WOLF DAWN: Science Fiction Thriller/ Romance (Forsaken Worlds) (17 page)

Seeta understood immediately. She howled, and the pack activity stopped. Heads turned to look at her. Long Fang gave a small yelp of acknowledgment, and then all the wolves resumed whatever they had been doing.

Seeta grasped Ash’s jacket in her teeth, pulling him along.

Ash picked up his pack. “I understand, Seeta. You’re going to take me home, right?” She looked at him with large, expressive yellow eyes. He ruffled the fur on her head affectionately.

Seeta’s mate trotted out of
Assurance
with them. Long Fang and Seeta touched noses, a silent farewell. Then she and Ash moved off with his small thin hand gripping her fur for support. Presently Ash raised his good arm, and circled it around her. Seeta’s thick, soft fur radiated heat. Comforted, Ash wrapped himself against her, letting her take some of his weight.

L
ong Fang watched them leave, waiting until he could no longer glimpse them through the thick curtain of red snow. The wind roared. He stared balefully at the sky much as he would study an opponent he intended to challenge. As expected, the temperature was dropping. The snowstorm was getting worse. Need alone made him bring the pack out to hunt this cold night. It was well that Seeta was moving to the safety of the den.

Long Fang knew Seeta was acting illogically in adopting the pup, but what could he do about it? He knew when he couldn’t change her mind. His mate was not herself since the loss of her cub. He had thought she was recovering, and now this.

Long Fang recalled the sweet smell of the man-cub’s blood and licked his lips. The cub was weak, and injured.
The cub will die,
he decided.
The sooner the better.

When the man-cub and his mate were well gone, Long Fang padded back into
Assurance
in his comfortable swinging gait. The cub wore the scent of badly injured prey. It would not survive the journey. He would finish quickly and follow Seeta, releasing his pack to go to their own dens and wait out the storm. His mate was not herself.

Long Fang trailed through the broken wreck of
Assurance
. The rest of his pack, aware of where he was going, followed. He soon came to the dead woman. Now he would get his share of this fresh meat. To leave it uneaten would be wasteful. The dead must feed the living.

The other members of the pack silently gathered around. In deference to their leader, they waited for him to begin. Long Fang put his nose under the blanket and tore at the flesh of the dead woman, swallowing great chunks of fresh, sweet meat.

The Age of Perdition, also called the 100 year war, lasted from 2220 to 2320. The population of humankind was estimated to be 15 billion in 2160; by the war’s end human population was less than 8 billion. During that time five worlds were rendered uninhabitable, including Earth.

—
Icompedia

A
dmiral Neopol and Sub-Lieutenant Janson remained out of sight in the Admiral’s quarters aboard
Conqueror
. Neopol wasn’t frightened of reprisals; he simply didn’t wish to be the focus of attention until the warship’s personnel settled. The Crew had been shocked by the suicide of Captain Barlow, and there was an odd ripple of disharmony on the warship, an almost mutinous energy. Lieutenant Commander Gene Barlow had been promoted to acting Commander. Now he was Captain of
Conqueror
.

“Excuse me, sir,” a Communications Officer tapped on the Admiral’s door. “I have a tube from HC, your eyes only.”

Neopol opened his door and took the tube. He had been expecting the man as the communications officer had sent an Icom alert. Sealed tubes were instantly transmitted wherever there were tubeports. Matter transmission had been perfected; however, the technology was mainly used by the UWG. Only small, light objects could be transmitted and they had to be made out of tadium. Tadium was many thousands of credits per gram and the cost of running one small tubeport was colossal. Despite the cost the UWG preferred tube communication.

“Thank you. You may go,” Neopol said.
Conqueror
was
en route
to Omni, having left Delian space as soon as possible. Two ship’s specialists, personal adjutants of Neopol, would ensure that the crew had a memory wipe. No one would be able to trace the genocide of the people of Delian to
Conqueror
.

Once the man left he opened the message. It read: “FP 171
Darla Wu, Captain Larren Forseth reports interception of Delian warship Assurance. Queen of Delian confirmed en route to Truso. Claims Delian gassed. This is serious accusation. Darla Wu expected to arrive on Delian for confirmation of report within six days. Question Forseth then make all haste to Truso to find Delian survivors. If report on Delian confirmed find those responsible. Pirates? Alliance? Request assistance re: media release. Lord Jon Andros.”

Neopol committed the message to memory and placed it in the neutralizer on his desk. Perfect. How auspicious. Now he knew which Delian ship had escaped and he would be able to intercept it. The last of the Delians would soon be destroyed. No doubt the Testimonials and King’s Mirror would also be on board. Not only that, he had plausible scapegoats for genocide now. And
Darla Wu
was traveling to Delian? He smiled with calculation, his mind working fast.

Neopol suddenly laughed out loud.
Naughty, naughty!

Always nearby, his aide, Lieutenant Janson, did not react by so much as a flicker of an eyelid.

Neopol said to his aide, “The handsome police captain and the beautiful Delian Queen.” He moved toward the door. Yes, there was sure to be a believable story there. There was no need to pin this terrible, inhuman transgression on pirates or the Alliance. Not when the police on
Darla Wu
were so conveniently returning to the scene of the crime. With a bounce in his step Neopol strode briskly toward the Bridge with Janson at his side. The two men made a formidable pair. Any crew passing stepped aside and saluted as protocol demanded, courteously allowing their rapid passage on the ship.

“Captain,” Neopol said on arrival.

“Admiral, sir,” Captain Gene Pagett said.

“HC sent a change of orders. We’re returning to Delian immediately. Alter course and provide an ETA. I’ll be in detention.”

“Yes, sir,” Pagett saluted.

Neopol took a tube to the detention deck, and summoned his physicians, doctors Smith and Ching. Specialists in their fields, they were brought on board as the Admiral’s personal adjutants. The two men appeared the moment they heard the voice of their master.

“Yes, sir?” they responded, almost in unison.

Dr. Smith was a man about forty years old, thin, excitable and balding. He could have that genetically altered, he was in the perfect position to do so, but it seemed that this was not his priority. He also had an irritating twitch in his eye that, despite all his science, he was quite unable to cure. Dr. Ching was his assistant. Ching was a tranquil, meticulous man. Mannequin-like, his face never seemed to move. Only his eyes seemed alive.

Dr. Ching was an expert concerning anything to do with the human body. He could tell to the minute at which point a bone would break or a subject would reach unconsciousness. He was a specialist in the physical side of medical pursuits, where Dr. Smith was concerned with the mental side.

“Gentlemen,” Neopol began. He was at ease among those of his own profession, of his own kind. “There has been a change of plans. I’ve a job to be done involving a large amount of work in a relatively short period of time. I know you have been preparing to have
Conqueror’s
crew’s memories wiped concerning the gassing of the Delian people. Well and good. However, in addition to this I now need the crew to receive a memory implant as well. Both will need to be done within the next three to four days.”

Both doctors remained still with wide eyes, aghast.

“Can it be done?” The tone of Neopol’s voice indicated that a negative reply would not be well received, even from fellow colleagues.

A short-period memory wipe was noncomplex. One needed to simply hypnotize the subject; then, while in a hypnotic state, tell them not to remember. A simple command like “You will forget your visit to Delian” was quite effective. It was this idea that they planned to introduce into the crew’s mind. The real problem came about when one was implanting a new memory. First mindtap might be needed to discover the subject’s existing memories. Some of those memories might assist in giving the artificial implant more depth.

Dr. Smith finally replied, “Large sections of crew can be implanted
en masse
, section by section, provided the implant is not too complex. Depth will be provided to senior personnel only. Yes, it can be done.”

Neopol smiled. “The crew is to know that Delian was gassed and that Captain Forseth and the crew of
Darla Wu
were responsible. The motive for Forseth was a woman, the Queen of Delian. How long before you are finished?”

The twitch in Smith’s eye jumped. “Creating the holovid will take two days and administrating the implant will take two more.
Conqueror
will need to be on autopilot while the crew is put to sleep. We’ll need an explanation for their unconsciousness.”

“Yes, of course.” The Admiral’s eyes narrowed. “Get it done.”

“Yes, sir.” They got to work.

L
ieutenant Commander Gene Pagett sat alone in his quarters, taking a much needed break. Working in such close proximity with the Admiral was unnerving. The man was professional, competent … and frightening. He remembered the Admiral’s irritation over the corpse on Delian.

There was something inhuman about Neopol. Pagett had been promoted after Barlow’s death to Captain of
Conqueror
. Ordinarily he would have been thrilled. Now he was worried. Barlow had everything to live for. Why had he killed himself? It didn’t make sense … unless he was driven to it. His Icom had been blocked, so Pagett had been unable to talk to him. A few days before his suicide, Barlow had walked around with a hunted expression, his every action watched by the evil puppet Janson. The Admiral said that Barlow must have committed suicide due to a guilty conscience. Apparently the Captain had intentionally let some Delians escape. If that was the case, Pagett admired him.

Pagett resolved to look up Barlow’s wife during his next leave. Poor woman. Someone should explain the circumstances of his death. Perhaps she would find solace in the visit of her late husband’s best friend.

An Icom message came in, alert flagged. It was from the Admiral.

Captain Pagett jumped up. He had been called to meet the Admiral in the officer’s lounge. Working with the Admiral was probably going to give him an ulcer. While Janson, the Admiral’s aide, made him nervous, the Admiral terrified him. There was no escape, however; he would have to ride it out and pretend all was well. It was six months before his next leave. He could apply for a transfer then.

Neopol nodded at the Captain’s arrival and said, “We have a few things to discuss.”

“Yes, sir,” Pagett replied, maintaining a neutral expression. An orderly arrived with a colorless beverage and placed it next to him. He was about to protest, when Neopol intervened.

“It’s on me,” he said, with a wave of the hand.

“Thank you,” Pagett offered meekly. It was a strong drink, some sort of gin, and one that he would not have chosen when working. In this case he was going to drink it anyway.

“Captain,” Neopol began. “If you were to attempt to hide
Conqueror
from another vessel while near Delian, how would you go about it?”

“Well, sir, I suppose the best way would be to monitor the ship and remain out of sight. We would need to activate the communications blanket so that our emissions would not be detected. Feasibly
Conqueror
would be concealed behind Delian itself, but to be on the safe side I would suggest hiding behind one of her moons.”

“Excellent,” the Admiral said, then rose to his feet. Pagett stood up.

“I’m afraid I must ask you to hurry your drink, Captain,” Neopol ordered. “There are some emergency procedures I want to drill.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Pagett replied. Afraid Neopol would be insulted if he didn’t drink it, he downed the rest of the glassful in one long gulp.

“Right then,” said Neopol. “Let’s get to the Bridge.”

Pagett walked after him. His throat was burning and his face was on fire.
Worlds of Perdition.
Who could drink that stuff straight?

On the Bridge, Neopol fired questions: “Where is the ship’s destruct device? What would happen during an emergency if half of the Bridge crew were wounded or killed? When does the autopilot activate? How is it done? If the entire crew of the Bridge were disabled, would the autopilot take over?” The questions seemed endless. Was it a test? After a drink like that?

“Very well, Mr. Pagett.” Neopol smiled. “We will continue these drills every day until I’m satisfied. We can’t leave anything to chance now, can we?”

T
wo days later, after twice daily drilling, Pagett was back doing the same exercises with the Admiral, answering question after question. Eventually Neopol said, “Now let’s discover if you can demonstrate your competence. Activate the autopilot with our current course to Delian.”

“Yes, sir,” Pagett said, setting the controls.

“Good. Very good,” Neopol said with a large smile on his face.

Finally,
thought Pagett.
Maybe I passed the bloody test.

“Excuse me, Captain. I’ll be back in a moment. Stay at your post and leave the controls as you have set them. When I return, we’ll continue.”

Pagett held his tongue. What? Was the man off to the toilet or something? He had so much work to do and he was stuck here, waiting. “Aye aye, sir.” He saluted smartly as Admiral Neopol left the Bridge.

Neopol went straight to the detention deck. “Well, gentleman? Are we ready?”

“Yes, sir,” Dr. Smith replied. “A soporific will be released into the ventilation system. Unconsciousness will be instantaneous and we’ll need to wear masks for an hour. The crew will remain unconscious until we supply the antidote, also via the ventilation system.” Smith paused as the twitch in his eye jumped. “Each crewmember will be supplied with a small amount of nourishment through skin patches. They’ll wake in good health but hungry; their suspicions won’t be aroused.

“Good. You have two days to accomplish your objective. Stay on stimulants.”

“Yes, sir,” Smith replied, handing Admiral Neopol a mask. Each man put their masks on.

“At your command, sir,” Smith politely informed him.

“Fine. You may begin.”

Smith nodded his head and pressed the button that released the sleeping gas into
Conqueror’s
air supply. Within moments, the crew dropped to the floor at their posts.

D
arla Wu
moved through normal space on its way to Delian, unaware that
Conqueror
was lying in wait for them.

“Captain?” Drake spoke from the pilot’s console. His Captain and best friend sat on the Bridge, and for the moment he appeared to be absorbed in a memory. He was looking at the holoshot of the Lady Sartha. Embarrassed and not wanting to intrude on so private a moment, Drake turned his head away as Forseth put the picture back in his breast pocket. “Sir, I estimate we’ll make planetfall in thirty-six hours.”

“Very well, Pilot.” Forseth stood and nervously tapped his fingers on the back of his chair. His left hand was in his pocket. Drake knew that he was rolling his lucky marble with the blue stone back and forth in the palm of his hand.