“The lack of information on the Interplanetary Subspace Netscape suggests the mark’s pertinence.”
“Secret organizations don’t remain secret by broadcasting their intentions. Keep searching for references to the symbol.”
“You could just ask the Admiral.”
“I’m not ready for that conversation,” Reynard admits.
“You’re going to have to talk to him anyway. Incoming transmission,” Doug reports.
Reynard nods. The image of the white-maned alien materializes.
“Admiral.”
“The ISN news reports Commodore Micah Donkor has suffered a heart failure.”
Could be one definition. Amye blew his chest open. “We completed your mission.”
“Then it’s time to move forward as the Shalenotun government scrambles to replace Donkor. I assigned Ki-Ton to the crew because he has been one of my most trusted agents.”
“Commander Reynard did request those highly qualified in their respective fields,” Australia says.
“As a linguist you are unmatched, Australia. Another of my agents needs to report information, but he will only deal directly with Ki-Ton.”
Reynard almost felt, finally, that he and his crew had earned a place in Maxtin’s network with the assassination of Donkor. Now again he considers himself out of the loop, “I understand, Admiral.”
“No, you don’t. You’ll find the agent in question on Delnes Prime.”
“Inside Throgen-claimed territory,” Doug announces before the navigation officer responds.
Australia knows little of the dangers outside the Tri-Star Federation. “What if the Commander chooses not to accept this mission?”
“We’ll retrieve the information for the Admiral,” Reynard pops off.
“I’ll transmit coordinates. Ki-Ton will be able to fill you in on the operational needs of this assignment.”
The image cuts out.
“Athena, have Ki-Ton report to the bridge. Did he seem funny to anyone else?” Reynard inquires.
“He was not concerned about your success on Shalenotun.”
“I’ve got the coordinates but nothing else,” Doug reports.
“He has sent you blindly into unknown space. Not normal operations for him,” Australia adds.
“What agent in Throgen space could have been part of the UCP founding?” Reynard asks. “Find me everything about the symbol, the connection to the Battle of the Twin Suns, and where we’re going.”
Reynard leaps from his chair to grab Ki-Ton before he falls over.
He raises his hand to halt Reynard’s advance. “I’m fine, Commander. My species needs to…” he pauses. “Hibernate. I’m overdue.”
“How long must you slumber?” Australia inquires.
Before he answers, Reynard barks, “Maxtin’s requested we retrieve information from one of his agents on Delnes Prime who will only speak to you.”
“In Throgen space,” Ki-Ton speculates. “It must be vital.”
“Not at the expense of your health.”
Australia’s concern for him would mean a great deal to lesser life forms. He has no sentiments except for his own agenda. “How long to reach Delnes Prime?”
“It will take three days in hyperspace.”
“Sufficient time to rest. Along with the time it will take to return to UCP space. Too much risk in transmitting the information or the agent would have done so.”
“The Admiral said we should defer to you on this mission.”
“Then wake me when we arrive in the Delnes system.”
LOCKED OUT OF most of the shuttle’s controls, Maxtin remains content to observe Thierry, the one Zayar he hoped to keep as an ally. None of his people will involve themselves in off-world affairs, and he could use more Zayar assistance. With the expected life span of over two hundred fifty years, the wisdom of his people will not be shared with those not born true to the birthright of their species. He could never accept the prejudices instilled in the schoolchildren of his planet. Even his parents and their constant disapproval of how the Osirians doomed entire solar systems did nothing to dissuade him from wanting to witness these putrid beings. How they constantly soil their own nests, yet breed in uncontrolled numbers. Population regulations are standard on many planets to preserve natural resources, and the Zayars become masters at ensuring birth and death levels balance with food production and waste disposal.
That kind of control over his life fostered his desire to stay as far away from his home planet as he could, for as long as he could.
Unable to operate any of the ship’s controls, he opts for reading the sensor scans on the monitors. Despite not having seen his planet for nearly thirty-five years, he could never forget the environmental levels the sensors should be displaying. Any space trekker will tell you that no air they breathe soothes the lungs like any place but their birth world. Those born aboard the recycled air of starships don’t understand what it is to drink deeply the natural mixture of atmospheric pressures evolution designed them for.
Calm. Maxtin asks, “Where are we going?”
“Zayous VI. Just like I said.”
“The coordinates appear authentic, but the sensor readings of the planet are not of Zayous.”
“You left how long ago? Sensor readings change over forty years.”
“Not like this. Not without a major catastrophe befalling a planet. No such a cataclysm has afflicted Zayous.”
“You know nothing, Maxtin.”
“What happened?” the Admiral demands.
“How long has it been since you’ve seen your home world, Maxtin?” Thierry asks.
“The duties of running the Confederation kept me away a long time.”
“Before the Battle of the Twin Suns?”
“I enlisted in the Osirian Coalition fleet as a fighter pilot. I was merely a Lieutenant when the UCP was birthed.”
“You should have returned to your people when the Coalition fell,” Thierry snaps. “They’ve forgiven you for being away for only a few years.”
“The only species who could rally the fragmented Osirians and their allies to counterattack the Mokarran with any success would be Zayars.”
“Our people wanted nothing to do with what the Tri-Star Federation was undertaking…and for good reason. With the Osirians gone, the Tibbar Empire broke its alliance with the Federation, invading and committing genocide on the Nysaeans. You couldn’t stop it.”
“I will make sure no such butchery occurs again.”
“Slaughter?” Thierry adds, “The Nysaeans were never innocent.”
“Zayars are unable to profess as much.”
“We have wanted to do nothing more than to keep to ourselves on our own planet. Nothing stopped the Mokarran from launching a pre-emptive strike on Zayous VI.”
“You need a medical examination of your synaptic pathways,” Maxtin insults Thierry.
“The Mokarran launched a chemical weapons attack on Zayous after they defeated you at the Battle of the Twin Suns. We’ve kept the devastation hidden because of the fear other species have of us. If any of them knew we were vulnerable, it would be the end of those of us left.”
Maxtin has thought little of his family since they repudiated him. “I should have been informed, in secret. My access to resources could help.”
“Our people don’t trust outsiders. You’ve fallen away from our practices of isolationism,” Thierry points out.
“Leaving a world of chemical soup. How many of our people were murdered? With UCP biohazard teams on planet within twenty-four hours scrubbing the atmosphere—”
“It’s too late, Maxtin. Whatever biochemical substance they used, the levels have failed to dissipate in thirty years.”
“At least let me send a sample of the chemical to my team of scientists. An outside point of view may yield something that was missed.”
“We want no help from inferior species, or traitors. If Zayar scientists fail to solve the problem—there’s no so
lution.”
“Why I left in the first place.” Maxtin scans the readout on the control panel. “These sensor reports would mean a dead world of chemical soup.”
“They blasted the surface in organophosphates,” Thierry explains.
“Phosphate esters irreversibly inactivate acetyl-cholinesterase.”
“Nothing on the surface with any kind of nervous system survived.”
“Population controls or not, Zayar had nearly a billion residents and countless life forms.” Appalled, Maxtin’s mouth remains agape.
“The first barrage of Mokarran missiles failed to reach the planet’s surface. The contents of the warheads were scanned a massive evacuation was signaled as well as sealing all underground complexes.”
“The entire planet’s surface is covered in this nerve agent. How has this been kept hidden for thirty years?”
“I’m not authorized to explain,” Thierry says.
“Our home world has been devastated. I’ve the resources of the entire UCP at my disposal to help.”
“No. No. Even the Mokarran still fear the Zayar, and countless peace treaties remain in place because of fear. Our intact war fleet is one reason there are still close to a billion of us.”
“You converted the warships into generation ships. Why haven’t they colonized a new planet?”
“And reveal the extent of the damage and our vulnerability? We will reclaim our planet.”
“You aren’t out searching for an antidote. You buy Bannis Root for a reason.”
“The Bannis Root absorbs the properties of whatever soil it grows in. It camouflages the needed counteragents for the organophosphates.”
“What you bring back would not be enough to be effective.”
“I’ve seen enough of the galaxy to know our people are not on the correct path.” Thierry touches a monitor. “After analyzing the compound, a counteragent was discovered—Qarban R16.”
Maxtin searches his brain before admitting, “I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a rare mineral used in the manufacture of dopamine inhibitors. The ‘O’ uses it in a certain designer drug.”
“Ialtran B. They haven’t created it in three hundred years. The chemicals are too rare. No profit in it,” Maxtin says.
“It’s rare. With great cost, the Zayar Council obtained some, and we’re able to reverse some of the damage. A lot faster than with the Bannis Root.”
“Would never work. You’d need a planetwide supply to even put a dent in these readings. I doubt that much Qarban R16 exists in the entire galaxy.”
“I alone abducted you. I know you’ve agents reaching into The ‘O’ where I can’t. What we’ve acquired so far has been squandered in a vain attempt to restore the planet to only be reconstituted by the chemicals.”
Maxtin contemplates this. “It does thin the mix I bet.”
“It takes mass quintiles. So to prevent waste, a force shield was resurrected over an area, creating a kind of greenhouse. Everything inside has been purified. Think of it as a growing game preserve.”
“What size?”
“Ten miles at its circumference.”
Maxtin’s brain makes a quick calculation and guesses, “You’re talking a million years to restore the planet.”
“Unless we find a cache of Ialtran B.”
“Gathering it without attracting attention. You can’t infiltrate The ‘O’ for something so rare without arousing suspicion.” Maxtin has his doubts in Thierry, “It’s impossible to infiltrate an agent within The ‘O’ criminal structure. I’ve a few on the ground floor, but they have no way to climb higher within the command structure. Even to save my planet, it would be at a great risk of their lives. Why have you contacted me now?”
“Civilian life on the battle cruisers takes more of a toll on our people. Some have not adapted well to the artificial environment. It will shorten the life expectancy of most.”
“Not quite compelling enough. I’ll learn of the reason if you want me to use my network of informants.”
“You’ll see soon enough. I knew you’d need proof.”
The cloak-and-dagger method of getting Maxtin’s attention serves a purpose: to protect Zayar peace treaties and keep many planets from war. Many people believe the Mokarran are kept from invading the UCP because Maxtin has the support of his home world. And if the Mokarran have no idea they were successful in destroying Zayous, they must still fear his people’s military. The desperation must be great.
Maxtin must regain control of his situation. His mission on Summersun was much more pressing to the security of the UCP.
Maxtin, still secured by the seatbelt harness, kicks Thierry and punches in a command into the controls.
The Zayar loses control of his temper and backhands the Admiral. “What are you trying to do? After you see Zayous, I’ll take you back to Summersun.”
Maxtin flicks the drop of blood from the corner of his mouth with his tongue as a response.
Thierry checks the controls. “You took a risk to broadcast…a criminal bounty alert.”
“YOU’LL BE OKAY,” Kymberlynn puts as much comfort into her voice as she thinks Amye will believe.
The churning in her bowels boils the pit of her stomach as bile fills Amye’s mouth. “I’ve never murdered before.”
“You’re a soldier now. It comes with the job.”
“Soldiers are prepared to take lives in combat. I’ve had no such training.” The contents of her stomach claw at her, sending her doubled over onto the floor.
“If you’re going to be sick, get in the bathroom.” Kymberlynn towers over a scrunched-into-a-fetal-ball Amye.
“You could help me, Sister.”
“I can’t touch you.”
Amye squeezes her eyes tight, forcing the growing water down her cheeks. Her stomach churns. She somehow gets to her knees and crawls forward.
“There’s no lesson in not helping me to the bathroom,” she hisses.
Powerful hands dig into Amye’s armpits and half drag her toward the bathroom. Kymberlynn fades from her water-scarred vision.
The owner of the powerful hands guides her head over the toilet and pulls her hair back behind her head. A volcano of food particles, hydrochloric acid, and bile erupts into the bowl.
“By the gods!” she heaves in agony as the stream of half-digested chunks retches from her body in quick convulsions. Every inch of her abdomen hurts from the bottom of her lungs to the outline of her esophagus. She tumbles to the side of the durasteel.
“A thousand years and there has been little improvement on Osirian shit collectors.” Reynard crouches down on one knee, holding a pill between his thumb and forefinger. “This will stop your puking. If you’re able to swallow it.”
As if on cue, Amye twists her head, vomiting one final burst of bile into the bowl. “Did you derive some sick and twisted pleasure in that?”
Reynard slumps next to her, handing over the pill. “No.”
She swallows it dry.
“I didn’t know Donkor was your first kill. For being military operatives, you and I weren’t trained as soldiers.” He gives her a bag of ice. “Old Earth remedy. Place it against your neck.”
The cool bundle relaxes her. “I killed those Mokarran through a scope. Never thought twice about it, but the humanoid, tonight...” She shuts her eyes. “I’ll never forget his face.”
He pats her calf muscle. “I wish I had something consoling to say.”
“How many have you killed, Commander?”
“I’m kind of like you. A few before, but not in such a personal manner. My first kill was an Iphigenian on my home world when they invaded. I fired and hit one as they captured me. I never give him any thought. I was put into hibernation and didn’t have time to even realize I’d shot someone. The two Calthos warriors I eliminated to earn the clan sigil. Technically they…actually killed each other. I’ve blown up fighters from the helm of the Dragon, but you’re correct, it’s more like firing at targets
in video games. It’s nothing like facing down a live opponent.”
“I don’t disgust you with my reaction?” Amye opens her eyes to soak in his face.
He reaches up and flushes the toilet. “The smell disgusts me, but never your reaction. We’re not coldly trained warriors. How you feel right now is normal. I’d be more worried if you weren’t sick.”
Amye hiccups, “My sister’s never been too loving in these situations. It’s nice to have someone who cares.” She uses the edge of the bowl as a crutch to stand.
Reynard jumps to his feet and catches Amye by the waist, holding her at arm’s length before she hugs him.
Amye glances into his eyes. “Sorry, didn’t know you’d find a thank-you hug inappropriate.”
“I don’t. If you want to hug me you need to wash your lunch off your face.” Reynard leans her against the sink, flipping on the water. “I’ll wait for you outside.”
If she could, Amye would put her blaster to her temple and fire. She leans over the sink and cleans the dried vomit from her face, wishing she could scrub off her blushing cheeks.
Kymberlynn clops her boot on the shower floor. “That man has a sensitive side, and so far you’re the only one on the crew to have seen it.”
Amye splashes water over her face. “If I had one, would you listen?”
“Probably not.”
“The Dragon crew functions for argument’s sake as a paramilitary operation, and you’re not enlisted personnel.”
“Your point, Kymberlynn?”
“There’re no rules against dating your captain.”
“I’m not going to hop into bed with him.”
“I said ‘date.’ Something you should try. Not your usual ‘buy me a drink and I’ll take you home’ strategy.”
“Go to hell.”
“He genuinely cares about your welfare and not because he wants to bed you.” She recants, “Not totally. I’m pretty sure he didn’t want a hug because he had a little blood flow problem downstairs.”
“Disturbing—vomit turned him on?”
“Not the vomit, Little Sis. The whole rescuing the damsel in distress perspective.”
“I don’t need rescuing.” Amye storms from the bathroom.
Enter the Sandmen Page 12