by L. E. Horn
Lianndra crouched over Sean, who moaned and drifted in and out of consciousness since he’d lost a lot of blood. She stopped the bleeding in the deep chest wound and worked on growing the flesh together.
Drake remained silent, sitting on his tree root. The hair rose on the back of Lianndra’s neck. As soon as she stabilized her patient, she looked into Hannah’s concerned eyes, and took a deep breath before plunging in. “Don’t tell them anything,” she said to Drake. An inner instinct spurred her on. “Don’t report. They don’t know about survivors.” Lianndra didn’t look directly at the captain but sensed the intensity of his stare.
“We can’t leave our patrol zone without the collars killing us. Any Fang we come across can off us with a single thought.” Drake’s voice remained quiet, as though there were Fang around to hear them.
“No, they can’t.” Hannah sat back from the other surviving soldier, Nate, who lay unconscious before her. “Not anymore.”
Lianndra eyed the captain. He leaned forward, staring at Hannah. The blood on his face enhanced his piercing dark eyes, making him look fierce and unreadable.
Lianndra acted on Hannah’s cue, saying, “We disabled the kill nodes on your collar weeks ago when we healed your injured arm. We can do the same for the pain and the communication nodes. We have left the containment and locator nodes active but we can also disable those.”
A long silence followed her revelation. He hadn’t moved, or even blinked. Apparently, he hadn’t breathed either, because when he spoke it was more of an exhalation than real words. “And how long have you been able to do this?”
“Since we started healing.” Hannah’s voice trembled.
Lianndra knew they were taking a huge risk. If Drake refused to go along with this, he could report them to the closest Fang commander via his collar comm before either Healer did anything about it.
“You are saying you can free us,” Drake said.
“Yes.” Lianndra turned back to Sean, giving Drake time to assimilate this news. She hoped the gesture would show they trusted him to make the right decision. Lianndra subtly shifted her weight to balance over her heels. If Drake sided with the Fang, she would act to defend herself and Hannah.
Could I kill him if I had to? One touch—stop his heart, kill him painlessly. I don’t want to, but the alternative is worse. Although Lianndra’s hands healed the wound on Sean’s chest, she remained focused on Drake, waiting for his decision.
“You can disable every collar? Is this what you have been doing all along?” Drake asked.
I knew he would put it together. He’s too smart not to. Lianndra gave up the ruse, rising to watch him.
Hannah stopped healing and stared openly at Drake.
“It could turn the tide of this bloody war.” Drake clasped his hands, and Lianndra noticed how white his knuckles were. Suddenly, he started shaking and Lianndra heard him laughing. “Right under my nose the entire time. Who the hell controlled whom?”
Hannah walked to his side, laying a hand on his arm. “It’s not that I didn’t trust you. We couldn’t tell anybody. What we are doing is vital to the rebellion.”
“Rebellion.” He said it as a statement, not a question, and shook his head. “There’s a rebellion.” He looked at Hannah, his mouth still quirking, his eyes intense, and his brows doing a dance as if undecided where they should come to rest.
Lianndra stared at her friend’s body language as Hannah stood next to him. Body language that seemed well received. And reciprocated. How did I not see this? Her mind flicked back in time at snapshots of Drake. When he spoke to them, he always hovered nearer to Hannah. All the times Hannah left me in the night when she thought I was asleep. Their guilty expressions when I came upon them talking alone. With her attention now drawn to it, she saw the bond. It gave her a small taste of what Drake experienced—being blindsided by the obvious.
Lianndra relaxed. She now knew what side of the fence Drake would choose.
When she looked at Sean, his clear blue eyes stared up at her. “In case anyone cares, I vote yes.” He grimaced. “I’d appreciate it if you’d finish healing me so I can celebrate.”
“Let’s get these blokes on their feet,” Drake said. “We’ve got to put some serious miles between this camp and ourselves before we can rest again.”
Then we can decide our next move, Lianndra thought.
LIANNDRA AND HANNAH SCOURED THE jungle for survivors—their last task before they hightailed it out of the area. If any Farr escaped the Gryphon attack, the humans would have to live as hunted fugitives. If no Fang survived to report in, the humans might be considered lost in the battle, enabling them to move freely.
In the end, only one person remained unaccounted for—Jake, the man who Lianndra altered.
Drake cursed when they couldn’t find him. “He likely bolted at the first opportunity,” he growled in an unusual display of emotion. Nodding at Lianndra, he said, “I should have killed the bastard when he attacked you.”
“We can only hope they don’t believe what he tells them—if he survives to make it back to the barracks,” Hannah said. “Chances are good he didn’t stick around long enough to know we survived.”
“We didn’t disable his pain nodes. They’ll have him screaming in interrogation,” Lianndra said. “Unless they try to terminate him, they won’t realize there is anything wrong with his collar.”
Drake looked preoccupied as he shifted his backpack. He carried an extra load until the other two soldiers were up to strength. To help, the Healers also carried packs through the trees. The men may be healed, but they remained weakened from blood loss.
“Where to now, boss?” Sean asked. His pale-blond hair and blue eyes made him stand out starkly against the surrounding dark foliage. Drake always had to remind him to rub dirt on his skin, in order to better camouflage in the leafy jungle.
Drake didn’t hesitate. He gestured to the Healers. “Go find us a unit. We will disable every collar between here and the front line.”
The human rebellion has begun, Lianndra thought as she swung into the trees.
FROM OUTSIDE, THE STRATEGIC HEADQUARTERS for the Tarin war appeared unremarkable. Over time, the interior had become a maze of technology along with the inherent supporting wires and conduit. Various colors of waterproofing materials wrapped anything electronic, adding a hint of additional chaos.
The length and success of any war can be gauged by the amount of compensatory infrastructure present in its headquarters, Tark’tosk thought in disgust as she surveyed the office.
As the war coordinator for the new initiative of battle strategy, Tark’tosk provided the link between the Fara elders on the Tlok’mk Motherships and the front lines of the Gryphon war. Although the elders set the protocols, it fell to Tark’tosk to make the general decisions determining the war’s fate.
Her position set new precedents for the Tlok’mk. The Fara had never involved themselves in battle strategy—until now. Such things had always been the exclusive domain of the Farr, many of which resented her intrusion on their traditional turf.
Right now, Tark’tosk could do without that particular precedent. Although her tall figure radiated confidence, she remained plagued by frustration. If only I had run this war from the beginning. I spend too much time correcting previous errors and enforcing discipline. Progress has been far too slow.
Tark’tosk sighed, staring out her office window at the damp jungle. Despite her title, she didn’t have a hover chair but rather a utilitarian and uncomfortable rotation seat. The next time I am in Jrk’sak’s office I will examine his chair. If his is more comfortable, there will be consequences.
The message on the single datachrys sitting on her desk should be of minor concern. Instead, it disturbed her. A large part of her job involved filtering incoming information to determine its importance and fold it into a progression plan for each facet of the war. The sheer volume of information often overwhelmed her, even with the filtration and simulation progr
ams available to screen it. Tark’tosk had trained her staff to circumnavigate some procedures since she preferred to see the incoming data as raw as possible.
Several technicians helped with the process. The information came to the techs from the Central Intelligence Processor. Once the war coordinator assimilated the important data, she passed anything pertinent, as well as changes in the battle strategy, to her second in command, Jrk’sak. He implemented the changes.
With most wireless technology hampered by the planetary shield, she requested her techs save messages as hard copies on datachrys before passing them on to her. A cumbersome process, but effective. The techs screened out low priority items such as the frequent messages from Farr commanders who whined about lack of resources or inadequate luxuries at the front.
Such time wastage clarified that the war had eliminated many of the best Farr. Due to the shortage of quality Farr, many substandard specimens led slave units. In better times, these males would have been lucky to make it off the Motherships, or they would have been used as frontline soldiers where the attrition rates were high.
There just weren’t enough Farr to go around. Although reinforcements arrived daily, most consisted of Farr sent to the Motherships for down time to recharge, but they came back to the war too soon. Unrested Farr made trouble even among themselves because without recreation, their brawn overcame their brains. Tark’tosk saw the results or—lack of them—on a continual basis.
This latest message stood out for Tark’tosk. In her experience, unusual things could be an early sign of something going wrong. The trick was to decide which ones represented trouble, and which did not.
I am so tired. Tark’tosk scratched at her arm. It has been too long since my last crystal scrub. Sections of her scaly skin were ready for shedding and the itching provided a constant distraction.
She pivoted back to her desk, covered in multiple datachrys separated into four piles. Each held information screened by her trusted techs. She had deemed the large heap inconsequential and due for deletion. One pile featured the new, as yet unreviewed, datachrys. A small stack represented those requiring action. A single datachrys rested in the critical pile; it only qualified for that action due to its oddness.
Tark’tosk tapped a long finger on her desk console, accessing the information. One altered slave. He apparently tried to molest a Healer and paid a heavy price, although the slave survived the experience.
Tark’tosk took pride in the fact the Healers lived up to their promise, but this Healer should not have been able to do what she had done. Healing injuries, yes, but removing and restructuring tissues, such as this slave apparently experienced, should have been beyond the Healer’s abilities. In fact, Tark’tosk did not know of any such talent. Tark’tosk debated whether the male human could be lying. In theory, the slave could have injured those body parts in a battle or accident.
She sighed. Why is this bothering me so much? Slaves will say anything to stop the interrogation. The entire story is suspect.
Her unease likely revolved around her personal stake in the Healer’s development. She had instigated the rapid mutation of the Tier-5 human females into Healers. The FHR divisions had been tremendously successful and performed well beyond her expectations. This was the first sign something could be amiss.
But did the Healer alter him at all? Only careful interrogation would discover the truth.
Interrogation required patience and intelligence. The indiscriminate use of pain during questioning caused slaves to spin all kinds of creative tales. The Fang commander who found the altered slave wandering alone in the jungle lacked finesse. His methods tended to be crude, and he wasn’t the type to make the appropriate intellectual connections with the information.
Should I use valuable resources to have the slave brought in to headquarters for proper interrogation and examination? Tark’tosk ground her teeth in anger. Her resources dwindled daily. One of her commando teams recently failed a major initiative to capture a Gryphon strategist. She’d lost an entire unit of her best commandos, as well as the prisoner.
This altered slave claimed to be present for the failure but possessed little useful information. A Gryphon attack. All dead. Tark’tosk suspected the man fled at the first sign of trouble, when his controller failed to use his collar to hold him to his responsibility.
The investigating Fang commander reported that besides the escaped slave, they found the commandos dead, but the remaining humans and Healers of the FHR unit had vanished. At least, they did not find their bodies.
Humans are so soft, she thought. The jungle was full of creatures capable of making short work of a human body, whereas the tough, scaly Farr bodies would have remained in evidence longer. No response from the collars indicated the human bodies were likely in the belly of some large jungle beast. I hope they give the scavengers indigestion.
The mission’s failure hurt their initiative more than she liked to admit. Any war relied on good information to succeed, and it was in short supply. It remained a perilous task to capture Gryphon, and those successfully captured proved resilient under questioning and willing to die for their cause. Few Farr could interrogate them with any kind of skill and that only compounded the problem. It meant they must send the handful of captured Gryphon to the nearest Mothership. Where they die without revealing any secrets.
Tark’tosk scratched her head as she regarded the datachrys. Even if the Healer destroyed the man’s reproductive organs, she must have died with the unit. The FHR divisions had been an unqualified success so far, keeping the fighting units up and running against difficult odds. She refused to pull them out of the jungle for examination based on what one expired Healer might have done. Especially not on the word of a human slave.
By all appearances, the Tlok’mk should have abandoned this war long ago. Her people remained crippled by the lack of useable technology due to the planetary shield and the enemy’s surprising intelligence. Tark’tosk knew the real reason for its continuance. Along with key figures within the political structure, she agreed that such a potential prize was worth any price.
With a slight pang of unease, Tark’tosk dropped the datachrys onto the deletion pile.
Chapter Thirteen
LIANNDRA CROUCHED DEEP IN the undergrowth at the clearing’s edge. Somewhere on the other side, Hannah mirrored her movements. The Fang commander’s tent stood in the center next to a fire. The slaves, both human and alien, scattered throughout the clearing. Many preferred to throw their bedrolls in the foliage at the edges to achieve some degree of privacy. This provided the Healers with a dangerous opportunity—as the camp inhabitants descended into their sleep cycle, the Healers could approach those most hidden. The lightest of touches pushed the soldiers into a deeper sleep for the few moments of contact the Healers needed to disable their collars.
They were off program now, so Lianndra no longer heard the interactive Fara guide in her ear. She assumed her collar’s rebel avatar had become confused by the lack of structure defining their days. To further the rebellion’s cause, the Healers now fully disabled the collar’s nodes. Drake told them he wanted the slaves aware of their freedom as soon as the pain impulse failed. With the war going so poorly for the Fang, he felt it would take time for them to connect the collar failures to the Healers’ activities. He might well be right; in fact, they were depending on it.
The small rebel band had no control over when, or even if, the freed soldiers mutinied against their Fang commanders. If the slaves realized their collars no longer controlled them, at least they wouldn’t function as effective soldiers for the Fang.
That alone could be enough to tip the war in the Gryphon’s favor, Lianndra thought.
At any rate, Lianndra and Hannah became proficient at the sneak approach. They’d even perfected their camouflage, taking advantage of the natural variations in their hair color to mimic the jungle’s mottled shadows. Extending the hair over their faces made them impossible to spot if they froze i
n the dark.
Lianndra finished working on her first soldier and debated approaching one several meters into the clearing. Some soldiers stayed awake, sitting around the scattered fires. By crouching low and keeping to the darkest shadows, she could still move. She crept under a large fern, freezing until she was sure she remained hidden. Seconds later she moved again, heading even farther into the line of bushes. They provided excellent protection as she visited two humans and a birdlike alien known as a Charlt.
The remaining rebels had made their way into the trees. Fang unit guards never looked up for invaders since they expected their enemies to come in on foot. Stationed along the camp perimeter, the guards faced the jungle. The women used the overhanging trees to drop within the unit’s perimeter. As long as they remained undetected while they did their work, everything should go smoothly. The night cooperated with a thick layer of cloud that obscured the double moons. The only light in the clearing came from the campfires and the few torches surrounding the commander’s tent.
A Zraph snored beside the fern clump. Staying within the giant alien’s shadow, Lianndra crept up to him. She would have to stand up to reach both sides of the head at once and didn’t dare touch him until she could make sure the big alien remained asleep. One angry Zraph free of restraints could devastate an entire unit in moments.
Lianndra straightened while trying to stay hidden. Her hand reached the giant’s temple just as the two largest of the primary eyes opened.
Lianndra had a split second to put the creature back to sleep before all hell broke loose. She pressed her fingers against the bulging temple, reaching for the vessels supplying the creature’s brain. She clamped down on them, depriving the brain of oxygen just long enough to plunge the Zraph into a dead faint. The eyes closed again, and Lianndra breathed a sigh of relief.
