Isolation (Forgotten Vengeance Book 2)

by M. R. Forbes

  “Yes.”

  “And you’re helping us?”

  “Yes. Hahahaha. Haha.”

  “I thought your skin was out of power, Card?” Nathan said.

  “I borrowed some from the dropship. It was a risk, but I had to take it.” Caleb’s head continued to face Max. “I thought this mess was complicated before. I guess there are more wrinkles than I realized.”

  “Wrinkles?” Nathan asked.

  “It’s a long story. I prefer Sheriff Duke awake to hear it before I tell it.”

  “Understood.” Nathan banged on the side of the tank. “Hicks, take us home.”

  28

  Aeron

  General Aeron Haeri walked quickly up the six steps leading into the entrance to his apartment in the posh A-District of Praeton’s Dome One. It was the wealthiest area on the planet, inhabited by the most influential people on Proxima. While the Government District in the starship Dove was the seat of the Proxima Civilian Council, here was where money and power—both legally and not quite legally acquired—intersected. It was where all of the real deals and decisions were made, both in back alley whispers and in the fancy eateries, vicehouses and clubs.

  His apartment wasn’t in the fanciest of the blocks. That one was three strands down and featured personal valets for every resident. He had to settle for a doorman and a shared concierge, though the man rushed over to him the minute he spotted Aeron entering.

  “General Haeri,” the concierge said. “Welcome home.”

  “Hobart,” Aeron said. “How’s your wife?”

  “She’s great, General,” Hobart replied, walking with Aeron to the lift.

  “Kids are good?”

  “Yes, sir. Shanni has a dance recital tonight. We’re all excited for her.”

  “Make sure to tell her to break a leg for me.”

  “Of course, General.”

  Aeron didn’t break stride as he made small talk with the concierge. He was known for his kindness to the help, but it wasn’t all out of the goodness of his heart. The help often knew things other people didn’t, and he was a master at extracting information.

  “Has anyone asked for me today?”

  “No, General.”

  “No one has gone up to my apartment?”

  If a Judicus had beaten him home, it meant two things. One, they would threaten the staff to keep quiet about their presence. Two, they knew what had happened too quickly for it to have gone through the proper channels, which meant they were in on the assassination. It had taken nearly an hour for him to file the proper report, make a statement to Law Enforcement, and get the hell out of the Government District. He was too known a quantity for anyone to question anything he said, so there was no trouble with that. But the Council meeting had been canceled, and the media was last seen swarming the area in search of the story. He had barely cleared the curb of the Council building before the crews had come running up, forced to make the trip from outside the area through public channels—which meant mostly on foot.

  He thought maybe someone would have come to interview him, eager to hear his side of the assassination story. But he knew too well how these things worked on Proxima. The media would get fifty percent accurate information. They would push for more, but it was more symbolic than anything. The Council and the military were accustomed to withholding information, to the extent that they kept more intel classified than remotely necessary. Starting with the whitewashing of the truth behind the generation ships’ arrivals on the planet, the powers-that-be had become habituated to manipulation and distraction in the name of public safety.

  “No, General,” Hobart said. “It’s been a regular day out here. I heard there was some trouble in G-dict?”

  “That’s an understatement. Chair LaMont was assassinated.”

  Hobart’s face paled. “What?”

  “A Judicus murdered him. It’ll be on the news soon enough if it isn’t already.”

  “The whole planet’s going to be in chaos.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far. Co-chair Kurio has already assumed responsibilities, though all Council sessions were canceled today. That’s why I’m home early.”

  Hobart smiled. “It is early for you, General.” They reached the lifts, and Aeron swiped his wrist over the pad to call an express.

  “I have some paperwork to pick up before I head to the base,” Aeron replied. “I’ll be out again in ten minutes or so. You don’t need to follow me when I come back. I don’t need anything.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hobart said, smiling widely.

  Aeron held up his wrist. The other man did the same. A quick motion sent a tip from Aeron’s account to the concierge. The lift door opened and Aeron stepped in.

  “Thank you, General,” Hobart said.

  “Good day, Hobart.”

  The lift door closed. The cab started to ascend. Aeron withdrew his Oracle from his coat pocket and slipped it on, activating the display. He used it to request a link to a comm terminal in an apartment in Dome Nine. He disconnected at the moment it connected, well before the feed was open and before it could be logged. He just needed to know the line was still active.

  He repeated the process three more times, all with the same results. The Organization was still intact. That was good. Love’s efforts to take him out of the game hadn’t progressed too far yet, which meant he had a little more time.

  Time to do what?

  The Organization was compromised. He understood that much. Relyeh operatives were active on Proxima, and while their objectives were still a little fuzzy to him, he guessed their primary desire was to keep anyone from putting up any sort of fight against the incoming warship. But that didn’t make sense. Nothing the Centurions possessed could stop the vessel. It was moving way too fast for them to target. Hell, it was moving so fast it would be little more than a blink across the sky, long gone by the time any light emanating from it even reached Proxima B.

  So why stop him from telling the Council about the incoming invasion of Earth? Why prevent him from revealing the truth of things? How was keeping things secret going to help their cause?

  The Hunger needed fear to survive. Exposing their existence to the population would fill that need. Only they weren’t prepared for that fear yet. It would only serve the Relyeh already on the planet, and Aeron doubted there could be too many of them here yet. It would be like putting a steak out for dinner three hours before the restaurant opened, leaving it cold and slightly spoiled for the diner. Edible, but not the least bit satisfying.

  It was a reason, but Aeron couldn’t believe it was the only one. Someone had gone to great lengths to kill Isaac Pine before Aeron could get him back to Earth. Someone had tried very hard to thwart the Organization’s efforts. Did the enemy even know what the purpose of the effort was, or were they simply trying to blockade whatever moves the Organization made, assuming they ran counter to their objectives?

  It didn’t matter either way. Someone was acting against the Organization, and thanks to Judicus Love he had a better general idea of who.

  But not specifically who. The khoron would have a puppet master pulling their strings. Someone sending them orders. But those orders didn’t need to come from the planet. They could originate in Relyeh home space for all he knew. The Collective made instant communication across infinite distances possible. But he still had a feeling there was a ringleader on Proxima. Someone orchestrating the movements and watching more directly. Keeping Aeron from acting would take a more personal touch.

  First things first. He had sent Kirin and the boys packing, on a shuttle to the spaceport where they would take a transport to the Ring Station—a Trust-run resort sitting in the middle of a gaseous nebula—the closest thing they had to an ocean view. The kids could play in the Nexus while his wife got a massage or three.

  The cab doors opened, the lift taking Aeron directly to his apartment, which occupied half of the eighteenth floor of the forty-story block. The smell of death hit him like a piston to
the chest. He immediately grabbed the microspear from his coat pocket as his heart began to race.

  29

  Aeron

  Hobart was wrong. Someone had gone up to his apartment.

  Aeron entered cautiously, moving away from the lift and through the foyer toward the living room. He pressed himself against the side of the door frame, pausing a moment. The lift doors closed and the cab started to descend.

  Aeron removed his Oracle, slipping it back into his pocket. He didn’t need it blocking any of his field of vision. Then he crouched low, tilting his head to see around the corner. The first thing he noticed was that his couch was out of place, slid sideways as though it had been pushed.

  Then he saw her body.

  For a heartbeat, he thought it was his wife, Kirin. He saw black heels leading to stockings and black panties beneath a dark dress that had hiked up during the conflict, which merged with a light-blue blouse and a partial view of a head of light brown hair wrapped into a long ponytail. The neutral-toned carpet around the body was stained with blood.

  But Kirin didn’t have long hair, and he didn’t spot the dark blotch of a birthmark on the woman’s ankle. He was relieved to see it wasn’t his wife, but not by much. He recognized her now. Lin, his assistant with the Trust. Why was she here? Who had killed her?

  And were they still here?

  The blood was fresh, and he was willing to bet the body was still warm. But if the killer was present, they didn’t know he had arrived. If they did, they would have been right outside the lift, waiting to jump him before he could react.

  He decided whoever was responsible was still in the apartment.

  His grip on the microspear tightened. He hadn’t lied to Hobart. He had come back to grab something from his safe. Something he would need in the days to come. The Organization had been preparing for this circumstance for a long time, and he needed to put their plans into motion.

  He could have kicked himself for not doing it sooner, but he had wrongly believed the Relyeh were light-years away and focused on Earth. He had wrongly believed they didn’t even know where the second human settlement was. He was fairly certain that had been true as recently as a few months ago.

  What had changed?

  And how the hell had they gotten here without him knowing it?

  It was a breach. A horrible breach. He needed to find the source and shut it down. But he also needed to be ready for the worst. If one khoron could get to Proxima, then an infinite number of Relyeh could get here, one way or another. But it was no coincidence they had revealed themselves now. They were trying to stop the Organization before the Organization could stop them.

  But stop them from what?

  They were here, but their warship was headed for Earth, and they couldn’t possibly prevent it from reaching humankind’s homeworld. Aeron had done the best he could by sending Isaac and Rico to warn Sheriff Duke.

  Unless…

  There was one outcome he hadn’t considered, and thinking about it now sent a vein of fear running through his spine. His entire body shivered. Aeron had experience working among the most powerful people on the planet. Not only politicians but also ruthless businessmen and syndicate bosses. People who could have him killed on a whim. He didn’t scare easily.

  But he was unnerved right now.

  He needed to grab the files from the safe and get to the Organization safehouse, and he needed to do it fast.

  Aeron moved from the foyer to the living room, clutching the microspear and wishing he had a gun to go with it. Of course there was one in the safe. He had only taken two steps when a figure emerged from the kitchen to the front and left of his position, on the other side of the room.

  “Kirin?” he said, surprised and even more fearful to see his wife there. She was wearing workout clothes—a sports bra and fitted pants—revealing a body that was fitter than he remembered. The bra had blood sprayed across it, and she had a long knife in her hand. “Where are the boys? What happened here?”

  “The boys,” Kirin said, smiling. “They’re safe. Maybe. I guess that depends.”

  Aeron came to a stop at Lin’s feet, eyes glued to his wife. He already knew what had happened here. “How long?” he asked.

  “Twenty-six days,” she replied. “ Perhaps if you’d just trusted her with your secrets— ”

  “I kept everything from her for her protection,” Aeron said. “Her security.”

  “Does she seem safe to you right now?” the khoron asked, holding the knife to Kirin’s neck.

  “Don’t,” Aeron said. “Tell me what it is you want.”

  “I’m getting some of it right now. Your fear is delicious, and I hunger.”

  “Glad I can help,” Aeron growled. “Are my boys still alive?”

  “They are. You can keep them that way. You can help them all. We only know about the safe because your wife knew. We want to know what’s in it.”

  “I bet you do.”

  “You’re going to show me.”

  Aeron slowly crouched beside Lin, noticing her clutch abandoned near her hip. “Why did you kill her?”

  “She was here, and I enjoyed it.”

  Then the question became, why was she here? The khoron wouldn’t know. Did it have anything to do with Chair LaMont?

  “The safe,” the khoron reminded him. “If you want your wife and children to survive, you’re going to open it for me, and give me the contents.”

  “How do I know I can trust you? You aren’t even human.”

  He reached for the clutch, his hand hidden from the khoron’s line of sight by the sofa.

  “Which makes me more trustworthy. Relyeh do not make promises and fail to keep them. That’s why I didn’t offer your survival.”

  “I give you what you want and you kill me? That’s a little ungrateful, don’t you think?”

  He grabbed the clutch.

  “There’s another option. You could join us.”

  “No.”

  He unclasped the button as he said it, disguising the sound with the movement of his foot. He reached into the purse.

  The khoron smiled. Kirin smiled. It bothered Aeron to see her under the Relyeh’s control. “I didn’t think you would agree to that.” She put the knife against her neck again, pressing just enough to draw a line of blood. “The safe. Retrieve the contents and bring them to me. I’ll wait.”

  “Right,” Aeron said, the grip of the pistol comfortable in his hand. Souls forgive him for what he was about to do.

  The Organization wasn’t a fraternity or a club. It wasn’t something entered into lightly. It was an assertive action that demanded loyalty and assured potential consequences with fewer potential benefits. He had become part of the Organization before he was married, knowing at that time that there were no guarantees. The possibility existed where he could lose everything he cared about in an instant. The Organization demanded itself ahead of love or family. It was part of the oath.

  “I’m sorry, Kay,” he whispered, rising to his feet and pointing the pistol at his wife. “I’m not for sale. Not for any price.”

  The khoron seemed confused. “Not for your wife? Or your children?”

  Aeron squeezed the trigger, planting a single round in Kirin’s forehead. She toppled to the ground, her brain dead, her body still alive.

  “Not for anything,” he replied.

  He walked over to her, expression flat. He was a warrior first, a husband and father second. He knelt beside her, turning her over.

  Through her shirt he could see the flesh on her back moving, the khoron seeking to escape the useless husk of the human being it had appropriated. No doubt it had told its superior what Aeron had done. The decision he had made. No doubt that superior was murdering his children somewhere on the planet at this very moment. But he had already separated himself from the emotional reaction. He didn’t question whether or not he had done the right thing. The coming of the Relyeh warship was bigger than his family. It was a threat to every huma
n on Proxima and beyond.

  And he had taken an oath.

  Kirin’s skin broke, the small, dark worm slipping its head out. It swiveled toward him, seeing him through dozens of eyes and letting out a high-pitched shriek. Aeron smiled, showing it the microspear. It screamed again in reply.

  It was afraid.

  Good.

  He jabbed the microspear into it, watching the spear expand into the creature, spreading out into a dozen tendrils that tore the worm apart.

  Aeron watched the process in grim satisfaction. If he was cold, it was because he had to be cold. He turned away from his dead wife, face set in determination as he headed for the safe.

  30

  Aeron

  The safe was hidden in Aeron’s office, behind a portrait he had commissioned of himself and his family, hand-painted based on a three-dimensional model that rested on the top corner of his bookshelf.

  Very few people on Proxima had bookshelves. There weren’t many books on the planet. But Aeron had been collecting them for years, bringing them back with him after his visits to Earth, or trading with Centurions who had unsuccessfully tried to smuggle them in to sell on the black market. They always got caught because if he were in their position, he would have done the same thing.

  The painting was on the floor, tossed carelessly aside, the canvas torn almost in half. It seemed appropriate now. He hoped someone would one day be able to appreciate the sacrifice he had made, though few would ever know anything at all. The Organization had worked in the shadows for almost three centuries. That wasn’t going to change now.

  Or was it?

  It all depended on how he managed the next three hours of his life.

  Nothing could save Kirin or the boys. The planet? Humankind? Part of that responsibility fell to him. Perhaps more than he had realized and definitely more than he wanted. The rest fell on Rico, Isaac and Sheriff Duke. And maybe Nathan Stacker. He wouldn’t be surprised if the former fugitive got involved. Aeron allowed himself a slight smirk at that. Nathan thought Aeron had fallen for the ruse and believed he was a cloned twin to James. Not quite. The other Stacker had matched his brother’s look, but it wasn’t possible to match his demeanor.