The Eurynome Code: The Complete Series: A Space Opera Box Set

by K. Gorman

  Plus, she hadn’t heard from her sister. Or Marc. Just one message from Soo-jin on her netlink to say that everyone was okay.

  Probably, they’d put Nomiki and Jon in a room together and were making them answer questions―as much as anyone could make those two do anything.

  A Centauri officer in a regular uniform―not a cyborg, and with a style slightly different from other non-cyborgs that she’d seen so far―rounded the corner with a floating medical gurney. She turned to Tylanus, who’d been walking behind her.

  “I believe this is your stop,” she said. “Are you okay?”

  He watched the gurney approach with an impassive gaze. Someone had given him a shirt and a pair of pants that fit big on him―meant for cyborgs, she suspected. A few of their escort had done double-takes at his eyes.

  She had to admit, their blackness proved eerie. But less eerie than a Lost’s blackness. Theirs had a dull, impassive quality, whereas his was active and sharp, as if he were merely wearing really good contacts.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’ll manage.”

  “You sure? This is a Centauri ship. They’ll have different scans and procedures.”

  He made a dismissive gesture. “I’ve been in foreign hospitals before.”

  She had to remind herself that he wasn’t stupid, nor ill-traveled. Last she’d seen him, he’d been studying some chem lab experiment in a secondary dimension of his own creation.

  “I only ask because we’re about to hit orbit and I really don’t want to deal with your whatever-it-is-screaming-thing while surrounded by a vacuum.”

  “Ah. I see.” His lips pulled into a grim line. “No, you won’t have to worry about that.”

  He strode forward and had a muttered conversation with the man controlling the gurney, then strode off with him.

  The rest of them turned up a different corridor, walking in a loose group.

  “He’s not what I expected,” Tillerman said.

  “No. He’s grown since I last saw him.” She narrowed her eyes, thinking. “I wonder how much time has passed since then.”

  Time moved differently between some parallel dimensions. While it had been just over a week for her, it had clearly been longer for him. There were new wrinkles and weathering on his face, and he seemed…

  Different.

  Pain can do that to a person, Tia thought, her tone quiet and grim. Pain and fear.

  Karin’s jaws clenched, remembering how Tylanus has screamed in the shuttle.

  That had definitely been both.

  Maybe Sasha is already pulling him apart, she thought.

  If so, there may have been another Shift Event somewhere.

  “We need to call Fallon or the Alliance,” she told Tillerman. “That scream of his on the way over might have been something else.”

  The commander gave her a quick nod as they filed into a lift. “I’ll put it up the priority list.”

  Karin got in beside her and glanced around. Like most things in Centauri ships, practicality overcame design. Instead of touch-sensors, the lift sported a metal panel of buttons which indicated there were five levels to the ship―not the largest she’d seen, given she’d toured a few Fallon vessels, but she doubted this was the largest ship the Tri-Quad had. When she’d first come through the gate on the Manila, there had definitely been a very large warship near the Centauri gate.

  Was that one hers, or did it belong to Finlai Center Core? From what she’d gleaned through her brief exchanges with the former Grand Regent, it felt as though Finlai Center Core had been handling most of the orbital and space-borne defense.

  The lift deposited them directly onto the Artemide’s bridge.

  Her face slackened as she took it in.

  The last major bridge she’d seen had been the Manila’s―massive, darkly colored, with ten rows of crew stations and an entire section of stations devoted to the cruiser’s significant weapons systems.

  The Artemide was different.

  Like the Manila, it had a subsection that dipped down, accessed by two sets of wide stairs that led to the hallways on either side. Below, stations collected in a circular structure, with the majority of the floor space underneath kept clear. The Menassi Tri-Quad’s emblem shone from the brushed pre-fab below, a bird of prey with its head tilted back, a set of arrows clasped in one taloned foot, and a writhing snake clasped in the other.

  Her gaze lingered on the snake, remembering the image of Ophion on the Eurynome Project’s emblem, eating his tail as an ouroboros that encircled the upside-down egg that represented Eurynome.

  It reminds me of the Mexican flag, actually, Tia thought. I believe they had an eagle of some sort clutching a snake. The United States had an eagle clutching arrows on the seal of their president.

  That’s right―you lived there for a time, didn’t you?

  For a time, yes. I was born in Canada, but grew up in America mostly, in Arkansas and Maine.

  Thanks to Tia’s knowledge and memories, she actually knew where those states were now.

  Beyond the tactical pit in the floor, the room turned inward, mimicking Artemide’s outer wedge-shape. What looked like a command and comms station sat near the front, along with a main station sporting a V-shaped bevy of desks and control units and an open floor that sat in front of the bridge’s largest holoscreen.

  The command station, she guessed.

  As they walked around the pit and toward the front, the activity around them paused. Faces turned her way, the attentions of several gazes making her mind and skin prickle with awareness.

  She ignored them, glad for the blood and the armor―Tia was right, it made a statement, at least―and headed for the front.

  Tillerman snapped to attention inside the command square and turned to the man in the largest chair.

  “Grand Regent presiding,” Tillerman said, her voice sharp. “Captain Arnelli, hand over the helm.”

  “Handing over. Grand Regent presiding.” The man―Arnelli―stood from the seat and gave her a short bow as he stepped aside.

  “Thank you, Captain.” Tillerman snapped a bow to her. “Regent, the helm is yours.”

  It was then, when her mind scrambled for the appropriate response and instead came up with a dearth of military lingo, that she realized just how out of her depth she was.

  But she had a fleet, and a command that she now couldn’t pass on until death.

  “Thank you, Commander,” she said smoothly, vowing to make that talk she had planned with Tillerman a priority. “Please, open a call to the Fallon Empire.”

  “Which ship?”

  She thought for a moment.

  “Manila. Ramesh seems reasonable.”

  The windows on the screen spread apart, and a comms tone rang, lighter and less obtrusive than she was used to. After a few moments, they caught the brief sight of the Fallon Empire’s emblem in the middle of the screen before the call was routed to Ramesh in the command square.

  “Grand Regent Makos, to what do I owe the honor?”

  “Hello, General. Project Tartarus had a fit on the way over that has led me to suspect it may be something more,” she said. “Given the circumstances and the nature of his powers, I will be devoting a few sensors to check for Shift Events on the planet. I would also like to schedule another call in two hours. I believe we can all get on the same footing, or at least make it a little more even and a lot less tense.”

  Bravo, Tia said. That sounded like you know what you’re doing.

  It’s amazing what fifteen seasons of Moon Sailor will do. They did include command lingo as part of my flight and navigation training. Never thought I’d be using it.

  “Thank you for the information. Though we would appreciate a shared data plan, we will also do our own scans. Our data would be much better served if you would return Tylanus into our custody. I have a transport waiting to retrieve him.”

  Hah.

  “I’m afraid he is busy in the Medical bay and will be remaining in our custody as long as
he wishes. We can discuss more at a later time. How is my sister?”

  “Healthy and violent, as usual. Last I checked, she was not happy with you.”

  “So few people are, these days,” she drawled.

  A second comms tone sounded, and she glanced at Tillerman.

  “Finlai Center Core,” she said. “You’ll want to take this.”

  She nodded and turned back to Ramesh. “Thank you, General, I have another call. I will speak with you later.”

  “Thank you for the information, Grand Regent.”

  The call ended, and the windows and charts on the screen scrunched back in.

  “Finlai Center Core?”

  “Grand Regent Lora Nolen on the Aquila.”

  “What’s the history? Are we allied?”

  “They were allied with former Grand Regent Leisler,” Tillerman informed her. “They are not allied with you.”

  Ah. Tread carefully, then.

  She nodded to the screen. “Put her on.”

  The comms screen appeared again, this time with a woman’s face and a teal-painted command station behind her.

  “You must be the new Grand Regent,” the woman said.

  No time for pleasantries, apparently.

  “Indeed.”

  Grand Regent Lora Nolen said nothing for a moment, though her expression visibly twisted toward a sneer as she gave Karin a look-over, her eyes cold. Half of her temple was cyberized, sporting a piece of smooth metal that matched another piece on her jawline. A subdermal implant on her other temple flickered.

  That, she thought, was a comms unit. Likely sending or receiving a message. The cyborg she’d fought in Macedonia had used a subvocalization implant to communicate, too.

  “You don’t look like a Grand,” the woman said after an ugly pause.

  “No, I suppose my bodily modification took on a more organic theme than you’re used to,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

  Nolen’s eyes narrowed. Her gaze flickered over Karin again. Trying to see the modifications?

  “Well, you could die,” she said. “I suppose that’s the only way to get Tri-Quad control back into Centauri hands.”

  Well, at least she was speaking to her in System rather than the Italian patois the Centauri appeared to use as their own standard.

  Karin laughed. “Really? We’ve just met, and you’re already bringing up the death threats?”

  “You can’t even speak our language,” Nolen spat, her mouth twisting. “You are no fit leader.”

  “Then perhaps you’d better work on your electoral system,” she suggested. “Suns, is everyone as xenophobic as you, or are you just looking for an excuse?”

  “Centauri Prime will not have you. You’re not fit. I will just be expediting the process.”

  “Right, well, if all you’re going to do is bandy about threats, I’ll tell you right now they are useless―I had my sense of fear stripped during my last bout of modification. So let’s skip it and get down to business. I have two assets on board that are invaluable to figuring out the source of the Shadow attacks and defeating it.” Technically a white lie―she was an asset, and so was Tia, which would make them and Tylanus three assets, but she didn’t think Nolen would care. “If you’d like to chat later, once I’ve sorted them, I am happy to share information. Whatever agreement you had with Leisler, I’m sure we can come to a similar one.”

  As she spoke, the woman’s face had set in a hard, ugly grimness, a cold anger reflecting in her narrowed eyes and tightened jaw muscles.

  “You are not a fit leader for a Centauri nation, leastwise the Tri-Quad. If you can’t find the effort to speak with me now, then you will hear from me later. Good day.”

  With that, the screen went blank.

  Well, that could have gone better.

  She turned to Tillerman. “So, what are the chances that she attacks us in the next five minutes?”

  “She won’t,” the commander replied. “She doesn’t know you. Not yet.”

  “Ah. How much have you told her about me?”

  “Me? Nothing. We don’t talk about our Grand Regent. I don’t doubt, however, that there are inter-ship rumors. We were allied before a week ago, and there were a lot of connections and friendships between our two nations’ soldiers.” Tillerman looked over at her. “Unless your other, former parties shared information, then she will only have rumor, and the video of former Grand Regent Leisler’s death.”

  Other parties?

  Ah.

  A laugh burst out of her. “Well, I guess that cat’s out of the bag. Both Fallon and the Alliance are very sharey with my information. I’d encouraged it, too, thinking that a transparent method would win more people to our side―after all, what psychotic moron wouldn’t want to fight against our three systems’ specific extinction event?” She shook her head again and let out a sigh. “She’s going to be a problem, isn’t she?”

  Tillerman nodded. “Possibly. You should know that she was sleeping with the former Grand Regent. I believe it helped broker our Alliance.”

  Oh, great. And she’d likely analyzed the shit out of the video where Karin mercilessly cut down her former lover. While naked.

  Yeah, Nolen was going to be a problem.

  “Sol’s fucking child. I just want to figure out this Shadow shit and stop it. I suppose that is too much to ask.” She shook her head and glanced to the screen. “Well―”

  “She’s right,” said a thickly accented voice. “You are not fit to lead us.”

  A man had stood up from the comms station to the left, his cybernetic hand clenched in a fist. A hard, angry expression had transformed his mouth into a twisted line, his eyes bright and cold as he fixed her with a glare.

  Beside her, Tillerman shifted. “Lieutenant Bourbeau, do you have a challenge to offer our Grand Regent?”

  “Yes,” Bourbeau said, lifting his chin. “One that you should be offering, traitor. How can you stand there and let this monster take the Grand Regent’s command?”

  Given that he was speaking in a heavily accented System and not Centauri, she guessed that he wanted her, specifically, to hear what he had to say.

  He also referred to the old Grand Regent and did not call you by title, which implies that he does not consider you the new Regent.

  Like I’ve said, if they have a problem with my taking control, they should have a serious introspection on their elections system―or lack thereof.

  Actually, I think they have elections and rank promotion similar to Fallon, just not for the Regent position.

  Tillerman lifted an eyebrow at Bourbeau.

  “Well, I prefer my skin intact, for one. The rest are personal reasons.” She made a gesture and bowed out. “Come on, then, you might as well step in.”

  He took his headset off with a flourish and threw it down and stalked around the console. The cybernetics under his skin shifted, and Tia tagged them as he approached.

  Muscular enhancement, subdermal armor, likely a reflex booster and a medical augment, the usual comms link in his head―

  Are we in trouble? she asked.

  Tia’s laugh was a short, savage bark across her mind. Suns, no. We’re going to rip his throat out in a second flat.

  Already, her vision had sharpened, and her mind collected down. Her gaze darted across him, reading him. Power fluctuated through her nerves, but she ignored the call of the dimensional boundary, instead focusing on the strength and precision in her musculature and the newly developed combat skills Tia had programmed into her brain and body.

  All those back-to-back missions with Fallon had been useful for solidifying her combat reflexes.

  Bourbeau stopped several paces in front of her. The circle around them had cleared. Tillerman, she noticed, had only moved a meter back.

  She lifted an eyebrow toward Bourbeau. “So, are you going to kill me, or will I die of boredom instead?”

  Anger crumpled his face. He yelled something in Centauri―it sounded impressive and passi
onate―and charged.

  She caught the punch he threw, shattered the hand that drew a knife against the nearest station’s frame, stabbed the blade into his throat, and cut down deep.

  He screamed. Blood splattered on her face and neck. Warmth gushed over her hands.

  “Bourbeau, challenge failed,” Captain Arnelli announced. “All hail Grant Regent Karin Makos of the Menassi Tri-Quad Alliance!”

  Behind her, every occupant of the room echoed the call.

  Then, silence fell again.

  Christ, she thought. I sound like a cult leader.

  She let Bourbeau drop to bleed out on the floor and turned back to the command station.

  Tillerman shrugged. “He was also sleeping with Leisler.”

  I’m sensing a common theme, Tia commented.

  She sighed and looked down at the fresh blood that painted her face and armor. The same cyborg from earlier―Malouf―offered her the same wet, slightly bloody cloth.

  She took it, flipped it to the cleaner side, and wiped most of the blood off. “Can we replace his station?”

  “Yes. I’m sure there’s someone who would like a promotion.” Tillerman tilted her head, taking in her newly-blood splattered form. Already, a medic had appeared next to Bourbeau’s body and was checking for life signs. Judging by the mess she’d made of his throat and how fast he’d exsanguinated, he was likely already halfway to brain death.

  Unless they have some magical way of putting his brain into stasis, he’ll be dead in two minutes.

  I thought it took five minutes for brain death, she replied.

  Yes, it normally would. But not with that blood loss.

  Gods.

  “Why don’t you head to your room and clean up,” Tillerman suggested. “We can handle things here.” She nodded to the cyborg. “Specialist Malouf can show you to your quarters.”

  “Yes. Unless anyone else wants a go?” She turned to face the rest of the room, her gaze darting to meet a number of stares. “No one? Great. If anyone has any questions or problems, keep them for tomorrow. Let’s all try not to die today.”

  She nodded to Malouf and followed him to the nearest door.