Ontarian Chronicles 2: Operation Hydra Page 16

  Aurora borealis. She had seen a vidfile of the phenomenon. It was as if the Northern Lights had been captured within the surface of the Tempest. It was beautiful, hypnotizing. She didn’t think the graceful ship deserved so brutal a name.

  “She’s undetectable to scanners. You have to be close enough for a visual, and Lyrik isn’t going to let that happen.”

  She smiled. He obviously admired his friend. “How long have you known Lyrik?”

  He glanced at her caressingly while his fingers glided across the shuttle’s control console, activating the landing sequence. When Dro Tar notified him that the Tempest had arrived, Trey decided to meet with the other commander before contacting Hydran.

  “I better break you of that familiarity before he gets the wrong idea. Commander Barrel has seemed more my brother than Tal. I met Commander Barrel at an exclusive academy for young men when I was nine. The school was designed to assure our acceptance as officers in the City of Tears.”

  “How long were you at the academy?” She fidgeted against the safety restraints. “Did the program work? Were both of you accepted as officers?”

  He paused. “My father was Prefect Roe dar Aune and Lyrik’s father is Overlord Cyrus cet Barrel, Supreme Commander of the City of Tears. Our acceptance had little to do with their program.”

  She studied his chiseled profile as he guided the shuttle into the open bay in the side of the Tempest. Relaxed and competent, he could probably perform these basic maneuvers in his sleep.

  “And once you were there? Were your accomplishments judged by the same standard? Were you afforded every privilege simply because you were the prefect’s son?”

  His gaze remained on the console, but his shoulders squared and his chin lifted. “My accomplishments were judged by their merit alone. Once you step foot inside the City of Tears all titles and distinctions are stripped away. The first privilege you earn is the use of your name. Until you’ve accomplished that, you’re referred to by rank, and everyone starts out with the same rank.”

  “I see.”

  “You may not understand the practices, but they’re necessary to build character, strength and endurance.”

  She laughed softly. “You feel passionately about this place. I hadn’t realized they impacted you so deeply.”

  “Warriors must be able to operate as a unit, follow commands without question, and willingly sacrifice themselves in pursuit of the mission. The City of Tears teaches these principles better than any training program I’ve seen -- anywhere.”

  The conviction in his tone sent chills down her spine. Trey wasn’t just reciting speeches; he believed every word. “How did you ever expect to be content as a politician?”

  Clouded with confusion, his gaze met hers. “What are you talking about?”

  “You’d have been miserable as prefect. At heart, you’re clearly a warrior.” He didn’t respond, but a smile quirked the corner of his mouth. Apparently, the thought pleased him.

  They didn’t make it to the planning hall. As they stepped off the lift, a massive man in a dark green uniform walked right by Krysta and clasped arms with Trey. Deep booming laughter and an enthusiastic exchange of Ontarian words followed, leaving Krysta feeling excluded and awkward.

  She could only see the newcomer from the back, but the view made her curious to see the rest. Tall enough to eclipse Trey, the blond man’s uniform clearly outlined a strong, blatantly masculine body. Bound at the nape of his neck, his thick blond hair reached the middle of his broad back. She was quickly becoming a fan of the harsh training program on the City of Tears.

  Trey said her name and the other man turned. Krysta’s heart lodged in her throat, but she wanted to laugh. Should she bow or salute?

  “Krysta dar Aune, may I present Commander Lyrik cet Barrel.”

  Lyrik’s features caught Krysta by surprise. He looked so -- human compared to Trey. Lyrik’s skin had a warm golden tone, much like his hair. Only his eyes identified the planet of his origin. Combining three separate shades of green, she found comfort in the gentle swirl of his wide, Ontarian gaze.

  “It is an honor, Your Majesty.”

  Krysta’s gaze darted to Trey and he smiled.

  “She hasn’t quite gotten used to the idea that she’s royalty. How would you prefer to be addressed?”

  “Everyone has always called me Krysta, unless they were calling me things I’d rather not repeat.”

  Lyrik chuckled and Trey’s eyes narrowed in warning.

  “I shall call you Krysta and you shall call me Lyrik.” He slipped a brawny arm around her shoulders and turned toward Trey. “We shall call you when we’re done.”

  Krysta gasped, shrugging off his light embrace. “We’re done now, Commander Barrel. The current situation is a bit more important than your...”

  He grinned, laughter sparkling in his green eyes. “Than my what? I was going to give you a tour of my ship. What were you thinking, you naughty girl?”

  Trey stepped between them, but amusement gleamed in his eyes as well. If Lyrik were a serious threat, Trey would have interfered sooner.

  “The tour is going to have to wait too. What have you been able to learn?”

  Trey wove his fingers through hers as Lyrik led them down the corridor toward the planning hall.

  “Little more than Vee transmitted. Drakkin is beside himself --”

  “Drakkin is here?” Trey cut in. “Why is Drakkin here?”

  Lyrik motioned them into the planning hall. As soon as they were inside, he punched in a sequence on the control pad, closing the door.

  “I’m releasing information to the crew on a need to know basis. Drakkin came to Ontariese at Vee’s request. I guess it was easier for Vee to link with him at the Conservatory than on Bilarri.”

  “The Conservatory resonates with Vee’s Mystic energy, it’s like a homing beacon, but that’s not what I meant. Why is Drakkin on board?” Trey’s hand tightened around hers, revealing his anxiety. “You didn’t know what Vee had done until you arrived.”

  Lyrik made a bland gesture with his hand. “When the director of the Symposium says he wants to go for a ride, you take him for a ride.”

  “Is Drakkin a Mystic?” Krysta asked.

  “Mystic is an Ontarian title,” Trey said. “Drakkin’s home world is Bilarri. He must have had some sort of premonition, or he wouldn’t be here. Vee is part of the Symposium, so now that he is directly involved, it frees Drakkin to act.”

  “Frees him from what?” The fact that this person was involved obviously had significant meaning, but was it good or bad?

  “The Symposium is sworn to remain neutral in all political conflicts. They provide information freely and equally to anyone requesting it, but they hold allegiance to no one,” Trey explained.

  “But with a member of the Symposium in danger, Drakkin is free to use any means necessary to free him,” Lyrik added.

  “Does Drakkin have... means that we don’t?”

  The door slid open and Lyrik muttered an obscene phrase. Trey glanced at her with an apologetic grimace, but she hadn’t been able to understand the profanity.

  “Thought I locked that,” he grumbled and started for the door.

  Drakkin strolled into the room and time stood still. The Companion had captured his image exactly, and yet nothing about this person resembled the image she had known. The angular features were the same, the glossy black hair, the endless depths of his red-ringed dark eyes. But there the resemblance ended. Power emanated from the Bilarrian, calling to Krysta, stirring sensations she didn’t understand.

  Ignoring Lyrik entirely, Drakkin crossed to stand before her. Their eyes locked and she swayed, her back connecting with the bulkhead. Trey’s fingers squeezed hers reassuringly and his other hand cupped her elbow.

  “Lord Drakkin,” he said, “this is Krysta dar Aune.”

  “We’ve already met,” he said with an enigmatic smile. The red ring in his eyes flashed and then his expression was somber again. “Is V
ee well? I cannot penetrate the shields.”

  Krysta waited for someone else to provide the answer, but Drakkin’s gaze was fixed on her. Silence stretched. She felt obligated to speak. “I’m only able to sense the other occupants.”

  “You are able to sense other Ontarians,” he corrected. “Vee is Ontarian. You must attempt to ascertain his condition.”

  Stepping in front of Krysta, Trey faced the Bilarrian squarely. “Vee abandoned the Gale while I had entrusted her to his keeping and --”

  “Any ship is but a tool. If you do not understand that, you are not fit for command.”

  “And endangered our ability to complete this mission with his rash decision,” Trey continued as if Drakkin hadn’t interrupted him. “Our biggest advantage was the element of surprise. Hydran didn’t know we were on to him. That’s shot to hell, thanks to your buddy Vee. Not to mention we now have another captive to worry about.”

  The red ring in Drakkin’s eyes glowed and he moved Trey aside with the wave of his hand. “Did Vee ever touch your mind?” he asked Krysta.

  Trey charged forward, but an arm banded his chest from behind. “Give it up! That’s an order, Trey, and you’re on my ship.”

  Lyrik’s arm remained tight until Trey stopped struggling.

  “Why do you ask?” Krysta’s gaze darted from Drakkin to Trey and back again.

  Drakkin extended his hands. Reluctantly, she put her hands on them. Trey glared at the Bilarrian, wanted to strangle him, but he hated the pettiness of his behavior. Why was he acting like a jealous fool? Did he not trust her at all? He had no reason to mistrust her -- except Drakkin’s image in the Companion. How had that happened? Who had contacted whom?

  “Go back to the moment Vee moved through your mind,” Drakkin instructed. “Memorize his resonance. Feel his rhythm. And then seek it out.”

  Krysta moved closer. Trey looked away. Get used to it, dar Aune. She will have to be trained. That’s what Mystics do. They touch each other. They link and meld and move through each other like wraiths. He swallowed hard.

  “I remember.” The reverence in her tone twisted the knife in Trey’s gut. “I can feel him. He’s alive. His signal is just a bit stranger than Belle’s. He must be sedated or unconscious.”

  Releasing her hands, Drakkin turned to him. “Your brother is a Master-level Mage, so I cannot blame this on superstition. What accounts for your childish behavior?”

  Trey couldn’t ignore the calm demand without further insult. He was acting like an ass.

  “A recent social alliance,” Lyrik supplied.

  But it was more than that. “You said you’ve met before. What did you mean?”

  After a long pause, Drakkin said, “When the time is right, I will tell Krysta how my image got into the Companion.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tension rippled through Krysta each time she looked at Drakkin, so she focused on Lyrik and Trey. She’d joined the Ontarian men at the round table in the center of the planning hall, but Drakkin chose to stand by the viewport. His gaze remained attentive, but he held himself slightly apart, assessing.

  “Dro Tar has been working undercover as an orderly,” Trey explained. “She’ll be here shortly with an update.”

  “I’ve never understood what you see in her.” Lyrik chuckled. “She’s sarcastic, obnoxious and insubordinate.”

  “Sarcastic and obnoxious, I’ll grant you, but Dro Tar has never been insubordinate.”

  Lyrik waved his hand as if to dismiss the subject. “Bring us up to speed. What do you know for sure?”

  “Dr. Hydran is breeding Ontarians for the primary purpose of scientific experimentation. We’re unsure how he became aware of Ontarian Mystic abilities, but he’s been attempting to control and manipulate them for approximately forty years. Initially, he had only Krystabel and her guardians at his disposal, so all of his victims are at least half-sisters.”

  Trey tossed Lyrik a viddisk and Lyrik slid it into the control panel in front of him. A three dimensional diagram of the Center rose from the middle of the table. Drakkin moved closer, his interest obvious.

  As Trey explained the layout of the Center, the location of the guard stations and various scanners, Krysta watched him. His confidence amazed her. She was captivated by the ease with which he wore authority. He stated his expectations, knowing he would be obeyed. Even these powerful men listened intently to his words, deferring to his expertise.

  “Vee knew the danger of being imprisoned by the security grid when he chose to transport to the Center?” Drakkin asked quietly. He moved around the table, his hands clasped behind his back, studying the diagram from every angle.

  This was the perfect opportunity for smugness. Krysta saw Trey’s amber gaze swirl rapidly for one rotation before he gained control of his emotions.

  “I had yet to share the details of what we learned in the log with Vee.” It wasn’t a lie, just a tactful exaggeration. She was proud of him. “He must have believed he could Shift his energy resonance out of the Mystic range, making it undetectable to the grid.”

  “Okay, run this by me one more time,” Lyrik suggested. “All Mystic energy resonates at the same frequency?”

  “Within the same frequency range,” Krysta clarified.

  “I have only one ability and it’s completely involuntary,” Lyrik said. “Do I still resonate this frequency?”

  Krysta shook her head. “I don’t know. The stronger a person’s abilities are the more Mystic energy they resonate. That’s why the grid works so well. Hydran doesn’t have to amplify the grid for those with more powerful abilities; our bodies do it for him. The more Mystic energy we have, the more powerfully our bodies respond to the grid.”

  “And the more powerful your abilities, the more Mystic energy you produce. It is so simple and yet, positively brilliant.” Drakkin sank into a chair beside Trey, his expression troubled. “I am not Ontarian, but I have often exchanged energy with Vee. Will I set off the security grid?”

  “Unfortunately, we understand the concept, but we haven’t been able to replicate the technology,” Trey said. “We’d have to take you down to the surface and run you through one of their scanners, and we have no feasible excuse for doing so. As with the Mystics, it would be best if you wait until the grid is down.”

  “So how do we bring the grid down?” Lyrik pushed back from the table, allowing him to cross his long legs.

  Trey smiled at his friend, his gaze filled with secrets. “What are the dimensions of the Tempest’s main cargo bay?”

  Lyrik flipped the viddisk back to Trey and punched up a diagram of the larger ship, zooming in on the main cargo bay. “Whenever you get that expression on your face, I’m damn glad you’re on our side. What are you thinking?”

  “If I retract her wings, the Gale would tuck neatly right inside that cargo bay.”

  Krysta couldn’t figure out the significance, but even Drakkin beamed at the possibility.

  “What will hiding the Gale inside the Tempest buy us?” She hated having to ask.

  “Smoke and mirrors, sweetheart,” Trey said with a distant smile. “The element of surprise. We’ll regain the ground we’ve lost and then some. I know he’s monitoring the Gale. If she just disappears, he’ll have a mystery to solve while we take down his security grid.”

  Lyrik laughed, pushing to his feet. “And how are you going to navigate the Gale with her wings retracted?”

  Standing also, Trey turned to Drakkin. “Master Gerr is a fine navigator, but more importantly, he is a Master-level Mage. If he assists you from within the Gale, can you guide her into the Tempest, without the benefit of conventional navigational systems?”

  Drakkin inclined his head, the red ring in his eyes glowing subtly. “Your plan has definite potential, but who will sneak into the Center? How will they take down the security grid?”

  “You leave that to me, Lord Drakkin,” Trey said. “Hydran’s got one of my crewmembers. I’ll play his game one last time -- and then he�
�ll play mine.”

  * * * * *

  “Krysta, there is no reason for you to leave the Tempest.”

  Gasping, Krysta staggered back a step, as if Trey had slapped her, but he wasn’t moved by her melodramatics.

  “How can you say that?” Her tone sounded almost convincing. Her eyes stared back at him, wide and innocent. “What about Belle? Are the elders unimportant? Maybe they mean --”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Her reaction seemed a bit too well rehearsed. “You’re out of Hydran’s grasp and I’m not giving him another opportunity --”

  “It’s not your choice to make.” She dropped the hurt little girl act just as suddenly as she’d adopted it.

  They faced off, hands on their hips. “Actually, it is. This is my mission and anything that affects the mission is my call.”

  “They’re my people! You can’t just leave me here. Get me inside the wards. I can coordinate the evacuation with a thought. They’ll listen to me. They’ve been expecting me. You can’t exclude me. This is my mission, too.”

  He stared at her flushed face. Purple eyes flashing, chin tilted stubbornly, she was extraordinary.

  “You have to give me your word. You’ll leave Hydran to me.”

  She bristled.

  “You leave Hydran to me, or you stay behind.”

  “Fine.”

  “Dro Tar can get us into the wards if my plan fails, so I’d rather you stay with me.” He narrowed his eyes. “You got a problem with that?”

  “No, sir,” she said with a smile.

  By the time they reached the Center, Krysta was no longer smiling. Trey had wanted to spare her any further contact with the facility and especially the man who had caused her so much pain, but she couldn’t relax in her freedom so long as her people were still under Hydran’s control.

  The receptionist asked them to wait in the lobby when they informed her they didn’t have an appointment, but a short time later Dro Tar arrived to escort them to Hydran’s office. Trey did his best to appear nonchalant. Still, she looked so tame in her Operation Hydra uniform that he could hardly believe it was his feisty first officer.