The Space Colonel's Woman (Dragonus Chronicles Book 1) Page 12

  ‘What of the Zydonian ship our fighter disabled? It’s crew?’

  The thought of having new prisoners to torture and abuse made Myken smile. He’d take his embarrassment out on their weak useless bodies before handing them over to his technicians for experimentation.

  The messenger was fortunate the receiving chamber was deserted. His chances of survival increased exponentially when his Lord had no witnesses for which to perform.

  ‘The crew escaped, My Lord, but the ship has been recovered. It is the possession of your technicians.’

  Myken growled in frustration. How was it such an insignificant race, not born of Dragonus, were capable of causing him such difficulty? Because of the Earthers, his position was perilous. A single error could see him fall from power. He had succeeded in keeping his ministers at bay thus far, but if he did not show them results they would rend him limb from limb like the rabid Pythora they were.

  He kicked the corpse out of his way, the pathetic thing rolling to sprawl by the messenger’s side. The situation was unacceptable. To be outwitted by a puny human. To have the reputation of Arcadia besmirched by his own inability to capture and detain one man would not be his legacy. They had a ship, which was something. Arcadia’s finest technicians would surely be able to make advancements. After all, they were supplied with carrier slaves to test their theories on. As his messenger had said, this was good news.

  Myken glanced to where the underling knelt, his shoulders trembling in fear, and allowed his ill humor to be assuaged at the sight. It did him good to see them cower before him, knowing their lives were his to bestow or extinguish at will. This one he would permit to live. He had been useful; had brought his Lord important information.

  ‘Get out!’

  ‘Thank you Honored One.’

  ‘Find your female, do your duty to Arcadia, and await your next mission.’

  Myken pivoted in a flourish of cloak, ignoring the gratitude he sensed in the messenger’s mind, and exited the receiving chamber via the access tunnel. The presence of his Darvacion sentries along its walls did little to ease his frustration. Both he and his allies knew they were there to remind him of his obligations. The gloom of the tunnel brightened as he emerged into the entrance alcove to the laboratories. Sconces placed equally around the circular walls illuminated a towering set of triangular doors, each with a round window too high up for even Myken to see inside.

  At his presence they began to slide open with a screech of heavy metal and unoiled components. Myken waited until they were fully retracted before breezing forward into the brightly lit laboratory beyond. There was nothing he liked more than a grand entrance.

  ‘My Lord, it is an honor to receive you here. I would have come to you had you sent for me.’

  The technician before him was thinking all the right things but Myken still sensed the edge of annoyance.

  ‘Of course you would have, Ediixii. I wished to distract you as little as possible.’

  ‘Your consideration does me great honor My Lord.’ Ediixii bowed from his shoulders only. He was a respected technician come to his current position through advancement and talent. There was no groveling in the mud for him.

  Myken wandered the vast space stopping to examine the vast clusters of eggs suspended from the ceiling. Each one hummed with pink light within its strand of nutritional mucus.

  ‘These are the enhanced ones?’

  ‘Yes, My Lord. We extracted genetic material from the latest contingent of slaves just this morning. It is too early to know if any will be viable, but I am ever hopeful for a successful outcome.’

  Myken nodded, allowing a slither of approval to invade the technician’s mind. He continued to wander, feigning interest in the technicalities of how the next generation of Arcadians would be born with the same genetic capabilities as the mutant humans.

  All he cared about was that Arcadia would be the dominant civilization in the galaxy. She had outlasted the Darvac; had offered just enough assistance to the decimated race to adhere their alliance, without reducing themselves to the same fate. A political masterpiece Myken was exultant in claiming praise for. As a result, Darvacion royalty sought sanctuary in his court, eager to offer whatever they could in the way of troops and intelligence via their Dragonus-wide network of spies.

  Myken grew tired of the diplomatic dance, but Arcadia was an unforgiving mistress when her demands remained unfulfilled. He would be the one to lead the Arcadian race into the future, even if he had to alter the gene pool to do it.

  ‘I am sure My Lord finds this process of little interest. May I show you our latest acquisition?’

  He smiled and offered a slow nod to Ediixii.

  ‘It was brought to us two suns past, so we are still assessing its operating capabilities. But I cannot deny my interest My Lord.’ Myken’s hearts quickened as Ediixii led him into a massive alcove lit in the same way his receiving chambers were, using reflectors from the surface.

  Surrounded by a swarm of junior technicians and an army of equipment sat one of the Zydonian shuttles; its rippled wings stretching out toward the alcove walls.

  ‘We are in the initial stages of connectivity testing, My Lord, but the results are not as pleasing as we were expecting.’

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘The slaves we have in storage do not possess enough genetic information to do more than flicker the internal illumination.’

  Myken hissed, thumping his huge fist on the nearest horizontal surface and making Ediixii jump.

  ‘We know the genetic material acts like a portable data storage. Flight information and technical specifications are fed between pilot and machine during the course of their interaction. Each half retains the specific details of the other for faster connection and interaction each time. It is similar to how organic memory works, My Lord. Past interactions allow the connection to advance rather than beginning again for each new encounter.’

  ‘Pilot and ship remember each other?’

  ‘Exactly, My Lord. The ship learns how a pilot reacts and stores the information. Future connections can then be enhanced by this knowledge. Just as the ship stores data on its pilot, the pilot stores information on the ship.’

  ‘One pilot per ship?’ Myken thought into the technician’s mind. If that was the case their plan was redundant. All of the Zydonian ships in Phoenix City already had genetically compatible human pilots.

  ‘No My Lord, like organic memory, the ships are capable of storing many separate data streams, as are the pilots. It really is a most ingenious system.’

  Myken paced in a wide circle around the ship, arms crossed behind his back. He could not help marveling at its design, superior even to the Darvacion cruisers. ‘So your experiments will continue to fail, Ediixii?’

  ‘I fear you are correct, My Lord.’

  He grinned; Ediixii had every right to be fearful. He may hold a position of respect but if he did not provide results, he too could find himself in less pleasant accommodations.

  ‘The genetic specimens we have carry no data the ship recognizes. It attempts to connect by offering illumination to them on entry, but that simple invitation bleeds the specimen of their markers.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘We have not discovered why this happens, My Lord. The world of genetics retains many of its secrets, and I do not wish to continue blindly in this endeavor. Exhausting our stock of gene slaves will put the interbreeding program at peril.’

  Myken could not allow that to happen. They had invested too many cycles to risk failure now. There may be no short term yield with which to confirm success, but the long term glory of Arcadia resided in the enhanced younglings incubating in the laboratory. Genetic material from captured humans must continue to be supplied to the designated eggs of leading Arcadian strains.

  ‘What do you require to continue this avenue of research, Ediixii?’

  Ediixii straightened up and looked his Lord in the eye. ‘We could work with any high ranking huma
n of genetic origin. But the ultimate results would come from the one they call Colonel Holden.’

  Myken snarled at his technician. Was he to hear this human’s name mentioned at every source? Ediixii’s thoughts were laced with amusement. He knew of his Lord’s failure to capture his nemesis.

  ‘You shall have him.’ He growled into the other male’s mind. He would see his own death before he allowed one human to bring down all of Arcadia. He would learn from the errors of the Darvac. The Arcadians would attack from within and conquer their foes using their own strengths against them.

  ‘Discontinue the experiments, Ediixii. Expel your energies on the younglings. Have your technicians glean what they can from the ship. Shariik is due with a fresh consignment.’ Myken’s loins stirred at the thought and he remembered the three he had expired. ‘Those that do not please me shall be delivered to you for your experiments.’

  ‘Thank you, My Lord. Your interest in my work does me great honor. But what of Colonel Holden?’

  What indeed, Myken thought.

  ‘You will know of him when he is before you, and not before. It is not your place to question your Chancellor.’

  ‘Of course, My Lord, I did not wish to question your will. I am but eager to see Arcadia rise to glory.’ Ediixii bowed from the waist, exposing the weak spot in his skull. ‘Forgive me my curiosity, My Lord. It is what led me to seek out technology as my vocation.’

  ‘You are forgiven, Ediixii, curb your curiosity among your superiors in future, or you will dislike the outcome.’

  ‘Yes, My Lord. Thank you, My Lord.’

  Myken breezed past the bowed technician and out the triangular doors. He must be clever to capture this Colonel Holden. He must deflect whilst laying a trap. Each attempt to capture the Earther had ended in failure and humiliation, because it was a reaction. If there was to be a successful capture of Arcadia’s greatest prize, then Arcadia must act.

  His war ministers had gathered by the time Myken returned to the receiving chamber. The destruction he had created cleared away, and the floor pristine once more.

  ‘We must employ new artifice to snare our prize. An attack on Phoenix City that appears to have no purpose will confuse the humans and provide us with precious intelligence.’

  ‘An inspired plan, My Lord Chancellor.’

  Myken preened, his posture full of bluster as he paced around the stone map table with its hologram of Phoenix City’s landscape.

  ‘Send a cruiser fleet to draw out their ships, deploy warriors to the ground. Our spy has informed us of a gathering of Dragonus allies taking place within the city. This will offer the deception we desire.’

  ‘Inspired, My Lord. Shall I inform my commanders to capture our prize in the confusion?’

  Myken considered for a moment. He could not risk failure again.

  ‘No, we shall learn how they defend themselves; discover their weaknesses.’

  ‘I do not understand, My Lord. Why wait?’

  ‘Our prize is wily, Minister, as he has proven on too many occasions. We must make him think he has won. Then strike with an elite force, small in number. And we shall be victorious!’

  His ministers barked and fisted the table in approval. A wave of enthusiasm Myken allowed himself to bask in.

  ‘Arcadia shall have her prize and rise to greater heights of glory.’

  His hearts beat out of synch as he signaled for silence and leaned over the map. If this offensive did not yield results, Colonel Holden would not be the only one with an Arcadian bounty on his head.

  Chapter 13

  Colonel Archer had been asked to host a State Dinner in honor of the dignitaries who had arrived from Earth, for a week-long inspection of Phoenix City’s operations. Attending would be the dignitaries and their entourage, Colonel Archer, Mark and Julia, Anora - in her official capacity as Queen of the Zefeiran people - with Hayden as her escort, representatives from all departments, and every leader of the Dragonus worlds Phoenix traded, or had alliances with. It was a big deal. Nothing like it had been held since the Zydonic Age. The gathering of such distinguished attendees would be marked down in the histories of both Dragonus and Milky Way galaxies, with much pomp and flourish as Fate’s calligrapher could muster. A sumptuous affair, even if the conversation would lean toward politics.

  The part Julia had been looking forward to since Mark had told her about the event, was meeting all the guests from other worlds. What would they wear? How would she understand them? And what would they make of the menu? Technically she had more in common with the off-worlders than with the dignitaries from Mark’s Earth, she was an alien too.

  Julia was excited and nervous as she smoothed the imaginary wrinkles from the front of her deep purple evening gown, with its gold embroidered empire line. She had managed to tame her fiery tresses atop her head and the chunky gold earrings matched the Zefeiran armlets Anora had loaned her for the occasion. It had been a long time since she’d had an excuse to wear anything other than jeans and boots, and the strappy gold heels took a bit of getting used to.

  Mark hadn’t seen her yet. He was under orders to help Colonel Archer schmooze the VIPs, and she was to meet him in the grand ballroom of Phoenix City’s central building. It had been all hands on deck to help with the decorating. A u-shaped banquet table had been assembled from Mess hall tables hidden beneath white floor-length cloths, and decorated with blue candles in crystal holders. The botanists had been tasked with vouching for the huge arrangements of red and white blooms and over-sized exotic foliage that adorned every horizontal surface. It wouldn’t do for a guest to be harmed by a lack of attention to detail. As a final touch each world had sent a flag ahead and they hung like ribbons from a maypole. A myriad of colors, shapes, and sizes strung as high as ladders would allow.

  When the power went out Julia was taking the stairs. She clutched for the railing, trembling in shock and her heart pounding in her chest at the thought of tumbling headfirst to her death. While at the same time relieved she hadn’t been stuck as a stream of molecules mid-way between relocator destinations. She stood in the pitch black for what seemed like decades, her eyes wide as she listened. The lights flickered on at the same time as an explosion rocked the building around her. Not a glitch in the power grid then.

  Just in case exiting the stairwell was as easy as waving her hand over the door control, Julia waved her hand over the door control. Nothing happened, so she tried thinking them open. Maybe Mark’d had a point about practicing opening and closing the doors of their quarters until it was second nature. Julia huffed; annoyed. She could do without the image of Mark’s teasing smirk, thank you very much.

  Without a radio, or any sign of an emergency door release, she would have to rely on herself to get out. Her stomach went hollow at the daunting prospect; but she’d never let herself down before. Julia ran her hand over her thigh and felt the sheathed knife. She almost hadn’t worn it.

  “I want you to have this.” Mark said in a voice that brooked no refusal.

  “What on Earth for?”

  “Because we’re not on Earth.”

  Julia felt the heft of the military knife in her palm and wondered how she would wield it with any effectiveness. It was a dull grey, had square teeth like the walls of a medieval castle along one edge, and a wickedly sharp blade that curved to a blood-chilling point. Her fingers curled around the ergonomic hilt.

  “Strap it to your calf, your forearm, or your thigh if you’re wearing a dress.” He advised. “You never know when you’ll need it. Dragonus is a dangerous place – and it’ll make me feel better.”

  He smiled a crooked grin and stroked Julia’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Your assailants may think you’re helpless, but we both know you’re not.”

  It was during this conversation that they had come up with a plan. The plan she was about to implement. The plan Mark had made her memorize until she could relay it to him word perfect; until it was second nature. He had been making sure the other h
alf of him wasn’t defenseless in her new environment; so if something happened, if they were separated, then Julia would have the tools she needed to get back to him alive.

  “Your number one priority is to get armed.” He lectured, holding her gaze to make sure she was hearing him.

  “The armory is on level five, a left and a right from the stairwell, then to the end of the corridor.”

  Julia nodded.

  “Where is it?”

  “Level five, a left and a right from the stairwell, then to the end of the corridor.” She repeated and Mark nodded, pleased.

  Another explosion struck. Too close for comfort, and the stairwell rocked again. Cracks appeared, spreading like the roots of a fast-growing tree across and up the pristine white walls. The alien equivalent of plaster chips and dust rained down. Julia jumped; the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck standing on end as an army of goosebumps marched over her skin.

  It was time to act. If the door in front of her wasn’t responding to commands, it was unlikely any of the others were either. There was little point in going up or down a level to try them. Julia flicked up her skirt and unsheathed her knife. They weren’t elevator doors, but the concept was the same; slide the blade between them and twist, giving enough room to slip her fingers in and pry them apart.

  She was panting like a dog for water, but the blade had moved the doors an inch and Julia had her fingers curved in the gap. Ignoring the sweat trickling down her spine and between her breasts, she pushed, white-knuckled grip gaining her another inch. Her hair had started coming loose from its pins and she huffed a breath, one curled tress lifting free, only to fall back over her face. These situations looked far more glamourous and a hell of a lot easier in movies.

  Julia grunted and heaved, biceps burning under the strain as the gap widened enough to get her elbow, and maybe a foot through. The hem of her gown was trapped under the sole of her shoe and she pitched forward; the hilt of the knife thunking her brow as it fell to the floor.