by EJ Fisch
Ziva immediately opted to search for Aroska first, hoping that he would be in better shape than Tate and therefore more able to back her up during any form of escape attempt. She came to a stairwell that would take her up to the floor that the two of them had come in on and listened. Finally her ears picked up the sound of faint Sardon voices. Carefully, she began to climb, silently placing one foot in front of the other until she reached the landing. The voices were at the top of the stairs and to her left, at the place where she and Aroska had split up as far as she could tell. Yes, she remembered passing this stairwell – the examination room where they’d smelled the cha’sen would be to her right.
She stopped at the top of the stairs and stole a peek out into the corridor. There were four guards, all apparently full-blooded Sardons, standing at the T-intersection and equipped with rifles and headsets. As she watched, one of them signaled for silence and listened to his earpiece. Simultaneously, they all turned toward her hiding place, sending a violent tingle down her spine. She held fast however and didn’t move – they’d showed no signs of actually seeing her. They were listening too. Whoever was on the opposite end of that transmission was talking about this very stairwell. Is there some way they could know…?
A faint hum suddenly reached Ziva’s ears and she turned her attention away from the guards to find a small surveillance bot hovering at eye level about two meters away. She froze and it froze, its lens moving delicately in and out as it focused. The camera was no doubt transmitting her image directly to Bothum or whoever was controlling the guards, who were now on the move.
Ziva raised her stolen rifle and blasted the tiny bot back against the wall before leaping down to the landing. More shouts came from the bottom of the stairs as another squad of guards quickly approached.
“Skeet!” she shouted in Haphezian through her earpiece, hoping the Sardons wouldn’t understand. She turned back up the stairs and darted down the hall to her right just as the two squads collided in a confused jumble at the top of the stairwell. “I’ve been made. Go! Just get out, do you hear me? Advise Adin—”
Something small and sharp latched onto the back of her left thigh, clinging to her flesh with the most violent pinch she’d ever felt. A second barb attached itself to her other leg and she fell, finding herself at the end of the long cables connected to the weapons from which they had been fired.
“Go Skeet!” Ziva screamed again, crawling on her hands and knees as an electric current began pulsing into her legs. She felt her whole body cramp up and collapsed onto her stomach, clawing at the slippery floor with sweaty hands as she was slowly dragged backwards.
She rolled onto her back, tangling the thick cables around her legs. The guards were reeling her in with their hands now, and those not pulling had plasma pistols aimed for her. Taking advantage of the last few seconds before they grabbed her, Ziva ripped her earpiece out and slammed it as hard a she could against the cold floor, successfully destroying it and any way they would be able to trace Skeet’s location if they tried.
Several sets of rough hands hauled her to her feet and the barbs were torn out of her skin with a grotesque ripping sound. Ziva immediately felt the blood soaking through her clothes. Her legs felt weak and wobbly, though they were no longer being pumped full of electricity.
Cuffs connected by a thin but sturdy chain were slapped over Ziva’s wrists and two different guards wrenched her arms back and held them securely. Another took hold of her hair and pulled her head back, forcing her to look up as a tall Sardon man emerged from another hallway and began moving toward them, wearing a smug grin.
“Easy, men,” he said smoothly. “Don’t damage her. We need her in prime condition.”
Bothum. Ziva yanked at her captors’ firm grips, but they only tightened their hold. She watched as the man picked up the rifle she’d dropped and removed the power cell, checking its charge level it before fitting it back into the weapon. “Agent Payvan,” he chuckled. “I was beginning to wonder if I would ever have the pleasure of meeting you in person. I’m glad I didn’t have to kill you first.”
Ziva said nothing. She watched him, tried to move her head. He was tall for a Sardon, nearly her height, but was still slender and wiry like the creatures typically were. She could feel the guards holding her tense up in his presence, though he didn’t seem nearly as threatening as she’d imagined.
Bothum held the rifle out to Ziva’s head with one arm, his bicep bulging. With the barrel he gently tipped her chin back further than it already was and ran his eyes from her forehead down to her feet, then back up again. “I must tell you what a delight it was when I first heard that you might be paying me a visit,” he said. “You are a fine specimen indeed.” His reptilian eyes lingered on her for a few seconds more, and then he pivoted and beckoned. “Gentlemen, please escort Agent Payvan to my office.”
He turned and strode down the hall and the guards gave Ziva a rough shove, urging her forward. She went without trouble, curious as to whether she could gain any information, or better yet, find Aroska and the governor. If Adin had called in the military exactly when Skeet had instructed him to, she would have approximately twenty minutes to get out again. It would be enough time – it would have to be.
A short walk through the facility brought the group back past the balcony where Ziva had encountered the first hybrid captain. The vast floor below was empty again with the exception of the drill instructor and the large presentation screen. Bothum led them around the corner from which the cross-bred captain had come and the hallway opened up into a foyer that served as a lounge for the medical staff. Several rooms branched off of it, one of which Bothum opened.
The office was already illuminated and two more armed guards turned to look when they walked in. With a wave of Bothum’s hand they parted, revealing a male human bound to the seat that belonged at Bothum’s desk. He made eye contact with Ziva when he saw her and ran his tongue over his dry, bloodstained lips. A stream of red dribbled from his slightly displaced nose. One eye was nearly swollen shut, and splotches of purple and blue bruising covered the left side of his face.
“You shouldn’t have come,” he muttered weakly.
Ziva’s eyes grew wide. The man’s face may have been nearly unrecognizable, but his clothes were unmistakable. This was Enrik Saiffe, still alive after two days.
The guards sat Ziva down in a chair opposite the governor, holding her hair back again to ensure that she maintained eye contact. Bothum patted Enrik firmly on the shoulder, still toting Ziva’s rifle in his other hand. “I told you I was a man of my word, Governor.”
“Look,” Saiffe said breathlessly, addressing Ziva, “I don’t know who exactly you are, but I want to thank you and your people for anything you’ve done to help me or my son. I’m sorry you had to be involved in—” He stopped and winced when the rifle was pressed against the back of his neck.
“That will be all, Governor. You see, Agent Payvan, I made a strict promise to my friend here that neither he nor his son would have to die until I had possession of both you and Agent Tarbic. I guess you could say that you’re the one who killed him just by coming here.” He leaned down over Enrik and moved the barrel of the rifle up to the back of his head. “Do you hear that, Governor? The deal is off now. Blame Agent Payvan for what’s about to happen to you.”
Ziva straightened in the chair and pulled her arms forward, but the chain held them fast. Enrik stared forward bravely, a sorrowful look visible in his eyes just before he closed them.
Bothum pulled the trigger.
-50-
Intrepid
Fringe space
The hologram of Colonel Sheen waited patiently on the Intrepid’s communication pad, patched into the conversation between Adin and Skeet. Just the sound of the sergeant’s voice took a sort of burden off Adin that he couldn’t describe. Jayden had been rescued and Jole and Tate had miraculously been found – that would sit well with the director. He listened to Skeet’s garbled voice over th
e comm system, trying to decide whether the remaining news would help or hinder the operation.
“My best guess is that she wanted me to tell you that we’ve still got people in there,” Skeet said after relaying Ziva’s final words. His voice echoed as though he were in a cave. “With the strong Haphezian presence we’ve discovered at this point, proceeding with a full-scale attack would cause massive collateral damage.”
That was the hard part. The easiest solution would be for Ziva to either apprehend or kill Bothum, therefore crippling Dakiti’s operations and allowing them to conduct a rescue on their own terms. Cut the head off the snake and the body dies, so to speak. According to Sheen, the capital hadn’t exactly given this mission a green light, but thankfully he and the men he’d assembled were all willing to take whatever heat resulted from saving their own people from such a sickening act. Adin’s own head was on the chopping block, and the last thing he wanted was to be responsible for causing another war between Haphez and Sardonis. In a sense, whether or not that happened was entirely dependent upon what Ziva accomplished in the next eighteen minutes.
“What do you propose we do, Skeet?” Adin asked, rubbing his eyes.
For a moment, the only reply was static and other unidentifiable sounds. Mari leaned over the control panel and checked the connection, signaling to Adin that they were still live.
Sheen’s hologram shifted in its place. “Awaiting your orders, Sergeant. Time is of the essence.”
“Proceed with the attack,” Skeet replied firmly. “If you can help it, refrain from utilizing destructive force until we’ve confirmed that Ziva, Tarbic, and any other survivors are out of there. Also, we’ll be needing support waiting at the south end of the sewer system. The coordinates are…”
-51-
Sublevels
Dakiti Medical Research Center
Sardonis
Saun stormed into the lounge, too worked up to care about the steadily increasing pain in her chest. Bothum had failed to inform her that he’d had Ziva Payvan in custody for nearly ten minutes. Her life depended on the fact that the two lieutenants had been secured, and she was not going to let him treat her like this after all the time and work she’d put in to ensure that his plans succeeded.
She burst past the two guards and into Bothum’s office. The Sardon was resting on the edge of his desk facing Payvan, who was sitting in a chair with the chain on her cuffs strung through the slats. Saun sent a malicious glare her way and then looked at Enrik Saiffe, who was slumped over in his own seat with a smoldering hole in the back of his head. So, Bothum had kept his “promise” to the governor but had yet to follow through on his agreement with her.
Flustered, Saun crossed her arms and swallowed, still tasting a little blood from her most recent coughing fit. “When are you going to hold up your end of the deal?” she demanded, stealing another glance at Payvan.
“Patience, Saun,” Bothum chided. “You’ll get your reward soon enough. The surgeons have orders to not make a move until I give the word, so you’d better behave yourself.”
If he told her to be patient one more time, Saun would kill him herself. He was a confusing man, Bothum. Why he hadn’t just done away with Saiffe and the boy in the first place, she would never understand.
“Have you started Lieutenant Tarbic’s harvest prep yet?” the Sardon questioned, examining his weapon.
“Yes,” Saun replied. “It’s taking awhile for the procedure to stabilize, but I’ve got a bot working on him now.” Her eyes once again wandered toward Payvan, and when she caught the woman in her sight she immediately felt an irrational combination of anger and jealousy welling up inside of her. “What is she doing here?” she finally muttered.
“Agent Payvan is keeping me company until one of the other two prep rooms becomes available. I must admit she’s not a very lively guest.”
When Saun looked at Ziva again, the lieutenant was staring back at her with her piercing red eyes. She began to sweat. There were mere hours left before one or both of her lungs collapsed, dooming her to a slow and painful death. She had no idea what Bothum was waiting for, but she thought she’d hurry it along.
“You’ve caused a lot of problems for me in the last couple of days,” Saun addressed Ziva, moving her hands down to rest on her hips. “You killed my men time after time, got me in trouble with my boss, and if it weren’t for you, I would be able to breathe right now.”
Payvan smirked and shook her head. “You’re the traitor, Saun,” she said quietly. “You’re the one who turned away from everything you know and love, and for what? I know you’re sick. I saw your clone, the one whose only purpose in its short, miserable life is to provide you with a new set of lungs. You came here because you thought you could live, but you’ve had to know all along that you’re just going to die. Either we’ll kill you for treason, or they will because they don’t need you anymore.”
Saun wasn’t buying it. She knew exactly what Payvan was doing, trying to pit her and Bothum against each other by making him sound like the enemy. He was the one saving her life here. She’d come too far and done too many things she regretted to let anyone tell her otherwise.
“You’re wrong,” Saun replied. “They’re taking better care of me here than any of you people ever could.”
“You and I both know that isn’t true,” Payvan retorted, struggling against her restraints. “I never knew you Saun, but it sounds to me like there were a lot of people who trusted you. Think of Aroska. It’s clear to me how much he cared about you, and you turned around and broke his heart. Now you’re going to kill him.”
Saun felt burning tears building up in her eyes. “Shouka!” she screamed, drawing her pistol and taking aim for that mouth that wouldn’t shut up. “You don’t know anything!”
A sizzling white bolt suddenly came from Bothum’s direction, striking the gun and throwing it from Saun’s grip. She lowered her head obediently and shrank away from Ziva, aware that her hands were shaking. Such an emotional outburst had been a mistake. If Payvan was right about Bothum’s true intentions in any way, behavior like this would cause him to lose faith in her all the more quickly.
Without looking up, Saun could feel penetrating stares coming from both Bothum and Payvan. Each of them was waiting for her to make some form of decision, but the Sardon had the gun, making the choice easy. Saun submissively raked the loose hair from her face and recovered her pistol, though it had probably been rendered useless. “My apologies,” she murmured.
-52-
Sublevels
Dakiti Medical Research Center
Sardonis
Bothum’s personal office was neat and uncluttered, and everything in it had a cold, metallic look to it. His desktop was nearly empty, occupied only by his keyboard, comm system, and a deactivated data pad. Information flowed steadily across his transparent viewscreen, though he didn’t seem to be paying it any mind. The only wall coverings were a good-sized monitor, no doubt for video conferencing, and a large window behind the desk that looked down over the training floor. Against the far wall were a floor-to-ceiling safe, a shelf with more data pads arranged in alphabetical order, and a small wet bar. The chairs in which Ziva and the governor’s corpse were seated made up the rest of the room’s furnishings.
The chain on the cuffs was long enough that she could still move her arms a bit, albeit not far enough to grab onto anything or defend herself. Her legs, on the other hand, had been allowed to remain free, an interesting choice on Bothum’s part. He needed her alive and well if she was going to undergo this “harvesting” process, so surely he wouldn’t actually kill her if she tried anything. However, something told her that Saun would be delighted to put her down if she even looked like she was going to move, so she settled for staying still at least until the woman was otherwise occupied.
It was obvious that Ziva had struck a chord somewhere in Saun’s mind, judging by the sudden aggression incited by the mention of Aroska’s name. This was a broken individ
ual who had been manipulated and brainwashed to the point that she had no perception of how conflicted she even was. She was exactly the type of person that Bothum would not hesitate to kill when he had no further use for her.
The two of them were standing by the window now, watching a new batch of troops in session and discussing various matters regarding the medical center. Saun had settled down considerably, though she still stole occasional, spiteful glances in Ziva’s direction. Ziva couldn’t quite bring herself to feel sorry for her. While it was true that there was nothing left for her in this place, convincing her of that would be next to impossible. She was most likely going to die, and it would be her own fault.
Keeping an eye on her captors, Ziva fiddled with the chain behind her back, running her fingers over the slats on the chair. While the seat and the arm rests were made of some form of metal, the back was fashioned out of a sturdy plastic. With enough force she would probably be able to shatter it, or at least break the two center slats through which the chain was strung. She turned and checked the distance between herself and the wall. The chair was somewhat bulky and awkward, but with a running start, smashing it against the wall would most likely work. Time was running out, though. The military would be arriving any minute and she still needed to devise some sort of distraction for Saun.
“So tell me, which one of you is paying for the damage to my house?” Ziva called.
Both Bothum and Saun turned quickly, startled by the sound of her voice. The Sardon stared at her for a moment, processing the strange question, then he smirked, flashing his disgusting yellow teeth. “What are you doing, Payvan?”