“I never had a menstrual period, so there was nothing to warn me. An old herb woman in the village told me I was pregnant, but I thought she was crazy. I found out a few months later, she wasn’t.”
“Was Garion born carrying the symbiont?”
Ransahov smiled, remembering. “No, he was just like any other little boy in the village—bloody noses, scrapped knees. He even fell off the roof once and broke his arm. And to be truthful, Commander, I was glad I hadn’t passed this thing on to him, but then one night when he was in his late teens, he became ill. Fever…chills…I was terrified I was going to lose him to one of the plagues that sweep through the population periodically. When he awoke in the morning, he was perfectly healthy. And a Lazzinair. This thing must stay dormant while a child grows and then expresses itself when he reaches puberty.”
Ransahov slid off the table and stood with Fitz’s help. “Commander, it’s important to me that Garion gets to meet his father. Let’s go get Wolf.”
“Sorry, but you’re not going anywhere. You’re in no shape for an assault and we don’t have the time to wait around for you to recuperate. Besides, someone needs to stay aboard this ship who can fly it. You were supposed to be a hotshot pilot. Think you can fly this boat?”
“There was nothing in the fleet I couldn’t handle.” Ransahov followed Fitz out of sickbay.
Garion rose from beside the augie’s body, cleaning the blade of the sword. He handed the slug thrower to Fitz.
She holstered the weapon. “Was he carrying anything we can use?”
“A couple of blades and a small pistol. Nothing else.”
“There is something.” Fitz knelt beside the body. In death, the augie looked harmless, with the bland features of a used aircycle salesman. His black jacket bore a dark stain below his nametag. A fatal wound. She had managed to get off a shot. During the fight, he had been dying, probably the only reason they’d been able to overcome him. She rolled him onto his side and ejected his spike. As she stood, she scrubbed it against her pant leg.
“Put the body in the equipment room at the end of the corridor,” she told Garion then followed Ransahov into the cockpit.
The red-haired woman slipped into the pilot’s seat, eyeing the board. “Not much has changed.”
“You’ll be able to fly her out of here?”
“I might scratch the paint, but I’ll get her out. You and Wolf will be back aboard before we blast our way out of here, won’t you?”
“I certainly plan on it, but we’d better have a backup. There are several escape routes marked on the base schematic. If we can’t make it back here, we’ll get out another way and hook up with you later. If not right away, we’ll hike across the mountain and head for our ship.”
Fitz brought up the weapons system. “Damn, this thing is armed to the teeth. Makes sense I guess, with an Emperor to protect. You have lasers, missiles, ion cannon, even a couple of Hellwhips. Lob a missile into that control tower and the force field will go down. Then you can back her out of here. I suggest standing off a few klicks—quite a few klicks—and slagging this place with the Hellwhips. That’ll solve your Imperial problem. Just be sure and save a few missiles for that Tzraka breeding facility.”
Garion stepped into the cockpit “I’m going with you.”
“That won’t be necessary.” Fitz reached beneath her hair and ejected her spike, placing it on her palm next to the other. She’d worried an Emperor’s bodyguard might have special modifications that would render his spike useless to her, but they were identical. She pulled up the hem of her undershirt and scrubbed the shaft of plexisteel.
Even if Tritico had the identification number for this unit in his handheld device, he’d have no idea whose spike she’d commandeered. He might eventually figure it out, but she planned to rearrange his smile long before he got that chance.
“This is like using someone else’s toothbrush or putting on their dirty underwear.”
She took a deep breath and slid the spike in place, locking it with a twist. All of her systems exploded inside her head, still running wide open. A blizzard of alphanumerics and targeting reticles clouded her vision. The pharmacopeia pumped adrenalin into her blood stream, making her muscles twitch with the need to move at hyperkinetic speed. She slammed all her functions into stand-by, disarmed her self-destruct, and staggered at the sudden stillness in her mind. Garion reached to steady her.
“I’m okay. That was just a bit of a rush.”
Both of them stared at her as if she grown horns.
Ransahov swallowed before she spoke. “You’re one of…”
“…those things. Yes, ma’am and that’s why I’m going in alone. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to locate Wolf.”
Fitz reached into cyberspace, found the base computer’s remote access and jacked in. Her SpecOps passwords got her through the system’s watchdogs easily. From the main menu, she selected surveillance and began to thought-click her way through the images on the base’s dozens of cameras.
Then stopped. The tag informed her that the feed originated from the main operating theater of sickbay. Bile burned up her throat and her fingers clinched.
What had they done to him? Wolf lay spread-eagle on the table, pale and naked. Wires and tubes snaked in and out of his body, draping across his flesh like slender worms. He was as emaciated as an escapee from a slave labor camp. She feared it was too late; he was dead, but she noticed the nearby monitor. The heartbeat was slow, but regular.
She uploaded a program to shut down the surveillance system and pulled out of the computer, fighting to tamp down the heat raging through her. She forced her emotions into the background; she would need to be cold and careful to make Tritico pay for what he had done.
Fitz checked her pockets and harness to assure they contained enough grenades and ammunition clips. “You’ll be able to reach me on Combat Channel 6, but they monitor the frequencies, so don’t use the comm unless it’s an emergency. We’ll stay in touch through the cats. Jumper, you’re with me.”
As the cat followed her out of the shuttle, Wolf’s cocky words came back to her. She wasn’t going to get even; she planned to get a long way ahead.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Invigorated by a double injection of the elixir and a cup of sweetened coffee, Wolf peeled the last of the medical pickups from his chest and swung off the operating table. He inserted his spike, and after the initial chaotic jumble of sensation, his perception stabilized.
“We need to leave before they notice the camera’s down again and send a tech to investigate,” he told Von Drager.
“I programmed in a loop that I made last night. They’ll see only what they expect—you restrained and unconscious. Security probably won’t notice anything’s amiss until shift change in the morning. By then I hope we’re long gone.”
“I hadn’t realized spoofing surveillance systems was taught at medical school.”
“I’ve picked up a few tricks over the years.” The doctor handed him an injector. “This is a quick-acting sedative. It’ll keep the guard out for a while.”
Wolf took up position beside the door, listening as Von Drager asked the guard to help him with the prisoner.
He didn’t totally trust his new associate. The man made him uneasy, caused that little voice at the back of his mind to whisper warnings. The doctor had his own agenda, but as long as it coincided with his, Wolf was willing to play along. For now. Locating Fitz before she got into trouble by sneaking onto the base to rescue him was his prime objective. His talk with Jan could wait until he was sure she was safe.
Von Drager entered first, blocking the guard’s view of the empty table. As the Imperial stepped through the doorway, Wolf slapped the injector against the side of his neck. The man twisted, clawing at his sidearm, but his eyes rolled back and he collapsed before his weapon cleared the holster. Wolf eased him to t
he floor, stripped off his uniform and changed into it. He hoisted the skivvy-clad man onto the table and draped the blanket over him.
He tucked his hair under the guard’s cap, pulling the brim low to hide his face. “If there’s anything you want, grab it now.”
“Just some research notes from my office computer.” The doctor hurried out.
Wolf located the cabinet, extracting the container that held the bags of his blood. The stasis case bleated a warning as he broke the seal. The twelve red pouches looked harmless, even life preserving, but it was the organism that lived inside the blood that killed—like it had the night he was infected with the symbiont, the night over a hundred and eighty people died. He remembered the screams of each and every one of them as he lay, powerless and sweating, questioning why he had been spared.
He lifted one of the bags. It felt warm. Revulsion shivered through him. He slammed it into the medical waste recycler. With a sharp buzz, the unit ripped the bag and its contents into its constitute atoms. A second followed, then another.
Von Drager raced back into the room. “What are you doing?” He grabbed Wolf’s wrist, stopping him from shoving another pouch down the chute.
“My body produced this. It’s mine. I will not allow it to be used to kill one more human being.” Wolf pried the doctor’s fingers up, bending them back until bones crunched. Von Drager howled, snatched his hand away and cradled it against his chest.
The recycler buzzed as it destroyed another pouch.
“You don’t understand,” Von Drager said. “That could save hundreds of lives. Eradicate horrible diseases. Allow people to survive terrible accidents.”
“And for everyone who lives to enjoy your medical utopia, Doctor, how many will die screaming?” Wolf slammed another pouch into the recycler.
Von Drager winced at the harsh sound of its destruction. “None. The success rate is virtually a hundred percent.”
Wolf searched the doctor’s face. “That’s not what you told Tritico.”
“I lied.” He held Wolf’s gaze for several heartbeats, then looked away. “You have to understand, he wants to build an army of immortal, indestructible augies. The test subjects he sent me were animals. Murderers, rapists. They hurt people because they enjoyed it. By the time they came to me, they were in the late stages of TKS. Most of them had only a few days to live, a week at most. And that time would have been spent in agony.”
“So you killed them. Lying and murder. You seem to have developed an unusual set of skills for a physician.” Wolf fed another pouch into the recycler. “If you expect me to believe the symbiont didn’t kill all those soldiers at that field hospital, what did?”
“The Tzraka.”
“Nice try, doctor. I might have been delirious, but I think I would have remembered a three-meter tall bug rampaging through the ward slaughtering people.” He picked up another pouch, weighing it in the palm of his hand.
Von Drager reached out to stop him, but snatched his fingers back. They showed no sign of their recent trauma.
“It’s those black blades. They carry an organism similar to a virus, whose sole purpose is to seek out the symbiont and invade its cellular structure, destroying it. In the process, it releases a hemotoxin that kills the host. If a soldier had already been infected—through a wound, a cut, or even just a scratch from one of those blades—that organism remained dormant in the body. As soon as the symbiont was introduced, the organism reactivated and began to kill it. The six of you who survived had apparently avoided infection with the Tzraka virus.”
“Believe me, Doctor, I made a point of staying as far away from those blades as possible.”
So, it had all been a mistake, just a misinterpretation of the data on Lazzinair’s part. Would that information make any difference in how he felt about that terrible incident? He didn’t think so. “These two organisms seem inexplicably bound to each other. That can’t be a coincidence.”
“No, not a coincidence. The result of a forgotten arms race.” Von Drager’s hands twisted together in a washing motion. “The Arkainsahaar were an ancient culture, vastly superior to us technologically, but no less prone to aggression. Some long-forgotten religious schism tore their civilization apart, spawning a war that lasted millennia. One side developed the Tzraka, gaining an advantage. Their opponents responded by creating the symbiont, rendering their forces nearly indestructible.”
“And the first side had no choice but to find a way to counter the symbiont,” Wolf said.
“Yes, the insanity was too successful as the Arkainsahaar are now all but extinct.”
“Leaving their deadly toys on the battlefield for the unwary to pick up.” Wolf studied the pouch in his hand, seeing it now as a weapon, no different from his pistol or Fitz’s augmentations.
“Doctor, how is it that you know…”
A voice from the outer office interrupted. “Hey, Puroski, where ya at? All the surveillance cameras went down, so Sarge sent me to help you guard the prisoner. I don’t know who this guy is, but he’s sure got Smiley spooked.”
The lack of a ready answer must have alerted the trooper. He leveled his rifle at them as he stepped through the door.
Wolf flung the heavy stasis box, the remaining pouches spinning out and tumbling through the air. The guard’s weapon discharged as the sharp corner of the plexisteel container crashed into his chest. The rifle’s bolt ripped through one of the airborne pouches, spraying a fan of blood across the room. The soldier staggered back, regained his balance and ran for the outer office.
Wolf charged after him, hitting HK as he reached the doorway. The guard screamed into his comm as he fumbled out his pistol and fired. A swarm of flechettes buzzed past Wolf, scoring several stripes of bright pain across his back as he lunged for the floor. He rolled up and squeezed off two shots, taking the guard down.
A quick inspection showed the man was dead. Wolf retrieved the dropped pistol and stuffed it into his belt as he hurried back to the operating room.
“He called in a warning, so we’ve got to move…” Von Drager wasn’t there. A whimper came from behind the table. The doctor lay curled on the floor, arms wrapped around his stomach.
“Damn, it hurts. I didn’t realize it would hurt so much,” he gasped.
“Bloody hell, of course it hurts. Every damn time. I guess you haven’t been gut shot before. Let me take a look at it.”
“It’s not that bad. I can travel. Just don’t leave me behind.”
“I hadn’t planned to. Now let me take a look at your wound.” Wolf had to exert more than normal strength to force Von Drager onto his back. He pulled up the bloody shirt—in time to see the bleeding stop and the ragged hole start to scab over.
He’d been expecting as much.
“You’ve been holding out on me. I don’t like that. Now, where’s that bloody case of injectors?”
“In my coat pocket.”
Wolf studied the case’s contents. Four ampules left. They might need every one of them to get out of here in one piece. He slapped an injector against Von Drager’s neck and slipped the case into the thigh pocket of his purloined uniform.
“That should get you on your feet. I want to save the others in case we need them later.” He pulled the doctor up. “Let’s get one thing clear between us. You don’t lie to me, or forget to tell me something important like this again, or I’ll leave you here to Tritico’s tender mercies. Understand me, Von Drager? Or should I call you Lazzinair?”
The other man started. “How did you know?”
“The symbiont makes me virtually indestructible, Doctor, not stupid. After what you’ve told me, who else could you be? When we get out of here, you and I are going to have a long conversation.”
August Lazzinair nodded his agreement.
“Good. Now let’s get the bloody hell…”
The wailing of alarms
drowned out the rest of Wolf’s words.
The lift shaft stretched away at Fitz’s feet, its darkness broken only by a scattering of tell-tales blinking on maintenance nodules. She raised the sensitivity on her night vision.
“Still no contact with Wolf?” she asked Jumper. The cat rode in her backpack, his front paws around her neck. Through her jacket, she could feel the slight prick of his claws against her skin.
“No, we’re probably not close enough, Boss Lady.”
“That night with the augie, you knew I was in trouble from a floor away.”
“Yeah, you were scared and really pissed. That was easy. Wolf keeps his cool, and it makes him hard to pick out when there are a lot of people around.”
“Or he could still be unconscious.” She swung out onto the service ladder and started down. “Hang on.”
Claws tightened on her shoulders, drawing blood.
“Relax, Jumper. Aren’t there stories of cats falling out of floating towers and not getting hurt?”
“Those are urban myths. If I fell down this thing I’d just go splat.”
“Then don’t fall. And ease up on the claws a bit, will you?”
The shift changes were over and there shouldn’t be many people moving around at this time of night, but she hurried down the ladder, wanting to get this part of the trip over quickly. If the lift rose, there wouldn’t be enough clearance and it would scrape her from the ladder like a bug off a windscreen.
She cursed as she heard the buzz of the repulsers kicking on. The lift car rose from the darkness like a leviathan surfacing.
There was a maintenance alcove on the third level, but she’d never make it there in time. She could step off onto the roof of the car, and hope it wouldn’t go all the way to the top. That would squash the two of them to a red smear.
A deep recess lined with cables and conduits ran down the wall behind the ladder. There might be enough space to squeeze into it, but the rails were flush with the edge of the channel, leaving her no room to slip through. She looked down. The relentless chunk of blackness rushed up.
A Hero for the Empire: The Dragon's Bidding, Book 1 Page 28