Survival Aptitude Test: Rise (The Extinction Odyssey Book 3)

by Mike Sheriff

  Daoren’s chest swelled. Combined with the Hyro, the personal guard, and the other Jireni from the wall, their numbers would bring their group to twenty-eight. A formidable force indeed, but one that needed additional firepower. “Search the outpost for whatever arms can be scavenged. We’ll strike out for the Librarium once the sun has set.”

  Su and the others headed through the doorway leading into the antechambers. Daoren glanced at Heqet, who remained rooted in place. Unlike the rest of the ad-hoc force, she seemed deflated by his decision. “This changes nothing,” he said. “It’s merely a short diversion on the way to Rhyger’s Cliffs.”

  “It’s a mistake.” Her eyes welled as she turned away. “And one that could cost us our lives.”

  14

  Triumvirate

  JULINIAN PLACED THE sonic rifle on the desk’s glass surface. Its optical sight butted against an artifact of unknown origin. Thick and squat and rectangular, the object’s brown covering encased a sheath of yellowed material. She retraced her fingers over the strange covering’s raised letters.

  Biblio Sacra Latina.

  A shiver dimpled her skin. The artifact wasn’t made from any substance she’d ever encountered. Three round holes marred the front cover, located inches above and below the lettering. They carried through to the back cover; something had struck with enough force to penetrate the dense block of intervening material. Glass darts, she wagered—but why anyone would choose to fire glass darts at an ancient artifact escaped her.

  It must have held special meaning for Daoren though. He was the last person to occupy the chamber and had seen fit to display it on his desk. She smiled and took a moment to correct herself.

  Her desk.

  She’d been inside the Assembly for less than four hours, and the surreality that attended standing in the Unum’s chamber had yet to abate.

  The expansive crystalline floor glinted, awash in the glow from the luminescent glass walls . . . and the occasional blood streak. The myriad sculptures that once lined the chamber’s perimeter were gone—most likely destroyed by the sonic blasts initiated onboard the geology aerostat. The space’s opulence seemed greatly diminished compared to the splendor favored by its former occupant.

  Despite the different appearance, memories of her frequent visits to the chamber continued to flood her mind. The countless hours she’d spent seated on the nearby divans, studying her uncle’s tactics. The countless times she’d teased Narses about his personal shortcomings. The countless ways she’d imagined culling the pair of them.

  The chain of glass doors that once fronted the upper balcony were missing—as was the balcony itself. A yellow strip of iridescent flexglass stretched across the elongated maw; it announced the danger and minimized the risk of an inadvertent plunge onto the open square three hundred feet below.

  The lack of repairs suggested that Daoren the Usurper spent little time in the chamber. Knowing him, he’d likely spent most days wandering the Chengs, rubbing elbows with the unwashed masses he so admired.

  Twenty feet from the desk, Massum strolled the floor, gaze lifted to the crystal ceiling’s bas-relief panels. They depicted scenes from the Siege of Havoc during the resource war of 462 A.C.E.—one element of grandeur that hadn’t been erased over the past eight months.

  “That was a bitter defeat for your people.”

  “And a costly victory for yours,” Massum said. “As I recall, you started building your border wall shortly afterward to repel counterattacks. But, yes, it was the closest the Guojinians came to eradicating the colonies.”

  “All in the past now.” She spread her arms and executed a slow turn. “Who could have predicted back then that we’d be standing here today? A Guojinian and a mongrel, sharing in the rule of this great city-state?”

  “Don’t forget the Asianoids who helped make it possible.”

  Julinian turned to the door leading from the outer chamber.

  Hai paced across the crystalline floor. Two other Asianoids accompanied him.

  “How could I forget, Trium Hai?” she said as the three men halted before her.

  Hai bowed from the neck. “May I please introduce my brothers,” he said, stiff with formality. “Min and Gan.”

  Julinian pulled each brother into an embrace, one after the other. “Survival through sapience to you both.”

  The brothers neglected to return the greeting. She filed away the insult for future study.

  “Min was honored to lead the team that seized control here,” Hai said, the words more upbeat as if to detract from his siblings’ slights.

  “Was he now?” She shifted her focus to Min. Although he lacked Hai’s impressive physical build, his dour expression conveyed the same impenetrable veneer. “And without firing a shot, I’ve been told.”

  “Easy to do when no one else is armed,” Min said in dull monotone.

  Julinian resisted the urge to slap some life—and respect—into him. An engaging conversation wouldn’t be forthcoming either way. She turned her attention to the youngest brother. “And what did you do?”

  Hai answered on his behalf. “Gan oversaw our forces at the Librarium. Thanks to them, we now occupy the Spires and the data repositories.”

  “Excellent work,” Julinian said, dipping her chin to Gan in a contrived show of respect. “Controlling access to the scrolls and repositories will prove vital in the days and weeks to come.”

  Vital was an understatement. As much as brute force was needed to take control of Daqin Guojin, command over data and communications would prove crucial for maintaining it.

  The pronouncement of the new triumvirate had already been issued via every available channel, including the plasmonic disks that dotted each district. The message was programmed to repeat daily for the next week. Tactical broadcasts had also offered clemency to any district commander who reported to the Assembly and declared his or her fealty to the triumvirate. The broadcasts made clear that those failing to meet the deadline would be declared enemies of the city-state.

  The deadline had passed an hour ago. Snatch teams of Asianoids and mongrels were now hauling in recalcitrant commanders—with dart guns to their heads if necessary. The whir of gyroblade rotors had echoed from the square below for the past thirty minutes, announcing each new arrival. She’d dealt with seven commanders so far.

  Besides gaining the fealty of five of those commanders, she’d learned some valuable intelligence. Pyros had led the reconnaissance mission that had absorbed the plasma-beam’s test firings. Besides proving the system’s destructive capacity, the test firings had also culled the highest-ranking Jiren in Daqin Guojin. According to one of the commanders, Cang al Aridian of Zhongguo Cheng had been elevated to Primae Jiren less than twelve hours ago.

  Two Asianoids entered the chamber. One of them spoke without first requesting permission. “We have another two district commanders for you.”

  Besides the impertinent interruption, Julinian noted the lack of the honorific Trium. She’d need to address that oversight, and soon. It went beyond mere ego. With every utterance, marks of respect reinforced her position. If the people stopped using them, it wouldn’t take long before they started questioning her legitimacy to rule. “Bring one of them in.”

  “Which one?” the Asianoid asked.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  The Asianoids spun on their heels and exited the chamber. They re-entered a minute later, each gripping the arm of a middle-aged Indonoid. The barefoot man wore a rumpled shenyi.

  Julinian smirked. The snatch team must have dragged him out of his abode’s sleeping chamber before whisking him here.

  The Asianoids halted the hapless man before a garishly bright wall, fifteen feet from the desk. The Indonoid lifted his feet to avoid treading in a pool of blood.

  She snapped her fingers to get his attention. “You’re the district commander of Yindu Cheng, are you not?”

  The Indonoid looked up, eyes squinched. “I am.”

  “Appointed
by Daoren al Lucien after he assumed the position of Unum?”

  He offered a curt nod.

  “After Pabbu al Mandes was culled during the insurrection?”

  “Yes.”

  “Pabbu always struck me as an ineffectual commander,” she said. “Mind you, I only met him three times. It’s difficult to get the measure of someone after only a few minutes of face-to-face time, wouldn’t you agree?”

  The Indonoid didn’t respond. He simply blinked like he’d just awoken from an ill dream.

  “No matter. I didn’t bring you here to discuss his shortcomings. I have another Jiren in mind. Do you know where Cang al Aridian is?”

  “No.”

  “Do you expect me to believe that you don’t know the whereabouts of your own Primae Jiren?”

  The Indonoid sneered. “I wouldn’t tell you even if I did.”

  “Well, that’s disappointing,” she said. “Let’s try another tack. Will you kneel and swear your allegiance to the new triumvirate?”

  “To a filthy mongrel, an Asianoid opportunist, and a soulless woman whose uncle nearly destroyed Daqin Guojin?”

  She glanced at Massum and Hai. “We might quibble over those descriptions, but yes.”

  The Indonoid puffed his chest. “Never.”

  Julinian shrugged. “So be it.”

  She snatched the sonic rifle off the desk and raised it to her shoulder. A squeeze of the trigger sent a single round through the Indonoid’s forehead. Blood spattered the ceiling’s bas-relief panels.

  Hai cleared his throat moments after the Indonoid’s body thudded onto the floor. “We still need to determine where the grooll reserves are located. It might be prudent not to cull every dissenting Jireni before asking them.”

  “You think Daoren would have trusted their location to that useless fid?” she asked. “He was asleep in his abode only hours after an incursion had breached the northern border!” She turned to the door leading to the outer chamber. “Bring in the next commander!”

  The two Asianoids entered with an Asianoid woman. Unlike the Indonoid, she wore a black bianfu. By all appearances, sleep had eluded her for a week.

  Julinian recognized Yaochin alum Fei from Zhongguo Cheng’s district office. She’d served as its operations deputy and, according to the same commander who’d revealed Cang’s promotion to Primae Jiren, had been made district commander upon her superior’s elevation.

  The men halted Yaochin next to the Indonoid’s body. Without hesitating, they stooped and grabbed a lifeless ankle. The pair dragged the corpse away, face-down. It left behind a fresh blood trail.

  Julinian leveled the sonic rifle. “It’s a simple choice, Yaochin. Kneel and swear your loyalty . . . or refuse and be dragged out of this chamber like your colleague.”

  Yaochin maintained her taciturn demeanor . . . for a few seconds. Her hands belied her fear first—they quivered at her side.

  Julinian hooked her finger over the trigger. “I won’t ask you again . . .”

  Yaochin’s throat bulged. Her knees buckled and she sank to the floor amid a pool of blood. “I’ll follow whichever orders you see fit to give me.” She clasped her hands and raised them in supplication. “I’ll do anything you ask of me!”

  “Trium,” Julinian added. “Your first order is to address me as Trium.”

  “Of course.” Yaochin blinked back tears. “Unum.”

  “No, not Unum. There are three of us sharing in the rule of the city-state.”

  “Trium!”

  “Good.” She lowered the rifle. “Then take a deep breath and rise as our Primae Jiren.”

  Yaochin rose to her feet. She swayed back and forth like a memorial tube in a stiff breeze. “Primae Jiren?”

  “Congratulations,” Julinian said. “From operations deputy to Primae Jiren in the space of half-a-day.” She smirked. “That must be a record of some kind.”

  Yaochin opened her mouth easily enough. Words proved more of a challenge.

  “Take a moment to recover, then make yourself available to Trium Hai for whatever tasks he needs you to perform.”

  “Th-thank you.”

  “And inform your Jireni that they are no longer in the service of the people. They serve the Cognos Populi once again.”

  Yaochin stiffened to attention. “I’ll do so at once, Trium Julinian.”

  “Wait for me in the outer chamber, Primae Jiren Yaochin,” Hai said. “I’ll be along in a moment.”

  Yaochin rushed toward the outer chamber. Hai tarried until she’d exited before speaking. “I want to make my priorities clear before we proceed any further.”

  “I know what your priorities are,” Julinian said.

  “Regardless, let me restate them so there are no misunderstandings. My priorities are to locate the grooll reserves and reinstate the S.A.T.—as you promised we would do once we assumed power.”

  Min and Gan mumbled their agreement. Massum sidled up next to them. “I care nothing for the S.A.T., but I share their desire to locate the reserves. You owe my people one billion pounds of grooll for their service.”

  Julinian masked her irritation. The triumvirate was only hours old and she was already being spoken at, rather than spoken to. “I’ll fulfill those promises in good time,” she said. “But we must first ensure that Daoren and Heqet are no longer a threat to our rule.”

  Min harrumphed. “They likely died atop the wall’s battlement.”

  “Likely isn’t good enough,” she said. “My uncle underestimated them. I won’t make the same mistake. I need to be certain. We need to be certain.”

  “I’d prefer Daoren to be taken alive,” Massum said.

  “Why?” Gan asked with a contemptuous snort. “So you can skin him alive with your khukuri?”

  To his credit, Massum didn’t rise to the insult. “He may be the only one who knows where the grooll reserves are located.”

  “You’re suggesting he moved over five billion pounds of it there himself?” Min asked. “Others must know the locations.”

  Massum sighed. “And what if the vaults are protected by encrypted passcodes? Passcodes that only Daoren knows?”

  Judging by their rumpled brows, the notion gave Hai and his insolent brothers pause. “Very well,” Julinian said, annoyance still bubbling below the surface. She shifted focus to Hai. “Draw whatever resources you need from Yaochin and find him.”

  The three brothers turned away without so much as a nod. Julinian watched them stalk toward the outer chamber and imagined putting a sonic round through each of their backs.

  “And what would you have me and my people do?” Massum asked after they’d left the chamber.

  She placed the sonic rifle on the desk next to the wounded artifact. She traced a finger over its raised lettering. “Keep bringing me district commanders to convert . . . or cull.”

  SWEAT DRIPPED INTO Cordelia’s eyes. She winced and sucked a caustic breath—though not due to the stinging perspiration. Her throbbing hand more than offset her burning eyes. The ever-tightening flexglass dressing only amplified the ache.

  “Sorry,” Kimye said.

  “No need to apologize, child. Keep going.”

  Kimye completed another two wrappings and secured the dressing’s loose end with a glass gripclip. Cordelia raised her hand and inspected the handiwork. She nodded her approval. “An excellent job.”

  Kimye beamed. “My mother taught me how to dress wounds.”

  “She’s a resourceful woman.” Cordelia tapped the girl’s nose. “You have more in common with her than you realize.”

  Kimye blushed and squirmed away. Cordelia left the girl to her embarrassment. She focused on the surroundings from her perch on the dressing station’s divan.

  The surgery chamber boasted the cleanest environment she’d ever encountered. White-crystalline tiles covered the floor and walls, their sparkling sheen evoking sterility. Three operating tables spanned the chamber’s long axis, each spaced ten feet apart. Gleaming clusters of hemispheric l
ights hung from the ceiling above each table. The tart smell of astringent tainted the air.

  Muffled shouts and heavy footfalls ebbed through the chamber’s floor. Kimye flinched at the sounds.

  “Stay calm,” Cordelia said. “They’re below us and moving away.”

  The reassurance did little to sooth the girl’s nerves. Cordelia couldn’t blame her.

  During the twenty minutes they’d been inside the medical facility, they’d traversed every inch of its four levels, including the sub-basement. For twenty minutes, they’d stayed one step ahead of their pursuers by never stopping in one chamber for more than a minute. The latest evasion had brought them to the uppermost floor via the patients’ elevating chamber. They’d sheltered in the surgery chamber a few minutes earlier, taking a much-needed pause to regroup and rethink their strategy. And to dress her wounded hand.

  Across the chamber, Asla rummaged through a gray cabinet’s drawers, searching for impromptu weapons. She worked at a deliberate pace to avoid making noise. “There’s a host of surgical devices,” she said. “Scalpels and clamps and such, but nothing that would let us strike back from a distance.”

  Cordelia rose from the divan. She didn’t fancy the thought of hand-to-hand combat; not against Sha-knows-how-many Asianoids armed with dart guns and sonic rifles. If the more frequent and more voluminous shouts were any indication, more of them had joined the hunt. As many as a dozen likely roamed each level now, going from chamber to chamber. It would only be a matter of time before they stumbled upon their prey.

  A single door stood next to the dormant plasmonic monitors spanning the opposite wall. Cordelia crossed the floor and opened it.

  The cluttered storechamber stood in stark contrast to the sterile surgery chamber. Nooks and shelves overflowed with ampules, blister-packs, containers, and crates—seemingly every medical supply that might be required during an operation. Huvvadollies lined the rear wall. One cradled a dozen cylinders, each as big as Kimye. Opaque valves and coiled lengths of flexglass hoses topped their domed endcaps.