Triorion: Awakening (Book One)

by L. J. Hachmeister

  “It’s worth a fortune, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Then why are you still here?” Jaeia asked. “I’m sure it’s worth your freedom.”

  “It is, but we’d have to alert the right people, and that’s not possible with the Warden monitoring and filtering all incoming and outgoing com traffic. We’d be limited to an old broadcast signal that could take months or even years to reach anyone—assuming, of course, that the Warden let it out. That or we’d be limited to a single datastream into the wave network.”

  “What’s the closest planet?” Jaeia asked.

  “Plaly IV,” Senka sighed.

  “The Labor Locks,” Jaeia said. She had heard people speak of them, back in the mines. It was the only place she’d ever heard of that sounded worse than Fiorah.

  “So you see our predicament. We have something valuable enough to turn the tide of the war for the USC, but we have no means of alerting them.”

  “But how do you know it even works?”

  Senka hung her head. “That’s why they’ve kept me alive. I’m a quantum engineering specialist, so I’m the only one who understands how to use it. I spent months deciphering Narki technical code to properly assemble and use the dich thing. I know how to dematerialize objects, but bringing them back—well, that’s something I have a theory about, but I don’t have the necessary equipment.”

  “So why do you want to die so badly?” Jaeia asked.

  Senka laughed mirthlessly. “You spend enough time on this planet, you watch enough of your friends die—it wears on you. I had always held out hope that my husband and children survived the Scare. But when you said those things about the other telepaths...” Senka hid her face in her hands. “I know they’re gone.”

  Jaeia wrung her hands, wishing she could help. Extending herself into Senka’s mind, Jaeia sifted through to the woman’s last memories of her family—the frantic phone call from her husband as a Dominion tracer squad beat down his office door, her children’s cries as black-masked soldiers carried them away in the middle of the night.

  “There is always something to hope for,” Jaeia said as she pulled away from Senka’s consciousness. “I will help you escape Tralora however I can. Then we can all find new beginnings.”

  The Grand Oblin smiled, and for a brief moment, his body contracted—not into the short roundness of his female form, but something much smaller. Form rebounding, he pulled out his pipe. “Why don’t you tell her what our plans are, Senka?”

  Senka nodded. “You and your sister are special, which makes you valuable. If it’s true that you were covertly sent here, then we can contact the Warden. With all your military knowledge about the Dominion, he’ll see a price tag on your head so high that he’ll be blinded to the fact you’re telepaths and infected, and he’ll seek out a paying party.”

  Jaeia’s brow furrowed. “That doesn’t make much sense. What about you? What about who we’d be sold to? What about the infection?”

  “You’ll use the flash transport device and take us with you so we can get past the Warden. That’s the easy part. Everything else is going to be tricky.”

  After a pause, Jaeia finally asked the question she had been holding back for days. “Why hasn’t the USC come for you? Has any government tried to cure this?”

  Senka shook her head. “Tralora is a death sentence, remember? Besides, with everything going on up there, who has time to worry about curing a few POWs? Still, if we can convince the Warden to send our message, and the USC realizes it’s from the Commander or myself, then they’ll risk traversing in Dominion territory and the disease to get here. That device—and you—could mean the end to the war. Hopefully, in the process, the rest of us could be saved, too.”

  “The fact that Crissn has helped us survive this long means there’s a chance, Jaeia,” the Oblin said. “I’m sure with others pursuing his avenue of research, we could find a cure.”

  “You mean using that—that—” Jaeia’s voice faltered. She collected herself and tried again. “You mean by using the Liiker.”

  Senka and the Grand Oblin nodded.

  “I don’t know. You’re betting that we can get the Warden to sell the idea of us to the USC and hopefully not to someone else, like his Dominion employer. Then you’re chancing that the USC can cross enemy lines to get here and somehow figure out a way to get us off this planet. Then, somehow, someway, they’ll be able to further Crissn’s work with the Liiker to find a cure. And finally, the USC will have to decode the work you’ve done with the flash transport to retrieve you from the wave network. Right?”

  Senka and the Grand Oblin exchanged glances before nodding again.

  Jaeia laughed, but suspended her doubt for a moment. “Okay, well, I guess I have some pretty good negotiation skills. Convincing the Warden would probably be the easiest part.”

  The Grand Oblin gave her a salute with his pipe.

  Jaeia looked to Senka. “So then, what does the transport device look like?”

  Senka reached into the front flap of her uniform and withdrew a shining silver wand and what looked like a golden key. The wand unfolded from its five-centimeter length to about a meter.

  “I don’t recognize all the components,” Jaeia said, surprised at how light and cold the key felt in her hand, “but from what’s exposed in that chamber there, this looks like a tracking device.”

  “That’s what will draw back our signal. This antenna will transport our ‘material’ into the wave network, and then the key, which you are holding, will pick up our signal once you’re ready to transport us out. All you’ll have to do is relay my instructions to the USC development teams so that they can retrieve us intact. We don’t want to come back missing any limbs!” Senka said, laughing uncomfortably. “The technology is pretty advanced, but I think I’ve done enough decoding that they’ll know what to do.”

  If this works, it with change space travel, Jaeia thought. The modern method of transportation utilized energy-consuming jump drives, which enabled a ship to create a small wormhole and travel up to a hundred million light years at a time. However, only military grade vessels and expensive civilian ships could afford the fuel, maintenance and upkeep. Using the wave network linked the entire Starways by folding space-time to allow for live communications. If the Narki had invented a way to transport material into it and then retrieve it anywhere the wave network could reach, it would give the USC a considerable military advantage.

  “A single scout ship could move an entire legion of warships. Talk about surprise attack,” Jaeia said, handing the key back to her. “Please—show me how it works.”

  Senka pointed out the dial on the bottom of the antenna and showed her how to operate the switches controlling the power. “It doesn’t have spare energy for more demonstrations, but I can tell you that when I press this button,” she said, pointing to a black depression in the middle of the dial, “the transport field illuminates, and you can widen or decrease the field with this dial. You have to point and hold with this button to designate exactly what you’re transporting into the wave network—otherwise you’d take the whole cave floor and rocks along with the people.”

  “Okay, got it,” Jaeia said.

  “I’ll show you my research and instructions later, and we can go over what you’ll need to know, all right?”

  “No, really,” Jaeia said, face flushing. “I mean I already got it all.”

  “What?” Senka exclaimed.

  Jaeia averted her eyes and rubbed her hand across the top of a stalagmite.

  “Oh. Well, I was thinking pretty openly on the matter. That saves a lot of time, huh?” Senka said, conjuring up an unsure half-smile. “I’m going to get some rest. Rawyll had us up all night arguing.”

  “Why is it that he’s so afraid of us but still wants to help us?” Jaeia asked the Oblin as Senka ascended up the passage to her own cavern.

  The Oblin filled his pipe again and relit the contents, in no particular hurry. Aft
er a few quick purple puffs he answered her question. “Rawyll is an Oriyan weaponsmaster. Even disgraced and barred from ever returning to his home, he still adheres to his former discipline. Therefore he will always help those in need, especially to better those he serves.”

  “You’re implying he serves you,” Jaeia said.

  “Our group has survived much, child. There is quite the history here, but now is not the time.”

  His eyes glittered, an opaque sheen covering the irises.

  “What is it?” Jaeia asked, feeling the circle of his thoughts throb and fall into disorder.

  The Grand Oblin touched his forehead with shaky hands. “She’s doing it again,” he whispered, falling to his knees and dropping his pipe on the ground. Jaeia grabbed hold of him before he careened headfirst into a stalagmite. “Jetta’s leaving this world. I can’t stop her. Someone—something is taking her.”

  Jaeia immediately steeled herself against the vacuum of his psionic energy. “What’s happening? Jetta cut me off a while ago; I don’t know what’s going on!” Jaeia shouted, holding him by the shoulders. The Oblin’s eyes bulged, and his irises turned a ghostly white.

  “What is this place?” he whispered as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Jaeia called desperately for Senka as the Grand Oblin went limp in her arms.

  Senka raced down the tunnel, catching herself on a rock.

  “What’s wrong with him?” she asked, feeling his neck for a pulse.

  “I don’t know! He just passed out. I think he was trying to keep track of my sister.”

  “Well, he’s alive,” Senka said, helping Jaeia lay him gently to the ground. “And we’ve got bigger problems.”

  Jaeia read her mind and looked toward the main tunnel. Gunfire and shouts reverberated off the rocky walls.

  “We’re under attack.”

  ***

  Number 00052983 supervised the raid just as it had countless others. This attack, however, held particular importance to the enclave. This would be the strike that would awaken the Starways.

  After ordering all regional units to zero in on a lowly starpost on the border of regulated space, Number 00052983 deferred primary functional command to one of the subordinate hubs. Initial assessments from the sensor pods confirmed only a watchman and handful of scientists occupying the post; no threats detected. However, because of the greater importance of the mission, Number 00052983 kept the operation running in the foreground of its central processor.

  Watching behind innumerable sets of monitors and organic eyes, Number 00052983 witnessed the clutch ships ramming into the post, driving their feeders into the hull and ripping through the superstructure. Flashtraps buzzed to life, jamming the distress signal sent out by the frightened watchman trying to make sense of the sudden attack.

  Through the gaping holes made by the clutch ships dropped the soldier Liikers, pouring in and over each other like a swarm of insects. The stampede echoed throughout the entire Liiker network, overcharging the receptors with feedback and eliciting an organic response. A wave of something flooded what was left of Number 00052983’s neuroreceptors, but it identified as a residual emotion and deemed irrelevant.

  Alphanumerics ran down the center screen of Number 0052983’s stalk. The soldier Liikers required approval for the organic pod selection. Number 0052983 approved the watchman. The humanoid was in good physical shape to endure the transformation without proper biomechanical conversion.

  One of the soldiers held down the shrieking watchman between two pincers. Number 00052983 didn’t immediately recognize the language and accessed the shared database to translate his cries.

  “Please, I’m not a threat! Don’t kill me, please! I’ve never harmed a Deadwalker!”

  Sensory equipment mounted on the soldiers’ chest guided the placement of the bioclip. Olfactory input registered as an alphanumeric blip as the watchman’s bowels unclenched. The bioclip bored into his skin and routed itself neatly into his neuroreceptors.

  “You will speak,” commanded the lead Liiker soldier.

  The watchman’s eyes swam in his sockets until two of the drones zapped him with resuscitation electrodes.

  His jaw dropped open. “I am your voice.”

  Soldiers carried him away by his feet, allowing his head to smack against the corners of walls and bounce down the stairways. After all, his flesh was almost useless; they had elicited the functions they needed.

  After securing an emergency shuttle, they tossed him in. A Breaker Liiker, designed to hack into computer programs, burrowed into the command panel and lay in the coordinates for the shuttle.

  Trigos. The central Homeworld of the Alliance.

  The ghostly thought linked with an undesired emotion that Number 00052983’s safeguards filtered before it could reach the rest of the network. Number 00052983 logged the improper input, sending an alert to the higher commands that it might need a neural network cleanse. Even though the threat of bioelectric reintegration was nullified with Benign White, an organic emotion, especially an intense one, could attract other stray bioelectric activity to the network, potentially overloading the stalk domain safeguards.

  A command flashed across Number 00052983’s viewscreen—shut down tertiary drive for full scan. The stalk released its tertiary controls, allowing its superiors to deconstruct parts of its random access memory.

  As Number 00052983 waited for the signal to reassume total control, it analyzed the risk of bioelectric interference from its original host. It tried to run a comparative analysis to assess the importance of its function relative to other stalks within the enclave, but it encountered strict firewalls, just as it had before when it tried to single itself out. However, after careful determination, Number 00052983 concluded that the possibility of strong bioelectric interference was too remote a concern, and it shut down any further queries into the matter.

  Chapter V

  After less than an hour of trekking through the dense underbrush of Tralora’s forest, Jetta was spent. Scratches and abrasions crisscrossed her shins and forearms, and bits of leaves and sticks covered her clothing.

  “Gorsh-shit,” she muttered, pulling a twig out of her hair as she reached the clearing at the top of a hill.

  Despite the aid of the moonlight and the break in the trees, she could no longer see the wall to the Narki city. Only a flickering firelight, far to the north where the trees thinned and remnants of old buildings cluttered the hillside, gave any sense of direction.

  Another encampment, she thought. From what little knowledge she managed to glean off of Rawyll, she guessed it was likely the Prigs. Thinking of the sickness transferring Heli, she veered a little south on her western course.

  Cold and exhausted, Jetta’s focus faltered as she picked her way through the brush. Feelings and thoughts she didn’t want crept into her conscious: (I shouldn’t have left Jaeia behind—)

  “No,” she said, batting aside a tree branch. I can’t start second-guessing myself.

  Snagging her toe on a vine, she tripped and slammed into the soft ground, narrowly missing the stump of a fallen tree. Infuriated, Jetta grabbed a handful of grass and ripped it from the ground.

  “Skucheka!” she swore in Fiorahian.

  “Watch your step, little girl,” someone snickered.

  Jetta froze in place, sensing the multiple presences surrounding her. A peal of laughter echoed through the forest.

  How could I be so blind? I ran right into them.

  “Danni—where did this one come from? Is she a Prig or a Caver?”

  “Musta be a stray ‘therwise she’d not be out.”

  She caught a glimpse of one of them in the moonlight. He appeared to be human, but discolored patches dotted his pale skin. More alert now, she also detected the slight odor of perspiration and disease that carried in the breeze.

  “Come on, we don’t have time for this—the Prigs are going to beat us to it.”

  “Get off, Fender—that Oriyan will kill ‘alf of ‘em o
ff before they gets to the entrance. But ‘em Prigs ‘ll soften ‘em up for us, yeah? Patience, yeah?”

  Judging from the voices she heard, Jetta guessed that there were six of them, all male.

  They’re not going to just capture me, Jetta realized, sensing their intent. She brought her knees underneath her, keeping in a low crouch. They want more.

  “See—see—this one’s a lively one. Much better than the last pearly.”

  Jetta moved the hair from her eyes. “What the hell is a ‘pearly’?”

  Several of them laughed. A pair of eyes flashed in and out of the trees. “Pearly—pretty and white—like a brand new.”

  One of them came out from behind her, breathing heavily.

  I can’t take on this many, she thought, turning and facing him. Hungry eyes gazed longingly upon her flesh.

  A million thoughts sluiced through her head at once, and she tipped forward, catching herself on her forearms.

  “Hei meitka,” she muttered.

  “What’s wrong with that one? Is she turning?”

  “Nahhh, she’s good—no spots, no nothing. Pro’lly faking it.”

  The men stepped in closer, excitement and anticipation electrifying the air.

  Why can’t I run? Jetta thought, the hairs on the back of her neck and arms standing on end. She wanted to flee, but something kept her grounded.

  “Oh my Gods...” Jetta looked up, seeing more than the starlit sky.

  “Fire all weapons”

  “Strip them down”

  “They will starve”

  “There is no place for mercy in battle”

  Stolen memories from the Dominion officers, ones she thought she had buried deep, leaked into her consciousness.

  This can’t be happening right now. I don’t need battlefield tactics, she thought, knuckling into her temples. Get out of my head!

  As she tried to suppress the foreign memories, their emotion came through in a fiery concussion that washed away all other thought. Jetta heaved for breath, stunned at first, then reanimated with savage needs.