Alien Shores (A Fenris Novel, Book 2) (28 page)

A door swished open for them. Cyrus pushed the mechanic through and to the floor and strode in after him. Four uniformed men and women turned around at their stations.

“Who are you?” the oldest woman asked. She wore a cap and had stars on her shoulder boards.

“I’m taking over this ship,” Cyrus said.

“I don’t think so,” the woman said.

Cyrus was out of time and had decided to revert to Latin King methods. He shot the woman point-blank, her chest exploding as she toppled out of her chair.

“Does anyone else wish to die?” Cyrus asked, brutally. “If so, tell me now to save time.”

The remaining men and woman stared at the dead woman and then at Cyrus Gant.

“How can we serve you?” a trembling man asked.

“You will take the ship up,” Cyrus said.

“And go where?” the man asked.

“That way,” Cyrus said, pointing with his gun in the direction of the puffer fields.

“The Revered Ones will destroy us,” the man said.

“Look at her!” Cyrus shouted, rushing the man, aiming the gun in his face. “I am your Revered One. Obey me or die. The choice is yours. I’m done asking.”

“We will obey,” the man said. The others nodded.

“Then take this thing up and follow my directions,” Cyrus shouted. “How many other people are aboard?”

“Us, him . . .” the man looked questioningly at the mechanic still lying on the floor.

“The others went to the kiosk for iridium,” the mechanic said. “They won’t be back until—it’s only me.”

“Just us,” the temporary captain told Cyrus. “This is just a shuttle.”

“Yeah,” Cyrus said, “fine.” For a shuttle, this thing was huge. But maybe that’s how Kresh looked at such things. “I want you to take us into the air, but not too high. We have some passengers to pick up.” He grinned. They would pick up the Berserkers. After the others were aboard, they would attack the tower.

The captain or pilot gave him a funny look before applying himself to his panel. “We will do what he says and tell the Revered Ones later he forced us. Our master will understand.”

“Shut up,” Cyrus said. “You talk only if I give you leave. Now let’s go.”

33

Mentalist Niens staggered away from the reality field, having interviewed the test subject for an extended length of time through his pay girl ghost. The techs stood at attention at their stations, while the Bo Taw with his smug superiority watched from the back of the chamber.

Two lesser-ranked Revered Ones stood with Zama Dee. They served her in an apprenticeship, and were smaller Kresh. Lining the chamber walls stood several squads of Vomags with two seniors present. Each of the seniors wore red shoulder boards.

Niens found that intimidating. What did Zama Dee expect? This wasn’t a war zone, but a laboratory. Did she fear the test subject? That seemed absurd.

I love the Kresh. I love the Kresh
.

The Bo Taw’s smug smile grew.

“Mentalist Niens,” Zama Dee said. “Approach me and make your report.”

Niens rubbed his forehead. He felt off, and strange, while odd thoughts tumbled inside his brain. He was supposed to remember something. Klane had said . . . something.

“Revered One,” the Bo Taw said, sharply. “The mentalist has been compromised.”

Zama Dee pressed a clicker. The soldiers along the walls drew their sidearms, aiming them at Niens.

“Explain,” the Kresh said.

“I sense foreign brain patterns in him,” the Bo Taw said. “I believe the test subject has suborned the mentalist in some manner.”

“Impossible,” a different Kresh said. “The reality field nullifies psionic activity.”

“No,” Zama Dee said.

Torture
, Niens thought.

“The Resisters claimed magical powers to their Anointed One,” Zama Dee said. “The Resisters were most insistent, increasingly so under painful stimulation. They are awaiting a new day and expect our test subject to deliver them from what they term . . .” The Kresh lashed her tail, glancing about the room at the humans.

Niens rubbed his forehead. He needed to acquire a pistol. Once he had one . . .

“Assassination, Revered One,” the Bo Taw said. “The test subject has rewired the mentalist’s thought patterns. Perhaps he has even imprinted his own on the mentalist.”

“Has the test subject’s consciousness moved into Niens?” Zama Dee asked.

The Bo Taw shook his bald head. “I do not think so, Revered One.”

The 73rd studied Niens. Finally, she motioned to the Vomags, and the soldiers holstered their weapons. “How is it that a mentalist of your stature allowed a test subject to dominate your intellect?”

Niens cocked his head. Is that what happened? He felt fine. No, he wasn’t fine. He was in peril. “Revered One, I implore you to reconsider. The test subject has amazingly vital news for you. He is our friend.”

“Indeed,” Zama Dee said.

“He wishes to trade the news for his freedom,” Niens added.

“That is ludicrous,” the 73rd said.

“His consciousness went to several interesting locales at odds with Kresh interests.”

“Does the test subject believe himself a slave?” Zama Dee asked.

“In truth, he considers you demons,” Niens said.

The three Revered Ones lashed their tails in agitation.

“If he believes that,” Zama Dee said, “why would he warn us?”

“Because he has found greater dangers than you Kresh,” Niens said.

“Remember your place, mentalist,” Zama Dee warned.

“You Revered Ones,” Niens hastened to add.

“I suspect the test subject has corrupted our mentalist,” Zama Dee told the other two Kresh. “That shows the test subject has hidden talents. It would be a waste to destroy such a specimen. Yet . . . logic now dictates the wisdom of such a policy.”

“But he is a mere human,” one of the other Kresh said. “He is a wild. Surely, such a being cannot hold any danger to Kresh society.”

“A reasonable thesis,” Zama Dee said. “I also find myself intrigued by him. I begin to wonder, however, if the reality field is the best place for the test subject. I think we should rewire his brain and put him in a submersion tank.”

“That would risk his health, his longevity, and his brain,” the other Kresh said.

Zama Dee hissed, “I have no desire to grant him long life. I want to know what process has given him these extra psionic abilities. It is most strange.”

“Revered One,” the Bo Taw said.

Zama Dee lashed her tail, and she took her time turning toward the tall humanoid. “Niens appears placid. Are the test subject’s thought patterns still evident in him?”

“Please forgive the interruption, Revered One,” the Bo Taw said. “I just detected a foreign psionic presence. It has vanished, but it was near. I think it homed in on my thoughts.”

“This is certain?” Zama Dee asked.

“I know what I felt, Revered One,” the Bo Taw said. “The mind came from outside the building.”

Zama Dee lashed her tail. “Recommendations?” she asked the other two Kresh.

Before anyone could answer, the three Kresh turned toward the north wall. Loud swish-swish antigrav plate sounds grew tremendously in volume. Then the wall exploded inward and everything in the chamber heaved violently.

34

The shock of collision threw Cyrus against his restraining straps. From outside he heard explosive metallic scraping, crashes, bangs, and thuds, and breathing became impossible. He slammed back against the cushioned couch, his head ringing. It was difficult to hold the null under these conditions.

With a gasp like a swimmer who has held his breath several seconds too long and finally broken the surface, he sucked air into his lungs. Grinding metallic sliding sounds told him the shuttle shoved still deeper into the building’s upper floor.

It had been his idea to use the ship as a battering ram. He had located a psi-master, and decided that was the place to strike.

No klaxons wailed on their ship. No emergency noises of any kind rang. Instead, the old hetman Yang shouted the battle cry of the Berserkers. At the same time, the bottom ramp made crushing noises as it opened. A billowing wave of choking mortar dust rolled into the shuttle.

Cyrus burst into explosive coughing. He should have thought of that. He yanked the release, and the restraining straps fell away. Feet thudded. Yang appeared in the dust cloud, and Skar and Grinder. Cyrus joined them. Each of them wore body armor. Cyrus had his knife tucked at his side, and he gripped a Vomag pistol in both hands. The others had similar weapons.

“Kill the Bo Taw, Vomags, and Kresh,” Skar said in a loud voice.

Cyrus’s head pounded and he breathed too fast. Jana and Darter remained with the bridge crew, making sure they stayed at their posts.

Choking and spitting dust out of his mouth, Cyrus entered a disaster. Dust drifted everywhere. Men groaned from the floor. Others screamed. Heavy beams, equipment, pieces of flooring pinned humans and Kresh. Some of them looked dead. Others stirred. Twice, Cyrus shot men. Once he used both pistols and slaughtered a helpless Kresh, blasting the alien so flesh and blood spurted like a volcano.

That was for Captain Nagasaki
.

Yang, Skar, and Grinder likewise killed the enemy.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” a man in a dirty white lab coat shouted, staggering toward them.

Cyrus aimed a gun in the man’s face. Blood ran from a gash over his right eye. “What are you?” Cyrus shouted.

“I’m Mentalist Niens,” the man whined. “Are you Klane’s friends?”

“Where is he?” Cyrus demanded.

Niens screamed, clutching his head. “Stop! Stop it!”

Cyrus scanned through the dust. He spied a psi-master with his long head bent and pinned by a broken beam. Cyrus raised a gun—and a mental bolt struck his mind. He heard interior laughter. He vomited, and he emptied a magazine in the psi-master’s general direction.

The mental attack ceased. With blurry vision, Cyrus witnessed the mutilated, lanky body twisting on the floor, still pinned by the beam.

Cyrus dropped the spent pistol and grabbed the front of the mentalist’s coat. “Where’s Klane?” Cyrus shouted. “Tell me before the same thing happens to you.”

Niens stared at him in a daze.

Cyrus shook the lean man, and shook him again, making his teeth rattle. “Talk to me. Where’s Klane?”

“Right here,” a man said.

Cyrus spun around. He saw a man about his height with short hair and open features. His eyes seemed to swirl with power, with hidden knowledge.

“You’re the Anointed One?” Cyrus asked.

“Yes,” Klane said.

“I’m Cyrus Gant from Earth.”

Klane raised an eyebrow.

“I’m also the Tracker,” Cyrus said. “I’m here to rescue you.”

“To take me where?” Klane asked.

“Into space,” Cyrus said.

“You have a ship?”

“You see our shuttle. It’s taken a little damage, but the armor held well enough so it can still fly. I plan to use it again and storm onto an Attack Talon. Then I’ll own a spaceship, yes.”

A smile spread across Klane’s face. “Yes. That will work. Let us leave.”

“Follow me,” Cyrus said.

“What about me?” Niens asked. “You can’t leave me here. The Kresh will torture me.”

Cyrus turned and studied the mentalist.

“He comes too,” Klane said.

Cyrus shrugged. Then he shouted, “I’ve found him! Let’s get back to the shuttle and leave this place. Come on, let’s hurry!”

Antigrav plates hummed. The shuttle slid out of the building, leaving the dead behind. Without fanfare and without challenge they raced upward.

Cyrus stood in the control chamber, watching. The Kresh city dwindled. Soon, so did the canyon and then the wide uplands. Finally, they saw the moon’s curvature as the stars began to appear.

“We’re really leaving this place,” he told Skar.

The soldier said nothing.

The pilot turned to Cyrus with an imploring look. During the attack, the pilots had each been bound.

“Take us straight to Zama Dee’s Attack Talon,” Cyrus said. Niens had given him the Kresh’s name and told them the alien had died during Klane’s rescue. “You know the procedure,” Cyrus told the pilot, “so follow it to the letter.”

“This is blasphemy,” the pilot complained. “You slew Revered Ones, branding us all with certain death.”

“Do you prefer to die this instant?” Cyrus asked.

Tight-lipped, the pilot maneuvered toward the Attack Talon, opening channels and following procedures, as Cyrus had ordered.

Klane, the Anointed One, sat in a chair. He had been silent since boarding the shuttle. He glanced at Cyrus, saying, “The Attack Talon lacks Bo Taw. This could work.”

The ship assault proved anticlimactic. Seventeen personnel were aboard Zama Dee’s Attack Talon. With Klane’s psionic help, Yang, Skar, and Cyrus moved from compartment to compartment. They disarmed the few Vomags and put the techs in what passed for the brig. There were no Kresh aboard, thus none were slain.

“We won’t be able to hide our vessel for long,” Niens told them an hour later.

“Why?” Cyrus asked.

The mentalist threw his hands into the air. “In case you failed to notice, the Kresh have more than one Attack Talon. They have hundreds. They will track us down no matter where we go.”

“I have the null,” Cyrus said.

“What is that?” Klane asked.

Cyrus explained it, how it had hidden them from psionic tracking.

“I can expand on that,” Klane said, shortly. “It will make us invisible. Yes. I’m beginning to perceive the way.”

“How about you explain it to us,” Cyrus said.

Klane studied him, finally saying, “Wait a few days. Let us see if we can disappear. Then I will explain what I’m thinking. I don’t want to risk capture and losing valuable information to the Kresh. I know they’ll never pry it from me.”

Cyrus put it to a vote, and they decided to trust the Anointed One. On low power and with Klane providing the null, they piloted the Attack Talon closer to Pulsar.

It was a massive gas giant, twice the size of the solar system’s Jupiter. Pulsar emitted intense amounts of radiation and heat, which would help cloak them.

After discussing it for several hours, Klane and Cyrus agreed that near-Pulsar orbit would be the easiest place to hide.

Days passed as Klane informed them of frantic psionic activity, searching for them. Later, radar sweeps bounced against the ship, but they were not found. Klane locked himself in a wardroom, and didn’t emerge until several hours later.

All he would tell them was, “I took care of it.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible,” Yang said. With his transfer knowledge, he diligently began studying astrophysics and other space-related sciences.

“I don’t understand it, either,” Cyrus said. “But I believe he has the ability to do it.” He recalled how psi-masters had fashioned laser-resistant shields with their minds against
Discovery
. Why couldn’t Klane have figured out a way to thwart radar pulses?

Niens began to interview the captured crewmembers. “I’m a mentalist,” he told Cyrus later. “Give me enough time, and I will turn them from Kresh love to Humanity Ultimates.”

“You’re going to brainwash them?”

“At first, perhaps,” Niens said. “In time, they will understand it was for the best.”

“Very well, proceed.”

Five days after leaving Jassac, the Attack Talon entered into close orbit around Pulsar. With careful piloting, they brought the vessel down to the highest atmospheric clouds, the antigrav plates working overtime.

Only then did Klane bring Cyrus, Jana, Yang, and Skar into his wardroom. It was lit with a single lamp on a center table, showing pen marks of odd symbols on the plastic top. Klane had listened to Cyrus’s story some time ago and gone over it with him in detail.

“We are hidden for the moment,” Klane said. “I have ranged with my telepathy, searching between here and Jassac. Your null was a brilliant idea, by the way,” he told Cyrus.

“I can’t take credit for it,” Cyrus said. “I learned it from a lady on High Station 3.”

“That’s interesting,” Klane said. “In any case, my point is that as long as our antigrav plates last—and with constant tinkering, they should—and enough food and water remain, we can stay here, hidden from the Kresh.”

“How does that help us free humanity?” Cyrus asked.

Klane grinned, and it made him seem like the young man he really was. “There is a war coming to the Fenris System.”

“Do you mean the cyborgs?” Cyrus asked.

“Yes,” Klane said.

“You had a clairvoyant dream about them?” Cyrus asked.

“No,” Klane said, “nothing like that. I went to their fleet and spoke with their leader, the Prime Web-Mind.”

Cyrus paled. He knew his solar system history. That’s what the cyborg leader had been called: the Prime. “You went to their fleet?” Cyrus asked. How was that possible?

“I think it’s time I told you what happened to me,” Klane said. For over an hour, he spoke about the singing gods in the caves, his attack in the demon city, the Kresh response, his consciousness fleeing his body and his dreadful visit to the Chirr hive, and later, the cyborg fleet.

“So you see,” Klane said, at the end of his tale, “the Chirr are going to launch their war fleet soon enough. They have hundreds of thousands of vessels. They have planned the attack for generations. It will be a bloodbath in space.”

“And the cyborgs?” Cyrus asked.

“They have five ships tougher than Doom Stars,” Klane said. “Are you familiar with those?”

“I’ve heard of them,” Cyrus said.

“Doom Stars were dangerous?”

“Extremely,” Cyrus said.

“Well,” Klane said, “those two coming attacks are the cornerstone of my plan. That means we have to wait until the Chirr strike and the Kresh bring their Attack Talons and other craft to Fenris II. Or we wait until the cyborgs arrive and begin their gruesome procedure. That, too, will occupy the Kresh.”

“Okay,” Cyrus said. “And then what?”

“Then we attempt to slip near High Station 3 and rescue your Earth crew and the Teleship,” Klane said. “That will radically alter the equation.”

“Equation?” asked Cyrus.

“Of man’s standing in the Fenris System,” Klane said.

“Okay . . .” Cyrus said. “I have a question. What if the cyborgs begin winning their war? That would be a disaster for the humans. The cyborgs will strip their flesh and give them metal bodies and programmed minds. That would be worse than being a Kresh’s slave.”

“It will be a bloodbath,” Klane said again, his features hardening. “Many will lose their lives. Remember, I have been to the hive and I have been to the cyborg fleet. I have a good idea of what is in store for humanity. Millions of humans will die. We’re not fighting to save them. We will be fighting to save humanity from extinction. We will be fighting to give our kind a future in the universe.”

“You think it’s going to be that bad?” Cyrus asked.

“I see two possibilities. No, three,” Klane said. “We can throw our lot in with the Kresh. That may be the most reasonable, but it would be fraught with the peril of them coming out on top.”

“You’re talking about them and the solar system humans, too?” Cyrus asked.

“Of course,” Klane said.

“All right,” Cyrus said. “That’s one possibility. You said there are three.”

“The second is that either the Chirr or the cyborgs prove victorious,” Klane said. “Neither side will allow humanity to live. They will exterminate us root and branch.”

Cyrus flicked out a second finger, waiting for the last one.

“The last possibility is that humanity wins,” Klane said. “Then we survive to populate the stars as our own masters.”

Cyrus nodded. “Which do you believe is the most likely outcome?”

“Given the odds,” Klane said, “either the Chirr or the cyborgs win. That means the end of the human race.”

Cyrus sat back. In time, he took Jana’s hand. The stakes were still astronomical, weren’t they? They had a bigger ship now, and more people, but the odds had turned grimmer. Yeah, the Anointed One was right. They had to get
Discovery
’s crew and get out of the Fenris System. But what about the millions of humans here?

No! There had to be a better way than fleeing back to Earth. He’d met Skar, Yang, and Jana. There were millions more like them in the Fenris System. They had the Anointed One, likely the most powerful psionic around. They had mind transfers and exactly one military vessel. Was there a way to start a mass rebellion as Spartacus had once done in Italy? That was worth some careful thought and possible planning.