Dekkir (Galaxy Alien Warriors #1)(47)

I thought of Grace facing our enemies alone and manacled upstairs, and my mouth worked. That will not be a problem.

The man blinked as I glowered at him. “You’re . . . sure?” he asked the doctor, keeping a wary distance.

“Absolutely. Now please, come have a look. I’ve isolated and cultured the Lyran symbiont they call the Golden Strain.” He gestured toward the screen, and the man’s eyes lit up.

He stepped forward beside us to peer at the readout. “What kind of proteins are these? I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“This is completely new, my dear Eastman. It’s an adaptive organism, which has proven compatibility with humans. It can even adapt to animal systems and enhance their survival ability in hostile environments.” He laid a hand on the man’s shoulder, and I felt his mind push against the other’s in a way I couldn’t quite comprehend.

“That’s amazing! Something like this . . . it could really help back on Earth. We have entire ecosystems decimated. If something like this could shore them up. . . .” He moved toward the screen, like a night insect dazzled by a flame.

“It could do a lot more than that.” Tabirus pointed at the readout. “I’m currently propagating a large sample in medium for study. We don’t know how stable the symbiont is outside of a living system, so we’re going to need as much as possible to work with.”

“Did this come from his blood?” He paused to glance at me again, and I deepened my scowl. He looked away quickly and edged a bit closer to Tabirus.

“No, it came from Dr. Bryant’s. She was exposed while planet-side.”

Eastman’s jaw dropped. He had little bits of gray in his hair, I noticed, but his large eyes and enthusiastic manner reminded me of a much younger man. “She was? Oh my—what did it do to her? Is she all right?”

I closed my eyes, my mind drifting back to the night my Grace had chosen to inoculate herself with the Golden Strain. She had not done it for science or survival, or by accident, as many of the humans might assume. I felt my heart lift despite the current circumstances, and a warm wash of desire flooded me simply at the memory. She had done it for me. She had introduced the Strain into her system to awaken the senses she needed to feel the mating bond that existed between us. And then . . .

My hands flexed at my sides. It had been only hours since I last held her in my arms. Only hours since we had shuddered together in the climax of the ancient dance. But I needed it again. The softness of her body, the smell of her hair, the little musical sounds of pleasure she made as I thrust into her. The link would always feed her pleasure back to me, and her desire, guiding my hands and body even as they echoed delightfully in my own nerve endings. When the time finally came, one release would drag the other over the precipice in a feedback loop of pleasure so intense it made us scream. Even in the midst of an interplanetary crisis, the thought of her made me crave her so badly that my nails dug into my palms.

“May I have a look at one of the samples?” Eastman asked eagerly.

Tabirus nodded and moved over to the propagation vat, tapping the controls. A moment later, a clear, covered dish the size of his palm slid out of a slot. I saw him grab it and turn around, and the moment his hands were out of Eastman’s sight, he flipped open the lid and dipped his finger into the sparkling golden powder within.

I watched impassively, despite the sudden surge of shock and curiosity that ran through me. Tabirus’s amusement brushed against my mind, tickling. What are you up to? I thought at him suspiciously.

Just what I said. These soldiers and scientists are in need of . . . enlightening. Once I’m done with them, not a single one of them will be willing to follow a monster like Norcross.

My brows drew together as Tabirus came back with the sample. What do you mean?

Watch and see, my warlike friend.

I watched him bring the sample to the fascinated human scientist, who took the little dish in hand and bent his head over it in fascination. “How does it work? Is it airborne?”

“Ingested, introduced through a wound or through the pores, actually. I suppose it could be aspirated, but it dries out easily in open air.” A lie, which I noticed but did not comment on. He laid that paternal hand on the younger scientist’s shoulder . . . and I saw the finger he had dipped into the Golden Strain sample tap once against the bare back of Eastman’s neck. He left a single golden fingerprint behind, which sparkled and started to spread.

Eastman didn’t notice. He took the dish over to another of the machines and set it down on a tray set into the machine. He put his eyes to a viewing scope of some kind in the top and hit a few buttons. “This is amazing,” he breathed in something almost like joy. “It divides so fast in medium. I only wonder how long it takes to propagate in a human body.”

“Several minutes, if that,” Tabirus said with a smile. On the back of the man’s neck, the golden patch spread and spread, gleaming as it sank into his skin. “Of course, it takes the human body and brain about a week to adjust to it.”

“What happens during that adjustment period? Will Grace, I mean, Dr. Bryant be available for questioning?”

“Once they’re done with her downstairs, she’s all ours,” Tabirus reassured. “But suffice it to say the adjustment period tends to be a bit . . . disorienting.”

I exchanged glances with the Ancient, who winked, and I suddenly started to suspect what at least part of his plan was. My eyes widened and then went back to the propagation vats. They were huge, taller than I was, broader than the span of my arms, eight in all. And according to the computer, he was filling every last one of them with Golden Strain spores. The readout now read 25%. It wouldn’t be long before they all filled completely.