The Eurynome Code: The Complete Series: A Space Opera Box Set

by K. Gorman

  “Thank you, Regent. Kali, get us up.”

  As the ship shifted and began to tilt―and the cyborg who’d helped her hurriedly buckled his own harness―Tylanus’ eyes stopped fluttering long enough to lock on her across the short hall. They were so close, their knees touched.

  “Thank you, Karin.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” she grunted as the ship lifted off. “We still have a long road ahead.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The ship lifted quickly, and a mechanical clunk sounded next to her shoulder―the ‘arms’ of the vessel’s propulsion and steering units swinging into position. Pressure forced her head to bow before the grav gen kicked in with an audible click. By the flip in her stomach, and the shift in light coming down the hall, they’d launched rapidly.

  She’d been on a ship that had done that before. Once. An advanced military model with vertical ascent. The Nemina couldn’t do it―despite the surprising power and advancement of her engines, she just wasn’t built for that―but this ship clearly had both the flexibility and the engine power.

  And gods it felt good. Exhilarating. A blind roar of enhanced speed, precision, and power.

  The pilot part of Karin was in love.

  Tylanus had closed his eyes again, but his arms were bracing against the ship’s movement, and his head hadn’t lolled. Tension knotted through his neck, shoulders, chest, and abdomen.

  Still awake, and not enjoying the ride.

  “Lift-off secure and Alliance soldiers unharmed,” the pilot―Kali―reported after a few seconds as the light shifted up the ship’s corridor from the front windows. “On course to Base Camp One.”

  Karin’s eyebrows twitched. Was there a Base Camp Two, or had they just given it a System name for her benefit?

  “Fallon’s hailing us,” Tillerman called back. By the distance and slight muffling of her voice, she’d taken the co-pilot navigation seat. “FSS Courant, FL-CV-391-00.”

  Karin closed her eyes.

  Crane, probably.

  “Can you patch it back here?” she asked.

  “I will patch it to your comms device,” Tillerman said. “Hold it up and accept the transmission permission.”

  She pulled the device out of her suit pocket just as it activated. The screen rolled up with a small beep, and a pop-up window appeared with the permission ticket. Tillerman must have switched the device to System Standard before she’d given it to her.

  She tapped the button. Instantly, the image shifted―but, instead of Crane, General Ramesh appeared onscreen.

  She narrowed her eyes. The call was supposed to be from the Courant, which was still parked at the Brazilian compound, but Ramesh was definitely in orbit on the FSS Manila. She could even see the distinct architecture of the Manila’s bridge and command square in the background of the feed.

  Looks like we’re not the only ones patching transmissions around.

  “Good afternoon, Karin. Is everything all right? I’ve been hearing…reports.”

  ‘Reports’ was a good way to put it. Considering he was hailing her through the Centauri transport, she’d bet he’d heard a great deal. Either that, or he’d noticed that the tracker on her suit coincided with the vessel’s path and had put two and two together. Fallon had been given access to the UN satellites, but she hadn’t been sure how accurate they were.

  “Everything was fine until you brought Seirlin in on this mission and allowed them within a mile of the Cradle,” she said. “I am all right, though, thank you. As is Tylanus. How is General Crane?”

  The Centauri comms device had a higher quality set-up from the cheaper netlinks she was used to. The interface itself had a high contrast design, meant for practicality rather than style, but Ramesh’s feed came in as a high definition transmission, with only a hint of pixelation―likely from being routed through one of the UN satellites.

  Ramesh hesitated, his expression growing thoughtful and his eyes narrowing, as if choosing his words. “He’s…not particularly happy with you.”

  Ah. There had likely been some swearing involved with her name, then.

  “Well, I guess that makes us even.” She leaned back in the chair, stretching her shoulders. “I didn’t hit him that hard.”

  “You broke his arm.”

  “Considering what I’m capable of, he got off easy.”

  Gods, that was something Nomiki would say. Now, it was her, wielding enhanced combat bioengineering and psychopathy with a practiced ease.

  She let out a breath, making her shoulders drop and feeling the pull of the ship’s flight on her body. In the short time that she’d been acquainted with General Ramesh, she’d come to like him. He’d always seemed a collected, logical person. Even now, after she’d attacked Fallon personnel, including his fellow officer, stolen their second-highest-valued asset, hidden their third-highest-valued asset, and left a few violently dead scientists in her wake, he was coming across as his usual, collected self.

  He was, however, a Fallon general, and had likely known about the plan to involve Seirlin in the mission. And he was also in charge of a large, capable warship currently in orbit.

  She resisted the urge to ask Tillerman where, specifically, the Manila was in its orbital path.

  He let out a long breath. “Karin, I understand that you’re upset about the decision to involve Seirlin in our missions, but we are all together in this crisis, and they have the experience we need for this situation―”

  “They caused this situation. And they brainwashed, tortured, and mutilated hundreds of children to do so―and then they profited off of it.”

  “All of which will be dealt with in due time, and all of which makes them the sole experts on this.”

  “No, actually, it doesn’t. Have you seen their files? Been through their records and database? Because we have. They are only experts in the branch of supersoldiers that Bernard Corringham fed them the plans for. Programs outside of that scope, like myself, Sasha, Tylanus, and ninety percent of the Programs Sasha was running in her own Project, are outside of their knowledge.”

  In the past month, the crew of the Nemina had been poring over the company’s records, and Tia had analyzed those memories and data with her own expertise.

  “While they had a rudimentary Cradle setup in their lab on Pomona―a lab which, by the way, had been running up until at least two years ago, not the seven years they’ve been claiming,” she continued, “much of it was incomplete, and their records indicate that they were trying to reverse engineer the Corringhams’ other work.” She shook her head. “I hope you’re keeping them away from the Eurynome subjects on Chamak, because I can guarantee you that they’ve asked to examine them.”

  Inside, Tia chuckled.

  So you do listen when I talk to you.

  All of the information she’d just reeled off to Ramesh had been conveyed in one of Tia’s snarky rant sessions from earlier in the week, when Karin had been trying to sleep.

  Ramesh stayed quiet for a moment. Someone said something off-camera to him, and he half-turned in their direction, listening for a moment before giving them a nod of acknowledgment.

  “For what it’s worth, I advised against involving Seirlin,” he said.

  “They should have listened to you,” she told him. “This all could have been avoided. Hells, had you let me explore my new powers, this all might have been over by now, and we could be relaxing on an Italian beach.”

  “Regardless, what is done is done. Unfortunately, we must proceed accordingly.” He drew himself up―less personable, more business. “Karin, are you with the Menassi Tri-Quad Alliance willingly?”

  More than willingly. She was their leader now. But she decided not to put that card on the table yet. Better to see how the conversation played out.

  “Yes,” she said.

  “Ah. In which case, I regret that I must ask you to return our assets. Otherwise, Command has determined that we will be forced to retake them.”

  Her eyebrows twit
ched. Okay, maybe she would play that card now.

  “Good luck with that, General. The Cradle is in the Shadow world. And it’s ‘Grand Regent’ now. Don’t worry, I’ll see to it that Tylanus has a good, thorough visit in a Med bay. He and I have something to talk about.”

  He absorbed the information with only a small pause. “Ah. In that case―Grand Regent, I would remind you that both Pathfinder and Amaranthe are well trained and capable of disabling a vessel into emergency landing, and we have sufficient ground teams to run collections. Please, don’t make us shoot you down.”

  Ah. So Alliance was listening in on the call, as well. Good.

  But…that was quite an escalation. Granted, she had attacked people and was carting off with two of their most valued assets, herself being one of them.

  Since neither Tillerman nor Kali had notified her of impending fighters, she guessed it was more of an intimidation tactic than a real threat.

  She leaned forward as much as the harness would allow, crossing her legs and resting the comms device and its screen on her thigh. She had no idea where its camera was―it definitely had one, as Ramesh had reacted to her expressions―but, given that it was already a ‘field feed,’ i.e. not on a fixed or professional location, she decided not to care about how she looked or whether the camera was actually on her face or not.

  If nothing else, it might show the blood on her armor.

  “If I were feeling petty, I could have Commander Tillerman turn this ship around so that I could personally sheer an annoyingly-thick gouge through the hulls of every ship currently grounded at the compound. After what I’ve heard today, I think I’d very much enjoy it. Instead, however, I’ll remind you that I can fly just fine in the Shadow world, and that I’d hate to take your Pathfinder with us into the warp and then have to babysit them back out. Good day, General. I’ll be in touch.”

  With that, she hit the ‘call end’ button, and the general’s face vanished from the comms screen.

  She pushed her fingers into her hair and leaned back. Except for the occasional creak and groan, and the muffled, high-pitched roar of the engines outside, the ship was silent and flying evenly. A map of their route popped up on her communications display, showing them less than two minutes from their destination. She dismissed it with a wave of her hand.

  Across from her, a pair of jet-black eyes watched her.

  “A ‘long visit to a Med bay’?” Tylanus asked.

  She smiled, reminded of the Shadow she’d spoken to in Macedonia and the way it had been repeating her own words back to her.

  “Strictly a health check,” she informed him. She knew what he was worried about―it had been her worry for a time, too. Still was, a bit. “No crazy medical experiments, I promise.”

  He nodded. His body was still tense, but he wasn’t bracing against his seat anymore, and he looked more awake. “They brought in Seirlin?”

  “Yes. That’s why I took you out of there.”

  He nodded again. “Good.”

  Despite the circumstances, he seemed comfortable in his nudity. As if it were only a mild inconvenience rather than a humiliation.

  “Did Fallon take anything from you other than your clothes?” she asked. “Did you have a wallet? Netlink?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Just my favorite pair of pants.”

  “We’ll find you some new ones.” Sol knew that one of her newly-acquired ships had to have a pair kicking around. She shifted and turned her head toward the hallway. “Tillerman, what are the odds that Fallon retaliates against our camp?”

  “If I were them, that’s where I would hit. Larger base, larger reaction time, and they already have checks in place there. Your recent conversation will either give them cause to think or will push them into immediate retaliation, depending on their leadership.”

  “Fallon loves planning. Plus, I went easy on them, and they know it. The scientists I killed were in understandable self-defense of my Cradle. I assaulted General Crane, but he’d already been firing on me. I didn’t even fight the other two soldiers, just pushed them into the other world for a time.” She let out a breath, thinking. “Is it better to be in orbit, do you think? Rather than at a camp?”

  “Yes,” Tillerman said. “Much better, tactically.”

  “How soon can we do it?”

  “Ten, maybe twenty minutes?” Tillerman mused aloud. “We set up a mobile-able camp on purpose. The only feasible concern are the Fallon, Alliance, and UN officers who are present to oversee us. They might make a problem.”

  “How many are they?”

  “Seventy-five. Maybe a few more if they decided that a health check was due.”

  Her eyebrows twitched. “Health check?”

  “An excuse to examine us. Something in the UN human rights guidelines.”

  “Ah. Well, give them the option of leaving―I’m sure someone will pick them up later. If they don’t in time, confine them and take them with us. We’ll ferry them over in shuttles later.”

  The comms device in her hand beeped, and the map reappeared, showing that they’d arrived at the camp. As if on cue, the ship slowed, and the light coming down the hallway changed as its nose dipped. Her stomach gave a flip as they began to descend.

  Tia, you still in there? she asked.

  Yes. Why?

  Oh, no reason, she thought as she relaxed into the crash seat. Just want to make sure you didn’t get retroactively eaten by that Shadow from earlier.

  Chapter Eighteen

  In the end, Fallon didn’t target-lock any of their ships or send out fighters, and sixty-seven of the officers who had been overseeing the Centauri encampment elected to leave the vessels and stay in the field. The remaining eight were locked into three cabins on one of the corvettes and carted into space with the rest of the fleet.

  Fallon had already called back twice, along with two orbiting Alliance ships, the Pegasus and the Icarus, the Martian Erwyn Saha, and the UN military headquarters.

  She’d answered the UN call, informed them that she had no intention of harming Earth or her citizens, and promised them a lengthier call at a later time.

  She’d ignored the others, though she’d made a note to arrange a chat with the Martian rep at some point.

  So far, Mars and Earth hadn’t managed to piss her off, and weren’t being heavy-handed in their demands and interactions.

  It had also only been twenty minutes. She’d barely had enough time to touch her boots to grass before she was going up again, this time in a bigger ship.

  Though she had to admit…the new ship was impressive.

  She’d seen Centauri ships before, but her experience had been confined to the shuttle she’d just taken and the corvette she’d been interrogated in. Their builds and interiors had been designed with practicality in mind, straight metal and prefab, every inch of them filled with tightly-packed components, access panels, manual overrides, control systems, storage, sub-monitoring systems, and holoports―the military equivalent of stuffing everything one could possibly need for a family camping trip into a single car.

  The Menassi Artemide, however, had been made to impress.

  The ship took up more than half the field she’d landed in, an eye-catching design in the smoothed shape of an arrowhead, with two fixed wings at its rear and a smaller caudal fin and keel, and several supplementary thrusters around its body to supplement the large, mixed-burn engines at its back. Banks of dark windows cut into its design like slashes, the rest of it colored a striking white and gold.

  Inside, the corridors, also themed with white and gold, looked like they had been constructed by one of those utopian elf races from the fantasy MMORPG ads that she’d seen on Nova.

  This, she guessed, was the type of warship one would take to meet the Center Council in Centauri Prime.

  For now, she was taking it into orbit with the rest of her ships.

  Her netlink beeped again, one of the many messages she’d received, and not from anyone she wanted to hear
.

  She’d programmed those to ring in a different tone.

  She let out a sigh and made to rub the side of her nose, then paused when she realized she still had blood on her hands.

  The cyborg next to her offered her a cloth he’d been carrying.

  “Thanks,” she said, taking it. “What’s your name?”

  “Daymon Malouf, Specialist First Class, Regent,” he said, bowing his head.

  He was the same one she’d slammed into the control panel on the shuttle, and also the second Centauri to leave the ‘Grand’ out of ‘Grand Regent’ when addressing her.

  She didn’t think it was meant as an insult, so she chose to view it as a cultural shortening.

  She wiped the blood off, taking care to get the stuff around her fingernail beds.

  If I were normal, I’d be horrified at having the blood of people I killed on me.

  Instead, all she felt was mild annoyance and a passing concern about blood-borne illness.

  Hells, a large part of her thought the blood spatter coating her armor was a happy coincidence―a sign to let the Centauri know she wasn’t anyone to fuck around with.

  Of course, these guys would already know that. A large group of them had witnessed first-hand when she’d killed their former Grand Regent.

  And, before that, many of their former comrades.

  Suns, maybe the blood on her armor was a bad idea.

  No, it’s good. It’s not like they would have forgotten what you did. The blood will simply remind them that you can do it again, if you so choose.

  Thanks, she thought back. I appreciate your insight on Murderess Warlord style.

  Anytime.

  Aloud, she let out a long breath. “Commander Tillerman, we’re going to have to have a long talk once we take care of some business.”

  “Yes,” the commander agreed. “But first, you’re needed on the bridge.”

  She’d expected as much. One didn’t just up and leave a planet with a newly-acquired fleet of highly advanced soldiers without answering a few questions and assuaging a few fears. She’d promised the UN another call, after all, and she’d likely check in with Fallon. Or the Alliance, if Fallon was being testy.