What could Jessamine have given him?
Ping! An encrypted communiqué from Cy-Ops Director Carter Aymes shot into his cyberbrain. He opened a frequency, but continued to shoulder his way through the narrow corridor.
Where are you? Carter asked.
Just left Terra. Had to bypass a solar wind storm, so I went a little out of my way, but I’ll be on Alpha Nine Seven as scheduled.
Change in plans. I’m sending Kai Andros to A-9-7. I need you for recon in the Katnian sector.
Katnia? What’s going on?
Intel has picked up signs of activity.
What kind of activity?
A ship reportedly landed.
Every captain and navigator steered clear of Katnia. Even the AOP, which had waited far too long to take action against the terrorist nation planet Lamis-Odg, recognized the threat posed by the Ka-Tȇ. If those creatures ever left their planet, they would go on a killing spree the likes of which the galaxy had never seen. The only thing keeping them in check was a lack of technology enabling them to leave. Who would be stupid enough to land there?
Pirates. They attacked a star cruiser a few weeks ago. An escape pod with eighteen people vanished.
Guy stopped dead outside his stateroom. You’re not suggesting they took the hostages to Katnia?
I would prefer to imagine anything else, but this particular pirate group, calling itself Quasar, has been known to hide out on Katnia in the past. No one, not even intergalactic authorities will follow them there. I have a bad feeling they’ve been providing the Ka-Tȇ hostages as prey in exchange for a safe haven from prosecution. Viciousness was inbred in the Ka-Tȇ. Their nature was what it was—but for a sentient species to give them victims… Sometimes Cyber Operations fought a losing battle in its mission to keep the galaxy safe from terror. So you want me to search for survivors?
Negative. It’s too dangerous. Do a recon from orbit. See if you can pick up any tracers from ships that might have been in the area. To be on the safe side, run a scan for nonnative life forms. If you detect any anomalies, we’ll send a team in full armor. Don’t do anything stupid. Even a cyborg is no match for the Ka-Tȇ. They hunt in packs.
Roger. He didn’t have a problem with not risking his life. Guy cocked his head as his cochlear implant detected a faint noise not part of the shuttle.
How did everything go on Terra? Carter paused. Are you okay?
I’m fine. Shit happens. He shrugged. I needed to go home anyway. My family missed me, and my niece is growing up. She’s a little pistol.
Well, I’m sorry.
Guy’s gut tightened. He appreciated Carter’s concern about his broken engagement, but he didn’t care to discuss it. He wanted to move on. I’m over it. Her loss. Anything else?
No. Keep me informed.
The noise was growing louder and seemed to originate from inside his cabin. Will do.
Aymes out, Carter said.
Roarke out.
Guy pushed into his cabin. Next to his bags was the gift—a box tied with a big red bow. The carton was moving. And mewing. “Oh, Jessamine, what did you do?”
The box bumped into his foot. Atop the lid his niece had written: LIVE ANAMUL. OPEN IMED IMID SOON!
He ripped off the bow and peeled back the top. Inside, an angry, frightened kitten hissed. Jessamine’s cat had birthed a litter, and he recognized this baby by its gray coat, four white feet, and a blotch shaped like a star on its button nose.
Sighing, he reached into the carton.
The kitten growled and swiped its claws across his skin.
“Ow!” Guy yanked his hand back. The kitten leaped out and dove under the berth.
Great. Just great. How could his niece have done such a thing? She shouldn’t have boxed up a live animal—even if she did punch air holes in the carton. If she hadn’t contacted him and insisted he open the present, the kitten might have remained inside for quite a while.
In the corner of the container, he spotted a slip of paper, partially shredded. He unfolded it.
Dear Uncle Guy,
I know you are sad, and I want you to be happy. I am giving you one of Fluffy’s kittens so you won’t be lonely. I named her Mittzi becuz she has four wite white mittens. Pleez come home again, soon.
Jessamine
XOXO
His sister worried about him, but Carter, too, and now Jessamine? He hadn’t hidden his feelings well enough if his seven-year-old niece could pick up on them.
His fiancée’s defection had devastated him.
He’d met Mariah in a cocktail lounge at the Darius 4 Pleasure Resort. Later, they’d laughed at the cliché of their meeting, how their eyes had locked across the crowded room. He’d wended his way among the floating tables, introduced himself, and offered to buy her a drink. For him, it had been love at first sight. Mariah had claimed the same, but after what had happened, he wondered.
She’d been swept away by the romance of dating a cyber operative. A cyborg. An elite breed of computer-enhanced men. Rough. Tough. Sexy as hell. Her description—not his. Her admiration embarrassed him. He hadn’t chosen to become a cyborg; tragic circumstances had forced it upon him. He was proud of his service to the galaxy, but he didn’t consider himself special in any way.
Still, she’d made him feel like the luckiest man in the galaxy—for sure, one of the luckiest cyborgs. Guy could count on one hand the number of cyber operatives who had steady, healthy relationships: Brock Mann and Penelope Aaron, Kai and Mariska Andros, Dale Homme and Illumina, March Fellows and Empress Julietta, and Sonny Masters and Amanda Mansfield. Five fingers—five couples out of hundreds of agents.
After their vacation, they’d continued to see each other and, after a year of intergalactic dating, Guy had popped the question. Mariah had accepted and begun planning the wedding of the millennium. He’d put in for a month’s R&R so they could get married and go on a honeymoon. Undercover for months at a time, he’d been unable to be there when she wanted his opinion on the wedding arrangements. His inability to participate hadn’t thrilled her, but he’d assumed she understood.
Turned out he wasn’t one of the lucky ones.
Mariah had fallen for the fantasy of being the wife of a secret cyber operations agent more than she appreciated the reality. Two months before the wedding date, she sent him a Dear John letter.
Yeah, their breakup was as clichéd as their meeting.
Dear Guy,
I’m so sorry. I can’t marry you. I haven’t been able to find the words to tell you, but I met someone else. Someday you’ll find the right woman who will be everything you need her to be.
Mariah.
Sent from her PerComm, it had popped into his cyberbrain during a meeting with Cy-Ops HQ.
Nice. But his reaction to being jilted had proved her point. Cyborgs were a different breed. While his human side wanted to punch the wall, his computer-controlled cyborg brain carried on with the strategy session like nothing had happened. Two months later, he went home, using scheduled R&R for a family visit instead of a wedding. Curious and precocious, Jessamine kept him on his toes and amused him, even if she did wear him out after a while.
He couldn’t keep a kitten.
Guy dropped to all fours and peered under the berth. “Here, kitty kitty.”
The kitten arched in the corner, the fur on her back standing straight up.
“It’s okay, Mittzi. It’s okay.”
She hissed.
“Nobody’s going to hurt you,” he said in a soothing voice and reached for her.
Mittzi took another swipe, but he latched onto her and hauled her out. Guy got to his feet again, and, holding the growling kitten against his chest, stroked her fur. She was a fierce little thing. A fighter. What was Jessamine thinking to put her in a box?
A pretty little cat with huge green eyes and long white whiskers, Mittzi’s fluffy kitten fur would turn sleek and shiny when she matured. Guy estimated her age at two months. Old enough to be away from mama kitty, b
ut barely. She did indeed sport mittens—four white paws, the front right a little higher than the other three, making it look like the other three had slipped down her legs.
Guy sat on the bunk and held her, speaking in a low voice, all the while petting her. Gradually her racing heart slowed and her body relaxed. Mittzi began to purr. She was adorable. To humor his niece, he’d peeked at the frolicking kittens and said, “Yeah, they’re cute,” but truly hadn’t paid much attention.
“Which one is your favorite, Uncle Guy?” she had asked.
“The one with the white socks.” He’d randomly pointed to this one, not realizing the significance of the question.
Guy held up Mittzi. “We’re going to have to find you a permanent home. I’m not around enough to own a pet.”
The kitten highlighted his unsuitability for long-term relationships. If he couldn’t keep a cat—why had he thought he could handle marriage? Perhaps Mariah had a legitimate gripe. He’d missed every single wedding-planning session—even the vid-con ones. He’d been undercover and incommunicado, unable to tell her he couldn’t attend. No wonder she’d gotten fed up and left him.
Still, the way she had done it…
Keeping Mittzi was out of the question.
“As soon as I finish this assignment, we’ll head to the Alpha Nine Seven,” he told the kitten. “You’re so cute, somebody on the space station will take you. In the meantime, I’ll rustle up some rations. Hope you like reconstituted fish. I hope the 3-D replicator can come up with a litter box.”
Three
Mittzi padded into the cockpit and made herself comfortable on Guy’s lap. Once she’d recovered from the trauma of being boxed, her affectionate, playful nature had revealed itself. Though he’d fixed her a bed, she’d insisted on sleeping next to him in his berth last night. Unfortunately, he was starting to get attached, a situation he did not need. He’d suffered enough heartbreak without having to give up a pet he cared for.
“Computer, put Katnia on the screen and magnify four hundred times.” He’d switched to voice command. The silence of space travel, of being alone, had never bothered him before, but this trip, he’d needed to hear a voice, even a digital, terse one.
“Done,” replied the computer.
A lush jungle appeared. Covered with dense forests and plant life found nowhere else in the galaxy, Katnia was a botanist’s dream. It could have been a zoologist’s fantasy until the Ka-Tȇ had killed off most of its wildlife. Only a few remained, and their numbers had dwindled to near extinction. Only insects, tiny rodents, and small birds still flourished.
The first indication of the Ka-Tȇ’s viciousness had occurred a century ago when a scientific exploration team landed on the planet. Half of the landing party had died at the hands of the creatures. The survivors named the planet Katnia and the resident species Ka-Tȇ because they resembled hairless panthers. The misnaming had spawned a belief the predators were related to cats. DNA analysis had disproven genetic similarity, but the myth had persisted.
“Scan the surface for life-forms alien to Katnia,” Guy ordered. “Report any anomalies.”
“Scanning,” said the computer.
For several minutes the only sound in the cockpit was Mittzi purring, and then the computer spoke. “The exospheric molecular analysis has been completed.”
“Report.”
“Plasma diffusion with a molecular array consistent with a class B attack cruiser has been detected.”
Guy accessed his databanks in the microprocessor embedded between the hemispheres of his brain and pulled up a list of individuals and organizations known to run class B attack cruisers. It was a short list.
Quasar.
“Identical plasmic trace elements were detected in the troposphere and at ground level,” the ship’s AI said.
“You’re saying a craft landed on the planet’s surface?”
“The probability is 99.87 percent.”
“How long ago?”
“Adjusting for weather and atmospheric conditions, the range would be between two and three weeks. The surface scan for alien life has been completed.”
“What did you find?” He held his breath. Report nothing. Please, report nothing.
“One alien life-form has been identified.”
He clenched a fist. “What?”
“One alien life-form has been identified.”
Fuck. “What is it?
“A Farian female.”
“There’s a Faria on the planet?”
“Affirmative.”
“Alive?”
“Affirmative, but life signs appear weakened. There is an 88.32 percent probability of expiration within twenty-four hours.”
“Transmit coordinates to my microprocessor.”
Numbers buzzed into his brain.
“Are there any other sentient life-forms besides Ka-Tȇ on the planet?” he asked.
“Negative,” the computer said.
“Any deceased?”
“Affirmative. Scan detected remains of seventeen sentient beings including two humans, one Arcanian, one Rotaenian, two Xenians…” The computer reeled off a list matching those reported as missing after the pirate attack.
Guy set Mittzi in the vacant Nav seat and opened a hailing frequency to HQ.
What did you find out? the director asked.
The Ka-Tȇ have a Faria. Quasar landed on the planet.
Fuck! Only the one individual? No others?
Seventeen are dead.
I’ll dispatch an extraction team for the Faria. ETA in twenty-six hours.
That will be too late. She won’t last that long. I’m going in.
Negative. It’s too dangerous for one person. I can’t risk losing a cyborg.
Cy-Ops agents risked their lives all the time, undertaking missions against the odds, but one weighed the danger against the possible outcome. Carter was right. One lone cyborg against a pack of Ka-Tȇ? He and the Faria both would die. But all Guy could focus on was a survivor needed help. I can’t let her die, he shot back.
Roarke, this is not a suggestion: I’m ordering you to remain on the ship.
No can do. Critical minutes were draining away while he argued with his superior. The predators wouldn’t allow the Faria to expire from her injuries; they would torture her to death. It was what they did, what they lived for.
Dammit Guy—
Roarke, out. Guy closed the channel. There’d be hell to pay later, but Carter could put it on his tab.
He locked the ship in orbit, scooped up Mittzi, and hurried from the cockpit. He deposited the kitten in his cabin where she’d be safe during his absence. In the armory, he stripped and pulled on a protective mesh vest. It wasn’t totally impervious to penetration, but it would provide a temporary barrier to the claws of a Ka-Tȇ. Blood-borne nanocytes could heal many injuries but wouldn’t help if he was gutted. Over the mesh, he donned a mottled-green uniform to help him blend with the flora. The Ka-Tȇ had sharp eyesight; fortunately, a cyborg’s was sharper.
He grabbed a couple of photon blasters, pressed his thumb to the DNA scanner, and programmed the weapon to respond only to his touch. If he were to be jumped, at least the Ka-Tȇ couldn’t shoot him with his own weapon—although that was least likely of all the possible scenarios. Ka-Tȇ preferred to bite and slash; no one had ever known them to use weapons. Biologists had speculated the Ka-Tȇ didn’t have the manual dexterity, but Guy intended to take no chances.
Well, other than landing on the planet.
Suited up and packing, he squeezed into the two-seater landing module that would shoot him to the planet’s surface.
Four
The pod set down in the jungle three kilometers from the Faria’s coordinates. Cloaking had to be deactivated for landing, and getting closer might have alerted the Ka-Tȇ to his presence. Fortunately, dense foliage most likely blocked the view of the pod dropping from the sky.
He climbed out of the tiny craft, reactivated its cloaking device, and the mo
dule disappeared from sight. If any Ka-Tȇ wandered by, they might notice a faint shimmer, but, from a distance, the pod was undetectable. Guy plotted its location in his cyberbrain so he could find it.
Following the coordinates, he set off into the jungle. Fronds, ferns, and other spore-producing plants slapped at his legs as he picked his way over thick roots and vines sprawling across the floor. Trees spired up to the sky to fan out in a dense canopy of variegated green.
Lush. Beautiful. Eerie.
A hush of death thickened the air.
On his missions, Guy had tromped through many jungles on many planets. In each one except on Katnia, the screech, crash, chatter, and howl of forest animals blended into a cacophony of endless noise. Jungles were never quiet.
This one was.
His acute cybervision and hearing detected insect activity and a twitter of tiny birds, but only faint traces of larger animals. Mammals, reptiles, amphibians, larger birds—most of them of any size had been killed.
Although the dense vegetation helped to muffle sound, with the absence of animal chatter, unusual noises would stand out. Guy trod carefully. Don’t want the Ka-Tȇ to hear me before I hear them.
While the creatures had decimated the fauna, they’d done little to touch the flora. He’d never seen a jungle so thick, so undisturbed, almost primordial. Layers of dead and decaying plant matter padded the spongy ground.
Snap! Grrrr. Snap! Grrrr.
Hackles rose on his nape. Cocking his head, he listened to the growls. Two frequencies—two creatures. He ducked behind a thick, half-rotted tree.
Moments later they appeared, padding on all fours. They did sort of resemble hairless panthers, their long, muscular bodies moving with a feline sway, but they weren’t cats of any kind. Their heads were too bulbous, their jaws oversized with a jutting under bite. Random tufts of bristly hair protruded from leathery skin. Despite the intelligence sparking in their yellow-green eyes, they were the ugliest creatures he’d ever seen. Slime crawlers were more attractive.