The Lost Star Gate (Lost Starship Series Book 9)

by Vaughn Heppner

  She recalled her fear of questions. Now, she didn’t care. She would say what she would say. They would obey. She knew that. She knew that she had become something more, something impregnated with fate and power.

  She accepted in that moment the dark future that the Visionary strove to achieve. It was glorious indeed. The Visionary had chosen her as the instrument of elevation. Oh, yes, she would strive for this with all the cunning and willpower that she possessed in new, superhuman abundance.

  “Are you well, Mako?” asked the same acolyte as before.

  “Take me to the bridge,” Mako said.

  “The bridge? You must decompress first.”

  In the shadowy chamber of Wi-Fi connection, Mako’s blind eyes narrowed. Yes. She must follow the norms for a little longer. She must practice careful deceit. If the others discovered what had happened during the union…

  I don’t have much time, Mako realized. She almost laughed. Neither do any of them.

  Then, she let the two guide her to the decompression chamber. Soon now, she would begin the next phase in her glorious transformation into something completely different.

  -44-

  One hundred and twenty-seven million kilometers away aboard Starship Victory, Maddox walked around Tars Womack in the interrogation chamber.

  The New Man was strapped down onto a table with an intravenous tube in his left arm. Medical machines to the side monitored the prisoner’s condition. Several techs watched other machines, one that included his biorhythms. Toward the back, two marines stood guard. Three Star Watch Intelligence operatives were always on duty. Vid cameras recorded everything.

  Ludendorff had complained twice already about the number of people in the chamber. That only affirmed the captain’s wisdom in this approach.

  A haggard-looking Sergeant Riker had stumbled out of the chamber. He’d been questioning Womack for two and a half hours this time around.

  Maddox cleared his throat as he finished speed-reading a transcript of Riker’s questions and Womack’s answers.

  A picture was developing. Like a puzzle with thousands of pieces, they inserted one more piece at a time.

  Strand had modified and refashioned the Bosk culture maybe sixty years ago, from what Maddox had found. It had been a lost colony from the earliest space flights. His ultimate development had been the Draegar. The trio of bronze-skinned thinkers had an outlandish IQ. That amazing and united intellect had been focused upon the Builders, trying to understand them and their nexuses better.

  Every Builder artifact Strand could find or steal, every Builder fact was fed as data to the Draegar. Strand had also attempted to understand what the Builders had done to the Methuselah Men to make them what they had become.

  Then, Maddox had captured Strand and given him to Darius. Darius had taken the Methuselah Man to the Emperor. There, Strand remained a prisoner, infrequently questioned on a matter or two. So far—and that included during and after the science-team Swarm invasion—the Methuselah Man’s internment had been mild.

  During Riker’s questions, the sergeant appeared to have stumbled onto a name, a well-known name.

  “Lord Drakos,” Maddox now told Womack. “On the Throne World, you claimed that Lord Drakos had access to Strand.”

  They knew Drakos because he had arrived with the New Man Fleet during the First Swarm Invasion. He had been shorter than the average New Man, with broader shoulders. He had disliked humans and Captain Maddox in particular. According to what they knew, Drakos lacked or appeared to lack some of the latest New Man genetic purity. Perhaps because of that, as psychological compensation, Drakos insisted on genetic excellence.

  While lying on the interrogation table, Womack twisted his head from side to side. He clearly struggled with himself, maybe trying to resist the truth serum. Finally, he nodded.

  “Lord Drakos interrogated Strand?” Maddox asked.

  “No,” Womack said in a hoarse voice.

  “Did Drakos question the Methuselah Man?”

  “Spoke to,” Womack said.

  “Ah,” Maddox said, “spoke to. What did they speak about?”

  Womack began to recite a long litany of useless subjects: the weather, time, food, comfort, anything but the key issues. The New Man had practiced the same trick earlier. Sometimes, it took him hours to recite a list before the critical piece of information fell out.

  “Did Drakos ever ask Strand about Ludendorff?” asked Maddox.

  Womack froze. The New Man licked his lips before closing his eyes. He began moving his head from side to side again.

  “What did Strand tell Drakos about Ludendorff?” Maddox asked.

  Womack’s eyes blazed open. He turned and stared at Maddox. “Don’t you see?” he whispered. “Don’t you understand yet? Ludendorff is the key. You shouldn’t have let him interrogate me. He knows. He knows. He has to know.”

  “Know what?” Maddox asked, wondering if this was a rabbit trail or something truly important.

  “No!” Womack said. “Not knows. Conditioned.”

  “You conditioned Ludendorff against…what?”

  Womack arched back, straining against his bonds. He began to laugh in a loud and ugly manner. “Fool! You blind half-breed fool! They say you’re smart. They say you’re cunning. But you’re a slow-witted ass like all the subhumans. It’s so obvious. Why can’t you ask the right questions? What makes you so dense?”

  Maddox recoiled at the accusations until he remembered there were others in the chamber with him. He strove to regain his composure.

  Womack continued laughing. “Lord Drakos was right. He has a handle on the situation. The Emperor should listen to him. But no…Drakos is a throwback to ruder times, before we become such ultimate specimens. That is so shortsighted because Drakos has the right mindset. It’s why we listen to him. It’s why this will work, should have worked, but you ruined everything, Maddox. You who think you’re so clever. This time, you fell for it. This time, you can’t see. If you don’t free me soon, it will be too late.”

  “He’s raving,” a tech said.

  Maddox ignored the technician. Of course, Womack was raving, but he also might be finally—

  “Wait,” Maddox said. “You’re not talking about Ludendorff being conditioned. Lord Drakos conditioned you!”

  Womack stared at him with wide eyes. The New Man strove to answer. His eyes seemed to plead that Maddox ask him something else.

  “What’s wrong?” Maddox asked.

  Womack threw back his head and howled like a lost soul. He continued screaming and screaming.

  Maddox leapt to him, grabbing Womack’s shoulders. They felt like iron, the muscles were so rigid.

  “Fight the compulsion,” Maddox said.

  Womack’s face was bathed with sweat. “Tell me…tell me…”

  “Yes, tell you what?” Maddox asked.

  “For…for…”

  “Forget!” Maddox said, finally understanding. “Forget the question.”

  Tars Womack collapsed against the table even as he began to shiver.

  “Sir!” a med tech said. “He’s on the verge of a severe heart attack. You need to…” the man’s voice droned off as he looked up at the sleeping New Man.

  “Heart attack?” asked Maddox.

  “The readings,” the tech said. “You barely averted his death.”

  Methuselah Man Strand had often conditioned or mind-manipulated New Men he’d captured. Clearly, Drakos had conditioned or had had Womack conditioned in some way. That hadn’t been about Ludendorff just now, but Womack.

  Maddox found a seat and collapsed onto it. What did this mean? If he were to guess, it meant that Drakos had drained Strand of his gruesome strategies and tactics. The Methuselah Man had given his secrets and methods to a ruthless New Man willing to practice the same horrors that Strand had.

  Strand had been the creator of the New Men, their father, as it were. Drakos was one of them, their brother. And Drakos would rather Womack die than anyone el
se learn his secrets.

  Maddox touched his jaw. Had Lord Drakos drained Strand of his knowledge? Or had Strand deceived Drakos into doing his dirty work? Had Strand “confessed” things to Drakos in order to move the New Man by hints and by fostering Drakos’ blind ambitions?

  What did any of that mean here and now? Maddox pondered the implications…until his head snapped up.

  “Galyan.”

  Nothing happened.

  “Galyan,” Maddox said more loudly.

  An instant later, the holoimage appeared.

  “What’s Ludendorff doing?” Maddox asked.

  Galyan looked surprised. “I don’t know, sir.”

  “You’re supposed to be watching him.”

  “But you countermanded the order.”

  “I most certainly did not.”

  “I clearly remember that you did,” Galyan said. “You suggested I shouldn’t try to do two things at once. I should concentrate on the Captain Nard Situation. Do you not remember? We were in the professor’s quarters—”

  Maddox groaned aloud, shaking his head.

  “What is wrong, sir?” Galyan asked.

  “Ludendorff tricked you.”

  “I do not see how.”

  “Find him now,” Maddox said. “Tell me where he is.”

  The little holoimage stood perfectly still, his eyelids twitching, twitching, twitching— “I cannot find him,” Galyan said.

  Maddox stood. “We have to find Ludendorff. We have to find him this second.”

  -45-

  Professor Ludendorff wasn’t on Starship Victory because he had snuck over to the Moltke in one of the shuttles ferrying the captured Bosk space marines and techs to the starship. Each shuttle had gone back and forth several times.

  It had been easy to sneak aboard, as none of the shuttle personnel expected one of Victory’s crew to hide in an empty taxi to get onto the battleship.

  Once on the Moltke, Ludendorff moved inconspicuously through the battleship’s corridors. He wore the simple disguise of a Star Watch uniform, a wig and plasti-flesh as used by vid stars. No one recognized him.

  Finally, he reached a restricted area.

  “Sir,” a marine said, stepping from a hidden alcove. “Do you have pass to be here?”

  “I do, I do, my boy,” Ludendorff said, looking up in surprise. “Let me see. Where did I put it?”

  The professor began to rummage through his uniform.

  The marine became suspicious, drawing a gun and pointing it at Ludendorff.

  “Hands up, please,” the marine said.

  Ludendorff looked up again, with his hands in his pockets. “I have my pass,” he said. “May I pull it out?”

  “Very slowly,” the suspicious marine said.

  Ludendorff complied, drawing out a black leather wallet by increments.

  The marine held out a hand, as he used the other to aim the gun at Ludendorff.

  Meekly, the professor handed over the wallet.

  “It’s sticky,” the marine complained, as he accepted the wallet.

  “Candy was in the same pocket,” Ludendorff said, backing away.

  “Halt,” the marine said.

  Ludendorff halted and put up his hands. “If you’ll check the pass, you’ll see that I’m cleared.”

  The marine blinked several times, frowned at Ludendorff and concentrated on the wallet. With exaggerated slowness, he opened it. Because of that, the gun was no longer aimed at the professor.

  At that point, the drug smeared on the wallet completed its work, and the marine toppled onto the floor, unconscious, the wallet sliding away until it came to rest at Ludendorff’s right foot.

  “Well, well, well,” the professor said. He drew a handkerchief from his pocket, used it to pick up the wallet and stuffed both away in a jacket pocket. Then Ludendorff grabbed the man’s wrists and dragged him out of the away.

  It was time to get the Builder item and activate it before anyone could stop him.

  ***

  The Builder item did not look alien. It resembled a marble polygonal block the size of a man’s head.

  Professor Ludendorff was in a high-security chamber that looked like the inside of a polished metal cube. There were hidden cameras. Ludendorff had deactivated all of them. There were no chairs, no table, no…nothing but for himself, the safe he’d opened, and the white polygonal shape inside it.

  He reached into the safe and dragged the Builder item closer. It was damn heavy, and therefore dangerous just from that perspective—if he did this wrong, he might smash one of his feet.

  The professor was panting by the time he had tugged the block to the safe’s edge. It was a three-foot drop to the floor.

  “I’m not as young as I used to be,” Ludendorff muttered to himself.

  He shook his head a moment later. It was time to get serious.

  The universe was a nasty, ruthless realm. Humanity needed to be smarter, faster, tougher and more ruthless than any other species. Otherwise, mankind might face extinction sooner rather than later.

  The Swarm was out there. Given the chance, the Swarm would swamp humanity with hundreds of thousands of warships. There was no beating the bugs at this point in time. The Imperium knew about humans. That was thanks to Commander Thrax Ti Ix, which in part was thanks to the last Builder in the Orion Arm of the Galaxy.

  The Swarm Hive Masters had learned about the existence of hyper-spatial tubes through Thrax’s data. Swarm science teams had gone out, at least two of them, unlocking the nexuses’ secret and prematurely launching two weak assaults. Given a little more time—an unknown span—and real Swarm invasion fleets would enter Human Space.

  Could humanity outfight hundreds of thousands of Swarm warships coming at them in wave after wave after wave?

  Ludendorff shook his head.

  With trembling hands, he grabbed hold of the Builder rock and made the final tug. The thing shifted, tilted, and… He barely danced out of the way as the rock crashed onto the metal floor.

  The professor took out a clean handkerchief and blotted his sweaty face. The perspiration hadn’t come from the exertion, but from fear. Yes, he was afraid, deeply, soul-shatteringly afraid.

  He blotted his face again before stuffing the hanky away.

  Ludendorff feared that he was still compromised. A deep Builder compulsion had driven him to build a horrific soul weapon two years ago. It had propelled his limbs by controlling his mind.

  The professor made a sour face. No one was going to control his thoughts again.

  He dragged his right wrist across his lips. He’d gone to the Bosk world, thinking some professional help might cleanse his mind from that awful episode. That had been a ghastly mistake. It had been a trap, a trap that had ensnared his mind a second time.

  Womack suggested Lord Drakos had broken Strand, and taken the Methuselah Man’s itinerary lock stock and barrel. The child had ensnared the father. It had been like Zeus castrating his father Cronus—the original king of the gods—and taking over the divine realm.

  A fierce look twisted the professor’s face. This Cronus was coming back, baby. He was sewing his balls back on and becoming a man again. That meant freeing Dana, his lover, his woman.

  “No!” Ludendorff snarled. “I will not be your patsy, Strand. I fell for one of your tricks, but now…”

  The professor licked his lips as he regarded the polygonal white Builder stone sitting on the floor.

  He had a good idea what the artifact did. He’d had that idea when he’d chosen which Builder item O’Hara should tease from the Lord High Admiral.

  It still surprised the Methuselah Man that Cook had given her the item.

  Ludendorff cocked his head. Was that really the case? Maybe O’Hara had lied to the Lord High Admiral. Maybe the Draegar—the combined entity 1, 2 and 3—had fed him that line in order to foster his illusion.

  Here in this room, that didn’t matter. He’d slipped off Victory and slipped here. So far, the others hadn’t fou
nd him. If he could garner the courage, he could get on with this and do what he had to.

  Ludendorff stood over the rock and cracked his knuckles. Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor and sat down cross-legged beside the rock. He rotated his head, hearing neck bones crack. Finally, he reached out with both hands, wriggling his fingers over the ancient item.

  This might hurt. This might rip a few illusions from his mind. This could open avenues in his brain that he didn’t care to travel. This might reveal other Builder compulsions buried deep in him.

  “No more,” Ludendorff mouthed.

  He knew what it felt like to be used. He knew the sensation of sitting back in his own head and having someone else run his body.

  “Begin the process, old boy,” he told himself.

  His hands hovered just barely above the rock, and still, he could not quite get himself to do it.

  What if Maddox opened the door and found him like this? What if he started now, and minutes later, right when he was about to find the great truth, the others dragged him away.

  It might bring madness. It could drive him crazy with curiosity.

  The professor arched his head back and breathed deeply in and out, attempting to compose himself. This might be the great test of his character.

  “So be it,” he whispered.

  Ludendorff brought his head forward and touched the stone with his fingertips. It was cool. With slow motions, he began to caress one side in an ancient pattern.

  To his horror, the rock began to hum audibly. Worse, a thousand times worse, the rock seemed to magnetize, to pull his hands onto it so they could not tear free. It magnetized his flesh. The rock also turned warm as it hummed.

  “What am I doing?” the professor whispered.

  A facet of the polygonal rock grew clear.

  Ludendorff shivered, because something in his mind warned him that this was the first time in fifteen thousand years that this rock had activated.

  Ludendorff almost hunched his shoulders in a valiant effort to rip his magnetized hands free.