Dreadnought (Lost Colonies Trilogy Book 2) (3 page)

Something struck the outer membrane then, making it flash and shift colors. The car lost power and people cried out, staggering backward. The floor tipped, and then the emergency lights came on. The car stopped descending, and the sudden braking drove many to their knees.

Tones I’d never heard before on the sky-lift began to wail—emergency klaxons.

So far as I knew, the transportation system had never had a major accident since its construction. Then again, I was pretty sure this wasn’t an accident.

“That was a power-bolt,” Zye said. “It struck the tube. This can’t be an accident.”

“No,” I said with certainty in my voice. “They have to be tracking me, and they’re firing at the tube. There’s no other explanation.”

Zye looked at me. “How could they be tracking you?”

“My implant... Zye, you’ll have to rip it out.”

Implants were located at the top of the spinal column, at the base of the skull. There was an external nodule, a soft nub that could be used to access the wetware. Occasionally the units failed or required updates that couldn’t be done through software downloads. 

“I hate these things,” Zye said, reaching back and touching her own implant. “I should never have let them ram a spike into my brain.”

The tube wall flashed orange and magenta. A stronger hit had been scored. People screamed and fell to the floor. High-altitude air shot into the cab in a single freezing gust. The protective membranes must have failed for just a fraction of a second.

Could that have been their plan? Something so simple? Puncture the membrane long enough to allow the atmosphere to escape, to inject the thin, freezing air from twenty kilometers up into the cab to do the killing for them? If they managed it, I realized it would look like an accident. The deaths would be blamed on the freak storm. A lightning strike—perhaps that would be their cover story.

Reaching back to the base of my neck, I pinched the fleshy bulb that I found there. It slipped from my fingers as I tugged.

“Rip it out, Zye!” I shouted. “I can’t get a grip.”

She grabbed me, turned me around and put a massive thumb and forefinger on the bulb. “This is going to hurt,” she said.

“Do it.”

She did it. Her hands were at least as strong as mine, and she had a better angle. She tugged at the implant, and it ripped loose like a fleshy root. The threaded plug gave way as did the skin covering the region. Blood crawled down my back in a warm gush.

It felt as if part of my scalp had been torn free, which was fairly accurate. I was stunned by the shocking agony that followed. I almost pitched forward on my face when she let go of me, but I managed to keep on my feet.

“Are you all right?” she asked, looming close and looking concerned.

“I’ve been better,” I admitted.

“Here it is,” she said.

A warm slimy bulb was slapped into my palm. It felt like a hot tadpole, and it wriggled slightly in my grasp.

“Thanks,” I said, “with any luck, they won’t be able to—”

Another bolt struck. This one was closer and more focused than the earlier shots. Maybe they were getting impatient, or desperate.

A hole was punched through the force-field walls of the umbilical this time. The rupture was about as big around as a man’s head.

The hole glowed and sparked. The smart polymers and force-fields tried to stretch, to cover the wound in the skin of the shielding, but they were slow to do so.

Could the entire umbilical be losing power? The cars had stopped moving, but that was standard procedure during one of these rare breakdowns.

Hearing a whistling sound, I realized the warm atmosphere of the cab was gushing out. We were too high up. No one could survive long without an oxygen tank at this altitude.

Staggering forward, I stepped toward the wound in the skin of the umbilical. Zye grasped for my shoulder, but I shrugged her off.

She was shouting something, but I didn’t catch it. There were too many screaming passengers. The whistling roar of our life-giving air fleeing the car soon grew even louder than the cries of dying innocents.

I reached the hot opening. It looked like a melted hole in a sheet of glass. It was as if a giant blowtorch had been placed against a window until it turned molten and glowed orange.

Cocking back my hand, I threw my implant through the opening. It sailed out into space and dropped into storm clouds far below.

-3-

After I threw the wet piece of biotechnological hardware out into the open air, I collapsed on the sky-car’s deck.

I was hazily aware of being dragged from the ruptured membrane to a safer spot in the center of the car by Zye. My body was cold and numb.

Later, I could recall seeing Zye’s determined face above mine as she dragged me away. The screaming passengers had quieted. They were dying, with most of the air sucked from their lungs. They lay slumped on the deck, moving feebly, mouths gaping like beached fish. Their lips were blue and their eyes were wide with shock.

We were all dying, even Zye. But she’d been engineered to survive where others might perish. Hers were a people designed to live through great hardship. She fitted an oxygen mask over my face, and a tiny puff of life-giving gas hissed into my mouth. The masks had been released from the ceiling when the cab depressurized. She then moved around the deck, taking breaths from each mask before fitting it over the face of another fallen passenger.

Blood loss, the lack of oxygen and the sheer numbing cold overwhelmed me. I lost consciousness.

* * *

“It was the lack of blood, not oxygen, that almost got him,” a voice said.

I swam awake. At least, that’s what it felt like. It was as if I was at the bottom of the ocean, and the voices around me were on the distant surface.

My lips moved, and I made a croaking sound. I was surrounded by three people: a doctor, Zye and Chloe.

“He’s coming around,” Zye said. “If his brain isn’t damaged, he may yet prove useful.”

Such cold words… I knew Zye wasn’t cold toward me. Others didn’t understand that her practical outlook didn’t mean she was utterly devoid of passion. She was just a realist, rather than a person driven by emotion.

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” Chloe scolded. “He’s going to be fine.”

Zye didn’t answer.

I looked at Chloe. “Chloe?” I asked.

“I’m here, William.”

“What happened?”

“You suffered an episode. They hacked your implant. You saw images that weren’t real, that’s all.”

Oddly enough, this made sense to me. The images projected on my retina by my implant were never actually
real
after all. They looked real—as real as rain, as real as my own face in the mirror. But they weren’t actually there. They were illusions generated by software.

I’d never considered the possibility before, but I saw no technical reason why someone couldn’t manufacture sensory data and transmit it. Any implant user would be easily fooled. We were used to trusting our implants as wholeheartedly as we trusted our own eyes.

“But why?” the doctor’s voice asked. “I’m still puzzled by that question. Why would anyone go to such trouble to deceive and kill Captain Sparhawk?”

“Because he’s the best,” Chloe said.

That response made me smile. She was a loyal friend, as well as a lover.

“Can we take him home now, doctor?” Chloe asked sweetly.

“No,” he said firmly, “I don’t think so. He’s suffered serious trauma. We’ll have to keep him overnight at least—for the autodoc to evaluate and monitor him.”

I closed my eyes to rest. In the meantime, Chloe made no verbal response to the doctor… But there was a sound—an odd sound. It was like that of scuffling feet. I was left with the impression that someone had left the room in a hurry.

Opening my eyes again, I found they were focusing fully at last. I finally had control of them. The room still seemed overly bright, however.

“I can barely see you,” I said.

Chloe came near, filling my vision. “I’m here,” she said.

I smiled more fully… but then my smile faded.

Something was wrong. Her face—she was lovely, as always, but her hair was wrong. She hadn’t worn that hairstyle for a month at least. In fact, if I had to guess, her hair was quite a bit longer than it had been the last time I’d seen her. Could she have altered it?

My heart began to pound. Was I dreaming? Was I being afflicted by a new projected illusion? I didn’t think that was possible, as my implant was gone.

Numb fingers twitched and moved upward, slithering over white hospital sheets. I dragged my hand up toward the back of my neck.

A huge hand descended and clasped my errant fingers. It was Zye’s hand. She leaned over me as well, and she frowned.

“Are you feeling well, Captain Sparhawk?” she asked.

That’s when I knew. That huge face didn’t belong to Zye. Chloe wasn’t Chloe, either. They were both wrong.

Zye’s expression, her tone, her lack of concern, her attempt to restrict my movement—it was all wrong.

Under normal circumstances, Zye implicitly accepted my authority as her Captain. That was the way of any Beta. They were nothing if not disciplined. Even as a Rogue among her people, she was more of a rule-follower than most of my crewmen.

I swallowed in a dry throat and asked for water. It was provided by the Zye-person. Chloe continued to beam at me as if nothing was wrong.

Making a decision, I chose to play along. I didn’t know why anyone would go to such lengths to fool me, but I figured they must be prepared to do just about anything to continue their plans.

Forcing a smile, I blinked and sighed. “It’s good to see you two,” I said. “When can I get out of here?”

“That’s exactly why we’ve come,” Chloe said. “To discharge you. You have to thumbprint the release at the desk, and we’ll be on our way.”

I nodded. “Excellent. Help me up, will you Zye?”

She did so with hands that were possibly even stronger than those I remembered. As a large male and a member of Star Guard, I’d always stayed in shape. Zye was naturally strong, being a woman structured for heavy gravity, but she’d been in space for a long time. She’d weakened somewhat compared to a Beta from her homeland.

I could tell immediately when those big fingers grasped me and squeezed that this version of Zye was in her prime. She’d be a difficult opponent.

My mind raced as the two women helped me out of my bed and into my clothes. I surreptitiously looked for the doctor I’d heard speak when I’d awakened—but there was no sign of him.

The first clue as to the doctor’s whereabouts came when I examined the Zye-impersonator’s hand. There was a neat red crescent there—could it be a bite mark on the webbing between the thumb and forefinger? It stood to reason.

While pulling on my pants, I naturally looked down. I dropped my key-fob while doing so and bent low to pick it up. This gave me the opportunity to glance under the hospital bed.

When I spotted the twisted body of an oldster crammed under there I almost blew it and shouted in surprise. The man’s eyes stared, his swollen tongue was purple, and it protruded from the mouth.

Regaining my composure, I straightened and shoved the fob back into my pocket.

“Feeling better now,” I lied with a smile. I never liked to lie, but these were undeniably special circumstances.

The Zye-clone—clearly another Beta pretending to be Zye—gave me a hard look, but then she took hold of my arm as if to offer support. She propelled me physically toward the exit.

My mind churned. If they had the gall to kill the doctor, why not kill me as well?

It must have something to do with my family’s fame, I decided. They didn’t want media exposure. The death of a Sparhawk would bring plenty of media attention, but an outright murder—a public assassination—that would bring an investigation from the highest levels. Whoever was behind this didn’t want that.

So, what would their plan most likely be? To get me out of the hospital and make me disappear? To drop my corpse into the darkest corner of the ocean? Or maybe they had another plausible accident prepared—it had to be something like that.

Naturally, I feared for Chloe and Zye as well as myself. There was a good chance they were already dead. I wanted to grab these villains and force them to tell me what they’d done to the two women they were imitating.

But I couldn’t do that. They had the upper hand, and the Beta was a killer. I was still weak, even if I was feeling better every minute. To help my friends I had to stay in the game and play it smart.

“What happened, Zye?” I asked. “After the accident on the sky-car I mean? I don’t remember how it ended once I passed out.”

“You don’t recall?” she asked. “There was an accident, yes. Bad things happened. People died, but you lived. They brought you here afterward.”

I stared at her for a fraction of a second too long, but then smiled. I’d forgotten that most Betas weren’t imaginative. They weren’t very smart, if the truth were to be told. Zye was a Rogue, or more specifically, a maladjusted Alpha. That meant she was smarter than the average member of her race.

This Beta’s slow wits gave me an idea. Her people were easily fooled. Zye had managed it countless times, by her own admissions.

“I see,” I said. “Fine. Let’s get out of here.”

That suited my escorts well. They led me toward the tubes, which whisked us all away on a mobile disk to the ground floor. We approached a guard on the way to the front doors. The Beta holding my arm with her thick strong fingers frowned at the guard.

Under no circumstances did I want to let these two get me out of the building. The hospital was a Star Guard facility, which meant there were armed people in authority here. I decided now was as good a time as any to take drastic action.

As we passed the bored guard, who was tapping at a computer scroll, I slipped out of the Beta’s grasp. I lunged at the guard and grabbed his sidearm.

It was a gamble, and it failed to work. The guard’s weapon was a smart weapon. A beeping sound went off as it attempted to alert its owner to the theft.

The guard was already more than aware of the problem. He wrestled with me immediately.

To my good fortune, the man was older and out of shape. He had a paunch, a red face that spoke of an overuse of caffeine and other stimulants, and I’d taken him by surprise.

Instead of incapacitating me or calling for help, he grabbed for his gun to take it back.

“Hey! Security, I’ve got one from the crazy ward!”

By wrapping his hands around the gun with mine, he activated the weapon. When the day’s events were reviewed, I had no doubt the man’s trainers would discipline him.

As it was, his reaction turned out to be timely.

The Beta killer wheeled on me. Her big hands came up and clasped around my neck. I could feel the fantastic power in those fingers. They were like claws of iron. My throat could not possibly withstand the pressure for more than a few seconds.

The gun, pressed tightly between the Beta and I, went off in my hand. It was fully automatic, and it was loaded with lethal ammo.

A string of popping sounds rang from the walls of the lobby. People screamed and ran, some hobbling due to injuries or illness.

The Beta’s eyes bulged in shock. The weapon had placed seven shots, kicking up higher with each blast and raking her body at point-blank range. Her chest and throat were a red ruin.

The iron fingers around my throat relaxed reluctantly, and she slid to the floor without a word.

“Sweet Jesus,” sobbed the guard. “Give me my gun, you murdering fuck!”

I didn’t obey him. I couldn’t. Chloe’s twin had now reversed her course. She’d almost reached the exit, but had turned around as if changing her mind. She stepped toward me slowly, hands outstretched in supplication.

“No, William,” she said, her face running with tears, “you killed your friend! Please put the gun down.
Please
, William.”

I looked at her, and I hesitated. I shouldn’t have, but it’s harder than you think to kill your lady-love.

Her eyes did it, in the end. They had that plastic look. The same look the Stroj assassins eyes sometimes had when they were close enough to stare into.

“On your knees, Stroj,” I ordered. “You’re under arrest.”

The guard looked at me as if I was insane. He also looked as if he was having a heart attack. His face was redder than ever.

He stopped trying to tear the gun out of my grasp. He looked at the Beta on the floor and at Chloe.

“You’re Sparhawk, aren’t you?” he asked in confusion. “Why did you kill your Beta friend?”

“She’s a fake,” I said. “They both are. Take over and arrest this creature.”

Chloe took another step toward me.

“Stop!” I ordered her, stepping back. “Guard, shoot her if she takes another step.”

Chloe shook her head. “You wouldn’t do that,” she said. “Not to me.”

I indicated the dead Beta on the floor. “Are you sure, Stroj?”

She did glance down, and the undeniable truth must have convinced her.

The creature that had been Chloe underwent a transformation. Not of physical form, but of aspect, demeanor and expression. She snarled at me in frustration.

“You’re not getting out of this star system alive, Sparhawk!” she said.