Mage Hunter (Lost Tales of Power Book 8)

by Vincent Trigili

  Lyshell looked tired and defeated. I was no mind-reader but I could guess his thoughts, the same emotions I would be experiencing in his place: powerlessness, weakness and failure. That had to be dealt with quickly; such feelings would be detrimental to his recovery.

  “Lyshell, Master Raquel tells me the mission was a complete success. You retrieved Stones, who will make a complete recovery thanks to your quick intervention, and you saved the Resden vessel from certain doom. They credit your insight, actions and quick thinking for the success of the mission. Well done!”

  He looked up from his food, surprise clearly evident on his face. Joan beamed at him with pride, a look that would do more for him than ten thousand compliments from me.

  56

  05-15-0067 — Lyshell

  Saraphym and Greymere were already in Master Raquel’s office when I arrived. Greymere and Saraphym were not in their battle armor, which at first threw me off. They were both tall, I’d known that, but the armor had camouflaged their slenderness and maybe even their race.

  They looked human, but there was something off about them. They had the general appearance of humans with no obvious differences like the scales of a Parrinian or the hair of a Cathratinairian, just some subtle difference which was hard to identify.

  Saraphym’s fair skin and lavender eyes and hair contrasted with Greymere’s dark skin, eyes and hair. They both had high cheekbones, ears that came to a slight point, eyes which were slightly larger than normal and unblemished skin, all of which combined to make them beautiful. They weren’t beautiful in the way Joan was, but more like an artist’s sculpture of the gods of old; something to be admired.

  I couldn’t place what it was about them that made me think they weren’t human, and of course it didn’t matter. There were many races scattered throughout the galaxy, and if it were any business of mine which they belonged to, no doubt they would tell me.

  Greymere had encouraged me to take the day off, but after a restless night of bad dreams I couldn’t stand to be alone in that room. Joan was sleeping, and Stones was being debriefed and prepared to return to his squad. I had a deep longing for company, and work was the only place where I knew I would find friendly faces.

  “Lyshell, you really should be resting,” said Greymere as I arrived.

  “That wasn’t going well for me. Besides, I have this,” I said, handing him the datapad I’d used the previous day to communicate with the cyborgs. “I recorded everything I could. It’s probably a jumbled mess, but there might be something useful on it. It’s locked, but I think the security will be simple enough to bypass.”

  “Here, sit down at least,” said Saraphym as she pulled a chair up to the table they had been sitting around. On the table was a holographic map of the entire galaxy. Most of the map was familiar to me, but overlaid on it was a set of new symbols that I didn’t recognize. They appeared to designate some unusual event or conditions, which were color-coded. The colors were on a scale that ran from green to red, which probably indicated different levels of danger or something along those lines.

  “Thanks.” My legs felt a bit rubbery and the room seemed unstable to my feet. Safely in a chair, I took a deep breath and said, “I still can’t make much sense of the data my mind took from their network, but I have the distinct impression that they’re planning something major, something they believe will tip the balance of power in their favor.”

  Greymere took the pad and considered it for a moment, then set it aside. “I told Shea and Master Raquel about everything you shared with us.”

  Master Raquel was still in her armor, and she looked older. It was as if she’d aged quite a few years since I’d last seen her, which had been only the previous day. She looked tired, even exhausted. She was wearing the gray and purple battle armor which was the only clothing I had ever seen on her.

  “In order for the cyborgs to send a signal powerful enough to override Joan’s implants and your armor, they would have to be close by. They have no embassy here, nor do we know of any representatives of their nation on board,” sent Greymere. He had switched to telepathic channels on which no technology could eavesdrop.

  “You’re thinking that they must have drones nearby to operate the technology?” I sent.

  “Yes. Later, when you’re stronger, I’m hoping you can help us find them. I want to get our hands on whatever tech. they’re using so that we can counter it,” he sent.

  “Are you afraid they can overhear us?” I sent.

  “Our technology is far more secure than that of the Resden vessel you were on, but I’d be a fool to think the hospital’s security is impregnable.”

  “I’ll help however I can, but I’m afraid I won’t be much use. Cyborgs use wide-field multimodal transmission matrices, which makes it almost impossible to pinpoint a single node,” I sent.

  “True, but we’re in the business of the impossible,” sent Master Raquel.

  “Here, I have something you can work on that will help a lot,” sent Greymere as he directed me to a terminal. “This shows every transmission of any kind that took place around the time Joan found you. There is a second list with the same information around the time of Joan’s attack. Logically, somewhere in the intersection of those two lists is the signal that they used. Think you can find it?”

  New energy flowed through me as I looked at the data on the screen. It was a disorganized mess, but in that mess was a weapon: knowledge that I could use to fight back. I slid a chair over, pulled out my personal datapad and sent, “If it’s in here, I’ll find it.”

  He smiled and returned to the map.

  This task would have seemed daunting to a primitive, but even if I was not a cyborg anymore I still thought like one. All I had to do was organize the data and compare the lists. Data in, process, data out; repeat. It was as simple as that.

  One by one I isolated a transmission, identified, cataloged and tagged it with a probability of it being the one I was looking for. It would take hours, perhaps days, to get through, but I would find that carrier signal. I would never be a puppet again; never.

  The hours melted away as I worked, as did the list of potential signals. It was simply a matter of time before I isolated the correct one. With my mind focused on the task, I could temporarily forget the sensation of the cyborgs in my mind. I was in control of this research; I was moving the data; I was calling the shots.

  A touch on my shoulder broke my concentration. I looked up at Greymere.

  “Time to call it a night and get some rest,” he said.

  My previous weariness returned and felt a thousand times worse. My bones ached and my back throbbed. Logging out and saving my work, I said, “I guess so.”

  When I rose and took my datapad, he said, “I think you should leave this with me.”

  “Why … oh, you think that if I take it I’ll work instead of rest.”

  “Won’t you?”

  I sighed and handed over the datapad. “You’re probably right.”

  “More than probably. Go get some rest, and don’t make me call Joan.”

  “No, please don’t let her know I was here,” I said, heading back to my quarters.

  As I walked, my words came back to me. Don’t let her know I was here. Why did I say that? Why had Greymere felt that telling Joan was the ultimate threat? There was something more here, another layer to my relationship with Joan; something beyond what could be taught in training manuals and briefing documents. What was it? Deep down inside, I thought I knew exactly what it was, but the knowledge had not yet made its way to my conscious thoughts.

  When I opened the door to my quarters, I was greeted by the aroma of food. I stood there for a moment, trying to understand what I was smelling. Following the smell into the kitchen area, I found Joan cooking. Warmth passed through me when I saw her, along with a feeling I couldn’t quite place. Relief? Comfort? No, neither term was quite right. Joy? That came closer.

  “So last night when you said you needed access to m
y room in case of an emergency, this is what you had in mind?” I asked.

  “Pretty much,” she said with a sly smile and a wink. “Do you think I don’t know that you went to work today and probably had to be kicked out and ordered to go home?”

  So much for keeping the information from her. For me, this relationship was still new and developing, but she had accompanied me through several lifetimes. She probably knew me better than I would ever know myself.

  “Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re here. How can I help?” I asked.

  When the meal set, she asked, “Today I mostly slept, then came here to cook for us. What did you do today?”

  “Oh, that’s not fair,” I remarked.

  “Sure, it is, now ’fess up.”

  There was something about her voice that I could just listen to all day long, but it seemed she wanted to hear mine too. “Well, it wasn’t very exciting. I’m just working on cataloging and organizing data. They felt that would be a good compromise, since they guessed rightly I was getting no rest sitting at home.”

  “Why not?”

  “Nightmares,” I blurted out before I could stop myself. I had told no one about them, not even Shea, though I suspected she knew. Somehow Joan had drawn it out of me without even trying.

  “What about?”

  “Nothing. Sorry, forget I mentioned them.”

  “Not going to happen, so you might as well keep talking,” she said.

  I shook my head. “Not really sure I can talk about them.”

  She reached out and took my hand in hers. Her skin was soft and warm against mine. A slight tingle went up my arm as she held it. “Ly, you can tell me anything. I have been there with you and back again.”

  “I know, I know.” I looked down at my food to avoid her eyes: eyes that would command me to speak and that I could not disobey; eyes that cared, eyes that wanted to help. I had never really seen her eyes before, but they had always been watching me. “I’m just so tired, Joan, so very tired. I feel it right through to my bones.”

  Silence descended between us for a while. I wanted to say more but didn’t know where to start. Did she have nightmares too? Was that a question I could ask? I found pain in the topic of my time as a cyborg, and didn’t want to cause her the same pain by asking her to revisit those memories. Maybe some healing could be reached by reliving them together, or would it make things worse? Would it drive her away or bring her closer?

  When it was time for her to leave for work, I looked into her eyes and said, “Thank you for waiting for me.”

  She smiled. “Bring me with you next time you see Priestess Shea. I want to know how I can help you.”

  “I’m not sure if I can, but I’ll ask.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about her request. There was something growing between Joan and myself, something I didn’t fully understand but definitely wanted to keep. It brought me comfort in the long lonely nights, and her smile was like a cool drink on a hot summer day. It was the dessert for which you skipped dinner. It was the wind that bore the fragrance of sweet flowers. Her smiled could banish darkness and summon light, even on the dreariest day.

  Would it help or hurt our relationship if I brought her to my meeting with the priestess? How could I tell? Anyway, now that she had asked to accompany me I would have to talk to Master Raquel about it. I had no doubt that if I tried to stall, Joan would contact Master Raquel herself.

  57

  05-16-0067 — Lyshell

  My alarm woke me from another bad dream. This time I was a marionette and the cyborgs were pulling my strings. They moved me from place to place doing extremely mundane things, making sure I failed at each one in some way that caused people to get hurt. I fought with all my strength to change things, but I couldn’t break free. It had seemed so real that, when I woke, I had to check my arms to make sure there were no ropes or chains attached to them.

  I was at once grateful for the alarm, and yet desperate to hit the snooze button and go back to sleep. I had started to sleep well again until this last brush with the cyborgs. I knew the only peace I could find would be by working to find that carrier signal and turn it into a weapon.

  As the cobwebs of sleep slowly cleared from my mind, I remembered why I had set the alarm to go off so early. Energy flowed into me as I remembered my plans for the morning. I had big plans and a tight schedule to keep; no time for lying around hitting the snooze button.

  Rushing through my morning routine, I called up instructions on the room terminal. I’d never had to do this kind of thing before, but I could read and follow directions. There was nothing to prevent me from doing this.

  I had stayed up much too late working things out, but I had a solid plan and was confident I could pull it off. It was important that everything was perfect, and I followed every direction to the utmost level of precision that my sleep-deprived mind could accomplish.

  Another alarm went off. That was my fifteen-minute warning, and I had just finished all the prep work necessary. Good; right on schedule. As I had assumed, the station’s library had all the information I’d needed. I found myself humming as I worked without knowing why; I couldn’t place the tune, but it just seemed right.

  Another alarm went off, my five-minute warning: the last one. Joy and anticipation flowed through me like a mountain stream, along with a current of nervousness. What if I’d guessed wrong? What if I messed up, despite following every direction down to the smallest detail?

  Then you carry on and try again.

  As a soldier who had fought in many battles, I knew that plans mainly served as something to talk about before the battle, since they never seemed to survive the first engagement with the enemy. However important the battle, plans failed; you just had to carry on as best you could. The time for second thoughts had long since passed.

  There was a lightness in my heart when I heard the slight swoosh as the door opened. Right on time, Joan took a step into the apartment and paused as she saw me in the kitchen frying up the last of the bacon. Her eyes were wide, and she stood motionless with her mouth open.

  “What? Did you think I didn’t know you planned to sneak in here early and cook a good breakfast before I ignored all good sense and went to work?”

  She burst out laughing. Her merriment was contagious, and I felt my tension melt away. It no longer mattered if the food came out right; I had already won her smile.

  Joan came the rest of the way into the apartment and looked around. Still smiling, she gestured at the terminal, which was currently displaying cooking instructions for bacon, including a flashing arrow that indicated the stage I had reached.

  She gestured to the terminal. “So you can follow orders from a computer, but not your doctor’s orders to rest?” Her words were accusatory, but there was a smile on her face and a light in her eyes.

  “Sure, but keep in mind the terminal only tells me what I want it to tell me.”

  When we were both seated at the table I said, “I slept for a while, then got up and made this meal. What did you do today?”

  “Oh, you’re right; that’s not fair,” she said.

  I smiled. “I hope everything is to your liking?”

  “It’s amazing. I know you’ve never cooked anything like this before. I know that up here,” she said, pointing to her head. Then she rubbed her stomach and said, “But down here it says you’ve been living a secret life I didn’t know about, where you’re a master chef.”

  The terminal, which I could see over her shoulder, was flashing a red arrow and helpfully pointing to the last direction: ‘Serve hot and enjoy.’

  “Thanks. I can follow directions like no other,” I said with a smile. ‘Enjoy’ was definitely a direction I could follow in her company.

  “When it suits you.”

  “I guess that finally makes me human?” That was the one liberty I hadn’t had as a cyborg, the one thing that I hadn’t even known I lacked until I had it: the freedom to choose which orders to follow. There were con
sequences to every action, but I could choose which action to take; it was that element of choice that made all the difference.

  She looked at me. Her eyes were soft and a little moist. “Yes, I think it does.”

  As we ate, she told me a little about her overnight nursing shift. It seemed to have been a fairly standard night. Everyone had asked after me, especially Emily. They all knew about Joan’s incident, so she had told them how I had had a similar experience. That bothered me at first, but she pointed out that it just was because than everyone was worried about me and wanted to make sure I was alright.

  “Emily suggested that I take a few days off to, um, comfort you while you recover,” she said, blushing a little.

  I suspected that Emily’s idea of comfort would be very enjoyable, but I wasn’t ready for that yet. I was still trying to figure out who I was and where my relationship with Joan was going. “Someday I will have to meet Emily. Does she like chocolate? I should definitely bring her some.”

  “Oh?”

  “She’s been so good to you, to us both, and her restaurant recommendation was excellent. Next time, though, we must give her a price range.”

  Joan yawned and looked at the clock. “What time does your shift start?”

  “Oh, I forgot to ask. Whenever I arrive, I suppose.”

  “That too is very human of you,” she pointed out. “What time did it start on your first day?”

  “About an hour ago, but I don’t think that was set in stone,” I replied.

  “I suggest you find out today,” she said.

  I nodded and started tidying up. “Send me your hours and I’ll request that mine line up with yours, so we can do this again.”

  “I can switch to days. I have some limited seniority now and have proven myself capable, so they would work with me,” she offered.

  “No. We both know what my life is like. I could be gone for weeks or months at a time, and you prefer the night shift.”