The Forsaken Empire (The Endervar War Book 2) (9 page)

At one point, Vellanar had even been invaded. Red could see the scars. Outside the ship, the planet’s space ring revolved. The artificial habitat was essentially a giant space station crowning the home world. From the visuals, the ring appeared as a monumental bridge, curving over the planet and into the horizon. Despite its size, however, the structure was incomplete. In fact, it was a recent construction, built to replace the larger one that had once existed.

I wasn’t there, the ensign explained. That was before my time. But I’ve been told it was impressive.

She was there with him, and she motioned with her hand. The main screen reacted, displaying the remains of the previous ring. It had been built farther out from the planet, although little of it remained. He saw the burned-out shell. The belt of matter had been cut down, the individual pieces blackened and charred. The debris field continued, with chunks of broken metal scattered across it.

At least they can rebuild, the ensign said, finding some solace.

The young officer said the words calmly. Gazing at the different views, she was even in awe. She walked forward and came close to the screen, studying the ruins and imagining their former glory. Red, however, could barely stomach the sight. It reminded him too much of the past. He had seen the war. He remembered its carnage.

Rebuild, he thought, wincing, almost ready to scoff.

Perhaps the Arcenians and the rest of the galaxy could, but Red himself had to balk. He didn’t know whether it was because of her age, or whether it was because she was born after the war. But the ensign’s idealism was apparent. She was only twenty-four, a span of time that seemed so brief by his standards, although the ensign did seem competent and confident. Red could even feel that the she was eager. Eager to defend the galaxy, and complete the mission.

All commendable, he thought. If only it hadn’t involved her.

As Vellanar remained in the background from the bridge’s main screen, Red sat hunkered down, staring at the floor.

Ensign, he said, I have a request.

Next to him was a command console. It was built into the ship’s wall, its system modified for limited access. For the last few days, Red had been using it, going over all the data associated with Farcia’s previous attacks. Without a neural connection, it was a clumsy machine. He was forced to use his fingers, or his voice, to issue the commands. But at least it allowed him to pull up the information. Lately, he had been reviewing his own data. It came in the form of files, each extracted from his personal possessions all of which were also on board and declared to be evidence. The extracted files included a detailed medical analysis, dated over two decades ago, but it covered Farcia’s condition.

Red typed into the console now, his fingers touching the holokeys. In addition to the analysis, he sought to bring up the other file.

This, he said, as the ensign approached. Can you synthesize it?

On the console’s screen was a list of ingredients. The names were all translated. He looked at the chemicals and recalled their use.

A long time ago, I had batches of these, he explained. They kept Farcia controlled. But in larger doses they will sedate her, even inhibit her powers, if only briefly.

As the ensign examined the list, Red’s voice began to crack.

Farcia she’s not well. I think she may be dying.

It was what he felt every time he thought back to that encounter. Farcia and her pain. He could remember it even now. Her agony had been raging.

He rubbed his arms and hands. His body was nearly shivering.

I know you and your commander possess all manner of weaponry, he added. But this serum it’s nonlethal. It shouldn’t even hurt her.

The ensign looked down at him, sensing his worry. She quickly understood what he was really asking. The worry was for her Farcia the woman who was once his wife.

Please, just consider it.

Before the ensign could reply, she heard the door to the bridge open. It was the Sentinel.

Report. Anything new?

The Sentinel approached from the entrance, looking no different and ever stern. But Red briefly noticed something in her right hand.

The ensign stood at attention.

We have some information that could help, Justice said. Red has been translating his personal files. They include old medical scans of Farcia. We’ve sent them to the Alliance science teams.

Good. Prepare another copy for the Arcenian military.

The Arcenian military? she asked.

Yes. The empire is on alert. They’re concerned about what Farcia might do if she lands on the planet. Unfortunately, we still don’t know what she’s fully capable of.

The Sentinel turned and stared at Red.

That’s why the Arcenian military is coming here. A dreadnought will arrive at any moment.

She walked toward him as he sat in his seat, anxious.

Red, the Arcenians want to take a look at you, the Sentinel explained. I offered our own scans of you, but the Arcenians they like to do things on their own terms. I’m told it won’t take too long.

But Farcia. She’s a mutant, the ensign interjected. Examining Red, I don’t think it will

I know. I told the Arcenians the same. But they have their own questions. Many are frankly suspicious. The only reason we’re here is because of Red and what he saw.

Red realized that she was right. The Arcenians had little reason to believe him. If anything, his claims risked causing panic. Even he couldn’t say for sure what he had seen. So much of it was now becoming a blur, the memories mixed with his own sentiments. Red clamped his hands together, trying to squeeze out some clarity.

I understand. I’ll assist in any way I can.

Good, the Sentinel replied. I won’t be here when the Arcenians come. Justice, you’ll be in command.

Where are you going? the ensign asked.

Down to the surface. To the capital. I’m not sure for how long. But this is urgent.

The Sentinel raised her right hand. Between her thumb and index finger was a slab of metal. The surfaces were intricate and lined in platinum. It was both thin and small and shone under the light. If Red wasn’t mistaken, the tiny device was some form of data chip, built to store or generate copious amounts of select coding. The Sentinel then opened her hand in a way a human could not. The palm began to expand, the metallic bone inside separating. He saw the skin lift as the fingers flexed and lengthened. The silver tendons were stretching. Briefly, the circuitry inside protruded; it was flesh mixed with machine. The data chip then disappeared. The slab of metal had been pulled in. It folded next to the index finger, and the skin began to rescale and seal around the bone.

Red watched, both horrified and amused. The ensign glared.

Just an upgrade, the Sentinel said cryptically. But only temporary.

She then walked away, holding her hand tight, and exited the bridge.

Chapter 11

No, he whispered, shaking. Don’t say that.

He left the room, fatigued and fed up. It was a day later, and Red couldn’t sleep.

Physically, he was alone in the hallway, staring at the bare floor on the Sentinel’s ship. But mentally was another matter. Clutching the wall, he took a moment to think and listen, warily. It came piercing into his thoughts.

Red, the voice said. I’m not your wife. She’s gone. Why can’t you see that?

He heard her, and his mind chewed on the thought. No, he wasn’t alone. The decades-old memory was there to remind him. The fear welled up in his chest, followed by the anger and the ache. Red planted his feet on the ground, compelled to act.

Don’t touch me. You’re no one to me. You don’t matter!

She was there, arguing, shouting, resisting. This was another one of her fits; the frantic bouts had been growing longer. The insults were turning ever sharper.

You’re pathetic. Delusional. You want something that doesn’t exist.

Her face was in tears, the black streaks were staining her skin. She pushed him away, again and again.

You’re wrong. All of this is wrong! I have to go back. I don’t belong here.

Reaching out, he tried to embrace her. He had to. For a moment, he could touch her hair, caress her cheek; he felt her in his hand. But then she was gone. His sight was vacant. The bare floor reappeared. He was in the cold present. His hand was empty.

Farcia he said, his voice trailing off. Red fed on the air, gasping it out from his cheeks.

For better or worse, she was on his mind. The woman from his past was no longer dead or forgotten, but alive and back. A day ago, during the questioning, the Arcenians had asked him to remember. And so he did, letting their telepaths dive deep into his consciousness. It was a near repeat of his interactions with the ensign, but without the etiquette or delicacy. The Arcenians had told him to spare no detail; they wanted all his knowledge, including every interaction with Farcia. Their two telepaths were ready and adept, or so they claimed. He needn’t hold back.

In response, Red had reluctantly obliged. He opened every barrier to his innermost thoughts. The effect had sent the Arcenian telepaths reeling. In just a matter of seconds, Red had unloaded decades’ worth of knowledge into their minds. He watched as the pair of alien officers stumbled. One fell out of his seat, dazed; the other moaned, his tail flailing. It was what the Arcenians had wanted: complete access to his mind. But in giving it to them, Red had also revealed something else.

Like any telepath, he could generate mental images and transmit his thoughts to others. For him, it was natural, even mundane, the effort akin to lifting a finger or uttering a single phrase. It was how his people often spoke: wordless, but in sync. One mind could connect with another, the exchange mutual and shared, the culture a collective.

Telepaths in this sector had learned similar techniques. Just not at the same speed, or with the same clarity. Few actually could. It was a talent apparently rarer than he’d thought. His own abilities, in fact, dwarfed anything the Arcenians could muster. He bore no ill intention in showing his interrogators this. But it was clear that he was a more than just an ordinary empath.

As for Farcia, she was also something else. The woman possessed the same abilities, only on a far greater level. Indeed, as all could begin to see, her mental intimacy was a new extreme.

Red, the voice said. This is good-bye.

He heard this, recalling the words from all those years ago. It was the day she left him. The day when her kin arrived to claim her.

They were there, bright in the sky and pushing past the clouds. Like giants, they descended, shaking the air and the ground as they came. Red remembered. The behemoth shone, nearly blinding him.

Around him, the wind was heavy. His hair was coming over his face. Red was about to panic, as the energy scorched above. Only when he covered his eyes and peered out could he see her. Standing under it all was his wife. She looked back at him, unaffected and distant but awash in light.

Red, the voice said. You and I are over. Just forget me. Please.

The memory turned dim. She was gone, along with her kin. It was now the present, and Red stood alone in the hallway.

No, he said, adamant. Never.

Despite it all, Red refused to forget.

***

The vessel itself was small. An Interceptor, he was told. The name: the Kinnison.

Red walked inside the Sentinel’s ship with the security collar still attached. The brace was still armed and clutching his neck. He cleared his throat, wishing the contraption was off. But at least he was no longer confined to his quarters. Not that it really mattered.

He could roam the craft as he pleased. But really, there was little to see. Whatever secrets or weapons the vessel held, he had seen none of it. In fact, there were only a few rooms on board, and nearly all were sealed off. For Red, the interior was just one blank wall after another. The main hallway was essentially a long loop.

So he came away startled when he saw it. The puff of smoke was gusting in the air. Expecting to find more bulkhead wall, Red noticed a flare of pink fog. It came from the other end of the hallway. The smoke was leisurely drifting up to the white ceiling. He cautiously stepped closer, inhaling the aroma.

He felt the change. The air had become warm and savory, the sweetness coming his way. Red turned and saw the source. It was from a drug a spice cigarette that nestled in the woman’s hand.

She brought the still-burning cigarette to her face and then put it between her lips. In another breath, she drew the warmth in.

The Sentinel woman contorted her face. It was a smile, from what he understood. A wry smirk, with one half of her sealed mouth bending up. She sat there, at the edge of a window in the ship’s wall. Holding the cigarette, she then tapped it against a circular tray next to her leg and let the ash from the burning end fall.

Can’t sleep? she asked.

Red looked at her, not quite sure how to respond. Admittedly, he was surprised to see her like this. She took another puff, smoking the drug again. The gust of fog rose from the cigarette. It was very different from a day ago, when the Sentinel had separated her seemingly human hand before his eyes.

Red watched now, as she calmly held her cigarette with the very same hand.

Your collar she began, is it too tight?

Red had been scratching the skin around his neck. Realizing this, he flinched and nervously placed his other hand down at his side.

Here, she said. To put him at ease, the Sentinel decided to ignore the regulations. With an order from her artificial mind, the security collar released.

He felt it loosen. The strip of metal dropped to his chest and then into his hands.

I’ve already broken several regulations today, she said cryptically. I guess it won’t hurt to break another.

As she finished her cigarette, Red stood back, confused. He leaned against the wall, as the smoke continued to caress against his face.

Unlike the ensign and so many others, the Sentinel was immune to his telepathy. So initially, there was an air of mystery about her this machine, who was strangely both woman and warden. It explained little, like why she was so human, or why she was ingesting this drug. It was only when he had asked the ensign that Red finally learned who the Sentinel really was. He had suddenly felt honored.