Triorion: Awakening (Book One)

by L. J. Hachmeister

  “The Dominion orchestrated the Dissembler Scare, but the Motti masterminded something far more evil than arrest and detainment. The Deadwalkers convinced the Sovereign that they could strengthen his army by creating a telepathically networked chain of command.”

  “Using Benign White,” Reht inferred.

  “Exactly! They controlled the telepaths and linked them to key officers in the Core. Instant communication, entire units moving in complete unison without communication dead zones or real time delays.”

  “But not all telepaths are mind readers,” Reht said, mulling it over. “What did they want with the rest of ‘em?”

  “They used the mind leeches to link up with their handler, but the rest of the telepaths formed the network, connecting them across the Starways.”

  “Leeches,” Reht said, wagging his finger at Sebbs. “You know I don’t like that slang.”

  “Y-yeah, sorry—sorry. I forgot about your woman. Sorry,” the Joliak said, raising his hands in anticipation of the blow.

  “Keep going, Sebbs,” Reht reminded him, digging his nails into the Joliak’s shoulder. Sebbs bent over and winced. “How do the launnies fit into all this?”

  “Remember that test I gave them?”

  “Yeah,” Reht said. “They’re freaky smart—so what?”

  “That wasn’t exactly it. It wasn’t so much that they were smart—it was their ability to learn that made them so special. Something about them being able to imprint the brain patterns of other Sentients.”

  “What the hell kind of telepath is that?”

  “Nobody knows. They were orphaned, sold on Fiorah. Nobody’d seen anything like ‘em. The Dominion never could crack their DNA. Kept coming up human. Impossible, right? No Deadskin could do those things.”

  “Okay, they’re freak jobs.” Reht said, taking a step closer to Sebbs. “Give me more than that.”

  “Don’t you see?” Mantri said, gesturing wildly. “The Motti must have realized their potential. They convinced the Core to have them exposed to every single bit of military knowledge they could, through games, simulators, teachers—whatever—to turn them into—”

  “General Volkor!” Reht exaggerated with a booming voice.

  “Yes! The Deadwalkers made them into the commanding ‘hub’ of the other telepaths.”

  “Let’s pretend I’m buying this gorsh-shit,” Reht said, rolling his finger in the air. “So what’s the catch?”

  Sebbs rocked back and forth, his eyes unblinking as his gaze fell to the floor. “I—I think the Motti set up the Core. Think about it—the Dominion was poised to destroy the USC at the Raging Front and then—poof—they stopped fighting and the USC claims some fantastic victory. Something must have happened to those launnies. Something must have triggered them to turn against their handlers, and I know those Deadwalkers had to be in on it.”

  “Then what happened to the Motti?” Reht said, flicking away the nub of his spent cigarette.

  “I-I’m not really sure,” Sebbs stammered. “Things got really screwy after the Raging Front. There weren’t many logs about the events after that. I know the Dominion ordered the execution of the two girls, but the records were inconsistent.”

  “What do you mean?” Reht asked, scanning the brawling crowd for signs of trouble coming their way. The crowd had now become violent, and even the dancers and musicians were beginning to clear the floor. Needing a fast escape, Reht eyed the narrow corridor leading to the rear exit as beer bottles shattered against the center stage.

  “I couldn’t find a report about the disposal of the girls’ bodies. It’s not protocol, but it’s not something the Dominion would forget to document. It wasn’t a glitch, I checked, and no files were deleted. I don’t think they were killed, but my codes wouldn’t get me any farther. That’s why I needed to buy some time and some allies so I could just think—get this thing figured out.”

  “Why, Sebbs—tell me why,” Reht said, taking him by the collar.

  “Because the USC didn’t really defeat the Core,” the Joliak screamed. “It was the Deadwalkers. They probably took the boy, the other telepaths and somehow converted the Core military into Liikers—I don’t know how, but with all their drug experimentation they must’ve come up with somethin’. This new massive crop of Deadwalkers could attack the borders at any second! My Gods, think of it, Reht—no one could defeat that army!”

  “Holy Mukal,” Reht mumbled, confliction pinching his brows together.

  The Joliak scraped at Reht’s fingers. “Those two girls were once part of ‘General Volkor’ with their brother, and are the only Sentients that will understand how to fight the Deadwalkers. If I had more time, I could prove all of this, but I’ve made too many enemies, and I’ve had to hide—”

  Reht let go of Sebbs as police alert sirens wailed across the bar. The two of them dropped to their knees, pressing hands to their ears against the blast of sound. As troops stormed the premises, the emergency floodlights activated, and the bar lit up like midday on Fiorah.

  “Attention. Attention,” a voice intoned through a bullhorn.

  Reht peered out through the curtain. The light stung his eyes, but he could see well enough to make out the white and gold uniforms of the Interfederational Guards.

  “We are here to arrest the defector known as Mantrilius Sebbs,” the announcer said. “Present him and you can go about your business.”

  “You’re even hotter than I thought, Sebbs,” Reht said, grabbing the Joliak’s wrist. “But I need you to buy back my rights into the USC’s good graces.”

  With the cops still combing through the maze of broken beer bottles and bloodied drunks near the stage, Reht made his move, shoving the Joliak toward the rear exit. As they turned the corner into the narrow corridor, they collided with a tall, buxom waitress emerging from a private room.

  “You alright?” Reht said, helping the waitress back up. She looked down at him, her face lighting up, and he bit back a curse, bracing himself.

  The large woman pressed him into the wall and licking his earlobe. “You never call, you never stop by. I wonder why I still love you, Reht Jagger,” she said, puffing out her lower lip and teasing his hair with her red plastic nails.

  “Hey, new fancy?” she asked, noticing Sebbs and smirking.

  “Not quite.” Reht half-frowned and tried to buy himself a little room by putting his hands against her shoulders, but she just leaned into his touch. “I need a favor, Janey, and quick. Where’s the emergency exit?”

  Janey leaned back against the opposite wall, folded arms pushing up her breasts. “What’s in it for me?” she asked, batting fake eyelashes.

  Shrill screams and protests followed the electric zap of shockwands. The smell of burnt flesh wafted down the corridor, somehow registering above the miasma of piss and smoke.

  “The cops are sweeping the booth,” Sebbs muttered anxiously.

  Reht suppressed a grimace and bent forward to place a quick peck on Janey’s painted lips. Before he could pull away she pressed into him so hard that he fell back against the wall. He nearly choked on her slippery tongue and the sour taste of fried meat and chewing tobacco.

  When she finally released him, he gasped for breath and fought the urge to spit out the contents of his mouth. Out of the corner of his eye he caught Sebbs’s mixed look of horror and amusement.

  The waitress sighed and flipped back a panel cover on the wall. “Not a better kisser in the whole galaxy.”

  “The exit, Janey?” Reht repeated, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. The walls quaked with the sound of gunfire. Lurid flashes from the plasma rifles lit up the corridor, illuminating the plastic coated imperfections of the waitress’ face.

  “You’re standing on it,” Janey said.

  Reht looked down. Amidst the chipped linoleum and bare floor was a single, glossy black tile.

  “Hold onto your jewels.” Her gaze dipped below Reht’s waistline, and she winked.

  “Get ready, Sebbs,” Jagger mut
tered, yanking Sebbs onto the same black tile. “She really means it.”

  Janey blew him a kiss and hit the switch. Blue, liquid coolness shot up from the floor, dissolving his skin in an icy blink. A confusion of light and sound wiped past. Heat brought Reht back together, refusing cells in a burst of starlight on a receiving box near the loading dock.

  “What a rush...” Sebbs mumbled, his eyes circling wildly in their sockets.

  As soon as he regained feeling in his limbs, Reht grabbed the Joliak and ran for his ship, holding his gun against the Sebbs’ neck. The Wraith hovered a few meters off the dock, engine cells glowing fire-orange, ramp lowered. Reht hauled Sebbs up by the collar, scrambling aboard right behind him.

  “What took you so long?” Ro asked, shoving Sebbs into one of the empty passenger chairs.

  “This place is crawling. We need a fast exit out. Where’s Diawn?”

  “Right here,” she said, dropping from the deck above onto the bridge.

  “Take the helm. Ro and Cray—to the weapons pit. Mom, Tech—set up Billy Don’t. Where’s Vaughn?”

  “On the terminals,” Tech yelled as he disappeared down the hatch to the engine room.

  Reht strapped into the command chair just in time as Diawn floored the ship’s engines, slamming him back in his seat.

  “We’ve got company. Not even Billy heard ‘em coming. Must be using those new subspace silencers to mask their signals,” Diawn muttered as she hurtled toward the glittering arc of Interfederational Guard ships surrounding the city.

  “We can jump to Crest Point near Phaleon V if you can make it past their perimeter,” Reht said, sending calculations through his command terminal to the navigation system.

  “If I can?” Diawn cranked the ship hard to port and spiraled out of a scout ship’s range. A brief transmission to lower arms echoed through the ship, and Reht silenced it with a fist against the speaker.

  “Hold on!” Diawn laughed, banking starboard, then port, dipping the Wraith’s nose down into a dive before adjusting hard-front. Plasma beams sliced past their ship as she evaded the flagship’s targetmen. Ro and Cray returned fire, temporarily deterring the fighters tailing their ship. In the back Sebbs paled and clutched his stomach.

  “Jump calculations ready. At your mark, Diawn,” Reht said.

  The dog-soldier captain white-knuckled his armrests as Diawn sailed smoothly alongside the Interfederational Guard, taunting the enemy before engaging the engines. Sebbs had already slumped to the floor.

  Light flashed throughout the bridge. Invisible forces pulled Reht in two different directions before snapping him back together.

  “Gods, I hate jumping,” Reht muttered as new stars appeared on the viewscreen.

  “Why didn’t you kill him, Jagger?” Diawn said, eyeing the Joliak as she engaged the autopilot. “Growing soft in your old age?”

  Diawn smiled devilishly as she unstrapped herself from the pilot’s chair, tugging at the chest lashes on her bodice. Lately she had been trying to get his attention even more than usual, and he wasn’t sure why, but he certainly didn’t mind.

  Reht rubbed the scruff of his chin and thought about what Sebbs had told him. “I might be crazy, but I think the old junkie just might be worth something,” he muttered.

  Diawn frowned as she lifted up the unconscious Joliak’s head. His tongue drooped from his mouth, and spittle slicked his chin. Shaking her head, she dropped him to the floor with a thud. “He won’t fetch more than twenty thousand on the bounty boards or the flesh markets.”

  “No, he won’t,” Reht said, rising from his seat. “But he’ll be worth something to the Alliance.”

  Diawn passed by, her fingers grazing the top of his pants. “That sounds dangerous, Captain.”

  The glint in her eye, the smell of her; the way she moved her hips. Despite everything that had just happened, he couldn’t help himself. Then again, he could never resist her. Very few men or women could.

  “Pilot—come see me in my den right away.”

  “Of course, Captain,” she whispered, her lips tickling his ear.

  As he and Diawn headed for his den, he eyed his crew. Sidelong glances and silent hand motions indicated the uncertainty of their captain’s decision. Most of them were true dog-soldiers, in it for the payoff and the rush, not parleying with any government or organized military. Taking Sebbs to the Alliance was a stupid risk, even for a hefty payout.

  As he hopped out of his chair and made his way to his den, Mom caught his arm. The Talian’s expression warned of danger. The Alliance couldn’t be trusted.

  “Don’t worry, old friend,” Reht whispered, patting his first mate on the shoulder with an exaggerated grin. “You know we gotta do this.”

  Mom’s baritone growl rumbled in his chest. Silver eyes lowered to the ratty bandages around Reht’s hands, hiding secrets etched in flesh.

  “Yeah,” Reht whispered, grin faltering. “That’s why.”

  ***

  Jahx did not want to open his eyes. Restraints held him down at the wrists and waist. The air, hot and humid with decay, made it hard to breathe without gagging.

  Who are they? Heart thudding inside his chest, Jahx sensed the beings all around him, watching, waiting. Am I still on the Core warship? How much time had gone by?

  Frenzied chatter came at him for all directions. Voices overlapping, deliquesced with mechanical clicks, made his skull hum. Oh Gods—

  Calm down, he told himself, but his racing heart made it hard not to give in to panic. You have to stay calm or—

  (Don’t think about that)

  (Trust yourself)

  Relaxing his muscles and stretching out his mind, Jahx tried to orient himself in the din. There were many voices in this place, but one rose, throbbing and angry, above all the others. It sounded familiar, but he wasn’t certain if it was his own memory or one of his sisters’.

  With eyes open—

  With eyes open—

  With eyes open—

  The thought repeated endlessly, rooted in a rage that beat at his consciousness, driving him back into the prison of his body. Even there it cut at him, brutal and unrelenting like one of Yahmen’s games. His nerves threatened to unhinge, but he lay still, trying not to alert his captors.

  Mechanical chatter escalated. The air current changed; something large moved toward him, scraping along the ground. Labored, raspy breathing came down above his head just before a sharp object pierced his right ear. Jahx screamed, bucking against his restraints, trying to get away from the pain as it drilled into his head.

  Someone—something—hissed. The restraints released, his arms and legs freed. Jahx clutched at his ear, feeling around the canal until his fingertip found the edge of a metal chip. After a few seconds, the clicking and chattering organized into a language he could understand.

  “Awakening, yes.”

  Jahx dared to open his eyes. Faceless humanoid heads hunkered around him on spiny legs. Towering above them all was the monster from his nightmares, a half-faced corpse perforated by circuits and wires, fused on a spidery carriage. A single red eye burned inside the remains of its right socket as it inspected him with devices protruding from its palp.

  The creature bent over him, its multi-jointed mechanical legs groaning and squeaking. “Can you hear me, Jahx?”

  He could, and with more than the translator crammed into his ear. What he heard in the creature’s tangled, caustic thoughts made him break out in a sweat.

  Death. Destruction. Torment without end—

  “I am M’ah Pae. I am the Motti Overlord,” the creature hissed, and at the gesture of one mechanical leg, the hoard of faceless heads moved aside. “Follow me.”

  Not knowing any other recourse, Jahx complied. He tried to get off of the platform, swaying forward and nearly falling over on legs that felt like blocks of wood. When he looked down he saw that his arms and legs, swollen and discolored, ranging in hue from green to blue and black.

  “What is happening to
me?”

  “You are evolving,” the Overlord replied, walking away from him.

  Jahx closed his eyes and took slow, deep breaths. What colors, he wondered, were his lungs? His face? The panic bubbling inside him gnawed at his resolve. Why hadn’t he chosen the escape pod?

  (No—this is the way it’s supposed to be,) some inner logic told him.

  With tentative, clumsy movements, Jahx limped along pulsating passageways slicked with a clear film. Luciferin globes, stapled into the ceiling in four meter intervals, illuminated the spiny creatures imitating his graceless movements.

  As he ducked under dull, yellow support structures reminiscent of cartilage, and ceilings dripping with ichor, Jahx shuddered. “Oh Gods...” Jahx realized. It’s like a body cavity...

  One of the walking heads came up behind him and thumped him on the back with its forehead, nudging him forward. He nearly toppled over.

  “Follow me,” the Overlord demanded.

  Trembling, Jahx could barely keep himself upright. The psionic projections in this place were a tempest of misery and hatred, beyond anything he had ever known or thought he would know.

  “Insufferable humanoid,” M’ah Pae growled, snatching Jahx up beneath the arms with the sharp grips at the end of one of his mechanical legs, cutting into his ribcage. Jahx cried out, but the Motti did not relent. “Do you know why I let you awaken now?”

  “No,” Jahx said, struggling to free himself as the Overlord carried him toward a flexed passageway that looked much too small for them to pass through. Holding Jahx low in front of him, M’ah Pae hunkered down, squeezing through the ring. The band of tissue relaxed around the Motti’s hard mechanical parts, gleaming wetly, and closed tight behind them as they slid through to the other side.

  M’ah Pae vocalized something that sounded like tortured metal. “I will show you.”

  In the Overlord’s thoughts Jahx sensed something he had long been familiar with after dwelling within Yahmen: the thrill of anticipation.