Footsteps approached from behind, but he couldn’t let go of the rail for fear of inadvertently letting himself go in the process. A hand gently touched his shoulder, and the trembling started to subside.
“Are you okay, sir?” Evans said softly. “Should I get a doctor?”
Grimshaw shook his head and gritted his teeth.
“It’s okay, sir. I’m right here.” She put an arm around his shoulder.
Grimshaw thought it strange, yet found it comforting, and the heat receded from within. The panic and the shaking gradually passed.
“I’m okay, Evans. Thank you,” he finally said, breathing hard.
The Ensign withdrew her arm and put her hand on the rail next to his.
He wiped the sweat from his brow and forced himself to look at Evans, expecting to find judgment in her eyes. Instead, he found concern and sadness.
“Would you like to talk about it, sir? I mean, you don’t have to but—”
“The attacks are always worse after using my implant.” He tapped the back of his head, surprised by how easily the words came. Apart from his therapist at Academy Four and the Confederation doctors back on Earth, Grimshaw had never spoken about the nightmares and visions to anyone.
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir. If it’s any consolation, I know what it’s like to lose yourself to that horrible feeling.”
Grimshaw respected her not prying for more information, but for some reason, he felt compelled to tell her anyway. Why he wanted to tell Evans of all people, he didn’t know. Since leaving Colony 115, Grimshaw had noticed something between them that had never existed before: a line of communication. It had replaced the resentment that once hung in the air. Maybe it was because they had survived the battle together, or perhaps Evans felt a connection since they had both experienced the effects of fury poisoning. How the Ensign had been poisoned was still very much a mystery, but Grimshaw already had enough on his plate without working that one out.
“I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to anyone about what happened on Gorthore.” He swallowed. “The Confederation scientists developed a virus that stopped the Kragak from regenerating. But it had to be injected into one of their rebirth chambers. We pulled it off, but I was the only one in my unit to make it back. It turned the tide of the war.” He looked at her, and she silently stared back, waiting to hear more. “Twenty Marines dropped onto the planet in orbital TEKs under the cover of darkness. A battalion to the south provided a distraction to draw the Krags out of their temple stronghold…It was a suicide mission. I’m lucky to be alive.”
“The strongest always survive, sir.”
“But I wasn’t strong, Evans. If Sergeant Richards hadn’t given me his last fury injection, I would have died in that jungle with the rest of them and taken most of mankind with me. Thanks to the Sergeant’s sacrifice, I made it into the Krag temple, injected the anti-Krag virus, and retrieved the data the Confederation needed to launch their final attack.”
“Fury injections?”
“We were instructed to only use them as a last resort. And damn, we needed every resource we could get our hands on that day.” He scratched his beard. “The Confederation Science Division developed the drug. It was supposed to enhance our minds and bodies in conjunction with our cranial implants. Nine of the men went insane before we got anywhere near the Krag temple. At first, they appeared a little more aggressive than usual, but they eventually lost it completely. Some of them even turned on us. That’s why they dubbed the drug fury.”
“I see,” Evans said staring into the hangar, no doubt recalling what she’d experience when fighting the elite in Xerocorp labs. “Losing it completely is an…accurate description.”
“We had to…put them down. If we hadn’t kept them quiet, they would have given away our position. Later, I learned that the CSD had shut their fury operation down because of too many failed experiments and deaths.” He tapped his head. “Too many broken minds. PTSD, depression, psychosis, permanent brain damage. You name it.”
“Hopefully the Confederation have learned their lesson since then, sir.”
“I doubt that. The bastards knew how unstable that stuff was in the beginning, but they gave it to us anyway. Then again, the Krags were taking out one colony after another, and it was only a matter of time before they hit Earth. We had to do something. I don’t know if Sergeant Richards knew about the poisoning, but he always did whatever it took to get the job done, even when it cost him personally. That’s why we called him the North Star. He guided mankind in its darkest hour, even if that meant sacrificing himself and his Marines in the process.”
“I didn’t realize the Krags had us in such a tight spot.”
“It was worse than tight. No one outside of High Command knew it at the time. They still don’t teach how it really was to the kids in school.”
“No, they don’t,” Clio confirmed.
“I need to inject a special serum every now and then, like the one Nakamura gave you after you killed that Chit elite. Staying cold keeps the heat from creeping in. But the shakes still get me from time to time.”
Evans looked down at Project zero in the gloom. “You and I are a lot alike, sir.”
“Maybe that’s why we never saw eye to eye, Evans,” he said, a smile creeping onto his lips.
“I suppose you’re right, sir.”
Grimshaw stood erect and offered his hand. Evans looked at him, and they shook.
“Thank you for getting us off 115, Ensign. We would’ve lost everything without you.”
“Likewise, sir.” Her lips twitched as she smiled. “The North Star is a bit cheesy, though.”
She broke into an infectious laugh, and Grimshaw couldn’t help but join her, the sound echoing off the empty hangar walls. They stared back down at Project Zero in silence for a while, and Grimshaw felt like a crushing weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed like that.
“It is cheesy,” he whispered.
“It’d make a good name for a ship, though.”
He thought about that for a moment. “It sure beats Project Zero.”
“Yeah, I feel sorry for the kids of whoever came up with that one. Now that I think about it, it sounds like a name you’d come up with.” She chuckled again. “Ascari did say it was a temporary designation.”
Grimshaw looked down at Project Zero’s shiny, silver hull under the dimmed overhead lights. “A pity she’ll be locked up in here for goodness knows how long.”
“It’s a shame. She was one hell of a bird to fly.”
“It won’t be long before we’re back at Academy Four. The Galactic Council have asked us to help them out with something here on the Sentinel, but I can’t see it taking too long.”
“I look forward to finishing Fleet’s pilot program.” She smiled wryly. “I have to get fully qualified, even if I am the best pilot in the galaxy.”
Grimshaw snickered at that. “You’ll get no argument from me there. How’s your leg, by the way?”
“The docs have given me three rounds of treatment already. It’s almost as good as new,” she said, swinging her leg back and forth.
“What about your monkey friend…Booster was his name, right?”
“He’s still in recovery. They had to remove his arm, but I’m told they’ll be transferring him to a cybernetic clinic somewhere in the city. They wouldn’t say where. You know how the government is when it comes to that kind of thing.”
Grimshaw nodded. The powers-that-be liked to keep anything related to cybernetics and AI technology top-secret. “I’m told Booster helped us out.”
“He saved my ass a few times.”
“Then he saved all our asses. Sounds like it would be worth keeping him around.”
“Fleet rules state that animals aren’t allowed on board military vessels, and that’s before getting into the tests, inoculations, and quarantine they require for exceptions. Booster isn’t really an animal, but…”
“I’m sure I can talk to the board. Get them to bend the rules a little.”
Before Grimshaw knew what was happening, Evans had him in a tight embrace. He decided it best to return the gesture and gingerly squeezed her in return.
She eventually took a step back. “Thank you, sir. That would mean a lot to me.”
“It’s the least I can do, after what you did for us...for the Confederation.”
Her SIG pinged. “I have to go, I’m meeting Swigger and a few of the Marines for dinner before they’re redeployed. You should join us.”
“Thank you, Evans, but maybe next time.” He smiled and gestured for her to go. “I’d like to spend a little more time with this girl. They’re sealing this hangar first thing in the morning.”
“I understand.” She walked away and turned back before reaching the exit. “Good talk, sir. If you ever need to do it again sometime, you know where to find me.”
Grimshaw nodded, and Evans left him on the walkway, alone with his thoughts once again. He looked down at the prototype vessel and couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Evans was right. It was a good name for a ship. “The North Star.”
Continued in Enter The Shroud…
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Enter The Shroud
Galactic Sentinel - Book 2
1
Information Extraction
Artax ran the flat of his cold knife across the SIA agent’s areola, the stimuli hardening the prisoner’s nipple. “Any preference as to which one I take first, Terran?”
“Thandrall bastard!” The agent spat and a bloody globule struck Artax’s left cheek just below his eye. “No wonder the Galactic Council ousted you fuckers from the Alliance!”
Artax smiled, his slithering tongue whipping as he licked the iron-tinged spit from his face with a delightful slurp. He reached out with his free hand and squeezed the Terran’s chin, tutting. “Mika was it?” he said softly. “Mika…I’m afraid you’ve been reading the wrong history books. The Galactic Alliance didn’t cast us out because they hate us but because they fear us.” Artax enjoyed how his low voice echoed off the chamber walls, lending his words a touch more flavor: an extra layer of malice. However, Mika’s eyes shone with the same resolve he’d brought into the room. I’ll have those eyes twitching…begging for mercy soon enough. The mere thought got Artax’s blood rushing.
The Terran agent muttered a weak curse. Slowly bleeding out did that to people: made them weak, lifeless, limp. Yet, Artax felt the agent deserved top marks for lasting so long.
“I have to admit that I admire your courage. But it’s only fair to inform you that it makes my job all the more…interesting.” Artax licked his pitted lips again, taking in the Terran prisoner. His hands and feet had been locked inside fetters drawn by powerful magnets hidden inside the metal suspension ring, splaying him out like livestock drawn for quartering. Firm muscles rippled under the man’s tattered flesh. He sported a long mane of matted black hair and had an almost feminine face, by Terran standards. All in all, Mika was strong…for a Terran. As far as Artax was concerned, however, they were only just getting started. “Giving me what I want now will save you a world of pain and deny me a whole lot of pleasure.”
“Do as you please, scum. You’ll get nothing from me.”
“We’ll see about that.” Artax flicked his wrist, and the tip of his blade sliced partway through Mika’s left nipple, eliciting a delectable howl. A fresh line of blood squirted from the wound and ran down the Terran’s pale, pink skin, the iron-rich tang in the air teasing Artax’s nostrils.
The agent whimpered as his nipple hung from his breast by a narrow strip of fat and skin, blood bubbling from the laceration.
Artax tapped his blade and leaned in close to the agent’s face. “We could still stitch you back up and have you on your way home in no time. All you have to do is give us the access codes. I mean, I have more effective ways of extracting information.” He waved at the implements resting on the table next to the suspension ring. “But I’d prefer to keep cutting for now.”
“Never…” Mika moaned through gritted teeth.
“Very well.” Artax pulled the hanging flesh and the nipple tore free, dragging a strip of skin with it.
Mika’s eyes watered and his mouth opened wide, but no sound came out.
“What?” Artax said, shrugging and waving the mangled piece of meat in front of the Terran. “You told me to do as I please. If I’m not mistaken, you also suggested that I would get nothing from you. But I got this, didn’t I? That’s the thing about us Thandrall,” Artax sighed. “We’re good at getting what we want.”
A scream tore from Mika’s throat.
Finally, Artax thought, his eyes all but rolling back in his sockets with euphoria.
He flung the soft meat into the air and caught it between is teeth, the sweet taste a tingling rapture on his tongue as he chewed. He pressed his finger into Mika’s open wound. A gurgling scream, a hundred-fold louder than the last, pierced the air as the agent thrashed in vain against his magnetic restraints. The sound bathed Artax like warm, soothing water as his digit wormed about the moist opening, the tip pushing into firm little beads: lymphatic nodes. Artax drew back and Mika’s scream slowly turned to a sob as he hung helplessly, panting. Artax took a moment to admire his work while deciding where to place the next stroke on his latest masterpiece. His eyes moved to his tools then back to the canvas. So many options.
The prisoner’s head hung as though lifeless, his chin resting against his heaving chest. Having decided on his next move, Artax stepped forward, pulled Mika’s head up by the hair, and pressed the point of his knife against the Terran’s nasal septum. The door swished open behind them and Artax paused.
Without turning, he recognized the pattern of Officer Gorde’s step. “Gorde, you know how I feel about having my work interrupted.”
“My apologies, Captain, but General Ovious has called on the quantum relay.”
Artax spun on his heel to face the squat Rivarian. He wore a TEK that appeared much too big for his body, his head comically small in the suit. His bulbous, reptilian eyes flicked about the room nervously.
“Tell the General I’ll call him back when I’m done,” Artax growled.
“Thing is, sir,” Gorde looked at the prisoner, then looked away quickly, wincing. “The General is already waiting on the line. He demands to speak with you at once. Says he has a message from the Primelord.”
Artax concealed his surprise. “Fine, I’ll finish up here at once. Tell the General I’m on my way. But don’t say anything about this. You know how…funny he can be about certain…arts.” He gestured to the prisoner.
“Of course, Captain.” Gorde nodded uncertainly before scuttling back through the swishing door.
The Terran’s sobs grew louder and turned into a crazed laugh. “I’ll never give the codes up, no matter how much you cut from me.”
“I do like a good challenge,” Artax said, flashing the Terran a smile. “But Gorde kind of killed the mood, so we may as well cut to the chase.”
Artax faced Mika and closed his eyes. A phantasmal outline of the room and its contents remained. The walls, the equipment, and the tools appeared as faint, gray lines against deep black. Mika’s life-lines, however, glowed brightly—almost blinding by comparison—and flowed slowly within his frame. Inside the agent’s skull, his brain shone like a small sun, his life, and soul almost too much for Artax to bear. The stronger ones are always the most fun to break, he thought.
Artax projected his will into the burning star. He sensed great confusion, then fear, and not just any fear, but true fear. Mika’s essence shimmered in horror, allowing Artax to punch through his spirit’s sheath with ease. Mika’s mind spread out before him like a sea of networked nodes that stretched as far as his astral eyes could see. Nodes clustered together under their own protective barriers. The more solid they appeared, the stronger their defenses. All Artax had to do was find the strongest, brightest she
ll. He flew over the dotted landscape until he found what he was looking for. It shone like a beacon, an impressive feat for a being not acquainted with the psionic ways.
Artax picked and prodded at the white dome. Mika’s mind responded with defensive shockwaves, but for all their brightness they were as a child’s strikes as he playfully wrestled with his father. Artax shaped his will into an angle and drove into the defenses, shattering the white dome like glass. Motes of light sparkled as pieces of Mika’s fortitude scattered around his mind, revealing a pulsing white pearl—his closely guarded secrets—on a glowing dais. An echo of a scream rolled through the void, giving Artax the rush for which he lived.
Tingling with pleasure, he reached for the shining pearl and plucked it from its resting place. Warm, yet intelligible words whispered into his astral fingers as memories transferred into his own consciousness, creating a copy. Images flashed across his vision: a forbidden lover, the covering of a murder, access codes. If Artax’s projection could have drooled, it would have. The transfer completed, Artax forced some of his own essence into the orb and it turned a deep purple. He returned it to the dais, and shadowy tendrils spread down the column and along the nearest connections, infecting the vast web of nodes cluster by cluster. The nightmare spread through the prisoner’s mind like a disease. Pleased with his work, Artax returned to his body, his consciousness snapping back into place like a whip.
He looked into Mika’s face as it twisted with pain as horrors, the likes of which no sane person could imagine, tore at the very fabric of his being. Artax was annoyed to find that the light in the Terran’s eyes had already faded. Watching a prisoner’s life go out was the best part, like the seasoning in a meal.
“What have you…” the agent croaked.
Artax reached out and embraced the Terran, feeling what little heat remained seep from his body. “The end comes to us all eventually,” he whispered into his ear. “Don’t be afraid of the dark.”
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