Alien Honor (A Fenris Novel) (11 page)

“I’m not,” the seeker said. “But you must never allow the demons to capture you. You are the Chosen One, Klane. Now come, you will help me take down the tent. There is much I must tell you before the demons appear a second time.”

6

Three shifts later and 5.9 light years closer to New Eden, Dr. Wexx felt frustration and a growing sense of dread. She touched Venice’s emergency stasis cylinder where humanity’s greatest shifter slept serenely, with her hands crossed on her breasts.

Why did you go berserk? Why did you kill everyone but me in the tele-chamber?

Wexx felt uncomfortable here. Nine stasis cylinders were stacked in three rows within the cramped medical annex. The cylinders felt like coffins, where the living dead slept.

Did I skip a procedure and not realize it? Did I miss a sign? Is that why you went crazy?
Wexx hated the idea that Venice’s snapping might be her fault. Methodically, she went back in her head over everything, trying to understand what had brought about the disaster.

In the dimly lit chamber, Wexx hugged herself. The historic trip to New Eden had taken over five long months. Without Venice to shift for them, it would have been twenty months to reach this far, close to two years travel time. The thought of being gone from Sol for four or five years altogether…

Wexx exhaled as a knot twisted in her chest. They needed Venice. Yet no one had the courage to wake the shifter and ask her what had happened.

What if Venice wakes up and she’s still crazy? She might start killing again. Next time, I won’t be so lucky.

If Argon would trust Jasper to report what he saw in Venice’s mind, they might try telepathic communication. But Argon refused to trust such a source.

An intercom buzzed, startling Wexx so she looked up.

“Nagasaki, here,” a voice said. “May I enter?”

“Yes,” Wexx said.

The portal opened, admitting greater light.

Captain Nagasaki stood at the entrance. “Are you any closer to discovering why Venice killed the shift crew?”

Wexx shook her head.

Nagasaki entered the cramped chamber, closing the portal. Afterward, he took what appeared to be a small communications device from his pocket.

Wexx frowned. The comm had a tiny screen with even tinier buttons below it. The buttons were so small you’d need a pointed stylus to tap them, as a finger would certainly hit several buttons at once.

With his thumb, the captain touched the screen. The device produced a high-pitched whine. He looked up and must have sensed her scrutiny.

“We may now speak freely,” he said. “This is the latest anti-bug emitter.”

Wexx managed a small laugh. “This chamber isn’t bugged.”

“The chief monitor will know I used a scrambler,” Nagasaki told her, speaking as if he hadn’t heard her words. “I doubt he will question you about it yet. I suspect it will surprise him I have one. He will wonder why, and likely, he will wait to see who else I speak with while using it. Like me, he has learned the art of patience as he hunts his enemies.”

“Why tell
me
any of this?” Wexx asked. The captain’s actions startled her, as did his speech. Could Argon be watching her in medical from hidden cameras?

Nagasaki nodded as if her question demonstrated refined brilliance. “The answer should be obvious why I’m telling you. You survived the Special’s attack where everyone else died.”

Nagasaki was making an error coming to her with his scrambler. She would have to report the conversation to Argon.

“Venice’s incapacity has complicated matters,” Nagasaki told her. “It will lengthen the voyage considerably. That makes certain people nervous.”

Who?
Wexx wanted to ask.
And why are you telling me any of this? What is going on here?

“Their nervousness threatens the unity of the crew,” Nagasaki said. “I do not desire bloodshed or mutiny. That should be obvious. I desire to complete my task.”

Wexx took a step back. “Captain Nagasaki, I will have to report your words to Chief Monitor Argon.”

The man couldn’t smile, but the man could frown. Oh, he was good at that, frowning at her intensely. “That would be a mistake,” he finally said.

“No. Your coming here was a mistake. Taking out your scrambler was a mistake. I have taken an oath of service to Premier Lang.”

“We all have,” he said.

“I keep my oaths,” Wexx said.

A few minutes ago, she would have said such a thing was impossible, but Nagasaki’s features stiffened so his face became like a mask. How could she ever have thought the captain was an emotionless man? He seethed with well-hidden passion. Likely, all monomaniacs must.

“Doctor, I am a man of my word. It is outrageous that you should suggest otherwise.”

“Me?” she asked, her voice rising.

“I have come to you in good will. I wish to forestall what some might consider mutiny. The time frame has tightened, however. If you could revive Venice…”

The captain spoke about mutiny. That meant he stood with others who must stand against the NKV. That meant these others must stand against Premier Lang and
they meant to take over
Discovery
if they had to
.

After reading his bio, Nagasaki had seemed like the last man to mutiny against the order of the solar system. He hunted cyborgs. Why would he have anything to do with those who hated Premier Lang? Maybe as critical, how had conspirators managed to get aboard the Teleship? The security for this mission had been tighter than for anything else she knew.

“Doctor?” said Nagasaki. “I asked you a question.”

Had he? What had he—oh yes. He wanted to revive Venice.

“We cannot risk revival at this time,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Have you read my report?”

The small man seemed as rigid as steel, as if she had just insulted him in some manner. “I am the captain,” he said. “I keep watch over everything that
involves the safety of my ship. Of course, I have read your report. I would be negligent in my duties if I hadn’t.”

Nagasaki speaks of mutiny. That’s anarchy at its worst. Yes, I must report this to Argon.

“Do you know what caused Venice to react as she did?” Nagasaki asked.

“You don’t need a scrambler to ask me that.”

“Don’t I?”

Wexx had no idea what this insinuation meant.

“In your professional opinion then,” he said, “the shifter can no longer perform her service?”

Why is he so tense? What’s going on?

“You must answer my question,” Nagasaki said.

“Venice can’t shift again until we understand what caused her to kill the shift crew.”

“Will the other shifters hold up under the extra strain?” Nagasaki asked.

Wexx thought that a shrewd question. Jasper and especially Roxie were tiring under the stress of constant shifting. Venice had taken the majority of the load these past five months.

“Is there a real danger of another of the shifters breaking down?” he asked.

“Before Venice, I would have said no.”

“And now?” he asked.

“I believe it’s a mistake to push our shifters too hard. We must slow the shift schedule.”

“Do you think this was deliberate?” Nagasaki asked.

“I’m not sure I’m following your thinking,” Wexx said.

“I will state it baldly then. In your opinion, did Premier Lang make certain we had faulty shifters?”

“Captain Nagasaki! Premier Lang is the guiding hand of humanity. He represents order and this is the greatest mission in a thousand years. We seek to insure the survival of the human race by starting over in a perfect system. I would think with your concern of cyborgs that—”

“The projected system is now a mere 18.69 light years away,” Nagasaki said. “With Venice, it would have been a few more jumps. With our present shifters…”

“I’m not worried about reaching New Eden,” Wexx said. “It’s going back home again that troubles me.”

Nagasaki glanced at the occupied stasis tube. He stared for some time. Finally, with his thumb, he tapped the scrambler. The high-pitched noise stopped.

“Do you—” Wexx said.

Nagasaki raised a slender hand. As he lowered his hand, he bowed his head respectfully before turning and exiting the chamber.

Wexx watched him go, wondering what she would tell the chief monitor.

Making her decision, Wexx spoke to Argon three hours later. The chief monitor stood in medical. An orderly worked in another chamber, the hatch open between the two rooms.

“I spoke with Captain Nagasaki,” Wexx said softly.

Argon listened to her. He was good at it, with his large arms folded across his chest.

“He used a scrambler. I told him I could not be party to this. He proceeded to tell me that some aboard ship are restless, possibly considering mutiny.”

“Did he indicate who these others were?” Argon asked in his deep voice.

“No.”

“Did the captain seem… like himself?”

Wexx blinked several times. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Argon seemed to think over his next words. “Has Captain Nagasaki approached you like this before?”

“Certainly not,” Wexx said. “I would have reported it if he had. What do you mean anyway, ‘Did he seem like himself?’ I find the question disturbing.”

“Doctor, Venice did not act like herself the other day in the tele-chamber. Some of the other crew…”

“Go on,” Wexx said.

The chief monitor seemed to switch gears. “There has been a rash of anomalies in behavior these past few days. You are the psych advisor. I thought perhaps you would have noticed.”

“The captain is a harsh individual and he is driven to a dangerous task.”

“No doubt you’re referring to cyborgs.”

“I am,” Wexx said. “Given his nature, when he speaks about mutiny, I become concerned. He does not strike me as given to idle speech.”

“Your point is well taken, Doctor. I will redouble my surveillance.”

“You won’t tell him I was the one who—”

“Doctor, I will keep this conversation in strict confidence. Nor will I apprehend him for questioning. Your topic is a delicate one. If he has more confederates—other than the few crewmembers who voyaged with him aboard
Argonaut
—I want to know who these confederates are. They are hidden now, but with the addition of your information, I am confident of uncovering their identities soon.”

“Do you truly think they will mutiny?” Wexx asked.

“I doubt it, but people often make rash decisions. If they do try—do not fear, Doctor. The monitors have the situation under control. We know what to do.”

Wexx nodded, feeling better about the talk. She had done the right thing. The monitors followed the rules and they had the power to enforce order. She had nothing to worry about now other than keeping the Specials mentally fit.

7

After the fifth successful shift since Venice’s murderous attack,
Discovery
seemed to settle back into a normal routine.

Even as he floated in the marine combat training chamber, Cyrus knew that was an illusion.

He drifted shirtless in the chamber. He was lean, with whipcord muscles and more scars than any marine. Most of the old wounds were thin white lines that had come from knives or other cutting implements. There was one puckered bullet scar near his navel. It had almost killed him. The slug had plowed through his intestines and blown out his back. He was thankful for modern medicine.

Cyrus floated in the chamber, holding a practice knife. Five marines were at anchor points on the padded walls, ceiling, and floor. A sweaty, locker room odor filled the area, while First Sergeant Mikhail Sergetov floated at the opposite end of the chamber from Cyrus. Mikhail was older than Cyrus by ten years, bigger and more heavily muscled. He had the square jaw that most people thought of when picturing a marine. The NCO also gripped a practice knife, and his dark eyes were hard on Cyrus.

One of the things Cyrus liked about the marines was that they didn’t pull any punches during combat training. It was their religion, he supposed. Normals, if they had anything to do with him, kept at a safe distance. The marines in here…

“What are you grinning about?” Mikhail shouted across the chamber.

“How I’m going make you look like a little girl,” Cyrus said.

Several of the watching marines laughed.

Cyrus and Mikhail floated weightless, as did an extremely heavy medicine ball in the center of the chamber. The ball had more mass than five big men.

Normality seemed to have returned to
Discovery
, but that was a false conclusion. As Cyrus debated combat strategy, he counted the disturbing clues. First, the monitors had become even more grim than usual. Second, around half the crew was on lockdown at any one time and third, Jasper seldom spoke with anyone, not even him. The man had become a recluse. Jasper shifted and stayed alone in his new quarters.

The fourth clue manifested now. A hatch hissed open and shut. Cyrus didn’t look to see who had entered the training chamber, as he kept his eyes on Mikhail. The first sergeant had thrown a practice knife at him once, nearly hitting him in the forehead. That would have given the man his first win over Cyrus at knife fighting, something Cyrus was intent at never letting happen.