Consortium of Planets: Alien Test (20 page)

“We’re testing a new device. Dr. Wystl is the inventor.”

The sergeant blinked at gorgeous Wystl in disbelief. “You’re a scientist?”

Dean cut him off. “Where is General Martle?”

“He went home, sir.”

Dean looked at Wystl and she began to “play” with her control pad. The air around them grew dark. The astonished sergeant and corporal looked at each other. When they looked back, the darkness was empty and already dissipating.

Svetlana released the shiny silver dart just as Martle slipped on some oil that he had intended to clean up. She watched the dart miss his forehead but shred his right ear as he fell roughly to the concrete on the far side of this car.

Dazed, Martle lay on the floor and held his hand to his damaged ear as blood ran between his fingers. A metal-crunching sound one car over told him the assassin was almost on him. He needed to get her attention before she finished the job or he went into shock.

Svetlana had already leapt to the long, low hood of the coupe. One more leap and she would look down at her quarry from his hood.

“I have information about who killed your parents!” he yelled through the pain and desperation.

Of all the things that he could have said, she never expected him to say that. The majority of her victim’s begged for their lives at the very end, a few became defiant, but no one had ever said anything like that. She froze with her knees bent, ready to finish him, but she couldn’t. Surprise, distrust, and curiosity all seized her body and mind at the same time.

“You know about my parents?”

Martle heard her uncertainty and fought to control breathing that was becoming labored. He would throw everything he knew at her and hope
something
would get through to her.

“I know that your father was Russian and your mother was Chinese. They both worked for the Chinese Secret Service before Jonathan Visen began his efforts to convince the Chinese government to join him.” He paused long enough to catch his breath again and was glad she didn’t interrupt.
Hopefully she’s listening.
“I had Network agents check your parents’ background. They found out that your parents’ murderers worked for Visen.”

His mouth hung open silently and his jaw quivered in anticipation, but there was nothing else to say. He was out of information. The annoying twitch at the corner of his eye was back. Silence was his only response as he strained to hear her response. He told himself that quiet was good, that it meant she was thinking.
But have I convinced her?

Can I trust him? Can I finally get justice for my parents? Revenge would be sweeter!
Her master told her to believe in justice, but to do that, she had to believe this general first. His information intrigued her. She would trust this stranger, for now.

She finished her jump to the sedan and looked down at the bloody man she had almost killed. If he was lying to her, she would finish the job with a lot more pain than she would have inflicted here in the garage.

“Apply pressure with this,” Svetlana said without emotion. She handed him a small red shop towel. “I’ve got to keep you alive long enough for you to prove what you’re saying is true. I don’t have to tell you how disappointed I’ll be if you’re lying to me.”

“You won’t be disappointed, trust me.”

It was the last thing Martle managed to say before he passed out.

“Trust me,” Svetlana repeated softly as she tied up his nasty wound.

The phrase reminded her fleetingly of Joe, the arena manager.
I didn’t have to kill him. It was just faster and easier than dealing with him.

Using Martle’s keys, she loaded him into the military vehicle and started the engine just as a dark cloud began to form in front of the garage door.
What the hell?
A well-built-man and a tall brunette walked out of the black mist and up to her vehicle.
Well, that’s something new.

Svetlana’s mouth gaped open as she realized that she was looking at the U.D.C.’s Colonel Dean Forge. She couldn’t let him know that she had the Network leader and got out of the vehicle, still deciding what to do. She had to bide her time until Martle could prove his accusations.

“Am I glad to see you, Colonel Forge. Interpol has me looking for the Network’s leader, but he’s not around here. Who’s your friend?” she asked, eyeing Wystl’s red dress.

Dean’s adrenaline increased as he studied the beautiful but deadly Asian woman. He had finally caught up with Svetlana, but where was Martle?

“Yeah, the U.D.C. has me looking, too.” He pointed at Wystl. “Her, she’s just an observer.” Wearing a poker face, he gave no emotion away. “So, you didn’t find General Martle?”

“No,” she said innocently, but reflexively, her eyes darted toward the old military vehicle. That was all Dean needed to realize she had Martle in the idling machine.
You almost got away.

“I need to look in your vehicle.” His tone changed to serious resolve, and he began moving toward the machine.

Svetlana stepped in front of him. “I really don’t have time to show you an empty truck.” She matched his tone and her face hardened.

She was too close to pull the rope dart and instead threw a straight jab at his throat. Dean blocked it with his left elbow, shifted his weight, and threw a roundhouse kick at her head with his right leg. Svetlana was already moving to his left, away from the kick, and his foot barely brushed her bobbed black hair. She faked a left jab. Dean threw another elbow to block. While he was focused on that, she caught him with a spinning sidekick that almost cut him in half.

He fell sideways and Svetlana pulled the concealed dart off her back. She circled like an intent lioness while he got to his feet. Still facing him, she backed slowly out of the garage and into the open where her weapon had room to operate.

Dean stood slightly twisted to favor his painful right side and tried to catch his breath. He hadn’t taken too many body blows harder than that. The dart she was spinning so confidently gave her the advantage of reach. To beat her, he had to get inside that reach.
She should have finished me while I was down.
He was getting his second wind.

Svetlana knew that he was preparing to strike as he straightened to his full height, so she sent the dart straight at him like a long jab. Dean somersaulted forward under the spearing dart and came up, running straight at her. She twisted her body to jerk the dart back, but Dean got to her first. About a meter and a half from her, he launched his body into a flying knee strike to her chest. The full weight of his body crashed into her and she flew backwards, off the driveway and onto the grass.

Dean landed on all fours and watching Svetlana’s supine body for movement. She stared up at the tree limbs that hung low above her head.
No one has ever gotten inside the dart’s reach before!
Clearly, he was different – a worthy opponent. She would not underestimate him again, but she still had to get away from the colonel with Martle.

“Colonel, I’m hurt,” Svetlana sounded weak and in pain.

Still on his hands and knees, Dean blinked at her motionless body and looked with uncertainty to Wystl. She was no help. Apparently, Consortians were unfamiliar with martial arts. Wystl remained where she had been, fixed to the garage, wide eyed and mouth gaping. His attention returned to Svetlana’s limp form.

He got up and cautiously approached her. With about two meters to go, he stopped.

“Can you get up?” he asked warily.

“I think I can, with your help,” she said softly.

“Wystl, come here,” Dean called out, breaking her trance. “I need you to be ready to freeze her. Can you do that?”

“Of course I can, Colonel.” Wystl pulled out her pad and punched it a couple of times.

                   “If she tries
anything
, do it!”

“I think you broke…my ribs.” Svetlana struggled to get the words out. “I’ll be no more trouble.”

She wrapped her left arm across Dean’s shoulders for support and hung there heavily. When they stepped onto the concrete driveway, Svetlana spun in front of him. The hand that had been on his shoulder slid to the back of his neck. She quickly brought up her right hand and grabbed him behind the head with both hands. Hanging onto his head, she dropped to the concrete, pulling him forward and down. As he fell into her body, her right knee exploded up into his chin and she dropped his unconscious body heavily onto the concrete.  

                   “Dean!” Wystl screamed.

“I thought you were supposed to freeze me, lady in red,” Svetlana said sarcastically.

“You killed him!”

“I doubt it,” Svetlana said flatly. “If his chin is as hard as the muscles in his back, it would take a rocket launcher to do that.” She looked appreciatively at Dean’s body. “Killing him would be such a waste.”

“I don’t understand,” Wystl said. “You were just fighting with him.”

Svetlana looked down at her white cover-up’s grass stains and dirty smudges. It had popped open during the fight, exposing her red bikini. She tied it closed again. “What, you can’t appreciate a hunk?”

Wystl stared blankly at Svetlana, clearly not understanding the reference.

“Put some ice on his chin and he’ll be fine. I gotta’ go,” Svetlana said flatly.

She walked back to the idling vehicle and got in.
I wonder if this thing can lay rubber.
Then she asked herself,
What did he mean “freeze her?”
    

Chapter Thirteen

Consortia, Chn-maa Command Post:

The converted storage closet was small. Its gray concrete walls and single bulb hanging from the high ceiling made it feel even tighter. Conlar, the Chn-maa’s newly appointed Chairman of the Joint Admirals, ignored the feeling and sat in a round table discussion with his two senior admirals. Tomorrow, they would take command of the Consortium’s first and second quadrant fleets – a total of five thousand capital ships.

The soon-to-be commander of the first fleet, Admiral Sayhl spoke up.

“The statues of Bany’r have been delivered.”

“Statues for each ship that will assure Chn-maa visitors become Chn-maa captains,” Conlar added with an evil smile.

“Are you certain their sensors won’t pick up the devices inside?” Admiral Stometa wanted to be sure. “What if they don’t allow shiny gold meter-tall statues to be placed on the bridge?”

“Not only did Tilcas get Ban’yr to agree to statues on our ships, but he agreed to put statues on all four fleets,” Conlar explained triumphantly.

“But we won’t have access to the third and fourth fleets,” Admiral Sayhl pointed out.

Exasperation crept into Conlar’s voice. “You need to be more trusting. The statues for those fleets have been altered and are being synthesized right now. They will function as remotes and will be controlled from these tunnels.”

Stometa and Sayhl could taste victory.

“Conlar,” they chimed in unison, “It seems that we need two more admirals.”

Warrior Caste citadel:

Admiral Dracox, the Warrior Caste’s vice commander, paced around his desk like a caged nauler.

I’m trapped in a strategically stupid plan
.

The forty ships in University hands were insignificant compared to the ten thousand total ships available in all four fleets, but the commandant had to have
all
the ships. It was bad enough to put
Chn-maa
on two fleets – he wanted their golden busts of his likeness on
all
the ships!

Dracox’s office was only a few meters down the hall from the commandant, but it might as well have been on Earth in the Omega Quadrant for all the success he got trying to talk the commandant out of his folly.

I can go to the Senate or continue to follow orders.

He slumped into his chair and tried to think of a safer plan. They had already spent enough time and resources recalling the fleets from the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. There were so many capital and support ships orbiting Consortia that a four-light-seconds perimeter was established around the planet to reduce the congestion. Time was running out. If the forty ships were a threat, he would have inspiration to formulate a plan…but they
weren’t
a threat, so tactical insight was failing him.

“Sir, Colonel Sodrew reporting for your command.”

Dracox didn’t even get up from his desk; instead, he quickly inspected the colonel’s appearance as he stood in the hall, waiting to be invited in. Still distracted by the Chn-maa problem, Dracox left him in the doorway and answered him unenthusiastically.

“Yes, yes. I need you to go to Earth and retrieve a Searcher named Wystl and pick up the Earth leader, Jonathan Visen. He’s at these coordinates. I don’t have a location on the Searcher, but Visen should know where she is – it
is
his planet, after all. Collect both of them immediately; the commandant wants Visen to stand before the Grand Senate in less than a cycle.”

“Very good, sir,” Sodrew acknowledged from the hall and turned to leave.

“There’s more.” The admiral stopped him. “Earth’s inhabitants look exactly like the Chn-maa.”

“The terrorists, sir?!” He couldn’t cover up his surprise and disgust.

“The Chn-maa are more than terrorists,” Dracox corrected. “The Humans on Earth are probably related to them in the far distant past, but their Chn-maa ancestors are no more. Brief your crew. I don’t want any Humans hurt. Just get in and get out. I want you back here before the commandant’s presentation to the Senate with Visen and the Searcher.” Dracox looked at his timer and then gravely at the colonel. “Your time melts away. Go!”

Earth:

Now that they had gotten away, Svetlana needed a place to talk to Martle and saw a cheap motel. Old and run-down, all six units faced the street. The unit at the far end had been converted into an office that the manager lived in. She walked into the tiny motel office and demanded a room.

“How long will you be staying?” The skinny, stringy-haired clerk reacted nervously to her tone and struggled to keep his voice steady.

“I haven’t decided yet, could be an hour, maybe a day. Just give me a damn room!”

“Uh, yes, ma’am. Will it be just you, or are you expecting company?”

Svetlana reached across the counter, grabbed him by the collar with both hands, and pulled him to her face. His feet dangled half a meter off the floor as he lay helpless across the counter.

“You don’t hear very well.” She stared deep into his bloodshot eyes and then glanced at the keys hanging on the wall behind him. “I’m done talking with you.”

She shoved him back across the counter and onto his feet. “If you say another word, I’ll rip out your tongue and clean out your ears with a ten-pound silver dart. Now, quietly hand me one of those keys.”

As outrageous as it sounded, the clerk believed she could do what she claimed. He swallowed hard and nodded without a word. Svetlana grabbed the key from his shaking hand.

It was a basic motel room: cheap oak laminate furniture and one small picture of a mountain stream above the bed. There was a front door and a bathroom door, but no closet. She closed the curtains for privacy and helped Martle to a bed that was too soft and worn from overuse. She poured some water for him and waited with anticipation as he drank.

“It’s time for you to show me your proof.”

“I don’t have it with me. It’s at the office. There are statements from witnesses, memos, a police report, and there are a couple of old pictures of the scene.”

Svetlana stared at him unemotionally. “Can you make it to your office?”

“I think so. The bleeding has stopped and I don’t feel dizzy anymore.”

“Then let’s move out,” she said, anxious to know the truth.

Svetlana sat at Martle’s desk in stony silence and studied the information about her parents’ death. Martle looked uncomfortable in a straight-back side-chair. He actually felt sorry for her. She finally looked up at him.

“This is extensive. I don’t see how you could have doctored any of it. You must have been gathering it for a while.” “I had help. It’s all part of a case that I’ve have been building for a couple of years now against the chancellor. You and your parents are only three of many that he hurt with his ambition.”

She nodded as the last bit of doubt vanished. “General, I think it’s time to visit the chancellor,” she said with malice.

“Svetlana, we can’t kill him. He must stand trial so that order is maintained and a successor can legally assume his role under a world constitution.”

“Politics is for politicians. I don’t care about what they do. One is as bad as the next and nothing changes. Now, take me to his office, or I’ll go back and visit with your wife.”

Martle looked into her eyes and knew that she would kill his wife without a second thought.

Wystl held Dean and rocked back and forth.
I need ice.
The only ice she was familiar with from her studies of Earth was at the poles. She didn’t want to leave him, but maybe she had to go to one of the poles. She was so worried.

“Dean. Dean.”

Dean’s eyes finally opened about halfway and he groaned weakly, “I think she kicked my ass.”

Wystl searched for the correct Human phrase and agreed. “She had your number.”

He gently held his chin and carefully moved his jaw sideways to see if it still worked. It did, but a few of his teeth felt loose.

“You were supposed to freeze her,” he said in obvious pain.

“When you fell unconscious, I didn’t care about her anymore. I had to help you.”

“Okay, let’s find out where she took the general.”

Dean got up stiffly and guided Wystl toward the house’s double front doors. Wystl looked at him questioningly.

“Generals have homing devices in their cars, so I’m hoping his wife can tell us where Svetlana took him.”

They rang the bell, and after a short delay, a middle-aged woman opened the door. Her hair and makeup were perfect. Her dress was white with soft yellow daises growing out of the hem. She took a minute and then recognition lit up her face.

“Millie, you look great,” Dean began for her.

“I wish I could say the same for you!” she said, shocked at his bruises and torn clothing. “What happened to you? Do you need a doctor?”

Dean shook his head and grunted softly, “I’ll be fine after a shower. I just had a little misunderstanding.”

Millie could see that it was much more than a simple disagreement. She didn’t believe him but knew that people in the Corps were generally tight-lipped and didn’t go in for details. Also, they actually enjoyed fighting and wore their scars with honor. After a few drinks at a cocktail party, scars were all they talked about in great detail. There was no point in continuing to press him for an explanation or if he needed medical care.

She looked at his lovely brunette friend, smiled, and changed the subject.

“Who’s your friend?”

Dean weighed the consequence of telling her what was going on and decided to be honest. “Millie, someone bad has taken your husband and I’m going after her. I need you to tell me where his military vehicle. This is Wystl.”

She immediately forgot about Wystl and focused on the danger to her husband. “But he took the sedan this morning!”

“I know, but now he’s in the other vehicle,” Dean explained calmly.

She fought through the fear and ran to the small desk in her kitchen. Dean and Wystl followed. She looked up from her computer screen and yelled, “He’s at the chancellor’s building!”

“Thanks, Millie, we’ll do all that we can.” Dean kept his voice even and encouraging. “Wystl, he has convinced her that Visen is her target, or at least he’s still trying. We need to go to the chancellor’s office.” He looked at Millie, then at his new friend and nodded. The center of Millie’s kitchen grew dark and cloudy. Dean and his companion stepped into the murkiness and vanished.

Svetlana stood behind Martle and noticed that her terry cloth cover-up wasn’t looking so white anymore. Also, she was aware that her knee was sore where she caught Dean on the chin. She frowned at her body’s weakness.
My knee shouldn’t be sore. I have gotten soft since my lessons at Master Sung’s school in China
.

Master would take her out into the bamboo jungle and have her warm up by using the rope dart to clear an opening about six meters across. In ten minutes or less, she had to level the bamboo down to half a meter above the ground. If she failed to achieve the time or knocked down something other than bamboo, they would move to another patch of jungle and start over.

She began the lessons when she was nine years old and always failed. The sweat and painful fatigue came on quickly and robbed her of success. Her hands would slip and her muscles would burn.

“Again!” he would command over and over.

Again
would echo in her mind forever.

“You must not fight the dart; you must
feel
its essence,” he would stress each time.

Slowly, over the months and years, she realized that the
dart
was getting better at taking down the bamboo. When she let her contorting, twisting body flow
with
the dart’s chi energy,
her
time improved.

Sometimes the bamboo shafts were so close together that the dart would choose to begin its attack on the trees directly in front by swinging up vertically from the ground or straight down from above. Once it created a narrow path, it would begin spinning forward like a huge three-meter-wide circular saw blade and spin irresistibly from vertical to horizontal through the bamboo.