“Ow,” Christine grunted as a new pain slammed into her belly. It was sharp enough she began to have trouble breathing. “Oh God, kid, settle down. What did my kidneys ever do to you? I’ll eat some peanut butter in a bit. Just please, not now.”
“Are you okay?” Joel asked, concerned.
“Yes,” Christine lied. “I’m fine. Just a little pain. Oh!”
“Seems to me it’s more than a little pain,” Malachi observed as Christine clutched the arms of the chair tightly. Her grip became so tight her knuckles turned white. She closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing. The child within, however, had other plans, and no amount of promised peanut butter was calming him down.
“Oh, my God,” Christine hissed. Jolts of pain throbbed throughout her stomach and pelvic region. She felt a slow wetness trickling down her thighs. She looked up in horror. “I think I just peed my pants!”
“No, not quite,” Joel stated, his face pale. “Your water just broke.”
“Wait…now?” Christine asked. She felt horrible. “What?”
“Babies come when they’re ready,” Malachi stated calmly, though his expression nearly matched Joel’s. He motioned to Wil, who was watching with a concerned expression on his face. “Your kid?”
“What? Oh, hell no.” The question obviously shook the young technician. “No, I’m just a friend. Never met the baby’s father.”
“You want us to try to contact him?” Malachi offered. Christine chuckled, then winced as a fresh jolt of pain lanced through her abdomen.
“He’s…occupied at the moment,” she said and left it at that. There was no way she could let anyone know the father of her child was pretending to be a noble in the senate, who was also a wanted man. While Chief Gan might have trusted Malachi, he’d never said a word about divulging operational information to just anyone. Especially when the cover was as deep as Andrew’s currently was in his role as Darius Hastings. Wil didn’t even know the full truth, and Christine had trusted him with her life multiple times. More pain caused her to grimace, and she felt woozy. She tried to count the seconds between bouts of pain, but was unable to focus on anything other than the agony. “Ooooh…this fucking hurts!”
“Fortunately, we have a fully-trained medical staff on hand,” Malachi stated as he looked over at Joel. “You want to make the call?”
“On it,” Joel said as he grabbed a datapad. Malachi turned and gave Christine a reassuring look.
“Don’t worry, help is on the way,” he told her.
Andrew, please come back, she silently pleaded—in vain—as the pain began to grow more intense. She knew it wasn’t his fault he wasn’t here, or not entirely, at least. Still, it took her mind off the pain, focusing on his face. It would have to do until he was there in person. I don’t want to do this alone.
* * * * *
Chapter Three
Andrew
The first thing Andrew wanted to do when he opened his eyes was throw up. Nausea roiled his stomach about, back and forth, sometimes upside down, causing him an immense amount of queasiness he wasn’t initially prepared to handle. Instead of emptying his guts all over himself, though, he swallowed and tried to get a look around the room. His eyes, having been closed for so long, were nearly blinded by the brightness. What he could see was clean to the point of neurosis. It reminded him instantly of a surgical suite, where everything was sterilized and orderly. He tried to turn his head but found that something was holding it in place. Immobilized, he managed to look at his arms. Realizing they were locked to the arms of a steel chair, he pulled to see if they were secure. Testing his legs offered no comfort. He was completely immobilized, but how?
He thought back to the final moment before the Legacy-class battleship had forced his ship to dock with it. It was all a bit fuzzy, but he vaguely recalled the docking tube joining with his ship. After that, however, there was nothing. A huge gap existed between then and now. They had knocked him out somehow.
Gas, he decided as he took stock of his situation. They gassed me through the tube when the airlock was secured. Explains why I want to puke, but I’m also starving. Chloroform sulphate oxide, maybe?
In the end, it didn’t really matter. He was tied solidly to a chair, at an undisclosed location, and he was probably going to die.
Andrew tried to get a better look at the room, but there wasn’t much to see. He’d expected torture implements, but none were in sight. Nor could he find any sign of shackles and chains. There was a cot pressed against the far wall, but no blankets or pillows for it, so he guessed there wasn’t going to be much sleeping going on while they extracted information from him. If they were even going to bother with that. He glanced left, but the light from that angle was simply too much.
“Since I’m going to die, can someone give me a heads up as to how long you’re going to make me wait?” Andrew called out into the blinding light. He felt a little giddy at the thought of dying. Which meant he’d been seriously drugged as well. Everything felt more than a tad amusing. “I kind of have things to do.”
“For a rich-boy senator, you’ve got a bit of a mouth on you,” a voice came from behind him. Andrew resisted the urge to test his head restraint, and instead stared straight ahead, remembering he wasn’t Andrew Espinoza, but Darius Hastings, trono senatorum of the Dominion of Man, and he was supposed to be a haughty bastard. Even if he was doped to the gills and felt more like laughing at his captor than pretending to be afraid. Hamming it up was far better than being his real self, though.
“I usually do when dealing with my inferiors,” Andrew replied in the snottiest voice he could pull off. “You, if I recall your voice correctly, are definitely my lesser. So why don’t you save yourself some problems and untie me. Now.”
A gloved fist struck the top of his head, hard. To Andrew, who was unable to move, it felt like a sledgehammer. He yelped in pain. The speaker chuckled darkly at him, and the blinding light was turned off. Damn, that glove’s weighted, Andrew thought as his teeth began to ache. Purple blobs filled his vision as his eyes struggled to adjust to the loss of light. Fortunately for Andrew, the pain killed any amusement being under the influence gave him.
“The rich are always the first to cry,” the man said as he came into Andrew’s peripheral view. Andrew inhaled sharply as he recognized the all-too-familiar symbol of the Justice of the Black, the golden judicial hammer, on the man’s breast. It contrasted sharply with the dark uniform of the Dominion Navy. Andrew swallowed nervously as he realized his interrogator was none other than the Mad Cleaver of Kurong himself, Octavio Nunez. The light-skinned man with coal black eyes looked into Andrew’s. “I can see the recognition in there. Good. You already know fear, then. This will make things a bit easier.”
“One way or another, I will end your career,” Andrew promised him as he struggled to shake the last of the cobwebs out.
The Justice of the Black laughed again. “You? Boy, they’ll be lucky to find your body when I’m done with you. I can legally break every single bone in your body and still have you sign away your right as paikka senatari. Your family’s seat? The Justice of the Keys can strip that away. With Emperor Ezekiel’s blessing, of course.”
“Sounds like the Laird has this all planned out,” Andrew muttered. His head throbbed, and it was making it difficult for him to think straight. “He’s going to remove me, and put…Duncan Samuels in my stead? That old bastard doesn’t have any kids, so then it would go to…shit, my head hurts. Can’t think straight. What did you do to me?”
“You’re pretty smart for a rich boy,” Nunez declared. “But you’re wrong on just about everything.”
“Whatever, asshole,” Andrew muttered. He really wanted the man known as the Cleaver to shut the hell up and go away so he could be in pain, alone. Whenever he felt miserable, peace and quiet were preferable to everything else. Especially when a sociopath was trying to play games with him.
“You’re an ungrateful little brat, you know that?” Nunez
asked in a sour tone as he crouched down. Andrew, unable to turn away, was forced to look into the eyes of the madman. He was surprised to discover there was no insanity to be seen, only resolve. Nunez began to nod his head slightly. “Ah. There it is. Recognition. Yes, you see it now. I’m not some ‘mad cleaver’ like I’ve been called. I have a job to accomplish, a mission. I do not fail, and I’ll use any means necessary to carry out my lawful orders. What happened on Kurong was not my fault; it was merely a response to an incredible set of circumstances which led to obeying my emperor. I simply followed orders.”
“They were illegal orders.”
“They were from the emperor,” Nunez countered quickly, “which made them legal. Just as it is now.”
Andrew couldn’t argue with that. If the emperor gave an order, unless it violated one of the Twelve Laws, it was perfectly legal, and any subject of the Dominion was expected to carry it out. Within the government and military branches, it wasn’t just expected, but required by law to obey the word of their ruler. Nunez was, by the letter of the law, correct.
It didn’t mean he was right, though. Even a monster like Nunez had to know that. The moral issue remained, though it appeared to Andrew that the Mad Cleaver couldn’t see it. Was it the man’s blind belief that everything he did was correct?
Andrew closed his eyes and tried to think through the throbbing pain. Past events, Christine, his future child, anything to take him away from the pain and confusion he currently felt. His training at the Academy had taught him mental tricks to block out pain, but Jericho had refined that training and made it better. He should have been able to remove himself from the pain with but a thought, but something was causing him to stumble now. There was an impediment that lingered and affected not only his motor skills, but his thinking as well.
The gas, he realized as he recalled how groggy he’d been when he’d first awakened. That wasn’t chloroform. It was something else. What did they do to me?
“Right now I have forces on Belleza Sutil pacifying the planet, which recently declared open rebellion against the Dominion,” Nunez continued as he stood back up, apparently unaware that Andrew had figured out he was still being influenced by whatever gas they’d hit him with. The Justice walked around to Andrew’s left and out of view, making him nervous. “We already have the governor in custody, and the capital of the planet has been isolated. We’re not going to have another incident like what occurred on Kurong. It’s only a matter of time before they come back into the emperor’s light. I will not be proclaimed a monster because some rebels decided to get uppity.”
“Can you unfasten my head, please?” Andrew asked. His head was beginning to hurt less, but he still was unable to focus fully on Nunez. “I can listen to you brag about how brilliant you are with the strap on, but it’s really making me unappreciative of your splendor.”
“Smartass. However, since you asked nicely, of course,” Nunez said, and suddenly Andrew found his head free as a leather strap fell into his lap. The sudden release of pressure caused him a little pain. Blood rushed to where the strap had been tight against his forehead. He winced, but said nothing. He was merely grateful he could move his head from side to side. The Justice chuckled softly, which caused Andrew to look over at him.
“See?” Nunez grinned at him. “I’m not a monster. I’m simply good at my job.”
“Job?” Andrew sneered as he rolled his neck in a vain attempt to loosen the knot that was beginning to form. “It’s not a job to butcher innocent people. Belleza Sutil is a peaceful planet. Kurong was…well, they might have been psychopaths, but they weren’t butchers!”
“The people of Belleza Sutil were condemned the moment they sided with their rebellious governor and resisted the soldiers who were assisting with the search and rescue!” Nunez roared and spun Andrew’s chair around. For the first time, Andrew saw a glint in the eye of the larger man, something that bespoke a deeper pain and hurt. Andrew recoiled in horror as he saw that the Mad Cleaver of Kurong truly believed he was in the right.
“I’m sorry,” Andrew said and swallowed what he wanted to say next. It would serve no purpose except to provoke another beating, causing him more pain. Instead he tried to find a middle ground with the man, as any good politician would do. “Humor me, then. This fight for the Blood Throne. Let’s play a mental game. What if the scenario here…what if Edward wins?”
Nunez laughed loudly in Andrew’s ear. “Edward? Win? Inconceivable.”
“But what if?”
“If—and that’s a huge if, Senator—I’ll follow the true emperor, Ezekiel, in his fight to reclaim what’s rightfully his,” Nunez vowed in a solemn voice. “You, Mister Hastings, and all your allies, must follow the rule of the law. You violated that once by proclaiming the legal and lawful parliamentary vote null. You will not do it again.”
That floored Andrew. For the first time it was clear the Justice of the Black had no intention of letting him leave the room alive before getting what he wanted.
“Where am I, anyway?” Andrew asked, partly out of curiosity, but mostly to alleviate the sudden panic welling in his chest. “I know I’m not on a ship, because artificial gravity feels weird to me.”
“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough,” Nunez promised him. “Once the emperor decides what he’s going to do with you.”
“Please.” Andrew shook his head. He felt more like himself, which told him, though his head still throbbed painfully from the earlier blow, the effects from the gas were beginning to wear off. He channeled his inner Darius Hastings and continued, “We both know who’s really calling the shots here. Quit playing games. Laird McCarroll is the brains behind the throne.”
“If you keep on with these vicious rumors that the Laird is controlling the emperor, I’ll give you a beating the likes of which have never been seen.”
Andrew sighed as the Justice patted him on the shoulder before leaving the room. A door slammed loudly shut behind him. Once more, he was alone with nothing but his thoughts.
He was pretty sure Gabriel knew what was happening on their home world. His brother might be mule-headed and stubborn, but this was a welcome trait in a Darkling. He had overall command of every Wraith out on the Fringe planets, and a very short supply line. They might not have the recruits to replace the bodies, but Andrew guessed they had the suits for replacements whenever they arrived. Given that Mechanized Infantry Training Command was in the heart of the Core worlds, though, those replacements might be a long time coming.
There was simply not enough time. One of the brothers would eventually win this civil war of theirs, and when that happened, the Wraiths would be forced to obey their rightful ruler. From what Gabriel had told Andrew, the youngest Espinoza child wasn’t influenced by this, and could keep on fighting. The issue, though, would be when every single Wraith in the entire Dominion of Man came for Gabriel. They would kill him, no matter how skilled his brother was in combat.
No. I have to stop things here, now. I’ve got to get out of this place, he thought. He checked his arm restraints once more. As soon as I figure out how to teleport.
* * *
Roughly ten hours later, he was formally introduced to the cruel and vicious guards who worked for Special Projects. Naturally, it was his inherent sarcasm that had warranted such an introduction.
“Ladies,” Andrew muttered as three men wearing identical uniforms entered the room. They were wearing masks to conceal their identities, which made sense. Nobody wanted to be named in a future government inquiry about what Special Projects was, and Andrew guessed none of the men were interested in letting him know who they were. He continued, “Nice night for a workout, eh? Just to let you know, I prefer pitching over catching, if this goes down that route.”
“Shut up,” one of the guards snapped irritably. Andrew’s experienced eye told him that the speaker was the shortest of the trio. “Check his bindings before feeding him.”
“I’ve never been against the idea, mind you,” And
rew continued to babble, watching the guard who’d yelled at him closely. “It’s just that, in my experience, it can lead to trauma when dealing with someone of my, ah, natural amazingness.”
“I said, shut up,” the guard growled. The other two had remained silent thus far and continued to do as they were told. Andrew now knew who was in charge.
“Hey, it’s been forever since I saw your sister,” Andrew chirped helpfully. “How’s she been? Speaking of your sister, how’s your wife and my kid?”
The guard stopped directly in front of him. Andrew could see his eyes and could instantly tell the man was enraged. The guard was breathing heavily, and there was a lot of tension in his shoulders. His fists were clenched into tight balls.
Andrew was a little confused by the guard’s reaction. Surely he’s heard worse than this while working here? Oh, well. Gold or gurney, he thought. If there was one thing Andrew and Darius Hastings were both good at, it was getting underneath people’s skin. The bruises he’d earned from multiple thumpings at the hands of Gabriel proved this.
“That wife comment was out of line, I’m sorry,” Andrew said and offered a weak smile. “I meant your mom.”
“My mom’s been dead for ten years, idiot,” the guard spat. Andrew raised an eyebrow slightly.
“Well, that explains why she didn’t complain when I went back for seconds,” Andrew quipped. The guard’s eyes widened, and before Andrew could prepare himself, the guard punched him square in the nose.
Getting punched in the face is something every man needs to have happen once in their life. Having the knuckles of a bare fist connect, feeling tears well up as a reflex reaction to the nose being punched, the sharp pain that soon followed—it was all part of the process. Andrew had been punched in the face many times over the years. It was one of the hazards of being a Dominion Investigative Bureau agent.
However, he’d never been punched while his head was pressed against a backstop. Unable to allow his head to snap back and absorb some of the blow, the punch jarred his brain far more than he’d anticipated. His head swam from the impact on the headrest. Andrew wasn’t sure which hurt worse, the punch or the head bounce. After a second of deliberation, he decided both sucked equally.
Homeguard Page 6
