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

by Mike Sheriff

  “What would you like me to do?”

  “Remain here and wait for Heqet. Contact me on my tile once she reaches you, then take her and Mako to Rhyger’s Cliffs.”

  Su huffed a weary sigh. “I wish I could talk you out of this. We need you for the fight that’s still to come.”

  He extended his hand. “You’ll have to wage it without me.”

  They shook; one palm up; one palm down.

  Daoren released his hand. “Good fortune, Su. I’ll see you in the Great After.”

  He struck out across the open square.

  DAOREN ENTERED THE Assembly’s deserted nave six minutes later and angled for the nearest elevating chamber. Its double-doors swished open and he stepped inside.

  An inset panel listed all thirty levels of the structure. He selected the highest level—the one harboring the Unum’s chamber. The doors swished closed, sealing him inside. He closed his eyes and resisted the urge to scream.

  Every fiber of his being told him to stop the ascent and exit the Assembly. Every instinct he possessed said there had to be another way to rescue Heqet and Mako—one that didn’t involve trading his life for theirs. But that solution would require far more time than Julinian would grant them. Like the prospect who had jumped off the Spires, he was the prisoner of a force that could neither be reversed nor resisted.

  Fifteen seconds later, the doors swished open on the thirtieth level. Daoren opened his eyes and stepped into the crystal-lined hallway. It was vacant in both directions.

  The hallway to the right led to the outer chamber. He crept along it, gaze sweeping in a continuous scan, ears pricked for the sounds of movement, finger curled around the rifle’s trigger.

  Three minutes later, he reached the outer chamber. It, too, was appointed in the finest crystal—and empty. He rechecked the rifle’s power setting and offered a final petition to Sha, asking for courage. He inched inside the main chamber.

  Julinian stood across the expansive floor before the balcony’s flexglass barrier, her back to the door. Beside her, a slight Asianoid mongrel gripped Heqet’s arm. Two more armed mongrels lingered at the far ends of the barrier.

  An upswell of relief washed over Daoren upon seeing Heqet. He suppressed the heady sensation—he needed to channel all his focus onto the threats inside the chamber.

  He edged forward, head swiveling, heart thumping. No other mongrels or Asianoids occupied the space. No Jireni were visible. He reached the floor’s midpoint before Julinian spoke.

  “Welcome, Daoren,” she said without turning from the barrier. “I hope you don’t mind the company. The man holding onto your wife is Trium Massum, leader of the mongrel faction. I can’t tell you how excited he was when I told him you were on your way here. I’m afraid I don’t know the names of the other two mongrels. Massum invited them and they’ve only just arrived.”

  The slight mongrel—Massum—offered a curt nod. He held a curved khukuri in his free hand. Its honed edge glinted in the afterglow of a luminescent wall panel. The sight of a deadly weapon so close to Heqet triggered a shiver of dread.

  “Trium Hai would have liked to have been here,” Julinian continued, “but he’s attending to his wounded brother. It sounds as though Min al Kong might lose his eye.”

  Daoren ignored her and focused on Heqet. “Are you all right?”

  Heqet nodded, lips tight and twisted. Her cheeks sagged as if subjected to unfathomable fatigue. Her hollowed eyes reflected neither joy nor hope. Her belly no longer bulged.

  “Of course she’s all right,” Julinian said, turning from the barrier. “Her husband is here to save her.”

  Daoren stifled a gasp.

  She held a bundle of blue flexglass against her sparkling mianfu. Two tiny hands and a pudgy red face peeked from the bundle.

  Little Mako.

  Daoren obeyed the only reaction his mind could muster—he hoisted the sonic rifle to his shoulder.

  Julinian held the bundle upright—the way a mother might to give her kin a better look at her infant’s face. She beamed. “He’s so adorable. Lower your weapon and I may let you hold him.”

  Daoren’s gazed down the rifle’s barrel, assessing the odds of culling Julinian and Massum without harming Mako or Heqet. If he’d opted to bring a dart gun, he could have put a single dart through each of their foreheads before they knew it was coming. A sonic round was far less accurate.

  “I’d wager you’re wondering whether you can cull us without harming your loved ones,” Julinian said, the smile never leaving her face. “I don’t know whether you could, but wouldn’t that make for a heroic tale?”

  He held his breath. The barrel quivered in time with his hands.

  “Come, mighty usurper, why don’t you try? Just squeeze the trigger and send the top of my head onto the square below.”

  Daoren swallowed. He tried to dampen the trembling and steady his aim, but surging adrenaline made it more and more difficult.

  “Would it help if I removed one of the factors from the equation?” Julinian turned back to the missing glass doors. Her gaze flicked between Mako and the open air beyond the flexglass barrier.

  Daoren tightened his grip on the rifle. His knuckles cracked, but the barrel kept skittering off-target. Heqet released an anguished moan. “Please don’t hurt my baby!”

  Julinian clutched Mako to her chest. She cooed and clucked, pulling faces to keep him distracted. “You know, I think he looks more like Heqet.” She glanced at Daoren. “There’s definitely some of your features, though—the jawline, especially. He’ll break a few hearts . . . if he lives that long.”

  “Please,” Heqet said, voice cracked and hoarse.

  Julinian took a step closer to the barrier, still clucking. “I wonder if an infant could survive the plunge?” She bounced Mako in her arms—he let out a jolly squeal. “When Narses impacted the square, I imagine his weight must have smashed every bone in his body and tore every major organ apart. But little Mako isn’t that heavy. Perhaps he’d only fracture a limb or two.”

  The chamber’s luminescent walls seemed to close in around Daoren, squeezing the oxygen from his lungs. He tried to summon the will to execute his intended plan, petitioning Sha to grant him the inhumanity to cull Heqet and Mako, then turn the rifle on himself. In his head, he knew it was the most merciful choice. In his heart, he couldn’t make it—not after seeing his son and his wife. His vision blurred, rendering accurate shots all but impossible. He stifled a despairing groan.

  “You’re the one who wrote a perfect S.A.T.,” Julinian said. “What do you think?”

  He bit his tongue and kept his expression neutral—he didn’t want to risk tipping Julinian’s hand in the wrong direction. As long as she remained calm, there was still a chance that Heqet and Mako might go free.

  After ten agonizing seconds, she stepped away from the barrier. “Don’t worry, Daoren. I’m not going to throw your child to his death. In fact, I owe you my thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “For doing the hard work of culling my uncle and Narses for me.” She glanced down at Mako as she rocked him. “I’d started poisoning the Unum a year prior to sitting my S.A.T.”

  The statement hung in the air for a few seconds despite its appalling gravity.

  “How could you poison your own uncle?” Heqet asked, voice quivering.

  “Slowly,” Julinian said, directing the answer at the baby in a sing-song timbre. “Can you guess what I used?” Mako uttered a squeal—she feigned a look of astonishment. “That’s right! Mercury. Small doses of it in his favorite grooll urn.” She twisted to the right and pointed at a distant bench. “The one he used to keep over there.”

  Daoren blinked, stunned by the revelation. “You were giving the Unum doses of mercury?”

  “I sometimes wonder if it attributed to his poor decision-making, rather than some irredeemable flaw in his character.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because I’d already learned of its effect
iveness by testing it on my father.”

  Daoren gaped at her. “You poisoned your father?”

  “For not having the courage to cull his own brother,” Julinian said. “He could have been Unum himself, but he lacked the internal fortitude and courage. Thanks to his shortcomings, I was forced to live in Narses’ shadow.” She shuddered. “How could anyone be expected to live in that fid’s shadow? I tried to push my father into action, but he refused. What choice did I have?”

  “You had a moral choice.”

  She scoffed. “You’re one to talk of morals. How many people did you send to the Great After when you wrested power from my uncle?”

  “One too few,” Daoren muttered under his breath.

  Julinian smirked. “Tread carefully. We had a deal, remember?”

  “One I intend to honor,” he said. “Let Heqet and Mako go. Once I know they’re safe, I’ll give you the passcodes.”

  “Ah, your noble sacrifice. So selfless. So typically Daoren. Supposing I wanted to change the terms?”

  “We had a deal.”

  “Yes, but I’ve had time to reflect on it since we spoke. I had such wonderful plans for you and your loved ones. You were going to be my object lesson to the people of Daqin Guojin.”

  “What lesson is that?”

  “That the desire for change carries a heavy price.”

  “So would breaking our deal.” Daoren shifted his focus to Massum. “How much grooll did she promise you and your people?”

  Massum’s expression smacked of amusement. “One billion pounds.”

  “If she harms my wife and child, you’ll never see an ounce of it,” Daoren said. “Did you know the grooll vaults are rigged with sonic charges? You’ll need the passcodes to access them intact.”

  “How convenient,” Julinian said.

  “I’ll give you the location of one of the vaults here in Zhongguo Cheng. It’s close to the glass market. Send a few of your men right now to try to open it and see what happens.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “Am I?” He leveled a resolute gaze at Massum. “Do I look like I’m bluffing?”

  Massum narrowed his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but Julinian cut him off.

  “Don’t be fooled by his conviction. He came into this chamber knowing he had no way to leave it. His only leverage for saving his family is the passcodes, and I’m telling you we don’t need them.”

  Beyond the flexglass barrier, a muted whine rolled through the night air. Julinian cast an idle glance toward the opening before pacing over to Massum. She halted a few feet away from him. “You said you wanted a place for your people inside Daqin Guojin. Well, I’m willing to give you my support for that edict. That’s worth far more than a billion pounds of grooll.”

  “She’s lying,” Daoren said. “She’ll betray you like she’s trying to betray me. It’s in her nature.”

  Massum shook his head. “Shut up, the pair of you!”

  Julinian’s look of astonishment appeared genuine this time. “What did you say?”

  “I’m choosing a third option, if you don’t mind.”

  Beyond the flexglass barrier, the whine grew in intensity, rising in pitch. Daoren recognized the acoustic signature in an instant.

  Massum raised his khukuri over his head. “Cut it down!”

  The two mongrels on either end of the barrier drew their own khukuri. They slashed through the strip of flexglass, unblocking the full height and width of the balcony’s opening.

  A mongrel gyroblade rose into view, less than ten feet beyond the opening. It arrested its climb and hovered, rotor blades beating a furious tattoo.

  The craft inched forward, threading the opening with less than a foot of clearance between its lower hull and rotor. Its blue, bullet-shaped nose entered the chamber.

  Julinian lurched to the side, backing away from the advancing craft, still clutching Mako to her chest.

  Massum released Heqet and snatched the flexglass bundle from Julinian’s hands. In a blur of motion, he lobbed the bundle to Heqet. One of his men grabbed Julinian from behind brought his khukuri up to her throat.

  Daoren broke out of his stupor. He rushed forward to grab Heqet and Mako. Massum intercepted him. “I need to get you out of here!”

  “I know!” Daoren shouted. “Let me get my wife and son!”

  “I’m afraid they won’t fit inside the gyroblade!”

  Daoren canted his head, certain he’d misheard due to the craft’s thrashing rotor blades. Julinian’s screeching voice carried over without distortion. “What do you think you’re doing, Massum?”

  “I’m fulfilling my mission!”

  “What in Sha’s name are you talking about?” She writhed and bucked, struggling to break the mongrel’s grip. “Your mission was to help me retake the city-state!”

  “That’s only one part of it!” Massum said. “The other part is taking Daoren back to Havoc!”

  “On whose orders?” she asked, voice a strident wreck.

  “Ragaris ili Siragar!”

  Daoren gaped at Massum. “Who?”

  “Your father!” Massum glanced to the side and raised his hand. “Hit him!”

  Daoren’s gaze streaked to the second mongrel standing ten feet to Massum’s right.

  The mongrel held a small black object. A twitch—

  Two micro-darts spat from the twitchgun’s snubbed muzzle and thudded into Daoren’s chest. He raised his hands to yank them out.

  The darts emitted a sizzling zap.

  Daoren tried to reach out to Heqet and Mako, but his muscles seized and relaxed at sixteen cycles per second. His jaw clenched and unclenched so rapidly, he thought his teeth might shatter.

  His wife and son melted behind a loom of brilliant white light. . . .

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  Survival Aptitude Test: Rise

  THANK YOU FOR downloading Survival Aptitude Test: Rise. This book marks the midpoint of The Extinction Odyssey series. If you’ve made it this far, I can only assume you’re enjoying the journey. And for that I’m eternally grateful.

  You’ll find links to all my material in the “Also By” section at the end of this ebook. You’ll also encounter two bonus chapters before you get there: the first chapters from Survival Aptitude Test: Fall and Survival Aptitude Test: Hope’s Graveyard.

  Fall is the fourth book in The Extinction Odyssey series, picking up where this title leaves off. (Bonus Chapter #1 resolves Rise’s nail-biting cliffhanger, so you can jump there now and get a good night’s sleep.) I’m aiming to have the entire book finished in time for a Fall 2017 release (no coincidence).

  Hope’s Graveyard is a stand-alone prequel to the series, and reveals haunting details from Laoshi’s terrifying first mission as a Jiren. It might help tide you over until Book 4 is ready. (You can also grab it for free when you join my Readers’ Posse—and keep up-to-date on Fall’s scheduled release to boot!)

  As with all my material, this ebook is DRM-free. You can load it onto as many devices as you like and freely share it with whomever you like. All I ask is you not re-sell it. (Bad karma!)

  Anyhow, I’ll get out of the way so you can get on with reading the bonus chapters. When you’re done, I’d love to hear your impressions on Rise. Please drop me a line at mike@mikesheriffwrites.com whenever you have the time. All the best!

  Mike Sheriff

  London, Ontario

  Bonus Chapter #1

  Survival Aptitude Test: Fall

  Chapter 1

  Haven

  DAOREN OPENED HIS eyes, only to force them closed. A t
hrobbing pulse emanated from the tip of his tongue and battered his throat. Every muscle and joint ached. A cold, rough surface pressed against his hips and spine. He gulped a breath and opened his eyes again.

  An unembellished ceiling loomed ten feet above him, its matte-gray hue made more somber by poor illumination. His orientation nevertheless provided a vital spatial anchor—he was inside a foreign chamber.

  He sat up, scarcely believing he’d been stripped of consciousness and transported to another unknown locale. The throbbing in his tongue intensified, triggering a curse. The obscenity resonated off the opaque walls surrounding a bare floor that covered less than twenty square-feet.

  “How is your tongue?”

  He shifted his gaze to the right.

  Two mongrels stood ten feet away—on the other side of the thin nullglass bars demarcating the chamber’s solitary door. One was a slight Africoid-Asianoid, his braided hair drawn taut against his skull and fashioned into a crowning topknot. The other man was a taller and stockier Caucasoid in his mid-forties. His sallow complexion suggested a lifetime spent under shelter, and made his shoulder-length, shadow-black hair appear all the darker. Both wore bianfu, including the unwieldy armored tunics used by shocktroops.

  “You nearly bit through the end of your tongue,” the Africoid-Asianoid said. “Our medical practitioners were able to reattach it.”

  Daoren ran his tongue against the roof of his mouth—its tip felt raw and swollen. How and why he’d bit through it escaped him. “Where am I?”

  “Haven.”

  “Where?”

  “You’ll know it better by its Guojinian name,” the Caucasoid said. “You’re in the mongrel colony Havoc. Do you remember anything?”

  The location registered in his mind, but it seemed more like a flimsy abstraction than a fixed reality. He scoured his memory for context; it returned little more than shredded fragments. The most substantive recollections centered on the Unum’s chamber at the Assembly and—strangely—a mongrel gyroblade.