Vendel Rising Omnibus

by L A Warren

  "Then don't do it." Her entire body shook in his embrace, and despite her revulsion she found herself clinging to him.

  A deep remorse filled his voice. "I need WOR. Humanity faces a grave threat and you are my weapons."

  "I'm not a weapon, Gregor. I'm just me."

  "You are so much more than that." His grip tightened around her and he kissed her temple. "You mean so much more than that to me."

  The feather-light touch sent a ripple of heat fluttering to her belly.

  "So, tell me, would you have preferred ignorance?" he asked.

  "How am I supposed to answer that?"

  He brushed her lips in a chaste kiss, the touch so fleeting she barely felt it.

  "I would love nothing more than to bring you pleasure, but that is not possible. Not for you and not for me. You were destined by the gods to become WOR, a powerful weapon for the empire. You are a tool that I, as Emperor, will use to save my people. You must trust me when I say it is better for you not to know what is to come. So, forgive me if I prefer to spend what little time we have enjoying each other's company rather than arguing over petty issues of morality, not when the survival of our species is at stake." Again, he held her with those eyes of his, silver, magnetic, and piercing her very soul.

  She pushed away, stunned by his words and unable to process the enormity of his revelation. Through the bond, his touch had her head spinning. "You're confusing me and trying to manipulate me with the bond."

  He released his grip. "Is this not what you wanted? Answers?"

  She staggered. "I wanted the truth."

  "Did I not explain it well enough for you to understand? Is that not the 'carrot' you spoke of?" The shade of his eyes deepened in hue, and his imperial tattoo simmered beneath the surface of the skin above his brow.

  Her arms throbbed. There would be bruising from his grip.

  "It doesn't give you the right to destroy our lives, our homes, our families, and our world! You should have asked. You should have told us the truth and let us make our own choices."

  "To do what you ask would have taken time I do not have, and I need all the tools available for the task at hand, not just those offered up out of the goodness of people's hearts. Knowing what I just told you, would you have volunteered?"

  Few would have offered themselves up to an alien empire.

  His glare caused her heart to skip a beat. "I do not need your permission to do what is right."

  She sucked in a breath and struggled to hold it while her heartbeat settled. "What you did wasn't right. It was inhumane. Whatever gave you the right to play God with other people's lives?" Her voice cracked.

  "My birthright gives me the responsibility. And I have taken an oath to see it done." A heaviness hung over him. He reached for her arm. "Come, you are late." His lips pressed into a thin line as he pulled her to the door.

  She followed mutely, stunned by his words.

  They arrived at the exercise fields where rows of women stood in precise lines. Her fellow captives had no idea what the Vendel planned next.

  High Tender Marcus stomped up to meet them. "She is late."

  Ten groups of women stretched out. Elise made her way to the far left—tenth group, eleventh row, second one in…1002, her slave number.

  Gregor and the High Tender exchanged words.

  An assembly of men approached the formation dressed in tan suits. In their hands, they carried black cases. At their wrists, silver rods dangled. These were the Tenders and the High Tenders, men to be respected and equally feared. The Tenders fanned out until one stood at the head of each row with two WOR-guards at the ready.

  High Tender Marcus spoke from the center of the field. His deep voice carried easily so all could hear. "Ladies," he paused until he had their attention. "The Tender's will be coming down the rows. You will hold still and do as you’re told."

  The Tenders advanced. High Tender Marcus approached the head of her row. Paula, the woman designated as 1001 or 10-1, and one of High Tender Marcus's special trainees, shook. High Tender Marcus opened a vial of blue liquid. The first WOR-guard placed a thin golden necklace around Paula's neck, while the second stood behind her.

  High Tender Marcus placed the vial beneath Paula's nose. "Breathe deeply, 10-1."

  Paula inhaled through her nose and a smile of bliss spread across her face.

  The High Tender brought the braklav to the base of her skull.

  Wide-eyed terror filled her face as he pressed, then her scream joined those of others echoing across the Confinement Deck. The second WOR-guard lowered Paula's unconscious body to the ground and moved to stand behind Elise.

  Other WOR-guards flashed their whipsticks as they patrolled. Not a single woman broke rank. They had nowhere to run.

  Elise eyed the High Tender as he stepped in front of her. "Emperor vlor'Malita said he explained this to you?"

  She stiffened. "Yes, High Tender Marcus."

  He shook his head. "That is a shame." A WOR-guard snapped the necklace around her neck and stepped aside. High Tender Marcus brought the bottle and held it under her nose. "Inhale."

  No way in hell she was going to resist her High Tender's instruction, even though every instinct in her body told her to. Some lessons went bone deep and her mind still remembered the touch of his braklav. She took a deep breath and the perfume flooded her senses. Indescribable pleasure raced through her body with the inward breath.

  The braklav pressed against the base of her skull. Anxiety leapt in her chest moments before brutalizing pain exploded outward and splintered her mind with agony. A deafening shriek escaped her throat. One-in-ten chance of death.

  Blackness engulfed her.

  Chapter Twelve

  Gambit, Day 122

  Soul sundering agony pounded against Elise's skull. Every breath struggled to find an easy way inside…and failed.

  But Elise did breathe, and with each tug and pull, lancing pain filled her with life. Consciousness followed in fits and starts, and slowly she clawed her way back from the brink of nothingness. She survived activation…whatever the hell that had been.

  A groan prompted an aborted attempt to roll to her side. Bad idea. An overpowering wave of nausea stirred up her gut and the sensation battled with the knife splitting her skull in two for worst feeling ever. The churning of her stomach promised an epic event forthcoming.

  Just breathe, dammit, and get through this.

  Chapped lips provided a distraction. She latched onto that and moistened them, then tried to do something about her cotton-mouth. That took another moment of distraction, and the urge to empty her stomach eased up a bit.

  "She's coming around," a dispassionate voice spoke somewhere from the right. It was fifty decibels too loud.

  "Thank the gods, she survived." Couldn't forget that voice. It belonged to Gregor and his normally possessive tones were filled with relief…and concern.

  The voices melted away with a roaring sound. She wanted to scream and cover her ears, but pain locked her body in agony. The void of nothingness reached out, trying to claim her, but she refused its embrace. Instead, Gregor gave her the lifeline she needed through the power of their bond. His touch grounded her with a zap of electricity.

  "She shouldn't be awakening so soon." Warmth caressed her cheek. Pain fled beneath the gentle glide of his fingertips against her flesh. "Does this tell us anything?"

  "The strongest always wake first, but even this is unprecedented."

  Her mind began to clear. That voice belonged to her tormentor, the High Tender. Every instinct told her to lay still. Not that she could move. Her body remained locked, imprisoned in a cage of pain. She listened to the men, hoping to learn something important, praying Gregor would touch her again.

  "This promises much, don't you agree?" Gregor's voice, full of sin and sex, was something she would never forget. He touched her temple. An electrical impulse pushed back the pain, banished it into the void. His fingers massaged her skin, stroked her hair, and
brought a whimper to her lips.

  A tear trickled from her eye. More please. She needed more.

  "If this is any indication of her potential, we may yet hope."

  "Have you heard any more word?" The High Tender's question had her flinching, the harsh syllables slammed against the fragility of her mind.

  Gregor sighed and stopped his slow massage. "The S'Lorek continue their attack. The s'lor are useless. I've pulled them back. The s'vlor barely hold off long enough to allow the populace to flee. I need your linking project to show progress…soon. We're running out of time."

  Gregor's frustrated voice reverberated in her ears. Too damn loud.

  "Sire, The Neural Mine Conclave is working on it. Their best man is assigned. He would have been a Tender if not for his low birth. They assure me he is making progress."

  The long, slow strokes in her hair calmed her mind. Even the rebellion in her stomach faded to a distant memory. For the first time she embraced Gregor's touch, not for sensual pleasure, but to take away suffering.

  "So, what of Elise?" Gregor said. "Her reaction to the Vector, the Tenderstat, and the Activator is promising, right?"

  "Ack! You're too familiar with this one. It makes you soft when you need to be firm."

  "I disagree." His grip tightened in her hair, but she didn't care. The tug splintered a shard of pain and the fragments spun away.

  "You persist in using her Earth name. We take those away for a reason. She must learn what she is to become."

  "She knows."

  Gregor mentioned turning all of them into weapons. Although how that would happen remained beyond her comprehension.

  "You've told her then?"

  "I mentioned a little."

  "This is what I mean. You coddle her with explanations when you should lead. S'vlor are meant to follow. They need to know when given a command they must act, not question. Hesitation means death."

  "True, but I sense something different in her."

  He lifted his hands and pain slammed back with a vengeance. She would have cried out if speech had been possible. Instead, she wallowed in a flood of anguish.

  "With respect, Sire, I've been training s'vlor for a very long time. She is your first and only. You must defer to my expertise in this."

  "But she is mine. I know how best to handle her."

  "You must treat her as the tool she's to become."

  And there was the difference between the two men. This was how she would drive them apart. Elise kept pace with their conversation, enduring the resurgence of cutting pain, sharp needles dug into her brain, slicing her essence away, but she would maintain consciousness.

  "While I respect your expertise and your position among the Tender Conclave," Gregor said, "I will forge my own path. Even you say our bond is unprecedented. Has it not occurred to you the stronger our bond grows now, before the Blood Rite, the easier it will be to control her? I intend to foster it, with intimacy if need be, despite your protests. When it comes time for the Binding she will be taken well in hand."

  There were those words again. More ceremonies. More hurdles she would have to overcome, or rather, shackles they would put on her. Either way, the pressure of time weighed heavily on her.

  "What I see is reckless behavior. Your fondness—"

  "Do not think for a second I do anything without purpose, Lord vlor'Vardhal. The Imperial Oath is ever present in my mind."

  The High Tender blew out a heavy breath. "Forgive me, Sire, I did not mean to imply otherwise."

  "Enough about what I do with her in private. Tell me about her recovery. Is it predictive? Given her reaction to the Vector and what we saw with the Tenderstat, does her recovery from Activation mean anything at all?"

  "Her potential is promising, but it means nothing with her continued resistance. Your refusal to use Tender Training only impedes her progress."

  Gregor made a growling noise. "It has unintended effects."

  "So you say."

  "I tell you, I sensed a dissonance."

  "Merely a side effect. Tender Training is a powerful tool and it universally compels WOR into obedience."

  "I'll do whatever is required to have her trained, Lord vlor'Vardhal, except break her."

  "At least in that, we are agreed."

  Strong hands took hers and held them in a cage of warmth.

  "How is she?" High Tender Marcus paced around the room. "Can you sense her mind?"

  "She fades in and out, but I sense her through the bond."

  "Good."

  Gregor lifted her and cradled her against his chest. "Opés, are you with us?"

  As much as she hated it, the cure for her pain was him. Everywhere he touched, her suffering fled.

  Her lids fluttered open. She lifted a shaky hand to the back of her neck, to where the worst of the pain radiated down her spine.

  "Everything hurts."

  Gregor wrapped his fingers around her hand and moved it out of the way. He cupped the back of her head and massaged her neck. Pain dissolved in a rush.

  She moaned with relief.

  "The pain was necessary. It will fade," the High Tender said.

  Gregor's words flooded her thoughts. Her pulse quickened thinking of her friends. "How many died?"

  "None, so far." Gregor hesitated. "It's too soon to know."

  She pressed her hands to her eyes. It didn't help, but she tried to squeeze the tears and keep them inside. "It hurts so much."

  "I'm not leaving you, opés," Gregor said.

  "Sire," High Tender Marcus said, "I must see to the others."

  Gregor shifted until his hip rested against her legs. Pain lessened there as well.

  "It's best to let her get some rest," the High Tender continued. "She is out of danger."

  "I will stay."

  "We should go."

  "My touch soothes her. I will stay." He brushed a finger over her brow and along her jawline.

  She sighed with relief washing through her, wanting nothing more than to push him away, yet needing him to stay.

  High Tender Marcus's voice sounded from the edge of her enclosure. "We will speak later, Sire."

  "Until then," Gregor said. "Shh, opés, I am here for you."

  Her hands wrapped around him and she buried her head under his neck.

  "Hold me…"

  Shudders wracked her body, spasms which he controlled, locking her within the strength of his embrace.

  "I feel your pain," he said, rocking her gently. "Give it to me, and I will make it disappear."

  And she did just that, until he absorbed every last drop of it. Sometime later, minutes or hours, she couldn't tell, exhaustion pulled at her. Her arms grew heavy and her head bobbed with the need for sleep.

  Gregor laid her out on her bed. "You must sleep, opés. If you need anything, an access pad has been placed next to your bed." He kissed her forehead and whispered. "I'm sorry for everything you have had to endure, but know that all of it is necessary."

  She gripped his shirt. "Don’t let him touch me, please?"

  Grey eyes stared down at her with tenderness. "Opés?"

  "Tender Training…p-please, don't let High Tender Marcus do that to me."

  He brushed his lips against hers, a chaste kiss. "I have no intention of ever using that on you. Promise me you will do everything in your power to learn and it will never be necessary."

  Residual pain from Activation, or her incredible exhaustion, had her giving him a nod and promising exactly that.

  A smile beamed on his face, bright and genuine. After giving her another kiss, he departed.

  She rolled over, intent on sleep, but found the embrace of dreams elusive, instead she stared blankly at the access pad he'd left behind.

  Had she really just agreed to train…for him? It was true. She'd done so willingly.

  She crawled off the bed to huddle in the small space on the floor between the bed and the counter. The access pad cradled easily in her lap. She turned it on and found it li
nked to the am-net and all the learning libraries she had access to in the classrooms.

  As she had done as a child, when she couldn't sleep, she immersed herself in study. She put in place her privacy routines, ensuring her activity would not be tracked. Once her system was secure, she queried her viral subroutines, virtual soldiers as she liked to think of them.

  One of her bio-constructs, Bobo, had been sent to explore the interface connections of the universal gel-pads restricting access throughout the ship. She studied the retrieved designs and sure enough right there was a hacker's wet-dream, a flaw in the neural interfaces she could exploit to disable the bio-interfaces. Saturated throughout the am-net, and resident in every interface, she now had a back door into their system.

  A victory!

  Right when she'd given in and come so close to letting Gregor win.

  She tapped out a series of instructions and sent Bobo on its way. It had a new mission.

  Now, all she had to do was to walk past the WOR-guard perimeter, press her palm to the pad, and activate Bobo. Then she could go anywhere within the ship, even to the command decks. No one could follow her movements. Easy-peasy-simple-as-pie, except she had no way past the WOR-guards.

  A light from inside the cabinet to her right caught her attention. She cracked open the lower door and peeked inside. Every night she'd been instructed to place her clothes inside and each morning new ones had been put in their place. She had assumed the Vendel accomplished the swap via their beaming technology. Inside, the lower shelf of the cabinet retracted down, and beneath that, a pair of hands took her discarded dress and replaced it with a fresh crimson silk gown.

  She remembered a phrase from home: 'Don't jump to conclusions because it's a long swim back.' Such an idiot. Evidently, manual labor still existed in this world.

  Oftentimes, the simplest of explanations was the most obvious. It made sense that a prison of a thousand women would need some sort of support staff. It never occurred to her they'd be beneath their feet, literally. Her image of the technologically advanced Vendel beaming clothes in and out of cabinets had clouded her judgment. If she could find a way down there, there'd be no reason to bypass the WOR-guard perimeter.