MAIDEN, page 27
Crystal nodded. “Sydren and Lord deThau spoke of it. Sydren wants to investigate. His father refuses to allow that. Says the danger is too great.”
“Refuses to allow?” Scrounger frowned. “Rysha says Sydren did look. That whatever he found, he left there. And Rysha’s parents were missing.”
“Oh?” Crystal’s eyebrows rose. “Aye?”
Scrounger shrugged. “That’s what she said. Frankly, I believe her. Do you think..?”
Crystal finished the small cookie in her hand. “Do I think what?”
“You and Sydren might look?”
Crystal drank the contents of her bulb before replying. “Are you sure? Consider it. If the discovery of this artifact forced the researchers to abandon this outpost, and they disappeared afterward, their discoveries silenced...” She waggled her fingers, as though shooing Scrounger away.
Heart pounding again, throat dry, Scrounger croaked, “If there is an alien artifact, I think... I think we owe it to the researchers...”
“Even if your precious Nomnen was behind the disappearance of those researchers? It would have been as easy to divert them on their way out as it was to divert Lord deThau’s small fleet.”
Scrounger tried to swallow. She reached for her bulb with a trembling hand. Lossom! This has taken a turn! She wet her throat before saying, “We wouldn’t have to bring it home with us. I just thought—” She brought the bulb to her lips again. Her thoughts churned. This was not the way she imagined their conversation might play out.
“Aye, Scrounger.” Crystal smiled. “Me too.”
CHAPTER 15
HIGH DRONE
40
CLLAW REFUSED to allow High Drone to leave the nodeship, so Captain Vadell Tars brought a medical team and portable medical station on board. High Drone instructed the team to treat the remaining injured drones first.
For High Drone, headaches, dizziness, and pain filled the ten hours since Nomnen docked. He kept active, checking on the repair teams, his fellow drones, tending to his chores on the Primary Deck, and falling asleep on his feet. When he finally sat, his balance swirled and exhaustion pulled hard.
Mustn’t pass out...
He worried the churning in his thoughts might escape. No coherent memories yet still, but all it would take was to whisper the wrong word where Cllaw might hear.
Yorme... Jacob Yorme...
The thoughts pushed, as though wanting to be remembered and recognized. He pushed back. Not the time...
Captain Tars stood a short distance away, hands clasped behind his back, while the two medical technicians fussed over High Drone. They recorded his vital signs, listened to his heart, checked his eyes, ears, and inside his mouth, then replaced the module strapped around his elbow with a smaller, thinner, more flexible version. The pain from that brought him fully awake, if only briefly. They unwrapped and settled a blanket-like device over his head, neck, and shoulders. A cool gel held it to his skin. Medical Drone hovered nearby, scrutinizing the sleek equipment. He held a datapad of similar color and polish.
Beneath the blanket, tiny needles poked into High Drone’s flesh. Modules chirped and hummed. A tweet like those heard earlier, when the technicians scanned his unconscious drones, announced the initial findings. The younger of the technicians, a female, gasped.
“Holy sh—er, um, well,” said the other, a man half High Drone’s age. He raised his eyebrows. “Sir, you have a fractured vertebra in your neck. Here, look.” He twisted the screen on the small station he’d rolled on board with him. “The C-7 spinous process. Explains all the bruising back there.”
Careful not to move his head or neck, which had stiffened and hurt considerably more now, High Drone glanced down. The color image on the screen showed a variety of red, yellow, and white blobs, smears, and streaks. The technician pointed to a jagged red groove between two sections of porous white.
Medical Drone leaned close, then straightened. “Look at that. No wonder you hurt.”
The female technician said, “We need to...” As she spoke, she pressed buttons on the station. The wrap over High Drone’s head and shoulders stiffened.
“This’ll hold you in place until we stabilize the injury,” the male said. He dug a smaller module from the station’s side and checked its readouts. “I’m going to attach this to the bottom back of your neck. You’ll feel some pinching. We’re going to inject bone glue to hold the fracture in place, and medicine to numb the area, reduce the swelling, and speed the healing.”
High Drone asked, “Will it hurt?” The rasp scratched his throat.
“A bit, but less than if you turned your head wrong. Which I’m surprised you haven’t done already.”
With a grunt, High Drone assented.
The male stepped behind High Drone and loosened the wrap over his shoulders. The female continued to type on the station’s keypad. Medical Drone stepped around to watch.
The module was cool against High Drone’s skin. A pinch, a sharp jab, a flood of heat, then... The steady throb from the base of his skull down into his chest disappeared. “Uh!”
“This should hold for at least twenty-four hours. You need to keep still, though.” The male replaced the blanket with a soft but stiff collar that formed to High Drone’s neck, chin, and collarbones. “I’ve programmed the module for two additional injections, a day apart. The module will fall off on its own. You can remove the collar here when it does.”
“It’s tight under the chin,” High Drone grumbled.
The technician made a change. “That’s the best I can do. And you should sleep sitting up for a day or two.”
High Drone grunted. “Who has time for sleep?”
The technician smiled. “I can write you a prescription. Four-hour naps, as necessary. Even your brethren would have to honor that.”
Both High Drone and Medical Drone grunted.
Captain Tars cleared his throat.
His smile disappearing, the male technician said, “Sleep when you can.”
The female turned the station’s screen again. “We’ll follow the healing process from here.”
“You’ll leave the station on board?” Medical Drone asked.
“Yes. We can plug it in...” She searched the room. The cable in her hand ended in a plug with prongs arranged different from the outlets.
“I’ll have an adapter brought down,” Captain Tars said. “What about his arm?”
The female tapped the keypad. “No fracture there. A lot of edema. Maybe a torn tendon or ligament.”
The male dug another small module from the station, checked it, then attached it to the device around High Drone’s arm. Again, a pinch, a stab, some heat, then relief. “There. A day or two and you should be as good as new—your arm, anyway. We’ll leave a stretching regiment with Medical Drone. The neck may need four or five more days.”
“As long as you don’t injure it again,” the female said. She tapped the keypad. The station dropped into standby mode.
The male stepped back. “Would a sling be more comfortable?”
In a moment of clarity, High Drone remembered the ops console on his dais. “No. I need my arm straight to use my fingertaps.”
The technician looked down. “Oh. Um, yes, okay.” He looked back up, eyebrows raised. “I’m surprised your arm doesn’t hurt more. With fingertaps, injuries like these can be excruciating.”
High Drone shrugged. “It probably does. I’m too tired to feel it.”
His comment earned him a round of chuckles, but a frown from Medical Drone.
Probably shouldn’t have said that.
“Anyone else? Did we get everyone?” the male asked, looking from High Drone to Medical Drone to Captain Tars.
Medical Drone waved his datapad. “That’s everyone. I have your team’s reports here. I’ll arrange a schedule for follow-up visits. Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you. That’ll be all,” Captain Tars said. “Report back to the Nomnen. “See to the injured we brought aboard.”
The technicians left.
“We appreciate this, Captain,” High Drone said. He shifted forward on the medical bed and lowered his feet to the floor. He moved slowly at first, but when the pain remained distant, braved moving at normal speed.
“Your teams saved lives today,” Medical Drone added. He stood close, ready to offer a hand.
A wave of dizziness spun the room for a moment, then receded as quickly. High Drone stood and adjusted his worksuit.
“You should sleep,” Medical Drone said. “We’ve a few hours still until we’re ready.” He glanced at Captain Tars. “Right?”
The Nomnen’s captain cleared his throat again. “Lieutenant Karda’s latest report says we’ll be ready to slip within the hour. The damage wasn’t as bad as initially estimated, and repairs have progressed better than expected. Some issues with system integrations, still. Your fellow, Minionkeeper Drone, has been quite helpful.”
Jacob Yorme...
High Drone glanced at Medical Drone.
And you’re... Your name is...
He pushed both thoughts aside. For the first time, the effort drew no pain. His head felt perfectly clear. He said, “I’d better head to the Minion Service Bay, see to my duties.”
“I’ll stay behind, make sure this thing gets plugged in,” Medical Drone said, patting the portable medical station. “Mustn’t allow it to lose power.”
High Drone suspected his friend wanted to poke and prod the fancy piece of equipment in private.
Captain Tars said, “I’ll accompany you to the bay, if that’s all right. Send someone up with the adapter.”
High Drone nodded as much as the stiff collar allowed. “Follow me, please.”
His pulse picked up. If the nodal network hadn’t been repaired...
He led the way from Medical.
After a few steps through the quiet, dim passageways, Captain Tars cleared his throat. “If I may, what status can you provide for the knight? Forker, I believe?”
High Drone twisted at the waist to glance back. “Master Cllaw tends to Knight Forker. Unless I am informed otherwise, Knight Forker remains in hibernation. The assault did not damage those systems.”
“Hmm. Yes. Would it be possible to see the hibernation chamber?”
“Only from the outside. No one but Knight Forker can access the chamber. Master Cllaw sees to the locks.”
“That would be fine.”
“This way.”
High Drone grimaced. The route would take them down and around the passageway with the damaged comm. The only other locations where the comm was spotty were on the upper decks.
But he soon found his way blocked. Two technicians from the Nomnen were working on a damaged section of bulkhead, with panels open, wires spread out, and burned pieces of equipment in a pile. Overseeing their work was Fifth Drone, who stiffened as High Drone approached.
“Apologies, High Drone,” he said. “The hatch must remain closed while repairs are underway. I logged the details into the reports.”
“No worries, Fifth Drone. You have done well. We were nearby. I thought I would check on your condition. We will take the main passageway.”
“Repairs are nearly complete, High Drone. Another five minutes.”
High Drone clapped Fifth Drone on the shoulder. “If all is well here, I will continue on my way to the Minion Service Bay. Report there when you are done.”
“Yes, High Drone.”
One of the repair technicians said, “We’re returning to the Nomnen after this, sir. Just a few spotty things left, but we’ll need different equipment.”
“Fine, fine,” Captain Tars said. “Carry on.”
High Drone led the way back to the main passageway. He kept his breaths slow and steady. They passed a couple more repair teams and their supervising drones. The quiet hums from the equipment in the ceiling and bulkheads had mostly returned to normal. The stench of burned bio-gel haunted the air, and the lighting remained dim.
A crackle in his chord preceded Cllaw’s call. :High Drone!:
High Drone stiffened. :Yes, Master.:
:The weapon Nomnen used to attack us. You know of it?:
:Hotpulse darts. I recognize the launch tubes on the brethren’s hull.:
:Ah. Finish your business in the service bay, then report to the Primary Watch Deck. Dredge your memories. I need to know everything about these hotpulse darts.:
:Yes, Master.:
High Drone realized his steps had carried him nearly into the comm-damaged passageway. Master Cllaw was no doubt watching his movements. With orders to report to the Primary Watch Deck as soon as possible, he realized he couldn’t stop, even for a quick exchange. But he had to let Captain Tars know.
But how? His thoughts swirled. Cllaw’s request that he remember what he could about the hotpulse darts hung prominently. The brethren’s intentions regarding that knowledge sounded… dangerous. Worrying about that clouded his focus concerning Captain Tars.
How?
Then he knew.
He twisted at the waist again as they passed into the darkened passageway.
Captain Tars was glancing up. “I’ll have a team take care of this—”
“Jacob Yorme,” High Drone whispered, his gaze down at the deck plating.
“—as soon as I return to the Nomnen.”
High Drone twisted back around. Without hesitation, he led the way into the service bay. “I appreciate that, Captain, but the damage is inconsequential. Make it a low priority.”
“I’ll make certain it’s on the list. Ah, Technician Karda.”
High Drone led Captain Tars to where the teams stood, their pushcarts mostly empty of equipment. One was removing the interface installed earlier. At the farthest minion service station, Minionkeeper Drone worked on a small round device, his back to the group.
Karda presented a datapad. “My final reports, sir. Maybe two hours, and we can be underway.”
Captain Tars glanced at the datapad. “Yes, good. Listen, I need a Q-adapter brought to Medical. For the med-station we brought on board.”
“I’ll take care of that.” One of the waiting technicians lifted the adapter from a pile. “See you back on board the Nomnen.”
A drone waiting nearby scurried after him.
“Yes, very good.” Then Captain Tars straightened and pressed a finger to his ear-unit. “At once,” he mumbled. Then, to High Drone: “My apologies. My master has need of me.”
High Drone nodded. “We will speak again when repairs are finished. To the technician’s satisfaction.” He smiled in Karda’s direction.
She smiled back. “It’s been... interesting.”
Captain Tars said, “Yes, good.”
Eighth Drone, standing nearby, an arm in a sling, stepped up. “I will escort you to the primary lock.”
“That’s all right. I know the way by now.”
“I must insist,” Eighth Drone said.
Captain Tars nodded. “As you wish.” He turned to High Drone. “I shall report back hopefully within the hour.”
“I will continue with my chores,” High Drone replied. “We will speak again soon, then.”
Captain Tars departed, Eighth Drone a step behind.
Moving to Minionkeeper Drone’s station, High Drone studied the device in the table’s clamps, maybe half a kenner across and intricately stuffed with parts. Two circular comm loops lay in the center, connected in an unfamiliar configuration. “Minionkeeper Drone, what are—”
:High Drone! Do not concern yourself. Report to the Primary Watch Deck.: Cllaw’s tone brooked no argument.
:Yes, Master.:
Minionkeeper Drone never looked up from his work.
High Drone retreated to the Primary Watch Deck, his worry intensifying with each step. Having his injuries tended to should have eased his anxiety!
What could Cllaw want with knowledge of the hotpulse dart tubes?
What was Minionkeeper Drone working on? No doubt under Cllaw’s supervision—he was smart and knew his systems, but that circular thing looked nothing like what High Drone had seen before. Seemed quite... specialized.
The air in the Primary Watch Deck remained chilly. But the space was clean, with panels back in place, the stations repaired, and the lightpads at full illumination. Burn marks scarred the blue panels and wall.
He’d move operations back soon—another task to organize. Maybe that one would go as smooth as his medical check. Figure it later.
For now, he’d have to comply with his master and pull from his memories all he knew about Nomnen’s weapon. Nomnen’s illicit weapon. One that few Brethren, and even fewer humans, knew about.
Jacob Yorme was one of those select few.
And that bothered High Drone. More than he first realized.
Nothing good...
He climbed the three steps to the dais and slid his fingertaps into their grooves. The wrap descended and blinked to life. A crackle sounded in his chord.
:Now, High Drone,: Cllaw said. :Tell me all you know of hotpulse darts.:
CHAPTER 16
CRYSTAL
41
WEARING HER armor, Crystem sleeved, Crystal left the Sibly in search of Sydren deThau. She found him in the back of the eighth deck kitchen. Anxiety churned in her stomach. She had to tread delicately here.
The aromas of cooked food sweetened the air. Tables arranged along a wall held a variety of covered dishes. A pair of older men were laying out plates and utensils, and positioning spatulas and ladles. A row of empty pods sat farther along—the last of what the automated freighters had delivered. Dirty pots and pans and utensils lined the counters and filled the two sinks. The lightpads glowed at half-illumination, and the atmosphere was quiet.
He stood with two younger men wearing the stewards’ gray worksuits. Between them sat a pair of rectangular metal pods and a trolley. Blue lights at the pods’ latches confirmed airtight seals. “This one goes on the fourth slot on rack two, this one on rack four,” he said while making notations on a datapad. “And...” He looked around. “...that should do it.”
