, rounded the corner that led to the lifts, and came to a sudden halt. For a moment Quoran stood there, impaled on a white blade that pierced his chest and jutted a hand’s width out through his back, the inquisitor’s entire body held erect by the powerful hand and arm that gripped the weapon. Then a shove from the blade bearer’s other hand sent Quoran’s corpse flying into the far wall as he turned to face the lord inquisitor.

  To his credit, Trantor rushed forward to place himself between Lord Grellen and the apparition that appeared before him. The powerfully built Dhaldric barbarian tore Trantor’s throat out with an effortless slash that Grellen’s eyes barely followed, sending the second inquisitor’s body tumbling down atop the first.

  Without pausing to look at his latest victim, the barbarian stepped forward, backing Grellen into the wall. As their eyes locked, Grellen tried to seize control of his enemy’s mind but only managed to elicit a grim stare.

  The way the barbarian’s eyes danced with an inner fire left Grellen struggling to draw breath. Despite the drastic transformation of the body and its lean, muscular jaws, he recognized those eyes.

  “Khal Teth!”

  The familiar voice that growled from those lips froze his soul.

  “They call me The Ripper.”

  Then the blood-soaked ivory blade sheathed itself in Grellen’s abdomen, spilling his internal organs in a pile at his feet. And as horrified as he was by the sight of his own entrails, it was the smell of them that chased him into the dark.

  CHAPTER 34

  Fifty-eight hours had passed since the Rho Ship had made the subspace jump that had taken Raul and VJ to the far side of Scion’s orange moon. Having cloaked the vessel and landed in a deep crater, they had so far avoided detection.

  Raul looked up at VJ, who had changed into a slinky uniform of shimmering purple, as if that could distract him from the worries clawing at his brain.

  “Have you finished the tests on Jennifer’s blood?”

  He had extracted the sample from the spot on his sleeve where Jen’s bloody hand had gripped his arm as she flooded him with her brief vision.

  “The analysis confirms that her blood is heavily infused with materials matching the formula for Kasari nanites stored in our ship’s database.”

  “Great,” Raul said, slowly shaking his head. “Do you think that puts her under Kasari control?”

  “I took the liberty of running a simulation of the Kasari nanite formula being injected into a human body modeled on her scans. You understand that means I tested it on myself, right?”

  Her voice was so full of pride that it surprised Raul.

  “You injected your virtual body with virtual Kasari nanites?”

  “It let me study the probable interactions between Jennifer’s body and the nanites.”

  Raul started to understand where VJ was going with this. “And?”

  “The simulated nanites spread throughout her body evenly with one area of exception. A large concentration of nanites assembled themselves into a matrix within the brain. That cortical array appears to have two complementary purposes.”

  “Which are?”

  “To provide a communications link to her brain and to bypass or override her voluntary physical responses.”

  Raul slumped back in his command chair. Just as Jennifer had feared, being assimilated into the Kasari Collective involved shedding your free will.

  “So,” Raul began, then paused to consider the possibilities.

  “So what?”

  “Is there any way to reprogram the nanites to restore free will and prevent the communications link from happening? More importantly, can they be reprogrammed after they’re already inside a host?”

  VJ cocked her head slightly, and Raul felt her pull on the full processing power of their shared neural net, running a huge number of simultaneous simulations. When she returned her gaze to him, she wasn’t smiling.

  “The nanites are programmable, but such instructions would normally have to be sent over the communications link to the host’s brain.”

  “You said normally,” said Raul. “How else can we do it?”

  “I can design a nano-virus that can reprogram the nanites, but it would require someone to inject the nano-virus serum into the host, who, by the way, will certainly resist that.”

  “Well, since I don’t think the Kasari are going to let us hack into their hive-mind communications link, the nano-virus serum looks like our best option.”

  VJ frowned. “I can design and manufacture the nano-virus serum, but without real test subjects, it could have unanticipated side effects inside a real human body. It could even cause the Kasari nanites to kill their human host.”

  Raul had already figured that out for himself, but hearing her say it still put a lump in his throat. But with such limited options, he had to go forward and hope for the best.

  “Okay, then. Go ahead and make the serum, but also start working on the signal we’ll need to send if we can find a way to connect to Jennifer’s nanite comm-link.”

  “Mind if I ask what you’re going to be up to while I’m doing all the work?”

  There it was again, the not-so-subtle challenge to his command authority. Even if VJ was joking, the tone was irritating. As he quickly glared at her, he saw that little satisfied lift of her right eyebrow.

  “I’m going to find out where the Koranthians have taken Jennifer and start working on a plan to get her out of there.”

  “If my nano-virus doesn’t work, you won’t want her back aboard this ship.”

  “I didn’t come this far just to leave her there to die. No way I’m letting that happen.”

  VJ stared at him, her eyes narrowing. “If I were the one who was trapped down there, would you take the same kind of risks to rescue me?”

  T
he intensity of feeling that the question triggered in him surprised Raul. When he spoke, he did so from the heart.

  “You can count on it.”

  As VJ studied him, Raul was aware that she was examining all his vital signs, judging the truth of his statement. The smile that lit her face held a beautiful, childlike innocence.

  “Then I guess I better make darn sure my serum works.”

  Wearing the rags that were all that remained of her uniform, Jennifer stared at the bowl of slop that had been shoved through the narrow slot at the bottom of the solid-steel door to her dungeon cell. Only her mind’s ability to convert reflected sound waves into imagery let her see her surroundings. The echoes of her jailer’s heavy footsteps as he walked down the hall and then up the stone steps beyond gave her a clear view of what lay outside her cramped abode.

  Although she could see other closed cell doors, her enhanced senses confirmed that she was the only prisoner on this level. When the door at the top of those stairs clanged closed and the sound died away, the blackness of the place was absolute. She began clicking her tongue, the sound enabling her to see her surroundings.

  Her cell, in fact the entire dungeon level, had been roughly hewn from solid stone in ages long gone. The water that dripped from the walls and low ceiling had left flowstone deposits that formed the beginnings of limestone stalactites and curtains that felt slick to the touch. The liquid pooled on the floor, eventually draining into the small toilet hole in the back left corner. There was no bed, not even a stone bench. If Jennifer required sleep, she would have had to curl up on the cold stone floor.

  She picked up the bowl and sat down cross-legged, leaning back against the wall. She ate quickly, ignoring the smell and rancid fish taste as she scooped the meal into her mouth with her fingers. The important thing was to get something in her stomach that would quiet the nanite-driven cravings that amplified her hunger. She finished by licking the bowl clean and then sliding it back out into the hall. Then, leaning down, she placed her lips into the cold water that puddled on the floor and drank deeply. Aside from the grit, it tasted wonderful.

  Since she had been unconscious for an unknown amount of time, Jennifer didn’t know precisely how long she had been down here. She wondered if she had already been tried and sentenced to spend the rest of her life alone in this claustrophobic space.

  Even her nanobot cortical array had lost its connection to the Kasari hive-mind. Had they judged her situation so compromised that they had disconnected her, or was she so deep underground that their communications network was unreachable? Since they had no trouble controlling her when she fought in the caverns along the Koranthian northern front, she suspected the former.

  For the present at least, she had regained her self-control, not that it would do her any good. Any attempt to speak with her guard resulted in the activation of her shock collar. Maybe she would be allowed to speak when judgment was passed on her, but who would believe anything she said? Although she had tried using her empathic powers on her jailer, the Koranthian had an exceedingly low IQ and lacked any spark of kindness that she could amplify. And reading his mind revealed that he knew nothing about political goings-on. Any attempt to use her telepathy in a more direct way would only reveal her abilities to others.

  She felt sick. Not from illness, but from the guilt of her betrayal of Dgarra and the crushing weight of her helplessness. No matter how much she told herself that she had had no choice but to destroy the warrior she loved, Jennifer had pulled down House Dgarra.

  With a mighty effort, Jennifer shrugged off the lead-weighted cloak of depression that threatened to transform her back into the sniveling child she had been when held captive at the Columbian drug lord’s estate in Medellín.

  Jack Gregory’s words replayed themselves in her head: And remember this. No victory is certain. No situation is hopeless. When you find yourselves in a hopeless situation, change the rules.

  She’d done that by putting her bloody hand on Raul’s arm while delivering her telepathic message. Now she just needed to have faith that he would figure out some way to make this right. In the meantime, her job was to stay ready.

  Jennifer drew in a deep breath, held it for five counts, and slowly exhaled. Then she lowered her hands to the floor and kicked up into a handstand. In a steady rhythm, she began doing vertical push-ups, the beginning of a workout that would last for the next six hours.

  General Magtal sat at Emperor Goltat’s right hand as General Dgarra was led into the Chamber of Judgment, his hands and feet shackled in chains of triton steel. Stripped of his black and purple, Dgarra wore prison gray. But his eyes showed no sign of the humiliation he had endured since his fall from grace.

  All three hundred of the chamber’s seats were filled with observers, although none from House Dgarra had been allowed entry to the proceedings. After today, House Dgarra would be no more. Magtal was confident in that.

  During the month since Dgarra’s arrest, the northern front had been placed under General Magtal’s command and the tides of war had turned in the empire’s favor, just as he knew they would. Such a turn was all part of the deal he had made with Kasari group commander Shalegha, a deal that ensured Dgarra’s disgrace would be followed by Magtal’s glorious string of victories. None could doubt that the judgment Emperor Goltat would soon render in these chambers was justified.

  Dgarra halted inside a red circle, five steps in front of the emperor. His two guards walked back to posts beside the main door, leaving him alone. He stood there, shackled, radiating more power and authority than the emperor himself. The sight drew awed murmurs from the crowd and pulled grudging admiration from Magtal. This dangerous warrior would soon have his head cut from his shoulders, to be kicked through the streets by Koranthian children.

  Emperor Goltat’s deep voice drew the crowd’s attention away from Dgarra.

  “General Dgarra. You stand before me charged with high treason for allowing an alien spy into your inner circle, an act that led to the defeat of your army and the deaths of thousands of our mighty warriors. What say you to these charges?”

  All eyes shifted back to Dgarra. When he strode toward the dais where Magtal and the emperor sat, a collective gasp rose from the assemblage. Someone activated Dgarra’s shock collar, causing the muscles in his face and neck to crawl beneath his skin, but the general continued forward, coming to a halt directly in front of Emperor Goltat.

  To Magtal’s utter amazement, Dgarra dropped to one knee but kept his eyes locked on those of the emperor, as if he were about to be awarded the Koranthian Order of Valor.

  “My emperor,” Dgarra said, “long ago I pledged my life and honor to the empire. My determination to uphold my oath has never wavered in the midst of battle, and it has not been tested elsewhere. If it is your will that I shall die for these alleged offenses, then the empire can take my head. But when death comes for me, it will find me with my honor intact.”

  The guards, although slow to react, rushed forward to drag Dgarra back to the circle of judgment. But when they touched his arms, the power radiating from the active shock collar knocked them away and left them twitching on the ground.

  Magtal found himself reaching for his weapon before he remembered that, by law, he had left it in a locker outside the Chamber of Judgment.

  His piece said, Dgarra rose to his feet and took four steps backward until he was once again standing tall in the red circle.

  “You have heard my words. Now I await your judgment.”

  To Magtal, the silence in the chamber acquired a preternatural intensity that seemed capable of stopping the hearts of all present.

  For a moment, the emperor bowed his head, but when he lifted his chin, his expression was grave.

  “So be it. General Dgarra, I hereby declare you guilty of high treason against the empire. Your house name shall be struck from all public records, and your property will be redistributed as I decide. I sentence you to death by public beheading, the execution to be c
arried out three days hence in the ArvaiKheer Amphitheater.”

  Then Emperor Goltat rose to his feet, turned, and walked through the door behind the dais, leaving the stunned audience frozen in place.

  General Magtal also rose and signaled to the two guards, who had managed to climb back to their feet.

  “Turn off that shock collar, and take this traitor back to his cell.”

  As they grabbed Dgarra’s arms and roughly dragged him away, he met the general’s eyes. For that brief moment, Magtal had the feeling that it was he, not Dgarra, who faced violent death.

  Then Dgarra was gone, taking with him Magtal’s fleeting moment of fear.

  CHAPTER 35

  VJ stared at Raul, wondering if he had lost his mind.

  “You want to shoot one of our subspace torpedoes into the Koranthian capital city?”

  “I need you to redesign it without the explosive payload,” he said with a strange look on his face.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Raul began pacing back and forth, his eyes unfocused, his right hand stroking his chin.

  “How good of a pilot are you?”

  With every word that left his mouth, Raul added to her confusion. VJ decided to play along and see where he was going.

  “I am capable of maneuvering this ship to the limits of its capabilities and, barring some sort of equipment failure, with near perfect accuracy.”

  He stopped right in front of her, his brown eyes finally meeting hers.

  A thought momentarily distracted her. She knew that she really didn’t see through these eyes, but she had worked so hard at becoming almost human that VJ felt like she was seeing, hearing, and smelling through her virtual sensory organs. She was still working on touch and taste.

  Raul continued. “Good, because I’m going to be inside that torpedo and I really don’t want to die when it drops out of subspace inside Jennifer’s dungeon.”