“That, Lance,” Alana said, “is Caenlegh Castle.”
The Leh’kin had spent the past millennia mastering stone and metalwork. As such, their creations were truly a sight to behold. Most of the structures they built were monumental in nature, filled with many great halls designed for beauty while also being able to maintain structural integrity for millennia. But of all their architectural marvels, nothing could ever quite compare to the castle.
Its golden towers were molded with such precision, such intricacy, that one’s admiration could never tire. And to add to its mythical air, the whole structure was blanketed in giant vines. Some had even grown tall enough to form natural bridges between the castle and the three rings of botanical gardens suspended above it.
Alana moved to the railing and pointed to the gardens. “It’s guarded by six mini anti-air batteries, which are hidden up in those rings. They’ve also got four larger anti-air cannons scattered across the kingdom. Fun fact: each one has three times the firing power of one of our orbital platforms.”
“If they’ve had the technology lying around all this time, how come we never encountered anything that powerful during the war?” Knoble asked, resting his arms upon the rail.
“I guess they weren’t too big on sharing with the Empire. And considering everything that’s happened, I’d say they made the right decision.” A glimmer in the distance caught Alana’s attention and she swept her hand toward the coast, to the waves lapping against the faraway shore. “See that water over there? That’s the Sea of Ocel.”
“Nice place for a vacation.”
“We held a memorial on the beach not long after the incident. It wasn’t much—just a few soldiers exchanging stories, talking about the good old days.” Alana paused, an ache in her throat. How silly, she thought, to be getting all emotional over the death of a man who had returned from the grave. She subdued her tears and continued, refusing to let past grief get the better of her. “You know, we didn’t stop searching for months—for you and the shuttle. The odds were against us. We knew that. But you went into a portal, and to us . . . to me . . . that meant there was a chance you could still be out there.”
Knoble wrapped his arm around her and kissed her on the forehead. Clearly he was worried about her and how she had coped with his supposed passing. However, unlike most people, he knew better than to pry. She would open up when she was ready.
“Can you promise me something?” he asked.
She raised an inquisitive brow.
“When I do actually die, don’t shut yourself away from the world. Come visit me every couple of months or so. Bring your guitar, bring the team, and sing me a happy tune. That way, my ghost will be satisfied and I won’t feel compelled to haunt you.”
Alana laughed and gave him a jab in the ribs. “Got it,” she said. “I think that’s enough talk of your death—real or otherwise. Can’t have you jinxing the future now, can we?”
“Don’t worry. The universe tried to take me once already. I won’t be leaving you again any time soon.”
Chapter
———THIRTEEN———
0300 Hours, September 10, 2442 (Earth Calendar) / Charab’dul Metamorphosis Research Division, planet Chelwood Gate, Schwarzschild System
“Doctor, we will be landing shortly.”
Orion’s dulcet tones drew Dr. Chambers from her slumber. For once, she was glad to find herself back in the shuttle. Her sleep had been plagued by nightmares, no doubt triggered by Desmond’s awakening.
She had been wandering the streets of her Earth-bound hometown while her past streamed by on a silver ribbon. It was eerie, quiet, and the night was filled with fog. Her legs had carried her, unwilling, to the end of the road, where she was forced to relive some of the most dreadful moments of her life.
Chambers leaned forward in the command chair, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Whether it was left over from the nightmare, or a result of all the recent rushing around, she could not say. The brief floating sensation as Pioneer settled on its dampers certainly did nothing to help, though.
“Are you alright, Doctor?” Orion asked, hovering above the console beside her. “You seem rather subdued.”
“Being cooped up in a shuttle will do that to you.” Chambers stretched her weary limbs, relieved to be on solid ground. After drifting through Theta Verra for a day and subsequently enduring a thirty-six hour voyage to Chelwood Gate, she’d had enough star-sailing to last a lifetime.
Hearing a rap of knuckles on the hatch, Chambers hopped up. She combed the tangles out of her hair and smoothed the wrinkles from her coat, then held out her arms for inspection. “Orion, how do I look?”
“Like hell,” he said.
She glared at him. “Gee, thanks.”
“It’s not as if you’re heading out to some charity ball. No one is going to care about your appearance. They will probably just be happy to see you alive.” Orion’s lips curved. “Unless of course their hatred for you runs deeper than we thought.”
With a roll of her eyes, Chambers released the interior locks and opened the hatch. Outside, there stood a man in ludicrous tangerine overalls and oil-splashed boots—the captain of the tugboat that had towed Pioneer here all the way from Delta Station.
“Watch your step,” he said, guiding her out of the dim shuttle. As she planted her feet on the docking platform, the sound of applause erupted around her. Her eyes snapped up in surprise.
A small crowd had gathered at the bottom of the platform. All of her colleagues from the Metamorphosis Research Division on Calypsis had come to welcome her to their new home. And clapping loudest of them all was Dr. Robert Larson.
He ascended the ramp and took her in his arms. “Welcome back to the world of the living,” he said, all choked-up and red-nosed. “Things haven’t been the same here without you.”
“Are you crying?” Chambers asked teasingly.
“What? No.” Larson hastily swept his sleeve across his face, sniffling behind the fabric. “It’s just the fumes—the fumes from the tugboat. They set off my sinuses. That’s all.”
Chambers allowed herself a brief chuckle, then hung her head. There was still another bomb to drop. She jerked her chin toward the shuttle. “Come with me. There’s something I have to show you.”
Together, they clambered inside. Dr. Chambers led Larson into the aft section where P37ER’s tank resided, and stopped in front of a screen on the bulkhead beside the entrance to the cryo storage compartment. “Orion, bring up the surveillance feed.”
A green light winked on in the display’s upper corner, and a live feed from inside the storage compartment filled the screen. With the mist gone, the open cryo capsule was clearly visible. Orion hovered over the pedestal beside it as he chatted away to Desmond, who had parked himself on the floor.
Larson’s jaw dropped when he saw him. “Oh my god. How long has he been awake?”
“Two and a half days, give or take,” Chambers said. “The time lock zeroed out shortly after we exited slipspace.”
“I thought you said he had an hour left?”
“I thought he did. If you’d seen him the night he went into that capsule, you would have come to the same conclusion.” She started counting off the symptoms on her fingertips. “He was hemorrhaging, nearly blind, suffering from mood swings, and becoming increasingly violent and self-destructive. He showed every sign of entering the final stage of infection.”
“Then how is he still here?”
“I don’t know.”
Larson chewed on that for a moment. “You don’t suppose he could be—”
“I don’t know,” Chambers repeated with unintended harshness. She pinched the bridge of her nose. “From what I can tell, the virus has halted all progression. In fact, it appears some of his symptoms have even started to subside. But as much as I want to believe he is in remission, I cannot go down that road until I have proof. If I lose him again . . .”
Larson gripped her shoulder. “It’s
okay. I understand. I’ll have Caitlyn place an order for another cryo capsule—just in case. In the meantime, let’s get him into an examination room and start running some tests.”
————
Dr. Larson leaned against one of the filing cabinets in the small observation area attached to the examination room and scrutinized the window in front of him. On the left-hand side of the glass was an array of vital sign monitors, and on the right was a multi-layered scan of Desmond Pérez’s body that showed every detail from skin to bone.
Infected areas were highlighted across the scan in various shades of purple indicating the severity of infection. Normally these colors would flare over the image, allowing observers to track the progression of the virus in real-time. However, in Desmond’s case, these areas were totally inactive—despite being riddled with a Stage 4 infection.
“I don’t get it,” he murmured. “It’s like the virus just . . . stopped. That’s not possible, is it?”
Dr. Chambers was curled in a chair beside him, watching her fiancé intently through the glass. “People used to think immunity was impossible before they found out about me,” she said. “Maybe Desmond’s special, too.”
“If he was born with a natural immunity, he shouldn’t have been able to contract the infection in the first place. He would have had to develop it after the fact.” Larson scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Do you think you could have passed your immunity on to him?”
“If that were the case, I shouldn’t have had any trouble creating a cure from my blood. But as I learned early on, immunity cannot be shared. The only way we’re going to beat this thing is if we can figure out how to kill it.”
“And your fiancé may well hold the secret.” Larson didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but nobody could deny that this was exciting news. After all their years of fruitless searching, they could be on the verge of a major breakthrough.
“Shall I order another round of tests?” Orion asked over the building’s intercom. One of the technicians must have reintegrated his fragment into his core unit while they were moving Desmond.
“Oh-ho, no. No way am I letting those nurses near him.” Dr. Chambers stood and pushed her chair under the desk. “Larson and I will be administering all tests from here on out. If anyone has a problem with that, they can take their complaints to Wesley Cox.”
Orion snickered. “I’ll put a notice on the door.”
As Chambers went to leave, Larson reached out and grabbed her sleeve. “Wait. There’s something I need to tell you.”
She paused a beat, pouring over his expression, then nodded for him to continue.
“A rumor started circling the building a few days ago,” he said. “It’s got everyone on edge, and I’m not too ecstatic about it myself. The thing is, I think it might be true. It would explain the weirdness around here of late—what with DuFrayne’s visits, and Cox taking off in the middle of the week without notice . . .”
Chambers groaned. “Spit it out already.”
“It’s Leonard O’Connor.”
Her face went blank. “What?”
“I think he’s back.”
“Back? Larson, he’s dead.”
“Yeah, if what the Bureau told us is—”
“You’re not listening to me.” Chambers seized him by the shoulders. “I went to his funeral. I saw his body in the casket. Cox even showed me the footage from Tyrill. It was a bloodbath, Larson, and he was caught right in the middle of it. You want to tell me they faked the whole thing?”
Larson held his tongue.
Leonard O’Connor was one of the people Chambers most despised, for it was he that dragged her kicking and screaming from the plague-ridden Earth she called home. Of course, it didn’t help that her relationship with the Bureau was sour from the start. Her hatred for them had been brewing long before O’Connor entered the picture. He simply stirred the pot.
“Would you like me to look into it?” Orion asked.
Chambers released her grip on Larson. It was unlike her to accept the Bureau’s word as truth. Usually she was the one questioning their every move, waiting for them to slip up so she could yank the rug out from under them.
“No,” she replied. There was a hint of uncertainty in her tone. As she headed for the exit, Larson noticed a brief hesitation in her step. “Let’s just focus on Desmond. Prep the lab. I’ll meet you both there in a few minutes.”
Chapter
——FOURTEEN——
0400 Hours, September 10, 2442 (Earth Calendar) / Refugee Camp, Alqui, Kingdom of Oe’Nhervon, planet Thei’legh
“There are so many . . .” Kenon cast a solemn gaze over the refugees as he and Jhiral walked into the camp. Drahkori of all types had gathered here. From the silver-haired miners of the ice plains, to the coal-skinned warriors of the scorched lands—there were hundreds of them, and all were packed into a building so small it could hardly contain their mass.
Jhiral waved her rifle for several elders to clear the way so Echo and Alpha could roll in the supply pallets. They scampered off, tails coiled around their legs. “The majority are children,” she replied, “many of whom have been orphaned. I worry for them, Kenon. This is no place for a child.”
“Are they not treated well here?”
“More than anything, it is their mental health I am concerned about. We keep them fed and hydrated while the healers ensure their physical health, but no one tends to their psychological needs. After the trauma they have endured . . . I expected more from a Leh’kin camp. Sadly, the King shows little interest in aiding our kind.”
Kenon’s focus lingered on a group of children who were etching patterns into the surface of a wooden table, probably to keep their troubled minds occupied. Most bore minor bumps and bruises; some, deep gashes and burns. One had bandages packed into the empty socket where her arm had once been.
This is my fault, he thought with a pang of guilt. If not for his existence, none of this would have happened. The Nephera would never have had cause to attack Dyre, giving the Drahkori an enemy to revolt against, and there would be no uprising for the Royal Empire to suppress. All of this death and destruction could have been avoided. If only I had died at birth.
Echo and Alpha guided the maglev pallets to a raised platform in the middle of the camp and set them down. Segmented strips of amber light illuminated the walkways, indicating where the cargo was to be delivered whilst warning refugees to stay out of the way.
“Alright, let’s get cracking.” Jenkinson hopped onto the platform and pointed down the widest of the three paths. “Valinquint, Alume—take the water containers to the storage room.” He motioned to the other two paths. “Carter, you’re on kit distribution. Make sure everyone has a ration pack. Parker, get the frozen goods in the freezer and try not to lock yourself in.”
“Ye of little faith.” Parker dropped a duffel bag at Lieutenant Foster’s feet, then picked up a couple himself. “Don’t forget I used to run security for Sector Two. Even if I were to lock myself in, I could probably just hack my way out.”
Jhiral eased the first bundle of three-gallon containers off the top of the stack and handed it down to Kenon. The water sloshing about inside threw him off-balance and he set it on the floor with a bang. Each bundle weighed close to one hundred and fifty pounds—far more weight than he was used to unloading at once.
“Hey, where the hell is Carmen?” Carter asked, popping open a plasteel crate and grabbing an armful of ration packs. Bennett and Mäkinen did the same, then disappeared into the crowds to pass them around. “Didn’t weasel her way out of work, did she?”
Jenkinson jammed a crowbar under the lid of one of the larger metal crates. “She went to show Knoble around the area; told me to call if we needed her,” he said. “I figured she could use the break, so I didn’t bother. We can handle this on our own anyway.”
“You sure about that?”
“Carter, there’s eleven of us. It would be pretty goddamn pathetic if we couldn’
t do this without her.”
“I mean the break. Work helps her cope, J, and I’m not sure she’s stable. It wouldn’t be so bad if she just had her stepdad to worry about. Now we’ve all got a bigger problem on our plates.” Carter shot Kenon a sideways glance that couldn’t have been any more conspicuous.
“Watch it,” Jenkinson warned. “Carmen would beat your ass for that if she was here.”
“Yeah, well, she’s not. Besides, you know I’m right.”
Kenon paused as he set down another bundle of containers. He couldn’t listen to this any longer. “I realize I am a burden,” he hissed past the tension in his throat. “And I understand that by simply being here I have put all of your lives at risk. But I will not stand by and listen while you talk about me as if I am not even here!”
“Kenon, don’t—” Jhiral reached out to her companion, urging him to hold his tongue, but he shrugged her off.
“No, no. It’s fine. I can respect that.” Dropping his collection of foil packets back into the crate, Carter slapped his hands on his hips. “I’ll give it to you straight, Valinquint: We’re happy you’re alive. We really are. That said, we can’t ignore the fact that you are a problem—and a real fuckin’ big one, too. You see, now that we have to babysit you, we’ll all be walking ‘round with giant targets painted on our backs. But do we have a choice? No, because if you’re captured . . .” He hunched his shoulders and made a face. “We’re dead.”
The rest of the group continued unloading the pallets in awkward silence. No one could argue with Carter’s claim. He was only voicing the concerns that must have been plaguing everyone’s minds.
“I am sorry,” Kenon said. “If I could fix this—”
Jenkinson swung his crowbar in the young warrior’s direction. “Don’t apologize. This isn’t your fault. You didn’t choose to be what you are.”
The Calypsis Project Boxed Set (Books 1-2 - The Echo-Alpha Duology) Page 40