The Demon Book 2 Read online

  “Wong, engage at one-quarter impulse immediately. If we take a beating, the ship can handle it. We’ve got to make it to the station now!” Against the tidal forces at work, they would need to be right on top of the station if they hoped to stop its plunge.

  As his ship thrummed with power and leaped forward, Gold couldn’t help but continue his earlier line of reasoning. He began to understand the enormity of what he’d done. Gripping the edge of his seat, he swore if they actually managed to get out of here, the dead would be laid to rest at last. Rescuing members of his crew necessitated risk. And when that risk passed beyond the pale and threatened to kill the rest of the crew? Who among them would say no?

  It came with the uniform. It came with the job. Gold had allowed doubts to eat away at his convictions of duty. But not again.

  “Captain,” Tev said, “we’re close enough.”

  Gold stood up, unable to contain the sudden energy that flowed through him. “Engage tractor beam.”

  “Tractor beam engaged. We’ve got the station. I’m punching a reinforced dekyon beam into subspace…now!”

  The da Vinci rocked precariously over on its starboard side, as if wrenched by an invisible hand. A power conduit blew beneath the tactical station, flames licking out. Piotrowski grabbed an extinguisher and fought down the small electrical fire. But the vessel held.

  “Matching shields,” Tev announced. “We’re synchronized, Captain.”

  Gold tapped his combadge. If wishes could be turned into energy, she’d hear him even across the event horizon. “Gold to Gomez, come in.”

  As reunions went, Sonya had heard of worse. Among a family of feuding Klingons, for instance.

  Es’a and his small party from the lower decks were searched and put under immediate guard as soon as Rennan led them all into the upper decks that fell under S’eth’s dominion. The intervening levels had had the look of a battlefield, which they had been several times over the past century. Plasma-scarred walls, ruptured steam pipes, and exposed power conduits bore witness to that, along with the musty odors of dust mixed with old machine oil. It was a no-man’s-land through which Resaurian battled Resaurian over the fate of their children: to be raised inside the Demon, in relative safety, or risked to bring them home.

  Sonya allowed nothing to slow down the small group, however, even waving about her phaser (recovered from Es’a) a few times to make her point. Rennan shook his head over those theatrics, but they got the job done faster than his personal style of calm argument.

  “We’ll try your way next time,” she promised, heavy on the cynicism. Neither of them believed that, but it kept him from complaining aloud.

  From the final corridor leading up to the bridge, Sonya wondered if there were ruptured steam vents ahead as well. A great deal of hissing rolled together to make a crash of white noise. The equivalent of Resaurian shouting, she realized a moment later, as her universal translator finally made headway against the static.

  Panicked shouting.

  The bridge was a beehive of frantic activity. Resaurians slithered and ran, coiled into the backs of panels, and labored to rush replacement parts where they were needed. The ozone scent of electrical fires stung Sonya’s sinuses. Her eyes teared up from the acrid smoke. Even as they arrived, another junction box blew out in a storm of white-hot sparks. Pattie swarmed over with an extinguisher held in each of her forward legs, spraying down the box with heavy, one-two doses of dry powder.

  “Commander!” the Nasat exclaimed, seeing her commander lead the small contingent forward.

  Dropping one canister and throwing the other to a nearby Resaurian, P8 Blue swarmed forward on all legs to wrap Sonya in a stifling embrace. Being hugged by a five-foot-long pill bug was no small matter. It took Sonya a moment to extract herself, trying all the while to flag S’eth over so she could calm him before he noticed for himself. Too late. One of his patrol guards made it across the room first.

  “Nest-breaker!”

  S’eth’s hissing shout was enough to momentarily halt most of the work on the bridge. But engineers would be engineers no matter their race. The repair teams fell back to work, leaving the matter to S’eth, who abandoned his perch near the blackened main viewscreen to slither forward with reinforcements.

  Rennan had caught Corsi and Vinx by now. Stevens had heard Pattie’s shout, and come running with Lense. The team was back together, and everyone tried to talk at once and louder than the quarreling Resaurians.

  “Your fault!” S’eth accused Es’a. “It must be your fault. Our anchor is deteriorating and it is accepting no reinforcement.”

  “Us?” Es’a recoiled. “You cause intentional power failures when you know the condition of our systems, and you blame us?”

  Sonya held up a hand for silence. Didn’t get it. She pointed her phaser at the overhead and squeezed off a quick shot, scoring a trail of red sparks. Everyone ducked except for Rennan and Sonya. Bickering ceased.

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he said with a forced calm.

  “I know.” Holstering her weapon, content to let Vinx and Corsi cover the assembled group, she held up her hands again. It was the work of a moment to explain to the rest of her team about the young Resaurians, and the sabotage perpetrated by S’eth’s people in their first attempt to free the station from the black hole.

  “Whatever your past difficulties,” she said, “you have to put them aside.” The station shook, violently. Some of the children Es’a had brought with them cowered behind him. “Obviously the station is no longer stable. If it cannot be fixed, we have to get it out of the Demon. Now.”

  “Impossible,” S’eth hissed. “The phase variance in our power distribution system will overload the reactors. We cannot disengage the safeties.” He glared at his rival. “You are as impatient as your father.”

  “I’ve already made a start at solving that problem,” Sonya told him, heading off any further shouting. “I’d be done by now if I hadn’t worried that you might blow up something else as a means of delaying our escape.” As if caused by her words, the bridge lights flickered uncertainly, then brightened again. “I think we can stabilize your systems, and hold them steady long enough to get out of the black hole.”

  “You think! Long enough!” S’eth waved away her promises. “That is not good enough, Commander.”

  “Okay. Then we can all stand around here glaring until the Demon swallows us whole.” It was a sobering thought. One which shut S’eth up for a moment, and allowed her to outline the basics of what they needed.

  Stevens nodded at once. “You’re using the La Forge-Brahms matrix. I can handle that.” He retrieved his personal tools. Es’a directed one of his people to take Stevens below. Corsi so obviously wished to follow, but sent Vinx with them instead.

  “It’s at least another hour’s work,” Sonya said. “Which means Fabian can do it in thirty minutes. Can we hold on that long?”

  S’eth shook his head. “Not at this rate. We’ve blown three junction boxes trying to reinforce the anchor. It will fail at any moment.”

  “Then we need to invent a new anchor. And we need to contact the da Vinci to update them on our situation.”

  “It cannot be done,” S’eth told her, though he seemed more subdued than hostile this time.

  Es’a scoffed. “Always ready to quit. Duck your head into your nest and hide from the universe.”

  S’eth puffed out his neck muscles. “Our communications equipment is beyond salvage. We have even lost our main viewer. It is not possible.”

  That worried Sonya. Her team could work miracles at times, but three impossible tasks in thirty minutes seemed beyond even her current best estimates. Just a little help would have been welcome.

  “Gold to Gomez, come in.” Captain Gold’s voice, loud and insistent, spoke from her combadge.

  Smiling with her first measure of relief since arriving on the station, Sonya held a hand up to her badge, tapped it to open a channel. “Gomez here, Captain. You
have no idea how good it is to hear your voice. We have serious problems, please stand by for update.” Tapping the channel closed for a moment, she gave S’eth a heartening smile. “We’re the S.C.E.,” she reminded him, and herself as well. “Impossible just takes an extra ten minutes.”

  Chapter

  11

  With a sensation similar to the genetically imprinted memory of the egg, the Dutiful Burden fell toward the station and, beyond it, the event horizon. Though the overseer’s bowed head and twitching tail signaled his dislike, S’linth found he rather enjoyed it. A return to the universe’s womb—a permanent one, if he and his crew did not find a way to arrest their descent.

  S’linth purposefully moved around the bridge. Unlike the sinuous, graceful movements of Third Councilman Sha’a, or the halting, timid steps of the nictitator, he strode with confidence: proud, almost boastful leg-to-tail, tail-to-leg steps. The thump of his tail was a strong counterpoint to the anxiousness that had prevailed on the bridge for too long. Now, he provided an anchor for his crew. He portrayed confidence, and for him, his crew returned it.

  He came to a stop just outside touching distance of the science station. “Science, report.”

  “Captain, I simply cannot replicate it. I’ve tried numerous different energy matrices, all with what I believe to be identical signatures. Yet, each time I attempt to incorporate the energy within the matrix, it collapses, its cohesion vaporizing before it can fully solidify. I simply cannot re-create the anchor.” Frustration wafted off the Resaurian (no fear, now; a victory!), but underneath it, a hard core of determination to support his captain.

  In addition to demonstrating strength to his bridge crew by stopping by each one, he also was able to taste the emotions of each and determine where their full support rested. Though some wavered, the underpinning of their emotions radiated a quiet confidence. A willingness to follow their captain wherever he led.

  “If I had a cycle or so to study,” Science continued, “I might be able to understand what the ancients accomplished. But right now…”

  S’linth radiated confidence. He’d known from the moment the gravity anchor failed they were doomed; the science officer simply did not have the expertise to attempt to replicate the anchor. Like so much, this too had been lost to the conservatives.

  Step-thump; step-thump; step-thump. S’linth continued his prowl around the bridge, all the while keeping Third Councilman Sha’a and the nictitator from direct visual contact. The rasp of S’linth’s scales across the deck was a soothing susurration to the commanding impact of his tail. He stopped at Tho’sh’s seat.

  “First Navigator. Report.”

  “The Dutiful Burden is one point four ris-units above the event horizon.”

  “The alien vessel?”

  “Point seven-four-three ris-units.”

  “And the station?

  “Point seven-three-nine ris-units.”

  “So close?”

  “Yes, Captain. I’m surprised at how quickly the alien vessel managed to close with the station.”

  “How did it accomplish this?”

  “I cannot say, Captain.”

  “And why? Why close so quickly with the station? To what purpose? Even if they stacked the station’s occupants nose to tail they could not transfer but a fraction.”

  “What does it matter, Captain?”

  Sha’a’s voice slicked the air. Though no scent accompanied the pronouncement, S’linth still felt as though he’d been immersed in brackish liquid. The sudden heat of hate radiated from Tho’sh at Sha’a’s voice. Though he reciprocated, such blatant scents were extremely dangerous. S’linth shockingly brushed a fingertip quickly across Tho’sh’s shoulder. The first navigator reined in his pheromones and bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment.

  “It matters a great deal, Third Councilman.” He tried with difficultly to keep his voice neutral. Too much baggage was now attached to their relationship for the easy respect of the past. S’linth turned, too sharply, to gaze at Sha’a. “If the aliens find a way to escape the Demon, we may be able to replicate it. If the solution involves the station in some way, then understanding it is also important.”

  “The captain wishes to rescue his crew, just as he said from the beginning. He’s determined to continue to interfere in Resaurian affairs. His maliciousness in dragging us across the photon sphere is proof enough of that.”

  So, revisionist history. S’linth almost shook his head in disgust. Is this how it happens? Did the councilmen millennia ago also wish to hide their heads in the nest and casually change what really occurred? The thought sickened him.

  “I believe the alien captain dragged us across the photon sphere because we held him against his will. It shows determination and amazing ingenuity. I have to respect him for the one and admire him for the other.”

  “You admire him?! How dare you—”

  Lucky for the nictitator, Comms interrupted. With everything that had occurred, S’linth had reached the point where the unproductive—it had taken crossing the photon sphere of a black hole for him to see the Resaurian in his true light—would not be allowed to make such statements on his bridge without consequence. Even with the councilman aboard.

  “Captain, the alien vessel is hailing us.”

  S’linth moved to the side of his command chair. “Respond to the hail, Comms. Captain Gold, this is Captain S’linth. How may I be of assistance?”

  The bridge of the da Vinci materialized and the strangeness of numerous alien faces greeted his eyes. Their monochrome, too-smooth skin almost made his skin crawl, until he remembered what he’d witnessed. Commitment, honor, determination, mercy. Aliens they may be, but they espoused everything the Resaurians claimed to stand for. In fact, he thought darkly, more so than some.

  “We’ve managed to latch on to the station with our tractor beam. However, though we’ve found what I believe to be a very workable plan to save ourselves and the station, we cannot do it alone. Since it appears you too are in dire straits, I feel we can pool our resources and save all of us.”

  Sha’a butted into the conversation with an imperious manner. “What if we wish not to see ourselves saved?”

  The rage of hate engulfed S’linth with a suddenness that snapped his jaws shut tight and sent his tail tip quivering. It had all become too much. The vapid overseer could’ve broken the fang all by himself, but for the councilman to behave as though the captain were not even present? That tunneled the nest. A nest-breaker could not be allowed to remain.

  The thought cooled his heat with a splash of frigid ice. Could he really be thinking of breaking centuries-old traditions?

  “Then you’ll be dooming yourselves to death. We’ve got the key to escape and unless you’ve figured it out, which I doubt since you’re still falling, you’re going to die. I’ll gladly share it with you, provided we work to save everyone. If you don’t, not only will you condemn yourselves, but you’ll be murdering those on the station and killing innocent aliens as well. You espouse peace and acceptance and yet you show yourselves to be as callous as the worst Klingon. Uncaring of the devastation you leave behind due to your traditions.”

  The words sank into S’linth like mating fangs: incessant, hot, irresistible. Though the captain spoke to Sha’a, S’linth felt as though the words were tailored for him and him alone. The echo of his previous sentiments only enhanced their barbs, making them impossible to ignore.

  Sha’a continued to speak; his tone made it sound as if they were discussing the price of fertilizer in a casual afternoon meeting. “You don’t know the first thing about our culture. Your specialist has scanned a cube or two about us and now you profess expert knowledge? You try and stretch a skein across a skeleton that does not fit. This is Resaurian business, Captain. I told you at the beginning, Resaurians deal with Resaurians. Even those who’ve spent millennia on the station would agree. Even unto death.”

  S’linth knew nothing of humans, but the small upward stretching of
the lips looked exactly like baring of fangs. “And I said at the beginning, Third Councilman Sha’a, you should speak with them before making such a blanket statement. You see, I have spoken with them, as have my crew. And they’ve a very different opinion of this matter. Those grandchildren have been working alongside my away team to save the station you consigned to oblivion.”

  The creasing lips did indeed turn into a baring of fangs, albeit small ones; the captain’s words spiked in intensity. “That’s right. Grandchildren. The aliens you put on the station have been dead for centuries, and their children and grandchildren have been toiling on a prison barge that has lived centuries beyond when it should’ve been decommissioned. Would you like to see those children at work?”

  S’linth felt as though a disemboweling fire claw had struck, spilling his insides onto the deck.

  When no Resaurian moved, the alien captain shook his head in disgust and slashed his hand in the air. A new image materialized on the viewscreen. Though in slow motion and incredibly fuzzy—in a detached way he realized the recording had occurred across a time dilation—S’linth easily picked out the Resaurian young. Their size gave them away immediately. Nevertheless their blue scales stood out like neon. Young. True Resaurian young.

  A miasma of disgust washed through the bridge, practically choking all. That they’d participated in keeping Resaurian young in fearful, dangerous servitude for endless cycles made them all physically ill. It didn’t matter that they’d not known. The guilt hung around their necks like months-old skin sheddings, and would not dislodge.

  Captain Gold’s face appeared once more. “Would you consign the children to death as well?”

  Fang and claw, the words struck at S’linth’s soul.

  “I will not stand for this deception,” Sha’a finally responded, his voice low and dangerous. “There are no young on that station, and that you would use such against us shows the monsters you are. It will be my pleasure to see you destroyed in the Demon.”