Doc shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Yes. Well, will she be cooperative when she wakes? She needs a blood infusion. Or, at the very least, hydration. Nanos would get her moving around more quickly, but they itch. I don’t want her clawing holes in herself or yanking out wires.”
Rykus kept his expression blank. How much did these people know about Ash? Because the doctor was right to be worried. Ash wouldn’t cooperate. She would tear the med-bay apart and hurt herself in the process.
“Her vitals are there.” Doc waved to the large monitor taking up most of the back wall. “You can see she’s stable. Why don’t you clean her up while I approve a treatment plan?”
Frustration scratched at Rykus’s composure. He needed her awake. He needed to see her eyes. He needed to know she was okay and these people weren’t making any tweaks to her mind.
“I want to know everything you’re doing,” Rykus said.
The doctor gave him a friendly smile. “Of course.” He pulled open a drawer. “Sani-towels. Get those clothes off her. Clean her up. I’ll make sure she recovers quickly.”
Rykus didn’t immediately grab the sani-towels or strip her down. He braced his hands wide on the cot and just looked at her. The rise and fall of her chest and her relaxed expression were small comforts with the amount of blood stiffening her clothing. It felt like some of that blood was his, leaked from a wound she’d caused. She would never leave the fighting to someone else, no matter how risky the assignment, how severe her injuries, how unnecessary her presence might be.
He grabbed a sani-towel. Three years ago, he’d explained the side effects of the loyalty training during the anomaly hearings. The Coalition had created soldiers who existed to preserve and protect it at all costs. They were loyal to an extent that was beyond reasonable, and that caused them to make illogical decisions, decisions like choosing to be charged with treason rather than to risk the release of information that might—might—damage the government. It wasn’t right.
He brushed her hair back from her face, then let his hand slide down the thin braid that touched her shoulder. He frowned at the dried blood that flaked off it. He couldn’t save her, not from war or the telepaths, not from the loyalty training. All he could do was love her and be there when she needed him.
Rykus shouldn’t have sat down when Doc started tending to Ash. He stayed close and watched what the doctor was doing, but when the man finished his work and stepped outside “for a minute,” Rykus drifted off.
He drifted off and he dreamed that Ash had woken up. He’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her, but she had been as unbendable as bruidium. When he slowly drew back, her green eyes had been shaded a milky white. She’d pointed a gun at his head and pulled the trigger.
Rykus had jerked awake. Then he’d risen from his chair, unwilling to fall asleep again. Tahn’s people had confiscated his Covar and their comm-cuffs before they left, so he had no way to get a message out, no access to media, and no way to pass the time except to sit and worry and watch the hours go by.
Ash needed the rest. She always pushed her body too far. Without the sedative, she would have been awake and pacing or plotting or worse. But he didn’t like the fact that his touch didn’t make her stir. She wouldn’t like it either.
He scanned the med-panels, trying to make sense of them. He identified the hydration liquid and IV antibiotic and multiple readouts that all indicated she was recovering well. If he removed the IV, would her system cleanse out the sedative? He wasn’t sure about that. The doctor made it sound like she needed an antidote more than recovery time.
Behind him, the door clicked, then slid open. Doc returned with the woman, Cas, beside him.
“Tahn would like you to join him,” Cas said.
“Wake her up.” He was done with waiting.
“Only your presence is required.”
“I’m not leaving her like this,” Rykus said.
The woman crossed her arms.
Doc swiped his fingers across his flattened comm-cuff. “She’s recovering remarkably well. I think we can wake her.”
Cas turned a venomous glare on the other man.
He raised his hands. “I’m just doing my job.”
“And I’m doing mine.” Her jaw clenched. Then her eyes seemed to unfocus.
It wasn’t anything Rykus could specifically identify, just a sort of fading of her attention. When a muscle in her cheek twitched and her mouth flattened, he had the impression she was hearing something she didn’t like.
“Fine,” she bit out. “Wake her.”
Doc tapped on his comm-cuff, then onto a keypad embedded into the med-wall. A panel slid aside, revealing a glass vial. Doc grabbed a syringe, stabbed it into the vial, then withdrew the liquid.
“This should only take a few minutes.” He slid the needle into the IV input.
Rykus pulled up his chair and sat, putting himself at eye level with Ash so he would be the first thing she saw when she woke.
It didn’t take long before she showed a sign of regaining consciousness. It was just a slight tightening of her face, a minuscule clench of her jaw.
He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, and her head turned toward him.
She opened her eyes.
He held his breath.
They were the longest seconds of his life. Her gaze looked clear but unfocused, and she hadn’t said anything. She hadn’t even glanced around the room.
“Ash?” He waited. He prayed.
Something registered in her face. She bolted upright.
He grabbed her shoulder, preventing her from springing from the bed.
She put her hand over his. At first he thought she was going to fling him away, but then her fingers curled. She squeezed.
Thank the god.
He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her knuckles.
“You’re okay,” he said.
She scanned the room. He could practically see the fight build inside her.
“Don’t overreact,” he cautioned.
Her gaze paused on Cas, then the doctor, before returning to him.
“You’re okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
“He’s waiting,” Cas said icily.
Ash lazily let her attention shift back to Tahn’s second-in-command.
“We’re going to speak to Tahn,” Rykus said. “If you’re comfortable with that and can keep it together.”
“Of course.” Her voice came out a degree colder than Cas’s.
“I mean it, Ash. No outbursts. No provocations. Understood?”
He wasn’t sure what she saw when she looked at him again, but her expression softened. She nodded.
He stepped back and offered her his hand.
24
Cas led them to a private dining room.
Tahn sat at the end of a long mahogany table that split the room’s center. He exuded power and wealth and an intangible awareness that made Ash’s steps falter. She’d succeeded at shaking him out of the stars. Now she needed answers, but she was in no position to force him to cooperate, and she had no idea how to negotiate with a man who could pry into her mind.
“Sit, please.” Tahn gestured to the upholstered chairs rimming the table.
Rykus’s hand touched the small of her back. She wasn’t sure she would have kept moving otherwise. This room with its soothing ambiance and rich elegance unsettled her. Framed paintings adorned its walls, expensive-looking pieces that captured environments from around the KU. She recognized the Camarnerie Clusters and Mikassia’s purple-hued skies. There was even a painting of Javery’s Kampechu Torrent. Ash wasn’t a connoisseur of art, but even she recognized some of the pieces in this room. They’d been lifted from museums and the homes of extremely wealthy individuals.
Not as wealthy as Tahn though. Not as dangerous either. His affable front didn’t change the fact that he killed individuals who had the audacity to seek him out.
“How many Tomans do you have?�
� she asked, stopping behind a chair.
“Toman?” His gaze flickered to Cas. She didn’t say anything—not out loud at least—but his eyes registered a flash of insight. “Oh. Yes. A few, scattered about.”
“Did you pay him or program him?”
Tahn’s eyes bored into her. “I saved him. Now please, have a seat.”
Rykus pulled out a chair for her. There was another one between it and Tahn’s place at the head of a table. No way was she letting her fail-safe sit next to the crime lord.
Rykus caught her elbow when she moved toward the other chair. When she opened her mouth to object, he squeezed—not too hard, just hard enough to make his point—then he stepped to her right and took the seat closest to Tahn.
Unhappy, she dropped into her chair and refocused on Tahn. More specifically, on what he had said.
I saved him.
“He snapped,” she said. “It wasn’t Mel who brought him back.”
“I was in system when he went on his rampage, and I was curious. I found a man with a broken mind, and I glued it back together. With a few modifications.”
He said it like it was as simple as reassembling a broken glass.
“Do you program all your henchmen?”
“Goodness, no. That would be tedious. It’s much easier to throw money at people, but with anomalies…” He shrugged. “It’s nice to be assured of their loyalty.”
Ash kept her expression hard. It wasn’t easy. On Glory, this man had triggered a pain center in her mind. Cas had done the same after they stepped off the transport. Ash didn’t know how to prevent the intrusions—she didn’t even know if she could prevent them—but she planned to find out.
She shifted her attention to Cas. The woman stood slightly behind and to Tahn’s right. She had an inexplicable hatred Ash could exploit. She just had to find the right trigger. Tahn had a small cut on his lower lip where she’d punched him. Cas hovered like a bodyguard. If Ash—
Rykus bumped his leg against hers beneath the table, a quiet reminder to be civil.
She didn’t want to be civil. She wanted to kill.
“My people retrieved the bodies of Mira and Hauch,” Tahn said.
The words cut straight through all thoughts of provocation. A visceral pain made her want to double over. She’d been blocking out her failure, and Tahn had just shredded through her partitions.
Mira and Hauch were dead because of her. She should have returned to Glory years ago to take Scius out.
Or she shouldn’t have returned at all. If she hadn’t, Hauch would still be alive.
What was she going to tell their team?
“Thank you,” Rykus said. He rested his hand on Ash’s leg.
“We’ll make sure the bodies are returned to their families.” Tahn watched her carefully. So did Cas. Were they waiting for her to snap? It felt like she might shatter.
“You visited Trevast’s widow,” Tahn said.
Seeker’s God, she needed to run, to hide, to find a restroom so she could retch over the toilet.
It took two tries for her to get the word yes out.
“How are she and Grant?”
Grant. Trevast’s son. The kid looked so much like his father. Trevast was the reason she’d searched for Tahn. She had to learn about the telepaths, the factions. She had to figure out how to root them out of the Coalition. If she failed…
She closed her eyes.
No. She couldn’t fail.
“Lydia and Grant are doing as well as can be expected.” The words were so damn empty, so rote, like platitudes.
“I was surprised she didn’t throw you out. She believed you didn’t murder her husband?”
“She knew I would die for him and the others. If I had a chance to save them, I…” She cleared her throat. “I would have saved them.”
He crossed an ankle over his knee, curled a finger against his mouth, and studied her. She studied him back, holding herself very still. Holding herself together.
“He liked you,” Tahn finally said. “Lydia liked you. I suppose I could like you. Unfortunately, the loyalty training makes you useless to me.”
“I’m heartbroken.” She managed to put a sarcastic bite into the words. It was the only defense she had against this conversation.
Tahn smiled. “I could undo it.”
Silence ricocheted off the walls.
Beside her, Rykus straightened. He probably didn’t notice the subtle movement. He probably didn’t notice the way he leaned forward a fraction or the eagerness that radiated from him like heat waves on a desert planet. Countless times, he’d expressed how much he hated the loyalty training. He hated having a manufactured influence over her, hated that she wouldn’t consider a safer life, and hated how the brainwashing affected her decisions.
But undoing the loyalty training—if Tahn wasn’t lying and it was possible—would require him to rummage through her mind. There was no fucking way she would allow that.
Her hands curled into fists. “No.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Perhaps we’ll revisit the issue later.” He shifted his attention to Rykus. “Have you spoken to your colleagues on Caruth recently?”
It felt like Tahn had placed a hand on her shoulder and spun her around hard. The sudden topic change knocked the carefully restrained interest from Rykus’s expression too.
His brow furrowed. “What?”
Tahn uncrossed his leg and leaned closer to the table. “When was the last time you spoke to the instructors of Caruth?”
Rykus glanced at her. She gave him an infinitesimal shrug. She had no idea where he was going with this.
“It’s been almost two standard months,” he said.
That’s when Ash had been sent there. Valt had taken over her mind, and to bring her back, the Coalition put her into the psych-mask and reran the loyalty-training protocol.
“You spoke to your replacement?” Tahn asked.
“I met him briefly.”
“What did you think of him?”
Rykus’s expression hardened. The set of his jaw, the chill in his eyes, strummed a cord in Ash’s chest even though she wasn’t the one targeted in his crosshairs. He didn’t like ambiguities.
“What exactly do you want to know?” he demanded.
“You were replaced rather quickly.”
“I-Comm liked the anomaly program.”
“Of course. What intelligence committee wouldn’t want supersoldiers who are brainwashed into sacrificing everything for its interests? But the number of willing victims dropped drastically when the loyalty training was announced. Are four instructors really necessary?”
“What are you getting at, Tahn?”
“Elek Rohn’s file is sparse.” He flicked a hand over his comm-cuff, and one of the paintings disappeared, replaced by a screen that showed an image of a man in military uniform. Ash had heard of Rohn but had never seen him. He was stone-faced, big, and muscular like Rykus and the other three instructors of Caruth. No one would be able to replace Rykus in the intimidating-as-hell category, but Rohn did a fair job.
“Much of his background is classified,” Tahn continued. “That’s not unusual. Much of yours and Ash’s and others associated with the anomaly program are as well, but none are as compartmentalized as his. When my sources removed one layer of classification, they revealed minor details of past assignments and references that pointed us toward other classified segments of data. A scan of all the databases and vid-footage we have access to revealed very few hits. It’s easy to erase images with the right technology, but to keep those images erased? That requires consistent effort and extensive resources. It’s expensive, and yet his past is obscured more thoroughly than any I’ve ever encountered.”
A sick, nauseated feeling churned in her gut.
“Who do you think he is?” Ash asked.
Tahn met her gaze. “His public file says he was born on Nyria 5, served in their armed forces, and joined the Coalition’s Fighting Corps a little over five y
ears ago. He received high marks from every officer he served under, and he made quite an impression on the deceased War Chancellor Grammet Hagan, who recommended him as Commander Rykus’s replacement.”
She didn’t like this, didn’t want to connect the pieces.
Tahn idly tapped his fingers on the table. “Did you know Jevan Valt is on Caruth?”
“Yes.” Her voice had lost some of its vehemence.
“It’s an interesting location, isn’t it?” Tahn said. “The planet isn’t exactly known for its high-security prisons. But it seems like the Coalition is content with him there. They certainly seem to be content with the intel he’s provided. The minister prime even attempted to end the war with the Sariceans based on his word. She trusted what he said. I wonder why that is.”
“Stop the riddles,” Rykus snapped.
Tahn leaned forward. “Minister Prime Tersa trusts everything Valt says because she has been assured he was loyalty trained by Sergeant Rohn.”
One moment passed. Then another. Then it sank in.
A telepath had infiltrated the anomaly program. He’d been feeding false information to the Coalition.
Rykus shoved back from the table. Cas’s hand shot toward her holstered weapon.
Ash watched that hand, wanting to break it, to break the table, to break the ship. Valt should be dead. Instead, he was being protected by another telepath.
Or used by another telepath. It wasn’t clear. The Coalition believed he was loyalty trained. That didn’t mean it was true.
Rykus paced beside the table, then returned to his spot and gripped the back of his chair. “I warned them it would be abused.”
“Exploited,” Tahn said, correcting him. “I should have discovered it sooner. It’s brilliant if you think about it. The New Guard gets to build its own little army.”
His gaze dropped from Rykus to her. The last sentence was such an obvious plant. Tahn wanted her to ask about it, the New Guard. It had to be one of the factions Trevast had mentioned.
“How do I destroy it?” she asked.
“What makes you think I don’t lead it?”
“You’re guiding this conversation, and I watched more than one of Trevast’s messages to you. He wasn’t feeding you information because he was afraid. He was helping you. He believed in what he was doing. I think he believed in what you were doing too.”
Shades of Allegiance Page 23
