Leviathan: Book 8 of the Legacy Fleet Series

by Nick Webb

  “That’s insane,” said Zivic.

  “Or, maybe that’s what makes the Quiassi so powerful—maybe that’s their unique power that sets them apart from regular humans. Talus . . . became Haws.”

  “What, like a shape-shifter? You read too much sci-fi,” said Zivic.

  “Well, no, not like one of those crazy change-in-an-instant shapeshifters from the movies. No. More like a . . . a . . . slow doppelgänger.”

  Sepulveda’s left brow bunched up. “A . . . slow . . . doppelgänger?”

  “Uh huh. Look, the Valarisi can do some crazy-ass-shit. They can flow through a human’s veins and heal damage at the cellular level. They can connect to meta-space somehow, in a biological process that we’re only beginning to understand. The old Swarm matter, which was based on the Valarisi’s structure, could actually control a human. Is a slow doppelgänger crazier than any of that?”

  Sepulveda shrugged and turned to Zivic, who mirrored his shrug.

  “It’s an out there idea, but it fits the data we have so far. And until new data comes in, I honestly can’t think of a better one.” An indicator on the tactical board flashed, and Rice glanced at it. “Well, looks like the dignitaries have started to show up. There’s the first ship from United Earth. How long do we want to hang around these parts?”

  Zivic looked at the command console and saw the schematic map showing the new ship. “Is it close enough for visual?”

  “Yeah. I’ll put it on screen.” Rice waved the video feed up to the main view screen.

  A mid-sized gunship approached the Shovik-Orion station.

  “Speak of the devil,” murmured Zivic. “I know that ship.”

  “So do I,” said Sepulveda. “That’s the Crimson Phoenix. Danny Proctor and Fiona Liu.”

  “And possibly President Cooper, given that those two are her private transportation and security now,” added Zivic. He glanced at the comms officer. “Send a text message. Inform Mr. Proctor of the Defiance’s presence in orbit and ask if he’s able to talk via private secured channel.”

  “Aye, sir,” said the ensign.

  A few moments later, the comm terminal beeped with an incoming message.

  “He says, ‘Fancy meeting you here, Ethan. Let us drop off our passenger, and while we wait for her to return we can talk.’”

  Zivic nodded. “Like I thought. Cooper’s with them.” He stood up and paced toward the screen, eyes fixated on the Crimson Phoenix as it approached a docking port on the station. “What are the odds. And Mr. Rice, I’m starting to warm up to your crazy theories.”

  “Thank you, sir, I’ll award myself a medal later.”

  Zivic chuckled briefly, but still watched the ship as it docked. Several minutes later, the comm station beeped again. “Danny Proctor for you, Commander Zivic. Secure channel. Transmission is also run through the stealth computer to aid in masking the origin of the signal.”

  “Thank you, Ensign. Onscreen, please.”

  Danny Proctor and Fiona Liu’s faces filled the screen, replacing the view of the orbital station. “Long time no see, Ethan. How’s Jerusha?”

  “Doing good. They’re just wrapping up at the Trits’ world, assisting them in the evac before the Findiri show up to blow them to smithereens for helping Granger escape. How’s honor guard duty?”

  “I’d say uneventful. I mean we haven’t seen any action, but we’ve learned a few juicy tidbits.”

  “Such as?”

  Danny smiled. “Talus? You’ll never, ever guess. He’s lying.”

  “How so?”

  “We went to Haws’s grave and scanned it. Sure enough, the guy’s dead as a doornail.”

  “Okay. Well that’s a relief, zombies aren’t real,” quipped Zivic.

  “Yeah, but get this. Fiona does a special scan on the surviving DNA fragments, and it turns out that Haws didn’t die when they all said he died. He died three months later. Three months. My question is: what the hell happened in those three months?”

  Zivic slowly turned around and stared at Rice, who nodded back knowingly. “What the hell indeed, Mr. Proctor.”

  He turned back to the viewscreen and ran him through Rice’s theory, which now had one more piece of data that fit.

  Danny shook his head. “Wow. I mean, wow. How many Quiassi did Talus say there were? Ten? Just think about that for a second. If Rice is right, there could be nine other humans running around that are not who they say they are.”

  “Exactly. We need to talk to the Admiral. She needs to know about this. Do you know where she is?”

  Danny’s eyes glazed over for a few moments before he snapped back to with a look of surprise. “Penumbra. Wasn’t expecting that.”

  “I wasn’t expecting alien doppelgängers to be walking around, but here we are. Okay, I think the Defiance has overstayed its welcome. UE is sending ships, right? Relief vessels?”

  “They are,” said Liu.

  “Then we need to be on our way. I’m heading to Penumbra to talk to Proctor—”

  “Oh shit,” said Danny. He turned to Liu. “Remember Bolivar?”

  Her eyes narrowed as she considered what he was referring to. “Oh. Yeah, oh shit is right.” She turned back to Zivic. “Speaker Curiel. So he’s alive, right? After supposedly being dead?”

  Zivic nodded. “Yeah, we heard—” he trailed off. “Oh.”

  “Exactly. He told us his story, and it sounded pretty incredible at the time. Said he nearly got caught in the Britannia blast. You were there. Did you see that blast? You don’t nearly get caught in the blast, you either escape intact, or you get incinerated. There’s no in-between. He claimed that they got knocked around a bit, and that their navigator q-jumped them away at the last second. Then said he was in a coma for a few weeks before they managed to patch him up.”

  Sepulveda stood up from the captain’s chair. “You think he could be a doppelgänger too?”

  Liu shrugged. “No way to be sure. Except . . .” She turned to Danny.

  “The DNA sample,” he said. “I think it’s time you have your buddy put that on the front burner for us.”

  Zivic nodded. “All well and good. But we’re still just running around with theories right now. Whatever is going on, though, the answer is on that station. Fiona?” He grinned slightly. “You up for it?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” She actually smiled. “Training’s been getting rusty, been meaning to get back into practice.”

  “Great. You guys figure out how to get in there and see what’s going on. I’m heading out to Penumbra to—”

  The comm station beeped again, distracting him. “Meta-space message from the ISS Volz, sir,” said Ensign Platt.

  “From Whitehorse?” asked Zivic.

  The ensign’s face went a shade of white. “Uh, no. From the comms officer. This says she’s . . . dead.”

  He thought he misheard the words. He must have.

  “I’m sorry could you repeat that? The comms officer is dead?”

  Ensign Platt looked up at him. “Captain Whitehorse. She’s dead.”

  He thought he misheard again, but the silence hanging in the air for several seconds confirmed it for him. “How?” was all he could manage to croak out.

  “Accident. Commander Shin-Wentworth now in command until Admiral Proctor can assess the situation,” replied the ensign.

  Every eye on the bridge was on him. He half didn’t believe it—it must be a mistake. Wrong person. Or not dead, but deathly sick and resting in her quarters. He was going to throw up. Or scream. His skin tingled everywhere. His face flushed. No. No. It can’t be.

  Whatever the truth, he needed to keep it together. Keep it together, Batshit. For the crew. For the mission.

  “Ensign Nagin, plot q-jump course to Chantana Three. Get us there. Now.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Kiev Sector

  Bellarus, high orbit

  Crimson Phoenix

  Bridge

  “You seem entirely too excit
ed about this,” said Danny as he glanced over Liu one last time.

  “You bet your ass I’m excited. Sorry Danny, hate to say it, but shuttling refugees around wasn’t exactly my dream job.”

  It was true. She was positively ecstatic. She’d joined IDF Intel in the first place half for the thrill of it. The undercover missions inside the RC and the Caliphate. The constant danger and lurking threats and fear of being discovered. She’d found it intoxicating.

  He was stroking his chin and regarding her clothing choice. She’d donned another outfit, this one something that your average civilian might wear, say, to work. At a research institute. On casual Friday. “Are you sure you look the part?”

  She snorted. “Honestly, Danny, have you ever seen a scientist?”

  “I . . . maybe.”

  “They’re not known for either their formality or their fashion sense. When I worked at Intel central, the researchers would sometimes show up in their pajamas.” She checked her sidearm hidden under her loose-fitting shirt one last time, and pulled the just-printed fake ID out of the printer unit. “Nice. You made me a research fellow?”

  “Only the best for my sweetheart.”

  “Neela Valdez?”

  “I was in a hurry.”

  “From Stockholm?”

  “Again, in a hurry. How’s your accent?”

  “Yah. Like dees?”

  “Close enough. Come on, let’s go. You ready?”

  She inserted the ID into the holder dangling from her collar. “Yep. You?”

  “I just hope they have a sense of humor.” He wrenched his face up into a pained expression. “I reeeeally gotta go, Officer Friendly, and my ship’s loo is all clogged up.”

  “Perfect. You’re up.”

  He stood at the airlock hatch. On the other side was the station’s airlock, and undoubtedly a security guard. Like most space station security guards, he was most likely playing a game on his handheld. But Shovik-Orion might be running a tighter ship than the average customs port. Especially on a high-security top-secret research station.

  “Here I go. Wish me luck.”

  He opened the hatch and walked straight through, not even pausing as he strode past the security guard leaning back in his chair near the door. “Hey!” the man yelled.

  Liu watched as Danny made a hard left down the corridor once he cleared the station-side airlock, the security guard running after him. She followed behind, poking her head around the corner to the right to make sure another guard wasn’t stationed there. In the distance she could hear Danny’s voice fade away. “But I reeeeally have to take a shit, sir, and you will not believe what comes out of a backed-up toilet when you’ve been shuttling Dolmasi around . . .”

  She slipped around the corner and jogged lightly down the hall, through a door and into another corridor more toward the center of the station, this one wider and with several people in it. A small group stood at a door engaged in what looked like casual conversation. Another few people were just walking along to their destination. None of them looked like security, so she took a deep breath and aimed for the group.

  “Hey!” she said, interrupting one of the women. “Sorry! New here. My badge stopped working and I need to get a new one. Can you point me to the administration offices?”

  The woman she’d interrupted looked down at her badge. “Welcome to Smolensk, Neela. Stockholm, huh? Linnaeus Institute?”

  “That’s the one. Do you get many of us here?” She hoped to high heaven that the Linnaeus Institute was a real place and that the woman wasn’t playing her.

  “Oh we’ve had a few. Come on, I’ll take you there.”

  Shit, just give me the directions, lady.

  “Great! Thanks!”

  Dammit, too perky.

  She fell into step with the woman, who extended a hand. “Sheila McNamara.”

  Liu shook the hand. “Thanks again for your help. I really could have gotten there myself, you didn’t need to go out of your way.”

  “Nonsense, I’m actually heading there anyway. I’m the safety compliance officer, so I kinda live here, what with the shit going on these days.”

  Liu’s ears perked up. “Oh?”

  “How long you been here?”

  They passed through a set of doors into another hallway, this one more populated than the one before. “About two weeks. Why?”

  “Oh god. Well, you’ll see some things. Especially if you’re in the experimental division. Just remember, if ever asked to do something you feel isn’t safe, just come see me, got it? Those bastards have been cutting corners, and one of these days it’s going to come back and bite them in the ass.”

  They entered what looked like the main promenade of the station. A few eateries held a few dozen patrons on their lunch breaks, and she could smell the faint tinge of curry and onion in the air.

  “I’m in the theory group, so lucky me, I guess,” said Liu, then, dropping her voice, “So what exactly are they getting in trouble for? Like chemical storage safety violations? They have some chemical spills or something?”

  Sheila McNamara laughed. “I guess you could call them chemical spills. The Juice. Stupid name. You’d think the boys in experimental were still in grade school. At least no one has gotten any on themselves yet. But it’s only a matter of time. Good thing we’re not technically under RC supervision anymore—they’re a little more lax than UE, but not that much more lax. If their minister of workforce safety had caught wind of this before Bellarus’s little rebellion, heads would have rolled, believe me.”

  So. The Juice. At least now she had a name.

  She mimicked McNamara’s laughter. “Damn. Well I’ll keep that in mind before I go on my date this weekend. One of the experimentalists asked me out. Think I’ll institute a no touching policy for the first few dates.” Then she lowered her voice again and looked both ways, making a show of innocence. “So . . . what if he does get some on himself. It doesn’t, I mean . . . it won’t affect me, will it?”

  McNamara stopped, checked to make sure no one was listening, then leaned in closer. “See, that’s the thing. They don’t even know yet. They don’t dare test it on a human subject. Not yet. Not while everything with the Findiri and the Valarisi is going down. The only in-vivo testing ever done was at the lab on San Martin, and that was only with a precursor to Juice, and even that got the lab shut down by GPC authorities.” She pointed to one of her own eyeballs. “Just watch yourself, okay? Be careful. You don’t want to end up being the first in-vivo test.”

  San Martin? The same place Danny had been brought back to life by injecting him with live Swarm matter? The same injection that ended up giving rise to the rebirth of the Valarisi? That was just a precursor?

  “Damn,” she whispered. “Thanks, Sheila. I’ll— shit, I think I’ll just cancel my date.” She forced a short laugh.

  McNamara smiled too, then pointed to the doors they’d stopped outside of. “Here we are. Head right, down the hall to HR. They should be able to issue a new badge.”

  “Thanks again, Sheila. I owe you dinner sometime.”

  McNamara winked. “You know where to find me.” They entered, and she turned right while McNamara turned left. Liu glanced over her shoulder, waiting until the other woman turned a corner, and when she did, reversed course and headed back out to the promenade.

  She walked down the busy hallway, a two-story space about the size of a city street. It curved slowly around to the left, apparently wrapping back in on itself after what she guessed was a kilometer or so. Where was it . . .

  There it was. Right next to the administration offices. The executive offices. Where the Shovik-Orion big wigs would be sitting. They wouldn’t be mingling with the common admin folks, who were probably just contractors anyway.

  She entered the sliding doors and glanced at the wall with a list of names and room numbers. She scanned it quickly before the receptionist noticed her.

  “Can I help you, ma’am?”

  “Yes, I
have an appointment with Vice President Shankar. I’m a little early, but, you know. Nerves.” She forced a nervous laugh. She’d found that civilians were always a bit less suspicious of her when she made a show of nerves and anxiety—the exact opposite of what you’d expect an intelligence agent to act like. Confidence? Flying under the radar? Naw. Acting like the most pitiable, disheveled, nervous woman possible got her in most doors she ever wanted. And the other doors?

  That’s where her other training came in handy.

  “I don’t see it on his calendar,” she said. “Maybe it was for tomorrow?”

  “Well, maybe,” she laughed again. “But this was an, uh, unofficial appointment. He wanted to talk about some job prospects with me? See, I met him at the bar last night, we went to his place, and, well, he said we could look at which division is hiring, and said,” she glanced at the nameplate on the desk, “that Sue Pringle is the most darling, kind-hearted woman who was always looking out for him and would usher me right in without any awkward questions . . .” She trailed off and shrugged.

  Would it work?

  If it didn’t, there was always her other training.

  Sue Pringle grinned from ear to ear. “That Simon. Ever the rakish gentleman. Head on in, sweetheart. His schedule is actually free for the next hour.”

  “Thanks, Sue, we owe you one.”

  Sue waved her back and Liu followed the indicated hallway behind her. She turned the corner and found the right room number, with the name Simon Shankar below it.

  She knocked softly, standing to the side of the door where the handle was.

  She heard a vague “Come in!” but she stayed put, then knocked again.

  A shuffle from inside the room was music to her ears. She readied the small vial tucked under her belt and held it up at head-height next to the door.

  It opened, and she pressed the top of the vial, aiming it around the edge of the opening.