Defender (The Vigilante Chronicles Book 6) Read online

  Grisor stared at the aide a moment longer. “You may go,” he said finally. “Tell the committee I wish to address them.”

  “Yes, Excellency.” The aide left so quickly that his suit nearly stumbled over its own feet.

  Alone in his office, Grisor wished that he was still incandescently angry. If he were angry, he would be cushioned somewhat against the truly frightening possibility of failure.

  The rest of the Senate did not know about the Committee’s objectives. Grisor had been careful to maintain secrecy from the start. He knew enough to fear that if word got out, he would be stopped somehow.

  It was too early for them to make their move. They knew how to make any mind their own, but the process was slow and required specialized equipment. They still did not have the ability to turn multitudes to their side. That would come when they controlled the Navy and the Senate.

  If the Jotun people learned about the Committee now, they would demand that it be closed down. The element of surprise would be entirely gone.

  They had to move quickly. Grisor went to his desk and connected a call. He bobbed in the water with impatience as it connected, and finally opened to show one of his guards, left behind at the research facility,

  “I need an update,” Grisor said abruptly.

  “Yes, Excellency,” said Feword. His tone was, as always, mild and respectful. It belied his true nature as an individual who killed without hesitation, and with astonishing violence. He had been invaluable to Grisor over the years, not only for that but for his constant attention to detail. “The scientists almost do not rest. They move between their experiments, and often check on Captain Jeltor’s progress.”

  “He is still not converted?” Grisor knew that they would have contacted him with such a development, but he was still disappointed. “Discouraging.”

  “Yes, Excellency.” He paused. “I think it worries them,” he said finally. “But that is a guess. They do not spend time speaking with us.”

  “You think they fear that he will not be converted?” Grisor asked.

  “I cannot say, Excellency. It was only a guess. Unlike others that we see often, I do not know them well enough to say with confidence.”

  “Nevertheless,” Grisor said absently, “I trust your judgment. Give them whatever help you can. If he is missing for too much longer, people will start asking questions.”

  “Yes, Excellency.” Feword nodded deeply and held the pose until Grisor cut the call.

  Gil and Wev were hard at work in the lab when they heard footsteps.

  They did not look at one another. Since they received word of Grisor’s imminent arrival, they had behaved as if every interaction could be seen and heard. They were neither foolish nor sloppy; as soon as they arrived, they had disabled the security cameras and set them to display looped videos. Still, they had gotten this far in the JIIA by being exceedingly and relentlessly careful.

  One guard or two? Wev asked now.

  Gil, who was closer to the door, attuned his auditory implants. One.

  Both of them readied their weapons. They had always known it might come to a fight. It was not a matter of courage against cowardice. They must defend themselves if they hoped to further their goal.

  When the guard appeared in the doorway, both of them gave him respectful nods. So far, the guards had done regular rounds of the building—a nuisance—but had not gotten in their way.

  “I have spoken to His Excellency,” said the guard, whom Gil recognized as Feword. He seemed to be in charge of the others, although they displayed no ranks on their suits.

  Wev, in a rare moment of emotion, said, Does he mean to be an emperor with that title?

  Yes, Gil replied simply. He looked at Feword. “His Excellency is, perhaps, displeased with us?” He kept his tone respectful and hoped that he seemed appropriately disappointed in himself.

  “He is understanding,” Feword said. “He knows that your task is difficult. He asked me only to aid you in whatever way you wish.” He paused. “Time is of the essence, as you must know. I do not say this to worry you.”

  That was unexpectedly kind, and Gil reflected that it would be a shame to kill Feword—which, of course, they would inevitably have to do. As far as he could tell the guard was being sincere, both about Grisor’s attitude and the offer of help. He did not seem to resent being asked to do this.

  Which presented the problem of what they should ask him to do. After all, their main goal each day was to stay busy in a way that cloaked their true inactivity. Under the constant threat of surveillance, they did not dare speak openly to Jeltor or take him out of his tank—and, indeed, they caused him pain because anyone watching would be sure to notice if he was not being hurt. But they were careful not to play the indoctrination tapes, and not to use the mix of chemicals that had been used by the scientists.

  Gil made a calculation in his head. Where would the guards be least in the way—and least likely to see something they shouldn’t? “It would help us,” he said finally, “if you could attend to the other experiments sometimes. With time being a limiting factor, we should devote all our attention to Captain Jeltor.”

  “We should pause the other experiments,” Wev concurred, picking up the thread. “You would need only to provide them with food.”

  Feword nodded. “We will wait for you to show us the procedures.”

  “I will go,” Wev said to Gil. “I think, perhaps, a bit more intensity in the solution.” He led the way out of the laboratory, and Feword nodded to Gil before following.

  Alone now—or, at least, alone in terms of sentient companions—Gil went to the tank and stared at Jeltor. The longer this charade went on as he and Wev struggled to find out anything they could about the Committee, the more danger there was that Jeltor’s mind would truly break.

  Gil watched the senseless Jotun in front of him. If Jeltor must be sacrificed, so be it. Better he break than the committee go unpunished.

  And better he break than become a tool for them to use against the Navy.

  Chapter Nine

  Barnabas found Shinigami curled up with a mug of tea, scrolling manually through the data and—as far as he could tell—looking at it with her body’s eyes.

  Of course, she was scrolling through it at a speed that made his eyes water. And she’d forgotten to put a tea bag in the hot water. And she was wearing fuzzy socks and a hoodie with a nightgown that probably shouldn’t be worn in this setting. But she was trying to get used to doing things, and he grinned at her as he came over to sit.

  “Should I have worn my pajamas?” he asked lightly.

  “Are these pajamas?” Shinigami asked. “The socks are slippery. That would make sense.”

  “They’re not strictly… Uh, where did you get the nightgown?”

  “Tabitha left it.”

  Barnabas resisted the urge to gouge his eyes out, which he told himself would not work with a mental image. Tabitha was a very attractive woman, but he’d always viewed her as more like a niece—and on an equivalent level to a toddler, given her penchant for getting into extraordinarily dangerous situations and then being stubborn about following advice to get out of them.

  “It’s not the sort of thing most people would wear in public,” he said finally.

  “I’m pretty sure this is less revealing than things a lot of people wear to go out to breakfast these days,” Shinigami said in deep amusement.

  “Where in God’s name have you been eating breakfast?”

  “Not the point. But I’ll change and wear a flannel nightshirt if it would make you more comfortable.”

  “No, no, don’t go to any trouble.” Barnabas squinted at the screen. “I’ll just look in this direction.”

  Shinigami snickered. “God help you the first time a woman tries to make a pass at you. Come to think of it, God help her, getting mixed up with you.”

  “Women don’t make passes at me,” Barnabas replied idly. “Which is good.”

  He thought briefl
y of Sarah and her son. It was clear that Sarah had harbored tentative hopes that Barnabas might make a good husband and father. Neither of them, however, had truly wanted that, so they had drifted their separate ways amicably. The last Barnabas had heard, she had settled on High Tortuga and was married now.

  Not eager to have his romantic life dredged up as a topic of discussion, he nodded at the screen. “So, what have you found?”

  “So much,” Shinigami said. “Unfortunately, no one thought to send messages like, ‘We shall meet in the grove at midnight,’ so I’m just trying to piece together what all this nonsense means.”

  “It would probably help if you didn’t think of it as nonsense.”

  “It is nonsense. It’s some ridiculous plan to rule the whole universe—somehow—and I cannot for the life of me understand why they’d want to. They should talk to Bethany Anne about having power. Actually, come to think of it, that might not be a bad strategy, here.”

  Barnabas snickered. “What are you thinking? A sit-down tea, or…”

  “Just have her explain that being in power is a miserable thing, and then, if they don’t listen, she can kill all of them.”

  “Well, your plans are decisive, I’ll give you that. But, just to play devil’s advocate, if we couldn’t get Bethany Anne for this—”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. We’re on our own.” Shinigami waved her hands and managed to get water all over her socks and the carpet. “Crap. I’ll clean that up later.”

  “Mmm.” Barnabas sat back.

  “Here’s what we know so far,” Shinigami said. “It’s something to do with mind control in some way. I don’t know precisely what they’re doing.”

  “Subliminal commands? Conditioning?” Barnabas frowned. On Earth, Stephen and Jennifer had run into a nasty piece of work who was intending to use mind-controlled Wechselbalg to take over the world.

  “Conditioning, I think.” Shinigami shook her head. “What I mean is, I’m not sure what they’re going for. Before you ask, yes, I did look through the files from Stephen’s mission, and I don’t think it’s like that. It seems to be gentler, at least in some ways.”

  Barnabas raised an eyebrow.

  “What was done to the Wechselbalg wasn’t intended to make them functional members of society,” Shinigami explained. “It was meant to make them into an army. I doubt Hugo even had a plan for them once he’d used them to take over. But this—I honestly think they’re trying to deploy it against people who will keep having to be politicians or whatever.”

  “Manchurian Candidate?” Barnabas queried.

  There was a pause while Shinigami looked up the reference. “Maybe,” she said. “I don’t know, that’s the thing. They seem to be intending to deploy it on a broad scale, but think of the processing capability it would take to control that many people.”

  “Only an AI would say it like that.” Barnabas considered. “We should ask Jeltor, you know. There’s a chance that someone has tried this before, and he might know of it. It might not even have the negative implications it has for us. It’s impossible to know.”

  “Actually, I did send him a message.” Shinigami was frowning. “He hasn’t responded yet. I know he was meeting with the admiral, and I thought we might get word from him when we were in Hevarod. We left so quickly, though, and I don’t have any idea where he’s been since the meeting.”

  “Huh.” Barnabas frowned. “Send a message to her, will you? Ask her if she had a timeline for when he’d be back in contact. No—send a message to Yojira.” Jeltor’s wife was still in a safe house with their children. “For all we know, he’s gone there, and there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “If he were there, he would have gotten my message,” Shinigami pointed out. “I’ll send a message to make sure everything’s fine at the safe house, but I’m also going to send a message to Admiral Jeqwar. You don’t get worried for no reason, and you’re worried.”

  “We’re up against an enemy I don’t understand,” Barnabas murmured. “Of course, I’m worried.” He rubbed his eyes. “So they want to use mind-control against their own people?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Shinigami said. “Yes, but.” She paused significantly. “Huword was involved in abducting civilians from many different species, yes? Perhaps he was getting test subjects.”

  “What’s the goal?” Barnabas flung himself out of the chair and began to pace.

  “Power,” Shinigami said immediately. “It’s always power with these people.”

  “They want power, they want— Well, it would have to be mind control, wouldn’t it? They’d have to take over other species by warping their minds.” Barnabas snorted. “The Navy certainly won’t help them.”

  Both of them realized the truth a moment later.

  “Oh, my God,” Barnabas whispered softly. Old habits died hard, so he did not blaspheme lightly, but right now he was too shocked to do otherwise. “They’re going to mind-control the Navy.” He had to say it. If he said it, then it would be real, and he would have to deal with it.

  Shinigami sat in slack-jawed silence. “They’re going to mind-control the Navy,” she repeated finally, “and then take over other worlds, mind-controlling the governments and civilians as necessary to keep them in power.”

  “And once enough people are their slaves, it will be impossible to overthrow them. They’ll have turned every one of those people into living shields.” Barnabas found that he had the distinct urge to put his fist through a wall. “Son of a bitch. Every time I think people can’t set the bar any lower…”

  “No kidding.” It was quite a commentary on their present situation that Shinigami did not seem at all flippant, only stunned. “We have to tell the Navy.”

  “At once,” Barnabas said. “But we have to make sure we get it only to… I don’t even know, actually. Is it better to have it go broad and risk tipping them off that we know, or to go targeted and risk getting someone they’ve already controlled?”

  “Jeltor will know,” Shinigami said.

  “If we get in touch with him soon enough. No, we can’t wait.” Barnabas went to a cabinet on the side of the room and pulled out a pen and paper. “I’ll start drafting something.” He saw her raised eyebrow and shrugged. “A pen and paper help me organize my thoughts, and if ever I needed them organized, it’s now.”

  He wrote for a while, struggling to convey everything he knew and how he knew it. Admiral Jeqwar was eminently practical and would hesitate to accuse sitting senators of something like this without good cause. Barnabas knew he did not need ironclad proof, but he did need this to sound like something more than a madman’s ramblings.

  When he looked up, Shinigami had come to join him. She looked at the note and nodded.

  “It’s good. Should I send it?”

  “To whom, though?” Barnabas folded his arms and stared at it. “All of the admirals?”

  “Yes.” Shinigami nodded. “They’ll have to act if it’s all of them, won’t they?”

  “I should hope so, but I’m learning not to put much stock into my assumptions.”

  “Don’t get all grumpy.” She smiled at him. “There, I sent it. And remember, when Jeltor found out about the Yennai Corporation, he came with us. So did the entire Navy. This committee is looking at mind-controlling the entire populace. That means the Jotuns aren’t what you fear. They’re what you need.”

  Barnabas gave her a curious look. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “For someone who used to spend most of his time thinking about things, you can be… What’s the word I’m looking for?”

  “Hasty?”

  “A less priggish word.”

  Barnabas laughed. “Come on. Let’s go spar—but, please, change first.”

  Shinigami laughed. “Okay, okay, I get the point—this isn’t something you wear outside.”

  “It really isn’t. What would possess you to wear Tabitha’s clothes?”

  “She wears leather pants all the
time. They’re shiny, this is shiny; they’re tight, this is tight.”

  “All right, you do actually have logic on your side,” Barnabas conceded. “I didn’t expect that.”

  “See? Uh, don’t tell Bethany Anne, though.”

  “I won’t if you don’t tell Tabitha. She would think it was far too funny.”

  “Deal.”

  They shook on it and went to prepare for sparring, but although Barnabas tried to keep his mind on their light conversation, he could not help but dwell on what they’d learned.

  What they suspected. He reminded himself that there wasn’t any proof yet. He was desperately hoping that Admiral Jeqwar would write back and tell him that his fears were unfounded.

  They might be, after all, mightn’t they? Barnabas could be entirely wrong, as could Shinigami—although the likelihood of that, with the sheer amount of data she’d stored, was vanishingly small. If she thought he was right about this, he probably was.

  Which was hardly what he wanted at this juncture. His mind could hardly encompass a scheme of this magnitude. He’d known of the Kurtherians’ schemes, of course, and they were certainly far-reaching…but those were imperial ambitions of a sort he recognized. The Kurtherians—some of them, anyway—wanted to conquer.

  The Jotuns wanted to take the minds of the people by force.

  Barnabas shuddered, then pushed himself up from his seat and changed his clothes quickly. He had to stay in motion and allow the small rituals to free him or he would be lost to worry.

  They would expose this. The Jotuns, as Shinigami had pointed out, were not the Committee’s allies. They would stand against their Senate, and the universe would see the truth.

  It was simply a matter of making sure that happened before there was bloodshed.

  Chapter Ten

  On her first full day aboard the Palpari, Aliana made a simple request of Zinqued: give her all of the information you already have on Barnabas and the Shinigami, including its crew.