by GARY DARBY
He shook his head emphatically. “But not this time. This goes beyond loyalty to SOG or to my superiors, especially to my superiors.”
Stannick came to stand next to Teng and studied his stony countenance for several seconds. “Teng, whatever this is has turned you inside out. I’ve never seen you lose that calm composure you’re famous for.”
Teng met her frank stare. “Cait, I’ve been interrogating the Faction prisoners. I can’t connect all the dots yet, but I think I’ve stumbled onto something that is both so unbelievable and so monstrous that for once in my life I truly, truly hope that I’m wrong.
“Because if I’m right,” he said and gestured toward the ravaged fleet. “Then as bad as that is, it will be nothing compared to what’s to come.”
He paused as if gathering his thoughts and making a hard choice, one that he took no pleasure in, but one that he knew he had to make.
“I’ve got to leave, but I can’t tell you where I’m going or why, nor can I tell the SOG director. Not until I have a chance to follow the trail and see where it leads me. But I need your help.”
He reached into his small waist pack and pulled out two memory shards. He held out the first to Stannick. “This has several reports for the director, all of which are legitimate. It also has my security codes for my compu so that you can access my personal SOG account.
“I’ve told the director that I need to stay Out Here to do some additional interrogations before I bring the prisoners back to Terra.
“My excuse is that several prisoners are too weak to travel, which is genuine and that I wanted to bring all of them back to Terra as a group and not piecemeal.
“She’s agreed to that but wants them transported at the first opportunity. I’ve also told her that I would continue to question them and to send her a daily report.
“I’ve given the director the impression that these particular prisoners are not hard-core Faction but rather, they’re just low-level personnel, hired to do specific tasks and not much more.”
“You’ve purposefully downplayed their importance,” Stannick replied in surprise, her eyes narrowing as she spoke.
She stepped closer, laid a hand on his arm. “Teng what is going on? This is so out of character for you.”
“Cait, I’m sorry,” he murmured, “you’re just going to have to trust me on this. Believe me, if I thought that I could run this up the flagpole, I would.”
He took in a deep breath. “But every fiber in my being is telling me that I can’t, at least not with this council.”
“Because of what they did to Rosberg?” she questioned.
“Especially after what they did to Rosberg, not to mention the other shall we say, ‘unusual’ circumstances surrounding the council.”
“You mean Adiak Peller,” she returned, “and the Sha’anay elder?”
“Yes,” he gruffly replied. “Cait, my insides are screaming out that something is terribly, terribly wrong and coupled with some information that I’ve stumbled upon, I have no choice but to take this course.”
She didn’t answer, but stood there digesting his comments. “For now,” he went on as he held the shard out, “I need for you to send a message to the director, once a day. It will make her think that I’m still here and doing my job, when I won’t be. All you have to do is to send the report, that’s all.”
He brought up the second shard. “But if something happens to me and I don’t make it back, then open this and read the contents. When you do, I think you’ll understand why I’m asking you to do this for me.”
He stared into her eyes. “But don’t open this unless you’ve got someone to cover your back . . . Literally.”
Stannick’s eyes widened at Teng’s comments. She brought her eyes away from Teng’s riveting stare to the memory shards he held. She shook her head at him and said huskily, “You realize that what you’re asking is not just unethical, but it borders on the unlawful as well.
“What am I supposed to do if your director wants to speak to you in person and you’re not here? Lie for you? You know that’s contrary to my personal code, and it’s not something I think I can do, even for you, Teng.”
“Cait,” Teng answered in desperation, “I know it’s asking a lot, but I don’t have anyone else that I can trust. Believe me, if I could do this on my own without involving you, I would.”
Stannick met his eyes and searched his face. “Then you’re going to have to give me at least one good reason why I would risk facing a general court martial, just to help you.”
Teng ran a hand through his close-cropped dark hair and paced away. He stared at the dark gray bulkhead and then turned to her.
“All right, just don’t ask me to reveal how I found out what I’m about to share with you. Suffice it to say that I’m fairly confident that my sources are reliable.”
Teng’s whole body became hard, and his eyes became fixed and staring. “Cait, your morning sky isn’t just red, it’s blood red. There’s a storm coming all right, and it could be the most dreadful, vicious storm of all time.”
He took several steps toward her and stopped just barely a body width apart. “Cait,” he began in a voice that struggled to remain calm. “I believe the Faction may be in contact with the Mongans, and they’re going to acquire the Mongans’ technology to destroy stars . . . Our stars.”
His hands tightened into fists. “And the Faction leader who is orchestrating all this now sits on the High Council.”
Stannick stared long and hard at Rhee, neither speaking, both lost in their own thoughts of the enormity of Teng’s statement. Stannick shook her head as if in disbelief. “Can you prove any of what you just said?”
Teng swallowed hard and ran a hand over his square jaw. “In all honesty, I’m not entirely sure. I’ve got one lead, tenuous at best, but it’s a place to start.”
She peered at him intensely. “And you’re going to do this by yourself? One man, alone, against the Faction?”
He gave her a crooked smile in response. “I’m all I got, Cait. Other than you, there’s no one else I can trust.”
Stannick grumped in response. “You sound just like Ty Rosberg, galloping off into the OutLands with your hair on fire and nothing but a pea-shooter strapped to your leg.”
She turned away and stared out the vu-window for a long time. She gave Teng a sideways glance and chortled, “You know, not only do you sound like him, but you and Rosberg have one thing in common. You’re both beggars.”
Raising his eyebrows at Stannick’s statement, Teng began, “I don’t understand—” before Stannick raised a hand to stop him.
“Never mind,” she muttered. “If I’m going to share a cell with Rosberg it should at least be for a good cause.”
Eyeing him, she said, “And if even a tiny bit of what you said is right, then you’ve given me more than one good reason to do as you asked.”
She held a hand out. “Give me the shards. I’ll do this for you, but I’ll go one better. We not only need to find out the truth, but we’ve got to stop them, too. Moreover, that’s something I doubt you’ll be able to do by yourself.
“So, I’m going to let you borrow one of my ships. A fast ship with a fighting crew who are more than willing to go in harm’s way. I’m also going to send a detachment of Space Marines along who are just spoiling for a fight after what the Mongans did to their shipmates.
“The ship is the IntrepidX, captained by Dieter Federov. The truth is, I need to keep him off the council’s radar; another long story, but he and his crew are willing to go to hell and back for the right reason.
“The Marines are a Force Recon detachment, about the nastiest, meanest group of fighters you’ll ever meet. This particular unit has had some very recent experiences with the Faction, so they’re more than ready to issue a payback chit.”
She put a hand on Teng’s forearm and said, “Teng, this might be the last mission I get to mount against the Faction, so make me proud.”
Teng’s
eyes blazed in reply, and his face took on the look of a hungry hawk hunting prey. “You can count on it, Cait.”
Chapter Six
Star date: 2443.095
Aboard the Mongan Ship
Fighting against a numbing cold that seemed to freeze both body and mind, Dason heard a sharp voice say, “Hey scout, c’mon, wake up.” His eyes fluttered open and he peered at several vague but familiar faces staring down at him with concerned expressions.
“He’s coming around, let’s prop him up,” a voice to one side said.
Dason felt himself raised so that his back and head rested against a hard, cool metal wall. Blinking several times, he tried to get his eyes to focus on his benefactors.
His vision cleared and he found himself staring into none other than the smiling face of Zane, the Queen Bee’s pilot.
“How are you feeling, fella?” Zane asked.
Dason ran his hands up and down his arms trying to warm himself. His teeth chattered when he tried to answer. “I’m not sure,” he stammered. “Someone needs to turn the temperature up in here; it’s freezing.”
He winced as a wave of pain coursed through his skull. “My head,” he groaned, “feels as if it’s been the ball in a raq-ball contest.”
Zane gave him a knowing smile. “It’s the effects of the teleportation device, or what we call the ‘blue light’ special. The good news is that coldness and the disorientation will wear off pretty soon, the bad news is that you feel pretty miserable until they do.”
Dason pushed himself up a bit more and peered around to see Alena sitting an arm’s length away. He raised a limp hand in greeting. “How are you doing?” he asked.
Alena gave him a weak smile. “I hate to say this, but I think I feel about the same way you look.”
“Ouch,” he replied. “Sorry to hear that.”
“Where are we?” Dason asked Zane. “Last I remember the Mongans brought the Zephyr into their ship, we saw the Queen sitting in the hold nearby, then, three Mongans came marching out and—”
“Zapped you two with the teleportation device,” Zane answered. “And from the way you’re acting, it appears you stayed in stasis awhile until they dumped you in here. Here being where they’re currently keeping the zoo animals.”
Dason peered around and recognized several of the Queen’s crewmembers. He gave them a slight nod in greeting. “Tor’al told me that the Mongans had captured the Queen. You’ve been here this whole time?”
“Pretty much,” Zane answered. “They move us around on occasion, but welcome to home sweet home. But, uh, tell me, who’s this Tor’al and who is your friend here?”
In rapid words, Dason introduced Alena and then recounted the events since the Queen’s capture, finishing with, “And we’ve been fighting our own little war against the Mongans.”
“That’s pretty incredible,” Zane replied with raised eyebrows. Then, a crestfallen expression crossed his face. “I’m sorry about Captain Ruz,” he said somberly. “She was a good lady and a great scout.”
“Yes, she was,” Dason answered, his tone matching Zane’s. “But speaking of scouts, Bianca said that she had left two scouts behind on the Queen.”
“Jy and Dani,” Zane answered. “They’re here, but with another group in an adjacent compartment. At least they were the last time we saw them. Of course, the pie eyes could’ve moved them for all we know. ”
“Pie eyes?”
“Sorry,” Zane grunted, “that’s what we’ve been calling them.” He gestured at his eyes and made an oval. “You know, big and round like a pie.”
“Oh,” Dason replied. “Got it. The scouts, are they all right?”
“As good as the rest of us,” Zane replied, “when we last saw them.”
“Thanks, I appreciate hearing that. So, after the Mongans captured you, what happened?”
“Not a whole lot to tell,” Zane began. “After you boosted out from the Queen,” he stopped and got a funny expression on his face. “Why do I keep calling my ship the Queen Bee? It’s the INS Argos.”
He ran a hand through his hair and said, “We had just placed the Argos in a synchronous orbit when out of nowhere an XT ship appears right in front of us. Frankly, we were so stunned that it took us several seconds to react.
“Unfortunately, we didn’t act fast enough. Before we could take evasive action, this enormous blue light, like a rippling blue wall, erupts out of the XT ship and envelops the Argos.”
He sat back on his haunches and made a sweeping gesture at their surroundings. “It was lights out after that. When we woke up, we found ourselves prisoners in these small compartments.”
“Incredible,” Dason returned, “that they can teleport a whole ship the size of the Argos.”
“After what you just told me,” Zane replied knowingly, “I’m not too surprised anymore at what they can do.”
“So, they’ve kept you locked up here, this whole time?” Alena asked.
“Yes,” Zane answered. “As I said, they feed us once a day if you can call it that, and provide water tubes.”
He scrunched his face together as if he’d just smelled rotten eggs. “Be forewarned, you have to hold your nose to drink the water, the food is cold mush and smells like they cooked it in a sulfur pit.
“Up until a few days ago they were taking us out one by one to this other room, where they—”
The bulkhead door slid open outlining three Mongans standing in the doorway. “Uh oh,” Zane whispered, “looks like it might be your turn.
“Those tubes they’re holding can do a number on you, so don’t fight them, or they’ll dose you with the light. Once is bad, but getting zapped several times so close together darn near kills you. Trust me, I know.”
With a menacing look, the three Mongans walked into the small compartment, each waving a slender, oblong tube with a dark maw at one end. Two Mongans came to stand in front of Dason and Alena and motioned with their tubes.
Alena glanced over at Dason and said, “I guess that’s their way of inviting us to take a stroll.”
The Mongans gestured toward the door and Dason stood on unsteady legs and with Zane, helped Alena to her feet. With the Mongans holding tubes at their backs, Dason and Alena hobbled into the passageway, following the lead Mongan until they stopped at a rounded, bulkhead door.
With a soft whoosh of air, the door slid aside. A slight shove from behind by the Mongans sent Dason and Alena into a large compartment. The bright lighting showed gleaming metal benches and counters that held unrecognizable pieces of equipment on two sides of the chamber.
Dason nudged Alena with an elbow and nodded with his head toward the long bench that sat in the room’s middle. Alena took one look and gave him a knowing nod in return. Both recognized the triangular device with the small, oval disc that sat atop the appliance.
It was a Mongan teleportation device.
“You think they’re going to use that on us again?” Alena asked.
“I—” Dason began but stopped when one of the Mongans pushed a tube into his face. Their gesture made it obvious that Dason and Alena were not to speak.
Another of the Mongans rolled out two chair-looking devices. The Mongans pushed Alena into one and snapped metal clamps around her arms, legs, and midsection. Finished with Alena, and in rough fashion, they buckled Dason into the other.
A Mongan raised one of Alena’s armrests so that it was head level with the Mongan and then turned and did the same with Dason’s chair.
The three Mongans came together, and then turned so they were back to back, with one Mongan’s head almost touching Alena’s hand. Their eyes closed, and they tilted their heads back so that they touched.
“Dason,” Alena whispered, “you know what they’re doing, right?”
Dason nodded, his eyes widening as he watched the tiny wormlike appendages come out of their skull carapaces. “Yes,” he whispered, “what we saw back in the cave on the AP planet.”
The fleshy appendages wrigg
led their way across the Mongans’ skulls, to start the intertwining process that Dason had seen earlier. However, this time, instead of all three joining, one tentacle squirmed its way toward Alena’s hand.
“Dason . . .” Alena gasped out, “one of those things is moving toward me.” She began to fight, but the metal constraints were too tight, too strong, and she couldn’t budge even a centimeter.
Dason craned his head and watched as the fleshy worm closed on Alena’s outstretched fingers. “Alena,” Dason said rapidly, “listen, you’ll feel a tiny pinprick, then images will start to flash into your mind. You’ll feel pressure, and you might black out.”
The tentacle reached Alena’s fingers, and she gave a little jerk from the needle-like jab. For perhaps ten seconds, the appendage pushed itself against the fat pad in her finger, and then began to retract back into its carapace.
Dason glanced over at Alena, who returned his stare with a wide-eyed expression. “What happened?” he whispered.
“Nothing,” she replied. “It stabbed me, stayed there for a second, and that was it.”
“No images, no blackness?” Dason asked.
She shook her head. “No, absolutely nothing.”
The Mongans opened their eyes, and shifted positions so that they were close to Dason. Again, the tentacle wriggled its way across the Mongan skull.
Dason tried to move his hand away, but it was a fruitless effort. His body grew rigid, a low, animal-like growl came out of his mouth as he fought against the restraints.
The tentacle touched, followed by the sharp prick in his finger. Once again, Dason felt unable to move, frozen as it were in body and mind. Images boiled into his mind, as if to fill every bit of consciousness that he possessed.
Planets, worlds without end, Mongans, Sha’anay battling among the stars, scenes of great and small civilizations flashed in his mind for an instant and then disappeared.
Then, at the images’ very end came a violent, indescribable explosion, a detonation so immense, so powerful that it seemed to flow out to the very ends of the cosmos.