Shattered Sun (The Sentinel Trilogy Book 3) (8 page)

He was flying toward Apex when he got the urge to ignore them and move back toward Albion-controlled space. Lenol Tyn had begged him for answers; Apex was already devastating another system, and it looked like the general was running away. Mose Dryz refused to answer. He didn’t know why himself, only that the urge was irresistible.

Lenol Tyn seemed on the verge of overthrowing his command, when word came that a lone Albion cruiser had been detected infiltrating Hroom territory. Now the colonel was convinced that her commanding officer possessed supernatural ability, given him by the gods themselves.

The cruiser turned out to be
Blackbeard
, with Drake in command, bringing the Hroom the gift of a sugar antidote. Mose Dryz accepted the antidote, suspicious, but was shortly distributing it to his crew. It worked, by the gods. Why his old enemy had handed it over, the general could not fathom, but the ways of the universe were strange.

Some Hroom took the antidote reluctantly. Others deserted, fled in skimmers, or fought to maintain their sugar habits. A few even killed themselves, but these were so deep into addiction that they’d been on their way to death already.

Mose Dryz was eager to cure his own addiction, and would have done so if not for a shortage of the antidote. The labs were producing it as fast as they could, but he’d decreed that those with the most crippling addictions would get the antidote first, and he refrained from cutting in line. Finally, it was his turn.

The night before he was to swallow his caplet, he sat on his bed, a triple ration of sugar heaped on a piece of paper in front of him. He’d been hooked on it since human slavers raided his home world when he was a Hroomling. The humans had been driven off, the slaves freed, but Mose Dryz and many others were left addicted.

Ferocious self-control kept the addiction at bay throughout his youth and career, and the cravings, while intense, didn’t rise to the level of screaming panic, as they did in many others. It was foolish to let his restraint slip now, but surely even tripling his dosage wouldn’t be enough to stop the antidote. Meanwhile, he wanted to feel it, needed to swoon like nothing he’d ever needed in his life. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have the courage to swallow the caplet.

He hesitated one last moment, but a temptation, once succumbed to, could not be denied. He carefully folded the edges of the paper into a funnel, lifted it, and poured the sugar into his mouth. There was a moment where the sweet taste lingered on his tongue, and then a glorious, expanding sensation filled his head.

In moments, the swoon would carry him away to unthinking bliss, and this time would be more intense than ever, but there were always twenty or thirty seconds where he was alert but floating. He could sense things outside his body, feel the pulse of the stars carry him into a universe that was both endless and smaller than his consciousness.

This time, a thought came unbidden into his head, as if whispered there by Elyot Kar, the god of higher consciousness.

Mose Dryz, why did you delay?

“I sensed danger. It saved my fleet.”

You turned back toward Albion.
 

“I knew there was danger from the humans.”

And why have you kept your encounter with the birds a secret? They captured you, spit in your mouth, yet you have told no one.
 

The general tried to answer the unseen voice, but he could not respond. He couldn’t even explain why he himself hadn’t asked the same question before. It had never occurred to him. How strange.

Never before had a discordant element entered his mind after taking sugar. Normally, it was pure, mind-expanding bliss. But this time he was squirming with discomfort. It only lasted seconds, and then the swoon carried him away, deeper, richer, and sweeter than ever.

But when Mose Dryz emerged on the other side, he knew. The brightly colored bird had spit in his mouth. Some substance had entered his blood and migrated to his brain, where it influenced his behavior. He was repulsed and terrified.

Sugar. That was the key. A small dose, taken with extreme control. The drug burned its own circuits in his brain, and when he took it, he could control the urges to obey the whispered commands of his enemy. Could even trick the queen commander, as he had when he’d dropped down to the planet to speak to her in person.

He’d lied, knowing she’d never suspect deceit from a Hroom.

Ak Ik had given him a vial of liquid to feed to Admiral Drake. A version of the mind control substance, except tailored for the human brain instead of the Hroom. He still had the vial in his possession, but only so he could hand it over for study. The human scientists were clever; they’d break it down and use it against Apex.

But now, looking at the worried face of the colonel, and the suspicion and religiously induced hostility on the priestess’s, he didn’t see how he could explain it to them.

Don’t worry about me. I’ve only been infected by mind-control saliva. I kept the fleet out of action when the birds were destroying our people, but I’m better now. Sugar, that’s how I do it.
 

Instead, he said, “I prayed to Elyot Kar, and He promised to release me from the sugar curse.”

The two adjutants glanced at each other. Again, the sense that something was passing between them. What exactly had they been discussing before he entered the sweating room?

“My skin is drying out,” he said. “The room needs more steam.”

He didn’t expect Dela Zam to move—the priestess was too haughty to be ordered around by a mere general—but Lenol Tyn would normally be springing to her feet at the suggestion. Instead, she sat strangely inert. Mose Dryz made a noise of irritation deep in his throat and got up to do it himself.

“Yes, but
when
, Lord General?” Lenol Tyn asked.

Mose Dryz drew a ladle of water from the bucket. “When, what?”

“When will Elyot Kar release you from the curse?”

“When Apex has been defeated.” That was not in any way a lie, yet left out layers of truth. “Until then, I must continue to eat sugar.”

Mose Dryz poured the water. Steam billowed, and he drew another ladle, then a third. As steam filled the room, he drew it into his lungs, letting the heat and the vapors calm him. Soon, he almost forgot the sugar waiting for him outside.

But it was time. Already, two competing needs were scratching in his head. One, Apex, demanding to be heard and obeyed. The other, the sugar craving. He would feed the one in order to put off the other.

Mose Dryz turned around, ready to order the adjutants to their posts, and drew back in surprise. They’d risen silently while he poured water, and now stood close to him, the colonel to his left, the priestess to his right.

“What is this?”

His eyes fell to Lenol Tyn’s left hand. She clenched something in her palm.

“Lord General,” Lenol Tyn said. “Do not make this difficult. Do not resist.”

Mose Dryz reached for the door, but the priestess seized his wrist. He tried to shake her off, but her grip was iron, and her eyes gleamed with holy zeal. Lenol Tyn grabbed his other wrist.

“Let go of me. Stand back, both of you.”

“I must ask you one more time,” Lenol Tyn said. “Will you take it willingly?”

“God of Death take you, no I will not. You have no idea, you don’t understand. I can’t take the antidote, curse you. If I do, everything will be lost.”

Lenol Tyn let out her breath with a sad-sounding burr in her throat. “Every sugar eater thinks that, Lord General. You feel better on the other side.”

“No!”

Mose Dryz gave a violent jerk. He got loose from the colonel, who was still holding the capsule in one hand, and then shoved at the priestess’s chest. She fell back, and he was loose. He sprang for the door.

Dela Zam tackled him before he could get it open. He fell into the water bucket, spilling it. She wrapped one of her long, bony legs around his neck as he tried to rise, and scissored him down. Lenol Tyn leaped onto his back. He fought them with all the savagery of a cornered pouncer cat, but they were younger than he was, and there were two of them.

“Listen to me,” he cried as they pinned him down. The priestess seized his jaw. “Please, I beg you, don’t. Let me explain.”

He kept struggling and thrashing as they got his mouth open. Lenol Tyn shoved the capsule in his mouth, then forced his jaw closed. It broke in his teeth, and a bitter, almost spicy flavor filled his mouth. He tried to force it out through his closed mouth.

“Hold the bastard down,” Dela Zam said. “Don’t let him spit it up.”

“Swallow! Lord General, please!”

Mose Dryz kept thrashing, but couldn’t spit the stuff out before he reflexively swallowed. Some bubbled out of his mouth, but most went down. It burned all the way to his stomach. He stopped fighting.

The priestess let go of him first. “That’s all, that’s enough.” She heaved for breath. “It either went down him, or it didn’t. The gods will decide.”

Chapter Eight

A welcome sight greeted Captain Tolvern when
Blackbeard
jumped into the Kettle System: a Royal Navy cruiser, HMS
Peerless
, her hull gleaming, the rampant Albion lions shimmering gold on her shields. Spread out in the space around
Peerless
was an impressive collection of navy warships: three lean, barracuda-like corvettes, five destroyers, three missile frigates, and six torpedo boats.

Blackbeard
had not even begun to scan the system for other ships when
Peerless
hailed the bridge.

“Shall I put them on, sir?” Smythe asked.

Tolvern rubbed her temples. They throbbed from the jump, and she’d rather have an hour or two before facing company, a couple of gallons of hot tea, maybe even a good night’s sleep.

“Sir?” Smythe prodded.

“Go ahead.”

Captain Reginald McGowan appeared. He was older than Drake, somewhere in his mid-forties, but an exceptionally handsome man whose looks had only been enhanced by age. Sharp, penetrating eyes made her want to either stare or look hurriedly away. A jaw so strong that if attached to a hammer shaft could have split stones. Dark hair, going salt and pepper at the temples, and a finely shaped nose added to his aristocratic bearing. He was trim, with strong shoulders and the sort of lips that made women swoon at officer balls, imagining what it would be like to be kissed by them. Kissed hard, in fact.

Tolvern didn’t like the man.

“Captain McGowan,” she acknowledged.

“Tolvern. Looks like your ship has been knocked around a little. You really should be more careful with navy hardware.”

This brought mutters from the others on
Blackbeard
’s bridge. Fortunately, Capp was off shift, or no doubt she’d have let loose with one of her outbursts. And at the same time, given McGowan a lustful eye, scheming for the best way to get him in her bed.

“We’ve been in a few scrapes,” Tolvern said. “But don’t worry, we’re all patched up. For now—don’t know how long that will last.” When he didn’t speak, she added, “It’s a rough neighborhood out here.”

McGowan gave the barest of shrugs. “It’s a dangerous universe all around.”

“Yes, but some tours are more hazardous than others. If I were you, I wouldn’t expect to keep that fancy paint job for long.”

His eyes narrowed, and she wondered if he was taking that as a dig. Good, let him.

McGowan had been strutting through Albion, San Pablo, Fantalus, Peruano, and a number of other safe systems for the past few months, keeping his ships pristine while others wrestled in the mud with pirates, Apex, Hroom, and even Singaporeans.

As a matter of fact, he’d managed to avoid combat during the civil war, too.
Peerless
had been lurking in Hroom territory when McGowan’s cousin, Nigel Rutherford, threw in his lot with Drake’s forces in their fight against Lord Malthorne. To McGowan’s credit, he’d convinced his crew to join Drake, rather than the usurper, and rushed back to join the fight. But the war ended before he arrived.

Had the man even seen combat since the last Hroom war? And no, arresting smugglers didn’t count.

“How long have you been here?” she asked.

“Five days.”

“The system is secure?”

“Not at all. It’s swarming with Apex ships, as you’ll see the moment I send over my scans.”

“They why are you calling me? You know they can sniff out our communications.”

“So what? I’m happy to be spotted. Let them come. We’ll give the buzzards a good thrashing.”

“Bold words for someone who has never faced them in battle.”

McGowan only smiled at this.

“Captain,” Smythe said via the com link, “
Peerless
is sending over data. Sharing it with you now.”

Tolvern glanced down at a summary of the military situation. Sentinel 3 was hidden in the ice ring around the Kettle, and from the way the massive fleet of Apex ships kept their distance, it didn’t seem that the enemy had been able to find it yet. There were seven hunter-killer packs of four lances each, with four of the seven packs also boasting the larger, more powerful spears. Worse still, there was a harvester like the massive ship that had spewed walkers down to the surface of Samborondón.

Tolvern was about to remark on that harvester. Maybe
Dreadnought
could match its firepower, but McGowan was fooling himself if he thought
Peerless
could stand toe-to-toe and slug it out. Even
Peerless
and
Blackbeard
together were no match, and that assumed the rest of McGowan’s forces could hold off the lances and spears. It seemed to Tolvern that the Albion forces presently in the system could either fight the harvester or its support ships, but not both.

And then she spotted a third force of ships. Twenty-two Hroom sloops of war, stationed about eleven million miles from their current position. It was far enough to keep their distance from McGowan, but close enough to the human warships that the two sides could come together if Apex made a move to fight either one of them.