Read Ronan: Ziva Payvan Book 3 Online
Authors: EJ Fisch
-8-
She was reasonably sure her eyes were open, yet she could not see anything. She blinked several times just to be sure – still nothing. From what she could tell, she was slumped against a wall, her neck and shoulders bent at an awkward angle. There was a certain closeness in the air that told her she was in a small room, though there was no way of telling
how
small. The room didn’t have a noticeable scent; she guessed she had been there a while and had simply grown accustomed to it. The darkness seemed familiar, but whether she knew it from sleep or consciousness, she had no idea.
What do you know?
It was a question she vaguely remembered asking herself before, so maybe she had been awake at some point after all.
My name is Zinnarana Vax
, she told herself as she pressed her palms to the floor and tried to heave herself into a more upright position.
I am an intelligence officer in the special operations division of the Haphezian Special Police.
Her arms felt like lead and it took what seemed like all of her strength to move her body. Fire pulsed through her neck and back as she was finally able to straighten.
I can feel pain. That’s a start
.
Zinni fidgeted a bit as she settled into the new position. She lifted a shaky hand, almost startled when she felt her own fingers brush against her face. She slowly began a systematic exploration of her head, finding her eyes, nose, lips, ears, and even taking the time to run her fingers through her hair. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; she found no blood or fluids, and she felt no pain other than a dull pounding in her skull.
It felt like she was moving in slow motion as she lowered her hands and repeated the examination process on her neck, chest, arms, and abdomen.
I have some bruising on my left side,
she thought, pressing down on a sore spot below her rib cage.
Feels like blunt force trauma.
She couldn’t imagine that she could have inflicted such an injury on herself. Either she had left this room at some point, or someone else had come in.
For the first time, she noticed the subtle changes in the tilt of the floor she sat on. She wasn’t sure if the space she was in was actually moving or if it was just her mind playing tricks on her, but she added the sensation to the ever-growing list of things she was aware of.
Zinni sat still for a while, focusing on the darkness once more. For a moment it seemed heavier than normal, almost as if she had passed out again, but everything looked exactly the same. Other than a low vibration that seemed to be coming from within the walls around her, her ears weren’t registering any sounds. The silence combined with the blackness left her with no concept of time, and she had no idea how long she sat there staring before beginning the self exam again.
What do you know?
She heard the low metallic groan just before the sliver of red light pierced the darkness.
Red hues are less intense,
she told herself. Nonetheless, the light seemed blinding in comparison to the void around her and she squeezed her eyes shut, overcome with a sudden bout of nausea. The groaning continued and the light became brighter, even through her closed eyelids.
A door is opening.
She commanded herself to open her eyes, to determine the location of the door, to see who or what might be approaching, but the light burned and intensified her headache. She settled with listening, smelling, feeling. A hand took hold of her arm, a device beeped somewhere near her head, and she heard muffled voices that echoed as if they were far away.
My name is Zinnarana Vax. I’m still alive.
The force field that enveloped Aubin’s capital city shimmered in the sunlight, casting odd dancing shadows on the ground that reminded Taran Reddic of rippling water. After three weeks of using the desert planet as a base, he had finally begun to grow accustomed to it, but it was still enough to make him dizzy if he spent too long looking at it. He blinked several times and wiped away the drops of sweat gathering on his brow. The force field did a good job of blocking out the sun’s harmful rays, but it did virtually nothing to quash the intense heat that continuously beat down on Aubin’s sandy surface.
He crossed the dusty courtyard in the center of the old apartment complex his people had called home for the past three weeks. It was large enough to sustain them comfortably for an extended period of time, but small enough that they attracted little attention and could easily pack up and move at a moment’s notice. There were twenty of them total, all members of the Durutian Special Forces who were under his command. Less than half the group was currently present in the complex; at this time of day, most of them would be out combing the streets of Zylka, looking for any evidence of their target.
He entered the first door he came to and reveled for a moment in the coolness of the room. The lights were currently powered off, but the space was still well-lit thanks to the glow from several mobile computer terminals and comm grids. He made his way across the room, taking a second to glance at the readings displayed on each monitor he passed. The information they showed wasn’t unpleasant, but neither was it what he wanted to see.
Taran cursed under his breath and heaved a sigh. “Anything?”
The woman standing at the terminal on the far side of the room turned and shook her head; the cybernetic implants in her eyes glowed a soft silver in the semi-darkness. Her features had been hardened by focus, but her face softened as she watched him. “Nothing,” she said quietly. “Still no contact.”
Taran felt his throat tighten, though whether it was from sadness or anger, he wasn’t sure. It had been close to fifty hours since they’d received any word from his sister Devani, one of several government representatives from their homeworld. Though Duruta was an independent Fringe world, the Galactic Federation kept a large portion of the planet’s mercenary population – including military – on retainer, using them to patrol the surrounding Fringe systems for signs of the Resistance. Taran’s unit in particular had been commissioned to seek out pockets of Resistance in the Fringe and drive them back toward the Core worlds where the Federation’s powers-that-be could inflict due punishment. As part of this arrangement, the Durutians dispatched representatives to neighboring Fringe worlds – Midore, Haphez, Cobi, Sardonis, even Chaiavis – every few months to scout for Resistance activity under the pretense of a friendly political visit.
That was the situation they found themselves in now. A Durutian patrol had recently gone missing, captured by Resistance fighters during a scouting mission, and Taran had volunteered himself and the other members of his Special Tasks Unit to track them down. But after a three-week wild goose chase around the Fringe, they’d had no luck. The Durutian government had deployed its representatives in hopes of gaining some extra intel, and they’d gotten reports from all but one. Last anyone had heard, Devani Reddic had landed at the Noro Spaceport on Haphez and was due to speak with the director of the Haphezian Special Police. The thought made Taran shudder. He’d had his own run-in with an HSP agent during a solo mission a couple years back, and the memory drew his attention to his cybernetic left arm, a replacement for the one that had been blown off by a high-caliber projectile sniper rifle. The Haphezians were ruthless, and if Devani was on their planet and unresponsive, well…the implications were unpleasant.
“I think we have our answer then, Mae,” he sighed.
The woman tilted her head. “What do you mean?”
“The Delta Patrol was lost just outside the Noro system. Devani is on Haphez, and I know she’d respond if she could. This could be our hidden Resistance hub.”
Mae strode forward and placed a warning hand on his arm. “Taran, we can’t jump to conclusions here. We don’t know the circumstances.”
“Do you have a better explanation?”
She hesitated. “No, but think about it. Haphez has always been independent, just like us. I’ve heard they imprison or even kill any Res members found there, just to keep the Feds off their backs. Why would they be allied with the Resistance now, after all this time?”
Taran pulled out a nearby chair and slumped into it, bringing his elbows to rest on his knees. “You know as well as I do that the Resistance has always tried to recruit Haphezians to their cause. Haphez may not have any quarrel with the Feds, but I know damn well that those people want to avoid Federation control at any cost. Their military would be a huge asset to whichever side they’re on; maybe the Res leaders finally managed to talk them into joining forces.”
Mae said nothing, but the shock of red curls on her head bounced as she nodded. “We’ll just keep trying,” she murmured, moving to the back of the chair and placing her hands on Taran’s shoulders. She began massaging, methodically working out the kinks that had formed after several days of tension. “Like you said, the Haphezian military is not to be trifled with. Wouldn’t want to start a fight over nothing now would we?”
He understood that she was only being cautious, and her ability to remain level-headed and think situations through never ceased to impress him. He reached up and placed one of his hands over hers, interlocking their fingers and pulling her down far enough that he could plant a light kiss on her cheek. She leaned over his shoulder and responded with one of her own, this one on his lips. He sighed when she finally pulled away, wishing he didn’t have to return to reality.
“Let me see that dossier again.”
Mae straightened and moved around to face him, hands resting on her slender hips. “You’ve already looked at it a dozen times today. What good is it going to do to keep staring at it?”
“It just helps me focus. Reminds me who the real enemy is.”
“Fine,” she sighed, moving back to the terminal she’d been working at. Her hands flew over the holographic controls until a series of profiles appeared on the terminal’s viewscreen. The Federation had provided their group with all the information they had about the current leaders of the Resistance, hoping it could help them keep better tabs on any Res groups moving through the Fringe. But despite the Federation’s superior size, the Resistance had always proved to be a formidable foe, foiling plans and detecting Federation spies before they could gather much useful information. The dossiers were helpful but their details were vague, particularly those for the person presumed to be overseeing the entire Resistance. Taran watched the screen until Mae reached the final profile in the list. The sight of it made another lump form in his throat. This was the person responsible for the capture and, if Federation intel was any indication, most likely the
death
of the Durutian scout team. And, if Taran’s gut was correct, this was the person indirectly responsible for the capture and…. He stopped before his mind could go any further – he didn’t even want to think about what could be happening to Devani at this very moment.
He was almost relieved when the door of the room slid open, disrupting his train of thought. He stood and turned, squinting against the light and blast of hot air that rushed in from outside.
“Sergeant Reddic, Corporal Nasser,” sputtered the young man who entered. Taran could see his silvery ocular implants adjusting to the room’s dim lighting as he stopped dead in his tracks and gave them a rigid salute.
The time for formalities was so far gone that Taran found it odd to hear anyone address him by his title, much less salute him. The Durutian army had spent so much time working for other organizations over the last several generations that formal military procedure had almost become a thing of the past. He’d grown accustomed – during the past few weeks especially – to interacting with his soldiers on a more personal level, even going so far as to be on a first-name basis with most of them. Right now, they were all just partners trying to get the job done so they could rescue their comrades and get paid. But apparently old fashioned respect was still taught during training; many of the younger soldiers still clung to tradition. This man was a prime example.
Mae and Taran both offered half-hearted salutes in return and motioned for him to move further inside and shut the door. “What’s the problem, Cowen?” Mae asked, folding her arms across her chest.
“You said to report in if there was any suspicious activity at the port,” the soldier replied. “Two of our people posing as port police inspected a ship that touched down just an hour ago. The internal computer shows that the vessel is of Haphezian origin, though the exterior has undergone extensive modification. According to the flight logs, it was last docked on Niio. One of our recon teams reported possible Resistance activity on Niio, didn’t they?”
“That’s correct,” Taran replied.
“What do we know about the passengers?” Mae said.
Cowen swallowed. “They do appear to be Haphezian, ma’am,” he answered, shooting a glance at Taran that seemed almost apologetic. “There were only two men, but our scouts at the port said they were heavily armed and their cargo included a variety of high-powered communications equipment.” He swallowed again. “I know Representative Redd— well, your sister, sir. I know she’s on Haphez right now. I figured you’d want to know about this.”
Taran’s mind raced, leaving him speechless. He directed his gaze toward the floor, trying to come up with all possible explanations for the arrival of the Haphezians. He knew Mae was right about jumping to conclusions, but anger, fear, and desperation were beginning to take root and he couldn’t help but feel that his instincts were right.
“Thank you, Cowen,” Mae said, snapping Taran out of his trance. “We’ll look into it.” Her voice was quiet but carried a commanding tone that told the young soldier the conversation was over.
He bowed his head and rushed out, letting another wave of scorching air rush into the room. All was silent for several long seconds as both Taran and Mae contemplated the new developments.
Her sigh finally broke the silence. “Maybe you were right,” she said. Her face was once again hardened by the focus and determination that made her one of the best soldiers the Durutian military had to offer. “Maybe this does answer our question. What do you think they want?”
“Good question,” Taran muttered, grasping the back of the chair he’d been sitting in. “They could just be scouting out our squad. It’s probably no secret that we’re here – three weeks is a long time to stay in one place. Or they could be probing. There could be an entire unit on its way here to wipe us out. Or…it could still just be a coincidence.”
“Orders?”
He shifted his gaze to meet hers. “We’ll start by scouting right back. I want more information about these guys. Where’s their base of operations? What kind of weapons are we dealing with? Who are they communicating with? I’d like to go down to the port and get a personal look at this ship they arrived in. I want them to know that
we
know they’re here.”
Mae nodded. “I’ll call everyone home for a briefing.”
Taran’s eyes followed her as she moved back to the main console where the Resistance dossiers were still displayed. “The moment they do anything hostile, we’ll retaliate in a similar fashion. Let their people lose contact with them the same way we’ve lost contact with Devani.” He directed his attention to the dossier that remained on the screen, eyes fixed on the leader’s name, the name that had been plaguing him since the disappearance of the Delta Patrol: TAV RONAN.
“And if they can’t lead us to Ronan, someone else will.”