“Optimal.” He plucked the useless data feed from the diagnostic bed and dropped it. “A waste of time.
But you already know that, Sebastian.”
Something flickered across Sebastian’s face. He was programmed to unerringly interpret over one hundred and forty human facial expressions, and another sixty-seven nonhuman ones. He labeled what he saw in her face as “disappointment” and “grief”.
Disappointed he was alive? Too bad.
Grief because perhaps before they trapped him in this sick-bay room, he’d killed someone she cared about? Good.
“Kel-Paten.” She paused.
He stared at her. Waited. When she said nothing more, he continued to wait. U-Cees and their infantile games.
“Do you really need me to state name, rank, and serial number?” he asked curtly.
“We’re not the enemy. I know you don’t believe that right now, Branden. But we’re not.”
The use of his first name by this U-Cee trash annoyed him. He stated name, rank, and serial number.
The wall screen blanked.
Time to get to work. He had a mission to complete. And Bio-’cybernetic Kinetic Programmable Apparatus-Ten never failed.
DR CALEB MONTERRO’S OFFICE, SICK BAY
“Captain . . .”
The gentle tone in Cal’s voice was exactly what Sass didn’t need. Damn it! She missed, really missed Doc Eden Fynn-Serafino, her former CMO, right now. “Don’t coddle me, Doctor. I can handle this.”
She stopped at his office door.
Tank leaned against her ankle. Brandenfriend gone. Gone. Mommy sad.
“Evacuate sick bay. Disable all equipment, especially data and comm feeds. Put a double containment field around the admiral’s room. Then another pair around the sick bay itself. Yes.” Her raised hand stilled Cal Monterro’s comment. “He will get through those. Eventually. But it will slow him down. We need time, Cal. Time. We have to reach Captain Kel-Tyra. Since Tank couldn’t make telepathic contact with Branden, Kel-Tyra’s now our only chance of finding those key code words.” She refused to voice her fear that Rall Kel-Tyra might already be dead.
“A security team—”
“In the corridor. Only. I’m not—” And she clenched her eyes shut for a moment. “I’m not ordering his .
. . assassination. Not yet.”
Cal’s mouth tightened.
“Alert me when he breaches the first set of fields,” Sass told him. Then she headed doggedly out into the Regalia’s gray utilitarian corridor, Tank padding softly – and sadly – at her heels.
CAPTAIN TASHA SEBASTIAN’S OFFICE
Admiral Cayla “Ace” Edmonds’s communication came in an hour and a half later. Right after the security update that Kel-Paten had already neutralized the first of Room Six’s containment fields and was working steadily on the second.
“The shuttle Captain Kel-Tyra was traveling in came under attack by unknown bogies five hours ago, standard shiptime. We believe he made it to Lightridge Station, but Lightridge’s commsat’s ceased responding. I’ve got a battle group three lighthours out from station. It’s a godsdamned mullytrock, Sass.
I’m sorry. As soon as I have something, you’ll know. Edmonds out.”
Sass gripped the edges of her office chair and shoved herself to her feet. She had to try to save him.
Brandon had more than once been willing to sacrifice his life for hers. He’d loved her in spite of what he was and who she was. She loved him because of what they were together.
She knew better than to ask for sick bay’s containment fields to be dropped. She settled for using the comm screen in CIC that – as it was her ship’s Combat Information Center – had triple-secure emergency links to all key stations on the Regalia. It took a few minutes to re-establish sick bay’s severed audio and video links. And that was a risk. Kel-Paten could spike in. But at least if he did, CIC’s firewalls had the best chance of stopping him.
She didn’t know how he knew that the screen in his room had come on quietly, only that he turned casually – if anything Kel-Paten did under full ’cybe power could be said to be casual – and raked her with a luminous icy-blue gaze, his expression unchanging and unreadable.
She didn’t waste his time or hers. Her CIC commander was cutting the link at the five-minute mark.
“Branden, I know you’re in there, inside whatever they’ve programmed into you. I need you to listen, to really listen to me. Ralland Kel-Tyra came under attack by the Triad Faction out by Lightridge. We have every reason to believe he made it to station. Your people are trying to kill him. They’ve already reprogrammed you. I am not your enemy. The U-Cees are not your enemy. Kel-Tyra is working with us, with the U-Cees, just as you have been for the past seven months. And now his life is threatened. We need your help, your knowledge.”
His gaze didn’t waver.
“Damn it all, flyboy, you have to remember!” Her voice rasped. The pain and fear she’d kept tamped down suddenly surfaced.
Something shifted in his hard expression. Sass didn’t know what it was, only that there was a minuscule change, a slight tightening around his eyes. Then it was gone.
“If Kel-Tyra has turned traitor, I will deal with him after I take control of your ship.”
The utter coldness in his tone made her gut clench. This would be her last chance to convince him. She could understand his not remembering her, but Branden and Ralland had spent almost their entire lives together. If anything could shatter Branden’s reprogramming, it had to be Ralland. But there was no way she could now get Ralland here in person. This was her only other option.
She tapped the left side of her screen. A red icon expanded to a secondary screen showing the green-
tinged bridge of the former Triad huntership, the Vaxxar, in total disarray. There was the U-shaped command center, the double-command sling and, in front of that, the curve of the railing. And a familiar tall dark-haired man, gloved hands braced against it.
The time stamp scrolling in the lower right showed a date four shipweeks past. “United Coalition huntership Regalia, this is Branden Kel-Paten. I don’t know if you can hear me. Our comm array is down. Life support is failing. We can’t control the shields, though we’re trying” The image of Kel-
Paten glanced over his left shoulder at a man sitting at a nearby station. Ralland Kel-Tyra, nodding.
“I repeat. Our comm array is down. Weapons banks, life support depleted. We’re not a threat. We are . . . we are all that’s left. The Triad is no more.”
“ Regalia, if Tash – if Captain Sebastian is on board or anywhere in your Fleet, reach her. Please.
Tell her I . . . tell her Branden Kel-Paten hopes – prays – her offer still stands. If you can hear me, Regalia, send us a signal. We have only two hours of air left—” A fat black-and-white furzel appeared suddenly on the wide railing in the green-tinged darkness, plumy tail flicking back and forth. Kel-Paten flinched, Ralland Kel-Tyra behind him rising swiftly from his seat.
Then, in a blur of movement, Kel-Paten grabbed the furzel, clasping him tightly against his chest, relief and joy written starkly on his gaunt features . . .
Sass tapped the screen again and the playback stopped.
“A decent fabrication if a tad overly theatrical,” Kel-Paten said. “But Captain Kel-Tyra doesn’t sit nav on my ship. I suggest you reassign whatever intel officer gave you that erroneous data to the sanitation division. If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”