Jack observed the mental battle, allowing himself to feel what Khal Teth was doing without involving himself in the act, having entered a meditative state very similar to his lucid dreams. More than that, he studied how Khal Teth was using the power locked within Jack’s own brain to achieve mastery over the other Altreian. Through that link, he could actually feel the commander’s terror as Khal Teth enslaved both mind and body.
At the end, Khal Teth extracted the information he needed from Broljen’s mind and then followed him past the five translucent alien couches, pausing just long enough to lay down the Sun Staff before entering a much smaller room also bathed in the ambient magenta glow.
The Altreian commander walked directly to the leftmost of five horizontally mounted metal cylinders, each of which shifted through a variety of soft colors. Jack knew what he was seeing. These were the chrysalis cylinders the crew used to place themselves in suspended animation. Khal Teth’s body lay inside a similar chrysalis cylinder on Quol, one that had been programmed to block his mind’s return.
Broljen paused beside the cylinder, his fingers tracing a fractal pattern on its control pad. With a soft whine, the top half of the cylinder opened to reveal a translucent material that molded itself to the commander as he climbed inside and lay back. Jack got a close look at the Altreian’s face. The alien was completely devoid of emotion, as if Jack was watching an android go through its commanded actions. But from deep inside that mind, he could hear the screams that never made it to Broljen’s lips. Then the cover closed, the cylinder activated, and the Altreian’s silent screams faded away.
The meaning of what had just happened was clear. Khal Teth had forced the vessel’s commander to place himself into a semipermanent period of suspended animation, ensuring that the research vessel would continue to have a living crew member. Although the apparent joy that Khal Teth had taken in enslaving his fellow Altreian was troubling, the act itself had been a necessary prequel to what they had to do next.
Maintaining his dreamlike view of what his own body was doing, Jack watched as Khal Teth used his hands to enter another code into the second chrysalis cylinder, opening its lid and then settling inside. Then with a shift of perspective that startled him, Jack found himself back in charge of his body.
“Your turn.” Khal Teth’s mental voice echoed in his head.
Jack reached for the control pad, his right hand pausing. His access to Khal Teth’s mind revealed why this hocus-pocus body swap across the galaxy was possible, even though it shouldn’t be. The chrysalis cylinder on the Altreian home world of Quol had been attuned to Khal Teth’s mind and then used to sever Khal Teth’s connection to his own body, imprisoning his mind in an alternate dimension.
But Khal Teth had repeatedly escaped from that dimension using the method with which he’d entangled his mind with Jack’s. Now, by giving Jack primacy during the link of this cylinder to its counterpart on Quol, Jack’s mind would form the mask that would allow Khal Teth to slip through the chrysalis cylinder’s firewall and return to his Altreian body.
Taking one last earthly breath, Jack pulled forth the memory of himself laughing with Janet and Robby on a much happier day. The memory wasn’t so old, but it sure felt like it.
“Ah shit.”
Jack entered the code sequence that would attune this chrysalis cylinder to the one on Quol. Then the touch pad—and the world—dissolved around him.
Janet stood alone outside the ruins of the Kalasasaya Temple, staring across the windswept high plains as the gathering storm sucked the last light out of the day. Scattered between waist-high desert grasses stood a precisely carved stone gateway, the skeletal remnant of a once-great civilization. She wondered if she stood on the doorstep of a future where such ruins would be all that was left to mark humankind’s brief existence on Earth.
Would such a fate really be worse than being assimilated by the Kasari Collective? All she knew was that her best friend and lover refused to lie down and accept either fate. Yet here she stood, helplessly buffeted by the coming storm, with no clear vision of how to do her part.
Damn it all.
When Mark walked up beside her and placed a hand on her shoulder, she made no move to acknowledge his presence. But his arrival made her aware of how cold she was. Without a scarf or hooded jacket to protect them, her ears felt like they’d been spiked with a thousand poisoned needles. Janet savored the pain, letting it pull her focus back to the present.
“Jack’s been inside for almost an hour,” Mark said. “I think we should go check on him.”
Janet turned her face toward him. His muscular, six-foot-three-inch frame was barely recognizable as the high school junior she and Jack had first met in Los Alamos. Had it really been a decade ago? Time seemed to pass in but a blink of the eye.
“You know that he won’t be coming back out of that place.”
Mark sighed loud enough to be heard above the gusting wind. “Wouldn’t you like to see for yourself?”
She would and she wouldn’t. But, inhaling a fresh lungful of the ice-cold air, she nodded. Returning her gaze to the desolate landscape, Janet dismissed him.
“Go get Tall Bear,” she said. “I’ll meet you at the tunnel entrance.”
As Mark left her side, the wind died and the sleet transitioned to snow, big fluffy flakes that stuck to her hair and eyelashes, the sudden quiet so loud that it startled her. Somehow she felt it was a sign that a rare force of nature had just departed the planet, taking with him the energy that had powered the storm.
Janet hitched the collar of her leather jacket higher around her neck, turned, and walked back toward the tunnel entrance. She saw no use delaying the confirmation of her loss. She would share this final farewell with two friends who also loved Jack. If only Robby, Heather, and Robby’s caretaker, Yachay, were here, the memorial would be complete.
When she reached the tunnel, she found Mark and Tall Bear waiting, their eyes filled with concern as they watched her pass them by and step inside. Setting her jaw, Janet strode back toward the altar cavern, her shadow shifting around her as she passed by each bright LED light, the roar of the generator gradually fading.
At the entrance to the cavern, she halted, took a deep breath, and stepped inside, her hand subconsciously drifting to the butt of her holstered Glock. But there was nothing to shoot. The Altar of the Gods stood empty. With Mark and Tall Bear on either side, she climbed up the three tiers, coming to a stop atop the gleaming golden dais. Janet slowly turned in a circle, surveying the cavern, before sinking to her knees.
Both Jack and the Sun Staff were gone.
CHAPTER 8
The call came as Alexandr Prokorov sat down at his desk inside the Federation Security Service headquarters in The Hague, vibrating the encrypted cell phone atop his desk. The desk was excellent, Brazilian mahogany, hand carved and inlaid by the finest Norwegian craftsmen, a luxury that bespoke the power Prokorov wielded.
He lifted the phone, glanced at the caller ID, and saw that the call was from the recently appointed CIA director, Bethany Ortiz.
“Hello, Beth.”
“Hi, Alexandr. I just landed.”
“Excellent. I wasn’t expecting you to get here until around eleven A.M.”
“My pilot took advantage of some favorable tailwinds over the Atlantic.”
“Come straight on over. I’ll reschedule my early appointments.”
“I look forward to our conversation.”
“Oh, and Beth . . .”
“Yes?”
“It will just be you and me.”
There was a surprised pause before she responded. “I wanted to introduce you to my deputy, Clark Kendrick.”
“There will be time for that at dinner this evening. What I have to discuss is for your ears only.”
When the CIA director spoke again, her voice held a mixture of irritation and curiosity.
“Clark has my complete confidence.”
“Of course. But as I said, this will
be strictly between you and me. I’ve already cleared it with your president, Benton.”
Another pause. “All right, then. I’ll see you shortly.”
The phone clicked off, bringing a tight smile to Prokorov’s lips.
Bethany Ortiz was a political appointee, but hardly inexperienced. She’d been the longstanding chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee before resigning her congressional seat to accept the appointment to the CIA. As expected, she didn’t take kindly to this surprising change in plans. That was just fine. She needed to understand the true power structure within the United Federation of Nation States, of which the United States was but a part.
Regardless of who was the current UFNS prime minister, a figurehead position that rotated between its four member nations—the New Soviet Union, the East Asian People’s Alliance, the United States, and the European Union—the real power lay within the FSS. And Alexandr Prokorov, ex-KGB and former head of the FSB, wielded the full strength of the FSS with the cunning that the world had come to expect during his reign as minister of federation security.
Prokorov placed a call to his assistant, alerting her to the change in his meeting schedule, then swiveled his chair to access the wall safe behind his desk. He placed his hand into a small alcove above the safe and waited as the device scanned his hand, measured his vitals, then drew a tiny drop of blood for DNA analysis. He withdrew his hand and waited for the DNA comparison to finish. Five years ago, the same sequencing would have taken several hours, a feat that this portable unit now accomplished in under a minute.
When the door to the safe opened, he reached inside and extracted a file folder, then relocked the safe. Upon returning to his desk, he opened the folder and stared down at the familiar photo of his top operative. Even without the scar that had permanently parted her dirty-blond hair, despite the best efforts of her nanites, the woman was too lean and fit to be considered classically beautiful. Equally effective in a cage match or at a high-society social, Galina Anikin was a weapon he used sparingly, lest her cover be blown. But now Prokorov had a new mission for her, one that she would relish.
As he stared at Galina’s photo, his thoughts inevitably turned to the Smythes. Six months ago, Galina and her partner, Daniil Alkaev, had come close to killing the Smythes in Lima, Peru. With help from the NSA, Prokorov had managed to identify the location of the artificial intelligence that the Smythes were using to thwart efforts to track them.
But the operation Prokorov had launched to destroy the Smythes had gone horribly wrong, resulting in the deaths of dozens of Delta Force operators and a similar number of Spetsnaz commandos, along with the loss of Daniil.
For that last offense, Galina would have her retribution. Prokorov had promised her that. Unfortunately, the Smythes had become smoke in the wind, and their AI had apparently learned a lesson from its mistake in Peru. Now, whenever it launched a cyber-attack against FSS interests, the entity somehow managed to do so from computer systems within the UFNS, leaving no trace as to the real source of the hacks.
Prokorov leaned back in his chair, subconsciously twisting the ring that bore the FSS crest, a dove surrounded by a bear, a dragon, a lion, and an eagle. He had already set in motion the actions that would plant false dossiers for Galina within the intelligence services of three of the four superpowers. Today’s meeting with Ms. Ortiz, the CIA director, would ensure that the world’s remaining superpower was fully on board.
If he couldn’t beat the Smythes with technology, Prokorov would find them using the old methods he’d been well versed in as a young KGB agent. And when he did, Galina Anikin would be the chink in their armor.
CHAPTER 9
Raul opened his eyes to a dull-red glow, unable to place himself. He was lying against something lumpy, feeling like he’d just been run over by a truck. Where the hell was he? Not in his stasis chair, that was for damn sure.
“VJ. Can you hear me?”
Nothing.
“VJ?”
Her lack of response constricted his chest, bathing him in agony as he felt broken ribs shift. He blinked, trying to bring his vision into focus. The fact that the ship still had emergency lighting was a good thing. The overall situation wasn’t great, but right now he would take what he could get. He didn’t remember the crash, but the shields must have failed, along with the internal stasis field generator. That combination of disasters had tossed him onto the equipment that filled the rear half of the command bay. If not for the improved nanites in his system and the strength of his cyborg legs, he’d most likely be dead.
With an effort that left him gasping, Raul rolled to a seated position, leaning back against one of the machines for support. His lost connection to the ship’s neural net worried him even more than the loss of VJ. He didn’t even want to think about trying to restore primary power without help from the Rho Ship’s computer. Back in Los Alamos, when Dr. Stephenson had left him trapped aboard a dead Rho Ship, he’d managed to make the required repairs. But he had needed weeks to get the neural net back up and working, and, considering his current situation, Raul didn’t think the Eadric were going to grant him the luxury of time.
Already the ship was getting cold. It might be springtime in the Koranthian Mountains, but that was akin to springtime in the high Himalayas.
Taking stock of his physical injuries, Raul was heartened to discover that the broken ribs were the worst of them. He could already feel the nanites working to repair the damage. If his improving vision was any indication, his concussion symptoms would soon be a thing of the past. Then, with any luck at all, he would be able to think clearly enough to form a plan that didn’t result in his imminent death.
Once again he tried to reestablish a connection with the neural net. When that failed, he shifted his attention to the maintenance network. Damn. That system appeared to be off-line as well. All these problems pointed to one root cause: the ship had lost both primary and backup matter disrupters and was now keeping itself alive with a trickle charge from the capacitor banks.
That was actually a positive thing, indicating that the Rho Ship’s computer hadn’t shut down completely. It had merely determined that the power problem was critical and had taken extreme action to minimize energy consumption, hoping to keep itself alive long enough for the surviving crew member to make the repairs that would allow the other systems to be brought back online. Apparently the computer was an optimist.
But why had it shut down so many critical systems? The power stored in the bank of super-capacitors should have been enough to keep the heat on, with plenty to spare for a fully functional neural net. Was there some other critical system that had priority for power?
Then it hit him. Of course. The ship’s cloaking mechanism was the only thing that could prevent his enemies from finding and destroying the ship. With the cloak turned on, the Kasari and their Eadric allies would literally have to stumble onto the ship to find it.
How long did he have before that happened? Raul knew the question didn’t matter even as he thought it. He either had enough time or he didn’t. But every moment he sat on his ass drained more sand from that inverted hourglass.
Raul struggled to rise, gasping in pain as he regained his feet. Gritting his teeth, he turned toward the cabinet where he had long ago stowed all of the manual tools he had hoped to never again use.
If he was going to get this ship out of here before somebody came along and blew it to pieces, he would have to handle repairs the old-fashioned way.
The wind died out at midnight, leaving stillness beneath a brilliantly clear night sky. Jennifer looked up at the rare conjunction of all three of Scion’s moons, an orange crescent bracketed by two white ones. Despite the cold, she enjoyed standing outside without the wind trying to pull her into the chasm below.
Somewhere out there, beyond that alien star field, Mark and Heather were together. Jennifer didn’t know why, but she believed so with all her heart. As much as she missed her twin brother, the loss of her
lifelong best friend, whom she could talk to about things she could never discuss with Mark, had left an equally large hole in her life. What would they think if they could see her now? What would her mom and dad think of the killing machine their bookish daughter had become?
The sound of heavy footfalls surprised her, and she turned to see Captain Jeshen, General Dgarra’s most trusted courier, looking at her expectantly.
“Yes?” she asked.
“General Dgarra sent me to escort you to a conference with his subordinate commanders.”
“I’ll be along momentarily,” Jennifer replied.
“The meeting isn’t at his headquarters. I’ve been instructed to escort you.”
She sighed. “Fine. Lead the way.”
The Koranthian warrior turned and walked rapidly away from the ledge, his long stride forcing Jennifer to jog in order to keep up with him as he entered the nearest tunnel. The courier turned off into a side passage that sloped steeply downward away from Dgarra’s headquarters. Jennifer pulled forth the mental image of the maps she’d seen. This tunnel was one of several that connected the headquarters with the forward defensive positions.
She wasn’t surprised that Dgarra was meeting his commanders at such a forward position. He liked to survey the defenses and actively avoided pulling the commanders away from their units.
Seeing a lighted area up ahead, Jennifer picked up her pace, passing the courier. Something about being led around by the nose annoyed her. It wouldn’t do to give those who continued to doubt her abilities the impression that she needed an escort.
Something sharp struck the back of her neck, its sting bringing her to a sliding stop as she spun to face her unseen attacker.
Ten paces back, the courier stood, his gun still leveled at her. It didn’t look like any of the Koranthian weapons she’d seen, but then again, her vision was blurred. She reached back behind her neck and plucked out the dart that poured white fire into her veins, a fire rapidly spreading through her system.
The Altreian Enigma (Rho Agenda Assimilation Book 2) Page 6