From there, it was a small step to ingratiating himself to
the Director. He turned out to be a relatively anti-social individual, but
Reave was relentless. Finally, he felt comfortable broaching the subject he had
pointedly avoided during the last two weeks.
“Director, I’d like to ask a favor.”
The Director raised one eyebrow, “Really? And just what
might that be?”
“First, before I ask, let me point out a couple of facts. It
was my intelligence that led you to the prisoner, and I could have nailed her
on my own, using local hired help to delay her pick-up until I arrived.
“Maybe,” the Director interrupted, but his tone was light.
“Yeah, definitely. However, I chose to call you in and share
the credit with you.”
“Well, there might be a bonus for me.”
Reave jumped in, “Of course there will be! Don’t play coy
with me, I’m not that dumb.” The Director smiled and Reave continued. “All I
ask is to be attached to her, either as escort, guard, whatever. Wherever they
send her, make sure I go with her.”
The Director considered, and Reave forced himself to slowly
release the breath he was holding. “That might be a rather tall order.”
“Come on,” Reave pressed, “your clout coming off this big
win should give you a good amount of pull.”
“Well, maybe. I will see what can be done when we arrive at
the Spire.”
Reave willfully unclenched his jaw before replying “Thanks, Director,
it means a lot to me.” He felt the prickle of sweat on his back as he
considered that they were going directly to the Spire on Havyn. Reave had not
imagined they would travel directly into the heart of the Trueblood empire, and
the thought scared him more than he liked to admit.
**** ****
“
Curse-ed Kyndra!
” Ken Westron exclaimed as paced
across the common room of the Abyss.
The sound startled Leland out of his half-sleep and he
jumped up off the couch. “What?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. Even with his
enhancements, the eyes didn’t focus like they used to. “What’s wrong?” he
repeated.
Ken looked at him but didn’t stop pacing. He moved so
quickly that he made the largest room on the ship seem small. His hands
fluttered about as he talked, and his eyes didn’t fix on anything for very
long. “She missed the pick-up! The strike team is searching, but they’re
convinced she’s gone.”
Leland still felt groggy as he tried to determine the
implications. “She could have been held up, or needed to call off the
rendezvous for any number of reasons.”
“No, no, no,” Ken cut him off as he sat down at the control
console and began tapping away furiously at the numerous screens and other
devices Leland couldn’t identify. He’d never seen anyone move as quickly as Ken
Westron at a console. Screens and images bloomed to life at various points
around the man, only to disappear faster than Leland could follow. Obviously,
Ken had some powerful implants, but despite that, Leland was amazed at what he
could do.
After only a few minutes, Ken exclaimed “HA! There!” as he
pointed to a display that was apparently supposed to make everything clear.
Leland could only hold up his hands in admission of ignorance.
Sighing, Ken spoke slowly and quietly, “There” he said
pointing to the display. “It’s a short burst of Trueblood communication.
Military.”
“And what does it say?” Leland asked.
“It’s not what it says,” Ken huffed, “It’s where it came
from and when it was sent. It’s a Trueblood Security Forces transmission
from
our rendezvous point
at
the time of the pick-up. They’ve got her.” He
paused and his eyes went slightly unfocused for a moment, “I still don’t know
how they intercepted our private code . . . I’ll have to work on that
one.”
“Coincidence, maybe,” Leland offered.
“Nope,” Ken said with finality. “I ran the numbers using the
historical records of Trueblood presence in that area over the last two years.
Statistically, it can be no coincidence.”
“Fine, fine,” Leland rubbed his eyes again. He still felt
groggy and certainly not up to listening to Ken’s technical explanations. “Now
what?” he asked of no one in particular.
Ken babbled on about something technical while Leland tried
to ignore him. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep, or simply the current
fogginess in his head, but an idea grew in his mind that seemed obvious, yet a
little crazy. Before he gave it too much thought he blurted it out.
“We could
shoot
him!”
Ken stopped his talking and turned away from his console to
look at Leland his eyes wide and non-comprehending. “Wait, what?”
“Shoot him! Of course!” When it was obvious that Ken thought
he was crazy, Leland went on, speaking quickly. “The guns they used on him,
they were able to affect him through his armor. I never really looked at them
closely, but somehow they penetrated the armor. Could we modify them to get in?
To help him? To
save
him?”
Ken jumped up and started talking to Camden immediately as
he ran for the shuttle. Leland was left behind momentarily until he realized
Ken was leaving, and had to jog to catch up.
Ken put the weapon through a complete diagnostic scanner
that revealed everything about its form and function. Once the projectiles were
identified as microscopic needles, which they dubbed nano-needles, the surgery
team flew into action. Now that they knew what to look for, they began
extracting the nano-needles from all over Damon’s body. At the same time, Ken
had the ship manufacture more of the projectiles so they could use the weapon
to administer drugs and diagnostics.
The first shot was the hardest, and Camden couldn’t do it.
Aiming the ugly weapon at a patient and pulling the trigger was just too
unnatural an act for the doctor. Finally, Ken took the weapon, pointed it at
Damon, turned his head, closed his eyes, and fired.
Everyone in the room flinched even though the sound was a
soft “whoosh” instead of a sharp report.
Some of the nano-needles punched through the table under
Damon and others ricocheted off in random directions, but luckily no one was
injured. The majority of the needles hit home and stuck into Damon’s armor.
Camden was the first to approach the inert form and began
testing the needles for what he called “viable penetration,” using one of the
robotic surgeons. He hooked electrodes to the needles, hoping he could get
enough signal to feed his instruments. Soon everyone in the room was completely
engrossed in the proceedings, and Leland left feeling strangely satisfied that
he’d been able to help.
**** ****
Darkness
.
But even this he
knew was different from what it had been before. Floating with no sensation,
yet feeling as if something had changed. Did he see something? Did he feel
something? He could not be sure. He did not even know who he was. Sudden
realization told him that he
should
know, that there was
something
to know. This in itself was a change; this knowing.
Sounds!
Now he knew that he had heard something. He
was positive. Another part of his mind asked how he knew about hearing.
What
are sounds?
it asked him.
Don’t be stupid!
He answered himself.
Of
course we know what sounds are!
Maybe I am crazy, arguing with myself - and losing.
This self-awareness was also new, he could sense that he was not aware of
himself previously, although just
how
he knew that, he did not know.
Is it getting lighter?
The center of the darkness was
definitely different from the edges. And now he was sure he heard sounds.
Voices. The shuffling of feet. Suddenly a
clink
of metal on metal.
Light burst open in front of him, hurting his eyes and head.
He groaned and turned away from it, rolling to his right. Quick, excited sounds
- voices again - crying out in alarm. A painfully loud cacophony of metal
pieces scattering as they hit the floor followed by louder crashes as larger
objects fell, bouncing and sliding around him.
He felt the cool, hard surface beneath him. What he saw was
odd; gray and smooth. He couldn’t figure it out until he turned his head and
realized he was lying face-down on the floor. From his sideways, low-angle
view, he saw mostly feet scurrying around, picking up the results from his
ignominious return.
He sat up, his head still pounding. “What in
Kyndra’s
blessed name
happened?” he said in a voice rough from long disuse. The
cheering surprised him and made him wince in pain.
**** ****
After the frightening start of her
newest adventure, Joann Tashus found her Trueblood captors to be very
accommodating. Other than the first meeting with Reave Nachman, she had been
well treated by everyone else. They told her she was going to rejoin the
development team that created the Demon, although they were working on a new
project now. They couldn’t give her details, but it was easy enough for her to
figure out it would be another weapon program.
Despite being uneasy with the end results, she did enjoy the
challenge, and found herself looking forward to seeing some of her colleagues
again. Overall, she began to wonder why she had gone into hiding in the first
place.
Was I wrong about the whole thing?
The two weeks passed slowly, since she kept mostly to
herself. Two guards followed her wherever she went. They rotated shifts, but
she quickly got to know most of them. She was convinced they were there to
protect her from Reave, rather than to keep her from escaping. Overall, she found
that the Truebloods were decent people and they treated her with respect.
Reave, on the other hand, made her extremely nervous
whenever he showed up. She could tell he was different, and he certainly did
not fit in with the other soldiers. They all seemed to be on friendly terms,
but Joann could tell Reave was really an outsider. She tried to avoid him, but he
seemed to follow her around. As time passed, he left her alone and she began to
relax.
Finally, they made the trip to Havyn and were ferried down
to the surface. The grandeur of the Spire and its surroundings had her gawking
like a tourist. She’d never seen anything so beautiful, inspiring, and
intimidating all at once. She noticed with satisfaction that Reave looked
nervous and scared, another unexpected reaction from him.
Once inside the Spire, she was reunited with the old team.
Tears ran down her cheeks and she wiped at them self-consciously. Everyone
tried to talk to her at once, confusing her about the actual project in progress.
She laughed and truly relaxed for the first time in a long, long time.
A few days later and she was pretty much up to speed. The
project fascinated her because she had never imagined the path Dr. Baksa had
taken with human modification. Even though it was nearing completion, and she
was disappointed to have missed most of the development, there were still
plenty of last-minute problems to solve. The final experiments would be rushed
and her additional help was welcomed by the team. Joann’s personal assessment
of the project was positive, although she thought they were being pushed too
quickly into implementation, which was nothing new to her.
The next major task would be selecting the first subjects
for implementation. Since she came late to the program, and was not able to dig
too deeply into the technical details, she provided the most help by taking
charge of the tedious screening process. She was always amazed by the number of
people willing to take the risk of unproven augmentation to make themselves
more powerful, more beautiful, or more
whatever.
In this particular
case, since it was a military application, the candidates were pre-screened,
and her job was much easier than expected.
Joann was deep in thought as she scrutinized personnel files
and personality reports, when the door to her small office flew open and
slammed into the wall. She nearly dropped the screen as she tried
unsuccessfully to jump up out of her chair. Her legs hit the bottom of the desk
painfully and she nearly fell as the chair refused to get out of the way.
Her surprise and pain turned to fear when Reave Nachman
sauntered into the room. He smiled knowingly at her reaction, sending a chill
down her spine. Her heart pounded against her chest when she realized there
were no more bodyguards to help her.
“Well hello, Joann” Reave drawled. “Did you miss me?”
Joann tried to compose herself, but she was shaking too hard
to hide. Her hands twitching, she gripped the screen tighter in an effort to
calm them. She sat down, half involuntarily as her legs would no longer hold
her up. She answered with all the bravado she could muster.
“What do you want, Reave?” she cursed inwardly at the tremor
in her voice.
Reave laughed and ran his finger along the edge of her desk
as he spoke.
“I just wanted to see how you’re doing, how you’re
adjusting, see how you fit in. You know, I worry about you.”
“Uh huh, sure.”
“Well, I
heard
you were picking subjects for the
first trials.” He picked up a picture off her desk; a picture of her mother and
father.
Surprising herself, she slapped the picture out of his hand.
Reave caught her wrist before she could withdraw and her momentary bravery
faltered.
“You need to be nice to me, you know?”
“Why, Reave? Because if I’m not you’ll kill me? Torture me?
What? I’m not afraid of you anymore. Do what you will; I’m tired of this game.”