Games of Command

by Linnea Sinclair

  So he lied to Kel-Paten about checking in—though he could sense that Eden was alive and well, which was all that mattered.

  Kel-Paten returned to studying the sleek ship. Without binocs. He didn’t need them. “So, Nasyry, what are we looking at?”

  “A ship someone wants me to think is the Traveler.”

  “And that someone is?”

  “I won’t know until we get closer,” Jace admitted. “I can’t read specific thoughts at this distance. I can sense overall emotional levels. I’m not picking up anything unusual.” If anything, things seemed too calm. His experience with spaceports and dock hands was that someone, somewhere, always had his ass puckering over something.

  “To have someone provide you with a ship would not be unusual. If they expected you to arrive.” There was a flat, hard tone to Kel-Paten’s voice, and Jace didn’t like it.

  “What are you getting at?”

  “You brought us here. You were at the controls when the shuttle entered the jumpgate. I found it very unusual that we should just happen to end up, blindly, near a habitable planet. But now we have not only a habitable planet but one with your former ship. Something to warrant a further investigation, bringing us, bringing me, closer to whoever waits on that ship. Or in the hangar.” Kel-Paten shifted his weight slightly, rebalancing. “Perhaps that blind jump wasn’t so blind. Who owns you, Nasyry? The Illithians? The Cryloc Syndicate?”

  “No one owns me.” Jace’s voice was equally hard.

  “Your contract with the Triad was a sham. Who put you up to it?”

  “Since when is ‘cooperate or we’ll kill you’ considered a contract?”

  “The Triad doesn’t—”

  “Don’t they?” Jace tensed. If the Tin Soldier made a move, he was ready. More than ready. This confrontation was overdue and they both knew it. “Or does PsyServ conveniently delete that fact during your weekly tune-ups?”

  “You must have forgotten you received two hundred fifty thousand credits. That’s hardly fatal. So someone is paying you more. Is it me they want, or is kidnapping two Alliance officers part of the plan as well?”

  “If someone wanted your head on a platter, they wouldn’t have to pay me. I’d do it for free.”

  “Wise on your part. You’re not going to live long enough to spend a reward, anyway.”

  There was no way Jace could see Kel-Paten move. The ’cybe was too fast. But he sensed it, sensed the surge of power through his aura, and rolled to his left, Kel-Paten’s hand just grazing his shoulder.

  He sprang to his feet, breathing hard, laser pistol in hand. But the ’cybe was already there, unarmed, not needing a weapon. The eerie glow in his eyes confirmed he was one. Jace fired into a blur of movement, not knowing he missed until two black-gloved hands slammed against his shoulders, pinning him to the hard earth. The pistol skittered away in the grass.

  “Who owns you?” Kel-Paten ground out.

  A bizarre sensation of fear surged through him. He tried to push it away as he wrestled against Kel-Paten’s grip. He was too damned busy fighting for his life to be afraid. He blocked the suffocating sensation and dropped again into Nasyry warrior mode. He tensed his body, then bucked against the ’cybe in a move that would have tossed an ordinary man into the bushes. It only managed to dislodge Kel-Paten a few inches, but that was enough. Jace twisted again, ignoring the flare of pain from his cracked ribs. He sprang up into a crouch, catching only a glimpse of a surprised look on the ’cybe’s face over the fact that Jace was still standing and fighting.

  But it was a brief, fleeting reward.

  The fear—a cold, cutting terror—returned, hitting him with such force that he gasped for breath. Before Jace could take a second, the ’cybe was on him, flattening him to the ground, knee in Jace’s chest, hand on his throat…

  Something dropped down from above. Darkness descended, Kel-Paten’s chest smothering his face. A muffled shout. Fear swirled maddeningly through his mind, death beckoning as the only respite.

  Then there was light. He could breathe again. The overwhelming sensation of fear faded…no, vanished, like a popped soap bubble.

  Jace opened his eyes and struggled to sit up, leaning against—Eden?

  “Eden!”

  She brushed his hair out of his eyes.

  He blinked, looked over her shoulder. Kel-Paten, a few feet away, was flat on his back. Sebastian was sitting on his chest, arms folded, lips pursed.

  Lady Sass did not look happy.

  Neither did Eden. “Sweetling,” he croaked. His ribs ached like hell.

  “You godsdamned son of a bitch.” Eden Fynn balled her fist and smacked him hard across the jaw.

  Sebastian snickered. “I thought you were going to kick him in the ass. It’s on the other end, Doc.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get there.”

  JaceFriend! MommyEden not happy.

  A strong sense of disapproval on his right. Wincing, he looked down. Reilly. And beyond him, Tank. The fat fidget looked positively gleeful, even with twigs stuck to his tail.

  JaceFriend, Reilly continued. Bad to not talk to Reilly. Bad. Bad.

  Oh, hell, the mental block he’d erected to keep Eden and Reilly out of his thoughts was gone. He didn’t remember letting down his guard, but that’s probably how Eden located him—and then came right up behind him without either him or the ’cybe noticing. Of course, they were a bit occupied. He rubbed his jaw and put his telepathic senses on full scan.

  The fear slammed into him full force. Biting, cold, gnawing. It knocked the breath out of his lungs, blinded his eyes with its intensity.

  He heard a scream—a high-pitched furzel-like yowl—and then a woman shouting his name, hands clinging to his shoulders.

  His brain spun in dizzying rotations, and the last thing he remembered before falling into darkness was a small voice giving a very odd command.

  Go Blink!

  “Eden!” Tasha’s anguished cry tore through Kel-Paten. She bolted upright off his chest, her boot catching his side as she tried to stand. She stumbled forward, arms out toward…

  Nothing. Eden and her furzel were gone. The bastard Serafino was gone.

  Kel-Paten was already on his feet. He grasped her shoulders, holding her steady. He didn’t know where the two—no, three of them—went, but he suspected a transporter beam. Not from the Traveler but a smaller ship overhead, probably a security skimmer. He fine-tuned his hearing, listening for the low thrum of an engine. If that was the case, the ship could be searching for other biosignatures to lock on to. He didn’t intend for them to find his or Tasha’s.

  “Come on!” He dragged her backward a few steps, a flash of black and white at her feet. The fidget. “We have to get out of here before they realize they missed us.”

  “But—”

  “Move, Captain.” He snatched his backpack and Serafino’s from the ground. “That’s an order!” Or by the gods’ blessed rumps, he’d throw her over his shoulder and carry her.

  She moved, or, rather, let him drag her back into the forest, the fidget darting this way and that in front of them.

  They needed cover, something thicker than the tree canopy shadowing them on the hillside. Something with other biosignatures to muddy the scan would be ideal, but he opted not to head for the outpost. Whoever hunted them probably had his biosignature, or thought they did. His real one wasn’t in any file Serafino or his ilk could have accessed. He had six others his system could emulate. He triggered that program now as they charged through the brush.

  He didn’t think they’d have Tasha’s. He doubted they even cared they’d kidnapped her to this unusually convenient planet. But just in case, he kept her as close as possible to him as they ran away from the unusually convenient path. That, too, should muddy their sensors.

  “Wait! Tank says…it’s not…” She tried to wrench her arm from his grasp.

  He held on. “A small ravine. There, at the base of the hills.” The uneven topography promised some outc
roppings and overhangs. Good visual cover, if nothing else.

  He heard no following whine of an engine overhead. Of course, he hadn’t heard one just before Serafino disappeared, but then, with Tasha perched on his chest, he admittedly wasn’t paying close attention.

  He was now. He could not, would not lose her.

  “It’s not following us!” she said.

  So she didn’t hear an engine either. Good. But he would feel better when they were tucked out of sight. They could regroup, analyze, come up with a plan to get Fynn back.

  He ducked under a group of low-hanging branches, his mind working on who was behind this and the attack near Panperra. The problem was twofold. First, who wanted him incapacitated or dead? That list was lengthy. Second, who had the knowledge and resources to enact such a plan of ambush and obfuscation? That list wasn’t quite as lengthy, but it did include the Illithian Dynasty. Those alien fighters that forced them into the jumpgate prematurely could have been an Illithian ploy so Serafino could “pretend” to find this planet by happenstance.

  Yet no matter how much he hated the man, he had a hard time seeing him in any kind of relationship with the Irks. But he could see him allying with that Rebashee mercenary, Gund’jalar. Zanorian had. And there’d long been rumors the Rebashee had charts to the far edges of the galaxy, if that was indeed where they were.

  “Here.” They reached a narrow section of the ravine. The forest was thick, filled with twisting vines and the jagged outcropping of rocks overhead. “We should be safe here for a little while.” He yanked the backpacks’ straps from his shoulder and dropped them at his feet.

  Tasha was breathing hard. She bent over at the waist, resting her hands on her thighs. Tank plopped down on one of the backpacks. “Damn.” Her voice was raspy. “Damn.”

  “We’ll find Fynn. I don’t think he’d hurt her. He has her either on that ship or somewhere in that outpost. More likely, they’ll want to trade her for me.” He pulled his handheld out of his utility belt and adjusted the screen’s light as he activated the datalyzer, checking for pursuers. It was late afternoon, judging from the sun’s position. But the foliage shadowed everything. He tilted the screen, better to see the data. Nothing. Right now.

  “He doesn’t have her.” Tasha straightened. “It has them.”

  He dragged his gaze from the datalyzer and looked at her. Her hair was ruffled, a few green leaves sticking to it. There was a smudge of dirt on her cheek. But her eyes were clear, steady, and troubled.

  He wanted to pluck out the leaves, smooth the dirt from her face, but held back, unsure now of what response he’d get. He helped her untangle her backpack’s strap instead. “It? What are you talking about?”

  “It. The furzels call it Bad Thing. It’s here with us and is some kind of psi-based creature. Telepathic. Teleportation too, evidently.” She drew in a breath. “I think it killed the crew on Degun’s Luck and came on board when we made Lightridge Station. Then it hitched a ride on the shuttle, maybe because it wanted to get to Panperra. Or maybe it was after one of us. I’m not sure. But it almost killed Eden after you left. That’s why we came after you. Now it has her and Serafino and Reilly. Tank says they’re alive. He can sense them. But he’s not sure he knows how to get them back without Reilly’s help.”

  If it were anyone other than Tasha Sebastian telling him this, he’d discount every word. But that troubled gaze didn’t waver, and her mouth was a thin, grim line. Something threatening had been found on the shuttle—had been on the Vax, if he understood her correctly. And he’d left her and Fynn to face it alone.

  “Sit down,” he said, because she looked like she was ready to fall down. He pointed to a mossy boulder. “Catch your breath, then start from the beginning. Tell me everything.”

  She sat and rummaged in her backpack. “You do know,” she said, extracting her canteen and flipping open the top, “that I cannot run as fast as you do.” She took a mouthful of water, closing her eyes as she swallowed.

  Damn. He hadn’t run at full speed, but he hadn’t run at her speed either. And he’d hung on to her arm the whole way. “I did think about throwing you over my shoulder. We’ll try that next time.”

  She wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, and for a brief moment something sparkled in her eyes. Then it was gone. “I’m not sure where to start. So much of what I’m learning about this Bad Thing creature is a jumble of information from Tank. The furzels talk in a combination of images, sounds, scents, and words. Some of this may be wrong. And I might be missing what’s really important.”

  He eased down on a fallen tree trunk across from her. “Tell me whatever you know.”

  She did, starting with the way Tank’s protect, protect always sang in her mind, to finding Reilly missing, to Tank’s revelation of something trapped in the shuttle’s engine compartment. She described the dark glowing oval and what Eden said it felt like to have the thing sending images, sending desolation into her mind, making her want to die.

  He thought of the way Serafino pulled the shameful memory of the prosti from his mind. But the shame didn’t make him want to die. It only made him want to kill Serafino.

  Tasha glanced at Tank from time to time as she talked, touching his head, stroking one ear. She was listening to the fidget, he guessed. Knew she was when she said, “Tank’s trying to get a clearer fix on them through the Blink.”

  “A blink?”

  She explained the Blink, how the furzels used it not only as transportation and communication but as a shield. “They manipulate its energy. Eden said the Nasyry have something similar, a place called Novalis.”

  “I’ve heard of the legend.”

  “It’s not legend. Eden’s been there. Serafino knows far more about it, but he stopped talking to her telepathically once we found this planet.”

  “Why?” This psi-creature notwithstanding, he was still mistrustful of Serafino.

  Tasha shrugged. “To protect her, he said. We think he knew about Bad Thing. Telepaths and empaths seem particularly susceptible. Which brings me to something else I think you need to know.” She drew a short breath. “Serafino has an implant in his head, courtesy of PsyServ.”

  “An implant?”

  “A telepathic inhibitor. And, we suspect, some kind of data recorder. It was starting to break down and we—she—thought it might kill him. Eden couldn’t remove it, but she did manage to disable it.”

  He thought of Fynn’s insistence to get Serafino on the med diag table right before they left the shuttle. “She operated on him two hours ago?”

  “Um, no.” Tasha looked down at her boots and toed at a clump of grass. “Couple of days ago. Maybe three. I’ve lost track of time, a bit.”

  “Why wasn’t I informed—”

  “I’m sorry.” She raised her face. “But we weren’t sure whose side you were on. When Serafino started talking about PsyServ corrupting the Triad—”

  “You thought I’d be part of that?” His allegiance to the Triad was not only unshakable but irrefutable. But she did arm Serafino. And she did believe he’d sent the alien fighters after them at Panperra. She’d threatened to sell him as scrap.

  “Kel-Sennarin is.”

  “Impossible.” Her allegations shocked him, and for a moment he was almost angry that she could even suggest such a thing. But then, she was U-Cee. She couldn’t be expected to understand. “He’s a Triad Defense Minister. I’ve known him for years. His reputation is impeccable.”

  “Serafino says he has proof.”

  “Says,” he countered strongly, but she was still talking.

  “That thing in his head is also a recorder. Eden and I suspect that’s why PsyServ wanted him brought back in. It’s not the two hundred fifty thousand. It’s his memories. But they didn’t know Eden’s a telepath or they never would have assigned his capture to the Vax.”

  Kel-Paten tamped down his annoyance at her allegations about Kel-Sennarin and focused on the information about PsyServ. He refused to accept th
e Triad was behind the ambush. But PsyServ had no honor. “Then the fighters that intercepted us by Panperra were after him. And willing to kill the rest of us in the process.”

  “Eden is the only innocent. Serafino said I’ve been on the Faction’s hit list for some time. You weren’t until recently. PsyServ feels they can no longer control you.”

  “PsyServ never controlled me!”

  “Can they access you when you’re spiked in?”

  He closed his eyes briefly, watched the yellow numbers dance in the lower corner of his vision. He was a ’cybe again to her. And though part of him had started to believe that didn’t matter to her, the rest of him still felt alien. So much less than human. “They can,” he said, watching her for any of the one hundred forty expressions he knew, “upload and download certain information, yes. But they cannot reprogram me.” He hated the word, but it had to be said. He knew that’s what she was really asking.

  She nodded. He read acceptance in her features. It was preferable to disgust. “That’s all rather moot, isn’t it? Because they’re on the other side of that jump we made. And we’re now dealing with some kind of psi-energy alien that wants to play mind games with us until we die.” The fidget butted his head against her hand. “Tank’s still searching.”

  Kel-Paten leaned his elbows on his knees and steepled his fingers over his mouth, not really hearing her last comment. Something bothered him about the information she’d outlined. He felt as if he were missing something. Granted, it all had happened so fast—it was only eight days since they’d stopped at Lightridge to let Fynn investigate the deaths on Degun’s Luck. Then there was the vortex, Serafino, Panperra, the fighters, the blind jump. The illogical world they were on. And a mindsucking psi-creature…that could create a duplicate of a bastard pirate’s ship?

  “Ask Tank,” he said, feeling slightly foolish even making the request, “if this Bad Thing can manipulate matter.” At Tasha’s slight frown, he continued. “Could it create the copy of Serafino’s Mystic Traveler?”

  “The Traveler’s here?”

  “What appears to be the Traveler is at the outpost. Could it create an outpost, a ship,” and gods, that was a staggering thought, “this world? Ask Tank if he knows where Bad Thing’s home world is.”