Space still sucked.
CHAPTER 9
PARTHIAN, QUOL, ALTREIAN SYSTEM
TBE Orbday 10
The assassin came at Jack through a dissolving nanoparticle doorway along the passage that led from the High Council chamber to his quarters. Generally, his psionic abilities alerted him to the intent of all those who were nearby, but on this night, only the tickle of his intuition gave him warning. Long familiarity with that feeling caused him to spin aside as a laser pulse burned the left sleeve of his black uniform and melted a beautiful piece of extruded glass artwork on the far wall.
Jack used the momentum of his spin to drive the ivory blade that filled his right hand into the Dhaldric’s gut. As the assassin’s red-and-black-mottled face filled with shock, Jack’s left hand gripped the would-be killer’s gun hand. The leg sweep that followed dropped the assassin on his back. Jack used the impact to rip the knife downward, sending the other’s entrails crawling out of his body cavity and across the bloody floor.
The assassin shuddered violently and pulled the trigger one last time, sending an orange bolt of beam energy sizzling into the ceiling. Then the Dhaldric’s black eyes lost their red glint and fixed, unseeing, on the roof above. Jack had smelled the stench of violent death many times, but the foul odor that arose from this assassin’s eviscerated body wrinkled his nose.
Jack pulled the pulsed weapon from his would-be killer’s nerveless fingers and rose to his feet. The excited emanations from six minds and the sound of rapid footsteps announced the arrival of the guardsmen who entered the hallway from a branching side passage.
Even though he could crush any opponent with the power of his mind, there were some Altreian citizens, known as seekers, who had a unique mutation. They could see through the mind shrouding of more dominant psionics who invaded their personal space and mask portions of their brains from them. This rare combination of abilities made them deadly assassins. His attacker had clearly been one of these mutants.
Jack’s refusal to have personal guards constantly near him had led to this incident. But as he looked down at the steaming mess that had just tried to kill him, he had no intention of changing the way he operated.
Assassins Jack could deal with. The Altreian political and military hierarchies were quite another thing.
“Overlord, are you hurt?” asked the guard captain as he and his men came to a halt, studying Jack’s blood-drenched uniform.
“I’m all right.”
“I will have two of my guardsmen escort you back to your personal chambers and remain on duty outside.”
“No, Captain Graillan. Focus your efforts on finding who sent this assassin. Report back to me with the results of your investigation.”
The captain’s face mirrored his thoughts in not liking this order, but he knew better than to argue the point.
“Yes, Overlord.”
Graillan turned to his men. “Seal off this corridor and summon the chief examiner.”
As the guardsmen moved to comply, Jack turned and continued on his way back to his chambers. Time to get cleaned up and put on a fresh uniform. Then he wanted to take a long walk outside with Captain Moros.
The thought of the five-foot-tall, gray-skinned Khyre captain, who had become his friend and closest advisor, lightened his mood. He had grown used to the captain’s unusual style of speech. Jack had never met another Khyre or Dhaldric who spoke that way. When he had asked Moros about it, he had merely shaken his head.
“Coastlanders be ignorant. Only in the inlands do people be learning to speak proper.”
Because Quol was tidally locked to Altreia, the brown dwarf star’s gravity had pulled most of Quol’s water to the side of the planet that always remained closest to it. As one made his way east or west from the closest point to Altreia, a vast swath of islands began to poke their heads above the Altreian Ocean’s surface, ringing the planet north and south along its prime meridian.
On Quol’s far side, the Basrillan and Janiyan continents formed the homelands for the Khyre race. The inlanders were those who grew up away from the coasts. Jack thought it ironic that the longtime sea captain, Moros, had been born and raised as an inlander.
As he stepped through the nanoparticle door into his chambers, Jack made his way to the bath, shedding his knives, pistol, and uniform along the way. Yes, he very much looked forward to a private talk with his inlander friend.
From the interdimensional void, Khal Teth watched Jack Gregory’s timelines converge toward disaster. Knowing that his banished mind could not continue to exist if his body died on Quol, Khal Teth focused all his will on penetrating the Twice Bound power that Jack channeled to block all contact between the two.
When Jack whirled away from the assassin’s shot to tear the seeker’s gut open, Khal Teth felt the tentacles of terror that had gripped him slacken their hold, but only so slightly. Once again the timelines shifted, spreading out before him in order of their probability. But the ones along which The Ripper strolled slithered like a snake.
Today’s near-extinction event had been but the latest of Khal Teth’s terrifying discoveries since his mind had returned to the void, regaining his godlike view of the multiverse. For the brief period during which he had reinhabited his own body, he had lost that ability. It struck him as odd that he did not lose that connection as a rider in a human mind. And being a rider allowed him to experience the life-and-death struggles of his human host with no possibility of dying.
He could bond only with a human who balanced on the life-death boundary, and only if that human agreed to it. Then, Khal Teth could provide the adrenaline jolt that could reignite the spark of life within his host. Thereafter, the host still loved what he loved and hated what he hated. But the excitement Khal Teth felt amped up these emotions. The host remained himself . . . just a little bit more so. Khal Teth remained the rider until his host died, at which point Khal Teth’s mind returned to the void until he found a new human willing to make the bond.
Ever since that night in the old nun’s clinic in a Calcutta slum when Jack Gregory’s life had hung in the balance, Khal Teth had known that this man was different from any of his previous hosts. In ways that even Khal Teth did not understand, Jack’s mere presence shuffled the possible futures in what the humans had termed “the butterfly effect.” And now this man whom people had named The Ripper had stolen everything from Khal Teth by imprisoning his mind back in the extradimensional void.
But Jack had overlooked one key fact: Khal Teth’s bond with Jack’s human brain still existed and would remain until that body died, something it could not do while in suspended animation on Earth. And until Jack’s earthly body died, Khal Teth could not bond with a new host. But he did have one other option.
Khal Teth returned his focus to the possible timelines that stretched out before Jack in his role as the Altreian overlord. All of them led to Jack’s death in Khal Teth’s body, thereby ending them both. Only one scenario allowed any possibility for Khal Teth’s godlike continuance.
Khal Teth came to the acceptance of his destiny with a mixture of satisfaction and desperation. Apparently fate intended to keep throwing obstacles in his way. Fine. He would deal with them as he gave Jack an offer he could not refuse.
Jack strolled along the little-used path through the park that lay behind the Parthian. Captain Moros, having left his female first officer, Santiri, to ensure that nobody followed, walked beside him. Overhead, a gentle breeze ruffled the purple leaves. With the setting of Dorial, the distant yellow star that was the largest in this binary system, the magenta orb of Altreia, two-thirds masked by the horizon, painted the imperial park with the magical colors of twilight.
“Ripper,” Captain Moros said, pulling Jack from his thoughts, “the trouble you be raising puts the revolution at risk.”
The captain wasn’t wrong. It was the reason why Jack had supplemented the twin ivory daggers strapped to his thighs with a pulsed-laser pistol in a mag-holster on his right side.
No previous overlord had ever armed himself. But despite Jack’s ability to channel the sum of the mental energy that his bonds with the Twice Bound provided, a lifetime of physical combat had instilled habits. So again, he flaunted accepted Altreian mores.
“I’m aware of that.”
Moros’s eyes narrowed. “Then why do it? Already a small portion of the galactic fleet be in open revolt against your new government. The number of starships that join the rebellion be rising.”
“That’s because I’ve granted the Khyre people equal status with the Dhaldric. Oppressors and slave masters don’t tend to like that.”
“That be part of it,” said Moros, “but your military commands be turning Dhaldric starship captains against you. First, there be your recall of the planet killer before it can scrub a world of future Kasari allies. Now you be putting forth a plan to attack the Kasari to protect that same primitive world. What be your interest in it?”
Since Jack had never revealed his true identity to Moros, the question didn’t surprise him. The captain was far from stupid. But that didn’t mean that Jack liked answering it. Especially since it required that he lie to his friend.
“For thousands of cycles, the Altreian Empire has been at war with the Kasari Collective. What the empire has failed to admit is that it has been losing that war. It’s time to draw a boundary in space that we will not allow the Kasari to cross. I choose to begin sketching that boundary around that distant star system.”
“So far the insurrection be confined to distant parts of the fleet.”
“That’s because I have replaced all nearby starship captains who are unwilling to become Twice Bound with those who have accepted the bond. In that manner, my power will continue to spread.”
“Yes, but slowly. Civil war be at our gate. I press you to keep that loyal part of the fleet close at hand and to only cycle the other ships back to this starbase one or two at a time. This be the wrong time to challenge the Kasari Collective. You must not strip Quol of its defenses to save a distant world.”
Jack stopped and turned to face Moros, feeling the muscles in his lower jaw tighten. “Must not?”
Captain Moros did not flinch beneath his overlord’s glare. “Ripper, unlike the sycophants on the High Council, I do not tell you only what you want to hear. I say the truth as I see it.”
As Jack stared down at the captain, he realized that the frustration he felt churning in his chest came from the truth in what Moros had just said. Had he succeeded in becoming overlord of the Altreian Empire only to be rendered impotent by the very changes he had implemented?
Jack had to admit that he’d finally found something he sucked at. Politics.
Prussian military theorist Carl von Clausewitz had summed it up in the nineteenth century when he had said, “War is the continuation of politics by other means.” That explained why Jack had also demonstrated such ineptitude for command of the Altreian military. Instead of taking counsel from his generals and admirals, even in cases where their experience would be valuable to him, he didn’t have the patience for it. Instead, he issued orders and directives, expecting them to be implemented whether his subordinate leaders liked them or not.
The truth was that he hated all of this overlordly life but could see no way to return to the life he had left behind. That, along with the terrible sense of emptiness that this prolonged separation from his family had invoked, chipped away at his determination. He couldn’t allow that to happen.
Jack took a deep breath and slowly released it. “I will consider your recommendation.”
With a curt nod, Captain Moros turned and walked back down the path toward the multihued, teardrop-shaped Parthian. For several long moments, Jack Gregory stood there, watching him go.
On his way back to the Parthian, the vision hit Jack, bringing him to a sudden stop. It wasn’t one of those dreams that Khal Teth had delivered to him back on Earth. This was a deeply buried memory of an Altreian government secret of which only a select few members of the High Council and two geneticists had any knowledge. Only a short time ago, there had been several others on the High Council who also knew of this secret, but Jack had extinguished the flames of their lives during his sudden ascendance to power.
Although he didn’t know what had triggered the memory, it now had his full attention. Altreian society was based upon a conspiracy that had altered the course of history.
In those bygone days, the Dhaldric and Khyre races had shared dominion over this planet. The Khyre had always been far more numerous than the Dhaldric and had once been the political power brokers. But they had adopted a democratic form of government that had allowed the Dhaldric an equal place in society, a mistake of historic proportions.
Ironically, a Khyre geneticist had made the breakthrough that had, over the course of several dozen cycles, brought their government crashing down. All because he worked for a research company owned by a wealthy and secretive Dhaldric female named Keva, who would eventually become the first Altreian overlord.
With an effort, Jack pulled himself back to the present. Before acting, he wanted to personally confirm the truth of the memory fragment. To do that would require a visit to the Altreian government’s most secret archives, those kept in the Keva Vault, located in the extensive military bunkers directly beneath the Parthian.
Jack took one more long look at the beautiful night sky and made up his mind. The mystery called to him, and he was determined to answer.
CHAPTER 10
MERIDIAN ASCENT, DEEP SPACE
MA Day 73
Two days’ work in the cold, dark engineering bay had allowed Raul to identify and remove the damaged component of the primary matter disrupter-synthesizer. If the ship had carried spares, it would have been a relatively simple matter to replace the device. But the Meridian hadn’t needed any spares because it was perfectly capable of making anything it needed by using the molecular assembler tied into the MDS. That, of course, assumed that the MDS was working properly.
By routing additional power from the smaller MDS in the forward command bay and cannibalizing the matter disrupter in the food synthesizer, Raul had stabilized the energy production at a level that could keep the Meridian in subspace for a few more days. But that left none to spare to power the molecular assembler. He just needed to manufacture one damn part, but it was far too complex to make with the machine-shop tools Dr. Stephenson had left on board.
Raul rose to his feet and moved toward the crew compartment that he had transformed into a deep freeze by turning off all internal heating. He paused along the way to check on Jennifer and Dgarra. Finding their vital signs acceptable, he continued toward the food-storage room. Due to his dismantling of the food synthesizer, Raul was back to eating frozen eel fish. He’d been forced to move a bunch of them inside the room after VJ had shut down the power to the internal stasis field that contained them.
Retrieving an eel that was half the length of his arm, he hurried back out of the room, shivering violently despite the extra layer of warmth his black jacket provided. Having waited as long as he could withstand his nanite-enhanced craving for food, he sat down on a conduit bundle, sliced off a piece of fish with his knife, and popped it in his mouth. His lips curled.
Gag! And he’d thought they tasted bad when cooked. This fishsicle was one of the grossest things he’d ever stuck in his mouth. But he forced himself to chew, swallow, and repeat. At least he was confident that his nanites would prevent any food-borne illness from confining him to the porta-toilet.
Not that he produced any excrement anymore. The small MDS inside his manufactured lower extremities processed all waste his body produced, converting it to the energy that powered his mechanical parts. Any excess energy was stored in the super-capacitors in his hips or converted back to nutrients, which greatly reduced how often he had to eat. Thank God for that.
Suddenly a new thought blossomed in his tired mind. He had access to another MDS. Regrettably, he would have to disassemble his l
egs and hips to get at it. What really sucked, though, was the surgery he would need to have to resect his lower intestines, an operation he couldn’t perform by hand. For that, he needed to bring the neural net and a small stasis field generator back on line.
Raul leaned back against the wall, feeling beads of sweat pop out on his forehead despite the near-freezing temperature. Without his connection to the neural net, he couldn’t calculate how long he would have before the additional power drain caused the Meridian to drop out of subspace. Hopefully he would have at least an hour.
He just needed one damn thing to go his way.
After two hours of preparation, Raul was finally ready to begin the procedure. He had positioned himself beside the nexus of conduits that fed power to the neural net, the primary stasis field generator, and the molecular assembler. Then he had removed his legs, the MDS, and the twin super-capacitors that provided backup power for them. He had devised a workaround for the power-drain problem that might cause the Meridian to reenter normal-space within the Scion system.
First, he coupled the small MDS and the charged super-capacitors to the correct power conduit. If all went well, the super-capacitors would provide enough power to activate the neural net. With his connection to the neural net restored, Raul could then use it to control the MDS, commanding it to power the stasis field during the operation to prevent his guts from exploding.
Raul leaned back against the jumble of alien machinery behind him. He had forgotten how uncomfortable and exhausting it was to sit on the hard floor without legs to steady himself as he worked. He would have loved to use the stasis field he was about to energize to lift his body into the air, but he needed to conserve power for the operation.
He energized the ship’s neural net. For a second, he felt his throat constrict to the point that it cut off his air supply. When his mental connection to the ship’s computer expanded his mind, he brought the mini-MDS on line. He cut off a hunk of pre-positioned eel and dropped it into the matter ingester.
The Meridian Ascent (Rho Agenda Assimilation Book 3) Page 6