The Deep Link (The Ascendancy Trilogy Book 1)

by Sicoe, Veronica

  "Foolish creature," Amharr says softly.

  He cups Gra'Ylgam's blistered face in his hands, careful and slow, as if it were made of smoke. He gathers a stream of recombinant particles into his radixes, then extends his tendrils and inserts them into Gra'Ylgam's charred skin. He discharges the particles into his bloodstream. They send violent shudders through the Kolsamal's wrecked body, but he endures it quietly.

  When he's done, Amharr withdraws his hands. Gra'Ylgam sags down to his knees, struggling to breathe, aided by the rapidly growing autotrophs on his regenerating skin. Amharr waits for him to regain his strength, then walks around him and heads back to the vessel's crux.

  "Come, old friend," he says calmly. "Let us see about those humans."

  -

  Bray fidgets in his chair, watching Preston eat his dinner. They're back in the apartment, sitting in Preston's room, everyone else already sleeping. The plan for tomorrow's Syndicate assembly scrawls rapidly over Preston's glasses as he chews.

  After sinking so low as to plead with him, Bray was finally offered intel on the Syndicate's workings:

  The underground units are preparing to block all main public transportation routes in the district by staging technical difficulties and instigating strikes and riots. They'll block off the cargo port too, and sabotage access to stored resources. They've already sabotaged most of the district's TMC appliances, fuel storage units and food distribution lines. Demoralized Ticks are easier to provoke. And if all else fails, cutting off their supply vein from Hades will goad them into getting sloppy and making mistakes. Once the Ticks engage in a direct fight—physical, political, or even propagandist—the Syndicate can proceed to the next phase of their offensive.

  The units will take out some TMC hubs, preferably remote ones without significant casualties but good demonstrative potential. They'll bomb Trust offices that service the Ticks, from financial institutions to factories and communication centers. Basically anything the TMC needs to function will be disabled or destroyed, forcing them to act—preferably to overreact. Which won't be particularly hard to achieve.

  Bray's biggest concern is that things will get out of hand a lot faster than Preston anticipates. But he says nothing. The doc never listens to him anyway.

  Bray told him about following Taryn on her scouting trip, about the surveillance bot she destroyed with her bare hands. Thankfully Preston didn't want an explanation; he couldn't have come up with one if he tried. And then how later on, Taryn went to Calle Squero. Bray couldn't close in on her too much. A patrolling officer got curious about him and chased him around the block. He'd lost track of Taryn after that, but there was only one possible thing she could have done on that street. She must have met with Cris. The doc hasn't said a word about that either.

  Too many things are hanging in the air, and Bray can't tolerate the tension. He taps his foot nervously up and down, squeaking his boot.

  Preston glares at him over his glasses. "Stop that. I need to focus."

  "Sorry."

  Every second ticks away slower than the previous ones. Bray's feet burn with restlessness. "What you think, doc? About Taryn, I mean."

  "Doesn't matter what I think. What matters is what we can use."

  "Meaning?"

  "Things are getting more interesting," Preston says around a bite of faux chicken. "I had Costa comb the Transiter's logs. He said our dear Miss Harber flew to Tau Ceti while you were busy brawling with drunks."

  Bray grinds his teeth.

  "What I don't understand—" Preston swallows, "—is why she went back home. There's nothing on Maza but ruins. And then why come back here after all that trouble?"

  "Can't go anywhere else without a synet."

  "Maybe." Preston picks a lump of fleshy fiber apart and stuffs it into his mouth, dripping sauce on his beard.

  Bray wraps his arms around his stomach and presses them tight. He has no appetite.

  "Also," Preston adds, "Costa said Hades deployed a Falcon to Tau Ceti, right after she returned. It reported seven orbital drones and the last Dorylinae hive destroyed. 'Ruins indicative of explosions,' as the report had it. That can't be a coincidence."

  Bray startles. "What you think happened?"

  "I have several theories." Preston gesticulates with his fork. "The most likely scenario is that the aliens did it."

  "The Dorylinae self-destructed?"

  The look Preston gives Bray is withering. "The other aliens, the ones who captured Miss Harber and infected her." Bray starts tapping his foot again. "I've no idea why," Preston continues. "Something must have gone wrong there. A failed talk with the Dorylinae, perhaps. An old feud. Bad negotiation..."

  "Wouldn't the Ticks get riled up about those aliens entering human space?"

  "They don't know about it. The Falcon only found the wrecked drones; no aliens. They haven't got anything from long range surveillance yet."

  "Think the aliens are still there?" The thought of those brawny, green beasts with razor-sharp claws makes Bray ill.

  Preston shrugs. "Maybe. Something doesn't add up, though. The Dorylinae don't negotiate with anyone. If they did they'd have already done so with the Ticks. No, those bugs don't like intruders of any kind. That's what must have happened—the new aliens intruded on them, the Dorylinae resisted and got squashed."

  "But why would—"

  "Miss Harber," Preston jumps, struck by the notion that's taken hold of him. "She must have fled to Maza to hide, and the aliens peeled her out of there by force."

  Bray stops tapping his foot. The image of Taryn being dragged out of a crumbling hive by those beasts turns his pulse up. He doesn't like his own reaction, and tries to move along. "What would she be hiding from?"

  "Who cares?" Preston drops his cutlery on the plate. "Those aliens have the firepower to take down the Master Hive—something the Ticks never managed. And they're willing to use that firepower to retrieve their little proxy. Leveling everything in their way. Do you see where I'm going?"

  Bray's head is spinning. He shrugs uncomfortably.

  Preston groans and pushes the plate away. He opens the panel above the table, pulls out a small projector and calls up a list of his most prominent Syndicate connections in Erano. Bray recognizes some of the names, among them a politician, a famous judge, and a news anchor. "What now?" he asks.

  Preston looks up as if he's forgotten about him. "I have to organize a guerilla war," he says dismissively. "You stick to your own duties. Keep following Taryn. I need to know how things evolve. You keep an eye on Jade, too. He was with her on Maza. Find out how much he knows, just don't be stupid about it."

  Bray nods. He watches Preston connect his nacom to the computer and open several com channels at the same time. The doc flies through multiple encryptions, hacking faster than Bray can follow. Bray sighs and stands up.

  "One more thing," Preston says without looking up. "I just checked in with Crispin Nevala. He denies ever having met Miss Harber. I want you to look into that."

  "How am I supposed to—"

  "I don't care. Just do it."

  "Fine," Bray says through clenched teeth. He turns on his heels and leaves Preston to his networking.

  Harrowing thoughts about armed aliens swarming the city haunt him in his sleep.

  -

  Amharr watches the human vessel approach the Undawan, their craft a speck of dust adrift in the vastness of space. They've stopped trying to communicate, and since Amharr has not ordered the Undawan to stop its slide into human territory, they have apparently decided to take action.

  "Three humans are aboard the incoming attack vessel," the First Commander says, both his hands laid out on the controls. "Crude energy building aboard, probably weapons being readied."

  "Retrieve them," Amharr says placidly. "Prow bay."

  The First Commander obeys, and they watch as the Undawan swallows the human vessel and yields it to the desired location. The Onryss announces the completion of the process.

  Amh
arr heads down to the bay with the Onryss beside him and Gra'Ylgam in his shadow. They enter through the corridor wall, and Amharr immediately suppresses his senses. He remains in the dark background of the bay, as always, inspecting the vessel from a distance. He wonders whether other humans are anything like Taryn.

  Gra'Ylgam approaches the vessel first and opens the hatch of its thin metallic hull. Three weapons aim at him through the opening.

  "Out," the Kolsamal growls. "Now."

  None of the humans move.

  Amharr slowly approaches the vessel from the side, studying them. One of the humans sees him, startles, and starts screaming at the other two. Another starts shooting at Amharr. The bullets pelt the shielding on his arm, drizzle down beside him, and are swallowed by the floor.

  Gra'Ylgam grabs two of the humans and yanks them out. The third one shoots him in the head. His skull cracks open with a sharp noise.

  Amharr's nerves flare up. In the blink of an eye he stands before the human, plants a hand on his helmet and plucks him out of the vessel. The man flails and screams, shooting at random. He tries to punch and kick himself free, then fumbles with his helmet.

  Amharr draws him closer, tasting the air. He looks for any resemblance, for even the slightest promise of momentary relief. There is none. This human is useless. Amharr crushes the man's helmet along with his skull.

  Another man screams. Gra'Ylgam knocks him down with a short blow to the head. He clutches at his wounded forehead and groans.

  Amharr cuts the third man down with a quick strike and turns toward Gra'Ylgam. "Are your injuries severe?"

  "I will recover." Gra'Ylgam pants and grunts, guzzling the cytoplasma and blood trailing down from his gun-shot wound, never wasting a single precious molecule.

  "Let us return to the crux and destroy the rest," Amharr says.

  "If that is your order."

  Amharr pauses. "Do you disapprove?"

  Gra'Ylgam pushes himself back up, still clutching at his forehead. "Have you decided to contain this species after all?"

  "No."

  "Then this is nothing but a distraction. You are avoiding the truth: that you are no longer a Dominant. That you are no longer a part of the Ascendancy."

  "Enough. The High Emranti will always be part of the Ascendancy."

  "Not you."

  "I am a High Emranti Dominant," Amharr thunders.

  "That is no longer true," Gra'Ylgam says patiently.

  "Then nothing is true anymore," Amharr retorts, walking past him. "Only death."

  31

  I can see rather well in the darkness of our room. It's a new thing, and I kind of like it. A lot of things are new to me lately, and I like that too. I'm surprisingly keen on all this otherness going on.

  I've been listening to Jade's rhythmic breathing for a while now, to make certain he's asleep. My thigh still throbs around the embedded bullet, but there's no pain, and my muscles work fine. I should remove it but I don't know how, and the wound is already closing up all by itself. In a couple more days, only a tiny scar will be visible.

  Jade is snoring softly. Evenly. I lower my feet quietly to the carpeted floor. Jade rips one under the blanket, and I stifle a giggle. I fumble for the small screwdriver I set aside in my cubbyhole, and sneak over to the com unit.

  I carefully unscrew the front panel and lay it down on the floor. Then I unscrew the display and the retina scanner for the com access to make more room. I don't need them anyway, all I need is a working core and a connection. The lack of light makes it difficult to distinguish between the small parts, but my newly keener night vision helps, and I've worked with communication technology long enough to recognize the entrails of a basic com unit model, its processor, GPU, and chipset, by shape, size, and material. The problem is I don't know what to tap into and in what order to make this work.

  I peer over at Jade, still snoring into his pillow, and take a deep breath. I press my left index against a microprocessor and my middle finger against another. Then stick my thumb underneath the RAM chip, the base of my palm touching the networking chip. I wedge the fingers of my right hand on top of the unit's motherboard and close my eyes, breathing deeply.

  One... two... three.

  Nothing.

  I concentrate on the com unit's circuits and micro-welds, envisioning its many pathways buzzing with electrons, and try to control them with my will.

  Nothing happens.

  I'm a complete idiot. Damn it!

  My fingers are starting to cramp. Why won't this piece of shit machinery do what I want? I've got the juice and the nerve, and this badass alien superpower going for me, so why won't it work?

  Come on. Just a little blip. A single electron. Move for me, baby!

  Nothing happens.

  I clench my fingers, jabbing the unit's guts with all my strength. White noise fills my ears, making me dizzy. My vision begins to brighten like a light-pierced storm cloud. Sparks flare up before my eyes, millions of them—millions of electrons traveling through the wires before me. My head spins and my palms burn.

  I lean my forehead against the wall, my head filled with swarming, buzzing, deviously spinning pinpoints. A violent shudder runs through me like an electric current. The energy flows freely now, through all my veins and nerves and bones.

  I can do this.

  Concentrate.

  I'm drowning in the richness of information like a flailing baby in an angry sea. I see millions of things all at once: pictures of people, voices and texts, sequences and colors and music, laughter and chatter and inscrutable noise. Like a thousand parties compressed into a single room. A thousand rivers flowing through a single straw. The undertow is so powerful, I fear I'll never be able to resurface again.

  I try to compress my thoughts into a composite image, like the mnemonics for my synet, and send it out through the com. My fingers cramp, my nerves flare up, and I clench my jaw.

  Light bursts out of me in a powerful stream—into the com circuits—through the city's networks—hunting, forking out, coalescing again—streaming into another device, forcing it to life.

  "Hello?"

  I hear a woman's voice, distant and raspy with white noise. Have I made it? Has it worked?

  "Who is this?"

  "Governor?" I think as loudly as I can, and realize my thoughts burst through an even louder speaker in a gush of white noise.

  "Who is this?"

  "Am I speaking to Governor De Luca?" With every word my voice becomes clearer.

  "How did you get this access?"

  "I need to speak to you." A new noise penetrates my connection. Something—or someone—is trying to block me and track me back.

  "Who the hell is this?" the governor asks.

  "There's a revolution brewing in the city's guts. The Dabaran Syndicate plans to attack the TMC out in the open and turn Erano into a war zone."

  "Is this a joke? Who is this?" the governor demands.

  "You can't let this happen. Powerful aliens are watching us, on behalf of a galactic alliance. They're here to evaluate humanity, and if we don't pass, we'll be decimated—all our colonies—the entire human race. We'll be contained by force." I bite my tongue, realizing just how crazy that sounds.

  "I don't have time for tasteless pranks. Get off this line."

  "Listen to me. Please. If the Syndicate starts a war they'll doom us all. You must stop them at any cost. Warn the TMC if you have to—"

  "Ma'am, you are committing a felony," a man intrudes on us. "Get off this line immediately."

  "Please, Governor. I'm speaking the tr—"

  Our connection is cut.

  I tumble back through the network, retracting into myself. I drop to the floor of our room. Everything trembles, as if shaken by a horrendous earthquake, and I'm blinded by residual light.

  "Taryn, what's wrong?" A tiny voice gets through the white noise in my head. The muscles in my throat are raw as if I've been breathing searing smoke. "Are you okay?" Jade asks. "You fa
ll?"

  I squint at his blurry face and try to sit up. Everything hurts. "Com," I whisper.

  "I'm right here."

  "No, the com..." I point at the wall. Several components hang from the wall on smoking wires, the dangling display flickering erratically on and off.

  "What the hell did you do to it?"

  "I called the governor." My energy returns in full as the realization hits home. "It fucking worked!"

  Jade stares at me as if I lost my mind. "What are you talking about?"

  I sit up and lean against the wall. "I can manipulate electronic devices with my bare hands. With my mind! Isn't that awesome? I fried a surveillance bot yesterday. It was following me and I couldn't outrun it, so I fried it. I just hacked into the com—went straight through the whole damn grid." I burst into laughter. "I called the freaking governor!"

  "What?"

  I tuck a sweaty strand of hair behind my ear. "The alien particles, Jade. My link to Amharr. It helped me do it."

  He stares at me like I'm nuts. "You were dreaming, Taryn. Go back to sleep." He sits back down on his bed and rubs his face.

  "I fried Costa's office door lock, remember? In the Center? The sentinel's handheld, too, back at the gate. And I broke out of the restraining field in the Spiron medbay. Remember?" I grin at him.

  He sighs heavily, shaking his head. "So what did the governor say?"

  He doesn't believe me.

  Who cares? I can manipulate technology!

  "I tried to warn her about Amharr evaluating us." I wave my hand through the air. "She didn't buy it, of course."

  "No shit," Jade mumbles.

  "Well, I had to try." And I had to find out just how precise this new power of mine is.

  "How about you try doing something useful for a change." He tucks himself back in. He doesn't believe any of this, I realize with disappointment. "I've got plenty of things on my to-do list. You have to stop blacking out on me, you know. It's not funny anymore."

  "It was funny before?"

  He yawns. "You look like a drunk badger when you flop down like that."

  "Har-har." I grimace at him as I climb up into my own bed. I throw myself over the covers, hands still trembling from the rush.