Dana Cartwright Mission 3: Kal-King (10 page)

“You’ll come to regret it once they get wet. Wet boots chafe.”

Schaffer waited patiently as Macao sat on a convenient ledge, tugging off his boots. He hated to leave them behind, yet they were awkward to carry. “I’ll take them, sir.” Schaffer offered, tucking them into the back of his drawstring waistband. “Did I mention beware of spiders?”

Macao shuddered. “Thanks.” He opted to keep his socks on.

Without prodding, the Enturian began recounting his little band’s early explorations of the caverns. His voice remained soft, at a bare minimum. Macao came to appreciate the young officer’s wisdom and insight.

“So you’re the de facto leader of the band.”

“During my years as an exchange officer, I was exposed to far more Republic member races than the others and felt more comfortable with foreigners.”

“Including Alphans?”

“Uh,” the Lieutenant hesitated.

“Because we’re telepaths?” Macao realized.

“Crazorians are telepaths, too, Captain.”

“Tell me about them — the condensed version. I’d
 
heard very little before Novem and the mercenaries showed up at Decker Station.”

Schaffer told a tale; going back to pre-Galactic Colonies of Enturize history, glossing over many details but, essentially, saying the Crazorians and Enturians had many DNA matches indicating a common heritage, but like Galaxeans and Alphans, there was a diversion.

“Some texts believe it was from exposure to the sulfites in the natural foods and water on their home world. The more they were exposed, the more their DNA mutated. The sulfites were later determined to be toxic. The Enturians exposed became communicants — what you term telepaths — and they were feared.”

“People fear the unknown,” Macao commented, hesitating even as they approached a particularly dark and rocky section of tunnel, passing amazing stalactites and stalagmites, some bigger than a shuttle craft.

Schaffer suggested, “Let me lead here, sir. The path narrows and can be treacherous.”

Macao assented, copying Schaffer’s movements, following in his footsteps, catching his breath as they made their way along a dangerously narrow ledge and gasping and biting his lip, feeling the panic of acrophobia rising, and catching in his throat.
 

Schaffer stopped, holding up the torch to illumine a wet rock cavern and a stunning water pool that glowed amber.

“We don’t swim in that one,” Schaffer said softly. “It is beautiful, but the snakes will attack anything that enters.” He kicked a loose pebble down into the strange water and a mass of snakes attacked the offending intruder, until the surface of the pool slithered and undulated, engulfed entirely.

“Like a feeding frenzy,” Schaffer murmured. “Saw a particular species of fish do something similar during an away mission.”

Macao averted his eyes, changing the subject. “I hear something up ahead.”

“A waterfall — it supplies fresh water to all the pools, comes down from a fresh water lake on the surface. We tested it early on; doesn’t seem contaminated with sulfites or lithium.”

“Why do you stay so close to the other pool?”

The answer became obvious. The ambient temperature decreased significantly, as they entered another tunnel; the air held a cold spray from the waterfall. They emerged under it. The roar made conversations impossible without shouting.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

McHale’s frown turned into an outright scowl.

“Three acquired, MAT’ing up,” came over the COM speakers.

“Stop those merc ships from lifting off. Fire at will,” McHale ordered.
 

Thresher
’s laser array activated, and the tactical officer targeted the bay down on the planetoid.

“Direct hit, sir.”

“Reading seismic activity,” came from the Weapons Specialist, followed by, “Tunnel is collapsing.”

Schaffer pulled Janz Macao back to safety as the ground shook, and rocks tumbled down from above them. “Quake!”

“That was no quake!” Macao yelled over the din, dusting himself off, “That had to be a laser barrage from orbit — a surgical strike.”

They backtracked to the last turn, skidding to a stop. The tunnel was completely blocked.

“Are we trapped?”
 

Schaffer stabbed the torch into a crevasse, scrambling to check for a possible opening. Macao tugged him back an instant before more of the ceiling collapsed, snuffing out the torch, leaving them gasping, and in total darkness.

“Cover your mouth,” Macao ordered, putting his sleeve over his, retreating back to safety under the waterfall, and carefully using his other hand to guide along the walls. The whitewater spray created enough illumination for him to see terror on Schaffer’s face.

“Is there another way out?”
 

Schaffer pointed upward.

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Macao answered, craning his neck, though he could not see very far.

“It’s slippery. You’ll need to lose those socks.”

“Already soaked,” Macao muttered, leaning against the wall, pulling them off, and abandoning them. Within seconds, his feet felt numb from the cold water, but he followed Schaffer upward, climbing one handhold at a time, with Shalee’s calming and encouraging whisper in his mind, and the roar of the waterfall in his ears.

You are brave, my love. There is no cause for fear.
 

He didn’t dare respond, because he certainly didn’t feel very brave, and didn’t dare look down.

McHale looked over the threesome, imagining the stress the men had suffered while prisoners. “Gage, Briggs and Rogers,” he repeated, connecting each
 
name to the proper face.

“Welcome aboard
Thresher
. I’m Captain McHale and this is Colonel Xalier of SSID.”

Gage demanded, “Sir, Schaffer and Captain Macao are still down there!”

McHale nodded. “I’m well aware of that. Gentlemen, off to the infirmary with you.”

After they hobbled out under Commander Dade’s guidance, McHale admitted to the Colonel, “We’ve lost their life signs.”

“They may have moved into another area of the tunnels blocking reception, or…” Xalier’s tail twitched, as did his whiskers, “Send me down. I can track them.”

McHale deliberated, “Alone?”

“Of course… I travel faster on all fours,” the Felidae assured.

The rest of the team waited for McHale’s decision.

“Only if you keep a COM channel open and MAT out if you encounter trouble.”

Xalier stripped off his uniform tunic, exposing his feline chest and hips, touched the voice-badge on the leather strip about his neck and ordered, “Continuous tracking — monitor for emergency MAT out.” He then dropped to all four paws and leapt up onto a MAT system pad.

McHale operated the controls, watching ruefully as the Felidae’s form vanished.

“Why do I have the feeling this is a bad idea?” He heaved a sigh as an Ensign retrieved the uniform the Colonel shed, taking it away, while the rest of the team waited impatiently.
 

McHale ordered, “Clean up and report to One for debriefing in ten minutes.” He needed that much time to organize his racing thoughts.

Kieran shook, feeling returning to his body and regaining strength. He pulled himself up, using the back of the bathroom towel bar, inhaling and exhaling deeply.

A second attack…he’d never experienced anything like it before.

“That can never happen again,” he told his quaking hands and closed both eyes, willing a bubble around himself, to heal the tear in his powerful energy field, making it impenetrable even by the highest Masters of the Elect.
 

After a few minutes, he returned to the bedroom.

Dana was gone. All the clothing remained, even the currency.

He attempted to reach out telepathically, but the link —
 
such as it was — was broken.

He sank dejectedly on the foot of the bed.

“I have failed her, and I have failed my brother,” Kieran lamented, “but I can’t leave her. What must I do?”

An idea surfaced. He got up and retrieved the shaver from the toiletries kit, using it to contact SSID.

“Commodore, how may I help you?”

“Can you patch me through to
Thresher
?”

“To Captain McHale, sir? Yes, one moment.”
 

Kieran paced, during the ensuing pause.

Finally, he got the go ahead.

“Calling for an update, Commodore?” McHale asked, looking about Briefing Room One at the men on the team preparing for debriefing. “We’ve recovered three of the sokem — the prisoners.”

Kieran instinctively knew that meant the team had failed. “Only three?”

“Lieutenant Schaffer and Captain Macao had separated from the rest. Xalier MAT’d down to search for them,” McHale ended with, “We’ll be delayed reaching the rendezvous point.”

“Xal did what?” Kieran blinked. “There are a thousand ambassadors converging on The Crossroads Station as we speak, Captain. Get Xalier back aboard and get underway immediately. That’s an order! Jai out!”

McHale surveyed the faces and used the COM to request a link to Xalier.

The Felidae responded, breathing heavily, “Their trail ends at a fresh cave-in, sir. I have backtracked to go around.”

McHale listened, but was unmoved. “Negative! We’re MAT’ing you up.”

“Sir, just a few more…”
 

Xalier stopped mid-sentence. The rest was an angry snarl, followed by a cat fight, three splashes, laser fire, screams, and a moment of silence.

“Emergency MAT directly to infirmary,” Xalier ordered.

McHale rushed out of the briefing room to go meet him.

The Felidae reverted to hind legs, standing out of the way, preening fur when McHale rushed in.

On one of the diagnostic bunks, being tended for scratches and lacerations, was a humanoid male. Without the body armor, he wasn’t much of a threat, appearing painfully thin, with deformed hands and a disfigured face.

McHale stared, “Details, Colonel?”

“Four attacked me. This one tasted…different.”

McHale’s eyebrows shot upward. “Tasted?” He shuddered, not really wanting to know what that meant.
 

The man on the diagnostic bed struggled; and the doctors added restraints to keep him still.

“Settle down,” McHale urged, taking a few steps closer.

“What is that?” the man wailed.

“That is Colonel Xalier,” the Felidae purred softly.

McHale demanded, “And what are you?”

“Dec is a slave.”

McHale and Xalier responded in unison, “December?”

The man on the table became even more frightened, until McHale began to chuckle.

“Why does the one laugh at me?”

“Dec…December, I know January, your sister.”

Dec scowled, repeating, “The January? You know the January?” He didn’t believe him. “Prove it!”

McHale asked a male nurse for a padlet and called up the Star Service record of Commander Dana January Cartwright. He held the image up for Dec to see.

“This is January.”

Dec stared, mouthing, “Only January is perfect…Dec is imperfect.” A tear rolled down his cheek. “She is so beautiful and so perfect.”

McHale’s expression softened. “Yes, she is. So is your sister, April.” McHale called up an image of Doctor April Talon of Galaxea to show him.

“Only the January is perfect,” Dec repeated, though the image on the padlet seemed to prove otherwise.

McHale shrugged, “Do you know where the others are?”

Dec frowned, “What others?”

“The fourth…Xalier, what are they called?”

“Sokem,” Xalier offered.

“Yes, the fourth sokem and the other man?”

“The other? Mac?”

“That’s right, Mac.”

Dec shook his head. “Dec searched for his slave, but it…attacked me,” indicating Xalier.

“You attacked me,” Xalier corrected, “I was on their trail.”

McHale held up a palm. “Whoa! Dec searched for ‘his’ slave?”

“Mac is Dec’s slave.”

“Sir?” Xalier interrupted, pleading, “Send me back down.”

“Too late! We have to get underway,” McHale protested, “by Commodore Jai’s order.”

“Mac is Dec’s slave. Send Dec back. Dec protects Mac.”

McHale addressed the doctor, “Sedate him,” then motioned Xalier out to the corridor. “We have a rendezvous in forty-eight hours.”

“Sir, with all due respect, we can’t leave Captain Macao and Lieutenant Schaffer down there.”

“I’ve left Captain Macao behind before. He’ll be fine.”

Xalier’s tail twitched double-time. “Sir, they may be injured. Send me back down there. That’s an order!”

McHale stared into the Felidae’s eyes. “You will be on your own for at least ten days — until after the conference.”

Xalier nodded his snout.

“Very well, Colonel… So noted. It’s on your head when the Commodore rants and raves. You may MAT down.”

The Felidae tapped the voice-badge on his collar and ordered, “Send me deep into the caverns — as deep as you can penetrate.” He dropped to all fours, then disappeared.

Janz Macao pleaded for a chance to rest. Soaked to the bone, feet beyond frozen, he sank down on a wet rock and did some deep inhalations and exhalations. “Must be the gravity,” he complained. Or was it from stress — the stress of being nearly a hundred meters above a cliff and waterfall, and climbing? He didn’t need an explanation for why his spine ached; he was undoing two back surgeries — all of Dana Cartwright’s hours of spinal weaving.

Schaffer said nothing. For someone ten years in captivity and thin as a stick, he appeared unaffected by the exertion. “We’re not far from a cross tunnel.”

“Let’s hope it didn’t collapse, too.”

“And that the others are safe.”

After a few minutes more, Macao stood and they resumed the climb along the ridge, reaching the tunnel. At the entrance, they found five slaves — all dead from fallen rocks and debris.

“We need a hand torch,” Macao insisted, checking the bodies of the fallen in the dim light. “Yes!” He turned on the beacon.

The slaves were all hybrids, but he didn’t dare a guess from what race, certainly none he could identify.

With the light beacon in his left hand, Macao took the lead. They heard noises ahead in the main tunnel. Schaffer signaled for silence.