Stokes did a good job at being worried. He glanced up at the two and seemed on the verge of asking for reassurance.
“The doctor is in, yes?” asked Stokes.
“He’s in,” said the bigger of the two, replying in such a way as to imply, “You’ll wish he was out.”
“Good, good,” Stokes said. “I have serious concerns I wish to discuss with him.”
“I bet you do,” said the bigger man.
Stokes frowned at him. “Do you know who I am?”
The big man sneered. “Mr. Brigadier of M.I., yeah, I know.”
“Oh.” Stokes hunched his shoulders. Could the other side be so arrogant as to actually harm the brigadier of Military Intelligence? Maybe their grand plot was farther along than he realized.
Stokes had also concluded that was why Fletcher had originally sent Maddox far away. The captain had uncanny abilities against those who had evil designs on Star Watch. That would mean, of course, that the other side had coopted or compromised the new Lord High Admiral.
The elevator stopped, the door opened and a white lab-coated Doctor Ravoc smiled in way of greeting. The doctor had dusky Bosk coloring but was much leaner. He had strange red eyes, though. That was crazy. Did Ravoc wear colored contacts?
With a shock, Stokes realized this was a Draegar, a Bosk mind specialist. He’d read about the Draegars Maddox had bested four years ago already. That meant his suspicions about the rehabilitation center were correct.
“Come with us, Brigadier,” the bigger guard said. He grabbed one of Stokes’ arms dragging the brigadier with him.
“What’s going on?” Stokes protested.
“Come, come,” Doctor Ravoc said, easily keeping up. “You know what this means. You’re going to have an extended stay with us. We’re not quite ready, you know. You weren’t scheduled to arrive for another two months.”
“What?” Stokes said, struggling to free himself.
The second guard hurried up and grabbed the other arm. The two big men lifted him so his feet left the floor, carrying him as if he were a child.
“Please,” Stokes said, in a frightened rabbit voice. “Don’t do this to me.”
“Wait,” Ravoc said.
The two bruisers turned around and set Stokes’s feet on the floor.
Doctor Ravoc had cocked his head, as if listening to a voice none of them could hear. He peered at Stokes afterward.
“How are you achieving this?” Ravoc asked sternly.
“I’m sorry?” Stokes said. “I don’t know what you mean.” As he said that, he began shifting his right foot inside his shoe, reading to manipulate a switch so a poisoned spike appeared on the sole.
“Nostradamus can’t read your thoughts,” Ravoc said. “That is most strange.”
“Who can’t read it?” asked Stokes.
Ravoc frowned more severely. He took a step toward Stokes.
The brigadier’s heart had begun trip-hammering. He breathed rapidly and knew this was the moment, as the jig was certainly up this time. If he failed here, he would likely never think for himself again. He raised his right shoe and stomped on the right-hand bruiser’s foot as hard as he could, shoving the poisoned spike through to the skin.
The man bellowed, letting go of Stokes’ right arm.
The brigadier reached into a seam in his coat and withdrew something needle-thin. He jabbed that into the left-hand bruiser’s arm.
That man made a choking sound, releasing Stokes as he staggered back and collapsed onto the floor.
Doctor Ravoc halted, blinking in shock at Stokes.
That was all the brigadier needed. He leapt at Ravoc, stabbing him with the same needle.
“No!” Ravoc howled, jerking away, clutching the wounded arm. He stared there, stared longer and finally looked up at the brigadier. “You fool, the poison wore off. Now—” Ravoc collapsed onto the floor and began twitching as he foamed at the mouth.
The first man had also collapsed, a spike in Stokes’ shoe injecting his foot.
Stokes now crouched beside Ravoc, holding up a tiny ample. “This can save you,” he shouted. “Tell me where Cook is, and I’ll give you the antidote.”
Ravoc stopped twitching long enough to stare at Stokes and then point down the hall. Then, the Draegar breathed his last.
Stokes was up, knowing he had to do this quick or not at all.
-3-
The first security guard had torn off the stomped-on shoe, staring at the foot for a time. Now, he’d begun reviving. The poison spike hadn’t worked as effectively as the needle, only partially paralyzing him, and that for just a short time.
As the dazed security guard rose, Stokes slid the gun from the holster and shoved it against the man’s ribs. The action shocked the guard into greater awareness.
“Move,” Stokes said.
The guard complied, marching one-shoed down the hall. After seven steps, he said, “Easy with that thing.” He was obviously reviving more.
Stokes wondered if this was a bad idea. The guard might turn at any second and try to disarm him. The guard was much bigger and stronger. Stokes could kill the man as a precaution—
Stokes jumped back as the guard turned around, doing it slower than he might have originally due to the toxins in him. Still, the guard grabbed for the gun—Stokes skipped back again, aiming at the guard’s face.
“Okay, okay,” the guard said, holding up his hands. “You win. You know I had to—”
Stokes made his decision, firing twice, once into each kneecap. It was a gruesome procedure, but it was better than killing the man.
The guard hit the floor, screaming as he clutched at his ruined knees.
Stokes ran past him, peering through a tiny glass window in each door. At the fifth one, he saw Cook stretched out on a steel gurney, with electrodes hooked up all over his arms and legs.
Stokes burst into the room. A red light flashed a warning from a wall. Stokes couldn’t see anyone here, so he ran to the gurney and yanked off the electrodes.
The former Lord High Admiral Cook opened red-rimmed eyes. It took him a second before recognition came. “Stokes?” he croaked.
“Can you stand, sir?”
“I—”
Something weird went on behind Cook’s eyes. The man’s features twisted. “You little traitor—”
Stokes panicked and leapt closer yet. Using the stolen gun, he butt-stroked Cook’s forehead. The big old man crashed back, stunned.
Stokes made another fast decision. Cook had recognized him. Then Cook had changed, calling him a traitor. That implied mind control, another will using the ex-Lord High Admiral. Thus, Stokes ripped out a second, half-metallic headband, jamming it around Cook’s thick white hair until it was in place. He attached another box and clicked it on, crossing his fingers.
When nothing happened, Stokes ran to the door, opened it and listened in the corridor. So far, no one else had come to investigate. He knew that wouldn’t last long. Time was running against him. He was surprised he’d gotten this far.
“Oh…my head,” Cook groaned from the gurney.
Stokes ran back to him. “They’ve been brainwashing you, sir. They—”
“Shut up,” Cook snarled.
That took Stokes aback. He raised the gun, debating whether to butt-stroke Cook again or not.
“Don’t try it a second time,” Cook warned, actually sounding threatening.
Stokes licked his lips. It was time to decide—
“I’m back. I’m me.”
“Sir?” asked Stokes.
With his thick fingers, Cook touched the band around his head. “What is this, a mind shield?”
“Not quite,” Stokes said. “It—”
“Never mind, never mind,” Cook said. He swung his big old legs off the gurney and shoved up to his feet. He wore a hospital gown, which meant it only covered the front of him.
“Uh…I have a plan, sir.”
“Good, so do I,” Cook said.
“Maybe we
should follow mine first. I mean to spirit you away from here while we can.”
Ex-Lord High Admiral Cook gave him a ghastly and vengeful smile. The man was old, but he didn’t seem weak right now, even with the swelling red mark on his forehead.
“Major—”
“I’m a brigadier, sir, remember?”
Cook nodded. “There’s an alien beast down here with us. It screws with a man’s mind. I don’t know if its telepathy or not, but I haven’t been in charge of my own thoughts for several days. I want to get away, believe me. I also want to kill this thing while there’s a chance.”
“Guards will be coming, sir.”
“There are far fewer guards here than you imagine, Major.”
Stokes opened his mouth, but refrained from correcting the old man a second time.
Cook must have noticed, because he said, “All right, brigadier then. I’m not senile.”
“No one thinks that.”
“Balls! They think I’m a traitor. That amounts to the same thing. Who’s running Star Watch these days?”
“Fletcher is, sir. Do we really have time for this?”
Cook went to a locker, trying to open it, but the doors wouldn’t budge. He looked around, picked up a steel chair and hammered the cabinet until he smashed through. He pulled out clothes and a heavy rifle.
“This will be perfect,” Cook said about the rifle.
Stokes ran to the door, cracked it open and jerked back in. Four guards raced down the corridor for their room.
“We have company coming, sir.”
“Open the door,” said Cook, who had just finished checking the rifle.
Stokes hesitated.
“Do it,” Cook said in his former voice of command.
Stokes cracked open the door.
“Please!” Cook howled, as if being tortured. “Stop it. I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good.”
Stokes peeked out.
The guards grinned at each other in seeming relief.
“Get out of my way,” Cook growled.
Before Stokes could do that—surprised the old man had covered ground so quickly—Cook shouldered him hard enough to send Stokes staggering against the door, which flung it outward and Stokes sprawling onto the corridor floor.
The guards saw him, stopped in surprise—
Heavy blasting noises startled them, until each blew backwards as heavy rifle slugs tore them to shreds.
Stokes looked back to see Cook lowering the rifle, with smoke trickling from the front of the barrel.
“Payback’s a bitch,” the old man said, his eyes aglow with fierce emotion. It took several seconds before he looked down at Stokes. “Are you ready then?”
“For what, sir?”
“It’s time to talk to Nostradamus.”
-4-
Cook shot and killed the moaning guard with the blasted knees.
Stokes stared at the old man in amazement.
“We can’t leave any trails,” Cook said, noticing the look.
“B-But—”
“Listen and learn this lesson now,” Cook said. “There are times for extreme ruthlessness. This is one of those moments. We’re the last defenders of Star Watch. Well, by damn, I’m not going to while away my final years wishing I’d struck at the enemy harder. I’m striking like a hot iron.”
Cook turned into a different corridor.
“The elevator is the other way, sir,” Stokes said.
“Nostradamus is this way,” Cook said, with death in his voice. “Want to join me?”
Stokes hesitated. He wanted to live. The bloodthirsty old man…he ran after Cook, who marched like an iron-willed warrior.
“You’ve met Nostradamus, sir?”
Cook tapped his head. “He’s been in my mind ever since I came here. He’s been trying to break me down. At first, he promised me the moon.”
“What?”
“That’s an expression, Major. I spat in Nostradamus’s face. Afterward, he went to straight pain and evil promises. Well, I made myself some promises. The note for Nostradamus comes due today.”
“It’s night, sir. If we’re going to escape—”
Cook laughed viciously. “You don’t get it, Stokes. It’s time to do some killing. We have a bitter foe worming its way from the inside. I’m going to burn it to death. I’m going to crush it, so it never has a chance to resurface.”
Cook took another turn into yet another corridor. Abruptly, the lights went off. Cook clicked on a flashlight he’d taken from a guard’s belt. “I knew it would do that.”
“What is Nostradamus?” Stokes asked, who ran to keep up with the old man’s strides.
“Some kind of alien.”
“It knows you’re coming?”
“The lights went off, didn’t they?”
“Won’t it have backup to defend itself against us?”
Cook stared at Stokes, shining the light in his face. “Right,” he said. “Here.”
Stokes accepted the flashlight. As he did, Cook broke into a run, racing down the corridor.
“Sir! Wait.”
Cook didn’t wait, but reached double doors, bursting through into a lit chamber. The doors swung shut behind him.
Stokes heard rifle-fire. The shots went off steadily for a time. Then they paused and started back up. Cook must have brought extra magazines with him.
Stokes ran toward the rifle fire, hitting the double doors with a shoulder. He came into a weird and frightful sight.
A long, low machine or creature—it was impossible to tell—twisted in slow motion. Smoke rose in places. The twisting machine was an odd white color and seemed to have a giant insect exoskeleton. Dark fluids like grasshopper spit oozed from the many bullet holes. Light flashed from membrane screens and then the membranes ripped apart as more dark oily fluids oozed out of the tears.
The choking, foul-smelling air made it hard to breathe. Stokes gagged and began coughing.
Cook stood like a big game hunter, proudly looking through the smoke at his handiwork. He raised the rifle over his head, shaking it up and down.
“Is that Nostradamus?” Stokes asked in a coughing voice.
“Part of him,” Cook thundered.
Stokes stared at the old man, wondering what gave him such energy.
“That feels so good,” Cook growled. “Now, though—” He stared at Stokes. “You have a plan to get us out of here alive?”
Stokes started coughing harder, although he nodded.
“Then, set your plan in motion, Major. You can be sure about one thing: the rest of Nostradamus is going to want revenge.”
Stokes didn’t comprehend. But Cook shoved him toward the double doors. Yes, it was time to take the ex-Lord High Admiral to a place of safety.
***
Leaving the basement area proved easy enough. No more guards or other people tried to intercept them.
“It’s a ghost town,” Stokes said.
“Nostradamus was running them, or part of them anyway.”
“Through telepathy?” asked Stokes.
“Something different, something insidious like what Spacer adepts do,” Cook said. “Where did you get these headbands?”
“Toronto R&D, sir. It’s for use against Spacers.”
“That was excellent thinking on your part to grab them.”
The elevator stopped and the doors opened. The two of them raced through the building, ran outside and turned toward the flitter field.
“The people here won’t stay down long,” Cook said. “In fact, I suspect reinforcements must be on their way.”
“I have no doubt about that, sir. But I’ve planned for it, too. If you’ll get in the flitter…”
“Where are we going?”
Stokes looked up.
“That’s no answer.”
“I’m taking a leaf from Captain Maddox, sir. It’s a risk…but that may be our safest course.”
Cook grinned harshly. “Now, you’re thinking, Major. Yes. Let�
��s do this.”
Soon, Mike Stokes of Military Intelligence roared upward into the higher atmosphere. The flitter wasn’t space-rated. But Maddox had long ago risked shooting up into low orbit, picked up by a waiting spaceship. Stokes was doing likewise with Cook.
It was good to win one for a change. Maybe they could beat the hidden foe. As the flitter gained high altitude, he glanced at Cook in the other seat.
The old man stared out of the bubble canopy. He was worriedly chewing his lower lip. Finally, he looked over. “Are you stashing me away somewhere?”
Stokes nodded.
“They messed with my mind. I might not be trustworthy.”
“We’re going to fix that, sir. You can count on it.”
Cook grunted. “Defense is important. But to win a fight, one eventually has to go onto the offense.”
“Before one can do that, sir, one needs to know his enemy.”
“Yes,” Cook said. “This one is insidious.”
Then, the two men stopped talking as Stokes began a risky maneuver past the stratosphere as the flitter shot for orbital space and a waiting Star Watch destroyer.
-5-
Captain Josef Becker received an indirect although urgent summons from Director Akon Chom of Political Intelligence. Becker was upstairs in orbit in his special operations corvette when he received it.
Becker had never realized that taking over the Commonwealth would entail so much backbreaking, endless work. He had always worked much harder than the average high achiever. But this…it was ridiculous.
Even Muhammad when he’d upset the religious-political order of the medieval world had more time to indulge himself. According to the bio he was reading, the Prophet Muhammad—
There was a knock at the hatch.
Becker pushed back from the computer console, rubbing his eyes. He’d been reading reports for hours, interspacing it with the bio on Muhammad.
The knock came again.
The Lost Intelligence (Lost Starship Series Book 12) Page 16
