“Where are we going?” Makram stood up as he asked. He had a feeling Danthois was heavy handed on discipline, and he didn’t want to test that theory.
Thick, silver, sausage sized fingers shoved Makram out the door and down the hall towards the holding cell. The cell smelled like piss, even through the blood clotting in his nose from his injuries. He had no desire to be put inside. Passing by earlier on the way to the interrogation room had been enough. In an off-shoot hallway, he spotted a familiar figure. “Seneca!”
The figure turned around and walked towards them. To Makram’s surprise, Danthois did not continue to shove him towards the holding cell, but instead waited for the base’s medical doctor to walk up to them. Seneca glanced at the clipboard in his hands. In the reflection of the doctor’s glasses, Makram could make out the names of some of his crew members. “What is it, Makram?”
Thinking quickly, Makram reopened the cut on his cheek from where he had bitten it in the interrogation room. The pain made his eyes water, but he needed to draw enough blood to make a more severe injury plausible. “I was wondering if you could give me an update on my team. I know that several of them were still unconscious when we arrived here.” As he spoke, he felt a trickle of blood drip out from the corner of his mouth.
“Danthois, was this man examined in the sickbay upon arrival?” Seneca’s small eyes shone with professional concern.
The cyborg shook his head. “Orders were to take him immediately to interrogation room ‘C.’”
“He needs to be examined.”
“Senator Philo personally ordered me to take him to the holding cell.”
Seneca lifted his chin and puffed out his chest. He was dwarfed by the massive guard, but it was evident that he was determined not to be intimidated. “Do you see that blood at the corner of his mouth? Look at him. If he has internal bleeding, and you take him to the holding cell, he could die. How happy do you think Philo will be if one of the Brotherhood dies due to neglect and denial of proper medical care? It will be a scandal in the organization, not to mention an unnecessary loss of a good field agent. If you are unwilling to take the blame for disobeying orders, then release him into my custody. I am the doctor. The health and wellbeing of everyone on this base falls under my care.”
“Enough, enough! Just stop talking and take him already!” Danthois shoved Makram towards the doctor. “If anything happens, it’s on you.”
The sound of heavy metal boots clomping down the hall followed the cyborg as he left. Seneca punched in some information on the input section of the tablet, to let the sickbay know to expect them. The doctor shoved his spectacles higher on his nose. In the next moment, he was walking back the way he had come from when Makram had first called out. His strides were wide and fast paced. If he had been in better condition, Makram would have had no difficulty keeping up. Right now, the urgency caused a stitch to seize up in his side. He powered through the pain, and let his mind wander. What if Philo Nazir was right? Could the traitor be one of his own team members? Makram thought of possible reasons for each of his crew to join up with the Yasta monks.
Cierra was an unlikely candidate. Her own husband had been killed that day on Relisse. If she had been involved with the Yasta, wouldn’t she have saved the man she loved, and her children? On the other hand, the only thing even slightly resembling a family for Cierra now was the Strike Force Retaliation team and of course her brother-in-law, Theo. If the Yasta had gotten to her when she was young—after her father and mother passed away—she would have still been impressionable enough to fall under their influences. Could she have been groomed from a young age to serve the monks? Her gender alone would make her less of a suspect. Female Yasta were rare, but not unheard of.
Cherish was more augmented human than actual human, at this point. It was unlikely that she was working with their enemies, unless her internal programming had been compromised. If that was the case, though, wouldn’t the monks have stopped her from planting the bomb at the mining station, or at least warned their on-site members? She had taken out as many Yasta monks and novices as any of them, not to mention the Carbonari’s first raid, where she had butchered perhaps hundreds of Yasta. It made little sense for one of their agents to be an angel of death for so many of their soldiers.
Hubard was so focused on his research that it was hard to imagine him doing anything else in his free time. If his eyes were open, his mind was thinking up new ways to improve the Brotherhood’s weapons and technologies. If he was the double agent, it was doubtful that the Carbonari would have even one lasana blade, let alone the multiple ones he had crafted for them. A real traitor would have simply passed on the information to the Yasta, and let that be the end of it. A blade of that caliber would be too destructive to give to an enemy.
It was true that Hojae was from the Yasta-controlled planet called Josti, but he had been with the Brotherhood almost as long as Makram had. Not only did he help train new recruits occasionally like he had done with Theo, but Hojae was the one who had tried to intervene when Karl was about to kill Makram back on Relisse. Even at the crash site today, he had saved Hubard and Cierra. Would a true Yasta spy have made that much of an effort to keep so many members of the Strike Force Retaliation team alive? Wouldn’t it have served his purpose better to just let them meet their fates?
Irane was hardly ever on the field missions with them. He was typically with Hubard and Rix. Since he wasn’t in the field with them, it would be exceptionally difficult for him to know any in depth information about their movements once they had gone into radio silence. Rix fell into the same category. Of all of his team members, Makram felt the most confident that neither of them were part of the leak. They just simply didn’t have access to the kind of information that would have been needed.
Footsteps drew Makram out of his thoughts. Looking up, he saw Gyrra being escorted by Danthois. The cyborg must have gone down another connecting passageway to collect the surviving member of Naia’s team for the next round of interrogation. Makram recalled what Naia had said about Gyrra when they had first met. She was supposed to be a very capable pilot, despite her age. Seeing her awoke a sudden rage, which Makram had been keeping locked inside of him as best he could up to that point.
“What the hell happened out there?” The roar of his voice made her look up in fear. “What did you do? Just turn tail and run when the Yasta came? How did you escape when your team was left to burn, huh? That’s pretty suspicious don’t you think? I’d bet good money that you’re the leak.”
Gyrra’s eyes were red either from exposure to the smoke from the Yasta fire, or from crying. Makram felt a small pang of regret for what he had just said, but he pushed it down. If it had to be someone on his team or someone from Naia’s shelter, he prayed it was the latter. Her voice trembled when she spoke, “We were just fine until your team came along! The rangers didn’t know where we were. We hadn’t even seen any Yasta in our area before your lot showed up! Is this how you repay Naia’s kindness? You just blab about our location and feed us to the wolves? May Batumah curse your seed!”
It was clear that a fight was imminent. Two cyborg arms reached down and picked up Gyrra as if she were a child’s plaything. Danthois carried her out in front of him until they were well past Makram and the doctor. Once the danger was over, he allowed her to walk on her own again. Makram fought the desire to run after them. The slight pressure of Seneca’s hand on his elbow reminded him of where he had been going before that sudden disruption. His crew needed him. If necessary, he could track down Gyrra later.
The sickbay doors separated with an automated whoosh. A chime overhead was quickly followed by a delicate, prerecorded voice stating, “The doctor will see you now.” Seneca let out a heavy sigh. It was clear that he had grown weary of the sickbay announcing his presence every time he showed up. Makram reasoned that the doors must be wired to bio scanners in order to be able to decipher who was who among the staff.
Ahead of them, open on an o
perating table, was Cherish. The sight of her opened up like a living computer or a busted watch made his stomach drop. His elbow deep inside of her chest cavity, Hubard was mumbling to himself while grabbing a variety of tools and spare parts. The older man looked up at Seneca and Makram. “She was busted up pretty bad.”
“Can you fix her?” The words felt like jelly on Makram’s tongue. Part of him had never really considered Cherish as fragile—being what she was, meant there was a certain degree of resilience built into her. The reminder of her semi-mortality shook him.
“Pshht! Can I fix her? Of course, I can fix her. But, why fix her when I can improve her? That is the real question.” Pride beamed out of Hubard’s face. “Get a load of this!”
For the first time, Makram noticed that the spare parts were not just any metal. They were all made with Relissarium. The possibility of having not only weapons, but also an augmented human made from the new mineral, opened up all kinds of options. The fact that Hubard was installing extra powerful parts into a member of the Carbonari only solidified Makram’s belief that he was not the leak in the organization.
“I see the parts did come in useful, then?” Peering over his spectacles, Seneca gazed into Cherish’s insides. The gears and wires were a bit out of his area of expertise. He had some training with robotics, but living anatomy was more his style. He loved the breathing, pumping, bleeding art of it all. Without waiting for an answer from Hubard, he continued rattling off the status on the rest of the crew. “Cierra is just stunned. I expect her to regain consciousness in a few hours. Cherish will need a few hours as well, once you complete her repairs. Even though she’s an augmented human, the human part will need some recovery from the stress of the surgery. Theo’s going to be out for several days, most likely. He seems to have been extremely concussed, before he lost consciousness. Hojae seems to have been the one with the least severe injuries—aside from the two of you of course.” He glanced at Makram and Hubard. There was some reservation whether Hubard should have been allowed to perform such a complex transformation and replacement surgery so soon after such a traumatic incident, but he had passed all of his cognitive exams. Secretly, Seneca thought the only reason Hubard had passed them was because he had been part of the development team for the Brotherhood’s medical testing board. He kept that concern to himself.
“Would it be possible for me to see Hojae then?” If he wasn’t too seriously injured, that might be the best place for Makram to start on his own interrogation.
“First, I need to get a look at you.” Seneca led him to an empty exam table, and had him sit on the edge. A tapping noise made Makram look up. Seneca was lost in thought, tapping his finger on the back of his clipboard. “No, no. This won’t do. I thought I might be able to do your examination without the need for you to put on an exam gown, but I really need to be able to examine you properly. Go change out of your clothes and put this on. He tossed Makram a piece of fabric, wrapped in cellophane.
Grinding his teeth, Makram took the small package and walked into the changing room. It had four glass panels that were see-through when the room was empty to show vacancy. Once someone was inside, the glass automatically shifted its particles to appear frosted and provide privacy for the patient.
The plastic wrap opened easily. The thin gown inside may as well have been made of the same material as the container it came in. It was thin, and provided very little reassurance that his body was covered. Makram peeled off his clothes and put on the gown, as directed. He just wanted to get this over with as soon as possible. Once the gown was in place, he carried his things back over to the exam table that Seneca was waiting beside.
“I’ll take those.” The doctor grabbed Makram’s clothing, and tossed it into a chute before Makram even had a chance to cry out in dismay.
“Hey! What did you do that for?”
“All patient clothing must undergo a sterilization process, especially if the patient has had any space travel in the past twenty-four hours. It makes sure that there aren’t any hazardous particles trapped in the fibers. You’ve probably been exposed to hazardous materials, when the ship broke up. It wouldn’t do much good to heal you, and then just place you back into poisonous clothing, now would it? Lie down on the table, please.”
Disgruntled, Makram did as he was told. Seneca dipped his hands in the liquid latex solution that had replaced gloves. ,No matter how many exams he had undergone, the feel of the neogloves always made him a little squeamish. He would never admit to it, but something about the texture make his skin squirm. He tensed as Seneca began pressing along his abdomen and flexing each joint to inspect for swelling. When it was time to examine Makram’s mouth, Seneca pressed a small button on his spectacles. A thin but powerful beam of light shone forth.
“Ah. It seems I overreacted a bit. You seem to have bitten your cheek—probably during your impact with the water. I see no other signs of internal bleeding. I’ll have Danthois come back and escort you to the holding cell.”
“Wait!” Makram sat up a little too quickly. His head swam. “Can’t I just stay in the sickbay with my crew? It’s not like I’m going anywhere. I just want to keep an eye on them and make sure they’re okay. You can understand that, can’t you?”
“Makram, if you screw me over on this—”
“I won’t. I promise. Just let me stay here. I’m wearing this ridiculous medical gown. It’s not like I’m going to go traipsing around the base with my backside exposed.”
Seneca sighed, but eventually gave in. “Fine. I have other things that need my attention anyway.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” The doctor stared pointedly over the rims of his glasses at Makram. “I mean it. Don’t mention it to anyone. I don’t need any extra hassle.”
Makram mimed zipping his lips, and locking them closed. Once the doctor was out of the immediate area, Makram hopped off the table and walked back over to Hubard. “I’ve never seen Cherish so beat up before.”
“She’s a tough little cog, but she isn’t invincible. I’m putting in the Relissarium upgrades to hopefully prevent anything like this happening again. She will be stronger, faster, and almost impenetrable once I’m done with her. The Brotherhood have sunk too much money and too many resources into her rebuilds to lose her now.”
“What do you think about all of this? Who do you think the traitor is?”
Hubard sighed and set his tools down. “I don’t know. I trust all of you with my life. If it is one of our own, I’m afraid it will unravel the trust within our team. As dangerous as our missions are, we can’t afford not to trust our comrades to have our backs. If one of us is the spy, you need to find them. A team that is full of suspicions is no team at all.”
His words struck a chord in Makram, and renewed his determination to get to the bottom of the issue. “Where did they put Hojae? I think I’ll go see him first. None of the others are really in any condition to talk right now.”
“Our little Josti is just through there.” Hubard pointed to a set of sealed metal doors. “You’ll need this.”
Inside of the older man’s hand was a small pin, which could be clipped onto the collar of a lab coat. Makram identified it as an RFID chip. So, he had been wrong about the bio scanner. It was actually much simpler than that. Makram nodded his head in thanks, and clipped the pin onto his tiny medical gown.
The metal doors slid open easily as he approached. The same delicate voice he had heard before chimed again, “The doctor will see you now.” The automated voice made Hojae look up in surprise. He had clearly expected to be on his own for quite a while longer.
“Did they find the spy?” Hojae pushed himself up on the table.
“Not yet. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Me?”
“What happened when you got away from the guards back on Relisse? You were gone for quite a while. What were you doing?”
“I was trying to survive. I thought that w
ould be obvious. There wasn’t much I could do to help you all. There were so many of them, and Karl made sure they took our weapons. I tried to find a weapon stash or something that would let me come back to help you, but you know only Cherish has the ability to store the maps. I’m not proud of it, but I got turned around quite a few times.”
“Did you see anything out of the ordinary?”
“Just the typical Yasta patrols. I had to hide most of the time, to avoid being seen. It seemed like Karl really thought out the ambush. One minute the base had seemed almost deserted. The next, it was crawling with novices.”
Makram mulled over his answer. “You look like you were pretty lucky with your injuries from the crash.”
“As do you, commander.” Hojae could sense the slight suspicion in his leader’s questioning. “Josti heal quickly. It is one of the advantages of us being so evolutionarily advanced. More limbs mean the likelihood for one of them to be injured goes up. Over time, our bodies evolved to accommodate for this by increasing the rate at which we heal.”
Nodding, Makram placed one hand on the Josti’s shoulder. He lowered his voice so that only Hojae could hear him. “Try to stay in the sickbay as long as you can. Trust me, it’s much more comfortable than the alternative. I’ve seen the holding cell. It’s not a place you want to be moved to.”
“Thank you for the advice, commander. I will take it to heart.”
“Oh, and Hojae?” Makram paused before he turned to leave. “Try to see if you can remember anything else from the mine, or from any of our recent missions really. If you think of anything that seemed odd or out of place, let me know. If one of us is a spy, I want to be the one to get my hands on them first.”
Hojae gave a somber bow of his head. The doors opened again. A slight draft from the wooshing doors made Makram’s gown flutter slightly. It caused the commander to lose what little dignity the small square of material had provided. This wasn’t going to work out. He needed to find Seneca again and get a better set of clothes—preferably his own.
The Relissarium Wars Omnibus Page 21