Firestorm: The Relissarium Wars Space Opera Series, Book 4

by Andrew C Broderick

  A fountain in the middle of the reception chamber had three figures carved into it. The first was a man wielding a pickaxe, the second was a man gripping a shovel, and the third was a woman holding a lit torch. Sometimes in the bio-lighting, Philo thought the flame flickered like it was alive. Water bubbled up from the center and splashed down into a small pool at the foot of the statue. It was not uncommon to see argents lining the bottom of the fountain under the water. Some of the members thought it was good luck to make a wish and toss a coin into the fountain before a dangerous mission. The most common wish was that they would make it back to the base alive. Unfortunately, not all of those wishes came true.

  “The recovery team just got back. The SFR team is in custody. Those that need medical attention are being taken to sickbay.”

  “And Makram?”

  “He’s being taken to the interrogation room as we speak.”

  “Good.”

  Chanta smiled at him. Their past had bonded them more than most business partners, though most romantic endeavors had been put on hold with the Yasta threat as potent as it was. There were times that she missed him holding her at night, but business was business, and the Council always came first. “If you manage to get away early, I could leave the door unlocked for you.”

  Her sultry eyes dared him to sneak away with her for a few minutes. Philo closed his eyes. He remembered the last time he had fallen asleep with her in his arms. The problem was that he was so stressed at the moment that he wasn’t getting very much sleep at all. Even if he went to her room, his constant tossing and turning would only keep them both awake. There was no reason to ruin her sleep as well. As tough as it was, he opened his eyes and shook his head with determination. “Not tonight. Maybe some other time. I want to get these interrogations underway while the incident is still fresh in their minds.”

  “You better hurry then, senator.” The last word lingered like a light kiss on her lips.

  He gave her a look that said even though her teasing was appreciative, he was still firm in his decision. Philo continued through the reception chamber and made a left on the other side of the room. The hallway smelled faintly of cleaning products and sterilizing agents. Not all interrogations went smoothly. The Brotherhood thought that the ends were worth the means, if it got them an upper hand on anything the Yasta monks were involved in. Granted, the specific techniques used to get the results they wanted were not common knowledge, even to the other members of the Carbonari. It was easier to keep a clean conscience and fuel idealistic views if the lower levels of the organization were kept in the dark on the less savory aspects of their operations. Philo stopped in front of interrogation room ‘C.’ He put on the stern face he often used during parliament meetings and opened the door.

  “You may step outside, Danthois. I believe we can conduct this interrogation just between the two of us, don’t you agree, little brother?” Philo’s eyes were cold and emotionless as he addressed first the massive cyborg warrior behind Makram and then Makram himself.

  “I don’t see why not.” Makram peered out at the man in front of him through the slit of a swollen eye that was already darkening to a dusky purple.

  Danthois gave a curt nod to the senator before taking his leave of the room. Philo waited a few moments in silence after the door shut behind the guard, before he spoke again. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

  “Why don’t you start by telling me why my team was arrested after barely surviving a crash? You’re treating us like Yasta scum. I’ve been through all my training. Most of my team has been through all of their training as well. Why don’t you show us a little respect?”

  “Because, little brother,” Philo sneered the derogative pet name at the beaten pulp before him, “one of you most certainly is Yasta scum. Until we suss out the traitor in our midst, you will all remain under strict supervision.”

  “One of our members just died in the crash!”

  “Yes, and I’m sure that you are feeling the sting of Kurga’s death right now, but—”

  “Don’t you dare say his name!” Makram cut off his superior. He could handle any abuse they wanted to throw his way, but messing with his team and insulting the memory of their fallen comrade was unacceptable.

  Philo raised his voice and continued over Makram. “BUT, I’m sure you can understand that if we do not find this traitor, there will be many more deaths—more of your own included in that list of casualties, no doubt. You’ve already lost two, haven’t you? Yareck and Kurga?” Philo saw the muscles in Makram’s jaw tighten. “So, why don’t you start from the beginning?”

  “The mission on Relisse started out fine. Looking back, maybe we should have known it was too easy.” Makram went over the events of what they had just gone through. “We took the lack of presence at the mining operation to mean the monks had simply automated most of process, so they could spend their time kicking kittens, or whatever it is those Yasta bastards do in their free time. Cherish managed to get the bomb in place before they surrounded us. Karl was the one behind it all. I don’t know how he knew about what we were planning, but he did. Gave me a pretty good beating when I wouldn’t tell him anything. He threatened to throw Hojae and I out of an airlock. Somehow, Hojae managed to escape from the guard holding him. He took off somewhere. They dragged me back to the room the others were being held in. It wasn’t too long after that, that the bomb went off. We all managed to stay low to the ground and miss most of the impact. Karl and his men were not as fortunate. After an impact like that, he’s most certainly dead.”

  “Why did the cargo ship you were on crash?” Philo steepled his fingers on the table in front of him.

  Makram scoffed, but the sarcastic chuckle made him wince in pain. “Well, I guess that would be your fault.”

  “My fault?”

  “That ship was not designed to endure so much force. We had to accelerate so quickly that it added unnecessary stress to the ship. If you had sent us in with proper equipment, there wouldn’t have been a malfunction when we reentered the atmosphere. And don’t tell me it was a budget concern. I know all about your Aquacruiser.”

  Anger slowed Philo’s speech in a dangerously metered way. “The way the Grand Council spends its funds is not your concern.”

  “It is when one of my men dies because of it!” Makram pounded his fist on the table.

  “If you were better at your job, maybe you could figure out who the spy is that is compromising your team’s missions, because let me tell you, that is the person who is responsible for Kurga’s death and your crash and your failure to procure any more Relissarium. So, Makram, who do you think the traitor is? Who is it on your team that has outsmarted you at every turn?”

  Petty indignation salted Makram’s tongue. “Just what exactly are you trying to say, senator? Are you insinuating that I’m the reason my team is in this mess? Cut the political beating-around-the-bush crap and come out and accuse me, if that’s what you’re getting at!”

  “There’s that temper that’s always clouding your judgement, little brother. If I thought it was you, you would be gutted in a back alley and left to rot. Now, I’m going to ask you one more time. Who do you think the traitor is?”

  Makram bit the inside of his cheek. The salty, copper taste of his blood and the fresh pain of his teeth sinking into the delicate skin cleared some of the anger from his head. “Honestly, if Shelter Number Fifty-Six hadn’t been destroyed along with all of the recruits there, I would have said it was one of them. They were the only other ones that knew about the change in our objective. I trust my team. It wasn’t them.”

  “About that,” Philo raised one eyebrow at the man across the table from him, “someone from that shelter did survive. They arrived earlier this morning.”

  Four

  “A survivor? Who was it?” Makram sat up straighter and leaned in.

  “I think I’ll keep that to myself for now.” Philo stood up and walked towards the door. “Is there anythi
ng else you want to tell me?” Makram shook his head no. There were a lot of things he would love to say to his interrogator, but none of it would help him or his crew. “Very well, then.”

  Philo knocked on the door three times, and Danthois opened the door obediently. “Let’s go.” The cyborg’s voice was deeper than Makram had expected.

  “Where are we going?” Makram stood up as he asked. He had a feeling Danthois was heavy handed on discipline, and he didn’t want to test that theory.

  Thick, silver, sausage sized fingers shoved Makram out the door and down the hall towards the holding cell. The cell smelled like piss, even through the blood clotting in his nose from his injuries. He had no desire to be put inside. Passing by earlier on the way to the interrogation room had been enough. In an off-shoot hallway, he spotted a familiar figure. “Seneca!”

  The figure turned around and walked towards them. To Makram’s surprise, Danthois did not continue to shove him towards the holding cell, but instead waited for the base’s medical doctor to walk up to them. Seneca glanced at the clipboard in his hands. In the reflection of the doctor’s glasses, Makram could make out the names of some of his crew members. “What is it, Makram?”

  Thinking quickly, Makram reopened the cut on his cheek from where he had bitten it in the interrogation room. The pain made his eyes water, but he needed to draw enough blood to make a more severe injury plausible. “I was wondering if you could give me an update on my team. I know that several of them were still unconscious when we arrived here.” As he spoke, he felt a trickle of blood drip out from the corner of his mouth.

  “Danthois, was this man examined in the sickbay upon arrival?” Seneca’s small eyes shone with professional concern.

  The cyborg shook his head. “Orders were to take him immediately to interrogation room ‘C.’”

  “He needs to be examined.”

  “Senator Philo personally ordered me to take him to the holding cell.”

  Seneca lifted his chin and puffed out his chest. He was dwarfed by the massive guard, but it was evident that he was determined not to be intimidated. “Do you see that blood at the corner of his mouth? Look at him. If he has internal bleeding, and you take him to the holding cell, he could die. How happy do you think Philo will be if one of the Brotherhood dies due to neglect and denial of proper medical care? It will be a scandal in the organization, not to mention an unnecessary loss of a good field agent. If you are unwilling to take the blame for disobeying orders, then release him into my custody. I am the doctor. The health and wellbeing of everyone on this base falls under my care.”

  “Enough, enough! Just stop talking and take him already!” Danthois shoved Makram towards the doctor. “If anything happens, it’s on you.”

  The sound of heavy metal boots clomping down the hall followed the cyborg as he left. Seneca punched in some information on the input section of the tablet, to let the sickbay know to expect them. The doctor shoved his spectacles higher on his nose. In the next moment, he was walking back the way he had come from when Makram had first called out. His strides were wide and fast paced. If he had been in better condition, Makram would have had no difficulty keeping up. Right now, the urgency caused a stitch to seize up in his side. He powered through the pain, and let his mind wander. What if Philo Nazir was right? Could the traitor be one of his own team members? Makram thought of possible reasons for each of his crew to join up with the Yasta monks.

  Cierra was an unlikely candidate. Her own husband had been killed that day on Relisse. If she had been involved with the Yasta, wouldn’t she have saved the man she loved, and her children? On the other hand, the only thing even slightly resembling a family for Cierra now was the Strike Force Retaliation team and of course her brother-in-law, Theo. If the Yasta had gotten to her when she was young—after her father and mother passed away—she would have still been impressionable enough to fall under their influences. Could she have been groomed from a young age to serve the monks? Her gender alone would make her less of a suspect. Female Yasta were rare, but not unheard of.

  Cherish was more augmented human than actual human, at this point. It was unlikely that she was working with their enemies, unless her internal programming had been compromised. If that was the case, though, wouldn’t the monks have stopped her from planting the bomb at the mining station, or at least warned their on-site members? She had taken out as many Yasta monks and novices as any of them, not to mention the Carbonari’s first raid, where she had butchered perhaps hundreds of Yasta. It made little sense for one of their agents to be an angel of death for so many of their soldiers.

  Hubard was so focused on his research that it was hard to imagine him doing anything else in his free time. If his eyes were open, his mind was thinking up new ways to improve the Brotherhood’s weapons and technologies. If he was the double agent, it was doubtful that the Carbonari would have even one lasana blade, let alone the multiple ones he had crafted for them. A real traitor would have simply passed on the information to the Yasta, and let that be the end of it. A blade of that caliber would be too destructive to give to an enemy.

  It was true that Hojae was from the Yasta-controlled planet called Josti, but he had been with the Brotherhood almost as long as Makram had. Not only did he help train new recruits occasionally like he had done with Theo, but Hojae was the one who had tried to intervene when Karl was about to kill Makram back on Relisse. Even at the crash site today, he had saved Hubard and Cierra. Would a true Yasta spy have made that much of an effort to keep so many members of the Strike Force Retaliation team alive? Wouldn’t it have served his purpose better to just let them meet their fates?

  Irane was hardly ever on the field missions with them. He was typically with Hubard and Rix. Since he wasn’t in the field with them, it would be exceptionally difficult for him to know any in depth information about their movements once they had gone into radio silence. Rix fell into the same category. Of all of his team members, Makram felt the most confident that neither of them were part of the leak. They just simply didn’t have access to the kind of information that would have been needed.

  Footsteps drew Makram out of his thoughts. Looking up, he saw Gyrra being escorted by Danthois. The cyborg must have gone down another connecting passageway to collect the surviving member of Naia’s team for the next round of interrogation. Makram recalled what Naia had said about Gyrra when they had first met. She was supposed to be a very capable pilot, despite her age. Seeing her awoke a sudden rage, which Makram had been keeping locked inside of him as best he could up to that point.

  “What the hell happened out there?” The roar of his voice made her look up in fear. “What did you do? Just turn tail and run when the Yasta came? How did you escape when your team was left to burn, huh? That’s pretty suspicious don’t you think? I’d bet good money that you’re the leak.”

  Gyrra’s eyes were red either from exposure to the smoke from the Yasta fire, or from crying. Makram felt a small pang of regret for what he had just said, but he pushed it down. If it had to be someone on his team or someone from Naia’s shelter, he prayed it was the latter. Her voice trembled when she spoke, “We were just fine until your team came along! The rangers didn’t know where we were. We hadn’t even seen any Yasta in our area before your lot showed up! Is this how you repay Naia’s kindness? You just blab about our location and feed us to the wolves? May Batumah curse your seed!”

  It was clear that a fight was imminent. Two cyborg arms reached down and picked up Gyrra as if she were a child’s plaything. Danthois carried her out in front of him until they were well past Makram and the doctor. Once the danger was over, he allowed her to walk on her own again. Makram fought the desire to run after them. The slight pressure of Seneca’s hand on his elbow reminded him of where he had been going before that sudden disruption. His crew needed him. If necessary, he could track down Gyrra later.

  The sickbay doors separated with an automated whoosh. A chime overhead was quickly followed by a del
icate, prerecorded voice stating, “The doctor will see you now.” Seneca let out a heavy sigh. It was clear that he had grown weary of the sickbay announcing his presence every time he showed up. Makram reasoned that the doors must be wired to bio scanners in order to be able to decipher who was who among the staff.

  Ahead of them, open on an operating table, was Cherish. The sight of her opened up like a living computer or a busted watch made his stomach drop. His elbow deep inside of her chest cavity, Hubard was mumbling to himself while grabbing a variety of tools and spare parts. The older man looked up at Seneca and Makram. “She was busted up pretty bad.”

  “Can you fix her?” The words felt like jelly on Makram’s tongue. Part of him had never really considered Cherish as fragile—being what she was, meant there was a certain degree of resilience built into her. The reminder of her semi-mortality shook him.

  “Pshht! Can I fix her? Of course, I can fix her. But, why fix her when I can improve her? That is the real question.” Pride beamed out of Hubard’s face. “Get a load of this!”

  For the first time, Makram noticed that the spare parts were not just any metal. They were all made with Relissarium. The possibility of having not only weapons, but also an augmented human made from the new mineral, opened up all kinds of options. The fact that Hubard was installing extra powerful parts into a member of the Carbonari only solidified Makram’s belief that he was not the leak in the organization.

  “I see the parts did come in useful, then?” Peering over his spectacles, Seneca gazed into Cherish’s insides. The gears and wires were a bit out of his area of expertise. He had some training with robotics, but living anatomy was more his style. He loved the breathing, pumping, bleeding art of it all. Without waiting for an answer from Hubard, he continued rattling off the status on the rest of the crew. “Cierra is just stunned. I expect her to regain consciousness in a few hours. Cherish will need a few hours as well, once you complete her repairs. Even though she’s an augmented human, the human part will need some recovery from the stress of the surgery. Theo’s going to be out for several days, most likely. He seems to have been extremely concussed, before he lost consciousness. Hojae seems to have been the one with the least severe injuries—aside from the two of you of course.” He glanced at Makram and Hubard. There was some reservation whether Hubard should have been allowed to perform such a complex transformation and replacement surgery so soon after such a traumatic incident, but he had passed all of his cognitive exams. Secretly, Seneca thought the only reason Hubard had passed them was because he had been part of the development team for the Brotherhood’s medical testing board. He kept that concern to himself.