“I hate to drag you into this,” Lyrik told Dro Tar, “but I really wasn’t sure where else to take her.”
“Hell, trouble’s my middle name. I love a good intrigue. Your Daddy Dear would rather have a root canal than deal with me, so robocop should be safe for a while anyway.”
“I know you’ve taken on some unconventional tasks for Trey. If I give you an anonymous access code, will you do some snooping around for me?”
“Depends whose business I’ll be snooping into.”
“We have reason to believe the woman who helped design Saebin’s implants and body armor is here on Ontariese. It’s possible she’s in the City of Tears, but if she’s working for the overlord she’ll be damn hard to trace.”
“How is that possible?” Dro Tar glanced at Saebin, her expression tense and concerned. “The only people who came back through the portal were the refugees and your crew. Did we have a stowaway?”
“The woman we’re looking for is one of the refugees. Saebin doesn’t know her name, so see if you can find an image roster.”
Saebin fidgeted on the inflatable couch. How well did Lyrik know this woman? Saebin hated her vulnerability and the raw aching emotions churning just beneath the surface. She needed her suit, longed for the balance, the barrier. Uncertainty bombarded her. She wasn’t sure she trusted Lyrik, much less his unusual friend.
“When’s the last time you spoke with Krysta?”
Dro Tar wiggled back in her chair, which was shaped to look like a giant hand, and crossed her legs in front of her. “Last week, I think. Is that important?”
“This is all so damn complicated. If the miners actually sent the message, Father shouldn’t be looking for us yet. As soon as he realizes we’re onto him --”
“The shit hits the fan?”
He grimaced. “I have no idea what that means, but the mental image is disgusting.”
“Don’t let him know.” Dro Tar shrugged. “March her back into the detention center and insist on overseeing her retraining yourself.”
“I’m scheduled to ship out at the end of the week.” He shook his head. “As soon as we set foot on the Day Moon, I’m no longer in control. It’s too risky.”
“Then take her with you on the Tempest.”
Saebin listened to the conversation, growing more annoyed with each exchange. They were devising and discarding possibilities with no input from her. “I’m in control of my implants now. Do I get a say in any of this?”
“We don’t have many options,” Lyrik said. “What did you have in mind?”
“Their determination to learn how my armor works is our only advantage. My suit doesn’t function without me, and I will not allow it to control me again.”
“You aren’t strong enough to risk going back into that thing.” Lyrik faced her, his expression adamant. “You were just barely in control before. You teleported without knowing why. You --”
“Can’t her implants be removed?” Dro Tar asked.
Lyrik looked at Dro Tar before he replied. “I was told she wouldn’t survive their removal, but I don’t know what to believe anymore.”
“The implants replaced portions of my brain. I would not be fully functional without them.” Damaged, broken, altered, she would never be the trusting person who had walked into ward D filled with excitement and anticipation. She let anger roll through her, accepting the cold, cutting wave. Hydran had changed the nature of her existence, and she would snuff out that existence before she allowed anyone to control her again. “I’m not convinced I can remain separated from my armor indefinitely. The overloads alone can kill me. I don’t honestly know what other malfunctions might occur.”
Warm and caressing, Lyrik’s gaze returned to her face. “I suspect we can find creative ways to deal with your overloads, so let’s concentrate on strengthening your control.”
Heat suffused her face, and sensual echoes teased her memory. He’d spread beneath her, hot, hard, male as she rubbed against him. What would it be like to straddle his big body while they were both awake and naked? She shivered, her nipples poking against her uniform top. Her anger ebbed, leaving determination and desire.
“All right, you two. Rein in the hormones. If removing the implants isn’t an option, how does she strengthen her control?”
“I know nothing about Mystic abilities.” Lyrik shifted on the sofa, obviously uncomfortable with the admission. “All I know for certain is we’re not going to figure this out in a day or two.”
“She needs to escape,” Dro Tar said cheerfully.
“And go where?”
She laughed. “Right here. I’ll smack you with something to make it look like you put up a fight, and then you can fly the shuttle back to the COT. Oh, wait this is even better. She forced you to fly her here and then gave you the slip. They’ll have all of Frontine to search, and the security vids at the shuttle lot will back up your story.”
“There’s no way she could force me to endanger the general population, and Father --”
“Shutting people off isn’t my only trick.” Saebin waited until he looked at her to go on. “I can compel people into action. We were in the corridor when I blasted your hand. Your father knows you’re not completely immune to my abilities.”
“Where’s your body armor?” Dro Tar scooted to the edge of her chair, anticipation shining in her eyes.
Saebin hesitated. Was Dro Tar looking forward to an energizing adventure, or was she anxious to get her hands on the suit?
“It’s still on the shuttle,” Lyrik replied. His features settled into a fierce scowl. Saebin could only guess which aspect of the situation had him so irritated.
“Stow it in one of the lockers before you com Daddy Dear,” Dro Tar said.
Lyrik shook his head. “The lobby is under surveillance.”
“Damn.”
No one said anything for a moment. Dro Tar drummed her fingertips against her knee, her expression clearly thoughtful, while Lyrik continued to scowl.
“I’ll make one last scanner sweep of the city before I contact my father.” Lyrik’s features relaxed as his gaze turned cunning. “The trams are a logical target, which will take me through several crowded intersections. How well can you navigate your shuttle?”
Dro Tar grinned. “I know what you’re thinking. You spent your first cycle out of the academy masquerading as a smuggler.”
“Have you ever done a midair drop?”
“I think I can handle it.”
Saebin touched Lyrik’s knee, drawing his attention. “What are you planning?”
“I’ll load your suit into my shuttle’s expulsion tube and shoot it through the emergency hatch of Dro Tar’s shuttle.”
“You learned this maneuver from smugglers?”
He nodded, mischief making his green eyes sparkle. “I learned a lot of things from those smugglers.”
“How will you explain losing both your hostage and the body armor?” Saebin asked.
“You were never my hostage, and as far as everyone is concerned you’re still wearing the body armor.”
Dro Tar scrubbed her hair with both hands, rearranging the spikes. “As soon as you check in with Cyrus, he’ll start tracking your micryte.”
“She’s right.” Lyrik sighed, his troubled gaze settling on Saebin. “I can’t come back here. I’ll lead him right to you.”
“Not with ‘way-cool-super-spy’ on your team.” Dro Tar laughed and bounded out of her hand-shaped chair.
Saebin turned to Lyrik as Dro Tar disappeared into her bedroom. “Are you sure we can trust this woman? She seems rather -- unbalanced.”
“Trey has depended on her for years, and I trust Trey’s judgment implicitly.”
“What about Trey’s loyalty? You said he’s Krysta’s life mate; what is his connection to the overlord?”
Conviction ignited in his gaze. “Trey is the Director of Covert Ops for the COT, but his loyalty is to Ontariese not to the overlord.” He scooted to the edge of the cre
aky sofa and cupped her hands between his. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t sure of Dro Tar.” The way-cool-super-spy returned before he could say more.
“This little gizmo injects a nanite that attaches itself to the micryte.” Her brows drew together over her expressive eyes. “I think that’s right. Anyway, it will randomly modulate the signal until the micryte dissolves. You’ll go dark some time tomorrow, but they’ll have no idea where you are in the meantime.”
“Why is the process so lengthy?” Saebin asked.
“If the nanite worked any faster it would screw up the immune system and make our hero sick.” She walked to Lyrik and held out the injector.
“Is leaving Saebin here going to be a problem? What’s your current assignment?” Lyrik took the small, metallic device from her outstretched hand, turning it this way and that.
“Infiltrating the NRS. I’m to immerse myself in their propaganda without losing sight of the greater good.”
“The greater good?” Saebin echoed. “Your tone changed when you said those words. What do they mean?”
“It’s an idealistic concept that has little meaning anymore,” Lyrik muttered. “The sacred traditions challenge everyone to commit themselves to the greater good, to put the well-being of others above their own preferences and desires. When the House of Joon challenged this ideal, it started the Great Conflict.”
“The NRS is attempting to rekindle this conflict?”
“In a way,” Dro Tar said. “The NRS is frustrated by the concentration of Mystics on the Joint Council. They feel people without Mystic abilities are no longer valued.”
Saebin’s sensory ring buzzed, and she rubbed the back of her neck. Incomplete circuits, random signals, her nervous system couldn’t defuse the stimuli.
Lyrik touched her shoulder, his hand firm and warm. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, leaning into his caress. “I’m tired.”
“I shouldn’t be gone long.” He continued to touch her, rubbing her neck and stroking her hair. “They may have tampered with the circuitry, incorporated some sort of homing device. Unless it’s absolutely necessary, don’t reactivate your armor.”
Chapter Eight
All Ensley saw of the Rodyte ship was the inside of an airlock before she was escorted down an arched corridor. When every crewman they passed averted his gaze, Ensley’s pulse leapt. What would it be like to command such power? No one so much as sneaked a glance at her.
The corridor was clean, as were the guards. Dark blue uniforms accented their heavily muscled bodies. For barbarians these men seemed suspiciously civilized. They paused before a wide doorway. One of the guards stepped forward and pressed his hand to a smooth panel. A seam appeared in the door, and the halves disappeared into the walls.
Ensley swallowed and lowered her gaze, allowing the guards to guide her steps. The floor gleamed like polished stone, yet she detected a subtle give in the surface. They led her toward a large piece of furniture, a desk or a table.
Cyrus had advised her to kneel, but her research indicated Pern would perceive the gesture as a show of weakness. Eye contact, on the other hand, had to be invited.
“A woman.” He chuckled. “I won’t pretend I’m not surprised. Are you the true leader of this insurrection?”
His deep commanding voice sent shivers down her spine. “Your agreement with the overlord puts me at your disposal.”
“That didn’t answer the question. Look at me.”
She gradually raised her gaze, tension escalating with each centimeter her eyes traveled. An austere room surrounded her, the walls unadorned. Pern sat behind a desk constructed of the same gray-green alloy as the walls. Only the muted colors marbled through the floor broke the monotony.
Her gaze settled on the man behind the desk, and Ensley’s nipples hardened against the support cups built into her blouse. At first glance his hair appeared black, yet any movement of his head revealed its true midnight-blue color. The top had been left longer than the sides, a gleaming lock resting on his broad forehead. Sharp cheekbones and a straight, narrow nose drew her attention to his thin-lipped mouth. Pern wasn’t handsome by anyone’s standards, but power emanated from him.
Pushing back from his desk, he stood and moved toward her, his stride smooth, almost graceful. “There is a flaw in the design. Did you insert it intentionally?”
“Yes, sir.” She glanced into his eyes, and her mouth went dry. The pattern was similar to the inhabitants of Earth, though the whites of his eyes had a blue tinge. A vivid blue ring separated his black irises from his equally black pupils. She’d grown accustomed to the gently swirling eyes of Ontarians. His sharp, assessing gaze reminded her of Dr. Hydran. “I’m safe so long as I’m valuable. I wanted to ensure --”
“You are here at my request. Do you doubt my ability to keep you safe?”
“Of course not.”
“Your lust turned to disdain when you looked into my eyes. Explain your reaction.”
Damn, he was perceptive. Squaring her shoulders, she spoke in a cool, even tone. “I’m attracted to powerful men, but your eyes remind me of someone unpleasant.”
“Then don’t look into my eyes.” He smiled, and the blue ring encircling his pupils began to glow. “When I rut between your thighs, I’ll take you from behind, so nothing will distract you.”
She inclined her head, needing a moment to compose her expression. “I’m anxious to begin work on the prototype, but I suppose a short delay won’t matter.” He chuckled, and the tension gripping her belly eased. Slowly raising her face, she forced herself to meet his gaze.
“Do I frighten you?”
“I’m entirely at your mercy. Only a fool would not be frightened.”
“Honesty, how refreshing.” Leaning against his desk, he crossed his arms over his chest and studied her. “Who do you see when you look into my eyes?”
How much had Cyrus told him? It would be difficult to explain her motivations to a man ruled by honor. Her choice had been servitude or treachery. Could she hope to make him understand? “A man I would rather forget.”
His eyebrows arched. “Another evasion. I’m disappointed.”
“What do you know about Operation Hydra?” An identity scanner had passed over her face as she boarded the shuttle. Even now he was likely researching her background.
“You are one of the refugees?” She didn’t miss the note of astonishment in his tone. She nodded, and his eyes narrowed. “Why would the overlord trust a Mystic?”
“Cyrus doesn’t trust me, he needs me. There’s a significant difference.”
He lunged, moving so fast his body blurred. They collided, knocking her back a step, before his long fingers tangled in her hair. “You know what he intends to do; what I intend to help him do. Why would you offer your assistance to the enemy?”
“I was considered a traitor long before I was brought to Ontariese. The reasons for what I did have only solidified since my arrival. Things are no different on this side of the portal than they were back on Earth. If anything, they’re worse.”
“I have no tolerance for traitors. Explain quickly, while I’m still willing to listen.” Energy arced between them. Her skin tingled, and her vision blurred. She yelped, tugging against his hold. He closed his eyes, his fingers tightening in her hair. “What did you just do?” He ground out the words between clenched teeth.
“I don’t know.” She gasped. “It wasn’t intentional.”
He panted, his warm breath wafting against her face. “Sever the link!”
“I’m not doing anything.”
His eyes opened, and she cried out. The rings were gone, replaced by a solid field of black. “Gema?” The plaintive question held her spellbound. Not just his tone, the actual timbre of his voice changed, deepened with an odd reverberation.
“Sir --” She squeezed his wrist. “-- you’re hurting me.”
Blue fire burned through the black, and his eyes returned to normal. “I’m waiting for your exp
lanation.” She stared at him in confusion. Wasn’t he aware of ... What the hell just happened? “Do not try my patience.”
“My mother was a Mystic.” Her voice squeaked as she began. “My father was a brilliant scientist. No one gives a damn about my father. Few remember his name. I inherited his aptitudes and intelligence, and all it qualified me to do was exploit the other occupants. Because I am not a powerful Mystic, I had no value there or here.”
His hold eased, while his fingers remained in her hair. “Does your lover realize you have Mystic abilities?”
“Cyrus is not my lover.” Stunned by his bizarre behavior, she wasn’t sure if she should mention it or not. Who or what was Gema?
“That wasn’t the question.”
She licked her lips, her pulse racing. What should she do? How would she even broach the issue?
“Have you forgotten what I asked?” He leaned closer. “Would you prefer a different subject? I can turn you around, bend you over my desk, and rekindle the lust in your eyes.”
“My Mystic abilities are negligible. I’m my father’s daughter. Surely the Crown Stirate of Rodymia has the most beautiful women imaginable waiting to appease his desire. I’m here to build a prototype of my design.”
“Every person under my rule is expected to make themselves available to me in any way I choose. For the time being, you are under my rule.”
“I understand. How may I best serve you?”
He pushed her away. “The prototype is my top priority.” She wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed as he returned to the chair behind his desk. “Did Cyrus locate the D-class runaway?”
“He believes he knows where she is, but I wasn’t comfortable with his progress. My people have been dispatched. They have more experience with D-class personnel than the overlord’s soldiers.”
“What were your orders?”
“They are to recover her intact, if possible. If not, she will be destroyed. If the prototype is successful, D-159 will be obsolete.”
Ontarian Chronicles 3: City of Tears Page 7
