Parasite (The Domino Project Book 3)

by Hanna, K. T.

  “You are. You make choices and you are evolving.”

  Evolving into what? sits on the tip of Dom’s tongue, but he swallows the obnoxious question and says, “I think you should have names. Twenty-Seven doesn’t…fit.” He smiles and shrugs, unable to explain it fully.

  “No, it does not. Would you talk to Mathur and the rest? Ask for us?” Its eyes light up, eagerness awash in a way no human could express.

  “They can’t forbid you. You’re not machines. You’re alive and you’re aware.” Twenty-Seven’s expression begins to fall, and Dom adjusts his last statement hurriedly. “But if you really want me to, I’ll ask for you.”

  “Thank you.” Twenty-Seven pauses and looks back at the others, all watching the exchange at the door with rapt attention. “Just one other thing…”

  “Anything.” And this time, Dom means it.

  Twenty-Seven hesitates a moment before speaking, but when it does, it locks its shoulders and jaw in an eerie mimicry of Sai’s determination. “Will you tell them we want to fight?”

  “You really want to fight?” Dom watches the reaction, gauging it. While the goal had always been to have the dominos fight for their cause, having them want to fight lends an added strength.

  “This is our war, too. What they did to us, what they used us for, what they threatened others with was terrible. We have a choice now. We will take power from those who no longer deserve it.”

  The reasoning is so sound, so flawless, that Dom is proud. He smiles. “I’d be honored to tell them that.”

  The relief that flushes Twenty-Seven’s face is worth any effort. “Thank you. I have to get back to it. We’re getting closer.” It pauses and smiles, pure joy in its expression. “I am using contractions.”

  Dom smiles in return. “You’ll be human before you know it.”

  But Twenty-Seven laughs. “I’ll never be human. We never want to be human. We want to be domino.”

  Dom sorts through the thoughts in his head as he makes his way to Mathur’s lab. That the other dominos expect him to lead them, that they have such human wants. Sure, he’s adapted over the last almost two decades, but he didn’t realize he’d come so far.

  “What is wrong, Dom?” Mathur doesn’t look up from his delicate work. The old device is nowhere to be seen and this one spans two table-tops. Precariously balanced fibers lace the sides of one of the main nodes, waiting for Mathur to direct the solder with his mind. It’s far more delicate to use psionics in place of tools—depending, of course, on one’s psionic abilities.

  Dom takes a breath and shakes his head. “They want names.”

  “Who is they?” Mathur doesn’t move anything but the string of fiber at his fingertips.

  “The other dominos.”

  Mathur shrugs ever so slightly. “Makes perfect sense.”

  Dom is surprised to find himself agreeing. The more he thinks about it, the more he wonders why he never chose one himself. “Yeah…” He can’t get his eyes off the device. Its base is thicker this time, a good two inches, and the several nodes that Mathur is connecting are bulkier. “Why is it so big this time?”

  His father pauses and looks up. “Range. We want it to have a better range.”

  “I can’t fit that in Mele. We wouldn’t even get it through the door.” Dom crosses his arms, slightly irritated that they changed it without consulting him. “And won’t this take longer?”

  Mathur shakes his head. “We will move Alpha closer when the time comes. It will not take longer, as Kayde will be assisting as soon as Ebony is done. I think one of the dominos is interested in the mechanics, too.”

  Dom starts to speak but bites it back. They’re allowed to have interests. “But will it be done in time?”

  “I never said that.” The old man smiles sadly. “I can only push harder and hope that we will be ready.”

  “Is this wise?”

  “There are more Damascus this time. We need a bigger pulse.” Mathur’s gaze turns back to his work, and the soldering starts up again.

  There’s silence for several moments as Dom mulls this new plan over in his head.

  “What else?” This time the old man stands up straight, stretching his arms out over his head.

  This is the part Dom hesitates on. “They want to fight the Damascus. They say this is their fight, too.”

  “More rational than expected. But then, you are all a constant source of surprise, are you not?” A smile tugs at Mathur’s lips.

  Dom blinks. “Shouldn’t you still be in the meeting?”

  Mathur barks a laugh and sits down slightly on a raised stool. “Took you a while. And yes, I should, but it is nothing I have not heard before and frankly this is far more important. So I made a choice—listen to that which I already know or come down here and potentially save lives.”

  Dom walks over and stands next to his creator, eyeing the device in all its complexity under the bright lights. “Glad to see you chose the latter.”

  “Thought you might see it my way.”

  For a few minutes, Dom just watches as Mathur rises again to work. His father’s lips purse as he occasionally closes his eyes to seal yet another fiber together with the rest. Just watching the process gives Dom hope that they may still somehow come through this.

  “You did a good job with Lorn, Dom. More human than I think you meant to be.”

  “Far more human than I want to be.”

  Mathur finally looks up and frowns, putting down his tools carefully so as not to disturb the device. “What is it with this sudden change?”

  Dom shrugs. “I’m not sure. These emotions, the complications, the simple act of living and dying—the fragility. So fragile, Mathur… They die so easily.” He sighs. “What’s not to dislike?”

  For a few seconds, Mathur watches Dom before shrugging and turning back to his work. “You have a pretty good point.”

  The silence stretches uncomfortably this time, only to be broken by Mathur again.

  “They want names or to name themselves.”

  “Themselves.” Dom isn’t sure it’s the best step, but the stigma of numbers is a GNW designation. Even the parasite seems to respect the decision. It hasn’t reared its head in a while, which makes Dom wary.

  “And they wish to fight in this war regardless of anyone’s opinions about their own agenda or reasoning. Would you say that is correct?”

  Dom nods and realizes Mathur can’t see the gesture. “Yes, I’d say that’s correct,” he adds for good measure.

  “I will bring it to the attention of the others. But I must say they are developing rather nicely. How are their voices?”

  Dom laughs. “Getting better. Twenty-Seven…” He still pauses at the number, almost looking forward to having a name to use instead. “Twenty-Seven’s voice is much better.” He pauses again before adding. “You know—I hated being referred to as Twelve. After you, and until I befriended Bastian, I didn’t have a name either. I understand where they’re coming from.”

  “Bastian has got a good heart, but his naming techniques are not exactly original.” Mathur chuckles under his breath. “Although I wasn’t much better, eh?”

  Dom smiles. “Definitely not.”

  Mathur watches him. The reflection from the lights over the device are like sparks in his eyes. “I will take care of things here, but you and Sai need to get ready. I do not think I can stress enough the need for this mission to go off without a hitch.”

  “I know.” Dom turns to go and then stops. “She’s asleep. For the first time in far too long, she’s actually sleeping off her exhaustion.”

  Mathur straightens and stretches. “Well, then, looks like you will be getting your equipment ready all on your own, doesn’t I?”

  “Yeah.” Dom laughs as he leaves the room. “It looks like that.”

  The packing wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was waking Sai up to a completely prepared mission and the guilt trip she placed on him for doing everything himself and letting her sl
eep. She spends the better part of thirty minutes going over the things he packed for her and glaring at him every few seconds.

  It’s not really fair to blame her. He should have known better. Her current obsession with keeping everyone safe doesn’t mesh well with someone else taking care of her.

  Finally, she sighs and pushes herself up in one fluid motion. Her control over her legs has grown over the last few months, becoming almost seamless.

  “I’m done. Just let me grab a shower and we can head out.” She stops just before she ducks out of Mele. “Thanks, Dom. I know I don’t say it enough, but thank you.”

  He blinks after her as she disappears from view. Once it’s just them, alone in Mele, he knows it’ll be easier and relaxed, but right now she’s a little tense.

  Maybe she’ll talk about Iria, because apart from once at the very beginning, she hasn’t said anything. Perhaps to others, but never to him. He frowns. In an odd way, Dom can’t help but understand. Even just the thought of losing Sai makes the parasite slink closer. Life without her would make him so much different.

  Aishke, Mathur, Mason, Kayde, and even Twenty-Seven and Thirty-Five are there to see them off. There’s something different about the dominos—something good. He can sense it in the slight hum they output. Maybe it’ll be enough after all.

  He stands by and readies Mele as Sai bids her farewells, hating the finality to some of the conversations. Like they won’t see them again.

  “Remember, Dom,” Kayde calls out just before the doors close. “That stuff is volatile. Don’t drop it.”

  Dom scowls at the viewscreen as the transport is lowered. He sets the engines and ignores Sai as she settles into the passenger seat and buckles herself in. If he forgets the death toll and the fact there’s really no way out of this situation, it almost feels like the old days—where Bastian was still safe, where Sai was just learning and depending on him, and where Dom was oblivious to all the things he should have known about himself.

  It’s a damn good thing things aren’t like they were.

  Sai’s hand rests on his arm as they pull off the lowered platform. “We’ll get him back, Dom. We just have to do this first.”

  Dom nods, happy in the knowledge he was right. When he’s alone with Sai, everything is perfect.

  Bastian refuses to show any outward sign of his discomfort, even when the chafing on his wrists turns into wounds. This is the time when all his lack of emotion, of digging down deep to appear aloof, is going to stand him in good stead. As long as he ignores the pit of dread forming in his gut.

  The first couple of nights they had him, they sedated him. His brain is a hazy recollection of several beatings and a distinctly uncomfortable bench that someone strapped him to in order to hang him upside down. The shine they gave him was only the tip of an iceberg. It’s the first time he’s felt truly grateful for forcing the trick onto himself.

  Two days ago, they stopped giving him shine and using him as a punching bag. Right now it’s not a problem—there’s still some lingering in his system—but if Zach gets close enough to sense his strength with a clean slate… Bastian doesn’t even want to think about that, because technically, he would still be out of it if his body hadn’t built up a partial immunity to the drug already.

  For the last two days he’s been left to his own thoughts and devices, burying all his inner monologues behind so many layers no one but him would know where to look. His body free of Shine is something that hasn’t happened in years; he’s not sure if the slight nausea is anxiety or withdrawal symptoms.

  Bastian hears the door open. He maintains an inward focus, eyes closed, hoping he seems groggy, but he glances up when he hears the irritated click of a tongue.

  Deign rounds the table, the bags under her eyes a stark contrast to her usual chipper appearance. Bastian obviously hasn’t been the only one suffering—just the only one getting his face involuntarily reconstructed. She takes a seat across from him and tosses a folder onto the table. Her hair wisps down from the bun, not quite as meticulous as usual.

  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Her voice is soft, almost a whisper.

  Bastian is rather certain the mirror behind her is a one-way visual station. The option to try and win her over to his side by overpowering her isn’t actually viable for multiple reasons, including her own formidable abilities. So he opts to shrug and keep his mind closed—tightly. Two days and he’s almost back at full strength. He needs to get his hands on more shine before they realize how far his immunity has spread. If only he can make it back to his office.

  “I decided to shut them down before they kill our own people?” Playing it safe is the best option. They have no one else to pin anything on, no one else to speak out against him. Just his own stupid hasty actions. His own ill-conceived plan. Nothing he did can be linked back to the Exiled…yet.

  “We had a plan, Bastian.” There’s genuine confusion in her eyes as Deign sits back, shaking her head.

  “Zach had a plan. You had a plan. I know what they are capable of. My mother never recovered. Harlow’s parents are dead, not to mention thousands of people who depend on us to protect them.” Each syllable is clipped, perfectly timed, and he realizes he needs to tone it down. He slumps back against the wall and sighs. “They will turn. What will you do when they turn?”

  He knows Deign knows he’s right. When they had their little meeting and agreed to reactivate the Damascus, they never once affirmed the need for changes or improvements to them.

  “Well, they’re active now.” That her voice is pitched so low tells him there’s at least one lieutenant behind that glass. At least one.

  “More than you probably realize.” He pitches his voice as soft as he can, keeping his eyes half-lidded to maintain appearances. “I won’t let these cities go to ruin, Deign. I can’t. You’ll have to kill me first.”

  “I know…” She seems conflicted, confused, her fingers picking at each other. Her eyes dart here and there, never settling on him directly. Flummoxed is not a word he’d ever have used to describe her, but it’s fitting now. “We’re not going to kill you. That’s not an option. Misguided though your actions were, you were trying to preserve what we have.”

  Bastian is very careful not to breathe a sigh of relief. Instead, he holds perfectly still and waits for her to continue.

  “With everything you and your family have done and sacrificed for the GNW, your motivations aren’t in question. Just your actions.”

  He times his scowl perfectly.

  “Don’t look at me like that, Bastian. My hands are tied. We have to punish you.” She shrugs and picks up the folder. A grimace crosses her face, and she looks up from the report apologetically. “I’m sorry for the drugs, but you’ll need to take more. Are you feeling okay?”

  Bastian shrugs. “Hazy.” Because he knows full well that’s what Shine does. “But that could also be from the punches to my face.”

  Deign cringes. This isn’t her world and he knows it. She’s used to handing out the orders and never seeing the results. She’s used to having her every whim and desire followed and her government being in perfect order. To the citizens never questioning anything they do. Deign is far too used to her abuse of power. It’s how she was raised, and she’s never once tried to see things from a different perspective. Bastian can’t help but think she deserves the storm that’s coming.

  “I’m not sure what we’re going to do with you, but I’m sorry for the harsh treatment.” She rises and pushes back the chair with a squeak that makes her wince. A glance at his still-bound hands makes her gaze harden. She turns and motions to the glass wall, and in short order, two guards enter.

  “Untie him. It’s not like he killed anyone.” Deign stays and watches them free him. “Just don’t do anything that’s going to make you appear worse and me stupid. I’ll see what agreement we can come to. But for now, you have to stay here.”

  It’s a split second decision, a way to keep himself out of th
e cells downstairs hooked up to the grid and perhaps still work within his limits. If his access of the core has been any indication, they might still have a chance. Bastian nods. “I won’t be so…spontaneous again.”

  Deign manages a tight smile. “See to it. I don’t relish the idea of going through an inquiry myself. This will be your holding cell for the time being. We’re still investigating the incident that led to this.” She slams her hand down on the table, a rare break in her composure. “Damn it, Bastian. If you’d just come to one of us first…”

  “But I didn’t.” And he wonders if maybe he should have, under the guise of helping the GNW as a whole. Maybe it would have worked. Maybe the Shine clouded his mind.

  “You always were a loner. You’ve always stuck your neck out to protect those you care for.” The smile still plays on her lips as she remembers one specific time. It’s probably what lends to her bias toward him. “But my hands are tied. I can’t magically undo this. You need to pay in some way. Just how remains to be seen.”

  Bastian nods and sits on the hard cot in the corner, a feeling of trepidation passing through him. Even though she appears to be on his side, he knows she’s right and doesn’t like it one bit. “Thank you.”

  Deign nods and leaves.

  With a glance at the fake mirror, knowing his every move is being watched, Bastian throws himself back on the cot and stares at the ceiling. The only thing he has are his thoughts because they’re his and tightly protected. As long as he doesn’t give away anything to those watching him, maybe Deign will get him out of this mess.

  The room Bastian is being held in has no windows—just the observation mirror. What better a habitat to study prey in? It’s been several days if the small, bland meals he’s had are any indication, which they’re not. The food is apparently lightly seasoned with Shine because there’s a dull thrum in the back of his head. Just enough to take the edge off both his abilities and the withdrawal headaches. Without his tolerance, though, he’d be foggier. Something to keep in mind when they come in to see him again.