Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 110492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 552(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 368(@300wpm)
The Goddess sighed.
“If I send you, you will face much peril, warrior. You may die again or be caught and tortured in your quest to save your female.”
Vic lifted his chin.
“I don’t care—I don’t care about anything but saving her. And if I can’t, I’ll die trying just like I did before! She’s all that matters to me, Goddess.”
“Your courage and fidelity shall be rewarded,” the Goddess murmured. Dipping her fingers in the silver bowl of crystal-clear water, she flicked the cool droplets over Vic’s face with a light motion of her slender fingers. “Go then, warrior. Be swift and silent. Save your female. And then you must bring the Mother Ship as quickly as you can. There is an evil force trying to keep my children, the Kindred, from coming to the Earth—trying to change things which have already been and which must be in the future.”
Vic didn’t understand these last words about the future, and he didn’t get a chance to ask her what the evil force was. The beautiful garden was fading all around him, the sights and sounds melting like snow in the sun.
The Goddess’s face, filled with wisdom and beauty and strength, was the last thing he saw before he woke once more to the living world.
Fifty
Vic woke to find that his chest ached and someone had covered his face with a cloth. It was heavy and dark and it reeked of chemicals. His first instinct was to bat it away from his face, but then he heard the voices.
“A Kindred scout, you say?” one asked.
“Yes, Doctor. The AllFather has requested an immediate dissection,” the second voice—this one familiar to Vic—replied. “The Earth female who was with him is presently in the dungeons. She was too hysterical after his death for the AllFather to scan her, but we must know what the Kindred are planning.”
“I will see if I can learn anything about the Kindred’s motives from the scout’s positronic brain and memory banks,” the first voice promised. “How soon does the AllFather require results?”
“As soon as possible. We are nearly to Earth’s atmosphere. As soon as we reach them, we can begin firebombing the strongholds of their various leaders and razing their major cities to the ground. Once their leaders are dead, the rest of the humans should be fearful enough to do as they are told.”
“Very well—I shall get right to work,” the second voice—presumably belonging to the “doctor” whoever he was—replied.
“See that you do.” The first voice must belong to the male who had appeared on the com-link’s viewscreen, Vic thought. “You can experiment on the body and harvest the DNA later—I know how you love to make your monstrosities in the Flesh Vats and for some reason my father indulges you. But first you must get him any information that might still reside in the brain.”
“It shall be done,” the doctor replied. “Leave me now—let me work.”
The first voice didn’t reply. Instead, there was a sound like boots on a metal floor and then a door closed with a muted thud.
Alone, Vic thought. I’m alone with him now and he’s going to try to dissect me.
Well, the good doctor was about to get a big surprise. Though Vic’s chest still ached where the massive warrior’s metal spike had pierced it, he felt strong and determined. He was going to get to Torri and get both of them off of the Fathership and nothing was going to stand in his way.
“Very well then,” he heard the doctor mutter to himself as a shadow fell over the cloth covering his face. “Let’s see what you’re made of, Kindred.”
The cloth was thrown back and Vic was looking into the red eyes of a male with gray skin and thin, twitching lips. In his hand, he held a scalpel, its blade glimmering in the greenish light. The red eyes widened when the doctor saw him looking back, alert and alive, instead of dead.
Vic sat up and snatched the scalpel from the Scourge doctor’s hand. Grabbing the other male by the collar of his black uniform, he thrust the metal blade into his throat.
The red eyes widened further as, with a gasping gurgle, the doctor sank to his knees.
“No…” he gasped. “You’re…dead.”
He tugged at the scalpel and it came free—along with a spurt of arterial blood. The doctor’s thin fingers scrabbled at his throat, trying and failing to stem the flow.
“You’re the one who’s dead, Scourge,” Vic growled. He had no regret for killing an enemy but he also had no time to stand around and witness the doctor’s death throes.
He looked around. He was on a metal table in the middle of the room, which was outfitted as a kind of medical laboratory. He slid off the table and looked down at himself—he was still dressed and there was a hole in the front of his uniform shirt that was sticky with blood. But when he reached into the hole, there was no wound—his skin was smooth and unmarked. Indeed, even the ache in his chest was beginning to fade, thank the Goddess.