Rebel's Consort - Phoenix Book 1 (2 page)

The pounding of his blood matched the rhythm of his need as he strived to deliver his hardened flesh release. Throb. Beat. Pulse.

Ding. Click.

“What the fuck?” Startled as the sound tore through his dream, Trace sprang up in bed, sweat coating his body. He rubbed his hands over his face. Damn, he could even taste the sweet flavor of her on his tongue. Cruel. His dreams delivered salvation and torment with perverse repetition.

Ding. Click.

He stalked to the far side of his room and glanced for reassurance at the series of virtual screens projected against the wall. Each illuminated data and confirmed security protocols. He tapped a receipt code on a small communicator.

Piper: Onyx?

He tapped back the response.
Confirm

Piper: leaving for extraction

Copy—will hold for your final status

Bending over his desk, he stretched his neck until the blood rushed back, and he confirmed he was awake. Piper was bringing out another one. The second kid in two months. With the increased number of extractions this year, Piper’s risk rose as well. Then again, the detention camps had hardly slowed down their business, a hideous contrast of devaluing life under the bright bubble of a flourishing new metropolis.

He turned away, raking a hand through his hair. Piper’s signal gave him an hour, maybe two. He’d need the time to prep for whatever problem developed. Given the surgeries and mutilations performed in the centers, he’d run through his stock of supplies one more time.

Not bothering to activate lighting, he headed to the laser cleaner, and then with a second thought, headed to the old-fashioned shower stall at the corner of the tiled utility room. Clean water for washing was a rare commodity, like so many things in this world. The main conduits for water processing only serviced New Delphi’s corporate facilities and select homes above the surface of the grid.

Trace had found the showerhead in one of his forays through a suburban ruin beyond the perimeter. Dangerous, but rummaging for parts and lost treasures ranked a necessity as much as eating and sleeping. He’d rigged a barrel on the roof of his semi-demolished lodgings at the edge of Down Below.

On a good day, the barrel filled with the daily thunderstorm’s water. On a bad day, it flooded the first level of what had served before the cataclysm, some hundred fifty years ago, as an outskirts police station. He liked to consider the extra water his own personal moat.

He skimmed antibacterial gel over his body and worked it into his skin with rough, brutal strokes, not sparing his cock and balls in the process. Undeterred by his earlier nightmare, the thick shaft stood away from his body at rigid attention.

Shoving back the images of feminine heat, he gripped himself and stroked the length hard as he pulled the chain to release the slow drizzle of water from above. The vision of flesh and feminine scent surged back. He could fool himself, pretend it was his wife that he missed and longed for. The painful fact was that her face had fled from his memories more than nine years ago, too soon after her death.

The woman of his dreams didn’t resemble the voluptuous, fragile creature he’d married, though she claimed his soul in a way no real woman ever had.

He gripped the chain tighter, angled his forearm against the shower wall, and pumped faster with a bruising grip, the punishment to his cock for betraying his sanity and tempting him with impossibilities. In the dead quiet of his barren rooms, he grunted his release and sucked in air. His hand around his genitals shook, the climax ending his torment, for the moment. There was no ease for the empty ache in his heart.

Trace released the chain and walked naked, already drying, to the lab table in the next room. Grabbing his duffel bag, he swept a space clean with his arm. He extracted every item, and with cold, clinical detachment, assessed each tool of his trade: updated chips for software, replacement energy modules inserted to ensure precision edge and depth for laser scalpels, additional needs all cataloged on his med scanner. Piper delivered fair assessments of what each situation required, better since he’d been working with her. She’d never asked him to provide more than answers and equipment, but someday Piper would reach her limit and require more. Like each other mission call, he added every contingency he could imagine. Prepared, all of his supplies were methodically stored, one by one, back in the duffel. Now for some heads-up on the fallout surrounding Piper’s latest extraction.

Shepherd?

Shepherd: Status?

Update on sector activity within the detention center

Shepherd: No word on Piper?

Already onboard for her

Shepherd: Good—her?—you’ll be lucky if she’s not a 300lb brothel guard

Trace didn’t respond, waiting instead on Shepherd’s feedback. They’d had the debate about Piper often enough. No one but Wolf, a teenager too young to be a full-time spy, had physical access to Piper. Or so Shepherd led him to believe. The man never gave up details on other team members. A good trait, but one that frustrated Trace where Piper was concerned.

He would bet his last bit of good luck, if he had any, that Piper was a woman. Piper’s only missions were extraction of children from the camps. Six years of working remotely on her cases and five of being her first point of contact for every medical request issued, had created a phantom image in his mind. Perhaps his dreams were taking too strong a hold in his consciousness and he’d confused Piper with reality, though he doubted it.

Shepherd: Break at Facility near Med Lab #1—supplies?

Low on synthetic AG

Shepherd: meet?

Need it before 8:00 pm
Trace wanted plenty of time for Piper’s update. The icy itch along the back of his neck warned him that this mission might have complications.

Shepherd: Acknowledged—will synch with supplier and send time and location

Copy

Piper’s sex didn’t matter to Trace. Man or woman, Piper’s distress calls took priority with him, that and treatment of the kids the underground rebel rescued from the detention labs. Shepherd knew it and so did the head of the underground. The work offered Trace a brief balm. But more important, this was his penance, and he refused to fuck it up.

When Piper signaled again, which he or she always did, Trace would be ready.

***

Onyx?

No acknowledgement. Delivered that response by any other operative in the underground Analena would have moved on to another option. A lesson she’d learned the hard way. But for medical issues, there was no one else she trusted. Given Onyx’s diligent attention to her missions, she suspected that he wasn’t involved in something else but unable to receive her transmission. No other explanation worked.

Onyx?

With a curse, Analena moved further toward Down Below’s market place and crouched behind a pile of rubble. The mound bordered one of the steel girder structures that comprised the base level for the five-mile diameter of New Delphi. A location too close to civilization for her liking and on the border of the Regent guard patrols. Desperation dictated her choices. She needed reception. Looking up at the solid ceiling of Down Below, she tried to gauge whether the structure was interfering with her signal.

Onyx?

She cradled the boy closer, waiting for the response on her communicator.

Twenty seconds, thirty, then a blip of letters flashed on the device covering the back of her left hand.

Onyx: Status?

2 much 2 handle
. No shit. Not that she intended to send that particular message, but the thought kept repeating in her mind as she murmured words of comfort against the boy’s head. His fingers dug into her arm, feeding back his fear.

Onyx: Health?

How exactly did she gauge health for a missing eye and blindness? The boy was alive, so that put him at better than 50/50.

60%—need help
And
now she was rambling useless details on the underground network channel.

Onyx: I’m here, focus—age—sex—location

8?—male—?
‘Stuck out in the cold’ and hiding from guards in Down Below didn’t translate well for location.

Onyx: Bleeding?

No—maybe
The boy didn’t show outward signs of wounds or lethargy. The second symptom, one she’d expect if he had internal bleeding. But she couldn’t know and worse couldn’t repair based on what the surgical monsters had done.

Onyx: Have it covered—what tools—details?

Damn it. She couldn’t even articulate what to request. The only thing she knew for certain—she couldn’t handle the boy’s problem alone. Years with Onyx’s guidance and all she could handle this time was the physical haul and comfort. She drew the line at working on head wounds, too delicate, too much room for error. At least this extraction had been cleaner than some. Swallowing back frustration, she made a quick decision.

Need hands on.

Nothing followed but dead air space. Her dealings with Onyx were always at a distance. Notorious in the underground teams for his reticence and shadowed lifestyle, he kept himself isolated, though she claimed that status as well. Frankly, she had no information on his participation with other team members. The occasional global distress call had flashed on her receiver from time to time. Her initial surprise at receiving his query on her status before responding to others had faded to a circumstance she now took for granted. Perhaps a potential error on her part.

Her second team member, Wolf, indicated Onyx delivered procedural advice and support across all the teams. He’d been known to talk people through surgery via message, but he came out of hiding for almost no one. Perhaps she’d doomed this boy and screwed her most important contact with her request.

Onyx: Your transmissions cutting out—detail Pickup zone

Thank you. Analena bent her head and released a breath of relief against the boy’s head. “Hang in there, buddy. Help is coming.”

The boy’s head twitched against her midriff. His hands remained fisted, yet his breathing had calmed.

Wolf @ Little Dipper@10
That would give her two hours to get the boy home. A risky elongated time schedule, but she’d need to weave false trails and ensure the guards couldn’t follow her.

Onyx: Confirm

Thanks

Onyx: Not needed

The astrological overlay of the city worked for her security measures. Code name Wolf, or Aaron, was the oldest of her crew. He operated in the thin layer between the ruins of Down Below and New Delphi’s acceptable society above the grid. He’d made the original contact with Onyx, albeit by messaging as well, the first face-to-face contact cemented in a dive coffee shop on the middle level of the city’s framework. The shop functioned as the central coordinate for the constellations and the encrypted meeting codes. The meet point of the map shifted, based on the season, constantly moving the pickup zone with a secure option known only to the Onyx, Wolf, and herself.

Even after several more contacts with Aaron, if one could call them that, this meeting left her and Aaron confronting a virtual stranger. Onyx had always used a face shield and required the same of Aaron, a measure of distance and security she’d respected. Now past caution left them vulnerable.

She shifted the boy in her arms. “Hold on, buddy. I’m taking you home.”

Chapter 2

Trace kept his face averted and followed the edge of the Down Below market place. The makeshift stalls and bartering tables supplied ‘recycled’ items from New Delphi’s prestigious homes and kelp byproducts for food until the wee hours of the morning. The more secluded accesses, levels beneath the ruins of homes and office buildings, hosted the edgier, lucrative flesh trade. People did what it took to keep their families clothed and fed. He didn’t judge. But the fringes were a good place to become lost and hidden from the Regent guards.

His face shield kept anyone from recognizing him, though his shield was now a recognizable icon for Onyx on its own. Obscurity was an obvious reason to wear a mask, but not his reason. He’d modified the interior. With a glance and shift of his pupils, he could activate programs developed to run external scans for body temperature, heart rate, and a preliminary assessment of fluids. All key for an initial scan of victims, or threat, without revealing himself.

And the shield had allowed him to make his first contact with Piper’s team, several years ago. Determined to push for acceptance, he’d hounded the underground team leader.

Radar: I can’t confirm you as a dedicated resource to Piper

You can

Radar: Piper makes the call—has own circle—Wolf

Have me vetted by her second—Wolf

Radar: Her?—codename not confirmed as female

Test me with Wolf—will continue 2 work other cases

Radar: Wolf may not concur

I will agree 2 anything she wants—just need to be Piper’s single point of contact for medical

The transmissions had stalled. Radar’s recruitment of him, after his wife’s death, necessitated the leader’s knowledge of Trace’s past. He’d known all the heinous details and pulled Trace into to work anyway to counter the Regents’ plans to gain immortality using the lives of others. Trace’s only interest had been derailing the harvesting of body parts from uninfected children. However, he’d assisted with any team requiring his help.

Radar: Sometimes better to let the past go

Can’t—please

Radar: confirm—will offer the meet

The initial meeting with Wolf had been public, cold, and uncomfortable. Pretty much as Trace had expected. He hadn’t released his face shield and requested the same of the boy who couldn’t have been more than thirteen or fourteen years old. What the kid lacked in age he made up for in street smarts and resilience. The first meeting led to more, as Radar integrated Wolf above the grid into New Delphi’s society and tagged Trace to provide guidance and insight. His knowledge of life above and his occasional use as a backup provided an opportunity to bond with the young man and develop his trust. Both necessary for his incorporation in Piper’s mission. The process had spanned years, but it didn’t matter.