Cypher (The Dragon's Bidding Book 2)

by Christina Westcott

  The grenade. It hadn’t taken down the augies, but had it blinded the ship’s sensors? A long talk with Dr. DeWitt was in order. A failure of an experimental weapon wasn’t that unusual, but he’d been one of the select few who’d sat in on the planning for this operation. One more thing added to the list of a thousand other pressing matters she had to contend with when she returned to Striefbourne City.

  “Yig’s balls,” Pike said. “Even augies don’t get up again with a hole that big in them.”

  Fitz’s fingers drummed on the composite plastron protecting her chest as possibilities whirled through her mind, and kept coming back to the same conclusion. The symbiont. They had to know for sure. She extracted a med-case from her belt pouch, uncapped an empty syringe and filled it from the bloody pool. Doctor Rauschtonkowski would be interested in this sample.

  She stood, cocking an eyebrow at Von Drager, but the doctor refused to meet her gaze.

  Oh, hell. If there was one…

  “Pike, that augie in the med-bay. Check on him, would you? Bartonelli, go with him.”

  The pair returned too quickly. Fitz already knew the answer.

  The lieutenant’s dark eyes were wide. “He’s gone. I don’t understand.”

  Fitz feared she understood all too well. That explained why Tritico could do away with Von Drager. He no longer required the doctor.

  Tritico had everything he needed to build his own army of indestructible augies.

  __________

  They arrived back at Lizzy’s berth at the Administration Building long after time for the midday meal. They’d dropped off Costos and Chin at the Citadel along with Von Drager, despite the doctor’s protestations that he had been an unwilling participant in Tritico’s schemes. The maximum security cells beneath the building would be the safest place to stash him for now. If Tritico sent augies to finish the job, it was the one place they couldn’t get to him. She hoped.

  “Anyone up for lunch at that new Acinonex restaurant downtown?” Bartonelli asked.

  “Count me in,” said Pike.

  “I’ll pass.” Fitz massaged the back of her neck. Exhaustion dragged at her, and she ached all over. “I have to write my report on this morning’s operation and prepare for tomorrow’s meeting with the Emperor.”

  “I’ll stay and help,” Pike said, but looked so crestfallen Fitz found it hard not to laugh.

  “No, you go ahead; take some time off. You earned it. I’ll get something out of the processor in my office. Just try to run down Dr. DeWitt by tomorrow and get his best guess on why that grenade didn’t work, and if it interfered with Lizzy’s sensors.”

  Fitz trudged to her office, peeled off her armor, and dropped it in a pile just inside the door. There’d be time to pick it up later. She pulled out her desk chair and started to drop into it, stopping at the last second when she realized it wasn’t empty.

  “Whoa, Boss Lady, don’t squash me,” the black Kaphier cat warned her telepathically and leapt onto the desk, relinquishing the seat. Jumper stretched and began washing. “You look like crap; must not have gone well.”

  “Just tired and, yeah, we missed Tritico.” She scrubbed her hands against her face.

  “Are we going home tonight?”

  “No, I’ll sleep here on the couch again. That place is too big and empty with Wolf gone.”

  She thought of the villa they’d purchased north of the city on the rocky shores of the Hapkean Sea. Accessible only by air, Sea Spires was to be their sanctuary, a place to escape their hectic public lives, but the thought of sleeping in their big bed alone made her throat ache.

  “Suit yourself. I can sleep anywhere.” He proceeded to prove it by rolling onto his back amid the tablets, styli and monitors on her desk top and folding his paws across his chest.

  Shakiness and sweat beading on the back of her neck warned of plummeting blood sugar levels. She needed food, but felt slightly nauseous. She thought-clicked on her pharmacopeia for a hit of the elixir, but a message flashed on her inhead, chiding her for allowing the reservoir to become empty. Again. She’d been relying on the nutrient solution too much in the past few days, and now she had to eat, even if her stomach didn’t like the idea.

  At the first beep from the processor, Jumper’s head popped up. “Could you get me a liver and creamed gravy while you’re there?” His pink tongue licked his whisker pads in anticipation.

  “You know, you wouldn’t have to wait on me all the time if I had hands. Wolf’s getting all those new augmentations, what about me? Couldn’t you find a cybernetic veterinarian to give me some hands with super strength. Yeah, and maybe some plexisteel claws so I can rip open walls…”

  “More like so you can tear open food pouches. You’d cut off your ear the first time you scratched a flea.” Fitz carried the tray back to the desk, trying to picture how fat Jumper would be if he could order food from the processor as often as he liked.

  The cat attacked his plate the instant Fitz put it down. “You can just kiss my whiskers. I’m a clean cat, I don’t have fleas.” Getting off his snide comments with his mouth full was one advantage of communicating telepathically.

  “Sorry Jumper, but I don’t think CyberOps has any veterinarians on staff.”

  “Too bad. Now that you’re in charge, you really ought to look into hiring one. I bet there’s a lot of Kaphier cats who’d want to become augies.”

  Fitz forced down her vegetables, then started on the neubeast steak. Her knife slipped as she sliced into it, scoring a shallow cut on the tip of her finger. She wiped the blood on her napkin, but it continued to bleed. An insignificant wound like this should have healed so quickly she’d hardly have been aware of it. This wasn’t the first time one of her injuries hadn’t healed like it should have. Her stomach churned. She pushed back from the desk and bolted to her feet.

  She made it to the freshener and closed the door before her lunch came back up. After her heaves exhausted the contents of her stomach, she washed her face and brushed her teeth. The figure staring back at her from the mirror looked haggard, the gray eyes dull and haunted.

  The cut still bled, and she knew why.

  The killer that had ravaged her body for so many years had returned. Even a symbiont that granted near immortality wasn’t strong enough to overcome Tinkerman-Kasahari Syndrome. Since she’d returned from Baldark, slowly, insidiously, the TKS had crept back—the fatigue, stiffness, and joint pain, then the nausea. She couldn’t lie to herself any longer. The symbiont was failing.

  Sometimes there is no happily ever after.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The SpecOps aircar spiraled down toward the landing pad jutting from the side of the Citadel, the former headquarters of the now defunct DIS. During Tritico’s tenure as director, the secret police organization had expanded, building annexes and additions in every direction until it resembled a malignant growth spreading among the high rise offices, parks, and apartments. Irrevocably tainted by its dark history of political murders and interrogations, Ari has slated the building for demolition after the holidays.

  Fitz and Bartonelli exited the flyer, splashing through puddles left over from last night’s rain as they approached the entrance and the black-uniformed man awaiting them. Nickolai Costos looked drawn, his complexion sallow, and dark smudges ringed his eyes.

  The door he ushered them through appeared to be constructed of armorglass like they’d seen at the lodge, but of military grade, thicker and double-paned like a warship’s airlock. Nothing short of a missile could breach it.

  As they entered the lift and began the drop to the detention cells on sublevel twelve, Fitz studied the older officer’s face.

  “You look like crap, Captain.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Costos coughed. “It’s not real pleasant down below.”

  “You’re the officer in charge, but that doesn’t mean you have to spend every waking hour there.” A burst of static whited out Fitz’s inhead display for several seconds, then it cleared. Costos tw
itched at the same time.

  “I realize that, ma’am, but if I’m ordering people to work down there, I should at least stay with them.”

  “Delegate, Captain. Remember, they’re Normals.”

  Bartonelli pinched her nostrils, squeezed her eyes shut and huffed out a breath, trying to unstop her ears. “You can bet it ain’t a picnic for us regular folks. I feel like I have one hell of a stopped-up head.”

  “These detention cells were built to contain augies and, if I know the way Tritico thinks, inflict the maximum amount of discomfort on them while they’re here.” Black lines rolled across Fitz’s inhead, and her comm unit hummed. She dialed down the volume, but that didn’t help.

  The lift door opened onto a featureless corridor. The walls were a stark utilitarian gray, scraped and dented, with dark gouges that looked like recent laser scoring. Fleet Intelligence had moved on the building shortly after Ari arrived on Scyr, hoping to capture Tritico, but he and the rest of the high level operatives had melted away, leaving only the clerks and data pushers. Like all soldiers on the losing side since the days of the First World, they claimed to have only been following orders.

  “From here on we walk,” Costos pointed to a set of stairs. “Nothing electronic works below this level. No surveillance cameras, no comms, not even food processors. You have to come back up here just to get a cup of coffee. And weapons don’t function, except for antiques like the one you’re carrying.”

  As they reached the first landing, all of Fitz’s systems crashed. Even knowing it was coming, the sudden loss of power disoriented her, had her grasping for the railing. Costos’ hand on her elbow steadied her, even though he looked as distressed as she felt.

  With each step, her sinuses seemed to fill with plastcrete, her head pounded and a weight like pulling five gees settled on her chest. The suppression fields hammered at her mind, an aching itch deep inside her brain.

  Her voice echoed nasally inside her head. “Captain, when we’re finished here, go back to your quarters for a minimum of eight hours down time. That’s an order.”

  Bartonelli scrubbed her hands over her face. “Yig’s balls. You might not want to leave normal people down here for more than a four-hour shift, either.”

  This far below ground, nothing escaped this dead zone. No sounds. No emissions. No hope. Once imprisoned here, even an augie was helpless, without the prospect of his friends—even symbiont-enhanced augies—storming the place to free him. Any hope of walking out of here was solely at the whim of his captor. Fitz wondered if this was what Tritico had planned for Wolf. Or would he have just killed him? No, killing was kinder. And kindness wasn’t an emotion she associated with Janos Tritico.

  The First Worlders had a word for it: Oubliette, from the root word oublier—to forget.

  At the lowest level, they reached a corridor with doors opening off it, each secured with a large mechanical lock. In lieu of a surveillance camera, an armorglass window allowed the guards inside to see who requested entry. The room beyond was little more than a large metal box, holding only a table, two chairs, and a pair of uncomfortable-looking guards armed with stub-nosed pistols that functioned on chemical propellants much like her slug thrower. With no need for electronic surveillance equipment, the walls were bare metal, decorated with creative, though vulgar, graffiti from years of bored guards. A room-wide window displayed every centimeter of the cell beyond.

  That room was a duplicate of this one, with the addition of a gray steel toilet, tiny wash basin, and a thinly-padded shelf that passed for a bed. The browns and rusty reds of the obscenities scrawled on those walls suggested to Fitz that body fluids were the only paints the former inmates had for their insane scribblings.

  The room’s sole occupant pushed back from the table so quickly his chair tumbled over. He ignored it and began to pace, hands twisting in his hair and lips moving, although the soundproofing blotted out his words.

  “He can’t see us?” Fitz asked.

  The captain shook his head, “No, one-way glass.” He thought for several seconds, scratching his chin. “I don’t understand. What’s this guy done that he gets stuck in here? From what I saw yesterday, he seems little more than a mid-level med-tech. And it looked to me like Tritico’s augies were real anxious to get rid of him.”

  “Partly, it’s for his safety. If Tritico is serious about killing him, his augies won’t be able to get to him here. Until he’s debriefed, and we’ve had time to figure out where his loyalties lie, he stays right here. And talks to no one but Triumvir Youngblood, or me.” Fitz unbuckled her gun belt and handed the slug thrower to Bartonelli. She could handle Von Drager alone, even unaugmented, but she didn’t want to take the chance—however remote—of him getting his hands on a functional weapon.

  “No one will be able to listen in on us?” she asked Costos.

  He pointed to a small opening set into the door at head height.

  “Along with his food, the communications go through this portal, and the suppression field assures any sound doesn’t travel far.”

  Fitz nodded. “Let’s get this over with and get the hell out of here.”

  “Amen, Chima,” Bartonelli said.

  The clank of the mechanical lock disengaging reverberated in the metal box of the guard room. Costos slid the heavy door aside for her.

  As she entered, Logan Von Drager stopped, whirling to study her momentarily, then looked past her as the door clanged shut.

  “Where’s Youngblood?”

  “As I told you yesterday, Wolf won’t be available for a few days. As soon as he’s back, I’ll see to it that you get your chance to talk to him. Until then, I can handle anything you might need to discuss.”

  Von Drager’s fingers worried at the neck of his prison tee-shirt. “When the Empire destroyed his base on Rainbow…did anyone survive? Any of the medical staff?”

  “You’re asking about Doctor Rauschtonkowski?” Fitz smiled. “She’s fine. In fact, she’s here in Striefbourne City. With so many people in Ari’s government carrying the symbiont, Ski seemed the logical choice for imperial physician, being a Lazzinair herself.”

  “Cheril is here? Can I see her?”

  “That’s up to Ski. I’ll mention that you asked about her.” She righted the chair, then grabbed his forearm and pulled him toward it. “Now sit down.”

  Von Drager stared at her for several seconds, then pulled his arm away. “Back on Baldark, Tritico shot you.”

  Fitz nodded. The skin over her breastbone itched at the memory of the pain from the bolt smashing through her

  “And Youngblood saved you?”

  “Yes.”

  The doctor tilted his head like an inquisitive puppy, listening to some sound only he could hear. A veil of wonderment fell across his face. “Oh, you’re…”

  “I said sit down, Doctor.” Fitz’s patience had worn thin. “We have a lot to talk about.”

  Instead, he returned to pacing, his hands never stopping, rubbing the back of his neck, clawing through his hair, picking at his clothes. Fitz remained standing, not wanting to place herself at the disadvantage of sitting while he moved about the room.

  He stopped and rounded on her, fingers scratching at the day-old growth of dark whiskers on his cheeks. “Why do you have me in this awful place?”

  “You’re safer here, for now. These cells were built to contain augies and eliminate any chance of their buddies breaking in to get them out. At least you don’t have to worry about waking up to find one of Tritico’s goons slitting your throat.” Fitz chuckled. “But I guess that wouldn’t work, would it? He’d have to use one of those little modified needlers.”

  Von Drager went still. “Be very careful with that. It’s deadly.”

  “Any weapon can kill you, Doctor. If applied properly.” Perhaps his longevity had made him more cautious. “But we are examining the pistol and its ammunition under the strictest biohazard protocols. In the meantime, we need to establish whose side you’re on.”

/>   “You think I worked for Tritico because I wanted to? I had no choice.”

  “You did sign on with the DIS.”

  “No. I worked for Special Operations. And then Tritico moved in, took control of their medical division, and rolled it into DIS. He kept me a virtual prisoner on Baldark until Youngblood offered me a chance to escape, but that didn’t work out so well, did it? Instead, Tritico dragged me along with him when he escaped. I thought he’d just shoot me and throw my body out the first place we stopped. I’d have been better off if he had; at least I could have played dead until I healed, and then escaped. Instead, when we docked with a Home Guard ship, he noticed I’d been wounded and figured it out.”

  Rage contorted his features. “Tritico said he had to know for certain, so he shot me. In the gut. And as I rolled on the floor screaming, he poured a shot of vilaprim and settled back in his chair, sipping it and watching me bleed like some researcher watching a lab rat. And when the symbiont had healed my wound, he shot me again. ‘Just to be sure,’ he said.” His voice rose in volume, his words ragged. “He made it clear, very clear, that if I didn’t do as he ordered, he would hurt me, again and again.”

  Tritico terrified Von Drager, but that didn’t necessarily mean he wanted to throw in with their side.

  “Sit down, Doctor. How about a cup of tea?” Decaf tea definitely, he was already too wound up for coffee. She rapped on the two-way passage, and when Costos opened it, asked for two cups, triple cream and sugar. Von Drager slumped into one of the chairs and dropped his face into his hands.

  She took this time to allow the doctor to try and relax, waiting for the guard to run to the closest operating processor several flights up and return. Soon Costos pushed two steaming paper cups through the portal to her. Paper, of course. No one could slit their guard’s throat with that.

  She sat, sliding one cup toward Von Drager. “Did he guess that you’re August Lazzinair?”

  “Gods, no.” He shuddered. “If he had guessed I was the man who discovered the symbiont years ago, I wouldn’t want to think about the tortures he’d have put me through until I told him everything. Only Youngblood put it together that fast. Tritico may have suspected, but I convinced him I’d experimented on myself. He believed me, but that meant I knew how to implant the symbiont, so he expected me to do it again.” He sipped his tea. “This tastes good. Thank you. It’s been quite some time since I had a simple pleasure like this.”