Forged by Battle (WarVerse Book 1) (15 page)

Chapter 35

The Exile

The Exile could sense the Shadow as it moved through the ship in the guise of the other Psykin. It could access all the memories and the appearance of the departed, and therefore appeared to have no difficulty convincing the humans all was well. No small part of her wished to reveal its deception. She had never seen the Shadow exert so much control for so long before. It was growing stronger by the day, and eventually she might not be able to control it at all. It was never supposed to have been that way. The dagger and its summon were a means to an end—a weapon against the enemy from beyond the portals. If it extracted itself from her control, then she had only created more of the very thing she had trained to fight. That she had been exiled for.

It would be so easy to convince the humans in charge of its deception. She could go to the captain of the vessel. Show him the memories that would condemn both her and the Shadow. Destroy it before it came to power. If it weren't for Project Rebirth.

She did not need to find the Condemned to continue her search. The project the humans had hidden so deep, was on the very ship she found herself trapped on. Details on the project were as scarce as the trail it left. The important thing though, was that it’s completion would lead to human augmentation. A way for the frail men and women of the fleet to stand up against the monsters they were at war with. If she ensured the project was a success, it could be the push that was so sorely needed. It would mean everything Exile had sacrificed was worth it in the end.

She had chased the trail all over space. She had heard nothing for months, and was unable to glean even the smallest clue to the project’s whereabouts, or its progress. Until she saw the ports on the back of the other's neck. Two metallic spots on the center of the spine, one on top of the other. She never would have noticed them if it weren't for the Shadow's deception. The humans had never displayed that sort of cybernetics before. They had the AMI units, of course, but those were grown inside the brain with specific nanotechnology. The ports could only mean one thing.

The ship’s computer systems were easy to crack—a few pushes with her Web to gain the necessary passwords, and she was in. The pilot she had fought was code-named the Duchess, and was part of an experimental fighter wing called Chimera. That was as far as she had gotten before the encryption became too difficult to crack. She needed someone close to the project, and luckily, that person was lying in a bed inside the medical bay.

She snuck into the maintenance shafts that ran along the entirety of the ship, including near enough to the medical wing for her Web to reach him. The Exile lay in the dust-filled access way, her body pressed against wires and conduits as she reached out for the wounded's mind.

The mental anguish of those lying in medical berths was thick. So many languishing in the void of illness. The Exile found it sickening. She could feel the wounds they had sustained, and all, save one, would recover completely. But she did not care, not when she had been scared and thrown aside like garbage. Forced to flee, and float alone through the vacuum.

She was tempted to lash out, to send nightmare visions to those too weak to deserve their unaltered flesh, but she held back. She needed information, and already she had come to close to being discovered. Better to bide her time than lose it over anger.
Emotions kill swifter than blades.

She focused past those AMIs, looking for the lieutenant who would have the passcodes she needed. It should have been a simple effort to separate his mind from the others’, but something was off. The Web was muddled, filled with confusing and disjointed images.

She jerked inside the confines of the access way, her mind full of fire. Anger that overwhelmed her own rolled off someone inside the medical bay. That someone was not human. The Exile reached for her blade, but as her fingers brushed the hilt, she remembered. She could not give it more power.

The presence was so strong, and pressed such poignant visions into her mind that her blood seemed to be boiling in her veins. She pushed through, focusing away from that screaming mind. She just needed to find the lieutenant so she could get the codes and leave. Whatever creature was causing her all this mental anguish would have to wait.

It took all of her mental reserves to force away the alien emotions and focus on the man she needed. He was sitting upright in bed, thinking about his command and his recent interaction with the Duchess. So the Shadow had come to see him, and the lieutenant had not been completely fooled by the illusion. She made a mental note that he could be of more use in the future.

She formed a thought in the Web about the ship he piloted, and fired it into his mind. For him, it would feel as though he had been struck by a wandering idea, and would have no knowledge of her infiltration. Humans were disgustingly easy to manipulate.

Unfortunately, this pilot proved to be more difficult than his compatriots. His thoughts turned immediately back to planning, and some human who was trapped on the planet they were traveling to.

Derek Rodrom—Exile was surprised to know the name. Another large player in Project Rebirth. She had stumbled into the center of the operation. Now she only needed to ensure that all the pieces fell into place. Rescue the doctor, force him to put his research into practice, and finally give humanity the edge it so desperately needed in the war.

It was difficult to delve into the deeper recesses of someone’s mind. Emotions and surface thoughts were simple, the flotsam constantly generated by undisciplined minds. Secrets were kept deeper down, not broadcast as easily or as often. Even humans had some practice in that regard. She fired a few more projections at the man, to see if she could switch the path of his thoughts, but he was concentrating all of his effort on the rescue of his friend. It seemed the pilot wouldn't be giving her any more intel.

No matter, she did not need the codes if there was another way to advance the project. The Condemned would be on the planet they were heading to, and with them she could find Derek Rodrom and ensure his work was finished.

Chapter 36

Rodrom

The weaveroot wasn't working. Or at least that's how Rodrom saw it. Lorelei seemed beyond reason with excitement over the notion that an “ironblood” could possess the gifts of her people. For Rodrom, all it amounted to was a constant influx of noise and bodily aches as she tried to show him the ropes.

"Concentrate, DerekRodrom, you have to allow the Weave to speak to you," she told him, a look of serene patience on her face.

"I have no trouble tuning in. Sorting out all the noise without my head exploding is the tricky part."

Every life around him was like a garage band trying to outdo every other kid on the block. The unintelligible, inseparable noises made his head spin. He felt as though he should have the mother of all headaches, but somehow it was the rest of him that hurt. It felt like tiny needles were being slowly pressed into every inch of his palms, and the same with the soles of his feet. He longed for a med scan to tell him what sort of physiological changes were happening to his body. What sort of damage, or enhancements, the weaveroot was making beneath his flesh.

His whole body was an exercise in extremes. While his joints ached and popped, his muscles felt larger and tighter. His pulse throbbed in his neck as though he had just finished a marathon, but his lungs had none of the burn he had come to associate with exertion. Somehow the weaveroot was allowing him to transport more oxygen—or barring that, it was making him use less when he moved. His artificial copper-based blood was only a quarter as effective as a regular human’s, but it was the only way the Grelkins could cure him of leukemia. The procedure had altered him down to the bone marrow, and he had felt it ever since.

He couldn't handle flying like his father, couldn't pass even the basic physical exam for the military. It was only as a surgeon that he was able to join the fleet and continue his family legacy.

Great, just great
, Rodrom thought.
Trapped behind enemy lines with some super-science parasite giving me auditory hallucinations. Kudos to me.

"You must not fight it. The Weave is everywhere, like the air around us. You breath it in, but only use what you need. Treat the Root the same."

Rodrom had begun to notice a distinct change in Lorelei as day turned to night, and wished he could study other non-feral Verdantun to fill in the gaps of his hypothesis.

Lorelei had kept his transformation a secret, so he was still being treated with the same animosity as ever.
No
, Rodrom thought,
not exactly the same
. It appeared his failure to run in exchange for helping Dirus had made the rounds. The guards shoved him around with a little less violence, and snarled at him with a little less tooth. Heck, they were practically family now.

At least he could understand them when they spoke. That was one part of his newfound ability he had mastered. It didn't seem to matter what the language was, either. The ferals seemed to communicate with a series of snarls and barks when they were closer to their beast form, but he understood just the same.

"Lorelei, there has to be more to it." Rodrom sighed. "A command prompt or a visualization technique."

"The weaveroot is not one of your machines. It is as much a part of nature as it is a part of you. It is the bridge that connects you to every living thing."

"Do or do not, there is no try," Rodrom muttered. Lorelei raised an eyebrow. "Never mind, human expression."

"Allow yourself to sink into the music that flows through you. Do not try to control it yet, only listen."

Rodrom bit back the comment he wanted to make. She was far less receptive to his snide remarks during the day.

He tried to do as she said, to sit back and listen, but it was like sitting in a room full of televisions all tuned to different stations. How could he relax in the center of all that? The more he concentrated, the louder it all became, until finally a noise came so loud and sudden that he snapped his eyes open in surprise. The look on Lorelei's face told him it was not the Weave that had caused the disturbance.

The Verdantun were once again under attack.

Chapter 37

Johnston

"Sir, we will be coming out of warp in two minutes."

Johnston stood at his command dais. The feeds in front of him showed nothing outside their bubble of space-time.

For all the tactical advantage warp travel provided, the inability to know where they would exit was detrimental. He would have no warning if an enemy fleet were waiting just off their bow, and with the peculiarities of gravity wells, he would not be able to jump back out if the fight were too one-sided. Without her escorts, the
Inferno
would be hard-pressed to survive any lengthy engagement. She was strong, perhaps one of the strongest human ships flying, but she was only one ship in the end.

The intel had reported nothing of an enemy presence over Aberdeen. All of the fighting had been contained to the far side of the ground side portal, but by now they had been in warp for nearly two standard days, which for the enemy was practically a lifetime.

Communications keyed a ship-wide announcement to prepare all hands to exit warp. Johnston had already called a ready alert—not to force his crew to remain at their battle stations, but to be close by in the event of battle. It was taxing for the crew to remain inside their gunner's seats and fighter cockpits just to assuage his fears. He would be cautious, but not at the expense of his crew’s wellbeing. In all likelihood they would drop out of warp into an empty expanse a few light-seconds out from Aberdeen. Unfortunately, that cheery thought did nothing to relax Johnston's grip on his console.

"Preparing to exit warp," Navigation announced.

Johnston’s grip got just a little tighter; purple veins stood out against his light brown hands, and a small strip of pale skin on his left ring finger stood in sharp relief despite all the time it had gone bare.

Pay attention, damn it,
Johnston told himself. It had been a long time since he had slept. The headaches were growing more violent by the day.

"Surfacing in five, four, three, two, one. We have reemergence," Navigation called.

"Scan all frequencies, all contacts to tactical. Launch Voidfox squadron." Johnston was thankful that his voice did not betray his exhaustion. He looked down at his display as the data poured in and was processed by his ship's powerful AIs. So far so good, but the sensors could only scan as fast as the light hit them. They were not far from the planet now. A few million kilometers, but enemy vessels could be anywhere around them. From the launch tubes the tiny interceptor craft fired out, their craft barely more than a cockpit and engines. They would scout behind the nearby planets and moons.

After several long minutes, Johnston looked over the data and acknowledged that his ship was safe.

"No enemy contacts, sir. We are being hailed by Aberdeen orbital command. Shall I put them on screen?"

"Aye." Johnston turned towards the screen.

The weathered face of an army officer appeared. "JFS
Inferno
, this is Colonel Trast of the hundred and first. I can't express how glad we are to see you. We have a real situation brewing down dirt side."

"We came as soon as we were able," Johnston said. "Have you had any incursions to this side of the portal?"

"Negative, sir. The troops on the ground have managed to hold them off, but they were pressed back to the research facility. They need support ASAP."

"And they shall have it." Johnson gestured to Belford to give the shuttle launch order. "We will dispatch ground reinforcements immediately, and air support as soon as we can bring the
Inferno
inside the atmosphere."

"What sort of ground forces are we talking about?"

"I have a company of marines, an armored platoon with escorts, as well as a full squadron of atmospheric-ready fighters."

A look of relief crossed the colonel's face. "Those elves won't know what hit them." He smiled.

"We'll get those troops back, Colonel. Leave no man behind." It was one of the american army’s mottos.

"The boys will be glad to see you, that's for sure. Colonel Trast out."

The screen showing the ground commander winked out and was replaced with a forward-facing view off the bow of the ship. Already the blue flashes of engines was filling the space between the
Inferno
and the planet beyond—the shuttles carried the marines and tanks that would hopefully make good on Johnston's promise.

"All ahead full," Johnston ordered. "Get us close enough to drop the Reapers."