Harbinger, page 7
“If someone figured out a reliable way to clone psychics, it would change everything,” Dorian murmured. “I can’t even imagine how the Convectorate would react.”
“Not well,” Ghost said. “The Science Ministry has been attempting to breed psychics ever since the old Tarreen Empire was defeated by the Seraph and her supporters over three centuries ago. Their entire caste system is a byproduct of their repeated failures.”
Dorian pursed his lips in thought. As bizarre and unsettling as this was to him, he couldn’t even begin to fathom how Kaya must have felt right now. In reality, he still barely knew anything about her, yet he still felt more connected to her—and Mysha—than he had to anyone in a very long time.
And it wasn’t just because of the sex, no matter what Ghost thought. The three of them…fit. Dorian had never been a big believer in destiny, but it almost felt like he was meant to be here on this ship…
“I suspect we will not find satisfactory answers to many of our questions for some time,” Ghost said. “But there is another matter we must discuss, Dorian. And regrettably, it is highly time-sensitive.”
“What?”
“Contacting your father.”
Dorian sat straight up, his stomach twisting so hard he almost retched. “I swear, if you so much as try to send another message—”
“You misinterpret my intentions,” Ghost insisted. “I am not suggesting that we return to the compound. Our current circumstances negate that possibility.”
“Then what are you suggesting?”
“I am concerned about the potential fallout from Talinus. The Convectorate knows that you are a psychic, Dorian. You may have escaped their forces on the station, but they have had ample time to inform their superiors by now.”
Dorian hissed softly through his teeth. He had been trying very hard to avoid thinking about this since they had fled the station. Kaya’s revelation about the Shadows had made it easy to occupy his mind, as had Mysha’s…attention. But sitting here alone with Ghost made it impossible to ignore the grim reality. After a lifetime of hiding his psychic abilities, his secret was finally out.
And that had consequences for more than just him.
“You think they’ll go after Dad.”
“I believe it is a near certainty,” Ghost replied somberly. “And I fear that your father’s allies in the Defense Ministry may not be able to protect him. As I recently and regrettably discovered, the Tarreen’s hatred for psionic abilities often eclipses their better judgment. The Intelligence Ministry will wish to question your father.”
“Or they’ll just send the Spiders to grab him,” Dorian breathed. He closed his eyes and swore under his breath as he mentally worked through all the likely outcomes. None of them were particularly good. If the Convectorate War Ministry approached the situation rationally, they would realize that they simply couldn’t afford to cut ties with their most important weapons contractor, even if he had been harboring a psychic and covertly developing psi-tech. Garr Industries was vitally important to the CDF war machine, especially with the Kreen secession and the continued Dowd incursions into the Far Rim. The Hierarchs could simply allow Samir Garr to continue using psionic technology in secret and sweep the entire scandal under the rug. That was what every other government in the galaxy did with experimental or illegal tech.
But even the smartest Tarreen often seemed incapable of being pragmatic in the face of psi-tech. Their burning hatred of the Seraphim would drive them to overreact. The Vecs would storm the Garr compound, seize the company’s assets, and arrest Dorian’s father.
And probably execute him.
“Once again, none of this would be happening if you hadn’t sent that fucking message,” Dorian snarled. Another flash of rage boiled his blood and dulled the pain in his ribs. “The Union could have smuggled me off the station, and the Vecs would’ve had no reason to believe my father was involved.”
“Your analysis is accurate,” Ghost replied. “As I previously stated, I accept full responsibility for my actions.”
“If only that made a difference.”
Dorian glared at the holographic avatar in silence for several seconds before he finally sighed and shunted his anger aside. What was done was done, and the chrono was ticking.
“Do you still have access to the Prowler’s com system?” he asked.
“I find it exceedingly unlikely that the Velothi would have had time to redesign the security protocols since we left the station.”
“A simple ‘yes’ would have sufficed,” Dorian groused. “All right, do you know where we are? Would it even be possible to get a signal to the compound?”
“I will know in a moment,” Ghost said. His holographic avatar floated toward the computer on Mysha’s desk and disappeared. He was probably only gone for a few moments, but the worry tearing at Dorian’s stomach made it feel like an hour.
[We are approximately fifty parsecs from the Garr Industries compound,] Ghost’s voice came back through Dorian’s implant. [The technicians have almost certainly restored communications by now.]
“Too far for real-time coms,” Dorian reasoned. “We’ll have to leave a message and wait for a reply.”
[Not necessarily. I can redirect the signal through the hyperspace relay near Talinus Station. It is quite powerful—I should be able to establish a clear transmission with less than a fifteen-second delay.]
Dorian frowned. “That’s a civilian relay. We might as well shout our coordinates across the promenade.”
[The sheer volume of traffic through the relay will make it more difficult to isolate our signal. I can also encrypt the message with one of the company’s proprietary algorithms. It is at least two generations beyond standard Convectorate communications technology. The likelihood of the Intelligence Ministry decrypting the message within the next three months is less than one tenth of one percent.]
“What about the odds that Mysha realizes you’re sending a signal from her ship again?”
[Even smaller. Masking the transmission is a trivial task.]
Dorian weighed his options. He didn’t like the idea of going behind Mysha’s back again, especially considering what had happened last time. The girls still didn’t know the truth about Ghost or how he had turned their neat plan on Talinus into a complete clusterfuck. But time really was a factor here. He could explain everything in a few hours after they’d all gotten some rest.
“All right, go ahead and open a channel,” he said, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. His stomach clenched, but he wasn’t sure if that was because of his bruised ribs or the anxiety roiling in his gut. Thinking about his father again made him nauseous; the thought of speaking with him again filled him with existential dread.
What am I even going to tell him? Sorry, Dad, but I decided to tag along with the women who kidnapped me. I hope you don’t mind. Oh, and by the way, the Convectorate might have already sent a hit squad after you. Have fun!
Dorian groaned and shut his eyes. He had been planning some version of this speech ever since he’d decided to reach out to the Union all those months ago, yet he still didn’t feel remotely prepared for it. For all of Samir Garr’s faults—and there were many—the man had done everything he could to protect and provide for his son during desperate times. After Dorian’s mother abandoned them, the two of them had been forced to rely on one another for everything. They had survived and eventually even thrived.
But it’s all a mirage. The compound, the technology, the luxuries…they were all paid for in blood. We’ve handed the Convectorate all the weapons and technology they need to tighten their grip on a fractured galaxy. Once their army of war machines crushes the latest Dowd incursion, they’ll move on to other independent systems. They might try to conquer the Kreen or even finish off what’s left of the Dominion.
Dorian’s eyes fluttered back open. Samir Garr had always been a pragmatist. He would happily sell mechs or weapons to anyone willing to buy them. He didn’t care about the atrocities of the Tarreen; he didn’t care about the fate of humanity or the Dominion or the Seraphim.
And the brutal reality was that those instincts had served their family well, at least for a time. If Samir had been choosier about his clients, they might never have escaped poverty. They might not have even survived at all.
[I have connected with the relay,] Ghost said into his implant. [I am now attempting to establish a link with the compound.]
Dorian stared at Mysha’s computer and braced himself for the worst. What if he was too late? What if there was no one left alive to answer?
But it only took a few moments before the shimmering, translucent projection of his father’s bearded face materialized in the air above the screen.
“Dorian?” Samir Garr breathed. The audio and movements were desynched just enough to be annoying, but the signal quality was decent. “Oh, thank the stars! Where in the hell are you?”
“Far away but safe,” Dorian said. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
“Far away? What happened to that Succubus bitch? Where did they—”
“None of that matters right now, Dad—I just need you to listen,” Dorian said, wincing at the time delay. His father talked over him enough when they were standing face-to-face. “I can’t stay on this channel for long, but I wanted to warn you that you’re in danger—grave danger.”
His father’s forehead creased. His face looked like it had aged five years in the past twenty-four hours. “What are you talking about? What is going on?”
“It’s the Convectorate, Dad. They know.”
Somehow, the delay made the sudden whitening of his father’s face even more stark. Samir swore and grumbled something that the com didn’t quite pick up, then seemed to refocus on his son. “Dorian, you need to tell me what the hell is going on. Now.”
“The details don’t matter,” Dorian said. “The point is that they know about my powers, and it’s only a matter of time before they come for you. You need to reach out to your allies in the Ministers’ Conclave as soon as possible. I hope they can protect you, but you need to be careful. Honestly, you should leave the compound just in case. Take a ship and go somewhere—anywhere—at least until this blows over.”
“Dorian, this is madness!” Samir snarled. “I’m not doing anything until you explain what the fuck is going on! Where did that Succubus take you? Where are you?”
Dorian could see the desperation in his father’s eyes, and he was briefly tempted to lay everything out on the table. But even if he wanted to, there wasn’t time. The longer they spoke, the more likely someone might intercept the transmission.
“Look, you just need to go, all right? Shut down the compound and the factories. Take all the credits you can and hop on the old freighter for a few days. I’ll figure out a way to contact you again soon. By then I’ll hopefully have some more info for you.”
“Dorian—”
“I have to go, Dad,” Dorian said. “Please, take this seriously. You know the Tarreen as well as anyone. Once their zealots catch wind of this…it’s going to be bad. Protect yourself. I’ll be in touch.”
Dorian flicked off the holoprojector before his father could respond, then flopped back onto the bed like a deflated balloon. He suddenly felt so enervated he wasn’t sure he could get back up even if he had to.
“You did not provide him with much information.”
Dorian muttered an obscure Kreen curse as Ghost’s orange avatar emerged from within the computer. “You said shorter was better. And what else could I possibly tell him? That I’m on a ship with the psychics who kidnapped me in the first place? Would that have helped anyone?”
“Perhaps not,” the AI replied. “If the Convectorate does capture him, it will be to our benefit if he knows as little as possible.”
“That’s a cheery thought,” Dorian said, trying and failing to tamp down another wave of guilt. “It’s only been a few hours. Even the Spiders couldn’t have possibly reached the compound yet. He has some time, assuming he listens. If he can just stay off the radar for a while, the War Ministry will notice their sudden shortage of mechs. His allies will have a better chance of convincing the Hierarchy to see reason. They can’t afford to lose him.”
“I certainly hope that is the case.”
The AI didn’t sound particularly convinced by the rationalization, and frankly Dorian wasn’t, either. Samir Garr was a notoriously stubborn man. The odds that he would listen to his son weren’t great…and the odds that he would turn tail and run were even slimmer. But then again, he had always taken every precaution to hide Dorian from the Spiders. He understood the threat they represented. Perhaps fear would compel him to do the right thing even if common sense could not.
“Shit,” Dorian breathed, rubbing his hands over his face. “What are we going to do?”
“For now, there is nothing to do except wait,” Ghost said. “And survive.”
***
Kaya had no concept of how long she laid beside Mysha while the other woman slept. Ten minutes? Half an hour? The look of pure primal contentment on the Velothi’s face after being fucked by her Imprinted lover was always something to behold. Her thick mane of white hair was strewn wildly over the pillows, and her bare breasts rose and fell in rhythm with her gentle breathing. She almost looked like she was hibernating rather than merely taking a nap. She would be out for hours unless someone injected her with a stim.
Mysha deserved the break. Hell, she deserved anything she wanted after enduring the Echo’s torments for so long. It was tempting to set course for some tropical world in the Far Rim where they could all relax, get drunk, and fuck until they passed out. Once they were out of credits, they could always run a few scams to fund another year or two of debauchery.
“If only,” she whispered as she slowly reached up and dragged a finger down Mysha’s sternum and between her breasts. Kaya would never forgive herself if this plan of hers ended up threatening her partner’s newfound freedom. But she also would never forgive herself if she passed up the one and possibly only opportunity to get some answers.
And the sooner they got to Cira Narn, the faster they could get this over with.
“Shit,” Kaya whispered as she stood and retrieved a new outfit from her closet. She was tempted to hop in the shower, but they really did need to change course as quickly as possible. Every minute spent barreling aimlessly through deep space was another minute their foes could gain on them.
After sliding back into her familiar dark blue pants and cropped vest, Kaya leaned down to peck Mysha’s cheek before she headed for the cockpit.
The shimmering tunnel of a hyperspace corridor greeted her the moment the cockpit hatch opened, and she slid into the pilot’s chair. She half expected a Convectorate fleet to be waiting for them in real space when she deactivated the hyperdrive, but for once, her pessimism was completely unfounded. When the blue of hyperspace vanished, all that loomed beyond the canopy was the starry black void of space.
Sighing, she called up the navigational controls. Her fingertips danced across the holographic display, moving through menus, and she winced when the familiar coordinates finally scrolled in front of her.
“Stupid things I never thought I’d be doing again, chapter one,” she murmured, punching them in and waiting while the computer plotted a course. Their Class 7 drive was one of the fastest on the civilian market, and thanks to Mysha’s modifications, they could usually push it into Class 8 territory for a few hours without inflicting too much strain on the ship. The extra light-year-per-hour might be critical.
Kaya confirmed the coordinates and activated the autopilot before she could have second thoughts. The stars rotated as maneuvering thrusters kicked in, aligning the ship to its new heading.
The soft rumble of the hyperdrive shuddered through the deck, and a heartbeat later, she was once again staring at the flickering blue smear of a hyperspace corridor. She only had to wait a moment for the tac-holo to update with their current course and speed.
ETA: 07:53
Kaya leaned back in the chair and let out a long, anxious breath. Really, she should have gone right back to her quarters and curled up with Mysha for a nap. Even five or six hours of sleep would probably be enough to let her body fully heal.
But she dreaded the idea of closing her eyes. For all she knew, another nightmare lurked right around the corner.
Swearing softly, she stood and headed to the galley for a drink. She would have gladly slammed down a glass of Drellian brandy, but their last two bottles were about to appreciate considerably. Luxury goods from Dominion worlds were rare enough in the Belt, let alone in the Far Rim. She settled on heating up some tea instead, and after half an hour of mindless puttering, she ended up right back in the cockpit seat where she’d started.
“To freedom,” she whispered, taking a big swig of her tea as if it were booze. The hot liquid soothed her nerves more than she expected. After a few minutes, she felt so exhausted she wasn’t sure she could make it back to her quarters if she tried. Thankfully, the pilot’s chair reclined quite a bit, and so she locked the controls, propped her boots up on the console, and closed her eyes.
And the instant she lowered her defenses, the nightmares returned.
First, she was sprinting barefoot across an obsidian plateau surrounded by lava, her flesh on the verge of melting. Next, she was fired out of a hatch many kilometers beneath the surface of a crystal blue ocean, the titanic pressure threatening to collapse her lungs. In every horrifying vignette, there was an obvious solution before her: Tarreen for the scalding heat, Meldonian for the crushing depths, Krosian for the biting cold. And despite the pain and terror, she always found a way to survive.
Or did she? Amidst the images of triumph lurked echoes of deadly failures. Her flesh dissolving, her lungs exploding, her bones crumbling…could any of it be real? Had any of it happened?
