“Private Ragnon,” Eugen ordered, “start the live feed back to the Vega.”
Right, time to get this chook plucked.
She scrambled up onto the couch and leaned back onto the metal plating. Dexter hissed and snapped at straps as they snaked from hidden orifices. They embraced her like an obscene lover and clamped her to the bench. One pulled tight across her brow, immobilizing her head. A cold, snub-ended probe prodded the base of her skull. The metal pressed against her skin, pushed deep, then punctured through the resistance to sink into her flesh. She sought the comfort of Eugen’s gaze. A mask of absolute horror contorted his features, and she offered him a wan smile.
Then the pain began.
Mhartak watched with utter loathing and disgust as the probe penetrated Sandrea’s body. Her brave smile twisted his heart; the groan of extreme pain wrenched from her body almost destroyed him.
“It’s working, Sir.” Admiration and concern mingled in Private Kiresel’s words.
The comm hissed, then Councillor Darlnron’s querulous voice seemed to pound maliciously through Mhartak’s head. “What is working, General?”
Distaste compressed Mhartak’s lips that the arrogant gan wouldn’t condescend to address a private. He forced his gaze from Sandrea to the monitors and his hand clenched as she vented another moan of torment. The screens displayed a number of Lagrangian points, all with complete coordinates and all within systems relatively close to Mrilala.
“Miss Fairbairn is linked with the machine and information is being accessed, Councillor.”
Her cry of pain sheared through his heart. He frowned at Drengel.
“Can’t you give her something for that?”
The doctor ran a scanner over Sandrea’s body. “It’s accessing her nervous system,” he replied in some amazement. “It appears to be retrieving stored information. That must be why the Bluthen wanted her alive and undamaged. A severe enough shock to her system would probably have corrupted the data.” Drengel closed his scanning instrument. “General, I am more than happy to administer an analgesic, but I must warn you the information retrieval will be disrupted. As that is the only reason she’s in there . . . perhaps . . .perhaps if you hold her hand.”
“That will help?” Mhartak doubted any such simple action would prove beneficial, but he’d try anything to alleviate Sandrea’s pain.
“Although I am not fully acquainted with the workings of the human body, I understand enough of the nervous system to know that the chemicals released by good emotions will, to some extent, counteract the pain.”
Deep, scoring grief and anger slashed at Mhartak. To be forced to watch his loved one endure such dreadful distress cut him to the core of his soul. He folded a hand around one of Sandrea’s.
“Send her your love, Dexter,” he ordered in an undertone to the lizard now wrapped around her forearm.
Drengel scanned Sandrea’s body again, a slow nod expressing his satisfaction.
“Her heart beat is slowing, General, the rhythm becoming more regular.”
“General.” The hysteria tingeing Darlnron’s voice grated on Mhartak’s nerves and he seriously considered cutting the feed. “What is that?”
Mhartak forced his focus to an image that appeared on a screen. A comet tumbled through space, its twin tails of dust and solar-wind-created ions sparkling in sunlight.
What has a comet to do with satellites hidden in Lagrangian points?
The image receded to reveal the sun the comet orbited and its associated planetary system.
“That’s the Mrilalan system, General,” Ragnon identified. “This is a real time stream. That must be Algenar’s Comet.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “But what’s the connection? The comet’s orbit is too far—”
“Dear g’Nel,” Darlnron almost screamed, “their plan is to send the comet into Mrilala!”
Mhartak sighed. “I really must insist you to keep such ludicrous comments to yourself, Councillor. Such contributions are not helpful.”
Private Ragnon shook his head. “No, Councillor, any explosion large enough to alter the comet’s course into Mrilala would shatter the comet into insignificant pieces. The resulting fragments would not cause severe damage to the planet as friction with the atmosphere would heat most of them into gas.” He shrugged. “It’d be a great show, but that’s all.”
“What is the principal element of that comet, Private?” Mhartak asked.
“Creosettica, Sir.”
“Speculation?”
Ragnon’s head tilted to one side. “I cannot see how the Bluthen would benefit by bombarding our planet with creosettica meteors, Sir.”
Frustration clamped Mhartak’s lips together.
What is the link between this comet and the hidden satellites?
Sandrea’s hand trembled in his. She moaned, and he suffered the torment of the damned. His love for her raged at him to remove her from that hells-begotten machine now. But he knew that short-term solution would solve nothing. The Council’s willingness to compromise their principles had forced her compliance. To protect her, he needed to expedite this matter.
He leaned close to her side and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Disgust at the need to push her further, force additional torment on her, gutted his self-respect.
“Sandrea, my heart, if you can hear me, we need to determine the nature of the satellites in the Lagrangian points.”
One of the satellites magnified on a monitor accompanied by a few rows of Bluthen language characters. Private Ragnon’s eye ridges rose.
“That’s an explosive device fitted with a radio detonator.” He studied the readout. “Actually, General, it’s a composite. The device will split into three.” He paused and read further. “This indicates it has already been deployed and embedded in the comet. The strategic positioning and blast capacity will veer the shattered comet to Mrilala.” He shrugged. “But still, I don’t get it.”
“Patience, Private, and watch,” Mhartak advised.
A jumbled stream of incomprehensible symbols crossed the monitor then resolved to show a cargo of compressed gas in the remaining five satellites. Private Ragnon’s gasp of horrified understanding rasped across the quiet.
“Report,” Mhartak demanded.
The private swallowed and drew himself to attention as though drawing on his military training for support.
“That gas is an isotope of neon, Sir. When combined with creosettica in its gaseous phase, it forms an extremely unstable substance.”
Mhartak regarded him for a moment. “And?”
“The panel indicates that the gas has been deployed to the comet.”
“Then we are to assume the Bluthen plan is to transmit a detonation sequence to the embedded explosives on the comet, upon which they have already seeded this gas. The explosion will not only rupture the comet but also realign its course toward Mrilala. As the meteors plummet through our atmosphere they will transform into gas and merge with the isotope. Friction with the atmosphere will ignite the mingled gases. The result?”
“Based on the amount of isotope, more than half our ozone will burn away.”
Crippled by agony, Sandrea wandered lost in the occupied territory of her own mind. Ghosts of Bluthen directives dominated her control. They busied themselves manipulating her cerebral cortex to process information, hauling it in and rerouting it along established paths. Sidelined as a spectator, filled with horrified outrage, she struggled to concentrate past the excruciating pain in an attempt to regain command.
Positive emotions of deep love and care filtered into the hell of her world. They rallied to her and formed a shell that partially countered the oppressive bands constricting her spirit. A voice requested specific information. Automatic responses learned from negative reinforcement kicked in and the requ
ired facts were selected and uploaded.
A scent that symbolized profound devotion infiltrated the murky swamp of pain that held her captive. It added strength to her battle and cleared her thinking. She invaded a set of neurons, forced them to her will, then dispatched a sequence of data.
Mhartak watched a schematic overlay the image of the comet entering his home world’s system. It displayed a false representation of the comet moving along a calculated path. At a particular point not yet reached by the comet, but disturbingly close, a flash simulated the detonation of explosives. The comet broke apart forming a loosely aligned mass of sizeable segments in significant numbers. Its trajectory propelled the fragments in a long string into Mrilala’s atmosphere. The animation returned to the beginning and began to flash red.
“Are our ships capable of destroying that many fragments?” Fear wobbled through Councillor Darlnron’s words.
Grim acknowledgement compressed Mhartak’s lips. An image of the people and creatures of his world dying of extreme radiation burned into his brain.
“We have the firepower, Councillor. Unfortunately with our ships scattered across innumerable sectors, we do not have the numbers close enough to be of benefit.”
But do we need them? The Bluthen wanted Sandrea in this machine for a reason. Was it to emit the detonation codes?
He swung on the doctor. “Remove her from the machine immediately.”
“Not so fast, General.”
Mhartak winced at the shrillness of Darlnron’s tone.
“We need to know more.”
Mhartak glared at Drengel. “Do it.”
The doctor stepped to a console and tapped a sequence on a panel. Nothing happened.
“Doctor?”
“The computer is not accepting my command, General. I’ll have to remove the probe myself.”
“With all speed, Doctor.”
“Doctor Drengel,” Darlnron shrieked, “ignore my orders and you will regret it.”
Drengel slid an instrument from a coat pocket and climbed up next to Sandrea.
Mhartak squeezed her hand. “We’ll have you out soon, my heart.”
A flash of white light sparked from the console above Sandrea’s head. Drengel gasped then pitched back to fall in a quivering heap on the floor. Dovzshak rushed to his side as the doctor lay moaning.
“Report!” Mhartak ordered.
“I’m not severely injured.” Drengel’s voice shuddered. “The electric spark was attracted to the tool I was holding and fortunately I released it before the current exceeded the let-go threshold. But we aren’t going to get Sandrea released from the machine without first disarming that security device.”
Mhartak swung back to Sandrea, his mind racing through alternatives. He drew breath and leaned close to her.
“My love,” he whispered. “Tell me how I can halt this.”
The voice of her soul mate filtered into Sandrea’s awareness. The distress lacing it inflamed her anger. A detonation sequence rushed by, streaming toward the bio-net outlet. She hurtled after it, instinctively knew she couldn’t let it escape, but she struggled to gain ground on it. Two more moved up on her flank. She leapt on one, sank claws of determination into its matrix, and fought to halt its advance. A silent scream ripped through her mind as an outer force tried to tear the command from her body.
Every long nerve writhed with searing fire as she wrestled for dominance. Messages of love stormed her system and strengthened her resolve. Eugen’s plea echoed through her mind. Beneath her fierce will, the detonation command disintegrated into a thousand segments of disjointed code. She sprang after the other two.
Anger drove her forward and strengthened her attack. She spliced her thoughts with her quarry. Cracks appeared in the bonds of one command, then its source code ruptured.
She turned to the other, but it had escaped.
“This craft just emitted a signal, General,” Kiresel said.
“Did it penetrate the Vega’s dampening field?” Mhartak demanded.
Private Kiresel shook his head, then an expression of disbelief and dismay furrowed his brow.
“It . . . hells of fire, it’s tapping into the Vega’s communication systems, Sir.” He gasped. “I’m sorry, Sir, the signal has been sent.”
Mhartak’s gaze flashed to the monitor displaying the comet. A bright, white flare bloomed on the comet’s surface. For a moment nothing changed, then sizeable fragments began to drift from the body of the comet. They remained huddled together in tight formation, close to, but not touching the nucleus.
“Shoot her,” Darlnron snarled.
“General?” Uncertainty vibrated through Private Kiresel’s tone and brought Mhartak’s attention to a symbol flashing on a monitor.
It was a Bluthen ‘task complete’ glyph.
Fear gripped his heart in a bruising vice. Was it Sandrea or an automated response of the machine? There were still two detonation signals unaccounted for. He swung to her, then traced his fingers down the side of her face and stared into her closed eyes as though to penetrate her mind and find the answer his soul cried for.
“Shoot her now, General!” Darlnron’s screech echoed through the cabin.
Fear swelled in Mhartak’s throat and his hand shook over his weapon.
Sandrea’s eyes snapped open. Extreme pain haunted their depths. He hunted through her eyes, searching for a sign of awareness, of confirmation this was her doing.
“The comet is nearing the Critical Point of Decision, General. Thirty seconds.”
Once past the CPD, even if the explosives were detonated, the comet would not fall into his planet’s gravitation influence. Sandrea was the key. The explosives awaited a radio signal to ignite. Could he trust her to be strong enough not to send those signals?
“General, terminate the threat immediately!”
Mhartak knew he could not afford to wait until the CPD passed. If the machine sent signals at the last moment, there would be no way he, or anyone else, could stop it. He knew in his heart if he were forced to kill Sandrea, he’d hunt down every last Council member and murder them.
“General! I’m giving you a direct order. She’s already issued one radio command. Terminate the threat to our planet immediately!”
“Ten seconds.”
“General, do your duty!” Darlnron hollered.
Give me a sign, my love.
His heart shuddered. Fear the likes of which he’d never known crawled through his gut. Tears gathered like cold, condemning spears in his eyes.
My love, please.
He pulled his handgun from its holster.
“What does that mean?”
Private Kiresel’s soft query crashed into the horror of his mind.
His head snapped to the nearest monitor.
ILYL
“Shoot her!”
He stared. Relief washed the strength from his muscles and left him trembling from head to toe. He locked his knees and leaned to place a tender kiss to Sandrea’s lips. Liquid trickled from his eyes and ran over the sensitive skin of his cheek and jaw.
He stepped back. A tremor of pride softened his lips.
“Critical Point passed, General,” Private Kiresel reported, evident relief cast in his tone. “Mrilala is free from the threat.”
Thank g’Nel. And thank you, my one and only.
“General,” Darlnron’s outraged voice bellowed, “consider yourself under susp—”
A hissing noise filled the cabin.
“My apologies, General,” Kiresel murmured, “we appear to have lost communication with the Councillor.”
“Thank you, Private. Get her out of this thing, Doctor.”
“No, wait.”
Sandrea’s whispered words h
alted him more effectively than a point-blank blast from an ion wave gun.
“Sandrea?”
Her eyes begged his patience and then her lids lowered.
What has she discovered of such significance that could entice her to extend the connection with that abominable machine?
Sandrea swarmed toward the computer link, chasing down a directive marked ‘Detention Centre’. An ocean of information surged toward her. With single-minded focus she battled her way through the overwhelming influx of data and hunted the fleeing directive to its source file. Horrified at what she discovered she pulled out of the mainframe and disengaged from the bio-interface. The damn probe embedded in her nape hurt almost as much being extracted as it had penetrating.
“A detonation command got away from me,” she gasped. “What happened?”
Eugen spun toward her. His arms lifted, wrapping her in a protective embrace and helping her to the floor.
“Nothing to worry about,” he soothed.
She fell into his hold and clung to his security. Not that she needed to. Eugen enfolded her as though his every intention was to shelter her there for the rest of their lives. Something she didn’t have a problem with. She breathed deep and his scent wound into her senses and eased the aching turmoil of her mind.
“I have a headache like you wouldn’t believe,” she said.
Dexter scampered up her arm and clung to her neck, stroking his head against the underside of her chin.
“I’m fine, little one. I’m fine.”
The soft, musical twitter of Drengel’s medical scanner tripped a gentle cascade into her ears, then he pressed a painless injection into her neck.
“Thanks, Doc.” She pulled in another deep, steadying breath. “Eugen, this craft was programmed to return to that planet”—she managed a feeble nod toward a monitor where a dotted line described a path on a star map toward the frontier of Bluthen space—“on completion of the mission. We need to go there—with well-armed company.”
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