Carapace (Aggressor Queen Book 1) Read online

  My mind goes back to my thoughts on the way to the meeting. Her complete turnaround. It must show on my face because Bell says, “I thought so.”

  He clears his throat. “Last bit,” he says. I cringe. I don’t want to hear any more. “Her master, Ilnok, has now been elevated to the queen’s council.” My fists clench. I want to hit him, but this is Bell. “Check it out yourself,” he says. “You have contacts. What do you think that means?”

  I jerk myself out of my chair. Nausea descends on me and I sit again.

  “She joined them, Mate, as I tried to warn you before,” he finishes.

  My chest is in a vice. My relationship with Khara is a weakness. I’m angry I let her draw me in. Then a thought strikes me.

  “What about Nestra? What about the information she’s been getting from Nestra?”

  “Probably lies, half-truths. Whatever they want us to know. You’ll remember Khara only put up a token fight before getting into the whole sharing-touching thing with Nestra. Maybe she was trying to get Diane and Tanner out of the loop. Which she has effectively done, Mate.” He pauses and finishes, “Maybe she likes what they do to her.” For the first time since he began this conversation he smiles and I’m angry again.

  “That’s not true!” I say.

  “Oh, really, Mate?” The smile is gone.

  I don’t know what to say. “I don’t think she likes it. If she’s with them, it’s not because she likes it.”

  “No ‘ifs’ about it, Mate.” A pause and then, “I don’t guess there’s any question what to do.” He drums on the table, a rough staccato, with a sharp accent on his thumbs. When I raise my eyebrows at him, he says, “We have to kill her, Mate. By now she’s given them all kinds of information about our plans. Thankfully, we haven’t set a date yet and all the equipment stores were in code. You’re the only one who knows where everything is, and how to get to it, and through whom.”

  I don’t interrupt Bell’s musings. I can’t think past the fact that I have succumbed to emotional attachment and in so doing, endangered us all.

  “We can’t kill her,” I say. Am I saying this because it’s tactically sound or because I can smell Khara on me, feel her hands on me?

  “I think we have to...” he says, but this isn’t something I can think about right now.

  “I’ll work on it,” I say interrupting him.

  “Right,” Bell answers, and rises from his chair. He claps me on the back and says, “We’ll handle this, Mate. Let me know what I can do.” He heads for the darkened hallway rubbing his hands together and saying, “Ah, the night is still young.”

  ***

  The next day, Khara waits for me outside the factory. She is across the street, sitting at a small white plastic table eating potatoes, but her eyes are on mine. She smiles as she puts another spoonful into her mouth. I feel sick to my stomach.

  From two different ant contacts, I have learned Bell was right. Ilnok has been promoted to the group closest to the queen. This can’t be coincidence.

  I can’t avoid Khara, and in fact, don’t want to. I’ve decided how to handle her. Feeding her misinformation would be difficult, as all the rest of my people would have to be briefed on the misinformation so that any meeting Khara attended would be fraught with lies for Khara to take to her patrons. We have trouble enough finding time to meet and coordinate our plans as it is.

  And I cannot bring myself to kill her or order her execution.

  I approach her once Tamerak dismisses me. She still smiles, but is no longer eating. She stands as I reach the flimsy table, and rushes to me, throws her arms up and around my neck and raises herself on her toes in clear expectation of a kiss.

  I remember her initial reticence at being touched and compare it to this behavior. In hindsight, the turnaround isn’t believable. I turn my face away, and with hands on her shoulders, hold her away from me.

  “Samuel?” she says. “What’s wrong?” She tries again to lean toward me, pulling on my neck.

  “Stop it,” I say. My head is still turned away.

  “Samuel?” she asks. She drops her arms.

  Satisfied she is no longer trying to force a kiss on me – I think of the ease with which she allowed Fatchk to enter her mouth at his last meeting and shudder – I look down at her. Her eyes brim with unshed tears. “What’s wrong?” she asks again, and this time her voice quivers.

  She’s very good at this. I have to push forward or find myself succumbing to her wiles.

  “I know what you are,” I say.

  “What am I?” she says. Her voice is high and quiet, like a child’s.

  “You work for them. You’re the traitor.” I am not surprised by the anger in my tone, but Khara is. Her eyes first widen and then narrow.

  “What are you talking about?” she asks. Her tone is no longer child-like, is not yet sharp.

  “You’re the one. You worked it quite well.” I swallow. “Here’s the deal. Don’t ever come back. Don’t ever try to attend one of our meetings. I’ll kill you if you do.” I want to tell her not to let me see her again, but I recognize this is for my sake, not the rebellion’s, and refuse the confession of emotional attachment.

  Khara looks dazed and flops down to the bench, knocking against and almost upsetting the plastic table. When she looks up at me again, confusion is written across her features and her eyes are pleading. She raises her hands toward me, palms up, a plea.

  “Samuel, that doesn’t make any sense.” She blinks at some inward vision, shakes her head, and drops her hands to her lap. “Why would I tell you Fatchk said there was a human traitor? Why wouldn’t I lie?” When I don’t answer, she finishes, “If it was me? Why?”

  “You weren’t supposed to be at that meeting. Fatchk didn’t know who the traitor is, so he gave you the message. You didn’t know his message couldn’t be checked on, so you told the truth.” I take a deep breath, but keep from saying, and then seduced me, so I wouldn’t look to you. “Or you told me so I wouldn’t suspect you, of all people.”

  “No, Samuel!” she says. “I’m not a traitor.” She stands, comes toward me, arms reaching for me.

  “Don’t touch me,” I say, and recall how many times I heard these words from Khara in the beginning.

  Khara freezes mid-motion, her mouth open with a small exhale of disbelief, tears welling and then rolling down her face, bumping over the welted scar forming on her cheek.

  “Don’t ever let me see you again,” I say. “I don’t care what you tell your masters – I don’t imagine you’ll tell them much if you don’t want to get punished. Shoot, tell them you’re still coming to meetings and lie to them about what was said. You ought to be good at that.”

  I turn to walk away. We’ll have to be more careful on the streets now. Khara knows several of our hideouts and meeting places.

  I’ve only taken a step when she says, “I trusted you.” She sounds pathetic. She sounds like she’s pleading although her words are accusatory. I am across the street when she yells.

  “You fucking bastard! I trusted you!”

  Without thinking, I turn to look at her. Her fists are clenched, her face is fierce. She’s no longer pleading. She’s angry.

  She’s no angrier than I am. Though whether I am angrier at Khara or at myself, I don’t know.

  CHAPTER 34

  KHARA

  Refugio’s. I can’t walk, so I can’t leave. I can’t close my eyes. When I close my eyes, the room spins and the bar tilts, and I know I’ll fall off my stool. I look down and see my hands gripping the bar top. The vision of my hands twists in one direction and then in the other. The ant tender brings the bottle to pour me another whiskey, but I wave him away. I need to throw up.

  No sooner realized than done. The tender cleans the foulness from the bar top while I fumble to find my pocket and another patch. I look down to help my hand find its way to my trousers pocket, as it is caught in fabric bunched in my lap.

  I find my pocket, but no patches. I’ve stop
ped the habit of carrying handfuls of the patches and must have used up the few I just bought. It occurs to me I might have some in the other pocket, but after more fumbling, I discover that pocket empty, too.

  I feel better, having puked. I’m sure I’ll feel better still if I spew again. I don’t have to think long of this possibility before the surging wave mounts and I throw up again over the still wet bar top. The room isn’t spinning with as much fury, and I want to put my head down on the bar. I wait until the tender has finished cleaning my latest donation from the counter. I close my eyes and lower my head.

  I wake with a foul coating on my tongue and teeth, and raise my head. I motion to the tender, and he brings me another whiskey. I use my first sip to rinse my mouth before swallowing.

  Fucking bastard. I trusted him. He made me feel human, and only now do I remember being human hurts too much.

  I need another patch. Each time the patch wears off my mind runs in the same furrowed circle. I want to forget. I want to stop the pain.

  I slide from my stool, move across the bar toward the door. I have to go to the bathroom, but I need a patch more. I leave Refugio’s in search of a vendor. I don’t have to go far. Over the last month – or more? – the ants have made patches more and more available. Stores and street vendors are everywhere as if they want us to use as many as we want. That should tell us humans something, or at least those of us who haven’t chosen oblivion as our new favorite pastime.

  Pocket full of patches again, I slap another to my jugular. I begin the walk to the nearest dorm as the swirl of dim colored lights begins behind my eyes. I find a bed and sink into the twisting blankness that at some point turns to sleep.

  ***

  I wake crying. I can’t remember my dream, but remember I have reason enough to cry even without the dream. The fact that I’m alive is reason enough to cry. I let myself sob and hiccup, let the tears and snot come. No thoughts.

  When my tears start to taper off, my mind turns again to the pain that will help me continue, that will help restart the engine of my self-pity and anger. My mind turns to Samuel.

  I slap a patch to my throat, hoping to wipe myself empty again, but before the wave can wash over me, I think, Samuel was wrong to do this to me.

  I struggle against the drug with the next realization.

  Samuel was wrong!

  I pull the patch from my throat and throw it to the floor. I’m not the traitor. Samuel now feels safe, and continues to plan and operate, but there is a traitor.

  I have to find out who the traitor is – for me, for the human race. I’m angry at Samuel, I’m hurt, but I know him. He wouldn’t have done this to me if he hadn’t gotten bad information. He’s gullible and stupid and... Anger wells up and the heavy, painful feeling in my chest comes crushing down again.

  After washing and eating, I know I have to talk to Nestra. I’ve got to find out if she has discovered the real traitor. If she has, she’s probably told Diane and Tanner, and then maybe Samuel will see . . . . No, at Samuel’s instructions, I told her not to discuss the traitor with anyone but me.

  It’s up to me. I have to find the traitor, bring incontrovertible evidence to the rebellion – to Samuel – and prove he was wrong about me. If I don’t, with the help of the real traitor, the ants will win. Despite the wish to escape the pain I’m in, I don’t want to die, don’t want all of us to die.

  I go to the garden. Diane and Tanner are, in all likelihood, inside, so I can’t enter. Hunkered into a recessed doorway, I wait, watching the ant-guard and the small unobtrusive street entrance to the garden. I’m shaking.

  After three hours during which I have fallen asleep twice, Diane and Tanner emerge, holding hands. After a few steps, Tanner drops Diane’s hand and puts an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. Diane puts her arm around Tanner’s waist as he bends to kiss her. I flash on a sensory memory of sitting atop Samuel’s prone body, his hands on my hips, my thighs and knees wrapped close to his ribs, my body bent forward to kiss his mouth . . . .

  No.

  I stand and walk to the guard shack as if I’m expected, hoping the guard won’t stop me. He doesn’t. I guess I came often enough with Diane and Tanner to be accepted. I pick through the garden to determine if Nestra is here. She’s at her oak tree.

  I creep toward her, keeping out of sight of her escort at the front entrance. She sees me. She rises and begins a slow and winding walk among the paths toward our usual meeting place. I turn and walk ahead of her to the spot by the flowered wall. I’m shaking in anticipation of sharing with Nestra, of receiving her comfort.

  Nestra settles to the ground in front of me but doesn’t reach for me. She’s always waited for me to start the sharing, but today her failure to reach for me is a stab, another betrayal. For some time neither of us says anything, but sits, looking at each other. I’m afraid to start, but I have to find out if Nestra has uncovered the true traitor.

  “Have you learned of the human traitor?” I ask without preamble.

  “You are in pain, friend-sister Khara,” Nestra answers.

  Tears come to my eyes, and my lip quivers as I repeat, “Have you learned of the human traitor?”

  “No,” answers Nestra. “I would share comfort with you, sister.” Her limbs don’t move toward me. She won’t force sharing on me.

  I can’t resist what she offers. I’m in danger of sobbing. My breath jerks out of me. I wipe at my tears and leaking nose before leaning toward Nestra and putting my hands on her lower arms. Comfort washes over me and I picture crawling into her large lap, like a child, allowing her solace to wrap me like a blanket. A conflicting vision of Ilnok, four arms around me, pulling me toward his palpus, keeps me from moving. This vision of Ilnok is wiped from me as I’m bathed in warmth, and feelings of trust, and maybe . . . love. I’m so needy I can imagine love from my alien friend.

  After some time during which Nestra doesn’t talk, I’m no longer crying. I sigh, but it is not wholly a sigh of comfort. I still have that lump in my throat as I remember the look on Samuel’s face. Samuel has made a mistake that threatens everything.

  “You are in pain,” Nestra says again.

  I don’t know how to explain. I don’t want to explain.

  “I hoped you had discovered the traitor. It is important to me. To all of us. I thought perhaps you told Diane and Tanner of this traitor.”

  “You instructed me not to discuss this matter with my other friends, although I assured you they were not traitors,” Nestra says. “They have not discussed this matter with me.”

  “I am not the traitor,” I say.

  “You are not the traitor,” Nestra answers. “You are my bond-friend, my sister.” Another wave of comfort rushes through me, and I feel myself flush with the warmth.

  “Humans can’t share like this,” I say. “The humans do not trust me now.”

  “I trust,” said Nestra. “I am not alone with you, sister.”

  A flash of anger surges through me, as I think of Samuel, of how he broke me out of my cocoon of aloneness only to throw me out unprotected by my shell.

  “I don’t need anyone,” I say without thinking.

  “You are my friend,” answers Nestra, and I feel her sadness through her warmth. My careless statement has rejected her, too. I’m ashamed.

  “No shame,” Nestra says. “You are in pain. You are angry. You are . . . .”

  “Betrayed,” I finish. “Distrusted.” I try to shake off my bitterness, try to relax into giving Nestra back some of the comfort and trust with which she has fortified me. Try not to think of Samuel.

  “You care for your betrayer,” Nestra says.

  “No!” The surge of anger again. I don’t want to talk about this.

  “Yes. You care for your betrayer. Your betrayer was bond-friend, trusted by you. This is the cause of your anger and pain. I taste this.”

  Something is breaking inside of me. I don’t want to think of Samuel.

  “Attachment, devotion, affe
ction,” Nestra says. The tears come again.

  “Love,” I whisper in English. I don’t know the word in her language. Don’t know if she has the word in her language. Now that I’ve said the word, the pain washes over me anew. The anger recedes as I now admit the reason for it.

  Loved, and lost. How clichéd. Sadness. Something tears inside of me. Nestra again bathes me in her warmth.

  “I will continue to try to discover the traitor,” Nestra says, breaking me out of my dark wallow, reminding me why I’m here. “It is difficult.”

  “Thank you, yes, please try,” I say. I fill myself with trust and appreciation as I say, “Please don’t endanger yourself.” The loss of Nestra would be unbearable.

  After some time of speechlessness in which Nestra battles my sorrow with her caring, I excuse myself and leave the garden.

  I wander an aimless route, without purpose, waiting for the call from Ilnok. The physical yet almost painless torture he inflicts seems nothing, at the moment, compared with the anguish inside me from which I can find no escape.

  CHAPTER 35

  NESTRA

  I pull myself toward my rooms, though I move without quite the sheer exercise of will I once needed after my sessions with the queen. This time, in addition to the queen’s stolen strength to bolster me, I have the information I have been longing to learn. This time, I am sustained with the knowledge of the good I can do for my sister and bond-friend, Khara.

  I know the identity of the traitor.

  After meditation and a meal, I feel strong enough to venture into the garden, although my hope of seeing Khara kept my meditation ritual to a minimum. If the queen calls again soon, I will not be sufficiently purged to enter another downloading session without danger. I will meditate in the garden while I wait, if I have the opportunity, although such mediation will not be as effective as the complete submersion I attain resting in my bed-pit.

  Diane and Tanner are in the garden when I arrive, and I am happy to share for a brief time with these friends. Their level of tension is high and I do my best to console them, but they cannot share as Khara can. My expectancy and impatience to see Khara leads me to ask of my friends if Khara will be joining them. The wash of concern and confusion which attends their non-committal answer that Khara cannot come today only increases my impatience. I do not press them by asking when they think Khara can visit me. The question might be interpreted as my displeasure with them, or might cause Khara problems I do not understand.