“This is incredible,” he told Sass as he mentally surged toward the databases, grabbing for . . .
Pain.
Blackness.
Nothing.
SICK BAY
Sass perched stiffly on the edge of a chair in Dr Caleb Monterro’s office, and turned her cold cup of coffee around in equally-as-cold hands. Her throat was still tight from the screams she’d held back when Branden had collapsed to the control-room decking. Her chest ached from the shards of her breaking heart raking her insides raw.
But he was alive. The med-techs confirmed that when they arrived. Cal Monterro confirmed that when he hooked Kel-Paten up to the recently upgraded cyber-human diagnostics panel in sick bay’s Room Six.
But no one could say more than that, not even Lieutenant Jameson, the ship’s leading cyber-tech, who was admittedly more used to dealing with military-issue computers than with a half-human Triadian bio-’cybe.
But Jameson, the cyber-tech, was all they had. The U-Cees had never been able to get full specs on Branden Kel-Paten. The few medical files they’d been able to retrieve a month ago from the Vaxxar were corrupted by the power spikes surging through the dying ship’s failing systems. Though what they did know formed the basis for the instrumentation in Sick Bay Six.
Even with all that, they knew so little. And the only person who unequivocally had all the answers was unconscious in Cal’s sick bay.
The one hope she had left was Captain Ralland Kel-Tyra, Branden’s brother – well, they shared the same “paternal genetic donor”, as Branden often put it. Though that fact was kept secret by the Triad for years. Like Branden, however, Kel-Tyra was a former high-ranking Triad officer who’d defected to the U-Cees when the Ved took control of the Triad. She knew Branden was integrating their personal security protocols with Kel-Tyra as a fail-safe – just as Kel-Tyra’s were in a secure file on the Regalia. Sass kept staring at Cal’s desk screen as if by thought alone she could will Kel-Tyra to answer. The officer of the watch – hell, the whole ship knew where she was. The minute Kel-Tyra responded to the Regalia’s message, she would be alerted.
It had been more than three hours since that message had gone out. U-Cee controlled space was large, but military communications had been designed to account for that. An hour, two at most. She should have heard something – even if only a receipt confirmation. She hadn’t.
A sickening thought made her hands go even colder. Had the Faction’s attack on Kel-Paten – and she and Jameson had no doubt the Teaser was a trap aimed specifically for him – been only a part of a larger plan to wipe out all “traitorous” former Triad officers and crew?
The sound of footsteps made her jerk upright.
“No change,” Cal told her as he angled around his desk, and then dropped tiredly into his chair. He tapped a screen icon. Data flashed against a white background. “The best Jameson can come up with is that we work from a worst-case scenario. When the admiral regains consciousness, we must assume he’s been reprogrammed to harm this ship, you, the furzels, or all of the above.”
“You’re sure he will? Wake up, that is?”
“Jameson’s very sure that if the Faction wanted him dead, he’d be dead.”
Which meant they didn’t want his death. They wanted a weapon. And there was no weapon quite as insidiously lethal as Branden Kel-Paten with his beyond-human strength, reflexes, and intellect. And his ability to kill with a touch.
“That’s why I’ve posted security here in sick bay, and why I’m banning you from Room Six,” Cal continued. “And don’t try using your furzel to teleport you in there.”
“Damn it, Cal, Branden wouldn’t—”
“He can. He would.”
“Jameson can’t reprogram his reprogramming?”
“He’s trying to.”
“I gave you our list of code words.” Kel-Paten would not be happy about that breach of personal security protocol. But he couldn’t reprimand her until he woke up. And right now Sass would gladly face the stoniest of his reprimands, just to have him back. “His med files—?”
“Are more incomplete than we realized.” Cal tapped his screen. “We not only ran through the key word list you gave Jameson. We mixed them up and threw in every other possible code we could think of to try and get him to respond. Ship names. Your name. Tank’s. Captain Kel-Tyra’s. Hell, we even uploaded images of winning hands in Starfield Doubles. His systems block everything.”
She almost suggested they try a losing hand but, no. Branden Kel-Paten never lost.
Damn it! If only Kel-Tyra would answer.
“I’m not saying we’re giving up. We will, right up to the last moment, try everything we can to restore him. But we’re at a crossroads here, Captain. That’s why I’ve come back – I’m sorry. You’re not going to like what I must ask you now.”
What could be worse than not permitting her to touch Branden?
Gods. No.
Cal was tapping Branden’s med-file data again. “Something that highly classified isn’t in here. The Triad could never risk our finding out. But I suspect he’s told you. We need that information or this entire ship is at risk.”
Sass shut her eyes and forced the tremor threatening to surge through her body to stop. She knew what Cal wanted, what Security needed.
They needed to know the one vulnerability in Kel-Paten’s synthderm mesh body.
They needed to know how to kill Branden.
SICK BAY ROOM 6
Nothing.
Blackness.
Pain.
Cessation of pain.
Power.
He came fully awake in a stark gray and white room and immediately cataloged his surroundings and their relative threat index. He ripped the data-feed cables from his wrist port. Someone – the enemy– had tried to gain access to his systems.
Fools.
But fools who had enough wisdom not to leave a human security guard in the room with him. That person would be dead before he could even raise his weapon.
He sat up, ran a second systems diagnostic and oriented himself. Med panels were all labeled in Standard, not Triadian. Definitely the enemy. But U-Cees, not the Rebashee or the Illithians. Not that that mattered much. His mission – it flooded him as soon as he came to consciousness – was to neutralize all enemy personnel, take control of the ship, and deliver it to the Triad.
Piece o’ cake.
Piece o’ cake ? He shoved the uncharacteristic phrase away. Residual data, likely something he’d overheard while unconscious. It sounded like the usual ridiculous U-Cee slang.
Eight minutes and seventeen-point-two seconds later – according to the readout in the corner of his vision – the wall screen on his left flickered. Two humans in U-Cee tan uniforms stared at him. One – the male – wore the blue lab coat of a med-tech. The shorter female balanced an overweight black-and-white furzel in her arms.
His databanks brought up the humans’ corresponding files: Dr Caleb Monterro, CMO. Captain Tasha Sebastian. Both assigned to the Regalia. The furzel was of no importance and, if necessary, easily terminated.
Excellent. He was exactly where he needed to be.
“How are you feeling, Admiral?” Sebastian asked. The furzel wiggled in her arms then slid down, out of view.