Alien, Mine (28 page)

Revulsion tripped across her shoulders. Eugen stepped to her side and speared her a glance that was more concern than query. She gave a slow nod. “That’s it, General. That’s the type of mechanism I was hooked up to.”

His thumb rubbed the rapidly beating pulse at her wrist.

“That is the objective, Lieutenant.”

Kiresel knelt, accessed a panel beside the bench, and made a silent study of the connections inside. After a moment, he applied a long, thin tool to various contacts. “It appears to be linked to the computers, General.”

“Confirmed, General,” Dovzshak verified, studying the internals of a similar panel.

“Activate the device,” Eugen ordered then leaned close to her. “Doctor Drengel engineered an instrument that will emit your human DNA signature, hopefully allowing us access to the information and purpose behind that.”

The hideous memory of excruciating pain rose and she batted it down. “Thank you.”

Eugen’s warm fingers squeezed her wrist. Kiresel attached a piece of equipment to the workings behind the panel then placed a puck-like object on the couch.

“Device activated, Sir,” Graegen notified.

One of the monitors flickered and a hazy image appeared.

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“What is that?” Darlnron demanded. “It looks like a constellation.”

“No,” Hognan said, “the stars’ positions are too regular.”

Sandrea stared at the configuration. “General, if I may?”

“Yes, my dear?” He turned to her.

“They mean something to me as an amateur astronomer, but not in any context.”

“As an astronomer then, what do you see?”

“Lagrangian points—”

“For those of us not from Earth,” Darlnron butt in, “please be so good as to enlighten us.”

I was getting to that, you rude, insensitive bastard.

“Lagrangian points are points in a three-body spatial system where a small body of insignificant mass can remain in a fixed orbit with two massive bodies, influenced by their gravitational forces alone.”

“You mean that something like a satellite could be placed at one of these Lagrangian points,” Hognan asked, “and the gravitational tides from the planetary bodies would keep it there?”

“That is correct.”

A glimmer of respect flashed across Hognan’s countenance.

“An object under the influence of a Lagrangian point would have no reason to emit electromagnetic radiation and thereby reveal its existence,” Eugen murmured. “Not until it was activated. Can you extract further information, Lieutenant?”

“Attempting that now, Sir,” Graegen replied. “It seems we’re fairly restricted with what we can pull up even with the DNA prompt.”

One of the Lagrangian points pulsed and a set of numbers appeared.

“Well done, Private,” Graegen encouraged. “Can you read that, Sir?”

Sandrea turned her gaze to Eugen as he concentrated on the screen.

“They are the coordinates for the Kamspa system,” he said. “We held off an attack in that sector recently. Maybe”—the corner of his lips twisted—“it was not an attack at all, but a diversion to insert something in a Lagrangian point. What else can you get, Lieutenant?”

Eugen looked down at her. “The Kamspa system is not too close, but close enough to the Angrigan home world for this to cause concern.”

Another point flickered. This time the spatial reference appeared incomplete. There seemed to be enough of it however to breed a fair amount of disquiet in the room.

“Bad?” she asked.

“Quite possibly another close neighbour,” Eugen answered.

For another half-hour or so, Dovzshak and Kiresel attempted to persuade the computers to divulge more information. To no avail. Kiresel thumped the bulkhead in frustration.

“I’m sorry, Sir.” Graegen eventually announced their defeat.

Oh, dear, that’s . . . probably not good.

An unpleasant path appeared in her immediate future; one she’d only go down under duress
and
kicking and screaming.

“We require Miss Fairbairn to communicate with the craft,” Darlnron instructed.

Damn, I knew it.

“No!” Eugen snarled.

“May I remind you, General, that you follow the orders of the Council?”

“And may I remind
you
, Councillor, it is the Council’s burden to regard my advice.
This
is a set up. Miss Fairbairn is possibly the sole remaining asset of the Bluthen capable of discharging their plan. You cannot believe that the convenient appearance of one of their unmanned ships and the incomplete access to information can be anything other than a blatant lure.”

“I believe the situation demands the risk, General. We need to know what they are planning. The human can access their computers. Our
world
is at stake!”

“Putting Miss Fairbairn into that machine could well see the fruition of that risk.”

“General, can you say in all certainty that your . . . relationship with Miss Fairbairn has not clouded your judgment?”

“Putting my perfectly clear judgment to one side,” Eugen ground out, “are you proposing to force Miss Fairbairn to comply with your plan?”

Darlnron turned an insincere smile on her. “I’m sure Miss Fairbairn will see the dire urgency of our need and . . . volunteer.”

You mean before you force me to volunteer.

The soft swish of the door opening turned her in her seat. An Angrigan sergeant marched in, his rifle held in casual readiness. As were those of the eleven soldiers that followed. Kendril and Ragnon swung to face the squad.

“What is this?” Eugen growled.

“An escort for our esteemed guest,” Darlnron said.

Sandrea felt the threat of personal dominoes set to tumble. If the Council tried to force her, Eugen would intervene, and Kendril and Ragnon would probably follow his lead. This could get very ugly, very quickly.

Eugen turned to the Councillors. “Has this action been sanctioned?”

Displeasure landed heavily on Hognan’s features. “Much to my disgust and our disgrace, yes, General, it has.”

Eugen’s eyes swept the armed guard.

Oh, God, now he’s contemplating the best way to engage them.

From the corner of her eye, she caught Kendril and Ragnon roll their balance to the balls of their feet.

Fuck, this has to stop now.

For her, right here, right now, what it boiled down to was the immediate threat to Eugen’s life and those of her friends. Not a possible, unidentified, future threat to millions or billions. She could endure the hopefully short-lived shattering experience of linking to the machine to keep her love and her friends out of dire trouble.

“Sandrea?”

That single word held Eugen’s promise that he would protect her against whatever threatened. The necessity of choosing the lesser of two evils loomed before her.

“The way I see it,” she said, “the Bluthen are gambling on my vulnerability to the machine, even though I proved less than compliant, to initiate whatever they have planned. The Council is gambling on the Alliance’s ability to control any potential danger I might cause while linked to the machine against discovering just what that danger may be.” She rose to her feet and wrapped a hand over the tense bulge of Eugen’s forearm. “I will do it, Eugen, if you will stand by me.”

Problem was, she’d trust Eugen’s judgment over anyone’s. If he said it was a trap, that’s precisely what it was. Well, she’d just have to hope the Council’s faith in the Alliance’s abilities to counter whatever she might unwittingly start was well founded.

Within Eugen’s eyes, outright dismissal waged angry war with acceptance of her agreement. His large hands cupped her elbows.

“If you choose not to go, I will not let them have you.” Concern roughened his voice. “You’ve already endured too much. We will find another way.”

Love flooded her heart and gave her courage against the fear clawing at her soul. “And I won’t let you sacrifice yourself. Come”—she clutched him tighter as he opened his mouth, no doubt to argue—“we
can
do this together and we probably don’t have time to find another way.”

Tension straightened every line of his body. The torment clouding his eyes saddened her and she placed her palm to the side of his face. His clenched jaws contained boiling emotion.

“General, you
will
follow orders!” Darlnron’s voice rose in querulous insistence.

That man really is irritating.

Eugen snarled. “Then you can keep—”

“No, Eugen!” She covered his mouth with her hand. “It has to be this way. You know the Bluthen. Whatever they have planned, it will be diabolical. The Angrigan culture is now my culture, and I
will
defend it. Sometimes the only way around a situation is straight through it.”

He pulled her hand to his chest. Concern spilled from his eyes, then he nodded.

She tiptoed up and pressed her lips to his. “Come on then, my General,” she whispered.

“I will not forget your transgression, General.”

Darlnron’s voice grating on her nerves, she took a deep breath and turned to the viewscreen. “Will you stop being such an asshole?”

Hognan snorted.

“And withdraw your damned escort. I’ll only do this with General Mhartak and Alpha Squad.”

“Good luck, Sandrea,” Hognan said then turned to Darlnron. “She’s right, you know. You really are an asshole.”

Chapter 15

“. . . A Banquet of Consequences . . .”

A harsh sigh of anger tore through Mhartak’s throat at his Council’s shameful position. The bitter taste of accepting this unpalatable decision burned like corrosive on his spirit. All his knowledge and experience told him there was no reason for Sandrea to suffer through this fear-inspired decree and every reason not to. At this point he didn’t give a damn about his own career, but resisting the Council order would merely jeopardize Sandrea’s safety. Defying them would force him from her side and that was unacceptable.

Her desire to protect him from the menace of his own government and her immediate forgiveness for the death of her fellow Earthmen humbled and moved him. He knew, soul deep, that if he lost her, he would never recover.

She cocked her head to one side and gazed up at him. “Come on, my General,” she said, “let’s go see if we can rip the fork out of some Bluthen nighties.”

“I’m sorry, Sandrea . . .”

“Put a really
big
disappointment in their day,” she clarified.

He drew a huge breath and forced the reservations baying in his heart into quiet mutterings. He would
not
underestimate her abilities, nor would he fail in his duty and privilege of care for her.

“Lieutenant Graegen?” he said.

“Sir?”

“Extract your team, excluding Private Kiresel, then remain in formation with the Bluthen ship.”

Sandrea drew comfort from the big hand Eugen placed on her lower back as he urged her from the room. She sent a quick glance over his grim features and swallowed.

I know, dear heart, I know. It’s not my first choice on how to spend the day either.

Kendril and Ragnon trailed them to the flight deck where Drengel met them with a silent acknowledgement. Queasiness roiled through her stomach though her heavy heartbeat lumbered with less trepidation than she expected. That minor miracle no doubt achieved by the knowledge Eugen would be there to watch over her in the coming ordeal.

Dexter’s feet increased in suction against her skin and his tail wrapped a mite more tightly around her nape. She focused inward and dredged her memory for the precise relationship between her and the Bluthen machine. Peripheral attention noted their boarding of a shuttle, hands settling her into a seat, her body’s automatic compensation for the craft’s movement.

What had the Bluthen programmed her for?

No, that question didn’t seem . . . right.

What had the Bluthen programmed . . . in her?

Yes, that seemed more relevant. Dexter pushed his head into the nook behind her ear. She trailed comforting fingers over his body.

So, programmed
in
her. What did that mean?

“When you are ready, Sandrea.”

Eugen’s soft voice glided into her introspection. She blinked, focused her eyes and looked up. “Sorry?”

His lips compressed, anxiety dulled his eyes. “We are at the Bluthen craft.”

Already?

“Oh. Oh, right.”

Unease bit into her muscles and clashed head on with her burning resolution to deny the Bluthen any hold over her and perhaps by default an Alliance society. Eugen moved his strong, gentle hands to her arms then helped her to her feet. His wide-legged stance blocked her path.

“In your own time,” he ordered.

A sad smile eased the corners of her mouth. ‘In her own time’ would probably see destruction on a large scale before she moved. No, Bluthen dictated this timeframe.

“After you, General.”

He remained concreted before her, his features locked in stoic calm. A muscle twitched at the top of his jaw and then he turned and dropped through the already open hatch into the enemy craft.

“Good luck.”

Sandrea turned to Kendril and frowned at her friend’s position in the pilot’s seat.

“You’re not coming, Shrenk?”

Kendril shook her head. “No.”

Disappointment punched through her
.
“Oh. Well then, I’ll see you soon.”

“Make sure you do.”

Sandrea grabbed her courage, nodded at her friend, and strode to meet her nemesis. Eugen’s strong hands supported her as she slid into the other spaceship. She nodded to a sombre Kiresel and moved aside to allow room for Ragnon and Drengel to drop into the craft behind her.

The cramped quarters permitted very little movement and despite Eugen’s impeding hands on her upper arms, she confronted the metallic couch. Ugly memories cascaded through her mind. Vengeful determination pursued them.

I am so going to wop some Bluthen ass.

She pressed her lips together. They hadn’t conquered her last time and she wouldn’t let them this time. Dexter’s low, throbbing growl rumbled into her ear. Tangible support radiated from her friends as she stared at the contraption. She reached up and gripped one of Eugen’s wrists.

“Don’t let me become an instrument of destruction, Eugen. Promise me.”

“Have no fear. The
Vega
will dampen any remote signals you may inadvertently send.”

“And what if I do something other than send a remote signal? Or the
Vega
is unsuccessful?”

A long moment passed before his ragged indrawn breath shuddered against her back.

He placed a light kiss on the crown of her head. “I will have you out of that
thing
in a moment.”

She forced down the hot sting of choking emotion, nodded, and steeled her heart with the shield of his love.

“Private Ragnon,” Eugen ordered, “start the live feed back to the
Vega
.”

Right, time to get this chook plucked.

She scrambled up onto the couch and leaned back onto the metal plating. Dexter hissed and snapped at straps as they snaked from hidden orifices. They embraced her like an obscene lover and clamped her to the bench. One pulled tight across her brow, immobilizing her head. A cold, snub-ended probe prodded the base of her skull. The metal pressed against her skin, pushed deep, then punctured through the resistance to sink into her flesh. She sought the comfort of Eugen’s gaze. A mask of absolute horror contorted his features, and she offered him a wan smile.

Then the pain began.

Mhartak watched with utter loathing and disgust as the probe penetrated Sandrea’s body. Her brave smile twisted his heart; the groan of extreme pain wrenched from her body almost destroyed him.

“It’s working, Sir.” Admiration and concern mingled in Private Kiresel’s words.

The comm hissed, then Councillor Darlnron’s querulous voice seemed to pound maliciously through Mhartak’s head. “What is working, General?”

Distaste compressed Mhartak’s lips that the arrogant gan wouldn’t condescend to address a private. He forced his gaze from Sandrea to the monitors and his hand clenched as she vented another moan of torment. The screens displayed a number of Lagrangian points, all with complete coordinates and all within systems relatively close to Mrilala.

“Miss Fairbairn is linked with the machine and information is being accessed, Councillor.”

Her cry of pain sheared through his heart. He frowned at Drengel.

“Can’t you give her something for that?”

The doctor ran a scanner over Sandrea’s body. “It’s accessing her nervous system,” he replied in some amazement. “It appears to be retrieving stored information. That must be why the Bluthen wanted her alive and undamaged. A severe enough shock to her system would probably have corrupted the data.” Drengel closed his scanning instrument. “General, I am more than happy to administer an analgesic, but I must warn you the information retrieval will be disrupted. As that is the only reason she’s in there . . . perhaps . . .perhaps if you hold her hand.”

“That will help?” Mhartak doubted any such simple action would prove beneficial, but he’d try anything to alleviate Sandrea’s pain.

“Although I am not fully acquainted with the workings of the human body, I understand enough of the nervous system to know that the chemicals released by good emotions will, to some extent, counteract the pain.”

Deep, scoring grief and anger slashed at Mhartak. To be forced to watch his loved one endure such dreadful distress cut him to the core of his soul. He folded a hand around one of Sandrea’s.

“Send her your love, Dexter,” he ordered in an undertone to the lizard now wrapped around her forearm.

Drengel scanned Sandrea’s body again, a slow nod expressing his satisfaction.

“Her heart beat is slowing, General, the rhythm becoming more regular.”

“General.” The hysteria tingeing Darlnron’s voice grated on Mhartak’s nerves and he seriously considered cutting the feed. “What is that?”

Mhartak forced his focus to an image that appeared on a screen. A comet tumbled through space, its twin tails of dust and solar-wind-created ions sparkling in sunlight.

What has a comet to do with satellites hidden in Lagrangian points?

The image receded to reveal the sun the comet orbited and its associated planetary system.

“That’s the Mrilalan system, General,” Ragnon identified. “This is a real time stream. That must be Algenar’s Comet.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But what’s the connection? The comet’s orbit is too far—”

“
Dear g’Nel
,” Darlnron almost screamed, “their plan is to send the comet into Mrilala!”

Mhartak sighed. “I really must insist you to keep such ludicrous comments to yourself, Councillor. Such contributions are not helpful.”

Private Ragnon shook his head. “No, Councillor, any explosion large enough to alter the comet’s course into Mrilala would shatter the comet into insignificant pieces. The resulting fragments would not cause severe damage to the planet as friction with the atmosphere would heat most of them into gas.” He shrugged. “It’d be a great show, but that’s all.”

“What is the principal element of that comet, Private?” Mhartak asked.

“Creosettica, Sir.”

“Speculation?”

Ragnon’s head tilted to one side. “I cannot see how the Bluthen would benefit by bombarding our planet with creosettica meteors, Sir.”

Frustration clamped Mhartak’s lips together.

What is the link between this comet and the hidden satellites?

Sandrea’s hand trembled in his. She moaned, and he suffered the torment of the damned. His love for her raged at him to remove her from that hells-begotten machine
now.
But he knew that short-term solution would solve nothing. The Council’s willingness to compromise their principles had forced her compliance. To protect her, he needed to expedite this matter.

He leaned close to her side and pressed a kiss to her cheek. Disgust at the need to push her further, force additional torment on her, gutted his self-respect.

“Sandrea, my heart, if you can hear me, we need to determine the nature of the satellites in the Lagrangian points.”

One of the satellites magnified on a monitor accompanied by a few rows of Bluthen language characters. Private Ragnon’s eye ridges rose.

“That’s an explosive device fitted with a radio detonator.” He studied the readout. “Actually, General, it’s a composite. The device will split into three.” He paused and read further. “This indicates it has already been deployed and embedded in the comet. The strategic positioning and blast capacity will veer the shattered comet to Mrilala.” He shrugged. “But still, I don’t get it.”

“Patience, Private, and watch,” Mhartak advised.

A jumbled stream of incomprehensible symbols crossed the monitor then resolved to show a cargo of compressed gas in the remaining five satellites. Private Ragnon’s gasp of horrified understanding rasped across the quiet.

“Report,” Mhartak demanded.

The private swallowed and drew himself to attention as though drawing on his military training for support.

“That gas is an isotope of neon, Sir. When combined with creosettica in its gaseous phase, it forms an extremely unstable substance.”

Mhartak regarded him for a moment. “And?”

“The panel indicates that the gas has been deployed to the comet.”

“Then we are to assume the Bluthen plan is to transmit a detonation sequence to the embedded explosives on the comet, upon which they have already seeded this gas. The explosion will not only rupture the comet but also realign its course toward Mrilala. As the meteors plummet through our atmosphere they will transform into gas and merge with the isotope. Friction with the atmosphere will ignite the mingled gases. The result?”

“Based on the amount of isotope, more than half our ozone will burn away.”

Crippled by agony, Sandrea wandered lost in the occupied territory of her own mind. Ghosts of Bluthen directives dominated her control. They busied themselves manipulating her cerebral cortex to process information, hauling it in and rerouting it along established paths. Sidelined as a spectator, filled with horrified outrage, she struggled to concentrate past the excruciating pain in an attempt to regain command.

Positive emotions of deep love and care filtered into the hell of her world. They rallied to her and formed a shell that partially countered the oppressive bands constricting her spirit. A voice requested specific information. Automatic responses learned from negative reinforcement kicked in and the required facts were selected and uploaded.

A scent that symbolized profound devotion infiltrated the murky swamp of pain that held her captive. It added strength to her battle and cleared her thinking. She invaded a set of neurons, forced them to her will, then dispatched a sequence of data.