Earth Defiant (The Ember War Saga Book 4) Page 10

  Durand came around a corner and rolled her eyes when she saw Hale.

  “Vachement? Ici?” she said in French.

  “What?”

  “You piss me off,” she said. “You always piss me off. Couldn’t we just meet at our old place?”

  “The Cemetery’s occupied. Elias is fused into his armor. We wouldn’t have any privacy like we used to,” Hale said.

  “Whatever.” Durand sat across from Hale and fished a beat-up pack of cigarettes from a pocket on her flight jacket. “I smell smoke. Are the sensor’s down in here?”

  Hale nodded. Durand pressed the tip of the cigarette against an induction patch on the bottom of the pack until it glowed red with burning embers. She took a long drag and exhaled smoke from her nose.

  “You wanted to talk,” she said. “Talk.”

  “Got you a little something.” Hale reached into a pocket and handed Durand a gold coin. “A gift for me from the Toth. Whole case of them. We left most of it on the ice, figured Knight the intel squirrel would shit a brick if we brought the whole thing back on the ship. He was still pissed I brought up a couple coins, but he put them through the ringer and said they’re nothing but 24-karat gold. Not a Toth listening device or some sort of bomb.”

  “They bribe you from the very beginning?” Durand ran her finger over the raised lion on one side of the coin.

  “That’s how they do business,” Hale shrugged. “What do you think it’s worth?”

  “Maybe a month’s pay before the invasion. Now it’s worth jack squat. What good is gold? No one needs it…we don’t even have an economy anymore. Ibarra’s robots handle all the dirty work. Everyone’s either focused on rebuilding Phoenix or still in uniform.”

  “Right, so why did Kren think we’d want this?”

  “You’re on a first-name basis with them now?”

  Hale looked away. “Stop. It’s not like I asked for this. I got the by name request for this assignment because I escaped from their ship. Makes me a baelor or something, some kind of honor feud or vendetta that Lowenn tried to explain.”

  “Do I have that too? I was right beside you when all that happened.”

  “Want me to ask?”

  “Oh, God no. I have enough to deal with.” Durand flipped the coin over. “I wonder why they used this design. Could have just given you a blank coin…but I doubt this is why you dragged me up here.”

  “I got instructions back from Earth,” he said. Hale’s jaw worked from side to side. “High command says I’m to give up the proccies. All the tech, too.”

  Durand held the cigarette to her side and flicked it.

  “That can’t be right. Don’t they know what the Toth will do to them?” she asked.

  “I tried to explain that to the captain, but…he said they’re not human. We can’t treat them like they are. He kept going on and on about how they’re some sort of Ibarra plot to erase what’s truly human…and it looks like Ibarra and Garret agree with him.” Hale wrapped his arms around his chest and leaned back against the bulkhead.

  “Do you agree with him?”

  “I…one of my Marines is a proccie, Yarrow. Just a kid, but he’s as brave as any man or woman I’ve ever met. He didn’t take it well when I told him what he was,” Hale said.

  “Jorgen told me about a medic that dragged you off a mountain on Takeni, same guy?”

  Hale nodded.

  “Even knowing what he is,” Hale said, “I don’t…I don’t feel like he’s some kind of imposter, some ‘inhuman abomination’ like Uncle Isaac calls him. I just don’t feel like this is the right thing to do.”

  “Maybe it’s not,” she said. “My grand uncle, Pierre—I don’t think I ever told you about him—he lived in Marseille when the daesh took it over. He and his wife were poor, had nothing but the clothes on their backs and three children. One day the daesh knock on their door, tell them to pay jizya. He has no money, so they say they’ll take his daughter as payment.

  “This is when the Crusade was finally getting off the ground. Pierre knows he could give up his daughter, maybe find her again in a few months when the city is liberated, but he says no. ‘My blood is not worth my honor,’ he told the daesh. So, the daesh beat him to death, but they left his daughter, Alizee, behind.

  “Was he pigheaded? Yes. Stupid? A little, but my family doesn’t remember him for that. Other families, they gave up their daughters. They may have lived, but their hearts died the moment they chose a moment’s safety over love.”

  “I liked my job a lot easier when I just had to kill aliens,” Hale said.

  “It’s your own fault. No one asked you to get so famous. So what will you do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Air scrubbers rattled against their housing high over Hale’s head. Condensation grew around the fine mesh covers, forming into drops of water that fell to the conference table.

  A drop splashed against Hale’s data slate. He wiped it aside with a flick of his finger and glared at the vent above his head.

  “To be bothered by such things,” Kren said, “how quaint.” His tank rested on the concrete floor, the disembodied brain floating level with Hale’s head.

  “I doubt much of anything can bother you in your…condition,” Hale said.

  “Sometimes my fluid viscosity turns a bit too thick for my tastes, but the advantages to my ascension far, far outweigh everything I knew when I was imprisoned by flesh,” the Toth said. “The ecstasy of my life now…I can’t believe I waited so long to make the purchase. I wonder if we can do the same for humans.” Tendrils pressed against the tank, as if they wished to reach out and caress Hale. “We could make you the first…”

  “I’m fine, thanks. I doubt any human would take you up on the offer either, given what you have to do to others.” Hale concentrated on his data slate, hoping the Toth would take a hint and leave him alone.

  “Don’t be such a hypocrite, baelor. All life feeds on life. Your species industrialized the production and slaughter of semi-intelligent animals. The Toth merely evolved beyond your limited capabilities. The price lesser beings pay for our ascended to achieve immortality and guide our race is acceptable.”

  Hale set the data slate on the table. He stared hard at the knobby mass of gray tissue in the tank, wishing the Toth had eyes he could stare down.

  “Not to those a few rungs lower in your food chain,” Hale said. “I must reject your counterproposal. We do not accept a long-term Toth military presence in our solar system.”

  “What if the Toth established a trade delegation on some place inhospitable to human settlement? Australia, perhaps?”

  “Don’t measure the drapes yet. We haven’t agreed on anything else yet.”

  “Drapes?” Kren’s nerve tendrils curled in on themselves. “Do not overlook how important our military aid would be. The Xaros…how long until they return? You think the Alliance will save you from the Xaros maniple? A Xaros invasion has been defeated only a handful of times in recorded history. Only one race survived the second wave, and they did not survive the third. Don’t think that humanity’s place in their little club is so high that they’ll put their own safety at risk for your little blue ball of a planet.”

  “The Alliance saved us from extinction,” Hale said. “Forgive me for being skeptical of your promises.”

  “They never told you about us, did they? Or showed you the Belt, our great space dock that surrounds our home world. The hundreds of thousands of starships that will crush the Xaros and save the galaxy once the Toth can…better provide for themselves.” The nervous system inside the tank bobbed up and down.

  “The Karigole told us enough,” Hale said. “Your demand,” he tapped the data slate, “for one hundred percent of the proccies is not possible. We don’t even know who they all are. Loss of records during the Xaros invasion, you understand.”

  The feeder arm extended from the palanquin and folded over the table. Hale recoiled slowly, remembering
the last time the Toth brandished the bloody tip in front of him.

  “I can tell,” Kren said. “Do you know what you really are? I can answer the question with just a little…taste.” The tip sprung open. Filament wires quivered like a snake’s tongue.

  Hale snapped to his feet and drew his gauss pistol. He leveled the weapon at Kren as a warning hiss erupted from the warrior bodyguards. The whine of Elias’ and Kallen’s weapons set Hale’s teeth on edge.

  “I have a better question,” Hale said. “Is your tank bulletproof?”

  The feeder arm retracted.

  “It is an honor among lesser Toth to nourish their betters,” Kren said.

  Hale slowly slid the pistol back into the holster, but didn’t sit down.

  “You have some saying about preferring to die on your feet than living on your knees, but every race—every sentient species—will choose survival over extinction. You are doomed without us. Don’t think that little trick with temporal displacement will work again. The Xaros are wise to it and they will search it out, just as we did when we arrived,” Kren said.

  “And how…did you do that?” Hale asked.

  Kren’s tendrils froze.

  “Let’s not focus on minutia,” Kren said, its tone becoming gracious as its tendrils loosened to sway in the emulsion. “Let us return to arranging our grand alliance.”

  ****

  Durand checked her altitude meter and glanced down at the summit dome, a deep-gray blister against the sea of ice on Europa’s surface. She looked to her left and right, making sure her wingmen hadn’t strayed. Holding orbit over the moon was easy; waiting was proving more difficult than it should have been.

  “We’re still here, Gall,” Manfred said.

  “I thought the Dotok military had a lot of hurry up and wait,” Lothar said. “Nice to know humans suffer too, makes me feel closer to you all.”

  “What about the Toth? Think they’re just as bored as us?” Landas asked.

  Durand searched the horizon and saw the glint off the dagger-shaped fighters. Each side of the negotiations kept their shuttle and escort craft in low orbit, separated by enough distance to dissuade the temptation of a sneak attack. One of the blades slid toward the human fighters.

  “Whoa, everyone see that? Got one coming for us,” Landas said.

  “Guns going hot,” Lothar said.

  “No, everyone, stay calm,” Durand said. She reached up to her canopy and enhanced the image of the approaching Toth fighter. It had red echelon marks around the canopy and its weapon’s ports were closed. “Maybe he’s coming over to take a closer look. Manfred, maneuver back and get in a guard position over the Mule. Let this guy know we’re ready if he wants to play.”

  Maneuver thrusters flared on the Eagle to her right and pushed it out of view.

  The Toth fighter slowed, but continued its approach. She’d passed by the fighters on Anthalas, shot down several in the space above the planet. The serrated dagger shape with stubby wings were designed for speed, and they held their shape when in the void or in atmosphere. Her Eagle would reconfigure as needed, extending flaps, ailerons and rudders to better fly when surrounded by air, breathable or otherwise.

  The Toth angled straight for Durand. She flipped the safety off her Gatling cannon and put a hand on the power switch for her weapon systems. She wouldn’t be the one to fire the first shot that wrecked the negotiations, not while Hale and the armor were still down there.

  “Gall, are you going to move?” Lothar asked.

  “You ever heard of a Mexican standoff?”

  “Well…no.”

  “Watch and learn,” she said.

  The Toth fighter came to a stop mere yards from her nose. She saw a shadow moving from side to side inside the alien’s cockpit, the sun’s glare fouling her view. The dagger ship’s tail rose over the nose, flipping the fighter on top of her Eagle.

  “Gall!” Landas shouted.

  “It’s OK,” she said. She looked up and watched as the Toth fighter slowed with remarkable precision until the two canopies were separated by mere inches.

  A Toth warrior peered at her, lither than those she encountered on Anthalas. Four of its six arms grasped control sticks in the stretched cockpit. The Toth lay belly down, strapped to a cushion, not in a sitting position like Durand.

  Bet that tail gets in the way, she thought.

  The pilot cocked its head from side to side, its eyes darting over Durand. It curled its lips back and bared shark-like teeth at her.

  Durand raised a hand to the canopy and extended her middle finger.

  The Toth’s nostrils flared and the fighter moved past her canopy. It inverted and blasted away. Durand’s Eagle rocked slightly as the Toth returned to its companions.

  “What do you think those red markings mean? Flight leader?” Lothar asked

  Durand looked at the side of her Eagle where kill marks for destroyed Xaros drones and several Toth fighters were stenciled in bright paint beneath her name and call sign. The Toth pilot had to have seen them.

  “I bet it means he’s an ace,” Durand said. “Got a couple kills to his name, and he’s looking for a few more.”

  ****

  A man wearing little more than a flimsy T-shirt and boxer shorts was strapped to a wooden plank. The man’s hands were bound and tied against his stomach. Whimpers came through a black hood over his face, wet fabric puffing with each labored breath.

  Fournier checked his watch and pointed to the two men standing near the captive’s head.

  One man pressed against the captive’s shoulders. The hooded man struggled, thrashing his head from side to side. Fournier’s other man lifted up a bucket and poured ice water over the black hood, sending chunks of ice skittering across a wide puddle seeping into a moldy floor.

  The captive couldn’t scream during the waterboarding; the saturated fabric of his hood blocked out all air that might have fed his starving lungs. The bucket emptied, Fournier’s men stood back, letting the captive flail about.

  Fournier snapped his fingers and the hood came off with a wet pop.

  The captive gawped like a fish before he finally managed a soggy breath.

  Fournier came over to the captive, and looked at him like he was a naughty toddler. “Mr. Lawrence, we’ve been at this for hours, and I must say that I’m impressed with how well you’ve held up. This little interrogation technique is tried and true, but it isn’t meant to permanently damage you. You understand? You’re true born. You belong on Earth. You’re not an abomination…and I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Fournier took a data slate from his back pocket, then plucked a data rod from his jacket. He snapped the data rod into a reader attached to the data slate and turned the screen toward Lawrence.

  “I just need your thumbprint and your voice authorization. Open the manifest for me and then we’ll know who’s true born and who isn’t. That’s all I need from you. What do you say?”

  “Piss…off,” Lawrence said through quivering lips.

  Fournier sighed and pointed to a far wall. “Look over there.”

  Lawrence’s lips pulled into a snarl, his eyes boring into Fournier.

  Fournier dug his fingernails into Lawrence’s cheek and twisted his head toward the wall. Dozens of buckets lined the floor, all full of water.

  “You’ll break,” Fournier said. He took his hand off Lawrence’s face. “Everyone breaks. No shame in it. What’s it going to be?”

  Lawrence’s body shivered as his eyes locked on the instruments of his torture.

  Fournier smiled. A career in the spy game taught him when a subject like Lawrence was close to breaking. Any second now, he thought.

  “Give…give it to me,” Lawrence said.

  Fournier pressed Lawrence’s thumb against the slate’s screen.

  “Voice print validation required,” chirped the slate.

  “Lawrence, John Enrique, X-ray two niner sierra.”

  The slate dinged.

  Fournier
snatched the slate away, turned from Lawrence and beckoned a lieutenant over. The lieutenant held a camera over the screen as Fournier swiped through crew and passenger manifests from every ship in the Saturn colony mission.

  Lawrence started crying.

  Fournier slowed down to read through the list for one ship in particular, his face darkening. He whispered instruction to his lieutenant, then pressed the slate into his back pocket.

  The lieutenant tapped one of the torturers on the shoulder. The two left the room together.

  “Thank you, Lawrence,” Fournier said. He knelt beside Lawrence and gently ran his fingers over the sobbing man’s forehead. “Now, tell me where Ibarra makes the proccies.”

  “What?” Lawrence’s eyes widened. “You said…”

  “That you’d be done?” Fournier stroked his fingers through Lawrence’s hair. “No. I need more from you. Where does he make them?”

  Lawrence looked at Fournier with vacant eyes, then shook his head from side to side.

  “Hood him,” Fournier said to the remaining torturer. “Two buckets in a row.” The assistant picked up two buckets, purposefully rattling them together and sloshing water onto the ground.

  “The Lehi!” Lawrence screamed. “It has to be the Lehi. I never knew what was on that ship…Ibarra wouldn’t tell me. No crew. No passengers. She’s been at anchor with the rest of the navy ships for months. He must be making them there. No more! Please no more of the water…” He broke down into a mess of sobs.

  Fournier went to the assistant and whispered, “You know what we need. Don’t stop asking questions until you’ve squeezed him dry. I have business to attend to.”

  He stepped out of the torture chamber and into a dilapidated hallway. The old commercial building was a few blocks from the Ibarra Corporation headquarters in Euskal Tower. That Fournier and his trusted operatives had set up shop right under Ibarra’s nose gave him great pleasure.