Roark (Women Of Earth Book 1)

by Jacqueline Rhoades

  “We do not animate the dead. No Zombies. Now leave.”

  Mason held up his hands. “Wait a minute. I get three strikes. Baseball. It’s a time honored tradition.” His brows furrowed as he put his thoughts together aloud. “You’ve got dead guys who aren’t really dead, right? No burial records, no next of kin, right? I’m already smelling a conspiracy here. You’re missing replicators that can produce functioning and realistic body parts, and those knitter things, which are really cool by the way. You’re way ahead of us in restorative technologies.”

  “We are wasting time playing games.”

  Mason held up his hand. “Aw, come on, no fair,” he complained. “I’ve got two more strikes.” His fingers moved as if he was using them to count. “Not dead guys, replicators, knitters, missing bio-engineers and what did Ahnyis say? No, don’t tell me,” he said excitedly. “High-tech neural generators, whatever the hell they are.” He smacked his hands together in triumph, then spread his arms wide and sang.

  “Put them all together they spell cyborg...” He looked from the frowning Roark to Vochem, who had the translator out again. “You guys have no sense of humor.”

  Vochem closed his eyes as if praying for strength and then nodded his head.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes, you have no sense of humor or...” Mason stared at Vochem and then swallowed visibly. “Holy shit, I’m right?”

  “Apparently so,” Roark confirmed.

  Mason took another swig from the blue bottle and this time only winced a little. Bottle in hand, he pointed to Roark. “You’re not kidding. You’re serious. You’re...”

  “Capable of breaking every bone in your body before I allow you to die. Remember that before you breathe a word of what you just heard.”

  “Particularly to my sister or Roark will have to wait his turn to break bones. I’m much more adept at soft tissue destruction.”

  Mason raised his hands. “Hey. Guys. I’m not sure what I did to piss you two off, but I’m a doctor, a real MD with diplomas and certifications and everything. All the paper is hanging on my office wall, or it used to be. Mira says it’s all under a pile of rubble now. We have something called doctor/patient confidentiality. It’s sacred. It means I can’t talk to anyone about my patient or one where I’ve consulted on the case. Ask me a few questions and thank me for my opinion. Bam! I’m a consultant on the case and to make it official I’ll send a bill for my services on the first of the month. I can use the cash.”

  “How much do you know about physiocienics?

  “Never heard of it.”

  “Physiologic-cybernetic interfacement with exosuggestive neurological impulse controls?”

  Mason shook his head. “Nope, unless you’re talking grinders and biohackers. Don’t know much about that either, but I know it’s out there, or it was until the Hahnshin started blowing everything to hell.”

  Vochem nodded. “Good. You don’t know anything.” He waved his hand in a shooing motion. “You can go now. I’ve asked you questions. You’ve been consulted.”

  “No fucking way. You can’t chase me off now. This is the payoff for all that broom pushing. You’ve got to tell me who, when, how? If this was the movies, I’d be thinking secret government agency, but you guys are the government, right? So who are the evil geniuses determined to take over the world?” He shrugged. “Or galaxy, as the case may be.”

  “Let him stay,” Roark decided. “He’s smarter than he looks and he might prove useful. Tell him what he needs to know and no more.” His order was accompanied by a meaningful look.

  Vochem returned the look before he blew out his breath and reluctantly began.

  “What you’ve seen here are artificial structures replicating existing bone and soft tissue. They, as you say, are advanced but similar to the prosthetics your people are capable of producing. Some time ago, the Godan began experimenting with physiological enhancement through another means, taking those replications to a new and what was hoped a higher level in strength, endurance, agility and...”

  “Military performance. Super soldiers. I get it,” Mason said. He grinned and tapped his head. “Smarter than I look, remember? The program failed I take it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so freaked.”

  “The neurological part of the procedure failed. The xoralinium, the nanometal alloy they used, reacted badly with the neuroimpulses. Better than half the test subjects died spontaneously from massive brain hemorrhages. Others suffered irreparable damage. The survivors became uncontrollable, particularly under emotional stress.”

  “And soldiers are always under stress, right? What happened to them?”

  “Most were put down,” Roark said flatly and curled his fingers toward the blue bottle.

  “Most?” Mason asked as he passed it to him.

  “Most.” Roark took a deep draft of the brew and repeated, “Others were hunted down and the connections removed.”

  “They lived out their time in a very secure and comfortable environment, like pampered pets.” Vochem’s words held regret. “With about the same mental capacity.”

  “Damn, and you think someone here is trying to recreate the experiment,” Mason concluded.

  “Yes.”

  “No,” Roark disagreed. “They can’t. They’d need xoralinium.”

  “Or a substitute,” Mason offered.

  “No, xoralinium is the only metal that can be spun fine enough to form the neural connections without damaging the myelin sheath, and strong and malleable enough to be used in replacing striated muscle tissue.” Vochem shook his head. “That’s the simplified version. It’s nanotech work involving biochemistry and genetic manipulation. The process is long and complicated and takes several years to complete.”

  Mason cocked his head to the side. “You were part of the team, weren’t you Vochem?”

  Vochem nodded. “Neural dynamic integration was my specialty. I left the program and went back to hands-on healing. It was while Ahnyis was still at school. She knows nothing of this and I’d prefer you not consult with her about it.”

  Mason nodded his agreement. “I get it. So, why do you think they can’t get this xoralinium stuff? They’ve managed to get everything else.”

  “Xoralinium is an alloy made from an extremely rare metal formed when meteors pass through a planet’s atmosphere. Conditions must be perfect for its creation. The chemical process for extraction is costly and dangerous,” Vochem explained.

  Roark nodded his agreement. “The mines are closely guarded and all off world traffic is strictly regulated. I know. My brother owns one and I wish I had his defenses. They’d have to have found an alternative to xoralinium.”

  “Or a new source,” Mason mused. “So, your brother’s pretty rich, I guess.”

  “He is,” Roark answered without enthusiasm.

  Mason grinned. “So where can I find more information on this xoralinium shit?”

  “We have an extensive library. Why?”

  “Always looking for new opportunities,” Mason grinned.

  Roark’s comlink buzzed with Harm’s call sign. “Excuse me. I have to get this.”

  Chapter 21

  She thought she was prepared. She thought she could be brave. Mira was neither. To see her brother laying curled on his side with Ahnyis bending over him was more than she could bear.

  “Davey, oh Davey.” Her cry was a choked wail of sorrow.

  Ahnyis looked up at the broken sound.

  “He lives,” she whispered, but her face betrayed her doubt that it would last for long. Her words were for David and not for his sister. “They didn’t have time to finish their mission. I’ve called the hospital and instructed them to prepare an operating theater. Medics are on their way from Patient Transport.” She turned back to her task.

  “Meemee.”

  Meemee and Weewee. The names from David’s babyhood had always made them laugh. He hated when they reminded him of his inability to say his sisters’ names. That he would use it now frightened h
er more than Ahnyis’s unspoken prognosis. Davey knew he was dying. Mira slid to her knees beside his head.

  “I’m here, Davey. Meemee’s here.”

  His face was a battered mess of blood and contusions. His arm lay at an odd angle and blood poured from the wound at his side. He tried to speak again through lips that were already swollen and deformed.

  “No, Davey, don’t.” Mira stroked his hair from his forehead

  “They wanted to know how much I knew,” he whispered so softly Mira had to hold her ear near his mouth to hear. “I didn’t know ... blow the towers... like that... people were inside... wanted them to die... Roark look bad... tried to stop it. Tried.”

  “Don’t, Davey, don’t do this,” she said, unable to stop the tears. “Everything will be all right,” she lied because Davey mustn’t be afraid. “Meemee will take care of it.”

  “Meemee always does.” David’s battered face molded into a grotesque grimace when he tried to smile.

  He struggled to release the arm pinned beneath his body. Ahnyis helped her bring the boy to his back and when she nodded her approval, Mira lifted his head to her lap. His good arm, now free, crossed his body to pat the hand that held his cheek. He was offering comfort to her!

  “Wanted to show you I could, too. If I could find the kids...” His breath gave out and it was another moment before he could speak. “Sorry... had to show I could be trusted... was watched. Sorry... love you.”

  Mira’s breath caught, too, though for a different reason. She remembered the argument outside the Buzz. David was so loud in his anger. The good night, Davey that was called as they entered the building should have told her they were being watched. She’d been too angry to pay attention.

  The way he’d acted while the smartass, Bret, was in the house, his pleading look when he left. She should have known. She could have helped. She could have stopped it.

  “Stop it, Davey, please. I’m sorry, too. It’s over.”

  His breath faltered. A faint line of blue formed around his lips.

  “I need those medics. I have wounded,” Ahnyis shouted into her comlink. She glanced at Harm who was attending to the two guards.

  “One gone. The other’s hanging on,” he announced with little emotion.

  “I’ll be back,” Ahnyis called to them both as she ran from the room.

  Davey clutched at Mira’s shirt, pulling her closer. “Think you know. Can’t get you. Help.”

  His breath was coming in labored pants. His eyes closed, then fluttered open.

  “Help is on the way, Davey. Hang on. Oh please, please, hang on.”

  “Go...Wee...kids.” A long pause and then, “Danger.”

  David’s hand fell away from her shirt. A tear slipped from the corner of one eye before they both closed. His chest heaved once with a gentle gasp of last breath.

  Ahnyis shoved her so forcefully, Mira fell to the side. She scrambled out of the way as the healer began working a tube down Davey’s throat. A small red box whirred by his head.

  Horrified, Mira backed from the room, gnawing the knuckle of the shaking hand she held to her mouth.

  At her feet lay the dead guard’s weapon. Without thinking, she bent and picked it up. It was an odd shape, similar to a handgun with a grip that fit snuggly in the palm and a short, bulbous barrel. There was no trigger, but two prominent buttons stood out where the trigger should be. One glowed a bright blue and she felt a faint vibration of the weapon in her hand.

  “Mira, don’t do anything until Roark gets here. He’s on his way.” Harm stood in the hall, his hand held out, asking for the weapon.

  Until that moment, Mira’s mind had been an open highway where thoughts were passing to and fro without stopping to rest. With the Prime’s words, the mindless traffic stopped. Think you know. Can’t get you. Wee, kids, danger. She’d failed David. She wouldn’t fail Wynne.

  “My sister. The kids. I have to go,” she said, backing away from Harm and toward the door.

  “I can’t let you do that,” Harm told her.

  He took a step forward. Mira raised the weapon.

  “And I can’t let you stop me.” She aimed the pointed black nozzle at the end of the barrel toward the Prime. “I won’t kill you, but I’ll shoot you. They can give you a new leg like Mohawk. It’ll hurt like a son of a bitch for little while, but then you’ll be right as rain.”

  Harm didn’t move. “Your family is fine. I’ll call Mohawk. He’ll tell you so.” Slowly he raised his hand to the comlink attached to his shoulder. Dead silence replied.

  Mira didn’t wait for excuses or explanations. She ran. She sped across the compound toward the gate. If the guards tried to stop her, she’d shoot them, too. Her thoughts went no further than Mohawk’s lack of response. Her sister and the children needed her and she was going.

  A skitt whizzed by her and came to a halt a few feet ahead.

  “Get in,” Harm called.

  Weapon held ready, Mira stood her ground. “I’m going and neither you nor Roark will stop me.”

  “That’s what I told Roark. He’ll have to catch up. Get in. It’s too far to walk.”

  Mira got in, but she didn’t lower the weapon. When the blue light when out, she pressed the button again and the weapon recharged.

  Speeding through the gates, Harm nodded at the pistol. “You do realize that if you shot me at the speed we’re moving, you’d kill us both, right?”

  “I’ll take my chances. As long as you keep going, neither of us have to worry about it.”

  The small crowd that had gathered around the building parted at their arrival. Some called out to her in concern, but only a few of the words penetrated Mira’s single minded brain.

  “Helmetheads.”

  “Shots fired.”

  She felt the rush of air as another hovercraft moved in and heard Roark angrily shout her name.

  Mira ignored it just as she ignored Harm’s shout of caution. She charged into the building. Rounding the first floor landing, she met a uniformed Godan soldier dragging a struggling Dorrie down the stairs.

  “Let her go!” Mira shouted, raising her weapon.

  The soldier looked up with a startled, “Fuck.” He spun to face Mira using Dorrie as a shield. At the same time, his free hand came up. It held an ordinary hand gun aimed at Mira’s head.

  Dorrie screamed, “No!”

  There was an ear piercing whine, a pencil thin streak of light, and the soldier screamed, too. The gun went flying, along with a portion of the hand that held it.

  Released and off balanced, Dorrie fell into Mira who caught her and rolled against the wall. She could hear the panicked voices of the others as they were herded back up the stairs.

  There was another loud, high pitched hum of air and the soldier’s sneakered foot exploded.

  “Take her to safety,” Harm ordered as he flew past them up the stairs.

  “How many more?” Mira asked Dorrie with no intention of following Harm’s command.

  “Three. They shot Mohawk and Matias.”

  “Go.” Mira pointed the sobbing teen in the direction she needed to go. “Wait for the others.”

  The door to the apartment was open. Harm was in a standoff with two soldiers, one of whom held Bitsy.

  “I’ll kill the kid,” he screamed.

  There was a crash from the bedroom accompanied by shattering glass, a shout and the sound of a double tap shot going off. The bang, bang echoed out into the room. The speaker turned and fired as Roark came barreling down the short hall. Blood blossomed on his shoulder, but he didn’t stop.

  The second armored soldier reached for Wynne who had the other children gathered to her.

  Mira didn’t think. Her hand came up, she pressed the unlit button. The streak of light hit the soldier’s helmet. It didn’t pierce the armor of the helmet, but the shock was enough to send the wearer reeling back.

  Mohawk, blood covered and who she’d presumed dead, lashed out with an agonized groan. His foot connect
ed with the falling soldier’s helmet and did what Mira’s shot had not. The helmet went flying, revealing Bret, the smartass from the Buzz. The gun went off and Mohawk fell back as another bullet pierced his body. Bret took aim again.

  Mira shot the imposter, feeling nothing but white hot anger boiling up through her veins. An instant head count told her that her family was still standing. Wynne’s face was bruised. Harm was already tying a white strip of cloth around Matias’s bleeding arm. Roark was rising from the body of the dead man beneath him.

  Without looking back, Mira turned and ran down the stairs.

  “They’re alive. Go help,” she ordered the waiting Dorrie.

  She then pushed through the crowd and headed for The Buzz. Anthony Tomaselli was going to die. He’d taken her brother and Mohawk. He’d tried to take her sister and her kids. Six years of anger and resentment boiled up and over. She could do nothing about the Hahnshin. Roark and the Godan were not to blame, but the anger was still there and screaming for revenge.

  Again, she heard Roark call her name. Again, she ignored it. In the distance, sirens wailed a warning. She ignored that, too. So did the crowd following behind her.

  She burst through the door, looked quickly about the room, and chose the man tending bar.

  “Where is he?”

  “Who wants to know?”

  She might have been more charitable if he hadn’t asked the same smartass question as Bret. She raised her weapon and blasted the row of bottles along the back wall. The amount of destruction surprised her. With her finger pressed firmly on the black button, the light and sound continued in a stream, shattering the row of bottles and the mirror behind it. When the row was obliterated, Mira leaned over the bar to find the man who’d dropped down behind it.

  “Me,” she said, and pointed the weapon at his head.

  “What the fuck’s going on out here?”

  “Never mind,” she told the cowering bartender. “I found him.”

  “Are you fucking crazy?” Tomaselli shouted.

  “Not anymore,” she said raising the weapon. “I was crazy to think I could keep my family safe when the enemy was living three blocks away, right here in your bar. Your henchmen are lying dead in my house. You know, the ones you dressed up in Godan uniforms to terrorize your neighbors and kidnap children off the streets. Where’d you get those uniforms from? What did you do with those kids? How much did they pay you?” She swept out the hand holding the weapon to include those watching from the doorway. “Because we all know you don’t do a damn thing unless there’s a profit involved.”