From the Ashes (Conquest Book 1)

by Jeff Taylor

  Nathaniel straightened his tie then extended his hand toward Tina who placed a datapad in it, which was then presented to Ahkman. The former CFO ripped the device from Nathaniel’s hand and looked at its contents. While he read, Nathaniel explained what he was seeing loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

  “Twenty-three years ago, my wife and I formed a small brokerage firm called Kratin International” Nathaniel began. “It was nothing of any consequence. Jilliana and I were its only employees, and it was almost entirely funded by my father-in-law. Of course, my wife and I were ill-equipped at the time for such a venture and we closed up shop, selling our share of the company to her father and moved on with our lives.

  “Unbeknownst to us until recently, he kept the company running, specializing in modest little transactions that rarely dealt with international entities. It was enough to keep it going until it began to turn a significant profit. Over time those shares we sold became quite valuable. Apparently, he kept the firm going so that someday he could turn it over to his granddaughters as an inheritance. It seems he has done more than that for us today. Mr. Brill,” Nathanial motioned to the elder Carsun, “would you like to pick it up from there?”

  “Gladly,” replied the old man with a grin. “Six months ago, just before the preliminary vote to sell was counted, I sent out a letter to potential investors inviting them to commit funds to help us avoid such a dire action. One of those letters was received by Mr. Carlo di Ricci, Nathaniel’s father-in-law. Mr. di Ricci and I soon opened a dialogue where he agreed to begin buying shares as they came available. I knew of his wealth and his ability to help us and gladly accepted his funding.”

  “When Carsus stock took a nose dive when our earnings were announced last quarter, it was clear to shareholders that we were losing the fight to Medes and they began looking to get out; except Mr. di Ricci. Instead he chose to buy, partly because the stock was cheap, but also because his son-in-law was excelling in our ranks. Not only was he getting a great investment, but he was also securing his family’s interest. With the stock priced so low, he was able to gobble up chunks of it at a time.”

  Ahkman saw the numbers. He saw all the stock transactions and transfers and quickly began doing the math. He could already tell where Brill was going with but he had to see it for himself.

  Nathaniel jumped in. “Yesterday morning Mr. Brill told me all of this for the first time. Just after our meeting began, we received a phone call from Tina’s grandfather. It was then that I learned I was still listed as the president of Kratin International. The shares of Carsus purchased by KI were transferred to me, and as president, I then appointed Tina to that company’s board, making her a joint shareholder. Combining the shares we already owned and the new ones my father-in-law acquired, Tina and I, along with Kratin International now own …”

  “Thirty-one percent of Carsus Corp,” Ahkman growled softly.

  “Correct,” Nathaniel confirmed. “Which makes us Carsus’ majority shareholders. And as the majority, under the company’s bi-laws, we may veto any act that would negatively impact the company and its interests. Therefore, we reject the sale to Medes International.”

  Ahkman could only glare at Nathaniel. His fists clenched the pad so tightly his knuckles strained white from the force, fiercely fighting the urge to lunge at the exultant CEO. To his and everyone else’s surprise, the datapad snapped in his hands. Nathaniel visibly jumped. Con’s own hand disappeared into the dark cloak draped over his shoulder as if ready to reveal a weapon.

  This cannot be happening! Ahkman fumed. He had done too much, gone too far to make this deal happen to see it crumble now. The plans for his new fortune, the investments he’d promised to secure, the solar yacht he and Josephina had already purchased withered before his eyes with a wave of Nathaniel’s overconfident hands. His frustration mounted until an unearthly “NO!” escaped his enraged mouth.

  “This is too big for you to stop now,” he growled. The force of his voice startled Nathaniel and quieted the crowd. Bullying his way back to his chair at the table, Ahkman gripped the stylus again and forcefully pressed it to the datapad embedded in the conference table, vigorously signing his name to the Bill of Sale. “There,” he declared defiantly, bouncing the stylus off the table top. “It’s done. You’re too late!”

  To his left Josephina was attempting to get his attention, but he ignored her, choosing instead to engage Nathaniel in a death stare until finally her urging ignited his temper. “What?” he raged, not taking his eyes off the dual-company president.

  She thrust her datapad into his mid-section, which he took without looking. Reluctantly, he tore his eyes from Nathaniel’s gaze and reviewed what his mate had so forcefully pressed upon him. The details were all there but Brill summed them up, with no small satisfaction, before Ahkman had time to finish his review.

  “It’s already been done. The court injunction barring the sale was filed this morning. Mr. Park should be getting a message any moment now confirming our settlement agreement with Medes.”

  Stunned silence fell over the room. No one dared to speak for fear of igniting an Ahkman rampage. Months of work, negotiations, and analysis had gone into the sale, all for naught. Ahkman roared. In one swift motion, he hurled the datapad against the window behind him then clutched the slender champagne flute by the stem and smashed it on the edge of the table leaving only a jagged shard remaining in his hand. Ahkman set his feet, preparing to charge with the ferocity of a rhino but abruptly eased his stance when Volkor Con inexplicably placed himself between him and Nathaniel, a three-foot long blade menacingly pointed at Ahkman’s throat.

  Ahkman had never seen anyone move so quickly and the blade now only inches away held him in place. Recognizing his broken glass was no match for such a blade, he backed down, dropping the shard to the floor. His resigned expression reflected off the shiny surface of Con’s perfectly polished helmet. Satisfied that Ahkman was no longer a threat, Con returned the sword to its hiding place within his robe, and moved away.

  An uneasy air hung thick over the gathering. Even Nathaniel had been startled by his friend’s action and took a moment to regain his composure.

  Finally, Ahkman disturbed the silence, his voice as cold and sharp as the blade Con had just sheathed. “You’ll break us all,” he hissed at Brill as he skulked toward the exit. He then exited, wounded but not defeated.

  CHAPTER 9

  AWAKE

  “Good morning.

  Strinnger’s eyes flinched at the sound of the tender voice. It was warm and familiar, and very close. He tried focusing on it but found concentrating difficult. His mind was in a fog and his vision blurred so that he couldn’t decipher any of the sights or sounds around him. The constant beeping of machinery and the cacophony of garbled voices in the distance echoed in his head. A combination of aromas mingled together in his nostrils, puzzling and even nauseating him. Rubbing alcohol and apple juice? After some effort, he forced his eyes to adjust. The sterile details of a hospital room soon took shape

  The effort, along with the bright lights directly above him, caused his eyes to strain. To say he was disoriented would be an understatement. He had no idea where he was or how he got there or even if he was alive or dead. The paralyzing pain that seized him as he moved helped confirm he was still alive.

  The brilliance of the light forced his eyes closed once more and he grimaced at the throbbing throughout his body. A gentle hand pressed his forehead and caressed downward to rest on his cheek.

  “Hey, there,” a woman’s soft voice greeted him. “Welcome back.”

  Her touch was soothing; Loura. Slowly, he turned his head toward her and peeked through his narrowed eyelids.

  “How are feeling?” she asked, placing her hands atop his, a half carat diamond ring glittering brightly under the florescent lights.

  He grunted, shifting slightly in the hard bed. “I’m not sure. Where am I?”

  “UCSF.”

  “Why?” He exhal
ed sharply, a stabbing pain rising from deep in his side.

  Loura hesitated. “Do you remember the explosion?”

  Instantly, he recalled Donna’s condo; the flames and smoke, the debris from the charred wood and metal as they hurtled through the air. He remembered the complete helplessness he’d felt as his body was flung into the air and the incredible fear that gripped him as he came crashing down into the courtyard. The shrieks and cries of his associates inside the ball of flame seared his ears.

  “Bill?” he cried, bolting upright and immediately regretting the drastic movement. His entire body screamed in agony at the sudden motion and he eased himself back onto his pillow. Black spots appeared before his eyes and the urge to vomit nearly overtook him.

  “Whoa, take it easy,” Loura scolded. “You’ve been asleep for two days. You need to take it slow.”

  He obeyed her without any protest, letting her tuck more pillows behind his head. Strinnger groaned, trying to squint away the pain.

  Her eyes cast down. “I’m sorry. Drake was lucky enough to be in his car when it happened, so he’s all right, but you were the only one they found alive.”

  Strinnger close his eyes and sighed. So many good officers, and Bill and his team, lost.

  Gingerly, he eased his eyes open again and looked down at himself for the first time.

  His chest and left arm were wrapped in a form of cast that was blue and rubbery. His legs were covered in a rough woolen blanket while his other hand was left free, an intravenous line merging with it. Touching his head, he felt the coarse gauze bandages wrapped around it, which almost completely covered his eyes. He tried to lift the blankets but Loura’s protective hand pressed down to stop him. He looked at her in surprise. She did not return his questioning look, choosing instead to focus on her hand spread out on his waist. Something was wrong.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Hesitantly, she removed her hand and turned away.

  Bracing himself for what he might see, he lifted the blanket. What he saw wrenched his stomach and once more he felt the urge to throw up. His legs were a grotesque shade of purple and blue all the way from his hips to his ankles and looked like someone had run over them with a diesel train. Protruding from each battered limb was a series of blackened tubes buried deep in the tissue and muscle like enormous leeches burrowing their heads into his flesh, devouring his inner workings. He followed the tubing across the bed and onto the floor to where it disappeared into a metallic cylinder mounted on top of a spindly pedestal. The cylinder glowed a faint blue. In tracing the cables’ path, he realized that a similar configuration was attached to his left bicep. He recoiled at the discovery and fought the impulse to rip it from him. He looked like some sort of robot, wired for repair. He was in a stupor. What have they done to me? His body went numb and the blackness fought to seize him once more.

  “What did they do?” he breathed, choking back his emotion.

  Loura dared not watch his reaction, choosing instead to gaze at the tiled floor beneath her feet. Her expression was quiet, almost fearful, but upon hearing his desperation, it softened and she placed a comforting hand on his trembling forearm. She choked back the sob rising in her throat and spoke with surprising control after gently pressing his hand to her lips.

  “A miracle. The doctors were shocked that you survived at all and didn’t give you a chance to make it through the night. More than half your body had first degree burns. Your left eye was gone and there was shrapnel all up and down your body. Had Nathaniel Kratin not stepped in and offered his company’s services, you wouldn’t have made it.”

  Nathaniel Kratin? The name was vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Where had he heard that before? If only his mind were free of the horrible fog churning around it.

  “Kratin? Who? Do I know him?” he asked.

  His fiancée cocked an eyebrow. “I don’t know. I assumed you did by the way he arranged for everything so quickly. You have no idea who he is? His daughter was the one that found you.”

  Strinnger shook his head gingerly. “No. The name’s familiar but I can’t think clearly right now. Maybe with some rest I could remember.” His chest heaved upward as he took in a deep breath and then let it slowly escape out. Loura’s hand slid up his arm and cradled his cheek.

  “Oh, baby. I was so scared for you. You have no idea much it means to me to see you awake. When I first saw them bring you in, I …” Her voice trailed off as she finally lost control of her emotions. Her hands swallowed her face as days’ worth of tears released from their dike, bathing her soft hands. He had always known her to have a tough exterior, for her job she had to, but when they were alone she was free to express emotion.

  “Hey,” he soothed. “I’m here. I’m alive. You should be happy about that.” He forced a toothy grin, knowing how much she loved his smile.

  She wiped her cheeks and laughed, he supposed at his swollen, contorted face. “Of course, I’m happy, you stupid freak. I just thought I’d lost you. I still haven’t totally gotten over the shock of it.”

  He maintained his smile and nodded. It was no secret between them that her strong, confident front masked her utter dependence on him. Composing herself, Loura continued.

  “Anyway, but now I’m curious why your new best friend, Nathaniel Kratin, the president and CEO of the Carsus Corporation, was so eager to help us. He paid for a specialist to fly in from LA and do all of this. He also said he would pay for any follow up treatment.”

  At the mention of Carsus something jogged in his memory. “Wait a minute. Kratin, that’s right. He’s the new CEO, the one whose house I searched last night or the other night.” He still wasn’t sure what day this was. “Wait, did you say his daughter was the one who found me? What was she doing there? She wasn’t already here in town. She was at the house in Seattle when we searched it.” Angry realization peeked through the fog of anesthesia. “She knew who Donna was!” he exclaimed, beginning to sit up but then catching himself, learning from the previous exertion.

  Loura gently pressed him back against his pillow and tried to calm him down. “Easy, tiger. Let’s not worry about that now. Just relax. I’m sure Drake will figure that out too.”

  Strinnger breathed slowly, trying to push the agony out of his head. He needed to hear her voice to distract him from his own thoughts. “So, what’s wrong with me?” he asked.

  Her fingers drifted over his forehead. “You were hurt pretty bad. Most of your body was burned. The tissue on both legs and left arm had to be regrown around some special alloy Carsus developed to replace your bones, infusing it with your DNA so it would still produce marrow and so your body wouldn’t reject it. Your ribs are now metal too and your left lung was recreated from your stem cells. They said it will still be really painful for the next few days while your body adjusts, but you should be fully healed in a few weeks. I just have to keep you from moving anywhere until then.”

  Strinnger winced again at the throbbing in his chest. “What’s the giant light bulb for?” he asked, nodding toward the glowing blue cylinder.

  “Now that’s interesting. Millions of microscopic robots are swimming in and out of you, repairing the cell and tissue damage a hundred times faster than your body could have done on its own. They remove your damaged tissue, racing it back to that cylinder where the cells are almost instantly regenerated, and then a new set is returned to your body like it never left. The amazing thing about these robots is that they were made entirely from your stem cells. There is no metal or microchips used at all. They are super-powered drone cells made from parts of your immune system, each given a specific job to do. The doctors say there was a chance your body would reject the new material in the cells, but we would’ve known by now if that was the case. Amazingly, they think you might actually be able to go home next week, if all goes well. Really the whole process is amazing.”

  Her tone brightened as she spoke, even slipping a little into her anchorwoman voice as she recounted the deta
ils of the process. It helped to see her so hopeful. He took another minute to examine himself. The tubing extending from his arm and legs radiated a faint blue glow which he took to be the tiny robots shuttling back and forth between his devastated wounds and the regeneration chamber. Science had never been easy for him to understand and the whole idea of thousands of minuscule robots bustling about his body like they were on the I-80 was a little hard to envision. Nonetheless, he was grateful for their efforts and felt like testing their results. Concentrating, he gritted his teeth and tried to wiggle his toes. The discomfort was intense but the big toe of each foot moved slightly. With the same effort, he closed his left fist. The new limbs felt heavy, and somewhat foreign. It took all the energy he had to lift or even move them. Even with the accelerated healing, he knew he was in for a long recovery.

  He had known other officers injured in the line of duty and forced to live with cybernetic implants and limbs. He had seen how they’d struggled to adapt to their new bodies. Many did just fine, some becoming better than they were before. But there were others who never quite accepted the change. Those types either ended up in counseling or discharged for mental health reasons, severe depression being the most common ailment. Unfortunately, a handful of them couldn’t cope with the change and took their own lives. Strinnger couldn’t help but wonder which category he would fall into. Of course, no one plans to be a manic-depressive, but the mind was a fragile thing. He could see why the other men and women he’d known had slipped so deeply into despair.

  Loura squeezed his hand and he turned back to her kind face. Her eyes betrayed a sadness that was not reflected in her smile. Somehow, he knew she was worried about the same thing. Strinnger stroked her short, dark hair with his remaining natural hand. “I’m so sorry, baby,” she whispered, “but I have to say it.”

  She didn’t need to say what she was thinking. He knew it almost immediately, even expected it. Several times in the last year, they had discussed the danger in his work and how difficult it would be for her constantly worrying about him. This was, of course, not a topic foreign to any married police officer. Strinnger had never needed to address the risks with anyone because until her he’d never had anyone. When Loura came along, however, he knew it would have to happen one day. In fact, a common question Drake asked almost every day was if they’d had “The Talk.” Before they had met, she had been a field reporter for an international news group, constantly going into unstable countries and violent situations. But once they had decided to get serious, she gave it up immediately, without any hesitation, taking an anchor job with a national affiliate that involved a lot of desk work and the occasional local field assignment. It was obvious after several discussions she expected a similar commitment.