"And the probes?" Preston demands.
Bray shakes his head. "Didn't deploy any."
Preston's fist comes down on the briefing table hard enough to make Bray jump. "What do you mean you didn't deploy any? That was your damn mission, Bray. Fly out, deploy probes, make contact, come back and report." Bray withers under Preston's glare. "Without the probe data it's a waste of time and credits. And you lost my xenospecialist! Do you know how hard it is to find a xeno-linguist who can handle first contact without TMC tech?"
"Wasn't a need for that," Bray says through gritted teeth. "They spoke English almost first thing. All your linguist did was hack into the damn AI and crash us into—"
"—Were you the mission leader?"
Bray's jaw tightens and he looks away.
"Look at me, Bray. Were you the fucking mission leader?"
"Yes," Bray sulks.
"I sent you two all the way to Tau Ceti to fetch Miss Harber, so she could keep the aliens good and distracted while you set the probes on them. It was your job to begin surveillance of their movements, so we know what we're dealing with. Her job was to chat. Explain to me why you didn't do your job, Bray. Explain to me why I have no probe data."
Bray can't look him in the eye.
Preston takes a chair of his own with a disgusted sigh. "What do we actually know about them? They here to study us or conquer us?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know," Preston mocks him. He turns and thrusts his chin at Jade. "And you?"
Bray interrupts before Jade can answer: "They're hostile."
"Bullshit," Jade snaps.
"Like hell!"
"Says the man who left a crew member behind!"
"Quiet! Both of you!" Preston roars. "Start explaining, Bray."
Bray swallows, and tells Preston what he held back the first time. He tells him about the alien brutes separating them by force, about their formidable strength and how Taryn warned them to comply, and not fight back—that last bit with shame in his voice, as much as he can muster. Bray tells him how he figures Taryn must have provoked the aliens, and gotten herself killed. That he's in no way to blame for her not following her own advice.
When he's done, Jade won't look at him.
"You know she's dead?" Preston asks.
Bray blows out a lungful of air. "Look, doc, she wasn't one of us anyway. Let's worry about our own problems first. We have to change our location again, stay off the Tick's screens."
Preston snorts. "Always on the move, always jumping from one garbage heap to another while the Ticks get fatter and the colonists dumber. I'm done running. We need those aliens. As soon as the Transiter's ready, you're both flying out to find that ship and fix this."
"What? No!" Bray's guts wrench painfully.
"Good," Jade says. The intercom chimes before Bray can chew him out—Franky's voice comes in tentatively, requesting entry.
"Yes," Preston says.
The door shuts behind Franky as he steps into the room. "We've got movement in the grid."
Preston startles. "Where?"
"Near Forty-Nine Librae. Hacked a TMC survey drone's transmissions. An old R&D ship is changing trajectory, the Hawkyns II-E. It's been stationary for over two decades. Why would they move it now?"
"Where is it heading?"
"Just shy of Epsilon Ophiuchi. Not coming our way. It's on an intercept course with another ship coming in from Sigma Serpentis. No designation in the relayed orders, but by the size of the FTL pattern it could be a command carrier."
"How far will they be from Xi Scorpii when they rendezvous?"
Franky stares into thin air for a moment, focused on his synet displaying calculations in his visual cortex. "Just under nineteen light-years."
"You think they found the aliens already?" Jade asks.
Preston shakes his head. "No. They wouldn't send an R&D ship in. The Hawkyns' a lazy, flying lab—a poor choice to face a potential alien threat. If the TMC had found the aliens, they'd be flying in a whole damn fleet. This is something else."
"It can't be coincidence," Jade presses. "Not that close to Xi Scorpii."
"Well, if we had functional probes in the region..." Preston drawls, peering at Bray for a second. Then he gets up, and Bray and Jade rise with him. "I'll have Vik and his men fix the Transiter stat. We'll load as much additional surveillance tech on as possible. I don't care what it takes, I want the AI backed-up, and the sensor EQ fully shielded." He points at Bray. "You fly back out there as soon as it's done, and do your job right this time."
"But—"
"You do this right or I'll space you myself."
Bray's jaw clenches, but he doesn't argue.
Jade speaks up as Preston turns to go. "What about Taryn?"
Preston pauses, one foot on the threshold. "If she's alive," he says over his shoulder, "bring her back."
6
After the sixth time he came to me, I stopped resisting. Now we don't even pretend to talk anymore.
That first time was the most painful. It took me days to shut out the terror and confusion—the realization that I was losing my mind to another.
If I hadn't mistaken his questioning for torture... If I hadn't stabbed him at the most inopportune moment, as his nervous systems adapted to mine thought by thought, memory by memory...
I hurt him. But for all the wrong reasons. And hurt myself through him more than I may ever be able to mend. Only after I stopped resisting did I finally understand.
The physical pain has lessened, and the terror of death that had gripped me at first has receded into a mute understanding that I will simply die. Maybe right away, maybe not for another century, but it will happen, and it will be on his terms.
Deep inside me, where I no longer dare to venture on my own, I'm constantly pulled toward him. It's a will-crushing need. It scares me out of my mind. What he's left of it.
In those moments, when he slips into the room and hesitates, something stirs inside of me, a compulsion to reach out and make peace, to give us both much earned relief. But then he touches me and storms through me with such violence that I'm unable to follow what's happening, let alone intervene.
Each time, my thoughts and memories pour freely out of me like water through a broken dam, and I lose every sense of who I am. In that vacancy, an enormous world of alien images and thoughts plunges in. His mind is so much ampler than mine, his emotions so much more powerful—from ice-cold indifference, to obliterating rage, to absolute serenity. I'm completely lost in him, like a drop lost in a furious sea.
I grew up dreaming of a multispecies society based on tolerance and cooperation. It was my only motivation to keep going after the Raids on Maza decimated the Dorylinae, and left just one of thirty hives standing. How could I not have come here to make contact with a new species? How could I not keep hoping?
Now I have nothing. And he wants my nothingness too.
-
I jolt awake, naked and sticky with sweat and blood. Something's writhing inside my head.
Oh fuck—make it stop! Please make it stop!
I dig my nails into the floor. Would tear it open if I could, but the damn stuff just grows back. I sit up instead, my fingers bruised and sore. My tears have mixed with the blood on my chin and dried there. I don't know where I am, or how much time has passed since I last knew.
An alien comes in, a green mountain of muscle: Gra'Ylgam, the Kolsamal elder. The knowledge of his name and species, like so many other things swarming through my mind, Amharr's feverish raids have left behind. It's always Gra'Ylgam who comes to feed and clean me, and he too seems to stay longer each time. But I might be mistaken. Time doesn't make much sense to me lately.
When my voice comes back, and I find some thoughts of my own, I start to talk.
"Where is my team?"
The Kolsamal throws a glob of rosy goo on the floor and it rolls toward me... smush... smush... smush... It stops against my knee. "Gone back."
I pick up
the glob up and sniff it. Odorless, as usual. "Were they hurt?"
"No."
"Why not?" I press the spongy surface of the glob against my lips and suckle. It's tasteless, as usual.
Gra'Ylgam parts his jaws, and rolls his slimy tongue at me. I smile back at him, and suck the viscous knot greedily. He waits for me to finish.
"How long have I been here?"
"Almost one jala." He smacks his jaws shut and swallows.
Almost twenty-one days. More stolen knowledge. It's good it comes so easily, my head hurts like fuck when I try to focus.
I discard the empty, wrinkled glob, and watch it disappear into the floor like a tiny carcass into a swamp. "How much longer?"
"However long the Dominant needs."
"For what? Why doesn't he just kill me? Why torture me like this?"
"He does not want you dead." Gra'Ylgam sits beside me. The fluff covering his muscles sways and ripples in tiny waves, as if caught in a breeze. The motion makes me seasick, so I close my eyes and lean against him. He doesn't move away.
"You attacked him. You caused this."
"I was defending myself. I don't deserve to be driven mad for that."
He grunts, and I open my eyes. "Not mad." The capillary green fluff on his arm has elongated and grown, trying to crawl up on my face. I wince and push away. Then remember the marks on his face and bite my tongue.
"Please, talk to me, Gary. Tell me what's happening."
"Gra'Ylgam."
"I can't pronounce that. Please just... talk to me. Help me understand."
"Dominant Amharr wanted to question you. You disrupt his inquiry, and injure him. He loses control. Goes too far with his inquiry. Now he cannot stop."
"Tell me more."
And for whatever reasons of his own, he does. Gary tells me of Amharr and the High Emranti, and explains the role they play within the order of the galaxy, and what that involves. He tells me of a galactic union of immense proportions—the Ascendancy—ruled by an ancient, incorporeal species—the Raimerians—and run by dozens of other species made of flesh and bone. He tells me of the Kolsamal race, and their history of slavery in service to that union. He tells me of Amharr's unusual tolerance, despite his ruthlessness and efficacy as a Dominant.
I slowly understand the affinity Gary seems to have for me. We not only share the experience of an Emranti 'inquiry,' but that of a race at the mercy of others. Yet, I feel as though the qualms of human colonists exploited by the Ticks are a distant and ungrateful luxury, compared to what the Kolsamal endure. But injustice is injustice, regardless of its size. And Gary knows it too.
He tells me the Ascendancy investigates every species advanced enough to reach them, and judge if it's a threat, potential ally, or potential tool. They have entire fleets prowling the galaxy for just that purpose, all led by Dominants of their own.
Amharr's job is to determine if humanity is a problem or an opportunity. And so far all he's come to know of it... is me.
I lean back into Gary's wriggling, living fur.
Gary doesn't ask me things. There's nothing he craves from me. It allows me to like him. Between Amharr's consuming hunger and my guilt for single-handedly ruining our chance at a peaceful encounter, Gary is a moment of peace. In his own way, he's a welcome friend.
He lets me cry until I fall asleep.
-
"Where are you taking me?"
Gary drags me through the corridor, almost crushing my hand. I haven't been on my feet for a long time and have trouble keeping up.
"Gary, stop it," I yell at him, and try to free my hand. "Where are we going?"
"You must return." He yanks me forward.
"What do you mean? Tell me, damn it."
"Walk."
He's angry with me. Furious. But why?
The walls billow outward as we pass. If I consciously watch them, they seem inert again. A mirror-sphere accompanies us soundlessly along the ceiling. An Onryss—Raimerian technology. They're supposed to help the Emranti control their vessels and thralls, but Gary suspects they're in fact controlling the Emranti. He never talked to Amharr about his suspicions. No Kolsamal ever talks to an Emranti unless talked to.
"If you don't tell me where we're going right now..." I scowl at him. In vain.
After a subjective thousand clicks Gary stops and I bump into his shoulder. A doorway opens in the wall to our right and the Onryss slips into an enormous, softly lit room. Everything aboard Amharr's vessel is softly lit, as if he can't stand extremes.
Gary grabs my shoulders and stares at me desperately. "You will return to your origin."
"My what?" The last standing hive on Maza? Maza, covered in snow and ice, glinting in harsh sunlight... My memory distorts, and I recall a field of copper-colored weeds, and the stench of burning bodies wafting toward a turquoise sky.
No, that's not right. I've never seen that. Have I?
Gary glares at my confusion. Presses his claws into my shoulders to ground me.
"Do not forget what happened here," he says. "Remember correctly."
I nod drunkenly. "Alright."
He smacks his jaws, ushers me through the doorway, and walks away.
The Onryss waits for me further ahead. As I walk deeper into the room, I see a tear-shaped, mirror-reflective craft, not much bigger than a TMC Dart. I approach cautiously, seeing my face in the reflection for the first time in weeks. My mouth is a skewed, unsightly bruise. My eyes not much better. It's me alright, but not quite me. I reach out to touch the glossy surface, but before my fingers can meet it, it begins to ripple.
A rampway rolls out of the craft like a tongue, and I walk in, leaving the Onryss behind in the gloomy bay.
The ship is dim and silent. That familiar smell of ethanol and ozone finds me, and I know I'm not alone.
He's standing right beside me, back pressed against the curving wall.
"Why?" I whisper.
"This is my last attempt." His voice is low and vibrant, the rumble of a volcano about to erupt.
"What attempt? What will you do to me?"
"Remove you from my reach. Return you to your own kind. If it succeeds, I will never see you again."
"And if it doesn't?"
He glares at me with his immobile eyes, then goes to stand behind a white, crescent control console. I have no idea what he expects of me, but I'm pretty sure what he thinks of failure.
"Sit," he booms.
I sit.
He spreads his multi-jointed fingers over the controls. Tiny electric arcs bolt up to his fingers, and the console's surface comes alight in a myriad of colors. Bulges rise from it to meet his palms. And though I can't consciously feel it, I know we're moving.
I lean against the wall and hug my knees. The floor hums under us, throbbing with his energy. It makes my skin crawl.
"Where are we flying to?"
"The same place your vessel went."
"Spiron..." I bite into my knee.
Amharr presses his hands down on the console, and a sudden heaviness floods me. The vibrations crawl through my marrow and the floor sucks at my skin, numbing it. Before I can panic I lose consciousness.
When I wake, Amharr is leaning over me. "Stand," he says.
I stand.
He slings his fingers around my neck and holds me still. The glaze on his skin ripples and pulls back, as the seam of his chest widens, tearing open from neck to waist. I watch in silent horror as the two halves of his ribcage spread apart, laying bare hundreds of ribs covered by a glossy membrane that ripples with every breath he draws.
The floor crawls up my legs, to my knees and thighs. It's not moving upward—we are sinking.
As the floor reaches my chest he pulls me closer toward him and draws my face into the open cleft of his torso. The sleek membrane envelops my face and clogs my nostrils, mouth, and eyes. I fight for air and gasp into the unyielding gum, my fingers clawing numbly at his skin. He closes his ribcage gently around my head, and everything else fades a
way.
7
A violent shock wakes me. I lash out wildly, coming up fighting.
Someone touches me, wraps me in gauze and presses something cold over my face.
My eyes fly open but my vision is hazy and I can't breathe—can't breathe—can't breathe!
Rustling and swishing, steps pounding on a metal floor, muffled voices. Then something wet dislodges from my face with a painful suction.
"Miss Harber," a man calls, panting right next to me. "Can you hear me, miss?"
"Her pupils are responding."
"You're alright, we got you. You'll be fine."
He's wrong.
"Hold tight, this'll sting a bit."
Something hisses under my left ear. It doesn't sting—it burns. I want to tell him where he can stick that needle, but all I manage is a hoarse grunt. Then I choke and gag.
"Your lungs are damaged, but you'll recover," he says. "I just gave you a dose of suppressants and tranquilizers. Try and stay calm, we're almost at the medbay."
I push my head up and look around. I'm pinned to an anti-grav stretcher by a medical stasis field, being pushed down a station corridor. Bulkheads blur past overhead. A scanner arm runs back and forth along the side of the stretcher, taking readings.
I don't know the curly-haired man galloping alongside the stretcher, or the bearded guy—the one talking to me—pushing it.
"How in hell did you just pop up inside the cargo hold? Station sensors didn't catch a single speck passing the radiation shield." Then, to the other man: "Run ahead and prep the alcove—now. She's going into shock."
"Got it," the curly guy shouts, already sprinting off.
"Wait..." I lisp. "No shock."
"Yes, shock. Try to breathe slowly. We're almost there."
He presses another injector to my neck. I snap my head around to bite him, but I'm not fast enough. Goddamn substance burns through my veins like liquid fire, and I wish I could cough it up and spit it in his eye.
I cringe as I'm pushed into a painfully bright room. I hate that I can't defend myself, even from this. I'm so fed up with being pushed around and touched and probed, I swear I'll break his hand if I get the chance.
The Deep Link (The Ascendancy Trilogy Book 1) Page 4