Enemy One (Epic Book 5) (47 page)

Part of you is Nagogg.

Part of her was…
what
? Chill bumps erupted on her skin as she asked, “What do you mean?”

You have siphoned, yet you have not. You have become. You are fractured, multi, yet one.
His digging was going deeper.
An answer is within.

“Wait,” she said quickly, Ed’s probing was starting to cause physical pain. “Stop, you are—”

You are unexplainable without causation. This will hurt.

Her eyes widened. “Wait! I don’t want you to—” A piercing pain struck her mind, as if a knife had cut into the depths of her subconscious. Clutching the sides of her head, Svetlana fell to her knees and screamed.

Blackness. All around Svetlana, there was nothing but blackness. Sounds became muffled as moments of memories came into her awareness, only to disappear into the void moments later. Like a deck of cards being shuffled, Ei`dorinthal was flipping page after page of Svetlana’s past through her head. Spans of time collapsed as the timeline of the search narrowed to the present, then the immediate past, then a past that was slightly farther. Colors appeared, blurring past her field of vision. Blues, reds, yellows. Then dark colors. Metallic colors. The colors of a corridor.

When Svetlana’s awareness leveled off, she was standing in the Noboat’s central hallway. Nagogg was there, as were Gabralthaar and Ka`vesh. They were forcing her against the wall, tearing at her clothes. She heard herself cry out for Tauthin. No answer came back.

Fabric was rended. Their gnarled fingers gripped her, pinning her body against the cold metal wall with violent disregard, giving no mind as to what they touched as they controlled her. Their claws were on everything. It was like being violated. When the last piece of her uniform was cast aside, they wrenched her from the wall and shoved her forward.

She felt like every eye in the universe was on her—there was nothing she could do to hide her shame. Onward, she was thrust.

“Where are you taking me?”
she shouted. No one answered. Her panicked eyes looked ahead. A room was on the left. Her destination. She was yanked around the corner and shoved inside.

The room was barren and small, save a small elevated table in its center. Grabbing her arms, they shoved her toward it, picking her up and off her feet. She squirmed to escape, she screamed at the top of her lungs. All efforts were futile. The next thing Svetlana felt was cold metal on her backside as she was slammed down atop the table with cruel force. Gabralthaar and Ka`vesh’s claws pressed against her arms and her legs. With one hand, Nagogg grabbed her forehead. Her blue eyes focused on his other hand. They widened as they saw the blade.

It was coming for her nose.

No. No!
Her mind sought to rationalize what she was seeing. The blade drew closer—she shrieked like a banshee. No contortions could free her. She could no longer keep the blade in her focus. It was about to touch her skin.

This is not real.

It was at that moment—in the instant that her mind rejected the reality before her—that the break came. All sound distorted. Her mind detached from her body. Her consciousness was ejected by fear.

Disassociation.

But something was wrong. Another presence was there—a connection that hadn’t been severed. Her consciousness drew to it, whipping around it like a slingshot, fleeing into the other mind it was attached to. A mind that knew nothing of mercy, or of sympathy, or in that moment, of fear. A mind that felt the opposite of what she was feeling now. A “safe” mind in which to hide.

Nagogg’s.

The scene disappeared.

Svetlana winced from her position on the floor, where she’d crumpled to her knees in the midst of Ed’s probing. Her fingers were dug into her scalp, clutching the sides of her head as if trying to keep her brain from exploding. Slowly, the pulsing of the Ithini’s digging began to subside.

Lifting her head slightly, Svetlana opened her eyes. Mishka was standing several feet away from her, the canrassi’s own spider-eyed gaze observing her with trepidation. Her inhalations and exhalations still sharp, Svetlana outstretched her hand to push herself up. Above shaky limbs, she swayed to a stand.

She understood now. She understood where the Bakmanese had come from, where the sick sense of bloodlust had originated. Under normal circumstances, when faced with such reality-shattering trauma, she would have simply blanked out. Repressed everything in a sort of unconscious, out-of-body experience. But during the torture, she’d been under an Ithini connection. Her mind and Nagogg’s had been linked through Ed. Instead of disassociating, as a normal human would’ve, her mind had outright evacuated somewhere else—to the next nearest mind that could handle the stress. She’d followed Ei`dorinthal’s trail right into the mind of the very Bakma who was tormenting her, turning it into a temporary residence until it was safe to return home. And when the return came, she dragged some of Nagogg back with her.

That was why she knew some Bakmanese, particularly when it came to canrassi commands. Nagogg was a rider. Those visions she’d had of herself standing in the cylinder, beholding a canrassi before her. They were her own memories mingled with Nagogg’s. Ed had nothing to do with this. He just happened to be the Ithini who was connecting them.

What you have done should not be.

The thought came from Ed. She could sense his wonderment—his fear. The Ithini continued.

We call this a siphon—the extraction of information from one mind into another. Yet no siphon was executed. Your fear ordained the intrusion.

“My greatest weakness,” she said quietly to herself. Her mind was racing. This new revelation opened new possibilities. “Can this be done again?”

There was a hesitation before Ei`dorinthal answered.
Your mind has made it clear that it can withstand a siphon. I would advise a more guarded approach.

What did that mean? Ed must have sensed the confusion, as a follow-up explanation ensued.

Identify the information you desire to me. I will target that information for relay into you. With precision, the siphon will occur. Be forewarned: your mind is different. It has experienced a siphon in a way that should not be. An unknown precedent has been set. Repetition will produce unknown results.

In other words, she’d already crossed the line as to what was normal. Her mind had experienced a siphon in a way that even Ed was unfamiliar with. There was no telling what it would do if she tried to do this again, even with intent and an Ithini’s expertise behind it.

But the possibilities!

She could siphon everything. Ship operation from the pilot. Combat from Kraash-nagun. Tactics from Tauthin. Now that she’d had a taste of siphoning, there was no limit as to what knowledge could be gained, provided Ed was willing to keep granting her connections. A sense of danger flooded her mind. It was coming from Ed.
You are overambitious. You risk overreach. Negatives to you may outweigh potential gains.

“What do you mean?”

You have experienced personality fracture. You are you and Nagogg. You are different, inseparable. Original identity has been overridden with conjoined presence. Additional siphons may result in stronger fractures.

He was warning her that if she attempted another siphon, she could find herself becoming less Svetlana and more Nagogg, or Nik-nish, or Kraash-nagun, or whoever’s brain she and Ed were tapped into at the time. Ed wasn’t sure if it’d be worth the risk. Was
she
?

As it stood now, what little hope she had was a direct result of the siphon she’d experienced with Nagogg. Because of it, she was able to face Mishka without fear. She was able to command him, make him her own. Prior to the siphon, Svetlana had been…

…Svetlana.

She had been who she had been. It was the only version of her she could ever relate to—the only version of her she’d ever lived. She realized in that moment just how great a decision this was for her. She could potentially
lose
herself.
Lose
Svetlana Voronova. To have her replaced with the imprint of a Bakma’s mind. She was already feeling the impact of her first siphon, even beyond changes such as knowing Bakmanese commands.

She was more aggressive. She had a bloodlust.
Genuine
bloodlust, turned on by the mere thought of mutilating Nagogg in her vision. She was fearless. Or was she? She was feeling fear now. Or at the very least, extreme trepidation. Was there an ebb and flow to Nagogg’s imprint in her mind? Was it sometimes harder to resist than others? Did it “kick in” at certain times, such as when she felt threatened?

The three times she’d blanked out and experienced visions had all been during times of duress: the removal of her nose, being thrust before Mishka on the bridge, then being thrown into the pen with him. There was no denying it: disassociation was coming more easily. It dawned on her in that moment that, during those periods of disassociation, she really didn’t even know what she’d been doing.

Ei`dorinthal must have sensed the uncertainty, as he addressed it without prompt.
Consciousness remained. Fracture was unseen. When your mind retreated, you remained.

In other words, there’d been no discernable difference in her behavior to the Bakma. Everything had been in her mind. “So in my moments of fear…I have been retreating into what I pulled back from Nagogg?”

That is correct.

Nagogg’s echo in her was simply a temporary shelter during the storm. Remnants of him—and pieces of her—were moving back and forth between the fracture. During her visions, she’d felt moments of her own past sprinkled in. During her time in reality, parts of Bakmanese had surfaced. She had no control over either.

That was what it all boiled down to. In furthering the fracture, was she surrendering control of herself? The answer, at least to a certain extent, seemed to be
yes
. It only made sense that if she continued to dabble in siphons, more and more control would be lost. Svetlana would, eventually, become lost in her own shuffle. She’d be an entirely new being.

Right then, her decision was made. She’d benefited from siphoning once. That was enough. Despite her self-depreciative mindset, she
did
possess some courage. She’d stood up to Nagogg initially. She’d stood up to others before in the past, too. Dostoevsky, Esther, Scott when he needed to be confronted.

Upon reflecting on their names, a sadness came over her. What if she lost them in the fracture? What if she forgot their names or that they even existed? Or worse, what if she simply stopped caring, a side effect of having Nagogg’s imprint in her mind?

Nothing was worth that.

“Can what has been done be undone?” she asked.

Unknown. The effort would require great focus. Current situation disallows.

But he hadn’t said it was impossible.

Svetlana now knew her plan. She would use the knowledge that she’d gained to the best of her ability, and that was it. It wasn’t worth the risk of losing the people she loved by digging deeper into the minds of her captors. Siphoning was one and done.

A pleased sensation came to her mind. Ei`dorinthal agreed.

And so her plan was set. She would keep the knowledge of what she had done secret. That effort would go far beyond simply not disclosing it. With the possibility of Ed linking her mind with any of the Bakmas’ at a moment’s notice, she would have to guard her thoughts as well.

Once again, the Ithini sensed her concern.
I am the link. No connection will be established with you without your foreknowledge. To make Nagogg privy to your thoughts of rebellion would go against our purpose.

“Our” purpose. Ei`dorinthal was taking some sort of ownership in this. But of what exactly? “What are your intentions?” she asked.

There was no hesitation in Ed’s reply.
I have been the servant of both Khuladi and Earthae. Neither master is desirable. But you are different.
My intention is to serve you.

“So you do not worship Uladek?” she asked.

Uladek is a created justification. There is nothing to worship.

The bluntness of the statement struck her. Immediately, the question as to whether or not Ed believed in
her
God came to her mind. She quickly tucked the thought away. She didn’t want to know his answer. Rerouting her mind’s path, she asked, “Why do you wish to serve
any
master? You could be free.”

My instinct is not to survive—it is to serve. I must have a master to have purpose. Any purpose that allows for personal creativity is desirable.

So it wasn’t that Ed wanted to serve. It was that he
needed
to—to survive. Svetlana wondered how many humans would be able to deduce their own insufficiencies with such logic and precision. Drawing a slow breath, she dipped her head respectfully, despite the alien’s inability to see it. “Then if you must have a master, I will strive to be the best master you have had.”

That status has already been attained.
What is our next course of action?

Svetlana’s gaze drifted to Mishka, who had since returned to his trough to eat. The coalition of the willing was now up to three. That wasn’t much, but it was still better than two. “I must eat,” she said, looking at the tray of calunod that Kraash-nagun had left behind for her. Bar none, this was the least appetizing meal she’d ever set her eyes on. But it was still nourishment. Kneeling down next to the tray, she said, “Leave me alone with my thoughts. We will reconnect when I am returned to the bridge. I trust our next course of action will make itself known.”

A feeling of acceptance swelled.
As you wish.
Moments later, their connection was severed.

Her attention returning to the tray, Svetlana inhaled through her exposed nasal cavities. Even with her sense of smell diminished, the distinct foulness of the calunod was inescapable.
Perhaps it is just as well that I do not have a nose. I might not be able to stomach this if I were able to smell it properly.
Closing her eyes, she bowed her head to pray.

She stopped halfway through the effort.