Scorpions (Star Runners Book 4)

by L. E. Thomas

  “Never.”

  Rampa leaned back and placed his hand over hers. “It has taken us a great deal of effort, but we know who you are. We cross-referenced what you have told us with our other moles and have identified you.”

  She swallowed. “I don’t care.”

  “Sure you do, Ryker.” He smiled. “Sure you do.”

  Her mind raced. Through a fog in her mind, she remembered the Zahlian agents who had hacked into the Legion systems. Commander Horace had wondered how effective the hack had been and shut down the communications onboard the carrier. It appears his caution had been justified.

  Rampa leaned back, an expression of comfort washing over his face as if he sat in a bar about to enjoy a drink with a friend. “Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think we would get a Star Runner of your caliber to join us for our first program. It is the reason I have been so patient with you thus far. Do you realize what a difference you could make in the universe as a Zahlian Interceptor pilot? You could literally change the course of history.”

  She closed her eyes and shook her head. “By conquering other worlds? By destroying lives and taking prisoners?”

  “By liberating other worlds from their own primitive, barbaric governments. By giving them all the advanced civilization and luxuries of our Empire.” Rampa shook his head. “You know better than that, Ryker. We advance people’s lives. We don’t destroy them any more than they destroy themselves. Once they accept our control—as you soon will—they will see we bring them a better life of peace and tranquility than they would have never known otherwise.”

  She snorted. “You like hearing yourself talk, don’t you?”

  He folded his arms over his chest. “Today will be a special day. While relations between the Empire and the extremists you call a Legion have improved since the fool Tulin was defeated, my government would like to accelerate our program for the impending war undoubtedly on the horizon. You, Ryker, will be one of the first. But, as I said, I am growing impatient. I will not waste any more time with you. We have too much to do. Today will be the last day.” He paused, staring at her for a moment. “Do you submit to the Zahlian Empire?”

  Ryker pursed her lips. Somehow, she knew whatever she said next would determine the rest of her life. She swallowed, thinking of her years of service with the Legion and the life she had expected to have with Austin. She thought of years of being together, living out each day with one another as if nothing else mattered. Nothing else did matter …

  She shook her head and stared at Rampa’s ice-like eyes. “I will not. You will have to kill me.”

  Rampa sighed. “I won’t kill you.” He stood and leaned over her. “But you will wish you were dead.”

  Fire surged onto her skin. Waves of electricity sizzled through her body as it writhed. Time stretched as the pain intensified. She couldn’t hold it anymore, her will to resist ripping away. Acid rolled in her stomach. Words blurred in her mind. She wanted to say anything—anything to make the pain stop. She lost control, her consciousness slipping through time and space. A voice cried out.

  “Submit! S-S-Submit!”

  Was it hers? Was she saying the words Rampa wanted to hear?

  No, she thought. No!

  Clenching her teeth, she screamed without opening her mouth as the torture continued.

  Suddenly, realization fell over her like a warm blanket.

  She couldn’t do it anymore. She had to give up.

  I’m so sorry, Austin. I’m so sorry.

  “Please stop!” she heard herself yell. “I submit! I’ll do it! Whatever … you want. Please stop.”

  The pain ceased, and her body relaxed on the gurney. She relished in the absence of pain as she caught her breath. Leaning back into the sheets soaked with sweat, she finally opened her eyes.

  Rampa stood over her, his gloved hand rubbed the top of her matted hair.

  “Good, Ryker,” he whispered. “You did well.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Ryker Zyan tightened the flap over the crimson boots, felt the fabric grip her feet. Taking a deep breath, she stood and pulled the gloves down on her fingers. She made a fist and swallowed.

  Her thoughts drifted toward dread, her hatred of the Zahl Empire and all they stood for in this galaxy. As she thought of the joy it would bring her to cause pain to Captain Rufino Rampa—to torture him as he had done to her for months—the tingling threat of pain sizzled in the back of her mind. Discomfort would soon lead to nausea before it would transition into full-fledged torture. All thanks to the implant Rampa had placed in her brain.

  Think positive.

  Reaching down, she grabbed her red flight tablet and the Zahlian helmet. Turning toward the mirror—

  She jolted back and closed her eyes.

  Sighing, she looked and studied the reflection in the mirror. Her once tan, healthy skin had grown pale, her body gaunt. It had been a month since Rampa had transferred her from the cell to guarded quarters in a different part of the compound and she still wasn’t accustomed to seeing herself in the mirror. If she hadn’t known better, she would have believed the reflection was a hallucination of sorts.

  Stepping closer, she leaned toward the mirror and stared into her sunken eyes. Dark skin, almost bruised, seeped under her eye sockets like dried ink. Bringing her fingers to her cheek, she pulled her skin down and stared into the redness of her eyes. She shook her hair and slid her dry tongue across the roof of her mouth. The helmet felt heavy in her right hand, her strength returning but still far short of her peak.

  But Rampa said she didn’t need to be in top physical shape to fly simulations, which was all she had been doing for the past month. Simulations to cover basic flight in a Zahlian Interceptor. Simulations to include landing procedures on a Zahlian All-purpose Response Cruiser. Simulations to incorporate proper communications between Zahlian forces. It never ended.

  At the beginning of her new training regime, she spent her time in the simulations searching for a means of escape or find a way to kill or incapacitate her captors. Every Legion officer she ever knew had drilled into her head the importance of finding a way out of captivity. It was one of the reasons every new recruit went through the Gauntlet during the beginning of their training. Every time she thought of escaping, however, the implant in her brain caused her to vomit until she hunched over in the simulation cockpit.

  Progress came in slow spurts.

  In the past week, she’d felt more confident in the Interceptor. The fighter’s controls shared a great deal with the Trident. Muscle memory helped with the training as some of the controls were in the same location in the cockpit. During her simulations, she found it surprising how maneuverable the Interceptor could be in a scrap. When she got back to the Legion, she would pass on this—

  The pain shot through her body like a sharp, electric shock.

  She shook her head, placing her hand over her mouth. The enemy was literally in her head. Her face crumpled. A tear fell, sliding down her face as the reality of her situation fell over her.

  There would be no escape.

  It was time to go. Rampa waited.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned from the mirror and marched toward the exit of the locker room. Two Marine guards, both wearing their crimson armor with tinted faceplates on their helmets and holding rifles over their chests, flanked the locker room hatch. She stopped, her instinct telling her the enemy was staring at her. Pressing her lips together, she continued forward and nodded at the Marines. As she passed through the hatch, the Marines turned to follow her down the dark corridor.

  “Button up!”

  Ryker stopped in the corridor, staring at Rampa standing near the hatch the Marines were escorting her towards. A man in a crimson uniform with dark stripes over the shoulder stood beside Rampa, his brow lowered.

  She swallowed. “Sir?”

  He pointed toward her flight suit. “You are not fastened above your right breast. That’s against regulations.”

&nbs
p; Glancing down, she saw she had not fastened one of the shiny black buttons. While the Legion flight suit was practical and had little regarding pomp and circumstance, the Zahlian Navy required their pilots to wear an elaborate uniform over their flight suit. Two buttons on each side of the upper torso completed the ensemble.

  “My apologies, sir,” she said through her teeth.

  “Don’t let it happen again,” Rampa said, arching his chin. “You are going to be a Zahlian pilot and will be expected to present yourself as such at all times.”

  “Like hell,” the man standing next to him said with a snort.

  Rampa glared at him. “Something to add, Captain?”

  The man shook his head once. “Can we get this over with … sir?”

  Staring at the captain a moment longer, Rampa turned back to Ryker. “The others are waiting. Follow us.”

  Rampa marched through the hatch and made his way to the front of a cramped briefing room. Standing with his back against a black wall, Rampa raised his hands as Ryker entered the room.

  “We will begin immediately,” he said.

  The briefing room with maroon-colored side walls held two other pilots in identical red flight suits, leaving a dozen empty seats in the simple space. The two pilots glanced with bloodshot eyes in her direction as she moved to sit. Ryker offered a shallow nod and collapsed into the hard plastic seat.

  The captain stood next to Rampa at the front of the room. He scowled at Ryker for a moment before shifting his weight and directing his gaze over the heads of the pilots. She glanced at the insignia on his chest and wondered why a captain had attended this briefing. Unlike the Legion Navy, a captain in the Empire had the rank to command an entire vessel.

  “All right,” Rampa said, clasping his hands behind his back. “We have work to do and not a lot of time to do it.”

  The wall behind him began to glow a warm blue, reminding her of the Tizona uniform. A smile curved at the edge of her mouth. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, forcing back the memory.

  “You three are going to be the initial pilots for our top secret program,” Rampa said, allowing his eyes to fall on each of them for an instant. “From this moment forth, you will be known as Defectors. Each one of you will be assigned a number—a call sign.”

  He pointed at each of the other pilots, calling out numbers “one” and “two.”

  Lingering on Ryker, he pointed in her direction. “Since you were the last to join us, you are now ‘Defector Three.’” He smiled. “Forget all references you had to your previous names or call signs. They are irrelevant.”

  She stared down at her tablet. I’ll never forget.

  A wave of nausea rippled through her stomach, and she winced. Leaning over on her belly, she fought back the feeling of wanting to vomit on the floor. The implant seemed to grow more efficient with each rebellious thought. The discomfort passed, and she focused on Rampa.

  “Here,” he said, pointing back at the wall as it transitioned to a flat map of a star system, “is our destination. To be more precise, we will be joining a task force bound for the fourth world in the system. This system is located on the Frontier and our government, in all its wisdom, has decided the time has come to continue its expansion and welcome this world into our protective embrace. The locals call the world Tarrafa. After this operation, the world will be called NPT-six-two-three until the local population has been fully civilized, at which time a new name will be decided upon.”

  Ryker cringed at the word “civilized,” but fought back the urge to roll her eyes. Rampa presented himself as utterly devoted to the Empire, even using such benevolent language when describing the complete subjugation of an entire planet. She always knew the Empire expanded in other directions away from the Legion, conquering dark worlds with ease whenever their government decided it was necessary. Hundreds of thousands would die fighting for their independence, and entire cultures would vanish. As she listened to Rampa continue, she felt sick. She knew it wasn’t the implant causing the sensation.

  “This will be the first time the Defectors will have the opportunity to see action. In time, once you have proven yourselves, you will join a true squadron.” Rampa glanced at the captain. “I would like to introduce Captain Donhall Myer of the Enforcer. The three of you will be traveling to NPT-six-two-three on his vessel.”

  Myer took one step forward. “I have been ordered to allow the three of you … pilots to travel on board my ship. I’ve served in the Navy all my life. I know how to take an order.” He cast a sideways look at Rampa. “If Command wants me to transport lab rats for some kind of test, so be it.” Lowering his gaze to the pilots, he stepped forward and loomed over the seats. “If any of you so much as scuff the hangar deck with your dirty boots, I’ll put you up against a bulk head and execute you myself, or I’ll just toss you out an airlock and save the energy. You will stay in your Interceptors during transit to the operation. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” the Defectors mumbled in unison.

  Taking a step back, Myer looked at Rampa. “Is there anything else?”

  Rampa shook his head. “I can take it from here.”

  Myer nodded and stared back at the pilots. “I can’t take the stench of this Legion filth one second longer.”

  With one last scowl, he stormed out.

  “Now,” Rampa said as if nothing had happened, “the entire task force will initiate a blockade of the planet while the landing operation is carried out. We expect there to be some indigenous vessels which will attempt to escape, like insects fleeing an exterminator. This world has created some primitive intersystem ships to trade with the third planet from their star. They have no FTL capabilities. You three will be responsible for patrolling this sector—point one-zero-seven—along the northern pole. Questions?”

  Ryker felt her eyelids growing heavy. Fatigue shot through her, and all she wanted to do was sleep. She didn’t know if Rampa was crazy or stupid, but they would regret putting her behind the stick of an Interceptor. Anything she did might kill her, but it would be worth it if it hurt the Empire.

  “Before we travel to the Interceptors,” Rampa said as he folded his arms over his chest, “I think I need to make you aware of a few aspects of our Defector program. You are already aware of the pain your implants can cause. Well aware, I’m sure. Should you ignore your mission or even fly out of your mission parameters, the resulting pain will be quite severe.” His lips curled back over his teeth. His eyes widened as if he were attending a surprise party. “If you think you can go out of the implant’s range, it will fire off a flash that will liquefy organic matter in your skull.”

  Rampa placed his hands on his hips and paced the deck. “We have other measures in place to ensure your compliance. Your Interceptors do not have the ability to travel faster than light. Should you try to commit suicide and crash, the implant will detonate.” He paused in front of Ryker. “We have detailed files on your personal lives as well. Should any of you be successful in suicidal measures, your loved ones will suffer. We have ways of getting to them. Do not doubt our resolve.”

  Ryker shook her head. The situation was hopeless. The reality came into focus. Rampa had thought of everything. Even if she managed to kill herself and take some Zahlians with her, the Empire would target everyone she had ever associated with in her career. She had to assume Rampa knew about Nubern, probably even knew about Austin. She had no choice but to believe he knew everything. And Rampa would find a way to carry out his threats.

  “I can see by the looks on your faces you believe what I say,” Rampa said with a smile. “Superb. I will be onboard the Enforcer monitoring your progress. I look forward to seeing what you can do and continuing our work. Dismissed!”

  Ryker stood on wobbly legs and marched toward the hatch, knowing she was about to fly a spacecraft for the Empire she had spent her entire career despising.

  The hangar deck stretched for half the length of the Formidable’s. Six Zahlian Interceptors lined o
ne end of the expanse while the rest of the area contained freighters of various makes and models. Peering through the small portholes on the freighters, Ryker saw troops moving into place. Above, the hangar opened to reveal a sky with black smoke drifting over the view.

  Tucking her flight tablet under her arm, Ryker grasped her helmet in both hands. She glanced over at “Defector Two” as they walked. Just like the other Defectors, the man had his head shaved to the scalp. Thin dark lines covered his head, wounds from the implant surgery. His cheekbones protruded through pale skin, but there was something familiar about him. His eyes darted toward her, his eyebrows raising.

  “Yes?” he whispered as they walked.

  Her eyes widened. “Scrappy?”

  The pilot stopped and stared at her. “Do I know you?”

  Ryker cycled through her memories—something about a fight, an argument on Tarton’s Junction. Then she had it: Nicholas “Scrappy” Pavlosky. The baby fat had disappeared from his body and he appeared ten years older, but she knew this man. He was the young Lobera Star Runner Austin had fought in the mess hall during the early days of their time on Tarton’s Junction. Cocky, talented, and incredibly shrewd, Pavlosky had been one of Ty Braddock’s shining stars. And now, just like her, he was a captive of the Zahl Empire.

  “Move it!” a Marine guard yelled behind them.

  They continued following “Defector One,” marching toward the line of Interceptors.

  “You seem familiar,” Pavlosky said in a shaky voice, his chin touching his chest. “I-I am h-having trouble remembering things. I know I’m not supposed to be here.” He winced, his face crumpling in pain. “Don’t make me think.”

  She placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “It’ll be okay. I promise it’ll be okay.”

  He looked at her and managed a weak smile. “Thank you.”

  “Do you know anything about her?” she asked, nodding toward their leader.

  Pavlosky followed her eyes. “No.”