Ontarian Chronicles 2: Operation Hydra

by Cyndi Friberg

  Praise for the writing of Cyndi Friberg

  Ontarian Chronicles 1: Taken by the Storm

  Ms. Friberg writes with humor, passion and rich detail, making Taken by the Storm a treat to read. The complex plot and varied characters provide immense entertainment and heartfelt emotion… For a story that will delight, entertain, and keep you on the edge of your seat, I highly recommend Taken by the Storm and award it RRT's Perfect 10.

  -- Terrie Figueroa, Romance Reviews Today

  There were so many inner stories within the larger story that I was never bored and always intrigued. If you love espionage, there’s a nice dose of that in the story also. Ontarian Chronicles 1: Taken by the Storm has it all: romance, suspense, sex (loved the sex scenes…hot, hot, hot), and danger. Just the right recipe for a great book.

  -- Kelly, Sizzling Romances

  Unplug the phone and put the kids to bed; once you start reading Taken by the Storm you won’t want any interruptions! Cyndi Friberg has outdone herself this time; highly charged bedroom scenes are set off by an excellent fast-paced story of madness, mystique and soul-warming love.

  -- Naomi, Fallen Angel Reviews

  Taken by the Storm had it all -- tense action, suspense, erotic sex, humor and a wildly imaginative plot… I encourage everyone, especially fans of futuristic romance, to read Ms. Friberg's Ontarian Chronicles 1: Taken by the Storm, you won't be disappointed.

  -- Miaka Chase, The Romance Studio

  Ontarian Chronicles 1: Taken by the Storm is now available from Loose Id.

  ONTARIAN CHRONICLES 2: OPERATION HYDRA

  Cyndi Friberg

  www.loose-id.com

  Warning

  This e-book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. Loose Id e-books are for sale to adults ONLY, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase. Please store your files wisely, where they cannot be accessed by under-aged readers.

  * * * * *

  This book is rated:

  For explicit sexuality and graphic language.

  Ontarian Chronicles 2: Operation Hydra

  Cyndi Friberg

  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Published by

  Loose Id LLC

  1802 N Carson Street, Suite 212-29

  Carson City NV 89701-1215

  www.loose-id.com

  Copyright © February 2005 by Cyndi Friberg

  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including, but not limited to printing, photocopying, faxing, or emailing without prior written permission from Loose Id LLC.

  ISBN 1-59632-081-8

  Available in Adobe PDF, HTML, MobiPocket, and MS Reader

  Printed in the United States of America

  Editor: Maryam Salim

  Cover Artist: Angela Knight

  Publisher’s Note

  Ontarian Chronicles 1: Taken by the Storm, Charlotte and Tal’s story, is now available from Loose Id.

  Prologue

  Ontariese

  Ontarian Cycle 99

  E’Lanna dar Aune woke up screaming. Her tiny body trembled as her mind scrambled to differentiate between reality and visions, the physical and metaphysical planes. Her twin sister’s arms encircled her, but Echo’s unexpected presence made E’Lanna shriek.

  “Lanna, all is well,” her sister cooed. “You were only dreaming.”

  Echo’s softly lilting voice should have soothed her. Any other time, E’Lanna would have been comforted by her twin’s familiar face. But death loomed before her still. Cold, sightless eyes freezing her very soul.

  A low rumble vibrated the room and a transport conduit materialized in the nearest wall. Her parents rushed from the vortex together. E’Lanna cried out, raising her arms toward their father.

  Tal dar Aune sat on the edge of his daughter’s sleeping station and pulled her onto his lap. She clutched him, her entire body shaking. His hair blanketed her protectively, and he rocked her, waiting for the terror to recede.

  “Daddy,” Echo said uncertainly, drawing his attention.

  She had wrapped herself around her mother like a Bilarrian long-limbed primate. Her legs encircled Charlotte’s waist, arms looped around her neck. Charlotte held her close, trying to comfort her, but Echo’s luminous violet eyes were fixed squarely on her twin.

  Nine cycles, could it really have been so long?

  Shifting his attention back to the little girl in his arms, he eased E’Lanna away and assessed her ashen features.

  A face so young.

  Eyes so old.

  E’Lanna’s perfect, bow-shaped mouth trembled as she valiantly fought for composure. “Take your time, leyanti. If you release the fear, it has no power over you.”

  She drew in a long, shuddering breath before she spoke. “I saw the woman’s face again, but she was screaming and screaming. She wouldn’t stop screaming. The younger one held her, oh so tight, then the bad man took her away.”

  E’Lanna sobbed, collapsing against his chest. Grief radiated from her, inundating him with unbearable sadness. He looked at his beloved life mate over their daughter’s head, heartbroken to see that Charlotte understood. Echo refused to leave her sister, so Tal tucked them in together. They clung to each other, E`Lanna sobbing softly, even in her sleep.

  He took Charlotte’s hand and nodded toward the door. She paused, kissing each twin on the brow, then joined him in the corridor. The privacy panel slid closed behind her.

  “Krystabel is not dead,” she insisted.

  Tal sighed and gently squeezed her hand.

  “Do you think I wouldn’t sense my sister’s death?” They walked out onto the covered gallery. Dawn had broken, splashing the horizon with crimson, purple and mauve. The distant peaks beyond Mystic Brook glowed with violet light.

  Tal made no response. He trusted his soul’s mate. If Charlotte said she still sensed her twin, then Krystabel yet lived.

  “It’s so frustrating,” Charlotte said. “For ten cycles I’ve done everything in my power to find Krystabel. Time and again I’ve exhausted myself, and exasperated everyone around me.” She paused. “You could at least disagree.”

  “The Ninth Code teaches us to value honesty.”

  She smiled. “Why E’Lanna? Why send the visions to a child who is terrified by them and cannot interpret them? Why couldn’t these visions have come to me?”

  “What did you sense as she spoke of the vision?”

  “It was definitely Krystabel. I think the other woman is her daughter. There is a bond between them and there is a definite resemblance in their features.”

  She nibbled her bottom lip as she did so often when she was upset. Turning to stand beside him, her swirling turquoise gaze stared out into the distance.

  Tal wasn’t surprised when his mentor, Vee, stepped out onto the gallery. Vee’s senses were so finely tuned he felt the faintest disruption in the energy surrounding the Conservatory.

  Vee’s dove gray robe rippled fluidly as he glided toward them. Though ancient of days, Vee’s features remained smooth and flawless, his eyes a bright emerald green.

  “What did the child see?” His voice was in harmony with the dawn.

  “She saw my sister die,” Charlotte whispered. Tal put his arm around her sh
oulders, drawing her close against his side.

  “Krystabel is dead?” Vee didn’t seem convinced.

  “No, but E’Lanna felt the grief of someone who believes she is.” Charlotte sounded stronger, more resolved.

  Tal felt a subtle tremor pass through her and looked down into her face as she slumped against him. The swirling in her turquoise eyes slowed until it was nearly imperceptible.

  “Is her mind still linked with E’Lanna’s?” Vee asked, noticing the change as well.

  “Likely. When E’Lanna is troubled, Charlotte often leaves the link open.”

  Tal swept his wife into his arms, carrying her to a nearby bench. Her hands were tangled in his long black hair and her eyes gazed unseeingly beyond him. He sank slowly, gently into her mind, unable to see what she saw, only able to offer his energy. He felt Vee do the same, while they waited for Charlotte to emerge from the trance.

  * * * * *

  Charlotte felt E’Lanna’s terror and projected herself across the metaphysical plane. Desperately, she tried to absorb the images before they reached her daughter, but the vision passed right through her and exploded within E’Lanna’s mind.

  Rage! Murderous, unadulterated rage ripped through Charlotte, stealing her breath, before it slammed into her daughter, making the girl scream. In an instant, Charlotte understood. These were not visions of the past or future -- E’Lanna was a FarSeer. She witnessed events as they took place in locations far, far away. Charlotte surrounded her daughter with a protective shield and mentally scrambled for her best course of action.

  Ye are a FarSeer, too, Shar Lott. Vee’s voice sounded within her mind. Meld with thy child and focus the meld through the catalyst. Trace the pulses back to their source.

  Charlotte laughed, harsh and desperate. Vee made everything sound so simple. The catalyst was her most powerful gift, the psychic mechanism that allowed her to amplify any of her own gifts, or the gifts of others. It was also the hardest to control.

  Tal infused her with Mystic energy, utterly saturating her levels. She found E’Lanna’s narrow signal and joined with it, weaving the two together until one was indistinguishable from the other. Activating the catalyst, she waited.

  When the next pulse came, she stepped through the catalyst and into the energy flow. She projected herself along the stream, searching for the source of the image. The blackness of space enveloped her, consumed her. She focused, pulling strength from Tal’s silent presence, Seeing farther than she had ever imagined possible. The catalyst groaned. She shuddered. She couldn’t hold on to E’Lanna and follow the stream.

  Let go, Charlotte. I protect our children.

  She released her hold on E’Lanna and surged onward, using the raw emotions, the blinding fury as her guide. Suddenly, she burst into the physical realm, barely containing a startled cry. Her psychic essence melded completely with the younger woman from E’Lanna’s dreams. Charlotte saw what she saw, heard what she heard, and felt everything the stranger felt.

  “You stinking bastard!” the woman screamed, pounding the heel of her hand against a large mirror. The woman’s tear-streaked face stared back at Charlotte, wide, swirling purple eyes boiling with anguish and rage.

  “You didn’t have to kill her! I would have... I would...”

  Kicking the wall, the woman slammed her fist against the reflective surface, until it rattled. A diagonal crack shot across the pane, but the mirror remained intact.

  “Lower the barrier,” she shouted, clawing uselessly at the mirror. “Let me go to her! Let me...” Dissolving into harsh, aching sobs, she sank to her knees. Her nails raked the wall, making her fingertips bleed.

  Charlotte spotted a date on the cover of the magazine crumpled beneath the woman’s knee. Hope shot through her, making her spirit soar. All the terror had not been in vain, all the years of frustration and longing. It made sense, now. The stranger closed her eyes. Charlotte finally knew where to begin her search, so she surrendered to the energy stream.

  Chapter One

  The Center

  Rocky Mountain Demilitarized Zone

  May 2205

  “Doctor Hydran wants to see you.”

  Krysta ground her teeth at the orderly’s monotone voice. Why did so many of her days start with those six words?

  “And I care because?” She stood and brushed off the seat of her khaki-colored uniform bottom. More to annoy the dour-faced orderly than for any need for tidiness, Krysta removed the elastic band from her wrist and wrapped it around her thick hair.

  “Now,” the orderly growled. Mission accomplished. Krysta smiled.

  An artificial breeze fluttered the top of her uniform and she glanced longingly at the rugged mountain peaks visible through the transparent dome. Though the courtyard provided all the sights, sounds and smells of the mountain valley in which the Center sat, none of the occupants were ever allowed outside.

  Out of habit, Krysta projected her thoughts, searching for her twin sister, Belle. Her sister responded with a pulse of soothing calm and Krysta chuckled. Why would Belle presume she would need to relax?

  A narrow red beam scanned the orderly’s eye as they approached, and the door leading to the observation rooms between wards A and B slid open. She motioned Krysta inside with a stiff nod.

  “So, how’s the family?” Krysta asked, stepping beyond the stoic orderly.

  They marched past the first three rooms and Krysta’s stomach began to knot. “I’m not going in there.”

  Their destination became inevitable when the orderly passed the last observation room. The high-security treatment center lay at the end of the hall. A supervisor’s station was situated between two identical “torture” chambers, allowing two procedures to be observed at once. Large two-way mirrors hid the supervisors, but none of the Center’s occupants were fooled.

  “I am not going in there,” Krysta said again.

  The orderly heaved an impatient sigh and wrapped her meaty paw around Krysta’s arm. “It ain’t what you think. He wants a demonstration.”

  Krysta jerked her arm out of the woman’s grasp. “Then, use one of the other rooms. I’m not going in there.”

  “It’s already set up. Just do what you’re told, for once in your life.”

  A wide red beam scanned the orderly from head to toe before the door released. She shoved Krysta into the treatment chamber, before Krysta could find a way to stop her. Fighting the bile rising in the back of her throat, Krysta felt her fingernails bite into her palms.

  It’s just a room.

  And he’s just a sadistic pig!

  She glared at the two-way mirror, noting the crack she’d put there two months before. “Can’t bleed enough out of your research grants to replace the mirror?”

  “You know the rules, Krysta. Attend the patient.” Dr. Hydran’s disembodied voice blared out of speakers hidden somewhere in the ceiling.

  The entire room was white, sterile, but Krysta felt filthy. Her ankle boots tapped noisily against the gleaming tile floor. She hesitated, listening to the faint buzz of the energy barrier, bracing herself for Dr. Hydran’s most recent surprise. His games varied greatly, but she knew this one well. Determine if the patient is ill, or not. Determine the cause of their illness, if any. Heal the illness, if necessary.

  The barrier fell. Krysta gasped, immediately tromping down her emotions in lieu of helping the child. The little girl couldn’t be more than three. Her tiny body shook with fever and a blue tinge colored her lips. Sooty lashes fluttered, then opened and she gasped again. Swirling violet eyes, identical to her own, stared up at her through a feverish haze.

  Time for fury later -- she must heal the child! Extending her hands, fingers splayed, she identified the cause of the fever and set about eradicating the microorganism. Each cleansing pulse became more intense, until the little girl vibrated with Krysta’s psychic energy.

  It wasn’t working. Krysta focused. She couldn’t use a stronger pulse; it would kill the little girl. But the virus re
mained strong. She adjusted the concentration, making the rhythm more intense, without increasing the actual level of her energy. Slowly, the organism weakened and finally succumbed.

  The child murmured sleepily and curled up on her side, tucking her hand under her angelic cheek. Krysta continued, her hands hovering inches above the girl’s small body, meticulously cleansing every trace of the virus. Her arms trembled and her legs wobbled by the time she was satisfied. Blowing out a measured breath, Krysta schooled her expression and turned to face the mirror.

  “You enjoy tormenting children?” She managed a calm, nearly expressionless tone. The orderly returned to collect “the patient,” bearing the child away with all of the care Krysta would give a bundle of dirty laundry. Folding her hands into fists, Krysta took two steps toward the mirror.

  “Dr. Hydran, I would like to speak with you.”

  “So speak.”

  Carefully, painstakingly, Krysta modulated her voice, infusing it with command and compulsion. “I would like to speak with you face-to-face.”

  The intercom system changed the sound of her voice, filtered it, protected him. Would he obey? She had never sent so strong a compulsion. Never managed this much control.

  * * * * *

  Trey dar Aune felt the Mystic pull of the healer’s voice. It was an ability well known to the people of Ontariese, his people. The healer’s people, though she didn’t know it, yet. Did Dr. Hydran realize he was being influenced?

  Trey glanced at the man standing beside him. Hydran was reputed to be one of the most brilliant minds in the galaxy, but Trey wanted to snap his scrawny neck. Any man who would endanger a child’s life to pique the interest of a potential customer was beneath contempt.