Defender (The Vigilante Chronicles Book 6) Read online

  “You got a message from Carter, actually.” Shinigami leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. “Don’t worry, nothing urgent. He wants you to come meet his niece, apparently?”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “That was my reaction, too.”

  “Let’s skip past the part where you read my messages,” Barnabas said wearily. “Why does he want me to meet this woman?”

  “He’s being cagey,” Shinigami replied. “He said she wanted to know about the mine, but there’s clearly some subtext. Something about not liking… I don’t know, he wants us to go to Tethra and meet her.”

  “Huh.” Barnabas considered this. He looked at his calligraphy. He looked out the window. “No word from Jeltor yet, I take it. Or Admiral Jeqwar.”

  “No,” Shinigami told him quietly. “I’d have told you at once.”

  “I know. I was just...” Barnabas rubbed at his face. “I was just hoping,” he said quietly. He knew it was illogical, but he could not stop hoping to hear something. The longer they went without word from Jeltor, the more worried he got.

  Shinigami said nothing. She was looking away, concern plain on her face.

  Barnabas sighed and put down the brush. “Right. I’ll, uh… Tell Carter we’ll be there when we can.” He caught sight of Shinigami’s face. “What?”

  “We could go now,” she suggested.

  “We’re in the middle of what’s probably going to be a war,” Barnabas stated brutally.

  “Not yet, but we’re going to be.” She came to lean on his desk and looked him in the eye. “Once the fleets start moving, how much free time do you think we’ll have? And…well, anything involving fleets is risky. Do you really want to sit here and think about Jeltor being missing or do you want to go spend some time with friends?”

  Barnabas looked at her and heaved another sigh. “You know, I think I liked it better before you got a handle on human nature. Now you’re far too perceptive.” He smiled at her and stood. “You’re right. I’ll write back to Carter and tell him we’re on our way. I can ask him if Elisa needs anything.”

  “You’re such a worrier,” Shinigami commented, rolling her eyes. “Elisa is on High Tortuga. At worst, she’s going to need something sent over from the main continent, and you know Tabitha will take on delivery duties all day long if she gets a sandwich out of the deal.”

  “Good point.” Barnabas led the way into the hall. “Okay, so tell me what Carter’s message said exactly?”

  “He said his niece was coming, and that he’d appreciate your presence to ‘enforce good manners.’ I guess she wants to know about the mine, and… You know, he was talking in circles.”

  “You’re sure this isn’t just you failing to understand colloquialisms?”

  “You’re hardly the person to help with that—as evidenced by the fact that you’re calling them ‘colloquialisms.’”

  “That’s the correct term,” Barnabas argued.

  “Uh-huh. So, should I just tell him we’re on our way? We’re a couple of days out, assuming we don’t burn the engines too hard. Well, maybe we should. I don’t know when shit’s going to kick off.”

  “Are you kidding? Helen would murder us.” The mechanic on Federation Border Station 7 had not been a fan of the way Barnabas kept up the Shinigami. She’d given him strict instructions to bring the ship in every two months, a recommendation she’d qualified with, “or every two weeks given how you seem to fly it, hot rod.”

  Barnabas was many centuries old, a vampire, and had been one of the highest-ranking members of the Etheric Empire, and he still didn’t want to cross her.

  Shinigami snickered but peeled off to the bridge and let Barnabas head to his quarters to compose a message.

  Carter—

  It will be good to see you, although I admit I have some trepidation regarding the mention of manners. Regardless, I will be glad to see you and Elisa, and I am looking forward to meeting your niece.

  Sincerely, Barnabas

  Chapter Twelve

  In the research station on Gokrun III, not too far from the now-flooded and defunct robotics factory Barnabas had destroyed, Wev leaned close to his screen and focused on sliding tiny packets of data into the outgoing server traffic.

  The research station had been locked down by someone who was both very good at data security and very paranoid. Wev supposed this was probably a good quality in someone who was trying to take over the sector by nefarious means, but it was presently an inconvenience to him.

  Sensing how imminent the Committee’s plans were, Gil and Wev had sped up their timeline. They were beginning to send data back to the Jotun Interplanetary Intelligence Agency. They had sent an overview of the entire plan and were now backing up all of the data they could get their tentacles on.

  They were hampered by two things. First, the data security practices, which strictly controlled the outgoing data and which would also alert some unknown person when the data deviated from expected margins; and, second, the guards Grisor had left, who stuck their noses into things with alarming regularity.

  Both Gil and Wev had considered simply leaving—abandoning the experiments to their fate, with the exception of Jeltor, who would probably have to be killed. They could not take the chance of trying to smuggle a third individual out, and he was too dangerous to leave in the clutches of the Committee. Two, however, could probably make it out, and it wasn’t out of the question that they could do considerable damage to the equipment while leaving.

  But they needed the data. There was no telling who else had the research results from the team here; who could recreate the experiments, given the technology and methodology. Come to think of it, there was no way of knowing who else had the machinery.

  So they had to send everything they had and hope that if the Committee unleashed its plan, the JIIA could somehow begin undoing the conversion process.

  Wev found the very idea abhorrent, and it was only worse with the term they used: conversion. Such a euphemism. They were mind-controlling people, and yet they spoke of it as if they were leading people to a true change of heart instead of torturing them into it.

  He wanted nothing more than to subject every member of the committee to this torture as part of their punishment. Biset’s death had been too quick, and so had Huword’s.

  “Hello,” said a voice from the doorway.

  Wev refrained from jumping and composed himself before turning in his suit. “Hello,” he said as pleasantly as he could. Both he and Gil had been trained in the minutiae of how to behave “normally”—as if someone was a friend, not an enemy. “Did you rest well?”

  “Not so well,” Feword admitted. “It is difficult to block out the experiments.”

  The sounds often kept Wev up as well. The aliens and other Jotuns who had been taken for experimentation had been broken entirely by the torture the original research team put them through. The first attempts to create obedient servants had been unsubtle at best, and many of the aliens bore the scars of old injuries. Their cries of anguish echoed through the halls all day and all night until Wev wondered whether a quick death might not be kinder.

  He and Gil had kept the aliens alive for exactly the reasons they had given Grisor: they wanted to know if it was possible to rehabilitate the experiments whose minds had been broken. Of course, once they were rehabilitated, Gil and Wev had no intentions of putting them through the conversion process—but Grisor didn’t need to know that.

  Wev simply could not bring himself to walk away. Every time he questioned whether death would be kinder than life, he felt a wave of revulsion. Just because they were scared, injured, and mutilated did not mean that they should be killed.

  He wanted to try to heal them. He was ill-equipped to do so, not being a doctor—not to mention having a great deal of vital work to do as a spy. He should not be spending his time on a few injured aliens when there were so many others who needed his help.

  But their suffering was too much for him to endure withou
t at least trying to help them.

  He wondered whether Feword’s conscience was also troubled by the sounds, or if it was only an inconvenience. Probably, it was simply an inconvenience. Feword struck Wev as an enforcer, his low-key demeanor a mask for easy cruelty. Wev had seen his type before.

  So, as pleasant as Feword seemed, he did not relax his vigilance.

  “I am sorry there are not more restful quarters,” Wev said apologetically. “This must have been an unexpected assignment for you.”

  Feword bobbed in his tank with faint amusement. “A bit. The committee’s work has taken us to many places, but always as His Excellency’s guard. Guarding scientists is…different.”

  “I hope you are not too worried about our safety.” Wev tried to keep his voice level, although he felt a stab of alarm. What did Feword mean when he said he was guarding them? “The experiments really are quite contained.”

  “Ah, that is not what I meant.” Feword came closer, and it took all of Wev’s self-control not to show his fear. “The longer the experiments go on, especially in the case of the captain—” he used his tentacles to point at Jeltor, “the more chance there is that someone will find the facility and attempt to stop the research.”

  “Yes,” Wev said blankly. “Yes, that’s certainly a possibility.” He made an attempt to seem worried. “But such things are always a possibility when one pushes the boundaries of science. I try not to trouble myself with them.”

  Feword bobbed in agreement. “A wise course. His Excellency is much the same. Now, tell me how I may best assist you with these machines? These are the controls for the message, yes? And this is for the chemicals?”

  In her private ship at the center of the fleet, Admiral Jeqwar floated in her tank and let her physical body sink into stillness. Her awareness reached out beyond her body until she inhabited the entire ship. Through the sensors built into each component, she could feel the health of the ship.

  When a ship was in battle, there was a constant stream of information from all stations, and keeping up with it could be difficult. When not in battle, it was easy to see all of it at once. The scanners gave a faint impression in her mind, showing her each ship in their range like a pinprick of awareness in her physical body. Meanwhile, each battle station hummed quietly, its personal signature well-known to her after so many years.

  She took time to inspect the missile and fighter tubes, running faint currents along them. Some had wear and tear on the inside of the tube. It could cause problems in an engagement, so she tagged each affected tube as requiring maintenance.

  She moved on to the engines, ignoring the official diagnostic panel and listening to both the engine core and the surrounding structure. It was maintained well by the mechanics, and there were no problems to be found.

  In the communications hub, she searched for loose connecting wires and faulty receivers and found a few that would soon need maintenance. She tagged them for her officers to correct; she preferred them to have hands-on experience with the equipment.

  Jeqwar was an exacting captain, in part because of her natural affinity for her work. She had never been entirely sure what was missing from her life until she was first plugged into one of the larger ships. Suddenly, her dissatisfaction with both her Jotun body and her biosuit had snapped into focus. In a ship, receiving so much information every second, having so many functions she could control simultaneously, she felt alive in a way she never had before.

  For her, it was easy to speak to a ship and have it listen. When a battle began and she took over hundreds of functions simultaneously, she reveled in the challenge.

  She passed the point of mere challenge when she took control of the whole fleet. She had done so only four times in a true battle, but each had been an experience she could never forget. She became the fleet and forgot her small, mortal body entirely. There was no more struggle. Her mind seemed to stretch endlessly to encompass every ally and enemy, every function of every ship.

  She craved battle, even though she knew she should not. She should crave peace, shouldn’t she? Everyone should; it was simply that she was apparently made for war.

  Sometimes the craving for battle was easier to bear, and sometimes, like now, it was more difficult. Right now, she knew that she craved it for the same reason she was doing all of her maintenance checks on her own instead of having the mechanics do them.

  She was worried about Jeltor.

  It had not been long since they heard from him. She had not expected much of anything, in fact, for weeks.

  But then she had received word from the Shinigami. They had not heard from Jeltor either, and she found it unlikely in the extreme that he would go searching for Huword’s assassin without them. It had been their crew who found the assassin the first time, tracking her from the Brakalon transport on which Huword had been murdered and following the clues she left to kill Senator Biset.

  If Jeltor had not spoken to them…

  Something had happened to him, and whoever had killed him had kept it quiet, like Huword’s death, and Biset’s. Jeqwar felt a rising sense of the ridiculous; the Senate and the Navy were prowling around one another, picking off each other’s agents, neither admitting what they were doing or even admitting their losses. It was insane.

  Someday soon, the Jotun citizens might look up and realize that they had no senators or captains left. Of course, that might not be the worst thing. Jeqwar had to admit that.

  She let her consciousness prowl around the ship, circling through each system as though pacing the perimeter of a room.

  She had to retrace his steps, she decided, starting from the moment he had left her sight on Jotuna. She might hit a dead end, but she couldn’t give up before she had even started. Whatever had happened, she would find out as much as she could and appeal to Barnabas for help.

  She did not like involving other species in Jotun business.

  But it seemed she had no choice.

  Jeltor floated limply in a haze of pain. It had been days now, or had it been weeks? Or mere minutes? There had been darkness and light by turns, pain and relief, fear and outright terror. He was being tortured, he thought, but they had not asked him any questions.

  If they had, he did not remember. What had he said? What had he admitted?

  More fear. The only thing he had, the only piece of hope, was that he was still alive. When the pain was at its worst, he knew he had pleaded for them to kill him, but they had not listened.

  Whoever they were.

  A figure approached the tank. Jeltor could barely see it, the damage to his body was so great, but he saw the shadow and heard the footsteps. A biosuit. Another Jotun.

  The tapes started up again. Most of the time they said only nonsense words, although once they had told Jeltor that he must embrace the authority of someone named Grisor. He did not know who Grisor was, and they had never repeated that message.

  This time it was something different.

  “Captain Jeltor.” The voice was very quiet. Like all of the tapes, it reverberated in the water around him. “Maintain your courage. Do not break. There are those here who will help you. I cannot say more.”

  Jeltor thrashed in the water. Wait! He could not make his body work properly, and there seemed to be no hookups to let him speak. Perhaps, he thought bleakly, that was why they had not killed him when he had asked—they could not hear him. Wait, please! You must say more!

  But there was a click and a moment of white noise, and then the normal tapes resumed with their nonsensical babble.

  He had heard it. He swore he had heard it.

  Hadn’t he?

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You’re freaking kidding me,” Aliana said when Carter told her that he and Elisa had children. “You?”

  “Yes,” Carter repeated patiently.

  “No, seriously. You?”

  “You know, I’m beginning to feel a little insulted.”

  Aliana laughed. “No, it’s not that.” She gave
a shrug as the two of them wove their way through the bustle of Tethra’s streets. “It’s… I don’t know, you were always going to be this bachelor, off living a life of adventure. And then you met Elisa, and it seemed like she was the sort who’d go off and have adventures with you. The idea of you being a respectable businessman, all grounded and...” She waved her hands. “You know, settled down, with kids—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Carter gave her a mock glare that had just the smallest edge to it. “I wouldn’t say I’m ‘settled down.’”

  “You said you’ve been doing renovations on the apartment. You have two kids. Also, judging by the number of people who are waving at you, you’re pretty well known around here.” Aliana looked around. “Also, this is a lot of aliens. I thought High Tortuga was all…human-y.”

  “The main continent, much more so.” Carter smiled to the people around him. “It’s one of the reasons I like Tethra so much more, actually. We still have that Wild West feel.”

  “There’s the uncle I remember.” Aliana grinned at him and elbowed him in the side.

  He smiled back at her and confided, “I do like it here. Don’t tell my twenty-year-old self. He’d be very disappointed in me, but I’m really enjoying going to sleep in a proper bed each night, knowing the same people will be there when I wake up in the morning. Also, sleeping in a proper bed does wonders for your back.”

  “Who knew?” Aliana joked. She was smiling easily, happier here than she could remember being for months. The sun was shining, the street was full of amazing smells from the food vendors, and she felt like she could really relax around Carter. Of all her family, he’d been the one who was always there for her—even when he was off adventuring.

  She looked at him and saw him watching her.

  “How are you?” he asked her quietly.

  Aliana swallowed. “I’m fine,” she said, turning her head to look at the street. She tried to recapture the ease she’d felt only a few moments before, but even though the sun was still shining and the birds were still chirping, it was gone. “Uh, so you have a lot of monkeys here, huh?”