by Natalie Grey
“Precisely,” Gil said with a nod to Gar. “The Luvendi is quite correct. What makes this belief even more damaging is that it used…well, torture, to render the victim vulnerable before feeding them the information about who to obey.”
Barnabas shook his head. “Those worldviews fall apart when they’re tested,” he said. “Not always, but they do. I’m not giving up on Jeltor.”
“Nor should you,” Gil said. “But be cautious. The process doesn’t destroy function or intelligence. Jeltor is still intelligent enough to pretend he’s been rehabilitated even if he hasn’t been. You cannot allow him to be exposed to classified material. He must be kept secure.”
“Oh, I had no intentions of letting him back into the Navy,” Barnabas said.
Admiral Jeqwar shared Gil’s worry, after all. She struck Barnabas as the type who preferred being safe rather than sorry.
And in this case, he was fairly sure that meant killing Jeltor and delivering a stirring eulogy at his funeral rather than taking the time to rehabilitate him.
Feword frowned at his screens. Yeldred had been on his break for far too long. Feword knew that it was distasteful work to tend the alien experiments, but that didn’t mean he would allow the male to shirk his duty.
Although he did intend to speak to Grisor about terminating these particular experiments. They were clearly broken beyond the point of rehabilitation. The one Brakalon cried all the time, until Feword was tempted to shoot him just to get rid of the sound.
He traced Yeldred’s last known location and clomped heavily down the stairs rather than using the elevator. Feword was a big believer in doing as much as he could with his suit. One should become at home enough in it that using it was like second nature.
Perhaps some combat drills might give his team more focus…
He was still thinking when he came out into the hallway, then his eyes widened.
Down the hall, was an open door, and he made his way toward it quickly, readying his weapons.
His suit was finely calibrated and able to move softly, but he hadn’t ever gone up against a cybernetic body housing an Empire AI. In the records room, Shinigami had stopped moving as soon as she sensed Feword’s steps in the stairwell. Near the closed door lay the guard’s body, surrounded by a growing pile of scanned records. As Feword opened the door, Shinigami sank into a crouch. If he looked her way as he walked past the room, he would see nothing out of the ordinary.
He continued down the hall and toward the ship, and Shinigami flexed her hand, then clenched it, staring at the fist. She was still not as at home in her body as she needed to be to fight a trained killer.
But it looked like the time had come.
Chapter Twenty-One
The elevator doors opened, and Gil left the elevator first. He beckoned silently once he had determined the coast was clear and Barnabas and Gar followed him, weapons at the ready.
Barnabas heard the footsteps nearby first, and a split-second later Gil motioned for them to stop. He pointed to Barnabas’ gun, then pointed ahead.
Barnabas nodded and motioned to Gar to wait. He could hear that it was one Jotun, and he suspected that he could do this more quietly on his own. Silence was of the essence. No one seemed to have noticed yet that one of the guards was dead, and he wanted to keep it that way.
Barnabas, Shinigami said in his mind.
I’m a little busy right now. He paused at the corner and waited for a moment. The footsteps were going away from him, so he slipped around the corner and followed the Jotun guard as it marched along the hallway. He had to move quickly in case it decided to swivel in its tank. What is it?
One of the guards discovered the murdered one. He went right by the records room without properly scanning it, so he doesn’t know I am there. He’s going toward the main entrance.
Stay there, Barnabas said unequivocally. I’ll send Gar, and you two can take him out together.
Roger that.
Gar—go back to the records room. Check the corridor before coming out of the stairwell. One of the guards has discovered the breach.
On my way.
Gar dropped out of contact, and with that, Barnabas leapt into action. He had never worried too much about quietness when he killed Jotuns before, so he was going to have to improvise.
He had drawn his knife, and he lunged quickly to jam it into the plating by the Jotun’s knee. It tried to pivot, but without both legs it was useless. It staggered and he caught it, wary of the sound of it crashing to the ground.
Its arms were still functional and they shot out, knives and needles popping out of recessed panels. Barnabas jerked away, swore internally, and made a split-second decision. He half-stood and then came down again with all his might, breaking the tank with his fist and plunging his knife into the thrashing body.
He had no idea where any of the vital organs were, but he seemed to have hit something important because the thrashing ended and the Jotun lay still on the floor. A moment later, footsteps sounded behind him, and Barnabas looked to see Gil staring at the Jotun.
“You know,” he said inconsequentially, “many believe that biosuits are completely impregnable.”
“That,” Barnabas said, “is not true by a long shot.”
“I know.” Gil sounded almost sad. “Come with me. We need to get to Jeltor.”
“Agreed.” Barnabas stood. “How are we going to get him to the ship, by the way?”
“There’s a spare tank we can use.” Gil led the way down the hall. “I think we probably don’t want him to be in a biosuit he can move around in.”
“You’re really worried he’s been converted.” Barnabas made himself say the words.
When Gil said nothing, Barnabas felt dread settle into the pit of his stomach.
Gar made his way down the stairs almost silently. He had thought that combat training would be all learning how to hit things, but Barnabas had made Gar learn all sorts of other skills as well: marksmanship, throwing, moving silently, and more. Gar tried to practice another lesson as he walked: paying attention to every sound he heard.
When he reached the door at the bottom of the stairs, he paused and listened closely. He did not hear anything moving outside, so he eased the door open as quietly as he could and closed it behind himself. Then he slipped down the hallway to the records room, gun at the ready.
It was good that he had because he was about halfway to the records room when the guard Shinigami had heard came back into the hallway.
Gar didn’t hesitate. He broke into a full-on sprint, a roar bursting from his lips. Shinigami—wait and choose your moment!
Will do. She sounded amused. Your battle cries are ridiculous, you know.
I know. Gar gave a small smile of satisfaction as his opponent started running as well. But he has to think I’m committing to this. One moment.
As they ran, the Jotun leveled one arm at Gar, and Gar’s newly-enhanced vision picked out the gleam of a tiny needle. The Jotuns really did love their poisons and needles. It didn’t matter, however, because Gar hadn’t ever intended to tackle his opponent. Instead, as he drew close, he took two long, loping steps—and leapt over the Jotun’s head.
The Jotun gave a mechanical squawk of surprise as Gar flipped in midair. He managed to swing around quickly but hadn’t yet readied another weapon when Gar aimed his pistol and shot twice in succession.
The Jotuns weren’t stupid. Their biosuits were designed to be bulletproof. They hadn’t had much contact with the Etheric Empire, however, and Gar’s bullets caused a spiderweb of cracks across the tank. The Jotun flailed and gave an angry yell. Blades appeared on its arms, and armor plating shot forward to close around the internal tank.
In the confusion, Shinigami wrenched open the door to the records room and threw the dead Jotun at the new attacker, sending him staggering sideways.
Ice-cold, Gar told her.
His career is helping people take over the world with mind-control and torture. Shinigami strode
out into the hall, her face set in an expression that made Gar never want to mess with her.
You know, that’s a good point. He brought one leg up and kicked the Jotun to keep it off-balance, then pivoted and dropped his shoulder, whipping the leg around in a circle and slamming his heel into the biosuit’s head. The Jotun dropped to its knees.
“Who are you?” the Jotun yelled. “A Luvendi?” It looked at Shinigami. “And a human. Barnabas.”
Shinigami stood her ground as it leapt up and tried to charge her, and her fist shot out at the last moment. Instead of fragile bone and flesh there was metal and reinforced biotic skin, and her punch dented the armor plating around the tank. An ominous crack sounded from inside.
“So close,” Shinigami said, “and yet so far.”
The Jotun leapt into motion, slashing at her, driving her back with strikes and kicks, and Shinigami ducked and tried to find her way through the flurry of strikes. All of the cuts on her arms opened bloodlessly.
Gar watched, not wanting to intervene too quickly. Shinigami was competent at sparring; more than competent, really. She simply did not have the base of knowledge yet that most species had about how she could move and where her body was in space.
She struck with her fists, knees, and elbows and created a series of impressive dents in the Jotun’s suit.
And then it drew back and cocked its head to the side. One hand was clenched around her wrist.
“Aha,” it said. “A biosuit of some sort, and you don’t know how to fight in it yet.”
Gar’s reflexes had been enhanced, but even he had trouble following what happened next. The two combatants moved in a flicker of strikes executed so fast that their limbs were a blur. Shinigami, when push came to shove, had abandoned the traditional tempo of the fight and was lashing out as quickly as her programming would allow.
Gar gave a whoop. “Yeah!”
He was able to see the Jotun stagger sideways across the hall, and from the angle, she must have backhanded it in the face. There was a strange smell in the air and fluid was leaking from its chest.
“You have him on the ropes, Shinigami!” Gar wasn’t entirely sure what that phrase referred to, but Tabitha used it every so often.
Unfortunately, the Jotun had realized the same thing—and it was prepared for that eventuality. A cloud of smoke billowed from its body, causing Gar’s skin and lungs to burn. He doubled over in agony. Electrical current buzzed, and Shinigami cried out. A moment later, there was the pounding of feet and the slam of a door.
Their opponent was gone.
Feword staggered up the stairs, trying not to panic.
The humans were here, and they weren’t what he’d thought. For one thing, the human he’d been fighting was actually biotic. Were all of them biotic? He had no idea. For years, humans had seemed to be creatures of flesh and blood, but what if that had been a ruse?
All that mattered was Jeltor, he reminded himself. He had to get there before the humans did.
Because if the ship nearby was the Shinigami, it was too much of a coincidence for them to be here. They knew Jeltor had been taken for conversion. Who else knew, Feword could not be sure—but his duty was clear. He needed to get the asset out and to a safe place.
He just wasn’t sure if he could make it. His suit was leaking steadily, and he hunkered down against the bottom of his tank as the fluid dipped lower. How had that Luvendi’s weapons managed to crack his tank? And how could the human possibly have hit him hard enough to do further damage?
Feword was rarely angry, but he was angry now. Grisor was seeking to accomplish great things, and these humans—these lesser beings—were trying to stand in the way.
He wasn’t going to allow that.
He made it to one of the control panels on the wall and leaned there for a moment, struggling to breathe properly. The fluid wasn’t retaining oxygen the way it should.
That meant he had to move faster, not rest here. His suit’s arm came up and attached to the control panel, working its way into the sensor array and then unleashing a series of commands. There was another human, yes, and it was with…Gil.
Of course. Too late, everything became clear. Gil hadn’t been holding back from converting Jeltor because he was worried about the captain breaking. He hadn’t been a scientist at all. Feword could have kicked himself.
Take out Gil and Wev, he instructed over the personal channel in his suit.
Only one reply came back, from Yeldred: I saw Wev going up to the alien cages. I will deal with him.
Be careful, Feword replied. He wanted to scream his frustration. I believe Boltar and Jilrun are dead.
There was a pause, and then Yeldred recovered his composure. And Jeltor?
I’m getting Jeltor, Feword replied. They’re not going to win.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Barnabas! Gar’s tone was panicked. It got away from us. And Shinigami—
What’s wrong? Barnabas fought the urge to stop or turn around. He had to keep moving. Gar said their target had gotten away from them, not that they were in the middle of a bad fight.
I’m fine. Shinigami sounded furious. Our opponent knew how to deal with cybernetic bodies, that’s all. I should have guessed he would. He managed to keep me motionless for a few moments while Gar was dealing with the poison gas.
We’re following his path since he’s leaking fluid, Gar added. But—
Poison gas? Barnabas interrupted. He pressed a button to flip his helmet into place, and it appeared around him as if materializing out of thin air. In reality the super-light material had been stored in a collar around his neck, but the effect was impressive. No, if he can neutralize you both, stay back.
“What’s going on?” Gil asked him.
“We need to move quickly,” Barnabas explained. “The guard who went downstairs got away from Gar and Shinigami. I’d guess he’s going for the most valuable asset on site, wouldn’t you?”
Gil nodded, and his pace quickened. “This way, then. We need to get up two more flights before he does, and I don’t know which way he’s going.”
They had only gone a few more yards, however, before there was the unmistakable click of all of the doors on the floor locking.
Barnabas swore internally with the sort of inventiveness that only a multilingual devotee of Bethany Anne could summon. He grabbed one of the nearby doors and had to be pushed away the next moment. The doors were electrified.
“I should have heard the hum,” he muttered, embarrassed.
The truth was, he had heard the hum, and he’d been so angry that he’d wanted to yank the door off its hinges anyway. His fury at his opponent and his fear for Jeltor were getting the better of him. He needed to get a handle on himself now.
Shinigami, is Gar okay?
He’s all right, Shinigami said soothingly. I got his helmet on him, and he’s breathing good air now. All healed, no damage.
Excellent, thank you. To Gar, he said, Is Shinigami okay?
She seems to be doing fine, Gar reported. I was worried, but she’s recovered and is muttering about how next time he’s going to get a nasty surprise.
Good, thank you. He was satisfied that since he hadn’t asked them about themselves, both were telling the truth, Barnabas looked around and considered, then he took a running start and brought his rubber-soled boot up to smash the door at the end of the hallway off its hinges. He stared at it, panting, as it clattered down the stairs.
“Come on,” he called to Gil. “You said we had to go up two flights.”
“Yes.” Gil caught up quickly. “I didn’t know you could do that.”
“Most humans can’t,” Barnabas explained. “However, I—actually, you know what? You work in Jotun Intelligence, I think I’ll avoid giving you details.”
“Have it your way, but if you’re referring to the fact that Queen Bethany Anne and some of her inner circle are enhanced in some ways, that’s hardly new information.” Gil sounded untroubled. “She fought King Yoll
in single combat, and there have been numerous stories about—what is his name, John Grimes? Yes. And others. But if all humans could do such things, I think we would have heard about that.”
Barnabas grunted noncommittally, taking the stairs three at a time. He was hardly going to go out of his way to confirm what so far was only conjecture on Gil’s part. The Jotuns had already gone a bit crazy with enhancement, in his opinion, and he wasn’t going to give them any more ideas.
At the door to the floor that housed Jeltor, they could again hear the electrical hum, and Barnabas sighed as he considered his options. He had no real space to build up steam here, and the door was set to open into the stairwell, not out of it—meaning that he would need to strike it far, far harder to break it.
And time was ticking away. With a snarl, Barnabas whirled away. “Who else could help us?”
“My partner, but he’s not on this floor.” Gil hesitated, then became quiet. Barnabas guessed he was communicating internally, and that guess was confirmed when Gil said, “I asked him to help. He says he will.”
“How much time?” Barnabas asked tensely.
“He’ll do it as fast as possible,” Gil said. “That’s the best I can tell you.”
“I don’t need your best,” Barnabas shot back, “I need Jeltor saved.”
“No,” Gil said. “You know very well that what we need is for the committee not to achieve its goals. As important as Jeltor is to you, he’s a secondary concern.”
Wev hurried down the long corridor that lay between the rows of cages. Some of the aliens came forward to snarl at him, others to plead for mercy—at least, so he assumed. Many of them could no longer speak in any way he understood. The Brakalon did not say anything to him. He only cried, as he always did.
Soon you’ll be free, Wev promised them silently. They couldn’t hear him, but he needed to say it to stay sane.
Getting them out would be difficult. The facility had not been made to transport captives to and from ships. Either they left converted and ready to serve the committee, or they were killed. If the facility were breached, there were self-destruct implants throughout the entire building.