The Broken Cage (Solstice 31 Saga Book 2) (10 page)

The one holding Vi was next. That round entered the back of his head, at a downward angle, exiting his nose in what Rand would, later, consider a bit of justice. That bullet continued on and destroyed the other tracker's left hip socket. Three more dropped dead, all from head shots, as they gaped at her, the prisoners forgotten.

Tannhauser gaped at her, as well, when he heard the
thunk
of a crossbow being fired. A bolt, suddenly, protruded from the center of Rand’s chest. Tannhauser quickly scrambled for a sword, and was about to split the man’s skull, when he heard an impossibly loud voice say, “No. He is mine.”

Tannhauser dropped the sword and fell to Vi's side, drawing her head into his lap.

The tracker tried to get away, dragging himself on his stomach.

Rand jumped down impossibly lightly, with no seeming effort, all governors off. Without missing a beat, she picked up a sword and drove it through the calf of his good leg and deep into the ground below, pinning him. The man didn't scream.

Through clenched teeth, she demanded, “Who are you?”

The voice emitted from the riot helmet was sinister. It was designed to cause fear, and compliance, in mobs. “I am Death.”

AI~Poole chimed in, “Rand, that device still has an open channel. I may be able to access their network, but you will have to hurry before they suspect what we are doing.”

Her head snapped around and there was the device. Deactivating the helmet PA mic, she said, “Poole, come.”

“Prepping a
Faraday
and a Virtual Emulator. ETA twenty-two seconds.”

Rand knelt and picked up the book. It was an old-school plate interface. She held it up and looked into the display. There was a man there, a look of horror on his face. A small window in the corner of the screen showed what that man saw—a hooded figure with no face. There was an absence of light where the face should be.

She activated the helmet mic. She began to laugh, specifically so he could hear the laughter and would be afraid as he closed the book.

Poole came pounding up behind Rand and lowered itself to her level. She opened an access panel in its nose, to accept the plate she removed from the book. When she turned back to Tannhauser, he was standing over Vi's unconscious body, holding a sword.

Rand walked up and stopped two meters in front of him, lowered her hood and took off her helmet. It was then she noticed the bolt sticking out of her tactical vest. She pulled it out and dropped it.

Without a word, she brushed aside the sword and went to Vi. The gash in her nose was the worst of it. Her left eye had no white at all left. It was red and awful-looking. Tannhauser didn't interfere.

From the kit in her thigh pocket, she brought out a small spray can and misted the wound on Vi’s nose. Painkillers, a strong antibiotic and medical adhesives closed the wound; nanites would repair it, like new, in less than a day. Rand repeated the procedure on Vi’s cheek and some cuts inside her mouth.

“Will she live? Please, tell me she will live.”

Rand looked up at him now, because of the pleading tone of his voice. Suddenly, she realized how much he cared for her. He didn't care about anything else, but her. It was as if Poole was invisible, instead of looming over them like the monster it was.

She put her hand on his shoulder. “She will be fine, Tan.” She knew now the shortened version of his name was the personal form. “Please get some water and clean her up. When she wakes, I want you here. I don't want her to be afraid.”

Then, she glanced at the man she had pinned to the ground. Her face hardened. He remained silent even though he tried to work the sword out of the ground. His fingers now had deep cuts in them. There was a knife in his other hand.

As Rand stood, she activated her riot gloves. Sparking arcs of electricity danced on her fingers. She knew she looked menacing as she strolled to him.

He threw the knife.

She batted it aside, easily. She was silently glad he threw it. She was afraid he would have killed himself, before she had her answers.

She placed her hand at the base of his spine and gave him three seconds of unbelievable pain. She did it there because she knew his bowels and bladder would release. It humiliated a man like this.

“Let me tell you what I plan to do. I'm going to cut off your arms and legs and sew you up. And then, I’m going to do this until you pass out.” She gave him a five-second shock to his spine, a little higher up this time. She knew he would remain conscious but paralyzed.

“A strong man like you could last for days, before breaking. Or, you can answer my questions now, and I will give you an honorable death.”

There was a long pause with no reply.

“Very well.”

She took out her Ka-Bar and cut his belt and pants away down to his mid-thigh. She applied current directly to his genitals for ten seconds. The man convulsed and then threw up. He was sobbing and screaming before it was over.

“Who sent you?”

“The High Keeper.”

“Why did he send you?”

“Someone killed all his Northern Raiders. We were sent to…in-in-in-investigate.”

These men were not after me. They were after Tan'Vi
.

“Why were you after these trackers?”

“We followed them from above the gorge. They were at both massacres.”

“Why did you attack my ship and murder everyone I love?”

“I don't know what you are talking about, Witch.”

He never saw the Ka-Bar coming. It entered the back of his skull to the hilt. After a quick twist, she pulled it out and cleaned it on his pants. When she was done, she ripped a section away.

“
Rand, I have withdrawn to ensure Tannhauser didn't panic. When he finally noticed me, he looked like he was going to gather up Vi and run. The Fly is back on patrol sweeps
.”

Rand retrieved her helmet and stood.

Tannhauser was visibly shaken. When Rand knelt down, he shrank away.

“I'm not going to eat you.” She smiled as she wet a cloth from her water flask. She cleaned the blood from Vi's face.

Tannhauser stared at her as she worked.

“That t-t-thing...That beast...It does what you say?”

“Yes.” She continued her ministrations.

“Are you going to kill us?”

“No. I could use some friends. Now, gather the horses. I’m going to carry Vi back to the stone cottage.”

Without waiting for an answer, Rand lifted Vi, easily. Vi felt like a small, sleeping child in her arms.

The horses were very well-trained and did not run off, even with close proximity gunfire. Tannhauser gathered their reins, quickly, so he would not lose sight of Vi.

“Tan, did you know they were following you?”

“No, Keeper.”

“Please, just call me Rand.”

They got back to the cottage and Tannhauser tied the horses to the full water trough behind it. He rushed in and strung one of the hammocks. Rand gently placed Vi in it.

“Rand...how...the crossbow...? Are you alright?”

She remembered the bolt she had pulled out of her vest. The impact had been hard enough that the tip of the arrowhead penetrated all the way through the vest, somehow, and cut her slightly. She slid a hand in there to probe the wound on her sternum. Her fingers came away bloody. Tannhauser saw the blood.

“I'll be fine.”

Tannhauser's eyes grew wide.

“We need a fire and some hot water, for washing. The stew pot is out there in the yard. Then, see to the horses. I'll be right back.”

She left the cottage.

“Poole, meet me back at the bodies. We have some cleaning up to do.”

***

Poole collected the bodies and Rand found the last few horses; all but one.

The gear was collected on the horses and the naked bodies were dropped into a deep ravine, along with anything that was too bloody to keep.

Rand sat on an outcrop of stone, supervising the disposal and scanning the area with her rifle’s scope, on infrared, looking for heat signatures. With luck, she might find that last horse.

That was when she heard it.

At the same time, AI~Poole spoke to her, “There is a small ship coming in fast from the south.”

“Take cover, Poole,” she said.

She had a high spot in the rocks. The cloak was excellent camouflage. The sound of the ship grew louder and louder. By the time she realized that it was traveling in the ravine, it was too late to move.

She glimpsed it speeding along from the south and she ducked down. Then, it got real loud and stayed real loud.

She knew it was hovering in the ravine right in front of her. She couldn't believe she had been spotted.

In a smooth, practiced motion, she cleared the cover of her hiding place. She came to rest and acquired the target. Through her scope, she saw the pilot's profile. His mouth moved, probably tracking movement where Poole was.

She pulled the trigger.

The windscreen on this side exploded, along with the pilot's head. The entire ship plunged down into the ravine, disappearing into the trees. A massive crash followed the sound of falling metal and trees and dislodged boulders, as it tumbled down the slope.

That makes twelve.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Tech

“We didn’t know, at that moment, that Chief Hagan was alive on the opposite side of that moon. We didn’t know what he was planning, or the scale of the weapons he had with him. And, we especially did not know the importance of the data held within the ECHO system. Even Hagan would have missed it, without the help of a man named Mason.”

--
Solstice 31 Incident Investigation Testimony Transcript: Captain James Worthington, senior surviving member of the Ventura's command crew, regarding Mason Tuey.

<<<>>>

Mason left the elevator and walked directly into the horizontal sunlight. It was one of those rare days when he left work in time to see the sun setting behind the mountains.

Today, the beam of light was aligned, so that it shone all the way down the hall, to the far wall almost 300 feet away. He watched his shadow move, as he walked down the long corridor to his suite. The rich carpet seemed to hold a kind of hush today.

Before he reached his door, the beam of light no longer aligned perfectly. As he pulled his key from inside his coat, it occurred to him, he should note this day and time. No other moment of the year would cause this effect.

Mason pulled out the key on its chain around his neck and said, out loud to his plate, “Computer, make note of the current time minus one minute. Prompt me for annotation in the lab, later.”

“Yes, sir,” the computer replied.

He slipped the key into the ornate, black iron lock, and after one last look down the hall to the window, he opened the door to his massive Citadel suite.

The entryway to his suite was as large as his entire first apartment at the Citadel. That had been a windowless cell that was about six by nine feet. And, he'd had to share even that. He had the upper bunk and two drawers. He could carry all that he owned back then. The foyer of his suite now was twelve by twenty and reminded him, every day, how far he had come.

The sun blazed into the great room ahead, filling the foyer with bright, indirect light. The broken vase of flowers in the center of the polished flagstones had, evidently, been dropped straight down onto the floor. Wet, bare footprints were still visible, leading out of the foyer into the great room.

A smile crept to the corners of his mouth, as Mason crunched through the finely broken glass without a word. He paused at the threshold of the great room and found her kneeling in the center of the beautifully furnished, perfectly clean living room.

She was on her knees, bent over until her face rested on the plush rug. Her hands were crossed, at the wrists, at the base of her spine. Her long, thick, black braid was almost a match to the blue-black of the silk camisole she wore.

Heedless of scattering the shards of glass, he walked directly across the flagstones onto the carpet until the toe of his right boot came to a stop, an inch in front of her nose.

Mason paused for a full minute while she remained frozen.

She felt him lift her long braid by its tail and wind it up in his fist. Slowly, he spoke, in a voice just above a whisper. “Did you know... that was my favorite vase? It was given to me by the High Keeper himself.” He drew her up to her feet by her hair.

“Yes, my Lord.” She kept her eyes averted. He kept lifting until she was on her tiptoes.

“The only question to be answered is: Are you clumsy, stupid or willful?”

He was a full head and a half taller than she was. As he marched her toward the far end of the great room, on her tiptoes, she kept her hands on her back as surely as if she was tied. She didn't reply.

“I know you are not clumsy. I have spent hours watching you dance.”

He stopped and held her up in a full beam of sun and just looked at her body. She was naked from the waist down, freshly bathed and groomed to his exact specification. Radiant.

“I know you are not stupid because you have survived in the Citadel this long. An intelligent girl.”

With a small shake of her head, by the braid, to emphasize each point, he continued to march her through massive double doors on tiptoes.

“So that leaves willful.” He growled, and punctuated the statement by throwing her face-first onto the bed.

Her hands never left the small of her back. He threw her all the way to the center of the bed, but grabbed an ankle without a moment's pause. He dragged her to the side, so her toes almost touched the floor. He grabbed both wrists in one hand and lifted them roughly toward her shoulder blades. With the aid of the leather thong securing her long braid, he tied her wrists together using her braid, causing her neck to arch up a bit off the bed.

“My favorite vase,” he whispered.

“Yes, my Lord. Your favorite vase,” she whispered, in a trembling voice, short of breath now.

He took off his belt.

“A gift from the High Keeper,” he whispered, even more quietly.

“The High Keeper,” she answered.

“Answer my question. Which is it?”

“Willful.”

Before the last syllable was out, the belt lashed across her bottom. She cried out, and before she could collect another breath, it landed again, and again. Six times the belt fell. The last time, connecting slightly with her freshly shaved and oiled vulva.

Time froze for her, unable to and not wanting to turn her head. With impossible speed, he slammed all the way into her. She was already dripping wet, and after two thrusts, he stayed all the way inside her, unmoving. It was a worse torture for her than the belt, and he knew it. He knew she was now hyperaware. He knew she felt his cock throbbing inside her. He reached under her ribs, across her breasts, past her sternum and her collarbone, to her neck and held her there, squeezing slightly.

He moved, slowly at first, with long strokes. After a few minutes, he picked up the pace. The deep thrusts drove her farther up onto the bed. When he was completely there, he lifted himself up and her with him.

Now on her knees, he hammered a steady rhythm into her, holding her hips firmly. Reaching up, he untied the thong, releasing her wrists. Taking the braid in his hand, he raised her up and roughly squeezed her breasts with one hand as he rode her, holding her hair.

She climaxed in a flood that inflamed his ardor. He increased to a more frantic pace, and she came again with a cry; and, before the wave was complete, she begged him with a single word, “Please.”

She knew he was on the edge when he withdrew from her and brought her mouth to him, by her braid. He took her mouth for perhaps thirty seconds, then exploded into her throat in a torrent release. It lasted a long while as she pleasured him.

He eventually fell onto the bed like a great tree in the northern forest.

She continued, with her mouth on him, until he was clean and beautiful.

***

Mason's plate chimed an alert from his clothes, piled on the floor. He let out a heavy sigh, and said, “I love you, Ty.”

“More today than yesterday?” she asked.

“Yes.” He kissed her, gently and deeply, as their legs entwined.

The plate chimed an alarm, more urgent.

“Computer, what is it?”

“Incoming transmission on the emergency channel from the watch desk chief.”

“Put it through.”

“A transport has crashed. Contact lost. Pilot dead.”

“What?!” He sat up and dove over the side of the bed to retrieve the plate.

“At 1732 hours, seven minutes ago, the pilot was killed and the transport crashed. Comms are down.”

“How do you know the pilot was killed? Couldn’t it be a comms failure, again?”

“No, sir. We are sure.” A playback with time stamp and telemetry data started, showing the head and shoulders of the pilot as he spoke.

“Arrived at the coordinates and can detect no sign of the tracker team or the prisoners. The Keeper on the site is not responding to hails and—”

Suddenly, his head literally exploded. The shifting light indicated that the ship began a steep dive, and in a burst of static, ceased.

“Eight minutes ago.”

“Priority One protocols have been invoked. Please respond.”

“Warm up Transport 166 and have a red team standing by. I will need a walking status in three minutes.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Shit.”

Mason jumped out of bed and quickly stepped across the room to the large walk-in closet. In two seconds, he exited the closet with a formal tunic. Finally, he stepped into his boots and put on his belt.

“What happened?” Ty asked him.

“I don’t know yet, but I have to inform the High Keeper that Transport 137 is down. He doesn't like to be bothered, but he has been specific about the protocols of transport crashes.”

“Be careful, my love,” she said.

He looked down at her. Her eyes were glistening, on the edge of tears.

He tightened his belt, sat on the edge of the bed, gathered her into his arms and kissed her. Her hair had come out of the braid, at some point.

“I will. I promise.”

He literally ran out of the bedroom.

***

Mason was given all the information available by the time he reached the High Keeper's lift. Guards, in full armor, holding drawn swords, flanked the elevator doors. As he approached, the swords, in unison, came up and pointed at his chest.

“Chief Tech Mason has a Priority One for the High Keeper.”

A disembodied voice said, “Confirmed.” And, the elevator doors opened.

He entered the gaping maw of the elevator, and the doors slid shut behind him like a jaw. The elevator rose.

He had never been to the Keeper's quarters before. The only other Priority One event was when the Planet Defense System had activated, a few months ago. He had been in the lab and the High Keeper had been in the conference chamber.

After a heart-pounding eternity, the elevator stopped and the doors opened.

Two men held plasma rifles on him as he left the elevator.

A man with a great axe of a nose sat behind a small, dainty desk that held a large plate on an ornate silver stand. The plate pulsed red.

“What took you so long? Go right in.”

Mason entered a large room filled with sofas and overstuffed chairs. A few people sat in there and looked as if they had been waiting for a long while. The curtain parted on the far side of the room, and a young man, holding a plate that also pulsed red, held it open and gestured for him to follow, quickly. They crossed an enormous bright room, with mountain views out one side, and a vast formal garden out the other side.

Through another set of heavy curtains, they were now in an alcove in front of large, ironbound double doors, slightly ajar. Mason heard a flute. Beautiful music.

The young man gestured him in.

Mason knocked on the door, and said, “Please forgive the interruption, High Keeper. We have a situation...” as he opened the door.

The woman playing the flute stopped, in refrain. Her back was to Mason, near the door. When she turned toward him, he saw that she was crying, her face wet.

“I did not tell you to stop!” He barked the order.

She played softly, again. It was a familiar lullaby. Her tears ran anew.

Mason expected a plush bed chamber, but it was just a large, high-ceiling room with stone walls. It had bright-red tile flooring, a raised dais at one end of a vast expanse of windows, and a mountain view at the other end. The only thing in the room was a 12-inch square beam of old wood about ten feet long with black rings bolted to the sides of it. It was propped up at one end to about a 30° angle.

A woman was bound to it, with her hands high above her head. Her mouth had a cruelly large ball gag strapped to it; and she was, seemingly, unconscious. There was a woman on each side of her, holding her legs up, as a naked, impossibly muscled man thrust into her. The two women were naked, except for high leather boots, leather cuffs, and collars. Their hair was unbraided and wild. One was a blonde and one was a redhead.

The scene suddenly shifted into a nightmare when he saw one of the women lick the blood from where rusting nails pierced the unconscious woman’s nipples. The red tile was wet with a large, concealed puddle that exactly matched the color of the tiles.

“I did not want to be disturbed!”

“Please forgive the intrusion, High Keeper. Priority One protocols insist that I come directly to you with this information.”

Mason tried not to look at the scene before him. The High Keeper was directly opposite it, forcing him to look over the top of the scene. He was seated, observing the horror, taking notes on a plate, as if it was a school lesson.

“What is it?” the High Keeper demanded.

“Transport 137 has crashed.”

“Report!” The Keeper was on his feet now, storming over.

“Fourteen minutes ago, a standard transmission was interrupted when some kind of explosion killed the pilot and caused the ship to crash, losing comms and telemetry.”