Parasite (The Domino Project Book 3)

by Hanna, K. T.

  Dom blinks and Sai laughs.

  Kayde glares at them. “I’m grasping at straws here. Give me some credit.”

  Sai gives her a quick shoulder hug. “You’ll get all the credit, Kayde.” Even though the tone is lighthearted, Sai still seems a little down.

  Dom grins at them, letting his triggers jump into play. It’s difficult to concentrate on anything while the leech wiggles through his consciousness. “Worth a shot, right?”

  This time the parasite noticeably cringes after about a minute. It’s a small hesitation, a slight uncertainty. Dom decides he likes his parasite uncertain. “This one causes hesitation.”

  Kayde smiles joyfully. “Then that’s a temporary go. I’ll keep working it, but I’ll make a few of these vials just in case, okay?”

  Dom smiles back, grateful for the effort. It might be enough to regain any slippage of control. “Thanks.”

  He glances around to look for Sai, but she’s gone.

  After another session of double-checking synchronicity levels and deciding that Zon, formerly Eighteen, shouldn’t go out in the field because his visual and hearing specifications aren’t matching up, Dom finds Sai where he least expected to find her.

  He steps into Mele, who is fully charged in the docking bay. Sai sits in the passenger seat, fully reclined, staring at the ceiling. He pushes down on the queasy feeling that’s been plaguing him ever since the parasite inside him tried to return with vengeance after the strange tonic from Kayde wore off.

  That it can push him so far scares him. That it can be so subtle sometimes, so manipulative, terrifies him. And that he knows he won’t be able to control it if it takes him over again horrifies him.

  He watches Sai, leaning back, somber-faced, lost in her thoughts.

  “I know you’re there.”

  Perhaps not as lost in her thoughts as he assumed. He steps fully inside and takes the pilot seat, pivoting it to look at her. “I think that was a wild guess.”

  She snorts, and then a sad smile spreads over her face. “Nah. I always know when you’re close. Have for a long time now.”

  He doesn’t know how to respond to that, doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. But sitting here in this close silence, it calms him in a way nothing else does. The parasite becomes but a distant memory, the fear in his mind abates, and a level of certainty creeps in and gives him confidence.

  “Is this healthy?” he asks softly.

  Sai rolls her head slightly to look at him, and she knows, without asking, what he is saying. She shrugs. “I don’t care if it isn’t. It’s necessary, and it’s right.”

  He leans back in his chair, swaying back and forth. They have no right to be this peaceful. They have no right to feel this serene. There is no right way to prepare for war.

  Bastian runs a brush through his damp hair, staring in the mirror. He doesn’t see himself, though; he sees the images that flashed before his eyes while talking to Sai. Bodies on gurneys, bodies in the alley, bits and pieces scattered in the street.

  His hand shakes, and he wills it to still. They’ve been at war so long, it shouldn’t bug him. But now they’re bringing it to the PCs, and if things go wrong, the body count will be astronomical.

  At least the Exiled are as ready as they can be, regardless of the bad news about the core.

  His hand shakes again, and he wonders if maybe, just maybe, he’s been infused by the parasite all this time. Always stronger, always more determined—a ruthless killer when necessity asked for it. But he’s always been in control, so maybe it’s the Shine.

  On his way out, he rubs a sliver over his tongue in an effort to keep up the charade, not that it’ll take the edge off much. He tries to ignore the glowing orb of temptation in his stomach, tries to imagine life without his abilities—or else, without Shine.

  His mind balks at both, and he frowns as he falls into line with his patrol. Perhaps he has a problem. Maybe he’s become too reliant on himself. Who will take care of Mason if Bastian lets himself burn out, too?

  He’s the last one to arrive and schools his face to be impassive as he takes his seat, running through a thousand things at once in his head. The news from the Exiled was sketchy, but the gist of core bad, don’t use was fairly immediate.

  Deign clears her throat and looks pointedly at him.

  “What?” he states, voice flat. “You expect me to do everything? It takes time. I’m good, but I’m not superhuman.” He notices Harlow and Markus cover their mouths to hide rather obvious snickers.

  Deign turns her gaze to the rest of the room. Her demeanor is stony, and she expresses her apparent irritation in clipped, sharp words. “Reports, now. We’ve lost fourteen PCs. Out of twenty-nine. Their taxes stopped trickling back to us a few days ago. Even the regular supply shipments aren’t being carried. Figure it out, people.”

  This is the first time he’s ever heard her truly angry, though the anger is fueled by something else. He’s guessing irritation at things not going her way. He flexes his fingers in their gloves, not sure even they would provide a buffer if she lost her temper. Still, they’re only for show. His mind has always been strong.

  Markus stands up and looks at each of them in turn, face serious. “All of my forces are out, including the private ones both I and you use.” He gives Deign a slightly longer than normal glare. “I’m not naming names, but my forces were stripped a while back. I don’t have the manpower to try and figure out what it is these fourteen PCs are up to. Most of them are too far away to expend the effort on.”

  “Markus, that’s out of line—” Deign starts, half-standing

  “Stop it.” Markus slams a fist down on the table. “This has gone beyond ridiculous. Sit down for once and listen me. You can take me to task after we survive the war we’ve all been dancing around naming.”

  The room falls silent and everyone focuses on Markus.

  “Deign, I have known you since you were little. You, Zach, even Harlow. You’ve always had your way.” He glances around the whole room. “All of you, except Bastian, Owen and myself. We all worked to get where we are today. Bastian worked his ass off for you, and you punished him for giving a crap.

  “Do you not realize that, regardless how they found out, the people we’re supposed to be taking care of don’t see it that way? They don’t understand that we aimed to protect them. They don’t understand that we didn’t technically lie or hide things, and they certainly don’t understand the motivations behind it.”

  He runs a hand back through his hair and cricks his neck from side to side. His eyes seem tired and sad. “Did any of you—any of us—ever think we shouldn’t do this? Did we ever examine the reasoning behind the reins we were handed? No. We sat here in our tower while people down there, people on the outskirts, had nothing. All we did was make them feel content about it, and those that couldn’t deal turned to the drug we accidentally let onto the streets. There is nothing about humanity at this point in time that makes people better off than they were hundreds of years ago. And we are at fault.”

  Deign’s face has paled so much she’s white. Bastian isn’t sure if it’s shock or anger.

  “We have the numbers, the footage, and the facts available to us, but we’ve ignored them. And you—” He looks pointedly at Deign. “—have always done your best to skirt over them. Do you realize how many people died when the Damascus were originally constructed and set loose? Have you got any idea why it was Mathur insisted adrium could be harnessed in a better and less harmful way and thus created the dominos? No, and now you have an uprising on your hands. I can police Central and keep it as safe as possible. But we need to face the fact that we’ve probably lost all the other PCs in what is becoming a cascade effect.”

  He sits down and slumps in his chair, hand over his eyes. Bastian prays the man didn’t say too much in his moment of anger. Because he is right.

  “Anyone else?” Zach’s expression is thunderous, and he bites the words out. Instead of waiting for his tirade
to begin, Bastian raises his hand.

  “I’ll take a stab at it since I got brought up in all this.” He stands up tall, and his full height, although not the seven foot of a lieutenant, is still quite imposing. “He’s sort of right. I grew up privileged, too, though. Except most of ours came from money given to quiet us when my mother was injured. Do you know how horrific these guys were in reality?” He thumbs back at the Damascus. Its eyes flicker toward him, and he has this moment of clarity. While under directive, they can’t react to those who control them, but if that directive were to suddenly end, right now, Bastian is quite certain everyone in this room would be mincemeat.

  “What I am sorry about is I never spoke up before. We could have changed things and we didn’t, and now, for whatever reason, it’s too late. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. If we want to salvage anything, you need to accept this for what it is, Deign.”

  She pushes herself up, not much shorter than Bastian, and there’s a subtle frown on her otherwise neutral expression. “We were given guidelines to abide by. Those rules ran these PCs remarkably well for over a quarter of a century.” She turns to Markus, complete indifference on her face. “Send out your patrols. Keep Central safe. We can rebuild starting from here.”

  Her focus switches to Harlow, whose eyes are flickering and hands are flying. Deign frowns. “What are you doing?”

  It takes a moment, but Harlow grunts an acknowledgement, biting her lip. “An alert flashed up. I’m still trying to figure out what it was. It was gone almost as soon as it happened.”

  A weight drops in Bastian’s stomach. Please don’t let Kayde’s programming have failed now. Harlow is too clever not to notice something while awake.

  But his world drops out from under him when he hears her exclaim. “Got it!”

  “Got what?” Deign moves closer, her expression closed off. “Markus, I don’t see you moving to manage your teams.”

  The older man shrugs at Bastian and leaves the room.

  “What have you got, Harlow?” Deign’s movements are snakelike, ready to strike. The steel in her gait, in her convictions—regardless how much evidence is thrown her way—lends her a sinuous strength.

  “Filtration. The filtration systems are off. I can’t override it, but I can tell they’ve been tampered with.” There’s frustration in Harlow’s tone. She doesn’t like being second-best.

  “What does that mean?” Deign’s patience is stretched thin.

  Harlow sighs loudly, her exasperation leaking through into her words. “What it means is that, at some point, someone adjusted the filtration systems’ codes to reflect that their lifespans were extended. Which means the filters in there can’t be the old ones—they’ve been replaced. They weren’t due, and I didn’t order it.”

  “Can you fix it?”

  Harlow nods and shrugs and then glances up at Deign. “I can, but it’s going to take time. A lot of it.”

  Deign straightens and glares at the rest of the room. “Fix them as soon as you can. Get this deceptive crap out of the air so we can take care of our own again.”

  Harlow hesitates. “You realize that probably won’t work, right? Now that they know—”

  Deign cuts her off. “It will work if I have to persuade every single one of them personally.”

  “Deign…” Bastian tries to grab her attention.

  “What?!” She keeps her back to him, her shoulders rigid. “There isn’t time for more chatter. We have people to protect, whether they like it or not.”

  Bastian sits in his kitchen, coat still on, fiddling with the small device Owen pressed into his hand a few days ago. It’s smooth, with a tiny indentation, made to look like just any piece of adrium. But it’s not. It’s a highly sophisticated piece of equipment which can interfere with all the communications pathways of any Damascus anywhere near him, without their knowledge.

  At least, given what Owen did with the larger version downstairs, he thinks that’s what it does.

  It’s beautiful and precise and very dangerous to have in his possession. In a few minutes, his peace and quiet will be broken by Deign, Zach, and Harlow traipsing up to his room to discuss the Damascus and their current position when it comes to the Exiled. He’s wary about this meeting and the secrecy they slipped it in with. It’s like a hell he can’t prevent from arriving.

  He cocks his head to one side and listens carefully. They’re approaching now, so he stands up and perfectly times the greeting of his guests.

  “Bastian, how good of you to let us come over on such short notice.” Deign gives him her coat and glances approvingly around his office, as if she’s never been there before. She was born out of her time. Several hundred years earlier would have suited her perfectly. Still, she turns and smiles at them all and takes the most convenient seat among those at the front of his desk. He places her coat over the table and sits in his usual chair.

  “So what is it you’re here for today? We’ve already released the Damascus, so unless you’re planning on unlocking the Titans, I can’t see what business we have.”

  Harlow snort-laughs. “Titans.”

  Zach levels a glare and then scrunches his nose. He blinks and looks Bastian in the eyes. “You’re…different today.”

  Bastian clicks his tongue with impatience. It doesn’t really matter anymore. The only reason he still takes any Shine is habit and maybe the little bit of withdrawal when he doesn’t get it. Maybe it’s more about the withdrawal, but Zach doesn’t need to know that. “I’ve always been this way, Zach.”

  The other man raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think you know what I mean.” There’s that hint of danger to his voice, the hidden glee that he’s discovered a secret.

  “I think I know exactly what you mean.” Because they’re so close to the end now, Bastian just doesn’t care anymore.

  “Well…” Deign glances between both of them. “I’d love to know what you both know, but does it have anything to do with the current situation?”

  Zach opens his mouth, narrows his eyes at Bastian, and answers. “Not precisely. Besides, I still have to figure something out.

  “Exactly. If you have nothing constructive to bring to this conversation, I’d ask politely that you leave so I don’t have to put up with you baiting me for an entire evening of the-gods-know-what.” Bastian regrets the words almost as soon as they’re out of his mouth. Zach’s expression could kill if he were susceptible to it.

  “Sit down, Zacharai.” Deign waves at him with her hand, ignoring Harlow for the most part. “You brought up a few interesting points today, Bastian.”

  “Well, Markus did, but thanks for noticing.” His patience is wearing thin, and he takes a slow, deep breath to try and stop himself from stepping over the line.

  “Do you really think we should have been honest with people?”

  Bastian waits, knowing she isn’t finished yet.

  “Hasn’t an informed populace always risen up before when acting on base instincts? Instead, don’t we provide them with the option of knowledge that doesn’t bother them?” She pulls herself up straighter and looks him in the eyes. “Don’t we personally chose to bear the burden of knowledge in their place?”

  The things he wants to say fight to get out of his mouth. He swallows with difficulty before speaking, hoping they won’t come tumbling out. “There are many ways to take care of people. Taking away their choices is rarely one of them.”

  “But it was necessary.” She juts out her chin, stubbornness rolling off her like a wave. “The panic, the terror…” Deign shakes her head and walks to his windows. The glare of the dome-lit advertisements shines in on them, flickering over her face. “How do we get them back? How do we restore what we had?”

  Harlow fidgets and glances away. Bastian wonders if she’s as uncomfortable as he feels. He’s not sure how to answer Deign and her mostly rhetorical questions, but he tries anyway.

  “The grid was initiated because the people were terrified. It should only have been us
ed as a stopgap measure. It should never have gone on as long as it did.”

  Deign whirls around, cheeks red and eyes flashing.

  “He’s right.” Harlow’s voice is soft. “You know he’s right. Information shouldn’t be available on the whim of a government. People should be free to research and discover things for themselves. They should have the choice to care.”

  “But you’ve always had my back, Bastian.” Deign speaks softly and hugs her arms around her.

  Bastian raises an eyebrow. “I’ve always done your dirty work because that’s the position my family has habitually held.”

  “True.” She smiles. “You’ve always been best at persuading people.”

  Something snaps inside him, and his words are curt and distant. “If by ‘persuading’ you mean killing those people who opposed the GNW, then sure.”

  She laughs this time, but it tapers off as Bastian’s expression doesn’t change. “Sure, I’ve sent you on…what, six assassinations in how many years?”

  He blinks at her. “It’s been a lot more than that, Deign. It’s what you’ve always used me for. It’s what I was training my protégé to help me with.” It’s only when he finishes what he’s saying that Bastian realizes Zach is shaking his head at him.

  “The only death orders I ever gave you were the ones I delivered directly.” Deign’s gaze hardens, and she turns to Zach. “I told you those were diplomatic missions.”

  Zach shrugs. “This way was easier. I didn’t have to monitor anyone. I could spend my time doing what needed to actually be done around here.”

  “You do nothing, Zach.” Her words drip venom, and she takes a step toward him. “I’ve given you far too much leeway. That ends now.”

  Bastian tries to push down on the anger eating up at him. He’d never thought to question the directives coming through Zach. A shadow covers his mind for an instant, and he imagines Zach’s heart, can feel himself encasing it, gently squeezing it. Then he realizes he’s actually doing it.