Chapter 141

Chapter One Hundred Forty-One

Connor braced for the huge creature’s attack, but the thing only stared with its shiny compound eyes. The twisting, arcing purple lightning lit the sharp horns rising along the crown of the missile-tip head with a sickly, eldritch glow.

Rather than attack, the monstrosity stared with its inhuman eyes.

Smothering heat billowed from its wide mouth, blasting the room with a charnel reek worse than any battlefield Connor could recall.

After a moment, the rumble of explosions from distant eons and dimensions shook the floor again, vibrating up through his legs.

There was no emotion in the giant creature’s multifaceted, gem-like eyes or on the rubbery face of the elongated head.

Every now and then, it coughed up more of the thick, yellow pus, chewed on the globs with its rows of teeth, then drooled the foaming bits into the boiling black fluid filling the pool.

It must be playing a waiting game, Connor thought.

If that were the case, it was a winning strategy, because Elise and Selen would die if left untended.

So Connor pushed off from the wall and raised his swords toward the terror. “You’re not the creature imprisoned by the K’luuta. What are you? What do you want?”

As it had when it rose from the pool, the thing touched Connor’s mind.

It didn’t speak. It didn’t convey ideas or emotions.

It simply implanted a whisper, an intrusion.

He shook that off. “You’re some sort of emissary, right? A champion?”

The whisper echoed through Connor’s head. Pinpricks tingled along his spine.

Was it actually speaking to him, after all? “I can’t understand you.”

“Servant of the Oppressors.”

There! The pinpricks became icy claws latching into the nerve endings the length of Connor’s back.

He straightened as fire lanced through his body. “You have a voice, then.”

But the thing wasn’t speaking. It was in his head. “A voice?”

“I hear you in my mind.”

“Yes. The primitive thoughts. Dangerously backwards.”

It wasn’t meant as an insult but an observation. Connor felt like a little animal on a dissection tray. This thing was merely noting how quaint he was, how low on the evolutionary ladder and insignificant.

Had it felt that way about the K’luuta?

“My name is Connor Rattakul. I’ve been sent by the jailers to seal your master back up.” There: simple, bold, and no doubt horribly misguided.

Chittering squeaks bounced through his body.

Maybe the thing was laughing at him.

“Connor Rattakul. No champion. A sacrifice.”

“I’ve done all right so far. Your master’s creations are dead.”

“No master. Dabichikal requires arbitration. Sokkizarai speaks.”

Dabichikal—that was the one who wanted to obliterate all life, then. It was easier just to consider it the imprisoned alien.

At least Connor had an identity for it now. “All right. So Sokkizarai is the intermediary. Tell me what your client wants.”

“Freedom.”

The bluntness was surprising. “I don’t think the K’luuta would accept that. Unless your client would give up its intent to obliterate all life?”

“Not all life. Primitive life.”

“You called me primitive, didn’t you?”

“Primitive. Yes.”

“My species is hardwired with self-preservation instincts, so I think I’m going to have to decline this request.”

“The species is doomed. Dabichikal will not kill.”

“Doomed?”

“The species self-destructs. The species consumes itself.”

“Not all of us. Most humans are decent. They want to live. They want to be treated decently.”

“The species consumes. The species consumes itself.”

It was talking about the ruin of Earth, the need to flee to the stars for survival. “We’ve learned our lesson. We’re better now.”

“The species is doomed.”

Unbidden memories rose to Connor’s attention: the Nyango Revolt; the robotic massacre he’d seen only in snippets of video meant to portray the rebels as the criminals; the destruction of basic human rights under Directorate control.

Connor shook his head. “That’s a small group with too much power and influence. The imbalance won’t last. Our species survives.”

The icy prickling ran through his body again.

That was the creature probing around, apparently.

It pushed through his head once more. “Dabichikal will not kill.”

“You’re saying your…client will spare us?”

“Dabichikal will not kill. Yes.”

“But it would kill every other primitive species?”

“Life must be preserved.” The creature drooled more foamy pus into the pool.

“By taking other life?” Connor wasn’t so sure this thing was a good intermediary or a good representation of advanced life.

“Preservation. Primitive life is cancer.”

“Humans are also merciful. We form communities. We’re not monsters.”

The thing that had called itself Sokkizarai stared with its bug eyes. “Offers can be made.”

“I don’t think—”

“Mercenary. Killing for money.”

That stung. It was capable of finding contradictions in his own thinking. “We don’t always have good options in life. The people in power have forced bad decisions on us.”

“Money is good. Greed is good.”

“No. It’s a necessity for living.”

“Money is given. How much money, Connor Rattakul?”

The image appeared in Connor’s head of his personal computer screen connecting to his anemic bank account. Except the meager savings he’d managed was now a million times greater than before.

It was enough to live like one of the powerful people, to own an island and a mansion and a private army for protection.

He could give Toshiko the life she deserved.

But he would just be another form of monster if he did that: a human monster who cared only for himself.

“No. Greed isn’t good.”

More pus foamed in the creature’s teeth. “Pleasure. Pleasure is good.”

Arrayed in Connor’s mind was first Selen as she had been when he’d met her, then a hundred like her, then a thousand.

They smiled at him and enticed with curling fingers and kisses.

His heart pounded, and his body roared in delight.

But none of those women were Toshiko.

He sighed. “You can’t tempt me. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that life is more than wealth and lust.”

“Life is fleeting.”

“It’s short, yes. But it’s as good as you want it to be. And everyone—everything—deserves a chance to make something of their life. That’s something I can’t compromise on. I can’t allow this Dabichikal to destroy all primitive life.”

The monstrosity belched up a hard, yellow clump and chewed on it.

And in Connor’s mind, the icy prickling began anew.

Only this time, it was like cold daggers.