Chapter 5-1
2010 Words
Isara moved like a wraith in a red dress, her cloak flapping in the breeze. Her face was hidden under a scarlet hood, and she kept her eyes downcast. Overhead, the Antauran stars twinkled as the last traces of sunlight vanished from the eastern sky.
This small country road was lit only by the odd streetlight that provided just enough illumination to show a fence to her right and trees on her left, all with leaves fluttering in the wind. It was warm now that spring was in full bloom.
She smiled.
Eventually, she reached a gate where two men in blue uniforms immediately came to attention. One glowered at her as he stepped forward. “Gods forsake us, woman. What are you doing out here in a get-up like that?”
Isara looked up so that the light would penetrate her hood, and she felt her lips curl into a sinister smile. “Thrax Shegan is here, is he not?” she whispered. “Perhaps you could get him for me.”
The soldier bared his teeth in a snarl. “Oh, I see. You"re a telepath.” He fingered the pistol holstered on his belt. “Just when I thought you couldn"t get any more flamboyant with your fashions, you try this.”
“Please ask Thrax to come out here.”
“Doesn"t work like that, ma"am,” the soldier replied. “Even telepaths can"t just walk onto military installations without proper authorizations. Now, you show me some orders, and I"ll get you in to see Mr. Shegan.”
Isara"s hand lashed out.
Her fingers closed around the man"s throat, and then she lifted him off the ground. His eyes bulged. “Kill her!” he squeaked. “Kill her!”
The other soldier reached for his g*n.
Isara studied her captive for a moment, her eyebrows slowly climbing. “I am not a telepath,” she whispered. “I am something far, far worse. Bring me to Thrax Shegan, or I will make you regret-”
“Isara!”
She turned her head and found a man on the other side of the fence, a tall man in ostentatious green robes with golden trim. He was just shy of middle age with a receding hairline and wrinkles in his brow. “I felt you coming before you got within a mile of this place,” he said. “Let them go.”
She did as she was bidden.
The soldier she released landed on his feet and stumbled, stretching out a hand to keep his balance. He looked up at her with murderous intent. “By the Gods above! Who let this woman-”
“Be silent,” Thrax said.
With a quick gesture of his hand, he brought both guards to their knees. They were on the ground, clutching the sides of their heads and wheezing in pain. A moment later, they passed out, one by one.
“Impressive,” Isara said.
“Slade told me that you would be coming,” Thrax growled. “He knows I"m loyal to the Inzari. What do you need from me?”
“Take me to the prisoner.”
There was no need to specify which prisoner she meant. Thrax used a control panel in the guardhouse to open the gate, and then she was walking through it, following a narrow road that slithered through the grass to a gray building in the distance.
Other guards moved to block her path when she approached the front door, but Thrax cowed them with a look. No one wanted to anger a telepath. Not when that telepath had official authority over this facility.
Inside, she found white-walled hallways populated by men and women in pristine lab coats. Most of them walked past with their heads down, focused on something they were reading on a tablet or simply avoiding eye-contact. They knew Thrax. Even without his rank and position, telepaths were viewed as being akin to godliness here on Antaur. So, if the chief interrogator chose to bring in another flamboyantly-dressed companion, well…Who were they to question it?
A left turn brought them to another hallway that ended in a stairwell. Down they went, to the deepest sub-basement, where Thrax had to use his security ID to enter the cell-block.
Another guard rose from his station as they entered, frowning at the pair of them. “Sir,” he said. “I must insist that you log your guest in and receive an official visitor ID.”
Thrax replied to that with an easy smile and a friendly chuckle. “I trust her, Bil,” he said. “She"s here to help me interrogate the prisoner. The one we found last month in the Diplomatic Complex. We need extra telepaths to break the protections offered by that creature he carries.”
“Be that as it may, sir-”
“Relax, Bil.”
The soldier stiffened, and his face became an expressionless mask. He stared unblinking at the pair of them. “You"ve seen her ID,” Thrax said. “I logged her in, and you presented her with official credentials.”
“Yes, sir,” Bil replied.
“Protocol was followed to the letter.”
“Yes, sir. Yes, it was.”
Clapping the other man on the shoulder, Thrax smiled and again and offered a nod of respect. “Good,” he said softly. “Now, why don"t you take a moment and get a coffee. I would imagine you could use a break.”
“Yes, sir.”
They proceeded through the cell-block without further incident, all the way to a door at the very end. When it opened, Isara found Flynn sitting on a bench with his head down. The fool was still in his Earth fashions.
The instant he looked up at her, his face was split in two by a triumphant grin. “Oh, I knew you would come!” he exclaimed. “They kept trying to tell me that no one would rescue me. But I knew! The Inzari protect their own.”
With two hands, Isara reached to pull back her hood. Her hair was longer now and braided, falling almost to her shoulder-blades. “Indeed,” she said. “Thrax, if you would give me a moment alone with the prisoner.”
“I don"t think that would be wise,” the telepath protested.
Glancing over her shoulder, Isara showed him a death glare that should have frozen his blood cold. It did nothing of the sort. The man just leaned against the door-frame with an impish smirk. “This is my facility, Isara,” he insisted. “I don"t care how much authority Slade gave you. I"m not leaving you unsupervised.”
“As you wish.”
She stepped into the cell, placing her hands on her hips as she stood over her errant servant. “Now,” Isara said. “Tell me what happened.”
“I stabbed Lenai!” Flynn proclaimed. “I did it! They told me she was the best of our enemies, and I beat her on my first try. I think maybe you"ve overestimated these Justice Keepers.”
He was genuinely pleased with himself. Curious. Self-awareness was often lacking among men and even more so among Earthers, but this…this was beyond the pale. Did he truly have no understanding of the depth of his failure?
“I beat her,” Flynn whispered. “Now, let"s go! Before more guards come.”
“Your symbiont and I will be leaving momentarily.”
Flynn sat there with his mouth agape, shaking his head. “My symbiont…” he said. “What are you talking about?”
Lighting quick, Isara drew a small knife from her belt, and she stepped forward to s***h his throat. Flynn was faster than she had anticipated. His hand seized her wrist before the blade made contact with his flesh.
He stood up, dark eyes blazing with fury, and his lips peeled back into a hateful snarl. “So, this is my reward for service?” he spat. “You came here to kill me?”
“Failure is not rewarded.”
He slammed a hand into Isara"s chest, forcing her to step backward, but his attempt to Bend Gravity failed when the slaver"s collar around his neck kicked in and sent a jolt of pain through his body. Flynn fell to his knees, spasming.
Seizing a fistful of his hair, Isara tilted his head back to expose his throat. Vacant eyes stared up at her. Flynn was too incapacitated by pain to be truly aware of what was happening. Her knife found its mark in one quick s***h, and then blood spilled onto Flynn"s shirt.
He bent over, clutching the wound with both hands as more blood stained the cell"s floor. His croaks and gurgles were sweet music to Isara"s ears. Seconds later, he collapsed to the floor, lying flat on his face.
Thrax was quivering with rage, his forehead glistening with sweat. “How am I supposed to explain this to my superiors?” he screeched. “Forsake me for a fool! What am I supposed to say about the blood all over the damn floor!”
His eyes focused on Isara, and she felt pressure on her mind. He was trying to push through the protections offered by her symbiont. Without hesitation, she rounded on him and slit his throat as well.
Thrax dropped to the floor, one leg thrashing as he died.
Carefully, Isara knelt over Flynn"s corpse. It was important not to touch it with her bare skin. The symbiont he carried was feral. It would try to Bond with any suitable host, even one that already carried another symbiont.
Drawing aside her cloak, Isara unclipped a disk-shaped containment unit from her belt. It was only slightly larger than a dinner plate, small enough to be concealed with ease. She pushed a few buttons, entering the pass-code, and two clear tubes extended from the unit, attaching themselves to the back of Flynn"s neck.
His body began to glow.
The light collected, pooled together and then flowed through the tubes, into the containment unit. When it was over, the LED changed from red to green to indicate an airtight seal.
“Now,” Isara said. “I suppose I can have some fun on the way out.”
Tossing the yellow ball up, Slade caught it in one hand and then took a moment to examine the thin grooves in the rubber. He lowered his hand to look out the tiny window in this old cargo hauler. There was nothing out there but blackness. An endless, eternal night which the stars tried desperately to hold back. They would inevitably fail, going out one by one. A fitting end to this miserable universe.
He heard the hiss of a door opening behind him, and he didn"t have to look to sense the silhouette of Isara coming in with her hood pulled up. She said nothing; she merely waited for him to address her. In someone else, that might have been a sign of deference. Not so with Isara.
“Did you get it?” he asked.
“I did.”
On his left, two small, clear tanks stood side by side. One was empty, but the other contained a swirling, purple gas that flickered like storm clouds crackling with lightning. Leo"s symbiont. Recovered by Isara after Jack Hunter brought a regrettable end to that young man.
Stalking across the room like a predator on the hunt, Isara went to the empty tank and connected the portable containment unit she had used to recover Flynn"s symbiont. In moments, both tanks were full, both flickering like caged thunderstorms.
Reclining with his elbows on the arms of his chair, his fingers steepled neatly in a thoughtful gesture, Slade observed the woman. “Did you even consider rescuing him?” he asked. “Useful agents are not a resource that we should waste.”
- Writer
