Relic Tech (Crax War Chronicles) by Terry W. Ervin II Read Free Book Online Page A

Oliver wasn’t on board when she went down.
    I opened my eye. The pain had receded in my head, body and leg. That was good. The ceiling wasn’t the same—grating instead of paneling, and that wasn’t good. The hum of the engines was wrong. The sense of disconnection, of being slightly out of sync with my bed and everything around, added to the unfounded feeling of anticipation, told me I was no longer aboard the Gilded Swan . Space-faring yachts aren’t built with the cascading atomic engines needed to initiate the condensation of space. The Gilded Swan wasn’t large enough to harbor both condensing engines and the generation capacity to power an anti-gravity field. So, use of a con-gate was out.
    I closed my eye again, and relaxed. No, the feeling was genuine and not drug induced. I felt to my left. The wooden carving was there. To my right Simms’s pistol was missing. I suddenly felt vulnerable. Where was it? And where was I?
    As if on cue, footsteps preceded a confident, feminine voice. “Good evening, Specialist Keesay.”
    I turned my head and looked toward the source. My mouth was dry. “Water, please.”
    The tall woman disappeared from view and returned with a large syringe without a needle. “This may be easier than a cup.” She smiled and placed it in my mouth and slowly squirted a small amount of metallic-tasting water. “I was unsure whether using a straw would hurt.”
    I looked up and noticed she was tall, even for an I-Tech, unless my bed had been lowered. She wore a gray quasi-military uniform. Her hair was braided and wrapped into a large, tight bun. “What vessel am I aboard now?” I asked. “Where is Caylar?” That was the only name I had for my nurse.
    She smiled. “He is not here.”
    “I guessed that, ma’am,” I said after receiving the useless answer.
    “How are you feeling, Specialist Keesay?”
    “Confused and angry.”
    She frowned slightly. Her green eyes studied me.
    “Ohh, you mean physically...Miss?” She looked young for an intel agent. But with I-Techs looks aren’t always an accurate gauge.
    “Special Agent Vingee,” she said.
    I was right. “Agent Vingee, you look like a bright girl. I should think astute observation on your part would lead you to the correct conclusion. That I happen to feel like I look. Like a chain saw, you know gas—fossil fuel powered, cuts down trees? Like one happened to dig into my intestines, maybe my spleen? After shaving my leg of course.”
    She took the syringe and walked away. After a moment she returned. “Will you require anything else?”
    I already regretted my remark. “Yes, if you cannot answer my questions, just say so.” I took a breath. “I’m sorry. I feel better than I did before my previous, medical provider put me to sleep.”
    “Apology accepted,” she said curtly, then looked away. “I’ll see if there is someone available who’s authorized to answer at least some of your questions.”
    “Thank you.”
    She looked at the carving. “Excellent work. Done with a chain saw?”
    I stared at her, unable to follow her last remark.
    “At least,” she said with a smile, “you know where your lower half is.”
    It hurt more to suppress laughter than to let it out. She turned away with a concerned look on her face before leaving.
    I stared at the bust, wondering if I’d really carved it. I ran my fingers over the wood, sensing the cuts and the grain. I reexamined the signature mark. It didn’t appear counterfeit. Other questions came to mind. Where are my tools, knife and gouges? My guns and equipment? I had them in the surveillance holos Silvre had shown me.
    I set the bust down and pondered the face. Was there any resemblance to Diplomat Silvre? My talent wasn’t that good. Did Silvre survive?
    I thought about Simms and Private Varney. All dead. For what? Generals, admirals, directors, diplomats, high-powered lawyers at my pretrial. We’re at war with the Crax. Was there a connection? Caylar wouldn’t know