Strolling Under the Lion’s Den

by Jason P Hunt

 

“If I ever wake up, I’m going to kill you.”

Colonel Jack Kemper looked over at Jade Mullen with a small amount of humor and a large amount of patience. If he’d been younger, he might have risen to the occasion and spit some choice epithets back at her. But he knew the lieutenant’s words had been prompted mainly by a sense of unease brought on by their current predicament, which was only natural. He ignored the fact that she sounded just like the Chu’a that had captured them. She was far too intelligent to really mean it. She was just venting.

Of course, knowing that wouldn’t make her stated desire any less true.

The two Alliance agents were being held as prisoners of war. Hidden below tons of stone and dark earth on the planet Zul, held in a cavern that had served as a prison for a thousand years — so the rumors went. Which, to Kemper’s way of thinking, either meant the prison was very well-built or ready to fall apart any minute.

Kemper was feeling the minutes mocking him as they crept by.

It was a war that had gone on for generations, a war in which humanity had found itself caught in the middle, hanging on for dear life and trying to figure out just who the players were and what side to be on. On the one side were the Xaatharans, a race that had recycled an old Earth probe to answer humanity’s “hello” a scant hundred years ago. The Xaatharans had proven to be a benevolent race, even to the point of sheltering the surviving members of the Endeavor’s crew after the ship had been destroyed.

Destroyed by the Chu’a.

The Chu’a were a belligerent, xenophobic race that had been fighting wars with neighboring planetary systems for generations. “Paranoid” was a term frequently used to describe the leadership. They had used Zul as a staging point for an armada that had attacked in the Sirian Cluster over a hundred years ago, and then as a factory site for biological and chemical weapons that had been used on several planets. A human colony had even felt the wrath of the Chu’a, the residents not knowing why they had been a target. The whole thing was crazy to begin with, Kemper thought. Humans shouldn’t even have been part of this war. If it hadn’t been for unfortunate timing on the Endeavor mission, there might have never been a war at all. The fact that the first Earth ship ever to travel faster than light had just happened to stumble into the Sirian Cluster — just as the Chu’a were attacking — had been an unfortunate accident. But it didn’t seem to matter to the Chu’a. Humans had been in the Sirian Cluster with the Xaatharans, enemies of the Chu’a. Now humans were also the enemy, caught up in someone else’s conflict, one so old no one could be reasonably certain what started it. And humanity didn’t know that the war had begun anew.

Kemper took a deep breath and tried to appear calm. He focused on a mental image on Earth’s New York Prime in spring, with the sun and birds and picnics and beautiful girls jogging and his golden retriever and —

“I said, I’m going to kill you.”

The mental Frisbee Kemper had just thrown dissolved along with Buck and the rest of Central Park as Kemper’s attention was pulled back into the here-and-now. Too bad. Buck was about to make a brilliant flying leap. Hard to relax when you’re hanging by your wrists in a concrete dungeon next to a beautiful young woman with nothing on her mind except ending her mentor’s life.

Ah, well, Kemper thought. Such was the spy business.

“I heard what you said,” he replied, somehow managing a rueful smile conjured up partly from his own need to maintain control of the situation and keep his protégé calm. “I rather like the part about waking up.”

Mullen blew an errant strand of auburn (some would have said red) hair away from her face and glared at Kemper. “I’m trying to convince myself that I’m asleep in my psych class at the Academy. This is all just a stress-induced manifestation of my fear of finals.” She tried her best to flex her shoulders, straining against the chains bolted to the ceiling ten feet above them. Her dark eyes glanced up at the fixtures holding the metal links in place as if the steady application of a steely glare could burn through them. She drooped and blew out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t think I’m going to pass the exam.”

Kemper had to hold back a grunt of mirth. “And what am I doing here?”

Mullen shot her teacher a speculative glance. “That’s easy. You’re here to represent all the hang-ups I have about authority figures.” She tilted her head forward, then back, trying to work some of the tension out of burning muscles that had been pulled taut into the same position for far too long, to no avail. She’d been hanging here for quite a bit longer than Kemper, who’d been pulled out of the room more times than she’d bothered to count. Besides her arms being sore, her shoulder was aching from a nasty gash she’d received during her capture. She was still angry about the savage rip in her black tunic. It had been brand new. For a brand new agent on her first mission.

As missions went, this one had started off well. And with a crew of only two, their chances of success had originally been high. The insertion had gone off without a hitch, although her stomach was still in knots from the bumpy ride down. Mullen was convinced that Zul had never been meant for habitation. The ground was barren, the water was toxic, and the atmosphere was simply too violent to completely control, which actually made it the perfect location for a secret base. The Chu’a had created force-shielded corridors for traffic on and off the planet. It made it easier to know who was coming or going, especially since the installation was supposed to be a closely guarded secret, which meant no obvious patrol ships in orbit. Of course, being part of a black ops mission, they couldn’t very well use the safe approach. So they’d sliced through the atmosphere and practically fallen to the ugly little planet.

And, as luck would have it, the atmosphere had been more violent than originally expected. The ship had fallen off course and landed — well, crashed, actually — not quite too far from their objective, with Kemper twisting his ankle on impact. Both of them knew it would only be a matter of time before they’d be discovered, but the mission had to be completed. The mission — especially the critical ones, and which ones weren’t? — the mission always came first, didn’t it? Such was the spy business.

Wearing the new blakrik fabric had helped them escape detection for a good while. Their luck had held out long enough for Mullen to hack into the factory’s mainframe computer core and download the data into her sub-cranial chip. And the new Microlux IDX-3 chip was much faster than the decade-old Logidex-2, which meant she’d been able to finish the download in a short amount of time. She had been wrapping up when her precise, methodical exit from the mainframe had tripped a sneaky alarm that only worked when a hacker was backing out of the system. That’s when the alarms started. The two agents had stayed ahead of the guards long enough to dummy up a copy of the chip that the Chu’a could confiscate. That’s when Kemper’s ankle had given out one time too many, and they’d been caught.

“Is it working?”

Kemper’s voice startled Mullen out of her reverie. She looked at him, saw him staring at her, and quickly looked away, almost as if she were clamping down on some feeling or thought. She collected herself and looked squarely at the colonel. “Is what working?”

Kemper took as deep a breath as he could manage before feeling a vise clamp down on his chest. Focusing on the conversation helped as he fought the urge to wretch from the pain. “Convincing yourself this is a dream.”

Mullen managed a somewhat rueful grin, then grimaced as her neck stiffened up again. “Not really.”

Kemper almost chuckled, but his headache was throbbing, sapping his energy. Besides, he wasn’t sure how Mullen would take it. She might think he was laughing at the predicament they were in, like some cavalier swashbuckling movie spy who escaped the clutches of evil every time. This was not the exciting first adventure she’d expected, and it pained him to see the disillusionment on Jade’s face. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry I got you into this.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re not that persuasive.” Mullen coughed slightly, then winced. She was sure a few ribs were bruised, maybe one or two of them cracked. In a pained voice, she continued, “Remember, I volunteered.”

Kemper nodded once, then stopped as his head throbbed even more. Where was this pain coming from? “So you did.”

Volunteered. Signed up without hesitation, both of them. Kemper had been an impetuous Jersey youth wanting to prove something to a father he barely knew. He’d enlisted in the newly formed Earth Space Command and proven extremely adept at strategy and covert operations. Noticed early by the brass, Kemper had quickly risen in rank and soon was traveling throughout the solar system in search of recruits to fill the ranks of the Space Navy.

Mullen had been a rebellious teenager on the second Jupiter Colony — affectionately known as “Jupiter Two” — stealing the power cells out of Kemper’s land-jet when they’d met. She’d almost been drunk on the misery her behavior had been causing her father, and Kemper knew that was something that would have to be dealt with eventually, but her spunk had convinced Kemper she was special material, and he’d taken her under his wing. When Mullen had joined the Directorate after the death of her father, she’d been harboring grand thoughts of a glamorous life among the stars as a secret agent, having her revenge making the evil villains pay for the blasphemous things they’d done to the universe. Instead, she’d been dumped on the steps of the Academy for five years, and then assigned to sit at a desk for three years reviewing reports, and the only mission-related sweat she’d shed had been in the gym. From Kemper’s perspective, the time had been well-spent, honing Mullen’s rough edges and tempering her impatience. Her analytical skills and mathematical gifts had finally won the appropriate respect and attention, so when the chance came for a real mission that involved beating the Bad Guys, she’d seen it as a golden opportunity and jumped at the chance.

Too bad it may turn out to have been her only chance, Kemper thought.

Their voices echoed off the dark stone walls, melting into the drifting darkness along with the steady rhythm of water dripping somewhere in the shadows. The heavy beams across the ceiling scuttled with the scurrying click-click-clack of insects. Attached to the beams, chains made of a steel alloy hung ponderously thick to meet with steel shackles, worn with time but nonetheless carefully maintained. High on one wall, small eyes glowed pale as green moonlight from the tiny window sunk into the stone. There were bones in one corner, dry and spider-silk white, but not enough of them to know what kind of creature had once depended on them. The earth beneath their feet was tamped down with the shuffling footsteps of countless guards and even more prisoners, and smelled of vomit and urine and fear.

Kemper tried to keep his movements to a minimum, not wanting Mullen to know the extent of his injuries. Now almost 54, he was really starting to feel like age was catching up finally. These things had been easier to endure twenty-five years ago. Why wouldn’t this headache go away? The last “interrogation” was more intense than the preceding ones, the cumulative result of which had been a persistent numbness in both legs. He was growing more concerned that his back might be broken, perhaps damaged enough to result in permanent paralysis, damaged goods. He’d probably be limited to a desk job or retirement, offered a morsel of grace for being a wartime survivor.

Assuming they survived at all.

Kemper knew Mullen was trying to keep his morale up by evoking her Academy days, when it was very uncertain if she would actually make it through the program. He let her keep it up, making sure her focus was away from how badly injured he may be. He knew he wouldn’t last through very many more interrogations.

It’s not supposed to be this way, the colonel reflected. We’re the Good Guys. His time with Mullen had taught him that some people — the lieutenant in particular — still thought of the universe as Us against Them. There were Good Guys and Bad Guys, and the Good Guys always won. But Kemper knew that sometimes Good Guys had to be very careful — or very lucky.

Well, they’d been careful. But not lucky.

“When do you think those Chu’a grunts will be back?”

He heard the fatigue creeping into her voice and knew he had to keep up the bravado if she was to survive. She was young and strong and smart. She had to survive, even if he didn’t. The knowledge in that hot-head’s cranium had to get back to Algernon Station on Alpha Centauri in order to give humanity a fighting chance. The Alliance needed to know what was happening, that Zul was again open for business. Which was why he was taking enormous steps to attract the Chu’a prison squad’s complete attention. Mullen had been left alone for the most part. If he could keep it up until they figured out a way to get out of this dungeon and off this rock, there might be a fighting chance for her to escape. God knew no one would mount a rescue. No, it was up to them to bust out. He just wasn’t sure how, short of a small miracle. Too bad he’d forgotten to arrange one before they had left Algernon.

He made an effort to sound nonchalant. “They’ll probably give us time to see the error of our ways, the mistake of holding out, maybe a couple of hours or so. Then the slugs will very likely come back for me.” Knowing the Chu’a culture’s predisposition to dismiss females as decorative and servile, he’d done a lot during their “conversations” to diminish her involvement in the operation. She’d just been the pilot, he maintained. Nothing more. With his extensive knowledge about the design of the sub-cranial chips, Kemper knew enough about how his partner had hacked into the computer to bluff about doing it himself. So far, it was working. Maybe too well, he told himself as his ribs creaked. Maybe that was where the headache had come from. Had they been digging around looking for the chip in his head?

Mullen glared at him through half-closed eyes, as if trying to focus on something that wasn’t quite within the realm of visibility. “What makes you so special?”

He hesitated, realizing the enormity of the mistake he’d just made with the utterance of just one carelessly cavalier sentence. A single drop of sweat trickled down his greying temple and followed the scar along his jaw.

His hesitation ignited her suspicion. Mullen’s eyes narrowed even further to smoldering slits of black ice. “What have you been telling them?”

His mind raced faster than it had yet on this trip, still foggy from the pain — coming from his temple? Behind his ear? It was difficult to think. What to say to distract her? “You know, it was probably a mistake on their part to lock us in here together. Would’ve been much harder on morale to separate us. Besides which, you haven’t really been picking the best topics to discuss.” No, that wasn’t it. Kemper was desperately trying to back-pedal over his slip, and they both knew it.

Mullen almost growled. “Kemper, so help me, when we get out of here —”

“No, Jade. Not we.”

His flat tone and simple straightforward words caught her up short. For a moment, she wasn’t sure if she’d heard right. Then it clicked. “You’re purposely taking the fall on this. You’re downplaying my part of the mission.”

“You were just the pilot,” he confirmed.

“Just the pilot?!”

Mullen looked like she wanted to spit at him, but she restrained herself. Kemper knew that his actions had probably kept her alive and relatively unhurt for a few more miserable days. He knew that sooner or later, she’d remember how the Chu’a felt about women, and she’d understand what Kemper was doing. If the Chu’a thought she was just a bit player, they might — might — be inclined to make a trade with the Alliance. Maybe even for that little dirt bag, Roztach. Then she could get the data about what was happening on Zul out of the sub-cranial chip. He didn’t even know what kind of information she had on the blasted thing, but, if nothing else, she could at least warn the brass at Intel about the rebuilt factories and chemical plants.

Something very wicked was being unleashed from Zul.

——————————

“The implant is working?”

“Soon, Primus. It is taking more time than we had originally anticipated.” The Chu’a’thaon we’ardi stood the requisite distance from the control podium and kept his eyes dutifully looking toward the floor.

The commander was not pleased. “What is the reason for the delay?” he asked menacingly.

“The implant has never before been in a human. It is taking time for the unit to acclimate to the host’s body.”

“But it will work, will it not?”

“Most assuredly, Primus.”

Ra’s a ch’iu, Primus Decto of the Order, commander of the Mojosepheth station and the surrounding region, looked at his we’ardi and thought dark thoughts. How had he allowed himself to be talked into this? The implant was the newest experimental surveillance device, designed only two cycles ago and not fully tested. At least, the testing had not been extensive enough for the commander’s liking. He felt he was depending far too much on a single piece of technology that had not been proven. But he had his orders. He would follow. Just as the Chu’a’thrae under his command would follow him.

The workings of the device were easily explained. A simple nanoprobe was implanted into the center of the brain that processed conscious thought and translated the electroencephalographic patterns into a radio signal which was then transmitted by the implant to a nearby receiver. It was the scientists’ way of reading minds, and it had worked successfully on test subjects over the last few lunar cycles. Only the tests had been on volunteer Chu’a’thrae and not on any other subjects. The testing, to the thinking of Ra’s a ch’iu, was flawed by its limited application. The implant should have been used in several test subjects that were not as well trained in survival and resistance skills such as the Chu’a’thrae endured. No matter. It would soon be working properly. Or someone’s head would roll for ineptitude. He would just have to make sure it was not his when the time came.

——————————

Kemper watched Mullen’s face as she thought through what he’d said and what he’d left unsaid, saw the play of emotions as she realized what he was doing. There was a brief flash of something — some kind of raw emotion — that might have betrayed how deeply she felt about his sacrifice and what it might mean personally for her. Then it was lost in a thousand other thoughts. One thing was troubling him, though. If only Mullen didn’t make the same connection that he already had. But she was on this mission for her analytical skills in addition to the chip in her head. So much potential, he thought, wondering not for the first time what would have happened between them had he been closer to her in age. She had to get out of here in order to realize the fullness of it.

“Wait. If the Chu’a really think I’m not important, they’d want me isolated so I couldn’t talk about what they’ve done to you or what I’ve seen in the complex. They wouldn’t hold us together to compare notes or boost each other’s morale.” Her face hardened just a bit, and Kemper was one of the few people in the galaxy who knew her well enough to see it, despite the grit and sand covering most of her skin. “Unless they knew neither one of us was ever getting out of here alive.”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t figure that part out.”

Mullen actually managed a grin, although there was no humor behind it. To Kemper, it was a welcome sight. “I’m smart as a whip. I thought that was why you picked me for this mission.”

Kemper returned the grin. “Remember, you volunteered.”

Mullen nodded half-heartedly. “Right. So I did.”

——————————

The we’ardi watched with growing apprehension as the technicians manipulated dials and switches in an effort to pull in some sort of signal from the implant. Despite his assurances to the commander, he was most assuredly not very sure himself that this experiment would work. It had never been tested on a human before. What if it failed? How would he explain it?

The commander was sitting in his high-backed seat, watching him out of the corner of his eye, wondering what punishment he would deliver to the science drone if the experiment did not work as planned. His mood was foul already, having received the news that his kith-cousin Nath’a thui had abandoned the cause. This could not have come at a worse time. And the insult would be even more injurious to his standing and credibility if this new technology did not work.

Failure would be very severely punished indeed.

——————————

There was a shuffling sound outside the door. Kemper and Mullen tensed, knowing what that sound meant, and what sound would come next. Sure enough, the key turned in the lock, and the door opened to admit a gargantuan Chu’a’thaon they hadn’t seen before. Tall, even for his own race, this particular Chu’a’thaon wore the silver hair around the sides of his head down instead of pulled back like the other guards wore. In the darkness of the cavern, his powder grey skin almost blended into the shadows covering the stone walls. He was dressed as a guard in the drab olive canvas tunic and breeches, but walked quietly, purposefully, almost stealthily across the room. He glanced around at the open door, and that’s when Kemper realized this particular guard was alone.

Why is there just one? he wondered. Even though he’d not seen any other occupied cells on this level, even though he and Mullen were really in no condition to be much of a threat to them, the guards still always traveled in mini-squads of three or five. Never alone. They just weren’t trained that way. Something was fishy. He watched with growing suspicion as the guard moved toward Mullen and pulled out a sonic key. “I’m the one you want. Not her.”

The giant continued with a deliberate calm and did not acknowledge Kemper as Mullen’s arms fell limply to her sides. Almost as if he hadn’t heard. Which was debatable since the Chu’a had no visible auditory sense organs. How did they hear? Did they hear?

“Hey, I said —”

“I heard you, Colonel Kemper. I will need Agent Mullen’s aid in carrying you underground.”

Kemper felt like he’d just been hit with a shockstake, which wasn’t very far from the truth. He and Mullen traded surprised looks as she rubbed aching and bruised wrists. Dried blood fell from her hands as she shook them out and flexed her arms. The cut on her shoulder was more noticeable now, the slash in her black sleeve showing a line of blood that trailed almost to her elbow.

The “guard” now moved to unlock Kemper’s restraints. Kemper had a brief flash of paranoia. “What underground?” Underground? What in God’s name could be further under than this?

His liberator stopped and looked at Kemper steadily for a moment, his solid grey-green eyes unblinking, then went back to his task. He finished unlocking the shackles, holding the human steady as he said, “Mary Magdalene crossed the English Channel on a pogo stick.”

Kemper locked eyes with the grey-skinned giant, hearing the stilted pronunciation, the stumbling through unfamiliar syntax, the emphasis entirely in the wrong places, and knowing the small miracle had just happened. This was the real deal. That countersign was the one Kemper himself had come up with for this very mission. Only four people in the galaxy knew it.

Well, okay, five now.

——————————

The Chu’a’thaon listening to the implant audio traded puzzled glances with the technician beside him. “What is a … pogho steeck?”

——————————

The paranoid part of Kemper’s brain allowed for the possibility that the Directorate was compromised and this whole scenario was an act, but to what end? They were already prisoners, in no real shape to escape on their own. But the rational part of his mind took over again, knowing it was highly unlikely — almost impossible — for anyone to get that phrase. He’d made it up on the spur of the moment two minutes before they had left, and it wasn’t written down anywhere. He’d made sure of that.

Which made this a legitimate rescue.

As circulation came back into his arms and legs the way it was supposed to, Kemper started to feel his legs more. Okay, then, probably just a pinched nerve. Good. He took a breath and straightened up, ignoring the headache, all business. “All right, Mullen. Let’s move.” He led the way, almost recklessly, surprising even himself with his better-than-expected mobility. He saw Mullen trade glances with their newfound ally before following him. But as he took his third step, he realized it was going to be slower going than any of them would have liked. The ankle was still going to be a problem, and the headache was making him slightly dizzy.

They made their way to the thick wooden door made from the local sha’atna trees. Heavy with age and built to stay in place for a long time. Kemper hobbled past it with Mullen’s help and looked both directions along the dim corridor, noticing the guard that had frequently been outside the door — whom he’d taken to calling “Tiny” — was lying on the floor behind the guard’s bench. Dead or unconscious, Kemper couldn’t tell, and had no impulse to investigate. But he did notice that Tiny was missing his proudly polished black boots. Which probably meant that he’d wake up to find his progress impeded by the lack of footwear. Kemper looked up at the grey impassive face of the man who’d freed him, wondering what thoughts were swirling around within that bald, knobby head….

“This way.” That bald, knobby head tilted in the direction away from the interrogation pits and away from the exit. Kemper had no idea what was down there.

“What’s down there?” he asked.

The Chu’a’thaon looked at Kemper calmly. “The Aaldesta caverns. They were abandoned when the Chu’a left during the First Exodus and remained empty upon the Return. It is considered sacrilegious to enter them now. There are forgotten tunnels that lead to the outskirts of Mojosepheth. That is how we will make our escape. This prison has swallowed many souls, but it will not taste of yours this day.” He started off in the direction of the dark corridors with a steady stride.

Kemper watched with apprehension as their benefactor led them down away from their cell. The Chu’a’thaon dug into a pocket and pulled out a small lightstick. He firmly tapped one end against the wall, causing the stick to begin glowing with a faint yellow light. Despite the presence of the lamp, darkness and shadow crept over the steel reinforcements of the corridors as they went deeper and deeper into the catacombs (for that’s how Kemper was now thinking of them). The shadows were dispelled occasionally by the glowing green eyes of a night-walker or hermit snake. He’d heard about these creatures, was sure he’d seen specimens back in the cell, enough to make him certain he did not want to meet one in the darkness. His ankle was starting to throb intensely, and he hobbled along, knowing he might eventually slow down enough to be a potential danger to the group.

——————————

 “Primus, the implant seems to be working.”

Ra’s a ch’iu rose out of his chair and skulked over to the console that housed the new implant receiver. His eyes narrowed, almost as if he could detect deception simply by looking at it hard enough. He watched as the technicians made constant adjustments, saw the strain and effort that was taxing their stoicism. He turned to the scientist. “Why is it such an effort to make it work this time?”

The science mongrel actually had the chlai’ ah to look contrite! Ra’s a ch’iu could not believe what he was seeing! “Primus, I know that you were fully briefed on this technology —” and was he actually questioning his intelligence? “— but it appears that the implant may not be as easily adaptable to human subjects as we first surmised.”

“Really.”

The scientist looked to the floor. “It seems the thought wave patterns are just different enough from our own to require constant adjustments to the receiver. It is taking much more effort than we thought it would.” He looked up and met the commander’s eyes. “However, we are still getting some information from the subject. We will have to examine it further to see what significance it has from an intelligence potential, but —”

“What information?”

The scientist hesitated. “Something about a dock door named Jeonz?”

——————————

Kemper was trying to keep his mind occupied with minutiae as the steel construction gradually gave way to dirt and stone. He found it helped him to stay calm in the face of adversity. The tunnels reminded him of an old cineplay he’d seen years ago about an archeologist and a temple with slave children. This looked very similar.

The three were quiet as they proceeded ever downward, the two humans not quite sure if they could trust their guide, knowing there really was no choice in the matter. The tunnel smelled of age and rot. Occasionally they would pass side passages, some of them caved in, some leading further away into the grimy darkness. A musty odor lingered near bones of creatures that may or may not have been bipedal. Prisoners? Slave workers? Religious adepts? Some other creature that stalked these forgotten passages? Kemper knew such creatures existed, but no one had ever verified whether they were sentient or just mindless beasts. For that matter, no one that he knew of had really ever seen one alive. He did not want to be the first.

Dirt and stone gradually became damp earth that tickled their noses with an ever-present scent of decay and grime. Where the tunnels closer to the surface had been fabricated with a steel alloy, these appeared only to be dug out of the earth, hardly reinforced at all. Guessing just how old these tunnels were, Kemper was wondering just how well they had been constructed. At semi-regular intervals, the humans noticed outlines of shapes that had been cut into the walls, worn down with the passage of time. Religious icons? Messages from prisoners? There wasn’t enough light — or time, for that matter — to distinguish the glyphs. Kemper’s early research had turned up the possibility that the early inhabitants — known as the Che’ou — had possessed some rudimentary religious philosophy. At first he had dismissed the findings out of hand, but seeing some of the hieroglyphics in these lower passages made him wonder if his initial estimation had been too hasty. From the evidence he’d seen so far, it was a toss-up whether the passages would all be intact enough for the escapees to reach their final destination.

Kemper felt Mullen keeping one eye on him in the faint yellow light from the lightstick, making sure she stayed nearby in case he stumbled. The blakrik outfits they wore made it difficult, but she made the effort anyway. He was sure she knew the older officer was too proud to accept her help unless it was absolutely necessary, so she maintained a respectful but relatively close distance, bringing up the rear of the group. She would occasionally throw a glance behind them in what was turning out to be a futile attempt to detect any pursuit. Kemper was the slowest of them, and at some point he might give the order to leave him behind, an order she would certainly decide to refuse, should the time come. The way she saw it, she had explained to him once, part of the mission was to ensure the safety of everyone on the team, and that meant getting Colonel Jack Kemper and his extensive military knowledge off Zul intact and alive. The information in her head was just gravy.

Their footsteps were muffled in the darkness. Kemper noticed that the ground had started to rise a bit. The incline hopefully indicated a change in altitude. Were they on their way back to the surface? “How much farther?” he asked the shadow ahead of him.

The shadow stopped, gathered them together in the tunnel. “We can rest here. Then another twenty of your minutes to exit out to the surface.”

The two humans sat down on the dirt floor, too tired and aching from their ordeal to be concerned with the cold dampness. They both knew they couldn’t completely relax, but it was good to rest for at least a moment. Mullen looked up at the Chu’a’thaon. “By the way, what are you called?”

“I am called Nath’a thui.”

Kemper looked up. “Does that mean what I think it means?” It would explain why the giant wore his hair down. It also explained why he was working with humans.

Standing above them, Nath’a thui nodded once. “It means ‘outcast who serves false gods’. I was expelled from my kith-clan when I voiced dissent from the Chu’a.” His voice betrayed a hint of emotion. “My time among other races taught me that we have a very different destiny than the Chu’a Overlords would have us experience. Our leaders are deceivers, liars. Once it was discovered that I had learned the truth, I was shamed publicly and rejected by my family.” From his towering vantage point, Nath’a thui studied the two humans, then stirred, almost as if drawing himself out of a reverie. “We should be moving soon.”

Kemper knew that staying on the move would make it more difficult for the Chu’a’thrae to detect even a hint of their whereabouts, and staying too long in the dampness would make them even more sluggish from cold in addition to the fatigue he knew already to be setting in. Trading beleaguered looks with Mullen, he stood slowly and resumed the trek to the surface.

——————————

 “Seques, we have a signal.”

The Chu’a we’ardi took the news with no small amount of relief. At least it was working. Now the test was how well. He decided to wait to tell the commander. Better to have something positive to share with the temperamental officer. He would see what the technicians could decipher, then make his report.

An amber light began flashing on the console. “Seques, the signal —”

“What?” Had something gone wrong? Was he doomed to fail the rest of his life? It wasn’t his fault that the commander’s kith-cousin had been a traitor. He’d just made the report. Now he’d have to deliver more bad news?

The technician looked up from his screen, a look of concern etching lines across his brow. “The signal is moving. They’ve escaped.”

——————————

Kemper had been listening for alarms. Surely Tiny had been found by now. “How soon before they start looking for us?” The silence in the tunnels was starting to get oppressive.

“I imagine the search has already begun,” their guide answered. “However, I left a trail in the opposite direction. The centurions should be occupied for some time.”

Kemper and Mullen traded glances. Granted, solid rock and dirt muffled sound, but just how far down were they that alarms were completely unheard? Kemper knew Mullen well enough to feel she was glad they were on the way back up to the surface. An extremely vivid childhood fear was being buried alive. Her brothers had seen to that one summer at the McAuliffe Library on Mars when they’d locked her in a cabinet. Mullen was exerting a lot of control over her nerves at the moment. Amazing what one can do when faced with extraordinary circumstances, the colonel reflected. Then again, intelligence usually won out over instinct. But not always.

Kemper had been thinking about Nath’a thui’s explanation of his name. Something about the way he said it just struck a chord. “You said you had been discovered. What exactly did you mean by that? Discovered by whom?” Perhaps knowing a little about the process would give him more intelligence to work with when they got back to Algernon.

Nath’a thui hesitated, feeling the tingling of the ghost sensation, the memory that still haunted him at night. Almost instinctively, he reached back below his ear. As they walked, Nath’a thui debated with himself just how much he could safely say to them.

“There was a series of experiments that took place here when the Mojosepheth complex was completed. I was a volunteer.”

Kemper heard the irony in the giant’s voice and surmised the volunteering hadn’t been completely voluntary. “What sort of experiments?”

“The science section had developed a way to transmit thoughts over a carrier wave.”

Kemper stopped so abruptly that Mullen had to back-pedal to avoid running into him. He reached out to the wall for balance as another wave of vertigo washed over him. “What?” Thoughts? How would thoughts be transmitted by a radio?

Nath’a thui turned back to him, barely visible in the dim light. “Nanotechnology. I believe your race is familiar with it.”

“We’ve worked on some medical applications, but that’s about the extent of it.”

“Indeed. Then you are far wiser than we for not proceeding further.”

Kemper was surprised at the statement, but before he could answer, Mullen interrupted. “What exactly does this implant do?”

“It detects electrochemical activity in the brain and translates them into a signal that can be transmitted to a nearby receiver.”

The humans were stunned by the implications of what they’d just heard. The Chu’a could read minds? Was it possible? The technology to do such a thing… Kemper remembered his third year in Intelligence, when he’d stumbled onto humanity’s attempts at the same thing. “The Brain Bug.”

Mullen looked at him sharply, Nath’a thui looking on with bemusement. “What the heck is a Brain Bug? You say it like it’s something that’s been around for a while.”

Kemper took a breath. His ribs felt like they’d been pulled into his chest a couple of sizes too small. “It has. Something they tried to develop back on Earth.” The Brain Bug is what the whiz kids in the lab had called it. If the Chu’a actually had a working one — “It was mainly used by political groups, but it never had any practical military application because of the limited range. You can’t spy on someone from next door. The program got scrapped after about six months.”

Mullen was starting to look a little overloaded, Kemper thought. “So basically, we’re talking about technological-enhanced telepathy? Does it work both ways?”

Nath’a thui shook his head. “No. The receiver is far too large. It has to be maintained by several technicians.”

Kemper stiffened. “So, it actually works. The Chu’a have a functional system.”

Their guide nodded his head once, somber. “They do.”

“How well does it work?”

“Well enough to expose me.” The statement hung in the air like a ghost. Nath’a thui remembered the day with such clarity as if it had been yesterday. “However, certain test subjects experienced… side effects.”

Mullen found a mirthless grin somewhere and had put it on her face. “If only I’d had it during final exams,” she said with a dark humor. “What kind of side effects?”

“Some early volunteers complained of memory loss, equilibrium difficulties, dizziness, nausea, and headaches.”

Kemper’s ears perked up. Had he just heard right? “Nath’a thui,” he asked slowly, the pieces of his personal puzzle coming together, “have they ever tried this technology on a human?”

“Not to my knowledge. But that does not eliminate the possibility. They have never had a test subject.”

Kemper nodded. “Until now.” It all made sense. His headache, the dizziness. He reached back and felt around his neck. Where would they have put it? And how did they counter it?

Mullen looked troubled, and Kemper knew why. Were they compromised? Had they put one of those things in her partner? “Wait a minute. If they can read minds —” She stopped herself and looked at Kemper.

“Then it’s a good bet they know where we are.”

——————————

 “Where are they?” Ra’s a ch’iu stormed into the monitoring room, angry at the betrayal of the Chu’a’thaon worm who had deceived him. Of course, he’d already known about the problems with the implant before the we’ardi worm had admitted to it. The monitoring room was monitored, after all.

The technicians stiffened. “Primus, we have traced the signal to the lower caverns. They are moving through the abandoned Aaldesta tunnels.”

Sacrilege. No Chu’a had gone down there since the beginning of the Trials. For humans to venture into the tunnels — How could they know about them? Information of that nature had never been made available to outsiders. Humans especially would have no way of knowing the tunnels existed. Which meant they had assistance from someone here. And Ra’s a ch’iu suddenly knew.

Nath’a thui.

They would pay dearly for this transgression. Especially his kith-cousin.

——————————

The journey continued through tunnels that no living being had occupied for what may have been centuries. Fatigue was definitely starting to catch up to them.

“Can the implant be removed before we get out of the tunnels?” Kemper had a half-formed idea to find a hermit snake and stick the implant down its throat.

“No. It requires delicate microsurgery.” Nath’a thui stalked ahead of them silently. “I do not have the necessary skills or equipment.”

As they neared one juncture in the tunnels, Kemper thought it seemed to be getting a bit lighter. He could distinguish more shapes in the walls, saw some regularity in them that might have been engineered. And there were noises coming from up ahead. Looking at Mullen, Kemper saw from her expression that she’d heard them, too. Shouting. A lot of it, from the sounds of things. And the shouting didn’t sound like a party. Well, maybe like a search party. A big one. A big, angry one.

Nath’a thui turned to them as they continued along the path. “More than likely they have traced the signal in the implant. But their faith will not allow them to venture far into the tunnels. Soon we will take a side tunnel that exits into the forest on the edge of the compound. In a clearing nearby, you will find a small jet sled, fully fueled. If we can successfully reach the clearing, you may be out of range of the implant’s receiver.”

Mullen started. “Where did you get a jet sled? I thought all extra-orbital vehicles were inventoried and tracked.” Besides which, how did something as big as a jet sled go undetected?

Nath’a thui nodded. “Such would be the case if the Chu’a were aware of this particular vehicle. But as I constructed it without their knowledge, we are not burdened with that concern. Nor can it be detected by search parties. I have concealed it with a sensor scrambling device, which may also serve to deter the signal from the implant.” He continued walking ahead of them. “The sled has reinforced shielding to survive the torment of the sky. Once outside the interfering effects of the atmosphere, you will need to transmit a set of numbers — twelve, zero, three, thirteen, twenty-two, and six; the transmitter frequency has already been set — and you will be met by an Alliance picket ship that waits for you on the outer edge of the system.”

The colonel knew his rocket jockey was already memorizing the numbers as their guide rattled them off, knowing that one mistake would mean the picket ship would abort the recovery, thinking them compromised or worse. She knew their lives depended on her ability to fly the sled up and away from here, and Kemper knew she knew. That’s assuming the rattletrap moved at all. Built it himself?

They took the branching tunnel, having to duck down in parts to move under and around green-black rubble from years of ground shifts. Kemper was starting to stumble on a regular basis now, but still did not ask for help. How could he? They were too close to getting out. If he fell now, their chances of escape fell measurably with him.

——————————

“They are nearing the tunnel exit near the forest on the north side of the complex, Primus.”

Ra’s a ch’iu moved closer to the console, hovering just behind the technician, his muscles tense. His ire knew no equal in his memory. He could not recall a time in his life when he had been so vexed, so angry, that he wanted to destroy everything in sight. His tactical prowess was now being tested by the only member of his family ever to beat him in ’al sibar, the test of adulthood every Chu’a warrior faced. “Move a scout team into the tunnels to reconnoiter the area and determine the humans’ exact whereabouts.”

“Yes, sir.”

He knew there was no room for error. The scientist he had dealt with. The humans he would deal with soon. There could be no other acceptable outcome.

——————————

They rounded a bend in the tunnel, and just as quickly as they could take a breath, they realized they were no longer alone in the tunnel. Two Chu’a’thrae were slowly working their way toward them, hunched over behind very big pulse rifles. Kemper knew those guns spat energy bolts that could burn through his bones without his ever feeling it. But they probably had the guns set to a slightly less powerful but more painful setting. It didn’t seem that the guards had spotted their prey yet. Kemper pressed against the wall, watching Mullen do the same just in front of him. Where had their guide disappeared to?

Movement to the left. Nath’a thui fell out of the shadows directly upon the backs of the two soldiers. With a shout, the two scouts tried to turn and fight. Nath’a thui sent one stumbling into the wall as he focused his efforts on the other. Grabbing the gun in both hands, he pulled the soldier forward, throwing him off-balance, and just as quickly slammed the gun back up into the Chu’a’thaon’s face. Dazed, the soldier staggered, giving Nath’a thui just enough time to grab him and spin him around. He twisted the soldier’s neck sharply, decisively. The other soldier was regaining his balance, shaking his head and grabbing for the pulser he’d dropped in the dirt. Suddenly, there was swift movement to Kemper’s right.

Mullen.

“Jade, don’t!” Kemper yelled, too late. She dove onto the other soldier before he could take aim at Nath’a thui, grabbing the gun and pushing the muzzle toward the ground as she grappled with him. Kemper knew he could only watch as the two struggled. He saw Nath’a thui circling, looking for an opening.

As Mullen tried to wrest the weapon away from the Chu’a’thaon, she kicked at his knee, sending him sprawling to the ground. She kicked again, but still could not get him to loosen his grip on the pulser. She drew back her fist, wincing in pain as the cut on her arm started bleeding again, and let fly a left hook that connected solidly with the soldier’s jaw and sent grey blood flying.

The soldier turned away, then spun back quickly, using his momentum to carry the very heavily armored fist into the side of Mullen’s head. She went flying into the white dirt, coughing as it scratched her throat. The soldier started to take aim, and Mullen threw a handful of white powder into his eyes. The dust was starting to get thick as the fight went on. Kemper found it difficult to breathe, and the cloud surrounding Mullen and her opponent was made worse in the dimness of the tunnel. As he staggered, she threw herself into his midsection and slammed him into the wall. But she was off-balance, and her head hit a protruding rock, knocking her back, dazed. The soldier slammed his fist into her head again, sending her stumbling back, and he pulled out his smaller sidearm and took aim.

Nath’a thui slammed his fist into the soldier’s arm just as a bolt of energy seared the air and flew at Mullen. Kemper dove onto his partner, and they both rolled to the ground as the rock wall behind them exploded. The colonel sat up just in time to see Nath’a thui deal a final blow to the scout’s head with a rock. They would not be reporting in. Kemper stood quickly, reaching out to pull Mullen up. “Jade, you all right?”

“I don’t think so, sir.” She was wincing, her face twisted in a mask of pain that only hinted at what she was really feeling. She looked down, and they all saw that the blaster bolt hadn’t completely missed. Her side was bleeding. The black fabric of her uniform was burned around the edges of the hole in her side, the fibers melted into her skin. “Well,” she started, “at least it’s cauterized.” She tried to grin, but only managed a tight grimace.

Nath’a thui looked at the two humans. “We must move quickly. When these two do not report, there will be others.”

Mullen nodded once, then struggled to her feet with Kemper’s help. “I’m supposed to be helping you limp along, Colonel.”

Kemper grinned tightly. “We’ll take turns, Lieutenant. Let’s move.”

Soon, they were stumbling out into brightly lit chaos. As their eyes adjusted to the glare, Kemper got a good look at Mullen’s injury. It looked bad, red and black and scorched. It was probably stinging with dirt and sweat, but Mullen didn’t say a word, just held her side and kept going.

Suddenly, klaxons blared, horns blew, people were shouting. They’d been seen. But it was all happening in the distance, the immobilized scout team the only one close enough to be in their way. Near their position at the edge of the forest, all was relatively calm. But they knew that would change soon. Nath’a thui silently led them into the dark trees. Now it was a race.

The giant trees had blocky trunks, the bark bristling with tiny spines that excreted a glossy sap. Insects and small rodents frequently got caught in the sap and were absorbed into the trees, digested slowly. Local rumor had it that the sha’atna forests were haunted by the ghost of a tall forked-tongued goblin that had himself been swallowed by the trees, but nobody had ever seen him. Kemper and Mullen both had heard the stories from smugglers and defectors who had made it off Zul, and both kept their opinions private, not wanting to tempt Fate or risk offending Nath’a thui. But some of the glyphs they’d seen in the tunnels made them wonder if the modern-day Chu’a still believed in something besides their own paranoid speculations.  They stumbled along in silence, occasionally looking up into the canopy of black leaves that filtered out most of the wind. Behind them, the sounds of pursuit echoed through the trees. Near the surface, the atmosphere was surprisingly calm.

The jet-sled was covered with a camouflage tarp that Nath’a thui ripped open in one swift motion. It looked like a Nelly, with the engines at the forward section of the sled and the cockpit behind the centerline. One of the older Nellys, to be sure, but it looked flyable. Kemper was fairly certain Mullen could fly it if she could stay conscious long enough. He knew from her dossier that she’d grown up flying Nelly’s smaller cousin back home, and the control systems hadn’t changed much in ten years. As Nath’ a thui pulled the tarp clear of the sled, Mullen popped the canopy open and looked inside. She nodded. Everything looked good, no evidence of tampering. She eased herself down into the pilot’s seat, oddly enough in the back of the two-seat cockpit. Kemper never did understand that design, but that was the way it was. At least the pilot sat higher than the gunner. As Kemper watched Nath’a thui make an adjustment to the sensor scrambler — a small silver box set into the ground near the front of the sled — Mullen started going through an abbreviated pre-flight sequence, with a look of silent prayer on her face, no doubt for the giant’s skills as an engineer. Besides, they didn’t really have much choice at this point but to trust the big lug. A quick check of the control panels, switches thrown and flipped, and the engines began a distinctive whine as they started generating power for — the first time, perhaps? Refusing to consider that possibility, she looked up at Kemper, met his questioning gaze with a nod. “Everything looks good to go, sir.”

“What about you?”

She roused herself. “I have a massa rub appointment. Don’t want to be late.” Her breathing was ragged, but steady.

Kemper turned to Nath’a thui and extended his hand. The Chu’a’thaon looked at it for a moment, then remembered the human custom and grasped it in a firm handshake. Kemper said, “Thank you. I hope your tribe comes to understand why you’ve made the choices you have, at least enough to accept you back.” Kemper knew what it was like to be driven away from family, but that was something he dared not dwell on now.

Nath’a thui nodded his gratitude. “And I wish good fortune to you, Jack Kemper. The Alliance must learn of this place and what goes on here.” A shout in the distance, closer than before. Nath’a thui turned and listened, then faced Kemper again. “The time is now. They no doubt have detected the engine pulse. Make your escape. I will draw their attention to a decoy encampment I have established further afield.” He held up a compact signal generator.

Kemper nodded. “Stay alive.”

“I have every intention of doing so.” And with that, he quickly struck out through the trees, disappearing like a shadow into the woods, leaving the sensor scrambler in the clearing.

Kemper watched for a brief moment, wondering how he himself would have acted if he’d been faced with the same choices Nath’a thui had faced. Under what circumstances would he have turned his back on his family, his people? Not wanting to indulge in philosophical quandaries, Colonel Jack Kemper shook himself and climbed into the front seat of the sled. He watched as the Chu’a centurions struggled to get close enough to use their weapons, but they were moving abruptly away from them, no doubt following Nath’ a thui and his false signal. By the time they figured it out — “Mullen, are you sure you can stay with me long enough to fly this thing?” Besides having a semi-conscious pilot, Kemper knew the Nellys were reliable to a fault, but heaven help you if you ever came across that fault.

Mullen looked up from the instrument panel. “Sir, I can’t promise anything. According to what I’ve heard, I’m just a pilot.” She grinned tightly, then winced and went back to her work.

Kemper knew he wasn’t going to live that one down for a while. But at least he knew they were going to live. At least, as long as they survived the trip up.

“Raise ship, then, and get us home. We’ve got to get you to an infirmary.”

And he had a bug to get out of his brain.

——————————

“Primus –”

The technician’s tone of voice told all. He had lost. He had not moved quickly enough. Ra’s a ch’iu knew his day as commander of Mojosepheth were over, that he would have to face the consequences of his failure. It mattered not that he could blame the incompetent fool from Sciences. He was the commander. He was responsible.

Nath’a thui would pay dearly for this. Ra’s a ch’iu swore it on his fathers and fathers before that he would exact revenge before the winds of war scoured the galaxy clean.