Huntress of the Star Empire Part 4 The Release: Huntress of the Star Empire, #4

By Athena Grayson

Part 4: The Release

Only her enemy can set her mind free!

When Micah's incarceration brings him face to face with the head of the Union itself, he discovers a devastating weakness in the Union's stranglehold on the star system...and a shocking truth about his people.

Now a fugitive from the Union she so loyally served, Treska is forced into uneasy alliance with the Restoration. As the lies holding the Union together at the top begin to unravel, so do the thin threads maintaining Treska’s false identity.

With her world shattered and her identity in crisis, Treska’s only ally is the man whose mental powers terrify her. It’s going to take all of Micah’s mental talents to set her free, but her fear of his gifts may make Treska a prisoner of her own mind.

About the Huntress

She always gets her man...

Ever since she was found in the aftermath of alien attacks, Treska Sivekka has been trained to one purpose--to hunt down threats to the security of the Union that gave her an identity. But when the Union's biggest threat inspires desire, and not fear, it’s going to take all her training to protect her principles against his persuasive onslaught.

The Huntress's neuro-collar and repulsor cuffs may keep Micah bound to her mercy, but they can't stop him from challenging her convictions, and the lies she's been told about his people. But when the secrets surrounding her own missing memories begin to reveal themselves, he may be the only one she can trust.

Pursued across the star system by the Huntress, helpless as his psionically-talented brethren were brought down one by one, Micah Ariesis must sacrifice himself in a sketchy revolutionary plot aimed at the Union’s heart, but the mystery surrounding his pursuer's mysterious origins puts danger to a much closer heart—his own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Uncharted Worlds Media
• Release date: Aug 13, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516305575

Book preview

by

Athena Grayson

Copyright Notice

© 2015 Jen Sokoloski. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Published by Uncharted Worlds Media. unchartedworldsmedia.com

Cover Artwork: Steven Novak Illustration

About The Huntress

She always gets her man…

Treska Sivekka is known as the Huntress — the Union's most skilled bounty hunter. She knows no other life than capturing the treacherous psypaths whose mental abilities pose a security threat to the government she loves and serves. When she captures Micah Ariesis and claims the bounty on his head, her mission will be complete.

But getting him in handcuffs was the easy part. Every scumbag in the star system wants a piece of Micah, and she's got to keep the last psypath out of their grubby claws—and out of her own mind—long enough to get him back to the Capitol. Even if his abilities might hold the key to unlocking her own missing past.

If you like fast-paced action, satisfying romantic tension, and breathtaking sci-fi worlds, then you'll love this sizzling space opera.

Huntress of the Star Empire is a space opera adventure with sizzle. For more about the series, visit www.athenagrayson.com/huntress or join the Private Readers’ Group at readers.athenagrayson.com/StarEmpire and receive notification of new releases right to your inbox.

Find Athena: athenagrayson.com | Facebook | Twitter | Private Readers’ Group

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―›»●♦◊♦●«‹―

Episode 10: State Of Flux

Structural Breakdown

The pink Hathori woman facing Treska would have commanded attention anywhere she stood because of her appearance. Treska’s attention wasn’t on her striking beauty so much as the striking ability of the mono-molecular blade she held in her hand. Moments before, she’d been ready to, in her words, carve off the parts of Treska she needed for access to the prison where Micah was held.

Sweat gathered in the small of her back. I’m of no use to you for access.

The fuchsia woman swayed back and forth, the blade humming in her hand. I think I can find something to do with you, she said. I’m sure you get around a lot more easily than I do. Now take off that jacket. Slowly.

Conscious of the blade positioned entirely too close to her throat, Treska lifted her hands.

Treska did as instructed, and when her hands were behind her back to release the sleeves of the jacket, her fingers paused over her wrist rig. She could activate the communicator and have Capitol security forces here in seconds. And what would they find? A Hathori cat-fight. Not one, but two criminals. A reason to ‘use lethal force.’ Even the stupidest criminals didn’t call on the police for help. But that didn’t mean she had to be defenseless. She dropped the jacket to the floor, using the time instead to switch off the safety of her wrist-shooter.

Fuchsia kept the dagger on her while she rifled through the jacket. The pink woman’s eyes widened when she pulled something from the pocket. What the nine hells are you doing with a lotus bowl? She lifted her head. By the goddess, I thought I— She lifted her gaze to Treska’s. You’re Hathori!

Security sensors and medi-scanners might call her Hathori, but by damn, she still could believe the principles she’d promised to uphold. No I’m not. She lifted her arm and fired.

Treska bolted from the ruin of the Temple and out onto the landing. Behind her, she heard the pink woman cursing epithets that made her ears burn, describing acts not only illegal, but probably physically impossible, too. She ran until the walkway sloped down and hopped the railing when it passed close enough for a drop to a level below, and risked a glance upward when she landed.

A bright pink face appeared over the railing. Traitor!

A public high-capacity transport slowed and diverged from the horizontal traffic flow. It stopped at the walkway intersection and disgorged a cluster of passengers. She lost herself in the knot and stepped onto the high-cap. She dropped into a seat and rested her head against the window, then cursed when the transport took a vertical turn downward. The floor swung on its pivot points to re-orient as the transport descended, turning the car into a three leveled mobile lift. She slapped her hand against the stop request panel and fought her way back to the door while the buildings and lights and walkways rushed past the window. By the time the transport stopped, she was a hundred and fifty levels down, right back where she’d started.

―›»●♦◊♦●«‹―

Coming out of stasis never felt good. Coming out of stasis in a hostile environment felt worse. Coming out of stasis in the middle of a prison cell specifically constructed to cause you, personally, the highest amount of pain just shy of lethal made you want to eat the business end of a zapgun.

Micah choked awake from stasis-dreams of Treska—or Zara—because the two of them were now so intertwined in his mind that he couldn’t tell where Zara ended and Treska began. She kept morphing from human to Hathori and back again, sometimes wielding a dagger and other times a bottle of Hathori liqueur. The sound of sobbing haunted his dreams, and for a moment, he felt nothing but sheer relief at the silence of that weeping once he awoke.

The relief was chased away by the hard landing of his body on cold stone floor and a boot in his ribs. Wake up, a rough voice grunted.

He didn’t move fast enough. He was still blinking against the dim light, trying to see where he was, when his arms jerked upwards and his body followed, pulled upright by the repulsor cuffs until he hung high enough so that his toes barely scraped the floor.

His vision came into focus on a particularly ugly human guard wearing a nondescript gray uniform, a stun-stick at his belt and the remote for the cuffs in his thick fingers.

Awake, are we?

Micah jerked his head in the affirmative.

That’s ‘yes, sir,’ to you, mindsnake. The guard’s pudgy thumb squeezed the remote.

Micah discovered it wasn’t just the cuffs that responded to the small device. The ever-present neuro-collar around his neck made itself known with a jolt of energy that raced through his body, sending fire so hot down his nerves that he lost his breath and choked again. It figured this place would be populated by petty bullies motivated by fear and stimulated by cruelty to others. He spat on the floor to rid his mouth of the tang of excess electricity.

Bein’ smart, are we?

Micah didn’t answer. The guard snorted. If the big man himself didn’t want to see you right now, you’d get taught a lesson or two about how bein’ smart gets you extra special attention around here. The guard’s lips stretched in a humorless grin. But afterwards, once he’s done with you…

Yes, right, mwa ha ha ha, Micah thought. After this big man sees me, I’ll become the punching bag for whatever this small-minded wretch sees as the fault his life isn’t where it ought to be. If he were clever about it, though, he wouldn’t have kicked me until after the stasis-numbness wore off. The electricity hurt, the physical injury to his ribs would come later.

The room darkened when the guard left and Micah let his head droop. He tried not to think about how Treska fared. Wondering where she was would lead to wondering how she was, which led to remembering the anguished look on her face as she turned her darts on him.

Wenn DiVrati’s final message made more sense to him now. In fact, it couldn’t be clearer. But there remained gaps. Why had a Hathori become the most feared Vice Hunter in the Union? If anything, the Hathori had fared as badly as the psypaths. Their entire economy, culture, and existence had been turned inside out with the Re-Education project. Their homeworld was set at permanent quarantine, while Hathori who refused to return home were forced to work in menial labor. They were forbidden to travel freely through the galaxy without approval papers and clothing that marked who they were and suppressed their natural physiology. Worlds like the Capitol forbade them entry on principle.

At least he had a partial answer. Her memory loss would have made it easier for her to be re-educated. But to be so thoroughly re-educated that she refused to believe she was even a Hathori? And to have been altered so drastically as to attempt to change her species? Nausea twisted his gut. Someone had worked very hard to obliterate all that she had been, right down to her own species, and then placed her at the right hand of the Prime Minister himself.

―›»●♦◊♦●«‹―

The AI programmer looked out of place in Vakess’s office. He was rumpled, his smock stained with mechanical lubricant and logic-nanite suspension fluid. His wiry hair stood out from his skull in a black cloud surrounding his dark brown face. His body language projected his heightened awareness of how poorly he fit into the severe aesthetics of the place. Your AI’s not compromised, sir. He rooted around the chest barrel of the android and pulled out a tiny, spider-like object with etched crystal surfaces. But this little critter’s hopped on for a ride-along.

Vakess narrowed his eyes. A listening device? The office is shielded.

Draylin Duvainik shook his head. His cloud of hair bounced in time with the negative motion. Anyone worth their salt attempting to spy on you would know to use a subnet masking transmitter. It’s how I would do it.

Indeed.

The man seemed to realize too late that Vakess’s flat tone was not an affirmation of a job well done. He glanced up, his light eyes standing out from his dark skin and giving him a luminous appearance. Ahh. Well. You pay me, and you pay me well. I don’t need to spy on you. Besides, a moral society is a safe society, eh?

Vakess folded his arms and glared at the AI specialist. Several years ago, he’d used his own House’s funds to set the man up in a respected university position that allowed him to pursue his brilliance in rendering artificial intelligence without interference from academic politics. In return, Duvainik personally programmed Vakess’ concierge droid with triple-redundancy, failsafes, security subroutines, and a pleasant speaking voice. You aren’t an adherent of the New Morality.

The technician began to seal up his android’s access panel. I know the song, but I sing a different key. He glanced back towards Vakess. Same as you, sir. I practiced simplicity before it got popular. The song they’re singing in those New Morality communities has the right words, but the tune’s all wrong. I’ll stick to what I know.

That’s an…apt way to describe it. His doubts about the move towards deputizing the New Morality cells in the mid- and frontier orbits came rushing back. The Unity of Purpose should make that the logical choice—the Union, united in purpose, with citizens all working towards the same outcome, would see the practicality in using the already-established and popular belief system as an arm of the establishment. But Vakess was a politician, and practicality didn’t always play to the optics the way an arm’s length of inefficiency did.

Want me to destroy this little guy? Duvainik held up the transmitter. The end result of Duvainik’s efforts had been a concierge Vakess could entrust to handle his schedule, and all the sensitive information about his personal movements that his opposition would have used for assassination attempts both political and literal. Thus far, it had resisted attempts at compromise and sabotage that would have ended his career—and his life—much earlier. But somehow, someone had found a way around Duvainik’s efforts.

Vakess shook his head. That would alert our eavesdropper. Can it be traced?

Not by conventional means. Dranik grinned. But I can rig something up. He held up the tiny device. See, this little guy is passive, most of the time. Your concierge leaves shielded areas and enters unshielded areas and the stored data uploads via the usual means. No attempt is made to broadcast from shielded areas and there’s no trigger tripped. Duvainik tapped the table surface and the readout from his analysis of the bug appeared. But subnet? It’s low-frequency, short-range, and passive. It receives tiny amounts of data in slow trickles—simple triggers like a keyword, or a single command with simple parameters. The long and short of it is, somebody’s filtering your feed, sir. The last fastener snapped into place and the AI started up. Controlling the information you see.

Vakess was grateful he was an ascetic, otherwise there would have been many delicate objects in the office which he would be throwing against the wall. But because he practiced a life of simplicity, there was nothing to throw and his rage only served to sharpen his mind. His concierge powered up, artificial face illuminated. "Sir, Capitol Spacedock informs me that the Scimitar has docked—error, sir, attempting to compensate—the Scimitar docked in orbit four hours ago. Realigning internal clock…reconciling history…recalculating travel routes…Sir, request that you decommission this unit. I seem to be out of synchronization with my own database."

"I know. Tell me more about the Scimitar."

The robot’s internal servos whirred. "The Scimitar docked four hours ago in orbit at Capitol Spacedock."

"And what of its passenger? Has Treska returned with her bounty? What about the Needle’s Eye?"

"Accessing…The Needle’s Eye still shows as docked in the hold of the Scimitar, scheduled for repairs and diagnostics within the day. The Scimitar’s logs show the Vice Huntress left the ship with a cargo of one medium biped-sized stasis pod, escorted by Captain Iverka, Commander Wullas, and a small honor guard."

When did she leave the ship? Treska. Treska and that last psypath. Tenraye to Guerre to the Capitol. Whatever the corrosion in the web was, it centered around his Vice Huntress. And he was concerned about her. Treska was one of the few people he was confident shared his vision.

Three hours ago, sir. They’ve arrived in Government Plaza. Special Affairs—updating…Citizen Treska Sivekka is considered a security risk. Authorities have been dispatched to see to her apprehension. Any apprehending entities have orders to remand the citizen to Special Affairs immediately.

Countermand that order and assemble my personal guard.

The concierge hummed. Unable to countermand order for citizen Sivekka’s apprehension. It appears she’s been labeled a health hazard.

Health hazard? Why?

Unknown. Possible answers include exposure to toxins or compromise through influence.

Uneasy dread moved through Vakess. Call—no. Countermand that label. Did she bring in her bounty? He’d been about to say, call Vox, but the Director’s interest in Treska now came under suspicion. As did his easy access to the AI. Vakess shook his head. Vox was his most trusted advisor, and should have been the first person he called.

Affirmative.

Duvainik had said it—the words were correct, but the tune was off. Somehow, he’d lost his way. His vision had blurred. Shifted. Altered. The Union, the New Morality, they were as much Vox’s creation as they were his.

Perhaps that is the problem.

Vakess shot a look at the technician. Did you enjoy your university position?

The tech’s features shifted into discomfort. I, er, it pays well and involves no politics.

Vakess’ lips tightened. Not anymore, I’m afraid. I’m sorry, but my AI’s been compromised. I was a fool to trust machinery when I should have been trusting people. Very few people.

Oh, no, sir. You can always trust a machine to do exactly what it is told. The problem always lies with the people telling it what to do.

Then it appears I’ve been trusting the wrong people. Vakess scowled. The web in his mind was beginning to interfere with his vision. He couldn’t help but see the shatterpoints, corroding and spreading from the Jewel all the way out to Ares Arcology in the