Ontarian Chronicles 3: City of Tears Page 8

He accepted the information with a stiff nod. “The facilities aboard ship should be adequate for the duration of our journey. Once we reach the compound, I can get you anything you need.”

  “Who identified the flaw in my design?”

  “My munitions engineer.” He activated the screen inset in his desk, his expression distant and cold. “He is waiting for you in the laboratory. The guards will show you the way.”

  * * * * *

  After loading Saebin’s body armor into his shuttle’s forward chute, Lyrik headed for the heart of Frontine. They had decided on a location for the transfer before Lyrik returned to the shuttle lot. Even scrambled transmissions posed a risk, so they planned out every step ahead of time.

  Shuttles merged into the magnetic current, which flowed in either direction directly above the commuter trams. The current swept the shuttles along at uniform intervals. Dro Tar merged into the stream directly in front of him.

  “Right on schedule,” he muttered. “Maybe Trey isn’t crazy after all.” He’d never understood Trey’s willingness to put up with Dro Tar’s eccentricities, but her efficiency was undeniable.

  Her shuttle’s emergency hatch slid open without the customary alarm. She’d apparently disabled the sensor as he’d directed. Flipping down his weapons’ control panel, he readied the forward chute. He only had one shot at this. The launch had to be clean enough not to draw attention to the transfer. Taking careful aim, he activated the chute.

  A subtle blur of red spanned the distance between their shuttles, and Dro Tar closed the emergency hatch. “That was almost too easy.” They maintained position for several blocks, then Dro Tar banked onto a side street. Lyrik followed the tram to the end of the main line and found a large, mostly empty lot in which to set down. He relaxed for a moment, clearing his head and anticipating his father’s reaction. This could get ugly.

  He heaved a ragged sigh and rubbed his bruised jaw. Dro Tar had been a little too willing to punch him twice before he felt sufficiently abused. Saebin, on the other hand, had to be coaxed into using her knuckle conduit. A superficial burn marred his shoulder, the charred uniform top adding the perfect touch. Odd that he’d had to coerce the “ruthless assassin” into using her weapon. Saebin was a baffling combination of ferocity and vulnerability. He wanted to protect her, shelter her from the forces that conspired against her. How could he feel so strongly about someone he barely knew?

  Using his private security code to activate an audio comlink, Lyrik paged the overlord.

  Despite the audio page, Cyrus came on screen, his gaze narrowed and wary. “What the hell are you doing in Frontine?”

  “There’s been a complication.”

  “A complication?” His tone snapped with sarcasm and impatience. “Where is D-159?”

  “I don’t know. My shuttle only has rudimentary scanners, nothing capable of --”

  “Give me a full report, now!”

  Lyrik straightened his back and released all emotion from his expression. “I located my target in Firestone Valley. She had been rendered unconscious by flying debris. I took her to a storm shelter and tended her wound.”

  “How badly was she injured?”

  The subtle disbelief in his father’s tone made Lyrik hesitate. Did his father know Saebin’s implants could expedite healing? Of course he knew. Saebin had been brought in and out of stasis since her arrival on Ontariese. Only the gods of the Day Moon knew what they had done to her.

  Focus! Do not let him realize how much you care for her. The thought sent a jolt of shock through Lyrik’s mind. Care for her? He shoved the disquieting possibility to the back of his mind and met his father’s gaze.

  “She had a small gash on her forehead. I sealed it while she was unconscious, and that was that.” He tried to keep his tone casual, but anger simmered just below the surface, compromising his efforts.

  “Continue. Did her body armor protect her from the dust? What about her face and hands?”

  Lyrik flashed a superficial smile. “I tried to talk her out of the suit, but she wasn’t having any of it. She washed her exposed skin without removing the armor. You told me the suit couldn’t be removed, and what I saw confirms it. It must be integrated in ways I don’t want to think about.”

  “This doesn’t make sense,” Cyrus muttered, glancing away from the comscreen. “Is she still in the shelter? What are you doing in Frontine?”

  “Give me a little credit.” Lyrik didn’t have to fake the affront in his voice. “She just sort of sat there until the miners showed up. Then she launched into defense mode. Once the computer authenticated their identities --”

  “Cut to the chase.”

  “I thought she went to sleep, but she was meticulously dismantling my mental shield. By the time the storm settled down, she took control of me.”

  “How is that possible? You’re immune to all things Mystic.”

  Lyrik snorted. “Apparently not. When she blasted my hand, it stung like hell. I must be resistant, not immune.”

  “You’re dancing around the issue.”

  “No, I’m not.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “You asked for a detailed report. I can’t tell you where she is, because I don’t know. She demanded that I take her to the planet. I refused. She kept repeating the demand until I felt an overwhelming compulsion to obey. I fought it all the way, sir, but I’ve never encountered anything like it.”

  Cyrus stroked his beard, his lips thinned as he scowled at Lyrik. “Where did you take her? How did she know where she wanted to go? None of this makes sense. Those occupants who haven’t left are scattered all over the face of Ontariese, and most of them are terrified of anyone associated with ward D.”

  “I’m not sure she knew where she was going. Her eyes kept flashing. I think she was scanning for someone, probably another refugee. She put on a uniform over her armor and told me to let her out.”

  “And you felt compelled to obey.” Sarcasm dripped off every word.

  “Yes, sir.” Lyrik paused, softening his tone. “Did you know she was capable of mind control?”

  “I didn’t think it would work on you.” Cyrus shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Transmit the current locations of all the refugees still on Ontariese.” He carefully relaxed his expression, not wanting to appear too eager. “I need to know what I’m up against here.”

  “D-159 is a trained assassin. You can’t lose sight of that.”

  It was a damn good thing they weren’t in the same room. Lyrik would have had his hands wrapped around the overlord’s neck by now. What are you up to, old man? How dare you compromise the safety and honor of our planet with these deceptions?

  “She kept badgering me about her objective.” If the overlord wanted to play games, Lyrik was ready. “Her training has conditioned her not to think independently from her mission. She’s searching for someone who can define her objective. That should buy us some time.”

  “Two days.” Cyrus turned toward his workstation controls. “Here are the locations you requested. You have seventy-two hours, then I issue a long range search-and-destroy.”

  Everything within Lyrik balked at the phrase. They’d hunt her down like a rabid animal and blast her to the Night Moon. “Did you inject her with a micryte?” Lyric asked hopefully. “Is there any way to track her armor?”

  “Negative on both. Her implants disintegrated the micryte seconds after it was injected. She’s an amazing piece of ... Find her. You’re the only hope we have of bringing her back alive.”

  The vidscreen blinked off, and Lyrik swiveled his chair away from the control console. Damn it to hell! Saebin wasn’t a piece of equipment, and no one was going to treat her like one. He released his safety restraints and stood, fishing in his pocket for the injector. Sabotaging his micryte would end his career and make him a target as well as Saebin. Still, Saebin couldn’t fight this battle alone. He raised the injector to the side of his neck and pushed.

  Chapter Nine
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  Saebin followed Dro Tar into the eating area of her living quarters, her gaze darting about the room. Twisting vines with colorful flowers decorated the tops of the cupboards and most of the ceiling. “How do they remain suspended?”

  Dro Tar smiled. “They’re not real. There’s a holographic projector in each corner. I have several hundred images catalogued. I was in a jungley mood this morning. Would you like me to change it?”

  “But it smells like ... rain.”

  “That’s part of the program. Are you hungry?”

  Saebin only nodded. Her entire life had been spent inside the Center. She wasn’t even certain how long she’d been a prisoner in ward D. In the course of one day, she’d been on an inhabitable moon, in a toxic valley, and now this ... her current surroundings defied description.

  “Anything in particular strike your fancy?”

  There she went again. “Where did you learn Earthish?”

  Dro Tar smiled as she arranged dishes and slender envelopes on the counter in front of her. “I visited Earth for the first time when we rescued your Aunt Charlotte. Has anyone told you about her?” Saebin shook her head, watching closely as Dro Tar spread the contents of the packages over the plates. “Well, she just happens to be High Queen of this here planet.”

  “High Queen? My aunt is the ruler of Ontariese?”

  “Sort of.” Dro Tar laughed. “You’ll get that a lot. Ontariese is filled with ‘sort ofs.’ The short answer is, she’s the driving force behind the Joint Council, and the Joint Council runs the place.”

  “Then Krysta is her niece as well?”

  “Yep.” She put one of the plates in a metallic compartment and paused as the compartment hummed. “Have you met Krysta?”

  The image of the dark-haired woman sprawled on the interrogation floor flashed through Saebin’s mind. “Sort of.”

  Dro Tar laughed, and the compartment beeped. Opening the door, she retrieved the plate, now filled with steaming food. She handed it to Saebin. “Careful, it’s hot.”

  “How did you do that?”

  “You’ve never seen a rehydrator before?”

  Saebin inhaled the fragrant steam. “What is this?”

  “Some chemist’s idea of pot roast. It’s nutritious and all, but there ain’t nothing like the real thing.” She motioned toward the small table protruding from the wall. “Go ahead. It tastes better hot. I’ll just be a sec.”

  After taking several bites of the synthetic pot roast, Saebin tried to decide where to begin. Warring factions and disproportionate populations, Joint Councils and reclusive Mystics, there was so much she needed to understand. And while she focused on recon, the overlord would continue his search.

  “Did Lyrik tell you what happened during the war?” Dro Tar asked.

  “He mentioned a biological weapon while we were in the storm shelter, but he didn’t go into detail. I have scattered bits of information in my mind, but so much of it makes no sense.”

  Dro Tar joined Saebin at the table and explained in between bites of pot roast. “Let’s just start at the beginning and catch you up to date. Ontariese has been matriarchal for longer than anyone can remember.”

  “Matriarchal?”

  “Ownership, titles, important distinctions are passed from mother to daughter. When couples become life mates, the man takes on the woman’s family name.”

  “Why is this important?”

  Dro Tar paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth. “Damn good question. The Traditionalist Sect will tell you females give birth, and females are often able to discern what Mystic gifts their life mate will possess, so they --”

  “What if the male you favor possesses no Mystic gifts at all?”

  “You’ll have to have a sit down with Tal. He’s Trey’s brother and one scary son of a bitch when he chooses to be, but he understands the history of the Great Conflict better than anyone I know.”

  “I’ve distracted you from your explanation.” Saebin pushed her plate aside. “What caused the Great Conflict?”

  “The Traditionalist Sect believed that Ontariese should remain true to its customs and traditions, to value the greater good above all things. The Reformation Sect wanted to shake things up.”

  “Do you agree with the Reformation Sect?”

  “The Reformation Sect -- like the NRS -- had some valid points. They just did horrible things to demonstrate their ideas.” Dro Tar fidgeted in her chair. Saebin wasn’t sure if the topic made her uncomfortable, or if she simply hated inactivity. “E’Lanna dar Aune, your grandmother, chose Frim dar Joon as her life mate. Frim bonded with her, but refused to take on her name or follow the traditions she held sacred.”

  Not wanting to draw Dro Tar off course again, Saebin waited to see if the rest of the story answered her questions.

  “E’Lanna tried everything to make their joining work, but Frim had no intention of playing by the rules. Shortly after their twins were born, she set him aside. He formed the Reformation Sect and founded the House of Joon. For a while the conflict centered on their differing ideals, but Frim became progressively more abusive. He knew his empire couldn’t flourish if women remained in power, so he launched his campaign to wipe out the Traditionalist Sect.” Her voice grew hushed, and she glanced away from Saebin’s face.

  “What happened?”

  “Frim captured E’Lanna’s eldest daughter.”

  “Captured? Wasn’t she his child, too?”

  Dro Tar nodded. “Her father ordered her execution. The Mystics hid their middle daughter, but E’lanna refused to take chances with the twins. She opened an interdimensional portal and sent them to separate destinations. She sent your Aunt Charlotte to Earth early in the twenty-first century. Your mother, Krystabel, she also sent to Earth, but two hundred years later.”

  “Krystabel was not my mother.” Tension gripped her abdomen and scooted her chair back from the table. “Joleen was my mother.”

  “Joleen carried you in her body, but your biological parents were Krystabel and Gath.”

  Pushing back from the table, Saebin stood and moved out of the eating area. Dro Tar had no reason to lie -- did she? Saebin had told no one about hearing Krystabel’s voice when she awakened from stasis. Had that been more than a dream? Pain erupted in her temples, and she pressed the heel of her hands against the spot.

  Dro Tar reached for her shoulder. Saebin twisted away.

  “Don’t touch me! Don’t speak.” She had to process the information. She was on the brink of overload.

  An image formed within her mind. Twin faces, young, innocent, identical in every way except the color of their eyes. Krysta and Belle. They were the daughters of Krystabel and Gath. Her mother was Joleen.

  A chime sounded, and Dro Tar called out something Saebin didn’t recognize. Saebin stumbled blindly toward the nearest chair. Other images flashed, each accompanied by a stab of pain. Lyrik called her name as her legs gave out beneath her. His voice sounded distorted and distant. The room undulated in and out of focus. Sparkles of color burst before her eyes. Bracing herself against the floor, she rode the Mystic wave.

  “Saebin?” Lyrik tried again. “Can you hear me?”

  She tried to respond, but the vision expanded, encompassing everything else.

  Krystabel’s battered body lay before her on a treatment table. Saebin shuddered as she imagined the abuse the older woman must have endured.

  “Heal the female, D-159. Heal her now!” Saebin had never seen Dr. Hydran so agitated. He wrung his hands and rocked on the balls of his feet.

  “Healing is not an acceptable objective for --”

  “Any objective I give you is acceptable. I know healing was within your abilities before you volunteered for the elite projects. Use your implants to strengthen your power and heal this female.”

  Saebin moved closer to the treatment table and extended her hands. Splaying her fingers, she kept her hands positioned just above Krystabel’s body. There was no breath, no pulsing of life through
Krystabel’s veins. She pushed deeper, intensified the sensitivity of her receptors. The faintest trail of energy disappeared into the distance. Krystabel’s spirit had departed, yet it didn’t feel like death. Somehow Krystabel had escaped.

  “I sense no life in this body,” she said softly. “Even my implants can’t raise the dead.”

  Hydran screamed, his face contorting in maniacal rage. He slapped Saebin, knocking her to the floor as he shook Krystabel’s body. “You crafty bitch! You think you’ve won, but you haven’t. I will find another way.” He shoved her down on the table and straightened his uniform top. Turning to glare at Saebin, he repeated, “I will find another way.”

  Lyrik knelt beside Saebin as she huddled on the floor. She flinched away from his lightest touch, so he just stayed near her.

  “Does she do this often?” Dro Tar asked; her voice hushed with concern.

  “I think she’s having a vision. What were you talking about?”

  “Lots of things. History, Krysta, her mother.”

  “When did she go into --”

  Saebin lifted her head and looked around, her expression muddled. “Where ... are we?”

  “At Dro Tar’s flat. You were in some sort of trance.”

  Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she struggled to her feet. Lyrik reached for her, but she warned him back with an upraised hand. “I’m on the verge of overload.”

  “How can we help you?” he asked. “What do you need?”

  “I need to assimilate the information. My memory is returning in sporadic fragments.”

  They fell silent. Lyrik helped Saebin to a chair and bent to one knee beside her as Dro Tar brought her a glass of water.

  “I saw Krystabel.” Saebin took a sip, then handed the glass back to Dro Tar. “She had been beaten, horribly abused. Dr. Hydran insisted I heal her, but there was nothing I could do.”

  “I’m sorry.” Lyrik closed his fingers around her hand, relieved when she didn’t pull away. Charlotte insisted Krystabel was still alive, but Krysta had sensed her death. Lyrik didn’t know what to think. “Did you remember anything else?”