The Lazarus Particle (35 page)

“My atonement, sir?”

“Yes. Precisely.”

Hondo’s borrowed office was short on space and steeped with tension. Six hours had passed since Pruitt chose to reveal himself and the resources at his disposal. Any minute, the interrupt protocol was expected to deliver its findings on Fenton Wilkes’ highly classified, highly encrypted research project. The one he risked everything to keep quiet. Whatever it was, it must have been significantly groundbreaking for the lead researcher to pull the plug and go on the run at the eleventh hour in a surprisingly well executed attempt to bury the project’s outcome.

Yet even the promise of being witness to history was not enough to keep tempers from fraying, Orth noted with dour amusement as that soft deadline passed without fanfare.
 

Stannick was the first to break. “It’s been six hours,” he observed flatly, a fact that was not lost on anyone in the room.

“The timeframe was an approximation,” Pruitt responded, equally flat.

“Are there means by which the protocol could have been—” Captain Itzin paused, seeming to search the air before her for the right word. “—thwarted? Disrupted? Perhaps somehow intercepted?”

“Unlikely. Tier One technical superiority is second to none.”

Pruitt’s statement drew a dry, needling laugh from Stannick. “Is that not still the definition of ‘technical superiority?’” he asked. Like Hondo, he had taken Pruitt’s admission as something of a confession. That Orth failed to treat it as such was clearly irking the career officers, who saw themselves as nothing short of loyal corporate patriots. While Orth wouldn’t disagree, the nature of their service was hardly an indictment against Pruitt’s.

Pruitt returned the jab with an insincere smile, but a smile nonetheless. “Point taken, though it hardly moots my own.”

Stannick looked about to reply when the coolly measured voice of OverCom filled the room.
“Excuse me, Daniel, but if I may interject?”

“By all means.”

“I have successfully located and decrypted the file detailing the nature of Fenton Wilkes’ research project. However, it is quite voluminous. Would you like me to summarize my findings?”

“Please,” Pruitt said, directing a vindicated smirk at Stannick.

“Very well,”
OverCom began.
“The report states that for two years prior to his disappearance, Fenton Wilkes and his team, among others, were actively engaged in researching how to create and control a self-replicating biomechanical organism capable of reconstituting organic matter at the molecular level. Interviews with former staff and colleagues indicate they believed themselves to be on the verge of a major breakthrough. They also claim that Fenton Wilkes began to demonstrate reservations regarding the nature of the project and its potential implications in the weeks leading up to his disappearance. Efforts have been made by the remaining teams to reproduce the efforts of Fenton Wilkes’ team, but to no great success.

“End summarization.”

Silence prevailed as OverCom completed its analysis of Fenton’s file.
 

“Nanotech,” Hondo marveled, looking from his lap to each of them in kind. “The son of a bitch stole fire from the gods.”

“Our very own Prometheus,” Stannick agreed. “Are we to assume the Coalition has access to it, as well?”

“I don’t see how we cannot, considering his recent commission. They don’t just hand those out to everyone seeking asylum.”

“The real question, I think, is do we inform our new friends?”

Orth steepled his fingers thoughtfully. “That is the question of the moment,” he agreed. “Very much so.”

35 • PTSVY

The deck of the flight module echoed beneath the cold, rhythmic cadence of the Zj’s boots. Before him, a line of those top officers and aides comprising his senior staff stood stiff and silent for inspection. He took in every detail, long having been renowned for his exacting methods. There was simply zero room for error in service of Clan Ndeeldavono. He did not lust for error to correct it, yet still it must be done. There was no other way.

Here before him stood a perfect example.

She was the youngest and least experienced of their privileged few but had risen quickly within the last cycle. Partly this was owing to her talents and tireless energy. But it was also true that she was the clan-kin of a trusted mentor long since committed to the Aftermire. To honor her so was to honor him as well. So far she had performed admirably, though her duties were somewhat limited compared to others as she continued to acclimate to her new station. Yet in this simple thing, to stand as one with her fellows before the unprecedented arrival of a visiting command staff, she had failed. It was an obvious if minor failure, strictly of an aesthetic nature. Even so, it brooked nothing less than decisive correction, given the nature of the situation.

Finishing his inspection, he turned back the way he came before stopping halfway and turning his back upon them. Perhaps it gave them the impression they had passed inspection without complaint. In reality it was only so that Ndeeldavono may gather what waning strength his once mighty body still commanded.

“Alekki.”

“My Zj,” she responded brightly, crisply.

“We find fault with your dress.”

Behind him he could hear the hitch in her throat as she started to speak, then thought better of it. He imagined her dipping her head, frantically searching for the offending item. It galled him even more that she seemed all but incapable of recognizing and correcting her failing. He could hear her breath, shallow, and halting. At his side he clenched and unclenched his fist, until at last it refused to relax. Finally he could take no more. Turning on his heel, he shoveled his fist into Alekki’s gut. Even aged and infirm as he was, he connected with enough force to drop the girl to her knees, retching and spasming.

“Your
roka
,” he said. Flexing his fingers discreetly, he straightened himself. Traditionally, the
roka
, a Tyroshi battle blade not unlike a molecularly honed cutlass or scimitar, was worn on the right side only in the event of impending hostilities. For ceremonial functions, it was to be worn strictly on the left hip. In her haste to dress and assemble, Alekki had fixed it on the combative side. It was a thing she rarely had occasion to wear since joining their ranks, true. Still, it should not have required his calling attention to it.

Ndeeldavono leveled the rest of his senior staff with a telling stare as Alekki struggled back to her feet and reaffixed the offending item. Surely each and every one of them had detected her mistake and allowed it to pass without warning. To them, he had nothing to say. His eyes communicated they would revisit this on a more opportune occasion.

“Tower reports visiting vessel is preparing to dock within two minutes, my Zj.”

“Thank you, Lj Rejvollori. Let us all stand proudly, united as one, and meet our guests as if they were indeed worthy of the unprecedented honor awaiting them.”

Never before had a human set foot aboard a Tyroshi vessel. Yet as unctuously as Ndeeldavono should have viewed the prospect, he did not. In fact, if anything, he found it intriguing. Commander Knolan Orth, he understood, was what his fellow humans considered to be an “officer’s officer” and a “class act.” And while Ndeeldavono did not understand the exact context of these assessments, he felt reasonably assured after conversing with the man that they were of agreeable attitudes. Orth, it seemed, not only commanded but invited respect. An interesting tactic, but then his had been something of a passive command. Possibly the nature of human leadership required different attitudes for different posts. The same could not be said of the Tyroshi, who prized acquisition above all else.
 

For Ndeeldavono, to welcome such an unprecedented guest aboard his flagship was by far the most prized acquisition among a suite of career accolades and accomplishments.

“Tower reports visiting vessel incoming.”

The vessel landed unmolested, gases firing with a
swish-hiss
of counter thrust as it settled before them. The hatch opened a moment later, the swirling gases giving the dropping of the ramp a suitably dramatic air. As the gases cleared, a tight circle of personnel began to descend. Commander Orth emerged first. He was flanked by two of his Marines. Ndeeldavono’s first impression of the man was his impressive bearing, standing shoulder to shoulder with his well proportioned honor guard. Behind him trailed a small entourage of technical types led by an unassuming young ensign. Two more Marines brought up the rear.

The living manifestation of his clan, Ndeeldavono stood apart as the visitors took their first steps aboard his flagship. “Welcome, Commander Knolan Orth of Morgenthau-Hale. We are Ndeeldavono: Zj Soliorana. It is our great honor—indeed, our privilege—to host the first humans ever to set foot aboard a Tyroshi vessel.”

“We stand most humbled by your hospitality, my Zj. Thank you for agreeing to this meeting, and on such short notice.”

“Of course, of course.” Ndeeldavono bowed his head solicitously. “However, we would be remiss, Commander, if we did not express our deep and enduring regret for the mistaken identity that resulted in the destruction of your station. It is an action which will weigh heavily upon our spirit well after it has been committed to the Aftermire.”

Tension reigned as Orth absorbed the Zj’s
mea culpa
. Finally, Orth nodded. “Indeed. I cannot condone or forgive the act. I do understand the gravity of command, however. It is no small thing to commit the lives of so many to the leadership of so few. Often our mistakes result in the gravest of outcomes. It is my hope that our actions here together can in some way balance the scales.”

“As you say, Commander. We appreciate a man who speaks plainly and without reservation.” Ndeeldavono smiled just so, a conspiratorial gleam shining in his eyes. “It is rumored among our people that some humans speak with barbed tongues…”

“Very many, in fact,” Orth corrected him with a tiny smile of his own, “but only in the figurative sense, I can assure you.”

“Ah,” Ndeeldavono chuckled. The sound was remarkably similar to that produced by a human larynx. “The worst kind.”

“Indeed, my Zj. I am inclined to agree.”

“Please, Commander Orth, let us dispense with the pomp. You stand aboard this vessel as honored guest. We would have you address us as Ndeeldavono.”
 

Orth nodded once by way of acknowledgement. “And I would welcome you to call me Knolan.”

“Come, Knolan. We would have you tour our vessel, and then we have much to discuss.”

It was a most unorthodox tour of a vessel that ended with a trip to its brig, though Ndeeldavono was not without his reasons.

“Your brig?” Orth arched a brow, eyeing the Zj curiously. “An interesting location to conclude upon. Do you mean to give my honor guard actual purpose here beyond the merely ceremonial? I assure you they are more than up to the task.”

Ndeeldavono smiled. He had to admit, he rather liked Commander Knolan Orth. The man was as charismatic as he was confident. It was no wonder so many were willing to follow him on his quixotic quest. “Nothing of the sort, we assure you,” he replied, leading them into the deepest recesses of his ship. “We would but introduce you to a dear friend.”

“A dear friend you keep in the brig.”

“As you say, Knolan.”

There was nothing modern about a Tyroshi brig. No force fields or shield generators, no warm lighting or bunks upon which to wile away the time. Just a six by four cell of cold steel, a single meal a day, and a bucket. Ndeeldavono fondly recalled his own stay in Zj Hexxokoles’ brig as a young officer. He had been stubborn and reckless then, a disgrace to his Clan and the Tyroshi just waiting to happen. A week in the Zj’s brig gave him ample time to reconsider his profligate ways. By the time he emerged, young Ndeeldavono had undergone a transformation. Where once he had been headstrong and rebellious, the revelations he experienced in isolation helped shape and mold him into a dynamic yet solicitous young officer who rose quickly through the ranks of his clan.
 

Ndeeldavono brought them to a halt before the very cell he had once occupied so many decades ago. The sight of it drew a smile from his lips. As for its current occupant, Ndeeldavono was under no delusions. The man would not welcome him or thank him for the perspective gained from his time spent between those bare, filthy walls. He would curse Ndeeldavono’s very name, indeed, his entire Clan. And the Zj would welcome it, if only to watch the poor fool suffer in the delivering of the message.

“Is this where we find your friend?” Orth wondered.

“It is, indeed.” Ndeeldavono nodded to its silent guard.

As the guard opened the cell, its lone occupant appeared in stark relief. He was dirty and disheveled, huddled against the far wall. As bad as he looked, he smelled even worse. All of which was to be expected, of course. Even the telltale signs of isolation and interrogation were hardly cause for alarm. The occupant was a prisoner, after all.

It was the prisoner’s childlike stature that proved most arresting. Everything from his stubby arms and legs to his over-large head suggested the prisoner was an adolescent youth, though of what species was another question entirely.

“A child?” Orth said as if he could hardly believe his own eyes. There was an edge to his voice now, steely and cold. Apparently he considered the enslavement of children a bridge too far. A useful thing to know of one’s would-be allies.

… And enemies.

“By the Lord of the Aftermire Himself,” Ndeeldavono exclaimed, chuckling ruefully at the very idea. “No, no. We assure you, this one is no child.”

“Ptsvy is no child,” the man in the cell spat, his voice cracked and raw from thirst and disuse.

“You see, Knolan? He admits it.”

Orth appraised the diminutive man in the cell as one would a wild beast: carefully, from a distance. “Who is he? What is his crime?”

Ndeeldavono drew breath to answer, but the prisoner beat him to it. “You have the distinction of speaking to Ptsvy of Kalifka,” he declared, his voice becoming fuller the more he spoke, “Herald Prince of the Bazaar and All Its Minions. His crime? Only to have underestimated the most esteemed Zj Soliorana.”