Enemy One (Epic Book 5)

by Lee Stephen

  The door opened, and Svetlana turned to face it. Much to her surprise, it was not Nagogg or one of his henchmen. It was Kraash-nagun and Ei`dorinthal. It was impossible for Svetlana to disguise her immediate interest in the Ithini’s presence. There was no better time than now to find out what it had done to her. Or at least, once Kraash-nagun was gone. Forcing thoughts of her recent experiences from her, she prepared herself for the inevitable Ithini connection linking her to the blinded elite. A moment later, it came.

  Stepping into the room, Kraash-nagun knelt and placed a metal tray on the floor. Calunod. As Svetlana eyed the tray suspiciously, Kraash-nagun addressed her.

  “This will serve you better than food meant for animals,” the Bakma said, his words translated in Svetlana’s mind.

  Despite her best efforts, it was impossible not to think about certain aspects of her situation even as Kraash-nagun spoke. Tauthin had said that she’d screamed in Bakmanese, and clearly she knew some Bakmanese words, though she couldn’t understand anything from Kraash-nagun now without the help of Ed. The inconsistency of the whole thing bothered her. “That is calunod,” Svetlana said, once again focusing all of her energy on the conversation at hand as opposed to her rampant thoughts, “correct?”

  Kraash-nagun nodded. “Yes. You may not find it pleasing, but it is nourishment.”

  For a moment, she eyed him. “Thank you,” she finally said. Her blue gaze settling on the tray, she took in the calunod’s odor. Even with her sense of smell diminished, it was disgustingly pungent. But Kraash-nagun’s words were true. She needed nourishment, regardless of how it tasted.

  “I have spoken with Tauthinilaas—he greatly regrets your situation and expresses his sympathy.” The Bakma’s vacant sockets appeared to scan the room. “Has the canrassi harmed you?”

  “No,” she answered quickly. “It has not.” Canting her head slightly, she considered the fact that Kraash-nagun—a nonbeliever in Uladek—was the one delivering her food. His last conversation with her had been less than encouraging. She wondered if he’d mulled over his own thoughts toward her. It was worth prodding to find out. “How many does it take to make this spaceship function?”

  Immediately, she sensed disapproval. That answered her question. “Do not dream where there is no hope,” Kraash-nagun answered. “Tauthinilaas and I have resigned to our fates, as you would be advised to do with yours.”

  Her stomach twisted angrily. “There is hope. If you would only allow yourselves an opportunity to act—”

  “There is no hope here, Setana.”

  Coward. The thought came to her suddenly; it couldn’t be restrained. Kraash-nagun sensed it, as evidenced by the subtle angling of his head.

  “You question my courage?” the alien asked. “Curious, from a specimen like yourself. What validation do you have for such an insult?”

  “I have not given up,” she said, shaking her head. “If we work together, this vessel can be taken. You must trust me in this.”

  Kraash-nagun scoffed. “Such brazenness is easy when not confronted by your enemy. We shall see if your courage upholds when Gabralthaar has your neck in his grasp.” Hesitating, he said, “But I envy your spirit, misguided as it may be. Were you of greater significance, I might entertain your thoughts of rebellion. As it were, however, you are of no threat to Nagogg or his crew. Therefore, I cannot offer my assistance.”

  That was all she cared to hear. “You may leave now,” she said flatly. “Thank you for the food.”

  Narrowing, his vacant sockets zeroed in on her. Raising his chin slightly, the Bakma said, “You are different.”

  A span of silence passed between them as Kraash-nagun stood in the doorway. The connection still lingered—she could sense the Bakma’s newfound intrigue. She purposefully kept her mind blank. At long last, Kraash-nagun stepped back and away from the door, leaving the tray of calunod on the floor of the stable. He was leaving.

  Finally.

  The second before Svetlana sensed their connection was about to sever, she projected a simple thought: Ed. Her intention was for the word to be subtle enough to be ignored by Kraash-nagun, but distinct enough to the Ithini to prompt him to let the connection linger between him and her. Behind Kraash-nagun, Ei’dorinthal’s head cocked ever so slightly. Message received. Kraash-nagun’s presence left the connection as the door to the stable shut, leaving Svetlana once again alone with Mishka.

  Silence. Her blue eyes jumped faintly, as if searching for something in the labyrinth of her own mind—for another presence. Ei’dorinthal had reacted physically to his name. Surely he would have lingered behind.

  “Ed, are you here?”

  A moment later, the Ithini came through. Yes.

  She asked without hesitation, “What have you done to me?”

  A sensation of confusion came from the unseen Ithini. I do not understand.

  “Do not play games with me,” she whispered, turning to pace about the stable. Though her stare was downcast, her focus was purely on the connection. “You put things in my head. Bakma words, canrassi commands. Why?”

  Explain.

  Pointing her finger with fervency, she said, “I will not explain things to you! It is you who must explain things to me.”

  The Ithini’s confusion deepened. I cannot explain what has not been revealed.

  “Revealed by whom? Who put you up to this? Was it one of Nagogg’s crew?”

  Revealed by you. You state that I have placed words and commands in your head, yet I have not. You must explain.

  Now, she was getting angry. “Listen to me, Ithini. Ever since I awoke from the removal of my nose, I have had experiences. Visions, dreams. Words have come to me in the Bakmanese language, commands to make the canrassi obey me.” This was a waste of time—Ed knew full well what was going on. He had to. “I did not know these things before. The only being on this ship capable of implanting such things in my head is you.”

  Though faint, a sensation of agreement came to her. You are correct.

  “So now tell me why.”

  I cannot.

  She was about to rip her hair out. “Why not?”

  Because I have done no such thing to you. Just before Svetlana could fire back a retort, the Ithini went on. You are correct in that I am the only being on this vessel capable of implanting unknown information. Yet I have not.

  Shaking her head, she said, “That’s impossible.”

  Once again, agreement came to her. I concur.

  “So if you did not put these things into my head, who did?” Setting her hands on her hips, she stopped pacing. She could feel her blood pressure rising. “It was you. It must have been you. If not you, then who? Or what? Was it a ghost?”

  I do not know.

  She cursed. Greater than any feeling of confusion now on the part of Ei`dorinthal was an overwhelming sense of curiosity—one that felt genuine. That didn’t make Svetlana feel better. She had captured his attention to get answers, not to be bombarded with an avalanche of questions. Yet questions were all that she had.

  It was simple arithmetic, so far as Svetlana was concerned. She was experiencing an outcome—visions and language—that could only be accomplished by the sum of two parts: her mind and something else’s. Was this a miracle? Had God intervened and just given her bits of the Bakma language? If that were true, then He’d also given her those nightmarish visions of clawing open Nagogg’s face and showering herself with his blood. Nothing about that felt like God. That part felt more like the devil. What was going on?

  There was a distinct pulse in her mind. Ed was digging. “What are you doing?” she asked.

  Answering without hesitation, Ei`dorinthal said, You are more than you.

  “…what?”

  You are one with another. Two minds have coalesced. How did you do this?

  Exasperated, she pressed back her sticky, yet drying hair. “I am one with who? I don’t know what you mean.”

  Part of you is Nagogg.

  Part of h
er was…what? Chill bumps erupted on her skin as she asked, “What do you mean?”

  You have siphoned, yet you have not. You have become. You are fractured, multi, yet one. His digging was going deeper. An answer is within.

  “Wait,” she said quickly, Ed’s probing was starting to cause physical pain. “Stop, you are—”

  You are unexplainable without causation. This will hurt.

  Her eyes widened. “Wait! I don’t want you to—” A piercing pain struck her mind, as if a knife had cut into the depths of her subconscious. Clutching the sides of her head, Svetlana fell to her knees and screamed.

  Blackness. All around Svetlana, there was nothing but blackness. Sounds became muffled as moments of memories came into her awareness, only to disappear into the void moments later. Like a deck of cards being shuffled, Ei`dorinthal was flipping page after page of Svetlana’s past through her head. Spans of time collapsed as the timeline of the search narrowed to the present, then the immediate past, then a past that was slightly farther. Colors appeared, blurring past her field of vision. Blues, reds, yellows. Then dark colors. Metallic colors. The colors of a corridor.

  When Svetlana’s awareness leveled off, she was standing in the Noboat’s central hallway. Nagogg was there, as were Gabralthaar and Ka`vesh. They were forcing her against the wall, tearing at her clothes. She heard herself cry out for Tauthin. No answer came back.

  Fabric was rended. Their gnarled fingers gripped her, pinning her body against the cold metal wall with violent disregard, giving no mind as to what they touched as they controlled her. Their claws were on everything. It was like being violated. When the last piece of her uniform was cast aside, they wrenched her from the wall and shoved her forward.

  She felt like every eye in the universe was on her—there was nothing she could do to hide her shame. Onward, she was thrust.

  “Where are you taking me?” she shouted. No one answered. Her panicked eyes looked ahead. A room was on the left. Her destination. She was yanked around the corner and shoved inside.

  The room was barren and small, save a small elevated table in its center. Grabbing her arms, they shoved her toward it, picking her up and off her feet. She squirmed to escape, she screamed at the top of her lungs. All efforts were futile. The next thing Svetlana felt was cold metal on her backside as she was slammed down atop the table with cruel force. Gabralthaar and Ka`vesh’s claws pressed against her arms and her legs. With one hand, Nagogg grabbed her forehead. Her blue eyes focused on his other hand. They widened as they saw the blade.

  It was coming for her nose.

  No. No! Her mind sought to rationalize what she was seeing. The blade drew closer—she shrieked like a banshee. No contortions could free her. She could no longer keep the blade in her focus. It was about to touch her skin.

  This is not real.

  It was at that moment—in the instant that her mind rejected the reality before her—that the break came. All sound distorted. Her mind detached from her body. Her consciousness was ejected by fear.

  Disassociation.

  But something was wrong. Another presence was there—a connection that hadn’t been severed. Her consciousness drew to it, whipping around it like a slingshot, fleeing into the other mind it was attached to. A mind that knew nothing of mercy, or of sympathy, or in that moment, of fear. A mind that felt the opposite of what she was feeling now. A “safe” mind in which to hide.

  Nagogg’s.

  The scene disappeared.

  Svetlana winced from her position on the floor, where she’d crumpled to her knees in the midst of Ed’s probing. Her fingers were dug into her scalp, clutching the sides of her head as if trying to keep her brain from exploding. Slowly, the pulsing of the Ithini’s digging began to subside.

  Lifting her head slightly, Svetlana opened her eyes. Mishka was standing several feet away from her, the canrassi’s own spider-eyed gaze observing her with trepidation. Her inhalations and exhalations still sharp, Svetlana outstretched her hand to push herself up. Above shaky limbs, she swayed to a stand.

  She understood now. She understood where the Bakmanese had come from, where the sick sense of bloodlust had originated. Under normal circumstances, when faced with such reality-shattering trauma, she would have simply blanked out. Repressed everything in a sort of unconscious, out-of-body experience. But during the torture, she’d been under an Ithini connection. Her mind and Nagogg’s had been linked through Ed. Instead of disassociating, as a normal human would’ve, her mind had outright evacuated somewhere else—to the next nearest mind that could handle the stress. She’d followed Ei`dorinthal’s trail right into the mind of the very Bakma who was tormenting her, turning it into a temporary residence until it was safe to return home. And when the return came, she dragged some of Nagogg back with her.

  That was why she knew some Bakmanese, particularly when it came to canrassi commands. Nagogg was a rider. Those visions she’d had of herself standing in the cylinder, beholding a canrassi before her. They were her own memories mingled with Nagogg’s. Ed had nothing to do with this. He just happened to be the Ithini who was connecting them.

  What you have done should not be.

  The thought came from Ed. She could sense his wonderment—his fear. The Ithini continued.

  We call this a siphon—the extraction of information from one mind into another. Yet no siphon was executed. Your fear ordained the intrusion.

  “My greatest weakness,” she said quietly to herself. Her mind was racing. This new revelation opened new possibilities. “Can this be done again?”

  There was a hesitation before Ei`dorinthal answered. Your mind has made it clear that it can withstand a siphon. I would advise a more guarded approach.

  What did that mean? Ed must have sensed the confusion, as a follow-up explanation ensued.

  Identify the information you desire to me. I will target that information for relay into you. With precision, the siphon will occur. Be forewarned: your mind is different. It has experienced a siphon in a way that should not be. An unknown precedent has been set. Repetition will produce unknown results.

  In other words, she’d already crossed the line as to what was normal. Her mind had experienced a siphon in a way that even Ed was unfamiliar with. There was no telling what it would do if she tried to do this again, even with intent and an Ithini’s expertise behind it.

  But the possibilities!

  She could siphon everything. Ship operation from the pilot. Combat from Kraash-nagun. Tactics from Tauthin. Now that she’d had a taste of siphoning, there was no limit as to what knowledge could be gained, provided Ed was willing to keep granting her connections. A sense of danger flooded her mind. It was coming from Ed. You are overambitious. You risk overreach. Negatives to you may outweigh potential gains.

  “What do you mean?”

  You have experienced personality fracture. You are you and Nagogg. You are different, inseparable. Original identity has been overridden with conjoined presence. Additional siphons may result in stronger fractures.

  He was warning her that if she attempted another siphon, she could find herself becoming less Svetlana and more Nagogg, or Nik-nish, or Kraash-nagun, or whoever’s brain she and Ed were tapped into at the time. Ed wasn’t sure if it’d be worth the risk. Was she?

  As it stood now, what little hope she had was a direct result of the siphon she’d experienced with Nagogg. Because of it, she was able to face Mishka without fear. She was able to command him, make him her own. Prior to the siphon, Svetlana had been…

  …Svetlana.

  She had been who she had been. It was the only version of her she could ever relate to—the only version of her she’d ever lived. She realized in that moment just how great a decision this was for her. She could potentially lose herself. Lose Svetlana Voronova. To have her replaced with the imprint of a Bakma’s mind. She was already feeling the impact of her first siphon, even beyond changes such as knowing Bakmanese commands.

  She was more agg
ressive. She had a bloodlust. Genuine bloodlust, turned on by the mere thought of mutilating Nagogg in her vision. She was fearless. Or was she? She was feeling fear now. Or at the very least, extreme trepidation. Was there an ebb and flow to Nagogg’s imprint in her mind? Was it sometimes harder to resist than others? Did it “kick in” at certain times, such as when she felt threatened?

  The three times she’d blanked out and experienced visions had all been during times of duress: the removal of her nose, being thrust before Mishka on the bridge, then being thrown into the pen with him. There was no denying it: disassociation was coming more easily. It dawned on her in that moment that, during those periods of disassociation, she really didn’t even know what she’d been doing.

  Ei`dorinthal must have sensed the uncertainty, as he addressed it without prompt. Consciousness remained. Fracture was unseen. When your mind retreated, you remained.

  In other words, there’d been no discernable difference in her behavior to the Bakma. Everything had been in her mind. “So in my moments of fear…I have been retreating into what I pulled back from Nagogg?”

  That is correct.

  Nagogg’s echo in her was simply a temporary shelter during the storm. Remnants of him—and pieces of her—were moving back and forth between the fracture. During her visions, she’d felt moments of her own past sprinkled in. During her time in reality, parts of Bakmanese had surfaced. She had no control over either.

  That was what it all boiled down to. In furthering the fracture, was she surrendering control of herself? The answer, at least to a certain extent, seemed to be yes. It only made sense that if she continued to dabble in siphons, more and more control would be lost. Svetlana would, eventually, become lost in her own shuffle. She’d be an entirely new being.

  Right then, her decision was made. She’d benefited from siphoning once. That was enough. Despite her self-depreciative mindset, she did possess some courage. She’d stood up to Nagogg initially. She’d stood up to others before in the past, too. Dostoevsky, Esther, Scott when he needed to be confronted.