Cypher (The Dragon's Bidding Book 2) (26 page)

__________

Back bent and leaning
on a cane, Wolf hobbled along the sidewalk toward the empty electronics shop,
rain pattering on the hood and shoulders of his raincoat.

“Next time you secure a
disguise, perhaps it could be from someone who bathes more often.” Wolf
muttered, under his breath. “I suspect Jan’s augies will be able to smell us
coming.”

Look at it this way, no
one will want to get close enough to see through our cover.

Cypher had intended to
snatch the coat off one of the derelicts, but Wolf insisted on paying for it.
He didn’t have any money, no credit chips, nothing but lethal weapons and the
platinum bonding ring he once again wore, and nothing could convince him to
part with that. Eventually he decided on a set of collar pins he found at the
bottom of his belt pouch. While they wouldn’t bring as much as the gold and
ruby ones he wore on his dress uniform, a Triumvir’s rank insignia should be
worth at least the price of a couple bottles of cheap booze.

Wolf shuffled past the
store, halting at the foot of the stairs and leaning against the railing like a
spavined wino trying to catch his breath. The camera watched his charade from
overhead, but before his presence aroused suspicion, he exploded into action,
shedding the coat and leaping up, propelled by enhanced muscles. He wrapped the
raincoat around the camera, blinding it. In a blur of hyperkinetic speed, he
sprinted to the top of the stairs, the rusted metal groaning under foot.

The two ready icons of
the breaching charges flashed on his inhead toolbar. He slapped one explosive
against the door’s lock, and twitched away as he activated it with a
thought-click. The blast was small, only a muffled
whomp
, but the shaped
charge propelled pieces of shrapnel into the space beyond. Wolf kicked the door
open and charged in, but found the room empty.

To the left. Down the
hallway and up the stairs.

As they slid to a stop
at the entrance to the warehouse, Wolf reached into his belt pouch for the
second charge.

I’ve got this.
Cypher punched in the number sequence, and Wolf pushed through the door.

The darkness shifted
restlessly, and chittered. Night vision revealed vague shapes that sent a
prickle of fear cascading across Wolf’s thoughts. A memory surfaced from his
past. He’d led a team aboard a hive ship, attempting to free a group of
prisoners. That was early in the war, before they learned the bugs never left
anyone alive to be rescued. The warehouse felt like that slice of hell—hot,
humid, and reeking of a burnt-cockroach smell that he could taste in the back
of his throat.

A dart whizzed past and
glanced off the railing. One of those bloody damn needlers. An augie blurred up
the stairs toward him, fired again, and the rounds clattered against Wolf’s
armor like hailstones. Combat systems sprang to life on his inhead, flashing
warnings and targeting information. He sprinted toward the shooter at HK, but
the second before they collided he grabbed the handrail, ramming both feet into
the augie’s face as he vaulted over and dropped to the warehouse floor.

At his inhead’s
warning, he rolled to the left as a Tzraka blade smashed down, splintering the
plastcrete. The bug lunged forward, snapping its mandibles centimeters from his
helmet’s faceplate. He reached for his sword, remembered he’d given it to Fitz,
then recalled he had her vibro-blade. He ignited it, slashing down on the bug’s
arm. The v-blade cut through chitin and muscle with a wet buzz.

Wolf threw himself
forward and rolled beneath the screeching bug. The creature scurried backward,
trying to protect its vulnerable underside. It clawed at him with its second
set of arms, attempting to drag him out so it could hack at him with its
remaining blade. He pulled the slug thrower, jammed it into the bug’s thorax, and
fired three shots. A cold ichor splashed on him. As the bug collapsed, he
scrambled away and rose, but bug slime smeared his visor, distorting his
vision. He ripped off the helmet and tossed it away.

The darkness in front
of him boiled with movement. No time to speculate if all the bugs’ body fluids
carried the Tzraka virus. If it did, he could only hope his armor protected him
or he was a dead man, but he’d be just as dead if he couldn’t stop the mass of
creatures scuttling toward him.

I don’t think that
nasty little knife will be much use against this hoard.

Wolf dug into his belt
pack and came up with a handful of thermite grenades. “No, but these will work
fine.” He popped the caps and activated them all with a single slap of his
hand, casting them in an arc before the wave of advancing monsters, like a
farmer sowing a lethal crop.

A wall of flame
blossomed, turning the leading edge of bugs into screeching torches. Panicked,
they turned and ran blindly, colliding with their hive mates and spreading fiery
death. Wooden shelves, old and rotten, flashed into flames. The insulation
caught and fire climbed up the walls.

He sprinted across the
burning warehouse to the cage, but found it empty.

“Bloody hell, the damn
thing’s gone. I’ll warn Fitz.” No need to hide his transmissions now. He
activated his comm. “Fitz…”

A force like a kinetic
round crashed into the side of his head, driving him to his hands and knees.
The pistol fell from his bug-slimed hand as pain and darkness claimed him.

__________

Cypher struggled to
rise, but another blow across his shoulders forced him back to the floor. Blood
flowed into his eyes. His inhead when dark, flickered, and began to reboot. A
red light blinked on the toolbar. Important systems came back, like threat
assessment. It warned of a man standing over him, swinging a length of pipe
toward the back of his head with the speed of an augie. Cypher rolled and threw
his hands up to catch the descending blow, but his movements felt slow and
clumsy. The pipe smashed through his fingers and hit his ribs. It didn’t break
his reinforced bones, but the pain stopped his breath.

Rough hands dragged him
to his feet and twisted his arms up behind his back. He would have screamed if
he’d had the breath. Instead he only whimpered.

Wolf?
He reached out to the presence who shared his mind, but found nothing.
Blackness. Emptiness. As if he’d never been there.

Had that blow to the
head knocked him out? Killed him? Was he now just a computer program running in
a dead body?

His heart hammered. No,
this body was still alive, but he was alone in it. All the survival knowledge
and fighting ability he needed to stay alive had gone with Wolf. He’d thought
those amazing skills would remain his, but he was wrong. He was a composite, a
mosaic of talents stitched together by Tritico’s cyber-techs, and the facet of
that personality he needed the most now had disappeared.

“Who do we have here?”
Ian Chorickus faced him, the flames making his florid complexion even redder,
giving his face a demonic mien. The augie tossed down the length of pipe and
stalked up to Cypher, taking his jaw in a vice-like grip and twisting his head
to stare into his eyes. He laughed.

“I can tell you sure
ain’t Youngblood. You look like you’re so scared you’re about to piss yourself,
boy. Maybe I killed him when I smashed his skull, but I doubt it. No matter.
You’ll both be dead soon enough. I told you I was going to enjoy putting you
down when Tritico didn’t need you anymore. With that bug assassin on the trail
of that imperial bitch, you ain’t worth shit to us now.” Chorickus pulled a
large combat knife and dragged the tip along Cypher’s cheek. “What say we find
out how long a Lazzinair can live when you start chopping off body parts?”

“Don’t be a jerk,
Chorickus,” the augie pinning Cypher’s arms said. “This place is about to come
down around our ears. Just kill him and have done with it.”

Punctuating his words,
an explosion rattled the warehouse, raining burning debris and bug parts down
around them.

“Maybe you’re right.”
Chorickus walked to the carcass of the bug Wolf had shot, pulled on a set of
gloves and picked up the severed blade, gripping it by the still oozing wrist.
He returned, leveling the tip at Cypher’s left eye.

“Shit, man, be careful
with that thing,” the other augie said.

The point filled
Cypher’s field of vision, and his mind replayed the image of Costos screaming
and convulsing as the poison ate through his body. He shoved back against his
captor, but the augie’s grip felt as unyielding as a granite outcropping.

Drop.

Cypher went limp, knees
folding up. His sudden shift of weight pulled the augie forward and down, just
as Chorickus drove the blade toward him. The edge slipped past Cypher’s head
and opened a small gash on the other augie’s scalp—but that was enough.

“Shit—” The man
staggered, then fell, thrashing, and suddenly Cypher’s hands were free. He
bolted, running without direction or goal, just away from the fire, away from
death.

A weight bulled into
him, pulling him down. Chorickus twisted him around and straddled his chest,
pounding his face repeatedly. Blood filled Cypher’s mouth. A wordless chorus
howled inside his skull. He tried to fight back, to protect himself, but his
augmented blows had little effect against Chorickus’ rage. The augie clamped
his hands around his neck and squeezed. Cypher struggled to pry the fingers
from his throat. Their augmented strengths matched, but a berserker insanity gave
Chorickus the advantage. Sweat slicked his face, glistening in the firelight,
and his eyes dilated to empty black orbs.

The red icon on the
toolbar of Cypher’s inhead blinked at him, nagged him to remember. Other
warnings overrode it, flashing across his display: heart rate and blood
pressure dangerously high, oxygen levels plummeting. Lacking air, vital systems
would begin to shut down quickly. He doubted even this body could survive that.
Or would the symbiont protect its host by putting him into a coma before that
happened? Either way, if he couldn’t break free and escape the warehouse, he
was a dead man. An augie—even a nearly immortal one—wouldn’t survive
immolation.

As his body sank toward
oblivion his mind remained clear, analyzing the situation with the detachment
of a computer program, because that’s all he was: software, running on a piece
of advanced imperial technology embedded in his chest, comprised the sum total
of his life and existence. Long after this physical shell ceased to function,
that program would still be running, trapping him in a dead and rotting corpse.

He tried to scream, but
couldn’t draw air into his lungs past Chorickus’ crushing grip. His vision
narrowed and began to darken.

Fitz’s voice cracked
through the tension like a whip. “Stand down, both of you. Lizzy, safety your
weapons. Now.” She overrode the computer’s complaints, then turned to the
Praetorian. “And you, Lieutenant, back off. I don’t think Captain Weiland’s
orders extended to blowing up half of Striefbourne City.”

Lizzy announced, “She’s
taken her pulse cannon to stand-by, not off, but I bet I can still beat her to
the draw.”

Fitz sighed. Where was
that stuffy old maid personality that had run her freighter? Give a girl a few
guns and it changed her whole demeanor.

“Lizzy, withdraw to
about half a kilometer away and put us in a holding pattern, but keep that
landing pad on the monitor. I want to know the second the captain comes out,
then we can discuss this like two reasonable adults.”

“You’re assuming, of
course, that the spittle-whisker is capable of acting like an adult.”
Jumper’s nose wrinkled as if he’d smelled a wet dog.

The ship didn’t respond
to Fitz’s order.

“Lizzy, I could shut
down your computer and fly this shuttle manually.”

Several more seconds
passed before the ship complied and began to ease backward. Fitz pulled up a
satellite image and zoomed in on the slender spire of a building in the wooded
park behind the Citadel. She studied the image, misty and indistinct through
the clouds and drizzle, and tapped the screen. “What’s this?”

“I believe that’s the
corporate headquarters for Thorsson Colcheck Interstellar Shipping. Why?”

“Extend your pattern
out a bit so that we’re passing just behind that building.”

“What altitude?”

“This is fine. I think
you can manage to fly in between the buildings. I want a closer look. And keep
moving; I don’t want the Praetorians to get the impression we’re interested in
it.”

“Some of the denizens
of those apartments might not appreciate a warship blasting by their windows at
the break of dawn.”

“Too bad. If they want
to complain, they’ll have to get in an ever-lengthening line.”

“What about Lieutenant
Pike? I thought all your people had been reassigned to accompany Kiernan and
the Fleet. Why would he disobey an order and stay behind?” Lizzy asked.

“That’s easy.”
Jumper said.
“Bartonelli.”

Fitz remembered the
ship couldn’t hear the cat’s telepathy. “He must have been trying to protect
Sergeant Bartonelli, but if there’s one person who doesn’t need protecting,
it’s her.” Fitz shook her head. “If it’s data you’re looking for, he’s the
best, but that boy has the combat instincts of a cup of hot chocolate. I can’t
imagine what possessed him to become an augie. Still he might make a good
one—if he lives long enough.”

“Thorsson Colcheck
Corporate Headquarters coming up on the left,” Lizzy said, swinging around the
spire like it was a pylon on a shuttle-racing course. Fast, but not so fast
that Fitz couldn’t scan the building and store all the critical details in
memory. The office on the top floor boasted a landscaped terrace with pools,
potted trees and a bar for business cocktail parties.

“I want you to maintain
this holding pattern, but increase air speed.” She stood and began a final
check of her weapons and equipment. “Randomly stop and hover, as if you’re
looking for something.”

“Am I?” ask Lizzy.

“No.” Fitz didn’t
elaborate. “Send the surveillance feed of the landing pad to my inhead, and any
communications with the Praetorians will be bounced through you. I want them to
think I’m still aboard for as long as possible.” She pulled on her helmet and
headed aft to the airlock.

Jumper intercepted her.
“I’m coming too, Boss Lady.”

“No, you stay on board;
it’s safer.” She opened the inner lock.

“I don’t give a
gerbat’s rump about safe. If Faydra’s in trouble, I’ve got to be there for
her.”
The cat climbed her body like a tree, hooking his
plexisteel claws into joints in her armor and her harness until he hung from
her plastron, nose against her face shield.
“I. Am. Going.”

Fitz had learned early
in their relationship that arguing with Jumper could be an exercise in futility.
“Then you’d better hang on.” She wrapped one arm around the cat, then slapped
her palm on the release for the outer door. The slipstream tore at them,
whipping Jumper’s fur. Rain splattered them and he plastered his ears against
his skull in protest. Fitz heard him growling over his comm, but he said
nothing.

Perhaps a quarter klick
of forested park separated the office building from the Citadel, with an open
security perimeter around the former DIS headquarters. Her enhanced vision
picked out two white-armored guards pacing at the rear of the building. Weiland
had probably posted sentries on all four sides, so no matter which approach she
took, she’d have to deal with them.

As soon as she judged
the spire of the building obscured Lizzy’s actions, Fitz felt the breaking
thrusters engage hard, slowing the ship until the airlock door was next to the
terrace’s railing, so close a wing clipped the top of a potted tree. Fitz leapt
across, her feet barely leaving the hatch’s edge before the ship accelerated
again. The Praetorians should not have been able to see her directly, but she
scurried under the portico in case, like her, they used satellite surveillance.

Fitz tried the
armorglass doors, but they were locked, the office beyond still dark this
early. Their security system was good, but not good enough to keep her out. She
hacked in, shut down the alarms and unlocked all the doors. A few minutes
later, she exited the lift in the lobby.

Behind his desk, a
guard frantically queried his computer, trying to figure out why all of his
security systems had crashed at once. He looked up, open mouthed, as she raced
across the lobby.

“Imperial business,”
she yelled as she pushed through the doors and dashed out of the building.

Across the walkway, she
plunged into the stand of trees, staying beneath the canopy of leaves and
avoiding the open paths. Branches snagged her harness and leaves dripped their
moisture across her face shield, distorting her vision, but her armor kept her
dry. Not so for Jumper. By the time she neared the edge of the trees, his fur
stuck out in wet spikes. She didn’t need her comm to hear his growls and
hisses. She crouched behind a tree to observe the two guards pacing out the
length of the DIS building.

“You didn’t tell me
there would be water involved.”
Jumper struggled from
her grip and shook, sending up a spray of water. He started licking his wet fur
back into place, but stopped and stared off into the trees.

Fitz would have to take
both guards out at once, quickly and quietly, before they had a chance to warn
their comrades. She crept to her right, closer to the point where they would
pass each other as they walked their patrol. Her inhead counted off the seconds
it took them to make a circuit.

On her comm, Jumper’s
complaints grew louder. “So you’re wet; deal with it.” As she looked back, the
cat wasn’t beside her, but she caught sight of his fuzzy rump disappearing into
the undergrowth.
What is he up to now?

Lizzy’s call pushed
thoughts of Jumper out of her mind. “Looks like we’re getting some activity up
here. Weiland just came out of the building.”

“Get in front of him
and as close as you can without spooking him and keep relaying my comm signal.
As long as he thinks I’m aboard, he won’t be looking for me to come up his
backside.”

Her inhead showed the
Captain’s face, relayed by Lizzy. His eyes flickered from side to side, assessing
the situation, then he turned and waved his people out.

Ari came first, holding
Faydra, her face almost as red as her hair, and her mouth a thin slash of rage.
White-armored guards flanked her, close as a carrier’s group in hostile
territory. Between the last two soldiers hung a limp Bartonelli. Pike tried to
reach her, but one of his minders clubbed him with a rifle butt. The
Praetorians dumped the sergeant and turned away, dismissing her as a threat. A
foolish move, since Bartonelli wouldn’t be as injured as she looked for long,
thanks to the symbiont. Pike crawled to her side and huddled with her.

When Fitz commed Weiland,
his gaze went to the ship facing him. It was a natural instinct to turn and
face your opponent when you talked, one a good security agent had to force
herself to unlearn.

“You and your people
are ordered to lay down your weapons and return to your barracks where you will
consider yourselves under voluntary confinement until such time as this case is
adjudicated under a military court of law. My team and I will assume
responsibility for the Emperor’s safety.”

“I’m through taking
orders from you, bitch. You come in here with your wireheads and your
mercenaries and think you can run this show. You ain’t done squat, if you ask
me. How many assassination attempts have there been in the past week? And what
have you got to show for it? Nothing. Not one arrest, not even a body. That
assassin’s been running circles around you, making you look like an inept
little girl. It’s past time for someone who can do the job to step in and take
over.”

Fitz unclenched her
teeth before she spoke. “That assassin has been neutralized, Captain.”

“That’s not what your
merc here says; she claims there’s some kind of monster after Ransahov, some
unstoppable boogieman. I think it’s all a figment of your imagination.” Weiland
laughed, the rest of his words lost as a furry weight plowed into Fitz,
knocking her on her butt.

Jumper howled and
hissed and growled, only incomprehensible cat noises pouring out of him as if
he’d lost the ability to form human words. A mental wave of terror rolled off
him, chilling her in its intensity. She pulled him against her chest, rocked
him, soothed him, and slowly he came back to himself.

“It’s here, Boss Lady,
here. Right over there. I saw it, touched its mind. Nasty. Terrible. So much
pain and hatred. All it knows is death. The only way it can end its pain is to
kill Ari.”

“Listen to me, Captain.
There’s no time to argue. The bug assassin is here. Get the Emperor on board
your ship and out of here as quickly as possible. Take her off planet, to
Coronia Station or any of the other orbitals—anyplace. I don’t care where, just
away. With her safe, I’ll be able to take care of this creature without
worrying about her. We’ll sort this situation out later before a board of
inquiry. Now do your goddamn job and—”

Screams and weapons
fire overrode her remaining words. The creature, black as the nightmares it had
been born from, erupted from the trees and attacked the Praetorians. Its blades
flicked out, slicing through their white armor as if it were made of paper. The
speed of the encounter stunned Fitz. She knew Tzraka were quick, but this thing
moved like an augie, maybe faster.

Faster than her.

__________

Cypher’s inhead flashed
a question, almost lost among the blizzard of alarms and warnings:
Disregard
detonation command two?

Detonation?

The second breaching charge.
That’s what the blinking red icon represented. Youngblood had armed both of the
explosives, but only used the one on the outer door. What had he done with the
other? Cypher tried to dredge the information from his memory, but he’d been
concentrating on entering the combination on the key pad and hadn’t noticed.
Youngblood had pulled it from his belt pouch. Had he put it back there?

As he released his hold
on Chorickus’ fingers, the pressure on his throat intensified, crushing his
larynx. Darkness swept in, reducing his sight to a single bright dot. He’d have
only seconds to do this.

He groped down the side
of his armor, but found the augie’s knee blocking him from searching lower. If
Chorickus was sitting on the pouch, he was finished. His hand shook, and he
could barely force it to follow his dictates. He reached around the leg and
brushed against the pouch, fished around inside. His fingers closed over the
angular shape of the breaching charge. Afraid he’d fumble it, he clenched it in
his fist so tight its edges drew blood.

Not certain how the
charge attached, he stuffed it behind the augie’s belt, careful to place the
flat side inward. He smiled at Chorickus and thought-clicked on the explosive.

The soft
whomp
sounded deceptive, but it knocked the augie away, blowing out his back in a red
fountain. Blood splattered Cypher as he rolled over onto his knees, forehead on
the floor in an ungainly parody of prayer, while his breath rattled like a
blown thruster. He fought to suck in air but the smoke seared his throat,
driving him into a fit of coughing.

Smoke blind, he crawled
until metal bars stopped him—the cage that had housed the hybrid Tzraka
assassin. He huddled against it. A great black emptiness filled his mind, an
aching hole where part of his being had once been. It seemed as if his
personality had suffered a stroke and a part of him had died.